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[WIP] Untitled Vampire AU (Sasha Colby x Anetra) - Quidnunc
A/N: Basically, I re-watched What We Do In The Shadows and this idea has been bouncing around my head for weeks, so I’m giving it a go. Essentially, Sasha is head of a house of vampire roommates, Anetra is her long-suffering FWB (familiar-with-benefits) and she has just woken up from being badly injured during a hunter’s raid. This scene is from around the middle of the story, but it wouldn’t leave me.
This is my first time posting here and I honestly don’t know when I’ll get the rest of the story up, but I adore this pairing and I’m hoping that sharing will give me some motivation, so - voila!
——
Anetra returns to consciousness in slow, halting increments. Her chest is a heavy, aching pulse. Her head throbs. The pain is everything and for a long time she lies suspended in it, unable to do anything but let it wash over her in waves.
She’s dimly aware of people around her. They speak quietly, moving around the room at intervals. Occasionally someone holds her hand. She hasn’t the strength to squeeze back. It’s like all her strings have been cut. When she’s awake, she drifts. When she sleeps, it’s uneasy and fractured and does nothing to sate her exhaustion. Or the cold.
It’s so, so cold. As she gradually becomes more cognisant, she registers that there are blankets piled on top of her. Every part of her is covered except her face. But she still shivers. She can’t open her eyes, can’t move her tongue, but she can feel every hair standing on end, the boney chatter of her teeth in her skull. She wonders if she’s dying, but falls back asleep before she can worry about it too much.
When she wakes again, she’s even colder. There are voices very close by.
“Be careful -”
“I got her. You hold the door.”
There’s an arm beneath her shoulders, another under her knees. She’s lifted from the bed, and the redistribution of weight sends the pain flooding to whole new places. Anetra tries to protest, but all that comes out is a garbled groan. She’d be embarrassed if she had the energy.
“I know, honey. I’m sorry.”
The person’s voice is accented. Familiar, but she doesn’t remember who it belongs to. She doesn’t remember much, actually, and she has no idea where she’s being taken.
The new room is warm and steamy. Slightly herbal-smelling. When hands start undressing her she experiences a dull spark of alarm, but the pain is enervating enough that she just lets it happen. It’s not like she’s in any state to fight back.
It makes sense when she’s gathered up again and set down in a bath. Well: technically, she’s deposited into somebody else’s arms, who then very carefully sits down in the tub with her, but, whatever. Semantics. The only thing Anetra cares about right now is the hot water enveloping her. It’s heavenly.
Whoever’s holding her guides her backwards to lean on them, supporting her in the water. Anetra is grateful; she doesn’t think she could hold her head up alone. Her body is still kitten-weak but the heat feels viscerally good, leaching the pain out of her like poison from a wound. It’s such a relief: to be warm, to be surrounded by sweet-scented steam, to be touched gently. To feel something that doesn’t hurt. She thinks she could fall asleep, just like this. And then she does.
——
She wakes, an indeterminate amount of time later, to soft voices conversing above her. This time she can remember who they belong to.
“She looks a little better. Don’t you think she’s looking better?”
Luxx.
“She’s got more colour. Sasha, is she still shaking?”
Loosey.
“No, she stopped a while back,” and oh, that’s Sasha. It’s Sasha who’s holding her, Sasha who’s cradling her head in the crook of her neck, making a safe little home for her. The reverberations of her voice are comforting, like a heartbeat.
“We should get her out soon,” Loosey says. She doesn’t sound too happy about it.
Neither does Sasha.
“Do we have to? She’s so relaxed.”
“And quiet,” drawls Luxx from somewhere to her left. “Finally.”
Anetra frowns into Sasha’s neck, irrationally proud of herself for moving her own face. Has she been loud? Her throat is raw, but she assumed that was from sleep and disuse. She hopes she hasn’t been screaming in her sleep - that would be embarrassing.
“I just don’t want the wound to reopen,” Loosey’s saying, and that gets Anetra’s attention. She’s been injured then. Badly, to go by how horrendous she feels and how gentle they’re being with her. (What happened? She’s not quite sure. Something to do with fire, and Kerri, and her mo-)
The thought has barely formed when white-hot pain slices through her chest. Anetra cries out involuntarily, and then there’s a flurry of motion around her, hands levering her upright, feeling at her chest. At the wound, she registers hazily, blinking at the swathes of white dressing taped over her breastbone. Right where her tattoo should be. That’s where she’s hurt.
It’s only after a few moments of jaw-clenching agony that she realises her eyes are open. That’s something, at least. The ringing in her ears takes longer to fade, so she feels the noise she’s making before she hears it: loud, shocky yelps that shake through her whole body like an earthquake. God, she hopes this isn’t what Luxx was talking about. She can feel and hear efforts to soothe her, but everything is too much.
Gradually, the pain recedes. Individual voices come back into focus. Everyone seems to be talking at once.
“She needs more pain relief -”
“We need to get her to bed -”
“I’ll get the twins. You good to stay with her?”
“Always,” says Sasha, in that voice she uses when someone’s asking the obvious and she’s trying to be polite. Like, of course I’m good. Of course I’ve got her. Duh. Even through her pain, Anetra smiles. The corners of her mouth crack, but whatever. Sasha’s got her. That’s okay then.
Loosey and Luxx both leave the room - they both look older than usual, which she will not be mentioning - and it’s just her and Sasha.
It takes more effort than it should to turn her head back into Sasha’s neck, but it’s worth it. Worth it to rest in the dark and warm, to inhale the smoke-and-cinnamon smell of her skin. Sasha’s hand cups the nape of her neck, rubbing little circles with her thumb, and God, Anetra’s missed this. Even in her sleep, even on the knife’s edge of death, she’s managed to miss this. Her eyes are hot with how good it feels.
Sasha’s arms tighten around her. She presses a hard kiss into Anetra’s hair, murmurs, “It’s okay, shh. You’re okay.” Her lips stay there for a long while, and that’s nice. It’s all so nice, the water and the warmth and being held like this. Anetra burrows deeper into the hollow of Sasha’s throat, hums assent against her skin. Yeah, she’s okay.
——
Anetra returns to consciousness in slow, halting increments. Her chest is a heavy, aching pulse. Her head throbs. The pain is everything and for a long time she lies suspended in it, unable to do anything but let it wash over her in waves.
She’s dimly aware of people around her. They speak quietly, moving around the room at intervals. Occasionally someone holds her hand. She hasn’t the strength to squeeze back. It’s like all her strings have been cut. When she’s awake, she drifts. When she sleeps, it’s uneasy and fractured and does nothing to sate her exhaustion. Or the cold.
It’s so, so cold. As she gradually becomes more cognisant, she registers that there are blankets piled on top of her. Every part of her is covered except her face. But she still shivers. She can’t open her eyes, can’t move her tongue, but she can feel every hair standing on end, the boney chatter of her teeth in her skull. She wonders if she’s dying, but falls back asleep before she can worry about it too much.
When she wakes again, she’s even colder. There are voices very close by.
“Be careful -”
“I got her. You hold the door.”
There’s an arm beneath her shoulders, another under her knees. She’s lifted from the bed, and the redistribution of weight sends the pain flooding to whole new places. Anetra tries to protest, but all that comes out is a garbled groan. She’d be embarrassed if she had the energy.
“I know, honey. I’m sorry.”
The person’s voice is accented. Familiar, but she doesn’t remember who it belongs to. She doesn’t remember much, actually, and she has no idea where she’s being taken.
The new room is warm and steamy. Slightly herbal-smelling. When hands start undressing her she experiences a dull spark of alarm, but the pain is enervating enough that she just lets it happen. It’s not like she’s in any state to fight back.
It makes sense when she’s gathered up again and set down in a bath. Well: technically, she’s deposited into somebody else’s arms, who then very carefully sits down in the tub with her, but, whatever. Semantics. The only thing Anetra cares about right now is the hot water enveloping her. It’s heavenly.
Whoever’s holding her guides her backwards to lean on them, supporting her in the water. Anetra is grateful; she doesn’t think she could hold her head up alone. Her body is still kitten-weak but the heat feels viscerally good, leaching the pain out of her like poison from a wound. It’s such a relief: to be warm, to be surrounded by sweet-scented steam, to be touched gently. To feel something that doesn’t hurt. She thinks she could fall asleep, just like this. And then she does.
——
She wakes, an indeterminate amount of time later, to soft voices conversing above her. This time she can remember who they belong to.
“She looks a little better. Don’t you think she’s looking better?”
Luxx.
“She’s got more colour. Sasha, is she still shaking?”
Loosey.
“No, she stopped a while back,” and oh, that’s Sasha. It’s Sasha who’s holding her, Sasha who’s cradling her head in the crook of her neck, making a safe little home for her. The reverberations of her voice are comforting, like a heartbeat.
“We should get her out soon,” Loosey says. She doesn’t sound too happy about it.
Neither does Sasha.
“Do we have to? She’s so relaxed.”
“And quiet,” drawls Luxx from somewhere to her left. “Finally.”
Anetra frowns into Sasha’s neck, irrationally proud of herself for moving her own face. Has she been loud? Her throat is raw, but she assumed that was from sleep and disuse. She hopes she hasn’t been screaming in her sleep - that would be embarrassing.
“I just don’t want the wound to reopen,” Loosey’s saying, and that gets Anetra’s attention. She’s been injured then. Badly, to go by how horrendous she feels and how gentle they’re being with her. (What happened? She’s not quite sure. Something to do with fire, and Kerri, and her mo-)
The thought has barely formed when white-hot pain slices through her chest. Anetra cries out involuntarily, and then there’s a flurry of motion around her, hands levering her upright, feeling at her chest. At the wound, she registers hazily, blinking at the swathes of white dressing taped over her breastbone. Right where her tattoo should be. That’s where she’s hurt.
It’s only after a few moments of jaw-clenching agony that she realises her eyes are open. That’s something, at least. The ringing in her ears takes longer to fade, so she feels the noise she’s making before she hears it: loud, shocky yelps that shake through her whole body like an earthquake. God, she hopes this isn’t what Luxx was talking about. She can feel and hear efforts to soothe her, but everything is too much.
Gradually, the pain recedes. Individual voices come back into focus. Everyone seems to be talking at once.
“She needs more pain relief -”
“We need to get her to bed -”
“I’ll get the twins. You good to stay with her?”
“Always,” says Sasha, in that voice she uses when someone’s asking the obvious and she’s trying to be polite. Like, of course I’m good. Of course I’ve got her. Duh. Even through her pain, Anetra smiles. The corners of her mouth crack, but whatever. Sasha’s got her. That’s okay then.
Loosey and Luxx both leave the room - they both look older than usual, which she will not be mentioning - and it’s just her and Sasha.
It takes more effort than it should to turn her head back into Sasha’s neck, but it’s worth it. Worth it to rest in the dark and warm, to inhale the smoke-and-cinnamon smell of her skin. Sasha’s hand cups the nape of her neck, rubbing little circles with her thumb, and God, Anetra’s missed this. Even in her sleep, even on the knife’s edge of death, she’s managed to miss this. Her eyes are hot with how good it feels.
Sasha’s arms tighten around her. She presses a hard kiss into Anetra’s hair, murmurs, “It’s okay, shh. You’re okay.” Her lips stay there for a long while, and that’s nice. It’s all so nice, the water and the warmth and being held like this. Anetra burrows deeper into the hollow of Sasha’s throat, hums assent against her skin. Yeah, she’s okay.
Here sitting on the world, she thought, for she could not shake herself free from the sense that everything this morning was happening for the first time, perhaps for the last time, as a traveller, even though he is half asleep, knows, looking out of the train window, that he must look now, for he will never see that town, or that mule-cart, or that woman at work in the fields, again.”
–Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse
“It is as though you have an eye
That sees all forms
But does not see itself.
This is how your mind is.
Its light penetrates everywhere
And engulfs everything,
So why does it not know itself?”
- Foyan
Why Does It Not Know Itself? | QUIDNUNC
CURIOUSEVERYTHING.BLOGSPOT.COM
Forgive yourself for not being at peace. The moment you completely accept your non-peace, your non-peace is transmuted into peace. Anything you accept fully will get you there, will take you into peace. This is the miracle of surrender.”
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
“The inability to remember is itself perhaps a memory.”
— John Berger, And Our Faces, My Heart, Brief as Photos
+
In conversation with a friend, who used to teach remote viewing to the CIA, he would say, “When you begin with someone you have them close their eyes and tell you what they see. If they said “Nothing” I’d tell them to look again. Often that was the starting place. You’d go until maybe they’d say, “I see Black.”
I also had a client who spent her childhood in a concentration camp in Malaysia. She said she remembered nothing from those days. But at the root of her depression was this lack of memory itself, which was the sum total of all pain.
Another client who as a child, survived holocaust in Russia and remembered nothing “Except cold. Being cold. Always cold.” All memory banked as a single overwhelming sensation from which there was no escape.
It is essential to leave some space empty; you could — and should — never fill in all the blanks.
The north sea, Germany
* * * *
“ …we stand in much the same relation to the whole of the universe as our canine and feline pets do to the whole of human life. They inhabit our drawing rooms and libraries. They take part in scenes of whose significance they have no inkling. They are merely tangent to curves of history the beginnings and ends and forms of which pass wholly beyond their ken. So we are tangent to the wider life of things.
~William James
