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alyimoss · 3 months ago

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horrortale king papyrus "ending", aka what happens if horror joins nightmare

i was thinking of making this into a fic or smthn but idk when ill get to that so. nevermind that im just gonna make a post. lotta yapping ahead. (word count: 1972)

so, i see a lot of people, when including horror in nightmares pantheon, say that he was either a) abducted against his will, or b) coerced by food, both for himself and his world. and i dont have much against the first interpretation, but the second… something's bothered me about it for a while, and its the simple fact that canon horror isnt that selfless. if nightmare were to offer him a deal, he would first and foremost be thinking about his own interests (he has already proven to be this kind of person in the comics).

so i instead think that were nm to offer him a deal, horror would only agree to a specific multi-part deal. and the first part? undyne's death.

we already know the whole "eating humans" thing was moreso to spite undyne and foil whatever plans she has than to help the residents of snowdin, shown by the fact that sans himself doesnt eat humans and that he urges everyone to keep this a secret from undyne and the rest of the underground. if a mysterious, powerful entity suddenly appeared and asked horror for his servitude in exchange for something he wants, a "mutually beneficial deal", i guarantee you that first and foremost he would think of undyne. of the traitor who sacrificed him "for the greater good".

and he would get that. i dont know if he would prefer to kill her himself or let nightmare to the dirty work, but either way, its not a hard thing for someone as powerful as him to do. only after his final act of revenge is certified does he think about everything else. with undyne gone, the underground would be left without a ruler, and things would likely get even more chaotic than usual. plus, they would still be left without food and without power.

i think hed ask for their CORE to be repaired or something else to be done about the power and magic situation going on in the underground first, but. i see this as something out of nightmare's range. hes not exactly a mechanic, and he doesnt want to waste time and energy getting someone who is just for another underling. so horror compromises on just food. regular deliveries of enough to feed all the monsters left in the underground. and this is a bit tedious, but still doable, and nightmare would likely agree.

but theres still one more part to the deal, and that is an opportunity to set a plan in motion.

with undyne out of the picture, someone would need to take control. and sans has the perfect idea of who.

the monster who has kept snowdin fed for years; who reported to undyne and mediated when her temper flared up; who kept up the puzzles and security around snowdin; who tried to keep the others' spirits up even when times were darkest…

thats right. he wants papyrus in charge.

i often see ht papyrus being portrayed in fandom as kind of a dope. someone innocent despite his creepy appearance and still rather incompetent. and this frustrates me because hes anything but. hunger, death, murder… all have taken their toll on him, and hes certainly not fine or completely sane. but id say hes arguably the sanest out of all the monsters weve seen in the comic so far (other than flowey and mettaton, i suppose… though mettaton is uncertain since weve only seen him in the past). hes also shown handling a lot of responsibilities, like the previously-mentioned providing of food and mediating when undyne goes too far. this applies to his brother, too, who was also known for having a temper. horrortale papyrus is still pretty cheery, but hes less idealistic, more responsible…

anyway, all that to say that 1) horrortale papyrus is horribly underrated and idk why because i love him dearly, and 2) between the reasons above and the fact that he's his brother, i think sans would consider him a perfect next-in-line. plus, all this power and respect and recognition… werent these all things he yearned for?

so before he leaves with nightmare, he does a little manipulating of the playing field. i dont know what this would be, honestly. talking papyrus up to others? making sure other monsters are aware of his capability and his kindness and his resolve? i dont know. but he does it. and after hes gone and undynes death is discovered, papyrus is chosen as the next king.

and you know what? i dont think he would want that.

because hes already gotten a taste of his "respect and recognition" via being an important figure in snowdin, and its been nothing but hell the whole time. hes exhausted. hes not one to be lazy or give up, but even a guy like him has his limits, and frankly hes probably reached them a long time ago. but the people desperately need a leader… and he cant exactly deny them. reluctantly, he agrees.

maybe a week into his rule, a miracle happens. food appears.

no-one knows where its from, but no-one can really care. "dont look a gift horse in the mouth" or whatever. the royal guard has to tear ravenous monsters away from the food in an attempt to save some to be rationed out. some guards undoubtedly succumb to the temptation themselves. but a good amount is saved and rationed. and the people look to papyrus with a new kind of reverence.

because how is it possible? under undynes rule, everything went to shit, and despite the years of promises, nothing was ever fixed. but as soon as papyrus take control, they get food, a good, livable amount of food, for the first time in years. theres hushed whispers that there must be a higher power involved. some seem to view papyrus himself as that higher power. the support for him grows from acceptance to wild endorsement. parents able to save their children thanks to the food cry and promise him unyielding loyalty. monsters who had all but accepted their deaths and met with a miracle instead fall at his feet. some compliments are backhanded: "i thought you would just be a useless stand-in, but youve actually saved us!!"

and papyrus smiles tightly at them all as panic mounts inside him. what will happen once this food runs out? will more appear? what if it doesnt?

but it does. it appears consistently, on a schedule. the people rejoice every time. but papyrus still finds himself fearing every day. barely able to rest amidst his panic. being king is a lot of responsibility, and he finds himself constantly overworking, so, so tired… but hes still putting on a smile for the public and assuring them that everything is okay.

with a consistent source of food, hes able to focus on other problems, such as getting monsters treatment for the effects of this hell that theyve been living in for so long and restoring the core. he's constantly meeting with different monsters, doing paperwork, handling this matter and that…

hes not alone. toriel would help him, i think. she knows what being a ruler is like, after all, and he is her good friend. but i dont know if other monsters, who rejected her as their queen, would be thrilled to have her even as an advisor. if mettaton is still sane, perhaps he would help, too, in whatever ways that he can. but papyrus still feels this… absense.

because his brother isnt there.

he never told anyone where he was going or what was happening. the most papyrus knows is that hes sure this all has to do with him somehow. but nothing else. not how, not to what extent. not whether hes even alive.

and for this one reason i think he would be so much more tired, so much more miserable. hes lost his only family, his support. the brothers' relationship in horrortale is pretty clearly strained, but theyre still shown to be close because, well, theyre family. theyve always been close. always helped each other. they were always there when the other needed to get something off his chest or get help. they kept a lot of secrets even from each other, yes, but im willing to bet that number's a whole lot less than the number they keep from others. what im getting at is that sans and papyrus are extremely important parts of each others lives, and one losing the other is a huge and unbearable change.

…and yet, with growing pangs of horror (ha) and guilt, papyrus finds that he doesnt know if its really much different now.

hes lost his biggest support, the one person he could tell almost anything to. but really he lost him years ago. for a long time, hes kept more secrets, done more work, put up with so much not to agitate his brother… even through his love, i think there was a mounting resentment and aversion to him… and he finds that with sans gone, he really gets about the same amount done. maybe more, actually, now with food and with toriel's help. and its a horrifying realization to him because thats not how he wants to think of his brother!

he did his best. he did help them, even if it was through backhanded and frankly horrible methods. his personality was a result of the hunger and that wound. if he was here, hed likely be more like his old self now that food is finally available. his brother isnt a bad person. he cant be, because papyrus cant handle that thought. but that resentment is unresolved. he feels abandoned. he doesnt know what emotion to feel. he prefers to just not think about it after a certain while.

and its the same with undyne. he misses her, he misses his friend. but she's been gone for years, too. when he thinks of her, he cant help but feel fear and anger. and thats not what he wants, either. he doesnt think of her, either.

and so hes left to rule in misery. roaming the unnaturally empty underground with the entirety of monsterkind praising his empty step. he has help, he has friends, but he still tries to handle everything himself. hes so tired that he doesnt even lie down because he doesnt know if he'll be able to get up. hes so stressed. even though they now have food, he barely eats. his eyesockets seem to sink somehow deeper into his skull. for the leader of a people finally recovering from devastation, he looks like hes only getting worse, and really he is. every day drains him more and more, and though he pushes himself to persevere for the sake of the people, he doesnt know how long he can go on.

doing what he thought was best, sans doomed his brother. if he ever goes back to his au to visit or something, he would see that first-hand. i think he'd struggle to accept it. would just run away. try to convince himself that he did what was right even as the guilt burns at his ribs.

this deal turns out more beneficial for nightmare than horror. nightmare gets a servant and a new source of negativity through ht papyrus (and though it would also spread a lot of positivity, i think its so little when compared to the whole mutliverse that nm finds it an acceptable trade and that some "positive" feelings, like the kind of god-like reverence some monsters in horrortale have for papyrus, are actually quite negative and feed him still), and horror gets to better his underground by sacrificing the only monster he probably bothered to care about: papyrus.

anyway. horrortale king papyrus. thats it thats all im gonna say goodnight

#horrortale #horrortale papyrus #horrortale sans #horror papyrus #horror sans #dreamtale nightmare #nightmare sans #(hes not rlly a sans but i want reach)#utmv #finking #i love him a lot you guys #ht papyrus i mean

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honorarysimp · 5 months ago

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9: Cold Soles, Lost Souls

series masterlist

Two months.

It’s been two months since that gathering, since you collectively set all responsibilities and beliefs to the side to fight alongside people you barely know.

Against something you can’t even touch.

Two more people have gone missing, it’s the two men who’d volunteered to scour the bottom of the lake to find Wes, it makes you sick.

The water is truly tainted.

That’s one thing that’s consistent, like clockwork, one disappearance per month.

Everyone is working day and night for a solution, but it seems there isn’t one.

You and Tara have gone through everything, everything. So have Dewey and Sam.

You begin to question everything, disgusted with the fact that you understand now why nothing has been done.

Let’s look at the facts:

This thing uses water as its source of power, the lake to be more specific. It feeds once a month, chances are you’re more likely to be taken if you’ve touched the water.

You can’t stop everyone’s heart every time this thing puts a target on someone’s back, and that’s if you manage to catch the signs early.

It comes and goes when it wants. For however long it wants. No reason for who it picks. It wants the whole town, for why? Tara says it’s probably some nature spirit ‘been-here-longer-than-you’ bullshit.

You laughed, Sam didn’t.

The documents Sidney had aren’t much, majorly town historical documents dating back to when it was founded. Mentions of the lake having underground channels beneath town, thanks to blueprints from the town’s original Public Works layout.

It’s like a spiderweb, probably not completely accurate since the blueprints are older than any of you, and there’s no telling if they’ve grown or gotten bigger over time.

With those facts into consideration, it leads to more questions.

Theres one thing you do know, you can’t fucking stand Stu.

Surprisingly, Billy leaves you well alone. He plays his role as a good husband to Sidney, he lingers a lot now that you’re more present. Well, you and the Carpenter sisters.

Stu actively likes pushing your buttons, whispering warnings to you, trying to antagonize you, as if he wants to see you pop off the handle.

You know he’s only desperate for something, you see how he can’t stand seeing Billy dote on Sidney as if the ground she walks on is blessed.

You also know it’s all bullshit. But, it’s nuclear warfare, and you know you could easily drop this information at any point. However, one brown haired, brown eyed, freckled first responder has you keeping your mouth shut.

For now at least you do, you don’t want to put her at risk. Sam too, you’re pretty sure you’re friends at this point. Regardless you’ve already put Tara through enough, and Sam seems to agree as she just… never speaks of it.

Tara is a raging ball of spitfire any time either men look at you, and to be honest, you kind of like how she gets when she’s angry.

Especially when it’s not directed at you.

It’s another late night, Tara and Sam had left a while ago to grab some food from the diner, for once you find yourself alone with the Mayor.

You’re yet again going through town records, bags under your eyes more prominent than ever, the coffee mug off to the side long cold.

There isn’t enough coffee in the world to give you the answers you need right now.

A fireplace crackles softly in the corner, providing a welcome source of warmth on the cold night, as well as a silence filler in between pauses of conversation.

The flickering light from the fire cast dancing shadows on the walls, mockery of an innocence that doesn’t exist.

“How’d you know?” You find yourself asking, rubbing your eyes tiredly.

Sidney looks up at you, she looks fairly exhausted herself, but she wears it well. You write it down as years of practice from blindsiding and polished by a talent for withholding information.

“Know what?”

“Jill said her aunt was the one who told them you had to stop your heart for that thing to let you go” you follow up, forearms dropping to the table as your eyes meet hers across the table.

Sidney hums, nodding absently, tiredly.

“I’d been marked. Like you, like Kirby. Like the others. I’d been having the nightmares, waking up with gashes, seeing things that weren’t there. We all were the superstitious bunch, we stayed away from the lake. Except… that doesn’t exactly keep you safe does it?”

You sit up straighter in your seat, your muscles aching from sitting still for too long. You’d asked Sidney this question before, she’d give you a ‘now isn’t the time’ response.

“There was another one of us, in our group, he found the method. He never said how, or why, but we were desperate. People were disappearing left and right, it was a bad time. We’d already so lost people close to us, friends and family. As you’ve learned, desperate times call for desperate measures.”

The Mayor's forehead was creased with a frown, her fingers rubbing at her temples in a vain attempt to ease the tension of a headache she was sporting.

You incline your head slightly, brow furrowed with a bit of curiosity, “what was his name?”

The ghost of a sad smile tugs at her lips, her eyes flicking up to meet yours again “Randy Meeks, I’m pretty sure you’ve had the pleasure of meeting his niece and nephew, friends of Tara’s.”

You sit up a bit straighter at the recollection. You hadn’t seen either of them since Wes’s disappearance, you know Tara has been in touch with and seen them. But you wouldn’t be surprised if not as much lately, all things considered.

“Randy, he… was the last one I was ever sure could find a solution. Before he up and left town right after saving my life, he didn’t even stick around for graduation” Sidney begins to explain, wringing her fingers atop the table as her gaze gets cloudy, staring off at nothing specific “no one has seen him since, and out of respect for my… oldest friend, I never bothered him. I owe him my life after all.”

“He just… left? That’s it? You never tried to find him? Bullshit.”

She glances off again, clenching her jaw, “I don’t blame him for running alright? We all should have, but this place? It sucks you in and you just- you don’t leave.”

You scoff, leaning back in your chair “super reassuring, thanks-“

“Don’t be a smartass” Sidney cuts you off, stern expression on her face, “I would never force Randy back here, he left for a reason and I will always respect that.”

A pause, and then “even if it means never knowing why he left? You’re okay living with that?”

The room fell silent, the only sounds being the faint crackling of the fire and the quiet breathing between the two of you.

Sidney is giving you a hard look, “you go find him then, ask him yourself.”

You laugh, dryly, because it’s not actually funny “what?”

“It’s what you do, it’s what you signed up for. Find missing people? Find Randy, find out how he learned about the method, maybe it’ll give us something-“

“Are you fucking kidding me? You do it” you shoot back, crossing your arms, “he’s your friend, he saved your life, don’t you think he’d wanna see you after all this time?”

Sidney looks away, and you can tell there’s more to it. There’s more to what happened back then, why she never went looking for him.

And then, a thought occurs to you. It hits you hard in the face, so hard you can’t believe you didn’t see it sooner.

“Is Randy the reason you’re allowing your husband to have an affair?”

For a moment she looks horrified, and you think you’d misread your conclusions, but then her expression falls and her shoulders slump.

“Billy… walked in on us together. Not that it’s any of your business, but Billy and I were dating at the time. I didn’t learn about him and Stu until about three years ago, I never said anything because, well… it made sense honestly.”

Your brow furrows as you lean forward, “and that makes it okay for him to sleep around with someone else? Sidney-“

“You don’t get to judge me” she cuts you off, expression cold and hard “I love him and support him, he’s all I have after-“

She stops when her voice cracks, steeling herself, “Randy left, Billy is here. Stu has been a good friend-“

“They buried me alive, Sidney” you blurt out, horrified by the revelation that had escaped you.

Only, she seems to take it metaphorically “I get it, I appreciate you keeping this to yourself but this secret doesn’t have to bury anyone.”

“No, that’s not what-“

“Just let it be, okay? That way everyone is happy” Sidney says, which has you looking at her in complete bafflement.

Her denial, delusion, runs so deep that it physically hurts you. Even if you sat here and tried to tell her anything, she won’t accept it.

“You’re not hearing me out-“

“The only thing that matters is ending this thing for good, Randy may be a key in solving this” Sidney says, more resolute as she completely steps around what you’d been talking about.

“Sidney-“

“That’s Mayor, Detective” she corrects you, completely shutting you down now, leaving you slumped in your chair and dumbfound.

She’s giving you nothing, and you’re practically hitting brick walls, so you just… drop it.

Sam and Tara will have a field day on this one.

“Fine, but if your psychopath for a husband comes near my friends I’ll kill him myself” you say lowly, pushing up to your feet, making the chair groan and protest as it scrapes against the wooden floor.

You aren’t capable of much physically, considering the fact you aren’t much of a fighter, however… the thought of someone bringing harm to Tara or Sam makes you feel a level of unhinged fury that scares even you.

Sidney jolts in surprise at your abrupt action, mouth opening to speak but she’s clearly taken aback, you don’t give her the chance as you walk out briskly.

Hands shaking, heart pounding, and mind racing. You exit the town hall, your breaths uneven as you fish your phone out of your pocket. You pull up Tara’s contact, then hesitate. She’s with Sam. And you’re not entirely in the mood for a grilling from her for word vomiting.

So you head for your car and shoot Tara a quick text, letting her know to meet you at your hotel room when they finish up.

By the time you get settled, boot up your laptop, and start digging, your phone chimes with a reply from Tara.

You pause and grab it, not even getting a chance to open it before there’s a knock on the door. A moment later, it opens, by the graces of the spare room key you’d given her weeks ago.

“Do I even want to ask?” Tara starts, a plastic bag dangling from her hand as she bumps the door shut with her foot behind her.

“I’ll explain on the way” is all you offer, eyeing the bag over your shoulder as you return your attention to your computer, typing in a few more commands “those leftovers for me?”

“Explain what?” Tara asks, walking over and dropping the bag on to the desk to your right, you feel her grab the back of your chair from behind you and lean to look over your shoulder.

Her eyes scan the screen as you write down the address you’d found, “Randy Meeks? Like, as in Chad and Mindy’s uncle? What-“

“Explain on the way, no time” you say as you stand, shoving the paper into your pocket as you scoop the bag of food and turn to her, “Sam?”

“With Danny, I convinced her that just because we might all die doesn’t mean she can’t work on her commitment issues” Tara says as she heads for the door, making you cast her a curious look as you reach around her to open it for you both.

“Danny? Who the hell has the balls to date your drill Sargent of a sister-“

“You’ve got questions, I’ve got questions. You show me yours, I show you mine how about that” Tara shrugs far too casually, somehow finding a bit of humor as she exits, making you laugh through under your breath as you follow.

“Perv.”

____________________________________________

Finding Randy was the easy part.

Getting him to open the door is the hard part.

When Tara bangs her fist against the apartment door once more, aggressive and irritated, you’re about ninety percent sure it’s on the cusp of being kicked in by her.

“He might not be home-“

“He is home. And I’ve got some fucking questions-“ another hard slam of her fist against the door, “-that need answering.”

You purse your lips, glancing down the hall both ways. No one had come out to complain, or yell, or anything. But then again with the area you’d found the complex in… you wouldn’t be surprised if everyone tends to mind their business around these parts.

“COME ON! WHAT WOULD CHAD AND MINDY THINK, HUH ASSHOLE?!” Tara shouts, and as much as you admire her dedication and persistence because yes - you’re in the same boat with your frustration at the lack of your progress thusfar - but your fairly sure threatening the man won’t do any good.

That, and bringing up his family he’s neglected all these years.

Tara looks to you, angry, as if it’s your fault. You quickly raise your hands and take a slight step away from her, expecting a punch to the arm as you’ve grown accustomed to.

“Maybe we should go-“

“Not happening” Tara says sternly, looking back to the door, “if anything I’m getting answers for my friends.”

She raises her fist, unrelenting, but it freezes mid air as the sound of a chain sliding followed by a bolt unlatching can be heard from within. You both take a step back as the door finally opens.

A man, goatee and tousled hair, peers at you both through the crack of the door. He looks wary, distrusting, and tense.

“You’ve got five seconds before I call the police for harassment-“

“How’d you know to stop a heart to get Ghostface to release a victim?” You say bluntly, exhausted with your patience and blunt with the reason you’re here.

Almost instantly he reacts, his eyes widen in fear at the question, and he tries to slam the door shut. But you’re quick, reflexes sharp. You manage to shove the door open before the man could close it, and for a moment you get a jolt of deja vú.

But your patience is clearly wearing thin, and this time you’re not alone in the face of confrontation. Your expression hard as you take a step inside the apartment, forcing Randy to move back.

"Answer the question, Randy" you demand, voice cold and uncompromising.

As Randy scrambled backwards, he makes a desperate attempt to pull out a gun hidden in his waistband. You panic, because you’re not a fighter, instinctively moving to stand in front of Tara as you reach for your own weapon. But to your disbelief, Tara is quicker than you both. She lunges forward before Randy can aim the gun, disarming him in a swift, practiced motion.

The move was almost too easy, a testament to quick reflexes and skill. You watch in complete awe as Tara held the gun in her hand, her eyes trained on Randy who now looks even more terrified, blubbering a quick “okay! Okay! Jesus Christ let’s just relax man-“

With a smooth, practiced movement, you watch Tara remove the magazine from the gun and releases the bullet from the chamber. With a flick of her wrist, she tosses the gun aside, her gaze never leaving Randy’s as it clatters across the wooden floor and out of sight.

You’re not really sure what to do with the way that makes you feel, but goddamn.

“Dude” is all you can say, which has her bravado falter, those brown eyes flicking over to you as she simply offers a shrug, a pink tint rising to her cheeks.

“My sister is a cop, you seriously think she didn’t force me to learn self defense?”

You don’t question it, turning back to Randy and plastering on a more professional and unyielding look.

Your voices cold as you repeat the question. "I'll ask again. How did you know that the entity releases its target victim when the heart stops?"

Randy raises his hands in surrender, his eyes wide and panicked. "I.. I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about," he stammers, his voice shaking.

You see right through his lies, and so does Tara who couldn't hold back a scoff. "Bullshit," she said, her tone dripping with skepticism.

Your calm facade cracks, giving way to a wave of anger and frustration. You clench your fists at your sides, eyes narrowing as you spoke.

"Do you have any idea how many innocent people have been lost in the void because you were too goddamn afraid to come home and help? I mean, you clearly know more about this thing than the rest of us” you snap, voice harsh.

Randy’s expression darkens, his own anger flaring to match yours. "You just don't get it!" he exclaimed, his voice growing louder. "I can't come back! It won't let me!"

He takes a step forward, his eyes glinting with a manic light. "You think I just chose to disappear? To stay away from my family? You have no idea what I've been through, the torment I've endured! The sacrifices I’ve made!”

“Enlighten us then, Randy” you say firmly, unwavering as you stare him down.

He shakes his head as he turns, storming further into the apartment. You follow, Tara one step behind you. You both watch him after a brief search beneath a loose floorboard in his living room, he pulls out a weathered old book. It looked ancient, the pages yellowed and the cover warped.

The atmosphere in the room shifts almost instantly, a sudden sense of unease rippling through the air. The energy in the room suddenly warps, the air becoming thick with an heavy, oppressive aura. The old book in the man's hands seemed to radiate an almost sinister energy.

"This..." he said, his voice quivering with disgust as he held the book out. "This fucking cursed book. It all started when I picked it up. That's when it smudged me."

Both you and Tara exchange a puzzled glance at Randy’s words. Tara is the first to speak up, her eyebrows furrowed.

"What do you mean, smudged?" she asks, her voice laced with confusion.

Randy grimaces, his grip on the book tightening, as if his personal vendetta against it makes him wish he could tear it to pieces. "Smudging," he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's a term I use to describe what happens when you touch this goddamn book. It attaches some kind of bad energy to you, or something, tainting your very essence. Ghostface can sense it.”

Randy’s eyes darken as he recounts his harrowing experience. "Any time I’d get within a five-mile radius of town, that thing would comes for me, man," he said, his voice quivering. "It's like it can sense where I am, like it's tracking me down. It's brutal. Rageful. Unstoppable. I can hear it, feel it, even when I'm asleep. You thought you knew what a nightmare was before? Think again. It's always there, in my subconscious, watching me."

Uneasy, you ask, "What exactly is this book? And how did you find it?"

Randy’s eyes flick to the book, his expression a mix of fear and resignation. "I don't know exactly what it is, but it speaks of the entity. It’s how I learned the method" he admitted, his voice a hoarse whisper. "I just... I found it. Out in the woods. Just laying there, waiting to be found."

Your instincts tell you Randy is holding something back, that there is more to the story than him conveniently stumbling across the book. You lean in, gaze intense, and press for an answer.

"You’re a shitty liar, you're not telling us everything," you said, voice firm. "Where did you really find the book?"

Randy shifts uneasily but stood his ground. "I can't tell you," he repeats, his tone defiant. "It's... safer for everyone if you don't know."

“Why don’t you just tell us what’s inside it then?” Tara prompts, “I mean, you have read it? Right? So just-“

“No” Randy firmly shakes his head, eyes hard and unwavering, “reading from it only makes it worse, I need you to understand the severity of this thing.”

Despite your initial skepticism, you relent for now. But as Randy continued, a warning in his voice, the tension in the room thickened.

"You need to understand," Randy says, his eyes boring into yours. "Once you touch this book, there's no going back. The more you read, the more of a threat you become. The more of a threat you become? The more determined it will be to kill you. The entity will be able to sense you, to track you. You'll be smudged, just like I am."

Randy then held the book out, offering it to you. "Look, you want it? Take it," he said, his voice trembling. "But you have to understand, man. Once you have this book, you're fucked. Ghostface will come for you like it did me. You'll never know peace again. You sure you want your hands on this thing?"

You hesitate, knowing the burden that will come with possessing the ominous tome that promises answers.

But at what cost?

Randy’s warning echoes in your ears, the implications clear. This book is more than just aged paper and ink. It’s a cursed artifact, a beacon for the entity that has been stalking and terrorizing this town like a predator for decades now.

But the need for answers burns deep within you. You need to know more about the entity, to better understand what exactly it is and perhaps find a way to defeat it.

Your hand hovers in the air above the book, almost touching the leather-bound cover. But just as you’re about to grasp it, Tara snags your arm, her grip tight.

"Wait," she said, her eyes wide with worry. "You can't just take it! Are you crazy? You don’t even know if it’ll be worth it! Don’t make what I did be for nothing.”

You look at her, sympathy in your gaze. You know her concern is genuine, but you also know you have no other choice. Randy is locked up like a fortress, you’re lucky enough he’s terrified of it this book to pass it off to you.

Hell, lucky probably isn’t the right word to use.

"What other options do we have?" You mutter, voice gentle yet firm. "People's lives are at risk here, and we've been making zero progress for the past few months. We can't keep running in circles. We need this book, no matter the cost."

“Not when the cost could be your life” Tara says firmly, the look in her eyes makes something in your chest ache. You know why she’s against this, it’s the same reason you’re doing this.

“And if it’s you next? Or Sam? Or Chad and Mindy?” You push, knowing it’s a low blow but you remind her there are other people at stake.

Tara’s expression softens, the fear in her eyes replaced by a flicker of resignation. She knows you’re right. You’re desperate, and there are no other options.

But then Tara looks to Randy, her expression a mix of frustration and empathy. "You've already been smudged," she said, her voice soft but firm. "The book has done its damage. You can't hide from it forever. And your family... they need you. Sidney needs you. You can't keep running away, leaving them in the dark like this. Help us.”

The moment he registers Sidney’s name, his entire demeanor changes in the blink of an eye. He looks at Tara, utterly defeated with deeply rooted conflict in his eyes, torn between the danger entailed and the promise of potentially being able to go home.

In this moment, you find a bit of clarity. Randy left because he cares too much, took a risk and sacrificed his entire life for the woman he loved and his family. But he is also a man with scars, a damaged man with cold feet, a man with years of wear and tear on his lost soul. Cracks in foundation that can’t be filled, and it shows as he slowly resolves his moment of vulnerability, those walls building back up faster than they came down.

Randy bristles at her words, his expression darkening. "You can take the book or you can get the hell out of here," he said, his voice cold. "But I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying here, where it's safe."

The situation had suddenly grown hostile, the tension thick in the air. You lay a restraining hand on Tara’s that still grips your arm, your eyes conveying a silent message. This wasn’t worth a fight, not when the book possibly offers some sort of answers.

Clearly still against it, and frustrated with the lack of cooperation from Randy, Tara pull her hand from you and turns away with a shake of her head. Jaw clenched and face stricken with rebuke.

The room is filled with a palpable suffocating pressure, the decision weighing heavily on you all. The risk of taking the book, of drawing the entity's attention, is real. But at the thought of Tara, her safety, you rationalize that’s more important than anything. You remind yourself that you only came back to solve this to ensure she would be okay. You’d already concluded a while ago that you would do anything, risk anything, to ensure she is safe.

With a mix of grim determination and trepidation, you slowly reach out and grasp the book. The moment your fingers touch the worn leather, you feel a sudden wave of unease wash over you. The room seems to press in around you, and the air grew thick with a pervasive sense of dread.

Randy wasn’t kidding, this is fucking heavy.

The book seemed to thrum with an unknowable energy, and you feel its malevolent presence, like a dark shadow lurking at the edge of your perception.

A single thought is brought to the forefront of your mind, loud and harsh as it bounces around in your head like an echo through a dark chasm.

This action will have consequences.

previous, next

#tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x y/n #tara carpenter x you

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villalunae · 1 year ago

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im in such a utena mood right now i think anthy would not use nuclear war codes if she had them but would instead drop hints of incoming nuclear winter to nanami by messing with the plants in the birdcage and mentioning dead roses are often considered an omen of war (lie) so that nanami attempts to discredit her by looking up omens of war through a book miki lended her and instead finding out that all the crazy shit happening to her in the last few days (kangaroo showing up on campus was actually a political refugee, tsuwabuki prepping her cheat sheet for an upcoming test on the ramificiations of nagasaki and hiroshima, students gathering about television sets that before she can see what terrible news theyre watching someone says "turn something nice on instead!" and she only sees shopping channels marketing items like gas masks, bomb shelters, and canned foods) has actually been subtle hints and omens that they're approaching world war three and nanami ends up going to touga asking if theyre gonna make it and if japan can withstand another genocidal war crime against humanity and touga somehow reads this as her telling him her dream job is to be a stripper and tells her "silly little sister. all women are inferior to men already bc of eve's fatal sin. dont degrade yourself further than you already have" and shes like "what do you mean degrade myself further than i already have" and hes like "dont worry about it youre perfect to me. like a 9.5/10. or an 8/10. maybe a 6. definitely not any lower than a 3" and after hearing that she goes to bed upset and confused because not only is her brother not taking nuclear war seriously he also once again made her feel infantilized and small and then after hearing a loud boom in the distance she thinks nuclear war is starting and starts freaking out and thinks "my brother must have been speaking in a code! he was trying to make me feel nostalgic about my childhood to comfort me before the upcoming attack! now that nuclear war is starting i should take shelter but we dont have a bomb shelter here but ohtori has a bunch of students! it probably does!" running to ohtori and trying to think of the oldest building on campus and goes to utena and anthy's door banging on it in the middle of the night and utena gets up in her jammies like "what?" and nanamis like "QUICK we all have to GET UNDERGROUND wheres your NEAREST BOMB SHELTER" and anthy comes in behind utena like miss nanami what are you talking about? :) and utena is like yeah seriously thats so weird. i guess you can come inside . we couldnt sleep anyway because -- and then nanami sees on the floor of their room a bunch of scattered papers with a big red button in a briefcase and nanami points at anthy and is like "IT WAS YOU THAT LAUNCHED THE NUKE??????" and anthy says "oh this? this button is enrichment for my pet parrot! ive named her nanami. nanami press the button" and nanami the parrot presses the button and theres a loud boom and nanami (not the parrot) is like but what was that?!?! i heard it from my house!!!! and utena is like "oh! you must be talking about the firework display! the button is rigged up to some fireworks we got for the upcoming spring festival and we were actually up late tonight trying to get the display to work! we messed up pretty bad and most of the fireworks went off at once though haha." nanami the parrot keeps pressing the button in the bg and anthy is like "aww i guess that was the last firework left!" and nanami is like b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-but what about the kangaroo? and the test on nagasaki and hiroshima?? and the shopping channels advertising gas masks and bomb shelters and canned food??? and utena says "oh the kangaroo was a political refugee from australia its boxing career went down the hill after it killed steve durwin in a freak accident. all schools are doing history tests on world war two this time in the semester!" and anthy says "yes and because theres no clear threat of nuclear winter anymore all the old holdovers from wwii are being sold at discounted prices :)"

as nanami leaves the house feeling much better but also stupider she gets traumatized one last time by another firework going off and utena yells out the window "sorry nanami! guess there was one more loaded in there!" the firework design is chuchus face and he has been mysteriously absent this whole time. we see him in the sex car with that cat thing from madoka driving

#personal #utena #rgu #im blacking out now

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astarionancuntnin · 4 months ago

Text

Die For You (Chapter 9)

summary: your encounter with Sir Virric didn't go quite as planned, and now, you have to free yourself from his hold before its too late.

rating: E

word count: 6.7k

pairing: astarion x you (fem!reader, reader is tav)

cw: 18+. big angst hours, kidnapping, blood, noncon (rape, knife and blood play included there), graphic depiction of violence/torture, panic attack. full list on ao3

a/n: fair warning that this is a long and heavy chapter, and if you're uncomfortable with any of the CW please skip out on this one, i will add a brief overview of what happened in this chapter without the graphic descriptions at the beginning of the next chapter, but if all of this is gucci to you, please let me know what you think, as this was my first attempt at writing torture ~

a/n²: guess whaaaaaaaaat, yea theres yet another chapter before the epilogue, but its all happy from this point on dw

Last update next Friday!

Masterlist

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or keep reading down below~

What will you do when she takes your throne?

Beg for her power or throw her a bone?

All that she has traded for love is yours

What will you do when she takes off her clothes?

Beg for her body or touch her soul?

When you're alone dreaming of her you sigh

You wake up with a weird churning in your guts, and a throbbing headache. When you finally come back to your senses, you get to the awful realisation that you’re locked up somewhere you don’t recognize, chained up — again — and the wound at your waist stings like hell. Wherever you are, it isn’t the Crimson palace’s dungeons, that’s for sure.

The place, you assume, is another dungeon located in a cave of sorts, or maybe the sewers — it's hard to tell, but you're underground certainly — as uneven rocks surround you. The air is damp but cold, and for this sole reason, you’re thankful for your new undead body. Had you been mortal, you would be freezing cold, but now, your surroundings matched the temperature within you. While uncomfortable, you certainly weren’t suffering because of it.

Your wrists are chained to the wall, and as you gulp, you sense the chain also attached to your neck.

Really? My neck? Even Astarion didn’t go to these lengths when he kept me captive.

Wait. Astarion! That’s it!

You close your eyes to focus on initiating the connection through your bond, searching for his mind, and when you think you successfully reached him, you almost shout in your mind.

“Astarion! Can you hear me?”There’s a deafening silence that fills you with dread just before his voice echoes in your mind.

“By the Gods, where in the Hells are you?!” Finally hearing his voice again, you let go of a breath you didn’t realise you were holding in as you choke back a sob.

“I’m in a dungeon, I think? Or a cave, maybe, I’m not sure — how long have I been gone?”

“A few hours. I sent Amedee after you when I sensed something wrong — rightfully so — she took care of Alstaer.” His words are spoken faster than you can process them before he jumps back to his previous question. “I need you to tell me everything about where you are — I swear it on my grave, I will find you, or I’ll burn the world down trying.”

In truth, you had not the slightest idea of where in the nine Hells you could be. The last thing you remember before passing out was Virric’s hands over you and his disgusting laughter. The thought alone made you want nothing more but to rip off his tongue with your bare hands and make him choke on it. Just as the thought crosses your mind, the door to your dungeon swings open with a loud screech, making you wince at the sound. Your connection to Astarion withers before you can give him any information, as your focus switches to the monster walking towards you, with a rolled up leather case.

“Good morning, Princess.”

Speak of the devil.

“Fuck off.” Although not in your habits to swear, this man had a way to turn you vulgar with his mere presence; you had no patience for whatever he had planned and you wanted to be the farthest thing from polite with him.

He sets down the leather case on a nearby table before approaching you. “Now, that’s no way to talk to your betrothed. Did your parents not teach you manners?”

If your eyes could roll further back in your skull, they would. “Gods, what kind of curse has you constantly spouting about our engagement? It’s been five years, Virric, you act as if the world stopped turning when I left.” You sigh, looking away, as you mumble. “Plus, I doubt this contract is even valid anymore. Must’ve been void the second I vanished.”

He crosses his arms in his back, walking around your cell as he speaks, “You see, after your little escapade, my reputation — along with your family’s, mind you — were tainted. No other Lord or Duke of the court with a suitable daughter took a chance on me — a man who made his bride-to-be run away without even meeting her — you can imagine the scandal. I gave my word, not only to your parents, but to the court, that I would find you and bring you back to me.”

You don’t comment on this, but you think that if he took five years to find you again — and without even recognizing you the first time — he mustn't have been doing that great of a job at searching for you. That, or you were just very good at hiding your tracks. Either way, you had outsmarted him, and you can’t help but feel proud about yourself.

He continues, “Once they see that I have accomplished not only this, but have you be obedient and respectful, submissive — as you will be — they will see that my convictions go beyond promises, that I act on my intentions. And when I bring forward the proof that Ancunín is nothing but a fraud, finally, I’ll earn their respect back. They will have no choice but to include me back into their inner circles.” He pauses his rambling, cocking his head to the side, fixating on your right hand. “I already made the arrangements, so you won’t even have to use that little head of yours.”

You turn your head to take a look at your hand to find a new golden ring with a clear crystal in the middle, now adorning your finger. You’re taken aback by its presence, the urge to rip it off burning in your chest, but you try to push the feeling aside, taunting him instead, “A random ring on my finger doesn’t mean anything, especially if I didn’t agree to it.”

He laughs humorlessly, “Oh dearest, you are simply adorable to think you have any say in the matter. I never needed your permission, you are mine by right. And as your first duty as my bride, I require you to tell me everything you’ve learned about this mysterious Lord Ancunín.”

Bride. You frown at the mention of the word, which sounds twisted and bitter when it falls from his lips, as opposed to the way Astarion had made it sound so precious and beloved. You might be a bride, but not by his definition, and even less Virric's.

“I’m not telling you shit,” you finally spit out.

“Oh, you will, eventually,” he pauses, suggestively as he approaches you, eyeing you up and down. “Willingly, or… by other means.”

Unimpressed, you scoff. “Holding me hostage won’t change my mind. This is hardly my first time.” He would have to be creative to get you to say anything; if you had survived the mind flayers and your breakup with Astarion, along with everything that happened following that, Virric should be a breeze to go through.

He leans in closer, breathing down on you. “When I have my power, I will take the time needed to break and reshape every single part of your mind and body, until you are built perfectly in my image,” you notice the corner of his lips turning into a smile that suggests things you don’t even want to consider, the thought alone making you sick to your stomach. “You will bow before me, and you will do so willingly.” He leans back, taking his casual, disdainful look again. “But, until then, I think I may have a way to… encourage you to act reasonably, so to speak.”

He turns back around to the table where he had laid out his case to open it, displaying its contents. Before you, he unravels a collection of blades, ranging from razors to saws of different sizes. The sight of them along with his previous words is enough for panic to overcome you, a tightness in your chest rendering you breathless for a few seconds.

“So,” he picks out a short razor-like blade from his set before he approaches you again. “Do you intend on sharing Lord Ancunín’s dirty secrets or am I going to have to pry them out of you?” He says, tapping the blade over your nose as he emphasises the word.

“I don't know anything,” you fight yourself not to show the shakiness in your voice, and terribly fail at doing so.

“That's a shame, truly,” he says, his voice devoid of any emotion.

He lets the blade trail near your collarbone before slowly sliding it down to your chest, the deadly sharp tool slicing through the fabric of your dress down to your hips, as if it were air. You shriek at the gesture, partly glad it wasn't your skin he cut — yet — but also worried of where this was going to go, as you now stood exposed to him in your undergarments, with the ripped fabric of your dress hanging from your arms.

“I'm gonna give you one more chance, princess. This could go very easily for you. I just need one dirty secret that can help me take down Ancunín while securing my place among the right people. I'm not asking for much! One, simple, yet meaningful secret, and all of this can stop.”

You fight through the fear in your chest, trying to paralyse you. Torture here or torture later wasn’t much of a choice. You would die before you let him win over you, before you would sell out Astarion. “I have nothing to tell you.”

He sighs dramatically, “Fine! If you don’t want to talk about him yet, maybe we can discuss of your little secrets.”

The knot in your chest finally relaxes, if but for a moment, “I thought you knew everything there was about me.”

He nods, “Everything from your family, your childhood — your past, mostly — yes, I do. But nothing in those papers mentioned you being anything remotely close to a monster.”

You scoff, “What could possibly make you think of me as a monster?” Your tone is unapologetically sarcastic. “Between the two of us, I would be tempted to say you’re the monster, Virric.”

In the blink of an eye, his knife is up to your throat, tipping your chin up by the tip, to meet his gaze. You hiss as the blade penetrates ever so slightly your skin underneath, the same way it did, that night in the gardens.

“Listen here, girl, you may think of this as a game, but in case you haven’t realised, there is no way for you to win. I can either make this quick, or so very, very slow.” He digs the blade deeper as he tilts it, cutting along the side of your jaw. The feeling of the knife piercing your skin left a burning sensation that had you writhe in pain as you tried to pull away from it. “Which one will it be, doll?”

And just like it left, the knot in your chest was back. The terror paralyzed you, as you succumbed to the feeling of powerlessness, and visions of the worst outcomes manifested themselves in your mind.

You were going to die here.

Met with your lack of answer, Virric continues. “If this is how you wish it to be.”

The blade leaves your jaw to drop to your hips, where he slides between the fabric of your panties and your skin, before swiftly pulling down and away, slicing the fabric in two, and nicking your skin in the process. Whether it was voluntarily or not didn’t matter, he rejoiced in your pain nonetheless. You hiss at the faint burning sensation of the blade and twist over yourself, trying to hide what the fabric used to conceal.

“If a beast you are, then a beast I shall tame.”

His knife travels up to your belly, as he continues to dig deeper into your skin and you wince at the pain; you’ve experienced worse injuries in your battles, but somehow, Virric’s blade cut deeper into you than any arrow you might’ve received. This was personal, bigger than a misunderstanding, or than a lost arrow on the battlefield. Your very existence, your fate, hung in the balance, and now that you were undead — even if unbeknownst to him — he had the power to drag out this torture forever.

The sharp dagger makes its way up, bleeding you out in the process, and stops right before your bra, hovering over the simple fabric that held your breast together; the last thing covering what left you had of decency.

“Do you have something to tell me now?”

Weighing your words, and between deep breaths, you growl. “Fuck. You. Virric.”

The smile that reaches his cheeks is nothing short of evil. “I was hoping you would say that.”

In one swift flick of his wrist, the blade cuts through the lace of your bra, grazing the skin between your breasts as they get released, and a whimper escapes you before you can stop it. He pulls back if only for a moment to marvel at the sight of your pale skin.

“Ah,” he sighs. “A blank canvas. Perfect. I've been wanting an excuse to use my toys.” As he draws over your chest with his dagger, marking your skin with new scars, you fight through the tears swirling around your eyes and the whimpers getting stuck in your throat; you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of watching you break so soon, but the temptation to give in was becoming too heavy to ignore it. Met with your defiant, yet watery glare, Virric only chuckled.

“I can drag this on all night long.”

—

And so, the night went on. Your clothes were entirely discarded, completely cut to ribbons, as he continued to experiment on your body with different blades, branding you, touching you in places he hadn’t had the chance to before, that night at the ball, and doing more atrocities you wished you could forget. Your cries only encouraged him — as much as you tried to conceal them — and he even went on to comment on the fact that they were “a melody he couldn’t believe he had missed out on all these years”.

You passed out from the pain at one point, and when you finally came to your senses, you were not sure how long had passed. Virric, at least, was nowhere to be seen. Surely, there was no point torturing you if you were unconscious, and he left you alone once he didn’t have any reaction out of you. After all, he needed you alive — if he was going to kill you, it wasn't going to be this soon, and it wasn’t going to be this quick, he made sure of that.

You took the opportunity of his absence to try and reach out to Astarion, hoping his mind would be open to you.

“Astarion? Astarion, please tell me you’re there…”

Your connection was feeble, weakened by your injuries and threatening to break at any moment, but just before despair claimed you, his voice echoed in your mind.

“Oh Gods, Darling, finally— please, tell me exactly what is happening, I can’t have you vanish on me again without knowing what is causing this pain.” His voice was controlled but you sensed the desperation underneath.

“I’m— Wha— What pain?”

“The cuts, the burns — I feel everything.” Then, you heard it in his voice, in the way it was shaking. The anxiety, the anguish… the guilt.

You stayed silent, for what felt like forever as you processed the information, “...How?”

“Our bond goes beyond our minds. Our bodies and souls were intertwined when I made you my bride. Your pain is my pain, as much as mine is yours.”

When you were stabbed in your fight, he must’ve felt it. When you kept your mind closed to him, he must’ve instantly known something was wrong and tried to reach out, only to be met with silence. When you passed out from the poison, you couldn’t reach out to him, because he must’ve been affected, too.

“I didn’t realize—”

All the torture you went through, he had to go through it, too. It didn’t matter that he had killed Cazador, or that he was the most powerful vampire in all the realms. Because of his connection to you, he was back in those dungeons, getting tortured.

All over again.

You’re unable to silence the cries that followed, your voice trembling in your mind, “Astarion— I’m so sorry—”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, my love. I knew the weight of this decision when I made it, when I proposed it to you, and I will bear it with you by my side, until the end of our days.”

There was a pause, as if he was debating with himself, as if what he was about to say weighed heavier on him than he let on. “If anything, I should be sorry for keeping this information from you. I trusted you enough to defend yourself, to take on this fight. I should have trusted you further with our bond, but I was… selfish.”

There is a small silence, the heavy weight of guilt flowing through this bond that united you, before he continued, his voice now assertive. “I won’t make the same mistake again. Virric hasn’t been seen since the soiree; wherever you are is well hidden. Now, I need you to guide me, to know where you are. Give me any information, anything at all.”

But where could you even start? So much had happened in such a short period, and yet, Virric hadn’t given you more clues as to where you could be kept.

Anything at all, he said. Just tell him everything you can.

“I'm chained up — my wrists, my neck — I can't fight him. There's no one else here, I— don't even know how long has passed, there’s no one else but him here, and it's so damp, and cold, and—” You pause, as you feel the panic rise to your chest. “He… he has these tools — these blades… he calls them ‘his toys’... Astarion— He’s gonna keep going until I break and reveal a secret about you, he wants to take your place and… And then he’ll keep going until I cave in and marry him. Astarion, I can’t—” Your burst into tears, unable to finish your sentence.

“I”m going to fucking kill him,” his anger reverberated in your mind like an impending heartquake, before calming down, but his voice kept its devotion. “My love, I swear on my life, I will find you. Be strong, I know you have it in you. You are stronger than anyone I know. Keep fighting. You can fight him.”

Your connection faltered, and you were met with a lonely silence once again.

That night, you cried until sleep claimed you.

—

Another day of torture went by. Some of your smallest and oldest cuts had already partially healed through the night — not that it was discernible under the newest cuts he made, not that you wanted to look at them, either — as the sight of your body in cuts only made you more desperate. You had glanced over them once and it had broken your spirit; it only made you live those moments over and over again. When Virric finally graced you with a moment of respite, supposedly bored of you for the moment, you spent your time trying to rest, and gain back your energy. You tried to come up with a plan at first, but nothing came to mind; he kept his tools out of reach; there were no guards to subdue; there were no windows to look out of, and no additional information as to where you were kept. Just this same underground cell, with this same damp air, and those same rock walls.

In the worst moments, when he took advantage of you the way he had wished back in the gardens, you wished you were dead instead. Your fear turned into anger at first, when you still had it in you to fight back, until it turned into despair, as his lingering touch violated your body through your pleas. He didn't care for your utter disgust — if anything, it only seemed to entice him more. He became more daring, and when he got tired of playing with you, he forced himself onto you.

His knife found its way just under your breast, where he skillfully cut around it before roughly squeezing your breast, forcing the blood out of you. You cringed in pain and he only let go once your blood was practically flooding down your belly, mixing with the remains of old blood from his previous operations along with your older cuts. When you finally opened your eyes again, he had removed his trousers, his cock out and hard, and no word came out of you. You refused to believe this was going to happen, a part of you still hoped that Astarion was going to burst the gates to your cell open and save you from this fate, that something, anything, was going to stop him, that it was just a twisted joke and he would draw back.

But he didn’t. This was Virric, the psychopath who relished in torturing you to no end, cutting you up and leaving you to bathe in your own blood. He couldn’t just rape you, he had to do it his way.

He cupped a portion of the blood that had leaked from your chest to smear it over his dick, pumping himself a few times before he lifted your legs, to position yourself at your entrance, and it didn’t matter that you kicked and trashed against him, he had you pinned to the wall and impaled on his cock the moments that followed. It felt as if he tore through you, the pain of each of his thrusts rippling through your legs. He kept at it, panting in the crook of your neck, his breath damp and hot until he came, emptying himself inside of you. His moans in your ear — too close, too loud — as he smiled with satisfaction at your tears, before sliding out of you, leaving you with the remains of his climax.

Then, you felt yourself break. For the first time, you considered death, as it felt like the only mercy that would free you from this torment. Long gone was the sassy fighter who enjoyed bantering, even with her worst enemies. The light within you — your will to fight — was fading; your very soul, the remaining part of you that made you human, was a few cuts and touches away from vanishing like your pulse.

When Virric enters your cell the next day — or night, for all you knew — you don't even lift your head to defy him.

“No insults today? And here I thought I would be able to drag this out for another tenday before you broke under my thumb.”

Another? No, it couldn’t have been that long, you couldn't have been out for more than three days, could you? A tenday is impossible— No, Astarion would’ve found you by then, he would’ve—

“You’ll never understand how glad I was to have finally found you back,” he sighs. “I’ve been thinking about all the things I have wanted to do to you since you slipped my grasp five years ago. We have a lot of catching up to do.”

You don’t notice him making his way towards you, and picking up his favourite knife — you guessed, as it was the one he used the most — a dull one that made you scream for the first time when he cut through the inside of your thigh; he had used your bloody thighs to relieve himself that day. Your legs were still sticky from the resulting outcome.

You only realise how close he has gotten when you feel the tip of his dagger flick over your nipple hardened by the cold air. You hiss when his hand touches your waist where he stabbed you, the night of the soiree. “It’s disappointing, if not impressive, that your wound is almost healed already. I was looking forward to playing with a new hole.”

You wince, turning your head away and gulping hard as the disgust threatened to come up to your throat when he let his hands roam freely over your form, until something clicks in your mind from what he said.

You were almost healed already.

You blame it on this identity still being relatively new to you, on top of the exhaustion from the torture, for not realising it sooner, but with more blood, you could heal completely. You might just break free with the rush of strength it would give you.

Thinking quickly, you establish what you’re going to do; you would just need him to get even closer than he was, as awful as it sounded, to be able to bite him. With the shackle around your neck, you would need to be almost face to face — or rather, face to neck — with him for this to work. You would only have one chance at this, and you wouldn’t have more time if Virric found out about your vampiric nature — something you had managed to keep secret, as he seemed to have believed you when you justified your feral attack on Alstaer on your feminine nature; long nails were just your birth right and in the heat of the moment, you didn’t know better than to slash his face instead of using your sword. “Silly, silly woman.” He ate it all up.

But if you were to do this, there would be no room for error. If he found out you were a vampire, he would instantly track it down to Astarion, and they would go on a monster hunt against him and his spawn. Worse, even, he would linger on the torture if he had confirmation that you would never die from it. He would keep you balancing between life and death, forever; breaking your spirit, what was left of your humanity. You need to get him to believe he has won this fight.

You need to submit.

When his knife slides between your thighs, you initiate your plan.

“Please! Please, stop,” You shout with what you have left in your voice, before letting your head fall, feigning to give up, “I… I’ll tell you what you want, but please, I beg you; mercy.” you plead, your voice small and broken as you push another sob. The constant screaming had roughed up your throat, making your voice almost unrecognisable when you spoke for the first time in days.

His knife finally stops its ministrations when he steps back to look at you. “Did my pet have a change of heart?”

Pet. This name hurt more than the others.

“I can’t… can’t take it anymore… Virric, please” you pant, without looking up to him, as tears stream down your face. As much as this was part of your façade, the words weighed heavy and true — if this didn’t work, you would take your own life at the first chance you got.

He takes your chin between his thumb and finger, forcefully tilting your eyes up. As you slouch over the wall now, you stay much smaller than him. “First of all, you are to refer to me as Master from now on. Am I clear?”

Another angry tear silently falls from your eye, “Yes.”

You barely register how fast he moves when the back of his hand collides with your cheek brutally, “Wrong answer.”

“Y-yes, Master.” The only thing stopping the bile from coming up your throat at this point was the lack of contents in your stomach.

“Good. There is still hope yet for you.”

You take a few shaky breaths before speaking up, “I just… I need to know… What will happen after I tell you… his secret?”

“Exactly what I said would happen: he will be stripped of his title — not that he ever deserved it — and I will receive it in his stead, along with all his assets, which will attribute to me the respect of the high society.” He speaks as if it was already a done deal, as if this was only moments away from being his reality.

“And… me? What are you going to do with me?” You say, your voice merely a whisper by now, as you force out another tear to aggravate your desperation.

“Depends. Obviously you will be mine once more, back where you belong. Perhaps, serving me on your knees, obedient and silent, as any ideal wife should be. That is, of course, if you are a good little puppet, and you follow every and each of my orders. I might even reward you if you are especially complacent. Otherwise,” he eyes down the knife in his grip, dangerously threading down to your navel, making you groan in pain as he cuts you further. “I will have to keep you locked up, and punish you until you learn your lesson. I do not appreciate insubordination.” He lifts your chin up with his other hand, taking in your distress like an aphrodisiac. “I think I’ll keep the collar on you though, it suits you quite well.”

You force your eyes shut once more as you sob, not from the continued pain from his torture — not anymore — but from the mere idea that this was almost your life. This could still be it, but had you not impulsively ran away from your home back then… gods, you don’t even want to think about it, this was torture enough. You thank all the gods that you are an only child, as you don't think you would’ve been able to live with yourself if you had abandoned a sister to this life by running away yourself.

When you feel his blade between your legs, you realise you’re out of time.

“Stop— stop!” you say, your voice cracking, as it comes out between cries. “I’ll tell you what you want.”

You miss the smile of satisfaction on his face, one that you would be too happy to tear off, as he sets down the knife at his table. “I knew you would see reason, princess. Don’t be shy now, tell me everything I want to know, and I’ll make sure to reward you appropriately. We might even pay your parents a little visit! Show them the progress we’ve made with you.”

If you had to see your parents again, especially your father who had sold you off as if you were nothing but cattle, you don’t think you would have the force to restrain yourself from killing them, too.

“I… just… need…” you mumble, your speech barely audible as you feign exhaustion, panting after each word.

“Speak up, girl. I won’t repeat myself.”

It takes everything you have left in you not to spit at him. “Come… closer…” you whisper to draw him where you need him to be, and the fool obliges you, too blind on his power trip to second guess your intentions as he turns his ear to you, finally exposing his neck to you.

“He’s… he’s a…”

You wait for the right moment, when his neck is just under your chin, to finally bolt up on your legs and dive your head down, plunging your fangs deep into his skin. Your teeth manage to keep him still long enough for you to take three great gulps of his rich blood, which seems to burn as it goes down your throat. He shoves himself away from you, stumbling back to the table with his knives, and brings his hand up to cover the wound in his neck.

His blood gives you the results you hoped for; your open wounds heal in the blink of an eye, your will to fight springs back to life, and with your renewed strength, you easily tear off your bindings from the wall behind you, before ripping off the one at your neck, finally setting yourself free.

One look at him in his pitiful state awakens something within you, a hunger — for blood, yes — but a blood bath. You can now hear how fast his heart is beating against his ribcage, terrorised at your sight.

“A vampire?!” he screams, incredulous, as his voice trembles.

You give him a toothy grin, frowning through the tears in your eyes and the blood on your lips, proudly displaying your hidden fangs. “You took the words right out of my mouth.”

Before he can reach for his arsenal, you whip up the chain linked to your shackled arm to strike his right arm down. The blood loss affecting him messes up with his reflexes, and he receives your hits without a chance of dodging them. He screams when the chains make contact with his arm, and then you finally understand what he meant about your own screams; his pain elicited something extremely satisfying within you, and you wanted more.

As he tries to reach for another blade with his left arm, you repeat the same move, swinging the chain in your hand towards his legs, making him trip, and knocking away the table and his arsenal in the process. When he sees you pick up daggers from his collection, he crawls backwards in panic until he hits the locked door of your cell. He doesn’t even bother to cover his neck which is still profusely bleeding from your feeding, as his eyes look you up and down in a fright that suited him far better than the arrogance he wore before.

Breathless, he asks, “Ancunín is a bloody vampire?!”

You approach him like a predator would their prey, with a glint in your eyes as you inspect the knife you hold, “Honestly Virric, I can't believe it took you that long to figure it out. The man is a high Elf — you of all people should know there are no high elves with red eyes, come on now.”

“There was word that he was a drow—”

“A drow? With his complexion?” You scoff, crouching to his level. “Maybe you really are as stupid as he painted you out to be.”

“How dare you—” He snarls, as he tries to get to his feet, but you stop him before he can get anywhere, as you plunge the knife in his thigh and twist through the muscles. He cries out, so loud it echoes through the tunnels of his hideout, and you rip out the knife from his leg before you get up to take a look at the state of him.

“You know,” you say, void of any emotions, “I would tell you to send my regards to my parents, but I don’t intend on letting you live long enough to get there.”

As you wind up your next hit, he lifts his arm in protection, yelling to wait. You halt in your tracks, simply by curiosity of what he would say in his moments of desperation, and lower the knife, waiting to see what bullshit he would spit out.

“Think about it,” he pants. “People are going to ask around. You wouldn’t risk going to prison over killing me, would you?” He smiles as he lowers his arm to gauge your reaction, but for the first time, his smile was out of desperation. It’s uneven, shaky, uncertain; he’s terrified of you.

“Beg.”

“W– What?”

“You want me to spare you? Beg for it.”

He remains quiet, blinking anxiously at the sight of the vampire bride that held his life between his hands, and with a shaky voice, he breathes, “I’m— I’m not—.”

You lunge, holding the bloodied knife against his throat just as he had done to you so many times before, pushing against the soft spot between his neck and under-chin, “Speak up, pet.”

He sneers, refusing to comply and you push the knife deeper into his throat, “Unless this precious life of yours isn’t really worth anything?”

“P– Please!” He finally snaps when the knife cuts through the soft skin of his neck, choking on his words. “I— I’m sorry! I’ll disappear, I'll leave Baldur's Gate, you’ll never hear of me again, please! I- I beg you, spare me!”

Under your hand, Virric shakes. Not only his voice, but his whole body; you dare to think that you’re shaking his spirit, too. And all of this only in the span of a few minutes, yet again beating Virric at his own game. You drink in his terror, and decide to play some more. “Gods, you sound pathetic.”

You pull away, straightening up, “I don’t think you’re worth my mercy, Virric.” You eye the knife in your grasp, inspecting it as you keep talking, “What was it that you said that night at the ball? You wouldn’t want people to see you like this, now would you?” You shoot him a deadly glare, before grabbing another knife that was discarded earlier, and as you walk towards him, he lifts his remaining working arm in an attempt to try and stop you, “Wait! How will you explain my disappearance?”

You smile faintly, your words are devoid of emotion, empty, yet, threatening. “I’ll find something.” You step closer, the dagger burning in the palm of your hand for retaliation going straight into his other leg. After his screams settle back down, you crouch and lean closer to say, “After all, no one would have respected you if they knew you were bested by the very woman you swore to force into submission.”

You lean into his ear, whispering. “I’ll make sure everyone knows.”

Before he can say anything to stop you once more, your knife is deep in his guts, once, then twice, then more times than you can count. You finally pull away, watching as his life leaves his eyes, drinking in the horror of his last moments alive.

As his body goes limp, falling to the side, you step back, dropping the blade from your hand before falling to your knees, the adrenaline that pushed you through this encounter leaving you all at once. Your breathing accelerates without you being able to control it, seemingly forgetting it wasn’t a vital necessity to you anymore, and you physically feel your heart tightening in your chest. You try to compose yourself, try to tell yourself you’re fine, but a wave of raw emotions hits you all at once and tears flood your vision.

This man would never hurt you again, and your bleeding wounds had healed, but you had to drink his blood for this to happen. His blood, in your body, just like he had been without your consent, for days. Your skin itches at the thought of feeling his blood course through your veins and you want to rip off your skin, leave this body for a new one, remove the stains from his abuse, scratch away his touches — no more, no more, no more.

In the distance, you hear frantic footsteps and you lift your eyes towards the sound — guards. That must be them, posted further away, just in case Virric had the need for them, and they were coming for you. Quickly, you grab back the longest dagger among Virric's tools, and get back on your feet, preparing yourself to attack the first guard — no, not a guard.

Astarion.

Your body refuses to move, frozen in place by some magic, refusing to see him there, standing before your cell — he had come for you after all — and the moment after he rips away the door to your cell, you are in his arms. Still frozen, still unbelieving.

“Oh darling… My sweet love… I finally found you. It's me. I'm here.” He pulls back, his hands reaching to cup your face between them. “I'm here. It’s over.”

“He… He’s…” You wanted to try to explain, but there was never the need to, not with Astarion, not when he had felt every cut and bruise and touch Virric had imposed on you.

“I know, my love. I know.” In the second that followed, you dropped your weapon and the one after, you cried, and cried, until your cries turned into screams, unable to keep the emotions bottled up anymore. Your voice is guttural, broken between sobs, depicting just how broken you were inside.

He pulled back from you to surround you with his jacket, warm from him wearing it, and protecting your body from any unwanted eyes, before picking you up in his arms.

“Let's go home.”

You walked away without a second look at Virric's butchered remains.

The gods have made us a virgin hunter

Who in the storm becomes stillness

I always wondered why they all came back for more

Came back for more

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