peccavi

[zeehva]

Reblog this if you are an active Alliance WRA/MG  or Horde WRA/MG Character Blog!

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[sinvyrin]

fall to pieces

Thirty years ago…

The Blood Hall was always a place of revelry, politics, and violence, but it was especially so on the evenings of the prince’s parties. Gatherings of san’layn and death knights mingled through the darkened corridors, their faces faintly illuminated by the orbs of blood which they feasted upon. Sinvyrin moved among them with ease -- not as a silver-tongued bastard, but as a shadow that went largely ignored. Everyone knew who Sinvyrin belonged to and everyone knew his purpose.

He pushed his short-shorn hair back away from his eyes as he walked, ears pricked for the conversations that were just loud enough for him to overhear: that is the Beast of the Blood Hall; that is the bloody fang of Lord Chaus Filse. He paid neither their words, nor their eyes staring into his back any mind. The more they thought of him as a means to an end, the easier it was to allow him to do his work.

And his work stood waiting for him: Sin cast his eyes up the staircase where a tall elven man in slim-fighting armor cast his eyes down over the crowds, his pale blue eyes watching nothing and everything. Sin wordlessly moved toward Chaus, stepping into his proper place in the shadow of his commander -- his lover -- without an ounce of acknowledgement. Sinvyrin didn’t require it; he knew his place, his role, and he reveled in being Chaus’ most effective weapon.

It was only when Sin dared to reach out to him that Chaus tipped his head. The sinner’s gloved hand reached to brush the small of Chaus’ back, far from the sight of the rabble below, but one look from his master’s chill blue eyes was enough for Sin to know he’d gone too far in public.

“You were gone shorter than I expected.” Chaus’ voice was low and crisp, soft as silk with steel hidden beneath it. “Are the arrangements settled?”

Sinvyrin pulled his hand back, folding both of his arms behind his back as he looked out over the revelries. This party was more raucous than many before it and the reason why made Sin feel as cold as the wind outside. “Yes,” he replied evenly. “They’re preparing Archerus now. We’ll leave at dawn.”

Chaus looked back over the crowd once more, a few strands of black hair falling past his ear; once Sin would relish setting it back in place and making sure his lover looked picture perfect, but now he didn’t dare to move. “You will ensure that none of ours die. Not a single one, no matter the cost.” Chaus didn’t look at Sinvyrin, but the implication was clear in his whisper-soft voice. “Do you understand, Tohias?”

He felt something pull at him like he always did when Chaus said his name -- undeniable and all-consuming. His gray eyes widened and narrowed again and he felt his chest go tight. “I understand,” he muttered. They were his responsibility, just as Chaus was -- an extension of his will. He would be their protector, their shield; he would not let a single one perish. He would bring them all back to Chaus.

Sinvyrin would not fail.

--

Sin laid in bed awake and staring at the ceiling. Archelaos had done all that he could; his lover reassured him countless ways, fed him, comforted him. They had fucked until Sin was sure he was worn enough to sleep, but instead he listened to the sound of the old stag’s gentle breathing and felt nothing but the rattling anxiety in his brain. 

In a few hours, Archelaos would wake up. They would talk again, maybe fuck; he would feed the dogs while Sin fed the chickens and grabbed fresh eggs; they would shower, Archelaos would dress, Sin would kiss him goodbye at the door. Then there was nothing left to spare Sin from facing the reality of Northrend and what happened there so long ago. 

He startled when he heard Archelaos shift in his sleep, snapping back to the present. Rather than struggle for sleep that would not come, Sin slunk from underneath the pile of blankets and pillows and padded silently across their bedroom. Their hidden house in Surwich was beginning to feel more like a home -- not just a place that belonged to Sin or Archelaos, but something that was theirs. Starlight and moonlight pierced the thin veil of curtains that covered the tall windows, painting patterns across the wooden floor of the repurposed farmhouse. He only paused once to give a soothing pet to Butch and Indiana Bones when they noticed the sinner had roused; it was enough to stop them from following him outside. 

The sound of the ocean that lapped along the tide of the beach was a distant comfort as he sank on the bench, only noticing a pack of cigarettes once he settled in; had Archelaos guessed he would be restless? “Red,” he muttered to himself before he pried a smoke from the pack and set it between his teeth. 

Four days ago he asked Proformu for a favor that terrified him. Three days ago he gave Address a gift that could save or kill him. Two days ago he killed Imon to protect his pack, his family, and lost Ashafael for it. Yesterday a slap to the face from Arthalia drove him over an edge that would have barely phased him a week ago. Today, who knew what hell awaited him.

Only week ago he wasn't so fucking fragile. It never would have phased him before. 

He lit his cigarette, thumping his head against the bench as he looked up toward the night sky. The smoke that spilled from his lips painted shadows against a darkened canvas, making his eyes pick out shapes that were not there. He asked himself the same question he had been asking for days: was it worth it? 

Was any of it worth it?

[angiebrice]

Clang!

The pot hit the ground and the impact sent luke-warm soup flying all over the room. 

Angie froze up only a few feet inside of the doorway to her apartment. She was caught in the shock and the gears in her head raced to comprehend what had been awaiting her in her home.

Jarred back to reality by the sound of the pot denting the stone floor, she spit out a stiff greeting. She wasn’t armed. Or prepared for a fight. Much less against something like this. But, could she talk her way out of it?

“H-hello. You’re Reggy, aren’t you?”

Keep reading

[sirkayleeofcamelot]

Oh, to run my fingers over your scars on a lazy morning. I am grateful you are home.

[8-bitfiction]

[twistedhellknight52]

I… becamed a vampire.

Yea so , earlier I had a bite in my neck and I didnt know from what bit me… and then when I woked up, their light from my curtain fuckeing hurt my eyes alot. And well … I am going too work in my powers and hopefally master their so I can use them for good includeing

1. Suck blood

2. Dark teleport

3. Mist form

4. Unholy flame grapple hook

[keymintt]

how does one ask for kindness?

[keymintt]

tongues

[witch-and-her-witcher]

Dogwood. [4.26.2023]

[angiebrice]

Self-Care?

What a sight. The young cleric curled into a tight ball on the blanket-laden loveseat squeezing the life out of a colorful, plush bee who didn’t really seem to mind all that much. Most of the choked-up sobbing and incoherent babbling had ceased as she tired herself out.

The jester watched from the other end of the loveseat. On one hand, the sound of her own voice distressed and crying was a little unnerving. On the other, her shadows seethed in the presence of such ripe emotion. Only a few weeks ago she would have reveled in this, contributed to it even. But something had changed in their relationship.

At first, it had been Angie’s willingness and excitement to learn. To grasp new magics eagerly and delve into any task placed before her. It filled Adola’s chest with pride. She made this. In some roundabout way, Angie was her creation. A little legacy she had abandoned, only for it to grow and continue on without her. She got to relive the joys of learning vicariously through the cleric.

She couldn’t help but see Angie as family of some sort. Really, she desperately wanted family. Something she had found and lost several times already. To say what their exact relationship was…was hard. Adola wanted to settle on ‘teacher and student’, but there was something deeper than that. They were on many levels the same person.

Adola slowly scooted her way across the loveseat, jingling a little in excess to assure the cleric knew she was getting closer. She reached purple gloved hand out, offering it to her distressed ward.

The cleric’s voice wavered, but managed to produce something like words. “Don’t touch-” She stopped when the hand arrived near instead of grasping at her. After wiping away some tears the cleric took hold of it, squeezing tightly. “It was right… There’s something wrong with me.” 

“Go on.” Adola’s voice rung gently. Curiosity overcame care. In what ways has this fucked Angie up? “I already know everything about you. Tell me what it said.”

“It..it said I was weak.” She choked on the words briefly, pausing to blow her nose into a tissue before continuing, slightly more composed. “I’m a hollow facsimile of a stronger thing. It talked about..you. I think. It called you ‘The Thing I Was’. It knew I wasn’t a whole person. It told me that it was going to kill you.. Or you would die, and I would be free of your sins.”

Adola let out a little sigh. “That’s a very uncharitable way to refer to our circumstances.” A finger tapped against her heavy mask. “It was just pulling from Leshii’s memories. It didn’t know anything special or new. It just picked up on things that *anyone* would have felt insecure and afraid of.”

“It said you were instrumental to its rise.” The words spilled from the cleric’s mouth. A rebuttal in favor of fear and paranoia.

But fear and paranoia were Adola’s domain. Fear, paranoia, the unknown, the depths, dreams. It didn’t get to her. “I may have. Address did a great deal to try to escape from me. Undoubtedly Leshii made some poor choices along the way as well.” She let out a little sigh. She wasn’t helping… “Angie, when I was you. ..At this point. I stood no chance against something like that either. The Admiral poisoned me with darkness, and that was my introduction to the shadow. Life-long fears were cemented into me, plucking at my mind constantly for years. But, we can overcome that.” Angie let out a startled noise as the elven jester yanked her by her hand, pulling her into a tight hug. She let out a wheeze of discomfort, but at the very least she felt…safe. 

Adola’s grip loosened a little bit. A comforting embrace. With herself? How awkward. “In the face of something immortal, what do we have?” She offered no chance for response. “Willpower. We possess the ability to defy the world around us. To bend it to our whim. We have our own will and our own volition. It is bound, forced to serve its master for eternity. It envies us for what it will never have. Freedom. The god it serves is dead or defeated and bound. And without that? It has no purpose. These are its death throes. A desperate final attempt to make itself relevant. Where it is static, we **will** grow. And we can grow together. With the people we trust.”

The cleric didn’t look up at her. But Adola could hear that the cleric’s sobbing has come to a stop, and feel her racing heartbeat had quieted to a gentle thump. She waited for a moment… Before realizing Angie had finally tired herself out and slipped off to sleep.

Without anyone to hear it, Adola offered a tired goodbye. “Good night, Angie.” All before settling the priest back onto the loveseat and slipping away. Angie needed no nightmares of the Abyss. Not tonight, at least.

[sinvyrin]

becoming

i. 

Sinvyrin stood in front of a tall mirror and found himself surprised at what he saw there. There were years where he would catch his reflection and find someone who he didn't know; a paranoid caricature of a person with a jagged smile and dead eyes that never stopped watching. He grew into that reflection until it became real, as familiar as a second skin, but now the person he saw was different. 

Sin saw a man in a slim cut gray suit that nipped at his waist and a tie around his throat the color of blood. It was a man who was calm in a way that was dangerous, whose smile was tempered, but still sharp; he was less carefully curated and more confident. 

He barely recognized himself. 

“So what's the occasion?” The tailor asked as she finished taking measurements for adjustments, marking faint lines in chalk of where to pull in a hem or adjust a taper. 

“Oh, nothing yet,” Sin replied with a note of amusement, though his eyes stayed rapt on his image in the mirror. 

The tailor only laughed. “Then you better find an occasion, huh?” 

Soon, Sin thought, and touched his pocket where an unfamiliar weight had begun to settle. Soon. 

ii. 

“Do you love me?” 

He posed the question as the two of them stood over in front of the small army of mages that would soon open portals to Northrend. The last of their forces had been rallied and soon it would be time; it weighed heavy on Sin’s heart, but when he looked at Chaus’ face he struggled to find an emotion he recognized. 

Beside him, Chaus frowned. “What kind of question is that?” Once upon a time it used to be a playful response between the two; Sin was sure he could still hear it somewhere behind the cold, empty disdain, but it brought him no comfort. 

“I don't know,” Sin intoned, his confidence falling to a strange meekness. “We might not come back from this. It would be nice to know that it was all worth it.” He paused, his green eyes trailing aside as the mage’s finished their spell; through their portals, he saw nothing but ice and snow. “Has it been worth it?” 

Chaus finally fixed his attention on Sin. It wasn’t cold, but it was tired; his expression was one of a parent looking upon a child he had little patience for. “It’s only worth it if we survive,” he replied crisply. “Will we survive, Sinvyrin?” 

He met Chaus’ gaze, feeling the answer with his whole heart. “Yes.” 

iii. 

Sin liked mornings best. When they first started sharing a bed, Archelaos invariably rose before him to begin a morning return that was well-practiced before the vampire entered his life. Now Sin took joy in waking up before the old inquisitor. 

Sometimes he slipped out of bed and started his coffee for him, or made him breakfast that Sin himself could never eat; sometimes he would slither closer to Archelaos and fit their bodies together until he could convince him to sleep in. More often than not, the san’layn ducked his head under the blankets and made the old man’s rousing a much more pleasant experience. 

“It shouldn't be this easy to love you,” Sin told him once as they lay in bed, the first rays of the morning light pressing through the window’s curtains. He punctuated the thought with a kiss that started on Archelaos’ shoulder, trailing up his throat. It was more than love being easy, he knew; it made him feel whole. It made him feel sure and confident until the knife's edge between man and monster felt a line he could dance on with ease. 

“You know, I used to think so too,” Archelaos replied, and Sin made a pleased noise as he felt a warm arm curl around him and draw him closer. “Maybe it just feels easy because it’s right. Just took awhile to get there.” The old inquisitor brought the vampire toward him until he felt a cool cheek against his scarred chest and hands sliding down his sides. 

Sin’s dead eyes peered at Archelaos’ golden ones. “Has it all been worth it?” 

“Every second,” Archelaos said, and kissed him. 

iv. 

He managed to keep the facade up until the moment he left Angie in the Tower. 

The gates closed behind him as he walked into Duskwood and the world became blood and shadow. Hours of reaching through the shadowbrand to Archelaos had been fruitless, and when he tried to snap through the shadows to find the inquisitor’s location, there was nothing. It’s like he was just.. gone. 

Like Archelaos never existed. 

Sin played the moment in his mind over and over again. One minute, his hand was on Archelaos’ shoulder and the other was on Angie. He prepared a spell he knew so well he no longer needed to do anything but will it: the shadows crawled over them as the Old God inside Leshii sang it's merry song; Sin tried to concentrate, gathering as much power as he could while his frightened mind sought purchase. 

The next minute, Archelaos was gone, and he was holding an all-seeing eye in his grip. 

Sin moved through the night like a wraith, stalking through Duskwood and snapping up the innocent to drain them dry of their blood without paying any heed to the lives he ruined. He needed power. He needed strength. He needed to find Archelaos. 

It was no longer mattered if Sunvyrin alone survived. It only mattered if they both survived.

[thevampireaesthetic]

dress for the vampire gaze

[sex-deactivated1969-04-20]

Dress for the vampire gays

[greelin]

yeah i’m doomed by the narrative but i have a little time to be absolutely gay

[greelin]

putting my inevitable death on pause to be homosexual for a second

[riverwindphotography]

White Dogwood in an eastern woodland

© riverwindphotography, May 2019

[abuzd]

[deactivated-blog]

Dogwood - Oregon Cascades

Harry Snowden

[themarchingbeetle]

Inside a willow tree