#sorbetes supremacy

[syneilesis]

[fic+art] From Her Mouth of Strawberry

From Her Mouth of Strawberry

Ikemen Vampire | Vlad x Main Character/Reader | M | 2.7k words

ao3 link

So this is what everlasting love feels like.

An epilogue of Vlad’s Romantic Ending route. With art.

A/N: OH MY GOD I MADE IT. SOMEWHAT. HAPPY NEW YEAR. I post this as Lady Gaga plays in my neighbor's house. I wanted to finish and post this before I get Jossed in a couple of hours. Vlad's sequel is coming! So early, wow! Forgive the quality of writing in this one; I wrote parts of it with a clear mind, I wrote most of it dizzy and sleepy and trying to concentrate while my neighbors sing merrily in their karaoke (70s-80s songs is 👌, I approve). Title and the quoted verses are from Charles Baudelaire's Les Métamorphoses du vampire. Very apt, very apt.

I also have art for it! Which I'll include in a reblog, so as not to disrupt the flow of reading.

Tagging and shoutout to @akintosalt and @evil-quartett, who have witnessed my descent to madness finishing this fic and whom I have greeted as 2023 sauntered here with pomp and swag. This is for you guys! 💖

On the first morning of eternity Vlad is next to your side on the bed, elbow folded against the mattress, his upper body and head lifted to watch you slowly part your eyelids. The sun shimmers through the tall windows of his room, casting a long thick line across the carpeted floor, like golden lava that would sink you if you dip your feet in. The diffuse glow of the natural light hits Vlad’s skin and hair, his eyes shining like revelation.

“Good morning,” he whispers.

Something in your heart blooms, warm and soft under his radiance. There’s a little ache in there, too, a light squeeze that’s almost exquisite in its significance.

His other hand leaves its place and migrates to your face, knuckles ghosting along the corner of your eye down to your cheek then to the corner of your lips, and you tilt slightly to place a kiss there. Vlad smiles, and he leans down to press his own lips to yours. He opens his mouth and you taste strawberries.

When you separate, you smile back at him and say, “Good morning, Vlad.”

Outside, birds twitter among the freshly blossomed garden flowers, and Paris wakes languidly into the arrival of spring.

The days following your transformation march on like a steady drumbeat, rhythm never ruined. It’s as if nothing momentous happened; the world feels the same, still is the same, but Vlad knows that everything has changed. It’s in the way he views the world now. Before, it treads on the path leading to destruction; but next to you, the world seems to radiate renewal. The lens with which he sees things shifted, allowing diffraction, the direction of his ambition spreading into a dream, encompassing every scope, every shape, every color.

Before, Vlad was a god carrying the fate of the world on his lonely shoulders. Now, he has descended from the heavens to walk among humans.

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine. A bit weird—I can feel the sharpness of my incisors against my tongue—but not bad weird.”

“Ah. If you encounter any problems, don’t hesitate to tell me.”

“Of course.” A pause. “Hey, Vlad?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad—I’m glad that we found each other this time.”

An exhale of a laugh. “I’m glad, too. Didn’t we promise each other? I’ll find you wherever you are, whatever it takes.”

Years—decades, centuries—flickered by like a rapid flipping of pages. Empires rise and fall, and Vlad observed the milestones of mankind with the benevolent glint of a ruler surveying his kingdom. He’d been to plenty of places, all in search of the girl who saved him. He’d looked for her under the rust-colored roofs of Firenze, amidst the resplendent natural beauty of Zhongguo, against the tropical heat of Las islas Felipinas, and dozens more—the beat of the heart seeking for an echo, the one with the warmth of embrace and the mellisonant voice that dripped with pure light.

He recalled: they never did finish that conversation, did they. The one where she was about to part something. Sometimes, as he lay down on his bed, before he drifted off to sleep, Vlad wondered what she’d say. It must’ve been important, because her face was pulled taut, almost crumpled into tears, like she couldn’t wait for the words to cascade out of her mouth. That was probably his only regret. When he returned to the mansion, drenched in snow and blood, she was already gone, a wraith whisked off by the biting wind.

Would he find out what she’s supposed to say? Would he ever in his lifetime?

The question of thirst emerges right after. You know, based on your experiences with the residents in the mansion, that vampires can curb their bloodlust by drinking Blanc. Perfectly safe, perfectly moral. Food is an indulgence they all partake in, as evidenced by Vlad’s childlike preference for strawberries.

Charles offers to supply you Blanc, but you decline, insisting that you can provide on your own. It’s one thing to live forever; it’s another to be self-sufficient about it. Even if your life has upended and evolved, the same principles apply when trying not to be burdensome about it.

But it’s strange and baffling, this constant thirst. The others appear to be unsaddled by this dryness in the throat—or at least unbothered by it. This intensifies whenever Vlad is around, the itch clawing inside until it climbs to the roof of your mouth, and it all feels like sand, coarse and insidious, with parched tongue.

Of course, one look from Vlad and he understands.

“Drink from me,” he says later that night, when you’re seated side by side and only the moonlight reveals the expressions you have for each other. He takes your hand and nuzzles the inside of your wrist, eyes closed as if savoring the sensation of warmth. In bliss, reverential; his warm puffs of breath against your pulse sending heat all over your body.

He slants another gaze at you, this time beckoning, and you’re entranced by the hooded slits of red—passion, passion, burning passion in his blood-red eyes.

A tongue darts out. Licks the skin where your pulse is leaping against the wet, hot pressure. Vlad shuts his eyes and moans, ragged and so full of want that a shaky sigh escapes from you.

“Drink from me,” he murmurs again, the words pressed into your palm, and you can feel his lips shape the words against your skin. It tickles you, and you try to jerk your hand away but his grip on you is tight, intent on never letting go. “Love is tied to bloodlust,” he continues. “You desire my blood because you love me. I desire your blood because I love you. So drink from me, and I will drink from you.”

He unbuttons his shirt and exposes a shoulder. A portion of his scar peeks around the fabric. Softly, tenderly, he guides your head to his neck, and your lips meet his skin, clean but with a trace of sweetness, petals. The hand on your wrist remains, rubbing your pulse with his thumb.

“Go on,” he says, voice thick and encouraging. Even in love and lust Vlad is always the one who gives first.

“But,” you answer, your words muffled and hot; Vlad tilts his head back to provide more access. “Won’t this hurt you?”

“At first, yes. But I promise it will feel good for me and for you. Go on, take what you need.”

The sensation of fangs piercing flesh feels weird, but when Vlad’s blood bursts through and you finally get a taste of it, it’s a whole new thing altogether. Vlad gasps, a full-body shudder tremoring through him, his free hand grabbing your hips and tugging closer. You follow until you’re both pressed together, with nary a space in between. He reclines on the bed until you’re on top of him, still sucking at his neck for blood, the only sound in the room apart from his harsh breathing.

When your tongue swipes at the wounds Vlad groans, bringing both his hands on your hips and grinding. You both gasp at the hot pleasure.

“When she had drained the marrow out of all my bones, / When I turned listlessly amid my languid moans, / To give a kiss of love—” Vlad recites, almost like a mantra, almost like a prayer, his voice catching and clicking in the throes of ecstasy.

Vlad finds your eyes, hazy but lucid enough to ask, “Have you drunk enough?” A thumb caresses your lips and it glides easily because of the blood. Vlad inspects his thumb between you, fascinated before he brings it to his own lips, tastes his own blood. The sight of it makes you swallow, and the ache within you just grows and grows until it erupts and the words spill out of your lips like molten desire.

“No, I don’t think it will ever be enough, but that’s all right. What I want now—what I want—” You close your eyes and exhale a shuttered breath. When you look at Vlad again—his splayed hair like silver halo, his half-mast eyes drunk in pleasure, his parted lips stained with his own blood—all you see is a godling who deserves to be loved and worshiped like this. “What I want is to give you everything, so it’s your turn to drink from me.”

And like a giant wave he surges to crash against your lips, devouring your entire being. You welcome it, welcome him, your own hands unbuttoning the rest of his shirt then sliding inside to feel his skin, the hard planes of his muscles, the scar over his heart.

In this night of whispered sighs and ghostly touches, your heartbeats are in sync, and Vlad’s eyes glisten with pure want. Nothing else matters except the desire of flesh, your blood beating in want of him, and time dilutes and the world vanishes until only you and he remain.

The funny thing about memory was: accuracy wasn’t the point.

The expectant stare of the painter tilted sideways as Vlad stuttered into a halt, dreadful realization that he could no longer remember the face of his beloved savior. Sure he remembered the shade of her hair, waterfall brown that curled playfully midway. He remembered her pristine shirt, the color of snow before spilt blood—the color of her skirt. He remembered the shade of her skin illuminated by candlelight. But when it came to the most important thing of all: featureless light, uncrisp and blotchy.

It was funny because the way he felt about her was a solid, crisp thing, as palpable as the objects he could touch. The ember-warm ink-bloom that suffused his blood when she held him was indelible in his heart and memories; he could still remember the staccato rhythm of her heartbeat against his ear. Seedling-hope and ironclad belief tied together in her name. He’d find her, one day, even after the world ended, because he believed.

He remembered the sound of her breath before she opened the wardrobe that hid him from the world.

He remembered the buried sorrow between her words, threatening to claw out.

He remembered her hands, soft and delicate and yearning, and he ached to love.

He remembered her sweet scent—

He remembered her—

He remembered—

It’s been weeks since you’ve been cooped up in Vlad’s castle, adjusting to your new, eternal body and its needs, and now it seems to be the right time to venture out again.

So you visit the mansion.

The astonished faces of the residents when they see you are a sight to behold, and they pile on you like you’re their long-lost youngest sibling suddenly returned home.

Le Comte has to threaten Arthur and Dazai a spanking to pry them away from you. Sebastian declares a dinner party is in order, and it feels like the old days again, before Vlad came into your life and held your heart with snow-coated fingers.

Sebastian refuses your help to wash the dishes when you offered, arguing that the dinner was held in your honor and it’s silly to have you clean up after. Which is why you find yourself in front of the door that started everything.

Eventually Napoleon joins you in reminiscence.

“Do you regret it?” he asks, eyes not leaving the door.

But you turn to him, smiling when he meets your gaze, and say, “There’s no regret when it’s the destiny we chose, you know?”

Napoleon returns your smile, relief gracing his features. He ruffles your hair, the consummate big brother looking out for his siblings. “I’m glad.” He pauses, then adds: “Are you happy?”

That question bears no hesitation. “Yes,” you answer. “I’m very happy.”

Eternity is desire and ache and sorrow and loneliness—

He sinks his fangs into her flesh.

—and now it, too, is happiness.

One day, out of the blue, Vlad declares, “Let’s see the world.”

After consoling Charles and procuring assurances from Faust that he refrain from any funny stuff that Vlad elaborates:

“All the travels I’ve done in the past were always about searching for you. Now that we have found each other, I want to travel again—with you this time.”

And what can you say other than yes?

Decades pass in a snap of fingers, and Vlad’s enjoyed every second of it.

The world has become more precious: empires rose and fell, peace sustains its lilting melody, Vlad’s dream burns steady as life. Seeing the world tastes rich this time, a surprising burst of flavorful experiences—the sweetness of your smile against the backdrop of canola flowers in Jeju Island, the spicy car chase along Berliner Ring after getting accidentally involved in a casino heist, the tangy sunset after hours of café hopping in Vienna, the honeyed secrets exchanged under the bougainvillea-covered balconies in Cartagena.

Next to you the world teems with hope and faith, and Vlad tastes, this time, a robust future.

“Here.” You hand him a cone of ice cream that you bought from a street vendor across the pathway. The one you gave him has the color of flushed pink—strawberry—and yours is bright yellow—cheese. “Tell me what you think.”

There’s a bench a little far off to where you’re going. Vlad studies the ice cream carefully as he sits down, then he takes a lick. It’s light and sweet, a welcome chill on the tongue. The May heat melts it faster, and the ice cream drips down the cone, makes a small puddle in the fold of his index finger.

“This is delicious,” he says, and squints at your own cone. Cheese as an ice cream flavor is odd to him, but you seem to enjoy it. He swaps his hold of the ice cream and offers it to you with his right hand, his left raised to his lips, tongue darting out to lick away the melted cream. “Do you want to try mine?”

“Sure.” You lean towards his proffered hand and try the strawberry. In this close proximity, Vlad can smell your dulcified scent. A pleased hum escapes your throat. “This is good too!”

A first experience for Vlad: eating ice cream together with you as people relish their summer vacation, skipping with buoyant, dancer-steps, their laughter tickling his ears. Teenage girls steal glances in his direction, furtive giggling tucked behind coy hands. Vlad, indulgent, smiles at them, they laugh openly. You look on with amused affection in your eyes, ice cream gone, consumed.

“The last time I went here,” Vlad says, struck with a memory, “ice cream wasn’t introduced yet.”

“Oh? That’s a long time, then.”

“Almost three centuries since I’ve visited. Some buildings I recognize, but plenty have changed.”

It’s been a long time, indeed, but for Vlad, the passage of time runs differently from that of human perception. A blink, a sleep, a long pensive silence. Memories blur, betwixt one point and another. Just like his memories of your face, a gradual erosion attributed to absence and distance; but now, in this moment, Vlad knows that he will no longer forget.

A kilometer from where they sit, the sea murmurs, tranquil, and the people near it attempt to dip their toes into the water before it gets agitated. A month from now, typhoons will come, and the sea will rise and strike and beat the land with its ferocious waves. Vlad finishes his ice cream, the sweetness of strawberry and sugar cone lingering on his tongue.

“There’s a place here that I wanted to go to, but couldn’t the last time I came,” he says.

A beautiful smile blossoms on your lips. “Then let’s go there this time.”

He returns the smile with his own. “Yes, let’s.”

Another first experience: the heels of his shoes clacking against the stone pavement as children run and play tag, circling you and Vlad once, their chatter trailing in the air. His hand finds yours and entwines its fingers with your own, warm and comforting and real. It will continue in the years, decades, centuries—this solid and crisp warmth, this ink-bloom in his veins, your clear, unveiled face.

His dream of peace, of the world eternal, warless and free of destruction, held safe in your hands, beating on. 

So this is what everlasting love feels like.

[gecko-posting]

WINNING

Sorbet getting that CRONCH

[nightmyst14-blog]

CRK/CROB Valentine's Day 3-4

Part 3, everyone!!! I know im kinda late on, (been busy) , but I still wanted to finish it.

As before, I'll be doing one Romantic, one Platonic, and Familial headcanons. I labeled them so no one can call me out for shipping children with adults (DISGUSTING).

Btw, these are all MY headcanons and thoughts. Don't leave any hate messages here if you don't like something.

Romantic- Oyster x Captain Caviar

(2nd favorite older couple, love them)

-tall wife x short husband

-Met as kids/teens, she found him working on one her family's ships loading cargo and scrubbing floors. She offered him and gave him lunch, even though he declined many times. Then on, Caviar will always repay her kindness.

-Siren x mershark supremacy, they go on nightly swims together. ( In cookie form or mercookie form, that's up to you, I'm good with both)

-Oyster always tends to his wounds whenever he comes back from his trips (Caviar's usually fine, but he's not gonna stop her doting on him)

-Adopted Sorbert Shark as their kid. Caviar isn't a fan of Sorbet wanting to become a pirate, but supports him nonetheless by teaching them how to run a ship properly. Excellent stepfather to Oyster 's daughter, Bubble Pearl.(@queen-rainy-love 's oc)

-For nicknames, Caviar calls Oyster " his seashell or treasure" Oyster doesn't really do many nicknames beside " my love or dear" but sometimes she will will him " Captain" sweetly just to make him flustered

Platonic- Werewolf, Crunchy Chip, and Red Velvet

-Dog/wolf best friends!!

-tend to share the few braincells they have between each other ( sometimes Werewolf has the most)

-Werewolf met Crunchy while visiting Dark Choco in the Dark Cacao kingdom (DarkWolf supremacy). Crunchy Chip thought he was a threat until the prince explained. Became fast friends after that. Soon met Red Velvet after White Lily visited the Dark Cacao kingdom once again. Velvet was skepical at first, thinking that they would be put off by his cake-beast features. But the two actually liked his odd features. Finding him to be very cool, much to Velvet's surprise.

-Crunchy and Velvet are helping Werewolf to get comfortable with his beast side slowly, even got him to shift in front of them for short periods of time

-Velvet gets kinda jealous whenever Crunchy and Werewolf talk about their boyfriends. Meanwhile, the two are trying to find Velvet a date

-Late night/ Midnight howling sessions are constant between the three

-will fight each other over the last piece of steak and then immediately make up afterwards

Familial- Hollyberry and Dark Cacao

-Known each other since they were children. Dark Cacao's father had remarried to Hollyberry's mother, making them stepsiblings. Dark Cacao is the older sibling.

-Their bond is the strongest between the 5 ancients

-Hollyberry was actually a shy girl when she was young, due to her mother's harsh and high expectations on her. Dark Cacao helped her become more open and expressive as they grew up together. Became extremely close, almost like blood-related siblings.

-Ran off when they were adults to escape their parents rule, ending up becoming two powerful rulers

-Dark Cacao likes to braid Hollyberry's hair whenever she was stressed or sad.

-When Hollyberry is upset, she goes to Dark Cacao for comfort and quiet. Whenever Dark Cacao needs a laugh, he goes to Hollyberry for one.

-Dark Cacao was excited he was a great-uncle to Hollyberry's grandchildren, one time sending a gift to Princess's 22nd birthday. It was a coat for whenever she decides to visit his kingdom.

[iris-lang]

sorbetes supremacy

[hold-the-devil-well]

me scrolling through this: oooh, this is just my absolute favorite mode of hannigram

keeps scrolling, sees the gifs are from my absolute favorite episode, Sorbet.

me: mmm, yes, checks out. Reblog.

Hannibal S01E07 "Sorbet"

[strawberrygaze]

Who's reblogging my strawberry sorbet post from last yea— STRAWBERRY THEMED BLOG?? Finally someone who truly understands me. Strawberry supremacy

:3

strawberry 🍓 supremacy 🍓

[mbh004]

sorbet shark cookie appreciation post

[calvinandhobbes]

[obligatorynasty]

You literally never miss! OMFG! This is the best moodboard wtf wtf wtf!!! AAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!! The artistic talent is phenomenal, babe! *chef’s kiss* 

Tony and Peter loved each other truly and deeply, and would marry the other in a heartbeat in order to stay together. Unfortunately for them not only were they lovers but they were brothers as well and so had to keep the fact they were in love a secret much less get married. And having to hide their relationship from their parents who they lived with really put a limit on what they could do without it being seen as weird or suspicious.

That was until Howard and Maria told the pair that they were going away for a few weeks on a business trip. Leaving Tony and Peter unattended and free to do what they wished. They honestly expected to return home to find the place in disarray due to Tony or Peter holding a party or some such revelry.

But Tony and Peter meant to use the time much more wisely than that. They planned to take this opportunity to experiment and try out things they couldn't normally for fear of being caught. To just bask in the chance to act like actual boyfriends together and not just fuck like rabbits.

First up before all that though, Tony wanted to take the fact the house was empty to see if he can get his little brother to come untouched. Peter was very loud in bed after all.

@starkerfestivals Starkercest Winter Bingo fill: G1 - Coming Untouched

card below

[girlnero]

koumasword —> s1ep7

like/rb if seen ^_^

[digiworm]

Could you possibly make a Sorbet shark or sea fairy cookie blinkie ?? Thanks for considering!!

sorbet shark supremacy

[industriallyinsecure]

Singing headcanons La Squadra

(Aka i make you listen to music I like *kiss*)

Sorbet

E-Pro - Beck

Sorbet is Gelato’s foil, including his voice. His voice is gruffer and lower than Gelato’s. Even their music tastes are polar opposites. But opposites attract and they bring out the best (or worst depending on who you are) in eachother.

Gelato

Canned Heat - Jamiroquai

To me, Gelato is the pop-funk gay to Sorbet’s classical gay. The can’t drive can’t cook gay to the designated driver and chef gay. To me, Gelato is the outgoing one, and therefore has the more flamboyant singing voice. Also I just know he loves Olivia Newton John, don’t argue with me on that.

Formaggio

La Libertad - Alvaro Soler

Just a bit deeper, but I think Form would sound exactly like this. It has that bouncy and affable sound to it that’s easy to listen to

Illuso

Traicionera - Sebastián Yatra

To be honest I’m not a fan of his voice in the anime, sub or dub. I feel like he has a softer, less gruff voice due to the reclusive nature of his stand, but maybe that’s just me. He and Melone should have the soft voices of the group, but Illuso’s is whinier if that makes sense. Maybe not whiny but more sad like Sebastián Yatra’s.

Pesci

Mister Cellophane - John C Reilly

Very nice and not meant for singing, also I’m biased because I love this song. I’m not a fan of how dopey they made him sound in the anime, it’s not like he’s not semi normal person, you know? #pescirights

Prosciutto

Tim curry from Rocky Horro-

No One Knows - Queens of the Stone Age

Gonna be honest, I don’t really know why I put this one here, but it gives me strong unhinged Pros vibes and kinda has that tenor sound that I headcanon him having. Deep voice Pros is very hot and valid, though ;)

Melone

Corazon sin Cara - Prince Royce

Tender Lover - Baby Face

Okay I know I put two but hear me out. I just know our boy Melbows has that soft breathy fuckboy voice. He probably destroys everyone at karaoke because he gets too into it. Also maybe I included tender lover because it slaps and is related to his stand who knows

Ghia

Helter Skelter - The Beatles

There’s just something about how angry Paul McCartney is and how warped the music is really encompasses Ghia’a spirit. It’s not clean, and it’s not quite singing, but the spirit is there.

Risotto

Why we build the wall - Patrick Page (start at 0:45)

I BELIEVE IN PATRICK PAGE RISOTTO SUPREMACY. That one Italian dub risotto is sexy af, but Patrick Page Risotto is the only singing hc Ris I will accept >:) Corpsehusband has nothing on my boy Patrick

[ragnarlothcat]

Also you are so right: cinnamon buns supremacy!!! Sorry, haven’t master telepathy (yet!) so my top five sweet treats 1. Cinnamon buns 2. Lemon meringue 3. Lemon sorbet 4, rhubarb crumble 5. Also just icing in general. I’ll eat it by the spoonful. But it’s gotta be homemade. Apparently that’s weird but I think everyone is just weak /:

I like your style! Cinnamon bun supremacy forever!!! Your choices are good too, although it's hard to go wrong. You've got some tart flavours balancing out the sweetness which is smart, but then you also eat pure icing. I like you and wish you all the icing and lemons you could possibly ask for.

[wri0thesley]

i love that little detail you wrote about gelato being muscular but still being a little soft around his belly

chubby gelato thoughts belong to jess @tenthgrove, i've always imagined him as wiry lean muscle but . . . my eyes have been opened. now that he's got a fairly 'comfortable' existence with sorbet he indulges himself (and it doesn't help that he has a sweet tooth); obviously my gelato is ex-military so was VERY strong lithe and toned for a while, and then was a fugitive so he got used to eating very little whenever he could; and then he met sorbet and they're domestic together and sorbet is a very good cook . . . yeah, chubby gelato supremacy

[tenthgrove]

Manga Sorlato supremacy (even if the anime has the juicy tiddy grab)

You know what? I agree! Gelato in particular looks considerably more attractive in the manga, with much better hair. Sorbet looks great with the shinier hair and I also prefer the way his eyes look in the manga. Finally, I think the manga gives them the better colour scheme. I adore the khaki and deep turquoise, whereas the dull green and blue of the manga is kinda meh.

Just a shame there’s no booba in the manga.

[jeepteats]

I like fruity sorbets too! Mango and orange supremacy

Rando ask of love and companionship.

What's your favorite ice cream?

Butter Pecan