#he was very much a wealthy aristocrat

[blossoms-and-petrichor]

all im saying is if crowley had been friends with freddie mercury, it only follows that aziraphale was friends with Tchaikovsky.

I'm talking them sipping tea in russia. Indulging in pastries in comfortable silence, writing in their respective diaries. One day Tchaikovsky sticks his head out of his sheet music and gasps "what if we put CANNONS in the OVERTURE" smiling ear to ear and Aziraphale gives this wicked, enabling grin. Aziraphale's favorite piece would be Dumka because it has so much beautiful imagery and because it is really Tchaikovsky trying to put his home to music. Imagine Aziraphale meeting Tchaikovsky's lovers and warning them not to hurt him with a very angelic grin. Imagine Aziraphale sending Tchaikovsky his favorite foods during the latter's depressive episodes. Imagine Aziraphale's fury when after Tchaikovsky's death, his diaries are censored by the soviet union and the later russian government, entire passages blocked out because they discussed his lovers and sexuality. Imagine him trying to preserve the books his friend once loved because if he doesn't, even more of his memory would be erased.

[gojorgeous]

"creature of myth."

pairing: vampire!gojo x fem!human!reader summary: when you receive an offer of marriage from a mysterious wealthy lord, it’s too good a deal for your family to turn down. but nothing could be so perfect... right? content: MDNI (18+  ONLY), dark content, nsfw, gets dubcon/noncon in some spots, yandere behavior from gojo, implied death/k*lling of a character (not reader or gojo), arranged marriage, victorian au, plot that ends with porn lmao, spooky dooky vibes, blood, blood sucking/eating, praise, biting, unprotected sex, creampie, virgin!reader, discussion of virginity, cherry popping, pain, pet names (princess/love), reader is highkey clueless about sex, discussion of masturbation, ideas of masturbation as “sinful”, very minor religious themes, fated “mates”, gojo is highkey insane, coercion and manipulation, like SO much neck kissing, ooc gojo??? (had to alter his character to match a victorian vampire lord LMAO). a/n: PLEASE READ THE CONTENT WARNINGS. THERE IS DARK CONTENT AHEAD. is this a gojo fic or a twilight fic?? Going back to my roots fr fr. straight down to the “SAY IT, SAY IT”. this fic is also way too long my apologies bbs. i hope you like a hefty side of plot with your porn. parts of this fic feel way too cheesy to me but sometimes i eat that up, yk?? this fic was inspired by this amazing work by @rice5x ! and, finally, thank you all for the support on my most recent fics. i'm just getting back into being active on this blog and it's been amazing reading each and every comment/reblog/ask. they genuinely fill me with so much joy. keep them coming hehe. anyway, i hope you enjoy and remember, ALL AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED. credits: dividers by @cafekitsune. banner art by @ndsoda on twitter. wc: 11.6k (sowwy)

You remember perfectly the way your mother’s jaw dropped when Satoru Gojo proposed to you. You’d never seen the man, and you still hadn’t. He’d asked to marry you via messenger, a simple letter delivered by hand with a list of all the things he’d be willing to pay for your hand. Offers of money, land, protection, connection- anything so long as he got you. You’d thought it was a joke. Your father nearly took a shovel to the head of the poor messenger, thinking the letter was some kind of cruel prank, some sort of targeted disrespect. You’d only started to believe when you really looked- saw the Gojo crest embroidered on the man’s suit, the fine leather of his boots. If it was a prank, somebody had spent a great deal of money and effort to pull it off. 

You’d asked for proof nonetheless, and you’d gotten it. Documents signed and sealed with a well-known waxen crest, gifts that could only have been purchased by a wealthy lord. The one thing you never got was the lord himself. He refused to see you, to come down from his mysterious castle on the hill. It didn’t surprise you. He rarely deemed town worthy of his presence. He had a reputation as a recluse, as a man who only ever liked to see and never be seen. What little glimpses people got of him were usually through the dark window of his carriage. Still, his appearance preceded him. White hair, light eyes… “haunting” said those who had the luck to see him. Those who went to work for the lord tended to return… changed— if they returned at all. 

You accepted, of course. How could you not? You were a peasant family with no status or wealth to your name. The promises Lord Gojo had made would make your parents into aristocrats all on their own. But that left you wondering… why did he want you? You offered him no benefit. If anything, you sullied his bloodline. The question scratched at the back of your mind. It came to you while you ate breakfast, while you washed your clothes, while you weeded in the garden. Some part of you told you that you needed the answer before you ever stepped foot in that castle. You needed that answer, but you’d never get it. 

Your wedding wasn’t even a wedding- just a piece of paper that had already been signed and witnessed, once again delivered by a familiar messenger. You signed at your dining room table and… that was that. You were married. 

Later that night the carriages arrive. Men flood your home, all dressed in blue velvet, the Gojo crest embroidered on their chests. They seem puzzled when you tell them you’ve packed all your belongings into a measly three bags. 

You say a quick goodbye to your parents, drawing them into stiff embraces. You love them, and they love you, but you can’t bear to see their faces as they send you away to a man who couldn’t even show his face for your wedding. 

The carriage ride is somehow longer than you’d thought it would be- apparently, the castle’s size makes it seem deceptively close. The trip is rocky and twisty and altogether unpleasant as you steadily make your way toward the castle gates. By the time you reach them you think you’ve probably dozed in and out of consciousness at least half a dozen times. 

The castle is even more intimidating up close. Spires that swirl into the clouds, sculptures that stare, doors that look more suited to being locked than opened. It’s… terrifying. 

When you finally roll to a stop, you move for the door. When you swing it open you get your fair share of strange looks from your attendants and remember that you should have waited for the footman. Your face heats as you climb out anyway, unwilling to subject yourself to the further humiliation of waiting for assistance. 

Your feet hit gravel and all you can do is stare- up, up, up, to where the castle’s peaks disappear into the fog. When your eye flashes to a window on the east side of the manor you think you see a swaying curtain. You tuck your arms around yourself and shiver, but it’s not from the cold. 

You nearly stumble over your feet on your first step inside. The entrance hall is larger than your former house, with ceilings that stretch so high you can hardly make out the figures on the frescoes that adorn it. Silver and blue drape everywhere, the Gojo family colors. You swallow when you see a chair that is most definitely worth more than your family’s annual income. 

The floors are marble and when your worn heels clack against it, you only feel reminded that you don’t belong here. That question pricks in your mind again as you pass portraits of every Gojo heir to have lived in the last three hundred years. Why me? Why me? Why me? 

Your footman deposits you in your room, a place more lavish than you’ve ever seen. You have a four poster bed with a canopy of blue velvet, a window that overlooks a sprawling estate, and more square footage than you’ve ever dreamed of. 

“Pull this if you need any sort of assistance, ma’am.” 

You turn to see your footman referencing a silver cord at your bedside. You assume it’s one of those contraptions that rings a bell in the servants’ quarters. You try to hide your amazement- you’ve never seen one in real life before. 

You clear your throat and give your most ladylike nod. “Thank you, um-” you pause, your brow furrowing. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I asked your name.” 

Your footman appears stunned to silence, like he’d never expected you to care about his existence, much less his name. He recovers quickly, though, and forces a small smile. “Thomas, ma’am.”

You smile and it’s genuine. “Thank you, Thomas.”He bows and makes a beeline for the door, but you have one more question. “Oh, um, Thomas-” He freezes, turning slowly on his heel to face you. 

“Yes, my lady?” 

You cringe at the title. The sound of it creeps across your skin, foreign and… wrong. Why me? Why me? Why me?

You clear your throat again. “Do you know, um, well-” You shift, trying to word your question properly. “Do you know when I might see the Lord?” 

There is a pause, a moment of tension and silence, and then an answer. “No, my lady.”

Thomas does not stick around for more questioning. The door clicks shut behind him and then you're left with only the sound of retreating footsteps. 

You’re stunned to say the least, mouth still halfway open, more questions on the tip of your tongue. Should you seek him out? Was that proper? Would he come to you? Would he meet you for dinner, perhaps? Surely he would come to your room tonight to… consummate. Would that be the first time you lay eyes on him? When he’s over you? 

You sigh. There’s nothing much to be done about it now. You find your way to the bed and sit down hesitantly. It feels like a crime to rumple such primped and polished cotton. You do it anyway- it’s going to happen sometime, right? You fall back against the mattress and don’t fail to notice how utterly comfortable it is. The silvery patterns on your canopy swirl and bend together. You’re tired. You didn’t sleep much last night, anxious for the morning… and it’s only mid-afternoon now. You had time for a nap, right? Your eyes are closing before you can convince yourself it’s a bad idea and then you’re swept away into a world of warm darkness. 

You wake with a start. Your first thought is that it’s dark now. Your room is pitch black except for the stream of moonlight passing through your stupidly large window. Your mouth feels dry and your skin is cold, like you’ve just woken from a nightmare. If you have, you don’t remember it. Perhaps that’s a blessing. 

You sit up, combing a finger through your hair and laughing pitifully when you realize that you left your shoes on as you slept. You hope Thomas didn’t walk in to find you in yet another unladylike position. A glance at the foot of the bed reveals he might have. Your bags have arrived- all three of them. You eye them with a combination of longing and contempt. They don't match this place. They’re worn and used- everything here is shiny and new. Still, they’re all you have, and all you have left of your life before. All you have left of home. 

You stretch your arms above your head, nearly groaning at the burn in your muscles. The carriage ride did your body no favors and you suspect you’ll be sore for many days to come. 

You rise, no longer content to lie in bed. You’ve had your rest and, from the state of darkness outside, you suspect your new husband might be joining you soon. The thought twists a certain tightness into your gut, but you push it aside. If that was the price you paid for all he gave your family… then you’d pay it gladly. 

You start with candles, finding a box of matches at your bedside. You light every candelabra you can find. The room, the castle, seems so perpetually… black- like it soaks up every ray of light it touches. Even when you’ve finished it doesn’t feel like enough. You make a note to ask Thomas for more in the morning. 

You find a meal, carefully prepared and preserved, on a table near your dresser. Judging by the fact that it’s still warm, you conclude that it can’t be much past mid-evening. You originally intend to pick at the food as you unpack, but one bite has your mouth watering. It is the most delicious thing to ever touch your lips, complete with dessert waiting on the side. You clean your plate before moving onto your bags. 

You lay your clothes out on the bed. A few dresses, riding pants, undergarments, an assortment of ribbons and bows. At one time these items had been the finest things you owned- now you owned a castle. 

You find an armoire that looks like a master sculptor carved its edges and grab a dress, intending to hang it. Instead, your dress hits the floor when you part the doors to find the hangers already full. Your lips part. Luxury dresses of silk and satin line the rack, fading into some that appear more casual outfits of cotton and linen. You stretch a hand out, curious and utterly… amazed. To think your new husband had gone to all the effort… Your hand brushes purple silk and- 

“Do you like them?” 

You screech, jumping to face the voice at your back. It takes a moment for your eyes to find him, leaning casually against one post of your bed. Your breath is stolen for a second time. Snow white hair, piercingly blue eyes, pale soft skin… you know who he is even without looking at his dress, at the air of authority he claims. He’s your husband… and he is the most devastatingly beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. 

He laughs, then, and it’s a warmer sound than you’d thought it would be- rich and full. A sound that seeps into your bones and settles in your soul. 

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, but the twinkle in his eyes makes you think that perhaps that’s a lie. 

Your heart pounds and your eyes flash to the door. It’s shut. You didn’t hear it open, nor did you hear it close behind him. You also didn’t hear footsteps, didn’t hear breaths, didn’t hear him. 

He follows your gaze and laughs again, though it sounds a bit… strained? 

“I have a habit of being unintentionally lightfooted. I apologize.” 

Your heart is still pounding but you find it in yourself to have some decorum. You snap your jaw shut and bow your head slightly in respect. “You must be Lord Gojo. Forgive me for my insolence.” 

There’s a beat, and then footsteps– ones you actually hear this time. You clench your jaw when he stops before you and then nearly gasp when he takes your hand and brings it to his lips. 

“Satoru, please,” he winks and you think you might stop breathing. “I am your husband after all.” 

You force yourself to nod, to swallow, to act normal. But how can you in the presence of a man that looks like… that? There’s something too unreal about him, too perfect. It’s almost… unsettling. 

“Of course… Satoru.” 

He straightens and shows you a close-lipped smile that digs a dimple into his left cheek. You have to look away to avoid stumbling over your own feet. 

“So, do you like them?” Your brows furrow- “The dresses,” he clarifies. 

“O-oh.” Your features relax into an easy smile. You turn back to your armoire, running a hand along another gown. You don’t think you’ve ever touched something so… finely made. “I like them very much. I don’t know how to thank you.” 

There’s a little chuckle as you turn to face him again and you have to steel yourself before you meet his eyes. He’s mesmerizing, too mesmerizing. You think you could probably lose yourself in those eyes forever… 

“No need to thank me. If they don’t fit, we’ll call for the seamstress in the morning.” 

You nod softly, still lost to the situation. There’s a beat of silence in which your husband does nothing but… look at you. His eyes roam freely and the hair on your arms stands under his gaze. He traces the lines of your nose and jaw and lingers on your pulse. Can he see just how fast your heart is pounding?

“Did you… get dinner?” It’s a stupid question, you know, but you don’t think you can bear another second of that look he’s giving you. “I fell asleep and found a plate. I hope I didn’t prevent a proper meal…” You trail off. Perhaps you shouldn’t have pointed out your own shortcoming? 

He gives you another smile and you swear he inches just a little closer. “You did no such thing. I’m… perfectly satisfied.” 

You nod, glad that he doesn’t seem upset at the very least. Your lips press together, unsure of what to do or say. You’ve never had a husband before. Wasn’t he supposed to just sort of… put you on the bed and… do it?

Your eyes flit to said bed and your husband must see because he hurries to continue. 

“Well, I’ll see you in the morning then, hm?” His eyes flit to your armoire and back again. “Wear the blue dress with the lace to breakfast, yeah? Been dying to see it on you.” He chuckles like he’s just told some sort of amusing joke.

Your brows furrow. That was… not the topic you’d been expecting. “You’re not…” You feel your cheeks heat and tighten your jaw. “Not staying the night?” 

His lashes lower a fraction and those eyes pierce you again. You don’t think you could move even if you wanted to, even with him prowling closer, each step eating up the space between you. He doesn’t stop until you’re nose to nose and you can feel his breath fanning over your cheeks. It’s cold somehow, chilling, and you shiver. He smirks. 

“Not tonight.” 

His head dips and for a moment you think he’s going to kiss you, but then he’s bypassing your mouth altogether and- his lips connect to your pulse. His mouth is cool, just like his breath, and you shiver uncontrollably under his touch. 

His touch is just a fleeting moment, just a wrinkle in time, and then he’s gone. His footsteps are quiet brushes on the hardwood and the creak of the door even seems tamed in his presence. 

“Goodnight,” is all he says, and then he’s gone. 

You climb into your bed an hour later wondering what in the world just happened. 

~  

You do wear the blue dress to breakfast and you can only gape in the mirror when you realize that it fits perfectly. It has you second-guessing yourself. Had you sent your measurements in advance and forgotten about it? No, you’d only sent a handful of pieces of information to the Lord prior to your marriage and you remembered all of them very clearly. Everything had gone through a messenger, everything had been clear and direct– you would have remembered sending your measurements– you didn’t. So had he just… guessed? 

That seemed impossible with how everything fit you like a glove, but it was the only explanation you had. The only one that made sense. 

When you join Satoru for breakfast it’s in a sitting room as lavishly decorated as the rest of the castle, but perhaps organized to be a bit more… liveable. He has no plate in front of him, only a tin cup that hides the contents of whatever he’s drinking. You assume coffee or juice. Perhaps he’s just not a breakfast person. 

“It fits!” he says. His hands clasp together in front of him and he smiles again, dimples and all. 

You nod and fight the heat that bubbles beneath your cheeks as you take your seat. “Yes, perfectly.”

A plate is set before you and a glance up reveals it’s Thomas serving your breakfast. You smile, hoping for some acknowledgement from him, for a small piece of comfort. Instead, you get his averted gaze and quick retreat. Your brows furrow, but before you can say anything, Satoru is back to speaking. 

“I hope Thomas treated you well yesterday?” 

You glance up, but Satoru’s eyes aren’t on you, they’re on your footman. His smile is bright, but it’s anything but friendly. You fight a shiver. 

You glance at Thomas. He’s perfectly still, perfectly straight, but you think you see a muscle clench in his jaw. You clear your throat. “Y-Yes. Thomas was very helpful.” When Satoru keeps staring the boy down you add, “-and very respectful.” 

That seems to satisfy. Satoru breaks his stare and some of the tension in the air instantly eases. He shoots you another dimpled smile, this one with a little more warmth. “Perfect.” 

There’s a beat and then he’s standing, draining whatever he has in his cup and then straightening his jacket. “Well, I have some work to do. I’ll see you for dinner?” He’s grinning again, like it’s so normal for a man to abandon his bride on their wedding night and then again the morning after. All you can do is nod. He chuckles. “See you then, princess.” And then he’s gone.

~

If this is to be your life you don't know how you will survive it. You spend the day milling about. Through the gardens, through the castle, through the stables. Thomas is never far behind, but any attempt at conversation is nipped in the bud by hit shortness. It’s like he fears coming too close. He’s never closer than a couple paces except when he has to bring you something, only to retreat again as soon as possible. The other servants barely pay you any mind apart from giving you a respectful greeting and then immediately averting their eyes. There is no work to be done, no guests to be had, no parties to plan… and no Satoru. You don’t see your husband once on tour around the grounds. You ask Thomas where his office is only for him to vaguely point out a window in the east tower. You don’t see so much as a ripple in the curtains. 

Dinner comes around at the pace of a snail. When it’s finally time to get dressed a lady’s maid whose name you don’t even catch arrives to help you lace your dress. As soon as your corset is deemed tight enough she’s back out the door with a curtsy. Thomas leads you to the dining room and your eyes roam the whole way. Even after having spent the whole day exploring, there are halls and corridors that you’ve yet to step foot in. 

The dining room is just as gorgeous as the rest of the place– filled with singular items that could feed entire families for years. Somehow, you think you’ve already grown accustomed to such things, since the only thing you truly care to look at is your husband. Satoru’s already seated, but he stands when you enter, looping around the table to pull a chair out for you. 

You give him your most genuine smile, accepting a kiss to your knuckles in greeting before you settle. “How was your day?” you ask as he takes his seat again. 

He chuckles. “Perfectly fine. And how was yours, princess?” Your nose crinkles. That’s the second time he’s called you that. Something about it feels wrong. You’re still getting used to being a lady. Princess feels even worse. 

“It was… good.”

You watch a perfect white brow arch in the candlelight. “Oh? Just good?” You don’t miss the way his eyes flicker to the corner– to Thomas. 

You hurry to elaborate. “Well, I just– I can’t help but feel as if there’s not much… use for me.” Servants flood in, some carrying wine, others carrying trays that hold more food than the both of you could ever possibly consume. 

That brow arches impossibly higher. “Use?” His lips crack into that smile again, but it’s tight this time. Too tight. “You have no use. You only enjoy yourself. Surely Thomas has told you that.” 

A plate of steaming food plops in front of you. Even its heavenly smell can’t quell the sudden dread in your gut. “Of course! Of course he did.” Your stomach twists and you decide that perhaps now is not the time to press the subject. “I’ll just… I’ll try riding tomorrow.” You hate riding, but it’s the first thing that comes to mind. 

Satoru’s smile thaws into something less menacing. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy that.” 

You nod eagerly. “I’m sure I will.” 

You grab your fork, eager for a new subject. From what you can tell, dinner is roast chicken and vegetables, though it’s the luxury version as everything seems to be. The spices are intoxicating and the green beans are even arranged in a pretty little pattern that makes them look too good to eat. You do anyway. The first bite nearly makes you moan, but you chew slowly, delicately, trying not to let your upbringing show.

It’s not until several bites later that you realize you’re the only one eating. A quick glance reveals your husband has no platter, no chicken or green beans. He’s only… watching you. You clear your throat, dabbing at your lips with a napkin. 

“You’re not… eating?”

That permanent smile grows a little wider and you can’t help but feel as if there’s something… menacing about it. “Ate before I came.” 

Your brows furrow. “Oh. Were you on the road?” 

You think you see something wild flash in his eyes. “No.” 

The rest of dinner passes slowly, almost painfully. Satoru doesn’t eat a bite, doesn’t even look enticed. You wonder how that’s possible when it smells like a spice bomb went off in the dining room. 

By the time you’ve cleared your plate you’ve discussed everything from the number of horses in the stables to kinds of crops grown on the estate. It’s comforting to know a little more about your new home, but it’s not enough. 

“Is there a library?” you ask. You’re on dessert now. It’s the best chocolate cake you’ve ever had and it takes everything in you to hold back a moan each time it touches your tongue. 

“Of course.” Your husband’s eyes flicker to Thomas again and you’re honestly starting to fear for the poor footman’s life. Everytime you ask a question it’s like Satoru is angry it hasn’t already been answered. “It’s yours to use as you please.” 

You smile lightly. “Perfect. Thank you.” 

He softens a bit at that. “Is there anything specific you wanted to read about?” 

You shrug. “The estate, I suppose. I should know my home’s history, no?”

His eyes get that wild look again, that sparkle that you know speaks to nothing good. “Oh, absolutely. I have some personal favorites to recommend. I’ll leave them aside for you?” 

You swallow and give him a shallow nod. “That would be perfect. Thank you.” 

He chuckles. “My pleasure.” 

When dessert is finally over, you stand slowly. Satoru’s not far behind you, saying he’ll walk you to your room. Your heart leaps at his words. Will he stay with you tonight? 

He offers you his arm in the hall and your mouth runs dry when you feel the corded muscle beneath his jacket. By the time you reach your room, you’re thinking of tugging him in behind you. His denial to stay with you last night was not only confusing, but… off putting. Nearly offensive. Did he not like how you looked? Did he think something was wrong with you? 

You muster all the courage you possess and force your lips apart. ���Will you stay with me tonight?” 

His eyes spark again and you hold your breath. He presses closer. This is it, you think. His lips hover over yours, eyes glimmering in the candlelight. And then he dips his head, his mouth pressing to your pulse. 

“Not tonight,” he whispers– and then he’s gone. 

~

You wake suddenly. It’s the middle of the night, you gather. The light streaming through the window is weak enough to only be that of the moon. 

Your heart is pounding and your skin is slick with sweat despite the chill in your bones. A nightmare, you think. It must have been a nightmare. 

As you settle back into your sheets you swear you see a ripple in the darkness. You close your eyes. If your nightmare is real, you’d rather not see it coming.

~

The library is huge. It’s sprawling and smells of paper and leather and everytime Thomas lights a candle you flinch at the idea that one misplaced spark could end thousands of years of knowledge. 

The books Satoru left you are… perfect. Just what you were looking for. They’re all comprehensive volumes of the history of the estate, many of which reference each other. You’re stunned to see that several are written by very well-known authors of both the past and the present. You knew the Gojo family’s influence reached far, but not that far. You peruse the titles. The Gojos: A History, A History of the Gojo Crest, History of the Gojo Castle, Revisiting the Gojo Family: A Comprehensive History. Altogether you have well over a few thousand pages of information– but there’s one book that doesn’t fit with the rest. It’s relatively unassuming. A black cover with some sort of gold rune etched onto its front. When you flip to the title page it reads “Creatures of Myth and Where To Find Them”. Your brows furrow. You slide it to the side– must have gotten mixed in with the others, you think.

~

You ask Thomas to bring the books to your room. He does. Very respectfully. He sets them on your bedside table and then retreats like a kicked puppy with only a polite goodbye. You sigh. His behavior has only gotten stranger in the past few days. You think the servants’ coldness must have something to do with Satoru, but you can’t figure out why. Had he ordered them to stay away? Why would he? 

You decide it’s a question for another day and dive into your books. You spend hours, days, reading every chapter, page, and word. The pure amount of information is dizzying. Apparently this specific estate had been in the hands of the Gojo family since the eighth century (with several razings and consequential rebuilds). You also learn that Satoru was not only the most wealthy lord on the continent, but the most wealthy man. Even wealthier than the king apparently, though that fact was kept fairly under wraps to protect the crown’s ego. The estimates of your husband’s net worth made your head spin.

Satoru joins you for breakfast and dinner every day. You never see him eat a morsel. It’s… unsettling to say the least. It’s always just that tin cup, filled with something you could never quite see. You develop a pattern of waking in the night, too, with the overwhelming sense that something is watching you. Sometimes you could swear you feel the bed shift as you jerk awake. Each time you simply close your eyes and try your best to slow your heart, convinced your mind is playing tricks on you. 

Your days feel a little more productive with a book in your hands, but you’ve read them all three times over by the time a fortnight has passed. You find yourself packing them up to return to Thomas when a certain black cover catches your attention. You grab it from the pile and settle back into your seat. You’ve nothing better to do, right? 

You flip back the cover, revealing a familiar title. “Creatures of Myth and Where to Find Them”. You don’t recognize the author’s name. A quick scroll through the table of contents reveals nothing particularly interesting, but you pick a random chapter on ghouls and decide to start there. 

It’s fascinating. Nothing about the style is boring and the words fly by. Your silly little myth book is a page turner. By the time you notice the light has started dying you’ve read about ghosts, fairies, werewolves, and goblins– all of which have been a delightful little read. A glance at the clock reveals you have a half hour before dinner. One more chapter, you think. Your eyes skim the title. “Vampires [Vampyr]”. 

You skim the first paragraphs until your eyes settle on a line that catches your eye. 

“Contrary to popular belief, vampires are not always crazed blood-hungry monsters. Many live among humans quite comfortably and are able to avoid detection with a little well-placed effort.” 

You purse your lips. What a… terrifying thought. You skim a little further. 

“A vampire’s key characteristic is, of course, their desire and need to drink human blood as sustenance. However, a vampire can be spotted sooner if one is able to recognize their subtler traits. Vampires often have skin lacking any sort of flush. The lack of blood in their veins results in a sickly pallor, even after the most rigorous exercise. Their skin is also noticeably cold to the touch. At best, a vampire’s body will reach room temperature. Vampires can also be noted for their preternatural beauty. They will stand out as the most attractive person in any crowd. Finally, a vampire will have fangs. If one wishes to identify a vampire, one only needs a good look at their teeth”.

A chill settles over your skin. You flip ahead a few pages. 

“Vampires are unable to consume typical human food. Should they attempt to, their bodies will immediately reject any and all foreign substances.” 

Your stomach drops. You don’t want to think about why. You skip the rest of the paragraph. 

“Vampires possess several supernatural abilities that set them apart as a human’s predator rather than their equal. Vampires are known to move unnaturally fast and are notably light footed. If a vampire does not wish to be heard, they will not be. A vampire’s strength is inhuman, well over ten times that of the average man. They also have a penchant for darkness, an ability to hide away in the shadows that cannot be explained. Oftentimes they will seem to appear from thin air.”

You skip ahead again.

“Vampires have been known to take mates. Mates usually come in the form of another vampire, but in some cases a human has been chosen. Vampires are fiercely protective of their mates, bordering on obsession. Any person deemed a threat to their bond or their mate’s safety is usually disposed of quickly. Oftentimes, vampires make these decisions with haste, with little regard for whether or not the threat was real. A vampire will do everything in their power to please their mate, but have been known to forcibly restrain their mates in situations of unrequited feelings. Above all else, vampires wish to possess their mates. Two bonded vampires will sometimes spiral into gloriously destructive fits in their endless desire to protect and possess one another. A vampire bonded to a human will show an increasingly protective nature, often isolating their mate from others.”

Your heart pounds. A bead of sweat rolls down your back. You flip the pages, desperate– desperate for a piece of information that will save you from the thoughts spilling in your mind, from the thoughts you will do anything not to believe. You reach the “Where to Find Them” subsection and nearly gasp with relief. Surely, vampires do not pose as wealthy lords of Europe? 

“Vampires can be found everywhere. They do not exist in only one country or continent, but all over the world. Odds are that you have faced at least one vampire in your life, unknowingly or not. Some vampires choose to live solitary lives, surviving in the wilderness where human society will not attempt to tame their wild nature. Others choose to live among humans, some even existing in positions of very high authority.” 

No, no, no. This can’t be happening to you. It can’t be real. You’re dreaming, you’re having one of those nightmares again. You’re going to wake up any second. 

“One tale recounts a razing of the Gojo estate in the 12th century.” 

You’re panting, hyperventilating. This isn’t happening. 

“Soldiers of the enemy force recounted a singular man, the son and heir of the then Lord Gojo, taking out a minimum of 800 men. He was described as having his family’s characteristic white hair as well as blue eyes. Eyewitness accounts depict the Gojo heir as covered in blood and killing savagely and with inhuman strength.” 

No, no, no. 

“(See next page for only existing portrait)”

Your fingers tremble but you can’t stop them. There’s no way. It’s not possible. 

You flip the page and Satoru stares back at you. 

Knock! Knock! Knock!

You nearly scream. Your door rattles angrily, but you’re not sure you can answer it, not with the knowledge flooding your mind. The knocking continues. You run your hand over your face and smooth down your hair. You feel frazzled, dirty, despite not having moved from your chair all day. Another knock prompts you to set your book aside and stand. You do your best to compose yourself, to put on a straight face. You fail instantly when you pull back the door not to reveal your faithful attendant, not Thomas, but Satoru. 

You bite back a shriek and instead force a smile. You’re suddenly very aware of the blood pounding in you veins and of the fact that he most likely knows. 

“Hello,” he says, but his voice is lower than usually, more intense. 

You force a breath into your lungs. “Hello,” you answer, but it sounds more like a squeak than a greeting. 

Something flashes in his eyes, something familiar, something that is no longer interesting but rather terrifying. “Are you alright? You seem a little… flushed.” The concern on his face feels anything but genuine. 

“I’m fine,” you answer, but even you can tell that reply too quickly, too eagerly. You rush to cover it up. “Is it time for dinner? Where’s Thomas?” 

His lip twitches and you see a muscle in his jaw flex. “Thomas has… left us.” 

No. This wasn’t happening to you. There was no way this was happening to you. 

“He… what?” There’s an unmistakable wobble in your voice that only causes Satoru’s face to fall further. 

“It’s no matter. He’s gone. Now it’s just you and me, hm?” He chuckles and the sound rattles your bones. “In fact, I was thinking I’d cut down on the number of servants we have entirely…” 

You mind races with the memory of knowledge you wish you didn’t have. “Vampires are fiercely protective of their mates, bordering on obsession. Any person deemed a threat to their bond or their mate’s safety is usually disposed of quickly.”

You nearly stumble, but lean against the doorframe just in time. Your husband had disposed of a man, all because he brought you meals and books?

“What have you been up to today, princess?” The question breaks your trance just in time for you to see your husband’s eyes flicker behind you. 

You wet your lips. “Just some reading.” You plead that he doesn’t ask anything further. He does. 

“About the estate?” he asks. 

You nod and try to swallow the lump in your throat. “Yes.”

His smile returns and this time it’s not forced. “You got my books, then?” 

You try smiling back, but you’re fairly sure it looks more like a grimace. “Yes.”

“Anything interesting?” he presses.

This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. Does he know? Does he know that you know? “Yes, of course. Lots.” 

He pauses and you see the debate and then the decision in his eyes. You think it’s the first time you’ve felt true terror when he meets your gaze again. “I think we should skip dinner tonight. It seems we have so much to discuss.”

You don’t even have the wherewithal to scream when he steps into you, forcing you back until he’s shutting your door behind him. He doesn’t stop there, though. He keeps pressing, keeps pushing until your knees hit the bed and you’re falling to the mattress. He crawls right after you.

“Who knew my little wife was such a reader? All those books in such a short time… You must be simply spilling with information.” 

You retreat across the mattress, squeaking when your back hits the headboard and his arms cage your waist. You’re trapped.

His hands find your hips and you’re all too aware of how cool his touch is. Even more so when he pulls you right into his lap.

“Satoru-” your voice is pitiful, breathless, and you’re ashamed to say it’s not just from the fear in your gut. He’s never been this close before, never touched you, held you like this. “Thomas-” 

“Don’t speak his name.” His face pulls into the first scowl you’ve ever seen and the sight is enough to root you to the spot. Never have you seen anything more frightening. A creature so beautiful, so perfectly angelic, filled with an insurmountable rage. It’s wrong. “He’s gone. He’ll never bother you again.” He’s closer now, his breath skating over your skin. It’s cool and now you know the reason why. 

You shake and tremble and you know– Thomas is dead. Your husband killed him– killed him for getting too close when all he did was stay at a distance. Satoru killed him. Killed him. 

He buries himself in your neck, his voice a near whine. “Thought I could put up with it, just so you’d have someone to take care of you…” He groans. “I was so wrong, princess. Couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand the way you smelled more like him than me…” 

You feel him melt against you then, relief washing over his body in a wave. “But he’s gone. And now it’s just you and me, hm? Just you and me…” He hums, like remembering that fact is all he’s ever needed.

He’s kissing your pulse again, now, and your heart is racing faster than ever. Your fingers curl into his shoulders. You should push him away, away, away. He’s a killer, of thousands no doubt. You’ve never felt at home here, never felt like you belonged. This is why. You’re not even the same species. He’s something else, something your hands were never meant to touch. 

Your mind screams at you to do go, to shove and kick at him and leave this place behind. Go, go, go your gut says… but you don’t. You can’t. It’s too… good. The feeling of his cool lips against your skin, of what you’re sure is his tongue prodding at your pulse… it’s intoxicating. He is intoxicating. How could anyone blame you for wanting more of someone, something, so divine? 

“Have you figured it out yet, love?” Your breath hitches and he chuckles, licking a long stripe up your neck, before he settles back at your pulse. Always your pulse. “I can feel those little gears turning. Tell me, what have they discovered?” 

He knows you know. But he’s going to make you say it. You swallow and feel his grip on you tighten. “You’re…” Your breaths come faster. You can’t. Not aloud. Aloud makes it too… real. 

“Yessss?” he prods. He’s licking at you again, all the way across your throat to find your other pulse-point. 

“You’re not…” Something sharps nicks at your skin and you bite your lip to hold back a whimper. 

“Go on, princess.” You think he’s just smelling you now, just burying his face as close to you as possible and taking you in. 

You close your eyes tightly, holding back tears. “Not human,” you breathe. A piece of you breaks with the admission.

He huffs a little laugh against your skin and pulls back to look you in the eye. “That’s good,” he purrs. “But I think you can be a little more specific, no?” His lips press to your chin, then the corner of your mouth, then down to your jaw… “Tell me.” 

Your lips wobble, muscles clenching tighter with each passing moment. You don’t want to say it, don’t want to speak it into existence, but you also don’t dare to disobey him. 

“You’re a…” You shake and tremble. He draws a line up your neck with the tip of his nose.

“Mhm?” 

You open your eyes, thinking this might be the last time you see. “Vampire.” 

He chuckles and you feel his teeth press to the skin of your neck. “That’s right, princess. So smart.” 

He smiles and you suddenly realize you’ve never seen his teeth before. Everytime he smiles at you it’s close-lipped and dimpled. But this… this is the smile of a predator– all white and pointy and fitted with a set of menacingly long fangs. You sob at the sight. 

“Shhhhh,” he coos. He has your chin in his hand, forcing you to truly look at him, to see him for what he is. “I won’t hurt you, love.” You want to believe him so badly it burns, but his laugh washes away any fire and turns it to ice. “Not unless you want me to.” He wiggles a brow like it’s just a little joke, like he’s not an actual fucking vampire that had his fangs over your neck just moments ago. 

“Satoru,” you beg. You’re not sure what you’re begging for. Release maybe? But, no, that’s not right. You don’t want him to let you go, not when you finally have him close after all this time. “Why did you pick me?” 

The question slips out. You hadn’t even been thinking about it, hadn’t even noticed it scratching at the walls of your mind, but it made its way out nonetheless.

His brow creases, but not in confusion. Moreso in… thoughtfulness. “Do you think about that a lot, princess?” 

You nod and you suddenly want him closer, want him to touch you everywhere, hold you like his life depends on it. You want him, no matter how horrible it might be. 

He nods and hums, kissing the tip of your nose lightly. “Well…” he says. His thumb swipes over your lips when he leans in to whisper in your ear. “At first I wanted you for this.” His head dips to your neck again and you feel the familiar brush of his lips against your throat. “You smell…” he chuckles. “Like heaven. Which is a place I’ll never get to on my own, so I had to bring my own little slice home, no?” He laughs again, a little louder this time, genuinely amused. “Went into town one day and caught your scent on the street. At first I thought I must be walking past the bakery, but, lo and behold, there was no baker in sight.” He’s still kissing at your pulse, worshiping it. “Went crazy, princess. Didn’t think I was going to be able to contain myself when I found you. Thought it might be quite the scene.” He huffs a laugh and you shiver, somehow both terrified and intoxicated. “But then I saw you–” he groans and something clenches deep at your center. “And I knew I needed more than just your blood. Needed you.” He’s rocking into you now, and your breath catches when you feel something firm against your backside. “Went to you in that little room you slept in every night. Watched you. Couldn’t stay away. Knew I had to have you.” You feel him smile against your skin. “After a week I couldn’t take it anymore. Sent you that letter, married you. Made you mine.” He groans again. “Then I met you and you were so pretty, princess. Already knew it, but hearin’ you talk to me, look at me.” Teeth graze your pulse. “Needed you more than ever. Almost took you right on the fucking floor in here while you were lookin’ at those dresses.” You whine when his hips roll into you again. “Oh, but I knew I couldn’t. You’re so fragile, love. Had to wait, had to make you feel safe, yeah? Spent all this time forcing myself to stay away, ‘fraid of what I might too if I was in your presence too long. Had to control myself. Had to make you realize you could trust me.” He panting, like he’s so pent up he can hardly sit still. “Do you trust me, princess?” 

Your brows scrunch. Say no, say no, say no a part of you screams. Run, run, run. You can’t. “Yes,” you breathe. 

You feel him smile again, feel the pleasure of submission. “Good girl.” 

You’re on your back. It happens so fast your eyes don’t even have time to gasp. You don’t see Satoru, but you feel him. Everywhere. His hands are roaming your body softly, sliding under buttons and laces and popping them off. Your dress loosens with every passing moment until Satoru reappears above you, diving straight for your neck again. “So good, princess. Let’s get you out of this dress, yeah?” 

You nod wordlessly, entranced. He finds your mouth as he rids you of your clothes. His tongue presses in and you flail against him, unsure of what to do, of how to handle the intrusion. The kiss is heavy, too heavy, but Satoru can’t seem to stop. He devours you as he gives up on laces and buttons and simply shreds your dress down the back. You tremble when the cold air hits your skin, when his cool fingers dust your collarbone. 

“I always forget how many damn layers they make you ladies wear,” he chuckles. His hands run beneath your shift, up across your bare thigh. You gasp at the touch. No one has even been so close to you before. You feel the threads of your corset snapping away, feel your breaths growing deeper. You tremble when he pulls your sleeve down past your shoulder and runs his mouth along the newly exposed skin. 

“Satoru,” you gasp, and your hand pulls at his flowing white shirt. 

He chuckles, pulling back just enough to see your face. “You wanna see me too?” You nod, lips parted and eyes glassy, and he laughs again. He lips dust over the corner of your mouth. “Alright.” 

His hands shift from you to himself, working at the laces on his chest. His movements are speedy, practiced, like he’s been lacing and unlacing shirts for hundreds of years. Your throat tightens when you realize that he has. 

You gasp when he reveals himself, when his shirt slides away to reveal an expanse of pale skin and carved muscle. You’ve never seen a man like this and seeing one this close up for the first time is nearly blinding. He’s art, you think- nothing less. 

“Touch me, princess,” he says. You can’t. You shouldn’t. He’s too beautiful, too perfect to be beneath your insignificant hands. “Need a little help?” he asks, and there’s a lilt in his voice that makes you sure he’s grinning. 

His hands find yours and bring them to his chest, running your palms over his collarbones, his pecs, down, down, down across his abs that you can feel each and every one… You whimper, watching your own fingers grope his skin. He pulls you lower, lower, lower, and you gasp when your fingertips brush the waistband of his pants. But then he’s laughing again and he’s throwing your arms over his shoulders and pulling you closer, kissing your neck like it pained him to be parted from your pulse for so long. 

“Not so fast,” he says, like he wasn’t the one nearly stuffing your hands down his pants. His hands are on your corset again. You can feel it dangling onto you by a thread, literally. All he needs is a couple more pulls and you’ll be bare. By the look he gives you, you can tell he’s 

thinking the same thing. “You touch me, now I touch you, yeah?” There’s a tug and a tear and then so much… cold. You’ve never realized how cold this castle is, not until you’re exposed to its elements fully. You’re naked. 

Satoru sits back on his knees and just watches. His gaze is searing, burning, despite the iciness of his being. It’s too much. Your hands move to cover yourself, to maintain some modicum of your dignity- 

“No.” Strong hands find your wrists and pry them apart. “Let me see you,” he says. His tongue darts out to lick his lips. 

Your jaw clenches and your frame shakes, but you do as he asks, letting your hands fall limply at your sides. There’s silence for many more moments and it seems to go on so long that you can only squeeze your eyes shut under his gaze. Surely he will turn you away now, get up and leave, tell you this was a mistake, tell you that you’re– 

“Beautiful,” he breathes. Your eyes snap open to find him already staring at you. “Beautiful,” he says again, and then he’s on you, lips at your pulse, hands on your skin. His touch is cool and you squeak at the chill that runs up your spine. You’re not sure it’s entirely from his temperature. 

His mouth seeks yours and he devours you. You feel as if he’s sucking your soul out through your lips. “Tell me you’ve never done this before,” he begs. “Tell me I’m the first to touch you.” 

You whine against his mouth, both aching for more and overwhelmed by what he’s already giving you. “Y-You’re the first,” you whisper. 

His groan is deep, primal. It rattles through your chest and you whimper when his hands dig into your waist hard enough to bruise. “Yes,” he breathes, and you shiver again. “Lie back, princess.” Your eyes widen, with anticipation or fear you’re not sure. Probably both. He chuckles. “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle.” 

You pray he means that. “Just relax, love. Here, hold my hand.” His fingers find yours, twining them together. When you swallow, his eyes follow the bob of your throat. He leans back again and your body twitches when his free hand skims the skin of your thighs. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he finds your knees and you gasp when he parts your legs, revealing you so completely to his gaze. The way he stares, like he’s committing you to memory, it’s nearly enough to make you snap your thighs shut, but a squeeze from his hand reminds you to relax, to trust. 

His palm skates up your thigh and settles near your hip, his fingertips inching closer to where you can feel an embarrassing throb. 

“Tell me, love. Have you ever touched yourself here?” His fingers dust low on your tummy- just low enough for you to catch his meaning, but not low enough to give you any relief. Your face heats and your teeth dig into the flesh of your cheek. You have, you have touched yourself there, but it’s the last thing you want to admit to your new husband. It’s shameful, it’s dirty, it’s- “Don’t think I’ll judge you, princess. Just wanna know.” 

You gulp down a breath. You should come clean. “Y-yes,” you stutter, and the sound of your voice so weak and helpless only makes you flush further. 

He chuckles and squeezes your hand again. “On the outside or the inside?” 

Your eyes widen. I-inside? You’d never considered that… “J-just the outside,” you answer. 

Your eyes grow even wider when his head rolls back and he moans straight up to the ceiling like your answer is heaven-sent. When he looks back to you his fangs are on full display. “Well, I think you and I are in for a little treat today, hm?” 

Your brow furrows and your lips part to ask him what he means– his fingers travel those last few inches down your tummy and find your clit. You squeak and jolt so violently that he presses a hand to your hip, holding you to the mattress. “Somebody’s sensitive,” he chuckles. He holds you still for a moment and then lets your hips go free. “Try to stay still. I promise it’ll feel good.”

You nod hopelessly, but this time you’re prepared for when he touches you again. Your muscles clench at the first touch, at the foreign sensation of a touch down there that wasn’t your own. But then it’s more. It’s languid, slow circles around a spot that you’ve never been able to pinpoint so well on your own. It’s heat building in your tummy that seeps through every vein and into every pore. It’s relaxation that you’ve never known, that has you melting into the mattress despite the chill of the touch. 

There’s a little huff of a laugh and then his voice. “Good girl. Feels nice, yeah?” You nod hesitantly and squeeze desperately at his hand, searching for an anchor. His head cocks to the side and you watch the smile slide across his lips. “It’s about to feel even nicer.” 

By the time you realize what he’s doing it’s far too late to stop him. His mouth closes around your cunt and you yelp, trying to wiggle away from the overwhelming sensation- but he’s got his freehand on your hip again and his grip is bruising, punishing, as he holds you in place. He licks a stripe through your folds and you find yourself jolting again, uselessly so against the pressure of his palm on your hip. “Stop that, princess.” Your heart drops at the admonishment until you feel his guiding touch. “Rock into me like this.” His hand rocks your hips into his mouth and the pressure of his tongue against your clit is so delicious that you whimper. “Good girl,” he says and your heart rises right back up. “Keep doing that, now.” You don’t dare defy him. You rock like he showed you, a little jerkily at first, and then you find a rhythm that has you seeing stars. “That’s it, love,” he says, and the sound is muffled against your cunt. “Here, put your hand in my hair.” He finds your wrist and guides you forward until your fingers are tangling in those snowy locks. They’re even softer than you’d imagined. “Good girl,” he whispers and suddenly he’s taking one last long lick and lifting his head to meet your eyes. “‘M gonna put my fingers in you now, princess.” Your chin wobbles. “It might hurt a little bit, but stay still, okay?” You can’t do anything but nod. 

His eyes return to your cunt and you can feel him prodding at your entrance, circling the hole as you clench in anticipation. “Relaaaaaax, love,” he says and you nod. A deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth– 

You feel the exact moment he pushes into you and a whine of pain rips from your throat. Your walls clamp down like a vice, angry at the intrusion– but it’s already too late. There’s a beat of silence, of anticipation, and then he’s– laughing? 

Your brows furrow when you hear it, your head lifting to a sight that locks your limbs in shock. Satoru’s hand is lifted in front of his face, his pointer finger coated in– blood, you realize. Your blood. And he’s a fucking vampire. 

“Oh princess,” he coos, and the manic look in his eyes makes you tremble. “You really are perfect.” 

Things seem to slow as you watch him take his blood covered finger into his mouth. You’re sure you’ve never seen an expression more blissful, more lost to sensation. His eyes roll back and his body shivers, like he’s ascending to some higher plane. Maybe he is. 

When he pulls his finger from his mouth it’s completely licked clean. You hold your breath. He’s going to go for your neck now, right? He’s had a taste and now he’ll want more of it, all of it?

“Fuck,” is all he says. His mouth is back on your cunt so fast you don’t even see him move. 

Your mouth falls wide. It hurts, the way he is so desperately licking at you. You feel his finger again, pressing in, in, in, only to pull back and suddenly be joined by another. The stretch tears at you. You thrash and jolt, but Satoru doesn’t bother telling you to stop this time. His arm wraps over your hips, holding you in place. He seems immune to how hard your legs squeeze at his head or your hands pull at his hair. He’s lost. You can feel him licking, lapping, and prodding at you like you’re a fucking gold mine. He’s lost to desperation, to the need for more, more, more. Every so often he lifts his chin and you see his mouth smudged with a mixture of your wetness and your blood. He laps at his lips like an animal, dragging his thumb across his chin and sliding it into his mouth to make sure he gets every last drop. 

You’re not quite sure when the ravenous pain turns to a ravenous pleasure, when it turns from terrifying to downright delicious. You don’t notice your moans filling the air until Satoru joins you, groaning and whining into your cunt and telling you to keep going, to keep making those sounds. The hand you have buried in his hair doesn’t fight to push him away any longer, only to pull him into those now practiced rocks of your hips. His fingers thrust deep, curling into a spot that makes you feel so good and his mouth has found your clit again. He sucks your nerves lightly between his lips, tongue swirling in little circles. Your thighs start to shake. 

“Yes. Yes. Give it to me.” 

“S-Satoru–” you breathe. Warmth and tightness pool in your tummy, and you recognize it as your approaching orgasm, though you know this one will be far different than any you’ve ever managed to give yourself. Your body shakes and your breaths tremble and then– you fall over the edge, rocking your hips senselessly, losing all form of rhythm. Warmth tingles in your spine and seeps all the way down to your toes. You think you cry out, cry for your husband, cry for more, cry for less, but if you do you don’t hear it. All you hear is the pounding of your pulse, of pleasure throbbing in your veins until the world slowly seeps back in through the corners of your vision. 

Satoru is grinning. A speck of your blood clings to his chin and his fangs peek out from behind his lips. The sight makes your blood run a little colder. If any part of you doubted what he was before… well, there was no doubt any longer. 

There’s a shift between your legs, his hips slotting between them, and you’re suddenly snapped back to reality. From the look in his eyes, you’re not done. 

Frantic hands find his pants and he undoes each button with a quickness that is almost inhuman. You wonder if he could go even faster, if he’s holding back so as not to scare you. If he is, it isn’t working very well. Fear surges in your veins right alongside anticipation. 

“S-Satoru–”

“It’s alright, love.” His hand finds yours without his eyes ever looking up. His grip is just a little too firm, a little too cold. “Just stay still.” 

You whimper, but you don’t think he’s paying attention to that, and soon enough, neither are you. His pants slide down just past his hips, just enough. You gasp. 

You’ve never seen a man in the nude, never even dared to think about what it might look like, though it seemed you no longer had to guess. His hand wrapped around his shaft, giving one long and slow stroke that made his breath hiss through his fangs. The tip was flushed, angry, and leaking something that looked clear and sticky. You couldn’t help but notice it was a lot thicker than a finger, or even two. If his fingers had hurt…

He moves with that alarming quickness again, leaning down to hover over you, chests nearly pressed together. “Gonna take you now, princess. Gonna make you mine.” His eyes bore into yours, blue and shimmering with something wild. His hand presses into the mattress beside your head. “Stay still, now.”

It’s all the warning he gives you. You feel like you’re splitting– straight up the middle. You wail, hands flying out to claw at his back. It hurts. It hurts. 

“Satoru, p-please! It’s–” 

Lips catch yours– hungry, feral. The kiss is not gentle, not soothing. It shuts you up, it keeps you quiet, it keeps you still as you feel him sinking further, deeper into you. It’s too much, you try to say, but the poke of sharp teeth against your lips keeps you silent. Your hips jolt and wiggle trying desperately to escape the stretch but it’s no use. By the time he’s fully inside you, tears are streaking down your cheeks, fat and heavy. His lips break away and his eyes reappear. You shake when you see that none of the wildness has been tamed, that you’ve only just begun.

“Good girl,” he coos, and a cool finger traces a line across your jaw. “Took me so well.” You hold back a sob when his hips shift a little, testing, prodding. He must see the pinch of your eyes, the twist of your mouth, because he’s quick to comfort. “Just hold my hand, princess.” His hips rock in earnest this time and you whimper, squeezing down on his hand with all your might. You’re panting as he chuckles. “Breathe, love. Breathe. Soon you’ll be begging for more,” he laughs. It’s not long before he’s rocking into you sincerely, setting a pace that stretches you to the brink of breaking. At first it’s all you can do to grasp onto him, to bite your lips through the whimpers and hold his hand. And then it’s… more. It’s heat and warmth despite the coolness of his body on yours. It’s sensation and… pleasure. He laughs when the first moan slides past your lips, burying his face in your neck once again. You hear him at your ear, panting his hot breath across your skin. 

“Feel good, princess?” You nod, letting your hips rock against his as he showed you before. It feels good– it feels right. He chuckles, but there’s nothing light about the sound. “Wanna feel even better?” Something sharp pokes at the skin of your neck, hard enough to make you squeak, to make you freeze at what you know he wants. 

He pulls himself back, pressing his forehead to yours, searching your eyes with his. Something like a cruel smile dances on his mouth. “Just a taste, love. I promise it won’ hurt.” His tongue darts out and licks across your lips, his thrusts rocking just a bit faster. “You’ll feel s’ good an’ I’ll only take a little.” He laughs again and it sends a chill through your bones. “Promise.” He sounds breathless, like he’s struggling to restrain himself. The increase of his pace makes you whine and you squeeze his hand again. He buries himself back in your neck, panting. “Come on, love. Say yes. Say yes f’ me.” Your eyes glaze over. Your body justles with each new thrust. He’s desperate now, seeking a release that you don’t think is any kind you’re familiar with. “Yes, yes, yes,” he chants in your ear. You’re not sure when his words twist in your mind, when they settle on your tongue and push past your lips, but you know it feels so right when they do. 

“Yes,” you whisper. 

His fangs clamp around your pulse. You scream when the sting rips through you, violent and savage– but it only lasts a moment. Pain fades to… ecstasy. You feel his throat bobbing with each swallow, feel your blood seeping from your skin and onto his tongue. You’d thought it would feel slicing, draining, like the life was being sucked from you. It doesn’t. It feels wonderful. Heat spreads under your skin, emanating from your neck and down to your toes. It feels like breathing for the first time, like sugar being pumped into your veins. It feels like heaven. Your hand tangles in his hair, holding him close. You don’t want it to stop, not ever. You could die like this, have him suck every last drop of blood from your veins and thank him for it with your dying breath. 

He’s moaning now, hands curling into your hips while he fucks into you relentlessly. The pace is grueling and brutal. You know it should hurt but only feels perfect. Anything less would not be enough. Anything else would leave you wanting. You feel it building, feel that familiar twinge at your core. The ecstasy flooding through your veins has it coming faster, has you teetering on the edge in moments. 

“Satoru…” You hadn’t noticed how dizzy you felt until you tried to speak. You wonder why… “‘M gonna…” 

He fucks you harder, something menacing and deep rumbling in his chest. The sound makes you shiver, makes you whine, makes you come. 

Your body shakes and a cry rips from your throat, cunt clenching like a vice around him. Your eyes roll back, hands scraping trails down his back. Your thighs quake with the intensity, with the overwhelming senses of pleasure that erupt throughout your body. Every nerve is firing, every hair rising. It’s an unstoppable current, one that sweeps you away, helpless to its pull. 

His thrusts grow sloppy and untimed. His grip on your hips tightens, holding you in place while he makes you his. His teeth break from your neck and when you look up through blurry eyes you see his head thrown back, your blood streaming down his chin in thick little globs. You feel it when he cums, feel the thick ropes of it seeping into your womb, feel the way he keeps fucking you, pushing it deeper and deeper inside. He’s moaning, chanting your name like a prayer at the heavens. 

When the moment ends he slumps over you, eyes half lidded and tired. There’s a familiar grin on his lips, one that inspires both comfort and uneasiness in your gut. You can’t help but stare at him, at the blood that stains his chin and cheeks, that reddens his lips so beautifully. You want to reach out and touch him, touch his blood-soaked skin and see what it feels like, what it tastes like. What you taste like. 

His eyes slide to the side, finding your pulse again. You groan. Yes, you think. Please, yes. More. You don’t think you’ll ever get enough of that. Of his teeth in your flesh, of the euphoria flooding your veins. More, more, more, your mind chants. 

He chuckles lightly and shakes his head. “No, princess.” He raises a finger to trace the curve of your neck. “I took more than I should have…” His expression doesn’t tense with worry. His cheeks pull into a smile, those little dimples shining through. “But what can I say? You just taste so good.” Like he needs to emphasize his point, his tongue darts out to trace his lips, lapping up some of the remaining blood on his chin. “You taste like mine.”

You whine. More, more, more. It’s all you can think about. You lift an arm weakly. You want to pull him to your neck, to make him drink, to make him fill you with the heaven you had just moments ago. 

He catches your wrist and brings it to his lips, inhaling deeply. His lips split into another grin and you see his eyes spark again with the wildness you crave. 

“Not yet, princess.” he coos. “But soon.” His smile grows even wider, until those fangs are on full display, until you’re trembling again. “Forever,” he whispers.

taglist (dm me or send an ask to be added!): @lacheri, @la-undercover-latina, @keiva1000

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[lordofdestructionm]

Wick Sable

The odd duck in the guilded cage

Despite this being a feral Mordecai and Viktor account I do occasionally like to dig into the others.

Wick is a character Lackadaisy fans love but don't talk about very much. He just the rich friendly geologist with a love of illicit beverages and a crush on Mitzi. Indeed he is all those things. But I want to dig a little into what may be hidden depth (geography joke haha)

Professional dissatisfaction

When we first meet Wick he is behind his desk looking very tired and beaten down. Forcing himself to keep working late into the night with excessive coffee. Attending to a large pile of paper work for tomorrow.

His expression shifts slightly when he sees the Lackadaisy pins fall out of the envelope and realises the letter is an invitation to him (and his fellow aristocrats) to the speakeasy.

This hatred of paper work and the administrative side of his business is a recurring issue for Wick. Making the reason for his reliance on the capable and attentive Lacy very obvious. Exhaustian and too much alchohol are no doubt partly to blame, but it seems to be something that puts him in a very depressed state of mind.

But when actually on the job, overseeing the hands on work of blasting a new quarry, his mood is much more positive. Indeed he has a very real and sincere love for geology and the nitty gritty work of his business. When he first went to the Lackadaisy he was spellbound by the lime caverns themselves as much by Mitzi's charm.

Its his special interest and he will go on long unprompted monologues on the topic if given the chance. Meaning it is specifically the being trapped in his office dealing with the red tape that makes him so unhappy not the industry itself.

Its almost sad that he is the one in charge of the company rather than in a role that puts him closer to the action which seems to bring him real joy. Like someone who loves cooking being in charge of a restuarant or someone that loves drawing running an animation studio.

They love the product/industry but that doesn't mean they enjoy their specific place in it.

Unimpressed Peers

Despite Wicks enthusiasm it proves not be infectious with his fellow elite, who complain about being dragged out of town to watch something, that while very important to Wick, they clearly could not care less about (even not that quietly mocking him and his love for rocks and construction)

When the evening doesn't go to plan due to the uninvited pig farmers Wick has an interesting exchange with Edmund Church, seemingly the most prominent of the St Louis upper crust in the group. Warning him about getting any more involved with an unsavoury crowd, especially Mitzi, outside of simply enjoying the occasional drink.

Wick doesn't take kindly to the snarky criticism and borderline threat to his reputation and responds with a much more direct statement on his peers sour nature

Tracy has mentioned that Church has a role yet to play in the story and it seems safe to assume from this it may well involve Wick in a less than friendly way if he continues to associate with his "lessers" as Church and the others see things.

Despite needing to remain on civil terms to keep them invested in his business, Wick clearly has little love for them, a feeling that is mutual as they have little respect for him and see him as an oddball, only tolerating him because his talent in his field can help make them a tidy profit.

But while he doesn't appreciate Church's sniping Wick IS concerned about his reputation, but not entirely for his own sake or that of his elitist associates, but for the many people who rely on him for employment, who could be hurt by extension of he gets pulled too deep into the less than repectable world of bootlegging

Romantic life

Outside of the crush he has had on Mitzi since first meeting her at the Speakeasy, we have very little information about Wicks love life before this. Being a handsome and wealthy gentleman from a good family, you would think he would he fighting women off with a stick, maybe even be a bit of a playboy.

Instead you get the impression Wick is pretty far away from being a ladies man. Mentioning to Mitzi that he doesn't even really know how to talk to women unless its about rocks, bugs or limestone.

He is clearly attracted to her and is tempted by her to risk his reputation and by extension his business to get closer to her, but so far his fear of the very real consequences are deterring him from taking that gamble.

Though there is that personal aspect to it, it seems that in a more abstract sense Mitzi's appeal to Wick is not just in her beauty and seductive personality, but in the excitement and thrill of her Speakeasy and bootlegging operations.

In that sense Mitzi represents that touch of danger and excitement that during prohibition many otherwise law abiding citizens enjoyed indulging in illegal drinking establishments. Being* just* naughty enough to give them a fun thrill while being detached from the more brutal blood soaked aspects.

Wick is a good natured person (the worst thing he has done is shoot a duck in his youth which he was forced to do) living a very "respectable" life, but that makes the superficial glamour of the world of underground drinking establishments and secret booze stashes even more appealing. Thats why despite his concerns and responsibilities he keeps going back ,not just to Mitzi, but to the Lackadaisy specifically. It has pretty geography, a pretty owner, and an open door to a more exciting avenue of life

Its for that same reason he doesn't seem to be overly uncomfortable with lovable bi disaster Zib flirting with him at the bar. He may have no intention of reciprocating, but it couldn't be a more different experience to the world he is used to

Even if he doesn't yet want to take the full plunge it all excites him enough to keep him circling the edges.

Because despite having so much going for him there are things about his life that not only bore him but make him unhappy. Whether its piles of paperwork, dealing with much stuffier "conventional" fellow aristocrats and not wanting to be like them, or just a general lack of true passion in his life, he is clearly a man looking for something more satisfying

Whether or not he remains a "tourist" or decides to take that gamble, throw his reservations to the wind, and take a more active role in the gang, is yet to be seen...

Assuming Rocky doesn't set fire to him first of course XD

[anghraine]

Despite my occasional gripes with Tumblr Austen fandom, sometimes I get recommended or linked to something and remember what Austen fandom off Tumblr is like.

I was checking a message from my mother on another platform and immediately was recommended a group discussing what were essentially headcanons about Lady Catherine. The OP was fine; her question was interesting and she kept gently pointing out that a lot of widely-held fandom opinions are neither stated nor implied in the book. But a good 80-90% of the fairly numerous comments were the same old "Lady Catherine is lying about her relationship with her sister" "she was jealous of Lady Anne for being sweet and beautiful" "she probably wanted to marry Lady Anne's husband herself" blahblahblah.

It wasn't complete consensus, but so near to total agreement that it was kind of astounding. Especially given that, for instance, the fanon of young Lady Catherine being jealous of Lady Anne is wholly fanon with zero evidence in the book or even the major adaptations. The insistence that Anne de Bourgh was not actually in her cradle at the same time as Darcy and should be significantly younger than him, that he wasn't really intended for her from the moment of his birth, that Lady Catherine saying so is further proof that she's exaggerating and/or lying, and that Lady Anne must have been completely different in personality, so much sweeter and prettier than Lady Catherine and Lady Catherine was super jealous and mean towards her—it's all entirely manufactured by fandom.

And while Lady Catherine is a flawed, petty, snobbish, deeply obnoxious, and rather silly person, I've always found something strange and unpleasant about this propensity for inventing so many more, and worse, reasons to hate her and frame her as an antagonistic polar opposite to her sister (a sister we know very little about). And I'm especially weirded out by the kind of desperate straining to dispute the Lady Catherine-Lady Anne marital scheming backstory that is a fairly minor element of the plot that no character in the book has any difficulty believing.

Here's Elizabeth's response to Lady Catherine trying to leverage the planned engagement against her, for instance:

"But what is that to me? If there is no other objection to my marrying your nephew, I shall certainly not be kept from it by knowing that his mother and aunt wished him to marry Miss de Bourgh. You both did as much as you could in planning the marriage. Its completion depended on others."

So it's like ... it's not just that I think there's no canonical basis for disputing this bit of backstory. The thing I've always found much weirder is why so many people want to dispute it. Where is all this discomfort arising from? A pair of aristocratic women married to wealthy, powerful landowners in 1770s/1780s England informally arranging the marriage of their only children is not particularly strange. Yet there is a ton of fannish discomfort around it and around the possibility that Lady Catherine and Lady Anne got on well enough to make such an arrangement.

The discomfort is even more conspicuous because we know so little about the sisters' relationship. It's like:

1) Lady Catherine's daughter and only child shares her sister's name, Anne.

2) Lady Catherine claims that she and Lady Anne planned their children's marriages when both were infants; Wickham also mentions the planned engagement in passing, apparently to reinforce his claims to special knowledge of the Darcys' concerns.

3) Lady Catherine is the only person in the novel who specifically mentions Lady Anne on more than one occasion.

4) more tenuously, Lady Catherine believes daughters, in general, are never all that important to their fathers, an opinion presumably encompassing herself and her sister wrt their father the earl.

The only other quality about Lady Anne suggested by anyone in the novel is Darcy's very carefully-phrased suggestion that his father (rather than Lady Anne) was extremely amiable and benevolent, more than his mother, though both were good people. So the idea of Lady Anne as this sweet and pure ideal mother figure who couldn't possibly have been on genuinely good terms with her awful sister or been party to dynastic scheming while Darcy's father was more reserved and standoffish like him is pretty much entirely manufactured by fandom as well.

I guess my feeling on seeing this still going at full throttle in 2024 is that the "Lady Catherine must have been mean to and jealous of her perfectly sweet sister who of course never agreed to any of this nonsense or was just trying to get her to shut up" thing is such a weird takeaway from pretty much every single thing we hear about Lady Anne and Lady Catherine. It seems completely non-intuitive as a take on what little we do know of this backstory and how the other characters react, and the version suggested in the novel is neither shocking nor central to the story, yet there's this palpable fannish discomfort about it and about Lady Anne potentially being fine with Lady Catherine and less of an idealized icon than her husband.

I know I've talked about this many times over the years, but running across it still going at full force in July 2024 was pretty surreal.

[hisui-dreamer]

such lengths

Pairing: Floyd Leech x f!reader

Synopsis: if your fiancé is the one to kill you in an arranged marriage you can't refuse, then why not seduce said fiancé so he won't kill you?

Tags: fluff, cliché isekai plots, reincarnation, female reader, historical setting, arranged marriages

Word count: 1.7k+

Notes: how did i write more for floyd than malleus💀

anywaysss early birthday prize for everyone's second favourite eel!!

✧Jade's Villainess✧ ✧Malleus' Villainess✧

Masterlist

The tale of this noblewoman is nothing short of a pitiful one.

Though born into a lineage of high prestige, her family's former glory had withered away, drained dry by the toils of generations past. Yet, the count and countess, bound by love and tenderness, still showered their daughter with affection, sparing no effort to ensure her well-being.

The noblewoman yearned for this fleeting happiness to linger, but destiny rarely extends its benevolent hand for long. On her eleventh birthday, her mother, weary from the ceaseless burdens of the household, succumbed to a devastating illness and became bedridden. In a desperate gambit to procure funds for the cure to his wife's illness, the count embarked on treacherous voyages to distant shores, seeking business opportunities in the coastal realms.

But alas, the wheel of misfortune turned relentlessly. On her fourteenth birthday, while returning home with promises of a prosperous business deal, the count met his untimely end in a harrowing carriage accident.

As the sole heir to the county, she was burdened with the weight of the title, a mantle too heavy for an adolescent to bear. She undertook the grim task of orchestrating her father's funeral. During the somber ceremony, a peculiar party of visitors arrived, their countenance unsettling, teeth like razors and stature unnaturally tall. She soon learned these were the Leech family, the very traders her father had forged deals with.

They dangled an irresistible proposition before her, one she could not refuse; in exchange for becoming the betrothed of the eldest Leech son, her mother's well-being would be safeguarded, and the finest remedies would be at her disposal.

Thus, the noblewoman, too foolish and naive, chose to secure her mother's future. Their union was sealed when she reached the age of eighteen. Yet, not even a year passed before a sinister illness overcame her, her constitution ravaged by a poison slowly administered by her own husband.

The Leech family, though incredibly wealthy and influential, had always hungered for the societal standing that had long eluded them. The noblewoman, unknowingly, was their golden ladder to ascend into aristocracy, for deceiving the aristocratic circles into believing she was sickly, much like her mother, proved a simple task.

And so, the noblewoman passed away pitifully, her title passed into the hands of her husband, and her mother soon followed her beloved daughter.

of all the characters you could've have reincarnated as, you had the worst luck of all when you woke up as Floyd's late wife

heck, Floyd wasn't even the main character of the novel, it was some businessman that grew up to be greedy and cruel, but had to learn how to love again after meeting the heroine

his late wife was just briefly mentioned for a paragraph about how the leech family, basically the mafia from "fathoms below", started gaining more influence and helped the businessman with his schemes

though Floyd and his twin brother jade did gain a large fanbase, they were a pretty striking duo and when did red flags ever stop fans from simping

you yourself were a huge fan of the twins, but even you didn't instantly recognize you became Floyd's late wife

it was only when you were grieving with your mother about the passing of your caring father and the leech family showed up at the funeral

the striking teal hair, mismatched eyes, and carefree grin stood out almost immediately

Mr. Leech, an formidable figure, cast a shadow of authority as he shattered the oppressive silence that had draped itself over the elegant garden. His voice, deep and resonant, possessed a commanding quality as he addressed you. "My condolences for your loss, my dear. Your father and I were business partners... He spoke very highly of you."

With a sense of poised grace, you offered a nod at his words. "Thank you, Mr. Leech. It is an honor to have made the acquaintance of your family, even under these less-than-fortunate circumstances."

Jade, his sharp and composed eyes keenly focused on you, joined the conversation. "I'm very sorry for your loss. I'm Jade," he offered his hand in greeting.

You shook his hand, your voice filled with gratitude. "Thank you, Jade."

In stark contrast, Floyd, exuding an aura of indifference. Mr. Leech took it upon himself to introduce him, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "And this is Floyd, my eldest son."

You extended a polite greeting to Floyd, your tone warm and inviting as you curtseyed. "Hello, Floyd. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Floyd, maintaining his stoic demeanor, made a "hmph" sound before turning away, his demeanor aloof.

Sensing the tension and his apparent disinterest, you scrambled for a way to interest him. "Oh uhm, you must be tired from your journey. Would you care for some refreshments? We have some pastries prepared, if you'd like."

He turns back to you, a glint of interest flickering in his curious eyes. "Hmmm... Alright, why don'tcha show me what you've got prepared, Shrimpy?" He responds, the edges of his lips curling upward.

thankfully, the funeral came to a close peacefully, and Floyd seemingly got along with you

from then you awaited the offer letter from Mr Leech to arrive

you remembered that Floyd, though easily bored, could be really dedicated to something if he wanted to

so what better way to survive, than to make Floyd like you?? only then will your mom get the medicine she needs, and you'll survive without struggling in poverty

worse case scenario, he gets bored of you when you're older and you'll just divorce

and if he's the one asking for the divorce, he can't really make you pay compensation for the past medical fees

so, you decided to accept the proposal nonetheless

but not without precautions!! you started studying intensely on all sorts of poisons and antidotes, just in case Floyd randomly gets bored and tries to unalive you

though if he wanted to end your life with brute force, you knew you wouldn't stand a chance against him

as fiancés, there's not much improvement in your relationship

sometimes he's bored and finds hanging out with you a chore, other times he's following you around like a curious puppy, and there are also moments where he pranks you to see your reactions

you've tried becoming closer to him by getting him cool shoes and playing instruments, but he's far too aloof for you to know if he likes you or not

but thankfully, your mother's complection has improved a lot, and it does look like she's recovering

and once you're both officially adults and married, you start attending public events with floyd to establish your connections

or more accurately, for the leech family to establish connections with aristocracy

this time, it was a tea party held by some business competitors of the leech family

The elegant garden was a tranquil haven for the tea party, the soft murmur of leaves rustling in the gentle breeze providing a soothing background to the clink of fine china and hushed conversations. You, Floyd, and the other aristocratic adolescents settled around a beautifully adorned table, the porcelain teacups and dainty pastries tempting you all.

Floyd lifted the delicate teacup to his lips as he rolled his eyes, having grown weary of the incessant chatter and polite pleasantries that surrounded him. Just as he was about to take a sip, you noticed a faint, unusual scent wafting from his cup, a scent that sent a chilling realization down your spine.

With lightning-quick reflexes, you reached out and pressed your hand against Floyd's, preventing him from taking that fateful sip. "Wait, Floyd, don't," you whispered urgently.

Startled, Floyd's gaze darted to your eyes, confusion etched across his face. "What's wrong, Shrimpy?" he asked, taken aback by your trembling hands.

You carefully take out the silver hairpin gifted to you by Mr Leech from your hair, murmuring, "Please explain this to father-in-law later..." Carefully, you submerged the hairpin into Floyd's cup, and both of you watched in horror as the pearly hairpin rapidly transformed into a sinister shade of black.

His eyes widened as he looked down at the poisoned tea, realizing the danger he had been unknowingly on the brink of. Anger simmered beneath the surface, his emotions stirred by the audacity of someone attempting harm. Swiftly, he plucked the hairpin from the cup, using his handkerchief to conceal the incriminating evidence before the guests could catch on.

"I'm bored," His voice carried throughout the venue, capturing the attention of the other guests. "Let's get out of here." He said as he pulled you up from your seat with a firm yet gentle gesture, placing an arm around your shoulder as he guided you away from the tea party.

Once you were far from prying eyes, he pulled you close, wrapping you in a protective embrace. His large hand moved soothingly over your back, attempting to calm your trembling form.

"Thanks, Shrimpy. I owe ya one" he whispered into your hair. After a brief moment, he pulled back slightly, his intense gaze fixed on your eyes. "But how'd ya know my tea was messed with?"

Anxiety seized your body at the question, the weight of your response holding immense consequences. If you answered wrongly, Floyd might suspect your intentions. In a panic, you blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"I wanted to protect you!"

Floyd blinked. "Protect... me?"

"Yes!" You affirmed. "I thought maybe there would be attempts on your life since your family's incredibly influential, and I wanted to be able to protect you..." You murmured the last bit, praying that you were making sense.

With an expression of genuine astonishment, Floyd stared at you, unblinking. It was clear that your explanation had taken him by surprise, the notion of your dedication leaving him momentarily speechless.

"You... you went through such lengths... to protect me?" Floyd finally managed to utter, a hint of incredulity in his voice. A glimmer of warmth crept into his eyes as he studied your face, taking in the sincerity in your actions.

Before you could conjure up an answer, his grip on your shoulder tightened, drawing you closer to him. "You're really something else, Shrimpy," he murmured, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Hahaha! I wouldn't mind having you around!"

needless to say, floyd started following you around even more now

it seems this event really helped you gain his trust and affection

soon after the party, he gifted you a new hairpin, with "pearls he found himself" he says

he starts getting jealous when you spend more time studying poisons with jade but if you say you're doing it because you want to protect him he melts again

looks like you're not losing your life anytime soon, but i also don't think that eel is letting go of you ever

Masterlist

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[anjaelle]

Hello darling 💙

Would you consider writing for Count Vronsky from Anna Karenina?

Pairing: Count Alexei Vronsky x Foreign Socialite!Reader Warnings: Borderline Toxic Infatuation, Vintage Slow Burn, (almost) Infidelity Summary: A foreign born socialite/heiress visits a friend in Russia and meets a straight up demon. For @bettytaylorversion (AU where Anna doesn't go back to Vronsky and chooses to stay with Karenin.) Word Count: 2.3K a/n: I remember that Tolstoy made this character so straightforward that you can kind of play around with him as much as you like without changing much about who he is at his core. I can't be left to my own devices. That being said, I don't want purists yelling at me. So I hope everyone takes some of my choices here with a grain of salt.

--x--

Everything about Russia felt intimidating to you: the language, the size of the country, the power of its military, and the show of their aristocratic wealth. You were wealthy. But this was a different kind of wealth. You came to visit your close friend who was another socialite that you met through overlapping inner circles. It'd taken you a while to accept the invitation as you weren't sure how kindly they'd take to a foreigner.

You understood some of the language based on what your friend taught you, but you still weren't confident enough to converse in just Russian. Instead you opted for French, which seemed to work well enough. You knew your native language was a lost cause. While some people in the parlor were polite, others had no interest in speaking with you. A small number seemed interested in you and your home country. Or maybe they just noticed your Very New and Very Parisian wardrobe with your collection of gifted jewels. They decided you were important enough to talk to.

When she introduced you to Count Alexei Vronsky, an officer in the army, you felt her grip on your elbow tighten just the slightest bit. You knew about him. She told you all about his affair with the married woman from Saint Petersburg. You weren't sure how you pictured the man. She said he was handsome, but you lived in a world full of beautiful people. How much different could he be?

That was a terrible miscalculation. The minute he met you, he watched you with the intense interest of a fox stalking its prey. You felt your cheeks warm and your heart thud when he pressed his lips to your gloved knuckle. You averted your eyes when he rose from his bow, not really wanting to convey anything uncouth about the interaction.

The first time he found you alone, you were in your friend's library looking at a map pinned to the wall. He told you about every country he'd lived in, every country he'd traveled through, and which ones he'd be eager to see soon. When you pointed out your country on the map, he licked his lips and an easy smile graced his beautiful face.

"I suppose I have no choice but to come see you now." He said in his thick accent.

You realized, then, that he reminded you of angels you'd see painted on the walls of grand, gilded churches. You told him that you and your fiance would be happy to invite him to your engagement party.

"Hmm." he said, eyeing the map. "Fiancés..." he finished the statement in Russian, so you couldn't understand him.

Before you excused yourself to go find your friend, his fingertips gently grazed the back of your hand, stopping you in your tracks. "Your fiancé is incredibly lucky to have such a beautiful, clever woman."

The second time he found you alone, you'd been exploring the estate and decided to rest in the garden among the wildflowers. As you raised your face to the summer sun, he made his presence known by clearing his throat, causing you to jump to your feet in surprise.

"Good afternoon, startled rabbit." He chuckled, and you rolled your eyes at him.

"How long have you been standing there?" You warily asked, anxiously adjusting your skirts and brushing the grass from your hair. He cocked his head, studying you, "Long enough to notice that your beauty in parlor candlelight cannot compare to how alluring you are in the light of day."

It was interesting to see him dressed so casually compared to the night before. You wondered what he was still doing at your friend's estate when you knew he had a home of his own. You quickly glanced at her window to see the curtains still closed.

When you boldly asked him if he'd been watching you, something akin to amusement danced across his face, "You like the idea of that? Me watching you?"

"I have a fiancé."

He took a step closer, "That doesn't answer my question."

“You didn’t answer mine.” You countered, looking him square in the eye.

That wasn’t particularly ladylike, and you weren’t sure how anyone would react if they happened upon you and Vronsky standing so close in the garden without a chaperone.

As if reading your mind, he glanced down at your lips, then his eyes fell lower to your bodice. Your engraved gold locket rested on the top of one breast, with your fiancé’s initials glittering under the sun.

“I wasn’t watching you. I was…preoccupied.” His eyes met yours again and you felt like you’d been splashed with icy water. “Your husband—my apologies—your fiancé…he is a man of means? That necklace of yours is exquisite.”

You weren’t stupid. He didn’t care about the necklace. “That is a very inappropriate question to ask.”

“So he is not a man of means.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Who gave you that necklace?”

“Why does it trouble you to know?”

“You deserve a better one.” He murmured. You were unsure if he was still speaking about the jewelry. His fingers ghosted over the exposed skin of your forearm, "I could do that for you. If you wish." You took one large step back and glanced again at your friend’s window to find her watching you both suspiciously.

For the remainder of your stay in Russia, your friend treated you coolly. Though she was kind in private, she wasn't as warm in the company of others. Specifically, in the presence of Count Vronsky who seemed eager to appear more often during your stay and even more eager to get you alone. You reminded yourself that it was a temporary trip, and that you'd be back at your father's estate--and back in your kind fiancé's arms--in no time.

"It's truly fortunate that you're betrothed," your friend said as you gathered your belongings to meet the carriage in the courtyard, "or it'd be a shame to see your name added to the Count's incredibly long list of jilted lovers." There was an edge of bitterness to her tone, but you chose not to bring it up. Instead you marked it as an incredibly odd ending to an otherwise enjoyable trip.

A month later, you nearly fell down the stairs when your father called you down to the foyer to greet his newest client who arrived that morning from Russia. Count Alexei Vronsky bowed as you descended, but you could see the mirth dancing behind his eyes when he righted his posture behind your father's back.

"He says you spoke extensively about my craftsmanship. He felt compelled to come by the shop for his own fitting while he was visiting!" Your father exclaimed merrily, pulling you in for a kiss on the forehead, "My brilliant girl. This will do wonders for us. I knew I could count on you."

Sure, you had spoken highly of you father's tailoring and shoemaking, because as popular as your father was it never hurt to expand the reach of his influence.

That being said, you were sure Vronsky wasn't there for that conversation, and you never continued any form of contact after you departed Russia. You assumed he learned about where you lived through mutual friends. You swore under your breath when your father left you alone to get his sketches from his workshop in the east wing of the estate. Vronsky eyed you briefly, then redirected his interest to the art and artifacts decorating your home. Ever the son born of Russian ice and stoicism, he looked out of place in the warm atmosphere of the home you grew up in.

"Your country is beautiful," he said, arching a dark brow, "a bit too hot for my liking. Though, it is nice to see you in your natural element. I don't think wildflowers like you belong in the comparative cold of a Russian summer."

You felt like you were being tested, but you decided that there wasn't much he could do in the confines of your home. He was, after all, in your territory. Your shoulders relaxed and you chanced a small smile his way, "You'd be surprised to know how resilient I can be."

Surprisingly, he laughed, "I don't think I'd be surprised at all. I know you better than you think I do."

You felt like you'd regret it, but you decided to ask anyway.

"What do you mean by that?"

He began to stroll through the hall of your foyer, pausing every so often to examine a portrait or vase as you trailed behind him.

"You attended your fiancé's nameday feast a few years ago. Of course, he was not your fiancé, then. He was merely your father's apprentice and a quite talented shoemaker from my country who moved and quickly fell in love with...your country." He chuckled to himself at a joke only he seemed to know. "I remember you. I remember that you were an absolute vision in white, and you danced with everyone in the room. Though you were incredibly quiet when you weren't wrapped up in the melody of the orchestra." He glanced over at your confused expression, fighting a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, "Like I said: startled rabbit. Always quiet. Always watching. I remember the way your dress hugged the delicate slope of your shoulders, and the way your necklace caressed your neck. That may have been the first time I craved to exist within the confines of a jeweled pendant. And though I was otherwise...occupied with someone...I do remember the way you consistently laughed when he whispered things to you. A kind gesture, as he's never been that funny."

"So you know him. You were there that night." You whispered, feeling chills running up your arm.

"I was," he shrugged, stopping again at a more recent portrait of you and your father, "as was my duty as his elder brother."

You felt your heart stop in your chest and your brain short circuited. Your fiancé never told you about any siblings, let alone an elder brother. You knew your fiance's father was possibly dead, and that his mother raised him alone in Russia. Was he lying about his life? You weren't sure what was conveyed on your face, but Count Vronsky turned to address you directly.

"My father was not an honorable man. He forbade us from speaking to my half-brother or acknowledging him. Of course, Father is dead now, and God hasn't struck me down for disrespecting the wishes of a dead man. This also isn't the first time I've ever sinned." He grinned widely at you and took a step closer, though you were too shocked to move. "From the minute I saw you, I knew I had to have you. And every time I've seen you since, I regretted not stealing you away for myself."

"That doesn't make any sense..." you murmured, hiding your anxious hands behind your back, "I've never met you before. I'd know. I'd remember."

"You make your presence known at those silly little soirées the ladies have. I never stay for very long, but I've always..." he took another step closer and you realized you'd been backed against a pillar, "I've always noticed you. Dancing. Laughing. Drinking. Sometimes smoking. Does your father know you smoke?"

You glanced down the hall over his shoulder, and in a small voice that surprised you, you whispered, "I don't always do that."

"Mhmm." He reached out to run his warm, slightly calloused fingers along the chain of your necklace, stopping just before the pendant that rested in the valley of your cleavage. Your chest involuntarily heaved, and your knees felt weak, "What other bad things do you 'not always' do?"

You parted your lips to attempt something sharp, but instead you swallowed hard and said, "I'm to be married."

"But you are not married." He was so close, "Do you know how badly I've wanted to come see you since you left?" You could smell the sweet wine of your country on his tongue as he whispered lowly to you, "The thought of his hands on you made me want to abandon all of my obligations to cross the sea. Did you think of me?"

Your gaze fell to his lips, slightly stained red, and then back up into his piercing blue eyes. God, he was beautiful. He caught the action.

"You did."

"I didn't."

"Your eyes betray you, wildflower." His hand grazed your hip above your skirt, and his lips ghosted over your own, "I thought about you every night. I think about how you'd look spread out for me on those expensive sheets your father bought you. Waiting for me. And you're wearing that charming necklace my brother gave you while my tongue is deep in that sweet little--"

Footsteps echoed down the hall, and Vronsky swiftly turned away from you to examine the nearest vase again, as if nothing happened. You hadn't realized that your hands were grasping your skirt in your fists and that you were squeezing your thighs together.

You realized then that it'd been so long since you were last touched.

When your father entered the hall, he shot you a curious look before handing Vronsky his latest sketches.

"Here you go, young man. Let me know if these are to your liking. We can begin as early as tomorrow afternoon."

The blond shot your father a charming smile and bowed graciously, "Thank you for taking the time to help a stranger on such short notice."

The conversation sounded like white noise in your ears as you willed your heart to slow down. Even as you composed yourself and released your skirt from your hands, you still felt out of sorts.

When he turned to you and bowed again, he rose and allowed his eyes to trail down the length of your body.

"Always a pleasure to see you again."

[finisnihil]

Hey guys so a while back I went insane and made a list of things we know about Luocha and the coffin entity that took an hour of scrounging every second of screen time and references to his person

These lists were made as of 2.1.

So what we know about the Coffin Entity TM:

•Is being delivered to the Xianzhou despite the fact nobody on the Xianzhou stores their dead the way this person is stored. Also, Lucoha hasn’t “delivered” it yet he still is carting it around despite being on the Xianzhou. It also seems whoever he’s delivering it to is of the Ten Lords Commission and he's aiming to go to the Xianzhou Xuling with it

•They met only once and it was during some sort of conflict Luocha became involved in

•The coffin is being delivered on somebody else’s behalf, possibly the deceased’s or another third party's

•The coffin entity is not considered a friend, lover, or relative

•Luocha proposed a deal of some kind that he’s still waiting to see the entity uphold

•The entity isn’t quite dead as it is temperamental and jabs Luocha with thorny vines when he upsets it. The coffin also has an emphasis on being silent as though whatever is in it can talk back and chooses not to

•Luocha considers their relationship a business one

•Luocha says he and the entity underestimated each other, particularly when Luocha proposed the deal

•He states he and the entity both wanted to use each other

And now, what we know about Luocha:

•He’s a wandering merchant who is registered with the IPC and the Xianzhou Yuque

•He seems to come from an aristocratic or wealthy background based on his clothes and speech and sword (An Épée which is used in fencing, a sport typically practiced by European royalty and the upper class since the 14th Century as that’s when the oldest fencing records seem to hail from)

•He’s considered an Abomination of the Abundance and he confirms his power stems from Yaoshi

•He has no home according to him

•He can heal both organic and inorganic life forms

•He’s looking into immortality of some kind which is interesting because he also seems to have a negative view of immortality and even notes Mara-struck being used as "sacrifices to the Abundance". He also says yearning for immortality as a short-life species is normal and to avoid doing so would be like killing an Aeon.

•He wants to kill Yaoshi

•He’s working with Jingliu to kill Yaoshi and I think Jingliu is the “other business” he had to attend to

•He isn’t the one who snuck on the Stellaron despite turning himself in for doing so. He says he delivered it without knowing its significance but once again he can can sense Stellarons so that doesn't hold much water, but who knows it's murky.

•He doesn’t know VA (Void Archives)

•He he’s wary of Jing Yuan and tries to avoid to being watched by him

•He “changes his mask” so to speak to fit in different situations which matches the fact he goes by the alias Luocha when on the Xianzhou

•His clothes are that of his home world and he wears them “to remind him of the path he must keep treading”

•On his home planet he was involved with a church/church-based society

•His city was destroyed and he was perhaps the only survivor? Possibly related to the Knight of Purity Palace set?

•Many Xianzhou natives say he works and speaks like an older Xianzhou native

•He has a very similar design as Yaoshi

•Before he arrived on the Xianzhou he had a diviner tell him “not to be concerned with the destination, but to seize [his] chances and travel with the current to reap the greatest harvest”

•Luocha is an alias, not his real name, and he only goes by Luocha on the Xianzhou and his real name is noted to be a "tongue-twister" by himself and Jing Yuan

•He’s always wanted to visit the Herta Space Station

•According to Jing Yuan, he "isn't in any hurry to conduct business" and in Jingliu's quest he says Luocha didn't conduct any trade during his stay and his departure lined up with the calamities taking place

•He doesn't like seeing flowers wither but does later note "maybe it's not so bad after all"

•Jingliu says he's "just like her" in that he has a "hole" in his heart that no matter what he does he cannot fill it and just exhausts himself in the effort to do so

•He sells "uncommon trinkets"

•He considers friendship precious

•He typically doesn't get eye bags from staying up

•He's renting a like AirBNB type residence to stay in instead of the Petrichor Inn where he normally stays. He notes it "helps him forget his identity as a traveling merchant"

•One of his hobbies is observing and experiencing the Xianzhou natives' way of life

•He considers himself not great as opening conversations

•He seems to like wine as he left us some when he departed from the Express

•The flower that is his motif is a white lily which represents rebirth

•Jing Yuan admitted he outsmarted him

•Luocha has a weird motif in his related achievements of dancing (Coffin Dancer and Wardance: Épée Trial)

•He broke into the Shackling Prison but seemingly did nothing. Luocha states that in doing so he found the Luofu didn't have what he was looking for

•Jing Yuan mentions he's infamous for being involved in matters at locations called Eternity Fortress and Shroudveil Starzone which I can't find mention of anywhere, so I don't know these locations

•Dahao tells us that upon being arrested Luocha was charged with identity fraud and smuggling dangerous bio-merchandise among other crimes, which Dahao points out is weird and vague.

•He considers the Clous Knight's devotion to Lan as making them "closed-minded". He says there's other factions other than those of Lan who want Yaoshi dead and that they must "look to the source for the solution" to severing Yaoshi's curse

•He also has an understanding of traditional medicine and will write prescriptions for people

•He likes to do little kind things for people with no expectation of being recognized or praised for it

•He constantly stresses he's a noncombatant and while he can hold his own in small-scale conflicts he seems to rely on more experienced fighters in more serious ones and this is reflected in his sword which an Épée, a kind of heavy fencing sword

•He’s interested in and holds a great deal of respect for Elias Salas which is interesting because Elias Salas is notable for not wanting to extend his lifespan despite being able to and died at 103

I probably missed some stuff but I scrounged all this from lightcones, voice lines, character stories, relic backstories, quests, messages, trailers, etc. If I missed anything let me know! Some of these are obviously more relevant than others but if I missed anything let me know and I'll add it to the list!

I wish I could add the screenshots of where I got everything but posts have picture limits so if anyone's curious where I found certain information feel free to ask and I'll reply with where I found it.

Have a great day, mwah!

[thedarkone121]

So… Those previews with Dracula, huh?

So, funny story. All the way back in July 8th — according to Discord — I admit an idea that was running around in my mind ever since I first heard the title of “Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde meet Dracula” and me, coming off the novel of Dracula, wanted some angst. Just to be clear, this was well before the previews came. As Quill put it, I was given he power of Apollo 🤣

Anyway, onto the idea! Some of these are posted from Discord so keep that in mind!

Some heads up, this is a little angsty and very spoilers to the original Dracula novel but basically, here’s my vampire idea; in the midst of the Lodgers turning against him and having to deal with Frankenstein, Jekyll ends up encountering a wealthy aristocrat (ie, Dracula) at a party. The man offers to help fund the society… If Jekyll could stop by his new house and tell him about London. And Jekyll does.

And it works. They’re able to keep the society running. No one is getting kicked out. …But Rachel and Lanyon begin to notice how pale Jekyll has gotten. How he seems more tired than before. How hungrier he gets. How much rawer his food has gotten. It’s so bad than even the Lodgers notice.

Basically, the idea is based on Jekyll taking Lucy Westenra’s place as Dracula’s victim. We’re watching this man slowly lose some of his blood and become a vampire.

To add onto the angst, I also thought of Dracula — while he’s draining Jekyll and hypnotizing him — would slowly turn Jekyll against his friends. Keeping him isolated and not go for help. So even when the others are trying to help him, he wouldn’t listen.

The person who can probably get through to Jekyll is Jasper, because even though he is considered one of the lodgers, Jekyll does remember Jasper standing by him.

I do have an idea in my head where everyone is staging an intervention where they’re trying not to let Jekyll go out and see this Dracula guy anymore. Like Rachel and Robert are trying to tell him he’s been getting worse since these visits, Jasper trying to tell him that something’s not right, even other the Lodgers chiming, saying that they’ll help with the exhibition if he would just PLEASE not go there… Only for Jekyll to say: “What exhibition?”

…At that point, everyone realizes they can’t reason with Jekyll and are forced to keep him confined at the Society. Hoping to starve off the vampirism within him by keeping garlic around him, slowly giving him proper meals again. Also giving him blood transfusions as well.

But Jekyll is completely feral at this point. Even though his heart beats, his mind has been taken over by a ravenous beast. And Dracula has noticed his favorite snack hasn’t come by in a while…

And that’s it! My wonderful angsty idea of a vampire Jekyll. Believe me, I can never look at vampires the same after reading the novel for Dracula. Just the horror of the slow transformation for Lucy… It’s wonderfully angsty and I needed to share that with Jekyll!

Hope you all enjoy it!

[werecreature-addicted]

Little different ask BUT...

I'm very vampire coded as a person in every way (also goth with blood kink here) down to the fact that I have very bad sun sensitivity and have been called vampire jokingly but I'd actually want to be werewolf.

And I'm obsessed with the idea of either having a vampire partner who is kind of Lost Boys, werewolf coded type or having vampire and werewolf partners grrrr (because genuinely...how do I decide and why would I have to?)

Just... utterly obsessed with having mean jock vampire and/or werewolf boyfriend who doesn't expect dark, brooding, vampire looking and acting person to actually be werewolf<333

My thing with this is that- Vampires are typically portrayed as aristocratic or at the very least, wealthy. and typically werewolves are much more blue-collar if not living on the streets. but I love wealthy/ sugar daddy werewolves who love to flaunt their money and spoil their partners. and on the Flipside a backwoods vampire living deep in the forest far away from the rest of humanity, in a secluded cabin.

Also, this almost goes without saying- but big goth werewolf goes insane. 1000/10 he's sophisticated and dark with fine, expensive clothes tailored to his body or at least his human body. with moonstone and gold jewelry adoring him- no silver of course.

A jock Vampire is interesting- because he has to be so careful to only play indoor sports. I'm thinking Hockey. It also gives him a little bit of an excuse. of course his hands are cold, he just got off the ice. and of course, he's as pale as death he doesn't spend all day practicing outside like the football team does.

Of course, no one should be made to choose between having a vampire or a werewolf when you can have both. A rich sugar daddy werewolf and a sweet himbo vampire would be happy to share you- and pass you around while they take turns fucking your brains out. <3

[goodqueenaly]

I looked at Fan Wiki for lists of Westerosi Houses with Valyrian steel swords and wasn't sure how exhaustive it was. Was wondering if House Webber or House Westering or whichever have Valyrian steel swords, would we know and therefore must not have one?

I just mentioned Houses Westerling and Webber because of an alliteration and also they were houses the narrative had spend a not insignificant time with.

Do I think that there are plenty of other Westerosi Houses, beyond those already noted, which currently posses Valyrian steel swords? Very much so. Yandel cites Archmaester Thurgood's Inventories to report that “in the Seven Kingdoms there are only 227 such weapons … some of which have since been lost or have disappeared from the annals of history”. GRRM has Tyrion confirm almost this exact number when he, Tyrion, muses that “thousands [of Valyrian steel blades] remained in the world, perhaps two hundred in the Seven Kingdoms alone” - and if the author’s closest in-universe mouthpiece and a pseudo-nonfiction book in universe agree, I don’t think the author is going to suddenly say “gotcha, actually there aren’t any other Valyrian steel swords besides those we know”.

Do I think either the Webbers and/or the Westerlings specifically have a Valyrian steel sword of their own? Maybe, but I wouldn’t necessarily bet on it for either of them. Certainly, the Westerlings seem like one of those old blue blooded Westerosi Houses who could very well have, in olden times, purchased or received from their royal Lannister lieges a Valyrian steel sword. If the Westerling fortunes are rather less than impressive by the time of the main novels, this may well not have been, and indeed likely was not, the case some four or five centuries ago; with those choice lands not yet sold off, those mines not yet exhausted, and those Westerling daughters perhaps more recently married into the Lannister royal dynasty, the Westerlings may have seemed the sort of rich and upstanding Westerlands lords who could use, or afford, one of the rare and costly blades trickling in from Valyria. However, obviously no mention is made of such a blade by any of the Westerling characters in the main novels, including when Robb is eager to justify his union with Jeyne to his mother - a far from definitive omission, but to be considered nevertheless.

Even less, I think, can be speculated about the potential for a Webber sword. We’ve only really met a member of the Webbers (the Windblown sellsword notwithstanding) in “The Sworn Sword”, a story which by its very nature may have been an improper vehicle for introducing an ancestral family blade. Indeed, so much of that story focused on Lady Rohanne’s dilemma of being a ruler in her own right in a misogynistic, patriarchal aristocratic world - a world in which women wielding swords is at best unusual, if not openly criticized. Rohanne, in turn, may have had little narrative opportunity or reason to bring out a Valyrian steel blade and say, essentially, “oh by the way look at this”, and still less to put such a blade in the hands of her champion and wass would-be fiancé, the grasping and thoroughly unlikeable Lucas Inchfield. Nor indeed do we get any sense of the more ancient history of House Webber (beyond the last generation, anyway), to have an understanding of whether the Webbers would have been sufficiently exalted and/or wealthy enough to have gotten or been given a Valyrian steel sword.

Do I think either House having a Valyrian steel sword will be revealed? Not particularly, or at least I have no strong feelings about this happening. While I definitely anticipate that, as the threat of the Others’ invasion becomes more widely accepted and the realm rallies to unify in order to face it (and any related magical threats, such as Euron), there will be various ceremonies and moments of Valyrian steel sword pledging and contribution, I don’t think the Webbers or Westerlings will necessarily be involved. I’m not even sure that the Westerlings will survive past the TWOW prologue, at least of the ones we know: I’m fully convinced that the attack on the Lannister train by Lady Stoneheart is going to result in the deaths of Sybell Spicer and her (surviving) children, and I wouldn’t exactly be hopeful for Lord Gawen in that context either. I have far more hope of seeing more of the Webbers, at least in the timeline of Dunk and Egg - I’m very much convinced that there were specific geopolitical dimensions to the Tion Lannister-Rowan daughter betrothal that GRRM could very much discuss, and there is certainly no way that GRRM doesn’t explore the mysterious disappearance of Lady Rohanne herself - and so slightly more belief that a Webber Valyrian sword, if it exists, could appear on page. Still, I’m not sure that we’ll see any Webbers in the main novels (again, that Webber sellsword notwithstanding), when their Valyrian steel sword might be most useful.

(But really, if the Westerlings do have a Valyrian steel sword and it’s not called “Honorbound” there is no justice in the universe.)

[seraphirism]

Hello!!! I hope you're having a great day! If you don't mind I really want to know more about Boschi and his past

hii and I don’t mind at all (*^▽^*)!! thank you for the request and opportunity to talk about him!; as I’ve mentioned probably a dozen or so times, I love talking about aknk and especially about our King Boschi 💞!! so let me be your host today and talk your (and all readers) heads off about Boschi.

so grab a snack or drink because this is about to be really long; by the way, I’ll keep this post updated and add relevant information about Boschi’s past that I learn from any new content I consume.

spoilers about chapter 4 (part 4) + Boschi’s card story + event story of “wish upon a black rabbit” event.

Background: a few months before Boschi was born.

so Boschi was born in the East, in the region of Sougetsu/ソウゲツ to a noble family (whose name, for some reason we don’t know.). his father was an aristocrat with some influence in the East, while Boschi’s mother was from a small noble family from a mountainous reagion in the East. Boschi’s mother’s family, while being nobles, were not as wealthy or influential in any way.

Boschi’s father had three wives, his third wife being Boschi’s mother.

we don’t know much about the second wife; just that the first wife was involved in her and her son’s murder.

the first wife was a power hungry woman from a very powerful noble family in the East, (yep, you guessed it! Seiran family.) and even back then, Seiran family had a lot of influence. because of her background, position and the fact she was the first of all wives to have a son, the first wife exerted her influence in their family (evident by how she ended up killing the second wife and her son).

now, we have a rough time line of when Boschi and his half siblings were born:

[the first son/child to be born in their family was the first wife’s.]

now jump to maybe an year or so later the second wife had her first son, then Boschi was born and a month after, the second son of the first wife was born.

the second wife’s son was killed along with his mother sometime before Boschi was born.

[by the way, all of this happened likely months apart; there isn’t a huge gap in time. I’m still not sure about the order of their births so if anyone can correct me, they’re more than welcome.]

Boschi’s birth and the events leading up to that day:

now, when Boschi was born, his mother was afraid that he would get killed next by the first wife if she found out.

[Boschi’s mother was physically unhealthy/frail (this was partly helped by the fact that she was being poisoned all this time by the first wife (in small doses to weaken her.). so after Boschi’s birth she would no longer be able to have children.]

Boschi’s mother, knowing the danger she and Boschi were in, decided to give him up to his wet nurse and send her off to the West. she would then go ahead to tell everyone in the palace that she was attacked by bandits while she was out and her child died due to the wounds he sustained. then, she would no longer be a threat to the first wife and be able to live peacefully in the palace.

Boschi was taken by his wet nurse through a cave in the forests close to their palace, leading away from their land.

now Boschi was sent with his wet nurse to the West where they lived in a small village. Boschi, growing up, was told that his parents died in an accident. (his wet nurse passed herself off as his grandmother, which is how I’ll be referring to her from this point.).

Boschi grows up well, going to school and back, helping his grandmother out at their house with repairs from a young age and later in his teens helping everyone in the village with small errands (repair, hunting for food etc).

[this is where Boschi got his love for building houses and handling decor ✨]

Boschi also studied well (because his grandmother wanted him to be aware and knowledgeable). she may have hid his lineage from him, but she did not want him to grow up unlike other noble kids.

(by the way, Boschi and his grandmother were not financially well and barely made ends meet, until he went into his teens and later, since he could work. his work was mostly hunting/repair/protection).

the day that changed everything, fast: Boschi’s twentieth birthday.

now, on his twentieth birthday he returned home from hunting a deer. he was planning on celebrating the day with his grandmother when a stranger (older in age) visited their house.

he tells Boschi that he’s a noble and an heir to the position of his father. on the approval of the third wife (Boschi’s mother), the man (who was a soldier) had come to inform Boschi of his lineage and to take him back for something very important.

[he had a very bad reaction to it, calling it a prank made in bad-taste but after being shown proof through a ring with a seal of his mother’s family that was kept by his grandmother all these years (it was given by his mother to her to sell if she couldn’t make ends meet), he believed everything, although perplexed.]

he was told that his younger half brother (the second son, I believe?) and the first wife had assumed a rule of total tyranny and were executing any man that they did not like. the people were also in a financially bad state.

[his father was sick and in bed so he couldn’t intervene to stop the two.]

the older loyal men to the family head (his father) were planning a coup d'état and planning on replacing Boschi’s younger half brother with Boschi, who has more right to the throne since he’s older.

they would do this with the approval of Boschi’s father.

[Boschi’s existence may not have been known to the civilians or most of his family but his hair (dark blue) and eyes (green) were a dead giveaway that he was his father’s son and the lustre of his hair was exactly like his mother’s; hence there was no question of people not believing him.]

Boschi was reluctant in the beginning but decided to go ahead with the men with their coup.

[that was because he believed that by assuming the position of the head of the family, he’d be able to have enough money and influence to get a good doctor for his grandmother, who due to age and illness was not doing well.]

the coup and the events that followed:

they go ahead, the coup was successfully; it ended without any blood shed and the men of the first wife were arrested, along with her and her son. (there’s a bit of time skip here, maybe a week or so) and the first son and first wife are brought out in public who sneer and throw slurs at them.

civilians and the people who started the coup wanted both of them executed publicly for their crimes and that’s what they were expecting when the two were brought out.

[this was going to be Boschi’s first every public appearance.]

[by the way, younger half brother gets revealed in this fiasco to have been a child born out of wedlock, according to rumours that is. basically, his mother (the first wife) had an affair with another man. Boschi asserts this since the younger half brother did not look like his father at all.]

Boschi appears and reads their crimes out loud as the people watch, in anticipation; he announces that their sentence would be an execution for their crimes but he’s going to grant them a pardon, have them exiled from the East, rather than executing them.

[Boschi states the reason for this. this was because that the treatment of the son and first wife was going to be his first decision as an heir and he didn’t want blood being shed to be that or for that to be his image in the eyes of people. he did not want the people to think he’s cruel like them and someone who would possibly execute the civilians easily over small crimes.

basically, him pardoning them would show the civilians that if he’s capable of showing mercy to people threatening his rule, he could show mercy to his civilians as well. later, rumours would spread that their land is not cruel to its people and even outsiders would come for business endeavours/job opportunities. he thought the decision on a long run.]

things are beginning to look up?; the events leading up to that night.

now, time skip to a little while later; he’s learning about the problems of his territory, it’s geography and what issues his people are having (everything being new to him). he also has his grandmother being treated by doctors .

[she had a persistent cough I think and wasn’t physically in the best state.]

he meets his mother for the first time and while the meeting is awkward, he hopes their relationship will get better with time.

[by the way, his mother’s physical and mental health was pretty bad; she blames herself for the fact that Boschi grew up away from his parents and had a harsh life. she also believes that by giving up Boschi, he might think she didn’t want him, that’s why she doesn’t try to make attempts to get closer to him, because she thinks she has no right to act like a mother all this time later.]

[almost forgot, Boschi’s father (who was sick all this time in bed) passes way; Boschi was now officially the head.]

[the way this was revealed in the story was amazing 😭💞! on one visit to his mother, he tells her that the Head of this family is worried about you. she laughs in response, saying that to the Head she was already someone from the distant past and as the heir, Boschi has no need to be concerned about her (she was putting herself to be insignificant.).

he tells her he’s not an heir (not any longer). she goes quiet in shock. then he reiterates himself, saying that he said the Head is worried about you; he’s the Head now. and he wants her to eat well and become better so they can make up for all the time they’ve missed spending together these past 20 years. he also added that he would abolish all old traditions and rules (the ones that restricted noblewomen from going out too much) so she has no need to worry.]

[also noteworthy; Boschi wasn’t shown to be upset or affected by his father’s death in any way. it’s likely, that his father was overall not a good person either, considering his relationship with Boschi’s mother too.]

that night: the beginning and the end.

Boschi was having a walk with his mother, talking about he’s going to go out hunting soon and get some good food for his mother and how they should go out together (him, his grandmother and mother.). his mother asks him whether he’s happy now, and he replies with a wide grin that he is; he’s surrounded by people who love him, his family. his mother, was pleased by this.

their peaceful talk is interrupted when armed forces (under Seiran family) attack them. [it’s later revealed that they come in to attack from a secret passage in the palace, known only to the first wife who taught the armed forces about it.]

his mother gets struck by an arrow and his attempts to save her prove futile as she dies there, since her health wasn’t the best to begin with.

Boschi rushes to find his grandmother inside the palace and leaves with her on his back. he runs outside the palace to the forest nearby, attempting to lose the armed forces.

there, an arrow grazes Boschi’s arm but he brushes it off, still focusing his strength on running as fast as he could with the forces hot on his tail. he finally sees a cave hidden in the forest and decides to hide there for a while.

as Boschi makes plans to escape, his grandmother tells him to leave her behind. he reacts harshly to that, saying she was his only family left now and there was no way he was leaving her behind. there he sees that she was shot in the back with an arrow which was meant for him (yep, the one that grazed him in the arm.).

she ends up passing away with Boschi crying away into the night.

[that was a super emotional scene by the way; she reminisces the night she carried Boschi in her arms (when he was a baby) and escaped through a cave in the forest to the West. the same cave that now Boschi had carried her to this time to escape. she says the time she raised Boschi was her happiest time and she hopes he would continue to be a kind hearted person who helps people 😭.].

the events following + till Boschi becomes 28:

Boschi returns to the West, has his grandmother buried in the forest; the area was well hidden so it would be safe from attacks (of angels and people.). he quickly reaches his village and tells all villagers to leave because he thought there was a high chance there Seiran family’s armed forces would come to his village in search of him and burn it down too after they were done.

that’s exactly what happens; after the villagers were gone, the armed forces arrive, ransack the village and burn it down.

the villagers of that village all disperse and settle in other villages. all signs of the existence of his village were gone; in an attempt to make sure that his village is never forgotten, he changes his last name to his village’s name so he could carry it forever with him.

[yep! the village’s name was Arenas! we have no knowledge of his grandmother’s name or his family name.].

[all this happened when Boschi was 20 by the way.]

now, we have a time skip of a few years to when Boschi is 28; he’s been living as a wanderer, travelling, staying in a place for a little, working as a bodyguard + other odd jobs before moving again.

this is because after Seiran family had taken over the territory of his family, they had not forgotten him; they were still searching for him to have him killed by assassins.

[random, but something I still want to add: Boschi reveals that during this time period he did do jobs, for money, that his grandmother would not have been proud of him for. it’s unknown what he was referring to.]

the fateful day: becoming a devil’s butler.

so now, we zoom in to a time where he’s living in the north, in mountains when a man approaches him.

the man seems to know a lot about him, his past and identity. upon Boschi telling the man that, he says that he keeps tabs on the lives of people who have gone through a lot of despair in their life.

Boschi reacts negatively and suspiciously. the man introduces himself as (you guessed it ✨) Berrien, a devil butler (yay, it’s Berrien!).

he tells Boschi that he wants him to join Berrien as a devil butler where they’ll fight angels, his past identity will be forgotten. since the Grobaner family have enough influence and power to protect him if Seiran family do manage to find out about his whereabouts.

Boschi agrees very quickly to this, despite Berrien warning him of the hardships that will come his way; Boschi still agrees, smiling for the first time in a while because after such a long time he’ll finally have a purpose and he has gotten exhausted of this life on the run + hiding.

Boschi joins around the time Fennesz and Haures did; they become good friends because they were the same age when they joined and were assigned to the same floor.

2-3 years later: Boschi loses his arm and right eye.

in an angel attack (where the attack was pretty strong and i think they may have been outnumbered?), Haures is caught off guard by an angel sneaking up on him.

Boschi, who was at his side, throws himself in front of him, taking the blow/attack for him. due to this, Boschi loses his right arm (below the elbow I believe) and his right eye (by that I mean, the eyeball is there but he can’t see through the eye.).

the reason he states for protecting Haures was that having Haures (harmed or killed, though he would have likely died had Boschi not jumped in) would be a great loss to them (devil butlers) and their strength since Haures was and is really strong + he’s responsible for training the other butlers as well.

[by the way, Boschi was and is right handed, so he lost his dominant arm.]

from what we know (through Fennesz, Berrien and Miyaji), he played it off in a nonchalant manner so everyone would not worry about him. but in actuality it was eating at him.

when he started wearing his prosthetic arm, he had difficulty performing everyday tasks like picking up a fork/utensil (his grip wasn’t steady so he would drop it) or sometimes his grip would be too strong so he’d end up breaking something. most importantly, though, he was having a lot of trouble using his sword with his prosthetic arm.

his blows were not as strong as they were and he’d also drop his sword in the middle of a fight as his grip would falter.

this made him train for hours and hours on end to get used to his prosthetic arm, brushing off the concern of the other butlers and pretending he was doing well after the accident, which he wasn’t (mentally and physically.).

now, we have know from the black rabbit event card story of Boschi, that in order to prove himself to everybody he worked really hard to get over the troubles he had with his arm and within a short time, he improved his command over his prosthetic arm.

(he did not take help from anyone, even getting really angry at Haures when he suggested Boschi leave the fighting to him since with the loss of his right arm and eye, Boschi would not be able to reach his full strength. Boschi became really angry at that instance because, as he stated, Haures did not get to decide what Boschi could or could not do; his limits were something only he could decide.

after that, Haures wouldn’t bother him too much during his excessive training sessions and instead Fennesz would check up on him.)

that’s what happened and later he reached the state he is now, where both him and Haures are at the same level of skill in swordsmanship.

now 300 years later, we have Boschi of the present! he hates his vegetables, loves his meat, cannot miss his afternoon naps and trips to the sauna. he has his arguments with Haures (where both verbally and sometimes in training, beat the hell out of each other.) and he also likes books too, which may initially seem contrary to his personality! we have one instance of him tearing up after reading a book recommended to him by Fennesz! (he then played off when you/MC asks him about it). anyhow, he’s very lovable!

Extra + my thoughts:

something I liked and noticed in the part where Boschi’s mother was taking him in her arms for the last time before he would be taken by his grandmother to the west:

Boschi was sleeping that time and she said that he really is a child that sleeps well. fast forward to now and Boschi is still known to sleep the best and most among the butlers 😭 taking his afternoon naps and going to bed early at night too.

[also, this is my personal thought but what if Boschi started relying on Ammon for taking care of his hair after he lost his arm? i doubt he doesn’t know how to take care of his hair since there was that 8 year time period where he was completely alone; he must’ve taken care of it himself. but after he lost his arm, he must’ve had a hard time brushing it and drying it. Ammon would have likely offered to take care of it to get in Boschi’s good books and with his persistence, Boschi must’ve yielded. so now, over 300 years later, Ammon still does his hair.]

[Lastly, this is a question I had, if anyone knows the answer to it; what happened to Boschi’s older half brother, the first son of the first wife? why was the second son of the first wife in charge and not the first son who was the first heir? could it be since the first son wasn’t mentioned later in the story, that he might have been killed sometime before Boschi came to the East? hence making the second son step for the position of the head of the family? East is prone to territorial feuds and wars so it wouldn’t be a surprise if he got killed in a battle or in an assassination attempt by the other families.]

Edit: I forgot to add this! so the whole Seiran family killing Boschi’s family and replacing them as the nobility of Sougetsu was not something that happened because of Boschi letting the first wife and her son go without executing them, though it may seem so initially.

Boschi explained that the Seiran family planned this when they let one of their noblewomen, the first wife, marry Boschi’s father. what they intended in the beginning was that the first wife’s son would become the head of the family and then (they’d either merge the family into one or take over the territory of Boschi’s family and make it theirs.).

however, they didn’t expect Boschi to appear as the heir and then become the head. that’s why they resorted to plan B, which was killing them off (since they weren’t huge in number) by entering the palace grounds through the secret pathway and using (the additional information provided by the first wife about the structure of the palace, how many guards are situated in each place, the possible weak spots etc) to their advantage. which is what happened in the end.

that’s all! i haven’t read too many of Boschi’s card stories (I’ve read 4, I’m planning on reading more) so that’s why I might have missed out on some info. if I learn anything new, I’ll mention it in this post (^^)!

I love all the butlers in aknk. that of course, includes Boschi, but my love for him sky-rocketed after reading chapter 4 + the black rabbit event story 💖✨!! I had Lato as my main butler on my homescreen the past month but after reading chapter 4, I had Boschi on my screen before i knew it 😭

if any information I’ve mentioned is incorrect in any way, please do let me know! there’s a lot of information so I can get something wrong if I’m not too careful.

anyhow, I hope you have a good day, anon 💞! I hope this is a good read and the flow of my writing is bare-able lol. and I hope knowing all of this makes you like Boschi more; he’s a very well written character (i am bonkers about him.)

[enbysiriusblack]

childhoods of marauder characters:

james- grew up in a wealthy neighbourhood in liverpool with occasional trips to mumbai to visit family. other than the trips to india where he could hang out with his cousins his age, he didn't have other friends and grew up very lonely before marlene moved next door when they were about eight, and she became his first non-family member friend. he mostly played quidditch or walked around the garden playing make-belief, very outdoorsy kid. mcgonagall is his godmother/his mum's best friend and ex, so she was around fairly often and he loved trying to play pranks on her (and always failing). his parents gave him anything he asked for and tried (but struggled) keeping up/playing with him. so he didn't really understand not getting his way or what he wants. he grew up with the idea of love being an unconditional thing, and if you love someone then you give them everything you have and are

remus- grew up in a small village in wales with no other kids around. he never travelled very far, other than to the nearest town when they needed something they couldn't get from neighbours or make themselves. his friends were the neighbour's sheep and dog, and his family's chickens. he struggled knowing how to act around people, and his parents didn't really want him around people as they were very overprotective for his safety after greyback bit him, and he was very separated from popular culture. he spent most days indoors reading, knitting with his mum, or watching and talking to the sheep, and doing household chores. he grew up thinking people would hurt him if he got close or he in turn would hurt them, and knowing that he'd have to try twice as hard as the other kids to have a good future

peter- grew up in either essex or kent in a seaside town. he was raised by his mum with his dad out of the picture, but his mum took in homeless/run away kids and taught them life skills and found them jobs, so she didn't give him much attention and expected him to be able to look after himself. so he spent his days walking around town and the beach, collecting stones and shells and painting on them. he was constantly surrounded by people, but never got attention from them. the people his mum took in also had a lot of mental health issues or addictions, so he learned a lot of more adult things quite young, as well as having a paper round when he was 10 to be able to spend time at the arcade instead of just walking around the street. he grew up with the idea that childhood was very fleeting so he valued that more than anything, as well as growing up with the idea that he had to put his life into his own hands and no one else would look out for him but himself

sirius- grew up in islington, london. occasionally going to france or other countries for holidays or special events they were invited to- like charity galas and annual balls. grew up in a family that were losing their money, with the aristocratic class fading away, but were desperately trying to cling onto upper class lifestyle. was expected to be quiet and polite and act like a grownup, but never did. had prospective friends visit all the time but he never got on with them (evan rosier being one of them), which made his parents give up after a while. his parents wanted him to be quiet and studying constantly (if not socialising with other respectable families) so it gave him an easy way to pretend he's studying in his room whilst sneaking out to explore the muggle world. he grew up thinking he was shameful to the people around him, which only made him want to be more shameful cause fuck em, since he was also taught just by being born, he was superior to others (which he slowly unlearnt)

regulus- grew up in islington, london. occasionally going to France or other countries for holidays or special events they were invited to- like charity galas and annual balls. grew up in a family that were losing their money, with the aristocratic class fading away, but were desperately trying to cling onto upper class lifestyle. was expected to be quiet and polite and act like a grownup, which he did. unlike, sirius he did not have prospective friends visit as he wasn't the heir and his parents thought him too strange and awkward for other respectable families. his parents wanted him to be quiet and study constantly so he did just that, other than when he played piano or cello which he had permission by his parents to do anyway. he grew up thinking he had to constantly impress his parents to live up to sirius' easy charming personality and brains, as well as being taught that just by being born, he was superior to others (which he never unlearnt)

lily- grew up in a small town nearby woods (i like the idea of her being scottish but i cannot imagine a scottish severus, so maybe her family is scottish but moved to midlands of england). her parents both worked full time and did a lot of overtime/work out of hours so petunia looked after lily and the house most of the time, leaving lily to go out and play. she was very outdoors-y and hated being at home all day, unlike petunia, so she'd go out to the woods to find severus and play with him, or visit the nice old ladies down the round or go to the park (big fan of the swings) or collect bugs. petunia always seemed so much more grown up than her, and when she did more and more magic, they grew even more separated and lily spent less and less time at home. she grew up with the idea she had to be mature and high achieving to get petunia to want to hang out with her, and that the world in general could seem like a scary or dangerous place but that there was really goodness and kindness and nice things in it all

mary- grew up in plymouth, devon. her dad was in the fishing industry and had quite unreliable hours, which made her more close to her mum, but she still got on well with both of them. she had an older sister who got on with them less, since she was a goth and a lesbian and didn't care what people thought, and their parents are a bit more traditional, but tried being openminded- mary looked up to her a lot despite being very different people. she had a lot of friends and went to a lot of kids clubs (like gymnastics, arts & crafts, performing arts, etc.) also i see her as muggleborn, so she went to primary school obviously and had lots of friends from there). grew up with the idea people are people and you should accept them for their differences (cue friendship with alt butch lesbian autistic marlene), and you should always do what you think is best for you, despite what other people want from you

marlene- scottish but moved to liverpool at around eight years old and met james. is the youngest, and has a few older brothers. her family is very traditional so her mum tries to spend the most time with marlene and teach her feminine qualities, although marlene just wants to go out and play quidditch or go to james' and throw mud at each other for 5 hours. grew up catholic and kept her faith, goes to church every Sunday and does confessions when shes old enough. had meltdowns often as a kid, especially having undiagnosed autism with a mum who wants you to do the opposite of what you want all the time, and she'd run over to the potter's to calm down. grew up thinking she was 'too much' (my beloved quinni variant) and had a lot of religious issues to work through (especially concerning her sexuality)

dorcas- grew up in belfast with their dad. she'd accompany him to building sites (her dad's a builder) often when no one was available to look after her, and they'd play around in the safe areas and the other builders would go talk to her/play with her whilst on their breaks. grew up in a flat with a lot of friendly neighbours in the building who helped raise them. their dad would go out with workmates to the pub after work, when they could, so she spent a lot of time there and always got given free juice and crisps (kids going to pubs is a very normal thing in the uk btw!) had a large sense of community, but not much experience with making friends their own age. grew up with the idea that the world was a dangerous place (its northern ireland in the 60s...) but also that change comes from the people and she could do whatever she could to help others

emmeline- grew up in south korea at a young age but moved to scotland to live with her grandparents (on dad's side) at around six/seven to learn english and prepare to go to hogwarts (her dad grew up in scotland and went to hogwarts). her parents expected her to be studying in the years before hogwarts started, but she never really did (other than her grandfather teaching her english and her grandmother teaching her a few charms). went to a 'bright futures' club and made a few friends there, as well as her fake order of merlin that she began carrying everywhere. she sent letters to her dad constantly, lying about her fast progress and only received a few letters back. grew up thinking she had to achieve greatness or she was worthless, and had to constantly get attention from loved ones by whatever means she could

[seriousbrat]

why I don't think the Blacks were actually that wealthy is this:

"A reasonable amount of gold."

So, Harry inherits ALL of Sirius's money, house, his House-elf. Since Grimmauld Place goes to Sirius after the death of his parents, it's fair to assume that he also got all their money. He also, as we know, inherited a good chunk of gold from his Uncle Alphard. Being in Azkaban for 12 years and later living in hiding/at Grimmauld place, he probably did not spend much of that money. His one big expense is the Firebolt, which, yeah, is expensive but if the Blacks had been uber loaded like they're portrayed in fic, I don't think Dumbledore would have used the word "reasonable" to describe what was left to Harry.

Reasonable suggests to me that yeah, it's a decent amount. But it's not MORE than what Harry already had. It's not an EXTREME amount.

Another thing for me is the matter of Bellatrix's marriage. Narcissa and Lucius seem to genuinely be in love, but I don't think Bellatrix mentions Rodolphus, her literal husband, ONCE (correct me if I'm wrong but I'm fairly certain) in the ENTIRE series. She was in love with Voldemort. She probably didn't want to marry Rodolphus and clearly didn't care much about him. This suggests to me that the motivations behind this marriage were financial rather than romantic. Even Narcissa's marriage to Lucius was probably financially motivated, even though they were lucky enough to actually be a good match. Walburga married her own cousin- again, this was likely financially motivated.

The other clue is Grimmauld Place itself. Historically wealthy/aristocratic families would have a london townhouse for the season, but reside most of the time in country estates or manor houses. There's no mention of any Black family estate at all, and if there was one Sirius being the eldest male heir would have inherited it, as would Harry later. The fact that the Blacks live only in their London house (which is not even that ostentatious, it's terraced and between Muggle houses. why would they choose this.) suggests to me that any country estate they might have had was sold. I guess you could argue that Cygnus and his daughters lived there, but he was the youngest so i find this unlikely. If anything, it would have gone to Alphard. It might have passed to Cygnus upon his death, but that still leaves Walburga without.

What I think happened was that the Blacks were a typical old money family with dwindling resources. Likely Orion and Walburga did not work, and yet still clung to a lavish, aristocratic lifestyle while burning the galleons they had. Grimmauld Place is in a state of disrepair, and yeah it's been abandoned for 12+ years imo it probably started before that. Kreacher is OBSESSED with Black family heirlooms, which suggests that Walburga probably was too- likely she clung onto them as signs of her family's wealth and status, which was fading away before her eyes.

Personally I think Alphard probably inherited the bulk of what was left of the Black fortune, possibly an estate which he then either sold or gave to someone else- but presumably not Walburga, as she blasted him off the tapestry.

And the blasting of Alphard itself. Yeah Walburga hated Sirius and anyone who looked kindly on him, but imo if had she been rolling in it and money was of no concern, Alphard leaving Sirius some gold might not have been especially noteworthy to her. I believe that she was hoping that either she or Regulus would inherit the gold, and when he left it to Sirius she reacted VERY angrily. Because tbh, it might have just gone to him by default as the eldest male heir if Cygnus was dead by that time, which if this is the case seems likely because Alphard DID leave Sirius money. If it was just about him being fond of Sirius she likely would have blasted him off earlier. It seems to me like it was about the money, and to me explains why Walburga was so bitter and so possessive over her legacy.

[bunnysthirstcorner]

A short and spicy DinoClassico X reader/oc : Dino gets possessive and jealous after a gala meeting in which other vamps seemed a bit too friendly with his woman!

Warnings: Posessive!Dino, some spice as well as general red flagness that this man is known for.

I had alot of fun with this! I hope it was what you wanted.

The air was sweet; Sickingly sweet.

The Aristocrat hated the rich perfumes that the wealthy women wore. His poor vampiric senses could only take so much but despite this he could tell where his beloved 5th and final wife was at due to the perfume he gifted her, almost like a clear fresh air amongst the decadence of Aristocracy. He had gifted each of his wives this smell so he could tell where they were; Only letting him know when the smell was gone so was the wife. 4 times he endured this and with the advice of his butler, he agreed to marry for the 5th time but he will do so on his terms.

This is where his final wife came into picture; His favorite due to being his choice. He was rather possessive of her as she wasn't of vampire blood but human. A very logical human at that. His son and heir adored her so he decided to keep a closer eye on her during these parties and to his ire; It brought other lords to her like moths to a light due to her being approachable. In the back where he lurked, hunched over as his tired eyes were watching intently as one particular lord places his hand on her shoulder as if they were old friends.

Sickening. Improper.

With the hour from the clock alerted him of the time, he made his move to his wife where he gave a glare to the other lord that spoke 'back off' as he has his hand on her elbow to get her attention.

"Dear, we need to get going, I got message that we need to arrive home." He replied and with not knowing better, his wife agreed and hurried with her goodbyes and left. Once in the carriage was when she asked what the issue was, it was when he took a gloved hand of hers and peeled the glove off. "Oh, its nothing." He replied as this resulted her in tilting her head before she felt a sharpness sinking into her wrist.

Dino took a taste of her rich blood

"Those lords where swarming over what was mine, I didn't think you'd allow such attention....Maybe I should keep you on a shorter leash..." He replied with a cool venom in his tone that spore of his ilk of his previous feelings at the gathering. "What? Dino, dear, don't think that way" You replied in defense as the firm grip he had kept hold on your wrist. "I was only being polite. I never grew up in this life, I didn't want to disgrace the Classico name by being rude." She reasoned, her tone assuring as was her warm gaze onto his.

His eyes looked to hers to see if her words were false but low, they spoke the truth. Licking the ruby off of his thin lips, he gave a small peck to the spot he bit to then have gloved fingers keep the injury from flowing. He didn't speak but his hold spoke of his settled emotions as he looked to her before he leaned to her neck, inhaling the fresh scent before his tongue licked at her pulse point. He could smell her delicious life force as it caused his fangs to itch for a bite but he refused. He wanted her human a bit longer before taking The cursing bite of immortality.

He has to be sure she will stick around.

"D-Dino..." You replied with a small gasp. Your neck has always been a sensitive spot which resorted a small chuckle from him as he then parted, sitting next to her as he released his hold on her wrist. The spot was red but it didn't hurt as much due to his touch.

"When we get home, Go to the bedroom....I will make sure those lords know that you're Lady Classico , not some Debutant to swarm over." he said as the carriage was up the road to the mansion. You felt your cheeks grow hot and pink from the promise of the rare union in bed. 'Would he really keep his promise?' You thought. Surely he's as tired as you are and won't be as energetic.

Sadly, you don't get much sleep that night. It was worth the ache of his back.

[porryc]

Detailed description of how old Gabriel Agreste is acording to show with leaks

In Episode 20, the date on Gabriel's real ID as “Gabi Grassette” is given is April 23, 19*5.

They didn't want to give an exact date because Thomas and other creators don’t like give exact dates for show so they blacked out the middle number, but the storyboards show the date as 1985.

But that can't explain it fully because anything not shown in the show is not real , So much can be extracted from storyboards

Here Gabriel definitely looks like a pre-teenager , probably 14-15 years old

But if we have to go based on the information given to us :

Thomas Astruc said in a comic-end interview that he wanted to publish a comic in which he wanted to tell about Gabriel's life as a teenager and how he met people like Emilie and Nathalie

So this means that Gabriel met Emilie when he was a teenager and in Episode 24 show what Gabriel looks like when he meets Emilie in Felix's story

He has wavy hair and wears a blazer, freed from his old punk look with purple mohawk and he’s big enough to have its own apartment

18-19 is still a teenage age, but you are entitled to have your own apartment and explains the case of Emilie, who came to Paris for "study" , Emilie may have come to Paris for college or for the last year of high school or as a some kind of exchange student

According to Felix's, Emilie found true love "Immediately ”when she came to Paris , they probably decided to be together for less than one year and they got married quickly in the story

Also, in Episode 22, we learned that Audrey and Andre are really old friends of this couple and that's they are the ones made the two of them come together even Gabriel sewed his first suit to Andre so he could feel more confident in expressing his feelings to the girl he liked : Audrey

When Audrey and Andre were not together, Gabriel and Emilie were together and even lived in the same house as a married couple according to Andre’s “Do you remember when we were young and penniless? You, Me and Emilie would make the world a better place from yours little attic” in Episode 22

In an episode of Season 4, we see Andre and Audrey celebrate their 20th anniversary , so they have been married for at least 20 years and we also know that Gabriel and Emilie have been married longer

In the Weredad episode, we learn that Tom will turn 40 from 39, and we find out that Sabine and Tom have been married for 20 years , This information makes him married at 19-20, as confirmed by his Wiki page

So according to the Miraculous universe there are lot of people were married at that young

But I think Gabriel must be older than Tom because he has gray hair.

Gabriel and Emilie met in the story, they got married right away which makes me think that they married between the ages of 18-20, when Gabriel should have met her "when he was a teenager"

Now we all know that Emilie is inferitle , Gabriel said “For so long…We thought we would never able to have a child,” in final episode

They were married for a very long time until they have Adrien : Which makes sense because they were poor when they got married.

Gabriel was the son of a fast-food business owner who didn't come from a wealthy family anyway, and Emilie, on the contrary, was the heiress of a old-money and noble British aristocratic family and she was a “Lady”

Her parents were furious that she was with a ordinary man like Gabriel who were not the extremly wealthy and powerful man we know at the time so her parents wanted her to end this relationship and they probably had a plan in their mind for her to have a arranged marriage with a powerful and rich man just like they would do to her twin sister Amelie

But she choose him and they married poor , I guess they didn't even have a wedding because Felix showed off his parents' marriage with a fancy wedding, but Emilie simply split her ring in half and put it on Gabriel

But then we saw them living in the mansion we know now so they are pretty rich enough have to afford a huge mansion next to the Eiffel and they still don’t have a child so they didn't have a child from their poor to ultra-rich times, confirming Gabriel's "Too long time"

Also we know they are married more longer than Andre&Audrey who is married for 20 years

Of course, we cannot interpret Gabriel's "Long Time" perception, maybe 5 or 10 years

So if we collect all this information :

He married Emilie when he was a teenager who could have his own apartment so thats make him 18-19 and there are couples who get married so young in the series and he supposed to fell for and married with Emilie after a short time she came to Paris

They didn't have children for long, and that was long enough to go from poor to a multi-rich life (So maybe 5-10 years)

They look grown-ups here and never look like the teenagers-to-adult types so probably 30

And we know that Adrien is 14-15 years old and they're going to make Adrien there

And this is a series set in 2014-2015

and Marinette and Kagami's birth dates are 2000 and 2001, and Marinette and Kagami are where he talks about the Chinese zodiac signs

This means that confirms Gabriel's date of birth in the storyboard and yes Gabriel was born in 1970 , because the date 1985 is the date of issue of that identity, not the date of birth

This makes Gabriel 44-45 years old and possibly married with Emilie since 25 years

[catominor]

Hi! I am looking forward to the cato yaoi (I personally think the triumvirs should be involved) but did you have any more furius/martinus excerpts you could share? I know it's still very much a work in progress. I just love your work ❤️

hehe thank you... i need to do evil things to cato as soon as i . get around to it and actually decide on like . an actual idea of what to write lol.

also yeah sure! i honestly don't have that much actual writing about them that i can share, but yknow what . why not ill share this prospective first meeting scene i wrote over the summer.

---

Lucius Furius Camillus’ house was the most beautiful on the Palatine. Or, at least, this was what Gaius Martinus had heard; he had little eye for such things. And yet all the same, he had been curious when the invitation came; he had noticed him before, spoken to him, very briefly, a couple of times, yet did not know much about the man. 

He followed Furius’ dignified form into the atrium. He was tall (though not as tall as Martinus) and straight, and thin as a rail. He moved with a pronounced limp; the result, Martinus had heard, of some long-past war wounds which had left him in more or less a permanent state of illness. Martinus glanced up, noticing the wax masks of ancestors hung near the entryway; a practice of patrician and illustrious plebeian families Martinus had always found somewhat foreboding. Furius coughed (this was another affectation of his old injuries) and continued on at a leisurely pace, falling back to walk beside Martinus. 

Martinus could hardly picture Lucius Furius in the army, much less in battle; to him the image seemed comical. Tall and stately though he was, he looked fragile, like a slight gust of wind could have easily borne him off. He was around the same age as Martinus (in fact, a little younger, although anyone looking at the two men would never guess); around forty-five, his short black hair peppered with silvery grey. 

The walls of each room of the house were decorated with frescoes; he noticed these were mainly composed of scenes of gardens, which were filled with all manner of exotic birds. Finely painted, indeed, although they were old and rather faded. In a corner of the atrium there was a shrine to the lares of the house; its candles flickered in lanterns and cast a soft glow onto the little silver figures. There were flower petals scattered at their feet. The house was quiet save for a faint clattering from the kitchen, the lamps already lit as the bluish evening light diminished. 

There was a faint chill in the air; Martinus shivered, and noticed Furius did too, but he did not move to put an arm around the man as he might have for others. Something in his gut told him the gesture would run the chance of offending his patrician sensibility. And he did not want to seem over familiar, anyway. They passed into the peristylium and its beautiful garden. Furius wore relatively simple clothing for the likes of a wealthy aristocrat of his time, but it was clean and clearly the best he owned. On his right little finger he wore a seal ring of gold and blue chalcedony, which bore the image of Juno; on his left index finger an iron senator’s ring.

He turned toward the garden. “I designed it myself.” he explained. Clearly he was particularly proud of this area of the house. “I selected plants so something is always in bloom; right now it’s the narcissus. I specified that the earth be laid out in these hills, so that it might look more natural than a usual peristyle-garden; I cannot afford and have no interest to leave Rome to go to the country; and I need to have something to myself.” 

Martinus did notice it was quite unusual. A few trees ringed the outside; oranges, olives, figs, something else he didn’t know. Large bushes of rosemary and lavender clustered around a small fountain, and blobs of thyme crept over rocks. Thick vines just leafing out climbed some of the columns and up onto the tiled roof.  The rest was a sort of collection of grassy hills divided by paths, various shoots coming up at this time in the spring to add to the hyacinths already in bloom. The scent of the place was otherworldly. 

The narcissus huddled at the roots of the trees in heavy clusters, winking at them like stars in a dark field. A couple of statues stood in the garden; they looked old, the paint on them long since worn away, and never refreshed. Furius motioned toward a bench near the little fountain. He sat down nearest the orange-tree, sheltered under its new-green leaves and doubly illuminated in the bluish evening tinge and by the little stone lantern on the ground next to the pool. He leaned over, lifted one of the flowers’ heads and studied it, still not looking at Martinus. He could detect some nervousness in his posture. 

“I… Invited you here because I have a problem. I want to become consul.” Martinus was not particularly surprised. “Oh?” 

Lucius Furius finally turned to him, looked at him intensely with his large dark eyes. “I know you want this too. I want us to run together.” 

Martinus was a little surprised. “Really? Are you sure our interests are so aligned?” 

Furius’ expression was hard to read; maybe a little apprehension. “They are aligned enough.” He paused, perhaps considering his sell. “You’ll never get anywhere without patrician support. And I” he sighed. “I can’t afford it on my own. I’m sure you know my family has not achieved much in the realm of politics for quite some time.” 

Martinus looked at him for a moment, thinking. It was true, he had trouble winning over the patrician segment of the political elite. Being an Italian nobody with only a few generations of wealth and one senate seat behind you would do that. But the simple fact was: “Why me?” he asked Furius. 

Furius thought for a moment. “Because I think you’re the most well-off man in Rome whom I can stomach allying myself with, as well as being in a position to stand for consul with me. I don’t know you, yet, but I’m not throwing away my idea because of that. …Are you a good man, Gaius Martinus?” Again the eyes fixed him. Stern, inscrutable. Lucius didn’t really believe he was. 

“I believe I have brought much glory to Rome.” 

Lucius Furius hummed assent. “Mmm…” A flicker of …sadness? In his eyes. 

“...Your own military career?” Said Martinus. 

 Furius looked a little pained. “I suppose not all are constituted for such a life. I was one of those… not constituted.” A faint dusting of pink passed over his face; as befitted a man so pale, even his faintest emotions were written brightly on his cheeks. Martinus decided to change the subject. 

“Your reputation as a voice for good sense in the Senate is unimpeachable, at least. Everybody respects you.” 

“Everybody also makes a pastime of coming up with vaguely insulting nicknames for me, and giggling about me behind my back. Gods forbid I spend my free time reading the greatest works of philosophy and literature in the world instead of hanging around in stinking, sordid taverns, generating adultery scandals, and frequenting brothels.” He said, bitterly. He had Martinus, an incurable tavern-and-brothel-frequenter, there. Martinus laughed. 

Lucius Furius looked up, fixing Martinus with his dark eyes again. “That won’t stop them voting me in as consul, though. I know it. And censor after that. Especially with you, the military man, behind me. You would win glory for Rome on the battlefield, and I would restore glory to Rome here.” Martinus smiled. “You know, I’m starting to like this idea. But… I’d still like to know you better. Come to my house tomorrow afternoon.” 

“I shall, Gaius Martinus.” Lucius Furius said firmly, proferring his slender hand and looking down his nose at Martinus. Martinus shook it.