#very nouveau riche

[stari-hun]

I have this one reverse 1999 oc that’s rattling around in my head and taking over all my thoughts

[seaworthit]

Nettles and Sheepstealer!!!!!

[impercre]

Also yes I frequently incorporate Finnish terms, culture into my headcanons about Giedi Prime because I think it's hilarious Frank did this.

[randomnameless]

What do you think about the Leicester Alliance? Despite the instability regarding the Riegan house and their heir it seems to me like it's the least fucked up of the three countries

Oh!

I wanted to make a more detailed reply but I don't think I'll have the time before forgetting it lol

But in general, the Alliance suffers from the FE franchise's lack of interest in what I previously called "merchant republics". Let it be Jugdral's Miletos or Magvel's Carcino, they just exist to be rolled over, sometimes they have "corrupt Nobles (tm)" and that's it.

Leicester seems to be in a similar position, even if, by virtue of being Claude's homeland it would be more developed, right?

Well, no, Claude talks more about Almyra and has stronger ties to that country, so whatever Leicester development or lore we could have is just, three supports here and there about "Corrupt Nobles (tm)", a land where wealth gains more and more importance (Marianne's dad became a member of the council bcs of this iirc?) and where old Houses keep on having an ancestral feud even if it dooms the Republic/Alliance (Gloucester wants to get rid of Riegan, and sacrifices Raph's parents in the process?).

So with the minimum world building we have about the Alliance, I wouldn't say it's the least fucked up, rather it's the less developed, so by extension they feel like they're in a better state than the Kingdom - heavily developed - and Adrestia - which is kind of in a similar boat as the Alliance, but since the content focuses on Enbarr and the War afterwards, it's swept up.

But for what we know,

The Roundtable, before Nopes, was made up of 5 great families and minor nobles, while not sitting, could have their voices heard or at least taken into consideration (as opposed to Clout's Federation).

The Alliance apparently heavily dislike having a central authority or a powerful person ruling over them all... But only 3 minor lords riot when "we bow to no Emperor and to no King" is farted upon by King Clout of the Federation...

Lorenz tells us faith is performative in the Alliance, but some people are devout believers, which leads to no one giving a fuck, in Nopes, about their country going for the kill against the Archbishop.

And more importantly...

In the Alliance, through Raphael and Ignatz, we learn there is a "bourgeoisie" class, people who aren't born nobles or anobled and yet who manage to thrive and, if not for Gloucester Sr's gambit, live quite well, despite the "Crust system!!!!" the scripts hammer.

Leonie is a commoner and is in debt (tfw rl catches up to you in a vg!). Her village pays taxes to their Lord (Gloucester) and in exchange this Lord offers them protection (by hiring Jerry) against poachers - which is both textbook Noblesse Oblige hardbaked in Lorenz's character, but also, some kind of weird example of a system based on feodality - vassal offers an "hommage" to his Lord (here taxes) and in return the Lord protects his vassal - with the twist that Leonie's dad isn't a knight or a feudal vassal (afaik?).

Also, from the unused trading post data, Riegan should have been famous for its factories?

In a way, it feels like Leicester's organisation could have been something very interesting to explore - it's completely at odds with the Empire and the Kingdom and much more fragmented - but as usual, the FE series don't really develop those "kingless" factions...

And of course, they couldn't develop the "merchant nation" more else the "Church BaD bcs IsOlAtIoNiSm" falls apart or the "Crust SyStEm" argument as to why Supreme Leader has to change the world falls too, Edmund sr is at the roundtable despite having no crest, the Ordelias never were at this roundtable despite having a crest (iirc?), Judith is a Hero of Leicester and has no Crust, Holst is beloved by the world and has no Crust, despite having no Crust Ignatz's parents are implied to be rich as fuck and living the best life, crustless!Leonie and her entire village are helped by the "nobility system" Supreme Leader vowed to erase, etc etc.

Acknowledging Leicester's existence as something more than "that place Clout and some people hail from" blows so many holes in the leitmotiv of the war - thus the twist "you should feel bad for fighting your former student" - that the writers, imo, prefered not to shed any light no it (+ the context with merchant republics!) that it's no surprising the few crumbs we have aren't developped.

And before Nopes, the Alliance was the only slither free place, so all the "bad stuff" that happened, like Raph's parents, can be blamed on regular people and not "they were brainwashed!!". Ordelia's a different situation, I know a lot of people support the "Lys got her present because crust system", but I always have doubts - Lys got her "present" because Adrestia (Ionius) believed they could infringe on Leicester's territory, and the Agarthans needed to test their "present making" before gifting one to the Hresvelgs.

With Nopes, the Alliance disappears under a King with no fanfare, some people follow Clout, they dgaf about the Church, and that's it. It's just a blank cardbox, removed of the few crumbs that made it different from the other cardboxes.

[cithaerons]

old money vs new money is blatant classism like that’s the very definition of classism lol and it’s so jarring seeing this stuff all over the place with zero overlay or attempt at subtlety. me when i’m lady catherine de bourgh but i have an iphone. 

[electracx]

.

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Sugar Daddy

Money can't buy love, but maybe it doesn't have to.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who's very nouveau riche. Who has the wealth of the elites but none of their good breeding.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who's awfully young for someone so wealthy. Barely out of college when his tech startup went public and the cash started pouring in.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who is still painfully awkward around women.

Being a rich man in a big city means there's no shortage of models and influencers vying for his attention. And Yandere! Sugar Daddy never fails to get flustered when they're introduced to him.

Long legs, perfect skin, tiny ski slope noses... They're the kind of girls who wouldn't give him the time of day back in college and suddenly they're running their hands up his chest and whispering that he's just so clever, so accomplished. What guy wouldn't fall for it?

But he can never keep them around for long.

Their interest slowly dies out when he starts rambling about software development and production scale and AI integration. Money is a great motivator but all his girlfriends seem to leave for greener pastures. For millionaires with better social skills and better taste.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who ran into you entirely on accident. The club was too loud, the girls too pretty, the alcohol too rich. He slipped out of VIP and into the street, pressing his forehead against the cool brick and trying not to spew on the new designer shoes his ex persuaded him to get.

And that was when you came into his life. Cool hands on his shoulder and a voice telling him to take a deep breath and drink some of your water.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who looks up at you through his lashes, his face flushed from too much booze and being too near you. He can't fathom it. A girl helping him not because of his cash or connections, but because they're actually a kind person.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who grabs your hand when you turn to go. Your friends are calling to you to stop messing around with random drunks and he manages to slip you his business card, begging you to call him so he can thank you properly.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who wakes up with a killer hangover and your face burned into his eyelids. Who feels his heart jump when he opens his phone and sees a text from you.

Hope your night got better - y/n

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who immediately zooms in on your profile picture. A candid shot but it still makes him blush. Before the morning is over, he's already tracked down your social media.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who pores over every inch of your life. Your job, your studies, your friends...

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who retypes his message at least a dozen times before he finally responds to you. Who invites you to the most exclusive restaurant in the city as a thank you.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who picks you up in the most expensive car he owns. Who smiles a little at the careful way you close the door and buckle your seat belt. You're just as uncomfortable around luxury as he was.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who doesn't expect much from the date. He's learned not to go on tangents about technology and work, but without it he feels lost.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who realises you're more than capable of carrying a conversation. You're energetic and funny and interested in what he has to say. He feels himself opening up to you and before long, he's deep into a rant about data safety and you actually listen to him.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who realises you compliment him. Like a puzzle piece finally slotting into place.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who ends the night with a lipstick stain on his cheek and a big, goofy grin on his face.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who calls you the second he wakes up and invites you to spend the afternoon learning to horse ride.

And when you tell him you have work, he just laughs and tells you he'll triple whatever you're getting paid for the day. You nearly faint when he keeps his word and sends you a deposit worth more than your monthly cheque.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who wants to call you his girlfriend more than anything. His girl. He loves the way it sounds.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who tags along when you go grocery shopping and whips out his card to pay for it all when your back is turned.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who sends you a huge bouquet every week because you once mentioned liking lillies.

And the closer you get, the more time you spend kissing him and curling up in his bed, the more he spends on you.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who uses spring break to take you on a tour of the Mediterranean. Who rents out entire villas and chateaus to impress you.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who has your birthday dress custom made by an actual high fashion house. Who zips you up and kisses your neck and says he's never met a more beautiful girl.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who spends shareholder meetings daydreaming about you. Who has to pinch himself to stay focused.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who's helpless to stop himself falling for you. You're so real, so empty of pretence and greed.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who showers you with all the wealth he has and is blind to how uncomfortable it makes you.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who looks at you with a vacant smile when you try and break things off. Who pulls out his phone and sends you a deposit with so many zeros you have to rub your eyes to make sure you're seeing it right. Who asks if that's enough for more of your time or if he should double it.

Do you want a new car? An apartment? He'll give you anything, anything in the world.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who looks like a kicked dog when you say you don't want any of it. You hate feeling indebted to him. You hate feeling like some vapid trophy wife. You hate living off his charity.

He can't understand it. You could work for decades and not afford even a quarter of what he can give you. Is he so unpleasant, so unlovable, that you're wiling to turn your back of a life of luxury?

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who comes up behind you and slams the door shut when you try to leave.

You've always seen him as a nice guy, someone awkward and gentle. But the look in his eyes now makes you question all of it.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy whose voice is a low, broken rasp. He sounds on the verge of tears and on the verge of fury all at once.

You think you can just leave after everything you've been through together? After the fortune he spent trying to make you happy?

No way baby.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who grabs your wrist and yanks you up against him.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who laughs when you threaten to scream. Luxury penthouse, remember? Totally sound proofed. Totally private. No one gets in or out without his permission.

It's just you and him, like it should have been from the beginning.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who squeezes your wrist hard enough to hurt. Who kisses you so rough you cut your lips on your teeth.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who yanks at the pretty dress that he bought you. You want to be an ungrateful bitch? You want to throw his kindness back in his face? Oh, he's going to teach you a lesson.

You fucking owe him.

And he's going to use your body until that debt is paid.

[wandaverse]

meet me in the pale moonlight.

vampire countess!wanda x human painter!reader

summary: In the early 1870s, the young and renowned Y/N arrives in the bustling New York City looking for a new start. Little does she know that a creature of the night lurks in the shadows and that there’s something sinister about the woman she’s become enamoured of, the elusive Countess Maximoff.

warnings/tags: dom!wanda, fem sub!reader, smut, oral, cunniIingus, fingering, mas0chism, blood klnk, hints of humiliation and praise klnk, thigh and foot riding, age gap if you squint, wanda calls r pet, 18+ / MINORS DNI

word count: 10,284

moodboard

Clipping your bag safely back onto your belt, you bid the kind dressmaker farewell and motion to leave her Madison Avenue boutique.

Several days ago and after a rather lengthy trip aboard a steamship across the Atlantic, you finally arrived in the hustling and bustling New York City, the city of dreams in the land of opportunity.

Over the years, you have developed quite a respectable reputation as a commissioned portrait artist for the wealthy with an admired talent that both boosts their egos as well as your own wealth. After a lifetime of travelling across the European continent, you decided to migrate to the Americas in search of a new opportunity, or rather a muse to reignite your inspiration and maybe for a little fun on the side too.

The dressmaker quickly assures you that she’ll have your clothes ready by the end of the week, a welcome relief since you’re still waiting for your remaining belongings to arrive by sea.

On your way out of the boutique, you thank her one last time, not paying attention to your surroundings and distractedly bumping into another woman with a fright.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry! Are you quite alright?” the esteemed lady apologises profusely.

You swiftly regain your bearings and brush her off. “It is no problem at all. I apologise as well for not watching where I was going,” you say guiltily.

The instant you both glance up though, she seemingly forgets about the entire ordeal. You recognise immediately the starstruck look on her face that can only mean that she somehow knows who you are, that word of your talents has already travelled across the seas through migrated aristocrats and the like.

“My word! You’re Y/N Y/L/N, aren’t you?” she asks breathlessly.

With a smirk that you try your best to mask as humble, you can’t deny the pride of being so quickly recognised in this new city.

“Indeed I am, a pleasure to make your acquaintance Ms…?”

“Agatha Harkness, dear, but my friends call me Agnes. It’s lovely to meet you,” she introduces with a shake of your extended hand. “Say, I don’t believe I heard word that you were in our fine city. And I assure you, I would have if it were known. No news gets past me. If anything, I’m always the first to know.”

You bet she is, you nod overwhelmed, quietly taking in the words of someone who is clearly a gossip.

There’s an odd and rather manic intensity about her, you notice. You brush it off as the typical artificial friendliness of the elite and especially of the nouveau riche, which you suspect Agnes is.

And yet, it still feels like something is off about her, like she’s not quite herself, a peculiar strain in her smile and an emptiness behind her eyes. How odd.

“I only arrived a few days ago, is why. All my luggage hasn’t even arrived yet.”

“I see… if that’s the case, why I don’t suppose I could commission you then? Be the first American to have their very own Y/L/N painting?” she requests giddily.

Her excitement rubs off on you, no matter how eerie, and you can’t deny her. “Well, I don’t see why not. I’ll have my people be in contact with you to sort out the details soon.”

“My, I can’t believe my luck!” she celebrates. “Oh! You must attend my gala tonight. Please, be my guest of the evening. Let me have the honour of being the one to introduce you to our society here.”

Once again, you’re charmed by her fierce enthusiasm. “Of course, the honour shall be mine.”

Frankly, you don’t really think it’ll be any different from the circles you traversed in Europe, but who knows, maybe you’ll meet someone intriguing.

—

Later that evening, long after the sun has already set, you step out of your personal carriage at Harkness Hall, located in the newer district of the Upper East Side.

Politely being escorted through the manor, you finally arrive at the ballroom and when the grand doors open, all eyes instantly land on you as you are faced with similar expressions of recognition as Agnes’. Said woman speedily and yet somehow elegantly races up the steps, rushing to your side.

Delicately tapping a fork against the side of her champagne glass, she easily silences the commotion in the crowd below. “Might I have your attention, my friends, to introduce you to my esteemed guest of the evening, the wonderfully talented Miss Y/N Y/L/N.”

As soon as she finishes, a rush of wealthy men and women alike gasp and rush to the foot of the stairs. Agnes proudly links her arm around yours, as if you were childhood friends instead of mere acquaintances, and leads you down the stairs into the pit that awaits you. For a second, and only a second, a rush of anxiety ambushes you but you mask it with some well-practiced charm.

For the next while, Agnes personally introduces you to all the socialites interested in portraits of their own, showing off the fact that she is your first client.

You quickly tire of their suffocating attention and it’s only when you peer past the crowd that you notice that one lone woman hasn’t so much as flinched at your presence, instead remaining in the shadows along the walls and gracing you with only a mere glance.

As the night rages on, you curiously observe the intriguing woman from across the ballroom. With a keen eye, you take note of her every detail. Of her deep burgundy gown so dark it almost resembles blood when illuminated in the light, of her thin black birdcage veil that covers her eyes behind the intricate lace, and committing it all to memory.

She moves with a certain refined grace you’ve only seen few nobles possess and despite primarily keeping to herself, exudes an intimidating and rather domineering aura felt throughout the hall. Only a few dare to approach her, some men who don’t know any better and a few attendants who don’t have any other choice. Every so often, she catches your gaze and you almost feel the air leave your lungs.

When the crowd eventually disperses, you pull at the link between your and Agnes’ arms and inquire about your newest interest. “Agnes, might I ask, that woman over there standing alone by the fireplace, who is she?”

“Ahh, why that would be the elusive Countess Maximoff. Our Lady Wanda hails from a distant European kingdom, or so she says. Frankly, she could be anyone from anywhere in the world considering how little we all know about her,” she briefly explains.

Countess Wanda Maximoff, you recite in your mind. A fascinating yet beautiful name for an equally as alluring woman.

“She’s a well-known and respected socialite in this city. In fact, she might even be the richest of all of us, but no one knows for sure, just as no one knows exactly what she is a Countess of,” Agnes continues, unprompted. Internally, you thank her for being so nosy.

“I must apologise, unfortunately that is really all I know about her. She was already residing in New York when I arrived from Salem many months ago,” she admits. “I do know, however, that she has no husband or family of her own. The rumours are that she had a husband once and that he either died or simply disappeared. Either way, she isn’t a typical woman of our society.”

Lost in thought, you take in her words, all serving to only interest you more and more in the stunning yet seemingly solitary woman.

“Miss Y/N,” Agnes calls, breaking you out of your intense trance as you stare at the mysterious woman. “I must tell you, Lady Maximoff is actually currently staying as a guest at Harkness Hall. For a few days now actually, and for the next while when you complete my portrait.”

Oh?

Why doesn’t that make things all the more interesting…

“Y/N, it’s best that you stay away from her. Trust me, there’s something unusual about her that one must not associate themselves with,” Agnes warns you seriously, a stark contrast from the enthusiastic and bubbly person you’ve become familiar with today.

You turn to her and look in her eyes again. For the first time today, you detect a clarity in them, a genuineness that only confuses you more.

“Agnes, may I ask, why did you accept her as a guest if you dislike her so?” you question.

“No one says no to Wanda Maximoff,” Agnes replies ominously. “Every so often, she requests to stay with one of her ‘friends’ for a short while. It turns out that this time I drew the short straw. She always has some sort of excuse, she told me that her estate is undergoing works, but I’m certain she has other properties. All I know is you don’t disobey a woman like her.”

You give some thought to Agnes’ words, to her warnings and the seeping fear that comes through. And yet, the idea of such a strange woman, defiant to the strict norms of high society, who you don’t disobey, only intrigues you more and more.

You regard the woman in red and decide in the moment that no matter what, you’re going to solve the mystery of the elusive Wanda Maximoff, even if it kills you.

Dismissing Agnes’ warnings and brushing off her arm that attempts to pull you back, you waltz across the room and beeline toward Wanda. In the corner of your eye, you spot horrified looks from the other socialites around the room, but ignore them all the same and focus only on the woman in front of you watching you approach her with an amused yet impressed eye.

And you’re glad you do because up close, the Lady Maximoff is absolutely and entirely striking, breathtaking and enchanting and every other word you would use if you were a poet instead of an artist staring at her new muse.

Her milky skin is notably pale and perfectly contrasts against her chocolate brown hair, so soft you almost want to run your hands through the layered strands. Studying her bone structure, you note that it’s incredibly sharp and accentuated by the shadows, making her resemble a sculpture carved from marble come to life. Even under the lace veil, her eyes are enchanting, a clear sage green that complements her dark maroon dress.

For the first second or two, you find yourself rather speechless, the entire English language suddenly disappearing from your vocabulary as you take in her beauty.

In the same second, you notice offhandedly that she too rakes her eyes up and down your form. Feeling a shiver run down your spine under the weight of her gaze, you hope she appreciates the sight as much as you appreciate yours.

“Hello, Y/N Y/L/N, my lady,” you manage to say and extend your hand towards her.

“I know,” she replies with a smirk, seemingly entertained by your courage (or stupidity). “You’ve been quite popular tonight, among the ladies especially. The woman of the evening I hear.”

A part of you is secretly delighted. That means she’s noticed you just as much as you’ve noticed her. The other part is dazedly captivated by the deep lilt in her accent, hinting at whichever secretive European land she originates from, a part of the mystery you seek to soon unravel.

“And whose company do I have the pleasure of being graced with, might I ask?” you tease.

In response, she simply smirks at your charming attempts and finally accepts your hand. “Countess Wanda Maximoff,” she formally introduces, “but I’m sure you already knew that too.”

Delicately, you clasp her gloved hand in yours and place an innocent kiss below the back of her silk-covered knuckles. Proudly, you earn another smile from her at the endearing impropriety of a young girl pressing a gentlemanly kiss on the back of her hand.

“You’re awfully bold, aren’t you?” she remarks with a cock of her head.

“Artists love beautiful things,” you smirk. “It just so happens I’ve found the most beautiful of all.”

She scrunches her nose as she cringes at your flirtatious attempt. You don’t regret your words though when you mean it so sincerely.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Miss Y/L/N?” she asks, skipping the pretenses. “I’m sure you’ve already heard all the things they say about me.”

“I don’t care about them and what they have to say. I’d rather hear it all from you instead,” you profess.

Peering down at her wine glass, she smiles again at your attempts to charm her. This one seems a little more genuine though, a sign that your persistence (and perhaps, foolishness) is slowly piercing through her walls.

She looks back up at you and seemingly ponders your unsaid request as she pensively sips her wine. At last, she says, “Alright then, what would you like to know?”

You grin cheekily at having so easily won her favour. “Well for starters, pray tell me, which land do you come from?”

“Europe,” she answers simply.

You both know that you already knew that, both because Agnes already told you as well as the evident hints of Slavic you identify in her accent.

“Where might one find your county of ownership though, my Countess?” you attempt to press.

“I’m sure you’d like to know,” she teases with another smirk, just as mysterious and secretive as Agnes described.

You’ve spent your entire life travelling through Europe’s High Societies, from the Parisian aristocracy to Florence’s art scene, and yet you’ve never heard of or seen her before this night. And you’d certainly remember if you did, she’s not a face one forgets.

“So, we’re playing this game, are we?”

“You started it, Miss Y/L/N,” she matches your teasing tone.

You’ve noticed that she only calls you by your name formally, keeping a distance between the two of you despite having let you in more than anyone else tonight.

You’re even more aware of all the eyes on you, watching like hawks as your interaction plays out. How odd of a pair you must be, a sight to behold you’re sure. You’re keenly aware of how you’re likely equally as intriguing and alien as she is. How your existence defies the rigid social norms; a girl of your standing able to dance through high society while working to accumulate your own wealth and remaining single at a less than conventional age. You wonder if perchance, in this way, you interest her as much as she interests you.

Clearing your throat, you decide to accept that this is as much as you’ll learn about her tonight. “Agnes tells me you’re staying as a guest at Harkness Hall,” you segue instead.

Tilting her head once again, she lifts an eyebrow in curiosity. “That would be correct.”

“As I’m sure you’ve heard by now, I have been commissioned to paint a portrait for Ms Harkness.” Gently, you once again place a kiss on the back of her resting hand. “I suppose we’ll be seeing more of each other then,” you quietly bid farewell before walking away, not turning back although you know she’s following you with a curious eye.

Later throughout the night, the other cautious elites approach you one by one, all warning you to stay away from Wanda. There’s a certain look in their eyes that you can’t quite decipher yet, resembling that of Agnes’ expression if you really think about it. Something akin to fear or intimidation or something in between and like they’re trying to tell you something they can’t say with words. Their warnings only serve to further interest you in the Countess and the mystery that surrounds her though.

Returning your gaze to the woman before you depart for the evening, you find her already staring fervently at you with a smile you can only describe as devilish. Her pearly white teeth seem to sparkle under the chandelier’s light and you swear that from this side of the ballroom, you spot a glimmer of red in her eyes under the veil.

But, when you remember her beautiful green eyes, you suppose it’s simply a trick of the light.

—

The day after the next, you return to Harkness Hall for your first session with Agnes.

The moment you step foot through the doors, you instantly search for Wanda but are dismayed to fail in your pursuit, not even hearing word of her throughout the entire day. From morning to night, while you’re painting in Agnes’ drawing room or enjoying lunch with her in the garden, you never see Wanda even once.

You suppose it’s a large estate so it’s not hard to believe that your paths wouldn’t cross, but the thought does nothing to dispel the persistent pout on your face.

You honestly try your very hardest to focus on the woman posing in front of you, but the task is near impossible. You almost want to ask Agnes about Wanda, where she is and what she’s doing, but you suppose that would be highly improper. Not that you would typically care, you’d just rather not let it be known how taken you’ve become with her.

It’s only later that evening when you walk through the estate to take your leave, around the eleventh hour after the sun has already set and the hustle and bustle of Harkness Hall has come to a standstill, that your eyes once again find the Countess’ solitary form.

Bathed in the moonlight, the Lady sits by herself in the courtyard facing away from you. You’re once again struck by her beauty. In this pure light and under the night sky, her ivory skin almost glows. You briefly ponder the idea that she could be an angel descended from the heavens above.

Seemingly sensing your presence, despite how stealthily you’d hidden yourself behind the doorway, she spins around faster than you can blink and catches you.

“Miss Y/L/N,” she remarks with a drawl and that sinisterness that makes you think that more accurately, she must be a fallen angel sent to this world by the devil himself.

Matching your intense gaze, she simply says, “Come,” beckoning you to her side.

And you obey without a single objection, padding across the courtyard and placing yourself in the seat beside her obediently.

“I heard you were here painting Agnes today,” she brings up cordially.

Your eyes drop down and you notice her drinking something in her glass that oddly looks a little too dark and thick to be wine, that leaves a deep cherry stain on her lips that would otherwise be an unusual lipstick shade. You equally notice that despite her attempts at pleasant small talk, she doesn’t make any attempts to offer you a glass of whatever it is she’s drinking.

“I was,” you affirm. “I was….” hoping to see you, you trail off and keep to yourself, not wanting to seem desperate in her eyes despite how desperate for her attention you truly are.

She smiles to herself, seemingly hearing your confession all the same. She has a way of reading you without you saying a word.

“And how are you finding it so far?”

“It’s going as well as it can. Agnes is a wonderful subject,” you share, hiding the fact that the only woman you wanted to paint today was her.

A beat of silence passes, only the soft breeze of winter heard in the space you share.

“Have you ever sat for a portrait before?” you ask.

Shaking her head thoughtfully, she answers “No, never.”

“Why, might I ask? Your beauty is one I’m sure hundreds would flock to capture on canvas and stone.”

Inwardly, she smirks at your unrelenting boldness. “Yes… be that as it may, it’s not one I’m happy to share with the world for all to see,” she answers just as cryptically as everything else she’s told you thus far.

You suspect there’s a deeper and very real reason to it, but don’t question further. You’re happy to take as much as she gives you, as little as it is.

“Would you let me paint you one day?” you ask honestly.

Wistfully, she turns to glance up at the scattered stars in the clear sky, musing on your offer. “Perhaps,” she finally turns to look at you again, “if you’re a good girl.”

A fierce blush rushes to your cheeks as she gets up and caresses your chin with her gloved hand before leaning down and placing a fleeting kiss on the very cheek reddened by her teasing. As she saunters away from you, you watch her go and dazedly wonder if whatever she was drinking left its own stain on your skin.

Only when she walks past a statement mirror in the hallway are you pulled out of your trance. You can’t see her reflection, you remark.

Confused, you give it little thought before reasoning that it must be your tired eyes playing a trick on you.

—

Over the coming days, you return to Harkness Hall for your work with Agnes and continue seeking Wanda’s company.

Every time though, you only ever locate her after the sun’s gone down or alone in some secluded space like the library or tea room with the windows shut.

This time, you lose the fight and ask Agnes about her peculiar behaviour. She tells you that the Countess typically goes out at night and only returns in the early hours of the morning. Otherwise, during the day she either slumbers until the early afternoon or rests indoors.

Agnes doesn’t quite understand it either, but she’s neither questioning it nor complaining when it makes it a little easier for her to avoid the Lady. You thank her for her explanation (gossip), but it only piques your curiosity more and more, as does everything else you learn about Wanda.

Every time you do cross her path though, she always invites you to sit with her. Most of the time, she nurses a glass of the too-dark-and-too-thick wine. You never ask for a glass of your own or a taste and she never offers.

And every time, you find yourself entranced by her beauty for at least a minute or two or typically, much more. At times, you think she must be from another world, one so delicate and divine that man cannot and must not touch it lest it be corrupted. Other times you think her beauty is simply not human and must be a form of corruption of its own. But maybe that’s just the dramatic artist in you.

You’re saddened to say that after all this time though, you still don’t know much more about her, the mystery still largely unsolved. You know that she’s rich, she’s alone, and she’s the most beautiful woman you’ve ever laid your eyes on, which is essentially everything you already knew from the first night you met her.

She does occasionally share some stories with you though, of her life when she was younger in the foreign Slavic land you still haven’t identified. She tells you of growing up in a castle at the top of a mountain, of being bathed in the riches of love. “I’ve lost all the family I’ve ever known,” she confesses the next evening after you share stories of your own rough upbringing.

As always, she remains cryptically vague with every word she offers you, never giving you details and always leaving you wanting more.

Sometimes, she even reveals glimpses of her other facets like her interests and apparent appreciation for the theatre. “There’s a new musical on Broadway that I believe you’d enjoy,” she remarks offhandedly. Despite your attempts to suppress it, you feel a fluttering sensation within you at the prospect of seeing the Countess outside the walls of Harkness Hall, of even courting her if she allowed.

You’d like to think that you’re the only one honoured to hear these words from her, that you’re someone special to her as she is to you.

Other times when you come upon wherever she’s hiding and she doesn’t instantly detect you, you watch her quietly from the shadows, hiding away and observing her peaceful form. You fetch your pocket pad from the bag on your waist and roughly sketch her reading, birdwatching, embroidering or simply gazing at the night sky.

Then, you return home and paint her as accurately from memory as you can, attempting to capture her beauty with oil paints and canvas.

One day, you hope you’ll have a chance to show her how she’s become your muse and how you see her unlike anyone else.

—

Almost a week has passed since you started painting Agnes and you only know because you’ve been committing every encounter with the Lady Maximoff to memory.

Over the days, you’ve become comfortable and developed a routine of sorts for yourself. Around mid-morning, you arrive at Agnes’ manor and recommence work right away. Once noon comes, you have lunch with her in her expansive garden and enjoy tea with Wanda in the mid-afternoon if you can locate her, otherwise you greet her on your departure in the evening.

For the short while, you develop a new normal, which makes it all the weirder when a sense of unease overcomes the city and its inhabitants. From your own maids and coachmen to Agnes and the other elites you come across, everyone all of a sudden seems on edge. Almost like a blanket of doom and gloom has been laid over the city.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, it’s only Wanda who seems normal and unperturbed when you find her in her usual lounge chair in the courtyard under the moonlit sky. Once again, you obediently take the seat beside her.

Tonight, you can’t help but notice that she’s not nursing her favoured drink and if it were possible, she appears more pale than ever. You want to ask if she is well, but instead of overstepping, you decide to ask why everyone seems so off.

Pensively, she oddly smiles at your question and peer up at the sky. You follow her line of sight and see that the moon tonight is full and bright.

“Be careful, Miss Y/L/N,” is all she says as you turn to her again. There’s an unsettling look in her eye, like she knows something you don’t.

“You never know what’s hiding in the shadows, what creatures of the night lurk in the dark,” she warns ominously before turning to you and flashing a blinding smile. “One wouldn’t want something to happen to a pretty young thing like you.”

You gulp at her forbidding words and sudden predatory appearance, left only more confused and unnerved than ever. Flustered, you avert your gaze and miss the flash of crimson in her eyes.

—

The following evening, you’re half asleep in your carriage home when you abruptly realise you forgot a broken easel that you wanted to have fixed at Harkness Hall. Having requested your coachman retrieve it for you, you now patiently wait in your carriage in front of the estate.

Leaning your cheek on the window with a pout, you’re a little saddened since you didn’t see Wanda at all today, the first time it’s happened all week.

When you asked one of Agnes’ maids where the Lady was, she said she hadn’t seen Wanda all day either which meant she must’ve still been asleep since she didn’t hear her return until just before dawn. But then even on your way out a few moments ago, you still couldn’t find her in any of her usual hiding spots to your dismay. 

Staring out solemnly at the Upper East Side streets, you notice that it’s a lot quieter than usual. This district is typically much busier, even at this late hour with the wealthy enjoying their night on the town. 

However, it seems everyone is as on edge as they were the previous day. Most people have opted to stay inside with the windows shut, leaving the streets mostly empty barring a few passersby and dimly lit lamp posts. Even your coachman seemed a little less willing than usual to fulfil your request, as if he just wanted to rush the both of you home to safety. From what, you’re not too sure.

Sleepily, you lift your gaze and stare at the moon, slightly fuller and even brighter than it was the night before, having just reached the peak of its cycle. 

You admire its alluring beauty for a brief second until something in the alley across the road from your carriage catches your eye; a lone man and woman hidden in the shadows. You think they must be one of the only people who don’t fear what everyone else does to be lingering in the darkness like this. 

Intrigued, you study the pair when something strikes you. The woman throws her head back laughing and you catch a glimpse of her canines, so pearly and sharp you’re almost sure they look like fangs.

It’s only when you narrow your eyes and the woman leans forward out of the shadows into the light that you realise with a start, it’s Wanda.

—

When the sun rises and morning comes, you wake up safe in your bed but just as shaken.

With the calming of your heart, you reason that the events of the night before must have been a dream or even a hallucination of your tired mind. But you’ve been making the same excuse a lot lately and the image is etched so realistically in your memory it must be real.

In a daze, you ready yourself for the day and go to the dining room for the breakfast awaiting you. Perhaps some food in your stomach will wake you up from whatever this is, you think.

You’re distractedly munching on some berries when your handmaiden enters the room with a boiled kettle for your morning tea. It seems that the water isn’t the only thing bubbling this morning though.

“Miss! Have you heard the news?” she asks worriedly.

“I can’t say I have,” you answer, shaking your head. “What appears to have happened?”

“My, there’s been a murder! In an alley near Harkness Hall!”

Your blood instantly runs cold and you freeze like a bucket of cold water has been thrown on you.

“W-what?”

“A young man in his early 20s, foolish enough to stay out late on a full moon. They say his body was otherwise unmarked except for two puncture wounds in his neck. The sheriffs think it’s the Moonlit Killer again!” she frantically explains, every word striking your shaky bones.

“The Moonlit Killer?” you whisper to yourself in thought. “Who is that?”

“The city, no the state’s, very own serial killer, miss! No one knows who it is and they haven’t been caught yet, but for over a year now there have been murders across New York every full moon,” she tells you, the kettle completely forgotten as well as your breakfast which you know for certain you can no longer stomach with the tightening of your throat.

“The victims always match each other too, always young men taken in dark alleys and left with only two punctures in their necks.”

Like fangs…, you piece together.

It all makes sense now, why everyone was so on edge with the arrival of the full moon.

Quietly, you think back to what you witnessed last night. You’re sure it was Wanda. You would recognise her anywhere, in a crowded ballroom or even a… dark alleyway.

An image forms in your mind and you quickly race to your studio, ignoring the concerned calls of your handmaiden. You pull out a fresh canvas and your brushes and you paint and paint and paint.

You paint Wanda’s unusually pale ivory skin. You paint her red irises that you’ve seen on occasion. And lastly, you paint the sharp fangs you saw last night that lie where any other person’s canines would.

Once you’ve finished, you step back to take in your rough portrait and drop your brush in shock.

It can’t be…

You’ve only heard tales of them during your travels when instances similar to last night’s rocked the cities you visited. You’ve only seen frightening drawings of them in books that told farfetched legends of the undead.

Creatures of the night, skin as pale as the moon, pearly white fangs as sharp as blades, and most of all, eyes the colour of scarlet.

Everything suddenly makes sense now, pieces fall into place as the mystery is finally solved.

The glasses she’s always drinking of some liquid that looks too dark and thick to be wine must have been blood all this time and her main source of sustenance since you’ve never seen her eat a single crumb.

The way she oddly sleeps during the day and always shies away from sunlight, because if she didn’t she would quite literally be burned.

How you’re sure you’ve never seen her reflection in mirrors or water or windows because she doesn’t in fact have a soul to reflect.

Why no matter how much you asked around or researched about the elusive Countess, you could never obtain any information dating back earlier than over a year ago, precisely when the Moonlit Killer started taking their victims.

And how you’re certain that if you matched the homes of the other aristocrats she stayed with to the locations of the killings, it would all line up perfectly.

Countess Maximoff is… a vampire.

With the realisation, you’re filled with frightening clarity, both proudly smug at having unearthed her secret and slightly fearful at the true nature of the woman you’ve become enamoured of. Foolishly, you thought it was your eyes playing tricks or simple coincidences, but it’s too much to be.

For a second, you even think you must be going crazy to be entertaining this thought. Wanda… the beautiful, alluring, and bewitching woman… is a vampire. A monster? How could someone so enchanting be so horrific, though? So cruel…

But then you remember the old wives’ tales about sirens and succubi and creatures of sin that seduce and corrupt with their otherworldly beauty and frankly, now you’re only more sure of your discovery.

And that’s when it hits you… there’s only one way to test your theory.

—

That evening, you put your plan into motion. You haven’t much time. You figure in a few days she’ll announce her departure from Harkness Hall and return to her estate until she has to hunt for the next full moon, so why wait to confirm something you’re already so sure of.

In the dead of night, you pad through her designated wing and sneak into her bedchambers, awaiting her eventual return in the early morning. Earlier, you sent your carriage home with a feigned excuse and listened carefully to confirm that Agnes had retired for the evening.

Making yourself comfortable on Wanda’s loveseat, you patiently survey the door and await her arrival, alone in the dark room lit only by a few ruby candles and the bright moonlight.

In the Winter night, you feel the cool breeze on your exposed skin and shiver, pulling your coat tighter around you. Beneath it, you wear nothing but a lace blood red nightgown that leaves your neck bare in hopes of enticing her.

As expected, she’s absent for most of the evening, you assume too preoccupied with hunting her prey. Tonight, the moon is at the absolute peak of its cycle. Her lust for blood must be uncontrollable, but the thought only excites you more.

You almost fall asleep against your hand propped up on the armrest when finally, sometime between the second and third hour, you hear a shuffle outside the door that instantly wakes you.

Creaking, the door opens to reveal the Countess you’ve been waiting for, clad in a black hooded cloak and dark burgundy dress. Dark enough to conceal any bloodstains, you realise.

You suspect the city will awake to news of another victim at the hand of the Moonlit Killer, but that’s for whatever awaits you after the sun rises. Right now, you have your mystery standing in front of you, surprised to say the least to see you in her bedchambers and especially at this hour.

In the dimly lit room, you can barely see her if it weren’t for her skin that seemingly glows under the moonlight and the fleeting glint of red in her eyes that show themselves when she lifts off her hood and removes her cloak.

She’s as beautiful to you now as she was before you knew what kind of creature she really is. The thought leaves you as breathless as the sight of her. You think you would have fallen for her no matter who, or rather what, she is.

Fully facing your standing figure now, she smirks, knowing that there is something different about you tonight and this encounter. A sense of pride fills you at her sinister expression.

“Miss Y/L/N, what a surprise to find you here. Have you gotten lost in the middle of the night, sweet thing? Sleepwalked from the other side of the city, perchance?” she asks playfully. There’s a hint of something new in her tone, something a little demeaning. You can’t say you hate it. No… not at all.

“No, my lady. There is something I wish to discuss with you.”

She simply lifts an eyebrow in response, signalling you to continue while she hangs up her cloak and only offers you part of her attention. You almost want to beg to have all of it.

“I’ve been watching you,” you admit.

“I know you have. And what have you so skillfully unearthed, Miss Y/L/N?”

With a nervous gulp, you confess, “I know your secret, what you hide from the others.” Her ears seem to perk up with interest at your admission, but she’s still unsettlingly calm about the revelation.

“I know why you sleep during the day and what you do during the night. I know why you avoid sunlight at all costs and why no one seems to know anything about you. I know what you are.”

At last, she turns to you and gives you her full and complete attention. As much as you previously desired it, you quickly find yourself wilting under the weight of her stare.

Crossing the room in three strides, she stands face-to-face before you. “Oh? And pray tell, what exactly am I?” she teases and finally unveils the true scarlet hue of her eyes with a tilt of her head, equally as stunning as the green if not more bewitching.

It leaves you in a state of vulnerable immobility like prey trapped in the clutch of its predator and you pull at the sleeves of your coat in an attempt to regain your courage. Distantly, you wonder if perhaps there’s more to her species that the myths don’t yet know about, that perhaps she wields sinister abilities to influence the mind which would explain the eerie nature of Agnes’ facade.

“You’re… you’re a…”

Intimidatingly, she stalks to you in a few weightless steps almost like a bat. Delicately pulling her satin gloves off and haphazardly tossing them to the wooden floor, she reveals her long sharp nails, claws really.

Getting closer in your space now, she takes your chin between her thumb and index finger and tilts your head up to face her, the chilled skin of a soulless body sends shivers through your bones.

Menacingly, she grins, no leers, at you and detracts her fangs, glistening in the moonlight and bared for you to see. Up close, it strikes you with an immediate fear, but also something equally as exciting that leaves a tightening sensation deep in your belly.

“Say it,” she whispers, her cool breath against your lips and sending a chill down your spine.

With a gulp, you finally bring yourself to say out loud, “You’re a vampire.”

If it were somehow possible, her grin grows even wider and more sinister and you briefly think that she might just eat you alive.

“Good girl, I knew you were a smart one the second I laid my eyes on you.” The term of praise, as proud as you are to have received it, only intensifies that feeling in your belly and for the first time this evening, you question if you’re actually capable of surviving a night with the vampire Countess.

Patting your cheek with her other hand and cocking her head amusedly, Wanda continues. “Although, you were foolish enough to have come here alone and approached me like this.”

Maybe she’s right…

“No one would know if I killed you right here and now. No one would even hear you scream before I sank my teeth in your neck.”

Or maybe, that’s exactly what you want from her.

In a heartbeat, you instantly regain all your confidence. You know her secret and you came here for a reason. It’s time to claim what you’re owed, what you came to this city searching for.

Hastily, you untie your coat and drop it to the floor, revealing your barely clothed body to her stunned eyes. A rush of excitement goes through your veins at the sight of her dilated pupils, a telling sign that she just might desire you as much as you desire her.

Placing your own hands atop the ones she still rests on your face, you confess, “I want to be yours.” She lifts her eyebrow in curiosity at your proposition. “You don’t need to feed on other people, or hunt when you’re desperate anymore… You can just feed on me.”

For the first time ever, you hear her laugh, throwing her head back with her imposing fangs on full display. A deep and maniacal sound that’s degrading and humiliating as you stand there before her exposed and yet, you decide you’d do anything to hear it again.

It takes a second or two for her to regain her composure and you think you spot tears in her eyes, only further reddening your blushing cheeks.

“You know,” she says in between huffed laughter. “I typically only drink animal blood, as I’m sure you’ve seen on occasion. It’s a lot more… convenient and certainly a lot less messy. But the real reason,” she confesses, whispering almost secretively as her ruby coloured irises stare into your blown out pupils, “is that blood from a human source is dangerously addictive. That’s why I only feed on humans on days like this when the moon’s pull is too strong. Because everyone I drink from ends up dead and somehow, I just know that if I drank yours… well I’d be addicted for eternity.”

But what if that’s exactly what you want?

Blindly reaching towards a nearby table, you grab what feels like a glass and smash it against the surface, successfully slicing your left palm and sending drops of blood rolling down your skin.

In the same heartbeat, Wanda instantly freezes, her enhanced sense of smell immediately picking up the intoxicating scent of your blood. Tightly closing her eyes and letting go of her hold on you, she takes two steps back from you, seemingly struggling to restrain herself.

Fearlessly, you take two steps towards her, crowding her space just as she crowded yours.

“Let go,” you tempt, lifting your bleeding hand in an attempt to flood her senses and lure her further into your trap. “Let me be yours,” you whisper teasingly into her ear.

In a second, her eyes burst open, now blazing scarlet and burning into you. Roughly, she wraps her hand around your throat and pushes you against the nearest wall, uncaring of how you wince at the strength with which she slams you.

Just as harshly, she finally kisses you, her icy lips meeting yours and moving against each other as one as she almost devours you in her eagerness. And just as eagerly, you let her, drowning in the rush of losing yourself in something so wrong that feels so right.

The cautiousness with which she treated you before has completely disappeared as she dangerously tightens her grip around your throat, claiming your lips over and over again.

In her lust-clouded haste, her sharp fangs faintly slice your bottom lip and you quickly start bleeding with a wince that’s promptly muffled by her soft lips. Her greedy tongue licks it all up and you’re blessed with her deep moans at the rich and teasing taste.

To your dismay, she pulls away and releases her grip on your throat. But when you look in her bloodshot eyes, pupils blown and glittering in the moonlight, you’re thrilled to see a complete lack of resistance, a surrender to the offer you’ve presented.

And yet, there’s a hidden question in them, if you’re really willing to cross this line with her. In the back of your mind, you wonder that perhaps you're the first person who’s ever shared this secret of hers, who's ever willingly given themselves to her.

You hope to be the only.

Without saying a word, you simply crane your awaiting neck towards her, offering the expanse of it to her on a golden platter.

“I’m yours,” you whisper into the night for only her to hear.

In the blink of an eye, she becomes a predator before you. Still trapped between her body and the wall, you watch in equal amounts of fear and lust as she bares her fangs and sinks them into your naked neck.

You scream in pain and tightly scrunch a hand in her hair until, almost like you're hearing yourself outside of your body, you realise that your screams have become moans, the pain in your neck abruptly replaced by pleasure racing through your bloodstream.

“Mine,” you hear her snarl in between your moans and you only barely manage to yell, “Yours”, back.

Wanda is equally disarmed as she buries her face in your neck. She drinks and drinks and drinks, and as predicted, loses herself in you. It’s a criminal understatement to say that your blood is the best she’s ever tasted in her centuries-long life and endless list of victims. It’s rich and thick and if you hadn’t already offered to become her pet for eternity, she would have stolen you away anyway.

She revels even more in the sounds of your very evident pleasure, which when mixed with her instant addiction to your taste leaves a tight sensation in her core.

As she continues feasting on you, she slots a knee between your open legs and tightly grips your waist in her hands, harshly thrusting you down on her leg and surely leaving bruises in her wake. Eagerly, you grind against her firm thigh, head lolling back and hitting the wall with a resounding thud.

Somehow, your unabashed moans get even louder as you feel your blood starting to drip across your chest. Distantly, you consider that maybe you should quieten yourself lest someone hear of your tryst, but that thought swiftly disappears when Wanda presses her knee against your core while pushing you down to grind against it and deepening her fangs in your neck.

She’s everywhere. Pressed against you, piercing you with her teeth, becoming one with you. Suddenly, the overwhelming sensations become too much and you come undone in her arms, climaxing unexpectedly from the equally consuming mix of pleasure and pain.

In a lust- and blood-drunk daze, Wanda takes little notice of your state and attempts to keep drinking every ounce of the red liquid left in your body. She feels you start to loosen your hold on her hair and slacken against her thigh though, so she reluctantly stops lest she loses her pet as quickly as she got her.

Regrettably, she pulls away from you but you’re glad she keeps her knee between your legs because you immediately slump against her from an exhaustive combination of the severe blood loss and intense climax.

Surprisingly tenderly, she captures you in her arms and holds you up against her and the wall. You take a second to regain your breath as your heart races to pump more blood through your veins.

“That was…” you trail off, dazed and half struggling to hold on to consciousness.

“Delicious,” she finishes for you.

You eventually manage to open your eyes and watch her sadly remove a hand from your waist to wipe your blood from her mouth with the pad of her thumb, serving to only spread it across her face even more.

The sight is more arousing than it should be and as you stare at her, you discover that with her porcelain moonlit skin, scarlet coloured eyes, snow white fangs, and mouth covered in your dark blood, she’s the most beautiful creature you’ve ever seen.

In the haze of the afterglow, your gaze lowers to her bloody lips and you briefly wonder how you taste. Somehow reading your thoughts as she always does, she places a surprisingly soft kiss on your lips and you’re equally surprised by the taste of your blood on her lips. It’s different from what you expected, not as jarringly metallic as when you bite the inside of your cheek but rather smooth and rich like a well-aged wine.

As you deepen the kiss searching for more, she returns the eagerness by tracing the surface of your lips with her tongue, easily parting them and entering your mouth. Distracting you with the feel of your tongues swirling against each other, she sneakily reaches behind your back and unties the fragile bow tying your nightgown together.

Pulling away, she lets the sheer fabric fall in a heap to the floor and leaves you chasing her lips like a lovesick fool. You feel even more foolish when you look up and find her staring intensely at your entirely exposed body while she remains fully clothed, almost moving to wrap your arms around your bare chest in an attempt to hide yourself from her scrutiny.

Just as quickly though, she captures your wrists and traps them beside you against the wall. “Don’t hide from me. You’re mine now, pet,” she whispers in her criminally deep voice.

Not to mention her apparent assignment of a new title for you, a stark contrast from the formal way with which she has been regarding you until now. A fierce blush rises to your cheeks at her choice and when combined with the sound of her voice, you think you could come from the short sentence alone.

Softly and slowly with all the time in the world, or at least the few hours left before the sun awakes, she places delicate kisses across your shaking body. Her icy cold touch cools every inch of your burning skin that it contacts, along the curve of your jawline up to the space below your ear, down your neck and especially taking care to lick your puncture wounds clean before travelling across your chest and licking up any blood that previously escaped her.

Taking your left nipple in her awaiting mouth, she latches on and sucks greedily before switching to the right. You squirm and try to free your hands wanting to touch her, but her bruising grip around your wrists unrelenting keeps you trapped. If she notices you continue to painfully twist yourself in her grasp anyway in an attempt to amass more marks as proof of her ownership of you, she doesn’t utter a single word.

A second later, she withdraws from your body and sighs against your wet skin, which when coupled with her chilled touch and the cool winter night leaves you shuddering with goosebumps.

Stepping back from you entirely now, she reaches behind herself and undoes her own dress. When it falls to the floor, so does your jaw as you shamelessly stare at the pale expanse of her skin, almost completely unblemished and illuminated by the moonlight.

You carefully place your hands on the curves of her waist, hidden beneath her burgundy corset. For a brief moment, she lets you admire her body like an artist admires their muse before she gets impatient and turns around in your arms.

Pulling her hair to her front, she demands, “Won’t you lend me a hand, pet?”

Wordlessly and obediently, you unlace her corset while leaving delicate kisses behind her ear and along her neck. She buries her hand in your hair and you almost let out a moan from the way she tugs at it. Under your breath, you curse the corset for being so intricate as your shaking hands struggle against the detailed binds.

Luckily for you though, it finally becomes undone and drops to the floor with the rest of your clothes. With your hands returning to her waist again, now soft and bare, you turn her around to face you and almost collapse.

You’re not sure how it’s possible, but she continues to take your breath away. She’s more beautiful than anything you’ve ever seen in your lifelong travels. More than any of the marble Grecian sculptures or oil paintings of Aphrodite.

Just as she did, you take your time peppering kisses over her ivory and cool skin. You gently kiss every inch from right under her jawline to the dips of her collarbones and down along her chest to the mole of her left breast, from the curve of her shoulder down to the edge of her fingers and even lightly sucking your blood off her thumb.

Delicately, you devote yourself to kissing her perfect skin marked only by a few moles littered across her body, mapping them like constellations, and licking away any of your blood that stains the porcelain surface of her chin and neck.

Here and there, when you get to a particularly sensitive spot like the space under her jawline, she writhes in your arms and lets out a breathless gasp. You continue sucking on the same spot lightly, proudly drawing pleasure out of her as she did with you, but only lightly and not harsh enough to mark her flawless skin.

Internally, you think you could spend an eternity worshipping her body if she let you. You wouldn’t mind all the pain if you had the pleasure of being hers.

As you take your time exploring her body, her thin patience finally runs out and she roughly wraps your hair around her hand, pushing you down to exactly where she needs you.

“On your knees, pet,” she demands breathlessly and you instantly obey, falling to your knees with a thud and ignoring the bruising pain, proudly collecting more evidence of your tryst.

Diligently, you continue trailing your kisses down between the centre of her chest and her taut stomach until you reach her core, which you brazenly pass in favour of nibbling her inner thigh.

Roughly yanking your hair though, Wanda makes her annoyance known. “Oh, don’t be like that now, sweetheart. I thought it was clear who’s in charge here,” she bends down and sneers in your face.

“‘Mm sorry…” you frantically nod and apologise while keeping the enticing idea of disobeying and testing her patience in the back of your mind for another time. Right now, though, you desperately want to taste her.

Lifting her leg over your shoulder, she increases your accessibility or rather traps you and pushes your head back towards her centre.

“Be a good pet now won’t you, darling?”

You don’t need to be told twice, swiftly diving in between her thighs. You’re pleasantly delighted to feel how wet for you she already is, probably since the moment she sank her teeth in your neck.

Burying yourself against her core, you greedily part her folds with your tongue and lap up all her juices. Immediately drunk on her taste, you moan against her and the resounding vibrations apparently stimulate her even more as she whimpers above you and tightens her grip on your hair.

As you eagerly stroke your tongue against her pussy and brush your nose against her clit, you decide that between her legs must be the best place on Earth. And if anything, you so quickly become addicted to her sweet essence just as she was with your rich blood.

Almost crazed, you both want her everywhere and to be all over her, meticulously switching between placing kitty licks between her folds and latching onto her bulb.

Losing herself in you, Wanda somehow pushes the back of your head even deeper against her and bucks against your face. “Good girl… just like that,” she murmurs.

If your mouth wasn’t so preoccupied, you would’ve begged her to pull your hair harder.

Glancing up as you devour her, you realise that she truly is a fallen angel sent from the depths of hell to corrupt you. As you stare at her lust hazed eyes and domineering form stalked over you, you find yourself getting pleasure just from her pleasure alone.

You think that whether she suffocated you between her thighs or sucked out all your blood with her fangs in your neck, you’d be honoured to die by her hand.

With her moans getting louder and her body writhing above you, you catch on to her rapidly increasing need for more and raise your right hand to rub her clit with the pads of two fingers.

Catching her off guard, you swiftly thrust the same two fingers between her folds and earn a blissed out scream. You fit perfectly inside her as she clenches around you, sending a tightening sensation to your own core.

Latching onto her clit with your mouth again while your fingers slide in and out of her, you proudly smile against her at the tightening grip on your hair.

“Faster,” she manages to demand and you once again obey, pistoning your fingers in and out of her even faster and setting a ruthless rhythm. Soon after, your fingertips locate her g-spot so you curl the ends of your two fingers, hitting the spot with every thrust.

As you watch her, you notice that her hands are preoccupied with gripping the back of your head in pleasure and her bedpost in an attempt to stay standing.

With so much of her immaculate body shamefully left unattended, you reach your sliced hand back up her still cool body and cup her breast. As you massage the supple mound, the pain of the fresh cut stings your skin but you hear yourself whimper in time with her own moans.

You’re everywhere and the stimulation of your touch starts to make Wanda go crazy. Releasing her hold on your hair, she glides it down your back and scratches the skin below your shoulders with her claws in an attempt to pull you even closer.

Shuddering against her, you wince at the pain but proudly add the scratches to your long list of scars from tonight.

With her hand on your back, she feels you pathetically grind down against nothing and decides to take pity on you, placing her foot below your core. Finally getting some much needed friction, you rub yourself against her in a frenzy and practically ride her foot.

In a daze, she peers down at you and is entranced by the sight of you on your knees for her, looking up obediently at her with doe-like eyes, your face covered in her juices and skin covered in bite marks and hickeys she placed haphazardly, all while servicing her every demand and devoting yourself to her every need.

Unable to hold herself back anymore, she climaxes. Feeling her clench around your fingers and hearing her scream, you quickly follow and come against her foot. Bewitched, you see her arch her back in satisfaction and let her ride out her high against your face.

Once she calms down, you greedily lick up all her cum and clean up her centre just as you did with your blood on her skin. When your mission is complete and she pushes you away, overstimulated by your persistent touch, you stare into her eyes as you slide the same two fingers that were just inside her mere second ago into your own mouth, sucking them clean and taking care to not leave even a single drop.

If it were possible, her already blown out pupils dilate even more as she watches the show you put on for her. Pulling you up with a strength that’s probably owed to her inhumane cells, she tugs you into a kiss once again, tasting her essence on your tongue just as you did with your blood on hers.

Fitting your waist in her hands again, she hastily throws you on her bed before straddling your hips and pressing you against the mattress. She wastes no time and leans down to reclaim your lips, carelessly letting her fangs nick your lips again.

In the corner of your sleepy eyes, you see the glowing moonlight illuminate the stars in the night sky outside, the sun still a lifetime away. For this next little while, all that matters is the cool feel of her touch against your scorched skin and the pleasure of the pain she brings.

For under the full moon, you are completely and irrevocably hers; a vampire’s pet for better or worse.

[alicenpai]

my piece for the Hemisphere: a Witch Hat Atelier seasons themed zine! thank you for having me! they're having a leftovers sale until stock runs out 🖋🍀🌷🍁❄🌧 WIPs + inspiration board + symbolism under the cut! got some requests to put this on my inprnt! the site has sales very often & you can grab it as a small or big size print.

I had a pretty good idea of the composition from the get-go. I took inspiration from art nouveau (primarily Alphonse Mucha), German fairy tales, and some 1920s perfume ads. I wanted the girls to look like fairies, akin to The Root Children by Sibylle von Olfers.

Olly just didn't work out in this drawing due to time restraints. I do love him very much though.

I actually kinda stopped making illustrations like these (including the TGAA/DGS tarot card + TGAA/DGS zine pieces a while back) because they were starting to get very hard on my arm, as I had an RSI (repetitive strain injury) a few years back during school. (Not putting the onus on the zines at all ofc! I genuinely love working with zine projects! it's def a me thing WAHAHAHA. my style was getting too anime and too detailed for my liking and everything was just taking forever to finish ngl. but I didn't have time to experiment with a more simple style outside of all of my deadlines)

I think that realizing you need to stop is okay. It's something that Shirahama teaches us in her story and I want to learn to take it to heart.

---

MILD SPOILERS AHEAD (for those who havent read the story I guess)

each character's symbolism:

- Coco - spring, clovers - Coco is the quintessential spring girl, and I wanted her to symbolize new beginnings, and oh boy did Coco bring a big one. The four leaf clover in particular symbolizes luck and good fortune - to some characters, Coco may have brought fortune, to others her presence brings misfortune, take that as you will.

- Tetia - summer, gladiolus - the name "gladiolus" comes from the Latin word "gladius", meaning "sword", based on the shape of the flower. you can interpret it as "you pierce my heart", perfect for a girl like Tetia, who has a contagious energy, with a romantic and grandiose nature.

- Agott - autumn, marigold - I read somewhere marigolds symbolize strength and power, perfect for our little magical powerhouse Agott. They can also symbolize jealousy (yellow flowers in particular have this association), which reflects on her rivalry with Coco in the beginning.

- Riche - winter, snowdrop - The white color of snowdrops has a strong connotation to innocence, which reflects on Riche's wish to stay a child forever. It can also symbolize rebirth and new beginnings (like Coco's clovers), as the snowdrop is the first flower to bloom in the spring, when the snow has not yet melted. I wanted the concept of "rebirth" to associate with Riche's friendship with Euini, and of his sort of "rebirth" into a new being.

- Qifrey - he does not have a flower per se, but as the caregiver and educator of the four girls, he represents the rainy season - precipitation being the one thing that binds all of these seasons together. (Note some areas of the world do not have a rainy season like where I live). I think somewhere along the line I wanted to put hydrangeas behind him, to really bring out the "rainy" theme, but the thought probably got lost somewhere in translation...

- bg flowers - honestly I just picked whatever. white lily, daffodil, hydrangea, zinnia, tulip

[courtofcrescent]

Your kingdom has lost the war. The Royal Family is dead, including your mistress, the Old King's beloved concubine. Following her last command, you are forced to bend your knees to the new ruler. You continue to live your life as a dutiful high servant, striving to maintain normalcy as best you can, until one moonlit night, you accidentally uncover a terrifying secret... and attract dangerous attention.

Thus begins your new life as the Royal Consort, navigating the intrigue of your old-yet-new Court, all while guarding The Secret with your life.

"May Luxen always shine upon you."

Court of Crescent is a court intrigue fantasy with elements of dark romance.

Play as a male or female bearing the title of Royal Consort.

Romance the Ruler with a questionable reputation who is your now lawful partner; the Knight with a piercing gaze who follows you like a devoted shadow; the scandalous nouveau riche who happens to be the Minister of Entertainment; the striking Cousin who prefers the company of books; or a secret... something?

Join the exquisite intrigue of the Court by planning lavish parties, attending charitable events, or simply lying in your pavilion all day in hope to avoid assassination attempts—or perhaps even plot some yourself.

Acquire an expensively crafted dagger... and stab a few people in the back—or you know, a charming smile works too!

Embrace your new royal life with all its privileges and responsibilities—or find yourself trapped in misery, contemplating your choices.

Secrets. Hidden Truths. Lies. You name it.

Here's the list of romantic options who may or may not desire the demise of the Royal Consort. Questionable information. Proceed with extreme caution.

MALLORY d'ASTRUM | THE RULER (M)

Formerly the enemy commander who slew the Old King, Mallory now become the new Ruler who reigns over the Court of Crescent—your beloved kingdom's new moniker. A member of the Imperial House Astrum, you were familiar with his rumors long before the Empire invaded your kingdom. Wolf of War, they said, so that's why you are quite... baffled when you find him as tame as a pampered royal dog, for lack of better words. Did you hear the right rumors? Were all the bard's tales lies? Is this sweets-loving gentleman truly the same vicious commander once called the Beast of Battle?

"My Moonshine, would you care for a dance with your partner?"

VIVIAN d'BENITO | THE KNIGHT (F)

Every royal family member always has a loyal personal Knight, and so do you. Vivian is the very epitome of a guard on duty, according to your etiquette book. Silent yet attentive, her gaze never strays far from you. Obedient yet firm, she grants any wishes of yours as long as they do not clash with Mallory. Vivian has sworn an oath to protect you from any external threats, however can you trust your life to a knight who serves the Imperial House that destroyed the former royal family? Can you trust any oath that passes the lips of a former member of the Knights of Raven?

"I'm yours to command, Your Serene Highness."

ELLIS EDSELLY | THE MINISTER (M)

Scandal, scandal, and more scandal. Ellis's life is never dull, if the rumors are true. Raised to power by the very incident that destroyed the former royal family, he has garnered quite a reputation. Some despise him, some commend him, some licking his boots—or licking much more. Ellis accepts them all with a grin and a wink. If life is a stage, surely the Minister of Entertainment has the center seat. A commoner turned merchant turned noble, he has certainly climbed the power ladder quite high. You wonder, will he continue to ascend even further?

"Let us raise our glass to the night of merriment!"

SORIN FLAVENY | THE COUSIN (F)

You don't know why your reclusive, anti-court great uncle grants his blessing to send your second cousin to the Court. The last time you met Sorin was when both of you were still nursing, thus your impression of her mostly comes from your other cousin's words. Citrine of Flaveny, or so you've been told, her beauty shines like gems under the sunlight, captivating countless suitors. A face of great asset, yet from her very first gathering, you hear that Sorin always curls herself up in the solitude of the palace library. Why does she even bother to come to the Court?

"Cousin! Ah, I mean, Your Majes—Serene Highness! You have a very nice home. So... yellow."

???? | T̵H̸E̸ ̶E̴N̵I̶G̵M̸A̷?̷

G̶o̶.̵ ̷S̴t̵a̴y̶.̷ ̷G̷o̵!̶ ̵S̴t̷a̴y̴!̴ ̵N̶o̸!̸ ̴D̸o̶n̴'̸t̴!̶ ̸Y̷E̷S̸!̸!̴!̴

"Y̶o̷u̴.̵ ̴A̸r̸e̶.̷ ̷M̸I̷N̵E̸!!!!"

Court of Crescent is rated 18+ for mature themes like death and near death experience, blood and violence, alcohol and drugs, sexual content, morally questionable behaviours, really morally questionable behaviours, and more.

Set against a backdrop of political scheming and shifting allegiances, this story contain themes such as manipulation and deception, possessiveness and obsessiveness, power imbalances, abuse of power, and more.

[DEMO COMING SOON]

Q2 2025

[under construction]

[scientia-rex]

The thing that bothers me so much about my sister in law who is trying to “live conscientiously” (quote from today’s Christmas retrospective Facebook post) is that she wants to apply her morals to me.

It doesn’t work that way. I live in accordance with my beliefs to the best of my ability. I am not somehow UNDERTHINKING morality. I think about it all the damn time. It’s a huge part of why I went into medicine in the first place, why I keep working at the jail even though it’s inevitably a disaster nightmare of mis-management and I don’t need the money and my life would be easier if I only worked my one full-time job. I am doing things, every workday, that make a tangible difference in the quality of life for people who need it. That’s where my morality is at.

But if you interpret your life through the lens of consumerism, of COURSE how and what you buy is the deciding factor in whether you’re a good person.

The idea that earth tones and listening to NPR and teaching your kid an impractical foreign language are ENOUGH, that you can give your life meaning through rejecting the same obvious signifiers of wealth the nouveau riche favor but still wearing the very best of your ethically-sourced wool, is just… no. You need to DO things for other people. You can give money. People don’t like to do that, because it feels like a cop-out, and it is. But it’s a far better cop-out than lecturing me on free range chicken (for just one of many, many examples). Or lecturing me on how to talk about gay people, when she isn’t one and I am.

I’m a brightly-colored, obvious weirdo who loves nice things. I’m a magpie. I want a collection of pretty shinies. THAT is not what’s wrong with this world. What’s wrong with this world is a deeper, more hideous rot that you can’t root out by not wearing big dangly earrings and neon colors.

[jules-ln]

Viktor is literally art nouveau

I was looking at Viktor's design in league of legends and it hit me, Viktor in Arcane IS Art Nouveau

Not literally but yes literally in a way lmao

Let me walk you through my thought process

I was looking at the league of legends design, and I thought that the fact that Viktor still had hair was weird if the whole point of Viktor is human bad machine good, then why does he has something as human as hair?

Then I thought about the Arcane Herald design, and it actually made more sense that this Viktor still had hair, why? Just look at his robots

The first thing that called my attention was their shoes, because those aren't normal heels, no, those are heelless heels! and let me tell you

1) Viktor isn't straight (no straight man would know and like those shoes, you can't fool me)

2) That's like the worst shoes you could ask for to fight/run in, do you know how easy is to fall with those shoes? No, they aren't practical, those shoes are merely for visual pleasure

And it doesn't seems like Viktor would be the kind of man that would put looks above functionality but then you think about how his designs in general have a very heavy preference for art nouveau; which, is also very much beauty over function

His robots have the asymmetry, A flowing organic shape, a preference for a feminine figure, the reference to flora on the patterns. They're are art nouveau bots and theres no way to deny that, and Viktor's Herald design is too, to some extent

Again, preference for a feminine figure, flowing organic shapes, his staff looks like a tree (kinda), asymmetry to some extent (not as much a his robots), hair (very important). You can reasonably say that it was at least inspired by art nouveau

Then we have the design of his room/house in the commune, it's pretty much art nouveau inspired too. I've seen some people say that Viktor made this to reference the Hexgates because he missed Jayce, but now I'm thinking, what if it wasn't that he missed Jayce, but more that the Hexgates were originally his design

And listen, I know I know, both worked on the hexgates, both should be credited equally, but realistically, I think it's fair to say that both of them probably had different levels of involvement on different things? So what if Viktor was the one with the original idea for the outside design and Jayce then added the art deco elements? Then Viktor repeated it on the commune with a more art nouveau style simply because he likes it?

And you might ask. Why does it matters? Why does the fact that Viktor likes art nouveau means that he's the personification of art nouveau?

Well; now to the point, I studied a little of art history on college, and I was a bit obsessed with art nouveau back then, and you know what was the goal of it?

Art nouveau was made to bring art to the common person, to have every day objects being a piece of art. It was supposed to get art away from the rich and to give it to everyone. But it failed

And you know why Art Nouveau failed and was quickly abandoned?

Two things, 1) it was too expensive, and 2) World War 1

So ironically Art Nouveau ended up being too expensive to reach the people they wanted to help so it stayed a rich people thing, and then it had to be abandoned almost completely because of WW1; there weren't enough materials to make it and a lot of people that became poor because of the war didn't have the money to spend on it

It was very short lived even when it made a big impact on history (That reminds me of someone)

Now compare art nouveau's history to what happened to Viktor (And Jayce)

They wanted to make magic accessible to the common people, to help; but it ended up being so that Hextech only helped people in Piltover to get richer while people in Zaun got worse and worse

Then something happened, a war, and both Viktor and Jayce had to abandon their dreams

Add to that the name art nouveau means new art, and in Spain it was called "Modernismo" Why? Because it wanted to be the future of art, young, refreshing, a bright future different from the past. Who else wanted to be the future of something? Men of progress who?

Viktor (and Jayce to some extent but I think he's more art deco lmao) IS Art Nouveau. It's his story

(And funnily enough, you can find art nouveau in Zaun, but I don't remember ever seeing art deco in Zaun, while it's the main thing on Piltover)

(Also also, I have some thoughts about Jayce being Art Deco, but that's for maaaybe later lmao)

Listen I'm a death of the author guy, I'm going to find meaning on my own. But either someone in the art department had to know the history of art nouveau and made a point of making it Viktor's main style (because it is Viktor's style, like I showed before), or it's just an extremely funny and fitting coincidence

[stormhearty]

Thank U, Next

Pairings: Modern!Azriel x Reader, Modern!Azriel x OC, Modern!Eris x Reader

Word Count: 5k+

Triggers: mentions cheating, mentions of bullying, insecurities, cursing, name calling (bitch, asshole, whore, etc.)

Summary: (Y/N), part of the new nouveau riche, grew up with a golden spoon in her mouth, the typical popular girl but with a heart of gold, the art curator. Azriel, part of the famous billionaire boys club, the popular silent, stoic member who gets the girls’ hearts, is the model. You and Azriel have been together for over two years, a couple known throughout the city. However, your relationship with Azriel starts to become distant, and you notice the lingering gazes and touches of a person you believe to be your friend, things start to become heated and you lose yourself in heated words. You think that romance will never find your way again, only to find it in someone you never thought you’d have one with.

Note: From this request! Thank you anon for this amazing suggestion! I do hope this does your request justice! I am so sorry this has taken so long! It was kind of difficult to write this, mostly because you had such a specific vision that I tried to follow it. And as I was writing this, I don’t know if it is as angsty as it should be… and Azriel is an asshole in this one, I’m sorry. But also, sorry this got really long...

“Where are they?!” Mor snarled out as she stepped into the foyer of your condo, brown eyes darting around the place before focusing on you and Feyre who sat on the couch — your head tucked into her neck as you cried.

Feyre looked at the blonde, the two of them communicating wordlessly before Mor simmered down, walking over to where the two of you sat. Mor rounded the couch before kneeling in front of the two of you, a hand coming up to rub your arm.

“Hey, baby girl…” Mor whispered as if talking to a small child.

You let out a sniff as you lifted your head from Feyre’s shoulder and locked eyes with brown and you couldn’t help but pout, “…Mor…” you whimpered, the heartbreak evident in your voice.

The female gave you a small smile as she reached up to run a hand through your disheveled locks, “I did tell you that Lilianne girl was bad news…” Mor tried to sound lighthearted, and all you did was give out a chuckle — one so broken that it tugged on both Feyre’s and Mor’s heartstrings.

You nodded your head, “…Yeah… you were right, Mor… I should have listened…” you mumbled as you straightened up, hands unwrapping themselves from Feyre’s waist, flopping them onto your lap as you picked at your nails — a habit you never seem to have grown out of.

Mor shook her head and peered up to you, catching your eye, “You had very good intentions, (Y/N)… You wanted nothing more than a friend to meet your boyfriend. There was absolutely nothing wrong with that. It was their fault that they galivanted behind your back… And that Lilianne girl…” There was a growl in the blonde’s tone mentioning that name, “Planned it ever since she set eyes on Azriel… You are not at fault for this, okay? She’s a bitch and he’s an asshole, end of story.”

You felt your lower lip wobble as more tears cascaded down your cheeks and you felt Mor wipe them away, and Feyre gently rubbing your back.

You felt like your whole world was breaking, that you didn’t know what was real or not, what was truth and what was fake — it was a whole whirlwind of different emotions running through you.

You didn’t understand why.

You couldn’t understand why Azriel had decided to cheat on you with Lilianne and you couldn’t understand why Lilianne decided to betray your trust by going after your boyfriend. And you couldn’t understand why Azriel thought you were the one bullying Lilianne. She was your friend (well you thought she was your friend), you were the one who befriended her and reached out to her when no one wouldn’t. And yet she decided to break that friendship.

What you couldn’t wrap your mind around was the bullying accusation. You were never mean to anyone, never hurt anyone — especially not Lilianne. But yet Azriel indicated that you out of all people, would be bullying Lilianne.

You didn’t pay a second thought about any bullying accusation — because you knew it wasn’t true. What had hurt the most was the fact that Azriel believed it without a second thought. Didn’t even ask you if the rumors were true — he regarded the rumors as accurate with conviction. And the fact that Lilianne didn’t say anything to refute those rumors was even more astounding.

The memory caused you to sob more, pressing the heels of your palm into your eyes, trying to stop the tears from overflowing.

“What did I do wrong?” you whispered, a rhetorical question you weren’t expecting your friends to answer, “I never bullied anyone… I would never do that. And yet…

“Azriel believed that. Why would he think I, out of all people, would bully someone whom I consider my friend?”

You felt gentle hands come to hold your wrist and you were turned; you looked up to see bright blue gentle hues staring down at you.

“We wouldn’t know, (Y/N)… And I don’t want to speculate that Lilianne had to do something with it —-”

“That bitch probably made herself the victim, those bruises on her arms looked fucking fake, to begin with. All she wanted was to play into Azriel’s fucking hero complex and it fucking worked, acting like the innocent dumb bitch she is and — -”

“— - Mor…” Feyre chided lightly, eyes glancing at the blonde while Mor huffed before she shrugged, making herself comfortable on the floor, hands gently soothingly rubbing your knees. Feyre focused back on you as she held your wrist in her hands, thumb circling your pulse points, “(Y/N), I would suggest not thinking about it… Like Mor said, you are not at fault for their actions against you. We know those bullying accusations are false, Mor and I know you would never hurt anyone. And you know you didn’t do those things… that’s all that matters. And if Azriel decides those are true without evidence then it’s his fault.”

“Just leave him, (Y/N)…” Mor suggested, “Better yourself… for yourself. Don’t rely on him to make your person happy. Show him… Show him that you are the better person, make him fucking regret choosing that bitch over you…”

You looked between the two of them, the Cheshire grin on Mor’s features making you laugh. Your laughter made the air more light and Mor and Feyre felt their shoulder relax, glad that you were laughing again.

You nodded your head, “I want to do that… I want to be better… for myself, not for anyone else.”

Feyre ran her fingers through your hair, “Then do that… We’ll be right beside you the whole way…”

It had been a year after that breakup, that confrontation between you, Lilianne, and Azriel. You had moved on to better yourself — for you.

You started to get more artist deals to work with you and showcase their talents underneath you. (Y/N), the famous art curator. Your galleries were top-notch, high quality, and showcased your artist’s works. It was to the point people had booked you months in advance to even try to talk to you to work with them.

You traveled more out of the city, meeting new people, and seeing new places that you never would have if you were still with Azriel.

It was freeing — your new life finally settling down at your feet. One that was filled with happiness and love from your friends and family. You were more confident and self-reliant than ever.

It was rare for you to run into Lilianne and Azriel, you made sure that you wouldn’t run into them. But it was inevitable, all three of you were in the same social circles.

Galleries, balls — any high-class social events you always saw them. You had stuck with Mor, Feyre, and her boyfriend, Rhysand. And the three of them shielded and protected you from the two.

It was Lilianne who seemed to want to flaunt her relationship with Azriel in front of your face, clinging onto his arm and pressing kisses on his cheeks.

“All I want to do is pound her face to the ground…” Mor had grunted out into your ear one night when you all were at the Starlight Ball, a large high elite gathering on the longest night of the year.

You couldn’t help but giggle, shaking your head at your friend, “It’s been a year already, Mor… It doesn’t bother me anymore. And besides, that would land you right into jail… I don’t think I have enough bail to get you out…”

Mor grinned, “I know, but it still irks me. Also, I have ways to stay out, (Y/N). Don’t worry you’re pretty head about it.”

The two of you were at a corner of the grand room, watching bodies weave in and out of the room, twirling in the center of the grand ballroom. You paid little attention to the two love birds that seemed to be under the spotlight, pressing the rim of the champagne to your rouge lips.

Eyes wandered the room, recognizing familiar and unfamiliar faces in the dim room. However, when you saw a familiar redhead, you couldn’t help but smile. Placing the champagne glass down on the table, you slipped away from the trio, weaving your body through the crowd before you stood behind the male.

“When did you arrive?”

You watched as the male straightened up before turning around, Eris gave you his signature smile — disregarding his conversation with the people behind him.

“(Y/N), starshine!”

You gave a bright smile as he stepped closer to you and wrapped you in his arms, as your own wrapped around his neck. Eris always seemed to have a habit of picking you up and spinning you whenever you greeted him.

A princess is what you are, and a princess is how you will be greeted, he always reminded you when you had asked him the first few times.

A giggle escaped your lips as he did the twirl before setting you back on your feet, ensuring you wouldn’t trip over your heels. Your hands slid from his neck down his chest, fixing the silk lapels of his ebony suit as his own hands remained on your waist.

“It’s so good to see you, starshine…” Eris mused as he gently guided you away from the group of CEOs he was conversing with to the side of the grand ballroom, away from prying eyes. Where he could be alone with you, despite being in a large room with hundreds of people.

It was no secret that Eris held affection for you. The two of you started as friends when Rhysand and Feyre introduced the two of you all those months ago when you started to travel the world. It was hard to see him, being the CEO-to-be of his company, the eldest son of the Vanserra clan. But it was always enjoyable whenever you did get to see him, like tonight.

“I just came in this morning… So I’m a bit tired, but seeing you always wipes that exhaustion away…” he hummed out with a smile, “You look gorgeous.”

“Thank you, Eris…” your cheeks heated up, and you hoped that the dim lighting didn’t give them away to the heir, “And you still came to the ball? You could have skipped it.”

“Why would I? When I get to see you, (Y/N).” he pointed out, his hand coming up to gently tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ears.

You felt your cheeks glow hotter as you averted your eyes from the male, your heart pounding against your chest.

And it was no secret that you held affection for the redhead. His charming self seemed to have wormed his way into your heart, filling the void that was ripped away from you. You had opted to say away from relationships after Azriel’s betrayal, the wound still fresh to be in any sort of commitment. But Eris was someone who started to fill in that gap, slowly but surely throughout the year.

The song then changed to a waltz and you felt Eris’s hand slide down from the side of your face, down your neck, and your arms before gently grasping your hands, tugging you from your spot. Eyes locked on his, he led you to the dance floor, gently handling you to the proper position — his hand on your waist while the other grasping onto your hand.

Eris started to move, your feet following his step as all you could focus on was on him. The world slowed, the two of you lost in each other — a fleeting but eternal moment. As if the room around you started to blur together, leaving the two of you to bask in your moment together. However, that moment was ripped away from you when you felt hands grasp your shoulder, pulling you away from the male.

Wide-eyed, you looked at the person — -

“Azriel — - what the fuck — -”

He didn’t know what had overcome him. Azriel was spending the night with his lovely Lilianne, the girl that he had fallen in love with, despite being with you.

However, when he had watched you step away from Mor and Feyre, hazel eyes watched as you went into the arms of the redhead and all Azriel saw, from that point forward, was red. He had no idea why he felt like that — as if his chest was caving in on him, the ache raw and fresh.

He shouldn’t feel like that, his subconscious chided him, not when he had left you for someone else. Not when he had accused you of hurting someone else.

But all Azriel could think that it should have been him that was sweeping you away in this grand hall, having you in his arms, his body pressing against your own as you two danced the night away.

You were always his girl.

The girl who had broken him out of his shell; the girl that he’d send flowers to every day, without fail; the girl who would surprise him during his long photoshoot days with his favorite takeout; the girl who would hold him when his mother’s death anniversary came around each year; the girl who would be by his side when these long parties happened; the girl that he would press kisses to when you laid in bed with him after a long day; the girl he didn’t mind listening to all day long when you told him how your day was or even just talked about anything and everything.

You were his.

That part of him that had loved and cared for you started to crawl out from his subconscious and caused him to act on those actions — though this action seemed more possessive than an act of romance.

He felt his feet drag him away from Lilianne towards the two of you in the middle of that dance floor. He felt his hand grab your shoulder and rip you away from the redhead, from the corner of his eye, seeing the flash of surprise on your features.

All Azriel wanted to do was hurt Eris Vanserra… all because he got too close to you.

“Stay the fuck away from her, Vanserra…” Azriel growled out, stepping in front of you and pressing a finger against Eris’s chest.

The music abruptly stopped, chords becoming dissonant; all eyes set on the three of you. Parting way into a circle to keep away from the drama.

You couldn’t help but stare wide-eyed at Azriel, momentarily stunned as he continued to step boundaries with the Vanserra heir.

“You keep your hands away from (Y/N), you hear me? Don’t you fucking touch her, don’t go fucking near her…”

Eris, calm and poised as ever, raised a brow and looked at the model, “And why, Azriel, do you care if I am with (Y/N)? Shouldn’t you be with your little girlfriend over there? She seems stunned about your actions right now…” he waved a hand towards Lilianne, who stood at the edge of that very circle, a surprised look on her features

Azriel barely acknowledged the girl as all his focus was on Eris, “I care because I…” the words seemed to die out in his throat and Eris couldn’t help but smirk at him.

“You care because of what, Azriel?” he mocked the male, “Oh, you shouldn’t because (Y/N) is not in a relationship with you anymore. Not after what you had done to her last year…”

Eris stepped in front of Azriel, leaving little room between the two of them. Hazel and amber hues stared each other down, “You can’t tell me not to stay away from (Y/N), you have no fucking right to say what is best for her… Not anymore.”

The Vanserra heir stepped to the side, brushing Azriel before moving towards you and gently grasping your shoulders, asking if you were alright.

Azriel felt his body shake in so much rage.

How dare Eris just ignore him like that.

How dare Eris gently hold you in his arms.

That fury made him whip around and face the two of you, hazel eyes glimmering with fury, “I told you to fucking stay away from her…” he snarled.

Eris sighed and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, partially shielding you from Azriel’s temper, “Like I said, Azriel, you had no right after last year’s little bullying accusation. Not when you had sided with Lilianne over (Y/N).”

“That is none of your business, Eris —-” the male started.

The Vanserra heir laughed before glaring at the other, “Oh yes, it is my business, Azriel. Not when (Y/N) was hurting so much because of it.”

“Eris… it’s okay,” you murmured, stopping him from going any further. You glanced at Azriel, though his gaze was focused on Eris. You placed a hand against his chest, “I’m fine now… Can we go, please?”

The male looked down at you as you looked up at him, a tiny smile on your features as he leaned down and pressed a kiss on the crown of your head. Turning your body so that the two of you can leave Azriel in his simmering anger.

However, Azriel had a different plan — his temper blinding him, “You don’t get to walk away, Vanserra…” he hissed, “Take your hands off of her and leave.”

You paused mid-step, feeling your anger starting to rise in your stomach.

Enough was enough.

“What’s your problem, Azriel?” you couldn’t help but ask, turning once more to face your ex, “You have no right to talk to Eris like that. You have no right to try to say what is good for me… We are not together anymore and so you lost all that right.”

Azriel’s gaze went from pure anger to puzzlement, brows scrunched together as he looked at you, “(Y/N), I just don’t want him to hurt you…”

A bewildered laugh escaped your lips, your brows raising, “Like how you hurt me? Eris has done nothing in the year I’ve known him to possibly hurt me. And you can’t hurt me anymore, Azriel, I’ve gotten over you, gotten over the hurt you’ve inflicted on me. You have no say in what I do, on who I see, on who I fall in love with.”

“If this is you holding a grudge over me because I chose Lilianne over you, you are one petty person, (Y/N).”

You stepped up, about to counter when Eris swiftly moved from your side to grab Azriel’s collar in pure rage.

“Look here you little piece of shit…” Eris hissed, “(Y/N) has every right to hold a grudge over you over that. You chose another girl over your girlfriend. You chose to believe the fucking lies that that girl had told to you — without any fucking evidence besides made-up bruises. I have seen the photos, I have seen the ‘evidence’ that Lilianne decided to post to try to bring (Y/N) down, and for your fucking information, Azriel, they looked fake. Do you think that (Y/N) would have bullied that girl? I’ve known (Y/N) for a little over a year, and there is no fucking indication that she would ever bully or hurt anyone.

“Did you ever think after all the years you’ve known (Y/N), that she would hurt anyone? No. You know that, in your fucking subconscious, she would never lay a finger against someone — especially if she thought of that someone as a friend.”

Eris pushed Azriel down, causing the other to land on the ground with a thump. The heir looked down at him, his fury simmering down, “You are a coward, Azriel. You can’t be up here and try to do what is best for (Y/N) when you have thrown everything away when it comes to her. Now I suggest going back to your little girlfriend and leaving (Y/N) alone. You’ve done it before, so do it again.”

With one last glare, Eris turned on his heels, stepping next to you.

You stood next to Eris, feeling the male wrap an arm around your waist. You stared at Azriel one more time, “… I hope you can be happy, Azriel. My last wish to you is that…”

And with that, you turned your heels and let Eris guide you out of the room, leaving Azriel in that grand room.

Eris had led you to the balcony, the fresh, crisp, cool air greeting you.

Stepping out of his hold, you went to the railing and placed your hands on the cooling concrete, leaning over slightly, your head tilted up to look at the twinkling lights.

The silence between you and the CEO-to-be was nice, as your ears were still thrumming after that encounter with Azriel. Closing your eyes, you calmed your heart and allowed the air to let the adrenaline slip from your body.

“… Are you okay, (Y/N)?”

A hum escaped your throat as you opened your eyes, turning over your shoulder to look at Eris. He looked hesitant to approach you, standing a few steps back from you. You gave him a nod, a smile tugging on your lips, “Why wouldn’t I be? I’m fine… I’m done crying over him. Like I said, I moved on and it’s the happiest I’ve been.”

You heard his footsteps moving closer to you before feeling his frame next to yours. You turned your head, looking at his profile that seemed to illuminate in the moon’s light — he was handsome in this lighting, you had thought.

Feeling your gaze upon him, he turned to look at you, amber hues assessing your features before fully turning to you, a hand coming up to place on your cheek. You couldn’t help but lean into the warmth from his palm, a hand coming up to wrap around his wrist so you could press closer to it. You let out a shaky breath, calming your nerves — calming your heart — to savor this moment with him.

“You know… I can’t help but wonder…” he uttered as he brought you close to him, again, wrapping his arm around your waist, “When you said to fall in love with… Who were you referring to?”

You had just calmed your heart down, only to have it start to pound against your chest at his question. You attempted to divert your gaze, only to have him shift his hand to gently grasp your chin to keep your eyes at him, “Eyes on me, starshine…”

Scrunching your nose up at him, a habit you developed when you were around Eris, you stared up at him, getting lost in those amber hues.

You were hesitant, of course.

How could you not be? When Eris was looking at you as if you were the entire world at his fingertips.

Your other hand met your own, both of your hands now locked around his wrist as you peered up at him, “… Are you expecting something, Eris?” you couldn’t help but lightly tease him, trying to move around your beating heart.

Feeling his chuckle against his chest, he brought you close to the point where there was no more space between the two of you, the skirt of your gown shifting against his ankles, “I would like to think so, (Y/N)…” he whispered, his forehead pressing against your own, feeling his breath mingling with yours, “You wouldn’t say those words to that jerk if it wasn’t true, right?”

Despite the chilled wind that blew, you felt warm against Eris. His large form blocked any of the wind that would blow your way. You had felt safe with him.

Your hands slid up his arms and chest before you gently cupped his cheeks, your thumb grazing over the skin just underneath his eyes. You took in his features and committed them to memory — as if he might disappear before your very eyes if you were to utter the next words that threatened to slip your lips.

“— - Yeah, you’re right. I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true…” you agreed with him.

“So…? Who’s the lucky, devilishly handsome guy that you had fallen in love with?”

There it was, the confidence that oozed out of Eris always seemed to sweep you off your feet, throwing you off balance. It was one of the many qualities that had attracted you to him in the first place.

He knew what he wanted, and he wasn’t afraid of getting it.

You tip-toed up slightly, so your lips hovered over his own. You glanced at those lips before staring back up into amber eyes, watching his own eyes graze your lips before locking back into your eyes.

“… I think you already know, Eris Vanserra…” you uttered, pressing your lips against his for a split second before pulling away, “It’s you…”

Eris didn’t have to say anything else and grasped the back of your neck to pull your lips back onto his, sealing your confession with a kiss.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, as you felt him lift you by the waist and gently placed you on that concrete railing, never once breaking that kiss.

When your lungs screamed for air, you pulled away, panting as you felt Eris stare up at you.

He looked up into your eyes, seeing the sparkles of stardust in them as if they were a reflection of the stars above both of you. Eris watched as that magnificent smile tugged at your lips, one that was mimicked on his own, “… And I have fallen in love with you as well, (Y/N). Over this year, my heart couldn’t help but reach out to yours. I knew you were healing, I wanted to give you time… Truly I did. But I couldn’t help it, you are as glorious as the stars above us… The world needed you before I could grasp you in my hands. And you blossomed, into this confident woman, like a phoenix that rose from its ashes.”

He watched as tears streaked your beautiful face, and he cooed, wiping them away with his thumb as you leaned over to press your forehead against his own.

“I wanted you, so badly… But I needed you to want me back, (Y/N). So I could see that you had moved on, that you could move on without regret… So that you can love me with that whole heart of yours.”

You sniffed, gripping onto his shoulders, “And I do love you with all my heart, Eris… You have filled in that void that was empty inside of me for so long… I don’t regret falling in love with you… I regret not knowing and falling in love with you sooner.”

Eris smiled at you, pressing a kiss on your tear-stained cheek, “Well, we have the rest of our lives to make up for that…”

You nodded your head, as you felt him lean closer to you and press another kiss onto your lips, the stars above you twinkling.

It had been a month after that fateful night at the Starlight Ball, after your confession to Eris. You had become more busy than ever — more galleries to plan, more artists to meet, and more venues to scout.

Eris seemed to be busy too, his father had deteriorated much quicker than anticipated and so his CEO duties have gone through the roof — more meetings with board members and dealing with his cumbersome brothers.

Both of you also were dealing with the repercussions of that Starlight Ball fiasco with Azriel. The news outlet seemed to have caught wind and investigated the matter that happened a year ago.

The truth was eventually uncovered — Lilianne confessed that she had planned everything, that she wanted to take everything that you had, especially when it came to Azriel. She had been jealous of the fact that your life was perfect, and wanted to see it burn to the ground.

You and Eris stayed far away from that — Eris especially became quite overprotective, worrying that you might spiral back down into a depressive state. However, you had gotten stronger, and more confident, the news barely grazed you and you continued with your life, head held high.

Waving goodbye to Feyre and Rhysand, the couple stepped out of the empty building leaving you alone in its echoing walls. The three of you were looking for a venue to showcase Feyre’s newest art pieces and it seemed that the couple settled on this one in particular. You had always loved working with Feyre, she was one of your first clients when you had become an art curator. And so when she asked you to help her find the perfect place for a new art gallery, you were excited.

Letting out a sigh, you took your phone out of your bag and walked out of the building, ready to text Eris to pick you up when you crashed into a body, your feet stumbling underneath you.

Familiar hands grasped your upper arms and you looked up to see Azriel — a more disheveled Azriel from the looks of it.

“Azriel… what the—-”

“Please listen to me, (Y/N)…” Azriel all but begged.

You closed your mouth, a brow raised as you crossed your arms across your chest, waiting for him to continue.

“I’m sorry for everything I’ve done. I… I was so stupid to believe Lilianne and the bullying accusation.”

It seemed that the truth finally reached Azriel’s ears.

“I should have known that you wouldn’t have done it. I was so… blinded about someone getting hurt that I didn’t think rationally. That I didn’t think in general. That my stupid actions caused me to lose you and your love entirely.”

He looked at you, pain shown through his hazel eyes, and yet he was taken aback when you looked at him with such indifference.

“Why are you here Azriel?” you asked, your tone straightforward, “If you’re here just to apologize then you’re late for it.”

You attempted to step around him, only to have Azriel step in front of you once more, his features begging you to continue to listen.

A sigh escaped your lips, “I swear to Mother, Azriel, if you don’t leave me alone, I will be calling Eris to deal with you…”

“No! No… Please just hear me out, (Y/N). Just for a few more moments…” he pleaded.

You looked at him with brows scrunched before you stepped back, waving a hand for him to continue.

“I regret it… I regret choosing her over you. Like I said, I was blind. This past month…” he shook his head, “No, this past year I realized how stupid I was for choosing her. She was nothing but a clingy person who was self-absorbed and worried about herself. You are nothing like her — you are self-reliant, kind-hearted, confident — the total opposite of her. It was no wonder why she tried to bring you down…” He looked at you before he dropped down onto his knees and you were taken aback, “I’m so sorry… if there’s any way you could forgive me… take me back, I’d do anything for you…”

It was a sight — Azriel groveling onto the ground at your feet. A frown tugged at the edge of your lips, “Get up Azriel… You’re making yourself a fool.”

He nodded his head, slowly getting back up to his feet.

You stared at him before a sigh escaped your lips, “… Like I said, you’re too late to apologize, Azriel… A year too late to be groveling like this. And you think I’d take you back? After everything you’ve done? After I’m happy with Eris? Why would I give that up to go back to you, and worry if you’d betray me like that again?”

He nodded again, though he didn’t say another word.

“… Look at me Azriel…”

With hesitation, he lifted his head to look at you.

“You can regret all you want, you can try to win me back as much as you want… but I will never take you back… I can never trust you again…” You looked at him dead in the eye, “… Like I said at the Starlight Ball… I hope you can be happy, Azriel. Please don’t seek me out again, don’t come near me again… That’s all I ask of you…”

When Azriel didn’t say anything anymore, you sidestepped him and noticed Eris a few meters behind him. You noticed on how held back he was when he saw Azriel, noticed amber eyes glaring into the back of the other male’s head before his gaze turned to yours, those eyes softening.

You have him a bright smile, your feet speeding up to hug him, comforting him in silence. You felt him press a kiss on the crown of your head before moving so he could gently escort you into the car, leaving Azriel standing on the crosswalk.

The car roared to life when Eris moved to the driver side, and you looked at him and he looked at you, a smile on his features as he reached over to hold your hand, pressing a kiss on the back of it before he drove away.

[octuscle]

Pride fare

Dmitri and Igor stared at the young man with the pink hair like they would stare at a disgusting insect. It was brave of Austrian Airlines to place such a faggot at Istanbul's not exactly gay-friendly airport. And God knows Dmitri and Igor weren't exactly gay-friendly either. The two were the perfect example of nouveau riche Russians. They liked to pose as oligarchs to impress women. In fact, they were rich. But oligarchs? Not at all. But who cared. The two of them had several million in accounts all over the world. Unfortunately, most of them were currently frozen. But they had enough cash with them to look forward to a fun weekend in Vienna. Getting here had been hell. The two of them mourned the days of direct flights. But the special military operation was important and just. Quite different from the reaction of the decant West to this very operation.

Max looked at the two gentlemen who wanted to check in with him. Expensive, but tastelessly dressed. Overweight. Probably over 50, but you couldn't see that very well because both were obviously lifted. Max wouldn't blow one of these two pigs for any money in the world. But Max was a professional. And remained polite. "You two sweeties, you do know that the Pride special rate is only valid for people up to 21, right?" Dmitri grunted something about "I'm not cute, you miserable faggot." But luckily Max didn't speak Russian. "No problem, you two lovebirds, I just need to adjust a few little things." Max typed on the keyboard of his computer. "There, now everything should fit. Which one of you is Dima? I'd like your suitcase." Dmitri was about to get loud and snap at this asshole, what could he think of! Dima might have been what his mother said to him. But not some smug asshole. He took a breath. And thought that Max was actually kind of cute. So he picked up his suitcase, covered in rainbow and leather-pride stickers, and heaved it onto the baggage carousel. "And, darling! What's your boyfriend's name? I assume you want to sit next to each other." "Next to Igarjok? No thanks! Set us apart. That increases the chance that we'll meet someone hot on board." "I'm very sorry," said Max with a twinkle in his eye. "But no one who checked in with me today was really hot." "Okay, I'll go first then," said Igor, heaving his studded travel bag onto the baggage carousel. Max smiled with mock agony. Yes, the man Dima had called Igarjok didn't look bad for his age. According to his ID, he was 48, but hot… Max had seen better. He handed them their rainbow-flag-colored boarding passes and wished them a good flight and lots of fun at Vienna Pride Week.

The two took their hand luggage. Dmitri had a black leather rucksack, Igor a small antique army duffel bag from the Soviet navy. Dmitri called out to Igor that he should go ahead, he wanted to take a quick piss. Igor nodded and made his way to the security checkpoint. And Dmitri went to the nearest toilet. He had hoped to find a quick fuck there. He was always horny. In the airport toilets, there was a good chance of meeting a tight Turk. And if he waved a few dollar bills, Dmitri could be sure that he wouldn't have to wait long for someone to kneel in front of him and suck his cock… And damn, the hot Turkish macho was worth every penny! Dmitri briefly checked his reflection in the mirror. The short hair, the beard shadow on the angular face, the leather jacket. Yes, he was pretty good-looking for a man in his mid-40s. It was a privilege to be allowed to suck his cock.

When he arrived in the queue for the security check, he grinned. Igor was only ten, maybe 15 people ahead of him in the queue, obviously he had also made a toilet stop. It was hot to see Igor in front of him. Igor had one hell of a tight ass. And in the army trousers he was wearing, it really stood out. He knew that. And everyone else saw that. Dmitir could see Igor arriving at the security checkpoint. He took off his bomber jacket and showed off his muscles under his tight T-shirt. He took off his studded belt, put everything in the plastic tray and went through the body scanner. It sounded the alarm. Dmitri had an idea why and grinned. Igor grinned too as he was scanned by the muscular security guard. Amazingly thorough in the crotch area. Of course, Dmitri couldn't hear anything, but obviously the security guard demanded that Igor take his plastic bowl and come with him. The two of them were lucky!

When Dmitri arrived at the security checkpoint, the employee looked decidedly cool. Dmitri had put his jacket and rucksack in the tray when the officer asked if he had anything else in his pants. He looked very clearly at Dmitri's crotch. Dmitri unbuttoned the top two buttons, enough to show the bush of hair, put his hands in his pants and awkwardly removed the cock ring from his cock and balls. "Sorry, officer, I keep forgetting that," Dmitri said with a grin. Surprisingly, despite his piercings, the body scanner didn't pick up on it. But his rucksack was taken off the conveyor belt after being scanned. The security officer waved him over, pulled his full-body harness out of the backpack and asked what it was. The officer tried unsuccessfully to look cool. "Shall I show you what it is? But I have to take my pants off to do that…" "Come with me!"

Dmitri's body search took place in the same room as Igor's. The two security officers had brought in two more colleagues to back them up. Only by joining forces did the two of them manage to plug all the holes and get on board just in time with the final and urgent call. Igor squeezed into 9E and Dmitri into 6C. Max had gone to great lengths to make them both happy. And indeed, after the two Russian stallions, the hottest guys sat in 6B, 9D and 9F. And the purser had reserved one of the toilets just for them.

At the baggage carousel in Vienna, there was no mistaking that the gays of the world were meeting up for one of their flashiest parties. And Dima and Igarjok were guests of honor at the party. Hardly noticed in the West, it was a sensation in Moscow when the two popular teen soap stars came out. The call-up order came immediately, and the two had only managed to flee to Western Europe in a hasty escape. And it was a huge stroke of luck that they had started making porn due to a lack of money. For them and for millions of fans. They didn't know how many porn magazines they had signed until their luggage arrived. Their driver was waiting outside. A hot guy. Thank goodness. It had been over an hour since their last fuck on the plane.

[genoskissors]

Finally done! Thank you everyone for your patience!

Principal Monokuma’s Room Check!

Trigger Happy Havoc Boys

THH Girls Rooms

There are a few notes throughout to explain some things I thought most would not know (like Japanese traditions) or just to clarify things changed in localization.

Naegi-kun’s Room Edition

Sigh. It’s the private room where a high school boy spends his agonizing nights, even so, what’s with this plainness!? Why don’t you have something more shameful or embarrassing!? Naegi-kun, I’m disappointed in you!

Checkpoints: A: It’s the memo pad I prepared. It would be nice if it had Hope’s Peak Academy’s school emblem on it, to give it a rich feeling.

B: This is the key to the room. It has a key holder with the appropriate name on it. It cannot be bought and is very sophisticated, so improper usage is prohibited!

C: It’s a mock sword that was kept on the display shelf. Even though it was only decoration, it was carefully displayed, so an incident happened. Upupupu.

D: I heard that mysterious curly hair grows in boys’ rooms. An adhesive lint roller is useful for frequent cleaning! I’m so attentive! Note: Don't really know what this means, I think it might be referencing Junko's hair.

Ishimaru-kun’s Room Edition

It’s a room filled with study materials and is well organized, just as one would expect from a serious person like Ishimaru-kun’s room. Hmm~ If you spend all your energy on this, you won’t be able to focus on the killing game!

Checkpoints: A: Dictionaries and reference books are the most exciting when lined up neatly on your desk. Huh? Are you using them properly? Hee~...

B: He irons his uniform every day. Also, the armbands as well, so you know he really likes this things.

C: A New Year’s tradition, Kakizome. I suggest “In early spring, be careful of bears, as they can get ferocious!” Huh? Aren’t you going to start writing?

D: What kind of guy likes to swing around a bamboo sword even though he isn’t part of the kendo club? Do you stand on the ground, put your forehead on it, and spin around to split a watermelon? Note: This is a Japanese game called Suikawari.

Togami-kun’s Room Edition

Genuine rich people tend to seek a more modest sense of luxury rather than those who are nouveau riche. I have no clue how much Togami-kun’s room actually costs. Note: “Nouveau riche” refers to people who become rich themselves and “genuine rich people” refers to people who were born into a rich family, like Byakuya.

Checkpoints: A: It’s a violin or something. Famous ones can be worth billions. That’s more expensive than the famous Chinese medicine, bear bile, which is very pricey, roar! Note: Based on the phrase "violin or something" it's likely a viola. That's just my theory though.

B: There is nothing more difficult than determining the value of a painting. In many cases, collecting these masterpieces is not about appreciating art, but investing in it.

C: Ahaha! A red carpet laid out from the entrance, Togami-kun must be kidding me! That’s what the life of stardom is about!

D: The famous line “I will kill you, without fail!” is what makes Togami’s glasses indispensable! I can’t believe he has 10 of them, that’s quite a thorough preparation!

Oowada-kun’s Room Edition

I believe that biker gangs are a style and a fashion. That’s why it’s necessary for those who call themselves bikers to have an easy-to-understand logo or item that appeals to everyone. Upupu.

Checkpoints: A: These are the big flags put on the back of bikes, aren’t they? I always wonder if they are safe from being blown away by the wind.

B: These are all motorcycle magazines, right? I’m not going to go as far as suggesting philosophy books or economic magazines, but maybe it wouldn’t hurt to open a textbook once in a while?

C: Are you really satisfied with the 5G “ Cypress Stick”? Isn’t the 1500G “Steel Broadsword” the catharsis? Note: I’m pretty sure this is a Dragon Quest reference.

D: This is the colorful banner of Oowada’s gang, “Crazy Diamonds”. Hmm, you’re only really good at difficult kanji.

Kuwata-kun’s Room Edition

Hey, Kuwata-kun, baseball doesn't even have a “ya” character! I know you don't like it, but now that you're at our school, maybe you could try to act like a baseball player, even if it's a front? Note: The Japanese word for baseball, Yakyuu (野球), has a “ya” in it, so I think Monokuma is just saying this to see if Leon will even care enough to react to his statement.

Checkpoints: A: Why do self-proclaimed punk fans like human skulls? A sea bream head has another sea bream inside, right? That's even more favorable! Note: I'm not gonna lie, I have no clue what that second sentence means. I think it relates to the saying “鯛の尾より鰯の頭”, but I still don't know how it correlates.

B: I want CDs and DVDs to come in splendid limited edition packaging, but they don’t fit neatly like this. How troubling.

C: Carrying your guitar case on your back and feeling tired as you walk around town is super cool. There was a time when I thought that way too.

D: In order to stand out and be popular, you need to have vocals. Kuwata-kun's purity is manly in a sense. I would like to hear his beautiful voice. Upupu.

Yamada-kun’s Room Edition

A utopia making the world’s geeks water at the mouth, the pink love nest of Buuko and Yamada-kun. As a despair maniac, I am driven by a desire for a room devoted solely to my hobby. Note: Buuko is Princess Piggles in the localization.

Checkpoints: A: Hey, I’m giving it everything I got to ask this question, is this what Yamada-kun is wearing? Isn’t it self-indulgent to wear it on his 170cm and 155kg body!?

B: “MARTIAL ARTS LADIES”, “This time, I’ll punish you on the mat!”.  I don’t understand why martial arts cosplay makes your heart pound.

C: Some people say these sheets and body pillow are perverted, but the desire for skin contact is neither two-dimensional nor three-dimensional.

D: Three-dimensional objects have a sense of unity because they are equipped with a three-dimensional concept. The shading of light and the convergence of existence are astonishing (The following is omitted). Note: “The following is omitted” is just a way of saying Monokuma kept rambling.

Yasuhiro-kun's Room Edition

Hagakure-kun’s love of fortune-telling is, quite honestly, shady, right? Even though he has all these tools, he still uses intuition to tell fortunes, doesn’t he? So, what in the world are these piles of junk for!?

Checkpoints: A: People with extremely dry skin tend to have a lot of wrinkles on their palms, which makes palm readers cry. It’s hard to even do fortune-telling these days.

B: Fortune-telling cards are great for mysteries and romance. If I sold "Monokuma’s Carefully Made Pure Gold Tarot", maybe I could make a profit. Upupupu.

C: If anything, Hagakure-kun has more of an oriental divination image. When I see tools like this, I want to display them in an alcove or something.

D: Come on! How many times do I have to say this!? When buying fortune-telling goods online, do not cash on delivery! This time, I was the one who paid for it too!

Fujisaki-kun’s Room Edition

Even though he’s the Super High School Level Programmer, Fujisaki-kun actually has a variety of hobbies. That’s good, science... a science student! I want to learn many things from him.

Checkpoints: A: Three monitors and a luxurious-looking executive chair. He looks like a young company president or day trader. A serious side profile would be wonderful!

B: I don’t know what this is, but it looks amazing anyway! It looks like an ancient map or some other geeky item.

C: After people learn how to interact with the romantic hyperspace of the universe, their outlook on life changes drastically. That’s what I thought just now.

D: Tada! There are hand grips on the bed! It makes me tear up to know he was secretly training.

[sgiandubh]

Business, as usual

Formula 1 week-end with a new, 22 year old and Scottish conquest?

In *urv's head - her sock accounts made frantically the rounds again, all week-end long, amending her bullshit on the go, trying to spy, finding nothing. Whatever it takes, even the utmost ridicule, to remain relevant.

The 'conquest':

Underdog profile, associated with the Aston Martin Academy. So, it is only normal for her to post the following story:

A normal side event for the tournament she's been a very active part of for days, now:

Meanwhile, S posts something from the same event, obviously thanking a friendly event organizing company, Twist London, for serving (and promoting) his booze:

S, Norouzi and the Twist London people know each other well, it would seem. But hey, never let business truth get in the way of a *urv #parochial fanfic:

How does that prove anything else than a very attractive young athlete being three feet away from a bar serving S's booze is just beyond me. *urv's posse of hypocrite, ageing women should really, really be ashamed of themselves.

And since we are debunking things, let me add something about the Foul-Mouthed June Brunette. You thought, as I did (guilty as charged, always), that she was found on Raya?

Oh, no. Think twice and so long for #sources, #timelines and other baker's dozen trolls.

As it was very judiciously pointed out before, S's own hospitality business network can be a very useful, ready made solution for PR blunders.

Because look who Panikian tagged, a couple of days ago, just as she was landing in Portugal:

Melissa Wood Tepperberg. She was busy in the Hamptons, with the usual nouveau riche weekend entertainment spree, but she is a friend and probably a role model, in her world.

Incidentally, she is also this guy's wife:

He is also very friendly to her and seems to closely follow her shenanigans:

Link to S? Oh, for sure - remember August 11, 2022? When things were dramatic, somewhere in Ireland?

And when time and cover-up were of the essence?

I rest my case. There is strictly nothing organic about June Brunette. A short lived summer stunt, who came around with a bang and went away with a fizz.

PS: Mulțumesc frumos - știi tu... 😘😘