#nottelalagna

[knightstrayed]

@notte-la-lagna​ asked: "And to who do I owe the pleasure?" ( what if... i sent johnny... a therapist.... )

Polite, as far as introductions go; a sadly fleeting luxury in a world where Johnny can afford them all, and a curiously pleasant surprise coming from the mouth of someone that seems distantly familiar. At least, the smell of another vampire could never prove anything but. A grin tugs the corner of his mouth, smoke stealing grey and soft from the seam of his lips as he looks the other up and down with playful curiosity.

“Oh, I think the pleasure’s all mine, darling. But if it’s a name you’re after, you can just call me Johnny.” The cigarette still blushing between his fingers is gestured their way, summing them up in a flick of his wrist as his midnight eyes fall warmly upon the other man’s gaze.

“What about you? Got a name as pretty as your face to share with little ol’ me?”

[devilsworn]

@notte-la-lagna​ asked: ❝  long way from home, aren’t you?  ❞ || GOD OF WAR

The question is pointed, sudden, emerging out of the rubble and dust before its speaker ever does--Nero twists on his heel with bristled nerves and all, expecting foe more than friend, Red Queen brandished ready in one sturdy hand.

He finds himself greeted but with a man, and a sigh forces itself from his lungs as his posture gentles with (cautious) relief. Enough to smile, even, as the blood sticking hot and dark to the pale of his face is smeared aside. “Yeah, well...home’s not always where the work is. Get too picky about where your contracts are coming from and you’re never going to turn a penny. And trust me...need all the pennies I can get, pal.” How this one would know in the first place where ‘home’ is for a devil hunter is another concern entirely. Alongside...

“...Have you been watching me this whole time?” A brow quirks, high and pondering as the hunter leans upon the pommel of his sword. “Pretty sure I told everyone to clear out before I took care of this. Wanna avoid as many casualties as we can, y’know?”

Curiosity breaches his expression. “Or maybe you’re the kinda guy that doesn’t apply to.”

[executare]

notte-la-lagna:

It was not with complete intention that they have been parted. Some reasons held with work, with the immense responsibility that is of unravelling minds. Or the tying of them, or the reconstruction. Perfect distractions when he himself has been so filled with all of these and much, much more than he considered. It may well be something that shows in his stride, Mathias vaguely thinks. The somewhat sheepish, the somewhat held back. But not with that of his kissing over his face. With the fondling of his cheeks, to cradling that head when their foreheads come to touch, to remain.

And Mathias takes a small breath to steady his own wayward feelings. His unusually aflutter heart, “Thank you for your patience for me.”

“My patience, Mathias?” The words are so perfectly, beautifully absurd in their sincerity that Carvel does not know whether to be moved to tears or to laughter. He treads the careful, tremulous line between the two of them as he is shaken awake from a moment’s reverie by company and by the music of the other man’s voice alike, kisses showering upon him like the fine, sweet shuddering of rain as Carvel winds an arm languid and wanting around the other man’s shoulders. Love shines hot in his chest as they lean their foreheads together and the Lord sings his gratitude like a prayer.

“Then you must be a saint among saints for the time and patience you have spent--wasted at times, even, on me. I’ve said it time and time again. I will never fathom why you valued my person as much as you did. Only that I am grateful of it.” Fuschia eyes fall closed under the heavy dark of his lashes, aflutter with delight and with sentiment as a kiss brushes cool and yearning against the younger’s mouth.

“And that I am grateful I can be here with you now. Or any time...”

[nightslain]

@notte-la-lagna​ asked: ❛ what am i supposed to do ? ❜ ||  𝒀𝑶𝑼 𝑯𝑨𝑽𝑬 𝑵𝑶 𝑷𝑶𝑾𝑬𝑹 𝑶𝑽𝑬𝑹 𝑴𝑬 !

              “Speak.” Simple, concise. The answer is immediate from the sweetness of the Belmont’s silvery voice as a kind hand wipes fever from the elder’s forehead, the cloth draped cool and damp where the skin burns and that brilliant mind throbs. His eyes are soft, sad, and touched just the slightest by the paladin’s bittersweet smile. “All you ever must do is speak, Mathias. I tell you again and again that I wish, of all the great and wonderful things that you give me, that you will only give me your honesty. And of all great and wonderful things you will part with for my sake, it is never your honesty...” A sigh loosens from his chest, the sleeve slipping down the summer-bronzed skin of his forearm deftly swept back to his elbow as he bends to kiss the bridge of the elder’s nose. For all his certainty, there is a note of pleading to be found in Leon’s curious voice as he fans open the man’s collar, lets the breeze from his open window lap at his skin.

               “Why do you fear it? That I see you as just a man that hurts and cries like I do, like all men do? I shame you not for it. There is not shame to be found in it. Only in that you sooner suffer quietly than speak and cry before me.” And his busying hand settles with the warmth of the man’s chest, where a heart hums low and solemn beneath.

                “I wish so dearly you would not fear telling me what troubles that head of yours, what pales your heart and makes you weak with grief. Your pains would be less. I promise you so...”

[dreamsworn]

@notte-la-lagna​ said: He does not need words for now. No, but a firm, reassuring grip of his hand alongside Edmond's will do.

And a gentle hand will find itself plenty beyond his deserving; the thought pierces through the veil of his solemn reverie with such sweet, sure clarity that Edmond nearly laughs at the squeeze of the other man’s hands. Nearly. Never quite. He manages for a smile instead, a gesture perhaps much better suited to the tednerness of this moment between them as weary eyes tilt back their golden lashes to look Mathias round and through--till they crease with the curve of his mouth in its quiet fondness. True enough. Words indeed seem ill-suited to a moment where touch speaks all (speaks more); Edmond answers him with the cold, curling grip of his silk-clasped hand and the press of his cheek on the elder’s shoulder as he sets his night-dark head to rest.

There is a thank-you somewhere in the silence that Edmond is sure does not need to be spoken.

[ghostlyanon]

❝ help me decorate?❞

autumn / halloween s.s 🍂 🎃 ( open ) | @notte-la-lagna

The attention she’s poured into her book ( not anything more than a recipe book of old ) swiftly diverged from its sepia sheets to the noblesse phantom the moment he made the suggestion. It came all so suddenly that the young woman had no time to hide her surprise or display a more subtle interest.

“You wish to...decorate? For Hallow’s Eve?”  

The thought was not voiced outloud, but she had not taken Sir Mathias to be of the festive kind. The possibility existed of him having too much time to be at his leasure and becoming overiden by boredom, and thus, willing to indulge in the customs of the modern world. Annie couldn’t tell with certainty if he would have asked for help would the holiday be celebrated the same way it did nowadays.

Past her initial reaction and a one-second thinking on his request, she smiled to the lord and closed the book held in her hands.

“I’d be happy to help you decorate, Sir Mathias. I-I can start helping you right now if you need me to! What is it that you’d like to decorate first? Oh, though we should probably get some themed items first...”

[cursefelled]

@notte-la-lagna​: this fucking whole ass MAN right here hector is crying now, thanks

Don’t cry, Hector, or your man will be forced to take drastic measures in kissing you better--

[dominatie]

@notte-la-lagna​

There really were times when it was obvious just who and what Soma was, usually these times were when something truly heinous was happening. This was one such event, walking into the first class of the day to see the walls coated with blood, human viscera dripping down from the ceiling, the repugnant smell of death that clung to it--

Soma’s eyes had widened and his throat had momentarily closed. But that was only the initial response as an eerie calm settled over his shoulders.

“Can you figure out what did this?” He asked the specter by his side. “What do you need?”

Soma was going to have to make a call.

[wingsmashed]

@notte-la-lagna​ asked:

“ tell me; would you kill to save a life ? ” (modern au/any muse ?)

“I already have,” Miklós replies, looking at the man seated across from him. The flame of the candles flickered a little--a weak gust of wind from an open window that made weak shadows dance across the ground. Miklós would have to close the window before they went out, it would be a pain to light them again.

Unconsciously, he scratches at his chin. The feel of stubble, ungroomed hair settled him (perhaps such things made him seem slovenly, but it was a reminder that he was not a prize, not a beautiful meal).

“Is that why you have come to this castle?”

[gemlizz]

Io morirò da sola...

-Perche di questo?

Perché ogni volta che ho amo qualcuno lo allontano da me, perché chiunque rimane vicino a me si fa male, perché io ho fatto dell autodistruzione la mia arte.

[vxmpirehunterd]

"I see you have issues with the father figures. Well now you're my son. I adopted you. Lets go fishing and I will teach you how to carve a spear out of a branch."

  “I’m flattered that you want to adopt me but unfortunately I already know how to fish and make a spear out of a branch.”

[devilsworn]

@notte-la-lagna​ said: “ are you okay with me touching you? “ || INJURY

“...Sure.” It’s a lie, obvious from the moment it parts his lips and breathes, but Nero decides against retracting it regardless--pride and all be damned, the wound gaping in his flank is better looked at by wiser hands than his than left to fester. Though his body is open and vulnerable, his eyes are defensively elsewhere--gazing after any unwanted interlopers or otherwise just looking for somewhere else to settle his wary glance. The hand once coveting his torn side surrenders its cover, with nary a flinch or so little as a hiss as blood runs dark and thick from the maw of his wound.

“Just don’t get any bright ideas, pal. It looks ugly, but I can still fight.”

[executare]

@notte-la-lagna​

Mathias does not make it much a habit to answer house calls - but, this time it is different. His patient is different, and reasoning is different. Something has been off, been strange, in recent weeks. His own anxious-set manner moves him.

Taken upon himself, he enters without being welcomed. Chases his scent to find him in the labyrinth of the library. And casts his shadowed form everywhere to take Carvel’s attention with completeness. To grapple with his hair and collar and to shake sense into him. “Alarm drove me here,” he breaths, wanting to say little else whilst his hands demand the obvious. Now disrobing, the doctor’s shirt and vest fall away, where he swipes himself open by the neck -

“Don’t waste my time with your foolishness.”

And perhaps pain does change people beyond pretending; hunger always sits like a blade between his ribs, always threatens the seams of any reasonable disguise, and always, always makes itself known when the smell of him becomes more starved than it should be. So it both is and is not a surprise when Mathias comes hunting him down through the corridors and closed doors, finds him trying to rest against everything in him that burns to get up and run and look for something, anything that will make that burning quiet--

“Mathias--!” As it happens, that something comes to him. The intrusion too sudden for his dulled senses to catch in time, the hands wrapping into his hair and his collar too firm to dissuade as they shake and rattle and wring snarls from Carvel’s torrid throat while his own fingers reach out to grapple and squeeze the same in the colour of Mathias’ hair--the clothes already slipping out of reach. Naked skin under his clumsy hands strikes him whip-sharp by itself.

The sudden smell of open flesh like a flail boring down to the bone, strangles out a sound more animal than man as pupils blow wide and eclipse-black against the hungry red of Carvel’s eyes.

“You can’t...” He can. Blood runs thick, hits dark and warm on the pale of Carvel’s cheek, by itself not quite enough even as the smell soaks into him, poisonous and lovely and seductive to the point of pain as Carvel feels his fangs rouse with want behind the curl of his lips. “You...”

One drop, two, then a third--staining its way into the seam of his mouth as the Lord all but shakes in his seat. He is lost before he can even admit that defeat for himself, mouth pressed open and starving to the wound in the doctor’s neck with a moan that betrays too much, too much--

And it is too much. Red runs sweet over the Lord’s tongue, sweet enough to have him drunk in only seconds of its company that leaves him shuddering for bliss, for ecstasy, for mad, raving need  as he claws the other man tighter against him. As his fangs spread him open wider when he presses himself deeper into the soft, welcome vale of the younger’s neck as the Lord at last so desperately drinks.

[nightslain]

@notte-la-lagna​ said: [ rest ] sender rests their chin on receiver’s head / shoulder ||  NONVERBAL PROMPTS

              “Mm...” The only thing warmer than the waiting lull of sleep in this moment, as it appears, is Mathias. How long he has been awake or how long Leon has been so close to anything but does not matter--not near so much as the other man’s broad, sturdy heat pressed to the paladin’s back, the chin nestled to his shoulder and the soft whisper of the other man’s breath overside his face. The book once pored over has since rattled clumsily to the floor--perhaps precisely what drew Mathias awake, Leon sleepily realises--and the knight stretches against the warmth of him with a dream-drunk mumble of apology as he turns over between in the tactician’s arms. “Did I wake you? I’m sorry...” Murmurs into the vale of Mathias’ neck, strong arms curled lazy and soft about the other man’s waist as their legs tangle together beneath the furs and throws cast upon them both. “Your books have a habit of charming me almost as much as you do,” purrs against Mathias’ throat between a thread of idle kisses chasing along the line of his pulse.

[dreamsworn]

@notte-la-lagna​ said: my  muse  applying  pressure  your  muses  bleeding  wound ★ BLOOD   LUST

“I fancy very much that I know such a look in your eye, monsieur.” For Mathias has the most telling of faces, Edmond finds, no matter his airs and graces of austerity; he is charmingly obvious to the Count’s roaming eyes as they fan the breadth of his face from hairline to throat hollow--to the hands pressing cloth to his punctured neck and the frost-cold blood soaking lazily through to the gentleman’s palms. The wounds themselves all the same seem too little to keep the smile from His Excellency’s mouth as he looks the man round and through.

“You are thinking, dare I say, that I have been grievously unwise tonight. Perhaps you think my methods in this particular venture too crude. Possibly too quick to tempt fate with an openness you would prefer I disavowed.” A hand waves, blithe and uncaring and quickly becoming thankful as it grazes the length of the other man’s arm with one gloved hand, still remarkably pristine pale on the darker colours of the doctor’s clothes.

“Another time, I might be inclined to agree. But you will find I am resilient beyond all folly. And all that being said...the job found itself quite well done, did it not?” Tongue chases along the point of his fangs as he turns the blade between the fingers of his other hands, flashing silver and sweetly clean in the office’s dim light.

“I would have run him through to the hilt if you had been but a minute slower, my dear friend.”

[ghostlyanon]

📜 OHHHH

incorrect quotes generator meme! ( open ) | @notte-la-lagna

Annie: I'm incredibly fast at math. Mathias: Alright, what's 30x17? Annie: 47 Mathias: That's not even close. Annie: But it was fast.