#normalize vampires with mustaches

[weary-observer]

Honestly, thank god Robert Eggers is a freak for historical accuracy cause that mustache might be the best part of the movie.

[the-bloodline-embrace]

"Or not. That's just how life is."

( @yellow-rose-embalmer )

Aesop arrives, holding himself upright as ever, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath before properly approaching. "...I think enough time has passed." He decides not to mention that it has only been a few days since the last meeting. He also chooses to ignore that he did not fully understand the instructions he was given, to wait until he'd cleared his head somewhat. What he did do, was hand over a letter, carefully folded and sealed, handwriting clearly measured, as if the words were considered before writing them down. "I believe something with as much weight as what you had given me previously warrants a proper response... take as long as you need." Once the paper is taken, Aesop folds his hands in front of him and waits.

[Eternity is a long time to wait, I more than know that. Even if I have not existed within it, it is what I have learned to deal with. I will not pretend to know your situation, I will not pretend I do not wish for you to finally rest, but... not looking for allies, yet not wanting to be alone. It is hard for me to separate friends and allies, but... I suppose someone outside of everything you have would be pleasant.

I have learned of many belief systems, but... I personally struggle to see luck as much of a factor. We have much in common, yes, but... who is to say that is entirely good? I had to pause when you described me as 'disillusioned', but... it makes sense. Regrettably. Perhaps I thought that with how little I had known you and how I had been expected to act around those of your status, everything could be taken away easily. I was also too eager to receive the title of 'friend', with how little I had heard it, even if I knew nothing of what lay within.

I do not know if my head is as clear as you would like, but... I do not wish to make you wait forever. You said eternity is too long to spend alone, after all.]

[voluptuarian]

Rating the Orloks from most to least fuckable

Now that I've watched all 3 Nosferatus and Shadow of the Vampire, its time to answer the most important question anybody could have about these films: which Count Orlok is the most fuckable??

1922: Ok, maybe I can see it. Grandpa is stunting in doorways and serving with his little outfit and we appreciate a man who can wear many hats. Also respect to an og silent film baddy.

Rating: not for me, but I'll hear you out

2024: This one's for the folks who only ever fixate on the crustiest most questionable characters possible. Like crushed on Heisenberg from Resident Evil, wants do filthy things to Grima Wormtongue folks. Pros: he's tall, I guess. The mustache is kind of charming and I will admit the brief flicker of genuine human emotion and the speeches in reconstructed quasi-Dacian are kind of compelling. Cons: the balding, peeling, scabies-riddled corpse-look and soul-deep workhouse wheeze are decidely unattractive. I can only imagine the olfactory aspects are not much better. Did look remarkably improved after eating a couple people but still. (Whether those people were friends of yours or not probably also factoring in here.) The Or-cock is respectably proportioned but has syphilitic vibes. Unclear whether the Cossack top lock should be a pro or con, so just leaving that here. I will say the whole vibe generally is still less off-putting than a number of customer service interactions I've had.

Rating: at least this is better than having to hear how fuckable Beetlejuice is again

Shadow of the Vampire: He's weird, he's ugly, he's unappealing, he owns one outfit, he drops into remiscences about his glorious youth that you aren't sure whether to believe or not, he's disturbingly obsessed with a female celebrity, he lives in a hole and comes out occasionally to Ozzy Osbourne a bat or two and clack his nasty acrylics at people like a tiktok child. This is just any normal hateful, horrifying old gay man you'd pass on the street.

Rating: No

1979: Imagine the world's most inhumanely overbred, miserable and self-pitying toy dog sits across the table from you. It glares at you with total hatred burning in its weepy red eyes, breath snuffling loudly through its stunted nasal passages. Already it relishes the prospect of your imminent death in its shriveled, malformed little heart. And then it starts licking you. That is 79 Orlok.

Rating: possibly the least fuckable vampire in history. Ew

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 83: Oliver's Leg

Prev > Masterlist

tw: leg injury, body control, mind control, abuse, ableism, murder

October 1925

Oliver was trapped in nightmares that he thought would never end. Intense pain was radiating from his right leg, and his head pounded, all while the sleeping draught pulled him down into uneasy sleep that gave no rest. At some point, a nurse was trying to rouse him, but he couldn't understand what she was saying, couldn't answer her questions before dropping back into the abyss.

Among the twisted and terrifying images that his mind conjured, he kept seeing Alexander, Alexander pleading for help, Alexander turning to dust. No matter how hard he tried to push them away, his mind kept circling back to them every time he lost his grip on his thoughts.

And in so many of those nightmares, he was falling.

By the time he became more fully aware, the sun was shining bright on his eyelids. He opened them -- mercifully, he could keep them open this time -- and found that he was in a hospital bed. Curtains separated him from what was probably beds on either side of him, and through the large window he could see trees bedecked in autumn leaves.

The relief didn't last, because the next sensation that crashed into him was pain. It was if his left leg had been dipped into a fire. Through watering eyes he looked down and saw that his left leg was entombed in a vast quantity of plaster.

What had happened?

He couldn't remember. He'd fallen in so many imaginary ways that he had no idea which one was true. The last thing he remembered clearly was arguing with Vivian over killing Alexander.

And now, he realized fearfully, the sun was up. Alexander could be dead by now.

And if he wasn't…

Any thoughts he'd had about escaping the vampires were out the window now. He wasn't going anywhere, and it probably wouldn't be long until he was found. If the worst had happened and Alexander had been killed, it would be Lily coming to collect him, or worse…

And there was nothing, absolutely nothing, that he could do about it.

He sank into his pillow, trying not to sob.

"Oh, you're awake." A young nurse pushed back the curtain. "How are you?"

Normally Oliver didn't like to complain, but he felt he had to make an exception here. "I'm in a lot of pain," he choked out.

"I'm sure you are. I'm not sure if you were aware of it, but the doctor had to do a surgical procedure on your knee to set the bone. Otherwise, we might have had to amputate," she said. "I can go fetch the doctor to talk to you, and something for the pain, too."

"Thank you." The sleeping draught must have kept him unconscious during the surgery, or perhaps he'd been given something else. Everything from the night before was such a blur of the real and imagined that he had no idea. Oliver had never had surgery before, never even been in a hospital as a patient.

"Hello, Oliver," said a man with a white coat and a silver mustache, pulling back the curtain once more. "I'm the doctor who treated you last night. Seems that you had quite a fall."

"Sorry, but I don't remember." Oliver realized his throat was parched, and he choked on the last word. The doctor kindly handed him a glass of water from a nearby table.

"As the nurse told you, you had to have surgery to set the bones in place. Hopefully, that makes it more likely that your leg will heal. However, it's still going to be a long road to recovery."

"Will I be able to walk?"

"In time, if you heal well and exercise regularly, you may be able to walk with assistance --"

"With assistance?"

"You will likely need a cane or some other aid for walking. But first, you're going to be in the hospital for some time, while we keep you in that cast. After that, the staff here can help you procure a wheelchair."

"A wheelchair," Oliver repeated, seeing his brief hope for independence go up in smoke. Trapped in the hospital, the vampires could so easily subdue him if they found him; and if he required the use of a wheelchair, if he couldn't even walk, he'd be even more at their mercy. A thrall that couldn't walk, that could be pushed anywhere they wanted him to go.

How would he even climb the stairs at Alexander's manor? Would he require Alexander to carry him up and down the stairs every day?

And what of the Maestro, who strictly punished any flaw, no matter how minor? How would he treat a severely injured thrall? Would he convince Alexander that Oliver was useless, broken? Alexander could no doubt obtain another thrall, a healthy and able-bodied thrall, if he wanted one. He didn't know what vampires did to thralls that outlived their usefulness and he didn't expect to like the answer.

"I know it's a lot to take in," said the doctor. "But let me assure you, you can lead a very full life still."

Perhaps that would be true if he hadn't ever crossed the path of a vampire. "I suppose so, doctor," he said blankly.

"Do you have any family that will be able to take care of you?"

"No," he said.

The doctor looked concerned. "I see. Well, you'll need to consider what your options will be once you're released from the hospital. There are also some charities and homes that can help you -- I can have the nurses provide you with some brochures, in case you want to get in touch."

Oliver didn't care to explain that he already knew what his only option would be. "Thanks," he said.

"By the way, the person who brought you in didn't have your last name. Can we have it for our records?"

"Pines."

"Pines," the doctor repeated.

The nurse came back, holding a small cup. "Pines, is it? Who was it that brought you in? She wasn't very forthcoming about your relationship to each other."

It must have been Vivian, he supposed. "An acquaintance."

She opened her mouth like she wanted to say something, but thought better of it. "Well, I don't want to pry," she said, even though she obviously did want to pry. "Here, I've brought you some syrup that will dull your pain. Drink it all and take some water."

Oliver drank it without a second thought, eager to have some relief from the mind-bending pain. The doctor and nurse left him, probably expecting him to sleep, and as the pain loosened, Oliver's eyelids began to droop. He had just woken up from a deep, magic-induced sleep, but he was still so exhausted.

He didn't fight the sleep. Sleeping during the day would help him stay awake at night, in the likely event that a vampire came to collect his possession.

As he drifted off to sleep, he thought of his bookshop crammed wall-to-wall with bookcases, the narrow aisles just large enough for a person, the rickety old staircase leading up to his tiny apartment. Even if he were somehow completely free from the vampires, he wouldn't be able to navigate any of that with his injured leg. He might never be able to do that again.

---

The Maestro arrived at midnight precisely.

Oliver knew this, because he was wide awake and staring at the clock, terrified of the possibility. He had been expecting Alexander earlier in the evening, assuming that if he knew where Oliver was, he would arrive shortly after sundown. Oliver far preferred that to the alternative.

But he didn't have a choice. He didn't have any choices, any more. He couldn't escape from Alexander's sire any more than he could with Alexander there ensorcelling him. So he smoothed down his hair, his hospital gown, and his blanket as much as he could, knowing that no amount of trying to make himself look presentable would make up for the enormous, glaring injury sticking out of the sheets, encased in plaster.

The room seemed to grow darker and colder as he entered. Some of the other patients in the ward had been groaning or muttering or snoring -- all of this ended immediately, and the only sounds were the ticking of the clock and the tapping of shoes on the scuffed linoleum. It felt unreal, Oliver wondering if he were still somehow trapped in the hallucinations he'd experienced the night before.

All too soon, he was there, staring at Oliver in the hospital bed with sharp, dark eyes.

"Good evening, sir," said Oliver shakily.

"It can hardly be a good evening in a place that reeks of diseased and rotting humans. Even the blood stench is foul," he said.

Oliver could feel the control wrapping around his body. He wasn't moving Oliver, or doing anything but holding him still. Just a threat, a reminder, and a promise.

The Maestro could do anything to him, absolutely anything, and no one could stop him. Not even Alexander was there to plead for mercy. Surely this ruthless vampire didn't want Alexander to have a thrall that was below his exacting standards, and a freshly made invalid was no doubt far below those standards.

It would be so easy for him to dispose of Oliver then and there, and disappear into the night. Only Alexander would mourn him, and not openly, lest he incur more of his sire's wrath. The burning, throbbing pain of his leg made it impossible for Oliver to think of anything but his own impending death.

But death didn't come. The Maestro was still standing there, observing him.

"Your master will be punished for his irresponsibility," he said, finally. "Allowing a hunter to steal one of his thralls is an utter disgrace. Still, this sort of disappointment is what I expect from Alexander."

"Yes, sir," said Oliver meekly, remembering how badly it went when he tried to defend Alexander. Alexander wasn't even here; the Maestro would certainly do as he pleased with his sireling regardless of Oliver's protests, anyway. "I'm sorry, sir."

"As well you should be. When a dog runs away, the owner is most at fault for allowing it the opportunity; but the dog must also be punished, so that it learns a lesson."

And Oliver could feel pressure on his broken leg, a deceptively subtle twisting that produced unthinkable agony. Oliver couldn't stifle his scream, couldn't keep himself from crying, until the controlling force sealed his mouth and stilled his tongue. He thought that whatever surgical measures had been put in to save his leg must surely be torn out, that any faint hope of walking again was disappearing before his eyes. The moment dragged on for what seemed like years.

Just as suddenly as the torture began, it abated.

"I trust you have enough of a reminder not to defy your master's will, even if his enthrallment was crudely torn from you."

"Yes, sir," he said, gasping from the pain.

The Maestro was staring at him as though he were lower than a bug. "You should understand that I ordinarily would never attend a thrall at such a lowly place. Nor would I care to preserve a human whose capabilities have been thus reduced. But you have a certain potential which cannot be ignored. What's more, disposing of you would likely result in Alexander obtaining a far less suitable thrall. His taste is decidedly uneven. I trust you are grateful for this mercy."

Oliver nodded, trying desperately not to cry.

His leg was twisted again. "That will be 'yes, sir'."

"Yes, sir!" he yelped, and the terrible pain was eased.

"Hmm." There seemed to be plans in those cold eyes, plans that Oliver was certain he would not enjoy. "See to it that you recover quickly."

With an artful flourish, he produced a single, perfect red rose from the inside of his coat, and handed it to a bewildered Oliver. Then, without a further word, he stalked out of the door.

Around him, Oliver could hear the stirring of the other patients. He wondered how much they'd heard.

He pulled the thin hospital blanket over his head, hiding himself from the world. He shuddered to think what the Maestro meant by his potential. He thought of Miriam, wiped of most of her memories, her mind so addled that she didn't know where she was sometimes. That was what Lily had done to her to shield her from the effects of whatever "training" the Maestro had administered. Wouldn't Alexander have the same thing done to him? And what would happen to him first, to make that treatment necessary?

Reasonably confident that the vampire was gone, Oliver tossed the rose onto the floor and out of his sight, pricking his finger on a thorn in the process. His leg throbbed, still in agony, as his mind churned in terror. He had been a fool to even consider that he might be able to gain his freedom. Perhaps it would have been better if the Maestro had deemed him useless and disposed of him.

Oliver assumed he would never be able to get to sleep after that, but at some point he must have, because he opened his eyes to a terrified shriek. The patients all turned to the door to the hall, and the more able-bodied ones were getting up from their beds to take a look. "There's nothing to see," said a nurse, blocking the doorway. "Get back to your beds."

"Is she dead?" a woman cried out, looking over the nurse's shoulder.

"It'll be a matter for the police. Back to your beds!" The nurse was joined by a janitor, who successfully herded the patients back and closed the door.

"What did you see?" The patients crowded the woman who had caught a glimpse.

"There was a woman, dead, bent over the desk. Her neck was all bloody, like someone slit her throat."

"It was one of the night nurses," said another patient. "Betsy, her name was."

As the group of patients near the door murmured in horror, Oliver shrank into his bed, wishing it would swallow him whole. A nurse dead of a neck wound, on the same night the Maestro had come to pay his visit. That wasn't a coincidence. That was a warning, a show of power. A demonstration that Oliver couldn't run and hide, not without leaving a trail of innocent bodies behind him.

He had known deep in his gut that something like this would happen if he tried to escape. Vivian was probably dead as well, and maybe even the rest of the people at the safe house, including Emily. Dead because Oliver, who had never been wanted by anyone, now had the most desirable blood in the city.

And what could Oliver do? He didn't want to go back, he didn't want to face any further punishment the Maestro had in store for him. But he was helpless with his shattered leg, and even if he wasn't, where would he go where the Maestro couldn't find him?

The only one who might be able to help him now was Alexander, the root cause of the problem, and Oliver knew he'd be seeing him soon.

Prev > Masterlist

Next week: Alexander is turned.

Thanks for reading!

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin

@whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist

@vampiresprite @irregular-book @whumpsoda @und3ad-mutt

@sowhumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada

@typewrittenfangs @tessellated-sunl1ght @cleverinsidejoke @abirbable @ichorousambrosia

@a-formless-entity @gobbo-king @writinggremlin @the-agency-archives @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

@enigmawriteswhump @bottlecapreader @whump-on-a-string @whumpinthepot

@cinnamoncandycanes @avvail-whumps @tauntedoctopuses @secret-vampkissers-soiree @whatamidoingherehelpme

@strawbearydreams @ghost-whump @tippytappytyping @natthebatt @fire-bugg14

@fuckcapitalismasshole @slightlydisturbedbeans @paperprinxe @demetercabingreen-thumb @the-broken-pen

@pokemaniacgemini @jumpywhumpywriter @basica11ywhumped @anoontjecanush @cepheusgalaxy

@whump-me-harder @whump-till-ya-jump @the-monarch-whumperfly @ium1naryy @wumpbean

[mod-jesse]

My gift for @redwineflowers as part of the @mcytblrholidayexchange

If I knew how to write i would write such a good fanfiction about these two, i read up your concepts, masquerade ball? Fae lizzie? Partners in crime w/ a vampire Jumbo of the Mumbo? Oh thats such a good combination!

What i went with is the idea that the two of them are assassins at a masquerade ball, and they are after a specific target of theirs, an aristocratic hunter that targets the supernatural like them. I'll explain some more under the cut

The night would begin as normal, Mumbo faking his role as a butler and Lizzie as a mystery aristocrat. Deeper into the night, Lizzie would have succesfully spread rumors of there being "A Vampire Butler" to catch the attention of the hunter, describing this butler to "Have a very fashionable mustache" and a "bat-like mask". After these rumors reach the man, he asks specifically for that butler to bring him a drink, a drink that lizzie had poisoned beforehand with a slow-acting poison so he'd be able to drink other things by the time it hit him. Once Mumbo had delivered the drink, and succesfully hid his vampirism, the two of them would quickly flee the scene before any of them would realize that the aristocrat had been poisoned.

With enough time between the aristocrat drinking the poison, and them actually dying, Mumbo and Lizzie would have enough time to frame whoever brought him a drink next, succesfully escaping.

The two of them would hunt the hunters that went after those like them, and sometimes meet up with other less than trustable people that could give them favors and the like in exchange for their services. If I could write I would also do something with the idea of the watchers being a weird cult, what if the people they went after were also avid followers, so Lizzie and Mumbo ended up catching the attention of the wrong type of deities for all the wrong reasons and ended up having to fight against them? (Not necessarily a flashy physical battle, maybe simply not succumbing to hallucinations or voices that these watchers give them and so on and so forth)

I really liked working with your prompts! I really wish I had the time to make a little comic or more than one piece of art or at least written a small snippet for it. But I really hope you enjoy it!

[arzen9]

There Is a Light That Never Goes Out

Having defeated Cazador, Lamby and Astarion have a conversation back at the Elfsong.

Rating: M

Pairing: Astarion x Original Female Character

Tags: Trauma, Vampire Spawn Astarion, Vampire Ascendant Astarion, Canon Compliant, Nightmares, Spoilers, One Shot, One Shot Collection, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Other Additional Tags to be Added

One Shot, 2.1k words

“That was unexpected, I think,” Shadowheart says. Lamby shoots her a look, but she doesn’t take the hint. “I didn’t think anyone, even you, could have talked him down from sacrificing those souls.”

“Give Fangs some credit,” Karlach chimes in, and Lamby is grateful for it. “I think he wouldn’t have done it, even alone.” She puffs up her chest proudly. Shadowheart purses her lips together in a straight line.

“Where is he, by the way?”

“Upstairs.”

While Lamby, Karlach, and Shadowheart sit at a table downstairs in the Elfsong, chosen for them by Lakrissa, Astarion is upstairs. He had made his way over shortly after they returned from the Szarr Palace and told Lamby he wanted to take a bath. She had buckets of hot water sent to the shared room and gave him space. Time.

Frankly, she didn’t know how to comfort him right now. She wanted to be next to him, but would he want that? Lamby trusted that he would tell her if he wanted her close, but then again, would he be able to considering everything that went down earlier that day?

“You’re brooding,” Shadowheart observes and takes a sip from her pint, a few sizes too big for her delicate hands. “It’s unbecoming of you.”

“She’s right,” Karlach says and licks along her upper lip to remove the foamy mustache her drink gave her. “It’s normal that you’re worried about him, but wouldn’t he tell us if he needed something?”

“I can’t be so sure,” Lamby mumbles to herself. Wyll and Lae’zel slowly make their way over to their table, looking a bit worse for wear. Everybody is tired. It is evident in the way they carry themselves, the clouding in their eyes.

But all Lamby can think about is how Astarion is feeling. Does he regret not going through with the ritual to ascend? Contrary to what Karlach said, would he have done it if he was left alone to his devices? Is it her fault that he will eventually have to return to the shadows, a vampire spawn till the end of time?

She needs to stop. This isn’t about her. If anything, she feels proud of Astarion. Faced with the worst fragments of his past, surrounded by all that he wanted nothing but to run away from, he stood in that horrible place filled with the smell of blood and the promise of deliciously corrupted power and chose a different path. Thinking about it makes Lamby’s heart swell with admiration for him. He has endured unimaginable horrors and yet never lost himself in the process. How can one not be fascinated by that?

She thinks back to the night in the Shadow-Cursed Lands she spent tied up, doing her absolute best to go against her urges that yearned to tear each perfect sliver of Astarion to pieces. How gently he looked after her. How he called her cute when she was slick with sweat, reduced to a growling, salivating creature. She knew she loved him then— when Sceleritas told her what would happen that night, she knew. She was in love with Astarion.

That much has not changed. Lamby doubts it ever will.

Wyll takes a deep breath as he sits down. “We did a good thing today.”

Lae’zel nods. “Astarion is free from the shackles of his master at last. Should he not be here to celebrate?”

Lamby looks at her hands facing the ceiling on her lap. She can feel the gaze of her companions on her scalp. What can she tell them?

“Maybe later,” she finally says. “Right now, he needs some rest, I’d wager.”

A lean tiefling with magenta hair tied in a sleek ponytail approaches their table and leans toward Lamby.

“He’s asking for you,” she whispers.

Lamby looks at her, surprised. He must have told someone through the dumbwaiter. “Thanks, Lakrissa.”

She gets up to her feet so fast that the table shakes, and she puts her hand on it in an attempt to stop the shaking. She offers a shy smile to the group and turns to make her way upstairs, her steps quick and deliberate.

She would have gone upstairs to check on him regardless, because unfortunately she is impatient, worried, and stubborn. But he called for her, and she is glad.

Lamby stands before the door to their shared quarters and straightens her back. Astarion should see her strong. She has no qualms about being vulnerable with him, but right now, she needs to be strong. For him.

She knocks before opening the door slightly. “Astarion?”

He doesn’t respond to her, but Lamby can see his back. He’s standing in front of the table beside their bed (their bed, Lamby flutters). He’s holding something, but she can’t see it.

She walks over to him slowly. Like approaching a wounded animal. He wouldn’t like it, if he knew. He doesn’t like it when she treats him as if he’s made of glass. But she means well. Hells, she means well.

“Lakrissa said you called for me.”

He doesn’t turn to face her, but Lamby sees the coil in his shoulders relax slightly. He lets go of a breath he doesn’t need to be holding.

“I hope I didn’t interrupt anything downstairs,” he says, and there is no hostility in his voice. No trace of teasing.

“Of course not,” Lamby says. “We wanted to give you time.”

“I have nothing but time, it seems.” He finally turns to face Lamby, and now she can see that he has been holding his shirt all this time, the ties on the front undone. His hands are shaking.

“Can I help you with that?” She knows it’s easier if she asks.

He nods and pulls the shirt over his head. Lamby walks over to him, closer, so that she can tie it for him. They look at each other for a moment. His beautiful eyes meet hers, those red orbs that never seem to lose their shine. She catches a whiff of his signature scent— rosemary, bergamot, and brandy. It makes her smile. It’s him, no matter what.

Lamby starts with the ties of his shirt, and she is sure Astarion can hear the thump of her heart. It tends to do that, whenever she is close to him. Doesn’t have anything to do with physical attraction or desire, nor her dark urges yearning for his crimson on her skin. It’s that warmth in her chest, the worry, the fear, the happiness. The hope.

While she’s busy with the ties, he gently places his chin on the top of her head. The gesture surprises Lamby for a moment, but she pushes forward.

He knows she wants to ask him how he is. He also knows that she’s only holding back because she knows him. Better than anyone, perhaps. She knows not to ask, because even he doesn’t know how to answer that question right now.

“All that I lost today. All that I gained,” he says into her hair. “It’s all too much.”

She finishes up with the ties. “For what it’s worth, Astarion, everyone is proud of you.”

He lifts his head to look at her. “What about you?”

“Hm?”

“Are you proud of me?”

“What matters to me is that you’re happy with the decision you made.” She holds her ground. If nothing else, Lamby wants him to feel confident in his choice. Back at the ritual, when their tadpoles connected, all she saw was his infatuation with the idea of power, the ability to protect himself, and her. She wants him to know that he doesn’t need anything but to be Astarion.

“I’ll have to get back to you on that,” he says with a subtle scoff. He sits down on the edge of the bed and looks at Lamby. “How… How are you?”

She keeps standing right where she was. “I’m not entirely sure.” It is an honest answer. “Worried about you, for one thing.”

“That much is obvious from your face, darling.”

“It never was my strong suit to hide my emotions.”

“No,” he agrees. “No, it wasn’t.”

With a sigh, he plops down on the bed, legs still dangling off the side. Lamby looks around the room, unsure if she should leave him alone.

“Can you come lay with me for a while?”

Only then does Lamby realize she’s still wearing her armor, still covered in blood and dirt from their fight with Cazador.

They can always request clean linens, though.

She removes the outer layer of her armor and leaves it on the floor before lying down next to Astarion. She rests her head on her right arm to look at him, and he turns with his whole body to match her gaze. He looks ethereal like this, hair still damp, the sun shining through his silver curls let in by the window right behind.

“Would you have let me go through with the ritual? If I had insisted, in the end.”

It’s not an easy question. “It wasn’t my choice to make,” she says. “In the end.”

“The others think you talked me down, don’t they?”

Lamby averts her gaze for a moment to look up at the ceiling. “Shadowheart certainly does.”

“Maybe she’s right,” he mirrors her, joining her in gazing up at the ceiling. “You remind me that I have a soul.”

“You do have a soul,” she assures. “A beautiful one.”

“I’ll take your word for it, little lamb.”

“I believe that you made the right decision, Astarion,” she says, looking back at him. “You chose the more difficult path, yes, but so what? Once the brain is dealt with, we can look for a way for you to walk in the sun again. Magic is a dime a dozen. There must be a way.”

“We?”

Lamby searches his handsome, tired face. He genuinely looks surprised.

“You know what I want.”

“A life in the shadows,” he says. “For me?”

“Do you remember what I told you, after we got rid of that orthon?”

He does but lets her continue anyway.

“I can spend eternity just sitting with you. Nothing else needed.”

“Spoken like a true lovesick fool,” he tries to conceal his smile.

“You know what I am,” she says, and he considers what she might mean. Bhaalspawn? Fearless leader? Ridiculous do-gooder? Ferocious fighter with the heart of a kitten just fed?

No. Something else. She reaches out to him, slowly. Asking, assessing. He appreciates and hates it at the same time. She shouldn’t need to ask for permission. But all that he has been through in the past two centuries, it’s… It doesn’t just go away, now that Cazador’s dead. But she’s right. Astarion can be better than him.

“Little lamb,” he says and meets her touch halfway, tangling his fingers with hers.

“No,” she smiles. “Take another guess?”

He brings her hand up to his lips, smiles between them. She’s wearing the ring they found by the House of Healing still, just like he’s still wearing his. “Mine,” he whispers.

“Yes, “she says. “Yours.”

“I guess it’s not a bad bargain,” he jokes, and she swats at his arm with her free hand. They giggle together.

And they both know— they will be okay.

Astarion can hear how her heart beats. A steady rhythm, a pattern exclusively formed for him. Her smell, lactonic and innocent under the dried blood of his tormentor. She is consistent in her contrasts. Bhaal’s own flesh and blood that promises to do good, with a touch so gentle you’d never expect the same hand to deliver a killing blow. Her curious whimsy when she finds something small and shiny. The divine reverence she kisses him with. The sharpness of her words, the sweetness of her blood.

She has given everything to him. Shared. A partner— an equal.

He will do anything to not lose that.

“Maybe we should join our friends for a bit,” Astarion says, his lips still pressed against her slender fingers. “Won’t do to deprive them of our presence too long, don’t you think?”

“Are you sure?” Lamby asks, voice laced with concern.

“I’ve wallowed enough to last me a lifetime. Besides, a little wine for both of us might be a good idea.”

She smiles at him, and there it goes again— that warm, gripping feeling that makes him feel alive. He is starting to understand what it might be.

“Oh,” he starts as they get up. “There’s something I want to show you tonight, if that’s alright. It’s not far.”

Lamby nods. She would follow him anywhere, and he knows it.

He must tell her. The feelings that he never thought he could feel. That radiant warmth of hope. Rebirth.

He would follow her anywhere, and she needs to know it.

[babiebom]

When You Fall(ii)

A/N: I hope y'all enjoyed the first chapter, this story is going to be angst filled, at least for the first several chapters. 

Previous Next Masterlist

TW: depression, talks of self harm, clinics

WC:2.9k

The smell of bleach burns your nose before you fully come to. Your vision is hazy around the edges, eyes burning due to the bright lights above you. You flutter your eyelashes, sitting up quickly, ignoring the pain in your limbs. 

There are other beds around you, all empty and neatly made up. You breathe in deeply through your mouth, unable to call out like you want to, the burning sensation in your throat making any sound hurts it. 

You hear the soft squeaking of hinges, only able to see the corner of a door swinging open. A man appears from the doorway, his eyes warm and lips covered by the bushy mustache that sat below his nose. You stared with your mouth agape, the scene somewhat reminding you of that one scene in a vampire movie you hadn't seen in a while. 

Though, the man was obviously human, face slightly red near his cheeks as if he wasn't expecting you to be awake yet. "Farmer! You're awake! I'm glad. His smile sent butterflies in your stomach, and the fact that he was in a doctor's coat made your decisions seem extra stupid, because now you look like a fool in front of who you assume is town doctor, though it being a small town he's probably not even a real one.

"Yeah…what happened?" You hoped if you feigned confusion that it would seem like one big accident, you were farming for the very first time after all.

"Someone found you passed out on your farm."

"Someone did?" You wonder what anyone could've been doing on your farm, but then again these were country folk who probably stopped by to introduce themselves and scope you out. 

"Yeah, and I have to say you're very lucky she-" he coughs to cover up his mistake, "-they did. If they had found you any later you might've not made it." His kind eyes held some disappointment and worry in them.

You grimace in your seat, swinging your legs over the edge, the need to escape flooding your senses. "I'll be more careful, promise."

"Good," the man sucks in a breath, now looking elsewhere as he begins to back out of the room. "I'm going to send in the nurse with medicine to help you heal quicker."

You nod, letting your feet dangle above the ground, attempting to shoot the man a smile. As soon as he exited the room, you let your shoulders fall, exhausted from...well exhausting yourself. It was as if the choice you made was purposefully making itself worse than it normally would've been. As if it was making a point against you doing something stupid again, though you know you would still self sabotage again. Forcing yourself to pass out didn't really help anything, if anything it made you feel even shittier. You could feel the gazes of your now deceased family members on your head, all looking at you in disappointment and worry. 

As soon as you began to drown in your thoughts, the door swung open again, less gently than last time, almost smacking the wall behind it. Taken aback, you wonder how this person became a nurse, and the second you see her the thought is only amplified. 

The woman that enters is pretty, but more in a soft and unassuming kind of way, like you had to be seeing her for her beauty to reveal itself. She's also very young, she looks as if she's your age or even younger. Definitely not old enough to have a degree in the medical field, at least with how long you're assuming a nursing degree takes. 

She bites her lip and frowns, looking back at the door before entering the rest of the way. She clears her throat, shuffling over to you silently. "So, um, Doctor Harvey is prescribing you some Tylenol and an energy tonic. We have both here so you won't need to buy them, he's giving you them for free this time."

You nod, relieved that the medicine was free and you wouldn't have to pay for it. You lost your medical insurance after quitting the Joja job. Taking the medicine from her hands, you immediately down the energy tonic, the taste slightly sour on your tongue. Immediately you feel rejuvenated, your body returning to a state that you hadn't felt in years. You roll your shoulders back, blinking rapidly to get used to the feeling of being perfectly rested. You still felt shitty emotionally, but at least that wasn't bogged down by being half dead from working and not getting enough sleep.

"Wow, ok." You speak in surprise, the woman smiles brightly at you, unsurprised. 

"Yeah! Works pretty well huh?"  

"Totally," you slide off of the bed, not even stumbling. That tonic makes you feel as good as new, and you fight the urge to buy a million to keep in your house. 

She rocks on her heels, looking around before her eyes settle on you. She looked so giddy, as if she had been waiting to say something. "If you ever feel tired or like passing out again don't hesitate to stop by!" Her eyes look like mini crescent moons as she smiles at you, lighting up the room. 

"Will do." She leads you out of the room and towards what you assume is the lobby. 

"I'm Maru, by the way," she turns to look at you as she begins to talk, you nod in response, "I've been looking forward to meeting you," you can almost see the excitement roll off of her in waves, "you know, with a small town like this, a new face can really alter the community dynamic. It's exciting!" 

Your eyebrows raise in surprise, now embarrassed that this is her first impression of you. Grimace at her, trying to come up with something to say to make the situation less awkward on your end. "Some impression huh?"

She shrugs, still looking at you warmly. You both stop right before the doors where you now know the lobby is, being able to see through the small window on the door. "I mean, you're grieving. I think it's to be expected of someone that's lost so much in so little time. Along with moving, it's no surprise that you ran out of steam."

"You know about…" you can't even bring up the deaths without getting choked up. Maru looks shocked and horrified at the situation, her face contorting in surprise.

"I- oh god, I'm so sorry! I shouldn't have brought it up. It was insensitive of me. Crap." She bites her lip awkwardly and now hurries to get you through the doors. You want to ask again how'd she know, so that's exactly what you do. Ask again, but also skirt around certain words. Did everyone know?

"Um, well," she closes her eyes, breathing out, "I mean, everyone knows. Your grandfather was loved here, and when he…everyone was sad. Then the um, graves popped up and we put two and two together…I'm super sorry if I hurt your feelings or anything. I swear it wasn't my intention."

You shake your head, now preoccupied with the thought of everyone knowing, whispering, talking about your parents and grandfather, about you before you even had the chance to meet them all. You wonder why Maru even wanted to meet you. Was it pity? Pure curiosity? Did everyone pity you? Did everyone want to meet you in ways that were similar to meeting a baby lion or something at the zoo? As if you were a stray dog on the verge of being put down at a kennel? 

Wrapped up in your thoughts, you finally leave the clinic, going by distant memories to get back home. There was no need to sleep now, though with the storm inside of your head the mental exhaustion had come back. Within those thoughts, you wondered how long it was until they all went away.

As soon as you got home you had to leave.

You had gotten a letter, from someone named Willy, down at the beach. So, instead of pushing yourself to the brink of death again you decide to meet him, doubting anyone in the valley could be dangerous. There were only so many people that lived here to begin with, and even if he did turn out to be dangerous or deranged, you doubted that at this moment you would put up any sort of fight. 

The walk was long, about 30 minutes from your farm to the entrance of the beach, your breaths were coming out in puffs, your chest heaving. You would need to exercise more if you were to do this often enough to make any money. Sitting at a desk all day made your stamina nonexistent, and you regretted not visiting more often in your older years. Maybe if you did you would be less tired. 

As soon as you saw the fish shop you sighed with relief, sweat had begun forming a thin sheet over your body. Your steps picked up as you approached the building that looked as old as your farmhouse, the salty smell of the ocean assaulting your nose. The sun was high overhead now, beaming directly down onto the sea making the world around you brighter. 

Hurrying, you almost head straight to the doors, wanting to escape the sun; but instead you see a man at the edge of the pier, a patchy brown hat on top of messy brown hair. He was smoking silently, eyes focused on the water below. The sound of your footsteps seemed louder than normal in your ears, the thuds echoed around you disturbing the serenity of the beach. The man turns when he hears you, tired eyes searching yours for a second before he speaks.

"Ahoy there. Heard there was a newcomer in town…good to finally meet ya." The man sounds like a stereotypical fisherman, maybe a little like a pirate. He puts out his pipe after puffing it once more, blowing the smoke away from the both of you. He rolls his shoulders, a small grimace settling over his face.

"Ah…I'm still tryin' to unwind from a month out on the salty seas… it was a big haul! I sold a lot of good fish. Finally saved enough to buy me a new rod." He smiles softly. 

"That's good…" you don't know how to respond, so you say what first came to your mind, wanting to not make the conversation stale, though you think your attempt didn't help at all. Willy moves closer to you, away from the edge of the pier. 

"Here," he hands you a fishing rod, the gift unfamiliar in your hands, "I want you to have my old fishing rod. It's important to me that the art o' fishing stays alive. And hey, maybe you'll buy somethin' from the shop once in a while."

You nod, inspecting the rod, tears kissing the corner of your eyes. It was kind of him to give you a rod for free, you didn't know how much they cost, but even an old one like this had to be expensive. "There's a good water here in the valley. All kinds o' fish."

"Thank you…I don't know how to repay you or…?"

The man shakes his head, waving you off. When you get in front of the doors to his shop, he calls out to you again. "Oh yeah. My shops back open now, so come by if you need supplies. I'll also buy anything you catch. 'If it smells, it sells'."

You can see how brightly his eyes shine when he laughs from where you are. It makes your heart ache, he was so much like a grandfather in his actions that it made you somewhat sad. "That's what my ol' Pappy used to say anyway."

You smile at him before nodding and taking off towards the beach again, ready to flop into your still unslept in bed. 

The walk home was faster, mostly because you avoided everyone and sped through the town. You could feel them looking at you, as if you were something to gawk at. And to them, you supposed you were. A fresh face in a stagnant town that rarely got new people that were staying for the long haul, a visitor that was passing through or two, but never a new resident. By the time you got home, mostly due to your dodging, your chest felt heavy and your lungs burned. You sucked in breaths as you closed the gate and walked up to your cottage. 

Now that you were inside, and not in a self sabotaging mood, you took the time to really look around. The place was practically empty, no kitchen, no living room, no bathroom. All there was was an ancient television and a twin sized bed pushed into a corner along with dusty decorations. You groaned, running a hand down your face, so this is what Robin meant when she was saying your home needed an upgrade. You now understood what she meant by crusty. 

It was a surprise your grandfather had survived as long as he did living here, what did he do to eat? How'd he take showers or poop or just live in general. Turning on the tv, you frown when you notice only a handful of channels on the tv, some of them only showing static when you switched to it. Laughing in disbelief, you turn away from the stupid thing. It was going to take a long time to get used to this.

In the middle of the room, you spot a box you had ignored before, the thing wrapped up half heartedly as a gift. Taking off the top and looking inside, you spot a small bag of seeds. There was a short letter from Lewis attached to the bag, saying it was a gift for you to get started with your farming. Obviously, you need to be able to grow a plant and care for animals to be a farmer. Sighing, you trudge outside, dragging your tools behind you. You had to do this at least, before you went to sleep for the next couple of hours. 

The farm was still messy, and over exerting yourself the day before just set you back. So, pulling your pants up and adjusting yourself, you get to work to catch up for missed time. 

Pulling weeds, cutting down trees, and smacking rocks with your pickaxe seemed to make you feel better, as if you were beating something up. Maybe a little violent, but it was helping nonetheless. Sweat drips down your forehead, thinking back to your childhood your grandfather and grandmother made this seem easier than it actually was. Even just planting the parsnips took more energy than you thought it would. 

By the time you had finished, your back ached and your stomach was growling. Raising your wrist to look at the time, you wonder if 12 was too early to go to bed. Your thoughts swirl around your head, trying to justify if you went to rest now. You tried telling yourself that you would only nap, then it devolved into thinking you could sleep for the rest of the day and all night until you had to get up in the morning; it was most likely unrealistic but the ache in your back told you to go ahead and do whatever as long as you got to sleep. 

You drag yourself inside after making sure your crops are watered, your stomach still growling loudly. Opening a suitcase, you sigh with relief that past you decided that packing your snacks and some things from your pantry was a good idea. You eat some peanut butter on crackers and take a long swig from a water bottle, throwing yourself on your bed after making sure your mess was cleaned and the rest of your crackers and peanut butter were sealed back in your suitcase. 

As you lie there, you inspect your skin. You had already begun to tan by staying out in the sun all day, and you wondered just how hot the summer was going to be if you were already dying in the sun. Maybe the clinic had some sunscreen, you had already met Maru, and doctor Harvey so going back wasn't as bad as going to the grocery store in town.

You made a mental list of all the tasks you needed to do, hoping you could put off talking to people for a little longer. All they would probably do is talk about your grandfather or look at you with pity and curiosity the entirety of your conversation. 

As you adjusted yourself to try and sleep, you imagined yourself back in your apartment in Zuzu City. You imagined life hadn't changed and you were living your old life, but in your imagination you were a much better child and grandchild than you had been in real life. You visited and were bubbly and cheery just as you were as a kid. As your eyes flutter closed, and you begin to drift off to sleep you can feel fresh, hot tears rolling down your cheeks regret settling in your chest as you begin the transition between your active daydreams to whatever dream you would have while you were sleeping. 

In the back of your mind, you just hoped the dream wouldn't be nightmares instead.

[rinriya]

Some thoughts about Cazador. Ever since early access, I call him "Cazagoat" (don't judge me, he is an ass and it suits him really well, especially given that during EA he had extremely funny mustache).

But even such an evil evil asshole made me think what would've happened if he met at the right time at least someone as kind and care as the MC (if you play a good MC of course).

Because, if you think about it Cazador's fate is no less sad and tragic. I even think he was.. normal before becoming a full-fledged vampire lord. You can find out his story. And he had to endure a lot of pain from his master. It was a vicious circle and that's one more reason why Stari has to break the circle and resist the temptation.

So, it's safe to say that Astarion was truly lucky to meet good MC.

[lacrymatoryao3]

Bloedzuiger

Dutch Van der Linde/GN!Reader

Dutch Van der Linde is a vampire who crashes your family's party and targets you as his next victim.

#### 1,715 Words (AO3 Link)

You weren’t in the habit letting strangers into your home. You knew the risks of that from living in such a violent town full of cowboys, miners, and outlaws in equal measure. But on that evening your family was hosting a party. So when a knock came from the front door, you thought nothing of it. The man who stood in front of you looked familiar enough to you. Perhaps a distant relative you only saw one or twice in your life, or someone who lived in the area that your family was cordial with.

He introduced himself as a Mr. ‘Dutch’ Van der Linde. He took your hand in his with two gold rings on his fingers. On his pinky a circular one with the face of a lion that had two small rubies for eyes. On his middle was a larger rectangular signet ring with a gold D in black enamel in a Gothic font. He pressed his thin and abnormally cool lips to your top palm. His facial hair tickled your flesh, a black and well groomed mustache and an unshaven patch just above his chin.

He gave an odd energy. It was alluring, yet your deepest instincts shivered. Despite it, you were drawn to him. He was an older gentleman, but not elderly. Somewhere in his 40s, if you had to guess. He was quite tall and slender, but something told you he held incredible strength if the circumstances called for it.. His black hair was long, swept behind his ears and reached down to his neck. It was mostly straight, except with thick and loose curls at the ends. His almond shaped and wide set eyes were also dark. In the mixture of night outside and the kerosene fed lighting inside, they almost glowed like amber. Even stranger, they were piercing. As he gazed at you, it felt like he was reading your very thoughts and it only further fascinated you. It kept you looking upon his angular face, with high cheekbones that had a noticeable mole on the right one and a large well shaped nose.

His fine clothing was also dark. He had on a black velvet, wide lapel frock coat that made his figure striking. The lining of it a deep red silk, in the pocket was a well folded handkerchief that corresponded with it. His vest was also velvet and red, with gold buttons and a matching single watch chain suspended from one of them. His pants were black, the usual cut that men wore though a bit tighter than what was normal, covering his black leather boots.

It was only a brief moment that felt like hours. You welcomed him in. When he stepped over the threshold you felt and icy breeze. You led him into the large parlor where everyone else was. You offered him a drink, but he refused. He excused himself by explaining he doesn’t partake in alcohol. He wasn’t much interested in the table of canapes either, but he did help himself to a cigar.

You excused yourself to allow Dutch to mingle with the other guests. It was difficult to do so, like something had possessed you to desire to only want his attention in return for yours. You didn’t stray far. As he wandered around and chatted, you couldn’t take your eyes off of him. You weren’t the only one, except in the eyes of your families and partygoers there was a glimmer of deep unease when they were near him.

It was a short time later he returned to you. He found you sitting quietly in the corner with a glass of wine. His warm smile and gentle gaze intoxicated you more than spirit you were sipping ever could. He leaned over you playfully, the shadow of his form enveloped you and made you dizzy. His voice was more stimulating than the music playing over the phonograph.

Dutch extended his hand to you, “Would you care to dance with me?”

“Of course!” You replied, exhilarated by the offer.

Standing up, the both of you went to an empty spot in the room. He quickly swept you close to him, resting one hand on your lower back and taking one of your hands into his ringed one. Like his lips, they were abnormally cold. His firm hold that made your heart race, to the point you couldn’t feel his at all. It was as if he took control of your body as you twirled almost inhumanly around the floor. The people around side eyed the two of you nervously, but you didn’t care. Nor did you have any concern when you caught a glimpse of yourself – and only yourself – in a large mirror on the wall. He seemed completely absent.

You spent the rest of the evening in his company until it became late into the night when people began to leave. You felt so high, so alive, it was almost unbearable to think of parting with him. If it had not been scandalous, you would have begged him to stay. As you saw him to the door, it felt like he could sense it.

“Don’t worry,” Dutch said soothingly, “I’m sure we will see each other again.”

You deeply hoped that would be true.

When you crawled into your bed after everything was cleaned up and settled, you couldn’t help but feel a little lonely. What manner of a man, this Dutch Van der Linde, made you long for him so? What about him made you want? To throw away all propriety? To risk your reputation? You felt like you were missing a part of you, withdrawing from the strongest drug.

You turned onto your side, taking one of your pillows and holding onto it. You pretended it was him. Lying beside you, holding you in his arms, speaking all those pretty little things he did during the party. His voice soothing you into sleep.

In between the realm of slumber and wakefulness you started to hear something strange at your window. At first you ignored it, thinking it was a lucid dream. It became more insistent and demanding. It sounded like tapping against the glass. You sat up, trying to figure out what it could be. It wasn’t a tree branch, the elms and oaks weren’t close enough to the house. It persisted until you finally got up to investigate. You pulled the curtains back, flooding yourself and the room in bright moonlight. You lifted the lower pane of you window and stuck your head out. You couldn’t see anything when you looked around, except a blanket of mist on the lawn.

It moved with an intelligence you had never seen, one that hypnotized you. It crawled along the grass and up the outer wall of the house. It poured through the window and surrounded you in a cold embrace you welcomed. It felt like someone was taking hold of your shoulders, gently but firmly guiding you backward to your bed.

You sat down and laid back obediently. In the mist, there were little flecks of dust. They whirled around in front of you, taking on a human shape as they danced quicker and gathered together. At first he was just a phantom, then materialized was the man who had become the object of your desire. It didn’t disturb your sense of soothing calm. You just stared at him with half closed eyes.

Dutch was sitting at the edge of your bed hovering over you. He looked just the same was earlier, except his eyes glowed more intensely and he changed his clothes to a brocaded black vest with a red back panel. The watch chain suspended from the button had a red gem suspended from it. He caressed your cheek with his fingertips. They then trailed down your face to the left side of your neck. The sensation was overwhelming, pleasurable and repulsive at the same time. You gasped, your head tilting over to give him better access to the delicate flesh. He leaned in closer until you could feel his breath on your skin, causing it to tickle in an unfamiliar way.

“Yes, yes, just relax…” Dutch whispered in your ear, opening the collar of your nightclothes and pulling it away from your body, “Don’t you worry. I only take what I need.”

His tongue darted out of his mouth. He pressed it against your shoulder and slowly dragged it along where your jugular vein was hidden beneath the surface. He stopped halfway when he found a particularly sensitive spot that made you groan under the pressure. He let out a low chuckle.

You could only pant when his lips latched onto that area of your neck, then the tips of two sharp eye teeth. Then you felt them pierce you. Your eyes widened as an unbearable and stinging pain tore through your body. It slowly dissipated, being replaced by a tranquillizingly warm numbness. You felt a hot wetness from the wounds he created, which he sucked and licked up with satisfied sighs.

He was drawing large amounts of blood, at least from your point of view. Even if you wanted to stop him, you couldn’t. The moment he bit you he controlled you. He owned you. He now knew every little thing about you. Your hopes, your fears. Your thoughts and desires. Your personality was bared before him as he drank.

Time seemed to slow. It felt like the entire night went by in your stupor, until he finally had his fill. He closed the wounds and lifted his head. You finally saw the face of a human man, a mask hiding the creature underneath. You could see the stains of your blood on his lips.

“You are a delight.” Dutch said, “I will make a visit to you again.”

He kissed your forehead and stood, leaving out of the window from where he came. You closed your heavy eyes. Weak and light headed, you fell into a deep and dreamless unconsciousness.

In the morning at breakfast your family noticed your paleness and how frail you seemed. They wanted to call for a doctor, which you refused. You would become strong again in time. When you did, you hoped Dutch would keep his promise.

[marshmalleaux-queen]

Animal Crossing villager species idea: BATS!!

Originally I only had the idea for one bat villager (Enya), who is supposed to be kinda like my animal villager sona. But then I figured I'd make more because I love bats and also because why not??

Like Frog villagers not wearing hats or coats in the rain, Bat villagers always wear hats if they're outside during the daytime. They also tend to stay up later at night!

Most of them are based on certain bat species and have one of the basic personality types (and I could only think of hobbies for a few of them kjdfg)

Enya - Based on various fruit bats. Since she's my sona, she doesn't fit any of the basic personality types, but if she did, she'd be Normal. Nyx - Evening bat, Snooty Nocturne - Mustached bat, Smug (+ music hobby) Harpy - Harpy fruit bat, Sisterly (+ fitness hobby) Hue - Painted bat, Lazy (+ play hobby) Vlad - Vampire bat, Cranky Goyle - Gargoyle, Jock Crystal - Clear-winged wooly bat, Peppy

[the-plagueis-crew]

My first draft for my "Cold, selfish bastard muse", kinda Rant-ey.

So he's a Mindflayer, and technically, Mindflayers don't have biological sexes or genitalia since they reproduce through hosts, right? That's interesting and all, but this is a smut blog. So Im'ma change that for my muse. Only him, though. Other flayers are still sexless.

Basically long ago, when the magic hating ilithid empire was going strong, one magically inclined (Sorcerer) ilithid, called Laz, decided to study the reproduction methods of inferior species, so he saw a lot of stuff, but most commonly he saw sexual intercourse. A lot of it, and decided to experience it himself.

After a lot of (Magically aided) body augmentation and trying out all sorts of sex, being both the "male" and the "female", he realized he most enjoyed having a penis and being the one doing the penetrating when having sex. These experiments and his magical abilities were then found by the rest of the Ilithid empire, and were deemed degeneracy, and mutation beyond pardon, so they cut him off from the hive mind, and strapped him with a device that would allow him to live with a singular mind. They them exiled him to the material realm.

Now with a mind his own, a name he himself chose, and a fascination with women's bodies, he roams the land, using his powers and amassing power, so he can live a hedonistic, sex filled life were he doesn't have to worry about anything. Oh, he also feeds on stuff other than brains, too, though he does have some favoritism to munching on thinkers.

His ultimate goal though, is to find out why after being excised from the hive mind, he begins having flashes to the life he once had, before he became a Flayer. Back when he was an elf.

Basically, him being an elf explains his long ass lifespan, gives him a sort of "maybe I'll become a good guy if certain things happen" vibe and why he doesn't sleep like other ilithid.

He is also really fucking selfish, both in and out of bed, he uses magic and mind power to appear normal while walking around, and is no stranger to mind control or coercion to get some. By the way, he's a Chaotic Neutral bastard with a capital B. So I can play him as evil as you'd like.

Gimme suggestions on how to change anything if it doesn't fit too well. I really feel like when I finally do a vampire/Lich muse, that'll be my 'mustache twirling evil mastermind BBEG' muse. Ilithids are cool final bosses don't get me wrong, but I kinda wanna do one thats basically a nobody, and thats why he's 'dangerous.'

Also, his dick could be just a tentacle or an actual dick, maybe a semi-hard, flexible tentacle-dick. Dunno, could be fun to mess around with that.

Anyways, that's it for now.

[razzafrazzle]

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE let them into your town they'll be so normal i promise (lying)

[image description: three original characters, pam, rowan, and scarlette, drawn as if they were animal crossing villagers. pam is an off-white, tired looking budgie villager with glasses, a mole, a striped cardigan with a blue sweater underneath, and an evil eye necklace. she is stated as being a cranky villager with the catchphrase "eugh". rowan is an purple hawk villager with yellow-tinted glasses, a large orange bowtie, and a red vest. he is stated as being a smug villager with the catchphrase "mortis". finally, scarlette is an black vampire bat villager with a mustache and goatee, yellow cat-like eyes, small wings, and a frilly white top with a red skirt. she is stated as being a snooty villager with the catchphrase "sangue". end id]

[thelittlestspider]

asking a writelblr question cuz I am BORED AT WORK!!!!!!!!!!!! Who is your favorite character... that you have created? Why do you like them so much? (Sorry if this sends multiple times, my work wifi is shit)

This is such a hard question because I love so many of them.

My top 5 is probably something like this (the order isn't indicative of who I like the best. It's just the order I thought of them)

- Javier Rojas: I love Javier's weird guy energy, but I also really like his resilience and ability to adapt despite living most of his life suffering. And I love his confidence and the amount of love he has for his partners. I also love that he gets emotional thinking about plants and that he has a mustache lol. I'm kind of obsessed with him.

- Scott Tillman: Scott has such a fucked up backstory and he's the first character I've ever tried to write into a psychological horror where he is unintentionally an unreliable narrator because of brainwashing and mind control that causes him to have a kind of amnesia of certain events. I think he and Ray sort of have this beauty and the beast dynamic where he believes he's a monster and that Ray is too good for him, but she thinks she's turning into a monster as well, just a different kind.

- Ray Lopez: Ray is one of the oldest ocs I have, and she's gone through many iterations (she was originally male and a vampire lol). But I think I like this current one the best because she is so fucking lonely and she cares so much about her family and friends and her neighbors and her community in general. And her struggle with being famous vs just wanting to be normal and have genuine connections. I love her.

- Georgia Starling: Georgia is another weird girl character and one of Tameka's queer platonic life partners. I like her because she's kind of quiet and has a weird style that makes it to where she doesn't always fit in.

- Tameka Saurey: I love her tragic backstory and the way she could choose to do medicine because of her power, but chooses to do beekeeping instead (which aligns with her passion for insects and other things that fly/crawl). And how she feels alone at first, but later comes out of her shell because she's loved and supported.

I also just love weird goth girl characters.

[voidsentprinces]

Hydaelyn: My little spark, you shall grow to the very normal height of 5'8" and be only able to grow 5 o clock shadow. You my brave little spark, shall grow to 6'8" and be absolutely ripped, you can sometimes grow a beard but it'll be like you're the Monopoly man. You, my brave little spark will be absolutely gorgeous but run like you gotta take a wizz. You, my brave little spark will be muscular and butch as fuck. You, my brave little spark, will be very small...very small and very cute. Uhh...you'll also be small and cute but people will want to give you a weird pirate mustache and pampador. Don't ask questions your Japanese voice actor will have a voice deeper than the Syrcus Trench. You, my brave little spark will be strong, muscular and fit to be tied as a pirate or warrior, you'll be love but also rare. You, will be wide as you are tall and come in green or brown, you will also be loved but rare. You my brave little spark will be tall, lanky and your neck will be strange but trust me once the first expansion hits, everyone will fall in love with a cathedral city full of your pretty boy cousins. You get permanent lipstick and you vampire fangs. You will be tall and stoice with either beige or black scales while your counterpart will be small...like...three feet beneath the sea level small. No I don't really no why, the Board just wants them that way. We were going to make them demon women but they're like...lizards...Oh yes you better believe they are smol and FULL OF RAGE! Haha. Good talk. Right then, you my brave little spark shall be a tall and beautiful warrior woman. Where's your male counterpart...oh we'll get to him in a few years. In the meantime, meet a sort of counterpart a buff lion man. And YOU my brave little spark shall be the unofficial face of our world. My little meow meows if you will. You come in sassy and cute and feral and dangerous flavors...mmm yes? You want the boys ears to wiggle and their tails to go ballistic when happy? Well since you asked so nicely. I will get right to that. Sorry what was that? Oh the lizard women are killing the men and the potatoes might be amoral killers in pastels. Well, can't work all the kinks I guess. What do mean the male meow meows are giving them special titles? Tia or Nunh? No, it doesn't have anything to do with dominance, its just a tit--...well thats HIS problem then. You no what, fuck it, Hear. Feel. Think. Good luck, try not to die, bye!

[cptslibrary]

Day 1 - Fever

Whumpcember Prompt 1 - Fever Fandom - Peter Pan CW - None

Captain Hook dragged himself out of the water as Peter flew away. “A codfish should be happy to be in the ocean,” he heard Peter laughing. If he was capable, he would burst into flames of rage. As it was, he was left sopping wet, his coat now a great weight on him.

Hook trudged on the sandy dunes of the river and let his hate consume him for the few minutes it took to return to the small dinghy. It’s all so funny to that demon boy, he thought. I wonder if he’d laugh while I killed him. 

He found Smee by the dinghy. The short fat man had not been able to keep up with his and Pan’s furious swordfight. Smee peered over his spectacles, but the Captain shook his head abruptly. He did not want to talk about it.

Smee got into the boat and Hook shoved it off, Smee at the oars. As they rowed to the Jolly Roger, Hook saw a shadow flash among the stars. So Peter was off to visit his girlfriend to hear more stories. How childish. However, the immediate blast of cold air was enough to chill his bones, and frost was beginning to form on his hair and mustache. 

“Row faster, blast you” he commanded Smee, and Smee did seem to row with more effort. They both knew that if the ocean froze it would surely crush the small dinghy. The icy water would swallow them whole. Blocks of ice were already appearing on the surface. Captain Hook cursed his wet clothes and felt them freeze to his skin. 

It was twenty minutes before the Captain and his mate made it to the ship. The crew threw down ropes and hauled the boat, men and all, onto the deck. The Captain and Smee were both shivering, and Smee nearly hustled Hook into the cabin to start a fire. *Oh dear, and you in wet clothes.*

“Blast that boy, and these clothes,” Hook bellowed, although he did peel them off his body as soon as the door was shut. Smee helped with what he needed to. The brace was harder to remove than normal, for the leather had gone stiff with the cold. It left painful red marks across the Captain’s arm and shoulders. “I’ll snap his neck, on me honor.” 

Smee nodded thoughtfully. “That will be a great day.” He hurried to light the fire. The air in the cabin was dusty and painfully cold. The Captain sniffled. *Let’s get a blanket on you.” He drug a chair over to the fireplace. 

The Captain had donned new breeches and was currently pacing around the room like a caged tiger. “He’ll be coming back soon, to fly directly to his hideout. Perhaps I could trick him into holding a torch to light the way.” Smee looked at the Captain curiously. He felt extremely simple, at these times, and could not fathom if the Captain was joking or not. 

Hook's face looked paler than usual, and his handsome dark curls gave him an almost vampiric glow. “Captain, why don’t you sit down for just a moment. You look a little pale.” Hook looked at Smee with distaste. 

“I feel fine, stop fussing.” He went to his maps, marking where he had spotted Peter that day. “I’ll find him. This is the third time I’ve caught him near Rainbow Pond. He can’t live far.”

“Sure. Let me go get your dinner.” 

“I’m not hungry. Leave me for the night.” 

“Aye, Cap’n.” Smee left, and the Captain poured over his maps for several hours. At the bell to mark midnight, Smee noticed that the candle light was still showing through the cracks under the captain’s door. He boiled some tea and brought it with him to knock on the door. 

“Cap’n? I’ve got some tea for you.” 

“Come in,” Hook was still at his table. His eyes were wild. “I figured it out, Smee. The mermaids! Those wretches are hiding him!”

Smee carefully set down the tea in front of the captain. “Really?” 

“Of course, it all makes sense! Underwater is the last place I would think to look. That idiot thinks he’s so clever. I’ll make a fool of him yet! I’ll drown him in his house!” The Captain was smiling with wild delight. 

Smee took a huge risk and put a hand on the Captain’s shoulder. “Cap’n, that’s great news. I’ll tell the boys we’re going to kill Pan tomorrow.” He put his other hand on Hook’s forehead, which tipped the pirate off that Smee was concerned. He hesitated for a moment, as Smee’s hand felt stunningly cold against his skin.

Smee frowned, and Hook looked at him questioningly. “Perhaps it’s time for bed now. Come, I’ll fluff your pillows.” Smee left him and while his back was turned, Hook felt his own forehead. It was burning up. He wondered what nonsense he had to have been spouting if even Smee, who was never quick on the uptake, could tell he was not well. Mermaids…

Hook usually would not let anyone put him to bed, but at this moment he was inclined to agree with Smee that perhaps it was time to lie down. As he pulled up the covers, Smee moved the tea to the bed. When the Captain was finally horizontal, his fatigue suddenly hit him like a train. He looked at the tea longingly, but couldn’t muster up the strength to reach out and drink. His eyes already felt heavy. 

“Smee,” Hook said, looking at his stump. 

“Yes, Cap’n,” Smee said, pausing. “It hurts,” Hook said, feeling pitiful. 

“I know,” Smee said. He reached in a side drawer and pulled out a soothing cream he could rarely convince Hook to use. “Here you are.” Even in this state, he knew better than to offer to apply it himself. The last time he had Hook had destroyed the room in a wild fit of rage. The stump still made him uncomfortable even now, though he had been the one to sew it up. 

The Captain looked at the cream. He wondered if the pain in his severed limb made him stronger. It certainly fueled his rage when he suffered another loss against Pan. It kept him focused. Perhaps, though,  it was something he deserved. A kind of karma, for all the lives he took. 

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Smee said, and Hook realized he said that last part out loud. He eyed Smee warily, though he knew nothing he said would ever leave this cabin. He almost hated that he trusted Smee that much. 

“We’ll talk about it all tomorrow,” Smee said soothingly. Hook hoped that Smee would never address it again. Smee doused the candles and shut the door with a simple goodnight. Hook felt his mind running wild, but sleep quickly found him.