#why must i have to choose between happiness and acceptance
Text
Heaven (by Troye Sivan) × Bad Buddy The Series
The truth runs wild
Like a tear down a cheek
Trying to save face, and daddy heart break
I'm lying through my teeth
This voice inside
Has been eating at me
Trying to replace the love that I fake
With what we both need
The truth runs wild
Like kids on concrete
Trying to sedate, my mind in its cage
And numb what I see
Awake, wide-eyed
I'm screaming at me
Trying to keep faith and picture his face
Staring up at me
-
The truth runs wild
Like the rain to the sea
Trying to set straight the lines that I trace
To find some relief
This voice inside
Has been eating at me
Trying to embrace the picture I paint
And colour me free
Without losing a piece of me
How do I get to heaven?
Without changing a part of me
How do I get to heaven?
All my time is wasted
Feeling like my heart's mistaken,
So if I'm losing a piece of me
Maybe I don't want heaven
(We know we can't change the world, but the world can't change us either)
Heaven (by Troye Sivan) × Bad Buddy The Series
BadBuddy× my Playlist 6/n
#i didnt raise you to be like this#patpran×my playlist#episode 10 my begruged#pran telling his mom hes different because of her#the queer coded#pran getting slapped and the burn out of being the perfect child finally turns him to ash#pran realizing he cant take it anymore because#pran allowing himself to break#the song makes me cry so bad#why must i have to choose between happiness and acceptance#why must i be hated because the world seems to think im different and therefore#wrong#how am i being punished eternally for love?#this episode (bangs the roof) can fit so much guilt inside it#MISPLACED GUILT if i may add#because the idiot parents just ✨️ dont feel guilt✨️#but their HyperVigilant Traumatized kids cant stop feeling the guilt#the classic case of pls make it stop pls pls pls let my babies be happy they are just babies#bad buddy#bad buddy gif#pat napat jindapat#pran parakul#bad buddy text posts#pat x pran#patpran#Maybe IM OVEREXPLAINING BUT THE FACT THAT PRAN EP 4 WAS CRYING BECAUSE#Heaven is PAT and HES HURT AGAIN BECAUSE HE CANT HAVE PAT#FIRST BECAUSE THEY COULD NEVER WORK OUT AND SO HE SEES PAT AS HEAVEN HE CANT HAVE#SECOND BECAUSE PAT LIKES INK AND *THEY COULD* WORK WITH THE FAMILY SITUATION#DOUBLE WHAMMY OF NOT GETTING THE HEAVEN THIS STUPID BB BOI WANTS *SOBBING*
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
Yandere Roronoa Zoro Headcanons (General)
''I would sacrifice everything and everyone for you.'' — Roronoa Zoro.
❝ 👒 — lady l: It gave me a burst of energy at 4 am and I wrote this headcanons out of nowhere, but I really like Zoro (both the anime and the live action) and I ended up having fun. I hope you like it and forgive me for any mistakes! 💚🖤
❝tw: obsessive and possessive behavior, mention of stalking, jealousy and mention of murder.
❝👒pairing: yandere!roronoa zoro x gender neutral!reader.
Roronoa Zoro has always been indifferent to many things and people and one of those people was you, at first. When you joined the Straw Hat, he didn't think much, he just accepted you as a member of the crew and thought that his life would continue as it had always been before you. Needless to say, he was wrong.
He warmed to you slowly and gradually, in a way so subtle that even he hadn't noticed. Like sitting next to you to drink, looking at you subtly and helping you with common Going Merry tasks. All these activities became commonplace and he found himself yearning more and more for more time by your side.
The way he became uncomfortable and irritated when another Mugiwara spent too much time by your side, time that he should have spent. His gaze hardened and his grip on his swords became stronger.
Zoro had never felt like this before, this need for protection, the desire to protect what was his. He never felt this way about anyone else. He loves his friends deeply, but he didn't feel the same connection with them that he felt with you. You were more special, he just didn't know why.
He wanted to stay by your side, protect you. It was a need, an instinct that threatened to consume him from the inside out if Zoro didn't do it. You became his friend, his duty and his obsession.
Zoro is always on the lookout, watching you carefully, protecting you from a distance. He has his eye on anyone who breathes too close to you. They can be a threat, hurt you and he would rather be cursed than let that happen to you. And even with his own friends, his own Captain, he was watching.
He defends your honor fiercely and proudly, anyone who dares to say a bad thing about you will have a bad time with him. You're his, there's no way Zoro would let someone talk bad about you and get away with it. He will get into fights to the death if necessary.
You're the only one who really knows Zoro's soft side, so to speak. He comes across as serious and abrasive, often grumpy, even with his crew, but with you he's almost always smiling. He often says that your presence makes him happy when someone questions him and usually curses the person for being so nosy.
He loves you more than he loves sake and that means he really cares about you. Even if you don't like drinking alcohol, Zoro will be drinking next to you, just enjoying your company. He likes to sleep next to you too, even if it's in an innocent way. He feels more comfortable this way.
Zoro is extremely possessive of you and doesn't feel guilty about it. You are his, from his crew, so you must stay away from the others. He will never blame you for something, it's others who are to blame and Zoro is more than willing to cut them to pieces if someone crosses you, if they cross him. He will give you that person's head as a gift later.
It's not uncommon for him to be jealous, but he will never admit it. The deadly looks that are thrown when someone approaches you, the grip on the sword and eventually that person's head rolling can give some clue as to how jealous he is.
Zoro is very overprotective and this combined with his possessiveness means that you have no privacy around him. Although he's not the biggest fan of physical contact, he has no problem holding your hand or even hugging you. He loves his friends, he loves his crew but if he had to choose between you and them, Zoro would choose you without thinking twice. He would sacrifice them if you asked.
He is a pirate, a pirate hunter who has become one of the most wanted pirates in the world. Zoro has important connections and he knows how to fight very well, after all, he wants to become the greatest swordsman in the world. He knows how to get rid of the mess he's made, how to get rid of someone.
Roronoa Zoro is your protector, your friend and your obsessed stalker. Every time you arrive at a new island, he doesn't leave your side and observes the surroundings attentively, while keeping you tied to him. He can't let anything happen to you and that's why he's so overprotective. He won't lose someone he cares about, not again. He's not that bad, just be careful with other people around him and everything will be fine.
#yandere one piece#dark one piece#one piece#yandere roronoa zoro#roronoa zoro#zoro roronoa x reader#yandere roronoa zoro x reader#yandere zoro x reader#zoro x reader#headcanons#yandere headcanons#roronoa zoro x reader#yandere zoro headcanons#yandere zoro#yandere roronoa zoro Headcanons
542 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Good Queen
(Gif not mine)
Fandom: House of the Dragon
Pairing(s): Viserys Targaryen x Fem!Reader, Alicent Hightower x Rhaenyra Targaryen, Daemon Targaryen x Rhaenyra Targaryen, Harwin Strong x Alicent Hightower, Harwin Strong x Rhaenyra Targaryen, Daemon Targaryen x Alicent Hightower, Daemon Targaryen x Harwin Strong (I won’t apologize for everyone being gay for each other)
Tag: hotd the good queen
Warning: Fluff. Happy ending. No one dies (except Aemma, sorry love) and everyone lives. Age gaps. No feud. No greens or blacks. Slight gore.
Word Count: 3,901
Summary: The King must choose a new wife, and Alicent’s older sister, Y/n Hightower, is a suitable choice and a perfect match. For once, Viserys makes a decision that benefits everyone and upsets little few. The Seven Kingdoms are better for it.
Author’s Note: Not a request. Oddly enough, plenty request Otto imagines but never King Viserys. I thought I'd give it a try since I had an idea. But to be honest, Viserys x Reader are sort of background pairing/onlookers of this.
(I do not consent my works to be reposted/copied)
It was the most logical choice to pick the eldest daughter of Otto Hightower. It was also all part of Lady Y/n’s plan. After the death of her mother, she had become the guardian figure her younger sister, Alicent, truly needed in her time of grief and loneliness. Older and far more mature in beauty and wisdom, The Lady Y/n Hightower was determined to still give Alicent whatever was left of her childhood and did everything in her power to make her little sister feel loved and accepted. So if there were whispers regarding Alicent, Y/n likely knew about it. One night, her handmaid came into her room and warned her of whispers involving her little sister and the King. The maid spoke of Lord Otto placing Alicent where Viserys could see her after the death of the late Queen Aemma, and Y/n was beyond disgusted and furious.
However, instead of confronting her father, Y/n went behind his back and also placed herself where Viserys could see her. While she couldn’t stop Alicent from seeing the King at night without raising suspicion, she did, however, visited the King between meals and even ask Princess Rhaenyra if she could attend the Small Council meetings to act as another cupbearer. Rhaenyra, excited with the prospect of another woman being a part of the meetings, accepted the proposal. Y/n made sure to fill Viserys’ cup modestly and had even accompanied him in the royal gardens a time or two after that. It didn’t take much effort before he announced to his small council his engagement to her. Rhaenyra, sad but relieved her father found another wife, gladly welcomed Y/n into the family with open arms and was even more excited at the idea of Alicent being ever closer to being a part of her family.
The Hand of the King, however, was less than happy and voiced how displeased he was of her when finding time alone with his eldest daughter, “What have you done?”
“Done?” Y/n questioned from her vanity mirror, removing her earrings after a long day of the people of the court congratulating her.
“He was supposed to marry your sister.”
“Why would he want Alicent, Father?” Y/n tilted her head innocently at the reflection of Otto standing at a distance behind her, “She’s but a child.”
“In the gods' eyes, she is a woman grown.”
“So am I. I am the eldest, so why must she be married off first?”
“She’s the most comely lady in court.”
“If you think me ugly, Father,” she snarled, finally standing up and turning to face her father head-on, “Just say it and be done with it.”
“I had wished to marry you off to your cousin.”
“Ormund is Heir to Oldtown. Surely my uncle would want a better match for him to ally another large house to ours instead of within our own family. You’re a political man. Try to be smarter than the second son desperate for power.”
The insult strained their relationship if it hadn’t been strained already. Lord Otto barely spoke to his eldest daughter after that unless common courtesy compels him to do so, like complimenting her wedding dress before he gave her away to Viserys. Y/n may not have felt love when the King kissed her with the promise of affection and commitment, but she felt relief. Upon watching the way Alicent danced and laughed during the feast that night, entirely unaware and still innocent of childhood, Y/n knew she made the right decision.
It wasn’t long before Y/n was pregnant then the world as she knew it imploded with excitement. The maesters, after tending to all of the former Queen Aemma’s sickly pregnancies, were astonished to see Y/n flourish in quite the opposite direction. In a strange way, she was excited to be a mother, and practically raising Rhaenyra and Alicent helped with that dream.
At first hesitant, the princess grew to love Y/n as her stepmother, especially since the new Queen was her best friend’s sister. Even though Y/n was rumored to be carrying a son inside of her, Rhaenyra tried not to openly worry for her sake. She may be Viserys’ shiny new heir, but the idea of Queen Y/n having a son bothered Rhaenyra, even though Y/n tried easing her worries with the promise of always openly advocating for the princess’ right to the throne. This aggravated Lord Otto for obvious reasons. After Aegon was born, the Hand tried reaffirming his position over his daughter in order to persuade her into raising Aegon as the future king. In return, he got a stone wall, unmoveable even in the strongest of storms.
“You may be the Hand of the King,” Y/n had sneered at her father one night in the safety of her chambers, “But I am the wife to the King. I am the Queen.”
And with his daughter as Queen, Lord Otto found himself in lesser power than when she was just a lady of the court. With her baby boy on her hip, Queen Y/n attended many Small Council meetings, shameless at the stares of men around her when she took her seat next to Viserys, stealing the spot away from his Hand. Over some time, Y/n became to lean towards Rhaenyra when the princess poured her wine and offered small treats to her little half-brother. With the proper influence, Y/n had also convinced Viserys to grant his daughter a seat at the table, no longer a cupbearer. Y/n then happily stepped aside and let Rhaenyra sit next to her father while the Queen sat next to her own. By then, Lord Otto never felt further away from the King, physically and cognitively.
Even less so when his younger daughter was married off under his own nose. Like a carpet pulled underneath him, Lord Otto was forced to walk Alicent down the aisle and be handed off to her new husband, Harwin “Breakbones” Strong. Some wonder who could have ever picked out such a perfect match, while others looked no further than the Queen herself. With her father’s pawns now swiftly taken from him, Lord Otto begrudgingly asked King Viserys for his blessing to resign. Although shocked, Viserys only had to look to his wife before granting his Hand a dismissal.
Tail between his legs, Otto Hightower left for Oldtown, never to return to King’s Landing, even when his daughters produced him grandchildren. In his place, Lord Lyonel Strong was named Hand of the King and he was a better-suited friend to the throne, and most importantly, an ally to his Queen.
Queen Y/n was a busy woman, even while pregnant. Especially while pregnant. She couldn’t afford anyone trying to take away her power and influence when she was knocked down and so she was constantly on the move, no matter how round she got. Her daughter, Helaena, came quicker than Aegon, and so the Red Keep was filled with delight at the announcement of a new princess soon to roam the halls. Rhaenyra was delighted. She was spotted trying to teach the baby girl how to walk, letting her little sister hang onto her hands and trot over her own feet. Alicent was already a proud aunt, but she doted on Helaena much like Y/n used to dote on her own younger sister. It seems as though the Queen had been quite the influence between Rhaenyra and Alicent, both now fully grown, beautiful and proud.
If Alicent was missing her father, she never showed it. Instead, she spent her time excited when she learned she would soon be a mother herself. Watching Y/n raise her children, Alicent had grown to wish to be just like her sister one day. Harwin was kind to his young wife and understood his place in her heart must be shared with the people around her. He knew Alicent loved her sister, the Queen. He knew she loved her niece, Helaena, and nephew, Aegon, and above all, he knew she loved the Princess Rhaenyra. Harwin couldn’t blame Alicent. Harwin had grown to love her, too.
Y/n and Alicent were soon pregnant together, and it felt as though the Seven Kingdoms could not have had a more beautiful, plentiful summer that year. Everyone was happy, whether of the royal family growing or from the prospect of the harvest. Most of King’s Landing was always celebrating and most stomachs were full and warm. With the Queen and her sister expecting, the castle was alive with happiness and love.
However, Y/n knew there was one individual who was internally unhappy. She was no fool. The Queen saw the way Rhaenyra looked at Alicent and the way Alicent looked at Rhaenyra. Surely, Alicent’s unborn child sparked a deep-dwelling of sadness within Rhaenyra, longing still evident in her eyes. Eventually, Y/n saw the way Ser Harwin stared after the princess as well and knew that something had to be done. She wouldn’t dare dream of separating the three, but she knew that Rhaenyra had to marry soon or who knows what sort of rumors might blossom should someone else notice the tension between the princess, Alicent, and Harwin. Rhaenyra needed a husband, despite the princess making it difficult to find a suitor. Y/n knew where to look, but unlike the other times, it would take a lot more effort to convince the King of this match.
“No,” Viserys smiled, despite the clouds looming overhead, “Absolutely not. Daemon is not worthy of my daughter.”
“If you could have your way, no one would be worthy of her,” Y/n sighed, briefly smiling at her husband while rounding the Small Council’s table towards him, her hand brushing over the surface. They were alone at the moment, waiting for the other members to join them, “But she is your heir, and she’s no longer a child. She is unwed, and last I heard, Daemon had recently lost his wife, Lady Royce. As I understand it, their marriage was left unconsummated.”
“Others will look to him to be King, instead of Rhaenyra their Queen,” Viserys retorted.
“Perhaps. Perhaps not. Not everyone will be happy, no matter what decision you make, Your Grace.”
She reaches the King, her hands finding purchase on his shoulders as she crossed to stand behind him, rubbing his aging shoulders and physically feeling his body slowly uncoil and relax. Viserys sighs, long and exhausted, his fingers rising to rub his eyes, but instead reach further back and clasp Y/n’s hand instead. She squeezes his hand encouragingly, while Viserys still looked hesitant and forlorn, “He’s not worthy of her...”
“No,” Y/n leans down and kissed the top of his head, “But he does love her. And I think she loves him, too. They are dragons, Viserys, and your kin. Your house sigil requires three dragon heads. If Rhaenyra is to be Queen someday, then she will need heirs of her own. She’ll need dragons. This marriage proposal is not an unheard-of custom, especially for a Targaryen. This alliance will keep your legacy strong long after you and I are gone, and your reign over Westeros will remain peaceful long after Rhaenyra has passed on.”
The Small Council meets that evening, and Viserys announces Daemon and Rhaenyra’s engagement. For supper, that night, King Viserys and Queen Y/n sit beside Rhaenyra and invite the children and Harwin and Alicent along for the celebration as well. Rhaenyra’s eyes sparkled again for the first time in a while, and if Y/n noticed the tight grip her stepdaughter had on her hand, she didn’t comment.
Thankfully, Daemon was on board with this proposal and made no fuss when he was summoned to King’s Landing. Both he and Rhaenyra were married by the end of seven, long days of festivities. The newlyweds decided to temporarily part for Dragonstone, but both rushed back on their dragons when they received word of Queen Y/n and Lady Alicent both going into labor.
Aemond was a difficult delivery, but Y/n was, as always, overjoyed to have the infant brought into her arms. Down the hall, not long after Aemond was born, the Queen could hear a different cry coming out of her sister’s room.
Alicent birthed a son, Jacerys Strong. The whole kingdom rejoiced over their new prince and little lord. Many spoke about the bond the two would share growing up and strengthening the alliance between House Targaryen and House Strong. Lifelong friends were born that day, and Y/n could not wait to raise her children alongside her sisters'.
Rhaenyra quickly became pregnant as well, and by this time, Y/n had noticed the way Rhaenyra and Alicent hold onto each other as they roam the gardens, both of their husbands following them in tow. The Queen doesn’t miss the way the four often spend most of their time together, day and night. Sometimes, Y/n feels as though she’s intruding when watching them all interact. Rhaenyra and Alicent are usually glued to each other’s side, but if not, sometimes Y/n noticed Daemon accompanying Alicent and Harwin attending to Rhaenyra. There are times when even all three are attending to the princess as her stomach slowly grows. Now that she noticed this, Queen Y/n noticed other things as well, like how intense those training sessions between Daemon and Harwin can be.
For the most part, Y/n turns a blind eye and makes no complaint. She doesn’t say a word to Viserys, but she’s seen the way the King watches his daughter with her... group of confidants, and part of Y/n wonders if her husband sees it, too. Perhaps she is not the only one turning a blind eye in order to see Rhaenyra happy with the family her father always wanted her contented with.
Daemon and Rhaenyra’s firstborn is also named Aegon, nicknamed the Younger. Aegon the Elder was delighted when Rhaenyra confessed she named her child after her brother more so than the Conqueror. Viserys was a proud grandfather/uncle, holding the babe in his arms as he sat upon the Iron Throne to announce Aegon’s birth to the court. During the festivities, Viserys even made a lighthearted joke about how his darling wife was so young and it was nearly impossible to believe that she was now a grandmother.
More children came after that, though Daeron would be Y/n’s last after she broke out in fevers once she birthed him. She survived, but after that, both she and Viserys agreed that Daeron would be their last one. Alicent and Harwin bore two more sons, Lucerys and Joffrey, while Daemon and Rhaenyra had another son and a daughter, Viserys II, and Visenya. Despite a few age differences in between, all the children were raised together within the Red Keep and grew up nearly forgetting that they were, in fact, not all direct siblings. They were taught together. They trained together, sewed together, and fought together.
Ten years passed and they were the best years of King Viserys’ life, or so people claim. Even as his health declined, he made no room for sorrow, only joy when his children and grandchildren were involved. One of his favorite pastimes was overlooking the courtyard and watching as his children, grandchildren, nieces, and nephews all played together. All of the Targaryen children’s dragons, still small with age, curiously watched them play as well, acting more like large dogs than fiery beasts.
As they got older, some of the boys got rougher. As siblings-who-are-not-really-siblings do, they all occasionally fight or they take their anger out in training. One unfortunate incident was between Aemond and Lucerys. Whilst training, it was clear that the cousins were angry at each other over something minuscule and so they tried to vent using the swing of their swords. Unfortunately, Luke swung hard and Aemond didn’t sidestep in time to avoid it. The very tip of the Strong boy’s sword slashed across Aemond’s eye, leaving behind an unspeakable scene full of blood and screams.
The Queen was summoned right away, directed to Aemond’s chambers where her son was already abed with the Grand Maester tending to him. It was a gruesome scene, even with the wound already cleaned. Aemond’s eye was swollen and angry, a long, ugly cut running through it, trailing down his cheek and over his eyebrow.
The maester moves away from the bed and allows the Queen to take his place by her son’s side as he explained, “I have given as much Milk of the Poppy as I could, Your Grace, but for a child of his size, it would be too dangerous to give him the proper doses he would normally need to relax. The pain has dulled, but it will linger.”
The Queen sits on the edge of Aemond’s bed, “It will heal, will it not?”
“The flesh will heal into a scar... but the eye is lost, Your Grace.”
Y/n’s face crumbles in distress, taking Aemond’s hand in hers while brushing some of his silver hair from his young face, “What happened?”
“An accident in the training yard, Your Grace, as I understand it.”
“Luke cut me!” Aemond cried in anger, “He cut me and I should have left my mark in return! I had my chance and I couldn’t take it! I wish I had!”
"Aemond," his mother warns, eyeing him with a look that only a mother could threaten with her child, “You don’t mean that. I understand your anger and your grief, but at the end of the day, what happened was an accident. Tragic, yes, but an accident. Luke is your cousin. He is a part of your family and he loves you. He would have never intentionally harmed you and you know it.”
She leans forward then and kisses his forehead, just above the top of the cut, "We can get you something to cover it up. Or, once it fully heals, we can replace it with a false eye. A diamond, perhaps? Ruby?"
Her lightheartedness softens Aemond’s anger, slightly, as he relents to his mother’s touch, leaning into her embrace as he entertains her idea, "Sapphire."
She leans back so he could see her smile of approval, "A fine choice, my love.”
The Queen stands up, taking her time to help Aemond lie down and get properly tucked into his covers. She lovingly pets his hair down as she turns to the maester beside her, “Grand Maester. Have some essence of Nightshade brought up to my son’s chambers. He needs time to rest and heal.”
“At once, Your Grace,” the maester bows then exits the room.
Y/n leans back down to her son one last time, bringing his hand up to her face to kiss his fingers, “Be hopeful, son. Women like men with scars."
She leaves the room and makes her long trek to the kitchens. Rounding a corner, she comes across her sister. Alicent was distraught and full of guilt, grasping the Queen's hands in hers as she cries, "I'm so sorry... Harwin and I will punish Luke accordingly."
"There's no need," Y/n is quick to reassure Alicent, her sisterly instincts kicking back in. The instinct never truly went away. It was dormant, but Y/n will always protect her sister, no matter how old she gets, "It was an accident, Ali. Aemond will not resent your son for it. I can imagine Luke is very distraught about what happened. You must attend to him. Reassure him that he was not at fault and I would never hold this over my nephew."
After she sent Alicent back to her family, Y/n returns to her original task and heads to the kitchens. She returns to Aemond's chambers a little while later, carrying a tray of food and drink for her son, ignoring the servants when they offered to carry it for her. Behind her, Aegon, Helaena, and Daeron are hovering in the doorway, poking their heads into the room and trying to get a good look at their brother abed. The Queen sets the tray down and turns back to the doorway with a knowing glance, “Come along. Dine with your brother but then leave him to rest.”
A picnic was made in Aemond’s bed, his mother and siblings surrounding him as they nibbled on bread and cheese. They talked about other things to distract the injured prince, telling stories about their day or laughing at a joke Aegon said. Viserys, in search of his family, limped into the room with his cane not long after, smiling softly at the scene before him.
After sending her other children away to let Aemond sleep, Y/n takes her husband's arm and carefully walks with him to her own chambers. His hair had begun to thin out and a hunch in his back drove him to lean forward or off to the side as he walked crookedly. He was no longer the peaceful, handsome king Y/n had married, and a small ache in her heart hammered every time she looked into his eyes, age spots and wrinkles beginning to form on his pale skin. Despite his troubles with his health, he still never looked happier.
"You are a wonderful woman, Y/n," Viserys held her arm in a firm grip, his kind smile pulling those wrinkles further up his face. His eyes dazzled warmly, happily, without a sign of a lie, "You're a good mother, a good queen, but most importantly you're a good wife. Had I not married you... I am not sure I would be surrounded by the most loving family and ruling such a prosperous kingdom. What would I do without you?"
Y/n smiled back, patting his arm affectionately as they make it down the long hallway of their home, "Best not to dwell on such a question, my love. The Seven Kingdoms are better off without knowing."
~~~
Viserys dies in his sleep a few years later. His health had gotten worse and the only thing he allowed the maester to administrate was the Milk of the Poppy to dull the pain. Otherwise, he didn't ask for a cure, nor did he try to even fight his illness. Many often wondered if, in the end, he was waiting to die. Others thought that guilt was a deadly illness and whatever secret the King had, died with him. After being given a window to mourn, the now Queen Regent, Y/n Hightower, crowned Viserys' rightful heir herself.
Queen Rhaenyra's coronation was grand, as what Viserys would've wanted for his beloved daughter. Daemon, his brother, proudly took the name, King Consort, while Rhaenyra named her firstborn son, Prince Aegon the Younger, her rightful heir. Lyonel Strong remained the Hand of the Queen, but his son, Harwin, was named Commander of the City Watch and was given a place at the Small Council's table. His children with Alicent were given titles to many lands, their oldest son heir to Harrenhal. Aegon the Elder was permitted the claim to Dragonstone, while Rhaenyra's other half-siblings were appointed as squires and cupbearers to her court, some were even betrothed to the Strong children.
Y/n, however, remained in King's Landing, despite being granted permission to go back to her family's home, Oldtown. With Rhaenyra's permission, she remained in the Red Keep where she had made a home among her children, grandchildren, nieces, and nephews. Y/n Hightower -once called the Good Queen- died in her bed many years later, after briefly meeting her first great-grandchild to her son, Aegon, and his wife and niece, Visenya.
There were no Blacks. There were no Greens. A hundred years will pass and everyone will know the story of how one woman stopped the Dance of Dragons from ever happening. Or better yet, no one will have ever even heard of it.
~~~
A/N: I know, I switched everything up and made everyone confused. This was a form of therapy for me after I wished that everyone in the show would just get along.
Part Two
#viserys targaryen#king viserys targaryen#viserys targaryen imagine#king viserys targaryen imagine#viserys targaryen x reader#king viserys targaryen x reader#hotd imagine#house of the dragon imagine#hotd#house of the dragon#paddy considine#aemond targaryen#aemond one eye#rhaenyra targaryen#alicent hightower#harwin strong#daemon targaryen#otto hightower#aegon ii targaryen#aegon targaryen#helaena targaryen#daeron targaryen#rhaenyra x harwin#daemon x rhaenyra#rhaenicent#rhaenyra x alicent#princess rhaenyra#daemyra#hotd the good queen
3K notes
·
View notes
Note
PLEASE PLEASE MEGADUMP THE ARASOL!!! PLEAAASEE MR BEESCAKE I AM ON MY KNEES BEGGING YOU
HFHGHD GLADLY aaa i’ve been adding notes to it here and there for months but just hesitant to post it bcs im 🧍♂️🧍♂️🧍♂️🧍♂
also this is just my own takeaway of the events, it doesn’t necessarily comply to the Ultimate Truth of Canon-Alignment or represent the actual facts of what hussie intended! v sentimental smh but hopefully its still interesting to read
i love when characters inform each other by proximity, it's one of my fave things to see in media :') it feels even more significant when two characters deliberately choose to stick together, so that when one operates, you can tell the other is similarly aligned in associative solidarity.
sollux is a keystone of this trope — whoever he aligns with is a wordless statement, a nod of approval. this stood out to me bcs the main four humans were alr friends by default, but once you reach hivebent you realize the trolls can actively choose who they want to hang out with.
and as we all know, after assessing every troll's biases/loyalties, sollux is the only one who maintains his selective preference for innately Good 👍 people.
aradia is such a beautiful character honestly, she evokes such incredible feelings in me. she might not have been consistently written with care but the best parts of her character are truly stunning. i think it's easy to remember sollux as the self-sacrificing one bc he's so open about it (and his friends frequently react to his Moments) but when you compare him to aradia, it's always struck me
how much more. raw it is
to be so alone as an agent of time, having to orchestrate immeasurably harrowing events nobody understands or gives a fuck about
with your role painted in the story as one who must tend to the needs of the narrative, responsible to match every next note
because when you're given the capabilities, it becomes your duty to carry it out.
it becomes expected of you to keep experimenting and arranging the machinations to work for everyone, dusting off hundreds of necessary failures to keep going
and having to be so unwavering in your drive knowing miserably that there's no one who can help you but yourself.
or alternatively: to make things fun! so other people won't think twice about letting you go off on your own.
sure she's had some very good buds, notably thanks to Team Charge v Team Scourge antics.
and yet, at the end of the day, the one friend that kept choosing her time and time again was the friend with the highest standards.
i can see why people like to define arasol as moirails/matesprits but surprisingly i find the nondescript, unlabeled aspect of their relationship more straightforward to understand.
there's no shortage of people who would accommodate sollux. most of the surviving trolls are his oldest friends bcs he’d chosen them well. his transparency with his feelings had built him strong friendships that won’t falter or break, regardless of how much of a dick he can be. they’ve already seen and accepted him at his worst, and they still like him for who he is.
contrast that with aradia, who'd been so approachable, friendly and reliable in her exchanges it was super fun to talk to her. but the moment she became depressed, all her connections broke down.
her friends became hesitant to interact with her (until she became god tier, “happy” and amicable again) because her gloom and resignation didn’t serve them. she dealt with it alone.
there’s def something of note here abt the disparity between the way male & female characters are written+perceived in homestuck (esp parallel arasol with davejade) but i won’t go into that lmaoo
with this in mind i like to think of sollux as a gift to her, a loyal companion given to complement and commend her resolve. she's capable of doing so much alone but hussie took the time to build her and sollux's relationship as one of a unit; a set.
the ambiguity of their status does complicate things, but i do believe it makes sense with their characters. aradia's relationship with romance is a rocky one, the dubious stringalong equius had with her is a pointed reminder that her feelings of attraction are ultimately controlled by the author writing her.
unlike the other trolls who can openly address and own up to their crushes, aradia had romantic emotions forced upon her (especially when hussie implies 'she kissed equius back on her own volition'). and it seems like her character is so intrinsically neutral abt attraction that even when forced by the almighty powers above, she's unable to retain it wholly.
however, looking back to pre-game when she could actually "choose" her own feelings, she did have a crush on sollux.
their soft spots for each other were so obvious to the point where other people could see it.
taunting aside, when vriska comments on their unit as bf/gf it actually informs the audience that arasol's relationship is romantic in nature despite not aligning with the quadrant system.
even while dead, aradia could still describe her care for sollux, expressing that she would like to see him happy. if they had more time to explore their relationship on alternia, it's possible they could've settled in a quadrant once they grew older.
but going back to the lack of labels, their dynamic was affected once more when aradia became god tier.
to me, her ascension was both the perfect culmination and possible closure of her character. it's the light at the end of her journey toiling through countless of timelines where she had to actively assess and participate. that's why it's cool to see her being silly and having fun giving guidance, passively exploring and watching other people do their parts.
and yet the joy of her freedom makes it hard to explore further introspection. if we take her by her word, she'd already come to terms with the hurt she's been through and forgiven those involved.
i can't help feeling attuned to how impersonal and detached it can be, to devote and meld your identity so completely with your designated position as Maid of Time until you've become hard for your old friends (and even some readers!) to personally connect to.
idk post-canon but i assume there’s some degree of similarity to be bridged here with aradia's god tier and how the hs2 humans' Ultimate forms was described as a consolidation of all their possibilities. since aradia's classpect is inherently of service to Time, going god-tier may have elevated her beyond personhood with the "game construct" possessing her entirely. sollux doesn't realize the extent of it bcs he's still mortal, but a part of him may have subconsciously understood this.
i think there is a core aspect to aradia that was lost to the dehumanizing glory of god tier — a core aspect that may have contained an element of why sollux enjoyed talking to her in the first place.
to him, aradia hadn't just been a nice girl, she was a cool girl. despite not having much in common, he's still willing to chill next to her so she's not alone while she does what needs to get done.
back on alternia, they held a mutual and equal-level regard for each other that could've definitely settled into something permanent. but now, he's placed himself in a position where he can be kept around or left behind at will. the parameters of the relationship are largely in aradia's court, so any label she suggests to identify their relationship with he's likely to accept.
but that's why it's so difficult to label it. because god tier aradia may not necessarily Want quadrants or relationship labels. rather than the initial romantic attachment, their commitment to each other had evolved into one fundamentally of companionship.
no label? ok fine. no matter what, he still thinks she's a good soul worth latching on to. the best, actually. aradia > everyone else.
even if it gets stilted at times. there's an unexpected struggle to connect when sollux's go-to default for talking points is his feelings about things, and aradia may not want to talk about emotions all the time.
not to mention god tier aradia became an observer, especially of chaos. but sollux's avoidance of involvement comes partially from his innate pressure to get involved if something goes wrong. and he can't always tell when something goes wrong, because aradia doesn't mind if things go wrong anymore.
it's a non-negotiable preference that causes them to take the occasional time apart, a new boundary that wouldn't have existed before the game and aradia's god tier.
but just like how his friends tolerated his moods, sollux accepts aradia as she is. with no quadrants, their connection doesn't break down because there's no implicit romantic expectations to be disappointed by or resentful over.
sometimes when i see hs content that deliberately distances sollux from aradia, i assume this is the dissonance people might have felt. people might find it "easier" to be cynical about them bcs of this strange tension.
but idc lmao. grab that shit by the neck
lack of easy resolutions and cleanly tied ribbons is pretty standard of homestuck and imo it doesn't make arasol's dynamic any less incredible. with the right affection and consideration, there's still so much potential to develop the nuance of their relationship outside of the popular quadrant-based depictions.
hs has a lot of really great character compatibilities but the way aradia and sollux are in their own special orbit is why i can write this much about them in the first place. it's that frail innocence between first loves that makes it so sweet to me, two kids who grew up too fast playing guesswork without being clear where they're going.
ultimately i do think you're meant to feel a little tragedy for just how much they care for each other, even if they can't quite establish it in simple terms.
maybe they keep taking breaks to progress their own paths. maybe they remain as anchor partners while seeing other people. but even if you decide to separate them, they're still (awkwardly) texting each other updates all the while. and when they reunite it feels like coming home.
and well. more than anything, i like to believe that they do want to be exclusive.
they're just afraid. after all, they're still learning how to love, beyond the projections of the foursquare quadrant system they had inadvertently distanced themselves from since young.
they might not have everything figured out, but they'll get there eventually if you just hold them together and write them there.
optional post-canon segment:
one of the limitations of main hs is that (monogamous) relationships are often written as the go-to solution to wrap up character growth; it's an easy "patch" to imagine characters getting their happy ending because they have a partner, and those who don't end up with someone don't get that closure (most notably jade).
hs2 reaffirms this by suggesting that aradia's character cannot progress without letting sollux go, because happily settling in a relationship automatically locks your potential.
that pathetic panel of sollux staring emptily into the sky is still my fave hs2 spoiler ngl i find the impact of their parting so emotionally provoking precisely bcs they were written in original hs to be each other's forever, coming back together again and again
but now, they're subject to the decisions of the post-canon authors who might choose to deviate from that.
it's not new for them to part, but now there's an underlying worry that her dropping him off this time might be the last time. while i think the prospect of shattering their stability to make them grow separately sounds fun on paper, no amount of me desperately hoping for a good execution is gonna guarantee it
idk. i guess prediction-wise im expecting sollux in classic dramatic-hs2 fashion to tell dave to back off aradia LMAO. otherwise it's just gon be sollux and karkat pathetically watching aradia and dave from a distance swimming in their unresolved feelings for narratively-powerful time players smh obvs it sounds corny as hell but who knows its still plausible
srsly tho i hope they take the opportunity to develop arasol's relationship in a fresh direction that doesn't hurt me too badly...... and i hope they force sollux out of his comfort zone. i like watching him struggle :-)
#sorry if this isnt fully accurate heh its just my personal impressions/feelings#despite best efforts to simplify my annotations the wall of text still ended up massive#there's also a comparison i wanted to make abt characters who “broke up” from romantic expectations losing a lot of what they had before#dave(sprite)/jade‚ karkat/terezi‚ dirk/jake etc = which is why i think arasol was rescued by hussie on purpose. arasol endgame truth#ngl there mightve been more moments that shouldve been mentioned but i have no memories of... limited cloud storage#long post#ask#anon#homestuck#arasol#aradia megido#sollux captor#arapostings#2024#vioart#not disqualifying acespec/qpr reading i think its also possible :]#if anything i dont understand fanon killing off aradia for their sollux ships haiyaaa why is this trope so damn popular#every time i open a slkt fic and aradia is dead i go outside and burn a tree. global warming could not come sooner#slkts who treat aradia like dvkts treat jade…. i punt u football style
398 notes
·
View notes
Text
Friday Nights at the Vinothek | Vampire!Secondo x gn!Reader
Summary: When the local vintner who buys his cigarettes at the kiosk you work at offers you a job you can’t believe your luck. But after moving to the vineyard where the attraction between you only grows, you soon realize that he is not quite who you thought – and that working for a vampire comes with unexpected dangers.
Content: 26k words, gn!reader, smoking, alcohol consumption, blood donation/needles, fainting, vampirism (blood drinking, mind control to keep you asleep), werewolves, violence, hurt/comfort, smut (biting, blood kink, fingering, spit kink, praise, cuming in pants, cockwarming, p in hole sex, no protection), 18+, MDNI
I'm happy to finally share this story. Thank you @foxybouquet for your help with the nicknames ♡ This is a continuation to my fic Friday Nights at the Cinema Club with Primo. You don't have to read that one. However I recommend reading them in the correct order if you do!
The Ao3 version is split into 3 chapters for easier reading.
Masterlist – Ao3 link – Part 1 | Primo's Story
“You must come with me, loving me, to death; or else hate me and still come with me, and hating me through death and after. There is no such word as indifference in my apathetic nature.”
― Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu, Carmilla
May
It takes all of two minutes of regular walking until he finds himself at his destination. Kiosk the sign reads in chipped away block letters, the color faded from decades of exposure to the sun.
Secondo steps inside. The neon lights flicker unrhythmically, uncomfortable to his sensitive eyes but the small corner store is the only business in a radius of forty kilometers that’s open after eight pm. Two tall newspaper racks greet him by the door, another long shelf that sells all sorts of cheap booze, a random assortment of groceries and drug store products, a bunch of dead flowers slowly rotting in their sad plastic prisons. His brothers would hate it here. Hell, sometimes even he hates it here but as the lovely face behind the register comes into view these feelings quickly change. He wonders why on earth you would choose to spend the limited years of your life working late night shifts in this dingy, outdated shop. Weekend nights, at that.
“Buona sera,” he says, then points to the Marlboro reds behind you.
The selection is abysmal here. You hand him the cigarettes, the picture of a rotting lung barely catching his eyes from the packaging. It means nothing to him, would have meant nothing to him even if he wasn’t beyond mortal diseases. Meanwhile your own curious eyes roam his form like they always do. Not very subtle but he does the very same thing with no hint of shame, your hair and skin tone flat and ashen in the horrible lighting, a wide, deformed black polo-shirt with your name tag on it hiding most of your body.
“Grazie,” he says, handing you a twenty. “Keep the change.”
At first, you fought him over the money. By now you accept it without question, the whole interaction usually playing out in exactly the same way as it does tonight. All this morality, all the politeness. You’re wasted here, wasted in this joyless life.
“Do you want to smoke with me? You close in a few minutes, no?” he hears himself asking, not sure where it is coming from. The clock above your head tells him it’s almost ten.
“I’ve never smoked before,” you say. Such a soft voice. He wonders how it would sound in a scream.
“That is not a no.”
You smile. “No, it’s not.”
What does it say about him, that he wants to corrupt this young, innocent human? Maybe that he has seen too much, the way they tend to throw away the few years of life that they have to work and work some more, energy wasted for corporations, for family drama and horrible vacations just to feel a short sense of adventure every once in a while. Then they die full of resentment and regret and once they’re gone their offspring fight over the little money and the few possessions that they leave.
Not that his own family is much better.
You meet him outside of the kiosk a few minutes later. Wordlessly he hands you a cigarette, followed by his luxurious gold Dupont lighter, worth about a thousand euros, a little splurge he treated himself to in Paris a few years ago. When you open the lid, it gives its signature cling, a well-measured flame flickering to life as you spark the flint.
“This is a fancy lighter,” you comment, bringing the cigarette to your lips.
Secondo smiles. So you have an eye for these things, even if you lack the funds. Even more curious now he watches you light the Marlboro, promptly coughing in pained stutters. He doesn’t fight the amused smile that tugs at his lips as he carefully extracts the expensive lighter from your hands, slipping it back into the pocket of his tight black slacks.
“What do you say?” he asks.
“It’s not bad,” you reply. “But I don’t think I’ll stick with it.”
He’s not surprised, though he is impressed you so easily gave in. “There are many more ways to sin, more ways to enjoy life, that might be more to your liking, little dove.”
“Like what?”
“Hmmm.” He examines you, lingering on the playful smirk on your face. “Wine of course, riding a motorcycle, expensive clothes, parties, good food… sex.”
An unmistakable heat reaches your face. He can hear the blood pumping faster through your veins, smell the first few hints of arousal oozing from your pores. It satisfies him, your reaction.
“So what, are you the devil trying to corrupt me?” you ask, covering the tremor in your voice with a chuckle.
He takes a drag from his own cigarette, exhaling a long veil of smoke. “Something like that.”
You get more restless beside him, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “If ugh… if you’re asking me for other favors, I’m really not–”
“No,” he interrupts. “I am not. I am not in the habit of finding my lovers in old shops or dark alleyways of small towns.”
“Where do you find them then?”
You pose the question quite genuinely, a flirty undertone to your words that he’s not sure you’re even aware of. He eyes you curiously. “I thought you weren’t interested?”
He can sense more heat rising to your face, radiating off into the cool night air. “I never said that.”
Ah. He averts his gaze, resisting the temptation. Secondo does not take human lovers. Not anymore. After centuries of losing people, of swimming around aimlessly with no one to anchor him, a ship lost in the endless expanse of sea that is an eternal life, he has set himself firm boundaries. Humans are a source of food, at best a companion for a few minutes of conversation, but they are never permanent. Allowing them into your bed leads to lies and wrong expectations. Falling for them, loving them even – it is hopeless, it’s a non-exhaustive well of pain and grief and misery. And attempting to make them last, turning them? He won’t make the same mistake that his younger brother made, inevitably breaking promises and dooming an innocent human to the same restless fate until they despise him for it.
He watches you stub out the cigarette on the metal lid of the nearby trashcan before throwing it away, turning back to him with a glimmer of excited anticipation in your eyes. He’s not sure what you see in him – a sophisticated older man looking for a young lover? A lonely customer in search of a few minutes of company? The local vintner out for a smoke after a long day?
“Maybe next time we will try something else,” he says.
You don’t reply as he stubs out his own cigarette, heading back home without looking back.
⛧ ✦ ⛧
Vampire Gazette 02/05
Werewolf Presumed Dead After Fight In Central European Woods
A fight between a vampire and a werewolf during last Friday’s full moon supposedly ended in the death of the lycanthrope. Multiple anonymous sources claim that the victim was a middle-aged outcast who resided close to the scene of the conflict in a small Central European town. A source close to the family suggests that the vampire, who remained unharmed, is Primo Emeritus. Known as a former Papa and eldest son of the current head of the Church of Emeritus, the vampire moved to the town no more than twelve moons ago. The source states that it was an act of self-defense and that the Emeritus ghouls took care of the body. No remains could be found within the castle walls of his now abandoned home, according to a representative of the werewolf community. A team of impartial investigators has been hired by the authorities to look into the case. Upon editorial request, Primo Emeritus was not willing to comment on the accusations at this time.
Instances of fights between vampires and werewolves have become rare over the past two centuries. This is the first instance of a killing between the two groups in almost a decade. Further consequences remain to be observed. Experts expect the respective authorities to be able to smooth the waters fairly quickly considering the high social standing of the Emeritus clan.
⛧ ✦ ⛧
Secondo nearly spits out his evening coffee, Terzo next to him breaks out in manic laughter. For a few minutes after reading the paper they both sit around the large dining table in pure, unadulterated wonder.
“He killed a fucking werewolf?” Terzo finally speaks into the silence.
“It would appear so.”
More laughter. Terzo is holding his belly underneath his pristine white blouse, his chest heaving with the intensity of his fit. Secondo knows his brother is not breaking out in amusement but sheer disbelief and yet, it is a rare, almost heart-warming experience to hear him actually laughing for once. If only the circumstances weren’t as dire.
“I’m not surprised no one informed us,” Secondo muses. “Father must know.”
“He must, yes, but he doesn’t give a shit.” Another bout of laughter as Terzo’s elbows crash down on the majestic wooden table, his head landing on his hands in a gesture of wild incredulity. “He killed a werewolf. Primo.”
“Will you stop laughing? This could have serious consequences, outcast or not. We have to keep an eye on this.”
“Do you think they’ll be after us?”
A shrug. “That would be foolish but it is a possibility.”
Terzo rests his head on his upper arm now, elegantly draped over the table with his raven hair falling into his face as he turns to his brother. “Why do you think he killed him?”
“Perhaps it was self defense. Some werewolves still hold a deep hatred for vampires. Though it is very stupid to attack Primo. He must have known who he is.”
Terzo pauses, drumming his fingers against his head. He was never able to keep still for long, a little fidget with a tendency for clumsiness, drawing attention to himself if he wanted to or not. “I wish we knew what he is up to. I hate this separation. Can’t you invite him over for that big fancy new wine tasting?”
“He clearly stated that he wanted to be alone for a while to build a quiet new life.”
“Yes but by now a while is four decades.”
Secondo breathes out a sigh. “I can invite him, I am not sure he will come.”
“Let him know I’m here.”
“I don’t know if that is an incentive or a sure way to get him to never call again.”
His voice is deadpan, yet Terzo breaks out in more laughter. “You can be so funny, fratello. If only you wouldn’t hide it behind that scary scowl of yours.”
“Aren’t you supposed to help the ghouls clear out the west wing today? We need to renovate the rooms.”
“I don’t know why you assume I am the new bellhop in your hotel business.”
Secondo waits until Terzo meets his eyes, narrowing them for extra emphasis. “Don’t think I do not know why you suddenly felt the need to visit me over the summer. Surely it was not because you missed me so.”
“I don’t know what you mean, fratello.”
“What makes you think they will be here?”
Terzo holds his gaze, similar white and green eyes meeting, only breaking away when the door to the dining room flies open and a black-hooded ghoul steps inside. “They will be, I know it.”
June
Time feels especially gooey on weekend nights. Customers are a rare sight, not even Mr Emeritus, the attractive older and suspiciously well-dressed man who occasionally buys cigarettes from you, shows up tonight. The tinny music from the old radio behind the counter is somehow worse, every shift a ten hour train ride without stops. Usually, you sit on your little stool reading your book or scrolling on your phone. Today, it’s so boring that you open the daily newspaper to scan the job listings, just in case something pops up.
As expected, it is hopeless. Another dead town center of a remote village with no qualified job offers, your salary a joke but your boss never fails to stress that you at least get the employee discount and free Wrigley’s Spearmint bubble gum. Even with your meager savings you can’t afford the move to a bigger city right now, the prospect of being alone in an even larger just as hollow space with too many strange faces around you not at all enticing. At least here people know you, even if all of your friends have long since moved away in search of jobs and a place to settle.
You turn the page, a rustling sound that feels too loud in the quiet vacuum of the kiosk.
⛧ ✦ ⛧
Nordsteiner Abendblatt
– Ad –
Wine is not the only juice of life that makes it worth living. Donate your blood to help the local hospitals this weekend at the Emeritus Vineyard.
Date: June 25th, 4-10pm
Reward: 50€
⛧ ✦ ⛧
Fifty euros? You pause. Have they always offered money for this? It’s not a pay rise, it won’t get you very far either, but for a bit of blood it’s certainly tempting. There haven’t been any blood donation campaigns here in quite some time, not since they closed the local medical center after pretty much all of the doctors retired, their offices long since abandoned.
You mull it over until you close the shop half an hour later after another sluggish Friday night without customers. You walk past the Vinothek, peeking inside like you always do on your way home. For a shop slash bar that sells wine in an almost abandoned old town it is incredibly fancy, antique looking wooden interiors, deep green velvet wallpapers with a subtle pattern of tendrils of vine that seem to be crawling up to the ceiling, dipped into the soft shadows of dimmed wall lamps. Everything is centered around a bar that is too well-stocked and professional for a town like this, expensive liquors, a wine fridge that must have cost more than your tiny old car. Two men are nursing their drinks – only one of them is peering over the rim of an actual wine glass, black hair falling into an aging face, the other one tipping the remainder of a beer into his mouth.
The only explanation you have is that this is Mr Emeritus’s little playground while the actual money comes from the export of the wine they produce in the vineyard at the edge of town. You’ve been to the old Mansion before, tugged away in the rolling hills framing the area. They offer guided tours with subsequent wine tastings, hikes, really, that are especially beautiful in early fall when the grapevines are filled with deep purple fruit and the leaves of the surrounding trees are slowly turning yellow. Even though you don’t drink all that often and are by no means an expert you have to admit that you’ve never tasted wine quite as smooth, quite as delicate as Mr Emeritus’s.
That day a few years ago you didn’t get to see the owner himself, you’re not sure if you’ve ever actually seen him in broad daylight, but now you do spot him standing in the doorway at the far end of the bar. He looks dashing, wearing tight-fitting black slacks, a matching black button down shirt with expensive-looking leather gloves and the sunglasses you never see him without. He’s Italian, that much you know, polite yet reserved when he’s not coaxing you into smoking. Even a few weeks later you’re not quite sure what got into him that night, talking to you about enjoying life and sinning, about alcohol and sex and then just… leaving. Not even mentioning it again when he picked up new Marlboros the week after.
Lost in thought, you almost miss that his gaze shifts towards the window. Under his glasses it’s hard to tell if he is actually looking at you but you decide to leave anyway before he gets the idea of inviting you inside. Somehow you must have got stuck for a moment, frozen in time, because before you’ve even passed the bar he suddenly pops up right in front of you. Confused, you glance from the entrance back to him, the door only slowly swinging shut. How–
“Buona sera,” he says, lighting a cigarette with the fancy gold lighter he let you use last time. For a man who seems to indulge in luxuries, he seems so very down to earth, minimalist in a way, no word, no detail that feels out of place.
“Hello,” you reply.
For a moment you stand there like you’re waiting for the bus to pick you up, unsure if you should just leave or if he is trying to start a conversation. Maybe he’s just out for smoke, maybe he didn’t even notice you from inside. The tip of his cigarette burns up brightly when he takes the first drag, a bright orange fleck of light in the darkness surrounding him. His mere aura beside you seems to command the night, wholly different from how you perceive him in the kiosk. This is his private kingdom, this is where he feels at home.
“Did you finish your shift?” he asks then, puffing out smoke.
“Yeah. It was a calm night.”
“I see.” He takes another drag, then he holds the cigarette out for you, secured between his gloved fingers. “Hm?”
You instinctively shake your head and his pencil mustache twitches. He does not pull away, a dare, maybe. “Okay,” you decide. “Sure.”
A rare smile. He takes a step closer which sends you into a nervous spiral, your heart pumping faster and faster. A slight tremor runs through his hand as he places the filter at your lips, the very part that was trapped in his own mouth mere seconds ago. At this thought, your hands start to sweat, warmth spreading out in your lower belly. His eyes are fixated on your mouth as you close your lips around the cigarette, taking a brave inhale that burns in your lungs. This time you don’t cough or stutter. Your face starts to burn all the same.
“Can I offer you a drink?” he asks. “On the house.”
“I don’t usually…” You catch yourself before you finish the sentence, shaking your head to dismiss your own hesitation as you remember his words. “Yes, thank you.”
If he notices how flustered you are, he does not let on as he holds the door open for you to invite you in. The man who finished his beer earlier is slipping past you by the entrance and you notice that whoever had the wine is not inside the bar anymore. At the prospect of being alone in here with Mr Emeritus, your stomach does a somersault.
He disappears behind the bar and you set your bag down on one of the stools before you shift into a comfortable position right next to it. The seats are soft and plush, inviting you to stay for more than one glass. Observing the happenings behind the bar from here is a lot more exciting than from the outside. Mr Emeritus is in his element, that much is certain, whipping out glasses and corkscrews with expert movements.
“You do not drink often,” he states. “I think I have something that you would like.”
You nod your consent and watch him pick out a bottle from the fridge. It looks expensive, a white label with gold-foiled lettering. Papastrello, it says. The rest of the words are too small.
“What are you reading?” he asks as he opens the bottle. His eyes have found your bag, the spine of a worn old paperback peeking out of the open zipper
“Carmilla,” you say.
“Ah, vampires.” The cork pops, a deep, satisfying sound. A rich, slightly sweet scent escapes the now open bottle. “Do you enjoy the old tales?”
“I prefer them over the newer adaptations, yes.”
“So do I,” he says, expertly filling a glass with the red liquid. “I am surprised a young person such as yourself is so fond of the classics.”
You chuckle. “I think many people are. Or they would not be classics.”
He hums, setting the glass down in front of you. “Not blood but a red that is just as beautiful and rich,” he remarks. “One of my fratellino’s favorites.”
“I don’t uhm…” You carefully take the delicate stem of the thick-bellied glass. “I don’t really know how to–”
“Smell it for a moment, grappolino,” he says. “Do not worry about drinking.”
You bring the glass to your nose. The scent is so strong to your unused senses that you barely have to sniff. Even so, you’re not sure what you’re smelling. It reminds you of different fruits, cherry maybe, almost sweet but with a hint of acid.
“There are different categories of aromas,” he says. “Primary, secondary, tertiary. Many factors influence the smell, the type of grape, the fermentation process, the aging in the barrel.”
He explains it calmly, knowledgeable, not like he wants to brag or taunt you for your lack of expertise. You have to admire how soft-spoken he is for someone with such harsh features, such a domineering aura. Seldom have you met a man of his standing who was so pleasant to talk to, who drew you in like this.
“Now try,” he instructs. “A small sip, hold it in your mouth for a moment, breathe in and see how it makes you feel.”
You do as he says, taking some of the red liquid in your mouth and swirling it around your tongue, breathing in as you let it sit. Somehow the aroma is still there, different from the taste, more intense, but together they fill your senses in a most pleasant way. The wine feels smooth in your mouth just like you remember, even as you swallow, not at all like the cheap supermarket wine you know from when you were younger and drinking with friends.
“No blood, you were right,” you say with a smile. “But it is good. I like it a lot.”
He nods, content with your reply, and fills your glass up a little more. Somehow you feel good about satisfying him, about following his instructions and earning his approval. You wouldn’t mind following him in other areas of your life.
“Speaking of blood,” you say to distract yourself from these thoughts. “I saw your ad in the paper earlier. The one for the blood donation.”
“Are you looking to donate?” he asks, perking up. With his interest so focused on you, you suddenly feel almost shy about it.
“I am thinking about it,” you say. “I used to go years ago.”
“We are happy about everyone who donates. It is for a good cause, we are going to do it every few months now.”
“I didn’t know that you get money for it or I would have looked into it sooner.”
“The kiosk does not pay well?” he concludes.
You huff out a pained laugh. “No. It’s a struggle. But there aren’t many jobs available around here.”
He regards you curiously, at least from what you can gather without seeing his actual eyes. You wish you could. His mustache is a dark brown color, even without hair on his head you assume his eyes must be dark just like that. Or perhaps green, maybe even hazel. Without seeing them your own gaze quickly falls, dancing along his sharp cheekbones and down his prominent nose, the lines on his face leading you to his mouth, pencil mustache, full lips over a strong chin. You’ve been eyeing him for months now, every time he visits the kiosk, but somehow the change in lighting, the change in atmosphere, gives him a magnetic, almost preternatural aura.
A smile tugs at his lips then and you panic for a moment that he might have read your thoughts, that you must have been staring. You quickly avert your gaze, downing way too much of the wine to keep up a graceful appearance.
“Can I offer you some food? Some cheese, perhaps?” he asks.
“Actually, I should um… I should head home,” you say, already feeling a little lightheaded. “It’s late and I have a shift tomorrow.”
“Take the bottle,” he says.
“What? No– That’s–”
“Grappolino, I want you to have it. Don’t insult me by refusing a gift.”
You’re not sure what the name means, something with grapes, probably, but you’re too flustered now to pay much attention. When he hands you the bottle you blindly take it, uttering a few words of thanks. He remains steady, unbothered, which you assume is a good thing. He’s not truly offended. You wonder if anything could shake him enough to break his measured temper.
“I will see you at the donation?” he asks when you slip from your stool.
“Yes. I will see you there,” you promise. “I can’t wait to give you my blood.”
He chuckles, a foreign sound coming from the depths of his throat. Without looking back up, you grab your bag and almost rush out of the bar. The cool night air slaps you in the face like a whip, clearing your head and senses from the effects of the wine and its producer in mere seconds. You take a few deep breaths, pressing the cold bottle against your burning chest. If he is flirting with you then it is certainly working, if not then his mere presence affects you in ways you feel almost ashamed of. Either way, you can’t deny that the money has suddenly become a secondary motivation to visit the vineyard next week. No, there is something way more thrilling waiting for you.
⛧ ✦ ⛧
Specks of dust dance in the sunlight like a thousand tiny feathers, sinking to the ground almost weightlessly. The two empty sitting rooms on the ground floor should be enough to meet the demand that Secondo expects for today. Everyone who donates their blood gets a voucher for the Vinothek and fifty euros cash on hand. The incentives promise a high yield, enough to fill every pre-order as well as the glasses of his special guests once the blood “wine” is ready to be served.
To his chagrin, all the ghouls are busy renovating the guest rooms, and so Terzo is the one helping him prepare the localities. The partnering hospital has sent a truck with enough donation chairs to line the walls opposite of the south-facing windows of the two rooms, granting a nice view over the vineyard. Come sundown, the ghouls will handle the donations. With their monk-like appearance Secondo hopes the people will be trusting. All the bureaucratic hassle, all the licenses and administrative obstacles better be worth it.
“So, how many times do we have to do this?” Terzo asks, rolling another chair into the room.
“This will be the first harvest, another one in September,” Secondo says. “We will keep sixty percent of donations, the rest goes to the local hospitals. It should give us enough to last over the winter if the demand is stable. Then we continue in spring.”
“Mhm and you’re looking forward to tasting the blood of someone special?”
Secondo’s gaze snaps up in a withering look. “Are you eavesdropping on me?”
“It was hard to avoid, fratello. After I finished my wine I had to use the bathroom and it is so close to the bar, no?” He shrugs, smiling to himself. “Now, what happened to Mr. I-don’t-fuck-humans?”
“Who said anything about sexual intercourse?”
“Sexual intercourse?” Terzo repeats. “That’s not a very romantic word. Not very sexy either.”
“I am not looking to fuck, I am looking for a food source.”
“So you want to sample their blood today?”
“Yes.”
“What makes you think it’s good? Why are they special?”
Secondo has no answer to this. Instead he pushes his sunglasses up his nose, adjusts his gloves, biding time. When he finally meets Terzo’s curious gaze again, he shrugs. “I have a feeling.”
“Where exactly is this feeling located? Just below your belt?”
He heaves an annoyed sigh. He won’t grace with him a reply to this, maybe even because he knows that there is a certain truth to his brother’s words that he would rather ignore. There is just something about your smell, about your presence, your positive aura, the warmth in your eyes, that wakes a certain hunger in him. Sexual or not, Secondo knows that he needs to taste your blood.
⛧ ✦ ⛧
The mansion is just as impressive as you remember from your last visit years ago, throning over steep hills with neat rows of lush grapevines. The sight takes your breath away as you carry your already tired body towards the open entrance gates of the estate. A grand, majestic building sits partly hidden behind two tall beech trees with their voluminous crowns, U-shaped, well-kept and exuding the impressive historic atmosphere of centuries past. Ivy and vine tendrils crawl up the high walls on either side, hiding some of the rich ornamentations of the façade that are partly embellished in gold.
You leave the winding trail through the landscape, your muscles burning from the steady uphill climb, and enter a spacious, stone-flagged courtyard. An almost Mediterranean ambience welcomes you – old wine barrels have been stacked in one corner, beautifully planted with lush flowers and shrubs like a small magical garden. A small outdoor sitting area dominates another corner, shielded from the sun by a pergola that’s overgrown with more vine tendrils. Terracotta planters scattered around the open space house even more greenery and the whole area smells richly of herbs and pollen.
You soon spot a sign with a red arrow, the words blood donation written underneath, leading into one of the side entrances. An old chair secures a wooden door that opens into a cool but gloomy hallway, flagged with old stone tiles that remind you more of a castle than a stately home. You’re met with voices chattering in the rooms on either side – it seems busy. Glancing into one, you spot a small reception area and decide that this is where you must be registering for your donation. One wall of the room is lined in medical chairs, almost all of them occupied by donors with black-robed men that remind you of monks tending to them.
You are greeted by one of them, only not with words but a gentle nod as he guides you through another door. Inside is a small office where a pale but kind-looking doctor receives you. After a short talk he clears you for donation and you’re assigned one of the chairs near the entrance. One of the black-hooded men approaches. He really must be a monk, you decide, doing charitable work. Perhaps Mr Emeritus has connections to the church – it would make sense if he is veering into the philanthropic lane now. So many religious orders have their own humanitarian organizations who offer volunteers in the field of medical care, maybe he even has his own. You don’t question the process as everyone else in the room seems comfortable.
The monk does not speak to you when he prepares your arm but he is certainly skilled as he slides the sharp needle through your skin and into your vein. You hardly feel any pressure and as the tube fills with your blood, you start to relax in your seat. He hands you a black rubber stress ball, mimicking how you’re supposed to squeeze it to your palm to increase the blood flow. For the next ten minutes you stay exactly like that, your arm outstretched and your fingers wrapped around the squishy toy. Time passes fast, an older lady begins to chat with you before she is done and leaves you to yourself. Once your bag is filled, the monk removes the needle and expertly wraps up your arm. You don’t see where he carries the bag as he leaves through another door.
With your donation complete, you first sit and then stand up, cautiously stretching out your limbs as to not overwhelm your circulation, following the lady’s advice to take it easy. Another sign in the hallways indicates that there is a sort of break room with snacks and drinks, so you decide to head there and wait until your body has recovered. The sudden change of light and temperature as you leave the sunny and warm sitting room does you no favor. Suddenly your head begins to swim, an icy cold wrapping around your body like a blanket of snow. Your fingertips tingle, cold sweat spreading over your back and then you’re sinking, falling–
“Careful,” a steady voice says and instead of the cool stone floor you hit a soft, strong body. Your vision is blurry but you clearly see the outline of black sunglasses over a strong nose and then those soft, full lips. The man cradles you against him, sitting you down with his knee supporting your back. “I need you to lie down, grappolino. Do I have permission to carry you?”
You nod, not quite sure what is going on as your brain struggles to cling to the world around you.
“It’s you,” you whisper when he gathers you in his arms like you weigh nothing at all.
He carries you down the hallway, the sudden movement only making you dizzier until you feel like you have to throw up. “It is me,” he says at length. “Do not worry, little dove, I will take care of you. I will take care of you forever.”
You close your eyes at the sound of his soothing words, spoken in such a deep but somehow soft voice that caresses your ears like the gentle touch of a lover. Comforted, you rest your head on his shoulders, breathing out a tired sigh, and drift off.
⛧ ✦ ⛧
“This is the right bag?” he asks, even though he can smell it through the plastic and antiseptic layers surrounding it. The same scent he detected from your arm when he carried you upstairs, a scent that already has his nerves on edge with an appetite that he can hardly contain.
The ghoul nods and Secondo shudders as he cradles your blood in his hands. What a beautiful red, richer than any wine he ever made. He takes off his sunglasses to admire how it moves when he flexes his gloved fingers, the texture so smooth, almost silken. Saliva gathers in his mouth and for a moment he forgets the presence of the ghoul.
Impatient now, he looks up to dismiss him. “Grazie.”
He’s already in the kitchen when the door closes, ripping open cabinets in search of a glass. But his body is on fire, burning, longing, craving. He feels like a starving man, like an addict in search of a fix, and before he knows what he’s doing he’s abandoned his search. With both hands he takes the bag and sinks his fangs into the plastic, penetrating the material until he can finally taste you. A deep, rumbling moan breaks from his chest as the first drop of blood meets his tongue. It’s not enough. He bites harder until more of the liquid spills out. Secondo drinks like he has never drunk before. Any attempt at savoring it is in vain. He can’t remember the last time he lost control like this, gulping it down with a greed that would make Lucifer proud, an unquenchable thirst. Your blood is infernal, drinking it an unholy sacrament, the closest he has felt to his faith in decades since leaving the Church. More and more he sucks into his mouth until it dribbles down his chin and onto his sleek white shirt, the one he ironed before knowing that he would meet you today. He rips it from his chest as soon as the bag is empty and the taste starts to fade. Impatiently he sucks at the stains until the aroma finally escapes even his hyper sensitive taste buds.
He’s a wreck. The smell lingers in his nose long after he’s licked the last remnants from his gloves. He sinks to the floor, shamefully gathering the last few drops of blood he spilled and bringing them to his searing, ruined tongue. A pathetic, shameful whimper escapes him and he has to sit in quiet solitude for several minutes until he manages to gather his wits. This is embarrassing, he decides. He has to get cleaned up and dressed.
Secondo enters his bedroom where he brought you to rest a mere ten minutes ago. The sight of your innocent form sleeping in his bed nearly sends him into another frenzy, your neck exposed over the collar of your shirt and practically begging for his mouth. He stands and looks at your weak body, watching your eyes twitching behind their lids, even if they stay closed. For now he is sated enough to stay in control, pushing any animalistic thoughts to the side. You’re beautiful, such a lovely young human, sleeping in the bed of a bloodthirsty monster. The thought makes him chuckle. Perhaps human prejudice against vampires is not that unfounded, even if he usually thinks of himself as a rather sophisticated specimen.
He allows himself another moment of silent reprieve, his eyes roaming your peaceful form without his glasses now. Eventually he brings himself to take a quick shower in the en-suite, freshening up, more cologne, less blood to spook you. He decides on a simple dark green polo shirt, showing off his arms. As he splashes his face with water, he can’t help but wonder what is happening to him.
Your taste is unlike any he has ever experienced before. If he sold it in bottles, even watered down, everyone would flock to his business. But just the thought of sharing you with any other vampire makes him recoil in disgust, the hair on his arms standing up in defiance. It is an entirely new sensation, entirely unwelcome, and yet he can’t shake it. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to do about these intrusive feelings, about his lack of control, the possessiveness that overcomes him in your presence. He’s not even sure if he can trust himself to be near you.
But even so he knows that he cannot let you leave. Not anymore.
⛧ ✦ ⛧
You dream of him.
The outlines are blurry, a room that feels dark, the lights blended out and only coming in through cracks that won’t allow your eyes to focus. Then his handsome face comes into view. Your vision clears for just a moment. Blood covers his face. Not his face. His mouth. His eyes are weird, one is a dark red and one is incredibly pale, the strong brows above drawn tightly together. His gaze is intense, a hunger, a craving reflected in his glowing irises. You’re scared for just a moment but then his expression changes, a sudden tenderness glossing over the harshness of his features and the red eye turns to an emerald green. He looks quite beautiful like this, even with the blood covering his mouth. Especially with the blood covering his mouth.
When you break free from the tight grasp of your hazy dream and open your eyes, his face is right there. You startle, your slow heartbeat suddenly jumping into a sprint, but there is no blood, no discolored eyes, just his sunglasses as he pushes them up his nose.
“Don’t be scared, grappolino,” he says from the edge of the bed. “It is just me.”
You nod, blinking yourself awake. Your head hurts, a low thrum that penetrates your skull like a fly repeatedly hitting a window.
“Do you remember what happened?”
You sit up slightly, propping the pillow up behind you and the way it hurts, the pressure and numbness in the crook of your arm, brings back your memories. “I donated blood.”
“You did. And you fainted,” he explains. “This is my own private bedroom.”
“Do… do all the patients get this treatment?”
A chuckle. “No.”
Heat rises to your chest and you avert your eyes. They are immediately drawn to his bare arms, to the dark hair covering them before his gloved hands appear in your peripheral vision. The polo shirt suits him, a dark green color, the cut accentuating the solid shape of his shoulders. A tuft of dark chest hair peeks out of his open collar and you can see his nipples through the fabric. It is cold in here, you realize. Or perhaps your goosebumps have a different origin.
“I brought you something to drink,” he says, lifting a dark glass bottle he must have set down beside the bed. The distraction is imminent. You eye it curiously, a frown settling on your face.
He can’t possibly be offering you wine right now?
“Grape juice,” he states.
“Oh.”
You feel silly now, maybe your brain is still not fully awake. He opens the screw and fills a glass that was previously set down on the bedside table. When he hands it to you, the tight bandage on your arm hinders you yet again from moving freely and you have to hold out your other hand instead. Mr Emeritus is patient, waiting until you’ve taken the first few sips before he stands from the bed.
“I will bring you some food, little dove. We need to increase your blood sugar, give you some energy. In the meantime you will be good for me and drink your juice, yes?”
His words make you choke on your spit and you cough uncomfortably into the burn. “I ugh… I will. Thank you.”
The corner of his mouth twitches, not quite a smile but it’s enough to have you flustered. You take small sips of the juice that, just like his wine, feels smooth on your tongue and has a rich, intense flavor. It warms your belly, brings life back into your limbs and other parts of your body. You’d be good for him in so many different ways if he let you.
That thought makes you abruptly realize that you’re in his actual bed. You use the chance to properly look at the spacious room surrounding you. It is furnished rather simply, heavy dark curtains cover most of the windows but even with most of the light locked out you can’t see anything beyond the huge canopy you’re resting on. You’re draped between dark green cotton sheets that must have an incredibly high thread count with how soft they feel underneath your fingertips. The dark wooden bed frame is kept upright by four artfully carved posts, solid and dominating the room, the drapes tied to them with rope. You spot two doorways – one is closed, the other slightly ajar. The wall next to the open door is home to a huge painting, the edge of the gold frame shimmering in an odd ray of light that breaks through a gap in the curtains. You don’t know the artwork, it seems to be a dark one, mostly covered in shadows now, but you think it must be a religious subject because you can make out monk-like figures, a goat, a building that resembles an old abbey.
“You walked here?”
Mr Emeritus reenters the room, carrying a tray as he pushes the door open with his black leather brogues.
“Ugh, yes. Is that bad?”
“You cannot walk back,” he decides. “No one is available right now to drive you and I cannot leave before we are done with donations. I suggest you stay and rest.”
“As in… stay the night?”
“One of our guest rooms should be finished by now. You can stay there.” A pause as he settles back beside you and places his cargo in your lap. On the tray you find a basket with a few slices of bread, ciabatta from the looks of it, a plate with a small piece of butter, two different wedges of cheese, a bunch of grapes and other fruit. It looks delicious. “I hope this is to your liking.”
“It looks wonderful, thank you.“ You look from the tray to him. “You’re not from the area originally, are you?”
“No, I am not from the area. Does that matter to you, grappolino?”
“No, you just… you don’t look like you belong here,” you finally say, popping a grape into your mouth. “You should be in… I don’t know, Rome, Paris. Or Tuscany, maybe. Why did you bring your business here? Just because of the vineyard?”
“The mansion has been in possession of my family for a long time,” he says. “I always had an interest in wine making, so I took over when the previous tenant expressed his wish to retire.”
“So you actually chose to live in the middle of nowhere?”
“I enjoy the quiet and solitude.” He cocks his head to the side. “And besides, so do you.”
“Hm, touché.”
You eat as much as you feel comfortable with. He watches you throughout your little meal and while it unsettles you you’re more than willing to accept his hospitality. You promised to be good for him after all and you don’t intend to break that promise. Once you’re done he relieves you of the tray and sets it down on the floor. He gives no indication that he wants to leave.
“Do you feel better?” he asks instead. “Let me feel your pulse.”
You don’t object when his gloved hand reaches for yours. The leather feels thick, sturdy, which makes his hand look huge when it surrounds yours. But then he seems to make a last minute decision to remove the gloves, revealing pale but strong hands, dark hair trailing from his knuckles down to his arm. His fingers are cooler than you expect even though there is a warm glow pulsating underneath his fingertips. Your heart immediately begins to hammer in your chest, rapidly beating against its cage of bone and skin. This will not be a useful measuring, at least not if he’s trying to anticipate your health.
Perhaps his train of thought is similar, for his eyes search yours the moment he feels the increase. The corner of his mouth pulls up slightly and his thumb gently strokes over your wrist. You’re quite incapable of looking away, even through the sunglasses there seems to be a sort of shine in his gaze. If only you could properly see them, not just their shadowy outlines. Sparks fly just below your skin, sending shivers through your whole body.
“You seem livelier to me,” he concludes. “Perhaps some more sleep will do, hm? I will have your rooms arranged, you can stay here for the time being.”
“I have a question,” you pipe up before he can leave, a hint of embarrassment laced into your words that you can’t quite hide. “Am I still getting the money?”
“The money?”
“The fifty euros.”
You’re acutely aware of his thumb still stroking your wrist, so softly that it tickles. “You will, grappolino. But there is… something I want to talk to you about. I was going to wait but perhaps now is a good time, no? Before you are too tired again.”
“What is it?” you ask.
“I want to offer you a job.”
Your eyes widen, the words so unexpected. “A job?”
“I need an employee for the Vinothek. Wine tastings take place on Friday nights every few weeks and I need someone to take over the regular business as I take care of them. The rest of the time you can help out in the vineyard. We have a few important events soon where we introduce new varieties, some international guests will come to visit and there is a lot to do until then.”
“Are you sure this is… not just a pity job offering?”
“No,” he states so matter-of-factly that all your questions vanish. “I can use two extra hands and a sharp brain. I will double your current salary and you can move into your own quarters here for no extra cost. I will make sure your rooms are to your liking.”
You let the thought sit for a moment. Double your salary? Living in an actual mansion in the midst of beautiful wine hills? You wonder what the catch is, if he’s just going to fire you once fall is over or if he’s going to give you all the most horrible tasks he can think of. Even so, for that much money you wouldn’t mind cleaning toilets, sweeping the floors or brewing his morning coffee. It’s not that different from what you’re doing right now anyway.
“Of course there will be no eh… bad blood if you say no.”
“That seems exceptionally dumb,” you say, cringing a bit at your words. “What I mean is, that’s a… a tempting offer. It’s one that sounds too good to be true, actually. It’s just… I don’t know much about wine.”
“I can teach you all that you need to know, grappolino, non preoccuparti,” he says, his voice deeper and almost sultry. His thumb presses into your pulse then, drawing a line along the vein in your forearm until he stops just below the crook of your arm. Then he seems to snap out of whatever thought occupied his mind and pulls away. “Think about it. I do not expect a reply right away.”
You nod, missing his fingers on you already. When he finally leaves the room, you sink back into the soft mattress and imagine what a life here would be like. The offer is too good to refuse and your undeniable crush on Mr Emeritus urges you to agree even more, no matter how foolish it would be to pine after your employer. Subconsciously you bring your thumb to the wrist he just held, mimicking his touch. You think you might die if you don’t feel his hands on your body again. Perhaps he was right, perhaps you would like to explore all the different ways of sinning that he mentioned to you, and perhaps you would very much like him to take part as well.
July
Even though you’re still not quite sure what to make of the masked and hooded monks living in his home who never seem to speak, you accompany them to pack up your belongings. They follow all of your requests and directions without question, treat your things with utmost care and make sure nothing gets lost. What is even more astounding is how they carry even the heaviest of boxes filled with books without any visible strain. Most of the furniture you won’t need anymore is quickly sold or gifted to people on eBay and in the span of one afternoon, all you need is neatly packed into boxes that are now stacked in your new quarters.
You’re not quite sure how he did it but Mr Emeritus handled your job transition quite seamlessly. Your old boss agreed immediately, at least that’s what he told you, and a day later you signed all the necessary paperwork. It gives you a whole day off to familiarize yourself with your new living situation. All morning you unpack boxes, sort books into shelves, clothes into drawers. Your quarters are bigger than anticipated. A decently sized sitting room with beautiful antique-looking green sofas leads into a wide, canopied bedroom that has an en-suite bathroom as well as a walk-in closet.
You are free to use the impressive kitchen downstairs and really, you still haven’t found the catch in the whole arrangement. In search of a cup of afternoon tea, you make your way exactly there, hoping that the pantry is stocked since you’re pretty sure Mr Emeritus has his own private kitchen somewhere else in the mansion. This morning, when you picked up a cup of coffee, he was nowhere to be seen and no dishes or any other evidence betrayed that he was down here.
When you enter the room now, you spot someone else – a raven-haired head stuck in the fridge. The man looks like he just woke up, wearing grey sweatpants and a purple dressing gown. When he turns around, you notice that his upper body is naked and for a moment you’re not sure where to look. The sweatpants barely conceal the outline of his cock and his bare chest and the soft pouch of his belly are covered in thick black hair. A few small tattoos litter his pale skin, an upside down cross underneath his ribs, two more symbols you don’t recognize just above the dip of his hips. His face seems familiar, broad and handsome, beautifully aged with lines that bring out his strong features, bushy dark eyebrows over eyes that… You halt for a moment. One of his irises is green and the other is white, just like the ones you saw in your dream. Heterochromia is nothing new to you, but for an eye to be this pale?
“Oh, buon pomeriggo,” he says with an openly flirty smile. “We have not met yet, I believe?”
“Uhm... no. I don’t think so.”
“You can call me Terzo.”
You give him your name as well, introducing yourself as a new employee. Before the man can say anything else, steps resound behind you and Mr Emeritus appears in the doorway, eyeing him with barely concealed disdain. “Am I interrupting, fratello?”
“Oh, we just met,” you explain. “I wasn’t aware there was anyone else living here.”
“This is just my brother,” he states. “Don’t mind him, he is ugh… hanging around.”
Terzo scoffs dismissively. “I am actually also working here–”
“I thought you were not my new bellhop, fratellino?”
“I help with the guest room renovations. Really, I am the eh… interior designer, you could say.” He grabs your hand, bringing it to his lips with a smirk. “Anyway, it is a pleasure to meet you, tesoro. How lovely to have a youthful presence in this old house.”
“Likewise. I actually wasn’t aware this was a hotel also.”
“It is not,” Mr Emeritus explains, taking a few steps into the room now. He looks incredibly handsome today, wearing his usual black slacks as well as a black button down shirt, sleeves rolled up and the collar open just enough to reveal some of his chest. “We are going to host some of the guests who submit to long travels in order to attend the wine tastings. Now, I was looking for you. I think you need a tour of this place, grappolino, no?”
Terzo dismisses you with a gentle smile, waving after his brother when you both leave the kitchen. Mr Emeritus briskly walks ahead, leading you down a long hallway.
“Were you going to eat?” he asks. “I interrupted.”
“No, I wanted a cup of tea. But I can just have that later.”
He hums, then leads you up a staircase to show you where the guest rooms are going to be located. You see some of the monks again, carrying furniture, painting walls, cleaning rugs. They don’t acknowledge your presence, only step aside when you pass.
“Mr Emeritus–” you start.
“You can call me Secondo,” he interrupts. “Since you are already calling my brother by his first name.”
You’re not sure if you’re imagining the hint of jealousy tainting his voice. He certainly did not look too pleased when he entered the scene earlier. “Secondo and Terzo,” you say. “Like the numbers?”
“My father was not very creative when he procreated like a dog in heat. He argues that he followed an old Italian tradition which is just convenient, no?”
You make a mental note that his father is not a good subject to broach just as he leads you back into the main staircase. “Can I ask you something else?”
“I understand you must have many questions. Feel free to pose them whenever you wish.”
“Well, the biggest one I have is… uhm…” You pause but he does not seem bothered at all. “Who are the hooded men? They look like monks but also not like any real monks I’ve ever seen before.”
“They are something similar.”
“Like a cult? Is that why they don’t talk?”
“No, grappolino, not a cult. We call them the Nameless Ghouls.” His voice is even and patient considering the amount of questions you’re shooting at him. As you walk down the stairs you notice that he is not even remotely out of breath while you’re already struggling to keep up. “They are bound to certain rules of their community such as to not speak to outsiders. They work for me because they were summoned to do so for which I am very grateful. I have arranged one of the former guest houses on the property where they live amongst themselves.”
You furrow your brow, a little confused as to how much of a red flag that should be for you. Ghouls, the religious painting, the upside down cross on his brother’s chest… it does seem suspiciously like a cult. His pace is so fast that you almost stumble down the stairs now. “Do I… do I also have to join them?”
“Oh, no, non preoccuparti. They have nothing to do with you.”
“So they just… help out here?”
“Sì. They make all of this possible.”
“I mean, if they want to live like that, I guess that’s okay.”
He stops in the middle of the staircase. You almost stumble into his strong back, catching yourself on the railing just in time. “I assure you it is all consensual, grappolino. They are free to leave and do as they please. Just like you. Nothing here happens without great enthusiasm.”
You look at him, toying with the hem of your shit nervously now that his gaze is back on your body. Enthusiasm does not sound like he is talking about work but at least it also doesn’t sound like a cult. “This word, is it a good thing?”
He chuckles. “It is a… how do you say? Pet name?” Suddenly he takes the step that separates you, inching closer until his face is right in front of yours. “Do you want me to stop?”
Your eyes widen. “Oh, no. No, I like it. I was just wondering… is it a common name?”
“No, it is not common.”
You stare through his glasses, trying to make out the expression in his eyes. Is he flirting with you? Is he making fun of you? The tension is unbearable but you cannot be sure if he feels it as well with half of his face hidden from your sight. You have half a mind to take the glasses from his face.
“If you follow these stairs all the way down,” he finally says, stopping you from any foolishness, “you will reach the wine cellar. It is the door at the bottom, right next to the main entrance.”
“That’s… that’s where all the treasures are kept?”
His mouth curls into a rare smile. “Not all the treasures.”
“Can I ask another question?”
“Certo.”
“Do you have the same eyes as your brother?”
He cocks his head to the side, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. “You will have to find out, grappolino.”
You swallow, about to take a foolish step closer to him when he suddenly backs away. His face is out of reach before you can even attempt to rid him of the sunglasses and he’s halfway down the next flight of stairs when you finally catch yourself.
“Now let me get you some tea and some food also,” he calls, not even making sure whether you’re following. “You have to eat a lot of iron and vitamins to increase blood production. We don’t want you to get anemic, hm?”
⛧ ✦ ⛧
Vampire Gazette 02/07
A group of rogue werewolves attacked two unsuspecting vampires in the Styrian mountains last Monday. The perpetrators fled the scene after they did not manage to kill their victims and attracted the attention of a nearby group of vampires. Both victims fully recovered in the span of two days while further circumstances of the incident still escape the authorities. Unnamed sources claim that one of the vampires is an old acquaintance of Primo Emeritus. Since last Wednesday, speculations on Social Media suggest that the incident could be connected to the death of a lycanthrope in May in which the former Papa was supposedly involved. Neither the authorities nor the Emeritus family were willing to give statements to confirm or deny these rumors.
⛧ ✦ ⛧
Secondo is not proud of slipping into your room that first night. He’s not proud when he sees you sleeping so peacefully, trusting that you are safe in his care. You look lovely, young, the picture of innocence and trust. A human so lively, so curious and quick-witted. There is an intelligence in you that is way beyond your years and maybe it is the very reason why you so foolishly trust him – you’re not superstitious.
Before he drinks from you, he inspects your quarters. Sheer curiosity, he tells himself, he always liked to learn. Your bookshelves are filled with all sorts of genres – classics, romantic novels, thrillers, horror, historical fiction, non-fiction. What is most telling however are the books on your bedside table. He finds the same copy of Carmilla you carried in your bag, a book about wine making you must have recently ordered and another book that looks suspiciously like a cheap erotic novel. Maybe not so innocent, he thinks, wondering how he would find you if he came in here a few hours earlier, just before your bedtime.
Secondo is not proud when he slips into your room again a few days later. He’s not proud when he does it again and again and again until one day he notices the first signs of anemia in you and gives you a week of reprieve that has him shaking like an addict. At least he found the strength to be careful now, exerting the control he lacked when he tried that first bag of blood, barely puncturing your neck with one of his fangs and drinking as slowly as your blood flow dictates. He does not want to hurt even a hair on your head, does not want you to wake up the next morning with a wound like an animal attacked you and get suspicious. No, he needs you to stay here and stay well, a source of food, a source of joy.
Still, the moment he drapes himself over your sleeping body and your blood hits his tongue it takes all of his strength to stay calm, to suppress the moans spilling from his lips, to stop himself from growing hard against your sleeping body and humping you like a horny teenager. Just a late night drink, nothing else, a meal to sustain him throughout the night. The restraint he displays is impressive even to him. It goes against all of his predatory instincts that tell him to simply drain you, to consume you until you have nothing left.
No, Secondo is not proud of any of it. And he slowly starts to realize that it is not stealing your blood that affects him in such a way that he struggles to keep his eldritch powers measured, to ensure that you stay asleep when he feeds. The kiss of a vampire can be impactful even for the vampire himself, at least when other feelings are involved. So no, it is not your blood that breaks his resolve, that makes it so hard to treat you like any other food source.
It’s the feeling of your skin against his lips.
August
Every day in the vineyard feels like a dream.
You never realized how much your job at the kiosk and living in your tiny flat with nothing but the bare essentials had drained you of the joy of living, how it had put you into a sluggish rhythm of loneliness and unfulfilling work – not until you started to see a different life for yourself, that is. Perhaps Secondo was right when he told you to try out different ways to enjoy yourself all these months ago, perhaps he saw how stuck you were before you got here. Your growing crush on him certainly helps to envision a happier future for yourself in this place.
Your favorite thing are the quiet afternoons with him. Usually, you never see Secondo or his brother before two o’clock. It seems like they are night owls – it is not a rare occurrence that you spot light underneath his office door well into the late hours when you head to the kitchen to grab a cup of tea. In the mornings, you get most of your work done, usually helping out with wine orders that the Nameless Ghouls pack and a post truck picks up around noon. In the evenings, you help out at the Vinothek, taking care of the shop or waiting on people while Secondo tends the bar. But the afternoons? The afternoons are priceless.
Secondo and you usually get comfortable underneath the pergola in the mansion’s courtyard. While he prefers to sit in the shade you have opted for a sunny spot. First you share a break with some afternoon coffee for which his brother usually joins you, then, once Terzo leaves, he starts to teach you everything he knows about wine and wine making. As expected, he is a most patient teacher who takes great delight from your genuine interest in the subject. Today, he is talking to you about different grape varieties and their differences in taste.
“Sangiovese is a red variety,” he explains. “Very common and the base for many wines that I have shown you, grappolino. Chianti, for example.”
“Like in the Silence of the Lambs.”
“Sì, like that one.”
“Have you ever had it with liver?”
“You see, my dove, Chianti is actually not a good wine to have with liver. Amarone would be much better suited, or some lesser known ones. Dr Lecter would have known that, in the book he did.”
You have to smile at that. Of course he would take note of such things while watching a movie or reading a book. While he continues on his lecture on Sangiovese, you breathe in the rich scents that waft over the courtyard, carried by a gentle summer breeze. For a moment you turn your face into the sun, letting the warm rays caress your features. Mild summer days are your favorites, being outside in a simple shirt without freezing or sweating too much. When you turn back, you notice Secondo watching you. When you smile at him he cocks his head to the side, still observing you without shame. As though he only notices now, he suddenly turns away and reaches into his pocket. When his hand comes back into view it holds a silver flask and he makes a face when he takes his first sip.
“Not good?” you ask, chuckling.
He shrugs, giving a dismissive hum. “I am… used to drinking better things these days.”
“What’s in it?”
“A new drink I have been working on. I try to sample it throughout the day.”
“Can I try?”
“No, grappolino, it is not ready for that yet.”
“You will tell me when it is, though?”
He smiles, a genuine, almost soft smile that you see on him more often now when you’re just among yourselves. “I will, little dove. You are always so eager to learn and try new things.”
The compliments he gives you, if rare, are always meaningful. They manage to fluster you every single time and you subconsciously start to scratch at your neck again. This has been going on for some time now – a few mosquito bites that never stop tingling and as soon as you touch them they start to torment you.
Secondo eyes you, brow furrowed, as if to ask why you’re fidgeting so much. The itch won’t leave, however. At this point it’s hard not to just give in and scratch until it’s bleeding and hope that it will just heal off.
“Mosquito bite,” you explain. “I’ve had them since I got here. Somehow they love to drink from my neck.”
“It is a very tender spot, no? Well supplied with blood.”
“Hm, I think so.”
You scratch until it hurts, then you force yourself to stop. Meanwhile, a distant noise becomes louder and louder until a truck enters the courtyard. Its loud beeping as the driver turns around and goes into reverse hurts your ears to the point where you cover them.
“Oh, I quite forgot about that,” Secondo says and stands up.
You watch from the pergola how a few of the Nameless Ghouls appear and carry boxes as well as barrels of wine outside loading the truck. Secondo further rolls up the sleeves of his button down shirt to help, carrying boxes until there is not much space left. The Ghouls bring three more barrels and you watch in utter fascination when Secondo picks one of them up like it weighs nothing more than a feather, placing it inside the cargo area. A minute later the truck takes off to his destination and the Ghouls disappear.
“This… was this a full barrel?” you ask, still in shock, the moment Secondo joins you again.
“Oh, no, of course not.”
“Why would you deliver an empty one?”
He eyes you, sitting down, not even out of breath. How is he so fit? You never see him working out. “Always so many questions, grappolino. So curious.”
“It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me,” you say with a shrug.
“Some people buy them,” he says at last. “For eh… decoration purposes.”
You eye him skeptically. Even carrying an empty barrel would take a lot of strength. At the same time, you assume, he has been carrying boxes and barrels and heavy pieces of furniture for years now. When he reclines against his chair, you again take notice of how pale he is.
“You should wear sunscreen,” you say. “You look like the pale type that burns easily.”
“I am Italian, my dove. I am not the pale type.”
“Still, sunlight is the main cause of skin aging and skin cancer.”
“Are you telling me I look old, grappolino?”
“After you just carried all these things old is the last word on my mind that I would use to describe you, no.”
A smirk tugs at his lips but when you take out your sunscreen, waving it in front of his face, he still allows you to apply some to his cheeks, chin and forehead. You think that any excuse to touch him is worth it, even if it means acting like a mother hen to a significantly older man. Despite your inner desire, you don’t let your hands linger on his face. Touching him feels vaguely forbidden, even with his consent and over the greasy layer of sunscreen. Your shaky hands certainly betray the nervous flutter in your body and when you sit back down on your chair, your stomach is in uproar.
Yes, these afternoons are your highlights because with every day you feel like you take a precious step closer to him. And if you’re really lucky and he’s not too busy he takes you back to his private kitchen afterwards to give you your own little tastings, introducing you to flavors your tongue has never met before. One month in now, you can honestly say that the decision to come here was the best one you ever made in your life.
⛧ ✦ ⛧
Vampire Gazette 04/08
Ad:
Don’t miss when the new special varieties of the world famous Papastrello wine are introduced. Now with a hint of blood and many more flavors.
What? Food, Wine, Socializing
Where? Emeritus Vineyard
When? September 29th
⛧ ✦ ⛧
It is a subtle art to manipulate the taste of blood. You have to feed your prey the right flavors of food and pour the perfect drinks down their throats to influence the aroma in just the right ways. Too much alcohol and the blood is ruined, too much sugar and it tastes like cheap supermarket wine. Secondo has refined his approach over the past centuries to match his personal preferences.
“Grappa,” he says, pushing the thin-stemmed glass in front of you. “A young one.”
You sway the glass underneath your nose, inhaling the sharp scent. There is not much you could deduce from the smell, not with your human senses, but he appreciates how you always try to use them regardless of how futile the results.
“It is distilled from the pomace after the winemaking,” he explains as he watches you nip. “Nothing goes to waste.”
You smile. “That is a very progressive view.”
“I think it is a very conservative view. Traditional, if you will.” He raises his brows, waiting for your reaction. “Do you like it?”
“It’s nice, it burns in all the good ways.”
“It used to be the drink of farmers,” he explains, filling your glass again. “Until technology progressed in the last century. The taste improved a lot, now it is very popular. I learned how to make it in Northern Italy not too long ago.”
“Were you always a winemaker?”
“No.” He does not elaborate, though his brow furrows as the ghost of distant memories tries to haunt him. The flicker is gone as fast as it came. “Come here, grappolino.”
You do, walking over to where he is sitting and stopping right in front of his chair. He grabs your hand with his gloved one, the back facing upwards before he takes some of the grappa and spreads it on your skin.
“Go on,” he says. “Take in the aroma.”
The scent that hits your nose is pleasant, much more pleasant than the taste. When you are done, looking back at him, he reaches out for your hand and brings it to his own nose, holding your gaze. His lips graze your skin when he sniffs and you think you’re about to combust, your whole body tingling nervously at the unexpected touch.
“Impurities show in the smell,” Secondo explains, remaining unfazed. “Of course, this one does not have any. It is perfect.”
“Of course,” you repeat and when he looks at you with his intense discolored eyes, you’re not sure if he meant the grappa. “So… is that true for people as well?”
His brows rise, a smile tugging at his lips as he nuzzles your hand. “Hm, I don’t smell any impurities in you.” A pause in which you stare at each other, unmoving, unblinking. “Unless they are…” His hand slides up your arm, agonizingly slow. Fingers sprawl out on your cheek, cradling your face before he taps his index finger against your temple. “In here.”
“I can’t say my thoughts are very pure when I’m around you, no.”
Your admission, so readily given, hits him like a gut punch. His cock jumps in his pants, swelling until his slacks are uncomfortably tight. It’s not like hasn’t daydreamed about making you come in a hundred different ways, about having you sprawled out underneath him in the very bed you first opened your eyes to him, to have you begging for him, showing him just how obedient and good you can be when it really counts. Right now, he wants to bend you over one of the wine barrels and have his way with you until you’re crying out his name, until every bit of boldness leaves your body and you’re at his mercy in more ways than one. He wants to teach you the sin of lust until you’re fluent in its very language.
“You’re the first human in a long time that’s tempted me,” he admits with a sigh, pulling his hand from your face. “But the sinner knows temptation when he sees it. I won’t fall, little dove.”
You chuckle, leaning further back against the edge of the table. “The first human? That sounds ominous.”
He huffs out a humorless laugh. “You should thank Satan for the gift of ignorance. I know you like to ask questions but sometimes it is better not to know.”
“Secondo,” you whisper and then you’re closer, your leg touching his knee. It is evident by the way your blood rushes to your face that you can see the predicament in his pants. He makes no attempt to conceal it. “I don’t know what it is that you think you need to protect me from. But I just wish… I just wish…” You visibly swallow. Then your tongue darts out to wet your lips, slowly, sensually. “If you’re a sinner, then why not sin?”
It is foolish of him to allow you to slide into his lap. Even more foolish to place his hands on your hips and pull you closer, to feel your soft flesh against his thighs. Your hands land on his shoulders, delicate, curious fingers that feel him without shame. They stay there until you sit so comfortably that you don’t need the support anymore at which point they start to travel – over his chest, down to his belly, back up over his bare forearms. The skin contact is more intoxicating than the grappa. You’re always so warm.
It is only when they reach his face that he flinches. You stop immediately, trying to meet his gaze through his glasses. He takes a deep breath. You’ve seen Terzo’s eyes, there is no reason why you would be spooked by his now. And yet–
“Please?” you whisper.
He knows that meeting your gaze with no barrier is going to bring him to his limits. It is a last safety measure, a shield to prevent you from seeing into his soul and to stop him from falling into yours. Curious, beautiful eyes who have seen way more of him than he ever wanted to bare. Still, it seems like you have softened the hard edges of his resolve. More and more of him trickles from the cracks and he can’t quite figure out how to mend the leaks.
His cautious nod is all it takes for you to take the frame of his glasses and carefully pull them off his face. You hold his gaze so bravely, even as you set them down on the table. The quiet that follows is agonizing even to him. His muscles tense and even though he tries not to blink, he’s the first one to do so.
“You do have the same eyes,” you finally whisper.
“Runs in the family.”
“Ah.”
Those soft fingertips dance along his jaw now, tracing the lines on his skin as though you’re drawing a map. He allows you to get to know his face, even allows your palm to cup his cheek when you gain more courage. The warmth spreads inside of him like a flame, kindling his deepest, most carnal desires that used to be latent for so long.
It terrifies him and yet he craves nothing more than to give into the pull of their current.
“Secondo,” you whisper, his name laced with all of your needs, and then you’re leaning in.
He already feels your hot breath against his lips, your thumb swiping along his sharp cheekbone, and he can’t help but admire your boldness. It would be so easy to give in and accept his fate, accept that he is not as immune as he thought. But to do so would be to admit to his feelings and the consequences, the pain this would cause you both, is not worth a fleeting moment of passion.
He turns away at the last second, your nose brushing against his, even as your lips miss. You pull back, looking at him with your heavy-lidded, lust-filled eyes. It takes everything in him not to grab you. Confusion ices over your features then and he uses the moment to gently push you off his lap until you land on your feet again.
“Go to bed, grappolino,” he says and to his own shame he can’t meet your eyes as the words leave his mouth.
Even so he catches the hurt of rejection that flickers over your face. He can already smell the salty tears gathering in your eyes, even as he fully turns away and starts to clean the table. Your footsteps retreat with no argument, no witty comeback, not even an insult or a sound of annoyance. He almost wishes that you would have slapped him.
⛧ ✦ ⛧
When he sneaks into your room that night dried tears stain your velvety cheeks. They present him with a feeling he has not dealt with in centuries – guilt.
He falters, thinking that he should not feed from you tonight, not after refusing your intimacy earlier when you offered it to him so willingly. And yet, perhaps even more now, he wants to feel your skin against his as if to offer you the comfort he cannot give by day. Against his better judgment he settles in bed next to you, facing you this time instead of just taking your neck from behind. You’re sleeping on your side, one cheek squished to the pillow, the other one available to him. Secondo pulls at his gloves and gently strokes along your cheekbone, gathering what little wetness remains. You’re warm. So warm.
With some effort he leans over you, finding the spot on your neck and reopening the wound with his fangs. As he begins to drink, his arm wraps around you, pulling you into a more comfortable position. It is the closest thing to a hug.
The contrast between you and him hits him with full force in that moment. He’s not sure why you’re not afraid of him. Most humans sense the presence of a vampire. Unaware as to what the threat is, they still usually feel unease or a vague air of danger. Perhaps you have no sense of self-preservation or perhaps you truly just don’t fear him. Perhaps you’re one of the few people who are unaffected, too curious for your own good.
Or perhaps you were simply made for him. Perhaps Lucifer made your paths cross for a reason.
The thought of having you, of leaning into what has been building between the two of you is terrifying but thrilling at the same time. With your blood in his mouth it is easy to imagine claiming you, revealing himself to you, bringing you into his world and showing you its magic.
He’s not sure how you sense his line of thinking but in that moment you start to shift, moving against him like you’re trying to get closer. He slips, losing grasp on his powers for just a moment but it is enough to make you rouse. You don’t fully wake but your sleep lightens and with a tired sigh you cuddle up to him, tilting your head so he has even better access. An arm wraps around his middle, fingers playing with the hem of his black shirt until they graze his bare midriff.
“Secondo,” you whimper.
It awakens something inside of him he has not felt before, not a sexual feeling but a thrum somewhere close to his heart. Need is dripping from your voice, the smell of your arousal hits his sensitive nose, and he’s sure you must be dreaming about him now. Before he knows it he has sunk both of his fangs into your neck and is sucking the blood oozing from the wound. His senses explode, the feeling of your skin on his fingertips, your taste, the way you sigh and seek out his embrace. Lust he can handle, hunger he can handle, but these feelings run deeper, digging below the surface and clawing their way into his very core.
Suddenly it’s all too much. He pulls away from your abused neck, already discolored and swollen, and the sight of what he’s done is enough to propel his overwhelm and guilt into new heights. Secondo slips from the bed and before he knows what he’s doing he finds himself back in his own bedroom. He throws his gloves to the side and stares at his shaking hands. Hands that held you not five seconds ago. Hands that are already yearning to hold you again. His body is buzzing with the need to be close to you, trying to chase the feeling he had when you clung to him, and he hasn’t felt this alive in centuries.
He slides to the ground, leaning against his bed and staring through the window at a growing, nearly full late August moon. What he should be focussing on is the Vinothek, the preparations for the event not even a full month in the future, the growing tensions with the werewolf community and the upcoming wine harvest, not playing around with his little human.
Secondo licks along his teeth, grazing his fangs, but the taste of your blood won’t fade from his mouth, no matter how many times he swallows and swallows and swallows. It remains there, a phantom of you to remind him of his folly. He knows he won’t find any peace tonight.
⛧ ✦ ⛧
When you dream of him this time, it sets your body on fire. Your imagination, in comfort or torture, brings him into your bed where he wraps himself around your body and kisses your neck with reckless abandon. It seems to last all night but at the same time you feel like you’ve only slept for an hour. Waking up is like being ripped from paradise and cast back into the raging horrors on earth. At first you think you still feel his lips on your neck but the sensation turns into a dull pain, not that of a love bite but that of a hammer repeatedly hitting your skin. You remember his rejection from last night and promptly feel like throwing up.
With your mind still stuck in the fragments of the dream, you enter your bathroom to splash your face with some cold water. The pain on your neck has reached into your whole shoulder area by now and you pause when you spot your reflection. A huge purple bruise has spread over the area around the bite. How–
It would not be the first time your body has let his frustrations out on yourself in sleep. Maybe you scratched the mosquito bite too hard, maybe that’s why you dreamed about him kissing your neck in the first place. At any rate, what you really need right now is a cup of coffee and some painkillers.
Without as much as changing you quickly head downstairs. The house is eerily quiet as usual, the morning has just begun after all and the sun is creeping up over the horizon. Every window you pass reveals a spectacular view of the vineyard with its rows and rows of wine dipped into the soft orange light of a late summer sunrise.
The sight helps improve your mood somewhat. Though that is quickly reversed when you reach the kitchen. You’re already halfway to the coffee maker when you jump after spotting Secondo sitting at the large kitchen table. His own cup of coffee sits in front of him as he reads the paper and you’re wondering if he never went to bed in the first place.
Of course he has already detected you, eying you curiously. He’s not wearing the glasses, you note, only his gloves, a simple black polo shirt that draws your attention back to his forearms. Quickly, you avert your gaze and focus on the machine in front of you, your face hot in shame for your silly attempt to kiss him as well as your dream.
“Buon giorno, grappolino,” Secondo says, closing the newspaper he’s spread out in front of him and folding it neatly. You can’t read his expression, not even with his eyes revealed to you.
“Good morning,” you say. “You are up early.”
“Sì. We get some important deliveries today.”
The noise of the espresso machine drowns out your hum of acknowledgment and briefly ends the conversation. However, Secondo’s gaze lingers on your neck and you realize that you’re still only in your loose sleeping shirt and pajama bottoms, the bruise in plain sight.
“It’s… it’s not a hickey.” You’re not sure why you’re saying it. It’s not like you could have got one in the span of the few hours that you’ve been separated. “I don’t know how I got it, probably scratched too hard in my sleep.”
He doesn’t reply, not with words, but there is something in his expression that is wholly foreign to you. His brow is furrowed, his lips slightly parted, and without his glasses you can see a range of emotions reflected in his eyes. If you didn’t know any better you’d think it’s a mixture of shame and guilt. He doesn’t stay long enough to let you see more.
September
Harvesting wine is a brutal job. That is what you’ve been told, anyway.
Hand-picking the grapes instead of using machinery protects the soil, Secondo told you, which is why the Nameless Ghouls head out every morning and every evening to gather them manually while the sun sits low on the horizon.
“The grapes have to stay cool,” he told you when you asked him why they left at four in the morning each day. “It reduces the risk of bacterial infections.”
You watch the bustle from your window, how they start at the bottom of the hillside and make their way up, row after row with buckets and containers on their backs. Once their shift is over, they bring the yield back into the courtyard where they prepare it for further processing.
It seems like they never get tired.
Most days, Secondo and Terzo either help them pick or they take care of pressing the grapes. Things stay a little awkward, at least for you. Secondo does not really acknowledge that anything happened at all and since the whole vineyard is busy with the harvest while you’re stuck in the office or in the shop, restocking shelves, checking inventory, taking care of shipments, you hardly even see him. On one hand, his rejection still hurts, but on the other hand you’re relieved that he has not fired you or had any other negative reactions to your advances. It would not be the first time you meet an emotionally repressed man who pushes you away. Not the first time you calm your anxiety by nurturing your foolish hopes that maybe one day he will find it in him to like you back.
You learn that the harvest has to go over quickly before the grapes are overly ripe. It’s no surprise when they’re done after no more than three weeks. The cold storages are filled with grape juice just like the wooden barrels in the wine cellar where it now rests, fermenting slowly over the next few months until it turns into wine.
With the harvest done, focus shifts to the upcoming tasting event. When you don’t see Secondo chasing the ghouls through the guest wing for some last minute changes to the interior, you usually know he’s busy in the wine cellar, entrenching himself in one of the back rooms which he told you are not for nosy little doves. You’re sure he’s working on his new wines, perfecting the secret recipes. He prefers to work undisturbed in silence, so whenever he is busy down there he has you stock the mini bars in the guest rooms, make floral arrangements to decorate the sitting rooms or prepare small self-made gifts for the visitors. Anything to keep you occupied elsewhere.
You’re not sure if he really wants to work in solitude or if he’s just avoiding you.
⛧ ✦ ⛧
Secondo never took himself for a coward.
He is a smart, calculated man who has a few centuries of experience under his belt that help him go through life mostly unscathed. He tries to anticipate risks and act accordingly and he might come across as cold or dismissive at times because of his measured choices. He hides, he protects, he does what he has to do. But he is not a coward.
He is not a coward but since that night, he has not drunk from you.
It bears the question if avoidance and cowardice are two sides of the same coin. If he can’t win either way. The impulse to ignore an issue is not exactly familiar to him but with the event coming up, with the harvest and goings-on at the vineyard it is easy to slip into a mode of focus that pushes you away by keeping busy.
If it weren’t for that hunger.
He’s drinking enough blood from his supply to sustain him but somehow it will not sate him in the way that your blood does. Even as he works with Terzo now, preparing the rooms for the guests that are arriving today and tomorrow, all he can think about is you. It certainly does not help that your smell lingers in every single room.
“Fratello,” Terzo pipes up behind him. “Did Primo say he would bring someone?”
“Hm?”
“He’s…” His brother snorts, pressing his greasy palms against the freshly cleaned window. “I swear to Satan, he’s with a human.”
“Di che parli?”
Secondo can’t help but join him, glancing out of the window like that one annoying neighbor everyone hates, scanning the courtyard in search of his older brother. Primo’s old Bentley has been parked at the far side beneath the beech trees. His long blond hair dances in the breeze behind him as he rounds the car and opens the door to the passenger seat. Someone else steps out, not a ghoul nor anyone else Secondo has ever seen before. The person holds his gloved hand and he immediately pulls them into his arms, wrapping his deep red cloak around them. He leans down to kiss them on the mouth, tenderly, taking his sweet time as he cradles them in his arms like they’re the most precious thing in the world.
“Ma che cazzo…” Terzo whispers. “The old man found someone before I did.”
“He’s with a human,” Secondo states.
“No shit, Sherlock, eh? Not all of us are anthropophobic.”
“I am not–”
“Satana, are they going to stop making out? That’s disgusting.”
“Stop spying, stronzino.”
He practically pulls Terzo from the window and forces him to welcome their brother in the entrance hall downstairs, as respect demands. They have to wait another five minutes until Primo appears, carrying two large suitcases, the human he brought with him entering alongside. They’re young. Very young in fact. Probably around your age, he can’t help but note.
“Fratello!” Terzo greets him exuberantly, opening his arms to him. Primo barely has enough time to set down the suitcases before Terzo’s lips press to his cheeks in two loud kisses. “You look well! And you brought someone, che sorpresa!”
“I am well,” Primo says as Terzo quickly moves on to the human, taking their hand delicately in his and bringing it to his lips. Meanwhile Primo faces Secondo who is still rooted to his spot behind the reception desk. “Grazie per l’invito.”
“Grazie per essere venuto,” he replies diplomatically. “It is good to see you, fratello.”
“To be honest, we need a place to stay for a while.” He turns to his companion who has since been freed from Terzo grasp, wrapping a possessive arm around their waist with a sort of love-sick expression that Secondo has never seen on him before. “This is my little flower, my greatest treasure. I want you all to meet.”
Terzo and Secondo exchange a quick look but before they can say anything the human speaks up. “It’s nice to meet you both. Primo told me a lot about you.”
“Only good things I hope, eh?” Terzo asks.
“They know,” Primo says then. “You don’t have to hide.”
“You told them?” Secondo asks, the shock evidently woven into his voice.
“Fratello, what is going on?” Terzo’s reaction is quite similar. “Werewolves, a human?”
In that moment Secondo’s senses detect you coming down the stairs. He shushes his brothers, nudging Terzo towards the suitcases in hopes of giving the appearance of a normal check-in. The last thing he needs right now is another human finding out.
“I told you I am not your bellhop,” Terzo complains.
You round the corner, then, and they finally pay enough attention to notice you as well. Secondo can’t help but take you in when you descend to their level. His eyes find your neck, the bruise mostly faded but even so the memory of that night is clear in his mind. That appetite inside of him stirs, the urge to have his lips on your skin again to taste not just your blood but all of you.
“Oh, hello,” you say, effectively bringing his attention back to the situation at hand. “I thought I heard voices. Is everything okay?”
“Yes, grappolino.” He has to force himself to stop staring at you. “The first guests have arrived. This is our brother, Primo, and his… partner.”
“It’s nice to meet you. I hope you enjoy your stay.”
“And who is this?” Primo asks, shooting Secondo a knowing look before he greets you with a gentle smile. “How lovely to see a new face in these old halls.”
Secondo introduces you, not without a hint of barely concealed shame. He can feel Primo’s eyes boring into him throughout, the accusation of hypocrisy very evident in his narrowed mismatched eyes. Of course Primo would see right through him. His older brother’s senses are even stronger than any of theirs. He would not be surprised if he still smelled him on you.
“Can you find a Ghoul to carry their luggage?” Secondo asks. “I would like to have a moment with just my brothers.”
“I won’t leave my flower,” Primo says, vehemently shaking his head.
“It’s okay,” they interject, running a soft hand along his arm. “I will just start unpacking.”
It is only with a great deal of reluctance that Primo follows him and Terzo into the kitchen and leaves his little flower to you. The eldest immediately finds the kettle and brings some water to boil. Old habits die hard, Secondo supposes. Serious conversations are only to be held over a calming cup of herbal tea.
“Cos’è successo?” Secondo ask once they all sit over their mugs. “With the wolf?”
“It was not done on purpose,” Primo says. “I was protecting someone I love. That is all you need to know.”
“The human?” The word comes out with much more venom than he anticipated.
“Ah and you are here to pass judgment?” Primo asks, giving him a withering look. “You?”
Secondo presses his lips together. “Not judgment. I am trying to understand why.”
“Is it so hard for you to imagine caring about someone? To love them so much that you would kill for them?”
”No, I–“
“I am not here to be questioned,” Primo interrupts. “You invited me to an event, no? That is what we are here for. If you allow us, we would like to stay a few more days until we can move into our new home. But apart from that, I do not wish any commentary on my life.”
“You are moving?” Secondo asks. “With the human?”
“Oh, don’t mind him, fratello,” Terzo chimes in. “He is just grumpy because he fell in love with a human as well but unlike you he already messed it up. We are very happy for you and your little flower.”
“I will not have this childish conversation,” Secondo says. “There are werewolves running amok because of this, attacking our kind.”
“And they will calm down,” Terzo says. “There are a few rogues, it is not the whole community.”
“Secondo, I know you are worried.” Primo’s voice lost the defensive tone, instead it sounds much more like the caring, diplomatic voice his brother is used to. “But I don’t need your protection. If any werewolf is foolish enough to attack us, they will face harsh consequences. I will defend what is mine and I urge you to do the same.”
Secondo lets those words sit for a moment. He has never felt protective of anyone outside of the family before but now the first person that comes to his mind is you. Would he have done the same, killing a werewolf to save you? Potentially rekindling a centuries-old conflict between two communities?
The answer comes surprisingly easy.
“Did you invite Copia?” Primo asks then. “He is not here?”
“Oh, he is busy playing Dracula somewhere in the Slovakian mountains,” Terzo replies. “He said not to expect him but to send him a few bottles.”
“He is not doing well.” Primo takes a long sip of tea. “It has been half a century.”
“Until father steps down this will not change,” Secondo says. “Copia has the rightful claim to the title.”
“Well, we had this argument before and it caused a family feud that made us vulnerable in the first place,” Terzo snaps. “The old stronzo doesn’t give a shit.”
“Let’s not get into this now,” Primo says. “We are here to celebrate that your business is doing well, Secondo. It will give the community something else to talk about for a while.”
This is as long as they manage to keep Primo from going to look after his flower, leaving them to stew over their own tea mugs they won’t be emptying. Secondo struggles to grasp what he learned today. Primo – the experienced, the wisest and most reasonable of them – is in love with a human. A young, kind, lovely human. And he is happier than ever before.
But perhaps that is not what is so hard to understand. Perhaps it is the fact that Secondo wishes he had the very same thing. Primo’s words still ring inside of his head. Is it so hard for you to imagine caring about someone?
The answer is no. He knows exactly what it feels like.
⛧ ✦ ⛧
The next twenty-four hours are the busiest since you came to the vineyard. Guest after guest arrives and Secondo puts you in charge of welcoming them. You’re behind the reception desk most of the night because apparently most of them traveled through the evening hours. By twelve pm on the very day that the event takes place the last guest arrives. He is a middle aged man with dark hair and kind brown eyes, looking far more average than the rest of the guests with their fancy clothes, aristocratic features and expensive cars. He reveals his name to you and you scan the reservation, finding him at the bottom as one of the last ones to book a room. There aren’t any left, so he must have got lucky.
“That would be the blue room, sir,” you offer, handing him the key.
He eyes your neck, then, and you’re not sure what he is looking at, if he can still somehow see the faint remnants of your bruise in the dim lighting inside. Before you can apologize for your appearance, he glances away again, smiling. “Thank you, little one. The blue room sounds lovely.”
“Let me ask someone to carry your luggage, sir.”
You’re ready to ring the bell and call for a Ghoul. However, the man stops you with a wave of his hand. “Oh, not necessary. I shall carry it myself. A little workout never hurt anyone.”
“Oh, okay.”
He’s already up the stairs when you’re distracted from the encounter. Secondo strolls into the entrance hall. He does not appear nervous, despite only having eight hours left until the event begins. Right now he’s dressed in a simple polo shirt, slacks, his usual gloves and sunglasses. You love it when he looks somewhat casual, at least to his standards. Still, you can’t quite revel in his handsome appearance. Since the tasting is so close now, your anxiety has risen to an uncomfortable level. He said he needed an extra pair of hands but he never specified for how long.
“Has everyone arrived?” he asks when he reaches the desk.
“Yes, the last guest just went to his room.” You eye him as he scans the list in front of you, not even taking notice of the state you’re in. “Actually, do you have a moment?”
He looks up, then, and you freeze. Even through the glasses meeting his eyes has the heavy impact of a gut punch. You’re surprised by how gentle his voice is. “Of course, my dove. What is it?”
“I just wanted to say that I’m sorry,” you ramble before you can think twice about it. “I know, we were just being a little flirty with each other and that this is very different from actually attempting to kiss you. I feel very stupid now that I… that I misread the situation and I want to apologize. I love working here and I don’t want to lose it when the event is over. I enjoy being here, spending time with you and I don’t want to leave.”
“Grappolino, who said anything about leaving?”
You’re almost crying, tears pricking your eyes like a thousand needles. “You’re avoiding me. I just assumed that when you don’t need me anymore…”
He stops you by reaching for your hand, pressing his thumb into your palm. “You do not have to worry about this right now.”
“How can I not? You’ve been acting all sorts of weird with me.”
Secondo sighs deeply and you regret bringing it up now when he’s already stressed. But then he perks up as though something caught his attention. He pulls you into the door to the wine cellar by the stairs just when you hear voices and footsteps approaching. Blindly you stumble after him, shivering when you reach the cold stone masonry downstairs where he turns on an old, dim ceiling light. Down here it smells of fermentation, wine and vaguely of must. You lean against an old table, listening to the gurgling sounds of the carbon dioxide leaving the barrels.
“You won’t go, grappolino,” Secondo says, running his gloved hand over his face until he reaches his sunglasses and takes them off. “In fact it is I who should apologize for how I’ve been treating you. For things you don’t even know about.”
You stare into his odd eyes, the white iris almost glowing in the gloomy old cellar. He takes two steps until he’s right in front of you and you feel a cold shiver of anticipation running along your spine. You haven’t been this close since the grappa incident and the smell of his cologne makes you dizzy with need.
“My dove, you did not misread the situation. I very much wanted to kiss you.” He cages you in, resting both of his hands on the table at your sides. “And I very much want to do so right now.”
“Please,” is all you can say. “Please, Secondo.”
The corner of his mouth pulls up into a smug grin at your begging tone, the lines on his hollow cheeks deepening. He leans in until your breaths mingle, until you can feel his exhales tickling your lips. “We shouldn’t,” he whispers into the tight space. “It is foolish.”
And yet he does not pull away. His hooked nose nuzzles yours as if to savor the moment for just a bit longer. You dare to reach out and wrap your hands around his strong neck, playing with the collar of his shirt. He hums when your fingertips brush the tender skin at his nape and his own hand moves to cup your cheek, looking for more contact. The leather feels soft, hiding how his firm grip keeps your head in place. His eyes are stuck on your lips and you decide to close yours, mentally tracing the line of butterflies that flutter from your belly all the way up to your throat. Another hum leaves him when you part your lips in a sigh and then his thumb pushes your jaw up, tilting your head just right before his lips capture yours.
His mouth is cooler than expected, softer too. Secondo takes charge of the kiss in a way that makes you weak in the knees. Gentle but firm at the same time he moves his lips against yours, slowly increasing the pressure. You moan softly, clinging to him as your body sinks and sinks against him. His hands move to your hips to catch you and he easily sets you down on the table, stepping between your legs until you can feel his whole front against yours. He’s already half-hard and his outline is only growing against your stomach.
You snake a hand between your bodies, cupping his length through the tightness of his slacks. Secondo groans into your mouth, pushing his tongue between your lips with urgency. You kiss back with the same hunger, swollen mouths and eager tongues exploring each other to the last crevice. When you break away, saliva drips from the corner of your mouth to your chin and he licks it off, kissing from your cupid’s bow down to your jaw.
Before you can properly recover your breathing, Secondo’s hand toys at your lips and he slides two of his fingers inside your mouth. You receive them, allowing him to press down on your tongue.
“Get them wet for me, hm?” he murmurs into your skin. “My perfect little dove. So eager, so filthy, just waiting for me to fill you.”
You suck at the digits spurred on by his praise, swirling your tongue around their length while his lips firmly attach to your neck in a bruising kiss, just like in your dream. You struggle to keep your grasp on reality, lust and pleasure overwhelming all of your senses. When he finally pulls his hand from your lips you feel horribly empty. He gives you no time before he pushes his hand into your pants, not even playing with you before he immediately slides it in deeper. He finds your opening, fingers probing and widening before he slips one inside. You keen, grasping his shoulders for support and he adds a second one shortly after. The stretch is beautiful, thick, gloved fingers that he crooks expertly to hit that sweet sensitive spot inside. You think he moans louder than you at the contact, sinking against your body for a moment as the sensation hits him.
“You…” He shudders, groans deeply into your ear. “You’re so… warm.”
He gasps when you impatiently rut against his hand, rolling your hips in sync with the movements of his fingers inside of you. He helps you along, pumping his fingers in and out of you while still kissing your neck with his insistent mouth. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him in deeper, closer, until his hard cock rubs against your front at every thrust of his hand. Secondo grunts like a wild animal and then his teeth sink into the juncture between your neck and shoulder. A stinging pain shoots through you and you cry out in surprise. The feeling is not unpleasant, on the contrary – the pain mixing with your pleasure makes you wonderfully dizzy. He must have broken the skin because there is more wetness now than just his spit trickling down your throat. Secondo startles when he feels it, breaking away from your neck, and you can see blood staining his teeth and lips. “I’m sorry– I–”
“It’s okay,” you reassure him. “It’s okay, I like it rough. Don’t stop.”
His lips press to yours urgently. You moan, tasting your warm blood in his cold mouth, and you push your tongue inside even deeper for more. Secondo’s movements speed up. His fingers fuck you roughly until you can’t help but clench around them. It only takes a few more flicks of his tongue against yours, a few more strokes of his fingers until you’re tumbling over the edge. The moan that breaks from your throat echoes loudly in the old stone halls and you whimper pathetically at every thrust with which he carries you through your pleasure.
You notice that his hips still hump your front in sync with the last few pumps of his hand, chasing the friction of your body. He’s grunting, his open lips pressed to the corner of your mouth before they slide down to your neck. His tongue darts out to lick the remaining blood from your collarbone, eager strokes of his tongue that leave a wet trail over your skin before his lips close tightly around the wound. Suddenly he stills, releasing a drawn-out moan stifled by your wet skin and you feel his cock jumping inside of his pants when he cums. For a moment he holds you against him, removing his fingers to wrap both of his arms tightly around you.
“Perdonami, per favore,” he whispers, pressing a thousand soft kisses along your neck. “I hurt you. I hurt my little dove.”
“Don’t apologize,” you stress. “I like it rough, I would have told you if I didn’t.”
“That’s not…” He sighs. “No, I cannot hurt you. It has to stop.”
“Secondo.” He falters at the sound of his name, frowning at you. “I liked it. Please, don’t worry.”
He takes a shuddering breath, shaking his head vehemently. “Grappolino, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
You smooth out the deep line between his eyes, caressing his features with all the tenderness you feel towards him. He slowly relaxes, resting his forehead against yours. For a while you stay like that, embracing each other, breathing each other in. Your heart beats strongly against your ribs, longing to reach him. You’re not sure if you’ve ever been this happy before.
“Secondo,” you whisper, nuzzling his nose with yours. “I think I’m in love with you.”
He freezes against you, his limbs going rigid. After a moment he pulls away to meet your eyes and there is such visible confusion etched into his features. His mouth opens slightly, revealing the edges of two sharp fangs, still dipped in your blood. His eye turns from a deep red to its usual green.
Suddenly, it all begins to fall into place. Perhaps you breathed in too many alcoholic fumes down here, perhaps you’ve finally lost your mind. But the way he lapped at your blood, the way he avoids the light, the bruising around your neck, the sunglasses and late nights, how you dreamed about him with blood staining his mouth, his eye glowing red–
“Secondo!” a voice calls down the stairs. “Sbrigati!”
His head whips around and he tries to break away. You attempt to keep him there, holding onto his shoulders, urging him to stay. “Secondo, are you… are you a–”
“We have to talk later,” he says, tearing himself away from you with ease. “We have to head to the Vinothek and get ready for the guests. I will wait for you in the courtyard.”
”But–“
He won’t hear you out. Before you can say another word he’s already upstairs.
⛧ ✦ ⛧
Somehow you manage to get dressed. Your legs hardly carry you upstairs, weak from the force of what just happened as well as the sudden stress added on top. With your evening outfit already neatly laid out on your bed it doesn’t take you too long to get ready but you also can’t find any calm moment to gather your thoughts. Your suspicion spreads in your mind, carrying a hint of fear but also curiosity. You’re sure you’re slowly losing grasp on your sanity. It’s impossible. You’re not superstitious, on the contrary, you’ve always relied on your thirst for knowledge, on the fact that you learn fast, that you see through things and quickly understand them. But if your notion turns out to be true, you ran into the trap of a predator with open arms and a bared neck.
Even so, your suspicion doesn’t stop your cheeks from burning when you meet everyone in the courtyard, Secondo and his brothers already waiting for you in the shade of the pergola. When his eyes meet yours you feel a pull, a need unlike any you have felt before. You can’t help but wonder if you’re being manipulated, if this is all a mirage and he’s been toying with you all this time.
Real or not, their looks for the night take your breath away. What strikes you the most is how all three of them are wearing face paints that shape their features like skulls. They’re all slightly different but Secondo’s looks the most menacing, stressing the sharp edges of his jaw and cheeks. In contrast to that of his brothers his eyeshadow is glittery, sparkling in the light that meets his face.
Suddenly you’re wondering how the thought of them being vampires has never occurred to you before. Secondo looks quite like Count Dracula himself in his white button down shirt, a green brocade vest under a perfectly cut suit jacket, an emerald green bowtie, black slacks and leather brogues that match his gloves – the same gloves that were inside of you not even half an hour ago. Terzo’s outfit is quite similar only that his shirt has ruffles, the vest is a deep purple and he’s fixed a silver brooch on his collar that bears the upside down crucifix you’ve seen tattooed on his body. Primo is wearing a crimson brocade tailcoat, his long blonde hair curled at the edges while his partner’s outfit was carefully chosen to match his. They look like they jumped straight out of a classic horror movie – elegantly menacing, aristocratic and weirdly out of time.
During your ride to the Vinothek, you’re closely pressed to Secondo’s side on the backseat of a short limousine with darkened windows, driven by one of the Nameless Ghouls. Even dressed up you feel quite out of place. His strong thigh is pressed against yours, distracting you enough that the five minutes pass quickly. You stare at his hands resting in his lap, toying with the hem of his gloves, and you wonder if he wore the same pair on purpose.
At the venue, more Nameless Ghouls arrange tables and chairs in one of the side rooms that are usually empty. You feel pretty useless while the others discuss the tasting, so you refill the shelves in the store up front and distract yourself by preparing the bar for the evening. At some point Secondo approaches you behind the counter. “You can handle the hum-” He coughs. “The evening bustle while I lead the tasting?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Thank you, grappolino.” He stops, almost reaching for your hand but pulling back just before your fingers touch. He looks like he wants to say more, you want him to say more, but his lips stay sealed. It is odd to look at his painted face, a man you thought you knew, thought you were in love with. Now it is hard to say if any of it was real.
Once the first guests arrive, you’re tasked to show them into the event location. You know the actual tasting is going to take two hours with the subsequent chance to socialize. Once the door closes you get somewhat comfortable behind the bar. Throughout the night you only have to tend to two guests, the rest of the time you spend googling everything that you can about vampires on your phone. No helpful sites pop up, only a few intense subreddits about suspected vampire sightings that only serve to confuse you even more.
About two hours later, the door to the side room bursts open and Terzo storms past. He pulls at the door of one of the wine fridges, blindly reaching for one of the bottles. Secondo follows two seconds later, closing the door quietly behind him with a deep sigh. You step aside when Terzo reaches for a corkscrew, pulling the cork out like it’s nothing.
“You don’t know if it is true,” Secondo says, leaning in the doorway.
“Well, they’re not here,” Terzo says. “They didn’t come.”
“You should be glad they did not, fratello. It spares you the pain of another rejection.”
Terzo lifts the bottle and places it at his painted mouth, taking a long swig until the paint is smudged and his lips take on a deep crimson tone. He lets the taste sit for a minute, seemingly content before he starts to empty the bottle without pause.
“Fratello, you need to calm down,” Secondo warns him. “This is a wine tasting.”
“Yeah, so? Are you supposed to be boring at those?”
“They are a more… sophisticated sort of event. Come sai.”
“What I know, fratello, is that I’m here for a good time, just like everyone else. I want to have some actual damn wine and find someone to fuck later, sound sophisticated enough?”
“Terzo,” Secondo says. “You can’t fuck or drink the pain away.”
His brother frowns, grabbing another two bottles from the fridge. “Watch me try.”
You follow Terzo with your eyes as he pushes past his brother and disappears in the other room. Through the open door you can hear the bustle of people socializing, the clinking of glasses. “Will he be okay?”
Secondo closes the door and shrugs. “This is going to cost me a lot of wine. It is not easy to get him drunk.”
“So ugh… who didn’t come?” you dare to ask.
“His ex.” Secondo lifts his hand to rub at his eyes but thinks better just before they touch his make-up. “It is a long story. Someone told him they’re with someone else.”
“Secondo,” you try, now that you have him alone. “Actually, I’ve been wondering…”
“I need to look after him before he causes a scene. Can you do me a favor and get some of the orders sorted? The bottles are in the backroom. You can pack them in the usual boxes and bring them out back where one of the Ghouls will pick them up later.”
You want to argue with him, force him to listen to you, but he seems too tense to risk an attempt now. Instead you nod. “Where are they?”
“I will bring you the forms.”
With that he disappears into the side room as well. You’re curious, maybe too curious for your own good, but you just have to risk it and slip inside as well. The sight that meets you has you gasping. All of the guests have gathered around bar tables, wine glasses filled with a deep red liquid as they eagerly chat and drink. Even in the dimmed light you realize that this is not the same wine you’ve seen served at the bar, nor does the texture resemble any of the ones Secondo had you try. No, if it’s true and they’re–
A sudden sense of terror overcomes you, even more so as you notice the first curious pairs of eyes on you that you swear are a glowing red. They don’t look real, they don’t look even remotely human, and most of all they look hungry.
“You are too curious for your own good.”
Secondo is by your side immediately, blocking your view before he ushers you out of the room. You let him carefully manhandle you until you’re outside of the door, still petrified from what you just saw, from the sudden horror fantasies your mind conjured up.
“The orders,” he says, pressing the documents into your hand before he gently cups your cheek. You’re panicking, maybe. Or perhaps you’re not breathing at all. “My dove.”
“Hm?”
“Are you alright?”
You nod, telling yourself that this can’t be true. It simply can’t. You’re seeing ghosts, your brain has taken hold of an idea and ran wild with it. This is the real world, not one of the many novels you read. Secondo is right here, looking just like always, his iris green and not glowing at all.
“I’m sorry for busting in,” you say, realizing your silly mistake now. “I just… God, I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m losing my mind.”
“Grappolino, I promise we will talk tomorrow. First we have to get this done, yes?” His thumb swipes over your cheek, so gently that you decide to believe him. “I will meet you once the guests leave and we will talk about what happened today.”
“Alright.” You nod, leaning into his touch. “I’ll… I’ll take care of the orders.”
He must know of your suspicion, he must know. His eyes tell you that he’s not going to let you leave, that he has an eye on you if you want to or not. For some reason you still feel safe knowing that he’s here, his touch nothing but comforting. His nod is barely noticeable but he does let go of your face eventually to go back inside.
For a few minutes you have to hold onto the wall, slowly breathing in and out, trying to calm your racing heart. Perhaps it’s the lack of proper sleep. You spent most of last night checking in guests, only getting a few hours of rest in the early morning.
This is ridiculous, you tell yourself, vampires aren’t real.
Once you’ve recovered, you start to pack the boxes, distracting yourself with the basic, monotonous work that is packing order and updating inventory. You’ve already carried a couple of boxes outside into the alley behind the Vinothek when your sneaking suspicion grows stronger again. There is an easy way to find out whether they were really drinking blood. One way to prove to yourself that you’re overreacting.
Without thinking you rip one of the boxes back open. The bottles look like any other wine bottles. Papastrello, the label says in gold-foiled lettering that is all too familiar by now. The only difference is the upside down cross that is stamped into the paper. The bottles are about the same weight, the dark glass no different from the other wine bottles you’ve seen. The only way to know for sure is to open it, to look at the wine itself.
In that moment you’re too scared to head back inside, too scared that someone is going to sense your suspicion and either laugh about your paranoia or possibly harm you for finding out what no one should know. You feel quite unhinged when you grab the bottle and smash it on the concrete of the sidewalk. What splashes out and mixes with the shards of glass is a red liquid that might be wine or might be blood, you can’t quite tell. The pale light of a full autumn moon reflects in the color, making it much paler than it looked inside. You know that you have to try it to know for certain whether it is wine or not.
It takes you a long moment of persuasion, silently debating with your inner voices until you reach out and wet your finger. On your skin, the liquid feels wrong, thicker, creamier, but also not quite like blood. You swallow your fear and bring it to your lips.
The moment your finger hits your tongue a deafening growl echoes in the street behind you. The sound is predatory, animalistic, ringing inside your ears long after it stopped. The hairs on your arms stand in alert as you turn around, expecting an aggressive dog or perhaps even a wolf straying from the woods. But what meets your eye is anything but. The creature is huge, filling the width of the whole alley with its broad shoulders and even as it cowers, resting on his two huge clawed hands, it’s almost as tall as the cars lining the main road.
The metallic taste on your tongue is forgotten the moment you spot it. Another growl and the beast jumps into action, galloping along the alley just as you scramble to your feet. Flight is hopeless, you barely take two steps in an attempt to sprint before its heavy steps are right behind you. Still you run and suddenly it seems like you’re making headway, the sounds gaining distance. You dare to turn around when you finally reach the end of the alley. What you see feels surreal, like a nightmare brought to life.
Secondo is standing between you and the monster who seems to have stopped, assessing the situation. Against all instinct you take a few steps back in their direction, watching the furry creature with its deformed but still somehow human body. Suddenly you recognize him, dark hair, the same brown eyes. It has to be the man who checked in this morning.
“You attacked the wrong human,” Secondo says. “This is not who you’re looking for.”
The creature does not seem in control of itself as it paces the road, sniffing audibly, baring its fangs to you in an attempt to intimidate and scare. Secondo stays in front of you, the image of a predator himself, but compared to the werewolf he looks small, almost fragile. Fear buries its way deep into your body. Suddenly you’re not worried for yourself anymore but for him. Your heart is hammering so fast that it echoes inside of your skull, your whole body sweating and shaking.
When the beast finally pounces, you shriek. Secondo grabs its massive arms to keep it at a distance but the werewolf tears at his clothing, ripping until its claws sink into his torso. His voice stretches into a pained scream that penetrates your whole body, deeper and deeper until you can feel it all the way into your marrow, rattling at your very core. The wolf is going to rip him to pieces in the blink of an eye. It’s going to kill him the moment he breaks his powerful hold.
You would never forgive yourself if he died because of you, if he got hurt trying to protect you. And maybe it is foolish, maybe you should let him handle the fight by himself, but you close the gap anyway until you can duck and reach into his pocket. Before you can think any of it through you’ve already sparked the flint and shoved the flame of his stupidly expensive lighter into the wolf’s fur. At first you think it is too dense to burn but then the beast starts yowling. The softer underfur has caught on fire, a disgusting sulphuric smell spreading around you. For a moment the wolf recoils in pain, letting go of Secondo who stumbles backwards. You’re trying to reach him but then the wolf deals one final blow, throwing his massive arms around his body. At the last moment, his paw smacks into your flank and pushes you down.
You land on the concrete, all breath brutally ripped from your lungs, and the intense pain of the impact explodes in your whole body. Secondo falls to the floor next to you with a heavy thud, dark non-human blood oozing from the cuts in his body. You hear more sounds as your vision slowly fades. Terzo is storming out of the back door, more people blurring into one big mass of faces behind him – and then you’re gone.
⛧ ✦ ⛧
Vampire Gazette 04/09
Last night’s wine tasting at the Emeritus Vinothek ended in a brutal fight between the owner Secondo Emeritus and an unknown lycanthrope. The werewolf attacked a human employee outside of the establishment but could be stopped when the vampire intervened. He fled the scene while the other attendees took care of the victims. Both vampire and human escaped the fight slightly injured but are going to recover with no permanent damage, according to a spokesperson of the family. This is the tenth incident of violent conflict between vampires and werewolves in the past four months, following a surge of cases after the killing of a lycanthrope in May.
⛧ ✦ ⛧
“Here then, were all the admitted signs and proofs of vampirism. The body, therefore, in accordance with the ancient practice, was raised, and a sharp stake driven through the heart of the vampire, who uttered a piercing shriek at the moment, in all respects such as might escape from a living person in the last agony. Then the head was struck off, and a torrent of blood flowed from the severed neck. The body and head was next placed on a pile of wood, and reduced to ashes, which were thrown upon the river and borne away, and that territory has never since been plagued by the visits of a vampire. ”
You wake up to Secondo’s voice as he reads you the last few pages of Carmilla. Slowly noticing the world around you, you realize that you are in his bed in the mansion, the same soft white sheets surrounding your tired body that you found yourself in that first day. You keep your eyes closed, listening until the story is over.
“They always kill the vampire,” he says. “Perhaps they are right to do so.” A pause in which you hear the rustling of pages as he closes the book. “I know you are awake, grappolino.”
You turn around, opening your eyes to see him lying in bed next to you. The memories of what happened flood your brain, the way he protected you from the attack, saved you by risking his own life. You remember falling, the impact of the hit you took, and you’re surprised that you’re well, that you feel no pain other than the heaviness of your tired limbs.
“You slept almost a whole day,” he says. “I thought you might be angry with me. But I needed to watch over you.”
You take the book from his hand, running your palm over the smooth cover. Secondo looks tired, paler than usual and without the sunglasses you can see the extent of his exhaustion in his eyes. He’s wearing a dark green robe over black sweatpants, an altogether unfamiliar sight compared to his usual put together looks. No matter what happened, no matter what you now know, an intense surge of love for him floods your whole body and you can hardly shake it or push it down.
He saved you and you saved him. Everything else seems almost insignificant in that moment.
You shift so you can get closer and he watches you like a hawk, tracing all your movements. “My dove you shouldn’t move around.”
You don’t listen, you can’t, even as the soreness in your muscles makes it harder. Eventually you settle with your head on his belly, closing your eyes until the wave of emotion has crashed over you. He only seems half as frightening from here, in fact he looks incredibly soft as he gazes down at you.
“What do you think would happen,” you whisper, “if instead of killing we started loving them?”
He exhales – a pained, heavy sound that carries a distinct sadness. His expression shifts and he shakes his head, watching you with glossy eyes. “How can you say this when you know what I am? When you see what my world can do to you?”
“Because I feel it,” you say with no pause. “Because my heart screams that it does. I’m not scared.”
“Of course you are not. You never were.” His hand reaches out but he stops himself. “Per favore, may I touch you?” You press your face into the soft fabric of his robe, giving him a firm nod, and he gently strokes your hair, running his fingertips over your scalp, more to soothe himself than you. “I will never forgive myself for being late. That I missed the wolf in sheep skin because I was too distracted. When it hit you…” His hand stills and his lips press together tightly. After a moment he cradles your cheek, caressing your skin with his thumb. “I will protect you. I will never let any harm come to you, my dove. I swear it.”
You turn your face, leaning into his touch. “Why did he attack? To get to you?”
“I drank from you,” he says. “Imprinting myself on you. He must have thought you were Primo’s partner. Or perhaps he was just looking to hurt any one of us and went after the smell. There has been an ongoing conflict.”
“Vampire werewolf politics?”
A smile tugs at his lips. “Yes.”
“I’m so confused, Secondo. I have so many questions.”
“I know, my dove. I will answer them in time but you need to rest.” He sees your disappointed expression, running his hand along your lips now. “One question.”
“Your business…” you start. “Does this mean vampires don’t harm people? It’s not like they show us in all those movies? They drink from bottles and you get it from blood donations?”
He cringes slightly at your question, a painful twist, perhaps at the prospect of disappointing you. “Many vampires still… hunt. Some are more predatory, some are more subtle, some prefer to not hurt anyone. There are a million ways to feed, amore, and we have no laws to regulate this.”
“But why would they still hunt?” There is irritation, confusion in your tone. “If there are easier ways?”
“Some vampires enjoy the taste of fear in the blood,” he says. “A lot of adrenaline, stress hormones, it flows faster after biting too. Even here sometimes people are scared of needles and you can taste it later after taking their blood. But it is not as intense as it is when you… hunt.”
“Do you… do you like this taste?”
“No.” He falters, cocking his head to the side. “Not anymore.”
“But you have?”
There is a hint of accusation in your tone but he does not seem disturbed by it, on the contrary. “I will not lie to you. I have in the past, grappolino. Many young vampires do, a bit like teenagers who drink alcohol for the first time. But taste changes with time, as it does for humans, and I have left those wild, young days long behind me. In fact, since I tasted you…” He trails off, running his finger down your jaw until he strokes the faint remains of the bite on your neck. “I have no desire to hunt for a better taste.”
His words send a shiver through your body. His thumb presses back against your neck, then underneath your jaw, following the line of your pulse. Even knowing what he is and what he did – your body longs for his touch and you don’t know what to do other than give in. You press your cheek into the softness of his belly, the fabric of his robe smooth against your skin, trying to hide how easily affected you are. “So you were my mosquito? The bites were yours?”
“That is the second question.”
You furrow your brow, trying to pull away but he won’t let you. “Secondo–”
“You take me for a monster now,” he states. “And maybe I am, maybe I am cruel for wanting you for myself in ways that made me keep the truth, in fear that you could not accept me. But my feelings for you are real, they are consuming me more than any thirst for blood ever has. I am…” He swallows, his voice firm as he continues. “I am devoted to you forever.”
For a moment you let those words sink in. This is as close to a confession of his love that you got until now and you realize that it must take him everything to be so open with you. He seems to mistake your silence for rejection.
“I understand if you want to leave,” he says. “I will not stop you.”
You shake your head, finally managing to sit up and properly look at him. “I don’t want to leave. I don’t ever want to leave you.” He looks pained at your admission, like he has almost been hoping for a rejection. “Why are you so hesitant? Is it that unheard of to be with a human? Your brother is with one as well.”
“Every time I have opened myself to someone it ended in pain and it will end in pain with you, grappolino. Unbearable pain, loss, grief, loneliness.” He stops himself, his eyes red and glistening. “With you I have let the sun back into my life. And I cannot… I cannot bear to have the world take it from me again. Non credo che lo potrò sopravvivere questa volta.” (I don’t think I can survive it this time)
“It doesn’t have to, Secondo,” you assure him. “There are ways… there are ways to make it last, right?”
“There are ways. But this… it is not something to take lightly, amore.”
“Secondo, I want you to know that… that if it ever happens, if I ever die, I want you to turn me,” you say. “I don’t want to leave you, ever.”
He pauses, shaking his head at the conviction in your tone. “We will discuss this later. You need time to think about it, to learn more.”
“You saw how fast it can happen. I feel like–”
“Amore,” he interrupts. “Not now. The next time I think about your death it will not be in this bed.”
You sigh reluctantly, trying not to mope as you settle against his chest. If he has a heartbeat it is too slow and quiet for you to hear it. But his body underneath yours feels nice, soft and welcoming. You notice that he doesn’t seem to be in pain either.
“Why am I not hurt more?” you ask. “I know that’s another question.”
“We have healers in our midst. They have some influence on your circulatory system.” His hand moves to rest on your waist, playing with the hem of the loose white shirt someone put you in. “You will feel sore for a bit, I think. As will I after my body healed my wounds.”
“Would it… would it help if you drank from me?” you ask.
“You’re too weak, my dove, but I appreciate the offer.”
You sigh, bringing your hand up so you can run your fingers over the sliver of chest that peeks out of the robe. Slowly you open it more and more, toying with his dark chest hair and feeling the smooth skin underneath.
“What do you think you are doing, hm?”
You just smile up at him, pushing the robe all the way open. He doesn’t stop you from exploring more of his body, following the line of hair down to his belly, supple and slightly raised. His own hands start to grab more of your body then, squeezing the flesh on your hips, grabbing at your ass. Before you know it he takes hold and pulls you fully on top of him. Your core meets the outline of his hardening cock, barely concealed by the sweatpants. You gasp at the contact, slowly rolling your hips for a bit of friction.
“You feel good enough to tease me,” he says. “Then you feel good enough for a kiss?”
A smile breaks out on your face and you lean in, resting your upper body against his. Before your mouths can touch he has already grabbed you and sits you both upright. His arms wrap around you, pulling you closer and trapping you in his lap until you can feel all of him. Only then does he allow you to close the gap. The kiss has a bruising force, lips pressing in hard, teeth clashing until you adjust and find a heavy but more controlled rhythm. His tongue licks into your mouth hungrily, flicking against yours and you moan, vibrating against it. Your whole body shudders, looking for more, anything to quench the need pooling into your core. Secondo groans at every roll of your hips, sucking on your tongue, biting your lower lip like he wants to consume all of you within seconds. You kiss back with just as much hunger, tying to keep pace. Your whole body is burning with need for him, carrying you higher and higher. After a while he slows, hitting an invisible break, and you follow, pulling away to look at him.
Secondo heaves an exhausted sigh, not letting go of you but creating a small gap between your faces to breathe. “I am not quite in shape yet, amore. I don’t think I can keep up tonight.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to drink?”
Maybe it is the way your voice is practically begging him to do so, maybe it is the hunger in your eyes or maybe he truly needs the energy that your blood provides because he finally relents. You pull at your shirt, baring your upper body to him and for a moment he hungrily takes you in, running his hand over every curve, thumbs teasing your nipples until you arch into him.
“So responsive,” he murmurs as he kisses along your jaw. “So good for me.”
His words make you squirm in his lap, the hard friction of his cock adding to the pleasure that runs through you at every touch. “Please. Please, Secondo.”
“Already begging for my cock?” He huffs out a chuckle, hooking his fingers underneath the elastic of your underwear. He rips the fabric apart with ease, running a bare finger over your arousal. “And already so eager. Always so, so eager.”
“I need you,” you whisper. “Please, all I want is to feel you.”
“Hmm, that is all I want too, grappolino. Perhaps you can use the time while I feed...” His fangs scrape over your skin, not breaking it but leaving a burning trail along your throat. “… to keep me nice and warm, hm?”
“Yes,” you immediately squeeze out. “I will do anything.”
“But there is a catch.” He pulls at his sweatpants, freeing his cock until it slaps against your abdomen, trapped in the tightness of your bodies. “You have to be so very good for me. You cannot make a single move. Can you do that?”
“Yes. Yes, I can.”
“Good.”
He lifts you up carefully, keeping you on your knees above him. You leak onto him, drops of your arousal landing on his cock, and he hisses, his fingers digging into your flesh. With one finger, he wipes it off and smears it over your entrance until he can slip it inside, quickly adding a second. A deep moan leaves you at the intensity of the stretch but you quickly adjust and find pleasure in the stimulation. He pumps a few times, spreading his fingers to widen you even more. When he seems satisfied he pulls them out and grabs both of your hips to pull you down into his lap. The tip of his hard cock slides into your entrance. Before he is even fully inside you already clench around what he offers, making you both moan at the sudden intensity. Slowly you sink down further, his mouth hot on your neck while you run your hand over his shoulders. Once he is fully sheathed, he gives a full body shudder.
“Satana, you are so warm,” he whispers, his voice as delicate as if he is saying a prayer. “So, so warm.”
You don’t speak, allowing him his moment of silent reverence. However, patience is not on your side today and you can’t help but squirm after a second, trying to find the smallest amount of friction. His cock is big, girthy, stretching you open like nothing else you’ve felt before.
“No moving,” he finally says. “I need to be precise.”
With that his lips search for the spot on your neck. He stops eventually, opening his mouth and wetting the spot with his tongue. You expect the pain and yet the sting draws a whimper from you. Secondo stops at once, waiting for your reaction.
“It’s okay,” you whisper. “Keep going.”
His fangs pull out and you can feel the blood oozing from your vein. Hungrily he laps at it, not quite sucking but firmly holding his mouth over the wound, tongue swiping at the hole in your neck with every swallow. It’s slower than you expected, even as your heart rate goes up in arousal an anticipation. His cock jumps inside of you and you clench around him, earning you a moan from somewhere deep inside of his chest. For a few minutes you hold out, desire building inside of you with every drop of blood that leaves your body.
Eventually, Secondo breaks away. You notice that his skin feels slightly warmer underneath your fingertips, that his eyes look more alive when they finally meet yours again. The green one has turned red just like in your dream and a drop of blood runs down his jaw. You lean in to kiss it away, the metallic taste on your tongue an intense reminder of who you are with. Secondo reciprocates the kiss with renewed energy, licking the blood from your lips and tongue. You taste more of it in his mouth and you can’t help but moan.
“Your taste,” he says, breaking from your lips. “It is the most exquisite thing, my dove.”
“Do you feel better?” you ask breathlessly.
A nod. You squirm again, his cock shifting inside of you as you try to find a comfortable spot. Secondo huffs out a deep breath, the same strain visible in his eyes that has you whimpering with every little movement. “This is not how I want you,” he says. “I told you I would show you how to sin, no?”
With that he grabs your hips, a sudden invigorated strength that seems effortless as he easily manhandles you onto your back while he stays buried deep inside of you. The impact reopens the wound on your neck and you feel drops of the warm liquid running along your skin.
“White sheets…” you whisper as more blood dribbles onto the fabric. “Bold choice for a vampire.”
He chuckles, licking along your shoulder to catch the few remaining drops. He hums, his tongue almost rough when he cleans every drop you have left to give.
“Your blood sugar is low,” he whispers then. “When we’re done here I will feed you, amore. After a nap, perhaps.”
You giggle but it quickly turns into a gasp when he finally starts to move, slowly thrusting into you in a steady rhythm. He grabs your thighs then, pushing them deeper into the mattress until he has you folded in half. With him so deep inside of you your whole body is boiling. You can’t help but hold onto his shoulders, allowing him to move faster, fucking into you almost desperately now. Your arousal leaks all over your joined bodies, wet, squelching sounds soon filling the air around you as his hips piston into yours. You moan without shame ever time he hits that sweet spot inside of you, every time his skin rubs against the other sensitive areas on your body.
“I’m so close,” you whisper, keening and closing your eyes when he thrusts even deeper, slower now.
“You look at me, amore,” he warns. “You look at me when I make you cum.”
Your eyes snap back open, meeting the liquid fire reflected in his red iris. Secondo’s grip on you is tight and his own grunts echo in tandem with the sounds of your skin meeting, with all the desperate noises that leave your lips. You dance along the precipice for a moment, trying to last, trying to stretch out time for a little longer. But when he begins to stutter, his own eyelids fluttering in pleasure at every slow, deep stroke in an attempt to keep them open, you finally fall. The climax that hits you is stronger than any you have felt before and you’re a mess, mewling and whimpering, breathing in jolts as the heat spreads in your body like fire.
Your muscles clenching around him soon has Secondo following. His cock jumps, pumping you full with his seed while he breathes a low moan into your ear. You feel every raw shudder, every little twitch, until it starts to leak out of you and he finally loosens his grasp. Your legs sink back to the mattress and he settles on top of you. Skin against skin, his cool while yours is hot and burning. For a long time you both calm down. Even if he doesn’t seem out of breath, it is clear that he needs the quiet moment of reprieve just as much as you do.
“Ti amo,” he whispers, first almost too low for you to hear but then louder. “Ti amo per sempre. Not even death can part our union.”
You press a gentle kiss to his cheekbone. “I love you, too.”
He huffs out a breath, turning you both to your sides where he holds you close against him, his lips tickling your temple as he presses more and more soft kisses to your skin. You start to relax, his sweet touches lulling you into a state of half-sleep. Your mind finds back to what really occupies it, all the questions and insecurities. A thousand thoughts are swimming in your head, some of them have to do with the sticky mess between your legs, some of them leave the four walls of this bedroom altogether.
“I can hear your mind working,” Secondo grumbles. “I thought I had distracted you well enough.”
“It’s just… are the Nameless Ghouls real ghouls then?” you ask. “And is the special wine all blood or is it some sort of amalgamation? The healer you mentioned, was it the doctor from the donation?”
“Grappolino,” Secondo warns. “All in due time.”
He shifts onto his back, pulling you on top of his chest. You have to bite your tongue to stop interviewing him because he is right – you’ve had enough exertions for the day, and you’d rather spend your remaining energy on more of this.
“Should we have a smoke?” he finally asks.
“In your bedroom?”
“In our bedroom,” he corrects and reaches for the bedside table.
He grabs a pack of Marlboros, retrieving one to trap between his still swollen lips. The gold Dupont lighter opens with a cling and you have to smile. When he hands you the cigarette this time you don’t hesitate. You take a deep drag, pressing your mouth to his before you exhale. Secondo holds it inside, then releases the smoke into the air above you. When his arms close around your body in a firm embrace, you rest your eyes – and listen to the quiet sizzling of the cigarette as it slowly burns out.
Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed vampire Secondo. If you want to be tagged in any future Friday Nights stories pls let me know! Terzo and Copia will get their own stories, as you might have guessed from the hints in the plot ♡
Masterlist – My Ao3
#friday nights#secondo#secondo x reader#secondo fanfiction#vampire secondo#papa emeritus ii x reader#papa emeritus ii#papa emeritus ii fanfiction#the band ghost fanfiction#vampire fiction#secondo smut
321 notes
·
View notes
Text
Unexpected News and Welcome Additions
Character: Aemond Targaryen (HOTD)
Warnings/notes: swear words, mentions of pregnancy, pregnancy, aegon being an ass, aemond being a sweet baby, daemon flipping his shit, protective momma rhaenyra, happy alicent, your rhaenyras daughter u can choose adopted or not, ooc daemon? Slight ooc aegon?
Taglist: @introverbatim, @neobanguniverse,
Part one.
“We have some news.” Aemond grins, standing abruptyly silencing the chatter at the table.
All eyes direct towards him and you can see the confusion on your mother’s face, her eyes darting between the two of you. Never the less you accept his hand allowing him to pull you up next to him.
“We, well..” you pause looking at daemon how his eyes seem to stare into your soul. “We are engaged!” You cheer awkwardly.
You can see otto smiling with a nod, while alicent seems to be piecing everything together and u know she knows with the dart of her eyes towards your stomach. Helaena smiling softly at you seeming excited to have someone to talk to about married life.
On the otherside if the table you see your family, your mother gaping at you while your brothers hold blank faces and you can see the clenched jaw of daemon. Yet, the king seemed to be joyfull. “Wonderful news my dear! You have made me a very proud grandsire!” He chuckles.
Thats when shit breaks loose, aegon just had to speak up. He snickers rolling his eyes saying “Dear brother is such a pushover isn’t he mother?” You see her give him a look to shut up but as always he pays it no mind “I mean fucking the whore is one thing but to marry her once pregnant? God what kind of hold has she on you?”
You’re eyes water when all eyes turn to you, closing them and flinching into Aemond’s hold when Daemon stands. Slamming his hand on the table claiming you must have been forces that the greens were taking u hostage that it was all a plan.
It seems your mother had had enough of the dramatics, sending the children to bed including Helaena and Aegon. Before clearing the room of her husband and the hand stating this was a matter for her, Alicent, Viserys and the two of you to navigate.
—
“So.. you are to be married then?” Your mother asks tentatively causing you to bow your head in shame.
“I planned to explain to you.. But we didnt know how to tell everyone and-“
“Its okay sweet child,” the queen hums grabbing your face and kissing your head. You can’t help relax in her hold, “I can’t say i am upset to be made a grandmother again!” She grins.
“And i a proud grandsire of another fine knight or beautiful princess” the king adds, looking at your mother as if to ask for her opinion. It’s only then that you realise shes crying, the sight making you well up to.
“My baby is all grown up” she chokes out wrapping you in her arms and leaving several firm kisses to your head. Her hand unconsciously rubbing your stomach.
“Your… not mad?” You ask cautiously and she chuckles and says “how, my sweetone, could i be mad at you for falling for a mischievous second son thats also your uncle” and you cant help chuckle at the similarity between you.
—
“I cant! I can’t! FUCK! OW! Make it stop-“ you screamed squeezing your mothers hand tight as the maesters told you to push again. Your body felt like it was on fire. But your mother and Alicents soothing words lessoned your fear, slightly. You had been in labour for almost the full day and the babe seemed to refuse to be born and despite your please they seemed reluctant to let Aemond in.
Well, your mother was. You knew why deep down she was afraid that if the choice was given he would sacrifice you to save the baby. You however, knew that he would not. The thought would never cross his mind. So you begged and plead once more for him stating you would not give girl until he was with you. A task they knew you very well might do so they sent for him and the second he held your hand kissing your head and telling you he was there, was the most safe and relaxed you had felt all day.
Your son came quickly after that, a heavy and healthy baby your mother had remarked kissing your head and leaving with Alicent after she muttered her own praises of her newest grandson.
—
“We should call him Aemond.” Your husband grinned, causing you to slap his shoulder.
“No, I’m not calling him after you.” You groaned.
“And why not!?” He huffs clearly disappointed and you give him a look, “do you want me to be moaning our son’s name while we fuck?”
He shudders audibly gagging at the thought. “Perhaps not.” He sighs.
The two of you had been arguing over a name for hours, your son sound asleep in his arms as he gently rocked him.
“We could call him after someone else though”
You muse, the thought making him look up at you quizzically. “Who?”
“I was thinking Laenor…” you whispered afraid he may reject the idea but he hums nodding in approval. “A fine name from a honourable namesake, a fitting name for our little knight.”
You smile up at him, thanking the gods you got such a loving gentle husband.
“Should I let the maesters know then?” He asks, setting Laenor in your arms gently. “Yes, and could you send my mother in on your way? Id like to tell her first.”
—
“LAENOR GET BACK HERE!” You hear from your place by your husband, both of your turning to see the young prince holding what seemed to be a dragon egg while your Aegon chased after him.
The sight making you laugh, especially when Aegon reaches for the egg only for your son to dodge and throw the egg at his father. Aemond catching it with ease.
“Bested by a 3 year old, brother?” He taunts him, Aegon rolling his eyes in response snatching the egg back and placing it into the pot of hot coals by your bed side.
“Well excuse me for picking an egg out for my future nephew!” He defends, rolling his eyes when Aemond corrects him saying that he is to have a girl this time. The notion making you smile, hes always wanted a daughter to spoil.
Your silence is broken when your son pulls Aegons pants down running off in a bout of laughter.
“OI YOU LITTLE-“
—
“She’s beautiful” your mother coos, her finger moving to softly stroke the babes cheek. “That she is” Alicent joins placing a kiss to your head as she congratulates you.
“Have you thought of a name?” She quizzes looking at her son and then you.
You smile, telling them that their was really only one name that came to mind when you found out you had a daughter. You smile at your mother as you say it, “Visenya.”
She lets out a soft gasp, leaning over to kiss your cheek her heart touched that you would name your daughter that. You embrace her softly before placing the babe into her arms letting her and Alicent fawn over her as you lean back into your husbands arms.
“She’s Perfect” he whispers kissing you sofly. “Plus… Aegon’s gonna be pissed” he chuckles.
ANNNNNND DONE! i doubt there will be a part three :)
#aemond one eye#house of the dragon aemond#aemond the kinslayer#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond kinslayer#hotd aemond#aemond imagines#aemond x reader#aemond targaryen imagines#aemond targaryen#aemond imagine#aemond fic#prince aemond#house of the dragon imagines#hotd#house of the dragon x reader#hotd x reader#hotd imagines
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Where actually was this betrayal line for Obito that Kakashi had crossed?
about the whole "anyone got Kakashi, but not Obito" thing that @komihoyinsblog said. I remembered where the culmination of this theme was. no, like, this whole topic is real!
let's talk about the scene after when Jubito was defeated. here I will analyse kkobkk relationships and Obito's arc specifically.
contents | context · meaning of the scene · where's a mistake and where's a betrayal
CH. 655
Context
during the battle with the shinobi alliance, Obito came face to face with a deeply repressed desire for another life, which he did not realize due to his position as the only one who can fulfill the tsukuyomi plan. the battle itself as well as the conversation with Naruto reminds Obito of the aspirations and values dear to him that he had to sacrifice. all this has noticeably hit Obito and now he is disarmed and stripped of his armor, which is metaphorically reflected in his half-naked body (and cuz fans love men's boobs).
CH. 652. god, look how happy he is, I'm sobbing. love the way he never regrets about his scars, they're with him even in his imagination, that's a reminder of his core values.
structurally, in Obito's arc, this scene is the Collapse point and the end of the second act. here, the previous methods (the tsukuyomi plan) have shown their inconsistency, and the goal (peace for everyone and for him, too) has not been achieved, and he must find a new way to achieve this goal. at the beginning of the scene, he is confused, defeated and not ready to face the consequences.
why isn't he ready? he's lying there, seemingly resigned. yeah, not exactly. here, he accepted the impending death, and it's even not bad to die by Kakashi's hand to some extent. another question is, is he ready to talk to him, is he ready to accept the defeat and find the strength to continue the journey?
Meaning of the scene
once again, it is important that the battle with the alliance and the conversation with Naruto influenced Obito, but did not convince him. it was Kakashi who did it.
in fact, this conversation with Kakashi is a crucial reason for Obito to return to his ideals. before that, he was in doubt (the second act is a reflection of the character, as if hesitating from one side to the other), and after that he takes the side of the alliance. what did Kakashi say that made Obito come back?
three questions Obito is asking.
how can you be sure that Naruto won't fail on his way, unlike me? [pic 2, above]
why are you so attached to Naruto, what's the difference between him and me? [pic below]
why are you willing to help him (and not me)? [pic below]
they don't talk about different paths here. Kakashi emphasizes that Obito's path is not exactly wrong, so that's not the deal. it's about Obito and Naruto as people, and, more, about Kakashi's opinion on Obito.
finding out why he is not the one whose path Kakashi is ready to defend is essential for Obito. he wants to understand why Naruto (aka Obito's previous self, too) is closer to him, why Kakashi does not support the actual one for whom he grieved so much. why, even recognizing the possible correctness of tsukuyomi, Kakashi refuses to support Obito in this, prefers to go the same way. and also look at how damn emotional he is at this moment, his feelings go from anger to anxiety in a couple of frames. that's what happened when the central conflict "I'm never good enough to be loved" is raised.
Obito's questions are a subconscious appeal to Kakashi — "why don't you choose me? I could make you happy. what's wrong with me again?!" he thinks that the reason Kakashi doesn't take his side is not because of the correctness of his path, but because of Obito himself. subconsciously, he thinks that it's because of Kakashi's personal dislike of this "new" Obito, and he is very afraid of this might be true. just look at his face at the bottom of the page, he's really worried about hearing Kakashi's answer. oh, and it's actually the same meaning as "I thought, maybe you could love me like you used to, even though I'm different" [ Jinx's quote from Arcane, yes, I like to compare these two sometimes ].
what Kakashi says in this situation means "let me help you." Kakashi said he would be ready to help Obito if he let him in, if he allowed him. this is literally the only condition (which is important to mention here) under which Obito did not pass, because of his desire to reject Kakashi's help, believing that he must put his life on tsukuyomi plan and cut off all ties. but this does not mean that he wanted Kakashi to cut off this tie in return.
Obito was an individualist, and he only scoffed or got angry at Kakashi's offer to help/sympathize. now they're in a situation when Obito finally hear that Kakashi said "you've made mistakes, but that's okay. I can be with you, if you need me to, and I'm okay with you continuing your life and reaching peace. I accept you and I believe in you." and I want you to appreciate that this is the tipping point of Obito's arc.
so, that's why Obito changes his way of acting. Kakashi shows that he accepts Obito the way he is, and thus significantly reduces Obito's need to prove his worth through his own hardships and overcoming difficulties. yes, Kakashi had already said similar things before, and it didn't work, but here this line is resolved precisely because of this deep conversation they had.
Where's a mistake and where's a betrayal
oh, maybe Rin's death was a thing Obito considered a betrayal from Kakashi's part? everything's much less trivial. would he offer to help Kakashi if he thought he was a traitor? and well, he offered.
CH. 630
no, look at his face on the bottom right, why would you say that with such a gentle face to someone you consider a traitor? what is it, a genuine smile? so something happened besides that.
the betrayal was that Kakashi preferred his other ties to the connection with Obito. here, betrayal is not about killing Rin, and not about breaking a promise — all these are mistakes that Obito is able to forgive.
all the moments when Obito says something like "you had the opportunity to kill me, but you didn't do it", "you can't deal with me because of guilt?", "still blaming yourself for the broken promises?" - all this is an attempt to increase his own value, to show the importance of Obito for Kakashi. and it's also a projection. Obito says, "you had so many opportunities to kill me, but you..." although he does the same. like, why would he leave Kakashi alive after the kamui battle? intentionally inflict a non-fatal wound on him and leave him in a dimension that only he and Obito have access to? "I don't care if he's alive or dead," but at every opportunity he chose the option "alive", even if it's less profitable for him. my baby loves to deceive himself so much.
all this time, Obito believed that he was striving for their common dream, and therefore the condemnation from Kakashi (there should be a couple more frames from the manga) feels like the most painful blow for him, especially when Kakashi says that Rin would not want it either. before that, Obito had compared himself and Kakashi a couple of times, put them on an equal footing, and after being rejected by him, that's where Obito feels really lonely.
the point of no return was precisely the fact that Kakashi shows with his own words that he does not accept the current Obito and everything he's been striving for years. all this, taken together, he considered a betrayal, as if he's not enough, as if he fucked everything up again.
therefore, their conflict is resolved by the acceptance of one person by another, this is in fact exactly what Obito's heart wanted — to hear that he could be accepted after all that had happened. the same thing happened after his death, when he finally met Rin, by the way.
hope the text is not that messy. oh, and! that kkob video I've made with mitski's song. this fits the topic so well. love these guys
136 notes
·
View notes
Text
Imagine If Zuko Had…
Just imagine if Zuko had messed up. Imagine he had acted just a little too much like Ozai and recognized his mistake.
Imagine if in response, he abdicated the throne in disgrace and ran off to live in the woods alone. Completely isolated.
His relationship with his wife? Failed. His daughter? Estranged. His uncle, sisters, mother, etc? All gone from his life.
He spent years of his adult life into old age alone in the woods away from anyone who cared about him and ashamed of how terribly he had failed as Fire Lord.
Would anyone consider this a good ending for Zuko? Let alone a happy one? Would Zuko cracking jokes or saying he’s fine this way convince you? Or would it seem like he’s trying to justify the way he’s wasted his life in solitude and disgrace?
If that all sounds horribly unfair to you, then why is it okay for Toph?
Because Toph Did…
Toph in ATLA has a very clear motivation for running away from home and joining Aang’s group. Her family stifled her and kept her isolated from the world. All she longed for was freedom and for a family that loved and accepted her as she was.
In the comics, she extrapolates upon this further, talking about how traumatizing it was to be captured in a tiny metal cage. How much she feared being forced to be something she’s not, being imprisoned and having more pressure and pain applied to her to try to change her by force. And worst of all, she feared becoming like her parents and passing on that same pressure and pain to others.
So why in the world was her fate in LOK the very thing she feared most?
As Police Chief, her very role is locking people away and trying to force them to behave differently. At times applying pressure and pain to force conformity. Imprisonment is an inextricable part of her job.
And she betrays her own convictions this way to what end?
Her relationships all fall apart and her daughters feel neglected due to the demands of the job. Toph finds herself re-enacting exactly what she told Zuko hurt her most about her parents: “They gave me everything except their love”.
Only to eventually find herself in a situation where she must choose between the stifling rules of her job or throw her daughter into this same system of punishment to try and change her by force. So she chooses her daughter, selectively not applying the law; an act of corruption and nepotism. As such, she resigns in disgrace, ashamed of her actions.
She is estranged from both of her daughters. She is alone and isolated. She lives in the swamp like a hermit. Away from the world. With no one to accept her as she is.
How in the world does anyone justify this as a fair or happy ending for Toph? When I see people celebrating cop Toph or swamp Toph, making memes about how badass she is or calling other fans idiots for pointing out how terrible of a writing choice this is for her character, it really makes me wonder if these fans don’t really care about Toph as a character at all beyond the aesthetics of how cool she can be.
And that makes me really sad because the same is clearly not true for characters like Zuko.
Entire dissertations are written about Zuko’s wants and needs vs his experiences in the world.
When it comes to Toph? She gets boiled down to “she likes to knock heads and boss other people around.”
Even by Bryke themselves.
163 notes
·
View notes
Text
Tarot Project - N°33
This is yet another tarot card- strangely, the first I drew for the MCU. Obviously, it was motivated by the ending of the last show I saw, which did not left me indifferent.
(it broke me and I'll never be the same again)
So here is Loki, burdened with glorious purposes, as The Magician.
(If you haven't see the season yet and are avoiding spoilers, don't look for the explanation under the cut!)
For starters, the Magician is said to be the conduit that converts energy into matter. He represents worldly experience and knowledge ; he has seen it all, experience it all, and acts at the gateway between spiritual and material realms- just like would be a God trapped in the roots of Yggdrasil, all seeing, all creating. He is the root of the whole tarot- having access to the symbols of each suits : Wands, Swords, Cups, Pentacles. The Magician has unlimited potential, is manifestation at its best : who else to embody that, than the God of Stories, the most powerful being in the universe? Timely was right- truly a magician.
But that's not all. Let's start with the meaning of the card, upright.
As the master manifestor, the Magician brings you -you, person living in any timelines ever- the ressources and energy you need to make your own choice. He's giving you a chance. Like him, you might be facing changes, new ideas that challenge who you were: it's now time to act on them. The skills (maybe time magic ?) and knowledges (perhaps your brand new sciency PhD) you have gathered along your life path have led you where you are now. You must have a clear vision of the goal you are trying to achieve. It is not enough to be motivated by ego, money, status or fame, by a throne. When you are clear about your "what", your "why"... your "who"... you will be able to take actions. You are powerful, you are a creative being: you can reach, now, your highest potential. Focus on the ONE thing that will truly motivate you. Be active. Be a tree.
Reversed, the card can indicate that are still uncertain. You know that you have to take action, but are uncertain of the course it must take. You are afraid of what you might loose, what path you need to choose; be patient, be attentive- the solution will manifest itself in time, when you'll be ready to accept it. If you are already acting on your goal, the Magician Reversed can be a sign that you are struggling to see progress and success (perhaps because of some annoying Avengers who refuse to accept your perfectly reasonnable demands ; perhaps you can't make yourself kill that one person to save the rest.) Maybe you are not clear on your desired outcome; maybe your effort are misdirected, unfocused. You may be lacking conviction. Perhaps the goal you're going after is not the one you actually need, or even want. Are you sure you want that throne ? Are you aware of the price coming with any glorious purpose ?
At its worst, the Magician Reversed signifies manipulation and trickery. You may be masterful at manifesting, but you are lost, and you may only do it for personal gain and at the expense of others. Does it feels off? Maybe. It might means you were made to work for the highest good, before you find yourself lost. Remember your "why", remember your "who". You have many skills, talents, capabilities, but your real potential is not being maximized. You have to ask yourself- what needs to change for you to reach your full potential? What do you crave the most? You can't lie to yourself: you have to be honest, as painful as it might be. You have to be ready to do what it takes to reach your most important goal.
If, in the end, it matters most to see your friends having a shot at life, at happiness, than it matters to not be alone- then, you know what you have to do.
With that, I conclude my explanation. Only one more card, and I'll be done with the Major Arcana!
(Just like Marvel is done with Loki a h)
I hope you liked it. You, yes, you who is still reading! Thank you for that.
#loki#loki fanart#marvel loki#loki season 2#loki s2 ep6#loki spoilers#loki series#loki laufeyson#loki odinson#god of stories#loki god of stories#loki ending#tom hiddleston#yggdrasil#tarot project#tarot card#the magician#loki season 2 spoilers
134 notes
·
View notes
Text
Bumblebee and Freedom
there's probably a really cool quote about freedom out there. i'm just gonna say how i define freedom, and maybe someone out there knows if it correlates with anything that already exists
"freedom is the ability to choose"
to me, that's the perfect and down-to-earth definition of freedom. it's not a will to express yourself, because that's not enough, it's not having rights, it's not not-having a government, etc
earthspark!Bumblebee strikes me as a person who was denied his freedom. he has moments where he actively chooses what to do next, how to act in this situation, how to approach it. but in the narrative, he's constantly belittled, put in a corner, and just talked down by and ordered to simply do this thing
even before the events of Earthspark this seems to be a reoccurring theme with him: Breakdown, on their first meeting in who knows how long, says a very neat line after Bee's "Just like old times": "Before you let Optimus get between us". this makes me think that Optimus probably convinced Bee to join the war in the first place, whether because they knew each other prior (doubtful), or after the war started Bumblebee showed promise and Prime decided to teach him, instead of letting him die on very hostile streets of Iacon
he was forced to go into hiding. i doubt he chose it, because there are so many capable bots for spying - Jazz, Mirage, etc (ironically i can't remember more than these two lmao). he was just as affected by the Allspark incident as everyone else, but because Optimus trusted him (probably) the most, he decided that Bee was the perfect bot for staying away for a time to deliver him info he needed, as a backup in all this GHOST business
to be fair, i'm sure Optimus didn't think this whole deal would take this much time - and Bee was forced to be in hiding for 15 whole years. it must have been a lonely existence. we assume he still had contacts with some bots - OP, Megs, and Elita-1 more prominently, and Wheeljack doesn't seem all too surprised to see him, but it's still not enough for a happy-go-lucky bot like Bumblebee. especially considering his age - but i digress
and still - he had no choice when Optimus pulled him out of hiding to look after a bunch of newly-builds. it's the whole point of the third episode. and he has no choice but to accept his mentor position, and he learns to care about the Terrans, too, but the point still stands
he had no choice but to trust Breakdown as they raced towards GHOST agents, he had no choice but let Breakdown sacrifice himself for him. if he could, he would change it, he probably would take his place, too, because that's his brother and it's his fault, but he can't, because he has other people to take care of - he has no choice
in fact, most bots in the show don't have much choice too. the Terrans, especially, who have no choice but be a representation of Hope for Cybertronian race. which is why i think Bumblebee fits into their little cosy family like a glove
tldr; when you look for the theme of freedom in Earthspark, it seems to be always in the air, and honestly, i love it. this may be all a little exaggerated, but whatever. if you found any points wrong in my lil speech, you can totally tell me, sometimes i just forget stuff lmao
#transformers earthspark#transformers#earthspark#tfe#bumblebee#tfe bumblebee#soups walkie talkie#mine
89 notes
·
View notes
Text
Mission Possible
genres: elementary teachers au, fluff
pairing: reader x seungkwan
words: 1.2k
warnings: none!
notes: a short fic for seungkwan day!! I'm slightly late because I am me, but an anon requested early education kwannie and I thought that was so cute!! hopefully this lives up to their idea 😊
One of Mr Boo's students sees his brand new engagement ring.
Mr Boo's fourth grade class has been on a group mission ever since their orchestra field trip.
Their mission — and they did choose to accept it: get Mr Boo (the funniest and most glaringly obviously single teacher at Greenfield elementary school) together with you (the new music teacher Mr Boo's students always catch him smiling at while you're not looking).
Future president ten-year-old Kim Sujeong is at the head of the operation. She was behind most of the class's best efforts, including but not limited to running allllllll the way across the school from the music room to his classroom and telling him you had fallen and died and that he needed to come help! or else you might, er, die harder. Despite the flimsiness of Sujeong's story, Mr Boo had gone running full-speed down the halls to you (whom he found perfectly fine and not dead, just wide-eyed at his sudden — and out of breath — appearance in the music room with Sujeong beaming behind him when you were certain she was supposed to be in the bathroom), so she counted that as a success.
Now, future marine biologist Kim Sujeong — she’s still between that, president, or interior designer — is in a fit, arms crossed as she watches the kids of Greenfield elementary run around the playground. She huffs. Can’t the rest of the fourth graders take this seriously? Will they let the mission go? Just like that?
Recess is great, sure, but this is no time for play!
This morning, though Sujeong didn’t notice until a couple minutes before the first recess bell rang, Mr Boo showed up with a shiny silver ring on his finger. His left ring finger.
Sujeong huffs again.
“Are you okay there, Sujeong?”
On supervision duty today, you sit down on the park bench next to Sujeong, slightly concerned. She looks up at you, uncrosses her arms, and whimpers out your name. “Are you devastrated?” she asks you on the verge of tears.
“Devastated?” You point at yourself. “Me?”
Tears brim at the corners of Sujeong’s eyes, and her bottom lip quivers. “Mr Boo!” she cries out. “He’s getting married!”
You blink.
For a few seconds, you say nothing, just staring at Sujeong, and she thinks — oh, heartbreak! — you must have already given up on Mr Boo, must’ve heard about it already and cried before recess started, and, oh! What a cruel man Mr Boo is, to do this to you!
“Oh, sweetheart,” you say, smiling and gently taking Sujeong’s hands in yours. What a strong person you are, she thinks, to smile through such pain… You smooth down her hair, which, although her mum had done it in pretty braids today, has gone a bit wild in the wind. “Mr Boo getting married doesn’t make me sad.”
Sujeong sniffles. “Why not?”
You chuckle slightly, but Sujeong doesn’t know what’s so funny. “I’m happy for him. It’s not every day you find someone willing to marry you. I bet he loves that person very much.”
“But…” Sujeong pouts, breath a little shaky. “I thought… he loved…”
Your left hand comes down from her hair to hold her hands again. “Hm?”
Dropping her head, Sujeong is about to mumble “you”, but instead, she gasps at the sight of your ring finger.
Which sports a silver ring she’s never seen on you before.
“Not you too!” she squeaks, utterly betrayed.
“Ah— Sujeong, it’s not—”
“They’re not better than Mr Boo, are they? I know he’s a meanie because he’s getting married but— but, you’re doing it too! You’re getting married and he’s going to be sad because he loves you! He does! I saw! He looks at you like the boys in the movies! And he talks about you all the time — even when it’s math time! You’re the music teacher! There’s no music in math!” Sujeong is starting to lose her breath, using it all up, but she can’t stop. “So you can’t marry someone else because Mr Boo loves you! He— he shouldn’t marry someone else either, but that’s why we have to stop him! I can take you to him right now. We can show him how sad you are, because you are devastrated—”
“Devastated, sweetheart,” you say, then shake your head because that’s really not important right now. “I mean, I’m not devastated. I’m very happy.” Smiling, you hold up your hand and show her your engagement ring. “I’m going to marry someone I love, and so is Mr Boo. It’s a good thing. We’re both happy.”
Sujeong looks up at you through wet eyelashes, taking in deep breaths. She pouts, but doesn’t say anything.
You sigh, still smiling. “So be happy for us, okay?” You lift her chin with one finger, your other hand giving her smaller one a soft squeeze. “Don’t worry about our boring grown-up problems, and go play with your friends while it’s still recess. You know it’s social studies after, right?”
Sujeong lets out a little gasp. That’s right — there must be only a couple minutes left of recess, and she needs to gather up her classmates for an emergency meeting.
New mission: find out how to break an engagement.
Two of them.
Future president marine biologist interior designer divorce lawyer Kim Sujeong has her work cut out for her.
⭒
Once all the students have been picked up and all his prep work for tomorrow gets finished, Seungkwan packs his things and heads to the music classroom. The door is open, but he raps his knuckles against it and leans against the door frame when you look up from your desk and smile at him.
“Ready to go?” He smiles back.
“Just a second, Mr Boo.”
You throw your things in the backseat of the car before getting in to the passenger seat next to Seungkwan.
“Sujeong seemed pretty put out with me today,” he says as he starts the engine, a slight smile teasing at his lips. He lifts his left hand and wiggles his fingers at you, the silver ring glinting in the sunlight. “Didn’t like my choice of accessory, maybe?”
You snort. “Yeah, that tie is pretty ugly.”
Affronted, Seungkwan gasps and puts a hand over his heart — and pink, star-patterned tie. “You love this ugly tie.”
“I do,” you admit with a sigh. “I really do.”
He likes it when you smile at him like that. You’re tired from the day, but you still laugh with him. It’s a beautiful feeling.
“Sometimes I feel like we should just tell everyone,” you say, staring at the ring on Seungkwan’s finger.
He chuckles. “You’re the one who said you wanted to hide it.”
“Yeah, from the faculty while I’m still new — I could already tell they wouldn’t want a couple working at the same school just from the interview.” (Seungkwan thinks that the rings are a dead giveaway, but you seemed so excited to wear them this morning that he hadn't said anything, and he's not going to now.) “I didn’t think the kids would get so invested, though" you continue. "Sujeong’s mad at you for ruining her OTP, by the way.”
“Just me? You’ve got a ring too, y’know.”
“Yeah, but Sujeong likes me more.” You stick out your tongue at him.
Seungkwan scoffs in disbelief. He reaches over the gear shift and grabs your hand, linking your fingers together. “Whatever. Sujeong will have it all figured out by next year.”
You raise an eyebrow, but give his hand a squeeze anyway. “She will?”
“Well, it’ll be pretty obvious when you have my last name.”
It’s your turn to scoff. “As if. You’re taking my last name.”
Seungkwan doesn’t argue, he just pulls your hand up in his and presses his lips to your knuckles.
“I don't mind the sound of that.”
#seventeen scenarios#seventeen imagines#seventeen x reader#seungkwan scenarios#seungkwan imagines#seungkwan x reader#seungkwan fluff#seventeen fluff#kpop scenarios#kpop imagines#.100#.200#.300#.400#.500#.600#.700#.800#boo seungkwan imagines#boo seungkwan x reader#boo seungkwan scenarios#svt fluff#svt imagines#boo seungkwan fluff#svt x reader#svt scenarios
888 notes
·
View notes
Text
I Choose You
Nyx x Reader (Eris’ daughter)
Summary: Nyx and Eris’ daughter have always felt an attraction towards each other, even if they can never actually be together.
Word Count: 4,086
Warnings: Swearing
A/N: I made this to fill my forbidden fantasies between Nyx and Eris’ daughter, but if you want more from these characters, check out All That Matters! It gives a different story line for these two! Thanks for reading and as always, let me know what you think!!
——————————————————————————
I suck in a breath as the strings on the back of my corset are pulled taut. Why I still have to wear corsets is beyond me, but I’ve learned to do what I’m told.
My father is High Lord of the Autumn Court. Which means as his daughter, there are specific rules I must follow and certain events I must attend.
Tonight we are attending an event at the Night Court, something about falling stars. The Night Court is where he is from. We’ve been in the same circles our entire lives, attending the same events and meetings. He’s absolutely perfect in every way, except he is the heir to the Night Court. A.K.A. my mortal enemy.
That’s a cringy way to put it but that’s exactly what it is. Our fathers only recently have started to get along with each other. I’ve heard stories of what my father did to the other High Lord's cousin Mor, but I’d rather not think about that right now. My father has shown me and my brother nothing but love my whole life, and I refuse to believe otherwise.
I hear my father’s signature knock on my door and I go over to open it.
“You look lovely darling.” He says pulling me in for a hug, careful not to mess up my hair. “Are you ready to go?”
I pull away and go to look in the mirror. My bright red hair is perfectly curled and is surprisingly soft for how much hairspray is in it. It’s in perfect contrast to my dark forest green dress. It has long sleeves and a modest neckline but still shows off the curves of my chest before it flares out around my waist. I’ve gone with a light makeup look today, letting my freckles shine through. My father meets my gaze in the mirror.
“I’m ready.” I say, spinning around to face him.
“Perfect.” He replies, grabbing my hand to winnow us away.
We arrive at the front door of a mansion and I see shadows shuffling around in the windows. It looks like there aren't a lot of people here, maybe they are coming later?
Just before my father knocks, the door swings open, revealing the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court. They are dressed in full black head to toe, but such a depressing color, it looks amazing on them.
“Welcome to our home! Happy Starfall!” They say, stepping aside to let us in, my father goes first and I trail behind.
The High Lord extends his arm and leads us to what I presume is the living room.
“Everyone is just through there.” He says pointing down a hallway. “Don’t be shy, I’m sure you’ll find some familiar faces.”
As I make my way down, I see him. Gods he looks amazing. Oddly, his suit is the same color as my dress. It was unintentional, but I couldn’t be more thrilled. He’s looking at me with an expression that says he’s excited to see me too.
We’ve never got to be alone with each other, there are always too many people around. After stealing a few glances, one of us gets pulled away. I can’t explain this feeling I have for him. I know we can’t be together. but that only makes me want him more.
“Will your brother be joining us as well?.” Rhys pulls my thoughts away from Nyx.
“No. Unfortunately my brother had other obligations tonight.” I lie. He’s sneaking away with his girlfriend that no one but myself knows about. I can’t help but feel jealous, he always gets everything I want. Our father has a ball and chain that ties me down, I can only go so far before he yanks me back.
That’s why everything about Nyx excites me, he’s got everything I want. He is everything I want.
I’m offered a glass of wine and gladly accept. I’m normally not a big fan of wine, but today I need a little bit of ‘liquid courage’ as they say.
Wandering around this mansion feels wrong, so I make my way towards the balcony. I peer out the window to make sure no one else is there and open the door.
I’m suddenly grateful my dress has long sleeves as I feel the cold air against my skin. I rest my arms on the railing to look out into Velaris. I hate to admit it, but this city is beautiful.
I hear the door behind me quietly open and close. I know who it is without having to turn around.
“It’s beautiful, don’t you think?” I ask when he stands next to me.
“It is, yes.” He replies. I look up to find him already looking down at me. I’m not the best at keeping eye contact, but I can’t bring myself to look away. His eyes are a striking blue and it makes my heart skip a beat to know that he’s looking at me. I glance behind me to make sure no one sees us together.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you.” He says, shifting a little closer to me. I turn slightly to face him and he places his hand dangerously close to mine on the railing.
“So have I.” I smile at him. We both look down to our hands as I slowly bring mine overtop of his.
“Do you- do you feel it too?” He asks. I look back to him questioningly.
“Feel what?” He looks shocked at first, but then sadness takes over his expression.
“Never mind.” He looks back to the sky. Feeling a bit bold, I place my hand under his chin and turn his head to look at me.
“Tell me, please. What do you feel?”
He looks down at my lips and back up to my eyes. I find myself doing the same. My boldness must have rubbed off on him because the next thing I know, he is pulling me close.
Then he presses his lips to mine. My shock only lasts half a second and then I’m kissing him back. I wrap my hand around his neck to play with his hair. He moans into the kiss, then his hands travel down my back, stopping at my waist.
I reluctantly pull back after a while for a breath of air and rest my head on his chest. He chuckles lightly, causing me to look up at him. “What?” I giggle back.
He shakes his head, still smiling. “I just can’t believe this is happening.” I pull him back down into a kiss.
“Me neither.” I whisper against his lips.
Moments later, I see a flash of light from the corner of my eye. I must have a confused look on my face because Nyx turns to face us towards the sky. “This is Starfall, my favorite holiday. Some believe they are spirits, traveling to return home. Others just see falling stars and are amazed by their beauty.” He pulls my back to his front, I lean my head back to rest on his shoulder. “What do you believe?”
He looks down and meets my gaze. “I’d like to believe that they are spirits, but I have no proof.” I nod and place a kiss on his chin.
“That sounds beautiful, Nyx. Absolutely beautiful.”
“I’ll have to go back soon, my family will wonder where I am.” He kisses my head and regretfully releases me. “I’ll see you in there.” Then he’s gone.
I stay there looking out at the sky for a couple more minutes. I just had my first kiss and it was with Nyx. I feel like I’m walking on a cloud, until I remember who we are and why we can’t be together. We have to figure something out. I need to be with him. Even if both of our families disown us. I can’t stay away any more.
Soon after returning to my father’s side he announces that we will be leaving. I look around for Nyx, but can’t find him. I mask my disappointment, say goodbye to everyone and thank Feyre and Rhys for inviting us over.
“The next ones at our place.” My dad says with a wink at Rhys and winnows us back home.
———
Two Months Later
Nyx’s POV
I give myself one look in the mirror and head downstairs to meet up with my family. As I come down the stairs, Uncle Cassian whistles at me. “Daaaamn, Nyxie Wyxie, who are you trying to impress?”
I laugh it off nonchalantly and move over to my parents.
“You look so handsome, Nyx. Don’t listen to Cassian, he’s just trying to rile you up.” My mother says. I give her a smile and sit down as we wait for everyone to get here.
It’s been over 2 months since I’ve last seen her and I couldn’t be more excited. I had hoped during Starfall that she felt the mating bond, but it doesn’t seem like she did. Even after we kissed, and my gods it was amazing. I don’t know if that was her first kiss, but it was mine and I couldn’t wipe the stupid smile off my face for 2 weeks. All I’ve been able to think about is her.
So yeah, Cassian, maybe I am trying to impress someone. She has no idea that she’s my mate and even if she did, her father would never let us be together.
I’ve known that she is my mate for almost 2 years, but I couldn’t do anything about it. I have a plan for tonight though, I just need everything to be perfect.
“Okay so here’s the plan.” My dad says, drawing my attention. “It’s a ball, so there will be lots of people dancing around. It will be easy to lose sight of each other, but under no circumstances should we let that happen. Understand?” He says sternly. We all reply with either a yes or a nod. “Great! Now let’s go.” He grabs onto my mothers hand and she grabs mine, winnowing us out.
Loud music fills my ears as people push past me to get to the ballroom, my family and I follow. Over the years coming to these events, I’ve been one of a handful of kids my age. Y/N included. She’s always been the first thing I look for when I get inside. Now as I look around, it takes me no time to find her.
She’s looking around the room as well and finally her eyes land on me. Gods she’s beautiful. Everything about her is stunning. She gives me a big smile and eyes the door to her left. I’m not good at hints, but that one’s pretty obvious, so I gave her a smile back and nod. She walks towards the door and I get a full view of her dress. Dark green, her signature color, with gold lace trims. Her auburn hair is in an intricate braid that’s resting on her right shoulder.
Once she’s inside the door, I count to 60. A full minute might be too much time to make her wait, but I need to be sure my family doesn’t see us together. When I get to 56, I start walking towards the door. I look around to find my parents chatting with other High Lords, Cassian and Nesta dancing together and Azriel standing with his back facing me. Perfect. I pick up my pace and open the door she went through.
It opens into what I assume is a storage room. As I close the door I feel tiny hands wrap around my waist.
“Hey handsome.” She whispers. I spin around in her grasp and put my hands around her waist.
“Hi beautiful.” I pull her close and lift her up to place a kiss on her lips. She moves to wrap her arms around my neck and plays with the back of my hair. I melt when she does this, I love it so much. I can’t control the moan that comes out as she arches her body into mine.
I move to kiss behind her ear, and now it’s her turn to moan. I would give anything to keep that sound on repeat in my head. She continues playing with my hair as I kiss my way down her neck. “Nyx.” She says in my ear in a serious tone, that causes me to stop and look at her face. Scared that I did something wrong, I take a step back. She grabs my hands and has a panicked expression on her face.
“Please don’t leave. I don’t want you to go.” She says. I release a breath and cup her face with my hands.
“Then I won’t.” I promise as I rub my thumbs along her freckle filled cheeks and kiss her again.
She places her head on my chest and I move my hand to cradle the back of her head. “I mean like, ever.” She says and looks up at me. “I don’t ever want to be away from you again.” She starts to cry, I quickly wipe away her tears and pull her closer to me.
I know I need to respond, but I can’t think of what to say. I don’t want to be away from her again either. These past 2 months have been nothing but agony. I want nothing more than to run away with her right now and never return. But we both know we can’t do that. Not yet, anyway. I lift her chin up with my finger and press a quick kiss to her nose which causes her to giggle, just like I wanted.
“I can’t promise you a future, no matter how much I wish I could. What I can promise is the present, and right now I don’t want to do anything but be here with you.” I whisper and she pulls me down into another kiss.
This one is more intense than our previous ones, more needy. I push her up against the wall and lift her into my arms. She wraps her legs around my waist and bites my bottom lip while her fingers begin unbuttoning my shirt.
She gets to the third when the door behind us slams open. I gently drop her to the ground and turn around so she can hide behind me.
“NYX!” I hear my father yell.
“Y/N!” Eris yells from behind him.
My father comes over to me to pull me away from Y/N. Eris rushes over to her and grabs onto her arm. She looks at me scared and it kills me that there’s nothing I can do about it. “Please dad, just let me explain.” She pleads to her father.
“You can explain at the house.” He snarls and winnows her away.
“Noooo!” I fight out of my fathers grasp to try and reach her before they are gone, but it’s too late. I fall to the ground where she was and put my head in my hands.
“Get up Nyx. This is ridiculous.” My father says. I whip my head around and give him the death glare he deserves. “She means nothing to you. She’s the daughter of Autumn, son, she is destined to be your enemy.”
My mom joins me on the floor and rubs my back. “Nyx it will be okay, you’ll find someone else.”
“I don’t want someone else! I want her!” I snap back.
“As long as I’m alive that is never going to happen.” My father hisses. I stand up and move to be face to face with him.
“SHE’S MY MATE!! Did you know that? No, of course you didn’t. She doesn’t even know yet and still she wants to be with me. Do you remember what it was like before mom knew? That’s how I feel right now. It would be nice to have my father be there for me. Why do you think I never told you?” I scream out, he gives me a shocked expression. I bolt past the rest of my family before anyone has a chance to stop me.
Y/N’s POV
I’m still sobbing as I lay on my bed 30 minutes later. When we winnowed home I ran upstairs ignoring anything my father had to say. His knock on my door now is quiet, almost fearful. Good. This conversation isn’t going to be easy for either of us.
“Sweetheart, can I come in?” He asks from behind the door. I don’t respond, hoping he will take the hint and leave me alone. Instead, he pushes my door open and sits beside me on my bed. He breathes a heavy sigh.
“I wanted to apologize.” He starts and I jolt upright. I was NOT expecting that.
“W-what?” I ask, not believing my ears.
He nods. “I wanted to apologize to you. I spoke with Rhysand a couple minutes ago and he told me that you two are mates and I……..” He keeps talking, but nothing he says is registering in my brain.
“M-mates? Nyx and I are mates?” I ask.
“Yeah- oh you didn’t- you didn’t know that?” He asks. I shake my head, still struggling to understand what is happening. He pulls me into a hug and rocks me back and forth.
“Oh I’m so sorry sweetheart. I- I thought you knew.”
“Wait. Does Nyx know?” I sit up and look at him, he nods. I’m thinking over our past interactions trying to put the pieces together. That’s what the pinching was. Was that what he was asking if I felt? Why didn’t he just tell me?
“I really am sorry. It’s just that Nyx is the heir of the Night Court and you are my only daughter. I didn’t want to see you together, but since you are mates we will make it work. I promise.” He says.
“Can I go see him?” I wipe away my tears with the back of my hand.
“Of course you can.” He gives me a smile and winnows me to the Night Court.
I wanted to make myself look presentable after all the crying I just did, but I’m running up to Nyx’s room as soon as we get there. I don’t know how I know which room is his, I just feel it. I stop abruptly outside of his door and I’m about to knock when it swings open.
Standing in front of me is the most stunning male I’ve ever seen. He looks like he’s been crying as much as I have. It breaks my heart to see him like that and based on the look he gives me, he feels the same.
I jump up into his arms and he walks us backwards into his room. He kicks the door closed behind us and walks over to his bed. Nyx gently sets me down on his mattress and kneels before me. I place my hands on either side of his face as he rests his hands over mine.
“We’re mates.” I sob out. He looks scared of what I’m about to say, so I give him a smile to try and ease his nerves. He gives me a shy nod.
“Is that okay with you?”
“It’s perfect.”
He releases a sigh and pulls me into his arms. “We need to talk about some things.” He says.
“I know.” I pull back to look at his beautiful face. “I choose you, Nyx. I will always choose you. I don’t care what our parents think. Even if we live in a shack in the middle of nowhere. I just want to be with you.”
He wipes away my tears and looks at me happily. “Are you sure? Because I could definitely find us a shack in the middle of nowhere.” He jokes while peppering my cheeks with kisses. He rubs away his tears with the back of his hand and gives a soft chuckle.
“What?” I ask, giggling at him.
“Nothing, I just am so fucking happy right now. I don’t really know what to do with myself.” He laughs, but his face changes to show that he’s nervous. “Could you stay tonight?”
“Do you have something I could borrow?” I ask, gesturing down to my very uncomfortable dress. He fumbles around in his closet before returning with an oversized t-shirt and some boxer shorts. Nyx hands them to me and shows me where his bathroom is, leaving me to change.
His shirt fits me like a dress, it comes down so far you can even tell that I’m wearing shorts. I step back into his bedroom and find that he’s already laying down in bed. He pats the space next to him and I giggle as I jump under the covers.
He pulls my back to his front and wraps his arm around my waist. He places a kiss on my shoulder and says “I choose you too. I will always choose you.”
I smile and snuggle closer. “I know.”
I struggle to keep my eyes open, not wanting to miss a second of this moment, but I can already tell that this is going to be the best sleep I’ve ever had.
2 YEARS LATER
I stand up from my vanity and head over to my closet to get dressed. Today is Nyx and I’s anniversary and he’s taking me on a date, but he won't tell me where we are going. The only thing he has told me is what to wear. I pick up the beautifully wrapped box and undo the bow to reveal the most stunning dark green dress.
I turn towards the mirror to see myself. Not only do I look beautiful, I feel beautiful. That feeling isn’t a familiar one, but it’s beginning to grow on me. I’m so distracted looking at myself that I don’t notice my mate walking up behind me.
He wraps his large hands around my waist and rests his chin on my shoulder. “You look gorgeous, darling. Are you ready to go?” He asks and spins me around.
“You don’t look too bad yourself, so let's go before I ruin this new dress you bought me.” I tease and give him a kiss. He chuckles and winnows us away.
We arrive in an empty ballroom and I look over at him questioningly. “I figured we should have another chance at attending a ball together.” He says shyly, taking my hand to lead me towards the dance floor. Suddenly, classical music begins to play and Nyx places a kiss on my knuckles.
“May I have this dance, My Lady?” He asks with a smirk.
“I’d be honored to dance with you, My Lord.” I reply and he pulls me close. My hand finds room on his shoulder as his find my waist. We slowly sway back and forth for a couple of songs before Nyx pulls back.
“Y/N, on this night 2 years ago I promised you something, and I told you that there was another thing that I couldn’t promise you. I’d like to change that tonight.” He begins and I already feel tears building in my eyes.
“Back then I said I couldn’t promise you a future, but that I could promise you the present.” He swallows and moves onto one knee before me, “Y/N Vanserra, I would be honored if you would allow me to promise you a future, our future.” He pulls out a small box from his jacket pocket.
“Will you marry me?”
I throw myself into his arms. “Yes!”
He picks me up and kisses me while we spin around. He grabs onto my left hand and slides the most beautiful ring onto my fourth finger. He pushes a strand of hair behind my ear, then wipes away my tears with his thumb. “I love you so much, Y/N.”
“I love you too.” I rest my face on his chest as we dance away the night. Our lives may not be perfect, but we chose how to live our lives. We chose each other.
#a court of thorns and roses#acotar#azriel#cassian#feyre#mor#nesta#rhys#nyx#nyx x reader#eris vanserra#nyx archeron#vanserra reader#rhysand#sarah j maas#acomaf#acowar#acofas#acosf
163 notes
·
View notes
Text
𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑻𝑼𝑫𝑶𝑹𝑺. all sentences have been taken from the showtime drama, the tudors. change names, locations, pronouns as you see fit. this is a redo of another meme.
“Without knowledge, life is not worth having.”
“I have come here to die. I die a Queen, but I would rather die the wife of Culpeper.”
“One day I shall lie beside you again, I promise and we shall sleep together for eternity.”
“Your Majesty's life is far too precious to be put at risk against such a common rabble.”
“Of course, if you choose to go, you'd be like a lion among wolves.”
“My friend, if all ambassadors were beautiful women I'd be serving my country day and night.”
“You hate him like a scorpion. And why? Because he would not satisfy your ambition.”
“Diplomacy is nearly always settled by such proximity.”
“I call Mary my English mare, because I ride her so often.”
“You are a poet as I am a woman. Poets and women are always free with their hearts, are they not?”
“There's something deep and dangerous in you, Anne, those eyes of yours are like dark hooks for the soul.”
“As a humanist I share your opinion. As a King, I'm forced to disagree.”
“Though I love Your Majesty and I'm loyal to you, in every way, I cannot disguise my distress and unhappiness.”
"I should only ever tell the king what he ought to do, not what he could do. For if the lion knows his own strength, no man could control him."
"Blessed lady, Queen of Hearts, there will be even greater crowds than these to welcome you when you return to London."
"For every scholar that votes for you...I could find a thousand who would vote for me."
"You and I are both young, and with God's grace, boys will follow."
"You have no one to blame but yourself for this.”
“I was a true maid without touch of men. And whether or not it be true, I put it to your conscience.”
"Seduce me. Write letters to me. And poems, I love poems. Ravish me with your words. Seduce me."
"I have never known another man....and nor would I ever want to."
"If I had to choose between extreme sorrow and extreme happiness, I would always choose sorrow, for when you are happy you forget about spiritual things, you forget about God.But in your sorrow, He is always with you."
"Chastity? You talk to me about chastity when you have a mistress and two children, your Eminence."
“This, I vow, that my eyes desire you above all things.”
“As a humanist I have an abhorrence of war. It's an activity fit only for beasts yet practiced by no kind of beasts so constantly as by man.”
“What if the King doesn't know what's in his best interests?”
“If you want to keep the love of a prince, this is what you must do: You must be prepared to give him the thing you most care for, in all the world.”
“Lady Anne is so beautiful, it is the duty of every man to love her. Of course I loved her, but from a distance.”
“You treat me so unkindly and in public neglect me.”
“My only satisfaction is that in frustrating you I hasten your fall from the King's good graces, an outcome I desire above all others.”
“Mistress Boleyn, you should not abuse the Queen's honor with such language!”
“He was a lion in my defense. Now he will die ashamed and alone in a prison cell.”
“Then here's the truth. You must shut your eyes and endure like your betters have done before you!”
“Don’t you know that I can drag you down as quickly as I raised you?”
“I am more convinced than ever that he is the agent of Satan. If I could, I would strip him from the King's side- and burn him.”
"I know of no Queen of England but my mother. And I will accept no Queen but my mother."
“If the King's mistress would intercede with him on my behalf, then I would be grateful."
"Lady, you must know how beloved you are to the people—as was your mother before you, God rest her soul."
“I'm a lot older than I was when I first knew you. And wiser.”
“have no heir. The Tudor Dynasty, all my father's work, finished, and it's MY fault!”
“He will tire of you, like all the others.”
“You know perfectly well what the King desires and what he shall have.”
“You can't have 3 people in a marriage!”
“I am surprised to receive such a request from such a wise and noble man as you.”
“ I am but a poor woman, lacking in both wit and understanding. How am I supposed to respond to such a request made to me out of the blue?”
“I know what you are trying to do, but do not think to take the King away from me. Let him play with you. Let him give you gifts. But he cannot give you his true heart.”
“I make you this promise. When we are married, I will deliver you a son.”
“I was wondering if you'd like to become my mistress.“
“The brat is now officially a bastard.”
“Everything will change for her. That kiss is her destiny and fortune.”
“People of England, your King is unharmed!”
“An important question, whether it is better for a king to be feared or loved.”
“I do imagine there are some at court who would like to see the Queen replaced.”
“Lady Bryan, if I cannot please the King, will he kill me?”
“For he who possesses the heir to the throne will very soon possess the throne itself.”
#rp meme#sentences memes#meme call#roleplay memes#sentence meme#( cali meme. )#rp memes#rp prompt#rp musings#roleplay prompt#roleplay meme
98 notes
·
View notes
Text
General Sentences, Vol. 6
(Assorted original sentences. Adjust phrasing where needed)
"How does one rest when the mind refuses to sleep?"
"I have to say, I'm feeling a little bit judged right now."
"Was it so hard to be there for me?"
"Did you ever regret the decisions you made?"
"I could write a thousand poems, and it still wouldn't be enough to describe what I feel for you."
"When did you become such a cliché?"
"Why does your love feel so conditional?"
"Since the accident, my thoughts feel like a puzzle with missing pieces."
"Does this mean what I think it means, or is this another dead end?"
"Do you think our lives are shaped by choices or circumstances?"
"Why is it so hard for you to show affection?"
"Your absence has been a deafening silence in my life."
"I just want to be the person I was before."
"It's the way you look at me, like I'm the only one in the world."
"Duty often means choosing the difficult path. I've learnt to accept that."
"This job is not worth your sanity."
"Why does duty sometimes feel like a punishment?"
"Are you okay? Have you got a headache again?"
"Must you always sacrifice your happiness for your sense of duty?"
"Is it possible to find clarity in chaos?"
"Does obligation ever give way to happiness?"
"You are the reason I believe in happily ever after."
"Even my bones are tired."
"You don't have to prove your worth by running yourself into the ground."
"I can't keep my eyes open any longer."
"I didn't just lose my memory, I lost my sense of self."
"Does the burden of responsibility ever ease?"
"There's a thin line between obligation and obsession."
"Even in the face of doubt, my loyalty never wavered."
"You can't blame yourself for what happened."
"You're more than just your job title."
"Your betrayal cut deeper than any wound."
"This isn't just a puzzle, it's a labyrinth."
"When was the last time you took a break?"
"It's like I'm living in a fog that never lifts."
"Did you get arrested again?"
"You think I don't know how to do this job?"
#rp meme#rp memes#roleplay meme#roleplay memes#rp prompts#roleplay prompts#sentence starters#original;#general;
125 notes
·
View notes
Text
An Eye for an Eye (part 1)
Pairing: Aemond x OC! Daenys Varyon-Targaryen
Summary: Daenys Velaryon-Targaryen is the oldest child of Rhaenyra and Laenor Velaryon, but she shares the same true lineage as her brothers Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey. Having grown up beside Aemond Targaryen, she has become a friend, a companion, and eventually a beloved wife to him. But when the man she loves commits an unforgivable crime, she must choose between her beloved and her family.
parts: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / Future parts: MASTERLIST
A/N: I have seen so many edits of the scene where Vhagar chomps down on poor baby Lucerys and Aemond looks shaken and it got me in my feels so I thought I'd try my hand at my first fanfiction. Aemond is probably a bit OOC but I was craving regretful soft Aemond so here we are. This is also pretty canon divergent lol. This fic is also available on AO3
Word count: 1837
Daenys Targaryen walked the halls of the castle lost in thought. The past few days had been quite strenuous, with the death of her grandfather and the crowning of Queen Alicents son Aegon. Daenys yearned to return to Dragonstone to her mother, the rightful heir, and support her true claim. However, her access to the dragon pit had been forbidden and she was barely ever allowed to leave the castle unchaperoned. Someone was always watching her every move and she was beginning to feel stifled. Perhaps, she thought, a part of her stayed to try and convince her husband to join her mother's cause. It was a laughable thought really, because how could she of all people ever get Aemond to turn his back on his family?
They had been friends since childhood and when he had asked his father, the late King Viserys, to offer for her hand in marriage, Daenys was more than happy to accept, even if her mother was a little reluctant. Even her relationship with the Queen had once been one of companionship and tenderness, but the recent crowning of Aegon had placed a strain on their relationship. Daenys had once been Alicient's favourite of all of Rhaenyra's children, so much so that she had been the one to convince Rhaenyra regarding her betrothal to Aemond, speaking of alliances and powerful unions. It certainly helped that Daneys looked the part of a true Targaryen, unlike her beloved brothers whose parentage was always put into question. Perhaps, Alicent had taken advantage of Daenys's fondness for Aemond to keep her in King's Landing for a while longer as opposed to running off to Dragonstone to her mother. The royal family needed to present a united front during such a time of chaos.
As she reached the throne room, Daenys heard a commotion. There was yelling, a frustrated sigh, and then furious whispering. Daenys could barely make out the words but she could swear her name being said, along with her brother Lucerys's. Why would he be here, she wondered, but her heart raced with anticipation. Perhaps her mother had sent for her. The Hightowers couldn't very well keep her here if her mother officially summoned her and sent her brother to bring her back to Dragonstone.
With a skip in her step, she entered the throne room. However, her brother was nowhere to be seen and she was greeted by a strange scene. Otto Hightower and the dowager queen were engaged in heated whispers while Aegon sat on the iron throne laughing. Her eyes scanned the room and eventually landed on her husband. Aemond Targaryen looked lost. His eyepatch was missing, his eyes were wide in what looked like equal parts of disbelief and horror. His hair was mussed like he had just been out riding Vhagar. Something must have disturbed him while he was out, though Daenys couldn't think of a single thing that would possibly scare the mighty Aemond Targaryen. Worry gnawed at her either way as she rushed to his side to take his trembling hands in her own.
Her entrance silenced the entire room. Even Aegon halted his maniacal laughter. When the queen's eyes landed on her, they softened immediately. Aemond on the other hand froze and went pale. He refused to meet her eyes and pulled his hands away.
"Aemond are you alright?" she spoke gently, trying not to startle him further, "what's going on?"
At the sound of her voice, Aemond flinched. Aegon smirked.
"Tell her what happened. Go ahead. It is the best news I've heard in a long time," he crowed with pleasure.
At the sound of everyone's silence, Aegon laughed even louder.
"Daenys my dear, pay Aegon no mind. His majesty simply has too much on his mind. 'Tis nothing," Alicent said gently, coming over to put her hand comfortingly on Daenys's shoulder.
"Oh for God's sake, stop being such cowards. Tell her the truth. Why don't you tell her brother?" Aegon turned to Aemond. "Tell your beloved what you did to her brother!"
Daenys froze. Her brother? Is that why they were talking about him earlier? Had something happened to him? Her heart twisted as she tried to meet Aemond's eyes. Eyes that remained glued to the floor.
"My dear there's been an accident..." Alicent tried again before Aegon interrupted.
"Why let mother fight your battles against your lady wife Aemond? You seemed perfectly capable of fighting for yourself against that Strong Bastard. An eye for an eye was it then?"
Daenys's jaw dropped as she whirled towards Aemond with fury in her eyes.
"You fought with my brother? Why would you do that? Was that the accident then? Did you hurt him? Where is he now?"
"At the bottom of the..." Aegon stopped with a scowl as Aemond glared daggers at him.
"Your brother...uh he... he had an accident and unfortunately he didn't make it," Alicent whispered.
Oh.
Oh.
All the fire went out inside of her and Daenys slumped to her knees on the floor. Aemond tried to approach her, speaking for the first time since she entered the room.
"Daenys, listen..."
She flinched away from his touch as he reached for her.
"Don't," she whispered, her eyes filling with unshed tears.
"Daenys please," he pleaded.
Aegon was clearly enjoying this. He grinned at his brother.
"We shall have a grand feast for you, Kinslayer. Finally rid of that bastard. As king perhaps I shall gift you the Driftmark seat. You may rule the seas you earned with your lady love," he winked.
Aemond's eyes remain fixed on Daenys as she slowly turned towards him.
"How... how did it..." she could barely get the words out.
"It was an accident, I swear it. I tried to stop Vhagar but she wouldn't listen. I promise it was an accident," Aemond insisted, still trying to reach for her, even as she pulled farther away.
"Oh quit being modest brother. Tell her how you earned the name Kinslayer. Finally going after the bastard who took your eye. You were even kind enough to give him the choice of carving out his own eye. A courtesy I remember he did not offer you. It was only after he so rudely denied you your repayment that you went after him. As king, I declare it to be a fair game to be sure," Aegon winked at Daenys, recounting the entire tale of how Aemond gave chase to Lucerys and his dragon in Storm's End. His grin grew wider as her expression grew more horrified.
"If you are too upset with my brother to warm his bed, you know where to find me, don't you? After all, it was his dragon that took a nice big bite out of your brother."
A strangled cry of horror and disbelief escaped Daenys's lips as she glared at Aemond.
"You are still on about that? After all these years, you still haven't let it go?"
"He took my eye!" Aemond protested.
"He was 5! A child!"
“And what of me? I was a child too. A child who lost his eye and had to live with this hideous disfigurement for the rest of my life!”
“I'm sorry for that. Truly I am. I even offered you my eye as retribution for what my brother did. He was a child and didn’t know better. That still didn’t give you the right to take his life.”
"I... I'm telling you it was an accident. I didn't mean for it to happen like that. I just got angry and wanted to teach him a lesson. I gave chase only as a prank, to scare him a little. I didn't mean for him to get hurt."
"He was still a child Aemond! You chased my little brother and his baby dragon across Storm's End on that monstrosity you ride. What did you expect?" Daenys sobbed, tears now streaming down her face. "You killed him. You and your stupid giant brute of a dragon killed my baby brother!"
"Daenys, please. I'm sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen," Aemond pleaded. He knelt next to her and tried to take her into his arms as her entire body seemed to vibrate with grief and rage.
It hurt him to see her this way, coming apart at the seams. She pulled away from him violently, taking deep shuddering breaths.
"Stay the hell away from me!" she shrieked.
Aemond lowered his hands, chest aching. He looked at his mother beseechingly until she knelt beside Daenys.
"Shhhh my darling. It's going to be ok. I'm sorry. He's sorry. We're sorry," Alicent soothed.
"NO!" Daenys screamed. "It won't be alright. My brother is dead. My brother is dead!"
Daenys doubled over, her insides burning. She pressed her forehead against the cool marble of the throne room and willed it to swallow her. Great sobs wracked her body and she pushed away the multitudes of arms that tried to hold her, to pull her up and carry her away. Then it became hard to breathe and when she started choking on her own frenzied cries, she allowed herself to slip into the darkness that hovered just at the edge of her consciousness.
Alicent looked at the girl who lay slumped on the floor in pity. First, by crowning Aegon as King and now by killing one of Rhaenyra's sons, her family had officially broken any and all bonds with Rhaenyra’s. This meant war to be sure. She did feel sorry for Daenys though. She cared for the girl more than she cared to admit. She was the only one of the ladies at court who didn't give her son Aemond a hard time over his missing eye, who wouldn't look at him with fear or disgust. She had always been kind to him, and Alicent knew her son's heart belonged wholly to the girl. It was a pity that it had come to this. While the girl herself posed no real threat to Alicent or the crown, especially as Aemond's bride, her family did.
"Take your wife up to your room Aemond. She needs to rest, the poor girl has worn herself out," Alicent gestured to Daenys's limp body that lay at their feet.
Aemond gathered her up in his arms as carefully as he could and made his way to their shared room. He looked at her with eyes full of remorse. He never meant to hurt her like this. He supposed the cruel part of him wanted to hurt Lucerys, but the part of him that loved Daenys was far greater and so all he was left with was a feeling of emptiness and self-loathing. He wondered if they could ever come back from this. If she would ever forgive him for this crime. He wondered if he even deserved her forgiveness.
As he gently tucked her into bed, he couldn't resist placing a gentle kiss upon her troubled brow. She whimpered in her slumber.
"I'm sorry Daenys."
#aemond#aemond x oc#lucerys targaryen#jacaerys velaryon#rhaenyra targaryen#aemond one eye#aemond oneshot#house targaryen#house of the dragon#game of thrones#daemon targaryen#alicent hightower#aegon i#viserys targaryen#hotd fanfic#lovers to enemies#canon divergence#house of the dragon aemond#aemond targaryen#original character#daenys targaryen
501 notes
·
View notes
Text
Why oh why am I obsessed with the idea of Len meeting Henry in prison and hearing stories about little Barry Allen. Thinking about how terrible it must be to have such a loving father locked up for the murder of his own wife. To have him build respect and a friendship with Henry, maybe even offer him a get-out-of-jail-free card when Len plans to break out. Henry says no, of course, because only guilty men run and he couldn't do that to his son. They part as friends and Len always has Henry Allen aka the best father to ever walk the earth in the back of his mind.
So its like a knife to the gut to hear the name of the boy Henry talked about so proudly fall from Cisco's trembling lips.
He almost killed Doc's son. He almost killed Doc's son.
He let Cisco and his brother go while he tried to figure out his next move. Going up against the Flash was thrilling, intoxicating, everything he had ever dreamed of and more, but knowing sweet little Barry Allen was under the mask had him rethinking everything he knew.
Barry Allen, who took on bullies twice his size for other helpless kids. Who loved dinosaurs and singing with his mom in the car. Who held the key to the only happiness Henry had left. He felt sick. He's heard every story Henry could find the time to tell about this boy, this boy who lost his mother in the worst way possible, who spent every day of his life fighting for his father's freedom.
When Mick and Lisa ask what the plan is, when they demand to know the Flash’s identity, Len froze. Stuck between being another heartless villain in an innocent kid's life or being a silent hero and keeping the Doc's kid safe from the likes of himself and his family.
In the end, it's the start of his undoing. Choosing the role of silent hero in that moment, keeping Barry safe and alive, agreeing to their deal, playing his part all while making sure nothing happened to this broken boy.
When his chance to be a real hero comes along, he doesn't go see Barry or Lisa. He headed to a little cabin in the middle of nowhere and knocked on the door with a bottle of scotch in one hand.
Henry looked different on the outside, his face lighter, tanner. The prison jumpsuit Len had become familiar with was replaced by loose jeans and a flannel shirt.
"Long time no see Doc, mind if I come in?" Len offered out the bottle, stepping over the threshold when Henry accepted it with a small nod.
"As long as you leave any weapons at the door, you'll always be welcome here, Leonard."
"Even after I shot your son?" Len questioned, tilting his head when Henry let out a deep sigh at his words.
"So you do know." Henry muttered, setting the bottle down on the kitchen table and pushing a chair out for Len to have a seat before he headed to the cabinet for two glasses.
"He didn't tell you?" Len asked as he took a seat at the small wooden table pushed against the kitchen wall.
"There's a lot of things my son doesn't tell me about his other job, for my own protection." Henry said as he joined him at the table, pouring them each a generous portion of the scotch.
"That why you moved all the way out here? All you ever talked about was getting to spend time with your son again, Doc. Why aren't you?" Len palmed his glass as he awaited Henry's answer, sliding a finger over the smooth surface of the rim. Henry took a slow drink, his eyes growing sad and distant as he stared down into the honey-colored liquor.
"Barry has a life, a great life that he does a lot of good in. I don't really think I fit into that life."
"Maybe not this time around, but what if I told you I could change that?"
Henry looked up at Len's cryptic words, searching eyes dancing and a thoughtful frown pulling on his mouth.
"Why are you here, Leonard?"
"I've been offered an exciting opportunity, one where I can make some real changes in the world." If he played his cards right he could change things to play in both of their favors. "I believe you and I deserve more than the hand we were dealt. I think Barry deserves to have his father in his life, I think I deserve not to."
"Leonard, why are you here?" Henry asked again.
"To say goodbye." Len paused, thinking about why exactly he was sitting here. "To thank you, I guess."
"For what?"
"Too much, so let's just keep it at a thank you."
"Leonard-"
"I'll see you around Doc, take care of yourself." Len knocked his knuckles against the surface of the table as he stood, heading towards the door with Henry following close at his heels.
"Leonard, what are you going to do?"
Len is already at the door, one hand on the doorknob and a secretive smirk dancing on his lips.
"Nothing you need to worry about Doc, and if you see your son, tell him...tell him I'm taking his advice."
"Advise about what?"
Len pulled the door open, casting a small, hopeful smile back at his old friend.
"See you in the next life, Henry."
#this has been in my drafts for a while#so im letting it free#leonard snart#henry allen#the flash#captain cold
123 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
humann42
Some stuff I did :)
saharahmed27
Untitled
tiger-arts
Art
elilutram
eli
dylanobrienisbatman
From the River to the Sea