#after escaping her british nobility life

[anna-scribbles]

h-how do you ever finish any of your work? genuine question because you seem to be productive despite your agreste syndrome and I need to learn your ways. but also how do you ever finish any of your work

unclear. last night i stayed up and finished a report worth 25% of my grade at about 5am, arrived on time for my 9am lecture, and spent about half of it zoned out while thinking about seventeen year old emilie agreste. and i was one of the most active participants in the class discussion

[rockislandadultreads]

Read-Alikes: Lessons in Chemistry by Bonnie Garmus

Where’d You Go, Bernadette? by Maria Semple

Bernadette Fox has vanished.

When her daughter Bee claims a family trip to Antarctica as a reward for perfect grades, Bernadette, a fiercely intelligent shut-in, throws herself into preparations for the trip. But worn down by years of trying to live the Seattle life she never wanted, Ms. Fox is on the brink of a meltdown. And after a school fundraiser goes disastrously awry at her hands, she disappears, leaving her family to pick up the pieces - which is exactly what Bee does, weaving together an elaborate web of emails, invoices, and school memos that reveals a secret past Bernadette has been hiding for decades. 

Where'd You Go Bernadette is an ingenious and unabashedly entertaining novel about a family coming to terms with who they are and the power of a daughter's love for her mother.

Beauchamp Hall by Danielle Steel

Winona Farmington once dreamed of graduating from college, moving to New York City, and pursuing a career in publishing. Then real life got in the way when she left college and returned to her small Michigan hometown to care for her sick mother.

Years later, stuck in a dead-end job and an unsatisfying relationship, Winnie has concluded that dreams were meant for others. She consoles herself with binge-watching the British television series that she loves, Beauchamp Hall, enthralled by the sumptuous period drama set on a great Norfolk estate in the 1920s. The rich upstairs-downstairs world brilliantly brought to life by superb actors is the ultimate in escapism.

On the day Winnie is passed over for a long-overdue promotion, she is also betrayed by her boyfriend and her best friend. Heartbroken, she makes the first impulsive decision of her conventional life - which changes everything. She packs her bags and flies to England to see the town where Beauchamp Hall is filmed. The quaint B & B where she stays feels like home. The brother and sister who live in the castle where the show is filmed, rich in titles but poor in cash, are more like long-lost friends than British nobility. And the show itself, with its colorful company and behind-the-scenes affairs, is a drama all its own. 

Her Hidden Genius by Marie Benedict

Rosalind Franklin has always been an outsider - brilliant, but different. Whether working at the laboratory she adored in Paris or toiling at a university in London, she feels closest to the science, those unchanging laws of physics and chemistry that guide her experiments. When she is assigned to work on DNA, she believes she can unearth its secrets.

Rosalind knows if she just takes one more X-ray picture - one more after thousands - she can unlock the building blocks of life. Never again will she have to listen to her colleagues complain about her, especially Maurice Wilkins who'd rather conspire about genetics with James Watson and Francis Crick than work alongside her.

Then it finally happens - the double helix structure of DNA reveals itself to her with perfect clarity. But what unfolds next, Rosalind could have never predicted.

Mr. and Mrs. American Pie by Juliet McDaniel 

The year is 1969. Dick Nixon was just sworn in as the thirty-seventh President of the United States. Neil Armstrong just took one small step for man and one giant leap for mankind. And notable Palm Springs socialite Maxine Simmons just found out that her husband is leaving her for his twenty-two-year-old secretary.

After a public meltdown at Thanksgiving, Maxine finds herself not only divorced, but exiled to Scottsdale, Arizona. However, these desert boondocks will not be her end - only her Elba. The former beauty queen sets her eyes on a new crown: that of the Mrs. American Pie pageant, awarded to the nation’s best wife and mother.

Maxine only has one problem: to win the crown she’ll need to find - or build - a family of her own.

[anticomedygarden]

England's got a new queen! epilogue (two weeks later)

part one | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | ao3 link

thanks to everyone who stuck with this for all 6 chapters! i love y'all

-

Alex has to hand it to whoever was in charge of planning this funeral - they sure knew how to throw a depressing party.

Shockingly, it wasn't for lack of trying. The lights are bright, there's oodles and oodles of finger foods and dozens of people to eat it, but there's no ignoring the coffin on the raised platform at the end of the hall, and, honestly, that's not even the worst thing in the room.

There are people everywhere, milling around, talking, showing themselves like a sad who's who of the British upper class. They've all got on designer mourning clothes and flashy jewelry, men carrying business papers in their wallets to show investors and women smiling prettily at them. Older white people sit in the uncomfortable, thousand dollar furniture playing at being happy to be here. No one is really here for Mary; no one is here to mourn, not even Catherine or Philip. It's like the real life version of Death of a Salesman.

It makes Alex sick.

He hates her, hated her with every fiber of his being, but this is truly one of the worst things he's ever seen, some sort of disgusting amalgamation of everything wrong with the world, because not only is everyone pretending to care about the dead woman on the pedestal, he and Henry are the only openly queer people here, Alex one of the few people of color present. It's all so white, so bland, so damn fake, he has to wonder if Mary ever had anything real in her life, anything good. It almost makes him understand how she got to be the way she was, not that it's any excuse.

As much as he hates it, even Alex can't escape the ambassadors and nobility that all want to talk to him and get into his good graces now that Catherine is (about to be) the queen. That, too, makes him want to throw him up.

Henry's around here somewhere, at least, talking to Bea. It's been very hard to separate them since he and Alex were first whisked off to London two weeks ago. That had been a ride. Coming back from vacation to find out the queen was dead and everyone thought someone was trying to kill them? Not an experience Alex wants to repeat, though he is looking forward to the party Pez promised to throw once things calm down.

After a few minutes of standing alone, he finally can't take it anymore and wanders out onto the grounds. He finds a bench in a small garden and sits down, relaxing in the clear, warm air. It's not as good as Colorado, but it's better than being inside.

A few minutes later, Philip sits down next to Alex on the little white bench, face pinched with deep thought.

Maybe it's the funeral, but the words leave Alex’s mouth before he realizes what he’s saying. "How are you doing with all of this?"

Philip shoots him a confused look, as if he can't believe Alex is having this conversation with him, and, honestly, Alex can't really believe it, either.

He presses on. "I may not like you that much, but I know you were closer to her than anyone else was. It's gotta be at least a little hard for you." That, and this sad as fuck funeral getting him a bit philosophical about all their places in the world.

Philip takes a moment to answer. "I'm not…unhappy," he says, still looking down.

Alex rolls his eyes. "C'mon man, I'm not gonna judge you for being sad that your grandma died."

Philip snorts, the closest thing to a laugh Alex has ever gotten from him. "It's - odd. I thought I would be sad - and I am - but there's other things as well."

Alex waits for him to continue, but Philip just gazes out across the green green courtyard. "You can tell me, if you want, and I'll swear on my mom's immigration policy that I won't tell Henry."

That earns him another snort, and Philip finally looks at him. "I'm glad Mum's about to be Queen. That's definitely something I'm happy about. I'm glad Martha and I won't be berated about our future children anymore when we visit the palace."

"Oh, yeah, definitely a bonus."

"I'm glad that you, Henry, and Bea will have more freedom to do what you want, now." He stops there, and Alex thinks he might be about to pull out the big guns. "I think, maybe, I'm also glad for myself that I won't have to run my life based on her anymore."

Oh. Alex does a double take. He wasn't expecting that. "What do you mean?"

Philip takes a breath. "For so long, I ran my life according to her. I based my career on her, my beliefs, even Martha was approved by her, and for the most part, all it did was hurt all of you, just for her funeral to look like this."

Despite his promise, Alex wishes someone else were here to witness this and verify that he isn't hallucinating because it sounds like Philip is...remorseful, and Alex realizes that this kind of funeral is exactly what Philip's life is heading toward.

"And then that makes me feel guilty that I was so horrible for no reason. I-" he pauses. "I should've been better."

"Hey," Alex says, and dear god, he's about to comfort Philip. "You may have been a dick then, but you've grown a lot. I mean, if it were five years ago, I'd have been worried you would throw yourself on her funeral pyre. Now, we're having a civil conversation at her funeral. You're doing pretty good."

"Really?" There's a good deal of hope in his blue eyes alongside the grief. Alex is happy he could make something real in the midst of these fakers.

"Yeah." Alex spots Henry walking toward them, a day of sunshine, more real than anything. "You good?"

He nods. "Yes, thank you, Alex."

"Kay, see you." He hops off the bench and walks toward his boyfriend. "Hey, baby, how’re you doing?"

Henry smiles at him. "Pretty good, actually."

That's good. Alex had been afraid the funeral would remind him of Arthur's and become a trigger, but the blond seems to be fine. "I'm glad."

Henry takes his hand as they start on the stone path around the garden. "What were you and Philip talking about?"

Alex waves his hand. "Just Mary and how she enjoyed ruining lives."

"Is that really appropriate for her funeral?" Henry asks, though his mouth quirks.

"It's always appropriate, sweetheart." They walk a few places. "What about you? How are you feeling?"

Henry takes a moment to think. "I feel pretty good, honestly. Lighter, almost as if I've left some worries behind in the coffin."

Alex doesn't doubt. During the last two weeks, Henry had been trying to figure out how to allow himself to be happy without feeling guilty, something Bea had helped a lot with. The princess had had no qualms about her joy at the matriarch's passing nor the spreading of it. Alex is just happy that Henry's happy.

Of course, he's sure at some point, they'll have to contend with their newfound freedom, figure out what to do with less restraints, but they were going to have to do that anyway when Henry's abdication went through.

Speaking of- "Hey, I've been meaning to ask. You still want to abdicate right? You were pretty set on it before."

Henry nods. "Of course. It's still the right thing to, for your career and for the world. The time of monarchies is ending, I hope."

"Thank god."

Henry murmurs his assent, and they keep walking through the flowers in the sun, breathing easy, like they're just two anonymous people in the world without the weight of two countries on their shoulders.

[peterpparkrr]

art is to feel (ch. 1)

Series: art is to feel

Paring: Anthony Bridgerton x F!Reader

Summary: Anthony Bridgerton has only one goal for this upcoming social season. To find a wife. What will he do when a young woman with no desire for marriage comes waltzing into his life? 

Word Count: 2.2K

Warnings: N/A

A/N: I love Bridgerton with all my heart, I was trying to start a regency!au fic with Din Djarin and somehow wrote this instead lol (the regency!din is on its way tho dont worry). Please let me know all of your thoughts and feels on this story as I being to map out future chapters.

// (Chapter 2) (Chapter 3) (Chapter 4) (Chapter 5) (Chapter 6) (Chapter 7)

Dear Reader,

The social season is upon us once again. It feels like just yesterday the ton was abuzz with the wedding of the Duke and Duchess of Hastings. But of course, their first child, a son, was born two months ago. I’ve been told the heir is happy and healthy. And with the host of aunts and uncles, the future Duke shall never be without love and attention.

This author also has it on good authority that the Viscount, Anthony Bridgerton has stated his intention to finally find a wife. A fact that has many of the ton’s advantageous mamas jockeying for the Viscount’s attentions. 

That of course begs the question-

Will the newborn Duke have a new aunt by the end of this season?

Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers, 20 April 1814

“You really should have been much more subtle, Anthony,” Benedict told his brother as he pushed the gossip rag back towards his younger sisters. “At this rate, you’re not even going to make it through the ball this evening, those mothers are going to rip to shreds before you can get through the door.”

“That is part of the goal, dear brother,” Anthony replied with indifference. “You should be grateful, with all the attention on me you can do as you please without fear of mother’s retribution.’

“Mother’s ire seems to never run out before it is turned on me,” Colin butted into the conversation, bacon hanging unattractively out of his mouth, wobbling slightly as he spoke, “And somehow I don’t think you will manage to be the only bachelor worth noticing this evening.”

Benedict nodded.“Very true, Colin, he certainly is not the most attractive Bridgerton, even if he is the titled one.”

“I still don’t see how any of this is your concern,” Anthony grumbled.

“Our big brother is finally ready to settle down and marry! This is a very big deal!” Colin exclaimed. “I was sure it was never going to happen.”

“Besides, you’re forgetting that once you’re married the brunt of Mother’s concern will be shifted on to us, you were doing us all immense favors by remaining a bachelor,” Benedict added.

“I hate you both,” Anthony grumbled as he stood from the table. He was already starting to regret this entire endeavor. 

Lady (Y/N) (Y/L/N) was one of the most accomplished debutantes of the season. Well-read, accomplished, handsome, and kind. She also boasted an allowance of five thousand pounds a year in addition to her sizable dowry. She was the most desirable match a bachelor could make. 

With no living relatives to speak of, her care had fallen to Lady Danbury, her father’s godmother. The Lady’s penchant for fostering the orphaned nobility of England was well noted. And now that Miss (Y/N) had reached the age of two-and-twenty it seemed that she could no longer avoid the society into which she had been born. She needed to make her debut. 

(Y/N) was fortunate to have had a wonderful childhood with her loving parents. It wasn’t until they passed when she was eleven that she had been placed in Lady Danbury’s care. She’d grown up alongside Simon and felt a certain kinship to him. When he’d gone off to Oxford (Y/N) found herself eager for an escape from the stifling nature of British society. And so Lady Danbury agreed to send her to the continent for her education.

After Simon had completed his education he joined (Y/N) in galavanting the world. The pair had a wonderful time together, exploring the great cities of Europe and remaining as far away from London society as they could. 

When Simon’s father died he had been forced to return to London to sort out his father’s affairs while (Y/N) remained in Italy, studying with a painting instructor on the Mediterranean coast.

(Y/N) had managed to put her debut off for three years longer than most women of her age and status. First with the completion of her education in Paris, and then with her tour of the Mediterranean. (Y/N) would have gone to the colonies if she thought that could keep Lady Danbury from hunting her down and presenting her to society. But she could no longer escape it, and Lady Danbury’s ferocity and powers of persuasion made it impossible to avoid her duty to come into her rightful place in society. 

The time had come, and Lady (Y/N) (Y/L/N) was to be presented to society. 

The white gown itched and felt almost uncomfortably tight around your ribcage, and you felt uncomfortably clean. 

It was beautiful, of course, the beading and lace had been very well made and certainly had no complaints about the dress itself, you were sure any other young woman would have died for the chance to wear it. After all, you had been required to send your measurements ahead to Madame Delacroix, London’s premier modiste, so she could fit the dress that Lady Danbury, your guardian had selected before you returned from the continent, just two days ago.

When your carriage pulled up to Holbourne Hall, Lady Danbury had pulled you into your room before you could even set down your hat and insisted on having you try on your Debutante gown. Thankfully it had fit, so well, in fact, that you were now slightly suspicious that Madame Delacroix was some sort of sorceress for having managed a perfect fit without even having seen you before.

Today was a day of great importance. A debutante’s coming out is supposed to be the most important day of her life prior to her wedding day. Though you were quite certain that a wedding was not part of your future- ever.

You smiled meekly at Lady Danbury as she intertwined your arm with hers and led you up the steps, into the palace. 

You couldn’t help but gawk at the magnificence of the palace as you entered. There were so many beautiful paintings, they seemed to line every wall of the halls. You would have loved nothing more than to spend the day studying the details of each and every one of them, but you could barely spare them a second glance as Lady Danbury pulled you along. 

You had a job to do.

“Chin up, love,” Lady Danbury reminded you as they stood behind the doors, waiting for your turn to be presented in front of the Queen, “You are the daughter of a most honorable line, (Y/N), now do not let them forget it.” 

You nodded solemnly and took a shaky breath. You were not usually nervous, but you would hate to embarrass Lady Danbury. Even though she was all but forcing you into society, you knew it was what was expected of you, and you couldn’t blame her for doing what she believed was best. 

Besides, she was right. Today would mark you officially taking your family’s name as a woman. You would make your parents proud. You would make Lady Danbury proud. Everyone in that room would know that you are every inch a lady. 

“Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N), presented by the Honorable Lady Danbury,” The guard announced as the doors in front of the pair opened. 

You took a deep breath as you walked through the crowd that had gathered, making your way through the hall until you made it to the raised stage that Her Majesty, Queen Charlotte was seated on. 

You curtsied deeply, keeping your eyes trained on the ground in front of you. You could see out of the corner of your eye that Queen Charlotte was standing up from her seat. 

“I don’t believe I ever had the chance to offer you my condolences on the passing of your parents in person, my dear, I am terribly sorry for your loss, even all these years later I still miss your mother dearly.” 

You nod, your smile faltering as you take the Queen’s words to heart, “My mother always spoke so highly of you, Your Majesty, I still remember all of the stories she told me as a child about her time in court.”

“She was a force to be reckoned with, and it seems you will be too,” The queen nodded with a smile before waving her hand.

(Y/N) released the breath she had been holding and smiled with relief as she began her slow retreat from the room.

“Lady Danbury and Lady (Y/L/N), Your Graces,” A footman announced before the pair entered the Duke and Duchess of Hastings’ drawing-room. 

You had your arm tucked around Lady Danbury’s as you led her into the room.

“Simon!” You shouted with glee when your eyes landed on your dear friend before you all but launched yourself into his arms, nearly tackling him to the ground with the force of your hug.

The Bridgerton clan all looked upon the scene with nothing short of a surprise. After watching the way you had conducted yourself at the debut earlier today, you seemed to be a completely different person.

“Oh I’ve missed you so,” You sighed as you looked Simon over, taking him in after so much time apart. “To think last time that I saw you that you were just an infamous bachelor, and now look at you, husband, father, and Duke, all in one!”

“(Y/N), this is my wife, Daphne,” Simon says with a grin as he gestures to Daphne, standing at his side.

“Ah,” You grinned as she focused her attention on Daphne, “Now that I have seen just how beautiful you are I can forgive Simon for not waiting for me to return for the wedding.”


“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Simon speaks so highly of you,” Daphne replied as she took your hand. 

“And he writes so sweetly of you, I feel as though I know you already. I feel we shall become the dearest of friends,” You told Daphne with a grin. 

Simon couldn’t help but grin as his old family and new family met.

“And this is just some of Daphne’s family,” He told you as he turned to face the rest of his guests, “Her mother, her older brothers, Anthony, Benedict, and Colin, and her sister Eloise.”

“It truly is a pleasure to meet all of you,” You told them kindly as you took them all in. You’d never seen such a large family, and you knew there were other children who weren’t even here.

“And I’m so excited to meet the baby,” You add as you place a hand on Daphne’s arm.

“Simon had always been such a splendid correspondent. His letters are full of detail,” You tell her as she leads you over to a chaise and begins to serve you tea. “I’ve always been a rather poor writer, but Simon makes it feel like I haven’t missed much of your new lives together. He’s so lucky to have found you.”

“Oh, (Y/N), you’re too kind,” Daphne replies sweetly, “And you must come back in the morning some day so that you can meet little Amelia.”

“I would love that,” You tell her before turning to Daphne’s younger sister as she sits in the chair on the other side of you, picking at a biscuit. “I see you have a notebook, Eloise, are you a writer?”

Eloise swallowed quickly before shaking her head, “Not truly.”

“She’s always scribbling away in there,” Daphne tells you with a sort of conspiratorial look. “She won’t show anyone what she’s working on.”

You nod at Eloise in understanding, “I totally get that, I never let anyone see my paintings until they’re completely done. It’s so mortifying for someone to see my unfinished work.”

“It’s true, she once threw an easel at me for trying to peak at a painting she was working on,” Simon interjects, causing your to bat at his shoulder.

“You left me no choice!”

After several minutes of good conversation, catching up with Simon and acquainting yourself with Daphne and Eloise, Lady Danbury clears her throat from across the room and stands up expectantly.

“(Y/N), my dear, I’m afraid we must return if we are to finish the preparations for tonight,” Lady Danbury called over to where you were sitting with Daphne, Eloise, and Simon.

“Very well, I expect we’ll see each other again very shortly,” You tell the others as you say your farewells and begin to help Lady Danbury out of the drawing room. “Until tonight!”

“I like her,” Eloise said with a small smile as she glanced down at her notebook.

(next chapter)

[themculibrary]

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[headcanonsandmore]

“Fell In Love With A Girl”, Chapter Two

Summary:  Ginny and Luna discover what the secret service agents have discovered about the mysterious group targeting florists and plant research departments. And a new world of danger and espionage becomes impossible to ignore.

Tagging: @lytefoot @cheeseanonioncrisps

TWs are in the tags. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

                          Read on FFN.                                 Read on AO3. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

Remus Lupin smiled at them all as he sat down at the kitchen table. Like Agent Shacklebolt, he had an ear-piece attached, but he didn’t look as at-home wearing it like the MI5 agent did.

‘So… if we have security clearance, that means we can be told certain things?’ Ginny asked. ‘About what you’ve discovered so far?’

Remus Lupin nodded.

‘That’s correct. However, before we start, I should stress that this information is of the utmost secrecy, and cannot be repeated to anyone without security clearance.’

Luna, Ginny, Neville and Ron all nodded.

Kingsley Shacklebolt leaned forward in his chair.

‘We believe that the break-ins are one small part of the actions of a large crime syndicate,’ he said, his tone serious. ‘They are a worldwide organisation, and have been connected to various criminal conspiracies, illegal chemical weapons manufacturing, and… well, more than a few murders, to say the least.’

‘We have reason to suspect that the branch of the organisation responsible for the break-in at Ms Lovegood’s shop are part of a worldwide scheme,’ Remus Lupin added. ‘Rare plant research has been going missing across virtually every continent on earth and, on every occasion, it has been relating to certain types of plant bacteria. One plant that the organisation seems especially interested in is the Amazonian Octarine-Flame.’

Luna started, her eyes growing wide with alarm.

‘A-Amazonian Octarine-Flame?’ she repeated, her voice quavering. ‘Someone came into the shop yesterday morning asking about it.’

‘Any distinguishing features?’

‘They were wearing black, and they were… fairly tall and thick-set. And… well, they wore large sunglasses that hid most of their face. But that’s not why I’m worries. I… I think someone was in my shop last night.’

‘Wait…’ Ginny said, her eyes widening in horror. ‘You mean… when you went downstairs in the night?...’

‘That was likely a scout for the crime syndicate,’ Remus Lupin said, softly. ‘Ms Lovegood, you are extraordinarily lucky; usually they don’t let people live if they’ve been seen.’

Ginny, her face pale, intertwined her fingers with Luna’s.

‘I’m okay, Ginny,’ Luna whispered, softly.

The redhead nodded, still looking worried.

‘Like we said,’ Agent Shacklebolt continued. ‘The break-ins are all to do with rare plants native to South America. The plants themselves and the research surrounding them. So… I put forward the plan that we track the syndicate. We start in Rio, Brazil, and move out into the Amazon delta when we are confident in a lead.’

‘Hang on,’ Ron said, crossing his arms. ‘That sounds like trespassing in a sovereign nation without checking with the local authorities first.’

‘I would normally agree with you, but this case is different. The British secret services are already liaising with our opposite numbers in Brazil, as well as with Interpol. Not to mention… well, the head of the crime syndicate is a British citizen.’

Agent Shacklebolt pulled a photograph out of his pocket, and placed it on the table. It was a grainy still image, that seemed to have been captured by CCTV camera, and looked several years old. There was a figure, shrouded in black but his face pale and thin. He was completely bald and his eyes seemed to glow red.

‘This is… well, his alias is Voldemort.’

‘French for “In Flight of Death”,’ Remus Lupin added. ‘But his civilian identity was that of Tom Riddle, an illegitimate son of minor nobility.’

Luna stared down at the face.

‘Most people have that reaction the first time,’ Agent Shacklebolt said, noticing her horrified expression. ‘It’s the eyes, isn’t it?’

‘He doesn’t look like any toff I’ve ever seen,’ Ron said, wrinkling his nose slightly. ‘Usually, they don’t look so intimidating. What’s with the bald head?’

‘He didn’t used to look like that,’ Remus Lupin replied. ‘Once, he was even considered a rather handsome young man. But that was a long time ago. Before he discarded his name and submerged into the world of international crime. He’s at the top end of every security organisation’s most wanted list.’

‘Yeesh,’ Neville said. ‘And I thought normal toffs were bad enough.’

‘Ms Lovegood,’ Agent Shacklebolt said, addressing Luna. ‘Mr Longbottom and yourself are two of barely a handful of people in Britain who know about these Amazonian plants. We’d like you both to come with us to Rio.’

Ginny looked up at Neville, feeling very confused.

‘Er, Professor Sprout taught me,’ Neville said, modestly. ‘Luna’s better at the theory than I am, though.’

He turned to Agent Shacklebolt.

‘Count me in,’ he said, his voice level. ‘I want to help. I’m not a spy, but I can help out with the research into the plants as best I can.’

Agent Shacklebolt smiled.

‘We wouldn’t be asking you to spy,’ he replied. ‘We have people for that. But the talents of yourself and Miss Lovegood will aid us greatly, especially as we ascertain where the syndicate is based in the Amazon delta.’

Ginny caught eyes with Luna, and the blonde woman squeezed her hand.

‘I… I’ll come,’ Luna said, steadily. ‘I don’t know how much help I’ll be, but…’

‘It will be dangerous,’ Remus Lupin said, slowly. ‘Very dangerous. You will each be given a security detail, but you will need to keep your wits about you nonetheless.’

Ginny felt her stomach drop. Luna really was going to go to South America, into a world of criminal organisations and dangerous situations. Yes, she would be with Neville and the secret service people, but still. What if something happened to her? What is she… Ginny couldn’t even finish that thought.

Without thinking, Ginny squeezed Luna’s hand, and spoke.

‘I’m coming along too.’

Remus Lupin and Agent Shacklebolt shared a quick look.

‘Ms Weasley,’ Agent Shacklebolt said. ‘We are talking about a crime syndicate that thinks nothing of murder and widespread destruction.’

‘I don’t care.’ Ginny replied, firmly. ‘They broke into Luna’s shop, and they could have easily killed Luna last night. No-one messes with my Lu.’

Remus Lupin smiled.

‘I believe we can make an exception in this case.’

Agent Shacklebolt sighed, and nodded.

Luna squeezed Ginny’s hand, a soft smile stretching across her face.

 *

 The next morning, Ginny and Luna took the tube to Heathrow. It was an overcast, drizzly day, and people scurried down from the streets above like rats escaping into the sewer. Except that rats are normally a lot happier about it.

Ginny felt weirdly nostalgic for the rural Devon of her childhood. She loved living in the city, but sometimes she did grow tired of the frantic pace of life. Well, she wouldn’t have to worry about living in a cold, rainy metropolis for a little while, at the very least. Even if it was going to be more dangerous.

Neville had already left on a plane the previous evening. It had been decided that they shouldn’t all go to Rio at the same time, just to avoid any additional suspicion. Ron had texted Ginny earlier that morning, saying that he wished both Ginny and Luna the best of luck, and that he’d be keeping in contact with Agent Shacklebolt until they were all safely back in the UK.

The two women entered Heathrow’s main entrance, and spotted Remus Lupin stood outside a café, with someone that they didn’t recognise; a short woman with mousy brain hair.

‘Ms Lovegood, Ms Weasley,’ Remus said, holding a takeaway cup. ‘Allow me to introduce Nymphadora Tonks.’

The woman smiled cheerily at them.

‘Wotcher,’ she said, grinning. On closer inspection, her hair had pink highlights. ‘Although Tonks is preferable, if you please.’

‘Er, sure,’ Ginny said. ‘Are you…’

‘Security detail,’ Tonks said, sensing what Ginny was alluding to.

Ginny blinked. The woman was several inches shorter than both her and Luna.

‘Oh, don’t look so shocked,’ Tonks laughed. ‘I’m a master of several martial arts. You wouldn’t believe the various ways I can wrap my legs around people.’

Remus Lupin choked on his coffee, and Tonks burst out laughing. Ginny couldn’t help noticing that Lupin’s ears had gone red, in much the same way that Ron’s used to when he was flustered around Hermione.

Interesting.

‘Seriously, though, it’s nice to meet you both,’ Tonks said. ‘I’ve heard good things about you.’

‘Since this is coming from a punk with pink hair, I’ll take that as a compliment,’ Ginny said, chuckling.

‘You should,’ Tonks replied, grinning. ‘I am a bit more style-conscious than most of my peers. Or, as I call them, the black jacket and tie brigade. But Remus is alright, I suppose.’

Remus Lupin smiled to himself.

The four of them checked in their bags, and -a few hours later- Luna and Ginny found themselves in a plan bound for South America. Tonks and Remus Lupin had spread out, so as not to attract too much attention, but Luna and Ginny had been allowed to have two seats together.

‘Ginny?’

The redhead opened her eyes, and turned to look at her girlfriend.

‘Hmmm?’

‘I’m… I’m worried.’

‘What? About what will happen after we get to Rio?’

The blonde woman nodded.

Ginny reached under Luna’s blanket, and squeezed her hand.

‘What is gonna happen is that we’ll get everything sorted,’ Ginny continued, her voice soft. ‘And, if anyone tries to hurt you, they’ll have to go through me first.’

Luna smiled, squeezing Ginny’s hand in return.

‘You don’t have to do that.’

‘You’re my girlfriend,’ Ginny said. ‘I’m not gonna let anyone hurt you. Ever.’

The skin around Luna’s eyes crinkled as she stared at the redhead.

She leaned over, and rested her head on Ginny’s shoulder. Within a few moments, she had fallen asleep. Ginny smiled to herself, enjoying the feeling of Luna’s soft breath against her skin. She found herself drifting slowly to sleep, enjoying the brief bit of relaxation before they reached the unknown situation awaiting them in Rio.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~

Thanks for reading, everyone! Hope you enjoyed this chapter! If you want to follow this series, subscribe to it or -if you prefer to be notified via Tumblr- ask me to add you to the tag list.

Thanks again for reading! :)

[legendsoffodlan]

Wild West AU (Yeehaw)

The town? Garreg Mach. A growing boomtown on the edge of the frontier. Life out here is tough, but the people are tougher. Between the sandstorms, the corrupt politicians and business moguls, and the weird magic shit going on behind the scenes, the people of Garreg Mach are gonna need all their wit and gumption to survive.

-

Golden Deer

Claude: A popular young lawyer, half Irish Immigrant and half Cheyenne Native American. Claude is well known as a bit of a celebrity about town, frequently challenging the government and protecting the rights of Native Americans and their claims to land. A bit ruthless and a lot charming, Claude is a leader among the townsfolk, particularly the poorer folk.

Hilda: While the Civil War ruined most southern folk, Hilda’s family made it rich by siding with the Union and fighting the Confederacy. Hilda, a southern belle who also happens to be as strong as an ox, came to Garreg Mach to get away from her overbearing brother. A rich girl, she frequently funds Claude’s efforts to protect Native and African American rights.

Lorenz: Born to an old-money New England family, Lorenz talks and acts like British nobility. He’s come to Garreg Mach to expand his family business, but he aims to do it the proper way, avoiding his father’s unsavory tactics. He pays all his employees a living wage, and insists on paid vacation and maternity leave. A reluctant ally of Claude, Lorenz truly has a heart of gold under the snobbery.

Marianne: Marianne's family worked on the Underground Railroad, shepherding slaves to freedom. That got them killed. Alone now, Marianne has come out west to try and get away from her past as the town doctor. But he inborn compassion proves too powerful for her, and she frequently finds herself fighting alongside Claude in his legal suits. She’s smart and she’s ind, but blames herself for her parents deaths.

Ignatz: The son of a merchant who hit it big during the Gold Rush, selling to miners, Ignatz has been sent out to the frontier to both expand his family business and try to make it big selling his art. Ignatz loves to paint murals upon the various buildings of Garreg Mach, bringing some much needed color and beauty to the town.

Leonie: A spitfire girl who was born and raised to ride ‘em, rope ‘em, and brand ‘em, Leonie is a cowgirl through and through. She’s been making a name for herself as a bounty hunter, bringing outlaws and the like to justice. She hates big business and “civilized softies”, but she’s got a place in her heart for her more “upper class” friends. She thinks this whole “Manifest Destiny” thing is stupid and works with Claude against heedless expansion.

Raphael: The son of Scottish immigrants, Raphael’s a big guy with a big heart and an even bigger appetite. With a sick grandpa and a little sister to look after, Raphael makes his money working as the local blacksmith and occasional head-thumper at the bar when fellas get too fresh with the dancing girls. He does his best to keep the town honest and he’s more than willing to throw down against any corrupt old men looking to take over his home.

Lysithea: Smart as a whip and just as stinging, Lysithea is a genius chemist and scientist. Diagnosed with a nasty disease early on in her life, she’s determined to make the most of the time she’s got. She bought herself an old farm which she’s converted into a “science paradise”, Lysithea is determined to make as many breakthroughs as possible, making money to leave her parents comfortable. Much to her chagrin, she finds herself sucked into Claude’s legal fights

-

Blue Lions

Dimitri: Dimitri was a boy, son of wealthy Russian immigrants, when he enlisted in the Civil War. Now traumatized and trying to move, he’s come out West to find a better life. But his wish for a quiet existence seems to be for naught, as he finds himself made Sheriff of Garreg Mach and charged with fighting criminals and the corrupt. Hoping that protecting the living will silence the screams of the dead in his head, Dimitri is determined to protect his people, no matter what form the threat takes.

Dedue: The son of an escaped slave, he and Dimitri met during the Civil War. Hoping to liberate the rest of his family, Dedue found that the slaves of the plantation his mother had fled from had been butchered by their master, whom Dedue and Dimitri killed in revenge. Disillusioned, Dedue now leads many former slaves here in Garreg Mach, helping them find their footing as farmers and ranchers. A part-time deputy for Dimitri, Dedue will let nothing stand in his way of fighting for a better future for his people.

Ingrid: A girl who disguised herself as a man to fight in the war, Ingrid is firecly loyal to Dimitri as his full-time deputy. A powerful voice of compassion and justice, Ingrid is a devotedly “by the book” woman. She’s been softened to new ideas by many of the folk in Garreg Mach, but she remains decidedly stubborn towards change. Nonetheless, you’ll never find a more devoted and steadfast soldier than Ingrid.

Sylvain: The local lothario and heartbreaker, Sylvain is the self-proclaimed “good for nothing” son of a wealthy rancher. Despite this, his kind heart frequently triumphs over his self-loathing and he stands as a permanent friend of Dimitri and enemy of the forces seeking to ruin Garreg Mach. A surprisingly good quickdraw, Sylvain also fights alongside Dedue for the rights of the African Americans in Garreg Mach.

Mercedes: The daughter of slave-owners, Mercedes ran away from that life, unwillingly leaving her brother behind. Working first on the Underground Railroad, and then as a medic during the war, Mercedes has come to Garreg Mach to devote her life to the Goddess and the less fortunate. A permanent fixture of compassion and healing, Mercedes is beloved by the everyone for her willingness to heal and work with everyone no matter their race, religion, or nationality.

Felix: The son of New England wealth, Felix is the fastest gun in the west and one of the best bounty hunters to boot. Sickened by civilization by the horrors he experienced in the war, Felix is determined to make his own way in the world as a running gun and part-time vigilante. Despite his “lone wolf” status, Felix finds himself frequently coming back to Garreg Mach and the friends he’s made there, frequently ridding with Sheriff Dimitri, grumbling all the way.

Annette: The local schoolteacher and historian, Annette is a slightly flighty girl who loves her friends, her charges, and books. Always trying her hardest, Annette is behind several charities trying to take care of veterans and former slaves, working closely with Dimitri and Dedue towards that end. She’s also a part-time singer at the local saloon, much to the town’s scandal.

Ashe: A former thief, then the adopted son of a Southern Abolitionist, Ashe lost everything during the war. Gathering up the remains of his adopted and blood-related family, he now seeks to build a new life for them in Garreg Mach. Despite trying to stay out of trouble, his strong sense of fairness and compassion frequently suck him into problems that are not his own, fighting for the weak and downtrodden. He’s one of the few people who can sometimes outdraw Felix.

-

Black Eagles

Edelgard: The mayor of Garreg Mach, Edelgard was the daughter of a powerful plantation owner before she gunned her father down and rallied her friends to take up arms against the Confederacy. Now she fights for the rights of the poor and oppressed as Mayor with the same ferocity and single-mindedness that she fought in the war. She frequently butts heads with Claude and Dimitri over methods, but she is determined to create a better future, and damn anyone who gets in her way.

Hubert: Edelgard’s closest friend and bodyguard, Hubert is also a chemist and mathematician, using his deadly intellect to devastating results. While absolutely devoted to Edelgard, Hubert is also determined to make a better future through whatever means necessary, no matter how unsavory they might be. There are rumors about what happened to Hubert’s father during the war, but nothing that could be proven.

Petra: The daughter of a Lakota Native American Chief, Petra is determined to make a better future for her tribe and fights for their rights at every turn. As such she works frequently with Claude and Edelgard to secure the rights of the Lakota. As deadly as she is beautiful, Petra makes her money by keeping the frontier safe and taking out Edelgard’s political enemies to pave the way for her people’s future.

Ferdinand: While Lorenz only acts like British nobility, Ferdinand actually is British Nobility, come across the pond to secure his family’s interests. He ended up sucked into Edelgard’s crusade and provides support and money to her designs. Despite his loud demeanor and arrogant tendencies, Ferdinand is a kind creature at heart who will always put his neck out for the little guy, much to his family’s chagrin. He’s also the owner of the local saloon, and as such everyone want to be on his good side.

Dorothea: The star-singer of the town saloon, Dorothea is the face of Edelgard’s political machine, earning support and favor with her charm and her voice. She has a love-hate relationship with her boss, Ferdinand that veers between attempted murder and true love. She spends most of her money on the poor and badly-off as she knows what its like to go without. Despite her pretty face and gentle demeanor, she’s no less vicious in her pursuit of what’s right than Edelgard.

Caspar: The former son of a plantation owner, Caspar fought alongside Edelgard against the Confederacy and his own father. Tough, brave, and true-hearted, no one knows what Caspar’s job actually is. He just seems to do a little bit of everything from manual labor to bounty-hunting. A permanent shield for “the little guy”, Caspar will never give-up the good fight. Never.

Linhardt: As smart as he is, Linhardt could take over the world if he had a mind to. Fortunately, he doesn’t. A scientist and researcher who frequently works alongside Lysithea, Linhardt seems more interested in taking naps and reading his books than anything else. Despite this, he maintains polite friendships with many of the townsfolk, including his dearest friend Caspar whom he lives with and shares a bed with. But totally just good friends!

Bernadetta: The local shut-in, Bernadetta was the victim of an abusive father and neglectful mother, who jumped at the chance to run away when Edelgard presented it. Despite her shyness and her borderline agoraphobia, Bernadetta runs a large farm outside of town, frequently hosting political get-together which she barely shows up at. Hidden reserves of courage drive her to help Petra and her people frequently providing aid whenever she can. From insider her room, of course.

[multiverseforger]

The Zemo barony started in Zeulniz, Germany in 1480 when Harbin Zemo, the granary charge man and ministerialis of the town borrowed a suit of armor and stood alone against an invading horde of Slav raiders. Harbin slew the entire horde and so impressed the emperor of the Holy Roman Empire that he was elevated to nobility and awarded Zeulniz. As time went on Harbin Zemo became irritated and tired of the demands of the barony. Harbin died of old age in 1503 and was succeeded by his son Hademar. Hademar was a weak man who had never seen battle, but who was all too eager to become the next baron. Shortly after Harbin's death, Hademar was made baron. Hademar's 12-year-old son Heller plotted to kill his father and soon became the next baron, thanks to the help of his time-travelling descendant Helmut Zemo. History looks upon Heller as the most progressive of all the 13 barons in the Zemo line.

Helmut's next few trips in time involved him going into battle in 1556 alongside Heller's son Herbert Zemo, who was a proud warrior, assassinating Herbert's son Helmuth Zemo in 1640 and narrowly escaping death at the hands of Helmuth's son, Hackett Zemo in 1710.

Helmut later arrived at Castle Zemo in the 1760s around the time that the seventh baron, Hartwig Zemo died in battle during the Seven Years' War. Helmut began to observe Hartwig's son Hilliard as he romanced Elsbeth Kleinenshvitz, the daughter of a Jewish merchant whose family had worked for the Zemo family from the inception of the barony. After Hartwig died, Hilliard became the eighth baron and was forced to turn against Elsbeth and her family. Men loyal to the barony murdered Elsbeth's family to keep them from becoming too powerful. A pregnant Elsbeth was saved by Helmut Zemo, who was still travelling in time. Hilliard would later go on to marry an Austrian girl named Gretchen.

Helmut is next seen in 1879 as a member of the travelling guard of the tenth Baron Zemo, Hobart. Helmut had worked for Hobart for several weeks and routinely had to defend Hobart from civilian assassination attempts. Unrest had broken out in the German Empire after William I, German Emperor passed legislation to curb socialism following attempts on William's life. The commoners grew angry with the noblemen, including Hobart, despite the fact that Hobart fought for their rights. Helmut Zemo leaped to another time and was unable to save Hobart from being killed.

Helmut next arrived during World War I to meet his grandfather Baron Herman Zemo. Herman was defending Germany against a battalion of British soldiers led by the original Union Jack. Helmut witnessed his grandfather employ his own concoction of mustard gas against the British troops and watched as they died in agony (Union Jack had fled the battle by this time). Helmut went with Herman and his men back to Castle Zemo to find it devastated. Helmut leaped to his next time period to see his father's role in Nazi Germany.

Heinrich Zemo and Helmut ZemoEdit

The 12th Baron Zemo, Heinrich Zemo is depicted as one of the top scientists in the Nazi Party. Zemo fought both Captain America and his allies the Howling Commandos during World War II. A brilliant and sadistic scientific genius, Zemo created many weapons of mass destruction for Hitler's army.

In an attempt to regain a level of anonymity, Zemo began wearing a reddish-pink hood over his face as he continued to build weapons for the Nazis. His activities ultimately drew the attention of Captain America, resulting in a confrontation just as Heinrich was ready to unveil his newest scientific breakthrough: Adhesive X, an extremely strong adhesive that could not be dissolved or removed by any known process at the time.[7] It was only after the war that the adhesive-using villain Paste-Pot Pete found a way to neutralize it.

In order to ensure that the Nazis could not use Adhesive X against Allied troops, Captain America confronted Zemo in an attempt to destroy the limited supply. Captain America threw his shield at the vat to release the adhesive onto the ground. Zemo, however, was standing right next to the vat containing the chemical, which poured over his hooded face. The adhesive quickly seeped inside and permanently attached the hood to Heinrich's flesh, preventing Zemo from ever removing his hood.[8] Believing that he had killed his rival at long last, Zemo fled to South America as Hitler and the Nazis fell and World War II ended. After the mask was permanently bonded to his face, Zemo abandoned his long-suffering wife and toddler son, toward whom he had become emotionally and physically abusive. With an army of mercenaries loyal to him, Zemo enslaved a tribe of natives and lived as a king, as he tried desperately to find a solvent that would remove his mask. After decades passed, Captain America was revived by the Avengers. This causes Zemo to renew his rivalry with the Captain. Among his attempts included sending agents to take the place of participants of a hand-to-hand combat demonstration with Captain America in order to capture him. As Captain America learned that Zemo was behind this attack, he sent a taunting message on Zemo's minions' communicator to provoke the villain into becoming more carelessly aggressive against him and thus provide an opportunity for the superhero to deal with the villain directly.[9]

Heinrich then formed the original Masters of Evil to serve as a villainous counterpart to the Avengers; the other founding members included the villainous Black Knight, the Melter, and the Radioactive Man who were gathered by his pilot. He tried to have Adhesive X spread over New York, but the Teen Brigade seized Zemo's pilot, preventing him from speaking, then tied him up to stop him causing trouble. They switched the adhesive with remover made by Paste-Pot Pete. Zemo used his sceptre's hypno-ray on the Teen Brigade, placing them under his control.[10]

In his final battle with Captain America, Captain America used his shield to deflect the sun's rays and cause Zemo to shoot blindly. His ray gun's shot hit a rock, starting an avalanche that killed him, and Captain America felt that Bucky's death had finally been avenged.[11]

The 13th Baron Zemo, Helmut J. Zemo, the son of Heinrich Zemo, then followed in his father's footsteps, battling Captain America many times to avenge the killing of his father. Helmut was then responsible for bringing back the Masters of Evil and then forming the Thunderbolts. He still remains the current Baron Zemo.[12

[rosaliekali]

Soulmate AU for IkeVamp with MC and Comte?

So writing for Comte is so hard because the timeline is so skewed, but I tried my best. This is not written to be true to history so bear in mind the inaccuracies and the modern language.

Contains spoilers to Comte’s route in JP and is a little angsty-ish?

The first time he meets her, she is the daughter of a Duke in an English court. Her family has decided to throw a lavish ball to flaunt their wealth. As a member of a powerful noble family in France, he is invited and taking the place of his father for the evening.

Meanwhile, her own father, a tall and proud man something-in-line for the British throne, welcomes Comte eagerly as he arrives at the Manor and a servant takes his coat. The year is 1335 and Europe is under Edward III. The British Duke clasps Comte’s hands eagerly.

“Monsieur, how brilliant you could join us! Has your father not come?” The Duke tilts his head and takes a step back.

Comte shifts uneasily and brushes a lock of his long hair behind his ear. His father has sent him in his stead. The British Duke is wealthy enough to be of importance in Europe, but not powerful enough to intrigue the Patriarch of a Pureblooded Family. Comte, expected to take his father’s place one day and join the ranks of the nobles, has been sent in his place. His family is hoping he will gain a shred of honor on this excursion and return ready to assume the mantle of a noble.

“Unfortunately, he feels ill,” Comte soothes and pretends to be apologetic, “His wishes are with you and your family.”

The British Duke quickly loses interest once another noble walks up. He makes a sound at the back of his throat and motions for Comte to enter the Manor. He can see a dance is starting deeper in the home and the festivities are well under way.

“Enjoy tonight!” The British Duke declares. He waves his hand at Comte and his Soulmate Stamp glitters in the candlelight. With a final smile, he hurries past Comte and joins another noble couple with the flourish of a host.

Comte makes a face and wishes he had been allowed to bring his friend Vlad with him. He toys with the buttons of his coat and makes his way inside. While humanity intrigues him, the role of the nobility does not. His family may want him to become a well-bred Pureblood like the fussy men his father often dines with, but the world of customs and propriety is a boring one.

Fiddling with the sleeve of his jacket, he absentmindedly traces the words inked on his own skin from birth. Like the human Duke, he too has a Soulmate Stamp, a mark depicting the first words his True Intended will ever say to him. On his wrist are the words, Pardon, Monsieur.

Comte has yet to meet his Intended yet, has no idea if they have even been born given the long lifespan of a Pureblood, and a part of him is relieved he does not know who they are. The thought of tying himself to just one person when there is an entire world out there of women seeking company and waiting to be wooed is not one he appreciates. He has seldom turned 21 by human standards, is nothing but an infant in vampire standards, and settling down is not on the forefront of his mind. Not to mention his family, as Purebloods, has raised him to understand that any Intended that is human will never work. To be tied to a human would be a cruel fate.

No, he’d much rather enjoy life and get up to no good with Vlad and a few of the prettier women in Europe that will be temporary distractions with no strings attached.

The music is in full swing when he enters the dance hall, most of the eligible ladies have already been partnered for the evening. Comte stands by the doorway with his arms clasped respectfully behind his back. He feels out of place among the humans. While he loves humanity, he does find their never-ending need for rules a bother.

If only Vlad had joined him, he thinks, his oldest friend could turn any activity into something fun. Vlad would shine in a party like this, he would make Comte laugh as he teased the stuffy older men and winked at the young ladies seeking dance partners, and then they would probably find someone to bring home for the night. The taste of blood freshly drawn from its source was very satisfying after all.

As the waltz draws to a close and Comte glances at his pocket watch wondering if his father would be upset if he left before making rounds around the hall, the British Duke arrives again. Accompanying him is his wife and young daughter. They take their stand at the foot of the steps and the Duke calls for attention.Comte tries not to yawn into his hand as the Duke delivers a speech thanking his guests and how he hopes they will have fun. Lately, balls have been all the rage in Europe. Anyone who has money and a title to pair it with seems to want to throw one. Comte is long past over any festivity that demands he follow a noble code.

When the Duke is finished, he raises his hand in a toast. His Soulmate Stamp is visible on his arm as his wife joins his side yet their Stamps do not match. Like every other Noble, they do not marry off a mark. Humans, especially those who fancy themselves wanting to marry above their station, ignore Soulmate Stamps all together. In the world of the Nobility, marriages are a business transaction used for elevation. A Soulmate Stamp is nothing but a fancy birthmark.

The Duke and his guests toast to each other and Duke’s young daughter hangs back uneasily. A girl of about his age, she remains quiet and offers a timid smile to anyone who glances her way.

When the Duke descends the staircase, the music picks up again and another song leads the couples to the dance floor. Feeling bored, Comte decides this is his chance to escape. The hour is not so late, if he leaves now perhaps he can find Vlad and they can go to a much livelier atmosphere with attractive company and strong liquor.

Just as he raises his hand to beckon a servant for his coat, his arm slams into something light. A sudden gasp makes him turn and the daughter of the Duke is behind him. It seems he has accidentally hurt her.

“Pardon, Monsieur,” a timid voice apologizes.

Right as the words leave her lips, a sudden burning light lights up the inside of his wrist on his Stamp and a sweet scent floats towards him. Startled, Comte takes a half step back. His arm goes to his Soulmate Stamp and his fingers press to the burning skin there in utter shock.

“The fault is mine,” he echoes without thinking, and the young girl tenses in place. Her hand goes to her own wrist and Comte can see a light emitting from underneath the long sleeves of her gown.

For a moment, neither speak. The girl seems startled, color flushing on her cheeks, and Comte tries to think of what to do. Meeting his Soulmate was inevitable at some point in his long life, but he wishes he had paid more attention to what to do once it occurred. His father had tried to teach him multiple times how to deflect from this very occurrence, warning him that any Soulmate that was not a Pureblood would be a Failed Match-that is a match that was rejected-but Comte had seldom listened. Now, he regrets it.

“Are you-?”

He cuts himself off with a growing feeling of unease. The mark is still burning faintly on his wrist and the girl looks like a startled doe. It seems she similarly shares his apprehension over meeting now.

Nobles are taught to not like their Soulmate Stamp, Comte recalls from his tutoring. Human nobles see marriage as a transaction for profit, they marry for advancement and income. It is rare for a person to be wed to a Soulmate. Marriages in Europe do not consider Soulmate Stamps as something of importance, his own parents do not have matching Stamps, and they instill in their children the belief that a Stamp is an unfortunate event.

“My name is Eleanor,” the girl says. She worries her fingers over her sleeve and glances around her. The people around them seem oblivious to the exchange, not that they’d care had they been privy to it, Comte knows. Soulmates are boring to nobles; they’d probably just gossip about yet another Failed Match.

Realizing that she is still expecting a response, Comte clears his throat. Briefly, he wonders if he should give her his true name, the name he only shares with his family and Vlad, then decides against it. He feels uncomfortable enough as it is and there is no hope for anything to transpire between them.

In fact, he does not want anything to transpire between them.

She is a human, he realizes. Her blood smells sweet and it takes every ounce of restraint he has to look away. Humans and vampires are a Failed Match from the beginning, his father will never agree to any union between them. Although his family could potentially sweet talk the British Duke into allowing his daughter to marry her Soulmate, his family would never pull strings for someone who could not give them the Pureblooded grandchild they want and even less for someone that would die with a few passing decades.

The girl, Eleanor, must realize it is a Failed Match between them too because she seems uncomfortable. Her fists tighten against her sleeve and she clasps her mouth tightly together. To meet a Soulmate as a noble girl with no say in marriage or reputation to spare for an affair is a tragedy.

“Comte de Saint-Germain,” Comte answers at last. He looks away as the dance around them draws to a close. The scent of her blood is strong, makes him feel thirsty, and the entire night has been soured. He is not ready to meet his Intended yet, especially if she is a Failed Match. 

The girl inclines her head and does a half-curtsy. She blinks and Comte realizes she looks distraught. She moves her skirts and nods at him. Her every movement tense, she moves to sidestep him.

This is what should be done, he knows. Soulmates are nothing but an inconvenience for those of noble birth. He should just say goodnight to her and move away. She will be wed off to the highest bidder soon, he has an entire eternity to live, and there is no hope for any match.

Still, a part of him demands he move. Without thinking, he calls her name and extends a hand towards her. Eleanor freezes, startled, and Comte does not allow himself time to think. Turning his palm up with a flourish and bowing the way his tutor showed him as a child, he clears his throat.

“May I have this dance?” Comte inquires.

Eleanor glances around her, visibly upset, but knows better than to reject a dance from someone so important. She takes his hand hesitantly and their Stamps light up in acknowledgement all over again.

A twist of the knife for both, Comte realizes.

Despite the Stamps beckoning them together, society is a wedge keeping them apart. One dance is all they can afford with a Failed Match. Afterwards, they will have to go their separate ways and ignore the way their Stamps want them to meet again.

He leads her to the center of the ballroom where another lively dance is starting. Comte is grateful for the music serving as a distraction. He may be a lousy noble by his family’s standards, but he knows how to dance like the best among them.

Eleanor does too, he realizes, as she keeps up with his every move. Her eyes, a pale green, look in every direction but at him. Her mouth is pressed thin and she looks like she wishes she could leave.

For her, it must be painful to have met her Failed Match. Afterall, a human has only one match in their short lives. She must have daydreamed about meeting him as a child only to grow up and be told her Stamp did not matter. For a young girl growing up with a romantic fantasy of what could never be, the realization that life was unjust must be very difficult. Comte, at the very least, was never allowed to dwell on the possibility by his father at all. For him, tonight is nothing more than just a bitter memory that centuries will surely scrub away.

“You dance well,” he voices. He glances away from her at the many dancing couples. No one around them has a matching Stamp. All of them are Failed Matches united only by propriety and a desire to advance.

“As do you, Monsieur.”

Eleanor meets his eyes for half a second before looking away. Her scent is slowly starting to become stronger. He forces himself to relax the way his father taught him, allow the blood lust to fade away, and counts the beats until the song begins dragging out its last notes.

Once the dance draws to a close, he bows formally. Releasing her hand, he feels a dull ache over his Stamp. The connection between them wants them closer, he realizes, it wants them to acknowledge each other and live out a happily ever after. Unfortunately, the world has different plans.

Eager to get away, Comte makes an excuse about the hour being late and moves aside. Preparing to leave, he startles when a small hand catches on to his sleeve.

Turning in surprise, he realizes Eleanor has taken a hold of his arm. He raises an eyebrow as she drops his hand. Their Soulmate Stamp aches for the contact but she makes no move to touch him again. Her skin flushes and she evades his gaze.

“M-May I write to you?”

It is a bold ask, they both know writing will only make everything seem worse, yet Comte doesn’t outright refuse. The best thing for them both is to go their separate ways. Eleanor should marry a man-a human man-who her family selects, she should forget all about her Failed Match and live the rest of her short life in comfort wedded to a wealthy man like every other noble girl. Comte should go back home and forget all about his first human Failed Match, should allow his family to select a Pureblooded Bride for him who he will wed and continue the line, and should not let a human of all things take up his time-

Yet he feels rebellious. Perhaps it is because he wants to disobey his father, perhaps it is because he wants to break some rules in polite society, or perhaps he just wants some more time to get to know his current Intended, either way, he finds himself nodding.

“You may,” he presses a hand to his immortal heart, “I will respond.”

–

In the end, their letters are nothing but a brief hobby. The first letter arrives months after the ball, Eleanor writes a small letter full of polite platitudes, and Comte responds with his own detached words. Vlad urges him to write more, really get to know his Intended, but they are both aware that a Failed Match is a Failed Match.

After a year of correspondence, his father forces him to stop. Eleanor, he tells him, has married a Spanish Lord and any more correspondence between a married woman and a bachelor-especially that of a Failed Match-is improper. 

Comte sends his final letter, a brief farewell wishing her the best in her marriage, then sets his quill down and runs a hand through his long hair.

Vlad, beside him, purses his lips. His old friend rubs his own Soulmate Stamp absentmindedly and Comte is envious of how he has not met his Failed Match yet.

“Does it hurt?” Vlad tilts his head at Comte’s Soulmate Stamp.

Since saying goodbye to Eleanor, the mark has been a constant dull ache. Comte awaits the moment when Eleanor’s short life ends, and the mark leaves him alone.

“It will go away soon enough,” Comte feigns boredom, “Give it a few decades.”Vlad says nothing in response and the two of them look away from each other. 

They have been raised to know better than to hope for a True Match when it comes to Soulmates. In their immortal lives, there will certainly be several heartaches.

In the end, Comte is wrong.

It takes only another 3 years for his Soulmate Stamp to stop hurting. The pain finally fades when the Black Death ravages Europe. Quarantining with his family in their estate, a letter reaches him from an old acquaintance. Eleanor and her husband have died of the plague.

Vlad offers him a sympathetic look as he reads over his shoulder, and Comte tosses the letter to the side feigning disinterest. Standing up, he suggests they practice sparring as a distraction.

–

It is about another 100 years before he meets his Intended again. The year is 1440 and he and Vlad are in France. They have just left a ball thrown by another Noble and are still decked out in full formal gear. Vlad swings an arm around his shoulder and laughs in Comte’s ear. His breath smells of liquor yet his steps are even as he walks.

“Shall we find a pretty thing to dine on for the night or just go home?” Vlad asks.

Comte gives a disinterested response and glances down at his pocket watch. The hour grows late and the moon is in full view. He beckons a carriage over for the two of them.

“Tomorrow. I’m too tired for tonight,” he states. Vlad shrugs and puts his hands in his pocket. His Soulmate Stamp still emits a faint glow.

Vlad had the misfortune of meeting his first Failed Match a few years ago, Comte recalls. She was a pretty thing who Vlad met while traveling. A Gaelic girl with a melodic voice and big red curls. Vlad almost chased after her, despite the warnings of his family, before Comte talked him out of it. His Intended was human, would no doubt live barely another decade as was the nature of humans, and Vlad would be worse for it.

Climbing into the carriage, Vlad yawns into his hand. He stretches out and tilts his head back.

“We should go to that tavern you like tomorrow, I bet there is at least one good brawl before the night is over,” Vlad closes his eyes lazily, “Or at least one pretty skirt willing to be fed on.”

Comte makes a sound at the back of his throat in amusement as his friend begins to doze off, he leans his forehead against the carriage window as the roads become cobble. They are now moving through the harshest parts of Paris, the ones nobles know better than to frequent, and he peels the thin curtain back. The streets are too dark to make anything out except for a misty fog. 

Disinterested, he drops the curtain and shoves Vlad’s leg aside to make more room for himself. His friend kicks him in response and yawns again into his arm.

“What do you think Margarette of Scotland would do if I asked her to dance?” Vlad inquires, lips turned in a smirk.

Comte raises an eyebrow in amusement. “You? Dance with the Queen? Don’t flatter yourself, mon amie. She probably has a whole line of men asking for her hand. The odds of you coming anywhere near here are about as great as the odds that my father will stop asking me to marry.”

Vlad rolls his eyes and gives Comte a good natured kick again. Tempted to hit him with his cane in response, Comte raises his arm ready to strike-

When the carriage slows to a stop.

“We are stopping,” Comte remarks. Vlad sits up straight and peeks out the window. They are still in the worst parts of town, they both realize, Vlad grimaces.

The driver of the carriage calls for them to sit back while he adjusts the harnesses of the horse. Vlad and Comte don’t bother to listen. Throwing open the carriage door, they both descend and look around.

It is hardly past midnight and the air is cool. Comte tightens his coat around him as he taps his cane on the ground. Vlad’s breath comes out in a chilly fog.

“Do you hear that?” He turns to Comte with his eyes narrowed.

It takes Comte a moment to realize what he means. To the left of them, deeper into the rougher parts of the town, a woman is shouting. He and Vlad give each other a half glance before rushing towards the sound.

Deeper into the poverty district, they can hear a woman argue. When they round a street, they see a man clearly intoxicated and a young girl around their age in human years trying to move away from him. She is dressed in clothing of ill repute, Comte does not have to guess what her profession is or why she is out this late at night with a stranger, and she bats at the man’s hand away with a scowl on her face.

“Is there a problem?” Vlad’s voice echoes in the night.

At the sound of company, the man startles. Letting go of the woman’s hand, he spins around. His countenance is very much intoxicated and his voice slurs. 

“Who are you?”

Free of him, the woman shrugs his arm and wraps a thin cloak around herself. Her dark eyes are fierce with anger.

“I think you’ve had too much to drink,” Comte smoothly tells the man. He puts a smile on his face, the sort he uses when he wants to hide his irritation with important people, and places a hand on his heart.

The man smells thickly of liquor as Vlad takes a step forward. His gold eyes are hard and the smile on his face isn’t as reassuring as Comte’s. “Perhaps we should take a coach home, da? The hour grows late. One would not want to be caught here.”

The girl huffs and smooths out the creases in her cloak. She regards the three of them with disgust and braces herself against the frigid air.

“Pardon, Monsieur,” she states. She stalks past Comte the moment he feels his Stamp begin to burn and light up.

The sheer shock of it all makes him freeze. His hand goes to his arm where his Stamp has lit up again in a hundred years and he feels some of the color draining from his face.

Another Failed Match so soon?

“Wait, you-“

He cuts himself off, but the damage has already been done. As soon as he has spoken, her own Stamp has lit up. Even with the cloak covering her arms, the light is evident peeking out the fabric.

The girl freezes mid-step but does not turn around. Her hand cups the inside of her wrist and her entire body goes rigid.

The night suddenly becomes quiet. Vlad, now supporting the drunken man with an arm around his back, turns to look at Comte. His gold eyes are narrowed as if waiting for Comte to make a move.

Comte feels a cold pit form in his stomach.

To have found a second Failed Match in just a hundred years is the epitome of bad luck. Fate has played a mockery of him yet again. His Intended is a human once more and a human of a different class than he. While he could have potentially married her the first time as both members of the Noble class, this union would be impossible. A woman of ill repute and a high-born Noblemen together would have made for a scandal that would have rocked Europe like no other.

The girl must realize it too because she doesn’t turn to look back. It seems she has already made up her mind as to what will transpire between them. Europe has still not embraced the custom of Soulmate Stamps and its people still think of them as awful things. Like the other human girls, and with more on the line as someone who cannot afford to have a partner in her profession, she despises it.

Vlad elbows him in the ribs and the gesture brings him back. Comte realizes that he has been frozen staring at the girl in shock. His Stamp aches and the light is starting to turn into something less bright.

“Mademoiselle, shall we give you a ride back home?” He throws Comte a look, “It is not safe for a lady to walk on her own.”

The girl makes a sound at the back of her throat and turns to regard them for the first time. Her eyes are a dark brown, Comte realizes, a nice, rich color. His throat begins to feel tight as a rustling breeze drifts her scent over. Like the first time, her scent is something incredibly sweet and alluring. He has to look away.

“Non,” she draws the hood over her dark hair and looks away, “Not necessary.”

She turns to walk away and Vlad elbows Comte again. His friend is waiting on him to say something, perhaps ask the girl to reconsider, but Comte already feels uncomfortable enough. Comte is not Vlad. Vlad may have been tempted to run off with his Intended upon first meeting her, but Comte knows a Failed Match is a Failed Match.

Since his childhood, his family has allowed humans to be in contact with him. Comte was raised and educated by human tutors who he learned to care for and had human governesses who gave him all the love of a mother for as long as his family could risk. He has loved and he has lost, and he does not need the heartbreak of a Failed Match to torment him in the sleepless nights he spends. 

Perhaps Vlad could let himself lose, but Comte refuses to do so.

“Bonne nuit,” Comte finally voices out. He turns around and does not wait for a response. Sticking his hands in his coat and tapping the cane on the ground as he walks, he turns his back on his second Failed Match and hopes once more it’s his last.

Just behind him, so quiet he almost believes he imagined it, he hears his Intended whisper it back before disappearing into the shadows.

–

Back at the carriage, Vlad joins him after dumping the intoxicated man at his home. He eyes Comte wearily as Comte traces his Stamp still glowing a faint light. A dull ache throbs on his wrist and Vlad raises an eyebrow.

“We can find her?” He tilts his head waiting for a response.

Comte turns his back and stares out the window as the carriage begins to roll along. He squeezes his hand into a fist and wonders how long it will be before his Stamp stops aching. 5 years? 10? 

“No.”

The response is quiet and thankfully Vlad knows better than to prod. He clambers into the seat next to Comte and they both try to forget the encounter.

In the end, it only takes 5 years for the mark to stop aching. 

–

A field of roses blankets their vision. Vlad is laying down on the grass and his gold eyes are watching the fading sun with a hard expression. Comte sits next to him leaning back on his hands. 

They are both quiet, watching the sun go down, and Comte bites down on the inside of his cheek.

Vlad is in mourning. 

A year ago, while traveling Russia, he met his Intended a second time. She was a beautiful Slavic girl named Zofeia. Unlike Comte who has learned to turn away each Failed Match and forget them the way a Pureblood is to forget every human match, Vlad refuses to learn the lesson. He chased after her and wedded her in a private ceremony. According to Vlad, she was a loving girl who had eyes the color of the bright sky and made him strawberry pastries. He taught Vlad to garden and brightened up his immortal life for a year-

Up until a disease ripped her away. She died in Vlad’s arms and the Pureblood returned to France with a deep melancholy and a dim Stamp.Comte pities him. 

Vlad was always the more sensitive of the two when it came to humans. Vlad loved humanity every bit as much as Comte, but he had largely been shielded of the pain of losing those he cared about. While Comte’s family hired human staff and allowed humans to befriend Comte, Vlad was raised by his family with only Lesser Vampires for company. His family only interacted with other Purebloods and Vampires and Vlad had never truly learned to say goodbye to humans. While Comte has been careful in turning away his Intended each time, Vlad has always let himself get too close. Perhaps after this Failed Match he will learn to not let humans in. To have to say goodbye to someone you loved…

No, Comte was better off alone until his Intended introduced themselves as a Pureblood.

After a long pause of silence, Vlad finally speaks up. While his voice sounds even, as if nothing is the matter, the sadness in his gold eyes speaks volumes. Comte knows the wounds of loss are still too fresh. 

“I believe in a world where humans and vampires can coexist. A world where we can all live together in unity and equality…” 

He lets his voice drift off and his fingers reach out to a rose in full bloom. He strokes the petals and Comte glances at him from the corner of his eye.

“Do you still think humans and vampires can coexist?” He tries not to let the surprise register on his face. After the pain Vlad has just endured…he still wants to believe in the impossible?

“Of course. I have decided I will always love humans,” Vlad responds. His fingers trace his Stamp idly. The skin there has ceased glowing and now looks dull in the fading sunlight. A testament to his loss…now a signature of his vow.

“Humans will die. They are not eternal. Time flows differently between us, Vlad, they will leave our sides with time,” Comte responds. 

He recalls his Intended each time she has graced his presence. He has met her as an English noblewoman with doe eyes and a shy demeanor, and a French woman of ill repute with fierce eyes and independent nature. He will undoubtedly meet her again and again, each time different, through his immortal life, but he has long decided he will never allow her near.

His family may have been ruthless in their dismissal of human staff and ruthless in the way they allowed every human he ever cared for leave without so much as a goodbye, but at the very least they were honest. Humans were fragile things who lasted less than the lifespan of a rose. They would age and they would die, and the loss of an Intended he allowed himself to love was too great for him to imagine. 

The fact that Vlad, at his side, had lived it before and still believed the pain was worth it was as poetic as it was pathetic. 

Still, Comte closes his eyes and recalls every human he has loved as a child. 

The elderly tutor that had gifted him his pocket watch and treated him as a son, the young governess with a brilliant smile that had raised him as if he were her own, the butler his father had hired when he was young that would make him laugh with his stories, the maid his mother had hired that would sing Comte to sleep as a child and was the only one who could soothe him during his tantrums…

Each human, each temporary. They had all left him once and he had been devastated by their loss. Comte could not imagine what losing a Soulmate would do to him. Vlad was stronger and much braver than he.

“Humans are beautiful,” he said at last, “Their ephemeral quality makes them beautiful, like roses, but they fade faster than the flowers. They are a different species from us, and I should have listened to my family as a child. My family tried telling me every time I cried over a human caretaker being dismissed that an eternal life was a life of goodbyes.”

Vlad turns to him and his fingers tighten over the mark on his wrist. 

“I do not care. I have decided to love a human’s ephemeral moments too. They bring joy even if it is only temporary.”

Comte was willing to give him that much. “True, it is their mortality that allows them to shine even if only temporary.”

A silence reigns over them both and they dwell on everything. Vlad on the Intended he just lost and Comte on the ones he never allowed himself to meet. Finally, Vlad stands, and the stars illuminate his silhouette. 

“Would you close yourself off then? Never allow a human to come near you?”

“No, that is not possible. I cannot avoid humans forever; I will have to be near them at some point. Even if I tell myself I will only visit Purebloods and will marry someone my family wants me to, I will never be able to avoid humans all together. Fate will always have a different plan,” Comte stands.

His Soulmate Stamp seems to mock him in the moonlight. He might want to close himself from humans forever, but his Soulmate will always find him someway or another. Avoiding is futile, the best he can do is to simply ignore it.

Vlad gives his back to Comte and stares up at the moon and stars newly reigning over the horizon. His hand with his dim Stamp drops to his side and his jaw locks. Suddenly having made up his mind of something, he spins around.

“What if we could prolong human life? Bring back great humans so that their gifts will extend the test of time and can brighten the world,” He walks towards Comte and his eyes have taken on a new light, “Create life that will withstand time? A rose that never withers?”

Staring at him, Comte raises his eyes. “A rose that never withers?”

The corners of Vlad’s mouth turn up and he grabs his hand, shaking it. A sealed promise. An agreed upon vow.

“Let’s make it together. A rose that never withers.”

–

Centuries after that fateful decision, Comte sits next to a new friend. Leonardo da Vinci, an Italian polymath and Pureblood, joins him for a smoke on a balcony of a newly furnished mansion. Vlad has long since become a stain on Comte’s memory and the relationship between the two has soured. The only remnant of their friendship is a door that can travel through time. Comte intends to use it soon to bring back his first prolonged human life, a famous playwright named Shakespeare.

Leonardo leans against the railing of the balcony and the smoke seeps out of his mouth. He raises his hand to brush his hair back and his Stamp is illuminated in the moonlight. Unlike Comte who has seen his Stamp light up over and over, Leonardo has yet to meet his first Failed Match. Comte is almost envious.

“Still haven’t met your Intended?” Comte needles and he holds his cigar a loft.

He’s been doing that a lot lately, he realizes, smoking. Leonardo likes to mock him although the Italian freeloader taking advantage of Comte’s hospitality certainly could do with looking in a mirror and recognizing his own smoking habit.

Leonardo glances at Comte and shoves his hands into his coat hiding his Stamp from view. 

“Nah, I never want to. One partner for all eternity seems like too much work.”

Comte makes a sound at the back of his throat. “I pity the poor girl who has your Stamp wherever she may be or whenever she may be. I would never recommend you as a prospective match.”

Leonardo shoves him in response. He leans against the railing and clenches his jaw. Thinking hard, he finally decides to return the question in kind. 

“How many times have you met her?” He tilts his head to the side.

Comte takes his time answering. A myriad of names and faces clouds his vision and he can almost feel his Stamp ache if he dwells on them too long. Failed Match after Failed Match. Too many already. 

A British Noble girl, A French Lady of the Night, An Egyptian peasant, a British nurse during wartime, an American creole recently freed from bondage…and so many more he has never allowed himself to get close to. Failed Match after Failed Match. For some, he does not even have a name to a face. for others, he does not even remember how long ago it was. 

They all blend together, at some point, when your life is an endless stream of failed encounters and goodbyes.

“Too many,” Comte finally answers.

His voice is final, closed off, and Leonardo knows better than to pry. The Italian gives him a look of almost sympathy before obscuring his emotions from view and raising the cigar back to his lips. The topic of conversation dies away just like every Failed Match of his has in the past.

--

By now, Comte has lost count of the Failed Matches he has encountered. His Intended has come and gone in many forms and each of them he has kept at an arm’s length never wanting them near. He has long since decided to ice his heart and not allow them in the way Vlad has in the past.

Instead, he fills his time with a makeshift family he has created for himself. His home is full of Residents collected from different time periods. Writers, musicians, geniuses, and soldiers. He welcomes them all into his home and creates a family out of them. All men who have never met their Intended either, careful to bring back only those who consent, and those who are willing to taste immortality however briefly. Pretty soon, his home is full of lively discussion and the occasional argument he must break up like the father of a mansion.

He travels time and meets new people. He has ventured to all time periods, even those in the future, and has met so many new people. His Stamp has become nothing but a bother at this point.

Europe may have changed its attitude towards Soulmates, cultural revolutions have now embraced and promoted the ideal in media, but Comte refuses to be swayed. After centuries of goodbyes, he learns to keep it all at arm’s length.

The Louvre is his current destination. After a month in the future, he is ready to return home to his little quaint family and have their dinner together. He can see the door leading back to his estate at the back row of exhibits.

Still, something makes him stop. Something gold glitters at his feet and he bends down to pick it up. A pretty earring in the shape of a half moon crescent. Comte stares down at it in his palm and has only to turn his head to find its owner.

A young woman stands with her back to him. She stares at a painting and makes no notice that one of her ears is missing a piece.

Comte walks up to her and his Stamp begins to itch. The air seems to shift but he’s long ago learned to stop paying attention to it. The young woman remarks about the size of the painting before her quietly to herself. 

Comte walks up to her side. “Did you know, it’s the second largest painting in the Louvre.”

Surprised, the woman turns around. She’s pretty, Comte realizes, with Auburn hair. A tourist. She holds a smartphone in her hand, and Comte’s eyes are drawn to her wrist. 

A light has lit up on her wrist and her Stamp begins to spark. He feels his own Stamp respond in kind just as she opens her mouth and repeats the same phrase she has said repeatedly each time in different lifetimes.

“Pardon, Monsieur?” Mystified, she blinks brown eyes up at him. 

Used to meeting his Intended, Comte ignores the burning in his wrist and extends her earring to her. He hopes his face is neutral, showing nothing, and that she will not try to keep him longer. He has long since sworn to himself he would never let her get close if she were a human.

“I knew it, this earring belongs to you.”

He deposits the piece of jewelry into her palm as her fingers fly to her ear. She asks herself when she lost it yet her eyes are still startled. It is as if she believes herself in a dream, Comte realizes, cannot begin to comprehend her Intended is before her.

“If you hold still, Mademoiselle,” he suggests. Not waiting for her reply, he takes the earring and adjusts it for her tightening the backing to her ear. 

Up close, he can sense her. His Stamp flares at the contact and he tries to ignore the way she tenses. Her scent drifts up, a sweet smell, and he forces himself to step away. Centuries of saying goodbye have made him rather good at evading her. Practice makes perfect.

“That’s a lovely fragrance,” he murmurs. He knows it by memory, the smell of her blood never changes despite the lifetime she meets him in. 

“T-thank you, I bought it in Paris,” the girl blinks up at him dazed. 

Her fingers clench tightly unto her own Stamp. She struggles to find a way to broach the topic, tries to find something to say to her Intended who she has no doubt fantasized meeting her entire short, short life-

Comte turns away. 

“Oh, but I wasn’t referring to your perfume,” he looks back towards the door and ignores the way his Stamp begins to ache, “Bon voyage.”

The girl balks at him and tries to stop him. Her eyes are wide and her Stamp is still glowing stark against her skin. Comte briefly wonders how long his will glow before her life ends and it loses its color. 50 years? 60?

Either way, he is uninterested in finding out. Ignoring her calling for him to stop, he shoves his hands in his coat and tells himself she is nothing but another Failed Match. Fate has seen fit to torment him once more.

Walking towards the door, he fails to realize the girl has taken chase and will follow him into another time period.

It seems this Match intends to be True.

[royalsofnight]

Makings of a Prince

Prince Vannevar Thomas

Gender

Male

Born

1749 270 years 7 months 21 days

Embraced

1781 32 at time of sire

Clan

Ventrue The Clan of Kings, Bluebloods. Whatever you wish to call them the Ventrue is one of the proudest lines of vampires in long existence. Their reputation proceeds them befitting to maintain honor and leadership among the noble kindred of their time, both ancient and modern. Those of this clan fundamentally believe they know what is best for vampire society. They make no apologies in their beliefs but it is expected from the oldest clan. Foremost they seek to preserve tradition among all else. Rightful leaders of the kindred (vampire) society those who hold this line of succession have been sired by those of noble blood. Knights, Kings, princes; the clan is known to house some of the holiest of blood. Largest supporters of the Camarilla and its Masquerade in order to protect vampires from discovery. Truly a clan of leadership who upholds the laws for the land of the undead.

Sire

Quincy Cullen

Allegiance

Camarilla

Largest of the vampiric sects which represents and protects all vampires by enforcing the laws of the Masquerade. It is currently composed of six clans but all Kindred are welcomed under its watchful eye as long as they obey the laws. These laws to blend in among humans aim to protect from ultimate discovery of their species. The Camarilla maintains the structural integrity of vampire tradition.

Nickname

Van, Thomas, Prince, The Prince, Night Prince

Birthplace

Colonial Virginia

Current

Las Angeles

Formerly San Francisco

Formerly Paris, France

Pronouns

He/Him

Orientation

Heteroromantic / Heterosexual

Religion

Born to an aristocratic catholic family

worships none

Political Affiliation

masquerades as whatever suits business

Camarilla Sect

Occupation

Prince of LA (former Prince of San Francisco)

formerly Camarillan dignitary

formerly American Revolution soldier

Location

Private Manor Residence

Languages

English. French.

Accent

American. Raspy

Face Claim

Bryan Dechart

Hair

Dark Brown / Borderline Black

Eyes

Dark Brown

Height

6'0"

Build

Lean. Toned

Vannevar Thomas was born into an aristocratic family in colonial Virginia in 1749. His lineage is of nobility even then as a mortal man but his family connections are lost to time. What is known about his family is solely among Vannevar’s memories. He does not speak of them and therefore tracing his roots can become muddled. It is best to leave it at that but at times he will have days his mind wanders to those early human years, lingering on an unknown colonial girl of the time. He was heralded to succeed as the patriarch of the Thomas family. One of the wealthiest of the Virginian colonies of the time, Vannevar fought for freedom of the Americas in the revolutionary war.

He is known for fighting valiantly against the British cavalry troops. Holding his own with courage and a knack for marksmanship, he survived many a battle before ultimately being captured by the British as a prisoner of war in 1781. During this time he was starved, left to rot in a dank cell as other American soldiers died around him. Vannevar held on longer than most but the reality of death became imminent. It was this time his sire came into the picture. A man of British hierarchy, Cullen did not abide by the war. As a vampire it hardly mattered to him and thus chose to save Vannevar’s mortal life and embraced him.

His sire taught him the ways of the Camarilla and educated him in the Masquerade. Vannevar took to vampiric life and adapted despite his initial worries as a young fledgling. This soon evaporated as his noble line resurfaced, meeting his family once again despite his reported death. He watched them closely. Unable to reveal himself in a proper way left him bitter. The final seed of the Thomas line had seemingly died with him. At least by name….

Soon after his turning, Vannevar served as a dignitary for the Camarilla. Thus he found travel outside of the United States settling him to France during another revolution. In 1789 he ventured to Versailles to persuade Francois Villon and Marie Antoinette herself of the political dangers of their time. Growing unrest fueled the tension of his stay at the time. While he could not persuade the royals this was a very important time in his life as a vampire. He made many connections of importance during his time in France. One of the most notable is the introduction to his future longtime lover Suzanne Rochelle, who he became absolutely enamored with.

((Meeting Suzanne is default canon. In particular timelines depending on his connection to other characters she does not exist. However, his romantic tie to her is always automatic and she will be mentioned outside of other ship verses.))

In 1849, he was sent to the West Coast by the Camarilla in order to secure the region for the sect. This mission took up much of his time as he was already a valued and powerful member of the sect at this time. Vannevar became prince of the San Francisco area following this task. He held this position over the territory from 1910 until the 21st century. Soon the Prince set his sights on LA. The city offered more, a higher position to settle for the Camarilla and he chose to transition. A bold move but one that won him more accolades among his kindred.

Vannevar moved in as the new Prince of LA. While doing so he has procured enemies as he fights a constant battle with the Anarchs of the city. Conflict only continues there and with a rival in the San Diego Baron Tara Kearney.

Currently: Vannevar suffers a derangement affliction depending on plot. This muddles his mind and proves to force him into bad judgements as well as erratic behavior. Ultimately he discovers who placed this curse upon him and seeks not only a removal but revenge.

Abilities

Vannevar is a powerful vampire. Heightened senses. Strength. Agility. The man is of an older branch therefore more powerful than newer vampires and most assuredly more so than any fledglings. Intelligence and cunning are masterfully crafted in his hands. He is not one to underestimate. Nor is he one to give mercy when betrayal is at hand. The Prince blends into the dark easily. He manipulates shadow becoming the obscurity at will if he so desires. Bloodthirsty when he feeds, he will not allow a drop to escape him. While he preys on humans as any vampire, he is aware of the Masquerade more than anyone. He puts the laws above all else.

[hamilton-one-shots]

Uh, so this is something I heard in class. We’re learning about the French revolution and this is a conversation I heard that goes as follows:

Teacher: They were so in debt that many people were starving and on the streets while the royal family and nobles were partying like there wasn’t a financial crisis

Boy: What? That’s so stupid!

Girl: Of course it’s stupid, (boy’s name), that’s why there was a revolution!

I was wondering if you would be okay with making a fic on this since I actually imagined the Hamsquad going through this. You can take the liberties you want and can paraphrase as well! I’m just eager to see what you come up with!! I love your work, by the way!!! ❤❤❤

(Idea submitted by: @probablyhipster)

I’m glad you like my work! I’m sorry I took so long working on it, but I hope you enjoy the end result!

(Edited by: @daflangstlairde-writes)

Lafayette sighed as he stared out of the window, blocking out the noise around him. He’d been invited to another party and, to be frank, it wasn’t like him to decline the invitation. His sweet wife, Adrienne, was having the time of her life, but the Marquis couldn’t get himself to do the same.

Ever since he’d come home from America, everywhere he’d look, there were people starving, dying in the streets, and it was constantly on his mind. He had tried so hard to bring it up, to get others to share their wealth, but it never worked. There was no way he could enjoy himself knowing that all of those people were out there, suffering, and there was nothing he could do about it.

“My love? Aren’t you going to join me in a dance?” Adrienne teased, knowing how poorly her husband faired on the dance floor.

Lafayette shook his head and stood up. “No. I’m in no mood to dance... Ever since I’ve come home, I’ve seen nothing but despair in the streets. You know how deeply it has been plaguing my thoughts.. I must have mentioned it at least a thousand times to hundreds of people, but nothing changes. Nobody cares like we do. Nobody here will give even a fraction of their wealth to help their whole country of people.”

Adrienne frowned at her husband’s despair and put a hand on his shoulder. “Then why don’t you do something about it? You fought in America. You did what people said you couldn’t.” He did what people said he wasn’t allowed to. “With that same behavior, surely you, of all people, could start something.”

He nodded and smiled. His wife was right. He was the one who took her gown just to go to America. He was the right hand man of General George Washington, the greatest soldier of all time. Besides, surely, the people were angry enough to want to start a war. “I think I will attempt to.. I can help them rise up and take what they deserve..” Unfortunately, there was one downside to having helped his friends across the sea. “But don’t you think I’m in enough trouble after helping the Americans?.. I fear that if they catch me now, they could throw me in jail before I can do anything.” Jail was inevitable. It was the timing that mattered.

She tutted. “Forget about that. You can do what you want and I will help you.” Even if that meant helping him escape prison and Lafayette was well aware of that.

He smiled and kissed the back of his wife’s hand. “We’ll gather friends and start as soon as the morning arises. For now, I need some fresh air. I’m afraid that my attempts to drown my sorrows in wine were successful.”

Adrienne nodded, and anyone who knew the uncontrollable couple would fear the almost crazed look in their eyes, even as drunk as they were. It was the spark of the revolution.

John Laurens wished he wasn’t as squeamish as he was or as afraid of every small creak in the dark, but he simply wasn’t used to this lifestyle. Still, he refused to complain. He had willingly left his life as British nobility to be with his lover and he wouldn’t have it any other way. At the moment, he was alone, his Alexander out selling his body to some stranger who could help pay for their next meal, but for John, the situation couldn’t have been more perfect. That was to say that his Alexander wouldn’t know that John was going to attempt the same. He dressed himself in one of Alexander’s gowns and snuck through alleyways and shadows to where he knew there was a banquet. There was some sort of function there every night, from what he remembered.

John posted himself at a tree, waiting to see some drunk, rich man stumble out. And, he saw one before long. The man wasn’t exactly stumbling, but he did look rich. So, John decided to try his luck and approached him, hoping he didn’t look as nervous as he felt.

“Are you lost?” the other asked, eyeing him up and down with an almost displeased expression.

John tightened his fists at his side, gripping the fabric of the gown tightly. “I... I’m sorry.. Excuse me.” He began to turn to leave, but was stopped by a hand grabbing his elbow.

“Wait. Wait... Are you alright? Do you need help?”

John shook his head, dropping his gaze. “I was just hoping to exchange my time for some money..”

The other man released his arm with a soft smile, grabbing his purse from his coat. “I don’t need your body, but I will give you the money you need.”

John’s eyes went wide. Was this some kind of test? Surely, a man of his standing wouldn’t just give away his money.

But he did. The stranger handed John more money than he’d seen in his entire time in France, the sight making John drool. He took John’s hand and placed the money into his palm, curling it into a fist.

“You need this more than I do. I have more than enough.” He raised John’s face to get a proper look at his face, smiling softly. “You are a beautiful man. You shouldn’t have to live this life.. Do you need help?”

“I..” John hesitated before opening his mouth to speak once more. “My lover and I... I left a life of nobility for him.. I don’t want to be ungrateful, but it’s been hard..” He began tearing up. “He sells his body, but doesn’t let me do the same, not wanting me to get hurt.. I just wanted to help him..”

The stranger nodded and held his hand reassuringly. “You and your lover can stay with me and my wife. I know she will accept the arrangement. Meet me here tomorrow night when the moon is at its highest, bring your love.”

“I.. I can’t... He’s too proud of a man to accept a handout and I have no intention of leaving him.”

The stranger sighed, disappointed by the rejection, but nodded in understanding. “I understand. Well, if I ever see you again, don’t be afraid to ask for money. I have more than enough to help you and others.” He took more money from his purse and put it in John’s empty hand. “That’s to help anybody else who know who needs it. I know it’s not much, but-”

“No.. No, it’s more than enough... Thank you..” John insisted through his tears.

“A lovely boy like you shouldn’t cry... Here.” The stranger wiped away John’s tears with his handkerchief. “And keep this. If I see your love with it, I’ll know to give him whatever money I have on me.”

John nodded and put the money into the handkerchief for safe keeping. “I can’t thank you enough..”

“You shouldn’t have to. There will be a fight for your right to live, to more than survive. I know it. What is your name?”

What was the point in hiding it? It was a name that meant nothing anymore. “John.. John Laurens. And who are you?”

He gave a friendly smile. “Marquis De Lafayette, at your service.”

And, with how friendly the Marquis had been, John wasn’t intimidated by such a title. “I hope to see you again, Marquis.”

Lafayette nodded and waved as the other left before going back inside.

John ran back to his and his lover’s hiding spot and got back into his own clothing, then waited for Alexander to return. He could hardly wait through the excitement brought by the large sum of money in his pocket.

The second Alexander came into view, John pulled him into a tight hug, kissing his love and ignoring the sour taste on his lips.

“John, what are you doing?” Alexander asked, chuckling as he pulled away. “My love, someone as sweet as you shouldn’t taste the rancid taste that the night has left me. At least let me clean myself off for you..”

John smiled and took a step back. “I’m sorry... But I.. I took one of your gowns to meet someone. But!” he exclaimed, stopping his lover before he could cut him off. “He didn’t ask for my body. He gave me money, a lot of money, and offered us a place to stay. I rejected, but... I took the money.” He got the handkerchief and showed what laid inside to his Alexander, feeling his heart swell at his lover’s expression.

“John.. This is... This is a lot of money..”

John nodded rapidly. “We have to save it... But I can help you. I can go out and do the same as you, I can take it!”

“No!” Alexander argued, eyes wide with worry. “John. No.. You’re beautiful... Too beautiful. Do you know what those men would do to you?..” he asked, his voice growing soft. It made him almost regret making the job seem easy. Allow John to see just how exhausted he was and Alexander knew the other would demand that he’d be allowed to join, something that Alexander couldn’t deny, yet something that he couldn’t allow. Keep John away from the dangers of the job and John just pokes around on his own.

“They will pay me,” John said matter-of-factly.

“They would destroy you!” Alexander argued, raising his voice just a bit. The only choice John left him was a compromise. Make sure John knew that he could easily die out there without showing the odds of himself meeting the same fate. The last thing Alexander wanted was to be forceful and scare John, but his own world was a terrifying one. And it was no lie for him to say that, for someone like John, it would be much worse. “I am considered only lovely and... And they like lovely. They don’t care too much for it, but when it’s at their disposal, nobody can refuse.”

Alexander raised a hand and gently cupped John’s cheek. “But you... John, you’re beautiful.. You’re so rare.. You’re such a commodity that it would excite anyone who gets their hands on you.” He paused and took a deep breath. “They see something so rare and one of two things happens; either they’ll demand that they keep you or they get so angry they can’t that they break you... I’ve seen it happen before.” He paused, hardly able to stomach the idea. “And... And I can’t lose you. You’re all I have, John...” He raised his other hand to John’s cheek, the other holding both in place.

“I understand.. I’m sorry...” John smiled apologetically. The last thing he wanted was for Alexander to go out at night more scared than he already had to be. Alexander needed to worry about himself first.

Alexander sighed and pulled him into a hug. “Anything else you ask of me, I’ll bring it to you. Anything else you want to do, you can do.. But I will not let them break you in the name of my comfort..”

John returned the hug and placed a quick kiss on Alexander’s forehead. “I understand.. I’ll find another way. I can sew clothing for a small fee, I know many people must need help with such a thing.” It wouldn’t earn him as much, but it would still be something.

Alexander nodded. “Whatever pleases you, my love..”

Still, they kept Lafayette’s money in case of emergencies. And John had a newfound hope. He trusted what Lafayette had said.

Someday, things will be different. Someday, he won’t have to struggle to get by while nobles just ate and danced their days away.

And when that day does come, he’d join the fight for it. And even if he does not live to see the glory of their win, those of tomorrow will.

(Also, I’m sorry that this is being uploaded late. I’ll post the next one shot 12 hours early to make up for it.)

[winnipegpatty]

i’ll pretend i’m okay | s.m. | prologue

a/n: this is for the anon who asked for knight!shawn and princess reader. Okay so it’s not exactly “knight” but it’s what I came up with and @fourtristattoos validated my feelings so this is where we’re at. this is the prologue, there will be a second part! 

disclaimer: I KNOW NOTHING ABOUT ROYALTY OKAY. nothing. i tried my hardest to like research some stuff, but like....even in research the stuff is really tricky and confusing. it’s loosely based off British nobility, but like....it’s set in an ambiguous not specified monarch. so it’s NOT the UK. Don’t come after me for getting stuff wrong. It’s fictitious. okay. 

Once upon a time, in a faraway land lived a princess. This princess lived in a beautiful castle, one of the largest castles in the world. She had servants at her feet night and day.  She was beautiful, perfect, everything a princess should be. The boys fawned over her as she grew into a lovely woman. Every Duke on in the country longed to be the chosen one to be King one day. Her mother, the Queen, was proud to have her as heir apparent to the throne, knowing one day she herself would make a wonderful Queen. It was what she’d been born for, after all. She’d been prepared for her duty from the moment she was born, being pruned into the perfect successor. With the most prestigious of education from Mayfield Preparatory Academy, she’d be ready to assume her position as Queen one day. But this story, is not about her.

Now on the other side of the castle, lived another princess. Her Royal Highness Princess Y/N Duchess of Sussex. An unwanted princess, if there ever was such a thing. She lived in the shadow of her sister, as a backup plan. Don’t get it wrong, this princess lived a less than hard life, but being unloved is always difficult, even among immense wealth and privilege. Her sister, Princess Amelia, was ready to take the throne in a moments notice, already having been married to a handsome man from across the valley. Princess Amelia’s job was quite important. As she wasn’t Queen yet, it was important for her to maintain her good standing in the community. She engaged in charity affairs frequently, and made the commonwealth feel as though their needs were always being heard. Princess Y/N’s job was much different. Her job was simply to stay out of trouble and out of the spotlight. She couldn’t even do that right. This story, is about her.

This story is about me.

I was used to being the family disappointment though, it came with being second in line for, well, everything.

Much too early one morning there was a knock on my door, “Your Highness,” my sweet assistant Charlotte entered the room with a curtsy. She was one of the few people I’d consider afraid. And I paid her, how treacherous. “Tea with the Queen is in fifteen minutes.”

“Thank you, Charlotte.” I whispered, gathering up the will to get off the bed and get dressed.

The Queen may be my mother, but she was first and foremost The Queen. Which is why she made a stellar queen and a horrid mother. Nevertheless, if the Queen wanted tea, tea she shall get.

“Ah, Y/N, haven’t I told you a thousand times to stop dressing like this?”

Clad in a pair of light washed blue jeans and an oversized Chicago Bears sweatshirt, I took my seat across from the queen. Charlotte stood behind me at a respectable distance.

“Well, Anne,” I referred to my mother’s first name (this was the best tactic to get a rise out of her), “I’m not sure a thousand would quite be enough.”

Anne scoffed, “You look like a filthy American.”

“Well, they are a world power, mother.” I rolled my eyes.

A servant came and swiftly poured our tea, allowing us to prepare it how we liked.

“Well, as much as I’d love to say this is a social call, Y/N, it is not.”

“When is it ever,” I muttered under my breath, sure she hadn’t heard.

“It’s time,” The Queen said in this cryptic tone.

“Time for what?” I took a sip of my tea.

“For you to get married.”

I stilled, not breathing.

“Your father and I have set up a series of appointments to meet people who we’ve found to be suitable for you. You’ll begin with your first meeting tomorrow. Charlotte will be given all the details. You’re expected to be prompt and dressed appropriately,” The Queen continued to speak, but I certainly wasn’t listening.

After what felt like hours, I stood abruptly, interrupting whatever mother was saying at the moment, “Excuse me, mum.” I choked out before I bolted, trying my hardest to walk calmly until I was at least out of the room.

I ran, like a fucking child; I ran. Pushing through door, after door, after door hearing Charlotte call after me, but not giving a fuck. I pushed through a door that I knew led to the back garden.

“Fuck,” I choked as I collapsed to my knees, crying into the heels of my hands, pressing hard and seeing nothing but stars.

Why was I crying? Was it really this dramatic? Was my life so hard?

No, the truth was that it wasn’t hard. Not compared to the three million citizens in my country alone I knew were living in poverty, barely making it out alive. Not compared to the student’s struggling to make it through school. Not compared to really anyone with a real problem. Poor little old me, a fucking princess, wishing she wasn’t going to be forced into a marriage I wanted nothing to do with.

But wasn’t that just as bad? In some ways? Living a life with no happiness?

“Fucking hell,” I screamed again, suddenly just wanting to punch something.

“Your Royal Highness,” Charlotte spoke from behind me. “Perhaps inside?”

I stood, turning to look at Charlotte, realizing for the first time that I wasn’t actually alone. Not entirely. Two Queen’s Guards stood at post, each on a side of the door, standing completely erect like I hadn’t just burst through making a goddamn childish scene. The man on the right seemed completely unphased by my presence, standing still and staring straight ahead as though no one had even come outside. The guard on the left however was visibly tense, which made me want to laugh a bit.

“Never seen a princess have a meltdown before, have we lads?” I asked the two of them, knowing full well there would be no response.

I stood, staring down the guard on the left that seemed somewhat spooked by my presence. He must be a new one. Not that I would recognize every guard, but I think I would have remembered this particular face. He had a particularly boyish complexion with a light scar on his cheek, and soft curls peeking out of his hat. His knitted eyebrows screamed of concern. It was sweet.

“Don’t look so obvious, Curly,” I smiled at the taller boy, swallowing the lump in my throat, trying to forget about my previous worries.

Ignoring Charlotte, I waltzed back into the castle. Think tall.

“Marriage isn’t so bad,” I muttered to myself. “Babies can be cute.” Just keep trying to convince yourself.  “Boys are not always annoying.” My shoulders slumped. “I’d rather fucking die, Charlotte.”

tagging: @peacedolantwins2 @unhealthyobsessionwithmarvel @justanotherfangurl272 @rosecth @my-sweet-escape-from-the-world @yourwonderbelle

[devinstonerpg]

INTRODUCING,

NAME: Emily Walsh.

AGE: Thirty-three.

GENDER/PRONOUNS: Cis female, she/her.

ORIGINALLY FROM: London, England.

OCCUPATION: Anthropology Professor at Devinstone Community College.

CURRENT RESIDENCE: Allison Hill.

"How beautiful would it be to find someone who’s in love with your mind?"

BIOGRAPHY,

Trigger warnings/content warnings: Pregnancy

Emily Jane Walsh was born into the wealthy Walsh family on January 16, 1987 in London, England. She grew up the youngest child and only daughter of the family. Her parents had many connections with other elite British families, so Emily was raised to be a proper lady. Her upbringing consisted of etiquette lessons and going away to boarding school when she was ten, which meant she did not have anything close to a normal childhood. Emily’s mother was very strict with her and tended to see her more as a pawn since she had plans of Emily marrying into British nobility or royalty. 

However, Emily wanted no part of that. The money and social connections never interested her, and she preferred the simpler things in life. From the time she was very young, she was the black sheep of her family. She was always happy with very little, but struggled for years to build up the courage to tell her family how she felt. School became Emily’s escape from any unhappiness in her life, and she excelled at it. Her high IQ combined with her dedication and focus served her well.

Emily finally began making her own choices when it came time for her to attend university. Instead of going to an institution with more social connections, she went to The University of Oxford and studied anthropology with emphases on archaeological and cultural anthropology. She then traveled to work in several different countries such as Egypt, Tanzania, and Nepal to teach others and complete her PhD studies. Traveling gave Emily a sense of freedom she never really had before in her life, and it became one of her favorite things to do. 

After returning from abroad, Emily found herself romantically involved with a man she attended school with. The two of them were together for about six months, and during that time, Emily got pregnant. Once their daughter, Gemma was born, their relationship started to fall apart and they decided it was best to go their separate ways. 

Three months ago, Emily arrived in Devinstone with her one-year-old daughter after receiving a job offer to teach anthropology at the community college. She figured it was the perfect opportunity for her to start a completely new chapter of her life. She’s still very much settling into her new home, but is loving every moment of it. 

+ Intelligent, amicable, and effervescent. - Stubborn, naive, and reticent.

PLAYED BY: Tay.

FACE CLAIM: Claire Foy.

[danfanciesphil]

New!

too high (can’t come down) by @danfanciesphil

Suspending himself 7,000 feet above the rest of the world seems likely to be a sure-fire way for Dan to escape normality, and isolate himself for the foreseeable future. The Secret of the Alps, a small hotel tucked into the side of the Swiss mountains is too niche for most avid adventurers to have heard of, making it the perfect place for Dan to work as he sorts through his problems. Unfortunately, privacy is a coveted thing, and as Dan soon finds out, the hotel harbours one guest who values it more than most. 

Rating: Explicit Tags: Enemies to lovers, snow, mountains, skiing, hostility, slow burn, secrecy, longing, repression, nobility, classism, cheating, eventual sex

** Hi! Welcome to my new chaptered phanfic, which I shall be updating weekly if possible. I think it’s going to be every Friday, although this may change according to my unpredictable schedule. I hope you enjoy! **

Ao3 Link

Chapter One

The sheer craziness of Dan’s plan doesn’t fully sink in until he’s suspended 7,000 feet up the side of a mountain, inside a violently rocking cable car in the midst of a blizzard so thick that the glass windows are opaque white. Dan’s tour guide, Kaspar, is a true Swiss native; he’s sat on the one wooden bench inside this small capsule, animatedly jabbing at a game on his mobile phone. Kaspar’s utter indifference to the snowstorm is probably the only reason Dan isn’t screaming in fear right now.

“Is it much further?” Dan manages to squeak.

He grips the handlebar running around the interior, knuckles white. His other hand is clasped around the handle of his suitcase, which is desperately trying to escape and skid off across the floor.

“Not far,” Kaspar replies distractedly. He glances up at Dan from his phone; whatever he sees in Dan’s expression - pure terror, probably - is enough to make him put the phone away and pat the space beside him on the bench. His life in Kaspar’s hands, Dan goes to him obediently, swaying with the violent rocking and then falling onto the bench. “Do not fret little Dan,” Kaspar says, thumping him on the back with a wide, cheery smile. “You will not be needing to come back down for many more weeks!”

If this is supposed to calm him, Dan is not convinced that the Swiss are a compassionate bunch. Kaspar is as chipper as his orange, puffy boiler suit might suggest. He also has a purple and yellow bobble hat pulled over a mess of blondish curls and whiskers. Dan has tried to bundle up, having been well aware that the Alps are famously a little on the chilly side, but Kaspar’s outfit is still far superior. Dan imagines Kaspar is toasty warm, whilst Dan’s hands are on the verge of falling off his wrists inside of their gloves.

“Is there another way up?” Dan asks. Or down, more specifically.

“Ya,” Kaspar replies, nodding. “The small airport in town rents out private planes. But they are not cheap, little Dan! Wait for your first paycheque!”

‘Little Dan’ is a baffling nickname considering Dan is six foot, easily, but he chooses not to point this out, assuming Kaspar has his reasons. “Maybe I could hitch a ride with some rich guest or other, next time,” he says, gripping the edge of the bench. 

Kaspar laughs heartily, his whole body shaking with it, so that the cable car shudders alarmingly. “What guests?”

*

After a very unpleasant experience of actually jumping from the cable car doorway - "I cannot stop today, little Dan! I am needed back at the base. You will be fine, just bend your knees as you land, ya?” - Dan dusts the worst of the snow from his trousers and suitcase, then waves to Kaspar, who leans heart-stoppingly far out of the door to call goodbye. Dan watches morosely as the cable car continues on towards its turning point, then judders slowly back down into the blizzard.

Somewhat reluctantly, he turns to find himself in front of what looks like an enormous, luxury log cabin, if it could house fifteen people. There’s a big balcony running across the entire width of the upper story, decked with tables and chairs. The building is made from an umber wood, which stands out vividly against the pure white snow caking its roof and eaves. There’s a sign, partially obscured by the snow, that reads ‘The Secret of the Alps’, which is the only indication that Dan is actually in the right place. No other options available now, Dan trudges through the calf-deep snow to the front door; he does not have the energy right now to admire the picturesque scene this little building makes, nestled into the side of the mountain, nor the spectacular view it faces, which Dan doesn’t let himself turn to admire just yet.

The moment he pushes the heavy door open and steps inside, Dan is engulfed in a pulse of delicious, thick warmth. It’s so glorious that he almost tears up, but thankfully restrains himself, and just rubs his hands together, appreciating. He stands still under the heater for a moment, slowly feeling the cold dripping from him, quite literally it turns out, as he notes the puddle forming at his feet.

“Welcome!” a comfortingly British voice says from nearby. Stood behind a desk ahead of him is a short, buxom woman wearing a fitted charcoal suit jacket and matching skirt. She’s in her mid-thirties, maybe, with dark hair tied up in a tight bun, and a short, severe fringe. Everything about her screams neatness and professionalism, which is a little jarring, in the middle of nowhere as they are. Before Dan can introduce himself, she marches over to him and grabs one of his hands. “Dan Howell, I presume? I’m Mona Kemp, the manager of the hotel. We’ve spoken via email, of course.”

Dan nods, finding it all of a sudden quite difficult to catch his breath, perhaps partly due to the altitude. “Yeah, of course. Great to meet you at last.”

Her hand is ringless and smooth, very pleasant to grip. Having been deprived of human contact for a few days now, Dan finds it a little tricky to make himself let go. Thankfully, she either doesn’t notice, or pretends not to. “You must be absolutely exhausted,” Mona says, taking his suitcase from him. “It’s late, so I thought we’d start with the basics tomorrow morning, let you get a good night’s rest. Does that sound alright?”

“Yeah, fine,” Dan says, glad that he’ll have an opportunity to recover from his harrowing journey before setting to work. “Thank you.”

She’s already wheeling his case along the wooden floor towards a set of floating stairs, leading up to a second storey, which is partly visible as a mezzanine that juts over the front desk. She stops at the base of the stairs, smiling briskly at Dan as she hands the case back to him. Mona digs into her jacket pocket and draws out a key, which she then drops into his hand.

“You’re right at the top, I’m afraid. There’s only three floors, but as I’m sure you’ll find out, heaving bags up three flights of stairs like these,” she kicks at the floating step nearest to her with her pointed boot, “is a bugger.”

“Right,” Dan says, forcing a smile. “Probably best to start practicing then.”

“Love the enthusiasm, Dan,” Mona says, returning the smile. “I’ve asked Louise, our chef, to make you some tomato soup and a grilled cheese. I’ll bring it up to you in about an hour, shall I?”

At the mere mention of something so delicious, Dan’s stomach rumbles, making Mona laugh. Dan laughs too, embarrassed. “That would be fantastic, thank you.”

“Well, Dan,” Mona sticks out her hand for the second time, and Dan takes it greedily. “It’s a pleasure to have you. I hope you’ll enjoy yourself, and that you’ll find your way quickly. We run a small but high-quality establishment. It’s a quiet job, but a pleasant one, particularly if you’re more of an introverted type.”

“I definitely am,” Dan assures her. “I think I might be the perfect fit.”

Mona smiles broadly and removes her hand from Dan’s. “Excellent. Well, let me know if you need anything. I’ll be here at the desk.”

“Thank you, Mona,” Dan says, trying to load the words with the gratitude he feels. He looks upwards, unsure. “Just... up the stairs?”

“Just keep climbing until you can’t get any higher. You won’t miss it,” Mona replies briskly, already back behind the desk. 

Dan nods, pocketing his key, and bends to lift his case. It turns out that Mona was not lying about what a bitch it is to drag a heavy case up three flights of stairs that have huge gaps between them. Dan trips at least ten times, and bruises his shins, but eventually he makes it to the top floor. There are only two rooms up here - seven and eight. Dan’s key says seven, so he pays no attention to the door next to it, and lets himself in.

It’s a bigger room than he’d been expecting, but decorated pretty much exactly how he imagined it would be. Wood-panelled walls, a double bed with a dark blue duvet and a thick grey quilt, an electric heater, a chest of drawers, and a tiny en-suite with just enough room for a toilet, sink and bath. There’s a vase of plastic flowers on the bedside table, along with a lamp, fitted with a navy lampshade to match the bed.

Dan closes the door behind him, shucks off his coat, then pulls off his gloves and his jumper, all of which fall to his feet. He sits down on the bed, takes a deep breath of thin, mountain air, and bursts into tears.

*

The daylight in the mountains is a blinding, fierce sort that Dan has not experienced before. It gleams off the acres of snow draped over the peaks, burrowing into Dan’s room through the thin slices between his curtains, and waking him instantly. He set an alarm before he went to bed, but it’s been rendered redundant now. He lies in the warmth for a few minutes, then forces himself to emerge, trudging into the bathroom. He showers, cleans his teeth, then goes to unzip his suitcase, still packed from the day before. He’d slept in the clothes he arrived in, which was undoubtedly a bad idea, but he couldn’t bring himself to root around for his pyjamas, exhausted and drained as he’d been after a long, tearful evening. 

As he buttons his white shirt - the one his mum bought for him just before he left in what might be one of her five or so selfless acts throughout motherhood - he stares out of his window at the dazzling view of the mountain, utterly hypnotised. The troughs and peaks of the slopes, iced in pearlescent white, are entirely unblemished. 

Actually... almost entirely. 

As Dan’s eyes gradually adjust to the brightness, he begins to notice a small blip in the landscape; a tiny, scarlet fly in the ointment of the picturesque view. He squints, fingers stilling on the shirt buttons as the figure moves steadily towards the horizon, leaving a faint trail of snow prints in its wake.

Startling him away from the window, Dan’s alarm trills, and he goes to switch it off, forgetting the mystery figure. He pulls on a pair of trousers, some thick grey socks, and boots. With a final, cursory glance in the bathroom mirror, Dan gathers himself as best he can, and heads out of the room. He descends the first set of stairs to the floor where all the other guests’ rooms are, then down another flight of stairs into the mezzanine area. Dan had paid little attention as he passed through it last night, but now he sees this area has been made into a cosy seating space, with a big fireplace, several sofas, armchairs, and a few tables and chairs dotted about. There’s a big television in one corner, and he spots some tall wooden shelves crammed with board games and books, and a large basket full of various patterned blankets, above which a sign reads: ‘help yourself!’

To Dan’s right are a set of double doors, nestled in the centre of some enormous floor to ceiling windows. Beyond the glass is a balcony, the one he’d seen from outside, long and wide, and dotted with tables and chairs. Even from here, just staring through the window, Dan can see that the view beyond the balcony is divine. It looks out onto the same expanse of brilliant whiteness that he can see from his own room’s window. Just then, Mona appears at the top of the stairs leading up from the lobby, a big, dark puffy coat zipped around her.  

“Oh! Dan, you’re up, fabulous.” 

She bustles past him, wrenching open a door hidden in the wood-panelled wall, which reveals a small cupboard. From within, she takes out some checkered tablecloths and a big wicker basket, the latter of which she shoves into Dan’s hands, and beckons for him to follow her. The box is very heavy, Dan quickly finds, but he ambles along behind Mona as best he can as she marches towards the balcony doors. The scent of something delicious catches in his nostrils as he goes, and he breathes in deeply, stomach gurgling. Noticing the sound, Mona looks over her shoulder, smiling knowingly.

“I have the same reaction to Louise’s cooking,” she says, then points to what is not, apparently, simply a lifelike painting of an industrial kitchen as Dan had initially thought. What it actually is, he now understands, is a serving hatch - a square cut out of the wall separating the kitchen from the mezzanine area to make it easier for food items to be passed back and forth. Beyond the hatch, in the kitchen, a blonde woman in a white chef’s smock and hat dances back and forth between the various pans sizzling on the stove. “She’s a wonder,” Mona says. “Caters for the hotel entirely on her own. Three meals a day. Guests and staff.”  

“Wow,” Dan says, eyes widening as he steps through the balcony door Mona holds for him. “Is it normal to have just one person do all that?”

“We’re a small business, Dan,” Mona says as if this is enough of an answer, and follows him out. The moment he’s out of the pleasant, close warmth of the hotel’s interior, Dan is plunged into an icy stream of frigid mountain air. Though the day is still, a biting chill nips at his exposed fingers, his neck and face. He nearly drops the basket with the shock of it. “There may not be many of us, but we all play our part, and we manage fine.”

Dan is focusing too hard on not shivering so violently he drops the basket to respond with actual words.

Again, Mona chuckles at him. “We’re out of the wind here thanks to the positions of the peaks, but it still gets damn cold. You might want to think about more layers in future.”

Dan tries not to let his teeth chatter as he asks, “what are we out here for?”

“Setting up for breakfast,” Mona replies, already flinging the checkered tablecloths onto the tables.

“We’re serving breakfast outside?”

“Of course,” Mona says, then turns to flip open the lid of the basket in Dan’s hands, which Dan now understands is full of crockery and cutlery - hence the weight. She pulls out some plastic clips to secure the tablecloths. “One of our best attractions is our ‘breakfast with a view’. We pop the heaters on, of course, and there are blankets if anyone gets too chilly.”

“Oh,” Dan says, glancing at the few tall electric heaters between the tables, and feeling stupid. “Right, I see.”

“Don’t worry,” Mona says with a sympathetic smile. “You’ll get used to things. Start putting the plates out? Two per table.”

Dan smiles back, grateful for her kind, swift demeanour, and focuses on his given task, moving speedily to set each of the six tables. They lay out napkins, plates, mugs and cutlery, and by the time they’re finished, Dan no longer feels as cold. Mona switches on the heaters one by one, complimenting Dan on how diligently he’s getting on with things, and how it took her half the time it normally does to set up out here with his help.

Dan thanks her awkwardly, not really sure why simply doing his job requires praise, and lets his eyes wander to the view once more; idly, Dan remembers that distant crimson figure from this morning.

“Is it safe for people to ski up here?” Dan finds himself asking. “I didn’t read about any ski runs or anything.”

“No, no,” Mona says, her head snapping sharply from side to side as she straightens the cutlery. “Skiing or snowboarding is not a good idea up here. We’re tucked away, so not many people have properly explored the area. It’s all rather treacherous unless you know what you’re doing, so don’t go wandering off on your own. You can stress that to guests if they ask you, as well.”

The crimson mystery-person is on the tip of Dan’s tongue, but it occurs to him that it may well have been a sleepy mirage, brought on by the shock of the sudden change of lifestyle Dan has hurled himself into without warning. He’ll wait for a follow-up sighting before giving any cause for Mona to call up mountain rescue for an imaginary extreme-sports-junkie.

“So, what time do we serve breakfast?” Dan asks instead.

(Chapter Two!)

[blackswaneuroparedux]

“The Bravest of the Brave”: Marshal Ney, the soldier’s soldier.

Michel Ney, duke d’Elchingen, (10 Jan 1769 - 7 Dec 1815), one of the best known of Napoleon’s marshals (from 1804), who pledged his allegiance to the restored Bourbon monarchy when Napoleon abdicated in 1814. Upon Napoleon’s return in 1815, Ney rejoined him and commanded the Old Guard at the Battle of Waterloo. Under the monarchy, again restored, he was charged with treason, for which he was condemned and shot by a firing squad.

His execution like his soldiering life was the stuff of legends. 

Beginnings

Ney was the son of a barrel cooper and blacksmith. Apprenticed to a local lawyer, he ran away in 1788 to join a hussar regiment. His opportunity came with the revolutionary wars, in which he fought from the early engagements at Valmy and Jemappes in 1792 to the final battle of the First Republic at Hohenlinden in 1800.

Ney’s legendary bravery was especially seen at Mannheim when a cannonball killed his horse and wounded his leg, and then when Ney stood up he was hit by a bullet to the chest which threw him to the ground. Luckily for him, the bullet was spent and did not pierce him, instead only giving him a bad bruise.

The early campaigns revealed two contrasting features of Ney’s character: his great courage under fire and his strong aversion to promotion. Willing to hurl himself into battle at critical moments to inspire his troops by his personal example, he was unwilling to accept higher rank, and when his name was put forward he protested to his military and political superiors. In every instance he was overruled: it was as general of a division that he fought in Victor Moreau’s Army of the Rhine at Hohenlinden.

He soon caught Napoleon’s eye and made rapid progress up the ranks. He didn’t disappoint. The further up the ranks he went the further into danger threw himself into. The men loved him and followed him anywhere.

On May 19, 1804, the day after Napoleon had had himself proclaimed hereditary emperor of the French, he revived the ancient military rank of marshal, and 14 generals, including Ney, were gazetted marshals of the empire.

The Russian campaign of 1812 cemented his legend. On the morning after the somewhat inconclusive battle at Borodino, Napoleon made him prince de la Moskowa. On the retreat from Moscow, Ney was in command of the rear guard, a position in which he was exposed to Russian artillery fire and to numerous Cossack attacks. He rose to heights of courage, resourcefulness, and inspired improvisation that seemed miraculous to the men he led. “He is the bravest of the brave,” said Napoleon when Ney, for weeks given up as lost, joined the main body of the frozen and shrunken Grand Army.

The fall of Napoleon and the rise of the Bourbons

But after 1813 and the with the Winter disaster in Russia, Napoleon suffered a series of setbacks that eventually pushed him back to France and to the brink of defeat.

Napoleon concentrated his remaining forces at Fontainebleau to fight the allies in Paris, but Ney, speaking for himself and other marshals, told him that the army would not march. “The army will obey me,” said Napoleon. “Sire,” replied the Bravest of the Brave, “the army will obey its generals.” Napoleon was forced to abdicate. Ney retained his rank and titles and took an oath of fidelity to the Bourbon dynasty.

With the Bourbons returned to power in France in 1814, Marshal Ney rallied to them in the hopes of a peaceful and stable France. In response, he was made a Knight of Saint-Louis and Peer of France and he was placed in charge of the cavalry. However, despite these rewards he could only watch as the government grew inefficient and old privileges granted to the nobility were restored, going against the very changes that had allowed him to rise so high.

Furthermore, since he was the first Duke of Elchingen and first Prince of the Moskowa, he and his wife were frequently snubbed by the returned nobility with famous ancestors.

One day he returned home to find his wife in tears over more ill treatment received from the Duchess of Angoulême. Enraged, Ney charged to the Tuileries where he burst in, politely and quickly paid his respects to the king, and then verbally berated the Duchess, beginning with, "I and others were fighting for France while you sat sipping tea in English gardens," and ending with, "You don't seem to know what the name Ney means, but one of these days I'll show you!"

The 100 Days and the Battle of Waterloo

When in 1815 Napoleon escaped from Elba and began his triumphant march back to Paris, Ney was horrified by the prospect of civil war. Despite his dislike of the Bourbons, he told the king he would bring Napoleon back to Paris in an iron cage. As Ney led his troops in a march to intercept Napoleon, his doubts began to grow. The people of France and the army all seemed to be cheering for Napoleon, and no one had fired a shot to stop Napoleon. During every step of Napoleon's progress, more and more had joined his side.

If Ney ordered his men to fight Napoleon and his men, Ney might be the cause of civil war, presuming that his men would even follow his orders and shoot at their former emperor. After receiving a message from Napoleon, Ney decided that he could not fight the tide and told his men that the legitimate dynasty of France as chosen by the people was Napoleon. His men began cheering, and he sent off messages stating his intent to rejoin Napoleon.

Despite Ney’s conduct, Napoleon wanted his ‘bravest of the brave’ by his side once again. Ney decided to take up the offer and assumed command of the left wing of the Army of the North. Almost immediately he was thrust into action, fighting the British at Quatre-Bras on June 16th. Two days later he fought at the Battle of Waterloo, leading from the front and having four horses killed underneath him over the course of the battle. When the French began to break and be overrun by the combined Prussian and British forces, Ney said, "Come and see how a Marshal of France dies!"4

Ney escaped from Waterloo and returned to Paris where the Minister of Police Fouché gave him passports which he did not use. After Napoleon's second abdication, Marshal Davout took command of the army and refused to surrender until a treaty was signed that granted amnesty to those who had rejoined Napoleon. Ney went into hiding at a friend's chateau, but he was soon spotted and arrested. Even the king was upset that he had not fled the country, hoping to avoid a trial that could expose the internal divisions of the people. After giving his promise to not flee, Ney was escorted back to Paris without being bound. On the way General Exelmans came to his rescue, but Ney refused to go against his word to his captors, and he continued back to Paris.

Trial and execution

Initially Ney was to be tried by a military court run by Marshal Jourdan, however his defense team argued that this court could not try him, and instead his case should be tried in the Chamber of Peers. His defense team won in this regard when the court declared itself incompetent, though that may have been due to the military court not wanting to convict him but also not wanting to defy the Bourbons by acquitting him. Next Ney would be tried by a group populated by Royalists and without the same sense of honor as his military colleagues.

During the trial in the Chamber of Peers, Ney's lawyers brought up how the trial was in direct violation of the treaty Davout had negotiated, and secretly in response a new law was then passed forbidding mentioning that treaty in court. With such an act, it became clear to everyone that the trial was a witch hunt. As a last attempt, his lawyers argued that since Ney's hometown of Saarelouis was ceded to Prussia, he could not be tried as a Frenchman, but Ney vehemently denounced this tactic and demanded to be tried as a Frenchman. Some of Ney's supporters appealed to the British for assistance, but they refused, claiming that they could not meddle in France's internal affairs despite spending the past twenty five years trying to change France's government.

On December 6th, Ney was convicted by the Chamber of Peers and the Peers also voted on his sentence, with the majority voting for death by firing squad. The execution was to be carried out the next day. When news of Ney's sentence reached the public, a mob began to form where the execution was to take place, and a new place of execution was quickly arranged at a different location.

Ney faced his execution by firing squad in Paris near the Luxembourg Garden. He refused to wear a blindfold and was allowed the right to give the order to fire, reportedly saying:

“Soldiers, when I give the command to fire, fire straight at my heart. Wait for the order. It will be my last to you. I protest against my condemnation. I have fought a hundred battles for France, and not one against her ... Soldiers, fire!”

Marshal Michel Ney was a soldier’s soldier.

Ney was wholly without political ambition or judgment. He was at his greatest in the campaigns for France’s natural frontiers at the beginning and end of his career, but out of his depth in Napoleon’s intricate strategy for the domination of Europe. He showed little interest in external distinctions or social success. The dignity with which he met his death effaced the memory of his political vagaries and made him, in an epic age, the most heroic figure of his time.

[hollowgroverp]

     NICHOLAS  ADLER

(age.) one hundred twenty four (species.) vampire (occupation.) owner of nina’s (residency.) arrived may 2017 (mirror.) theo james

❝  a pavement of the past

Born in the dying moments of 1894, Nicholas Adler was one of the last babies born in the year, the oldest child of an upper-class British family with a silver spoon firmly in mouth and his parents nowhere in sight. Mr. and Mrs. Adler had little interest in raising his son, and he spent his childhood in the company of a constant stream of nannies and servants who were given one instruction: whatever he wants, he gets, as long as he remained out of his parent’s way. As such, Nicholas was raised with a sense of entitlement, something that earned him equal amounts of fans and enemies over the years. The arrival of his sister when he was ten added to that, whilst Nina was a welcome addition to the family, or to Nicholas’ at least, she was given the same treatment.

From the moment he held Nina though, Nicholas knew there and then that no matter what happened, there would be no doubt he would at least protect her. For the first time in his life, a family member wanted to be around him and wanted to know him. He got the love that he didn’t get from his parents from her, wherever he went she was soon followed and this tone set their entire childhood with Nina following in her big brother’s shadow. They were best friends, and the moment that Nicholas turned eighteen he left the home of his parents with Nina in tow. Nina balanced Nicholas out, she was everything he wasn’t: she was kind, she had morals that were beyond her years, they were chalk and cheese. He needed her, and she needed him.

Moving to America, the siblings found themselves in 1920′s Chicago, taking full advantage of the roaring twenties and everything they had to offer. He enjoyed a fully hedonistic lifestyle, a stream of women and parties, and much like his childhood, whatever Nick wanted he was given. He became a selfish man, flirtatious, charming, popular but ultimately cruel in the way he would toy with hearts than break them. To him women were very much like his childhood toys, his to play with and then to discard when he was bored with them, and Nicholas got bored very easily. Nina was the only exception to that rule, she was the only one allowed to stand up to him, and the only one that told him when she thought he was being an ass, which was often.

However, their journey would take a different turn when Nicholas met someone different from the other women that he had tried to discard. She was enigmatic, beautiful, and equal to him in charm, if not more charming. She had a way of wrapping you around her finger without really realizing it, and before he could realize she was offering him a different life to the one he had, even if by accident. An offer of immortality was a dream to a man like Nicholas, he didn’t even really need to think it through as he completed the transition moments after learning what he had become. He wasn’t expecting to crave so much or for everything to be so heightened. In his excitement, exacerbated by his makers’ carefully crafted stories, he sought out his sister and tried to convince her to take the same choice.

Nina took some convincing, but she finally agreed, and within a few days of his transformation he turned his sister as well. The two set off together to continuing traveling, realizing that in their new state they couldn’t stay in one place for long, and together they traveled over the world experiencing everything they could. Nicholas turned people indiscriminately, taking to the immortal lifestyle all too well as he used his powers mostly to enjoy the lifestyle he had back in New York. As the years played on, Nina’s ability to tone her brother down became weaker and weaker, and yet she still tried to remain by his side.

He never thought they would be parted, his sister was the one constant in their lives even over a century, yet it didn’t last long. In the winter of 1997, they had returned to Chicago and found themselves on the wrong side of a pack of werewolves. They’d fought as hard as they could, but soon enough Nina fell, piercing scream bringing him to his knees beside her as the pack scattered. She’d been bitten, and despite his best efforts to get help for her, she succumbed to the bite soon after. Without his sister, his anchor, Nick spiraled and without hesitation hunted down the pack that killed her. He killed indiscriminately, wiping out the pack without hesitation and from then on he traveled still, trying to escape the memories of his little sister and how he’d failed in his one job: to protect her.

He had originally heard of Hollow Grove’s establishment when the safe haven first opened after the supernatural war, and Nina had wanted to move there for a break, but he had no interest in settling down in a small town and Nina didn’t want to settle without him. However, almost twenty years after her death he was wandering to another place when Hollow Grove came to mind, and he found himself crossing into the town borders. The town has changed him, from run-ins with Jett, a lover of one of the wolves he killed, to meeting people that he didn’t think he’d be able to care about and opening his own jazz club reminiscent of the Chicago and life he’d loved , the vampire slowly began to realize that his humanity was switching back on, and his humanity became apparent during the New Year of 2018. Nick’s a different man to the one he was nine months ago, he’s changed for the better and isn’t sure how to handle that, still reluctant to let people see that side of him as he tries to navigate a new side to him that he hasn’t seen for over twenty years.

Yet, the man Nicholas was trying to become was threatened once more with the revelation that Nina had been resurrected shortly after her death, and had been searching for him for two decades. It was one thing to justify his mass killings when it had been avenging her death, but now she was alive he doesn’t know if he can live with all that blood on his hand, and the knowledge that there are people out there with their own revenge on the mind. Her safety is paramount, and it seems the safest thing for her to do is to be far away from him. With many bad decisions under his belt, after the Blood Moon in which his friend’s sister was killed, the town in chaos, it felt as though all he could do was walk away.

So he did.

Finding himself in Europe, he’s spent the past few months drinking away his emotions. His emotions switched off, he’s reverted to the soulless monster that came to town just over two years ago. Yet, there are people in the town that refuse to let him just hideaway, and he’s found himself dragged back to Hollow Grove unable to ignore the fact that the town is and always will be, home.

❝  the nature of the beast

With his emotions on, he’s best described as a charming playboy with a good heart deep down. He doesn’t mean to treat people the way he does, to discard them so easily but with no other examples of how to behave growing up, it’s the only life he knows how. But without his emotions, he forgets about the things that matter, and the messages that Nina tried to remind him off, he forgets how to be good, and how to be the big brother that she thought he was. With humanity, he is a man of great strength and nobility, he just hasn’t found a reason to show that side of himself yet. Instead, he’s just enjoying everything that there is to enjoy about being a vampire, either way, he takes pleasures in a more adrenaline-filled lifestyle, parties, drugs, alcohol, and sex.