#must sleep venice

[sunlightmurdock]

The Odyssey | 1.0 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

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Bradley spends the night. Venice changes things.

Warnings: enemies to lovers, power imbalance (professor / student relationship), age gap (22 / 33), swearing, infidelity, explicit pictures, making out, arguing, deception, 18+ minors dni, wc: 5.2k

…

“Sure,” There’s this underlying feeling that he should feel more awkward about this than he does. If he thought too hard about it, he would certainly start to consider the more embarrassing side of the predicament he has found himself in. “If you want.”

When the main focus of his day, for the past four years, has been sex in its various forms, it comes to be such a natural topic, that sometimes Bradley forgets that it’s a taboo. Well, he had been able to forget, until he came across you.

He must be out of his mind. Something to do with the phase of the moon, or his sleeping patterns, or… just the way you’re fucking looking at him. Your skin flushed with heat. He can see you’re warm without touching. Those soft sounds you made for him are fresh in his mind.

You’re sitting on the bed in front of him, one knee crossed over the other in your sweet, patterned wrap dress, staring up at him with eyes teaming with curiosity, and shame. So much, all at once. He can see you, sitting there and making it so complicated, frightening yourself.

It’s all so simple, really. He just wants to make it simple for you.

He starts by clearing his throat and shooting a glance downward at his tented jeans. “You don’t have to touch—“

“I just want to see… one… up close.” You tell him, heat spreading across your cheeks as you lift your gaze to look him in the eye. The sound of your own desires out loud is something that makes you shudder. You pull back slightly, and shift against the bed.

Bradley’s eyes dart downward again, at the pried open zipper, torn loose belt, and the straining bulge in his jeans, then presses his lips together in a moment of silent consideration.

With you, he has never been so unsure of himself.

“How long have you been engaged for, again?” He asks you, bringing a hand up to scratch awkwardly at the back of his neck. Your eyes widen just slightly. Not because you’re a woman being reminded of her infidelity, something else entirely. Something about Malcolm, Bradley just knows it.

“Alright, alright,” Bradley sighs, considering briefly how a person should go about this. His art classes come to mind — he stood naked pretty freely then, this is no different to that. Except he wasn’t supposed to be hard in those classes. “Don’t feel like you have to do anything.”

You push yourself upright as he steps off of the bed and squares his shoulders slightly. Hands settled politely in your lap and your posture perfect, Bradley can’t pretend he isn’t a little bit thrown off. It doesn’t change anything.

Sex and curiosity are natural forces, and neither one are something to be ashamed of. He feels like he’s convincing himself of that more than anything.

Your attention is caught by the light from the lamp catching on the gold of his necklace as he stands up a little straighter, and then promptly torn away as he pushes his jeans and boxers down in one slow movement. And there it is. In your peripheral, you’re expressly aware that it’s there, in all of its aggressiveness. You fight not to just stare.

Following the line down his sternum and across the taut, tanned skin of his stomach, across plains of soft brown hair, your eyes grow wide once again. Then, you squint. He watches you fight to control your expression.

The question is written, quite clearly, all over Bradley’s face. He’s wondering how you have managed to be in a relationship for as long as you have, without seeing a penis in the flesh. But you have. You’re not that naive — and Malcolm isn’t that pliant.

You inhale slowly, staring at what is directly in front of you. Bradley’s body is unassuming under those ill-fitting clothes, but not once he’s out of them. Far from it, in fact. Another time, you might have spent more time looking at the big picture, exactly how Herculean Bradley’s body looks. For now, it’s hard to focus on anything but what’s between his legs.

Bradley hasn’t ever felt this fidgety with his clothes off before. Your gaze on him makes him nervous — and that’s weird — he can’t remember the last time a woman made him nervous. Actually, he can, but that was a long time ago.

Your eyes look dark in the dim illusion of the dust-brushed lamp, and the streetlights outside. A thatch of neatly-trimmed dark hair sits across his pelvis, following down from the line of his navel, sitting perfectly between the two deep V’s that trail from his hips.

There’s a moment before you remind yourself to feel some shame in the unabashed way you’re staring at him like some kind of drooling loon. Blinking, you lift your chin and look him in the eye, pressing your thighs together.

He isn’t looking at you like there’s something wrong with you. After observing the almost perverse way you were studying him, he’s watching you with nothing in his eyes but faint amusement.

You know instantly that he wouldn’t hold this against you. Anything you chose to do, or not to do, he wouldn’t feel any differently about you either way. You’re certain. That doesn’t change anything. You sigh and lean back on your palms.

“You’re circumsized.” You note.

His mouth twitches as he pulls his jeans back up to cover himself again. “It was all the rage in ‘53.”

Your brows scrunch together just slightly, watching him buckle his belt. “You’re older than Sports Illustrated, you know that?”

Bradley seems to think for a moment. He can’t pretend to have been familiar with Sports Illustrated in his childhood more than seeing it being read by fathers of friends that he had.

“How do you know when that was? — Didn’t peg you as a fan.” Bradley reaches around you for his shirt.

“I wrote a piece on it in my Freshman year. It was my first Ivy League perfect score.” You tell him, but when he turns, you aren’t smiling. His mouth pulls down at the corners as he sinks fo his knees in front of you, brushing his fingers softly over your cheek. “My father tore it to shreds. He was so angry about what I had written.”

Bradley sets his shirt on the ground and squeezes your knee softly. “What was it about?”

“Daddy has been an investor in the magazine since 1961,” You explain to him, your mouth finally twitching up into a small, less-than-amused smile. Bradley’s thumbs circle soft patterns along your thighs. “I wrote a case study into the swimsuit issue, and the argument that it presents women as a product for consumption. He was furious. I thought he was going to throw his dinner at me.”

Bradley’s face changes. He doesn’t like the way you’re telling him this with a smile on your face. But, he isn’t going to start an argument about your father tonight.

“Which side of the argument did your essay fall on?” He asks, lifting his chin to look at you. You smile at him, and shrug your shoulders.

“I thought it was a dirty magazine then, I think that it’s a dirty magazine now.”

Bradley huffs out a small sound of amusement and lets his head fall forwards to rest against your knee. “One of these days, I’m going to get a real answer out of you. You know that?”

He wants to know more, and the idea for once doesn’t terrify you. Your mouth tugs at a smile as he kisses your leg softly.

“Will you still stay tonight?” You ask him, lifting your chin to look up at his face. He makes a soft sound of consideration, then pulls a face. “Please?”

“Okay.”

It’s strange, and you know that Bradley would think so, that you have never shared a bed with a man overnight before. Back in Ithaca, you’ve got a spacious off-campus room in a three bedroom apartment that your father pays for and never visits. Malcolm could stay over ever night for all anyone else knows.

But, you have never invited him to.

It would be cruel to make Bradley sleep in his clothes, you know that too. So, when you come back from the bathroom with the taste of peppermint toothpaste on your tongue, and slip into bed beside him, you try to be prepared for it.

It’s not so bad. It’s a mild night, the window is cracked and there’s a chilled breeze passing through the room. Bradley’s bare arm is warm as yours grazes it. Reaching out blindly, you flick the bedside lamp off without opening your eyes.

Beside you, Bradley’s mouth pulls at the corners.

“Are you going to stay over there all night?” He asks into the dark. He hears you fidget, your skin brushing against the sheets.

“Yeah.”

He snorts a soft chuckle and turns onto his side, draping a heavy arm across your middle, curling his fingers around your hip. Your muscles spasm and your middle goes rigid as he drags you unceremoniously closer to him, leaving you with no choice but to consider how he feels without his clothes on.

Arms straight, practically statuesque, your attempts to remain still fail as the knuckle of your ring and little fingers graze the white cotton of his boxers.

His warm breath fans across your shoulder as he pulls you closer, pressing his face into the crook of your neck. “Relax, honey. It’s just me.”

His palm splays open across your front, his bare chest firm against your back. Calvin Klein white cotton boxers are loose, and breathable, and through the dark your mind instantly takes you back to what you saw earlier.

Wetting your lips with your tongue, you close your eyes and will yourself to settle. Behind you, Bradley doesn’t seem to be having the same struggle. You can hear his breathing growing deeper, his weight leaning into you just a little more.

The Polaroid picture. His thick thighs bracketing Natasha’s naked chest. Her lips parted into a perfect circle. You think of how he made you feel earlier, him grunting into your skin as his hand worked under the thick denim of his jeans.

“Why’s your heart beating like that?” Bradley mumbles into the curve of your neck, practically making you jolt out of your skin against him. “Hey, hey… are you alright?”

His hand strokes softly at your arm as he lifts his head and tries to lean forward to get a peek at your face.

“Mhm,” You squeak softly, closing your eyes and pressing back against him. “I’m fine. Goodnight.”

His lips quirk through the dark of the room as he hugs his arm tight around your middle, turning his face into your skin and kissing softly at your neck.

You don’t wake with the sunrise, or with the sound of an alarm. Instead, you wake with a tingling in your legs, and skin against your cheek. Your thigh is slotted between Bradley’s, he’s got one arm cradling you to him, and he’s snoring softly in your ear.

Even with a soft groan, and the attempt to stretch your arms, Bradley doesn’t budge. His warm chest rises and falls against your cheek, the smell of his skin drawing you in like a lullaby. Sleep threatens to come for you again, but you can hear birds chirping. It’s got to be time to get up soon.

He must be on the verge of consciousness himself, hugging you closer, turning his nose toward your hair, nuzzling into your skin.

“Bradley?” You hum. Nothing but birds chirping, breeze from the city outside. “Bradley?” As you nudge him, there’s nothing again.

Pushing against his chest, you wriggle free of his grasp and prop yourself on your palm. He blinks, face pulling into a frown as he lifts his head to look around him.

“What’s up? — What time is it?” He mutters, his voice deep with sleep as his brown eyes try to focus through the morning light. You don’t know, and you make no effort to check. Instead, you lean forwards and kiss his lips. One soft peck, your palm bracing against the hot muscle of his chest.

He hums out a pleased noise, following you onto your back and pressing his weight against you, challenging you with a deeper kiss. Bradley kisses you again, just as soft. Building into it with gradually modern generous pecks. His hands bunch at your nightgown, taking advantage of his new shorter length to shove it up around your waist without issue.

Suddenly, it doesn’t matter what time it is anymore. Or that he never rejoined the group last night. Nothing matters but the way his weight feels on top of you, his warmth grounding you into the mattress, his taut stomach pressing against your soft skin as he slots his thigh between yours.

There’s something familiar about it, creeping at you like a chill. His hands are strictly stuck to the safest parts of your body: your thighs, your waist, your face. He’s kissing you so passionately that you’re dizzy with the sense of him, and he’s so gentle with his hands — but there’s a discomfort itching at you that just won’t leave.

Then, the alarm clock on the bedside table rings out loud. He pulls back with a soft breath.

“I… I should go.” He realizes, trying not to commit too much attention to his half-hard cock pressing into your thigh. You swallow softly, trying to do exactly the same.

“Okay.”

“I’ll see you this afternoon.” He presses one more chaste kiss to your lips. As he busies himself with getting dressed, you’re certain that you should be overcome with shame of the things you’ve gotten up to so far. The feeling just doesn’t come. Some grand delay, or perhaps you’ve turned a page, but you can’t find it in you to mind either.

The itinerary for the day is changed by Natasha’s sudden appearance, just like everything else has been. With her and Doctor Mancini being in town, Bradley seemed to think that their insight would be useful for the group. As he walks into the lobby ten minutes later than he should be and spots her standing with her arms folded, looking at you like dirt on her shoe, he starts to think that he was wrong.

“Ah, here he is! — Good Morning, Bradley.” Pasquale greets with a grin, patting Bradley’s shoulder as the professor joins the group. “Well, we’ve already gone over the briefing and we’ve got a lot to see today. Let’s get going!”

Bradley agrees with a nod and gestures for the group to walk ahead of him. The sun is already high in the sky and warming the city, the breeze is slow today, barely there. It’ll be worse when they move further inland after this.

He pushes one hand into his pocket and sweeps his damp curls back with the other. Ray-Ban caravans and a t-shirt that would only fit right if he was a size bigger, sports socks peeking over the top of his eye tops. He dresses younger than thirty-three and he’s always been gorgeous.

Natasha walks by his side, staring at the back of your head with contempt. Cute outfit you’re wearing. She wonders if the man who put a ring on your finger would like it.

“So, did you take her virginity?” She asks coolly, meaning it with every ounce of venom with which she had spit it. She hadn’t really taken great comfort in hearing the way your peers had mocked you last night. Just because you apparently won’t put out for you fiancé, doesn’t mean you are immune to Bradley’s charms.

“No.” He answers, lengthening his stride. He doesn’t care to learn which one of them told her about you.

“This is a new low. I can’t believe you’re being this stupid.” She shakes her head, crossing her arms firmly over her chest as she walks.

All at once, Bradley stops walking and rounds on her. She wobbles, her expensive loafer dipping between the cobbled floor and making her wobble. “Me? — What the fuck were you trying to pull with those pictures?”

When he’s up close, standing under the summer sun and staring at her, it’s so easy to pretend. Looking into his eyes, he never hurt her. She never hurt him. She’s still his girl, they’re still planning to spend the afternoon laying in bed, reading.

It’s the only time that she doesn’t miss him.

“You know how this goes. Things in Como — we didn’t — I had more that I needed to say.” Bradley leaves every year hating himself for letting her get away, and it’s the only thing that brings her solace. She’s just supposed to watch him move on?

“That’s your problem, Nat, you don’t know how to talk to me until we’re naked. This isn’t healthy.” He bites back, unfazed as a crowd of Belgian tourists turn to stare wide eyed at the two of them.

“Don’t tell me what’s healthy, Bradley, you’re fucking one of your students!” She snaps, her voice practically a low snarl. Still, she has the decency to have lowered her voice. He forgets — she’s classy now.

“I’m not fucking her.” Bradley, truthfully, doesn’t have a leg to stand on. You tried to sleep with him and he told you no, but only because you weren’t ready. If you were, he can’t pretend that he wouldn’t have.

“Please. I saw the way you ran after her.”

“My sex life is none of your business. Does Luca know you’re here because I am? — Did he forgive you yet?” September through to May, Bradley thinks a lot about the time he spent loving Natasha. Guilt wracks his entire being. He finds himself furious for the time he cost her. And yet, standing in front of her, this conversation always winds up being the same.

Her eyes widen. He promised not to bring last summer up. Last august, when Bradley visited after his students went home, and Luca caught the two of them in bed together. He had almost left her.

“Does that poor little girl even kno—“

“Don’t call her that.” Bradley sighs, rolling his head back towards the old roofs and clear skies. The idea makes him so uncomfortable. It’s easy to forget, when he’s not looking at you in the backdrop of your college town, that you’re much younger.

“Does she know what a vindictive prick you can be, Bradley?”

Yes. She spent half of the trip so far arguing with me. Bradley doesn’t give her the real answer. He hasn’t in a long time. There’s a pause between the two of them. Venice doesn’t slow down for anyone. The city bustles around them while Bradley turns his gaze back down towards her.

“I’m sorry. You know that I’m sorry.” He says quietly. She stares at him. He can see it in her face that she’s fighting not to stand and scream. Instinct drives him forwards. It’s muscle memory as he reaches out and takes her face in his hands. “But we can’t keep doing this.”

Her jaw flexes against his palms, anger burning through her the way that smoke fills rooms. Effortless, all-encompassing. Hard to stop.

“You should tell her now,” Natasha practically spits the words towards him. She doesn’t pull away from his touch. She only ever has once. She, one day, will again. She’s sure of that much. “That it’s always on your fucking terms. Give her a chance to get out while she fucking can.”

With that, she pulls away from him and yet again, he watches her go.

Bradley keeps his distance. He watches Doctor Mancini, a man who knows exactly who Bradley is and somehow, loves him even after, teach the class all morning. He doesn’t dare look at you, in those short, rolled up blue Levi’s shorts. Not until that afternoon, once you’re tucked away into a quiet study room in the Marciana Library.

You sit opposite him with one knee bent and your foot resting on the edge of your own chair, watching him quizzically. “Are you going to be this quiet all afternoon?”

He shoots a look across at you, his chin resting on his palm. Then, he looks back down to his work silently.

“Fine, I guess I’ll fail.” You huff playfully, sitting back in your chest and crossing your arms over your chest. This time when he looks, his eyes flicker down to your chest in that cute green tank top. He knows you’re taunting him. “It’s a real shame… to have come this far, and to just be abandoned…”

“Cut it out.” Bradley scoffs, taking his glasses off and dropping them into the centre of his page. He turns in his seat and looks across at you, suddenly cold.

“Alright, say what you want to say. The anticipation is killing me.” Your mouth twitches into a grin as you sit upright in your seat, scooting it across the aged wood to grow closer. He presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek, the sun shining through the light blue fabric of his linen shirt as he stretches his arms up and rubs harshly at his face.

“There’s something I need to tell you — something I did,” When he drops his arms down again, his eyes are focused on the chip in the years old floorboard, his fingers curling around your knee. You’ve never seen him this remorseful. “I want you to hear it from me.”

Blinking, you nod at him. You’ve never seen him look quite so scared.

“When we met, Natasha and I were both twenty-two. I was fresh out of the Navy, and Natasha was in her last year of university here,” He hasn’t ever been this fidgety before. He stares at the floor of the library, like his sole purpose is to count the grains in the wood. The sole of his sneaker taps out of rhythm.

Opposite him, you wonder exactly how his brain operates. There’s no need, really, for him to explain himself to you. Tomorrow, you’ll leave Venice and you will probably never see Natasha again. Yet, he seems to really want you to understand.

“She was one of the only people in town that spoke English, and she lived right downstairs. For the first two months, she just let me follow her around — I didn’t know what else to do,” There’s no way on Earth that Bradley can explain to you the way that he was feeling when he first got to Sorrento.

He was twenty-two, he had just left the Navy. His grandmother had died three weeks earlier. He was alone in the world, with no idea what to do with the rest of his life. He was angry that he had made it back from the war — furious that he had served for a further two years after that.

“She pulled some favours for me, I spent six months taking different classes around the country, trying to figure out what I wanted to do with my life. Came back, and decided that I wanted to do with mine, whatever she was doing with hers.” The more he tells you, the more you can feel his guilt dripping through his words and saturating the air.

The room goes thick with quiet as Bradley sweeps his curls back and tousels his fingers through them. His hands can’t seem to find peace, never stilling as he immediately sits back to dip a hand into his pocket and reach for his cigarettes.

This is the kind of situation that requires you to be quiet, you know that much. It’s not of conversation. He’s clumsy enough with his words, stumbling through them, losing his train of thought, that you don’t dare interrupt. You watch him pluck one from the pack and set the rolled stick between his lips.

Flicking open the top of his silver lighter, he ignites the end and inhales. Briefly, his eyes flicker up to yours. He hates talking about this.

“She wanted to be an archeologist. I was more into the literature side of things, but it worked. We connected. We moved in together three weeks after I got back.” He tells you. You give him a small nod. It ticks over into the afternoon, and behind you a church bell starts to ring loudly.

He clears his throat, “But her father was paying for all her studies, her rent — everything. On the condition that when she was done studying, she would come back home and she would marry whoever he told her to marry. So, then she started her masters, and she was going to get a PHD. It felt like that day wasn’t coming.”

Bradley spares you of the details. How much he loved her, loved their life together. The lemon tree in the courtyard behind their apartment, and the way the sun cast shadows across their bed in the early morning. The way Natasha would smile at him.

“Until she was about to finish her PHD, and her dad says he picked a guy, and a date, and a venue for the wedding. Only — I had proposed first. We were engaged, and… as far as I saw it, we were just waiting until she graduated to tell her father.”

He proposed to her. They were engaged. Somehow, you just can’t picture it. You can’t picture the cynical fate-denier in front of you getting down on one knee and asking the woman that he loved to spend the rest of her life with him. The revelation draws nothing but a deep breath from you.

That’s not how it went, anyway. He didn’t have an expensive diamond, he didn’t get down on one knee and propose in front of your entire family. The two of them didn’t celebrate with champagne in crystal glasses. The way Bradley proposed was nothing like the way Malcolm had.

No, Bradley had proposed without a ring, laying in the grass in the park near their home. She had been laying in his lap and reading to him. He thinks about that day often.

“She didn’t see it the same way?”

Bradley rubs a rough hand across his jaw and closes his eyes for a moment. Even now, with the power of hindsight on his side, he doesn’t understand why she couldn’t just see it the same way he did. He had done it all alone. She wasn’t even willing to try.

“It’s a hard field to break into, especially if you can’t support yourself. There isn’t always a lot of money in it. She made the decision without me, and I was angry. She was going to marry this stranger, live off of her father’s money for just a little longer… then, we could be together.” Bradley scoffs almost bitterly and pinches at the bridge of his nose, like it gives him a headache just to remember.

“So… what did you do?” Whatever it was, it can’t have been that bad. You’ve seen the way she looks at him. He lifts his chin, takes the cigarette from between his lips, and looks at you.

His shoulders are heavy, his lips downturned. He looks older when he’s serious like this, more mature. He inhales deeply, and follows it with a burdened exhale. Ash from his cigarette falls to the floor, settling in the space between his sneakers.

“She was at the beach one morning, and someone knocked at the door, so I answered it,” He answered wearing nothing but a pair of still wet shorts, dusted with sand and saturated with salt water from his swim, his towel draped over his shoulder. He had gotten home a few minutes before, he had a class to get to later. “It was her father, looking for her. He freaked out when he saw me, asking who I was. I told him.”

He sets the cigarette back between his lips and inhales deeply. Your nose wrinkles at the smell of smoke filling the room.

“…You told him what?”

“I told him everything,” Bradley’s voice is quiet now, so filled with shame that the weight is dragging his words down. “That we had been living together for four years by then, that she wasn’t ever planning on coming home. It wasn’t my place. I could have lied, but I didn’t want to.”

You close your eyes for a moment, and think of your father. Of what would happen if he ever found out that you let Bradley spend a night in your bed. Then, you swallow softly and bite at the inside of your cheek. “What did he do?”

Bradley swallows thickly. It feels so much worse to say it out loud. “He never spoke to her again.”

There’s no real answer to grace him with. For certain, you know that your father never would have spoken to you again. You know that he would cost you everything, just like he had her. He seems to think that you would like to know more — your silence makes him start to tap his foot again.

“She married the guy, she dropped out of school, she left me, but it was too late. Her father was just angry at us for lying to him. He… died last May.”

Pressing your lips together, you exhale through your nose and blink at him. “He didn’t speak to his own daughter for four years?”

“I cost her the rest of her time with her father, and the career she could have had — because she was going to leave me.” There it is; what he was so ashamed of. The admission of guilt. Purpose in what he had said to her father.

Still, there’s something that makes you scoot forwards, the wooden legs of the chair scraping across the floor as your hand reaches out and your fingers curl softly around his wrist, “You didn’t know that he would react that way.”

Bradley stubs the cigarette out on the back of the lighter and sets it down. He leans in close, his knee setting between yours, his eyes growing warmer as he leans in. “No, but I knew it would hurt her and I did it anyway.”

You let him stay just as close. The cigarette smell lingers between the two of you. The sunlight catches that diamond on your finger and his gaze flickers downwards briefly. When he looks back up, you’re as serious as he has seen you, with none of the anger that usually accompanies it.

“I understand.” Your nails are a pretty blush colour, perfectly polished. They look out of place tucked into his large palm, your thumb stroking across the back of his hand. His eyes search across your face, his brows drawing slightly together.

“Which part?”

“I understand why you wanted to hurt her. I get why she wants to hurt you,” You tell him, the smell of his cologne lingering between the two of you, willing you to ignore the smell of the burnt tobacco. You close his fingers around yours, holding his hand between both of yours. “We’ve all done things we aren’t proud of.”

It’s all true, every word of it. But it’s deceptive nonetheless. If Bradley had ever tried to ruin you the way he did to her, you’re certain you wouldn’t treat him with the same kind of kindness that Natasha does.

Bradley hums softly. The late June heat settles between the two of you, prickling at the back of your neck. Reaching down, his fingers curl around the leg of your chair, dragging it closer again. His knee sits between yours.

Your mouth twitches, hinting at a smile as he leans in close and swipes his thumb across the bone of your jaw.

“You feel like getting dinner with me tonight, honey?”

…

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[lesbians4armand]

Part Two of my Preacher’s Daughter is an Armand Album thesis for @nightcolorz 

Thoroughfare

I don’t have too much to say on this song as it’s one of the less Armand songs of the album imo, but there are a few bits still. 

The references to California and the west coast feels very much like San Francisco devil’s minion but not enough to really elaborate. 

Gibson Girl

“You wanna love me right now, You wanna get alone with me, You wanna get my clothes off, And hurt me” For so long , Armand’s perception of love has been so possessive and physical. If someone loves him, they want to own him and they want to fuck him, this is what he was taught too young and it was proven right again and again.

“Says he’s in love with my body, that’s why he’s fucking it up” He’s told that Marius loves him, loves his body, yet is continually hurt and abused and sold until he dies and his body is made that of a vampire because Marius just loves him too much to let him die for real. Him, or what he can offer?

“Then he says to me, Baby if it feels good then it can’t be bad” Being taught that if something is pleasurable then it can’t be bad, whether it be adult’s wanting to fuck him when he’s too young, or killing and drinking blood, or having his blood drunk. If what Marius does to him feels good, then it can’t be bad or wrong like the ones who actually hurt him, right?

“You wanna fuck me right now, You wanna see me on my knees, You wanna rip these clothes off, And hurt me” The lyrics repeat, this time more violently. This again reminds me of the banquet scene, Bianca’s cousin’s and other men wanting to hurt and degrade Amadeo, then Lord Harlech wanting not just to sleep with him but to own him, and trying and succeeding to kill him when he refuses.

Ptolemaea

“You love blood too much, but not like I do.” Armand was addicted to Marius’s blood before he was turned, just as Daniel was addicted to Armand’s. This running theme of obsession with the blood just hits me in such a way. 

“You’d do well to say yes to me” This line is barely a whisper in the song but it’s very Marius being very controlling over Amadeo, not truly giving him a choice as to what he does. 

“Saying I’m the one he’s gonna take me” Amadeo is Marius’s favourite, over any of the other palazzo boys. He is the only one he would bring into the blood, for better or for worse. 

“Calling me the one, I’m the white light, beautiful, finite” Again, Amadeo is the only one he would give the dark gift to, but he also gives him a diamond ring because “diamonds are the white light of God” which is what this lyric always reminds me of. Heis beautiful of course, but as a mortal it’s finite, Marius wants to preserve such beauty, even speaking about what a beautiful corpse Amadeo would be. 

“You poor thing, sweet mourning lamb, there’s nothing you can do, It’s already been done.” I’m not explaining this one. It just is.

“What fear a man like you brings upon a woman like me” I could talk more about Amadeo here but you know what this lyric really reminds me of? Show Armand revealing his history of sexual abuse to Louis to be told that Louis once ran a brothel. What fear that must be, knowing your partner will never really understand this part of you because he was the one behind doing it to others. Of course, Armand is not a woman but the point very much stands.

The repeated cries of stop and the scream speak for themselves in this song I think.

August Underground & Televangelism

Putting the two instrumentals together as I won’t talk about them much, but the deeply horror vibe of the first and the calmer, sadder vibe of the second is very telling of Armand's story.

Sun Bleached Flies

“What I wouldn't do to be in church this Sunday” Being raised so religious then losing it so abruptly it makes him sick in his horror and longing in Venice. Before then, he had God, and now nothing. 

“God loves you, but not enough to save you” Same thing, Andrei was so devoted to his saints and his prayers he was deemed holy, and then later given the name Amadeo, beloved of God. God loved him, but he was not saved. Not from the slave traders or the brothel owners, not from Marius. Then, even at death he was not saved, forced to remain eternally young and eternally dead. And again, when taken by Santino he was not saved by God. Beloved, never saved.

“So I said fine, cause that’s how my daddy raised me, if they strike once then you just hit them twice as hard.” Violence was so normalised to Armand by Marius, he doesn’t even blink at it any more. 

“We all know how it goes, the more it hurts the less it shows” Armand keeps so much of his story and pain and trauma within it barely shows through, blocking his mind even to much older more powerful vampires like Khayman, only revealing small amounts. 

“And that’s why I could never go back home” He can never really return to his real home of Kiev, because he’s not Andrei any more. It’s his homeland but not his home.Even Venice he can never really return, Marius and the palazzo are no longer there, he isn’t Amadeo any more. All his homes are ghosts. 

“But I always knew that in the end, no one was coming to save me, so I just prayed and I keep praying and praying” Same vibe as “God loves you but not enough to save you.” He will never be saved, no matter how much he prays.

Strangers

“I tried to be good, am I no good?” Armand submits to others so much because he so desperately wants to be good for something, at something, be useful, more than just “having a skill.” It’s deeply heartbreaking. 

“With my memory restricted to a Polaroid in evidence” I’m actually writing a fic with this title atm about Armand and the Vecchio painting but it’s just so fitting. He has little memory of that time, little connection to that identity, yet it’s painted and displayed on a wall for millions to see, still on his knees with torn clothing, always serving.

“I just wanted to be yours, can I be yours?” Whether it be Marius, Lestat, Louis, Daniel, anyone, Armand wants to be loved more than anything, but not just loved. He wants to be owned, for the love to be all encompassing, more than anything else to the other person. They can’t have anyone else because Armand needs them so badly to be devoted to him, to show him the love he’s never known, to provide an end to his awful loneliness. He wants to be theirs. This is why he kills Claudia, breaks down a door with an axe, gives Daniel his blood and the dark gift, abandons the coven for Lestat. 

“If I’m turning in your stomach, am I making you feel sick” Both the references to grief and consumption here are so good. Does feeding from Armand make them feel sick, or is it the guilt in what they have done to him, the horror in knowing what he has been through? 

“Don’t think about it too hard you’ll never sleep a wink at night again” Ending on this lyric that perfectly encapsulates how I feel about Armand. I think about him too hard.

[judyprincess]

Too Pink for me- Logan Howlett +18

02: The Wolf and the Rabbit

Paintings were never really loved for what they were.

People admired the beauty, the reflection of the artist's imagination captured on the canvas.

But could anyone truly love a painting by seeing beyond its surface, embracing only its meaning?

When has anyone ever appreciated a painting while being fully aware of the story it really tells?

A sea of praise, received by those who simply admired the artist's skillful creation.

________________________________________

Leaving the ancient lands of Europe behind and drawing closer to the vast American landscape, we find ourselves in Westchester County, New York. Unlike the beautiful Venice, cradled by the sea, Westchester was a colder place, embraced by forests.

Away from the bustling city, nestled within the woods, stood the X-Mansion, a classical structure amidst the modern cities of the United States. Majestic in its presence, this grand building, now a school, was reminiscent of the old European buildings, known for their classical architecture, fit for kings.

The view was breathtaking for the young Italian, who anxiously moved her legs beneath the soft fabric of her floral dress. She could feel the cold seeing through the structure of the Jet-X, an electrifying sensation that reminded her she was no longer in warm, sunlit Venice. Everything about this journey thrilled her, and through the material of the vehicle, she could already see the mansion in the distance, making her even more nervous. Her lips stretched into an eager smile, while her hands gently traced her thighs in a nervous gesture.

Calm down, calm down, Rosellina. You must make a good impression.

The artist reminded herself. Although she knew she rarely needed words to charm others.

"One step at a time, one hope, then another," she whispered to herself, as if it were a mantra.

Ororo, from the pilot's seat, heard Rosellina's voice although she couldn't make out the words from afar, and simply smiled with amusement. She knew the girl was nervous.

"You haven't slept at all," Ororo remarked, referencing the advice she had given Rosellina a few hours earlier. Rosellina lifted her head and laughed nervously, nodding. She remembered how Ororo had suggested she sleep, as it would be a long journey, but her nerves and the anticipation of this new chapter in her life had kept her wide awake.

"Don't worry, no one there bites," Jean assured with a smile.

Ororo glanced sideways at Jean, though a particular individual was on her mind-someone who should keep his thoughts private and often blurred them out impulsively.

"Well, not all of them," Ororo murmured under her breath, reminding herself that she would need to have a word with that person upon Rosellina's arrival.

More than a person, Ororo had in mind a man whose behavior often bordered on the animalistic.

And there he was, pacing around the mansion, trying to stave off his boredom.

Logan.

Logan Howlett, the infamous Wolverine. A man who was blunt, stoic, with more than a few anger issues, doing what he wanted, when he wanted. He was highly allergic to what others thought of him, indifferent to whether his actions were right or wrong in their eyes. A man with nearly two centuries of life behind him, far from being a model human being, and certainly no friend of polite conversation.

Logan hated many things, and his list was longer than any spoiled child's Christmas wishlist. Not to mention, humanity itself disgusted him. His happiness was rooted in smoking and drinking. He smoked like a poor devil with a serious nicotine problem-more smoke billowed from his mouth than from a chimney in winter. He drank so much that it was common for his natural scent to be a mix of alcohol, sweat, and a hint of something that could only be described as the essence of the woods.

Among the things he despised was being treated like a babysitter. This was a frequent occurrence at the mansion-getting stuck playing nanny while the rest of the team went off on small missions, usually involving tracking down mutants causing chaos or responding to what Charles pinpointed through Cerebro.

Charles had been urging him to become a teacher at the school, but Logan had no patience for dealing with kids. He'd probably throw them out the window before listening to a single complaint, so he refused to take on a role he couldn't picture himself doing. He was a bitter soldier, not someone interested in raising other people's children.

Yet, that didn't spare him from being a substitute teacher or a frequent assistant in simulations, or from playing nanny when everyone else was out and he wasn't included in the mission, thanks to Scott's kind remarks about his impulsive nature.

Frustrated, Logan leaned against the wall near the front door, arms crossed. Being idle while the others taught, and having the displeasure of seeing Scott in the hallway from time to time, didn't help his mood. Logan and Scott's relationship had deteriorated further from the rocky start it had when Logan was marked as the sole culprit for the flirtations between him and Jean, Scott's girlfriend.

It had worn him down-the mixed signals from Jean, as if she both wanted and didn't want him, and how Logan was always the one to lose out in the end. Despite the bitter taste Jean left, it was the same feeling he got from whiskey when he drank it. Bitter and burning, searing his throat, hard to swallow, yet creating an inexplicable addiction within him.

An addiction that was clearly unhealthy. Toxic, both physically and mentally.

And like the taste of whiskey, the Canadian found himself submerged in Jean's essence. He recalled her particular scent, and those eyes that often looked at him with a teasing glint-it was intoxicating. I have longed to see her once more.

Though, of course, he had no idea where the hell she had gone. He only knew from Bobby, who seemed to keep tabs on everything happening at the school, that they had gone to Italy. What were they doing in Italy? They'd been gone for two days now, and he was smoking more than usual due to the anxiety.

"You're going to have a meltdown, Logan," Logan was slightly startled and turned to see Rogue, the one that couldn't touch anyone with her bare hands.

"I don't know what you're talking about, kid," Logan replied indifferently, as if Rogue wasn't the person who knew him best around here.

"Yeah, well, lying isn't your strong suit, you know," she said with a little laugh, leaning against the wall beside him.

"That's because I don't care to lie, so I'm not doing it now," I responded.

Lies upon lies. Yes, he was lying to himself more than to Rogue.

"Well, if you say so, I'm not going to question the babysitter," Rogue teased him lightly.

Logan raised an eyebrow at her before turning back to the door, his lips curling into a slight smile.

Like a dog that had just heard his master's keys jingling from a block away, Logan pushed himself off the wall when his sharp ears detected the sounds of the Jet-X. Rogue looked at him with accusatory eyes, almost mentally shaking her head. She wasn't a big fan of Logan's strange fixation on Jean, and seeing him act like this almost made her want to touch Logan with her bare hands just to knock him out for a while so he'd stop acting like a headless chicken whenever he came to the red-haired woman.

The door swing open after a few minutes. Jean and Ororo made sure both sides were fully open so Rosellina could pass through easily when she arrived with her things.

"Logan," Jean said first, finding the tall man standing in front of her, almost as if he had been waiting for her.

"Hey, Jean," Logan replied quietly, almost gently, dropping his usual gruff and indifferent tone for a moment.

Logan met Jean's flirtatious eyes for a moment, and he wondered, did she do it on purpose, or was it just her natural state? Because it seemed only he ever fell prey to that doe-eyed look of hers.

Ororo cleared her throat, suppressing a sigh at the all-too-familiar scene. Her words were more than just unheard by Logan's rather sharp ears.

"Hello to you too, Logan," Ororo greeted, as always, remaining in the background.

She glanced at Rogue, who was watching Logan with slightly accusatory eyes.

"Ah, Rogue, I'm glad you're here. We've brought a new companion, a very sweet girl," Ororo said, leaving Logan and Jean in the background, as she often did.

When it came to getting along with the teachers, Rogue couldn't say she liked Jean. She could greet her and be polite, but she harbored no affection for her. Logan was like an older brother to her; he was the one who brought her to this place she now called home and the one she could read on when she needed a shoulder to cry on.

To Rogue, it was clear that Jean had a thing for the bad boy of the school, but to her, that's all Logan was-a man with whom she would only spend one fiery night if she could. Jean's flirting felt like a game that had turned into a daily habit, and Rogue didn't like it one bit. To her, it was the behavior of a two-faced flirt.

Rogue shifted her gaze away from the toxic zone, softening her expression as she smiled at Ororo.

"A new companion?" Rogue looked genuinely excited.

There weren't many girls her age at the school besides Kitty, and the thought of someone close to her age gave her a thrill of excitement.

"You went all the way to Italy for a girl?" Logan asked gruffly, searching for the supposed newcomer.

"Yes, it was a direct favor requested by an old friend of the Professor's," Ororo responded to Logan.

Logan raised an inquisitive eyebrow at Ororo's words. As always, he was left out of the loop in the X-Men's group discussions, or at least unaware of their plans until the last minute, only learning half of what was going on.

He let out a tired, mocking laugh.

"Of course, since you never tell me anything, I was totally up to speed on the situation."

Ororo shot him a look that discreetly said, -Please, behave-.

"We didn't have time to inform you, I'm sorry," Jean offered with a gentle smile.

That look. Logan regulated his breathing and looked away, placing his hands on his hips. Maybe he could always argue with Ororo, but it only took Jean's most logical words for him to drop the conversation and accept it.

"And where's the kid?" he asked, glancing at Ororo.

But his keen sense of smell almost answered his question instantly, ignoring any other noise after he asked. His nostrils filled with a sweet scent, as intoxicating as a field of blooming flowers. Could a perfume ever smell as good as the fragrance he detected? It was as heady as a glass of summer wine.

Logan's eyes shifted toward the door, noticing through the strong sunlight streaming into the mansion a small figure approaching. His eyes widened slightly as he saw the woman, the one who seemed to carry with her the most enchanting fragrance any girl would wish to have in her perfume collection.

Pink hair, fair skin lightly dusted with brown freckles. She was dressed in a floral dress, fitting for a girl who might live far away in the countryside in her own fantasy world.

Rosellina struggled a bit as she dropped her luggage to the floor, almost harshly but unintentionally, her delicate hands barely managing to hold onto it as it nearly slipped from her grip. The sound of the suitcase hitting the mansion's expensive wooden floor echoed. The Italian winced and let out a nervous laugh.

"Sorry, I'm not one of those mutants with extraordinary strength..." she admitted with embarrassment.

After another nervous chuckle, she straightened up and tossed her long hair back with the help of her arm, sighing a bit from the effort. That's when her eyes met Logan's. Rosellina's eyes widened slightly, having to tilt her head up to look at a man who was probably about 190cm tall. His figure was imposing, his features exuding ruggedness, and his body seemed as though it had been sculpted by Michelangelo himself under that shirt, surely. Not to mention her mischievous eyes saw more than they should. He was a man whose masculinity was evident in his aura and posture, staring at her with those piercing eyes.

Rosellina felt exposed under his gaze, as naked as the muses in the paintings of Velázquez or Goya. This man was looking her up and down without shame, without any semblance of manners. A gentleman wouldn't look at a woman so intrusively, at least not in Rosellina's mind. But she could see how his gaze finally settled on her eyes, a rough, fiery eye contact that... made her sense more, something beyond the roughness that this man, with an almost animalistic aura, projected as he looked at her as if she were prey.

Logan, on the other hand, didn't even know where to begin looking once the Italian girl stepped through those doors. His gaze eventually anchored itself to her eyes, as firmly as an anchor buried in the sand, keeping the ship from drifting away. Those emerald eyes, so innocent, so full of life-Jean's gaze had never been so naturally flirtatious, so damnably sweet that it stirred his most primal instincts.

What's wrong with me?

Logan asked himself, unable to tear his eyes away from hers, from that face. This little one had him rooted in place, staring at her like some creepy old fool. He felt like an idiot, unable to say a word at first glance, just staring.

Without a doubt, he'd add this girl to the list of things he hated.

Why?

He hated how she made him feel like a boy standing there, like an animal without reason. That dazzling appearance, so eye-catching. Those intrusive eyes that seemed to want to read his entire being, as if begging to be let in. Everything about her seemed designed to be adorable, to be liked by people, or so it seemed. He wondered if her mutation was driving people mad, and he was close to the mark, though not in that sense.

His gaze hardened in the face of her bright presence, wanting to strip away his senses to rid himself of this weakness toward her appearance.

She's just a damn kid, Logan! For God's sake!

He screamed at himself mentally, wishing she'd stop looking at him like that, so curious, so submissive. As if she were expecting something from him. And he wasn't going to give in, no way.

"Logan?" Logan snapped out of his trance at the sound of Ororo's voice.

The dark-skinned woman had snapped her fingers to get his attention. Logan had shut down his entire system and wasn't aware of any conversation that might have been happening.

"What?" he responded gruffly.

Ororo sighed, not understanding what was going on in his head.

"This is Rosellina. She's been living in Venice all this time. Her father works at the Pentagon," she informed him about the new arrival, hoping for some semblance of politeness from Logan.

Rosellina looked at Logan with those curious eyes. He was an interesting figure, to say the least-she had never encountered such a walking embodiment of masculinity on the streets of Europe. But she had the feeling that this person didn't like her.

"My name is Rosellina Wilson, a pleasure to meet you."

Rosellina was about to step toward him but hesitated. Back in Europe, she would have greeted him with two kisses on the cheek. It was her foreign custom wanting to emerge, but she knew that on this side of the pond, it wasn't appropriate. Besides, even if she stood on tiptoe, she couldn't reach him, nor would she have the courage to do so. Something about his piercing gaze made her legs tremble.

Was it being surrounded by so many warm, good people that made her feel so small? Or was it him?

Logan raised an eyebrow at her foreign accent, a clear sign of her upbringing in Italy, despite her seemingly American roots.

"Logan," he responded curtly. Politeness wasn't accompanying his words today, at least not for her.

Rogue observed the tension between them, suppressing a smile, biting her lips to keep from laughing. She had never seen Logan like this; it piqued her curiosity.

She herself was struck by Rosellina's beauty. The young Italian girl evoked envy and jealousy for her naturally enchanting appearance without even trying. But not in a bad way-there was more a sense of admiration. Plus, the way she made the great Logan react amused her.

Ororo's eyes darted back and forth between Rosellina and Logan, not understanding Logan's sour mood toward the sweet girl. The first thing she asked Logan not to do (be rude) was the first thing he did. The man was absolutely incorrigible.

"Don't look at me like that, Storm. I looked after the brats like you asked."

Logan muttered irritably, pulling out a cigar and lighting it in the middle of the conversation.

Jean watched him, suppressing a small giggle at his behavior. Although she found it curious, at the very least, why Logan was more irritable around Rosellina-he had always seemed protective of Rogue and Kitty.

Ororo, on the other hand, wasn't pleased, deciding to let Logan's attitude slide.

"Oh, thank you for your care, Logan. At least the mansion didn't burn down."

She said, rolling her eyes slightly, while waving a hand in front of her face to avoid the smoke that started billowing from Logan's cigar.

Rosellina wrinkled her nose at the unpleasant smell of smoke, letting out a small cough as the fumes invaded her nostrils without permission. She had never encountered someone so rude and indifferent to the comfort of others around them. She waved her hand in front of her, trying to disperse the smoke, and took a step back on her small heels.

"I believe this is a smoke-free space, Signore. It's a school," Rosellina said in a polite tone, offering a small smile.

"That's not right."

She added, to which Logan raised an eyebrow at her, pulling the cigar from his mouth and letting the smoke drift in another direction. He could hear Ororo trying to suppress a smile.

"Don't lecture me, brat," he warned immediately.

"I'm just advising. There are many children here; you're not setting a good example. Aren't you a teacher?"

Rosellina looked at him curiously, placing her hands behind her back. Logan stood still for a moment, taken aback by how she was trying to "educate" him. The situation was amusing to the others who weren't involved in the conversation. Rogue watched with admiration, thinking, "I like her," since no one usually dared say anything to Logan.

"Besides, I'm not a child; I'm nearly 24 years old," she corrected him with a sweet smile.

Logan stared at her as she smiled sweetly, like a little angel who would never harm a fly. Knowing he was the target of the moment's mockery didn't sit well with him. Logan took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, avoiding an outburst.

This little girl had the knack for making him angry without even trying, not to mention the audacity to keep trying to school him.

"Listen, Pinky. I don't care if you're 24 or 30. I'm nearly 200 years old, and to me, you'll always be an utterly impertinent brat," he said, not bothering to hide the disdain in his tone.

Rosellina was stunned by the first revelation-was he really nearly two centuries old?

Before she could respond, Logan blew out more smoke, nervously puffing on his cigar.

"And I can smoke wherever the hell I please. I don't need your little pink health flag telling me what to do and what not to do. You got it?"

He warned her again, his tone menacing, his gaze like a freshly loaded gun aimed right at that pink point. He leaned in dangerously close before lowering his voice.

"If you don't want smoke blown directly in your face next time, I suggest you save your lectures and move your pink ass out of my business."

Rosellina stood stunned by such aggression; she hadn't even intended to anger him. Was he really that irritable?

She watched as he stormed away from her, taking long strides far from the main entrance, leaving clouds of smoke in his wake.

"Logan, Logan!" Ororo called after him, trying to follow with a few steps. "Don't be rude, apologize to Rosellina!"

Logan didn’t bother to turn around; he had no interest in staying in the same space as the one who specialized in short-circuiting his temper.

“Blow me,” Logan spat out harshly before disappearing around the corner of the hallway.

A long silence settled among the four women at the entrance. The Italian looked at the three women, even at the one whose name she still didn't know, who seemed to be stifling a laugh at the situation.

"Did I do something wrong?" Rosellina asked, worried about Logan's irascible behavior.

“No, you didn’t. I actually found it amusing,” Rogue commented, smiling at her.

“Logan’s like that, don’t worry. Don’t take it personally,” Ororo said with an apologetic smile.

“I wasn’t going to…” Rosellina murmured to herself, wondering what the man's problem was. In the background, she could hear Jean saying she’d go prepare the room.

Why doesn’t he like me?

The little rabbit pondered, unable to understand the fierce wolf.

____________________________________

The vision of something you don't understand can always lead you to madness.

Not understanding can lead you to rage.

The most arrogant being on earth is always unnerved by the idea of not comprehending something when they believe they know everything.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Who wants to buy a 1930 5bd, 2ba, beach apt. in Capitola, CA, in the famous Venetian Court, for $5.45M + $179mo. HOA? The Venetian Court was supposed to be California's answer to being like Venice, Italy.

Looks like a 2nd fl. unit with entrance on the side.

Well, I can't say that I'm impressed. It looks like a cheap hotel room. I would have to decorate this with lots of color.

The primary bedroom has the view.

This room has an alcove with maybe a sleep sofa?

Kitchenette, but at least it has a full-size stove and fridge. I don't know if you can even live here year round. It may not be allowed.

I was gonna ssy table with a view, but there's a wall in the way.

Bath #1 is very tight. I don't even know if there's a toilet in here.

So, this is a duplex. The ground floor has a living room.

There's a long counter.

I don't know, this is such an unappealing apt. Such dull decor.

I guess this is the main entertaining area- long table and counter space, plus the kitchenette.

Hallway to more bedrooms down here.

This is weird- that must be a sink and toilet in one room, and the shower in another.

Bedroom down here is kind of depressing.

This is actually the most decorated room.

Oh, finally, a toilet with a sink.

There's absolutely no land to speak of, you're buying an end unit condo.

Looks like the only lights for the night are on the houses.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/1500-Wharf-Rd-APT-12-Capitola-CA-95010/16132298_zpid/

[apoptoses]

Venice in winter is nothing compared to his homeland, but it’s still damp, oppressive. Outside the sky is a pale shade of grey and the wind must be blowing something fierce, as the little roundels of glass rattle in their iron panes.

But Bianca’s chambers are a hot house. Heat crackles in the fireplace, from the candelabras that dot the walls and tables. Steam curls from the surface of her bath and Amadeo watches the way the wisps of blond hair that surround her face curl with it. She tips her head back against the rim of the tub to look at him. Her cheeks are flushed as rose petals when she smiles, gone pink from the steam.

“You’ve made a terrible mess of my bed,” she says.

And so he has. Having no spare clothing here he’s had no choice but to yank the velvet covers free and wrap himself in them. He’s lying the wrong way, his feet peeking out near the head of the bed. He pushes them into a pillow and grins behind the auburn curtain of his hair.

“And what of it?” he asks.

“Does your master let you get away with such things?”

“No. He beats me terribly. I’m a victim of his punishments almost nightly.”

Bianca rolls her pretty blue eyes. “And you enjoy it, don’t you?”

He does. But she needn’t know that.

This room with all of its delicate things- perfume bottles, silk ribbons draped across her vanity table, Bianca’s little shoes and her combs for her hair and her vases of flowers- it’s not the place for that sort of talk. It’s like being inside a jewelry box. Like being beneath the sea, with the way the steam has collected on the windows and left them shimmering and wet.

Bianca toys with the golden end of her braid, searching it for split hairs. The pearl strands woven into it click softly as she twists and turns her hair.

Amadeo lives in a beautiful palazzo of unruly boys. He sleeps in his master’s strong, imposing bed. He’s been to brothels of all sorts, enjoyed their lurid sort of appeal but this place, this woman’s chamber- it holds such fascination. He watches her in awe as she lifts her feet from beneath the water, rests them on the opposite end of the tub, and he feels as though he’s under a spell.

“You look like a mermaid,” he mumbles.

Water runs down her legs. They’re pale, slender, and Amadeo wonders if he grasped her by the ankle if his fingers would touch where they encircle it. Pressed together as they are, water and soap bubbles clinging to her skin, they look like the appendage of a sea creature. If he blurs his vision the fine golden hair on her legs becomes scales.

“Oh?” Bianca flicks a bit of water at him. It lands on the tip of his nose. “And were I a mermaid what would you be? Some fisherman come to capture me? A prince lost at sea, desperate for saving like Odysseus? Come, wash my back and tell me.”

Amadeo rises from the bed. He leaves the safety of the blankets behind and drags her carved wooden stool over to the side of the tub.

Funny how they’re both naked and yet he feels all the more vulnerable for it. Bianca is otherworldly with her hair swept aside, her head tilted to expose the line of her throat, her shoulder. He takes the wet cloth, rubs the perfumed water into her skin, and wonders what a crude being he must be in comparison.

“Perhaps I would capture you and travel about with you, keeping you on display. I could charge a gold coin just to look upon your beauty,” he says. “You’d make me a rich man.”

He drags the cloth over the delicate ball of her shoulder. It’s white as a porcelain doll, soft in a way none of the other boy’s flesh is. Amadeo massages at her skin and takes in the musicality of her little groan.

“Mm, and would you keep me in a cage? Would you be a very strict master, one who never lets his little captive out?” she teases.

Amadeo nods. “A golden one, so that I might hand feed you through the bars. I could charge another coin for that, I think. Plenty of men would pay for the pleasure of passing you a little bite of fish.”

He washes her scapula when she leans forward, the ball joint at the base of her neck. Her breasts bob in the water, slick with soap, flushed pink with the heat,  and Amadeo can’t resist running the cloth over her clavicle. Down and down until his finger slides into the valley between them where her sternum rests. Her laugh vibrates beneath the bone as she slaps at his wrist.

It’s a half-hearted protest. Splashing just for the sake of getting him wet, and as Amadeo dodges her hand he pretends to accidentally grope her. The entirety of her breast nestles perfectly into his hand.

“You’re such a predictable boy. Would you have them pay to do this as well?” Bianca asks. Her voice rises into a gasp when he catches her nipple between his finger and thumb. “How many gold coins to molest your captive mermaid?”

She’s soft. Not like his master, who’s like caressing one of the marble statues that lines their courtyard. Bianca has warm breasts to squeeze, a roll of flesh that appears above her stomach when she sits hunched and naked like this. Amadeo rubs his palm over the swell of her stomach, his fingertips brushing the gold curls that cover her mound, and curls his other arm around her shoulders to clasp her wet back to his chest.

“None,” he says. “I wouldn’t charge them any, because this I would keep all for my own.”

The wind rattles the shutters of the palazzo. Rain lashes at the windows. It’s freezing outside but in here Amadeo is sweating. It trickles down his back as he grazes her thighs with his fingers. He’s damp under the arms, too warm from the fireplace, from his desire. Just like with his master, he feels monstrous from it. Lesser for the needy thing between his legs. An animal driven by lust.

Bianca struggles in his grasp. Not to get free, to rise up toward his wandering hand. But the position is awkward. Her ankles, perched as they are on the edge of the tub, they don’t give her enough leverage to lift her hips and so she’s trapped there; wiggling like a fish. Amadeo teases at the crease where her thighs meet. He traces it from knee to pubis and back again and listens to the quickening of her breath.

The cleft of her must be slick. She’s probably flushed pink down there as well but he can’t see it through the water, the way her thighs are clenched together.  But that’s alright. He’s submitted to his master, to the workers of the brothels. Amadeo’s not had anyone squirm for him and he’s finding he likes this game. Her shiver when he rakes his nails through her curls sets his blood alight.

He works his finger into the tight crevice where her thighs meet. He seeks out the sensitive nub between her legs and he knows he’s found it by the way Bianca tips her head back and inhales a sharp breath.

Amadeo tries to picture her as a sea creature. What folds she might have here, in this secret part of her. Whether she’d be warm inside or cold, slimy like the belly of a fish. He forces his finger further down through the squeeze of her thighs and teases at her entrance.

It’s torment, being outside of this bath, unable to plunge into her. In the excitement of the previous night he’d finished all too quickly, and it’s embarrassing, really. He’s dying inside to repeat his performance, to do better this time. But he owes her. Pleasure is the only way he can pay her.

Bianca’s hands grip his forearm like a vice. They’re slender, like a doll’s, and he likes to feel small but she’s the first to make him feel powerful. He rubs tiny circles at her and her nails dig into his skin. Glides his finger up and down and watches through the distortion of the water the needy thrust of her hips.

“Amadeo-“ she gasps.

Her knees fall apart. He clucks his tongue at her, stills his hand.

“You’re a mermaid, remember? Your legs should stay together, yes, like that.”

She lets out a whine, clenches her legs back into place. Amadeo touches her again, slow, teasing, and bites back a hiss when she claws at his wrist.

This is new, having someone fall apart in his arms. Taking her apart little by little with his fingertip alone is a rush that goes straight to his head. Like being drunk only better, because instead of a headache there’s a reward at the end. Falling upon her in her great golden bed. Or perhaps just the satisfaction of seeing her shake with pleasure. That alone might be enough.

The pearls in Bianca’s braid click when she tosses her head. Amadeo strokes her, up and down, again and again. Runs his finger along her folds and watches her toes curl at the edge of the bath. He presses at her entrance. Makes as if he’ll let his fingertip in and her toes point with anticipation. Then go lax again when he takes his fingertip away and seeks out the sensitive nub of her again.

“You’re a horrible tease,” she complains.

Amadeo laughs. “I’m your captor, aren’t I? It’s my right to tease. I trapped you for my own pleasure, after all.”

He traces a little circle over her clit. Bianca presses his cheek into the crook of his elbow, as though she means to hide her face.

“Most men would take their pleasure in other ways.”

There’s no hiding herself, though. Amadeo tilts his head, ignores the pain that comes with straining into such an awkward position, and takes in the way she’s panting. The rush of color to her cheeks, how she bites her lip when he touches just the right way. He keeps on that spot, repeats the motion, and he can tell by the way she squeezes her thighs that she’s squeezing tight on the inside too.

“I’m unlike most men,” he says, and kisses at her throat.

Her skin tastes like the perfumed water. Like salt because she too has begun to sweat. He rubs over and over, feels the rush of her pulse, and wonders if this is what his master feels with him. Whether making him squirm, helpless in his arms, makes him feel indomitable as well, and for a second he wishes he could rend her throat with his teeth. Amadeo wants to feel the stitch of her heart the way his master feels his whenever he bites into his flesh and takes his blood.

Slow circles. Over and over he spirals his fingertip. No change in the motion, no teasing now. There’s only one end to this and he means to achieve it as he drops kisses along her neck. Amadeo picks up his speed bit by bit until she gasps. There, there- the words are muttered out over the slosh of the bath, and he listens. Takes her advice even though his forearm is screaming at him, and-

Bianca kicks at the edge of the tub. Her cry sounds surprised, like she didn’t expect to be wracked with this much sensation, and she shakes with it. Her thighs squeeze so tight around Amadeo’s finger he couldn’t slip it inside her even if he wanted to.

And that’s fine. Good, in fact. This pleasure is for her sake and even if his cock is throbbing its need between his legs it can wait. Must wait, he decides. His master would scold him for taking her like a street ruffian not once but twice.

She’s lovely when she goes slack. Bianca’s hair is mussed from rubbing her face against his arm, a gold curl come free near her temple. Amadeo goes to tuck it back for her but she shakes her head.

“My hair will have to be redone entirely.” She plunges her wet fingers into his auburn hair and drags him down for a kiss. Her body is uncomfortably hot, sticky against his. “You’re right, you know.”

“About what?”

She nips at his lip, hard enough to leave it smarting. While Amadeo is busy rubbing at his mouth she rises from the tub like Venus from her shell. Arm covering her breasts, she reaches with the other hand and gestures for him to hand her a dry sheet.

“You’re like your master,” she says.

Amadeo cocks his head. He hands her the sheet without getting up from the stool, suddenly embarrassed of the thing throbbing between his own legs. He aches to throw her to the floor and take her.

“How so?” he asks.

Bianca enshrouds herself in white fabric. One neat movement, so well practiced that she hardly drips water onto the floor, and she’s perched on the edge of the bath rubbing herself dry. Arms first, then legs. She brings her ankle up to rest upon her knee and Amadeo can’t help but stare at the bone white jut of it. She’s pale as his master there. Her ankles never see the sunlight and so he can see the blue veins through her skin, and he wonders how they’d taste.

“Both of you are entirely unlike other men,” Bianca murmurs. Her foot with its pale sole, white as the belly of a fish, lands suddenly in Amadeo’s lap. She grinds her heel down and draws a gasp from him. “Now come to bed, Amadeo. I believe it’s time your captive takes her revenge. You’ll allow me some fun, won’t you? Before I release you back into the waters to swim home to your master?”

The pearls in her braid are loose. He ruts up against her foot and hears them rattle when she tosses her head back and smirks.

Amadeo is hooked. How easily he swings between such extremes. Misery and ecstasy. Dominance and submission. Shame and desire. He’s a being made of contradictions, and as he follows her to her golden bed he thinks he’ll do anything she wants so long as it keeps him here a moment longer. Safe from reality in her jewelry box room.

Safe from his sadness so long as he remains trapped in the net of want.

[iisasarcasticlittleshite]

Priceless (Shoyo Hinata)

Shoyo hadn't been a big spender for most of his life. Despite his earnings as a professional athlete, he doesn't spend frivolously.

His car's not the newest, or the fastest, he just likes it. His house isn't the biggest, he just likes it in the garden, and the pool's awesome for cooling off after a workout.

If he really wants to invest in something though, he maxes out.

Pool too cold to use in the winter? He'll have it heated, cleaned twice a week all year round, even when he's not at the damned house for months at a time.

All of this to say, he's not opposed to spending money on what he thinks is worth spending money on.

Then, he met you.

You grew up counting coins, your independence came with the anxiety of money, and though you've worked your way to comfortable, you still can't bring yourself to spend big without thinking about it two, three...hundreds of times.

Shoyo fell hard for you, and he didn't realise just how deep that anxiety ran, until your first Valentine's day together.

You'd been together for a few months at this point, comfortable enough to be staying over at each other's places.

You wake up to the warmth of his lips, smattering affectionate pecks across your cheeks and nose, lovingly rousing you from the bliss of sleep.

'G'morning, gorgeous.' He purred as your eyes fluttered open, focusing on his sunny smile in the dimly lit room. 'There's those pretty eyes.'

'Sho...' Your voice cracked with sleep, body stretching under the covers, relishing the lingering warmth under the comforting weight of his body leaning over yours. 'S'sa sunday.'

'I know, sorry baby. But I gotcha somethin' and I couldn't wait.' He placed an apologetic kiss to your forehead, and then couldn't bring himself to pull away, lingering against your skin, rubbing his cheek against yours lovingly. 'Come to the living room with me, please?'

You groaned, reflexively draping your arm over him, just indulging in closeness while it lasted. Shoyo gives you no shortage of cuddles and surprise hugs, even in the oddest of places, he doesn't care. More than an hour without seeing you is reason enough to scoop you off your feet next time he does.

But this, quiet, simple, comforting intimacy, is what you cherish the most.

This, coupled with the warmth of the sheets and the cold of the last week's weather made you all-too-reluctant to move. In fact, you almost drifted back to sleep until Shoyo whined, pouting as he kissed you awake again.

'Come on, baby, please?! I promise it'll be worth it.'

You pouted, eyes glassy with sleep, and welcomed his next kiss to your lips, reluctantly wiggling your muscles back to life at your lover's request.

'Fiiine, what's so urgent anyway?'

'You know what day it is next Tuesday?' His eyes lit up, eagerly watching you scootch out of bed and slide into your robe and slippers, waddling out of the room behind him, his hand clasped between yours.

He's affectionately called this your "penguin mode" when you first crawl out of bed, too tired to care what you look like, wanting nothing but heat and coffee.

'The 14th. Why?'

'And the 14th is....?'

'Valentine's?'

He waggled his eyebrows at you, and you frowned, catching onto the scent that he's up to no good.

As soon as you enter the living room, you're overtaken with the smell of flowers, a massive, varied bouquet sits on the coffee table, beside a mug of warm coffee and a box of chocolates.

On top of that box, sit plane tickets, tickets that Shoyo picks up, and presents to you with a beaming grin on his face. 'How about spending Valentines in Venice?'

'Venice...' You parroted, still taking in the spread before you, eyes on the tickets your boyfriend proudly held out to you. 'Italy? As in...Italy Venice?'

'Yeah! You said when we met that you wanted to go.'

'I did but it's Valentine's week, the prices must be astronomical!'

Shoyo shrugged, and your stomach sank as you realised he hadn't even looked at the prices when he'd booked the flight. He's done it before, when he knows you want something, he gets it. No amount of decimal points will stop him.

And this...that happy smile on his face as he waits eagerly for your reaction, you can't help but sigh lovingly, wanting nothing more than to bury yourself in his arms and never let go.

'The money doesn't matter, in a few years I'd have no idea where those bills ended up, but I'll remember and cherish every memory I get to make with you. So, if you really think about it, the money doesn't mean much.'

It felt so self indulgent, part of you screamed that it was wrong, but your heart swelled two sizes too big in your chest and you clutched to his chest as if even a breath of air between you would be too far apart.

'I'm sorry, I'm just...not used to thinking like that.'

He pressed a kiss to your cheek, your nose, your lips, had you practically purring as his hands squeezed into your hips affectionately. 'I know baby, but what's the point of the numbers if they don't make you smile?'

'You make me smile, so I suppose that makes you priceless, Sho.'

[firefliesintheskyline]

Okay but like I have this idea of a KinnPorsche fic that starts with Gun disappearing pretty much when Pete was supposed to infiltrate the minor family

So that never happens and neither does the torture

And everyone is very wary cause they don't know what's happening, just that Gun seems to have vanished into thin air

Weeks go by

Months go by

Some (or most) of the bodyguards of the minor family just bolt, leaving Vegas and Macau exposed

While Korn is deciding if this is just an elaborate plan of his brother, a woman shows up and leaves a baby at the minor family compound, saying that he's Gun's child

They immediately run a DNA test and of course it's true

Korn decides that he's gonna grant the minor children protection in exchange of Vegas keeping Venice safe (Korn knows bodyguards talk and the baby is a Theerapanyakun and must be kept safe)

Vegas is furious, especially because Korn granting them protection pretty much means lending them the less competent bodyguards

So he refuses to take the deal unless Korn gives him at least one of his best men to be in charge of Venice's security

...enter Pete.

....LMAO YOU THOUGHT, OF COURSE THERE'S MORE

Vegas and Pete being an absolute disaster, like, the two people less qualified to be in charge of a kid

It's so bad that every single day a different Theerapanyakun, one of their significant others, one of their very close friends or one of the bodyguards is being summoned to help out

TanKhun flat out refuses the moment he steps in the house and the kid is crying, so he just walks out and promises to send cute fashionable outfits

Chay tries his best, but really, he's only ever been equipped to be a younger brother, so he ends up matching Venice's cries before Pete saves them both from their misery

Arm and Pol come together the first time, but while Arm gives it a try, once the baby is in his arms he gives him back immediately, feeling a surge of anxiety creeping in his body at the thought of being in charge of this very tiny human being. Ant then, the moment Pol takes the kid in his arms...Venice instantly falls asleep like he has finally found the place where he belongs in the world (Pete is impossibly jealous of his power, especially when Vegas mentions how much sleep he would be getting now if only Pol had been Korn's choice of Venice's head security)

Ken is called up by a desperate Pete who's been left alone for almost two days - Vegas is out in the field - and desperately needs a shower and a nap; the minute Ken steps in, Pete shoves the kid in his arms and disappears. A very confused Ken leaves the kid unattended for exactly fifteen seconds - he was checking that his gun had the safety on - and when he turns he sees Venice putting something in his mouth and he realizes right now and then that Vegas will have his head by the end of the day (it does not happen, but just because a very amused Macau puts him out of his misery after SOME time and informs him that his baby brother had just brought his empty fist to his mouth)

On one memorable occasion, even Chan is summoned to help out, and upon seeing Venice in the arms of the older bodyguard Pete just whispers a "daddy" with eyes full of devotion (Vegas is furious and shouts "I THOUGHT YOU DIDN'T KNOW HOW TO SPEAK ENGLISH" before storming out, leaving Pete very curious about the whole reaction but also feeling vindicated after the Pol comment)

(Chan is never called again, despite being by far the best babysitter)

Big and Tay show up at the same time one day, having being called separately by Pete and Vegas. Their strategy is "divide and conquer", so while one is in charge of the food, the other is in charge of the diapers. By the time they're leaving, Pete and Vegas are eyeing them curiously when noticing how they're distractingly stealing glances at each other.

When Vegas is the one left alone with Venice, he doesn't even last 24 hrs before loosing it and going at Yok's, leaving the baby in the - fortunately - capable hands of the bar owner before he gets smashed. When an annoyed Porsche shows up to pick both Vegas and the baby up, Vegas makes him promise to not tell anything to Pete, "I don't want him to think I'm not responsible enough when one day we're gonna get kids of our own" and Porsche is just like "... WHAT" but there's no way he can get Vegas to elaborate when he's like that so he just leaves it (for now)

Unfortunately the next day Pete ends up finding out (but not because of Porsche...bodyguards talk) and he and Vegas enter a screaming match, which prompts Macau to call the only person they would have never called. When Khun Kinn shows up, they both are so stunned that they instantly shut up. Kinn picks up Venice, tells them he's gonna take him out for a couple of hours, which is all the time they are allowed to get their s*it together, and he walks out. (He regrets it instantly. Venice cries for the whole time, even when Kinn desperately calls for help and Kim shows up. They end up being both really, really bad).

In the end, when Gun shows up again to take the baby away with him, he finds that he won't be able to. A whole squad of babysitters, led by Vegas, with Pete and Macau by his sides, are ready to give him Hell if he even thinks about approaching Venice (who's safely sleeping in Pol's arms).

[volkswagonblues]

2, 3 and 7?

2. Do you have any easter eggs in your fic?

Oh my god, definitely the bit where Daniel eats a woman in a Halloween costume from Despicable Me. Get it? because she's a minion? ahaha?

There's also tons from the original Devils Minion chapter of QOTD. I've also flipped through The Vampire Armand but gave up because Anne Rice's writing melts my brain lmao.

I'll just point out this bit of chap 4 of LLTR. I basically scrapbooked this entire exchange out of fragments from the original Devil's Minion short story.

(Anne Rice's QOTD)

“You are my teacher,” Armand told him. “You will tell me everything about this century. I am learning secrets already that have eluded me since the beginning. You’ll sleep when the sun rises, if you wish, but the nights are mine.” (p.143 in my ebook)

...vs (LLTR fic Chap 4)

“I’ll show you what your limits are. You can survive much more now, but no vampire is invulnerable. I’ll show you all the gifts that vampires are capable of. My memory is faded, but it’s not gone. I’ll tell you all the secrets I know. There are some buried so deep that even Lestat does not know them. I’ll teach you the lore. We’ll go to the Villa of Mysteries and I will fling the doors open wide for you. I will show you how beautiful and powerful you can become. My fledgling. My beloved Daniel.” “Yes,” Daniel breathes. “You’ll sleep when the sun rises because you must, but the in-between hours we'll spend on your education. The night is yours, but your dawns and dusks will be mine.” Armand stops. He looks a little shy. “As mine will be yours, if you’ll have me.” It’s a grand speech for a man snuggled under a cotton-poly IKEA duvet.

So to break it down:

In QOTD, Daniel visits Pompeii and the Villa of Mysteries and the vampire Armand shows up to lead him in. That's also where canon Daniel and Armand become lovers for the first time.

In QOTD, Armand tells Daniel he's Armand's teacher for the 20th century. In LLTR, the human Armand offers to be Daniel's teacher for vampire lore.

In LLTR, Armand's speech is a remix of what the vampire Armand says to Daniel because I wanted the human fic version of Armand to have a different kind of relationship with Daniel. He's a little shy, a little desperately in love. Daniel doesn't belong to him...they belong to each other...

3. What's something you've researched for your fic?

The daily life of a 16th century painter's apprentice in Venice...oh god...I think Amadeo is such a fun person to write

I also did some research for (lol) the drive between Billy Bishop airport and Niagara Falls and some more Ontario geography, but I also just went "fuck it" and ignored some stuff for fic reasons.

Full admission: I'm pretty sure Daniel will NOT have stopped at an intersection driving out of the airport because you pretty much turn right onto the highway ramp for Queen Elizabeth Way. However the image of Daniel rolling down his window to show his vampire fangs at another driver was too funny for me to take out. Let's pretend there's construction going on in Toronto. Not a stretch of the imagination.

7. What character do you enjoy writing most? Why?

LLTR is essentially a two-man theatre play. Since I really only have 2 characters can I say both of them? Armand because he's so mercurial: in any given moment he can do anything, say anything. I don't even know what he's going to do most of the time until I've written in.

Daniel because he's a tremendously flexible voice to inhabit. I love the show and the writers for giving us this older Daniel <3. Often I'm running against the limits of a character's voice--like, would he really say that? would he really know that? But AMC show Daniel's incredible. He's highbrow, he's lowbrow, he can identify a Rembrandt on sight, he knows what 8chan is and only pretends not to know Gen Z slang. In the fic it's like, he knows politics and history and TS Eliot poems and Madonna lyrics and what's Hindi-Urdu and his conversations with Armand can effortlessly jump between a lot of levels. Writing Daniel is like driving a zippy sport car, if that's not too weird a thing to say.

[dyrewrites]

Before Deluca -- where are we again

Our grand lady was immune to damage by that point in her life, protected from sigils requiring so little energy as to be insignificant to us. However, other ships were not so lucky and she wore their broken flesh as so much glittering jewelry.

“Here I thought it was you making everything shake and spin last night,” I teased a grin hiding under a soft blue parasol.

Matched to the too many layers he’d put on that morning. Though appropriately covered, I wore decidedly less and he took advantage, sliding fingers into my open jacket and between shirt buttons for a swoon at his chill.

Giggling, he tugged me toward the dock—by hair not meant to be—and addressed the detritus, “a problem for later, husband, for now...let’s meet our new home.”

Before I address where we docked, there is a saccharine anniversary I did not detail previously. Reason being it was one I wished to keep for myself, but it appears I’ll need to share some of it to offer understanding for where he brought us and why.

Our first visit to what would become home occurred sometime in the mid 1800s, during our exploration of the world. All those syrupy memories without fear of eyes or fangs coming for us were positively stuffed with delightful anniversaries.

But the one in question was singular in its perfection, in its simplicity.

The whole of it was celebrated in a large townhouse over-looking a canal, drinking coffee, reading, playing music and enjoying the sturdy bed. We even took a night trip outside the city itself to visit a neighboring beach—to splash in waters not so rife with horrors—and dance in the sand, bare beneath soft moonlight.

Peaceful our time there, and Lucient’s favorite.

Of every place we stayed, every anniversary we celebrated, my love adored our trip to Venice the most. The pleasantly mundane week living and hunting—careful to take those a city or two away—was a memory he replayed in his sleep in brighter colors than reality.

Which is why Venice was where we docked, where he wished to live, and where—somehow I’ve never learned—he had a home picked out and waiting. The very townhouse we had stayed in so many years before—one I write this from now, in fact.

Yet, on our way to said townhouse we met something unusual.

My love decided to guide me in a teasing path to keep me from guessing of our location, as I’d not quite figured out where we were yet. Not from the dock, not from the city, and he kept me far from the canal so as not to give it away.

We were midway through lovely gardens when I realized. It should not have taken me such time but, in my defense, he was far more beautiful than my surroundings—and chose to keep his curls free and bouncing on neck and shoulders to distract me.

“Venice,” I didn’t ask so much as swoon when I noticed, “it’s been—”

“Decades,” he finished, biting his lip for how my thoughts surely sang of the reason I’d not noticed sooner, as well as a shared ache in our veins, “and we’ll need to slip out of city limits for a meal if we wish to remain safe here, but I,” he didn’t trail off but lost breath for the spin and kiss I insisted on.

A kiss none would notice, for none were near us.

Lovely those gardens, ideally set for romantic strolls and yet we were alone in them. Eerily so, if I’d cared to notice any sooner I’d have felt an extra chill growing around us and heard the laughter of echoing voices.

“Ne sont-ils pas précieux?” one of the voices tittered too close.

Lucient broke away first, turning with an arm out and hand protectively on me—other firm on the parasol. While I held his waist and looked around for its source.

“Troppo prezioso,” another voice spoke, as close, with less inflection to it.

French, Lucient kept to me alone, and Italian...coincidence, treasure or trick?

I assured the tighter hand on me, it’s been too long for any to remember us here, my love. So it must be coincidence.

“Do not mind us, tethered things,” the more sullen voice said, “we are only curious who braves our gardens.”

“Curious or not, you’ve interrupted,” Lucient snipped, “show yourselves so we might know how best to react.”

They laughed, but obliged, forcing us closer and tighter for something we’d not seen before.

Spirits.

One wisped in soft blues, the other in verdant greens, but they were of single color and appeared more as mist or smoke than women. Though they were women, dressed as ones from that era even. Fashionable Victorian ladies...we could see right through.

“My love,” I sputtered, “have you…”

“Non, mon tresor,” he answered into my shirt—leaving me to keep his parasol up as he forgot of it in the shock.

“Dotty,” the green one offered, bowing easily from her place floating a few feet off the stones.

While the other spun first, and tittered as she bowed, “Lottie.”

“And this is a delightful reaction,” Dotty added, drifting closer and smiling tight for our steps back.

Lottie flashed the other cyan as she coiled around her, tight and sweet as we were, tittering for our notice, “such pretty things you are, and so close. We were never allowed to be so close.”

Another flash saw them part, yet their hands remained laced as Dotty spoke, “it is why we are this now. Yet you move about freely...have laws changed?”

So close and cold their faces, icier even than Lucient’s, and we shivered for it. But I managed an answer, “no, I am...afraid not.”

“Then how,” Lottie’s giggly voice rang too low, still echoed.

And Lucient huffed, with more bravado than his thoughts suggested he held, “what are the laws of prey to us?”

But it was the correct response as it sent the spirits into a twirl together, giggling so sweetly.

“What should we call you,” Dotty asked as they stopped, voice somehow flat in its brightness.

Don’t you dare, Lucient cut into me.

Laughing, I ignored him, “you may call me Vicki and him Lucy, if you like.”

Chill moonlight missed its mark, as I refused to look at it, but he got me anyway, you will pay for this, husband.

Looking forward to it, husband, I teased back.

“Oh, oui, je le fais!” Lottie trilled.

While Dotty merely chuckled.

“We have places to be,” Lucient spoke through teeth, “people to eat.”

Accepting the sharp nails in my hand, I followed his lead and called back to the spirits, “Alla prossima!”

“There will be no ‘next time’,” my love muttered as we left the gardens.

But there would be, many even, as the spirits held vigil in those gardens and he adored how it was lit at night. After a time, he even adored their company.

--

Full Chapters of Before Deluce Here

→Before Deluca Taglist<-

// feel free to ask to be added or removed ^.- //

@watermeezer @starbuds-and-rosedust @thespacelizard

@your-absent-father @mr-orion @cowboybrunch @olliexwrites

@rowanmgrey-author @the-golden-comet @wyked-ao3 @leahnardo-da-veggie

@lychhiker-writes @aziz-reads @mthollowell-writes

[melis-writes]

How about this for a request…

Sonny and Victoria fake their deaths and run off together

In this AU perhaps neither have children and are only married? Or maybe the twins are still really young so Victoria decides to run away with them too? Maybe Michael has been having affairs? But Victoria and Sonny decide that their love and need for each other is just so powerful and important to let it be lessened

I knew this one was coming one way or another. 🥴 The Victonny run aways… How about a little bit of everything mentioned added to this prompt?! 😳

“It’s easier than you think, baby,” Sonny murmurs, stroking your hair gently. “But once it’s done, we can’t go back. We can’t be here, we can’t be seen, and we can’t stay in the country. We’d have to leave for good.”

“I don’t care,” you whisper against Sonny’s chest—curled up to your lover’s body. “I already know if we tried to make it work here, we could never live.” Your eyes meet with Sonny’s, “it would just be paranoia controlling our lives. I know we’d have to go far, far away. I always knew that.”

Sonny tilts your chin up, pecking a gentle kiss over your lips. “But it doesn’t have to be that bad, sweetheart. We’re only giving up familiarity for each other and I’m more than willing to do that.” Sonny squeezes both of your hands in his, “are you with me?”

“I am,” tears begin to pool in your eyes as your throat tightens. “But how would we ever do it? Where would we go?”

“Just leave that all to me, baby,” Sonny rests his forehead against yours. “I’ve got it all handled, don’t you worry. We’re gonna get the hell out of here, we’ll take the twins, and we won’t look back. Nobody will look for us because we’ll be dead.”

A person of your reputation faking your death came to being nearly impossible, let alone done so with the twins and Sonny meaning both your babies and your brother-in-law died.

It can’t be done separately or too close back to back, so the deaths of all four of you had to be faked at the same time in a way that wouldn’t raise suspicion or investigation.

Sonny knows there’ll need to be some sort of evidence that can prove the death so you and him aren’t hunted down for the rest of your lives, but he also knows your plan must be foolproof to get away with in the first place.

‘Nothing ever comes easy. Nothing.’ You’d face the wall, sleeping on your side so you wouldn’t have to face Michael or the truth of your crumbling marriage.

It didn’t matter to you after all whether Michael knew or not that you were aware he was having “harmless” little affairs here and there with woman after woman.

You were only grateful he had so much work to do that business kept Michael distracted; Michael could never say you were acting cold or distant simply because he never had enough time to spend with you to come to such a conclusion.

Still so as not to raise any suspicions, you and Sonny avoided too much contact with each other during the last few weeks before you’d flee the United States for good.

“We’ll make plans to see Don Molinari in California,” Sonny’s fingers rubbed against your gold wedding band to Michael—more than insistent to see it off and replaced with his. “It’ll have to be weeks away and confirmed. I’ll get into contact with the Don so he has reason to see us first.”

Naturally, this would seal your fate. You’d neither be able to return to the United States or Sicily again but rather continuing your life in a small town within Venice on the other end of Italy would come to define you and the upbringing of the twins.

“We’ll make the trip by car without any bodyguards,” Sonny began to understand the plan was growing more and more difficult with each mention, but refused to back down. “We’ll leave unnoticed so that nobody questions whose accompanying us, but also that Michael and the others know we’ll be travelling to see Don Molinari.”

Sonny had already bought and secured a little villa in Venice; nothing grandiose or over the top luxurious as to become an eyesore or bring attention to the two of you, but a perfect home to raise the twins and children of your own with Sonny someday.

“We’ll make it to the border where my contact will meet us to take us to the airport,” Sonny’s fingers slowly began to coax the wedding band off of your ring finger. “And we’ll have the car blown to shreds. They’ll think we were assassinated by Don Molinari’s men or that our rivals secured our locations and came to us first. It’ll look like a massacre.”

You’re more than fine with giving up the notion of living a life as luxurious as you do in Lake Tahoe.

All of it loses meaning when you can’t do so with the man you truly love, and the life you’ve been craving to live with Sonny and the twins in Venice almost overwhelms you with emotion from just how desperate you are to get away from it all and start a new life.

“They’ll also find out then and there that the twins also ‘died’,” Sonny slides your wedding band off your finger. “Michael and the others will spend weeks against Don Molinari or whomever else they suspect to—” he rolls his eyes, gesturing away, “avenge our ‘deaths’ and that’ll buy us time—”

“Sonny—” You interrupt, swallowing hard and on the verge of tears. “A-and if it doesn’t work? If we can’t get away in time—”

“Then we’ll die,” Sonny states out flatly, unmoved by the reality of what will truly happen if all goes wrong. “And we’ll die together but I’m not staying here like a prisoner anymore, Vic. Either the two of us are gonna go out there and be together or we’ll die and watch it escape out of our hands.” Sonny glances off to the side, giving out a small sigh. “But it doesn’t matter, does it?”

“What do you mean?” You blink back tears. “Of course it does.”

“We’ll still be together,” Sonny gazes into your eyes, “if not in this life, then the next, Vic. That’s just how it is.”

Death—how the concept seems so poetic to you now knowing love is bound within it.

Still, it’s all the more preferable than waking up in the morning in the arms of a man you no longer love or even loved at all; pretending to be someone else, feigning happiness and being promised a lifetime of misery with your children.

“Then that’s the risk I’m willing to take,” you whisper back, nodding frantically. “Please, Sonny, let’s go. Please. I can’t take it here anymore.”

Nothing could possibly matter more.

The news of you and Sonny’s ‘deaths’ was all the more amplified over the media for weeks once the realization struck that the twins were also killed.

Sonny and you slipped out of the United States without a trace, immediately on the next flight to Venice with false names and in economy class with everyone else so as not to draw attention to yourselves.

The news hit Michael first who suspected a planned assassination, thinking of it to be done by the Molinari family especially since you and the twins were involved.

It promised nothing but a bloody mafia war ahead—a complete insult and sense of hatred towards the Corleones to not only kill the Don’s wife but his heirs as well.

In reality, you and the twins couldn’t possibly be more safe. Every mile that you flew closer to Venice, the more you felt your heart yearn for a taste of freedom and this new life.

You could care less what others may say about you behind your back—whether they call you selfish or foolish to take the twins with you on a ‘business trip’ or anything else because you were no longer Mrs. Michael Corleone—the woman trapped between the love she was withering away in versus the one she wanted to be in.

In Venice, you were free.

“I’ve never seen you like this, baby,” Sonny playfully nuzzles your neck, embracing you from behind it. “I thought it would take you a little while to settle in but nah, look at you, huh? Look at you.”

“Sonny—” You let out a breathy giggle, feeling your new husband’s hands over your growing baby bump.

“Just teasin’, baby,” Sonny grins, giving your cheek a wet kiss. “I just love seeing you happy like this, that’s all.”

“Dada!” Little Niccolo exclaims, rushing up to the two of you on the balcony.

“Oh no, little guy,” Sonny’s quick to lean down and scoop up the rushing toddler. “We’re not gonna be running on the balcony, even if you get this excited to see your mama.”

Beaming happily, you lean over and smooch both of Niccolo’s cheeks—holding him in your arms. “He’ll finally have a chance to play with the neighbor’s children—go to school, live like a normal kid.”

“It’s what he needs,” Sonny chuckles quietly. “It’s what we all need.”

Sonny takes your hand in his, rubbing his thumb over it before squinting his eyes towards the afternoon sun warming over his skin. “All of it was worth it. All of it, baby.”

“I don’t even think about it anymore,” you embrace your husband tightly, gazing out the balcony view towards the sea with a blabbering Niccolo in your arms. “I haven’t for weeks.”

“Nobody’s looking for us anymore,” Sonny nods, kissing the top of you and Niccolo’s heads. “But all I can think of is how we should have done this a long time ago, baby.”

[graveyard-darlingg]

awww that's so late!!! That's the worst! we must be in different timezones since it's 1am for me rnnn!

and for my favouritesss, I really love the colour red! like a blood red! <33 as for songs my music taste is always changing.. rn im loving vampire empire by Big Thief! as for foods.. im very picky, but i love pasta! Sooooo much! As for places. My room is my favourite place!! but I really wanna travel more and go see places like Rome and Cairo! I don't have manyyyy hobbies, does bed rotting count? I do some sports though! (rarely) but I do read a lot of classical literature! hehe

-🎀

it’s so late where you are!!! i hope you’re sleeping by now :(( we are most definitely in different time zones though!! it’s 9:13 pm where i am right now ,,

that’s such a pretty color!! and i’ve never heard of that song,, ill have to give it a listen, yeah? ALSO YES,, PASTA IS SO GOOD!! do you have a favorite dish? also,, the room thing is so real. rome and cairo sounds so nice!! i’ve always wanted to travel and visit venice !! i’m not sure if bed rotting counts as a hobby, but i’ll count it for your sake, darling. what kind of sports do you like? also!!! classic lit!!!! what are your favs? and are you reading anything rn?

[perladivenezia]

headcanon time

Remember The Egg? The easter egg Armand got from his mother in Kiev?

The painted egg he keeps thinking about even when he is already master of his coven in Paris and that has such strong metaphoric connotations in his book? We are told he kept it in his coffin in Venice

And we are told it was still there before he was taken away from Venice and he wonders what was of it in his frantic dreams.

Anyway, let's move now to Blood and Gold. After Bianca's turning, the very same night after the burning, she is sleeping in Amadeo's coffin

Okay, we are not told exactly that it is his coffin but Marius is using his and I doubt he had more around

And then a few nights later they leave Venice to go to TWMBK shrine in the Alps, and she is carrying a bundle of things with her.

And she carries this bundle into the shrine

So what I'm saying here is it's only logical to conclude Bianca must have found the egg in Armand's coffin and it would've been easy for her to understand this was a precious possession for him (given he kept it in his very coffin) and thus there is no reason to believe she wouldn't have kept it with her and taken it to the shrine and then to Dresden and so forth.

And I'm not sure if those eggs can survive 500 years in good condition, but if by any means they can, it is entirely possible that Bianca kept the egg and still has it today.

[teecupangel]

I'd like to talk about AC2, more precisely how Giovanni traveled so much before the 29th. Google maps says the Travel times are as follows by bike (which I estimate is like a horse) Florence -> Milan 18.5hrs, Milan ->Venice 16hrs 10 min, Venice -> Florence 15hrs, Florence ->Rome 17hrs, and then back to Florence for another 17hrs. In total 83 hours and 40 minutes. That's not counting how long he was in each location. When did this guy eat or sleep in between all this? Fanfic research at the max.

Okay, so I was faced with a similar problem with the traveling Altaïr did in AC1 because he used a horse, sure, but AC1 happened from June to September and the whole hunt for the nine was around July to September so, yeah, nine targets (ten actually) in the span of 3 months is kinda questionable.

WARNING: This post mentions pushing a horse passed its limit and a disregard for the horse’s health. I will include a trigger for animal cruelty as well in the tags to cover all my basis. Again, this is all theoretical and I try not to be descriptive but, yeah, please prioritize your mental health and do not read this if you believe it will be detrimental to you or would make your day worse.

Moving on!

According to this website:

Walk: 6~ish km/hr.

Trot (from a different website): 12 km/hr (although there is a record of 30 km/hr, this is an outlier and will not be added to our guesstimate)

Canter: 16~27 km/hr which is around the ballpark of an average cyclist’s speed (23~29 km/hr)

Gallop: 40~48 km/hr. (which is just below a lot of speed limits)

However, we must also take into consideration the horse’s stamina.

According to this website, a horse can cover the following distance:

Walk: 51 km without break.

Trot: 32~64 km without break.

Canter: 11 km without break.

Gallop: 3~4 km without break.

So if we take these into consideration, you’d get the following before being forced to make the horse take a break.

Walk: 51 km in 8.5 hours before needing a break.

Trot: We will use the average of 32~64 which is 48 km in 4 hours before needing a break.

Canter: For canter, we will use the average of 16 to 27 km/hr in our calculations which is 21.5 km/hr so 11 km in 0.5 hr (30 minutes) before needing a break.

Gallop: We will use 4 for the approximate 3~4 km and the average of 40~48 km/hr which will give us 44km/hr to give Gallop a chance. So 4 km in 0.09 hr (approximately 5ish minutes) before needing a break.

According to this website, the best way to keep the horse moving without tiring it too quickly is to switch between 2 gaits so let’s try and find the ‘best’ combination.

Okay, now, I can’t find a website that can tell me how many hours or minutes a horse needs before changing back to a more exhausting gait so let’s say Giovanni makes his horse switch gaits at a similar time period as the max of the highest speed we’ll have in the combination. Feel free to correct me on this one (actually, feel free to correct me on any of these, I only sat on a horse once and I was a kid so I don’t even remember it all that well).

We will always start with the lower speed to give the horse a chance to ease into the higher speed and calculate the distance they cover in 1 hr.

Walk + Trot: (6 × 4) + (12 × 4) = 24 + 48 = 72 km per 8 hr = 9 km/hr

Walk + Canter: 3 + 11 = 14 km/hr

Walk (0.1 km per min) + Gallop: 0.5 + 4 = 4.5 km per 5 min = 0.9 per min = 0.9 × 60 = 54 km/hr

Trot + Canter: 6 + 11 = 17 km/hr

Trot (0.2 km per min) + Gallop: 1 + 4 = 5 km per 5 min = 1 km/min = 60 km/hr

Canter (0.36 km per min) + Gallop: 1.8 + 4 = 5.8 km per 5 min = 1.6 km/min = 69.6 (nice) km/hr

(I am soooo regretting doing all these calculations. Pretty sure I fucked some of the calculations up so just think of these as guesstimates)

In conclusion:

Canter + Gallop will give an average of 69 km/hr.

A possible more reasonable choice: Trot + Gallop will give an average of 60 km/hr.

We will go pick Trot + Gallop to give the horse a break (sorta). Walk + Gallop is not accepted because, while 54 km/hr is not a bad number, it will be hard on the horse to change to super fast and then walk every 5 minutes.

Now then, before we continue, we would need to specify the distance Giovanni took. Now, it should be noted that the landscape we have today is not the same landscape they would have had during the 15th century. Not to mention, using Google Map’s bike/car directions makes you use roads that may or may not have existed during that time.

So let’s say that Giovanni is hurrying and doesn’t give a shit about the actual roads (or, he’s like me who sees a road and go “nah, we’re crossing this fucking wheat field, sorry NPCs, should have planted rice!”), this would cut down some km on his travel.

To do this in Google Map, you have to right-click on your starting point and click ‘Measure Distance’ instead of clicking ‘Directions’.

Now, using this feature, we have a rough estimate of the distance he traveled if he traveled straight. (Again, this is highly questionable but we’re giving Giovanni the advantage on this one just to give the lore a chance to make sense because Ubisoft certainly ain’t gonna do it)

Florence to Milan: approximately 237 km.

Milan to Venice: approximately 244 km.

Venice to Florence: approximately 128 km.

Using Trot + Gallop’s 60 km/hr would give us:

Florence to Milan: 3.95 hrs travel time.

Milan to Venice: 4 hrs travel time.

Venice to Florence: 2 hrs travel time.

In total: approximately 9.95 hrs travel time for Florence → Milan → Venice.

With these travel times, it can be argued that the horse did not need to take a break the entire time it was traveling (but this would be heavily advisable). If you wish to make the horse take a break (you should), add 1 hr for each.

Now, if we were being nice to the horse and don’t think Giovanni is a ‘some sacrifices must be made in the interest of time’ kind of asshole, we’ll use Trot + Canter’s 17 km/hr which will give us:

Florence to Milan: 13.9 hrs travel time.

Milan to Venice: 14.3 hrs travel time.

Venice to Florence: 7.5 hrs travel time.

In total: approximately 35.7 hrs travel time for Florence → Milan → Venice.

The horses need a break for all of these so I would suggest adding 1 or 2 hrs for each.

Ending Remarks:

Ubisoft made Giovanni Auditore a bad owner of horses to make him a cool Assassin. Also, horses go fast and should be treated with care and respect.

Things to consider:

It’s possible that it would have been faster to take a boat from Venice to Forli then travel to Florence like the reverse route Ezio used in AC2.

Giovanni can cut down his time even further by just letting the horse gallop the entire way and changing horses whenever he can. Of course, this doesn’t take into consideration the health and safety of the horses and the possibility that Giovanni will get a ‘bad’ horse when he changes horses.

[audiofictionuk]

New Fiction Podcasts - 21st July

LOOTERS New Audio RPG! LOOTERS is an actual play, sci-fi western, Table Top RPG using the Stars Without Numbers gaming system. https://www.buzzsprout.com/2181771 RSS:https://feeds.buzzsprout.com/2181771.rss

Levian New Audio Drama! After his sister’s betrayal forced him into exile, Lord Valentin Tellari must now face the deadly ocean that rages against the Drumming Isles. But neither storms nor leviathans will smother the vengeful fire that burns within Valentin. He will not know rest until he has reclaimed what is rightfully his. https://hughouse.productions/podcasts/levian/ RSS:https://pinecast.com/feed/levian

This Spells Disaster New Audio RPG! Table Top Role Play Game podcast where a bunch of film nerds play Dungeons and Dragons! https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/dnddisasterpod RSS:https://anchor.fm/s/e28bfdd4/podcast/rss

The Wild Hauntings on the Moor - A Dream of Death.mp3 New Audio Drama! A Dream of Death - “Can you feel it calling, the violent invitation of the wild? ”Welcome to Haworth 1823. To live here now is to brave the ghosts. After a fitful and troubled sleep, a lone wanderer seeks solace in the Moors but finds herself venturing into a dream of death. Accompanied by her voice (and map), walk with our wanderer through the veil and answer the violent invitation of the wild, discovering what spectral figures may be lurking in the distant heather. Running time: 40 minutes SOUNDLANDSCAPE: The Wild Hauntings on the Moor is a dual narrative audio theatre production which can be experienced self-guided on Haworth and Ilkley Moors. A Dream of Death can be enjoyed on its own, or with its companion piece Shadows on Shadows in either order. https://bronteparsonage.podbean.com RSS:https://feed.podbean.com/bronteparsonage/feed.xml

MAGE The Novel New Audio Book! An award-winning action-adventure story that asks: what if we could feel the future before it arrives? When disaster survivor Ambra Lightstone is confronted by an otherworldly stranger, she is set on a collision course with the vengeful heir of a hidden civilisation, and must prevent him from unleashing a terrible force that will change the face of the earth - and to safeguard a technology that could save it. From the canals of Venice, to the far northern Arctic, to remote outback Australia, MAGE explores the depths of our outer and inner worlds in relation to one of the biggest challenges facing humanity in the 21st century. https://magethenovel.podbean.com RSS:https://feed.podbean.com/magethenovel/feed.xml

[hqmillioncorn]

FFXIVWrite Day Three (freeday): insomnia

"Slept well last night did you?" Hades asked Babycorn. He wasn't all that happy that he had to be the one to look for and then fetch their missing companion. "You must be her familiar. If you can sleep in such uncomfortable places like that." Babycorn yawned and kept walking ahead of Hades. Even if she did finally get a good nights rest yesterday she was still a little sleepy. "Thanks for finding me Emmy." she mumbled.

It turns out that there was not much of a difference between Elpis in the daytime to Elpis at night. Babycorn figured that most of the Concepts would be asleep by now but to her disappointment most of them were still roaming about, ready to attack her at any moment's notice.

“Does everyone work all day?” Babycorn asked no one in particular, “Sounds kinda boring…” 

Since she was all alone with no weapon on her, Babycorn made sure to avoid walking too deep into any areas with them. Which was surprising she was managing to do while not really paying to where she was going at the same time.

She had no idea how far she had walked but considering Babycorn could still see the little building she was offered a place to sleep in-she must not have walked that far. 

Babycorn let out a sigh and decided she didn’t walk anymore, she sat down onto the grassy ground and hugged her legs closer to her, leaning her head on them. 

It made sense, she was exhausted. So much had happened today. Traveling to the past, meeting Hades and Hythlodaeus, being tasked with the job of finding out what happened to Hermes. She was so tired. 

Before she knew it, or could do anything about it, Babycorn’s eyes began to close. 

“Mmmaybe…I��”

Darkness slowly began to overtake her vision. 

Unfortunately like the countless other times she had tried earlier today, the peaceful silence didn’t last long. 

Visions of fire falling against a dark sky. The deafening sounds of people screaming all around her. Shadows all around her, calling her a monster over and over and over again. Her own baby brother taking hold of someone and slowly raising them up to their mouth and-

“STOP!!” Babycorn screamed, thrashing her body around violently, trying to fight back against the imaginary enemies in her head. They weren’t real. She knew this. Babycorn paused, just to end up almost crying again. “...Just stop it…Please just leave me alone…” She wanted desperately to close her eyes and drift off to sleep, to forget this whole mess even happened.

Something deep inside her just wanted to take her memory of the whole thing and rip it right out of her. 

“Wow! It’s a beautiful night out isn’t it?”

“WaAAaaAA?!” Babycorn let out a yelp and fell back in shock. “W-Who’s there?!” She was sure that she hadn’t been followed by anyone the entire time. Maybe someone had seen her walking around and decided to follow her?! Hopefully it wasn’t someone bad, she was pretty much defenseless…

To Babycorn’s sorta-relief it was actually someone she had briefly met before. “It’s meeeee!!” the doll said in a high-pitched tone, “Your best friend Sicily! At your service!” A burst of glitter exploded behind Sicily and Babycorn couldn’t tell if that was real or if she had hit her head just a little too hard when she fell. 

Sicily paused her introduction to bend over and help Babycorn sit up again. “Up and at em’! You don’t wanna get any grass stains on your pretty white robe!” She advised. Unfortunately it was a little too late for that at this point for Babycorn but the effort was still appreciated. 

Sicily took the time to dust Babycorn off. Poor Babycorn was too tired to tell her she didn’t really have to bother doing that. “By the way…” She walked all around Babycorn in a circle, examining her from head to toe, “Where’s the outfit me and Venice gave you? You looked sooooooo cute in it earlier!!” Sicily sniffled and though she was incapable of actual tears on account of being a doll, one look at her face at the moment would have you thinking otherwise.

Babycorn hesitated to answer. The truth of the whole thing was that she had taken it off shortly after parting ways with Sicily and Venice. Since they had both told her they would be leaving soon Babycorn had figured there would be no real danger to not wearing it. Besides people doubting her story of being Azem’s familiar but people seemed to believe it with or without the outfit.

“Umm…” Babycorn nervously looked around for anything that could help her in this situation. Ultimately it all came down to her. She nervously tapped two of her fingers together and looked down, “Its cause…These are my pajamas…? It wasn’t entirely a lie. Wearing this robe was really comfy and felt more like wearing a blanket than a usual robe did. 

Sicily’s eyes instantly lit up. “Ooooohh!! And since you’re out here you didn’t want to get your clothes we gave you dirty so you’re wearing pajamas instead!!! Ooooh!! Babycorn!!!” In an instant her ragdoll arms were wrapped all around Babycorn in a tight hug. 

“AAAuHHHauccK?!?!” Babycorn felt herself being lifted off the ground but weirdly enough it wasn’t too tight a hug. It must have come with the whole thing of Sicily being a soft ragdoll.

Sicily swayed Babycorn in her arms from side to side. “You’re so smart!! And so cute!!” she let out another squeal and finally set Babycorn down on solid ground, “I’m so lucky to have a little sister as adorable as you!!” 

“L-Little sister…?” 

Babycorn had heard both Sicily and Venice refer to each other as siblings but she must have somehow missed the part where they called her a sibling too. Maybe she had too much on her mind at the time?

Sicily grinned, “Little sister!! Maize all made us so we’re all family of course!! That’s what she told us!” 

“Oh, cool…” Sounds like something Cherry would-

“And families have to help each other when they caaaan! Which is why…” Sicily sat down and crossed her legs in between each other in a knot. She patted the ground next to her for Babycorn to sit down next to her. “Which is why I’m here to help you!” Her eyes sparkled with a hint of red to them. 

“Help me? With what?” 

There were a lot of things that Babycorn needed help with. But she couldn’t think of any way that Sicily could help with any of them. Unless this doll somehow was privy to some secrets about Hermes or something.

“You’ve been having trouble sleeping tonight!” 

“H-Huh…?!” Babycorn was so caught off guard by Sicily’s correct guess that she didn’t have the foresight to deny her accusation. 

Sicily covered her mouth and let out a loud giggle. “Don’t try to hide it and pretend everythings okay! We can tell! Because I’m having trouble sleeping too!” Sicily stood up from where she was sitting and rested her hand on Babycorn’s shoulder. 

“And we know it's because of you.” 

There was something chilling about Sicily’s voice. Babycorn didn’t like it.

“How do you-?”

“Oh, I can always tell.”

Babycorn heard another unfamiliar voice behind her. As soon as she had, Sicily froze and fell to the ground in front of her. Like a toy that someone decided they were done playing with. Babycorn let out a scream and stepped back, kicking Sicily away from her. Sicily did not react at all, her eyes were blank and she was as still as a corpse. 

Before Babycorn could turn around and run away she bumped right into someone, which caused her to fall backwards right onto Sicily. 

Babycorn panicked and tried to get away, only to trip over herself and Sicily over and over again. Until she felt someone grab her by her foot and lift her up. Even being upside down she could tell who it was that was holding her up. 

Even if they’ve never met before.

“Azem…” 

‘Azem’ smiled at Babycorn. Or did she frown? Babycorn really couldn’t tell from her upside down vantage point. 

“That’s my title! Don’t wear it out!” Azem grabbed hold of one of Babycorn’s hands in an attempt to flip her back up, when she did that Babycorn could finally tell that she was smiling. “But you can call me Maize! I don’t mind!” Maize lowered Babycorn onto the ground and gave her a small pat on the head.

Babycorn struggled to find the right things to say that wouldn’t get her exposed as being from the future and also a part of Azem’s broke of pieces of the future. “Um…? I thought you were supposed to be somewhere else? You know? Being somewhere that isn’t here?” It was something she had overheard Hades and Hythlodaeus talking about. 

That would surely raise no suspicions.

Maize laughed nervously to herself for a bit. “I-I was! But I heard word that there was a new familiar of mine roaming around Elpis! And helping Emmy and Hihi too!” Babycorn guessed that Emmy and Hihi must have been nicknames for Hades and Hythlodaeus. Maize leaned in closer to Babycorn until she was staring down at her, “A familiar of mine I have no memory of creating.” Her stare was pretty damning. 

“I-I-Is that so? Haha…” Babycorn’s days were numbered, she was so sure of it. This was the end. 

But in a move that could both be described as unexpected and a relief, Maize stood straight up and clasped her hands together in a smile. “And so I headed right back because I just needed to see the new cutie I made!! Don’t tell Emmy and Hihi though! They would never let me live it down! Teehee!” 

Creating dolls in her sleep was nothing new for Maize. It just so happened that most of the sleep created ones happened to be more of a nuisance for everyone involved in contrast to the more friendly ones. So when word had reached her of a new doll taking Elpis by storm, she couldn’t resist making the trip.

Babycorn’s relief was very short-lived as it was replaced by a mild panic when Maize suddenly rushed up to her and grabbed hold of her face.

“Mmmmpppph?!?!” Just what was this lady doing?!

Maize ignored Babycorn’s scowl and simply continued to examine her. “Oooooh! Just look at you!! Your cheeks are so cute and full! And are those freckles I see?! How adorable! And your hair has the same color and consistency as Sicily and Venice.” She paused to laugh to herself about something, “I wonder if your hair would taste the same when boiled and covered in spaghetti sauce?”

“Excuse meeee?!”

Was she going to be the one being eaten instead?! 

“Never mind all that!” Maize waved Babycorn’s worries away and turned Babycorn’s head to the side. “Omigoooosh!! Look at your ears! They’re so different!! I wonder why?” Turning Babycorn’s head to face her again, Maize noticed something else. “And…Your eyes…They’re the same color as…!” She let out a loud gasp and covered her cheeks in embarrassment. 

Babycorn decided to ignore whatever her ancient was doing and rubbed at her face. 

“It wasn’t my imagination then…was it? This doll's texture feels like nothing I’ve ever felt before…” Maize continued to mumble to herself, all while walking in a circle. “Almost as if…as if…” 

Babycorn froze.

“As if…You’re not a doll.”

“I…um…”

There wasn’t really anything Babycorn could say in her defense. And running away screaming at the top of her lungs wasn’t a viable option either. There was nowhere to run!

Maize looked down at her, though the ancient was considered short by this world’s standard it didn’t make a difference to Babycorn, she still towered over her. As most things did. 

Babycorn looked up to meet Maize’s one uncovered eye. It was a bright red. Which did not help in making this entire situation any less scarier. 

“You’re alive. A living concept. Just like most things here, aren’t you?” 

Babycorn remained silent. Mostly out of fear rather than necessity. 

“Which means…”

“Which means??”

“Which means you must be me and Emmy’s daughter from the future?!?!” Maize let out a maniacal laugh and twirled around in place, “Kyaaaaaaaa!! You’re even cuter than I imagined you’d beeee!!!!” 

“NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” Babycorn let out a scream so loud that it was almost a shock that it didn’t wake up everyone in the nearby vicinity.  It did scare a couple of birds from their trees though.

As soon as Babycorn finished screaming Maize frowned. “Aww…Guess I was wrong…” She was more than a little heartbroken about the fact that she was not talking to her and Hades’ future daughter but she would get over it. Surely this didn’t mean that they weren’t any less destined to be together.

Maize knelt down to Babycorn’s level and brushed some of her loose hairs down. She noticed that her hair was a mess and the bags under her eyes were worse than her own. Not only that, her eyes were red and puffy, as if she had just been crying. Maize was more than familiar with that look.

Babycorn simply looked right at her. The rush of despair of being called Emet-Selch’s daughter still running through her mind. Coupled with the actual realization that she was face to face with her ancient who wanted a child with Emet-Selch had rendered her completely speechless at the moment.

“You must have been so lonely out there.” Maize gently set her hand on Babycorn’s head. “I’m sorry I created you and left you alone for so long.” Had she known she created her, Maize would have canceled her trip and stayed to shower Babycorn with gifts and affection as long as she could.

“It's a scary world out there. Isn’t it?” 

Babycorn was still quiet, speechless. Though this time it was because Maize’s hand was resting on her head. It was a nice feeling. A feeling that Babycorn always secretly wished that people would give her. 

A warm touch to hold her that everything was going to be okay. 

“To journey out there, to places you hardly know with people you can’t trust, I wouldn’t blame you for being so scared of it all.”

Babycorn raised her hands up and grabbed Maize’s wrist, just to make sure that she wouldn’t let go. 

“Losing people is never easy and it never gets any easier. Then to continue living on for them like nothing ever happened? You don’t know how to do that, do you?” 

Babycorn shook her head.

“Aww, sweetie I’m so sorry! I wish there was something I could have done. But I think it's a little too late for me to do anything…”

“It’s okay…”

Maize adjusted her hand “For now. I’ll just relieve you of your worst one!” 

Babycorn’s hands let go of Maize as her arms fell to her side. In an instant, Maize removed her hand, a long glowing thread was attached to the end of her index finger. It wasn’t too long of a thread but it glowed so bright it looked like it was almost on fire. Interlaced around it was another thread, much longer than the first. 

Maize wordlessly moved the thread around in the shape of a circle. From there she could see the memories stored inside of it, all from Babycorn’s point of view. It was a nightmare from what she could see, but the most confusing thing about it was Babycorn’s sympathy for the monsters tearing people apart. 

“Haha! Ew, gross.” was Maize’s only reaction to the whole thing. No wonder her poor little doll hadn’t been able to sleep. “Let’s take care of this!” With a flick of her hand the string collapsed right into her hand alongside the extra one.

Then in an instant and with a clap of her hand, Maize turned the memories into nothing more than dust that she mindlessly sprinkled into the ground. 

As soon as the memories were destroyed Babycorn broke out of her trance with a gasp, only narrowly missing hitting the ground again thanks to being caught by an awakened Sicily.  

“Got ya!” Sicily set Babycorn down on the grassy ground and stepped back. She held her non-existent breath until Babycorn took a breath of her own. Even if Babycorn wasn’t a doll like her it didn’t mean she didn’t care any less about her than before.

“Good job Sicily!” Maize gave her a congratulatory pat on the head and then walked over to inspect Babycorn. 

Babycorn was sleeping soundly on the ground. She had turned herself over on her side, most likely the position she slept in on her own bed. There was a smile on her face and a tear in one of her eyes. 

Maize smiled, “That should do it!” She brushed a part of Babycorn’s hair away from her eyes and stepped back. 

“I hope Babycorn won’t mind that you did that Miss Maize!” Sicily jumped onto Maize’s arm and wrapped her own arms around her. 

“She won’t mind! If she could-I think she would thank me now that she can finally get some sleep!”

“You’re so nice Miss Maize!!!”

“Oh, don’t say that!” Maize chuckled, “After all, I want to get some sleep too!”

[bandedbulbussnarfblat]

Telephone

the next part of my vampire Daniel series. read it below or here

It's been a week that he's been with Bianca and Daniel has heard her life story. She was happy to tell it, as means of keeping him entertained. Daniel mostly liked hearing about Armand as a mortal.

Since being with her, he's been hunting again. Though hunting is perhaps not the word for what Bianca does to secure blood. Mostly she just orders delivery, charms the delivery person to come inside, feeds on them and then erases their memory. She always leaves them a large tip. The food she either tosses out or gives to one of the homeless people she sees on the street.

She tells him that she never kills anymore, and is a master of the small drink. She tells Daniel that it's hard to do when so young in the blood, but that one day he'll have that sort of restraint. Until then, she says she can help him keep control. She tells him that if he must kill, it should be from the evildoer. This, she tells him, will help him feel connected to humanity.

They're staying in Venice, in Bianca's lavish penthouse apartment. It's decorated in the style of the Renaissance and absolutely gorgeous. Daniel is given the guest room and told he can redecorate it anyway he chooses. He doesn't really plan to bother with it. As long as he has a bed, he's happy.

The windows are tinted so no sunlight can come in during the day, though Bianca does tell him there's a panic room. It's hidden behind the bookcase in the study and inside are two coffins. Hers is ivory white with a rose gold finish and lush dusky pink velvet inside. The extra, which she always keeps for vampire visitors, is a dark mahogany with a bronze finish and lined with cream colored satin inside. She assures him they won't ever need to use it, but should danger arise it's where they will sleep. Inside is a refrigerator that she keeps stocked with a week worth of blood bags, should the need to hide arise.

In all, she's been a gracious host. Daniel likes her much better than Marius. And she offers much better advice on the whole Armand situation.

“To be turned against one's will is an awful thing, but an awful thing done of love,” she says, as they sit in her living room. She's lounging on the chaise sofa while Daniel sits on the love seat, laptop beside him. Bianca is watching some teenage vampire show. She enjoys seeing them in fiction, she told him, likes the way this century humanizes them.

“Doesn't make it any easier to forgive him.”

“Understanding is the cornerstone of forgiveness,” Bianca says. “Besides, you want to forgive him. That's half the journey. The rest will take time. You can't rush these things. And what do you have, if not time?”

“I don't know how long he'll wait for me,” Daniel says. It's a thought that has been gnawing a pit in his stomach. What if Armand gets tired of waiting? What if he wants someone more willing to accept his love?

Bianca laughs softly. “I wouldn't worry, darling. He's forgiven Marius of a great many things and loves him still. I think once you have Armand's love, it's hard to lose it.”

Her smile turns sad. “I had his affections once, but I abandoned him. Oh, I couldn't have done anything for him at the time. But I never tried to reach out to him after. I had too much shame. He was once one of my dearest friends. I do hope you come back together; I'd so like to see him happy.”

There's a certain easy air about Bianca that makes her easy to talk to. And Daniel desperately needs a friend to discuss this who isn't Louis. “I miss him. Maybe I should call him.”

Bianca makes a thoughtful little noise. “As long as you don't give him false hope. You don't want to string him along if you find you can't forgive him. That wouldn't be fair.”

It's good advice. Daniel makes it three days following it. The third, as he's getting ready to sleep for the dawn, he can't help himself. He sends out a text to Armand. You still awake?

Two minutes pass and Daniel starts to give up hope. Dubai is three hours ahead of them, Armand is likely sleeping. Then his phone vibrates. I can be.

I miss you. Daniel regrets sending it as soon as he does it. It's cruel; it gives Armand hope when Daniel doesn't know if there is any.

There's a long pause, then a message. Does that mean you're coming home to me?

Not yet. I need more time. Daniel curses himself, then adds I love you.

Before Armand can reply, he types another quick message. Can I call you? Wanna hear your voice.

His phone immediately rings. He picks it up with a desperate feeling in his chest. “Hey baby.”

“Hello Daniel.”

Daniel closes his eyes and presses his phone tightly to his ear. He feels like he's going crazy without Armand. “Talk to me. About anything. I just want to hear your voice.”

Armand chuckles. “Anything?”

There's heat in his voice and Daniel's stomach flips. “Yeah, anything.”

“Do you know where I am now? I'm in your bed. I've been sleeping here since you left. It smells like you.”

Daniel's mouth goes dry. “Yeah?”

“I've been wearing your clothes. It makes me feel close to you. I'm wearing one of your shirts now. It's the only thing I'm wearing.”

Holy fuck. That's not where Daniel expected this conversation to go, but he isn't complaining. “Fuck, baby.”

“Does that turn you on, Daniel? Are you going to touch yourself?”

Daniel slides a hand over the growing bulge in his underwear. “Wish it was you touching me.”

“Imagine it is. If I were there I'd spread you out and drink from your thigh. The blood tastes sweetest from the femoral artery. I'd drink from you until you were writhing beneath me, then I'd put my mouth on you. You make the most delicious noises when I use my mouth, did you know that?”

Daniel sucks in a breath and wraps a hand around his cock and starts stroking. “Keep talking.”

“I'd suck you until you were just on the edge of falling apart, then I'd pull back. I'd tease you until you begged me to let you finish, but I wouldn't. Not until you earned it. Do you think you've earned it, Daniel?”

Daniel speeds up his hand. At this rate, this is going to be over embarrassingly fast. “I don't know, I don't know.”

“I'd keep you there until you were delirious with it. Until you were shaking and crying and desperate. You look so pretty when you're desperate, my beautiful boy.”

“Fuck, your voice. Already so close,” Daniel pants.

“Did I give you permission to come?” Armand says, voice sharper but still as sexy.

“Come on, baby. I need it.”

“Hm,” Armand says. “And what will you do if I let you?”

“Anything, anything you want.”

“I want to bend you over and fuck you until you go hoarse from moaning. I want to wrap my hand around your throat and pin you down while I ride you. I want to lick you open and eat you out until you cry. Would you like that, Daniel? When I finished with you, you'd never want to leave me again.”

Shit. Okay, he's not touching that last bit, but fuck. Daniel's leaking and so hard it hurts. His hand flies over his cock. “Can I-can I, please-”

“Yes, let me hear you, darling.”

Daniel comes over his hand with a shudder. “Shit, Fuck. I love you.”

“I love you too, Daniel.”