#( guest muse; xavier. )

[mxthbladed]

Leandro went back to what he was doing, seemingly unmoved by the news despite the despaired cry that left his wife as she dropped to her knees. Maria held Esperanza tighter as she whispered, "No...not Agata!"

It felt like a massive weight was pressing on Esperanza's chest; the very world around her was shattering. One of her mothers was gone. She started up at her other mother, tears welling in her eyes and starting to spill silently over her cheeks while her aunt trembled and sobbed.

Cesar screamed, "NO! YOU'RE LYING!" He started to fly at Lute when Xavier grabbed him, holding him back from the exorcist. "SHE CAN'T BE GONE!"

Xavier tried to soothe, "Cesar, Lute wouldn't lie to us! She's just telling us what happened-"

"NO!" He struggled harder against his older brother, sobbing as he kept trying to pull free.

Marcelo focused on his mother, trying to comfort her as she bawled, begging for her daughter back.

Esperanza reached out for her mother's hand, fingers brushing her glove as she whispered, "I'm sorry, mom..."

She snapped her gaze over to level a glare at Leandro as she stepped inside, her expression hardening even more. Even with what happened, and even with that being what she was going to tell them anyway, Lute hated the way that he said that.

"... Yes." She said after a few long moments, turning her gaze back to first meet Maria's eyes before lowering to look at Esperanza. The look on her face softened a fraction as she gazed at her daughter, swallowing thickly before continuing. "She's... gone."

[kykyonthemoon]

Limerence (noun) — a mental state of profound romantic infatuation, deep obsession, and fantastical longing.

⋆˚✿˖° This chapter is a part of a mini-series of dark fairy tales and romance sets in another universe. It consists of three chapters, each with a Male Lead and is separated from one another.

⋆˚✿˖° Character x Reader/MC, from another (OC's) point of view. Reader/MC's pronounce is "she/her/hers".

⋆˚✿˖° Warnings & tags: 16+, MDNI, angst, hurt, thriller, emotional and mind control, manipulation, love spell, obsession, unrequited love, major character death, dark fantasy, dark fairy tale, m.urder, s.uicide attempt.

⋆˚✿˖° Leonard is my OC.

⋆˚✿˖° Read more chapters:

✦ Xavier's ✦ Zayne's

⋆˚✿˖° Masterlist

⋆˚✿˖° My friend Cery made an art for this fic here: x

Chapter: The Muse — in which he brings the world his most significant work of art.

⋆˚✿˖° Word count: 3k1

These days, the artist community was vibrant, with some even competing for acceptance to the exhibition at Mo Art Studio.

So did Leonard. He had to rush around and ask for help everywhere in order to be given a chance. Money was not an issue, but the host of this exhibition was certainly not an ordinary person. He wasn't offering tickets to the highest bidder, but rather to those who possessed an artistic vision and passed his evaluation.

“The ticket will be sent to you within the next three days. Please keep in touch.” The other end of the line cut the discussion off, but Leonard's mind remained lightheaded, unable to believe the gift he had just received.

“Wait…” He spoke before the other person hung up. “Excuse me… May I do an interview with that artist in the exhibition?”

There was no response. Leonard believed they were reviewing his proposal. He held his breath and wait for a while, then the manager named Thomas spoke:

“We do not accept interviews. But a few individual queries could suffice. Of course, if you are able to leave a good impression.”

"I got it. Thank you."

Putting the phone aside, Leonard leaned back in his office chair. How to impress Linkon's most talented painter, or should he say - the world's best artist? Despite his young age, there was no one in this city who had never heard of his work.

The artist's name was Rafayel. He became well-known for his landscape paintings, which brought admirers to a dreamlike state when they stood in front of them. He seldom appeared in public, despite having organized hundreds of major and minor exhibitions. Who he truly was remained a question, and the most mysterious part was probably his disappearance a year ago.

For a whole year there were no new paintings or art activities. No one saw him in Linkon during that time. His manager and studio kept it silent, as if everything had evaporated overnight. Then, last weekend, he unexpectedly reappeared and made an important announcement, which was an exhibition called The Muse.

In contrast to his previous events, guests had no idea what they were about to witness. According to the majority of internet comments, Rafayel returned with a work of a lifetime, a painting that exceeded anything he had ever created. That was the final result of a year-long hunt for inspiration. Of course, there were those who believed he was steadily degrading since he hadn't been able to draw anything decent in a long time and had simply planned this event to earn some money.

For Leonard, either truth was fair. He must uncover all of the details and secrets surrounding Rafayel's reappearance. Since that was what he did for a living.

Leonard was a journalist who specialized in arts. Despite his greatest efforts over several years, he still had little hope of succeeding. He had been without a single decent piece for a long time. Then the opportunity to visit the Mo Art studio presented itself before his eyes. He was not going to miss the chance to see a place that had never been accessible to the public before.

The day of the exhibition approached. Leonard had purposefully showed up early, but as he reached the gate, he noticed that about fifty formally dressed guests were already present. They were enjoying wine and food as they walked in groups into the main hall, where the primary event was held. Leonard also entered with nervousness. All of the windows and doors were wide open, allowing the sea air to convey a salty fragrance into the hallway. Rafayel's famous works are framed, and hung or placed in the center of a floral garden that the host tenderly arranged himself, giving guests the impression that they had just lost themselves in the Garden of Eden.

However, that was not the primary attention of the event. Something massive and cylindrical appeared in the center of the hall. It spanned from the ground to an exceedingly high glass ceiling. It had a diameter of up to ten meters, and was covered in a crimson velvet fabric, protecting it from inquisitive eyes of guests. Even the personnel had not an idea of what was inside.

"Rafayel did all of this himself." Thomas, the manager, spoke up. "I can't answer your questions because I'm not sure what's there. But whatever it is, it will undoubtedly live up to the name of his Muse."

The flock of intrigued guests around Thomas nodded, then split out to stroll around and admire the pillar, as if its very presence was already an art. To them, the less they comprehended something, the more valuable it became.

Leonard found a seat close to the window but not too far from the center of the hall. He was afraid of missing the opportunity to witness Rafayel's Muse. Late in the afternoon, the sun glided across the horizon, casting golden rays into the place. The guests began to get tipsy, wondering if Rafayel would show up or if this was all a hoax, when, down the stairs, the host of the party appeared.

He donned a lavish dark blue suit with sculpted sleeves and shoulders that looked to be encrusted with spectrum fish scales. His presence was as magnificent as his name, causing the entire hall to fall silent. Guests held their breath as they watched the young artist stroll down the steps, the heels of his shoes reverberating on the marble floor as if a piece of music had just been executed.

“Welcome to the exhibition.” Rafayel spoke in a solemn voice. "It appears that all of the guests here are wondering; what exactly has he been doing during the past year? Why didn't he present any of his new work? What's the point of this exhibition?"

Rafayel halted for a moment, his dark eyes behind a few purple curls scrutinizing each guest individually, as if reading them all. The corner of his mouth twisted up in delight as he effectively piqued everyone's interest. He resumed his speech:

“It all began with a muse. My muse. That's a story perhaps a lucky visitor would unveil in this exhibition. But for now…” Rafayel lifted a hand. “Let me introduce you to my one and only, Muse.”

The scorched cloth transformed into crimson tiny particles that flew all about, blending into the fiery sunset outside. The crimson sun halted in the center of the room's largest window, and emerged as an illusion was Rafayel's Muse.

Leonard blinked. In front of him stood a tank of water with a thick glass cylinder. The inside was ornamented with flowers, coral, and white pillars of broken plaster encircling an oval of the glass tank, offering him the sense that he was staring at a lost city under the depths of the ocean. There were schools of brilliant small fish swimming around, weaving between the crevices of the broken world. In the midst of the tableau, there was a woman floating in the water in an upright stance, a few meters above the tank's bottom, conveying an illusion that she was flying. Her head was adorned with pearl jewelry, eyes were closed, as if she was in deep slumber. Her hands opened, allowing the orange-red fish to whirl around her wrists. Then they invited each other to swim along her tiny unclothed arms, to her exquisite neck covered in shimmering pearls, and down to the thin white garment that was floating in the water like her own body. Her bare feet lingered above the seaweed, as if to tease them with the fact that they were unable to grasp her no matter how hard they tried.

A beauty out of this world. That was what Leonard's mind could think of. When he came here, he was full of determination to discover Rafayel's secret, but now, when he witnessed its beauty with his own eyes, he was speechless. His brain felt empty, as if that beauty had filled it and he no longer needed anything else. A melodic rhythm could be heard somewhere, distant seemingly from another universe, but apparently emanating from the tank itself.

All guests were drawn to the center. Rafayel vanished among the crowd that was cheering him. Nobody suspected that Rafayel's Muse was not a painting but an entirely distinct thing. Whatever it was, she was the size of an adult in her mid-twenties. A statue or a doll that resembled a real person?

Leonard brushed past a few astonished others to get closer to the tank. Rafayel's exhibit could easily shock the entire art field. Leonard had already begun pondering concepts for his next piece. Unlike the other guests, who were merely engaged in the beauty in front of them, he was more enthralled by the narrative behind The Muse.

Who was she? Where did her story begin? Leonard sought around for Rafayel's silhouette but could not find him. However, near the stairs, he encountered Thomas with a look of panic and utter shock on his face.

“It can't be… No… It can't be her…” Those were the words Leonard could hear before Thomas bolted out of the hall.

There were just a few people invited to the show, and after approximately an hour, they had presumably spent all of their admiration and hypothesis on the tank. They met again in groups to tour Rafayel's studio. Who knows when they would be able to return here again, in ten, twenty, or even fifty years?

Leonard took advantage of the reality that people had left the area to approach closer and examine more, now that he was the only one standing nearby. The Muse was still inside, a smile on her lips, but why did Leonard feel a suffering coming from her? He strolled around the tank to better view her. It was hard to discern whether this was in fact a sculpture by Rafayel or a real person. That was also what the guests spoke about all day.

The Muse was so genuine. To the point that Leonard expected her to open her eyes and climb out of the tank. But she remained still, absorbed in her own undersea world. He stayed frozen, unable to move his gaze away from the tank, for Rafayel had previously stated that within this, his secrets hidden.

Yet Leonard, with his mundane eyes, might never discover it. The only thing he found was possibly a tiny coating of pinkish red water coming from The Muse's breast. That ruby hue seeped through the attire that enveloped her, and it looked nothing like the color that Rafayel often used in his paintings. There was something rather odd about it. It resembled blood, from The Muse herself.

The exhibition came to an end.  Guests departed on their own after being notified. Rafayel returned to the lobby. Leonard took the opportunity to ask in an instance:

“Mr. Rafayel. May I ask you a few questions regarding the exhibition?

Rafayel gazed at him. To increase his reputation, he identified himself as a journalist who specialized in writing about art.

"Ah. "I remember you." Rafayel responded. "Among the guests, you were the only one who gave an impressive answer to my question."

Leonard tried to recall the survey he was required to complete before Thomas reached him to inform he had an invitation. These questions were all about Rafayel's career, and the answers were readily accessible online. There was just one question, the last one, that sparked a lot of consideration in Leonard, while having nothing to do with Rafayel's works at all.

"If you were given a magical spell that made the person you love love you forever, would you use it?" Rafayel reiterated his query. "You're the only one who chose not to."

Leonard nodded. It was truly what he had said.

"May I know, why?" Rafayel glanced at him with curiosity. Leonard was taken aback, as he had come here expecting to be an interviewer. Who would have guessed it was the other way around?

"A spell is just an illusion." Leonard responded honestly. "That is not love." "Love must come from a true heart."

"A true heart…" Rafayel repeated each word. His eyes were as sorrowful and deep as the tranquil water, yet it was terrifying since he had no idea when the storm would arrive. "Perhaps, she would choose the same answer as you."

"Pardon?…" Leonard interrupted Rafayel's thoughts. "Who are you talking about?"

Rafayel smiled but remained silent. Fearing that the young artist might leave without answering, Leonard impatiently said:

“Aren't you talking about your Muse? Can you tell me who she is?”

Rafayel gazed at the girl in the aquarium. He smiled. Just a small movement of the lips conveyed devotion, anguish, and regret.

"She is my true heart." Rafayel's voice resembled a song. But he said nothing more, and Leonard was asked to leave right away.

The Muse's story was forever a mystery. The mystery that Leonard had yet to come very close.

That story began a year ago. Or perhaps, it had originated a long, long time ago.

When a Lemurian gives their heart to someone, it will die if not reciprocated.

Rafayel had given his to a human girl.

He met her when she was a child. She was his savior when he was expecting such a painful death on land, and she helped him return to the sea.

She could not remember who he was, nor did she know that all those years, he had been watching her from afar. Amid the waves, behind the rocks, he watched her grow up.

He met her again as a painter many years later. She happily accepted his company. But it was not all he wanted. He longed for her. He craved her touch to make her become his, in the way he had determined his heart belonged to her.

But, her heart belonged to someone else.

A year ago, she told him that she was getting married.

Rafayel could not recall how frightening his emotions were. No matter how powerful the storms were at sea, they could never match his rage at the time. And, with a dreadful calamity brewing in his head, he did what he did to her.

He bound her with an ancient Lemurian enchantment. He made her fall desperately in love with him. She did everything for him, even abandoning her engagement and following him to a far away place. A secluded island only for them. Glorious summer nights lingered forever on the beach, when she and he were entangled, merging in the waves of never-ending love. He had her how he wished.

However, like an illusion, that spell did not persist forever. It drove her to insanity. She wandered alone on the shore, tears streaming and her mouth constantly crying out the name of the person she truthfully loved with each sob. She begged of him.

“Rafayel… Please… Let me go… Please… set me free… Set me free!”

Her screams were drowned in the ocean waves. Little did she realize that seeing her in this way made his heart bleed as well.

"Please…" She sobbed. Rafayel's dagger was in her grasp, and she pressed it to her throat. "If you won't let me leave... I must free myself..."

"Hush now, my dearest…" Rafayel quietly stretched out to her. This was not her first time in this state. He approached her, placed a hand on her forehead, and brushed away her wind-blown hair. Her fingers on the dagger tightened, urging him to back away. However, Rafayel seized the blade that was cutting into her neck, forcing his hand to bleed.

"You don't want to cut yourself, dear."

She trembled and stared at Rafayel. He hummed a very familiar melody, which made her thoughts muddled once more. The dagger slipped from her hand as she collapsed to her knees on the damp beach. Screaming.

“Be still, dearest love.” Rafayel gently lowered down. His knees were next to hers, as if he, too, was begging her to stay. “I can ease all our suffering… If you listen to me now…”

She covered her ears and shook her head with ferocity as if she never wanted to hear another word from him. Rafayel smiled in bitter. She had been like this lately, forgetting who she was and how profoundly she was in love with him. But that was alright. He would help her rekindle her love. She would obey at once as soon as he began singing.

He sang their song. He sang it the first time they met, and he still sang it day by day with her by his side.

She wept tremendously. She clutched her head and pleaded with him to stop. But Rafayel could never. Just like he could not stop the waves from crashing against the shore, who could ever stop his love for her?

After a while, she became quiet. No more yelling and pleading. She gave him an empty stare and a smile.

"Rafayel." She called his name. Her hand found his body, as though she had desired to be close to him since forever. Rafayel embraced her. He stroked and kissed the top of her head. His tears sank, condensing into pearls and nestling on her hair.

“I'm sorry… I'm sorry for turning you into someone like this…” Rafayel whispered in her ear. “But I've found a way to fix everything. You shall not suffer any longer... And neither shall I..."

Rafayel held her with one hand as the other sought the dagger's hilt in the moist sand.

“Will you do this for me?”

He gazed into the eyes of hers which were dreamy under the spell of love. She nodded.

"I vow to do everything for my dearest beloved."

"Very good." Rafayel smiled as he kissed her lips. "You will always be my Muse… Mine, forever..."

The dagger swung across the fiery sunset. The water chanted its melody in an ancient ritual. Then everything fell silent.

Rafayel watched her passionately as she slept within the water tank he had specifically built for her. That was her home, now and forever.

His hand stroked across the beautiful design. Her body was adorned with jewelry crafted from his teardrops. She was a masterpiece of his lifetime, which extended to no end. His Muse. His lips found hers on the other side of the glass, and he pressed a kiss.

From now on, she would weep no more. She would feel no pain.

A crimson light emanated from inside the pocket near Rafayel's chest. He pulled out a blazing red protocore.

This entire world will soon know that, her true heart shall forever belong to him and him alone.

[thehangeddemon]

Madam X's Shoulder Strap, Part II || Rhys, Xavier, Rohan, & Ariel || July, 2023

Rhys: Xavier had made an excellent pillar. Hidden in their special place, staring at the stars, the light pollution, the thousand and one uninvited guests, they passed their cigarettes and said very little. They didn't need to. There, Rhys would inquire about the museum, and indulge any question in regard to his coterie, the tedious politics of the Ivory Tower, or himself. He was in a generous mood this evening. Xavier's warm presence was to thank for it.

Eventually, his head came to rest on the demon's shoulder. Thick lashes rested on his cheek. Thin gold spectacles became askew as he turned his head enough to rest his forehead against his jaw. Only temporary. Just a few seconds to gauge Xavier's reaction, before another cigarette was pulled from his coat.

Xavier: There were questions, but few and far between. They were an excuse to hear Rhys’ voice more than anything else. He’d missed the sound of it even if he hadn’t had much of it to begin with, like everything about this man. His scent, his company, his affection.

The most he ever got of Rhys was his handwriting in their letters so this felt…special. Like getting a treat.

And receiving his affection? Like a blessing from the universe.

The demon sighed contentedly, offering what remained of the cigarette to light the new one. A little ritual they’d perfected.

“Did you have any plans tonight?”

Rhys: Lighting cigarettes with cigarettes had become their version of a kiss. He smiled to himself and held the lit stick between two fingers for Xavier to enjoy, before taking it for himself.

"Your message found me on the couch, staring at the ceiling, avoiding a Toreador's invitation. She has cause for concern this week, I'm just in no mood tonight."

Xavier: Xavier took a long drag and exhaled slowly, watching the wind carry away the smoke before it had time to linger in the air.

"As nice as her club is, I can't see you willingly spend more time in there than strictly necessary. I take it there was an incident that required attention?"

Rhys: "Not yet, but one approaches." The silence didn't stretch for long, only just now considering the subject. He decided on a particular question, rather than elaboration.

"Have you heard of the games?"

Xavier: Xavier shook his head slowly. “Nnnno, I don’t believe I have. Although the way you phrased it brings to mind games in the Ancient Roman sense.”

Rhys: "When there becomes a surplus of ghouls, some Kindred think it wise to thin the herd... with an Ancient Roman flare."

Xavier: “How gladiatorial. I wasn’t aware there could even be such a thing as a surplus of ghouls.”

Rhys: "They're a breach of the masquerade. Kindred look away from them because they are the next potential generation. You can't just let them walk away. Either one makes a dinner party... or a game. Games are the topic right now as an olive branch between territories."

Xavier: “Truly Roman then,” the demon mused. A dinner party made more sense to him than games but it was hardly surprising. Blood sport was as natural as breathing to those that were or had once been human.

“What opinion do you hold?”

Rhys: "I was never a ghoul. I think an intended childer should be one. That's my only opinion."

Arms came to rest on his knees.

"And January needs to lie about how many she has."

Xavier: The need to lie probably meant that January had several ghouls to her name, or at the very least, more than some limit that had been set.

“Is she concerned?”

Rhys: "Concerned... yes. Doing anything, no. She might send a few away until this blows over."

Xavier: He thought of Rohan. “Is Mr. Cassidy among those that will be sent away?”

Rhys: Rhys turned enough to look over his shoulder at the demon.

"Is that a request you want to make?"

Xavier: If Rohan took a liking to the DJ and something happened to him, the devastation might very well leave his friend with a complex and make him close himself off completely.

Xavier couldn’t have that. Rohan deserved a chance to be happy.

“Is that a possibility? I’d compensate her.”

Rhys: "Your friend must mean a great deal. They only just met. Could mean nothing."

Xavier: “That could very well be the case but if it isn’t, and there’s a possibility I can help in some way, I have to take it. He would do no less for me.”

Rhys: Rhys considered a moment, turned back to rest against Xavier once more. There was no such thing as something for nothing. She would guarantee one of her gems, but she would no doubt add to the exchange, somehow. Some personal touch.

"I'm not her keeper. You can say whatever you like to her."

Xavier: No, there certainly wasn’t. How fortunate for him that he was in the perfect position to make a favor worth someone’s while.

“Would she be cross with you for telling me all this?”

Rhys: Rhys' head tilted to one shoulder then the other. Take that as you will.

"Mm... depends on your approach. She already knows her ghoul fancies your man. That's probably the safe angle."

Xavier: Xavier nodded, humming thoughtfully. January had been the one to pass along the DJ’s card. That certainly made things easier. He didn’t like the idea of playing to her intrigue and encouraging more observations but it was a worthy cause.

“Is there a gemstone she’s particularly fond of? Or a specific item of jewelry?”

Rhys: He supposed a ghoul had to be worth the trouble if it kept the peace. A something for a something. Doing this would please Rohan, which would please Xavier, which pleased Rhys. Preventing January from weeping, he supposed, was an added benefit. Certainly less yelling.

"Combinations of ice and fire attract her. Sapphires and... I forget the name."

Xavier: “Rubies? Garnets?” Xavier thought for a moment. “Fire opals?”

He was fairly certain he had something that fit the bill in his vault. He’d been collecting jewelry for decades.

“Well, it would seem I will be setting foot in Lady Dune’s club again. Perhaps a noise muffling spell is in order.”

Rhys: "No. Something yellow." His former captain would have the answer off the top of his head. No matter. "She'll be pleased with any jewel you give her." But, knowing Xavier would be back... he didn't know how to feel.

"The sooner the better," he confessed, "I want you all to myself."

Xavier: “Ah, citrine.” He definitely had something that would please. Several things actually, which was always a bonus.

Xavier smiled to himself, pleased that Rhys was possessive of his company.

“I don’t know how negotiations with Kindred usually go, but I don’t imagine it taking very long. What’s the timeline for these games?”

Rhys: "If it's being rumored now," a shoulder rose and sank. "A month, most likely."

His brows fell, his smile concealed. "I forget, but surely I'm not your first."

Xavier: So there was some time. Not much, but enough to ascertain whether Rohan truly liked the DJ and intended to pursue him.

Xavier didn’t conceal his. He did, however, keep his eyes determinedly forward. “The first Kindred I’ve ever negotiated with?”

Rhys: "Let's call it that." He offered what remained of the forgotten cigarette. This time he turned to watch Xavier's lips, just because he could.

Xavier: Xavier felt his gaze and was grateful that the cigarette offered a distraction.

“You’re the first. Not the first Kindred I’ve known, but the first one I’ve…negotiated with.”

Rhys: "As a warning, because I like you so much, you're not going to throw money at this situation and make it stick."

Xavier: “If throwing money was all it took to resolve situations, do you know how much simpler my life would be?” That typically only worked with humans and even then, it was no guarantee.

Rhys: "What do you want that money can't buy?"

Xavier: “Omnipotence,” he sighed. “No amount of money in the world can buy that.”

Rhys: "Power?" His tone skeptical. "You're telling me you feel powerless."

Xavier: “Not power necessarily just…the ability to know when things are coming, from which quarter, why. Stopping problems before they become problems.”

Rhys: "Omnipresence."

He took Xavier's hand, resting his lips against his knuckles.

"Not for me to tell you how to feel, but, you should want the strength to face your problems."

Xavier: “How many torments is one person supposed to be assailed by,” he wondered, not really expecting or looking for an answer. He had no room to talk, of course; he was a demon.

It was a demon’s lot to be tormented.

“What about you? What do you want that money can’t buy?”

Rhys: A rhetorical question he could not answer. Not an answer Xavier wanted to hear, so he kept his silence, and waited for the next comment.

For his family not to have perished at the hands of his sire? No. They were in Heaven. The family tree continued without them.

The strength to gift his sire final death? No. He was his mentor.

World peace? Impossible.

"Poetic response, a sunrise."

Xavier: Xavier’s expression brightened. He’d nearly forgotten.

“Funny you mention that,” he said as he sat up. “I actually have a bit of a surprise for you. Or a gift, I should say. Surprises usually come with a bit of fanfare.”

Rhys: You certainly are a quiet fanfare.

Rhys sat up as well, turning to offer his undivided attention.

"Surprised. Your presence is enough."

Xavier: He smiled and shook his head. “Careful, or my ego will become truly insufferable.” Although some would argue it already was.

“I can’t remember if I mentioned it in my last letter, but last month I bought a resort in southern Thailand. It was mismanaged and has required some hands-on attention while I sort things out, so I’ve been spending a lot of time there and well…”

Xavier pulled an envelope out of his inside pocket. “I thought you might enjoy seeing the sun again.”

Within the envelope were photographs; of the beach, the sea, the surrounding gardens and nature, and most importantly, of several sunsets and sunrises.

Rhys: "You didn't forget Thailand in your letters." No, he hadn't forgotten a thing. None of this was news, except for why Thailand was chosen at all. Just didn't seem Xavier's aesthetic. Florence, Argentina, or Morocco, perhaps.

The envelope was taken. The butt of the dead cigarette dangled from his mouth as he inspected each of his offerings. After the first two photographs, his movements slowed. Lingering over every detail, expression softening.

For reasons unknown to the demon, upon the last photo, Rhys got to his feet, keeping his chest to Xavier as he pocketed the photo with nary a word said. Only when it was safely tucked away did he smile and remove his cigarette.

"These will see me through the next century. Grazie."

Xavier: “That long?” the demon asked, indescribably pleased to see Rhys smile at his gift. “Well then I’ll have to take more for you to make up for every sunrise and sunset you’ve missed since you were made a Kindred.”

Xavier tilted his head in curiosity but didn’t comment. Rhys had said he wanted a sunrise and there were some truly spectacular ones among the collection of photos. The one he’d taken was probably one of them.

What Xavier didn’t realize was that the photo wasn’t of a sunrise at all, but of him.

A candid moment captured by his familiar of a smiling, laughing Xavier completely unlike the one Rhys had known so far. In the photo he stood on the beach clad in swim shorts and a loose-fitting linen shirt that hung open, letting the warm afternoon sun caress his skin and kiss his hair.

The photo had been snuck into the envelope without the demon’s knowledge and was partially covered by a sticky note that read:

Don’t react! He doesn’t know this is in here. ;)

Rhys: Every single photograph would be kept in a box in his room, but this one in particular... he didn't know what he wanted to do with it, but he knew Xavier couldn't find it. Not if he ever wanted to see it again. The demon was confident, but even he had his limitations.

"Is that not long enough?"

His gaze dropped to a photograph of an orange sunrise. Colors he had forgotten accompanied the sun.

"How long has it been since your companion."

Xavier: Xavier shook his head. “Not by half. You deserve far more than a few photographs of a few days of sun after thousands and thousands of days without.” But it was a start.

All poetic and romantic notions were swept away like so much dust at Rhys’ question. The weight of the ring on his finger, negligible a few seconds ago, suddenly felt like lead.

“Nearly four months,” Xavier said quietly.

Rhys: Four months. A shorter span of time than that of their night at the hotel. He would not judge that any more than the photographs, their hands, and their cigarettes.

"It goes away," he said, softly. "Their eye color. Their voice. You hear words they've said, but it's not quite right. It doesn't happen all at once. It's quite painless. And then one day you remember a joke, and you'll laugh without shedding a tear. They still exist as indescribable warmth. An idea that comes to you."

Two fingers calmly held Xavier's chin.

"I smile for both of us. If he loved you as you loved him, he is smiling when you smile."

Xavier: Xavier wouldn’t refute Rhys’ words. They were meant kindly, he was sure. Meant to offer comfort and empathy and understanding. Never mind that the nature of what he was wouldn’t allow the edges of his wounds to soften or grant him the mercy of forgetting.

Who was to say, really. Maybe Rhys was right and this loss and this wound would be different. Xavier didn’t believe it, but he wanted to.

So he silently accepted the comfort for what it was and let Rhys touch his face and told himself that he believed what Rhys said.

Unable to respond, he simply nodded.

Rhys: Still standing, caressing Xavier's face, Rhys felt no sense of urgency to move. Not until a thought finally occurred to him.

"I want to show you my home." I want to invite you into my life.

Xavier: A flicker of surprise cut through the grief. Somehow, that simple invitation felt just as intimate as everything that had occurred on this bridge, at the museum, in the wine cellar where they’d first met.

Such simple words, yet they held so much weight.

Xavier nodded slowly. “I’d love to see it.”

Rhys: "If you know St. Ann's church or Columbus Park, you've passed my home." Not far at all from where they frequented.

Rhys offered to pull Xavier to his feet.

"Let's get you out of the wind."

Xavier: “I know the park,” said the demon, taking Rhys’ hands so he could stand. He didn’t need to really but again, any excuse for contact.

He nodded. Rhys was given the usual few moments to brace himself and then it was off through the ether and to a quiet corner of the park where they wouldn’t be noticed appearing out of thin air.

Rhys: Rhys knew as well as Xavier that this was unnecessary contact. Purely for their own pleasure.

The park was the quietest place in all of Brooklyn Heights. This time of night, people were more interested in nightclubs, bars, and their beds, not grass, trees, and park benches.

Xavier was led toward the church, but not the church itself. A building just nearby. The words Trinity Monuments in gold over the two-story brick building. As gray as January Embers. Same paint, one might bet.

Rhys went around the building to the back. To the black door partially concealed by a young tree.

The scent of fried livers and potato hit just as loudly as Patsy Cline singing Walkin' After Midnight in full voice.

A woman sang along in a kitchen somewhere down the hallway.

"That would be Barbara," Rhys said under his breath.

Xavier: Xavier gave the church as wide a berth as he could, clamping down on the paranoia that seeing it caused. The danger wasn't just in whatever sanctity remained within, but in what it represented and the memories it brought to the surface.

But as they passed it, so too did the dread.

Although the building wasn't exactly what he expected Rhys' home to be, it was fascinating nonetheless. Trinity Monuments. That could be the name of anything from a funeral home to a studio specializing in sculpture. It could even be both in the right circumstances. Something to inquire about later.

The music and the smell of food being cooked made him nostalgic for vastly different reasons. "She has good taste. Is she your staff?"

Rhys/Barbara: "Sapphira's ghoul." Practically her daughter. If not for the eighty-year difference in age.

The foyer opened up to a long hallway with rooms on either side. Royal blue millwork walls and immaculate gray tile floors. A petite woman peeked out from a doorway to the left, drying off her hands on the skirt of her outfit.

She turned toward the foyer and squeaked, covering her mouth to conceal her cleft lip and burns.

"Friendly?"

"Yes, friendly," Rhys greeted. "Rossmara."

"Oh! Do you eat?" Never mind the fact that it was just hours until sunrise. This was her lunch time.

Xavier: There was only a moment to admire the interior before they were joined by who Xavier presumed to be Barbara.

The demon inclined his head as he was introduced, giving her the same charming smile he’d given to January.

“Good evening, and yes, I do.” The time of day was meaningless to a man who didn’t strictly need to sleep. “Whatever it is that you’re making smells lovely.”

Rhys/Barbara: Not what he had intended bringing Xavier home with him, but such was his life with a coterie.

"You can call me Barbara." A woman in her forties at best. Red and white hair wrapped in a loose bun. Once sun-kissed skin now aged with freckles and spots, mostly hidden in a gray shirt dress and mules.

Her hand didn't leave her mouth until bringing down another blue plate from the steel cabinet. The same blue reflected on the walls. The plates and food were brought to a white round table by the coffee station. Fried livers and sauteed onions over fingerling potatoes, parsnips, and green beans.

"How much?" She wouldn't look up to meet Xavier's eyes, still making an effort to hide one side of her face.

Xavier: “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Barbara.” The name suited her well. He couldn’t help but wonder how she came to be a ghoul but like so many other things, it was a thought he’d keep to himself.

Like the urge to tell her she didn’t have to hide her face. It was natural that she would, he was a stranger to her. Best to make sure she felt at ease with him first.

“A good, healthy portion. My body hasn’t adjusted to the time difference yet, it thinks I missed lunch.”

Rhys/Barbara: Barbara didn't once look to Rhys for direction. She didn't have to. A plate as generous as her own was filled and placed opposite of the table. Despite the warmth in her voice, her head remained down as she started on the potatoes.

"Must be pretty far from home."

Depends where you think home is, Rhys thought. Rather than sit, he leaned his back against the wall by the coffee station and looked through his flip phone.

Xavier: Xavier nodded. “Yes, very. Home is on the opposite side of the planet.” For now, his mind added by force of habit.

The demon wouldn’t sit until she did, the same for eating. Just like Lady Dune and her club, this was Barbara’s kitchen and her territory and as such, she would be afforded the same deference.

“I was telling Rhys that you have excellent taste. It’s not often that I get to hear Patsy Cline anymore.”

Rhys/Barbara: Every food item was stabbed with her fork, hovered by her misshapen lips.

"Why not? You banned?"

Rhys only glanced up.

Xavier: “In a sense, though not so much lately,” said Xavier. He would only elaborate if asked. Otherwise he was simply going to continue eating and pretending he didn’t notice the way Rhys looked up from his phone.

Rhys/Barbara: "Oh. Okay." She wouldn't ask for elaboration, turning her attention to her plate and the occasional glance at her own phone. Texts from the only one that mattered to her.

Texts Rhys was also receiving.

"You continue to surprise me," Rhys said, eyes to his screen.

Xavier: He didn’t mind the silence. The second he’d taken his first bite he realized that he actually was rather hungry, although it was less to do with the hour and more with the fact that dinner had been hours ago.

He wondered if Rohan was still awake and feeling the same.

This time it was Xavier who looked up, masking his surprise with a smile. “Do I? How so?”

Rhys: "You're eating fried calf livers in my kitchen."

Xavier: “They’re excellent. I never turn down a well-prepared meal.”

Rhys/Barbara: "You're a nice one," Barbara said between a bite. For more than his compliment. His silence and avoidance staring had put her at ease.

"I'm going to see Sapphira." Rhys kicked off the wall. "I'll be five minutes."

Xavier: “Why thank you, Miss Barbara.”

Xavier nodded at Rhys. “Take your time.” In the meanwhile, he was more than glad to finish his meal in pleasant company.

Barbara: Rhys wasn't the only quiet one in this building. The ghoul was satisfied with silence, humming along with Patsy Cline, Elvis Presley, and Harry Belafonte. She glanced up to check Xavier's plate and stood to clear the table.

"Staying the day?"

Xavier: Who could have guessed that it was going to be a night of such nostalgia.

Xavier felt an indescribable warmth and fondness sitting in that kitchen with this woman he’d just met. It was a balm he hadn’t known he’d needed.

“I am, for a couple of them.” His baby and his hotel were waiting for him at home.

Barbara: "Here?" Barbara looked at the dirty plates in thought. "Well, what do you like?" Not her place to judge, only to serve, and it was nice eating with someone other than the employees.

Xavier: “No, not here. I’m staying in a nearby hotel.” And observing it now that he had one of his own.

“However, I wouldn’t be opposed to sharing another meal with you if you’ll have me. You’re a very good chef.”

Rhys/Barbara: Her frown was hidden as she turned. Hands occupied by the water and a sponge.

"Sure. It's mostly the nasty bits. Livers, hearts, laying hen." She turned her cheek in his direction and back.

Rhys appeared before she could ask her pending question.

"Finished?" Rhys leaned his chest into the entryway frame.

Xavier: “I’ve acquired a fondness for hearts in recent weeks. There’s a noodle shop near my home that prepares them very well.” Perhaps, if he managed to endear himself enough to her enough, he’d bring her some one day.

Xavier turned to Rhys with a smile. “We are, yes.”

Rhys: Another excuse for Xavier to return. Rhys didn't mind however many the demon fathomed.

Xavier was led to an unassuming black door near the end of the hallway. Opening outward to an iron spiral staircase of a single large room. More than enough space for an Alaskan king bed to appear modest. A claw foot tub separated by a Victorian divider. A chaise lounge placed before a holy wall of various antiques. The room was heavy with vanilla tobacco.

His coat was carefully removed. Mindful of the tucked away photograph. Placed over the divider tonight to keep out of Xavier's reach.

Xavier: Xavier made his way down the stairs very carefully, making sure no part of him except the soles of his shoes touched any part of the stairs. He really wasn’t looking to get a burn tonight.

He wasn’t looking to be faced with a plethora of religious artifacts either, but just like at the museum, it was simply a matter of not touching. Besides, there was an entire divine smelling room to distract him.

“It feels like you,” he mused as he took everything in.

Rhys: Rhys kept his distance by the divider, enjoying the image of this elegant man amongst his things.

"I'll feel the same of yours." He could make an educated guess, but now his secret photograph gave him doubts of accuracy.

"I wrote your letters there." The small black oak desk in the corner. The stamp and ink box still left out from his last letter.

Xavier: The demon ducked his head and smiled. “I’m told that my whole house feels that way. I’m exceedingly proud of it even if I’m not living in it at present.”

He wandered over to the desk, imagining Rhys sitting at it. A mental image that warmed him.

“Those letters have been a comfort to me.”

Rhys: "It's for the best. If you've ever heard my voice on the phone, that alone is a miracle."

Shoes were removed and left by his coat. Things he would re-wear before dawn, if need be.

Rhys pointed to one of the cubby holes in the desk. A neat row of Xavier's letters returned in their envelopes. When the cubby was full they would meet their final resting place, hidden.

Xavier: “Hearing your voice in person is better than any phone call.” Xavier’s voice was so quiet, he might’ve said it to himself instead of Rhys. Everything between them always felt so much more intimate when they left the bridge.

Even just seeing that Rhys had kept his letters.

Rhys: The gap between them had closed in their span of silence. Mere inches from Xavier's back. A single finger applied pressure to the back of the demon's neck. An investigation, awaiting a sign of approval.

Xavier: It was as though Xavier could feel Rhys before the vampire even touched him. He could feel a tingle move down his spine, his arms, his fingers.

Such sensation from such a small point of contact.

Xavier took a deep breath and relaxed his shoulders as much as he was able, silently giving his permission by turning his head toward Rhys.

Rhys: His middle finger remained in place as he leaned forward to press his lips to Xavier's shoulder. As slow and mindful as his finger. Only after a moment of observation did he wrap his hand around the back of his neck and squeeze. He had no intention to bite. Yet. Not for a while longer.

Xavier: Even though the kiss was given through two layers of fabric, Xavier felt it as though it had been placed on bare skin. Leaning back, leaning into the affection, was an involuntary response, as was the relieved sigh that escaped him.

It felt like Rhys’ cold hand was tethering him to the earth and reminding him that he was real.

“Thank you,” the demon whispered without meaning to.

Rhys: "I'm getting gratitude now," he mused sotto voce. Xavier was turned to face him, wanting to look into his eyes and understand his expression. He held the demon's face in his palms and brushed his thumbs along his chin and lips. He had a sneaking suspicion their explorations could go as far as he desired tonight. Regardless, every action remained paced, savoring.

"Remove your coat."

Xavier: You deserve it, Xavier thought. He wouldn’t say that but it was enough that he knew, enough that Rhys had been thanked even if the vampire didn’t understand why.

Although the emotions on Xavier’s face were varied and complex, there was no mistaking the openness or the softness or the vulnerability that shone there. He was placing so much of himself in Rhys’ hands. More than perhaps either of them realized.

Cold water. That’s what Rhys felt like. Cold, soothing water on too hot skin.

Xavier obeyed and removed his coat and immediately felt exposed. He’d forgone a waistcoat due to the warm weather and found himself feeling far more undressed than he actually was without it.

Rhys: Taking his sweet time, Xavier's coat was taken and folded over both hands. Just a foot of distance between them, and this was intentional. Allowing them both to acclimate.

And so long as Xavier didn't crumble, he would continue. Another step back, and another. Walking backwards towards the massive bed. Its thick black sheets as cold as his fingertips. He knew the contrast in temperatures would be exquisite.

"Get on my bed." His words were without magic. Calm, composed, and patient.

Xavier: This wasn't the first time Rhys had seen him in a state of undress. It wasn't even the first time the two of them had been in proximity to a bed. They'd shared intimate moments, personal thoughts, indirect kisses. They'd slept beside each other and yet, something about this felt...different.

Different in a way that was making Xavier Atlas, of all people, feel shy.

Xavier slowly sat on the bed and looked up at Rhys, wondering if he could hear the way the demon's heart pounded in his chest.

Rhys: A little ritual to put Xavier at ease. Rhys placed his coat at the foot of the bed and lowered to his knee. He didn't bother looking at him while setting to task removing his shoes one at a time.

Xavier: Claiming that he was put at ease might be going a little far, but Xavier did have a moment to breathe and calm down while Rhys removed his shoes. It was something at least.

Now in his stocking feet, Xavier looked to Rhys again, awaiting whatever instruction came next like it was the most normal thing in the world. And in a way, for reasons he refused to ponder or admit, it almost was.

Perhaps that was why it never once crossed his mind to question it or disobey.

Rhys: Xavier was free to do as he pleased. He could leave or stay. He was allowed to yearn, to demand, to deny. Just months after the death of his beloved. No, he would not judge, and they had made it this far, but he was aware for some the body was still warm.

He met Xavier's eyes, debated hard on using his dominating voice, and decided against it.

"Touch me."

Xavier: There was precious little that Xavier’s guilt allowed him to do.

Demanding was never something he did of people with whom he had any intimacy. Denying was not something he would do unless he sensed they were about to cross a line he wasn’t ready to cross. And yearning…

Yearning was something he had to hide, even from himself.

Very slowly, very carefully, he took Rhys’ face in his hands. Not with the intention to kiss because that would hit his denial threshold, but simply to touch it. To trace his features as if admiring a fine sculpture. To count all the different shades that made up his eye color. To feel the texture of his skin and his hair.

So he did and, not for the first time, wished he were an artist.

Rhys: Rhys would not close his eyes to indulge in the sense of touch. They would remain open, watching Xavier's every breath, where his eyes focused, and the subtle flex of his muscles for such minimal effort.

He knew not of any threshold, only that Xavier had wanted something from him, and he was patient enough to see every last detail.

"What are you looking for."

Xavier: The demon shook his head, smiling softly for the first time since this delicate dance had begun.

“Nothing,” he murmured. “I’ve just wanted to do this since the day we met. A face like yours belongs in a renaissance painting.”

Rhys: "Before or after you cursed my presence, I wonder." His smile was as soft as his tone.

"A man of your talents must have an artistic bone in his body. I'll commission my likeness. A painting, a scribble. If you insist your talents aren't worth the paint, then write me."

Xavier: "During." A beautiful face was a beautiful face; even when one was surprised and annoyed it had to be acknowledged.

Xavier shook his head and gave in to the impulse to play with a strand of Rhys' hair. "My talents lie elsewhere. But if you do commission an oil painting, I'd love to see it. I can even recommend a painter with the skill to do you justice."

Rhys: He closed his eyes, allowed and relished Xavier's touch. This was only their beginning. No need to rush. Xavier could take his time.

"You can't tell me you don't write poetry. I won't believe you."

Xavier: Even though he couldn't see it with his eyes closed, Rhys would able to hear the smile in Xavier's voice.

"I can't say I do or ever have." Very slowly he was going from playing with only a strand of the vampire's hair to simply playing with the vampire's hair. "I've only read it, and not very much at that. The only writing I do is my letters."

Rhys: But you are poetry.

"Letters are your love language. Pulling me around a museum by the hand. Fingers in my hair. Cigarettes."

His eyes opened, wanting to see emotions behind the blue.

"I'm going to ask you a question. If I kiss you, will you despise me?"

Xavier: It would be so easy to get lost in the romance of Rhys’ words, so easy to let himself get swept away and by god did he want to.

Longing and guilt and apology warred and were reflected in his gaze as he sighed. He was too much at odds with himself to answer Rhys with anything but a question.

“Will you despise me if I ask you to wait?”

Rhys: Xavier's voice floated to his ears like a melody. He could have said no outright. Could have promised then and there that would never come to pass, and still he would have smiled that mellow, sentimental smile.

"You are waiting for something to happen?"

Xavier: “I’m…” Was he? Was he waiting for something to happen? For something to change? For enough time to pass?

How much time? What needed to change?

Xavier sighed and rested his forehead against Rhys’, closing his eyes. “I’m just waiting,” he whispered.

Rhys: His eyes did not close. Only watched the enchanting demon, protective.

"We'll just sit here and wait," the Lasombra whispered. "Or lie in my bed, and I'll give you a heartbeat to count."

Xavier: “What if the waiting takes longer than one night?” the demon asked, not daring to open his eyes yet. “Will you despise me then?”

Rhys: "You're wrong to think I can despise you." Xavier's face was held in both hands. "I don't have to be your only one. I'm nothing more than a name. A cigarette."

Xavier: Xavier placed his hands on top of Rhys’. He was so much more than a name or a cigarette, so much more than Xavier wanted to admit because admitting it would only amplify the guilt that he felt.

“Can you really give me a heartbeat to count?” Xavier asked softly.

Rhys: His hands, much like his gaze, remained steadfast. He would not close his eyes as so many Kindred preferred. Only breathed intentionally slow and deep for Xavier to see the life return to his skin. The warmth in his palms was gradual. The olive in his skin accentuated subtle white scars on his hands and forearms.

"Go on."

Xavier: As he felt Rhys’ skin slowly warm beneath his hands, it struck Xavier that he wasn’t only seeing life flood into the vampire, but that he was seeing him as he’d been when he was alive. When his life was the sea and the sun’s light could touch him without hurting him.

Xavier’s hands slid down just a bit to the vampire’s wrists, thumbs finding his pulse points. Sure enough, there was a gentle throb in each.

“How does it feel?” he asked.

Rhys: "Palpitations. Not the same as exercise, but fear, and lust. The anxiety that forces blood from your heart." His hands released the demon, one clutched his chest, beat rhythmically. "At my age, my body knows the importance of playing alive."

Rhys climbed into bed. Propped himself up on two pillows.

Xavier: It didn’t sound like an altogether pleasant experience, but Xavier supposed it wasn’t meant to be. Playing alive was a survival tactic.

“And being warm again? How does that feel?”

Rhys: A question he rarely thought about. Years if not decades. He was not oblivious to sensation, only by comparison to others.

He crawled into bed while considering.

"The way your skin feels on a hot summer's day. Sunbathing. Your normal is my sunbath."

Xavier: “Like having a fever, only less so,” the demon mused to himself. He experienced a lot of that living in Thailand.

“My normal is closer to sunbath than the average mortal. That’s why I like cold water.” He slowly leaned back.

Rhys: "I felt as much." He would think such extremes would be too much, but he supposed to a demon, the sharp needles of cold were a relief. Could have bordered on sexual.

Amusement hid behind his lashes.

"Is it a wonder you gravitate to me."

Xavier: “One of many reasons.” He wouldn’t say that Rhys’ body temperature soothed him or that his preference for cold water was a direct result of his punishments in Hell. Some things didn’t need to be said to be understood.

Rhys: Rhys stared up at the ceiling for a time, before tilting his head, letting his cheek rest on Xavier.

"Comfortable?"

Xavier: Xavier nodded, sighing contentedly and basking in their nearness. “I am. I apologize in advance if I fall asleep on you.”

Rhys: "Go ahead. Won't be the first time," he smirked.

Xavier: “No, it certainly wouldn’t.” He fell silent for a few long moments, staring at the ceiling, enjoying the feeling of having Rhys lying next to him.

When he spoke again, his voice was soft and quiet.

“What did you do that night? While I slept.”

Rhys: "I didn't only watch you sleep." He assumed that was Xavier's concern. "I rifled through your things, stole some of your clothes, and read Scripture over your body."

He was doing his best not to smile.

Xavier: "I wouldn't mind if you had." Xavier was asking more out of curiosity than concern. Watching someone sleep was usually a time of contemplation, at least for him. Was it the same for Rhys?

An exhaled laugh was given in response. "Did you indeed? Rather kind of you to put me out when I burst into flames."

Rhys: "Naturally. Can't sleep next to overcooked skin."

Fingers combed through Xavier's hair.

"Yes, I watched you. Like some monster in a Mary Shelley novel. I watched you. I planned my week. I messaged my housemate. I slept beside you."

Xavier: "Naturally." Xavier leaned in closer and sighed again, feeling his body relax into the bed. "You learn a lot by watching. The monster did. Did you?"

His words were beginning to slur as he drifted closer toward sleep.

Rhys: "I wanted to kiss you as much then as I do now," he whispered.

He turned his head, nose squished into Xavier's hair. Eyes closed.

"Do you feel my heartbeat?" Quite literally, it beat for the demon in his arms.

Xavier: "Thank you for holding back. I want to be conscious the first time I kiss you." His breathing was starting to even out and whatever filter he kept on himself was starting to slip oh so slightly.

A small nod. "Mhmm. I can hear it too."

Rhys: He would never be able to surpass this level of romance, he realized. No one asked for his heartbeat. No one asked for his warmth or his breath in their hair. Not any other lover. His bite. His violence. Other requests were made of him, and none so delicate. A demon in name only.

His eyes closed, resting despite the hour. The only downside of Xavier Atlas, he concluded, was sleeping in.

Rohan: His internal clock refused to let him rest.

Sometime just after seven, Rohan sighed deeply and burrowed further into his pillow. The scent clinging to it was slowly piercing though the fog of sleep with every inhale, coaxing him toward wakefulness, forming a hazy image in his mind. But it was still so early, and he was still so tired. Just a few minutes more.

His brow furrowed in annoyance. Something sharp was pressing into his ankle. Why was there metal in the bed? Rohan attempted to shift his leg away from it and succeeded in moving it only a few inches before something retrained him.

He lifted his head and reached down to free himself from the bedsheet, but instead of seeing the empty right side of his hotel bed, found himself staring at a man's--

"Shit!" He hissed under his breath, sitting up and looking around. Not his hotel room. Not alone. Sleep vanished in an instant as last night flooded back in its place; dinner, the club, French toast, dancing, the DJ...

The DJ.

Rohan turned to the sleeping man sprawled on the bed beside him and nearly blushed when he realized the state of them. Or rather the state of him, because somehow Ariel was far more dressed than Rohan was. If there was any question of whether last night had really happened, his open shirt and the pants at his ankles answered it quite decisively.

There was an embarrassingly almost giddy grin on Rohan's face as he shook his head at himself and ran a hand through his hair. "I can't believe you," he whispered to himself, carefully climbing off the bed so as not to disturb his boyfriend.

"Your boyfriend. Listen to yourself." He shook his head again, grin still firmly in place as he pulled his pants up and went in search of a phone that was, alas, very much dead.

Ariel: The man beside him was stained and disheveled and could not have looked more at peace. His features were soft, his breathing quiet and even. Legs as spread as the confines of his chinos would allow. Arms above his head and buried underneath his pillow.

Only when Rohan made his escape did the ghoul stir. The same argument was made against his clothes but quickly surrendered. A huff, a pout, and he was back asleep once more.

Music still played downstairs on the TV. Colored lights slowly transitioning from one to the next, washed out by the barely conscious sunlight.

Someone in the building was yelling at someone else. A feminine voice, maybe, but nothing clear enough to decern. Someone was laying on a car horn down below. Ariel continued to sleep. This was no different than Seattle. Just less rain and an absence of that familiar rumble that had comforted him growing up.

It was at 8:54 AM that Ariel felt at the left side of his bed.

Rohan: It wasn’t the most productive morning Rohan had ever had but it was peaceful.

After finding his phone dead in his suit jacket downstairs, he’d availed himself of the charger on Ariel’s bedside table and had left it to power up while he showered.

There were missed messages and calls inquiring about work and his whereabouts and everything he had scheduled for the day, all of which were methodically answered with only a tiny bit of guilt at having gone completely radio silent. It had been worth it though.

When Ariel finally woke, the first thing that searching hand would find was a thigh.

“Good morning,” said a gently amused voice.

Ariel: His thumb brushed over his finding, looking rather pleased with himself. His hand was traveling upwards by the time he opened his eyes. He really needed to invest in a fucking curtain. Even sheer would block the initial sting to his eyes.

"You smell like me," Ariel muttered.

Rohan: That hand wouldn’t get far before Rohan took it and brought it up to his lips.

“I borrowed your shampoo and your soap,” he said, setting his phone aside so he could stroke Ariel’s hair.

Ariel: "I missed the party?" Sounding genuinely disappointed. "Ah, fuck. What do I look like?" He finally sat up to assess the damage, not seeming to mind his nude state, only that this man had stayed the night, and was now kissing his hand. That was worth watching.

Rohan: Rohan laughed. “I’d hardly call it a party.”

He was sitting beside Ariel on the bed, propped up against a pillow and smiling for all he was worth.

“You look cute and disheveled.”

Ariel: "I would."

And there this man was, in the light of day. No artificial light, no near darkness to trick his eyes, and that look of awe remained firmly entrenched.

"Ah..." No, no, he wouldn't ask that. He laughed, and without thinking, pulled Rohan down for a chaste kiss. Only brief and simple, well aware he needed to clean up.

"I'm gonna shower. Wanna wear one of my shirts?"

Rohan: The kiss was delightfully unexpected and succeeded in making Rohan smile even more than he already was.

“Want me to smell like you even more?” He gave in to the impulse to gently pinch Ariel’s cheek. “That’s okay. I need to be getting back soon.”

Ariel: He forced himself to his feet after that pinch.

"Don't tell me I'm your dirty little secret." If he was disappointed, it wasn't showing in his smile. The depth of the idea hadn't yet sunk in.

Rohan: “Of course not.” There was no disappointment or regret. Just quiet joy. “I have to go change anyway, I’m accompanying Rossmara to an appointment this morning.”

Ariel: "Ah, right. Dracula." Still, they couldn't part this way. He pulled his pants back up and tossed his shirt in a pile by the bathroom door, disappearing into the closet behind his computer desk. He emerged a moment later with a dusk purple shirt with DJ Cass across the chest.

"Keep it."

Rohan: Rohan followed suit and got to his feet. Despite the things he had to do, he found himself reluctant to leave.

He held up the shirt Ariel gave him and smiled at it. “I like this color. It reminds me of you.”

Ariel: "It's my favorite." He bit his lip, biting back something he wanted to say. Holding back because he didn't want it to come true.

No, he would see him again soon, though his body refused to accept that.

"You really gotta leave now? I can make you breakfast. Walk you back to your place. Or, you know... not. I'm -" being clingy. "Whatever you wanna do."

Rohan: If Rohan hadn’t been holding the shirt he would’ve pinched those cheeks again. How was this walking marble statue of a man so cute?

“I’ve got some time,” he said, barely containing his smile. “Go on and shower, I’ll be waiting downstairs.”

Ariel: His smile was the same as last night. Stupid happy, he called it. It was exactly how he felt. He turned towards the shower and back to Rohan, pulling him by the purple shirt into another innocent little kiss.

"We're boyfriends? Like, just one date?"

Rohan: “We’re boyfriends,” Rohan confirmed with a nod. “Unless you’re wanting to take it back or you’re riddled with regret and want to get rid of me.”

Ariel: "Why you'd think I'd wanna take it back?" His hands came to rest on Rohan's waist. "No. You're just - I've never had a real boyfriend before."

Rohan: “Not ever?” How was that possible? Ariel was so handsome and personable and sweet. He should’ve had a line of suitors that wrapped around the block.

Ariel: "Girlfriends. Guys, uh... Guys catch and release." What wrapped around the block were friends with benefits, one-night stands, and the singular hate fuck. Not something he felt like spelling out.

Rohan: “I see.” That made far more sense. There was no way someone like Ariel had gone his entire life without anyone wanting to be with him.

“Well then, I’m honored to be your first.”

Ariel: You're the romantic type, which means, "I'm not your first." Meant to be a question, but he was so certain of his statement.

Rohan: Rohan shook his head. “You’re not, no. I’ve had boyfriends before. Girlfriends, too.”

Ariel: That said a lot with a little. He knew based on several statements that one of those lovers had been shit to Rohan's self-esteem. He'd keep that to himself, for now.

"Alright... shower. So... I'll just be a minute." He didn't want to let him go, as though coming out of the bathroom he'd realize this had all been a dream.

Rohan: “I’ll be downstairs,” he said. And then, just because he could, he kissed Ariel’s cheeks.

Right now he wasn’t thinking about past relationships or what had and hadn’t gone wrong with them. He was thinking only if the beautiful man in front of him and how happy he felt in his company.

Ariel: Not one but both cheeks? That made his boyfriend laugh. Rohan's ass was given a slap before he turned to the bathroom. He didn't give a damn. He was stripping in front of his dirty clothes before turning the shower on.

Downstairs, the music had finally transitioned from EDM to a random 70s rock playlist.

Rohan: Rohan chuckled and shook his head fondly before heading down to the living room. Even though there was plenty of time before they were due at the showroom, he sent Xavier a message anyway telling him that he’d be late getting back to the hotel.

The suspicious lack of teasing in the exchange meant he was in for a tidal wave as soon as they saw each other.

Ariel: This had to be the fastest Ariel had ever showered. Shampoo in his eyes while he washed his body. Conditioner lasting mere seconds before being rinsed while washing his face.

Deodorant, cologne, teeth. No shaving. Without thinking, he walked out of the bathroom naked and crossed the bedroom to his closet.

"Still here?"

Rohan: “Still here,” Rohan called from downstairs. That had been very fast…

“Did you rush through your shower in case I decided to leave?”

Ariel: "No!" said like a caught child.

Rohan: Precious man. “Why would I leave? My boyfriend promised me breakfast.”

Ariel: Yes, he had!  "You want," processing, proc - "eggs?"

Rohan: “Yes, please.”

Ariel: Ariel came downstairs with shiny damp hair, wearing faded jeans and a gray Seattle sweatshirt.

"Omelet, sunny side up?" he greeted.

Rohan: “Sunny side up.” Rohan propped his chin on his fist and gave Ariel a long admiring look.

“You look even more handsome in daylight.”

Ariel: "I need sunglasses just to look in your eyes." Wanna tell him about beauty, look in the mirror.

"You can put on whatever you want," he motioned to the TV.

Rohan: "Flatterer," Rohan chuckled, shaking his head. "I don't mind the music. It's been a long time since I heard some of these songs."

Ariel: "Favorite genre?" A carton of eggs and other ingredients were brought from the fridge, as well as OJ planted in front of Rohan.

Rohan: "Not really. I actually don't listen to music all that often. When I do it's usually Leonard Cohen."

Ariel: "Is that jazz?"

Rohan: "Folk rock. You know the song 'Hallelujah'? His is the original."

Ariel: "Who am I thinking of?" Ariel motioned to the TV again. "Play him?"

Rohan: Rohan pulled up the song and it wasn't long before Cohen's raspy hypnotic voice filled the room.

Ariel: "I dunno this." But he listened quietly while making sunny side up eggs and toast with butter.

"So you don't listen to music, and you picked me?" he asked, sitting a plate in front of him.

Rohan: "I think most people have probably only heard the covers." But an old man like him? He'd always prefer the original.

He smiled. "I sure did."

Ariel: "My looks, too?" Referring to Rohan's question last night.

Rohan: "I'd have to be blind not to be pulled in by those."

Ariel: Ariel was smiling at nothing while making his own plate.

"You're smooth with it."

Rohan: “I have my moments. Few and far between but they happen. You make it easy.”

Ariel: "Looks the only thing keeping you here?" A dangerous question to ask. Every chance Rohan could take offense. He leaned against the kitchen counter and back, much the same as he had done to his DJ booth last night.

Rohan: He shook his head. “Looks aren’t everything. They’re not even all that important in the long run. What matters is how someone makes you feel. I wouldn’t be here if you were just a pretty face to me.”

Ariel: "Think I said the same last night." He bit his lip, staring off thoughtfully. It only just occurred to him in the light of day what had happened by the window. What had been said.

"You... said last night... You know? That you know...?"

Rohan: Momentary confusion was followed by a nod of understanding. He’d wondered when they’d be getting back to that particular subject.

“About the supernatural? Yes, I do.”

Ariel: "How much you know?" asked tentatively.

Rohan: “Enough to know why the ankh on my bracelet worried you, which I have to apologize for again.”

Ariel: "I - I shouldn't have freaked out." He was telling himself this now, but in the moment the concern had been very real.

Rohan: “It’s okay that it did. It caught you off guard and I’d say you and I know more than most that in this world we live in, caution keeps us alive.”

Ariel: "I had so much going through my head. Like I was... like, oh god, he's like me! Maybe really really old but like me. Or, like them. Just-" he shook his head, then froze.

"How much... you know about me?" Because he might have just given himself away.

Rohan: “Rhys mentioned what you were when he passed on your card,” Rohan said gently. Ariel had been given away, but not by his own doing.

“When I sat and waited for you and went to the diner with you and did that with you, I did it with full knowledge that you were a ghoul. And before you ask, no. It doesn’t bother me.”

Ariel: Rohan had his full attention. Watching behind soft eyes of consternation. All this time he'd been known, seen, and not a word said. He didn't know how he was supposed to feel. Not about Father Mello and not about Rohan saying nothing. He wasn't angry; he didn't think he was angry.

"What -" he cleared his throat. "Are you... some...thing?"

Rohan: However Ariel felt, Rohan was prepared to accept it. They hadn’t even known each other a full twenty-four hours and already they had crossed lines and had meaning to each other. Given the circumstances it was only right that they lay their cards on the table.

Just like they had last night.

“I’m human. I have a working knowledge of the supernatural and a working knowledge of magic. I also practice it. Beyond that, I’m just someone’s second-in-command.”

Ariel: By now breakfast was completely forgotten.

He wanted to ask what Mr. Dracula was, but felt an icy fear in his gut. Something told him not to.

He managed an honest smile.

"So you're, like, a wizard, Harry?"

Rohan: Rohan smiled. “If that’s what you’d like to call it, by all means. I usually use ‘witch’.”

Ariel: "Thought that was just women?"

Rohan: “Not necessarily. Anyone can call themselves a witch. A lot of people use ‘mage’ as well.”

Ariel: "So you cast spells and shit?"

Rohan: “Not quite like in the movies but yes.”

Ariel: "What's the difference?" He finally bit into his toast.

Rohan: “Some magic can be very theatrical and intense but a lot of it is more invisible and quiet. Wands aren’t always required either. Some people don’t use them at all.”

Ariel: "No shit? So do you have a wand?"

Rohan: Rohan chuckled and shook his head. “I’m one of the people who doesn’t use them.”

Ariel: He wanted to ask more questions, but his interest wasn't so much in magic itself but the man behind it. How to even articulate that?

"How's your eggs?"

Rohan: He didn’t mind answering questions, whether about magic or himself. If he had answers to give, he would.

“They’re perfect. Thank you.”

Ariel: "You gotta be at the hotel like, right now?"

Rohan: "I have some time still. I told Rossmara I'd be late."

Ariel: His grin returned. "How late?"

Rohan: "I should be fine as long as I'm back at the hotel in the next hour."

Ariel: Ariel practically gasped. "Do we get to make out?" he whispered.

Rohan: "Do you want to?" Rohan whispered back.

Ariel: "Since the moment I saw you."

Rohan: "Let's do the dishes first."

Ariel: Just as Rohan had thought, less than 24 hours together, and Ariel wanted to laugh! His new boyfriend wanted to do the dishes before making out. It didn't bother him so much as tickle him. Caught him off guard.

"Well put your arm around me while I wash!" He took their plates and slapped his hip. "Get over here."

Rohan: Oh, Rohan would do more than that. He'd wrap both arms around Ariel, taking advantage of their slight difference in height to nuzzle the back of Ariel's neck to see if he was ticklish.

Ariel: That giant window was what ultimately won Ariel over to the loft, and being able to tediously wash dishes while staring out into the heart of Brooklyn had sealed the deal.

And he wasn't paying the window any attention when he felt the warmth of Rohan against his neck. Not at all ticklish but he shivered just the same, and pressed himself against the counter.

Rohan: So his lovely DJ wasn't ticklish, but there had been a reaction just the same. Interesting.

What would happen if Rohan switched things up and pressed tiny feathery kisses to his neck instead? Would he get more shivers?

Ariel: He would get a chuckle. "You trying to get me hard? It's working."

Rohan: “Hmmm, in that case I should stop,” Rohan mused. “I’d hate to leave you high and dry before I have to leave.”

Ariel: "Nah," he couldn't stop smiling, "don't stop. I'm not gonna." Just one more fork. Everything placed on the drying mat and hands wiped down before turning and pulling his boyfriend into a heated kiss.

Rohan: Ariel couldn’t stop smiling and neither could Rohan, even as he trapped his DJ against the counter with his body and his arms and his kiss. This beautiful man hardly seemed real.

This whole situation hardly seemed real. If he wasn’t experiencing it he never would’ve believed it.

Ariel: It seemed Ariel didn't mind being trapped. In fact, something about their position had him leaning down, accommodating the bare difference in their heights. Hands circled Rohan's chest. His kiss had become softer and more submissive.

Rohan: It would’ve been all too easy to get carried away and have a repeat of last night and tempting as it was, they were limited on time. Better to keep things softer and slower while still giving this sweet boy what he wanted.

“Why are you so cute, hm?” Rohan asked when he came up for air, nuzzling Ariel’s cheek.

Ariel: "What I do?" His voice was as gentle as his kisses. Hands rested around Rohan's waist. "Just being me."

Rohan: “You being you is cute.” That wasn’t quite it—although it was true—but Rohan didn’t know how to explain it. Something about Ariel was just…sweet. There was a give to him that Rohan couldn’t articulate but that made him want to squeeze and kiss the life out of Ariel.

And he would. Gently, so as not to escalate things.

Ariel: Rohan knew better, it seemed. There was something about his boyfriend, more than the thrill of lust from someone new that had his body warm and bothered. Warm enough to feel through his clothes. Not only that, but he was indeed firm.

"Need to walk you back?" He could tell Rohan didn't want beyond this; he wasn't going to press his hips into him, as much as he wanted to.

Rohan: “It’s a long walk, I can take a taxi.” Or better yet, Xavier could send his car service to come get him.

That warmth was almost unbearable to part with though. He didn’t want to give up his beautiful prize.

Ariel: "Ehh, Uber's cheaper. Don't yell as much." He looked around for his phone before remembering seeing it upstairs.

"I'll get my phone." Ahh, but he didn't want to part either! What to do...but...pry himself away.

Rohan: “Don’t worry. Rossmara is even cheaper than Uber.”

There would be no prying away, for Rohan’s phone was in his pocket and easily accessible.

Ariel: "Don't wanna let me go, huh?"

Rohan: Rohan shook his head and texted Xavier with one hand. “Nope. Unless you want me to let you go, in which case…” His hold on Ariel loosened and his arm began to drop.

Ariel: Letting go was the last thing he wanted. "Only if this moves to the couch." Since Rohan was letting go anyway, he lifted him up by his thighs.

Rohan: “If this moves to the couch it’ll—oh!”

Ariel had picked him up just as easily last night but as someone unaccustomed to being lifted, it still caught Rohan by surprise.

Suddenly that arm was clinging again and he was back to grinning.

“Well then. I guess we’re moving to the couch.”

Ariel: "Wherever you want. Can move downstairs, the couch, upstairs. Wherever."

Rohan seemed as reluctant as himself. First a taxi then his friend. Had been to keep Ariel in his arms, he guessed.

Rohan: “If we move this upstairs I’m never getting to this appointment on time. Only option is the couch.”

The couch posed just as much of a temptation as going upstairs did but Rohan was determined to resist. And besides, the car would be here soon and there wouldn’t be time for those temptations to really get their claws in.

Ariel: Wide steps were taken toward the couch, mindful and determined not to have Rohan slip out of his grip. As though he was not in fact a ghoul with ridiculous strength.

Ariel sat victorious, but then, after barely a second of decision, he leaned back, flattening himself and allowing Rohan to straddle.

Rohan: “No no no no,” Rohan chuckled, attempting to tug Ariel into a sitting position. “Don’t be naughty, you know I’m about to have to leave!”

Ariel: "I'm just stretching out! Still tired! Aren't you tired? We can just lay together. Nothing sexy."

Rohan: “I’m all right. I’ll just go to bed early today to make up for the late night.”

In lieu of straddling, he sat beside his DJ as best he could. For his own sanity.

Ariel: Said DJ looked very much wilted at losing his straddle buddy. Arm melting off the couch and a gentle moan of complaint.

But with a smile, he sat up and rested his cheek on Rohan's shoulder.

Rohan: “Oh dear me.” Since Ariel was in range, those cheeks were being pinched and kissed. “You’ll see me again soon, I promise.”

Ariel: "Back to Cali today?" No more pinches! Both hands were taken and - well, he didn't know what to do with them now that he had them. Circle his thumbs over his knuckles to start.

Rohan: “Tomorrow. Rossmara is staying a little longer to do some business before he goes home but I need to get back to the estate.”

Ariel: "So you're leaving today?" Because, truthfully, he didn't care about Rossmara.

Rohan: “Tomorrow,” Rohan repeated, kissing those hands. “I’m leaving tomorrow.”

Ariel: "You said he's staying longer!" He laughed. "Thought you were giving me Dracula details!"

Rohan: Rohan laughed and shook his head. “The second part was Dracula details! The first part was me answering your question!”

Ariel: "Well are you staying over? Because - Because I'd like that!" Why are we yelling? I love it.

Rohan: He gave Ariel a fond look. “Would you really want that?” he asked softly. “For me to stay here with you?”

Ariel: As Rohan softened, so too did he.

"...Yeah. This is like, the best and worst start to a relationship I've ever been in. I wanna get to know you."

Rohan: “We did skip a few steps, didn’t we?” Rohan said thoughtfully, petting Ariel’s hair just to touch some part of him. “I want to get you know you, too. I want to learn everything about you. What you like, what you don’t like, what you were like growing up, how you look every hour of the day.”

Ariel: The more Rohan spoke the more he made him smile.

"Damn, baby. That's romantic as fuck." His laugh was soft and brief.

"We did skip a lot, but I guess that's how long distance feels? Gotta do shit quick."

Rohan: Rohan smiled. “I have my moments.”

He petted Ariel again, wondering how he could possibly feel this fond of someone he’d just met. “I guess so. Maybe it’s not just about being quick, but about doing things while you can.”

Ariel: Ariel didn't see much of a difference at the moment, but his focus was on Rohan's impossibly bright eyes, wanting to kiss between them. He hadn't felt this soft with someone in years.

"What time'll you be back?"

Rohan: He thought for a moment. “I can probably be back…around dinner time? Maybe late afternoon if we finish up a little early.”

Ariel: "Whaaaat do you like to eat, besides strawberry french toast?" He laughed at the absurdity of asking. Felt like something he should have known before asking Rohan out, but time was of the essence.

Rohan: “I have a sweet tooth but I’m not picky. Unless it’s goat cheese. I hate goat cheese.”

The question wasn’t absurd. Getting to know each other meant asking all these little questions.

“What about you?”

Ariel: Where to even start? "I like... soup," he laughed and rubbed at his face with a free hand. "Ok, like, clam chowder and pho, that kinda soup. I like Asian food and diner food."

Rohan: So cute. “Do you? Well that’s lucky. I can make all kinds of soup. All kinds of diner food.” He grinned. “I need to cook for you sometime.”

Ariel: "I kinda had a feeling you can cook. Not only are you a businessman but you're business in the kitchen."

Rohan: “I’m not the businessman, I just work for one,” he chuckled. “But I can definitely cook.”

Ariel: "Well, I can make you eggs and toast, and... omelets, and... Oh! I can do oysters rockefeller! And like, crab boil! Are you allergic to shellfish?"

Rohan: “I’d be so sad and miserable if I was. I love shellfish. All seafood really.”

Isabel had once given him the recipe for a seafood soup… Maybe he’d make it for Ariel.

Ariel: He secretly loved that they were both from the same state. Country and accent be damned.

"I'll pop around the corner and get us stuff while you're out!"

Rohan: “What are you gonna ge—“

He was cut off by his ringing phone. Their time—for now—was up.

“That’ll be the car.”

Ariel: "I'll think of something."

His stomach did a flip to the sound of their impending separation.

"I'll walk you out," he said, softly.

Rohan: Rohan nodded and answered the phone. “Yes?”

“Good morning, Mr. Dalca. I’m downstairs.”

“I’ll be right down, thank you.”

“Yes, sir.”

He put his phone in his pocket and got to his feet with a sigh. He put his suit jacket back on, straightened himself as best he could, and held a hand to Ariel.

Ariel: Ariel looked to the hand and to the man offering as he joined him on his feet.

His smile returned. "You like holding hands?"

Rohan: A smile and a nod. “I do. I also like kissing them and looking at them.”

Ariel: "That's..." So sweet. He'd never thought about what his hands must look like. Large and tanned and rough from years of gym, sports, and - and Rohan wanted to look at them.

"You can have it." He took Rohan's hand, and refused to tell him no other man had ever wanted to. It didn't matter.

Rohan: “Why thank you,” Rohan said softly, squeezing it and leading Ariel by it as they made their way downstairs where the town car and its driver were waiting for him.

Ariel: Ariel remained quiet down the hall, in the elevator, and across the foyer. Just staring at their hands. Seemed in a trance-like state. Before the final door, he pulled Rohan's hand to his lips and kissed. One long, slow kiss goodbye, as though he wouldn't be seeing him in a few hours. Just happened to be his first kiss of a man's hand, and this entire silence was in debate whether or not he should.

Rohan: Rohan didn't know if Ariel's intention had been to utterly melt him and lodge himself in Rohan's heart, but he'd succeeded. What power did he have that he was able to do it so easily?

"Sweet boy," he murmured, gently pinching one of Ariel's cheeks and kissing the other. "I'll be back this afternoon. Don't miss me too much."

Ariel: "Not too too much." He would wait by the door. Watch for Rohan to reach the car before turning and heading for the stairs. He needed the exercise and time to retrace his steps back to the DJ booth and first setting eyes on the man now his boyfriend.

What was he even making for dinner tonight? Was Rohan coming back, or had this in fact been about sex? He knew he had been desperate last night. In the heat of the moment he would have said anything to keep him, but walking up the fourth flight of stairs, he realized wholeheartedly that he had meant every word. That same inexplicable pull Rohan felt was his the same.

[beyondedenton]

What a difference a year made. A mere twelve months ago the man that stood at Lirim’s doorstep was little more than a shell, little more than a bundle of trepidation and uncertainty and desperate hope.

The one who stood there now, surrounded by his pile of gifts, exuded only warm and a profound, abiding affection for the being who opened his door.

“Merry Christmas, Lirim,” said Xavier, holding out the beautiful art nouveau vase. It was filled with French lace roses and lilacs and greenery. “For you. Wine, flowers, tajine, and a replica of Gaston La Touche’s ‘The Ball’, purchased legitimately.” That last said with a smile that communicated more than words ever could.

    Lirim was all smiles, holding the door wide for Xavier, and stealing a cheek kiss of gratitude for his gifts. Not two seconds into the foyer did Aedan appear, waving both hands and looking to his father for guidance. The hybrid child would always be wary of demonic presence, and Lirim wasn’t about to correct his behavior. Xavier was an exception, not a rule. 

    “It’s okay,” he assured, showing the bouquet to his son. “This is an old friend. Remember Xavier? He’s had... a makeover.”

    Speckled-colored eyes climbed the length of Xavier’s body, staring down the demon once he reached his eyes with scrutiny to rival his mother. “He’s got a present.”

    Lirim smiled over his shoulder. Set the vase beside the stereo. “He does. Could you go grab it?” A canvas as tall as his son was carried from the hallway, hovering just beside his fingers via telekinesis. He knew enough about their guests to know this was safe. 

    It was a watercolor painting, with intentional drips and sectioned into three. A 3D quality to the gray-toned figure in the background, reaching towards the foreground with outstretched fingers, subtly shaded in the same blue Xavier had been painted last year. Xavier didn’t have to guess the muse. 

    “Merry Christmas.”

[bothsidesofaquestion]

"I don't want to be alone tonight." (matt)

send me "I don't want to be alone tonight." for my muse's reaction to yours saying that to mine. | a c c e p t i n g

That’s fair.

Kurt reaches the door knob and stops to look back at the man, they just arrived to the room he’d be taking as a guest at Xavier’s Institute and the hesitation, the uncertainty… Kurt completely understands.

“Would you like to have something to drink instead?” He asks, an offering for company.

Kurt turns to face him and reaches for Matt’s arm. “Let me know what I could do to make you feel comfortable.”

[twilighttheater]

Jon, Dani, and/or Xavier for you, too!

Incorrect Quotes Hour

Xavier: I dare you- Dani: Jon is not allowed to accept dares anymore. Xavier: Why not? Jon: "I have no regard for my own or others personal safety", as some would say.

[shadesandrollerblades]

Xavier met Xerneas shortly after he obtained his Vision, being granted the chance to wander out further around Fontaine on his own after the fact. He’d heard word of a hermit who lived outside of the local towns and got curious, mostly because people described him as being someone who always looked like he was waiting for something. 

The man was surprised to have company, but he didn’t mind it either. Xerneas would tell the teenaged boy stories about the archons, myths about Fontaine’s earliest days, tales that he felt like would’ve been long since lost to time.

It always seemed curious to him how Xerneas sometimes talked like he’d been there, but he’d always laugh off such comments. No person could live long enough to witness all of that now could they? He was just that good of a storyteller, Xavier supposed.

However, eventually Xerneas’ companion would finally arrive. Apparently they spent short periods of time apart from eachother while the man explored the land, always returning with gifts for Xerneas. Xavier never stuck around for too long after Yveltal arrived though, they seemed like they wanted time alone in his mind, so he would allow them just that.

He’d visit Xerneas often though in order to keep the man company while he waited for his... friend. Friend? The day Xavier learned that it was a mere friendship, Xerneas couldn’t help but laugh at the shock on the boy’s face. Surely that was a joke, right? It’s not. It troubles everyone who comes to learn of it. He started leaving just hoping that this time Yveltal might finally get a clue. 

Xerneas and Yveltal were going to travel somewhere new one day however, and Xavier warned Xerneas that he’d be visiting Inazuma not too long after. They swore that they’d catch up again soon, he’d visit Mondstadt and Liyue if he had to in order to find his storytelling friend. 

However, Xerneas has heard troubling rumors about Inazuma... and without word from Xavier, he is getting increasingly worried for his safety.

[camrutrum]

I realize xander hasn’t really showed up for muse rn so i may just make him a side muse here instead of going back on his blog. Which means I need to make a new promo for this blog. :c

[multiverse-muse]

A Pretty Cage is Still a Cage

magic!reader x loki, not quite canon compliant, also on my ao3

“Have you enjoyed learning from the strange doctor?” You control your urge to grin wide as you turn to face Loki. You were taking a break in the compound’s library, which was barely ever occupied beyond yourself.

“It’s Doctor Strange.” You correct, shaking your head and rolling your eyes at him, but you can’t hide your smile.

“That’s what I said.” Loki said.

“I’ve actually been training with Wanda, thank you very much. Stephen’s technique was a little too...intellectual for me. Theory learning and such.”

“No wonder you left his teaching, your magic is inane and hardly helped through books.” Loki paused. “Midgardian books, anyway. I’m sure even his Sanctum does not have half the amount of material as my own library.”

“I can’t tell if you’re bragging or still trying to be mean about Stephen.” Loki simply grinned, giving an elegant shrug. You roll your eyes. “Welcome back, Loki.”

“I’m not back for long. Thor wanted to check in on something quickly and then we’re headed back. I was hoping you’d return with us.” Loki explained. You simply blinked at him for a long moment before realizing your mouth was hanging open.

“Wait, wait, me? Going to Asgard?” With you?” You sputter.

“And my brother, but yes, you’ve gotten the gist of it. You need a good teacher if you are to master your magic.”

“Oh, no way. I would stick out like a sore thumb in Asgard. A very ugly, very sore thumb.” You argue. A frown crosses Loki’s face.

“You should know, you’re quite a pretty thumb. Far and away prettier than most. Asgard can hardly prepare itself for you.” Loki retorts. You frown and squint your eyes at him.

“I still can’t tell if that’s a compliment or not.”

*

You had not been practicing your magic very long. Nor had you known Loki, Thor, and the other Avengers very long. You had met them only a few months ago, when a Hydra unit hit your hometown, looking for mutants to use in an army. All they found was you: you who had only had your abilities awoken during the scuffle with Hydra. After they were defeated, the Avengers offered you a place at their compound. They knew plenty of magic users who could help teach you or, if you had preferred, they had connections to Professor Xavier. You had declined that offer, preferring to learn from Loki.

Loki himself had not been with the Avengers long. After the death of his mother and his own revelation of sorts, he’d given up on conquest. He still longed for the throne, but now he planned to simply outlive Thor. Which, really, he thought wouldn’t take long, considering how many foolish things Thor gets himself involved with. His presence in the Avengers Compound made him an easy teacher to access.

This set up nicely for the two of you to become quick friends. Both on the outside of the circle, looking in and feeling out of place. Loki was better at hiding it, of course, and to an extent he did prefer to stay out of the spotlight. At least, when it came to the Avengers.

Now, you stood between the two brothers at the Bifrost, having just passed through the nauseating space tunnel thing that Thor uses to travel. Asgard loomed before you, beautiful and decadent and otherworldly. Which it was, you supposed. That and incredibly overwhelming.

“Welcome to our home.” Thor said.

“I’ve already alerted King Odin of your arrival.” You turn and spot a man who could only be Heimdall. You can’t help but appreciate his form even as the thought of Odin terrified you.

“Thank you, Heimdall.” Thor introduced the two of you officially before the two of you and Loki approached the main palace.

“What if your father doesn’t like me?” It bursts from your mouth before you can stop it and you reach out and grab onto Loki’s arm. “What if he sends me back to Earth?”

“Then he’ll only prove his own foolishness.” Loki waved away your concern easily. He took the hand on his arm and placed it in the crook of his elbow, so he was now leading you as you walked. The three of you are met at the door by a guard, joined by others as you walked, and by the time you reached the throne hall, you all had an entourage of nearly a dozen men. Someone on the other side of the door announced your presence and the door began to open. You hastily try to pull your hand from Loki’s arm, though he held tight and sent you a frowning glance.You tugged again but couldn’t budge from him.

“My sons!” Odin greeted from the throne. He was just as intimidating as you’d expected and if not for your hand still being in Loki’s grasp, you’re sure you would’ve either fainted or ran back out the door. “And our honored guest! Welcome to Asgard, milady.”

“Oh, ah, th-thank you!” You squeak out, then whisper to Thor, “Do I bow? Curtsy?”

“You may do either, if you feel the need but I do not require anyone to do so, particularly guests who may be unaware of traditions.” Odin eased your worry. He and the boys spoke for a moment before his attention turned back to you. “Now, as I understand, you are learning magic from my son. I’m curious to see where your abilities lie now, before his teaching.”

“Ah, yes, Your Majesty.” You glance at Loki and Thor with wide eyes before facing King Odin fully. You take a deep breath and raise your hands. One thing you’d learned while training with Dr. Strange and Wanda was that your powers came from feelings, not thoughts. As such, your magic tended to be temperamental. This time however, you channeled your nervousness into a solid energy and opened your eyes to see orbs of pale yellow light floating through the chamber.

“It’s not much.” You admit, lowering your hands. The orbs hang for a few moments before they start to fade, one by one. One falls to the floor and changes shape into that of a cat, which nudges Loki’s leg before disappearing. “But I’m learning.”

“I expect my son will do a good job teaching you, I am curious to see your abilities develop. Now, I allow you all to retire and clean up, for there will be a festive dinner tonight to celebrate your arrival home.” You’re all escorted from the throne room and then led to your chambers. The boys obviously knew where their own rooms were but neither seemed sure where you were meant to go. That question was answered by one of the guards stationed outside Thor’s room.

“One of the spare rooms connecting to Prince Loki’s chambers has been fitted out as a guest’s chambers. King Odin assumed she’d want to be near those she knew.” You sighed with relief even as your heart skipped a beat. You hadn’t expected to be staying so close to Loki.

“Good, good! I will meet the two of you before dinner.” Thor grinned at you and Loki before entering his room. The guards continued to escort you and Loki down the hallway.

“Where’s your room?” You ask. You feel Loki’s arm tense and realize you’ve left your hand in the crook of his elbow.

“Just another hallway or so down. Impatient to get into my private chambers?” Loki smirked and you rolled your eyes in response.

“I believe I remember someone promising me that the baths here are fantastic. I didn’t know if I should take one before dinner.” You said. You’re led down a set of stairs to another floor. Loki takes a deep, steadying breath before continuing on down the stairs. The lights seemed to be more abrasive down here, the air cooler. The guards finally stop at a door and gesture you towards it.

“Well, here we are. Home, sweet home.” Loki finally lets your hand drop free and he strolls into the room. After a moment of silence and looking at the guards, you finally follow him through. The first room is simply an antechamber and had three doors leading out. One was still closed, one leading further into a living room style chamber and the last seemed to be a bathroom of sorts. There were no windows in any of the rooms that you could see. The colors were all muted and it felt even chillier in here than in the hallway. You followed Loki into the living room.

“Why is it so…” You trailed off, not wanting to offend Loki if this was how he had meant his rooms to be.

“Bland? Oppressive?” Loki offered.

“I was going to say cold.” You mumble.

“Yes, that too.” Loki lets out a long sigh. “They don’t trust me in the royal corridor. They want me somewhere easy to watch, so they can keep an eye on me. They trust me only enough to go out with Thor. When he is gone, this is where I remain.”

“That’s...sad.” You said. Loki turned to you with a mild glare.

“I do not want your pity.” He snapped. You shake your head.

“No pity, Loki, it’s just sympathy.” You look around the room. Loki had obviously lived here a while: books littered every shelf and flat surface, a few pieces of clothing were tossed over furniture. But it still felt stifling, like there wasn’t quite room to breath. “They’re still keeping you locked up.”

“At least I’m no longer in the prison even further below, locked in a cage among those mongrels.” Loki all but snarls.

“It doesn’t matter how pretty it is, Loki, a cage is still a cage.” You regard the room again while Loki regards you. He walks over to you, looking contemplative.

“You’re the only one who sees this the way I do. My father tells me he loves me, yet there’s chains on the door at night.” Loki muses.

“Really?” You ask in disbelief.

“No, of course not, simple chains would not stop me.” Loki gives you a sly grin and you just give him a deadpan stare. “But, thank you for the...sympathy. Now, go on to your room. Make sure you look decent. If you get bored, you know where to find me.”

*

Dinner was not as wild an affair as you’d feared it would be. Thor explained that feasts were more festive, but a simple welcome home ‘fancy dinner’ was not enough of a cause for the Asgardians to go crazy. Not since Thor and Loki now returned home regularly, anyway. You were quiet all through dinner, mostly due to nerves and the fear that you’d open your mouth and call Odin out for how he still locked Loki away like a bird.

Dinner and the next few days melted away quickly. During morning hours, Loki trained you to use your powers. Afternoons were spent exploring Asgard, meeting people, and warrior training. You didn’t participate in the warrior training. That was specifically for Loki and Thor, occasionally with Sif, the Warriors Three, and/or Brunnhilde. Mostly you read through these sessions, enjoying the outdoors but staying far removed from the scuffles.

“She’s not looking, you can stop trying to show off.” Brunnhilde said, clipping Loki on the shoulder as they were sparring.

“I beg your pardon?” Loki asked. Brunnhilde rolled her eyes and easily ducked the strike of his dagger. There was a reason Loki preferred magic to actual combat.

“You’ve been showing off, hoping she’s watching. We’re not dumb.” She glances over to Thor and Volstagg, who were tangled in some strange wrestling. “I’m not dumb.” She replied. She disarmed him easily and then knocked him onto his ass. Without thinking, he glanced at you, though you were too absorbed in the book you held and didn’t see him looking so foolish. Loki sighed in relief and then started when Brunnhilde snorted.

“You brothers and your Midgardians.” She strut off over to Sif and Loki had to help himself up out of the dirt.

*

“See, you’re not terrible at this.” Loki said.

“Thanks.” You reply sarcastically, concentrating on the pale yellow shield you’d managed to form around yourself. “That sounds an awful lot like you mean I’m not good at it.”

“I didn’t say that.” Loki grins. You roll your eyes and the magic shield drops. You lower your hands and throw yourself onto the nearby couch. It was easiest for you both to train in Loki’s chambers than to go to any other space where you’d have a handful of guards watching your and Loki’s everymove.

“Can I be done? For a little while?” You grumble. Magic was hard. Magic was tiring. And spending so much time with Loki was making you worry that your heart was going to give out.

“We’ve barely begun.” Loki replies, though he joins you on the couch.

“We can just chill for a while. You’ve been training me and then training with Thor, you must be exhausted.” You say. He simply hums in reply, waving his hand and making a book appear. You grin to yourself, before settling more comfortably into the couch. Every once in a while, Loki would read a passage of the book aloud to you, if he thought it funny or clever or interesting.

The next thing you knew, you were blinking awake slowly. You panicked a moment as someone touched you before realizing it was just someone playing with your hair. It took another moment to realize who it must have been. You were draped across Loki, your head in his lap while he kept reading, his free hand running through your hair. You close your eyes to savor the moment. Loki chuckles lowly to himself and you take a breath to steel yourself.

“What’s funny?” You mumble. Loki’s hand immediately disappears from your hair.

“Just the author being an incompetent fool.” Loki answers. You finally sit up, rubbing your eyes, while Loki gives you a mildly amused look. “Did you enjoy your nap?”

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” You whine, blushing. Loki sets his book to the side and shifts slightly to face you more.

“Someone came by while you slept. My father is preparing a feast to celebrate the beginning of Jul. As an honored guest of his sons, you are required to go.” Loki’s face formed into an unhappy frown. “As a son, I am required to go.”

“So...like the welcoming feast but worse?” You ask. Loki rises, returning his book to the shelf but answering you as he goes.

“The dinner you attended on your first night was not even a true feast. This feast will last for hours, go late into the evening, requires dancing, and almost certainly will end with my brother being so drunk he does something ridiculous.”

“Oh. Wait! What am I supposed to wear?” You ask. When you’d arrived, you’d been brought a variety of garments to choose from. You preferred pants and a top over the dresses that were offered to you, though they were pretty. Simple Asgardian clothing was still fancier than anything you’d ever owned back on Earth. Even still, everything you had at your disposal was not suited for a fancy gathering.

“Clothing, probably.” Loki’s grin turned mischievous. “Or nothing, if you’d prefer, though I would suggest keeping to the chambers if you decide to run around nude.” You throw the pillow from the couch at him, which he easily waves away with a chuckle.

“You would like that, wouldn’t you? You ass.” You scoff at him, trying to hide the blush rising. You rise from the couch, checking the clock on the wall. You’d barely learned to read the Asgardian script but you could tell it was time for lunch. Your attention was dragged back to Loki as he approached you.

“Is that such a problem, if I would enjoy it?” Loki asked lowly, reaching up and tucking some hair back behind your ear. You really were blushing now, hardly able to keep eye contact with him.

“Loki-” You were cut off as a bang! came from the door.

“Brother! Y/N!” Thor called from beyond the door. You rushed away from Loki, feeling suddenly very out of breath and very disappointed. You opened the door to reveal a grinning Thor. “Volstagg and his family has invited us for lunch, if you liked to join.”

“That sounds nice.” You say without thinking. You both look towards Loki who has an unreadable expression on his face.

“I’ll stay and eat here, I’d rather not deal with the miniature Volstaggs running around.” Loki comments. You deflated a bit but Thor looked even more disappointed. So you held your tongue, still agreeing to go with Thor, and waved goodbye to Loki, promising to see him later.

***

The next few weeks were spent as the last few, except now most attendees of Odin were running around in a buzz, setting up for the Jul feast. You and Loki had both seemingly decided not to acknowledge whatever it was that was happening before Thor had interrupted you both. Loki had assured you that he’d take care of your attire for the feast, so you had nothing to worry about other than learning Asgardian dances so as not to make a fool of yourself.

More often than not, it was Sif or Brunnhilde who took the time to teach you. Loki and Thor were getting pulled into meetings and off-world visitations with Odin, leaving you to the girls and Warriors Three. You didn’t mind it so much. Brunnhilde was certainly becoming a fast friend and who couldn’t like Volstagg? The others were still in the acquaintance category, though that was changing too.

The morning of the feast, you woke early (though there were no windows with which to really tell the time). You were a ball of nerves and as the day went on, they simply got worse. Loki was nowhere to be found in his chambers or the common areas you two shared. The guard outside the door (only one, since Loki wasn’t present) assures you he’d return to fetch you for the feast and that lunch would be brought to you. So you spent the majority of the afternoon into evening by yourself, fretting and pacing around, while occasionally trying to concentrate on practicing your magic.

You’re startled in the early evening when the main door flies open, Loki sweeping into a room with an armful of boxes.

“I’ve got your dress here, we’d better dress quickly, as my father is an impatient man and it will do us better to arrive fashionably on time rather than late.” Loki said this as he handed you a box. “I’d much rather wait and make a dramatic entrance, but alas.”

“Thanks,” You mumble, taking the box from him. It was quite heavy.

“I’ll have your shoes set out here whenever you’re done.” Loki’s voice followed you to your room. You shut the door softly behind you and then dumped the box on the bed, carefully pulling out the dress from within. The green fabric was a heavy velvet type, but soft and you hoped it wouldn’t be too warm. It wasn’t until you’d stripped and pulled the dress on that you’d realized the type of neckline it had.

“Loki!” You screech, all but stomping out of your room and into the common room. You hands held up the very low neckline and covered the expanse of chest and cleavage it left exposed. Loki’s door was slightly ajar and he poked his head around to look at you. A slow grin worked its way across his face. “I can’t wear this!”

“Obviously you can. Give me a moment to fully dress.” Loki disappeared back behind his door, though you could swear you heard him chuckling slightly.

You went back to the mirror in your room and examined yourself in the dress. The heavy velvet helped the dress lay in a flattering way across your body, down to the floor, though the long slit in the front made you nervous to walk. The bardot neckline would’ve been nice had it been an inch or so higher, but currently it showed off a little too much of your chest for you to be comfortable, especially considering the v-shaped notch in the front that showed off a hint of the skin between your breasts. The off-the-shoulder sleeves were just a thick band of the same velvet and surprisingly didn’t restrict your movement too much.

“Alright, what was the issue?” Loki called. You slowly trudged to the shared room, moving your arms back up to cover your chest. And you stilled in the doorway. Loki has always cleaned up nicely but you’d never seen him go all out in a suit and tie. It was a very modern, very Earth style outfit, all black except for the silky green shirt beneath the jacket (a green that nearly matched the color of your dress, you noted absentmindedly). He had smoothed his hair back so it lay across his shoulders but out of his face. As you looked him up and down, he did the same to you. “You’ve not even put on the shoes.”

Loki picked up a box near the couch before approaching you, opening it to reveal dainty and strappy golden heels. When you didn’t make a move to take them, he rolled his eyes with a slight smile on his face.

“You’re meant to put them on.” Loki said.

“I-I can’t bend over to put them on.” You said distractedly, eyes still lingering on his lean form. He huffed but tugged on your arm, leading you to the couch.

“Sit.” You did. You kept your arms covering your chest but almost dropped them in surprise when Loki knelt, slipping the shoes on your feet quickly and with ease. “There, now, up.” You stood shakily, though the heels proved to be sturdier than they appeared.

“I can’t wear this to the feast, Loki.” You repeated. Loki shook his head.

“And why not? I chose this style especially for you, picked out the fabric and everything.” Loki...was he pouting? “There’s no time for a new one to be made.”

“I didn’t need a special made dress. I would’ve stood out badly enough in a regular Asgardian dress. This is....too much. For me.” You almost reach out to him but at the last minute remember what your hands are covering. The small movement catches Loki’s gaze and he frowns again, nearly unnoticeable but there. He reaches out slowly, taking both of your wrists in his hands.

His eyes seek yours, anticipating you to stop him, but you don’t. You can’t bring yourself to do so. If there’s anyone is this realm you trust, it’s Loki.He pulls your hands away from your chest, bringing them down between the two of you. His eyes sweep across your figure and you can’t stop the heat rising to your face, your ears.

“Just a moment, dear.” Loki disappears into his room for just a moment before emerging again, something cradled in his hands. He pockets it before pulling your hair up and away from your neck , though if he makes it stay with pins or magic, you aren’t sure. Then from his pocket he pulls out the necklace he’d fetched from his room. It’s all dainty gold chain, except for the large emerald colored jewel hanging in the center.

You shiver as his hands go around your neck, fastening the necklace. It sits heavily along your chest, the many loops of chains almost tickling your skin. The stone sits nicely just above the middle of your breasts, a large shimmering stone that complemented the dress nicely. When Loki didn’t remove his hands, you finally gain the courage to look up at him. His gaze lingers a moment longer on your chest before meeting your gaze. He almost looks tinged rosy himself but he offers a soft smile and steps back.

“There. Perfection in mortal form.” Loki smiles at his work and, yes, it is a beautiful outfit, but you are still distracted with the amount of skin you’re exposing. “Any more unnecessary complaints?”

“No.” You mumble. Loki was not going to let you change, you’d finally accepted that. “Loki, are you really wearing an Earth suit? To an Asgardian feast?”

“I thought it looked quite fetching, and judging by your staring earlier, I would assume you did as well.” You shot him an unamused and slightly blushing look. “Besides, I am one of the royals Princes, and Gods know Thor never looks the part.” You snort at that, shaking your head.

“They’re gonna stare, so much.” You whine. Loki smiles.

“That’s what I’m counting on.”

***

“You look ready to die.” Brunnhilde says as she sidles up to you. You nearly jump out of your skin, your drink sloshing almost out of the glass.

“No one is talking to me, no one has asked me to dance.” You hiss at her. You’d watched as the evening wore on and many people had approached the other women for dances. Loki and Thor had been swept into the political meet-and-greets so you’d been sitting mostly alone, save for the few times Brunnhilde or Sif had stopped to check on you. “I shouldn’t be here.”

“Well, you can blame Loki for no one trying to dance with you, you know.” Brunnhilde said. At your confused look she sighed and pointed at your necklace. It glimmered even in the dim room and seemed to swirl with magic. “That necklace is like a land claim. He’s using it to warn other men to stay away from you.”

“What?” You reach up to handle the stone, which was warm to the touch. You frown at the idea of Loki’s possessiveness and try to unhook it from your neck. Your fingers scramble against the back of the necklace but find no purchase: there was no way to remove it.

“To be fair,” Brunnhilde continues, sipping her drink, “You do look incredible in that dress. I can’t blame him for wanting to keep you to himself.” You clumsily excuse yourself from her company, heading straight for an empty balcony. You needed the fresh air, to breath. You stood out there for who knows how long before you sensed a presence behind you.

“Are you out here hiding?” Loki asked, joining you at the railing. You turn to him with a furrowed brow.

“No, not that it matters. No one in there would speak with me anyway.” You say and a confused look crosses his face, before you jab your finger towards the necklace around your neck. The confused look fades into almost a sheepish look but that too quickly disappears.

“I suppose Brunnhilde told you what it implies? I saw the two of you speaking.”

“Yes, she did tell me. Unlike you.” You cross your arms. The movement causes Loki to glance down and his eyes linger on your gilded chest. Realizing this, you quickly uncross your arms. You poke him in the chest. “Quit, just- Stop staring!”

“My apologies, it can be hard to look away from an image so tantalizing.” Loki curls his hand around the one you’d used to poke him. He didn’t let it go, simply held on to it, connecting the two of you.

“Stop teasing me.” You huff.

“How am I teasing? I am stating the truth.” He says it simply.

“Loki,” You start but nearly choke on the feeling of your heart in your throat. Why is it that Loki, that liking Loki, can make you so nervous?

“Yes, ástin mín?” You pause, taken aback by the use of the Asgardian language.

“What? What does that mean?” You ask. Loki sighs, not out of impatience or annoyance but as if to steel himself.

“I recognize I have perhaps been unfair to you, Y/N.” Loki says, his thumb lightly rubbing the one of yours that he is holding. “I had you wear the necklace for myself, not for you. I reasoned that it would protect you from untoward advances, thought it didn’t cross my mind you might would have wanted the attention.”

“I’m-what? No, no, I wouldn’t have wanted to deal with other people in there.” You shake your head. “I just felt like no one wanted to have anything to do with me because I’m an outsider.”

“I’m sorry that I am the cause of you feeling such a way. Might you forgive me?” Loki asks. You smile but smile meekly up at him.

“Only if you tell me what you called me a minute ago.” You say. Loki stills.

“Ask of me anything else and I’ll oblige.” Loki says. He keeps his eyes down, away from you. He tries to pull his hand from you but you hold on tighter to him.

“Nothing you could say could make me leave, Loki.” You say, sounding confident despite your nerves. “You could call me an old hag and I’d still...You’d still be my favorite person.”

“You would still?” Curse Loki and his unwavering attentiveness. You shake your head, unable to say the words. Loki’s expression lifts, a slight smile curling across his features. He takes one step towards you, then another, until there is barely any space between you.

“If you would stop me,” Loki says, his voice almost a whisper as he leans closer to you, “Do so now, before I cannot stop myself.” You say nothing.

The kiss is soft at first, a tentative touch. Loki was waiting for you to stop him, you realize. To refuse him. You reach up with your free hand and grasp his lapel lightly. It’s a light touch but it's enough for him to feel and understand. He drops the hand of yours he had been holding so he could bring both of his hands to your face, cradling your face between his hands as he pulls away just slightly from you.

The look on Loki’s face is an extraordinary one. All of his armor had fallen away and you were finally seeing him as he wanted to be. He was unguarded and looking at you as if you were the only source of warmth he’d found in decades.

“Ástin mín. It means my love.” You can’t help but stare at Loki at those words, heart pounding in your chest. Even as your heart stutters, you tug on his jacket, tugging him back to you.

This kiss is more heated, less slow. Loki’s hands still curl around your face, sliding into your hair and pulling you ever closer. You loop your arms around his neck, thankful for the heels that boost your height just enough to do so without stretching terribly far. The kiss is needy, as Loki pulls you impossibly close to him.

“Excuse me, sire.” The two of you part at the words, Loki barely tilting his head to look towards the guard.

“What is it?” Loki asks, bitingly. He hands dropped from your face to your hips, still holding you near him.

“Your father says that your presence is being missed.” The guard speaks uneasily, obviously unnerved by Loki’s glare.

“My father can wait. Now, leave us.” Loki orders. The guard does not hesitate to scramble back inside. Loki looks back to you, with an amused look on his face. “Do you even see what you’re doing?”

“What?” You look around and see magic orbs of yellow floating around the two of you, swirls of the same magic wrapping around the two of you. “Oh, my god.”

“Feeling-based magic is a bit of a giveaway, is it not?” Loki teases softly and you bury your head into his chest, groaning in embarrassment. He laughs lightly, a laugh you’ve so rarely heard. “I cannot complain, I suppose. It is gratifying to see the reaction I cause within you.”

“You are going to be so insufferable.” You mumble into his chest. You sense the smile on his face and end up smiling yourself when you feel him plant a quick kiss to the top of your head.

“I suppose we’d better head back to the feast, before my father sends Thor after us. That’s not a conversation I feel particularly up to. And if we’re lucky, we’ll sneak away early.”

[mcmusing]

Mermaid Musings:

Melody is about tied with Belle as my favorite Disney princesses. Funny enough, they share the commonality of feeling like detached anamolies in their environments. They also use escapism to cope- books for Belle and swimming for Melody.

The Little Mermaid as a film is mostly very well done. The soundtrack is iconic, Ursula is a terrific antagonist, Eric is the first Disney Prince to be fleshed out with a personality and life all his own when we first meet him, and the supporting characters- Sebastian, King Triton, Flounder, Max, Scuttle, and Grimsby- are all gems. Then, there's the titular mermaid herself.....

Look, I know a lot of young girls found Ariel's naive, short-sighted behavior very relatable. However, she isn't awkward while trying to do her best like Mulan. When it comes down to it, Ariel isn't only irresponsible but too reckless, defiant, and selfish. The worst part is the same idiotic problem with Raven Xavier and Erik Lehnsherr. She is never held accountable nor does she face real consequences.

Right from the go, Ariel ihas a bad first impression. The concert Sebastian and her sisters worked so hard on somehow slipped her mind. When King Triton, rightfully, reprimands her for ruining the show and going up to the surface, she plays wounded by crying and swimming off in a huff. No matter what anyone says, her father did the best he could with a child so difficult. He told his children tne very real truth about how dangerous the surface is for them. He questions his own parenting and hates having to be so firm. Surprisingly, Triton ia thrilled with the idea of Ariel being in love- so long as it's within their own species.

Part of Your World is an amazing song that becomes very baffling when given to someone whose life doesn't fit it at all. Ariel is NOT some out-of-place underdog. She's the cherished youngest child of a loving family and an entire kingdom that literally sings her praises. On top of having such a loyal best friend like Flower. She's probably completely unaffected by having a deceased mother. She has more than enough older sisters to fill that void.

No, as difficult as the sequence was to watch, destroying Ariel's treasures did not make Triton a monster. He was at his wit's end after finding out she got too close to humans. He certainly didn't enjoy hurting her. Parents have to be harsh sometimes. Deal with it.

Knowing full well about Ursula's infamy, Ariel was still stupidly self-centered enough to make a deal with her. She knew it meant abandoning her family and felt guilty about that for all of four seconds. She was just that obsessed with a guy she watched for roughly ten minutes. No, she didn't 'earn' Eric by saving him. She's a mermaid! Swimming an unconscious person to shore isn't exactly high-risk.

Towards the end, Ariel endangered all of her loved ones for her own selfish desires. The only thing that kept Atlantica from being enslaved to Ursula was Eric's valiant intervention. And still, Ariel gets her way and learns absolutely nothing from the experience. With all of the unfair criticism against girls like Cinderella and Snow White, Ariel has too many defenders. Probably because most girls resemble Ariel instead of Belle.

Then, we have Melody, who is the mermaid kingdom's equivalent of A New Hope. While she is forbidden from going out to the sea, Melody can't help being drawn to it. The little girl has a ballroom full of party guests at home, but she only feels comfortable in the water with Sebastian and the aquatic crew. Unlike Ariel, Melody actually was ostracized and considered a freak by the other children in the kingdom. It was her own birthday party and Melody looked seconds away from a panic attack.

Similar to how I reason Blade to be an allegory for mistreated children conceived in rape, Melody's story really resembles the mixed kid experience. Not all of them are aware of the full details of their parentage. Some could talk or like vastly different things from the norms of their communities for reasons even they don't understand. The wall dividing the human kingdom and the mer-kingdom could symbolize the one-drop rule. The kids at her party mock Melody's love of being around fish the same way a mixed child might be ridiculed for liking certain movies and music. Think about her overjoyed reaction to some mer-kids asking her to hang out with them. It was a short moment, but she looked ready to cry for being accepted so easily, possibly for the first time in her life.

Ursula's sister Morgana had a drastically different approach to luring someone in. Her lair was inviting and bright with no tiny terrified creatures urging Melody not to go in. Instead of being obviously creepy, Morgana acted more like an energetic cool aunt. She even offered food to Melody and related to her about having a mother who doesn't understand her. Since Melody's parents never gave her the real story as to why the sea was so dangerous, she had no reason not to trust Morgana. She made Melody a mermaid without asking for anything in return as well.

It's hard to hear Melody sing For a Moment without tearing up. It's simply beautiful to see this warm, sweet, spirited girl who felt so lonely and unwanted by her peers declare, "For a moment, just a moment, I belong!" How could she possibly talk to Ariel about anything? They are completely different with opposite social experiences.

When Melody realized Morgana to be no fairy godmother, she is devastated by what she's done. No, not that a spell ended before she could get what she desired, but because she felt like she ruined everything. For a moment, she got to be truly happy and comfortable in an environment. Then just like that, she was left feeling like she really is nothing more than the princess of disaster no one likes. However, instead of sitting back while everyone else risks themselves, Melody makes an effort to right her own wrongs. While she succeeded, she almost died in the process. Still, she's apologetic towards her parents.

It's really telling when, once the danger is over, Triton has not one negative word for Melody's actions. Even though Ariel and Eric are right there, he lets Melody alone make the decision to live as a human or as a mermaid in Atlantica with Grandpa. This might sound like Triton is undermining the parents, but please. At newly 12, Melody has more courage, wisdom, capability, and humility than her mother does now, let alone when Ariel was 16. In an awesome move, Melody opts to tear down the wall so the two kingdoms can unite. Also, Triton's A-OK giving the kid the trident to do so. Dissolving that wall might have been more euphoric for her than growing fins. Meanwhile, Airhead Ariel couldn't even go for a swim around the block without a chaperone. And Melody's crowning achievement in the field of awesome comes when she invites the kids who mocked her to come play in the water.

It's such a shame that a protagonist so wonderful ended up as part of a direct-to-video sequel. If the Little Mermaid II: Return to the Sea got a big budget and theater release like that awful third mermaid movie, Melody would be much bettered remembered. Regardless, I wouldn't trade her for any of Ariel's undeserved hype.

🏖💛👸

[night-fallz]

XY’s Muse

Based on this prompt

This is a repost of the previous chapter because it wasn’t showing up.

reposted on 02/04/21

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Ao3 // Wattpad

previous II next

Chapter 4

XY doesn't know how long he's been holding Marinette. He's never seen anyone break down like this before. Especially not in front of him.

He didn't know what to do.

XY was not the best at interacting with people. But this was Marinette. So he had to try.

He held her a bit tighter.

If the moment wasn't so serious, he would've teased her about the height difference.

XY was a whole head taller than Marinette. Her face was buried at his chest. His shirt was probably damp due to all the tears she’s spilled.

XY led Marinette to her bed and made her sit down.

Her eyes were red, tears were still falling down her face. She wasn’t moving.

Just looking at her made his heart break.

XY squeezed her hand in reassurance, hoping that it’ll remind Marinette that he’s there for her. "Mari," the nickname just slipped. "Do you wanna tell me what's wrong?"

There was a brief silence. All XY could hear was sniffling.

XY saw another tear roll down her cheek. "Okay," she whispered. "Just give me a minute."

Marinette took a deep breath. XY assumed that it was because she wanted to get herself together before saying anything.

"I just feel like everyone expects me to be this perfect person and I just-." Marinette’s voice cracked, "I just can't."

XY looked at Marinette, his hand not leaving hers as he tried to figure out what to say. "No one's perfect. And the people who expect you to be perfect are just being unreasonable." XY felt her eyes on him. "It's forcing you to have all this unnecessary stress." XY knew he was being hypocritical. Telling her not to feel pressured just because people expect her to be this perfect person. Not to mention that it was easier said than done. "You know, it'll help if you talk to someone."

"Take your own advice." Marinette glanced at their intertwined hands, "Plus, I'm talking to you, aren't I?"

XY was relieved that she seemed a bit better now. Her teasing remarks were back, "So, what else has been bothering you?"

Marinette raised an eyebrow, her eyes were still red. "What makes you think that there's more?"

"Do I need to remind you about the fact that you told me that you were going to use a blowtorch to burn Adrien Agreste?"

Marinette's eyes grew wide. "I did not say that I was going to burn him! I said that I was going to burn his posters with my friend."

XY waved her off, glad that his remark made her forget that she was crying a few minutes ago. "Same thing."

"Not really."

"Just tell me what he did that hurt you so much." XY paused before adding a "Please?"

"Fine." Marinette stood up. "But it's a long story. So I'll get us some snacks." XY opened his mouth, "You are not going to pay."

"But I-"

Marinette glared at him. "You are a guest. And as a host thingy, I have to provide you with free food."

"Fine," XY muttered. "I guess this is one argument I can't win."

As XY waited for Marinette to come back up, he got struck with a sudden realization. He was there for her. He helped her feel better.

See that dad, I'm not useless after all.

XY didn't know what Adrien Agreste did to Marinette. But he knew that Adrien had something to do with the breakdown she had a few minutes ago.

Just the thought of Adrien pressuring Marinette to feel like she had to be this perfect person made XY clench his fists.

Shouldn't Adrien know better than to ask someone that?

Adrien grew up in the spotlight. He should know better than to pressure someone to feel like they have to be perfect all the time.

So why?

XY clenched his jaw. He had hoped that going to public school would make Adrien a better person. He should’ve known better.

Adrien Agreste was the exact same person he was years ago.

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Marinette didn't know what to expect when she opened the trapdoor to her room.

She didn't expect Xavier to be going through her designs.

She completely forgot that she left them out in the open like that. Ever since Lila made her threat towards her. Marinette made sure to never leave her designs out in the open like that.

That meant that Marinette never brought them to school with her.

Instead, Marinette brought something different with her. A sketchbook that looked exactly like the one that contained her designs. Lila wouldn't even notice the difference.

As Marinette stared at the scene in front of her, she couldn't help but feel a little scared.

What if he hated her designs?

What if he hated her?

If he hated her, then she wouldn't have someone to talk to anymore. She would be all alone again.

"Marinette!" Xavier noticed her just standing near the trapdoor and furrowed his brows. "Do you need help?"

Marinette let out a squeak. "You're fine! I mean, I'm fine." Marinette let out a weak laugh. "Don't worry. I got this."

Xavier turned back to her designs.

Marinette was ready for him to tell her that he hated them and that she had no talent. She was prepared for him to yell at her. Prepared to hear about how he wasted his time. Marinette was ready for all the hurtful things that he might say to her.

When Xavier opened his mouth, Marinette let her guard up. "These are really good."

Marinette blinked. She thought that she heard him wrong. "What?" she asked.

"I said that your designs are really good," he repeated.

"Really?" Marinette questioned. "You don't hate them?"

Xavier gave her a surprised look. "Why would I hate your designs? You are one of the most talented designers right now." XY grabbed a croissant from Marinette. "Your designs are amazing. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

Marinette didn't trust herself to talk. So she nodded. Thinking that he thought that highly of her made her smile.

Without even thinking, she gave him a hug.

Xavier staggered back a few steps. His eyes widened in surprise when he found out what was happening.

Marinette felt her cheeks go red as she let go of the hug. "I'm sorry." she stammered. "I was just so happy and giving you a hug ju-"

Xavier cut her off. "It's fine Mari," He used the nickname he gave her! Marinette felt her cheeks heat up even more. She probably looked like a tomato right now. "Just don't be surprised when I hug you out of nowhere next time."

The thought of Xavier hugging her out of nowhere made Marinette feel giddy. Hoping her face wasn't as red, she looked up at him. "Are you ready to hear about why I want to burn Adrien Agreste?"

Xavier smirked at her, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Thought you’d never ask"

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He was ready to kill everyone at that stupid school.

Starting with a model and a liar.

Then, he'll murder the principal.

He would start a résumé after that. Maybe people will even pay him to kill their enemy or something like that.

XY couldn't believe that a principal would expel someone without having a proper investigation. Not to mention that finding a knock-off necklace at a locker isn't even a good enough reason. Hell, the lockers didn't even have locks.

Now that XY thought about it, Marinette went to the same school as the mayor's daughter. From what he heard about her, she was a brat. So he guessed it would make sense that the principal would be a doormat.

"You should report this to the school board."

Marinette looked at him as if a Pikachu used a thunderbolt on her. "What?"

"You were bullied for four years at that school. You got wrongfully expelled. Then you get threatened?" XY was furiously pacing back and forth around her room. "You need to report this."

"Chloe's been acting better though." Marinette tried to protest.

XY stopped and lowered his voice, giving it a dangerous tone. "Who cares if she's changed. She still hurt you. And you're still hurting." He pointed out.

"My friend-"

"Your friends believe that liar." XY pointed out. "They might not physically hurt you, but they will mentally." He took a deep breath. "Marinette, I think you need to talk to your two friends," He stopped trying to remember their names.

"Alya and Nino," Marinette supplied.

"I think you need to talk to your friends, Alya and Nino, about this." He stopped pacing around the room. "From what you told me, they believe you." Marinette nodded. "About everything? Even the situation with Adrien?"

"About everything," Marinette confirmed. "Even with the situation about Adrien."

XY let out a sigh. "At least you're not alone in this." He sat down next to her. "I'm surprised they believe you with the Adrien thing though. From what I heard, you guys and Adrien were close."

XY had seen the articles about Adrien's group of friends. Marinette probably noticed all the articles talking about her and Adrien's relationship. The media has been watching the blue-nette for a while now.

Maybe that's why that liar felt threatened by Marinette. He couldn’t help but smirk. Lila Rossi was jealous.

Marinette got the attention of Gabriel Agreste without him knowing that she was even friends with his son. She turned down an internship with the Style Queen. Someone who is even harder to impress, for the sake of letting her daughter have a good relationship with her mom.

It also didn't help that Marinette was absolutely gorgeous.

No one should be able to look that good in pigtails.

"Xavier?" XY turned his attention back to Marinette. "Okay, good. You're paying attention again. I kinda lost you for a minute."

XY widened his eyes and scratched the back of his neck, "Yeah," he said sheepishly. "I was thinking about something."

He was thinking about her, but she didn't need to know that.

"As I was saying," Marinette continued before grabbing a macaroon. "I was surprised that Alya and Nino believed me too with the Adrien situation." Marinette swallowed the macaroon. "But she actually overheard one of the conversations Adrien and I had."

"Oh," XY began. "How did she react?"

"She was ready to kill him," Marinette admitted. "She also caught everything on her phone."

XY had a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Please tell me she still has it."

"Uhm, yeah. I think she does."

"Good," XY knew that if that recording somehow got leaked to the press, then Adrien could kiss the so-called-sunshine facade of his goodbye.

"And that's the story," Marinette muttered.

"Okay, just so I know everything, I'm doing a quick recap. Is that alright?"

Marinette nodded. "Go ahead."

"So, before Adrien and Alya came to your school, Chloe bullied you for four years and no one did anything."

Marinette interrupted him. "Nino tried to defend me."

"Except Nino," XY added. "But other than him, the teachers, the principal, and your classmates didn't do anything?"

Marinette nodded. "No. They didn't help me."

"I'm gonna go and assume that the principal of that dumb school was scared of the fact that Chloe's father was the mayor." When XY saw that Marinette wasn't going to reply, he knew he was right. If Marinette let him, he would destroy everyone that ever hurt her. "Okay, then fast forward to earlier this year. Alya stood up against Chloe and she helped you gain confidence."

"Keep going," Marinette mumbled when XY was waiting for her to reply.

"Then, you got a crush on Adrien," He paused, then teasingly said. "Because he let you borrow his umbrella in the rain?"

"A hot guy was letting me borrow his umbrella because he didn't want to see me soaked. That's a good reason to develop a crush towards someone." Marinette retorted.

"Fair enough." XY teased. "So let's say I give you an umbrella-"

Marinette's eyes grew wide and XY could see her starting to blush. "We're doing a recap." Marinette managed to say. "Keep going."

"Fine. So you start to like him, then boom. The Lila girl comes in. You try to convince everyone that she's lying and no one believes you at first. Then she comes back and threatens you in the bathroom. This is around the time Alya and Nino realize that nothing adds up."

"Then, Adrien confronts me about taking the high road. I agreed with him for a little bit, then she got me expelled. I didn't know why Lila decided to make up a lying disease, but I had a feeling that Adrien had something to do with it." Marinette added. "I asked him about it and he admitted that he had something to do with it."

XY could see that Marinette didn't wanna talk about the next part so he continued. "When you told him that you guys should reveal her lies now, he screamed and told you no. Then he went on a rant about taking the high road and how he didn't want her to get akumatized."

Marinette let out a bitter laugh. "And that was the conversation that Alya overheard and how I slowly stopped liking him." Marinette continued to rant to him. "I just can't believe I didn't see this coming. You know? I knew I never had a chance with him, I mean, I'm just me." Before XY could argue against that, Marinette continued. "But I should've known that he was manipulating all of us. When you really think about it, nothing adds up."

"I know," XY mumbled the next part. "He fooled everyone."

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Marinette had no idea how their conversation went from planning a photoshoot to spilling their guts out with each other.

"When we were younger, he used to be my best friend," Xavier admitted.

Marinette was shocked. She knew that Xavier didn't like Adrien, but she assumed that it was just a celebrity thing. "Keep going," she whispered.

Marinette noticed that his smile was a bit tight, "You know how his mom's an actor?" Marinette nodded. "Well, she taught him a  bit. And he was good at it. Crazy good."

Marinette knew where Xavier was going with this, but she needed to hear it.

If he admitted it, then the theories going around Marinette’s head would make sense. "Keep going," Marinette repeated, "Please."

"He started to use it to manipulate people." XY continued. "In public, he would pretend to be this innocent kid who could do no wrong. And of course, the press ate it all up." Xavier clenched his fists, "But whenever no one was around. He was the exact opposite. And the worst part is that his parents would encourage his behavior." He met Marinette's eyes before glaring at a poster of Adrien. "There's something wrong with that family."

Marinette nodded. She couldn't help but agree. She checked her phone. "You have about 30 minutes before you have to go home."

"Wait, already?" Xavier checked his phone to make sure, "How long have we been talking?"

Marinette shrugged, "Like four hours?"

"Oh!" His voice was a bit disappointed. "Before I forget though, thanks again for agreeing to design the outfits for me."

"It's no problem." Marinette stated, "Consider it payback for helping me with everything."

"But still, thank you."

Marinette remembered that she needed to hear the demo so that she has an idea of what the outfits are supposed to look like. "Did you bring a demo with you, by any chance?" Marinette asked.

Xavier wouldn’t meet her gaze. Marinette noticed that his cheeks were a bit red though. "Yeah." he mumbled.

He handed her a small clear, rectangular box. "Thank you!" Marinette gushed. "We still have time, so we can listen to it together if you want."

"I... -Uhm."

Marinette looked at him with her big blue eyes. "Please?" she begged.

Xavier sighed, "Fine."

Marinette set it up so that they can both hear it. When the music began to play, Marinette sat down and closed her eyes.

She surprisingly liked it.

It was good. Really good.

She opened one eye and asked him, "What was your inspiration? This-" she gestured to the song, "This is really good."

"Oh, um. Thank you."

Marinette raised her eyebrow. "So what's your inspiration?"

Xavier couldn't look at her. "Oh, it was uhm-" He glanced around the room trying to find an answer. But when his eyes met hers, he couldn't bring himself to lie. "You," he murmured. "You were my inspiration."

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Note: Please tell me that this chapter is showing up on the tags that I have used.

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previous II next

2,766 words

[ladywinsomes]

💀  two times my muse thought about hitting yours, and the one time they did. (for Con)

1

There wasn’t a soul in sight as Lydia dashed through the garden behind the sprawling estate she had just snuck out of. It was the eve of her sixteenth birthday, and she wanted to spend the night among the stars.

Suddenly she heard the rustling of a shrub in the distance. Lydia froze. As she turned around, a tall presence descended on her. “Aha!” It cried.

“Con!” She screeched. Her brother had snuck up on her. “You rat!” Lydia clutched her chest in terror and heaved a few breaths. “Oh I could slap you silly for that.” Once she was able to catch her breath, Lydia explained her wishes to her brother who insisted on staying out with her.

2

The music of a quadrille blared around Lydia as she sipped her lemonade daintily in the corner of the ballroom. She noticed a large gentlemen making his way through crowd of guests to…her?

She had seen him before. Samuel Dunston, first son of the Earl of Xavier. He was at least ten years her senior, so Lydia had no clue as to why he was seemingly pursuing her. Just as he was about to extend an invitation to dance, a large tug on her wrist sent Lydia stumbling into the courtyard. As she steadied herself and checked her dress for lemonade stains, her brother, Conrad, cleared his throat.

“Are you mad?” She cried. “He was going to ask me to dance!”

“I know Dunston and he was going to do a lot more than that.” Said Conrad sternly.

“Oh, you just refuse to let me have any fun at all! This is only my third ball, I want to dance.” She huffed. “I should’ve slapped you when I had the chance.”

3

Lydia was so angry, she couldn’t see straight. In a fit of rage, she dashed to Conrad’s study. “You!” She bellowed. “You know Heathcliff’s intentions are pure!”

“I’m not following.” Her brother replied.

“Mama just told me that Heathcliff tried to meet with you, assuming to ask for my hand, and you turned him away!”

Conrad had surely known what was coming. Father was on the continent for business, which left the elder brother to see to things in his absence.

With a growl, Lydia hauled out and whacked Conrad across the face. Through gritted teeth, she murmured. “I am twenty-three years old, and I am certainly old enough to know who I want to marry. I’m not a beguiled young miss any longer. You cannot control me!”

With that, she exited the study, swiping a stack of parchment off the desk in fury.

[thesilvermoonpack]

@seoulxsinners liked for an starter with less used Wolf

( Any Muse will do. Also, you got my newest member. )

- - -

"If you're here to beat me up aswell, by all means be my guest... It's not the first time people does that..." Xavier says looking over to a person, that approached him, as he was sitting at the bench in nearby playground. He was simply enjoying peace and quiet, when some people from his high-school times happened to come by and beat him up once again, as they always did, when he was still in school. Wiping the corner of his bleeding lip he looks down to the art book, that he had, which was now ripped into pieces at his feet.

[gerec]

i'm sure you got fifty asks suggesting this the moment you okay'ed remixes but i think a remix of the master of charlton park with a role reversal... erik maybe selling his virginity so he can save up for medical treatment for his mother or something?

So I did get quite a few prompts but yours was the only one asking about a remix? Which of course immediately grabbed the Muse and made me (temporarily) put a hold on the other ficlets lol. Anyway, I’m not sure if this is exactly what you’re looking for but here we go:

Regency au, TMoCP remix with alpha!Charles/omega!Erik, arranged marriage, misunderstandings and slow burn/pining :D

------

Xavier came to see him almost an hour later, after Mrs. Pryde had settled Mama in and then seen Erik to his own room next door. Relieved that the carriage ride had not been too onerous for Edie in her condition – and that a carriage had been sent in the first place, to make their journey to Graymalkin relatively stress free – Erik was less irritated than he would otherwise be, that Xavier had not personally come to welcome them upon their arrival.

Then again what did Erik really expect would happen, when he was no more than a walking womb to the wealthy and charismatic Viscount?

“How do you like your room?” Xavier asked, as well-mannered and infuriately handsome as the last time they’d spoken. He stood at the threshold of Erik’s room, leaving the door wide open, no doubt to give the illusion of propriety. Of course appearances mattered, even in the Viscount’s own home; doubly so as they were soon to be married. 

Erik wiped his palms discreetly and adjusted his waistcoat, and turned to put the last of his meagre belongings into the large, ornate dresser. “Very well. Thank you, my Lord.”

“And your Mother? Did she find the journey too taxing?”

He wanted to snap at Xavier, that the man would have known the answer if he’d bothered to show up, instead of letting his staff herd them around as though they were a couple of unexpected guests. But he simply swallowed the words along with his pride, and answered in the only way that would not provoke an argument with his husband-to-be. “It was tiring for her, though much less so riding in a comfortable carriage. Thank you for your kindness, My Lord.”

Perhaps his tone was less convivial than he’d hoped, for Xavier winced and his hand closed tightly over the head of his cane. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there to give you and Mrs. Lehnsherr a proper welcome. My step-brother Cain…he arrived unexpectedly and could not be dissuaded to return at a later date.”

“Yes, of course. That’s quite alright.”

He did not know what Xavier wanted, the silence stretching uncomfortably for long moments, as the man merely stared fixedly at him with those soulful, blue eyes. Erik tried not to flush under such a direct and appreciative gaze; it was not welcome, and would not be until after they were properly married.

Even if their marriage was one of convenience and not love, Erik would not let the alpha have his way with him before his future – and his Mother’s care – was assured.  

Xavier took a step closer and offered a stilted smile. “Will you join me for dinner tonight? The cook is making a wonderful roast venison, and I have a lovely wine Emma brought back from her last trip to France.”

A part of him was tempted to say yes, even if Xavier’s offer seemed more like forced hospitality than a genuine wish to spend time with his ‘betrothed’. Erik wondered just how often he could expect to see Xavier, beyond the times needed to seed his womb with the Viscount’s heir; he had heard plenty of gossip after all, about Xavier’s many, many affairs with the London elite.

Instead, he replied, “Thank you, My Lord, but with your permission I’d like to take my meal in my room tonight. I’m quite tired myself from the trip, and I should like to spend time with Mama, to make sure she’s alright.”

Xavier’s shoulders seemed to droop at that, though only for a second, before he gave Erik a smaller, if more genuine smile. “Of course. I’ll have the kitchen send your meals to Mrs. Lehnsherr’s room. I’m sure she would appreciate your company after such a long day.” He hesitated a little, and then added, “If there’s anything you need, Erik, anything at all…just say the word, and I’ll see it done.”

“Thank you, My Lord.”

“Charles,” Xavier said, dipping his head before turning away, and closed the door softly behind him.

[mythvlogie-archived]

𝑨𝑹𝑬 𝒀𝑶𝑼 𝑻𝑰𝑹𝑬𝑫 𝑶𝑭 𝑳𝑰𝑽𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑺𝑨𝑴𝑬 𝑩𝑶𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑳𝑰𝑭𝑬? do you need to recharge? would you like to do it in one of the most luxurious, all inclusive resorts of the caribbean? surrounded by idyllic beaches and a bustling nightlife, cancún’s most exclusive resort opens its doors for you. at 𝑹𝑰𝑽𝑰𝑬𝑹𝑨 𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑨𝑫𝑰𝑺𝑶 you will find relaxation by the white, soft sand beaches and crystalline sea. our resort offers lavish villas for your needs, as well as installations for your enjoyment. try our signature drinks at the bar, or wind down at our world-renowned spa. and if you’re looking for adventure, you may try our offered activities such as diving, hiking, windsurf, among others, with our experienced instructors and the utmost security. does this seem appealing to you? then book a flight right over! we at riviera paradiso can’t wait to welcome you!

tl;dr: this is a small, chill group about staff members and guests of cancún’s most lavish resort.

application:

( fc. gender. pronouns ) — FIRST LAST is a AGE IN LETTERS STAFF MEMBER/GUEST at the riviera paradiso resort. they have been here for AMOUNT OF TIME IN LETTERS, and they’re a PROFESSION. the reason why they came to cancún is REASON WHY THEY CAME. if you ask them, they’ll say their favorite part of their vacation is FAVORITE ACTIVITY AT THE RESORT. their personal style is reminiscent of 2-3 aesthetics. i hope they stick around for a while! ( ooc alias. pronouns. timezone. url )

guidelines:

no godmodding and no ooc drama. open to mutuals. muns and muses must be 21+, respecting the five year age bend rule for fcs. you’re allowed up to two muses, and it is encouraged for them to be diverse.

guests & staff (12/12 muns):

( zendaya. cis female. she/her ) — JUDITH HALLIDAY is a TWENTY FOUR YEAR OLD STAFF MEMBER at the riviera paradiso resort. they have been here for TWO YEARS, and they’re a BARTENDER. the reason why they came to cancún is BECAUSE SHE WANTED A CHANGE FROM HER ROUTINE. if you ask them, they’ll say their favorite part of their vacation is BINGO NIGHT. their personal style is reminiscent of crocs on sand, laughing until your belly hurts & enjoying the simple things in life. i hope they stick around for a while! ( ron. she/her. gmt -3. mythvlogie )

( logan lerman. cis male. he/him ) — ANDREW WELLS is a TWENTY NINE YEAR OLD GUEST at the riviera paradiso resort. they have been here for TWO WEEKS, and they’re a WRITER. the reason why they came to cancún is TO WIND DOWN FROM HIS LIFE IN THE CITY. if you ask them, they’ll say their favorite part of their vacation is SUNBATHING NEXT TO THE POOL. their personal style is reminiscent of decrepit paperbacks, staying up all night to meet a deadline & knowing not to take yourself so seriously. i hope they stick around for a while! ( ron. she/her. gmt -3. mythvlogie )

( camila morrone. cis female. she/her ) — SOFIA MARTINEZ is a TWENTY THREE YEAR OLD STAFF MEMBER at the riviera paradiso resort. they have been here for TWO YEARS, and they’re a BARTENDER. the reason why they came to cancún is TO GET DISTANCE FROM A CHEATING EX. if you ask them, they’ll say their favorite part of their vacation is SURFING. their personal style is reminiscent of sneaking out at 2 am, doing things out of spite & always being ready for an adventure. i hope they stick around for a while! ( bela. she/her. gmt-3. drunkenloved )

( broderick hunter. cis male. he/him ) — TITUS WALDEN is a TWENTY SIX YEAR OLD GUEST at the riviera paradiso resort. they have been here for TWO WEEKS, and they’re a GOVERNOR’S SON / MODEL. the reason why they came to cancún is TO GET AWAY FROM GOSSIP AND THE SPOTLIGHT TRYING TO GET TO HIM. if you ask them, they’ll say their favorite part of their vacation is HIKING. their personal style is reminiscent of a cold and detached aura, passionate kisses lingering on one’s neck & seeing the clouds from a private jet. i hope they stick around for a while! ( bela. she/her. gmt-3. drunkenloved )

( bruna marquezine. cis female. she/her ) — CLARA DOS SANTOS is a TWENTY THREE YEAR OLD STAFF MEMBER at the riviera paradiso resort. they have been here for THREE YEARS, and they’re a DANCE INSTRUCTOR. the reason why they came to cancún is GET AWAY FROM HER MOTHER. if you ask them, they’ll say their favorite part of their vacation is DIP HER TOES IN THE POOL BEFORE ANYONE IS AWAKE. their personal style is reminiscent of sheepish shrug after winning, dancing alone in your room at midnight & scrunchies. i hope they stick around for a while! ( barbie. she/her. gmt-3. sncflwers )

( xavier serrano. cis male. he/him) — MICHAEL LIBERATO is a TWENTY THREE YEAR OLD STAFF MEMBER at the riviera paradiso resort. they have been here for ONE WEEK, and they’re a FAIRLY KNOWN ACTOR. the reason why they came to cancún is RESEARCH FOR A ROLE WHILE PRETENDING TO BE HIS TWIN BROTHER. if you ask them, they’ll say their favorite part of their vacation is GRABBING SOMETHING TO EAT AFTER THE KITCHEN IS CLOSED. their personal style is reminiscent of falling asleep on facetime, skinny dipping under a starry sky & too many tabs. i hope they stick around for a while! ( barbie. she/her. gmt-3. sncflwers )

( madelyn cline. cis female. she/her ) — SOPHIA ANDERSEN is a TWENTY-THREE YEAR OLD STAFF MEMBER at the riviera paradiso resort. they have been here for TWO YEARS AND A HALF, and they’re a SURF INSTRUCTOR. the reason why they came to cancún is FOR A CHANGE IN SCENERY FROM HER NORMAL LIFE. if you ask them, they’ll say their favorite part of their vacation is PLAYING HER GUITAR AT THE BEACH AT NIGHT. their personal style is reminiscent of messy salt water blonde hair, the orange glow of a sunrise & blankets on the back of a truck. i hope they stick around for a while! ( jules. she/her. gmt-3. seremity )

( hande erçel. cis female. she/her ) — YASMIN SELIN is a TWENTY SEVEN YEAR OLD GUEST at the riviera paradiso resort. they have been here for THREE WEEKS, and they’re a FLORIST. the reason why they came to cancún is ENJOY HER HONEYMOON EVEN AFTER BEING LEFT AT THE ALTER. if you ask them, they’ll say their favorite part of their vacation is LOUNGING AT THE POOL. their personal style is reminiscent of sun light beaming through the curtains in the early hours of the morning, lipstick print on a diner napkin & stacked golden rings. i hope they stick around for a while! ( jules. she/her. gmt-3. seremity )

( aisha potter. cis female. she/her ) — MARNI VENTURA is a TWENTY FOUR YEAR OLD GUEST at the riviera paradiso resort. they have been here for TWO MONTHS, and they’re a VLOGGER. the reason why they came to cancún is TO FIND THEIR TRUE SELF. if you ask them, they’ll say their favorite part of their vacation is SPA SERVICES at the resort. their personal style is reminiscent of dancing when no one is watching & color coordinating outfits based on your mood. i hope they stick around for a while! ( han. she/her. est. lovties )

( dylan o'brien. cis male. he/him ) — COHEN CAMARCI is a TWENTY FIVE YEAR OLD STAFF MEMBER at the riviera paradiso resort. they have been here for TWO YEARS, and they’re a BEACHSIDE BARTENDER. the reason why they came to cancún is "GOOD VIBES". if you ask them, they’ll say their favorite part of their vacation is STAFF TIKI PARTY NIGHTS at the resort. their personal style is reminiscent of salty hair tucked beneath a baseball cap & the sound of a boombox blaring don't worry bout a thang. i hope they stick around for a while! ( flora. she/her. est. twinflamd )

( cierra ramirez. cis female. she/her ) — VICTORIA CASTILLO is a TWENTY FOUR YEAR OLD GUEST at the riviera paradiso resort. they have been here for THREE WEEKS, and they’re an ACTRESS. the reason why they came to cancún is TO GET A BREAK AFTER FEELING CAREER-RELATED BURN OUT. if you ask them, they’ll say their favorite part of their vacation is TAKING YOGA CLASSES. their personal style is reminiscent of freshly applied lip gloss, the sound of acrylic nails aggressively typing on a phone screen & inebriated giggles after a few rounds of drinks. i hope they stick around for a while! ( jay. she/her. est. neighbovrhood )

( lennon stella. cisfemale. she/her ) — CELESTE OLIVIER is a TWENTY TWO YEAR OLD GUEST at the riviera paradiso resort. they have been here for TWO MONTHS, and they’re an HEIRESS. the reason why they came to cancún is TO HIDE OUT WHILE HER FAMILY IS INVESTIGATED FOR FRAUD. if you ask them, they’ll say their favorite part of their vacation is TANNING BY THE POOL AT THE RESORT. their personal style is reminiscent of blood red lipstick applied in stained mirrors, perfectly manicured figers shuffling through dirty money & fake smiles in family photos before returning to silence for months on end. i hope they stick around for a while! ( l. she/her. est. solutiions )

( jamilla strand. demi girl. she/they. ) — MACKENZIE ‘KENZIE’ MALCOLM is a TWENTY THREE YEAR OLD STAFF MEMBER at the riviera paradiso resort. they have been here for THREE MONTHS, and they’re a HAIR STYLIST. the reason why they came to cancún is TO TRY SOMETHING NEW. if you ask them, they’ll say their favorite part of their vacation is THE ALL YOU CAN EAT BREAKFAST BUFFET. their personal style is reminiscent of designer handbags, new hairstyles every week & and dark skin glimmering in the sun. i hope they stick around for a while! ( kris. she/her. central US. velvctelvis )

( olivia dejonge. cis female. she/her ) — LORELAI PANKOW is a TWENTY TWO YEAR OLD STAFF MEMBER at the riviera paradiso resort. they have been here for TWO YEARS, and they’re a SKATE PHOTOGRAPHER. the reason why they came to cancún is BECAUSE SHE DIDN’T HAVE ENOUGH MONEY FOR RENT. if you ask them, they’ll say their favorite part of their vacation is SWIMMING DURING SUNSET AT THE RESORT. their personal style is reminiscent of sun kissed skin, the scent of cigarettes & scuffed up knees. i hope they stick around for a while! ( sophie. she/her. cst. summcrshcndy )

( dylan minnette. cis male. he/him ) — WILSON CLARKE is a TWENTY FIVE YEAR OLD GUEST at the riviera paradiso resort. they have been here for TWO WEEKS, and they’re a BAND MANAGER. the reason why they came to cancún is BECAUSE HIS BAND FIRED HIM RIGHT BEFORE TOUR. if you ask them, they’ll say their favorite part of their vacation is 'KICKIN’ AND DRINKIN’ IT’ at the resort. their personal style is reminiscent of poorly written verses, a throbbing headache & the stench of weed. i hope they stick around for a while! ( sophie. she/her. cst. summcrshcndy )

( isabella jones. cis female. she/her ) — MARCELINE 'MARCIE’ BLANCHARD is a TWENTY THREE YEAR OLD STAFF MEMBER at the riviera paradiso resort. they have been here for ONE YEAR, and they’re a YOGA INSTRUCTOR. the reason why they came to cancún is TO PAY OFF HER STUDENT LOANS. if you ask them, they’ll say their favorite part of their vacation is MORNING MEDITATION ON THE BEACH. their personal style is reminiscent of perpetually sun kissed skin blossoming a brand new array of freckles every other day, the ever-present aroma of briny air and rosewater spray & a dog-eared and annotated copy of the uninhabitable earth. i hope they stick around for a while! ( candice. she/her. cst. gildedwoes )

( désiré mia. cis male. he/him ) — ALEXANDER ‘LEX’ LUCIUS is a TWENTY TWO YEAR OLD GUEST at the riviera paradiso resort. they have been here for TWO WEEKS, and they’re a QUASI-PROFESSIONAL SKATEBOARDER AND ARTIST. the reason why they came to cancún is IN THE HOPES THAT A BOOZY BREAK MIGHT REIGNITE HIS PASSIONS AND INSPIRE HIM TO CREATE AGAIN. if you ask them, they’ll say their favorite part of their vacation is THE PRACTICALLY BOTTOMLESS POOLSIDE MARGARITAS. their personal style is reminiscent of the faded remnants of concrete burnt knees and elbows on full display, blaming the mirror you accidentally cracked for your shit luck and your zodiac sign for all those shit decisions & dried paint flaking off along the length of ring-clad fingers. i hope they stick around for a while! ( candice. she/her. cst. gildedwoes )

( cindy mello. cisfemale. she/her ) — DYLAN OLIVIERA is a TWENTY THREE YEAR OLD STAFF MEMBER at the riviera paradiso resort. they have been here for ONE MONTH, and they’re a WAITRESS AT THE NIGHT CLUB. the reason why they came to cancún is TO SAVE MONEY FOR GRAD SCHOOL. if you ask them, they’ll say their favorite part of their vacation is SNEAKING INTO THE POOL AFTER IT’S CLOSED. their personal style is reminiscent of lighting sparklers and leaving a glossy kiss on the birthday boy’s cheek, phone constantly at 1% & catching a glimpse of her dancing to 60’s rock through her open window. i hope they stick around for a while! ( sage. she/her. est. heavvnsiighs )

taken fcs: zendaya, logan lerman, camila morrone, broderick hunter, bruna marquezine, xavier serrano, madelyn cline, aisha potter, dylan o’brien, cierra ramirez, lennon stella, jamilla strand, olivia dejonge, dylan minnette, isabella jones, désiré mia, hande erçel, cindy mello

reserved fcs: none

[twilighttheater]

in response to x and x 

“I’ll do it, if the dad needs to hear it that badly.”

“I would too, mon ami, but it won’t do much good.”