#first appearance dark empire 3

[swtechspecs]

Kuat Systems Engineering CloakShape Starfighter

Source: The Essential Guide to Vehicles and Vessels (Del Rey, 1996)

[zorostitties]

Aurora; 8 (m)

⤕ Your existence had been an endless night, where shadows whispered long forgotten secrets. Trapped in a golden cage, your fragile mind and shattered memories were chains that kept you from dreaming of freedom. Then, he appeared with the first light of dawn, like a gentle sun warming your cold skin. In his gaze, the promise of a new beginning; in his presence, the sunrise your soul had longed for.

In which Alucard saves you from Erzsebet.

pairing: alucard (castlevania) x (f) reader

genre: angst, romance, slow burn, eventual smut

warnings: violence/blood, explicit language, mental health issues, grief, physical abuse.

rating: 18+

word count: 9k

A/N: HAPPY ONE MONTH ANNIVERSARY TO AURORA!!! I can't even believe I got this far with this fic. Fucking 50k+ words in a month??? Hyperfixation REALLY go boom! It also happens to be my birthday today 🫠 my age is definitely starting to sound WAY TOO SERIOUS now. welp. ANYWAYS - an anon motivated me to create a playlist for aurora, so here it is!!! These are some of the songs that I listen on repeat when I'm writing. Not all of the lyrics have anything to do with the story tho, some just match the vibe of the fic. Though, if I had to choose a "theme song" for Aurora, it'd definitely be Darkness At The Heart of My Love - Ghost. I know metal isn't everybody's cup of tea but in my brain, vampires = metal. And specifically Castlevania = Rammstein for some reason lmao. Anyway!! I hope you guys give it at least (1) listen, as I really think the playlist encapsules the vibes I'm trying to portray in my writing very well. ANYWAYS!!! LET ME SHUT UP!! ENJOY THIS BEAST OF A CHAPTER <3

⤕  Masterlist  ⤕ Also on AO3 ⤕ Playlist

? Years Ago

Jerash, Ottoman Empire

The moon was hidden behind heavy storm clouds that night.

The rain whipped against the walls and ceiling of the humble house. It consisted of only two rooms – the kitchen and a tiny bedroom with simple wooden furniture. One would consider it the house of a common peasant, but the hundreds of books piled over one another indicated otherwise. They were everywhere: over the table, stored on shelves, precarious bookcases and boxes… some looked ancient, some looked new. Some had intricate leather covers, beautiful handwriting and illustrations, while others were nothing but a bunch of pages with incomprehensible scribbles. It was even difficult to walk into the house without stepping over one.

The place smelled of spices. Many types of dried herbs were hanging around the kitchen. Different types of stones of all colors and sizes rested over the closed windowsill: quartz, crystals, amethysts, obsidian, malachites… colorful bird feathers were tied by threads in intricate designs, also hanging from the ceiling. All of that was supposed to provide “protection” against the “evil”, apparently.

Drolta hated that place.

No… hate was too strong of a word. To hate someone or something, you must care about it enough, and Drolta didn’t. She was… disgusted. All the dirt, the simplicity, the cheap magic that wouldn’t even hurt a fly… it was boring.

And the owner of that house was especially disgusting.

That short, bald creature finally appeared from inside the bedroom, carrying a heavy book in hands and an annoying large smile. When all this ended – and hopefully it would end very soon –, Drolta would make sure to kill this little man and take a long, really long bath to take his smell off her skin. She didn’t even plan on feeding off him. He didn’t deserve it. Drolta refused to drink from a neck that wasn’t soft, young and feminine.

“Here it is. The product of all of my researches over the years,” he claimed proudly. What was even his name? Was it Khalil? She didn’t remember. Before looking at her face, his eyes stopped for two seconds on her cleavage. He did it every time and hadn’t been trying to hide it ever since Drolta stepped foot into this thing he called home.

Men… oh, how easy men are. Drolta witnessed multiple changes in the world during her long lifetime. She saw empires rise and fall, cultures cease to exist, philosophies and religions sweep the Earth. But one thing that had never changed over all this time was the simplicity of men. All she needed to do was put on a tighter corset, a deeper cleavage… and she had him on the palm of her hand. Drolta didn’t even need to try much much harder. This little Khalil man was the type she despised the most: the needy type. Never got married. Judged too strange by his fellow villagers. Probably never felt the touch of a woman. He was desperate.

But he had something that Drolta valued after all: knowledge. There was a time when the world was full of magicians. Speakers, priestesses, witches, oracles, shamans, alchemists… actual scholars of the ways of magic. But that was before the fucking Church. Now, apparently, all humans knew how to do was kneel and pray for a God that could not grant them any power.

Drolta was aware that she was partially at fault in all this. However, she would redeem herself soon.

When she finally succeeded in bringing Sekhmet back to life, this Earth would know what a real Goddess is. A Goddess with real power, real impact, who could bring real fear and obedience and adoration.

Soon, she thought to herself. I can feel it. She will come back soon. I will bring her back soon.

So many centuries of preparation. So many sun cycles searching for the right candidate. She had finally, finally encountered someone whose body managed to withstand Sekhmet’s power. Erszebet Bathory grew more powerful every day; the holy blood she drank was slowly but surely changing her body, her soul, empowering her. Drolta could feel Sekhmet’s presence in this world getting stronger. She could feel her goddess through Erszebet, talking through her, striving to resurface through that vessel. Everything was going so well.

And yet – all of her effort was still not enough, because half of Sekhmet’s soul was still missing.

Aside from taking care of the vessel, Drolta and her sisters roamed Earth after the Ba – Sekhmet’s mummy. For some reason, it was always out of reach: stolen from someone, bought by someone, then stolen again, then auctioned… Drolta was always too late. She prayed, prayed, prayed ardently that her beloved Goddess would help her from the other side, give her a sign, maybe twist things a bit so she could have a chance… but oh, she knew her Goddess was too weak to help. Drolta knew she would have to find a way.

And although all odds seemed to be working against her, Drolta found another way. Drolta thought of another chance.

As far as her associates scattered around the world knew, the mummy was lost forever. She completely lost track of it somewhere in the Horn of Africa; the last news she heard about it was years ago. As much as Drolta despised the idea – as much as she’d like to personally torture whoever committed such blasphemy towards the body of Sekhmet –, she had to be realistic and assume that the mummy was, perhaps, definitely gone.

But Drolta wouldn’t let herself be drowned by despair. No. Despair was the enemy of reason. She had to be strong – for Sekhmet, for her sisters, for her goal.

So another idea grew into her mind.

Drolta was under possession of Sekhmet’s blood, the Ka; the Goddess’ Ba, the mummy, was out of reach.

And then there was the third piece of her soul which was also out of reach.

Except… maybe it wasn’t.

Maybe there was a way to reach into it.

Yes, she knew no one had ever managed to do it. Yes, she knew the possibility of failure was high. Yes, she knew that, perhaps, it was all but a delusion. However, Drolta couldn’t be sure without trying first. If there was even the smallest possibility of it working, she would go on with it.

She had to do it – and do it fast. Drolta had never met anyone that could take so much of Sekhmet’s blood, but even her couldn’t take much more; the Goddess needed her other half.She could not lose Erszebet; she would do anything in her power to keep that woman safe.

Which led Drolta to this annoying mortal man.

He was disgusting. He smelled bad. He had the audacity of assuming he was going to fuck her. And still, he was an alchemist – and there weren’t many alchemists in the world anymore. Not good ones, at least. Drolta wasted her time going after a famous alchemist in China months ago, but she turned out to be a charlatan. As far as Drolta knew, this one was real. Maybe not powerful like mortal alchemists used to be, but he could do the job.

“From the information I have gathered, it hasn’t been tried in centuries,” Khalil spoke with amazement and reverence. It truly was the work of his life, apparently. “Not many scholars even believe it happened, in fact… it is under deep discussion. However, the ones that believe it, report that the occurrence happened in Wallachia, when a certain alchemist tried to… well…”

Khalil averted his eyes, seeming embarrassed and hesitant. Oh, the traits of a man that has been laughed at and ridiculed his entire life. Drolta felt grateful that he was this way. Much easier to deal with.

She rested her hand on his forearm and looked at him with round, curious eyes – even though she already knew what he was trying to say.

“Tried to what? Please, tell me,” she asked in a honeyed voice.

Khalil probably had an erection at that moment. His face flushed and he smiled.

“Tried to bring D-Dracula back to life,” he finally let out. “Yeah, I know it sounds absurd. I-I mean, Dracula? The folk tale to scare kids? How is that even possible?”

“I don’t find it absurd at all,” Drolta said, shaking her head softly. “Please, continue.”

The man averted his gaze from hers sheepishly, holding the book just a tiny bit stronger.

“Y-You are the first person to ever take me seriously, Miss Danubia,” Danubia? Oh… it’s the name she made up for herself. She had almost forgotten. “I… I really appreciate it.”

What, are you going to cry? Spare me.

Drolta caressed his arm softly.

“I admire your intelligence. I’d sit with you and talk for hours about all of your discoveries,” the idea sickened her, in fact. But Drolta couldn’t just force him to do anything. As far as she knew, the entire process had to be done willingly, otherwise it wouldn’t work.

For fuck’s sake, it really looked like he wanted to cry. Khalil blinked rapidly and looked down at the book again.

“Apparently, the portal was opened directly into Hell in order to retrieve Dracula’s soul. But it’s entirely possible that, through this same ritual, I could try to reach into other realms, too…” For the first time, Khalil looked hesitant. He gulped. “Though, if I’m to be completely honest, Miss Danubia, I do not believe I have the expertise needed to lead such a powerful ritual.”

Drolta stepped back, letting go of his forearm.

Khalil looked up at her, slightly startled at her sudden lack of touch.

But then, Drolta looked down, putting her hands over her chest and…

Tears welled up her eyes.

“I-I wish you could understand my pain and my despair, Khalil,” she started, voice trembling. “My mother… my dear mother. I could never tell her goodbye before her death. She had such a painful, slow death…” Drolta looked at him again, a single tear streaming down her cheek. “I do not wish to retrieve her soul, Khalil; I understand this goes against the laws of nature. I just want to… talk to her. In my culture, we believe that the souls of our deceased goes to the duat. If I can just get a peek of it… just look at her face once more… you will have my eternal gratitude. I-I can’t let this chance go by…”

Drolta covered her mouth and sobbed. With the corner of her eyes, she saw Khalil rush to put the heavy book over the table and bring her a handkerchief. She didn’t want to put that stinky thing near her face, but took it anyway and wiped her tears delicately.

Khalil pressed his lips together. All the hesitance was gone, being replaced by determination.

“I believe I can do it, Miss Danubia.” He inhaled before speaking. “The g-good feelings I have for you will be my guide and shield.”

Drolta offered him a sweet smile and a fragile thank you.

Khalil took off his coat and pushed the small table to the farthest corner of the room. He then took a piece of white chalk and started to draw something on the floor.

“This is the symbol of Osiris, Egyptian god of the Underworld… or the duat,” he explained while he drew. As if Drolta didn’t already know it. Yet, she acted shocked, trying to engage him in conversation as he lit a circle of candles around the hieroglyph. She needed him content and willing. Mortals work better when they are in their best feelings; they tend to put much more of their force into what they are doing, and this, in magic terms, was extremely meaningful.

Drolta loathed the fact that she needed this man happy to achieve her goal, but it was necessary. Well, if not happy, then hard. Sexual energy can also be extremely powerful.

After Khalil finished his preparations for the ritual, Drolta approached him and held his hand.

The man visibly held his breath.

It was so easy for her to send him that sweet gaze. So easy to trap his entire attention on her, as if Drolta became the very air in his lungs. She leaned down slightly and pressed her soft lips on his cheek, making sure to stay there a second longer than necessary, before leaning away a delivering a smile that showed quiet sadness and care.

“If you succeed, Khalil, you will have my heart eternally,” she purred in an almost whisper.

He was shocked.

It really looked like he couldn’t breathe.

Finally, he managed to crack a smile. He puffed his chest like a pathetic male bird and nodded as Drolta stepped away.

“I will, my lady. For you.”

She held back laughter.

Finally, Khalil took his heavy book again and stood near the candle ring. The flames projected eerie shadows around the walls; the outside storm was everything they could hear. He placed the book in front of his feet and took a small knife from his pocket.

“Blood is required to initiate the ritual,” he explained. “You can look away if it makes you uncomfortable, my lady.”

Khalil didn’t see when she rolled her eyes this time.

He swiped the knife on his palm, wincing in pain as he did. Weak little human, can’t even stand a cut without crying. He let blood drip over the symbol on the floor before walking back to the candle ring and taking the book in his hands once more.

He took a deep breath before finally initiating the spell.

His pronunciation of Akkadian was bad. Laughable, even. Drolta could barely understand half of the words. And yet, it was enough.

The candles trembled. The air within the house got colder. Drolta felt the floor beneath her feet shake slightly, the air vibrate in a high frequency – the frequency of high magic.

It was working.

A grin slowly grew on her lips. She… underestimated this little man after all. He was an actual alchemist – but the ritual was only working because of her efforts, she realized. Khalil was putting all of his love into the spell. Yes, actual love. How such a naive creature fell in love with her so quickly after a few days of knowing each other was beyond her.

Love is also extremely powerful in magical terms.

The storm grew angrier out there. A thunder so loud and so close shook the entire house, made Khalil lost his focus for a second before continuing to read the spell.

Followed by another thunder – even closer this time.

And another thunder.

The ground shook. Some books fell from the shelves. Khalil lifted his head and looked towards the window.

There was another sound mixed within the cacophony of the heavy storm.

Screams.

What was that out there? Was the house of his neighbor burning?

“W-What is–?” Khalil stuttered.

He hadn’t noticed that Drolta was towering right behind him. How did she get so close so fast?

She held his head with both hands from behind, guiding it down towards the book again.

“Keep reading,” she instructed in a quiet whisper, her mouth close to his ear.

A violent shiver ran down Khalil’s spine.

For the first time, Drolta’s presence made him feel uneasy. Her voice changed drastically; it wasn’t welcoming anymore, or warm, or caring. It was just freezing cold. It… it didn’t even sound much human.

All these talismans he hung around his house for protection – and yet the worst evil he could possibly imagine was standing right behind him, welcomed by him with open arms.

Another thunder. Another fire. Another house burning down. A few more souls to fuel the spell.

Khalil could be a real alchemist, but he was far from being a good one, Drolta remarked to herself. All of those books taught him nothing – again, she had to do most of the job. In the few days she worked on gaining his trust, she also made sure to mark every house in the village of Jerash with the symbol or Osiris. Marked it with virgin blood to make it even more effective.

Every respectable alchemist knew that in order to open a door into the Infinite Corridor, multiple mortal lives were required. That is why most alchemists weren’t brave enough to do it.

Khalil wouldn’t be brave enough to do it too if he knew what it’d cost. That is why Drolta lured him into it and made the preparations behind his back.

Drolta chuckled. How he must had been feeling at that moment, knowing he sacrificed hundreds of lives of his fellow villagers in the hopes of sticking his tiny penis inside of her?

“I told you to keep reading,” she repeated, and this time her voice sounded like a dangerous hiss.

Khalil’s hands trembled. He gulped. His voice wasn’t as confident anymore, but he had already initiated the ritual; there was no coming back from there.

The floor shook as more souls were reaped into the spell. Suddenly, the windows opened all at once; the ceiling cracked and was swiped away by a violent gush of wind. Drolta looked up in time to see a funnel of souls converging into a single streak of red light, being attracted by the symbol of Osiris on the floor; they made a twister within the circle of candles that were somehow still lit despite everything.

Wind and rain whipped Drolta and Khalil, made his books fly in all directions. None of that bothered Drolta. She had a maniacal grin on her lips, eyes locked in the chaos unveiling in front of her eyes.

Finally, finally, finally, a white crack slashed the air inside the candle ring. A crack in reality itself.

Freezing cold wind came out of it. The crack was slowly but surely getting wider. It made Drolta’s eyes widen, shivers run her body; few times in her life did she witness magic so powerful, so strong, so chilling.

It was working. It was finally working.

She stepped aside from a shell-shocked Khalil and extended her arms in a wide movement, the smile never vanishing from her lips.

A door to the Infinite Corridor, opened right in front of her eyes.

And yet – her work wasn’t done. This door needed to be redirected; it needed to be aimed at the right place.

“Oh Sekhmet, Eye or Ra, Lady of Terror, Mistress of Dread, She Who Mauls; hear mine calling, let thou be guided by the voice of thy loyal servant!” Drolta chanted with all her might, raising her voice as to be heard beyond the storm and the magic and the weeping souls.

The crack got a bit wider. Insurmountable amount of energy escaped from inside. Drolta didn’t even know if Khalil could stand in front of it much longer, given how weak he was, so she needed to rush.

“Hear mine call, Your Magnificence!” Drolta continued, gesticulating in wide movements. “Let mine voice guide thee through the waters of the primordial abyss; let thy Akh resurface in the land of the living. Oh Sekhmet, Lady of Slaughter, She of Ten Thousand Names; walk back into thy rightful realm, retake the throne unfairly taken from thee, wear thy rightful crown once more!”

The crack got wider, wider, wider. It was difficult to understand what could be seen inside of it; it looked like a confusing kaleidoscope. Different images jumped in the blink of an eye, landscapes not even Drolta could understand. And yet, she kept chanting, hoping her energy would be the necessary guide. The mark of Osiris burned in bright red.

Finally – the image within the crack seemed to stabilize itself.

Drolta’s eyes widened.

She saw a… calm river. A temple made of gold in the distance, sitting atop of an island. A pyramid. Purple trees adorned it; the tip of the pyramid shone with a blinding light. The most beautiful sky she had ever seen.

That was it. It was the duat.

Drolta got even more passionate in her speech; her throat ached from screaming.

“Hear mine voice, Lady Sekhmet! Hear mine voice! Come to me!” She begged. Finally, finally, finally, her goddess was right there; after years and years of searching and fighting for her and protecting her legacy and trying to find ways to revive her, after so many frustrated attempts of retrieving her mummy... Finally, Sekhmet’s Akh was right there in front of her eyes.

Finally, Drolta had succeeded.

All she needed to do was cross the door. Drolta couldn’t enter the duat, but Sekhmet could cross it towards the land of the living. Drolta held a small shabti made of pure gold in her hand, the holy object in which she could safely store the third part of Sekhmet’s soul. From there, Erzsebet would only need to incorporate it.

Come to me, Sekhmet; come to me, come to me, come to me, come to me, come to me, come to me–

Something happened.

The image twisted.

“What?” Drolta gasped.

The sight of the duat blurred.

Suddenly, the winds that whipped the house got stronger, more violent. The soul twister got more chaotic. Now, everything that could be seen within the door was the kaleidoscope of colors again, passing rapidly.

It… started to get black.

“No! No! What are you doing?!” Drolta turned to Khalil, her wrath so big that made him tremble. But the man was frozen in place, tears falling down his cheeks mixed with the rain.

“I-I-I’m not doing anything!” He stuttered. “It wasn’t me!”

Drolta turned to the door again.

The air was getting even colder. Colder, colder, colder… freezing. The Osiris symbol suddenly started to burn in black – and then everything else was black. The souls, the flames of the candles, the energy rays that poured from the door.

The air smelled of coal and sulfur.

“No! Stop! Stop!” Drolta yelled at whatever was interfering with the ritual. “I don’t want you here. I didn’t call you!”

But it was too late.

A second before the explosion, Drolta saw a dark figure walk out of the door.

She had time to protect her face with her arms. She did not care about Khalil.

Boom.

The shockwave destroyed what remained of Khalil’s house; he was sent back flying meters away. The reaped souls let their final, painful yell before dissipating in the air. The candles were extinguished in a gush of wind.

Drolta was the only thing to remain standing in place.

She lowered her arms slowly. It seemed that even the heavy storm got timid after such an unnatural occurrence. The neighbor houses still burned; the fires spread down the hill. As it wasn’t magical fire anymore, the rain started to quiet them down. No voices were heard. No more screams. No live witnesses anymore. The village of Jerash became nothing but a burning cemetery.

Drolta fell to her knees.

A shrilling scream of pure anger crossed the air.

She had failed. She got so fucking close and failed yet again. The duat was right there in front of her and she failed.

She turned around to see Khalil’s body on the floor.

Drolta got up, red anger clouding her gaze. He was still alive – hurt, bleeding and crying, but still alive.

“You stupid piece of shit!” She kicked his stomach so hard that the men rolled a few more meters away. “Useless little man. I submitted myself to your disgusting presence for days and you still didn’t serve me anything!”

Khalil coughed blood. He refused to look at her, shrinking into his own body, crying like a child.

She should skin him alive. This, at least, would serve as a way to calm down.

And yet – she stopped in her tracks.

Rain still fell over her head. She was entirely drenched. Drolta stopped and inhaled, letting her anger quiet down.

There was someone talking to her.

Something.

The air still smelled of coal and sulfur. It had nothing to do with the burning houses.

Slowly, she turned back to the circle of candles.

Her eyes widened.

There was someone laying on the floor inside the circle. She rushed towards it.

It was… it was a woman.

For a moment, overwhelming joy and excitement rushed through her veins. Could it be who she thought it was? What if she had actually succeeded, but in a different way than she first expected?

What if that was Sekhmet incarnate?!

Drolta knelt down beside the woman. She was unconscious, laid on her side, completely naked. With care – even hesitancy – Drolta turned her body around, making the woman lay on her back. She took some strands of drenched hair away from her face.

It was a young woman. Her chest moved slowly, as if she was simply asleep.

Drolta frowned.

She pressed two fingers over her neck. A regular pulse. The scent of… regular mortal blood.

Her frown deepened.

“This is no Sekhmet,” Drolta said through gritted teeth. “This is just human woman.”

Then, she lifted her gaze – and finally noticed what was talking to her.

It was nothing but a strange, tall shadow; Drolta could barely make sense of what she was looking at. But yet, that grin was very much recognizable. The entity seemed weak, vibrating in a low frequency, making the entire area around it even colder.

“Did you bring her with you?” She asked. The entity answered. It didn’t use… words. It spoke into her mind with intentions instead. Perhaps, it was way too weak to vocalize.

Drolta huffed with disdain. “And what use would this mortal have?”

The entity moved slowly, circling around them.

Drolta froze in place.

“How do you know this?” She asked in a cautious hiss.

The entity’s grin seemed to get even wider, now knowing that it had Drolta’s full attention.

It continued sliding around Drolta. The vampire lowered her head, looking at the human woman once again.

She looked and looked and looked and looked and…

She remembered.

Slowly, Drolta’s eyes widened as realization hit her.

This… wouldn’t solve all of her problems. She still needed to find the other half of Sekhmet’s soul. And yet… it could also serve her plans, in a way.

Drolta once again lifted her gaze towards the grinning shadow.

“I know you wouldn’t be offering me this out of the goodness of your heart,” she started with suspicion. “What do you want of me in return?”

The entity trembled. Drolta leaned her head slightly.

“An easy task. And if I fail?”

The entity grinned at her quietly. Drolta chuckled.

“You won’t have it, for I won’t fail.” She got up to her feet again. “But this sounds like a fair deal.”

A fair pact, in fact.

Drolta extended her arm towards the entity. It approached her; the shadow extended too in what resembled an arm. It revolved around her hand with a chilling touch.

When the shadow retreated, there was an icy object over Drolta’s palm.

A ruby necklace.

Drolta nodded at the entity; it sent her a last eerie grin before disappearing into the shadows of the night.

It was done.

Drolta looked down.

She took the cloak off her shoulders and covered the woman’s naked body with it. She leaned down, taking her into her arms, before straightening her posture again.

It… wasn’t a complete failure, after all.

Her Goddess never left her without a way out. She was always kind to send Drolta another option, another strategy, and that’s why Drolta managed to survive and move on after every problem.

“For every suffering, a wisdom is gained,” she said quietly. The mantra that had been keeping her sane for centuries.

Khalil was still weeping some meters away from her. Drolta paid him no mind. He wasn’t totally useless in the end, which meant he gained the right to keep living.

Drolta walked away from the burning cemetery of Jerash with the unconscious woman in her arms, the ruby necklace safely tangled around her palm.

The heavy storm clouds opened a small breach for the first time; the moon peeked through, being the only witness of the horrors that had unveiled that night.

Present time

Paris, France

The sun had hidden behind the horizon at least three hours ago.

You looked out the window at the full moon reigning sovereign in the sky from the tiny inn bedroom. There were barely any clouds to hinder its view. Stars adorned the space around her, creating a breathtaking view.

And yet, the air was… eerie.

Maybe because you knew what was about to come, and the fact that the rest of the city didn’t know yet made the situation horrifying. So many people were probably having dinner with their families, resting their heads over their pillows, having no idea of the hell that was about to burst upon them.

What made the situation even more difficult was that you were, well, useless in the middle of it all.

Richter and Annette were hunting nests of vampires. Alucard was about to leave to talk to the leaderships of Paris in order to organize the defensive lines. The three of them, much obviously, were ready to fight.

And you? All you had was a useless golden scepter.

Maybe you had your hopes way too high after what happened at the Louvre. You remembered what Annette told you when you first met – you might be a witch, Ruby; you just don’t remember it. You thought that, the moment you put your hands over the artifact again, you’d have some sort of epiphany. Your past would unveil itself in your head, you’d finally understand Erzsebet and Drolta’s interest in you, you’d know why you were needed to summon eclipses…

But nothing happened.

The scepter was just heavy and very impractical to carry around.

Alucard had no idea what language the inscriptions were. He advised you to not read them out loud, as it wasn’t clear the effect it could cause. You also didn’t magically understand what these words meant. So… just another frustration to add onto the pile.

“Ruby, I’m talking to you.”

You jumped and turned your head around. Alucard was standing in front of the door, searching for something in the inside pocket of his coat and eyeing you with curiosity. You adjusted your posture where you were sitting on the bed.

“I’m sorry. I… wasn’t paying attention.” You said sheepishly.

The white-haired vampire paused for a moment.

“Are you scared of being on your own?” He asked quietly.

You shook your head. “No! Not at all. I’ll be fine.” You reassured.

To be honest, being alone wasn’t exactly an idea you liked. The last three days were the safest you’d ever felt in your life, and that was because you were around them. You tried to avoid picturing the horrifying image of Drolta in her new night creature form breaking through that window and dragging you back to the chateau. There’s no way this is going to happen, not now that she retrieved Sekhmet’s mummy… I’m not needed anymore.

But the idea you liked even less was of being a burden, and you knew you’d be a burden if you kept hanging around uselessly while they fought. Annette almost died due to your mere presence. You were sure everyone would’ve handled the fight much better if you simply weren’t there. So… it’d be better if you just stayed hidden at the inn for the time being.

Alucard shrugged slightly and approached, finally revealing what he was searching for in his coat: a… red string?

He sat by your side on the bed, eyes glued on it. The only source of light came from the moon outside and a single candle holder over the desk. The light of the timid flame created a golden silhouette on his delicate features.

“The Revolutionary Commune is reunited some blocks away from here at this moment,” Alucard explained while his fingers worked on measuring the string. You watched him in silent confusion. His voice always dropped even quieter when he was close to you like that. It was… comforting. He was so close that his arm brushed on yours. “I must go warn them about the incoming fight. There will most definitely be vampires roaming the streets right now, hence why you must stay hidden for the time being.”

You nodded. “I understand.”

You watched as Alucard tied the red string around his own left wrist skillfully. How did he even manage to tie something with a single hand? That was quite impressive. “I won’t take more than two hours, however. After I assure your safety within the Revolutionary Commune, I will come to pick you up.”

Then, he brought his wrist close to his mouth; he put the remaining length of the string between his teeth and cut it using his sharp fangs.

Oh.

You couldn’t help but feel shivers run your spine whenever you remembered that Alucard had vampire fangs. He was half vampire, in fact. It was a bit strange how, as you grew comfortable around him, this “detail” became less and less relevant; you always associated vampires with the worst things possible, while Alucard was much the opposite. Perhaps that’s why it was a bit surprising to remember part of him was one.

You also had noticed that Alucard didn’t open much of his mouth when he talked… and it seemed to be a very conscious act when he was in public. You payed attention to how he talked to those boys earlier. Was it an attempt to make his fangs less obvious?

“Give me your left wrist.” He asked. You promptly obeyed. Alucard tied the remaining string around yours this time. “If anything happens, anything at all, untie this string. Mine will untie, too, and I will rush to you.”

You nodded, a bit surprised. “This is impressive.”

Alucard chuckled and tilted his head slightly. “You were effortlessly summoning eclipses and this is what surprises you about magic?”

The words got caught in your throat.

“Well– it is impressive.” He looked at you with a quirked eyebrow, which did not help you organize your thoughts better. “A-And I wasn’t summoning them, not exactly.”

“You’re not sure about that, are you?”

No, you weren’t.

Your shoulders dropped. Alucard chuckled again.

He finally let go of your wrist and a tiny part of you immediately missed his touch.

“Remember. Two hours. No more, no less.” He got up from the bed again and walked towards the door. “I might be asking too much from you, but I’d advise you against sleeping, too.”

“As if I’d be able to close my eyes at all,” you whined quietly to yourself.

Alucard opened the door and looked at you.

Once again, it seemed that he was about to say something. He looked… hesitant. His expression wasn’t as nonchalant as usual, but you couldn’t tell exactly why. You looked at him expectantly.

Then – this small glimpse dissolved in seconds.

“Lock the door,” he said, pointing at it with his head.

Oh.

You got up in a jump. At last, he left. You safely locked it and kept the key in the pocket of your vest.

Then, you were alone.

For the first time in your life, being alone didn’t bring you relief. You’d usually look forward to the moments you’d be locked inside your quarters again, recovering from your wounds; despite the pain, it were the only times when you had some peace. Now, however, you’d wish someone was here. You hoped Annette and Richter were safe, wherever they were…

You laid on the bed and faced the ceiling. The scepter was also over the bed, right beside you.

And you just… stayed there.

Your fingers fiddled with the red string on your left wrist mindlessly. Alucard didn’t make a complicated tie as to keep it easy to undo, so you took care to not untie it by accident. This little piece of braided wool had magic in it… but you didn’t feel anything strange while touching it.

You remembered how Alucard felt that the scepter was magic just by touching it, while for you it was just a normal object. You remembered how Richter could summon elements with his bare hands and Annette could see spirits as easily as people…. Perhaps you had no aptitude for magic at all. Perhaps they made you read that book because they needed a human to complete the summoning of an eclipse, not because you had some sort of hidden power.

You touched the scepter again without bothering to look at it. Cold and lifeless as usual.

Maybe it had that reaction – shining, the rust disappearing – because it needed someone to… awaken it. Anyone. Not you specifically.

But it must had been touched by someone before, isn’t it? Of course it was. It didn’t walk into that crate. Someone put it there.

You groaned and turned to your right side.

Minutes went by. Minutes, minutes, minutes. You were on high alert, so your eyelids didn’t feel heavy with sleep.

You laid on your stomach and brought the scepter close to your face.

These characters… you recognized them.

Alucard told you to not read them out loud, but he didn’t say anything about writing them.

You got up and rushed to the desk. There was a small drawer there with a piece of paper and some charcoal. You laid on your stomach again and started to translate the characters into the common Latin alphabet. Alucard might not recognize the characters, but what if he saw the syllables in a language he could read and the words made sense to him?

As the scepter had a lot of text and you didn’t have much paper, you tried to keep the letters as tiny as possible. You broke the charcoal a bit to make a sharper point. Your hands and the sheets got dirty with the black of the charcoal, but you couldn’t care less.

You didn’t pay attention to the time now that you had something to busy yourself with. Minutes went by. Minutes, minutes, minutes. An hour. Half an hour.

You had little free paper left and a lot to translate still when a sound out there immediately brought you back to your senses.

You froze and looked towards the window.

The street was very quiet up until that point – you even wondered if nights in Paris were always so peaceful. That sound, however, was impossible to ignore; was impossible to not make your heart immediately race.

A scream.

You got up in a jump and approached the window slowly, peeking at it with caution.

The scream came from a nearby street, followed by fast steps. Another scream. It sounded female.

No… it sounded childish.

Maybe it’s nothing. Just a kid spooked by a dog or a rat. Nothing to worry about. You shouldn’t get on your nerves every time you hear a scream.

You stood by the window for some more minutes, your heart thundering nonstop… and nothing appeared. You sighed, tried to calm your already irregular breathing. Focus on a single thing, a simple thing, to muffle everything else–

Someone running down there on the street.

You eyes widened. Your breath got completely caught in your throat.

It was a kid. A small kid, desperately running away from something. A boy. You recognized the worn out clothes and the curly black hair.

The lily in the pocket of your vest seemed to get hot.

It was Oliver.

When he disappeared from your sight, you saw what he was running from: three men. They laughed as they pursued him.

Three vampires.

You grabbed the scepter, the piece of paper and without taking a single second to think, you were already running out of the room.

The only things you could hear were your deep breathing, your thundering heartbeat and your boots rushing on the wooden pavement, then on the stone street as you rushed out of the inn. You almost fell when taking a sudden turn in the direction you saw Oliver running to. The street was completely empty and cold, but your body already felt hot from adrenaline.

You ran as fast as your legs could take. Please let me not be too late please please please please please please please please please–

Another strangled scream followed by more voices coming from an alley nearby.

You didn’t take a second to consider what you were going to do, how you were going to save him from this situation.

You just rushed into it.

“Oliver!” You screamed, stopping on your tracks.

The scene unfolding in front of you made your blood boil in a mix of anger and fright.

Oliver, the little boy, had fallen; his back was pressed against the wall. It was a dead end. His knee bled – he had probably fallen –, tears streamed down his cheeks, his pants were wet. He was shaking; his eyes, the most widened you’d ever seen.

The three vampires cornered him. They wore simple clothes, but all of them shared a similar trait: the symbol of an eclipse burned into the skin of their foreheads.

They immediately turned around at the sound of your voice.

For a moment, everyone was shocked – you, Oliver, the vampires. They were the first ones to recover.

“M-Madame!” Oliver stuttered in a strangled, horrified voice.

The vampire in the middle smirked.

“What do we have here?”

“This is even better than that bastard,” the one on the right laughed. “No one told you to not walk around at night by yourself, sweetie?”

“Leave him alone,” you blurted out. You didn’t sound that frightened, at least, because your body hadn’t properly processed what the hell you had gotten yourself into yet.

“Oh, we might now that you’re here.” One of them said with a disgusting smirk. “And what is it that you’re carrying with you? Looks interesting.”

They started to approach at slow steps.

You knew how vampires acted. They didn’t see you as a threat, so they would not use their inhuman speed. No; they wanted to savor your panic, to make you think you’d have a way out the way they did with Oliver. Vampires acted as cruel hunters, not as animal predators that acted purely on instinct and hunger.

That’s why they didn’t notice when you put your left wrist behind your back and swiftly untied the string.

I’m sorry, Alucard, you thought as the reality of that moment finally hit you. You… you did it again. You put yourself in danger again, exactly the opposite of what Alucard told you to do. But if you had waited for him, if you had untied the string at the inn and then explained what happened and then hoped that Alucard caught the vampires in time, would Oliver still be alive? Would he have an extra minute of luck?

Whatever these vampires were about to do with you – it didn’t matter. You could take it. Oliver couldn’t. The same way Annette wouldn’t have taken the night creature’s bite.

“M-Madame, run!”

His voice caught your attention again.

That little boy had wet himself in fear. He could barely stand. And yet, he was telling you to run. He was worried about your safety.

That little boy.

So small and so fragile and wearing those worn out clothes and shaking and hurt.

It brought forward an instinct within you. Perhaps that same instinct you felt when you looked at Richter’s sad expression. A will to take care. To protect. Something that run deep into your soul, something very familiar in ways you couldn’t explain, as if you had been in a similar situation in the past, as if you had felt this desperate need to protect someone small and fragile and dear to you.

These men were going to kill that little boy and he wouldn’t even be able to fight back.

This strange instinct to protect and the anger towards these men and the revolt because you had been in similar situations too, countless times, and you couldn’t do anything to fight back against a force tenfold stronger than you made your mind go blank.

Blank, blank, blank, devoid of any thought. Any fear. Any hesitance. At that moment, there wasn’t anxiety anymore. Your fingers didn’t shake. You didn’t think of any consequence.

All that existed was the need to protect that little boy.

One of the vampires approached and grabbed the scepter roughly. Instinctively, you held it with both hands, trying to pull it back.

And then – the vampire screamed.

A sizzling noise filled the alley.

“Let me go! Let me go!” He screamed.

The scepter was burning his hands. He couldn’t take them off.

Your mind didn’t register well everything that happened in the following seconds.

The moment you held it with both hands, it started to glow again – but in a different way than before.

The inscriptions started to glow. That same glow traveled from one end to the other – to the tip of the scepter; the image of the sun.

It started to shine.

The light was blinding. You had to tighten your eyes. It was hot hot hot hot, you almost dropped it on the floor, but something told you to keep holding it. So you held it with all your might. You felt a strange wave of energy flow from your body towards the scepter.

The little sun of the scepter shone, brightening the entire alley as if day turned to night–

And the three vampires yelled in agony.

They tried to cover their faces, tried to run away – but it was already too late. Their skin began to burn as if they were set on fire. Their muscle, their clothes, their scalp, their bones, everything was burning. The vampire that tried to grab it was the first to fall on the floor, agonizing, until he finally stopped moving. The other two screamed, yelled with nowhere to run. Their limbs were way too damaged to move.

You felt that your heart was burning, too.

Finally, the burning was too much for you to take. With a scream of effort, you dropped the scepter with a loud metallic noise and fell back on the floor.

The light extinguished.

You panted. You supported your body on your arms. Finally, the screaming stopped.

There were three dead vampires on your feet.

Their carcasses completely burned, unrecognizable. The smell of burnt flesh filled the air. Smoke clouded the alley.

You started shaking again.

What– What just happened?!

But then, you heard another tiny voice besides yours and you remembered that there was someone you still needed to take care of. You got up from the floor, not daring to touch the scepter again, tip toeing to avoid stepping over the bodies.

You knelt in front of Oliver and held him by both arms.

“What are you doing here at this hour?!” You lashed out. “Alucard told you to not get out at night!”

The boy sobbed.

“I-I-I’m s-sorry, m-madame,” he stuttered between his cries. “I-I-I was t-trying to help. I-I was t-telling people to g-get into their houses. I was already g-going back home…”

You wiped his tears with the sleeve of your blouse before hugging him. Tight. Oliver cried on your shoulder, his little body shaking against yours.

A hand touched your shoulder from behind – which caused you to gasp loudly.

Alucard had the most shocked, confused expression you’d ever seen. It was one of the rare moments when he wasn’t being subtle.

“What happened?” Was all he asked, but it sounded like a demand.

No no no that’s not what you should ask right now. Oliver is the priority.

The boy leaned away from you and you held his shoulders again. “Where do you live?”

He sniffed and rubbed his nose. His little face was all puffy and wet. “T-Two streets away from here.”

You got up and took his hand. “Let’s go.”

“Ruby–“

“Let’s go,” you interrupted Alucard. “I need to take him home.”

Take him home take him home take him home. Yes, this is what I need to do. This is all that matters.

You walked on a beeline with a rushed pace towards the exit of the alley – both the scepter and the piece of paper with your translations completely forgotten on the floor. Alucard followed you closely, but in silence. Oliver’s little hand was still shaking. You held it tightly.

After no more than five minutes of walking, he pointed towards his house. You leaned down and hugged him again.

“Don’t leave your house. Did you understand? Do not walk out under any circumstance. Tell your parents about it.” You repeated in a serious authoritarian tone you didn’t recognize yourself. Have you ever spoken that way before?

Oliver nodded and apologized again. Finally, he waved a last goodbye and entered the house.

It seems that you just started to breathe again when you heard the sound of the door locking.

A few seconds of silence went by.

“Ruby.”

You shivered and turned around.

Alucard looked down at you with frowned eyebrows. Was he angry? Oh fuck, of course he was angry. You put yourself in danger again. You did what you shouldn’t. You got out of the inn without his permission.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to interrupt your mission. I hope I didn’t cause any trouble for you,” you started while avoiding his gaze vehemently. Your fingers were trembling again; you hid them behind your back.

“Can you tell me what–“

“Oliver was being chased by vampires. I saw them running through the window and I couldn’t hold myself back. I’m sorry, I know you told me to not put myself in danger. B-But I couldn’t just stay still, you see?” You couldn’t shut up. Why couldn’t you shut up? Why was your voice shaking? “I didn’t want to make you angry.”

“I’m not angry at you.”

“And then– the scepter– it did that thing again. I don’t know how that happened. It– it got so hot out of sudden, and then the vampires were burning too. I d-don’t know if I was the one to do it. I just didn’t want Oliver to die. I hope I didn’t cause any trouble.”

“You didn’t, Ruby.”

“Oh– I left if on the floor, didn’t I? I’m sorry. I put you through all the trouble of going back to the Louvre only to drop it at the alley. I s-should take it back. Oh! And I was translating the writings too. I think I dropped the paper… well, I wasn’t translating anything, I was just writing the words in our alphabet, and I don’t know it’ll be useful at all but I wanted to help somehow–“

“Ruby.”

The words got stuck in your throat.

Alucard cupped your face with both hands, forcing you to look at him and nothing else.

He frowned. “You’re burning.”

You blinked rapidly. “What? N-No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. I can feel it through the gloves.” Alucard used his teeth to take the glove off his right hand; he pressed it over your forehead. He was probably trying to help, but that action made you feel even hotter on the inside. “We need to do something about it.”

“No!” You blurted out. “No, there’s no need. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. I’ll heal. I always do.”

“Ruby.” He called again.

Alucard shoved the glove inside his coat and held your face with both hands again; he lowered himself slightly to get closer to your eye level.

“I am not angry at you.” He started in a slow and quiet voice. “You didn’t interrupt me. You did nothing wrong. But I need you to understand that you are spiraling, and I need you to calm down first.”

S… Spiraling? You were spiraling?

You gulped and nodded.

“Breathe with me.” He instructed patiently.

Inhaled. Exhaled. Inhaled. Exhaled. You followed his slow pace.

Adrenaline dissipated in your bloodstream; your head got quieter again. Your heart stopped running and went back to walking. Your hands, however, were still shaking.

You lowered your head, desperately trying to avoid his gaze, when you felt tears well up your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you said in a weak tone.

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Alucard’s voice was even quieter than usual… even gentler. He didn’t step away. His thumb caressed your cheek with care.

“I got so scared. I thought Oliver was going to die.”

Why did you even confess that? You weren’t sure; your brain wasn’t working properly anymore. But yes, that was true. You were scared of getting hurt – you were just used to pain, you didn’t like it – but you were even more scared of seeing that boy die in front of you. So small and so innocent and so familiar for some reason.

Why was that familiar? Why were you so confused? What the hell just happened?

You had no answer to any of these questions. All you wanted to do was cry at that moment – but not in front of him. Never in front of him; it’d be too humiliating. You wanted to step away, to have some space to recover. You wanted to hide from him.

Alucard had other plans.

When the first stubborn tear streamed down your cheek, Alucard pulled you closer to his body. His hands let go of your face; instead, he wrapped his arms around you. He was delicate. Hesitant, even.

Your face was then hidden in his chest.

Alucard didn’t say anything. Perhaps there was nothing he could’ve said at that moment, so he decided to act.

You froze at first. This… this was the closest you’ve ever been to him – at least while fully conscious, a proximity Alucard established willingly. You didn’t even know you had the right to stand that close to him.

When was the last time someone offered you comfort like that?

If it had happened before, you didn’t remember.

Slowly, your body melted under his. Your tense members softened. His sweet scent enveloped you. With much hesitance, you wrapped your arms around his body too, under his cape – and in the moment Alucard realized you accepted his embrace, he held you just a little tighter, a little more comfortable. One of his hands caressed your hair, while the other wrapped around your back.

You did your best to swallow any incoming sobs, forcing yourself to cry in silence. If Alucard even noticed you were crying, he didn’t show it. He just kept his arms around you protectively… affectionately. It made your insides feel warm in a way not even that strange scepter could.

None of you said a word, though there was much to be said. Both of you understood the gravity of what just happened. The three burnt carcasses were there at the alley, waiting to be inspected.

But that could wait for now. Nothing had the right to pierce through the small bubble of peace you shared.

You just stayed there in each other’s embrace for longer than your confused brain could register.

The bright full moon, reining sovereign in the sky, was your only witness.

[sinner-as-saint]

no masters or kings - 3

Priest!Bucky x Reader 

Read Part 1 and Part 2 here 

Run-through: Father Barnes’ life had been rather peaceful for years. He never complained though, he chose this. Between mass on Sundays, bible study sessions during the week, and office hours, the amount of time he has left he dedicated to reading and keeping his body active. There wasn’t much to do in this small, almost forgotten town. Then a new face appeared. A woman, married to some businessman who leaves her all by herself while he grows his fortune in the city. Father Barnes seemed determined at first, to herd and care for the new, young, lonely little lamb. But that is until he found himself tempted to sin like never before. 

Requested: “i really wanna hear more about priest bucky. what would be his reaction to the readers partner coming back to town suddenly? or what about readers spouse saying they should start trying for a baby?” 

Themes: priest!bucky, smut, degrading kink, infidelity, explicit language, (sacrilege, blasphemy, and all the other bad stuff), breeding kink, jealous!bucky, slight angst

a/n: for @cadence-on-beat and @winters1917 (sorry this took so long ily) 

Bucky was leading a double life, and he had never been happier. 

By day he was the kind, gentle, compassionate priest he’d been for years in this small town. By day he was the man who had chosen this plain life rather than be the heir to his parents’ business empire. He still visited his family home over the holidays, and helped out with business stuff whenever he could. Like the good man he was. By day he prayed, and helped, and preached, and listened to all those who came to him, to confess, to lean on his shoulder, to cry, to repent. By day he was the priest the people in this small town knew and loved him as. 

But then in the dark, he’d find his way to you. Always. Each night ever since those first few times. It was almost instinctual. Natural. Like Persephone finding her way back to Hades’ kingdom of darkness come autumn. Like it was destiny. A primal pull. 

Bucky didn’t run at night that often anymore. If ever he did, he’d never come home. He would just run to you and stay the night, and leave right before the sun rose. 

It all started that one night he found himself running in the dark in one specific direction – towards your luxurious home. 

Your home was located in the rather quiet part of the town, which was a good thing. You didn’t have any neighbours, which was also good because no one saw him making his way to your front door. 

His heart raced as he reached for the door handle. He thought back to what you’d once confessed to him: “Sometimes I leave the doors and windows unlocked or opened, even at night. Shamelessly hoping someone might just walk in…” 

Surely not. Right? But what if– 

He stopped thinking and froze the moment he turned the handle and the door opened an inch. Unlocked, just as you had said. Were you secretly hoping he’d seek you out one night? 

He was here unannounced. This was not planned. He was sort of worried that he might scare you, given the boundaries he was crossing. But part of him – the long restrained, dark corner of him – was excited for this little game he was about to play. Hunter. Prey. Cat. Mouse. Something stirred inside him, and he quickly realised that his cock was harder than ever as he quietly stepped into your home. 

It was dark inside, no lights were on. Except one upstairs, it looked like the soft, dim light in the hallway which lit part of the staircase. The house smelt a lot like you. Sweet. Soft. Warm. For a moment he pictured you moving around this space. And he liked it a lot. 

He began making his way upstairs, he figured by the darkness and silence that you weren’t downstairs. He went to follow the dimmed light coming from somewhere, then two things happened at the same time. It began raining outside, the wind making the rain hit the windows harder than normal. And second, Bucky realised that the stairs were creaking with each step. 

He went still for a moment. Every other sound around him became louder. His heartbeats, the rain hitting the glass around the house, and the muffled shuffling coming from upstairs. 

You were awake. He figured. You were awake and aware that he was here. And you were trying to be as quiet as possible, not screaming bloody murder which meant that… you wanted to play as well. 

Bucky smirked as he took his sweet time in making his way upstairs, making sure and letting each step creak as loudly as possible. He soon found himself in that dimly lit hallway, at the end of which were dark, double doors. One of them was partially opened. Surely your bedroom. 

He could hear noises the more he approached the doors. And he was certain he even heard a soft giggle which warmed his heart, and made him smile despite the hard as rock erection in his running shorts which desperately needed attention. 

He didn’t even bother knocking on the already opened door, he just pushed it open wider so he could step inside. And there, even in the dark room only lit by the street lights outside, he could see the shape of you in the middle of your four-poster bed, sitting, waiting. 

“Father Barnes?” You called out softly. 

“You shouldn’t leave your doors unlocked. You don’t know who might just walk in,” He spoke as he walked further into your room, approaching the bed. “You wouldn’t know it, but some people walk around with the most dark thoughts in their heads. You don’t know when they might just…” He braced a hand against one of the posters on your bed and leaned down just a little, “... give in.” 

-

He didn’t see the slight smirk on your face. It was dark after all, the rain was getting heavier, trapping you two even more inside this perfect bubble. 

Father Barnes spoke to you with that priestly voice of his, like he only had good intentions. Like he wasn’t here to fuck you, but guide you gently like you were a lost little lamb. It was comforting, that voice. Except right now, it only made you clench your thighs tighter together under the covers. 

“I see.” You mumbled, faking the apologetic tone in your voice. All you wanted was to pull him down onto your bed and straddle him but if he wanted to play this little game, then fine. You could wait a little more. “But I’m safe with you, aren’t I? You’re here to make sure no one with ill intentions finds their way to me?” 

You watched as he walked around the bed to come to the side, sat down on the edge of your bed and reached out to touch your cheek with his cold hand. “Of course, little lamb. You’re always safe with me.” He said, stroking your cheek. His hand was cold so you shivered against his touch, but didn’t pull away. He noticed and said, “Are you cold? Poor you, come here.” He patted his lap, “I’ll keep you warm, and safe. I promise.” 

You wasted no time in getting out of the covers and finding your way onto his lap, straddling him and enjoying the way he groaned the moment your bare cunt brushed against his hard on. “Fuck,” You mumbled, unable to help yourself from grinding against him just once. Just to feel him between your thighs. It made your head all foggy. 

“What is this?” He questioned, faking displeasure. “Is this what you wear to sleep? With the door unlocked? You’re practically naked.” He chided, fingers rubbing against your exposed back the moment he noticed you were wearing nothing but an excuse of a silky night dress, with the back open, the neckline dangerously low, and the length barely below your butt. “Good women don’t dress like this, you know? You’re a walking temptation. Is this what you want? To lure strange men into your home while your husband is away? Is that what this is?” 

His hand found its way in between your legs, shamelessly toying with your wet folds and clit, making you whine and whimper as you ground your hips against his hand, seeking more. 

“No,” You mumbled, “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t do anything.” You whined as his finger slowly slid inside you. His other hand still stroking your back. This was all you wanted. To be here in his embrace. 

Father Barnes chuckled, “Ah, see but you did. You lured me in. You tempted me.” He looked down and saw, with whatever minimal light was available, how his hand disappeared in between your thighs, and how your hips moved so perfectly, riding his finger. “Look,” He said, “Look at what you’re making me do.” 

You moaned out loud when he slid another finger inside you, fucking you so slowly and perfectly that it felt like you might die. “But I–,” 

“Shh,” He cut you off. “You should be thankful I’m not like other men. You see, they would just walk in and use you. But not me. You know me. You’re safe with me, remember?” 

You nodded, shoving your face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in. “Yes, Father Barnes.” You mumbled in between moans. 

“That’s it, lamb. Just trust me, okay?” 

-

Fuck. 

Bucky couldn’t take this any longer. He enjoyed this little game but he needed you. So it didn’t take much for him to twist around and place you down on the bed and hover above you. The little light coming in from outside allowed him to see parts of you. Your parted lips, the hunger in your eyes, the way your chest rose and fell rapidly, the way your thighs cradled his body. Fuck. He could live in this moment forever. 

“How many nights have you waited for me to just walk in here and play with you, hmm?” He lifted the hem of your night dress and sighed at the sight of your naked body. 

You easily removed the night dress and threw it aside, your hands finding their way into his hair as you pulled him closer. “Too many to count.” You whispered, lips brushing against his mouth. “I need you, please.” 

You were barely done talking when he lazily ran his fingers down your wet folds. You shivered under him, squirming on the bed. 

“Look at you, so shamelessly wet.” He growled, grabbing your face in his other hand as he slid two fingers inside you and making you gasp and moan. “Does this feel good? Hmm? This is why you leave your door open, and dress like that at night, huh? All because you want some man to show up and touch you however he wants? Does that make you feel wanted?” He stroked you in all the right places and had you coming all over his fingers in no time.You whined and squirmed as he kept finger-fucking you through your orgasm. 

He pulled away for a brief moment, taking his clothes off but leaving his boxers lowered just enough to free his erected cock. You watched as he stroked it once, twice before finding his way back in between your legs. 

One of his hands found its way to your throat and he wrapped his fingers around it carefully as he stared into your eyes. “You’re gonna let me fuck you just that easily, huh? You’re that hungry for it? I found my way into your house at night, unexpected, and you’re not even gonna put up a fight?” 

You were trembling with need. Unable to look away from his intense eyes as he guided the tip of his cock over to your clit and circled it, smearing his precum and your wetness around. You whimpered at the sensation. “Please…” You begged. 

He chuckled, teasing you a bit more by just pressing the tip of his cock against your tight hole. Not pushing it in, just pressing ever so gently until you whined and clawed at his shoulders. “See how bad you want it? Is this how good women behave?” He taunted before pushing his cock inside you. “No they don’t,” He whispered as he slid all the way in, “This is how good little sluts behave.” 

He remained still for a few moments, just relishing the feeling of your warmth around him. Your breath was shaky as you felt him fill you up and stretch you out so deliciously, snug deep inside you. 

He stared at your face, contorting in pleasure. Then he chuckled, and the slightest friction made you whine even louder. “I feel good inside you, don’t I?” He teased, rolling his hips just the slightest bit against you. When you cried out in pleasure, he tightened his grip around your throat and said, “I know, I know it feels good. Desperate woman like you, this is all you needed, huh?” He whispered. 

Fuck, he felt so good. You nodded, going along with whatever he said because it was so hot – his body, his words, his touch, the depravity of it all. “Yes,” You mumbled, so overcome with pleasure even though he hadn’t started fucking you yet that you felt like you could cry. 

“Then tell me.” He said, “Tell me I feel good inside you.” 

Another whine, and a gasp, then you mumbled, “You feel so good inside me, Father Barnes.” A pause then, “Please, please fuck me.” You begged, desperately.

-

Bucky didn’t want to wait another second, he couldn’t take it anymore either. His entire body felt like it was on fire as he started fucking into you hard and fast, not bothering to be nice to you. Not this time, not right now he couldn’t. 

He tightened his grip around your throat as he sped up into you, growling right in your ear and telling you how good you felt. You could only respond with moans and whimpers, which only made him fuck you harder. 

“That little head of yours is filled with filthy thoughts only, isn’t it? Seducing a priest,” He said in a tone of pretend discontent, “You should be punished for that.” He whispered in your ear, in a daze as he pounded into you. Your body squirmed under him, your back arching off the bed, chest pressing into his. 

You must’ve wanted him closer still because Bucky let out a soft chuckle when he noticed you raised your trembling legs and wrapped them around his hips. Pulling him deeper into you, if that was possible. 

“You want me closer? Want me to fuck you deeper, harder? Hmm? Is that what this is?” He taunted. “You just want to be my dirty, filthy, little slut? Huh? You never want me to stop?” He held your stare, pressing the sides of your throat as he fucked deeper into you. 

He watched as your eyes rolled to the back of your head, your moans getting louder, your body heating up beneath him, your walls clenching around his cock in that way he loved. 

“Well then, you don’t get to come that easily.” 

-

Those words brought you right back to reality, just when you were right on that edge. 

“What?” You questioned in disbelief, but not doing anything to stop him as he pulled out, grabbed you by the hips and flipped you around onto your stomach. 

“Bucky!” You cried out as he grabbed your wrists and pinned them to your lower back with one hand. That earned you a smack on the butt. Hard. Stinging. 

“That’s Father Barnes to you, you little slut.” 

You moaned when you felt him guiding his cock back to your hole again. 

He leaned over your back to whisper into your ear, sliding his cock inside you as he said, “You belong to me.” He said, like it was the most ardent prayer. He tugged on your pinned wrists, which made you whine in pain and pleasure. “So if you’re gonna leave the doors unlocked, and if you’re gonna wear these slutty things to bed, it’ll be only for me. You hear me?” 

“Yes!” You agreed immediately, then yelped in pleasure as he pulled out and pushed back into you from behind. 

Then he began fucking you again, hard and fast. Mercilessly. Like an ancient god taking what was offered to him at his altar. Like it was his right. Like you were there, open and willing only for his taking. Rough. Raw. The pleasure was overwhelming. 

“Come for me…” 

And you did. 

Not just that night, but every night which followed. 

Each time you heard those stairs creak in the middle of the night, your heart would begin racing in anticipation. Because nothing was as exciting as indulging in what was forbidden. 

But naturally, things couldn’t go on like this for long without some kind of hindrance. 

Then there was that phone call. 

Your husband called and a conversation was had which soured your mood for the rest of the day. To a point where not even Father Barnes could take your mind off things. 

The two of you laid in your bed that night, both sweaty and damp and in dire need of showers but neither of you wanted to move so there you remained. Limbs tangled. Your head on his chest, listening to his strong heartbeats. His hand rubbing your back, while the other traced random shapes all over your thigh. 

“What is it?” He asked after a good half an hour of just cuddling in silence. 

The room was dark, and it wasn’t raining so the silence was too loud to ignore. 

“Nothing.” You answered. 

-

Bucky sighed. Of course it wasn’t nothing. “Tell me,” He insisted. 

“It’s… complicated.” You answered. 

“Try. We’ll make sense of it together, I promise.” He used that priestly tone, one he knew worked with everyone. 

A moment of silence later you said, “My husband called.” And Bucky’s heart dropped. Suddenly he felt cold, empty, deserted. Like something, someone had abandoned him. And he didn’t even know what your husband had said yet, but he could tell he wouldn’t like it. 

“I see. Has he found out about us?” 

A humourless chuckle from you meant that that wasn’t the case. 

“Worse,” You spoke quietly, “He met up with our parents for lunch recently and… they mentioned wanting grandkids.” 

Bucky pulled away instantly like your touch burned his skin. It was childish, he knew, to be this jealous when he was clearly in the wrong. He sat up on the edge of your bed, and tried to get his emotions under control. 

He had no right to be angry. To feel betrayed. To feel sad. 

“Don’t pull away from me. Please.” You whispered, kneeling behind him on the bed and wrapping your arms around him from behind. 

Bucky closed his eyes for a moment, relishing the warmth of your skin. The feeling of your chest pressing against his back. The way you nuzzled his neck, leaving soft kisses all over his skin. 

“Everytime I think I have you, I’m reminded that you belong to someone else.” He confessed. “And I have no right to be angry. Or expected anything from you.” 

You sighed, letting your hands touch him all over his chest, caressing his shoulders, down his arms as you said, “I don’t belong to anyone but you. My husband and I… we talked about it earlier. We respect each other, but there’s no way we could get together like that. Maybe we can adopt. Or find a surrogate, but–,” 

He cut you off, annoyed at the mere mention of another man. “There’s no place for me in your life.” He announced, calmly. “There is still time. We could put an end to this. Then perhaps you two could try and do right by your marriage and–,” 

That calm tone pissed you off for some reason, “Oh stop trying to be all nice, calm, and priestly as if you weren’t fucking me like an animal just now!” You pulled away from him, glaring at the back of his neck even in the mostly dark room. “Do right by my marriage.” You scoffed. “Is that what you want?” You questioned, keeping your voice steady. “You want me to climb into my husband’s bed? Let him fuck me however he wants until–,” 

You barely processed what was happening because that’s how fast he moved. One moment you were talking and the next his hand was around your throat and he was standing up, looking down at you still kneeling on the bed. 

“Keep talking, come on.” He dared you, squeezing the sides of your neck. His voice was cold, and unlike anything you’d heard before. 

Despite the chokehold, you smirked. “You don’t like the sound of that, do you, Father Barnes?” You taunted. “I’m just telling you how it’ll go.” 

“I don’t want to fucking hear it.” He growled.

You found yourself flat on your back again, with him above you. The little light available allowed you to see his silhouette. Broad and muscular, all that running made him just the right amount of lean. 

He parted your legs and pushed his cock into you without wasting a second, stretching you out easily. Bucky’s thoughts were all over the place. How dare you talk about sleeping with another man? How dare he get jealous? How dare you even think about having someone else’s kids? 

There it was. The thing that bothered him the most. Someone else’s kids. Not his. And suddenly he was nothing but a man – not a priest, or a considerate human being, just a man. 

“How fucking dare you?” He questioned, his cock buried so deep inside of you that he was certain neither of you could even think straight. “I give you everything,” He spoke through gritted teeth as he began fucking you, “I take care of you, I fuck you whenever you ask for it, and this is what I get in return?” 

There was nothing gentle or passionate about him. He was wild, fucking you like there’s no tomorrow. He tightened his grip around your throat as he sped up into you, growling right in your ear while you were a moaning mess under him. Skin slapping, breaths mingling, it was so hot. So hot and you couldn’t think. 

“You belong to me.” He hissed in your ear; speeding up again. “I don’t care what the rules are, if you’re gonna carry a child it’ll be mine. Do you fucking hear me?”

Your heart raced at what he said. What about the consequences? What about his job? What will you tell your family? 

But none of that mattered right now, not with his body weight on top of you, not with how perfectly his cock moved in and out of you. You whimpered desperately as he fucked you, relentlessly. 

He sped up into you, whispering into your ear, “I can already see it… you with a bump, my child growing, and safe inside you.” He spoke in a haze, his voice deep and growly. “We’ll go far away from here, consequences be damned.” 

You nodded, agreeing. 

Bucky had never thought about laicization before. Never considered it as an option. Never wanted to. But now? Now things were different. Now he was determined to make you his. He wanted this now, he wanted to have this forever, have you forever. 

He released your throat and placed his hand on your abdomen, pressing down on your front so he can feel himself inside you with each thrust. He slowed down just the slightest bit. He pulled away a little and stared down into your eyes. “You will be mine, forever. I promise you.” He whispered as he fucked deeper into you. “I’ll fix this, I’ll take care of you. Don’t you worry about a thing, you hear me?”

He pressed his lips to yours, swallowing all your moans and mewls as he came inside of you. You felt his warm load shooting at your walls as he shoved his tongue past your lips. You cried out as that triggered your orgasm, and your walls clenched violently around him until you came undone as well. 

Your brain was a foggy mess at this point. 

He pulled his cock out of you and pulled away to reach for the bedside lamp, turned it on so he could admire you under him better. 

A triumphant smirk appeared on his face as he stared at his cum leaking out of you while you panted under him, squirming still as you came down from your high and tried to control your breathing. 

He slowly slipped his fingers back into you and watched how your face morphed into a frown as he fingered his cum back into you again, making you arch your back and whine in pleasure, “Please…” you whined, unsure if you wanted him to stop playing with your body or if you wanted him to make you cum again. 

He didn’t care about how sensitive you were, he just needed to remind you that you belonged to him. He had to make sure you knew. 

Bucky leaned in to kiss you again. “You will carry my child, won’t you, baby?” He whispered against your lips as he pumped his fingers in and out of you. “We’re gonna find a way to make this work. But you are not fucking leaving me, you hear that?” He growled against your lips as you came again. 

He kissed your lips gently, then your closed eyelids, then he left a final kiss on your forehead before he laid beside you, leaving the light on, as he pulled you into his arms. You were limp, and quiet, possibly closer to sleep than consciousness. 

Bucky on the other hand couldn’t stop thinking. He wanted this with you, he’d never been more sure about something in his life before. 

Money was not an issue, he was always going to inherit everything his parents have anyway, and they’ve always begged him to come home and take over the businesses. The only issue would be your family and husband, but he was certain that although some difficult conversations would need to be had, things would be sorted soon enough. 

Then you and him could start your new life. 

He couldn’t wait. 

—

A/n: I won’t be writing more parts for this series, I like to leave some things open-ended. Have fun imagining the rest, if you want, I’ll leave that to you <3 Thank you for loving Father Barnes as much as I did, see y’all in hell. I’ll wait by the gates ;) 

[akanemnon]

Since you confirmed that it is possible to open a Dark Fountain and, consequently, create a Dark World in the Underground (but only after the connection between the two worlds has been established), I have some doubts:

1) If someone opened a Dark Fountain (and, therefore, created a Dark World) in Asgore's house, would the resulting Dark World be similar to the Evergreen Empire? My personal theory is that Asgore's house in Undertale is some sort of counterpart to Asgore's shop in Deltarune (just as UT!Toriel's house in the Ruins seems to correspond to DR!Toriel's house in Hometown). For this reason, it would make sense if the two places were at least somewhat similar.

2) Following the reasoning of the first question: if (hypothetically) UT!Asgore had a wedding ring in the house (since, even in the Undertale universe, he and Toriel are divorced), when this new Dark World is created, could a version of Lesslo from Undertale appear?

And if so, would this version be similar or identical to the canon Lesslo? (In my opinion, considering that the canon Lesslo is already an annoying little bitch — probably because of DR!Asgore and DR!Toriel's divorce — I don't dare to imagine what a version of him would be like in the Undertale universe, where UT! Asgore and UT!Toriel had a much more traumatic divorce...)

3) And finally:

Would the six human Souls (who, if I remember correctly, in the Twin Runes canon are called Patches, Nikey, Quaver, Doodle, Sunny and Clover) become Darkners in all respects if this hypothetical Dark World were to be created? Or would they be some sort of hybrid, half Darkner and half Lightner, similar to Chara?

(Sorry for asking so many questions, but I got carried away...)

You are asking me questions that I cannot answer. Mainly because I haven't thought that deep into them. All of this is more of less fan territory. Things for fans to work with if they ever so like to.

[molter-writes]

pleeeasssee miller i know you let the work stand on it's own but please tell us jsut a tad bit more about the valyerian sex magic!!!!

i meannnn

on valyrian sex magic

i am not the person to ask for the true asoiaf lore, of course; but there is obviously a pervasive source of magic across Planetos — accessible by many cultures in many different forms — and the "flavour" of the magic of each is very much a reflection, i think, of what GRRM wants us to glean about each. the Starks are themselves effectively the oldest singular consistent human organisation, if you will, that we actually meet in the books, and their magic is extremely rudimentary and primordial—they turn into animals and talk to trees. It's giving primordial man, it's giving Lucy—humanity as a symbiotic participant in (rather than an editor of) the natural world.

fast forward almost five thousand years: the valyrians are not tree hugging hunter-gatherers. they are the roman empire if the roman empire were composed of evil wizards. Their magic is dark, rooted in blood and fire—it was a tool of mind control, of asymmetric warfare, of wroth destruction. It required blood sacrifice and whips and horns and knives. It mated slave women to animals to produce grotesque chimeras. The entire thing is about the subjugation, not the embrace, of nature. Obviously until we have WoW or (lol) aDoS, we won't know—and maybe not even then—but the best prevailing theory in my view is that blood of the dragon is literal. Planetos has wyverns and, more importantly, firewyrms (flightless, firebreathing lizards) that the Valyrians almost certainly combined with human beings in some ritualistic hellcurse to produce the first dragons. this explains (1) the psychogenic bond between rider and dragon; (2) why nobody without valyrian blood can ride one; (3) the decline of the dragons correlating near-perfectly with the Andalisation (read: de-magifying) of the Targaryens; and perhaps most importantly, (4) why an animal that can fly hundreds of miles in a day would for some reason be found only on a single small isle in some random corner of a massive content that has volcanos and mountains and hot weather elsewhere. only one culture having dragons is like only one airport having planes.

much like the american NRA often asserts about guns, dragons are something of a sexual equaliser. part of why rhaenyra is so much freer than alicent when they're young is not merely because of her elevated social station (which is a principal part of it, yes) but also because she is in sole possession of one of the only six nukes in the world. At fifteen Rhaenyra possesses the power to go burn Riverrun to its foundation. I mean, if you thought Daenerys had firepower—regardless of D&D's absolute boneheaded visual mistakes in the show—Syrax is bigger than Drogon.

in any case i digress; i bring this up to make the point that while we do know valyria was a patriarchy of sorts, you can imagine a world in which a valyrian noble house would be headed (on occasion) by a woman because she is the most powerful imperial military leader because she is in command of the largest dragon. as a result, you can imagine a culture that embraces less patriarchal sexual and gender politics than do the Andals, and when take this inference a step further with the chimeras and the dragon-making and all the other frankensteinian blood magic, i just don't think it's that much of a leap to imagine that some dragon-wielding all-powerful female ruthless blood wizard in ancient Valyria decided—based on blood purity or necessity or ego or whatever—to impregnate some other woman. some maesters recorded that dragons appeared to change their sex—becoming able and unable to lay and fertilise eggs. Anyway, I just don't put genderbending and fempreg past the people who—if the theory is right—invented fucking dragons. It seems easier to do magic pregnancy than to do dragons. idk. melisandre gave birth to a shadow. nearly every ancient tradition on the planet can explore the miracle of virgin conception but we can't have lesbo baby?? why?? thank you for coming to my Ted Talk

[tremendouskoalachild]

Inquisitor Women in Star Wars: a 2024 Summary

while women are underrepresented in the Sith order, the Inquisitorius is quite an egalitarian organization :) let's sum up what we know about these lovely ladies

(spoilers for everything concerning inquisitor characters, including the manner of their death)

2. Second Sister aka Trilla Suduri

Padawan to Cere Junda at the time of Order 66

captured and tortured into joining the Inquisitorius shortly after

dies 5 years later, executed by Vader for her perceived failure

human; age unknown, I'd estimate late teens to mid-twenties at the time of recruitment

created for Jedi: Fallen Order (2019), appeared before the game's release as a cameo in Darth Vader 2017 issue 19 (2018) and as a main character in the game tie-in miniseries Dark Temple. mentioned in Rise of the Red Blade (2023).

ambitious, relentless, a good slicer. wears a full helmet all the time when on the job.

3. Third Sister aka Reva Sevander

12-year-old human youngling at the time of Order 66

joined the organization voluntarily and while hiding her identity, at an unspecified point a relatively short time before 10 years post-Order 66

left the Inquisitorius 10 years after Order 66, after failing to kill Darth Vader and being left to die

created for Obi-Wan Kenobi (2022). not in RotRB, likely due to not yet being a member during the book's timeline. does not appear and isn't mentioned in other canon material, outside of OWK's comic adaptation.

spent 10 years single-mindedly pursuing her goal of revenge. very intense and ambitious. youngest recruit we know of and the only one to have at least a quasi-canon number duplicate (the Third Brother).

4. Fourth Sister aka Lyn Rakish

joined the Inquisitorius around the time of Order 66, apparently of her own free will

species, age and rank at that point unknown, may have been a peer of Barriss or somewhat older

left the Inquisitorius after serving it for over 15 years (actual time unknown but less than 20 years)

created for Obi-Wan Kenobi (2022), part of the main cast in Tales of the Empire (2024), mentioned in RotRB (2023).

dedicated to the organization, pragmatic and better at cooperation than most colleagues.

7. Seventh Sister

joined the Inquisitorius shortly after Order 66, and appears to have been tortured into it

mirialan; age and rank before recruitment unknown, implied she may have been a peer of Aayla Secura or younger

killed in action after serving the Inquisitorius for 16 years

created for Rebels s2 (2015), a minor character with several scenes in Darth Vader 2017, RotRB (2023) and the Inquisitors comic miniseries (2024)

only one on the list without a known name. snarky and flirty with targets. strained relationship with multiple coworkers.

9. Ninth Sister aka Masana Tide

Dowutin, age unknown and hard to estimate

joined the Inquisitorius involuntarily shortly after Order 66, through torture and mutilation

dies 10 years later, killed by her target

created for Darth Vader (2017) as a recurring character. part of the main cast in Jedi: Fallen Order (2019), shows up in Jedi: Survivor (2023), has a part in RotRB (2023) and Inquisitors (2024).

best empath of the Inquisitorius. snarky and jovial even with Darth Vader. very traumatized. keeps losing body parts.

13. Thirteenth Sister aka Iskat Akaris

joined voluntarily after flirting with the dark side for years and being groomed by Palpatine

21-year-old Knight at the time, pkorian (species created for her)

killed 5 years after joining by Vader for perceived disloyalty

created for Darth Vader 2017 issue 19 (2018), main character of novel Rise of the Red Blade (2023)

only inquisitor to have a boyfriend in canon. has a helmet she wears on missions but is pretty laid back about it. only gets her inquisitor name a while into her tenure, so her birth name is known to others.

+ Barriss Offee

former Jedi in Republic prison at the time of joining

agreed to get recruited a short while after Order 66, but left on her first mission after learning more about the organization, never got a proper inquisitor title

mirialan; age unknown but is around the age or slightly older than Ahsoka, 17 year old at the time; would have been 21 according to a non-canon reference book

has existed since 2002 as a background character in the prequels and their now non-canon tie-in novels, her short-lived inquisitor iteration was long rumored and introduced in Tales of the Empire (2024).

[hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall]

For Rome - Chapter 3

Summary: While preparing for the departure, you get a letter to meet with Marcus and a mystery person.

Pairing: General Marcus Acasius x F!Reader

Warning: just my non existant knowledge of Rome Empire and this part of history...

Words: 3 610

Series Masterlist Main Masterlist

“You’re leaving in a week,” he had said, his voice steady, though his eyes betrayed something softer, something hesitant.

That was five days ago.

And yet, his words had not left you. They followed you like a shadow, creeping into your thoughts when you least expected them. Even now, you could hear the quiet certainty in his voice, the way it had settled into the air between you like an unspoken promise.

When you woke the next morning, you convinced yourself it had been a dream. A strange, vivid dream that refused to fade, its edges clinging to you no matter how hard you tried to shake it off. The memory of his gaze, the weight of his presence, the unguarded honesty in his tone—it all felt too surreal to have been real.

But then, a knock at the door. A soldier, stiff-backed and solemn, handing you a letter sealed with wax.

You hesitated, staring at the folded parchment as if it might disappear, as if touching it would confirm or shatter the illusion. Your fingers trembled as you finally broke the seal, unfolding the message with care.

The handwriting—elegant, precise—was undeniably his.

His words were brief, yet they held a warmth that caught you off guard. He thanked you again, not just for your decision, but for trusting him. He assured you that the conversation you had shared would remain a “sweet secret” between the two of you.

A secret.

The word lingered in your mind, curling around your thoughts in a way that made your chest feel too tight. The letter was vague, careful, and yet it felt… personal. Not the kind of formality exchanged between a general and a healer, but something else. Something that made you press your lips together, suddenly unsure of what you had agreed to.

At the bottom, a final note.

There is someone who wishes to see you. A friend of mine, and—unexpectedly—a friend of yours.

A friend?

The idea puzzled you. What kind of friend could the two of you possibly share?

And yet, curiosity had won.

Now, standing in the place he had described, you felt foolish.

The air was crisp, the city humming in the distance, but all you could hear was the persistent whisper of doubt in your mind.

What if the letter had been a mistake?

What if you had misread his words, misinterpreted his meaning?

The thought made you shift on your feet, restless, and you swallowed against the strange unease twisting inside you. You were just about to leave when—

Your name.

Spoken softly, yet with quiet authority. A voice that carried warmth even in its restraint.

Your heart jolted, your breath catching as you turned.

And there he was.

Marcus Acasius stood before you, cloaked in the same dark fabric he had worn that first night, his presence as commanding as ever. The flickering light played across the sharp lines of his face, deepening the shadows under his strong jaw, making the dark brown of his eyes appear even darker.

Slowly, he reached up, pulling back his hood.

And then—

That smile.

Subtle. Barely there. Yet devastating.

It was the kind of smile that made your pulse stutter, not for its boldness, but for the quiet ease with which he gave it.

As if he had known you would come.

As if he had been waiting for you.

And for a moment, standing there in the dim glow of the evening, you forgot the uncertainty.

You simply forgot how to breathe.

For a moment, words failed you.

Your lips parted, but before you could speak, a shadow shifted behind Marcus. A second figure stepped forward, emerging from the dim light, and your breath caught.

“Hello, little bird.”

The voice was warm, affectionate, laced with familiarity. Unmistakable.

Your heart stilled, then kicked into a frantic rhythm as your gaze landed on her.

Princess Lucillia.

She stood beside Marcus with effortless grace, a quiet smile playing on her lips—a mix of kindness and amusement. Her expression was open, yet knowing, as if she had expected your reaction.

You stared, frozen in place, utterly taken off guard.

You had seen her only once before in your life—twice if you counted the brief moment at your parents’ funeral, when she had spoken softly of knowing your father well. The second time had been under stranger circumstances—when her personal maid had fallen ill, and, rather than send for a court physician, she had sent the woman to you.

After that, she had remained a distant benefactor. Unseen, but present.

Medical supplies arrived unexpectedly, just when you needed them most. And the money—gold coins left discreetly, with no name attached, though you had always known who they were from.

You had never understood why.

You had only used the money when you had no other choice, reluctant to let it become something you relied upon.

And now here she was. In the flesh. Looking at you as though she had known you forever.

“My Lord, My Lady,” you managed at last, your voice softer than you intended as you dipped into a curtsy, still unsure how else to respond.

Lucillia sighed, shaking her head in mock exasperation. “How many times must I tell you not to call me that?”

The teasing lilt in her voice, the easy familiarity—it left you even more unsettled. Her expression held the same mischievous amusement as when she had first handed you that bag of coins years ago, promising more to come.

Marcus, who had been silent up until now, exhaled sharply. “Let’s go inside,” he murmured, his tone low, his eyes scanning the streets around you with the instinct of a soldier who never let his guard down. “Talking out here isn’t wise.”

You nodded, following them into a small, tucked-away room.

The walls were bare, the flickering light of a single candle casting elongated shadows across the stone. The space felt intimate, the kind of place where secrets had been spoken before, whispered into the silence with no one to hear but the walls themselves.

You sat cautiously, hands resting in your lap as you tried to still the rapid beating of your heart.

Marcus took his seat across from you, and Lucillia settled beside him, watching you with quiet curiosity.

“Thank you for coming,” Marcus said at last, his voice sincere, steady.

You nodded again, still uncertain of what this was—what you were doing here.

Lucillia leaned forward slightly, resting her elbow on the table as she studied you. “How are you, sweet girl?”

The words were gentle, maternal even. And just like that, some of the tension in your shoulders melted away.

You took a slow breath, then forced a small smile. “I’ve been… busy.”

Lucillia let out a soft, knowing laugh. “Oh yes, as always.”

Her gaze roved over you with quiet scrutiny, her sharp eyes missing nothing. And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, she said, “You haven’t been sleeping well, have you? You’ve lost weight.”

Your eyes widened, caught off guard by her observation.

You barely noticed Marcus’s smirk—or the sigh he let out, as though he had been expecting this conversation to derail before it had even begun.

But you noticed something else.

The way Lucillia looked at you—not just with sympathy, but with understanding. As though she saw more than you wanted her to.

And that unsettled you most of all.

“You’ll have to take better care of her on your journey, Marcus,” Lucillia added, her tone teasing but laced with something softer—something affectionate, almost protective.

Marcus exhaled sharply, his smirk fading. His gaze flickered to you, and for a moment, something passed across his expression—something unreadable, but not unkind. “Let me start from the beginning,” he said finally, his voice carrying an unspoken apology.

You blinked, your fingers tightening slightly in your lap as you nodded, leaning forward just enough to show you were listening.

“Lucillia and I have known each other for a long time,” he began, glancing briefly at the princess. She responded with a small, amused wave, as if to say, Yes, too long.

“We share similar views about Rome—how it needs to change.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “Her vision aligns more with the ideals your parents held, while mine…”

He trailed off, and then, as if realizing the weight of what he was about to say, a faint grin tugged at the corner of his lips. His eyes found yours, searching, waiting.

“…is closer to the one you’ve shared with me.”

Your breath caught.

It was one thing to dream in silence, to carry hope as a secret weight in your chest. But to hear him—a general of Rome—speak those words aloud, to align himself with you in such a way, sent a ripple of something foreign through you. Relief. Fear. Maybe something more dangerous—belief.

Lucillia leaned in slightly, her expression warm. “He speaks highly of you, you know.”

You swallowed hard, willing yourself to remain still, to not react too strongly.

“Says you have a way of seeing people,” she continued, her voice quieter now, softer, as if speaking a truth neither of them wanted to be lost in the air between you. “Not just their wounds, but their hearts. That’s a rare gift.”

Your fingers curled against the fabric of your dress, trying to ground yourself.

“She’s right,” Marcus said, his tone low but firm. “That’s why we’re here.” He studied you then, as if measuring how much more he should say, how much more he could ask of you. “I wanted you to meet Lucillia, not just as a friend, but as someone who believes in the Rome you dream of.”

The words settled over you, heavy and unexpected.

Not a request. Not a demand.

An offering.

Your chest, so tight with uncertainty for the past five days, finally loosened.

For so long, you had fought alone, carrying the weight of your work, your dreams, your grief. But now, sitting in this dimly lit room, across from two of the most powerful figures in Rome, you realized something you had never dared to hope for.

You weren’t alone.

And if the meeting you’d had with Marcus had felt like a dream, this moment—this alliance—felt like something even more impossible.

You could scarcely believe it. That these two—one a princess, the other a general—aligned themselves with the same hopes you had carried for so long.

But what surprised you most was the flicker of pride blooming in your chest.

Because Marcus’s Rome—his vision—was not quite Lucillia’s.

It was yours.

The realization was strange, but good. A quiet kind of good, the kind that settled deep in your bones.

“I know of Marcus’s proposition to take you away,” Lucillia interjected suddenly, a playful lilt in her voice. Marcus sighed, rolling his eyes, but the gesture held no real irritation—just the ease of friendship.

And yet, when Lucillia turned to you again, her expression softened. “And I know how much what you’ve built here means to you.”

Your breath hitched.

She knew.

You had spent the past five days moving ceaselessly, making sure the people you cared for would have enough to survive in your absence. Food. Bandages. Medicine. You had worked yourself to the bone, ensuring that they wouldn’t suffer for your decision.

For some, a month was nothing. A fleeting inconvenience.

For the people who depended on you, a month was an eternity.

“I also know you’ve been working quite hard,” Lucillia mused, tilting her head slightly. “Like the little worker bee you are.”

There was a glimmer in her eyes—mirth, affection. A knowing spark that made you uncertain whether you adored her for it or loathed her for seeing so much.

You swallowed, looking away for a moment.

“I only helped those who needed it the most,” you murmured, your fingers twisting together as your gaze darted anywhere but at them. Under the weight of their eyes—the watchful presence of two of the strongest figures in Rome—you felt exposed, uncertain. You weren’t sure if you felt safe or unsettled.

“It was just some food. Some medical supplies,” you continued, voice quieter now, as if speaking it aloud might lessen the importance of what you had done. “Nothing much, really.”

Marcus let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head.

“You really are an angel.”

You shot him a sharp look, but the amusement in his expression only deepened.

“Lucillia will take care of everything while you’re gone,” he added smoothly.

Your eyes widened in shock as you turned toward the princess. She simply nodded, a soft but unwavering smile gracing her lips.

“All I can do is provide the resources,” she admitted. “But that has to be enough.”

It should have eased you—knowing that the people you cared for wouldn’t be left completely untended. But instead, your chest tightened.

“I still have the money you gave me,” you blurted, rising abruptly from your seat. The thought of accepting more, of taking more than you had already been given, felt unbearable. “I can use it for them. I don’t want you to feel obligated—”

“That’s why you won’t.”

Marcus’s voice cut through your protests, calm but final.

He stood as well, meeting your gaze with the kind of certainty that left no room for argument. His dark eyes held yours, steady and unwavering, grounding you even as your heart pounded.

“You won’t take a single coin,” he continued, his voice softer now, but no less firm. “Just as your stubborn heart desires. But that money will go to the people. Directly.”

The certainty in his words disarmed you.

You opened your mouth to argue, to refuse, to insist that you could handle it on your own. But the words never came.

Because for the first time in so long, you weren’t fighting alone.

The realization hit you with such force that your body reacted before your mind could catch up. Tears welled in your eyes, spilling over before you could stop them. A quiet gasp escaped you, and you sank back into your chair, pressing your palms to your face in a futile attempt to contain the overwhelming rush of emotion.

The sound of your name, spoken softly by both of them, barely registered over the tightness in your chest.

“I never could have imagined…” You swallowed against the lump in your throat, trying to steady your breath. “That someone like you—both of you—would want to help me.”

Your voice trembled on the last word, and you felt utterly exposed.

But then, warmth.

Marcus’s hand, rough yet inexplicably gentle, settled over yours. His touch was steady, grounding. So much larger than yours, yet careful, as if he understood how fragile this moment was.

His voice, when it came, was quiet but firm.

“You’re the one helping us.”

You let out a weak, teary laugh, rolling your eyes as you wiped at your face with your free hand. But despite your feigned exasperation, warmth bloomed in your chest—the kind of warmth you hadn’t felt since the days when your family was still whole.

Still here.

“I do not wish to bring you any trouble, my lady,” you said softly, turning toward Lucillia. “What I do is not exactly… favored by those in power.”

Her lips curled into something sharp—almost wicked.

“Even better.”

The unexpected answer pulled a surprised chuckle from your lips, and the tension in your body eased just a little.

“The only thing I ask,” she continued, her gaze turning more serious, “is that you take care of yourself. Don’t follow Marcus’s lead and take the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

Marcus let out an exasperated sigh, but he didn’t argue.

You smiled, genuinely touched by her concern. “I will try, my lady.”

Lucillia’s expression instantly soured.

“For the love of the gods, stop calling me that, child.”

Before you could react, she reached forward and flicked your forehead.

You gasped, more out of shock than pain, hands flying up to cradle the spot.

“I’ve always done that to my boy when he refused to listen,” she mused, a hint of nostalgia creeping into her tone.

The warmth of the moment dimmed just slightly.

You knew of her son—of what she had lost. And though she spoke with casual amusement, there was a shadow in her eyes, one that told you the words were heavier than they seemed.

Your chest ached for her.

But before the moment could linger, she shifted, smoothing her hands over her cloak as she rose from her seat. “I’ll leave the two of you to discuss your crusade,” she said, smirking as she turned toward the door.

You barely had time to react before she leaned down and pressed a soft, motherly kiss to your cheek.

You froze, momentarily stunned by the tenderness of it.

Then, with a final nod to Marcus, she pulled her hood over her head and slipped out the door, vanishing into the night as effortlessly as she had arrived.

Leaving you alone with the general.

You turned to Marcus, offering him an awkward smile. “I hope your ribs are doing much better, my lord.”

His expression instantly flattened. “I will start ignoring you entirely if you keep addressing me like that.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, and before you could stop yourself, you pouted.

“It’s a habit, my lo— I mean, General…”

He sighed, but there was the barest flicker of amusement in his gaze. “I’m not sure which is worse—‘my lord’ or ‘General.’”

You frowned at that, unsure whether he was genuinely irritated or simply toying with you.

“How about we make some rules for our mission?” he suggested, leaning back slightly, arms crossing over his chest.

You nodded, not entirely sure where he was going with this.

“First,” he began, his voice edged with authority, “you only call me General in front of my soldiers.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he raised a hand to silence you.

“Second,” he continued, ignoring your attempted protest, “you will not call me ‘my lord.’ Ever.”

You huffed at that, but he barely gave you a second to react before moving on.

“And the last rule—” His tone shifted, growing heavier, firmer. “And this one is crucial, do you hear me?”

Something in his voice made you swallow hard.

He stepped closer, and for the first time, you felt the full weight of his presence—not just as the man who had teased you, who had spoken to you with warmth, but as Marcus Acasius, General of Rome. His stature, the sharpness in his gaze, the way his words carried an unshakable finality—it was now that you truly understood why his men followed him so unwaveringly.

“Where we are going, there will be war,” he said, his voice low, deliberate. “I do not plan on bringing your dead body back to Rome.”

You tensed, but he didn’t let you speak.

“So when I tell you to run, or when I tell you to leave, you do so. Understood?”

You had never heard him like this.

It wasn’t a request. It wasn’t a plea. It was an order.

Your mouth opened to argue, but nothing came out.

Is this what his soldiers hear? you wondered. Is this the voice that leads men into battle?

It was commanding, immovable. A voice that left no room for defiance.

But still…

“What if there’s someone I can help?” you finally whispered, your fingers curling into the fabric of your dress. “What if—”

“Then you leave as well if I order you to.”

Your breath hitched.

The way he said it—without hesitation, without even a flicker of doubt—sent a chill through you.

You stared at him, studying his face, searching for any softness, any sign that he might bend on this.

There was none.

“And one more rule,” he added, his voice dipping lower.

Before you could react, his hand lifted, fingertips grazing your temple as he tucked a loose strand of your hair behind your ear.

You froze.

Your heart slammed against your ribs at the unexpected touch, at the way his calloused fingers lingered just a moment too long against your skin.

“Your safety and health are a priority,” he murmured. “So when I see you getting tired, I will order you to rest.”

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry. “I can work even when I’m tired…”

Your voice was barely above a whisper, but you hated how unconvincing it sounded.

His lips curled into a knowing smirk.

“This rule is based on what Lucillia just asked of you, My Lady”

You snapped your gaze up to his, fire sparking in your eyes.

“If I can’t call you ‘my lord,’ then—”

“Are you ordering me now?”

Your breath caught.

The way he said your name—slow, deliberate, amused—sent an unfamiliar shiver down your spine.

There was no anger in it. No irritation. Just something dangerously close to enjoyment.

You had no response.

“Sleep tonight,” he said, chuckling softly at your stunned expression. “And I will see you at the port tomorrow.”

Before you could fully process what was happening, he reached for your hand.

You barely had time to react before his lips brushed against your knuckles—light, brief, but somehow leaving a trail of heat behind.

“I am eternally thankful to you, my dear,” he murmured, his voice rich, deep, unwavering. “I salute you, as do my soldiers.”

And then, just as Lucillia had done, he slipped into the night, disappearing into the shadows as if he had never been there at all.

Leaving you breathless, stunned—and entirely unprepared for what was to come.

[fidesvirtusobsession]

Echoes of a Thousand Nights

Yandere Vampire x AFAB reader

Prologue||Chapter 1||Chapter 2||Chapter 3||Chapter 4|| Chapter 5||Chapter 6||Chapter 7

Description: For centuries, Alaric has walked the earth, bound by the cruel hand of fate. A vampire of old blood, he has seen empires fall, lovers turn to dust, and the world reshape itself around him. Yet, through the endless nights, one thing remains constant—her. The woman who haunts his past lives, slipping through his fingers with every rebirth. She never remembers, never knows who he is, yet he finds her, lifetime after lifetime, only to lose her again.Now, in the present day, her scent resurfaces in the most unlikely of places—an underground auction house where humans are sold like cattle. But Alaric will not let fate steal her away this time. This time, he will keep her.

Alaric stood in the grand entryway of the manor, the weight of the invitation hanging in the air as the door creaked open. A young vampire, barely more than a twenty in appearance, stepped inside. His dark hair was tousled just enough to give off a carefree air, and his clothes were impeccable—silk and velvet, the kind that suggested wealth and arrogance in equal measure. The man's sharp, predatory eyes were trained on Alaric, a knowing smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Alaric," the vampire greeted, his voice smooth as honey but carrying an edge, a bite. "I trust you’re well?"

Alaric’s gaze hardened, his stance never wavering, as he studied the young vampire with caution. Ericsson. The young male who had appeared at the auction house. The one whose presence had been a silent challenge, and one that had lingered far too long in his thoughts.

"You’ve come a long way just to deliver a message," Alaric said coldly, his eyes narrowing slightly. He had a strong suspicion about what this was about. Ericsson hadn’t come just to be polite, and the way his eyes gleamed made it clear that he was up to something.

Ericsson’s smirk widened, a glimmer of amusement dancing behind his dark eyes. "Ah, but this isn’t just any message, my friend. I thought we could be cordial. Catch up on old times, perhaps?" He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just enough to send a subtle chill through the air. "I wanted to personally invite you to the banquet. You must come."

Alaric’s brow twitched, but he didn’t speak at first. The banquet. It could mean any number of things, but he was certain of one thing—it wouldn’t be a simple gathering. Not with a vampire like Ericsson.

"And you’re offering me this invitation… why?" Alaric asked, his voice tinged with suspicion, though he couldn’t quite mask the hint of curiosity that always flared when the boy was involved.

Ericsson straightened up again, hands tucked casually into his pockets as he eyed the older vampire, his smirk never fading. "Because it’s been far too long since we all had a night together, don’t you think? A celebration of sorts." He paused for effect, letting the silence stretch between them. "And, well… you’re free to bring your little human too." He let the words slip from his tongue with an unsettling ease, as if he were stating a simple fact.

At the mention of Y/n, Alaric’s eyes narrowed sharply, and a possessive heat flared inside him. His protective instincts, always simmering just beneath the surface, flared violently. Y/n. He could feel the familiar wave of fury rise within him, though he kept it in check, pushing it down with years of discipline.

Ericsson’s smirk turned knowing. He could smell her—the faint, tantalizing scent of her that lingered even now. He tilted his head slightly as if to savor the taste of it, then met Alaric’s gaze again. "I know she’s here. I can smell her, you know. It’s been a while since we’ve had someone... so delicate nearby."

The insinuation in his voice was unmistakable, and Alaric’s eyes flashed with cold, calculated anger. He took a step forward, his posture radiating warning.

"You think this is a joke?" Alaric’s voice was low, dangerous, his grip tightening at his sides. "You know nothing about her."

Ericsson raised a hand, his smile still present but softened slightly, as if humoring Alaric’s sudden intensity. "Oh, I know more than you think. But I didn’t come to make threats." His voice dropped to something almost playful, as if he were teasing Alaric. "I came to extend an invitation. To remind you of the past, of the others. It’s been a long time since we’ve all shared a night together. Perhaps you’ve forgotten the... camaraderie, the sense of family, of kinship."

Alaric didn’t flinch at the word 'family.' He didn’t care. All he cared about was Y/n.

"You and your 'family' can keep your invitation," Alaric said, his tone biting. "And you can tell the others that I won’t be joining them." He took another step forward, moving ever closer to Ericsson. "You bring a human here, you threaten her existence, and that is where I draw the line."

Ericsson chuckled, stepping back with exaggerated grace, his fingers brushing his hair back casually as he sized up Alaric. "I only suggested she come along because I thought it would be fun. I’m sure you’d want her to experience the true... vampiric world, yes?" He smirked again, eyes flashing with an unsettling amusement.

Alaric’s lips pressed into a thin line. He didn’t respond immediately. His eyes darted briefly toward the door leading to where Y/n slept, the thought of her vulnerability sending a brief pulse of panic through his chest. He couldn’t allow someone like Ericsson to come near her—not after everything.

"You should go," Alaric said, his voice low and final. "And you should forget you ever spoke of this again."

Ericsson didn’t push further. He simply took a step back, his smirk still intact, though his gaze lingered a moment longer on Alaric. "Very well. But don’t forget, Alaric... you will have to face them someday. No one stays hidden forever." He gave a small, mocking bow. "Goodnight, then. And perhaps, think about my offer. It’s always better to see old friends in person." With that, he turned and left, his presence fading into the distance as the door closed behind him.

Alaric stood in the entryway, fists clenched, staring at the space where Ericsson had been. His heart pounded in his chest, the words of the young vampire echoing through his mind.

The others. Alaric wasn’t sure if he was ready to confront that world again. But one thing was certain—he would protect Y/n. No matter what.

He couldn’t let anyone get to her. Not now, not ever.

Alaric stood still in the quiet of the entryway, the door having just closed behind Ericsson. His thoughts churned, the young vampire’s words still ringing in his mind. "You will have to face them someday..." The weight of the invitation and the subtle threat it carried gnawed at him, an unsettling presence he couldn’t shake.

His fists clenched tighter at his sides as he exhaled slowly, a sharp breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. The manor felt strangely silent now, the usual heavy air of the house suffocating in a way he couldn’t quite pinpoint. But the silence didn’t last long.

From the shadows of the grand hall, Elera stepped forward, her eyes gleaming with a knowing look that Alaric had come to recognize all too well. Her footsteps were soft, but the weight of her presence was undeniable, her air of nonchalance only adding to the tension in the room. She leaned against the doorframe, her arms crossed casually, but the gleam in her eyes told him she had been watching, listening.

"You’re not going to take that invitation, are you?" Elera asked, her voice low and teasing, though there was a sharpness to it that wasn’t lost on Alaric.

Alaric didn’t answer immediately, his gaze lingering on the now-closed door, as if it might open again at any moment. His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he simply stood there, wrestling with the idea of confronting the vampires from his past. He could feel the pressure of the situation weighing heavily on him, the conflicting thoughts tearing at him.

Elera sighed, her voice cutting through the silence once more. "You know he won’t leave you alone until you do. He’ll just keep showing up, won’t he? Taunting you, pushing you until you finally break and give in to his little game."

Alaric’s eyes flicked to her, narrowing slightly. She knew him too well. "And what do you want me to do?" he asked quietly, the frustration in his voice palpable. "You think I should just walk right into his trap?"

Elera raised an eyebrow, unfazed by his tone. She pushed off the doorframe, taking a few steps forward. "Trap? It’s not a trap, Alaric. It’s a game. You’ve always known that. Ericsson knows how to play people, especially someone like you. But he won’t stop. He’ll keep coming, and if you keep refusing, you’ll be the one looking over your shoulder for years. Is that really what you want?"

Alaric’s fists clenched again, his frustration simmering beneath the surface. She wasn’t wrong. He’d lived long enough to know that those who had their sights set on something—someone—wouldn’t back down easily. Not now. Not when they had the power to press their advantage.

But then Elera’s tone softened slightly, and she stepped closer, her expression more understanding. "Alaric… you know you have to face them. Eventually, you’ll have to confront everything you’ve been running from."

"I’m not running," he muttered, his voice low, almost defensive.

Elera tilted her head, studying him with a knowing look. "You’re not running, but you’re hiding. Hiding behind your walls. Hiding behind your fear. You’re letting him control the narrative, and it’s eating at you. The sooner you face it, the better." She paused, her gaze flicking briefly toward where Y/n’s room was, a soft but knowing smile tugging at her lips. "And you know, she’s safe here. The safest she’s been in centuries. No one knows she’s here. She has no target on her back right now."

Alaric’s gaze shifted to Y/n’s door, the soft, reassuring thought about her safety calming the storm that had been building inside him. But still, he couldn’t shake the feeling of impending conflict.

"That’s not the point," Alaric muttered, but his voice lacked the force it had held moments earlier. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to gather his thoughts. "It’s not about whether or not she’s safe. It’s about me. I… I can’t let anyone near her. Not after everything."

Elera’s eyes softened as she stepped closer, placing a hand on his arm gently. "And you won’t. But if you keep hiding, she might never know the real you. You know that, don’t you? All you’ve done is try to protect her, keep her hidden from the world." Her voice dropped to something gentler, her words cutting through the harshness in the air. "But sometimes, Alaric, you have to show her that you’re more than just a shadow in the corner. You have to be present. Not just for her, but for yourself, too."

Alaric let out a breath, feeling the weight of her words settle deep in his chest. "You’re right, Elera," he said softly. "I know you’re right." His voice held a sense of reluctant acceptance, but his mind was still racing.

Elera gave a small, almost sad smile. "I’m not asking you to go to the banquet to make friends, Alaric. I’m asking you to do it to finally take control. To stop letting others push you around. You’ve always been strong enough to do that."

She let the silence fall between them, and Alaric stood in it for a long moment. He knew Elera wasn’t wrong. Deep down, he knew this was something he couldn’t avoid forever. The vampires from his past were always going to be a threat. The sooner he confronted them, the sooner he could keep Y/n—and himself—out of danger.

Finally, he exhaled sharply, tension bleeding out of his body, and nodded once. "I’ll go," he said quietly, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him. "I’ll go. But I’m doing this on my terms, not theirs."

Elera gave him a small smile, her hand briefly squeezing his arm before she stepped back. "Good. You’ll handle it."

Alaric gave her a grim nod, the weight of what was to come hanging heavily on him. He turned toward Y/n’s room once more, but this time, there was a new resolve in his step. He had to go to the banquet, face those old ghosts, and put an end to the torment.

For Y/n. For himself.

Alaric stood in the doorway, his eyes still lingering on Y/n's room, where the soft glow of moonlight bathed her sleeping form. The weight of the decision Elera had coaxed from him still hung heavy in the air, the tension of it settling in his bones. He couldn't deny it anymore; he had to confront the past, the vampires who sought to challenge him, and the ghosts he'd been running from.

But as his mind raced through all the possible outcomes, one thing still remained uncertain in his heart.

"I don’t want to drag her into this... whatever it is." He exhaled slowly, a breath laden with frustration and a touch of uncertainty. "It’s dangerous. She’s... not like us. She’s human."

Elera leaned against the opposite wall, her posture relaxed but her eyes sharp, watching him closely. "You really think she doesn’t know that, Alaric? You think she doesn’t know what she’s gotten herself into being around you?" Her words weren’t accusatory, just blunt, as if she had come to understand something he was still grappling with.

Alaric's gaze flickered to her, meeting her eyes for a fleeting moment. "I know she does," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. "But I can’t protect her if she’s in the thick of it. She deserves better than being dragged into all of this. She deserves to be safe. To be... normal."

A faint chuckle left Elera’s lips, though it was tinged with something almost melancholic. "Normal? In your world, Alaric, nothing is ever normal. Especially not her. You know that. She chose this. She chose you. She’s in it now."

Alaric shook his head, the weight of her words pressing down on him. He couldn’t deny the truth in them, but the idea of exposing Y/n to the world he had spent centuries avoiding was unbearable. He could already feel the familiar pang of protectiveness clawing at him, like a beast ready to break free.

Elera took a step forward, her voice lowering as she spoke. "You’re not keeping her safe by hiding her away from everything. She’s already more connected to you than you realize. But you can’t keep her in the shadows forever."

Alaric’s jaw tightened, and he swallowed hard, feeling the frustration rising again. "I know that. But what if something happens? What if she gets hurt because of me?" His words were a low growl, his voice tight with the desperation of someone who had been carrying a burden for far too long.

Elera’s gaze softened for a moment, and she took another step closer, placing a hand lightly on his shoulder. "She knows the risks. She chose them. Don’t you trust her to make her own decisions? To stand beside you when it matters?"

The question hit him harder than he expected. Did he trust her? Of course, he did. But trust didn’t mean he wanted her to face the horrors of his world—especially not willingly. The idea of Y/n in danger because of him, walking into the same chaos he had been running from, felt like a betrayal. He didn’t want to risk that.

But deep down, he knew he was trying to keep her safe in the wrong way.

Alaric exhaled sharply, his hand running through his hair as he struggled with his inner conflict. He turned away from Elera, staring down the long hall that led to Y/n's room, where she still slept peacefully.

"You really think she’s ready for this?" His voice was barely above a whisper, uncertain, as if he were asking Elera for permission to let go of his fears.

Elera's tone was matter-of-fact, and she smiled knowingly. "She’s stronger than you give her credit for. If you’re planning to go to that banquet, you can’t go alone. You might not want to admit it, but you need her by your side. And she needs you too."

For a long moment, Alaric stayed silent, the weight of her words sinking in. He didn’t want to admit it, but Elera was right. Y/n had chosen to be a part of his world, and no matter how hard he tried to shield her from it, she was already in the thick of things. She might not be a vampire, but she was tied to him, and that meant facing the consequences of that choice.

Finally, he nodded, his eyes focused on the door to her room. "I’ll take her with me."

Elera’s smirk returned, but it was softer this time, almost affectionate. "Good. Don’t let fear make your decisions for you, Alaric. You’re not the only one who needs to face the past. She’s with you now. And you’re not keeping her safe by pushing her away."

Alaric stood there for a moment longer, the burden of the decision lifting slightly, replaced with a sense of inevitability. Y/n would be by his side, whether he liked it or not. And maybe, just maybe, that was the only way forward.

He turned to Elera with a single, resigned nod. "I’ll make sure she’s ready." Then, with one last glance toward Y/n’s room, he made his way toward the door, ready to face whatever awaited him. Ready to take Y/n with him.

And to let her see the world that would never truly be hers—but that would always have a place for her.

The manor was quiet, save for the distant sound of the wind whispering through the trees outside. Alaric moved with purpose, his steps slow but deliberate as he followed the familiar pull toward her.

He found Y/n in the library, curled up in one of the grand chairs, a book resting in her hands. The fire beside her crackled softly, casting a golden glow against her skin. She looked peaceful, unaware of the turmoil raging inside him.

Alaric hesitated in the doorway, watching her. There was something about her presence that always calmed him, something grounding. But tonight, that calm was disrupted by the decision he had made. He couldn’t keep her in the dark. She deserved to know.

Taking a slow breath, he stepped forward. His boots barely made a sound against the floor, but Y/n still noticed. She looked up, her eyes meeting his, and he felt his resolve waver just slightly.

“Alaric,” she greeted, closing her book. “You’re brooding again.”

A small, amused smile tugged at her lips, but he didn’t return it. Instead, he stepped closer, his expression unreadable.

“I need to ask you something,” he said, his voice low.

Y/n tilted her head slightly, curious. “That sounds ominous.”

He exhaled sharply, almost amused, but the weight in his chest didn’t lift. “Ericsson came by,” he admitted.

Her brows furrowed. “Ericsson… the young vampire from the auction house?”

Alaric nodded, his hands clasping behind his back as he shifted his weight slightly. “He invited me to a banquet. A gathering of sorts. I wasn’t planning to go, but…” He paused, his jaw tightening before he continued. “It seems I don’t have much of a choice.”

Y/n studied him carefully, sensing there was more to it. “And you’re telling me this because…?”

Alaric inhaled slowly, his fingers flexing slightly before he finally met her gaze again. “Because I want you to come with me.”

There. He had said it.

Y/n blinked, caught off guard. “You… Want me to go? To a vampire banquet?”

A flicker of hesitation crossed his face, but he nodded. “I do.”

She leaned forward slightly, watching him with scrutiny. “But just earlier, you were keeping me far from all this. What changed?”

Alaric let out a quiet sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Elera reminded me that you are already part of this world, whether I like it or not. Keeping you away from it won’t protect you. It will only leave you unprepared.” His voice was steady, but there was an underlying tension in it, as if the words were difficult to admit.

Y/n’s expression softened, her eyes searching his face. “You’re worried,” she murmured.

He didn’t deny it. “Of course, I am.” His voice was quieter now. “These are not people you want to be around. They will test you. Some will see you as nothing more than… prey.”

Her lips pressed together, considering. “But you’ll be there.”

A flicker of something crossed his face, and he nodded. “Yes.”

Silence settled between them, heavy yet not uncomfortable. Y/n glanced at the fire for a moment before looking back at him. “Then I’ll go.”

Alaric’s chest tightened. He had expected her to argue, to tell him it was too dangerous. Instead, she agreed without hesitation.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice lower now.

She gave him a small, reassuring smile. “I trust you, Alaric.”

Those words struck something deep within him. Trust. It was something he didn’t take lightly. And hearing it from her—knowing she meant it—made the burden he carried feel just a little lighter.

Alaric exhaled slowly, then, almost unconsciously, he reached for her hand. His fingers barely brushed against hers before he caught himself, pulling back.

“We leave in one week” he said instead, stepping back. “I’ll make sure you have something appropriate to wear.”

Y/n smirked slightly. “You think I don’t have a dress fit for a vampire banquet?”

He gave her a pointed look. “Not one that will keep their attention off you.”

Her smirk only widened. “Well, now I want to wear something even more eye-catching just to spite you.”

A huff of amusement left him despite himself. “I’d rather you didn’t.”

She grinned but didn’t press further. Instead, she leaned back in her chair. “Alright, Lord Brooding. I’ll be ready.”

Alaric shook his head, already regretting this decision—but at the same time, knowing it was the only choice he could make.

As he turned to leave, Y/n’s voice stopped him.

“Alaric?”

He glanced over his shoulder.

“Thank you for trusting me too.”

For a moment, he didn’t know how to respond. So he simply nodded, his gaze lingering on her for a second longer before he disappeared into the shadows.

The room was quiet. Too quiet.

(Y/n) sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the ornate invitation resting in her hands. The paper was thick, the ink elegantly pressed into it, an unspoken promise of grandeur. A vampire banquet.

Her fingers trembled as she traced the lettering.

She had only heard of such gatherings in whispers—faint murmurs between humans locked away in the auction house. A place where the wealthy and powerful congregated, where humans were paraded like decorations or bled dry before an applauding audience. If you weren’t turned there, you likely never walked out at all.

She exhaled sharply, setting the invitation aside as she pressed her hands against her face.

She shouldn’t be afraid.

Alaric had been nothing but kind since the moment she arrived. He had given her a place to rest, food, clothes—safety. He had never once treated her as anything less than a person. And yet… the fear remained. It clung to her bones like a shadow she could not shake.

It wasn’t about him.

It was about everything before him.

The feeling of cold fingers wrapping around her wrist, of sharp fangs piercing her skin. The dizzying sensation of being drained until her vision blurred, until she could no longer fight back. The way they had looked at her—not as a person, but as something to be used.

She curled her arms around herself, trying to shake the phantom touch, the weight of memories pressing against her chest.

She had come so far in just a few weeks.

She had learned to sleep without fearing who would come through her door. She had learned to eat without expecting her food to be laced with something meant to weaken her. She had learned to walk through the halls without keeping her head down, waiting for the next demand.

But the idea of walking into a banquet hall filled with vampires?

A shudder ran through her.

She squeezed her eyes shut, inhaling deeply. Alaric wouldn’t let anything happen to her. He had already proven that much. He had no reason to hand her over, to let her be hurt. She knew that.

But logic did little to quiet the fear whispering in the back of her mind.

A lifetime of conditioning could not be undone so easily.

She opened her eyes again, staring at her reflection in the mirror across the room. She looked different from the girl who had been auctioned off weeks ago. There was color in her face, no longer drained from exhaustion. There was light in her eyes, however faint it might be.

She wasn’t the same.

She was stronger now.

Slowly, she reached for the invitation again, turning it over in her hands.

She wanted to believe in her own freedom.

She wanted to believe that this time, she would be walking into that hall with a choice.

That time, she wouldn’t be powerless.

And maybe—just maybe—that was enough to try.

(Y/n) exhaled slowly, gripping the invitation tightly. The weight of it felt heavier than mere paper, as though it carried all the unspoken fears lingering in the back of her mind.

She had made up her mind. She was going.

Or, at least, she would try.

Taking a final steadying breath, she reached for the door handle and pulled it open—only to collide with something solid.

A gasp slipped from her lips as she stumbled back, but before she could fully lose her balance, a hand caught her wrist, steadying her.

"Careful," Alaric’s voice rumbled, low and smooth, though she could hear the faintest trace of concern laced within it.

She looked up, blinking in surprise. He stood before her, tall and unwavering, the ever-present sharpness in his gaze softening as he took her in.

Then, his eyes flickered downward.

The invitation was still clutched in her hand.

His grip on her wrist loosened as his expression shifted. Something unreadable passed through his features—concern, perhaps, or something deeper. "You're afraid."

(Y/n) immediately straightened. "No," she said, too quickly, before hesitating. Lying to him felt pointless. He could see right through her. "...A little," she admitted in a quieter voice.

Alaric studied her for a moment, his crimson eyes searching hers, before he exhaled through his nose. His hand lifted, ever so gently brushing his fingers over the edge of the invitation she held. "You don't have to go," he murmured. "Not if it unsettles you."

"I know." And she did. She knew, logically, that if she refused, he wouldn't force her. But this wasn’t just about fear. It was about facing it.

Still, he could sense her hesitation.

His jaw tensed, as though restraining himself, before his voice dropped to something softer. "You’ll be safe with me."

She looked up at him, surprised by the quiet promise in his tone.

"You have my word," he continued, gaze unwavering. "No harm will come to you. Not while I am at your side."

She swallowed. There was no hesitation in his voice, no room for doubt. It wasn't reassurance—it was a vow.

And, somehow, that made it easier to breathe.

She nodded slowly. "Alright."

Alaric studied her once more before giving a small, satisfied nod. "Then allow me to prepare you properly."

(Y/n) blinked. "Prepare me?"

He turned, motioning for her to follow. "If you're going to attend a vampire banquet," he said, glancing over his shoulder with the faintest hint of amusement, "you should at least arrive in style. As the young ones would say"

A small, surprised laugh slipped past her lips before she could stop it.

Alaric paused mid-step, glancing back at her with the faintest arch of a brow. "Something amusing?"

(Y/n) shook her head, biting back another laugh, but the way her lips curled gave her away. "You're just so... serious about this," she said, grinning up at him. "Like this is some grand mission."

His expression remained composed, but there was a flicker of something warmer in his gaze—something softer.

"It is," he said simply.

That only made her giggle more.

Alaric watched her, eyes tracing the way she laughed, how her nose scrunched ever so slightly, how she didn’t try to stifle it like she used to. The sound of it filled the space between them, light and free.

And, before he could stop himself, his lips curved into something gentle.

He didn’t even realize he was staring.

(Y/n) noticed it first. Her laughter quieted slightly as she caught the way he looked at her—like she was something precious, something he would protect with every ounce of his being.

She blinked up at him.

He only held her gaze.

Her heart skipped.

After a beat, he exhaled, shaking his head slightly, as though amused with himself. Then, with a grace so natural it almost felt effortless, he extended his hand toward her.

"Come," he murmured, the edge of his voice still laced with quiet fondness. "We have much to do."

(Y/n) hesitated for only a moment before placing her hand in his.

And, as he led her down the hall, she found she could still feel the warmth of his gaze lingering on her, long after he had looked away.

The night was quiet, save for the distant hoot of an owl somewhere beyond the manor walls. Alaric stood in his private quarters, the soft flicker of candlelight casting long shadows across the room. His expression was unreadable, yet the furrow in his brow gave away the weight of his thoughts.

Before him, spread across a dark oak table, was an array of elegant fabrics—dresses of fine silk, velvets in deep hues, embroidered gowns with delicate beadwork. Each one had been chosen with meticulous care.

Elera stood nearby, arms crossed, watching him with mild amusement. “You know, for someone who insists he isn’t courting her, you’re putting in an awful lot of effort.”

Alaric shot her a sharp look. “She needs to blend in,” he stated firmly. “If she stands out too much, the others will be curious.”

Elera smirked. “So you think dressing her in the finest silks and adorning her with jewelry will make her less noticeable?”

Alaric ignored her, reaching for a gown in a rich shade of deep blue, the fabric shimmering under the candlelight. It was elegant, but not ostentatious. Regal, yet subtle. He ran his fingers over the material, imagining how it would look on Y/n.

“She’ll look stunning in that,” Elera said, softer this time.

He didn’t reply, but the slight clench of his jaw was answer enough. He already knew that. That was precisely the problem.

After a moment, he turned, striding toward the vault that lay behind a set of heavy doors. He rarely opened it—inside was a collection of artifacts, relics, and treasures gathered over centuries. Some held great power, others merely held memories.

Pushing open the doors, he stepped inside, his gaze sweeping over the various chests and displays. He wasn’t searching for just any piece of jewelry—he wanted something that suited her. Something that belonged with her.

His fingers brushed over a small, intricately carved box, and as he lifted the lid, the candlelight reflected off the delicate shimmer of silver and sapphire. A necklace, centuries old, yet timeless. The pendant was an intricate design, reminiscent of intertwining vines, with a single deep blue sapphire at its center.

Elera appeared at the doorway, watching as he lifted the necklace from its case. “That belonged to someone important to you once, didn’t it?”

Alaric didn’t answer right away. He held the necklace up, watching the way it caught the light. “It was meant for someone,” he admitted. “But it was never given.”

Elera hummed in understanding. “And now you’re giving it to her?”

Alaric exhaled slowly, lowering the necklace into his palm. “It suits her,” he said simply, but even he wasn’t convinced by his detached tone.

Elera smirked. “Right. Of course.”

He shot her a look before turning on his heel, exiting the vault and closing the heavy doors behind him.

With the dress and jewelry now chosen, there was nothing left to do but wait for the banquet.

And yet, as Alaric made his way back toward his quarters, he found his thoughts lingering not on the event, nor the vampires that would be attending.

Instead, his mind was entirely consumed by how Y/n would look when she saw herself in that dress—how she would react when he placed the necklace around her neck.

And that thought alone unsettled him more than anything else.

Elera leaned against the wall, watching as Alaric meticulously laid out (Y/n)’s gown across the bed. The deep, rich fabric shimmered under the dim candlelight, every detail carefully chosen to match his own attire. Nearby, a velvet-lined box sat open, displaying an array of jewelry he had handpicked from his vault.

She smirked, crossing her arms. "You really went all out, huh? The dress, the jewels—let me guess, you even have a car ready?"

Alaric didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he adjusted the position of a delicate necklace, ensuring it caught the light just right.

Elera snickered. "You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you? Every little detail. Perfection."

Still, he remained silent, though she caught the way his fingers stilled for just a moment.

"But," she drawled, pushing off the wall, "for all your planning, all your careful preparation… you haven’t made sure she can even dance, have you?"

Alaric’s brow twitched, but he didn’t look up.

Elera grinned. "I knew it." She circled around the bed, eyes gleaming with mischief. "It’s only been a few weeks, Alaric. She’s still adjusting to normal life—something she’s never had before. You really expect her to just waltz into a vampire banquet and keep up?"

"She’ll manage," Alaric said coolly, finally turning to face her.

"Oh?" Elera raised a brow. "And if someone asks her to dance?"

His jaw tightened.

Elera gasped dramatically. "You really didn’t think about it, did you?" She shook her head, feigning disappointment. "For all your brilliance, for all your centuries of experience, you overlooked something this simple? What a shame."

Alaric exhaled slowly, rubbing his temple. He had assumed (Y/n) would follow his lead, but now he saw the flaw in that thinking. At a gathering like this, others would expect interaction. If she looked unsure, vulnerable… it would only draw more attention.

Elera grinned. "Better to prepare her now than have her embarrassed later." She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Then again, maybe I should teach her. You know, take her under my wing, show her the ropes—"

Alaric shot her a sharp glare.

She burst into laughter. "Oh, that got a reaction. So possessive already!"

He turned away, heading for the door with a deliberate pace. "I’ll handle it."

Elera smirked, trailing after him. "Oh, I know you will. And I plan to enjoy every second of it."

Alaric pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply. "You're awful, you know that?"

Elera beamed at him, entirely unbothered. "Why do you keep me around if I’m so awful as you say?"

He shot her a look, but she only tilted her head, smirking.

"Because you’re useful," he muttered.

She gasped, placing a hand over her heart. "Oh, Alaric, I’m wounded." Then, with a grin, she leaned in slightly. "Admit it, you’d be lost without me."

Alaric didn’t dignify her with a response, merely continuing down the hallway.

Elera followed, still grinning. "You know, you should be thanking me. If I weren’t here, who else would be around to point out your oversights?"

Alaric stopped walking, glancing at her over his shoulder. "Oversight?"

Elera’s smirk widened. "You still have to teach her how to dance, dear friend."

His jaw clenched. He hated when she was right.

Alaric stepped into the room, his gaze immediately landing on (Y/n). His movements stilled, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in the sight before him. She was dressed more elegantly than necessary for a simple dance lesson—Elera’s doing, no doubt. Her gown flowed around her, the fabric catching the light just right, and her hair had been arranged with more care than usual.

His golden eyes flickered toward Elera, who stood off to the side with a knowing smirk. "You did this on purpose," he muttered.

Elera’s smirk widened. "She has to learn to manage in a proper dress. Besides," her voice took on an amused lilt, "doesn’t she look beautiful?"

Alaric turned his gaze back to (Y/n). She shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny, smoothing the fabric at her sides as if she wasn’t sure what to do with herself.

Something in his expression softened. He took slow steps toward her, as if drawn in against his will. When he reached her, he extended his hand. "Come," he murmured.

(Y/n) hesitated before placing her hand in his. His grip was steady, his fingers cool against her warmth.

"You’re stiff," he observed as he positioned her properly for the dance.

"Well, forgive me," she muttered. "I’ve never done this before."

Alaric huffed a quiet laugh. "Then let me lead."

As he took the first step, she followed, albeit clumsily. He guided her with ease, his movements fluid and precise. Her own were hesitant, a little awkward, but he adjusted without missing a beat.

"It’s a conversation," he told her, voice low and steady. "You just have to listen to me."

(Y/n) frowned, concentrating, but she was still a little rigid.

Elera, watching from the side, rested her chin in her palm. "See? You’re a natural, darling."

(Y/n) shot her a glare, nearly missing a step in the process. Alaric steadied her before she could stumble, his grip firm but gentle.

"This is going to take a while," he muttered under his breath, though there was the faintest hint of a smile on his lips.

Elera leaned against the doorway, watching with a smirk. “If you’re going to teach her properly, you’ll need live music. There will be an orchestra at the banquet, after all.”

Before Alaric could protest, she turned and called down the hall. Within moments, a few of the manor’s other inhabitants arrived, carrying violins, a cello, and even a small harpsichord. They exchanged knowing glances, already amused by the sight before them.

“Shall we play something traditional?” one of them asked, tuning the strings of his violin.

Elera grinned. “Something grand. A waltz, perhaps?”

Alaric sighed, rubbing his temple. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

(Y/n) swallowed nervously as the musicians began to play a slow, elegant melody. The sound filled the room, rich and sweeping, making the moment feel even more surreal.

Alaric turned back to her, his gaze steady. “Focus on me,” he instructed softly, extending his hand. “Ignore everything else.”

Hesitantly, she placed her hand in his. His grip was firm but careful, as if he were afraid of startling her.

He guided her other hand to his shoulder, then settled his own at her waist. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver up her spine.

“Just follow my lead,” he murmured.

He took the first step, and she instinctively tried to mimic him—but her feet faltered, nearly tangling with his.

“I—Sorry,” she stammered, feeling heat rise to her cheeks.

Alaric huffed a quiet chuckle. “Again.”

They started over, this time more measured. (Y/n) did her best to match his movements, but there was a stiffness to her posture, a hesitation in her steps.

“Relax,” he said, voice low and steady. “Trust me.”

(Y/n) exhaled slowly. She let herself lean into his lead, allowing him to guide her across the floor.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Good.”

She dared a glance up at him and found his expression softer than usual—focused, patient. And beneath that, something else. Something unreadable.

The music swelled around them, the rhythm sinking into her bones. It was easier now. She wasn’t just moving—she was dancing.

Elera watched from the side, arms crossed, utterly pleased. “See? Not so bad, is it?”

(Y/n) let out a breathy laugh. “I guess not.”

Alaric merely smiled, his hold on her never faltering. For now, at least, everything was exactly as it should be.

The tempo shifted—slow and sweeping no longer, but lively and bold. The musicians, emboldened by the scene before them, transitioned into a more playful melody. The steady waltz transformed into something quicker, something that demanded movement.

(Y/n) gasped softly as Alaric’s grip on her waist tightened just slightly. His other hand clasped hers more firmly, a silent reassurance before he led her into the faster rhythm.

Her steps fumbled at first, the sudden shift catching her off guard, but Alaric was unwavering. He moved with effortless precision, guiding her as if they had danced together a thousand times before.

She laughed—a light, breathless sound—her nerves giving way to exhilaration. The music urged them on, each step spinning them across the floor, the once formal lesson turning into something almost reckless.

Alaric never looked away from her.

Even as the room seemed to blur with motion, as candlelight flickered in golden streaks around them, his focus remained entirely on her—on the way her eyes shone with delight, on the way her lips curled into a smile she could no longer suppress.

She was beautiful.

Radiant in her joy, in the way she let herself go to the rhythm, finally unafraid to meet him in the dance.

A warmth spread through his chest, something deeper than mere admiration. Something dangerous.

She stumbled, her foot nearly catching the hem of her dress, but before she could fall, Alaric caught her with ease, pulling her flush against him. Their breaths mingled, her laughter still lingering between them.

The music carried on, but for a moment, neither of them moved.

His hold on her was gentle yet firm, his thumb grazing the back of her hand in a silent question. Was this too much? Did she need him to step away?

But she didn’t move. She only looked up at him, her expression softer now, as if realizing—really realizing—just how closely he held her.

Alaric swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re remarkable.”

(Y/n) blinked, her breath hitching slightly, but before she could respond, the music swelled once more.

Alaric smirked, his usual composure slipping into something almost boyish as he spun her back into the dance.

Elera, watching from the sidelines, merely grinned.

The grand chambers of the manor were bathed in soft candlelight, casting a warm glow against the cool night beyond the windows. Within (Y/n)’s room, layers of silk and velvet adorned the bed, gowns of rich hues spread out before her.

Elera stood beside her, arms crossed, surveying the choices with a satisfied smirk. “You have to make an impression tonight,” she mused, tilting her head as she eyed (Y/n). “First impressions are everything, and let’s be honest—most of those creatures are expecting you to cower.”

(Y/n) swallowed, running her fingers over the fabric of one of the dresses. She had been preparing for this for days, had let Alaric convince her that she would be safe, that she would be his guest. But still, the idea of being surrounded by vampires again made her stomach knot.

Elera noticed the hesitation immediately.

“You’ll be fine,” she said, her tone softer now. “You have Alaric. And you have me. No one will dare lay a hand on you.”

(Y/n) exhaled slowly, nodding. “I know. It’s just…” She glanced at herself in the mirror, at the lingering uncertainty in her reflection. “I don’t want to seem weak.”

Elera hummed, stepping forward to pull a deep crimson gown from the collection. “Then don’t,” she said simply. “Wear this. Red is bold. It commands attention. It says, I am not prey.” She held the dress up to (Y/n), nodding approvingly. “It’ll also drive Alaric absolutely mad.”

(Y/n) shot her a look, heat rising to her cheeks. “That’s not why I’m wearing it.”

Elera grinned, unbothered. “Of course not.”

With an exasperated sigh, (Y/n) took the dress and let Elera help her into it. The fabric draped elegantly over her form, the corset cinching at just the right places. It was unlike anything she had ever worn—luxurious, commanding, dangerous.

As Elera adjusted the laces, she caught (Y/n)’s gaze in the mirror. “You look like you belong here,” she said, voice laced with something unreadable.

(Y/n) hesitated before responding, “Do I?”

A pause. Then, a knowing smile from Elera. “You will.”

The two of them worked in comfortable silence after that—Elera styling (Y/n)’s hair, fastening jewelry at her neck, ensuring every detail was perfect. By the time they finished, the girl staring back at (Y/n) in the mirror was unfamiliar—elegant, poised, someone who could stand beside Alaric and not look out of place.

A soft knock at the door interrupted their quiet moment.

Elera smirked. “That’ll be him.”

(Y/n) took a steadying breath as Elera moved to open the door. And there he stood—Alaric, dressed in his finest, eyes sharp and unreadable at first. But the moment they landed on (Y/n), something in them softened.

Elera glanced between them, utterly pleased with herself. “I’ll leave you two to it.” She slipped past Alaric, whispering just loud enough for him to hear, “Try not to look too lovesick, hmm?”

Alaric ignored her. His attention was entirely on (Y/n), his expression unreadable for a long moment before he finally spoke, voice quieter than usual.

“You’re breathtaking.”

(Y/n) wasn’t sure if it was the dress or the intensity of his gaze, but her heart hammered all the same.

Alaric had always prided himself on his self-control. It was what separated him from the creatures who gave in to their baser instincts, from the ones who saw humans as nothing more than fleeting indulgences. He had lived for centuries, mastered patience, restraint—he had never let himself want too much.

But tonight… tonight was testing him.

(Y/n) stood before him, draped in crimson, a vision of defiance and elegance. The way the candlelight played against her skin, the way the delicate jewelry he had chosen for her adorned her throat and wrists—it was maddening. And the worst part? She had no idea. No idea how easily she unraveled him, how she could strip him of centuries of practiced control with nothing but a look.

She shifted slightly under his gaze, fingers brushing over the fabric of her gown. “Are we ready?”

Alaric forced himself to breathe, to ignore the way his body tensed with something unfamiliar and entirely unwelcome. He offered his arm, voice steady despite the storm within. “We are.”

She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow, her warmth seeping through the fine layers of his suit. Focus.

With measured steps, he led her through the halls of the manor, past flickering sconces and grand archways. Every so often, his eyes flickered to her, to the way she moved with an unfamiliar grace, to the subtle nerves she tried to mask.

He wanted to say something. Needed to say something—to reassure her, to ease her mind. But every word that came to him felt inadequate, or worse, too revealing.

Instead, he settled for silence.

By the time they reached the grand entrance, the night air was crisp against his skin, a stark contrast to the warmth at his side. The car waited just beyond the steps, sleek and imposing, its dark frame gleaming under the moonlight.

Alaric opened the door for her, pausing as she looked up at him, something uncertain lingering in her expression.

“This is your last chance,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to do this.”

(Y/n) studied him for a moment before offering the smallest of smiles. “I know.” Then, with careful grace, she stepped inside.

Alaric swallowed hard, clenched his jaw, and followed.

As the car lurched forward, carrying them toward whatever awaited at Ericsson’s estate, he allowed himself one fleeting glance at her—one moment of indulgence.

She was staring out the window, the faintest hint of moonlight catching in her eyes.

Gods help him.

Elera sat across from them in the car, arms lazily draped over the seat, her chin resting on her hand as she watched them with an insufferably smug grin.

Oh, this was delicious.

Alaric, ever composed, sat beside (Y/n), his posture stiff but his hand resting a little too close to hers on the seat. He was trying so desperately to keep his eyes forward, to remain unbothered, but Elera saw right through him. His fingers twitched slightly, his jaw tight, and every so often—when he thought no one would notice—his gaze flickered to (Y/n).

And oh, she was a sight to behold tonight.

Elera had made sure of that.

(Y/n) wasn’t aware of the effect she had. She was still adjusting, still finding her footing in this world that had never been kind to her. But tonight, she carried herself a little differently—perhaps it was the dress, or the way her hair was styled, or perhaps it was simply because Alaric had spent the last few weeks showing her gentleness rather than cruelty.

Either way, the tension in the car was palpable, and Elera had to bite back a laugh.

"You know," she drawled, tapping her fingers against her cheek, "I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this quiet, Alaric. Usually, you’re brooding much louder."

Alaric shot her a sharp glare, but she only smirked wider.

(Y/n) blinked between them, confused. “Brooding… louder?”

“He has a very dramatic way of existing,” Elera supplied helpfully. “Lots of sighs. Long, meaningful silences. Mysterious glances over candlelight.”

Alaric exhaled sharply through his nose. “You’re awful.”

Elera beamed. “And yet, you keep me around.”

(Y/n) giggled softly at their exchange, and that—that tiny, delicate sound—was what did it.

Alaric, despite all his efforts to remain unaffected, turned his head ever so slightly toward her. His expression softened, his sharp features easing into something dangerous—not in the way vampires were usually dangerous, but in a way that suggested he was falling, whether he wanted to or not.

Elera saw it happen in real-time, and gods, it was so sweet.

(Y/n) didn’t realize it yet. She didn’t see how much she had already ensnared him. But Elera did.

She leaned back with a satisfied hum, watching as Alaric—ever so subtly—shifted, just enough that their arms brushed.

Oh yes. Tonight was going to be very interesting.

Taglist: @yune1337 @mybones537

[mrkestis]

At the end of the book Dark Disciple, Ventress (spoiler alert) dies. Of course, she comes back in season 3 of the Bad Batch and now she will also return in Tales of the Underword, but the big question is how exactly she’s alive. Let’s take a closer look at her funeral scene in Dark Diciple (again, spoiler alert).

Quinlan Vos takes Ventress to be buried on Dathomir, and he decides to lower her body into the same pool where she was ”baptised” in the Clone Wars series.

He says:

”Rest, now, my love. I brought you to Dathomir. Your sisters don’t have to wait any longer. You told me you were reborn, here, in this pool. I hope it’s all right for me to return you to its waters.”

Interesting choice of words there. After he submerges her in the pool, tendrils of magic start to appear. Quinlan describes them as ”green, like the Water of Life”. The closing paragraph of the book reads:

”Kenobi’s eyes widened. He heard it too, now, the whispers of women’s voices. The force had reclaimed Dathomir’s wayward child, and as Vos reached out in it to send the woman he loved a final farewell, he thought he could make out a single word: sister.

Asajj Ventress, at last, had come home.”

First of all, ouch. Second of all, I think it’s safe to say that Ventress was 100% resurrected by nightsister magic. The question I have now is why?

Did the nightsisters (from beyond the veil??) bring Ventress back just because they could, perhaps because of the way she was buried, or did they bring her back for a purpose? Perhaps her story will connect with whatever is going on with the nightsisters and Dathomir in the Ahsoka series, with her task being to bring her people together once more.

Another question is if Ventress is aware of a possible purpose for her resurrection, or did she just wake up one day in a very different galaxy from the one she died in. The war is over but the Jedi order who pardoned her crimes is completely destroyed, and I don’t think the empire appreciates having Dooku’s former apprentice on the lose. Quinlan Vos obviously thinks Ventress is dead, and with the Jedi destroyed Ventress probably thinks that Quinlan is dead as well. She is, once again, alone and on the run.

[swtechspecs]

Salla Zend's Modified Mobquet MB-C1 Medium Transport "Starlight Intruder"

Source: The Essential Guide to Vehicles and Vessels (Del Rey, 1996)

[bearw-me]

This is kinda dark so if you don't wanna do it it's cool. Can I request Carmilla running into a son reader? [Years before she had her daughters she had a son but she was too strict/serious on her boy which led to him...taking his own life. The experience made Carmilla realize she mightve been too hard on him so when hid sisters come around she showers them with love] The reader thinks carmilla is going to scold him, scream at him or anything but she just hugs him hard and tells him she's sorry and that she loves him

i'd like to put my author's note up here before you guys read what i wrote/make a little disclaimer!

TW: mentions of harm

I wouldn't write the act, per-se, but i had absolutely no problem with your request because it doesn't really involve those details (fic wise) this one is mostly about comfort and a nice reunion!

just before you go, know your best-friend mal is always here for you <3 this and every other fic i write is my silent love-letter to you

𝐍𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐞𝐭 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐆𝐨 — 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞

𐐒 includes : carmilla carmine x son!reader, odette, clara 𐐒 cw : angst, hugs, kisses, comfort 𐐒 summary : after a few decades in hell, you decide it's time to stop putting it aside and visit your mother for the first time since you've appeared in hell. as anxious as you are, she receives your visit with open arms. 𐐒 word count : 1.1 k

The metal body of the cab rattled against the broken highway, the sights of Pentagon city flashing past you in a pink florescent blur. You sighed, slumping into the leather seats.

Were you really doing this?

The thought made your stomach bubble with new found nerves. Rolling and wrenching the muscles in your stomach so hard you suddenly had to lean forward in your seat. Forced to stare at all the dust and garbage littered about the floor.

"Oh god I'm gonna be sick," you mumbled to yourself.

"Don't throw up in my car kid," the driver growled at you, suddenly adjusting his rearview mirror so that he could keep an eye on you.

You tried not to roll your eyes, taking a quick glance out of the window just in time to witness the change in districts.

"Might wanna keep your head down kid! We're in Carmine's district now," he laughed, a hoarse sound filled with cigarette smoke.

You had never actually been in this part of hell. After all these years you've been here, watching as the districts had shifted between hands in the great soul exchange. . .

All those years until you realized she had fallen here just like you.

And you didn't really know how to process that thought just yet.

The once chaotic district was now more silent.

Shadows skulking between buildings and alleyways, making deals to sell weapons and bartering for money.

You grimaced, opting to let those images blur in your mind and let your head fall against the rattling window.

What possessed you to see your mother after all these year? Who knows. . .

It just felt like it had to be done.

Soon, the tall white building had come into view, a place you heard the overlords of hell met up.

And today, Carmilla would be here, same with your-. . .

Odette and Clara.

You stepped out of the cab, soles hitting the pavement with a tap. You paid what you owed to the driver and waved a quick thanks as he sped off, the devil on his heels.

That left you alone, standing like David against Goliath with the empire she had built.

She's. . . kept herself busy.

It's all you could think about. Staring at the gleaming tiles of the building with hesitance.

What would she say to you? Should you have told her you were coming? That you were here?

The sickness that seemed to be plaguing you had come back in waves.

The last time you had remembered seeing her, you were both alive on Earth, screaming at each others faces.

"One day, mi hijo, you will have to do everything for yourself! You will have to take over the business! YOU have to carry all that burdens us and I NEED you to be ready for that! Why can't you just see that! I won't always be here for you! YOU NEED TO STEP UP TO THIS!"

But. . .

You just couldn't do everything she had wanted of you. The standards, the rules, the burden. . . it was all too heavy for one person to carry.

And now here you were, on the white-waiting room couch unannounced.

To sayy. . . what exactly?

You bit at your nails in thought, leg bouncing up and down as you waited for your name to be called.

It was pretty empty today.

No one was really sitting in here with you.

That was a great thought.

A deep, strung-out exhale shook its way out of your lungs.

Nerves, you figured.

You didn't even know what to do with your hands, running them through your hair and rocking back and forth in your seat, wondering if it was too late to just stand up and leave-

"Um. . ." You stopped completely, turning your head towards the sound of your voice.

Just before the office doors, two small sinners stood side by side, holding a clipboard up to their faces as they eyed you with surprise.

Odette and Clara.

There was no mistaking them.

"That's. . . me?" You rose from your seat like a ghost, not really feeling anything but utter surprise.

It was the first time you've ever seen them. The same cream colored hair, the same eyes, they even stood en pointe like her.

Odette and Clara.

"Come with us," Clara beckoned, her curly hair and grey skin. . . did she look like that too? Now that she was a sinner?

Thank goodness the girls turned away from you quickly, giving you just enough time to wipe a stray tear from your eye. Estranged siblings that you've never even met. . . and you were so full of emotion at just the sight of them.

Did they know who you were?

You watched them wearily, the two exchanging quick glances at each other and occasionally, at you.

"She's right in here," Clara trailed off.

Odette glanced at you through her round glasses, a hint of worry lifting her eyebrows up "She wasn't expecting you today."

"Alright," you shrugged. I mean, it was a fact you already knew, but to hear the two of them say it to you was the final slap of reality you weren't sure you entirely needed.

The two of them opened the doors for you, watching intently as you shuffled into the room, and back at each other incredulously.

"Ay dios mio, I said I didn't have time for meetings. . ." you heard her mumble, face covered by a laptop screen, hunched over and lost in her work.

It was how you remembered her.

"Mamá," you called out, finally taking a seat in front of her desk, unsure of who or what you'd find on the other side of that screen.

With that one word, she froze still, a pair of demonic red eyes peering over the top of that silver screen.

"Mamá," you said again, a choked sound now that you realized it was her.

It was actually her.

A sinner, your mother, an overlord, who was finally before you.

It was like all the things you had planned on telling her had thrown themselves together and crumbled beneath the sight of her.

"Mi hijo."

"Mamá, I know you're mad at me," the tears came without warning, and you shuffled uncomfortably in your seat, unable to keep looking at her as the sobs wracked through your body, pleading for her forgiveness "I tried my best! I tried! I-"

"Mi hijo, I'm so sorry," your mother flew into your arms, the familiarity of her love so striking that you became undone in her arms.

She cried into your neck, a sound you've never heard before "Oh mi hijo, no heavens could ever keep me away from you, never, and I and never letting you go again,"

"I love you mi hijo."

[luvly-writer]

XOXO 💋

Ch. 2: She is as beautiful as she is poisonous

-•-

Tim Drake x reader

Fic + Social Media Au

Warnings: Blackmail, she’s a bitch a first, get to know her

Series: Ongoing

Author’s note: Enjoy! Feel free to leave feedback! It is always appreciated <3

Taglist: Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist!

Masterlist:

How difficult Christmas time must be for all of those on the Upper East Side?

"Honestly, Tini, what do you get a woman who practically owns everything? I swear I have no idea what to get my mother for Christmas!" Y/n spoke on the phone as she carried quite a few bags in her arms. Dior, Channel, Yves Saint Laurent, if it's expensive and you can name it, it's there. "And to be even more honestly, I regret going Christmas shopping the same day Bartie is doing groceries. Seriously, I should learn to coordinate with my butler better, balancing all of this is getting preeetty difficult" she complained as she rearranged her bags again. "I didn't take the limo because I wanted some fresh air, you know how I get when it gets too stuffy" she laughed as she began to search for her purse. Because of so, she wasn't able to see the tired young man walking directly towards her. "It's silly, I know but- HEY!" and down she went with all her bags.

Tim had had a rough day. Between waking up to Dick and Jason singing Baby its cold Outside highly off-key just to piss off Bruce for making them patrol on one of the coldest nights of the year without their thermal suits; his secretary forgetting to send him a copy of the agenda for today's meeting causing him to practically have to improvise most of his points; Damian appearing on his office and refusing to leave his chair trying to establish dominance for "his future empire" to which if Tim had a say, he would absolutely not get if he kept on acting like this; and finally, with Steph who insisted they went Christmas shopping today only to ditch him and leave him stranded in the middle of the street with all of their presents with the excuse of having to repaint her closet which only translates to "I'm getting your present so bye bye". He was completely exhausted and the stitches on his shoulder were getting more painful by the hour with the cold. He had decided to get some coffee at a cafe down by Wellington Street and had been too caught on his thoughts to see where he was going.

//THUD//

"Hey!"

Tim's and Y/n's bags, both shopping and personal, simultaneously fell, getting mixed up in the way. Both reached down to catch their stuff as fast as they could.

"Sorry, I was-"

" not paying attention, yes I figured. S, I'll call you later, I have a little situation here. "

Tim was taken aback by the attitude he received from this random stranger...this totally absolutely breathtakingly gorgeous stranger who just so happens to not be a stranger at all. If all of his years being lectured about the hierarchy of the Upper East Side had served correctly, he was standing in front of one of the heiress of the city, Y/n Vanderbilt and she was the most dazzling woman he had ever seen...and just as bothered as she was gorgeous.

"Yeah" he said breathlessly, "that" Could he sound any dumber.

"Yes, That. Ugh! The ONE time I get out without Bartie and this happens. How many of these are yours?" said Y/n without looking up. She hadn't recognized him yet and he wasn't sure how to feel about that. Finally, their eyes met and she raised her delicate eyebrow at him and he swore his heart stopped for a second. "Have we met before?" she asked after taking a good look at him. He sure was handsome as hell. Pale skin, dark hair which was a little bit messy but it suited him, sharp suit and even sharper blue eyes who she swore she had seen before.

"Timothy, Timothy Drake Wayne" he replyed cooly.

"Hmm, a Wayne adoptee and a Drake socialite, Gotham Academy?"

"Yes, but I-"

"-Dropped out, yes. Yes, you did, I remember reading the news. Dropped out to become the CEO of Wayne Enterprises."

"Funny" he laughs out getting up after making sure that all of his stuff was there and then looking up at her. "Can't recognize me but seems to know all my business, miss Vanderbilt." he said snarkly.

"Important enough to know, yet simultaneously not enough to get to actually know" she said with a wolfish smile. Touche.

Y/n checked all her bags and smiled to herself. "Well then, mister Drake Wayne, lovely to meet you. Watch your step next time." She said as she looked at him dead in the eye. "Have a nice day, Timothy."

And she walked away, leaving him dumbfounded watching her go.

"Tim Tim Tim! You will not believe the boots i just got! They are sooooo comfortable and warm for night patrol. My toes were freezing last night....Tim? Hey, what's wrong? You have a dazed look in your eyes?

"I think I just met the love of my life...and shes kind of a bitch." said Tim, making Stephanie laugh and link her arms with his.

"Let's go hide these and you can tell me all about the supposed love of your life."

-•-

Y/n paced around her room trying to see where she would hide her presents. Shopping had helped distract her mind from the matter that had been plaguing her mind these last few days. Most of the bags had been cleared by now and she only had three left. As she cleared her final bag, she noticed something strange. Two files. She takes them out curious to see what these are. "Can't be part of my gifts...hmm...let's see"

She opens the first one and sees it is directed to Red Robin?

"What...?" she whispered to herself. "Ivy's exploits on the newest power plant close to Gotham Central Park make a solid case worth observation. Following up on her latest attacks with the reports of Red Hood and Black Bat, we begin suspecting where her next attack will play out....holy shit" Y/n whispered in amazement. She then looked at the rest of the file. Some red yarn here and there. A mixture of scribbles and computer manuscripts. Folded papers and a lot of red ink.

Then she looked at the next folder, a meeting agenda filled with notes directed to one Tim Drake Wayne..."wait a minute.."

These are directed to the same IP address..with the same handwriting, including the signatures...

"Tim Drake Wayne is Red Robin"Y/n smirked, "I believe I found a solution to my little problem"

Y/N went to get her cellphone quick and marked her driver's number. "Donnie, get the car ready, we have a little visit to make"

------

"Where is it?" Tim searched frantically throughout his apartment. In his work bag, there were two very important files. The first being the final agenda of the meeting he had today with all of the notes he took which he needed right now in order to send it back to his secretary. If she wasn't so busy making googly eyes at him, he wouldn't have to waste time on the job and focus on the case. Speaking off, Tim decided to search for that file and found that it was also missing. "Well fuck me gently with a chainsaw, if Bruce doesn't kill me, Batman will for loosing those two things. Where are those fucking THINGS?" If his apartment was a mess before, it was even worse now.

Thankfully, fate is such a humorous thing.

//kmock, knock, knock//

Close to a breakdown out of frustration, Tim walks towards the door only to be pleasantly surprised by a face that had not left his mind.

"Miss Vanderbilt, what a lovely surprise" said Tim as he opened the door, letting the young girl walk in.

"Yes, just as lovely as this apartment. Are you always this well kept?" She responded with sass. Making Tim chuckle, "No, but i made sure to decorate it like this just in case there was a posibility of a pretty Vanderbilt showing up."

"Funny, that won't last long." She said with a tight smile. "I'm here for business."

"What ever business could you have with a Wayne? Our parents are business partners, so there is not related to networking. You have much more money than all of my family combined, so it isn't that. Status won't be either, you are practically modern day royalty. So, what could it be? What..could..it..be?" he said aproaching her. He may be lacking 48 hours worth of sleep, but the detective in him was up and on high alert. You were picking the skin around your nails and your nose had this adorable twitch that could only mean nervousnes and the look in your eye was cunning with a tinge of desesperation. What could Y/n Vanderbilt want from him?

"I need you to be my fake boyfriend."

Tim had always been proud of being observant and with that, came the ability to not be surprised yet, never in his 22 years of life did he think that he'd have Y/n Vanderbilt, THE Y/n Vanderbilt, asking him to fake date her in HIS apartment.

"What's in it for me?" he asked skeptical of the situation.

"My silence, Robin Boy" she said as she got the two files he had been frantically searching for this entire time and showed them to him. "And don't try to deny it, the handwriting is the same, I had the pleasure of taking DNA samples and they match, and have seen enough videos to be well aware that you have the same body type. Oh and worry not, only i’m aware of this information. Unlike Miss Vale, I do have various PI's on speed dial, and the weight of the Vanderbilt name, so any information out of me will be credible." She said with a pretty smile.

"Pretty, cunning, and poisounus. Who would have throught." He said, not confirming nor denying anything.

"And I am sure Daddy Brucie dearest, would just love finding out one of his little birdlings let the family secret out, wouldn’t he?" she said looking at him dead in the eye.

Tim felt his heart stop. She knew about all of them.

"You have until monday, lover boy. My phone number is written in there. Call me when you have made up your mind and if you accept, make sure you clear up your schedule cause that meeting will take a long time. Kisses" She ended as she handed the files to Tim and saw herself out.

"This is officially THE worst and simultaneously best day ever" He said as he threw himself on the couch.

[jedimasterbailey]

Tales of the Empire Thoughts (Mostly About Barriss)

I know I’m a little late to the party in terms of laying out my thoughts on Tales of the Empire but honestly I needed a few days to process and digest what happened (not to mention being on vacation delayed that process as well). Obviously as a Barriss stan/fanfic writer/blogger y’all know that those episodes were the upmost priority for me and I will be rewatching those episodes on repeat like no other since it’s been far too long since Barriss has had her time to shine. 

The majority of this post will be centered around those specific episodes because I’m just gonna just go ahead and say that the Morgan Elsbeth episodes were boring and didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know about the character. Also the bullshit reasoning as to why Morgan doesn’t obviously look Dathomiran is so dumb in that my brain will malfunction if I think about it too much. If the “magic going away” thing was true then how do you explain Merrin and Ventress who still have power and retain their clear Dathomiran appearance? Either way, there is no way Darth Felonious could explain his “logic” to me there because it is all too clear that Morgan was never meant to be Dathomiran in the first place. She was just a bad lady with a spear and that’s that. Love the actress, but the character is just lame. Furthermore, it is so clear that the hat man knows absolutely nothing about Thrawn and I’m not even a Thrawn stan but why even if the guy involved if he just says a few words and leaves? Now before y’all come for me, yes I’m aware these episodes are shorts and the time is precious but to me they could have dedicated more time into explaining to me why Morgan is so loyal to Thrawn. Her reasoning for wanting to join the Empire is empty too in that the Separatists that annihilated her race is now the Empire so…to me that’s not enough reasoning for Morgan to be so dedicated. The only parts that had me engaged were the Grevious bits which were both beautiful and frightening at the same time.

Now onto the meat which is the Barriss arc which has me both elated and frustrated at the same time. Let’s begin with the stuff I absolutely love.

1.) Barriss proving herself to not be committed to the Dark Side/Empire is a huge win for me and other Barriss super fans who have been preaching this for over a decade. We knew from the moment the trailer came out that Barriss was just going to do what it took to survive and even though she was forced into doing things she really did not want to do, she stayed true to herself and escaped before it was too late. The light in her never left nor did it ever leave her and I just know that Luminara would have been so proud of her. Barriss constantly questioning the Grand Inquisitor and the Fourth Sister had me smiling because that is just Barriss. She will always question things that seem off and will defend her beliefs and values no matter what the danger to herself may be. The line of reclaiming her position of a Jedi is my absolute favorite line and gave me all the feels I get whenever Luke tells Palpatine that he is a Jedi like his father. On a final note, I loved that she showed genuine concern/fear for what was happening to the Jedi when Order 66 was happening and demanded an answer. 

2.) Barriss being a healer and a protector. It is so satisfying to see it canon on screen that Barriss remains to be a healer after years of being obsessed with the Legends Medstar lore. I absolutely loved that Barriss took off her mask to the terrified boy in the village and protected him against the Fourth Sister’s unnecessary wrath only to save the non-binary (yay representation!) Jedi from death later that day. It all just makes me so happy to get that validation that Barriss has always had a big heart which makes her stand out from other Jedi in my opinion. 

3.) Barriss sporting that lesbian pixie cut with the adorable laugh/smile lines and being a healer in the mountains helping Force sensitive and the sick/injured just makes my day. It warms my heart to see Barriss be at peace and doing so much good after so much pain and trauma from her past. Though I do miss her hood and would like to see a head covering on her again. Also doing the math, Barriss should be in her thirties during the third episodes so why did they age her up so much? I’ve heard the theory of the Force healing taking her life force but damn Luminara was in her late thirties during the Clone Wars and she had like nothing 😅 One other note that makes me smile is that Barriss is referred to as a “wise mother” and that’s just everything.  Also she looks and acts like just like Luminara they truly could be mother and daughter it’s so sweet 💚💙

4.) Barriss defeating an Inquisitor without a weapon of her own and catching a blade with the Force is so fucking badass, I could re-watch that sequence on repeat forever. 

5.)The vague Ahsoka mention had my Barrissoka heart exploding. I demand an animated Barrissoka show immediately. 

Now here are the bits that have me frustrated and I demand that Darth Felonious fixes them later.

1.) The lack of closure between Barriss and Ahsoka/Luminara. Barriss hurt a lot of people from her actions but at the very least it would be nice to see her repair the damage she inflicted on the people closest to her. We never saw anything in regards to Luminara’s reaction to the bombing and knowing what gruesome fate awaits her in Rebels, I was so hoping the two would meet again, make amends before Luminara inevitably sacrificed herself as a final act of love and forgiveness for her Padawan. As for Ahsoka…if the two are able to work together in the future, could we at least see how exactly that came to be? I’m personally growing tired of major developments happening off-screen and we as an audience are just expected to roll with it. Again I’m aware these are shorts, but why do they have to be shorts? Why can’t we just delete the boring Morgan episodes and get like a movie or limited series on this exact journey? 

2.) The return of yet another ambiguous ending for Barriss. I am a firm believer that Barriss is alive granted that people seem to get stabbed all the time in Star Wars and they get to live so why not Barriss? I understand what they’re doing with Barriss getting through to the Fourth Sister to show us that Barriss has come full circle in her journey from dark to light, however since I’m forced to believe that Barriss had some sort of relationship with this random Inquisitor pre-Empire instead of someone who did have a significant relationship to her, it falls flat for me and it enrages me that if Barriss were to die from this….well I just don’t have words for that. So now I’m wondering if I’m going to have to wait another 10 years to get answers. Thank the Force for fanfic and fanart to get me through. 

3.) Does Barriss even know what the Empire did her Master? Because… I feel that’s another huge story thats being missed here. Ahsoka was able to get some closure with Anakin, why can’t Barriss have the same with Luminara? 

4.) Never getting anything in terms of what pushed Barriss to bomb the Jedi temple in the first place. That’s my biggest beef with the original Clone Wars series since we see no development as to how Barriss goes from a kind gifted Padawan healer to mastermind of a terror plot. That could a book or show on its own. 

5.) Star Wars continuing to miss what a satisfying redemption arc is. Not only do we need to understand what got a character to do the crime(s) but we need to see the growth that comes from it. That’s what makes the Obi-Wan Kenobi show so good to me is that I now know how Obi-Wan grew from RotS to where we meet him in ANH. I would love to see the same for Barriss, because you just know she’s been on very spiritual/emotional journey to get to where she was at the end of the show. 

6.) Why was Vader even in this? Given the history Barriss and Anakin share, it is incredible that nothing happened between them post ROTS. And this is like fresh Vader still full of grief and anger by what’s happened so I doubt seeing Barriss even as an Inquisitor initiate would be anymore soothing. I just don’t understand…what a waste. Something more epic and cathartic could have come out of that interaction.

Well I’m done ranting for now, I’m curious to know what your guy’s thoughts are. Otherwise my brain is buzzing with fanfic story ideas and I’ll be getting back on the writing horse as I re-Watch the Barriss episodes into oblivion. 

[creabirds]

creabird's fics master post

charles/max

your heart, love (has such darkness) | chaptered fic, roman empire inspired fantasy au, enemies to lovers, rated e, 48k [fic post | fanart]

“Who did this to you?“ The question escaped Max in a low growl, sounding more animal than human. Charles’ eyes widened for a fraction of a second before narrowing, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “Your men,“ he answered, as if it was obvious. And it was. “No, who exactly?“ Max hissed, “because I ordered them not to hurt you and I will cut their fucking heads off for defying their commands.“ The provinces' war against the empire has been raging for years, but finally, Max Verstappen and his rebel army are close to bringing their enemies to their knees. The dire situation has the empire's most powerful warrior, Charles Leclerc, il predestinatio, running right into Max's arms in an attempt to stop him before it's too late. Max wants the empire's darling for himself, but their relationship is much more complex than that of a villain and hero, king and concubine. Though Charles is chained and collared, nothing is really as it seems.

bare your teeth verse | on-going series, a/b/o drivers au, enemies to lovers, rated e, 3-4k each [fic post | fanart]

part one: see me bare my teeth for you

It has been five years since Max gave Charles his mating bite on a rainy day in Val d'Argenton. Five years of Charles keeping his head down and ignoring it had ever happened. Until the day he set foot in the paddock, freshly signed to drive in F2, his dreams becoming true. Only there is one problem: his mate is too close for his body not to react.

part two: bound with the curse don't want this bubble to burst

Charles has finally made it to Formula 1. But reaching this milestone forces him closer to Max than ever before. On and off the track - they fight, and they clash. Grudging acceptance bubbles over into rage once again after the 2019 Austrian Grand Prix, with Charles on Max's private jet and nowhere to run.

part three: it feels better biting down

Charles has not stepped foot outside of his apartment for the entirety of the lockdown. He has not seen anyone, especially not Max, so he is shocked to find him attempting to break his door down, deep in his rut and desperate to get his hands on Charles. For once, the tables have turned and Max is the one out of his mind with want.

part four: i cut my teeth on people like you

Ever since spending his rut with Charles, Max's jealousy has been going haywire. It doesn't help that their relationship is more strained than ever. Winning his first championship and seeing his omega congratulating his biggest rival instead of him is the final straw.

late night devil (put your hands on me) | one-shot, vampire/priest au, rated e, 5k [fic post | inspo art | fanart]

Welcome to the Halloween Special! “Don’t worry, I’m a priest here at St. Fiacre, you are very welcome. I can call for a doctor in the morning, as well,” Max explained. As he turned towards the man, coming eye to eye with him for the first time he was suddenly struck by the beauty of him. “It is not that, I would love to come in,” the man offered, a shy smile curling over his mouth and creating a set of dimples on its corners. Max tried not to stare. “However, I simply cannot. I am not allowed, so to speak,” he explained. “What,” Max looked at him, eyebrows raised. “Why?” The man flashed a broad smile and Max could not avoid looking. What he saw were fangs.

the world is so much wilder than you think (all the mermaids have sharp teeth) | chaptered fic, siren charles au, get-together, rated e, 22k

Charles' eyes focussed on him, bright green, not in a scary, alien way, but more like the sunlight had caught in his irises, making them appear brighter and more saturated than usual. Only there was no sun. It was the middle of the night. Max felt an itch in his fingers and feet, as if he was being pulled forward magnetically. Charles blinked again, and it was gone. Max sat back on the chair with a grunt. He hadn’t noticed he had been in the process of standing up. “What?” he asked, not even sure what exact question to phrase. “Oh, you know, this is the part where you find out that supernatural creatures exist?”

i'm starving, darling (come and get some) | series, grid slut charles au, rated e, 5k

Well, it wasn’t like he was actively looking at his ass. It just seemed to always be in his line of sight. Like in Baku, when Max couldn’t stop himself from constantly glancing over to where Charles and Checo stood waiting for him to finish his interview because Charles kept dropping things. His racing-driver-instinct-eyes had immediately snapped over to the exaggerated movements in his peripheral vision and he couldn’t even tell what exactly it was Charles dropped because all he could see was a full view of butt in a fire-red racing suit. Max had considered whether he had gone insane and had started hallucinating due to a recent lack of sexual gratification (sue him, but he was a busy man) and Charles’ proximity and relative attractiveness (it was off the charts). And now this. Max was finally, thoroughly convinced. He’s doing this on purpose, he thought. His phone pinged with a message.

called to the devil (and the devil said hey) | one-shot, charles goes to red bull au, get-together, rated e, 16k

Charles joins Red Bull in 2025 in the hopes of finally winning the championship in a reliable car. Max is a suspiciously supportive teammate. Or: Max Verstappen's very secret retirement plan.

charles/max/carlos

hot in it (no stopping it) | series, grid slut charles au, threesome, rated e, 5k

14:43 [from Max Verstappen] [image attached] come over and bring a long pair of pants for charlie Carlos opened the message to view the picture and had to suppress a groan, lest the mechanics next to him would suspect anything. It was a shot of Charles, he recognized by his bright red shorts, even shorter now that they were pushed up and bunched around his upper thighs by a big hand that could only belong to Max. Beneath Max’s hand was an angry-red looking bite mark. The perfectly straight row of teeth indented into the skin was easily recognizable.

charles/carlos

maneater (make you spend hard) | series, grid slut charles au, rated e, 2k

“Do you like getting head, Carlos?” he asked, then. He had never claimed to be smooth nor subtle. He watched as Carlos’ eyes became comically wide before he narrowed them again, staring at Charles intently. “What?” “Blowjobs? Getting your dick sucked?” Charles tried again, a sly smile on his face, being very aware that Carlos’ question might not have been due to a lack of understanding of the terminology used at all. Carlos blinked at him and he swore the blush on his cheeks got a tad bit darker. “I mean— yes, doesn’t everyone?” he rasped, voice slightly airy. Charles’ tongue slipped out to wet his lips and he watched Carlos’ eyes flit down and back up to his eyes in a matter of milliseconds. “Sure,” he hummed, “but I also like giving it,” he grinned.

charles/grid

greed (i want it all right now) | one-shot, sex pollen, magical pussy, gangbang, dead dove for dubious consent, rated e, 9k [fic post]

Charles has to sneeze, and laughs. His Secret Santa seems to have had his fun with it, adding some fake snow to douse him in. He does not notice the nervous glances the producers behind the camera share. He reads the card, out loud, but falters as he tries to process what is written there in elegant cursive. “Since you are a lazy gift giver I will help you out this year,” it says. Charles furrows his brows. Or: Charles wakes up with a pussy. The grid is delighted.

yuki/pierre

inches in between us (i want you to give in) | one-shot, friends to lovers, rated e, 8k

4 times yuki sent pierre into gay panic + the one time he gave in alternative title: yuki being outrageous and pierre losing his shit (canon)

[sinisterexaggerator]

Tech and Hondo Ohnaka (Part 4)

Rated: Teen and up (a rare general audiences fic on my part.)

Warning: Pain mention.

Fic Summary: Tech is plummeting toward death, yet he is spared, all thanks to a Weequay pirate who was simply in the wrong place at the right time, depending.

Word count: 1.9k

Notes: This is a kind of crack / AU scenario. I like the idea of Hondo being the one to encounter Tech after his fall. The idea was definitely inspired by Phee's line at the end of season 2: "Well, don't go running off with any pirates or smugglers while you're gone,." :) Don't take this too seriously, though at the same time I tried to make it plausible. The main point of this was to have fun with Tech and Hondo ribbing each other in their own way. I love both of these characters, and I am excited to see what you guys think.

*This is a shorter chapter, but it sets things up for what will happen next, and it felt right to stop where I did.

Chapter 1, 2, 3 | Read on Ao3

“Nu good, ensufferable know-et-all! Lousy carbon copy! A bold-faced liar, tinking he can hide de truth from me! Hondo!”

The Weequay ranted and raved as he made his way through Eriadu’s foilage, once more employing the use of his vibrocutlass. He hacked at those bits and pieces of plants that dared to hinder his forward march, having left the clone no more than thirty minutes prior. Hondo had nearly traversed a quarter kilometer before he stopped, allowing himself to cool off and for a clearer head to prevail. He was better than this, he mused, though it was about the principle; how dare this so-called soldier take him for a fool!

“He should have told me from de outset,” he muttered, his chest rising and falling more slowly as he caught his breath. With eyes asquint, the pirate gazed around himself, noting that it was nearly dark, and that he was all alone out here, minus one bruised and battered brainiac.

“Ugh, now de creepy crawlies will come out,” he grumbled, missing his desert home more and more each and every minute of each and every hour of each and every day, wanting only a stiff drink back at his beloved base on Florrum—too bad that would never happen now, left to roam the galaxy with the remainder of those men that were loyal to him.

Hondo was not stupid; he knew that they were growing restless; this job was meant to be a way for them to recoup that which was lost thanks to the Empire, only now it appeared he would be lucky to escape with his life—a feeling that clone must also be experiencing—the pirate sighed a deeply exaggerated sigh.

“What tu du, what tu du…” It was a rhetorical question, one he often asked himself, even if he already knew the answer, that pesky sense of honor returning to him at a most inconvenient time.

“He es dead weight, liable tu get me killed. Et would be easier tu steal a ship witout de extra baggage…” The pirate began to pace, aware that he was talking to himself, bits of dirt and dried leaves becoming displaced as he walked to and fro, his blade bouncing lightly against his shoulder.

“Ah, but he has a family—and let us not forget de reward!” Hondo reminded himself, suddenly finding it in his heart to be of help once more.

“Hopefully he es … still alive, unlike my men,” he offered to the forest, turning about face. Sheathing his sword, he felt he did not need it, having already cleared a path his first time through. “Ef not, wellll, one cannot say I ded not try.”

---

Though he felt destined for an unfavorable outcome, Tech had the heart of a soldier, and the ability to give up was not something within his wheelhouse. Trundling onward, it was easy to track the Weequay, for he was doing a poor job of hiding his trail. Tech doubted he was even attempting to, so angry had he been from the moment he left camp. He supposed he had every right to be, as he had not been completely forthright.

This had been his fear—to be left behind should the pirate learn the entirety of the truth—wondering if anything would be different had he come clean in the beginning. Transparency, of course, brought trust, yet he had taken quite a risk in keeping quiet. In other words, he should have known better—he did know better—but getting off Eriadu was more important, and so he carried on, even when his body was on the verge of failing him.

With the planet’s sun giving off its last rays, darkness fell, leaving Tech bathed in glimmers of moonlight. Peering out into the darkness through his cracked heads-up display, he stiffened at the sound of footsteps from somewhere ahead, wondering if it might be some kind of animal, or worse—more TK troopers that were out to capture him.

Taking cover, the commando stilled, curtailing his arrhythmic breathing the best he could. He waited for his enemy to show itself, thankful that he still had the element of surprise.

When at last a figure appeared on his infrared scanner, Tech took aim, firing off two shots in the direction of this would-be adversary. He was only able to make out the heat signature of the individual, though he wore what appeared to be a helmet—a possible lone TK who would undoubtedly call for backup if he had the chance.

“You imbecile, you shot me! Me! I thought you said you were smart!” the voice of the aggrieved called out from between the trees. “You are lucky dat Weequay have blaster resistant skin, you ex-republic dog, but you can rest assured you will be paying for de damages tu my very expensive, very valuable, Wroonian coat!”

Tech immediately holstered his blasters, though it was too little, too late. He had not expected to ever see the pirate again, trusting he had been left for dead. He was glad to be wrong, if only just this once, presently standing in an awkward manner as he attempted to regain his equanimity. “I thought you to be an enemy,” he stated plainly.

“Nu, just de idiot who has come tu rescue you. Again,” Hondo gruffly complained, dusting off his lapel. There was an obvious singe mark across it, and another along his right sleeve.

“I must admit that this is a surprise.”

“Tu you and me both,” Hondo replied snidely.

Tech had nothing to say, simply waiting for the pirate’s next move. If he had learned anything in their short time together, it was that he had a flare for theatrics and was sure to take over the conversation as he saw fit; he was correct in that assumption.

“But unfortunately for me, and fortunately for you, I have a heart.” The pirate felt deceived by his own shortcomings, wafting a hand dismissively for him to follow. “Now come, hurry, I was nearly tu de lommite mine when I had tu turn around and fetch you. Et es already dark, however dis may be en our favor.”

“Obviously, the cover of darkness is a boon in this situation,” Tech agreed.

“Dat es what I just said,” Hondo snapped, though the clone remained quiet, refusing to buy into what would quickly become a game of tit for tat. He felt exchanging quips, in this case, was not worth the effort, and that it would only prolong the rogue’s sour mood. He was not, after all, one of his brothers, and he was unsure what future repercussions might await him should he continue to engage.

“I am ready when you are.”

“I am ready now,” Hondo shot back, turning on the heel of his boot. He hastened his departure, leaving Tech to keep up as quickly as his legs would allow.

---

Without Hondo, and due to the failure of his equipment, Tech would not have known just how close the lommite mine truly was or its precise location. Soon, they reached the safety of rolling hills that spread into mountains, a large structure built into the mass of rock looming straight ahead.

From their refuge beneath a stone projection, they could observe that beyond a set of open hydraulic doors was a spacious bay, loaded with an assortment of mining equipment. There were bucket excavators; hauler trucks; rock dusters, and crushing machines, all serving a distinct purpose. More importantly, there were cargo ships, ground cars with treads, and speeder bikes most likely belonging to the Empire—or the employees of the facility itself—though Tech could hardly make out anything but nebulous lines.

“Just dere, you see? Eriadu Mining and Shipping. Dey have large industrial transport ships dat leave every hour on de hour, and a rotating staff of nearly one hundred men, not tu mention droids! Of course, dat does not account for de Imperial personnel lurking about … Just our luck, ah?”

“Indeed,” was the only answer the clone afforded him, having been distracted by the heat signatures of two sentient beings that were out of bounds. They were skulking about just as they were, though much closer to the entrance of the mine. “I believe we are not the only ones here.”

“Yes, yes! Dere are many people! Are you suuuure you are de genius you say you are?” Hondo probed.

“Unsurprisingly, you misunderstand,” Tech informed him. “There are two individuals lurking nearby the entrance. It appears they are planning to sneak inside.”

“What? Where!” Hondo asked, raising his voice. Realizing his own mistake, he lowered it to an excitable whisper. “I du not see anyon—more troopers?” he asked, spotting two white dots amid the darkness.

Tech attempted to zoom in with his heads-up display, though the screen temporarily blacked out; the clone held his breath until it came back online. “No.”

Though unable to clearly see the pair below, they were not behaving like Imperial soldiers, and Tech was sure of at least one thing—they were not wearing buckets on their heads.

"I was sure they had escaped off-world," Tech said, more to himself, noting that Saw was down one man. There had been several Partisans in total, though now he only spotted two lifeforms below.

“And of whom are you speaking?” The pirate was becoming increasingly annoyed.

“Saw Guerra. I mentioned him when discussing the events that transpired at Raven’s Peak.”

“De man wit de most beautiful sister…” Hondo trailed off, reminiscing on what he knew of him and his family; he remembered delivering weapons to them at Skywalker’s behest, having been paid handsomely for his services. “Dis es an interesting development! Perhaps he may offer us a distraction while we find a ride out of dis place, ah? Or maybe he would be willing tu work tugether. Four heads are better dan two, nu matter ef one of dose heads es presumably smarter.”

Tech ignored the comment about Saw's sibling, having never known him to have a sister. "Saw will help himself and his cause, disregarding even the soundest advice if it interferes with his own plans," Tech declared with confidence; he knew this to be true based on his most recent experience. While presenting a logical counterargument against the destruction of the Imperial base, Saw stated it was, "for the greater good," even after being told that the lives of clones were at stake. It was safe to say he had lost some, if not all, of Tech's respect.

“Dat es terrible news…” Hondo stroked the length of his frills, contemplating the situation. “Dough ef we are lucky—and I am lucky—I will be able tu change his mind.”

“I highly doubt—” Tech ended his thought to begin another as the scoundrel rose, worried that the Weequay would also disregard him. “Wait, we should formulate a plan. It is unwise to—”

“—blah blah blah,” Hondo interjected, beginning to make his way downhill. “Are you coming, or du you prefer tu stay here, for I am leaving wit or witout you.”

Tech sighed heavily, standing unsteadily to his feet. Though it was against his better judgement and defied all common sense, he made slow work of following the pirate, unable to shake the feeling they were headed for disaster.

[acavatica]

hey cavatica, unlock the forbidden b&e yeerk OCs lore

okay, here's my trello for my LAU OCs transcription: Stack 1: Breaking & Entering OCs Peace Movement Members - Kim and Odret - The Lesbian Quad - Dad - Cokehead Businessman - Kid

Stack 2: Kim and Odret - Kim is a computer scientist with paranoia. Before she was infested, she was a conspiracy theorist, uncovered evidence of the Yeerk invasion and was validated. She became a voluntary Controller because she determined that resistance was futile and she would be in the most fortuitous position if she gave in early. - Odret is a teenager and she just wants to have a good time. She relied on Kim's experience and abilities to appear competent and keep her host. Now she relies on her to keep their involvement in the Peace Movement a secret. She was born and raised in the Pool and feels like a refugee who was robbed of her homeland and culture.

Stack 3: Lesbian Quad - Alex and Venla - Furaha and Lamit - Alex is an illustrator who used to be a horror/abstract artist and was never financially successful before she was infested. Looks like Faith from Buffy but thicc. Took a freelance job for the Sharing, and after she didn't implement their suggestions the way they wanted, they infested her because it was easier than explaining the idea to another artist. - Furaha is a law student studying immigration law. Is a Fashion Hijabi. She was infested by The Sharing, where she was trying to be a community mentor. She kept people at an arm's length her whole life, so Lamit was the most intimate relationship she ever had and they fell in love. - Venla was born on homeworld, but spent her whole life unhosted until she infested Alex. She was a concept designer for the Empire's propaganda. Alex was the lens through which she experienced sight for the first time. She fell in love with humanity and Earth and life immediately. She pivoted Alex's career into illustrating children's books a la Tim Burton or Edward Gorey. She feels like trying to lead human children on a path of love and appreciation of life is the only thing she can do to cancel out creating messages to take those things from her people. - Lamit is extremely sensitive and insightful. The depths of Furaha's knowledge and experience sucked her in emotionally and she got lost in the complexity of Furaha's humanity. She decided she would do anything for her. Their relationship helped Furaha process the way she relates to people. Venla talked to Furaha about herself more than she'd ever let anyone in and untangled a lot of the distance between her and other people. She still had to help Furaha notice she had a crush on Alex, and she was the one who asked them out. - Furaha became fascinated by Venla because of her propaganda role. Furaha uses her background in sociology and law to influence the messages that Venla is creating for the Empire. They develop a deep respect and intellectual horniness. - Lamit loves how fearless Alex is in expressing herself and really confronting dark and uncomfortable emotions. Alex doesn't need her to perform emotional labor the way that Furaha does, they can just share their feelings and channel their passion into art. - Venla looks at Lamit and tries to tell herself that the damage she did to the Yeerks' culture didn't turn them all into monsters. Lamit wants to be that absolution for her.

Stack 4: Dad - Garcia and Tenil - After Garcia's son died, his marriage fell apart. He was recruited via a rehab program that was a front for feeding desperate hosts to the Yeerks. - Tenil was just doing his job of putting Garcia's life back together because his body is a tool, but the pain Garcia felt over the death of his son touched him. Tenil wanted to experience what that kind of relationship is like and "adopted" two younger Yeerks who were already in the Peace Movement. He tried to get them back on the side of the Empire, but they radicalized him instead. Tenil's relationship with his "kids" was a healing experience for Garcia and he feels like a co-dad for them. (unpictured)

Kid - Jessie and Serok - Formerly homeless voluntary whose only meal was at the Yeerk Pool, assigned a very young Pool-born Yeerk. Taken in by the YPM. - Gender cannot be determined under large, hand-knit Fourth Doctor scarf.

Cokehead Businessman - Scott and Zoflit - Scott doesn't have a backstory because they are a bit, the bit is that the guy is evil and the Yeerk has given up trying to fix him.