turbulentscrawl - Tumblr blog

[turbulentscrawl]

Just a thought about Matthias handling 'sharing' aka open/poly relationships (they are different)

Rated T | Warnings: none

Since Emil arrived at the Desaulnier Estate, he has always slept in your room. Early mornings you will exit your room to prepare breakfast and Emil will follow to help, always preparing the tables and rolling the cart of food for all the meals. He helps you as much as you allow him to, often he simply shares the same space with you.

Many who were here, before the puppy latched to your side, cannot say they have ever been inside your room as much as Emil.

Matthias does not like it, he is still getting used to the idea of sharing you but does not like the immediate access Emil always has to you— Willing access.

“How do you do it?” Asking when both he and the Mercenary are alone in the sunroom.

“Do what?” Then he looks at what Matthias is staring hard at, “That? Hm, got over it.” Lounging on the long seat used to sunbathe.

“But how? Don't you feel it is unfair?”

Naib Subedar knows the question is genuine and not to cause strife or bitter feelings. As one of the older vampires in the manor, Matthias is forced to go to others for guidance. “Heh, you sound like Norton,” Closing his eyes as he spoke, “We all thought the same thing. (Name), is a private person and someone suddenly having the opportunity to be with them in a private way was… Upsetting.” Trying to find the right word, “In the end, it is their choice whether we are allowed or not to be that close.” Naib Subedar cracks an eye open, “Emil is a special case, it is not as clear now but back then he was not in the same headspace you see him in now.”

“So you pity him?” Matthias’ attention is on Naib Subedar 

“I did. Pity however doesn't help him. And…”

“And?”

“He will get better. When that happens he will seek out independence,” Glancing at the fledgling, “When he leaves their room,” A chuckle, “We can see who gets to warm their bed then.”

Matthias stands there realizing Naib Subedar is being patient. From what he has seen of the other vampires and heard, Naib Subedar is a patient man. Disciplined and the only person who spars with you— Other than Lord Desaulnier. From the large photograph portrait of you in the art gallery room, you were a soldier of some kind— Details you do not talk about lightly.

“Matthias.”

“Hm, yes?”

“Are you sure about only wanting them?”

“Yes.”

“Alright, but consider having another option. There isn't anything wrong with sharing.”

Everyone in some way or form is attached to you, their bonds to you undeniable, but few have found bonds with one another. Lord Desaulnier and his husband Aesop too, Matthias avoids the Lord often but he too sees their bond— Matching rings. Naib Subedar with Norton Campbell, there are others, most include you as a ‘third’, someone they both adore.

Matthias only wants you, sharing you is difficult for him and something he would rather not think about. But he cannot simply ask you to break off this open relationship with the others… He knows the many centuries worth of love cannot be cut off. They love you, just as he is coming to love you.

“Don't think too hard about it.” The mercenary's voice breaks the train of thought, “Talk to them. (Name) listens.”

You do, you have listened often to Matthias especially when Louis becomes involved. When the curse of his vampiric blood whispers those dark whispers connected to the Embrace— You become his knight, his grounding force. The puppeteer doubts anyone else could be there like you have… Like you often are without him having to ask or beg.

He understands why Emil needs you.

[turbulentscrawl]

i swear I'm alive!

Work's had me real tired and I've been spending all my free time playing idv and hanging out with the wonderful friends I've made in this community ;u;

I'm gonna do my best to get back to writing for you all soon

[turbulentscrawl]

Big pretty pretty

[turbulentscrawl]

Wine Heated

For @turbulentscrawl <3

Rated: Explicit | Warnings: none

i wish this skin came back! literally always have a crush on the wine god (hades' dionysus is so HOT and they made professor literally him aaaa)

You know him well, you offer all your prayers to all the Gods, but you know him well as he blesses your crops with the sweetest fruit-- Both in the land and your womb. You have been blessed with many children with each living a happy, healthy, and wealthy life. As you grow older, you cannot harvest the fruit the way you used to and give your offering to the God who looks out for you so fondly.

You sigh as your old body is making you less and less able to do the minor tasks at the house.

A home, an empty nest that was well lived in by you and your husband and all the children you bared.

As you lay your head on your bed, eyes closing, you smell a sweet scent and a glimpse of a white cloth.

“(Name), my favorite mortal.”

The world shifts, you wake up not on your bed but in the arms of a man you have never seen before. Yet, you do not move, there is no fear or shock. Because you do know the man who is eating a grape in a way that makes you suddenly envious of the fruit. You look around and you recognize the temple you are in for you have seen a glimpse of it in dreams in your youth when you were of age to begin giving offerings to the spring-heated wine god.

“Finally awake,” You turn your head back to him who stares at you the way your husband did, maybe more intensely with a gleeful smile, “She awakens!” Picking you in his arms makes you panic and cling to him by wrapping your arms around his neck, “My sweet blossom, welcome home!”

“Home?” Speaking after he puts you down allowing you to stand there in confusion. You see your hands, the youth return to them, and you examine yourself seeing you only wearing a chiton that is much too thin to be proper, “But I…”

“You have given me much, often my cups are full of wine created from your fruits.” Picking up a golden chalice, “Faithful to all but you saved your best for me.”

“By the Gods,” A hand over your heart, “I am so sorry I could not deliver you proper offerings as my body began to fail me.” Going on your knees begging for forgiveness.

“You need not beg for my forgiveness,” Kneeling and petting your hair, “You who have given me the sweetest of offerings and kindest of prayers of thanks.” You raise your head when guides you to look upon him, “It is only right I return such devotion.”

The Spring Heated Wine God has many titles, the most commonly known titles are fertility, festivity, and insanity. The latter is rare unless he is not given offerings to keep him in high joyful spirits.

You worshiped him as the Seer of the land told you to, to give offerings and pray in thanks. In return, you have been blessed and others around you with joy and happiness.

Though you wish to be in the underworld wandering in Elysian Fields with your husband, the God of Wine has called upon you to be his, this new life granted by him as part of his thanks. You are to be by his side, to fill his cup, and in turn, he will continue to love you as one should upon a worshiper.

He lays upon the kline in his private chambers upon your request, you are not ready (or ever will) to be taken in front of the pans and nymphs he has in the temple. His eyes are warm, inviting, and clearly announcing his infatuation with you as you are naked upon his lap. Your hands are on his chest, fingers brushing upon the scales that shine like precious gems. He likes it when you dare bite back when he bites your chest, littering your skin with his mark with teeth.

Luchino, this is the name he once was called before mortals gave him a title, he loves how you moan it out. When you are close but he stops you before that fall to bliss, you pout and say his name much differently from your prayers. 

Begging should follow, he rather enjoys how you retaliate by taking measures into your own hands, greedy humans. He drinks his wine as you chase bliss once more desperately as you say his name each time his thrusts meet yours, his lips sharing the sweet taste of nectar mixed within the wine.

You nearly choke on both the intoxicating taste, his tongue in your mouth, and once more his thumb rubs your clit.

“Luchino!” Pulling your mouth away to give one verbal warning while your body seizes, velveteen walls spasming around his cock. He holds you close to him taking over as he changes positions so you are lying underneath him.

Faster, harder, a growl you feel the rumble of it on your chest, his teeth on the side of your neck threatening to break skin. You in kind dig your nails into the back of the Wine God scraping down and a few times catching a scale you learn is sensitive around the area where skin turns into scale.

You feel him fill you, his cum filling your womb and spilling onto the linen sheets. After a few thrusts, he keeps on that high until oversensitivity has you whining like a poor kitten seeking attention.

You go lax on kline, trying to catch your breath as moves to lay beside you, pity he pulls out taking away the warmth and fullness of his cock.

[turbulentscrawl]

The Bird And The Man

Chapter Nine

Rated: Explicit | Warnings: Heheheh oops

Ao3

Chapter Eight | Chapter Ten (coming soon)

Orpheus had planned this out and wrote it a million times.

Like a detective, he laid out, notes upon notes and the red strings with his mind mapping out the multiple paths a conversation can go with you.

Everything the Novelist extrapolates, every possible outcome based on both Nightmare's dreams and his personal interactions with you.

Yet, at this moment in time, he finds himself lost.

Seeing you, being in the same room, in your presence with your attention on him; it is just like in dreams Nightmare's emotions bleed into clouding the Novelist's judgment. To yearn, he only yearned for one thing in all his life but here you are adding to his list.

“What does he have that I do not?”

When you love the darkness of a person, the flaws and parts people hide from the world, when the facade is taken away… He is laid bare to you.

Nightmare is every twisted sin and dark thought personified as a hunter. Yet, you draw out the light in him, that spark of Orpheus within the monster.

Orpheus… Felt that love.

This strange connection to his hunter counterpart and he shares unwillingly on both sides.

The love Nightmare has for you is bleeding into him, you are becoming important to Orpheus— Which is dangerous, far more dangerous than you realize.

You stand there unsure what to say, but your face says it all: you pity him. “I'm sorry.” Apologizing as if you did something wrong is a knee-jerk reaction.

“No, don't be,” Orpheus says, “My question was inappropriate. I should be the one apologizing.”

“Orpheus,” Placing the cue on the pool table to hold his hand.

“Please, Hypnos, it would be best if you do not touch me.”

“Have I offended you?” Stopping your hand just above his hand.

“No, not at all. You have been a light in my life these days and I fear I selfishly want to hold that light as my other has.”

Some romance novels have the third person who creates the plot of drama between the couple. Sometimes, it is brief or part of the whole book until the end where the main character has to make a choice. It always ends in heartbreak on one side, a minor thought of regret before being tossed aside to look forward to the happiness the main character chose.

In this case, how do you choose?

If one were to love Mr. Hide, would they love also Dr. Jekyll? They are the same person, a representation of the duality of humanity. Orpheus and Nightmare are these: two separate beings meant to be opposites but the same as well.

“I want to know why.” You tell him as you take your hand away, placing them by your side, “Do you feel what he feels?”

“Of sorts.” Turned and leaned against the pool table with both hands behind him to hold himself up. There is a pause before he talks, long-winded at first with flowery words as if writing a novel. Then it changes, simple and half sentences, his eyes on you the same way you imagine Nightmare's eyes are behind his mask.

“When I see you, all I feel is his love in my heart.”

You stand there, heart yearning for both men who share these emotions because they are the same person connected by this cursed manor.

You love one currently, while you had adored the other from afar.

Yet, it is the flawed man you choose and the perfection you were fascinated by because it was unattainable. You had a goal to reach, to become as well-known as the Novelist Orpheus… He is the moon, you were just a human on Earth looking up at him.

“Permit me to show you.”

“Show me?”

“Yes, I do not wish to steal you away… If you allow me to have a part of your heart.” A step closer, you step back, he moves around in front of you; your butt hits the edge of the pool. His arms caging you in, hands planted on the pool table. “Hypnos.” The way he sounds is dangerously close to Nightmare, or maybe it is the other way around. It pulls at your heart, that confusion both with his confession and reasoning (explained like a detective solving the great case of his love life), and now this.

The way he looks at you is the way you know how Nightmare looks upon you every time you are around him, kissing his mask and telling him— Your heart races as if scared and curious, not thrilled.

“Orpheus…” You feel your breathing quickening, chest tight, hands on his chest unsure what to do.

Do you love the monster more than the man? Or man who is the monster?

To deny him, would that mean you are denying Nightmare?

His lips take yours, not the sort of way you have read in romance novels. Your hands grip his vest as he leans forward forcing you to tip back, his kiss with tongue leaving you helpless and lost. Having no idea what to do but be taken and he takes a lot. His body is completely on top of you and both of you are lying on the pool table. You gasp, hands pinned down as he is above you. His leg hooks and drags your leg upward and his crotch is flush against yours. 

Your heart is racing as his lips are on your neck, it is like you unlocked something within him that you fear will consume you. You cannot keep up with his skill and a moan that escapes your mouth is loud in this quiet space.

Orpheus hovers above you, “Hypnos.” A darkness falls over part of his face, only one brown seen in the light. 

“Orpheus,” A bit dizzy as you are lost and confused, “Stop.”

And he does. Pulling away and wiping his mouth with his thumb then licking the pad of his thumb, “That… Was my fault.”

You sit up on the pool table still in a bit of a daze but aware enough to not look at the man, “I should go.”

“Of course.” Moving out of your way, “I hope you consider this.” He speaks while you pass by him.

Orpheus stands there, his eyes closing as he sighs in disappointment. The mundane task of cleaning up the game of billiards is not helping him relax.

You sent him a letter urgently asking for this meeting, the penmanship frantic and quick. You had to send it by Lady Nightingale who had Lucky Guy deliver the letter.

Within an hour, you get a reply sent by a raven with a letter detailing where to meet. Nightmare waits for you under the moonlight in a different meeting spot. Outside the estate in the old Kreiburg Race Course, he is in the middle with his arm out for you to hold. It is a cold winter night, you wear proper winter clothes and speak with him about what happened a few hours ago.

Frantic and over-explaining while apologizing a ton.

Nightmare will not tell you how much pride he feels that despite you being with his counterpart, you still thought of him. To know he equally plagues your thoughts, to know you yearn for him too, he is smiling though you are freaking out.

“Do you hate me? I should have said no…” He stops to catch your tears, “You must think me a hussy.”

With a shake of his head, as he stops you from walking and stands in front of you, he pulls out the notebook from inside his coat and starts writing.

Two pages worth of writing.

“Oh.” Reacting when he lets you read it, a quick read then a detailed read, “But… Isn't that unseemly?”

Another shake of his head and he takes the notebook back to write a few more words.

“I… I need to think about it, Orpheus. This is… Very new to say the least to me.”

His beak rubs your cheek affectionately, his hands pulling and holding you close to his chest. you gladly and clingy hug him back.

You inhale his scent, rubbing your puffy face into his chest.

“Touch. You?”

You nod, “I wish you could touch me every day.” Gripping the fabric of the coat as if it is a lifeline and the safest place in the world, “The New Year celebration,” Lifting your head to look at him, “Will you spend it with me?”

His beck touches your lip, a kiss, and he nods his head, “Yes but away.”

“We can find a spot for ourselves.” Smiling that beautiful smile he prefers over the tears you were shedding. Agh, he knows Orpheus is better than that but they both are too eager when with you. Fiend-ing for someone they do not need to wear a mask around (not completely). You laugh when he picks you cradling you in his arms like a bride, his mask once more covered in your kisses.

The others saw the blue lipstick when he returned from your room, the whispers and glances. None of them ever truly interact with him given his isolationist behavior. To see the blue lipstick all over him must have been a sight, and again he is prideful about it.

To be marked, he likes it.

[turbulentscrawl]

How do you think Ithaqua would fall in love with his s/o? Like, I think he's the type of person that's hard to feel attracted to others.

This is pretty much answered in his General HCs post!

Basically though, Ithaqua is one of the hardest people in the manor to get into a romantic relationship with. He's disillusioned with society and people in general, and anyone he develops genuine feelings for will have to be a lot like his mother was, because shes really his only example of a "good" person.

And even then, honestly, his feelings are a bit twisted.

[turbulentscrawl]

I am. In awe with how you write the gore and horror of the manor games. The thrill is palpable, and ESPECIALLY how you wrote out Edgar's ability. I am so inspired with your writing and I hope you have a wonderful time !!

Thank you!!! I really love horror (and gore whoops) and sometimes I feel like its not explored enough by idv fanworks...

Which means it's my job to :)

[turbulentscrawl]

Good night, sweet child

[turbulentscrawl]

Reminders of the Horror (Norton & Edgar)

warnings: character death (you), descriptions of heavy gore (I mean it. the Norton one is p bad), angst, lots of blood and pain

Your ears are ringing.

There’s not really any reason for them to be. All things considered, the wall coming down wasn’t that loud, and neither was your screaming. But your ears are ringing like you think Norton’s must have during that horrible event so much like this moment. Aside from the volume, everything is exactly as he’d described it on those late, sleepless nights. The dust, the dark, the agonized cries. (Yours.) Somewhere in your scrambled mind, you’re sure Norton sees the ghosts of his spiteful coworkers littered about him, but it’s just you there, trapped under the rubble of the asylum’s collapsed walls. You’ve seen single portions of wall collapse at the church, but never anything like this. Fools Gold had somehow managed to bring down an entire section of the sprawling building. Right on top of you.

You’re wailing and screaming for Norton, and he’s just sitting there, mere feet from you, paralyzed. His face looks like a dead man’s.

“Norton!” you scream, almost incomprehensible. His name leaves your lips along with all the air in your lungs, the rubble crushing everything out of you. You’d never dared to imagine what this kind of death felt like. Never wanted to experience the horror of it. And the pain is beyond words. Every cell in your body screams wrong, wrong, pain!

The rubble continues to settle, shift, and somehow it all gets worse. Your bones give like fragile chalk. Your abdomen shifts, squeezed from the bottom-up like a tube of toothpaste. When you open your mouth again, blood and bile gush forward, followed by a bulge of something horrifically organ-like that chokes your airways. You claw a desperate hand towards Norton, and he reacts only by numbly pushing himself away.

His back hits the far wall, still staring with unfocused eyes, and through the window above him you spot Fools Gold amble into frame. He’s grinning, albeit tightly.

“Don’t mind him,” the Worse Norton says, stepping through the window. Stepping on Norton like he’s an insect. Stepping right into the pool of your liquified viscera. “Sorry, babe, you know I wasn’t aiming for you. Just trying to give that one a hard time. That sure looks rough, though. Let me help you out real quick.”

You’re crying, but there’s no air to sob. Only bloody, salty tears as your feel yourself about to burst from the mouth. Fools Gold raises his pickaxe—perhaps the one mercy he’s still capable of giving—and brings the heavy point down on your head.

There’s so much blood. Your blood. It’s unnerving despite Edgar’s assurances that it’s good.

From your position, though, it’s hard to see how this is good. Only you two are left in this match against the triplets, and you’re only meters from the exit gate death’s door with a porcupine’s worth of metal thorns lodged in your body. The wrecked wedding venue does not help the mood, and freedom being so close by is but a taunt. You have a win at hand, if only Edgar would flee. Edgar, though, is determined to drag your mangled figure out with him no matter how much it cost.

And it was costing a lot of hurt. The spiks caught in the dirt, in the cobblestone, and pulled on your flesh and muscle, poking and swirling around inside your bruises.

“Go,” you gasp, hiccupping in pain. If he’d go, secure the win, you could die faster too. The pain would stop faster. “Go, Edg—go. I won’t…last. Go.”

“You need to tough it out,” he says through gasps of strained effort. His soft face is twisted with determination. He is not a strong man to begin with, and the added weight of the spikes is only making this harder for him. His skin and hair are dripping with blood, sweat, and mud. “I told you I can do this. Just deal with it a little longer.” In the not-so-far distance, you hear the familiar metal and cloth of the triplets shifting out of their dreaded Breaking Wheel.

“Ed,” you sob, crying dirty tears. Everything is blurry, indistinct. A bubble of blood comes up with your next scream of pain, “Go!”

“I am not afraid of death,” Edgar snaps at you. “Least of all for a situation like this.” Suddenly, he drops you and his hands are all over your body, your wounds, on the ground. Touching until his fingers and palms are running with rivulets of your blood. Then he starts smattering it about his last blank canvas with a desperate speed you’ve never seen utilized for his creations. A mania-like joy overtakes his eyes as he smacks, pokes, and smears your blood into something to distract the Hunter.

“It’s perfect,” you hear him say. When he grabs you up again, you jolt with a scream and realize, foggily, that you blacked out during his creative process. And will black out again, despite the pain’s best efforts to keep you conscious. Edgar starts dragging you again, somehow, miraculously making it to the door. When you look up, you see the triplets there, looking over a propped painting in the aisle. They’re shaking, then howling. With rage.

They grab the canvas and launch it in a tantrum towards your now-immune forms stepping over the invisible line. It clatters in front of your fading eyes, allowing you to see, barely, the butchered forms of the triples painted in your blood. A daring threat from the painter holding you to his chest as you’re swept back to the manor, where you can die and rebirth in peace.

[turbulentscrawl]

Tall Drink Of Water

Does my little dance for @turbulentscrawl

Rated Mature | Warning: None

You have the same amount of energy Luca Balsa has, and many more given how you laid out on the floor rolling around playing with Ann's cat (you do not care if it is an Outer God that took the simple form of a cat to oversee whatever an Outer God oversees). The cat is playing with a ball of yarn you got from Annie in exchange for helping her with a toy project. The cat actually is playing with you rather than you playing with it, Alva a few times glances over to see being the one is playing with the yarn more than the cat.

Your logic for not fearing the cat is ‘I don’t worship it so I don’t have to follow its rules’. Neither does Alva yet here is a chosen one of that creature. His eyes linger on the way your shirt by now has ridden up exposing your stomach and dangerously close to the rest of your chest before you sit up and start petting the cat. 

It permits it the petting, the dotting upon, you have no idea you are worshipping it by doing that and Alva could not tell you otherwise given the cat is purring. When it has enough, it places its paw on your hand pushing it away then jumping on a chair and curling up in a ball to rest.

“I want five more babies, Alva.” Without context and him not paying attention you say those words.

“Excuse me?” Stopped his hands with his current task to make sure he heard you properly.

“Five more babies,” Pointing at the sleeping cat, “We can have different types too.” You bet Ann would agree but you might have to watch out for Ithaqua because you have seen him fearlessly chase the black cat. Weirdo.

The inventor needs a moment to recover, “I am sure the Apostle would not appreciate sharing your attention.” Resuming the final touches of the device he making.

You go to sit on the couch in the room then lay on it as you stare up at the ceiling before your eyes drift to other objects in the room before falling on the ass of the Hermit. Small, you can grab it and feel a bit of meat, a bubble butt. Your eyes follow the way his back is bent over slightly as he works over the workbench tinkering away.

“Alva,” You call out to him, “Have I ever told you how handsome you are?” “You do and I never grow tired of it.” He replies, “You are quite handsome too, (Name).” Sometimes sparks to life in his hand for a second then shuts off. “Yeah but,” You think for a moment then grin, “You’re a tall drink of water, baby.” Yeah, this is a good one! “And I’m thirsty.” Snickering. Both a funny and a compliment, genius.

Alva has learned to grow accustomed to your time of humor and language. Given you are from a different modern time, you are far different from the people of his time in every sense. He raises an eyebrow then shakes his head, “Given you also know how ridiculous that sounds,” He stops his task as he can feel his neck becoming strained and the statement you made is a hint. “(Name).” Turning around, “Come here a moment.” His index finger beckons you over where he is leaning against his workbench. 

It is cute how quickly you get up to go over to him and without skipping a beat you hug him, one who enjoys physical touching. A tactile person. He places his hand on your head petting your hair as you rest your chin on his chest with your eyes closed and a small content smile on your face, “I love you.” The words flow out easily from your mouth as you say them a dozen times with ease, you follow those words with action as you are happy to kiss his hand that traces your lips, his palm, then your eyes open halfway as you once again say, “I love you, Alva.”

“Do you need me?” A low sensual tone as you whine as his other hand starts at the lower part of your back, fingers tracing up your spine and the low-grade spark up your back makes you moan as he uses his power to stimulate your nerves. Strange as it sounds you found it gets you going a lot faster as he is directly stimulating your nerves and skin.

“My answer is always,” Though at times you feel bad given you have a much higher sex drive than the inventor. He is much lower, rarely does the mood strike him, but tries to be accommodating to your needs when he can keep with them.

Though you understand he is in the mood, it is understandable, you make it very clear to him that you never take more than what he can give. You are one to talk freely about your needs and listen to others about theirs, you had sat him down to ask what he needs from you and vice-versa.

“Are you sure? I have no problem using your shirt.” Asking to make sure he would not mind doing it right now, you can always wait for when he is ready. He got the hint you want to be intimate by your silly pickup line, something you do to hint but easy for him to know he can take his time. Plus, you like letting him know how handsome he is daily.

When you handle your own desires alone, you need something of his to keep on that edge, his shirt helps a lot.

God, you feel like you got it down bad for him— Because you are.

So bad that you ask him, sometimes, if he is comfortable with recording a ‘visual aid’.

A request and one he needed an explanation of. One you provided when he was sexually ready and you were the one teasing him. So you recorded yourself, well, let’s just say the man had a reminder of how different you both are from a technology standpoint too.

The recording on your phone plays back a video of you touching yourself as you call out his name. One of his spare shirts drapes over your body as you are a humping pillow. You are no pornstar but you are proud of your camera work!

You learned that day teasing Alva was returned tenfold and you were unable to return to your room until the afternoon of the following day.

Kissing your forehead, “I want to.”

The grandfather clock in the room strikes midnight and the soft tune of the clock plays.

You stand on the tip of your toes as he kisses you, slowly and methodically until the meow of the forgotten guest steals your attention.

“Pspsps.” Alva is looking annoyed at that damn cat as you slip away to kneel on the floor to pet its sleepy form, “Pretty kitty.”

“There is another kitty in need of proper attention if it returns to my side.”

You turn your head to see Alva Lorenz walking to his bed and sitting there patting his lap.

The hint in those words is not lost to you at all nor the Outer God cat as growls before standing up, jumping in the air, and disappearing.

“Aw.” You pout, “Do think it will come back later?”

“Let’s hope not,” He welcomes you into his arms as you straddle his lap, “Your attention is going to be elsewhere for a while.” His index finger traced the path of your jawline, his lips brushing against yours but not quite, no he let that tingle of electricity make it feel like he kissed you but you were not letting that slide as you grabbed him by the collar of his dress shirt and lean forward kissing him and pushing him down.

[turbulentscrawl]

(This is more of a "what are your thoughts about this scenario/situation?" but if this technically counts as a request then I'm really sorry and feel free to delete 💜)

With your Ithaqua hcs, you mentioned he's the type to give Reader/his SO the choice and freedom whether they fully disengage from society, and that he wouldn't stop them from going back to the village/town, but he'd be clingy sorta and not happy if his SO stays for too long.

So, I'm curious if he'd react differently if the reason his SO is so reluctant to completely abandon "society" and just live it up with him in the middle of nowhere is because of their mother/father/parents (maybe they're older or sick to explain why they can't just live a remote life with their child and Ithaqua)? Considering how much Ithaqua loves and is attached to his mother, I imagine it would be something he's more understanding about his SO not wanting to abandon their parent/s and his sorta kinda in-laws??? But on the other hand, Ithaqua is not one to ever live the "normal" life like everyone else so I can't see Ithaqua staying in town with his SO and their parent/s either

Yes, this is a reasoning he connects with more!

No, he doesn't particularly consider it "good" reasoning. Either way, his overall stance doesn't change much, he's still not going to force anything, but he does keep your reasoning in mind when he tries to argue the reasons for you to leave society behind.

Your parents are too sick to come with you? It's not like it would just be you taking care of them. Ithaqua has plenty of foraged-medicine knowledge from his mother. He knows how to take care of people.

They're superstitious and scared of the Night Watch in the woods? They'll get over it eventually, once they see he's just a young man. (A ferocious one, but a ferocious one on their side.)

And no, he's never going to move into town with you. But whatever your familial-related reasons, Ithaqua knows your parents will die eventually. And that's not to be gruesome or suggest he'd do anything, it just a fact. If your parents are old or sick, they might have a handful of years left and Ithaqua can very much wait that out. He'll even spend those years looking out for your folks too (even if he doesn't like them), watching over their home, leaving foraged goods behind for you or neighbors to take credit for. Once or twice he may come to town in disguise and "bump into" them on the streets to formally meet them. And when their time comes, he'll dig them a grave at his home, next to his mother's, and offer for you to come be a part of his slightly twisted family.

(the only acception is if your parents are abusive, and your reasonings for not leaving them are fear-based. If that's the case, he very much will be stepping in physically.)

[turbulentscrawl]

Happy Valentines!

A little thing for @athanasius-symposium-of-writings It's about time I return the favor and write something for you!! I'm sorry it's not longer, but I hope you like it all the same, friend!

The lights were dim. Remnants of your dinner were strewn about the coffee table, along with your half-empty wine glasses and the entirely empty wine bottle. Like-authored books lay strewn about the floor, laying open and dog-eared from excerpt readings. Bouquets of roses spotted the other available surfaces, and the distinct aroma of them mingled with the scent of spiced tobacco. The smoke of it still hung in the air, twisting tantalizing patterns all the way back to the man who held the pipe. The man whose knee your chin rested on, admiring from your seat on the soft rug.

Orpheus blew another stream of smoke into the air, idly ghosting his fingers along your hair line, almost petting. Your eyes met, and with the faintest of smirks his fingers shifted along your face, to your ear, and traced the sculpted shape of it.

“You look tired,” he mused. “Have the wine and reading made you drowsy?”

“Just relaxed,” you assured. “I’m plenty awake.” That was a bit of a lie. You were a bit tired—you were full, buzzed, and wooed, but you weren’t ready for the night to end. It was hard to get the undivided attention of a man like Orpheus for such a long period. You weren’t even sure how he’d managed to convince or bribe everyone in the manor to stay out of the smoke room tonight, but you wouldn’t dare complain. Your first proper Valentines in however many years into this eternity, and it was better than you could have ever hoped.

“Good. I have a few more things for us,” he said, and reached for the drawer of the table beside his leather chair. You watched him produce a decorative box, painted with textured oils. Edgar’s work, no doubt. He balanced it on his opposite knee, holding his pipe between his teeth, and flipped it open delicately. Arranged inside were six chocolate covered strawberries.

He looked them over with great consideration, plucked one from its paper with ungloved fingers, and then brought it delicately to your lips. His eyes held yours with an unspoken order for you to do the same, and so you opened your mouth a bit slowly from the treat while gazing into dark amber. A drop of red juice rolled down your chin and slipped into the white of his dress pants.

“Very good,” Orpheus whispered once you’d swallowed. Returning the favor, he bit from the strawberry as well, subtly licking at the marks left by your teeth in the red flesh, and then retuned the final bit of the fruit for you to finish. “Another?”

“Save them,” you said, licking your lips. The motion of your tongue was what finally broke his eyes from yours, if only for a split second. “We can make them last. What other ‘things’ do you have for us?” You had an idea already, and the way he smiled when you rubbed his shin further cemented it. A shiver slipped up your spine. He set the box of strawberries aside, then occupied his hand instead by capturing your jaw with a careful but firm vice.

Orpheus took one final drag from his pipe—looking all too angelic in the low light as he closes his eyes and breathes in fumes—and leaned forward to kiss your captive mouth. The sweet, spiced pipe smoke slipped through the little gaps of your melding lips, dancing tongues. It coiled up around your faces like a curtain, filled your nose, fogged your squinting peripheral vision. You managed to inhale a bit of it too, and the airy burn it left at the back of your throat, you decided, suited Orpheus’s intensity perfectly.

Any remaining thoughts scrambled after that; Orpheus slipped down from his chair, graceful as a swan, and joined you on the rug, where you could roll together in a sea of his words.

[turbulentscrawl]

For All The Birthdays You Missed, Andrew

Happy birthday Andrew Kreiss I want cover you in kisses sobs

Rated Explicit | Warnings: Vampire AU

Birthdays are rare to be celebrated in the manor, if ever. Many have either forgotten when they were born or lost track long ago of how old they are, so no point in baking a cake. It is rather depressing, but you respect the boundary (Luca loves birthdays though he makes up numbers guessing his age each time).

“Andrew,” Then you learned one of them never had a proper birthday, and you felt the need to, at least, give him this. A happy memory in this new life, silly as it may seem to others, but you hope he likes it. “Happy birthday.”

The cake is a simple yellow cake with vanilla frosting and purple flower designs. A ‘Happy Birthday, Andrew’ written on with a single candle in the middle. A private celebration between you both in a hotel in the city away from the others. He has you all to him all day.

“Andrew?” 

Andrew is quiet as the candle burns, you notice the build-up of tears at the corner of his eyes as he watches the candle burn. You smile gently as you wrap your arms from behind around his neck, rubbing your cheek against his. The table is clear of everything outside of the small cake and two plates and a knife to cut the cake. The fancy hotel room is a bit much for him but he will see why you set this up later on.

“Make a wish, birthday boy.”

He takes a deep breath and then blows out the candle.

“Thank you.” He says finally, “You didn't have to.”

“I want to and we can have as many more birthdays after.” Kissing his cheek, “Next time though, Luca would like to join.”

“S-sure.” Andrew is not sure if he is ready for that level of energy that man can bring.

“We can work up to inviting him.” Moving away to cut the small cake, “First cake then your gift.” Winking at him.

“Gift?”

You nod as you give him a plate serving him the biggest piece with the flower on it.

The gift is him naked and covered in red lipstick marks, he is hands bound to the bedpost keeping there but he can tug hard enough to break out. “Andrew, you are so beautiful.” Riding him as he feels like enduring your praise tenfold. You have adored him before but this is worse as you used a camera, one that prints out the pictures instantly, to show him your favorite parts of him. Those pictures were scattered all over the bed.

His albino skin is a bright pink from how much he is blushing as you moan out his name.

“Enough already!”

You squeal loudly and rather embarrassingly as breaks out of the loose binds to pin you down on the bed, breathing hard and his face completely exposed as you brushed back his hair previously.

“(Name).”

“Andrew.” Your hands are free to touch his face as he leans down, “You can move. This is your gift.”

When he first met you, he had accidentally killed you… Gruesomely. He felt like a monster. Burying you in some unmarked grave only for you to return to him partially healed on a stormy night terrified him.

He swore you were God's divine punishment upon him, you were a test and he failed! You were going to kill him. It took him weeks to be able to look you in the eyes, much less be in the same room. He did not immediately go to the manor either fearing it was a trap but came when he became desperate for blood.

Now, you are the most important person in his life, and value him more than anyone ever has both before he was a human and after he became a vampire.

His mother… Sometimes he wonders if she would have liked you. Someone strong enough to shoulder the world with him.

“I love you.” He says without thinking that he pulls back in fear but you grab him before he can panic.

“I love you too, Andrew.” Sometimes when you are serious it scares him, Naib Subedar is like this when Norton has his episodes, you return those feelings to him. “I love you, Andrew Kreiss.” Staying still for a few heartbeats, “Now fuck me like you love me.” Ordering him.

And he does with all of his love and then some.

[turbulentscrawl]

Matthias Czernin Save me..

Matthias Czernin

Save me Matthias Czernin

( cw blood )

"I'm a little busy."

( It's ketchup. Probably. )

[turbulentscrawl]

More Vampire au but with Naib (yes you getting your man but it not on Matty's birthday BONK BONK lol)

Ngl i like the idea of reader overworks and naib has a sweet tooth (i love lemon cake and lemon pie buy me kofi so i can buy cake)

You are quiet as he gazes for an instant before he takes your hand and guides it, placing it on a scar on his torso, a small gash between his rib that ends towards the center of his stomach. Like you, he was a soldier, and like you, his body tells a story of another life that has left plenty of scars both visible and invisible. He shares them with you just as he shares his body with you. Intimacy is not the same as having sex, sex is sex that can lack care; intimacy is different for him. It requires care, it requires time, and it requires his mind to be present in the moment.

“Tell me.” You say.

He tells you the story of the first scar. 

Your hand is moved to another scar, this time in the center a few circular scars that look like bullet wounds.

“Tell me.” You say again.

The stories he shares with you are in great detail, and those scars are fading as time goes on, Naib Subedar remembers them as if they are fresh.

This goes on for an hour or so before he kisses you. A sweet one that lingers both in sensation and the taste of him on your tongue. Lemon, he must have had the lemon cake you made him before this, that makes you smile. Naib Subedar is a bit of a romantic when it comes to these things, kissing you to the point of leaving you dizzy, his hands on your face keeping you in place. Your hands on his waist, gripping his toned body from years of mercenary work and now years of him keeping his body in shape.

Old habits, he always remains sharp.

When leads you to his bed, you sit on his lap facing him, your tailcoat and dress shirt taken off with care and kisses on your shoulder and neck. He worships you first, giving thanks as always before taking.

You appreciate that, it is sweet of him.

His bite is quick, like an effective stab, he finds his spot on your neck and quickly bites down so you do not experience the pain too much. He would rather you feel good than be hurt.

Even if you can heal from any harm, no one wants to see you hurt.

You keep yourself steady by holding his biceps, his arms wrapping around your waist as he feeds from you. Naib Subedar only takes enough to satisfy his hunger, the rest he drinks bloodwine or eats the specially made meats.

He is efficient when it comes to his needs, any of them.

“Naib Subedar.” Saying his full rank as he finishes and cleans his mess.

“Yeah?” His body is warm now, usually, he is given his ingestion of blood regularly thus keeping him at a minimum lukewarm rather than cold, “Willing to give more?”

“Slowly.”

“Alright, don't push yourself.” The mercenary carefully turned and laid you down on the bed, “Let me do the work.”

“I can—”

“Let me spoil you for a bit.” You do a lot for those in the Desaulnier manor, more than you think or care to admit. Joseph tries, at times with no grace, to tell you to step back but you always take on the work of twelve or more people. You saved most of the vampires here and assisted in providing a haven for those who were lost in the darkness. The hunter becoming a shepherd, Naib Subedar respected you for finding your path.

“If you must insist.” Chuckling as your pants are taken off after your shoes and socks. “Did you like the lemon cake?”

“I did.” Kissing your knee, “You've gotten better at making it, thank you.” Because he knows that is for him. You always go up and beyond yourself to provide for everyone creature comforts in the manor; everyone sees it and everyone knows you are too stubborn to be stopped.

You lay there being adored, he knows what you like by now and how to have you gripping the sheets in minutes. To say his rank over and over, to have your back arching, body writhing, and your heart racing.

Just as you spoil him, he spoils you tenfold plus interest. If Norton was here with him, that would be the extra interest with the bonus of having either of watching you being fucked by the other.

You are rather a sight to see and the other is very handsome while keeping up with you.

“Naib Subedar, I swear you are too good at this!”

“Learned from the best.”

“Me or Norton?”

He does not verbally answer you but the cheeky smile he gives you from between your legs is telling enough.

[turbulentscrawl]

“Professor has been containing the hunter for 120 seconds.”

[turbulentscrawl]

With Ease

For @turbulentscrawl <3

Rated Explicit | Warning: soft

The scent of the professor can only be described as masculine, something that lingers on his clothes provides comfort when he is not around and you are needy. You bury your face in one of his shirts, blue with deep slash marks from a blade, he no longer uses this one. Your eyes are closed when nuzzling it, picturing it as him in your arms instead of a piece of fabric.

You could touch yourself, you have plenty of times, and sometimes with the hope of Luchino walking in on you while in his bed. But right now, as much as you want to relieve yourself of that dull ache between your legs, you just want comfort.

You want to be held by the professor for as long as he can, to feel his warmth, to bury your face in his chest and hear his steady heartbeat, and maybe if he is up for it: bed him.

The creaking down gets you to peek up a bit from the nest you created on his bed of blankets and pillows from your room to mix with his pillows and blankets.

“(Name)?”

“Luchino.” Saying as you sit up from his bed wearing only a nightshirt with his shirt around your neck, “I thought you were going to take longer.”

“As did I,” He joins you, “Luca and Frederick were quick this round.” His lips are on your forehead as he kisses there first before your cheek.

“Good.” Your arms wrapping around his neck as he kisses your neck, “I miss you.”

“You know I will be back.” His hand slipped up your shirt, nails, and fingertips a welcome sensation on your yearning skin in need of attention from your beloved professor.

“I can still miss you.” Your nose rubs against his as you giggle when he finds a spot that is ticklish, “Luchino.” Gasping when the touch changes.

You welcome him when you are lying under him, shirt removed and tossed away along with his other shirt. You assist in getting his clothes off before he begins his reminder of how much he loves you.

He smells good, sweaty, but good. His scales are smooth and an odd sensation to grip onto, his teeth are surprisingly normal. Luchino's tongue is a bit more textured but not much, his cock is a different story and one that is very pleasant.

You are just happy to have him here.

“Wait.” You tell him when he is inside of you.

“Is something wrong?” Worried he has hurt you, “Do you need a second?”

“I'm fine, more than fine.” Holding his face as he hovers above you, “Just want to stay like this for a bit.” You have done this with him before but rarely as often you start squirming and Luchino can only remain still for so long.

“Alright.” He adjusts the position so you both are lying down facing each other, his hair placed with your hair as trace idle patterns on his back or outline his scales.