#belmont university

[college-girls-blog]

Hannah Roberson

Belmont University

[photosbymeganveldman]

baseball details

[conandaily2022]

Was Belmont University student Jillian Ludwig shot by Shaquille Taylor in Nashville, Tennessee?

Jillian Ludwig, 18, of Wall, Tom Green County, Texas, United States is a musician. She was born in New Jersey, USA and she attended Wall High School in Wall.

[thejoyofviolentmovement]

New Audio: Abby Carroll Shares Gorgeous and Heartbreaking "Lovers to Strangers"

New Audio: Abby Carroll Shares Gorgeous and Heartbreaking "Lovers to Strangers" @heygroover @romainpalmieri @DorianPerron

Abby Carroll is a Greenville, SC-born singer/songwriter, who’s currently a songwriting and music business major at Nashville‘s Belmont University. Carroll has been releasing self-produced music influenced by Aimee Mann since she was 15. The Greenville-born, Nashville-based artist’s latest single “Lovers to Strangers” is the first of three new releases that she has worked on with a local…

[where-i-bitch-about-nashville]

belmont university, the acklen estate and belmont mansion owe slave reparations

it’s an embarassment to us all

[gender-luster]

i love robert carlyle. such a talented actor. with such roles as

guy with something seriously wrong with him

guy with something seriously wrong with him

guy with something seriously wrong with him

gay

guy with something seriously wrong with him

gay guy with something seriously wrong with him

guy with something seriously wrong with him

guy with s-

[one-in-a-million-fishsticks]

So, lately I've been reading my way through some really good Castlevania fics on A03, and I have to say that while there exists a delicious selection of fix-its....

There is a definitive lack of time-travel fics where the Nocturne-era crew get sent back to 1400s Wallachia.

Imagine the insanity of that scenario? Maria, Richter, Annette, and Juste have never known anything quite as bad as the full power of Dracula's wrath. Even Ezrebet Bathory couldn't hold a candle to carnage and destruction on that scale.

Alucard is just having an all around awful time for obvious reasons, and then you have Trevor and Sypha. Trevor is just doing Trevor, getting drunk and trying to forget his grief when WHABAM!... More Belmonts, two other random hunters, and a super old dhampir with depression. He is not emotionally prepared for any of that, and neither are the others.

Sypha is just doing Sypha, trying to save the world and looking for the right crew to help her out with that. She has no idea what her presence (and Trevor's) mean to Alucard, just that she's found her Hunter and Soldier.

Trevor is immediately both protective of his newly materialized relatives and standoffish with them. He of course has no idea that they've time-traveled or that he's their ancestor, so while he sees Richter as "just a kid" and innocent of any wrongdoing, he holds some resentment towards Juste because his perspective is basically "Why didn't this surviving elder of the Belmont clan come to try and help me when I was alone as a child? Did he genuinely not know that I was alive or did he just not care?"

Richter really wants to say something and set the record straight, but Juste finds it easier to be loathed than to try explaining, so he keeps Richter quiet.

Maria is still just mourning her mother and trying to recover, so she mostly does her own thing while occasionally spending some time practicing magic alongside Sypha and Annette.

Annette isn't sure how to feel about this whole clusterfuck, but she's pretty sure that she hates it, and she definitely hates having to watch as people undergo even greater suffering around her.

Alucard is crying in the corner, he's so fucking exhausted but can't tell anybody because he needs to be strong for "the kids," Oh..... And also this version of Trevor still hates anything and everything night related, even him, so showing weakness just gets him mocked.

And there's Dracula coming in from the left with a steel chair!!!!!!! 😮 🪑

[where-i-bitch-about-nashville]

oh hey your blog doesn’t look active lately, but if you pop in, join me in calling for belmont university and the belmont mansion to pay slavery reparations to descendants of those who were enslaved back to the foundations of the place and to the Black community

Our Letter

This morning news broke about a Belmont University student who posted a racist snapchat, showing a picture of several black NFL football players protesting, his caption said, “Piece of shit n******. Every one of them needs a damn bullet in their head. If you don’t like this country get the hell out.”

The screenshot of this post, and a call for the student to be expelled began to circulate Facebook.  Soon after, Belmont University shared the following:

“This morning, we were made aware of a racist social media post by a freshman student at Belmont. We reject comments rooted in racism or bigotry. This is not free speech—this is hate speech. The University is investigating and will take immediate action. As a Christian institution it is our goal to build a diverse and inclusive community where all members feel accepted, safe and valued”

An hour later, an update surfaced, saying that the student in question was no longer a student at Belmont University. To some it seems as though the issue has been resolved.

However, for many students and alumni, we see this not as the end of a story, but the beginning of a conversation on how we can continue to make our community a better place. Swiftly addressing this individual racist post serves as a beginning, but there remains a dire need to address the whole of racism, both explicit and implicit, past and present, at Belmont University.  We must not allow ourselves to feel too quickly righteous or absolved upon the exit of the student from the university; we must not allow ourselves to grow satisfied in addressing only symptoms.  Before we can meaningfully address current problems, we must acknowledge our past.

Belmont University’s history, like much of the narrative of our nation, is inextricably woven to the exploitation of black bodies in the form of slave labor. At the time of the 1860 slave census, 32 enslaved people lived and worked on the current grounds of Belmont University. The fortune Adelicia Acklen acquired from her first husband, Isaac Franklin, that resulted in the building of the Belmont Mansion, came from his involvement in the domestic slave trade and from expansive plantations in Tennessee, Louisiana, and Texas.  When prospective students are welcomed to campus and given tours, the university is quick to claim the positive aspects of its unique history as an estate of a wealthy woman yet fails to acknowledge its troubling past of enslavement and exploitation.  Belmont has remained silent, letting the monuments of the past cast dark shadows on the present.  When we remain silent and fail to condemn its own history, we fail to condemn slavery, and thus normalize and minimize the gravity and seriousness of the brutal oppression experienced by African Americans on the soil of our own campus.  

During Welcome Week freshman year, new students are taken on a “ghost tour” of Belmont, and told ghost stories. These are the stories of students past that now haunt the buildings.  What they don’t do is tell the stories of the ghosts that haunt the grounds: the souls of those who were told they were less than human, they were chattel, they were not made in the image of God. These were all tactics used for the justification for the exploitation of their labor. These ghosts very actively haunt us to this day, and we will never see justice, peace, or reconciliation until we reckon with this bloodied past.

Now Cain said to his brother Abel, “Let’s go out to the field.” While they were in the field, Cain attacked his brother Abel and killed him.

Then the Lord said to Cain, “Where is your brother Abel?”

“I don’t know,” he replied. “Am I my brother’s keeper?”

The Lord said, “What have you done? Listen! Your brother’s blood cries out to me from the ground. Now you are under a curse and driven from the ground, which opened its mouth to receive your brother’s blood from your hand. When you work the ground, it will no longer yield its crops for you. You will be a restless wanderer on the earth. —-Genesis 4:8-12

We believe that all humans are made in the image of God. We believe we are the family of God. This passage from the book of Genesis is a story of brother killing brother. Through the dehumanization of people of color (as referred to above), in particular our black brothers and sisters, we have violently oppressed our brother, and the blood cries out from the ground. In this case, the blood cries out from the very ground that we live, eat, sleep, study, love, and laugh on. The Lord cries out a curse to Cain, a curse that we can feel echoed on the grounds of our own beloved university. It passes on, generation to generation until we reckon with the past. We have killed our brother, and we have not confessed, and we have not repented as the Gospel and the Bible call us to. We want to join together in this collective and communal process to walk that path as we are called, in a manner worthy of Christ.

Belmont has said that it’s goal is to build a “diverse and inclusive community where all members feel accepted, safe and valued.“ And we want to do everything we can to help Belmont achieve that goal. We believe that we will never be able to do that until we reckon with the blood on the ground. The ground that we work is cursed, the land is fallow and continues to yield more pain and suffering for people of color. We believe, we will not bear good fruit until these atrocities are acknowledged, confessed, and repented of.

We do not believe those words written by that freshman student are an isolated incident. We would all love to believe that this individual was an exception to the rule, but we would be remiss if we failed to recognize the culture which has allowed something like this to happen– Why did a student post such racist and violent hate speech on social media? How did we as an institution arrive at the place where not only did someone believe those words, but felt comfortable enough to utter them in such a public way? It is not fair to place all of the blame on an individual, when our country and our culture has been responsible for leading us to this point.

We are called as Christians–”Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will. “ (Romans 12:2)

I think we would all like to distance ourselves from that individual and isolate our understanding of racism only to people like that student, but we would be missing the bigger picture and an opportunity to see our university come closer to the community of faith, courage, and compassion that we hope and aspire to be. We must connect our history, our past to the situation at present in order to begin to seek more effective solutions. The environment at Belmont University for people of color is often unwelcoming and in its worst moments, oppressive. Something must be done to change that.

In the same way that we cannot cast the blame all on this one student, we must also acknowledge that the blame cannot be hoisted solely upon the administration. Systemic institutions of oppression were not built by one person, they are not sustained by one, and they also will not be redeemed and rebuilt by the actions of one or even a select group of people. We, the many individuals that make up Belmont’s community must work together to see this through, to offer ourselves, our resources, our creativity, our intellect, and our many other gifts to see that as the Belmont family, we give Belmont every opportunity to succeed in seeing this vision come to fruition.

We are asking that people come forward with their stories, songs, poems, and pictures so that we can begin to understand the many and complex ways that racism has pervaded our community. We believe that they will help us to gather a more comprehensive foundation upon which we can start to find the healing we all so desperately need and seek. To submit your story (in whatever medium you’d like to use), go to http://raceatbelmont.tumblr.com/submit. 

[my-little-random-world]

Fina: Marta, that look on your face doesn’t suggest anything good. Did you talk to your father about Barcelona?

Marta: Yesterday, when I entered his office, he was already on the phone talking with the store there. I tried to reason with him, but he doesn’t want to change his mind.

Fina: He has no right to do this to us.

Marta: But he can do it.

Fina: I told my father, and he said he talked to him, but he won’t back down, Marta. He’s going to do whatever it takes to separate us, whatever it takes.

Marta: It’s much more than that. He’s trying to protect us. That’s why he wants to keep me away from you.

Fina: But protect us from whom?

Marta: From the person who sent him the photos—my brother Jesús.

Fina: But does he know it was him? Did Jesús give him those photos?

Marta: He suspects it, just like I do. My father isn’t stupid, and we both know what my brother is like.

Fina: And do you really think Don Damián de la Reina can’t control him? He could try to curb his son’s ambitions. After all, this is his factory. But let me tell you something, Marta. If Jesús took those photos, it’s a guarantee that things won’t get too out of hand, because your brother wants to control the company, but he wouldn’t dare send his sister to jail.

Marta: Right now, we can’t be sure what my brother is capable of. And I saw my father really worried. What truly concerns me is that Jesús might do something against you.

Fina: Yes, and what else can he do?

Marta: Fina, after all, I’m his sister. You’re no one to him.

Fina: Marta, the damage is already done because if I have to go, I have to go without you and without my father.

Marta: Maybe he could go with you.

Fina: No, he can’t go with me, Marta, because he’s old and sick. I can’t condemn him to leave his home, to die far from everything that’s been his life. I’m going to have to go alone, without you, without my friends, without my father, without any support, and I don’t want to go. I’m terrified, Marta. You said you would solve it.

Marta: I’m terrified too. I’ve tried to do everything possible. I think maybe now we just have to wait for things to calm down.

Fina: Wait?

Marta: Right now, I don’t know what else we can do.

[tobiasdrake]

Sometimes I see the way media handles female characters and I'm just like, "Oh my god, that's so cool. I don't even want you to change that. I just want you to notice how cool that is. Why aren't you doing something with this amazing thing you wrote? It's so fucking cool."

When I seize control of the Castlevania franchise in a bloody coup, the first thing I'm doing is giving this woman her due.

So. Like. The plot of Castlevania is that the Belmont clan is a long family bloodline of vampire hunters who slay a variety of monsters and routinely kill Dracula every time he shows up. The key to their success is the powerful weapon Vampire Killer, an ultra-sanctified super-weapon that cuts the undead to ribbons so hard the crucifix gets jealous.

(Actually, no, crucifix is OP in Castlevania if used well, but I digress.)

Point is, Castlevania once went into detail about the origins of the Vampire Killer. And its origin was this woman. Sara Trantoul, a young woman afflicted with vampirism who decided that, instead of becoming a vampire, she was going to do some alchemy shit to transmute her very soul into the holiest goddamn weapon in the history of sacred artifacts that lethally fucks up every vampire it comes into contact with.

This woman is to the Belmont bloodline what Raava is to the Avatar. What Fi is to the Master Sword. The key to their ability to slay monsters and fight Dracula comes from a teenage alchemist's undying, eternal determination to get his ass. (Well, to get the ass of the vampire whose powers he stole but same deal really.)

In the games, she basically stops being a factor after the one that introduced her. She's a footnote in the canon of Castlevania, far less important than the whip.

But. Like. Her soul is literally in the whip. I've always imagined Sara as, like, the spirit guide and mentor figure and advisor and shit to every Belmont. Like when the whip is officially passed down, your first challenge is to take it and commune with Sara for the first time, the way the Avatar communes with their past lives.

And then she's with the Belmont in spirit. She knows everything. Can name all of the various creatures they might fight. Encyclopedic understanding of the lore. Trades barbs with Death, who (along with Dracula) is one of the few creatures that can see her. Friendly banters with Alucard about her latest Belmont.

Even if your parents were slaughtered as a child and it was all they could do to get you to safety and there's nobody to teach you how to be a Belmont, as long as you have The Whip, there's still Sara.

This character has so much potential to be such a cool piece of the narrative puzzle. It's already there. All she needs is presence.

[vampiricstoryteller]

Safety Net

Im back yall, here’s a new Richette smut I’ve been working on. It took me a little bit to find a groove with this but I do like how it’s turned out. This a modern AU one. I love modern Annette and Richter. I hope yall enjoy! Thank you for reading!

Summary: Annette takes care of Richter after a grueling month of working with Juste

Read on A03 here

All mistakes are my own

Warnings: Explicit smut, AU, Modern AU, cursing, Juste is super OC but it’s for the greater plot

If there was one thing Richter hated, more than anything, it was the month long business trip his grandfather, Juste Belmont, went on every other year. Nothing came remotely close to being as awful as the time he had to spend with his mothers father. Not that time he broke his leg when he was eight and had to stay in bed for weeks. Not when, at fifteen, he’d had that severe allergic reaction to kiwis and ended up in the ER. And not at twenty two when his father died and he’d been handed the keys to a multi-million dollar company. None of those even held a candle to the dread that locked into his chest when he would get the notification on his phone from the European side of the business.

Because it meant that Juste came to the states to check in on business “across the pond”, he came to stay with Richter’s mum; make snarky comments about the food she cooked and use up all the laundry detergent while never replacing it. He came to terrorized the employees that idolized him and unfairly challenge the ones that didn’t. He came to make Richter’s life hell, especially during the work week where he would follow Richter around and question every decision the youngest Belmont made.

Didn’t matter what it was, when Richter made a decision his grandfather had comments about it. If Richter picked sushi for lunch, Juste questioned why not something a little less raw. If Richter chose paint color number 4834, Juste needed to know why he hadn’t gone with 4835 instead. When they sat down to discuss models designs and reference points that should be paid attention to, his grandfather could and usually would rebuke them all.

Every. Single. One.

It was fucking infuriating.

Richter’s been in charge of the company for three years now. Their stock has risen, they’re on track to have the highest grossing year ever in their history and he’s already been honored by the national board. He’s the youngest CEO in the entire Belmont line, and his grandfather couldn’t give two shits about any of it.

He just wants to give Richter migraines for an entire month.

If he could get away with it, Richter would strangle him. But his mother would never forgive him and jail would completely ruin the fashion sense he’s been so meticulously building. Not to mention, if he ends up in jail his girlfriend will break up with him. And there’s nothing in the world Richter fears more than losing her.

He’d been dating Annette for just over a year. Fourteen months to be exact. And they’d been some of the happiest months of Richter’s life.

Annette meant everything to him.

She cared about Richter on a level so deep that he often felt like he was having the perfect fever dream. Annette believed in him, she encouraged him to be different than the men who came before him, she challenged his inner integrity and she kissed him like there had never been any other man on her mind ever. He’s certainly not thought about any other woman since the day they met, she clears them all by a mile at least.

Richter loved Annette, she was it for him. He already knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.

Which is why two weeks before his grandfather is set to arrive, he sits Annette down and tries to explain that his grandfather is the destroyer of joy and if he sees that Richter is happy he will try to ruin it.

She’d laughed, hugging him comfortingly and said. “It’s only a month, Richter. We’ll make it through it.”

Then she crawled into his lap, kissing him as she promised even further, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Richter knows that.

And he knew she was right, they would make it through the month long visit from Juste; but would his sanity be the same when the old man finally boarded that 3pm flight six weeks from now?

He wasn’t so sure.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once his grandfathers plane lands, the days immediately begin blending together. There is nothing that the old man won’t complain about. This time he even has one locked and loaded when he greets Richter at the car pick up line.

“You couldn’t have had one of those golf carts waiting to bring to you?” Juste grumbles, his long hair pulled into a ponytail at the nape of his neck.

“The walk is good for you after sitting on a plane for so long.” Richter replies evenly, picking up the older man’s suitcases and loading them into the trunk.

“Suddenly care about my health do you?” Juste asks, looking him over a few times as he pulls out a cigarette and lights it.

“No but mum does and me picking you up was her idea so,” Richter shrugs, closing the trunk and walking around to the driver side. “Come on, I’m trying to beat traffic.”

His grandfather doesn’t reply but he does get into the car, even going as far as rolling down the window.

“There’s something different about you, this time Richter.” The older man comments as the car pulls away from the curb. “You’ve got a pep in your step.”

He grunts in reply, refusing to give his grandfather any kind of information to take and run with. As they merge into traffic, Richter sends up a slightly prayer to the spirit world for his ancestors to give him strength to deal with their own bloodline.

By the second week of his grandfather’s visit, their conversation that morning he arrived seems like it happened years ago. To think that it’s only been fourteen days since then makes Richter want to vomit. There’s been a never ending stream of steady stress since the old man lit that cigarette and told Richter that he seemed different.

Juste had been relentless in his pursuit of what exactly had changed Richter since last they saw each other. He keeps Richter at the office longer and longer every day, wanting to go over things six or seven times even though they come out perfect the first three. He demands Richter meet him earlier and earlier, calling him until he answers and drags himself out of bed; away from Annette. Which was crushing Richter’s soul little bit by little bit each time.

It eventually gets to the point where Richter isn’t even sure what day it is anymore. He remembers sometimes when people greet him in the mornings, but the more time he spends with Juste the more people around them avoid them. Even in the building cafeteria, if Richter and Juste enter it, by the time they’ve gotten their plates, everyone else is gone.

Isolation is one Juste’s favorite ways to pick people apart, Richter’s known this since he was a child but this time around; the loneliness eats away at his heart. Being away from Annette for days at a time and then only seeing her when she’s curled around his pillow asleep makes Richter feel invisible.

They text, which isnt the same but it’s something and Richter desperately clings to any kind of normalcy he can find. Annette constantly sends little “I love you, be strong” messages throughout the day and each one wraps around Richter’s heart in a short of protective shield. She sends lunch to his office almost daily, orders his favorite snacks and tucks them into his suit jacket pockets days in advance so they can be a tiny surprise to brighten his day; and often leaves dinner waiting for him in a microwaveable container for when he gets home at those god awful times past midnight. He would be lost without her and Richter has never been more aware of it than he is now. She is a saint, she is heaven sent and when Richter can have a thought that doesn’t trace back to his damn grandfather again, he is going to dedicate a lot of his time to giving her the world.

Annette’s genuine love and care for him is the only thing keeping Richter from jumping off the roof and flipping Juste the bird on the way down. He cares too much about her to leave her, especially not when she’s sticking by him through his.

Richter just has to grit his teeth and bare it, for two more weeks.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When the day finally— finally —comes, it starts raining in the morning and doesn’t stop. Effectively delaying Juste’s flight hours into the night. What originally was a 3pm flight shifts to a 6pm one, then 8pm, and finally 10pm. They’ve just finished eating a late dinner when Juste’s phone gets another notification and Richter fears he’s going rip his own hair out from frustration based insanity if his grandfather tells him the flights been canceled.

But thankfully Juste looks up and instead tells him his flight will be boarding soon so it’s time to leave. Richter throws away his half eaten burger that he hadn’t really wanted anyway and tries to stay level with the speed limit as he all but races towards the airport.

His chest is tight the entire way, the uncomfortable prickle of tears in the back of his throat makes Richter want to scream. Even as an adult, running a million dollar company, he still crumbled under the pressure of his family name. Logically, he knows the expectations are bullshit and that if he would ignore them the way his mother and Tera managed to so eloquently do he would be much happier. But his mother and Tera had to go all the way across the ocean to “ignore” the expectations that Juste and his father before him rained down on them. Richter would be damned to hell before he let an old man chase him away from the life he had here in the name of “tough love”. He wouldn’t allow it.

As he turns into the drop off land of the airport and shuffles into the long car line, Richter bites the inside of his cheek until it bleeds to stop the tears. He won’t give Juste the satisfaction. He refuses.

“You do good work here, Richter.”

His grandfather’s words bring all ten thousand of his thoughts to a screeching halt and Richter nearly slams on the breaks.

“What?” He snaps his gaze over to the man in his passenger seat.

“Your building runs like a well oiled machine, much better than two years ago when I was here.” Juste says casually. “This girl you’re hiding from me—.”

“I’m protecting my—.”

“This girl you’re hiding from me is very good for you, I hope she’s here to stay.” Juste says firmly.

When the next spot opens, Richter pulls in and throws on the hazard lights, unbuckling his seat belt.

“You don’t need to meet her.” He states trying to keep the threat out of his tone.

Juste chuckles, taking his time to gather his carryon, phone and wrapped lunch Richter’s mother made him. “You’re right. I don’t. Keep up the good work Richter, see you in two years.”

His grandfather is out of his truck and around at the trunk to get his suitcases before Richter can think of anything to say. The migraine behind his eyes is almost unbearable now and he can’t even begin to try to have coherent thoughts beyond getting home. Once his grandfather disappears inside the busy airport, Richter pulls away from the curb and doesn’t look back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He unlocks the apartment door with a shaky hand at 2:27am. He’d nearly fallen over in the elevator and he was pretty sure the next time he could think he would embarrassed by how badly he parked his truck down in the building garage. But that was a problem for later, Richter didn’t give one flying shit about anything other than taking off his clothes and crawling into bed with—

He pushes open the door expecting to be greeted by darkness. Instead, the soft hum of the tv and the gentle glow of the color background lights are waiting him. Annette is sitting on the couch, in a pair of blue panties and a black tank top with her legs crossed and her Switch in her lap. The soft hyper sounds of Mario Kart jingle in Richter’s inner ear but his brain can’t make heads or tails of the sight before him. Annette is awake, for the first time in a month Richter is finally able to bring himself back to her. He has made it out of the iron claw grip labeled family, he can breathe again and just be with her.

She looks up, her beautiful brown doe eyes lighting up the second she sees him.

“Richter!”

She unfolds her legs, placing her game on the couch and practically leaps towards him. He catches her, he always will no matter how tired or mentally exhausted he is; and the warmth of Annette’s body against him sends shocking waves of emotion through his entire being.

Richter folds around her, wrapping his arms tightly around her frame and holding her to him; his face seeking out her neck. She hugs him back, just as tightly and just as fiercely, her small finger tips gripping his shoulder blades. He squeezes his eyes shut, breath shuddering a bit when tears wet his eyelashes.

“Oh Richter.” Annette soothes softly. “It’s okay, it’s over.”

Richter nods, he kisses her neck before pulling back slightly. “I just didn’t expect you to be waiting up.” He says trying to smile. “I missed you.”

She smiles, reaching up and smoothing her thumbs over his eyebrows; pressing away the frown he didn’t know was there.

“I missed you too.”

They pull apart, only so she can close the door and Richter can shed his jacket and shoes.

“Are you hungry?” Annette asks.

“No, later. I just want out of these clothes, maybe a shower and sleep.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, pulling his eyebrows back down into the frown she just tried to rid him of.

“Come on then, plan A it is.” Annette says gently. She turns the tv off before taking his hand and leading towards the bathroom.

Upon entering, Richter blinks twice and looks around in surprise. Annette’s lit several candles, strategically placing them around the large bath tub he’d specifically had installed at her request five months ago. It was deep enough that they could comfortably sit and bathe together without feeling cramped. Richter had been skeptical at first but baths with Annette were soon high on his list of favorite things to do with her.

It was exactly what he needed right now and warmth spreads through his entire body when she turns on the hot water, plugs the tug and starts to add a combination of their favorite oils. She smiles prettily at him when he doesn’t immediately begin moving, his brain still sluggish despite the tiny flames of energy he felt finally being around her again.

“Take some ibuprofen. Brush your teeth. Take off the rest of your clothes. I’ll keep an eye on the water.” She says, already seated on the lip of tub.

Richter salutes her lazily, happy to hear her chuckle in amusement at him. It feels like it’s been years since he’s heard her laugh. He does as she requested of him, taking the pain pills, brushing his teeth, sneaking in a quick piss then taking off all of his clothes and stuffing them into the bathroom hamper.

When he returns to the side of the tub, Annette has turned off the water and slid down into the tub at the end where the curve of the bottom doubles as a seat.

“Come on.” She grins up at him.

Richter raises an eyebrow. Normally, he would be the one sitting there and Annette would sit either on his lap or between his legs if he was helping her wash her hair. He wasn’t sure they’d ever traded places in this way before.

“I might crush you.” He says rather lamely but Annette only rolls her eyes.

“I’m not a doll, Richter, you of all people should know that.” She smirks then splashes the water a bit. “Come on, don’t waste all this heat.”

Richter chuckles and climbs into the tub slowly, so not to slosh the water over the sides. He settles between her dark, pretty legs; leaning back against her chest her while her slim hand reaches around and presses on his sternum.

“Just relax Richter, it’s been a long month for you.” She says, kissing the shell of his ear and making him groan.

The water smells like honeysuckle, lavender and just the barest hints of cucumbers, the heat of it already turning his pale skin red as steam rises in slow waves all around them.

“Thank you,” Richter says, feeling his body sinking into the water. “For your patience and the lunches and the notes and the texts, all of it.”

Annette wraps her arms around his neck, her nose pressed into his hair behind his ear and she grins when he shivers.

“I love you Richter, I knew we’d make it through this. We just had to be patient, the time was going to pass no matter what. What would I have gained by making it difficult?”

He chuckles, gently grabbing her hands and bringing them to his lips so he can kiss the soft skin.

“I love you too Annette, I’m so glad that you let me.” He murmurs against her fingers.

They sit together for several long minutes, soaking in the heat and basking in each other’s presence. She washes his hair, fingers massaging his scalp and his temples. Her fingers are like magic, finding just the right pressure points to alleviate the throb in his head every so slightly. He’s pretty sure he lets out a pathetic moan or two that he’s grateful Annette’s nice enough to ignore.

Her fingers work their way from his scalp to the back of his neck, over his shoulders and biceps then back round to his chest. Richter watched her small hand, fingers spread wide across the broad plains of his pecs and he bites his bottom lip when she starts to slowly massage her way down.

“Annette.” He murmurs, eyes fluttering when her fingers dances along the lines of his stomach. She traces out his abs, teasing him as she playfully dips lower only to drag her fingers back up.

She giggles when his hips rock up a few times to try and bump her fingers against his half hard cock.

“Be patient Richter.” She whispers kissing his ear. “Relax and enjoy it.”

He closes his eyes, soft colors dancing behind the lids in the same patterns that Annette’s fingers are drawing on his skin. Breathing deep through his nose, Richter lets the last of his muscles relax completely. Annette seems ready for it, she never falters in her ministrations; instead she finally dips her right hand completely down and wraps her fingers around him.

The whimper that escapes Richter is pathetic. He knows it. But he doesn’t care. He’s had no time to himself for a month, he’s had this migraine for a month, his brain has been running twenty four hours a day for the last month. He’s allowed to be pathetic right now.

And it’s not like Annette would ever judge him for the sounds she’s able to pull out of him. She lives for them, and Richter lives for the things she’s willing to do to hear them. It’s a win win situation for both of them.

She licks the shell of his ear, twists her hand around his cock twice and Richter’s mind goes blissfully blank. His breath hitches, hands fisting and his teeth dig into his bottom lip.

“A-Annette…”

“Does that feel good, Richter?” She asks softly, her breath tickling his ear in a way that makes his spine tingle. She swipes her thumb over the tip, smearing the precum around the plump head.

“Fucking yes —Annette.”

She digs the nails of her hand still on his chest into his skin, making him hiss through his clenched jaw. His hips start meeting her hand with every stroke, fucking up into her tiny fist with thinly veiled desperation.

“Richter.” Annette sighs softly,

His forces his eyes open, looking down at her pretty dark hand squeezing and jerking his weeping, hard cock. The contrast between them starts to curl Richter’s toes and his back arches when Annette opens her hand leaving just her thumb and index finger nestled under the pink engorged head, twists her hand again and Richter sees stars.

He shouts, he know he does and one of his hands grips her calf hard enough to leave deep bruises but Annette continues to stroke him as a thick stream of cum bursts from him. She kisses at his ear, biting at the shell and pinching the lobe between her teeth.

Richter thinks for a moment that he’s going to pass out and drag them both under the water.

The feeling passes, only because Annette is there to help him come down slowly. She massages his hips, gently pinches at his sides and whispers playfully in his ear until he’s able to open his eyes again.

“I…I love you—so much, Annette.” He mumbles.

“Good,” she says kissing his cheek. “Cause I feel the same way about you.”

He chuckles tiredly, a yawn sneaking out of his mouth. Annette pats his stomach,

“Come on; let’s get you into bed.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They end up cuddled together under the sheets. Richter tucking Annette close to him, his arms holding her tight like she’s his lifeline. And at this point he’s pretty sure she’s is.

“I want to go on vacation.” He mumbles, his face buried in neck. “Like, tomorrow.”

Annette laughs softly, her fingers intertwining with his that are spread across her stomach.

“Sleep first,” she all but demands. “Then we can talk, over breakfast.”

Richter smiles against her skin, she had know idea how excited he was to be back able to make promises of conversation and meals together.

He would never let himself be to too tied up to do so regularly again.

The End…

Thanks so much for reading y’all! I hope you liked it!

Evie 🤟🏾

[autumnmobile12]

I want to see an AU where these three pull off a bank heist.

Or any kind of heist in general.

[wittyvitale]

I want Richter to get pregnant in season 3. That’s not a typo. Annette’s body has been through more than enough, Richter should be the one to carry the baby. There’s magic in this universe, I’m sure there’s a spell that can make this happen

[phannetasm]

richter... richter belmont...

[avaelangel]

I absolutely fucking love Castlevania: Nocturne.

It's fun, it's bloody, lots of anction and lot's of soul, like in the original.

I love every single character. I love having my boy back, even though he looks younger after 300 something years. Love my new ungreatul wanker. Sypha would have been proud of him and Maria. Annette and Edouard? Are you kidding me? If the show was about them, I would cry every episode. Turns out, I don't hate opera that much.

But let's agree, Erzebet Bathory doesn't measure up to Dracula. (Who's Dracula?) And her motivation also really doesn't. Carmilla held the same broad goal as Dracula did: Revenge. Compared to that, power about power for vampires isn't as fun. To put it nicely, Bathory lore and Sechmet lore seem so far from each other.

And what's up with Drolta? Don't mind me, she's fucking gorgeous. But she's also an eyesore. She goes from a very glorified owner of a goth club to a Baldur's gate succubus type character. Yeah, she has that dress, but it is also not...anything time appropiate. Glad she's dead. Very curious to see what Tera would look like as Erzebet's apprentice or whatever.

The whole Abbot thing is fine. I'm glad he's suffered. Watching Mizrak's world crumble with Abbot's integrity was very intresting. I hope Mizrak doesn't die. I can't handle thinking about loneliness Olrox endures.

So, yeah. I would forever detest Netflix if this one doesn't move on to the second season and many more after. As if i'm in love with Netflix, but still.

[where-i-bitch-about-nashville]

hi, when will you be paying slavery reparations?

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