#vtm fanfic

[thewhumpcaretaker]

do you think sébastien lacroix has went into torpor against his will and had to relive some distasteful memories of being in a war as a young adult

Why yes! I do. Be forewarned, I had a long week and got a little overzealous so this is like 90% hurt and only 10% comfort, oops. I was BRUTAL.

Image Source | TW: claustrophobia, starvation, war PTSD, animal death

⚜ FAILED INVASIONS ⚜

The attempt on the Paris crown was the first real mistake LaCroix had made in his unlife. More than a mistake – a whole misadventure.

Things had gone decently up until that point. He had travelled widely, networking all the while. He’d accumulated allies, and leverage, and servants, all of whom were formidable but none of whom he trusted, as was only wise. But this city was too big a leap in power too soon, even for him. He made one too many enemies in addition to all those friends, and his little coup was revealed. In the end, the would-be Prince of Paris was separated from his followers and forced to flee, hunted through the catacombs under the city for two nights and days. The local Nosferatu knew those tunnels better than anyone, of course, and he never really stood a chance.

It was only because of one particular Nosferatu’s bitterness towards him that he happened to survive. The man found him already wounded and nearly bloodless, cowering against a wall. He seemed to enjoy hauling Sebastian around by the frills of his collar (the height of fashion at the time) while he begged desperately. “Non, non, je ne t'épargnerai pas. Mais vous êtes un véritable fléau avec vos intrigues depuis une demi-décennie maintenant. Ce ne serait pas amusant de te livrer à une mort finale rapide et agréable. [No, no, I won’t be sparing you. But you’ve been such a pest with your scheming for half a decade now. It would be no fun just hand you over to a nice quick Final Death.]” And, grinning wickedly with his uneven fangs, the man threw LaCroix into a secret side tunnel, and locked the entrance.

So there he was, trapped. He was in total darkness, but by feeling his way along the walls, he could tell he was in a narrow, claustrophobic, low-ceilinged tunnel, hardly more than a crawlspace between two larger rooms. The doors on either end were heavy slabs that could only be lifted by an apparatus on the other side. A few hours of examining the walls told him with more or less total certainty that there was no way out. Even trying to dig would be futile, as the walls were solid stone. The ceiling was too low to permit standing to his full height, yet there was nowhere comfortable to even lie down for the day, just dusty, cold cobblestones.

Well, no matter – he had no real desire to sleep anyway. His dreams lately had been even worse nightmares than usual, no doubt intensified by the stress of his plans. And now all that stress had been for nothing, too. He sighed, settled gingerly onto the floor with his knees curled against his chest, and waited.

It’s alright, he tried to tell himself. It won’t be long. People are coming for me. Definitely. Some of them are backstabbers, but someone must be loyal.

But as the hours turned to what must be days, he felt a creeping dread take hold. There were no markers of time down here, but it certainly felt too long. Maybe that man had told everyone he was already dead. Maybe he’d shown off some random heap of ashes and said it was LaCroix. Or even told them that he was alive and locked up, and they all thought it was a good joke. Times came when the frustration and humiliation inside him burned so terribly that he just started flinging himself at the door, threatening whoever might be outside that if they’d didn’t let him out soon they’d – they’d…they’d what? He was totally powerless, and eventually sank down again, defeated. Other times came when he just couldn’t take it anymore – the total darkness, the closeness of the walls, the abject misery. He pounded against the doors then too, begging for release, promising anything in return.

But it seemed that this area of the catacombs was not commonly frequented even by the Nosferatu, or else they heard him and didn’t care. There was never even the smallest sound in answer to his.

A bigger problem was already at hand: he was getting hungry. He hadn’t fed in a while even before this whole debacle began. And now the ache in his stomach was turning to an ache in his veins as his body spent up its blood on healing his own starvation. He felt sluggish. Tired. He would have slept but his mind was so frazzled that he didn’t think he could take the awful dreams it would produce. By that point, he’d been awake for many, many days. He just needed a drop of blood for energy, just a drop. He would eat absolutely anything, he thought.

What was most maddening was that he could hear things moving around him in the dark, squealing and skittering, presenting a plentiful source of blood. Rats. They smelled foul. They seemed to come from the door on the north end of the passage, from a small crack in the stone that they were just tiny enough to squeeze through (lucky bastards). They came and went as they pleased, and he was alternately disgusted and tempted by their presence.

He was quick enough to grab one once, and even held it up to his fangs, mouth open. But it smelled so repugnant he was almost sick just from the scent, and in the end, he couldn’t bring himself to bite. He just let it patter its way back through that little crack. With a whine of disappointment, Sebastian slumped over onto his side and let himself cry. Or he almost cried. There was no water left in him, he realized. He was just making pitiful, dry-throated keening noises without tears and he was too miserable to care.

In the last hours of his awareness, he was still lying there, on his side, staring into the blackness. His muscles had already ceased to cooperate, lacking enough blood flow to flex as they should. Something about being this hungry made the cold of his undead bones seem even more unbearable. A memory flickered through his mind, a familiar bone-deep cold... Such an unpleasant memory that he shied away from it physically, managing to jerk his head slightly. Don’t think about that. Not now. Please. Think about warmth. Anything for warmth in his veins… He almost wished his undead body would shiver, and eventually it did – from fear.

Torpor was almost upon him, he could feel it. He’d never experienced it before, nor talked to anyone in detail about what it was like. Would it be dreamless? He hoped so…

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

No dream had ever been as vivid as this. No nightmare. There were no distractions. His body was not at the edge of his consciousness grounding him, waiting to welcome him back again. No, there was only the memory, encompassing him on all sides. It was ancient and familiar and forever. Some part of him always lived in that time…

It was cold, a cold that painted itself across the horizon in icy blue-grey as the sun descended over the retreating Russian campaign. Where the black trees gave out onto white fields, sky and snow merged into one along that horizon. And why shouldn’t they? Why should the Earth and heaven be separated when so many of the sick and starved and freezing hovered on the point of crossing over? Didn’t he too, hover on the point of crossing over? It was cold, and Sebastian was so hungry, and not for the scraps of half-rotten smoked meat on which he had been surviving for so many weeks now. He felt the hideous weakness of his body driving him towards some survival frenzy. No, no, I am not on the point of death. Defiantly he turned his eyes to the sky, half grateful that the tears froze on his lashes before they could fall. I will be a general. A general does not die like this. I will be important. Too important to die.

He struggled with the terrible feeling that rose up in response: a feeling of just wanting to lie down somewhere warm and be held. He didn’t feel at all like a general. He was barely 18. Two years ago, he was a schoolboy at the École Militaire, marveling at history paintings of old battles. His Maman wouldn’t have wanted this for him, even as she wished him glory. She didn’t know. He didn’t know. How could anyone comprehend this without experiencing it?

But here he was, and there was nowhere warm to lie down for a hundred miles, and no one to hold him. Already, he had been promoted when his own commanding officer fell in Smolensk, and again when the next officer above him fell in Moscow. He was alive, and they weren’t. That was what mattered. His determination, it was all because of his own determination. Because of that, he had a horse and they didn’t. There weren’t many horses left in their column. Most had been eaten in desperation for food. But Sebastian had one, because he was high enough ranked, and so he kept his strength instead of marching.

It was then that a shot exploded from the distant trees. Chaos. Everyone scattered, screaming. “Cossacks! Cossacks!” There was hardly any hope of returning fire. They were already so devastated, and the Cossacks knew the terrain perfectly. He had to take cover.

But Sebastian couldn’t move. He was facing the open, white sky. He didn’t know how he got there. But his horse was sideways, on top of him. In a moment, he realized it wasn’t moving either. He’d been thrown a little ways into the snow, far enough that his legs weren’t fully crushed, only an ankle. But he couldn’t feel any pain. Some sort of total shock had dulled everything. He dragged himself out, wondering why he was shaking now, when his shivering had stopped hours ago. Wondering, as he sometimes did during battles, if any of this was real. He couldn’t hear himself speaking as he shouted at the mare to get up, shaking worse by the second.

It’s not enough to earn a place on a horse. It’ll be shot out from under you the moment you allow yourself to enjoy it. It’s not enough to attain power. One must maintain it, too. He came to himself and staggered away from the mare, shouting orders now. Leading. Miraculously, he was not hit today. Not yet. But it was coming. He knew it was coming if he let his guard down for even a moment.

Onward they marched, scattered and vulnerable on the open plain, into the blank of winter without end.

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

There was blood in his mouth. Warm, fresh, real, honest blood. Someone was pressing it to his lips, hand-feeding him. Sebastian felt the heat seep gradually through his limbs. Even when his body felt strong enough to move, the relief, the gratitude, and the lingering horror that still lurked at the edges of his mind overwhelmed him, and he lay limp against the rock, with someone’s enormous hand resting gently on his shoulder.

When he was finally able to open his eyes, he would see five drained blood bags scattered around him. He would learn that he’d been in a torpor for over a month, reliving the horrors of the Russian campaign again and again while his rescuer secured a complete map of the catacombs and then searched them systematically, refusing to believe he was dead. That person was an associate he had met during his travels, one of many he employed and the only one who did not defect from him when the coup failed. And he would one day be LaCroix’s new Sheriff.

The man could have killed him. He could have brought LaCroix’s shriveled body to the Prince of Paris, and earned a handsome reward. Instead, he lifted LaCroix in his huge, tree-trunk arms like a precious doll, snuggled him safely into the folds of massive coat, and carried him safely through the catacombs, out of the city, and out of the country to begin the next chapter of his life in London.

There were so few moments in which Sebastian LaCroix ever felt that the world might show him mercy, that anyone at all could keep him safe if he late his guard down. But that rescue was one of them. A part of him would always live in that moment, as eternal as any memory of hunger and cold.

[sleepknoot]

What's a little off the top? A little skin? A little cash? Even if It's only a little bit. Just a dime is more than enough for a Malkavian to turn on. By the end of this, Coyote Menendez will have much more than a fistful of them.

A prelude to Coyote's New Orleans timeline that you can read on AO3!

[toreadorcaretaker]

ventrue whump where they’re forced to feed on rats send ask

I went absolutely wild over this and made it really sad and disgusting. Thank you for giving me good emetophobia exposure lmaoooo | Image Sources: One | Two

Summary: After the Primogen seize control of LA, their Ventrue representative tortures LaCroix for disgracing the clan. He is force-fed poison in the form of rats. But an unexpected friend is on the way to help...

TW: vomiting, fever, starvation, forced to live in dirty conditions

It wasn’t enough to depose Sebastian LaCroix.

It wasn’t enough to see him executed through the proper channels, on his knees and begging for his life until the very last.

No, the Ventrue Primogen took Sebastian’s offenses a little more personally, as a fellow clan member. And of course, Strauss obliged in letting him handle LaCroix himself.

LaCroix was dragged into a dungeon in the sewers, just before dawn on the night the scarcophagus was taken from him. The night he lost everything. It was a bit of a blur after that, probably because he was trying to block out the memories of how he’d pleaded and fought, of trying to stand and being kicked down again, and again, and again... But he did remember a great deal of talk about how he had “disgraced us all” and how every shred of his own dignitas would be stripped from him in turn. It was restrained enough, in its way. No prolonged torture. Just the cell door closing above him with a rattle of keys. There was no reason the execution had to be anytime soon, the Primogen had informed him. He had plenty of time to rot down here.

At first, there was time to rage, to cry, to plot revenge. But after a few weeks, desperation took hold in earnest. He was in so much pain he could hardly think. His veins ached from the inside out with growing hunger.

But it always could (and would) be worse.

One day, there were clicking boots down the corridor. Idle, lighthearted, accompanied by joyful humming.

And there was a faint squeaking. No. He couldn’t be bringing…

A rat. An enormous, filthy, foul-smelling rat appeared around the corner, clutched in one gloved hand. Sebastian’s captor appeared next, grinning wickedly. They stared at each other for a long moment before he swallowed and forced himself to speak. “What is…you don’t mean…”

“Oh yes. Dinner is served.” He held the deplorable thing through the bars, wriggling and squeaking, and didn’t move a muscle. Sebastian just recoiled from it.

“Twenty-three days you’ve left me down here, and the first word out of your mouth is an unamusing joke. Lovely. Now bring me something that’s not poison.” The thought of being expected to eat that thing was already making him nauseous.

The Primogen just kept up with that maddeningly smug expression. “Traitorous rats get what they deserve. You are what you eat, after all.” He dropped the rat onto the dusty cell floor, where it scrambled away through the bars, seizing the freedom that Sebastian was denied. “Not hungry? Pity. You’ll look so gaunt at your execution.” He began to turn away.

“Come back at once!” LaCroix shouted after him, his voice rising in volume to follow the man down the corridor. “You want to talk to me about disgracing us? This is completely unbecoming! To play with a former Prince this way, like it’s some idle game to you! Torturing a political prisoner without due process! Your own sadism has run away with you! Can you possibly understand what I've done for this city? This is the behavior of the Sabbat! A SABBAT! Do you hear me!?” There was no answer. Sebastian let out a wordless noise of frustration, somewhere between a grunt and a scream. He sunk to the floor, and was mortified to find himself wishing he’d made a grab for that rat before it could skitter away.

The worst part was that the Primogen had been right. He would look gaunt at his execution. Absolutely ravaged, in fact. His beautiful suit was absolutely destroyed – coated in dirt and torn from being thrown against the rocky ground. His hair hadn’t been combed in weeks. And he could feel the cracks in his bloodless lips, could feel his veins collapsing on themselves. He was so thirsty, so hungry… he’d already gone days without a proper meal before everything unraveled. He’d been too preoccupied, pacing all day and night with nervous energy, sensing the oncoming storm but powerless to prevent it. And now, the hunger was so intense it deepened the cold in his bones and resonated against chilled, damp draft from some vent system up above. The former Prince clutched at his own arms and shivered. He’d never felt more like a corpse.

The next feeding time, just twenty-four hours later, wore out his patience. At the presence of a heartbeat, any heartbeat, his instincts took over and he snatched the rat right out of the Primogen’s hand, sinking into it like a drumstick and gnawing furiously.

The taste was absolutely rank. It shocked him so much that he remembered himself and managed to drop it, stumbling backward away from its hideous scent and setting his jaw tight in an effort not to give this asshole the satisfaction of seeing him vomit. But it seemed he didn’t want to leave until he’d seen a show. He laughed uproariously and bent down to stare at LaCroix where he’d doubled over on the floor. “Dear me, is it not edible to you? Poor thing. Unfortunately, you no longer deserve food.”

Sebastian shuddered but held his ground. Breathe. Breathe. Don’t be sick. Think of nice things. His warm bed up in the penthouse. A fresh Marlboro just before sunrise. The Primogen’s head on a pike.

The Primogen tsked in annoyance and finally walked away. Sebastian exhaled in relief but had to hold his breath again immediately to keep from retching.

If the blood did him any good, he couldn’t tell. The nausea eventually faded, but his stomach hurt terribly, and his body broke out in fever. He spent the night pulling his coat closer around himself and cursing the mistake. If anything, he seemed to be worse off.

The second time, he couldn’t keep it down. Again, his body acted without permission, overtaken with frenzy at the sight of food, and seized the rat at once. But, further weakened this time, he vomited immediately, clinging to the bars for support. Tears of effort and humiliation coated his face. He couldn’t look at the Primogen and kept gazing into the far corner until the bastard was done gloating and left.

It was difficult to say how many times this happened. The Primogen must have decided this was an enjoyable game, because he played it nightly. It was always the same. He’d hold out the rat, Sebastian would take it, and he’d suffer the consequences, whether or not he kept the blood down. He could feel the poison working against his body. He no longer paced around the cell, merely huddled in a corner, too weak to move. The poison of the Primogen’s words worked on him too. He had disgraced the Ventrue name, hadn’t he? He had failed. He deserved this, much as he may curse the man for giving him exactly what he deserved. If he’d only fought harder, gotten to the sarcophagus faster… he tried to push these thoughts away over and over, but they always came back. He couldn’t last long this way – soon enough, torpor would take hold. It would probably be a mercy.

Sebastian had come to expect sickness whenever footsteps descended the stairs. So, when he heard a slightly different gait one night, it took a moment to register.

Once the familiar wave of dread wore off, he realized these sounded like heavy combat boots. “Who’s there?” Instantly wary, he struggled to his feet but just swooned back against the wall again, trembling from the effort. He glanced around the cell, realizing what an absolute mess it was, the dirt floor covered in rejected blood. His clothes were no better. Damn it all. They were probably coming to take him to his final death, and in this state too…

It was, in fact, the only possible visitor worse than that. A white T-shirt and jeans and an ugly denim button down hanging open. Grizzly muscle and a shit haircut and cheekbones too chiseled for marble. Nines Rodriguez.

He took a long look at LaCroix and whistled. “Jesus…Fuckin’ Camarilla. What did they do to you?”

Sebastian answered his pity with a glare. “I ca – “ his voice rasped almost enough to make him inaudible and he had to try again. If there had been any blood left in his body, he would have blushed furiously. Why couldn’t Nines be trying to behead him instead of staring directly at the red stains on his collar? “…I can’t imagine what concern of yours that might be. What…how can you be here of all places? Have they already sunk so low as to ally with the Anarchs?”

Thankfully, Nines demanded no further information. “Gettin’ weapons.” He pulled out the ring of keys the Primogen had carried. Sebastian noticed it was dripping with blood. “You’re ‘weapons.’”

“Pardon me?”

“You want to put Strauss through the Venture company paper shredder for whatever happened here? The rest of ‘em too? Well, let’s do it. Common enemies and all that. Don’t worry, I’ll still kill you after.” The door swung open. Open. The door was open. But Sebastian couldn’t move. He opened and closed his mouth, wondering how precisely to convey to Nines that he couldn’t walk at present without dispelling the illusion of his own usefulness.

Nines swore again. “They really did a number on you.”

Sebastian bristled. There was absolutely no need to dwell on that. “What, do you think you’d look any better if you were in my place?”

“No, I just – look, shut it for a second, I’m just trying to think what to do. Wish I’d brought blood bags, but they’re back at the base. I didn’t think it would be this bad, but…” he shook his head, resigning himself to something. “Listen, this is about to be a bad time for both of us.” He bent over LaCroix, who tensed away from him. With unfathomable alarm, he realized he was about to be scooped off the ground.

“Don’t!” he hissed, “You can’t! I’m – “ disgusting. Revolting. Unworthy even to be touched by an Anarch. And the Anarch was equally disgusting by his very nature. Which of them, he wondered, would really sully the other more?

“Pipe down before you get us caught.” Nines did hesitate though, long enough to take off his jacket. He wiped the blood and sweat and dirty tear tracks from LaCroix’s face despite yelps of protest, and then wrapped it backwards around Sebastian’s chest like a blanket. The denim wasn’t the softest, but it was intoxicating, suffused with Nines deep into the fabric…with the scent of his blood…blood that wasn’t rat blood, and smelled so rough and musky and…

“Hey don’t pass out on me, okay? Prissy fuckin’ Prince… I can't believe they managed to rough you up even worse than I would've. That's truly creativity. Come on, one, two, three…” And, lifted in the arms of the Anarch leader, LaCroix’s new life began.

[inquisitor-of-hearts]

Escalate (3)

After some consideration Galeb decides to not follow the Beckoning. Hazel is quick to act and entrusts him with a new task for the Camarilla.

Spoilers for all of Vampire the Masquerade: Swansong.

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 1,631

Link to Chapter 1 Chapter 2

on Ao3

Can't you feel Electricity It's dripping through my veins The syzygy It's twisting me endlessly, endlessly

Like you don't know what they said a couple of nights ago But you didn't hear that one

Galeb was ravenous. Although his skin colour had faded to grey the moment he had walked the secretary back inside the club, the whole act had pushed him to his limits.

As he looked at the woman seated next to him, it hit him suddenly. He felt it in his whole being. It was his Ventrue nature that was making him so tense around her, giving him these visceral reactions. He craved her blood; the purity, the class. And the fact that he could not have it only intensified his desire.

“The usual?” Emem asked with a cocky grin as she stepped closer to them.

“Yes. And a gin and tonic for her.” he answered.

As Emem was about to turn around, Galeb rose from his seat.

“I must excuse myself, Cyrene.” he said, “I will be back momentarily.”

Emem turned back towards Galeb, he overcame the distance between them.

“I need a real drink” he spoke through clenched teeth. Drained of vitae, the beast in him had become far too impatient.

“Did you not eat before coming here?”

“I did” he hissed, “I didn’t think it would take that much convincing.”

“Well I don’t have anything for you. Go and serve yourself.” Emem hissed back. “Be careful with what you pick though.”

Without another word he disappeared into the darker corners of the club. His mind was racing, consumed by the desire for only one thing. But it could not just be anyone and he had to be careful it was not a ghoul. So he lurked in the dark, watched the prey and fellow predators. His gaze wandered back and forth between people, then fell back onto Cyrene. Her blood was perfect, truly, but he could not risk it. A soft growl escaped him. His trained senses made him aware of a human not bound to anyone. A man in a business suit -- dark brown hair, swept back, an expensive silver brand watch around his wrist, the old money kind not the electronic touchscreen trash -- walked towards the restrooms. Galeb followed him at once.

A deep sigh of relief escaped him as he regained his composure and left the stall with the man behind. He centered himself as he adjusted the collar of his shirt in the washroom, making sure his clothes had not been soiled during this moment of weakness. A quick glance reassured him of the fact that the bathroom stall doors were closed and the Kindred walked off.

“I made a bit of a mess in the men’s washroom” he confessed discreetly once he had arrived back at the bar.

“Ugh” Emem rolled her eyes, “Seriously?”

“He’s alive.” he reassured her firmly, “Just some stains on the floor.”

“I’ll have someone get it.” she sighed and shook her head in disapproval.

Galeb noticed their drinks that had been served as he lowered himself onto the bar seat next to his new acquaintance.

“I’m so sorry I made you wait.” he spoke softly.

“Oh don’t worry about that at all.” Cyrene replied with a smile towards him, her demeanour friendly, less suspicious. Now it seemed like a perfectly normal thing that this man wanted to get to know her.

“I’ve been thinking” Galeb spoke, “We should spend more time with each other until you feel comfortable with me. And then you could introduce me to Mr. Hartwell.”

Cyrene set down her glass that she drank from.

“I would like that. I think that might work.” she answered. Galeb could feel that she was honest, even less careful than before. His dominance over her mind was still apparent.

“You think?” Galeb checked. “You’re not sure?”

“I don’t know. I will have to make sure he doesn’t feel suspicious about anything that you do.” she answered.

“Maybe it’s better you manage our assets. Inofficially at least.” the Kindred suggested.

“Oh I can’t do that” she laughed casually, “I’m not in that position.”

“You give yourself far too little credit, Cyrene.” Galeb spoke, his influence over her strong.

“Maybe.” she chuckled, “But I can’t be doing anything like that behind his back.”

“Do you have access to his clients’ files?”

“I do.” she responded, “In case of emergencies. Or an urgent meeting that he doesn’t agree to.”

“What about confidentiality? How much trust does he have in you?"

"A lot. I don’t want to betray him. I wouldn’t-- I can’t--” There was a certain agitation in her voice, like her own will that struggled against Galeb’s influence.

“It’s okay” he calmed her with a soft voice, his eyes flashing just for a second. “You’re safe. You are not betraying Hartwell. Everything is alright.”

She visibly calmed again, her breathing and heartbeat normalizing. The Kindred watched her fingers wrap around the glass and drink from it again. He leaned over, his body turned towards her.

“Where does he live?”

Slowly her gaze was drawn from her glass towards Galeb. A smile formed on his lips before she could even answer.

“Where do you live?”

With his head lowered Galeb returned to Hazel’s quarters.

“What is it? You don’t look like you have good news for me.” Hazel spoke, behind her was the moon shining in through the tall windows, the light being reflected on the sleek surface of her desk.

Galeb sighed, shaking his head before speaking.

“It’s not the best news. Hartwell has turned into a recluse. He doesn’t take any new clients it seems. And the secretary,  Roberts, she is very careful. I think I can gain her trust but it will take some time.”

“Unfortunate news” Hazel spoke and turned around towards the windows, her arms crossed in front of her chest, her gaze lowered. “Is that all?”

“My Prince, forgive me the suggestion, but would it not be easier to find someone else?”

“No. I want Hartwell” she insisted, “All others out there are not malleable enough. I’ve seen the prospects.”

“This will not be easy.” Galeb suggested.

“But once we have him, he is ours. We can use his paranoia against him.” Hazel explained, turning around again.

“What if we use just the secretary? She does most of his business for him these days anyway.”

“But in his name, right?”

Galeb tilted his head, watching her as she paused.

“So it will be him either way. If she has access to everything, I’m not against it.” Hazel explained, her hand outstretched in a presenting fashion, “But remember, she can’t be influenced if she is the one working with us. And Emem told me you already forced your will onto her.”

“Of course she did.” Galeb sighed and looked down for a moment.

“Her bodyguard was at her heels and she was extremely cautious. I could not let her go just like that.”

“Galeb, I’m not mad at you.” Hazel reassured gently, shaking her head. “I just want to make sure you know that going any further than that will be out of the question. Especially if you choose her as the one to work with us.”

“We will never get our hands on Hartwell.”

“You don’t know that” Hazel disagreed with her voice a tone higher, trying to persuade him. “Maybe we just have to be careful and watch Roberts and Walker for a while. Why don’t you become friends with them?”

Galeb coughed up a laugh.

“You say that like it’s so easy.”

“You’ve done it before.” Hazel reminded him. “Just go slow.”

The pressure of her gaze made the man look away.

“Have you set up another appointment with her?”

“I have. I was worried she would not let me meet her again if she wasn’t under the influence of my power.” Galeb confessed.

“Smart move. I am sure you will be able to make her trust you and then in no time, she will be introducing you to Hartwell, you will see. Or, she will the one handling our finances. Your choice.”

“Would you at least consider giving this task to somebody else? Anyone else, in fact. Emem Louis could do this easily with her connections to the--”

“No” Hazel responded firmly. “It has to be you. Emem doesn’t even come close to you in strength. You can protect these people if anything happens. Don’t you think they will be swarmed with ghouls and other agents soon enough? You can sense them. You’re the only one I can rely on for this task.”

Galeb sighed in defeat.

“I hadn’t considered that.”

“I know it’s hard for you. She’s probably all a Ventrue like you could want in a vessel.” Hazel chuckled. Galeb’s eyes widened.

“It’s not-- it’s not that. That’s not a problem at all.”

“Oh come on now. Don’t be shy about this. We’re birds of a feather, you and me.” she reaffirmed with a smile. “Go downstairs to the lounge and have a drink. Ask Sylvia for what I had them prepare for you. It will relax you. I know your type.”

Galeb stood in shock, at a loss for words but finally spoke, unable to decline.

“Thank you, my Prince.”

“And then focus. We need these people.”

“Of course, my Prince.”

The following night a black car with tinted windows was parked in front a high-rise apartment complex at 10:30 pm. The front doors of the building opened and Cyrene walked out into the night. Her steps brought her to the car, she overlooked the license plate quickly before she opened the back door from the side of the pedestrian walkway. She climbed in, greeting the man that was sitting inside with a smile.

[poppyprincessposts]

A Quiet Night

maleTzimisce!OC x femGhoul!OC

Summary: A Tzimisce and his ghoul enjoy a quiet night together. 

Word count: 3k +

Please be aware that this story contains topics that might be triggering to some. 

The story includes mentions of blood drinking and light anxiety. 

This is a work of fiction based on the table top roleplaying game Vampire: The Masquerade. None of described ideas about the World Of Darkness belong to me.

The idea for the story and its characters are however part of my own imagination.

The car doesn’t seem to acknowledge the young woman at all as it drives past her at high speed. Eloise tries to take a few steps back but the water from the large puddle in front of her on the road splashes against her legs anyway. Even through the fabric of her jeans, the cold sensation makes her gasp. They had already been wet from the falling rain but now they were properly soaked. She had kept her umbrella open, despite it not providing her with much shelter from the harsh weather. Now though, she decides that it is useless. Eloise sighs and closes the umbrella. Just a bit further to the old brick building she calls her home. Her pace quickens and thoughts of a warm shower take over her mind. Keeping her head low to protect her face from the rain, Eloise now starts jogging towards the end of the road and the small forrest that awaits there. 

Any other person would not just run towards the dark and tree filled area ahead. The streetlights that usually illuminate every corner of the pavement are now less frequent.  With the city becoming smaller behind her, Eloise now sees the large gate between the trees and opens her bag to look for her keys. She can feel eyes on her. Of course there‘s someone watching. They always are. ‚It‘s for your own safety, Eloise‘, she can hear his voice say in her head. Deep down Eloise knows he means well. But she might never get used to the feeling of eyes and ears following her every move. She turns the key and pushes the gate open. The metal creaks and seems to protest against her wet hands. Turning around Eloise pushes the gate closed again, using her body weight to make the lock snap back in place. As she turns back around the lights of the driveway turn on one by one leading her up to the victorian mansion. A smile creeps onto her face. Her domitor had insisted on having lights installed after he found out that Eloise had to use a flashlight to get through the forest at night. The darkness was never a problem to him but with a mortal now living with him, he found it to be a nessecary adjustment. 

Now that trees protect Eloise from the rain, she slows down and lets her eyes wander through the trees. There‘s not much that can be seen at this time in autumn. But she knows what lays there in the pitch black. In the beginning, the thought of walking through a cemetery every day made her uncomfortable, let alone having to live next to it. But with time she found peace at the sight of the gravestones. It made Eloise feel calm to know that someone found their final resting place so close to her home. 

She once explained this to her friend Clare. They both sat at one of the tables inside the little bakery they both had already spent so many hours waiting tables and selling baked goods. Clare‘s mouth hung open in shock as her hands tightly grip the mug in her hands. 

“There‘s no way you actually mean that!”, she shrieked and her arms flung around so violently that a few drops of tea landed on the blue tiles beneath her. 

Eloise giggled and took another sip of the hot minty beverage. 

“Ellie”, Clare spoke, “that is pure insanity.” 

She dragged out the last syllable to accentuate her point. Eloise shrugged and turned her gaze back to her friend. 

“Well, I guess you won‘t visit me anytime soon?” 

Clare looked at her. Her face crunched up in disgust and then she shook her head slowly from one side to the other. Eloise frowned playfully and put on the best puppy dog eyes she could muster. A moment of silence goes by before both women broke out in laughter that filled out the whole room. 

Her train of thought gets interrupted by a sound of multiple flapping wings. She looks up to the sky above her. She can barely see the flock of small silhouettes that make their way out of the trees and towards the skyline of the city. 

A sudden cold breeze makes Eloise shiver. It‘s motivation enough to keep moving forwards. 

A few steps further the bricks of the extensive building and a small set of stairs that lead to wooden doors appear in front of the young woman. She quickly climbs the stairs before once again grabbing the keys in her bag. 

When Alexander hears the clicking sound of the front door opening, he puts the heavy book down on the small round table next to him. The Tzimisce puts both hands in his lap and stares at the sizzling flames in front of him. The smoke makes it way up inside the walls of the fire place and leaves dark spots on the grey stones. He should tell Lucas to take care of it tomorrow. After all, his ghoul won’t hesitate to clean it up if he tells him to do so. At first Eloise seemed to think that Lucas was simply too scared to see what would happen if he was to refuse Alexanders commands. But by now she must have realised that he does feel fulfilled by serving his domitor. It could be his vitae that is running through his veins or perhaps he truly enjoys having the kindred‘s protection and hospitality. Sometimes Alexander likes to make himself believe that the latter is in fact the truth, but he knows better than that. 

The soft footsteps in the hallway to the living room catch the vampire‘s attention once again and he stands up from his spot on the sofa. He makes his way over to the source of the sounds and tries to do so as quietly as he possibly can. When he catches a glimpse of Eloise, a frown appears on his pale face. Eloise stands in the middle of the corridor. Her hair is sticking to the sides of her face and her clothes are drenched. One hand pressed against wall, she‘s standing on one foot while cleaning the shoe on the other.

Eloise‘s face is scrunched up and she seems to have trouble balancing herself. 

“Good evening, Eloise. Do you need help with that ?”, Alexander breaks the silence. 

When Eloise looks up, she sees her domitor leaning against the wall, his arms crossed in front of his chest. 

She scrunches up the tissue in her hands and stands straight up. 

“Good evening”, the ghoul bows slightly and smiles. Then Eloise looks down her body and starts fidgeting uncomfortably. “I‘m really sorry, Alexander. I cleaned the floor already so the wood won‘t get damaged.”

The vampire looks her up and down before opening his mouth again to speak.

“Oh, I‘m not worried about the wood. I am however worried about your current state.”

Eloise lifts her head to look at Alexander and a slight blush painting her cheeks pink. 

Her eyes shift back to the ground as soon as she meets his everlasting stare. It almost seems like the Tzimisce is looking right through her and into her very soul. His eyes are always cold and unmoving. There‘s no love behind them. But Eloise cannot help but feel warm inside when she‘s around him. It has to be the bond they share because there is no other explanation as to why she would feel this way. A bond has already been established on the first night they met. There was no time to see if a deeper connection could‘ve bloomed between them. A connection without an addiction to a drug that only he can provide. But then again, can a kindred love?

“You should get out of those clothes and into the shower. Put everything over the heater in the bathroom so it can dry overnight.” 

Eloise nods and makes sure to look up again. 

“I will”, she answers while wrapping her arms around herself. 

Now, she can feel the coldness of the house. It feels like ice invading her skin down to her bones. A shiver runs down her spine and she starts shivering slightly.

“Come downstairs when you‘re done and dressed in something warm, will you?”

Eloise is quick to respond to his request “Of course.”

Alexander then pushes himself off the wall and turns around to enter the living space once he emerged from earlier. 

Eloise stands in the hallway for another few second before snapping out of her trance. 

She‘s quick to rush towards the wooden stairs. Every step she climbs comes with a slight creak from beneath her feet. She always wondered how many people must have climbed these stairs before she was even born. In her head they wore fancy dresses and polished shoes. In contrast to this picture in her head, Eloise could feel the weight of her water-soaked pants and hoodie. 

She passes the paintings and sculptures in the long hallway. Worried about the carped, Eloise decided to walk on the wooden floorboards next to it. She quickly enters her room at the end of the long corridor.

Closing the door behind her she quickly sheds herself of her clothing. She feels some sort of excitement when she thinks about what the evening might bring. The sweater is easily pulled over her head, but the pants feel like they had been glued to her legs. After the struggle of getting undressed, Eloise makes her way to the bathroom next door. She loved having her own space. She immediately felt safer when Alexander showed the ghoul her own future living quarters. It is everything she never thought she could have. Paintings on every wall that she refused to take down, even though Alexander had told her to do so if she preferred empty walls. It made Eloise feel honoured to live in a place with so much history. She even kept the furniture since she loved how the matched the aesthetic of the room so perfectly. The only thing that Alexander had changed before she moved in was the bed. He made sure that it fit into the room and that it was larger than the single bed it was to replace.  

The bathroom could only be entered through her room. Eloise could not believe her eyes when she saw the emerald green tiles and the golden faucets. It seemed like a dream to her. A wonderful dream that wasn’t a dream at all. To this day it was hard to believe that this was all hers to use and enjoy. 

Eloise throws all clothing items over the heater in the green tiled room, her underwear included. Everything else could be taken care of tomorrow. The ghoul jumps into the shower and lets the hot water stream wash over her body. She sighs as the warmth slowly engulfs her. It feels like someone is embracing her body fully, keeping her warm and safe. Eloise quickly reaches for her shampoo and begins washing her hair. Her fingers work quickly and efficiently, massaging her scalp. It feels good to wash all the dirt off my body, she thinks to herself as she reaches for the vanilla scented shower gel. It doesn’t take long for Eloise to wash the soap out out of her hair and off her body. She quickly pulls a dark fluffy towel around her body and exits the bathroom. The floor is warm as she makes her way to her closet. The warmth of the shower does not last too long and slowly begins to leave her body again, leaving her shivering in the towel. The ghoul quickly grabs underwear and a pair of leggings with a matching sweatshirt. Upon noticing the wetness on her back, Eloise makes her way back to the bathroom, taking a seat on the closed toilet and grabbing her blow dryer. 

She wasn’t a patient person and in moments like these she got frustrated easily. Her right legs bouncing up and down, Eloise thoughts wandered to Alexander. A cold and dangerous man, as many of his associates seem to think he is. But his ghouls know better. Eloise knows better. He took her in when she had nowhere else to go. That fact alone made her feel fuzzy. She owes him everything. She owes him her life. 

Still seated Eloise begins drying her hair, knowing he would scold her if she came downstairs like this. He always seemed to worry about her. Even the smallest things could make him look upon her with concern laced eyes. In the beginning she thought that he might just be toying with her. Now she feels like he actually cares about her. At least, it was easier and much more comforting to tell herself that. All doubts left her mind when she saw him. It always feels like they never existed to begin with. And oh, she hopes that something inside of him softens whenever they’re together. A weak smile now appears on the ghoul's face. A smile full of desire. A desire for him and him only.

Putting the blow dryer aside, Eloise gets up to look at herself in the mirror. Her cheeks are still red from the hot shower and her hair tidily frames her face. After deciding that she looked presentable enough, Eloise quickly makes her way out of her room, not fully closing the door behind her. She walks down the stairs quickly and it almost feels like she’s levitating off the steps. As she wanders through the hallway downstairs and to the living room of the mansion, her heart starts beating rapidly. Alexander sits on one of the emerald sofas, his back turned to her. She can see his dark hair and one of his arms that rests on the back of the piece of furniture. As soon as Eloise enters the room, he lifts his head and puts a book on the table beside him. His head turns slightly. 

“Please, come in.”

Eloise folds her hands in front of her body and enters the room. It’s considerably warmer in this part of the house. The flames in the fireplace seem to be the cause of this difference in temperature. The ghoul walks up to the sofa her domitor is still seated on. As soon as she’s standing next to him he looks up at her, a hint of a smile on his face. 

“Sit down next to me”, he speaks calmly. Eloise steps around his legs and takes a sits down next to him. His eyes watch her, like a predator would watch its prey. Who is she kidding, she is the prey. 

His hand then makes its way to her face and strokes her cheek. The caress is gentle but calculated. Eloise is used to his touch and to the feeling of his skin against hers. Her eyes close and she lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. 

His voice is still calm as he speaks “You’re awfully tense. Are you alright, Ellie?”

There it was. The nickname he proposed to her after a few days of living with him. It almost made her melt in his fingers. She opens her eyes to look at him. His body is now fully turned to face her. 

“I’m alright. I promise.” 

The smile on her face is genuine. They sit there for a little while just looking at each other with exploring eyes and then Alexander’s hand leaves her face slowly. He gets up to walk to the armchair closer to the fire. Eloise tries to hide her disappointment as he sits down. She’s used to see him in this place but it still amazes her every time. He somehow manages to be so close to the hot flames. Eloise had never thought about it until Lucas pointed out that vampires avoid fire like the plague, turning almost animalistic if they get too close to it. The other ghoul was more than surprised since Alexander seemed to be perfectly fine around fire, even sitting right next to it. 

Now, in his chair next to the fireplace, Alexander almost looks angelic. 

He looks at her again before he murmurs “Come here.” 

Eloise doesn’t think twice about his request and gets up to join him. Standing next to him once again he reaches out to take her hand. His cold skin touches her with an unexpected gentleness. 

“I have not had the time to feed tonight.“ His fingers wander from her hand up her arm and down again. Another shiver makes its way down Ellie‘s back. She knows what he wants. And only she can give it to him. 

„Anything you need, Alexander.“ 

He smiles slightly at that, looking up at her again. He seems to be deep in thought for a little while. Eloise doesn‘t move an inch from her spot. 

“I‘d like to try something if you let me, Ellie”, his voice is calm. 

His hand now rests on her elbow. Even through the fabric of her sweatshirt she can feel the coldness of his hand.

“Sure?” It sounds more like a question than a statement and Eloise looks at him with an unsure look.

“Do you trust me?“, he asks looking at her with his dark eyes.

“Yes.” The answer is instant and no doubt can he heard in the ghoul's voice.

Alexander‘s smile widens before he pulls her arm forward and effortlessly pulling her in between his open legs. Both his hands make their way to Ellie‘s hips. He‘s slow in his movements, trying not to startle her. Ellie‘s breath hitches in her throat and she looks down at his hands.This position is new to the ghoul but as soon as she feels his hands on her body she feels relaxed and calm. 

“Still good?“

Eloise looks up at her domitor and nods.

Alexander squeezes her gently before speaking again “I need words.“

“Yes”, Ellie replies quickly.

The vampire then takes his time to stroke her waist, hands wandering up and down her body slowly.

“I’d like you to straddle me. Can you do that? Each leg on one side of my lap.“

Ellie doesn’t hesitate even if she can feel her breath quicken. There’s no doubt that she’s nervous. But she does trust him and she is more than curious to see what he’s going to do next.

His hands still on the ghoul’s hips, Alexander looks at her intently.

“Very good.“

His fingers now wrap around the back of her neck, pulling her forward. Eloise lets herself get pulled closer by him. They’re close now. So close that he can probably feel her rapid heartbeat.

“It’s okay”,Alexander whispers her ear while stroking the back of her head,“I don’t need much tonight. Would you let me?“

Eloise closes her eyes, excitement running through her body.

“Yes, please.“

Alexander smiles and leans down. She gasps as he presses his lips to her neck. It takes a while for her to realise that he’s actually kissing her neck. He kisses down her warm skin agonisingly slow. Eloise tries not to squirm in his lap, whimpering quietly.

After what felt like an eternity, Alexander’s fangs pierce the base of her neck next to her collarbone. She gasps at the sting and squeezes her eyes closed. But shortly after, the pain is gone. It almost feels like it was never even there. All Eloise feel is bliss. Pure bliss. It’s better than anything else she would have called pleasurable. She lost herself in the feeling of his lips against her neck and the warmth now spreading inside her body. She doesn’t even notice how her hands grab the fabric of the vampire’s shirt tightly or his hands that pull her even closer to him. She doesn’t feel anything but pleasure. Nothing could replace this feeling. Nothing could compare to this. Absolutely nothing. 

But the moment is way too short and his lips leave her neck much too quickly. She wants him back, to keep going, to keep drinking. Of course, Eloise knew what the consequences of this act would be. She always scared herself with the thoughts that presented themselves when feedings occurred. 

Eyes still closed Eloise stays in the same position until Alexander grabs her shoulders lightly and pushes her back to take a good look at her. His eyes wander over her face. The ghoul can see that he felt just as satisfied if not more satisfied. 

“Thank you, Ellie.”

His hands grab her cheeks, stroking them with so much care, Eloise could cry from all the joy she was currently feeling. 

And as Alexander then tells Ellie to hold onto him, she obliges and wraps her arms around his neck, pulling herself close to the kindred again. Alexander then stands up, one arm around Ellie’s backside, the other around her torso with a hand on the back of her head. He starts walking slowly, making his way to the door. The ghoul could barely feel his footsteps. She felt light in his arms. He carried her through the living room dextrously and then climbs the stairs, still holding onto Eloise tightly. He doesn’t talk as he makes his way to Ellies room. Pushing the door open with his foot, Alexander carries his ghoul over to the large bed and slowly lays her down. She then lets go of him and opens her eyes. Her domitor stands above her, a gentle smile on his face. She can feel him stroke her head, from the front to the back getting some of her hair out of her face. Ellies hand shakily moves up and she touches her neck where he had bit her.

“It’s alright. There’s no wound, no blood. Everything’s okay. You’re okay.”

His voice is a whisper, soothing her and making her feel safe. As soon as Eloise realises that she’s laying in her own bed, she lets herself sink even deeper into the cushions.

“Get some rest, Ellie. I’ll get you something to eat. You need to regain your strength. You had a long day after all”, Alexander tells her, still stroking her head.

Ellie panics slightly at his words “N- No. Please, don’t go anywhere. Please don’t go. Please?”

Alexander frowns slightly, touching her forehead for a few seconds. 

“You feel cold, Eloise.”

“Please…” Ellie’s voice is barely a whisper. She feels embarrassed for begging him to stay and embarrassed for the tears in her eyes. She shouldn’t be crying. But she felt so weak, so exhausted and she didn’t want to be alone. Not now. 

Alexander now sits down on the bed next to Eloise. 

“Ellie, breathe. You’re alright. Just breathe. It’s alright, I’ll stay here.”

Eloise sobs but smiles at his words. Of course, she knew that this was only the version of the vampire that she could see. An illusion of the monster that he truly must be. He was feared by many and she was aware of the powers he possessed. He could hurt her if he wanted to. He could kill her if he wanted to. But right here and right now, she wanted nothing more than him.

“Can you just stay a little bit? I’ll eat something afterwards, I promise.”

“Yes”, Alexander answers,”I’ll stay.”

Eloise instinctively grabs the hand on her forehead, pulling it to her chest. 

Alexander’s hand wraps around hers tightly. He gets up from his spot besides her. For a second Eloise thinks that he might leave after all but he does the opposite of that.

The kindred lays down next to her on the bed, pulling her close so her head is on his chest. He’s cool against her but her sweatshirt and leggings keep her relatively warm.

Alexander grabs a blanket from the other side of the bed, his long arm effortlessly grabbing the soft material. He pulls it over the both of them, making sure Ellie is fully covered. 

Seeing her like this made him feel some sort of pride. She was his and his alone. He would keep her here with him for as long as she may live and if anyone lays even as much as a finger on his prized possession, he will destroy them. Here in his arms, she was safe. It’s where she needs to be. The beast inside him stirs every time he stops drinking from her for the night. It wants him to finish the job, to take all of her life essence. But he bites back at the voice in his head. Killing her would mean to lose her and he could never let that happen.

She was his now and his tomorrow. She was his for the rest of his unlife. And nothing could ever prevent him from claiming her as his, over and over again. 

Eloise feels like she’s in a trance. She was somewhere far away from all the troubles that had been on her mind before. All the stress and anxiety from the day are now seemingly seeping out of her. And for once, everything is fine and nothing hurts. 

Hi there!

Thank you so much for reading!

Please let me know what you think. I’m always happy to get some feedback for my writing :)!

My requests are open!

Sorces:

Divider: https://pin.it/6XbCNpV

[pattons-second-cookie-v2]

The Blood That Binds- A Sanders’ Sides X Vampire: The Masquerade AU

Do you like Sanders’ Sides? Do you like vampires? Have you ever wanted to read about the Sides as chaotic vampires? Well YOU’RE IN LUCK!

I’m currently working on the premise of a SS story centered on the TTRPG/video game universe Vampire: The Masquerade. VTM is a gritty and intense game that explores a lot of dark themes, and I’m already cooking up some juicy scenarios to put the Sides through. But I figured I’d give a little starter pitch before getting too busy with writing.

The Sides are all vampires of varying ages (mostly late 20s and early 30s) and from different eras (1940s-present day). The only human (at the time I’ writing this) is Virgil but don’t worry, he won’t be for long.

In VTM there are two main sects of Vampires, the Camarilla and the Anarchs. The Camarilla are mainly old world vampires who are set in the ways of the old traditions that are structured to benefit the elders and those with power. The Anarchs are the rebels, typically new age vampires with a common goal to deconstruct the Cam and establish free states for any and all vampires. The methods and influences of the two sects vary from city to city.

The Sides are a healthy mix of Anarchs and Camarilla, as well as a nomad or two. Expect to see lots of secrets and backstabbing. And perhaps even some enemies to lovers ;)

If you have interest in this Vampire AU, let me know on this post or my DMs and I’ll set up a tag list. First chapters won’t be up for a while, but I will be setting up some character profiles and drabbles before beginning the main story. I’m hoping to get the story officially started by Halloween (very fitting for vampires, I know)

Below the cut, I’m including a list of possible triggers/tropes I may end up using. Please note that not all of these are final, but they all have the potential to be used.

Story May Include: Body horror, blood, gore, descriptions of death, major character death, hallucinations (auditory and visual), verbal abuse, descriptions of panic attacks, kidnapping, bondage, power imbalance, harm to animals

[m-for-musings]

Ashes to Ashes

Pt.1

A Baldur's Masquerade (BG3 X VTM) AU, based in the 5th edition of Vampire: The Masquerade TTRPG.

Completely inspired by @ryttu3k

Dividers by @marquisedegramont

Astarion adjusted the lapels of his coat, his reflection in the cracked mirror showing only an elegant void where his features should be. It was a pity; he had always liked looking at himself. The candlelight flickered, casting a ghostly dance of shadows across the worn wooden floor of his quarters. It suited the house of a Hecata — elegant, ancient, and decaying, much like the Szarr family itself.

His thoughts, however, were not on the cracked mirrors or the crumbling walls. They were on Cazador, his sire, who had once again sent him on an errand that seemed beneath even the lowest of the Duskborn. Couldn't he had sent one of the other six thin-blood lackeys he had under his wing? Nonetheless, at least he'd have some time outside of the mansion.

Astarion ran his fingers over the soft, velvet fabric of his coat one more time before turning away from the mirror. No point in mourning what couldn't be changed. The mansion was a labyrinth of dark corridors, lined with dusty portraits of the Szarr family and their many lost heirs. Each step echoed lightly on the cracked marble, the sound hollow in the otherwise silent house. He could hear the distant murmurs of the other thin-bloods, tucked away in their corners, likely plotting their own pitiful schemes. Not that they’d get far. Cazador had them all tightly wrapped around his cold, skeletal fingers.

As he descended the grand staircase, the scent of old parchment, dried blood, and decaying flowers filled his nostrils. It was the familiar smell of home. A home that reeked of death. He passed through the main hall where heavy curtains shrouded the windows in perpetual gloom. Sunlight, if it dared peek through the cracks, was but a distant dream here.

"Off on another errand, Astarion?" came a mocking voice from the shadows. Violet, one of the other Duskborns, lounged lazily in a torn armchair near the hearth, a smirk playing on her lips. Her dark eyes gleamed with amusement as she twirled a lock of hair between her fingers. She always seemed too smug for someone just as chained as the rest of them.

Astarion didn’t break stride. "Jealous, are we? Looks like Cazador trusts me more than the rest of you rabble. Don't worry, perhaps one day you'll graduate to fetching his dry cleaning."

Violet laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. "Oh, I’m sure. Enjoy your little freedom, Astarion. We both know it’s only a matter of time until you fuck up and end in the kennels again."

He didn’t dignify her with a response, pushing open the front door of the mansion and stepping into the night. The air outside was refreshingly cold, crisp compared to the stifling rot within. For a moment, he let himself enjoy it, the feel of the night breeze on his face, the distant hum of the city below.

The streets stretched out before him, dimly lit by flickering, half-broken street lamps, casting weak pools of light over crumbling sidewalks. The silence was thick, almost suffocating, broken only by the occasional distant siren or rustle of garbage in the alleys. This neighborhood had once been grand — a place of wealth and opulence — but now it had rotted, decayed into a shadow of its former self, much like the Szarr mansion looming behind him. The city, like Astarion himself, wore two faces — one bright and bustling by day, the other dark and treacherous by night. And it was the latter that he thrived in.

As he walked, his steps light on the cobblestones, Astarion found his thoughts drifting back to Cazador. For all his grievances, there was a twisted sense of pride that flickered in his chest, one he loathed to admit. In the early years of his ‘internship’ under Cazador, Astarion had been the least of them — the most despised, the easiest target for Cazador’s wrath. He endured the harshest punishments, the ones designed to break a person from the inside out. The humiliation was relentless, stripping him of every ounce of dignity. But then, after Amanita — Cazador's favourite — disappeared, something shifted. He couldn’t say why, and the change unsettled him. Suddenly, he wasn’t the lowest anymore. The punishments didn’t lessen, but the hate felt… different. He knew that being the new ‘favoured’ Duskborn was a double-edged sword. Yes, it gave him a slight edge over the others, a fleeting sense of superiority — but it also meant he bore the brunt of Cazador’s cruelty. The expectations were higher, and the leash tighter. Every task, even one as menial as tonight’s errand, was both a privilege and a punishment, a reminder that his ‘favour’ came with a price. It was freedom in the smallest of doses, a bitter taste of what he could never truly have.

Astarion let out a breath he didn't need and straightened his coat again, more out of habit than necessity. The night was his. And if he had to endure a chore or two, so be it. After all, freedom — even in the smallest doses — was something he’d learned to savor.

He paused at the gates of the Toreador Primogen’s haven, a stark contrast to the crumbling slums he had just passed through. Mizora’s estate was nestled deep in the Upper City, a gated sanctuary for the elite, where the streets were spotless and even the air seemed fresher. The mansions here, including hers, were grand and flawless — a world apart from the decay of the Szarr mansion, which stood ironically at the very edge, straddling the line between wealth and ruin, separating the opulence of the Upper City from the slums below.

Mizora. Her name tasted bitter, like poison on his tongue. He would never forget that she had been the one leading the charge, advocating for the eradication of all Duskborn in the city. A Toreador more obsessed with ancient tomes and occult rituals than with the shallow vanity most of her clan indulged in. Her library was legendary, even Tremere scholars whispered about it with envy. If Cazador had sent him here, whatever book he sought had to be important.

The task was simple: retrieve a book. Cazador hadn’t bothered to explain its significance, and Astarion hadn’t asked. He didn’t care. Whatever dark magic his sire was dabbling in, it wasn’t his concern — as long as he could avoid becoming a part of it. He was here to do the job, nothing more.

As the door creaked open, Astarion fully expected a servant to greet him. Instead, it was Mizora’s childer who appeared, Wyll Ravengard. Astarion’s lips twitched into a polite smile, masking his surprise.

Wyll stood in the doorway, tall and effortlessly graceful, his dreadlocks tied back loosely, with a few strands framing his striking features. His skin practically glowed with the Blush of Life he always maintained, even when there were no mortals around. His physique, smooth and flawless, as if sculpted by an artist’s hand, was balanced between strength and elegance — Astarion had always been almost painfully aware of it. 

“Ah, Astarion, good evening. You were expected,” Wyll said, his voice warm and polite, his words laced with a warmness that contrasted sharply with how Duskborns were normally greeted in this city. He stepped aside, gesturing for Astarion to enter. “My sire isn’t home at the moment, but she’s left everything in order for you.”

Wyll’s charm was almost disarming, and as he welcomed Astarion into the mansion, it was clear this hospitality wasn’t an act. “Please, come in and make yourself comfortable in the lounge. I’ll gather what you’ve come for.”

Astarion gave a small nod, hiding his unease behind a faint smile. He stepped inside, following Wyll through the polished floors and lavish décor. The young Toreador moved like he knew exactly how attractive he was, but there was no arrogance in it. It was so blatantly obvious why Mizora Embraced him, the little Mr. Perfect. 

Astarion desired him. Astarion desired to be him. 

Astarion hated him.

Wyll led the way toward the lounge, trying to make a small talk about how busy his sire was lately, but Astarion wasn't interested, answering the banter with curt nods and practically monossilabic affirmations.

Astarion settled into the lounge, his eyes wandering over the room's modern, clean furnishings. The faint smell of smoke lingered in the air, and his gaze drifted to the unlit fireplace. The logs inside were only half-burnt, the embers smoldering softly as if the fire had been extinguished in a hurry. Ash clung to the edges of the hearth, scattered across the floor as though someone had stamped it out hastily.

Curious, he noticed a few scraps of burnt paper near the fireplace. He crouched down, picking one up between his fingers, examining the charred edges. It seemed to be part of a letter. Most of the writing was unreadable, but a few words caught his eye—"sire," "investigate," and "rewarded."

Astarion raised a brow, piecing together what little he could from the fragmented words. It seemed Wyll had received a proposition, and it probably involved investigating his own sire. Astarion's lips curled into a wicked smile. Oh, this was too delicious. He stood, the paper still between his fingers, his eyes gleaming with devilish delight.

The Toreador’s perfect façade wasn’t so flawless after all, it seemed. And now Astarion had something far more valuable than whatever menial task Cazador had sent him for — leverage.

"Well, well, Wyll," he murmured to himself, a twisted satisfaction creeping into his voice. "It seems you’re not as obedient as you appear. How… delightful."

He tucked the burnt scrap into his coat, his grin widening. This little secret could be the key to bending the ever-polite childer to his will if needed. Blackmail was always a game he enjoyed playing, especially when the stakes were so personal.

Wyll came back, every movement as smooth and poised as a courtier, yet as he entered the lounge, his steps faltered ever so slightly. Astarion stood by the fireplace, one hand resting on the mantel, his gaze too casual, too knowing.

For a brief moment, Wyll’s expression shifted — his uneven eyes flickering to the half-burnt logs and the scattered ash before darting back to Astarion. The unease was barely there, a slight tightening of his jaw, the faintest twitch of his brow. But just as quickly, he composed himself, his face smoothing back into that polite mask he wore so well.

“Astarion,” Wyll greeted, his voice as warm as ever, though a subtle tension lingered beneath it. “I’ve retrieved the book you came for.”

He held it out with both hands, but his gaze lingered on Astarion a moment longer, betraying a flicker of suspicion as the Duskborn reached out, his fingers brushing the leather-bound cover of the book with a deliberate slowness, savoring the moment. His lips curled into a sly grin as he took it from Wyll, practically reveling in the tension radiating off the Toreador.

“Thank you, Wyll,” Astarion purred, his voice dripping with mock sweetness. He tilted his head, amusement dancing in his eyes as he added, “Tell me — how long have you been plotting against your sire?”

The look on Wyll’s face was priceless. His carefully composed mask didn’t crack completely, but Astarion saw the brief widening of his eyes, the way his grip tightened ever so slightly at his sides. For a split second, there was real panic there — then it was gone, replaced by a calm, practiced smile.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Wyll replied, his tone as steady and polite as ever, but Astarion could hear the faint edge beneath it.

Astarion let out a soft, mocking laugh, leaning in just a little closer, thoroughly enjoying himself. “Oh, darling, no need to play coy. I know a secret when I see one.” He tapped the spine of the book with a single finger.

Astarion turned to leave, the book tucked neatly under his arm, and threw a parting glance over his shoulder, his voice dripping with playful malice. "Don't worry, Wyll, I'll keep quiet… for a price."

He barely made it halfway to the door before Wyll was suddenly in front of him, moving with supernatural speed that caught Astarion completely off guard. One moment he was across the room, the next he was standing mere inches away, his previously composed expression twisted into something darker, less controlled.

“Careful, thin-blood,” Wyll hissed, his voice low, dangerous. “You don’t want to tread this path.”

Astarion’s eyes widened for a heartbeat, alarmed by the sheer suddenness of Wyll’s shift in demeanor. His mind raced, but he quickly reminded himself that Wyll wouldn’t dare strike him. Not here, not now. It would be too suspicious, and even Mizora’s childer wouldn’t risk unnecessary tension between the Camarilla and the Hecata. No, Wyll couldn’t touch him — at least, not physically.

Astarion raised his hands slowly in a mock gesture of surrender, the sly grin returning to his face as he masked his brief moment of panic with his usual nastiness. “Easy now,” he drawled, “I didn’t say that to rat you out.” He paused, his grin widening. “I mean, that would be terribly… inconvenient.”

It was a lie, of course. He had fully intended to blackmail Wyll, but now a new idea wormed its way into his mind. One that might just be more interesting than the first.

“Actually,” Astarion mused, tapping a finger against his chin thoughtfully, “perhaps we could help each other instead.” He leaned in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I want the same thing. Perhaps we could work together… in getting rid of our sires, hm?”

He could see the flicker of uncertainty in Wyll’s eyes, and Astarion's grin widened further. Wyll’s eyes narrowed, studying Astarion for a long, tense moment. Astarion could see the calculation flickering behind that perfectly composed face, the uncertainty hidden beneath layers of Toreador poise. For all his outward grace, Wyll was clearly rattled. His shoulders, usually so relaxed and regal, now held a subtle tension.

“This… is a dangerous game,” Wyll finally said, his voice measured, evasive. He wasn’t giving Astarion anything, not yet.

Astarion’s smile didn’t waver, but inside he felt a flicker of frustration. Of course, Wyll wouldn’t jump at the chance to join forces. He was too cautious for that, too concerned with appearances. But the fact that he hadn’t outright dismissed the offer was telling. There was something there — something Astarion could work with.

Still, it wasn’t enough. Not yet.

"Well, I do like a dangerous game," Astarion replied, his voice light, teasing. "Keeps things interesting, don’t you think?" He tilted his head, watching Wyll closely, trying to gauge whether he was leaning toward caution or intrigue.

Wyll’s face gave little away, but the tension in the air was palpable. He was weighing his options, and Astarion could see the doubt flickering in his eyes, as if he was unsure whether to push Astarion away or pull him into the fold.

Astarion wasn’t about to let him off the hook that easily. "Think about it," he said, his tone almost coaxing now. "We both have something to gain, and our sires have far too much control over us, don’t they?" He leaned in just a fraction, his grin widening. "You know as well as I do that power is best kept in your own hands."

Wyll’s gaze flickered, just for a second. There was something there — an opening, however small. Astarion’s smile sharpened. He’d planted the seed. Now all he had to do was wait for it to grow.

Wyll’s eyes narrowed again, and the corners of his mouth lifted in a slight, knowing smile. "It's a bold statement coming from a Duskborn," he said, the words soft but pointed, as if to remind Astarion exactly where he stood in the grand hierarchy of things.

Astarion’s grin froze, fury boiling just beneath the surface. The audacity of it — being looked down on by someone like Wyll, a Diva's lapdog. But Astarion said nothing, forcing the biting retort back down his throat. Wyll didn’t wait for a reply, his expression remaining as poised as ever. "There's a Sabbat envoy named Karlach," he continued smoothly. "Give me her location. Prove you're capable, and perhaps we can discuss working together."

Astarion felt his fists clench at his sides, anger bubbling to the surface. His eyes flared as he snapped, "I was offering you an alliance, Wyll, not volunteering to be your errand boy. If you think I’m going to run around the city at your beck and call, I might as well give your sire what I've found—"

Wyll cut him off with a scoff, his smile now entirely condescending. "And if you think Mizora would believe you over me... well, you're more deluded than I thought." He crossed his arms, his stance firm. "But if you’re so eager to work with me, then these are my terms. Find Karlach."

Astarion’s jaw tightened, his mind racing. Wyll had him backed into a corner, and as much as he hated it, he knew the Toreador had a point. Mizora wouldn’t take a Duskborn’s word over her own childer’s. Even with a proof that Wyll could dismiss as a refused proposition. Astarion berated himself inwardly for his own recklessness — fortune not always favoured the bold, as it seems.

But he needed this. Needed a way out of Cazador’s grip, and if Wyll was the key to that… well, he would play along. For now.

"Fine," Astarion finally spat, his voice tight with barely contained fury. "I’ll find your Karlach. But this had better be worth it."

Part 2

[hedgewitchh]

Eternity is a long time

Lucy has lived a long life, it had grown boring even her research couldn't being the thrill it used to. A trip to Houston finally might promise a difference in routine.

Lucy's days were full of monotony, waking up at sunset, going to the temple and doing her job. Every day for years and years it went like this, she worked on rituals for the church and worked her way up the ranks quickly. She was transferred to Houston. ‘They need to be whipped into shape, I hear a few childer are unruly this year.’

So she went, always the obedient kindred the perfect Tremere. She hated it, she wanted to do more, be more; but a rebellious church member didn't get far and she'd be damned if she let the power she clawed for slip away from her. She bought a quaint house in a gated community. She planted trees around the property, and she used rituals to help the growth of the plants.

She settled into her new home, decorating the way she liked and hired a contractor to renovate her basement for her magical practices. She moved her sanguine servant to her bedroom for the time, placing her on the desk. Zoey was the one person or homunculus she could talk to about her wants and how boring meetings are.

Days passed before she went to the church, drawing it out as much as possible before she had to be a proper church member. 

She dressed in a pencil skirt, stockings, a blouse that she left the top buttons left undone and kitten heels. A cross laid on her neck showed off proudly, most of the Tremere wore religious iconography, some were more bizarre than others . Some based their entire outfits on the symbols, some like her were more discreet. She threw her hair into a low bun, looking as professional as she could.

The church was imposing as ever, she could feel the wards that surrounded the place and kept the public away from it during the day. She saw the stained glass windows, it looked like a mockery of an older church used for perverse rituals by beings damned and forgotten by God. She pushed the large doors open, heavy even to her supernatural strength.

The interior was spacious, high ceilings and burning candle light. There were no modern appliances to be seen, they were probably ones for the technomancers somewhere; she didn't need to worry about it. She walked up to the receptionist, a young man with dark hair. He looked up at her, bored though he gave her a quick once over. “Yes?”

“I'm Lucy Grey. I was sent from New York, the pastor should be expecting me.” She was curt with her words, not caring to make small talk.

His eyes widened, “You're Lucy Grey? Regent of the sixth circle? That Lucy?” 

She sighed, she was old enough and powerful enough to be known even here. “What? Expecting some old crone? Yes, I am her. Now tell the pastor I am here.” He nodded dumbly, staring after her, probably wishing he made a more memorable introduction, wanting to gain favor with her now that he knew she was a high ranking church member. She heard him make a call off the rotary phone and talk quickly, before calling out to her telling her to wait in the meeting room. She stared at him before he seemed to understand that she didn't know where to go. 

“Yes, apologies follow me.” He paused, “Please.” He added quickly, she stepped behind him.

 “Yea, yea old man I'll do it. Calm down.” Was heard before a body knocked into her own, pushing her against the opposite wall. “Shit.” Lucy stood up and looked at the man.

“You idiot, do you know who you just ran into?” The receptionist whispered yelled at the mystery man. She looked at him, he unassuming in height standing not much taller than her, a trench coat swished around him. He was handsome enough in a gangly way but she was more interested in his eyes, they were full of light and mischief. His skin was bright and flushed unlike most of the other kindred he was around, his smirk vanished as he looked down at her. She didn't miss how he looked at her breast for a brief moment.

“No? What some big shot in the church here to yell at me?” His mouth curled into a half smile as if it was always meant to be present. 

“She is a regent and you will show her respect!” The receptionist raised his voice slightly.

The man scoffed and then bowed as sarcastically as someone could. “Oh pardon me. Your regentness how will you ever forgive someone as low as myself?” He straightened himself almost to full height, shoulder pushed back.

She stepped closer to him, heels clicking against wood. “I assume you're a childer? Not yet use to the way the church works. I can overlook it this once.” She gave him a once over. “I can't imagine with your attitude you'll make it very far through the test.” Her smile was sickly sweet, she watched him bristle at her words.

“Yea sure, we'll see won't we?” He muttered and stormed away from her.

“Who was that?” She turned towards the receptionist.

“Christopher Sepren, he’s a few months old and is due to take the test soon with the others. He has yet to learn manners.” He sounded tired of Christopher already. 

She nodded and continued to follow until they reached the wide doors, the receptionist opened the door for her. She thanked him and walked in, the pastor already sitting at the head of the table, the doors closed with a heavy thunk. She took her own seat at the other end of the table. “Pastor.” she greeted softly, smiling at him. The picture of prim and proper.

“Lucy, it's so lovely to see you.” His voice rumbled out of him like thunder, his smile was easy going. “I trust your stay has been a welcome reprieve from the hustle and bustle of New York.”

“Houston has its charm, that's for sure.” She replied easily, not interested in small talk. “Tell me about this year's batch of childer any unruly ones I should pay attention to and any outstanding ones I should also watch?”

The pastor thought for a moment and rattled off some names, describing who he thought had a chance of becoming an apprentice and those he thought wouldn't make it past the first test. He paused on a thought, “The only one that is unknown is Christopher. He has a true talent for blood magic, able to pick up the intricacies of rituals but he is defiant to his sire and has no respect for traditions.”

“I ran into him just earlier, well he ran into me. He was arrogant to say the least, and didn't like being looked down upon.” She rolled her eyes at the thought of Christopher. 

“Yes, that's the one I'd like for you to pay attention to.” 

“What? Why shouldn't I be helping a childer with discipline issues? Why him?” She was shocked at his words, was she being tested? 

“He has true talent, he just needs a guiding hand and unfortunately Arthur isn't the right hand for Christopher.”

“And you think I am?” She crossed her arms. “And if he fails? What then am I to be punished for a mistake?”

“You'll probably lose the chance to be promoted.” He shrugged unconcerned with her future. She narrowed her eyes at him but knew she would have to accept the task, she couldn't turn the offer down unless she wanted to hear from her Lord. 

“Fine, I'll get him to pass those tests and I expect Arthur to thank me for my help with his childer.” She stood up, “I'll corner Christopher now, while I have the chance.” She left without a goodbye and strode down the hall towards Arthur's office, she opened it without warning. He found the older man over a woman, drinking from her neck as she moaned under him. “Arthur, good to see you haven't changed. Here in the church? How scandalous.” She leaned against his bookshelf inspecting her nails as she waited. The smell of blood was all she could smell and taste, it made the beast inside of her rumble in never ending hunger but it was quickly quieted. 

He released the woman who whined at the  loss of the pleasurable bite, Arthur held her down with one hand. “Lucy, good to see you're as dead as ever. Can't even make yourself express desire for fresh blood? Are you that dead? Can anything make that heart beat again.” Arthur looked her up and down with lust, he had the blush of life and with the intoxicating scent of blood his libido had to be higher than normal.

“I am, nothing causes my heart to flutter like it used to.” She had no doubts, the life left her long ago along with any desire for pleasures of the flesh. It was a means to an end, to satisfy the beast. “You don't strike fire in my loins. Now tell me where to find your childer.” She looked up from her nails to stare at him.

He bared his fangs at her, “What do you want with him?” He spat at her

“I've been told to deal with your mess and it seems while promising he is trouble. The pastor thought I'd be a more gentle hand to guide him.” She crossed her arms under her breast pushing them up to prove her point. “Seeing that he seems to be blushed still, womanly guidance is sometimes better.” She looked down at the woman, “You would know.”

“Fine you can find him at home more than likely.” He told her the address. She wrote it down and walked out of the church making her way towards the small apartment Christopher owned. She went to knock on the door but stopped before she touched the wood, the hairs on her arm stood up feeling warding coming off the door. Her teeth bared in defense before she calmed down, knowing she wasn't in immediate danger as long as she didn't touch the door.

She heard a door creak open and she turned to Christopher at the other end of the hall, it seemed she didn't need to track him down. He looked guarded and stopped moving as he saw her, “What are you doing here?” 

“Pastor sent me, seems you need my help.” She smiled sweetly.

“I'm doing just fine on my own, you can ask Arthur.” He said his sire's name with disrespect.

“I did, he's about as happy as you are about this. He doesn't want me to take credit for helping you succeed.” She scoffed impatiently “We are going to be working very closely together, might as well make this easier for both of us. I'm Lucy Grey, your teacher from here on out.” 

“Chris,” He walked closer, taking out a pair of gloves and opening his door. “Come in I guess.”

The lights were off, but fire came to life in some lanterns as he lit one. She flinched at the unexpected fire and she heard him chuckle behind her, she whirled at him ready to scold him. She stopped when she saw his full smile, she couldn't stop from staring at the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, he looked truly alive in that moment as if darkness had never damned him. Firelight made his brown hair glow and his eyes danced with mischief again, she couldn't help but want to be closer to that warmth; that feeling of being alive.

She saw his mouth moving but heard nothing, she shook herself, “I'm sorry what?” She asked, she sounded breathy even to her own ears.

“I asked if I scared you too much, I would be surprised with how much candle light is in the church and-” He looked her up and down, “based on how you dress, you have to be there often.”

“There aren't exactly days off when you work for the chantry.” She felt like if she could blush she would, his gaze felt like fire on her skin and she couldn't understand the sentiment. She has been dead for too long to care about some childer, to care about his desire. 

She quickly changed the subject to how she would teach him, making him memorize everything he needed to know for the test and how he needed to impress if he wanted to survive. He seemed confused at the thought and she explained those who didn't impress would be used for rituals and never advance to learn the ways of blood. 

She was strict with him, but learned he was more likely to learn if she praised him and was encouraged by her words. She would sit on the couch and watch him hunch over a book she gave him, she would ask him random questions on the subject. He sometimes stumbled but never got the question wrong more than once, she was impressed the pastor was right he had great potential and seemed more at ease when not at the church. More willing to learn and listen in the privacy of his own home, it was commonplace that she waiting for him when he got home as he was the only childer assigned to her. He got over his initial surprise and sometimes anger at the invasion. 

She slotted with him in a way she didn't expect, he's made her genuinely laugh for the first time in maybe sixty years. She smiled easily around him and her gaze lingered on him longer than appropriate, taking in his figure when he didn't wear his jacket and the way he leaned back in his chair when he was talking with her. He started making crude jokes her way and she played them off as if they did make her dead heart feel something.

“You seem less straight laced, what happened to you? Find a nice fleshsack to spend your nights with, didn't know you had it in you.” One of the teachers asked as she passed, it's not the first time someone's made a comment. Though it was the first time someone asked her directly, it seems it wasn't unnoticed that she felt lighter than she had in years and someone thought she was soft enough to approach. 

She scowled at the teacher, “No, I have no interest in ‘shacking’ up with some mortal.”

“Then is it your new pet?” He leered at her, “What the blush really gets you going? Is that all it took to make Lucy Grey go soft? Maybe I should take him for a spin to see what makes him so special.”

She bared her fangs and stalked closer to him, unexpected anger springing in her chest “Think I've gone soft have you?” She moved her hand toward a plant near them and watched it wiggle to life, lashing out at the kindred and wrapping around his wrist. “Nobody touches what is mine. Do you really want to try your luck?” She had the plant tug on the kindred, making him stumble trying to free himself from the plant's grasp.

“Let me go.” He demanded, she shoves him back with a hand gripping a fistful of his shirt. Her face was near his.

“Have you ever tasted ash before?” She sneered at him, almost nose to nose with him. “Touch Christopher and every drop of blood you ever drink again will turn to ash on your tongue. Until you go mad with hunger and then I'll be there to put you down.” She released him and let him go.

 He looked at her with fear as she stood over him, this is who Lucy Grey was, a woman to be feared with a path unknown that only she held the key to and would never part with. She rose the ranks with her research and ability to make every kindred cow to her if she wanted, her complete control over the green world around her and an unknown power that she clawed for.

It wasn't the last time someone threatened to take Chris from her, though after a few unfortunate and mysterious disappearance of their students. They eventually quieted down, she watched as they slowly turned their ire to Chris since they couldn't do anything but spit poison at him. He took it in stride, already disliked due to his mouth this was nothing new to him it seemed; that didn't stop her from scolding and threatening anyone from being so outwardly hostile to him.

She was walking to the church's library when she heard someone talking not so quietly. “You think just because Lucy favors you, you get to walk around with no consequences? You took a book I was grabbing, now apologize and give it back.”

She heard the familiar sound of Chris’ laugh, she slowed her pace until she was just hidden behind a bookcase. “I grabbed it first, you didn't want it until I was walking away with it. Seems you're just upset that I could impress her while you aren't even a blip on her radar.” She could hear the smug satisfaction in his voice. 

“You're not that special, you're the same as the rest of us, a nobody. A nobody who's going to fail and become another useless bloodbag.” The kindred's voice was a little higher pitch in anger, a woman probably one of the newly sired.

“Then why have I gotten my own personal teacher? Why is mine a high ranking church member?” She heard the sound of his footsteps, “It's not pure luck, I clearly have the skill that just doesn't come naturally to you.” She heard an indigent huff and the sounds of heels clicking away, she watched the woman leave studying her as she went. 

She heard the sound of boots draw closer, she stood motionless until Chris almost passed her when she shot her hand out and twisted him to press his back against the bookshelf. He lashed out immediately which she was glad to see, making her proud that he wouldn't be pushed around. He stopped when he recognized her, “Lucy?” He was breathless as he asked in surprise, his voice a little louder than normal.

She reached to cover his mouth and pressed a finger to her lips, “Shhh, this is still a library after all.” She smiled at him, she put her hand down standing close to him, chest to chest.  She could feel his slow heartbeat against her, it echoed in her ears. Though as he looked down at her, she heard his heart begin to beat faster, her chest on almost full display, wearing a black lacy bra that she was sure he could see the top of.

“Dressing up for me? Could've just asked how I wanted to see you.” His voice thick with want, his mouth curled in a half smile she wanted to see all the time.

“Now Christopher, hitting on your teacher isn't that a bit cliché even for you?” That didn't stop her from moving a bit closer to him closing the already small distance

“You're the one you slammed me into a bookshelf and pressed yourself up against me? Can you blame a guy for appreciating a beautiful woman throwing herself at him?” Though his words were seductive his hands stayed planted against the bookshelf as if afraid to touch her. 

“This is just more practice, gotta keep you on your toes.” She moved away from him, letting him stand away from the bookshelf, “Never know who's around the corner.”

“Apparently I should walk around blindly if this is the treatment I'll get.” 

“While I'm having fun, I'm also serious. The test has already begun and you don't know it. The moment you started showing potential it started and other kine want to remove competition and you're proving to be heavy competition.” She looked up at him, “You'll have to start taking them out as well, I and Arthur can only do so much. Prove your standing.” She brushed a hand against his arm before quickly withdrawing.

“Arthur is helping me?” He sounded surprised

“Of course, he made you and doesn't want to lose a precious childer or look bad in the eyes of the church. This is as much of a test for us as it is for you and I plan on passing, you better as well.”

His eyes turned serious as if finally understanding, “What about after? Will I see you after I pass?” 

She feels a pang in her chest, she doesn't know she wants to lie and say she'll stay in Houston with him. “I don't know, the church may send me somewhere else. I go where they want me, I don't have a say.” She whispered, looking away from him.

“You're telling me even Lucy Grey, the one I keep hearing them praise and fear can't make her own decisions?” She saw his sneer from the corner of her eye.

She shook her head, “If I refuse, I won't climb the ranks. They'll demote me.”

“As if that's the worst thing in the world in exchange for doing what you want. What do you want?” His words demanding an answer from her

“I don't know, I want to continue to research and learn.” She felt a pain in her chest unlike anything she felt since she died, she knew what she wanted but she couldn't admit it even to herself. Unless she wanted to spiral into Tremere madness once again.

“I'll pass the tests, I want you to decide how you want to live your undeath.” 

He walked past her, he moved quickly out of the library quickly and she was left standing there, emotions swirling in her chest unlike anything else and it tore her apart. The madness felt ever encroaching, words spun in front of her eyes. Magic unfurled in her mind, “I want you.” She whispered to the air. “I want to be around you, be your everything, make you obsessed like you make me.” She gripped the books in her hands feeling them creak and bend in her grasp. A door slammed behind her and reality snapped back into place causing her to stumble in place as every sound and feeling crashed into her, she leaned onto the shelf in front of her. Doing everything she could not to fall to her knees and make a scene. 

Chris passed his tests, gaining praise even from the pastor for some of his feats and the way he took to his teachings. Arthur and Lucy were praised for how Chris succeeded and how they whipped him into shape, it almost made Lucy giggle she knew Chris was not going to stay this way. 

Arthur walked over to her, looking uncomfortable. She felt smug, “Yes Arthur?”

He bared his fangs for a moment, before cooling his expression. “I was told to thank you for helping me with Chris. I fear he would've failed without you.”

She looked out to the crowd, easily finding Christopher. “He wouldn't have, he was always going to succeed, they just wanted him to follow more rules.” She looked back at Arthur who watched her with a guarded gaze, “I trust you'll keep him safe? I don't want to have to come back and make good on my promises.” Her smile was full of venom.

“You're leaving? So soon?” He looked surprised

“They want me back in New York as soon as the season changes.” She crossed her arms and put on a smile when Christopher looked at her, “Don't tell him, let him enjoy his new position.”

He nodded and she made her way over to Christopher, he didn't even look at her as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders easily. It felt like that's where she was meant to stay there, it pained her that she knew she was leaving probably without warning but she couldn't bring herself to tell him and watch his disappointment. “Here she is, the reason I was able to make it this far.” He said loudly, it was all static in her ears. The smile she planted on was fake and she didn't even know if she replied to people's congratulations. She soaked in his warmth against her ice cold skin, not knowing when she would be near him again. 

He led her back to his apartment after the party welcoming the apprentices into the pyramid. He opened the door and turned on the firelight, she stared around the apartment memorizing everything that made it Chris’ place. She sat on the couch, leaning against the arm when Chris sat down as well she stretched her legs over him. He rested a hand on her knee, he was staring at her face. “You wanna tell me what's going on? Or are you going to make me guess?” 

She looked into his eyes. “What do you mean?”

He looked exhausted for a moment, his guard seemed down. “You think I wouldn't notice? You were off all night, it's like you were somewhere else. I've been around you almost every night for months now.” He ran his hand up and down her calf.

“I…” She swallowed, “I'm going back to New York, when spring comes I'll be going back.” She watched his face closely.

“That's in a week.” He stated and she nodded, “You're just going like that?” His face became rigid, “Were you going to leave without a word?”

She stopped moving, “I didn't want to…”

“You didn't want me to try and stop you? Is that it?” His hand paused and clenched and relaxed quickly, it almost hurt.

“No I didn't want to ruin the experience for you, it should be a time to celebrate. You've made it, be proud. You don't need me around, you'll do just fine.” Her words were shaky.

“Do you think I only got close to you for what you could do for me?” His voice rose in anger, “I wouldn't have stuck around you, I would've kicked you out. You think I have a problem telling people what I think?” 

“That's not what I meant, I wanted to comfort you that you don't need me.” She made a movement to touch his hand but decided against it.

“You didn't do a good job of it.” He muttered, “I just want you to decide for yourself and whether you stay here or go back to New York, I don't care. As long as the church doesn't control you.”

They didn't speak after that and as she felt weariness set into her bones, she didn't move and neither did Chris. Like both of them wanted to savor this moment, one moment she was alert and then she felt the heaviness set in and she was out.

The next moment she was awake and Chris was gone, he must raise earlier compared to other kindred. He was at his fridge with a blood pouch in his hand, he was looking at her. When he saw she was awake he brought a blood pouch to her, she thanked him and drank deeply until it was gone. It was cold and not the most pleasant but it satisfied her hunger for the moment.

The week passed with Lucy tying up loose ends in the church as well as spending time with Chris, they went out and he showed her Houston as she didn't get a chance to see it since her life was consumed by making sure Chris made it to the pyramid.

Then she was back in New York, the next few years passed in dull monotony. She kept making payments on the house in Houston, hoping one day to return. When she returned she made the request to go back to Houston, she waited for the word that she could return. She's never asked for anything and yet it took years for them to get back to her, when they did they approved her request. She put her apartment up for sale and packed her life up and went back to Texas. They made sure she worked for it, and she grinned and bore every task they threw at her. Whether it was a simple delivery or a ritual they needed done, she did it all without complaint.

“I want to return to Houston. I believe my time there will be useful. It is a smaller sect that could use a reagent around. I’ve already been there so I’d be a good fit.” Lucy stood in front of the primogen of New York. He was an older man, in his forties. His hair was just starting to grey at the temples.

“Lucy, you’ve been asking this for years now, what draws you to Houston? It’s not Camarilla ran, the Sheriff doesn’t abide by our laws.” His voice was rough as if he was a smoker before he turned.

“And yet he lets us stay there and conduct our business as long as we don’t interfere with him. I believe I can bring us closer to the Sheriff and maybe get a Camarilla foothold,” She looked around the room, “Though maybe we can make the Tremere presence stronger there before the Camarilla has a chance to take the place.”

“You think you can pave the way for us to take Houston?”

“It’s a long shot and one I don’t know if it’s possible, the Sheriff is known as the fastest shot in the west and I don’t think it’s just a euphemism.” She leaned forward on the table, her elbows resting as she looked at the primogen. “The Tremere are needed, our knowledge is invaluable even to the Sheriff.”

“Fine, you may go. With my blessing, bring Houston to us.” Lucy nodded and stood up, “Though Lucy remember to continue your own research for the good of the church. Let me know if that path will take you from Houston.”

“Of course father.” She nodded and walked out the door.

When she made it to the church in Houston, she met the pastor and let him know she was there to stay and she waited till the end of the conversation to ask where Chris was. She watched surprise flicker across the pastor's face, “He doesn't come around very often, chooses instead to be a P.I. he still pays his tithe and hasn't cut ties. He did fall into the same trap most young Tremere do and courted madness too closely for a year or so.” She wasn't surprised to hear the news that he went mad, a year was a short amount of time compared to some including herself. “Maybe you'll help him come back to the fold, I remember how close you two were.” His smile was gentle, she wasn't naive enough to believe it was a harmless blessing, he wanted her to convince him to bring his research back to the church, hating to lose such a precious resource.

“A P.I? Surprising. Thank you, I will take my leave.” She stood up, and walked out the door. Some seemed surprised to see her and some stayed out her way, probably fearing she came back for a vengeance.

She called his business, “Hello, thank you for calling, what can I do for you tonight?” A woman's voice was on the other side, for a moment worry spread through the pit of her stomach. Maybe he wouldn't be happy to see her, maybe he forgot her completely, he was young and she wouldn't be surprised. “Hello?” 

Lucy snapped back to reality, “Uh yes, I was wondering if I could speak with Mr. Sepren?”

“May I ask what it's  concerning?” The woman's voice was soothing, low and sweet.

“I wish to hire him.” She lied on the spot, not knowing what would allow her to talk to him.

The woman transferred her call, it rang a few times and she got worried he wouldn't answer, but then the line opened, “Christopher Sepren speaking, who is this?” His voice was deep, just as she remembered she could imagine him leaning back in his chair, trench coat hanging on a coat rack as he sat with a button down shirt. Her breath caught for a moment. “Hello, listen if this isn't a serious-”

“It is, it is.” She rushed out, “This may be better to speak in person, should I make an appointment?” 

“I have some time tonight in about two hours, can you make it by then?” His words flowed over her like water, it was refreshing. She was well and truly fucked.

“I can, I'll be there thank you.” 

“I didn't-” He was cut off as she hung up the phone. 

She was so nervous, she didn't know what to do with herself for two hours. She checked and double checked that she looked alright, her pencil skirt beginning to wrinkle with how much she fretted with it and she couldn't decide if it was appropriate to show cleavage. Then the time came for her to leave and she couldn't worry about it a moment longer. She drove and parked in a nearby parking garage, fixing her lipstick one last time before stepping out and heading to the building. She walked up a few flights of stairs, thankful that she couldn't get winded. 

She walked up to the door with frosted glass and opened it gently, “Hello? I um have an appointment?” She said as she stepped in, she saw a pretty blonde sitting at the receptionist desk. Her hair was curled and styled, she looked alive but it didn't help to settle her stomach that Chris had found a mortal to pass time with. It wouldn't have bothered her but it meant her chances lowered a lot.

“Hi!” The woman, her desk read Mary, was much more bubbly in person. “Yes, I was told to expect you. You can wait in Chris, I mean Mr. Sepren’s office. He should return soon.” Her smile was easy going, Lucy thought maybe she could like Mary if for the moment the beast didn't growl and wanted her to rip Mary limb from limb and drink her dry. She swallowed unintentionally and nodded walking to the office door that was pointed to. 

Lucy stepped inside and immediately recognized Chris’ cologne, she breathed deeply and looked around. His trench coat was gone and the office was minimal if a bit messy, she took a seat on one of the chairs facing the desk and straightened her skirt. Her mind raced a mile a minute, wondering what kind of reunion she could expect, if it went poorly she didn't have a back up plan. She would have to hope that he avoided the church as much as the pastor said he did. She couldn't stop herself from fidgeting with the necklace she wore, she moved it back and forth. Before she heard heavy footsteps and Mary’s bubbly voice through the door, she dropped her necklace and sat her hands in her lap hoping she didn't look as nervous as she felt. 

She heard the door open, and the rustle of leather. “I apologize for making you wait.” He said as he walked to the side of her, not yet sparing her a glance. “Some matters took-” He finally looked at her and her stomach flipped. She stared at him, of course he hadn't aged a day since she last saw him. His eyes were still bright and his skin still flushed with life, his hair was windswept and he was still handsome and gangly. “Lucy?” His voice a whisper, he stood motionless waiting for something, his eyes wide with disbelief.

It's like time stood still in a way kindred don't often experience, she wanted to keep this moment. The moment of indecision where any possibility could be reality, the moment of quiet before everything turned upside down. Their eyes never left the other, both searching for something. “I made a decision.” She whispered, not wanting to break the silence but it did. The moment was lost forever, too late for any regrets.

“Did you?” He sounded incredulous, an eyebrow raising.

“I did. I wasn't sent here, well I mean not entirely. I requested to be sent back here,” She paused, watching him “Permanently.” He angled his body slightly away from her, she took it as a bad sign, “Uh, I'm sorry for not mentioning it was me earlier. I didn't know what the reaction would be.”

“And what did you want the reaction to be?” He was guarded, taking a seat in his chair leaning forward and steepling his fingers in front of him. 

“It's already better than I expected, to be honest. I expect to be thrown out immediately.” Her eyes didn't leave his face, watching for any negative reaction.

He was silent for a few minutes, which made her mess with her skirt again before he stood up and it took him only a few steps to reach her. He leaned down to her height and she prepared for the worst, but instead she was enveloped in his arms. She didn't move for a moment before wrapping her arms tightly around his back, she felt him press his face into her neck breathing deeply. “I missed you.” He whispered, she could his lips move against her skin and if she was capable of crying this would've made her. She gripped him more tightly against, almost knocking him off balance and onto the floor.

“I missed you too, even though you're an absolute nightmare to teach.” She breathed against him, she could feel his slow heart beat against her, his pulse beneath her mouth. They stayed like that for a few minutes, time slowed for Lucy.

“You loved every moment of it.” He pulled away from her, keeping his hands on her shoulders. 

She placed a hand on top of his and squeezed gently. “I don't know if I'd say love.” Her smile betrayed her, he returned it.

Life wasn't so monotonous anymore.

---------

Meet Lucy Grey, probably not her real name, a old Tremere. She was mostly suppose to be a receptionist but as games progressed she became a real character. Maybe I'll write a bit more of her backstory someday.

Let me know if you enjoyed! This was written awhile ago so my writing wasn't as refined and I did change some Tremere lore. I liked the idea of magic making you go crazy for a time because their brain is trying to comprend the magic they use.

Next week is my favorite OC, hope you looking forward to it. Let me know if you want to see anything else. I'm very open to prompts tho I make no promises <3

@tippytappytyping @belladonna-lavender @froggyishere @ellie-anor @nikijakalope @pent-tent

[zenithangelic]

Samantha x fem!Ventrue!reader

The streets of Hollywood are buzzing as always, neon lights flickering overhead like some kind of urban starlight. It’s late—past midnight—and the air clings to y/n like the weight of the past, heavy and inescapable. She adjusts her tailored coat, the fabric sharp and precise, like armor against the world she now navigates with cold precision. Her Ventrue blood demands it, after all. But beneath the perfect facade, there's a storm of emotion she’s been trying to suppress for years. Emotions that don’t fit neatly into the life she’s been thrust into.

Tonight, though, something feels different. There’s a tension in the air, an unease crawling up her spine that she can’t quite shake. Her steps are measured, purposeful as she weaves through the crowd, just another predator among the unwitting.

And then she sees her.

Samantha.

The world stops.

y/n freezes, her heart—or the memory of it—thudding against her chest in a way that almost hurts. Samantha stands a few yards away, outside a coffee shop, bathed in the cold, artificial glow of a streetlamp. She looks just like she did the other week—still human, still warm. She’s waiting for someone, probably not expecting it to be her. But Samantha’s familiar form, the gentle curve of her face, the softness in her posture—it’s like a wound torn open again, and y/n feels something twist painfully deep inside her.

For a second, she wants to turn around, to melt back into the crowd and disappear like she never existed. After all, she’s not the same person Samantha once knew. Not even close. But before she can make her escape, Samantha’s gaze lifts, and their eyes lock.

A flash of recognition crosses Samantha’s face, her breath hitching in surprise. Her lips part in disbelief, and then—God, that smile. The one y/n thought she’d never see again.

“Is that… you?” Samantha’s voice is soft, tentative, like she’s afraid speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile reunion.

y/n forces herself to breathe, to push down the surge of longing and pain threatening to drown her. She can’t let it show. Not here. Not now.

“Samantha.” Her name feels like a knife in y/n’s throat, edged with memories too painful to dwell on. She takes a half-step forward, though every instinct tells her to stay away, to keep the distance that’s kept Samantha safe all these years.

Samantha’s face lights up with something like hope, but her confusion is obvious. She takes a step toward y/n, the warmth in her voice almost unbearable. “I—I thought I’d never see you again. Where have you been? Why did you—” Samantha hesitates, searching y/n’s face for an answer. “Why did you just leave?”

y/n’s stomach churns. It’s the question she’s dreaded, the one she knew would come if she ever saw Samantha again. The question she can’t answer—not truthfully, at least. Because I died. Because I became something you can’t understand.

But she can’t say that. Not now. Not ever.

“I had to leave,” y/n replies, her voice cold, distant. She hates herself for it, for the lie that slithers out of her mouth so easily. But it’s safer this way. “I didn’t have a choice.”

Samantha’s brows knit together, hurt flashing across her features. “No choice? You just… vanished.” Her voice wavers, like she’s holding back something deeper. “I thought you were dead. I thought—” Samantha bites her lip, a familiar gesture that tugs at y/n’s dead heart. “I thought you didn’t want me anymore.”

The implication in her words lances through y/n like a silver stake. Didn’t want her? It couldn’t have been further from the truth. If anything, leaving Samantha behind had been the hardest part of all of it. The nights they’d spent together, the quiet moments in the dark when Samantha’s head rested on her chest, when their fingers intertwined like they never wanted to let go—those memories still haunted her, more than the hunger, more than the blood.

But she couldn’t let Samantha into that world. Couldn’t drag her down into the shadows.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” y/n says, the truth slipping out before she can stop it. Her voice cracks, and she turns her gaze away, fixing it on the neon blur of Hollywood’s streets. “But I had to protect you. I couldn’t… I couldn’t stay.”

Samantha steps closer, her hand twitching at her side, like she wants to reach out but isn’t sure if she’s allowed to. “Protect me from what? From you?”

y/n stiffens. The words sting, sharper than she expected. Yes. From me. From what I’ve become.

She forces herself to meet Samantha’s gaze, the weight of the Masquerade pressing down on her like a vice. She can’t let her in. “I’m dangerous,” she whispers, the words cutting deep, but necessary. “I’m not who you remember.”

Samantha’s lips tremble, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re still you. I know you are.”

You don’t. y/n swallows hard, the ache in her chest growing unbearable. She wishes she could reach out, wishes she could let herself feel what she once felt, even for just a moment. But the price is too high. “I’m not,” she says, her voice flat, mechanical. “I’ve changed.”

Samantha takes another step forward, close enough now that y/n can feel the heat of her, the warmth that reminds her so painfully of everything she lost the night she was Embraced. “You don’t have to do this,” Samantha pleads softly, her hand reaching out now, trembling. “We could figure it out. You and me. We always did.”

y/n almost laughs at the naivety of it, the sweetness of the lie that could never be. Once, she might have believed that too. Once, she might have let herself hope. But hope is dangerous now. It’s lethal.

“I’m not the same,” y/n repeats, her voice a harsh whisper. The words feel wrong in her mouth, but she forces them out. “You have to forget about me. I’m not… I’m not who you think I am.”

Samantha’s eyes are wet now, her breath catching in her throat as she shakes her head, refusing to believe it. “But we—” She swallows, her voice breaking. “What about us? Was that just… nothing?”

That final question almost shatters y/n. Samantha’s words hang in the air between them, weighted with memories of nights spent tangled in each other’s arms, whispers of love shared in the dark, promises made that neither of them ever thought would be broken.

“No,” y/n says, her voice soft, pained. She looks away, unable to bear the sight of Samantha’s heartbreak, of her own reflection in those eyes. “It wasn’t nothing.”

Samantha reaches for her, her fingers brushing against y/n’s arm. The touch burns. y/n jerks away, the instinctive movement more brutal than she intended. Samantha flinches, her hand falling limply to her side.

“I’m sorry,” y/n whispers, her voice barely audible, the weight of her lie pressing down on her like a thousand stones. “I can’t be with you. Not anymore.”

Samantha looks like she’s about to say something, to beg y/n to stay, but no words come. The silence between them is deafening, the pain almost tangible.

Without another word, y/n turns and walks away, her steps heavy, deliberate. She can feel Samantha watching her, feel the heat of her gaze as it follows her into the shadows.

Behind her, Samantha’s voice breaks the silence one last time, trembling, full of a sadness that y/n knows she’ll carry with her for the rest of her existence.

“Please… don’t go.”

But y/n doesn’t stop. She can’t. She keeps walking, disappearing into the night, leaving the only thing that ever made her feel human behind.

♡If you liked this fic, please consider buying me a coffee! Ko-fi ♡

[popiellart]

[smuttyfang]

Nines, “You Make Me Feel Safe.”

“You make me feel safe.”

Words: 504

You and Nines sat together on a hill outside of town. The soft glow of the city lights illuminated everything around you. You looked to your left at him, his eyes looked so entrancing in this light and his skin glowed. His sharp teeth were also more apparent.

His head dropped as he let out a chuckle at you and shook his head.

“You stare at me a lot. Not sure if you think I don’t notice, but I do.” You smiled back at him. “You’re not good at being subtle.”

“I don’t care if you notice. You’re a handsome guy, can’t help myself.” It seemed to catch him off guard, as he only chuckled in response. A long silence passed before he sighed and scooted closer to you. He wrapped his muscular arm around your back and rested his hand on your thigh, rubbing his thumb over it.

“Sorry.. still not used to the whole affection thing. I never saw myself being in a relationship after turning. Never thought about it.” He scratched the back of his head awkwardly.

“I understand Nines. It’s okay.” You laid your head down on his shoulder. “I had always heard vampires weren’t able to love after they turned.”

“That’s.. not really true.” He began, “We all can. Most just choose not to. They don’t see the benefit or the point of it if it doesn’t gain them something they want. Not to mention it gives us someone that could be used against us.”

“Hmm.” You let your gaze follow the headlights of vehicles passing by below for a while. “Why are you with me?” He didn’t respond for a moment, making you worry you had offended him. You laughed it off with a joke. “Besides my delicious blood.”

“Besides that, huh?” Chuckling, he tapped his finger on your thigh while he thought. “You make me feel safe.” That threw you for a loop.

“Huh?” You looked up at him. “How do I do that? It’s not like I could defend you in a fight better than you could defend yourself. I mean I can defend myself now thanks to you teaching me. But you’re a total badass.”

“Not.. not in a physical sense.” He scratched his head once more. “You make me feel like I’ll be alright as long as you’re around.” You smiled, internally giggling at his cute yet awkward attempt at telling you his feelings.

“Oooh boy, I can’t wait to tell Jack about this. He’s gonna have a field day. He will pick on you for eternity.” Nines gripped your thigh, hard but playfully.

“Hey, you better not. You hear me?”

AO3

[sloan-baux]

Wham bang whoosh! ⚡💥✨💫

You teleport to a random world, any world, any place real or imaginary, right now just as you are when you're reading this. Where are you and what's happening?

[nightingaletrash]

me: *writing vtm fanfic* Beckett:

[chickenleafs-world]

One of my fave things with fanfic is when you combine multiple worlds in a way that oddly works with the lore.

Like, there’s no proof Lilith’s attempt to save her lover in Obey Me didn’t create the vampires from Vampire: the Masquerade. And there’s technically nothing saying that Digimon don’t exist in OM, when in their world the internet has existed for at least like 5000 years. It makes perfect sense for Yuu from Twisted Wonderland to be from the Pokemon world, they don’t know about Disney and they’re pointed out for her ability to deal with Grimm. Technically, Honkai Star Rail and Steven Universe could be in the same universe, considering how big space is.

I just like my silly little crossovers that have a frustrating amount of feasibility. Crack fics are the love of my life, but my fave crack fics are the ones that I can pretend are canon because no one can stop me.

[inquisitor-of-hearts]

Escalate (7)

After some consideration Galeb decides to not follow the Beckoning. Hazel is quick to act and entrusts him with a new task for the Camarilla.

Spoilers for all of Vampire the Masquerade: Swansong.

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 1,747

Link to Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6

on Ao3

Heavy is the head that wears the crown Handed on a plate but I love the chase

You don’t wanna dare bite the hand that feeds ya

Galeb scoffed as he recognized the woman, his feral instincts calming.

“You’re not so delirious that your senses aren’t working anymore, good.” Emem mocked, the hint of a grin on her lips.

“What are you doing here? Who sent you?” His tone was professional, although with a sense of hostility in it.

“Sent me?” She tilted her head at him. “I am a lover of the fine arts as you know. And tea ceremony is one among them. I did not take you for a connoisseur though.”

“Why hide then if you’re not here on business?”

“Is it just me or are you more tense than usual tonight?” she questioned in a teasing manner, her voice a pitch higher. “Fine, so followed you. Got curious about your retainer, but didn’t want to make it too obvious. ”

“She is not my retainer.”

“Oh. Good to know.” Emem spoke softly.

He sighed, looking away. He should have known.

“Get out of my sight, Diva.” he commanded.

“Don’t worry, I’m gone already.” she yielded, nothing but thin smoke remaining in her wake.

Galeb pushed the elevator button and waited. Internally he cursed himself. She had not been here by chance, that much was obvious. He knew the Herald, just as well as he knew the Prince. It was nothing but praise and sweet reassurance that he could take as much time as needed, but in reality they had started to doubt him, they had become impatient; so impatient they had sent someone after him to watch his every move. Trust was indeed hard to come by. He could hardly believe that the Prince had started to question his moves. But to send Emem Louis? Stepping inside the cabin, he thought about her words, how she had seen him with his guard down. He snarled in disgust while the elevator descended. She must have been in the same room with them, he realized.

At his arrival in the lobby he walked towards Cyrene who got up from her seat at once. Together with his ghoul they walked to his car. After they had dropped her off, Galeb felt weakened. Once again he felt the hunger pangs, just like after every night he spent with her.

In the wake of their farewell he arrived at a luxurious hotel downtown. He had promised the Prince to drop by at an event that was held as a second attempt of the reunification party, although on a much smaller scale. Iversen had after all secured the blood trade with the Hartford Chantry, although the trust once given had eroded and some ties had been severed. As he knew her, these days she wanted to be rather safe than sorry.

“Looks like Siaka hasn’t come.” Emem casually remarked towards Hazel as they stood at a cocktail table. Her black suit presented a sharp contrast against her fair complexion. It gave the Prince an aura of dominance and fearlessness, especially given the fact that the other women around her were clad in more vibrant colours.

“Yes, he has-- … Galeb” Hazel’s gaze was drawn to the man who had casually approached them, her tone friendly and upbeat suddenly. “I’m very glad you could make it. I was almost worried.”

“As promised, my Prince.”

“I know you would never neglect your duties.” the Prince remarked, then stretched her hand out, pointing around the place in an inviting fashion. “Please, grab a drink. Enjoy yourself.”

“I come just to oversee things, as discussed. There’s no need to accommodate me.” he reassured.

“Oh come on now” Emem, still standing next to the Prince on the other side, rolled her eyes. But she spoke no further word as Hazel’s gaze met hers for a moment. It had the power to silence, after all. The Prince turned towards Galeb again.

“I’ve already given my speech. So far everything is under control. Not all of the members of the Chantry are here.”

“Precautions I would guess.”

“I would guess so too.” Hazel spoke with a certain disappointment in her voice, just short of a sigh. “In any case, enjoy yourself.”

“Thank you, my Prince.” Galeb knew it was no opportunity to talk business, at least not about his. These parties were for show. Influence, power, connections. Sometimes gossip. Who was he trying to convince -- it always involved gossip. Exchanging secrets that later could be used for some political agenda or another. It was not his game. Not tonight at least.

“Bazory. Glad you could make it.” April spoke as she approached the three, her face not showing any hints of a smile despite her almost affectionate tone. She leaned over towards the Prince, whispering something. Hazel nodded, setting her glass down on the tall table.

“I have something to attend to, but I will surely see you around later.” she announced and walked ahead. Both pairs of heels clicked against the glazed white floor that showed faint reflections of the two women walking off, leaving Galeb and Emem behind. He shot her a glance. The corners of her mouth creased slightly, her eyebrows raised expectantly. It was the kind of gaze that told him she was ready to hear him out but would not start a conversation. The man walked off wordlessly. There was no point after all.

He detested these parties. It was always the most decadent of the most decadent, and if not on open display like the vessel that was just close to being sucked dry on a nearby couch in the corner, then it was something even worse behind closed doors. Doors he did not want to open, not even peek into. But there had often been cases when it had been his duty. Out of politeness he had taken a glass when next to the prince, but he could not stand the concoction. On top of that, the decadent display of seemingly endless blood supply. At the next table that he passed, he put the glass down again, deciding to watch the room from a darker and more quiet corner. He was hungry of course. But the display of all the excess, the vessels infused with various drugs, no doubt prepared by Richard Dunham with deliberate precision, made his stomach churn. He was a really picky eater anyway, but had he not been, it would have still sickened him. At this kind of buffet the mere presence of the guests and their taste made him lose appetite.

He should have become used to it long ago. He was used to it. Something had changed. It made him thoughtful. He had tasted innocence, a sense of hope and purity for too long. It had tainted him in a twisted way, a way that could not stand the sight of these carefully prepared vessels anymore.

“Ah, Galeb. We were just talking about you.”

Speak of the devil. Richard Dunham caught him just when he was passing through the room.

“We?”

“Yes, the Prince and I. That reminds me, did you enjoy the vessel I prepared for you?”

Galeb was taken aback momentarily, remembering the night.

“But of course.” he answered automatically. Richard must have known he could not answer in any other way, given that it was a gift by the Prince. He also most have known that he could have not possibly refused. What he could not know and could merely suspect was that Galeb hated this unnatural charade. He preferred a clean hunt, albeit the time he took watching his prey was unusually long and strangely intimate at times.

Richard’s face remained unmoved and Galeb ran a hand through his hair in an impatient manner, unusual for him.

“I enjoyed the subtle traces of caffeine. Not too strong, just barely a kick.”

“Ahh, I knew you would.” Richard spoke triumphantly. “I was thinking if you ever come by the Red Salon, we could look for something more refined for you.”

“Thank you, Richard, that is very kind. But I’m quite busy at the moment.” he declined politely. Of course this was all politics. Richard tried to make himself useful, the new Red Salon had been decided to be a much smaller space. Funds were directed elsewhere after what had happened at the old location. Galeb knew all too well that if Richard found a way for him to approve of the Salon, he could convince the Prince of further funding of his research, which must have been proven increasingly difficult after the loss of Leysha. He could not blame Richard. The man just tried to get by doing what he deemed needed to be done.

“I understand. But all the more, I could offer something that is more refreshing during these trying times. When I heard about Xu Feng-- That must have been a difficult situation.”

Galeb’s features turned sour. He had hoped the topic would not be brought up anymore but it seemed the Doctor had different plans in mind; possibly even to rile him up on purpose.

“And I’m very sorry about Leysha. It must have been painful to lose her.”

“Oh well” Richard sighed now, “It might be for the better in some ways.”

Galeb remained unfazed but the Doctor’s tone carried some empathy, causing him to think that maybe he had misjudged him for a moment.

“Either way, I would be happy to see you at the new location when you can find the time.”

“I really do not think I will be able to make it.” Galeb declined politely. He had enough and decided to cut it short at last. “Regardless, thank you for the invitation and I wish you a pleasant evening.”

“Likewise.” Richard responded. “But Galeb, just one more thing -- if you ever need my help, or anything really, please. Do not ever hesitate to reach out.”

There was a softness around him, almost that of a whelp, that he was not used to seeing. It was becoming clear that he had lost influence in the Court.

“Of course, Richard.”

As he looked up, he saw Prince Iversen leave a secluded room, nodding towards Delsin who was guarding the doors. Discreetly she wiped the corner of her mouth, her lipstick remained slightly smudged. She shot Galeb a glance, a subtle grin on her lips before she disappeared behind a different door.

[kaluawoo]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: World of Darkness (Games), Vampire: The Masquerade, Werewolf: The Apocalypse Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Major Character Death Relationships: Original Vampire Character(s)/Original Garou Character(s), Original Vampire Character(s) & Original Garou Character(s), Lucie Restout (OC)/Elysée Restout (OC), Lucie Restout & Elysée Restout & Flieur Restout & Lèane Restout (OCs) Characters: Lucie Restout (OC), Elysée Restout (OC), Flieur Restout (OC), Lèane Restout (OC), Lucie's Vampire Sire (OC), Original Gangrel Character(s) (Vampire: The Masquerade), Original Garou Character(s) (Werewolf: The Apocalypse), Original Kinfolk Character(s) (Werewolf: the Apocalypse), Original Vampire Character(s) (Vampire: The Masquerade), Original Fianna Character(s) (Werewolf: The Apocalypse) Additional Tags: Original Character(s), Vampire Turning, Fights Series: Part 1 of VtM Bouteaux Campaign Summary:

It was supposed to be a quiet night for Lucie, kin to the Fianna; her children asleep, her husband with the sept. Unfortunately, a thing with sharp fangs and a cold heart wanted to use the opportunity to rid himself of possible future threats.