#* character study: { INNOCENCE DIED SCREAMING }

[dreamedfyre-a]

sometimes i think about how helaena would invariably be 🧐 at any bride aemond might have. like she doesn't need to have feelings for him or to be romantically involved with him at all (if they are it's on sight i'm afraid), helaena will scrutinize the poor girls and it won't be easy to pass the vibe check

[dreamedfyre-a]

@sunfyred @ironf0rged

the borgias (2011-2013) cr. neil jordan / bojack horseman (2014-2020) cr. raphael bob-waksberg ↬ insp.

[forsorrow]

tag drop part two.

╰   ✉   ⋮   ❛   character study   ›   hiding all our sins from the daylight.

╰   ✉   ⋮   ❛   pre main   ›   one for sorrow.

╰   ✉   ⋮   ❛   main   ›   seven for a secret never to be told.

╰   ✉   ⋮   ❛   edits   ›   innocence died screaming.

╰   ✉   ⋮   ❛   desires   ›   be still my foolish heart.

╰   ✉   ⋮   ❛   ask prompt   ›   your words can plant gardens.

╰   ✉   ⋮   ❛   answered   ›   muddy these webs we weave.

╰   ✉   ⋮   ❛   queue   ›   standing in the ashes of who i used to be.

[del-thetiredwriter]

Saintess of dragons part 2

Part 1 , part 3

Warnings: major character death,not really dark themes , my bad writing

English is my second language

Gif is not mine

"What are you doing?" Helaena asked . The two of you were sitting outside the training ground. It was one of the rare times you didn't spend your time in your study room. The boys had insisted that you watch them during their sword practice.

"I'm checking my notes" You answered. You've been restless since you saw Laena at the celebrations. She was going to die soon—which she didn't even know about. You had to make a decision until Laena's funeral, a decision you hadn't been able to make for 11 years. You were either going to save everyone and change the future , or you were going to choose the original future, the future where everyone died.

“Why do you always take notes or check your notes?” Helaena asked innocently. You lifted your eyes from your notes and looked at Helaena. You swallowed. "Because I don't want to forget." You answered. You didn't want to forget: your past, your family, your friends, your life 11 years ago.

You looked into Helaena's lilac eyes, innocent but equally frightening eyes, those eyes that seemed to understanding what you were saying.

Helaena was about to ask another question but Aegon and the others came running up to you.

“I won Y/n. I won the fight." said Aegon excitedly. He was looking at you with eyes waiting for you to praise him. Jace sighed, unable to accept his loss. Aemond and Luke were waiting for you to take care of them. You smiled and congratulated Aegon.

“You're just going to congratulate me. As a winner, I deserve an award.” Aegon said .

“A reward? What do you want?” you said.

"to be my wife," said Aegon. Aemond and Helaena waited for your reaction as Jace and Luke objected to Aegon's offer.

“Unfortunately, I must say that this will not be possible, my prince. I don't want marriage or anything like that, neither now nor in the future.”

You thought, 'If I get married, I can't return '.

Aegon seemed to protest, but could not insist any longer. He didn't want to make you angry.

⁎

You're back in your study room. You knew that Aegon loved you, but you didn't think it was enough to propose. You thought, 'It must be because he is still young, it's not serious'.

You looked at the notes on the table. You thought, 'I have to make a decision’. It was like a dream to open your eyes in the series you love 11 years ago. Seeing and talking to your favorite characters live. It looked great at first, because you knew the future, you could change the future and give everyone a happy ending and stop the war.

You tried and you paid the price. The slightest change was causing you to gradually forget your past. You were afraid of forgetting your family, your life, what you knew, so you withdrew. As time passed, you realized that you were not getting old. This scared you even more.

The whole room was covered with charts, notes and paintings you had drawn. Everything was to remember and to return. If it weren't for these paintings and notes, you'd have forgotten your past. You looked at the picture in which you drew a happy moment with your family in your most recent work. You thought, 'Everything will be fine'.

⁎

There were screams. When you looked around, everything was on fire. Kingslanding was on fire. A silhouette was coming towards you through the fires, Laena. She was wearing a blue bloody dress.

“Laena. I- you- why? “You said hesitantly.

Laena just looked at you sadly and smiled.

She said "You could save me but you didn't"

“Laena I-” you swallowed.

"You were afraid. But you are the reason why everything is covered with fire and blood right now,” she said, pointing around.

“You didn't save me, you didn't save them, you couldn't save us. You left us to our fate,” Laena continued.

“Us?” You said

“Yes, us.” Said Laena

Then came the screams from below. Voices of familiar people. Rhaenyra, Helaena, Lucerys… others. They were all bleeding under your feet, begging you, pulling you towards them.

“Laena I-!”

“Make your decision before it's too late! Please,” Laena said. While you're being pulled down.

⁎

“Laena!” You Looked around. You were in your room. It was just a dream, a nightmare. The door knocked .

"Come"

A maid hurried in.

“Forgive me my lady, but I have news”

Your eyes widened with fear when you heard the news. Laena has died .

[tlonista]

A whole mess of Astarion hurt/comfort fanfic recs

OK fine I've read so much Astarion hurt/comfort-adjacent fic that I should really put together an incomplete rec list. Be warned that with Astarion's canon backstory there's a lot of abuse and assault references of varying explicitness, so check the AO3 tags. I'm also limiting myself to one fic per author because otherwise I'd end up with several pages of Asidian and FlowerCitti. In case you're wondering, my personal contribution to the field is Seducere.

Ongoing Fics:

innocence died screaming by FlowerCitti

Comprehensive pre- and in-canon Astarion character study. Contains possibly the most heartwrenching post-Astarion-locked-tomb-era turn I've ever read. Very good.

Another Path by Asidian

A sweet Wyllstarion monster hunter x monster no-tadpole AU in which Astarion gets captured/rescued by Wyll straight out of a year in a coffin and navigates basic human kindness for the first time in a couple centuries.

Seen by ayvaines

Modern Bloodweave AU where Cazador is Astarion's cruel, controlling boyfriend and Gale is the kind D&D GM who's hosting them both in a game. As makes sense for a modern AU, it's a more-understated-than-canon take on Astarion coming to terms with the fact that he's in an abusive relationship, working out his feelings about Cazador through tabletop roleplaying, including some clever scenes dealing with the bleed of intense RPG sessions.

Heartbeats by LadyRagnelle

Canon-divergent Durgestarion fic where Astarion was recaptured by his siblings, memory-wiped, and then rescued by a team of companions he no longer remembers. A lot of well-executed (and sometimes surprisingly funny) angst around Astarion, charlatan that he is, trying to pretend he hasn't forgotten absolutely everything including how to be a non-level-1 rogue and have friends.

The stars began to burn by peregrinefeathers

Gale is trapped in fantasy nullspace and gets Astarion free of Cazador's clutches, after which they navigate an odd-couple relationship while trying to kill Cazador and pull Gale back into the physical world. Another classic "Astarion learns what human decency is" no-tadpole AU.

Memoir by IzzyIzGay

An Interview with the Vampire-style fic in which Astarion tells Gale about his time under Cazador, playing with that series' trademark unreliable narration and an unusually literal version of Cazador's creepy family dynamic.

Starved by neo7v

A modern non-magical Bloodweave AU featuring Astarion and the lonely degradation of a precarious service industry job! Only a few chapters so far, but seriously, it takes the "vampiric starvation" theme in a direction that's very mundane and miserable and compelling and it's one of my favorite recently started fics.

Unexpected Guests by Erandir

Another "get loved and cared for, sucker" no-tadpole AU featuring a non-Tav druid OC taking care of a lost Astarion who's escaped Baldur's Gate. Astarion and druids, the perfect foil.

Through The Night Dark And Drear by JJJSchmidt

Astarion is accidentally bargained off to an archfey by Cazador and taken to the palace of infuriatingly confusing fair folk magic! There's still a lot of story left to be uncovered, but I love the worldbuilding and fairy-tale premise.

snare by parsnipit

A Halstarion fic where Astarion never got tadpoled and the gang ends up rescuing him from Cazador, post-game, with his compulsions very much intact. Which leads naturally to hissing wet cat Astarion reluctantly learning to trust Halsin while they plot to take down Cazador.

One-Shots:

Quick Step by starkraving

starkraving's another person who could have made up a big chunk of this list, and this character study plays really well on the classic "how the hell does Astarion know how to be a rogue anyway" fandom conversation. My favorite entry in a good and growing series of Astarion-centered fics.

Gifts by Feena_c

Astarion gets caught by Cazador before the confrontation at the palace. Impeccable "Cazador doesn't realize Astarion didn't just come back to Baldur's Gate, he came back loved" vibe, as Cazador tries to break Astarion by taking away the gifts the tadpole gang gave him along the way.

What is Affection but the Absence of Cruelty by Aztec24

One of my favorite tropes is "Astarion tortures himself by obsessively imagining how awful these perfectly nice people will be to him," and this very much delivers. Featuring a rare two-Tavs-plus-Astarion throuple!

The Mimic by ForsakenFlyingCircus

This is really hurt-no-comfort, but I'm including it because it's a good super sad take on dehumanization with an awful Tav confirming all the worst things Astarion thinks about himself and the world, touching on the whole problem of sentient monsters in D&D.

Peel the scars from off my back by WitchyBee

A Spawn Family fic in the aftermath of Astarion getting Cazador's contract on his back - lots of antagonistic but grudgingly caring sibling interaction and Astarion being satisfyingly ambivalent about it all.

Complete Multi-Chapter Fic:

Just A Taste by NightmareGiraffe

The tadpole gang gets imprisoned at Moonrise Towers and Astarion accepts an offer from Araj Oblodra in exchange for their freedom. A very dark yet totally in-character elaboration on the canon blood merchant encounter, plus a cool dragonborn Tav.

The Accountant’s Guide to Taking Down an Evil Vampire Lord (and maybe bagging Astarion while you are at it) by Cinnamontails

A charming f!OC-who-isn't-Tav/Astarion longfic that combines hurt/comfort with het romance novel conventions, which I feel like is rarely pulled off.

And I know there's a ton I missed here -- god this fandom is big.

[little-murmaider]

(A little WIP Wednesday (On A Thursday) because moments after completing AOTD for the first time I launched into an intense in-depth Skwisgaar character study, Obviously.)

“I know what’cher doin’.”

“De works of t’ree men? Ja, what else ams new, cans we fockus?” He pushes Nathan’s reading glasses up the slope of his nose and into his hair. “Dere’s somet’ings abouts dis chords progression dat’s not gelling for mes…”

Skwisgaar glances up. Pickles has pivoted to face away from his kit, hunched over, forearms resting on his thighs. His Rock Talk pose. Goddamnit.

“Whats.”

“Yer checkin’ in on everybahdy.” He flicks his wrist in the space between them. “Dis is a check-in.”

“De songs gots to gets done, does it nots?” He dodges. Pickles doesn’t buy it. He rises, idly scratching the side of his neck with the end of his drumstick.

“Sure,” he drawls, ambling over to where Skwisgaar is cross-legged on the ground. “Butcha saught me out t’work on th’sahng right after Nathan screamed at me t’go fuck myself.”

“Did dat happens?” Skwisgaar shoots for airy innocence and misses by a mile.

Pickles plops down in front of him. “I’m just sayin’ yer timin’s nyeeeehhhhhhhh a l’il suspect.”

“Mine timings am imppecables,” he snaps. “Ams always where I needs to bes.”

Pickles’s mouth stretches in that stupid, sideways, Cheshire Cat-like grin, polishing his front teeth his tongue—FUCK Skwisgaar walked right into that one.

“Musickallys,” he adds, pathetically.

“Dood, y’wanna talk about naht new? Dis is naht new. You actin’ all—”

He extends his arms out to full length and tips back, dropping his voice and crossing his eyes.

“YYYYYUUUUUUEEEEEGHHHHHHHH Gets Away From Mes I Hates You Peoples while sneakin’ around makin’ sure all’a us are okey? Y’think I don’ notice dat?”

“I t’inks de lack of access to drugs ams giving you brain damage.”

“Y’might be able t’fool dese other dooshbeegs, but y’ceen’t fool me. I’ve had ya klocked—and I’m sayin’ clock wit’ a k, t’be clear—since ya braught det Norwegian riff-raff into our lives.”

“When dids you becomes de type of guys what say riff-raff?”

“I see ya, Skwis. I’ve always seen ya.”

“Ooooooh does yous?” There was a time where the one-two punch of his withering tone and devastating eye roll would reduce a man to ash. But it’s been a rough few years. He’s gotten soft. His roller shoulders and rapid-fire arpeggios betray him. “And whats eggs-acktly ams you seeing wif dem beady littles badger eyes?”

The toe of Pickles sneaker brushes Skwisgaar’s ankle and he fights off a flinch.

“Dat despite yer best efforts.” His voice is too familiar, too fond. He scooches closer. “Yer a good guy, Skwigelf.”

Skwisgaar scoffs. The metal strings sting against his callouses, blood pooling hot in the ends of his fingers, and something must be wrong with his hookup because there’s a high pitch whine in his ears and a buzz in his chest and they need to finish the song the song’s not done they need to get it done—

“Skwisgaar.”

The pinch of Pickles’s thumb and forefinger on Skwisgaar’s jaw shocks a gasp out of him, the guitar clattering to the ground with a CLANG. Skwisgaar’s jolts, involuntary, but Pickles’s hold is firm.

“Look at me.” His voice is level, his gaze bright and a little watery, pinning him to the spot. “You are good, Skwisgaar.”

And, well.

He doesn’t know why this, out of everything, is what gets him. He’s been more than a little unnerved by the Pickles is Band Mom thing, mostly because he already has a mom and he actually likes Pickles, but here is his friend, at the end of the world, saying the words he has always, always wanted to hear, and the gossamer bubble of emotion that’s been swelling against his ribs these last few months, at last, bursts.

Distantly he hears his breath hitch, feels tears stream down his cheeks. He’s an embarrassingly ugly crier so when so when he’s crushed into Pickles’s chest, when he inhales that familiar scent of hair wax and old weed and something uniquely Pickles (how does he smell wet he always smells wet) he curls his arms around his waist and sobs.

[ethereousdelirious]

Sicktember 2023 Day 7

Prompt: "You're a jerk when you're sick

Fandom: Bl.ack B.utler

Characters: W.illiam, R.onald

Wordcount: 1,190

Notes: CW for child death (not terribly graphic, but happens on-screen [so to speak])

Heartless.

It was one of those words that girls flung at Ronald from time to time. Heartless, callous, cruel, faithless. It wasn't the sort of thing he identified with, not really. He just liked to have a good time, that was all. It wasn't his fault that girls misunderstood from time to time.

Shivering on the bank of the Thames, blinking in the thick snowfall, he saw heartless.

Heartless stood tall and slender, fine figure clothed in black. Hardened phosphorescent eyes scowled behind water-spotted glasses, full lips pulled down into an unimpressed frown. He stood unmoved by the shrieks of the children who scrambled on the thin ice, desperate to get away from the sudden blizzard upon them, terrified by the cracking beneath their feet.

Heartless had a name, and it was William T Spears.

Even Ronald, who was incurably given to levity of spirit, could not help the miserable wave of nausea that crashed over him as he watched the little figures skitter across the ice. He shivered and shoved his hands further into his pockets, tucking his elbows against his sides.

William, ordinarily so unflappable in his black suits, drew back into his long coat and shuddered. He was ill, Ronald knew, suffering from a cold in his head that has rendered him particularly reclusive over the prior days. But was it the cold weather or the ice inside his heart that had rendered him so?

A sneeze bent him double, then another. He really shouldn't have been outdoors, but the sudden cold snap had rendered the To-Die List longer than ever and his assistance had become absolutely necessary.

"Alright?" Ronald asked, alarmed.

"Fine." William's tone left no room for argument.

Ronald shifted. "This doesn't feel right," he said, half-hating himself for it. How could he be expected to watch these little children fighting for their lives and not feel anything for them? There was a certain poetic beauty when a young woman died, a sort of macabre quality that rendered the tragedy somewhat more bearable. But children? Innocent children?

"Your assignment wasn't to feel," William snapped at once. The snow that had melted in his hair had loosened his pomade and sneezing had sent a few strands forward to rest upon his brow. His voice and breathing were both heavy, labored with illness. "Please keep your thoughts to yourself unless you have something constructive to say."

Ronald eased back into lightheartedness, raising both hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. But if I might, boss, you're…"

William's stare turned icier than the weather, one eyebrow cocking. A vein pulsed at his temple, lips pulled into an unamused line.

A breathy, sheepish laugh raced over Ronald's lips. "Oh, never mind."

William sneezed again, sharp and vocal. A little expulsion of air followed, something Ronald probably wasn't meant to hear— a quivering note of discomfort catching on the wind.

Down the river, the ice cracked. The children screamed.

Ronald twitched and promptly met the frozen metal of William's Death Scythe. It struck him across the chest, hard enough to sting. "Don't interfere," William snapped.

"You're mean when you're sick," Ronald muttered.

"Call it what you like," William retorted, but he lowered his Death Scythe.

Ronald studied him to avoid watching the children in the water. William's severe features were highlighted in pink: it rimmed his eyes and nose, made splotches on his cheeks, traced the outlines of his parted lips and spilled inward to color them. The rest of him was pale with cold and illness and the dark half-circles under his eyes made him appear hollow, ephemeral, winter personified.

William sniffled. "You're staring at me."

"Sorry, sir." Ronald rubbed the back of his neck, hesitating. "It's just… you don't look very well."

"I think you'll find that doesn't matter," William said.

A deadly silence rang out between the two of them. The sounds of struggling had stopped.

Ronald shuddered, and not with the cold though the breeze still carried fat snowflakes upon its broad back.

William's footsteps crunched in the snow; he set a brisk pace with his Death Scythe braced against his shoulder like a soldier.

"I can…" Ronald began weakly. He cleared his throat. "If you need to rest, I can handle this."

"It will go faster if we both work."

"Right you are."

Five little bodies bobbed amongst the ice floes. William pulled them over one by one, expertly maneuvering his Scythe. At the last, the smallest, he made a brief, pained noise and bent double and for the briefest of moments, Ronald stood in awe at this display of emotion. But of course, it wasn't that, not at all. William sneezed into his wrist, so many times that he snatched his glasses off and buried his face entirely in his sleeve. And when the fit ended, he staggered as though dizzy, his chest heaving.

"Alright, boss?"

William restored his glasses, his expression betraying nothing but irritation. "You needn't ask me that every time."

"Yes, sir." Ronald planted his own Death Scythe on the nearest corpse and shoved his emotions to the back of his mind.

The pages of the To-Die List whipped in the wind. Ronald watched, hands in his pockets, as William hunched over and tried to flip to the right section. His shaking hands further impeded the enterprise and even Ronald's font of patience had run dry by this point. "Let's go somewhere warm!" he yelled over the wind.

Surprisingly, William acquiesced.

Neither one of them talked on the miserable trudge back to town. Ronald didn't even bother to glance at William for approval before falling through the door of the first public house they came across.

The relief was immediate; the warmth washed over him like an embrace. The place was not overly-crowded despite the weather so Ronald made a beeline for a table close to the fire. His good cheer returned almost at once as the feeling slowly began to creep back into his fingers and toes. He wiped the fog off his glasses, smiling. "This is better, isn't it?"

"Must I remind you that we're here to work?" William asked, a dangerous edge in his voice.

Ronald glanced at him and raised his eyebrows in alarm. Though his demeanor hadn't changed one iota, William certainly looked worse for wear. The pink chill on his cheeks was fading rapidly, leaving only pallor in its wake. Where Ronald's shivers were subsiding, William's only seemed to be growing stronger.

"Here, sit down."

"I mean it; we shan't linger here longer than is absolutely necessary."

"I understand that, but…" Ronald bit his lip.

William sat and took out the To-Die List and a steel pen. He nearly dropped the pen, tremors running down his arms rendering him visibly unsteady. He only sighed as though it were a minor inconvenience.

"I don't want to overstep," Ronald said hesitantly, watching William continue to struggle, "but I think you'd better go home." 'If you can make it there,' he carefully did not add. "I can take the list back to the office."

"Yes," William said softly, his eyes fixed on the page, "I think that would be wise."

[siderealcity]

Narrative Sense

Okay, this is eventually going to become a post about Dragonsong, and maybe Stormblood, but to start with, it's going to be a discussion of the peculiar form of non-logical sense that stories have. You could call this "emotional sense," or "vibes," maybe, but I'm going to call this "narrative sense," because it's not 100% emotion-driven, and it's not logical, but it's the way things make sense because they're in a story.

In its simplest form, narrative sense is the way things work in a fairy tale. Cinderella must leave the party by midnight because the enchantment will end then. Does that make logical sense? No. Do we need to get a full explanation of the rules of fairy magic to accept that limitation? No. We accept that magic will have abrupt, maybe harsh limitations, just like we accept that if you look the monster in the eyes it will get you, or if you hold your breath passing a graveyard, you'll be safe from ghosts. We believe, on some fundamental, instinctive level, that we are bargaining with the universe on terms that we don't fully grasp, and we're prepared to accept that you can pay for a miracle with seven years of silence (with occasional screaming into a hole in the ground not counted against you.)

We expect stories to obey the rules of this negotiation far more strictly than we do reality. Which is not to say that characters can't lose or fail, but rather, that we expect that if they are going to lose or fail it's because they broke the terms of the agreement. This is pretty much the entire way the horror genre is structured. Characters are tested on subjects they didn't know they ever needed to study, and when they get things wrong, they die. Is that fair? No. But it feels understandable. As opposed to reality, where terrible things happen to people for no reason.

Likewise, if they're going to win, they have to earn it. They must have paid the price for happiness before it could be delivered. Or someone must have paid it, at least.

And now we get to Dragonsong. Spoilers ahead.

Okay, so I mentioned before when talking about Ysayle, that Estinien is the most Obviously Doomed Character in the history of characters. And he might as well be wearing a Tragic Hero t-shirt over his drachen mail. For all of Heavensward, he is the voice of Ishgard's side in the Dragonsong War. He's the dragon-killer who wants revenge on Nidhogg, he's the embodiment of a thousand years of people who've suffered from Nidhogg's wrath. The people who don't know anything about Ratatoskr and never did. The other innocent victims of the war.

As a character, he is the outrage of a people who have been wronged. It aligns him perfectly with Nidhogg, and that's why they make such a nice, neat pair. The mortal expression of grief and rage, and the immortal one. Of course they're destined to destroy one another. In most stories, that's how they find redemption. Outrage doesn't get to be put away when it's finished. In Narrative Sense, the revenge-seeker gets what they want and dies because that's how they pay for their victory. And who would they be afterward, if they survived anyway? Vengeance was their character. And that character's purpose ended. They have nowhere to go and no one to be once their role in the story is done.

If you did the Dragoon job quests before starting Heavensward, then you know that the eye is eventually going to overwhelm him. He starts out the cutscene asking you to fight Vishap with, "Don't worry, I'm not here to fight you again." You knew it was coming sooner or later.

So it's entirely unsurprising that he's transformed at Azys Lla. Again, it makes perfect narrative sense. You've already destroyed Nidhogg, the draconian side of the anger fueling the war. You've destroyed Thordan, and through him the Ishgardian Orthodox Church, the force that pitted Nidhogg against the people in the first place, and profited off the suffering of both sides. Of course you still have to fight the anger of the common folk. Because it doesn't matter that Nidhogg's outrage was initially justified, so was theirs. Their desire for revenge has to find an end, too.

The expectation set up from the moment of the transformation, and reinforced constantly is that Estinien will die with Nidhogg. That's just how it makes sense. And it ties into the larger theme of the game's story: Where do we get salvation from? What are we prepared to sacrifice for it? For whom do you fight? And what do you believe in? Estinien is meant to be the sacrifice that ends the thousand-year-long war. He is the collective anger of the innocent people of Ishgard, and he's now fused with the immortal, undying anger of the dragons over Ratatoskr's murder. There is no other way to end the song than his death.

Isn't there?

It's the revelation that the Scions still want to save Estinien that convinces Hraesvelgr to finally act. Because he knows how these stories end. How they always end. Midgardsormr traded his life for his childrens' future. Shiva gave her life so their souls could be together. Ysayle gave her life to save her friends. Victory always comes with a cost. So why even pursue it? What makes the victory worth the price you have to pay for it? It's a taste of the nihilism we'll get with Fandaniel and Hermes later. If suffering is the inevitable outcome of everything you do, why try for anything better?

But in the narrative sense, the price for victory has already been paid.

Not by Estinien, but by The Warrior of Light. Our losses along the way have paid the narrative cost for his rescue. Haurchefant, and Ysayle, and Minfilia have all been taken from us, not through any fault of our own, not by choice, even though we have followed the rules of the narrative to the letter, and now the narrative owes us something. And if we didn't get that feeling already, the ghosts of Haurchefant and Ysayle, the characters representing love and redemption, appear and literally give us the strength to pry the eyes from Estinien's armor in the end, freeing him both literally and figuratively from being the avatar of vengeance.

This is why he finally takes his helmet off only after everything is done. When he's no longer the Azure Dragoon, or the representation of righteous anger. When his part in the story is over. He couldn't do it before, but now that his character, the character of vengeance has died, he can be reborn as just Estinien.

[hellvar]

HOW DOES HE CARRY EMOTIONS?

ANGER : jaw clenching,  hands balling into fists,  teeth grinding,  yelling,  going nonverbal,  stuttering speech,  rushed speech,  slow concise speech,  rambling,  quiet,  arms crossing,  shaking head,  tearing up,  animated,  expressionless,  projects,  internalizes,  vents,  withdraws,  passive aggressive,  direct,  physical outbursts,  verbal outbursts

JOY : easy smiles,  fighting back grins,  suppressed laughter,  loud laughter,  giggles,  chuckling,  smirks,  whole body laughs,  covers mouth when laughing/giggling,  throws head back when laughing,  slaps leg,  touches people around them when laughing,  looks down when laughing,  looks for eye contact when laughing,  sparkling eyes,  bubbly happiness,  quiet subtle happiness, obnoxious happiness,  wants to spread joy,  quietly savors joy

SADNESS :  crying,  bottling it up,  seeks distractions,  wallows,  meditates and processes,  avoidance,  seeks out comfort,  withdraws,  talks it out,  internalizes it,  sad smiles,  depression naps,  uses alcohol,  uses drugs,  seeks out sources of joy,  fidgets with sentimental item,  sits in silence,  broods,  gets moody,  wants someone to share the misery,  tries to hide negative emotions,  nurtures others to make themselves feel better

EMBARRASSMENT/SHAME :  blushing,  looking away,  rubbing at back of head, covering face,  laughing nervously,  laughs it off,  overthinks,  lets it go, self deprecating humor,  deflects,  gets irritated,  smiles,  withdraws,  crossing arms over stomach, crossing arms over chest,  hands in pockets,  shoulders sinking,  shrugs,  falling into silence until comfortable again,  talking a lot to compensate

GUILT : avoiding eye contact,  shoulders sinking low,  head hanging down,  crying,  chest aches,  lashes out,  internalizes,  apologizes,  deflects,  communicates, withdraws,  grand gestures for forgiveness,  accepts fault easily,  punishes themselves, martyrdom,  victim complex,  guilt complex,  healthy conscience,  internalizes even after forgiveness,  SEEKING REDEMPTION, moves on easily,  denial,  lack of guilt/conscience,  sorry they got caught more than caused harm,  can’t handle knowing they hurt others

FEAR/ANXIETY : trembling,  crying,  sarcasm/sass to cope,  rambles,  goes silent,  gets angry,  fidgeting,  clenching jaw,  picking at nails,  chewing at lip,  pulling at clothes,  adjusting jewelry/clothing,  swallowing thickly,  eyes widening,  over-reacts,  under-reacts,  calm,  logical,  panic,  irrational,  overthinks,  carefully analyzes,  talks to themselves,  breathing exercises,  flight,  fight,  withdraw

tagged by:  stole it from @shufire​ <3 tagging: you if you’re so inclined!

[fiercemade-blog]

tag drop: 1/?

[beatrcis-blog]

tag drop !!

i ━━ ❛ : ( she waits. seething. blooming; threads. ) ii ━━  ❛ : ( innocence died screaming ━ i should know; musings. ) iii ━━  ❛ : ( lick your wounds; mirror. ) iv ━━  ❛ : ( the feeling of being fully alive; parallels. ) v ━━  ❛ : ( you'd look good in a grave; ask memes. ) vi ━━  ❛ : ( character study; tasks. )

[dreamedfyre-a]

when she was a very little i think helaena definitely tried to reach out to viserys (show her father cool bugs she found. attempt to start games and playing to some extent. ask for stories from old valyria even which is where she mght have been a little bit successful on occasion) i don't think he'd really entertain her and that from a young age she would hear from people around that he is busy, he is the king, he has important things to do (even if he was just playing with his lego set). and although little helaena might've believed he was just very busy, she's quite clever and it wouldn't take long for her to notice his disregard was rather plain. at some point any effort simply stopped, and any contact with viserys became pure formality.

i also think in his worse years he would sometimes call her rhaenyra as he did with her mother and queen aemma, and funnily* enough, it would be when mistaking his younger daughter for his eldest that he'd be the most affectionate he ever was to her. which isn't really to her considering he believes she's her sister. certainly not hurtful or damaging at all!

by the time he dies, she quite frankly doesn't care. she doesn't even care enough to pretend she cares, as i think is evident by the fact she's peacefully having breakfast with her children when people are looking for aegon because their father is dead. there's no sorrow at all, and she doesn't even feel bad about not caring he's dead. helaena would dread more and be more sad about what this means for all of them and what they need to do than for the man. or the king, because she doesn't think he did a particularly good job there either

[at-hauntrcss]

tag drop!

[islecarded]

♡ ‣ ❝ IN CHARACTER ›   INNOCENCE DIED SCREAMING ♡ ‣ ❝ STUDY ›   ANGER WAS BETTER THAN TEARS ♡ ‣ ❝ VISUALS ›   BARE THOSE TEETH AND SNARL  

[authorluvgxbby]

Heyy :)), I saw your requests open and I was wondering if you can write up some tokyo rev headcanons for this scenario:

Chracter visits reader's house for 'studying' but when the enter the house they are immediately greeted by a huge ass doberman dog who's looking at them like they murdered their mom. And reader's just like : whuehue they don't bite :))

(I just went into my bestie's house and they didn't inform me their cousin and their dog was visiting and I felt like I almost died like three times when the dog tried to tackle me, like their paws are literally up my shoulder and their slobber was all over my face. The owner's just like 'oh he's an angel he just wanted to be friends with u' sir you don't know how to speak dog how do you know if it's actually telling me to prepare my prayers? Shdhgdhdgd sorry for oversharing but I just wanted to tell u where this came from and I also want to see others suffer the same thing. Thankss ♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️)

A/N: Of course, thank you so much for the request❤️ I laughed so hard while writing this 😂 It was so much fun to do. Here you go luv, I hope you like it!

Characters: Ran, Takemichi, Shinichiro, Baji, Chifuyu

Ran

The poor bastard never expected to be face-to-face with your personal bloodhound and it was all Rindou’s fault. The younger haitani was used to coming over your house and he knew you had a dog, so when Ran told him he’d be “borrowing” you for the night to study, best believe he made sure not to mention a word about the canine that guarded you and your house.

Was screaming like a little girl when the dog started barking as it towered over him, looking like it was ready to make the lanky male its next chew toy.

He thought that if he was going to die, he’d make sure he didn't get his face messed up too bad.

“ANYTHING BUT THE FACE!”

While Ran was screaming bloody murder and begging for his life to a hundred pound dog, you were innocently watching the whole commotion through the home camera that was installed.

“Y/n why the fuck do you have that demonic mutt in your house?!” “ ‘Demonic’? He’s a sweetheart, he wouldn’t hurt a fly!”

Ran believed that it was utter bullshit, especially after he almost had his gorgeous face mauled.

No matter how much you reassured him, he didn’t dare come near the dog.

Complained that he could’ve died because you nor Rindou told him that you had a dog.

He spends the whole night fighting with the dog for your attention and when it would get too close to him, he would use you as a shield.

He definitely considered the idea of poisoning it at some point.

When it was time to leave he made a mental note to murder Rindou when he saw him after putting him in a near-death experience.

Takemichi

The poor soul passed out right then and there when he was face to face with your “human friendly” pet.

Chifuyu suggested that he should get some ‘tutoring’ from you since he was struggling so much in class.

His friend was an idiot, so of course he forgot to mention that the pet you had was a Doberman.

His screams were definitely mistaken for a little girl’s scream. The whole neighborhood could hear him.

When you come to see what is happening, you see Takemichi knocked out cold while your dog covers him in drool as he licks his face.

“A-am I dead?” “No, you idiot! My baby would never hurt someone!”

Genuinely thought you were crazy to think something as big as your Doberman wouldn’t jump at the chance to chew his limbs off.

He makes up an excuse that he was just stopping by and didn’t need any tutoring.

Cries to Chifuyu that he almost died because of him.

“If I die, I’ll make sure I drag you to hell with me!” Quoted a teary-eyed Takemitchy.

Shinichiro

The older Sano just wanted to spend some time with you after a stressful day, but was thrown into despair after seeing a Doberman greet him in your living room.

The poor soul gets chased around your house for a whole hour before you come home to see him hitting your dog with a pillow.

“Y/n! Thank god! PLEASE HELP ME!” 

When you explain to him that you recently had gotten a dog for extra protection, it made him offended. Why get a dog when you have someone that would protect you with their life? Let alone someone who has a whole gang backing him up.

He would complain that you could’ve gotten a medium sized dog instead of asking hell for one of its' bloodhounds to be your canine companion. 

When he tries to smoke, the dog would growl at him as a warning not to smoke around you.

When he tells Wakasa and Benkei about what had happened, they admit that they also had similar encounters with your dog. They secretly made a pack that if they were to encounter your dog without you around again, they’d fight it off together. 

“If one of us goes down, then we all go down” - Shinichiro.

One day, he brought his siblings over to your house with him and your dog instantly fell in love with the two. (Complained later on that the dog was trying to replace him)

Manjiro and Emma teased him for being a wimp and he had threatened to feed them to the dog, but ended up almost having his hand bitten off afterwards.

Baji

He was used to dealing with animals at the pet shop, especially angry cats, but dealing with a huge ass Doberman was a different story.

The moment he walks in your house, he is greeted with your angry-looking Doberman with small bits of meat decorating its teeth.

He genuinely thought you had been eaten by it.

In an attempt to get away, he throws his backpack at it while running out the door.

He ends up bumping into you and is relieved yet confused at the same time.

It takes you two whole hours just to get him to calm down.

“He doesn’t bite Baji!” “You weren’t the one that thought it ate their friend.”

When he sees Chifuyu at the pet shop, he makes sure that they don’t end up taking in any big dogs like the one he had encountered with you.

Has nightmares about his cats getting murdered by your dog for the next two weeks.

Chifuyu

Similar to Baji, Chifuyu is an expert at handling animals, but not huge dogs.

You and him were studying for an upcoming exam and you had forgotten that you needed to feed your dog.

Now, in Chifuyu’s mind he thinks you have one of those small-sized puppies girl’s usually like. But, he’s proven wrong when you come back with a huge Doberman following behind you, already eyeing Chifuyu as his dinner.

At the moment, it looked like you were going to feed him to the dog.

He starts to beg for forgiveness for whatever he’s done wrong to make you want to use him as a human sacrifice. 

Goes on and on about stuff he did wrong while clinging on to your leg. 

Poor Chifuyu was in a state of panic, until you shook him hard enough for him to get his act together.

“Chifuyu he’s trained, he won’t eat you.” “Last time I checked you don’t speak dog language! What if he plans to eat me behind your back!”

He thinks it’s jealous of him because you guys are close.

Forces you to come over his house if you want to see Peke J. because he firmly believes your dog will try to murder his cat out of spite.

Wanted Baji to suffer the same thing he went through, but ended up getting the shit beat out of him afterwards.

[iphigeniainaulis]

Nothing gold can stay

Thank you so much for hosting this event, @aquagirl1978 and @violettduchess 🍂

Character: Leonardo da Vinci

Promt: Changing seasons

Tags: angst

Warnings: minor spoilers, turns a little bit suggestive (nothing explicit)

"...You know, in the 15th century lots of people were thinking the same way you were. Some tales claim that humans were originally created with four arms, four legs, two faces. They were complete, nothing missing, never lonely. Zeus split them in two, forever separating. But even though the god split them, they kept on seeking what they once were. Used alchemy to try and get it back. Immortality. They tried to recreate it. But these experiments failed. So, tell me…how beautiful do you think immortals are now?..." (Leonardo's route, chapter 23)

“Titan! to whose immortal eyes

The sufferings of mortality,

Seen in their sad reality,

Were not as things that gods despise;

What was thy pity's recompense?”

Lord Byron

They say when humans rebel against gods, nature is on the latter side. Prometheus granted people with fire, and the earth reopened the sores buried deep in its soils, spreading plague and diseases all over the world. Ancient Egyptians, once ready to disobey Ra, choked with their own blood as the Sun god sent the lion goddess Sekhmet to punish them. 

Yes, Leonardo always imagined that on the day like that he would face the force of nature like Moses did, gazing at the sight of the Red Sea parted in front of him, dark as despair, deep as an unfathomable abyss. The rumble of thunder would resemble the drums calling for every alive or dead creature to witness the justice of Heaven. The rain would silver in the air, covering houses, statues, faces with its snake’s scale, and thick darkness would make those with sharp vision become blind. 

But the spring night that wrapped the city of Florence in its warm embrace was soft and calm. Lily-white cypresses were rustling quitely, a thin layer of dust was settled on the ground and the roofs of tiny dandelion villas. Somewhere on the other side of the central square there was a gypsy woman sitting in front of a fire, surrounded by three children. Her deep sad voice echoed with hope through the painted walls of the Basilica di Santo Spirito, the most obscure one among all the basilicas in Italy.  

Meanwhile, here, in the cold and damp basement settled right under the benches where people prayed to the sacred void, Leonardo spent sleepless nights, researching and perfecting the art of hic et nunc, here and now, the one he would be praised for by his predecessors as the Master of Life. Because if you want to study life, you should firstly experience death. And so the great polymath was there to turn his plan into a reality.

He was in a morgue. 

There was a disgusting scent — a mix of ammonia, smoke and mould — coming from the bottles on the table. Old yellow sheets of paper were dropped on the floor, each and every one written with chaotical symbols and even holed in some places the brilliant Renaissance man felt mostly excited about. Alchemical signs on those sheets were looking at him with anger and animosity, as if they were a curse screamed in the holy place. They were indeed, though.     

Leonardo looked up from the pile of schemes and formulas, walked up towards a low stone pedestal with a fur tipped on top — a present, or more specifically, a mere pittance offered by his patron, King of France.

The pureblood kneeled in front of a woman lying over there. The moonlight made her face features soften, and she looked almost like a child watching her innocent dreams. Her curly hair didn't hide — on the contrary, it pointed at — her sharp ears and a gossamer of sunspots flowing from her neck to chest. The woman was radiating with peace, and despite the seriousness of the situation,  Leonardo couldn't stop thinking about how he wanted to paint that strange face, how he should blend hyacinth with aquamarine to underline the shadows under her eyes or find the most beautiful shade of ocher to colour her dress, the one he would give her after the awakening. Her or his, he couldn't decide yet. 

Leonardo didn't recall the young woman’s name. He didn't know whether she had a lover, a favourite dessert or a strange human habit of counting sheep before going to sleep. According to Giovanni, local baker who had wrinkles sparkling with laugher in the corners of his half-blind eyes, the girl used to sell smeraldo flowers on the central square every Friday but had never earned a single soldo, she was an orphan and hit by a carriage of one of those pseudo-Medici bastards. 

Life full of loneliness, destroyed so early. Da Vinci knew quite well what it was like to live on loan. To look for the lights in the windows that were never meant to greet you. To forever part your ways with people while wishing them good night. To make friends accepting that every promise would be untrue. Time. Cruel, insidious, merciless, miraculous time was like a chariot of fire, dragging him along the road where the only direction was forward.   

He had to restore justice. He had to save the girl, use all his knowledge, experience, innate perceptiveness, extraordinary intuition. And he was about to do so. Ignoring a tiny voice in his head whispering that it was him Leonardo wanted to save most. 

Taking a pot off of the heat, the pureblood poured the boiling liquid into a bottle and pressed it gently to the woman’s lips. After years of experiments, secret meetings, private talks, one of which resulted into him being charged with sodomy, Leonardo knew exactly how to make the elixir of life. The reason why so many bright minds had failed before him was that immortality, the main ingredient, couldn’t be invented. It was only possible to grant it. And the only one capable of it was someone who carried immortality within himself. A pureblood vampire.

He had to bite her. 

Her body was still warm. Skin was scented with olives and salty sweat just like the skin of any other commoner. Honest, true, strong and alive. After a minute or so everything would be the way it should be but never the same.  

Blood. It tasted like a promise. Of a story ended up too early. Of  hopes stolen by a cruel coincidence. Of love that was about to bloom. Of happiness they both deserved. 

A second lasted forever. Drops of water were monotonously tapping the ragged rhythm of his heart. Only once had he ever experienced something like this. When the young and wild artist from the town of Vinci was standing in front of his master, the famous Verrocchio, and waiting for his verdict.     

A second lasted a moment. Verocchio took Leonardo’s painting in his hands. The girl’s chest fluttered like a bird’s wings. The teacher dropped his brush in defeat. The eyes still capturing the reflection of death stared at the pureblood wide and curious.   

He did it. Prometheus won over the Olympians. 

Rough gloved fingers caressed her cheeks, tucked dark curls behind sharp ears, tenderly brushed the right temple where the scar from touching the ground could still be seen.   

“I should have apologised, piccolina, but then it would be a lie. Cause I’m glad to have you in this damn world.”

Now he can’t sketch her face. His mind refuses to play the loquacious soprano of her laugh, it hides the dim remembrance of twenty five shades of red that touched her cheeks when she was angry, thrilled or surprised. Treacherous time has been slowly but gradually gnawing Leonardo’s memories, leaving nothing more than the shadows of them. 

Yet, they once were real. 

There were walks under the searing heat of the white Italian sun. There were talks about everything and nothing in particular. She used to wear a shamrock green skirt and buckle a red ribbon around her waist, rushing in the honey scented meadows like a sea breeze while Leo was trying to catch the red silk with both his large hands.   

‘Gotcha. Heh, can’t say it was easy, mia gioia. You’re pretty fast.’

‘Hmph. I just didn't want to listen to your nugging, grumpy old man.’

‘Hm? Did you say anything? I think I’ve heard kitty's meowing.’

‘Put me down, you—’

The great Italian taught her to draw and told about distant planets, and the girl mumbled that he’d better learn how to get rid of the mess in his room instead of counting stars. Little signorina, that's how he called her, baked apple pies, spicy and stale, but she looked so proud of herself, so happy to have something she could treat him with that Leonardo swallowed the dish without hesitation.    

Summer reached its zenith. In the mornings Florentines stifled in the heat, and in the evenings — from the lack of air after siesta as crowds spilled into the streets, dancing, singing, arguing. Oranges were burning in tangerine fires, gardens were soaked with green and roses were filling lungs with the sweetness of velvet. Never ever did life seem so full of meaning to the pureblood. 

One night, when the Moon was high in the sky, Leonardo was rowing a boat, a seal of frozen puzzlement was put on his handsome face.

“Hey…” 

She lowered her gaze from the stars, curious eyes immediately catching the shift in the man’s expressions as well as a small wrinkle of doubt at the corner of his lips.  

“Still don’t know your name. And you’ve never asked mine.”

“What’s the point?” She brushed his question so casually as if it was a mere trifle.

“How am I gonna find my tesoro, if yall get lost?” 

“You don't need my name for that. Listen… ”

Little signorina leant closer so their eyes could meet.

“...names only make it more difficult. It's like putting a label on goods. Before they represented something unique. After that they turn into one of many others.”

Then came a pause interrupted only by the sounds of silk dark waves beating against the boat. Leonardo grew silent, observing the girl’s face and, as if having reached some kind of conclusion, grinned broadly.  

“You’re a curious one.” 

Silent tenderness of his features was replaced by something new, something hidden deep inside those warm hazel eyes — devotion and poorly restrained passion.  

“So, how should we call each other, bella?”

She already prepared the answer. 

“You’ll continue to call me Gioia, because I’m the only one capable of bringing you happiness. As for me—”  

His Gioia pretended to act indecisive, though it certainly looked like she was enjoying herself. 

“You’ll be anima gemella. My other half. Reminds me of that funny story about Ze..Zeus splitting people with two faces, four arms and four legs in two parts. I‘ve heard it from foreign traders. Do you mind listening?”

Surely, she couldn't see through the night shades. Otherwise, she might have caught a glimpse of pure pink blush pinching Leonardo’s ears. All the guides lost their meaning. All lighthouses were destroyed. There were only a river and a man following blindly the scent of olivas and the ghost of the Moon on shining curls. 

Prometheus was able to screw gods. But he had no idea how revengeful they might be. 

Autumn gradually claimed its rights to Italy. Every day laughing workers gathered together to  go to vineyards bathed in dazzling yellow, forest green and umber colours. Every afternoon Italian women, proud, with high-bosomed figures and thick long braids that were about to burst under their own weight, went down the hill with baskets full of chestnuts and olives. Their skin, wet from sweat, was sparkling, reflecting the red glow of the sunset. Wherever one looked, all he could see was an endless sea of pear and bronze. Summer went unnoticed, making way for the fall melancholy. 

By the beginning of November, pouring rains washed away the golden Renaissance of the Florentine autumn, and the city’s streets looked like a bright piece of canvas with sapphirine inks accidentally spilled all over it.  

This was also the time when certain rumours began to spread across Florence. Allegedly, there was a monster scouring the night streets, hunting people and drinking their blood. For Leonardo those talks could mean only one thing — another pureblood vampire came to his city.  

He was standing in front of a large window in his workshop located in the western wing of Florence where wine and oil fragrances blended, where artists walked arm-in-arm with rich nobles, where Italy gave birth in agony to its geniuses. Heavy rain drops were drumming outside, grey smoke was wriggling like Hydra with its tentacles spread to get inside and choke the fire his lovely Gioia was trying to keep burning. Leo watched her hands nervously sorting out the brushes, honey gaze never leaving the sight of dark curls waving in the air from quick rushes across the room. Recently, she began to eat more, and her body became even more curvy and beautiful. How scared the man was of his signorina’s deep clear eyes losing their humanity and, instead, filling up with the evil desires. But it seemed that he feared for nothing as she never showed interest in blood. Probably, Leo thought, it was a side effect of the elixir mixed with the vampire’s poison. Or, maybe, Heavens finally had heard his prayers, granting the poor creature another chance to live life free from pain and sorrow.     

The young woman put brushes into a jar with water and turned to face him. And again Leo was ready to swear that her eyes could look through him, reaching the very soul. 

“Anything happened? You’ve been acting like this the whole day.” She pressed hot cheeks against gloved hands, lips kissing long fingers. 

“People say there’re murders occuring in the streets. You’d better stay here, Gioia, where I can watch you.” Not so many knew the flower girl, and even those who did paid no attention to her sudden return together with the well-known engineer and artist. Da Vinci feigned a story that the girl’s injury after the incident wasn’t fatal, and those who preached the opposite were just the Medici’s enemies. People tend to believe in nonsense that sounds logical, and even the girl herself at some point believed in his lie. Leonardo didn’t mind. After all, he had to be the one bearing responsibility for those actions. He was guilty of dragging her out the Styx without permission, so why bother her with his pitiful doubts on what was right and wrong? 

“Everything will be alright. I have you by my side.”

Tiny hands flew up Leo’s shoulder, caressed broad hairy chest. Somewhere far away the thunder spoke, but Leonardo couldn't care less. The artist’s hearing, nerves and whole body were devoted to that gentle ray of light, the scent of olive soap, hoarse breaths and fingers drawing magical formulas on his back. Most certainly, to tie him completely and entirely to his little signorina who was whispering his name in the dark workshop in one dark night city.   

They were lying on a leather coach under Leda's thoughtful gaze. Fire flames sharpened the mythical queen’s features, making her look pale and pathetic, if not grieving. Carefully, not to bother her dreams. Leonardo wrapped his arms around the woman, no, the real goddess, sleeping beside him. The end to his inner demons finally came. No more nightmares, tears of pain and fears of the future. For the first time in his long eternal life he knew something for sure. 

He was no longer alone in the world. 

The next morning chill welcomed him with sticky fog and the sound of the window slammed shut. Damn drafts. The pureblood stretched his hand, wishing nothing more than to warm up in his lover’s sweet embrace. But the only thing he could touch was emptiness. 

Scraps of clothes were lying on her pillow, and it didn't take the ultimate Renaissance man long enough to realise what big red spots covering them were made of.    

     

Gloomy landscapes, boring buildings, narrow streets. Dirty puddles near apple carts. Rose petals left crushed on the paving stone. Loud screams, green faces, sikly mixtures of smells, loneliness was the top note. Leonardo ran about the streets like a wild animal locked in a cage, hating the city that managed to turn from the Garden of Eden to Hephaestus’ blacksmith within one night. Florence, the mother of his youth, remained silent to his pleas, refusing to give him a single clue about where his Gioia could be hidding.    

The pureblood visited every shop and tavern, talked to street vendors, postmen and watchmakers. Nobody had ever seen her. Despair was fretting his stomach, crushing chest bones into pieces, chaining his once again beating heart with grave coldness. No thoughts except one. Her saying, 

“Everything will be alright. I have you by my side.”

Gosh, she didn’t. He failed her. Betrayed. Wasn't smart enough to predict it. 

When the sun dipped below the horizon, Leonardo, wet, dirty and desperate, reached the Santo Spirito square. A strange feeling of nostalgia coupled with the presentiment of an inevitable disaster suddenly came upon him and became unbearable the moment Leo crossed the backyard of Santo Spirito, the only witness to his heretical sins.  

Jaw-stiffening scent of blood reached the vampire’s nostrils, and he let himself succumb to ancient predatory instincts. Pale blue spilled on the grass, lighting the backyard statues of Cupids, an empty draw well and a body lying near it. Another figure, much smaller, hunched over the body, leaning with greed towards already lifeless hands. Crunchy and chewing sounds urged Leo to vomit, but he resisted the need and stepped forward, picking up a thrown dugger from the ground — a weapon probably lost by the victim. 

The Moon emerged from behind the smoke clouds, and Leonardo got it all. 

Poor Giovanni was looking at the sky with his strange half-blind eyes, wrinkles of laughter already dropped across his cheeks like tears. Little signorina raised her curly head and stared at Leo emotionlessly.  

Autumn wind touched her curls, and she started speaking with the husky colourless voice of an old woman. 

“I wanted to eat…so much. But that wasn't enough…I needed…I needed more—”

The baker’s hand was brushed away with disgust. Another look — now hot from tears of pleas and rebellion — pierced Da Vinci’s soul. 

“What have you done to me? Turned into a monster…And now all those lives…I am guilty…I…”

Shaking hands squeezed head tightly, hair turned crimson red with blood. Leonardo stared at the person who had given him nothing but joy and made no effort to approach her, to say that everything would be okay. He couldn't do that. 

“Please, put an end to this. I’ve never asked you to do anything for me. Now I do. Stop it, Leo. Stop me.”

He flinched as if from a hit. Turned away, knowing it was cowardly of him. But yes, he feared. Oh, how he feared to meet her eyes and not be able to read blame in them. No anger, no disappointment. Just love, just a few drops of humanity. The humanity he deprived her of, striving for his own selfish ambitions. 

Spasm convulsed her muscles, yet she slowly walked towards Leonardo like a cobra ready for the last jump.    

“We’ll figure it out, bella. I will. You don't have to suffer on your own—”

Distant voices interrupted him. A gypsy’s figure could hardly be seen in the black blue void. Her daughter was following her when suddenly she stumbled over a stone and fell to the ground, crying from pain. 

In a matter of seconds the creature behind him jumped over the backyard, driven by the scent of innocence and blood. Leonardo didn't have time to think about what to do. He saw the shadow of his lover moving gracefully and fast, fangs ready to soak the red liquid. The next moment a loud sound of flash piercing resounded right at the sacred walls of Santo Spirito. 

But the holy spirit was about to leave that place. Gioia, his dear innocent  Gioia, was crying with relief. Leonardo catched her weakened body, searching for the familiar human warmth, but it was almost gone. 

Gioia touched the tip of the dagger in her chest, allowing her fingers to get soaked with blood. Then pressed those cold, lovely fingers to his cheek.    

“Do you think immortals are beautiful?”she whispered softly. 

Florence got silent, watching the agony of defeated Prometheus who once dared to laugh at gods.   

“If I had an extended life, could you let yourself love me?”

You see his face losing any colour. Tick, tick, tick, goes watch on your arm. Counting down the seconds of your life. 

“You can turn me into a vampire with a bite. I’d agree to it, if it allowed us to be together.”

Leo’s smile captured the sorrow of a thousand years. Memories of hundreds of countries. Fragrances of a dozen types of roses. Loneliness of a single universe. You know the answer and still have to clench fists so tight that nails leave crescent marks on delicate skin.     

“What I think, cara mia, is that it’s not your destiny to love someone who will only make you cry.”

Your dreams made of glass are cracking right behind you. His dreams. There are always shadows that cannot be replaced with the brightest sunlight. There are memories you think you’ve already escaped from, but they still bring you pain like the scar that remembers the wound. And this pain is the worst possible. Chill emptiness. You can’t get rid of it. You should only learn how to live with it.  

But how can you convince him?