#and i for one do not want to see ballroom become white. because then it wouldnt be ballroom

[specialmouse]

Drag =/= ballroom !

[bardic-inspo]

Blood in the Mortar

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Vampire Bride Tav

Rating: Explicit (Smut!!)

Key Tags: Vampire/Blood Bride Lore, Service Dom Astarion, Sexy Use of Telepathic Bond, Evil Power Couple, Torturing a Captive, Choking, Biting/Blood, Masquerade, PIV, Cunnilingus

Summary:

“I wanted to see you right where you belong,” Astarion whispers, the sound as sheer as the lace he wrecked. “So beautiful on your throne.” It started on Naomi’s knees, this new life of passion and pleasure unbridled. Astarion didn’t know he’d be hers, just as much as she’d be his, when he bit her thrice, bled her dry, and gave her just one drop of his ascended blood.

Cross-posting from my AO3 account. This is my first BG3 smut fic. If you like it, I'd love to know! Click here if you'd prefer to read on AO3.

“To whom can a vampire bare its soul and admit its fears? From whom can it receive consolation for the past, comfort for the present, and hope for the future?...The vampire is drawn emotionally to a mortal and decides, because of the strength of this emotion, to make her his bride…The happiness of the vampire becomes tied up with the prospective bride, and its well-being depends on hers.”

-Van Richten’s Monster Hunter’s Compendium, Vol 1

Astarion twists the stem of his wine glass, idly tilting the contents within. His assorted guests warp in the bulb of it, swaying between rosy red and clear crystal.

A gravelly voice interrupts his game. “Quite the menagerie you’ve gathered here, Lord Ancunín.”

Astarion doesn’t bother to stifle his sigh. There’s no mistaking him as the lord of the house, even masked as he is. Astarion’s ensemble this evening is pitch dark velvet swirled in crimson thread and snaking silver. His mask glimmers in the same shade of scaled metal, set to complement the curve of his cheekbones, with only miniscule, twinkling rubies encrusting the edges. Nothing meant to outshine the searing color of his eyes. The mask might be silver, but it’s a red dragon Astarion embodies for this particular masquerade.

This party’s for more monstrous company, after all.

No expense was spared for the ‘menagerie’. A grand piano, polished to an opalescent white, plays under spectral hands at the heart of the ballroom alongside a string quartet. A starlit Baldur’s Gate glistens outside the windowed east wall, framed in gold drapery to match the shimmering flecks in the white marble floor. Lavish wine and better blood pour freely; his guests have only to lift their empty glasses to have them brimming again.

Even with all the ornate masks, in the shapes of creatures exotic or fierce, none of the fangs in the room are fake. All the titles are, save for his and his consort’s. Astarion’s lip curls with distaste.

This masquerade was meant for nobility of a supernatural stature. Vampires, warlocks, lycanthropes. Those who lead them. But what his doors received were lowly spawn. Servants sent in their masters’ stead to get just a glimpse of the one and only vampire ascendant, and then to scurry back and tell tale of him. Cowards.

There’s only one human here who’s just human.

Astarion offers him a well-practiced shrug of a laugh. “I do hope you don’t feel out of place among us more…colorful sorts. Lord…? Forgive me, what was it again?”

“Isn’t the point of a masquerade not to bother with such trivialities?” The stranger chuckles hastily. “In any case, I am not lord. Only a humble apprentice to the most renowned wizard Waterdeep has to offer.”

Ah, yes. The invitation was sent for the newly named archmage, filling the god-shaped hole Gale left behind in the wake of his own ascension. Astarion’s eyes flit over the lanky, unkempt apprentice who addresses him instead.

His hair hangs in honey blonde waves past his shoulders, like the mane of the beast he seeks to imitate. It’s a lion’s mask the apprentice wears. Perhaps a poor attempt at humor. The effort would’ve been better paid towards penance, and a sheep’s head would’ve suited him far better than the guise of a predator. Anything would’ve been more fitting than the baggy business he calls a shirt.

Astarion clicks his tongue. “That still doesn’t give me a thing to call you.”

“I am Enrik, if it pleases you.”

“No surname?” Astarion asks with an arched brow.

“None of consequence, my lord,” he replies with the uneasy edge Astarion’s entitled to.

“Well, Enrik, I hope you find our masquerade pleasing.”

“It has certainly been enlightening thus far.”

“And how’s that?” Astarion asks brusquely. He never did like wizards.

He doesn’t like the look on this one’s face, either. The lion that should be a sheep surveys the room with a pitying expression, like he’s watching some petty amusement. A zoo. Gods, or a circus. And what would that make him, Astarion the Ascended, if not a clown? Astarion’s fingers tighten on the stem of his glass, an imperceptible change to any eyes not keen enough to catch it.

“Why, it’s been only a year since your ascension,” Enrik says. “You’ve accomplished much in short order. It’s quite remarkable.”

Astarion’s nose twitches. Praise. From cattle. How quaint, and ill-fitting.

His expression abruptly eases. A refined, familiar scent carries to him from across the crowd. A note of lavender, twined with his favored bergamot.

“And you’ve already enthralled some truly magnificent specimens,” Enrik carries on, oblivious. “Take this fine creature, for example. What a pretty thing to have strung along on your leash.”

Astarion feels her before he sees her. She wipes a palm down the sheath of her skirt, smoothing out some infinitesimal wrinkle. The music smooths, too. With that one simple motion, it bends and blends into something deeper, fuller. All of the lesser spawn of Astarion’s making straighten their slouched shoulders.

He feels the tug of her in his head, and then the cool stroke of her hand to his back, the soothing feel of her fingers combing through his hair, and the gentle scrape of her nails against his scalp. It takes a concerted effort to suppress the pleased groan that bubbles in the back of his throat. All this from across the room, without so much as a glance, let alone a touch.

Hello, darling, he thinks, and she hears it just as if he’d spoken aloud. Aren’t you ravishing?

Her skirt is snow-white crepe that clings taut to her shapely hips before fanning out at her feet. It’s the same lovely shade of ivory as her hair, twisted in a braid like a crown around her head, with the rest falling sleek down her back. A black lace bodice sets just off her lilac shoulders, with gloves to match. Floral stitching vees down from her waistline. The same embellishments decorate the skirt’s edges.

His dark consort, his Naomi once-Tavriel-now-Ancunín, weaves leisurely through the partygoers. The thorny prickle of Astarion’s irritation inspires a little lift at the corner of her mouth.

I’ve been called so much worse, she thinks. It sounds suspiciously like a laugh. I think you called me ‘creature’ just yesterday. Should I not have taken it as a compliment?

Astarion’s scowls. He should be grateful to have your name in his mouth. To even set foot in our home. Let alone speak to me like that. Or at all.

But think of how much fun he’s started, she answers, chipper. You were so bored before.

She’s not wrong.

If they’re not the guests you wanted, Naomi continues, cool and calm, then they’re intruders, aren’t they? Whatever should we do with them?

A slow smile steals its way onto his lips. Just when I thought I couldn’t love you more. Miracles never cease.

“Do you know what they call her?” Astarion says aloud, to worse company. “Other than mine, of course.”

“She was the hero of Baldur’s Gate.”

Astarion waves a manicured hand irritably, as if swatting away a stray fly. “One of them, true, but isn’t there another name that comes to mind?”

The man swallows thickly. “The Siren of the Sword Coast.”

"And yet here you are," Astarion sneers, "ready to dash yourself upon the rocks like a little ship blown astray. I can hardly blame you."

His eyes soften, just past the shoulder of Enrik’s gaudy doublet. In the low flutter of candlelight, he spies the sheen of amethysts set among delicate feathers wrought from silver. He'd had the mask made for Naomi with the likeness of a swan in mind.

Still, as pretty as it is, his favorite gleam is those eyes. She still kept the kiss of violet in them, even in death. It mingles with the red in her irises, like a rich, dark wine.

"She is captivating, isn’t she?" Astarion sighs, a faint smile grazing his lips. "My beautiful bride."

“Forgive me my lord, I meant no offense,” Enrik says, eyes down with deference. “I’m merely an admirer of fine things. And a messenger for my fine master.”

“Do your duty, then,” Astarion says tersely, his smile evaporating.

“My master understands that power is the only currency that holds any weight for men of your making. He has much of it to share, if you're likewise inclined.”

Astarion laughs coldly. “And what does your master wish for me to share with him, exactly? I don’t bite just anyone, after all.”

A swallow bobs in Enrik’s throat. “He only means to make mutual use of your shared arsenal. Like you mean to make of his, my lord. He could work wonders with even just one scream. He could bottle it--”

Astarion clenches the wine glass in a chokehold. He could kill this wretched cretin here, now, bare-handed. Or have him drawn and quartered. Or--

No one knows their manners these days, Naomi sighs inside his head. But if you want to play along and see what this archmage would pay, I’ll--

Astarion’s jaw clenches. You won’t be screaming for him, little love.

It earns him an eyeroll. It wouldn’t be like that--

It won’t be at all. Astarions sends his answer with the weight of a stone.

He sips his wine, boring into Enrik with a hard stare. “Don’t you know swans make the most achingly beautiful music?”

Enrik’s eyes dart anxiously over Astarion’s burning ones. “Only just before they die, so the stories go.”

“Before someone does,” Astarion drawls, as the vintage seeps sweetly down his throat. “You see, my beloved, oh, she’s a monster, too. She so does love the taste of blood in her mouth, now that she’s supped of mine.”

Enrik edges back, shoulders hunched small like the prey he is. “I-I’m just a messenger my lord. Killing me after you’ve so graciously offered your hospitality would be the same as breaking a mirror. It would only cast ill luck on you and your house.”

A gloved hand wraps Enrik’s shoulder. He shirks from that delicate grip like it's scalding. At long last, he finds the decency to shut up.

Naomi’s fangs gleam like the bottle in her hand. “More wine?”

The white marble of the ballroom shimmers like freshly fallen snow. All the curtains are drawn back, cinched aside for good measure. Shadow and sunlight slice the floor in slanted strips. Gritty ash piles where the light lies, coils of rope strewn among the gray dust of guests gone for good.

Only one remains.

Sprawled motionless across the floor, Enrik lies nose-to-nose with the knife edge of day and darkness. It’s only a silhouette that keeps him from being swallowed by the glow. Only Astarion’s grace shades him.

The vampire ascendant cuts a sharp shadow before the arched windowpane. Brightness clings, soft as clouds, to his curls, his lean edges, and his jaw. His velvet coat crumples at his heels as if it were nothing more precious than the ash heaped around him. He’s blessedly bare from the waist-up, resplendent in the sunlight while he surveys his domain awash with it.

It calls to mind the man who took Naomi out into the woods all those months and nights ago. What he looked like when she woke and found his back arched, chin tilted skyward. What she’d do, and what little she wouldn’t, to see Astarion slip into bliss every day as easily as slipping out of a coat.

It’s Naomi’s grace that finally rouses their disheveled company. A rolling melody, played on piano, pours from her fingertips and crests with the morning birdsong drifting in. Enrik groans against the grain of it.

At once, the music cuts to quiet. Naomi’s hands hover over the keys, knuckles twitching in faint longing. Then, she turns on the bench and turns her attention towards her restless audience.

“Good morning,” she says brightly.

Enrik squints up at her. His brown eyes leak with the light, even though he’s sheltered from it. They dart across the room, skimming like stones over water, before they sear into Naomi.

“You.”

“Who else were you expecting? You’re in my home.”

Rope binds Enrik’s hands and heels. He tugs at the ties, or tries to. He hasn’t yet figured out it’s all for not.

Naomi stands, her heels clicking staccato to the tile. As she goes, she paints a palm over the piano keys, stroking each octave from root to rise. Music flows freely again all on its own, even when her hand falls away.

She comes to loom over her captive, lips pursed. “I hear you said some very rude things to my husband.”

Enrik folds against the floor, panting for breath.

“You should be so grateful for our hospitality,” she says. “Should have been. That’s all behind us now, isn’t it?”

Feral noise rips from his throat. Like a dog, he lunges, snapping for her ankles. She side-steps into the light, not bothering to flee any farther than an inch. He freezes, ogling the shiny toe of her shoe now parallel to his nose.

“You don’t fear the sun?” he gasps, quivering.

“I need not fear anything.”

Naomi lifts her head, meeting a scarlet stare brimming in equal measures affection and amusement. Sunlights melts over the bare of Astarion’s chest, spurring her tongue to wet her lips. He leans against the glass, head angled back, eyes slitted in satisfaction. A slow smile unfurls on his face.

“You should be grateful, too,” Naomi says with a sneer, “to lay here and not just a little to the left.”

“W-What do you mean? What did you do to me?!” Enrik’s eyes bulge. He squirms in a sudden panic, to no avail.

Naomi tilts her neck to the side and taps at the scar Astarion’s teeth marked her with. Her fingers fan down on her own throat, savoring the shape of that succulent memory. Of the last bite he gave her in life. Of his lips swirling comfort into her skin before sucking her down to the last drop. Of the look on his face, the awe he had, when she next woke.

The faintest leak of breath, soft as down, passes from Astarion’s mouth.

“You--you--! You turned me!” Her hostage sputters. Naomi frowns darkly.

“Oh not me,” Naomi snaps, incredulous. “I’m only a weak little spawn puppet, according to you. According to you, the only good thing I can do is scream. How could I manage to turn you without choking on my own leash?”

She gags for good measure. He doesn’t get the joke. He hasn’t caught on to the other joke yet. Which means she’s safe as can be, even this close. So long as she stands on the other edge of Astarion’s shadow.

Astarion turns. His silhouette twists with his movement. Enrik shrieks like a swine.

“Oh, that wasn’t good at all. You can do better.” Naomi presses out a strained sigh, crouching down to fist a hand in his hair and yank his head upright.

Enrik bares his teeth as if they aren’t dull and flat. “Filthy bitch!”

The insult doesn’t so much as chip Naomi’s serene composure, but it puts a twang in her head, along the invisible string that links her and Astarion. His anger lashes in her mind like a restless tail.

“What a vile little ingrate,” Astarion snarls.

She lets her hostage’s head roll from her palm, cheek smacking the tile. Enrik writhes against his restraints. Naomi clicks her tongue in reproach. I’ve barely even touched you yet.

Green magic threads between her gloved fingers, glittering. She snaps them and says, “Scream.”

And he does. Loud enough to drown out the crescendo coursing from the grand piano. Inside of Enrik’s skull, the song isn’t nearly so sweet. His back jerks up and away from the floor, head bent back, eyes torn wide in terror.

His cries pitch with the slink of Astarion’s shadow stretching nearer. Sunlight clings close behind his heels. Naomi’s fingers flex and the spell recedes.

Her magic leaves Enrik sniveling, inching like a worm away from the slice of light between Astarion’s legs. Astarion huffs softly. With a wave of his hand, a ghostly one apparates behind him and snags the curtains closed.

Astarion’s scent sweeps with his sleeve -- the sweetness of brandy, mingled with the woodsy smell of rosemary. His knuckles gently brush the side of Naomi’s cheek. Instinctively, she leans towards the touch.

“Precious thing,” Astarion chides with a pout. “You’re being far too sweet to him. Here I thought you only had room in your heart for me.”

Naomi inclines her head, eyes narrowing by a hair. “My sire would see me be crueler?”

Astarion’s thumb grazes her lips. At once, she parts for him, teasing the pad of it with her tongue while he toys with the tip of a fang. He presses in, watching his skin bend to near-breaking, as if to test her sharpness. Before any blood’s drawn, he draws his hand down to cradle her chin. His voice is smooth as satin, though his stare is a hardened one.

“Your sire would see you spoken to with the respect you’re owed. And he needs you to kneel, dear one.”

The words are a weight to her shoulder, easing her down. But the heft is a comfort, not a compulsion. He could compel her, if he wanted to.

He hasn’t yet.

One day, she thinks, he will. And he’ll feel the weight of whatever chains he’d wrap her in through the bond that binds them tighter than the tadpole did. He won’t do it without good reason. Naomi doesn’t need a reason to kneel for her lover. That he wishes it is enough.

When her knees meet the ground, she feels the shape of Astarion’s smile pressed against their bond like it’s pressed, wet and wanting, against her mouth. She feels the dainty tug of his teeth coax her lips apart. Tastes the coppery tang of her own blood and the velvet undercurrent of his within her veins. The heat of him, still such a novel thing in his ascended body, bleeds from his skin to hers, fanning the newfound ache between her thighs.

In her mind, and his, his lips pour down her bare shoulders. His fingers fist in the fine fabric of her dress, ripping it to ruin. He leaves none of her untouched. To anyone else’s eye, they’re not even touching.

Naomi’s eyelids flutter. She downs a hard swallow. Good girl, he says, just for her.

To their captive audience, he spares no such kindness. Astarion raises his foot above Enrik’s ankles, letting it dangle for a moment. It drops like a hammer to an anvil. Enrik bucks with a fresh scream and a sickening crack.

“I’d never give a miserable little wretch like you the gift of immortality,” Astarion spits. “You wouldn’t know how to appreciate it.”

Confusion flits between the pain and panic in Enrik’s eyes.

“That’s right,” Astarion seethes. “You’re not a vampire. You aren’t worth my consort’s teeth. Or mine.”

Crunch. Another ankle shatters. Another shriek claws the air. Astarion strolls, leisurely, to Enrik's hands next. He grounds his heel into the pop of fingers breaking beneath his boots. Their hostage heaves a broken sob.

“Sh, sh, sh, oh, it’s all right,” Astarion croons. “I happen to have just the knife for you.”

Astarion crosses back to his coat piled near the window and draws a dagger from its folds. Rhapsody. Cazador’s blade. Naomi hasn’t seen it since they claimed the Crimson Palace for themselves.

Brightness glints off the twined edge, a match for the harsh and singular focus gleaming in Astarion’s gaze.

So that’s what Astarion was smiling about, as he basked by the window. What had him so peacefully quiet and content. Murder was on his mind, even then.

Not the only thing on my mind, little love. She feels the slant of his smirk in her head, as if it ghosted past the hinge of her jaw. There’s no trace of it on Astarion’s stony exterior.

He plucks the crystal wine glass from the sill while he’s there, rotating the stem as he saunters back over. Blood flecks the fine leather of Astarion’s shoes. He plants them on either side of Enrik’s torso. He seizes Enrik’s collar, yanking harshly until he’s kneeling, too.

“Fuck you,” Enrik spits. “Fuck you both! My master will--”

“Darling,” Astarion trills, grip unwavering, “Would you..?”

Magic swirls sticky across Naomi’s tongue. “Ad Lapidē.”

Violet runes blaze to life beneath their captive’s knees, capturing him in perfect stillness. His mouth hangs agape with unspent vitriol. Astarion’s hands recoil, twisting the dagger in one, and the glass in the other.

“Your master,” Astarion sneers with a dark laugh. “Too much of a coward to show his face, so he sends you. His sacrificial lamb, sent to speak to me about sharing my dearest treasure, like he isn’t the scum beneath her shoes. He had to know I wouldn’t hear of it. But he didn’t care enough about you to even taint your blood. That’s right. My lesser spawn sampled you just like they would any cattle. But my beautiful bride hasn’t had one bite, not yet. Not until I was sure you were sweet enough for her palate.”

Astarion strokes Rhapsody down the man’s outstretched neck. The barest streak of blood leaks from the scrape. Astarion’s eyes skate over the ash piles around the room, wistful.

“All it took was a sleeping potion,” he muses. “Just a few drops. Now all of the spawnlings sent by all of my lessers are dust. You’ll wish to join them, before this is done. And you will. When I decide we’re done.”

Naomi’s eyes fasten to the blood beading down Enrik’s pallid throat. Astarion digs in ever-so-gently with Rhapsody’s tip, just enough to start a stream running. He presses the cup beneath it. Slowly, the crystal fills red to the brim. Her mouth waters.

Astarion looks up abruptly, eyes wide and soft as his malice dissolves to fondness. “Darling, you do look famished. Open up for me, dear.”

Naomi’s chin lifts, lips parted. Astarion tilts the glass to meet her with the utmost care.

“I won’t have your grime and sweat on her lips,” Astarion hisses in Enrik’s ear. “Only your blood. You don’t deserve that…” He sucks a sharp breath in. Naomi watches with rapt attention as it stutters through his chest. “...pretty little mouth.”

Blood, rich and smooth as cream, slips across her tongue. Her eyes slip shut with it. With each swallow, syrupy warmth spreads slowly through her chest, down her legs, through arms, to her every inch. Too soon, it’s taken from her. Naomi’s eyes flutter open. She’s taken all of it, already.

“More, my love?” Astarion hums happily. “You only have to ask.”

“More,” she says at once, lips still wet.

Astarion carves. The insolent apprentice bleeds without a sound. Again and again, the cup fills. He tips it to her lips, and Naomi drinks until her eyelids grow heavy.

Her body thrums like it remembers the pulse that used to play through her veins. She’s warmer than a dead woman should be. Even the air itself feels like the kiss of steam tingling against her skin.

It’s then that Naomi feels Astarion’s lips in her head again, sucking little marks down her throat that match the rosy flush heating her cheeks. She pants out of habit, out of instinct, and not of need. Out of want for him to watch what he does to her. As if he doesn’t already know.

One twist of Astarion’s wrist turns the little leak of blood from Enrik’s throat into a fountain. Naomi’s spell dissipates in violet sparks. His body slumps over, lifeless. Blood runs from him in little rivers, rushing to fill the grout lines between the tiles.

Astarion cradles one last glassful in a delicate grip. His face clears of any clouded rage as he gives the glass an experimental swirl. Wordlessly, he tilts the cup to her mouth once more.

Naomi gasps. Wetness paints her chin. It streams down her neck, drips down her sternum and between her breasts, still bound in lace. Astarion drips with it, down to his knees in fluid motion. Somewhere behind him, the wine glass shatters. In her periphery, she sees the shards glitter like frost.

“Oops,” he says, low and shameless.

Barely any blood made it to Naomi’s mouth this time, but she doesn’t mind one bit. Astarion crawls to her, catlike. She’s only spared a moment to admire the lithe muscle flexing through his naked chest before he leans into the hollow of her throat. Silver curls brush soft beneath her chin. And then, she feels the tip of that devilish tongue take a tentative lick of the mess he’s made.

And gods, what a mess she must be. Blood smears from her neck to her navel, near-black on her blue-gray skin. Dark like Astarion’s eyes, with pupils blown wide and hungry. A flare of heat twists low in Naomi’s stomach. Her thighs shift, wet with it.

Thread rips in her ears. Rhapsody drags delicately down her side, scratching faint like a quill. The lace of her gown splits without resistance. There's none to be had against that mouth of his, just as busy as his nimble hands.

Astarion laps, dainty, down the path of her swallow. His coy smile curves with a petal-soft laugh against her collar bone. Naomi laughs, too, breathless as his tongue chases lazily after the spill. Breathless as the day he took the last breath she needed.

Ever since, Astarion’s given her everything she could want, without leaving her wanting for more than a moment. Now, her knees will never grow numb, no matter how long they bend against the marble. The chill of it can’t phase her, either. Even if it could, Astarion’s drawn the curtains wide. When she kneels for him, it’s only ever on sun-soaked stone.

Astarion treasures her. Cherishes her. Lavishes her with love and pleasure and wealth and power. Preserves her like prized silver, polished with such devotion so she’ll never know the tarnish of time. She’s his spawn. His wife.

But above all else, she’s his pride. The very thing that rules him. The only thing that still does.

Naomi wants to be in ruins with him. To be the last pillars of a broken world already so far beyond repair before they were dragged through it. Aeterna amantes. Until the fall of everything.

Until then, this, the low groan he gives her while her fingers stroke red through the plush white of his hair, the heady hum in her blood, the bloom of someone else’s waking color in her cheeks, the way Astarion looks at her like there’s nothing else at all, the way he tears into a dress he paid a fortune for, the hand he knots through her braids to wreck them -- this is everything.

Astarion tosses Rhapsody over his shoulder to join the broken wine glass, just like any other worthless trinket. His deft hands curl into the tears in her bodice and tug. At once, it gives way to his grip. She would, too, were it not so binding. Naomi grounds out a gasp. Her skirt pools at her knees, leaving her bare but for the warmth of Astarion’s roaming hands and the daylight pouring over them both.

“Do you know why I wanted you down here, pet?” He asks softly.

Astarion’s eyes latch to hers while his teeth toy at the curve of her breast. His tongue slicks over to soothe where his fangs grazed her, and then it melts against a pert nipple, taking it in with a lewd suck.

Naomi paws for a coherent thought, but all she finds is a pleading hum. He nips her again, just enough to see her tit tremble from the pull when he draws away. He leaves her nipple glistening and the underside of her breast peppered in pink before moving on to the other.

“To torture me, clearly,” Naomi pants. Her hands still tangle in his hair. Amusement glimmers in his gaze as he plants a chaste kiss to the inside of one of her wrists and sets them both back at her sides.

“Oh no, my sweet. I would never,” he says, chin resting flat against her navel. He looks up at her with wide, doey eyes, full of faux innocence.

He slinks lower, laying a line with his tongue that ends in a kiss just above where her skirts still shield her. He shifts them aside, ripping where he needs, until it’s only one little piece of black lace covering her cunt. Astarion growls against it, nosing at its edges, his back bowed, stomach brushing the floor. His teeth find the waistband and tear that, too.

Hot breath fans across the other mess he made. Naomi wavers on her knees. From that minute motion alone, she can hear how he’s soaked her.

But Astarion doesn’t disprove her theory; he leans back abruptly, straightening up to his knees again. An arm loops slack around her waist as he circles around to her bare back. Naomi’s lips twitch. If this is the game he wants, it’s too soon to beg. The thought inspires another needy flex through her cunt. His other hand slides to cup the heat of it, and Naomi whines. Reflexively, her back arches. Astarion pulls her still.

He catches the side of her jaw, angling her back into a biting kiss. It’s over before she wants it to be, his lips red and glistening with what he stole from her. Without him, her mouth burns from the cut.

“I wanted to see you right where you belong,” he whispers, the sound as sheer as the lace he wrecked. “So beautiful on your throne.”

For a brief moment, he draws away entirely, leaving her with nothing but a lonely chill. And then, his back comes flush to the floor beneath her. His body splays behind her. The heat of his mouth crests against the heat of her cunt, his face fitted between her thighs, his lips hovering so close, but not close enough. His breath alone snags the one halfway through her throat.

“Oh,” her realization comes out quivering.

The tip of his nose nudges, just barely, against her clit, spurring her hips to roll. But all she gets from that mouth is mischief and a quiet snicker. He shifts his cheek, laving a long stroke of his tongue to the tender crux of her inner thigh before sealing it over with a tight suck. When he bites down, he draws out her blood with a rough moan.

Astarion pulls back, his smirk glazed in her, his eyes aflame. “Oh, darling, I’ve barely even touched you yet. And you’re so very wet for me.”

“Touch me, then,” she hisses between her teeth, raking her hands through his perfect curls and fisting them there.

His eyes spear into hers, hard like the way he clenches her ass and pulls her hips down. Even as it sets her on fire, his mouth gives her mercy. Astarion’s tongue melts hot across her cunt, swiping slow and dexterous. Not for the first time, Naomi thinks she might like to die like this.

It’s not so different from how she died. It started on her knees, this new life of passion and pleasure unbridled. Even then, Astarion already knew the shape of her body like he knew his own hands. Every curve, every intimate bend, how to make her speak in noise instead of words. The hidden language behind every whimper she makes, every shiver.

So he knows exactly what he’s doing while his tongue teases gentle circles around her clit. He knows, by the time his timid little laps blend into a needy suck, that she’s so, so sensitive. Astarion’s hungry groan seeps into her slickness. She feels him like a current and clenches again, just as hungry.

Every feeling he gives her gives him an echo back just as strong. Every thought in her head is in his head, too. He eats her cunt and feels fed by her pleasure curling in the tips of his toes. He didn’t know he’d be hers, just as much as she’d be his, when he bit her thrice, bled her dry, and gave her just one drop of blood back.

But Astarion knew her body before she was his bride. Now, he knows her mind. A part of him lives there, as she does in his. As he drags his pale, elegant fingers between her folds, he drags her head through a dozen depravities. Filling her with nothing but thoughts of how he’ll fill her properly.

He could have her against the arched windows lining the east wall, body pressed so pretty to the glass so he can see the imprint of it even after she peels away. She could feel the heat brimming off the sun outside, washing over their empire. He could taste her sunbathed shoulder while he fucks her senseless. His little love, dipped in honey. So what if someone else sees. Later, he’ll see to them not seeing anything ever again.

He could take her here, on the ballroom floor. Pull her down just as she surfaces from the pleasure he’s paid her, and roll her beneath him to bury her in it all over again. Make love on the marble streaked with the blood of their enemies, where hundreds of dignitaries have danced and dined on countless evenings before. But none of them were ever blessed with such a fine feast as he. The stone would be hard and unyielding against her back, and he would be just the same, driving into her, relentless. At least it’s far prettier than the dirt they used to fuck in.

Or--

A new picture snaps from Naomi’s mind to his, with the dip of his tongue to her entrance, a staggering spike of pleasure, and an unbidden whimper.

The piano. Pearly white with jet black keys, so pristine, so gorgeous with blood spilt red down the sides. Naomi poured over the side, ivory hair tinged with crimson, cascading over her bare, bent back. Astarion’s fingers buried in her hips, planting the promise of bruises, his body bucking wildly into her as he finally--

Naomi’s moan hits the high pitch of the ceiling. She grinds, needy, against the pair of fingers he crooks inside of her. His thumb spreads her slickness back and presses to the pucker of her ass.

So eager for me to fill you up. His voice in her head is a caress. Her hips roll with the sound. His thumb dips inside her ass with the motion, and Naomi gasps as she eases into that delicious stretch.

But darling, I haven’t fed all night, Astarion pouts, mouth moving with agonizing slowness as his eyes flutter shut beneath long black lashes. Naomi’s eyelids grow heavy, too, as she’s lost to that lovely, slick click of his lips. A meal like you is meant to be savored.

He fucks her holes leisurely, with the air of someone who knows he’ll be back for more before long. It brings to mind those long, lithe fingers, folded between the pages of a book to mark his place. All it takes is an effortless flex of them to keep her coaxed open like this. Her body draws taut as he leans her over the precipice of her own pleasure.

If you need more, my dear, by all means. Take it.

He growls into their bond like he’s the one devoured. Like he can plead ignorance to how he’s taking her apart with his hands, his mouth. Naomi catches a whine between her teeth. Astarion’s free hand cups her ass, urging her into the thrust her body bends towards. She parts a hand from his hair to brace flat to the floor beside his face, the other knotting anew in his silver curls.

Desperately, she rides against the flat of his tongue, against that long, refined nose, fucking herself back into the curve of his fingers. Every pull of them pulls her under, deeper into her own ecstasy. Her body grips him back like she means to drown him, too. The tip of his tongue flicks her clit in relentless rhythm, starting off a shudder she can’t stop.

“Don’t stop,” she begs within and without, the jerk of her hips growing frantic.

His mouth is mercy. When she comes for him, she’s wreathed in heat, slick with sweat, every nerve in her body alight with the most blissful burn. A strangled cry breaks in her chest. It buries the song now trembling from the piano. Naomi shivers out a sigh, and the keys shiver with her.

Astarion wraps his arms tight to her thighs, anchoring her through the aftershocks. When she stills again, her body throbs with a heady rush of blood, pleasure, want. Every part of her is limp with it, save the pulsing, rigid press in her mind and in his trousers. She’s putty in his hands even as his fingers leave her. Naomi twitches back towards the touch he takes away, body aching with his absence.

Naomi’s knuckles unfurl, stroking soft through the tangles she wrought. What a sight he is, his hair in utter disarray, his mouth a mess of blood and lust and her. An ease settles into his graceful features, not so different from that quiet contentment he wore while leaning into the light by the window. His eyes simmer with it, lips drawn in a soft smile.

Without warning, his grip tightens. Naomi stifles a huff of surprise as she’s taken down, marble kissing smooth to her spine. A pale hand cradles her head, cushioning her fall. In a blink, he’s hovering over her bare body and dipping down to catch her in a fever of a kiss. It’s a needy, sweltering latch of lips, tangy with her own sweetness as much as his.

“Here?” She purrs to the seal of his mouth.

She lets him feel the way the word alone makes her body tense. Waiting. Wanting. Their bond curls with it, crooked and beckoning in his head. The way his fingers bent a few moments before, buried in the heat of her.

A long breath passes out through his nose, his eyes sliding half shut. A smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth. But his cheek turns by just the barest hair, and Naomi’s attention follows after his.

Music flutters, breathy, off the black and white keys. The piano stays a pretty picture of perfection, among the deaths little and large they’ve littered throughout the ballroom.

His teeth trace the angled edge of her ear. Naomi keens with the sting of it as she’s swept from the floor.

“There.”

She’s caught in his kiss again as he carries her. One swipe of his tongue to where he bit her lip before has her quivering. Has her a world away from the one still around them. Vaguely, she’s aware he’s somehow rid her of her gloves and shoes. She hears a dull, wooden clatter, and then a resounding thud. The piano plays on, but it's muted.

Astarion doesn’t bend her over the way she mused. Instead, he seats her on the polished wood of the piano’s closed lid. His hands leave her back to push her knees apart, scoop beneath them, and pull her spread legs to the strain trapped in his trousers.

Naomi grins, her fangs snagging his lower lip as he tries to part from her. Astarion’s answering groan is rough like a scrape of sandpaper. It leaves her mouth raw, tingling, alive with a pulse that plays to the tune of his pleasure. She wants more of that noise. More of the happy purr it pours into her head from his. One drink of that sloppy, slap happy look on his face sates her more than blood ever could.

You’ve given me everything, he told her, once. But now, all she can think is more. Take more. Take everything.

Astarion grinds his hard length against her in answer. The sweet friction makes sweeter music in their mouths as Naomi moans with the motion, too. Still, there’s far too much fabric for her liking.

Astarion’s fingers make fast work of it. He unlaces his pants only enough to free his cock, parts from her only enough to push her back and clamber up after her. Then, he’s on her again like a second skin. Her cunt throbs with the press of his cock, the tip of it wet and seeping against her thigh. She tries to fit a hand between them, to wrap her palm around his girth and feel with her hands, not just her head, how badly he has to have her. Astarion doesn’t leave her space for it.

It’s not his hands that put her flat on her back, against the body of the piano. It’s the sudden swell of his adoration ballooning from his brain to hers. The weight of his affection pins her there beneath him, utterly paralyzed, as the music flows on under both of them. He’s brimming with it, and it washes over her in a wave, a cup overflowing.

His curls hang down in his eyes, wild with the look of a man starved. “You’re going to scream for me, little love,” he says with the slightest slur. The thought smears from him to her, burning in the back of her mind like a pull of liquor. He brushes her snarled hair back until it tumbles over the piano’s edge, white over white. “I’m going to make you. And I want to see that beautiful face when I do.”

“Please,” she starts to say.

But barely any of it makes it past her lips. Astarion never leaves her wanting for more than a moment.

“O-Oh,” she stammers instead, as her soaked cunt splays to his cock sliding home. Astarion pushes out a moan as he pushes into her. He hooks her legs with his arms, folding them up and back.

“That’s my girl,” he pants, forehead heavy against her own. His thumb circles her cheek, a feather-light counterweight to the thickness he seats inside her. He watches her intently, fixated. Hypnotized. “My good, good girl.”

Kisses and praise tumble from between his teeth, down her cheek, to her throat. Naomi’s head rolls back while she relishes the wet, smacking mantra that’s the mess of them. He’s not tender with his tempo. He doesn’t have to be. You could ruin me. I’d let you ruin me, she thinks again.

And how beautiful he is, in ruins with her. No more composure. No more restraint. Sweat streaks his brow as it bends beneath his focus. All there is is the blend of them, the slow rock of the piano underneath them, and the scattered, stranded pieces of a melody left in their wake.

It could break. The thought cracks through her, through them, with the wooden whine of the piano legs taking the shift of their weight. Astarion crushes her worry beneath the thrust of his hips, any notion of it lost to the head of his cock pressing just where it needs to make her see stars.

Naomi bites down on her own lip, grounding herself in fleeting pain and the tang of blood. He’s not even touching her clit; he doesn’t have to. He floods her with how it felt when he did, when his tongue rolled against the swell of it, just the tip of it teasing that sensitive little bud. How she felt to him, so silky and slick in his mouth. How amazing it feels to finally fuck her, to take what’s his and have her take him so, so tightly.

He could ruin her. Snap her like the creaking legs of this instrument, not long for this world. It would be almost as effortless as the way she spreads for him. But instead, Astarion fills her. Every shift prods the crown of his cock against the sweetest spot inside her cunt.

Naomi’s fingers claw into Astarion’s back as he bucks wildly. Tears sear in her eyes. The tell-tale pressure in her pelvis builds near-blinding.

“Scream for me, darling,” he growls against her neck, out loud this time.

Her cunt throbs with his command. But she doesn’t heed it. Astarion lets out a low, steaming hiss.

“I said scream, dear,” Astarion says, his velvet voice edged in warning. The sparks of his indignation spit flinty in her head alongside a flicker of excitement at her defiance.

He wants to feel the rush of her own power with the spasm of her cunt as she comes undone. He wants her magic to spill into him as he spills his seed inside of her. Wants to taste it with the rest of her. If Naomi was nothing to him, she’d still be the siren; it’s not a power Astarion gifted to her. It was hers without him. It is her. And she’s his.

“I might break the glass,” she whispers, wary of anything louder.

“Oh, my love,” Astarion says tenderly, a husk in his throat as his hand wraps loose around her neck. “You can break everything.”

Astarion kills her hesitation. She’s never felt more whole. She feels holy, feeling her own perfect squeeze around his cock, feeling herself fucked in his body and her own. Feeling what she does to the man who already has everything, but will never have enough of her.

When Naomi screams Astarion's name, it’s everything else in the room that shatters.

Glass crashes from the windows. They burst one after another in quick-fire succession. Astarion buckles against her body with the sudden, decisive snap beneath them. His hips jerk, rutting erratically. Warmth spurts into her with every shudder down his spine, every pulse of his cock.

He cuts her cry with his teeth buried in the crook of her neck. Naomi clings to him as her cunt convulses. It’s the bite that takes her apart, knowing he tastes his own name in her throat and thinks--

Mine, mine, mine.

Naomi’s head drops limp. Astarion’s grip on her neck gives way to soft circles stroked against her cheek again. Mine, she thinks, as his ruby eyes watch her keenly, awash in the soft glow only she knows.

Even after Astarion stills, the room spins dizzy from her upside-down view. She blinks it all back into place, but some pieces won’t fit together again so easily. They’re far closer to the floor than when he slipped inside of her. The piano legs splay at odd, splintered angles. The floor glitters with glass like crystalline teeth, ready to bite the heels of any who dare tread their hall.

Astarion slides out, and she shivers with the fade of his warmth. He sits up, his gaze sweeping the shattered windows, his smirk smug and wet with her. “Perhaps all of the Gate heard you. The gardener did for certain.”

Naomi sits up, too, leaning forward and letting his shoulder take her weight. Her forehead comes to rest against his collarbone. She finds an easy smile while relishing the way his heart still hammers his chest. She did that, in multiple senses. Absently, he tucks the hair sticking to her cheeks back behind her ears.

“I guess I’ll have to kill her,” he adds, chipper. “I suppose, for now, we can spare all the others.”

“She’s already dead enough, dear,” Naomi sighs.

A tiny, discordant note of sadness plucks in her chest, among the pleasant haze settling over her. Astarion stiffens against it, as if she reached out and pinched him. She doubts he’d be so eager to slay one of his spawn for the same crime of hearing her come for him.

The gardener is hers, of a sort. Not a vampire -- Naomi can’t make those. Before Naomi sang her awake again, the gardener was just a sad stack of bones collecting dust in a closet. Now, she rattles along to Naomi’s tune, keeping the flowers trimmed to her liking.

“I suppose you’re right,” Astarion murmurs. His expression softens with fondness, the sort that’s rare to surface unless they’re alone, but never fails to make her chest light and fluttery. “Are you tired now, pet?”

“We stayed up all night,” Naomi laughs faintly.

“Hm,” he nods with a pitying frown. “Let me see to you, my treasure. Don’t you move.” His lips curve, coy, as his eyes flicker back to the wrecked windows. “I wouldn’t want you to strain yourself.”

He saunters back to where his coat lays, now tattered. He returns to settle it around her shoulders, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead.

“You’re such a staunch defender of my honor,” Naomi says dryly, even as the leftovers of their lovemaking start to seep down her thigh.

“Ha,” Astarion shakes with a rolling laugh. “I rather think I’m the thief of it. You were quite the heist. It wouldn’t do to have some debaucherous upstart happen by and think they can make off with what’s mine.”

“I wouldn’t let them live through it.”

“Aw,” he clicks his tongue, “you’re such a romantic.”

Astarion leaves her with her legs strewn over the broken piano, relacing his trousers as he goes. Glass crunches beneath his heels. He stops to ring the bell near the door. A few seconds later, it creaks open a hair. She catches his curt commands to the servant she can’t see on the other side.

“...yes, here, in the ballroom. My consort and I wish to take in the view, and see none of you.”

His lesser spawn are quick to make good on their orders. The door swings open once more a short time later, and in floats a claw-foot tub without another soul to be seen. Magic clings, cloudy, beneath the porcelain belly of it. A pleasant, floral scent curls with the steam from the water within. The tub drifts to the heart of the ballroom and settles with a soft thud before the yawning window panes.

Astarion returns to her as her toes touch the ground again. He frowns tightly, eyes narrowing.

“There’s debris scattered everywhere, my sweet,” he says, saccharine even in reproach. “I wouldn’t want to see you hurt.”

Naomi sniffs a laugh, picking her path carefully. “If I can’t handle a little sharpness here and there, it’s a wonder how I’ve managed to handle you.”

“Oh, it’s simple,” Astarion says, catching her wrist with an effortless flourish. “We were made for each other. By each other, really.”

And Astarion’s made up his stubborn mind that she’s not to take another step, it seems. With a soft huff, he sweeps her off her feet all over again, strides to the tub with her legs dangling over his arm, and delicately deposits her there.

Water laps at the tub’s edges, splashing as she situates herself. She shrugs from Astarion’s coat, shucking it away to join all the other debris they don’t have use for. Heat tingles across her skin, like little, loving nips of Astarion’s teeth. Naomi eases back into the burn of it as the sting settles sweetly.

Astarion rids himself of his shoes and trousers. He dips a foot into the tub, bidding her to make way for him with a gentle nudge. The water ripples as he settles in behind her. With a satisfied sigh, she sinks back against his chest and deeper into the furling warmth.

The ballroom overlooks the well-kept gardens behind the estate. The hedges are high enough, only a spyglass might have hope of spotting them both bare. Under Cazador’s reign, the garden was little more than a sprawl of weeds and webbed ivy. Now, fountains babble between the blooms of pink and blue and violet. If she strains, she can catch the weave of music in the trickling flow, like tinkling wind chimes.

A soft breeze tickles her ears, sending gritty glass and ash scattering over their floor. Astarion clenches a soft sponge in his grip, wrings it out, and starts to scrub her skin in slow, deliberate strokes. Naomi’s head tilts back beneath his tender care, every rub taking the tension from shoulders.

She turns after a time, and he starts to wash blood from her front, while she wets her hands and works the redness from the white of his hair. Her fingers linger along the slants of his ears, rubbing delicately, until she catches that satisfied hum in his throat that leaves her lifted, floating on the buoy of his happiness.

The water never cools or clouds; magic still swirls in the steam, even long after they’re free of blood and grime. Astarion rakes hand through her hair, his fingernails digging pleasantly against her scalp.

“You are divine as ever,” he rumbles. “Rest now, pet.”

And she does, slipping soundly into a trance, soaked in sunlight and lavender oil with her lover wrapped around her. Only Astarion sends her to the sort of rest that reaches her soul. His presence is sanctuary.

It’s his disquiet that wakes her suddenly. He still strokes her hair just as gently, but he levels a hard-cut stare out over the garden, his lips set with the same stoniness.

“No one will ever take you from me,” he murmurs, as if to himself.

“As if they ever could,” Naomi whispers back, reaching up to graze the edge of his jaw.

Heavens help the fool who tries. Any who dare to hatch such plots, to harbor such ill will in their Crimson Palace, will find themselves laid to rest with all the others. Their enemies’ gravestones are just bricks in their empire, every one of them laid with blood in the mortar.

Astarion dips his head down, the hint of a smile curling at the corner of his mouth. “I suppose it might be fun to see them try. In the meantime, my love, I’m of a mind to keep you spread for me for the next tenday.”

Naomi laughs. The sound echoes around the otherwise vacant room.

Astarion’s grin only grows, the tips of his fangs sharpening his smile. “Did I say something funny, dear?”

His lips crush down against hers in a kiss consuming.

[athenodora-sulpicia-writer]

Vanessa ives - where we meet at a ball and she ask us to dance, she never got our name and follows us home to find out we are the daughter of Evelyn Poole. So we start seeing Vanessa behind our mothers back and maybe if you could add some smut between us and vanessa?

Forbidden Love- Part 1- Vanessa Ives

A/N: Hey @wandamaximoff2823 thank you for your request, I'm so sorry for the long wait, I've been really struggling to get back into writing but better as never I suppose 😅, anyway I hope you enjoy this and that it was worth the wait.

Warning(s): Scars, smut, mentions of neglect/abuse.

I was never one to be interested in the intricacies of the aristocratic ways of the upper class but mother had asked me to be here and what ever mother asked you to do was never a simple request but a very firm order.

I entered the lavish estate of a Mr Dorian Grey, unescorted of course, how scandalous. A butler or perhaps he was a servant came and took my cloak and directed to me where all the fuss and chatter was coming from, so I followed the sound of champagne induced laughter and discussion of who owned the most properties in the countries, which took me to a grand ballroom which was filled to the brim of upper class Londoners, an orchestra and the walls were completely lined with portraits, show off.

I weaved my way through the large doorway that lead into the ballroom a feat which would have been easier if everyone was deciding to take up the space. I'd originally dressed to blend in and not draw in to much unwanted attention, who would have thought that wearing dress of gold and white (the opposite of what my mother would have ever approved of) would have caught so many stares and glances.

A server came to me with a tray of champagne and though I was usually partial to a class or two I knew I had to keep my mind as agile as possible for the task my mother had sent me to do. I was told to not get to close to Miss Ives but just enough to use some effective Nightwalker magic on her mind, this should have been Hecate's job not mine but apparently according to mother "Hecate had her own tasks" I would have used the chores or enslavement but I'd rather not have a gash from the tip of my cheek to my chin so I kept my mouth shut.

For a moment as I was thinking a man approached me and I could already smell the alcohol from a mile, this would be wonderful not, I snarled for a moment at the thought but as the man was now in reach of me I returned my face to its natural composure.

"What's a charming dove like you doing all alone and without a chaperone?" This man, who looked old enough to be a someone who should start writing their will, asked me. Who looked like the usual upper class prick, my least favourite kind of mortal irritation.

"That is none of your concern sir, now if you wouldn't mind walking off to go and compare your assets, though I'm sure yours are lacking by the looks of things, with the other gentlemen I'd be most thankful." I said the man with my best 'I'm super important' voice but when the man didn't leave I know that my word choice may have been a little too much.

"How dare you speak to me in such a way," The man snarled at me and was quick to grab my upper arm harshly and with so many people in the room it would be easy to not notice or ignore what he was doing. "Now judging by your dress I'd say your still a maid, so why don't you be a good little heiress and have a drink with me on the balcony," Damn this dress I just wanted to wear something that was the opposite of the scars on back and now I was being mistaken for a maid because of it, just fabulous.

As more time passed and I hadn't responded, the man's grip on my upper arm was becoming painfully tight and even for someone like me, I couldn't hold back a wince.

"Ah cousin," I heard a feminine voice call out and upon hearing the voice my head turned abruptly to the direction of the voice and then I saw her. She had raven black hair, sky blue eyes and pale ivory skin and was wearing the most fabulous black and red dress I'd ever seen and she was walking over to me. Well that's half a job done and half a job failed.

Once she stood by my side she began to speak again, "Thank you for keeping my cousin company Sir," She spoke to the man who still had his hand on my upper arm, "But now that I am here I believe she is no longer in need of your company," Her voice which originally was soft and compliant of any woman in this room and now become more natural almost steely.

I could feel the man's grip tighten and I knew who was about to say something but for whatever reason after he made eye contact with my ravenette saviour he let go of my arm completely and walked off without another word. My first reaction was to rub at my arm, even if I knew it would heal within a minute or two.

"I Apologise for the cousin lie but I can tell when a woman is uncomfortable." She spoke to me with a kindness I knew would be there if she knew who I actually was. "My name is Miss Ives," She spoke again with a slight bit more formality, extending out a hand for me to shake and suddenly I was grateful to the creme gloves I was wearing because if I weren't she'd probably be able to sense exactly what I was.

"No apologies needed, It's a pleasure to finally meet you Miss Ives." I spoke with the same slight formality as she but then I soon thought of the implications of my words and I began to internally kick myself for making such a slip up, my mother was going to kill me if I messed this up.

"To finally meet me?" She looked at my with a smile and odd confusement in her expression. "Why have we been intending to meet one another before today?" She asked me curiously with a slight chuckle to her voice which was somewhere between being eerie and joyful.

"Not at all, I simply meant that," I paused for a moment to think of a better excuse for my slip up, "I've heard your name on people's lips before, it's nice to put a face to the name, Miss Ives." I said coming up with something that I thought was a decent enough excuse that would hopefully appease her curiosity.

"Oh, I didn't know I was a topic of gossip," She spoke again and though she was trying to feign ignorance I could tell she had noticed my slip up by the way her eyes looked at me and how her pupils darkened with triumph at her victory.

"Well anyway would you care for a dance?" She asked me her tone lighter with an undertone of something that was perhaps mischief, as she gave a slightly bow and extended out hand, facing upwards, to me.

"Well people do like to talk," I was very quickly scanning the ballroom for a quick escaped to the exit and when I found it I took my chances, "I must be going Miss Ives, good evening." I said the formal goodbye and quickly left through the small gap that had been left to the exit and retrieved my own cloak and quickly began to set off back up to the manor we were staying in that was slight ways away.

As I walked under the nights dark sky at a brisk pace, I thought of how I knew my mother would be anything but pleased at what she would see as a display of my incompetence at not completely her 'simple' task but I also thought about how what she didn't know couldn't hurt her, a policy I very much enjoyed using with my mother. Though if she were to ever find out I knew I'd probably be crucified upside down with no last words being allowed.

Not long later I made up back to our home, a manor that was slightly outside of central London. I walked up the stone steps that led to the large front doors which i opened with a heavy gust of wind which came when I turned my wrist in just the right way and I walked inside oblivious to anything else as I took my cloak off and threw it somewhere I didn't care to check.

As I walked further into the foyer at the front of the manner, I started ragging the gloves of my arms and unpinning the mass of my that sat atop my head. It felt euphoric when my hair cascaded down my back because finally all the weight was off the crown of my head and sighed out in a pleased way not caring for all the bobby pins that were fall the marble floor and making a clattering sound.

For a moment all I thought I could hear was the clattering of my bobby pins on the floor, which was a lovely relief because it meant that my mother possibly my sisters weren't in the manor or they were at least asleep, either way I was happy to not be bothered by any of them.

As I just about started to walk up the overly elaborate staircase upstairs, I heard a bang and then a mumble and quickly whipped my body around to the direction of the sound which just happened to be the front doors and then I saw her, Vanessa, well this is just fabulous.

"Miss Ives, what on earth are you doing here?" I asked feigning confusion and innocence as I walked down the few steps I had just walked up. I then walked over to where Vanessa was, in the middle of the foyer, taking in her surroundings of the dark and quietly frankly disturbing manor.

"You never told me your name," She began to say, the meaning behind her voice was obviously detached from what she was saying to me as she was to focused on surveying her new surroundings. "What possible reason do you have for being here?" She asked me finally making eye contact and her steely gaze was hardened and distrusting.

She must be able to feel the aura of the manor, Hell she probably had a pretty good idea about who lived here which meant she probably knew what I was. "Miss Ives I know how it may look but..." I began to say to Vanessa before I heard the creaking of floorboards coming from upstairs and as the noise grew closer the sound of footsteps accompanied it.

A horrible sense of dread filled my chest because I knew that it was just the wind or if it was a person, as I suspected it was, it wasn't one of my sisters, it was my mother. I didn't have much time to think and I'm not sure what compelled me to do it but I quickly faced Vanessa agin and twisted my wrist in her direction and a gust of with pushed her against one of the far walls and quickly I consumed her in enough mist to make her invisible.

Just as I turned back around to face the staircase but before I was able to regain my composure, my mother was at the top of the staircase in one of her robes and her hair pinned. "Oh mother, hello," I spoke trying calm my voice down as to not give anything away.

"Y/N you've returned, I assume the task I sent you on was a success then." She phrased it in a way that anyone would think it was meant as a question but I knew she didn't mean it as one, she never did.

"Yes mother," I spoke with my head bowed, lying through the skin of my teeth, praying she wouldn't notice my lie. "Lucifer's bride had a bit of a manic episode at the party and fainted," I explained to my mother whilst trying to come up with a believable lie, we were expected to refer to Vanessa as Lucifer's bride, the thought always made my skin crawl but I'd never let it show.

"Good, I'm pleased to hear," I eternally sighed of relief when my mother spoke like she had know idea that I had lied to her and I was grateful for it. "Well I shall retire for night now," She then finished saying as she walked back the way she came and the sound of her footsteps soon disappeared completely.

Once my mother was gone I couldn't even give myself a moment to enjoy my victory as I know Vanessa was still stuck the wall and covered in mist. I quickly ran other to where I cast her off and released from my nightwalker magic, to which she fell from the wall gasping for breath.

"Miss Ives," I quickly got down on the floor as she was still gasping, "Miss Ives you must leave, if my mother or sisters find you here you will never leave," I tried to encourage her off the floor and I eventually got her to her feet but she wasn't leaving. "Listen, I understand your in shock and still recovering but you have to leave right now," I kept urgently encouraging her to leave but it wasn't quite working. "Vanessa!" I shouted her name and this finally snapped her out of wherever she'd been in her head, she made eye contact with me once before running out of the manner and disappearing and all I could do was finally sigh in relief. What a night. __________________________________ So I've had to split this request into two parts because it was getting a little long. Anyway, thank you all for reading, I hope you all enjoyed and until next time fellow readers.

Tag List @ateliefloresdaprimavera @cissyenthusiast010155 @multifandomfix @multimilfs

[fanfics4world]

Between Love & Duty - Part 1

From Back to you book. Bridget x OC

Summary: When the White Queen discovers the forbidden relationship between Skye and Bridget, everything becomes complicated. Threatened by her mother, Skye must make difficult choices to protect those she loves without sacrificing her own heart.

A/N: As I work on the second book, I thought I'd publish some of the things I didn't include in the book, I hope you'll like them.

“How do I look?”, Charming couldn't help but roll his eyes for the umpteenth time. “Should I know the difference?” he asked. Skye sighed. “I've changed my tiara, I think Bridget will like this one better” Skye replied looking at herself in the mirror.

Bridget had asked Skye for space to get ready for Castlecoming, so she had to go to her friend Christopher Charming's room to change and make sure she was up to her girlfriend's standards.

“I assure you Bridget will like you with or without a tiara” he replied. “Maybe, but I want it to be a special night, it's the second dance we're going to together” said Skye fixing the hem of her suit for the sixth time.

Charming had long since finished looking ‘charming’ for Ella, so all he could do was wait for his friend to finish making up her mind.

“At this rate by the time we get there the dance will be over”, Skye couldn't help but laugh. “Good things come to those who wait Charming, I know you're looking forward to seeing Ella” Skye said, watching through the mirror as her friend blushed, which made her smile even wider.

“We're just going as friends” he replied and Skye hummed. “Sure, sure... Just friends... I bet you anything you want that before the dance is over you two end up as a couple”

Skye turned and leaned into Charming, her tone low and menacing. “But I'm warning you, if you hurt her I'll make sure you'll never ever be that charming again” she said before standing up, her face smiling as it had seconds before.

“I'm ready now, we can go”

Charming stood up from the couch with a nervous smile. “Let's go then, I don't want Ella to think I stood her up”

Skye and Charming left the room and walked down the halls of the academy, decorated with lights and garlands for the occasion. The sound of music and laughter grew louder as they approached the ballroom.

When they entered the hall, they were quickly greeted by the magical and joyful atmosphere. Skye's eyes roamed the place until they landed on her pink-haired princess, who was standing by the drinks table with her back to her.

“I'm going with my princess, go find your girl Charming, but remember my words”, and without another word, Skye began to walk towards Bridget.

When Bridget turned around, the world seemed to stop around her. Bridget looked just... Wonderful.

She wore a pink silk dress, with a pastel-hued corset that ended in a long ruffled skirt, decorated with different cards from the deck of hearts. On her head rested a golden tiara.

When Bridget saw Skye, a huge smile formed on her face. Which only made Skye's heart race even faster.

I would bring the whole world to its knees before you if you ask me to, princess.

Bridget began to walk towards her, both of them meeting in the centre of the room. Nothing mattered, just the two of them.

Skye gave a graceful curtsy, making Bridget blush. “To say you look spectacular is an understatement, princess”

Bridget cut the small space that separated them and Skye's hands took their usual position on Bridget's hips.

“You look spectacular too, love. You're attracting the gaze of every girl in the room” Bridget said, making Skye giggle.

“Let them keep watching, because I only have eyes for you” she said pulling Bridget into a kiss. “In this life and the next” she whispered.

Bridget brought her lips together with Skye's, the two melting into a tender kiss. “You're going to get my makeup all messed up”, Skye giggled.

“Makeup or no makeup you'll always be beautiful to me. Like I always tell you, I think you're the only wonder of Wonderland”

Skye stepped back and held out her hand to Bridget, just like she did at their first dance. “And now princess, may I have this dance?”

Bridget took Skye's hand with a smile. “This one and every one you want”

The two began to move to the music, their bodies synchronized in a dance that seemed almost rehearsed. Skye placed one hand on Bridget's waist, while the other continued to hold her hand. Bridget, in turn, rested her free hand on Skye's shoulder, drawing even closer.

Every step, every turn, was an expression of their love and connection. The closeness of their bodies, the touch of their hands, and the constant gaze between them created an intimacy they had rarely experienced. The music seemed to speak directly to them, guiding their movements and enveloping them in a bubble of romance.

“Do you remember our first dance?” asked Bridget, her voice barely a whisper.

“Of course I do” Skye replied, smiling at the memory. “It was one of the best nights of my life”

Any time by your side princess will always be the best.

“For me too” Bridget said, gently squeezing Skye's hand. “And tonight is even better”

The music changed to an even slower, more romantic tune, and the two of them moved closer together, if that was even possible. Skye could feel Bridget's heart beating, and she knew hers was beating in time with it. It was as if their hearts were in sync, beating together in perfect harmony.

Bridget rested her head on Skye's shoulder, closing her eyes and letting herself be swept up in the music and the moment. Skye leaned her head back, resting it gently against Bridget's, breathing in the sweet scent of her hair. It was a moment of pure bliss and love, a moment they both knew they would remember forever.

“I love you, Bridget” Skye whispered, her voice full of emotion. “I love you like I never thought I'd be able to love”

“I love you too, Skye” Bridget replied, lifting her head to look into her eyes. “Always”

They looked at each other for a few seconds that seemed like forever, and then, without another word, they leaned in and kissed. It was a soft, loving kiss, a kiss that sealed their promise to be together, not just that night, but forever.

The music continued, and they continued to dance, lost in their own world of love and happiness. Nothing else mattered at that moment, only the two of them and the love they shared.

When there were only a few couples and several teachers left in the ballroom, Bridget and Skye decided it was time to leave, however, before returning to their room they went out into the garden, sitting on one of the benches in the courtyard.

“I'll miss the stars during the holidays, I wish you could see them in Wonderland” Bridget said, looking up at the starry sky. Skye looked up at her, appreciating how the stars reflected in her girlfriend's eyes.

If there were stars in Wonderland, they'd be jealous of you.

“Are you sure you'll be okay in the White Kingdom?”, ever since Bridget had discovered the horrors the White Queen was doing to Skye, she hadn't wanted Skye to return, even though Skye had Daniel's protection, she knew that even her girlfriend's knight couldn't protect her from the queen.

Skye sighed, she had been fearing the holidays ever since they had been informed last week. She wasn't going to lie, she was afraid to go home, especially knowing that her mother was aware of the far from ‘perfect’ and ‘befitting her position’ behaviour she had been engaging in.

“Surely the things that await me when I return will not be pretty, I'm sure my mother has been informed of my grades and the altercation with Hook” said Skye.

Bridget's heart broke, Skye would pay the consequences for standing up for her that day.

“It's my fault, I'm so sorry”

Skye looked at Bridget, watching a tear slide down her cheek.

“No, it's not” Skye said gently brushing the tear away with her hand. “Yes it is, if you hadn't defended me... It's not fair that you have to suffer for that!” said Bridget, Skye smiled sadly.

“You know something, Bridget. Despite everything I've been through, I wouldn't change a thing about my life. I'd go through the same thing over and over again, because at the end of it all, I would find you”

Bridget couldn't help but throw herself into her girlfriend's arms, tears streaming down her cheeks as she hid her face in Skye's chest. Who hugged her tightly, gently running her fingers through her hair.

“Life may not have treated me well, but its thorny path led me to you, and I couldn't be more grateful for that”

“What have I ever done to deserve you?”, Skye smiled warmly. “Haven't you noticed yet? Bridget of Hearts, you're the reason my heart beats, you're all I need to keep me going. There are no grey days for me, because your mere presence fills even the darkest corners with light. You are my everything”

Bridget kissed Skye, her lips finding comfort and love in that gesture. Skye whispered to her. “It'll only be two weeks, I'll be back by your side before you know it”

Bridget, her eyes still filled with emotion, asked her. “Promise me you'll write me as soon as you can to let me know how you're doing”

“I promise” Skye replied firmly.

Then, in an unexpected move, Skye lifted Bridget bridal style, drawing a surprised laugh from her. “Now we don't have to worry about the future, only the present” said Skye with a mischievous grin. “And in this present, your dress will look great on our bedroom floor”

Bridget blushed, but couldn't help but laugh and hug Skye tighter. “I love you, Skye”

“I love you too, Bridget”

With one last look at the starry sky, the two headed back to the academy.

The carriage carrying Skye to the White Kingdom glided silently along the roads leading to the palace. The pristine scenery that normally seemed like a fairy tale only intensified the knot of fear in her stomach. The kingdom where she was born, cold and perfect, had never been a refuge. Every time she approached her home, she knew that the calm outside hid internal storms. Two weeks on holiday. Two weeks under the strict watch of her mother.

The White Queen.

Fear filled her with every mile she walked. What punishment would await her this time? Would she go without food for days, like the last time she 'disappointed her'? Would she be beaten up for not living up to expectations? Or worse, would she carve the family emblem back into her skin again? The mere thought sent a shiver through her body. She closed her eyes, trying to erase the memories, but the scars on her back burned as if they had been freshly made.

When the carriage stopped in front of the imposing white castle, Skye took a deep breath. There was no avoiding what was coming. Her feet, light but hesitant, carried her to the grand entrance. The doors opened to reveal her, and the guards flanking the marble corridor stared at her expressionlessly. They knew who she was, but none of them cared.

At the end of the corridor, in the majestic throne room, the White Queen awaited her. Her mother, seated on the throne, radiated cool perfection. Skye's eyes avoided her mother's as she knelt, knowing she was not to speak until permission was granted. The silence in the room was overwhelming.

“Get up” her mother commanded in a cutting voice, like the edge of a blade. Skye did so immediately, her knees shaking slightly. It didn't matter how many times she'd been through this; it was always the same. Terror.

Her mother leaned forward slightly, her eyes immaculate as snow, drilling into Skye. “Why did you hit that student?” she asked, without preamble, and her tone brooked no excuses. “I sent you to learn to do your royal duties, to be a good queen, not to get you into trouble”

Skye felt her heart race. She couldn't tell her the truth. She couldn't tell her that she'd hit the boy because he'd insulted Bridget. Bridget, her girlfriend, daughter of the Queen of Hearts, her mother's greatest enemy. The thought of her mother finding out made her panic.

“She insulted our kingdom” Skye said in a firm voice, though inside she felt herself trembling. It was the only way out. Her mother would not tolerate disrespect towards the White Kingdom. Even if it wasn't the truth, it was believable enough.

Her mother's eyes narrowed, but something changed in her expression. “He insulted the kingdom?” she repeated, her tone curious. “What did he say?”

Skye swallowed, choosing her words carefully. “He said the White Kingdom and its queen were obsolete... unnecessary” she lied calmly, looking her mother straight in the eye. “I couldn't allow it”

Silence fell over the room again, but this time it was heavier, laden with expectation. Skye braced herself for the hit. She knew her mother was unpredictable, and while her lie might have saved her from an accusation, she never knew what would make her furious. She closed her eyes, waiting for the pain. A punch in the face, maybe. Or something worse.

But it didn't come.

She opened her eyes slowly and found a different expression on her mother's face. She was staring at her, but there was something she hadn't expected: a smile. A small one, almost imperceptible, but there it was. Proud.

“So you defended our kingdom” she said in a soft tone, but still full of that coldness that always accompanied her words. She slowly rose from her throne, her footsteps echoing in the empty room as she approached Skye. “You made a decision... even though I forbade you to be impulsive”

Skye didn't know what to say. Her mind was spinning. Proud? Of her mother? Something didn't add up. Yet the fear was still there, trapped in her chest. Was it a trap?

“Will you keep quiet?” her mother's voice snapped her out of her trance. This time there was a hint of harshness in her tone, almost daring her to speak.

“I could not allow you to insult my kingdom or my queen” Skye repeated, standing her ground even though her heart was pounding. Her mother stopped in front of her, looking into her eyes, as if to read her soul.

“And tell me... How did the others react, did they see everything?” the queen asked, leaning slightly towards her daughter, expectantly.

Skye felt a lump in her throat. “Yes. They all saw it”

A long silence followed. The queen drew herself upright, her gaze taking on a strange glow. “This is what is expected of a queen” she said, her voice tinged with something that might have been approval. “Protection of the crown's honour, no matter the cost” she paused before adding. “It seems some of what I've taught you has finally kicked in”

Skye could barely process what was happening. She expected humiliation, violence, anything but this. Was her mother... satisfied?

“But remember, Skye... you can't afford even one mistake. If you find yourself in a situation like that again... the kingdom and your queen must always be your priority. At any cost”, she turned her back to Skye, as if the conversation was over.

But her mother paused and, in a cold voice, added. “And as for your grades... I cannot ignore how disappointing they have been. They are far below what is expected of a royal. However…”, her mother gave her a sidelong glance, as if to see her reaction. “Given what you have done, I will let this failure pass... this time. But it won't happen again, Skye. I won't allow any more failures”

“Yes, mother”, without another word, she curtsied and walked out of the throne room, each step heavier than the last. When she was finally away from the watch of the guards, she let out the restrained air. Only two weeks, two weeks, and she would be back at Merlin Academy with Bridget.

Skye's room was cold, almost as frigid as the rest of the castle, but at least there she found respite from the constant oppression of the White Kingdom. The dim light filtering through the glass windows seemed to cast ethereal shadows on the walls. She sat at her desk, her pen running across the paper as she wrote carefully, pouring into it all that she could not say aloud. The letter was the only thing connecting her to Bridget at the moment.

Dear Bridget,

Today, something strange has happened... my mother seems, for the first time, proud of me. Although... if she knew the truth... I don't know what she would do. 

I had to lie. I couldn't tell her I hit Hook because I was defending you. Instead, I told her that he insulted the kingdom, and her. The look on her face froze me, not out of fear, but out of surprise... and I saw something I'd never seen in her before: proud. 

She even ignored my grades! But not before giving me a warning.

I hope to see you soon, I miss you already.

With all my heart,

Skye.

She signed her name with a heavy sigh, carefully folding the letter. The sound of light footsteps brought her out of her thoughts. Chess, vanished from the darkness, materialising on her bed, his eyes twinkling with the characteristic mischievous grin in the air.

“Could you do me a favour, Chess?” asked Skye in a whisper, approaching the cat and holding out the letter. Chess let out a soft laugh and nodded with a sly expression. “Give it to Bridget, please”

“Of course, your highness”, Chess took the letter between her teeth, slowly disappearing until only her eyes and smile were left floating in the air, and then that too vanished. 

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Skye gasped and quickly put the pen away in an empty drawer.

“Come in” she said in a calm voice, though her heart was pounding.

The door opened slowly, and there stood Daniel. His presence had always been a comfort to her. 

“Daniel” exclaimed Skye, running to him and wrapping him in a hug. The knight responded with a soft smile, wrapping his arms around her.

“I'm sorry I couldn't come sooner” Daniel said in his deep voice, apologizing as he gently pulled away from the embrace. “Your mother asked me to oversee the training of the new soldiers. You know how it is”

Skye nodded, quirking a small smile. “You didn't miss much” she said with a shrug. “Well...except that for the first time I think my mother is proud of me”

Daniel looked at her in surprise, his blue eyes searching Skye's face for some clue. “Your mother proud? I've never heard that before, why is that?”

Skye sat on the edge of her bed, her mind reliving the encounter with her mother in the throne room. She knew she had to tell Daniel what had happened. She couldn't lie to him too.

“Remember when I told you about how Hook was bothering Bridget and I hit him?” she began, her gaze fixed on the floor. Daniel nodded and Skye smiled sideways, remembering the feeling of release at seeing Hook fall. But the smile soon faded. “My mother found out. And of course, I couldn't tell her the truth. I couldn't tell her that I did it because I was defending Bridget.... So I lied to her”

Daniel frowned, moving closer to her. “What did you tell her?”

Skye took a deep breath. “I told her that Hook insulted the kingdom and her. That I couldn't allow it...and that's why I hit him”

The silence that followed was heavy. Daniel blinked, surprised, processing what Skye had just confessed to him. After a few seconds, he let out a sigh and his expression changed from concerned to something warmer, though still wary.

“Skye…” he began, softly. “I understand why you did it. But lying to your mother... it's playing with fire. You know how unpredictable she can be”

Skye nodded, feeling her chest tighten. “I know. But there was no other choice. If I had told her the truth... if she knew I defended her enemy's daughter... who happens to be my girlfriend…” her words faded into thin air, filled with fear.

Daniel sighed again, but this time with a sad smile. “What you did was risky, but also brave” his voice was soft, but contained an implied warning. “Just be careful, Skye. You can't lie to her forever”

“I know” Skye murmured, looking Daniel in the eye. “But, for now, I don't have a choice”

“I'll always be by your side, Skye. No matter what happens. But if your mother starts to get suspicious...just promise me you'll be more cautious”

“I promise” Skye said, though the words weighed on her like another lie.

The White Queen walked the cold corridors of the castle, her mind analysing every detail of what had happened to her daughter. The proud feeling she had felt at hearing how Skye had defended the honour of the kingdom had surprised her. Perhaps, for the first time, her daughter was showing signs of the queen she had always hoped she would be.

Though she was not normally given to gestures of affection or recognition, something in her compelled her to reward Skye for her loyalty. Nothing too ostentatious, of course. She couldn't afford to undermine her authority. But a small reward to let her know that her behaviour had been... acceptable.

As she pondered what might be a fitting gesture, she settled on something simple but meaningful: a family jewel, a crystal brooch bearing the royal family emblem that represented the lineage of the White Kingdom. It had belonged to generations of queens and would be a clear symbol of approval.

Satisfied with her decision, she walked towards her daughter's room, her steps calculated and perfect. When she reached the door, she reached out her hand to knock, but before her knuckles could touch the wood, she heard voices from within. Skye's familiar voice, and, more softly, Daniel's.

Her hand paused in midair.

The White Queen was not one to be driven by curiosity, but something in Skye's tone made her stop and listen. She leaned slightly towards the door, allowing the words to filter through to her.

“I know. But there was no other choice. If I had told her the truth... if she knew I defended her enemy's daughter... who happens to be my girlfriend…”

The White Queen's face froze, more than usual. For a moment, she couldn't process what she had just heard. Skye's words were still echoing in her mind. The daughter of her worst enemy? Bridget. The Queen of Hearts' daughter.

Her breathing, controlled and precise, slowed. The air around her seemed to cool further as she straightened, her hand still outstretched but now trembling slightly. The brooch she had been holding in her other hand fell to the floor with a soft clang, but she didn't even flinch.

Skye... my own daughter... dating the Queen of Hearts' daughter.

The betrayal was like a dagger through her chest. The White Queen hadn't felt like this in a long time, not since the last time she'd trusted someone only to have them disappoint her. And now, her own daughter, whom she had tried so hard to mould, was deceiving her, hiding the truth... for the love of her greatest enemy's daughter.

The proud feeling she had felt before vanished like steam in the frosty air. Her mind, normally cold and calculating, was filled with rage. But, like any queen who had mastered the art of strategy, she knew how to contain herself. She would not open the door at that moment. She wouldn't confront Skye right away. No.

She knew she had to be careful. This new information could be her most powerful weapon. Anger boiled inside her, but she channeled it into something more useful: control. She had played this game of intrigue many times before, and she had never lost. She would not start now.

With steps as quiet as a sigh, the White Queen turned, leaving Skye's door behind her without a sound. Her face, impassive as ice, showed not a hint of the whirlwind of emotions that swept over her.

She walked slowly through the corridors. In her mind, she was beginning to make a new plan. Skye thought she could lie to her, that she could hide her true motivations from her. But the White Queen had survived far more trickery than her daughter could imagine.

Arriving at her chambers, she sat in front of her mirror, staring at her reflection. Emotions had no place in her life, even when her own daughter was involved. She knew what she had to do.

Skye wasn't ready yet. She couldn't afford to have a weak queen, swayed by her emotions and childish distractions.

The next few days would be crucial. She would not act impulsively, not the way the Queen of Hearts would act. No. The White Queen was patient. She would manipulate the situation to her advantage, use Skye's love as a weakness, a rope that would keep her bound. And, if necessary, she would ensure that this relationship with her enemy's daughter would not flourish.

Masterlist

[kunikame]

¡ ! ❝ REDAMANCY . . ❞

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natsume sakasaki x reader smau

warning(s) : cussing, death mention, sakasaki natsume is a simp, rip mao im sorry ill write a mao fic as an apology for what i put him through one day i promise

w/c : 1.1k

wataru hibiki has, in his time at yumenosaki academy, seen many dreams crumble. he's witnessed many dreamers fall apart, give up and leave, become a shell of who they once used to be. he's familiar with this particular feeling of loss, of not remembering who you once were; who you wished to be. 

it's a common experience and he has long accepted it strikes when least expected, to the ones you least expect it to happen to, because their dreams are simply too precious– too pure, yet they're still thrown into such a distressing situation.

he wishes he could keep that view, keep looking at the world in black and white, see the evil in the good and the purity in the bad. perhaps it would be easier, less taxing on the mind.

and yet, he hesitates, finds himself looking for an exception; a fault in his theory. he feels his gaze wandering around the ballroom– black and white, filled with fraudulent faces– only to be met with the smiling face of the one who so dearly refers to him as his 'master'.

he protected natsume once, he can do it again, and yet as he truly focuses on his expression, wataru finds there is nothing to protect the boy from.

he's smiling– truly smiling, with his entire being, because natsume has found his safe place.

wataru thinks he is okay with that. as his gaze slides to the person natsume is looking at so fondly, he finds himself relieved she's looking at him the exact same way, like he himself hung the stars and the moon in the night sky. 

perhaps, perhaps some dreams won't crumble

contrary to the flourish in natsumes speech and movements, he hates social events that include the higher classes. he’s been trained for them, taught how to behave, move, interact, stand, lift a glass,.. he knows it all. he has always, always hated these. so then why does he find himself so at ease at this specific event?

because it celebrates his mother? his friends are here? the color scheme makes him feel at ease? no.

you laugh at something kohaku says and suddenly he has the answer to all the questions running through the back of his mind, and he knows it’s you and it’s always been you and it always will be you.

because natsume sakasaki gazes down at you like you are his sun and his world revolves around you; he wants to be yours– he is yours, but only if you want him to be. he thinks he would continue being yours even if you didn't desire it to be so, he simply couldn't stop following the predetermined route he is meant to take; following the course mapped out for him, much like the planets you hold so dear orbit the sun (and he hopes you hold him dear, too).

he finds himself desperately wishing soulmates were real because then his feelings would make sense because now he just feels and he doesn’t understand why.

and yet as you turn his way when you notice him walking towards you with that breathtaking smile of yours and something akin to sparkles in your eyes, his heart starts racing a mile a minute and he’s not even sure he can walk properly anymore. is this a curse? is he dying? what have you done to him?

“natsu! you were so great! i wish you would’ve seen yourself! err, well, i suppose performing was better but- not the point! ahhhh, i wish i had recorded it.. actually i think tsukasa said–”

you went on animatedly explaining whatever it is you were saying while he just stared. he wishes he could listen but he’s gonna be absolutely, brutally honest, he can’t bring himself to. his ears are ringing and his palms are suddenly sweating and holy shit has it always been so hot in here? where’s all the air from his lungs gone? why is his throat so dry? oh god you’re looking at him and what were you even saying oh go-

“natsu? are you okay? would you like to sit down for a bit? i’m sorry, i should’ve known you were tired– come, i’ll go get you some water,” you grab onto his elbow and pull him along with you universe knows where and he just lets you. 

suddenly he’s sitting in a chair and you’re fawning all over him; checking his temperature because apparently his ’forehead is too warm’ and sending mao to get some water (which he, to everyones surprise, does) while kohaku and tsukasa keep the other guests away from your unsuspecting corner and natsume just dazedly stares up at you while you gently push his bangs back with a look of genuine concern for him.

suddenly, air re-enters his lungs and his throat opens up, but the ringing and the fuzz in his brain remain. he doesn’t think you’ve ever been so close to each other before and frankly, it’s making him lightheaded. his amber eyes trace the curves of your face and he’s late to realize he could probably count your lashes if he really wanted to (he does, god does he want to) and, makeup be damned, even without it you put all beauty standards and so-proclaimed “most beautiful women in the world” to shame. 

despite the fuzz there is a singular coherent thought swirling in his brain, he thinks you’re beautiful. no, gorgeous. no, that’s not quite good either.

“you’re ethereal..”

and yet, that still doesn’t fully capture your essence. heavenly might be close. breathtaking? heartstopping? not quite.. they need to come up with a new word for you specifically because whatever high natsume is riding on, he can’t find a word good enough for you.

you’re looking at him in the eyes with an adorably flustered face and your hands are no longer messing with his bangs or touching his forehead and he’s a little slow to realize he accidentally voiced his thoughts when he sees you give him the softest of smiles; his face now feels 10 times warmer than before.

“thank you, i would say the same about you. ethereal, breathtakingly so,” your hand slides from his forehead to cup his cheek and natsume sakasaki thinks he might short circuit.

“i think i’m in love with you..”

your hand freezes and natsume begins to regret every life decision that’s led him up to this point but then he feels the soft press of your lips against his and, perhaps, he should give himself a pat on the back instead.

mao isara, however, regrets agreeing to come along the moment he walks past the curtain separating you from the rest of the guests just to see you kissing his “arch nemesis” and he’s forced to accept there is nothing, no deal, no faking; you love natsume sakasaki and he can’t do anything but watch. he turns on his heel and walks away, leaving the glass of water with kohaku and with the excuse of needing some fresh air, he exits the ballroom.

╰┈➤ synopsis ❝after yumenosaki academy resident magician and eccentric sakasaki natsume asks you to “go out with him”, you immediately shut him down. so why is he dedicating a song to you at a switch concert? and why are people whispering about you being the cutest couple?❞

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[xelasrecords]

Wedding Scene

Han Jumin x Reader

Sometimes good things come to an end. Although you don't love them anymore, you can still want the best for them. Can be read as the continuation of Greatest Kindness.

Words: 2.1k

Masterlist Read on AO3

Jumin was getting married and you were not going to be his bride.

There was a time when standing beside him on the altar would be a possibility, but at this time, you were destined to watch him from the side of the aisle, clapping for him, listening to whispers of how beautiful his bride was, and how lovestruck and tearful he looked. At this time, the impossible had happened. He had moved on from you. He had found someone whom he would keel over in happiness for.

You watched him watching her. This was what you wanted. This was what you had chosen.

But your breath caught when you saw Jumin hold the bride's hand, not because of his display of affection, but for the tiny detail that no one seemed to notice. The secret gesture meant just for the two of them, his thumb brushing her skin in a slow circular motion and how she could breathe easier after. It was a gesture he used to do with you.

Did it mean anything to you then? Was it a perfunctory motion that you took for granted or was it something you took comfort in? You couldn't remember—it had been years since you broke up with him.

It had been years, and you were still here.

When they were pronounced as husband and wife, everyone in the ballroom held their breath. When they kissed, the crowd erupted and the cameras flashed. You applauded too, grateful that Jumin found someone who would love him and stand by him forever. You knew you couldn't be that person for him, but there was no satisfaction in being proven right. Your lips wobbled and you pressed them together into a firm line.

Under the glittering glass dome at night, the married couple performed their first dance together. Hands on waist and shoulders and forehead on each other's, they swayed to a romantic tune played by the live orchestra. The bride and the groom were an exquisite pair. They had their attention on no one but each other, speaking with their eyes in a language familiar only to them. The smile, the occasional laughter, the embrace.

Then impossibly, Jumin's eyes flitted to the crowd and spotted you. Had you been younger and more excitable, your heart would have skipped a beat. But there was nothing exciting about this, though it was nothing dreadful either. You smiled and gave your best reassuring nod. He smiled back—not the admiring type reserved for his wife, but a gentle one that spoke of the camaraderie from the olden times.

He mirrored your nod and shifted his attention to his wife. One last spin and the dance was concluded. When Jumin made his way with her to you, fingers linked together, you found that your knees were locked. "Allow me to introduce you to our esteemed coordinator of RFA, my dear," said Jumin.

You shook their hands. "Congratulations to both of you. The dance was marvellous, and look at you!" You turned to the bride. "That gown fits you so well. You're beautiful."

"Thank you, I had to stop Jumin from blasting 'Beautiful in White' when he first saw me." She laughed. "I've heard a lot of good things about your work. This guy here got nothing but praise for you."

"You deserve the serenade." You chuckled. "And I was under regular threats to be kicked out of the organisation if I didn't do well, so I didn't exactly have a choice."

"There was always a choice," Jumin interjected. "You could've abandoned us, but you chose to stay."

Did you, though? Sure, you stayed, but you also left them in shambles. Your breakup strained your relationship with RFA. And by falling out of love, you abandoned Jumin. The guilt followed you around even when you could see how much happier he had become.

This regret had more to do with you being unable to leave things behind rather than wanting him back. Jumin was right. You couldn't abandon people and live with yourself. Wasn't that one of the reasons you ended up here at this wedding? You were chasing your own tail, hoping that one day you could bite it off but never dared to. You were afraid of what would happen if you could actually catch it.

But you kept those thoughts locked inside your head and chirped lightly, "As I said, I was threatened."

Jumin eyed you, then decided to play along. "That just means you have proven that you work well under pressure."

It was a familiar compliment, but it somehow felt wrong to hear, like putting on a worn-out shirt that made you slip into another time where you didn't belong. It wasn't yours to bask in anymore.

His wife touched his arm. "See what I mean? I'll leave you two to catch up. It's time for me to be the celebrity among my friends." She glanced at the group of people waiting for her across the room, phones and cameras ready at their disposal.

Jumin kissed her forehead. "Show me the pictures later, love."

After she left, the two of you were left with a chasm so wide that you had no clue how to cross it. What could fill the untouched silence that had stretched on for years? After your breakup, you only approached Jumin for charity-related issues, and he respected the line you drew. You kept things formal. You kept your distance. He kept his heart from being broken by you again.

Jumin broke the silence first. "You look radiant. I don't recall you ever wearing your hair like that."

You touched your hair and tucked the flying strands behind your ear. "Thank you, it's a new thing I'm trying."

"Innovative. It looks good on you."

"I know, you've said it twice already," you quipped.

Jumin looked at you with a strange wistfulness, so you chuckled to brush it away and were relieved when he did the same. "Right, I did," he gave in. "I appreciate you attending my wedding tonight. I wasn't sure you would come."

"It wouldn't be right if I didn't attend just because of our history. It's been a long time ago, and I still care about everyone in the RFA."

"If that's the case, then I understand. The RFA is important to me too, although I'm not sure where the rest of the members are right now." Jumin craned his neck to spot anyone with striking mint, silver, red, or blond hair, or even the brunette woman that he saw at the office every day but failed to find them.

"They're probably hoarding the buffet or making very good use of the photo booth," you guessed.

"I wouldn't be surprised," he said.

You lapsed into another silence. Had it always been this difficult to talk to Jumin? You never had to rummage through superficial niceties before. You expected him to be uncomfortable, but he was merely watching you, studying you with the same intensity he always possessed.

You cleared your throat. "The decorations are splendid, by the way. You have good taste in design." You waved at the floral arrangement on the pillars nearby and the chandelier above.

"I used to read this fairytale picture book when I was a child. It featured a magnificent wedding venue like this and I wanted to recreate it. Fortunately, my wife is fond of the idea and let me live out my childhood dream." Jumin glanced at her entertaining the guests on the other side of the room, his gaze tender and adoring.

You doubted he knew what kind of expression he was wearing. Did he use to look at you with as much love too? The answer didn't matter now. "You've always had great ideas, Jumin. I'd be more surprised if you couldn't make this happen."

"You're kind to say that," commented Jumin. "I knew it. You haven't changed that much. You've always been a nice person."

Was not changing something to be proud of? You had been the same for years, stuck in the same place while everyone was progressing in their life. Look at Jumin, look at how happy he was. You were desperate to get out of the empty husk that you caged yourself in. You wanted to be free from those sleepless nights. You wanted to breathe again.

"A nice person wouldn't hurt you like I did," you said quietly.

Jumin stepped closer to you, voice firm. "Do you think just because someone is nice, they have to do nice things all the time? That's a rather extreme belief to adopt. When you asked for a breakup, you worded it as gently as possible. You didn't just leave without an explanation. You still cared for my feelings even when you thought you were doing something awful. A bad person wouldn't do that."

You blinked and huffed out a laugh. "I can't believe you used that as the example."

"After we broke up, it was all I was worried about. I knew you, and I was afraid you would beat yourself up over it." Jumin's tone had dropped low enough that nobody but you could hear his words.

"And I was worried you would isolate yourself and close yourself off from everyone. But you're here now, so all is well." The smile you gave him was a genuine one. You were happy for him, no matter how remorseful you were.

"Life has an interesting way to play out," Jumin agreed. He seemed deep in thought before adding, "But you didn't ruin my life. Being with you was one of the greatest things that ever happened to me. You were there during my first fallout with my father. You were there when Elizabeth the Third ran away. You were also there when I struggled to undo the knots strangling me my whole life. In all my pivotal moments, I wasn't alone because you never left me."

You took a deep shuddering breath. "How do you still know the right things to say?" It was as astonishing as it was bittersweet how well he could read you.

"The time we spent together wasn't just nothing to me. However brief it was, you were still the first person who loved me for me. I'm happy that I had the opportunity to know you, and even more grateful that you let me in."

You didn't know gratitude could sound so poignant. "You were also the first person who could accept me as I was. I'm sorry for hurting you."

"Don't apologise. There's nothing you could do about a change of heart, and I'm quite content with how things turn out." Jumin reached for your hand and squeezed it. You could feel the cold band of his wedding ring against your skin. "Stop punishing yourself for doing what you did when you did it for yourself. I could only bear to let you go because your happiness mattered to me."

You stared at his hand covering yours, wondering how you could have fallen out of love with someone like him, and how even his affirmations couldn't bring your heart to flutter again. "Your wife is lucky to have you. You're such a good person, Jumin. I wish everyone could see that."

Jumin smiled and said nothing, looking at you with the same gentleness that used to bring you comfort. Your memories of him might have faded, but you remembered how peaceful it was while it lasted. How your principal emotion with Jumin was always joy before it seeped away from your grasp. How much impact you had on each other during that short time, and how both of you had carried it to your present.

There was nothing you wanted more for him than being loved and accepted by the person he loved, especially if that someone couldn't be you. This was the man who always had a spare pair of slippers ready because he knew your feet would hurt after hours of wearing heels. This was the man who would express gratitude for you in a hundred different ways when you didn't think you had done anything to deserve them. He had loved you so, so much. His happiness mattered a lot to you too.

You patted his shoulder with your free hand. "I'll let you go back to your wife now. She must be waiting for you."

Jumin nodded. "Thank you for coming again. I had a grand time talking with you."

You smiled. "So did I."

Jumin bowed and let go of your hand. You waited until he joined his wife, wrapping an arm around her waist, never looking back at you, before turning away.

It was time for you to leave too.

-

Footnotes:

Rather than regretting a breakup because you realised too late that it was a mistake, I wanted to take a different approach to regret—you know breaking up is the right thing to do, but hurting someone you once loved could also haunt you.

I had a major writer's block writing this and tried to put on different types of breakup songs to get me into the melancholic mood, but surprisingly what worked was playing happy wedding playlists on Spotify. I don't know why my brain works like this.

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[beloveddes]

wonderland

warnings | queen!reader . king!suguru . fluff . reader is 21, suguru is 26 .

AN | wanted to make a princess story ofc !!

ﻬ 𐀔 ઇઉ ᨦദ ʚɞ ୨୧ 𓆩𓆪ﻬ 𐀔 ઇઉ ᨦദ ʚɞ ୨୧ 𓆩𓆪ﻬ 𐀔 ʚɞ

you woke up in your canopy bed, that was basically just a large pink fluff with lace prints surrounding it. you were always depressed because your mom recently died in a tragic horse accident, and left you as queen. your only in your early twenties and is already gonna have a husband to fulfill your place so your not proven as failure under your family’s history.

you climb down your bed and ring the small bell placed next to your bed so your maid would arrive and put you into your wedding gown, a white fluffy dress with pink laces . once you were done getting ready you sat there and waited for your carriage to arrive to take you to the ballroom where your wedding would be placed. you never wanted to get married, infact, you never wanted to become queen. all you wanted was a normal life where you could attend university and not be pressured by your nagging grandmother telling you she wants 4 or 5 grandchildren. but here you are , sitting on a cold golden throne in a palace that’s also cold , waiting to be married by suguru.

your carriage soon arrived, a maid helping you up out of your throne like your pregnant with twins , then escorts you inside of it, making sure not to dirty your delicate white laced dress. then they shut the door and off you go to start a new life, with a husband that’s 5 years older than you.

︵͜⏜͜︵ ⋆ ୨❀୧ ⋆︵͜⏜͜︵

your carriage stops , then the wide door opens, a man in a white and gold suit then escorts you out of the carriage and into the ballroom. you heels make noises against the floor as you walk down the aisle into the place where you wedding will be held. once you reach the room, you notice that the ceilings are far away from your reach and there’s a silver chandelier making the cold marble place sparkle. you see everyone in your family history sitting in chairs and when you look up you see suguru. he’s dressed in a white suit with a gold tie, and a baby pink rose in his pocket to top it all off.

you hear the piano start playing and that’s when you walk down the aisle, your hand in your cousins hand as he walks you down the aisle, then you reach the stage, standing face to face with suguru. he gives you a big smile as he places your hand in his. all moments past by until you have to say i do, and suguru does aswell, then you give him a kiss. a small one since your new to that type of nature. and you hear the crowd clap and smile at you and your husband. you both walk off of the stage and center the carriage to be taken back to the palace where you both share intimate moments, getting to know eachother and cuddling together as he rubs your head and you fall asleep.

︵͜⏜͜︵ ⋆ ୨❀୧ ⋆︵͜⏜͜︵

[prince-rowan-of-the-forest]

A Swallow's Symphony In Spring (8/19)

Chapter 8 - Come Walking High

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Warnings: none

Word Count: 2701

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The first snowfall in Hirundia meant many a wonderful thing for Roman. The first wonderful thing was that his training wasn’t done outside during winter whatsoever. His physical training moved inside - swordfighting being substituted for ballroom dancing and other such things which Roman found much easier and less laborious. It also meant his training couldn’t happen as often, which meant Roman had more free time. It also meant that the view outside his window was now painted white, and he’d always found winters beautiful. With the fireplace in his room roaring, a steaming mug of tea in his hands as he curled up on the window seat to watch the snow fall and slowly coat the roofs and ground below. Sure, it was cold in the castle - but that just meant that the Queen was often too focused on keeping the place warm to focus on him and his wrongdoings. 

It was peaceful, quiet. Winter to him was a time of peace and calm. He could go outside and sit in the snow and not be bothered because the Queen didn’t want to risk her skirts getting damp. He could sit at the library window and watch the occasional carriage roll up in peace. All around, winter had become one of his favourite seasons.

Virgil, unfortunately, did not seem to agree.

“Virgil! Look!” Roman had said, the afternoon the snow first started falling - it was right at the end of November, a little earlier than on average, but only by a few days. “It’s snowing out!”

“No need to sound so excited,” Virgil said, face forming a frown as he came over to look - seeing the snowflakes tumbling from the rolling yellowish-grey clouds. Roman could already tell it would be snowing for hours. 

“Why not?” He asks, turning to look at him, tilting his head when he sees Virgil’s frown. “It’ll be beautiful - I mean, when the grounds are covered with snow…”

“Mhm, sure,” Virgil huffs, perching on the window seat across from him. Roman tilting his head further. “Beautiful.”

“Do you not like snow?” He asked, a little cautious.

Virgil shook his head. “The snow’s fine.”

“Then… what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, why would anything be wrong?”

“Virgil - I don’t mean to push, but there is quite clearly something wrong.” Roman said, frowning at him. “Surely you know by now I won’t be upset.”

“No - it’s just - you seem excited,” Virgil sighed. “You don’t - seem to get to be happy about things, that often, I don’t want to ruin that.”

“That’s… kind of you,” Roman said, looking back out of the window. The snow was falling fast, but it wasn’t quite settling just yet. “But now I simply won’t be able to stop thinking about whatever is upsetting you.”

“It’s just - winter isn’t a very happy time, for - for poor folk.”

“...Oh,” Roman said, his eyes meeting Virgil’s again. “I’m sorry - I - I forgot, you…”

“It’s fine - no, really, it is, I can see you’re about to protest, don’t, it’s fine,” Virgil said, cutting off every attempt he tried to make a protest. He pouted in response. 

Virgil sighed, looking back out of the window and up at the mountains behind them - it was already snowy up on the peaks. 

“Just because winter is awful for some people,” Virgil says slowly, as though considering whether he should even say what he was saying. “Doesn’t mean you should stop enjoying something that clearly makes you happy.”

“But… if people are suffering down there, I don’t - want to be sat up here in my cosy room while people are struggling.” Roman said, watching a snowflake land on his windowsill, a little more mournful. 

“Roman…” Virgil says, taking a deep breath. “I know it hurts - knowing that people are suffering - but there’s nothing you can do about it, okay? Making yourself more miserable won’t help you or them.”

“I… suppose?”

“So why do you like the snow?” he asked, gesturing to the window.

“It’s… quieter, more peaceful,” Roman answered after a minute of contemplation. “My mother tends to be less -”

“Generally awful?” Virgil suggested when Roman struggled to come up with a word.

“That works - less generally awful during the winter. She stays in her chambers more, so it’s safer to move around the castle. It also means I don’t have to train outside.”

“Well that sounds nice,” Virgil smiles, putting a hand on his knee. Roman startled a little at the touch, but quickly relaxed again, clutching his tea tightly. “Do you… do anything? I mean - tradition wise?”

“Well - there’s usually a Royal Winter Gala. I’m not quite sure which kingdom is hosting this year. I don’t think it’s ours, but… otherwise, not really?”

“When abouts does that happen?” Virgil asked, pulling his legs up onto the seat to wrap his arms around his knees - Roman himself was sat cross-legged. 

“Oh - ages away,” Roman shook his head. “It’s always near the end of December.”

“So a solstice festival, then?” Virgil asked, tilting his head.

Frowning, Roman tried to remember why that rang a bell, maybe he had read it in a book somewhere - he simply couldn’t remember. “Um… perhaps?”

“I’ll take that as a no,” Virgil chuckles, Roman ducked his head with embarrassment - but he was glad Virgil wasn’t berating him. “It's the darkest day of the year. We don’t do a big celebration, usually. We simply don’t have the food or energy for it, but… there are little things.”

—-

December nights were dark and cold. Roman didn’t necessarily mind, especially not when he and Virgil sat together on cushions pulled from his bed, mugs of sweet tea in hand and blankets wrapped around them. There was a book laid out in front of them and Virgil had gathered a few candles which he had laid out on the floor in front of the fireplace. 

In three days, they would be taking a carriage out of the kingdom to spend a few days in one of their neighbouring kingdoms - Lardiae. Virgil had been undeniably anxious about it since the Queen had announced the trip at the beginning of the week. Roman had been able to ease his worries for the most part by telling him what he knew of the Kingdom’s royalty and nobles, as well as aiding him in planning this little party. 

Calling it a party was certainly a stretch, but Roman had asked for some extra food for lunch and saved it, with Virgil managing to snag some extra food from the kitchens with his own meals. They had a small meal between them - which was fine enough because they had both eaten dinner already. 

Roman wasn’t quite prepared for the biggest part of the celebration of the solstice that Virgil had proposed - which was to stay awake throughout the whole night. It wasn’t something he could say he had done willingly before. There had of course been times when he was too scared to sleep - that had been the case for a while after Remus’ passing - or that things hurt too much to allow him peaceful rest, but he had never quite done it by choice. 

Virgil had been quick to assure him that it really wasn’t that bad. He said he would teach Roman a few games they could play to pass the time after the sun set and they had finished setting up. Roman found it oddly peaceful. 

The only sounds he could hear were the crackling of the logs on the fire and Virgil’s quiet voice as he read from the heavy book. Roman paid attention to every word, it was a book of fairytales, fantasy. It was easy to enjoy such simple stories, especially when they were new to him. The book belonged to Virgil himself - not the Palace’s library - after all. He had never read it before, and Virgil’s soothing voice reading out the words was quite relaxing. 

It should not have surprised anyone that that voice had driven him to sleep.

Hours later, Roman woke again. He found himself with his head resting on Virgil’s shoulder and a blanket wrapped around him. Clearly Virgil hadn’t noticed him wake up, because he hadn’t yet acknowledged him, he was busy playing some game that involved twining different coloured strings around his fingers. Roman watched him make patterns with vague but bleary interest before finally announcing himself with a quiet mumble.

“Ah, the Prince awakes,” Virgil said with a hum. 

“M’ sorry…” Roman mumbled, sitting up properly with just a little effort. “I wasn’t too irritating, was I?”

“It’s fine - it’s not sunrise for a few hours anyway. It was just a nap,” Virgil said, giving him a small smile in the darkness. The room still lit by the few candles around them, each considerably more burnt out than they had been last he saw them. “And no - you weren’t. I didn’t mind.”

“You didn’t? Oh good,” Roman said, glancing around a little. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep - but if Virgil said it was alright then it was probably fine. “What’s that game you’re playing?”

“Oh… it’s just a thing my friend taught me,” Virgil says, turning a little so that Roman could see better. “So you have this long loop of string around both your hands, and the idea is to make different shapes with them using your hand movements - swapping the string between your fingers and such, it’s called Cat’s Cradle.”

Roman watched in wonder as Virgil demonstrated a number of these shapes to him, his hands moving far too quickly for him to keep up with the movements he was making. When Virgil offered to let him try Roman quickly agreed and even more quickly realised just how difficult it was to replicate the movements without getting the string tangled up together. Virgil had to save him a few different times from the coils of string wrapped around his hands. He wondered why the game was named that, but Virgil didn’t seem to have an answer. 

When the time came for sunrise and the two of them had finished off all of the food they had saved, they got up from the floor. Bringing one candle and blowing out the rest they made their way over to the window seat. Together they huddled under a blanket to watch the sunrise over the gardens and distant trees. They watched the clouds lighten and slowly turn a soft pink, with every minute adding more and more colours - a soft purple becoming more pink and orange as the sun itself peaked over the horizon. 

Of course, this wasn’t the first time Roman had seen a sunrise. It wasn’t like they were rare. Somehow, though, it felt different when they had stayed up all night through the darkness to wait for it. The sunbeams slowly climbed up the palace walls until they shone into Roman’s window and gently slowly warmed them through the glass. It felt so beautiful to see the golden light spilling across the flagstone floor of his room. So full of wonder he watched the sun spill across the palace grounds as though he had never seen it before. Knowing the days would start getting brighter and warmer from here.

Today was a day of hope for the people. That’s what he had learned from Virgil. They saw today as a turning point. A sign that they had made it halfway, that they could take a break and remember that spring was getting ever closer now. That sunrise was a symbol of hope. Watching it now, Roman thought he understood just a little.

“It’s beautiful,” He whispered, voice soft so as not to break up the atmosphere of peace and tranquillity they had created together. Virgil turned to smile at him.

“Me and my mother used to watch this together,” Virgil said softly, “We’d climb up onto the roof of the forge and wait for the sun to peek up over the forest…”

“Oh… that sounds lovely,” Roman says softly, hesitantly putting his arm around Virgil’s shoulders. He couldn’t help but smile when Virgil leant into it. “Do you… do this with your friends, too?”

“Oh, yeah,” Virgil chuckles. “Uh - my living situation since my mother passed was complicated. But I normally live with a couple of friends who tend to host a lot of others. so solstice celebrations were much bigger there - huge feasts and big events. They’ve got a little more money than most, so they’d often invite people in from the streets to share the feast… it’s always lovely…”

“If I were king, I’d host something like that here.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm - It sounds so wonderful - I’d just love to put that awful banquet hall to use, you know? Get a second table, invite anyone who wants to come - I’m sure we have more than enough space.”

“That would be… so incredibly wonderful,” Virgil said, shaking his head. “I think people would love that…”

“You do?” he said, happy that this particular idea was received well. “I want… I want to create something good, when I take over this kingdom. I want my people to be happy and safe. I don’t want people to fear the winter.”

“I think you would make an amazing king,” Virgil said, looking back out of the window. There was an indescribable look in his eyes, but Roman didn’t know what it meant. “Your reputation among the people isn’t… great, by your parents doing, but… you’re nothing like they say, I wish you got the chance to show them that.”

“Me too,” Roman said with a deep sigh. His people hadn’t seen him since he was thirteen for his brother’s pathetic excuse for a funeral. They probably thought he didn’t care. He doubted they thought him any different from his parents. 

Virgil sighs and leans against him, putting his head on Roman’s shoulder - to his surprise - and going back to simply watching the sun climb in the sky. 

—-

“Oh my,” Virgil says, having to cover his mouth so he doesn’t laugh seeing the outfit Roman has been forced into for the journey to Laridae, “That’s… gaudy.”

“I know,” Roman sighed dramatically, “I can hardly move. Trust me, the outfit for tomorrow night is worse.”

“I can’t even imagine. I’ve been given ‘ceremonial armour’ to wear, and I thought that was bad.”

Roman chuckled. Virgil would be matching with all of the Queen’s guards for the gala, whilst his regular armour was simple and easy to move in, the armour he would be wearing tomorrow was equally supposed to show off the Queen’s wealth. It was still protective, of course, and the kingdom’s guards would  be stationed around to protect them from assassins and the like - so Virgil didn’t necessarily need to be so on guard. 

“They’re going to try and do something with your hair,” Roman said, looking at his guard, who huffed and rolled his eyes. 

“God…” Virgil sighed.  “How awful is this going to be, exactly?”

“Not nearly as bad as the other seasonal Galas,” Roman chuckles - especially the Spring Ball, which his parents were hosting this year. “Genuinely - there’s no focus on marriage in winter - supposedly it would be bad luck - so really compared with the others it’s… not quite so awful.”

“Your Highness,” A maid said after knocking on the door to his room. Roman turned to look at her, gesturing for her to continue, “The coaches are ready, Sire. The Queen and King expect you and your guard promptly.”

Roman nodded primly, straightening his posture automatically until she left, the heavy door closing behind her. Quickly but elegantly, Roman moved to pick up his elaborate crown from the cushioned box it came in and turned back to Virgil, pausing.

“Would you?” he asked, holding out the crown to him. Virgil seemed hesitant, but reached out to take it and ever so carefully placed it in Roman’s hair as he ducked his head. Once Virgil took his hands away again, he stood back to his full height - shorter than the other, but still. 

“Shall we?” Virgil said, gesturing to the door, Roman nodded leading the way. 

“Indeed,” He nodded, before adding bitterly. “Wouldn’t want to keep dear mother waiting now would we?”

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[theyareweird]

Vampire Knight: Senri's Yandere for Kianna — Part 17 (Requested)

Unknown Relations

The young man before Kianna physically appeared to be sixteen-years-old. However, she knew better than to be fooled by his youthful appearance. Subaru is much older than that. Of course, this wasn’t anything peculiar, considering he's a vampire. The only odd thing about this was Subaru's presence at the academy... Specifically, in a tuxedo.

Subaru stood in front of Kianna wearing a basic black tux with a white dress shirt. His efforts were lacking as the untidy boy clearly refused to wear a necktie of any sort. Instead, he opted to leave the collar of his shirt undone two buttons down, exposing his neck. This was ironic considering Subaru had his white, silverish hair neatly combed for the occasion.

Despite the internal surprise Kianna felt inside, she never expressed her feelings outward. "What are you doing here?" She asked.

The haughty vampire turned his head to the side and closed his eyes in response. "Is that any way to greet your brother?" Subaru huffed in annoyance, sticking his nose up at Kianna.

"Sorry." Kianna said, approaching Subaru. She then opened her arms to him before embracing his torso in an awkward hug.

Subaru instantly exhailed in content at the form of affection. He then stretched out his arms and returned the hug in exchange. Over Kianna's head, Subaru glared at Azusa from behind his beloved sister. Although he was aware she had feelings for the masochist at one point, the crush was short-lived. Besides, Subaru didn't believe the blue-green haired Level D was worthy of Kianna's love. He hated the idea of her always being in harm's way within his presence.

Azusa smiled at the two. "Brother? I knew nothing of that." He gasped. "Alice, why haven't you told me?" Azusa pried through a frown. "I never imagined you becoming a daughter of the Sakamaki household." He commented.

Once Kianna pulled away, she looked up at Subaru. The tips of his light lavender, almost pinkish hair ends, stood out against his black and white attire. Although his body had relaxed in her hold, Kianna could see the obvious anger written across Subaru's face. "That’s none of your damn business!" He snapped.

Before he caused a scene, Kianna quickly averted the tension in the air and asked, "Subaru, does Father know you’re here?"

Luckily for Kianna, Subaru redirected his attention to her. "No. I wanted to check out Cross Academy myself." He replied. Subaru then looked up to catch the irritated gray eyes of his father gazing down at him from the second floor balcony. Maku hadn't moved an inch from the foyer where Kianna left him earlier. "He knows now..." Subaru concluded, taring his eyes away.

Kianna knew better, though. Her older brother only spoke of half-truth. Subaru wanted to visit his little sister after a while of being apart. "Is that the only reason?" Kianna teasingly asked through a smile.

Subaru hummed in his throat. He was irritated because Kianna already had her answer. "You never answered my question... That's rude." Subaru snipped through his tight jaw. Normally, he would have some kind of comeback for Kianna, but this wasn’t the time nor place. Subaru had other things pressing on his mind at the moment. "If the masochist isn't your date, then who is?" He repeated.

"My boyfriend." Kianna blurted.

Subaru's scarlet red eyes widened in response. "Boyfriend?" He gawked.

As if on cue, Senri returned to Kianna's side with a plate of food and a drink in hand for his date. Even though he had been across the ballroom the entire time, the aristocrat had been listening to the whole conversation. Senri was beyond pissed to hear Azusa trying to make a move on his girlfriend the second his back is turned. In addition to this, the vampire was surprised to hear Kianna refer to a Pureblood as her brother. Senri had many questions for his lover, but he didn't know how to approach the situation. After all, who was he to question a Rank A Vampire?

"Will this suffice?" Senri asked, holding out the plate to Kianna. On the plate was a decently large slice of tiramisu cake along with a side of chocolate truffles. In Senri's other hand was a glass of fruit punch.

"Yes, thank you!" Kianna happily smiled up at Senri. The petite girl then took the plate from her boyfriend and immediately cut into the dessert with her fork. With a single bite, Kianna's shoulders lowered and he turned her attention onto her brother again. "Subaru, this is my boyfriend, Senri Shiki." Kianna began.

Senri's expression remained apathetic, but he gracefully bowed to the albino Pureblood. This young man may not be a Pureblood Prince, aka. Kaname, but he was a Rank A nonetheless. As such, Senri automatically respected and internally feared Subaru's presence.

In fact, all the night class students instinctively did this. Each of them either stood around in uncomfortable silence or tried to pretend the atmosphere hadn't changed. Kaname, on the other hand, appeared to be preoccupied with his date. Senri's cousin was currently out on the balcony, busy dancing with Yuki to have acknowledged a newcomer. However, since all the vampire's knew better, they were certain Kaname had noticed the shift in the air but wasn't stirred in the slightest.

"Senri, this is my older brother, Subaru Sakamaki." Kianna politely introduced. She thought it was best to give each of the males a full and proper introduction.

"It's an honor to meet you." Senri said, keeping his head down.

Subaru sneered at the mahogany haired young man beside his sister. "Kianna never mentioned having a boyfriend." He hissed.

"We've only been together for four months." Kianna added, taking another bite of her food.

"I wouldn't hold it against her. Our relationship is still new and we're still getting to know each other." Senri said, coming to his girlfriend's defense. "Besides, Kianna also never mentioned having a brother..." He stated with his voice trailing off a bit.

Subaru pursed his lips at this. "I'm not surprised." He shrugged. "I was adopted six months ago, so I don't see why she would care to mention me." Subaru coldly stated. Despite his harsh words, he didn't blame Kianna for not saying anything about him sooner to a young man she's in a romantic relationship with. Regardless of knowing her since she was thirteen, Subaru truly felt he wasn't worth being mentioned, let alone being considered or loved as her brother.

"Don’t say that!" Kianna snapped. "It's as Senri said, we're still getting to know each other." She reminded Subaru.

"Whatever." Subaru dismissed her.

Unfortunately for Kianna, this wasn’t what he wanted to hear. There were times like this where she needed to be more direct and upfront about her emotions to console her brother. Not that Kianna minded. She completely understood where Subaru's emotional instability was coming from.

"I'm glad you're here..." Kianna sighed. "I missed you, too." She said in a hushed voice.

Luckily, Subaru's keen sense of hearing allowed him to hear what she had to say. With that, he held out his hand and asked, "Will you save me a dance?"

Kianna turned to look at Senri. He doesn't have the authority to deny a request from a Rank A Vampire, but his date still thought to ask his permission. Senri nodded and said, "He's your brother, it's okay."

"I'll dance with you after the first dance." Kianna stated.

After she finished eating, the orchestra strug up to commence the first dance and official start of the ball. The first dance consisted of every student in attendance joining hands to form an inner circle and an outer circle in the ballroom. No matter which circle a dancer joined, one would be facing another individual from either circle. With the inner and outer circles rotating in opposite directions of each other to the beat, dancers stand hand-in-hand, bouncing on their heels while spinning in their respective circle. Students enjoy this type of dance because it allows everyone to participate regardless if one has a date or not.

Kianna, Senri and Rima found themselves in the outer circle. Both females' expressions were devoid of emotion. Meanwhile, Takuma stood directly across from the yawning redhead in the inner circle. Senri was in-between Rima and Kianna, holding their hands during the dance sequence. Takuma beamed with a smile and gleeful laughter as he bounced on his feet holding hands with two random day class girls.

At one point during the dance, Senri accidentally stepped on Rima's foot. In an attempt to seek playful vengeance, she stomped on his shoe in return. However, Senri didn't react as Rima had to being stepped on. Out of irritation, the blue-eyed girl began aggressively smooshing his foot, but it still didn't effect him.

"You're overdoing it." Senri mumbled to Rima.

While the first dance was still in progress, Subaru retreated upstairs. There, he joined his father. The albino refused to participate in something as childish and foolish as that first dance. Unfortunately, in doing this, Maku shot his son a look of disappointment. He was upset to know Subaru broke into private school grounds to crash a student event, in which outsiders weren't permitted.

"Don’t give me that look." Subaru heavily sighed. "I plan on enrolling here next semester to keep an eye on Kianna."

Maku glanced at his son from the side. "Did you decide this before or after you learned of Kianna's boyfriend?" Although Subaru remained silent, Maku knew the answer was the latter.

Requested: @nunezs-stuff

[murfpersonalblog]

[book!Lestat is the carbon copy of Marius, but on meth. The ultimate narcissist misogynist racist imperialist colonial neoliberalist hell demon]

I'm unfamiliar with anything VC past Merrick so I wanted to ask since you mentioned that Lestat gets something of a redemption arc in it - what is the tone of the Prince Lestat trilogy, specifically in how it frames the establishment of a vampire monarchy? Because some of the most hair-ripping parts of TVL are when he pontificates on his secular, rational, progressive quintessentially 18th century mind that rejects superstition & tradition. Plus Marius giving that white supremacist monologue on the value of human life in the west doing away with monarchy ofc. 

OMG I've been wanting to talk more about the Chateau Era! 😭

"some of the most hair-ripping parts of TVL are when he pontificates on his secular, rational, progressive quintessentially 18th century mind that rejects superstition & tradition"

You'll be seeing a LOT more of this, my friend! XD The Prince Lestat trilogy & its tone encapsulates precisely how AR felt about Lestat (who was inspired by her husband Stan Rice): Lestat's her golden child, her favorite character, the main protagonist & hero & Aryan white savior of the entire vampiric/human/alien-replimoid/Taltos/angelic/demonic race. The Chateau is the Savage Garden going back to Eden/paradise--it's AR's final chapter, the New Heaven and the New Earth after the apocalypse--21st century vampires twirling around in LITERAL 18th century ballgowns as they celebrate the New World Order under Lestat. The last book, Blood Communion, was actually illustrated, and this is the final page, showing the Chateau & the Vampire Court as they were in 2017:

The Chateau is the perfect happily ever after fairytale ending, cuz that's how AR imagined her vampires: romantic, opulent relics/encapsulations of the Old World, and all that implies. (Which is why I NEED to see AMC!Louis become the Prince Consort in France; I'm gonna crack up and die; the Meghan Markle parallels are too good to pass up! 😅)

AR's vampire covens of the Old World Europe are microcosmic monarchies--each coven leader is effectively the king, the Master/Maker of his Fledglings and hangers-on. What's wild is that AR THOUGHT she'd totally removed vampires from religious irrational backwards thinking and moved them into the scientific "Modern" age. But look at the TOP HATS & BALLGOWNS they're wearing in 2017. 🤦 TBF, Lestat said people could wear whatever they wanted, but VELVET was the fabric of the Court--a la Marius & Lestat, as Marius had painted on the Chateau's ballroom ceiling.

Lestat had adopted Benji's philosophy about vampires being one Tribe/family (which is Judeo-Christian at its core, esp. since Benji's an Israeli and the "tribes" are Biblically inspired); a family that should live under one roof (his) & follow one way of life (his) & answer to one God/Voice (his/Marius). AR's books had been leading up to PL & BC the whole time.

The establishment of a vampire monarchy started with Akasha herself, queen of Egypt who wanted to make a matriarchal empire of undead. Naturally, being a mouthpiece of the white patriarchy, AR made the black woman the villain of the VC and had her killed (same w/ Replimoids TBH)--ultimately for Lestat's benefit.

There's 3 main vamps who defined what a vampire monarchy looks like: Marius, Armand, & Lestat. Marius isolated himself from his vampiric peers to keep TWMBK safe. His painting workshop/studio full of little human boys is no equivalent of a vamp court, but it's an intentionally stark parallel w/ legit covens like Santino's Children of Darkness/Satan. Marius lived in his art-nerd "court," in the "light." The image of the vampire Marius in his opulent red velvet cloaks was such anathema to Santino that he burned down Marius' villa. The image of "Master" Marius had Armand reeling when he saw Lestat prancing all over town in his red velvet--The Once and Future King reborn--Marius 2.0.

After being brainwashed by Santino, book!Armand became the coven leader par excellence, a "real, monstrous" vampire--controlling his coven with an iron fist; killing young vamps on sight & "purging" the territories he claimed. From Night Island to Trinity Gate, Armand was always making mini-empires for himself, a modernized neocapitalist take on the Old World regimes he had been born under (AMC moving Armand to Dubai is genius). Armand's dark where Lestat is light; not afraid to get his hands dirty (as seen in PLatRoA when the Replimoids start becoming a "threat" to the vampires).

Vampires are inherently a product of the Old World's fears & flaws. It's no coincidence that Castlevania Nocturne depicted the French aristocracy as a bunch of hedonistic bloodsucking vamps, draining the lifeforce of society to fuel their voracious appetites & unsustainably lavish lifestyles--the Savage Garden indeed.

The Chateau Era is AR's literal Versailles, and Lestat is AR's literal Sun King--(I'm surprised there aren't more Loustat/Monchevy AU fanfics). But the twist I've pointed out several times is that Lestat is actually nouveau riche. Son of a Marquis, he was born to the Old World nobility, but the Marquis was a bum and DIRT POOR. Lestat never grew up like the French aristocracy did--he didn't know what it was like to let them eat cake. The crumbling Chateau was a relic of a bygone era, back when the de Lioncourts actually had a COURT status & could afford their castle.

And just like it was Amel who told Lestat to go home and make the Chateau his court in PL, it was also Amel who told Lestat to win back Louis and ask him to be his Prince Consort in PLatRoA--Lestat had been being guided by Amel for decades without even realizing it, cuz Amel had already chosen him (and Louis) to lead the vampires.

The topic of Inheritance and White Privilege is a big one, cuz in death he got EVERYTHING with The Dark Gift--vampirism from his Maker Magnus (Latin for "The Great"--Alexander the Great, Ptolemy the Great, Pompey the Great, and the horror of all of those white imperialists who "inherited" the ancient AF empires of Egypt & Persia; who ransacked Africa & Asia for treasure & bled the land dry till they crumbled the second they died (a la Alexander's rabid Diadochi, the busted inbred Ptolemaic dynasty, etc); the dragon (Devil/Dracula) Smaug sitting on a mountain of gold not doing a effing thing good with all that money; the deadbeat Marquis who let the glorious Chateau fall to ruin).

And TWICE they had this French White sitting in a room FULL of black folk talking about how privileged he was while trauma-dumping at the same time; ugh it's hysterical; AMC ifs feral! XD

In TVL we got BOTH Lestat & Marius backstory, and just as Armand noticed, Lestat & Marius are polar opposites, but eerily similar when you think about where they started vs where they went. 👀

In life, Marius had been a LITERAL Brat Prince, who pranced around without a care in the world except for his books; traveling the world, charmed by the unwashed peasants.

"Plus Marius giving that white supremacist monologue on the value of human life in the west doing away with monarchy ofc."

LOL, Marius is full of SH!TE. 😂 First of all, the sheer irony of Marius "de Romanus" being born of a CELTIC woman in GAUL (FRANCE), a colony the Greek AND Roman imperialist machine CONQUERED. Marius is no moralist agonizing about the value of human LIFE--Marius is a hedonist & an aesthete who cares about human ART--he was GLAD that imperialism preserved Roman values.

Marius is an ARTISTE. He doesn't GAF about the plight of conquered enslaved persecuted oppressed peoples--not even his own MOTHER. He talks about the destruction of civilized society & the Roman Empire ad nauseum, while not batting an eyelash to how those empires were built on the back of destruction & death: THE Savage Garden; BEAUTIFUL ROME. Monarchy & imperialism was the vehicle pushing human "progress/civilization:" and for him it peaked in Rome & the Renaissance.

Rome only claimed it didn't want a monarchy cuz the SENATE (that had KILLED the last Roman King) was monarchy enough. Julius Caesar knew democracy is hypocrisy, and was like eff all y'all, make me EMPEROR. 👑 Lestat's no Pompey or Alexander--he's CAESAR, the one who "inherited" ALL of Magnus' empire and became Dictator for Life (until he was backstabbed ofc, LOL).

Marius had nothing on Lestat--the ARCHITECT obsessed with building homes for his whole family; the patriarchal overlord. Louis XIV built Versailles to keep a close eye on all the nobles, moving the entire court to literal Nowheresville France to orbit around him as the Sun King, the absolute monarch.

Every single VC book was a smaller scale rendition of Lestat as the savior, Lestat as the Brat Prince, pater familias, king, and GOD. Even moreso than Louis (i.e.: AR herself), Lestat's the Prime Mover whose antics pushed the narrative forward every time.

In PL Lestat renovating the Chateau happened at the same time that he took his son Viktor & his ward Rose in. (Rose's entire arc is like night & day compared to what happened with Claudia--Loustat looking after her was like a do-over for Claudia.)

This is where the Redemption Arc starts, cuz what Lestat had always wanted was to make a change & have a family & REBUILD. His life was TRASH, and he'd HATED that Chateau and all it represented--it was the tomb he was scared he'd die in. But Lestat HAD to die in order to finally GROW UP.

Marius dubbed Lestat "the damnedest creature" and the "Brat Prince" for a reason--he's impossible to control, or reason with. He's very much a giant walking manchild--there are 12 year olds way more mature than he is; just look at Benji in TVA onwards. AR is NEVER subtle about her hard-on for Lestat, but she also doesn't shy away from how incredibly immature he had been for so long.

To his credit, in PL Lestat right away chose a Vampiric Council of Elders for himself, knowing full well he was in over his head. Lestat called Marius his Prime Minister--NOT in the sense of today's PMs that lead the gov't for monarchic figureheads the way the parliament/senate/congress does. Instead Lestat namedropped Richelieu, Mazarin, & Colbert--the famous supporters of Louis XIV.

But in PLatRoA it started dawning on Lestat what it meant to take REAL accountability for his actions; that the careless things he did actually had serious consequences for everyone around him (sunbathing to get a tan, etc). He'd finally earned Louis' forgiveness, and they were basically engaged. Things seemed peachy...until ish got REAL in BC. Lestat had royally effed up by underestimating Rhoshamandes back in PL, acting like everything was a laughable game--little Lord Fauntleroy PRETENDING at being king.

SPOILER: Lestat only became Prince cuz in PL Rhosh killed Maharet & Mekere was too sad to go on, so she gave the Sacred Core to Lestat. Lestat forgave Rhosh even when everyone said he was being too lenient, caught up in everyone being a loving Tribe, Rhosh included, when they're KILLERS. Then everything went down with Rhosh vs the Replimoids in PLatRoA. Then in BC Rhosh kidnapped Gabrielle & Louis. When he came for Marius & Marius fought back, there was a HUGE battle that nearly burned down the Chateau & its village.

What Rhosh's goons said about Lestat's Court was just like the Children of Darkness. Like what Marius said to Santino, & Lestat said to Armand, the Court told Rhosh's coven that the Court (a microcosm of the world) was there for the benefit of vampires. Lestat's DUTY was to protect vamps from ANYONE who threatened them--including other vamps, whom they'd literally CANNIBALIZE.

Just like the Theatre of Vampires, the Court was a horror with a beautiful veneer; Blood and Gold. When the court ate Rhosh & ate Baudwin, it was like ANIMALS/demons. It did nothing to help find Gabrielle, Louis & Marius, and served no real purpose but for the mob to act in Lestat's name, shoving a signet ring on his finger in the shape of a MONSTER (Medusa) while the vamps danced & Lestat was busy grieving.

He hated what the Court was turning into in Marius' absence, in the wake of Rhosh's war, renovations happening beyond anything he'd planned before as they needed to repair all the structural damage to the Chateau. Like Armand told him afterwards: the Court/Coven gave them all the illusion of purpose on what Louis called "The Devil's Road." (What was REALLY cool is that Armand was begging Lestat to kill the Replimoids, but everything he said ALSO fit when applied to vampires themselves--they're ALL monsters, but as Lestat insisted with the human dungeons:

"There is killing and there is killing. There is murder; there is massacre; there is slaughter. And what I willed for this Court was something that was now in great peril.... We are not barbarians."

"some of the most hair-ripping parts of TVL are when he pontificates on his secular, rational, progressive quintessentially 18th century mind that rejects superstition & tradition"

So yeah, AR pretty much tries to have her cake and eat it too? The Prince Lestat trilogy stresses that vamps will rise above the religious/superstitious castigation of both humans AND vampires who see them as nothing more than uncivilized monsters, living with Lestat & feasting on the Evil Doers locked up in the Chateau's dungeons, dancing all night and never in-fighting again. But ironically, this is NOT the secular Enlightened Age of Science AR though it would be in PLatRoA. The Chateau was fully restored by the Winter Solstice--the start of the New Year; the Chateau decorated to look like Christmas. Marius gives a big speech explaining that Lestat had fought Rhosh fully expecting to have died, and that because Lestat was willing to lay down his life for all of them, he deserved to be their Prince forever--the messianic Christ figure. They celebrate having become one Tribe. Leading the Court, Marius is the Prime Minister, Gabrielle calls herself the Queen Mother, Lestat is the Prince/King, and Louis is his Prince Consort. (Even Lestat's favorite architect is turned into a vampire, LOL.) NGL Anyone who doesn't like Lestat should probably never read the PL Trilogy, cuz AR basically creams herself every other page over Lestat--he's her GOD.

It's not a plea of sympathy for monsters, but rather a celebratory paean to the Vampiric Court; "We take what we must have to live and we do it without regret." 💀 God & the Devil don't exist, cuz AR retconned Memnoch by making all angels AND vampires aliens from Atlantis. Everyone cheers & dances as Lestat declares "May we never drink the poison of self-loathing!," the way Nicki did, and Rhosh, Santino, even Armand & Louis. Loustat dance in the ballroom before taking their places, Lestat sitting on his golden red velvet throne, Louis standing beside him, and everyone cheering on their Blood Communion.

Sorry this was so long, @undecimber-of-joy XD

[natasha-in-space]

Secluded Waltz

Ray/gn!reader;

It's good to celebrate your achievements, and what better way to do that than to organize a grand party for all the believers to enjoy? Thankfully, you don't have to worry about much. Especially with Ray as your partner in the ballroom.

"Oh, I'm sure Mr. Ray will be in pure awe once he sees how wonderful you look!" A young unnamed believer chirped from behind you, busying themselves with fixing an unruly strand of hair that kept refusing to stay in its proper place. You shifted from one foot to another, feeling a little uncomfortable being treated in such a peculiar way, particularly by someone who didn't even have a proper name given to them. This almost felt like you were a royalty of sorts, one that didn't even have to worry about getting dressed in the morning. But... This particular believer was quite friendly with you, complimenting you on how good you looked in your party outfit quite a few times already.

Perhaps Ray chose them personally from among the others.

"Haha, thank you... He does have good taste. I trust him." As you exhaled, you carefully tied one last delicate magenta bow on your collar to complete the look. Not having to worry about what to wear to such a formal event was nice. Everything has been already carefully decided for you, down to the tiniest of details.

A part of you felt somewhat sad because you couldn't ask them to become your friend. You were aware that this is not the way things operate here. At least, not for you. Still, you appreciated the pleasant company while it lasted.

And, knowing Ray, he chose something incredible just for you.

"He's been very excited to see you today, tester. We haven't seen him this bright for months! I'm sure our Savior will be very pleased to see how happy you made him. Maybe you'll even get welcomed officially!" The believer smiled, hurriedly giving you one cheeky wink that made you blush and lower your gaze onto your lap. Sometimes you forget that this place is filled with all kinds of people, with their own inner social circles and unique personalities. It was rare for you to interact with any believer in such a casual way. Most of the times, you were pretty much confined to your room, excluding the rare occasions on which Ray would take you out for a walk personally. Initially, you wanted to explore the floor you settled into, but it seemed barren and isolated from the rest of the building, leading to your disappointment.

This thought made your cheeks warm up, as you tried your best to keep your heart from racing and wondered just what his reaction would look like once he finally sees you in all your glory. Frankly, even you had no idea what the finished look will look like. Of course, you already knew you did not have to worry about him feeling disappointed with you... Frankly, you could go out wearing nothing but a dirty potato sack, and he would compare your charm to one of the spring flower in bloom. Even so, you had the desire to surprise him...

You were a stranger here, and despite being treated with respect by believers, it was evident that you were not a good fit. At the very least, not yet.

The final pieces of clothing were put back in their proper places in no time, and you were taken down the long halls to the ballroom. It's true that this shouldn't have surprised you so much as it did. Magenta has all kinds of rooms hidden within its many winding corridors, both big and small. This thought both impressed and scared you.

What is the size of this place? How many of its secrets are still being concealed from you?

Either way, the paranoid fears and doubts that were raging inside your mind like a swarm of angry hornets disappeared as soon as the large ornamented doors were opened, leaving you in awe of the bright sight before you. The ballroom was huge and bustling with life, creating a picture that was straight out of a fantasy movie. Intricate decorations were carefully adorning the white room: from the long mint ribbons hanging on the walls to the expensive looking candlesticks resting on the tables where the guests sat. Long strings of fairy lights adorned the ceiling, leading to the breathtaking chandelier placed right in the center of the room, strung right above the waltzing pairs of believers chattering and laughing between themselves. Upon inspection, it was evident that every individual column was adorned with vibrantly colored flowers, with stunning daffodils blooming in the center.  

And there, standing right in front of you and taking you in, was none other than Ray, very clearly studying your reaction to it all. He was happy with the result based on the proud twinkle in his eye. He wasn’t in his normal magenta suit you were so used to seeing him in, but instead in a breathtaking white one. The tails of his blazer were tipped with golden lines, very similar to ones you could see scattered on the decor all around you. His suit hugged his slim waist in all the right places, inadvertently making you think and ponder what it would feel like to place your hands on the small of his back and pull him towards you, until he was pressed flush against you. The bright lights of the ballroom made large golden buttons shine, stealing your attention from the light mint button up that was visible underneath his clean white suit. Instead of the blue rose you grew familiar with, a large begonia was placed front and center for you to admire. The outfit framed him almost perfectly, sweeping you off your feet from just the sight of him alone. Only to add more fuel to the fire that was blazing deep within your chest, as your wide eyes slowly trailed up his body to meet his piercing gaze, you could notice how he styled his hair a bit differently from the usual, his long bangs swept to one side of his face to create a new princely look that is going to make your heart burst tonight for sure.

There was something very different about the way he stood today. His back was strengthened, and his mint eyes bore right into yours without a single sign of insecurity swimming in them. It was... honestly, way more attractive than you were willing to admit.

"Ray..." A breathless gasp was all you could muster out of yourself, unknowingly taking a few steps towards him. You were attracted to him like a moth to a flame, and you weren't planning on resisting his warmth anytime soon, that's for sure. "You look... Wow... You're... beautiful."

It looks like you're going to be the one who blushes and blubs tonight.

"I'm not nearly as beautiful as you, Y/N. But... I'm happy you like it. I tried really hard to pick out something you might like. I wanted... to look worthy to call you my partner tonight." He smiled bashfully, his unusual confidence slipping away for a few fleeting moments as he closed the distance between you two and gracefully took one of your hands in his. The bustling ballroom faded around you as his other hand slowly lifted up to caress your cheek with the back of his glowed fingers, a touch so light and gentle that it was almost unnoticeable. But, you felt it, your heart skipping a beat at the contact. God, you could feel your knees buckling just from this brief touch alone. Your increasing nerves temporarily taking control over you, you couldn't help but giggle, dropping your gaze to the ground, and praying that your face wasn't as bright as a ripe tomato right now.

No words could possibly convey to him just how breathtaking he was in your eyes. It wasn't sufficient. You wished you could take your thundering heart straight out of your chest and place it into his hands, only to show him what a great effect his beauty had on you.

Look who's blushing now.

"It's perfect. You're perfect. I-I mean, the outfit. The outfit is perfect. B-But you're always perfect to me, it's just- Agh, you know what I mean..." You made a mess of yourself by babbling and tripping over your own words. If it wasn't for Ray holding onto your hand, you would definitely try to hide your burning face in your palms. Though, judging by the amused chuckle pouring into your ears like the sweetest melody known to humankind, he did not mind your stuttering nearly as much as you did.

He leans back to allow you some breathing space and tilts his head adorably to the side, with a glint of mischief flickering through his warm eyes. "There's no need to be nervous around me, prince/ss. You look absolutely breathtaking with this blush on your cheeks... I'm happy to be the reason for your heart to flutter."

"Haha... Well, it's good to know I'm not ruining anything with my awkwardness." You acknowledged and gave him a small grateful smile for his warm reassurance. Honestly... he was right. There was no reason for you to be so nervous around Ray, of all people! You trusted him, and you wanted to prove that to him any way you could tonight. So, you took a deep breath to calm your jittery thoughts and straightened your shoulders, wordlessly telling your body and mind to relax.

Ray's new side was definitely enjoyable, even if you had to endure the burning in your cheeks throughout the night. He brought to mind a prince charming from the fairytales you read as a child. Did his recent success with his work lifted his spirits, perhaps? Either way, you were happy to see him so bright and open for once, whatever the reason for that may be.

He nodded, returned your smile with one of his own, before offering you his arm silently in an invitation that looked straight out of some historical romance you'd watch on Saturday night. "You could never ruin anything for me, so please don't worry about a thing, alright? I want to ensure that you're feeling comfortable... Now, shall we?"

You smiled and grabbed his arm, feeling like you were on cloud nine. Holding onto him like this felt so right... It's like you were two puzzle pieces that were meant to be locked together in this wonderful way from the very start, however sentimental this may sound. You were living out one of your many daydreams involving your white-haired friend, and you were going to make the best of it while you still could.

You soon found yourself being easily transported around the ballroom, avoiding the crowded and loud center and opting to stay hidden under the safety of columns adorned with beautiful flowers, like a makeshift garden of sorts, just for you two to enjoy. To be honest, you hadn't expected it to be so simple to let go of your usual worries and dance with him without any doubt hindering your movements. After a few first nervous steps, you moved as one, loosing yourselves in the gentle melody enveloping you in its weightless embrace and each other's eyes. Ray was a much better dancer that you initially thought of him. The way he moved was light and airy, just like a magical phantom who arrived to enchant you with his wits and take you away on the ballroom floor. Never once did you stumble or loose your balance; his glowed hands always kept you steady and safe, and your skin was warm under his gentle touch.

Did he... practice before this, perhaps? You wouldn't put something like that below him. He would try his best to make this experience perfect for you... even if it meant learning how to waltz.

This thought made you giggle to yourself as you spun and turned together. Your quick steps slowly turned into quiet and delicate ones as the cheery melody subsided into a more intimate and somnolent one.

"I don't want for this moment to end..." You admitted with a hushed whisper intended for him alone, tilting your head slightly to gently rest your forehead on Ray's shoulder as you swayed back and forth to the gentle melody.

It was as if you were the only two in your own little world, shielded from any prying eyes or judgmental whispers. As you moved together in perfect sync, the lightness in your chest was almost hypnotic. Oh, how you wished this magical night did not have to end... For this moment to last forever, keeping away every worry waiting for you outside of these doors.

"Me too." He murmured, pulling you ever so slightly closer to him, his body heat reaching you from underneath all the layers of clothing, like a small reminder of him truly being here with you in person. You smiled, breathing in his floral scent you loved so dearly, and closing your eyes. It wasn't long until you felt his fingers caress the top of your head, careful not to make a mess out of your meticulously styled hair. "But... I want to believe that there is going to be many more moments like this for us to come. Moments when we get to be together... like this. You have no idea for how long I've dreamt of experiencing something like this with you, Y/N."

Your heart fluttered at his sweet words. The notion of him fantasizing about the same exact thing as you made the tips of your fingers tremble with overwhelming joy. Though, you didn't want to overwhelm him... And, it would be weird for you to confess to something like this so soon. That's what you assumed, at any rate. Instead, you simply hummed in appreciation, leaning into his delicate touch to show that you were flattered by his words. "Well... In that case, I hope I can help more of your dreams come true. Seeing you so happy today is definitely the best part of the night for me... Regardless what the Savior has planned for us next."

Before you heard a reply, there was a brief pause. Perhaps, you shouldn't have mentioned his Savior in such a bold way... After all, it was a figure he respected faithfully. Before you could come up with a quick excuse, your eyes were wide open to the unmistakable warm sensation of his lips touching your forehead for a short magical moment. A silent gasp was all that escaped you, as you stood there, frozen, and too afraid to make one wrong move and push him away accidentally.

"I know I shouldn't think like this... But, your words just made me the happiest I have ever felt, my precious tester. With you by my side supporting me like this... I'm sure I can do anything."

His warm breath tickled your skin as he whispered his next hushed words into your ear, keeping them hidden from anyone around you, and a pleasant shiver ran down your spine.

[lostinwildflowers]

The Dance

Erwin Smith x Reader

Summary: Your steps were not working out with your current partner. So when a tall blonde rival's partner becomes ill, do your steps smooth out?

Word Count: 1.3K

Warnings: Rivals to lovers, not really angst- just some tension, otherwise ✨dance✨

For reference:

-The Tango for this fic: "La Cumparsita"

-Tango dance is one the most famous partner dances that emphasizes the vibrant and playful style of movement, rich expressions, improvisation and requires close connection and passion between dancers.

A/N: I guess I still write y'all 😂 this is dedicated to my lovely @bluebellhairpin who always supports my ideas. It's not much but it's honest work. Set in the same AU as "Quickstep"! Please enjoy my loves❤️-Birch<3

Part 2 - "Promenade"

Part 3 - "The Olympic Games"

"Alright everyone, we are going to warm up with some rock steps, please find your partners," the instruction came.

You nod in the direction of the voice, (colored) eyes searching for the brown hair of your usual partner. Instead, you are met with the eyes of one of the girls who helps run your practice.

"Hey, Y/n...", she starts off slowly, nervously drumming her fingers on her clipboard, "Hayden swapped partners for the upcoming competition. He mentioned something about how you two didn't have any chemistry or something."

Your stomach drops at her words. What?! Your competition was in 3 days, the most important competition of your life, your Olympic Qualifier, and your partner dipped?!

Your mouth parts in shock as she stares at you nervously before she stutters out, "B-but on a good note, I guess, is that we just got a new lead on the team, and he's already qualified for the Olympics."

Thoughts are fluttering in your mind as you gawk at the trainer in front of you. You shake your head to try to clear your thoughts, coughing once to clear your throat and then you ask, "Who is he?"

Who is he? What did he look like? Was he tall?

You liked a tall lead, even though the steps could be large and hard to keep up with.

Was he any good? Well, he must be if he's already qualified.

And that's when your heart stops. A blonde head of hair entered the room, perfectly kept standard ballroom shoes on his feet.

Sharp blue eyes snap to yours, and all you can see is ice. It couldn't be him. Not him. Anyone but him.

Erwin Smith.

"Alright everyone, let's get to it. This will be the song for your choreographed part with your partners. The two of you will design your own set with the help of an instructor. For now, just dance freely to start figuring out steps you like."

You turn to snap at the assistant instructor who had been right next to you. And when you turn around, you are met with the broad chest and sharp eyes of your rival, Erwin Smith.

You see, Erwin was the bane of your existence. He was the reason you hadn't qualified earlier in the season with Hayden. Because he and his follow, Patricia, had gotten the only qualifying spot at that competition.

He always was one step ahead, figuratively, because there was no one with better timing or rhythm than Erwin. He was impeccable, consistent, and ever so intense. There was nothing that could distract him from the heat of the dance with his partner.

"Y/n," you hear rumble out lowly from him. Your heart had already started hammering in your chest from your realization when he walked in, but now? You couldn't believe your eyes.

He looked... pristine. His white button-up was the perfect mimic of his competition wear, just ever-so-slightly more casual and comfortable for many repeated reps.

Everything about the way he stood in front of you made you want to scream. Curse. Yell at him up and down until you got a new partner.

But you knew there weren't any out there. Leads were hard to come by, and good ones? Even harder. Ones as good as Erwin Smith? Impossible.

You shift your weight and murmur, "Erwin Smith. I can't imagine what would bring you to a different team, let alone having me as a partner. Patricia up and leave you?"

Erwin's brows furrow as he takes a looming step toward you, his gaze hard as he looks down at you as he firmly replies, "Patricia is ill, for your knowledge. She cannot make it to the qualifier this weekend. And whoever I dance with this weekend is who I take to the Olympics. You are merely the best statistic I could find."

A pang runs through you, and you can't place what feeling it was, but it didn't feel great. Before you can respond, you can hear the sound of a metronome clicking.

Erwin's icy gaze glances away to the instructors before he offers you the invite to dance, in the classic standard way for Tango.

You narrow your eyes and begrudgingly accept, placing your left hand on the meeting between his shoulder and his bicep.

Hayden was not this tall, you think to yourself as you find Erwin's stony gaze. Nor was he ever this... intense. Why is he looking at me like-

Before you can finish your thought, you hear the music start, and Erwin takes his first step toward you. Your body immediately follows his easy and practiced lead.

As much as you hated to admit it, Erwin was good. Really, really good. Although your steps were not rehearsed nor choreographed, he directed you in the easiest and most delicate way possible.

It was as easy as watching rain fall from the sky on a drizzling spring morning. As easy as reading your favorite book and seeing your beloved characters fall in love.

He was so easy to follow that you didn't have to worry about your steps or where you were going. It almost felt fake.

You held his strong and icy gaze through the song when needed, not even realizing that as you were guided down the line of dance, the other partnerships dropped out.

The music was loud in your ears, the counts and metronome a blur as all you could focus on was your body moving. The feeling of your hips moving, the touch of Erwin's hand on your waist.

The look he was giving you.

It made you furious. It made you furious that he made it this easy, that he made the two of you look like an effortless pair.

You heard some playful whistles from behind you as Erwin pulls you almost flat to his chest, the two of you moving into a classic Tango Walk.

Your lip just barely brushes the material of his shirt, your mouth parted as his eyes bore deeply into your own (colored) ones.

You feel a wave of butterflies in your stomach, but they quickly dissipate when you feel Erwin push you into an Open Fan, your fingers releasing from his shoulder to put you in a dramatic "v" shape away from each other.

Your fingers gracefully point in the air above your head before you are whisked into a Promenade, Erwin directing your every move.

It was the subtlety in his touch, the way his hand grazed your side when bringing you back to him. The way he was firm and solid in his footwork.

There was absolutely no doubt that he was amazing. And you managed to keep up with him. Keep up with him, and perform.

Before you know it, the music swells and you are whipped into a dramatic dip, Erwin's grip tightening up on you ever so slightly.

Your chest is pounding and you're breathing heavily when you regain eye contact with Erwin, who is already lost in thought, staring at you.

The song ends and the metronome stops when the two of you are surrounded by whistles and a few pairs of hands clapping together.

Erwin pulls you back up and then immediately releases you, reaching up to brush a stray blond piece of hair back into place. He doesn't glance at you once, and suddenly the rush of adrenaline you had been on drops, and you're left with a grimace on your face.

He was good, and he knew it. You knew you were good too, and the way neither of you made a mistake? The gears were turning in your mind, and as Erwin walked away, you couldn't help but feel a fire burning in your belly.

Because in 3 days' time, your dance partner was in for it. And you couldn't wait to show him what you were really made of.

Tag list: @xxdragonwriterxx @tejxswini @mysterystarz @mortedeveles @vs-redemption @kal0psi-a @gin-no-g @starstruckkittensweets @kitacharm @sukosie @shirari @animated-moon @mitzwinchester @elitparadox @yumeyooa @angels-main @anlian-aishang

[sequinsmile-x]

By Design

It still surprised her when she thought about how easily they had fallen into a relationship. 

A Young Hotchniss fic.

-x-

This is a birthday present for my dear, dear friend @prentissinred. I love you very much and am so pleased our favourite idiots in love brought us together. Thank you for being you <3

I know you love Young Hotchniss, so I hope you enjoy this!

-x-

Words: 3.1k

Warnings: None

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

She’d been intrigued by him the moment he arrived on his first day at work.

Emily was home for the summer between her undergrad and her masters, preparing to go Yale for a year whilst she figured out what to do with her life. She spent the early days of her break avoiding her mother, something she had become quite skilled at over the years.

On Aaron Hotchner’s first day, she’d, quite literally, walked into him. Her coffee had spilt all over his white shirt, her vicious hangover enough to dull her usual quick reflexes. He’d been good-natured about it, despite his obvious irritation, and from there a friendship between the two of them had formed. In the weeks that followed he’d snuck her past her mother more than once, never judging her for being drunk, or asking where she was getting served since she was still underage. 

She found him fascinating, something about how serious he was enough to draw her in. He was handsome, his jaw and nose all made of sharp edges, contradictory to his soft eyes and smile that she could pull out of him even at the most inopportune of moments. 

She flirts with him all the time, and he flirts back when it’s just the two of them. A sparkle in his eyes that makes her chest feel full of emotions she doesn’t want to name. She overhears him telling one of the other security personnel that he’s newly single, that his long-term girlfriend had broken up with him just before he took this job, and any thoughts she may have previously had about not going any further than harmless flirting disappear. 

She watches him from across the ballroom. She’s at the back of the room, leaning against a wall and hoping she doesn’t get seen. Her mother had forced her to come, insisting that she mingles with people she doesn’t like. Instead, Emily watches Aaron from across the room. 

He looks good in his suit, just like he always did. He commanded the team he was part of, despite not being the leader, a natural authoritative air about him that meant people listened to him. His eyes meet hers across the room and she winks at him, something that makes him shake his head at her. She finishes her drink and pushes herself off the wall, crossing the room to speak to him.

“Agent Hotchner,” she says as she approaches him, her smile wide and eyes sparkling. 

He smiles at her, clearly trying to hide it and failing, the dimples she finds herself itching to press her thumbs into carved deep into his cheeks. 

“Miss Prentiss.” 

She pretends to act wounded, her hand over her heart, “Miss Prentiss,” she exclaims, “so formal.”

Aaron shakes his head at her, his eyes flicking around the room to keep an eye on his colleagues. 

“I am here in a formal capacity.” 

She can’t explain her need to spend time with him, the almost primal desire to dig beneath his serious exterior. To mess up his hair and crease his always perfectly ironed clothes. It feels like the last several weeks have been leading up to this moment between them, and she doesn’t want it to pass them by. An idea forms in her head and before she can talk herself out of it she’s already talking. 

“Well, that’s good,” she replies, leaning in closer, “because I need you in a formal capacity.” 

He turns serious immediately. His brows creasing in a way she knows will one day form frown lines around his eyes. The mere thought of it, the way she wants to see it, to still know him in years to come makes her stomach flip. 

“What do you mean?” He asks, his confusion clear. 

She tilts her head backwards, indicating a man standing several feet behind her. A man she doesn’t know, a random guest of her mother’s. 

“See that guy?” she says, watching how he looks past her, his eyes narrowing as he spots the man in question before he looks back at her and nods. 

“You know him?” 

She doesn’t correct him but doesn’t confirm it either. Shrugging slightly, her breath catching in her throat as he shifts closer as if he was ready to protect her from anything. 

Aaron doesn’t move for a moment, his eyes flicking back and forth between her and the man before he nods again. He reaches out for her, his hand at her back as he leads her out of the room, the heat of his palm less than an inch from her skin. He talks into his microphone, letting the rest of the team know he is with her. 

Later that night, when she leans in to kiss him and he enthusiastically responds, she can’t find it in herself to feel bad for the lie by omission that had led them there. 

____

18 Months Later 

“Hi, sweetheart” Aaron calls out as he walks into their home. He makes sure that the door is locked behind him before he turns to look back at the open-plan apartment, frowning when he can’t see his girlfriend anywhere. “Em?”

“I’m here,” she replies, sitting up from where she’d been laying on the couch, a tired smile on her face as she looks at him. Aaron laughs and walks over, abandoning his briefcase on the kitchen counter on his way. He leans over the couch and kisses her before he rounds it to join her. He smiles at the sight of newspapers spread all over the coffee table. 

“Apartment hunting going well?” 

“Don’t laugh at me,” she grumbles, immediately leaning against him as he sits next to her, both of her arms wrapping around one of his, her hands grasping at his tricep, “It sucks.” 

He kisses her forehead, smiling against her skin, “I know it sucks. Why do you think I settled for this place?” He asks, pulling back to look at her, “It was the first one I saw that was affordable and not in a completely terrible area.” 

Emily smiles up at him, cupping his cheek to pull him in for a kiss, her thumb pressing into his dimple. 

“It would be easier if you weren’t insistent on splitting rent down the middle,” she says, only pulling far enough away to speak, stamping another kiss to his lips, “I can afford more.” 

Aaron sighs, shifting slightly back from her. It was a conversation they’d had countless times since they’d decided it was time to move. His apartment had served him well in the couple of years he’d lived there, but it felt like the right time to move. He wanted something slightly bigger, and in the few months Emily had been officially living with him it had become clear the apartment wasn’t quite big enough for two people. Which felt ironic when he considered that his initial plan had been to live here with Haley. 

“Em-”

“I know, I know,” she says, smiling softly, not wanting it to turn into an argument again, “We do everything equally.”

“Except for the cooking,” he quips, and she scoffs, pinching lightly at his skin as he laughs again. 

“I think we both know it’s safer that I don’t cook,” she replies, laying her head on his shoulder, “And I do the cleaning.” 

It still surprised her when she thought about how easily they had fallen into a relationship. 

At the start, she’d tried to convince herself it was just sex, that it was all it ever could be, but it had quickly developed into more. For the first time in a long time, someone cared about getting to know her. Aaron remembered every tiny thing he learnt about her. As if he was collecting facts, storing them away for a day when he’d need them. She felt the same pull to learn everything about him too. Content to lay in his arms, their naked skin pressed against each other, as he told her stories from his childhood. That summer had gone so quickly that it almost gave her whiplash. She’d prepared herself for a goodbye that never came, finding herself feeling nothing but relieved when he said he wanted to try something more long-term with her. That the fact he was about to start a new work placement and that she was about to go to Yale, didn’t concern him if it didn’t concern her. 

So they’d made it work. 

She visited him in DC whenever she could, never telling her mother that she was in town so she could spend every second with Aaron. He’d visit her in New Haven. Her tall, slightly mysterious, FBI boyfriend an interesting talking point to any of her friends that they’d bump into on the rare occasion they left her apartment. Throwing clothes on so they could go get food, his arms wrapped around her from behind as they stood in the grocery store trying to find the cheapest bottle of wine. 

He made her happy, and she knew she did the same for him. Moving into his place when she graduated from Yale seemed like the only real option, the only thing she truly considered. Her mother had been less than impressed when she found out about them, although when she looked back on it, letting her find out when Aaron showed up at graduation might not have been the best plan. 

“Anything standing out to you?” He asks, looking over at the pile of newspapers. She groans and presses her forehead into his shoulder.

“The only thing that stands out to me is that rent is extortionate for what you get in this city.” 

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, “I’d live in a dumpster with you.”

“I thought we were already doing that here,” she deadpans, laughing and squirming away when he tickles her in retribution for her joke. She had never truly liked the apartment they lived in, but it had him in it, so because of that it felt like home. She smiles up at him, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, “I’d live in a dumpster with you too,” she replies, kissing his jaw, “And at this rate, that’s what we might literally end up doing,” she picks up a paper and passes it to him, grimacing as she does, “Look at the price of that. For a studio. It’s absurd.” 

Aaron frowns as he looks at the photos of the apartment in question, “It is small,” he replies, smirking at her, “At least we don’t have any secrets, it wouldn’t be possible to keep them in a space like that.” 

She’s grateful that he misses how she freezes, his focus on the paper in his hand giving her the second she needed to gather herself. 

At first, she’d thought nothing of the lie by omission that had led to them being alone that first night. It didn’t cross her mind the next morning when she woke up in her bed, Aaron half on top of her as he slept. It didn’t as she snuck him out of the house, unable to stop herself from kissing him again. She only thinks about it months later when he tells the story of how they got together to a friend of his in front of her, his hand wrapped around hers as he mentions the man at the party that had changed everything in passing. 

She never knew how to bring him up, how to tell him that what he clearly considered a part of their story was a fabrication. They’d sacrificed much for each other. She’d given up a job opportunity. Nothing about Europe seemed appealing without him, so she’d said no without a second thought. 

He’d given up Haley. 

Emily still remembered it happening. It was her first visit back from Yale and they’d been desperate for each other. Tearing at each other's clothes as they barely made it to the couch the first time before they eventually moved to his, now their, bed. Aaron had convinced her they needed food and ordered pizza. She’d slipped on a shirt of his as she heard a knock on the door, opening it without looking through the peephole only to be met by his ex-girlfriend. Time had slowed down as Haley looked her up and down, shock in the blonde’s eyes that turned to misplaced fury.

Emily was sure that would be it, that he’d want Haley back and she would be nothing more than a blip in his story. She’d quickly got dressed as he spoke to Haley in the next room, unable to stop herself from overhearing his ex-girlfriend say that she wanted him back, that she regretted leaving him. Emily still remembered the fear, the bitter pre-emptive heartbreak as the door opened behind her. She expected to turn to see a sympathetic look on his face, an apology that she didn’t want to hear. But instead, he looked confused, his eyebrows knitting together as he asked her why she was packing her things. He’d told Haley it was too late, that he loved her now. 

It was the first time he’d said it. 

“Are you ok, sweetheart?”

She looks at him and swallows thickly. All of a sudden, even though she’d kept it to herself for a long time, she finds herself desperate to tell him. The words escaping her before she can stop them, overwhelmed by the need to show him this part of herself. Something she had kept hidden since she was young, effortlessly being whoever those around her needed to be. 

Aaron had only ever wanted her to be herself. 

“I have to tell you something.” 

Aaron frowns at her, concern flooding through him, his body freezing with it. She’s looking down at her nails, picking at her cuticles, and he puts his hand over hers to stop her. He links their fingers together and lifts her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. 

“You can tell me anything.” 

She smiles shakily at him and blows out a breath, “You know the party you worked at for my mother?”

“The one that happened the same night that you jumped me?” He asks, smiling at her, his humour an attempt to calm her. “I remember it well.” 

She narrows her eyes at him, briefly forgetting her point, “I seem to remember that you made the first move.” 

“We remember those early days very differently,” he replies, rubbing his thumb over her wrist, a movement they both found comforting, “So the party?” 

Her smile fades as she remembers why she’d started the conversation in the first place. “Yes, the party,” she says, holding his hand tightly, “I implied that there was a man there that I didn’t want to see and…it’s not true,” she says, watching his face for a moment before she carries on, her words speeding up as she does, “I have no idea who he was. I’d never seen him before, or since and I really just wanted to spend time with you-”

“I know,” he says, cutting over her, stopping her in her tracks. 

For a moment, she doesn’t react. Simply staring at him with her mouth still slightly open as his words sink in.

“You…” she drifts off, her eyebrows furrowing as she continues to stare at him. 

“I know you didn’t know that man,” he says, smiling at her, “His name is Jeffery Filburn by the way,” his smile turns into a smirk, “In case you ever wondered.” 

There’s another pause, another moment of silence as she simply blinks at him, lost for words for the first time since they’d met. 

“How long have you known?” She asks, her eyebrows furrowing, confusion turning her to stone, her eyes fixed on his face. He shrugs a little, acting like it was no big deal, like this thing she’d thought was a secret from the start hadn’t been slowly weighing her down.

“Since the day after,” he says nonchalantly, and it snaps her out of it, causing her to gasp in outrage. 

“The day after?” She exclaims, frowning at him, “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“To be fair, sweetheart,” he says, raising an eyebrow at her, “I don’t think you’re in any position to question me about keeping it a secret.” Her only response is a half-hearted glare, and he puts his arm around her, pulling her into his side. “I thought it was sweet that you wanted to spend time with me. And I wanted to spend time with you.” 

She groans, hiding her face in his chest, “This is so embarrassing,” she complains, “How did you find out?” 

“I looked him up,” Aaron replies simply, “I wouldn’t be very good at my job if I hadn’t.” 

“And you don’t mind?” She asks, lifting her head just enough to look at him, scrunching her nose up slightly, “You’re not mad?” 

Aaron shakes his head, reaching out and tucking some of her hair behind her ear. He’s gentle with her, just like he always had been, treating her like she’s made of something precious. He leans in to kiss her, pressing his love into her skin. Her cheek. Her nose. Her lips. 

“I’m not mad,” he assures her, “As long as you’re not.” 

“I’m not mad,” she says, smiling up at him, ignoring the embarrassed flush to her cheeks, the way her skin burned with it, “But maybe we just promise not to keep anything from each other from now on. No matter how…silly or small it might seem.” 

He kisses her again, “Agreed,” he says, winking at her, pleased when it makes her roll her eyes at him, the last bit of seriousness in the air dissipating. 

He looks at her, focusing on the beauty that had first drawn him to her, something he had quickly learned was much more than skin deep. She’d changed his life, made him happier than he remembered being in a long time, bringing out a part of him that he thought had been torn from him in his childhood. Anger and fear replaced by the love and joy she had brought him. He could never be mad about it. Not for a second. 

Even if it had started with a situation she’d created. Something she’d curated. Designed with the same care she’d always shown him. The care he hoped he’d be able to bask in forever. 

“I love you,” he says, his hand on her cheek, tracing her soft skin.  

She beams at him, “I love you too.” 

-x-

I'm sure the swifties have realised this was inspired by Mastermind ❤️

-x-

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[spacemonkeysalsa]

Appetites

Five years ago the Vampire Ascendant Astarion helped save Baldur's Gate. He has everything he ever wanted, and he's miserable.

Isolde is nobody, and has nothing. When given the option to become a vampire spawn, her response gives Astarion a moment of pause; “No. Thank you. I think I’ll just die.”

(Angst and fluff and smut) Changed up the format because it was starting to look so silly with 20+ chapters.

Check it out on Ao3 from the beginning or jump into chapter twenty two below the cut.

If the last few days had Isolde feeling out of her depth, then there was no reason that the present situation should be an improvement. But, she checked her heartbeat, her breathing, and examined her feelings and found that she was no longer panicking, no longer on the edge of drowning. She felt a little guilty about the whole thing, actually. Astarion’s life was falling apart, and somehow, her presence within it was contributing to that, but she felt a kind of relief. This might be the extent of the punishment that Mephistopheles had in mind. It was only then that she realized that she had been expecting something much worse for him. In comparison to the possibilities, being fiend-marked was manageable.

She did feel guilty for that thought, though. Astarion wasn't able to take this optimistic view, and why would he?

He knelt on the floor of the ballroom, clothing in tatters around his changed body, concentrating and failing to transform, either into one of his typical animal shapes, or back into his true form. Every moment that passed and he was still in this new, fiend-marked form was clearly agonizing for him.

Alice kept the gith child at an educational distance. Close enough that he could still see the master, but far enough away that he wouldn’t feel threatened by his very presence. She was whispering to him quietly, and he was nodding, so Isolde imagined that some reductive explanation was in order.

Leon and Aurelia were closer, but speaking in hushed tones that Isolde couldn’t catch a single note of. She didn’t see guilt in their countenances. Good. They shouldn’t feel guilty about any of this, she decided. It was his doing, in the end.

But, she still wanted to help him manage the consequences, if she could. Just because he was responsible for what had happened, didn’t mean he deserved it. She didn’t know what she could do to help, but to start, at least, she decided that she wasn’t going to keep her distance. Even if this new form made her uncomfortable, she was going to endure it.

Except, she didn’t feel uncomfortable with it at all.

It was tempting to attribute it to her childhood with Vovka, but honestly, Astarion and Vovka still didn’t resemble one another, even now that they shared some specific hell-touched attributes. Being in Astarion’s presence didn’t feel quite the same as being in the presence of a cambion. He was still himself.

And, even on a purely aesthetic level, the differences were stark. Vovka’s horns had been lacquer black and smooth when he was younger, drawing in and pointing high above his head like a wicked crown, and as he’d gotten older, they started to split with yellow and orange lines of infernal light, like molten lava, cracking through that smooth exterior, especially when he was upset. By the time he ran away from home, they were almost always burning bright through the tips.

In contrast, Astarion’s looked more like a sort of horns she’d seen on some of the humble tiefling citizens of Bladur’s Gate; they resembled white, unpolished bone, carving in more of a halo arc, and running parallel to his pointed ears in a way that complemented the angles of his elven features. His skin remained the bloodless, vampiric shade of pale that she was used to, though the sclera of his eyes had changed to black as pitch, and though the irises remained red, the new contrast seemed to add a sheen that hadn’t been there before. He also didn’t seem to have quite so many of the extra prongs, ridges and vestigial claw-like nubs that dotted Vovka’s skin. His tail was ridged though, that was a little different, and with a subtle lean and a swerve of her eyes, she could see that the ridges continued up his spine to the nap of his neck. 

The strangest thing was his wings, and his back.

The scars that his master had carved into his flesh were no longer in their original place, instead, the marks were distorted and stretched across the reach of his leathery wings. The infernal glyphs were huge, and now, easily exposed and readable. 

He flexed his claw-like hands and then fisted them against the ground with a crash of frustration. “Godsdammit,” he lamented in an almost imperceptible whisper. Another failed attempt to take control of his own body, and transform back.

It had only been minutes, and so Isolde was not ready to write off that possibility, but it seemed unlikely to her that Mephistopheles intended for the change to be anything less than permanent. At least, on some level.

Tentative, but determined not to leave him feeling worse, or abandoned, she scooted nearer, placing herself directly under the shade of one arced wing. He looked up sharply, sensing her, but he couldn’t quite lift his eyes.

She thought about telling him how very handsome he still was, but knew that wouldn’t make him feel better, even if it was true. The point of being marked as a fiend was not to lash one’s vanity, but to send a message, not just to the soul being punished, but to everyone who saw them. And the message about Astarion was clear, red, and written in angry infernal on his new wings. He was bound. Mephistopheles had him in his collection: a new monster.

“Why would he believe that you might try to go back on the deal?” the question slipped out from between her lips, thoughtless at first, but in the silence that followed, Isolde did think, and decided that the question was a very good one, though she might already know the answer.

Astarion finally met her eyes, and she read pain and shame and fear in them like she’d never seen before. “Because, even if it’s not what I intended, there must be a way to reverse the rite of profane ascension. I haven’t yet done anything to take any of those souls back from him, but… if it’s even possible.” His voice went toneless, and he managed to remark on the seemingly impossible task with no passion, even as he declared, “It must be possible.”

Isolde nodded, that’s what she had been thinking as well. Mephistopheles was warning him not to mess with the parameters of the deal, because, as with any deal, there was some way out of it. But, it appeared that it was not as simple as using a few scrolls of true resurrection on the victims.

Still. It might be something down that same path.

“If you knew how. Would you?”

“I don’t. I don’t know,” Astarion said in barely more than a murmur, and it wasn’t clear whether he was simply reiterating that he had no idea how to reverse profane ascension, or if he was saying that he didn’t know if he would even want to, if it was possible. He seemed to pick up on this ambiguity as he watched her face, and with a sigh he clarified his explanation, “I don’t know how, so there’s no point speculating—”

“—for the sake of pointless speculation.” Isolde pressed him.

His wings dropped, his shoulders slumping as his head tilted, almost crashing into his own chest with the new weight of his horns. “I suppose it would depend on how difficult it would be, and what it would mean for me,” he admitted. “Becoming a vampire spawn again would not be desirable. I’d never see the sun again, be limited in how and where I can live. The hunger would rule me again,” he winced at that last thought.

“But it still depends?” If it would only bring him inconvenience, and if he’d already purchased what he wanted from hell, why even entertain the idea?

“Well. If it wasn’t such a huge amount of trouble,” he groaned, “I suppose—not that there’s much hope for it,” he scoffed and rolled his eyes, “honestly—I’ve known for a long time that the best afterlife I could hope for would still be faithless and lost. But. That might be better than whatever is fated for me now.” But his gaze flickered to Leon and Aurelia, softening ever so slightly before he steeled himself and looked back at his hands, frowning, perhaps at how growing claws had positively ruined his manicure. He tsked.

“And if it’s very complicated and difficult? Likely impossible?”

“Well, it must not be impossible, if he’s this worked up about it,” Astarion gestured to himself in such a way that the last of his torn shirt flopped over his wrist and he flicked it away in annoyance. “But. I’ve had a few years to get to know myself, and one thing I have learned is that the longer a plan may take me to execute, the more likely it is that I will get distracted or lose interest.”

“Or, despair,” Isolde wasn’t sure why she said it, and she kept her voice quiet, but not so quiet that Astarion couldn’t hear her.

His gaze was hard on her face. His jaw clenched over his fanged teeth. “Yes,” he said the word in a clipped, dangerous tone. “Or that.” If he was angry with her, he fought it off, and when he spoke again his tone conveyed only concern, even if his words were harsh. “Now you’ll see how fickle I am. Just last night I begged you to stay, but you must see now that your plan to leave the city was a wise one. You should pack your—my things and go.”

“No,” Isolde said flatly, because for all his bluster, she didn’t believe that was really what he wanted.

“I think that I can land you in more trouble than either of your former horrid masters.”

“Undoubtedly,” Isolde agreed. “The hells already know I’m here with you.”

“But if you run—”

“—consummate predators,” she stated grimly. “The devils see us as things to be exploited or consumed. As I am, I’m in reserve. If I run, I incite their instincts to chase.” 

Growing up, Isolde was firm in her stated beliefs that there was nothing inherently evil about her brother. Unfortunately, Vovka himself often advocated the counterpoint. He’d confided in her about the drives he had, many of them dark and destructive, and aimed at himself as well as those closest to him. He’d once said that he never saw someone run without feeling the urge to chase them down like a dog.

Astarion was gazing at her like he wanted to argue, but for once he didn’t seem to have words.

She leaned in and caught his mouth softly with her own, taking him by surprise, it seemed. He didn’t so much lean into the kiss as she felt him resting his forehead against hers. His hands found her fingertips, and as though overcompensating for the new claws, his touch was more tender than usual.

Aurelia approached them, tugging Leon’s wrist and dragging him along, and glancing back as if to present him. She waited, looking at Leon expectantly.

With a sigh, Leon admitted, “I can probably put together some kind of glamor. It will take a little time though. And money.”

If Astarion heard him, he didn’t seem to comprehend what he was saying. He nodded, but his ascent felt mindless to Isolde. 

“I can see to Alice and Barnes and your little ward,” Aurelia offered, “if you need to take some time.”

Again, Astarion’s main form of acquiescence came only through silence.

He let his siblings leave him, Aurelia leading Alice and the gith child away as well. Their shoes were still clicking on the ballroom floor when Astarion finally gathered up enough will to say something in farewell. “I don’t regret it,” he declared, voice filled with the gravel of defiance.

Aurelia acknowledged him only by glancing back over her shoulder without slowing her stride.

Alone again, Isolde thought that she would be glad to spend the rest of the night sitting here with him while he failed to work it all out in his troubled mind. She wasn’t sure what she could possibly do to help—probably nothing much. But, his efforts to send her away aside, he didn’t want to be alone, of that much, she felt certain.

Heavily, Astarion began to lay back, tentative and awkward with his movements. He winced as his wings spread flat, his back arching and the tips of his horns clicking on the floor behind his head. “Oh gods. You really just can’t lie on your back like this, can you?” he sighed, “even if I could find a comfortable, folded position for the wings, or tail, the horns won’t allow it. So much for sleeping as a hobby.”

“Vovka always had to lie on his stomach,” Isolde recalled, “he didn’t sleep much either though.”

“...Perhaps some kind of neck splint.”

“They sell those for tieflings,” Isolde tried to remember where she’d seen them, or at least which vendors she could ask about the item. From a practical standpoint, these were problems that had solutions. He could use Leon’s glamor, or various temporary spells to change his appearance back, even if his true form was indeed, forever altered. Again.

And that was the real problem, she realized, with a pang to her heart. The issue wasn’t a practical one. It was a matter of emotional turmoil. A reminder that his body still wasn’t his own.

After a few moments, Astarion gave up on his attempts to find a comfortable position on his back, and struggled a little to sit up again, accidentally pinning one of his own wings as he tried to find purchase with his palms. He glared at nothing in particular.

Somewhat invited, and somewhat intruding, Isolde’s thoughts turned back to moments just mere days ago, when they’d made love less than a few yards away from where they sat now. Everything had seemed so complicated at the time, but looking back, those were surely the very simplest of days. The palace had felt so empty, and their time together was entirely dictated according to their own devices. And gods, had they ever spent it well.

That could easily never be the case again.

A low chuckle from the shadows made her start from her dreamy recollections. If Astarion too was startled by the sudden appearance of an on-looker, he only expressed it through another aggravated sigh.

From the far corner of the room, shrouded, a long body unfurled itself from dark leathery wings. Isolde’s denial only lasted a few heartbeats, but for an instant, she was certain that it was any monster in the world other than her own lost Vovka.

She might not have recognized him, if she hadn’t already spent so much of the day remembering him and recalling the details of him. He was so changed.

That Astarion deemed his height inconsiderate made perfect sense now that she was seeing him in the flesh. Vovka wasn’t larger than a human man could be, but she couldn’t immediately recall having ever seen a man taller. The horns and wings enhanced this impression. When she’d seen him last, they'd been roughly the same size, and he’d been wiry and lithe rather than muscular like he was now. His hair was long now, piled back off his face with the sides shaved lower, but still, undoubtedly long when it wasn’t tied up. Their parents had always kept it cropped rather short for convenience and because their mother wasn’t convinced it couldn’t catch fire from his horns when they sparked and smoked. His face was grown, and more than ever before, his bones made him look like their father, and her guts twisted at the implications. She’d speculated, as had others, that the mortal parent was not the one who carried the child in her womb, but that her mother had only been used as a forced surrogate for their father’s indiscretion. His maturing features seemed to confirm that theory.

His eyes were different from how she remembered them. Like Aurelia, and now, Astarion, the sclera was black, but his iris was not the wreath of flame she remembered, there was a cool, bright light to them, nearly a flat white straight on, though even as she thought this, the sheen and the angle of his face sparked red, then yellow, then purple.

Though he’d announced himself with a laugh, there was no hint of amusement on his face. He approached at a worrisome pace, gradual, like he wasn’t quite ready.

“I honestly didn’t know what he was going to do,” Vovka offered, cocking his head at Astarion, and then she saw the amusement, but it was fleeting.

Whether or not they should believe him, Isolde decided it didn’t matter. She couldn’t imagine a world in which anything anyone thought about it could sway an archdevil. She didn’t even realize she was on her feet until they had carried her directly to her long lost half-brother. She charged at him, still in a debate with herself over whether she should strike him, embrace him, or perhaps some combination of both.

It the end, she only managed to come to a halt directly in front of him, just inches before she might’ve wrapped her arms around his waist, or her hands around his throat. She looked up at him, and for the first time she ever remembered, couldn't read his face.  “I looked for you. Everywhere.”

“A waste of effort.” Vovka informed her curtly.

“It was not.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, seemingly trying to create a barrier between them, and now, for some reason, she could bring herself to hug him. First, she grabbed his arms and untangled them to his visible discomfort, and forced him into an embrace. She’d forgotten how warm he was. Of course, it was the fires of hell, so the longer she stayed close to him, the more painful it would become, and she released him mere seconds after he started to relax just a touch.

“Should I leave the two of you to catch up?” Astarion managed to infuse his voice with a little of his old bravado as he rose to his feet.

“No,” Isolde and Vovka said in unison.

“Too painful,” Isolde clarified.

“Too much trouble. Not in keeping with our family tradition of avoidance.” Vovka cocked his heavy brows.

“Precisely,” Isolde agreed with Vovka’s cynical correction.

“So that’s it?” Astarion seemed to welcome a momentary distraction from his own drama, at least.    “Two decades of estrangement and—”

“—more than that,” Vovka grumbled, “time can pass in hell according to its own metrics. I might be older than you are now, big sister,” he seemed amused by the idea, but it made Isolde feel despondent in the extreme. He gave her the slightest reprieve from his so familiar and yet so different gaze, and turned his attention to Astarion instead. “You know, the Erinyes used to be regularly mistaken for aasimar by mortals. Big feathered wings and serene countenance. But, they traded all that for cloven hooves and more bestial features.”

“By their own leave?”

Vovka laughed at that, “when is it ever?” he shrugged. “I can teach you the spell to take on your old appearance.” he added, “no charge,” just at the moment that both Isolde and Astarin started to open their mouths to ask about the other end of the bargain.

Astarion regarded him suspiciously, but after a moment said, “thank you. I’d appreciate that,” slowly.

“It’s going to hurt. A lot.”

“There it is.”

Vovka sauntered over to the spot of ballroom floor that was severely scuffed from where the githyanki’s woman sword had connected with it, and drew his boot over the marks absently. “It’s not perfectly reliable, and it's not going to be something you can use all the time. It might take you years to get a decent number of hours out of it.”

Isolde remembered vividly how frustrated he had been when Vovka was a child and couldn’t maintain his human form long enough to spend any substantial amount of time outside of the house. It was a kind offer, but freely given? “Will he be unhappy with you? For helping us?” Isolde asked, foregoing the temptation to just thank him. Leon’s glamor might be safer, less likely to cause trouble, if only because it came from Leon.

Vovka gave a shrug that said for all the world he didn't give a shit if Mephistopheles was unhappy with him, but Isolde knew better. They all did.

“Why help me?” Astarion asked bluntly. “Feeling impervious?”

“Apathetic,” Vovka corrected. “They want me to keep close? Keep watch? They know how this works. Why bother sticking to the shadows when a soul is already bound? If anyone asks, I can turn the question around and wonder at what methods they would use to keep you close and beholden to hell? Offering help is usually more effective than threats when dealing with mortals. Even devils out for their first harvest know that.”

His blunt delivery and deadpan tone was a bit chilling to Isolde, but Astarion’s mouth lifted into a sharp smile for just an instant. She could have sighed audibly, of course, he'd find that reassuring. Astarion desperately craved compassion and understanding, but could never quite accept those things when they were offered freely. He was more comfortable with artifice. “Independent contractor, you said?” He asked, contemplative.

Vovka groaned. “Slipped out. Bad joke.”

“But you're not one of them. Beholden to them yourself, I gather.”

“I’m just a cambion. I can serve an infernal purpose, when it's demanded of me, or I can be a light snack for Tiamat.” He shrugged again, this time with a little shudder through his wings that suggested that was less a casual example of hell’s cruelty, and more an anecdote. “I’ll serve.”

Astarion stole a glance Isolde’s way. She wanted to read it as conspiring, at first, but decided after a moment that perhaps she simply needed to get used to reading him with the newly blackened sclera. Astarion looked away after a moment, lips pursed before he reasoned out loud, “They’re just using you too.”

Vovka furrowed his brow a little at that, but not like he didn’t understand. More like there was nothing more obvious in the world.

[sparkagrace]

stevebucky & 31

Hi Anon! Thanks for your prompt. Sorry it's taken me so long! Your song was Getaway Car by Taylor Swift.

tags: Christmas party, implied and past Bucky/Brock but it's a bad choice, toxic ex, meet-cute???

The ties were black, the lies were white In shades of gray in candlelight I wanted to leave him, I needed a reason

—

Bucky sighs in relief as the loud bass from inside the venue becomes a dull muffle when the door shuts behind him. He sees the fog of his breath wave away in the winter wind along with his irritation.

This was a mistake. He doesn’t enjoy Christmas parties at the best of times and he’s certainly not enjoying the one tonight. It’s not even his office Christmas party, but he was a plus one in an attempt to rekindle something with his ex-boyfriend, and he didn’t want to be a dick immediately and say no.

“Having a good night?” A voice from a few yards to his left asks. There’s a guy with broad shoulders leaning against the wall under the heat lamp with one hand in his pocket and another holding a cigarette. From the way he’s dressed — dark pants and a nice red shirt — Bucky figures he’s also an escapee from the festivities inside.

“No,” Bucky replies, honestly. “I think I made a mistake.”

The laugh that comes from the voice is a deep rumble and the man gestures to the heat lamp, indicating there’s space to share. Bucky is too cold to continue standing away from a source of heat, and he doesn’t want to go back inside where he was certainly going to end up with a headache.

“I’m starving,” the man says. “Why do they only serve appetizers? I think I got only half a slider.”

“I managed to get some sort of mushroom thing,” Bucky replies. That was also a reason he decided to step outside. Between the noise of the DJ inside and the lack of food, his head is kind of spinning. He’s dying for a slice of pizza. A full slice, not those tiny little squares.

“You smoke?” The man asks, lifting up his cigarette. Bucky shakes his head. “I haven’t seen you around. Are you new?”

“No, I’m a plus one.”

“Your…” The man’s eyes — blue now that they’re up close — glance down at his fingers.

“My nothing, really. Should-have-stayed-an-ex. He, uh, we just kinda got back together.”

The man nods. 

Bucky hates the holidays. The festive season sucks anyway, but when he’s single then it’s especially too easy to slip back into old habits. Bucky’s reconnection with Brock was a mistake. He had ignored the warning bells because he was lonely and it was easy to remember the good stuff when he was feeling that way. Brock had been the one to reach out and Bucky was too weak to say no and spend the holidays on his own. So when Brock also invited him to his office Christmas party, Bucky felt like he couldn’t refuse and it would prove he was serious about making another go of things.

“You know when you get back together with someone and you quickly remember why you broke up in the first place?” Bucky questions, not really expecting an answer, but he gets one anyway in the form of a knowing nod from this stranger he’s pouring his heart out to. “I’m Bucky, by the way.”

“Steve.” The man gestures inside the ballroom. “So, who is he?”

“Brock Rumlow,” Bucky admits, and by the hiss out of Steve’s mouth, he already feels embarrassed by it. “We broke up in the summer. It… yeah, we should have stayed that way. Do you work with him?”

“Not if I can avoid it. We’ve gotten into clashes a couple of times. Fortunately, I work in the graphics department so I don’t speak to him that often.”

They lapse into a comfortable silence. 

“I don’t even smoke,” Steve admits, lifting up his dwindling cigarette. “I just tell people I do so I can get ten minutes to myself when I need it. I just came out at the wrong time and someone offered me a light.”

Bucky snorts. “So I guess you’re not a fan of company-mandated fun either?”

“Oh, I’m only here until a reasonable time that I can make an excuse and leave. I was supposed to have a friend come tonight but she had to work last minute.”

“That sucks.”

“Well, she’s a paramedic so I guess I can’t be too mad at her.” Steve waits for his cigarette to get down to the end before he stubs it out and puts it in the nearby trash can. “Do you have to go back inside?”

“Probably, but I don’t think Brock has even noticed I’m gone. He was too busy making asshole jokes about his co-workers and hanging around the bar. I hate dealing with him when he’s drunk.” Bucky leans his head against the wall, regretting every thinking getting back with Brock was a good idea.

Steve looks at his watch. “Hmm, it’s past nine so I think that’s my cue to go home. Hopefully I can get my stuff from the coat check without my manager spotting me.”

Bucky nods and watches Steve and his broad shoulders move towards the door. But Steve hovers nearby. 

“Hey, uh, do you have a ticket for the coat check too?”

“Yeah?” He frowns a little. Steve ducks his head and rubs the back of his neck.

“I was just wondering since we both had terrible nights and all — and it’s only nine — wanna get outta here and do something? Maybe get some actual food? I could go get your stuff for you so you don’t run into Brock.”

Bucky’s entire demeanor must be screaming out ‘yes’ because he immediately digs out his ticket for the coat check and hands it over, even though there’s a risk Steve — a man he met less than ten minutes ago — could just take off with his stuff and never be seen again.

Somehow he doesn’t think that’ll be the case.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

An hour later, they’re in a small mom n’ pop pizza joint four blocks away eating their way through two entire pepperoni pizzas, beers and singing along to the Christmas songs playing out of the tinny speakers. 

Maybe the holidays aren’t so bad. 

[iheartleopards]

here Cinderella au sari x bumblebee pt 2

After her stepmother and stepsisters left sari went into the garden sat on a bench and began to Cried she really wanted to go to the ball. sari:why are they so mean to me I wish my parents were alive.

Then suddenly a bright light glowing in front of her.

it's was her fairy godmother.serenity: don't cry Cinderella.

sari look up to see a beautiful autobot with Blue hair a white dress white wings and she was holding a wand.

sari:who are you. Serenity:I'm your fairy godmother sari I know you. been a very kind girl I help you go to the ball.

Sari:but how I don't have a gown and carriage. Serenity: don't worry I help but first can you bring me a pumpkin.

Sari got a pumpkin and placed it in the ground serenity: can you get me 3 mice sari went into the kitchen and got her 3 mice.

Fairy godmother touched them with her magic wand and the pumpkin became a beautiful carriage 2 mice Become horses and the 3rd mice Becomes the coachmen.

Sari: this is so beautiful but I can't go to the ball dressed in rags.

Serenity: don't worry my dear I sort it out the fairy godmother touched sari with her magic wand and sari's rags became a beautiful orange Ball gown she had light orange gloves and her hair was fixed like a princess she weared a tiara in her hair and on her feet were two beautiful glass shoes. Sari:it'sBeautiful gown and I love the glass shoes.

thank you so much fairy godmother. Sari hugged the fairy godmother.

Serenity:you deserve my child have a lovely time but before you go I have to tell you it's very important you must leave the ball by 12 o clock because at midnight the spell will be broken and everything will turn to the way it was before.

Sari: don't worry I promise to leave before 12 thank you so much.

Fairy godmother kissed sari on the cheek. Serenity: have lovely time my sweet may happiness be yours.

Then sari got in the carriage and away she went. At the ball. There was a lot of people who are dancing arcee:I can't wait to see prince bumblebee slipstream:he be so handsome.

Guard: his royal Highness king Optimus prime and prince bumblebee. Bumblebee: prime do I have to do this.

optimus prime:yes bumblebee you have to Pick which girl to be your bride.

Bulkhead: don't worry buddy everything will be ok.bumblebee:but I don't really feel like dancing right now.

prowl:we know but it a order. Ratchet: prowl right kid trying Has some fun. Bumblebee: fine.

Arcee:omg His here the stepsisters went up to prince bumblebee. Outside of the palace sari arrived at the ball

she stepped out of her carriage. Sari:I'm finally here the palace is so beautiful.

Coachman: Cinderella remember what your fairy godmother said you must leave the ball before 12. Sari: don't worry I won't forget.

Sari said as she went the stairs. Arcee and slipstream were arguing because they want to dance with prince bumblebee.

Then sari enter the palace all guests wonder who was that beautiful girl.

prince bumblebee looked and saw most beautiful girl in a orange Ballgown.

bumblebee could not take his eyes off of her. prowl: who is she?

Ratchet:she must be a princess. Bulkhead:what do you Think bumblebee.

bumblebee:she's so beautiful.

bulkhead:go and dance with her.

Prince Bumblebee walked over to the mysterious girl.sari:good evening your Highness. Sari said & curtsied.

Bumblebee took her hand and kissed it. Bumblebee: princess may I have this dance?.

Sari began to blush she couldn't believe the prince was going to ask her to dance.sari:y..yes of course.

Sari said blushing.

They walked to the to the center of the the ballroom prince bumblebee held sari hand then he put her hand on his shoulder then he put his arm around her waist then they began to dance.

Everyone stared as the prince Bumblebee dance with the mysterious girl.

Sari was blushing so hard she felt like she and the prince were the only ones in ballroom.

Sari: are they all looking at you.

Bumblebee: believe me they all looking at you.

stepmother and stepsisters couldn't recognize her.

Arcee:I wonder where she came from. Slipstream: it was my turn to dance.

Optimus prime:it looks like bumblebee find the girl of his dreams.

Prowl:there dance is so beautiful. Ratchet:they make a lovely couple.

Bulkhead: agree