#odette leap!

[simpofhans]

someone: what's your favorite character type?

me in 2020 : hot bearded long haired men with a tragic backstory!!!!

me in 2024 : This too, but.... um....

40+ year old hot villanous/morally suspectful/tragic women..... yeah..... i love them. 💞

[livehorsesartpage]

Juleap is over, but I wanted to complete my series of B/L! watercolor portraits. This one is Odette, and I used as a reference for the painting, a picture from a dancer that the fandom considers a high inspiration for the character in the movie: Emma Livry.

Odette, unlike Mérante, wasn't a historical figure. On the other hand, Emma Livry was, one of the many dancing couples that Mérante had. "There was a fire on the stage" can be interpreted with many meanings, and what happened to Emma Livry in the end can be one of them.

She was a top star at the Opera, "the best of her generation" until one day while rehearsing, her dress caught on fire with one of the gas lamps at the stage. Most of her body got burnt and, unfortunately, Emma died at a young age after that incident.

Made with watercolors over Sketch paper at August 2nd of 2024.

[lau-tje96337]

Mérandette in Gacha Life 2

(Louis Mérante x Odette)

This is Louis Mérante and Odette as Gacha Characters 💕

I love this ship, It's my favourite one 😍🥰

I am at the bottom left 🙂

I hope you will like it what I made 😁

Made it on gacha life 2.

Credits: Lau-tje-96337 (me).

Update:

at the bottom is the new version. I have changed the positions, some changes for Mérante but not that much and I changed the head of Odette and her dress.

I will change or make new poses for them in the future if i have time ofc. Tell me what you would like to see, it could be anything but only from ballerina/Leap! :D

@ballerina-leap @ballerinaleapmovie @emayuku

[fariadraws]

Behold everyone! It's actually my dream scene!

(Not exactly like that, Félicie wasn't dressed up like this; she was, to be honest, in the movie outfit and Odette wasn't present at all. And I'm not sure if it was her birthday!)

As far as I can remember, Louis gave her a beautiful doll as some sort of present and it made her utterly ecstatic. She started singing a very melodical song in response to his kind gesture. I can't recall the exact words, but I wrote down the main idea on my diary! Félicie was so happy that I could feel her emotions at that time; I woke up with the relish of it in my mind in the morning 😃.

Félicie is actually sitting on a tool, not on the vacuum. And of course, Louis is not wearing a one piece! I'm not a pro artist, I hope everyone will forgive the artistic errors here!

[blackstar2711]

Some Stills of My Newest Merdette Edit and the Headcanons to each:

I hope That tomorrow you act with a little more dignity:

When Odette and Merante were younger they often went to the Pub. It was a time of freedom for them. Odette went earlier than Louis and it was her time to dance as her mind made her. She danced careless and wild, far away from any kind of judgement.

It was a late evening when Louis discovered her. He went to the Pub out of interest and out of boredom but something pulled him her. He watched her and was even more amazed by her dancing in the pub, than he was at her dancing in the Opera. It felt more real. More personal. Like he had just seen the most vulnerable version of Odette. It wasn’t her fault when someone drunk let his bottle fall and Odette stepped on hit. It was a simple reaction to catch her and yet she stared at him, his hand wrapped around her waist. He smiled shyly at her and said one simpel sentence: “I hope that tomorrow you act with a little more dignity”

2. You have the lightness of a depressed elephant!

It was the thing these two heard the most in their time as younger students. It was the same thing their teacher would say, whenever Odette missed a step, Merantes hands were on the wrong spot of their dance didn’t vibe the right way. It was a habit when these two used this sentence.

3. You dance with right here…

Merante had often watched Odette fail. Not in a bad way, it didn’t made her a bad ballerina but in a way that was human. A way that after a long of studying her lessons the next morning weren’t perfect. It happened, that Odette forgot why she was dancing or even how to dance. Not because she couldn’t more in a way of her body couldn’t remember. He sighed lightly and always went to her after a few miserable tries. He kneeled in front of the young woman, tears in her eyes. “You know why you dance and how.”

“I can’t remember”

“You can. You dance with right here”

4. After ten years of cleaning you pick stuff up

It was the standard sentence when employees asked the cleaner how she knows so much about dancing. About choreographies, the music even the costumes. She never told them, never wanted to see pity in their eyes. Odette tried to calm them down with this sentence. She knever knew anything out of her past, she had always picked it up over the years.

[ballerinaleapmovie]

Fandom is being able to recite Ballerina/Leap! while at your noisy work station where no one can hear you, after three-four years of not reciting it and thinking, ‘yep, still got it’.

[pixiedust111]

Drawing highlights — June 2024!

[that-random-outsider]

Currently working my way through rare pair rabbit whole hell. I could help it, I finished watching leap yesterday and all I could think of was Camille and Félicie remind me a lot of s1 lumity so I just have to stand it. I've only found 5 fics with them on Ao3 and already read 4 of them and I know this isn't going to end well, but in my defense the whole reason I watched it in the first place was because I saw an edit that gave lumity vibes. I am already expecting my brain to go bananas at a lumity Leap au I mean It would be perfect.

[lau-tje96337]

Love these two 💕

Lovers + Colors 4/?

Mérante & Odette + Shades of Brown & Black

Mérante, talking to Félicie about Odette :

“You must have a good teacher.”

[sarcasticscribbles]

"Statement of Odette Hart, regarding the modification made to her body for the arts of figure skating. Original statement January 19th 2007.

Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.

Statement begins." [CW: Body Horror, self harm implication]

“Figure skating is the embodiment of grace: balancing on sharp blades, moving swiftly across the unforgiving ice. I was born with strength, but not with flexibility. My body was too stiff, too stubborn to practice the spins and jumps in professional figure skating. 

My third coach taught me how to spin longer, leap higher, and hold positions that violated human anatomy. With a few minor modifications, I gained the flexibility I had yearned for. She showed me how to use my blades—not just on the ice, but on myself. She taught me where to place them for the smallest, inconspicuous cuts. How to elongate my limbs without tearing the muscles. Tiny incisions beneath my skin, loosening what was rigid, allowing me to arch my back, pull my head farther, and lift my arms higher.

I was practising a quadruple Salchow, soaring into the air with four rotations before landing on one leg with a final pirouette. I had to stay straight, keep my arms tight, and bend just enough as I hit the ice. I landed low, arms outstretched, fighting for balance. 

The cold air sliced across my body, seeping into the open wounds that marked the modifications I had made to myself, each one a painful reminder of the price I’d paid. But when my blade struck the ice, my legs betrayed me. They were no longer strong enough to hold my weight.

The warmth of my blood melted the ice as my body collided with the ground. My limbs refused to lift me from the cold surface I had dedicated hours to. My broken reflection stared back at me from the crimson-coloured ice, a haunting reminder of what grace stood for.”

Odette Hart, a figure skater who sacrificed her career after altering her body in pursuit of perfection on the ice, embodies the extremes of human ambition and the devastating consequences of pushing beyond natural limits.

[livehorsesartpage]

Ballerina Leap Characters watercolor portraits.

I finally finish my series of Ballerina Leap Characters portraits made with watercolor. I'm going to think it twice if I deign to make other characters, but I only really care about these five only.

Félicie Milliner made at July 10 of 2024.

Victor Hubert made at September 21 of 2024.

Camille Le Haut made at July 15 of 2024.

Odette Milliner made at August 02 of 2024.

Louis Mérante made at July 31 of 2024.

All made with watercolor paint over Sketch paper.

[luvvictoria]

Swan Lake

+ pairings. simon ghost riley x f!reader

+ tags. romance, ballet dancer reader, Ghost being a fan of reader, gore

+ a/n. Reblog with your favourite line ! It would help me very much to grow my account !! Thank you in advance!!

The grandeur of the theater wrapped around you like a velvet embrace, the kind that made the air feel thick with possibility. Each flicker of the chandelier’s crystal facets sent ripples of light cascading over the velvet seats, a sea of captivated faces staring up at you. There was magic here tonight, an ethereal energy that seemed to hover between the stage and the audience, binding you all in the spell of the story.

Playing Odette had always been your dream, the role of a lifetime etched into your heart since you first tied the ribbons of your pointe shoes as a child. Tonight, under the glow of the stage lights, you became her — not just a dancer, but a swan, gliding through the sorrow and longing of Act 2. Every delicate pirouette, every trembling flutter of your arms, was a plea, a prayer. Your movements spoke a language older than words, older than the stage itself, as if you were baring your very soul to the world.

The haunting strains of Tchaikovsky’s score swelled around you, the orchestra’s melody wrapping around your every motion like a second skin. The stage felt boundless, infinite, as you moved across it with grace you had honed through years of sweat, pain, and sacrifice. You lost yourself in the music, in the story, in the tragedy of Odette’s plight.

As the music reached its crescendo, you launched into the climax of your solo, a series of daring leaps and turns that left your heart pounding and your feet barely skimming the stage. Your white tutu fluttered like the wings of a swan caught mid-flight, a fragile creature on the edge of freedom — or ruin. The audience held their breath, caught in the delicate balance of your performance. The silence was electric, charged with awe.

Then—

Bang. Bang. Bang.

The sound shattered the air like thunder, tearing through the fragile beauty of the moment. Your body froze mid-motion, your arms trembling as your heart lurched in your chest. The music halted with a screech of discordant strings, and the silence that followed was deafening.

The sound ricocheted through the theater like a hammer against glass, shattering the delicate hush that had cocooned your performance. For a brief moment, you thought it might be part of the production, some dramatic effect that had gone wrong. But then came the screams, high and sharp, ripping through the enchanted air and drowning the music in chaos.

You stumbled, the stage’s polished wood slick beneath your pointe shoes. The world around you tilted, blurred. You barely registered the heat of something wet spattering across your face and arms. It wasn’t until you looked down at your pristine white tutu that you saw the crimson streaks, the way they bloomed across the fabric like grotesque flowers. Blood. Not yours. Someone’s. The realization hit you like a blow to the chest.

You didn’t know where it had come from or who had fallen victim. The orchestra pit was a mess of overturned music stands and scrambling bodies. The audience — so silent and rapt only moments ago — had devolved into chaos, people shoving past one another, trampling seats, and screaming as they ran for the exits.

Your pulse roared in your ears as you stumbled to your feet, panic gripping your throat like a vice. You backed away from the stage’s edge, toward the shadows of the wings, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps. A man collapsed just beyond the first row of seats, his chest slick with red, his hands clutching at the gaping wound in his abdomen. His eyes locked with yours for a brief, haunting second before they dimmed. Dead. He was dead.

You turned and ran, the stage lights dimming behind you as you dove into the cluttered backstage area. The air was thick with the acrid scent of gunpowder and the coppery tang of blood. You huddled behind a stack of prop crates, curling into yourself as you tried to steady your breathing. Your trembling hands pressed against your mouth to muffle the sobs threatening to break free.

The theater was quieter now, but not silent. Footsteps echoed in the distance — slow, deliberate, heavy boots against wood. They grew closer, each step reverberating in your skull like the toll of a bell.

Then they stopped.

You barely had time to react before a gloved hand shot into your hiding place, tangling in your hair and yanking you upward. A cry escaped your lips as you clawed at the hand, your nails scraping uselessly against the black fabric. Your eyes widened as you came face-to-face with him.

The mask was the first thing you noticed — a stark, grinning skull that gleamed under the dim backstage lights. His eyes, dark and cold, stared out from the sockets, devoid of pity but filled with something far more unnerving: fascination. He towered over you, his presence oppressive, like a shadow come to life.

“Poor swan…” His voice was low, rough like gravel dragged over concrete. Despite the menace in his tone, there was an undercurrent of something softer, something almost gentle. “Will you dance for me so I can understand how dear your life is to you?”

You opened your mouth to plead, to scream, to say anything, but no words came. Your voice was trapped, swallowed by the terror that consumed you.

He didn’t wait for an answer. His grip shifted from your hair to your wrist, his fingers like a vice around your delicate bones. He dragged you toward the stage, your feet barely keeping up, your pointe shoes scuffing against the floor. You stumbled, but he didn’t falter, his strength unyielding as he pulled you into the light.

The stage was a nightmare. Blood stained the polished wood, pooling in sticky puddles where bodies had fallen. The seats were empty now, save for a few lifeless forms slumped in grotesque stillness. The chandeliers still sparkled, casting their cold, indifferent light over the carnage.

He released you in the center of the stage, stepping back into the shadows of the wings. His presence loomed, even from the darkness, his skull mask gleaming faintly.

“Dance,” he commanded, his voice echoing in the hollow silence.

Your legs felt like lead, your body trembling as tears streamed down your face. The music was gone, but in your mind, you clung desperately to the memory of Act 2. You rose shakily to your toes, your movements stiff and mechanical at first. Then, instinct took over. Muscle memory guided you where your mind faltered, each arabesque and jeté a desperate plea for mercy.

As you danced, you became aware of his gaze, unrelenting and intense. He stood with his arms crossed, his head tilted slightly, as though studying a masterpiece. There was no mockery in his stance, no overt menace. Just a quiet, unnerving intensity.

“You’re beautiful,” he muttered, almost to himself. The words barely reached you, but they cut through the fog of fear. “Flawless.”

You faltered, nearly collapsing as the compliment struck you like a slap. His voice was softer now, almost reverent. “Even in fear, you’re perfect.”

Your movements slowed, your body trembling with exhaustion and terror. Finally, you finished with a weak, trembling curtsy, your chest heaving as you struggled to catch your breath. Silence enveloped the theater once more.

He stepped closer, emerging from the shadows. His towering frame was imposing but no longer felt as threatening. His eyes, partially obscured by the mask, softened in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. “I’ve watched you before,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “Every performance. You dance like it’s your soul laid bare. It’s…” He hesitated, as if searching for the right word. “Moving.”

The revelation stunned you. This man, this figure who had disrupted your world, was a fan?

He reached into his pocket, and your body tensed, expecting the worst. But instead of a weapon, he retrieved a folded piece of paper. He crouched and placed it gently on the bloodstained stage at your feet.

“Keep dancing, Swan,” he said, his voice tinged with something almost like sadness. “For me.”

And then he was gone, disappearing into the shadows as quickly as he had appeared.

You stood there, trembling and unsure, before finally bending down to pick up the note. Your bloodstained fingers unfolded the paper, revealing three words written in neat, hurried handwriting:

Never stop flying.

[glorismorningstar]

THE LION CHRONICLES

Pairings: Lute x f!reader, Carmilla Carmine x f! situationship!reader, fatherfigure!Alastor x f!reader

Summary: Now that Alastor's back, Y/N joins him at the Overlord meeting, where more information about the recent extermination is revealed. Later, her relationship with Carmilla has an interesting development.

Warnings: WLW, casual relationship, unrequited love, pain, heartbreak, lesbian smut (cw - fingering, oral, mommy kink, strap on, tail pulling), angst, violence, death, homophobia

A/N: I apologise in advance for everything, this part was so deep and interesting to write, contains a lot of character development and each part will contain more drama than the last *cough* episode 6 *cough cough*

| PART 2 // PART 3 // PART 4 |

˚₊‧ ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

˚₊‧ ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

"How much higher do you want it?" I ask as my tail wraps around the side of the ladder for balance, hands holding up the banner we made together.

"A little bit more... there,” Charlie says and got up from the other side of the ladder to hammer it down as Vaggie holds the ladder still. "That looks perfect! Aah! I'm so excited that Sir Pentious is staying at the hotel!"

"Um, Pentious was just trying to take over the city with his weird steampunk bullshit a few days ago." Vaggie points out.

"Well, I haven't seen him try any of that in here." Just as Charlie finishes the sentence, Pentious comes in with his Egg Bois, wheeling in something that looks like a cannon, but... fancier. Huh.

"What the Hell is that?”

"Oh, hello, purple female. It's my new invention, the SkinFlayer 11.000!" He hisses proudly, tipping his hat as the eggs chase each other around the room. One of them begins climbing up my tail and I yelp, then chuckled quietly and let him play with the fluffy tuft, swishing it from side to side. “I'm really looking forward to shooting the other residents."

"What? Why?"

"Everyone is being too nice. Obviously it must be a lie. I can sense they are planning to kill me, but when? How? I must be prepared!" Ah, yeah, trust issues. That's a bitch. Been there, currently doing it. “Ooh, the new parts of my machine are here."

I turn to look at the doorway and beam, it was Clara and Odette, Carmilla's daughters. But as expected, they're delivering weapons to Pentious.

Damn it.

"Y/N!"

"Hello, girls." I smile and trot over to give each of them a hug. I look at the weapons and at Pentious before directing my gaze back to them with a nervous chuckle, “What's going on here?"

"We got a delivery at the Hazbin Hotel. We assumed you'd know something about it." Clara speaks as she unloads the boxes, while Odette asks for the signature. I run a hand over my face and sigh, this is exactly what I was supposed to stop from happening.

"Yeah, so did I." I sigh, burying a hand in my mane and looking at Vaggie with an apologetic grimace.

"Thank you for your business. Enjoy your Carmine purchase."

"Carmine? As in Carmilla Carmine? You're buying parts from an Overlord?"

"So, Y/N, are you coming to the meeting today?" Clara asks me. Since Alastor is back, I don't know how much he'd need my help, but then again, I wouldn't mind. It's not like I have a lot to do right now anyway.

"Uh, yeah, yeah, I am. Tell your mother I said hi."

As soon as they leave, I redirect my attention to the Egg Bois playing with my tail. Apparently some others joined in while I was talking to Carmilla's daughters and began following me everywhere. I giggle and wag my tail for them to chase, leaping around the room and being extra careful not to squish them. One of them catches my tail and I smile, swishing it to curl around my hip so that I can look at the Egg properly. "Hello, little one. Do you have a name?”

"It's Frank, ma'am." The little creature says in a silly, goofy voice, which makes me giggle and shake his hand with my finger.

"My name is Y/N.” I introduce myself with a smile, eyes sparkling with cuteness overload when he grabs my finger.

"Hello, Y/N!"

"You absolutely cannot build weapons in this Hotel. No one wants to kill you. People are being nice to you because they want you to feel welcome!" Vaggie lectures with a raised finger. She gives off mom energy, I bet she and Charlie would make great parents one day.

Both Sir Pentious and I turn to look at the other members of the group: Husk is chugging on a bottle of booze in the bar and peeks at the serpent, then extends his middle finger; Angel Dust does the same, and Nifty stops her dusting to look in our direction with a creepy look that terrifies me to my very soul. And don't get me started on Alastor.

"Mhm, I have my doubts." Pentious hisses.

"Well, it's true. You have to trust us." Trust is a tricky thing. It's not easy to do so again after misplacing it so many times. Surprisingly, the one that taught me that was Sera. She first betrayed my trust when she agreed to punish Lucifer; she's the one in charge, the one that's supposed to preach forgiveness and generosity, yet she destroyed the life of a man that grew up with me - with us. The second time was when she approved the extermination. She'd be willing to murder human souls, men, women, children, all in an attempt to protect us? From what? And worse, she's the reason Lute puts herself in such danger by coming down here every year.

I don't know why I hide from her every extermination day. To be fair, I'm hiding

from them, not her. Adam, that frat boy of a commander, Celeste, that coward that resorted to homophobia when her tiny peanut brain couldn't come up with a comeback, and of course, all of her posse that tore my wings off and threw me down here... ugh, stop. I don't even have the courage to face my girlfriend now. She's an exorcist angel, she murders the damned for a living. What would she think of me if the sweet, (somewhat) well behaved girl she fell in love with became... this? A sinner.

I think that's why I never contacted Lucifer or Vaggie when I first got here. Lucifer is my childhood best friend, my partner-in-crime, and when he fell, I was far beyond devastated. I didn't know what I'd do without him, he's almost like my brother. We'd sneak out of the palace past curfew and get in trouble all the time. I tried everything to keep him from falling and I failed. I just don't think I'd have the courage to face him. And it's the same with Vaggie. We used to be friends when she first joined the army and got pretty close, and then I lost her, too. I ended up coming in contact with her when Alastor dragged me here, but I was still scared to death.

"Hey, Y/N, are you joining us for trust exercises today?" Charlie asks with a grin and slings an arm around my shoulder, which brings a smile to my face. She's Lucifer's daughter. My dearest friend's daughter. I'm so proud of her.

"As much as I'd like to solve my trust issues, I have a meeting to attend, dear.” I reply and ruffle her hair affectionately, chuckling softly and fixing my black and purple bow tie before walking upstairs to go get Alastor and leave.

˚₊‧ ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Rosie and the other Overlords are already there when Alastor, Zestial and I get to the meeting room. The first thing I do is lock eyes with Carmilla: there she stands, at the head of the table and with her daughters on either side of her. She flashes me a small smile from across the room, which I reciprocate and also give her a small wave. She chuckles quietly and returns the gesture, the affectionate glint in her eyes making my cheeks go pink as my ears pin back against my head in shyness. I smile at her once more before looking for a seat. I was hoping to sit next to Alastor, as usual, but he and Rosie must have lots of catching up to do, so I leave them be and opt for the other side of the table. The first chairs next to the head of the table are her daughters’, so I leave Clara her seat and begin to pull out the chair beside her. That's when I feel a big hand on my shoulder and immediately recognize it as Carmilla, her touches always feel like a wider than usual span of warmth. My ears perk up at the contact and at the sound of her angelic steel ballet slippers clicking on the floor and I smile at her once again. The Overlord rests her other hand on a fancier chair to the right of her own spot and offers, “You can sit here if you want.”

There are only two chairs like these in the room, one on either side of her. The left one is normally occupied by Zestial, with whom she's really close, and she's offering me the other seat. Me. She wants me to sit with her and her family. My heart swells and my pupils soften even further, now looking like the sweetest kitten ever. “Really?”

“Mhm. Come, corazón, we're about to begin.” She replies quietly and gently pulls me along, letting me sit on the chair beside her as she prepares to start the meeting. While our situationship isn't some big secret, she doesn't like public displays of affection very much. She says she's afraid of making me a target and wants to protect me - the irony of my secret draws out bitterness from me. Regardless, her habit of calling me by my term of endearment in her native language fails to falter, which is why she kept her voice down while talking to me.

“Welcome, Hell sovereign Overlords.” Carmilla begins as I take my seat, silencing the quiet chatter of the other Overlords. The soft and familiar metal clicking of her ballet slippers soothes me, my ears twitching towards the sound each time she takes a step. “I've invited you all here because you represent the controlling powers of our city. Together, you own millions of souls.”

I watch her with a relatively neutral expression from beside her, curious eyes veiling the silent admiration underneath. I don't know what's wrong with me sometimes, she's wonderful. I've struggled to connect with her in the past outside of sexual encounters, and I have no idea why. It's not even her issue, it's mine. I'd never want a relationship that's just physical, it's outside of my comfort zone… but then again, so is being with someone like this. Physical, yes, but the emotional side of our relationship is just hard for me. I guess I was so convinced I'd spend eternity with Lute for more than thirty years that I struggle with the fact that it won't come true. I know that the other day she was about to ask me to be her girlfriend before we got interrupted, but subconsciously, a part of me was almost… relieved she didn't? Ugh, what is wrong with me?

“Alastor?” The call of his name snaps me out of my train of thought, attention shifting to my father figure as my ears perk up once again. I don't have parents. My father is technically God because he created me, but I've never met him, and while Sera raised me and was sort of a maternal figure to me, she's my older sister - with whom I have numerous issues - I was never able to make that strong of a bond with her as I did with Emily. So I guess that's why I'm so attached to Alastor and Rosie.

“Yes, I know, I've been absent some time. I'm sure you've all been wondering.” He replies and I roll my eyes with fondness. I know for sure he was trying to look mysterious by planting Carmilla the opportunity to ask questions only to give her a vague answer. The poor dear.

“Not really. But welcome back in any case.” The small angry radio noises almost draw a snicker from me. He looks so annoyed right now. Poor guy, she could have humored him, at least. 

With a snap of her fingers, Odette hands her a clipboard and she turns on the presentation as Carmilla keeps speaking. “This year's extermination was brutal, far more even than years past. We have assessed that about 16% of the population was lost. With the angelic legions now returning twice as quickly, I think it prudent we-”

I jump in my seat for a split second when the door slams open and I roll my eyes at the obnoxious, thickly accented voice chattering on the phone, suppressing an annoyed growl. 

Oh, fuck me.

It's Velvette. She appears to be on the phone with one of her dear, dear colleagues - who are technically supposed to be here, for the record. “I've got it handled, Vox. Are you doubting me? Really? Me? That's what I thought.”

I hate to say it, but out of the three Vees, she's the most responsible. No, less worse would be a better suited definition. Between a porn director, the host of a video podcast that brainwashes people into doing his bidding and a fun-sized influencer, I guess I'd have to go with the latter. But that doesn't make her any less annoying. “Yes, I know. They're all a joke.”

The annoyance and contempt on the three Carmines’ faces is mirrored in my own as well as Zestial's. My ears pin back against my head at the insult, not for myself, but for the others. She's like a fussy child. And Carmilla less than deserves this bullshit at her own meeting. “Thank you, V. See you soon. Kisses, darling.”

I smell lesbian.

“Nice of you to join us, Velvette. Will your… colleagues be joining?” The sincerity in her tone is completely lost and with reason. I can sense it in the way she emphasizes the word colleagues and how the deprecation she feels is written all over her face, regardless of how much she tries to appear professional.

Oh, say no, say no, say no…

“No. They have better shit to do than to listen to an old windbag who thinks she's tough shit. I'm here to represent.” And so it begins. While Carmilla only narrows her eyes at the jab, I'm not that graceful when my loved ones are offended. My ears draw back and my tail sways behind me as I bare my teeth, pupils slitting while a soft growl rumbles from my throat. It's barely noticeable, but not to someone right beside me. 

“Charming.” She mutters as she turns around, taking advantage of the fact that the table is tall enough to conceal her hands and brushing the back of her fingers along my arm in a gentle, soothing caress, which brings a flutter to my stomach as my posture relaxes. My ears and tail return to their usual position and my pupils soften once again, but the protective pout on my lips remains. No one fucks with my loved ones.

“So, as I was saying, we need to discuss-” Carmilla begins once again, but is interrupted by Velvette waving her hand once again. Ugh. “Yes?”

“On the subject of discussion…” she begins, then pulls something from out of nowhere and throws it on the table, golden splashes splattering on the surface.

It's an exorcist's head.

While a collective gasp rises from the group, a shuddering exhale falls from my parted lips as my eyes land on the severed head of the angel, ears drooping and eyes wide with terror. Exorcists… they can die? Oh, no, no, no, no… what about Lute? Is she safe? Who did this? How did they do this? 

Wait, I know that mask. 

She was a member of Celeste's posse.

One of Celeste's buddies was murdered? 

I remember them. Celeste is a sergeant in the exorcist army, above the other soldiers but below Lute. The rest of her posse is only made of soldiers and they're all kinds of trouble, but one of their worst faults is homophobia. 

“Do you take medicine for homosexuality?” 

“What kind of a Seraph are you, tempted by something so unholy?”

“You and Lute have been getting really close lately.”

“It's just some trend, it's not real. You're just pretending.”

“I wonder what you call the lieutenant when you're alone…” 

The very thought makes my skin crawl. One time, Lute started a fight with them because they wouldn't stop insulting me. Luckily, Adam was smart enough to break it up, which I only think he did because Lute was involved, otherwise he would have been thrilled. Lute ended up with a broken wing while Celeste had multiple bruises and a broken nose. No one had ever defended me that fiercely before.

“Where did you get this?” Carmilla isn't nearly as appalled as I thought she would be. She looks somewhere between surprised and frustrated, yet at the same time neither. I can't tell what she's thinking right now, what she's doing. Her posture looks more tense than before, her eyes narrowed and her white irises smaller, more slitted. Her daughters appear far more surprised, but not as much as I expected two young adults to be either. Did I miss something?

“We found it during extermination day. If these holy rollers can be killed, the game has changed. We can take the fight to them.” Absolutely not. Declaring war on the Heavens is about the dumbest idea I can possibly think of, not only because I want to protect my family and loved ones, but because this happened once before, and it's the reason the extermination even exists. Well, that and that man child Adam and Sera with her power and her lack of moral compass. “The boys and I have come up with a full assault plan-”

Her suggestions are interrupted by Zestial and his aggressive slurping on that cup of tea. The sound, annoying but not as much as Velvette's voice, drags on for a few seconds as the room falls silent. The Overlord then puts the cup down on the saucer and interweaves his hands together, then speaks, “If it be true thee and thy colleagues desire to war with such meager proof, thou art far more foolish than I be thought.”

“Meager proof? It's a dead fucking exorcist. I'd say that's pretty fucking definitive.” She scoffs. It's good to see that Zestial and I are on the same page, all I need to do is get the others on our side, too. “You going blind, old man?”

“We know not how this perished, mayhaps t'was not by a demon's hand at all. If we rush to war without knowing, mightn't they purge all of Hell for daring an uprising?” 

“I agree with Zestial. If I recall correctly, the very reason the Heavens approved the yearly exorcism is to punish the population of Hell for attempting a coup d'etat. This can only make things worse.” 

The soft muttering of agreement that rises from the room is my greatest victory of the day. I think of Sera and what loads she bears on her own, regardless of how angry I am at her, I think of young, naive little Emily and how she still thinks that Heaven is perfect, I think of Lute and her safety and her happiness, despite believing that she's probably already moved on. I wouldn't blame her if she has, it's been twenty seven years, but her wellbeing will always be my priority.

My eyes flicker to Carmilla and now I'm sure something's up. She hasn't pitched in with any opinion on this, she didn't look shaken in the slightest when the other Overlord revealed the severed head, and now she looks like she's hiding something. Her eyes are squinted and she's looking to the side with a small pout on her lips, likely lost in her thoughts. Is there a secret afoot? When she meets my gaze, I look at her with soft, gentle eyes and make a soft quizzical noise just loud enough for her to hear, something between a grunt and a purr. What surprises me most, however, is how a flash of guilt appears in her eyes before she schools her expression once again and adverts her eyes from me. It was her, wasn't she? I'm not angry at her for killing the angel, because I'm sure she has a reasonable explanation for that. She's not the type to act on impulse or violence unless it's a last resort. But it just bothers me a bit that she didn't talk to me about this - not that I'm in a position to judge, anyway - but I was hoping she'd trust me with something like this.

My eyes flit back to Velvette just in time to notice the look on her face when she sees Carmilla acting odd, and that's exactly what makes me tense up with protectivity again. “Oh, I get it. So grandpa and the scaredy cat are too pussy to fight, so I guess there's no point, right?”

Then she gets up in Zestial's face to attack him, which annoys me even further. And why does she have to step on the table? She might be small, but that's so rude. “What's the matter, fossil? Too senile to make a real power grab for-”

♪ You better show some respect 

Check your behavior 

No one speaks to Zestial that way ♪

Whoa. 

Carmilla has never snapped once in the entire time I've known her. I'd say it's not a good look on her but I'd be completely lying if I did, because she looks so unbelievably attractive. Oh, my God, how did I ever pull a woman like her? She's just so… ugh. She's strong and dominant and gorgeous. I want to fling myself into the sun right now and I'm pretty sure I'm blushing. I'm having a lesbian panic in the middle of the most serious meeting of my life and the small familiar tingle between my legs isn't helping much either. Okay, this is not good. Alright, do something normal. I cross my legs to shift my position while trying to soothe some of the heat between my thighs by subtly squeezing them together, then rub my jaw with my hand to cover up the soft pink color rushing to my cheeks.

♪ Did you expect us

To sit back and take your 

Insolent, brazen display? ♪

I don't even pretend I'm paying attention to what Velvette is saying, because why would I listen to some British chippy when I can daydream about my girlfriend? The way she defends me and Zestial makes her look so hot. She has that determined pout and that protective glare in her scarlet eyes… I swear that sometimes it's like she doesn't even know how gorgeous she is. Somehow, our first kiss comes to mind.

˚₊‧ ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

This meeting was longer than expected. I've been sitting in this chair for almost two hours and my ass is square. I get up and lean back against the back support of the chair, my vertebrae cracking with a satisfying pop. I hear her soft chuckle and my ears perk up at the sound, so gentle and brief yet meaningful to my ears. The other Overlords already left, it's just the two of us and I have to put my paperwork in order because it was a little disorganized today. “Do you need help with that?”

“Oh, no, that's okay. Don't trouble yourself.” I say with a casual wave of the hand and a small smile, endeared by her kindness. She's sweet, I like that. 

“Ah, it's no trouble.” Carmilla replies, moving to stand beside me as she joins me in fumbling with the messy paper sheets. She's pretty close to me, and she's actually like eight feet tall which is so hot and only serves to thicken the tension simmering between us. My ears go flat against my head every time my tiny hands brush against her bigger ones and sparks shoot up my body and heart. I haven't felt like this in a long, long while. It's almost been thirty years, yet I'm still grieving a life I'm never going to have with a woman I'm never going to see again. I've dated Lute for so long, long enough to still own the engagement ring I bought her before I fell. It's damn time I move on, I bet she already has years ago.

“Here.” My thoughts are interrupted when she hands me half the handful of papers. Oh, thank god. 

“Oh- thank you.” I reply and smile softly at her, tail wagging behind me as I take the papers and rest them atop the other half of the pile. The silence is almost deafening, begging to be broken as our eyes meet once again. The glow of her ruby sclerae has me entranced for a few moment, my own pupils dilating with awe and attraction as my ears pin back against my head once again. She looks so pretty right now.

I swallow thickly and clear my throat, wussing out as I scratch the back of my neck and point to the doorway and take a few nervous steps forward, “I should- um-” For fuck's sake, why don't I want to be with her? What's wrong with me? I know I'm sexually attracted to her, but it can't be just that, can it? I'm incapable of having purely physical relationships. I do feel affection for her, I genuinely do, but it's not as… strong as I would have hoped. Even so, this is the most attracted I've been to someone in the last twenty-seven years. I hear the metal clinking of her shoes and her hand around my wrist stops me. “Y/N, hang on.” 

“Hmm?”

“Would it…” she begins, pausing for a moment to collect her thoughts. The fact that she might have doubts, too, comforts me greatly. It doesn't have to be a serious thing so fast, right? “Would it be okay if I kissed you?”

She's asking me for consent. That makes my stomach flutter with butterflies. I look up at her with puppy eyes and nod, ears drawing back in fluster. “Yeah. Yeah, it would.”

In account of our height difference, I get on my tip toes and she tilts her head down, hand cupping my face before she gently locks lips with me. The kiss is soft, tentative, and I can sense she hasn't done this in a while either. Since she has two daughters and a company, she probably doesn't have much time for a relationship, which is cool because to be honest, casual is the best I can do right now. My tail swishes up to rest on her waist and I feel the shiver that runs up her spine when the fluffy brown tuft brushes against her lower back. When we pull back, our cheeks are flushed and her eyes are still closed for a second longer than mine. “That was nice.”

“Yeah… it was.” 

There's a moment of pause where we're just looking in each other's eyes, and then in a split second, like magnets attracting each other with unbelievable force, we lunge at each other until our lips collide, this time more aggressively as our tongues slide against each other and a few soft noises escape both of us. 

˚₊‧ ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

♪ You and the Vees are inane and uninformed 

Smug wannabes who don't need when you've been warned ♪

Her voice pulls me from my thoughts once again and my focus zeroes back in on the meeting, ears once again pulling back at how beautiful she looks. I love how the black and white strands of hair flop and curl over her forehead like that. It looks so cute.

♪ Oops, did I strike a nerve? 

‘Cause when I brought out the angel's head

Couldn't help but observe

That your wrinkled face was turning red ♪

The way Velvette keeps attacking Carmilla like that makes my blood boil. Does she have any idea what kind of allegation this is - regardless of whether or not it's true? It's really grave to accuse someone of murdering an angel, and an Overlord no less. I hate the way she's getting under her skin. I see how her teeth are gritted and her nails dig into the table, the way her glare is piercing and frustrated, how her body almost twitches. It makes my ears droop with sadness, yet they pull back immediately when Velvette starts getting closer. My posture tenses and my tail stiffens with each step forward she takes, teeth baring as well as my pupils slit once again.

♪ And why are you avoiding war? 

That's what the guns you sell are for

Thanks to my being respectless 

One thing I'm starting to suspect is

You know why this angel's headless

Do you have a disclosure? ♪

♪ This meeting's over! ♪

While the two are standing nose to nose, the rest of the Overlords and I are just giving dead stares and grimaces, the pause giving way to an awkward silence as my eyes seem unable to break off from Carmilla, who has genuinely never looked so hot before. Okay, stop it. Not the time. “Hmm, fine. Safe travel back to the nursing home, fuckers. Kiss my ass.”

“What the hell? We literally just got here.”

“Mother?” Odette utters softly, and Carmilla gestures for us to follow her in response. 

The three of us follow her to her office and the girls sit on the two chairs in front of her desk while I lean against the wall beside the windows and the coffee table, watching with a small frown as Carmilla mutters something in Spanish and pours herself a drink, but then ends up drinking from the bottle. I rest a hand on her arm and look at her with big puppy eyes, noticing how she seems to relax a bit under my touch, and a weak smile appears on her face. “You okay?”

“Fine.” She replies softly and caresses my cheek with her hand for a second before letting it drop to her side, but we both know that she's not fine. As a rattling sound that we recognize as Zestial makes us turn our heads to the door, watching him come into the room. 

“Carmilla, what troubles thou? Losing thy composure is unlike thee.” 

“It's nothing, Zestial, really.” 

“The felled angel… t'was by thy hand, was it not?”

“Let's not talk about it.” I'm looking at her intently enough to see the same flicker of guilt that passed through her eyes when it was brought up in the meeting and I wordlessly questioned her about it. Whether it's guilt for murdering a soul or keeping this from Zestial and I, I'm not sure, but I don't get why she'd keep this to herself. She could have told me, I would have helped her.

“Mom… maybe they should know.” Clara says gently, which makes my ears twitch in her direction. The three of them know what happened, but we don't.

“Nobody should know!” Carmilla says, slamming her palms on the desk and taking her seat. Whatever happened, it sounds like it's something that's taking quite a toll on her. My ears droop at the thought. She doesn't have to go through it all on her own, she's got us. “I did what I had to do. I'm not discussing this.”

I want to go over there and comfort her, I really do, but maybe I should let them have a moment. They're a family, after all, and had she not invited me in, I would have either stayed outside or gone back to the hotel. 

♪ What weighs on your soul, old friend? 

I implore you to share the load

If it was thou who slew the angel

Why not let your strength be known? ♪

I'm not sure why I'm frustrated with her keeping this from me. I have no right to be, anyway, and for a series of reasons. First off, I'm keeping a gigantic secret from her myself, most definitely bigger than hers. And second, we have a more casual relationship, we're not even girlfriends yet, I can't really expect her to be comfortable sharing this with me. But I guess I'm upset I didn't know sooner because this is about my home, my loved ones. This is a risk to them, and I'd give anything for them to be safe.

♪ I always thought 

That I would keep blood off my face

But when that thing attacked

I had to act

To cross that line and keep them safe ♪

She killed in self defense. That's completely reasonable. She killed to protect her daughters. But they were out on extermination day alone? Why didn't they call me for help? I would have gone down there in the chaos if it meant protecting them. I would have risked being found out if it meant protecting them. But one thing I dislike is how angels are dehumanized here. It's like we're animals to them, which from their point of view is fair, but not all angels are like that. The exorcists might be, but not all of them. Not all of us.

♪ But if anyone knew

Then all of hell would rise to war

And who's to say who'd survive the fray? 

I might lose the ones I was killing for ♪

♪ So I

I'll be your keeper

Do whatever it takes

I'll make the mistakes

I'll keep you safe and keep this secret ♪

The way she hugs her daughters, the way they look up at her with affection and gratitude, it makes my heart warm as a smile comes to my lips. And the fact that she lifts her head to look at me for a moment during that last sentence makes me feel so cared for, even just for a second.

˚₊‧ ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

It doesn't take long for us to find refuge in her room, all alone and under the cozy lighting of the evening. Because the girls are out for the night, Carmilla seems to feel much more loose and free with her movements and actions, testified by how she pulls me in for a kiss milliseconds after I close the door behind us. My hands fly to her cheeks and I get on my tiptoes to reciprocate the kiss better, squeaking in surprise when she picks me up and carries me to the bed. She breaks the kiss and sets me down on the mattress, then sits beside me and kicks off her ballet slippers. I do the same with my own shoes and crawl to sit behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist and giving her a gentle squeeze as I litter kisses on her bare shoulders. I can feel the tension leaving her body when I hug her, then nuzzle my nose into the crook of her neck and give it a gentle bite before trailing kisses up the side of her neck and under her ear, using my tail to tease her by looping it around her side and tickling her chin with the tuft. “You need some help distracting yourself, cielo?”

“Mhm, is that okay?” She replies softly, hands undoing the neatly tied up hair to let it down. The sweet scent of her perfume and shampoo almost makes me dizzy as the black and white waterfall cascades beside me, nose nuzzling into the soft fluffy hair as I inhale its smell with a sigh. 

“Of course it's okay. Just lie down for me, yeah? I'll take care of you, hermosa.” I purr as she obeys and lies back on the bed for me. My terms of endearment for her used to be in English before I asked her to teach me some in Spanish. I knew a few already, but I wanted her to tell me which ones she likes, and after I gained more confidence with the words, I started calling her those - and a few of my own as well.

I crawl on top of her and pull her in for another kiss, hands roaming up and down her sides before beginning to fiddle with the buttons on her shirt. My lips trail down her jaw, neck and collarbone as I undo the last button without looking, relying only on familiarity and basking in the soft sighs of pleasure that she lets out at my soft kissing and nipping. I lift her shirt over her head and smile down at her, connecting our lips once more as my hands gently cup her breasts. She gasps softly into my mouth at the contact and I feel her chest rising and falling under my touch, her breaths soft and slowly increasing in speed. I break the kiss to attach my lips to her nipple and swirl my tongue around it before lapping at it, relishing in the soft moans that escape her mouth. Her hands rest at the base of my neck as her head leans back against the pillow, the warmth of her touch giving me the urge to pleasure her right. The touch of her hands on either side of my neck feels familiar, it reminds me of-

No, don't you fucking dare.

I open my eyes to meet her ruby ones and focus on her face, contorting with pleasure when I switch my mouth to her other breast. “Mhm- ahh, Y/N…” 

Sliding between her spread legs, I make a trail of kisses down her stomach until I reach the waistband of her spiked skirt, then pull it down her legs along with her black pantyhose. The sight of the glistening precum between her legs makes me shiver, pupils dilating with hunger before I delve my tongue into her folds, tail stiffening at the taste. My ears twitch at the wonderful sound of the sharper moan that falls from her lips at the pleasure and her fingers tangle into my mane, tugging and ruffling at the golden tuft as she grinds her pussy on my face to look for further stimulation. Her back arches off the mattress when I wrap my lips around her sensitive clit and gently suck on it, her louder mewls sending waves of arousal to my pulsating core. “Oh, fuck… oh, that's good, amor, don't stop…”

I'm not even planning to. 

To make the sensations even more intense, I tease a finger to her entrance before sliding it inside, stomach flipping as her tight walls clench around my digit. She moans my name with a gasp, squirming on the bed as her hand reaches for mine and clasps it tightly. I remember how Lute started doing that once she got more comfortable, letting the roughness and passion give say to more tender moments once in a while. 

No, wait, what am I doing? 

Stop. Now. 

Don't do that. It can never end well. 

I stick another digit inside her and push both of them deeper, the pads of my fingers hitting the spongy spot that makes her body arch as she lets out a loud cry of blissful pleasure and her fingers tighten in my mane. “I'm almost there, almost- ah, fuck…!”

To help her get there, I piston my fingers inside her with more force and let go of her hand to rub circles on her clit, giving it a gentle smack and watching as she comes undone. The way her hand claws at the bed sheets, the arch of her back, her face contorted with white-hot pleasure as her moaning turns slightly higher in pitch. 

As soon as she relaxes on the bed, I crawl up to her and kiss her on the lips, then leave gentle kisses on her temple and cheek, soft purrs escaping me as my hand brushes away the hair sticking to her forehead. “Better, mi ninfa?”

She smiles at me and chuckles softly, nodding as she wraps her arms around me and brushes my mane back into place with her fingers, “Much better. But now it's your turn, come here.”

“Hey, come on, you don't have to. You had a long day, just have some rest.” I coo, kissing her forehead and caressing her cheek. She must be tired out from the meeting and the stress and all. Or maybe we should stop before I do or say something stupid and fuck this up.

“I'm not tired, I can take another round.” She replies and sits up on her elbows, looking at me with a little smirk. I know that face, she's up to something. She's not at all shy when it comes to trying new things in bed, but as it turns out, it's something I've tried before. Her hand reaches into her drawer for something that I assume is a toy but when I see it, my ears and tail perk up in recognition. Is that a strap? “Do you wanna try this?”

The first time I tried this was with Lute, and pretty early on in our relationship. She'd fuck me with it as often as she could, she'd always put aside a bit of time every day just to rail me, and man, did we get noise complaints from her neighbors. “Yeah, why not?”

She smiles and gives me a quick peck on the lips, then we switch places and she starts putting on the strap while I undo my bow tie and take off the rest of my clothes. Once I'm laid out on the bed and bare before her, she lies on top of me and bends down to capture my lips in a passionate kiss while she teases the tip to my entrance. The familiar sensation draws a small gasp from me, letting out a softer moan as she starts to push it further inside. More moans and babbles fall from my lips at the familiarity of being half-filled like this, panting and whimpering out, “M- More… please, more- ahh…”

Carmilla chuckles and rests a hand on my lower stomach for leverage as she bottoms out, pausing to wait for my go ahead. Shit, I forgot how good this feels. I give her a weak nod and let my head lull back against the pillow, eyes fluttering shut as I wrap my legs around her and lock my ankles on her lower back. My head becomes a bit fuzzy with the intense sensations that are only enhanced when she snaps her hips forward and back before bottoming out again, setting a slow and gentle pace. A string of moans, whines and curses spills from my lips as my hands grip the bed sheets tightly, a bead of sweat trickling down my temple, “Please… please, harder… mommy, please…”

The word makes her stop for a moment, my confused eyes meeting her lust-blown ones before I realize what I just called her.

Damn it.

“What did you just call me?”

“Mommy- mmph!”

Before I can even finish speaking, she pulls out and manhandles me onto my stomach, this time intruding my pussy with much more haste and aggressively pounding me from behind. I've never seen her like this, so animalistic, so rough. Her hands gripping my hips, the sound of our skin slapping together, the tip of the plastic dick hitting just the right spot each time with flawless precision, it all makes them blur together. The mental image of her porcelain skin and her snowy white hair bouncing above her shoulders, her golden eyes flashing with desire and adoration, the warmth of her body, muscular and delicate at the same time intrudes my mind at the best yet worst of times and it's too clear to get it out. It's her flawless hips and her calloused hands gripping me when she fucks me, it's her wings unfurling and flapping with the effort, it's her lips leaving hickeys on my shoulder when I cry tears of overstimulation. And with an unexpected rough pull of my tail, a high-pitched moan is ripped from my throat as the orgasm washes over me like a tidal wave and I cry out,

“Lute!”

˚₊‧ ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

God, what the hell did I just do?!

Lute.

I said Lute.

I cried out another woman's name during sex.

“Carmilla, wait-” I begin as I button up my shirt with haste, following her out into the hall of the mansion and reaching out to touch her arm. I knew there was nothing I could say to make her feel better, but I had to try.

"Don't." She warns, hurt etched across her face, which made me retract my hand, ears drooping with resignation. It breaks my heart to see her like this. Damn it, I screwed this up forever. How could I have been so dumb? “I've always known you had issues, but if you were in love with someone else, why didn't you end things with me?"

"I- I didn't even know, I-” I sigh mid-sentence, tears stinging my eyes. How would I even explain this to her? “Look, it's... complicated. I used to date this person 30 years ago, and now she thinks I'm dead. I just- I saw her by accident last week, and it just came crashing back."

"She thinks you're what? I don't understand...” she squints her eyes, hands on her hips as she gazes at me with bewilderment. I can't tell this to her, it's too risky.

"It's really complicated, just drop it." I say and turn away for a moment, taking a few steps down the hallway. I can't tell her, what's the point anyway? You can't change the past. It's not going to change anything, and most definitely not for the better. It's going to kill our relationship. No, no, I can't lose another person. She's the only one that affirms me and is there for me at any moment of need. And I just hurt her feelings.

Carmilla grabs my wrist to stop me, crimson eyes flashing with heartbreak, bafflement and something akin to anger. I don't blame her, I never could, to be honest. I'd hate me, too. "Y/ N, you just called me another woman's name while we were having sex. I deserve to know about her."

"It's better for the both of us if you don't know."

"Y/N, just talk to me!"

"No!" I swiftly turn around and snap at her, ripping my hand from her grip. A soft slicing noise and a pang of pain drags across the back of my hand and I cry out, covering the wound with my other hand while my entire face pales.

Oh, shit.

My blood.

Oh, no, no, no, no, no, fuck, no, this cannot be happening to me!

It's over, the relationship is definitely over now.

Carmilla gasps and looks at the angelic blades on the wall, the distress in her eyes mellowing into concern. That sends a stab of guilt in my heart. She's angry with me but she still cares about me enough to worry when I'm in pain. God, she's going to loathe me if she sees. She reaches her big, soft hand out and murmurs a gentle, "Let me see.”

"No, it's fine. I'm fine." I flinch back like a startled cub and hold my hand close to my chest, terrified of her seeing the golden blood. I hate this. I hate this so, so, so, so much.

"Y/N, that's a dangerous weapon. Let me see the wound." She presses, gently gripping my forearm and trying to pry it away from my chest, to which I apply resistance and take a few wobbly steps back as my tail tucks between my legs. She can't know, she just can't. She'll turn away from me forever. She wouldn't be wrong in doing so, but I would be shattered if she did.

"No, please don't."

"Y/N-"

She pulls my hand from my chest and her scarlet eyes land on the golden liquid cascading down my hand, beautiful face morphing into an expression I hate with every fiber of my being. Pain, confusion, betrayal, fear. The way her eyes drop, the way her eyebrows crease, the way her lips part with shock. The color drains from my skin and my eyes fill with tears, choosing to stay silent for now. Her mouth opens and closes repeatedly, she has no idea what to say. And what can she say? What do you say when the person you're dating lies about where they come from?

I stifle a sob and wait for her to say something, anything. What is there to say? I might not be able to take this much longer. 

God, I just want to vanish right now. My legs, arms and body tremble violently as I struggle to make eye contact with her, shifting the muscles in my back to wrap my wings around myself... except I don't have wings anymore. "You... you're an angel...?"

"I used to be." I reply, sniffing softly and roughly wiping the tears from my eyes, angry at myself for letting them fall, for not watching myself with the weapon, for letting Lute's name slip.

"You're no exorcist. You can't even touch a weapon." She thinks aloud, slightly shaky from the shock. I don't want to tell her more about my past, but am I really in the position to ask her for favors? I lied to her, I broke her heart, I didn't treat her right, I never did. This is less than fair to her. "What are you, then? Archangel?"

"Seraph." I sigh, ears drooping as I look up at her like a cub that's been kicked, but not to try to sway her or get my way. I don't even know what my way would be. To be honest, I'm just hoping she won't leave, but at this point, even that seems like too much to ask for.

When did things get so complicated?

A breath of disbelief puffs from her lips and she runs a hand through her hair, trying to make sense of the situation. I can't even begin to imagine the thoughts running through her head right now, the questions she must have, the pain she must be in. "That glow you have, how you're never around after extermination day... those six... bumps on your back...”

I sniff and look to the side in shame, shrinking myself into my shoulders as if to hide myself from her. I tried to protect my family, I tried to protect the love of my life, my philtatē, and failed so horribly. I got my wings torn off my back, I got ruined for it. A Seraph whose family didn't even know where she was. But she thinks I'm a bad angel. An evil one that just cares about herself.

“And Lute... as in Adam's second-in-command Lute?" She asks, tears beading up in the corners of her eyes as she came to so many realizations. My ears go flat against my head as I force myself to look her in the eyes. It's the least she deserves. "You dated the lieutenant of the exorcist army?"

"Yeah... yeah, that's her.” I breathe, brushing the tears off my face and forcing myself to come to terms with it. The connection I had with Lute is unlike anything I've had in more than four billion years. The things I'd do to make her happy, to keep her safe and well. I'd give anything to be able to spend the rest of my life with her and give her anything that would make her happy... but it's not the life we're meant to have. And because of some stupid dream I built up in my head that's destined to go unfulfilled, I hurt a person that actually wants me and cares about me. I took her for granted and hurt her feelings.

"Were you ever going to tell me about all this?" She asks as tears bead up in the corners of her eyes. Why did I have to go and make her face look like that?

"Yes! Of course I was..."

"When?"

“…”

"..?"

"Um..."

"Ugh! I can't believe you!" She groans and whips around to walk down the hallway and I dash to follow after her, reflexively reaching out for her wrist, but then I stop and let my hand drop to my side. She doesn't want me to touch her.

“You want to talk about keeping secrets? What about the exorcist you killed?” I reply, my own frustrations bleeding through the argument as my ears draw back. I'm completely in the wrong and I know it, but the stubborn part of me can't help but want to argue with her. Good going, dipshit.

“Oh, please, don't even pretend you care about us. I saw the look on your face when you saw the angel's head. I know you recognized her, and I know you only care because you're selfish!” She yells back, pointing a finger to my chest, and glaring down at me with a venom that makes my stomach churn, but the accusation makes me so much angrier. 

Selfish? I severed my bond with my older sister in an attempt to protect Lucifer and then lost it altogether when I tried to clean up her mess. I tried to do the right thing and protect my baby sister, to protect the woman I love from this crackpot idea that all sinners should die, and instead I lose everything I ever cared about. She doesn't truly know what selfish means if she's got the gall to call me that. “Selfish?! Is that what you think?!”

“Yes, that's precisely what I think!”

I take a few steps closer to her to stand almost a breath away, close enough to speak right in her face, and grit out, “If I were truly as selfish and petty as you think, I would have been grateful to see that bitch's head on your table, because her and her buddies are the reason I couldn't show my face anywhere near the army for being queer. That woman held me down while the other ones ripped out my wings. They're homophobic assholes who deserve to die, but I wasn't thinking of them, I was thinking about my family. I have people I'd die for, too - because I did - so don't lecture me about selfishness and secrecy when you don't know anything about me and especially when you did the exact same thing.”

I don't like talking about these things, in fact I hate to do so, and I can't believe that the first time I'm opening up to her is to win an argument. While I was defending myself, I didn't even realize when tears started streaming down my face, but I can feel my cheeks wetting now. I hate this so much. How did I even get in this situation in the first place? It could be so much simpler if I'd just done so many things differently. But you can't change the past.

“You're right. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that.” She seems to have deflated a lot, despite her posture still being tense. She genuinely regrets calling me selfish, I can see it in her eyes, but she's still really angry with me, and I honestly don't blame her. “But that still doesn't justify the fact that you called me another woman's name. If I'm not your person, that's fine, but you shouldn't have led me on like that!”

"Carmilla, listen, no one hates me more than I do right now-"

"Are you so sure about that?"

I grimace and my ears go flat against my head. That stings, but I had it coming. The way she turns around with crossed arms and looks down at me with that sneer of resentment, that quirked eyebrow and that expression of disgust, I never thought it would be directed at me. On second thought, she probably didn't either.

"You're right. I'm completely in the wrong, and I'm not trying to justify myself. No one hates me more than I do except for you. I wanted to tell you, I honestly did, but I was scared of this. I was scared you'd hate me and push me away. I was hung up on my dumb feelings and didn't take you seriously when you were the only one to care about me - and I know I have no right to say this, but I care about you, too - and I'm so, so, so sorry for doing this to you." I want to comfort her so much, to wipe her tears and reassure her that everything would be alright, but even if she'd ever let me touch her again, it wouldn't be true. It's far from alright. So instead I settle for asking the question I'm petrified of knowing the answer to. "Is there anything I can do to salvage this?"

Carmilla pauses for a few seconds - the longest eternity I've ever experienced in my pre-creational existence - and sighs, running a hand down her face to wipe her tears as her expression mellows back into the more raw, real one she had before. The sight makes my heart crumble to pieces: the way her eyes are so full of pain, how her cheeks glisten with her tears. And I'm the cause of it. I'm the reason.

"No."

[blackstar2711]

The best thing of all:

A small Odette X Merante One-Shot

Authors Note; Also Posted on Ao3 Under the same title, now have fun while reading!

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The opera went silent hours ago. Odette didn’t react, when Madame Le Haut told her, that she lost her job and with it her home. She just watched as the carriage slowly disappeared in the dust of the Parisian morning. The wind picked up and a few dark leaves made a small noise while flying over the pavement. Odette couldn’t tell how long she stood there, staring into emptiness, with the hope of Fèlicie returning to her. But nothing happened, the street stayed silent and Odette was left alone. It was an odd feeling as if her dream was taken with Fèlicies, the last straw of her future as a dancer. She has seen herself as the young girl. Seen herself train for weeks alone in the opera, every night she got better. The women really did hope, that the girl could live her dream. No one came by and a time went by, that Odette couldn’t specify, it felt like her world stopped turning.

The jacket that someone laid on her shoulder felt heavy like it was suffocating her. She already had lifted her hand to remove the jacket, when a firm voice stopped her. “You're ice cold. It's okay, come on we will warm you up.”, Merantes Voice didn't allow any resistance. He took her hand and let it slip around his arm, so he could lead her inside. The former dancer just let it happen. The heavy jacket, his warm hand on hers, and his calm voice told her to sit down on a soft sofa inside the opera. She realized all of that and yet she just stared into the flames that Merante had sparked. Odette watched the flames dance in the fireplace, while Merante sat down next to her. They stayed silent for quite some time and even when she was warm, she kept on his jacket. It smelled like Merante and deep inside her, she knew how calming this affects her.

“She will be fine.”, his voice sounded like he really believed it. Like he believed that she would be happy outside of the Opera. “She's like me...”, the man looked up at her but didn't say anything for quite some time. Odette saw his small nod and how his gaze went back to the flames. “That's why I know. That she will be fine.”, he said quietly but didn't add anything else to his words. Merante brought her back inside, it was a former fitting room with two huge windows watching over the houses of Paris. An old rug filled the floor and the couch was tangible older with a feeling of dust whatever one would touch.

“You can stay with me.”, it was the first time that Odette truly looked at Merante. He hasn't moved his gaze away from the fire while saying these words. She noticed once again how much older he looked, since the last time they danced. He didn't age badly, instead, he seemed to have kept his graze and his pride. Their teacher once said that they were the perfect contrast for each other. Now was the first time she really agreed. “I don't want to stay at your house.”, she replied with a small voice. Odette still felt weak but yet she didn't look away from his profile. “Why? I have a huge house, with enough rooms to fit you in there five times.”, he replied seriously and that was when they looked into each other's eyes for the first time since he watched her dance on the stage. “We already talked about this, I don't want to...”, she responded once again, her voice still gentle and warm even though she felt completely different. His eyes were soft and filled with worry while hers looked tired and alone like she has lost her last affection. Merante sighed and leaned back against the soft cushions. It was clear that had didn't want to fight her today. They both looked defeated after this day. Both of them grew feelings for Felicie and she seemed to become the closest the two ever had to a daughter.

“Then stay here. I know you like it here and I will take care of it. The attic has a lot of room, the old training room isn't used anymore.”, she knew why he suggested exactly this room. It was their room. In the room, the two would meet up and train for hours, laugh, listen to music, and sometimes she would play the piano for him. All of these memories were kept locked up in the room. It was their safe place.

The woman sighed silently but then she slowly nodded. It was the best offer she could get. “Good, I will take care of it immediately.”, the man got up and smoothed his shirt stores. He looked at her from his standing position, his jacket still over her shoulders. Instead of taking his jacket, he stepped up to her and leaned down to her. He looked into her eyes and found the small glance of something unspoken in them. He closed his eyes and placed a kiss on her forehead. It was light and filled with affection. “Keep the jacket as long as you want. You know where to find me.”, that's when he straightened his back and nodded one last time. He stepped to the door and looked one last time at Odette. “I will stay here. I promise.”, with that he opened the door and as fast as he had appeared for Odette, he was gone.

It took over a week for his jacket to return to his fitting room, it was needles folded and ironed. The small hole on the sleeve was sewed and in the breast pocket was a small Paper.

“I'm not going to leave either, I have no reason to. So you have to stay as well. You know where to find me for a cup of tea Louis.”, Merante smiled at the note. She barely used his first name and even in writing it sounded nice to him. “I haven't seen you smile like this for quite some time.”, Rosita noticed, she was there to pick up something for her costume.

“Sometimes good things happen to everyone, Rosita. Even to me.”, he replied and folded the paper again, to put it back in its place over his heart. “What could be so good?”, she asked confused. “The best thing of all.”, he didn't explain more. That was it. That's what Odette was to him.

The best thing of all....

[yandere-wishes]

♡⠀🦢⠀♡⠀♡⠀🦢⠀♡⠀♡⠀🦢⠀♡⠀♡⠀🦢 ♡⠀

♡⠀🦢⠀♡⠀♡⠀🦢⠀♡⠀♡⠀🦢⠀♡⠀♡⠀🦢 ♡⠀

Hot Take: Swan Lake (But make it Yancore)

Act 1 Scene 1

But has anyone ever thought about the misery that lies concealed beneath the waves of Swan Lake? A love that's molded over tenfold, yet still continues to rot?

Has anyone ever thought about how in love Baron von Rothbart must have been? How desperate he was to gain Odette's adoration that he sentenced her to his own prison? None shall have her, should he be unable to possess her. It's a promise he makes in a kiss of smoke and stardust. 

Rothbart is a creature sewn of flames and feathers. Carved from abomination and power. Strong and weak all in the same breath. Yet ultimately a prisoner too, just like his dear Odette. Rothbart's bones are his glided cage, his own powers his jailer. He knows banishment and imprisonment as if they were his architects. He recognizes isolation like the kiss of a lost lover. He's lord of the swans, the owls, the crows, the birds, he's the lord of everything except Odette's heart. 

So he curses her. Not out of malice, never malice, but out of love, devotion. Maybe, just maybe if she could bear his burden. she too would come to understand. He curses her with his likeness. Curses her with a lore and a crown and everything he has always had. He turns her into something only he could love. 

And at the end of the day, it works too...

Act 1 Scene 2

Poor Odette, poor sweet Odette. Everyone knows of her tragedy, her curse, her death. Yet has anyone ever seen the sorrow that resides within her brittle bones? 

Half swan, Half human. Yet never belonging to either world.

No one's ever thought of how she's felt throughout these years. The way the feathers stick out of her flesh even when she's human again. The way her voice imitates the call of a swan, every second syllable emphasized.

Even the full moon can not fully return that which Rothbart stole. 

Oh, Rothbart. Even his name sends waves of hate throughout her body. 

There's resentment in her bones. Hate too deep and passionate for words

What is this called again? Obsession, abhorrence, loathing?

Yet even with this spirited hate, all she can do is wait, wither away until imposible love finds her. 

But when Siegfried finds her that's when the world really starts to fall apart. Because he's a prince, cold yet lovable. Soft like dandelions and as precious as the lilypads that infest the pond. 

He's everything she's ever wanted.

And yet...

There's this leap in logic whenever he's concerned. He can't understand the pain she's been through. He'll never truly comprehend the weight of the curse. How suffocating its invisible shackles are, how deteriorated her mind has become. 

Siegfried is a prince in every definition of the word... 

But Siegfried can't understand the horrors she bears in her heart. The nightmares that never seize and the burden of living between worlds.

So maybe, just maybe that's why she throws herself into Rothbart's arms one dreadful night. Because for all his countless flaws Rothbart can -at the very least- comprehend her anguish. Who better to understand the burden of a curse than its caster? Then the one born with the same spell in his veins. 

The curse is straightforward "a spell broken only once you are loved by someone who has never loved before." 

Has Rothbart ever truly loved someone? Should she try to gain his love? maybe she's had it this whole time...Maybe she's also loved him this whole time...

Or maybe she's grown addicted to the sting of his teeth along her jugular and his bruising grip on her hips when they pirouette. Maybe there's a form of deification in the burn marks his feathers leave across her skin. A silent "I Love You" too fragile to be spoken. 

There's something wrong with his kisses - they burn like a thousand hells and leave an aftertaste akin to poison- there's something wrong with the way her name falls from his lips. 

There's something wrong with him...

So why is she starting to want him?

Maybe it's the trauma he's spilled into her lungs. Or how easily he makes the nightmares go away. Maybe it's the palliative sensation as he caresses all her flaws, kissing them as if they were holy. Maybe it's because whether swan or human she knows he'll love her. He'll understand. 

How she wishes sweet Siegfried could do the same...

Act 2 scene 1 

Odile chokes on night air and stardust. Bursting at the seams to be seen. She can't remember a time when she's been anything but darkness. Anything but a second thought. 

She was born with feathers and a body meant to endure. Her mother, the dark arts. Her father, the lord of all who fly. She is more creature than human. A testament to the dark. 

So what if she grew up spoiled? With every luxury thrown at her feet. It all means very little when you've never known the touch of another soul. When isolation has been your sole companion from the moment you emerged from your egg. 

There's darkness within her that her father nourishes. Yet not even he can provide her with mitigation, camaraderie, happiness. 

So maybe, just maybe that's why when she sees the prince for the first time. The world illuminates. She's sent to seduce him. To claim another victory for her father. But she positively melts when she feels his warm hands on her skin. The smile aimed at her is brighter than every ray of the sun.

If it's merely a deceit, then why does her heart pound like a caged bird among her ribs? Why does her blood flow to her cheeks upon seeing his smile? Why oh why does she feel this way, this need? To make him hers.

The black swan falls for the prince even if it's only meant to be a ploy, a ruse, another cruel game orchestrated by the wicked baron. How painful it must be to love for the first time and know it can only end in woe. How painful it must be to rot in endless heartache. 

How she wishes to kiss him, just once. As he holds her hand and dances with her in front of a royal crowd. His eyes shine with an adoration she's never seen before. Is this love? Is this what she's been robbed of her whole life?

How she dies a thousand deaths when Siegfried utters Odette's name. 

What she wouldn't sacrifice to hear him call her name instead...

Act 2 Scene 2

Imagine the black swan and the white swan actually get a chance to meet away from preying eyes and endless expectations. Imagine they understand each other's pain like two dying stars. 

There's a lake in a forest where dreams go to die. A sparkling oasis where curses run ramped. In the glow of a lonely moon, Odette sits by the lake. Watching her fellow prisoners dance the night away. 

Her heartache is unbearable tonight, she'll deem it a miracle should she see sunrise. Odile collapses next to her, bathing in her loneliness. A shade of grey encompasses the two of them, 

They're too tired to hate. Too tired to fight. For tonight they are both just lost souls looking for the light.  

Imagine the white swan and the black swan actually understand each other. 

One cursed to be a swan. The other born into its likeness. 

"I want to die," Odette mutters her tone is all burdon and pain. 

"Death would be too easy, dear princess. We were both made to suffer" Odile replies, stating the only fact she's still sure of. 

Odette stands, a queen with no crown. Her eyes staring at her flock of swans. She outstretches her hand and beckons Odile for a dance. Just two birds trapped within the same aviary.

Odile's hand fits perfectly in Odette's. Fingers entwined as if slipping into each other's souls. Two juxtapositions, dancing as if they were one. Each step mirroring the other. 

Every jete, every arabesque, every graceful move, further entwines their fate. Guiding them to an answer, a clarification neither knew existed. 

The younger swans gather around them. Embracing them. Odette and Odile were created for this world. Both doomed by Rothbart and revered by Siegfried. Stronger together.

Two birds of a feather, who must die together... 

Final Act

Imagine the black swan and the white swan decide to die together. Standing at the edge of the lake. Hands crossed, holding each other. Legs moving in a thousand tiny Bourrees. Siegfried and Rothbart cry out, trying to reach them. It's futile, the two swans have made their choice. The waves below beckon. 

Odette and Odile, know that together no one will ever hurt them again. 

Imagine sacrificing love in its entirety to ensure the safety of the other swans, of each other. Imagine accepting the curse, believing that one must embrace it to be able to live a prosperous life. The two swans fall together, a double suicide, an act of devotion. 

Maybe just maybe the world will finally learn how devoted and mercurial a maiden's heart truly is. 

Before the Prince and Baron can shed their tears, a creature emerges from the lake. A single swan made up of halves. A testament to both princesses. A queen in its entirety. Two wings of black and white hang from her shoulder blades. A crown of white and black adorned her head. There is no longer an Odette, a cursed girl awaiting love. There is no longer an Odile a baroness of evil. There is only the swan queen. 

And she will make the world bow. 

tags: @average-yandere-enjoyer @vereya @coral-relevium @overthinkingit56

[lau-tje96337]

I agree but even Louis Mérante made a noice/sound before he kissed her on the cheek :)

That little "oh!" noise Odette makes when Mérante kisses her

Reblog if you agree