marquisedegramont

[marquisedegramont]

lessons in anatomy

a yandere art professor Wick x drawing model muse! reader AU...

CHAPTER MAP-> part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9 part 10 part 11 part 12 part 13 part 14

I.

-You’re a favorite amongst the studio art students at the university where you model. Not because of your looks, but because of your exceptional ability at sitting still. When you retreat inside your mind and you’re sitting in a position that doesn’t have any pinch points, you can go a solid hour without moving a muscle. 

-Maybe it helps, that you were once an art student too. You’ve studied the classical positions immortalized by the greats. The drama of the Renaissance martyrs to the quiet repose of the Impressionists to the silent anguish of the Pre Raphaelites. You do a damn good Odalisque, if you don’t say so yourself.

-You’ve been doing this for a while, and you’re pretty comfortable with it. That is, until you walk into the first day of Figure Drawing 101 to find the most handsome man you’ve ever seen behind the desk–decidedly not the usual portly, gray-haired, female professor who hired you years ago. He is tall, and dark, with soulful black eyes that make your lady parts ache. It’s incredibly embarrassing when your mitt veritably disappears in his in a cordial handshake (good lord, what poetic, long-fingered hands!) and you almost forget your own name. 

-He is incredibly gracious about your impression of a goldfish at feeding time. Undoubtedly, he’s used to this effect he has on women. Deep down, he must be laughing at you, and this more than anything helps you get a grip as you disappear into your little supply closet to change. 

-You emerge in your pretty paisley-print robe that sweeps the floor, and you realize you haven’t been nervous about taking off your clothes in class since your very first day on this job. Your palms are actually sweating, as you perch on the model stand with your legs crossed, watching him out the corner of your eye. He is stupidly dapper, in a dark tweed suit and tie. His hair swings down into his eyes as he reads something on his desk, and you’re not proud of what you would give for the privilege to run your fingers through that fluffy dark hair. 

-Thoroughly disgusted with yourself, you’re grateful when it’s time for class to begin. You’re surrounded by young adults who are [mostly] eager to learn with charcoal in hand. All eyes are on you, but its Professor Wick’s eyes you feel like a weight on your skin when the robe slides from your shoulders. You are so glad you can blame the air conditioning for your state of…attention. 

-You start with quick warm ups, then some five minute studies, and finally an extended pose with small breaks in between. When the kids take a break in the middle of the three hour period you slide back on your robe and make a round of the room, perusing the sketches. You can already tell who will be at the top of the class, but also who has potential for improvement if they work hard and practice. And some…better be good at math, because art is not their thing.

You do not hear him behind you, until he speaks. “I'm not sure how your clavicle could be at that angle…unless it was broken in two places.” You cover your smile with your hand as you glance back over your shoulder at him, a hot blush spreading like wildfire up your neck for some ridiculous reason. 

Mere proximity, you fear.

“Maybe their professor will set them straight.”

He chuckles with a charming self-deprecation that you find painfully endearing, scrubbing the back of his neck. 

“I like to see where everyone stands on the first day. I promise that lessons in anatomy will be forthcoming.” He only meets your eyes for a bare second as he tells you this, but you are astonished you do not spontaneously combust.

TBC...

___

pinterest board/photo credits

[marquisedegramont]

Departure is never an easy thing for both parties but Chiyo understands why Vivienne leaves in the end.

Or; Vivienne chooses her own happiness

(established relationship, any pronouns for Vivienne, vague descriptions of love, mostly Chiyo’s perspective because that’s how I roleplayed it with her player)

yeah so i let the demons take over have the last moments of vivienne in her chronicle before i put her ass on a plane to london (dont ask why i just really didnt know what city to put her in okay)

It’s no surprise to Chiyaki that Vivienne doesn’t want to stay in New York but it’s even more surprising that Vivienne does in fact leave. She hasn’t yet, but she will. Vivienne calls Chiyo at 7:28 PM and New York City is bustling with the life of kindred and kine, and Vivienne has never looked happier when she’s beside Chiyo in his car and they’re driving at the dead of night, talking about how the night is only warmer when they’re together or how pretty Chiyo takes pictures, or how to disarm a man in seconds.

(Chiyo looks at Vivienne as he’s driving. “I think I wanna leave this place.” She says. Their hand is on the steering wheel as they drive through the neon lit streets of New York in the night. “Start somewhere somewhat fresh, uproot myself from this… fuckin’ place.”

Chiyo blinks. “Leave?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

Vivienne’s lips press into a thin line as she looks away from Chiyo, then when the traffic light blinks red, they look over to Chiyaki. “This city has a tight hold on me, Chiyo. I would have left a long time ago.” Vivienne shifts in his seat before the car moves again.

It distresses Chiyo to know that Vivienne is leaving, and once Vivienne sets their mind on something, it will happen. There’s never been an instance of Vivienne not rethinking. Whatever decision it is, it will happen. Vivienne doesn’t make choices out of emotion, Chiyo knows that.

But still, Vivienne knows that Chiyo understands in a way.)

And of course, nothing lasts. Of course it never lasts. How dare they assume that anything at all lasts in this world? Nothing lasts, of course it doesn’t, time swallows everything eventually.

“So you’re not gonna stay here?” Chiyo’s voice comes off as softer, maybe even heartbroken—how could Vivienne leave like this? “Here in New York?” After she’s become a scourge?

But the truth is, Chiyo understands why she’s leaving. Why wouldn’t she? Anyone would leave in Vivienne’s circumstances, maybe a little earlier than she did but the only reason Vivienne has been chained to New York is because of everyone that’s wrapped their cold hands around their throat. The intensity of the kindred and kine in this city are beyond the thorned, twisting vines of politics and vague blood-connected ties. Everything is anchored, everyone is anchored.

Prince Patricia Connor’s dog, a weapon to be handled, a blade to be sharpened and held at the throats of adversaries to the Camarilla. And perhaps that’s why Vivienne is leaving—but truth be told, Chiyo knows why else they’re leaving just like this. Maybe it’s for her own good that Vivienne isn’t anchored down in New York where everything that’s made him the different person that she is now.

“No.” Vivienne replies. “I don’t think I can.”

Chiyo loves her, she really does. Vivienne knows she does. That’s why she’s letting them leave.

“Meet me in London, Chi?” Vivienne asks her.

“Yeah,” the slightest hint of a smile creeps on her lips. “yeah, I will.”

Vivienne holds her hand for a moment, her gaze soft as her eyes trail from Chiyo’s hand, to her face. It’s a Sunday, one in the morning. Vivienne has a flight to catch to London. Chiyo remains anchored to this city against her will. It’s okay.

Vivienne chooses her own happiness and for once, Chiyo can’t help but smile for her. For her cold, stoic love.

“Do you still have time to…” Chiyo’s voice trails off as Vivienne brings her palm to their lips, kissing the soft flesh there, eyes shut and a semblance of warmth seeping through Chiyo’s undead heart.

“Come with me to the airport?” Vivienne offers a last drive between them.

Chiyo looks at her like God’s graced her with his presence. “I’d love to.”

i was inspired to write this after i ate a really good fucking orange listening to xerces by deftones. anyways happy new years decided to write not-quite-doomed yuri also someone pls admire my post designing skills pretty please 🥺

[marquisedegramont]

Lighting Vincent’s cigarette for him

-🧸

eeeeeeeee quick drabble before i go back 2 working on my artfight refs | MENTIONED : established relationship between reader & vin, kinda idk but its implied vincent cant keep a bitch before hopping onto another

VINCENT stared out the window as drops of rain pelted towards the floor of the city of Paris. It was a gloomy night like any other, with the bright, warm light of the buildings that lined the Paris skyline often flickering from dark windows in the morning to their sunlight-like dots that shined in the night.

You open the door to his bedroom where he’s sitting on a chair, overlooking Paris in a penthouse high above common people. His hair is a mess, probably just woke up when you went to get a glass of water.

“Why are you awake, love?” Vincent glances up at you when you walk towards him, hand on the base of his neck, gently ruffling with the strands of brunette hair.

“Je ne dors pas,” I can’t sleep, Vincent says to you. “I have been restless for a while.”

“How come?” You ask him before taking your seat at the corner of his bed. While dating, you and Vincent didn’t really share the same bed. Vincent felt…. uncomfortable when it came to exposure to someone for a long time. People circulated in his life, changed; left and went, came back and stayed, got pushed away.

The Marquis doesn’t reply to you, he stares at you for a second or two, silence hanging in the air. Before his gaze turns back to the city.

“Stress?”

Vincent gives a half-assed sound.

“Perhaps.”

Your eyes flicker from the window, to the shape of Vincent as the lights outside frame his silhouette. It was well past midnight when you checked the clock in the room, each second ticked with utmost insanity. A sluggish second passed. And still, Paris didn’t sleep. Outside were cars, and here inside was both you, and the Marquis de Gramont.

“You know,” You say to break the silence. The silence wasn’t peaceful, neither was it tense. It was a strange in between of both peacefulness and tension. Something compelled you to speak, something to fill the air that wasn’t the smell of the Paris penthouse and the perfume you wore. “I never really believed in this whole ‘counting sheep’ thing.”

Vincent shifts in his seat, almost hunched over but really not at all. He looks over towards you. The faint glow of the light that comes from the vintage window barely even lighting one side of his face.

“Me neither.” Vincent replies. “It gets boring, and I don’t drift off to sleep. Instead, I lay awake, just counting. Hoping that I do.”

“Me too.” You answer back with. “My mum used to… read fairytales to me.” You say. “I guess it always worked.”

Vincent goes silent immediately afterwards. You don’t know wether he’s thinking or just refusing to reply. He was a confusing man. He never made intentions clear, unless you were smart and knew how to dissect him from skin to his bones, maybe his soul. But you don’t know his soul yet. You don’t think you’ve seen his heart. Well you’ve seen it.

To you, Vincent was art. A piece. Beautiful to look at, something that carried vicious history, yet cradled beautiful memories. But to be art, was to be looked at. Vincent was looked at, admired and feared. You don’t think anyone has come close to this before.

You blinked, there was a stick in between Vincent’s slender fingers that have never seen the work of the poor. A cigarette. There wasn’t a lighter anywhere.

Corpse silent, it was like a graveyard in the bedroom. A pretty, vintage bedroom fit for a noble such as the Marquis. Unable to contain your words and actions any longer, you stood up from your place on the corner of the bed. You scoured through your purse for something, then you felt the shiny, flat material on the pad of your fingers.

You held the lighter up near Vincent; he slips the cigarette, now pressed in between his lips. “Can I light it?”

“Oui.” He says.

You flick the lighter and the soft hiss and flicker of flame cuts through the previously quiet air. The match flared to life, casting a warm glow on Vincent’s face open with his gaze flickering over onto you, a hint of…something tender flashing in his eyes before a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

He takes a drag of smoke, dissipating into the cold air of Paris in the night.

[marquisedegramont]

NSFW alphabet no.7 - Sebastian LaCroix

Oh, oh my...

Sebastian was suggested by forever lovely and dear @porcelainseashore <33

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Highly depends on how useful you are to him, but if you are his partner, his lover, then Sebastian will definitely make sure that you are not beyond repair, so to speak, but he will not linger longer than necessary, especially if his recovery time is shorter than yours.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His face. Oh, Sebastian loves his face. He knows he’s handsome and he wields it like a weapon. So you complimenting him for looks will get you far when it comes to gaining his favors and enticing him for sex too. On you he loves your lips. Kissing his body, his fingers or his cock in your mouth, that’s the way he prefers to see you and infinitely enjoys.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Sebastian won’t ask you if you’re okay with him coming inside or on you, if he wishes to do so – he will. Seeing cum dripping out of your mouth after he comes is also something he tries to make happen very often. It’s like a sign of ownership to him and he can’t get enough of it.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Likes to be dominated from time to time. Not in terms of degradation, but those that allow Sebastian to give up control at least once in a while in a way that he deems safe for himself. He also appreciates that it brings variety to the bedroom, however, to reach such a stage with a Ventrue, you will need to have his complete trust.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He’s very experienced. Sebastian is a man of many tricks and sex is one of them, absolutely. He knows how to please and how to control the bedroom to the fullest, depending on what the situation calls for. With you he will also display such control, but for sheer purpose of seeing you coming undone in more ways than one. Long story short – he knows where the clit is!

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Deep Impact. It’s the one with your legs on his shoulders. He likes having full control of how deep he can go (and he will go full hilt), but also that leaves you exposed and a pretty view for him to enjoy while he fucks you senseless.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

The only humor Sebastian finds while having sex is by lovingly taunting you. Can’t keep up with him? Struggle to take him all in? He will comment on it and find it endearingly funny, not letting you forget such instances for days after they happen.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Being called a metrosexual is a compliment to Sebastian and he wears it with pride. Being groomed, dressed and overall well put together is something that he will prioritize above almost all else. So yes, he is very well groomed down there, tastefully trimmed (to make his cock look bigger of course) and cleverly perfumed. You won’t have to hold your nose around him or need to wash down the aftertaste, that’s for sure.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Sebastian’s focus is all on you during the act itself. That you both get the most out of the experience is his goal and he is determined to reach it. You won’t hear typical romantic talk from him or get butterfly-like touches, but when he’s with you, for the duration of entire experience, there’s no one in the world but you and he shows it.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Enjoys it a moderate amount. After all, only he knows how to please himself best but he is more than willing to teach you how to take over and do it properly, Sebastian’s way. He won’t risk ruining his suits or making a mess, so he is always prepared to clean up afterwards or have you do that for him, because he does enjoy if you watch him too, wanting to see the hunger in your eyes but not letting you participate, torturing you in this way.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Trophy wife. He absolutely loves being richer than you and allowing himself to give you lavish gifts, even roleplaying to a point that he’s “buying” your sexual favors through items of luxury. That is all a play of course, he sees buying sex as below his status. However, Sebastian will still eagerly show his superiority when it comes to money and you will only in win in this situation if you accept it.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Anywhere that will give him the ego boost. On the top of his tower? Check. In a conference room after a meeting? Check. His office? Double check. It’s not the location that matters much to Sebastian, but the overall vibe of it.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Sebastian’s biggest turn on is your seductive behavior. If you treat him as your king, he returns the sentiment by ravishing you at the soonest possibility. He’s a man who thinks he deserves to be worshipped and if you play right into that – you’re in for a reward.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He’s not a man who takes “no” easily but if you’re utterly disinterested in having sex with him, he won’t push it simply because he enjoys a submissive and willing partner that thanks him for the sex afterwards. If you act as if he’s below you or you don’t show signs of arousal, he won’t pursue you further (or again).

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Receiving. You have to do a lot of convincing for him to go down on you and even then it’s not a guarantee that he won’t stop couple minutes in just to fuck you instead. But if you want to slobber all over his knob, Sebastian will clear his schedule just for that.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He likes to take it slow and powerful, sometimes making you count his thrusts too so that you’re aware just for how long exactly he’s fucking you. Sebastian also will fuck you as deeply as he can and will take his time doing so, letting you really feel every inch of his cock and the power with which he’s having his way with you.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Sebastian does enjoy quickies because it’s like a sport to him, to see how quickly he can make you come. So he will partake in them quite often and without much of a warning, leaving it up to you to comprehend how you ended up bent over his desk with his dick inside of you in a span of moments.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He’s game to try new things but on you only. However, Sebastian does find the joy in voyeurism/semi-public sex and will take risks getting caught (however slim he can make those chances) just to have a quick fuck with you somewhere or watch you tease him when he’s unable to act and join you.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

A lot about sex to Sebastian is about build-up, so good amount of his stamina goes into powerful thrusts and keeping the position that he wants you in. Therefore sex with him is not the longest, but definitely intense. He’s not the guy to go on marathons of fucking, but you won’t leave unsatisfied despite that.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Oh he has toys and more elaborate ones than you do, best the money can buy and the most innovative ones on the market. What’s that? You have no clue, but Sebastian does and that’s all you need to know. He absolutely loves using toys on you and watching your shocked or surprised face at how they make you feel. Don’t suggest using anything on him though, that would mean giving up control and dominance in ways that he despises.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Not much of a teasing kind unless one can count in how he uses sex toys on you. He’s usually the man who does like some foreplay, but he won’t waste time edging you because he knows other, more satisfying ways, to make you beg.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He’s not only loud, he’s also proud of it. Who would dare to say anything to Sebastian if he’s fucking his lover in his own office? Nobody, and he enjoys challenging others in such ways. So his moans are loud and he makes sure you are even louder.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

One of the ways Sebastian punishes his lover is by letting others fuck you while he watches. It’s not cucking per se, because he’s there to make sure you are begging to be loved by him by the end of the punishment. And when you’re crawling to him for mercy, if you look regretful and sorrowful enough, he might let you suck his cock as a final act of humiliation and forgiveness. He doesn’t employ this method often, but he does get hard from the power trip it gives him.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Smaller than average and a little thinner too, but he acts as if that doesn’t bother him at all, coping with it by ridiculing bigger sizes and calling them savage or animal-like. In truth he has enough experience to compensate for not having a monster dong and that says quite a lot.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Quite high because it’s one of the ways Sebastian keeps relationship’s scales of dynamic tipped in his favor. So he will be in your underwear often and insistent that you don’t shun him away. He doesn’t take rejection well.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

If you don’t need any type of care or help after the session, you bet he won’t bother staying up for your sake. He’s a busy man, you see, a Prince, he needs all the slumber he can get, but he will hold you close to him as he sinks into the dreamless sleep.

[marquisedegramont]

My secret santa for @kavalyera ! Vivienne is so cool and I loved drawing her!

Thanks @crownedinmarigolds and @auspex for setting this up!

[marquisedegramont]

≪─ ᴀ ᴍɪɴᴜᴛᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴍɪᴅɴɪɢʜᴛ: ᴄʜ. 15 - ɢʜᴏꜱᴛ ─≫

⋟ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Sebastian LaCroix/f!reader the Ventrue neonate

⋟ ᴛᴀɢꜱ: y/n etc is not used, overall story rating - E, none for this chapter.

⋟ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Needing to pursue the Nosferatu, you travel to Hollywood. You seek out Velvet Velour because of the tip from Bertram, but you find more than just information.

⋟ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 3,240

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: This chapter was intended to deal with more, but it came to a natural end and I decided to leave the rest for a following chapter. It's a little shorter but hopefully not disappointing. Sebastian will return in the next chapter as well. Enjoy~

⋟ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ʟɪꜱᴛ: [link] | on AO3 [link]

You slam the door behind you and don’t even look back when the taxi driver wishes you a good night and drives off. Looking in front of you, first you see a convenience store, then when your eyes sweep to both sides of the building you notice other businesses, most of them having dark windows and locked doors. Only makes sense at this hour, especially at Hollywood.

Hollywood. You’ve been here before, many times, just not exactly… here. Your visits consisted of skyscrapers, elaborate mansions that cost millions of dollars, expensive parties where one bottle of champagne or wine cost almost a yearly salary of a middle-class worker and the rest that comes from being rich, powerful and young: sex, drugs and political games.

Yet that past seems so distant to you now, like it happened not months but centuries ago. A life that belonged to someone else. Someone who is not a kindred or a so called Ventrue. Who is not a plaything to a spoiled vampire Prince or a pawn to those sitting in the Ivory Tower. Someone who was somebody before. Is that woman still alive, somewhere? In memories or in wills, in documents that you signed and contracts that you made. In deals that you shook hands over and fucked for, selling if not your soul then your body for more profit, for more power, for more influence. Do you still exist, as you were, or is that all gone? Forgotten, swept away like a pile of dirt by the corporate broom that has neither mercy or empathy for those who fall, disappear, vanish.

Are you any more free now than you were before? You had shackles before, you do have them now, just of a different kind. The shackles of hunger, the Beast, the Camarilla and… the shackles of your own, still very human, desires.

With a sigh you lower your head for a moment, feeling the hunger gnawing at you somewhere deep inside and far away despite the fact that you fed before leaving your apartment at Skylines. That hunger is always lingering, always just a whistle call away, like a monstrous animal ready to pounce upon you the moment you don’t pay enough attention. No, you can’t focus on that now. Neither the blood or the fact that you had an unpleasantly long time to ponder your strange, twisted existence while on the way here. Someone busted the tires of your car, again, and the taxi driver, for some reason, refused to turn on a radio, one thing that would’ve helped you drown out your thoughts.

“Watch it!” A man in semi-expensive sportswear runs his shoulder into yours, forcing you backwards and off the cerb where you almost lose your step. He doesn’t even look back at you while you try to momentarily find your balance and when you find your footing, the middle finger rises on its own.

“Fucker!” You yell, but the stranger doesn’t react even to that. Someone else passing by snickers and you lower your hand, feeling foolish and too emotional once again. Maybe Sebastian is right, maybe you’re not too far from a damned Gangrel with your temper.

Looking around once again, trying not to think what exactly is it that allows you to show your temper like this when before, in your mortal life, you were never so hotheaded or so angry, you try to remember what Tung’s text message said. Something about a strip club, so you pull out your phone and after few clicks on silicone buttons you bring up the singular sentence that the nosferatu deemed you worthy enough of receiving last night:

“Vesuvius, meet VV, she might know something.”

You only heard about VV, the Toreador that found her place here in Hollywood. Some suspect she’s Abrams’ childe, but the truth is that she has been adopted by him, just like you are going to be adopted by Sebastian. You wonder if the news spread here too, in the Anarch territory, but you can worry about that later. Only if you are confronted with such information, but if not, you are not going to be the one presenting the facts to the people who might as well become your enemies at the turn of heart.

Soft clicks of your heels on the concrete begin to give you more confidence the further you walk and thankfully you don’t need to wander the streets of Hollywood forever because the green, neon sign of Vesuvius appears quite quickly before you. The closer you draw to it, the louder music inside appears, yet when you push open the door – it’s not as deafening as you thought it will be.

At your entrance, the woman at the counter just glances at you and says nothing else, returning to read the pop culture magazine that you recognize only by name. Maybe because you’re not a man she sees no reason to accost you, shake you down for anything suspicious, or maybe she’s one of VV’s girls and knows a kindred when she sees one. Whichever the case is, you are glad not be forced into yapping needlessly. You have a suspicion that you will do this plenty while here.

Entering the main floor you see the usual. Countless strip clubs looks the same: scantily dressed young things, swinging their goods for the patrons that either haven’t seen a clean shirt in a week or have so much spare cash they don’t even see these girls as people. You also easily notice how Vesuvius is trying to look more high-class than what it actually is. The paint is peeling in places, the seats look worn from the scrubbing of cleaners and the stages look dull. You don’t feel good here.

Making your way through the club that you don’t expect to be any fuller than what it is on a Wednesday night, you try to find anyone who looks like they stand out. Or rather, you are looking for VV and if you know anything about Toreadors, which is not much, she should be the prettiest flower in this garden.

Approaching the main bar, you ignore couple patrons who are trying to cheese the bartender out of cheaper drinks and then stop in your tracks. Out of the doorway to the right of the bar a figure emerges. Voluptuous and alluring like a sin wrapped in silken ribbons. Woman’s hair is bright red and her lips match the color. The lingerie she’s wearing leaves almost nothing to the imagination, the top pushing her breasts up like two pale mounds that countless people, you are sure, wish to climb. Her thong strings are hiked up high over her hip bones and stockings only add to the sensuality of her visage, all topped off with tasteful heels and a choker.

This must be VV.

You walk towards her and the woman does not seem surprised to see you. In fact, she smiles with the most welcoming yet seductive smile you’ve seen, and you’ve seen some high-class escorts in your previous life.

“Ah, you must be the famous fledgling, are you not? I knew you will find your way to my club.” VV begins and you smile to her in return.

“VV, I presume? Yes, it is me. Mind if we speak somewhere private?” Your eyes involuntarily turn to the closest patron, a man in black shirt on a bar stool. He doesn’t look like he’s paying attention, but you don’t want to take any chances. Any risk of breaking the Masquerade makes your muscles tense.

“So eager to have me all to yourself, sweet thing?” With a chuckle VV draws your attention back to her and you can clearly envision just how many mortals she enchants exactly like this. “Very well, I have been meaning to talk to you as well. Follow me.”

Turning on her silver heel, the Toreador walks back through where she emerged and you are having a hard time trying not to stare at her pale, round ass, swinging seductively right in front of your face, as if VV is climbing the stairs as slow as possible on purpose. You clear your throat, your cheeks begin to burn if not with a real blush then at least with the memory of being so flustered, and you try to keep your eyes to the ground, but it’s almost impossible.

Where Velvet leads you appear to be her private ‘dancing’ room. There’s a small tub, a pole, comfortable couch that looks much better than the ones downstairs. She gestures for you to sit, but you just shake your head.

“I’ll pass.”

“If you prefer to do it standing, I can fulfill that wish. And… many others.” She smiles and puts hands on her hips, pushing her chest out. “So, little Camarilla snack, what can I do for you?” VV gives your figure a long, slow one-over and you swallow dryly.

“I heard that you might have information where nosferatu have tucked themselves away?” You fight yourself to keep your eyes on VV’s, but her breasts keep enticing you like a siren call. VV herself seems not to mind your staring one bit. Instead she chuckles and steps a little closer, her slender finger adorned with crimson painted nail, pushes your chin up and forces you to meet her heavy-lidded gaze.

“Did you now? And who exactly told you this, hm?” She speaks in a voice as rich and smooth as velour. How fitting. You wonder if she truly is trying to seduce you or is it just how she is.

“Doesn’t matter.” You politely push her hand away and VV pretends to pout for a little bit, then she chuckles.

“Unfair. How about this, honey buns, you give me information, I give you information.”

“Does that mean you do actually know where nosferatu are?”

“Maybe. But…” She sighs and for a moment the act drops, Velvet’s smile disappears and she crosses arms under her heavy chest, pushing her breasts up even more. You swallow again. “Seems you have come here knowing who I am and knowing what I might know. If you do me a favor, I will share with you what I know.”

“A favor.” You echo and frown, seductive charms dissipating like cigarette smoke in the night air. “You want me to do some dirty job for you and I don’t even know if you are not bluffing.” You mirror VV subconsciously, folding your arms as well and she smirks at you.

“Let’s speak plainly then.” Velvet begins and you see the apex predator in her at last. Beneath the charms, the undress, the words, there she is – the vampire, huntress of the night and much more experienced than you are. “I don’t know where nosferatu are, but Isaac does. Help him, he will help you.” The woman pauses and taps one perfectly lacquered finger against her painted lips. “It is most curious that you didn’t go to him first though, I’m sure those have been your orders?”

You can’t mistake the taunting in the Toreador’s voice and try to keep yourself cool, relaxed, at ease. Being honest with yourself, you didn’t expect her to taunt you, try to provoke you, but you probably should have.

“Yes, those have been my orders. However, I would prefer not to deal with him.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

“I don’t believe he would be very much willing to share what he knows without, just like you, sending me on million errands first.” Your smile is bitter and VV’s eyes narrow at that, but she keeps the smirk on her lips.

“So you’re trying to cut corners with me. Clever, little morsel, very clever.” At last Velour seems to relax a little bit and waves her hand as if trying to make a point. “Unfortunately, you will still have to talk to Isaac. But I have other information that could serve you and your dear, dear Camarilla. Only if you do that one, little, teensy, tiny thing I asked of you.” The seductress returns and you slowly exhale, your shoulders slump and you accept defeat. It’s always like that. Anyone with one rung on the ladder above you feel like they can send you around doing their dirty work.

“Just tell me.”

You only half-listen to VV detailing and lamenting some sort of amateur script writer and how he is most likely working with a kindred to write his latest horror flick or something. You nod and agree to help her, if not for Velvet’s own benefit, then for one of the Camarilla. You’re about to turn away and head out, when something snaps you out of your thoughts that already drifted to how you are going to deal with Abrams.

“You know, I went through adoption myself.” She says and you stop, then turn halfway to her, your eyes fixating on VV’s and you see mischievous sparks in them. “Very much like yourself, don’t you think?”

“And what exactly do you mean?” You’re aware that your voice sounds harsher than you intend, but that doesn’t appear to perturb VV in the slightest. She just chuckles and taps her bottom lip just like she did earlier.

“Oh the entanglements with Sires, or would-be-Sires.” Leaning slightly in your direction, Velvet narrows her eyes in an expression that is full of smugness. “Do you think Prince really wants you?”

You try your best to school your emotions, not to show that her question caught you off-guard and poked a sensitive spot, but you know that she noticed. You know that she’s aware just how much this little probe rattled you. Clearing your throat, you turn to her fully once again and rise an eyebrow, tapping into your defiant nature like it’s your sword and armor.

“Why would he suggest adopting me if he didn’t.”

“Maybe he just likes putting reigns on the fiery ones. Or shutting them up. In more ways than one.”

Good Lord, you wish you could wipe that smug smirk off her face, but you just momentarily clench your jaw and offer a smirk in return.

“Just like you have been by Abrams?” You think this will hit the sensitive spot in VV as well, but you clearly are wrong because she just laughs.

“Yes, exactly like that. Don’t be ashamed, sugar plum, we all want power. If we don’t have our own, we borrow it from others, by any means necessary. But-“ She straightens her back and looks away, to the stripping poll, then back at you. “I do not judge you, just so you know. Let’s stay good, good friends, okay?” Biting her bottom lip, VV appears like she’s undressing you with her eyes alone and you can’t help but chuckle.

“Take care, VV. I will come back with that script you wish for.” When your back is turned to her, you hear her parting words, but don’t look at the Toreador again.

“Your adoption is big news, you know. Be careful out there, you don’t know on who’s toes you might be stepping, my love.”

You walk out.

With your thoughts reeling like a hamster’s wheel, you barely notice how you make it down the stairs, across the club and outside, into the not-so-fresh Hollywood’s night air. Paranoia gnaws at you for a moment, VV’s words haunting you like shadows of the past and you quickly look around, almost expecting to see a glow of vampiric eyes or a barrel of a gun aimed at you. Maybe even a stake launched in your direction. But there’s nothing. Some late night strollers and hookers is all you see around.

You need a break, you know it.

Letting out a tired sigh, you rub the bridge of your nose, trying to regain your composure. Trying to regain the sense of self. Focus on your tasks, you remind yourself, focus on your goals. But then, a familiar voice calls your name and your head snaps up in attention. You glance around and immediately notice a figure rushing towards you. The closer it gets, the more your unbeating heart sinks. It’s one face you were hoping to never see again.

Samantha.

“Oh my God, it is you!” She rushes from the restaurant entrance and you nearly reel back from the woman, but stand your ground. You knew this day might come, one where someone from your past runs into you, yet you are not sure just how ready you are to deal with this. “Everyone’s so worried about you! What happened? You just vanished after that last party! You know what, nevermind, let’s just go, I will call the others, we have been looking for you for so long!” Samantha reaches to take your elbow but you step aside and avoid her touch, making the woman look at you with concern. “What… happened to you?” She asks again but this time her voice sounds sad.

“I cannot talk. Whatever it is you thought you knew about me – forget it.” With a frown you look at her and Samantha gives you an even more worried look.

“What do you mean, forget it?” She then changes her mind and tries to get a hold of your arm again. “Let’s go, whatever happened, we will help.”

You avoid the touch again and noticing some people walking in your direction, begin to feel the rising panic. You need to shut her up, before she causes the scene and possibly gets you both killed.

“Samantha, look at me.” You demand and the woman is clearly about to take out her cellphone, but now she rises her dark eyes which show nothing but concern and confusion. “You will walk away and forget seeing me. You will never come here looking for me again. You won’t let others to look for me either.”

The fount of your power increases your hunger when you tap into it, but you can worry about it later. Kine are getting closer and you are not sure if your attempt even worked, but at last Samantha’s shoulders relax and she looks dazed, like she’s experiencing a dream.

“I won’t ever… come… looking for you…” With a slow drawl the woman replies and you sigh slightly with relief. So it did work. Glancing around you at last see that it’s just a prostitute with some John and then look back at Samantha.

“Go now, leave. Don’t ever come back.”

Samantha’s head bobs on her shoulders for a moment, then she nods, even her actions betraying her dream-like state, and at last this shadow of your past departs. Slowly, step by step, the woman you once called a friend walks away and out of your life. For her sake you hope permanently. The couple pass you without even giving you a second glance and you exhale with relief. Crisis averted, Masquerade protected. For now.

Yet as you watch Samantha disappear into some side street, the reality of what just happened threatens to come crushing down. Your past, your present, the hunger, the vampires, the fragile balance between your world and hers. No, you can’t allow yourself to sink into these musings, you know they will only make you miserable. So you shake your head, roll your shoulders and exhale in a self-soothing attempt.

Focus. Proceed. Seek.

Abrams. You need to see Abrams after all.

And you still have enough time to do just that tonight.

[marquisedegramont]

Can we have some general NSFW Eddie Gluskin Headcanons? That man is the love of my life

Eddie Gluskin General NSFW headcannons

An: I hope this is good ahah - Reader is GN

Warnings: Canon typical violence,NSFW, minors DNI!! cnc, free use kink, breeding -> discussions of pregnancy, some, Eddie feminizes you and calls you "wife, darling ect"

His cock is average length but it's thick and stretched you out so good

Loves missionaries, mating press and when his feeling more submissive he loves you riding him

Loves watching his 'wifes' tits bounce as they ride his cock like they're life depends on it (it kinda does)

Loves touching his darlings chest, regardless of size he'll caress them loves nipple play so if your sensitive he'll play with them until you cum untouched - when I say he loves it I mean he'll push you against a table and grope for hours -> please let him motor boat darling he thinks your chest is so whorish

Will playfully slap your ass

Loves fucking you in silky, revealing clothes that his made

Once a day his hands will snack into your pants as he plays with you whispering how good of 'wife' you are for him - once his made you cum he'll kiss you , lick his fingers clean get back to work

Secretly Wants a whore for a 'wife' but only for him, he wants them to be obsessed with his cock to worship it as he will them - loves coming home from work (lmao chasing other variants) to his sexy little darlings ass presented read for him to use

Will cockwarm you constantly - he loves slipping it in while your sleeping and falling asleep with it inside you -> you wake up hole trobbing and as you shift you feel amazing pleasure only to realise your husbands stuffed you full with his cock throughout the night - you'd leaking cum unable to think as lust clouds your mind you begin rocking back and forth enjoying your husbands cock

Has a breeding, pregnancy and lactation kink

his dirty talk consists of him being teling you your a beautiful 'wife' and how you deserve to be filled up, that your a filthy whore who needs to be punished, how you'll look so sexy swelling with his children, how your tits will look so sexy filled with milk -> he'll breed you daily so I hope you like creampies

There's never a minute where your not leaking cum -> sometimes he dips his hands under your dress and stuffs his cum back inside "Darling you keep wasting my seed, I know you like being filled how about we get something to plug that your whorish hole hmm?"

Your fucked so much I mean it -> your his 'wife' why can't he use you as he pleases and besides you sound so pretty getting breed - has a freeuse kink

Loves romantic cheesy sex and will caress your body as he whispers sweet nothing's ~ during this times he'll focus on you and make u cum harder then you ever have

[marquisedegramont]

 Linda " Linda " - ( Aug 1986 ) - New Reissue - ( XL )

[marquisedegramont]

🤍 𝒱𝒶𝓃𝒾𝓁𝓁𝒶 𝒮𝑒𝓍 (𝐵𝓊𝓉 𝒮𝑜 𝒱𝒶𝓃𝒾𝓁𝓁𝒶 𝐼𝓉’𝓈 𝒶 𝒦𝒾𝓃𝓀) 🤍

CW: tooth rotting vanilla sex, nsft

Cumming untouched from a forehead kiss

Cockwarming until they both fall asleep joined together

Five hours of cuddling in bed as foreplay

Sex in a wedding dress/tuxedo

Giving them a handjob while their head is in your lap, staring lovingly up at you

Holding their neck or wrist to feel their pulse but not squeezing in the slightest

Getting off to the sound of their heartbeat

Holding hands and staring deeply into each other’s eyes in missionary position

Planting little kisses on a cock/pussy

Dirty talk but it’s just “I love you” over and over again

[marquisedegramont]

Finished watching American Psycho, gonna kiss Patrick Bateman now 💕

[marquisedegramont]

They Don't Make Them Like Her Anymore - VTM Bloodlines 20th Anniversary

Commissioned art by @medeaft

Author's Note: I wrote this to celebrate the 20th anniversary of Vampire: The Masquerade – Bloodlines and for a Gallery Noir server event by @vampemoqueen and @bigswordenergy.

Step into the shoes of our favorite sick freak, Vandal Cleaver, as he ruminates on the recent happenings in his life. Pliers and blowtorch included. Terms and conditions apply.

Content Warnings: Violence, torture, self-harm, body horror, mild gore, mild sexual content, obsessive behavior, blood bond, Hannah Glazer and Therese Voerman mentions, murder.

Hannah, Hannah… oh, Hannah. They don’t make them like her anymore, do they? It was sad actually—tragic—well no more tragic than another dead hooker found in a soulless apartment Downtown. Nothing that would make the headlines, not even worthy of a back page obituary in the local paper. Heh, I may be a sap for saying this, but she was good enough for me.

You see, they don’t make them like her anymore. No shit. The new girl? She can’t quite do the job like Hannah did, but since when were beggars choosers? Yeah, I know my place in the pecking order. At least she has the stomach for what I request of her. Doesn’t outright scream, “You fucking freak!” in my face, leaving me high and dry. I need my fix afterall, like the rest of you… Hiding dirty little secrets to dig out between your sorry sack of bones with a scalpel—do you know what a skilled hand can do with a scalpel? Have you ever run your finger across the edge of a blade? Any blade—come on, don’t lie to me now, we’re friends, aren’t we? Everyone’s done it once in their life, lost their innocence as blood blooms from the vulvic slit like a bouquet of roses. Sometimes it gushes like a torrent, depending on how deep you sliced. Shh, it’s okay to get carried away. Your secret’s safe with me.

Anyway, she does as I ask, like a good enough girl, then pukes her guts out—politely—in the bathroom next door. I know, because I hear it. Her chest concave and hollowed, heaving, organ crushing against organ as she squeezes her lungs, gagging on saliva and air. They don’t make them like her anymore, you get what I’m saying?

Earlier, I watched as the flimsy fabric of my skin peeled away, acid pink flesh melting from bone, and the charred layers curling under the blue flame like burning plastic. What remains blisters and festers. I’ve done it so many times I think all that can be salvaged from me are deadened nerves and an empty husk. I like being empty though. Sprawled out on the floor, naked and clean as a newborn while the world around me spins in circles. For a moment, everything feels attainable and unattainable. 

My queen… queen of all queens—

And just like that, it’s gone. I’m left with the chick who has a blowtorch in one hand and her nose in the other, pinching it as though the fumes are toxic. Her hands are always trembling, like an addle-brained patient, maybe because I don’t know whether I’m laughing or screaming half of the time.

My body is already mending at twice the speed when she brings out the pliers. I am a god and a shitty mistake all in one—not quite like the bitch goddess who owns me, but almost. Give it another hundred years, and I’ll be standing in this exact room, cutting myself open with my bare hands, alive and kicking to see the process. Imagine tucking my fingers under the sagging flaps, flaying skin from tissue as I pull it apart. Wet, stinking clumps of flesh and its sinewy tendons will stick between my nails, overstaying their welcome, yet impossible to scrub out. And that smell—mmm, that smell! A putrid, cloying tang of filthy pennies, assaulting my senses like a hammer to the head. I want to untangle my entrails like the wires in my brain that got crossed somewhere, just to check and see if they’re the same as everyone else.

Oh, so the new girl needs a bit of encouragement, does she? Lingering there slack-jawed and taking her sweet time. The missus—no, I mean, Hannah never needed to be told twice. Deep down, I think she even enjoyed it, the sick fuck. They don’t make them like her—

“Do it,” I hiss, saliva drooling from my lips like a rabid dog.

I hear bones snapping before the pain hits me, rattling my teeth as an excruciating jolt shoots up my arm. For a split second, I’m blinded by a searing white light. My thumb is dangling at an awkward angle and I must be howling, because the look on that girl’s face… well, what wouldn’t I give to have a picture as a keepsake? Frame it up on the wall like a goddamn Picasso.

Sometimes I feel the hairy legs of spiders skittering around my skull. It tickles like the high strings of a violin being plucked—faintly, daintily, as if it were never there. Sometimes I say things, but my words aren’t my own. And it’s happening right now. The girl before me is no longer a girl, but the queen bitch herself.

“Therese,” I weep and moan. It’s lewd and urgent like a fever prayer falling from my lips. I swear I could cum from her name alone, and I hate myself for it.

“What did you just call me?”

Therese in body and blood, spirit and flesh. Therese in all her unbearable glory. The cold metal clamps down on my trigger finger and her grin is so wicked I can only grovel and lick the dirt off her boots. She’s inside of me. When I hurt myself, she hurts too, and I enjoy it.

“Yes, please! Oh, mistress, oh fuck—”

My eyes shut as I throw my head back, mouth in the shape of an “O” that’s simply ridiculous. I try not to imagine how it looks like one of those snuff tape suckers in post-coital, or should I say, post-feast bliss. Disgusting and vile. I remember mocking them with Phil as I forced him to watch every single Death Mask film in that dingy basement of the Santa Monica Clinic.

When I come to, my balls are no longer heavy and aching, like an oppressive, shameful need. Semen trickles down my leg, pooling in my pants as though I wet myself. It smells of rotting fish and I’m trying not to cry. I wish it were the Nectar of the Gods instead.

A flash of anger rears up in my chest and I tear my eyes open. Therese—no, the new girl lies like a crumpled doll on the floor, mouth agape in that stupid “O.” Good enough like a pair of single-use gloves to dispose of in the trash without a second thought. Except, I used mine again and again. What’s the point if they break apart so easily? They don’t make them—

I yank her face towards me. The whites of her eyes loll back as I squash the fat of her cheeks within my bloodied hand, and her lips mime a fish sucking in breath.

“Tell me I’m good enough! Say it!” something that sounds more akin to a pig squealing explodes like a burst tap.

The stumps of my fingers move her mouth like a ventriloquist, but she says nothing. Blood smears across her dull skin. She doesn’t wake up. That can only mean one thing: useless. They don’t—

I let her body fall to the ground with a thud. Whipping a phone out from my back pocket, what’s left of my fingers fly over the keypad, punching in a line I’ve rehearsed a thousand times.

“A special order for the mistress.”

Tears cloud my eyes as I hear my quivering breath. It’s shallow and erratic. I still can’t tell if I’m laughing or crying half of the time.

Dividers by @diableriedoll

[marquisedegramont]

Vampires & Vampire Hunters but make it about during the late 1800s in the Philippines

[marquisedegramont]

prince stop fucking ur primogen challenge

[marquisedegramont]

ventrue dictator prince

alts under the cut

[marquisedegramont]

“No really, let’s have a little think! Can you quit, Sr. D’Antonio? Maybe you want to retire in the country. Maybe you’re tired of watching your pathetic whelp of a son curse you from beyond the grave and your traitorous wretch of a daughter lick her lips waiting for you to die. Maybe you even abdicate. But if the High Table ever calls on you, if they ever want you, they still own you and they’ll sooner shoot you in the back than let you run away. Look at that, you’re a slave yourself. Perhaps the Elder should take a percentage of you. Your prattling tongue, for instance, or everything above the neck if they’re - ”

sorry i had to point that entire paragraph out its such a vincent thing to say😭😭

⚜ 𝕋𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕎𝕙𝕠 ℍ𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕊𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕠 𝕃𝕚𝕧𝕖 𝔽𝕠𝕣 - ℂ𝕙. 𝕏𝕀𝕀𝕀: ℝ𝕦𝕚𝕟𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 ⚜

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ ✧.*★ Thank you to @kavalyera for the beta read!

Summary: As Chidi struggles to win back Vincent's trust, two visitors show up at the palace to make good on Gianna's promise of revenge.

TW: Vincent and Chidi still arguing, discussion of slavery, drug use, mention of self-harm via overdose

The night wore away to raw, abraded, faded morning over Il Palazzo. A morning so broken that it creaked with the progress of Chidi’s boots up the staircase at four o’clock, when the streets were at their most silent and the tumult of his heart was greatest. He was not wanted until five, but if he were discovered there early, it might give the Marquis some renewed confidence in him.

A line of white light bled out from under the bedroom door, an indicator that the master of the house was not sleeping either. Swelling with emotion, Chidi took his station next to the door and repeatedly imagined it opening. It didn’t. All the same, he felt the tension of the night finally ease. He was where he was supposed to be. Something was being done for Vincent.

Chidi never had any doubt that the thing could be resolved. In a day (or a week, if his suspicions lasted that long) Vincent would see that his bodyguard continued to rise from his guest bedroom to take up a place by his side as faithfully as ever. Just as before, love and patience would win out between them, surely. It wasn’t the outcome that bothered Chidi, no. It was the journey towards it, which could only be painful. He strained his ears in the silence, as if Vincent’s suffering might make an audible sound. As if he could do anything if it did. He listened actively, with his whole body, until he cursed himself for obsessiveness. Don’t fuss over him. Just be here. Just be here and wait.

There was water running in the bathroom. Soft sounds of movement that meant things were, in some measure, okay. Some of the tension in his shoulders finally slipped away, and with it, his perfect poise. In the relaxation of being near his master, Chidi dozed. It was not his habit to do so – in fact, he usually maintained meticulous awareness, scanning any given room from left to right and planning at least a dozen ways to defend it in his moments of idleness. But the past days’ constant activity, followed by a sleepless night, had bludgeoned his brain into a sort of mush that couldn’t maintain any kind of awareness, let alone meticulous scanning. So he fell asleep standing up at Vincent’s doorstep like a dog left outside overnight.

He had ample time to sleep, because the Marquis did not emerge at five, or at six, or seven. He had still not emerged at nine o’clock sharp, when the doorbell rang. The leading maid came rushing up the stairs to Chidi, and declared that the master of the house was wanted immediately by Signore Giovanni D’Antonio himself. At last, Vincent was forced to emerge, and at last, Chidi laid eyes on him.

So this is what you’ve been doing since 4 AM, thought Chidi. It was worse than anything he could have expected.

Vincent looked positively regal. He looked, perhaps, the most magnificent Chidi had ever seen him, aside from his coronation day. His motions, too, were more unnaturally smooth and rapid than they had been since coronation day, and Chidi now recognized the effects of cocaine. It only added to the overall effect of overwhelming vitality, and for some reason, Chidi would’ve rather he’d been too bedraggled to venture out in public.

No particular feature stood out as the source of his splendor – rather, each and every possible facet of his appearance benefited from extraordinary care. His suit was styled the same way as ever, but he had selected the scarlet one that he knew to be Chidi’s favorite, and paired it with a black tie Chidi had once complimented. His slicked hair shone under the lights with a pearlescent gel (made of real pearl dust, based on what Chidi once read on the crystal bottle in the bathroom) which played dazzlingly against the sparkle of that glittering blazer. He wore a full face of makeup. Natural though it was, the concealer under his eyes and around that frozen smile gave him the look of hollow porcelain, a doll that might, at any moment, smash into thousands of pieces. At once adorable, breakable, fuckable, kissable – really, one could do anything to him except look away from him.

Chidi tried to force his gaping mouth to express either appreciation or concern, but all he managed was “Bonjour Monsieur. Vous êtes… [Good morning, sir. You look…]” before Vincent pushed past without even glancing in his direction.

He had words only for the maid. “Merci beaucoup, Gabriele. Voyons Sr. D'Antonio dans le salon, d'accord ? [Thank you so much, Gabriele. Let’s see Sr. D’Antonio into the sitting room, shall we?]”

Oh. So this is to be your weapon of choice, sir: silence. Sighing, Chidi followed him.

The head of the D’Antonios was accompanied by a small, very upright and orderly sort of person, dressed all in black, with leather gloves and a smart capelet, and black boots that clicked over the entryway onto the marble to extend a hand to Vincent.

“Greetings, Marquis. I believe we’ve met once in person? A pleasure.” Chidi recognized them then, from the coronation. The Adjudicator. They’d been mercifully brief with Vincent’s time.

“Of course. A pleasure to meet in person again. Though I do regret the circumstances.” He turned his gaze on Giovanni with a cold smile. “It’s always so bittersweet when a man’s grief for his son brings us together, no?”

Giovanni passed him without a handshake. “Not grief, Marquis. And not for my son. The boy was a fool, and not even my heir. I knew he’d meet such an end sooner or later. No, this is for my daughter.”

A flash of open aggression contorted Vincent’s features before he could repress it, smiling again. “In that case,” he snapped his fingers at the maid. “Champagne! It’s a celebration instead. Have a seat, my friend, and we’ll drink to Gianna’s health.” Chidi was smiling too. Even with the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife, it was a delight to watch Vincent at work. And he was putting his all into every word, every motion. One knee folded over the other, he descended into a chair like a swan landing.

Despite his irritation, Giovanni did the same across from him, shifting under that smug, almost hateful gaze. Chidi wished they could trade places, that Vincent would grace him with such a look instead. Better that than nothing. It nearly happened - Vincent’s eyes flickered in Chidi’s direction, perhaps to check if he was looking, but he swiftly looked away again before he could break the continuity of the punishment.

The Adjudicator remained standing, and stepped back to let the champagne pass through. Giovanni seemed to welcome the distraction of the maid handing over a glass of bubbly. Though he let it fizzle in his hand without drinking, eyeing it thoughtfully. “While we’re drinking to Gianna’s health, we out to drink to your father’s memory. To ruin!” Again, Gianna’s words returned to them like a bell that just kept tolling. I will ruin you.

“To both their ruin!” said Vincent, and drank.

Giovanni laughed humorlessly. “You throw away a connection so carelessly. But then, times change with new leadership. Your father and I had an agreement, Vincent. Did you ever hear of it?”

“…My father had many agreements. You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Well. This was an important one, to be sure. But my daughter was kind enough to remind me last night that…given the changes at the French seat, it may be time to re-evaluate. Especially since the present leadership hasn’t shown the same appreciation for my family that Àlderic did.” His eyes flashed with meaning, but Vincent remained impassable.

“Enough theatrics,” said Vincent, all while lazily tapping his fingers at the glass of champagne he didn’t want. “On with this agreement of yours.”

“You see, it was always good for my family when your family was strong. They took care of us. So…I overlooked something that has been overlooked for a century now. I never brought trial against him, and I shut down anyone who tried. Even the Elder overlooks it, because it has always been good for him too, when your family is strong. But it’s not fair, and it’s never been fair, so I’ve decided to grow a conscience, you see. A conscience about your Myrmidons.”

“Hmm? Et eux ? [Hmm? What of them?]” Again, Vincent almost looked at his bodyguard and didn’t.

Giovanni leaned forward, grinning, watching for the way the words would hit home. “The High Table is owed forty percent of them every year.”

The glass went onto an end table with a sigh. “How disappointing. The celebration is over before it can begin, as our most important guest has gone mad.”

“No madness. What I mean to say is that they should be under universal High Table control. Every seat holder must be protected against the others, as well you know. According to statutes enacted in the mid-1700s, forty percent of all captive human beings of any kind are to become the subjects of the High Table at large, to prevent the accruement of privately enslaved armies. Which is exactly what your great-grandfather created, and your father and grandfather maintained. They’re slaves, Marquis. They just happen to be controlled by hostages instead of chains.”

Well. That was the first time Chidi had heard the word applied to the situation, and it was…strangely validating. Perhaps he would have chosen this job, but many surrounding him wouldn’t. It might be prestigious. It might be high paying. But it was forced, and nothing could change that.

Vincent, on the other hand, was struggling to contain himself. “Madness, it’s definitely madness. They are anything but slaves. They’re paid, quite handsomely. Both the Myrmidons and the leashes. They’re under our protection. It’s a perfectly upstanding hostage situation. And if you suggest such things about my family again – ”

“Of course, it was never presented to you that way, I’m sure. But they can’t exactly file for severance, now, can they? If they’re held on pain of another person’s death, they’re slaves, and a slave counts as an asset, not an employee. And assets are taxable for the High Table Treasury.”

He clapped his hands, chuckling. “How interesting! How clever! You know who else can’t quit? Seat holders can’t quit! They know too much. None of us can quit. I can’t quit. You can’t quit. Every seat holder is a slave, hahaha! You’re a slave to the Elder and the High Table!” Vincent was really laughing now, high and hysterical. There was sweat breaking out on his brow. “No no, don’t stand up, let’s think about it.” He leapt up himself, pushing Giovanni back into his seat as he tried to rise, a knife suddenly sharp against his throat. Giovanni shrunk under his grasp, wide eyed and trembling. The man’s own guards, and Chidi too, all drew guns, but Vincent had already dropped him and was back to spinning giddily through the room. “No really, let’s have a little think! Can you quit, Sr. D’Antonio? Maybe you want to retire in the country. Maybe you’re tired of watching your pathetic whelp of a son curse you from beyond the grave and your traitorous wretch of a daughter lick her lips waiting for you to die. Maybe you even abdicate. But if the High Table ever calls on you, if they ever want you, they still own you and they’ll sooner shoot you in the back than let you run away. Look at that, you’re a slave yourself. Perhaps the Elder should take a percentage of you. Your prattling tongue, for instance, or everything above the neck if they’re - ”

“TU LUNATO! TU ASSOLUTO – TU BAMBINO! NON HO FINITO! NON SONO – [YOU LUNATIC! YOU ABSOLUTE – YOU CHILD! I AM NOT FINISHED! I AM NOT – ]“

“OH! OH! VOUS N'AIMEZ PAS LES ENFANTS ? PEUT-ÊTRE QU’ILS DEVRAIENT PRENDRE TOUT CE QUI SOUS LA TAILLE ET NOUS ÉPARGNER D’AUTRES HÉRITIERS D’ANTONIO – [OH! OH! YOU DON’T LIKE CHILDREN? MAYBE THEY SHOULD TAKE EVERYTHING BELOW THE WAIST AND SPARE US ANY MORE D’ANTONIO HEIRS – ]“

The two shouted over each other inaudibly for at least thirty seconds before The Adjudicator seized a small golden lion bookending a nearby shelf and slammed it against the coffee table like a gavel. Both men straightened themselves, red faced and sheepish. Vincent at last muttered into the awkward silence, staring ruefully at the coffee table. “…If that’s dented, I will see full compensation, oui?”

“Of course, and I do apologize for any inconvenience. A typical hazard of dispute mediation. It all goes in the expense report. Now…” They came to stand between D’Antonio and De Gramont, with more courage than Chidi himself could have mustered. “I do believe the nature of the dispute has been communicated. Sr. D’Antonio, you have three days to withdraw your claims, should you wish to do so.” The look he gave in response showed zero probability of that. “Marquis de Gramont, you have three days to either surrender forty percent of the Myrmidon army, or surrender the army’s leadership, to the authority of the greater High Table. …Alternatively, you may prove that they are legitimate employees, bound only by oath. That oath may be unbreakable on pain of death, but it must be given without coercion in order to ensure the Myrmidons are not taxable assets. Do you both understand?”

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

“Excellent. If either of you would like to consult with me in the meantime, you know how to reach me. On the third day, the Harbinger and myself will oversee your final decision. It’s a curious case, to be sure, the nature of the Myrmidons.” They cast an appraising eye over Chidi. “There hasn’t been a question of this kind for centuries. It will be sure to set precedent for the Table as a whole.”

With that, the guests made their way out of the sitting room, leaving Vincent and Chidi alone with each other. Vincent stared into space, and then at Chidi, as if seeing him for the first time. “Quel putain de cauchemar. [What a fucking nightmare.]”

Chidi squinted, trying to interpret. “Est-ce que… vous me parlez encore, monsieur ? [Is that…are you speaking to me again, sir?]”

“Oui! Oui bien sûr je te parle encore. [Yes! Yes of course I’m speaking to you again,]” Vincent said, as if he’d asked whether the sky was blue. “As-tu déjà dit à ton frère qu'il était libre ? [Have you told your brother he’s free yet?]”

”Pas encore, monsieur. Ma matinée était – j'attendais devant ta porte. [Not yet, sir. My morning was – I was waiting by your door.]”

“Mon Dieu… je ne l'ai pas fait… la nuit dernière… la façon dont je t'ai traité, putain… pour vouloir quoi, ne pas être un esclave ? [My god…I didn’t…last night…the way I fucking treated you…for wanting to what, not be a slave?]” The laughter was starting up again. Much like the exquisite beauty, Chidi thought the opposite would have been less concerning.

“Oui, c'est… eh bien, c'est techniquement ce qui s'est passé. Mais… [Yes that’s…well that’s technically what happened. But…]” But what? What was he supposed to say? It’s okay? It wasn’t, really. Forgivable, but no, it wasn’t okay. Though the sincerity of Vincent’s response now was certainly an encouraging turn.

“Pour ça, pour ça, je me suis habillé dans ce foutu costume juste pour que tu te sentes mal de me quitter. Alors peut-être que tu pleurerais en voyant à quel point j'avais l'air pitoyable, évanouie, le visage dans un sac de cocaïne ce soir. Pour CELA ! Quand tu as tous les droits ! [For that, for that I dressed up in this god-forsaken suit just to make you feel bad about leaving me. So maybe you’d cry when you saw how pitiful I looked passed out with my face in a bag of cocaine tonight. For THAT! When you have every right!]” He buried his perfectly done-up face into his hands.

“Oh mon Dieu, Marquis, non, s'il te plaît, ne fais rien de pareil. Je te jure que je ne partais pas, il n'y a rien que je ne ferai pas pour le prouver – [Oh god, Marquis, no, please don’t do anything like that. I swear to you I wasn’t leaving, there’s nothing I won’t to do to prove – ]”

“Chidi arrête. Arrêtez-le. Écoutez-moi. [Chidi stop. Stop it. Listen to me.]” Vincent spoke through his teeth, and through the hands still covering his face.

“Oui, monsieur?”

He pulled his hands away, leaving severe smudging, to look Chidi in the eye. “Je…suis désolé [I’m…sorry.]”

Chidi took a step forward, arms already outstretched. “Je vous pardo - [I forgi – ]“

“Non, n'ose pas me réconforter maintenant. Sortir. Et pas parce que je suis en colère contre toi. Va dire à Mo qu'il est libre, d'accord ? Allez lui dire qu'il est libre. ALLER! [No don’t you dare comfort me right now. Get out. And not because I’m angry with you. Go tell Mo he’s free, okay? Go tell him he’s free. GO!]”

He obeyed. The sound of furious banging and crashing followed not ten seconds later. He was on the point of turning back when he heard muttering about “mets-le sur la note de frais alors, très bien, je le ferai [put it on the expense report then, fine, I will]” which could only mean they’d soon be getting a new coffee table. Best let him carry on with that. It could be much worse...

“¡Nosotros podemos ir juntos! [We can go together!]” That was Mo’s exclamation, as they stood in the guest room, repacking his bag together. “Ven conmigo antes de que cambie de opinión. [Come with me, before he changes his mind.]”

“No, me quedo. Quise decir lo que dije. I – [No, I’m staying. I meant what I said. I – ]“ He had to breathe for a second just to overcome the wild emotion. “Realmente lo amo, Mo. No me iré hasta que él también esté libre. [I really love him, Mo. I won’t leave until he’s free too.]”

“¿Libre? [Free?]” Mo glanced left and right, at the tortoiseshell wall table to one side of them and the gilt chandelier to the other. “¿De qué, riqueza y poder más allá de lo que cualquiera de nosotros pueda imaginar? Preferirías liberar a una tortuga de su caparazón. Estos tipos de tiranos, esto es lo que son. He conocido a muchos trabajando en la Mesa. Algo está roto arriba con esta gente, nunca están satisfechos. [From what, wealth and power beyond what either of us can imagine? You’d sooner free a turtle from its shell. These tyrant types – this is who they are. I’ve met too many, working at the Table. Something’s broken upstairs with these people, they’re never satisfied.]” Mo tapped the side of his head. “Lo vi, incluso estos últimos dos días. ¿Qué crees que les hará a los mirmidones a medida que crezca su reinado? ¿A ti? Es... te mereces algo mejor. [I saw it, even just these past two days. What do you think he’ll do to the Myrmidons as he grows into his reign? To you? It’s…you deserve better.]”

“Estas equivocado. [You’re wrong.]” Chidi felt his face flooding with heat but refused to let them slide into conflict again. He took a deep breath. “Él no es su padre, Mo. Verás, pronto todos lo serán. Hay una fuerza en él que no tiene nada que ver con la compostura, y hay... hay una bondad que no tiene nada que ver con la humildad. No hay nadie con quien preferiría estar a mi lado mientras adquiere ese poder. Creo que las cosas serán diferentes. Realmente. [He’s not his father, Mo. You’ll see, everyone will soon enough. There’s a strength to him that has nothing to do with composure, and there’s…there’s this goodness that has nothing to do with humility. There’s no one I’d rather stand beside as he grows into that power. I think things will be different. Truly.]”

Mo sighed. “Supongo que no creo que pueda convencerte. Quién sabe, tal vez le hagas algún bien. Si tienes razón, nada me haría más feliz. [I guess I know better than to think I can convince you. Who knows, maybe you’ll do him some good. If you’re right, nothing would make me happier.]” He pulled the backpack onto his shoulders, loaded even tighter this time with gifts from the palace. “Pero… ¿lo visitarás? [But…you’ll visit?]”

“Sí. Si me aceptas. [Yes. If you’ll have me.]”

“Por supuesto que lo haré, idiota. Cuídate. Eso es todo lo que siempre quiero, ¿sabes? [Of course I will, idiot. Take care of yourself. That’s all I ever want, you know?]”

Chidi had to wipe the tears from his face. “Sabes que siento lo mismo. [You know I feel the same.]”

But the moment was broken by Mo’s glance at the doorway. Chidi followed his eyes just in time to see the heel of Vincent’s boot disappearing around the corner. “Volveré, ¿vale? [I’ll be back, okay?]”

“Ve a buscarlo. [Go get him.]”

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Image Sources: One (my screenshot) | Two

Author's Note: For more information about real modern slavery, this is the US State Department's overview. Chidi's situation is probably closest to "forced labor."

[marquisedegramont]

heres a png of lacroix dying

[marquisedegramont]

Finally got around to drawing my boy!! Goth cowboy salubri who WILL redeem your villains. @clementgray