#renew Blood Drive

[emiarainewrites]

Imagine tagging along with Arthur & Grace during the Blood Drive race

(Gif not mine)

Sorry this took so long to put out. I’ve got another one with Jonathan Julian in mind.

Anyone who hasn’t seen this show, please check it out. It’s awesome and terrific, totally unique and was cancelled WAY TOO SOON. It needs more love.

Arthur was the first to spot you at the side of the road. Broken down car, bloody and beat up, limply waving as you clung to the open driver door.

“Grace, stop the car!”

“Why?”

Grace paid no mind to the panic in Arthur’s voice. He was a softie, after all. Which meant an incredible liability in the race. So with Grace determined to win and keep her head in the process, she couldn’t risk always listening to Arthur’s “kind hearted good boy” concerns.

“Up there!” Arthur pointed at the fast approaching vehicle and it’s clearly injured passenger. “Someone’s hurt. We need to help them.”

Grace didn’t take her eyes off the road. “No can do, Barbie. We’re finally ahead of everyone else. No way I’m slowing down now.”

“Grace, we have to do something!”

“No, we don’t,” she frowned, literally putting her foot down on the accelerator.

With the broken down car about to pass them and your body obviously slumping to the ground, Arthur quickly made up his mind.

Within seconds his seatbelt was undone and the car door was open as Arthur threw himself out of Grace’s car.

“Shit!”

Grace slammed on the brakes immediately. The sleek red car skidded and spun to a painful stop as Grace threw forward in her seat. Looking behind her she could see Arthur jump to his feet and rush over to whoever he claimed needed help.

She clenched her jaw and put Sexy Suzy in reverse. “I’m gonna kill him,” she grumbled.

Arthur checked for a pulse and was relieved to discover you were still alive. He tried gently to shake you awake, thankful when your head rose up. You were covered in blood. There had clearly been some kind of a scrap. Stuck out in the desert for god knows how long, your skin was dry and your eyes could barely stay open.

“Hey, listen to me,” Arthur said, putting his hands on your arms. “You’re gonna be alright. I’m gonna help you, okay? Can you stand?”

Despite the delirium you were experiencing and the dehydration seizing your system, you managed to nod, barely been able to make out the face of your saviour.

Arthur guided your arm around his shoulders and swooped his own across your back. Standing up was not an easy task.

Grace’s car screeched to a halt in front of Arthur, the door flying open.

“Get in, Barbie! And don’t ever do that again!”

She seemed to ignore your presence entirely.

“They need help, Grace!”

“Not interested. We don’t have to get fuel yet anyway.”

Arthur, unimpressed and still not comfortable with that notion, limped you over to the car.

“Don’t even think about it,” Grace warned. “We need to get back to the race before anyone else catches up.”

“We can’t leave them here.”

“Yes, we can.”

“Well, I can’t. What if this were you?”

“It wouldn’t be.” After all, Grace wouldn’t let herself get stranded. She was too smart for that.

But she could also see that Arthur wasn’t giving up. And the more time they spent arguing about this, the more time that gave the competition behind them.

Grace sharply rolled her eyes, relenting.

“Fine, put them in the back. But make it quick.”

The briefest smile was all the response Arthur gave her. Might have been nice had it not been for the ‘you did the right thing’ quality he gave off.

Grace huffed as Arthur hauled you into the backseat.

“If they get blood on my car, they’re going in the engine.”

As soon as Arthur was back in, Grace took off, not giving time for him to apply his seatbelt. He turned back around to you, lying across the backseat, barely conscious.

“There should be water at the finish line,” Arthur offered. “You’re gonna be okay.”

His voice and the sudden, violent movement of your surroundings brought some lucidity back to you.

“Wh…where am I?”

“You’re safe,” Arthur assured you.

“Where’s my car?”

“We had to leave it behind. What happened to you? Is that your blood?”

“No. Don’t…don’t think so. Driving. Got…jumped.”

Grace glanced at you through the rear view mirror. Well, that explained the look of you at least.

“I…put them in the engine.” You were beginning to fade. “Ran out of fuel…”

Grace found herself smiling. “My kinda hitcher.”

It was clear you were still breathing, so Arthur turned around.

Great, so…he had saved someone who needed help. But they also turned out to be another lunatic who feed people to their cars. Hopefully you were more civil about it than everyone else he’d seen.

Grace smiled from you to Arthur. She could tell exactly what he was thinking. And, alright, sure. Maybe you weren’t such a bad addition to the race after all.

[vacantvisage]

im trying to make a little book, i printed out all my signatures for the textblock already. a bit of a pain since i messed up the order twice (rip) but i finally got it. i sadly cant sew them together yet, though, since in the middle i need the signatures of a photoset i made. local campus makerspace can print photos but they dont currently have double sided photo paper.... alas....

im also trying to get copperplate - the campus Usually has it but they happen to not have any right now 😭

id like to do that illustration of raphael and haarlep as copperplate and print it, and certainly add it to the book. maybe even do a few other engravings. technically, gustav dore didn't do the etching, he made the drawings and a team of people would etch them. he hated engraving his drawings because it completely changed them. but alas, his engraving are incredible and i want to emulate a couple.

my best friend bought me a beautiful jacquard fabric i can use as a book cover, and hes getting me chip board to make said cover.

i have gold ribbon from an old project to be able to make a book mark, also. and of course gold acrylic, ink, and pigments so i can try and gild the pages.

[dcxdpdabbles]

DC x DP fanfic Idea: Side Hustle

Barry needs more cash.

It's not that he is struggling, but unlike Bruce, he had student loans, a mortgage, and all the medical bills for Iris to consider. Even with his wife working, he knew they needed to keep a tight grip on their spending to ensure they didn't fall from the yellow into the red.

This means that sometimes he had to watch Wally's face fall when he admitted he couldn't afford to give him an allowance or even some money to go to the mall with his friends. It's not that his nephew complains—Wally is a very understanding young man—but it still tears Barry up inside to disappoint him.

Significantly when, their hero work cut so deeply into their funds just to keep their speedster metabolism under control. If he hadn't done his foolish experiment, Wally wouldn't be in danger of starvation for following his example.

Blood or not, Wally is like a son to him, and the idea that he can only provide the bare basics is painful. He has a high-paying job now, but it will take a while to get all his debt from when he was a student under control.

Before he married Iris, he was okay with that. He now had a wife and son who depended on him, and he couldn't wait around, hoping things would pick up after a few years.

He managed to pay off most of Iris' medical bills, and the house was an excellent step up from the cramped two-room apartment they shared when they were engaged. Barry knew that these two things were good, but he could do better.

That's how he applied as a research assistant to a strange family company called Fenton Works. The pay was decent, and it was only a short hour's drive from his home—he speed-ran it in five, but he needed a realistic distance to keep his ID protected. And best of all?

He mostly did office work. Half the time, he was allowed to do remote work documenting research data and organizing the owner's inventions and patents.

There were many funds coming from said patents and inventions. If the Fentons weren't so busy spending the money to fund their ghost research—the power grid they needed for the portal alone was almost as much as Barry's entire mortgage—then they could easily be among the few in Bruce's fancy galas.

Barry will admit that he was surprised to learn that Mr. Fenton had a PhD in engineering, applied physics, and robotics. Mrs. Fenton had a PhD in nuclear physics, functional analysis, and renewable energy. Both were currently working on getting a PhD in some form of biology, and Barry was flabbergasted that they spoke about it the same way people casually decided to start a new hobby.

It was hard, but they had the money to just sign up for classes. He wept into his student loan reminders whenever he thought about it.

They made the perfect team- one thought up the idea, and the other created a physical form while they ensured it worked together.

He knew his bosses were certified geniuses who appeared goofy was one thing, but to be confronted with their degrees stuffed away in a storage box was another thing. He hadn't even meant to find them since he had gone in there with Danny- his boss's kid- to find some paper research Dr. Jack Fenton needed.

It was even more shocking to find that Dr. Jack had sold some of his systematics to Wayne Enterprises and that Bruce had used some of his robotics theories in his Batman gear.

It also seemed that most of the Amity Park were unaware of how intelligent the Fentons were. When he was out and about in the city, he kept getting pitying looks for working for the local freaks. It was honestly shocking.

People talked about Jasmine Fenton's bright future, the only hope among the family, in the same breath as calling Jack Fenton an idiot or Maddie Fenton a washed-up housewife. The things they had to say about Danny Fenton were far more disheartening.

Barry knows a thing or two about troubled youths as the Flash, and no matter what the town told him, Danny Fenton was not one of them.

It seemed to Barry that Danny was suffering from blatant bullying and the pressure of his family's shadow. Adding to the confusion of being in the middle of puberty, it created the perfect recipe for Danny to be spirling. It was a rough patch, and it led to him skipping class, dropping his grades, and ignoring his responsibilities.

He overheard the Fentons talking about Danny. Dr. Fentons was starting to grow worried since Danny had never behaved this way before high school while Jazz attempted to defend her brother and excuse his disappearance.

She seemed very aware of why her brother seemed to change.

On the other hand, Dr. Fenton wasn't and mentioned more than once that she and Danny were very close when he was a kid, but lately, he seemed to be shutting her out. Her husband admitted that he figured Danny had gotten a girlfriend- someone named Sam?- but he started to notice his son kept coming home with what appeared to be injuries.

Barry wasn't sure if they were aware that Danny was getting bullied. He was carefully filing some of the old cabinets when it clicked.

"Jazz?" He called out as the Fentons finally stop talking about Dnany's behavior and moved down to the lab. The teenager poked her head into the file office with a curious smile.

"Yes, Mr. Allen?" No matter how often he told her to call him Barry, she seemed determined to keep that barrier between them. Which was fair. After all, he was only around the house three or four times a week for a few hours.

"I have a question, so please feel free to not answer." He starts carefully to keep his tone light. Her smile turns strained at once, and Barry almost tells her to ignore it, but the thought of Wally being Danny's place makes him push on. "What is your family's stance on gay rights?"

Jazz blinked slowly, tilting her head. "I don't mind, and neither do my parents, I think. Why sir?"

"Just curious," Barry said, but mentally, he wondered if Danny knew that.

Jazz didn't look convinced, but she didn't push the issue as she wandered away with a respectful by-your-leave. He waited until she was upstairs before abandoning his work to find the Fentons.

Carefully, he started by updating them on his work, then casually dropped the mention of taking Wally to Pride so he wouldn't be able to work the following week. Neither Dr. so much as blinked, telling him that it was fine.

Barry felt it safe to keep pushing just a little.

"Yeah, I still remember how nervous Wally was about telling me he liked girls and boys." He chuckles. "As if though I didn't notice the signs."

Dr. Fenton raises a brow, face twisted in confusion as the large man turns to Barry. "What signs?"

"Mostly, he is trying to think of excuses to be with his friends more. He wasn't sleeping a lot, got into a bit of trouble in school when some kids were giving him grief, and oh, the way his eyes followed young men about." Barry said as casually as one could.

Dr. Fenton looks pensive. "Interesting."

Ah, it seemed she had picked up on the possibility of Danny not being as straight as he claimed. She thankfully didn't seem bothered by it.

"Jack, honey, you don't think Danny could be....?" She asked carefully.

Dr. Fenton ran a hand through his hair. "It could be. But why didn't he tell us?"

"Oh geez, I wonder why!" Jazz suddenly yells from the stairway. Barry twists around to find her standing there with a defensive glare. She has obviously been eavesdropping, but for how long? "What did you two expect with the way you talked around the house?!"

Dr. Fenton looked mystified. "Jazzy-pants, what are you talking about?"

His daughter only raises her fist, lowering her voice to mimic her father. "What are we doing today, Maddie? I know; how about we rip the ghost boy molecule by molecule!"

Barry's eyes grow wide. He had been working for the family for about six months and had encountered Phantom more than once. He even fought him off as Flash a few times since the ghost was hell-bent on robbing and property damage but was less dangerous than his rouges.

Dr. Fenton's face went pale as she clutched to the table. "Jazz you mean....Danny and Phantom...."

Jazz looked ready to fight them all as she bit out, "If you try to do anything to Danny, I swear-"

"We would never Jazzy-pants." Jack cut in, looking off Kindle. "To think my son was dating a ghost behind my back and I...I didn't even notice."

"Oh, Jack, we have to apologize," Maddie started. "Who knows if Danny could ever forgive us?"

Barry was thinking Flash also had to apologize. Based on their last encounter, Phantom would likely not be willing to hear him out. He quickly pulls out his phone to see if Wally and his team could get close enough to have him consider speaking to Barry.

None of the adults noticed the way Jazz froze in confusion, nor did they notice the slow horror growing on her face as they came to terms with Phantom and Danny dating.

[lifeonmarz-blog]

The 12 houses explained: short word format

1st: Aries, Mars, Yang, Dragon, Bee, Face, Eyes, Eyebrows, Voice, Accent, First Glance, Passion, Drive, Self Esteem, 3rd Eye, Intuition, Hard on yourself, Mutable, Patience, Leader, Stoic, Muscles, Neck/Head tension, Animals, Intensity, Head scarf, Tender headed, Attracting energy vampires, Hard headed, Red, Purple, Sexual energy, Humor, Introvert/extrovert, Fear of child baring because loss of freedom, Judgement, Lymph nodes, Guitar, Fast talker, Sharp talker, Forward thinking, Warrior, Personality, Spine...

2nd: Taurus, Venus, Yin, Panda, Neck/Throat, Throat chakra, Mouth, Thyroid, Heart, Pink, Blue, Fluid, Security, Resources, Musician, Silent, Introvert, Nose, Scent, Taste, Parent, Singing, Arms, Dancing, Food, Breeze, Partnership, Sharing, Values, Luxury, Pleasure, Easy going, Soft spoken, Naivety, Split decisions, Indecisive, Moon, Father, Sturdy, Poker face, Children, Trustworthy, Grit, Victory, Horses, Trials...

3rd: Gemini, Mercury, Yin/Yang, Jack Rabbit, Hands, Feet, Speech, Tongue, Lungs, Fast pace, Exercise, excitement, Bounce back, Joy, Vigor, Youth, Fidget, Anxiety, Habits, Expressive, Musician, Storyteller, School, Journalist, Moral system, Networking, Group, Siblings, Questioning, Stocks/trading, Choices, Dedication, Picky, Options, Dare Devil, Flirt, Long lasting, Hopes, Trees/Forest, Art, Comedian, Chances, Materials, Time, Loyal, Boundaries, ...

4th: Cancer, Moon, Yin, Owl, Family, Mother, Compassion, Creation, Birth, Life, Regret, Sleep, Nipple, Breast, Anus, Stomach, Womb, Bellybutton, Heart, Sacral, Blue, White, Yellow, Ocean, Cold, Night, Cycle, Fly on the wall, Unspoken secrets, Pores, Suicide, Whispers, Distracted, Outsider, Alchemy, Caregiver, Chef, Guidance, Critical, Teeth, Passage/Gateway, Humming, Drums, Weight on your back, Pressures, Gratefulness, Gratitude, Obedience, Horse, Animals, Words that cut...

5th: Leo, Sun, Yang, Lion, Spine, Heart, Pets, Fun, Youthful, Children, Love affairs, Expression, Dance, Gymnastics, Loud, Bright colors, Short trips, Friends, Aunts/Uncles, Get togethers, Cars, Innovative, Actor, Protection, Magician, Gardening, Gossip, Alchemy, Adulthood, Relaxing, Bonding, Self destruction, Slick words, Hard work, Spotlight, Sharing, Rebuilding, Clothing, Renewed vision, Drawing board, Companionship, Grounding...

6th: Virgo, Mercury, Yin, Ant, Crane, Praying Mantis, Work environment, Routine, Structure, Time, Patience, Health issues, Hygiene, Nervous system, digestive system, Pancreas, Gallbladder, Notebooks, Writing, Movies, Home, Relaxing, Forgiving, Generous, Social Life, Bonding, Practice, Foresight, Letting go, Stable, Helpful, Tense, Pressure, Negative thoughts, Reminisce, Addiction, Sorrow, Indecision, Indigestion, Saving Finances, Strong will, Codependency, Maturing, Realizing, Criticism, Self Honoring...

7th: Libra, Venus, Yin, Dragon Fly, Peacock, Marraige, Partnership, Contracts, Joint endeavors, Kidneys, Bladder, Blood, Caring what others think, Voice, Accent, Culture, Rebuilding, Learning new ways to do, Home decor, Learning gratitude, Giving, Reseveing, Welcome home, Comfort, Jot, Warmth, Spring, Flowers, New thought processes, Building Legacy, Defending yourself, Possessions, Slower living, Connecting to nature, Center of attention...

8th: Scorpio, Pluto, Mars, Yin/Yang, Vulture, Jaguar, Phoenix Death/Rebirth, Fears, Dark, Dreams, Escaping, Running, Hoarding, Lack, Homelessness, Strength, Stamina, Restart, Hard work paying off, Legacy, Against all odds, Elimination system, Pelvis, All the holes in the body, Burgundy, Purple, Black, Sex organs, Releasing worries, Manipulation, Smothering, Misunderstood, Coffee, Over giving, Partnership, Friendship, Sensuality, Secretion, Body odor, Roses, Fruit trees, Chapel, Railroad, Balancing, Power, Unseen forces, Intimidation, Relaxation...

9th: Sagittarius,Jupiter, Yang, Donkey, Whale, Shark, Liver, Legs, Posture, Religion, Long distance, Foreign travel, New ideas, Creative thoughts, Energy, Witty, Nomad, Idealistic, Larger than life, Focused on success, Friendship, Gatherings, Social Life, Relaxing, Luxury, Boundaries, Tired, Mental Illness, Restrictions, Insecurities, Grandparents, Quiet time, Relationships, Sharing, Attention, Harmony, Rebirth, Hard work, Getting over, Time, Late night thoughts, Male role model, Weight on your back, Responsibilities, Greedy, Guarded, Proud, Protection, Unique, Lavender...

10th: Capricorn, Saturn, Yang, Sheep, Alligator Honey Badger, Cactus, Sterile, Marble, White, Grey, Cold, Winter, Snow, Reputation, Social status, Farming, Popularity, Bones, Skin, Nails, Hair, Sharp, Leather, Goat, Structure, Skin conditions, Over explaining, Hard on others/yourself, Violin, Holding onto the past, Hard choices, Seeing others happen, Collecting, Finding purpose, Unique interest, Creative ways to make money, Standing up for yourself, Tunnel vision, Sharing, Networking, Group efforts, Working on love...

11th: Aquarius, Uranus, Yin/Yang, Moose, Mongoose, Snake, Friends, Parties, Organizations, Goals, Hopes, School, Science, mutable, unique style, Different friend groups, Water, Lakes, Rivers, Driving, Circulatory System, Pituitary glands, Changing course, Fear of change, Social media, Learning to stand alone, Trusting intuition, Defending loved ones, nonchalant, Increasing expectations, Std, Dead tree, Sticking it out, Elders, Community, Taking a stand, Protest, Elections, Politics, Numbers, Releasing restrictions...

12th: Pisces, Neptune, Yin, Fish, Birds, Friends, More to go around, Letting go, Releasing Past, Decor, Eye for style, Luxury, Opinionated, Energy field, Subconscious, Mountains, Fog, Spa, Skincare, Hygiene, Safety, Frienemies, Luck, Protection, Unprovided jealously, Foreign, Secret, Being watched, Self expression, Confidence, Talents, Anxiety, Depression, Breath, Dreams, Sleeping, Ufc/boxing, Always wanting more, Magician, Plants, Sunshine, Exotic, Target, Maturity, Completion...

[gallusrostromegalus]

I am constantly procrastinating working on my original fic by writing fanfic. Any advice for how to refocus and finish my novel?

Well. The novel probably needs a nap.

Procrastinating is a symptom that something is preventing you from doing the thing you "should" be doing. Most of the time it's an unrelated, but actually higher priority task like resting after an illness (society is fucking lying about anything else being more important) or filing your taxes (actually this one is pretty important).

...but if you're procrastinating on one creative project with another creative project, you're not procrastinating: something about the novel is off right now, the fanfic is more appealing to you.

Consider the following:

You may be writing fic because it brings you more joy than the novel. If you really want to get back to the novel, figure out what would make working on it more enjoyable. Engagement from a beta-editor? Skipping this really boring scene and coming back to it later? Adding more smut?

You may also be writing fic because it's got a lower spoon coat than the novel and you need to conserve your spoons right now. Any extra stress in your life? Moving? Toothache? Recovering from Covid? Annoying roommate? Sick family member? It's an election year? ANY of those could soak up extra spoons and make your novel too expensive for your spoons budget. Let it take a nap, and come back when you're feeling better.

You may be sharpening your artistic skills on a lower-stakes project before going back to the novel. This is pretty normal- even Michaelangelo took breaks to work on other pieces while sculpting The David, both for a change of pace and so he could try something out without fucking up the big block.

Fortunately, you're writing, so you can always try writing the challenging scene a dozen times in different docs or save the parts that were good but don't not in a spare parts bucket doc.

Or keep working on that fic, it's helping you learn on a subconscious level.

You don't love the novel right now. This is alright. This is usually temporary, and the solution is the same- put it aside and work on something else.

Maybe you are just bored of the novel. That's fine and normal, you just save all the documents to your hard drive and come back later. When the fic inevitably gets boring too, you'll come back to the novel and either go "oh hey this kicks ass!" And return to it with renewed enthusiasm.

...Or you'll come back to it and go "oh. This is actually a piece of shit" And that's okay too, because there's nothing more useless than polishing a turd, but that turd is still valuable as compost. You learned things writing it, and you can still rifle through the novel for good lines or scenes or turns of phrase and put those in your spare parts doc to ferment into The Good Shit in the back of your mind.

HOWEVER:

If you are experiencing a different phenomenon wherein you are actively distressed while writing the fic- either out of misplaced guilt, or the fic isn't actually fun you just feel compelled to do something, or absolutely every creative endeavor is stressing you out, you may be experiencing a serious mental or physical health issue and you should see your GP or a specialist ASAP. Pain is an indicator that something is wrong. Do not ignore your body's warning light.

That sounds really dramatic and hyperbolic but realizing I was not enjoying ANY creative work was the symptom that finally got me to sit down and go "huh. All these random pains, irregular sleep cycle, frequent migraines and weird bouts of vertigo aren't normal either, I should get this looked at." And it turned out I had dangerously low blood oxygen at night from undiagnosed sleep apnea. I have a CPAP machine now and it's AMAZING.

I really hope this is regular artistic shuffle and not a serious health concern, but if you're experiencing creative stress AND a bunch of other shit, it may be serious.

[sp1cy-t0ss]

Antares

https://archiveofourown.org/works/45534721

The first thing Nightwing hears upon regaining consciousness is ominous chanting. A man’s voice rings out over the rest, ranting about an Eternal King, infinite power, and -- oh boy -- sacrifices. He tunes it out to assess the situation.

He’s in an old warehouse. Robin’s here too, looking even more annoyed than Nightwing feels, and both of them have their hands and ankles bound in rope. His comm is on silent, just as he left it, like an idiot. The ranting man and his followers in matching robes are gathered around a ritual circle in the middle of the floor. Yeah, that tells him all he needs to know. They need to get out, now.

Unfortunately, that’s exactly when the leader finishes his speech and turns to them.

“So,” the man asks with a cruel smile. “Which of you ‘heroes’ will have the honor of bringing our Lord to this plane?” 

“I will.” Robin’s voice is sharp, unyielding. 

The man is obviously surprised to receive an actual answer to his taunt, but obliges. He pulls Robin away without another word.

“What?! No! Robin, you can’t--” Nightwing’s protest is cut off with a punch to the stomach from one of the robed lackeys.

“I have my reasons, Nightwing; it must be me.” Robin’s face reveals nothing, but he gives a subtle hand signal: I have a plan.

Nightwing forces himself to calm down. They’ll get out of this. He just has to trust his Robin. While everyone’s eyes are off him, he quietly works at the amateur knots.

The leader drags Robin into the circle without a fight. He raises a jeweled dagger, intentions clear... 

But Robin is faster. He bites his own wrist, hard, and spits his blood into the circle. The runes light up in terrible Lazarus green, and Robin pushes himself upright with a malicious grin.

The lead cultist scrambles back from the circle and into a deep bow. The chanting stops as his minions follow suit. Robin continues to look far too smug for his situation. Nightwing feels a headache coming on somewhere under his renewed panic.

This is his plan?! 

There’s a blinding flash of light. When the spots clear from Nightwing’s vision, the Eternal King is floating in the circle, mere feet from the bound Robin.

The Eternal King isn’t quite the grotesque horror he expected. Their body is a glittering black void, a sleek humanoid shadow with misty white hair and bright, bright eyes of toxic green. A cold fog rolls off of their body in waves.

“Antares,” the shadow rumbles, and Nightwing feels static thrum in his bones with the sound. The room is painfully cold, but the King doesn’t seem aggressive yet. Maybe they really can bargain their way out of this mess.

Robin doesn’t flinch. He looks the Eternal King right in the eyes, utterly fearless, and smirks. “Hello, Beloved.”

What?

The King stares silently, floating closer. For a long moment, no one moves. No one speaks.

“My lord, does the sacrifice please you?” The ringleader cuts in, standing up with a greedy gleam in his eyes. 

Something in the air changes as the King turns toward the man. Something cold, electric, heavy under the skin. Nightwing suppresses a shiver as he works through the last of the rope.

“You d̵̢̛a̵̼̽ṙ̴͎e̵͙̐.”

The leader pales and falls to his knees. “My Lord, if this offering is insufficient, we have another--”

The King s̴̱̖̺̺̓͊̕̕ć̵͇͇͔̈r̴̥͐e̸̥̬͌̂̌̊a̴̭̔̓̀̔͘m̵̯͑̋͌͠s̵̗̤̻̭̍̿, a furious howl that blurs Nightwing’s vision and claws his ears. The sound is everywhere, driving him to his knees. Growing shadows seem to absorb his little brother just as Nightwing realizes he’s blacking out. 

They’re falling, they’re falling someone help they’re screaming he’s screaming make it stop dead on impact blood and bones make it stop make it STOP--

When he comes back to himself, it’s quiet. Nightwing blinks tears from his eyes, gasping for frigid air that pierces his lungs like knives. The floor outside the circle is covered in blood splatter. The cultists have all been struck down, and many aren’t moving. 

But he’s not looking at them.

Because the monster is coiled around Robin like a snake, eyes burning as it surveys the room. Robin seems unharmed for now, but he has to get his baby brother away from that thing.

He steps forward, and those endless green eyes lock onto him. It snarls at his approach, revealing multiple rows of teeth. Claws subtly tighten on Robin’s shoulders. Nightwing sinks into a combat stance, and the creature braces itself to leap.

Pure, animal instinct screams that Nightwing won’t survive this fight.. It doesn’t matter. He’ll give his all like he always has, and Robin can escape. The others will find a way to take it down. He just has to buy time.

“Dove, it’s alright.”

To Nightwing’s amazement, the creature freezes. It turns to look at Robin, warbling in apparent confusion before turning back to Nightwing with a hiss.

Robin grabs its face in both hands and forces it to look at him. “No. That’s Nightwing, remember? He will not harm us. I am safe. We are safe.” His voice is steady, soothing as he gently presses their foreheads together. A spark of awareness slowly returns to ‘Dove’s’ eyes.

“Come back to me.”

The monster sags in Robin’s grip, slowly folding in on itself until a nearly-human teen with snowy white hair is left floating gently in its place.

Robin smiles, gentle and shockingly warm. “There you are.”

‘Dove’ is shaking. Their eyes are locked on Robin, as though he’s the only thing in their universe. “Antares,” they breathe, before wrapping Robin in a tight hug.

Robin briefly looks to Dick, gesturing toward the cultists. He then returns his attention to the distraught being, resting his chin on their head and both hands on their back. The obvious dismissal makes Nightwing uneasy, but the kid has a point. They'll just have to check him for hypnosis or mind control back at the Cave.

Now that Nightwing is actually looking at the cultists, their injuries are horrific. Deep lacerations, stab wounds, frostbite, severed limbs...none of them seem likely to die with medical treatment, but every last one is maimed. 

The ringleader is worst of all. His eyes are gouged out, and his hands ripped off and cauterized by the same unearthly frost that burns scattered marks into his skin. An unfamiliar symbol has been clawed into his chest. 

Nightwing looks back to the circle, where Dove is quietly sobbing. Their face is tucked securely into Robin’s neck, and Nightwing hears whispers of I was scared and can’t lose you too.  

This is the same person?

By the time the cultists are all secured and the police have been called, Dove seems to have calmed down. Time to play the diplomat. Again. 

Damn, maybe Steph has a point about Eldest Daughter Syndrome.

“I, uh, hate to interrupt, but we should probably get out of here, yeah? GCPD will be here in a couple minutes,” he proposes with a friendly smile.

Dove wipes their eyes. “Right.” Then they look around the room and wince. “Uhm, sorry you? Had to see that? I...panicked. You’re okay though, right? Not hurt or anything?” The question is disarmingly earnest, and there’s nothing but concern in their eyes. Hm.

“Nah, not a scratch,” Nightwing dismisses. Then he remembers he’s apparently talking to a king. “Thank you for saving Robin, Your Highness,” he adds with a bow of his head. 

“Nuh-uh, no titles. Gross.” The King makes a face, then smiles with renewed cheer. “Call me Phantom. He/him, ghost, and general pain in the ass, at your service!” He floats higher and punctuates his announcement with a midair flip. “You might as well know, since we’re gonna be seeing each other a lot now.”

Crap. “I’m afraid I don’t follow,” Nightwing ventures.

‘Phantom’ exchanges a meaningful look with Robin. Nightwing barely has time to register the mischief on both their faces before Robin pulls the being down into a kiss. 

A deep kiss now. Really deep. Yeah, they’ve definitely forgotten he’s here.

When they finally separate, Robin looks quite satisfied. Phantom, however, sticks out a forked tongue and scrunches his face. “Blech, blood. What did you...” His eyes land on Robin’s still-bloody wrist, then the droplets still in the circle. 

“You didn’t.” A grin creeps across his face. “You have me on soul speed dial and you still hijacked a whole-ass summoning!”

“Tt. I was making a point.” Robin crosses his arms.

Phantom cackles. “You are literally the most dramatic person I’ve ever met!” he crows.

Robin raises an eyebrow and gestures to the warehouse full of mangled cultists. Phantom opens his mouth to retort, but it’s at this point that Nightwing finally manages to pull his jaw off the floor and speak. 

“Robin,” he says with deliberate calm. “What the fuck.”

And then they hear police sirens. Fantastic.

“Crap. Don’t worry, I got it!” Phantom declares as he rips a green hole in existence. Robin is unfazed, which is rapidly getting less and less surprising.

A woman in the corner stirs. Phantom makes a ‘one moment’ gesture before he stalks over and yanks her forward with a growl. “You’ve kept your tongue for a reason. Spread the word: Robin is mine.” (Robin stands taller, obviously pleased by that extremely concerning statement.)  The woman nods frantically, and Phantom drops her to the ground. 

Without further preamble, Phantom zips back over and shoves both vigilantes through the rip.

Just like that, they’re all in Damian’s bedroom. The two boys immediately sit together on the edge of the bed, while Dick remains standing. Dick doesn’t even know where to begin, so he can only give a helpless ‘why’ sort of gesture. Thankfully, Damian seems to take pity on him.

“Richard, this insufferable fool is my Beloved. His name is Danny, and he is seventeen.” Then he smirks. “You may refer to him as High King Phantom of the Infinite Realms; The Tyrant’s Bane, True Balance, Son Of Stars, Pride of Time, Death’s Chosen--”

The ghost groans dramatically, flopping across Damian’s lap like a wet noodle. “Oh my gawd, Dames, why would you tell him that?”

"It is very important that Richard recognizes your position and authority.” Damian says, not even trying to sound convincing.

Danny reaches up and pushes at Damian’s face. It brings to mind a pair of cats, especially with Damian doing his best to look annoyed instead of fond. “Betrayal! I want a divorce!”

That’s the last straw. Dick chokes on his own spit and has to thump his chest a few times to breathe right again. With monumental effort, he manages to wheeze out a strangled “Are you MaRriEd?!”

Danny tries to sputter out a reply, but Dick is distracted by Damian laughing. It’s a low, light sound, with no attempt made to disguise it. 

“Of course not,” Damian says. He cards a hand through Danny’s hair, the other boy sighing contently and looking up at him with adoring neon eyes. “We've only courted for seven months now. It will be another three years before we wed.” 

Dick is just. Gonna ignore that last bit. For his own sanity. “Wait, how did you keep a whole boyfriend secret for seven months? In this family?” 

“Bribery.” “Threats.”

Yeah, that sounds about right. Babs and Duke probably know then.

“Cool, good to know. One more question.” Well, more like a billion, but he may as well start with an icebreaker before the inevitable interrogation. Besides, it’s a big brother's duty to embarrass his siblings. “Why Dove?”

Damian says nothing, but his deep blush is almost audible.

“Because I’m cute and fluffy!” Danny chirps.

“Hardly,” Damian scoffs. “It’s because you are raucously annoying and constantly crash into windows.”

Literally everything about this situation is baffling, but Danny looks so offended that Dick can’t help but laugh.

“You lying asshole!” Danny screeches.

Damian turns to Dick. “He attempted to use a grapple three times and broke eleven windows; four of them with his face. I have videos.” Danny gasps, the two start bickering, and Dick is left to his thoughts once more. 

Even as the pair separate to point fingers and trade increasingly creative insults, their body language is completely relaxed. As much as Dick is panicking about a powerful undead monarch around their family, Damian is happy. He has been for months, now that Dick thinks about it. He’s been loosening up a little, leaving the manor more, and even mentioning a few new friends (though he refuses to use the word.)

Whoever or whatever Danny is, he’s been good for him.

“Well,” Dick cuts in, interrupting an inventive declaration about overripe cheese. “We’ll obviously need to talk about this. But for what it’s worth,” he smiles. “I’m happy for you, Baby Bat.” 

With that said, Dick walks out of the bedroom. Danny gives him a grateful smile, and a quiet thank you, Richard can be heard as he closes the door behind him.

Dick walks away at a leisurely pace until he reaches the end of the hallway, where he promptly breaks into a sprint toward the Cave. Checking the Batcomputer to make sure Damian hasn’t noticed the planted bug yet, he turns on his comms. Unsurprisingly, the entire family is yelling and demanding answers.

Well, at least he won’t be the only one having a heart attack tonight.

[itsgreti]

BENEATH THE MASK

pairing. simon "ghost" riley x f!reader

summary. (Y/N), Task Force 141's medic, saw Ghost's face for the first time while patching up his injuries.

warning. descriptions of gunfire, explosions, scenes depicting injuries, medical treatments, and blood (typical cod theme)

word count. 2.3k

a/n: english is my second language, so if you find any mistakes, don't hesitate and text me!

The desert wind howled across the rocky terrain as the Task Force 141 team moved swiftly through the night. (Y/N), their medic, felt the weight of her gear as she kept pace with Captain Price, Soap, Gaz, and the mysterious Ghost. She had been with the elite unit for a few months, but Ghost remained an enigma to her, a silent, masked figure whose presence was always felt but never fully seen.

Their mission that night was simple in concept: infiltrate a heavily guarded compound and extract crucial intel regarding a new shipment of chemical weapons. But as they approached the compound under darkness, their plan quickly unravelled. A patrol they hadn't anticipated stumbled upon them, leading to a chaotic firefight.

Bullets whizzed through the air, accompanied by the sharp cracks of rifles and the distant thunder of explosions. (Y/N) took cover behind a crumbling wall, her mind racing as she assessed the wounded. Soap and Gaz held their ground nearby, providing cover fire as Captain Price barked orders over the radio.

Suddenly, Ghost appeared beside her, his presence as silent as ever. He motioned towards Soap, whose shoulder was grazed by a bullet. Without a word, (Y/N) nodded and hurried to assist.

The firefight continued for what felt like an eternity, but the team managed to eliminate the immediate threat. With the area momentarily secure, they regrouped in a small, dimly lit room within the compound. Captain Price leaned over the map spread out on a makeshift table, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"We need that intel," Price said grimly, his voice low yet commanding. "Ghost, find it. (Y/N), patch up whoever needs it and be ready to move out."

(Y/N) nodded, her focus shifting to Soap and Gaz as she pulled out her medical kit. Soap winced as she began to clean and dress his wound, but Gaz remained alert, scanning their surroundings.

As (Y/N) worked, she stole glances at Ghost, who was hunched over a computer terminal in the corner of the room. His movements were precise and deliberate, his gloved hands flying over the keys as he accessed the encrypted files.

The tension in the room was palpable, broken only by the occasional click of Ghost's keystrokes and the muted sounds of the ongoing battle outside. (Y/N) couldn't help but wonder about the man behind the mask—his past, his motivations. But such thoughts had to wait. Right now, their survival depended on securing the intel and getting out safely.

Just as Ghost seemed to make progress, an explosion rocked the building, sending debris flying and knocking everyone off balance. (Y/N) stumbled, but Ghost was quick to steady her, his gloved hand gripping her arm firmly. For a brief moment, she felt the weight of his presence, his strength beneath the mask.

"Ghost!" Captain Price called out, his voice urgent. "We're running out of time. Can you get that intel or not?"

Ghost nodded, his masked face unreadable. With renewed determination, he returned to the terminal, his fingers moving faster now.

Outside, the gunfire intensified, drawing nearer by the second. Soap and Gaz exchanged worried glances, their weapons at the ready. They knew they couldn't hold out much longer.

"Almost there," Ghost muttered under his breath, his eyes fixed on the screen.

Suddenly, the screen flickered and then displayed a map with a blinking marker. Ghost's gloved hand hovered over the keyboard as he extracted the data onto a portable drive.

"We've got it," Ghost announced, his voice calm yet triumphant.

Captain Price wasted no time. "Good. (Y/N), pack up. We're moving out–"

Before Price could finish his sentence, a barrage of gunfire erupted from outside the room. Bullets tore through the walls, sending chunks of debris flying. (Y/N) ducked instinctively, shielding her head with her arms.

In the chaos, Ghost acted decisively. He grabbed (Y/N)'s arm and pulled her towards him, shielding her with his own body as they sought cover behind a thick concrete pillar. His masked face was just inches from hers, his eyes intense behind the tinted lenses.

"Stay down," Ghost ordered, his voice low yet urgent.

(Y/N) nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. She could feel the heat of his body against hers, his presence a comforting shield amidst the chaos. For the first time, she found herself grateful for his silent strength.

Captain Price and the others returned fire, their shots echoing through the room. The enemy was relentless, their numbers seemingly endless. But Task Force 141 was relentless too, fighting tooth and nail to hold their ground.

As the firefight raged on, (Y/N) couldn't help but steal glances at Ghost. His mask remained firmly in place, betraying nothing of the man beneath. But now, with the adrenaline coursing through her veins, she found herself drawn to him in a way she hadn't before.

"We need to move," Captain Price shouted over the din of gunfire. "Ghost, (Y/N), cover us. Soap, Gaz, with me!"

Without hesitation, Ghost and (Y/N) provided covering fire as Price and the others dashed towards the exit. Bullets whizzed past them, impacting the walls with deadly precision.

"Go!" Ghost called out, his voice barely audible over the cacophony of battle.

(Y/N) nodded and followed Ghost as they made their way towards the exit, their backs pressed against the cold stone walls. The air was thick with smoke and the acrid smell of gunpowder, their lungs burning with each breath.

Just as they reached the exit, a stray grenade sailed through the air and landed at their feet. (Y/N)'s eyes widened in horror as she realized they were trapped. Without thinking, Ghost pushed her behind him and shielded her with his body once more.

The grenade exploded with a deafening roar, sending shrapnel flying in all directions. (Y/N) felt the force of the blast against her back, but Ghost absorbed the brunt of it, his body tensing with the impact. She could hear him grunt in pain, but he didn't falter.

"Ghost!" (Y/N) screamed.

"(Y/N)..." Ghost's voice was strained. He was conscious but clearly in pain.

"Ghost is down!" she shouted into her comms, her voice filled with urgency.

There was a brief crackle of static before Price's voice came through, sharp and focused. "Gaz, Soap, fall back to Ghost's position! (Y/N), get to him now!"

As the smoke cleared, (Y/N) peered around Ghost to assess the damage. His mask was scorched and cracked, revealing a glimpse of his face beneath. Blood trickled down his neck from a gash caused by a piece of shrapnel.

"We need to get him out!" she called out, her voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins.

A few moments later the team managed to get to the position of (Y/N) and Ghost. Soap and Gaz provided cover as Price helped lift Ghost. They moved quickly, bullets whizzing past them, the sounds of battle all around. Outside, the night air was cool against (Y/N)'s skin as they regrouped with the extraction team and jumped into the helicopter that was waiting for them. As everyone was situated, (Y/N) immediately went to work, her focus solely on saving Ghost.

Captain Price and the others scanned the area around the helicopter, holding off the enemy as they flew off. (Y/N) didn't hesitate, knelt beside him. Ignoring his initial resistance, she gently pushed aside his damaged skull mask, and her hands went to his fabric mask that was under the other one.

"I need to see the wound," she said, her voice steady despite the panic rising within her.

Ghost caught her wrist instinctively, his gaze locking with hers. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

"It's alright, I need to patch you up," (Y/N) said softly, her voice barely a whisper.

Ghost hesitated, his grip on her wrist loosening ever so slightly. He gave a barely noticeable nod, allowing her to proceed. (Y/N) peeled back the mask, revealing his face for the first time. His face was a canvas of battle-hardened features, each scar telling a story of survival and sacrifice. A deep, fresh gash ran from his cheek down to his neck, the wound raw and bleeding, but the older scars drew her gaze – the jagged line across his left eyebrow, the faded burn mark along his jawline, and the small, puckered scar near his temple. His skin was pale, almost ghostly, contrasting sharply with the dark stubble that shadowed his jaw. But it was his eyes that caught her attention – dark brown, filled with a mix of determination and vulnerability.

Carefully, (Y/N) cleaned the wound on his neck and applied pressure to staunch the bleeding. Ghost felt a strange mix of emotions. He was not used to being exposed, his face a closely guarded secret. The sensation of her hands, gentle yet firm, was foreign but strangely comforting. Despite the pain, there was a sense of relief, a small crack in the armour he had built around himself.

Even though the severity of the situation, she remained calm, her training guiding her every move. Ghost winced, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he watched her with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine.

"There," (Y/N) said gently, securing a bandage around his neck. "That should hold for now."

Ghost's eyes met hers, a mixture of pain and gratitude in their depths. "Thanks," he muttered, his voice strained.

"I've got you," she replied firmly. "Just hang on."

As (Y/N) finished, Captain Price stepped over the duo, his expression a mix of concern and relief. "How is he?" he asked, his eyes on Ghost.

(Y/N) looked up, exhaustion evident in her features. "He'll be okay. The wound was serious, but he's stable now."

Price nodded, his respect for (Y/N) clear in his eyes. "Good work. You saved his life."

(Y/N) offered a tired smile. "Just fulfilling my duty."

Price clapped a hand on her shoulder, a rare gesture of affection. The helicopter blades whipped through the night, and (Y/N) stayed beside Ghost, her hands steady as she pressed the bandage on his wound. The field dressings had been held, but the ride was rough, so she kept a close watch to ensure he stayed stable. Despite the dire situation, Ghost’s eyes remained sharp, and focused, a silent testament to his resilience. (Y/N) looked at the others and Ghost knew that she wanted to check on them. He nodded and without another word, he moved (Y/N)’s hand from his gash and pushed her to go to the other injured comrades.

Once she agreed, (Y/N) turned her attention to Soap. She barely took care of his shoulder which took a hit during the firefight, and although he didn’t say anything, she knew he must be in pain.

“Soap,” she called, her voice cutting through the hum of the helicopter. “Let me see your shoulder.”

Soap glanced at her, his usual bravado dimmed by exhaustion. “It’s just a scratch, doc,” he muttered, but he didn’t resist as she moved closer.

(Y/N) carefully peeled back the torn fabric of his sleeve, revealing the graze. The bullet had grazed his shoulder, leaving a raw, bloody scar. She winced at the sight but quickly set to work, cleaning the wound with practised efficiency.

“You need to take it easy,” she said, her tone firm but gentle. “This might not be serious now, but it could get worse if you don’t let it heal.”

Soap grinned, a flicker of his usual humour returning. “Don’t worry about me, lass. I’m tougher than I look.”

(Y/N) smiled back, shaking her head. “Maybe, but even tough guys need to let their medics take care of them.”

As she bandaged his shoulder, Soap’s grin softened into something sincere. “Thanks, doc. We’re lucky to have you.”

She finished securing the bandage and patted his good shoulder. “Just doing my job, Soap. Now sit tight, we’ll be back at base soon.”

She glanced around the helicopter, checking on the rest of the team. Gaz was alert, his eyes scanning the horizon, and Captain Price was deep in thought, already planning their next move. Despite the weariness and the injuries, there was a deep sense of unity among them. They had faced the fire together and come out stronger on the other side.

As the helicopter touched down at the base, the team began to disembark, their movements slow and weary. (Y/N) remained beside Ghost, her presence a steady anchor amidst the chaos. His mask was back in place, hiding his features once more. But now, she knew the man behind the mask – a warrior with a haunted past, driven by a sense of duty and honour. She held his hand gently, ensuring he felt her support. Even through the pain and exhaustion, Ghost’s eyes flickered with a rare vulnerability, acknowledging her silent strength.

As the other medics arrived and began to transfer him onto a stretcher, Ghost’s grip on her hand tightened slightly. “You don’t have to stay,” he muttered, his voice strained but sincere.

(Y/N) smiled softly, squeezing his hand in return. “I want to. You’re my patient and my friend. I’m not leaving you now.”

Ghost’s eyes softened, a flicker of gratitude passing over his features. “Not used to... this kind of care.”

She chuckled lightly, adjusting the blanket around him. “Well, get used to it. You’re stuck with me.”

There was a brief silence as the medics prepared to move him, the sounds of the bustling base fading into the background. Ghost looked at her, his expression serious. “Thanks, (Y/N). For everything.”

(Y/N) leaned closer, her voice gentle but firm. “Just focus on getting better, Ghost. We need you.”

He nodded, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corners of his mouth behind the fabric mask. “I’ll do my best.”

“You better do,” she said, walking alongside the stretcher as they moved him towards the infirmary.

[conceptionsofconciousness]

The Nakshatra Colors

In Astrology, every Nakshatra has a color which it is associated with. The color of the Nakshatra works in two primary ways. Internally and externally. This article piece focused on the Internal.

On an internal level, the color of the Nakshatra has a psychological effect. According to color theory every hue, shade, and tone affects the spirit and consciousness. Every Nakshatra color internally takes on the psychological traits of color, integrating into the consciousness and personality.

The colors of Nakshatras internally are best applied to the Nakshatra placement of the Sun, Moon, Rahu, and Ketu. This is because all 4 of these planets relate directly to the internal consciousness.

The Traits of a Nakshatra Color brings the following traits into the inner self or personality:

Ashwini - Blood Red

Active Excitement Energy Invigoration High Metabolism Fearlessness Intensity Power Passion Fire Love Lust Arousal Affection Aggression Anger Violence Warfare Terror Survival

Bharani - Blood Red

Active Excitement Energy Invigoration High Metabolism Fearlessness Intensity Power Passion Fire Love Lust Arousal Affection Aggression Anger Violence Warfare Terror Survival

Krittika - White

Independence Youth Innocense Completeness Openness Blank Slates Possibilities Creativity Purity Virtue Cleanliness Simplicity Peace Tranquility Cleansing Efficiency Order Soothing Isolating Empty Boredom, Criticism

Rohini - White

Independence Youth Innocense Completeness Openness Blank Slates Possibilities Creativity Purity Virtue Cleanliness Simplicity Peace Tranquility Cleansing Efficiency Order Soothing Isolating Empty Boredom, Criticism

Mrigashira - Silver Grey

Fluid Sensitive Soothing Calming Restorative Reflection Intuition Clairvoyance Wealth Prestige Quiet Reserved Compromising Blending In Unemotional Indifferent Loner Isolated Depressing

Ardra - Green

Going Motion Equilibrium Balance Harmony Health Wellness Nutrition Vitamins Fitness Growth Fertility Prosperity Progress Wealth Freshness Renewal Stress Relief Relaxation, Nature Inexperienced Envy Greed Jealously

Punarvasu - Lead Grey

Intelligence Wisdom Dignity Experience Neutrality Balance Impartiality Clear Thoughts Compromising Faith Truthful Formal Modern Future Advancing Technology Protective Private Reserved Blending in Loner Isolated Background Existence

Pushya - Black Red

Black

Power Control Protection Elegance Formality Professionalism Standing Out Mystery Dramatic Enigmatic Aggression Anger Fear Anxiety Grief Despair Anxiety Sadness Evil Death Mourning Loneliness Lethargy

Red

Active Excitement Energy Invigoration High Metabolism Fearlessness Intensity Power Passion Fire Love Lust Arousal Affection Aggression Anger Violence Warfare Terror Survival

Ashlesha - Black Red

Black

Power Control Protection Elegance Formality Professionalism Standing Out Mystery Dramatic Enigmatic Aggression Anger Fear Anxiety Grief Despair Anxiety Sadness Evil Death Mourning Loneliness Lethargy

Red

Active Excitement Energy Invigoration High Metabolism Fearlessness Intensity Power Passion Fire Love Lust Arousal Affection Aggression Anger Violence Warfare Terror

Survival

Magha - Cream

Openness Seriousness Intense Respected Esteemed Admired Durability Sophistication Refinement Humility Athletic Ambitious Competitive Cautious Held Back Adversarial Sore Loser Antagonistic

Purva Phalguni - Light Brown/Tan

Natural Organic Warmth Comforting Cozy Calm Relaxed Logical Analytical Creative Artistic Security Luxury Elegance Conservative Dull

Uttara Phalguni - Bright Blue

Optimism Enthusiasm Bright Alert Peace Clam Tranquility Relaxed Meditative Zen Recharging Intelligence Concentration Focus Connection Strong Values Integrity Honesty Attractive Connection Helper Assister Rational Capable Composed Competent Precise Responsible Reliable Trustworthy Loyalty Social Cold Sad Down

Hasta - Dark Green

Bold Controlled Steadfast Conservative Edgy Fertility Drive Desire Money Materialism Hunger Indulgence Moody Oversaturated Overwhelming Flooded Overloaded Gluttony Excess Resentment Spite

Chitra - Black

Power Control Protection Elegance Formality Professionalism Standing Out Mystery Dramatic Enigmatic Aggression Anger Fear Anxiety Grief Despair Anxiety Sadness Evil Death Mourning Loneliness Letheragy

Swati - Black

Power Control Protection Elegance Formality Professionalism Standing Out Mystery Dramatic Enigmatic Aggression Anger Fear Anxiety Grief Despair Anxiety Sadness Evil Death Mourning Loneliness Letheragy

Vishakha - Gold

Optimism Positivity Charisma Passion Wisdom Understanding Enlightenment Success Knowledge Wisdom Great Understanding Triumph Achievement Reputation Wealth Quality Giving Compassionate Loving Selfishness Over-complexity

Anuradha - Reddish Brown/Maroon

Warmth Beauty Primal Emotional Passion Power Strength Determination Confidence Courage Spirited Depth Ambition Force Risk Creative Wise Spiritual Impulsive Anger

Jyestha - Cream

Openness Seriousness Intense Respected Esteemed Admired Durability Sophistication Refinement Humility Athletic Ambitious Competitive Cautious Held Back Adversarial Sore Loser Antagonistic

Mula - Bright Yellow

Happiness Positivity Cheerfulness Inspiring Illuminating Optimism Hope Promising Striking Insightful Wise Humerus Vibrant Stimulated Engaged Overpowering Intense Excessive Warning Caution Deceit Restless

Purva Ashadha - Black

Power Control Protection Elegance Formality Professionalism Standing Out Mystery Dramatic Enigmatic Aggression Anger Fear Anxiety Grief Despair Anxiety Sadness Evil Death Mourning Loneliness Lethargy

Uttara Ashadha - Copper

Down to Earth Warm Homely Wealth Comforting Impassioned Lively Energetic Strong Determined Supportive Genuine Classy Successful Accomplished Egotistical Cheeky Envy Hypocrisy Cynicism

Shravana - Light Blue

Feminine Welcoming Soft Comfortable Safe Calm Gentle Ethereal Peaceful Tranquil Soothing Refined Cultivated Stylish Approachable Concentration Focus Connection Strong Values Integrity Composed Competent Precise Responsible Reliable Trustworthy Superficial Delicate Frail Cold Sad Down

Dhanishta - Silver Grey

Fluid Sensitive Soothing Calming Restorative Reflection Intuition Clairvoyance Wealth Prestige Quiet Reserved Compromising Blending In Unemotional Indifferent Loner Isolated Depressing

Shatabhisha - Cyan/Aqua

Rational Liveliness Nature Healing Therapy Restoring Correcting Mending Remediation Stability Tranquility Clarity of Mind Emotional Balance Serenity Creativity Spirituality Dreams Fantasy Trances

Purva Bhadrapada - Silver Grey

Fluid Sensitive Soothing Calming Restorative Reflection Intuition Clairvoyance Wealth Prestige Quiet Reserved Compromising Blending In Unemotional Indifferent Loner Isolated Depressing

Uttara Bhadrapada - Purple

Power Wisdom Inspiration Creativity Imagination Fantasy Spiritual Devout Philosophical Future Minded Resourceful Selfless Humility Wealthy Luxury Nobility Extravagance Impractical Immature Arrogance Cynicism Melancholy

Revati - Brown

Sensual Sensitive Warm Comfortable Stability Reliable Secure Steadfast Natural Wholesome Dependable Structured Homely Sincere Reassuring Genuine Practical Supportive Dull Mundane Boring Predictable Inexpensive

[seriiousgiirl]

𝓞𝓷 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓴𝓷𝓮𝓮𝓼, 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓹𝓻𝓪𝔂

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ݁ 𝓅𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓈𝓉!𝒶𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓇𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝓍 𝓋𝒶𝓂𝓅𝒾𝓇𝑒 𝒽𝓊𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓇!𝒻𝑒𝓂!𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇 . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

❛ Who are you? Demon to some. Angel to others. ❜

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ 𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 . ⊹ ₊ ݁. On the run from death after an unsuccessful night's hunting, you seek refuge in a small church deep in the forest. The priest, Astarion, takes you in, promising to take care of you.

Little do you know that despite his angelic face, he has devil thoughts.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 . ⊹ ₊ ݁. kind of enemies to lovers, smut with plot, age gap, somnophilia, taboo kink, dominance and submission, bondage, sensual education, forced proximity, tender worship, rough sex, corruption kink, oral sex, fangs and more...

Despite the angst, this has a good ending. I promise.

➜ ┊: oneshot ⋅ 17K words. A lot is happening. ➜ ┊ a/n: there's been a hype about Astarion as a priest on twitter (thanks to Neil's role) so that's inspired me, nothing offensive is intentional. Just enjoy!

Blood seeped from your wounds, each drop marking your path through the dense, oppressive forest. Every muscle screamed in agony, and your senses were on high alert. Vision blurred, the moon overhead glowed a sinister red, as if mockingly reflecting the blood you were losing. The woods appeared to extend indefinitely, comprising a maze of shadows and gnarled branches that seemed to reach out and entrap you. 

You were a hunter, trained to track and kill the very creatures that now pursued you. The irony was not lost on you; tonight, the roles were reversed. You weren't used to being the prey, but tonight, everything had changed. 

The ambush had been swift and brutal. The vampire had pounced on you with a speed and ferocity that left you breathless. Its fangs had sunk into your flesh before you could react, and though you had fought, the creature had overpowered you, leaving you broken and bleeding in the dirt.

The pain was a constant, throbbing reminder of your vulnerability. Each step was a struggle, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you pressed a trembling hand to your side, trying to stem the flow of blood. Your thoughts were a chaotic whirl, a mix of survival instinct and despair. You couldn't afford to stop. Not here. Not now. The forest was unforgiving, and every heartbeat echoed with the fear of what might be lurking in the darkness.

As your strength waned, you scanned the forest desperately for any sign of shelter. Just when despair began to creep in, you saw it: a church. Its silhouette emerged from the shadows, an ancient structure that stood in stark contrast to the wild, untamed forest around it. The stained glass windows glowed softly, illuminated by flickering candles within. The sight was almost surreal, like a beacon of hope in the endless night.

With a renewed sense of determination, you staggered toward the church. Each step felt like an eternity, your legs threatening to give out beneath you. The candles inside seemed to beckon you, their warm light a promise of safety in the darkness.

Finally, you reached the steps of the church. 

You stumbled, nearly falling as your strength gave out, but you managed to catch yourself against the stone. As desperation clawed at your senses, you knocked frantically on the door, hoping against hope that someone inside would hear your plea and grant you safety. A church was a holy ground where no vampire dared to tread, for fear of the searing pain it would bring. 

But as each moment passed without a response, the whispers of the night grew louder.

"Please," you begged, your voice raw with desperation. "Open the door! I'm in danger!"

The urgency in your tone carried the weight of your peril, the fear that gripped your heart driving you to implore for sanctuary within the sacred walls of the church. "I beg of you," you continued, your voice cracking with emotion, "I don't have much time. Please, you have to help me!" 

But as the moments ticked by without a response, the gnawing sense of dread only grew stronger. You could feel the presence of your pursuer drawing nearer, its malevolent intent palpable in the air. Panic threatened to overwhelm you as you realised that time was running out, and the safety of the church remained out of reach.

With one final, desperate plea, you pressed your forehead against the door, your breath coming in ragged gasps. "Please," you whispered, the words barely more than a prayer, "don't let me die out here. Please, open the door."

Just when you feared all hope was lost, the door finally creaked open, a sliver of light cutting through the darkness like a lifeline. With a surge of relief, you stumbled inside, your heart racing with the knowledge that you had narrowly escaped the clutches of your predator.

As the door finally creaked open, a wave of relief washed over you, and you crawled inside, your body trembling with exhaustion and pain. Strong, muscular arms lifted you gently from the cold ground, cradling you in his embrace as you staggered into the warmth of the church. Your head fell back onto the broad chest that held you up, and you let out a shaky sigh.

Your breathing was ragged, your heart pounding, and your mind still reeling from the terrifying encounter. A voice, smooth as silk and seductive, washed over you like a siren's song. "My dear, what happened to you?"

You clung to the figure's robe, your grip tight as you struggled to find the strength to speak. "I... I was attacked," you managed to gasp out, the words coming in a hoarse whisper. "By... a vampire."

A shiver ran down your spine as his hands gently, but firmly, began to examine your wounds with gentle, intimate strokes. The contrast between the cruelty of the vampire's attack and the tender care he was showing you was overwhelming. You could feel his fingers gently tracing over your skin, sending electric shocks of sensation throughout your body.

As you tried to look up at him, your vision blurred and swimming with tears, sweat and blood but you caught a glimpse of his face. Even through the haze of pain and exhaustion, you could see how devilishly handsome he was, with his silver curls framing his strong jaw, and his ruby-like eyes glinting with concern.

Then, the charming priest's expression twisted with regret, and his hand brushed against your cheek, the gentle caress sending shivers to your core. "I'm so sorry, my dear," he murmured, "I should have been here sooner. But you're safe now. Let me take care of you."

His words were a balm to your battered soul, offering comfort in the midst of chaos. You nodded weakly, feeling a sense of gratitude wash over you like a warm tide. Despite the pain that still throbbed in every fibre of your being, you felt a flicker of peace begin to stir within you.

As your head rested against his broad chest, you could feel the rhythmic pulse of his heartbeat, a soothing lullaby that eased your racing mind. His voice, a deep rumble that resonated through his body, washed over you like a comforting wave. His voice, deep and resounding, carried the power of wisdom and experience. 

"My child, you have been through a harrowing ordeal. Your wounds are deep, and the path to recovery will be long. But here, within the sanctity of my church, you will be safe and nurtured."

Your cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and gratitude as you asked, "I’m sorry… Am I... a burden to you?" The vulnerability in your voice was palpable. You hesitated, unsure if you were deserving of such grace, but his smile, gentle and understanding, promised everything you needed at that moment. 

"Quite the opposite, my dear. Your presence is a blessing. I'll do everything in my power to see to your recovery. I will tend to your wounds with the love and compassion that only a servant of God can offer."

Your heart swelled with gratitude, the weight of your tribulations lightening with each syllable of his holy promise. "Thank you, Father," you whispered, your voice a soft caress against his chest. "I trust in your care." His words, paired with the sincere look in his eyes, left you feeling both reassured and oddly drawn to him. You agreed, surrendering to the temptation of his promise, and allowed yourself to settle further into his embrace.

As the priest cradled you in his arms, holding you close like a cherished treasure, the world around you seemed to blur. Your vision wavered, and you clung to him, trusting in the strength of his arms to guide you.

The holy man eased you onto the bed, his strong hands supporting your weight as your legs buckled beneath you. The room was dim, decorated sparingly with candles, books and a desk. You could feel his eyes on you, and when they met yours, they were filled with a devotion that was both comforting and unnerving.

"Lie down, my angel," he instructed gently, his voice a hypnotic purr as he helped you onto the bed. The mattress was soft, enveloping you in its embrace as you settled onto it. Slowly, he began to undress you, his gaze never leaving yours. The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows on the walls, a soothing dance that contrasted with the rhythm of your heartbeat as you could feel his feather-light touch over your skin.

In a vain effort, you tried to stop him. "N-no," you stuttered, trying to cover yourself with your arms.

The coolness of the room against your heated skin sent shivers down your spine, the sensation electrifying under his watchful gaze. "Don't be afraid, I’ll be gentle," he whispered, his voice a promise of safety. "You are in my care, and I will ensure that you heal."

Seeing your reluctance, he added, "Listen to me," he said softly. "I am only doing this to tend to your wounds and help you heal. You have nothing to fear from me."

Despite your best intentions, you found yourself unable to resist the comfort his words offered. Your defences crumbled, and you allowed him to continue uncovering your body. He unlaced the back of your bra, his fingers grazing your sensitive skin, and gently slid it from your body. The tenderness in his touch sent a flutter through your chest, a sensation that was both foreign and enticing.

Once vulnerable, your nipples hardened in response to his gaze, sensitive buds aching for attention. Your body quivered under his watchful eyes, the heat between your legs growing as you succumbed to the temptation of his nearness. The priest's voice, a melodic rumble, continued to soothe you, his words a balm to your restless spirit.

"This might sting a bit," he warned as he applied a salve to your wounds. The cool, wet sensation was a shock against the warmth of your body, the sting a reminder of your ordeal.

You bit your lip, the pain a small price to pay for the healing touch of this mysterious man. "Thank you," you breathed, your voice a soft exhalation.

With great care, he examined your injuries, his eyes narrowing with concern as he located the worst of them. He murmured prayers under his breath, his voice a soothing lullaby as he tended to your wounds, applying healing salves with a practised hand.

As the priest meticulously cleaned the blood from your body, his fingers gentle yet firm, you could swear you heard the sound of his ragged, heavy breaths. The low, appreciative groan that echoed in the room was indistinct, your mind hazy and dizzied by your injuries.

You clung to the reassuring rhythm of his voice as he continued to soothe you, his words a balm to your aching soul. The priest tended to your wounds with a deft, almost sensual touch but you couldn't tell if it was real or a figment of your imagination, the line between dream and reality blurred.

"You're doing well," he praised, his voice thick. The priest's gaze lingered on your flushed skin, his fingers trailing gently over your body as he worked. "You'll be healed in no time," he said, a low growl that seemed to vibrate through your very core.

You moaned softly as the cool liquid touched your wounds, the sensation both painful and soothing. He placed a gentle hand on your forehead, his touch comforting as he whispered, "Sleep now. Trust in me, and I will make you whole once more. I promise."

His words, his touch, his very presence, enveloped you in a feeling of warmth and safety. You closed your eyes, drifting into the welcoming arms of slumber, your heartbeat slowing as you entrusted your body and soul to the care of the man who had become your saviour, your protector, your guardian.

"Rest now, my sweet Y/n," he said, his voice thick with longing. "I will be here, watching over you, ensuring your safety and your recovery."

In the dim light of the room, the flickering candles casting dancing shadows on the walls, the priest stood over you, his ruby gaze never leaving your form. He whispered more prayers, the soft murmurs a lullaby for your weary spirit as you finally allowed yourself to succumb to sleep. 

‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

In the hazy realm of your dreams, the pleasure of his touch lingered. As you slept, you could feel a familiar pain in your neck, the sensation of fangs sinking into your skin. But this time, unlike the violent encounter that had brought you to this point, the bite was pleasurable, a sweet agony that coursed through your veins. 

A low moan escaped your lips, your body arching instinctively into the sensation. Your dreams were of lust and desire. The charming priest who saved you was there. He was a predator, a creature of the night, his eyes burning with an insatiable hunger. 

But it was an alluring craving, one that invited you to indulge in your deepest, most primal urges.

 It felt like the devil kissed your neck, but it felt like heaven. His tongue traced the path of his fangs, eliciting a shuddering sigh from your lips, the air thick with the scent of sweat and lust. Your limbs twisted, your body responding to the touch of your saviour, his hands roaming over your skin with a deft expertise. 

His fingers found your breasts, squeezing and teasing your nipples, the sensation a symphony of sensations that echoed through your body. You arched against him, your hips grinding against the hardness that pressed against your thigh. The dream was a carnal feast, his body enveloping yours, a fusion of flesh and desire. 

You could feel the weight of his body pressing against yours, the intoxicating scent of his musk filling your senses. His hands roamed your body, achingly slow, each touch a promise of pleasure that lingered like the echoes of a distant song. Your moans grew louder, punctuating the rhythm of the dream, your body trembling as the pleasure built within you. The line between the dream and reality blurred, the boundaries of consciousness dissolving in the face of the overwhelming sensations…

You jolted awake, your heart pounding in your chest as you found yourself bathed in sweat. The haze of your dreams dissipated, leaving you acutely and painfully aware of your surroundings. Your vision was no longer blurred, and as you blinked, your sensations alighted shamefully on the wetness between your legs.

The feeling startled you, the outrageous state of arousal you found yourself in starkly at odds with the holy ground you now resided in. You couldn't help the flush that crept up your neck, a delicate blush colouring your skin. As your mind raced to comprehend the situation, you noticed the bandages that covered various parts of your body. The night gown you wore was soft, clinging to your skin. It was embroidered with intricate patterns and smelled faintly of fresh flowers, indicating that it has recently been washed. 

Your gaze landed on the priest, who sat at a study, his back to you. The sight of him brought a flurry of questions to the forefront of your mind. "Excuse me?" you called, your voice shaky with uncertainty. "Did you... change my clothes?" Your memory was foggy, the details of the night blurred and indistinct. The vivid dreams of lust and desire, the taste of blood on your lips, and the sensation of pleasure that still lingered in the pit of your stomach left you unsure of what was real and what was not.

The priest turned, his wine gaze meeting yours with a steady, unblinking intensity. "I did," he confirmed, his voice a soothing rumble that seemed to calm the chaos in your mind. "You were in no state to do so yourself, I had to wash your blood and tend your wounds — I wanted to ensure that you were comfortable."

His words were simple, yet they carried with them a weight of authority that left you feeling oddly reassured. Your heart continues to race, the sensation of being so exposed, both physically and emotionally, leaving you vulnerable, yet oddly at ease.

"I... I can't remember much of what happened last night." you said, your voice small as you recalled the shivers of pleasure that had coursed through you at his touch. A vivid image of his long fingers brushing against your skin flashed in her mind, the memory both tempting and terrifying.

As you slowly regained consciousness, you noticed the unfamiliar surroundings. The room was modest, yet warm and inviting, filled with the scent of burning candles and aged wood. You realised you were most likely in his personal quarters, assuming that such a small church wouldn't have many rooms. The bed you lay on was simple but comfortable, covered with a soft, worn quilt that smelled faintly of lavender.

Your shyness crept back into your demeanour as you asked, "Father, where did you... stay for the night? Where did you sleep?" Your voice held a curious inflection, a hint of fluster in your tone.

The enigmatic priest, sensing your discomfort, couldn't resist teasing you with a sly smile. "A good priest never sleeps when there's a soul in need," he replied, his voice a silky rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "I stayed awake the whole night, ensuring that you didn't experience any pain," he confessed, his eyes never leaving yours. "Your well-being was… my top priority."

As you settled back into the bed, the priest moved closer, kneeling at your side. "I realise I haven't properly introduced myself," he said with a slight bow of his head. "My name is Astarion."

You nodded weakly, offering a faint smile despite the pain that still throbbed through your body. "I'm Y/n," you replied, your voice soft but steady.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Y/n, despite the circumstances," Astarion said, his tone gentle.

As you spoke, a sharp, faint pain in your neck caused you to wince. Instinctively, you raised your hand to the spot, fingers brushing over the tender skin. You felt the unmistakable indentation of bite marks and a shiver of unease ran down your spine. You didn't remember the vampire biting you there yesterday. The memory of the attack was vivid—how you had fought back, the searing pain of its fangs in your side—but the neck was new.

Astarion noticed your discomfort immediately. "What is it?" he asked, concern flashing in his crimson eyes.

"There are... bite marks on my neck," you said, your voice trembling slightly. "I don't remember the vampire biting me there."

Astarion's gaze softened with empathy, and he placed a reassuring hand on your cheek. "The vampire that attacked you was relentless. In your weakened state, it is possible that it struck more than once, leaving marks you weren't aware of at the time."

His explanation made sense, yet something about it left you uneasy. The way he spoke, the intensity of his gaze—it all seemed so personal, so intimate—seductive. But as you looked into his eyes, you found a strange comfort, a sense of safety that you hadn't felt since the attack, it felt nice.

"Try not to worry," Astarion continued, his voice soothing. "You're safe now. The wounds will heal with time, and I will ensure you are well cared for."

You nodded, trying to relax despite the lingering fear. "Thank you, Astarion. I don't know what I would have done without your help."

Astarion's smile was warm, almost tender. "It's my duty, Y/n. Now, rest. You need to regain your strength."

Astarion’s soothing voice continued to fill the room, a gentle murmur that seemed to lull the very air around you. “Rest now, Y/n,” he whispered again, his tone carrying a warmth that seeped into your bones. “You’re safe here. Let your body heal.”

His hand reached out, fingers brushing lightly against your forehead before trailing down to caress your hair. Each gentle stroke seemed to ease the tension in your muscles, coaxing you further into the embrace of sleep. “You’ve been through so much,” Astarion continued, his voice a melodic hum that wrapped around you like a comforting blanket. “But you’re strong. You’ve survived, and now it’s time to rest again, angel.”

Your eyes fluttered closed, the steady rhythm of his voice and the gentle touch of his hand lulling you. The pain and fear began to melt away, replaced by a profound sense of peace. 

“Let go of your worries,” he whispered, his fingers continuing their soothing path through your hair. “I’ll be here, watching over you.”

The last thing you felt before sleep claimed you entirely was the warmth of his hand, the tender way he cared for you, and the deep, calming presence of his voice. In that moment, as consciousness slipped away, you knew that whatever questions and fears still lingered, you could face them later. For now, in the sanctuary of the church and the comfort of Astarion’s care, you allowed yourself to finally rest.

‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

Days had passed since that harrowing night, and you had been secluded in the church, healing under Astarion's watchful care. Your strength has gradually returned, allowing you to move around more freely. This morning, as the sun filtered through the stained glass windows, casting colourful patterns on the stone floor, Astarion invited you to take your breakfast outside.

The church's cloister, a serene, partially shaded courtyard, became your dining area. While you basked in the sunlight, feeling its warmth seep into your skin, Astarion, however, always remained in the shadows, moving with an uncanny grace that kept him perpetually out of the sun’s reach.

As you savoured the simple breakfast, your mind began to piece together the puzzle that had been forming since your arrival. It was easy for a good vampire hunter to notice the signs. The fangs that sometimes glinted in Astarion's mouth when he spoke and smirked, the way he meticulously avoided sunlight, and the fact that you had never seen him eat. It all pointed to one unmistakable truth: Astarion was a vampire.

Your heart pounded as the realisation settled in, mingling with the fresh morning air. You glanced at him, standing elegantly in the shadow of the cloister, his hand behind his back. His red eyes watched you with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. Yet, despite the fear gnawing at your insides, you knew one thing for certain: you were trapped. Your injuries, though healing, still left you weak. 

There was no way you could fight or escape him in your current state.

Astarion's voice broke through your thoughts, smooth and soothing as always. "How are you feeling today, Y/n?" he asked, a genuine concern in his tone that made your situation all the more confusing.

"I'm feeling better," you replied, forcing a small smile. "Thank you for taking such good care of me."

He inclined his head gracefully. "It's my duty to ensure your recovery. I'm glad to see you improving."

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. "You never join me for breakfast," you said, your voice casual despite the tension coiling within you. "Aren't you hungry?"

Astarion's lips curved into a faint, charming smile. "I have my own ways of sustaining myself. Your well-being is my priority." There was something unnerving about his answer, the implication that his nourishment differed from the conventional. The way he focused on you, though endearing, you knew bordered on possessiveness.

You shifted slightly in your seat, the movement causing a dull ache to flare up in your side. Astarion noticed and stepped closer, still within the shadows, his expression one of concern.

"Are you in pain?" he asked, his voice softening.

"A little," you admitted. "But I'll manage."

He nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. As you sat there, the sunlight warming your skin while Astarion remain cloaked in shadow, you couldn't shake the feeling that Astarion, with his devilish good looks and soothing voice, was both your caretaker and your captor.

For now, you had to play along, especially as Astarion continued to care for you, providing you with food and shelter. He was attentive, almost doting, ensuring that you were comfortable and your needs were met. Each day, he brought you meals, fresh linens, and soothing herbal teas.

Despite your growing suspicions, you couldn’t deny the care he provided. Every bandage was changed with meticulous precision, every meal prepared with consideration for your weakened state. And so, you allowed Astarion’s gentle care to soothe your wounds, both physical and emotional, all the while preparing for the inevitable moment when you would have to face him for what he truly was.

Astarion's eyes softened as he regarded you, his voice a velvety whisper. "You must let me know if the pain worsens, angel. I cannot bear to see you suffer." He whispered, the endearment—now quite familiar, sending a jolt of pleasure through you. His hand reached out, his fingers brushing gently against your cheek, sending shivers down your spine. The contact was brief but electrifying, igniting a desire within you that you couldn't quite comprehend or control.

Your heartbeat quickened as he withdrew his hand, stepping back into the shadows, a wicked glint in his eye. 

"Now, eat up. You need your strength for later." The coded suggestion in his tone left you breathless, your mind racing with possibilities as to what 'later' could entail. The way Astarion spoke, his voice dripping with innuendo, only served to heighten the growing tension between you. It was all so forbidden. 

You hesitated, your breath catching in your throat as his fingers traced along your jawline. The subtle flirting, combined with his intimate care, blurred the lines between priest and enemy, leaving you both vulnerable and enticed. "I... I don't want to trouble you," you stammered, though your body betrayed your words, craving his touch and the comfort he offered.

Astarion smiled, his hand still resting on your cheek, his thumb grazing your bottom lip. "It's no trouble at all, Y/n. You needn't worry about anything but your recovery."

You wanted to believe Astarion wasn't a danger, even less a vampire. His gentle hands and soothing words made you feel safe. Every interaction with him felt like a contradiction, a dissonance between what you knew and what you wanted to believe.

‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

As the days turned into weeks, your strength gradually returned. The deep wounds had healed to a dull ache, and the fog of pain that once clouded your mind began to lift. You and Astarion fell into a comfortable routine, each day a mirror of the last. You would wake up each morning to the soft sounds of quill on parchment, finding Astarion at his study desk, deep in thought as he wrote.

“Good morning,” he would greet you, his voice smooth and pleasant, as he set aside his work. 

The deep wounds might have healed, however, the bite marks on your neck remained stubbornly fresh. Alongside these wounds, vivid and intense dreams continued to plague your nights. Dreams filled with lust and desire, so real that you could almost feel the touch of hands on your skin, the press of lips against yours. Each morning you awoke feeling drained, a sore feeling between your legs, and a throbbing ache where the bite marks were. But you kept that all to yourself, far too embarrassed. 

He would then prepare breakfast, guiding you to the garden where you could bask in the sunlight. Astarion would remain in the shadows, his elegant form always just out of reach of the sunlight. He would watch over you as you ate, his presence a silent reassurance. After breakfast, he would excuse himself, his voice tinged with the same gentle concern as always. 

“I have some matters to attend to,” he would say, disappearing into the depths of the church. You assumed he went to sleep, retreating to whatever secret place he kept from the daylight.

Left to your own devices, you found solace in the books that lined the shelves. Despite the church's modest library, you read about heroes and history, getting lost in the words. On days when reading felt too isolating, you tidied the church, arranged flowers, and dusted pews, even though no one ever came to attend his services.

Lunch was a simple affair that you prepared for only you — the act of cooking gave you a sense of purpose, a small way to contribute to the strange sanctuary you now called home.

Astarion would return in the late afternoon. You would eat dinner in the kitchen, the soft light of the candles casting long shadows on the stone walls as he watched over you. Conversation flowed easily, your guardedness slowly eroding as the days passed. He would listen intently to your thoughts, his eyes never straying from yours, making you feel seen and heard in a way that was both comforting and unsettling.

As the night closed in, you'd meet him in the bathroom, where Astarion would await, his eyes fixed on you with a hint of intensity that sent shivers down your spine. He would offer you a small stool to sit on, allowing you the space to undress in his presence. At first, the act of exposing your body to him, an unfamiliar stranger only a short while ago, left you bashful and flushed. Your fingers fumbled with buttons and laces, your gaze darting to the ground, averted from his unwavering gaze.

Astarion, however, seemed unfazed by your hesitation, his attention solely focused on you, his eyes drinking in the sight of your exposed skin. The feeling of being so intimately observed, of your vulnerability laid bare, was both forbidden and intimate, a tug-of-war between modesty and desire.

The first time you squirmed under Astarion's touch, he chuckled softly, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. "You'll have to stand still, Y/n," he teased, his voice low and husky. "You're making it difficult for me to tend to your wounds." Your cheeks flushed at his teasing. He looked at you with a hot gaze as he leaned closer, his breath washing over your skin, whispering, "If you're concerned about my touch, I can show you what happens when you're more willing to submit."

You were left breathless, and he seemed content with your reaction based on his prideful smirk. You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your ears. "No-No I’m okay... I do trust you, Astarion," you stammered, your voice barely audible.

Astarion smiled, his thumb brushing against your bottom lip. "Then stand still, my angel," he coaxed, the pet name laced with tenderness. "Let me take care of you as you deserve."

As the days passed, though, the discomfort ebbed away. Astarion's gentle demeanour and the necessity of your healing fostered a sense of genuine trust between the two of you. Astarion's methodical approach to cleaning your body was as deliberate as it was unhurried. He would begin by wetting a soft cloth with warm water, the liquid shimmering as it caught the light. The scent of herbs and flowers wafted from the basin.

With the cloth in hand, Astarion would then gently wipe away the grime and sweat from your body. His fingers traced the contours of your form, the arch of your waist, the curve of your breast, the slope of your hip, and the dip of your lower back. He moved with a tender dexterity, each stroke a promise of care, an unspoken vow to protect and heal.

As he worked, the fabric slid over your skin, leaving a trail of dampness that soon dried under the influence of the air. The sensation of being washed, of being cleansed by Astarion's skilled hands, was both intimate and comforting, the touch of his fingers electrifying your body.

Astarion's fingers lingered so subtly on your nipples, brushing them gently. "So sensitive, aren't we?" he mused, his gaze flicking to your face. He trailed the cloth down to your inner thigh, the tip brushing against your most intimate parts. "Such a delightful creature you are, my angel," he remarked, his voice laced with desire. 

"I relish in the privilege of tending to you." He looked up at you through his lashes, his voice low and teasing.

Your heart would race as his hands lingered on sensitive spots, the tips of his fingers brushing against your nipples or the inner folds of your thighs—just enough to be appropriate, but still exciting. The moments of intimate contact were fleeting, yet they stirred a hunger deep within you.

The way he examined your wounds, the way his eyes lingered on your flushed skin, painted a picture of a man who was devoted to the healing of your body and the nurturing of your spirit. It was a dance of necessity and desire, leaving you in a dangerous but exciting situation.

As the evening sun cast long shadows across the kitchen as you and Astarion sat down to dinner, it was another one of those days. The room was filled with a comfortable silence, broken only by the clinking of utensils and the soft crackle of the fire in the hearth. Astarion watched you intently, his red eyes shimmering in the dim light.

As you took a bite of food, he spoke, his voice low and contemplative. "Y/n, may I ask you something?"

You looked up, meeting his gaze with a slight nod. "Of course, Astarion. What is it?"

"Why did you become a vampire hunter?" he asked, his tone gentle yet probing.

You paused, your fork halfway to your mouth, as memories of the past flooded your mind. "It's because of my family," you began, your voice tinged with sadness. "They were killed by a vampire when I was young. I was left with nothing, no home, no family. I had to fend for myself."

Astarion's expression softened, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. "I'm sorry for your loss," he murmured.

You nodded, a bitter taste lingering in your mouth. "At first, I became a vampire hunter out of necessity. I needed to survive, to seek revenge for what happened to my family. But as time went on, it became more than that. It became a way for me to protect others, to prevent anyone else from suffering the same fate."

Astarion listened quietly as you spoke, his gaze never leaving yours. "It's a difficult path you've chosen," he remarked, his voice soft. "To carry such a burden, to face danger at every turn."

You nodded, the weight of your past pressing down on you like a leaden shroud. "It hasn't been easy," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "But I couldn't do anything else. I couldn't just stand by and do nothing." A silence settled over the kitchen, heavy with unspoken thoughts and emotions. 

"I understand," he said finally, his voice filled with quiet sincerity. "You've endured so much, my angel." Then Astarion's eyes narrowed, his mind wandering as he mused. "Vampires are often seen as monsters, creatures of the night that feed on the blood of the innocent," he began, his voice laced with a hint of bitterness. "But are they truly any different from those who hunt them? They do what they must to survive, to maintain their existence. They are not inherently evil, merely misunderstood."

He met your gaze, his expression earnest. "In their quest for sustenance, there are some who stray, who forget the cost of their actions. But all beings are capable of good or evil, it's a choice we make, not a preordained path.” Astarion shifted, leaning back in his chair. "You, my dear, have chosen a path of justice, fueled by loss and a desire to protect. Your heart is in the right place, and that is something to be admired."

Astarion reached out, his fingers brushing against yours, sending shivers down your spine. "Do not be so quick to judge, to condemn those you do not understand," he urged, drawing closer. "For in doing so, you may miss the beauty of the beast, the soul that lies beneath the surface."

He put his hand on the table covering yours as his thumb caressed your knuckles. The simple touch showed he could seduce you so easily. It was a devilish whisper that made you question your beliefs. 

After a brief silence, Astarion's eyes glimmered with a mischievous light as he reached for a bottle of wine and two glasses. "Would you care for some wine, Y/n? I find it has a way of easing troubled thoughts."

As Astarion stood, he moved gracefully towards the wooden cabinet in the corner of the room. With a skillful flick of his wrist, he opened the door and withdrew a decanter filled with a deep, ruby-red liquid. "Allow me to offer you a glass of wine," he said, his voice a low, sultry rumble.

He approached you with the decanter, his eyes locked on yours. "A little something that's sure to help you unwind after your ordeal," he suggested, his words laced with a flirtatious undertone.

As he poured the crimson liquid into two crystal glasses, the light from the fireplace casting dancing shadows on the walls, Astarion's charm seemed to weave a spell around you. The room grew warmer, more intimate, the soft flicker of the flames a testament to the growing intimacy between the two of you.

You nodded, grateful for the distraction. As he sat back down, he moved closer to you. He handed you a glass, his fingers brushing yours in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. "To new friends and shared stories," he toasted, his smile warm and inviting.

"To new friends," you echoed, clinking your glass against his and taking a sip. The wine was rich and smooth, its warmth spreading through you.

As he leaned back, he couldn't help but brush his arm against yours, the spark of arousal igniting between you. "Strength, resilience, and determination are traits to be admired," he said, his voice a sultry, velvet-coated whisper. "And they become all the more enticing when wrapped in a package as enchanting as yours, Y/n."

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, the blush a testament to his words. "Thank you, Astarion. It's been an arduous journey, but I suppose it's made me who I am today."

His gaze never wavered, and he leaned in closer, the firelight casting shadows that danced on his chiselled features. "And that, my dear Y/n, is a woman I would gladly be drawn to. You possess a radiance that's as alluring as it is dangerous."

You felt your heart race at his words, the intensity of his gaze making it difficult to think clearly. "You have a way with words, Astarion. It’s quite... disarming."

He chuckled softly, his smile widening. "I've been told that before. But enough about me flattering you. Tell me, Y/n, how did you come here? Were you hunting a specific vampire?"

You nodded, taking another sip of wine to steady yourself. "Yes, I had heard rumours of a powerful vampire terrorising the nearby villages. I thought I might be able to do some good here, to put my skills to use."

Astarion's eyes flickered with interest. "And instead, you found yourself in need of sanctuary."

"Yes," you said, the memories of that night still fresh in your mind. "But I suppose fate had other plans."

He smiled, a hint of something darker lurking beneath the surface. "Indeed, fate can be quite unpredictable."

You shifted in your seat, your curiosity piqued. "Astarion, you’ve been so kind to me, but I realise I know very little about you. Why did you become a priest?" The question hung heavy in the air, the weight of its implications a daunting shadow in the room.

Astarion's eyes darkened, a flicker of pain crossing his features. "A priest," he mused, his voice laced with a heavy sense of regret. A shadow crossed his face, his smile fading slightly. "Ah, that's a story for another time," he said, his tone vague. "It's a lonely path, one fraught with self-imposed torment. It's a form of penance, a never-ending punishment for sins long committed."

Your brows furrowed in confusion. "Punishment? For what?"

He waved a hand dismissively, the charming smile returning to his lips. "We all have our sins to atone for, don't we? Some of us more than others." He placed his hand back on yours, his touch was soothing.

After a moment, Astarion's gaze grew distant. "To partially answer your question, Y/n, one must first understand the nature of a priest's vow. Chastity, piety, and dedication to a higher power. It is a life of self-denial, of sacrificing one's personal desires for a greater cause," he began, his voice heavy with the weight of his past.

"In my case, my path to the priesthood was not driven by divine inspiration, but by a profound need to purge the darkness within me. The sins I've committed run deep, and the road to redemption is a long and arduous one."

His smile, when it returned, was tinged with sadness, a bittersweet acknowledgment of the life he once led. "In essence, I chose this path as my penance, as a way to atone for the transgressions of my past. The harsh discipline and chastity I adhere to are a constant reminder of the price I must pay for the sins I've committed."

The intensity of the moment weighed heavily on the air as you digested his words. The sincerity in his confession was palpable, a testament to the internal struggle that plagued him. "I'm sorry, Astarion, for your suffering," you offered, your fingers intertwining with his, to offer a reassuring touch. "But perhaps, in your service and devotion, you have already found some measure of redemption."

The fire crackled, its dance casting shadows on the walls as Astarion's eyes darkened, the intensity in his gaze growing. "But, I must admit my angel, that since your arrival, I've found it increasingly difficult to keep my distance, to not succumb to the forbidden desires that once consumed me," he admitted, his voice thick..

You felt a shiver run down your spine, a mixture of fear and anticipation. Trying to maintain your composure, you played innocent, your voice trembling slightly. "I don't understand what you're implying, Father."

He chuckled softly, a dark, knowing smile spreading across his lips. "Oh, but you do, my dear. How can you pretend to judge what is good and bad when you've lived such a sheltered life? How can you truly know grace if you’ve never tasted sin?" His words hung heavy in the air, laden with implication. 

You tried to deny the accusation, shaking your head. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Astarion’s eyes gleamed with a dangerous light as he leaned even closer, his breath brushing against your skin. "Your soul is too pure, too untouched by the world to understand. You’ve spent your life fighting monsters, but you’ve never truly faced the darkness within yourself."

Your heart raced, his proximity and intensity making it hard to breathe. "What are you saying?" you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Astarion reached out, his fingers gently tracing the line of your jaw, sending a jolt of electricity through you. "I’m saying, Y/n, that you’ve been living in a world of black and white, of good and evil. But life is far more complex than that, and you’re so young... To truly understand grace, you must also understand sin."

His fingers moved to your neck, brushing over the bite marks he had left, a reminder of his power over you. "I saw it in your actions," he continued, his voice a soft, seductive whisper. "When I was cleaning you, taking care of you, I saw how innocent you were, how… untouched."

You shivered under his touch, the mixture of fear and something darker swirling within you. "How can you pretend to judge what is good and bad, what is pure and tainted, when you yourself have never truly tasted the depths of desire and temptation?" He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin. "You must experience the temptations that pull at your soul, the desires that make you human," he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. "Only then can you truly understand what it means to be alive, to be whole."

You tried to pull away, but his grip on you tightened, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made it impossible to look away. "You cannot know true grace without first experiencing sin," he whispered, his voice a hypnotic cadence that drew you in despite your fear. 

"You cannot know the light without first embracing the darkness."

Astarion's words wrapped around you like a silken web, his touch igniting a fire within you that you had never felt before. You hated yourself for the way your body responded, for the way your heart raced and your breath quickened at his proximity. "How can you understand the beauty of purity if you’ve never been tainted?" he asked, his voice a seductive purr. 

"How can you know the strength of virtue if you’ve never faced the allure of vice?"

You swallowed hard, your mind reeling from his words. "And you think you can show me this… complexity?"

“If you trust me,” Astarion's smile was both predator and enticing. "Yes, I know I can. Let me guide you, angel. Let me show you what it means to embrace both the light and the darkness."

His words were a dangerous lure, pulling you towards an abyss you had never dared to explore before and with anyone else. Despite your instincts screaming at you to resist, a part of you was undeniably drawn to him, to the promise of forbidden knowledge and the thrill of the unknown.

"I…" you hesitated, your voice faltering.

Astarion’s hand slipped from your jaw to the back of your neck, his touch firm yet gentle. "Trust me," he murmured, his voice a silken whisper that seemed to wrap around your very soul. "Let me show you what it means to truly live." And in that moment, as Astarion’s eyes held yours, you realised that the lines between good and evil, grace and sin, were not as clear as you had once believed.

He had the face of an angel. 

But devil thoughts. 

Astarion's gaze softened, though the intensity in his eyes remained. He took your hand in his, his touch warm and reassuring. Your breath caught as he gently tugged you to your feet. The touch of his hand was both comforting and electrifying, as he led you through the dimly lit church. 

You followed Astarion down a narrow, spiralling staircase that led to the church's basement— you never dared to wander there before, it was all so new and overwhelming. The air grew cooler, and the faint scent of incense and aged wood filled your nostrils. At the bottom of the staircase, Astarion paused before a heavy wooden door.

He glanced at you, a devilish smile playing on his lips. "What you are about to see is a sanctuary, a place hidden from the world. It is where I find solace and where you might begin to understand the complexities of grace and sin." He pushed the door open, revealing a hidden sanctuary. 

The room was illuminated by soft, golden light from numerous candles placed strategically around the space. The walls were lined with bookshelves filled with ancient tomes and artefacts. In the centre of the room was an ornate altar, adorned with intricate carvings and symbols that seemed to pulse with a faint, otherworldly glow.

Astarion led you inside, his hand never leaving yours. He guided you to the altar, his movements graceful and deliberate. "This," he said, his voice a hushed whisper, "is where I seek redemption, where I grapple with the darkness within me and strive to find the light."

Astarion's fingers intertwined with yours, his touch a comforting anchor in the swirling uncertainty. "Come, my angel," he said gently, guiding you towards the heart of the chamber.

You looked around, taking in the sacredness of the space. It was unlike any church you had ever seen—and for the time, you wondered if he was a real priest. "It's... beautiful," you whispered, your voice filled with awe.

Astarion smirked, his eyes lingering on the curve of your lips as you spoke. He stepped closer, his body pressing against yours, forcing you to lean back against the cold, hard surface of the altar. You could feel his arousal, a throbbing, insistent pressure against your thigh. "Grace," he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. "It's not just a matter of beauty, my angel. True grace is about balance, control, and submission. It's about becoming one with the divine, surrendering to the sacredness of all that is."

As he spoke, his hand slid up your thigh, his fingers teasingly close to the hem of your nightgown. You felt your breath catch in your throat, your nipples hardening under the weight of his gaze. "Let me teach you," he whispered, his voice now tinged with desire. "Let me show you the beauty and power of true grace."

With that, he hooked his fingers beneath the hem of the fabric, tugging it up your legs. The cold air of the sanctuary brushed against your sensitive, exposed flesh. You couldn't help but squirm, your thighs parting instinctively, aching for him to fill the emptiness between them.

Astarion's fingers trailed along the curve of your hip, then lower, over the tender skin of your inner thigh. They danced closer to the dampness between your folds, your hips arching to meet his touch. He smirked, his eyes darkened with lust. "You crave it, don't you?" he whispered, his voice a growl. 

"You crave knowledge and pleasure?" You nodded, your voice caught in your throat. Astarion chuckled softly, a wicked, predatory sound. "Then let us begin your education, my angel."

Astarion's lips trailed down your throat, leaving a trail of soft, wet kisses, his tongue flicking across the sensitive skin. His hands roamed over your body, cupping your breasts, weighing them in his palms.

You gasped as his teeth nipped at your tender neck, his tongue teasing your nipples through the thin fabric of your nightgown. Slowly, he unbuttoned the garment, letting it fall to the floor, throwing it aside to unveil your swollen, erect nipples. He leaned in, his hot breath making you shiver, before taking one of your nipples into his mouth. His eager tongue flicked over and around it, his lips sucking gently. 

You arched your back, your fingers twisting in his silver hair, tugging him closer.

Astarion's hand slipped over your thigh and up to your damp panties. He pushed them aside, letting his fingers graze over your clit, making you moan. His mouth latched onto your other nipple, the dual sensations sending jolts of pleasure through your body.

He lifted you, and Astarion's eyes were dark, hungry, as he stared at the glistening wetness between your legs.

"You are exquisite," he whispered, his voice thick with desire. "You are the embodiment of grace and beauty, and I am honoured to worship you." He laid you down on the cold, hard surface of the altar, your breath hitching at the suddenness of the move. Astarion's gaze never left you as he positioned himself between your thighs.

Lowering his head, he inhaled deeply, his nostrils flaring as he took in your arousal. He ran his tongue along the seam of your folds, making you arch off the altar. He continued to tease and taste you, flicking his tongue against your clit, eliciting a choked moan from you.

"Oh, gods," you panted, your fingers now gripping the cloth of the altar. 

“There are no gods here,” Astarion smiled against your wetness, his fingers teasingly circling your entrance. "But you taste divine," he purred, his voice muffled by your folds. He dipped a finger inside you, curling it to find your sensitive spot. You cried out as the sensation overwhelmed you, your hips bucking against his hand.

Astarion continued to lavish attention on you, his tongue and fingers working in unison to bring you to the edge of ecstasy. You writhed beneath him, your body a mass of trembling desire.

You moaned, the sensation of Astarion's mouth and fingers driving you wild. "This, this is forbidden," you whimpered, your voice hoarse.

Astarion's eyes gleamed, his mouth a wicked grin as he continued his ministrations. "The forbidden is where the true pleasure lies," he whispered, his fingers flicking against your clit in just the right spot. 

Astarion's skilled mouth and fingers worked in perfect unison, his lips and tongue worshipping you, coaxing you to the precipice before pulling you back, over and over. His grip on your hips tightened, leaving a red mark behind, his sharp teeth nipping at your inner thigh, driving you to the edge of madness.

And then, with a final, fervent thrust of his fingers and fierce suction on your clit, he sent you careening over the edge, your body shuddering, your breath coming in ragged gasps. Astarion licked the last of your juices from his lips, his eyes gleaming with victory and desire.

"You've embraced the first lesson, angel. Now let's move on to the next one." He pulled you towards him, his lips crashing against yours in a bruising, possessive kiss, his tongue seeking entry. As you fought for breath, Astarion's hands found their way to the buttons of his trousers, releasing his throbbing, erect cock.

"You'll learn to worship me, just like I worship you — to take me into your mouth and guide me deep within your sweet, tight cunt," he breathed against your lips. "You'll learn to obey, to serve, and to find joy in the power you give and receive." With a forceful tug, he pulled you to your knees, staring down at you with a mixture of lust and expectation. You gazed up at him, meeting his lustful gaze, your heart pounding in your chest. 

You looked down at Astarion's erect cock, unsure of what to do. "I-I've never... done this before," you confessed, your voice small and hesitant.

Astarion's lips curved into a wicked smile. "You'll learn, angel," he said softly, his hand cupping the back of your head, guiding you forward. "Just as you've learned to embrace the divine, you'll learn to embrace the carnal."

You tentatively reached out, your fingers wrapping around the base of his cock. The heat radiated from his shaft, the veins pulsing beneath your touch. You hesitated, your eyes flicking up to his, seeking guidance. Astarion placed his hand on the back of your head, gently guiding you closer, your lips brushing against the head of his cock. He gave you a nod, urging you to take him into your mouth.

Gingerly, you parted your lips, sliding your mouth over the head of his cock. A salty, musky taste filled your mouth, and you hesitated, your eyes widening.

"Don't be afraid," Astarion cooed, his voice low and soothing. "Savour it. Worship it."

With a deep breath, you took him deeper, your tongue flicking over the sensitive underside. You felt Astarion's hand tighten in your hair, his breath catching. He guided you, his fingers gently urging you to move in a rhythm that felt natural, your mouth swallowing and releasing his cock, your tongue exploring every inch. Astarion's eyes closed, his head falling back, a low, guttural groan escaping his lips.

Your hands slid up his thighs, squeezing and kneading the muscles as you continued to worship him with your mouth. Astarion's hips began to move in time with your motions, his breaths coming in ragged gasps.

He was your teacher, your guide, showing you the art of submission and worship. You embraced it, your body eager to learn, to follow the path that Astarion laid before you. As you continued to pleasure him with your mouth, Astarion's grip in your hair tightened, the sound of his ragged breaths growing louder. You knew you were bringing him closer to release—and it felt… satisfying.

And with a low, guttural moan, Astarion came, his hot seed filling your mouth. Your eyes widened, unsure of how to handle it, but Astarion's hand cupped the back of your head, gently encouraging you to swallow, to accept the gift he offered you. You did as he commanded, your body learning this new form of submission, this new kind of divine pleasure. 

Astarion's eyes met yours, his face flushed with pleasure. "A beautiful first time, angel," he praised, his voice thick with satisfaction. He pulled you to your feet, his cock still glistening with your saliva. Astarion's hands gently cupped your face, his eyes filled with a mix of desire and concern. "Tonight, you've learned much," he said softly, his voice a low rumble. "It's time to rest, to let your wounded body heal and regain its strength."

He pulled you into his arms, the warmth enveloping you, his solid form a comforting presence. "We'll continue our lessons tomorrow," he promised, his lips brushing against your temple in a tender kiss as he pulled your nightgown back over your body and put his clothes back on with one hand. 

Astarion guided you from the altar, his strength evident as he carried you up the stairs to the bedroom. He laid you down gently on the soft bed, the silk sheets cool against your heated skin. He adjusted the covers, tucking them around you, making sure you were comfortable. Once you were settled, Astarion straightened, his ruby eyes meeting yours. "Sleep well, Y/n," he said, his voice a seductive purr.

You couldn't help but shiver at the sound of his voice. "Thank you, Astarion," you murmured, your eyes heavy with fatigue.

He brushed a lock of hair from your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek. "You are safe here," he assured you, his touch both soothing and electrifying. "Tomorrow, we will continue our journey."

Your heart fluttered at his words, the promise of more to come both thrilling and daunting. "Astarion," you said softly, catching his hand as he moved to turn away. "Why are you doing all this for me?"

He paused, his eyes darkening with a mixture of emotions. "Because, angel, you have a light within you that is rare. It is something worth protecting, worth nurturing." He leaned closer, his breath warm against your skin. 

Your grip on his hand tightened, a sense of trust and connection forming between you. "I hope you're right," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He smiled, a genuine warmth in his eyes. "I am," he said confidently. "Now rest. You need your strength."

You nodded, releasing his hand reluctantly. As Astarion turned away, you couldn't help but feel a pang of longing, a desire to keep him close. "Goodnight, Astarion," you said, your voice tinged with a mixture of gratitude and yearning.

He glanced back at you, his smile softening. "Goodnight, Y/n," he replied, his tone gentle. With a final lingering look, he left the room, closing the door softly behind him, leaving you alone in the darkness.

You closed your eyes, your body exhausted but content. The events of the night played over in your mind, the promise of Astarion's guidance and protection a comforting thought. As you drifted off to sleep, your dreams were filled with images of the sanctuary, of Astarion's intense gaze and his soothing touch. 

‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

The morning light filtered through the small window of the bedroom, casting a soft glow across the room. You stirred, the ache in your neck pulling you from sleep. As you shifted under the covers, a sharp pain shot through your neck, causing you to wince. The memories of the previous night flooded back, and the sensations that had seemed so intoxicating now felt like poison seeping through your veins.

You reached up, gingerly touching the bite marks on your neck. They were tender, the skin around them inflamed and sore. A sense of unease settled over you as you realised they weren’t healing as they should. The implications hit you like a cold wave, and a chill ran down your spine.

Unable to deny the truth any longer, you understood why: Astarion was using you. He was feeding on you, causing your strength to fade away each night, slowly but surely leading you towards death.

You forced yourself out of bed, every movement a painful reminder of what had transpired. You made your way to the small mirror hanging on the wall, examining the bite marks with a critical eye. 

Your mind raced as you tried to come to terms with the revelation. How could you have been so blind? The signs had been there all along, but you had ignored them, lulled by his charm and the sense of safety he provided. You felt a mix of anger and despair, the reality of your situation crashing down on you.

Determined not to fall into despair, you knew you had to confront Astarion. You couldn’t continue to let him feed on you, to let him drain your life away. Gathering your courage, and with a heavy heart, you made your way to the kitchen. The weight of the knife in your hand felt foreign, its cool metal sending a shiver down your spine. You hesitated for a moment, the blade glinting in the soft light of the room.

Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself for what was to come. Gripping the knife tightly, you hid it behind your back as you made your way back to the garden. You found Astarion in the garden, standing in the shadows of the cloister as usual, reading his book. He looked up as you approached, a smile playing on his lips. "Good morning, Y/n," he greeted, his voice as smooth as ever. 

"Did you sleep well?"

You didn’t return his smile, your expression serious. "Astarion, we need to talk."

He raised an eyebrow, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. "Oh? About what?"

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. "About this," you said, pointing to the bite marks on your neck. "About what you’ve been doing to me."

His smile faded, replaced by a look of mild concern. "Y/n, you’re still recovering. Those wounds will heal in time."

"No, they won’t," you countered, your voice trembling with anger. "They’re not healing because you’re feeding on me. You’re draining my life away."

Astarion sighed, a hint of resignation in his eyes. "I suppose the truth was bound to come out eventually."

You felt a surge of anger. "Why? Why are you doing this to me?"

He looked at you, his expression a mixture of regret and something darker. "Because I need to survive, Y/n. And you... you were convenient."

“Convenient?!” His words cut deep, a mixture of betrayal and heartbreak washing over you. "I trusted you," you whispered, your voice breaking, tears threatening to fall. "I thought you were helping me."

Astarion's gaze softened slightly, a hint of remorse in his eyes. "I am helping you, Y/n. In my own way. You’ve learned a lot, haven’t you? About the world, about yourself."

"At what cost?" you demanded, your voice rising. "My life? My humanity?" With a swift motion, you brought the knife out from behind your back, the blade catching the light as it gleamed in the dim garden. "If I have to," you said, your voice trembling with anger and resolve, "I'll use this to protect myself."

Astarion's smirk faltered for a moment, replaced by a flicker of surprise. But then, to your dismay, it transformed into a knowing grin. "Ah, I see," he said, his tone mocking. "So it's come to this, has it? My, my, you really are full of surprises, my angel."

You held the knife out in front of you, your hand steady despite the turmoil raging within you. "Don't test me, Astarion," you warned, your voice firm. "I won't hesitate to use this if I have to."

He tilted his head to the side, studying you with a mix of amusement and curiosity. "And what do you intend to accomplish with that little toy?" he said, his tone taunting. "Do you honestly think you can threaten me with such a thing?"

You felt a surge of frustration at his dismissive attitude, but you refused to let it shake your resolve. "I'll do whatever it takes to protect myself," you repeated, your voice growing more determined with each word.

Astarion stepped closer, the smirk never leaving his lips. "Oh, come now, Y/n," he said, his voice laced with amusement. "Are you flirting with me?"

You recoiled, taken aback by his cavalier response. "This is not a joke, Astarion," you said, your grip on the knife tightening. "You’ve been using me, draining me of my life force."

He tilted his head, his eyes gleaming with a mix of mischief and something darker. "And what if I have?" he said, his tone teasing. "What if I told you that you were simply a means to an end? A pawn?” He then chuckled, the sound sending a chill down your spine. 

“But… What if I told you, that along the lines, I fell in love with you?”

“You would lie, again.” you replied harshly, despite your heart pounding at the idea he could feel more for you. 

After a moment, he said, "Oh, Y/n," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into."

With a sudden movement, he lunged towards you, his hands reaching out to grab the knife. Instinct took over, and you reacted without thinking. With a swift motion, you brought the knife down, the blade slicing through the air with deadly precision.

But instead of fear or pain, Astarion only smirked, his eyes alight with amusement— you had missed him. "Well, well," he said, his voice filled with mock surprise, his grasp on your wrist thought and commanding. 

"Looks like we’ve reached an impasse."

You stared at him, the realisation sinking in. He had known all along, had anticipated your every move. You were no match for him, not when he held all the cards.

Astarion stepped back, his smirk widening into a devilish grin. "What will you do now, Y/n?" he said, his voice dripping with challenge. "Will you run? In fact, running doesn’t matter, I’ll hunt you down if I had to.”

“Because I crave you, angel.”

His words sent a chill down your spine, a mixture of fear and confusion swirling within you. Despite the pain and betrayal you felt, there was something unnerving about the way Astarion spoke, something primal and alluring that drew you in despite your better judgement.

You took a step back, the weight of the knife still heavy in your hand. "I won't let you do this to me," you said, your voice trembling with defiance. "I won't let you drain me until there's nothing left."

Astarion's grin widened, his eyes gleaming with a hunger that sent a shiver down your spine. "Oh, but my dear," he purred, taking a slow step forward, "you misunderstand. I don't intend to drain you until there's nothing left. I intend to keep you alive, to keep you by my side for eternity."

Astarion's devilish grin sent a jolt of desire through you, despite your best efforts to resist it. The primal urge to submit to his will, to give yourself over to his control, tugged at your very core. His words, laced with carnal intent, only served to stoke the flames of your deepest, darkest desires.

Your grip tightened on the knife, your heart racing as you took a step back. "I won't let you destroy me," you hissed, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and arousal. "I refuse to be nothing more than your plaything."

Astarion's eyes glinted with a wicked light as he closed the gap between you. "Oh, but my angel," he purred, his voice seductive, "you're already mine. And you'll find that there's no greater pleasure than being my plaything."

Your bodies were mere inches apart now, and you could feel the heat radiating off Astarion. The intensity of his gaze washed over you, as he reached out, gently cupping your cheek. His thumb traced the outline of your lips, causing you to shiver. "I'll make you crave it," Astarion whispered, the promise in his voice leaving no room for doubt, "the pleasure, the pain, the ecstasy. I will push you to your limits and beyond…”

“And you'll love every moment of it."

Your breath caught in your throat, the conflict between your desire to run, to resist, and your ever-growing need to surrender to his will warring within you. Astarion's fingers brushed against your neck, the heat from his touch sending a flood of sensations coursing through your body.

You could feel your resolve slipping, the knife in your hand wavering as you stared into his captivating eyes. The line between pleasure and pain blurred, and you found yourself swaying closer, your body betraying your mind, surrendering to the enchantment of the man before you.

Astarion's lips met yours in a searing kiss, his hands moving to your waist, pulling you against him. The world around you faded, leaving only the two of you locked in a passionate embrace, your defences crumbling, your body responding to his with a hunger it couldn't suppress.

The knife fell from your grasp, forgotten on the ground as you explored each other's mouths, your tongues entwining, your lips clashing, a symphony of desire and submission unfolding between you.

Astarion broke the passionate kiss, his lips lingering for a moment on yours before he pulled back, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction, as you complained about the lack of contact, your lips chasing his. "Oh, you've been very, very bad," he purred, his voice thick with wicked intent. 

"And punishment is necessary when you stray from the path of grace."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, a mixture of fear and desire coiling in the pit of your stomach. You couldn't deny the power he wielded, the allure of his dominance provoking an arousal that heightened your senses. As you lay there, defenceless and exposed, Astarion held you in his arms, putting you back to bed. With practised ease, he bound your hands to the headboard, the restraints tight to restrict your movements.

"You're my captive now," he declared, his deep voice a promise of both pleasure and pain. "And I'll do with you as I please." The vulnerability you felt, the loss of control, only served to amplify your arousal. Astarion's gaze raked over your body, his eyes lingering on your heaving chest, the rapid rise and fall of your breasts betraying your excitement.

He leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "Are you ready to submit to your master? Because I'm not going to stop until you're mine, body and soul."

Deep down, you knew there was no escape, and as much as the thought terrified you, a wicked and exhilarating thrill coursed through your veins. You cursed yourself for that, for the way your body betrayed you, responding to his touch despite the danger he represented. Because in truth, Astarion had already claimed you, body and soul, and now, you were his to mould, to break, to pleasure, and to torment.

You had fallen for the kind you hated, a vampire. 

The very creatures you had sworn to hunt and destroy. And Astarion had played you perfectly, manipulating your mind, making you believe that some vampires were good, that they could be trusted.

The memories of the past weeks flooded back, each touch, each word, all calculated to worm his way into your heart. You thought back to the days and nights you spent together, the gentle caresses, the tender words that seemed to reach into your very soul. All of it had been a part of his plan.

Astarion smirked as he admired you, a devious glint in his eyes. He leaned down, his lips pressing against yours in a possessive kiss, his tongue pushing against your lips, demanding entrance. And yet, you still opened it for him willingly, the taste of his saliva invading your mouth.

He pulled away, his lips trailing down your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin, making you shudder. His fangs elongated as he prepared to feed, the tip of one piercing your flesh. You gasped, the sharp sting of his bite quickly dissipating as your blood flowed into his greedy mouth.

"No," you whimpered, trying to deny the pleasure as Astarion's fangs elongated, the sharp points poised to pierce your flesh. "I... I don't want this." Your body bucked against the headboard, your hands straining against the silk restraints as he began to feed. The pleasure coursed through your veins, your core aching with each draw of his lips. "Astarion..." you moaned, your voice tinged with a mix of pleasure and desperation.

"You want this," he purred, his voice thick with satisfaction as he continued to feed. The room spun around you, the pleasure reaching an almost unbearable crescendo. "You crave it, just like I knew you would."

You tried to resist, your voice trembling as you replied, "I... I shouldn't enjoy this. It's wrong."

The pleasure that enveloped you as his mouth sucked your blood was indescribable, your body arching towards him, an animalistic moan escaping your lips, “Oh, yes gods.” You cried out. He sucked greedily, your blood a sweet ambrosia to his thirsty lips. The more he drank, the more intensely you felt the pleasure, the orgasmic waves crashing over you, leaving you trembling.

Then, Astarion's hands moved to his own trousers, his fingers fumbling with the button, unzipping them to reveal the thick erection straining against the fabric of his underwear. His eyes never left yours as he pulled out his cock, the head glistening with pre-cum, the veins pulsating with desire.

"Every night, I've fed on you. But, I've also found other ways to amuse myself while you slept," he confessed with a smirk, his hand wrapping around his shaft, stroking it with slow deliberate motions. "I've watched you, so beautiful and vulnerable in your slumber, the way your breath hitches, the way your nipples harden, the way you squirm in your sleep, all signs that even while unconscious, your body craves me."

His strokes grew more fervent, his hips bucking in small motions, the slick sound of his hand moving up and down his shaft filling the room. "And I've touched myself, imagining myself burying my cock in your tight, wet cunt, fucking you until you screamed my name."

As he stroked himself, the sounds of his hand moving up and down, slapping against his shaft, filled the room. You blushed, the realisation of how much he lusted after you, the intimate invasion of your privacy, making your pussy dampen, your desire for him growing more insatiable.

Astarion's eyes bore into yours, the hunger and lust in his gaze undeniable as he continued his lewd confession. "I've come so many times, my release tasting of you, a tangible reminder of this unending obsession I have for you. And now, angel, I want to take you, to finally—finally fill you with my cock and claim you as mine."

Astarion's voice grew thick with lust, his hunger for you apparent as he declared his intentions. "Let me see your submission, let me see how badly you need me." As you gazed up at him, he reached forward, his hand cupping your chin, his thumb brushing against your bottom lip. "Open for me," he demanded, and you did, your lips parting to reveal the wet, inviting depths of your mouth. 

“Good girl.” He purred with a low appreciative growl. 

Without hesitation, Astarion guided his cock to your lips, the head brushing against them before he thrust forward, burying himself in your mouth. You gasped, the taste of him, the feel of his thickness. Astarion urged you on, his grip tightening on your head as he demanded more. "Suck me, use your saliva to lube my cock."

You did as he bid, working your saliva along his length, the slick substance coating his cock as you took him deeper in your mouth. The taste, the sound, the feeling of him, heightened your arousal, your body quivering with need. Suddenly, he stopped you, pulling out of your mouth with a low growl. You gasped, your lips parting to reveal the absence of his cock. He then positioned himself between your spread thighs, his eyes locked on yours, the lust and desire burning brightly.

"No preparation," he growled, his hand guiding his cock to your entrance. "This is your punishment, remember, and I want to feel every inch of you, raw and unbridled."

His rigid member pressed insistently against your swollen, slick folds. Before you could even gasp, he thrust forward, burying himself inside you, the sudden invasion making you cry out in both pain and pleasure.

He began to fuck you relentlessly, his thrusts deep and powerful, filling you completely with each stroke. Your breasts bounced with each impact, your nipples brushing against the rough fabric of his robe, sending jolts of pleasure through your body as he stretched you.

Astarion's hands gripped your hips harder, his thrusts becoming more frenzied as his anger boiled over. "Never, Y/n. You will never be free from me," he snarled, his voice deep and guttural. "I could give you the entire world, everything you could ever desire, and you still refuse to submit to me." he hissed.

You felt the veins on his cock pulse with each thrust, the intensity of his anger amplifying the pleasure coursing through your body. Your pussy clenched around him, your body betraying your resistance as he pounded into you with a force that bordered on violence. The room was filled with the sounds of your bodies colliding, the wet smacks of skin on skin punctuating his threats.

"You may think you want freedom, but what you truly crave is my control, my dominance," Astarion growled, his words heavy with conviction. "You can't resist me, and I won't let you go, Y/n."

He leaned down, nipping at your earlobe, the sharp pain mingling with the pleasure of his cock stretching you open. It was almost as if he was branding you, claiming you, as he continued his relentless assault on your body.

Your resistance crumbled beneath the onslaught of his passion, your arousal growing with every harsh word. Your body shook, your pussy clenching around him in desperation, and you whimpered, not able to form a coherent thought or sentence. 

His vampire's kisses became more urgent, his tongue duelling with yours as his hips moved at a frenzied pace. You could feel his cock throbbing inside you, each vein rubbing against your inner walls, causing sparks of pleasure to radiate through your core. "Fuck, you're so tight, angel. I'm going to fill you with my cum," he growled, his hands gripping your hips tightly, pulling you closer with each thrust.

The base of his cock rubbed against your clit, each impact bringing you closer to the edge. Your pussy clenched around his cock, milking him with every spasm. The room filled with the sounds of flesh slapping against flesh, wet and primal, as you fucked with a desperation born of need and lust.

You could no longer deny the truth in his words. You arched your back, your hips meeting his thrusts, your body begging for more. "Fuck, yes, Astarion. Don't ever stop," you gasped, your voice shaking with need.

"That's it, Y/n. Take it. Take my cock, your body was made for it," he growled.

Astarion leaned down, nipping at your neck, leaving tiny marks in his wake. His fangs grazed your skin, the mixture of pleasure and pain making your orgasm crest, crashing over you in waves.  Astarion's movements might be more violent, his body a tempest of raw, carnal desire as he fucked you. But the contrast between his tender kisses and the aggressive force with which he took you was arousing, a betrayal of his tender nature.

His lips left yours, a trail of wet, hot kisses making their way down your neck, the sharp points of his fangs grazing your skin as he growled, "You make me lose control, Y/n. Every time I touch you, I'm reminded of the beast I am."

You cried out, the pleasure building to a fever pitch within you. "Astarion," you pleaded, your voice shaking. "Don't stop, please... Please don't stop." At your words, his thrusts became more erratic, the violence of his movements a stark contrast to the tender, loving kisses you'd received only moments before. 

The combination of his conflicting emotions and the relentless assault on your body left you breathless, your orgasm overtaking you. The tenderness of his kisses, the violence of his thrusts, and the desperation in his voice all converged, creating a whirlwind of sensations that left you at his mercy.

The sensation of your pussy convulsing around his cock was too much for Astarion, and he roared, his cock pulsating inside you as he unleashed his hot, sticky cum deep within your quivering depths. Your bodies heaved, entwined, as the aftershocks of your orgasms continued to reverberate through you both.

Slowly, Astarion pulled out of you, his cock leaving behind a trail of cum and your fluids. He fell back, his breathing as ragged as yours, and gazed at you with an expression that was both lustful and tender—prideful, as if he could never get enough of you.

As Astarion pulled out, your body felt empty, the void left by his departure a stark reminder of the loss. Your legs trembled, and you sagged against the bed, the weight of your arousal now replaced by an aching, throbbing sensation that echoed through your body.

Your eyes observed your own form, taking note of the red marks that adorned your hips, the bruises on your wrists from the restraints, and the trickle of blood from the bite on your neck making its way down your collarbones. You looked at Astarion, this man who had brought you to such heights of pleasure, however, you saw him as a monster, a creature who revealed in the act of inflicting pain while claiming to love you.

Tears began to stream down your face, the realisation dawning that your pleasure and his desire for violence were intrinsically linked. The more he hurt you, the more he pleased you, a twisted, tortuous dance that left you aching and unsatisfied. "Why?" you managed between sniffs, your voice fraught with hurt and confusion. 

"Why do you do this to me?"

Astarion's expression softened, and he reached out to you, his hand cupping your chin as he tilted your face up to meet his gaze. "Because you're mine, Y/n," he said, his voice low and filled with an unshakeable conviction. "Because you bring out the best and the worst in me, and I can't help but be drawn to the darkness you unleash within me. It's not something I can control, Y/n. I love you, and I hurt you because I can't help it."

"This is not love— You're a monster," you whispered, the tears falling faster as the full weight of your situation settled upon you. Despite the blissful orgasm, you couldn't escape the truth.

Astarion flinched at your words, a flash of hurt crossing his face. He let out a shuddering breath, his grip on your chin tightening slightly before he released you. "I know," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know what I am, and I know what I've done to you. But it's because I can't lose you. Not now, not ever."

You looked at his pain expression, your heart heavy with a mixture of sorrow and fear. "I can't stay here, Astarion," you said, your voice trembling. "I can't live like this, constantly torn between love and pain." 

For a moment, you saw the conflict in his eyes, the battle between the man he wanted to be and the monster he used to be. "Y/n," he began, his voice breaking, "Please. I need you."

You shook your head, fresh tears streaming down your cheeks. "I can't," you repeated, your voice firmer this time. 

"Y/n, I... I didn't mean to hurt you. I lose myself sometimes, and you bring out a side of me that's... feral, wild, and I can't control it."

You looked away, unable to meet his eyes, the weight of the moment pressing heavily on your heart. You felt a mixture of fear and confusion, your desire for him warring with the pain he had unintentionally caused.

Astarion's hand gently brushed against your cheek, his touch tender now, his tone filled with remorse. "Please forgive me. I don't want to hurt you, Y/n. I promise, I'll find a way to control myself."

Tears streamed down your face as the realisation of your situation sank in. "I… I don't want to stay," you whispered, your voice fraught with hurt and confusion. The weight of your decision pressed heavily on your heart, but you knew it was the right choice for your own sanity and well-being.

Astarion's face contorted with a mixture of pain and resignation. His hand lingered for a moment, trembling slightly, before he reluctantly reached for the knot that restrained your wrist. With careful precision, he untied it, his fingers brushing against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

As the restraint fell away, you rubbed your wrist, feeling a sense of freedom mingled with an aching sense of loss. Astarion's eyes met yours, a storm of emotions swirling within them. "If you truly wish to leave," he said, his voice low and heavy with regret, "then I won't stop you. But let me take care of you one last night. Allow me to tend to your wounds, and ensure you're well enough to go."

You hesitated, the conflict within you raging. Despite everything, a part of you still longed for his touch, for the care he had shown amidst the darkness. Finally, you nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. 

"Alright. One last night."

Astarion's shoulders relaxed slightly, a flicker of relief in his wine eyes. He guided you gently to the bed, his touch tender and careful. He helped you lie down, adjusting the covers around you with a practised ease. The silk sheets felt cool against your heated skin, a soothing contrast to the turmoil within.

He brushed a lock of hair from your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek before he turned away to gather the supplies needed to tend to your bite wounds. You watched him, your heart heavy with a mixture of sorrow and longing. Despite the pain he had caused, there was a part of you that couldn't help but care for him.

You felt a pang of sadness, an ache that went beyond the physical pain of your wounds. 

You had spent so much time with Astarion, sharing moments that were as mundane as they were precious��reading together, talking late into the night, tending to the garden. The thought of leaving him, of abandoning him back to his loneliness, was almost unbearable.

He moved with grace, his touch gentle and precise as he cleaned and dressed the marks on your neck. Each movement seemed filled with an unspoken apology, a silent plea for forgiveness. When he finished, he looked down at you, his eyes softening. "Sleep well, angel," he murmured, his voice a seductive purr. 

"I'll be here if you need anything."

As he turned to leave, a sudden wave of loneliness washed over you. You reached out, your voice trembling. 

"Astarion, wait."

He paused, turning back to face you, a hint of surprise in his eyes. "Yes?"

You hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath. "Will you stay with me? Just for tonight?"

Astarion's eyes widened slightly, a myriad of emotions flickering across his face. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "After everything... are you sure you want me to stay?"

You nodded, your eyes filled with unshed tears. "I don't want to leave you alone," you said softly. "Not tonight."

For a moment, Astarion seemed at a loss for words. Then he moved closer, sitting on the edge of the bed. He reached out, taking your hand in his, his grip firm but gentle. "Thank you," he said quietly. "You don't know what this means to me."

He looked deeply into your eyes, his gaze softening. Without a word, he gently moved closer, sliding his arms around you with a tenderness that belied his strength. Slowly, he drew you into his embrace, his touch warm and reassuring. You felt his chest rise and fall with each breath, a steady rhythm that began to calm your racing heart. His nose pressed against your hair, and you felt the soft caress of his breath as he exhaled. 

"Shhh," he whispered, his voice a soothing murmur. "It's alright. Just relax. I'm here."

You nestled into his arms, the tension in your body gradually dissipating. Astarion's presence enveloped. His hand gently stroked your back in slow, comforting circles, and you felt the weight of his chin resting lightly on top of your head. "Close your eyes," he whispered, his voice a lullaby in the quiet room. 

"Let go of your worries, just for tonight."

You obeyed, your eyelids growing heavy. The scent of him, a mix of bergamot and something uniquely him, filled your senses, and you found yourself drifting closer to sleep. His other hand came up to cradle your head, his fingers threading through your hair in a gentle, repetitive motion.

"I'll be right here when you wake up," he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple. "I promise."

His words, filled with a sincerity that you had rarely heard from him, wrapped around your heart. You felt the last of your resistance melting away as sleep began to take hold. In his arms, you felt a sense of safety and warmth that you hadn't known you needed until you met him.

As you drifted into slumber, Astarion continued to hold you close, his presence a comforting anchor in the night. His nose remained pressed against your hair, and his steady breaths lulled you deeper into sleep. 

‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

I'll be right here when you wake up.

I promise.

When you woke up, the first thing you noticed was the cold emptiness beside you. The space where Astarion had been was now vacant, the bed's sheets cool to the touch. It was another lie, another illusion of safety and care shattered by the harsh reality of his absence. You sighed, a mixture of sadness and resignation settling over you. Part of you had hoped that perhaps he would be there, making a desperate attempt to change your mind, to convince you to stay. But the room was silent, and Astarion was nowhere to be seen.

You gathered your things slowly, your movements heavy with the weight of disappointment. Each item you packed felt like a small piece of your heart being torn away. You wandered through the church, your footsteps echoing in the empty halls. The place felt even more desolate than before, the shadows longer and the silence deeper. You searched for him, a flicker of hope driving you to check every corner, every hidden space.

But Astarion was gone. There was no trace of him, no sign that he had ever been there.

Days passed in a blur of longing and despair. You found yourself lingering, unable to leave the place that had become a twisted sanctuary. Each day you waited, hoping against hope that he would return, that he would explain, that he would ask you to stay. But the days turned into nights, and Astarion never came back.

You stayed a couple of days, the church becoming a prison of your own making. You tended to the garden, read the books on the shelves, and kept the place as tidy as you could, as if maintaining it would somehow bring him back. But each sunset brought only more loneliness, and each sunrise reminded you of his absence.

Finally, with a heavy heart, you came to the painful realisation that you would never see him again. Astarion had vanished, leaving behind only memories and unanswered questions. The love you had shared, however twisted and complex, was now just a ghost haunting the empty church.

With a final, sorrowful glance around the place that had been your refuge, you gathered the last of your belongings and walked out into the night. And as you took your first steps away from the church, you carried with you the bittersweet memory of a love that could never be, and the knowledge that because of him you had survived, even if it meant leaving a part of yourself behind.

As you stepped out into the night, a sense of unease washed over you, prickling at the back of your mind like a warning. Your hunter instincts surged to life, urging you to pay attention, to be alert. The forest seemed to whisper to you, a cacophony of voices urging you to act, to help.

Astarion. 

Without a moment's hesitation, you raced through the darkened woods, your heart pounding in your chest. The urgency of the situation fueled your movements, driving you forward with a singular purpose. Images of worst-case scenarios flashed through your mind, each more horrifying than the last.

As you drew closer, the putrid scent of death and blood assaulted your senses, causing your stomach to churn with nausea. Your steps faltered for a moment, dread pooling in the pit of your stomach. But you pushed forward, steeling yourself for whatever lay ahead.

And then, you saw him.

Astarion lay on the ground, his body battered and bloody, surrounded by the lifeless corpses of other vampires. The sight made your heart ache with a mixture of fear and sorrow. Despite everything, despite the pain and betrayal, you couldn't bear to see him like this.

Without a second thought, you rushed to his side, dropping to your knees beside him. His breathing was shallow, his skin pale and clammy to the touch. You gently cradled his head in your arms, your fingers trembling as you assessed his injuries. "Astarion," you whispered, your voice filled with concern. 

"Can you hear me? What happened?"

He stirred slightly, his eyes fluttering open to meet yours. There was pain and confusion in his gaze, but also a glimmer of relief at seeing you there.

"Y/n, my sweet angel" he rasped, his voice barely above a whisper. "I... I didn't think... you'd come."

You shook your head, your heart breaking at the vulnerability in his voice. "Sorry it took me a while, but I heard you," you said softly. 

A weak chuckle escaped Astarion's lips, his voice strained with pain. "Before you leave," he said, a hint of humour lacing his words, "I thought I should take care of those pesky vampires that were threatening the village. Wouldn't want you to leave thinking I'm not capable of protecting you, now would we?"

His attempt at levity brought tears to your eyes, and you blinked them away, your vision blurred with emotion. In that moment, you realised the truth—that he had done all of this for you. Despite everything, despite the pain and the betrayal, he had risked his life to keep you safe.

The realisation hit you like a punch to the gut, leaving you reeling with a mixture of gratitude and sorrow. How could you have been so blind, so quick to judge him without understanding the depth of his feelings?

As you looked into his eyes, you saw the truth reflected back at you—a love that transcends boundaries and defied logic. In that moment, you knew that you couldn't just walk away, not when there was still so much left unsaid between you. "I'm proud of you, Astarion," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion. 

"I always have been."

He smiled weakly, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "Thank you, Y/n," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "For everything."

“Don’t thank me yet,” Taking a deep breath, you helped Astarion to his feet, one arm around his waist for support, the other cradling his head. You could feel the heat emanating from his body, the sharp sting of pain etched across his features.

Despite his weakened state, he leaned on you, allowing you to guide him back toward the church. The sun was setting, painting the sky with hues of orange and gold, its warmth a stark contrast to the chill that enveloped the village. His steps were slow and uncertain, each breath laboured, yet he pressed onward, driven by a will that was as unyielding as the love he bore for you. You couldn't help but feel a surge of admiration for the man who, despite his flaws, never faltered in his devotion to you.

The journey back to the church felt like an eternity, each step a struggle against the darkness that threatened to engulf you both. But you refused to falter, refused to let Astarion succumb to his injuries.

Finally, you reached the safety of the church, its walls a sanctuary against the horrors of the night. With careful hands, you guided Astarion to the very same bed he had welcomed you a while ago. 

Now layed down, Astarion watched you with a mixture of gratitude and awe. "I never imagined the day when I would be at the mercy of a human," he admitted, his voice tinged with irony. But you didn’t laugh. 

With trembling hands, you gingerly began to tend to Astarion's wounds. Each movement was a delicate dance between fear and compassion, the weight of his suffering pressing down on you like a heavy shroud. The sight of him in pain pierced your heart like a dagger, and you fought to keep your composure, to stave off the overwhelming tide of despair threatening to consume you.

As you worked, your mind raced with a cacophony of emotions—grief, anger, and an overwhelming sense of helplessness. How could you, a mere mortal, hope to heal the wounds of a creature as ancient and powerful as Astarion? Yet, despite the odds stacked against you, you couldn't bear to stand idly by while he suffered. 

Astarion watched you with a mixture of gratitude and concern, his wine eyes filled with unspoken words. He reached out to you, his touch gentle against your skin, a silent reassurance in the midst of chaos. "Shh, Y/n," he murmured, his voice smooth and soothing like velvet. "It's all right. You’re doing great angel."

His words offered little comfort, but you appreciated the gesture nonetheless. With a deep breath, you focused on the task at hand, pushing aside your own emotions as you worked to ease his pain. Each touch, each bandage applied with painstaking care, was a silent prayer for his recovery, a desperate plea to whatever gods might be listening to spare him from further suffering.

Astarion watched you, his eyes filled with anguish and concern. Feeling your turmoil, he reached out to take your hand, his voice a soothing murmur as he spoke. "Y/n, listen to me. I haven't been truly honest with you. When I spoke of my sins, the sins of the flesh, that's what I meant."

His words hit you like a hammer, and for a moment, you couldn't find your voice. Astarion continued, his confession laced with pain and regret. "Most of my life, I was used. A pawn in a game, my body a tool to lure others into a trap. My master, the one who made me into what I am, he used me for his own wicked purposes. And when he died, I came here, to take penance."

He looked up at the ceiling, the pain etched in every line of his face. "Every day, the holy ground is a punishment for me, a constant reminder of my past. But being here, it's my way of making amends. And you... you showed me something I never thought I'd find. I know I'm not perfect, Y/n. I've made mistakes, many of them, and my past is one I can't escape. But I want to be better for you. I want to start anew."

You listened to Astarion's confession in stunned silence, the weight of his words sinking deep into your heart. Anger flared within you, a fiery inferno that threatened to consume you from the inside out. How could anyone be so callous, so cruel as to use another person in such a way? The thought of Astarion's past filled you with a righteous fury, a burning desire for justice that pulsed through your veins like wildfire.

But as he continued to speak, his voice tinged with regret and remorse, you felt the anger give way to something else—a sense of empathy, of understanding. Astarion had never known affection, had never experienced the simple joys of human connection. His life had been one of pain and isolation, a constant battle against the darkness that threatened to consume him.

"When you came here," he confessed, his voice soft and vulnerable, "I didn't know what to make of it. I had never felt anything like it before—the warmth, the kindness, the affection. It was overwhelming, and at some point, I think I fell in love."

His words hung in the air like a heavy fog, the weight of their meaning pressing down on you like a burden too heavy to bear. You had never imagined that your presence could have such an effect on him, that your simple acts of kindness could inspire such profound emotions.

"But I didn't know how to express it," Astarion continued, his voice filled with regret. "I was so caught up in my own pain, my own anger, that when you threatened to leave, it... it turned into something else. Something ugly.  I lashed out at the only thing I could control—you."

Tears welled up in your eyes, the conflicting emotions warring within you like a stormy sea. On one hand, you felt a deep sense of sadness for the pain that Astarion had endured, for the loneliness that had plagued him for so long. But on the other hand, you couldn't shake the feeling of betrayal, of hurt and anger at the thought that he had lashed out at you in his moment of weakness.

"I'm sorry, Y/n," Astarion whispered, his voice filled with remorse. "I know I've hurt you, and I don't expect you to forgive me. But please... please understand that I never meant to cause you pain. I love you, Y/n, and I would do anything to make things right between us."

Tears cascaded down your cheeks in a torrent, a floodgate of emotions unleashed by Astarion's heartfelt confession. His words were a symphony of pain and longing, each syllable carrying the weight of his regrets and the depth of his love. You couldn't help but be moved by the raw vulnerability he laid bare before you, his soul laid bare like an open book, pleading for understanding and forgiveness.

As his voice trembled with emotion, you felt your own resolve waver, the walls you had erected around your heart crumbling in the face of his sincerity. "I love you too, Astarion," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath, yet weighted with a lifetime of unspoken truths. "I don't want you to suffer for something that wasn't your fault. You deserve happiness, just like anyone else."

Silently, Astarion's hand, weakened by his wounds, reached for your cheek, his touch gentle and tender against your skin. With a soft sigh, he guided you towards him, you felt the gentle pressure of his lips against yours, a tender caress that said more than words ever could. His kiss was a balm for your wounded soul, and you knew he felt the same about yours. 

"You have to make me a vampire," you whispered, your voice trembling with both fear and resolve. "We'll leave this church, and we'll build a new life together. We'll find a place where we can be happy."

Astarion's eyes, clouded with a mixture of relief and love, met yours. His lips curved into a weak smile that was both tender and heart-wrenching. It seemed as though the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders, and in its place, there was a joy that shone forth from the depths of his very being.

"Yes, my love, I would love that," he replied, his voice thick with emotion. As his lips lingered on yours, you felt a sense of belonging wash over you, a sense of fulfilment that you had longed for all your life. For that brief, fleeting moment, you were no longer alone - you were one, united by a love that defied all logic and reason.

As you surrendered to the bliss of his kiss, you knew that in the embrace of his love, you had found your home, your sanctuary. 

Your salvation.

❛ masterlist ⋅ ao3 ❜

[storiesoflilies]

18+ // explicit smut // MDNI

gladiator!toji fought with all the wrath of the gods in the arena to ensure his victory, because victory meant he would live for the night and return to his home, his heart.

“shh, my love,” toji groaned lowly, a light sheen of sweat on his brow, his veined forearm across her breasts. “the others will hear us.”

she gasped loudly, and he shoved two of his fingers into her mouth to silence her moans. toji bent his legs, bucking his muscled thighs to drive his cock deeper into her plush wetness, eliciting sweet, muffled whines from her. she arched her back into his broad chest, reaching a hand behind to grasp his midnight locks between her fingers, the strands still caked with the blood of his enemies.

her slick trickled down his heavy balls as they slapped against her, as she lay atop his body – a body that was art, a tanned marble statue crafted by the gods themselves. he fondled her nipple, teasing with featherlight pinches around the hardened bud, and she drooled against his fingers.

“i kill for you,” toji huffed into the curve of her ear, gripping and squeezing her breast. “everyday i kill for you, for this. so i can come back to this tight, sweet pussy of yours every night.”

in these moments, they were fueled only by fire and lust, driven to chase their pleasure from each other. she whined again, sloppily sucking on his fingers, and toji growled, pounding into her with renewed vigor. he reached down to rub quick circles on her clit, feeling her clench and pulse around his thick cock.

toji moaned, his breaths hot and heavy against her neck. “let go for me. give me what i fought for, my prize.”

and let go she did, her head tipped back in pure white ecstasy as her legs and pussy shook from the sheer force of her orgasm. her juices squirted and splashed messily against his calves and dirtied mattress, and she couldn’t help the moans escaping her lips. toji continued to thrust into her, both his calloused hands on her hips as his balls tightened.

“cum, my gladiator,” she purred, pussy squelching lewdly as she licked his strong jawline.

toji groaned again, his hips stuttering as he shoved himself as far into her as he could go, thick, hot ropes of his cum filling her up. he’d plant a piece of himself deep inside her, where he could stay for a while in the sanctuary that was her body and soul.

until the next night came.

©storiesoflilies 2024, all rights reserved. please do not plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my work on other sites! i only post on ao3 and tumblr.

[if-whats-new]

What's New In IF? Issue 6 (2024)

By Erika, Marjorie, Axelle, and Noi

Now Available!

Itch.io - Google Drive - Keep Reading below

Did you know that you can learn a neat fun fact about IF on the itch.io version?

EDITORIAL

Not a content machine…

Though we manage to fill our pages with many projects appearing on the scene or updating regularly, it is important to remember that creators are not content machines.

They are like you and us: people, with ups and downs, with period of great productivity and creative struggles, with life affecting all of it. They put a lot of effort into making really cool stories (and most of them as a hobby!), so much more than we do with this!

And they share with us this labor of sweat, blood, tears and love, with little in return: a sign that someone played their project and enjoyed it.

Whether it is a quiet like or rating, a loud review or comment, a simple share (that can trickle away towards new eyes), or even a few coins their way, there are many ways we can tell them:

We see you, and we appreciate you.

Let's try to do this more, yeah?

We hope you enjoy this issue!

ERIKA, MARJORIE, AXELLE, AND NOI

EVENTS

CONFERENCE

You can now register for the Narrascope! It is happening June 21-23, in hybrid. They've also released the schedule of talks!

ONGOING (VOTING)

The voting period for the Text Adventure Literacy Jam ends in less than a week. The competition is looking for beginner players!

ONGOING (SUBMITTING)

If Spanish is in your wheelhouse, the Spanish IFComp (Rayuela) is currently ongoing! You can submit a game until the end of June, with the themes Es un sólo botón and/or Conexión.

Also ongoing is the ParserComp, which are looking for parser games, both with a classic feel or a more experimental approach.

If you are looking to make a Visual Novel, the Otome Jam will be looking for entries until July 1st.

🔥 Fuck Capitalism Jam 2024 🔥 is also a fun jam to participate in, and ends in a short week! (We know it's not technically IF, but they took IF entries before)

Today ends the REALLY BAD IF JAM, hosted on itch.io, where the goal is to make bad art (IF-style).

A Visual Novel focused version, “Worst Ever VN“ Challenge, will still accept entries until next week..

ENDED

The Locus Jam (@neointeractives)ended this week, with 15 short games! All entries were only allowed one location!.

There were also two entries that came out of the Text-Based Game/Visual Novel Jam, which you can find on itch.io.

The Narrative Design Award competition has just ended, with 26 entries with nautical themes.

OTHER

The Interactive Fiction Showcase is still running, with new submissions, since last week! It is happening on itch!

GAMES

NEW RELEASE

Do you like Call of Duty? A short fanfic in the CYOA format can be played on Tumblr. (@gauloiseblue)

Juniper's Under Story (Ren’Py) is a short beautiful slice-of-life visual novel. (@romanhyacinths)

The Final Song (Twine) is an educational historical fiction story set on the last days of the Siege of Leningrad.

Power Quest (Twine) is a short educational piece about renewable energy.

Don't forget about the cool games released in the events mentioned in the previous pages!

NEW RELEASE (WIP)

A Twisted Wonderland fanfic interactive project where your choice can affect the story is ongoing on Tumblr. (@sanalang-ao33)

Blackwood Manor (CScript) is a dark Victorian mystery project, where you play as the new Housekeeper of strange noble siblings. (@ang3lwithapen)

GAMES UPDATES

Thicker Than (CScript) has updated, passing the 300k total words mark. (@barbwritesstuff)

The Lonely Shore (CScript) has released an update with more activities. (@thelonelyshore-if)

Spellbound (CScript) is another project that passed the 300k total words mark.

Life as a Lich (CScript) is looking for testers ahead of release.

First Bull Run (CScript) has updated.

A Dance with the Devil (CScript) has updated its demo.

The Ultimate Magic Student (CScript) added over 30k words of content.

Core Uprising (CScript) completed a route.

My One and Only (CScript) has updated. (@reds-corner)

Aquarii (Twine) added Chapter 2. (@aquarii-if)

Valiant (Twine) has updated Chapter 2. (@valiant-if)

The Thousand of Us (CScript) added more content to the demo. (@ivanwm-05)

The Mouth of Elysium (Twine) has released its demo. (@blood-teeth)

Our Life: Now and Forever (Ren’Py) has updated its demo. (@gb-patch)

Mission Light (Twine) has released its demo, currently a prologue. (@mission-light-if)

Crash Course in You (Twine) released the rest of its First Chapter. (@fakeyellow)

Everbloom (CScript) has been fully released for free. (@darielivalyen)

Skin and Scales (Twine) has added Chapter 2 to its demo. (@skinandscales-if)

The Reaper Watches Me (Twine) also added its second chapter. (@thereaperwatchesme)

Dragon of Steelhorne 2 (CScript) is opening a private beta head of an IFComp release.

Blood Legacies (CScript) has almost doubled the wordcount of the demo. (@bloodlegacies)

Sense and Sorcery (CScript) has added new routes.

OTHER

Kit, author of The Nothern Passage (@northern-passage), is setting up a charity raffle for Palestine and looking for creators and artists for prizes.

The Neo-Interactive (@neointeractives) group has announced their Neo-Twiny Jam will raise money for LBGTQ+ causes through donations and submissions (announcement).

BLESS (Blood+Flesh+Soul) is turning into a Kinetic Novel. (@mahadeoh-blog)

Fields of Asphodel (CScript) has been submitted to Hosted Games. The demo is not available anymore. (@chrysanthemumgames)

We apologize if we missed an update or a release. We are but volunteers trying to find as much info as possible, but sometimes news pass through the cracks.

Please, let us know if something should have been added to the zine, and we will shout it out next week!

HIGHLIGHT ON...

A couple of games that we thought were cool.

Ascendance by Ascendance-if (@ascendance-if - Twine)

“Well, it's cool because there are really nice side character friends and those moments with them were absolutely lovely. Also, the premise of the story of being a creature who had experienced various lifetimes as different species in different worlds and having met and interacted with the LIs and be able to still reconnect with them no matter who or what you were and are is lovely as well.”

submitted by FeveredRain

Posey Picks and the Bus Stop by indooranimal (@derekachoy - Phaser)

“Such a cute VN. It's like giving a heartbalm after playing really dark stuff. It's so silly and the endings are so funny, but I like it a lot. And it's like surprising large and branching for a VN. You should play it.”

submitted by Isaac

The Impossible Bottle by Linus Åkesson (Dialog)

“Truly one of the best parser I have ever played. A magical experience where I didn't feel frustrated once. I am in awe of how accessible it was for a (then) non-parser player (click to action). And the twist… … so so cool. Best winner of the IFComp for sure.”

recommended by Eric

Your favourite game here?

Do you have a favourite game that deserve some highlighting? Tell us about it! A old or recent game that wowed you so much you want to spam it to everyone? Tell us about it!

We'll add it to the page!

FINAL WORD

Before we end this issue, we would like to thank:

@elegantunknownphantom, Eric, FeveredRain, Isaac, and a couple of anonymous users!

Your shared news, helpful tips, cool links, filled form, written Sheet line, sent emails… all these little attentions toward the Zine help us so much!

We also would like to thank all of you who told us of cool recs that didn't appear this edition. We'll try out best to fit them in next week!

And a final thank to all of you who not only read our zine, but liked it, shared it with others, left a little sweet reply or dm, or even rated it on itch! Those little bits of support really help us so much!! Thank you for cheering us on this journey!

~

As a final parting word, we thought of bringing back this little challenge for you all:

If you enjoy a game or a project, or if you admire an author and their work, try to send them a little message of appreciation this week. A little comment or rating for their game, a compliment in their askbox/dm, gushing in the tags of a reblog or in a review…

Spread the kindness!

See you again next week!

ERIKA, MARJORIE, AXELLE, AND NOI

WHAT'S NEW IN IF? 2024-ISSUE 6

[emiarainewrites]

Anyone interested in Blood Drive fics?

Reader inserts mainly. Maybe headcannons, depends on what you might be looking for.

I’d be happy to write for just about any of the main characters (especially Julian Jonathan Slink!)

I just wanna resurrect this fandom and support it and do something for this show. It richly deserves anything it’s fans can give it.

Like Rocknrolla, if we aren’t getting a continuation then I’m gonna have to get my fix somehow!

PSA:

Blood Drive is a criminally underrated show that was cancelled WAY too early (fuck you syfy channel). So go check it out and spread the word!!

[thelandboundseawitch]

🍎Fruit Correspondences🍎

Apples:

Red Apples- Love, prosperity, lust, knowledge, sex, romance and passion, fruit of the dead, immortality, happiness, good physical health, curses

Green Apples- Money, prosperity, luck, success

Yellow Apples- Curses for money loss, greed, envy

Apricot- Love, longevity, good health, healing(physically and emotionally), sweetening things, glamour, beauty Banana- Travel, sex, fertility, potency, prosperity, comfort, pain relief, sleep, dreams; infidelity curses, impotence Blackberry- Healing, love, protection, natural beauty, lust, cursing, binding Blueberry- Healing, protection, calm, focus, communication Cantaloupe- Protection, energy, motivation Cherry- Dreams, love, divination, beauty, substitute for blood/meat/organs, happiness, emotional healing, friendship, repel negativity, relationships Coconut- Chastity, innocence, protection, purification, beauty Cranberry- Romance, cleansing, severing negative ties, ambition Date- Love, psychic abilities, friendships and repairing them, quick energy Elderberry- Protection (psychic and emotional attacks), protection from psychic vampirism, fidelity, spirit work, wisdom, cleansing, dexterity, balance (usually of body and mind), celebrations; can be used as a substitute for blood despite not being red, good for ink making Fig- Abundance, divination, energy, fertility, good luck, health, love, money, peace, power, strength

Grapes:

Green- Money and prosperity, business, grounding, creativity

Purple- Psychic abilities, divination, spirit work

Red- Strength, lust, fertility, encouragement

Grapefruit- Cleansing, confidence, cooperation, healing, inner strength, mental clarity, purification, curses

Honeydew Melon- Sweetness, refresh, renewal, energy, subtly, kindness, relationship Kiwi- Secrets, looking for answers, happiness, sex and physical longings, good luck Lemon- Love, purification, beauty, friendship, longevity, inspiration, cursing Lime- Command and dictation, emotional healing, protection, energizing, purification, protects from negativity, curses(envy, jealousy, money troubles, bond severing) Mango- Love, protection, harvest, business and legal matters, happiness, friendship and family Nectarine- Love Orange- Awareness, prosperity, love, friendship, divination, creativity, inspiration, dream work, opportunity, harvest, money luck Papaya- Love, protection, brings happiness, kindness, strength in hardship, overcoming challenges Peach- Happiness, love, protection, exorcism, wishes, femininity, female fertility, knowledge, motivation, bliss Pear- Love, lust, wealth Persimmon- Happiness, healing, luck, lust, sex, wisdom Pineapple- Relieves stress and anxiety, imagination, relieves art block, luck, prosperity, happiness Plum- Luxury, sex, lust, love, wealth, and sleep Pomegranate- Beauty, protection, lust, the forbidden, death, wisdom, blood substitute and organ substitute Raspberry- Fun, love, courage, blood substitute Strawberry- Love, curses(losing love, cheating or lost of sexual drive) Tangerine- Protection of a home or space, happiness, friendship and cheerfulness Watermelon- Purity, luck, happiness, renewal, rebirth

[melodiclune]

It starts eerily calm.

And he craves revenge, more than anything. It's too late to search for allies, friends- people. Only redemption for himself exists now.

Tango falls, and he feels satiated, however briefly. He goes around, person by person- trusting no one, yet communicating and trading with everyone. As is his job, of course, as an honest Trader Scars' owner.

Skizz is next. He lets him go, even though the bloodlust is there. He lets Joel take it- he's gotten a good fill of his betrayal for now.

("Scar sends his regards.")

A fond farewell, to perhaps the only place he ever called his own- Trader Scars' may be destroyed, but it lives on in him.

Bigb takes so, so many hits. It's so tempting to get him. But he lets it go- he has some cowards hiding up in the tower to deal with.

("He sounds like a wounded wild animal- I feel so bad! Let's put him out of his misery.")

Etho goes down. It's like the apocalypse all over again- this time it's permanent. The villainous behaviour once forced down his throat, now devouring him as he lets it consume all his goodwill.

Bigb falls- it's just as quick as every other death so far. Cleo is trapped- it's so easy, really, to drive the sword through her back as he watches her bleed out. ("Goodbye!")

They fall, fall, fall... and Scar is always there at the sight of the bloodshed.

(Except for the Watcher- he dies, completely away from any place Scar could influence. How odd.)

And then, it's down to two sides. Scar wonders briefly, about how he has worked with both. But he sticks with the side he's on already- after all, switching now would be too much work. There's better numbers on this side anyway.

("Who cares- we all die anyway. It's all nothing.")

Bdubs and Joel fall- all he can do is stare as they do, a small attempt at saving them not going any farther than their attempts at befriending him.

Shooting Impulse off feels good, like killing everyone else did. The bloodlust remains strong.

Pearl helps him damage Scott a hefty amount- and later Gem comes to them, tears in her eyes and blood on her hands. He knows what has happened. She looks renewed, but broken.

He drives the sword through Gem, and then there were two.

Of course, there was never a true alliance to begin with. He's too tired of everyone's half hearted promises to him anyway. Pearl falls- he barely notices, the zombie capturing his attention.

("Pearl- where are you?")

(The Watcher speaks from beyond the veil. "She's dead, Scar. You've won.")

"Well, that can't be right. How did the guy with no friends win?"

He laughs, a bitter one. The zombie is attacking him- he feels himself succumb to it, but the numb feeling is overpowering.

Out of muscle memory, he trudges his way to the beginning of it all. The end of it all. The secret keeper hands him health, like it always does. Does he need it anymore?

("Win Secret Life.")

Well. He's completed his task. Time to move on.

But he sits there, by the Secret Keeper. The sun is bright in the sky, the blood on his hands drying.

It ends, eerily calm.

[frociaggine]

top 5 TLT fic recs

OK, I've been very bad at keeping up with the fic tag so all my recs are a bit old but listen. they fuck.

the soul that seeketh him by bittybelle — Ostensively a fic about John Gaius's slut era but one of THE definitive fics in the fandom to me. I want to eat it I want it tattoed over my ribcage.

People, it turns out, are horny for depression. Or maybe it’s that people are horny for depressed gods. Or maybe enduring betrayal on a literally cosmic scale makes people hotter. Or maybe the death drive is real, and the many-tongued abyss’s breath is still thick in your hair, and it makes everyone want to move closer and take a big, deep whiff. Or maybe you’re God, and they’re scared. Or: John Gaius meets his daughter, remembers the women he left behind, and deals poorly with being the male god of a universe in which the divine is essentially feminine.

crawl home to her by Raxheim — I'm limiting myself to one Rax fic only, because this is a top five, but it's a struggle. Highly rec their whole account

In which Gideon the First finds Wake, kills her, and then absconds with her child. And in the shadows of his soul, Pyrrha and Wake fight for control of the bomb.

and my mouth isn't filled with blood, it's victory wine by arbitrarily — also known as the fic where Ianthe gets her eye smashed while roleplaying as Alecto during sex, and it's not even my favourite thing about the fic. It's unhinged (complimentary)

You like forcing yourself to do gross things. This is called having character. Ianthe gets haunted, makes a power play, and smokes a cigarette.

High But Very Drear by honorarycassowary — this is such a lovely look at the Ninth after Harrow's departure. It's slightly canon divergent (written pre NtN) but I'm obsessed with Aiglamene's portrayal in it

Aiglamene and Crux receive the five hundred ancient dead gifted by the Emperor for the renewal of the Ninth, and also do something that could be construed as mourning.

and I'll leave once I figure out / how to pay for my own life too by oriflamme — multichapter Harrow Nova AU that remains one of my favourite chaptered works in the fandom. I'm absolutely obsessed with the Harrow & Pyrrha and Harrow & G1deon dynamics in it

Harrow Nova wakes up haunted. That's not the problem. The problem is that her dead necromancer won't stop narrating their life for five minutes.

[yuck-pfaugh]

Note: I'm writing this only because I haven't seen anyone else touch on these specific points. I'm not Māori, so my understanding may be mistaken; if so I would be very grateful for correction and elaboration from tangata whenua. (And I've only read Nona once so far, and we all know that's a scratch upon the surface of it.)

Tazmuir has received fandom flack for saying in interviews that Gideon and Harrow are both Māori without mentioning it in the text — which understandably reminds sf/f readers of a certain other author's tendency to dispose of the difficult bits outside the actual work. I think it is clear by now that the reason it wasn't dealt with explicitly earlier on is that Tazmuir sticks religiously (ahem) to the flawed and limited knowledge of her point-of-view characters, and in the Nine Houses they have no concept of pre-Resurrection races and ethnicities, because Jod has not allowed them knowledge of any world but his. (Besides, explaining Gideon's lineage in a Doylist aside would have been rather tricky without revealing, before their proper time in the narrative, juicy details about Jod himself.)

My prediction is that we will find out Anastasia was also Māori. Maybe, probably, from the same iwi as Jod and/or G1deon.

Which makes Harrow, her last descendent, Māori as well.

No matter how many generations separate them. No matter how much other blood.

"Mixed Māori" or "[percentage] Māori" is kind of a pākehā concept. The more important question is, do you whakapapa? Do you know who you are? Do you know where you come from? All it takes is one verified ancestor and you're in the club, no matter how long it's been or what brand of egg carton your skin looks like on the book cover. I think Harrow is descended not just from a line of Tomb-keepers but a line of kaitiaki, guardians of the land, who through Anastasia's private pact with Alecto are sworn to protect her — Papatūānuku, the earth mother born from salt water — and who have been holding on for ten thousand years to right Jod's wrongs. We know salt water is sacred to the line of the Ninth House; we know that Alecto was called "the saltwater creature"; we know that it's Nona's natural element, which calms and renews her; all this links Alecto/Earth specifically with Māori creation myths, more than any others. And we know that preserving the ancient bloodline of the Ninth, Anastasia's bloodline, in Harrow's own improbable and desperately yearned-for person (that Alecto can recognise at a taste), was the goal Pelleamena and Priamhark pursued at the cost of the Ninth House's entire future.

Yes, this series is portraying an indigenous man as the destroyer of Earth. We know that Earth chose him as her saviour and he betrayed her, imprisoned her, set himself up as master of an empire that was her antithesis, then imprisoned her again — arguably worse sins for someone who was born into that special relationship with the land, whom the Earth loved and trusted so much and still loves even now because love past understanding is her gift.

But here's the answer to that. Here's his opposite number. Harrow, who fell in love at first sight with the Earth, who found in that love her reason and her drive to continue living and to hold to her goals through intolerable trauma, who has a unique combination of bloodline and genius and Jod-and-Alecto-derived power (through her Lyctorhood with Kiriona Gaia, wherever that ends up going) with which to fulfill this sacred pact entered into by her tipuna Anastasia.

Harrow being Māori is not a trendy convenient afterthought. It's an integral point.

Harrow knows who she is. She knows where she comes from. She knows where she's going: Hell itself, to get to the bottom of all this shit. So I think we will be hearing more along these lines.