#[shes less of an oc at this point and more of a plague upon my brain]

[maractean]

old-ish art but i realized i never posted Inka's new design I made for artfight so im inflicting her upon your dashboards.

My team flare admin oc. Shes an influencer and an ice type specialist coordinator who uses her social media presence to bolster Lysandre's reputation and sends her fans after anyone who speaks against Flare (or her for that matter.) Evil fucked up woman with a god complex who can't stop pushing the envelope to see just how much she can get away with.

[moonlitdesertdreams]

By the Sea (part 1/?)

A/N: Why am I on a True Blood kick in February of 2024? I have no idea, but please enjoy if you also are. Tags: Eric Northman, vampires, Eric Northman True Blood, True Blood Imagines, Eric Northman x OC, Eric Northman x mythical creature!reader, Eric Northman x Reader WARNINGS: Canon-typical swearing, overwhelming amounts of sweet, confused Eric Summary: Eric's been cursed to forget all his memories, but you stick out... and have to deal with the aftermath.

Word count: 1.6k+

You had no interest in meeting with the new King of Louisiana.

Bill Compton’s new position as King had given you nothing but pause, and part of you recognized his calling upon Eric as a power play.

So you lounged in the back office at Fangtasia, drifting in and out of consciousness. You could hear the faint arguing between Sookie and Pam in the other office, no doubt about relinquishing ownership of Sookie’s house. The same issue, you assumed, that Bill had requested Eric to discuss. You chuckled at the remembrance that it was your idea to buy the decrepit old farmhouse when Sookie went missing, both to keep an eye on the new King and have a safe haven for Eric away from Fangtasia. 

Despite never being fully human, sleeping was one of your favorite indulgences. And tonight you were content to let Eric handle Mr. Compton’s silly requests while Pam argued with Sookie in the other room and you remained at ease. The couch in Eric’s office was worn and comfortable, and you settled yourself underneath one of his jackets, propped against the armrest. When Sookie’s annoying voice drifted away, you were left with the dull roar of protestors outside Fangtasia. 

Dreams of blue seas and daylight walks with Eric plagued your mind. The warmth of the sun on your skin, and the golden dance of his hair in a Mediterranean breeze flitted by, and you relished in the fuzzy feeling it brought. 

But the invigorating daylight suddenly vanished, replaced with a drab gray office and the annoying scream of a cell phone. You quickly realize it was not in fact your cell phone, but the Fangtasia office phone ringing obnoxiously on Eric’s desk. The sound of Pam and her… company through the wall gave you the idea she wasn’t getting to the phone anytime soon, so you yawned and climbed to your feet, having half a mind to let it ring till it quieted. 

However, the newest anti-Vampire movement was raging, and everything at Fangtasia now was about saving face and playing nice. You picked up the receiver and tucked it in the crook of your shoulder, putting on your best vampire purr. 

“Thank you so very much for calling Fangtasia. How may I be of service?”

“Y/N?” 

You grimace, recognizing Sookie’s sing-song twang. “What do you want?”

“Listen, this is no time for your normal attitude-”

A snarl breaks through your lips. “Watch your mouth, brat. I’ll be on that doorstep before you draw in your next breath.”

“Y/N!” Sookie breathes heavily. “It’s Eric. I found him walking down the road on my way back.”

You stiffen. Sookie’s house was less than a mile from Compton’s, and the thought of what happened to Sophie-Ann at his mansion invaded your mind. 

“What’d Compton do to him?”

“This wasn’t Bill.” Sookie’s tone was defensive in spite of everything he’d put her through. “I’m not sure who did this. Y/N… he doesn’t remember me. Or, much of anything. He keeps saying your name.”

Your slow-beating heart ticked up a notch. “You’re home?”

“Yeah. I’ll see you soon.”

You call on every power you have, letting your eyes fall closed. Teleportation was more of just extremely fast flying, mostly manageable but just exhausting. Sookie’s front porch materializes in your mind, and shortly after you feel a warm Louisiana breeze on your face. The sound of screaming cicadas followed, ringing your ears to the point of a migraine. 

Before you can get a hand on the doorknob, the wooden panel flew open. Six feet and five inches of blonde viking greeted you, big hands palming at your shoulders and arms as he drew you close in an instinctual embrace. Sookie’s scent caught your attention as well, but your face was buried in Eric’s bare chest, too busy reveling in his closeness to care. He hummed against your hair nonsensically, nose nuzzled into the roots. 

“Älskling” Darling. 

He murmured the Swedish word into your hair, pushing a soft rumble through his chest. You finally found it in you to return the embrace, rubbing what you imagined to be reassuring circles on his torso. His behavior was startling, as public affection was not his favorite. He wasn’t afraid of it, per say, but he was more brutish. Eric was possessive and pushy, grabbing onto you and nuzzling against your body to mark you with his scent before visiting vampires or their nests. Coddling and dotting outside of that was usually reserved for the bedroom and private rooms away from prying eyes. 

“Eric?” You take a step back, and your heartstrings tug painfully on one another. 

His blue eyes are wide, full of confusion and apprehension The air of calm and power he usually carries is missing, replaced with the naivety of a scared child. You reach a hand up to cup his cheek. 

“What happened, my love?” You whisper, ushering him to sit on the porch swing.

As you walk away from the entryway, Sookie’s eyes meet yours. She nods briefly, and steps away before closing the door with a soft ‘click’. Eric reaches for you once he’s settled on the cushions. You allow him to have a hold of your hand, but maintain a bit of space and sit cross-legged facing him. 

“I’ve missed you.” He murmurs, even though you saw him less than five hours ago. 

The gush and fluttering of human emotions was something you haven’t felt in years. “I know. What’s the last thing you remember?”

“The sea.” Eric takes your hand with both of his. “Where we met. You were so beautiful.”

His words were full of emotion and love, and you hated that your face blanched. When you met, when he could smell and taste the shore of the North Sea as it danced under sunlight, was the last few days of his humanity.

“Do you remember what happened to you tonight?” You implore him to continue, trying not to choke at the sight of his ruffled hair. 

Eric’s face fell, far away from the contented glaze he had when speaking about the sea. “I know I am a vampire. You are mine. But I… I don’t-”

“Shhh, Shhh.” You hush him gently. “That’s okay.”

Eric shakes his head, gripping your wrist as if you could take his memories via osmosis. He mutters in Swedish, and you prompt him to speak up. The words he utters tell you of flashes he’d seen, but couldn’t provide any context. 

“Det var hon, men det var inte hon.” It was her, then it wasn’t her. 

The description is of a face morphing from older to younger, but nothing more. 

What the hell had Bill Compton done to him?

Sure, Eric recalled a woman’s face, but there was nothing to say Bill didn’t set him up. You were suddenly pissed at yourself for not accompanying him to the new King’s hold. You hadn’t so much as asked why he was going. Pam was her normal stoic self upon hearing about him being beckoned, but you bet she had asked why. 

“Eric?” His eyes are fixed on you, unwavering and diligent. 

“Yes, my queen?” 

You almost blush at the pet name. “Can you go sit inside with Sookie? I just have to call someone.”

A lopsided grin stretches his face. “Anything for you.” 

Eric leans in and meshes his lips with yours, and it’s the sweetest kiss he’s ever laid on you. There’s no possessive undertone, no domineering fangs brushing against your lips. It’s an innocent show of affection, driven by absolute base instinct and a loss of personality. 

“I love you.” He murmurs, breath fanning over your lips. 

“I know.”

That amnesiatic smile twists his lips again, and he shuffles back into the farmhouse. You dwell for a moment on the odd behavior before withdrawing your cell phone and immediately dialing Fangtasia.

“Good evening, Fangtasia, Northern Louisiana’s most fang-tastic club. What do you want?”

On any other day, you would have laughed at Pam’s greeting. And you tried so hard to be nice. 

“Pam it’s me.”

“Are you really callin’ me from the other office? I thought we talked about-” 

“Something happened to Eric.” You stop her,  “I don’t know what’s wrong.”

The line goes silent, and you half expect her to come rushing onto the porch as you had. 

“Elaborate.”

“Sookie called me… She found him wandering down the road on the way home from Fangtasia. He doesn’t remember anything.” You force yourself to keep your voice steady.

“What do you mean, anything?”

You sigh. Nervous Pam is not good for anyone. “The last thing he recalls is the last days he was human…. When we met. He knows what he is but not who.”

Pam’s voice quakes, and you can’t tell if it’s anger or fear. “Bill set him up.”

You raise a brow. “I had an inkling. What did he go there for?”

“Some new coven of fuckin’ witches in Shreveport. Rumored to have been practicin’ necromancy.”

Your blood runs cold. “And Bill sent him in alone?”

“Probably knew it was a trap, too. Wouldn’t be the first time he’s tried to get rid of Eric.” Her hatred of Bill is palpable, even through the shoddy phone connection. “If the AVL finds out, they might sign off on assassinating Eric.”

“Alright.” You scrub a hand down your face. “Thanks Pam. I’m gonna take care of him”

“Y/N… be careful. I don’t trust Sookie.” 

Said southern belle is trying to covertly look at you through the window and you turn away. 

“You know I will.” A pause. “And Pam?”

“You get all mushy with me and it’s just gonna piss me off.”

You laugh for the first time that night. “Just do me a favor and don’t worry.”

The line disconnects, and you know she’s worrying. From inside the house, Eric smiles at you, dopey face swaying ever so slightly in the window frame. You look at the sky, wishing you didn’t know there was no such thing as God. 

“Fuck my life.”

-------

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[coffeeheartaddict2]

Green with Envy

Book: Open Heart (post series)

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC Casey Ramsey, featuring F!OC Dr Estelle Campion

Word count: 772

Warnings: brief mention of bio- weapon attack

Catergory: fluff with slight angst

Rating: PG

Summary: Despite normally keeping PDA to a minimum in public, especially at work, Casey feels the need to mark her territory, especially after a not so pleasant encounter with Dr Estelle Campion

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Pixelberry.

Authors note: Prompt from this list as requested @jerzwriter I hope you enjoy my take Elsa. This story uses prompt 46

😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘

It had been several days since her unpleasant encounter with Dr Campion. She had told Ethan what had happened and he was furious. She knew what she was alleging was untrue, her and Ethan loved each other very much, despite their busy work schedules and but she could not shake the feeling that she would try something. She knew that Ethan had met her, told her once and for all that there would be any form of relationship with her but she knew of her history and whilst she was still working at Edenbrook Casey was not so sure that she would not try anything again.

Casey, as well as Ethan and Tobias had managed to avoid her and as far as Casey was concerned the end of the study that she was involved in could not come quick enough.

Meanwhile Estelle was still shaken. She remembered Ethan having quite the temper from her time in Hopkins, however, she had never seen an outburst from such a protective stance. The fact that he had grown, moved on, confronted the demons that plagued him in medical school was a shock. Sure, the reluctance to get closure on his mother was more than understandable and the fears he had about being in a relationship were perfectly valid but to change so much, that is what shook her.

As much as Ethan, Casey and to an extent Tobias tried to steer clear of Estelle, there were times where paths crossed. Many times the other party was able to turn away but today there was no escape. It was a luncheon for senior staff and research teams to celebrate the success the research department had been having with some studies advancing to the human trial phase with the FDA. The mood was jovial, celebrating the success of others and just the general high morale with a hospital with Caroline Bloom at the helm meant that those who normally shied away from these functions actually looked forward to it.

Casey was talking to Tobias, questioning him as to why he has not taken the Maitotoxin antidote into the research realm when Ethan came over.

“I will shadow Casey’s question Tobias, why not?”

“So shall I take the me being questioned as to why by you that I, as well as the team members who worked on the antidote to pursue the research?”

Casey was taken aback.

“We agreed as a team to not publish or do future research without yours and Rafael’s explicit consent. Yes the breakthrough was huge but it did not mean we were not affected by the situation.” Said Tobias.

“I can not speak on Raf’s behalf. I am for the research to be conducted ,Tobias. Enough time has pass, it does not mean it was not traumatic but let some good come from it.”

Tobias nodded his head. He made a point to contact Raf and discuss with him.

Unbeknownst to the trio, they had been spied upon by Estelle. She knew she shouldn’t be jealous but she was. It was apparent after Ethan’s outburst that she had been consigned the the scrap heap of both Ethan and Tobias’s lives. She did understand why but it did not make it hurt any less.

Tobias eventually went to mingle and Ethan and Casey spoke to other guests. Everyone they spoke too was excited that the Diagnostics Team was going to eventually have a research arm and a medical arm. Casey stated that when her and Tobias took over that is what they wanted to do long term and she too was excited, it was also daunting in a way as she would be in charge of the medical arm but as everyone said the results were speaking for themselves. A humbled Casey squeezed Ethan’s hand, that was as much public affection they embarked on, that and the occasional brief and chaste kiss but looking around she saw Dr Campion staring directly at her and Ethan. She could feel her blood start to boil. In that moment she thought to hell with their rules. She turned to face Ethan, reached her hand and traced his jaw then kissed him hard. Ethan was taken aback but returned the kiss. They separated after a few minutes and when Casey looked she could see the back of Dr Campion, rushing away and she thought to herself, “yes he is mine and you can not have him.”

Estelle left when she saw the kiss. She was even more jealous now and if it was not already, it was now crystal clear that Ethan was well entruly lost to her.

—-

Authors note: thanks for the prompt Elsa. I decided to do Casey making someone jealous, it was easier for me to write.

Tagging: @jerzwriter @liaromancewriter @cariantha @jamespotterthefirst @genevievemd @crazy-loca-blog @bex-la-get @a-crepusculo @alj4890 @zealouscanonindeer @potionsprefect @tessa-liam @youlookappropriate @schnitzelbutterfingers @binny1985 @socalwriterbee

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

[diveyne]

VAMPIRE VERSE : general, suited for urban & high fantasy, & specifically pertaining to v rising.

i'm trying to do this as a multiple birds with one stone so i don't need to make 4389758934 vampire verse posts. but the generalized vampire verse is made to fit all possible generalized vampire settings where vampires are more or less " traditional " without too much deviation from what we typically see as being the standard vampire, much akin to the urban fantasy world i've created for my oc @edensbite. as far as my general vampire verse is concerned, consider it urban fantasy in its main iteration, but know that it can be easily placed in historical fiction or specific worlds, just minorly altered per world as needed ( like for vtm, vampire academy, castlevania, supernatural, etc), to which i may update this post.

general. morgana and her sister were turned a millennia ago by their mother whilst in their mid 20s. they were born human, as their mother once was. they were not turned in the traditional sense as you would think of it, but mihira was once a witch who sought an end to a rise in conflict between supernatural beings that threatened to bring an end to them all. in consulting the gods of their coven, mihira ascended into what they saw as a higher being, a revenant of the woman she once was: a heretic, still a witch afflicted with vampirism. kilam feared the life this would lead for his daughters, so he took them and fled before they came of an age where mihira would want her daughters to ascend with her to grow her coven of heretics to fight in the war plaguing the land. the girls were still burgeoning with wild magicks in their veins, untrained, with nothing to temper their abilities and no one to teach them how to control their gifts.

kayle thought vampires as they were to be evil, amongst the other demons to be eradicated from the earth, and morgana argued that they, too, were deserving of life. she thought the conflict was ridiculous, that witches, too, were just as guilty as killing innocent humans, but humans weren't as innocent as they all thought, either. there was more nuance to everyone's existence than kayle cared to see, but morgana advocated for everyone. this caused the rift between them to grow bigger by the day, and one day, the breaking point came. in their fighting, kilam lay in the rubble of the burning village they called home. kayle sought their mother, to join her as an equal, but morgana sought her because she had no one else left to turn to and she needed answers. little did she know that betrayal would come twice in the form of an irreversible ritual spell that would transform her forever. kayle embraced it, but morgana was anguished and wracked with grief. she could still feel nature's call, but she could feel its scorn. trapped between a state of being half-alive, the need for blood remained to sustain her, though not as desperately as a pure vampire. now, she wanders the earth, estranged from mihira and kayle, biding her strength in time to put an end to kayle's disregard for life, feeding from both humans and vampires until they were nothing more than dried husks laying waste beneath the sun that smiled upon them no more.

she only hopes the hunger doesn't consume her, too.

v rising. morgana's family were humble humans of vardoran, once. mihira became a high-ranking member of the church of luminance, and kayle followed in quick pursuit. morgana, however, did not see all vampires as being truly evil. not all killed as they fed, and not all imprisoned humans as a permanent blood supply. some fed only from the creatures of the world, from each other to survive, or as needed from humans in passing, or any human allies they may have had. the conflict raging across their land was between vampirekind, with humans woefully caught in between as unfortunate collateral damage, and, unfortunately, food sources.

when dracula was felled and his blood rained over vardoran for seven days and seven nights, mihira, kayle, and morgana were amongst those forever changed by the vampire king's blood. kilam was not so lucky and tragically perished in the deluge of blood. like other members of the church, mihira and kayle saw this as a blessing and struck down vampirekind. unbeknownst to the two of them, though, was that in between the chaos of the world, morgana was born anew into a vampire prior to dracula's blood changing her. her life was upended completely on all fronts. no longer human, she's learning to survive, all while being gifted with greater boons than that of a normal vampire. while mihira and kayle keep to silverlight in brighthaven, morgana wanders all of vardoran, until the day comes she can cast her family down from their corruption against not only vampires, but humanity. so morgana, too, slumbered, with the rest of vampirekind, forgotten by her family, forgotten by the world, until the day came when the immortal's king call awakened her once more.

if joining the legion of noctum was the only way for her kind to survive, to put the church of luminance in its place . . . so be it.

[arvandus]

Hello! Happy 750!!! So I have this OC with a singing quirk. She’s basically like Giselle from enchanted where she can control the people and animals and occasionally plants and wind with just her voice. However she processes everything around her as music so it’s constantly playing in her head and gives her severe insomnia. She’s also a member of the LOV so I was wondering what her interactions with each of the members would be like but mostly Dabi. Would they find her annoying or fun? Up to you

Thank you! It took me a little bit to dwell on this one, because the idea is so interesting! But I finally got hit by the Inspiration Imagination, and here we are! I hope you like it; I've adjusted it to x Reader per your request, and I hope you don't mind I took just a little bit of creative license for the Reader's perspective and how to describe her quirk.  I also kept it very Dabi-focused in the interest of time.

Dabi x F!Reader w/ a singing quirk (SFW)

💙 It would be a rocky start at first. Dabi would have difficulty trusting you, simply because your quirk is so powerful. Anything that could potentially take away his free will would make him mistrustful and want to avoid said threat like the plague - or remove it entirely.

💙 But Shigaraki says you’re off limits, so he settles to keep you at arms length while at the same time keeping a close watch on you. One wrong slip, and he’ll handle you himself (or so he tells himself).

💙 He also mistrusts you because… well… as a fellow insomniac, he knows that you’re up at all hours of the night. He’s not sure why, of course… he never knocks on your door to ask. But he hears you shuffling around in your space, pacing in your room. What could possibly keep you up so late every single night? What’s got you looking so exhausted every day as if you never sleep? He’s convinced that you’re a spy, somehow sending messages to their enemies when everyone is asleep. Except he never hears you leave your room. Never hears you talking to anyone. So there must be something he’s missing.

💙 You’re an enigma to him, and it drives him crazy. Dabi doesn’t like unknowns.

💙 On your end, Dabi drives you nuts. He’s an asshole, every word that falls from his mouth laced in backhanded compliments and passive-aggressive accusations. You’d come close to using your quirk on him on many occasions, just to make him shut up or leave the room. Fortunately for Dabi, you have a personal code of honor that you abide by, and controlling people through your singing is only reserved for your enemies.

💙 He’s not your enemy… not yet at least.

💙 You know why he doesn’t trust you, and you don’t blame him… and he's certainly not the first person to be suspicious of you. But does he really gotta be such a dick about it? You try to be upfront with him, to explain that you live by a code and he’s safe from your quirk, but it makes little difference. Dabi doesn’t trust easily, and promises mean very little to him.

💙 His trust is finally gained when you use your quirk to save him and the other league members from certain death. There’s nothing quite like the sensation of hearing the beautiful notes of your voice while in freefall and then feeling himself being caught on a strong wind current, only to be set safely on the ground seventy meters below.

💙 After that happens, he begins to take an even greater interest in you, but this time with more curiosity and less mistrust.

💙 He starts poking and prodding, some questions being asked directly, while others are only implied. After all, he loves his little mind games, and even more so, he loves getting under your skin, especially since you refuse to use your quirk on him. It’s basically given him a ‘get out of jail free’ card for being a brat.

💙 He really, really wants you to prank the others using your quirk. And your little miss “I’m a good girl with a special code of ethics” makes the game that much sweeter. After all, you’re just as much a villain as the rest of them. If Toga can go around swinging her knives from her fingertips, then why couldn’t you sing a little song now and then?

💙 But Dabi quickly learns that you’re just as stubborn as he is, if not more so.

💙 Even so, it’s frustrating for you because if it were anyone else you wouldn’t have put up with this level of bullshit. The persuasion, the flirting, the school-yard level dares… the man has no shame and tries every tactic in the book to try to get what he wants from you. What makes it even worse is that a secret part of you enjoys his mischief. His ideas are tempting sometimes. Especially when the other league members annoy you.

💙 On top of all that, he is strangely alluring, even with his scars. And more importantly, the ‘song’ his body gives off is, well, a pleasant one to say the least.

💙 Every person has a ‘musical aura’ more or less, a small symphony of heartbeats, breaths, and something more… ephemeral. It comes through in the way they move through the environment, in the way the air particles are displaced around them and vibrate with their energy.

💙 And for some reason Dabi’s song is practically intoxicating, just like his sharp blue eyes that always seem to pin you down, heavy lids held up by a cocky smirk.

💙 The two of you reach an impasse in your battle of wills, an unspoken stand-off that never wanes. And it’s upon this competitive dance that the two of you begin to build some strange sense of camaraderie.

💙 He’ll eventually give up on his desire for pranking his comrades when he sees you use your quirk on heroes. But not just any hero, of course…

💙 Imagine Dabi’s glee when you use your song quirk to make Endeavor literally dance as the large man’s face flushes red with rage. It was intended to keep him busy while the League made their escape. But it makes it all over the news of course, and becomes viral online for months. The laughter that the two of you share when you get back to the hideout lasts for hours as you watch the news replay the scene over and over it. It really never gets old.

💙 Oh man, does he like you even more now. You’re his new favorite person. And he finally stops harassing you about using your quirk on the League members, instead finding much greater enjoyment in targeting different heroes together.

💙 There will come a time that he’ll catch you on one of your many insomnia-induced nights. It’s a hard one, sleep being kept at bay by the musical cacophony surrounding you, despite your obvious exhaustion. Your strength finally shatters, and you break down into tears in your room in frustration.

💙 Guess who ends up knocking on your door?

💙 Of course Dabi heard you. For months he’s been listening to the pacing of your feet or your frustrated sighs through the thin, old walls. It’s almost become a lullaby to him by this point, a way for him to know that you’re safe and sound… more or less.

💙 “What’s wrong, doll?” he’ll ask, as he stares down at your tear-streaked face. “I can hear ya through the walls, so don’t gimme any of your bullshit excuses.” Anyone else would hear the mockery in his voice, but for you with your quirk, you can hear the song of caring weaved through them, a hidden secret that you’re sure even he doesn’t realize is there.

💙 He won’t wait for an answer as he enters your personal space and makes himself comfortable.

💙 His sudden presence and that comforting familiar song it brings with it soothes more than you’d like to admit.

💙 But you do admit it. You admit to everything. The fatigue you feel, the way your quirk makes you suffer, and how for some reason, the song of him puts you at ease, drowning out the other noise. It’s like your inner radio is tuned just for him. Normally you wouldn’t admit to any of this of course, but you’re well past the point of exhaustion now, and your brain isn’t running as smoothly as it normally would. So what did it matter if you told him everything? You really didn’t have the strength to care anymore.

💙 “Your quirk is fuckin’ weird.” he admits. Then a grin will spread across his face. “You like my ‘song,’ huh? C’mere.”

💙 He’ll have you lay down with him on your bed and hold you close to him, your head on his chest as he rests his chin in your hair. “Does it help?” he’ll ask.

💙 Shockingly, it does. His music surrounds you, and you close your eyes as you let it cover you like a warm blanket. Everything else seems to fall to the wayside, your tired brain only able to focus on one melody - his. Before you can even nod in response, you’re fast asleep.

💙 It’ll become a habit for you two now… On particularly hard nights, he’ll keep you company and hold you. And maybe… maybe he’ll start letting you keep him company when he has hard nights too.

[meigh-day]

Obligation (Tendou x Reader)

I seriously didn’t think I would be back writing a brand new story already (I can feel the looks of betrayal from the 6 other fics I was writing previously.). It’s been like a day since I finished Breathing Lilies, but here I am with a great need to get this story out of my brain. So please enjoy yet another Tendou centric fic. 

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Title: Obligation

Pairing: Mafia AU Tendou x F!Reader

Characters: Includes characters from both Shiratorizawa and Seijoh/Some OC background characters

Includes: Swearing, Mentions of Guns/Knives and Violence

Status: Complete

Word Count: 1.8k

Next

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"Is this really necessary?" You mumble out in irritation.

"Watch your tone." Kimura warned, emphasized by the look he directed at you. He’d been taking care of you since you were twelve, playing both guardian and bodyguard when the need arose. Your parents had been special to the family and when they had both been taken out during a job, you were left to Kimura to look after. Over the years, you had tried to weasel your way into some kind of work within the family, anything would have done. You'd have been happy even just guarding a door but that meant you'd need a gun and Kimura had made it clear you weren't permitted to even hold a gun, let alone learn to use one. You'd even tried to get in on the boring office work but for whatever reason any and all attempts were thwarted and thus you were left to your own devices within the confines of the house.

With a sigh you force yourself to sit upright in the chair. You had been slouching like a moody teenager and he deserved more respect than that.

"I apologize, Sensei. Please continue."

The older man let out a sigh before continuing. It's not like he was a big fan of this idea either but they needed to ensure the relationship with the Shiratorizawa group remained intact and this seemed to be the preferred method the rest of the family had agreed upon.

"It's going to take place in about a month but they want you to go stay with them before-hand so you can get to know him and get familiar with how they do things."

You chew thoughtfully at the inside of your lip as you ponder this new development. It wasn't uncommon to arrange a marriage between families to secure a new alliance or to further strengthen an old one. Now, it was your turn. For years you had complained about not being able to do something for the family that had continued to take care of you in the absence of your parents but, now that your time had come, you couldn't help but feel a little hesitant. Marrying someone you had never met wasn't your idea of romance but that didn't matter. You nod a little bit as you steel yourself, mentally preparing as you come to terms with the decision that had been made on your behalf.

"Do, do you know who it is?" Kimura nods at your question, crossing his arms as he takes a few paces across the room.

"Tendou Satori." That name, it sounded so familiar but you couldn't quite seem to bring up his image in your mind.

"You actually met him once a few years ago."

"Oh?"

"Mhm. He helped tie-up some loose ends in connection to the gang who..." He faltered for a moment, even though it had been so many years, he could still see the sadness in your eyes over the loss of your parents. It had taken several years to track down and wipe out every single rat that had had a hand in your parent's death. The family had lost a number of valuable people that day, and they made sure everyone involved paid for it dearly. You glanced up and over at him, already knowing the words before he said it, and with that brought a vision of crimson hair.

"Oh." You nodded and your sensei understood you knew the person he was referencing.

"I'm sorry. I know he's not the nicest looking person. Red hair and eyes like a demon and a personality to match."

To that you said nothing. That was not the person you remembered. In your memories you saw a smile with kind eyes to match and the loveliest red hair. Honestly, even after all these years, he was still the most beautiful person you had ever seen. Tendou had only stayed at this house for a short time but each day the two of you managed to find one another. Maybe you unconscientiously sought him out, maybe he did the same, or maybe it was just fate or a coincidence. Talking with him had been a treat and you sorely missed him when he'd finally had to return home.

"When am I expected?"

"Tomorrow."

With a nod, you offer the older man a bow before leaving. He watched you leave and let out a little sigh before retrieving his phone.

"It's me. Yea. She's gone to pack. Hm? No she understands." He listened to the voice on the other end of the phone, pacing across the room to stare out the window. You had taken this so casually that it made him a little nervous. Not that you were the type to argue but he was so sure as soon as he’d told you who it was you were being forced to marry you would at least try talk to him into getting you out of it. Instead, you were on your way to your room to pack. He was less that excited to know you were going to be married to the monster of the Shiratorizawa group. Tendou was good at what he did, it was absurd how good he was actually. Kimura had seen the aftermath of the red-head's work and it had left even a veteran like him feeling uneasy. Now he had to send you off into that creatures clutches tomorrow and there was a good chance he might never see your precious face again. There was nothing to be done for it though, in the end you had a purpose to fulfill and he would make sure you got there. After that it was up to you to decide how you would handle the rest.

.

..

...

..

.

Presently, you found yourself standing in a rather large vestibule, your luggage sitting off to the side. As your eyes roam the room, you find yourself nervously toying with the hem of your shirt. An assortment of emotions plagued you as you stood waiting. You were scared, you'd had zero interactions with the people in this house and had no idea what to expect. You felt sad, you'd had less than 24 hours to say goodbye to everyone who had been a part of your life until this point. However, mixed into the sadness and the fear of the unknown, was excitement. You were genuinely looking forward to seeing Tendou once again. There was sure to be a bit of awkwardness, you were, for lack of a better term, being forced to marry each other. You wondered if he would even remember you. It had been a few years since then and it was such a short time, you couldn't imagine you had made any kind of real impression on him.

That's where you were wrong. Satori, like you, didn't remember your name right away but when reminded of that job a few years ago, your pretty face came rushing back to him. That had been the happiest series of weeks he could recall in a long time. Everyday the two of you would inevitable run into each other and spend the following minutes..sometimes hours...chatting and joking. The sound of your laugh had become his favorite song for those few weeks and he'd have given anything to hear it once more. So, when the time came for him to leave, his only qualm was that he'd had to leave you behind. At first when he'd been told they were marrying him off to a perfect stranger, he'd been ready to spill blood. His tune changed completely when they'd told him it was you. He was so thoroughly happy, for a little while anyway. Sure you hadn't know each other for long but at least you had met and every memory of you was bliss. He felt like the luckiest guy in the world but he could only imagine how you were feeling right now. The prospect of being forced to marry him, it must have been so terrifying.

Tendou was all to familiar with what people said about him, he'd used those rumors to his advantage. They helped him built up a fairly fearsome persona, though it wasn't all bullshit. He really, truly, was a terrifying being to behold when it came to completing his work. He wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty, dripping with someone else's blood. But that wasn't all there was to him, he was still just a person, just a human being. He loved to laugh and share jokes, though they went fairly unappreciated around here. He happily devoured Shonen Jump each week, the shelves in his room practically sagged with the weight of the collected issues. He was the demon, the monster, of the Shiratorizawa Group, but he was still just a human and part of him desperately wanted to feel something akin to love. Even so, he knew there was no way someone as wonderful as you, someone so charming, so beautiful inside and out, could really truly fall for a beast like him. He knew you would do your duty and you would do it well but that's all it was, a duty, a job, a burden.

So with a sigh, he made his way through the house to collect you. He wore black from top to bottom, the only pop of color on his entire person was his dazzling red hair. You had to grit your teeth to refrain from gasping when he entered the room. He cut an impressive figure, leaning casually against the door frame, his calculating red eyes on you. You remembered he was handsome, but had he always been THAT good looking. It wasn't fair. Suddenly you felt very plain and underdressed in comparison to him. The knee-length jacket he wore on top of his outfit fluttered behind him as he crossed the threshold into the vestibule.

"It's been awhile, Y/N." He offered up a grin as he drew closer to you. Had you always been this pretty? The expression on his face did little to betray the thoughts racing around his mind as he took in your appearance. His memory of you couldn't compare to the vision before him now. You were looking up at him with wide eyes but he couldn't tell if it was in fear or awe. Though, assuming it was the former he let the grin on his lips fade until his mouth was pressed into a line.

"It's nice to see you again, Tendou." You smiled up at him, truly happy to see him again and feeling somehow lucky. Honestly, arranged marriages often ended up in extremely unfortunate pairings. Somehow you had hit the jackpot.

He hummed in response, the negative thoughts prickling in his mind wouldn't allow him a moment to just consider perhaps you meant it. Instead he noted how well you were already performing under this obligation. He hefted your two suitcases up and started back towards the door he came in.

"Wait! Let me help you with those." He glanced over his shoulder, a smirk on his lips.

"Don't worry your pretty little head. It's the least I can do as your future husband."

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Hike-Story

So...I’ve been on a hike today with friends and I’ve been told a lovely local legend of my country and region. I’ve decided to put it into a short story with Thorin.

It’s a sort of prequel to all the amazing stories some authors write about Thorin and OCs while already under the Mountain... Please feel free to reblog and further the local saga of Oberschlinden 😊

So...here goes...

Black

Prologue

In a valley hidden within a dark forest, there were once two villages, very different from one another and yet doomed to suffer the same fate.

The first village was prosperous and industrious and its inhabitants knew much success in their bountiful endeavours, whereas the second village was merry and joyous, filled with music and celebrations all year round.

One day, a weary gleeman came this way and asked to be lodged and fed in exchange for a tune, but the upstanding villagers turned him away for they were much afeared that he had come to rob them of their wealth and goods. “We have no need for your futile, frivolous shenanigans.” They claimed and forbade him to set foot into their town.

Understanding what they were really afraid of, the man replied: “So be it, I should not have taken a single coin that had not been given to me freely. For your callous ignominy, I shall leave you something instead.” 

And with these words, he turned around and headed to the other village across the valley.

Here, he was welcomed with open arms. He was fed and housed and after having regained his strength, he went on his merry way again to entertain and amuse other villages. The villagers were much aggrieved about his departure as they had greatly enjoyed his contribution to their daily merriment. They let him leave with their best wishes, nonetheless, for they were an indolent people, unable and unwilling to defend their interests with any kind of forcefulness.

A shadow fell over the valley. A dark sickness befell the first village and rapidly spread across the valley to the other one that had taken no precautions to keep the grim reaper out. Too busy had they been celebrating life and the sinking sun to pay any heed to the pestilence creeping their way.

This is how the first village learned that one who is too afraid to lose what he cannot keep, might well be given what he cannot get rid of, and the second village understood that evil spread faster than fell the night and crept, insidious, into every crack if not actively opposed. Like moss covering the immobile stone, the plague washed over the villages and left none but two women standing.

One of those women would rail and wail all day long, lamenting the loss of her glorious life and of her dear family, until madness took her and she returned to her empty house to wait for death to be her last visitor.

The other one, however, took it upon herself to do penance for the sins of her valley and all its ghostly inhabitants that were heard in the moaning of the wind and the gurgling of the brook.

This is her story. 

The sun was low in the sky already when she was startled by the sound of footsteps behind her, making her look up in amazement.

“Good day, good woman, I am a blacksmith and I am looking for the prosperous village hidden in this valley. I am on my way back to my people and I am willing to work in exchange for food and lodging. May you point out the way to me, please?” A gruff voice resounded and a man stepped out of the shadow of the dense foliage.

He was short and stout, unlike any other man she had ever seen in her life, and she was so surprised by his appearance that it took a moment for her to react to his words.

“Good day, Master Dwarf,” she replied courteously, for she now saw that this was what he was, “I am sorry to confess that this village no longer exists. Neither does its sister. I am the last living soul in these parts.” 

He looked much alarmed at her words. 

“Moreover, there is a sickness lying over the valley. It is not advisable to traverse it.” She went on, getting up from her kneeling position at the foot of the little chapel. “Master Dwarf, I live at the other side of this cursed valley, it is a two-hour walk and the light is failing. I offer you my guidance around the affected area and my hospitality.” She spoke, bowing her head deferentially.

The dwarf seemed to ponder her words for a moment, then nodded. 

“Step where I step; the path is treacherous and night shall be upon us soon.” She warned and set out.

Every day, she made her way along the rocky outcrops and the stony ledges, through the dense foliage of the underbrush and the silent desert of trees, to circle the whole valley and pray for hours at the foot of the small chapel for the souls of those who had fallen prey to sickness, stubbornness and wicked ignorance. 

Along the way, she collected herbs and mushrooms to sustain herself and produce ointments and potions she sold once a month in the next village, just beyond the valley. 

She led a lonely life, but she was unerring in her penance. Those two villages that had been mother and father to her for most of her adult life had done wrong and had been smitten for it by the hand of God. There was nobody left to ask for forgiveness, but her. 

“Dwarves have steady steps and exceptional eyesight, even in the darkness. Worry not for me.” The man, for she could not call him anything else than that, answered. 

He was well-grown, like an oak, strong and sturdy; he seemed tired though and she vowed that she would not commit the same mistake her forefathers and elders had made; she would be a gracious host. Indeed, she would salve the burns on his bare arms and give him the best parts of whatever she would find in her traps along her daily trek. 

“Have you no kin, woman?” He asked after they had mounted a steep rocky ledge leading them through dense undergrowth from which she would extract berries and healing herbs to stow away in the satchels she carried on her back.

“I have no kin, Master Dwarf.” She shrugged, extending her hand to him when they came to a brook. The stones were slippery and wont to shift beneath the unfamiliar foot.

He just chuckled, a sound reminiscent of the big rockslide that had occurred a few months ago, and leapt easily enough across the narrow expanse of wet pebbles. 

For a creature looking this heavy, he was surprisingly agile, she thought. She knew nothing about dwarves of course. In her nan’s tales, there had been mentions of those mysterious man-like beings who lived under mountains and in golden halls, but she had imagined them smaller and less…beautiful than what she saw in front of her. 

As a matter of fact, she could not remember ever having seen a man quite as enchanting as the one following her swift steps effortlessly. There were beads in his hair that shimmered in the dying light and his eyes were the colour of the great river rushing through the valley; indeed, he was the closest she had ever come to a genuine fairy tale. 

“What happened here?” He inquired, as they reached the highest ledge and looked down on the villages, already plunged in deep shadows and obviously deserted.

“A plague broke out and took every living soul. It is said that it was the refusal of hospitality by this village,” she pointed to one cluster of houses, “and the lack of zeal or backbone of that one,” she pointed to the opposite side of the valley, “that led to their doom.” 

She had been there, she had seen the people who had been her friends and family die a miserable, painful death and she had waited for the blight to fall upon her as well. It had never come and now, she was the watcher of the dead valley; in a world of ghosts, there was none who felt less alive than her, walking along the deserted ruins of her existence day after day. 

“Thank you for warning me.” He had a good voice, she thought, low and kind. It was a miracle to stumble upon another living being, but his voice and the empathy in his eyes felt like a caress upon her bruised soul. 

“It is my duty, Master Dwarf. I shall stand in harm’s way as long as I can.” 

“My name is Thorin.” He declared in an almost questioning voice. He had been reticent to divulge his name, she realised and turned around to bow deeply. 

“Come along, Master Thorin. The light is fading fast now.” She urged him on, almost running along the rocky paths, her feet sending up sprays of pebbles in her wake.

They walked on tirelessly for a long time, until they reached a fallen tree stump that had not been there when she had come this way earlier in the day.

Clambering over the dead wood swiftly, Thorin extended his arms, in turn, to her. She stepped closer and uttered a small cry of astonishment when he simply lifted her over the obstacle as if she weighed nothing at all. “Thank you, Master Thorin.” She bowed again.

He smelled like the pines that grew beyond the valley, she noticed, and like life. Everything about him was painfully alive: the vivid intelligence of his eyes, the small smirk he gave her on account of her breathless incredulity, and the warmth of his hands on her ribs that left a palpable impression.

As she walked on, nearing the point where the path would dip drastically and the danger doubled, she came to accept that she would cherish this encounter until the end of her days.

Maybe God had heard her prayers and granted her the small solace of seeing another soul, of speaking to someone who actually answered and of feeling living flesh upon her own once more. 

She extricated a small rabbit from the trap she had laid on the highest crest and pushed it down into her satchel as well, gesturing to the silent valley with a sense of pride.

“This is home. And there’s my hut.” She pointed to a small wooden house at the far end of the valley, nestled between two tiny hills and reflecting the last rays of sun. 

The light was growing dimmer now and the way down was treacherous even in broad daylight. “Permit me, Mistress.” He gave her a mocking smile and took her hand. 

It felt huge and calloused, but its roughness comforted her. She had lived in this rocky wilderness for years now and the feeling of warm stones would always be synonymous with home to her. 

To her shame and despair, she tottered several times on their way down and when Thorin slung his arm around her waist and steadied her, she did not object.

Finally, they reached the little plateau she called her own. 

“Give me your boots.” She asked and when he did, she set them aside to be cleaned afterwards. 

Stoking the fire, she started taking the small rabbit apart and tossing the various leaves and mushrooms she had collected into the pot filled with fresh water. She would deplete her stocks for him; she would not be a bad host like the first villagers. Also, she would mend his socks, tend to his injuries and clean his boots; she would not be a slovenly scallywag like the second villagers either.

“Make yourself at home.” She invited him, giving him the best chair and a blanket she had woven herself in her youth. 

“Are you really all alone?” He asked her, as she sat on the floor, grinding herbs into a paste with devoted focus. “Yes, Master Dwarf.” She smiled, taking his hand and spreading the ointment gingerly on the burns dotting his strong forearms. 

“Do you like being alone?” He pressed on, wincing as the wet unguent made his wounds smart.

“It is my punishment and my expiation.” She replied while stirring the stew she was preparing. 

His eyes settled heavily on her face and she could read sympathy and sadness in those dark, blue lakes shot through with silver. He looked rather like a gem hewn from precious stone himself, she had to admit, feeling drawn to the solidity of his frame and the living warmth of his gaze. 

“Eat, Master Thorin.” She handed him a deep bowl, containing most of the mushrooms and all of the meat she had managed to scrape off the scrawny rabbit.

“What about you?” He asked, suspicious, when she filled a goblet with the fragrant broth. 

“Eat.” She encouraged him again. He had obviously known a long and tiresome road and she wanted him to feel safe and cared for; she was thankful for the chance to do right by him. 

It was a small redemption of her blood to be a good host after the opposite reaction had plunged her people into extinction. 

He looked relaxed now, sitting by the fire, listening to her hum to herself while she cleaned his boots and mended his clothing. “Your gifts are wasted on the dead.” He suddenly said.

“Beg your pardon?” She looked up from polishing his boots, a questioning expression in her eyes. 

“You have been a good host to me, you’re a steady cook and a knowledgeable reader of nature. Come with me.” 

She blinked. She knew not what he was talking about.

“I am, as I said, on my way to rejoin my kin. Come with me, there is nothing here for you but desolation and loneliness. There are people yet alive beyond this valley and they could greatly benefit from your knowledge…and your sweet nature. Come with me! Be my travel companion!” He reiterated when she didn’t reply. 

“I cannot…I am here to…” - “You are here to wait for the next weary traveller and right the wrong inflicted by and upon your people. Consider it done, Mahal has heard you child, I am Thorin, and I shall be King under the Mountain one day. I might be here to deliver you and take you away from this place.” He interrupted her harshly. 

A king, she thought, a future king. What prevented him from being king now?

“It is a hard life amongst my people; there will be deprivation and long, cold nights.” He warned her, but she simply motioned to the small hut they sat in while the wind howled with furious intensity outside. 

“But…it is a life. I offer you a life, not an easy one, not a pretty one necessarily, but a life. Be the watcher of the living, be the minder of the sick, be the guide of the hale-bodied; leave behind your dead and let them find their peace. Come with me!” 

She thought about it for a moment, then nodded. He was right; he might have been the sign she had been waiting for all these years. 

Epilogue:

The last survivor of the great plague that had ravaged the valley and left it inhabited forevermore was never seen again. People say, she just vanished at some point. Some hold the belief that she has been carried away by fairies and others claim that on windy nights, one could see her walk along the stony ledges on her eternal way to the abandoned chapel. 

We shall never know for sure what really happened to that sole survivor, but her name disappeared from the ledgers, never to be mentioned again in the books of men. 

[ofwizardsandmen]

Foreign territory

Pasión de Gavilanes AU

Characters: Tara (OC), Mark Lee, Sungjae Lee, M, Emily

Word count: 2,6k

Genre: fluff, angst(?)

(Part of a larger story and multiple AUs, but can be read on its own)

“Our favorite girl is here!” An excited voice exclaimed causing Tara to spin around scandalized, her abundant jet black hair whipping about her head and eventually falling down her shoulders in a nearly cinematographic way.

Across the room, the owner of the voice—a tall, long-necked man of pretty dimples,—stood by a massive wooden staircase, keeping an educated distance and looking puzzled. Considering that his last encounter with Tara Lee had been anything but peaceful—the night ended up in chaos, with her cousins storming out of their own party,—he wasn’t expecting to find her pacing up and down the foyer of his house with a toddler in arms.

“I- I meant Astrid, of course,” The man, M —as his closest friends and family called him— added, nervously looking away from Tara’s judging glances. For someone who barely knew Tara and whose only “interactions” with her had consisted in cold remarks and snarky comments —from her part—the man still took offense in the way her expression contorted into something mildly similar to disgust. “Anyway… Thanks for coming”

Tara who couldn’t quite believe she’d dared to set foot in that house—if her mother or any of her aunts found out she was there, she’d be kicked out of the Delacroix State in a heartbeat,—and was still surprised by how majestic and prosperous everything seemed, only responded with a single acknowledging nod of the head.

“Wow Astrid, you’re growing so fast” M chose to ignore the fact Tara was looking around the house, seemingly unimpressed and held out both arms calling his niece’s name. In an effort to cut the distance between them, he also gave two short, cautious steps forward. “It was about time you were allowed to visit your dad and uncles,” he said, his voice changing drastically to what was supposed to be a child-friendly tone that, Tara thought to herself, was hard to emulate with his deep voice.

However, Astrid, the one-year-old toddler—daughter of Minah and Sungjae—was easy to impress. She cooed cutely waving her tiny hands around in the air as if trying to reach for the crystal lamp—or probably just her tall uncle.

The scene was sweet enough for Tara to relax and let out a soft chuckle as she made the mental note to tell her cousins about this later. There was no doubt Jane and Minah would go in a long rant about how Astrid was turning into a little traitor. They would probably have two different people to blame, but it would obviously involve the Lee brothers.

According to Tara’s cousins, M and his brothers, Sungjae and Mark, were the root of all evil, the equivalent to Satan on Earth and the reason Delacroix Group was bordering bankruptcy. And truth to be told, once upon a time, Tara herself was convinced of it and she had even go as far as campaigning against the three brothers. Tara hated each of them: Sungjae and whatever it was that had Minah acting like some hormonal teenager, M and those dimples that seemed to erase all traces of judgment from Jane's brain and above it all, Mark Lee and that stupid smile of his.

But lately, things didn’t seem so black and white anymore. Tara had promised Mark—the same Mark Lee she hated to the bone once upon a time— not to jump to conclusions when it came to their intentions anymore. And at least for now, she was willing to give them the benefit of the doubt.

For now, Tara had even offered to take Astrid to visit her dad and willingly drove 10 miles to the brothers' ranch. That was a weekly task Jane had taken upon herself, but that she refused to carry out after the fiasco at the Delacroix fashion show.

Tara didn’t blame her.

After all, the image of Astrid’s little arms moving up and down, desperately trying to reach for her uncle would have probably caused her cousin an aneurism.

Tara, on the other hand, was much more collected, wise, and less visceral. She was also the only person in Delacroix Manor willing to see the Lees. And anyhow, Tara wasn’t pleased with the prospect of spending another afternoon with her cousins if that meant having to act sympathetic when Jane complained about how that “deceptively handsome devil”—M, her husband— showed up unannounced to their collection’s launch party and “ruined” her date with Jaehyun Jung, a textile industrial she had been frequenting. Tara wasn't sure if Jane’s complained because—she claimed—M was the last person on Earth she wanted to see or because he looked so devastatingly hot that day, dressed in a classic Ralph Lauren suit that was a striking contrast with the clothes he usually wore, or because up until that day Jaehyun had no idea Jane was—technically—married.

Then there was Minah, who despite being less vocal on her complaints, lately looked so lifeless that her mere presence seemed to drain all the energy out of the room. Tara had vainly tried to play the role of supportive cousin who offered words of consolation and encouragement, but Minah always brushed her off. Unlike Jane, Minah avoided mentioning the Lee brothers at all costs. The last time Tara asked about Sungjae, Minah got angry and claimed to be absolutely unaffected by his new romantic relationship with Ashleigh Hastings. Of course, watching her drown herself in work and rosé suggested otherwise, but Tara didn’t dare to point out the flaws in her argument. Tara was also unwilling to spend another afternoon pretending not to notice Minah’s eyes filling out with tears every now and then.

“So, Jane won’t come anymore?” M asked, clearing his throat casually as if to get Tara’s attention. It worked because Tara snapped from her thoughts and looked back at him.

“What do you think?” She replied sarcastically. M opened his mouth to say something, but Tara signaled him to hold Astrid before the hyperactive toddler decided to jump off her arms. Once M was jiggling Astrid up and down and her laugh echoed down the hallway, Tara went on as if nothing had interrupted them “If you don’t want me to come here, next time-“

“For god’s sake, Tara, don’t be ridiculous” Another familiar voice spoke from behind her. Tara was quick to notice two things. The first one was that the man’s voice dripped exasperation, the second that her heart did a wild flip when he pronounced her name. “Of course we want you to come, especially if you’re bringing our niece to visit.”

Tara gulped quietly and slowly turned around.

She was greeted by a close-up of Mark, M’s younger brother and the owner of the vast lands adjacent to Delacroix State—where Tara and her extended family lived. There, smiling that exasperating smile—confident, but warmth-inducing and absolutely gorgeous—Tara had hated for months—years, probably—, Mark Lee stood blocking the sun rays filtering through the windows. The light gave him an angelic aura. It didn’t help he was suited in a beige suit that made his back look broader than Tara could remember.

“Hi Tara, nice to see you,” Mark said simply, a full smile still present in his face.

“Hey, how are you?” Tara mentally kicked herself thinking of how awkward and unnatural she sounded, how his simple words had her feeling all sorts of nervous.

Thankfully there was no time for further regret because Mark’s older brother, Sungjae, materialized at the top of the staircase and practically flew down the stairs, pulled his daughter from his brother’s arms and smothered her with kisses.

Astrid cried solid ten seconds but then burst out with loud contagious giggles.

Watching the Astrid & Sungjae show was oddly endearing, but somehow felt like an invasion of privacy. For a second or two Tara looked around trying to find a place to sneak to while Sungjae caught up on the missing time with his daughter. But when she started to move, Sungjae’s voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Ummm, so Minah is not coming?” He asked as Astrid played with a strand of his hair “She’s never talking to me again or what?” Sungjae’s eyes bored into Tara’s as if trying to get an honest answer from her.

“I did everything possible to bring Astrid” Tara replied with a frown, she hesitated before adding “I really don’t think I can convince Minah to come”

It resulted impossible to ignore the shadows immediately invading Sungjae’s eyes. Tara wondered if talking about her cousin had put them there or if there was something else worrying him. The man already looked a bit haggard when Tara first saw him, but upon further inspection, she realized he looked particularly hollow-cheeked and pale “It’s fine, I’m still thankful you brought my daughter, Tara” There was a pause where Sungjae looked at Astrid with a faint smile “I really mean it. Thank you”

“Well, don’t thank me…” With a slight tinge of guilt, Tara added “We really can’t stay long. I promised to take Astrid back before our aunts notice we’re gone. You know what they think of…” she trailed off, realizing how inappropriate it was to complete that sentence. Telling the Lee brothers how much her aunts despised them seemed unnecessary and somewhat repetitive considering those four women were not exactly subtle and never missed the chance to let M, Sungjae and Mark know they were as welcome in the region as a plague was in their fields.

Sungjae’s expression dropped considerably.

“Tara, you just got here” M protested, though he kept his kind smile plastered on the face “Sungjae hasn’t seen Astrid in weeks, he won’t admit it, but he was going insane”

Mark chuckled at his brother's comment, knowing Sungjae wouldn’t appreciate being exposed like that, but looking away when Sungjae frowned at him.

“No, I am serious, guys” Tara said apologetically “We have to go soon”

“Tara, don’t be so impatient” it was almost ironic that Mark let out an impatient sigh just after calling her that. Tara looked away to hide the smile tugging at the corner of her lips

“Yes, Sungjae deserves some time with Astrid” A female voice coincided, taking Tara by surprise. When she looked up to the second floor, she found a beautiful young woman—Emily Choi—smiling down at them and leaning against the banister. Emily was the only daughter of Madame Elsie Choi, a wealthy and old land-owner who was too close of a friend of Tara’s aunts for her liking. However, as of recently, Emily had officially moved into the Lee residence, God knows why. Rumors said Emily was actually related by blood to the Lee brothers, but Tara was not one to listen to gossip or care about other people’s affairs.

And yet, she still supposed the change of air had been beneficial to Emily because the girl looked happier than Tara remembered her to be when she was still living with her old mom and those two annoying cousins of her. Emily smiled at her and waved a hand cordially.

“I was just dropping by to say the staff prepared a little tea party at the terrace, if you want to join me and Lucas,” she announced happily.

“Oi, he’s coming today? Again?” Mark questioned, eyes narrowing a bit comically.

“He was here yesterday and the day before. At this rate I think it’ll be better to have him moving here” M said with an eye roll

“I was just being nice” Emily scoffed, but her smile did not vanish from her lips “You’re welcome to join, but if you don’t want to, then” she shrugged casually. “I’ll be at the terrace if you need me” She made a fake reverence and before disappearing, she briefly added a “nice to see you, Tara.”

“And that’s our cue to leave” Tara attempted to move forward to retrieve Astrid from her father’s arms when a hand wrapped around her wrist, keeping her in place. The woman didn’t need to turn around to know it was Mark who was holding her back, partly because M would’ve never dared to touch her and partly because her pulse accelerated inexplicably.

“I-“ Mark looked at his hand, as if startled by his own actions “I would like to talk to you before you go, Tara” he let go of her wrist and gave her a quick apologetic curtsy that caused his brothers to raise brows and share incredulous looks. “If you follow me-”

Mark led Tara through the stables and horse training facilities of his ranch. “El Dorado” was undoubtedly the greatest horse farm in the region, sprawled for miles and neighboring the Delacroix Ranch. Mark—and by default his brothers—had become the owner of this billionaire property through what people considered to be a questionable marriage that didn’t even hit the 24-hour mark. Tara had recently found out that the story was not as simplistic and accepting that the Mark she claimed to hate for years was not a gold-digging bastard had been quite of a ride. It started with him showing up at some of the most exclusive events in the region, avid of revenge and acting like he was beyond the rest of land owners. Then Tara nearly killed him, knocking him off his horse. And ended up with Tara saving his life from some lowlifes who attempted to kill him. All in the span of a month. Now, Tara followed him God knows where and for some reason she couldn’t completely grasp she didn't even protest.

“The Ranch is spectacular, you really manage it properly” Tara commented, mostly because the silence was starting to stretch for too long.

“Well, it still has nothing on yours” The man gave her a lopsided smile. It was not a secret that Tara was—or at least used to be until very recently—the real mastermind behind the Delacroix Ranch's prosperity.

“Well, lately we’ve had-“ Tara paused “a few setbacks, as you probably noted”

“It’s Julien’s fault, no?” Mark wasn't subtle, but it was an open secret that Julien Toubeau—Minah’s ex-husband and one of the most despicable humans on Earth—had recently been appointed Deputy Finance Manager of the Delacroix Group and things had gone downhill since.

Tara didn’t deny it “Mostly” she nodded “but the girls —she said referring to her cousins Jane and Minah— and I have a backup plan to save the ranch” Tara explained.

“And I’m sure you’ll do great” Mark reached to pat Tara’s shoulder, causing her to stop walking and freeze on the spot. “Especially you, Tara” he said, moving so they were facing each other “Everybody knows you’re brilliant and hardworking”

Tara looked down, afraid that if she allowed Mark to look into her eyes, he’d noticed the effect his words had on her.

“And I was furious when Julien tried to take your position from the board of governors, you know?” Mark also looked down in an attempt to find whatever it was that Tara found so interesting on the ground.

“Thanks, that means-“ she took a deep breath and raised her head “a lot to me, Mark”

“You have nothing to thank me. In fact, I should be thanking you for bringing Astrid to visit.”

“Honestly, I’m not doing it to ingratiate myself with you or your brothers, Mark” Tara suddenly turned serious “I did it because I knew Sungjae would do anything to see her and I didn’t want more problems. Things are-“ she hesitated “very complicated right now and I don’t want our families to start fighting again and-” Tara trailed off when she noticed Mark slipping a hand into hers. “And it’s not right for you to hold my hand” she added, without concealing a giddy smile making its way to her lips “The workers can see us and God knows what they’ll think. I don’t want any rumors floating around”

“And you know, I’d do more than just holding your hand,” Mark said leaning closer and closer to Tara.

“Don’t even think about it, Mark” Tara chuckled, her face a mixture of amusement and regret “It’s really not the right time”

“So, you don’t let me send you flowers, you won’t let me thank you for saving my life, Tara-“ Mark inhaled loudly “I’ve been meaning to ask you out-“ Mark could almost hear an excuse escaping from Tara’s lips, so he hurried to place a finger over them “You can’t say no, the only valid answer is a place and a date”

Tara shook her head defeated “Is it supposed to be a date?” She dared to question although she knew very well it was.

...

[gypsydanger01]

THE STORM - Part twenty

Fandom: The Boys (Amazon prime tv series)

Pairing: Black Noir x OC

Disclaimer: I don’t own The Boys, only my OC characters and certain pieces of au plot.

Comments, reviews, constructive criticism, and other requests are always more than welcome!

The Home Invasion

As night fell upon the city, Black Noir suited up. He wanted to settle in for the night and forget the situation that plagued him but couldn’t with the conflict unfolding in his head. He had very clear orders as to how to deal with it. He’d never felt remorse for carrying out orders and he shouldn’t feel any now.

And yet, the fact that she was his target weighed down on his shoulders like an unmovable load. The difference was that he knew her. He’d watched her for a long time, learning her routines, likes and dislikes. And then she’d allowed him a glimpse behind the scenes during their quiet moments together. She had felt real.

She lied, and she wasn’t who she said she was, but some part of him desperately clung to the possibility of there being an essential reason. She wasn’t Sarah, she was Marianna, a woman with a whole different story behind her. She’d never shared details on her childhood, or her reason for working at Vought. She was a mystery, an intricate set of questions he couldn’t seem to unravel.

But he’d gotten a glimpse past the happenings of her life, the superficial happiness she expressed. He’d gotten a look straight into who she was in the moment. By her side, he felt untouchable and accepted. He felt like she truly saw him. There had always been this knowing look in her eye and he now wondered if she had always known what he truly did for Vought. Who he really was behind the façade of advertisements, movies, and interviews.

He left his tracker on the table and wore a suit with a disactivated camera.

When he’d pulled his gloves to wash their cup, she’d respected him.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to hide here.”

He had promised himself he’d keep her safe from any form of harm.

A part of him insisted that their time together had been genuine.

At that thought, he violently stuck a final knife into its sheath and walked out the door.

.

He arrived at her home and stopped in the shadows to observe the quaint abode. He could hear the tv playing and the oven on in the kitchen. The lights were on throughout the house, and he wondered if he’d walk in to find her chilling in her armchair, wrapped in her light blue blanket. He could almost see her swinging the door open with her wild hair and searing dark eyes.

But this was no social meeting. He moved stealthily towards the house. He was filled with disappointment at the prospect of their meeting ending so quickly. Would he be merciful if he gave her a quick and painless death?

Mr. Edgar wanted her alive, but he’d looked into compound 15 and the experiments that were carried out at the cold, isolated facility. A quick death would spare her a life of pain under syringes and surgeries, tests, and experiments.

He made his way to the back and jumped over the fence. He inched towards the door to the kitchen and heard the tune she always seemed to mindlessly hum.

Was she baking?

Well, Mr. Edgar had said to catch her off guard, making sure she didn’t have time to counterattack. Still, he’d expected to encounter the formidable fighter of the night before, the threat to Vought.

Was it her? A wave of doubt surged through him.

He broke the lock and quickly entered, observing the space for any sign of her. The oven was on, indeed, but when he crouched and peered inside, he found it empty. He followed the sound of her humming to the kitchen table, where it emanated from a small recording device. He almost smirked, glad this would indeed be a match of forces.

And then he took a step into the living room and pulled the invisible wire which unleashed holy hell on him.

The woman waited with bated breath as she heard the bombs go off in quick succession, making tremors run through the house.

It was definitely her.

Black Noir stilled and waited for the dust to settle. The tv remained untouched and continued playing Frank Sinatra’s greatest hits. He pulled a few nails from his suit but didn’t bother with the rest when he realized how many there were. He took caution in stepping forward into the room, certain that there would be more devices planted across the house.

He wondered if she was even there, or if she was long gone and had left this surprise for him.

From overhead, Sarah silently dialed her house number and heard it ring at the entrance. His heavy steps boomed through the space below until he stopped in front of the ringing phone. Was she calling? If it was her, he decided to indulge her.

Noir picked up the phone. Another explosion caught him off guard, and plaster blew into the air like the finest snow. It didn’t send him to his feet, but this one did send him a few steps to the left. Standing tall, he smiled under the mask. He was impressed.

He headed down the hall he’d never ventured before. He passed an empty bathroom to his right and moved towards what he presumed to be the bedroom. He slipped a knife out of its sheath and readied himself.

Well, he definitely wouldn’t catch her off guard at this point.

He kicked the door down only to find the room empty.

He stared at the space and listened closely for any sound, whether it be her heartbeat or breathing. The man grew frustrated and stormed back into the living room where he searched for the remote to the tv. While Frank Sinatra’s songs were enjoyable, he preferred silence when hunting.

Sarah flipped the hatch and let the stairs fall out before he could find it. She jumped down from above, softly landing in a crouch.

“Are you looking for this,” she asked, holding up the remote controller and turning up the volume.

Impressive.

She watched him but couldn’t gauge his mood. He just stood tall with a knife held loosely in his hand. Watch that, she noted to herself. It would take less than two seconds for him to flip that knife in her direction. It would then sail in the air for less than a second before it sunk into her neck. She would then promptly bleed out and die.

She caught the twitch in his muscles as he raised the blade and flipped it her way. She barely missed it, ducking behind the ladder.

She peeked out and pressed her palm to the closet near her, sending it flying towards Noir. He side-stepped it but was still caught by the explosion that it produced as it crashed to the floor. She must’ve stashed a bomb in there as well.

Dust in the air, he used his high-grade eyewear to locate her amid the plaster, ashes and smoke clouding the air. She moved forward and they were soon locked in hand to hand combat. Equal forces clashing together again and again. Any time he got too close for her liking, she’d make sure to transfer energy when landing a punch. He’d flown backwards through a wall, through a cabinet, over the couch and every time he stood and shrugged it off.

She could feel the energy coursing through her and wasn’t sure how long she could hold it. It felt like fire was tearing through her, waiting to break free. And while she knew she’d survive, she wasn’t sure if Noir or her next-door neighbors would.

A knife was sent her way, and she moved just in time for it to only nick her across the cheek. It reminded her of the one she’d sent his way at the archives. The fire only grew impetuous, driving her forward and keeping her alert.

The dust had settled since the last explosion, and the only sound in the air was another Frank Sinatra song crackling through the tv’s ruined speakers. Black Noir drove a long dagger through the tv screen and twisted it before ripping it out. The tv died out, and they were left in silence.

Noir could hear her clearly now, her fast heartbeat and the blood rushing through her veins. He could also discern a distinctive buzzing sound. It was so low, a normal human being wouldn’t catch it, but he did. And as it grew louder, he didn’t know what to expect.

She cried out, and his first instinct had him taking a step forward. But she immediately reacted to his movement by kicking the shards of the entrance mirror on the floor, sending the jagged edges hurtling at him.

He moved back and they stood facing each other, unsure of the other’s next move. Sarah clenched her teeth and held fast on her control as she felt the fire pulling it apart.

She was strong enough to beat him, but could she do so without losing herself, without clearing the whole block? She’d sworn to herself that she’d rather swallow the energy and have it consume her than leave casualties. She held fast and waited for Noir to come at her again.

But he did the most unexpected thing. He dropped his defensive stance and simply stood by the broken tv screen. He watched her, observing the pain in her shoulders, and the anguish in her eyes.

“You won’t take me,” she whispered knowing he could hear her every word even from the other side of the room. He simply watched, giving no answer, nor any signal he’d heard.

He simply watched her, amazed at her strength and perseverance. There was something wrong, something obviously causing her to clench her teeth and force herself to take deeper breaths. Still, he’d never been met with such a force, and he had the distinct feeling that she was holding back.

Then the doorbell rang.

She glanced at the door and then back at him. She signed for him to stay quiet.

He only watched her, and the familiarity of her hand’s movements, the gestures that made up their language crashed into him.

She made her way to the door. What would she find? She imagined a team of Vought agents ready to take her in. She expected guns and tranquilizers pointed to her face.

Instead, she found two police officers. She slid her utility belt off and dropped it in the corner. No need for them to question the number of daggers currently hanging from it.

“Good evening, ma’am. Is everything okay?”

They scanned her black suit, and disheveled appearance. The cut on her face was already healing but hadn’t faded entirely. She focused on keeping it together and rebuilding her control.

“Everything’s fine, just getting dressed for a party,” she acted confused.

They didn’t seem convinced. “Well, we received a call from a neighbor asking for us to check on you due to strange sounds. They said they heard crashing sounds, like someone thought the house was being destroyed—"

That’s accurate.

“—and that there might have been a break in, or some severe case of domestic abuse.”

Depends on how you look at it.

She laughed, “Oh no, I was simply moving some furniture around and renovating the living room. Nothing to worry about,” she explained. “And actually, I should go finish getting ready for the party I’m going to. I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

The other officer chimed in, “Miss, you have a cut right—,” he paused when he noticed it had disappeared. “I could have sworn I saw—”

“No, it’s alright, it’s probably the lighting out here—it’s really bad,” she cut in with a soft smile. “This place really needs renovation,” she added for good measure.

They both looked skeptical but ultimately walked back to their patrol car and slowly drove off.

A high-pitched voice yelled out to her from the neighboring house.

“Sarah, honey, is everything all right?”

Sarah peered into the darkness and found her sixty-year-old neighbor leaning over the porch railing. She should’ve known Margaret was the one who called.

“Yes, Margaret, thank you but everything is fine. Sorry I worried you,” she called back apologetically.

The older woman waved it off and pushed her small glasses back up onto the bridge of her nose.

“I thought you had bombs going off in there,” she exclaimed incredulously.

Sarah played it off as though it were nothing, “No, no, just renovating”

“What was that dear?” she called back. Margaret was partially deaf.

“Just renovating,” she spoke louder. She heard Noir moving through the house and knew he was doing so on purpose, so that she’d know.

“Oh okay,” Margaret finally accepted it, presuming something was wrong with her hearing aid. “I’m going back in, dear, it’s chilly,” she waved and disappeared into the house.

Thankful of this, Sarah spun around and softly closed the door. The belt immediately found its way back around her waist. She crept towards the living room and noticed that someone had put out the small fires that had started licking away at her couch in the midst of the explosions.

A piece of paper was pinned to the wall by a knife inserted to the hilt.

Let’s talk.

And beneath those words he’d added in smaller calligraphy, I still like you.

Her head almost spun at the words. But she realized he was referencing their last encounter prior to everything changing.

He had confessed that he really liked her, and that she was his favorite person.

He was either asking her to trust him and walk into that room to have a civil conversation, or this was a ploy to lower her guard. Still, she realized he probably wanted an explanation.

How had they gotten to this point?

She stepped amongst the wreckage that was her living room and moved towards the kitchen where she knew he’d be waiting for her.

MASTERLIST

Tag list: @ateliefloresdaprimavera @ellejo @dust-bun @coco724 ​  @proximio-5 @damiminator @omegahighendpro @rpgluvr95 @sweetrabbitteamx @rayray1463 @mialexisrodrigues

[unholyplumpprincess]

Seeker

Last of the survivor installments for @realityinspace featuring their OC Alex and his adventures in fucking killers.

Reblogs > Likes

!!!Minors and ageless blogs dni or you will be blocked on sight!!!

Fandom: Dead by daylight

Relationship: The Trapper/Male OC (Alex)

Warnings: R18+/NSFT, Dead by daylight normal violence, fluff, making love, mentions of scarring, twist ending?, gay shit man.

Words: 4.1k

__________________

The game of cat and mouse between survivor and killer had been going on for so long that some spice was needed. Planting the seeds within Alex had been easy enough, he had already started making his switch whether he knew it or not. His want for revenge through pain and agony meant he was no longer willing to just play the Entity’s little game of fix the generator; It meant he was actively seeking out specific killers and making plans if he could snatch their weapons and slit their throat.  

An interesting survivor he had been since he arrived, the Entity had tiptoed along the lines of what he would be at first. And yet, now he is showing them his true colors. Running may have been his strong suit, and helping fellow survivors, but when it came down to it?  

You could only be a toy for so long.  

~Rest under the cut~

Since the run in with the Wraith, Alex has been back on his feet and more focused it seems. Yet, even other survivors can note his distance. The seeds of doubt were sown in his chest after all. If a killer could treat him as gently as the Wraith did, and the survivors just used him-  

No, didn’t use him, he made his role this way-  

Wait, no, what if that wasn’t true? Was he forced t--  

No! That wasn’t true- was it? No. This is all...  

All so confusing.  

Alex’s mind is jumbled and stressed every night, flickers of the rights and wrongs, what was up, what was down, what was true? He can’t quite find it.  

Nor can he feel the flickering lights inside of his own body calling to him to come into the fog, to come play with the big dogs, to enter the loving spider-y arms of the Entity who would love and care for him.  

Just take the leap.  

Alex’s mind at night is plagued by whispers, whispers he doesn’t remember in the morning yet whispers he does once he closes his eyes. The warmth of the fog around him, the idea of warmth sliding down his hands. Sticky sweet- crimson over his bare hands. The idea of getting vengeance is tempting, the idea of hearing another person scream that isn’t his own-  

Now that was a thought.  

Perhaps it has something to do with an event that happened a few days ago between a certain grinning masked killer and the arachnid beast that haunted its very own playground.   

“I’ve been here since day one  doin ’ what  ya  asked of me. Haven’t asked  ya for one damn thing, have I?” A gruff voice is heard only to one specific being. It doesn’t show itself, merely a mash of oranges, yellows, and blacks. It should have come to life as your nightmare, but considering the Trapper was no longer just a mortal man, it can only show up in this torrent of energy floating in front of him.  

The Trapper stands in the thick, dark fog, arms crossed and waiting for a response. The being before him shakes, as if seeming to laugh, but then it pauses, waving to the left and then to the right before a booming voice enters the Trapper’s head. It sounds like twenty different voices talking in sync, all in different pitches and emotions yet the most being prominently like a smoky feminine tone, “And, what, my dear Trapper, is it that you wish from me?”  

“The boy. You know the fuckin’ one. Been givin’ ya  hell, hasn’t he? ” The Trapper begins  as if in a huff , watching carefully as the begin changes form into the very same one he’d been fantasizing about. Alex. Except instead of his lovely olive toned flesh and his red hair, the being is completely black with glowing yellow eyes- far too many, maybe six all blinking at him and a wicked grin aimed back at him.  

The Entity was toying with him.  

“Oh, this boy?” It speaks, running a hand over its own throat  up into  its hair with a sigh as if pleasured. “Ah, yes, Alexander was it? What a lovely body he has...” It continues,  running a hand down the curve of its toned body, only for its eyes to snap open and glare at him, “The one who has been distracting you and making you fail my little assignments?”  

The Trapper bites his tongue despite having no need when he doesn’t use it to speak. Shamefully, he casts his eyes down to the floor to the side and briefly nods. No lying.  

“This is not how this game works, my dear.” The voice continues, less angry and much softer now. When the Trapper looks back up, the being is shifting forms and is now one of more just spider legs outreaching down from the sky- a favorite of theirs. It reaches towards him, stroking over the mask’s cheek affectionately. “You are my favorite and most reliable, Evan, you must understand this,” It sounds so soft, gently, but then it turns to a low growl, all voices seeming enraged like a disappointed mother.  “But, this is my game, not yours.  Return to your realm and do as told. ”  

However, this conversation was not ignored, that much Evan could feel as he leaves the fog with his head held like a disappointed child not getting what he wanted.  

--  

Alex’s moods shift through each trial as if he can’t quite get a grip of himself. He avoids the other survivors, yet still feels affection for them as he normally did. He still confides in Claudette the same as she’ll do to him, finding comfort in her sisterly aura and the way she confides in him back. Nothing but the truth between them, a sibling’s bond, truly. He still feels the need to protect, but there’s something more...  

More primal about it.  

He’s gone from just taunting the killers from afar and running to running AT them. Making the moves he needs to get a hit or two on them. He’s becoming more emotional, reckless- hell he bit poor Michael last round on the HAND!  

So, imagine how Alex feels when he sees the familiar white face of The Ghost.  

It’s like a switch in him. All Alex sees is red. The feeling of his pride being stolen from him, the burn of the scar on his hip. One could say there was no point in his anger, considering it had just been a hook, he’d finally been caught, and yet...  

He’d been branded. He’d been claimed- by someone he had no interest in being claimed by. It had been stolen from him, this sort of pride and aching that had him running circles around the killers for sport-  

The Ghost is tricky to find, he moves quietly and sneaks up on his prey. Thankfully Alex is following footsteps and the wisp of a cloak. Only briefly losing him only to hear a scream to his right- Claudette.  

He whips around the trees just in time to see a knife going up and Claudette kicking, always the fighter.  

There were unspoken rules in this realm. A Mori was a special gift bestowed upon a killer, you were to not interrupt it. You were to allow it to happen or run off before you could be seen. That’s how the games went, you were forced to obey these rules- you had to.  

And yet, as if in slow motion, Alex finds himself darting towards the cloaked killer. Snatching him around the waist in a tackle and throwing his lesser body weight into the Ghost. There’s a cry from behind him of ‘Alex, don’t!’ in fear, but his ears are ringing as he struggles for the upper hand. Rolling once before slamming his legs on either side of the killer’s chest, knife in hand.  

There’s no second thought, just the loud humming of whispers of ‘do it’ ringing in his head tauntingly, as if excited by this turn of events. The world seems to shake around him, vision flashing oranges and reds as he stabs the knife straight through the Ghost’s neck with a cry.  

And just like that? The world around him goes black. Alex is left with his legs straddling no man, nothing seems to be underneath him. He’s on his knees, knife stabbed through nothing, and confusion buzzing through his now quiet head. Knitting his brows, he slowly begins to get up, turning his head this way and that as the foggy shadows seem to envelop him.  

A soft noise behind him that sounds like a skittering insect has the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. Whipping around, he finds the spider-y legs hanging from seemingly nowhere reaching out to him as if beckoning him closer. Alex goes to move towards it, to take a swing, but it feels like his legs are walking through thick slime. He huffs, trying to open his mouth, but it feels like his jaw is aching and sore- like he was trying to break a jawbreaker for hours. His words are slurred, echoing as he tries to take another swipe at the leg that’s reaching out, aaaalmost touching him- aaaalmost able to hit it and then-  

A whirling sensation. Like he’s being ripped from the fog. Alex finds himself in a dark area, like a forest of sorts as he lands harsh on his knees with a gasp. His head whips around, lifting his body up so he can pat himself down to look for any injury. Nothing. Yet, also, no weapon. Frustrated and full of rage, he screams at nothing and slams his hand on the ground with a loud, “Damn it!”  

It takes a few moments to calm down, eyes whipping around at his surroundings.   

The sky was dark and cloudy, almost a dark blue shade like the moon was full somewhere. The wind is soft, rustling the trees overhead and surrounding the stone path leading to a. ..a  building nearby- a house. It looked like a  two story  house, almost like an old farmstead feeling to it. The porch had two lights lit on it with a rocking chair, the chimney churning out smoke and all the lights were on. It felt homey. It almost whispered to him to come closer.  

Hell, he hadn’t seen anything that comforting in months- or however long he’d been trapped here.  

Alex should have paid closer attention to the bear traps mounted on the wall outside or how he could see a deer head mounted inside. It takes him a moment to work himself up to slide up onto his feet, arms and legs aching and feeling out of breath. It takes him a moment longer to roll his neck to work out the aches only to freeze.  

Bear traps.  

The Trapper.  

What if this was a one versus one scenario? What if he’s playing into this game of cat and mouse? What if he had all this time for a  head start  and didn’t run?!  

Yet, the crunching of stones behind him tells him he isn’t alone. Alex’s breath is shaky, holding his head high to stabilize himself and to feel more in control. His fingers clutch into fists at his sides, hearing the huffing breaths coming from behind him much like an irritated bull.  

A feeling washes over him, as if someone is prodding at his mind and trying to find something before it clicks and he hears a voice breathe out, echoing around him, “I changed my mind.” It’s got this southern drawl to it, gruff and hardly used sort of tone. It sends a feeling over him he can’t quite describe- familiarity perhaps.  

Yet, Alex still whips around, taking a step back just as he sees a rough hand reaching out to him and the large, tall body of the Trapper stepping into the light. He bares his teeth, making a show of snarling the best as his mortal throat could allow before barking out a laugh to hide his nerves. “Changed your mind on what, huh? Not gonna fight me like a fuckin’ man? Going to just stand there and gawk?” He lets the taunts fly free from his mouth, trying to hide the way his hands shake.  

But, before Alex can take another swing with his words, the Trapper pauses. Doesn’t move any closer to him, just slowly reaches up and removes his mask much like someone would with their hat. He holds it at chest level, head bowing slightly to appear smaller and more at level with Alex despite being two heads taller. “I changed my mind on you just bein’ a passin’ fuck, Alex. ” His mind echoes the words, yet he watches as full, scarred lips don’t move.  

Even just the way that the Trapp—Evan says his name makes a shiver run down his body. He squeezes his eyes shut, feeling weak and strained all at once as he swallows a lump in his throat. Alex briefly remembers confiding in the Wraith about being tossed around roughly like a toy and wonders if he’d had a chat with the guy in front of him for that reason exactly. Something Alex would have to thank Philip for another time.  

“Come inside,” Evan begins again, voice soft and taking a step closer slowly, as if Alex was a rabid kitten. When he doesn’t flinch or move away, Evan comes a bit closer until he’s  arms length  away. “I made dinner? I know that may seem strange- I don’t think y’all are allowed those comforts, right?” His voice is oh so soft, and even the word ‘dinner’ makes Alex’s stomach growl. Something they both hear.  

Evan just sounds so...convincing, that even if this was a trap? Alex still follows without much of a fight.  A hungry man was a hungry man, after all. Besides, he’d been put through worse than someone trying to invite him into his home only to get stabbed.  

Yeah, wow, these games were really fucking him up, huh?  

But as Alex is led inside and the smell of food hits him, he genuinely begins to wonder if this was even a trap. Evan is so kind, pulling out his chair for him and pushing it in. The plate is filled with home style cooking and Alex about drools over his plate. The whole set up was rather sweet, a small table that they could reach each other across, different sides and dressings set around a ham that looked too good to be true. Everything was delicious once he finally put some in his mouth.  

Evan the whole time is sweet, looking like he’s trying to make himself smaller. Alex quickly gets over the fact his mouth doesn’t move when he speaks, able to trace his eyes over Evan’s face and how his facial expressions change. Evan tries to flirt in little ways, which is rather sweet in its own way and a big surprise to Alex. Philip must have talked to him, it’s the only answer- something must have switched in him.  

Evan’s features are rough with chiseled cheekbones and a strong, sharp jaw. His eyes are piercing and heavy set, seeming to be a hazel gold color with flickers of glowing orange inside that must have been the Entity’s influence. His nose is strong, the bridge obviously having been broken a time or two in the past with his lips full and a scar going from the left of his chin, up over his lips, past his nose and ending at his blurrier right eye that must have been blinded in some fashion. Yellow and orange lines seem to cut through his skin, including on his face.  

He was rugged and handsome, but not in a conventional way. It was  kinda  nice, considering what a pretty boy Alex was IN a conventional way.  

Evan, despite all of his doings in the past and what he is, is fairly kind while he flirts. Alex decides to play along, absolutely endeared as he nudges his shoe at Evan’s calf and hooks it around in an act of footsie.  

It isn’t until after dinner where Evan gently picks up Alex bridal style, unlike the way he’d been tossed over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes in the past. Alex laughs, feeling free and at ease for once as he’s carried up the stairs and to a bedroom. It looks well cleaned, just a regular bedroom with the bed creaking as he’s sat on it. It smells like blade oil and pine.  

He expects Evan to shove him down, ravish him- hell, Alex almost wants that to happen. But instead, he’s asked oh so softly by the huge man, “Philip lemme know ya had a bad run in with someone...left somethin’ ya don’t want .”Alex’s breath falters for a second, turning his head briefly but is caught by rough fingers gently grabbing his cheek and bringing him back to look up at Evan. “ Lemme take care of ya, pretty boy. I’ll be real gentle- know a thing or two about scars. ” It’s said so gently, a soft echo in Alex’s head that he can’t even sass.    

Carefully, Alex kicks off his shoes and socks at the words of Evan to get comfortable. He stands on command for Evan, shimmying his jeans down enough to expose his hips and hiking up his  torn up  shirt to show the ugly scarring left behind. Jagged words that made him irate. Left by a man who had no means to claim him as his own.  

Watching Evan sink to his knees should not make  Alex’s  heart twist like it does. He’s so gentle the way he traces the scarring, it was pink and flaked, but not as deep as Evan had thought it would be. Some salve and some deliberate marking towards that area should fix it to let it fade in due time.  

It’s quiet and soft. And once Evan raises onto his feet, Alex can’t help but watch him, watch as he tries to come up with something, watching Evan’s eyes flicker to the bed. “Do you wan- ”  

“Yes.” Alex quickly responds, nodding vigorously in approval.  

That’s how they wind up on the bed. With Evan’s overalls and boots thrown to the side with just his boxers on and Alex’s clothing having been gently and gingerly taken off until he was only his boxers as well. Evan kisses him like a lover this time, soft and gentle as he could be with his body weight lying on top. Alex’s legs are framing one of Evan’s thighs, who is brace himself on his arms on either side of his head. One large hand caressing Alex’s red dyed hair as if he meant so much.  

He felt it too.  

The kisses start to get hotter, heavier with Alex starting it by biting Evan’s bottom lip. His hips grind up shamelessly into the large thigh between his own, Alex making a lovely, soft sound that just spurs Evan on into growling. It doesn’t sound possessive or angry, it just sounds aroused, a noise Alex could get used to. Not to mention all the soft, yet heavy pawing on his body.  

When the kiss parts, Evan fits himself between Alex’s thighs to spread them apart. Alex’s cock is leaking onto the front of his boxers, a dark spot on the gray that makes his breath shake. His eyes are half lidded, lips rosy and his teeth biting at his bottom lip in desire. There’s no words, there’s no need for them right now as Evan slots his clothed cock up against Alex’s so they can both shamelessly grind together.  

Alex looks a pretty dream, toned body flexing as his hips push up to rock his dick against Evan’s. It’s heavy, dirty, dry humping. Fit with Evan cupping the side of Alex’s chest so he can thumb at a nipple and use his other hand to wrap a hand loosely around his throat. The noise Alex makes is worth it, a low whine and an arch up into his hand as if asking him to put more pressure. Evan doesn’t, just holding him right where he wants him.  

“I wanna consume every inch of ya,” Evan starts just as he works Alex’s underwear down. A fumble for lubricant left in a nightstand drawer and a generous amount on his fingers is Alex’s demise as he dissolves into soft laughter. It makes Evan’s heart constrict in adoration.  

“Inside and out,” Evan continues, a smile on his lips as Alex’s eyes flutter before shutting just as he works a finger inside of him. His hand that had been thumbing at his nipple traces down the curve of his body to his hip, squeezing fondly. “I want you to be mine. Mine and mine alone...Think I could share ya, if ya knew that. ” Making a note to remind Alex that even if he still wanted to be sexual with others, he wasn’t going to stop his fun. As long as he knew who he belonged to.   

The noise, regardless, is worth it when Alex chokes on a sob as two fingers push into him. Carefully working him open and quirking upwards to make his smaller cock jump against his abdomen.  So  cute. So pretty.  

“I think I love you.” Evan’s voice is an echo of sincerity in Alex’s mind. It makes him choke on another sob, this time for various reasons. He nods in agreement, one hand reaching down and patting until he can grip Evan’s wrist on the hand that holds his hip. Thumbing over his pulse point adoringly.  

It makes Evan about break.  

Fitting his cock inside of Alex is much easier than all the times before. With lubing Alex up as well as himself and taking the time to stretch, he slides in with hardly any resistance besides Alex’s harsh panting and whining telling him to hurry up. He’s only silenced by hard, bruising kisses with desperate thrusts inside of his body.  

Evan doesn’t take him like an animal, not this time. His thrusts are well timed and deep, making sure Alex feels every inch of him inside of him. Making sure that Alex is moaning against his lips only out of pleasure. Alex’s arms wrap around his neck, holding him tight in turn as his hips start to  cant  and hump with Evan’s. Trying to reach his peak without a care in the world. As long as Evan’s heat stayed on top of him.  

Evan’s voice is a sweet symphony in his head of praise. Calling him a pretty boy, that he’s doing so well taking him, that he’s going to be his sweet little boy  toy  isn’t he? And all Alex can do is nod furiously in turn, clawing at his back and grabbing onto a hook jutting from Evan’s shoulder as he  cums  with a loud cry of his name. Spilling all over his own abdomen as Evan smashes their bodies together to vigorously pump into him.  

Alex is left feeling full and exhausted. Vaguely, he can feel Evan cleaning him up and wrapping him in a blanket, falling asleep in his arms. For once, feeling safe.  

His dreams are plagued, however. As oranges and yellows spin around his vision. The spidery legs coo to him in their multi-voiced persona, “What a special day it is for you. I am sure you shall keep my favorite sated, yes? And in turn, I give you another chance, Alexander. You shall play for the other side.”  

Alex can vaguely feel the change in his system, hardly fighting against it as the legs reach out to him, stroking down his cheeks fondly. “You will be accepted and adored by the rest of my toys.” Its voice is sickly sweet, sounding like a delighted child getting a new toy.  

“Let the rage consume your heart...Seeker. ”  

--  

A scared, panting survivor darts around a new arena. Their eyes flickering all around the new map. It looked like a huge gym, darting into hallways of a  broken down  college. Equipment in the gym allowed them to hide and a huge locker room to boot. Yet, it was far too open, you had to be careful about the generators all tucked into dead ends.  

You had to be careful of the new bare foot killer with a beaming fox mask with a dangerous weapon of kukri. For if you made a sound, anywhere he could hear, you’d hear the rapid padding of his feet heading right for you.  

May the hunt begin, and let rage consume your very thoughts,  

O’ dearest Seeker.  

[halffictionalwritesstuff]

Hello:0 I have written more stuff with my Oc’s:3 this one features Josh and Dawn:> They’re at a magical school of sorts! Dawn is dealing with some stuff haha.

This is them vvvvvvvvv

Outside the coat closet, music was blaring at some stupid “mandatory school celebration”. Thousands of voices overlapped to create a suffocating sea of voices that had seemed to attack Dawn from every side. Bodies crashed into eachother as uncoordinated teenagers pretended you could actually dance to poorly chosen trap music. All the docorations and flashing lights had attacked Dawn’s eyes from every angle and the smell of sweat, cheap Cologne, and perfume make Dawn sick to the stomach. How could people stand these events without wanting to die?

The closet was much safer. It was dark and quieter. The only smell was of winter boots. She could sit there and be alone. Being alone was safer for her. There were less expectations when you can’t be seen. Dawn picked at the bottom of her skirt, rolling the seam between her fingers methodically. She should have brought something to do. Maybe a book to read or a sketchbook to doodle on. She had even left her phone on her dresser in an attempt to force herself to socialize more like she had promised Noir to do. But Noir was on a mission, and she was alone.

Dawn leaned her head back and slowed her breathing. Deep breath in. The voices in her head were louder today then usual. They cried out for murder and screamed curses at her for what she had done to them. HOW DARE SHE LIVE WHILE THEY WERE FORCED TO DIE!? Breathe out. Dawn was shaking a little, but she couldn’t let herself show too much emotion, just in case someone came in.

Breathe in. YOU DID THIS TO US HOW DARE YOU- breathe out. It was her fault the voices were there. She was the one who had hurt them. It may have been the pitch that was controlling her body, but it was her fault too for being weak enough for the pitch to control her. Breathe in.

Breathe ou-The door creaked open and a figure quickly shut it behind them. Dawn held her breath for a moment before quietly letting it out. Once they were in the dark of the room, Dawn could hear a sigh of relief followed by quiet muttering.

“Thank goodness.”

“Oh of course it’s him.” Dawn thought sarcastically to herself as Josh sat down in the closet, oblivious to Dawn’s presence. He let out a loud sigh and leaned back, running his hand through his probably gross and sweaty hair. He was breathing deeply, as if he had just been dancing or moving.

“Surely he’ll leave soon. After all, ‘Sunshine’ is the beacon of humankind and to deprive his worshippers of his presence would be a crime.” She thought sarcastically while rolling her eyes. A second quieter thought came to her soon after. “You stupid jelous idiot. You just wish you were one of the people he wanted to be around.” Dawn quickly shoved that thought down into the pits of her mind and hoped to never think of it again.

Josh kept muttering. “Can’t they tell that I don’t want to be at this stupid party.”

He changed his voice to a sarcastic tone and imitated whoever he had been hiding from. “Oh Josh. I would love if you could focus on me all the time. It’s not like you have a life too. Oh and how about I talk only about how terrible it is your dad died! So funny hahah!”

He shook his head and started pulling off the jacket he had been wearing. Dawn edged closer to the closet and prayed that he didn’t see her sitting there. It was hard enough trying not to panic, let alone try to avoid Josh. Ever since Noir had forced them to train together, things had been weird. Dawn actually had to talk to him and he actually had to use his brain.

She pulled her legs closer to her chest and moved as close to the corner as she could. Just hurry up and get out of here, Josh, I’m trying to have an attack of some kind and you’re making it hard.

Another wave of panic swept over her. The voices were screaming now. Crying out for vengeance. It was overpowering. The sounds of the dance faded away until all Dawn could hear was screaming. Horrible, we watched screaming that made Dawn wish she could claw her ears out. She couldn’t even make out what they were saying at this point. Which may have been a blessing, if the sound wasn’t so chillingly monstrous.

“Are you ok?” Dawn could hear Josh’s worried voice from amongst the screams.

Her chest was pounding and it felt like the devil himself had a grip on her heart. Stuttering out some stupid sentence that she couldn’t remember saying, Josh put a hand on her shoulder. He repeated the sentence, but this time Dawn couldn’t hear him this time. Part of her knew she was crying and tried to stop, but she just kept sobbing. The pain spread from her head into her toes and clutched at her chest even more. Without thinking, Dawn lurched forward and hugged Josh. She didn’t even know why, she just knew that he wouldn’t hurt her and that he was...a friend? She hated him. But. She trusted that he wouldn’t tell about how pathetic she was acting.

“S- sorry sorry I don’t mean mean to be weak uhh like weak like this.” Dawn somehow got out between deep breaths. Why was she doing this? IDIOT. She buried her face into his chest and stumbled out another sentence. “Sorry. Sorry. If if you want me to me to uhh le. Leave I-i will.”

Instead he gave her a hug. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying? Are you ok?”

Dawn whispered. “I can’t tell you.”

Internally her head was pounding as if it was a toy drum that some over enthusiastic kid was banging on. Dawn tried to focus on anything but the voices, but was instead met with the horrible music from the dance. Then she felt something get put on her head. It took a moment for her to process, before realizing they were headphones. There was no music coming out of them, but they blocked the sounds of the dance out fairly well.

Josh leaned close enough that she could still hear him talking through the headphones. Dawn noticed he kind smelled like s’mores up close, which was a weird realization to have.

“Look, I can’t force you to tell me what’s wrong. But at least let me try to help…”

He sounded genuinely worried and maybe even a little scared. But mostly worried? Dawn couldn’t really tell. One of the voices screeched it’s a high pitched tone that felt like a needle sewing itself up her spine. Dawn let out a painful gasp. Of course it had to be one of those days when they could hurt her physically. Dawn could feel Josh tense as her hands started shaking uncontrollably.

To be fair, it was probably kind of weird to see her looking this way. Most of the time Dawn tried to look aloof and strong. She was a tool. Not a person. Dawn repeated that thought in her mind.

You’re a tool. Not a person. A tool. Not a person. Why was Josh even still here? Why was she glad he was still here? He could leave. He should leave. Weak. Weak. WEAK. How could she be so weak?

Josh broke her stream of negative thoughts by starting to stand up and pulling Dawn up with him..

“Come on, let’s get you back to the dorms.”

Dawn was silent. The last thing she wanted to do was go back in to that mob of people. But to her surprise, Josh poked a nail in the wall and a small trap door flew open. A gust of cold wind blew through it and filled the warm closet with a chill breeze. Dawn shivered as the cold attacked her skin. All her hair stood on end for a moment before a huge jacket was placed on her shoulders, warming her as Josh took her hand and let her into the small tunnel. He looked back and let out a shy laugh.

“I found this a few weeks ago when Noir had us do that weird team training thing.” He turned back around to lead her down one of the paths.

Dawn blinked and finally took in what was happening. The voices were quieter now that her mind was busier with other thoughts. How had Josh been able to find these passages when Dawn, who had been here years previous hadn’t been able to? The corridor they were in looked old and carried a musty smell that was similar to the smell of the old school library. It couldn’t be a new passage, could it? Then again, this was a school for magic and it could have shifted to account for new generations of students.

Dawn looked up at Josh and realised that he was leaning over, hunched in the barely 5 foot tall corridor. Her eyes moved down the corridor for a moment, before suddenly realizing that Josh still had a firm grip on her hand.

One of the voices taunted her at this realization. Although that may have just been her conscience. It could be hard to tell some days. Especially just after all the screaming that occasionally plagued her. But part of Dawn was happy to have him here. He was like a sunny day, and no matter how much he may annoy her, Dawn genuinely hoped they could maybe be something that’s kinda like a friend hopefully? Dawn kept holding onto his hand and let him lead her. She could trust him.

In front of Dawn, Josh was panicking. What just happened? Why was Dawn panicking and crying? Why did he think it would be a good idea to take her back to the dorms through this way? Oh gosh what if she thought he was trying something. Internally Josh screamed at the thought that she might think even worse of him.

Ever since they had met, there had been accident upon accident that had messed Josh’s chances of being friends with Dawn and the last thing he wanted was for her to think he was a bad person. After all, the last few weeks had shown him a lot more about Dawn then he had originally thought.

She wasn’t an emotionless brick who hated people. She had been the mystery person who kept helping everyone behind the scenes and not accepting any of the credit. But what was up with what had just happened? She looked so unusually and absolutely terrified. The way her eyes had flashed between her usual blueish pupils and a fully black iris had left Josh feeling a panic he couldn’t quite place. Not to mention she had actually given him a hug. THAT was different.

Josh turned to look at Dawn. Her breathing had slowed and she seemed much calmer. It was too dark to see her exact expression, but he could see that it was more relaxed. She noticed him looking and they both immediately whipped their heads to break eye contact. Which was probably a good thing, because Josh could feel himself turning pink with embarrassment.

They kept walking in silence, each consumed in their own thoughts until they reached what looked like a dead end. Josh pushed another nail and another secret door swung open to reveal the common room. Fumbling, Josh edged his way into the room, with Dawn trailing slowly behind him.

She didn’t look up at him, but rather looked at her feet awkwardly and tried to stitch a sentence together in her mind. Now that they were away from the party, it had all seemed so ridiculous. Why had she been panicking, it was just a party? Why had she been let herself be so vulnerable? Dawn dropped Josh’s hand and walked quickly to her door. Nope. She wasn’t here to get attached to people, let alone Blondie. Nope. Not today or ever. She determined to make herself hate him some more. Yet, she couldn’t seem to leave without saying something.

“Thank you. I’m sorry you had to see that. Please- please don’t tell the others what happened.”

Josh looked up from where he was closing the trap door and smiled.

“Of course. “ he paused. “And hey, if you ever need someone to talk too, I’m all ears.”

Dawn shut the door.

[prettywordsyouleft]

Mistletoe Manor - Part 1

Summary: Christmas is the most important time of year for all those who live within Mistletoe Manor. From the staff to the Hawthorne family themselves, everyone works hard to ensure that the festive season is a success every year! We invite you to see if everyone can pull off another  magical Christmas at the manor this year.

Pairing: Park Seo Joon, Bang Yongguk, Brian Kang, Jung Daehyun, Jung Jaehyun, Lee Taeyong and OCs.

Genre: regency au / romance / christmas au

A/N: Becky ( @noona-clock​ ) and I wanted to create a magical Christmas for everyone and what  better way to do that than at Mistletoe Manor! Because of the nature of having several idols, we chose to work with OCs and we hope you love them as much as we do.

Mistletoe Manor will be posted daily at 10am NZST / 4pm EST daily.

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

With an estate title of Mistletoe Manor, it was evidently expected that Christmas was the most eventful time of the year. Although the leaves had only just begun to fall now that the summer sunshine had moved on, preparations for the end of the year were well underway. Staff were buffing up the finest silver, examining the most expensive china and preparing long in advance the types of food that would be served over the entire month of celebration. Mistletoe Manor was home to Lord Hawthorne, his wife and three daughters, Cassandra, Evie and Josephine, all in whom helped with the running of the township below.

The celebrations would last for a month, and with the annual winter festival to also prepare for, it seemed there was an increased flurry of events for everyone.

Except there was one member of the family who wasn’t quite ready to celebrate Christmas again.

Last year had been the first time Cassandra Hawthorne had felt overwhelmed by the festivities. Not only did she participate in organising the entire winter festival, but Christmas had even more guests than usual to entertain as she was to be married come the start of the New Year to Earl Daehyun. Along with his parents, the Duke and Duchess of Steerbury, Daehyun had travelled to stay with the Hawthorne’s. It hadn’t been nearly enough time to learn much of the man she was betrothed to and she had spent most of their stay just reminding herself to keep breathing when it all felt too much.

“Cassie, why are holed up in a corner here?” Josephine questioned, looking down at her eldest sister in confusion. “You’re being quiet, whatever is the matter? The most wonderful time of the year is almost upon us and we have so much to do!”

Some days, Cassie wished to live a much simpler life. Although she had faced her own set of hardships with her status, she longed for a journey much different than this. Her hand gripped at the letter she had read for the fifth time since receiving it yesterday, and the subtle movement caught her youngest sister’s attention.

“Have you heard from your husband again?”

“I have.”

“And when will he be back from his expedition?” she inquired, her gaze softening when Cassie didn’t immediately respond. “He will be back in time for Christmas, won’t he?”

“I do not know, Joey,” Cassie answered, her voice shaking ever so slightly. She attempted to smile, heaving herself up out of her chair. There was plenty of time left to dwell over Daehyun’s return. Taking the hand of her sister, she gestured to the exit of the parlour room. “Come, did you not say we have much to do?”

If anyone had told Cassie that this time last year she would be anxiously awaiting the return of her husband, she would have thought them as mad. Her parents had only wanted what was best for their daughters, and although all three girls were raised to strive for their own goals in life, an arranged marriage could be likely for any of them. It was a trend during these times, true love being left for fairytales. Of course, there were exceptions to every rule and had Cassie been actively looking for a suitor, perhaps they would have left her to her own devices.

Marrying the Earl looked wonderful on paper. As a business transaction, both families unifying together was prosperous. It would bring more revenue each year to Mistletoe Manor, which would help fund the ongoing agricultural woes the farmers were having with their crops.

Within the affluent circles, it would lend Cassie a lot of power as well. Daehyun was known to support a lot of communities, and that would put her at the forefront of organising events in their name.

And yet all the good that came with marrying Daehyun meant Cassie would give up her quest for true love. It was foolish really, to desire to fall in love with her choice in a husband. She had dreamed ever since she was a little girl that the man she married would love her wholeheartedly. She hoped for sincerest confessions and whispered intimate moments where love blossomed even in the harshest of winters.

Whilst Daehyun was very agreeable, she barely knew him before becoming his wife. And when she would have been expected to move into her new home, Daehyun had been given orders by the King to join his expedition for almost a year. Back then, Cassie had been grateful for this sudden change whilst everyone else lamented.

“How will your marriage even begin if your husband is overseas? Had we known, I wouldn’t have agreed to this!”

“Mother, it’s fine. Daehyun will return and then we can get properly acquainted. I’m not aged yet either so there is plenty of time for us,” Cassie assured with a smile that felt too reckless for a newlywed. She should have been more forlorn, worried about the distance put between them so quickly.

Cassie was relieved to not have to play wife to a man she barely knew five facts about, and all in which she had learned as information from others.

“Still, waiting for an entire year before you consummate the marriage feels a bit-”

“Prudent?” Josephine offered, trying to keep a straight face as she half-heartedly worked on a cross-stitch across the room. She soon abandoned it with her growing glee, looking towards her other sister reading a book. “Evie, you’re awfully quiet over this. What do you think of Cassie’s situation?”

“It’s only a year apart.”

“So much can happen within even a month!” their mother exclaimed and Evie sighed, returning her attention to the book. “What if he finds himself lonely and takes a-”

“Mother!” Cassie implored and the woman lifted her handkerchief to her mouth dramatically. The eldest daughter moved over to take her hand in her grip. “I promise I will fulfil all that is expected of me in due time. Please, stop fussing when it was only just a week ago where you were complaining about my departure from the manor. Surely, this is a good delay, yes?”

“She’s right; you were a blubbering mess. Isn’t that so, Evie?” Joey pointed out with a laugh and Evie barely nodded in acknowledgement.

Cassie couldn’t hide the pleased expression upon her face at the sudden change in her predicament at all. Choosing to continue on at Mistletoe Manor until her husband returned had definitely eased her worries upon hearing of the news the night of her wedding. She had feared living in some large estate all by herself, except that of the staff, and she wouldn’t even have the ability to take her lady maid Lydia with her either. Here, she could continue her studies and improve her merits before wistfully leaving the place she had known as her home for all of her life.

Another year of freedom felt deliciously wonderful.

 As the wintry air warmed with the calling of spring however, Cassie was not as exuberant about her situation. She had started to entertain many thoughts of what her life would truly be like when she moved into Daehyun’s grand estate. He had seemed every part of a gentleman whenever she had crossed paths with him during his stay, and the brief moments she spent alone with him had been less awkward than she expected. However, she longed to have a better understanding of her husband and how she could best support him. Cassie had no desire to be an accessory to Daehyun’s accolades; a wife who did her best to silently promote her husband never suited her. And yet, she didn’t know whether Daehyun would care to hear of her thoughts. Even if it weren’t a marriage built on love, she at least hoped to compliment her husband to the best of her abilities.

This newfound worry led to many sleepless nights and fitful dreams in where she found they had nothing in common, or worse, barely spoke two words at one another. Had she signed herself up for a lifetime of misery, looking the part of a well-groomed wife and daughter of such a prestigious family, but inwardly dying from lack of fulfilment? These thoughts plagued her day and night and soon she fell ill, concerning all those within Mistletoe Manor.

“My Lady, it’s not like you to be this weak,” Lydia condoned as she placed a damp cloth to her fevered skin, cooling upon contact. “Whatever has worked you into such a state?”

“I’ll be fine, Lydia.”

“And I know that you will be,” Lydia agreed, despite her grim expression. “Yet, I don’t fancy being the one to tell your husband either. He’ll worry over you.”

“Will he?” Cassie whispered, blinking back her emotions.

“He looked enamoured by you, My Lady, why would his wish for such a beautiful bride to fall this ill?”

“I hope you are right,” Cassie murmured, closing her eyes and wishing for the return of her willpower. Right now, she was weighed down with too many doubts to even know where to begin to solve them.

Her answer came two days later, thankfully a day after her fever breaking. She had heard Taeyong’s voice long before she had even laid eyes upon the footman. Usually, it would be up to Percy to deliver mail in person to any of the family members, and so when she noticed the way in which her childhood friend had rushed inside, she knew he would get a scolding later for ignoring protocol.

Still, Cassie was intrigued, especially when Taeyong held out the letter in a breathless state. “Why, it must be important if you ran throughout the house to locate me.”

Ignoring her teasing, Taeyong thrust the letter forward repeatedly. “Surely, a letter from your husband should ease your lonesome heart, My Lady.”

“From my husband?” Cassie echoed, barely acknowledging Taeyong’s farewell as she sat down in the closest chair, pulling out the letter hastily.

As she read over his words, her smile grew. Daehyun came across as nervous in his letter; he even stated it at one point, mid-sentence. Cassie found his little additions to his sentences endearing and as soon as she reached the end of the letter full of questions and a promise to provide for her as her husband, she gathered up the pieces of paper and then hurried to quarters, picking up her pen and putting it to paper immediately.

Letters travelled back and forth regularly between them, their uneasy beginnings soon bringing forth great laughter and a sense of understanding. Daehyun wrote fantastical tales of his journey and he equally held no qualms in divulging his feelings. It didn’t take Cassie long to shyly reply with her own, with each letter received, her heart would thud in her chest more erratically and she would send off a piece of it along with her response. Daehyun’s sentiments, even sent as far away as he was from Cassie were sincere.

He wanted to fall in love with his wife and from how their written relationship had transpired so far, Cassie was certain this could be a reality for them both. She would often lay awake rereading their correspondence, clutching at moments where her heart felt as if it would burst out from her chest with how much his words affected her.

But that was all she had so far, words. Would being in one another’s company after the expedition feel as intimate as writing to Daehyun did currently? Would he utter his feelings as earnestly as his pen wrote them? A new wave of emotions had risen within the eldest Hawthorne daughter, and she hadn’t expected any of it.

Plans for the winter festival were well underway. For the village of Mistletoe Manor, this festival meant everything. It not only rewarded all who had worked hard year-round in their livelihoods, it also signalled the beginning of Christmas. On the twenty-fifth of November, the festive lights would be lit around the Christmas marketplace and the Hawthorne’s would announce the start of the magical month ahead.

It was important to Cassie to ensure everything went according to plan, especially since her father had handed over the responsibility of running the event to Cassie and her sisters last year.

After helping Josephine and Evie earlier until supper was served, Cassie had forgotten about Daehyun’s latest letter. Perhaps, she had filed it away in her head and heart for that time, knowing it wouldn’t serve her to be distracted whilst busy making plans. Her cousin Grace would be arriving within the week to help with the festivities and before bed, she had managed to ensure all was set up in the room she would use before retiring to her own.

It was after Lydia had left her to her own devices when Cassie finally moved back to her desk where she had left the correspondence from Daehyun, her eyes falling to the last page as she chewed on the bottom of her lip. With a sigh, she moved towards her bed and climbed under the covers, hopeful that her mood would brighten enough to reply tomorrow.

 I fear the King wishes to extend his tour out here and we may not return until the flowers bloom. My love, please know I am trying everything to get back in time for Christmas. I know how much this time of year means to you, and since spending last year in your company, I long to be there again for this year’s festivities.

Until I am truly yours,

Daehyun.

_________________

Part 2

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[som3thingcr3ative]

And I am Wanting

So, here it is...a slow burn, angsty, poly-amorous Geraskier fic. This beast is gonna be multiple parts, feature our boys Geralt the sass master and Jaskier the smol bean as well as an OC. 

It’s got canon-typical violence, respect women juice (tm) and everything else that goes with the beauty of the Witcher. 

Our story begins two months before Geralt meets Yennefer in a small town south of Rinde.

part one part two part three part four

Summary: Geralt seeks a bounty and finds something unusual waiting for him in the monster’s lair: Jaskier composes a song in honor of an unsung hero. 

Warnings: If you’ve watched the Witcher, you’re prepared. This gets a little more into Geralt’s feelings, but that’s about it. 

pairings: so far, mild Jaskier x OC, eventual Geraskier x OC. 

also, this is loooong. You’ve been warned. 

Word of a beast with a price on its head had come from a local town: the Lord of the town promised a room for any who dared attempt to slay the beast, food for three nights and a great ransom upon return of the creature’s severed head. Geralt was intrigued. The disgruntled highwayman who’d told him spoke also of the town’s vigilante, a man who ‘cleaned up the streets’. It’s a town without rapists or child-molesters, the man had said. The only murderer is the vigilante, and people are calling his work just. They honor him. Whores have professed their undying gratitude.

Geralt sips his ale and wonders what the vigilante would think of him. Across the tavern, Jaskier has started his third run-through of ‘fishmonger’s daughter’. The Witcher feels his eyes twitch. He downs the ale and motions for another from the hesitant bartender; it’s his sixth- or so, he’s not really counting. When the barkeep fills his mug once more, he slams it back and lets his stools’ legs scrape loudly against the slatted floor as he stands, making his exit. He spares only the briefest glances for Jaskier, who is surrounded by drunkards singing along with him. The bard’s cheeks are rosy from drink, his eyes sparkling in the low light with the attention of so many on him.

The Witcher waits outside the tavern, leaning against the hitching post Roach is tied to. He strokes a hand over her ear and murmurs lowly to her as he looks around; the town is quite large by rural standards, boasting three taverns and two brothels, a church with a monopoly on the religious sheep of the place, and a rather palatial estate overlooking the main street. This estate is where he needs to go- he takes the whole thing in, from the neatly trimmed rose bushes out front to the large barn to its left. There is a circular cobblestone path for horses and coaches, tall columns guarding the entrance.

Jaskier stumbles out of the tavern, a little tipsy and with a wide grin on his face. Geralt grunts, sending the bard a short glare before he turns his back, throwing the reins over Roach’s head and mounting up. Together, Jaskier telling Geralt in great detail how amazing having everyone singing his songs was, they make a steady pace for the estate.

~ 

The first thing Geralt notices as a servant leads him into the dining room is the beautiful woman sitting to the right of who he assumes is the Lord of the town. She’s stunning, her features refined as he’d come to expect of nobility, her long hair let loose in ringlets that spill over her shoulders in waves of auburn. Her posture is perfect, hands clasped in her lap over a flowing dress. Every inch of her screams wealth.

Geralt doesn’t have to force himself to look away. While she looks like she can afford the price on the beasts’ head, she doesn’t look like the type to get her hands dirty- in fact, even at dinner her hands and forearms are covered by black silk gloves. She’s far too prissy for his taste.

“Geralt of Rivia!” The Lord of the town booms, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin as he stands up. He spreads his long arms wide. “I’d heard you were in town. Have you come for the monster? Who am I kidding, of course you have! Welcome, welcome!”

The Witcher steps into the dining room, Jaskier just behind and to his left. He knows he’s out of place with his dual swords, his black leather armor, but he couldn’t give less of a damn. Money is money, and this man has plenty.

“Please, sit!” The Lord continues. “I’d like you to meet my daughter, Lani.” He motions to the auburn-haired woman beside him. She inclines her head with a small smile, properly polite. Geralt nearly scoffs. Instead, he takes a seat at the foot of the table, Jaskier placing himself beside the woman. He kisses the back of her hand, turning on the charm. Geralt watches them for a second, seeing her polite dismissal of the bard. Jaskier doesn’t seem deterred- he keeps talking to her despite her lack of interest.

“I head you have a pest.” Geralt says, ignoring the way the woman’s green eyes lock on him.

“Yes, a werewolf. There’s a mage who has gone rogue around here, and the werewolf seems to be her pet. It’s a creature born, if the pattern of attacks mean anything, and it’s killing our businesses. My businesses, really, since everything in this town is mine.” He laughs, self-confident to the point of cockiness. “I’ll pay you handsomely if you slay it.”

“When.” Geralt corrects, but the man doesn’t seem to notice.

“I can’t have it threatening my daughter, you see. No suitor will want her if the land she is to inherit is plagued with a monster.”

The daughter’s eyes narrow, but she quickly composes her face into an emotionless mask. Geralt notices the slip, though. It seems she’s not content to be married off.

“We have rooms prepared for you, Witcher. Your…friend can stay in the adjoining room. Please, help yourself to whatever food and drink you fancy while here. I can’t offer an advance payment, you see, or too many fakes would come through those doors, but I promise payment in full as soon as the task is complete and the wolf’s head- human or otherwise- crosses my threshold. And only the head, mind you.” He clears his throat. “Apologies, Lani sweet, for such coarse language.”

Lani tips her head to him, but her eyes are still focused on Geralt. He shifts an inch, starting to feel uncomfortable. Her stare isn’t obvious, but it is disconcerting, and with her careful mask, he can’t tell what she’s thinking or why she’s staring.

“Where?” Geralt questions.

“It’s sheltered in the mountain just south of here, at the base. There’s a cave system there, it’s hard to miss. Just follow the creek upstream.”

Geralt nods and stands, turning to leave the room without another word.

 ~

“Did you see how beautiful Lani is?” Jaskier babbles as he follows Roach up a sloping hill. “She looks like a princess, or a queen. Oh, I could write a song about her beauty! Should I? Do you think that would woo her to me?”

Geralt huffs, rolling his eyes. Roach is sure-footed on the rocks, but he can hear Jaskier slipping every so often behind him. Nevertheless, the bard keeps up his steady stream of talking. They’re an hour into the woods, following the creek as Lord Corro (He’d gleaned the name from a passing servant in the hall) had said. There are fresh hoofprints in the bits of sandy ground between rocks, and only in one direction. Whoever had gone hadn’t come back.

The Witcher holds up a hand. Jaskier stops with a huff. “Are we there yet?”

Geralt glares at him, but his attention is diverted; just over the crest of the hill he can see the very top of a cave mouth. Inside, echoing just loud enough for his highly tuned senses to pick up is the sound of a fight. He hears a shout, a roar, a scream- and then a thud as something- or someone- is thrown.

He nudges Roach into a canter over the path, finding that the ground levels out and becomes less rocky the closer they get to the cave. Outside the mouth of the cave, a large black horse grazes amongst bones strewn haphazardly on the ground. It lifts its head and whickers, puffing itself up to full height as it watches Roach canter in. Inside, the sounds of the fight have resumed. Geralt catches the scent of blood, of sweat and something else- wood smoke? He turns his mare and jumps off, rushing into the cave.

The inside of the cave is littered with full skeletons, half-eaten corpses and fresh blood. There are several human bodies among the dead, but sheep and goats far out number the people. He even spots a few cows, their skulls resting in odd positions. Closer now, he can hear each grunt the human fighter makes, each glance of their weapon over the werewolf’s hide. The monster screams, then roars. For a second there’s nothing.

Geralt skids to a stop at the entrance to the main lair. The werewolf lays dead, skewered through the neck by a silver-plated sword. Standing over the corpse with a leg over either shoulder is a black-clad figure whose face is obscured by a mask and a hood- but Geralt can see that the blood dripping from their hands to the sword’s hilt isn’t werewolf blood. It’s their own.

The figure collapses, falling just to the side of the werewolf’s massive body, curled in on itself. Is it the vigilante? Geralt thinks, blinking at the well-made sword, the man’s black doublet and thick leather pants. He sure did come prepared.

As he stalks toward the too-brave human, he takes stock of the fight scene. It had been brutal, this much he can tell; there is human blood smeared across the ceiling and directly below, too fresh to belong to anyone other than the vigilante.

“You shouldn’t have taken on a monster by yourself.” Geralt admonishes the panting, nearly-broken figure on the floor. “That’s what I’m here for.”

He doesn’t answer verbally, instead pushing himself up with both hands firmly planted on the ground. As soon as he gets his feet under him, he’s scrambling backwards, away from Geralt.

The Witcher holds his hands up, seeing the vigilante reach for a dagger belted to his waist. “No need.” He says. “I only hunt monsters, not humans.” Still, no response other than ragged breathing. The man presses a hand to his ribs, hunched over. Clearly injured. “You need help.” Geralt comments. “I can help you.”

He’s aware of Jaskier finally catching up; the bard stands in awe of the scene before him, jaw dropped. Then he sees the vigilante, and notices that both of Geralt’s swords are still strapped to his back- though there is a sword stuck in the werewolf.

“Geralt?” Jaskier questions, confused. “Did he kill the monster?”

The vigilante drops like dead weight. Geralt rushes over, taking the dagger from a limp hand. His fingers come away slick with blood. Up close, the man is smaller than most men he’d seen. He pushes back the hood, noting that the man wears a tight black knit cap that lines up perfectly with the mask. Blood seeps from below the mask, so Geralt takes it off carefully.

“Oh.” He murmurs, shocked. The man, the vigilante, slayer of the werewolf, isn’t a man at all.

Lying unconscious on the ground before him, her body battered, is Lani, Lord Corro’s daughter. Blood drips from the corner of her mouth, but her face is unmarred. Up close, Geralt notices a small scar over her right eyebrow, a tiny imperfection on her otherwise unmarked face. She groans, face scrunching, then gags, rolling over to spit up blood. For a second she seems to gather herself, then her eyes land on his.

She reaches up, feeling for the mask, but when her fingers touch only skin her eyes widen. “Don’t tell my father-“ She says, voice hoarse with the blood coating her throat. Geralt pats her back as she falls into a coughing fit, spitting up more blood. When she flops onto her back, she gives him a side-eye. “Don’t tell anyone.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You’re injured.”

Her hand lifts to her ribs and she winces. “I’ll be fine. Just…don’t tell.”

Geralt looks to Jaskier over his shoulder. The bard has a comical look of surprise on his face, so shocked that he can do nothing but blink. Huffing, he nods. “I won’t.” 

Lani closes her eyes, nose scrunching in pain. She pants through bared teeth as she tries to lift herself onto an elbow, but Geralt is quick to push her back down. “Stay.” he says. 

“M’lady?” A girl’s voice calls out from behind them. “Oh! Lani!” Geralt turns to see a woman the same size as Lani rushing towards her. She wears the outfit of a handmaiden in Lord Corro’s house, her mouse-brown hair done up in a braid. Without even bothering to glance at the witcher, she kneels beside Lani and cups her face in one hand. “This is going to leave a mark.” She says. 

“You knew about this?” Jaskier’s incredulous voice questions from just over Geralt’s shoulder. His face is bewildered, and Geralt thinks- not for the first time- that the bard lets too much of what he’s feeling show on his face. “You knew that she’s the vigilante?”

The handmaiden cuts Jaskier a look so cold that Geralt’s eyebrows raise. “Of course I did.” She growls, already feeling down Lani’s side for broken bones. “I knew I couldn’t stop her, so I decided to join her. I’m the only one who knows.”

“Not anymore.” Lani coughs, wiping at her mouth. She glances only briefly to the blood on her hand before she warily eyes Jaskier. “Don’t. Tell.”

“Her father would disown her.” The maid explains. “Some of the men she’s, ehem, stopped are men who work for Lord Corro. He’d kill me if he found out I helped her.” She cuts herself off, looking to Lani. They share a glance that clearly means something to the other. 

“You can say it.” Lani says, gritting her teeth past a fresh wave of pain. 

“Lani’s been playing a long game. Lord Corro is the most corrupt person in town, and she’s been taking out his pawns one by one until she can bring him down, but it’s dangerous. If she were to be found out…”

Geralt’s mind reels. This is not the woman who he’d seen sit so demurely at her father’s side. This woman is cunning. She’s an incredible actress, and far more than he’d given her credit for. “He’s your father.” The Witcher comments. “Not many people would dare take on their own family.”

She bares her teeth, her smile bloodied. “He doesn’t deserve what he has. No one should be that rich while others suffer.”

Behind him, Geralt swears he hears Jaskier whimper. The scent that always clings to the bard intensifies. He looks over his shoulder to find Jaskier making heart-eyes at the woman lying bleeding on the floor, broken but victorious. 

“We have to get you back.” The maid murmurs to Lani. “Can you move?”

“She shouldn’t walk on her own.” Geralt says, wondering at the sudden protective urge he has over the woman. “I’ll carry her.”

Lani scoffs, but he knows her pride won’t get her upright. She sets her jaw, eyeing him distrustfully, but when he only holds out a hand for her she seems to deflate. He waits until she nods before he scoops her up with an arm behind her back and one under her legs. She groans in pain, eyes squeezed shut, body trembling. “You’re not like the others, Witcher.” Lani grudgingly admits from behind clenched teeth. “Most men wouldn’t wait for permission.”

Geralt hums low in his chest, knowing she can hear it. He doesn’t bother to answer as he turns around, noting that Jaskier is still reeling from the surprises of the day. “Are you coming, bard?” He burrs, amused. Jaskier nods, glancing back to see the maid following them.

The Witcher places Lani as gently as he can on the black horses’ back, frowning when she still grimaces in pain despite his best efforts. She’s a tough woman, but those are serious injuries, he thinks to himself. “You take the bounty.” She says to him, not meeting his eyes. “As payment for keeping my secret.”

He nearly shakes his head. She’d almost been killed in the fight, the bounty was hers by rights- but the part of himself that remained from his lessons says that coin is coin, no matter how it is gotten. “You killed it.” He says instead. “It’s your bounty.”

“She won’t take it.” the maid replies when Lani clutches her ribs, her face scrunching up in pain. “She’s stubborn like that. Either you take the money or no one will.”

“He’ll take it.” Jaskier jumps in. “Or I will.” When Geralt gives him a short glare, he shrugs. “Living on the road is expensive. We need to pay for food somehow.” Geralt’s lips twitch in annoyance but he realizes the bard is right. It’s a waste of Lani’s blood if no one takes the bounty. 

“Where will you go?” He asks instead. 

“Home.” Lani breathes, pushing herself upright in the saddle. She takes a few shallow breaths past her bruised ribs. “I’ve gotten good at hiding my injuries.” Geralt sees the sadness in her maid’s expression and knows it’s all too true. “Ready, Loretta?” 

The maid nods, swinging up unassisted into the saddle behind her Lady. Lani turns the horse toward the town, giving Geralt a lingering look. “I’ll see you there, Witcher.” She says, gritting her teeth as she urges the horse into a rolling canter. 

Geralt huffs, muttering a low ‘fuck’ under his breath. He turns toward the cave where the werewolf’s dead body waits. Jaskier, behind him, is staring after the two riders with longing in his eyes. 

“I want to marry that woman.” Jaskier murmurs, his cheeks pink. “She’s so… perfect.”

The Witcher grunts. “She’s her own woman, Jask. Can’t be tied down.” He stomps into the cave, finding the monster exactly the way it had been left. The blood on his leather is Lani’s, but no one in town would know that, so he decides to leave it as a sign of the battle. With a savage yank, he pulls the sword from the werewolf’s spine and uses it to sever the head in two blows. When the head rolls alone on the stone floor of the cave, Geralt takes a closer look at the sword, humming in appreciation of the wonderful craftsmanship. If Lani left it, then she left it for a reason, so he decides to keep it though it is smaller than he likes. 

The sun is nearing its crest when Geralt walks out of the cave with a new sword in one hand and a werewolf’s head in the other. Jaskier waits, already strumming his lute to a new tune; one of the witcher, victorious in battle against yet another monster. 

Lani sits stiff as a board in her seat beside her father. Her ribs throb with every shallow breath, her entire right side is an amalgamation of black and blue bruises, but the sleeves of her dress and her black silk gloves cover everything. Behind her, Loretta frets. She can feel the handmaiden’s eyes boring into the back of her skull, watching and waiting for a sign that she’s had enough. 

She’s about to give up when the double doors to the dining room crash open and in strides Geralt, bloodied and carrying the head of the monster she herself slew. 

A good excuse, she thinks, feeling rather pale. She puts the back of one hand daintily to her forehead, sighing just enough that her father hears. “Oh my,” she murmurs. “Father, I feel quite faint. You must excuse me.”

And with that, she rises on unsteady feet, using the back of the chair as balance to leave. As soon as she’s out of eyesight of anyone, Loretta slips an arm around her waist and takes half of her weight, guiding them both to her room. 

Lani doesn’t see Geralt unceremoniously dump the head to the floor, or her father hand over a large bag of gold coins. She lays in bed, aching all over and so tired as Jaskier serenades the Lord with a song of Geralt’s triumph over the beast. She hears the revel thrown in Geralt’s honor, the revel that goes on for hours until there’s a shallow knock on her door. 

“My Lady Lani?” Jaskier’s voice calls, muffled through the door. 

Lani motions Loretta to open the door, too weak to do much more. Jaskier is quickly by her side, gingerly taking her hand in both of his. “How are you feeling?” The bard asks, and Lani can see genuine worry in his eyes. 

“Everything hurts.” she confesses, in too much pain to put on an act. “Did Geralt collect the bounty?”

“He did. I made a song about his victory over the beast, but I wanted you to hear the real one, the one I’ll only sing to him or you. Would you like that?”

She doesn’t know why there are tears suddenly at the back of her eyes, or why seeing his soft gaze breaks down the walls she’s built for so long. “Loretta,” She calls, and instantly her handmaiden is there, helping her sit up. Jaskier helps too, his hands warm on her shoulder and careful not to hurt her any more than she already is. The bard fluffs her pillows behind her without being asked. “Thank you, Jaskier. I’d love to hear your song.”

And so, with Loretta sitting comfortably on her bed beside her, she watches as Jaskier kneels and swings his lute over his chest, strumming a few careful notes. 

“This tale begins with a proper Lady whose beauty knows no bounds, whose courage is unmatched, whose honor is worth more than gold. 

Defender of her land, protector of her realm, she is unknown to all but one.

She fought minor beasts, men whose deeds made them wicked, defeated their demons and emerged victorious. 

So when true evil came to her land

When a monster stalked her people, 

She did as heroes do and she hunted the creature.

When no man would stand up and fight, when cowardice was proven, she asked no recompense, no quarter, for there could be no mercy either.

When no man would fight, she said ‘I am no man’ and she proved her worth.

She fought the creature with every breath, she slew the beast with the last of her strength

And though battered by the monster, she didn’t cry for help. This valiant, beautiful woman had proven herself worth more than fifty men and yet she asked to remain hidden.

And so it is that no one will know her name, the glory of battle goes to another, the spoils of victory hers to give but not taken. 

But let not her tale end here. 

Let it not end here, but let there be many more victories in her future.’

Loretta is crying when Lani glances over at her. Jaskier’s eyes are soft, but there’s something glimmering in them from his song, and Lani feels the effects of it long after the last note fades away, like some sort of spell. “That was beautiful.” She whispers to the bard. “Thank you.”

Jaskier smiles, a smile that lights up his whole face. Geralt never compliments his singing, and more often than not he’s boo-ed out of taverns. “No, thank you, M’lady. Today you proved that it doesn’t take a Witcher for all monsters. There may be hope for us yet.”

Lani laughs, but it quickly dissolves into a coughing fit. Jaskier is quick to help, rubbing her back soothingly as she coughs. She leans into him for a minute, weakened by the fit, and his heart threatens to burst. He’d always been one to trust too quickly, but even he knew that from the moment he first saw her that she was unlike the others. He sets her back against her pillows gently, pushing a lock of hair out of her face. Her eyes are as green as he remembers them being from first glance, though they are pain-dulled and tired. “Get some rest.” he says, kissing the back of her hand once more. He can feel her callouses from weaponry and realizes why she always wears gloves. “You deserve it.”

“Thank you, Jaskier.” She says as he stands, moving his lute onto his back. “And please tell Geralt thank you too.”

“I will.” He replies. “But you are the one we should both be thanking.”

TAG LIST (OPEN)

[buns-with-a-book]

Flowers of White 1 - White Cyclamen

Inspired by Sync’s idea here, I just took the idea and added more angst because...why not, tbh. The first of three chapters in this miniseries. 

Fandom: Devil May Cry Characters: OC, Dante, Vergil, Nero (mentioned in this chapter) Tags: @nimnox @furyeclipse @synchronmurmurs @harlot-of-oblivion @queenmuzz

Summary: The cyclamen often represents resignation and goodbye, a flower that brings with it ill news. 

Grey clouds hung high in the sky above Red Grave City, casting the buildings in a dull hue. Cassandra was settled in Dante’s chair, behind the desk, and curled up in a blanket. On days like today, with the cool weather making it less than pleasant to be out and about, she often curled up in Dante’s chair with a blanket and waited for the brothers to return. The dour weather often reminded her of home, of cloud-covered days. As she awaited the brothers return, her mind wandered to recent events. 

One such event that plagued her mind was the disappearance of Nero. Just a few days prior, Nico had called her to tell her that Nero was nowhere to be found. A mission must’ve gone bad, as Red Queen and Blue Rose were recovered but no devil hunter. The news hadn’t reached Kyrie yet (as far as she knew) but she could only imagine that Kyrie was just as worried about Nero as she was. Hell, Kyrie was a smart gal, she probably already had an idea that something was wrong. Cassandra ran a hand through her hair, wondering who or what could’ve taken Nero. Demons were a probable answer, to bait the legendary devil hunter Dante and his brother Vergil to a trap. There was also the possibility of an extremist sect of the Order of the Sword, seeking vengeance upon Nero. She threw that out of her head. If that were the case, then Kyrie would’ve been targeted as well and Nico would’ve said something about such a sect. 

‘Demons don’t leave voicemails...and neither do crazy extremist sects...so who else…’ The phone rang, causing her to jump. She looked to it before sighing, pulling the blanket off her. She waited for three rings, then a fourth before promptly picking up. 

 “Devil May Cry.” She feigned cheerfulness, despite her worries churning within her. 

“Cassandra, my...runaway bride.” She could feel her blood freeze. That voice was too familiar, a voice she had thought she buried in the annals of the past. “It’s quite lovely to hear your voice again.” 

“Cut the crap, Draco.” She hissed. “What do you want. How did you even get this number.” 

“The phone book, like all things. As for what I want, I want you back in my loving arms. I was so hurt when you disappeared that night.” 

“Cut the crap.” Cassandra growled. “What do you want.” 

“A renewal of the vows, of course! And we even have the ring bearer here.” There was the sound of shuffling before a familiar snarl. It didn’t even matter what Nero said, she could barely hear him over the panicked heartbeat ramming in her own ears.  

‘No...He’s got Nero.’ The thought was terrifying. Who knew what they had done to him? What could they do to him? Even without Red Queen and Blue Rose, Nero could still pack a punch. Despite this knowledge, the fact that Draco and the guard of Eternis Brillia had him just made her worry on end. He was more human than the rest of the crew, with the exception of herself and Lady. While he was resilient like Dante and Vergil, he couldn’t recover as quickly as the brothers. 

“You’re lucky we only found this...brat.” Draco’s voice ripped her from her thoughts. “That summoner friend of yours seems to have disappeared from the face of the earth.” Cassandra restrained a sigh of relief, knowing that they were merely talking about V. 

“He’s dead. He died in the demon tree.” A half-truth but not that Draco would know nor would she tell him. There was a soft swear on the other end. 

“Look, you either come back to Eternis Brillia and be the bride you were supposed to be or we hurt him.” She tightened her hand on the phone, letting out a soft exhale. 

“Gimme a moment…” She set the phone down on the desk, rubbing her face with her hands. On one hand, she still hated Draco with every fiber of her being. His ring had been sold during the time that Dante and Vergil were in the Underworld. She had long moved on, even finding new love in Dante’s older brother Vergil. A part of her wanted to fight against Draco, to go rip Nero out of danger herself.

But she couldn’t. This was the one time Draco had the upper hand. She had no idea where exactly Nero was nor what they could do to him. Nero was a son to her, despite their lack of blood relation. She wouldn’t forgive herself if they lost Nero and she was certain Vergil wouldn’t either, not after he found out Nero existed after all this time. 

With a defeated sigh, she took the phone back up.

“Alright Draco, let’s talk some terms.” 

“Oh? You’re not in a position to negotigate.” 

“It’s stuff for the wedding.” She pointed out. “Nero must be there. He’s my son.” 

“Slut.” She ignored his snide remark. 

“And I don’t have the ring you gave me. A demon ate it.” Another half-truth. The fate of the ring, once it was out of her hands and replaced with money, didn’t matter to her and Draco was unlikely to go off to hunt for it. “So you’ll need to find a new ring before we get hitched.”

“Alright alright.” Draco said lazily. “Anything else?” 

“...can we have it in Rothes? It’s a nice sleepy little town and the cyclamen in the little flower shop...they’re in bloom this time of year, as I recall.” 

“Oh, perfect for riding back into Eternis Brillia in victory!” He said. She winced at his gloating. “Who knew you were actually smart sometimes? Well, I’ll take care of everything else. You come to Rothes in two weeks.”

“Two weeks?”

“I mean, they have a courthouse. We can have a courthouse wedding to make it all official before riding back to Eternis Brillia. Oh, and don’t tell anyone about this. It’ll be just you and me and that whore’s son.” 

“Don’t you dare call Nero that!” She snapped. He scoffed. 

“Whatever. Bye.” He hung up. She set the phone back into the receiver and buried her face into the desk. Her hands entangled themselves into her hair, nearly pulling it out from frustration before falling lax in defeat. Her body began to heave as she began to cry, frustration turning into defeated sorrow. 

The fate she had long tried to run from came back to haunt her, and it dragged Nero into the mess too. Out of anyone that had to be dragged into what she had long tried to ignore and not think about, why Nero? He didn’t deserve it, hell none of them did. She thought she was safe from them, miles and miles away from the isolated city. For twenty-odd years, that had been the case. But her luck had run out at last. 

“Cass!” Dante’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts. She snapped her head up, watching as the brothers rushed to her side.

“Shit, I didn’t…” She sniffed, wiping her eyes with her hand. “I’ll go leave-”

“Did someone come and assault you?” Vergil asked. Cassandra made a face.

“He might as well have...he’s got Nero.”

“Wait, who?” Dante knelt down to look at her right in the eyes. Vergil bristled.

“And why does he have Nero?” Vergil asked, a deathly chill in his voice. 

“I...it’s a guy from my past. He forced me to marry him but w-we never said I do so it didn’t count.” She finally said, voice choked from trying not to cry again. “He somehow managed to get Nero and h-has him hostage.” 

“Cass, come on, give us a name.” Dante murmured, his hand gently squeezing her shoulder. 

“...It’s Draco. Draco Kinnaird. He wants me to go up to Rothes to marry him in their courthouse before riding back to Eternis Brillia like he conquered a kingdom or something.” She finally rasped out, all of her tears spent. “And I’m going. If Nero died because I said no...I would never forgive myself.”  A quiet fell between the trio before Cassandra stood from the chair, taking the blanket with her. 

“Cassandra-”

“I’m going to pack. In two weeks time...you’ll have Nero back.” She looked to the two of them, guilt and sorrow evident in her features. “I love you, both of you.” With that, she stepped upstairs to pack. Vergil watched her go, hands squeezed into fists. Dante stood up with a soft groan, walking to the side of his brother. 

“We’re not letting her walk somewhere that makes her miserable, right Verge?” The red-clad devil hunter said softly. He glanced to Vergil and smirked, just a little, at his gaze at the door that led to Cassandra’s room.

“Never.” He whispered. “But first, we need the appropriate attire.” 

“Oh, you’re going to crash a wedding? I think I’m rubbing off on you.” 

“Only for this occasion, Dante.”

[telesthisia]

THE POSITIVE & NEGATIVE; mun & muse - meme.

TAGGED BY: @hyaciiintho​ thank you so much!!! <3 TAGGING: @rcguna​ @cadcnce​ either or whatever works for you bear, @panickypeachboy​ @paintmaid​ @emfiliae​ @windmcge​ and you as well!! The person reading this

FILL OUT & REPOST ♥ this meme definitely favors canons more, but i hope oc’s still can make it somehow work with their own lore, and lil’ fandom of friends & mutuals. multi-muses pick the muse you are the most invested in atm. <--- leaving this here because this is super sweet ALSO FAIR WARNING my blog has right click turned off. I’m going to be placing this under readmore but I think you can see it on dashboard view! If not lmk we’ll work something out!!! 

MY MUSE IS:   CANON / OC / AU (Verse dependent) / CANON-DIVERGENT (Interactions & verse dependent) / FANDOMLESS

Is your character popular in the fandom?  YES well kinda at least thanks to ssbu before she wasn’t that well known I MEAN PPL KNEW HER BUT SHE DIDN’T HAVE AS MANY FANART AS OTHER ZELDAS SDJBKHJABSD/ NO

Is your character considered hot™ in the fandom?  YES / NO / IDK because not too many people talk about her and by her I mean ALTTP Zel, people are bonkers over SSBU Zel! 

Is your character considered strong in the fandom? YES / NO if we’re talking about the canon of ALTTP and OoX series rather than ssbu it’s a hard no, she has enough magic to be considered a sacrifice to break barriers and revive the dead but not enough to fend herself off from evil mages who want to talk over the world / IDK

Are they underrated?  YES / NO

Were they relevant for the main story?  YES / NO / MAYBE

Were they relevant for the main character?  YES / NO / THEY’RE THE PROTAG

Are they widely known in their world?  YES / NO / MAYBE

How’s their reputation?  GOOD / BAD / NEUTRAL

HOW STRICTLY DO YOU FOLLOW CANON?   NOT THAT STRICT HONESTLY, she’s just an OC at this point haha because she has zero substance in her own god damn game ;v; she’s just exposition.txt with dulcina effect playing into view though it is somewhat justified since she is the princess and the only thing that stopped Agahnim from breaking out Ganon.... I MEAN!!! SHE’S NOT AT ALL A DEPRESSED CALM ROMANTIC IN CANON LET’S PUT IT TO YOU THAT WAY SDBKASDJHBDASD. 

SELL YOUR MUSE! AKA TRY TO LIST EVERYTHING, WHICH MAKES YOUR MUSE INTERESTING IN YOUR OPINION TO MAKE THEM SPICY FOR YOUR MUTUALS.   TAKES A DEEP BREATH

Tiny funky elf princess trying her best to rule elf kingdom. HJKA there’s more, I’m lazy but not that lazy. She’s the descendent of essentially a mortal god, more than likely acting as an avatar of sorts to the goddess Hylia, as such she’s gifted with fantastical abilities that’s been passed down her family for generations and she intends to use these powers to protect her kingdom that’s still on the road of recovery, as the sole survivor from Agahnim’s destruction upon Hyrule and thus sole scion she’s left picking up the small fragments from the tragedy that occurred ages ago where the Hero of Time had fallen. But here’s the downside to these powers: she was born with a very weak body and poor health as such she can’t utilize the abilities she has from her bloodline aside from a few powers without affecting her low stamina issues. Namely telepathy, clairvoyance, healing, sealing things away, creating barriers, and connection with the spirit realm. As such, she tends to rely on the wisdom given to her by her naturally bright mind and enhanced by the mythical object known as the Triforce of Wisdom. Surprisingly, she can be cunning despite her soft-hearted nature and is willing to do whatever it takes to protect her kingdom and people she loves, her silent determination more than makes up for the lack of powers she may have. That in mind, she’s often the target of more nefarious plans that means the downfall of her kingdom. She may not have the amazing light magic spells her ancestors did to prevent darkness from taking over but that doesn’t mean her magic isn’t any less potent, she just can’t tap into it. She’s an easy target for enemies that wish to use her sacred powers to revive the dead Ganon or break pass whatever powerful barrier or seal that’s in place. 

Her future is pretty grim as well, considering she has a shorter life span. But it’s fine, things are fine she may have a gloomy outlook on certain things but that doesn’t stop her from living life!! Despite how sour this may all seem Zelda is still that encouraging young woman whose kindness defines her, she’s playfully innocent around friends and enjoys exploring old places of decay that’s rich with history! She tends to bottle up her more negative aspects to not worry others since she’s the pillar of an entire ass nation, she needs to maintain her placid demeanor as a means to calm and soothe others around her. Because the truth of the matter is that the events of ALTTP (before the game where harsh plagues among other things happened before Agahnim arrived to fix everything as well as after the events of the game) and OoX, instances where she’s witnessed death of loved ones, the downfall of her kingdom, and coming across death herself has affected her greatly. She suffers from grief and depression that needs to be addressed but... ;v; 

NGL I’M ABOUT TO CRY 

NOW THE OPPOSITE, LIST EVERYTHING WHY YOUR MUSE COULD NOT BE SO INTERESTING (EVEN IF YOU MAY NOT AGREE, WHAT DOES THE FANDOM PERHAPS THINK?).   HJKA TAKE OUT MY BULLSHIT TAKE ON HER AND YOU’RE LEFT WITH EXPOSITION AND DAMSEL IN DISTRESS!!! She’s not at all interesting if you don’t take into account her roles in the mangas which I somewhat base her personality and thoughts on... she’s just.... nice pretty princess that needs to be rescued. A tale as old as time.... 

WHAT INSPIRED YOU TO RP YOUR MUSE?   GOOD QUESTION!!! BECAUSE I STARTED OUT WITH HILDA BEFORE DECIDING TO GO WITH SKY ZELDA BECAUSE I WANTED TO DO A MORE OUTGOING MUSE and then I opened up a sideblog for this Zelda out of whim. There’s no reason why I choose the most obscure Zelda, I just did it because I thought it’d be fun. I did not expect this much characterization for someone like her ngl. I guess what keeps me going is the fact that she’s a fun character to write for! 

WHAT KEEPS YOUR INSPIRATION GOING? HA!!! NOTHING!!! Mental illness is a bitch, I will have my down... weeks. Not days, literal weeks or months depending on how long my episodes last. It sucks, and I try to work around it but there’s not much I can do. That said, inspiration depends on motivation and want to write. As well as focus because god knows I have so little of that. 

SOME MORE PERSONAL QUESTIONS FOR THE MUN.

give your mutuals some insight about the way you are in some matters, which could lead them to get more comfortable with you or perhaps not.

Do you think you give your character justice?  YES / NO I TRY BUT UNDERSTAND THERE’S NOT MUCH TO WORK WITH IN CANON YOU EITHER LIKE HER OR DON’T 

Do you frequently write headcanons? YES / NO

Do you sometimes write drabbles?  YES / NO but I honestly should???

Do you think a lot about your Muse during the day?  YES / NO

Are you confident in your portrayal?   YES where’s the kinda opition, because I personally love her and think she’s interesting enough but I’m still working a lot on her NO

Are you confident in your writing?  YES / HA HARD NO

Are you a sensitive person?  YES fun part of having ADD is that you feel emotions more intenstly, I’m naturally a senstive person too so :’)))) / NO

DO YOU ACCEPT CRITICISM WELL ABOUT YOUR PORTRAYAL?   YES OF COURSE!!!! As someone who wants to grow more in writing any sort of feedback is appreciated! 

DO YOU LIKE QUESTIONS, WHICH HELP YOU EXPLORE YOUR CHARACTER?   If you give me the chance to ramble about this stupid elf I will literally love you so much like I love all sorts of questions anyone may have about her!! Though I feel my rambles don’t really make much sense since I just type whatever pops in the mind and put it down as fast as I can without double-checking well enough. 

IF SOMEONE DISAGREES TO A HEADCANON OF YOURS, DO YOU WANT TO KNOW WHY?   Sí! Again, I want to grow more as a writer and rper! So if someone were to come across a headcanon they don’t like I’d like to know why so that I can think more critically about it and fix it so that it better fits Zelda. If someone were to say “I don’t like this” without saying why it really won’t help much aside from letting me know that you don’t like the thing, which is fine and valid but pls let me know why! 

IF SOMEONE DISAGREES WITH YOUR PORTRAYAL, HOW WOULD YOU TAKE IT?   Eh, fine with it. I honestly don’t mind if someone doesn’t like my characters, any of my characters I play as! Sometimes, certain portrayals aren’t someone’s cup of tea and that’s perfectly fine. I won’t take offense to it, at the end of the day while I’m still working on Zelda I’m happy with how much she’s grown over the years I’ve played her as... which were just two but it feels longer dude!!! 

IF SOMEONE REALLY HATES YOUR CHARACTER, HOW DO YOU TAKE IT?   Again, I wouldn’t care that much lol. It’s just rping, it’s really not that deep. It’s no different from someone not liking a book because they just don’t vibe with the writing style among other reasons. I may be sensitive but I don’t really take a lot of things personally. 

ARE YOU OKAY WITH PEOPLE POINTING OUT YOUR GRAMMATICAL ERRORS?   Ye uvub! I’m a literal dumbass behind a keyboard, don’t be afraid to say “hey this wasn’t spelled right” or “hey this doesn’t make much sense mind checking it over really quick”. 

DO YOU THINK YOU ARE EASY GOING AS A MUN?   I THINK?! I MEAN HONESTLY I’M SUPER ANXIOUS AND A WORRYWART I JUST DON’T SHOW IT MUCH AAAAAAAA I’d like to think of myself as chill ;v; I try to treat others how I want to be treated and just try to be nice. Idk if I come across as that or not, it’s hard to convey feelings through text sometimes to some. 

[clansayeed]

Bound by Choice ― II.i. The Prestige Waltz

PAIRING: OC x OC x OC (Valdas x Isseya x Cynbel) RATING: Mature (reader discretion advised)

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Choice ⥽

Before there were Clans and Councils, before the fate of the world rested in certain hands, before the rise and fall of a Shadow King ― there was the Trinity. Three souls intertwined in the early hands of the universe who came to define the concept of eternity together. Because that was how they began and how they hoped to end; together. For over 2,000 years Valdas, Cynbel, and Isseya have walked through histories both mortal and supernatural. But in the early years of the 20th century something happened―something terrible. Their story has a beginning, and this is the end.

Bound by Choice and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Choice is the only book in the series not based on an existing Choices story. It is set in the Bloodbound universe and features many canon characters.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Choice/series tag list!

⥼ PART II ⥽

— Paris, 1582. Vampires across Europe gather beneath the bones of Paris for merriment, reverence, and to honor the lives lost in a holy war. But some see this not as meace, but as an opportunity to decimate the enemy ranks no matter the price. And, as Serafine Dupont comes to learn, other's lives are a sacrifice the Trinity is willing to make.

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Beneath the streets of Paris the dead dwell restless. They take up masks and dance through the night. They celebrate freedom and life. And do so, unknowingly, for the last time.

[READ IT ON AO3]

Paris, 1582

She’s a breathtaking thing on his arm. Of course in this the age of beautiful things she still glows radiant; the star that outshines the moon.

As she always has. As she always will.

Long fingers wind through Cynbel’s golden locks absent and curious. She leaves it up to him to solve the labyrinth of the dead and instead finds herself contented  in gazing upon him.

“You haven’t worn your hair this long since Venice.”

“Kind of you to notice.”

“I like it.”

“I should hope so. You spend countless hours in my company, darling mine. If you found me repulsive I can’t imagine what I would do with myself.”

Not a heartbeat passes and Isseya’s grip grows violent; feral. Nails digging into his scalp and a sudden tickling warmth on the back of his neck where blood drips down and threatens to stain his collar.

“Really, Iss’,” his sigh is long-suffering, yet he does not decline her apology of handkerchief dabbing away the mess, “do try and keep civil tonight. You know how important the evening is to me.”

Yet he knows her too well not to feel the falter in her footsteps. The way her mockery of breathing stills and leaves them as permanent and dust-covered as the rest of the catacombs through which they wander with purpose.

“Indeed.”

He would ask if she was having second thoughts about the whole affair but what would that change? Nothing.

What’s done is done. And by the end of the night he will reap what has been sown with a madman’s delight.

Up ahead the darkness gives way to shadows dancing in ritual abreast of the walls of stone and bone. Before they get too close Cynbel stops them; pulls his darling girl against him — allows himself to be pinned against the tunnel and knows her natural desires of dominance will placate her.

Even now.

And she falls into the role as easily as he gives it. Pulling his arms up, up against the linen of his sleeves catching on the stone, to hold him in place. She inhales harsh against the confines of her corset and he, too, feels suddenly tight in the chest.

“You know what this reminds me of?” she practically sings into his neck — has him sofuckingglad he decided to forgo that awful stiff collar and luckily she doesn’t mind that he can’t possibly form words right then.

“London,” Isseya answers her own question in bites across his throat, “and the rack Our Beloved had brought from the Tower… how you stretched and begged for it to end.”

Glad though he is that the attempt at distracting her with delightful things has worked Cynbel can’t help but wonder what price he’s about to pay for it. Not that he isn’t stiff in his hose — but they do have to make an appearance at some point in the night.

And Valdas will start to get worried if they do not show their faces soon.

She pulls back with eyes dark and greedy. Not too far, though, when he snaps blunted teeth forward to claim her lower lip for his own. Watching, transfixed, the way it comes back to her shining wet under the distant candlelight.

“Because I wasn’t tall enough already?”

“Are you complaining?”

“Not in the slightest.”

Cynbel snakes an arm around his lover’s waist and, all teasing aside, claims her in a familiar kiss. Familiar in that they have explored one another so intimately and so often that their bodies are one in the same; that the fabric and flesh between them no more than a false reality.

They part; trade lips for foreheads, and breathe in the silence together. As one.

“Should this night be our last night…”

He stops her there. A finger to her lips that curls to lift her chin. She is a proud creature, his darling Isseya; her head simply demands to be held high.

“Stop. You think me so foolish—nay—so weak? This is merely another night, one of many passed and many to come.”

“You cannot control everything.”

“Watch me.”

He has every confidence that they will survive the trials soon to come. They have weathered every storm, every war, every plague. This, too, they will overcome.

The masques they take from their hips to fasten are as rich as they are detailed. Perfectly carved to their features and even now he gazes upon her with a reverence. Such beauty, and to be seen beautiful by it, was worth living for.

She takes his offered hand and with it some of the fire in his eyes. No words between them, they move as one to round the last steps before the tunnel opens outward and upward into splendor.

The vaulted ceilings are a surprise; as far down beneath the earth as they are. A promise of life and freedom that the world above could never truly give them not even in the nighttime. Chandeliers hang high overhead with candles deep in their flames.

Across the ballroom — they are not the last to arrive. Similarly decorated vampires coming alone and with companions at two doorways just as open and inviting. From all corners of Paris they flock here tonight.

He looks and finds Isseya surveying him warily. So much for distraction.

“A bit cramped in here, wouldn’t you say?” There are more attendees than you assumed.

“We’re under the greatest city in the world my love. I’m sure we’ll find the room.” Then we improvise. Nothing has changed.

Nothing has. If anything their chances of living through the things to come have only grown higher.

Even in the crowd their hearts yearn for who they know stands within. Can feel themselves drawn to him, pulled along by a force more powerful than their understanding.

Yet in crossing the length of the room they are seen; more than that they are witnessed. The status their masques signify earns them collective gasps and bows alike; lesser hoping to placate what they only understand to be more than they are. More than they ever will be; for some tonight.

There are always casualties in war.

Together Cynbel and Isseya come across the only masque that could earn their respect; the only thing older than they. Would bow together anyway, would dirty the hems and knees of their finery if that was what he asked of them. Because that is the proper way to treat a god.

That is the proper way to treat their god.

Valdas looks them over with warmth that quickly ignites hot, passionate. He has always appreciated the beauty of his beloveds but this night there is a sense of urgency and finality with every action in which they partake. The greater the risk the greater the reward.

Hungry is their god — who cannot wait even for Cynbel to come up from his bow of respect before grabbing onto the man’s doublet to pull their mouths together. A kiss met with equal fervor and delight, and no less devoted when shared to their darling.

Those old enough enough to remember the days before reservation and propriety, few and far between though they are, say nothing. Those left avert their gaze and know better than to challenge masques so revealing.

“I was starting to worry you’d lost your way.” Valdas glances between his lovers; their mischief not lost on him.

“We simply took a scenic path.”

“And did it suit you?”

“As only death could.”

When they turn out to observe the party so far it is as they do everything — together as one. His gods touch finds its way into his hair and Cynbel pays no thought to it. It is sacrament, after all.

“Were the rumors true?” asks Isseya in a low breath. It earns the pair of them a heavy sigh.

“Indeed.”

“Then we should away.”

Cynbel stifles a derisive snort. “Absolutely not.”

“What you have set in motion is all the more reason.” When she speaks it is earnest and out of love. They know this. But equally she knows they are warriors first. That they crave blood for sport as well as feast.

“While the idea of the Godmaker’s head on one of their silver blades is enough to send me into a passionate heat —”

“Cynbel.”

“We’re among alike company, Valdas.”

“You don’t know that for certain.”

“Really,” the taller man scans the crowd with a knowing eye, “I do.”

A hush falls over the crowded ballroom — dashes away Isseya’s idle fancies of fleeing before they are found. None other than the man himself could garner such a reaction.

Between them the Made-God grows tense. His lovers share arms around him on instinct — natural and without hesitation.

They enter in deadly beauty, arms lain together with an air of presentation. See us, it says, and know your place under our heel. The response it draws is immediate. None dare allow themselves to be in the way of the King and Queen of Vampires.

And they bask in the attention like gluttons. The Bloodqueen smiles much in the same way as when they last had met — the sultry curve of lips that keeps the viewer in a trance only so that they cannot gaze up to see how it does not reach her eyes. And him — he smiles because he means it. Because he need not ask for respect from the masses, not anymore.

They stop in the middle of the floor and are given a wide berth. Gaius tightens his grip on the handle of his masque before he lets it fall from his face; the only one who could dare to pull off such an outrageous act in present company.

“Friends, subjects, loyalists;” he addresses the gathering with pride already swollen in his chest, “your welcome to this our finest achievement has been a gracious one. To see you all gathered here, to see so many of our kind in one place and pridefully so, is a gift the value of I could never have imagined.”

“Always the wordsmith, Gaius mon chér.”

She emerges from the adoring crowd a vision in red. Velvet gown swept up in dainty hand as she comes up on Cynbel’s open side without so much as a glance. The filigree of her masque dazzles in the firelight; intimate gold that frames the upper half of her face to both conceal and reveal.

A bold choice none but the hostess of the evening could aspire to.

She greets Kamilah as an old friend; takes their hands together and presses delicate Parisian kisses on either cheek. Knows the eyes of nearly every vampire in Europe are upon her as she gives a flourishing curtsy with the kiss she bestows on Gaius’ ring.

“I cannot tell you how pleased I am you could attend us tonight,” continues she, “though I will admit I was near to giving up — what with my last five invitations all met with refusal.”

Something flashes in Kamilah’s eye. Has her hand back on that of her King quickly — in restraint.

“Not refusal, Serafine. We were merely indisposed.”

And she understands. “You shall have to regale me the tales.”

“Shall we now?” asks Gaius with a raised brow. It earns him a coy smirk from the Lady Serafine.

“I insist. But now is the time for revelry! Continuer, mes amis!” On her signal the musicians resume their tune, tentative conversation growing strong once again.

To hide would be a fool’s notion. And the Trinity have been called many things, but fools not a word among them.

Demons and the Devil himself. Bloodthirsty pagans. Hellish temptations.

But never fools. The world knows better than that.

The Godmaker and his firstborn share a long look even as heads in their decorated masques and boisterous dress weave between them. Kamilah’s stare goes hard at the sight of him and for that Cynbel cannot help but feel accomplished in some way.

And because he’s in such a delightfully cheery mood — because he knows — he grins and dares a cheeky wink.

Dares only in that the sudden sting of Isseya’s claws on his upper arm is so very very worth it.

They know what must be done, now. At their god’s back the lovers stand as they approach.

“Valdemaras,” Gaius says as he offers his ring in the same way. And without hesitation—he knows better by now, they all do; this tenuous arrangement of theirs—Valdas bestows his kiss.

“Augustine.”

Nothing could ruin the Golden Son’s jubilance. Nothing.

“Little lotus,” he croons to Kamilah even as her mouth turns downward, “you’re looking in good health.”

Whatever she wants to say, she doesn’t. Bites her tongue enough for the brightest flash of copper to make the tip of his nose twitch.

Their darling goes still as stone when the Godmaker bows to her; nothing reverent but more of a courtly finesse. But as he waits she comes to realize it is her he waits upon; offers up the back of her hand clutching her fan in pale knuckles for him to kiss.

See, we can be civil. Now you must be, too.

Palpable tension such as theirs isn’t lost on the other guests, though, especially on one so close as their hostess. Who takes everyone by surprise when she dares speak of it.

“Ah, c'est intéressant,” as a loose curl falls in the eyeline of her masque, “the stories those looks could tell. Friends of yours, Kamilah chérie?”

She hesitates, as if deciding whether or not to answer.

“I believe you know of them by reputation,” — obviously, as Isseya made quite sure of that upon their arrival earlier that season — “what is that silly name of yours again, Cynbel?”

Lucky his masque hides the curl of his upper lip.

“If we’re to speak of silly things —”

“I present my lovers; Cynbel and Isseya,” Valdas interrupts, probably best for them all, and takes both of their hands in offering to the Lady, “you may call me Valdas.”

A flash of recognition in the Frenchwoman’s calculating gaze.

“Ah… Les Trois Amants.”

Isseya’s chin raises with pride. “And you can be no other than tonight’s hostess, no? Mademoiselle Dupont.”

“Please, call me Serafine.”

“Such informality…”

“It breeds a certain… intimacy, non?”

Her lovers need not worry of her — but what they know and what they do are different things. None in their little circle miss the way Valdas’ hand tightens over hers and the angle of Cynbel’s body as if to cover her from such intimate eyes. Instinct for them both; to claim and be claimed by one another for all to see.

Thankfully the pleasantries are made to end there. The soft tunes of conversation dying on instrumental lips as the concert prepares to begin playing for the first dance of the midnight hour.

“Mademoiselle, may I have he honor of your prestige?”

Even Gaius has a hard time concealing his surprise when Serafine’s hand comes out in offering to Isseya. Objectively they all understand — know the worth of a millennia by virtue of living it. But some things just simply aren’t fucking done.

Isseya knows this and still accepts. Takes their hands with a sparkle of mischief in her eye before they away to take up positions within the circle gathering on the dance floor.

Paranoia only begins to breed when Cynbel watches the Godmaker’s hand fall on the middle of Valdas’ lower back. “My prestige is yours, Valdemaras.” Not that he is given the choice — is already being led to follow.

Which leaves…

“No.”

Cynbel’s eyebrows barely raise in surprise. Not that he’s entirely inclined to do so with her, either, but they seem to have little say in the matter.

“You would rather take the first dance with someone so mundane?” He sweeps a lazy gesture across the floor. “You know none save our companions are even close enough in age.”

Kamilah’s eyes narrow; she scans the floor for those left unpartnered as though someone will spring miraculous from the stone with enough years under their belt to not serve as a grave insult to her.

He doesn’t have to look. No one else will do.

“I doubt one dance will be the end of you, little lotus.” Offering his hand in defeat for them both.

“You give yourself too much credit.”

“Luckily ‘tis not my credit you need, but my prestige.”

They slide in together, hand in hand, moments before the waltz begins. No effort made on behalf of either to keep the disdain from bleeding through their garb to stain the floor at their feet.

This is simply the way things are done in polite society. They know this. Both of them helped shape it in their own way. They’ve certainly had the time to.

With their betters paired off it was simply the only way to save face. For either of them to dance with one of the lesser attendees would have been tantamount to suicide of status. No other vampire in attendance could have been over a millennium—not even the Lady Serafine. But being a hostess had its perks, and Cynbel could attest… his darling Isseya was so very worth it.

One of the violinists drags the first note out; a true delight to perform for an audience with hearing unsurpassed.

Cynbel lays his hand on the cusp of her waist. Kamilah squeezes his hand hard enough to grind bone. Good, he would expect nothing less than resistance.

Humans held court to catch a glimpse of their betters. For their kind it was this — La Valse de Prestige, the Prestige Waltz. Faces trained on their partners all around but eyes unable to help themselves in how they wander.

There is no slow build. There is only the abrupt beginning, and the flurry of the dance.

Here lay the ability—nay the obligation—to pass judgment on one another. On who danced with whom; on what masque partnered with another. For many it was a matter of life and death. For the likes of the Trinity, of the Godmaker and his Queen it was a chance to see a new breed of blooded potential. For the rest; a fruitless attempt to climb the staircase.

Only it wasn’t so much a staircase as a sheer cliff dropping off into an abyss.

Even in the confines of her dress Kamilah’s movements are limber and fluid. He hardly has to guide her at all.

“You look well.”

“If you are attempting to make me falter —”

“Which would look terrible on behalf of us both. Can I not give a simple compliment?”

“No, you cannot.”

Hands joined they follow the motions; fling themselves outward with faces turned away. Cynbel sees Isseya in almost direct opposite. Their eyes meet and as one they see their beloved focused on his own movements on the far curve of the room.

And they pity him. Know firsthand how beautifully he can dance… but in the hands of the Godmaker he is made mortal again — if only for a short while.

His exact argument against coming tonight, and why they had never ventured to the crypts with their beautiful promises of community before.

If they were lucky, perhaps the events of the night would change that.

What was the phrase, ah yes. To kill two birds with one stone.

“For a man so craven to violence, you feign deep thought quite well.”

Blue eyes unfix themselves from a rapidly-changing distance to lay on the Bloodqueen. “Was that you asking what my mind wanders to?”

“Of course not.”

“Then why say anything at all?”

Of course he knows why; the din of hushed conversation is all around them. Attuned ears catch the familiar bell of Isseya’s laughter. A couple at his back carry on a hissed debate over Cynbel and Kamilah’s statuses — why their masques are so revealing and embellished.

They are a gaping void of silence in comparison. But he’d rather she say it.

She doesn’t give him the satisfaction.

“Very well,” clicking his tongue—he dares to be civil with the woman who nearly left him to join the ashes that littered Pompeii, “when did you and the Godmaker set sights on Paris?”

“France has been home to our court for several decades now.”

Our court. Two words that drag his sights along the room. Surely not this court, not with the surprise at his attendance as there had been. “And before that?”

“What does it matter to you?”

“I’m writing a memoir.”

“Of course you are. Always such a learned thing you were, preferring the company of books over bloodshed.”

Rouged lips tick in her effort not to smirk. Personally he finds her wit humorless and dry.

“If you must know… we only recently came up from the Mediterranean. There was rumor out of Venice that sent us into hiding; a hunter who had felled the great Bloodqueen.”

She is strong but still so young. What a difference two thousand years makes; in the eyes and in the mind, in the control of the body. But there is still a mystery that can render even the oldest of their line a prisoner to their impulses.

He knows it well.

He lets their eyes meet; holds her captive with the light stroke of his thumb along the outside of her index finger. A direct touch; a private one. But enough to release the sudden grasp of iron at his words.

There is a part of Cynbel that relishes in her silent suffering. Because even the sight of her reminds him of Rome, of his Lord taking a knee to keep his lovers alive.

And then there is a part that feels her pain as his own. Who remembers the howl of his own bleeding lungs at the sight of the sword that nearly came down on Isseya’s neck. Too soon, too soon.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” is all he says. And he hopes that, even if for the rest of their dance, she believes him.

The music ends as abrupt as it began. Almost as if the musicians were taken in the middle of the piece — but they all know better. The Prestige Waltz is a symbol as much as it is a dance. And are they not all to be ended with a swift act of a cruel fate?

Around them bows and curtsies of thanks. The orchestra starts up a far more leisurely tune. The formalities are done.

Cynbel gently pries himself from the little lotus’ grasp. Kisses the back of her hand and risks everything to whisper against her skin.

“I would not be displeased if you survived tonight.”

Kamilah tugs her hand back and the inevitable question that he will not answer is poised on her lips — but the return of his lovers is reason enough for Cynbel to take a more permanent leave of her.

“I like her.”

He snaps a look to Isseya, very nearly alarmed, before the realization that she stares at Serafine with delight edging on desire.

“She certainly knows how to throw a party.”

They both linger in a half-silence; so familiar now that a voice should follow but it does not. And has them turning, in sync, to Valdas’ silence with curiosity.

They comfort him as only they can; her touch on a cheek, his hand at a waist. Giving him only the praise and adoration their Made-God deserves even when he looks as he does now — when he looks as though he does not.

Such times are when he needs it most.

When Valdas finally speaks it is with crimson eyes. Once following the Godmaker’s eyes move across the floor now given just as intensely to Cynbel much to his surprise.

“Your amusement for tonight must be postponed.”

Surely he speaks madness. “Not even your divinity could do such, darling.”

“Do whatever you must — but none shall come upon us tonight.”

So foreign is how Valdas pulls from his lovers’ touches that they are left, for a moment, unmoored.

“It cannot be done.” Cynbel repeats in fewer words. Harder, clipped.

“It must.”

“It. cannot.”

The hand Valdas runs over his own face trembles with the weight of him. “Then we are all doomed.”

He tries all he can; reaches out but finds his touch rejected — outright rejected. Tries to speak but the words simply never ring right in his ears. Companionship for as long as they have had comes with its share of arguments but this…

Something so small, so inconsequential. Yet the disappointment brimming from his Love and Light is… rattling to say the least.

Yet the answer is as plain as day.

“Does he know?”

Here in their secrecy they dare not chance a look. Cynbel has already risked enough saying what he has to his consort.

It’s a relief to them all when Valdas shakes his head. “Not quite. But that means so little. And with him here… they could never hope to win anyway.”

“It isn’t my intent to let them win. And should he fall prey to their righteous hands… well all the better.”

Not for the first time Valdas silences him with a kiss. Bruising and harsh; holding his jaw in place because he is commanded to accept such a gift. As if he could do anything less.

“Cynbel, my Golden Son…” They pull from one another with obvious reluctance. Foreheads resting as their blind hands search and find sanctuary in that of their third.

He isn’t prepared to hear the crack in his love’s voice. It wounds him far worse than a stake ever could.

“Please. Save your appetite for another night.”

“What is done cannot be undone.”

Isseya steps between them. Steals a kiss in offering from them both. The temple of her always demanding more, more, more that they give her without hesitation.

“You cannot fault him for that.” Because she knows her strengths Isseya punctuates her words with a forlorn twinkle of the eye. Squeezes Cynbel’s hand behind her and he knows — knows even gods are made pliable under such a gaze.

The music picks back up before Valdas can speak. All around them the cacophony of merriment and delight and they cannot let their worries cut through such a veil lest they be discovered… something even their Maker knows.

“On your head be it.”

His dismissal is clear. And something Cynbel will not take lightly. He takes that benevolent hand up to his lips for a kiss. “Trust that I will keep you safe, my Light, my Love. As I always have.” He dares to look upwards and is met with tragedy in dark eyes. “As I always will.”

A shock of red pulls from the dancing crowd towards them and the Trinity pull from one another — close but not uneasily so.

When the Lady Serafine takes them in her mirth wavers for the briefest moment. Something that cannot be helped — something about them has always roused suspicion even in the merriest of souls.

They are close; closer than can be defined with words in any language, closer than anyone can understand. That kind of devotion creates a wall between them and the world.

It is meant to.

“I had hope to pull you into the revelry… but perhaps it would be out of turn of me.” Even with half of her face hidden her hesitance is transparent.

Valdas steps forward — one breath quicker than his lovers — and offers their hostess his arm.

“We would be the ones out of turn to decline the lady her dance.” He muses; smiles down as she takes his upper arm softly, tugs him towards the mingling array.

The look he throws back to his lovers is a reassuring one.

Enjoy the night while you can.

The intent is to take the hands of the next partner — something the rest of the circle does with ease.

Yet as Cynbel looks down… down… down until he rests his eyes on his would-be partner he stops and finds himself unsure.

How is he to proceed when his partner is…

“Are you well, monsieur?” Yet even when the child asks it is clear he has no intention of letting the taller vampire get away so easily. Grasps Cynbel’s hands with his own and the comparison in size is almost astounding enough to trip his feet. As it is — he’s now more conscious of every step than ever.

“Quite.” Not as smooth of a save as he would prefer, but better than none.

A familiar trilling laughter whirls his head to the sight of Isseya with an unfamiliar man. Her eyes, as ever, fixated on her golden lover. Much to her partner’s obvious chagrin.

The child whirls the pair of them wild and free and with all the abandon of youth.

“The pleasure is all mine!”

“Indeed.”

Help me, his silent cry to Valdas; who has taken up with a slim woman obscured fully by her masque. His act of generosity for the night.

As predicted the moment his lover pulls himself from her grasp she is flocked by other, less prestigious attendees eager to bask in the attention given by someone so old.

He approaches them calmly — calmer than Cynbel would like but appearance is everything even at the eleventh hour — and easily slides his lover from the young man’s embrace.

“Forgive me, Marcel,” he muses to the child, “but I find myself wilting without my beloved’s touch.”

Marcel, with an air of familiarity Cynbel doesn’t quite understand, coos at the pair of them before skipping off to a different part of the room. His boisterous demeanor seems equally repulsive to his chosen victim; a surly man with a surlier masque in armor that doesn’t quite shine like it should.

He keeps note of that. The only one adequately prepared for what is to come.

“I know that look.”

A crooked finger under his chin draws Cynbel’s attention away and to the center of his world. To the hesitance he sees still but not without its own resignation. That his god humors him still is a blessing without compare.

“What look?” He’s always feigned innocence terribly.

He interrupts the purse of Valdas’ lips with a kiss. Tangles his fingers in dark hair like staining himself with shadow and cares little for anyone who might be watching. Their kind may try to keep up with the social niceties of humanity but they will never be ruled by it.

“You are not the only soldier here, my Golden One.”

“Good, then they may stand a fighting chance.”

“And will you rally them?”

“Hardly. This is between Baltasar and myself; another battle in our seemingly endless war.”

He continues even when a hand claps over his mouth. Even when his god’s eyes bleed red and chance hasty looks to assure they are unheard.

To utter such a name in present company may very well doom them all.

“Relax, my divine love — I would not speak were I worried of discovery.”

“I doubt that.”

“You doubt me?”

“Only in that I know your desire for bloodshed is enough to fill the Seine to brimming.”

The smile such a compliment earns is, obviously, not meant for so. Yet even at the pout of Valdas’ bottom lip Cynbel cannot help but feel proud to be known as such.

He gathers his Maker close with one arm; protects him from the world as he always has. As he always will. “Everything I do, I do for you and Isseya.” Peppering kisses across his tanned throat just shy of the stiff collar. “Even now it may seem petty or trifling, but when we are free of their wretched hounds at our heels you will understand.”

It takes longer than he’s used to but eventually the inevitable comes — eventually Valdas does yield to each touch. Though not without a sigh of his own; his own way of saying he does not approve, but he will not stand in the way.

It is a middle ground to which they have grown familiar.

He is always forgiven.

It is a break in the heavy clouds which have hung over the vampires of Paris for too long. A brief flicker of moonlight which they bathe in, frolic through not unlike the pagans of old. There are even a few times in which — only to be certain there is no suspicion to be found — Cynbel looks to see true enjoyment on the Godmaker’s carved features.

A sight that makes him ill.

Following a dance that certainly could have been performed with the entirety of her ensemble but was much better enjoyed in nothing but her underclothes, Isseya drapes herself over the back of the chair both her lovers occupy. Not a space to fit two grown men but like everything they make it work.

She leans forward expectantly and devoted as they are the men comply; showering her throat with kisses and bites worthy of the envy the less prestigious among their kind have thrown their way all evening.

“Do you think they might begin to grow suspicious?” she asks idle; winding her clutches at the backs of their heads as possessive as they are thoughtless. An act of instinct.

Cynbel flicks the tip of his tongue over the shell of her ear. “Why would they?”

“We’ve a reputation for abandoning these affairs for our own.”

“They should be honored by our continued presence.”

“And yet whispers abound.”

He pulls back to watch his lovers where their temples touch. To bask in the glow they create together. Almost seems a shame to ruin an evening of their radiance but… no.

That’s just a little seed of doubt. Something to carve out of him like fleshrot.

“That my heart —” thumb brushing over Isseya’s lips, “— and my soul —” other hand cupping the strong angle of Valdas’ jaw, “— continue to doubt me so is insult enough. Lest they forget that I do this for them and the pleasure I take from it is not solely selfish in nature.”

Walking away from them is a difficult thing; always has been, always will be. But difficult things are merely difficult — not impossible. And one more word from them against him may just be the spark that ignites his smothered temper.

He hears them call out but resists the impulse to turn back. Leaves the merriment through one of the few doorways and casts off his masque as he does. Prestige, masques; he could care less for the things that can be bought and bribed into.

Let them meet him across a battlefield with naught but their hands as fists and see, then, that he will always win. Such is the way of the soldier, of the hunter. Of the primordial creatures they are yet seem to have forgotten.

He throws a fist in a fit of rage. Watches it collide with the wall of bone with a sickeningly delighted crunch that breaks the face of a skull off into little pieces. So fragile, so withering.

So fucking satisfying to see.

“At what point do they cease to become faces?”

Without her masque she is of the same beauty, though perhaps with more emotion about her now no longer hidden.

Serafine’s fingertips trail along the rows of foreheads; some still with places for the eyes and jawbones and some not unlike the poor victim of Cynbel’s rage.

Dirt and bone dust gathers on the heavy fabric at the train of her dress. She doesn’t seem to mind.

He holds her gaze as he reaches out to an almost perfectly preserved skull. Caresses the voided eyes with his fingertips and hooks his thumb through a gap in the teeth. All it takes is the slightest twitch of muscle — no longer preserved almost or not.

Serafine flinches; a telling thing he does not miss.

“I would assume when I do that.”

“I mean the faces behind the bone. To whom these lonely heads once belonged.”

He regards her with a glint in his eye. “I heard tell of the far-reaching influence of the Mademoiselle Dupont but I had no idea she knew so many.”

The coy smile that tugs at her lips is forced. An easy thing — the hallmark of a woman used to the machinations of courtly intrigue. She could learn a thing or two from his darling girl; she does so without tell.

But the silence between them echoes. Hard and bright. It makes him sigh.

“If one sees a sea of bones and plucks them by identity, they will do so regardless of whether they are alive or dead.”

A bold thing to admit. There is power in truth but when the truth is soaked in the blood of ages…

“I am sorry if this is not the answer you were looking for.”

“Non, no… I would rather the reality than a beautiful lie. We carry such lies enough, do we not?” Cynbel raises an eyebrow; there is no vanity in the way she tucks a lock of curls behind her ear. “You and I would be no different than these bones, were our bodies to show the years. Yet we remain beautiful well into eternity.”

“Some more than others.”

“Indeed.”

But that isn’t the reason the hostess abandoned her own affair. Now is it?

When she looks from one dead thing to another Serafine is met with expectant eyes. She has the decency to feign a flush.

“Forgive me—but what sort of hostess would I be were I not to entertain all of my guests?”

“You have entertained us enough.”

“‘Us?’”

Cynbel stills his exploratory hand. “My lovers and I.”

Us — we — always a unity. Together even when they are apart.

The woman nods. “Ah, oui. I count myself among the lucky few to have been graced with their prestige this night. But not yet from you. It leaves a woman to wonder why.”

“I doubt it has escaped your keen notice, Mademoiselle Dupont, that my social skills are lackluster in comparison to my better selves.”

“And you would not stray from such notions even for the sake of propriety?”

It makes him snort a laugh — a noise that takes his companion by surprise. Brings an easily-detectable pity to his eyes.

“Now it is I who must be forgiven.”

“For what, monsieur?”

“For in any way giving you the impression that I am proper.”

Laughable, really. A joke he will think of fondly for years to come when all this is done.

And should she have any doubts in his words he would have those cast aside, too. Closing the gap between them in a single stride. Escape through such narrow corridors more than a fleeting whimsy as he leans against the burial wall to take her in.

Cynbel would be lying if he said the minute trembling of her under the touch of his thumb was not exciting.

There is a different fear in their kind than that of humans. Humans are always afraid. But vampires… no no. Vampires fear with reason, cause; knowledge. They fear things that deserve to be feared. Things that have earned it.

And he has earned it so.

“A room full of admirers, the progenitor of our lineage, the prestige of the Bloodqueen—of Les Trois Amants, or two of three anyway, tucked beneath your skirts…”

With thumb and forefinger Cynbel raises her chin; easily tilted upwards to his unabashed amusement, “I find it hard to believe a hostess with such pretty achievements to crown herself with would willingly follow a single solemn soul because of something as silly as duty.”

The change under his hand is equally a delight. How Serafine steels herself; hardened eyes and a clenched jaw and command dripping from painted lips.

“Believe me, or do not. That is —”

“I do not believe you, no. I believe someone sent you out here to me. A little lotus, perhaps?”

Regret, like a shooting star in the endless sky. There one moment and gone in a flash; burned behind the eyelids but never to be seen again.

He should not have told her.

Inconsequential.

“You would do well to back. away.”

The chance to answer—or act—never comes. Not when the ground rumbles over their heads and noises foreign to all but the valiant begin to trail in on the same chord as the silenced orchestra. Then the thundering boom of a cannon, of doors blown from their hinges and the singing opera of swords torn from their sheaths.

“Finally…” Cynbel exhales like ecstasy; picturesque like the trembling waif on her wedding night.

The armies of the faithful have arrived.