#Venture Maidens
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The Elysium Keep
Partially ignoring some stuff from canon because I didn't just want to draw Bodiam Castle but more fantasy, and I feel like having just the keep with a central courtyard doesn't give enough space. Anyway check out this site with a load of castle floor plans i spent so much time looking through these.
The Keep sits on a floating island only accessible by the staircase guarded by the griffin constructs.
There are steep banks at the base of the curtain wall.
The gatehouse is the only entrance, the doors are usually open and the drawbridge lowered, there's a portcullis but it's never lowered. (The scale is a bit off the gatehouse should be bigger)
Neither the watch towers along the wall or the guard house are permanently manned since the Keep is so well protected anyway.
The gatehouse has enough room for about ten people to live there if they run out of space in the Keep.
The training ring is set up between the gatehouse and the keep itself, I headcanon there's some kind of assault course (because why not)
The artificer workshops and smithy are on the east side.
Working off the assumption they have real horses (other mounts are available) there are stables on the West side of the keep and paddocks to the North.
On the East side of the keep there's a garden used for growing food and potion ingredients, a section of it is purely ornamental.
The keep itself has circular towers at each corner, and a central courtyard with a fountain. The SW tower holds the aviary, the NW tower is the Wizard Tower (library, labs, medical wards etc). The Council Chambers are in the SE corner of the keep.
There's a tunnel from the SE tower of the keep (only accessible from the Council Chambers) that brings you to the steps on the outer edge of the island that lead to the dungeon. The steps can also be accessed through the watch tower on the south end of the garden, this door is kept locked. The outer door and steps are disguised with illusions to make them impossible to see if you aren't standing on them.
Morning yoga and meditation classes are held in the keep's central courtyard
#long post#elysium keep#venture maidens fate#venture maidens#venture maidens podcast#wonky ass drawing for you#venture maidens meta
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do you have a favorite piece of venture maidens fanart you've drawn???
This is a great question! Honestly, I've been wanting to make a environmental piece with whimsy, food, and fashion, for like.. 2 years? when thats done it will probably be my favorite piece LMAO but for the time being? let me go through my venture maidens folder
read more break because im going to be going on and on
This applies to most aspects of my life, but I don't really have a top "favorite" thing in most areas! I mean, Madoka Magica Rebellion is my favorite movie (very closely rivaled by Coraline), but that's an outlier. In every other case, I have a collection of my favorites with one coming out on top depending on how I'm feeling that day.
It's also influenced by eras, I think. I don't want to compare my most recent art to my venture maiden 2020 art, because I've improved and will prefer my newer style. However, there's still a sense of nostalgia and homeliness to some of my old art that can bring it above the rest, you know?
Going through my venture maiden campaign 1 folder, here's probably my favorites:
These two are from 9/3/20 ("sawYEAH.png") and 11/23/22 ("arent you tired of being nice.png"). I think Sawyeh's relatively simple design has always lend itself well to gesture drawing, especially with the relatively simple silhouette shape. Theyre just fun :) I like them a lot.
I don't know if I'd rank a lot of my campaign 1 art among my favorites, not because I think less of the campaign but because a lot of that time period was me feeling my way into an art style. I see it as the time period after I started feeling confident in my art, but before I kind of became the "unique facial features and color jitter" artist.
For fun (and food), here's some of my unposted campaign 1 stuff.
10/23/20 and 10/27/20 (gidget and vlad, back when i was drawing in paint tool sai!)
1/2/21, 1/5/21, 6/18/21 || 1/6/21 (put out of order because i like this image composition more).
Here's some 2020 (and 2019, apparently?) photoshop files! I like some more than others. None of them have previews since they're photoshop files, so I'm opening them blind in krita. Note the layers/colors may seem off, it's probably because the clipping masks and editing layers break between programs.
8/12/19, 8/21/20, 8/31/20 || 9/5/20 || 10/23/20, 10/23/20, 10/28/20 || 11/4/20
From 10/21/20, technically in 2020 but close to 2021. I think it's unique because it starts to show a shift to more.. unique concepts, I guess? It was of a water elemental who uses an ice mask to mimic having a face. It's cool, I should revisit it.
3/17/21, 3/18/21
I think that's pretty much it for the art while campaign 1 was going on. Here's some post-campaign 1 stuff from 2023 that maybeee got put on the discord?
8/16/23, 8/25/23.
GREAT now I'm moving on to campaign 2.
My favorite? My favorite piece of artwork so far? It's of a one-off npc, the garlic princess. I was studying old strawberry shortcake designs for her. It was a lot of fun.
9/10/23
My other favorites? Probably any art of Tandy
1/2/23 || 1/2/23
I also really enjoy these unfinished sketches: the first being a wildes-influenced lu, inspired by butterflies and gemstones; the second being Toni and a Wyrd sister ("thats no angel.png"); the third being halloween outfit designs; and the fourth being aoife and toni going clubbing in the wildes;
7/11/21, 10/11/22, 9/2/23 || 1/26/24
As for unposted sketches? Oh boy, I've got a lot more for this campaign. So much that I have reached the image limit per post, whoops. I'll add them in a reblog.
#sketchmre answers#the venture maidens#venture maidens#the venture maidens campaign 2#the venture maidens campaign 1#idk what else to tag this as#enjoy your food anon i havent cracked a lot of these files open in months or years#my art
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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Venture Maidens (Podcast) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Chadra (The Venture Maidens) Additional Tags: Character Study, Fate Campaign (Venture Maidens), mention of canon character death Summary:
The death of Matron Mother Arafel was a tragedy that could only lead to war. Chadra didn't particularly want war, but the Matriarch's Council back home would likely brand her a traitor if she didn't at least make overtures. So she was making overtures.
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(Second half of this ask from @fey-changeling)
Venture Maidens Ship Headcanons (one for each of my ships):
Arrnodel/Aaron: I like to headcanon Arrnodel as acespec, specifically demisexual (largely influenced by mild spite towards an offhand comment that Brittany made in one of the Q&A's from early on in Fate), and I think that that colours their relationship very heavily. Between her overall lack of experience, her only just now realizing that she can, in fact, experience sexual attraction, and Aaron being pulled between his love for Arrnodel and his loyalty to Mila and Rem, it's not surprising that their relationship got rocky towards the end of the campaign, though I like to think they end up working things out eventually (yes I am once again ignoring the legacy games 💙.)
Kara/Gidget: Chrysanthemums. Ever since the first date way back when, when Kara brought Gidget that bouquet of mums, I can't help but associate them with the flowers (and hey, you read Two Months, you already knew that, I wasn't subtle about it lol). In the language of flowers, they symbolize love, loyalty, and longevity, and I think that's really fitting for them. Kara has a mums-patterned shirt, Gidget makes Kara a bouquet of metal mums, Gidget's favourite perfume is chrysanthemum scented, etc etc.
(bonus Glitchhilde headcanon: you know that post about "rubber duck debugging"? Kara is Gidget's rubber duck.)
Fera/Chess: okay, so sneak preview for Two Weeks, but given that Chess is a demi-deity, I think we as fanfic authors get to break all the rules and let them do whatever the hell we (and they) want. Specifically, they can kinda... communicate telepathically/slightly share a body with Fera, even across long distances? If that makes sense? They can slip a little bit of their immortal consciousness alongside hers, since they're basically her patron, and whatever she sees, they can see, and whatever she feels, they can feel. This, of course, leads to some very fun and kinky sexual experiments. How strongly does Chess feel what Fera does? Do they feel it in their own body, or is their some kind of disconnect? Does the connection go both ways? Can Chess open up the connection a little bit more and (consensually) control Fera during these encounters? They have a lot of fun figuring it out.
Rem/Isolde: God, I'm not even sure what headcanons I have for them that you haven't given me... let me think............ actually, kind of inspired by you anyways, but since Isolde is connected to the Sisters of Sorrow (weavers), I think it would be cool if she was also a crafter - knitting being the obvious choice, but also a seamstress who creates her own dresses, too. I think she'd always wanted to use Rem as a muse/mannequin for some of her dresses, but wasn't able to until Rem ended up in her Wood Elf body (due to being gremlin sized™). After the gods fall and the two of them aren't the main leaders of the Sisters/Furies anymore, they'd have a lot more time to get to indulge in their hobbies, and Isolde gets to dress Rem up all pretty and then make a mess of her later ❤️🤍🖤.
Valerius/Dee: Okay first of all, not a headcanon, but I just want to yell about how much I appreciate their relationship. Valerius is quite overtly flamboyant, in a way that could easily be read as queer, and it's so rare to find m/f relationships where the man is a flamboyant guy but still genuinely attracted to women (rather than just a closeted gay man), and that the woman is genuinely attracted to that flamboyance. They just feel like everyone's cool queer aunt & uncle and I love it. As far as headcanons go, I think that Valerius is quite fastidious about his appearance and hates to (literally) get his claws dirty, but he'll always make an exception for helping Dee out in the kitchen. I think they're also both quite good with kids, and any time that the Sisters/Furies end up taking in any children, the two of them end up being the de facto caretakers (again, cool queer aunt & uncle).
Bonus: literally just this post. ship them with me 🥺.
#thank you so much for the wonderful ask! i kinda fell into a rut re: writing so it's been nice to flex those muscles a little bit again#kc speaks#kc answers#Venture Maidens#meta#fanfic#VM 1#VM Fate#Arrnodel Ithil#Aaron Shadewalker#Aarondel#Kara Brynehilde#Gidget Glitch#Glitchhilde#Fera Velen#Chess#Chera#Rem#Isolde Tristane#Remsolde#Valerius Ponterius
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for a show that's fundamentally about family it's weird that we've never heard even a passing mention of Pete White or Dr. Mrs. The Monarch's families. Like we saw Sheila's wedding and her family wasn't there, and you can't tell me Rose hasn't asked Pete about his mother at least once. We know more about Brock Samson's family than theirs. Hell we know more about Underbite's family than theirs
#the venture bros#vbros#pete white#dr mrs the monarch#dr girlfriend#it's weird that we also don't know sheila's maiden name but that's a little less weird considering we don't even know the alchemist's#or shore leave's#what if there was an ep where pete's parents were coming to visit#and he's desperately like 'billy we have to come clean before they get here i cannot let my parents think i'm in gay love with you'#and billy flat out refuses#and they wind up having a comedic dinner with both their parents and they're both trying to pull their relationship in different directions#and the Whites are like uh wtf is going on pete#and Rose being Rose is just like oh haha that's my boys they're always so goofy#and of course in the end they're still fighting but pete's parents are ilke oh yeah okay they're 100% in a relationship#but pete is too distracted by his argument with billy to notice he's lost#anyways
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#roomerang#mephistopheles#fate grand order#suiseiseki#rozen maiden#jackbox#isat#in stars and time#bonnie isat#billy quizboy#venture bros#da stamps#deviantart stamps#stamp#homestuck#hs#terezi#terezi pyrope#request
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The immense desire to gush over Azura x Arthur Fanart VS the incredible lack of said fanart. Life is pain.
#fire emblem#fire emblem fates#fire emblem fates conquest#azura#arthur#azura fire emblem#arthur fire emblem#there's so much I could rant about this ship#the idea of an ideal hero and a maiden locked away by an evil king#the fact that both inspired the other to believe that things could be better#arthur being inspired to be the hero he is now because he met someone who needed to be saved more than ever#azura getting a fleeting moment of happiness from her torment from one of the first people to genuinely show her kindness#the knight and maiden reuniting not with one rescuing the other but rather by chance as they both venture out to be heroes and save others#just like they saved each other when they were kids#GOD I LOVE THIS SHIP#I NEED INJECTED IN MY VEINS
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I've realized I've been the crone phase much of my spiritual life, I set the intention instantly cemented it in I going back to wise maiden witchhood.
90's anime witch aesthetic🔮💀🕯️🧹✨
#my edits#90s#90s anime#90s anime witch#anime witch#anime witches#witches#witchy#twitchy witchy girl#venture maidens
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Cold weather clothes (based off doodles from legacy game 2), jan 2025
Rem is wearing a heavy black wool cloak, she has earmuffs that can slide over her ears in a pocket (I forgot about them)
Mila is wearing a liripipe hood with cat ears, and a long fleece-lined cloak in lavender and cream.
Sawyeh is wearing a red sheepskin coat based on a Mongolian deel, tied with a yellow sash, the sleeves are long enough to cover her hands, and she's wearing a fleece trimmed hat.
Arrnodel is wearing a flowing black cloak with a downy almost feathery trim, and a matching shawl held together by a raven head brooch.
Kara is wearing a somewhat patchwork shaggy fur coat all in different shades of brown, large mittens, and a scruffy fur hat.
Fera is wearing a sleek black and white fur coat, with a white fur shawl and hat, and star shaped sunglasses.
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Legacy game 3 is happening THEY'RE GONNA FIGHT TWO DRAGONS
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princess burgundy, garlic fey of the blossom court
#the venture maidens#venture maidens#dnd#dnd art#fey#idk what else to tag this with#my art#80s strawberry shortcake core#like DIRECTLY inspired
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I've been meaning to post this for months
bloodied weapon eternally raised (382 words) Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Venture Maidens (Podcast) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Rem (The Venture Maidens) Additional Tags: Pre-Canon, Mentioned The Children of Rem (The Venture Maidens), Character Study, Ish? I have no idea what to tag this Summary:
She could never be free while he lived.
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Do you have any headcanons about your favourite venture maidens ships or characters that you'll never let go of?
I always love getting VM asks from you, even when it's been long enough since I've watched Fate that I'm a bit fuzzy on the details 💜💜💜. (That means that if canon contradicts any of these headcanons, I genuinely don't remember, so therefore no it doesn't 💙.)
I'm sure I've made it clear by now that Sawyeh Noor is my most favouritest gorl, so I'll stick with her for the character headcanons, but I'll jump around a bit for the ship headcanons. (Now that I've finished typing this out, this got way longer than expected so I'll be putting the ship headcanons in their own post.)
Character Sawyeh headcanons:
I like to think that with Sawyeh's background growing up in the monastery, she developed a unique perspective on community that the other Maidens don't necessarily have - every member of the monastery would need to contribute to the upkeep and care of not just the building(s) and grounds, but the other people within it as well. This does come through a fair bit throughout the campaign, most notably post-Bastard's Breach and her consistent commitment to helping rebuild and train and help anyone in the Sisters of Sorrow that she can, but she's also just like that in her day to day life, to the point of occasionally being almost naggy towards the other Maidens to clean up after themselves or to keep their gear repaired and stuff like that.
I also think she would have learned how to cook while in the monastery (part of taking care of the people and not just the place is making sure everyone is fed), and I think she'd both be quite good at and genuinely love cooking, and find the process almost meditative.
Alistar Fritz Patrick occasionally joins her during her early morning yoga sessions - instead of cat yoga, it's pseudodragon yoga!
As a Way of the Four Elements monk, she obviously ends up having a connection to the elements, but I find it interesting which elements she ends up gravitating towards. She starts the campaign using fire the most, and then uses it and water (bc of her connection to Olhydra/Persana) fairly evenly throughout the campaign. She also uses air a decent amount, and that connection gets stronger once she gets her dragonfly wings...
...but she doesn't use earth all that much, if at all. Which I think is incredibly fitting for her, as a big part of her motivation in leaving the monastery was her desire to travel and experience new things - and if A:TLA taught us anything, that freedom and curiosity is essentially the opposite of earth as an element. I think she genuinely struggles with that kind of rooted-ness.
Building off of both of the above, I like connecting her to Ranna and Chidi once she starts studying from/training with the Carillons, and as such, she has someone who has influenced her life that is directly connected to one of the elements: her mother Maheen is water, her father Aram is fire, Ranna is air (bc air genasi), and Chidi is earth (bc of The Tree).
We already know that she's a big tea-drinker and avoids alcohol (I am considering late-campaign Sawyeh drinking an exception to the rule due to. y'know. the potential unravelling of the fabric of reality), but since I am also a big tea drinker, I have Thoughts. and by that I mean I am projecting my own taste in tea on Sawyeh.
She tends to favour black teas, but also really enjoys rooibos and herbal (especially anything with ginger or chamomile), and doesn't particularly like green teas. Properly brewed masala chai is her absolute favourite, and when she was growing up it was a treat for special occasions.
I know that Naseem is Iranian-American, and I know that Sawyeh Noor and Maheen and Aram are all Arabic names (or at least from neighbouring regions/languages), but in the very first stream that the Venture Maidens made on their channel, Naseem describes Sawyeh as Filipino, and that idea has stuck with me since then. However, I am Incredibly White and know next to nothing about Filipino culture - but I can definitely look up traditional & popular Filipino food, tie that back into my earlier headcanon about Sawyeh and cooking, and say that her favourite food is tinolang manok.
Also she can fucking DESTROY some minatamis na saging and lumpiang saging.
In the time-honoured tradition of the one ace/aroace friend in the group, she's somehow the person all the rest of the Maidens come to for relationship advice. Maybe she just seems wise beyond her years. Maybe she's able to keep a clearer, more rational viewpoint that isn't distracted by attraction. Maybe she's just the least likely to deliberately give them bad advice as a joke. Who knows.
(It's all three.)
As I said in the tags on one of your art posts that I reblogged, I love the idea of Sawyeh and Persana ending up as queerplatonic partners. I'm always a sucker for ships where one half is human or essentially human-like, and the other is just so inherently alien that their relationship fundamentally can't be put into the typical framework that we usually put relationships in.
Also that one scene from The Shape of Water. You know the one.
#kc speaks#kc answers#Venture Maidens#meta#fanfic#VM 1#VM Fate#Sawyeh Noor#Alistar Fritz Patrick#Persana#Persawyeh#also maybe a weird time to ask this question but is there a particular way you want me to refer to you?#bc i called you Sketchy in the tags of another post but it feels weird to use that when you're on a blog other than sketchy-fey
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𝐬𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡, 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞.
┊ count orlok x fem!reader.
✠⠀༷ ゜ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: intended to be a sacrifice for the strigoi haunting your village, your escape brings you face-to-face with death incarnate.
read part 2 here.
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5.4K.
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut, dubious consent (mild hypnosis/dreamlike state), loss of virginity, monsterfucking, vampire antics (scent kink, bloodplay), stockholm syndrome, mild title kink (heavy use of my lord), shadow sex/fingering, female masturbation, voyeurism, extreme possessive/obsessive behavior.
𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: this is arguably the most enjoyment I’ve had writing a fic in a long time. I really hope that you love it as much as I loved writing it! any support is greatly appreciated! I would absolutely love to write more Count Orlok after this, for sure!
ICE-LADEN GALES NIPPED AT BARE FLESH, LIKE THE COLD PRICK OF A KNIFE — ONLY TENFOLD. ROPE CHAFED RAGGED AGAINST SOFT SKIN, AND YOUR FEET SEEMED TO CARRY YOU FAR AWAY, INTO THE DESOLATE HILLSIDES OF TRANSYLVANIA.
A sacrifice — a sweet, mourning lamb, given to the butcher, bound together to keep the darkness from devouring your village. That was what you were, some pious creature to be torn apart by a wolf that prowled through shadow.
Only the cruor of a virgin would expunge the evil that lay within the mountains, your blood, offered to the devil.
Many girls had come before you, maidens that willingly succumbed to their fate, screams snuffed out with the trees as their witness. There was not an ounce of subservience within you, no desire to meet your end alone, to become another notch on the post.
Tears stained your cheeks, liquid salt chilled as it settled upon your features, now steeped in dirt as you stumbled through forested wilderness. Winters were dangerous — the biting ice gnawed at your bones, threatening to rip away your extremities.
Before your fellow villagers could put you to the blade, you fled — naked, bitten by frost, alone with only monsters to nip at your heels.
Their desperate cries echoed into the night, the sound of begging — pleading to be spared without their tribute. Groomed to become an inevitable feast for the creature that tormented your village, you could no longer sit idly by and wait to die.
Beneath your breast, your heart clenched, pounding like that of a drum as it howled within your ears. The whiplike scratch of the wind raked across your body, leaving you heaving, fighting against encroaching exhaustion.
In the distance, torchlight grew dim — those who knew of Nosferatu did not dare venture into the woods or the nearby mountainside. Strands of garlic and crucifixes shrouded the borders of your village, superstitions workings to keep the creature at-bay.
Twigs and undergrowth beneath the snow scraped across your feet as you continued to blindly stumble through the forest, emerging onto the other side, where the bridge rested. Beside it, an obelisk — holy relics, strands of garlic, a sign.
‘TURN BACK, OR MEET DEATH’, it read, the script having weathered with the passage of time. The bridge led to a winding path, a path that could only lead to your inevitable demise. Blood began to ooze from your soles, flesh agitated, lips becoming chapped by the wind.
The Carpathian Mountains stood vigil, an impenetrable wall of ancient rock that kept you from the castle that lay between snow-laden peaks. Wisps of snow fluttered from dusky skies, illuminated only by silvery slats of moonlight.
A haze surrounded your vision — exhaustion coupled with the inevitable shroud of frostbite, and yet, something propelled your forward. Respite awaited you in the form of cold earth and maggots if you continued, the spectre of death hovering above you.
With weak steps, you crossed the bridge, hands still bound together, rope having ripped away at the velvety flesh around your wrists. Shadows became listless, alive, as if something moved within the forest, and still, you wandered forth.
There were worse creatures than wolves and bears in the forests, mere fodder to something archaic, an ancient evil feared by your village for decades. Old maids whispered tales of the Castle Orava, home to a den of monsters considered to be servants of the devil, a harbinger of hell.
Foul magic was at-work, they claimed — and yet, you felt drawn for reasons unexplainable. It was as if you were being lured into open waters, dark and treacherous, as black as a bottomless pit. Despite the heaviness of your body, you carried on, bare and blistered.
The path became even, a seemingly-endless stretch of black woodland that broke away to reveal a gate, as ancient as the landscape itself. Even through your blurred vision, shapes danced within darkness, as if they were grinning.
A wheeze of exhaustion bubbled up within your throat, parched and hoarse, flesh beginning to submit to the earth below. You could not recall when you had fallen, crawling toward the gate as if it would be your salvation.
Hoofbeats crackled against the dirt, a distant dream, like the wisp of a memory that soon dissipated — only, it was reality.
Before your body gave way to the blissful kiss of death, a shadow approached, casting its oppressive hand across you. It was veiled by darkness, a presence most enigmatic, something that you hadn’t experienced before.
Nails as sharp as talons ghosted above your satiny flesh, now marred by bruises and by nature’s cruel sting. Your breathing became shallow, strained by a sudden wave of nauseating terror as this shadow swallowed you whole, blanketing you in what you believed to be eternal darkness.
Oh, how you longed for it — for death’s final caress.
Dreams muddled themselves with waking nightmares — and you were trapped, the lamb screaming in the woods, unable to run free. It was the same stretch of dark forest, eyes following you from penumbra, a gloom so dour and terrifying that it rattled your spine.
Running, running, running — it was all you could remember, falling to your knees in the chilled earth, stone biting at your flesh, bones begging for rest. The gleam of torchlight and the shimmer of the blade still haunted you, the executioner preparing to give your blood to protect your village.
In the howl of your terror, the wood seemed to close in around you, like a wrought-iron cage, its thorns drawing blood from your ragged skin. You wanted to scream, to cry out, beg for a savior — and yet, no sound emerged, only ash.
There, in the endless obscurity of a long night, was he — the creature.
Claws that extended from ashen digits reached for you, took hold, and you felt his grasp close in around your throat. No pleas of mercy escaped your tongue, now turned to stone. Death was what you expected in the maw of this shadow — and it never came.
Its hands did not squeeze, with no intent to snuff the air from your lungs. It wasn’t the hold of one desiring death, like that of strangulation, but the embrace of lust. It was unfamiliar — cold, exhilarating, unyielding — and yet, you never wanted anything more.
No visage ever emerged, only the sheen of crimson-stained fangs that sought your breast, the stench of something foul permeating your surroundings. There was no pain — his bite was akin to the caress of a lover, lacking maliciousness, lacking the gnash and tear of a predator.
Hunger — you could feel it burning like an open flame within your throat, his famine. A creature that starved, with an appetite so unorthodox that it was your blood he craved.
With a strangled gasp, you awoke.
Woodlands were exchanged for the frigid, stone interior of an ancient castle, fixtures remarkably old, possessing macabre decor. Your gaze flickered to the ghoulish countenance of a gargoyle hanging above a roaring hearth, heart nearly leaping from your chest.
Whatever dream you awoke from, you could not discern it from reality, a thought that frightened you to no end. Surrounded by the thick, cured hide of a grizzly, you found yourself bare, still lacking a scrap of clothing. The hide was large enough to preserve your modesty, if you had any left.
The rope that had shackled your wrists together was no more, nonexistent — only raw wounds remained. This castle was cursed, a place of horrors beyond your imagination; you could not explain the semblance of reprieve that you felt.
Licks of comforting heat soothed your icy bones, the simmering fire bringing you a semblance of peace, no matter how threadbare. This newfound environment seemed haunted, decrepit — the furnishings were covered in a layer of dust.
It was luxurious, fixtures fit for that of nobility, a lifestyle that eclipsed your own existence back in the village. Now, you belonged to nothing, with no home to return to. Your traitorous actions would be met with punishment, if you were to return.
The floor beneath you was crafted of stone, covered in a layer of dust. Tangles of cobwebs stretched across the mantle above the hearth, roused only by the ghost of a draft that fluttered throughout the room.
Beside the hearth, sat a tub — the gold had tarnished, making it appear dilapidated, as if it were weathered by the elements. Steam rose from the water inside, as still as a silent pond.
A soft groan escaped you, body wracked with the frigid sting of agony, one that made your stomach turn as you approached the bath. It was unusual, the placement — your desire for cleanliness outweighed your skepticism.
Wobbling legs trembled like leaves upon a windswept branch as you sank into steaming water, causing you to hiss at the intrusion against your wounds. The heat did wonders, offering relief from the stab of ice, from the cruelty of the Carpathian cliffsides.
It was still dusk, the hour of the bat, a night that left you with a constant presence of dread. The creature, the man you saw — his shadow had not left you, as if pieces still lingered within your heart as you scrubbed yourself free of grime.
The groan of withered hinges gave way to the weight of the cast-iron doors, adorned with the heads of snarling hounds. Light pooled in from the crack in the door, causing gooseflesh to rake along your spine, followed by a shiver.
Something pulled you — like a puppeteer orchestrating a show, strings that bound you to some medieval presence beyond the doors. The flames within the hearth began to flicker, their light diminishing, waning to little more than smoldering embers.
Fear took root within your heart, its tendrils seizing within you, filling you with a wave of disquiet. Despite the warmth of the water, your flesh screams with an icy chill, throat growing thick as you reached for the bear’s hide.
Shame rippled through you, still bare and exposed beneath the mountain of fur. Firelight illuminated the next room, far more vast than the one you awoke in. Shuffling forward, you grasped at the edge of the door, benumbed iron firm beneath your palm.
A dining hall stretched before you, an ornate table lined with tall chairs that were made from the finest of pelts, yet worn by time. In another lifetime, this castle might’ve been beautiful — instead, it was a mausoleum of the damned.
An ornate candelabra sat atop the table, wisps of smoke drifting from extinguished wicks. A sizable pitcher sat beside a pair of wine glasses, glass contained within some metallic design that twisted around the base.
Two chairs had faced the roaring fireplace, a hearth that dwarfed the size of the one in your quarters. Your footsteps were feather-light as you crossed the threshold, carrying yourself closer to the table.
“Hello?” Whispers to an empty room stirred something within the shadows, accompanied by the garish bark of hounds. Icy dread coalesced within the pit of your stomach as you looked around, fearful of your intrusion.
A door opposite of you opened, moved by a nameless shadow, whose frame eclipsed all slivers of light — an ominous void, as black as pitch. Two hounds snarled at the spectre’s heels, leering through the corridor’s darkness.
Strigoi — the revenant of pestilence, now standing before you. You should’ve been terrified, thrown yourself at its mercy, but instead, you remained petrified where you stood.
For the briefest of moments, your eyes fluttered, and the shadow no longer occupied the space within the hallway. The door slammed shut, the thunderous crack of iron reverberating throughout the room.
The hounds paced forth, growling at you as they settled somewhere along the fringes, laying down alongside scaling stone columns. You swallowed the growing lump within your throat, chewing at the inside of your cheek.
Flames shuddered in the wake of an archaic presence, akin to an icy gale, and with it, the aura of something horribly foreboding. The shadow appeared at the head of the table, each ragged breath evoking a low, guttural growl.
“Sit.”
It was inhuman, his voice — akin to thunder shaking the mountains, like the roll of a dark tide, dragging sailors into its unforgiving seas. He spoke your native tongue, Dacian, and yet it sounded harsher from his lips, wrought with blades.
Through pools of dim firelight, you caught a glimpse of his visage — sharp and pointed, stone-faced and garish. His features, whilst gaunt, possessed all of the markings of a nobleman, attire bearing sigils of royalty, crafted of fine pelts.
With trembling hands, you lowered yourself into your seat, shrouded by the warmth of the grizzly’s hide, ensuring that you were concealed from his view. That pang of hunger you felt in your dream, a ravenous appetite — you could feel it again.
The plate placed before you is nothing more than a generous portion of bread, somewhat stale from constant exposure to acrid air. Your stomach gnashes with hunger, the sting of starvation — you dared not touch it.
“Eat,” His command reverberates throughout the hall, enough to cause a wave of gooseflesh to permeate your skin, dancing along your spine. “Thou shall refer to me as thy lordship.” You had not yet extended your gratitude — he must’ve plucked you from the snow.
Without an ounce of hesitation, your teeth greedily sank into bread, pulling it apart with the fervor of some wild animal. You were not a noblewoman, nor a maiden with any title or dowry — merely the daughter of a carpenter.
“My Lord,” What did one say to a creature that once terrorized your home, to a myth now manifested into flesh? “I — I must thank you, for your hospitality.” Reduced to a mere shrew in his presence, you chewed whatever piece of bread lingered in your mouth.
It was you, his lamb — intended to be his sacrifice, his sated hunger, sparing your village from the terror of his curse.
Another snarl emerged from him, accompanied by each rasp of his breathing, a noise that perplexed you to no end. Strigoi were dangerous — servants of hell itself, creatures born of dark sorcery, ones that had no place in the natural world.
Akin to a mere wisp of shadow, he manifested at your side, pouring a goblet of wine for you, the liquid a dusky crimson. Your gaze never dared to look him in the eyes, feeling the ghost of his finger dance across your cheek.
Such warmth, such feebleness — the beating of your heart only seemed to race with a pang of exhilaration. His flesh was akin to an endless winter, as cold as ice, like roughened leather, decaying beneath the earth.
“Drink.”
Your lips had not tasted wine as lavish as the chalice he presented you with, and it felt saccharine upon your tongue. Greed consumed you, prompting you to drink as if it were your lifeblood.
Long had this castle stood, many centuries of history contained within walls as old as time. A Count, a nobleman he had been in life, a black sorcerer. You, this enchantress, maiden of nothing — you would be his bride, his obsession, his unmaker.
From the rotten gloom of his fortress, he had preyed upon your village for years — years spent in-fear of this serpent, feeding upon the young and old. Blood was blood, and it did not matter the age, so long as his appetite was satiated.
“What do you intend for me?” Your voice was little more than a trembling mewl, expecting to be submitted to dark magics or something far worse. A low grunt stirred within his throat, nail dragging along the curve of your jaw.
With great restraint, his hand recoiled, leaving your warmth as he considered your inquiry in silence. You were intended for him — not as a sacrifice, but as something more, if you were willing.
Centuries spent in his eternal tomb, centuries spent waiting for you — Orlok had crossed oceans of time, wading through endless night to find you.
“Thou must rest — no blade shall find you here.” He rumbled, looming like some dark cloud above your head. It was your scent that drove him to madness, drowned within the concoction of oils placed into the bath. It was a scent he would covet fervently.
A hitch formed within your throat, and your terror had diminished, but only enough to keep you from shaking with dread. You did not understand what he wanted from you, why he did not tear you limb from limb, the fate that had befallen many of your kin.
No blade that wasn’t his own, you pondered, chewing at the inside of your cheek until the flesh was raw. Blood coalesced, sanguine drops attracting the sudden, sharp ire of your host, whose black eyes glittered with bewilderment.
“My Lord, I — I do not understand …” Uncertainty began to permeate your tone, cadence wrought with a newfound fright. Your blood ran cold, heart leaping into your throat as your chest tightened with a great and terrible worry.
“Rest.” His growl ripped through him, reverberating from his chest like the snarl of a feral beast. You skittered from the chair, still swathed in bearskin as you retreated to the room you came from.
Perhaps, he had mistaken your fear as something ungrateful. He had not slaughtered you yet, making you an unwitting guest within his home — you should’ve been offering your gratitude without protest.
The flame within the hearth had dissipated in one fell swoop, as if some storming gale had swept throughout the hall, stealing all light with it. Darkness swallowed your surroundings, and the Count had disappeared entirely, as if he had manifested into shadow.
A shudder coursed along your spine, sending you clamoring into the false comfort of your chambers. The door had shut before you, as if propelled by some unseen force, prompting you to move towards the bed behind you.
Not even the velvet curtains could offer you security, as if they were transparent, or nonexistent. You could still feel the chill of his breath against your cheek, the sensation of his claw tracing along your jaw — you should’ve been repulsed.
Instead of abhorrence, you felt a deep-seated yearning — a blistering desire that you hadn’t experienced before, a tether that anchored you to this being. You feared yourself, the amalgamation of sensations rousing within you as you crawled beneath the sheets.
Sleep would not find you — not here.
Your dreams were no longer yours, bound to him — whatever slumber you could find, you were subject to these visions, lascivious in nature. Whatever rest you could find was disjointed, interrupted by dreams so real that you were convinced of their tangibility, as if you could reach out and touch.
It was him you dreamt of, coming to you at an ungodly hour, claws raking across your bare flesh as he unraveled your sheets. The constant penumbra kept him concealed from you, and yet, you burned to see him fully.
He touched you in your dreams, appearing between your legs as you bared your soul to him, a figure so impossibly large and intimidating. It was guilt and trepidation you should’ve felt, laying with the scourge of your people, a baneful serpent.
Instead, it was euphoria — a desire to bind yourself to him, to cage yourself within his grasp. Spindly digits caressed along your body, nails ghosting above your breasts, traveling to the plane of your stomach.
Unclean — that was what you were, piety now stained in his shadow. Even that did not perturb you as you reached for him, wisps of air being stolen from your lungs as he leaned closer, teeth scraping against your sternum.
“Please,” You had begged him to continue, to bring you a pleasure that you had not yet experienced. “Do not stop.” Whatever pleas fell from your mouth had been for naught — and you awoke with sweat-slick skin and startlement.
As your eyes fluttered open, you were flustered to find the heavy warmth of arousal between your thighs, sheets tangled around your body. Embarrassment turned to frustration, throat dry as you adjusted yourself to the darkness of your chambers.
“Thine body yearns, starved for embrace,” Like the clash of thunder, his voice shook the room, emerging from the pitch surrounding you. You did not know where he was, but he was here with you — physically. “A lamb seeking the shepherd.”
An icy breeze fluttered throughout your quarters, moonlight glistening along the curtains surrounding the bed — and you saw his shadow beside you. Exposed, you drew the sheets around you, with a shame so sharp, and yet your skin gave so easily.
That familiar knot of dread bubbled within your stomach, gooseflesh crawling along your body as you wrapped your arms around you. “I feel your shadow upon me — I should not want you.” You whispered into the gloom.
A growl stirred from the strigoi, and he burrowed into your shame, settling into your bones. “Thine will is your own — it is in your nature,” He rumbled, and that was when you saw him, lingering at the foot of the bed. “Give thyself to me.”
It was your agonizing shame that kept you from crawling to him on all fours like some beast, starving for any scrap of touch. You wanted him, in your own twisted way — wanted him to shield you from your kin, to take you, to live within your ribs.
There was no life left for you in the village — the kin that amassed to put you to the blade, left in the woods for him were not your friends. Perhaps, that was what drove you all along, pushing you into his embrace.
His tendrils wrapped themselves around your mind, no thoughts left untouched, each crevice now surrendered to the Count. He could taste your burning lust, your desire to belong, to belong to him — and he craved such sentiments.
“What little life you had, now belongs to me. Give thyself, willingly — I shall satisfy this craving, and your flesh will be mine alone.”
In the slim fade of silver, you saw him — gaunt and pale, like that of an apparition. In life, he might’ve been called handsome, comely — your disgust should’ve kept you away, made you flee. You were rooted to the bed, able to meet his stare.
Hues as black as pitch, swirling with a hunger unending, an eternal appetite that demanded to be sated by you. He watched you hawkishly, his shadow descending upon you, the phantom sensation of fingers dancing across your collarbone.
Enraptured by the Count, your enticement only seemed to blossom, unfurling from your chest with a wave of want. Instead of hiding yourself from him, you sluggishly allowed the sheets to drop, breasts pebbling from the chilled air.
“I am yours — and only yours, my Lord.”
With a breathy declaration of your devotion, a snarl bubbled from his throat, a sound that sent shivers cascading down your body. Your legs untangled themselves from the sheets altogether, nakedness now exhilarating instead of humiliating.
It was as if you were eased down by some unseen presence, as clawed, shadowed hands bid you to recline into the feathered bed beneath you. The Count did not move from the foot of the frame, leering at you with an ugly obsession.
“Think only of me.”
Whatever supernatural abilities he possessed, he used them, as if you were placed back into the vision you’d had before. His tone rattles your insides, a booming timbre wrought with something dark and enigmatic.
Phantom sensations drift along your body, the touch of another foreign to you. You have used your own hand before, but this feels exhilarating, like a gale of frigid wind ghosting across your frame.
Arousal coalesces between your legs, a slick heat that oozes onto the sheets. It is your scent that vexes him so, the scent of a siren, the call of your sanguine soul.
Without a thought, your hand shyly drifts to your chest, kneading into one of your breasts. Your skin prickles when he makes a sharp, throaty growl of satisfaction. His ghostly claws rake along the supple flesh of your thighs.
A moan escapes you, one of delight as you begin to sink into his presence. For now, he is content to observe, his shadow partaking instead of his physical being — it will not be that way for long.
Soon, your flesh would join — you would become bound to him, and he to you, a union abhorred by many. He reveled at the thought of you, flesh eternal, revealing yourself to him like the unfurling petals of a flower.
No longer shrewd beneath his covetous glower, you freely touch yourself, squeaking out a myriad of sounds from your throat. “Take all of me, beloved.” You exhale, the pad of your thumb flicking across your swollen nipple.
The use of such an intimate title evokes a ragged, strained exhale from your paramour, whose obsession rages like that of a tempest. His phantom claws trace along your body, circling your unattended breast.
It kneads just as you do, sharp talons continuing to tease the pebbled bud, drawing out a mewl from your sweet lips. Gooseflesh erupts across the back of your neck, another wave of arousal flushing through your frame.
A heated ardor burned between your thighs, soon to be soothed by the ghost of gnarled digits. Spectral claws continue to revel in your velvety flesh, seeking your arousal as the shadow traces across your cunt. It makes you writhe, one hand grasping desperately at the sheets.
A strangled whimper emerges from you, back beginning to arch into his salacious embrace. He continues to watch from his place at the foot of the bed, breathing unnaturally hoarse, strained with a wanton need.
Warmth exhumes from you like the lick of an open fire, extinguishing his gravely chill. The Count’s gaze greedily consumes your contorting form, able to hear the erratic beating of your heart, your mouth torn open, his name upon your lips.
No curse had befallen you, save that of devotion.
Phantom digits find the pearl of your cunt, teasing the clutch of nerves before vigorously circling it. Your knees buckle, eyes fluttering shut as you succumbed to such unholy appetites.
“Give in to thine own desires.”
That gravelly purr coaxes you to seek your satisfaction, and you mechanically obey, as if transfixed by his voice alone. A sharp exhale splits your ribs, and the hand that once grasped the sheets soon finds its way between your legs.
An unnatural sheen permeates his black hues, one that seems appeased with your subservience. No dead heart could beat — his skeletal frame had not felt such fervor for centuries.
Again, you look to him, as if wanting him to witness your lust, fingers dancing along your swollen folds. Your digits seek to roll across your slit, eliciting a whine from you as you begin to touch yourself.
Dragging your legs against the sheets, you keep them parted, two fingers sluggishly rutting against your nethers. A phantom hand caresses along your stomach, nails raking from navel to sternum, and then to your throat.
The pressure sends a spike of adrenaline through your body, the sensation unfamiliar, but not unwelcome. You think of him in an untoward manner, unbecoming of a maiden, lascivious fantasies that make you sigh.
Ghostly caresses layer themselves across your chest, and you swear you hear him shift throughout the room, drawing closer to you. Your thumb languidly circles your pearl, teeth gnashing at your lower lip.
A throaty moan rips from your diaphragm, wrought with ecstasy as you pleasure yourself, one palm kneading at your breast. The other is spirited, ministrations laced with desire as your digits find your entrance.
His shadow is oppressive, a force that blankets itself across your body, and for a moment, you see a vision of him, crawling over your flesh. Your thoughts are molded to him, able to be toyed with — your Lord makes you see his own whims.
It became difficult to discern dreams from reality, imagining his hands roaming your form, claws sinking into your flesh, his brand. You call out to him, a whimpering plea that begs him for release.
Arousal mounts, burning heavy within the pit of your stomach as you squirm, pushing two fingers into the tight heat of your cunt. The noises are sinful, a myriad of strained moans intermingled with crass strokes of your digits.
The Count’s phantom hand continues to squeeze at your throat, nails digging into the silken flesh of your neck. A sharp exhale emerges from your lips, toes beginning to curl at the concoction of sensations assaulting your body.
You alone had grown intimately acquainted with your own body, and yet he handled you as if you had been lovers for centuries. Ghostly digits begin to toy with the pearl of your cunt, causing your muscles to twitch.
“Please,” A supplication to the shadows, wanting some release for your overwhelming pleasure. It swarms you from all around, senses invaded with his dominating presence. “My Lord, please!” Your cunt clenches around your fingers.
A growl erupts from the pitch, his gaze fixated upon you as he looms closer, hovering above your writhing frame. The scent of your cruor ensnares him like a wolf to a rabbit, and he finally moves to perch beside you.
His garb only makes him seem impossibly statuesque, hand hovering above you as his sorcery intensifies. Your back arches, feeling his shadow purse around your pearl, enough to make you fist at the sheets.
Ecstatic digits piston themselves in and out of your nethers, coated in a thin layer of slick, thighs shifting together in an attempt to relieve any ounce of friction.
Higher — you climb toward your release, chasing after it with a thinly-veiled desperation. Shadowy sensations move across your body like liquid smoke, squeezing beneath your jaw, continuing to circle around your clit.
You are temptation incarnate — his devotion to you is a powerful thing, just as yours is to him. Sharp, jagged teeth hover above your breast, and the Count succumbs to his hunger, at last.
Pain blossoms throughout your breast, and yet you hadn’t felt an ecstasy quite like this. It was blinding, white-hot as it consumed you whole, swallowing you within the abyss of lust. Teeth break flesh, tasting your cruor upon his tongue.
No drink could compare to that of your sanguine ichor, no sensation — the Count drank from your breast, a possessive snarl ripping through his chest. He bristled at the feeling of your warm palm cupping the nape of his neck.
A crescendo of moans tore through you as you approached your peak, digits continuing to dip inward, curling within your cunt. It became strained, body trembling with an onslaught of ecstasy.
Claws begin to stroke along your tresses, as if easing you into submission, coaxing forth a release that makes you scream. Your body curls toward him, cunt slick with your mess as you find your satisfaction, at last.
A warm rush of your essence soaks the sheets, the scent enough to drive your paramour to madness. It furthers his bloodlust in a way that entices you, another wheezing exhale leaving him.
A rough tongue slithers against your sternum, stained in crimson as he openly feasts from you, and you do not recoil. Your peak seems to work in-tandem with his appetite, feeling his claws ghost above your breast.
Muscles ache with spasmodic twitches, chest flourishing with the sting of agony as it spreads throughout your sternum. Instead, you invite him closer, digits stroking at the greying, decayed flesh, allowing him to sup upon you.
His gravelly voice seems to intensify within the recesses of your mind, speaking to you through a distant haze. “Thine flesh belongs to me,” He rumbles, and you hold him closer. “As this flesh belongs to thee.”
He does not touch you, leaving you with some aching void that can only be filled by him — he alone will satisfy the craving.
#slasher x reader#nosferatu#nosferatu 2024#count orlok x reader#nosferatu x reader#bill skarsgård#slasher x you#vampire x reader#vampire x human#monster fucker#count orlok x you#count orlok
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Pairing- VampireKing!Jungkook × Human!Reader
Genre- Arranged Marriage AU (Sort of?), Enemies to Lovers, Soulmate AU
Summary- Jeon Jungkook was known to be a tyrant, destroying anything and everything to get what he wanted. And this time, he wanted you.
Warnings- Mentions of blood, gore and murder scenes, eventual smut, JK is definitely a hard dom and mad possessive, vampire bites and blood sucking.
A/N- Even though I have tagged the people who asked to be tagged, there will be no taglist for this series from here on. I only tagged you guys to sort of let you know this series has started. It's a big struggle to keep all those usernames up to date so you might wanna turn on the notifs :)
Please find the introduction to the world of Amour Mort here!
You ran through the forest, tears in your eyes making it difficult to see the path ahead, but you could tell you were venturing deeper into the more dangerous side. At the back of your mind, you were very aware that you shouldn’t be here past midnight, and that if someone found you breaking curfew, you would probably be executed by the throne, thinking you were some sort of rebel revolting in the recent uprisings. But all of that paled in comparison to the despair gnawing at your soul.
The branches clawed at your skin, leaving angry red marks, but you didn’t slow down, only realizing you had come here barefoot when tiny stones began hurting the bottom of your feet. You were being chased—not by a person, but by your own thoughts and the relentless ache in your chest. Your father’s words would not stop playing in your mind, your palms pressing against your ears as you closed your eyes in an attempt to silence his voice.
"You're nothing but a burden to me. I wish you had never been born!"
Suddenly, a sharp pain seared through your right foot, sending you stumbling and falling to the ground with all the air being knocked out of your lungs. You winced, letting out a whimper as you managed to look back, gasping at the bear trap that had clamped around your foot. Its teeth dug into your flesh, and blood pooled on the dead leaves beneath you.
“No…” you cried out, sobbing at your misfortune, the pain from your wound shooting through your leg in waves. A thought came to you: maybe this is how you die, completely alone and unloved, with no one to care that you weren’t at home right now.
‘That’s not true! Lila cares…’
Your mind screamed at you, your sister’s pretty face popping into your head. Well, this was true; your sister did care about you. But really, there was only so much she could do when your father did not even acknowledge you as his daughter. You still remembered the party where a guest mistook you for a maiden working in the mansion. It had truly hurt you, but there was nothing you could say, not when that is probably what your father wanted the world to think. A part of you thinks he hates you because your mother died just five days after you were born, but how could you, a mere baby, be at fault for that?
Gathering all your energy, you began to drag yourself to a tree nearby, wincing and whimpering with every wave of pain that washed over you. You could even feel the burn on the skin of your forearms where it rubbed against the rocky and muddy ground, convinced that the sleeve of your dress was beginning to tear. Were you even going to make it back home? Did you even want to make it back home?
Upon reaching the giant tree, you pushed yourself up, managing to rest your back against the trunk, finally getting a good look at the steel trap wrapped around your foot. Meant for animals, it was likely a tool for the poorer vampires who couldn’t afford human slaves and fed on animal blood instead. It was the one law that favored humans: vampires were forbidden to feed on them freely. But nonetheless, it was always the innocent ones who had to pay the price. The night-walkers were given the gift of strength and brutality that they used against the weak, be it you or an animal.
Your chest rose and fell quickly, your breathing growing harsh, and your vision growing blurry. It was the blood loss, and you couldn’t even feel the pain anymore. Either you were getting used to it, or your body had started focusing on the fact that you were dying instead. Whatever was happening, it was not good, and you had no idea how to help yourself.
“You shouldn’t be here. Not at this time.” A voice broke through the darkness, making you jump in surprise, your eyes immediately landing on a man’s silhouette standing just a few steps away from you. Your heart hammered in your chest, and, swallowing thickly, you pressed yourself further against the tree, hoping that would make you disappear.
Was this someone who was going to turn you in? Maybe the cause of your death was going to be execution and not a bear trap?
Your silence only prompted the man to move closer to you and into the moonlight filtering through the trees, your lips parting as you took in his face. He was truly breathtaking, with black hair that fell across his forehead and eyes that seemed to pierce through the night. There was black ink peeking at you from under the collar of his black shirt on his neck, more patterns emerging from under his rolled-up sleeve right up to his knuckles, making you wonder just how much of his body was tainted like this.
“N-neither should you,” you said bravely, though your voice was small and weak.
He chuckled in response, making you purse your lips as you watched him kneel down beside you, your body subconsciously shifting backward even though there was nowhere to go, every single thought in your mind long gone in the presence of this man.
His eyes slowly moved across your body, taking in your tear-stained cheeks, your tattered dress, and your bloody foot, tutting at the condition of your wound.
“This is why you shouldn’t be here, little human,” he said, your eyes widening as you caught a hint of amusement on his face, your blood running cold at the realization. Your breath was caught in your throat, and you were suddenly very aware of the blood you were soaked in, your eyes nervously flitting between him and your poor foot. If you had to die, you didn’t want to do so at the hands of a vampire. In fact, you couldn’t even imagine the pain that was probably about to suffocate you when he ripped your heart right out of your chest.
“Please don’t kill me,” you begged, staring into his eyes with tears in yours, shaking your head when he smirked and leaned in closer to you. Closing your eyes, you let the tears fall freely and turned your face away from him, his breath fanning your neck and making you whimper.
“You must taste exquisite.” He inhaled deeply, your chest heaving as his words made your heart thump harder in your chest. This has to be it. He was going to drain your body right now, and no one was going to find out ever.
Preparing yourself for the attack, you closed your eyes shut and gripped the skirt of your dress, thinking about your family for the last time before your life was taken from you.
“But I’m not going to do that.” Came his voice, your eyes slowly opening as you glanced over at him, noticing the sudden distance he had put between the two of you. A frown etched on your forehead, your tears drying up on your cheeks as you processed his words. He was not going to hurt you?
“I’m too old to lose control over a bit of blood.” He gestured nonchalantly towards your foot, shocking you at how he thought this was just a bit of blood. You were literally going to pass out soon.
“Wh-why are you here?” you stammered, biting your tongue when his expression hardened, his eyes sending daggers your way and letting you know that you shouldn’t have asked him that. Silence engulfed you both, your eyes failing to look away from him. It was almost as if he was holding you prisoner under his gaze, a flash of guilt disappearing from his dark eyes as soon as it came.
“I had to get away before they caught up to me,” he confessed, a cool breeze ruffling his hair as he stood up and stared down at you, his eyes reading the confusion in yours.
“Who-”
“My sins,” he responded before you could even ask, his thick boots crunching the leaves on the gravelly path as he walked in front of your stretched-out leg and sat down on one knee. A flash of lightning struck through the sky at that very second, as if to show that the heavens had heard his confession too. And when the thunder illuminated his face, you could swear you had seen the very face of evil.
“Are you scared of me?” he asked, tilting his head as you swallowed thickly, shaking your head hesitantly. But you knew he didn’t believe you when he let out a small laugh. It sounded bitter to your ears, like he was mocking you for being so weak yet trying to fool him at the same time.
“Well, you should be.” In one quick motion, his hand ripped apart the trap into two pieces, your flesh being freed from the sharp claws that were jammed into it. Dots filled your vision as your lips parted in a silent scream, your chest hurting as if you were having a heart attack, and maybe you were because you felt your body go limp as your eyes rolled back into your head.
Strong arms held you before you could hit the ground, your head suddenly resting against a firm chest as your breath came out all raggedy. You could feel sweat beading on your forehead, your body not having any energy to even let you open your eyes for a second.
“W-why…” you breathed out, your voice a bare whisper in the night. And the next thing you knew, you felt a hand pressing against your lips before a metallic taste filled your mouth. With all the energy left in you, you opened your eyes wide and grabbed the tattooed arm feeding you blood, your attempts at pushing it away failing miserably.
“Sshh, you need this. You need me,” the vampire whispered above you, his chin resting atop your head as he ran his free hand through your hair. Knowing that you couldn’t fight him off, not like this, you gave up and swallowed the disgusting liquid that made your body feel warm all of a sudden. You could hear your heart pumping and your breathing steadying as the blood worked its way into your system, your senses sharpening, and your strength slowly returning.
After what felt like an eternity, he pulled his arm away, and you let out a string of coughs, gasping for air while the awful taste lingered on your tongue. It was truly ironic how the blood of someone dead could heal a living being. How a killer could give life to someone. And you were sure that this man who had saved your life was a killer too. Why else would he talk about his sins catching up to him?
“What did you do that you had to run away?” you asked as soon as you found your voice, your tired eyes glancing up at the man holding you. His eyes flitted between your eyes and your lips, sending shivers down your spine when he brought up his thumb and rubbed away some blood from the corner of your mouth.
“What’s your name?” He avoided your question smoothly, pretending you hadn’t spoken a word to him. Frowning, you thought about it for a moment, wondering whether it was a good idea to tell him who you were. But at the same time, you weren’t a very valuable human. There was really nothing he could want from you that would make him hunt you down.
“Y/N,” you said, averting your gaze to your foot, which was now void of any wounds. Your skin looked completely smooth and untouched except for the dried blood staining it, leaving you staring in awe.
“Well, Y/N,” he started, regaining your attention, “you’re gonna find out tomorrow.”
You frowned at his words, wondering if this implied that he was going to see you tomorrow to tell you what sin he had committed. Too lost in your head to notice that he had stood up, you saw him offer his hand to you. Your fingers hesitantly took hold of his cold ones. With ease, he pulled you up as you slightly lifted your dress and examined your foot, pleased with the fact that there was absolutely no pain anymore.
“This is-” You turned to glance at the man, only to be met with darkness. The vampire was gone, the forest was silent, and you were alone once again.
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