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[vivid-but-vague]

Messmer Fic Masterlist

Here are the links to each chapter :)

Ch 1

Ch 2

Ch 3

Ch 4

Ch 5

Ch 6

Ch 7

Ch 8

Ch 9

Ch 10

Ch 11

Ch 12

Ch 13

Ch 14

Ch 15

Ch 16

Ch 17

Ch 18

Ch 19

Ch 20

Ch 21

Ao3 Link

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Swallow Up Your Flames With Mine (Part 3)

By the time she returned, the demigod had nearly forgotten having thrust his spear through the floor before his throne. Whilst its return to his hand was effortless, the delay, however minute, brought a sneer to his pointed features.

Clouded by his annoyance, he didn't notice the Tarnished's lack of weapon until he was well into the air, flames encompassing his figure until his silhouette was barely discernible.

Not that it would have spared her, but the Tarnished huffed at his lack of awareness regardless as she unsheathed her blade, shoulder and side having since healed from her encounter with the golden hippopotamus in the chamber prior.

With her resources and feeling in her extremities returned, she felt a small surge of confidence as she rolled away from the ball of flame that was her demigod opponent.

"Do none of you consider productive conversation or did mommy never teach you manners?" she spat, narrowly rolling under the flurry of spears that served as her only response.

"Guess not."

"Ingrate," he spat, eye blazing as the temperature of the room increased tenfold.

"You know," she started, pausing mid-breath to leap backwards away from his wretched spears sprouting from the ground like deadly flowers.

She never got to finish the thought, finding herself at the receiving end of a burst of flaming swings that were faster than they had any right to be. With the slow speed at which the demigod had initially poised his spear she had dodged only a half second too early.

"Ah, damn," she muttered, unable to pull her flask of crimson tears from its place at her side before collapsing to her knees.

"Those stripped of the grace of gold shall all meet death," he drawled, "in the embrace of Messmer's flame."

If not for the screaming of her abdomen Arlyn may have thought deeper about the demigod's intonation, his boredom as palpable as his disdain. The glowing rune of his eye did little to combat the pain this time, but she found herself mesmerized to the point of a quiet oblivion nonetheless.

"Thou art a thorn in mine side, Tarnished."

Messmer's last words were met with a slight upturn of her lips as she disintegrated into ash yet again. He found himself staring a moment too long at the empty space she had once occupied before settling back onto his throne.

It had been all of three seconds before the indignant Tarnished came charging back through the doors to his hall, eye twitching and weapon already imbued with frost.

"It's quite rude to interrupt-"

She paused to duck under his darting spear before following up with a slow, yet effective sweep of her own blade that staggered the wily demigod. Messmer couldn't help but feel a slight bit impressed as he fell to one knee, but found himself surprised when he watched her wipe the sweat from her brow rather than following up her initial swing with a much more dangerous riposte.

"If you could think rather than charge at me for just one second-" she gasped, feeling lightheaded despite her opponent being the one on the floor.

"Or is that pretty head of yours just for decoration?"

There she goes again, using that word, this time undeniably in reference to him and not in the throes of her own death.

His mouth became noticeably dry and he took a moment longer than he should have to return to his feet and begin yet another assault.

"My purpose standeth unchanged-"

"I got that, do you even know what Marika has done? What she's put me through? You think I wanted this?"

The questions left her lips without thought and she cursed her tactless tongue as Messmer's fire burned hotter in reply. She narrowly avoided having her head cleaved clean off her body with in what would have been a pathetic, but arguably deserved form of recompense for her latest comments.

"What I mean is-"

Dodge

"We are much the same, you and I"

Slash

"We could strike an accord."

Parry

"You let Miquella through, or was he just more akin to your tastes?"

She failed to dodge the initial blow of his reply.

"What, am I not your type?"

Was she, pouting?

"Ridiculous creature," he couldn't help but sneer, yet it was obvious he had been caught off guard all the same, if only slightly.

Arlyn would have to be a fool to not take at least slight advantage of the way the tip of his spear lowered, and found herself using the second of reprieve to close the gap between them so that his chest was nearly flush with her own- making herself finally out of reach of his spear, but not his flames.

The fire lapped at her, singing the ends of her hair yet she did not recoil, nor did she take advantage of her opening to land a blow of her own. Instead, she took the moment to carefully outstretch an empty hand towards the demigod.

"You allow me through, and I will do all in my power to relieve you of your post, of your curse, of all of it. You must be tired."

He could have sworn the woman held some form of hypnotic magic in her eyes, for how many times he had burned her to ash she remained seemingly unfazed, more offended by his courtesy- or lack thereof- than his treatment of her. It wasn't personal, after all, just duty. Although, considering this Tarnished was seemingly chosen by Marika herself, perhaps it was more personal than he had initially realized.

He tore himself back into reality fell back a mere step, now wondering if her intoxicating closeness was the result of St. Trina as he glared at her outstretched hand, seeming to ponder it for a moment.

The tenseness of Arlyn's shoulders gave way briefly, only to be replaced by a shudder as Messmer's spear pierced through her once again. She let a gurgling sigh through her lips before allowing her head to fall forward against his breastplate.

He could still feel its weight along with a sense of all-consuming hollow as she faded into oblivion, leaving him to sway uncomfortably in the wake of her words.

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Swallow Up Your Flames With Mine (Part 2)

Messmer remained frozen in place even after the Tarnished's form had disintegrated into ash, his throat dry, with bile or discomfort he couldn't be sure. He half expected her to come bursting through the doors to his hall immediately, eager to reclaim the runes that had slipped from her grasp upon her death. That is what the other Tarnished had done at least, rushed in with reckless abandon only to be met with the end of his spear until they inevitably disappeared, having given up on besting him in battle. The remainder of those unlucky enough to be on the receiving end of his were primarily the Hornsent and other dwellers of the Land of Shadow, all sentenced to death in the name of his beloved mother, Queen Marika. Wretched a woman as she was, his eye flickered towards the statue behind his throne, finally free from the trance induced by the Tarnished's unexpected compliment.

How long had it been since a living soul had said such a thing in his presence, let alone directed at his twisted self? The lord of flame pondered as he quietly took in the statue of the last time such warmth had been shared with him; although, considering his mother's actions, he was not deluded enough to misinterpret her affections as pure, nor her love as genuine. He was accursed, as were the rest of her offspring. But, he was the first, and the serpent ever-writhing within his chest had frightened her, threatened her Golden Order to such an extent that she banished him to this place under the guise of a crusade in her name.

"O' Mother," he regarded the statue solemnly, trance broken with the realization that it held the answer to his question. The statue depicting his mother coddling him as an infant served as a stark reminder of the most recent time he was spared any kindness, as short lived as it was. Marika had quickly become distant at the discovery of his cursed nature.

The blood he spilled would never be enough to earn a place at his mother's side. He'd come to that conclusion long before this most recent Tarnished's arrival, yet his flames and their tyranny persisted across the Land of Shadow all the same.

Shaking his head to rid himself of the image of his most recent victim, Messmer settled back upon his throne, hand coming up to soothe the aching beneath his temple.

What was it the Tarnished had called him? Pretty.

That was not a word he was accustomed to hearing. Traitor, accursed, fiend, sure. He was, after all, a tool of his mother's genocide against the Hornsent.

The demigod abruptly slammed his spear through the stone floor, causing the serpents entrenched within his form to hiss their displeasure at the resulting echo emanating through the great hall.

He had half a mind to chase the Tarnished down himself, but he knew they would return soon enough. Any moment they could come barging through those heavy stone doors. While content in his knowledge of their inevitable return, Messmer found himself disconcertingly concerned with when they would make their reappearance.

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Swallow Up Your Flames With Mine - Messmer

There’s not nearly enough Messmer fics out in the world, so here is my humble contribution.

Prologue

She had stumbled in unprepared. While she knew of Messmer based on the red-clad knights stationed around the castle, the Tarnished hadn't expected to happen across Messmer's throne so soon after relieving the accursed hippopotamus of his post. By the time she breached the throne room doors she was down to her final flask, still covered in the blood of the soldiers of the demigod sat before her, his lanky form sprawled across his throne while twisting serpents writhed behind him- from within it would seem.

No matter, she had come across much more greatly malformed demigods than he. Although one of his eyes remained closed, whether willfully or by the course of some affliction remained to be seen, she was certain she would not survive long enough to find out, his visible eye shone bright with the golden rune of Marika.

The red haired man, surrounded by tendrils of snakes and flames, was similar to the rest of the demigods in his immediate need to speak. She never had gotten a word out with the others, although, she found herself taking him Messmers form as though in some form of trance. She briefly wondered if St. Trina's magic was at play as the demigod's voice cut through the air over his crackling flames.

"Mother," he started, one visible eye sweeping over the Tarnished's form and lips curling in unveiled disgust.

"Would thou truly lordship sanction," his hand carefully wrapped around his spear as he pushed himself to his feet almost lazily, yet still with the grace one would expect of a child of a goddess, "in one so bereft of light?"

Arlyn barely had the time to contemplate drinking her final flask in an effort to quell the throbbing of her shoulder, let alone pull her sword from its sheath at her side, as Messmer shot into the air. She found herself willfully captivated as he conjured a sphere of wild flames around himself, and was neigh able to shake herself back to her senses as he came plummeting towards her.

She dodged his initial blow, but the flames still singed the ends of her hair as she stumbled backwards, hip and shoulder screaming in protest from having earlier narrowly avoided being eaten alive by the hippo. The Tarnished contemplated drinking her final flask as black dots danced across her vision in time with Messmer's flames, but the pain in her body and within her head made it far more tempting to acquiesce.

First attempts were all about learning patterns, but with her head spinning the Tarnished struggled to memorize much of anything, body sluggish and instinctively rolling away from initial blows only to be caught up in the remaining flames anyways.

She barely saw him charge forward, hand outstretched in a flurry of flame. The weapon dropped from her numbing hand as Messmer's fist encompassed her throat. Barely able to breathe through the smoke-laden air, her vision dimmed significantly as he hoisted her upon his flaming spear. The pain she would have expected to feel from the spear piercing her abdomen paled in comparison to the experience of staring closely into his singular open eye, glowing with the rune of Marika- the mother that betrayed and condemned him to such a place.

She faintly heard his words as he chastised her slowly fading body, but was too caught up in his eye to discern them. As she felt herself finally drifting away, the Tarnished reached a hand towards his angular cheek and mumbled one word with her final breath:

"Pretty."

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No number of times killing Cazador will ever be enough

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“Daddy Halsin isn’t real he can’t hurt you”

Daddy Halsin:

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I hugged Astarion and now I need therapy

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More Astarion gifs from Panel from Hell for all my fellow simps out there

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Please god let me hug this man

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Entertain Me

https://twitter.com/0rgan1z3d_Cha0s/status/1635159306357329921?t=KCvxiZO3jFxo5pA_N4gnpA&s=19

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Oh art dump!

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Swallow Up My Flames With Yours | Guts & Griffith

Maybe if they had been more careful, if they had noticed their silent, seething observer, things could have been different.

Although normally so composed, Anya had finally cracked. She only wished Griffith had not been there to witness it. She cared for him and Guts both, but had treaded lightly in their time together, keeping each at arms length. It's not that she did not want them, she just knew both would be destined for more. More than an exiled princess whose right to the throne had been declared forfeit.

It was Guts who found her after she changed Griffith's bandages. The latter could still feel the warmth of her hand on his unscarred cheek. She had carefully removed the helmet that hid his shame, and instead of cringing at his marred skin and disfigured appearance, she had rested a hand on his cheek. All the while she kept her eyes fixed on his, searching for discomfort but finding none. Instead he was rather content, almost relieved that she had not reacted to his disfigured face the same way the others had. For a moment Anya thought she saw a spark of life in his eyes, but it was gone before she could confirm it.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here, that I took so long. But I'm here now."

She shuffled to sit behind him and shifted his head so that it rested in her lap, careful not to brush against his wounds while also searching his eyes for any discomfort. Blue eyes searched her slouched frame questioningly as she gently threaded her fingers through his hair the way she remembered him enjoying. It was short now, yet another thing the torturer took along with his tongue.

Rage began to flare within her, but she was sure he couldn't see it. She made sure that it was contained on the inside, not wanting the fallen commander to know of her pain when he held so much of his own.

All the while he pondered her return. Why had she come, why now? Why did she not recoil from his frail body and mutilated soul?

She had sat there with him for what felt like hours before the swelling in her chest was ready to overflow. He watched as she carefully replaced the crude helmet on his head, and he could not shake the sudden cold he felt as she left. Despite the cloak she had laid over him, her scent still tangible on the fabric, what was left of him shriveled as he watched her get further and further away.

"Sleep now, I will be here when you awake."

Those were the last words she spoke to him over her shoulder, but they were not the last he heard. He had watched from the wagon nearly an hour later as she stumbled into the wall of a man that was Guts. His friend, his commander, his former possession. Griffith could only watch as she collapsed into his arms, and unfortunately he caught every word.

"I don't know what to feel"

Guts said nothing, but wrapped his arms around her to envelop her in a warm embrace. She sighed in relief as she felt the warmth of his touch somehow quell the rage in her soul, and it only encouraged her to speak more freely.

"I was gone for a day. A day was all it took for him to bed another woman. I loved him, I still do. I hate him, as we hated him in the beginning but at the same time I can't-" she choked, tears trailing down her cheeks even as the brunette man attempted to wipe them away.

"I don't want to feel anything anymore. Please, Guts."

Although not the most experienced man, he knew what it was she was asking for. If he had been a better man, perhaps he would have denied her. But the two of them stood intertwined, the fires of their rage coming together as their lips met.

It was a miracle he could still feel after a year such as the one he had experienced. He shouldn't have felt such rage and jealousy as he watched his two former subordinates shift out of view, off to find a more private location to dispel their emotions, to distract each other from their shared pain.

Griffith could not hold back the torturous laugh that ripped its way from his lips, sounding more like a wheeze as it passed through the empty air where his tongue should have been. Of course, he would be here. Trapped in a useless shell of a body, resigned only to watch as they got further and further out of his reach.

If only they had been more careful.

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Paradox | V & Vergil

“You bring out the best in him, and the worst in me.”

His voice was heavy with the acknowledgement that had been so long delayed, and his chest rose and fell more prominently than she had ever seen it before. She looked on, frozen as he struggled to catch his breath for the very first time. 

Rather than ponder the grisly spectacle of the crumpled and broken bodies around her, Aria reminisced on her initial meeting with the demon Urizen, recalling his hesitation to kill her friends before her eyes. Instead, he had thrown Dante aside and wrapped his snakey tendrils around Trish and Lady carefully before setting the struggling brunette down before his bloody throne. For the first time, the demon had hesitated, and it would be his undoing. She would be his undoing. Rather than crush his brother and her female companions in front of her, he took deliberate actions to lessen her suffering. For whatever reason, he felt the need to appease her in some small way, without straying from his goal. 

It would seem that his miniscule capacity for amiability was not shared, as the young girl picked up her scimitars and hacked away at the tendrils that hung her companions far above her head. This feat was to no avail, it would seem, as another wrapped itself around her just as Nero pushed his way into through the wall behind. Despite the boy’s protest, Aria was tossed, albeit more gently than Dante, over the wall Nero had emerged from to land directly before the dark poet as he arrived.

“Are you alright?”

“V,” she sighed, pushing herself onto her elbows to begin the agonizing ascent to her feet.

“Yes?”

“What does it look like?” 

The man pulled her to her feet but Aria immediately made her way towards the entrance of the throne room, leaving him to follow at her heels. The two burst through the entranceway and took in the new situation. Nero had collapsed and Dante was in Devil Trigger holding back the demon king’s power.

“This was a bad move, take him and go,” the son of Sparda ordered, much to the dissatisfaction of his still conscious companions.

The two argued fervently, Aria preparing to charge Urizen as V held the youngest member of their team in place. The throned beast glanced down at her, concentration wavering for just a moment so that Dante could push his power back further. Before she could charge, the woman’s choice was made for her as Urizen’s vines shoved them away in their flailing and a boulder came crashing down to seal the entrance.

Aria’s fingers went numb around the hilts of her blades, allowing them to slip lower through her hands as the two men beside her argued over their departure. Although she had wanted nothing more than to help Dante, she could not shake the unease she felt at the nature of the new demon king and felt relief in being spared his presence, if only for a while. 

The bickering between Nero and V would continue to vex the young woman as they made their way back to the Devil May Cry van. It was only when they approached the not so subtly parked vehicle that Aria held her arm out to stop the poet and gestured for Nero to continue. Although confused, the dark haired man stayed in place and turned to her with curiosity creeping through his features. Once the youngest of the group was out of hearing range, she confronted him.

“Why did you put us on this job? What was that and why didn’t it turn me into a human crayon when it had the chance? What are you going to do if your job got Dante killed?”

Her tone drifted from threatening to desperation and, in an uncharacteristically show of courtesy, the summoner rested a hand on her shoulder with a reassuring gaze. The two held eye contact, hers fierce and demanding, and his soothing and impassive. 

“You will know everything when you need to.”

“Dante could be dead,” she choked out, “How is this not a good time for me to know what the hell is going on?”

In the present, Aria’s mind then turned to when she learned the true name of the new demon king. Not by means of being told, but by watching the poet she had grown so fond of driving his cane through Urizen to regain his true form: Vergil. 

As the facade around them shattered, she trembled violently in the presence of the man she thought long dead.

“Why did you keep this from me, V?”

Her whisper did not go unheard and Vergil’s cold gaze softened if only a little as it fell upon her, only to harden once it met with Dante’s as the red cloaked brother pulled her into a tight embrace. Tears flowed from the blonde’s eyes as she drove her fists into Dante’s chest repeatedly in rebuttal.

“How could you not tell me, you fucking asshole.”

The demonic twin had no response, instead choosing to pull her in closer until she regained her composure and shoved him away to turn her manic gaze back towards the newly rejuvenated twin. Before she could utter another word, the two were at each others’ throats. Aria could only chuckle hoarsely at the familiarity of the sight before her: the brothers sparring as they always had. 

The biggest difference this time however, was Dante’s exhaustion would not allow him to land a single blow on his brother, and Vergil parried his every move with the sheath of Yamato alone. The two talked as they fought but the words fell on deaf ears when it came to the frozen woman. Finally, Vergil flung his brother against the furthest wall and picked up V’s book of poetry.

Aria’s breath caught in her throat as she remembered the nights she and the poet had spent entangled on the couch in Nico’s van, him reciting the poems aloud as she rested her head on his shoulder. All while Griffin groaned, not-so-subtly expressing his annoyance in the corner. 

Vergil seemed lost in his own contemplation for a moment before gently tossing the book at her and cutting through the air in front of him. He spoke but his words failed to register in her pounding head; however, Aria was able to understand enough to mindlessly charge Vergil and grab his arm to be pulled through his temporary portal behind him.

The world around her spun, which she believed to be an effect of the portal before realizing she had been flung through the air by a somewhat surprised half demon. He let out a gentle sigh and lifted her to her feet before turning his back and building himself a throne with a wave of his hand. 

“Was that, V, really you Vergil?” 

The man didn’t even bother to spare her a glance as he only grunted in response.

“If nothing else I deserve an answer before you and your brother kill each other.”

“Yes, the human half of me. Come now,” he drawled, “I never knew you to ask stupid questions Aria.”

“Why would you toy with me again Vergil I thought you had your fill of power from my affections a long time ago”

“It would seem my affections were remembered by both halves of me, and V was able to,” he paused, considering the right choice of words, “connect with you in a way I never could.”

“If you still held affection for me then why all this?”

“You chose him.”

“Dante? Vergil I’ll always choose you, but I cannot stand by and let you destroy the world in your ridiculous grabs for power. Nothing is enough for you, what makes you believe killing Dante will make you any more fulfilled than I did, than being the demon king did?”

“Let me,” he mocked, his mocking smile cutting through her very being as her hope that she could connect with V fizzled.

The silence between them only served to add to Aria’s growing sense of despair, and her heart sunk as she reached for her blades. Her hands lost their grip on the hilts at his next words.

“You know I will try again,” he stated, finally turning his head to glance at her from his throne, “I suggest you do not refuse. Will you join me, or will you choose him?”

Aria’s brows furrowed as for a moment,  in his hypnotizing eyes she saw remnants of V as well as the young Vergil she once knew. Rather than answer, she strode up to stand beside him and forced her gaze upon the terror he had brought to the city of Red Grave.

“You know this will not fulfill you,” she said coolly, gesturing at the decimated city.

The man only hummed in response, eyes still glued to her and awaiting her answer.

“You two will kill each other, and I will be left to pick up whatever’s left. Do either of you ever think of anyone but yourselves? Look what you’ve done Vergil, every time you fight each other you stray further away and cause increasingly horrific damage and casualties. Do you remember how many times I have patched the two of you up after your brawls? When does it end? When one or both of you die what then? Where does that leave me? To pick up whatever mess you have made and mourn one or both of you. I can’t let either of you die.”

“It ends when I kill him.”

And in that moment, the ounce of his former self that had sparked hope in Aria disappeared from Vergil’s eyes.

Her hand dropped from her weapon and she backed away as Dante reemerged atop the platform. Finally, Vergil was inclined to leave his seat and confront his brother. Before either could draw first blood, the blue cloaked demon turned to face her, finality in his tone.

“Join me.”

As much as her heart screamed out to rush to him, the sense of deja vu was far too strong. She had seen where the choice would lead her, and knew he would never be content. She shook her head, leaving his side to join Dante. 

“Please, be careful. Where’s Nero?”

The brothers glanced between each other knowingly, and Aria’s heart only sunk further when she realized and turned to Vergil.

“He’s yours isn’t he?”

Vergil lowered his gaze, conflicted, and opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Dante’s sword was headed straight for his head. Aria shook her head disapprovingly as the two brawled, but could not help to admire both Dante’s aggressive style as well as the concentration and certainty Vergil displayed. Although deadly, the two Sparda brothers clashing swords was a mesmerizing sight to behold. She only wished she had not been a spectator to it so frequently. 

Old memories continued to arise with every separate blow, the most tangible being the two sparring as teens, both glancing at Aria for approval after executing particularly complex moves. 

Her mind was forced back to the present as the twins barrelled past her in a flurry of red and blue light, both having entered their sin demonic forms while nearly throwing her from atop the tree.

It was only when Vergil stood over his brother that Aria was able to break her paralysis and unthinkingly throw herself between the still-demonic Vergil and his collapsed twin. Again, the trio paused as a wave of nostalgia hit, reminding them of the many occurrences of Aria breaking up their fights as children and teenagers by throwing herself over whoever had fallen first. This time however, she was unsure if she had just signed away her life as the demon snarled in disdain and panted, obviously near exhaustion. Aria was not any better off, ribs still screaming from the earlier altercation with Urizen. Although the demon king had not been intentionally aggressive towards her, she had taken her fair share of blows from the bloody twisted vines in their flailing. 

“I won’t let you,” she said, drawing her blades and pressing her arm against Vergil’s chest, forcing him back a step as he loomed over her.

As he went to raise a clawed hand, despair crept over her, but both were brought pause by an unexpected yell.

“Don’t touch her!”

In their hesitation, another blue flurry barreled into Vergil and knocked him away. Nero. The sudden disruption gave Aria time to kneel down and sling Dante’s arm over her shoulder. She used the distraction to move him further from the new brawl between father and son.

Aria crumpled to rest against Dante’s collapsed form, unwilling to watch the ensuing family catastrophe and instead focusing on keeping the devil awake.

“You look terrible.”

Said devil popped one eye open and stuck a tongue out at her playfully before groaning and resting his head against his bicep.

They watched on as father and son traded blows, Aria cringing whenever one would land. Yet again, she was resigned as a spectator to a duel between those she cared for. Only, this time she wasn’t sure she would have the strength to prevent it from becoming lethal.

Just when Aria moved to rise to her feet, Vergil was beside her on his knees, having been sent sliding backwards by his son. Her heart pounded in her ears, and she distantly heard a quip from Dante as she watched the dark portal below stretch and groan.

“Boys-”

The Qliphoth trembled, aftershocks from the portal shaking its dastardly roots. Aria continued to shake long after the tree had stilled, her chest was tight and her lungs refused to expand. The Sparda family continued to bicker, but they were far away it seemed. Had the pain in her chest gotten worse? She had been too concerned with Dante to notice. She wasn’t sure when her ears had started ringing, but the intensity of the sound felt worse than any blow she had received thus far. Her friends were too busy arguing to notice her struggling for air, and she let out a huff of pained laughter at the familiarity before collapsing to her knees.

They noticed then. Vergil was the first to reach her, but she felt him be shoved aside as her eyes fluttered shut, rendering her unconscious.

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Sanguine | Astarion (Chapter 2)

Chapter 1

The morning the party stumbled across the gur hunter, Ana was already exhausted, weakened by blood loss and ever so dizzy. While she wished for nothing more than to return to camp near immediately, her ears perked up as the hunter announced his target. Of course, it would be none other than the vampire stood beside her.

Astarion shifted uncomfortably, distrusting eyes flitting towards his elven companion. Ana was briefly offended at his mistrust, but quickly realized that after being enslaved for so many years, the vampire would cling to his freedom for as long as possible. In turn, with his own self-serving behavior it would be easy to guess what he would do if the roles were reversed. He would not risk himself for another, and would likely turn over a companion without a second thought- for the right price. It was understandable then, that he was worried his leader would do the same.

Fortunately, he was in luck. Ana had no intentions of selling him out to his old master, or whoever had sent the Gur hunter. She was not as ruthless as he was, or at least, not as selfish.

"I would not suggest making deals with a hag, they rarely end the way you expect," she warned, hand slowly making its way towards her weapon as she gave Astarion as gentle of a look as she could muster.

"How kind of you to worry, stranger. But I will find a way to afford her blood price and flush out the spawn."

"And what will you do when you find him, kill him?"

"Not this time. My orders are to capture him and bring him to Baldur's Gate. My people wait for me there."

Ana watched quietly as Astarion tensed, hand ready to reach for his own weapon while he played the part of a quippy noble quite convincingly, until his face dropped at the mention of his master. Rather than left him finish the hunter's rather theatrical warning about the dangers of vampire spawn, she turned to her own.

"Astarion, what do you think?"

A smirk graced his lips, and before the hunter could draw his weapon Ana's scimitar had relieved him of his head.

"Quite poetic don't you think? Vampire hunter decapitated?" she grinned, the ferocity of her gaze seeming to give even the brutal vampire pause.

"Well, I don't know," he started, "I would have preferred him to die a bit slower myself but, whatever our knowledgeable leader suggests."

While she had planned to reach the hag that day and give her the same treatment the hunter had received, Ana could not help but notice the aura of unease radiating from her vampire companion. While he had played it off with his usual playful, almost flirtatious banter, she could tell he needed time to think. Unfortunately, a fight with a hag would be just about the worst time for one of them to be distracted.

"Let's set camp, on the edge of the swamp preferably."

Gale raised his eyebrows in quiet confusion, and Lae'zel looked as though she was going to object in her characteristic rude manner but thought better of it. Ana let out a small sigh of relief as the party begrudgingly agreed to set camp, and was quick to pull Astarion aside as the sun began to sink below the horizon.

"Something you need, or did you just miss me?" he smirked, but his expression seemed vacant, more hollow than usual.

"Hungry?" she offered weakly.

"For you darling, always."

His normally strong gaze felt weak, and he stopped short of reaching her.

"But not tonight."

Ana would never admit it, but she was happy he had not taken her up on her offer, and looked up at him cautiously.

"Look, I'm bad at this but," she took a deep breath, "you know, you know that you are safe with us, right? I saw the look on your face. However good of an actor you may be, I know you thought I would turn you over to him. If it's any consolation, I'll help you kill Cazador, just as I'll help Gale diffuse the bomb in his chest and Wyll escape is deal if he so chooses. However this may end, I will try to keep this party together until everyone is safe, not just from the parasite, but from everything else that has plagued us."

"Safe," he scoffed, "You think that I would believe that I am safe? I am obviously anything but darling, and you would do well to watch what you speak. Should you be overheard, I won't be the only one he will be hunting. He'll use you, you know."

"Ah, as if you don't? I know you were just looking to alleviate your fears when you came to me in the night. You were hungry, sure, but you fed off of me to make sure that you could break his rules. What's another vampire using me for their own gain? At least I can help you rip his head off before you drink from him, we all know I do enjoy a good decapitation as much as the next hunter."

Her words were laced with venom, but her malice was not entirely meant for him. She felt such hatred for a man she had never met, for what he had done to the man before her.

"Why would you help me?" he asked simply.

"Because I hate men like him."

Astarion laughed bitterly, eyes cast down towards the forest floor as the rest of his body grew increasingly tense.

"There are no men like him."

"Sure there are. Plenty really, men who corrupt and enslave for their own good. Even those who torment and torture others throughout the night because they can. I have known many such men, and that is why I plan on ridding the world of another. Vampire or not, he will die the same," Anastasia paused for a moment to level her tone, obviously having caught Astarion's interest with the mention of her own history.

"So yes, you are safe with me. At least, safer than you would be on your own. I won't let him have you."

"Nor I you, I would kill you before he could ever lay hands on you."

His tone sent a shiver down Ana's spine, and although his comment stung at first it gave insight to what horrors the vampire had suffered through that death would be a mercy. For him, it was likely as close to a kind sentiment she could get, as close to a sign of care as he was capable of.

"Be careful going off alone Astarion. I know you have to feed, but it may be better if you do not go hunting at night. Who knows who else may be sent after you, and it's a bit difficult to make sure that pretty head stays attached to your shoulders when I am trying to sleep isn't it?"

"Is that your attempt at offering a meal, or just a word of warning?" he pondered.

"Both."

"Wonderful"

Within seconds she was entangled in his grasp, his breath tickling her throat as she leaned her back against his chest. She could almost laugh as her own breath caught in her throat, perhaps it had been a long time since she had been held in such a way, so delicately. But could her senses really have failed her now of all times in allowing her to become attracted to a being so dangerous.

'Although', she pondered their ever fluid relationship and the looming threat of the tadpole as he sunk his fangs into her neck, 'I suppose we are all monsters now.'

[vivid-but-vague]

Sanguine | Astarion (Chapter 1)

The desperate hunger in his eyes was obvious as he stumbled backwards away from her recently awoken form, but Ana could not find the energy to be distraught at his betrayal. After everything else, she figured she should have seen it coming. After all, it wasn't as though Lae'zel had not already made her loyalties clear. This however, was different. Astarion was, of course, a slave to sanguine hunger above all else; however, his eyes screamed not just with hunger, but with both a deeper need and something else: fear. Not that he would ever admit to it, and if confronted she was sure he would just as quickly have a knife to her throat, again.

His inhuman nature had been obvious, and his smile was always shallow enough to hide his now visible canines. Along with his avoidance of running water that she had previously chalked up to discomfort, Ana was surprised she had not recognized the signs sooner. After all, he was not the first vampire she had met, although he was the nicest to look at.

Her eyes took in his display of submission, and noticed then the tension in his shoulders, the crease of his brow, the shallowness of his breathing. The sounds she had heard earlier were not mere tossing or discomfort, he had just awoken from a nightmare. Fortunately for Ana, his stirring had awoken her as well. Otherwise, she may have become his meal, although she still might. Her eyes searched his face for a response or explanation, but found only a thinly veiled fabrication of submission.

Beyond that though, was the fear still etched on his suddenly open expressions. For once it seemed that he may be quick to tell the truth, but she already knew it. He was not just hungry, he was afraid. For whatever reason, he needed to feed for reasons beyond hunger. Validation perhaps? The signs were all there, but without knowing much more

"First Gale is a living bomb, and now you cannot even find the decency to not feed on your friends, or at least, companions? Could you not sulk off to the woods and find less important prey?"

The betrayal in her voice was thick, but she could only hope he would not catch on to her deception as she waited eagerly for his explanation.

"I am just too slow, too hungry to catch anything," he mourned, lowering his chin as though ashamed of his actions. Ana knew better than to fall for his act, however convincing it may have seemed. He was, after all, quite the manipulator when it came to luring victims back to his master before the mindflayers liberated him.

"But if I just had a little blood, if I was fed I could think clearer, fight better. Please."

Ana watched him closely before letting out a sigh, uncertain if she should let on her intuition or keep silent. If she could remain seemingly oblivious, the vampire may let more slip about what got him so riled up in the first place, preferably without the use of the wretched parasite.

Focusing her energy into her hand, Ana slowly rose to her feet. Astarion's hand flexed and reached for his blade, but she was faster. With an outstretched hand, the elf placed her hand on his temple and delved into his mind. Memories flashed before her eyes, but she focused in on the most prevalent ones, the memories that were brought to the forefront of his mind during their conversation. From his perspective, she watched him feed. However, it was not from a human, not even from the neck of some other humanoid creature. Instead, she watched as he sunk his fangs into the twisted body of a rat, the only thing his master allowed him to eat. It was then that she understood.

He did not just need blood to satiate his hunger, he needed it because in a way, it would signify some semblance of freedom from Cazador. Perhaps in doing this, the vampire could prove to himself that he was no longer trapped under his master's command, that he could disobey. He was free to do what he wanted after all, at least for now.

"Alright, take what you need."

Astarion's face fell at first, and it would seem that he had not even listened to her response as his usual scowl began to cover up the slight show of vulnerability. It was only when Anastasia lowered herself onto the blankets and stared him down that he seemed to comprehend her words.

"Really? I-," he stammered, attempting to regain his composure as Ana purposefully pulled down her collar.

"Oh, not a drop more. I swear, you won't regret trusting me."

She could almost laugh, but did not want to frighten the man off. She knew he was lying and yet, she understood his need. Perhaps a bit distant from the hunger, but the need to prove his freedom, to be out of the pervasive grasp of his master was familiar to her. He loomed over her, and for a moment her eyes caught his own, the ferocity in her eyes stopping him in his tracks.

She knew that doing this would only paint a larger target on her back, especially from the vampire lord that had such a strong hold over the elf, even now. At the same time though, she reveled in the ferocity in Astarion's eyes, and hers mirrored it. Together, they were ripping apart the ties that Cazador had so meticulously woven, and for once she was not worried. After all, she did not feel as though the fate at the hands of a vampire could be much worse than the fate of becoming a mind flayer. At the very least, Cazador would be in for a surprise when she transformed during her capture if he were to find them.

Her mind wandered as the vampire sunk to his knees beside her, wondering if Cazador would be able to regain control of his pawn in spite of the tadpole, or if he would be able to overtake hers while the tadpole still took refuge in it. The tension was almost tangible, and she fought a hiss when his fangs finally found their mark, masking it with a sharp intake of breath.

Ana could feel him slowly lose control as her blood flowed from her neck, his pace quickened alongside his breathing before she finally reached up to rest a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to break him from his trance.

For a moment she began to wonder if he would come to his senses, or if this was his plan all along. Before she could protest, he tore himself away from her neck and stumbled to his feet, apologizing and wiping the blood from his face as he went. His eyes gleamed with excitement, and he seemed stronger, more confident than before. Most importantly, the fear that had previously etched itself onto his perfect features had been replaced by an emotion Ana had never seen on him before. Astarion was happy, and that was enough to put Ana's mind to rest for the time being even as the dizziness began to overtake her senses.

Chapter 2