#ruby rose x original female character

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Perzys se Rūkla (Fire and Flowers) - Chapter Four

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x original female character (Melessa Tyrell) Warnings: Smut, mentions of death, angst, mentions of infidelity. Word count: ~3.5k

Chapter summary: Shocking news means Daemon and Melessa must return to the capital. Series summary here.

Endless thanks and all the love to my absolute ride or die @em-writes-stuff-sometimes for cheerleading, beta'ing and just generally being the bestest fandom boo a gal could have. Squishes also to @ruby-dragon and @valeskafics for providing support when I was outlining this chapter.

Author's note: No gods, no masters, no tag lists. Only scabs community label fics. If you find yourself tempted to slap a label on this, please block me instead.

Header by the insanely talented @em-writes-stuff-sometimes

I love you. I love you. I love you.

It tumbles freely from Melessa’s lips over the first six months of their marriage. With every day that passes, it becomes easier for Daemon to hear. The first time he takes her to meet Caraxes, his large hand covers hers completely as she holds out trembling fingers to touch the great, red beast’s snout. She looks up at Daemon, a bright smile upon her face despite the palpable fear in her big, blue eyes, and utters those three little words to him. He squeezes her hand ever so gently, but does not say it back.

He takes her flying, and she screams bloody murder, turning backwards to bury her face in his chest at the turbulent ride that dragonback provides. He wraps his arms tighter around her waist and, eventually, she relaxes back against him. Daemon is certain she endures it more than she enjoys it. Her pulse is racing when he takes her arm to help her out of the saddle once they have landed. Yet, still, she murmurs a breathless declaration of love to him, which he rewards with a gentle kiss to her forehead.

When he senses she is missing Highgarden, he arranges to have a rose garden built upon the grounds of Dragonstone. Daemon knows nothing of flowers, is unsure if they will survive the climate on the island, and yet none of that seems to matter as she gazes up at him with that grin, soil dusted over her hands and cheeks from pruning the bushes, and tells him she loves him.

He is no longer stricken by panic at the ease with which she tells him this. He grows to expect it, coveting the warmth that spreads through his chest when she tucks her head beneath his chin and whispers it sleepily before drifting off each evening. He never returns the sentiment. Daemon is not one for words of affirmation, but he cannot deny that for the first time in a long time he feels genuine happiness.

Heat of another kind unfurls within him as Melessa lays beneath him, one leg placed haphazardly over his shoulder as he thrusts into her tight wet heat. Such pretty sounds she makes for him, her eyes glassy with tears as he splits her open. Daemon would usually have tired of a woman after this length of time together, but gods, her cunt. He cannot get enough of her. She is all too obliging of his appetite. As her release makes her tighten and spasm around him, he is pushed over the edge himself, spilling inside of her with a groan. He collapses against her, breathing in the scent of almond oil and rosewater, which has grown to be a familiar comfort.

Once he rolls off of her and pulls her to his chest, he is tempted to drift back into slumber for a few more hours. The sun has not long risen and they have nowhere to be. As he is about to let his eyes flutter shut, a sharp knock at the chamber door startles him out of his doze.

Melessa grouses beside him, already half asleep herself, as he disentangles himself and rises from the bed. Slipping into a robe without bothering to fasten it, he stalks toward the door, throwing it open and glaring at the maester who has dared to disturb them.

The elderly man’s eyes go wide as he takes in Daemon’s state of undress, shifting uncomfortably and averting his gaze.

Daemon scoffs. “What is it? Or have you just come to take a look at my cock?”

“N-no, Your Highness,” he stutters. “There was a raven - it’s a message for you. It bears the royal seal.”

Daemon snatches the parchment from the maester before slamming the door in his face. He studies the wax stamped with the three-headed dragon, then turns it over. His name is in handwriting he’d recognise anywhere; Rhaenyra’s. He’s had no news from King’s Landing since he and Melessa were wed. A sinking feeling in his stomach accompanies the overwhelming sense that this won’t bear pleasant tidings.

Father is dead. Come home.

It is as though he has forgotten how to breathe as he reads it over and over. His eyes burn, the words beginning to lose all meaning.

“What is it?” Melessa asks sleepily, her words snapping him out of his trancelike state. She sits up slowly, rubbing her eyes.

“I have to go back to King’s Landing,” he replies flatly. “My brother’s dead.”

She hurries to climb from the bed, standing in front of him and taking his hands in hers. “Oh, Daemon… I am so sorry.”

He nods solemnly, his thumbs rubbing absentmindedly over the backs of her hands. “I will leave within the hour. I’ll come back as soon as I can.”

She shakes her head, her expression earnest. “You aren’t leaving me here by myself. I’m coming with you.”

He huffs a small laugh. Stubborn little thing. Of course she wouldn’t allow him to leave without her. “Then ready yourself to leave within the hour too.”

“What of our belongings?”

“What about them?”

“You can’t carry everything on Caraxes. You won’t be returning here, not now you’re Hand of the Queen.”

The stark realisation hits him almost as hard as the news of Viserys passing. Rhaenyra’s succession had been the very last thing on his mind. His time with Melessa on Dragonstone has come to an end. They’re returning to King’s Landing for good. The thought makes him want to crumple up his niece’s message and pretend he never saw it.

Yet half a day later, they are landing in the capital, Daemon helping Melessa down from the saddle of his Blood Wyrm as she trembles like a leaf. Their entire lives have been packed up and loaded onto a ship which will arrive later. He is struck by overwhelming admiration for his wife’s courage to endure an experience that terrifies her so much, simply for the sake of being at his side. He clutches her warmly against him as Caraxes is led away into the Dragonpit, their final moment of it just being the two of them.

Melessa is taken to get settled within their quarters, while Daemon meets with Rhaenyra. The Silent Sisters have already finished their preparation of Viserys. The body is wrapped and prepared for burning. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. He looks upon it, brow furrowed in sadness and disbelief that what lays before him was once his own brother.

“It is better that you didn’t see him before,” Rhaenyra says gently, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with him. “He was not a man you’d have recognised. I scarcely did.”

“Did they do this?” he asks, not looking at her. His meaning is clear.

Rhaenyra sighs. “You saw how he was the last time you were here. As much as Alicent and Otto want Aegon on the throne, this wasn’t their doing.”

“Has there been any discussion as to the succession?” He turns to her, scrutinising the uncomfortable look that passes across her face.

“It has been difficult enough just to get them to agree to have Syrax burn father’s body. They have been pushing for Sunfyre.”

“Rhaenyra - this is your birthright!” His voice raises, his nostrils flaring with anger. “As soon as the funeral is over, we will deal with the matter of your coronation. Those that oppose it will die screaming.”

A heavy silence falls between the two of them. In it, Daemon contemplates all he has given up in order to support his niece. He longs to turn on his heel and flee back to Dragonstone, back to the life of quiet solitude he’d shared with Melessa; but he cannot abandon his niece. Not a second time. Resentment settles within him, dark and ugly and overshadowing his grief. All of this would be easier were it not for the fucking Hightowers. He will have Otto’s head for this.

The funeral is a tense affair. Alicent stands solemnly off to the side with her children, none of whom look particularly upset, just uncomfortable. Otto is beside her, his expression unreadable. Daemon has asked Melessa not to come, telling her that it was something she was better off not seeing. He regrets that decision. As he watches a tearful Rhaenyra surrounded by Laenor and her children, he cannot shake the feeling of loneliness that overwhelms him. He is with his family, yet none of them are a comfort. The flames of Syrax engulf his brother’s corpse and Daemon is lost, longing for the softness of his wife’s hand in his, and the words he has spent half a year growing so fond of. I love you.

The ashes of Viserys are not yet cold when a meeting of the Small Council is called. Tthe collective mood around the table is sour.

“My father named me heir. There is little to discuss,” Rhaenyra tells those gathered. Her tone is cool, though her discomfort is more than apparent.

“Viserys asked for Aegon to be crowned before he passed,” comes Alicent’s soft rebuttal.

“Lying cunt!” Daemon spits across the table at her, white hot rage causing him to clench his fists as he glares at her. The ceaseless politicking is a waste of his time - he could cut through half the room with Dark Sister using little to no effort.

“Regardless of what has been said, the fact of the matter is that the people of the Seven Kingdoms will never accept a woman as their ruler. I urge you to see reason,” Otto says matter-of-factly, his attention focused solely on Rhaenyra.

“Then we shall let the people decide,” she shrugs, sitting back and crossing her arms. “Put it to a vote, as it was for Father and Rhaenys.”

“Rhaenyra, no!” Daemon urges from across the table. “You cannot put the claim of your birthright into the hands of fucking halfwits!”

Daemon is no fool, he knows that Otto is right. The people would sooner see his drunken, useless idiot of a nephew sit the Iron Throne than allow a woman to take it. She is sure to lose this.

“I am the Realm’s Delight, am I not?” she retorts. “Put it to a vote.”

“Very well,” Otto concedes, a look of smug satisfaction settling across his features. “A vote it is.”

Standing so abruptly it causes his chair to clatter backwards onto the flagstone floor, Daemon storms from the Council chambers, his fist wrapped tightly around the pommel of his sword. He has heard enough.

He seeks out Melessa, hoping the sight of his pretty little wife will calm him, and finds her in the gardens reclining on a bench, her face turned up towards the sun with her eyes closed. She is wearing the backless gown she had on the day he met her. This is the first time he has seen her in it since then. Watching her like this, basking in the warmth of the afternoon with such a genuine smile upon her lips, is a stark contrast to the way she shivers and wraps herself in furs on Dragonstone. Daemon wonders if the happiness he felt between them is entirely one-sided. She looks so… carefree. He decides not to disturb her, walking away with the uneasy sense that he has spent half a year making this poor woman miserable.

The days that follow pass miserably for Daemon as the votes are gathered by raven throughout Westeros on the matter of the succession to the Iron Throne. The waiting is insufferable. Daemon feels as though he is grieving his closeness with Melessa as well as the death of the brother he’d hardly seen for over a decade.

Every time he seeks her out, she is laughing with ladies of the court, walking in the gardens or otherwise occupied, girlish exuberance radiating from her. He wonders if he has ever made her that happy - if he ever will. He isn’t worthy of her purity, her goodness, and being here is a constant reminder of that. She seems so at ease, and he despises it. He feels like a stranger stalking the halls.

She still snuggles tightly against his chest each night and he clings selfishly to her, eager to hang on to what little remains of their isolation on Dragonstone. When he fucks her, her cries echo throughout the Keep, tears of overstimulation rolling down her cheeks. He is rougher with her than usual, and he is all too aware of the fact he is taking his jealousy and frustration out on her, but he cannot help himself. There is a part of him that longs to hurt her for daring to be content in the capital when he is not.

After a week, all of the necessary votes have been collected and counted and the Royal Court gathers in the Great Hall. Rhaenyra stands to the right of the Iron Throne, flanked by Laenor. Jacaerys, Lucerys and Joffrey gaze up at her with hopeful, expectant eyes from the front of the gathered crowd, watched over by the mindful presence of Ser Harwin Strong.

Aegon stands to the left, his slouched posture making it seem as though he’d rather be anywhere else. Helaena is next to him, though no trace of warmth or affection passes between the two. Her floppy demeanour and dreamy expression are indicative that while she is physically present, her mind is somewhere else entirely.

Daemon scoffs in disgust. Gods help them all if the vote goes as he expects it to.

Alicent and Otto are directly opposite, at the head of the gathered audience. Otto appears haughty and smug, while Alicent’s brows are pinched together in anxiety, her fingers picking her nails bloody. A tall, slim brunette girl stands beside Aemond, who appears rakish as ever. It seems no time had been wasted in replacing Melessa.

He feels his wife’s small hand reach out and give his own a reassuring squeeze as the chest that will reveal the outcome of the realm’s act of democracy is carried forth. Looking down at her, a wave of shame washes over him. Her bright eyes are filled with adoration as she gazes up at him. He has spent a week resenting her when all she has done is support him. He turns his attention back to the chest that is now being placed before the throne, unable to stand what he feels when he meets her eye.

He bows his head as it’s opened. He cannot bear to see Rhaenyra’s face when Aegon’s name is read.

Rhaenyra Targaryen.

What? 

Daemon is a difficult man to shock, and yet his jaw drops as he hears his niece’s name called out. She beams proudly as her children whoop and cheer in celebration. Melessa joins in, clapping happily with a wide smile upon her face.

Daemon smirks as he looks across to see the shocked look on Otto’s face. He will take great delight in unburdening the old cunt’s shoulders of his head. Alicent looks as though she will burst into tears, while Aemond’s jaw tenses in displeasure. Aegon, on the other hand, appears relieved at the announcement; his shoulders visibly relax for the first time since he entered the Great Hall. His moonstruck sister-wife applauds next to him, apparently unaware of what this news means for her immediate family.

Though Daemon is pleased for his niece, his disposition darkens further as the days press on and he learns of her plans to allow Alicent and her children to remain in residence at the Red Keep.

“I have not forgotten the love I have for Alicent,” she tells him. “The Targaryen family is stronger united than it is divided.”

At the tearful pleas of Alicent, Otto’s life is spared and he is exiled from King’s Landing, returning to Oldtown. Daemon is enraged at being denied the opportunity to execute him. He has barely begun his duties as Hand of the Queen and already he feels powerless. Worse still, Rhaenyra’s reasoning for sparing his life makes perfect sense - there is no hope of a peaceful alliance between her and the former Queen if she has her father killed. He hates that she is right.

The atmosphere at Rhaenyra’s coronation is jubilant. He knows he should play the part of proud uncle as she is crowned. However, when he is passed the golden Hand brooch, he feels as though he is being fettered and chained to a city he hates. The weight of it pinned to his breast is like an albatross around his neck. 

Melessa is as adoring as ever and he finds himself bristling at her gentle touches and loving looks. He does not deserve her admiration or her love, and now that he no longer has her all to himself, he knows it won’t be long until she realises the same thing. He has everything he’s ever wanted; the perfect wife, the position his brother had always denied him, and yet none of it feels remotely satisfying. Nothing has gone the way he wants it to.

He glowers over his wine cup at the celebration feast. The only people still seated are him and Melessa, as well as Aemond and the woman he has since learned is Aemond’s wife, Floris Baratheon, the result of a hasty marriage arranged by Borros and Otto in order to get Storm’s End on side when it was still intended for Aegon to take the throne. A wasted endeavour. Daemon wonders if they are as unhappy together as they look.

“Dance with me?” Melessa asks hopefully, the brush of her fingertips against his forearm snapping him from his darkened reverie.

He softens as he looks at her, guilt washing over him. She must be bored stiff, but he is in no mood for festivities. “Not now, petal.” He offers as kindly as he can muster, not missing her downcast, disappointed expression.

“Uncle, might I trouble your wife for a dance?”

He looks over as Rhaenyra’s eldest son, Jacaerys, hovers by Melessa expectantly.

“If my lady wife has no objections, then I suppose you may.” He waves his hand dismissively as she rises from her seat, walking arm-in-arm with his nephew towards the centre of the room.

He watches them intently as they move. He doesn’t miss the way they smile at each other, the sound of her laughter carries, and once more he finds himself wondering if he has ever made her that happy. Acrid jealousy begins in his chest and rises in his throat as he watches the way their hands linger on each other.

He knows it is just dancing, knows that he agreed to this, and yet he cannot help the angry scowl that pinches at his brow. They are much more appropriate in age for each other - would Melessa be better suited to someone like him? Perhaps it is his lot to stand powerless as Rhaenyra’s hand and watch his wife slip away from him, into the arms of another.

Desperate for distraction, he leaves the table, grabbing the nearest serving girl as he storms from the hall.

“With me,” he commands lowly, his intentions more than apparent.

She nods and follows as he drags her to the nearest alcove, well away from the celebrations. He makes quick work of unlacing his breeches and pushing her skirts up, not bothering to take the time to properly look at her face or commit to memory what she looks like. It doesn’t matter; she doesn’t matter. He just needs the thoughts to stop.

As he leans in, inhaling, the smell of the kitchens and stale wine fills his nostrils. He has grown so used to the scent of almond oil and rosewater, the difference is jarring and the sharp comprehension of what he’s doing, who he’s doing it with, hits him. His cock softens before he’s even had a chance to press inside of the girl he has pinned against him. He slams his hand angrily against the wall beside her head.

Foolish. Foolish. Foolish.

He should not be doing this. Melessa does not deserve this. He pulls away, unable to look at the poor girl he has inflicted himself upon.

A gasp causes him to turn as he moves to tuck himself away. He feels like his heart stops. He has spent the last couple of weeks wondering if he has ever made his wife happy, but knows at this moment he has never made her look this hurt.

Her blue eyes stare at him, shocked and filled with tears. The plushness of her bottom lip trembles. The sight of it is too much. He reaches for her, and she hiccups a sob, turning and running from him.

He stands rooted to the spot, wanting to go after her but unable to as the realisation dawns too late.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

[littlejuicebox]

Caught between comfort and chaos

(Astarion x F!OC)

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Chapter number: Two Themes: BG3, slow burn, original female character x astarion, dialogue heavy, mostly canon behavior Masterlist: Click here. Notes: I know only a few people have seen part 1, but these little pieces of the story keep playing in my head. I always welcome feedback and suggestions. If anyone is seeing this, hope you enjoy! Please leave a comment to let me know your thoughts/give feedback. It inspires me to keep writing in to the void. :)

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Karlach and Gale made quick work of washing themselves up before they made their way back to camp, located less than half a mile away. The wizard and tiefling — self-appointed head chef and sous-chef... and did that make Astarion the sommelier? — had much work to do for dinner preparations in the next hour. The sun was just starting to kiss the horizon in its descent towards night. Everyone would be hungry soon. Everyone... instead of just the rabid rogue that carried an insatiable ball of hunger in the pit of his stomach every step of the way.

Not one to particularly enjoy the group activity of preparing a meal that he wouldn’t dare touch — even if he could — Astarion had offered to stay behind with their leader. Mostly to get out of having to help the others, and partly because he found he’d seemed to enjoy the ranger’s company just a bit more than he enjoyed the others. Though, to be fair, the bar was insufferably low.

“You know, you really can be quite the tactician.” The pale elf mused, standing on the banks of the river, arms crossed, trousers rolled up around the calf, as he eyed his female companion. A sly smirk danced across his lips as Wren scrubbed at the mud that practically coated her face and arms. “And… honestly, darling? Quite the klutz.”

“You’re lucky it was me, and not you, you fool! At least Gale’s feather fall spell prevented the worst of the damage.” The little bird chirped, her tone jagged with shards of irritation. If looks could kill, and the vampire weren’t already undead, the scalding eyes she focused on him would’ve ended his life right there.

“Had that damned phase spider shoved you off the crag instead of me, I’m not so sure Gale would’ve bothered to wave his hand your way — he’s still irritated that I’ve gone and given you that stupid book, you know — and then that poor pretty face of yours would’ve been smashed to bits! So, Astarion, what I really should get is a thank you for intercepting that thing. You’d been so distracted during the whole blasted affair — Karlach was fighting off the hatchlings practically alone up there for half the encounter!” The frustration bubbled over Wren as she washed her skin, angry patches of red appearing on her freckled arms.

Astarion knew she was right, of course... he’d been distracted. When one of the arachnid hatchlings sunk their fangs into Wren’s arm earlier today, the smell of her blood consumed his senses. He had been wrestling with the unbearable desire to sink his own fangs into her neck. It had taken everything in him to control his urge. But he couldn’t tell Wren that — she and her other little followers would finally see him for the danger he was and run him off. Gods, he was so hungry, and the memory of her taste was so tempting that even now his senses were primarily focused on the remnants of dried blood she angrily swiped off her skin.

“Darling! So, you finally admit it! You think I’m pretty.” He twisted his words against her like one of his expertly wielded daggers, a carefully crafted deflection. He won a small creep of rosiness stretched across her neck. His white brow lifted in its signature cockiness as he held her gaze. ‘It really is all too easy….’ He chuckled to himself, proud of his tactic. Ruby eyes glossed down the brunette's face, to the crest of her collarbone, where her blush slowly rose up her neck.

'Tempting...' But no, he couldn’t. She hadn’t offered since that first time, and surely another mishap like that would leave him cast aside and utterly unprotected in the wilds he knew nothing about. He needed her influence in the group and her expansive knowledge of the wild terrain, which she navigated as if it were her own backyard, to keep him safe.

“Is that really all you got from that, Astarion?” The archer questioned, dryly. Despite her embarrassment at his quip, it was clear she still aimed to hold him accountable for endangering their companions. He loathed being held accountable, but she seemed to do it at every turn; the habit was infuriating.

Wren began wading his way, the splotches of embarrassment beginning to fade. How he longed to sink his fangs into her and satiate the hungry fire in his belly. He hadn’t consumed a single animal today — the caves really only had poisonous spiders and, even worse, rats.

‘When did I eat that fake paladin that had been after Karlach? Must have been nearly a week ago by now. And even then, their blood was nowhere near as satisfying as—'

“Agh, Wren, what in the hells!”

Wren had launched herself at him, contorting her limbs around his torso and leaning herself backwards, the shift in his gravity center causing both of them to tumble into the water. A shock of icy river water enveloped the vampire and jerked him out of his thoughts.

The pale elf shot up and out of the river like an arrow released from one of the ranger’s bows, haphazardly shoving drenched curls from his face. “Why you— how dare you—“ He sputtered, spinning in the direction of the traitorous wench.

“You have to admit, you kind of deserve it for leaving Karlach high and dry today.” The half-elf stated smugly.

She burst into laughter, and suddenly Astarion had her lifted into his arms, posed to launch her into the water. The river had washed away all thoughts of hunger, making room only for revenge.

“Little bird, I think you’ve gotten too big for your britches.” He said through gritted teeth as he shifted her weight in his arms, swinging her around like he was an Olympian throwing a shotput.

“Wait— Astarion, wait!” Wren shrieked, palms facing him, feigning innocence. “Truce! I have a gift for you… but I’ll only give it to you if you promise a truce.”

The offer was intriguing enough, and Astarion straightened his stance. Scarlet, cat-like eyes narrowed at the half-elf as he placed her back down on her own two feet. “This had better be good, Wren.”

-----

The rogue huffed as he watched the gang leader rummage through her pack, full to the brim with bits and bobs. “Gods, you’re just like that blue jay in the grove, hoarding every shiny thing! No wonder you’re named after a bird. You really ought to—'

Just then, she produced a giant hunk of amethyst from her pack. She proudly thrust the stone at him, and Astarion snapped his mouth shut, measuring the weight of the purple orb in his hand.

“I’m sorry, what were you saying about my hoarding habits?” Wren quipped, eyes daring him to continue his lecture.

Astarion’s undead heart skipped a beat. He'd recognized the significance of the item instantaneously; every free moment this week had been spent attempting to open that blasted book. A thrilled smile plastered his face. “My dear, I was just saying that a little bird like you needs a better backpack… or at least some repairs and upgrades made to that one if you’re planning to carry all of Faerun on your back… literally and metaphorically.”

The brunette woman rolled her eyes at the vampire, nodding her chin towards the treasure in his hand. “I found that when I fell off that crag today. You three were still trying to kill that stinking spider so I shoved it into my pack as fast as I could before returning to help. Now come on, let’s go put it in that ugly book of yours.”

This was now three gifts she had given him — blood, book, bijou. His mind rushed with anxiety… kindness was never this free, it always came with strings. The debt ratio was swinging further out of his favor, and even though Astarion was elated by the potential this purple key would unlock, his stomach also twisted at the fact that he kept owing this half-elven woman he barely knew more and more as the days crawled by. She seemed to know exactly what he couldn’t refuse and offer it to him at every opportunity. ‘Kindness or cunning?’

-----

They were nearly to the camp when Wren’s pack began to tear. “Shit!” She hissed, shrugging the bag off her shoulders to hold it in her arms as if it were a precious babe.

“My dear, you really need to drop some of that riff raff.” Astarion sighed, waving his hand dismissively at her backpack.

“When we get back to Emerald Grove, I’ll sell a lot of this stuff. Besides, we need the money.”

Astarion really couldn’t argue with that logic. He hated scrounging up things to sell off for money — he’d never had to do such a thing in his life, as far as he could remember… even in the life that only consisted of hazy memories before his Master took over. But, they had maybe a bit over one hundred gold between the lot of them, and that wasn’t going to go very far since Wren seemed set to adopt every straggler and animal she could along the way. They'd just picked up an annoying dog -- 'Scratch, what a poor excuse for a name.' -- 48 hours ago. Plus, his pickpocketing, admittedly, hadn’t turned up much in an area without the usual nobles and artistes he regularly scammed in Baldur’s Gate.

An exasperated sigh escaped his lips. “Fine then. Come and put all that trash in my pack, instead.” He offered, shrugging his bag off his shoulders and holding it open and out for her. His clothes were still wet and sticking to him from her earlier prank, and he really was getting very hungry. He desperately needed to hunt, and this silly exchange was slowing them down, but the ache in his stomach from owing Wren several favors was, at this moment, burning more than his hunger for blood. Maybe this gesture would start to swing the pendulum back into his corner. Indebtedness did not suit him well.

Wren beamed, dumping everything into the vampire’s pack; spoons clanged together at the bottom with a lump of moldy cheese and several… bones? ‘What in the hells. Is she a bird or a raccoon?’

“Gods, you’re absolutely ridiculous.” He grumbled. The vampire was shocked at the impractical weight she carried every day without a second thought.

“Thank you,” Wren replied, choosing to ignore the annoyance in his voice as she followed after the pale elf. The camp so close they could hear Lae’zel and Shadowheart bickering about the best weapon to use in a battle and smell whatever concoction Gale and Karlach created with the scant supplies in their inventory. Stars began to dapple the night sky, and the welcoming glow of the campfire drew them like moths towards the heart of the group.

As they walked the last bit of their journey, Wren couldn’t help but to sneak a few glances at Astarion, his wet shirt sticking to his torso, the nearly transparent material revealing glimpses of his pectorals and biceps. The first rays of moonlight started to dance in the vampire's hair, and she smiled as she recollected their earlier encounter in her mind's eye. Maybe the small glimpse of her companion's physique hadn’t been the motive of her actions earlier — it was mostly to shut his cocky mouth up — but maybe it had turned out to be part of the reward.

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Astarion found the Necromancy of Thay to be an interesting read… if you could get past the voices that wouldn’t just SHUT UP. Those spirits kept egging him to kill his camp mates… and what good would that do? He’d entertained the thought of killing Gale. At least he’d no longer have to hear the camp scholar ramble on and on about his precious Tara — was the wizard really in love with a goddess or was his true love his cat? But even the rogue had to admit that the purple pighead had a useful skillset and couldn't be disposed of just yet.

The silver-haired elf had almost made it to the end of the tome before he felt the voices driving into his mind, their influence infecting him with madness. If he wasn’t going to let Cazador control his mind, he sure as hell wasn’t about to have a dusty, inanimate object do so either. The book would have to remain closed for now... at least until he found another way around.

A quick stop to the druid camp to unload some of Wren’s junk, pick up some potions and specialty arrows, and the merry band of misfits and weirdos were nearly ready to head back out.

Wren sat on a boulder at the front of Emerald Grove, needle and thread in hand. The others wandered around, in various stages of their own preparations, as they all set their sights on finding the Goblin Camp. Astarion had already finished his bit of pickpocketing and purchasing, so he meandered lazily towards the little bird, where he would wait for the others to gather.

‘She’d make a terrible seamstress.’ He thought, noting that Wren had chosen to mend her pack with a running stitch that wouldn’t hold the weight of all the knickknacks she insisted on hoarding. Her focus was intense, brow furrowed on her project as he took a seat on the boulder, one knee up, head slightly tilted. “I would recommend a backstitch, instead, my dear.”

“Wha— ouch!” The half elf hissed, wincing as she pulled the silver sliver from its new home inside her pointer finger. A thin stream of blood began to ooze out of the flesh wound.

Astarion reflexively snatched her hand and pressed the injured finger into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the tip of her digit. His eyes closed briefly as he savored the delicious taste of that elixir running through her veins -- sunlight and cinnamon -- before his mind caught up to his impulsivity. He felt Wren’s hand jerk slightly at the contact of his tongue; the shocked widening of her eyes ghosting across his peripheral vision. His hastiness really was going to get him killed. Where was his usual, unfaltering control? ‘What the hell are you doing, idiot spawn?’

“Can’t let such a delicious and precious thing go to waste, can we, darling?” He purred. One more sensual lick of her finger, all for show, and he released his grip.

Wren remained frozen. Silence passed between the two. Astarion felt panic rise up in his gut, mentally running through a way to smooth over the interaction, when suddenly the little bird burst into a fit of laughter.

“This explains so much!” She exclaims, throwing herself back on the boulder and covering her eyes. His favorite scar danced along her lip as her giggles rang through the grove. “You’re hungry! Astarion, why didn’t you say anything?”

The rogue furrowed his brow, still trying to calculate how something he’d made so overtly sexual caused Wren to burst into a fit of laughter rather than melt into a puddle of lust. Was she immune to his charms? Not attracted to men? Had he been turned into a hideous mindflayer already and everyone was too polite to tell him so? “Well, after last time, when you had to shove me off of you… frankly, darling, I didn’t think—“

“I’ll let you feed on me, Astarion. But first, I need you to do something for me.”

‘Ah, there it is, the string.’ Thinks the vampire, as he cocks his head at the woman. “And what, exactly, do you have in mind?”

Wren reached around her side and grabbed hold of a small book. She waved the tattered thing at him, a shy smile crossing her lips. “Just help me read this, okay? And maybe help me sew my pack together, since you seem to be such an expert.”

“A book. You just want me to help you read a book?” He is unable to hide the disbelief in his voice from her and the internal glimmer of relief from himself.

The half-elf playfully taps his shoulder blade with the thin novel. “Not just any book, Astarion. It has healing spells inside… I stole it from Nettie earlier today. I want to learn a few. You read all the time at camp -- even before the Necromancy of Thay, so I figured you wouldn't really mind. Plus, like I told you... reading tires me out and I really want to learn this.”

“You stole it?” The pale elf can’t hide his amusement; his eyebrows raise up into his forehead and a small chuckle crosses his lips. Wren didn’t seem like she had to gall to commit such an act; she was always too busy playing goody-two-shoes-savior-of-the-world-and-every-living-creature.

“Serves her right for trying to poison me the last time. She owes me.” The ranger mumbles, with an unbothered shrug.

A small hum from the elf as he considered the agreement; it seemed easy and innocent enough. If a string had to be attached, perhaps it was best that it was something as banal as reading the little bird a bedtime story. ‘The purple bookworm at camp would’ve loved to offer his services to her, I’m sure.’

Another thought crosses his mind, and he turns to Wren, where she is waiting expectantly for an answer. “Deal, darling. But what makes you think you’re going to have any success? Most rangers I’ve come across only know how to employ the uses of yarrow and calendula. Spellcasting never really seems to be their strong suit.”

“My mom was a cleric… it’s in my blood.” Wren sighs, and he can tell by the tone of her voice and the hardened line her mouth makes that he will not get more information if he presses.

Astarion gestures for the half-elf to hand over the pack and quickly takes up the mending. Skilled fingers make quick work of the task, and he bites at the thin flash of blue thread in order to finish off the job just as the rest of the group makes their way to the front of the grove.

Handing the pack back to Wren, he locks eyes with her for just a moment. “When?”

The little bird takes her bag from his hands, admiring the beautiful needlework. Karlach is headed towards the pair, recounting her adventures in Avernus to some of the tiefling children. The red woman's animated hands are waving around, followed by "oohs" and "ahhs" from her tiny admirers. Wren paused their conversation briefly to watch Karlach's show and Astarion thought he saw her eyes well up before she blinked and turned back to face him. “Tonight is fine with me," she murmurs, absently, before looking down again at the new stitches of blue in her backpack. "You really did a wonderful job here."

Astarion's mouth waters at the anticipation, and he struggles to swallow as he aims to keep his face an unreadable mask. “I’ll see you tonight, then, darling.” He murmurs and stands to shoulder his pack before being roped in to settle an argument between Lae'zel and Shadowheart about which color of wine is superior -- red or white.

‘Don’t lose control, you idiot.’ The thought flares in both the rogue's and ranger's minds at the same time. Perhaps it was the parasite wriggling in their minds, connecting them briefly, neither of them aware... or perhaps it was another string of fate tethering them together in a way neither could envision for themselves.

[synergysilhouette]

Brainstorming child units for these Engage characters

I was super sad that we couldn't have child units in 3H, and this was echoed in Engage--though I will praise Engage for being able to S-support everyone (even though not all of them are romantic). So because of this, I wanted to brainstorm ideas for child units in Engage. Sadly, I have no artistic skills, but I've got my imagination.

Iliad, the child of Alear. Early to mid teens, and I'd imagine they have a different color scheme so they don't look like carbon copies of their parents like Kana and Morgan do. I thought male Iliad's hair would be predominantly blue with a streak of red while female Iliad had red hair with blue highlights in the front (similar to Rogue from "X-Men"), but it'd be a cool detail if the ends of their hair matched the hair color of whoever Alear married. I imagine since their parents showered them with love and affection, they're much more emotionally and psychologically stable than Alear, as well as being a bit of a pacifist. In a contrast to Fates and Awakening, I'd like for Iliad's gender to match Alear's.

Neciso, the son of Pandreo. Originally I pictured him as a wolf pup type of kid, but then I imagined him as a young man who's also a kind priest like his dad--but he doesn't have the energy for parties. He's more of a scholarly type, but occasionally he'll let out an energetic howl.

Adele, the daughter of Alfred. Given the fact that Alfred dies young but it's never said how young that is, I think his daughter is super protective of him as she grows up (she'd be a teen here), training herself to be the strongest in the kingdom.

Emeraude, the daughter of Diamant. Due to the circumstances that made Diamant king, he wants Emeraude to be fully prepared for the worst-case scenario if she needs to become a queen immediately. That said, he also makes sure to spend a lot of time with her just in case she never sees him again.

Lazul, the son of Alcryst. A young man very big on upholding the honor of the royal family and looks up to his dad a lot, despite the latter's embarrassment. His cousin also encouraged his uncle to give him an education befitting a monarch, as she always saw him as her equal, just as their fathers did before them.

Aquamarine, the daughter of Amber. A young woman who inherited her father's romanticism and affinity for animals, she comes across as a fairy tale princess. She strives to become a legendary heroine--along with seducing a village boy or five. She's basically the female version of Laslow/Inigo and isn't shamed for that.

Chikai, the son of Yunaka. He frequently slips in an out of situations, and has a bubbly personality. It's believed he is also a thief, though he's so likeable most people find it hard to believe. He's a sly charmer (very similar to Hermes from the Hades video game).

Rubis, the daughter of Saphir. She's a popular knight and friend of Emeraude and Lazul. Her duty takes precedence first and foremost, and is the oldest of the child units (being in her mid-20s).

Eos, the son of Ivy. He's a young man known for being even-tempered and uncharacteristically kind by those who still deem Elusia with suspicion. He frequently wears a ghostly-white rose in his breast pocket, and while he's shy like his mother, he pushes himself to be more sociable to make others lose their fear for his kingdom.

Solanum, the son of Hortensia. As a little kid, one would be unsurprised by his childish behavior--though those who know Hortensia think it's because she spoils him, and that he'll likely be that way when he's older, too. He often sticks to Eos like glue, and is quick to protect his family.

Salix, daughter of Zelkov. Considered a counterpart to Chikai, she's known for being dangerous and charming--though while Chikai often keeps his criminal activity to non-life threatening activities, Salix is known for being lethal to her enemies. Her father doesn't seem to mind, considering her loyalty to the crown.

Tia, daughter of Timerra. Known as "the wandering princess," she's often found camping with her family and traveling on her own--unless her retainers happen to catch up to her. She has a close relationship with her family, and has a singing voice that is much better than her mother's--something her uncle frequently takes advantage of when Timerra tries to sing.

Taralli, the son of Seadall. Like his father, he is a renowned dancer and fortune-teller, though he often prefers to leave fate to chance, only reading fortunes when truly necessary. I imagine his outfit is similar to Inigo's "Indigo Dancer" outfit in FEH, except Taralli would probably be called the fated dancer.

Hope you like my ideas! Who knows, I may make more for other characters--maybe 3 Houses. Lemme know your thoughts or if you have any questions!

Update: check out the art @yanderefairyangel made inspired by these posts! We've both posted them on our Tumblr accounts.

[ruiniel]

Prickly thorns, tender roses

Fandom: Castlevania series (2017-2021)

Rating: Mature🔞

Relationship: Alucard/Original Female Character

Characters: Alucard, Original Character(s)

Summary:

Set after the events of Castlevania (Netflix) Season III. After the betrayal of his young apprentices, Alucard feels barely alive in his lonesome castle. Days wear on, chipping away at his mind and sanity. And what is the son of Dracula to do with this unwanted visitor, suddenly come at his doorstep? Often the prickly thorn produces tender roses - Ovid

Chapter tags & warnings: Inspired by Castlevania, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, POV alternating, Post-Castlevania Season III, Bloodlust, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Non-Canon Relationship, Paranoia, Not Canon Compliant, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Kissing, Mental Anguish, Heavy Angst, Personal interpretation of post-season III Alucard

PART I

AN: first Alucard longfic from 2020. Heavily follows ‘Beauty and the Beast’ trope. There's an x Reader version of this chapter here.

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XVIII. Schemes

He reached inside the stove and retrieved the cooked dish, deeming it ready. He placed it onto the wide stovetop, eyeing it critically. Hare would do, but it had been a while since he prepared anything for anyone other than himself. And even then, Alucard had put much less care into it all. It would have been the same now, but she looked weak and needed something other than brambles and nuts.

He felt her weakness through the beating of her heart, the sluggish trudging of her blood. Even now, chambers away, if he gave in to it, Alucard could sense where she was by those regular life-giving tremors alone. 

He sighed at the irksome thought. If he were being honest, guilt played a hefty part in all of this as well, for her precarious state was owed to his actions… and it was hard enough now to smother all thoughts of her as it was. He had not told her everything, could not. He admitted drinking of her would change him, and it had. But then there was the aftermath, the lingering need for more, and Alucard thanked his human side for aiding with the niggling bloodlust that followed.

His jaw hurt and his throat dried when thinking of that pulse striking against him, on and on, raw and bursting as he’d stalked back to the castle through the night with Ravenna in his arms. He’d been afraid of his very self, of what he could so easily become—more beast than man. Struggling to keep those recurring and frightfully tempting bouts of rage in check, Alucard had grasped at her own sense of relief, almost palpable by the way it blanketed them both, craving a shred of stability as if her humanity could quench the fever engulfing him. He’d clutched her tighter despite himself for the semblance of sanity she offered, and Ravenna seemed to become smaller against him. Though Ravenna was also dazed from the blood sharing and bleeding, she clung to him like he was some… savior; like he was hers.

The mere thought was a travesty, like an unfinished jest played by a careless trickster god. The logical part of him knew there had been little choice. But now here he was, still thinking of her days after the fact, still hearing every whisper of her ruby life-stream, attempting to shield himself from the scent of her apprehension and confusion, her fascination, her desire.

The last one confused him. Who could desire someone like him? Who would want him once they knew his shame, the pathetic attempts at closeness that ended in abandonment at best, treachery and death at worst?

Patricide, hunted, cursed. He’d done nothing with his life other than react to what others have done, struggling to right wrongs, becoming the one to strike the blow.

It was partly the reason Alucard had given her the manuscript. The sooner she had what she needed and left, the better. He would find another way to restore the engine room, he did not need her for it. He did not need her at all. 

His heart denounced the lie.

Though the thought of her stepping out of his life now did strange things to his mind and placed a shroud of loss over his spirit, Alucard attributed it to the yet active connection they shared. He nearly laughed at the irony of it... one unwilling, the other unaware. When he helped with her wrist after the attack in the forest, he barely kept himself from pinning her down, piercing her neck and having more. The knowledge that Ravenna would probably let him made it harder to ignore, though his control never slipped so far. He’d felt nothing like it before, the memory of his strength and heightened state while spiked on her blood still so fresh, so tempting. Despite not needing blood to survive, his father had warned him of its intoxicating and addictive effects. And oh, that did not even begin to describe it.

Alucard ran a hand over his face in exasperation. It was better now, easier to cope with. He no longer felt the pull, but something else shook him out of his usually resigned and morose state of mind. The way the Styrian looked at him. The way neither of them could ever say what lurked beyond their minds, and what he’d discovered dwelling within her.

No, it was better this way. Let sleeping dogs lie—she had another purpose here, and he had nothing else to offer her.

A rustling sound of material cut his thoughts, and his face shuttered when Ravenna entered the kitchen. One of her wrists was still bandaged, and she wore a dark dress with long sleeves that flared at the hips. He did not remember this one. There was that quirk of her eyebrow which, Alucard had come to know, heralded a biting remark or another.

“I never took you for a cook,” Ravenna chimed as she eyed the cast iron dish.

Alucard huffed, placing the cooked hare on the table. “Need is the greatest of tutors, but I think you know this.” Ravenna smiled, and he bit the inside of his cheek. “But you forget there was a human living here.”

“Of course...” Ravenna sat down at a motion of his hand. “Your mother. That is endearing, Adrian—that she taught you, that is!”

“I did enjoy indulging in it at times,” Alucard caught himself saying as he went to the counter and returned, placing a bottle on the table which caught her attention.

“And you no longer do?” Ravenna asked.

Alucard made a sound that might have been a hum. Her prying questions on such irrelevant aspects of himself were always delightful. “You tell me, after dinner.” Was he actually engaging in small talk? 

“What is this?” Ravenna jerked her chin at the wine.

He uncorked the bottle and took two tall glasses from a cupboard, glancing at Ravenna briefly.

Ravenna had rarely seen glass items before, having not been in any noble houses to speak of. “No, I...” She lifted a hand when Alucard poured the second glass, “... I’m not accustomed to it.”

Alucard looked aghast. “Try things before you denounce them, will you?” He handed her the wine.

Ravenna narrowed her eyes but took the proffered item, watching the swirling of the scarlet liquid before taking a wary sip; it was rich and somewhat dry to the taste, with a fruity aroma. “It is… good.”

His smile was haughty, but Ravenna did not take the bait.

“No retort? Is there something the matter with you?” Alucard prodded with the barest hint of teasing. 

Ravenna took a piece of game. “I am simply too happy and grateful to regale you with stings.” Her eyes bore into his. “Does my cheer bother you?”

He snorted and shook his head, valiantly ignoring the rushing flow from her center, hastening through her veins. It was much more potent. Perhaps giving her red wine had not been the best endeavor.

The rest of the meal passed in companionable silence, interrupted by bouts of chatter here or there. Mundane nothings, moments he would certainly not miss when she left, for their peculiar effect that shattered his guard and left him wanting, though he had not the faintest idea what it was. When they were done, Alucard stood, giving Ravenna a brief questioning glance before he took the plates away. 

Ravenna had come to enjoy the soft torpor from the wine. “I will admit. That was one of the best meals I’ve ever had.” And she lounged back in the chair, pointing a slight finger at him. “Don’t let it get to your head.” Her smile was careless, her reserved facade turned brighter, bolder.

Alucard had taken his seat back at the table opposite Ravenna and lightly leaned over with his forearms on the dark surface. There was a thickness in his throat as he sensed her body leaning into the table, towards him. “Forgive me, but much already has.” He was smiling, his stance more carefree than before; he rested his face in his palm, watching her without the trace of a glare.

Ravenna slowly leaned back against the chair, staring at him with a raised eyebrow and an uncertain smile. “You can come back from it, if you try.”

He grinned. “Yes, they are called night creatures.”

“Don’t be crude.”

“Listen, scholar…” Alucard rose from the table.

“Whenever you say that, you turn glum and sometimes insulting,” Ravenna sang.

He shrugged, heading over to the washing counter. “I thought your order valued different perspectives. I envy your optimist resolve, I do. But it is not how I feel.”

His words had been soft but stressed with belief, and again a heavy weariness, that Ravenna pushed no more.

Alucard turned to busy himself at the counter. Sighing, she rose from the chair. “Do you need any help there?”

The sun had yet to set when Ravenna retreated to the usual place where evenings ended: the study. Ravenna had wanted to join him, and Alucard did nothing to deter her. She told him how brilliant the gifted tome was, how she’d already delved into its knowledge, how it would be a significant step forward; how beholden she was for it.

Some time and two bottles of wine later, Ravenna was sprawled on her side onto the divan, her chin resting in her palm, listening to him speak. Ravenna had asked of his family, and in a rare show of openness, he’d shared of his brief childhood, of the meaningful moments he remembered. Ravenna spoke of Styria and its workings, the hardships its people faced, of her own rather sheltered life as an apprentice.

Presently he was regarding the portrait of his mother that he’d retrieved and now held in his hands. “My father tried, but I owe her most of what I am,” Alucard said, and it was liberating to speak of her to someone. Ever since she died, he’d not spoken of it, truly spoken of it, to anyone but his father. And he was no longer here. “I was raised to believe I represented both kindreds, and to strive to become the best of either.” His smile faded.

“The way you speak... is it your belief that you failed?” Ravenna wondered, saddened by his change of mood. He did not deserve this misery, the loneliness, any of it. He deserved...

He turned his head, propped against the backrest of his armchair. There was a glimmer in his eyes, which Ravenna attributed to the wine. She did feel strange. Her limbs became slack, her head spun, and she was pleasantly numb all over.

“I do not know,” he said. “I used to think I knew what I wanted. Not so now.” Saying this, he suddenly looked uneasy, lost, the placid manner fading before a despondency so deep it crept upon her heart.

Maybe it was the drink, but Ravenna hurt for him. She nodded once, looking in her lap where she fingered the soft weave of a light blanket pulled over her feet. Ravenna looked back at him. “We’ve only known each other for a little while, but...” She licked her lips, uneasy beneath his questioning stare. “But I think there is no need to strive, not for you. You’ve been through so much, but never forgot mercy. You saved my life,” she shook her head, “more than once, and showed me kindness I’ve rarely seen from my people.”

Alucard looked down at his hands, and when his gaze met hers again, it raked over in a way that riled, bringing forth the same need as before.

Ravenna wanted him close, wanted something of him and he would not look away, not even when she rose unsteadily from the divan, slowly stepping towards him, trapped in a trance, guided by his stare.

Emboldened and rather dazed, she neared him even as the light in his eyes changed from questioning to cold.

But he deserved...

For the first time since his feeding on her, Ravenna wanted more. For the first time, she felt a calling, vague and smothered, but Ravenna knew it was him.

Alucard watched, warily, doing nothing when she leaned in closer.

Her eyes were on his ageless face, trailing to his mouth — that sweet, dangerous mouth Ravenna both feared and craved to feel. But there came the vehement opposition of a wall, built of seeping resentment and barely contained fury, and only late did Ravenna sense it was coming from him. His hands now shook imperceptibly and his fingers jerked, clasping the sides of his seat, his eyes lit with near bestial ferocity. He was frightening; he was beautiful.

Alucard swallowed. Yes, wine had been a terrible idea. What was she doing?

Ravenna felt no fear, but knew this was uncharted territory. She saw it in the way he watched her, heard it in that wordless calling.

“Adrian...” she reached and ran a hand through his hair; his eyes closed. There brimmed the need to show him there was more to life than pain, more to humanity than the ghosts of his past; she wanted to prove it to him. Ravenna allowed all the honesty she felt to surface into her words. “I know what I want,” she said, her voice gaining a throaty quality.

Gradually, his eyes softened under her stare, the death grip on his seat relinquished. “And what is that?” came the barely audible question.

“More of... more of you,” Ravenna said even as he went rigid, “... and I want to know what it feels like... to...” Ravenna reached for one of his wrists, running the sleeve of his shirt up to touch the scarred skin. When She leaned in, his eyes narrowed, and for the first time she saw a trace of fear in them.

“Don’t.”

His warning came faint, his voice strangled, laced with so much burdened craving it failed to discourage her. And he knew it — he also felt drunk on the scent of her blood, and as free as he was of the compulsion to drink her dry, it called to him incessantly ever since she’d foolishly offered it to him. The torturous pumping of violent red through her chest, down her womb, pulsing lower—

His eyes widened when her lips ghosted the corner of his mouth; the portrait slid from his lap, falling to the floor.

Alucard gripped the edge of his seat, and in hateful submission, his other arm came strongly around her waist, forcing Ravenna rather clumsily down to him.

He grasped her hair and buried his face in the crook of her neck, breathing her in for a long moment. “Why...” he asked, the word muffled into her. A strange question, even to him. In a sudden move, he sought her mouth and pressed his lips to hers.

Everything stilled. Her breath tickled, warm and sweet. The tip of his tongue grazed her lips, and he tensed when Ravenna whimpered against his mouth. He took the lead, fingers trembling in her hair as he languidly sucked on her lower lip, lingering on the feel of it; feeding on her hunger. She tasted of hot wine and berries.

This is wrong, it is wrong, his sanity fumed, but the truth was he had missed this... this ache, the warmth of another. It filled the void, and she felt so good against him... he was close to drowning. With a strangled groan, he forced Ravenna into him and deepened the kiss.

The wood splintered where his long fingers clutched the armrest, but he could not help it. Something would break, and it was either this, or her. And the most disconcerting was how weak this was making him. It was a dangerous sort of power, and one that nearly cost him his life once.

But her scent...

“Adrian, please,” Ravenna cooed, a hand trailing down his neck, gingerly following the line of his ragged, winding scar. Her fingers reached lower on burning skin, her palm splayed over warm, hardened muscle. His quickened heartbeat thundered under her touch as Ravenna nipped at his lips, smiling when he broke away to lead a burning trail from her mouth to her cheek, along her jaw, losing more of himself with every moment. The moan Ravenna had been striving to keep at bay rose in her chest, up her throat, smothered by his kiss; he sucked on her lower lip with a velvet release before pressing his cheek to hers. It was a feat to regain his shallow breathing.

Ravenna felt something hardening against her hip as she lay draped over him on her side, and without thought, pressed herself into it. She heard a harsh intake of breath, his fingers tightening at the nape of her neck.

Alucard let his head fall back and held her lower body down, kneading her against him with possessive, repetitive friction; his hand dug into her hip. “Ravenna…” he whispered mindlessly, mirroring the pulsing rhythm of her blood in his movements. “Are you certain?...” 

Ravenna only nodded, swaying with his lead. It had been so long since he melted into someone else and shared—

Ruthless, the memory of a similar event where dream turned nightmare resurfaced, turning pleasure to ash, and his mind began to seethe. This felt so sadly, awfully familiar. But she would not... there had always been a type of honesty about her which Alucard tried his best to rebuke, and there was honesty in the way she touched and tasted—

… but it had been the same with them. He’d sensed their lust well enough. And it had not deterred them from their plan of ending him, not in the least. He’d been no less blind to their game, and what was there to keep history from repeating itself?

Even bearing these thoughts, he still responded, crushing Ravenna to him to the point of painfulness, kissing her deeper. For one split shard of time, he allowed himself the freedom to bask in the visions of her blood and need; of her lying on her back, her hands around her head; bare skin, seeking him—

No.

And from beyond silent hedges of thought, the past burst to the surface, carrying all the brunt of scalding pain and irrational fear, burning away all hopes and desires.

Who could desire someone like you?

Ravenna was utterly lost in the haze of his taste when, with a hiss, Alucard sharply pulled her head away, severing their breathless kiss and forcing her to meet his eyes.

“Is this your game, then?” he tilted his head to the side, his expression morphing into one of calculating feline curiosity. Her pulse stumbled so fast, fuel to his desperation. “Well? Will you tell me I am lonely?” he asked, gazing at her astonished face, lips swollen and wet, parted in surprise at the vicious interruption.

“What do you mean—?”

“Will you tell me it was time for my reward? What did you reckon? Well, pretty little fool, I am not so removed from your ways as you think. But I never expected you to attempt the same scheme,” he followed, and his voice was ice. “How... disappointing.”

“Adrian,” Ravenna swallowed, “what is it you speak of?”

“You humans never do think too far ahead,” he spoke, still breathless because of her and all the angrier for it. “You think you know me so well, do you? That you understand what my existence entails after what I’ve done?” he tilted his head to the other side. “Maybe I should turn you...” his gaze raked over her with contempt.

“No—,” Ravenna croaked desperately, wondering where Adrian had gone. This was not him. “Please, I—”

“Why not? Don’t you want to know what it feels like?” Alucard threw, his hand still harshly grasping her hair back so her neck was exposed. He watched her with a cruel smile, his darkened eyes following the rise and fall of her breasts through her dress, the life thrum at her throat, the lips he had tasted.

“There is no scheme!” Ravenna cried. “How can you say these things!?” she tried, deeply unsettled by the hateful manner of his words. “Think! Would I attempt to retrieve you from peril if I wanted you gone, if I wanted to hurt you?”

He huffed, a cold, manic light brimming in his eyes like icy daggers to strike. “You did not have what you needed yet.” His fingers tightened in her hair. “You did not know where to find it, but I’m sure you knew it had to be here. All that and more.”

Ravenna could barely believe her ears. Where had his usually unfeeling and pragmatic logic gone? “Damn this to hell, I feel for you, I only wanted to show you that I do. Adrian—”

She gasped when she fell into the armchair, holding nothing. Her gaze shot upward to see Adrian on his feet.

“Get out,” he demanded lowly, turning his back on her.

“Will you… at least tell me what I’ve done? Please, forgive me, whatever it was.” Ravenna rose to stand, one hand reaching for him. “Believe me, I would never harm you—”

She froze when he lashed at her, his vampiric side rushing to the fore, flaring menacingly. “Get.OUT! “ The harsh command echoed off the walls as Alucard rounded on her with blazing red eyes.

Shaking and frightened, Ravenna took one step back, then another. Her lower lip quivered; his touch still burned into her skin.

But then his stance mellowed, as though he were suddenly very fatigued, propping his hand against the fireside for support. His shoulders rose and fell with each heavy breath. He was looking anywhere but at her. “I want you… out of my home before the night is over,” he ordered, making her flinch.

“And where would I go?” Ravenna asked with a newfound, raking sort of hurt pride, a wayward look of disbelief in her eyes.

“That is your concern, not mine,” Alucard retorted tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Adrian—” Ravenna tried again, only to be cut off by a scalding look.

“You’ll regret ever setting foot here otherwise,” he snapped, his words chopped and shaking.

Trembling like a leaf, Ravenna bit down the crippling misery that piled up her throat. “I already do,” she spewed before turning on her heel and dashing out of his sight, sparing no glance back.

PREV NEXT

[collarus]

mobile muse list, to be updated as i remember & fall in love w/muses.

animated / manga →

wolf's rain: hige - he/him, werewolf (i guess), silly guy beloved

wolf's rain: hubb - he/him, divorced ♥

fruits basket: i'm not sure yet but the whole manga is right in front of me, and i am weak. this will happen. i will pick up at least one character. it is inevitable.

the devil is a part-timer!: sadao maou - he/him, the devil, silly guy

the devil is a part-timer!: urushihara hanzo - he/it, fallen angel, emo boy

soul eater: maka albarn ( anime ) - she/her, bookish scythe meister

rwby: ruby rose - she/her, sillyheaded w/adhd & a weapon hyperfixation

another: mei misaki - she/it/they, a sacrifice in some ways

adventure time: princess bubblegum - she/her, good... for the most part.

adventure time: prince gumball - he/him, also... good, for the most part.

beastars: haru - she/her, a very capable bunny

beastars: louis - he/him, deer prince beloved asshole

gravity falls: dipper pines - he/him, cryptid hyperfixation that might be dangerous

gravity falls: pacifica northwest - she/her, local rich lesbien

noragami: yukine - he/him, a weapon for a god

fairy tail: lucy heartfilia - she/her, celestial wizard

fairy tail: levy mcgarden - she/her, sweetheart ;v;

kagerou project: shintarou kisaragi - he/him, loser

horimiya: kyoko hori - she/her, pretty girl who is so silly housewife also

horimiya: izumi miyamura - he/him, emo boy who gets reformation

my little monster: natsume asako - she/her, girl who needs so much validation

ouran highschool host club: haruhi fujioka - any/all, needs a break

ouran highschool host club: mitsukuni haninozuka (honey) - he/him, he's baby

tbd.

video game →

resident evil 7 & 8: ethan winters - he/it, mold, a good dad :(

the legend of zelda: link ( lozzy ) - any/all, hylian, mix of hero's incarnations

pokemon sun/moon & ultra sun/moon: gladion - he/him, pkmn trainer, yikes :(

pokemon x/y: serena - she/her, pkmn trainer & model, bitter rival

pokemon r/g/b: green - he/him, NOT the female protag, this is the male rival

yume nikki: madotsuki - she/they, sleepy girl with a sad life.

ib: garry - he/him, scaredy cat living in a horror movie trying to act like he isn't

DRAMAtical murder: noiz - he/him ( request only !! )

i'll take on like anyone from danganronpa they're just request only ♥

tbd.

original character(s) →

pokemon scarlet & violet: valley - he/him, pkmn trainer, not quite a self insert?

pokemon legends arceus: koukari - they/them, pkmn trainer, zorua enthusiast

soul eater: tea lea - he/they, weapon, laid back, workin through trauma

soul eater: vio lette - they/them, meister, self indulgent 'raised by canon char' oc

literally anyone in this link, if you're ever interested in peeking around

tbd.

[vostara]

Hypnophobia - 05

fünf — and there’s no escape

pairing: ares x original female character (beatrix)

blurb: “Loyalty can be rather expensive.”

word count: 2.1k+

title inspiration: game of survival - ruelle

apologies for the incredibly long wait. in mid-july, i moved across the country and immediately got sick due to 3-4 weeks of nearly continuous heatwaves (uncommon for the area i’m living in). my apartment does not have a/c, so all i had was one fan and an unbearable amount of humidity. my apartment was in the high 90s nearly every day, with the low end being.... the low 90s.....

just to note: i am starting graduate studies this monday. i am working on getting an mfa in creative writing, so all of my school-related writing projects will take priority over fanfics.

This work is cross-posted on Ao3.

… | 04 | 05 | [discontinued notice] … series masterlist

In theory, Santino’s new task is easy.

“You want me to meet with your seller?” Beatrix asks, a request for confirmation that she had not misheard the man.

“You will be accompanying Ares,” Santino clarifies. “She is the one meeting the buyer.”

“You’re not going to meet him yourself?”

The Camorra boss frowns, leaning back into his armchair. “I’ve been asked to return to Naples and I can’t push it back any longer than I already have. I’m entrusting Ares with closing the deal and I want you there for support.”

“Why send me?” The woman says. “Why not send one of your men?”

Santino shrugs. “You know sign language,” he replies.

A simple assignment, really: be the translator.

As the driver eases the car into a stop, Beatrix glances out of the window. Her eyes scan their surroundings, noting the clusters of people showing off their overpriced designer jewelry and the borderline scandalous hemlines of their clothing. The New Yorkers loiter the space outside of a ritzy expensive nightclub, Das Schwein, a club that is embedded into the bottom three levels of the high-rise building.

To get the woman’s attention, Ares reaches out towards Beatrix, brushing her fingertips against the top of her hand. And when Beatrix turns to look at her, Ares pulls her hand away, signing, We are here.

The assassin nods, before opening the door and stepping out of the vehicle. She smooths the sides of her burgundy dress and takes a moment to straighten the plunging neckline. Though the winter chill encourages a splattering of goosebumps to form along her bare arms, it, for the moment, lacks the biting cold that had permeated the Chicago air.

Ares, dressed in a matching suit, takes the lead and approaches the building. Do not speak unprompted, she commands. Do not leave my side.

Falling into step behind the woman, Beatrix nods. “I understand,” she says.

When the bouncer sees the pair approach, he steps aside before waving them through the entrance. Without even acknowledging the man, Ares steps between the doors. She scrutinizes the first floor of the club, scanning over the patrons boozed up with fine liquor, the grinding bodies on the dance floor, and the sloppy touches exchanged between indiscrete temporary lovers in the booths. Her eyes land on a private elevator tucked away in the corner of the room, protected by a couple of guards.

Ares and Beatrix approach them and the guard on the left greets them with a nod of his head. “Mr. Brecher is on the top floor,” he says, pressing a button to open the doors.

Beatrix tenses at his words.

Brecher?

No, it couldn’t be.

He wouldn’t be here, not in New York. Not right now.

Ares enters the elevator and Beatrix steps in beside her. She clicks on the button for the top floor and takes a small step back when the doors slide shut. They ride in silence, undisturbed by the subtle hum of the ascending machine.

But for Beatrix uneasiness fills the silence, floods her senses with a flight response that’s impossible to act upon in this enclosed space. Threads are tugged in the pit of her stomach, snapping as they attempt to suppress the building worry, anxiety, dread.

It could be a coincidence; a different man with a shared surname.

A button dings, signaling their arrival.

When the doors open, Beatrix realizes that this easy job, this simple task of being the translator, is a far more complicated situation. Her eyes land on the silhouette of a person she had hoped to avoid for as long as she could. And her gaze drifts to the left side of his face, confirming his identity with a familiar scar etched into the skin. One that begins just beneath his eye, before curving to slice into the side of his lips.

Matthias Brecher.

Her last thread breaks, drowning Beatrix with a renewed realization that she has spent too much time dancing next to the growing flames. That frequently tempting fate would encourage it to retaliate with the most severe consequences.

The man notices the Camorra woman first. “Ares,” he greets.

She exits the elevator, stepping into the private room.

Matthias shifts his gaze to Beatrix. His eyes flicker with surprise, before an amused grin weaves itself into his features. “Well,” he says, “I wasn’t prepared for quite the surprise.”

“Matthias,” Beatrix acknowledges.

Ares’ footsteps come to a halt and she turns her head to glance back at the other woman. She watches her, studying the assassin’s face for any subtle twitches that would give away her thoughts, betray her motives.

“I didn’t think we would meet again so soon,” the man says.

Beatrix smiles, but the false joy never reaches her eyes. “Perhaps we meet again too soon,” she forces the joke between her lips.

And the words deepen the frown that’s already forming in the corners of Ares’ mouth.

Matthias slides his hands into the pockets of his dress slacks and takes a step closer to Beatrix. He chuckles, “I thought I was having a meeting with Camorra’s people, not Lilith.”

The woman straights her back, lifting her chin just a tad higher off of the ground. “You are having a meeting with Camorra,” she states. “I am here to translate on Ares’ behalf.”

The man hums, pondering over the woman’s response. “But Lilith would never loan you away for something this trivial.” He nudges his head towards Ares, “especially when it involves one party in particular.”

“I wanted a change of pace.”

“Or,” the man leans down, “perhaps the rumors are true. Perhaps Lilith’s favored rosebud has fluttered away with the wind. I’ve found that loyalty is a tough commodity to find,” he whispers, “nowadays.”

“Loyalty can be rather expensive,” Beatrix says.

Matthias takes a step away from the woman, turning to face Ares. “Would you mind if we postpone our meeting, for a just a few minutes?”

Ares narrows her eyes.

“Miss Amsler and I are old acquittances,” he continues. “Conversations with her are always a treat. And I do enjoy splurging on a bit of pleasure before getting into business.” Matthias chuckles, “You never know which job is going to be your last.”

Ares shifts her gaze to meet Beatrix. When the other woman gives her a slight nod of assurance, her eyes dart back to Matthias. She gives him a nonchalant shrug and then retreats to the small bar on the left. She sits down on one of the stools, before gluing her eyes back onto the pair.

“Come, Süsse,” Matthias places the palm of his hand against the small of the woman’s back, directing Beatrix towards the open balcony on the other side of the room. “We have much to discuss.”

When they are just far enough away that Ares is unable to listen to their conversation, Beatrix pulls herself away from Matthias. “You said there are rumors that I’ve been disloyal,” she says. “Did you know that I was working with Santino?”

“It wasn’t my first guess,” he admits. “But I knew you wouldn’t stay with Lilith forever.”

Beatrix frowns.

“I am surprised,” Matthias continues. “The last person I expected you to align yourself with would be such a prominent figure for the Camorra.”

“People have stooped to less for a few extra dollars in their pocket.”

“I’m almost offended,” the man says. “You would choose his company, before committing yourself to someone like Tarasov, or to someone like me?”

“At the time,” Beatrix leans towards the man, “I found this to be a more favorable business opportunity.”

“Must be quite the pay,” Matthias says. “Perhaps I should consider dropping my lifestyle as the boss, huh? Work as one of D’Antonio’s lackeys. After all, you must be swimming in riches. The pay must be good, good enough to convince you to work for the man who told his people to brutally torture and murder your best friend.”

The woman tenses, nails digging themselves into the palms of her hands.

“Tell me how you sleep at night,” he continues, “knowing that you’ve chosen to snuggle up to the devil himself. Do you still think of Evie? Do you hear her screams? Her pleading cries for help?”

Beatrix takes a small step away, increasing the distance between them.

But Matthias inches closer. “Or do you hear the wails of your baby?”

“Fuck you,” Beatrix shoves the man away from her. “Don’t you dare—”

“—No wonder you look so tired.”

The woman scoffs. “Is there a reason why we’re discussing this?”

“Süsse, we’re just having a conversation,” he says. “But if you want a change of topic, let’s talk about Ares.” Matthias smiles, briefly shifting his gaze to the Camorra woman. “She’s your type, no? Deadly, powerful, commands the room, when she wants to. And stuffed full with information that you could sell for quite the pretty penny.”

The man chuckles. “I know you, more than you’d care to admit. You’d never work for Santino, but you would target him, hurt him, cripple him. So, are you going to seduce his right-hand woman? Manipulate her? Convince her to confess all of those valuable secrets?”

“Targeting her would be pointless,” Beatrix says.

“Why? Because she understands the concept of sworn, unfaltering loyalty?”

“Because it would take too long,” she says. “I have no interest in wasting my time with a pointless task.”

Matthias smirks and pulls a phone out of his pocket. His fingers press against the screen, tapping on the buttons, before angling the item towards the woman. “Is that why poor Luca got chopped up into itty bitty pieces?” He taunts. “Because he wouldn’t spill any of Camorra’s dirty secrets? Was he a waste of time?”

Beatrix glances down at the phone, swallowing the nerves brewing in the bottom of her throat. Filling the screen is the image of a body, blood spilling out of appendages that had been sliced into manageable pieces. The body had been placed inside of bathtub, one that Beatrix recognized.

“Izzy may be your friend, but she is still under my employment,” Matthias explains.

“Does she give you documentation on every job she takes?”

“Just for the handful of people I care to keep tabs on,” the man shrugs. “Is your contract for intel or disposal?”

“I think it’s best that I keep that information to myself,” Beatrix says.

“I disagree.” Matthias puts the phone away, before reaching inside of the pocket concealed beneath the jacket of his suit. He pulls out a small circular object, which he holds up, displaying it for Beatrix.

It’s a Marker.

Her Marker.

Beatrix can feel the intensity of Ares’ stare, can feel her processing and examining the situation as it unfolds. And though she wants to look at her, wants to tell Ares that she wants, no, that she needs this conversation to end, she chooses to ignore the Camorra woman. She maintains eye contact with Matthias, determined to not shudder, to not buckle, beneath his gaze.

“You owe me,” he says. “We’ve made an oath, you and I, a blood contract. I’ve completed my end of the bargain, but I still need to cash in on your side.”

Beatrix remains silent.

“Tell me the truth,” Matthias continues. “Which of your many skills have you been hired to perform?”

“What would you do with that information?” She says, “If you sell it to the right buyer, I’ll end up killed, regardless of my answer.”

The man frowns. He raises a hand towards Beatrix and weaves her loose curls between his fingers. “You think so little of me,” he says. His fingers tighten around the hair, and he pulls Beatrix towards him, before shoving her towards the railing at the edge of the balcony.

The assassin gasps when the metal slams against the bottom of her ribcage. Instinct kicks in and her fingers latch onto the rails.

“If I wanted to kill you,” Matthias growls, “there are much more convenient ways for me to do so.” He releases his grip on her hair and takes a step closer. With his chest pressed against her back, he traps her between himself and the metal that is preventing her from tumbling to her death. “I have every intention of using the task you owe me. Ratting you out would be a waste of time and resources. You owe me, Beatrix,” he hisses, “not the other around.”

“Boss,” a man calls.

“What?” Matthias answers, ever so slightly relaxing his stance.

“Do I shoot?”

The man pulls away from the woman, turning towards his henchmen.

When Beatrix turns to see what the man was referring to, her eyes widen at the sight of Ares. All thirteen of Matthias’ men have their weapons trained on the woman, whom has a gun pointed directly at the their leader’s head.

“How fascinating,” Matthias says.

a/n: thank you so much for reading. if you liked what you read, please considering reblogging this chapter. every reblog truly does help a small author like me! but any likes, comments, or other indications that you enjoy this story is also appreciated!

this chapter was meant to be much longer, but i didn’t to split it into two pieces in order to prevent even further delays in getting an update out. the next chapter’s rough draft is over halfway done. if all goes well it will be published before the end of next month.

if you’re interested, you can also follow me for more updates on twitter @ VostaraFics

[f1yogurt]

hii, here is me- friendly neighbourhood mutual- with my silly little fic request/prompt

I love in any zemo x reader fic where they touch on the meeting with Selby because Zemo acting possesive of the reader is one of my favs. (this also plays into my soft spot for fake dating I suppose-)

Shield agent!reader has to act as Zemo's eye-catching arm candy to a fancy underground event. They collect some data on the flagsmashers (verbal or digital idk im not a spy) I had fem!reader in mind because Zemo makes me feel so feminine but this could definitely work as gn!reader <3

First fic request! Thank you! This was so much fun to write, I hope it hit all the right spots. possessive!Zemo is a gem.

Baron of Mine

Summary: You're a SHIELD agent who's assigned to be Baron Helmut Zemo's fake date for the evening. Your mission is to gather intel on the Flagsmashers at a fancy underground event. Zemo finds himself unexpectedly attracted to you, his new partner, and when one of the bargoers threatens you harm, he can't help but get possessive.

AO3 Link - BARON OF MINE -- Link to my Fic Request Guide

Rating: Mature

Characters: Helmut Zemo, fem!Reader, Original Male Character

Relationships: Helmut Zemo x fem!Reader

Tags: Fake Dating, turns into real relationship, Kissing, No Smut, Madripoor, Protective Helmut Zemo, Soft Helmut Zemo, Possessive Helmut Zemo, reader knows what she wants, Zemo is smitten

Word Count: 2266

Warnings: Mild threats of violence/non-con with reader by the villian (brief), mild female degradation, but don't worry Zemo quickly saves the day

You sighed and gazed in concentration at your reflection as you finished pinning on your ruby red earrings. The look you were going for tonight was simple, yet elegant. You figured that your partner for tonight would look eccentric enough for the two of you, as he had a reputation for being quite over the top. He was a baron, after all.

Helmut Zemo, or Zemo, as he liked to be called, was your assigned fake date on this lovely evening. It wasn’t unusual for a SHIELD agent like you to be given the mission of partnering as another agent’s date, but this particular man felt different somehow. You couldn’t help but be drawn to him, unlike the other men you had worked with before.

The two of you were currently at Zemo’s luxurious apartment in Riga, taking a short amount of time to prepare before going out for the evening. Zemo had immediately ushered you to the spacious bathroom, giving you room to change into your gorgeous dress for the night and apply some final makeup touches. Now, you were feeling confident in your role as the feminine eye candy.

Taking one last glance in the mirror, you gave yourself a good luck wink and stepped out of the bathroom. Zemo must have been waiting for you, because he rose from his position on the sofa as soon as he saw you come out. His eyes widened in pleasant surprise at seeing how the dress hugged your curves in all the right places. Even more gorgeous was the way you carried yourself, like a baroness fit to walk by his side.

“Well?” you asked, not quite sure if this was the sort of look he had been envisioning for the underground club the two of you were going to. Zemo swallowed and tried not to let his gaze linger on the sway of your hips as you moved.

“You look lovely,” he said in his low, silky smooth voice. “Exquisite.” You grinned at his praise, already eager for the night.

“Can you zip me up please?” you asked, turning to reveal the top part of the dress that you couldn’t zip at your back. Zemo immediately moved forward to help, his warm hands steadying your waist.

“Of course,” he whispered, his hands lingering only a bit too long wherever he touched. “I am quite positive that no one will rival your elegance tonight, draga.” You smiled at his praise.

“Well, you clean up pretty well yourself,” you said. It was true. You could tell that he had styled his hair for the evening, and even though he wore a more combat style trench coat over a nice turtleneck and trousers, he looked just as elegant as you.

Zemo just made a thoughtful noise, and his eyes met yours in a searching gaze. You two stared at each other for a few moments before he looked away and cleared his throat, pulling his hands away from your bare skin. You immediately missed the contact.

“Well, my darling,” he said, giving you a dangerous smirk. “Here’s to a pleasant evening.”

–

It turned out that your worries about your outfit were unfounded. Many other women were styled even more extravagant than you, but you stood out in your bright red dress. Your mission was to extract information from your target, a man known to have connections to the Flagsmashers, while Zemo re-established his position with the Madripoor underground elite. The perfect setup.

Zemo guided you through the crowded bar effortlessly. You knew his hand low on your waist was to signal to everyone that you two were a couple, but it also was a pleasant, comforting feeling to believe even for a moment that he felt protective over you.

Throughout the evening, the two of you mingled with the patrons of the bar, gathering as much information as you could. You noticed that Zemo would find little reasons to touch you, or stand close enough that you could smell his spicy cologne. You felt right at home playing your part as the eye candy the the illustrious baron.

Soon, however, you spotted your target over at the bar, and you subtly signaled Zemo that it was time for you to go and do some digging. Zemo looked hesitant to let you go but nodded, knowing your mission required you to intercept the man alone. You decided to make a smooth exit from the group of people you two were talking with.

“I hate to interrupt, but I am going to get a drink. Zemo, my love, I will be right back,” you told the baron, giving his arm a squeeze. You leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek, deciding to play it up for the audience. After all, you were supposed to be Baron Zemo’s date.

When you pulled back, Zemo was looking at you in pleasant surprise, although he quickly schooled his expression. He couldn’t hide the blush on his cheeks, though.

“Of course, darling,” he said, taking your hand and bringing it to his lips for a reverent kiss. The kiss was chaste, but the look in his eyes was dark with unspoken promises. You nearly said something in return, but you remembered what you were here for.

As soon as he released your hand, you turned and strode elegantly over to the bar, the sea of patrons making way for you. You sidled yourself next to the man you were looking for: jet black hair, muscular, and, in his trademark characteristic of a missing eye. Yes, this was your target. “Lord” Jason Blackmoore, as the Madripoor underground elite liked to call him.

The neon lights cast a purple glow on the countertop as you ordered yourself a drink. Blackmoore noticed you immediately, and you suppressed a shudder at the lecherous gaze he sent you in your pretty red dress. Time to go to work and get this over with.

Fortunately, after the two of you began talking, you encouraged him to order a few more drinks for himself so that you could steer the conversation in the direction you wanted. You were gradually able to extract the needed information from him about the Flag Smashers. However, as the evening progressed, he seemed to get more and more wary of your interrogation. And even more lecherous.

Midway between a question you were asking him, he stopped you and interrupted.

“Sweetheart, I’ve had fun tonight. But here’s the problem. I don’t like pretty girls who ask for too much information,” he said, sending you a dangerous glance. “You look like some rich prick’s little side thing with only half a brain… but after hearing you talk, I think you know a thing or two.” He leaned closer, and casually layed a knife on the bartop within view.

“What are you hiding? I know how to make girls like you talk,” he threatened lowly. “Nice and slow, so that you really feel it. Gentle at first, then rough, so that you can’t hold back even a single secret. I have a room upstairs that’s open… it would be perfect for a gem like you.” You felt a rush of panic, even though you didn’t show it. This was going south very fast, and you needed help.

Suddenly, as if by fate, you felt a hand snake around your waist and saw Zemo appear at your side. You did your best to hide your surprise when you realized that he must have been watching the whole interaction. The baron placed a kiss on your cheek, much like the one you had given him earlier, and he rested a comforting hand on your back.

“Hello, draga… ah, Lord Blackmoore, what a coincidence,” Zemo greeted in his most haughty voice, as if it was normal to interrupt an intimate conversation. “It is certainly unexpected to see you here, old friend.” Blackmoore drew back and eyed Zemo warily, surprised by the baron’s appearance.

“Zemo, don’t tell me this… woman… is with you?” he said skeptically, his gaze flickering between you and Zemo. “A true baron wouldn’t leave his pretty side piece unattended.” You swallowed nervously. If Blackmoore had even the slightest suspicion that you were an independent agent, with no affiliation with Zemo, the mission would be compromised.

“Well, that is unfortunate for you then, my friend. Because she is with me,” Zemo said, almost sneering at the other man. You suppressed a gasp as Zemo lifted you from your chair and sat down himself, placing you in his lap. The position was oddly comfortable.

“Isn’t she exquisite? Such a fine creature, so lovely in her element. I just had to bring her along tonight,” Zemo drawled lowly in his accent. “Perfect for someone like me.” Immediately you regained some of your confidence, and you artfully draped yourself across him, hoping Blackmoore would take the bait.

“Is that so? Because the Baron I knew would never abandon his date,” Blackmoore said, picking up his knife from the countertop. Zemo’s eyes flickered to the glint of the blade, yet he remained composed as ever.

“Yes, well…it was my date who abandoned me, tonight. Flitting off like a little bird with her own imagination,” he said, skimming his fingers possessively along the skin of your leg. You nearly shivered in pleasure as you felt his hand creep up your thigh, his fingers dipping below the exposed cut of fabric that your dress offered.

“I do not intend to let her go again.” Blackmoore’s gaze saw Zemo’s hand resting on your thigh, and he finally sheathed the knife somewhere within his jacket.

“Tough luck, Baron,” Blackmoore sneered, downing the rest of his drink before slamming the glass back on the bartop. “She didn’t seem so willing to do anything with me. I doubt you’ll have any success tonight.” With that the man stood and turned from the bar, walking back into the crowd of people.

As soon as the man was out of sight, you let out a breath that you hadn’t realized you had been holding.

“Thank you,” you whispered quietly to Zemo, still managing to maintain your cover even while recovering from your panic. Zemo moved his hand away from your leg, and he used it to brush a few strands of hair off of your face. He caught your gaze with his, and you were surprised to find his big brown eyes filled with concern.

“Schatz, you’re trembling…” he whispered lowly. You took a deep breath and nodded, grounding yourself. To anyone else, it looked as if the baron was flirting with you, which allowed you some time to recover without drawing attention from the other patrons.

“Yes, he… that was terrifying,” you admitted. “I’m alright now. Fortunately I have you, who couldn’t even let me out of your sight tonight. The illustrious Baron Zemo, unable to let his date go off for a bit and flirt, hm? How possessive.” At your teasing smile, Zemo blushed, but he didn’t look guilty.

“Draga, I only wanted to make sure you were alright,” he said, although you weren’t convinced that was the only reason he had been watching you tonight. However, he had saved you, and you were very grateful. No other man you had worked with before would have been that attentive.

“Well, either way, thank you for saving me. Plus, you’re kind of sexy when you’re jealous, Baron” you said. After a moment’s hesitation, you leaned down to press a kiss to his lips. Zemo made a surprised noise, but he reacted eagerly, moving his lips against yours as he fell into the kiss. His hands clutched at your waist to stabilize you, and you brought your own hands up to cradle his face, your fingers carding gently through the soft hair at his nape.

You both were breathless by the time you pulled back, and you figured that Zemo’s lustful gaze matched your own.

“Draga, I…” Zemo found himself strangely tongue tied. You really were the most gorgeous woman he’d ever seen, and he had hated seeing you flirt with that lowlife all evening. Even though the two of you had just met, and he had no reason to be possessive, something about it had lit a fire of jealousy in his belly.

After a few moments, you found the words for him and cleared your throat, trying to shake off the arousal the kiss had created.

“Well, Baron Zemo, I hope that I was an ideal date for tonight,” you said, smiling shyly. Feeling a bit embarrassed at the way you had thrown yourself at him, you fidgeted, smoothing the lapels of his coat and fixing his hair, brushing back some of the wavy strands that had fallen over his forehead. Zemo sat there and tried to pretend that you fussing over him wasn’t stirring feelings that had been dormant for eight long years in prison.

“So, I guess our night’s almost over,” you said when he failed to say anything. You were honestly disappointed that the evening was drawing to a close, but you had completed your mission, and there was no reason to stay and attract unwanted attention.

“Yes, indeed,” Zemo said, agreeing with you. “But not entirely over, I suppose. Let me call my driver. The night is still young, draga. Let us make of it what we will.” He lifted you easily to your feet, surprising you with his strength. Just like before, he placed a guiding hand on your back, and together you made your way through the crowd of people.

[imagine-a-dream]

Just The Two Of Us

Crowley x plus size goth female reader

summary: You’re going on the first date with the King of Hell.

warnings: none

requested by: @fat-bottom-demons

A/N: It's a bit short, but I hope you like it :)

You checked yourself in the mirror for the umpteenth time in the past hour. You smoothed the wrinkles on your dress (again) and adjusted the corset (again) so it would bring out your breasts more. You looked over your makeup critically, searching for the faults or smears of your nervous fidgeting, and were relieved to find none. It was perfect. Everything was perfect. You felt perfect.

In all honesty, you have never felt this confident about going on a first date before. Some of the first dates were awful, and sometimes people didn’t understand your set of mind or didn't like the way you looked. Which was… not so assuring and definitely didn’t add to the desire to repeat these kinds of dreadful meetings.

Despite his demonic nature, Crowley was nothing but a gentleman towards you, unlike some of your previous dates. He never said a bad word about your style, or your look, or even the sometimes melancholic thoughts that you shared with him. He adored your ability to find joy in something that others find gruesome. He was charmed that you could find beauty in death. On your second meeting, he told you right away that he was smitten by your beauty and found you the most interesting creature of all. It was no secret that a demon thought of others as plebeians, both human and demon alike, not even mentioning other creatures. But you…

He gladly and eagerly embraced your unique character, both in soul and body. He treated you like you were royalty from the very start, and it only took him a few witty remarks and a couple of charming smiles to melt your heart. He couldn’t help but delight in your curiosity when you learned of his supernatural origin.

You were one of the very few beings who were interested in him, demon and all, and didn’t try to change the way he was. And probably the first one who was curious about the insides of his work and plans for Hell without a second goal.

One night, after a cup or two, he came to the realization that you would look much better sitting on the throne beside him than in the cheap, uncomfortable chair in your pathetic place of work. And that’s how you found yourself being asked out by the king of hell.

You sighed, remembering the huge bouquet of black roses he gave you that day, along with the gorgeous (and insanely expensive looking) necklace with obsidians that now adorned your neck. The tips of your fingers gently touched one of the stones that found rest in the cleavage between your breasts, and a delicate smile formed on your ruby lips.

"You look absolutely ravishing, my Queen."

Crowley’s deep rumble startled you and nearly made you jump, but his hands quickly snaked around your form, locking you in a demon's embrace and calming your rapidly beating heart. He was wearing a deep black suit, matching your own dress, with a red tie to complement the color of your lipstick.

"Hey. You’re not bad looking yourself, your majesty."

He turned you in his arms, so he could look at your face, and now you could see the burning desire behind his eyes more clearly. It sent a delightful shiver down your spine, and you leaned into his body even more. It earned a proud chuckle from him. The sound of his delight made your cheeks warm.

He gave your lips a short peck and you struggled to suppress an unsatisfied whine from the lack of so much wanted contact, but still managed to not let out a sound. You will have time for this, no need to be a brat this early.

With a warning, he teleported you to the location of your date, and you were surprised to find yourself in a huge hall inside of what looked like an ancient castle.

In the middle of a room stood a massive table. You couldn’t place the type of wood, but it was clear that even though the piece of furniture looked great, it was very old. There were plates and two sets of cutlery on the surface of the table, along with a rich selection of dishes and a bottle of your favorite alcohol.

Crowley led you to your seat, pulled out a chair for you like a gentleman, and took his own seat on the opposite end. He poured your drinks and raised a fancy-shaped crystal glass.

"To you, my darling. And to the new beginning."

You smiled and nodded, but couldn’t help but add to his toast.

"To us."

He gave you a charming smirk, clicking your glasses, and his eyes were full of unspoken desire and promises. It sets your body on fire.

"To us."

masterlist | request rules

[milky-aeons]

𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐒

˗ˏˋ Gojo Satoru x Original Female Character ˎˊ˗

౨ৎ . . . in which aurelia is human, shoko and mei decide to remedy her inexperience with all things nightlife, and familiar blue eyes can’t seem to leave her in the dark.

warnings: alcohol consumption, suggestive content, w.c 4.1k

part of the HOPE IS THE THING WITH FEATHERS collection.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐋𝐔𝐁 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐂 𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐏𝐔𝐋𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐕𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐒.

From her secluded little perch tucked away in a cushioned booth, drink in her hand and face cradled in the other, Aurelia tracked both her friends as they jigged about on the dancefloor. Two breath-taking women they were; Mei's curtain of silver hair glinting under the colourful spotlights, her lips ruby-red and body lithe in that black maxi-dress. Shoko Ieiri was nothing short of stunning, either. Swapping her usual lab attire tonight for a form-fitting silk slip and simple shining stilettos. Nightclubs, they had told her, were places people were free to dress up however they liked at and let go — at least, for a few pulsing hours. Nightclubs, they had also assured, were places in which people could have the night of their lives.

Aurelia took another swig from her drink. Sharp, hot, a little sweet. It warmed in her chest and made her sigh, sitting back. My beautiful best friends, she smiled as Shoko barked out a laugh so unlike her and Mei came to hug behind her hips, you look like creatures of the night.

They had tried to get Aurelia up to dance. Tugged on her wrists, pouted prettily like two puppy dogs, whined that this is what clubbing is all about! which Aurelia shot down with a bashful smile. Every attempt to hoist her up was met with a dismissive shake of Aurelia's head. No, she wouldn't dance. Even sitting in this little silver cocktail dress she kept impulsively tugging down made it tempting to bid her friends farewell and race back to her dorm. Where she could cuddle down under the covers with her tabby cat and go over some reading for next week's lessons.

Unlike her friends, Aurelia was not a creature of the night. In her opinion, she wasn't really a creature built for anything, except solitude. Conversations, people, integrating as a functional member of society — these things Aurelia had always found exceedingly challenging. Not so much a personal choice as it was her way of life since birth.

Raised by a cult of extremists in the Jujutsu Society — who believed her power at harnessing Shikigami Shadows was so unparalleled it must be kept pure. So for twenty-four years, she knew no human contact that wasn't her Overseers in the mountain temple. For twenty-four years, she had been indoctrinated to believe that human contact was unneeded, irrelevant. That to become the powerful sorceress her innate ability was capable of, she must not deviate from her task.

It had taken one shaman with a larger-than-life attitude to barge into her own and tear that entire perception down. Who taught her that no matter how powerful someone is, true life can only be found in the heart of connections someone makes in their own.

Distracted by his sudden presence in her mind, Aurelia tipped her head back and closed her eyes. A shaman with a presence larger than life — thy name was Gojo Satoru. The Blessed One, the Honoured One, who had quite literally kicked the door down to her temple — her prison — and dragged her right out of it by hoisting her over his shoulder. She remembered asking him why. Not what he was doing, who the hell he was, who he thought he was — but why.

Why save me?

He had flashed her grin back then. Cocky, charming, absolutely heart-stopping. One she'd never forget. The crooked smile on his half-hidden face she'd end up falling madly in love with.

'Cause I'm such a great guy~

"This seat taken!"

The loud voice rose over the hum of the nightclub, close enough to Aurelia that she tilted her head up, eyes wide. And sure enough, a man she did not recognise was staring owlishly at her with an expectant expression. He was gesturing to the open booth couch just adjacent.

Aurelia blinked at him. "Ah," She glanced towards the dancefloor. Mei and Shoko were still very much involved with the groove of the music. Would they be returning to their seats soon? Perhaps they'd appreciate the added company. "Not at the moment. Go ahead." She smiled at him.

He returned it with a boyish grin of his own. Not like Satoru's. A pale, lacklustre comparison. "Thanks!" The man flopped down. "What's your name?"

"Aurelia!" Aurie, to someone else. Although no one that wasn't Satoru had the pleasure of calling her that. The beat of the music was a deep base now, making it hard to hear each other. He leaned forward, mouthing her name a few times.

"That's kinda hard to say!"

Says a lot of people. She smiled shortly. "I do hear that quite a lot."

"So? You here by yourself then, Aurelia?"

He said her name with a warm, suggestive lilt. Probably the reason why he sat down to speak with her in the first place. And there was nothing outwardly off-putting about him. With his dirty blond hair that fell over bright eyes and a lazy smile, Aurelia wondered why she suddenly felt so wrong talking to this man. Noticed how her name didn't roll off of his tongue right. That her skin didn't stretch too thin, stomach erupt in butterflies when another shaman was near her. No, she knew the reason. It was because she was in love with a man she couldn't have. Gojo Satoru was notorious for dating women and breaking their hearts. She needed to get him out of her system.

She didn't want to get him out of her system.

"I'm with some friends!" She told him. "They are currently occupied with dancing!"

"And you're not?"

"I don't dance."

A slow, challenging smile. "Can I change your mind!"

Gentle rejection fell almost instinctively from her lips. An automatic response, the undercurrent of because you are not Gojo Satoru always hanging in the air when men advanced on her. It wasn't fair. To her. To these strangers. She told herself she needed to get over this infatuation with the man that saved her life, and yet every time an opportunity presented itself — she'd back out. Every single damn time.

She was about to force herself to say yes to this stranger. To take the first step, break her own heart before Gojo Satoru could, when a God walked into the room.

A presence larger-than-life. Such monstrous power. Aurelia snapped her head up, searching. The Honoured One was in the same night club as them.

She found his figure almost instantaneously.

He was flocked by a group of familiars who all greeted him with broad smiles, strokes on the arm, claps on the back. His smile even stole her breath from here, in all of its dazzling, boyish charm. He's not wearing his blindfold tonight, Aurelia noticed, spotting the shades he wore on the strong bridge of his nose. Black. He was in all black — tie, shirt and sleek suit pants. It threw his snowy hair into stark focus, made his eyes such an otherworldly blue when he slowly flickered them over the crowd.

Landed on her. Paused.

The club melted away into a blur of colours and flashing lights and clinking glass. Voices and music slipped into white noise. Thump, thump, thump, the beat raced through her bloodstream as he continued to stare at her, unblinkingly. She wondered indeed if that insistent drumbeat was the bass of the music or her heart beginning to race in her ears.

"Boyfriend?" Said her forgotten company. Aurelia broke eye-contact with Satoru to blink at him, gathering composure.

"Oh—no. No, we just," When she glanced back, he was nowhere to be seen. "We just know each other..." Her voice trailed off. Where had he gone?

"Alright," The man said. "So... what about it?"

"Pardon?"

"Dancing. Can I get you up to dance?"

"Oh—I—"

"Beat it. She already told ya no, didn't she?"

Satoru's sudden interjection came with a hefty shove as his foot booted the stranger off of the seat. Aurelia gawked at the shaman suddenly sprawled comfortably in the corner of their booth — like he had just warped there, which she knew he had. Of course, he had. The stranger whirled around after stumbling to glare at him.

"What the fuck, man?"

Satoru crossed his long legs where he once sat. Waved. "See'ya."

It only served to rile the stranger up even more. "Wanna take this outside, or something?" He squared his shoulders.

One of Satoru's brows rose very slowly. Oh, men, Aurelia prepared herself to butt in between them. Because Satoru had that darkly amused look on his face that steadily grew the more heated this stranger became. Sorcerers were not permitted to expose or use their powers on regular individuals, yet Aurelia knew the shaman too well to believe he wouldn't find every other means to have his fun, Jujutsu or no.

"Say that again," Satoru said. "Slower, though."

His temper spiked. "Man, you are asking for a beat-down—"

"Excuse me!" Aurelia shot up in front of the standing man. He backed up a bit when she towered over him — a female of nearly Satoru's height that she was. She schooled her expression into patient politeness. "Excuse me," Her hands rested on his tense shoulders. "Please forgive my co-worker's behaviour. He can be rude for no reason, I hope you'll understand."

The man flickered his eyes behind her shoulder, scowling. Aurelia had the strangest feeling that Satoru returned it with a cocky smile. "Whatever," He scoffed, standing back with his hands turned up. "Offer to dance still stands, though." He said to Aurelia. Then jutted his thumb left. "I'll be at the bar."

She bowed her head. "Thank you."

And he stalked away.

"Now, either I've had way too much to drink tonight and am beginning to hallucinate. Which would be probable, 'cause I'm a serious lightweight," Said Satoru as Aurelia rounded on him carefully, her expression exasperated. He tipped his head to the side, studying her with raising brows. "Or I'm actually seeing Tokyo Tech's history teacher standing in a nightclub. Ah, know what? The alcohol option seems more probable."

She sighed. "Shoko and Mei-san wished to show me what a club was like. I agreed, after some persistence." Sliding down into the booth opposite, Aurelia tried to distract herself from the feeling of him so near her. Averting her eyes from his loosened tie and unbuttoned collar, exposing a triangle of his chest, or the way the black shirt hugged his toned upper-torso, making him tempting to pet and stroke. Stop. "So here you find me."

A feline smile that exposed his canines. "And?"

"I don't believe it's for me," She said truthfully. Then tilted her head. "How did you know I declined to dance with that gentleman?"

"Had a feelin'." Was all he said, and deigned to speak no further of the matter. An odd silence stretched between them then, interrupted by the thump, thump, thumping and loud, chattering voices.

Until Satoru threw his hands up in the air. "Yosh! Guess it's time, then!"

"Time—time for what?"

"Super Special Gojo-sensei Dance Time!" He was already shooting up to his feet, rounding to her side of the booth. Aurelia had barely enough time to ask what it is he meant, or what he was doing, before large, warm hands clasped around her wrists and she was being hoisted effortlessly up onto her feet.

"S-Satoru...!"

"Come on, come on~" He tugged her with the ease of a man most powerful. However the hold his fingers had on her skin was gentle. Hot. Burning. His Six Eyes let him walk backwards into the throng of dancers without so much as bumping into anybody. "Time to show me some of your history teacher moves, Aurie!"

Aurie. Heat rushed to her cheeks. "I don't dance!"

Tug!

Aurelia came tumbling forward when Satoru gave a tight pull on her arms. Warmth. Sandalwood and spice and him; she was smothered into his chest and his hands were on her hips. "You do with me~" He teased the whisper on her ear, and then twirled them around.

She squeaked, choking on her chuckle as he kept spinning them. So strangely, privy to the odd gawks they received from other night club goers. He didn't care. Satoru never cared about what people thought of him, of them. He just continued to turn and turn and turn until Aurelia was both dizzy and giddy, clasping onto his shoulders and imploring him to stop.

He did. But only after she barked out a laugh that relieved a strange tightness in her chest. A tightness she wasn't aware she had, and yet somehow Satoru could see it there. His hair was tossed and mussed when they slowed to a halt, dark glasses a little askew over those eyes that twinkled — as if they were crafted from crushed diamonds. From deep sea crystals or the stuff of stars. Completely unthinking, Aurelia reached up the fix the frames back into a straighter position. His skin was smooth and warm, his smile suddenly faltering into something more serious when she lingered for a bit too long.

He'll break your heart.

They held eye-contact for a second — one that stretched out, felt like an unending aeon only they shared, before Aurelia pushed gently off of him. He let her go, but still stood within arm's-reach. That mask was slapped back up onto his face then. The teasing one, the uncaring one. The one he broke women's hearts with and smiled after doing so.

Now that Aurelia could focus, she glanced around. Bodies. There were bodies everywhere — and they were moving. Jerking. Grinding. All flush-faced and slick with a shine of sweat. Surrounded by so many people, Aurelia suddenly felt out of place once more. Shoved into that mould which created a creature who did not belong. Biting her lip to stifle a sudden wave of panic at elbows grazing off of her, the whole crowd moving to a rhythm she couldn't grasp, her eyes darted to Satoru for help.

He was already studying her — unlike she, a man crafted for the nightlife. In his clothes of night-sky black and hair of pure moonshine. His tall form blended in with the crowd and yet also stood on an entire plain of his own. Because he was another entity of his own. Gods help her, but he's beautiful. A shaman she couldn't take, could never chain down for herself. But she could marvel at him. Could wonder what it would be like to be loved by the Honoured One.

He gave her an easy, fluid shrug and began to sway his hips. Mouthing the words to the music, shimmying and rocking his body in a way that Aurelia stood — gazing at. Charmed. He danced playfully to the music like the notes obeyed him, like they bent and weaved and conducted to every move of his body, and his alone. Aurelia wasn't aware that she had been so transfixed by his dancing until he nodded at her. An invitation. Follow me, was what his eyes told her.

So she did. Because the man asking her to dance right now wasn't the stranger at the bar — it was him. And if he showed her the way, she could try. Gojo Satoru seemed to always give her the courage to try, no matter what task lay ahead of her.

She swayed her hips oddly, side to side, mimicking what he was doing albeit with less prowess than he. He grinned, encouraging her. Even coming close enough to cup her hips and guide her awkward movements into something more fluid, more swayed. He took his hands away and gave her a silly thumbs-up. Aurelia almost rolled her eyes, although she was smiling.

And breathing. The air lightened and so did her spirit. The thump, thump, thumping was no longer a jarring feeling in her veins, but a rushing flow. Cresting until it wished to break lose. Until Aurelia wanted nothing more than the thrum of the music to take control and make her feel alive.

She heard his deep chuckle from across the way. "See! You're dancing. Ain't it easy!"

Aurelia beamed at him in a way she's never done before. Tugging her dark brown eyes down, making her skin almost glow. "It's... fun." She said, now slinking her entire body to match the way Satoru moved. He flashed her a show of teeth, glinting in the spotlights. Daring. Heart-racing.

He'll break your heart.

Satoru suddenly brought his hands flat on either side of his neck as he danced. Aurelia, brazen, did the same. Something dangerous sparked in his eyes, taking on a smouldering cold fire when Aurelia followed every movement he made. Sliding his hands down his strong neck, his chest, lascivious and sinful in every touch.

And she copied him. Hands gliding down her neck, her chest, the flat plain of her torso which shimmered silver in this dress. He wouldn't take his eyes from her, and they became weighted. Dark. Deep, boundless periwinkle as he tracked where her hands roamed. It made her both terrified and aching — that deeply salacious look he was giving her. Like he wanted to surge for her right here, right now, and drown out any knowing of the dancefloor using his teeth and tongue and lips, all over her.

Emboldened and scared, spurned on yet nervous, Aurelia levelled his gaze and dragged her hands slowly up her sides, trailing her ribcage, her neck, tangling deep in her curls that she lifted off of her shoulders as her hands kept continuing their ascent. Until they were in the air. She kept them there, swishing her hips, bending her knees. Feeling hotter and hotter the longer Satoru stared at her. He'd stopped dancing. Stopped speaking altogether as he watched her let go.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

He wasn't meant to be at this nightclub. The only reason Satoru had distanced himself from his previous nightly endeavours — which, obviously, was leaving annoying notes for Nanami — was because he received a not-so-subtle text from Mei Mei, hinting to him that Aurelia had been taken under their wing tonight and that they may or may not be heading to this aforementioned club. Aurelia being prey to these women's scheming already would have set Satoru on edge. Hell, she was his co-worker, why shouldn't he be? And yet the thought of any other man saddling up to a woman as beautiful as she, talking to her, touching her—

It was the fastest Gojo Satoru has ever changed clothes in his entire life. Getting here had involved a quick clap of his palms.

But they couldn't be a thing, he told himself when he realised his co-worker had sparked a deep, lustful interest in him — this was Aurelia. Aurelia. The insanely powerful Shikigami-shi he saved from a temple of old warts who kept her away from humanity her whole life. Truthfully, Satoru wanted them all dead the moment he set foot in there, because they were cranky old men, stuck in their ways of Jujutsu and keeping some poor woman captive. And yet he spared them the mercy. Because the tall, thin, shivering woman slung over his shoulder that day had asked him not to.

Why save me? Her honeyed voice had quavered back then.

It struck a deep-rooted, long dormant part of his chest when she had asked it. He smiled, and had said, 'Cause I'm such a great guy~

He'd left that temple with her over his shoulder and all the men suffering from irreparable broken bones.

And here she was — that woman from years ago, now an employed teacher at Jujutsu Tech after he'd pulled some strings, dancing with him in a nightclub. Fucking hell, she made it hard for him to breathe sometimes. Especially in an outfit like that. The fine silver of her dress winked like starlight under the colourful beams. Her hair — oh, all that hair he wanted to wrap around his fist — was a cascade of chocolate that whipped back and forth with her movements. Satoru never had a weakness for women's legs — but tonight, he did. Surveying the long, smooth skin the dress allowed a generous amount of. He swallowed, dragging his eyes back up to her. Get your shit together, get it to-fucking-gether.

But she smiled. The one that curved her dark, dark eyes into moons. It winded him. And also broke him. Because he thought fuck this, fuck it all, and began to dance closer to her.

Aurelia felt lightheaded. A happy, dizzy feeling — like a cloud which had no beginning nor end. And then that cloud shot back down to Earth when she felt strong, sturdy hands coming to rest on her hips again. Her and Satoru were standing close, so close, their chests almost brushing as hot air became a shared thing between parted lips. She looked into his eyes and saw a storm there. But it was a thrilling kind of storm. The type that made her want to lean in, get lost, to have her heart touched and held and broken by him.

A richer, deeper song began to play as they swayed with each other. That bound them both in a trance. The beat was a sensual kind — encouraging people around to grab any dance partner to grind against. Instead of turning her around like everyone else, Satoru held her closer. Angling their hips to align, reaching behind so he could splay two hands on the small of her back, and ground with her.

Aurelia's heart was about to burst. It thump, thump, thumped in time with the pulse between her legs. Drunk on the music, on him, she slid her hands slowly up his chest and locked her fingers at the back of his neck. Their lips were so close that she could feel his hot breath when he mouthed the words — she wondered what it would feel like in other places; against her neck, all over her body.

He dipped her back suddenly, a gasp rushing up her throat as she held on. Distantly, some cheers floated across the beat of the music. There also wasn't many people knocking elbows or hips off of her anymore. It came to Aurelia's heated attention when Satoru pulled her back up that a little circle had cleared around them in the middle of the nightclub dancefloor. A cacophony of claps and whistles, shouts and support.

"We've attracted an audience." Aurelia breathed, turning back to her dance-partner.

There was a gleam in his blessed blue eyes. "Then let's put on a show."

And he spun her. Back to his front.

Aurelia bit her bottom lip to stifle the blush when he danced against her. She only rocked into his movements, following his lead, and just because she felt that bit braver with him by her side, she reached back to drag her fingers through his hair.

The crowd cheered again, more voices this time. The beat kicked up into its final crescendo that sent Aurelia and Satoru spinning and grinding, sliding and rocking—

They spun around to face each other, breathing haggard, when the music finally reached its end note. Satoru's shoulders were moving at a rapid pace — up and down, up and down, his forehead gleaming and mouth parted. Aurelia tried to decipher that look in his eyes now. Before their dance, it had been a storm. One wicked, wild and dangerous storm. But now...

Now, it was fire.

"Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!" A chant had started rippling through the drunken crowd. They pulled their eyes towards it. "Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!"

"I think that's a good standing ovation." Satoru said with a smug smile. He turned around to her, leaning in a little. A silent question. A request. The faint chorus of kiss, kiss, kiss made Aurelia's heartbeat a hummingbird in her chest, made her flicker her eyes from Satoru's lips up to his eyes, back to his lips, up to his eyes. Kiss, kiss, kiss!

She didn't want to get him out of her system.

✧∘* ೃ ⋆｡˚

"Huhu~" A female chuckle chimed from the balcony that overlooked the dancefloor. Silently, Mei held a flat palm open to Shoko. The Doctor sighed, but was true to her word, and fished in her purse to count the money.

"Do I even want to ask how you knew this would happen?" She muttered.

Mei's greedy smile only stretched wider. Another chuckle. It became lost in the drunken cheers of by-standers most intoxicated as they watched both Gojo Satoru and Jujutsu Tech's first history teacher passionately kiss each other in the middle of the dancefloor. Satoru bending her back like a sailor would his bride. They kissed and gripped onto each other like they were other's air, their right to life.

Mei tossed Shoko a knowing look when she slapped some money into her hand. "A good sorceress knows how to sway the stakes~"

If you've gotten this far, thank you so very much! Read about Satoru and Aurelia's story here!

[razieltwelve]

Notation (Final Rose)

“The problem with relying on speed,” Yang drawled as she straddled Neo and pinned her arms above her head. “Is that once you’ve been caught, you’re in a great deal of trouble.”

Neo glared up at the blonde.

“Heh.” Yang patted Neo’s cheek and then ran her hand down the other woman’s neck. Despite the anger in her gaze, Neo couldn’t help but tremble as Yang traced her collarbone before beginning to undo the buttons of her shirt. “Now, what should I do with you?” She smirked and then yanked sharply. Neo’s shirt tore, and Yang leered as Neo’s chest was exposed. “No bra? My, someone’s a naughty girl.”

Blake cleared her throat. “Did you have to rip off her shirt, Yang?”

Yang continued to leer at Neo’s chest. “It was in the way.”

“Yang, you’re supposed to be a piratical miscreant seducing the heroine. I hardly think ripping her shirt off is all that seductive.”

“Hey, I don’t hear her complaining,” Yang replied.

Neo raised one eyebrow.

“Oh, you know what I mean.” Yang scowled at Blake. “And, you know, you’re kind of sucking the romance out this yourself.”

“I’d like to point out that I was the one who suggested this scenario in the first place.” Blake drew herself up regally. “After all, it’s supposed to be inspiration for my newest book.”

“More smut?” Yang snickered. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“It’s romance,” Blake replied archly. “Romance.”

“It’s totally porn,” Yang shot back. “I read your last one. It was five hundred pages long. I swear like four hundred of those pages was pure smut. I’m actually amazed any of the main characters could actually walk by the end of it, they were having that much sex.”

“The smut is critical to the plot,” Blake growled.

“Blake, I love you. I really do. And I think you’re a wonderful writer. But the plot was basically just two rival female warlords almost kill each other, get stranded in the wilderness, and end up falling in love and screwing each other’s brains out in basically every conceivable position on every available geographical feature. Oh, and this was after they’d already tried to seduce each other to secure victory.”

“...” Blake huffed. “You are grossly oversimplifying what was a highly complex and convoluted narrative.”

Neo wiggled her hips, and Yang glanced at her for a moment before shifting slightly. The difference in size meant it wasn’t comfortable for Yang to rest her weight on Neo’s belly. On the other hand, had their positions been reversed, Yang wouldn’t have minded in the least. 

It was pure smut. The words appeared in glowing writing in the air, courtesy of Neo’s Semblance. Fantastic smut. Smut we had plenty of fun re-enacting. Smut that outsold basically everything else in the market. But, yeah, it was smut.

“Seriously?” Blake looked toward the fourth woman in the room who had, until this point, remained silent although she was very visibly struggling to hide her amusement. “What do you think, Winter?”

“Blake, I hate to gang up on you, but I have to agree with Neo and Yang.” Winter gestured at herself. “I mean... you’ve got me in leather with a whip. I’m pretty sure that's not necessary for plot reasons.”

“I told you that leather is a perfectly serviceable material to wear, and you’ve got a whip because it just so happens to be the weapon that your character uses.”

“So the fact that you want me to ‘punish’ the heroine with it is a complete coincidence?”

Somehow, Blake was able to reply with a straight face. “Yes.”

Neo couldn’t help it. Her shoulders began to shake as she laughed in near-silence. Astride her, Yang giggled and then gave Neo a mock stern look.

“Quiet, wench,” Yang threatened. “Or the Lady Winter shall have to discipline ye most thoroughly. It’ll be a flogging for ye... a flogging or a fucking.”

That was too much for Winter, who also burst out laughing.

Blake glared. “Can you three take this more seriously?”

“I’m sorry.” Winter covered her mouth with one hand. “But, Yang, that was awful.”

“I think it was rather witty.”

“No, it was awful.” Winter shook her head. “But I suppose that’s part of your charm.”

Maybe we should just gang up on Blake for real. Neo’s Semblance created a red arrow that pointed straight at Blake. She’s getting pretty bossy. It wouldn’t do to let her get too full of herself.

“Instead,” Yang added, letting go of Neo’s wrists to point some finger guns at Blake. “We should get her full of us.”

“...” Winter stared. “That was even worse.” She turned toward Blake, and the whip snapped out with a crack, only inches from the Faunus. “But it’s not a bad idea.”

Blake’s eyes widened. “Wait just a -”

They sprang.

X     X     X 

Diana tilted her head to one side. “I really need to start charging you more for household repairs.” She eyed the devastation in the bedroom with a sigh. The bed was kindling. The furniture was scattered all over the room, and there was even a whip imbedded in the ceiling. And that wasn’t even taking into account the ripped clothes everywhere, and the menagerie of dents and holes in the walls. “Because this is ridiculous. What were you even doing with that whip?”

“Nothing.” Blake gave Winter a scowl. “Absolutely nothing.”

“Hmm...” Diana rummaged through her pockets and looked at Neo. “I will give you this cookie if you tell me what happened.”

“As if that will work,” Blake shot back. “Neo isn’t Ruby.”

“Which is a good thing,” Yang muttered. “I love my sister, but the things we did to Neo...”

Neo smiled sunnily at Blake and took the cookie. Whip. Ceiling. Spread.

Diana nodded. “Interesting. Creative.” She gave Blake a sly smile. “Totally going in your next book, right?”

“Oh, shut up.”

X     X     X

Author’s Notes

Blake takes her writing very seriously. And so do the others. Kind of. Maybe. Who knows? And, yeah, this is before the twins and other kids show up. By then, they’ve invested in various technologies to minimise property damage and minimise noise etc.

If you’re interested in my thoughts on writing and other topics, you can find those here.

I also write original fiction, which you can find on Amazon here or on Audible here.

[breadthief]

flash analysis: 150+ votes

As of right now my rwby wlw survey has 150 responses. thank you!

i plan to update regularly as we hit milestones, with 100 being the first. details below the cut! if you’re wlw and you like rwby, feel free to take the survey, here!

Demographic

As of 150 votes:

56.8% of survey takers identify as Lesbian 27.1% as Bisexual 8.3% as Pansexual 11.2% as Asexual 4.5% as Aromantic

When it comes to umbrella terms, 20.7% use the umbrella term sapphic, 31.9% use WLW, and 27.9% use Queer

(Note that this is a “select all that apply” question, so one may, for example, hit “bisexual, aromantic, and wlw”; percentages do not necessarily take away from each other.)

As of 150 votes, 

74.6% respondents identify simply as a Woman 26.8% identify as Non-binary

When it comes to non-binary identities, 7.2% identify as genderfluid, 7.2% identify as a demigirl, and 3.6% identify as genderqueer.

Out of the people that consider themselves binary women, 

68.5% responded that they are Cisgender 18.9% responded that they are Transgender 12.6% do not wish to disclose whether they are cis or trans

___

Characters (Opinions)

So, which characters are popular in the RWBY wlw community? Which characters aren’t? 

(Note: Respondents were allowed to choose up to 5 favorites)

As of 150 votes...

Top 10 most popular female characters

1. Yang Xiao Long (67.5%) 2. Blake Belladonna (62.3%) 3. Weiss Schnee (41.6%) 4. Ruby Rose (27.9%) 5. Pyrrha Nikos (16.9%) 6. & 7. Nora Valkyrie and Ilia Amitola (11.7% each) 8. Penny Polendina (9.7%) 9. Neo (9.1%) 10. Robyn Hill (7.7%)

Top 10 most popular male characters

1. Qrow Branwen (51%) 2. Lie Ren (42.5%) 3. Oscar Pine (28.5%) 4. Jaune Arc (25%) 5. Sun Wukong (24.8%) 6. Ghira Belladonna (18.5%) 7. Roman Torchwick (11.8%) 8. Taiyang Xiao Long (11.1%) 9. James Ironwood (9.8%) 10. Marrow Amin (9.2%)

We also polled which characters wlw hate!

(This is where Google Chrome crashed and we reached 180 responses. Thank you! I’m going to preserve the original numbers I scrawled out, but from here on we’re working with a slightly bigger pool.)

Top 5 6 most hated female characters 1. Cinder Fall (52.8%) 2. Salem (25.8%) 3. Glynda Goodwitch (20.2%) 4-6. Raven Branwen, Neo, and Neon Katt (14.1% each)

Top 5 most hated male characters 1. Adam Taurus (73.8%) 2. Jacques Schnee (62.3%) 3. Tyrian Callows (23.5%) 4. Jaune Arc (15.8%) 5. Arthur Watts (14.1%)

We also asked which characters wlw personally relate to or project onto the most.

Top 10 most relatable female characters to wlw

1. Yang Xiao Long (58.9%) 2. Blake Belladonna (51.7%) 3. Ruby Rose (32.8%) 4. Weiss Schnee (26.1%) 5. Ilia Amitola (15%) 6. Nora Valkyrie (12.%) 7. Pyrrha Nikos (7.2%) 8. & 9. Penny Polendina & Velvet Scarlatina (6.1% each) 10. Coco Adel (3.9%)

Top 5 most relatable male characters to wlw (Note: there was a large vote disparsity between the two!)

1. Jaune Arc (38%) 2. Qrow Branwen (30.1%) 3. Oscar Pine (28.5%) 4. Lie Ren (25.2%) 5. Sun Wukong (17.9%)

Characters (Headcanons)

Next, we asked for peoples’ sexuality headcanons. We asked people to select every character they thought of strictly as X sexuality.

I did include characters whose sexuality has been confirmed, like Ilia, mostly because I copy-pasted the character lists and I made this at midnight. Whoops - but it is fun to see her topping the “most lesbian” list.

These will be phrased as “most [sexuality] character”, because it’s fun.

Top 10 most lesbian characters, as voted by wlw

1. Ilia Amitola (89.7%) 2. Coco Adel (86.9%) 3. Yang Xiao Long (76.6%) 4. Robyn Hill (75.7%) 5. Fiona Thyme (52.8%) 6. Weiss Schnee (46.3%) 7. Winter Schnee (39.7%) 8. Velvet Scarlatina (33.2%) 9. Emerald Sustrai (31.3%) 10. May Marigold (26.2%)

Top 10 most bisexual female characters

1. Blake Belladonna (93.2%) 2. Raven Branwen (53.4%) 3. Summer Rose (48.9%) 4. Pyrrha Nikos (44.7%) 5. Velvet Scarlatina (33.8%) 6. Nora Valkyrie (31.5%) 7. Weiss Schnee (26%) 8. Kali Belladonna (22.4%) 9. Emerald Sustrai (17.4%) 10. Winter Schnee (16.9%)

Top 10 most pansexual female characters

1. Nora Valkyrie (39.1%) 2. Neon Katt (33.8%) 3. Pyrrha Nikos (26.5%) 4. Yang Xiao Long (21.2%) 5. Ruby Rose (17.9%) 6. Penny Polendina (17.2%) 7. Neo (15.9%)  8. Summer Rose (12.6%) 9. May Marigold (10.6%) 10. Elm Ederne (9.3%)

Top 10 most ace and/or aro female characters

1. Ruby Rose (78.9%) 2. Penny Polendina (47.4%) 3. Neo (21.6%) 4. Maria Calavera (8.9%) 5.& 6. Glynda Goodwitch & Cinder Fall (7.4% each)  7. Sienna Khan (5.3%) 8. & 9. Weiss Schnee & Joanna Greenleaf (4.2% each) 10. Winter Schnee & Harriet Bree (3.8% each)

Ships

As of 180 responses:

What is your favorite ship? (You can only pick one!)

Bumbleby (Blake/Yang) - 68.9% Whiterose (Weiss/Ruby) - 13.2% Nuts and Dolts (Ruby/Penny) - 7.4% Renora (Ren/Nora) - 1.1%

Those are all the responses that got 2+ votes (Renora only has 2 so far, they’re the slightly larger turquoise strip!) I don’t have space to write all the ones that got 1 vote individually, so they won’t be in this report.

Top 10 wlw ships, as rated by wlw:

(This is another category where up to 5 answers are permissible!)

1. Bumbleby (93.8%) 2. Whiterose (60.3%) 3. Nuts and Dolts (58.8%) 4. Crosshares [Coco/Velvet] (57.7%) 5. Springthyme [Robyn/Fiona] (30.4%) 6. Schneekos [Weiss/Pyrrha] (27.3%) 7. Freezerburn [Yang/Weiss] (24.7%) 8. Rosebird [Raven/Summer] (24.2%) 9. Schneewood Forest [Robyn/Winter] (19.1%) 10. Monochrome [Blake/Weiss] (18.6%)

Top 5 mlm ships

1. Fair Game [Qrow/Clover] (82.9%) 2. Seamonkeys [Sun/Neptune] (68.4%) 3. Ironqrow [Ironwood/Qrow] (38.9%) 4. Martial Arcs [Jaune/Ren] (17.1%) 5. Rich Farmers [Oscar/Whitley] (14%)

Top 5 m/f ships

1. Renora (88.9%) 2. Arkos (67.7%) 3. Sunflakes [Weiss/Sun] (13.1%) 4. Gelato [Neo/Torchwick] (10.6%) 5. Rosegarden [Ruby/Oscar] (8.6%)

Next, we polled on likelihood vs. personal want. In this next section, up to 5 choices were permissible.

Top 10 “most likely to be canon” ships, as voted by wlw

1. Bumbleby (97.9%) 2. Renora (91%) 3. Fair Game (54.3%) 4. Crosshares (28.5%) 5. Springthyme (28.1%) 6. Rosegarden (22.9%) 7. Whiterose (21.6%) 8. Dreadnought [Salem/Ozpin], reconciled (18.6%) 9. Nuts and Dolts (17.7%) 10. Phoenix [Taiyang/Raven], reconciled (9.7%)

Top 10 “most wanted to be canon” ships

1. Bumbleby (95.4%) 2. Renora (68.6%) 3. Fair Game (54.2%) 4. Crosshares (47.1%) 5. Whiterose (40%) 6. Springthyme (38.8%) 7. Nuts and Dolts (35%) 8. Seamonkeys (13.3%) 9. Dreadnought, reconciled (9.6%) 10. Phoenix, reconciled (7.5%)

And finally, beware of ship hate - the top 5 most hated ships by wlw

1. Taura/donna (84.1%) 2. Black/sun (39.3%) 3. Rosegarden (29.2%) 4. Iceberg [Weiss/Neptune] (28.6%) 5. Qro/win [Qrow/Winter] (27.8%)

Representation

91.2% of wlw polled think RWBY has good wlw representation in general

59.8% would praise RWBY’s lesbian representation

57.3% would praise their bisexual representation

45.6% would praise their trans representation

33.6% would praise their general mlm representation

24.9% would praise their representation of gay men specifically

22.8% would praise their ace/aro representation

Comments on what they could improve on generally include mlm representation, ace/aro rep, and more trans rep

__

Thank you so much for partaking in this survey! I’ll post updated results when we hit another milestone, like 500!

[lilibetts]

The E(X) Files

S1E01: Descent Into Eldervair

“Welcome to Eldervair Court, please enter your code now,” the pleasant, computerized female voice prompted. Betty groaned, because of course she had stopped the white Toyota Highlander too far away to reach the keypad. In her defense, this car was given to her by the Bureau as a part of her cover and she'd only been driving it since this afternoon. The thought of the mountains of paperwork she'd have to fill out if she so much as scratched its paint filled her with dread.

“Please enter your code now,” the recording prompted again. Was it her imagination or did the recording sound exasperated? Betty cracked the driver's side door open a fraction and leaned through the window to punch in the numbers she had memorized the night before.

“Please enter your co-- Welcome home, Mrs. Fletcher.”

“I don't think I'll ever get tired of hearing that, do you, Snookums?” The sardonic male voice piped up from the passenger seat.  

Betty breathed through her nose, silently counting down from ten before she turned to glare at her pretend husband for the next few weeks. Agent Forsythe Pendleton Jones (“the third, unless you have a daddy or necrophilia kink”), aka Jughead, was partially slouched in the seat.  He no longer sported his ever-present crown beanie, though Betty wouldn't put it past him to have it stashed in a box somewhere. For someone who had his head covered most of the time, his hair looked criminally good.

And Betty had a right to complain- the humidity had made her hair wavy and frizzy. Inherit her mother's 'great hair' genes, she did not.

“Speak for yourself, Buttercup.”

Jughead wasn't Betty's usual partner, but Kevin was taking a well-deserved vacation. (His reaction, when he found out Jughead and Betty would be partners? “Oh dear god, there'll be no self-restraint there. None.”). Jughead didn't have a usual partner; he'd been heading up the X-Files division on his own in his tiny basement office.

She wasn't sure if she'd been partnered with Jughead because she was one of the few agents who didn't make fun of him, either behind his back or right to his face, or because her superiors were tired of her go-getter personality and quick close rate on cases.  Or they had decided 'who better to pretend to be husband and wife than two agents who used to be married to one other?'

Barely sparing a glance at her ex-husband fidgeting in his seat, Betty moved the gearshift back into 'Drive' and steered the vehicle through the now open gates.

Eldervair Court was a massive, walled community in upstate New York— built into a partially cleared section of Fox Forest. As they began to make their way down the winding drive, the multitude of trees gave attractive cover, but nearly blocked out the sky entirely. Given that the weather that day was overcast with gray skies, Betty was immediately unsettled by how isolated she already felt from the world beyond the walls.

The trees faded away just enough to reveal rather enormous but attractive red-brick houses, each on top of a sloping grass hill, with stone steps and pathway leading to the front door. Georgian architecture, Betty thought. Maybe revival, maybe original. Just how old was this community? They hadn't been able to figure out when Eldervair Court was incepted.

The houses were all completely identical; the lawns perfectly manicured with attractive rows of rose bushes. Not a single speck of what might be termed 'character' could be found. They looked, for lack of a better word, perfect.

It gave Betty war flashbacks to her own childhood.

“These aren't houses,” Jughead muttered, right leg jiggling anxiously as he stared out the window. “These are mini-mansions.”

Betty frowned, the surrealism getting to her. “Yeah, I wouldn't say it's all very Stepford Wives, but...”

“More David Lynch's Blue Velvet meets Tim Burton?”

“Something like that.”

As she turned into the driveway, Betty spotted an expertly coiffed redhead in a black sleeveless blouse and red palazzo trousers standing up on the porch with a ruby-red grin on her face. Clearly she was the welcoming committee.

“Showtime,” Betty muttered as she plastered on the smile she'd learned from Alice Smith Cooper.

“It's almost like meeting your mother all over again,” Jughead groused under his breath, eyes trained on the woman on their new porch. Betty didn't even dignify that with a glare.

As they exited the SUV, the moving truck with two other agents backed up into the space next to them. The weather here was still warm for late September, so Betty had dressed semi-casually according to a popular Fall Fashion Pinterest board and Jughead wore a nice pair of new black trousers and a blue sweater that did fantastic things for his eyes.

(She'd given him that sweater several Christmases ago.)

The redhead sauntered up to them on towering red stilettos. “Bonsoir, Fletchers!” She trilled. Now that they were closer, Betty could make out the shape of the woman's broach— it was a spider.

"'Will you walk into my parlour?' said the Spider to the Fly.

She was met at the top of the driveway by a petite pink-haired woman, this one dressed in all black and floral platform ankle boots. Once she struck the perfect couples pose, the redhead addressed Betty and Jughead: “Welcome to Eldervair Court, we're the Topaz-Blossoms and yes, we're domesticated lesbians.”

“Cheryl,” the pink-haired woman scolded lightly, the soft smile on her face telling Betty she was used to her wife's dramatics.

“Sorry TT, I didn't mean to engage in bisexual erasure. 'Domesticated lesbians' just has a better ring to it. Forgive me, mon amour?” Their noses rubbed together in an Eskimo kiss before Cheryl remembered her new neighbors existed. “As you can see, EC is a progressive, open-minded community, as long as you keep your lawn up to regulations!”

Sensing that Jughead was about to make a sarcastic comment, Betty beat him to the punch. “That's wonderful! I'm Juliet and this is my husband, Holden,” she introduced them, patting a hand on Jughead's chest to warn him to watch his mouth.

And also sell that they were definitely a married couple, not a pair of divorced FBI Agents. Nothing to see here, let's move on.

“I'm Toni,” Pink Hair said with a small wave. “Cheryl and I live two doors down, next to the Andrews'.”

Cheryl clapped her hands. “Now that we've dispensed with the niceties, since you two took your sweet time arriving, we're going to have to hurry if you're going to make the six o'clock cutoff.”

“Cutoff?” Jughead frowned. Glancing down at her phone, Betty saw it was 4:51.

“The six o'clock cutoff? All move-ins must be completed by 6 PM. It's in the R&Rs.” Cheryl intoned, as if that ought to have been obvious.

Toni at least had the grace to look regretful. “Yeah, you're really going to need to brush up on the Rules & Regulations. They're the price we pay to keep this community successful.”

“We'll definitely read it through carefully,” Betty promised. “It's just been so busy lately, what with the move and all...”

Cheryl had already whipped out her phone and her thumbs flew over the screen. “I've conscripted some of your new neighbors into helping with the unload. With my superior delegating skills, we'll have you moved in in no time at all!” With a flip of her hair over one shoulder, she was off, barking out orders at the people crossing the street towards them; Toni made a beeline for the moving van.

Betty and Jughead shared a look before they made their way to the front door. In front of the columns on either side of the porch sat two statues, their grotesque features seeming to leer at her. Gargoyles. They were gargoyles. A shiver made its way down her spine.  Keep it together, Betty, she told herself as she slid the key they'd been sent into the lock.

From the entryway, the view of the home was magnificent, there was no other word for it: high ceilings, paneled walling, and tall windows that let in plenty of light. There was a sweeping staircase and the hardwood floors looked to be dark maple and wide planked.  Jughead curled a proprietary arm around her back, resting his hand on her hip.

“Now, Lambchop, what do you think? Is this the place for us or what?”

They'd lived in a tiny two-bedroom in Queens, a paradise before Jughead's undercover gang assignment destroyed them from afar.

“It's right out of a dream, Bugaboo.”

Tap-tap-tap-tap. Shaking off her sudden melancholy, Betty turned at the sound of heels on hardwood on to face Cheryl's approach. “This place is downright immaculate,” she pretended to gush. “I would love to send the previous owners a Thank You note.”

Cheryl made a disinterested noise. “Whatever suits your sensibilities, Juliet dear. You can give it to me and I'll send it on to them,” she said with eyes downcast, pretending to study a scuff mark on the floor.

No, you certainly won't, Betty thought with a vicious stab of satisfaction at catching someone in a clear lie. Because Dilton Doiley was dead and his wife, Ethel, had gone missing.

A steady stream of people with boxes started coming through the open door. In the distance, Betty could see their undercover movers unloading the first of their carefully selected furniture. Now, there was a job: join the FBI and use your interior design degree to stage undercover agents' homes to help sell their cover.

“So,” Cheryl carefully enunciated. “What is it that you do?”

“Oh, I'm the social media manager for an event planning company in the city and Hols here is working on his third novel.” Betty beamed with pride at her pretend husband's achievements. Thanks to Amazon and Kindle Unlimited, it was disturbingly easy to backstop Holden Fletcher's novelist career in such a way that it was believable that the couple could afford to live in Eldervair Court.

The Bureau hired out-of-work English Majors and MFA degree-holders to do things like this, too.

Cheryl made another noise, clearly not impressed by what it is that they do.

That's when it got a bit weird. A redheaded man, who had been introduced to them as 'Archiekins' by his immaculate wife in pearls and a dark plum sheath dress, shouted out the time.

“5:40!”

The stream of neighbors turned into frenzied rapids. Before they knew it, all the boxes were inside, as well as the furniture, if not in the exact room they belonged. By 5:58, everyone was exiting the house with words of welcome and half-formed plans to have dinner tomorrow night.

“We'll leave you to it. Toodles, Neighbors!” And with that, Cheryl closed the door with a flourish behind her.

“Dear god,” Betty groaned, shoulders slumping.

“Yeah, nothing weird going on here at all,” muttered Jughead before he turned away from the front door. “Hold on, you didn't let me carry you over the threshold—“

Betty simply rolled her eyes and made her way toward the kitchen. They'd brought two coolers full of food to last them until they could go grocery shopping tomorrow. The Bureau had only intended to give them one, but Betty had renegotiated the second, knowing what kind of appetite Jughead had. She wanted to get the perishables into the fridge before it was too late.

She stopped short when she caught sight of the two items on the granite countertop. “Ju-” she caught herself in time. “Sweetie, come see what our neighbors left us!” she called out.

In less than two seconds she felt the heat of him at her back. “Well, wasn't that nice of them?”

Next to the enormous, spiral-bound binder that proclaimed 'Eldervair Court: Rules and Regulations' on the cover, was an ivory box with two detailed black-and-white creatures stenciled onto it. Inside the ornate red frame, written in Gothic lettering were the words:

Gryphons & Gargoyles

[ticklebrained]

So far in 20biteen

“Like, this wasn’t appearing in searches as an image post, so let’s post it again. Perhaps with the images + and extra list!!??!!!!

Things that have happened in #20biteen (cool bisexual happenings in the last 9 days already):

1/1: An article of German legislation is brought into law, legally declaring three genders. The third, labelled ‘diverse’, will primarily be used for those who are born intersex.

1/1: The State of New York brings in legislation approving a third gender, labelled ‘X’, for any citizen who does not identify as male or female. Birth certificates may be retroactively changed, and parents can choose the designation for intersex children.

1/3: Kyrsten Sinema is sworn in as Arizona Senator for the 116th Congress, becoming the United States’ first openly bisexual Senator. She’s also Arizona’s first female Senator, and the state’s first Democrat Senator in 30 years. Also, fashion icon.

1/3: The number of bisexuals in Congress doubles, with Sinema moving from the House to the Senate and California’s Katie Hill sworn-in as a freshman Representative, the first openly bisexual Congressperson from the state (and the second in Congress after Sinema). The 116th is the most queer in history, deemed a reflection on Trump’s careless ignorance of the LGBTQ+ community.

1/3: “Batwoman” receives a pilot order from The CW, with its bisexual lead to be played by openly queer Ruby Rose. This will become the network’s seventh (currently running) original show to have a bisexual main character (the others are “The 100″, “Legends of Tomorrow”, “Riverdale”, “Dynasty”, “Jane the Virgin” and “Crazy Ex-Girlfriend”). With 21 original shows, these seven account for a whole third of The CW’s shows.

1/4: Nancy Pelosi, in the opening speech of the United States’ 116th Congress while the government was briefly open, promised to pass the Equality Act, making all forms of LGBTQ+ discrimination illegal, including special mention of biphobia.

1/4: Congress introduces a rule banning LGBTQ+ discrimination in the House of Representatives, for Congresspersons and staffers alike (including those seeking employment). Whilst such discrimination was already illegal in the District of Columbia, since it is not Federal law it doesn’t affect Congress.

1/6: The Golden Globes awards hands out a record number of awards for bisexual films/characters. The ceremony was also hosted by actors Sandra Oh and Andy Samberg, who are now known for their portrayals of bi/bi-coded characters Eve Polastri (”Killing Eve”, for which Oh won Best Actress in a Drama Series on the night) and Jake Peralta (”Brooklyn 99″).

1/7: Denver bans gay conversion therapy.

1/8: “Good Trouble”, a spin-off of “The Fosters” premieres on Freeform, with a bisexual lead character and another bisexual lead actress.

1/9: The United States swears-in its first openly queer Governor, the bisexual Kate Brown from Oregon.

[vostara]

hold me while you wait

pairing: ares x original female character (beatrix)

blurb: “Just an annoying needle, pricking the back of her throat.”

word count: 3.1k+

title inspiration: hold me while you wait - lewis capaldi

[Hanahaki Disease AU] with a small, but significant twist. You might want to grab some tissues because this is, absolutely, the most upsetting thing I’ve written so far. This is not canon to hypnophobia, just involves the same couple!

warning: untethered angst, mentioned sexual content, and implied character death

*This work is cross-posted on AO3.

series masterlist

It starts with a touch, with Beatrix gently wrapping her fingers around Ares’ injured arm.  “Let me help you,” she says.

At first, Ares hesitates, unsure of the woman’s intentions.

For Beatrix is still a new addition to her routine, a new member that has much to prove. She may have already pledged her loyalty to Santino, but once she pledged loyalty to Lilith. Beatrix has broken her vows before, and there is no evidence affirming that she won’t do it again if she finds a better deal.

But the woman fights against her resistance, pulling the arm towards her. She sprays disinfectant on the long slice engraved into the skin of Ares’ forearm, before beginning to bandage the wound with a roll of gauze.

“Thanks for the help,” Beatrix says. “That guy really got the jump on me.” With the gauze secured in place, she pulls her hands away from the injured skin.

Her eyes lift to meet Ares and a moment of silence passes between them.

No problem, Ares signs.

~ ~ ~

Beatrix knows that she is being foolish, that her evolving emotional involvement with Ares will never lead to a happy ending. But against her better judgement, she allows herself to be a fool.

Ares is a distraction, one that she’s grown quite fond of. Nights of bruising kisses, breathless pants, and hushed moans are an irresponsibility that grants her a passage to escape the world she’s trapped in. With Ares, she escapes from the lingering suffocation of being under Eli’s control. She suspends her subconscious fear of failure, of the punishment Lilith would distribute whenever she had displeased her. Her thoughts replaced with a flood of colorful butterflies, fluttering in the depths of her mind. It’s dizzying and entrancing, but Beatrix becomes addicted to this feeling. When Ares coaxes her to let go, submit to break the coils building inside of her, she obeys without hesitation. And she’s overcome by the sensation of the exploding stars that consume her.

The beginning of the end is set into motion when Ares undoes the silk fabric restraining Beatrix’s wrists against the metal poles of the headboard. Beatrix looks up at the woman hovering above her, longing to leave more bruises against her swollen lips.

So she reaches towards Ares, pulling her as close as she can to her body. And she meets her lips with a kiss that’s too gentle, too passionate. It’s too revealing, but Beatrix allows her emotions to slip through the cracks, just this once. And she knows that this could be her downfall, that everything she has worked for could unravel. That growing fond of the someone could lead to her failure, her demise, her heartache and betrayal.

But she ignores that; she chooses to live within this moment. To allow herself a rare chance to experience how it feels to be with someone that she yearns for, even through the disguise of lust.

For life isn’t guaranteed beyond this night; for Ares’ lust could fade, leaving her empty and abandoned. Is it not better to grant herself one single indulgence? To quench her desire, her curiosity, before it can bloom.

~ ~ ~

Beatrix develops a cough.

It’s a tiny discomfort, really.

Just an annoying needle, pricking the back of her throat.

She tries to clear it. She gurgles warm salt water. She drinks green tea with honey. But nothing works, and as the weeks progress the cough gets worse.

Do you need a doctor? Ares asks.

Beatrix declines, claiming that it is nothing more than a simple cold. “Santino is stretching me thin,” she says. “I just need a chance to catch up on my sleep.”

It’s a lie.

She can sense that something is wrong, that something is trapped and growing inside of her. It’s something that she can’t dislodge, something she won’t be able to force out of her system.

Ares raises an eyebrow. No more nights together, then?

Beatrix laughs. She glances at their surroundings, making sure that no one is watching them. And with the confirmation that they are alone, she leans towards Ares. “We can still have our fun,” she whispers the words.

Their lips brush against each other.

And Ares smirks in response, before giving the woman a playful bite on her bottom lip.

~ ~ ~

Beatrix lurches forward into an upright position, retching and gasping for air.

The noise startles Ares, whom was sleeping beside her. She reaches a hand towards Beatrix, rubbing it against the curve of her spine.

Between coughs, the woman sputters out the words, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Ares frowns, but continues her soothing motions.

“I’m gonna grab some water,” Beatrix says. She pushes the covers away from her body and climbs out of the bed. The woman can sense Ares’ gaze latched onto her back and she turns to look at her.

You sure you okay? Ares asks.

“Yeah,” Beatrix nods. “I’m fine.”

As she enters the hotel bathroom, she closes the door behind her. Beatrix reaches for a glass cup placed beside the sink and twists the knob for cold water on the faucet. After filling her glass with the cool liquid, she takes a long sip, hoping to settle the aching pain engulfing her throat. Instead, she chokes and falls into another fit of coughing.

The glass slips between her fingers and cracks when it crashes against the marble floor.

But Beatrix doesn’t notice the broken glass, nor does she notice the sound of footsteps approaching the door. Her mind is focused solely on the excruciating pain, on her body’s desperate attempt to rid itself of whatever is lodged deep inside of her throat.

A splotch of crimson distorts the simplicity of the porcelain bowl of the sink.

And Beatrix breathes a sigh of relief and closes her eyes. The discomfort that had been etched into her throat has finally alleviated, giving her a sliver of momentary bliss. She gives herself a few moments to enjoy the sensation of breathing normally, before glancing down at the dark color tainting the simplicity of the pearl colored bathroom.

She expects to see blood.

But she sees a single rose petal.

It can’t be real; it’s impossible. There’s no way she could be so careless, so stupid. She’s just exhausted, overwhelmed by this persistent cough, by her weakened immune system. She must still be asleep, trapped in a nightmare, and she will wake up any moment, any minute now.

With a trembling hand, Beatrix reaches towards the object. And when she touches it, when her fingers brush against the soft material, she knows that she isn’t dreaming. She knows that her recklessness, her impulsive decision pursue desire has marked her. That her exit won’t be sudden, won’t be due to an unforeseen bullet to the back of the head. That, should she live long enough, her demise will be slow, painful. Utterly miserable.

There is a firm knock against the wooden door and Beatrix is quick to hide the petal inside of her fist. The door swings open, revealing Ares, concern etched into her features.

“Everything is fine,” Beatrix says, before the woman can question her. The answer is too quick, too panicked. And she knows that Ares can see right through her, but she does her best to keep herself composed.

~ ~ ~

One petal turns into two.

Three.

Four.

And soon, one petal coughed up at a time, doubles, multiplies.

Beatrix can barely breathe, can barely stand. She can’t focus on her meetings with Santino; she spends her time rushing to the bathroom to hurl petals into ceramic sinks. To flush the evidence down the porcelain bowls of toilets.

You are not getting better. Ares tells her.

But the woman brushes off the concern, insists that she’s fine.

Go to the doctor.

Beatrix sighs.

Please.

“Okay,” she says.

~ ~ ~

Beatrix already knows the diagnosis; she knows long before the words exit the doctor’s lips.

Hanahaki Diease.

Her love is unrequited.

And the petals growing inside of her lungs will eventually kill her, suffocate her.

“It’s progressing quickly,” the doctor says. “The disease has already consumed more than 50% of your lung capacity. I’m afraid that, even if you recover, there will be lingering damage.”

Beatrix stares at them, unable to muster the words that she needs to speak.

“Unfortunately,” they continue, “it’s too late for you to fall out of love with this person. Your first method of treatment is, of course, the natural route. However, you are running out of time, so you will need to act quickly. I suggest that you tell this person how you feel. Be direct, straight-forward about your feelings.

“If all goes well, and the feelings are mutual, you will be able to reverse the progression. It is important that you have this conversation face-to-face. This cure will only work if their requited feelings for you are stated out loud.”

A crack forms, breaking the composure that Beatrix had worked so hard to maintain. She laughs. It’s a desperate, defeated noise. One that does little to disguise the realization of her doom.

“I understand if you need time to process what I’m telling you,” the doctor says. “But we are working against the clock, your condition is accelerating faster than the typical—”

“She’s mute,” Beatrix interrupts.

“I see,” they say. The doctor pauses, taking a moment to type notes into Beatrix’s patient file. “Then your only alternative is surgery. It is an invasive, aggressive method. And in your current condition, it is quite dangerous. I would go in and cut away the infected ares, including the root of the disease. Right now, your chances of surviving the procedure is about 45%. The longer we wait, the higher your risk of death.”

The doctor stops speaking when Beatrix begins to cough.

When the woman pulls her face away from the palms of her hands, five rose petals are nestled against her skin.

“Hanahaki Disease isn’t contagious, but there is no sure way of knowing who is at risk of developing it,” the doctor continues. “On top of the risk for your life, there will be risk for the life of the person you love. Once I remove the root, your feelings for them will disappear. You will never be able to fall back in love with them. If this person happens to return your feelings, there is a possibility that they will also suffer from the disease.”

Beatrix frowns. “It would be impossible for me to save her?”

“This procedure is your only shot at survival, Miss Amsler. As your doctor, I advise you to act quickly,” they sigh. “But I cannot, in good conscience, recommend you do this without first having a discussion with this person. If they are in love with you, they may also need surgery in the future. It is best that you give them a proper warning, so they can be prepared if the worst case scenario does occur.”

“Thank you,” Beatrix says, “for the advice.”

When Ares inquires about the woman’s diagnosis, Beatrix tells her the truth. That an infection has manifested inside of her lungs. That the treatment is easy, simple. But she omits the fact that the easy cure for her illness is outside of her grasp. And the alternative is a path that she will not pursue.

~ ~ ~

It isn’t long before the severity of her condition becomes impossible to hide. Her health deteriorates at a rapid pace, and soon Beatrix is unable to stand for long periods of time. She frequently collapses, consumed by long fits of painful coughing. The woman is almost breathless, barely able to fill her lungs with the bare minimum of oxygen required to keep her going.

You need to go back to the doctor.

“No,” Beatrix says. “I already got my diagnosis.”

They were wrong. Ares says. You need new treatment.

The woman coughs and it’s exhausting. “Nothing will help,” she whispers.

Bullshit. Ares frowns. You are just stubborn.

When Beatrix attempts to respond, she unleashes a new onslaught of coughing. The pain is overwhelming and liquid pools in the corner of her eyes. She feels the petals sliding through her throat. They exit her body and land on the cold stone of the floor beneath her.

“It’s Hanahaki Disease,” Beatrix says.

Ares lowers herself to the ground, sitting in the empty space next to Beatrix. She places a hand beneath the woman’s chin, turning her head to look at her.

Who is the cause?

The truth almost slips out, but Beatrix quenches that instinct. Would it not be more kind, to hide the truth? To spare Ares; to save her from experiencing the guilt, the knowledge, of being the cause for her demise? And what if her affections are returned?

It would be selfish to tell Ares. Selfish to expose her heart, to force Ares to cope with the knowledge that their relationship was cursed from the very beginning. That there exists no solution in which they are both able to live and be together. Because even with the surgery, it would be pure torture for Beatrix to share her feelings, just to have them sliced away, ripped from the confines of her body. And the risk of condemning Ares to share the same fate was nothing more than cruelty.

It would not be fair.

No, it would not be kind.

Ares had not forced Beatrix into falling in love her. Beatrix had done so willingly, had been the pursuer, not the pursued.

Beatrix pulls her gaze away from Ares, focusing her sights on the stone. “Santino,” she says.

But had she not looked away, she would have seen it.

It was there, for just a split-second, painted and unconcealed in Ares’ features.

Heartbreak.

~ ~ ~

With Santino’s permission, Ares takes Beatrix away from their Camorra duties. The pair travel to Germany, locking themselves away inside of a cottage; one that is hidden within the woods of a rural town. It’s a location that Beatrix has escaped to before, a shelter she latched onto when she had first attempted to slip away from Lilith’s grasp.

Though Beatrix is embarrassed by her dependence on the woman, she is thankful that Ares was more than willing to help her. The lack of sufficient oxygen being supplied to her body leaves her weak, unable to do tasks that were once easy, thoughtless.

Just a few months ago, showering with Ares was energetic, fueled by intoxicating kisses and touches that ignited quickening heartbeats. Masked by the noise of running water, Beatrix had allowed herself to be more vocal with her sounds, had allowed Ares to fully experience each response she was coaxing from the woman. But now, bathing has simplified to the two woman laying together inside of the small bathtub.

Their routine is simple.

Ares starts the bath, ensuring that the water’s temperature is warm enough to soothe the aches permanently settled inside of Beatrix’s chest. When the water has filled the tub halfway, Ares carries Beatrix into the bathroom. She helps her undress, before undressing herself. The pair settle themselves into the water, and then Ares washes her hair, her body. She rubs her hands across the woman’s chest, hoping to alleviate some of the pain.

And in those moments, Ares wishes that she could switch places with Beatrix, that she could save her. That she could go back in time and convince Santino to ignore the woman, to refuse her offer to kill Angelo. A life where she hasn’t loved Beatrix, hasn’t known Beatrix, is a sacrifice she could make. A sacrifice she would willing make, if it meant there was a chance of Beatrix never developing this disease. Because she knows that she will never care for someone again, not in the way she’s cared for this woman. And to live the rest of her life without her embrace would be worse than torture from the cruelest of tormentors.

Beatrix leans back, pressing her skin against the woman’s chest.

Ares responds by wrapping her arms around her, embracing Beatrix in a hug that’s too intimate, too revealing of her buried emotions.

Everything is just too overwhelming. Beatrix knows that it’s no longer a matter of months or weeks, that her time left before the disease fully consumes her has been reduced to a number of days. But it’s painful to cry, an exhausting action. It eats away the little amount of air that she can hold in her crowded lungs.

“I lied,” Beatrix whispers.

Ares tightens her grip on the woman’s waist, urging her to continue.

“It was never Santino,” she admits. “It was you. I love you.”

Ares removes her hands from the woman, lifting them out of the water. I love you, she says. And then she pulls Beatrix back into her arms and nudges her nose against the skin of her delicate neck.

Beatrix is never able to speak again.

~ ~ ~

In her last moments, Ares is with her. An oxygen mask is secured in place, but it only delays the inevitable. Still, Beatrix cherishes these few extra moments, this tiny extension of time that she can spend with her lover. They lay together in the bed, covered by a mountain of emerald green blankets.

Even knowing her fate, there is nothing she would have changed. And given the chance, she would do it all over again. Because love was never something she thought she could experience; the concept of love has always felt like a gift that would never be granted. She has done terrible things to those who did not deserve it, has sealed the tragic fate of innocent people. And if this is her punishment, her only chance to repent, she accepts it.

And the truth is that she has been lucky, to survive the consequences of betraying Eli, to survive the wrath of Lilith. She has been lucky to live long, long beyond the day when Angelo had planted a bullet inside of her. Throughout her career, her life, she has come so close to embracing the hand of Death himself. Yet, she has always refused him, choosing to push him away and cling onto the robes of the Angel of Life. But the Angel is tired, tired of her relentless begging, her pleading for another day—just one more.

Beatrix accepts her fate, accepts the pain. And she does so, knowing that unlike her victims, she can spend her last moments within the embrace of someone who loves her, is devoted to her. That this is a luxury she doesn’t deserve, but has been gifted, regardless.

She wraps her fingers around the woman’s hand, pulling it close to her chest.

And she smiles, knowing that their love is requited and Ares will be safe.

a/n: hello! thank you for reading my work. if you like my content, please consider reblogging this piece. it is a simple action that truly helps a small author like me be seen by others. i do also appreciate any likes/comments you are willing to leave.

sorry for being a sad clown and writing this, but i had an idea and i was itching to write it. normal updates for hypnophobia will resume after i’ve settled into my new apartment! so you can expect that in the next 2-3 weeks, depending on when i’m able to set up wifi.

twitter: VostaraFics

[princess-in-a-tower]

Sansa’s “Beauty and the Beast” Arc, Part 1

GRRM has drawn inspiration for ASoIaF from various other works of fiction as well as historical events. The Lord of the Rings and the War of the Roses are two prominent examples. Not far behind those two big ones though is another story, which happens to be one of the author’s favorites: Beauty and the Beast.

Sidenote 1: For those of you who have not watched the following two versions of Beauty and the Beast, I suggest you at least read their summaries before continuing reading this meta.

 La Belle et la Bête (1946)

Beauty and the Beast (1991)

Beauty and the Beast is a fairytale that has heavily influenced Sansa’s arc. Many have commented on the Beauty and the Beast theme in Sansa’s arc before me, and yet no one to my knowledge actually took a step back to look at the bigger picture GRRM has painted. The picture which makes it clear that the outline of Sansa’s story, stripped to its bare bones, is following faithfully the one of Beauty in Cocteau’s Beauty and the Beast.

Sidenote 2: Even though GRRM holds Cocteau’s Beauty and the Beast in high esteem, I believe he is also critical of it to a degree and subverts the plot points he would like to “fix” (for whatever reason), while at the same time taking care to remain as faithful as possible to the original story. This of course is just my own observation while composing this meta, but GRRM’s own words support it, since he admitted:

Ruling is hard. This was maybe my answer to Tolkien, whom, as much as I admire him, I do quibble with. Lord of the Rings had a very medieval philosophy: that if the king was a good man, the land would prosper. We look at real history and it's not that simple.

George R.R. Martin: The Rolling Stone Interview, April 23, 2014

Sidenote 3: This meta series is in no way a shipping manifesto, but rather a critical in-depth analysis of the ASOIAF text in relation to Cocteau’s “Beauty and the Beast” adaptation. As a result it ended up being extremely critical of ships like Sansa x Sandor and Sansa x Tyrion , because they, in no way, parallel the dynamic between Beauty and the Beast, but rather juxtapose it, as will be demonstrated in the following parts of this meta series. If you like those ships and still decide to read on, please remember that you have been warned.

In the very beginning of her story in AGOT it would have been impossible to guess Sansa would become asoiaf’s most prominent “Beauty” figure, mainly due to the fact that GRRM went to great pains to present her like an “evil step-sister” to Arya’s “heroine”.

When we are introduced to Sansa in Arya’s first POV chapter, and even later in her own first POV chapter, on a surface level she comes off as bratty, spoilt, superficial and snobbish. In other words, she is presented to us in a way that makes her look similar to Beauty’s step-sisters:

Beauty lives in the country with her father, a 17th-century merchant who has lost all his money; her brother, Ludovic, whose only interests are drinking and gambling; and her two sisters, Felicie and Adelaide, who are motivated entirely by spite, selfishness and vanity.

La Belle et la Bête (Beauty and the Beast) script

Not only that, but it can be argued that Sansa was Ned’s least favorite daughter with Arya as his favorite (proof of that can be found in the following series of metas: Ned, Sansa and Joffrey Part I, Part II, Part III) and it’s not a secret that Sansa looked forward to leaving her father and his protection for that of her husband’s. All of that links Sansa to Felicie and Adelaide and Arya to Beauty, as you can see in the following quotes:

BEAUTY: That wasn't the first time [Avenant has] asked me to marry him since we lost all our money.

THE MERCHANT (to Beauty): So you want to leave me.

BEAUTY: No, father, I'll never leave you.

[…]

THE MERCHANT: They're real little devils, aren’t they? Let them sulk; I'll soon console them. Tomorrow morning I'll go to the port to see to my business. Then one can marry a duke and the other a prince!

La Belle et la Bête (Beauty and the Beast) script

Another interesting scene is when Sansa wishes to join the queen in the royal wheelhouse, and Arya chooses to get her hands dirty instead:

"You better put on something pretty," Sansa told her. "Septa Mordane said so. We're traveling in the queen's wheelhouse with Princess Myrcella today."

"I'm not," Arya said, trying to brush a tangle out of Nymeria's matted grey fur. "Mycah and I are going to ride upstream and look for rubies at the ford."

A Game of Thrones - Sansa I

This echoes how Adelaide and Felicie wanted to attend the concert at the duchess’ court in the beginning of the film, while Beauty stays back and does chores around the house.

FELICIE(shouting): Beauty, you can wash the floor. We'll be late for the duchess.

La Belle et la Bête (Beauty and the Beast) script

The parallel here is anything but perfect, considering Sansa genuinely wanted Arya to join her in the royal wheelhouse and repeatedly tried to convince her to do so, unlike Beauty’s sisters, who wanted her to be their servant. That is because, as I said above, GRRM made both Sansa and Arya a mix of Beauty and her two “evil” sisters.

What actually makes the above parallel interesting and layered is exactly this mixing. Once you consider that it was Beauty and Sansa who chose to stay back and do what was right/expected of them (which are two vastly different things for each girl because Beauty is a commoner and Sansa is a noble maiden), while Arya and Beauty’s sisters decided to run off and do something more or less selfish for their own pleasure (which again are two anti-diametrical things for the same reason as above).

To wrap up this parallel between Sansa and Beauty’s sister, we see that she never got to ride with the queen:

“Sansa, the good councilors and I must speak together until the king returns with your father. I fear we shall have to postpone your day with Myrcella. Please give your sweet sister my apologies. Joffrey, perhaps you would be so kind as to entertain our guest today.”  

A Game of Thrones - Sansa I

Just like Felicie and Adelaide never got to attend the concert

FELICIE: We were told that the duchess was not receiving, though the court rang with laughter and music.

La Belle et la Bête (Beauty and the Beast) script

Another thing that makes the connection between Sansa and Beauty more pronounced is the introduction of an “Avenant” figure, who is of course Joffrey: the blonde, dashing suitor with a not so hidden affinity for violence and an all around terrible character, with whom Sansa got to spend a whole lot of alone time in her first chapter. Unlike Beauty though, Sansa (and her father) accepts his marriage proposal and delights in spending time with him.

As we can see, by the end of Sansa’s first chapter, GRRM has established both similarities and differences between Sansa and Beauty. In my opinion GRRM decided to keep the core of Beauty’s character intact in Sansa (dutiful, kind, gentle, protective and romantic) and make her work towards the rest. That was accomplished by giving her some “undesirable” traits shared by Beauty’s sisters, which she would shed in later books through her negative experiences that would in turn result in positive character development.

From here on things only get more complicated, because, as I mentioned in the beginning, GRRM liberally subverts the things he disagrees with in Cocteau’s story. Not only that, but he uses a plethora of characters as stand-ins for Sansa’s “Beast” to move the story forward, all of them his foils in different ways each.

They all have one thing in common though, which establishes them as the Beast’s foils: They don’t care about Sansa’s consent. And the fact that men like Sandor Clegane and Tyrion Lannister could have taken more from Sansa but didn’t in the end, doesn't undo the abuse or lack of agency that Sansa suffers in those situations they put her into.

The most powerful force in Beauty and the Beast isn't magic, or even love, but consent. Most retellings of Villeneuve's version are careful to keep it. The Beast is clear that Beauty must know what she's getting into. (In Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch's 1910 version, it's still more explicit: The Beast warns Beauty's father to "be honest with your daughter. Describe me to her just as I am. Let her be free to choose whether she will come or no...") Later, the Beast asks Beauty herself if she comes willingly. And that first dinner is marked by the Beast's deference to her wishes. Beauty's earliest surprise is how much power she wields. Even in his nightly request that Beauty marry him, he defers. Andrew Lang emphasized the power dynamics in 1889's Blue Fairy Book:

"Oh! What shall I say?" cried Beauty, for she was afraid to make the Beast angry by refusing.

"Say 'yes' or 'no' without fear," he replied.

"Oh! No, Beast," said Beauty hastily

"Since you will not, good-night, Beauty," he said.

And she answered, "Good-night, Beast," very glad to find that her refusal had not provoked him.

Lang was one of many who used marriage proposals for the nightly request (Jeanne-Marie Leprince de Beaumont's 1756 retelling was the first), but Villeneuve was under no illusions about the story's undertones. In her original, Beast asks Beauty to sleep with him. Beauty's power is the ability to withhold sexual consent.

Beauty doesn't admit love for the Beast until after he releases her (which permits her to rejoin him on her own terms). But this regard for her will is what first softens Beauty's heart. The story's not just reminding young women to look beyond appearance but reminding young men how to conduct themselves. Fairy-tale scholar Jack Zipes outlines the story's social mandate in Fairy Tales and the Art of Subversion: "The mark of beauty for a female is to be found in her submission, obedience, humility, industry, and patience; the mark of manliness is to be found in a man's self-control, politeness, reason, and perseverance."

Disney takes that out, and the story becomes significantly darker. Besides their rocky introduction, he punishes her for refusing to eat with him ("If she doesn't eat with me," he bellows, "then she doesn't eat at all!") and physically threatens her. His temper must be tamed before he can love or be loved—that, not his appearance, is the barrier. It's a decided departure from the courtly Beast, and Beauty's now required to forgive his outbursts before friendship can begin—an additional emotional burden. In this, Disney's more akin to 1978 Czech horror Panna a netvor (in which the Beast barely curbs his appetites and Beauty's drawn to him only through loneliness) than it is to the dreamlike tension of Jean Cocteau.

[...]

But Disney's retelling doesn't acknowledge its darkness. Covering threats with musical numbers doesn't count as exploration of subtext. This wasn't the first Beauty and the Beast adaptation to feature a Beast with rough edges, either; a story centered on power dynamics in relationships will shift to include contemporary concerns. But Disney's retelling asks Beauty to forgive abusive behavior, both ignoring the sovereignty of her consent and erasing the Beast's own obligations. And it's such an influential retelling, it's affected how the archetype has applied. By now, the label of a Beauty and the Beast story applies as much to a relationship in which the woman's love "tames" the man as it does to one about looking beyond appearances. (The CW's recent Beauty and the Beast updated the 1987 series(*) but replaced the scholarly, leonine hero with a handsome man with uncontrollable bursts of violent anger; these abusive undertones are the new beastliness. These days, Beauty is trapped in the Beast's S&M penthouse, and his understanding of consent is decidedly murky.)

How Disney's 'Beauty and the Beast' Became the Darkest Tale of All

(*) The 1987 series with the scholarly leonine hero mentioned above is the CBS TV adaptation, which was written amongst others by GRRM himself.

The above article was written in order to criticize the dark retelling of Disney’s “Beauty and the Beast”, but I believe that everything that has been said there about Disney’s version could also be said for Sansa’s “Beauty and the Beast” arc in ASOIAF up until ASOS. And everything that’s been written about the audience’s faulty perception of the archetype can be applied to the readers of ASOIAF as well.

Beauty’s consent is of paramount importance in the original Beauty and the Beast fairytale written by Gabrielle-Suzanne Barbot de Villenueve, which is something both Cocteau’s film and the CBS TV adaptation stayed true to. And yet, the men who took on the Beast’s role in Sansa’s storyline showed minimal to no respect towards her wishes and an equal amount of concern for her lack of consent. On the contrary, they all used and abused her, each of them in their own way, behaving more like villains than romantic interests. And that is because those men serving as the Beast’s foils are meant to be viewed as villains and not romantic interests, which can be supported by the words of the author himself:

Amazon.com: Do you have a favorite character?

Martin: I've got to admit I kind of like Tyrion Lannister. He's the villain of course, but hey, there's nothing like a good villain.

George RR Martin, Amazon.com, 1999

Martin: I am sometimes surprised by the reactions of women in particular to some of the villains. [unintelligible] Over the years who have written me that their favorite characters are Jaime Lannister, or Sandor Clegane the Hound, or Theon Greyjoy, you know. All of these are deeply troubled individuals with some very dark sides who have done some very dark things.

George RR Martin, interview with Geek and Sundry, June 2012

Commenter 1: Oh please don't cast an old guy for the Hound, his scenes with Sansa are so romantic and erotic, I couldn't bear if it'd feel creepy all of a sudden. Well, that's me making demands. LOL

Martin: Old guy? No, but... the Hound is still a whole lot older than Sansa, and was never written as attractive... you know, those hideous burns and all that... he's a lot more dangerous than he is romantic.

[...]

Commenter 2: LOL, you're such a man. To many of us women, dangerous *is* attractive.

Martin: But no one has any love for poor old Sam Tarly, kind and smart and decent and devoted…

Comments on GRRM’s Not A Blog, August 2009

But why would GRRM decide to change his Beast from the kind and decent Beast archetype into the obviously much more problematic and villainous new one when he started writing AGOT in 1991, just one year after the CBS TV adaptation ended? Considering that 1991 was the year Disney’s “Beauty and the Beast” came out and that one of GRRM’s favorite movies is Cocteau’s “Beauty and the Beast”, I believe it’s not that far-fetched to assume this change can be attributed to the author’s discontent with Disney’s adaptation.

In my opinion, the subversion of the “Beauty and the Beast” trope in Sansa’s arc is the author’s in-text critique of Disney’s “Beauty and the Beast”. By having the Beast figures in Sansa’s arc be dark, abusive and villainous, GRRM wished to showcase how the new “Beauty and the Beast” trope, where Beauty is required to forgive the Beast’s abusive behavior and “tame” him with her gentleness, should not be romanticized, because, in real life, Beauty not only won’t be able to tame the Beast, but she also shouldn’t be required to.

So in away, I believe he is deconstructing this very dark and problematic version of the trope in order to reinvent the original one. And for the deconstruction part he needs foils, but for the reconstruction he needs the actual Beast. And there are foils of the Beast aplenty in ASOIAF, but only one Beast.

The first foil of the Beast will be discussed in the second part of this meta series.

Special thanks to @kellyvela and @lostlittlesatellites for their help in the writing of this meta with their invaluable input and constant support.

EDIT: The rest of the series can be found in the following links part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5

[ao3feed-trc]

Family Matter's

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2FhpClv

by Wilson101

Being pregnant again was not on Vicki Vale's agenda, not when she's raising five boys and has to take care of her sister's children that she bas to take care of. Trying to keep the pregnancy from the father of her child, Bruce Wayne, wont be easy when she has to interview him at a charity event. But when she throw ups on Jack Ryder's shoes while in mid conversation, there's not much left to hiding it now. Vicki then suddenly find's herself living in Wayne Manor with the kids and learning along the way what it truly means to be a family, oh and visits from alternate reality characters does not help.

Words: 1539, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 1 of Family Matters Series

Fandoms: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, Suite Life of Zack & Cody, Suite Life on Deck, Marvel (Comics), Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater, Wizards of Waverly Place

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Other

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Vicki Vale, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne, Colin Wilkes, Stephanie Brown, Cassandra Cain, Thomas Wayne Jr., Rochelle Wayne, John Blake, Lois Lane, Lana Lang, Alexandra DeWitt, Hippolyta Trevor, Selina Kyle, Talia al Ghul, Julie Madison, Julia Pennyworth, Natalia Knight, Kate Spencer, Justice League (DCU), Clark Kent, John Stewart, Shayera Hol, Diana (Wonder Woman), Carter Hall, Shiera Hall, Katar Hol, Hector Hall, Daniel Hall, Todd Rice, Kent Nelson, Kent Nelson Jr., Patrick "Eel" O'Brian, Michael Carter, Rip Hunter, Don Hall, Hank Hall, J'onn J'onzz, Ted Kord, Jim Gordon, Barbara Gordon, Pete Ross, Zatanna Zatara, Giovanni "John" Zatara, Zachary Zatara, Artemis Crock, Roy Harper, Jade Nguyen, Ra's al Ghul, James "Jimmy" Olsen, Kon-El | Conner Kent, Cassie Sandsmark, Donna Troy, Bart Allen, Jaime Reyes, Greta Hayes, Anita Fite, Charlotte Gage-Radcliffe, Original Child Character(s), Lian Harper, Iris West II, Jai West, James Gordon Jr., Cerdian (DCU), Maya Ducard, Chris Kent, Christopher Kent, Jonathan Kent, Jonathan Samuel Kent, Ramsey Robinson, Cullen Row, Robert Long, Robert Queen II, Jonathan Sullivan-Queen, William Clayton, Lara Lane-Kent, Olivia Queen, Jason White, Bruce Kent, Cir-El, Zod, Jimmy Kent, Helena Kyle, Thomas Grayson, John Grayson II, Athanasia al Ghul, Terry Long, Lucius Fox, Luke Fox, Tam Fox, Tiffany Fox, Sarah Essen, Arthur Curry Jr., Terry McGinnis, Matt McGinnis, Mary McGinnis, Warren McGinnis, Rex Stewart, Dana Tan, Melanie Walker, Thomas Wayne, Jonathan "Pa" Kent, Martha Kent, Michelle Carter, Daniel Carter (DCU), Rose Levin, Rani (DCU), Joshua Jackam, Kirk Langstrom, Becky Langstrom, Francine Langstrom, Aaron Langstrom, Courtney Whitmore, Helena Wayne, Kara In-Ze, Kara Zor-El, Querl Dox, Helena Bertinelli, Vic Sage, Jay Garrick, Joan Garrick, Robert Queen, Malcolm Merlyn, Tommy Merlyn, Darryl Frye, Henry Allen, Damon Matthews, Billy Batson, Freddie Freeman, Mary Batson, Kate Kane, Katherine Kane, Jacob Kane, Gabe Sullivan, Moira Sullivan, Catherine Hamilton Kane, Bette Kane, Kathy Kane, Alfred Pennyworth, Leslie Thompkins, Ibn al Xu'ffasch, Mar'i Grayson, Steve Trevor, Steve Trevor Jr., Stephanie Trevor, Garfield Logan, Rachel Roth, Don Allen, Dawn Allen, Olivier LeBeau, Megan Summers, Scotty Summers (Mutant X), Alex Summers, Rebecca LeBeau, Franklin Richards, Valeria Richards, Maggie Sawyer, Jamie Sawyer (DCU), Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Peter Parker, Wade Wilson, Reed Richards, Susan Storm (Fantastic Four), Clint Barton, Pietro Maximoff, Wanda Maximoff, Lorna Dane, Paige Guthrie, Sam Guthrie, Billy Kaplan, Tommy Shepherd, Teddy Altman, David Richards, Nate Gray, Jonathan Richards, Johnny Storm, Rachel Summers, Charles Summers, Annie Parker, Kitty Pryde, Logan (X-Men), Scott Summers, Hope Summers, Jamie Madrox, Ben Reilly, Kaine (Spider-Man), May "Mayday" Parker, James Proudstar, Rikki Barnes, James Rogers, Henry Pym Jr., Hank Pym, Peter Pryde, Bobby Drake, Meredith Pryde, Peter Quill, Luna Maximoff, Katie Summers, Lance (Voltron), Lance Hunter, Keith (Voltron), Pidge | Katie Holt, Matt Holt, Matt Murdock, Hunk (Voltron), Andros Stark, Rhodey Stark, Arno Stark, Howard Stark, Howard Stark Sr., Ginny Stark, Natasha Stark, Graydon Creed, Gregory Stark, Mary Jane Watson, Helen Blackthorn, Aline Penhallow, Andrew Blackthorn, Eleanor Blackthorn, Gwen Stacy, Julian Blackthorn, Tiberius Blackthorn, Livia Blackthorn, Alec Lightwood, Magnus Bane, Max Lightwood-Bane, Rafael Lightwood-Bane, Max Lightwood, Robert Lightwood, Maryse Lightwood, Isabelle Lightwood, Jace Wayland, Clary Fray, Jocelyn Fairchild, Luke Garroway, Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern | Sebastian Verlac, Ruby Summers, Celeste Cuckoo, Esme Cuckoo, Mindee Cuckoo, Phoebe Cuckoo, Sophie Cuckoo, Warren Worthington III, Liz Allan, Normie Osborn, Callum Barton, Cooper Barton, Nicole Barton, Lila Barton, Lewis Barton, Nathaniel Pietro Barton, Laura Barton, Scott Howard, Scott Lang, Rupert "Stiles" Stilinski, Todd Howard (Teen Wolf Movies), Barney Barton, Bruce Wayne Jr., Bruce Banner, James "Bucky" Barnes, Jimmy Novak, Claire Novak, James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Francis Barton, Cassie Lang, Daniel Drake, Richard Gansey III, Brian Braddock, Meggan Puceanu, Elizabeth Braddock, Blue Sargent, Eddie Brock, Carol Danvers, Joe Danvers Jr., Brian Falsworth, Jacqueline Falsworth-Crichton, Kenneth Crichton, Roger Aubrey, Robert Frank, Madeline Joyce, Elaine Grey, John Grey, Charles Xavier, Erik Lehnsherr, Sara Grey, Nathan Summers, Jeb Guthrie, Darcy Lewis, Douglas Ramsey, James MacDonald Hudson, Heather MacNeil Hudson, Jack Jameson, Owen Mercer, John Jameson, Rick Jones, Julian Keller, Laura Kinney, Ben Morse, Miguel O'Hara, Gabriel O'Hara, Betty Ross, Mary Richards, Ronan Lynch, Adam Parrish, Noah Czerny, Barbara Wilson, Barbara Kean, Lori Luthor, Lena Luthor, Lex Luthor, Alexander Luthor (Earth-3), Tess Mercer, Lucas Luthor, Julian Luthor, Richard White, Max Trueblood, Jerry Russo, Theresa Russo, Justin Russo, Alex Russo, Max Russo, Harper Finkle, Harper Row, Mason Greyback, Juliet van Heusen, Maddie Fitzpatrick, Zack Martin, Cody Martin, Bailey Pickett, Maya Bennett, Woody Fink, Marion Moseby

Relationships: Vicki Vale/Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson/Original Female Character(s), Damian Wayne/Colin Wilkes

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, POV First Person, POV Second Person, POV Third Person, Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy, Dad Bruce Wayne, Bruce Wayne is a Good Dad, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Protective Bruce Wayne, Children, Newborn Children, Adopted Children, Protective Older Brothers, Brothers, Big Brothers, Step-Brothers, Little Brothers, Blood Brothers, Bat Brothers, Brotherhood, Brother-Sister Relationships, Brotherly Love, Brotherly Bonding, Brother Feels, Brotherly Affection, Big Brother Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Sisters, Big Sisters, Little Sisters, Sister-Sister Relationship, Family, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Family Bonding, Family Dynamics, Dysfunctional Family, Bat Family, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Male-Female Friendship, Female Friendship, Male Friendship, Developing Friendships, Epic Friendship, Long-Distance Friendship, Established Relationship, Developing Relationship, Past Relationship(s), Relationship(s), Long-Distance Relationship, Platonic Relationships, Father-Son Relationship, Father-Daughter Relationship, Mother-Son Relationship, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Motherhood, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Childhood, Parent/Child Incest, Childbirth, Child Neglect, Child Abandonment, Families of Choice, Extended Families, Unconventional Families, Fluff and Smut, Mild Smut, My First Work in This Fandom, My First AO3 Post, My First Fanfic, Past Selina Kyle/Bruce Wayne, Past Talia al Ghul/Bruce Wayne, Past Dick Grayson/Koriand'r, Past Barbara Gordon/Dick Grayson, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Resurrected Jason Todd, POV Bruce Wayne, Aged-Up Character(s), Crossovers & Fandom Fusions

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2FhpClv