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some-bunniii · 13 days

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— self indulgence time, say howdy to my hellaverse oc! [+ a fic]

Kokabiel, one of Hell’s original celebrities and fashion icons [art by mamma_hisa]

I have a 6k word fic that’s been sitting in my drafts for awhile, and i worked long enough on it so i think it deserves some sunlight

i wrote the first chapter to a lucifer x oc story in an AU where Lilith leaves when Charlie is a baby and Kokabiel accidentally becomes her maternal figure, and it was going to be long but then I never touched it again ☠️ she was made originally made for the fic but she’s so gorgeous and mommy i spent days fleshing her out as my main bbyg.

working on a few things so take this for now to get a taste of her and some morningstar love! no romance, just introductions.

“Charlie, please go to sleep” The pearlescent figure next to the small bed begged the toddler, who was trying to scramble out of his grip and away from the covers that were wrapped around her waist.

The man’s platinum-blonde hair was disheveled, dark bags under his eyes from the lack of sleep that was quite evident on his features as he tiredly pulled the girl back onto the bed, holding her still as she whined against his hands.

His mouth opened in a wide yawn, his shark-like teeth glinting in the soft light that emanated from the bedside lamp next to him. He blinked slowly, trying to rid himself of the exhaustion that was trying to overtake him, his eyelids beginning to droop even as he continued to wrestle his daughter.

Charlie shot her father a nasty glare, brows furrowed as she frowned deeply. The bright red spots that graced the chub of her cheeks lowered as her lips curled downward. They were one of the many features she shared with the pale man before her, including those soft, sun-kissed locks and snow-bathed skin.

She also shared the same tired eyes that met hers sternly, but her mind was too active to allow her body those much-needed hours of rest.

The rest her father, Lucifer Morningstar, also needed.

“I know you’re sleepy, sweetheart! Just lay still so daddy can get some shut-eye too, hm?”

“No!” Charlie whined, lips puckered in distraught as her strength began to wane. Why would she sleep when she could be playing with her stuffed goats instead?! It just wasn’t fair!

“Yes!” Lucifer commanded, before he growled softly and lifted a finger towards the small child, a glint of golden light lit on the tip of his claw as he pressed it softly against Charlie’s forehead.

For a moment it flickered against her pale skin, and Lucifer removed his finger as Charlie froze at the sudden tingling sensation.

Her mouth was in the shape of a small o as she tried to get a look at whatever her father had placed on her, but the only clue in her vision was the twinkle of aurum light. A warmth began to seep into her skin, emanating from the magic blooming across her face.

Like a firework launching into the night sky, the tiny orb shot from her forehead up towards the ceiling, before it burst into a flurry of sparks that glimmered in the darkness, casting the walls with their vibrant hues.

The golden light danced above Charlie’s head, her eyes wide and in awe as the golden sparks began to melt into rippling waves that spiraled across the ceiling.

Lucifer flicked off the bedside light, the room darkening slightly as the magic above basked the room in a subtle warm glow as it pulsed rhythmically.

He still sat beside the bed, hand resting limply against Charlie’s chest as the interest in her eyes soon turned to sleepiness, and her eyelids began to droop.

Lucifer watched with a small smile as a magical display began to lull Charlie into sleep, and it only took a few more minutes before her face relaxed into a peaceful expression and her breathing swallowed.

Roughling rubbing a hand down his face with a sigh, Lucifer stood from the floor. His fuzzy pink robe drooped from his shoulders just enough to expose his bare, finely chiseled chest.

Quietly, he tip-toed across the bedroom, stepping over dolls, stuffed animals, and other trinkets that littered the floor. As long as he was careful, he wouldn’t risk waking the child.

Lucifer’s fingers wrapped around the door handle, before he waved his hand in the air, and the golden light dispersed, showering the room in shadows once more.

Cracking open the door just a tad, he slipped into the hallway. Lucifer’s back hit the door’s solid, oak frame as he exhaled a sigh of relief. The fallen angel felt like he could slide down onto the plush red carpet and hibernate right there, but he was the King of Hell, he had too much self-respect for that.

Raking a hand through his disheveled hair, Lucifer began to drag his feet down the hall, fatigue gnawing at his mind as he passed by the large paintings that hung upon the dark red walls, a perfect backdrop to the fair-skinned figures that posed elegantly inside the gold-framed portraits.

A man, his apple-red cheeks practically brushing against the edges of his face as he smiled brightly. A woman stood tall beside him, a dark purple dress hugging her curved figure as she posed regally. Her fingers entwined with her counterpart, their intimacy evident.

Lucifer would take that down, eventually. It only ever reminded him of painful memories, of that violet, sultry gaze through which she would send him as they basked in the warmth of the large fireplace in the large lounge in their castle.

Wine glasses emptied again and again as the King listened to her gentle humming, her fingers laced with his as she pulled him closer. Her lips left wet, sloppy kisses against his chin. The faint trail of black lipstick as her mouth connected with his in a passionate embrace of body and soul, intertwined.

Lilith, the previous Queen of Hell. Lucifer’s ex-wife, Charlie’s mother.

How long had she been gone now? Lucifer knew the exact day, he practically memorized the minute and hour when she left. When Lilith had sent him one last look from the open front door, her gaze unreadable through the black shades on her face, her honey-colored hair flowing like water around her figure as the two lovers locked eyes for the final time.

“Goodbye, Lou,” Lilith had whispered, her voice like silk against his ears even in such an anguished moment. Strands of hair covered her features as she spoke, shielding her expression as she turned her head, her back facing the fallen angel as she stepped through the threshold.

Out of his home, out of his world.

And, Charlie’s too. It’s hard explaining to a child that their mommy went on a very, very long vacation. He’d have the courage to tell her… eventually. Except, that meant she might one day blame him, too.

What could Lilith have been feeling, happiness, sorrow, anger? Lucifer would never know, he had tried so desperately to even understand why she had left in the first place. Had there been signs? An argument of some kind he had forgotten? What had he done wrong, that his first love and the mother of his child, would leave him to care for Charlie and the realm, all alone?

It was Lilith who held most of the influence when it came to the lower-classed demons, her words and songs enlightening the residents of Hell, cultivating the realm like a garden as she watered the needy and uprooted those with dark intentions like invasive weeds.

To the people of Hell, Lucifer was the epitome of complete, ultimate power. The embodiment of pride, and the reminder of who would always have control.

He was rarely seen in public, especially in his own Ring, full of the very demons he despised the most. Sure, he had his covers on magazines and face plastered all over LuLu World, but that was where it ended.

Instead, the King kept his duties strictly to those most loyal and most powerful. The rest of the Deadly Sins, the Ars Goetia family, and once in a while joining on an overlord meeting.

As long as they understood who not to cross, the safety and security of his family would never be at risk, if one could even try and pose any threat to one of the first creations. The Morningstar that shone before Lilith, before Earth, before everything.

In all honesty, Lucifer didn’t really do… anything, when it came to his subjects.

It was Lilith whose appearance was imprinted into the minds of her subjects through her many concerts and powerful political influence. It was she who had given them the confidence to defy Heaven, to stand against their exterminations that plagued the Pride Ring once a year.

Now, Lucifer was left to hold up face, to keep the realm from divulging into chaos, as the stability of the hierarchy of Hell slipped slowly and slowly through his fingers. No matter how many demons he could smite with the snap of his fingers, the sinful on Earth would always be sent to him as punishment, for the both of them.

He needed to keep them all in line, as respectfully as possible.

Which meant Lucifer was alone to take care of Charlie, who was insanely active and needy for attention, like any demon her age. She couldn’t stay out of trouble, and Lucifer had to juggle her, his own volatile emotions that had been causing him to skip more and more meals, and the piling events that always filled his days this time of the year.

The annual gatherings with the Ars Goetia that he had to attend symbiotically to keep their unwavering loyalty, the meetings to make sure the rest of the Sins were keeping their rings afloat, and flaunting a little bit of his power to the Overlords in Pentagram City that liked to stir trouble in his own ring.

Hell needed a future so that his daughter would have something to rule over when she came of age and wisdom. No matter how he tried to push the thoughts of his little girl growing up and leaving him, sooner or later, the fledgling would have to leave the nest.

Lucifer could see it, clear as day, his spirit and creative spark deep in her gaze when she listened to his many ideas and visions of what could have been and what surely will be. The way she giggled quietly as he presented her toys of his creation, her soft gaze looking at each little trinket with adoration and inspiration.

If she was anything like the man Lucifer used to be, that meant she would no doubt rebel against his views of Hell and his subjects, and that scared the King.

Lucifer continued to pass more portraits, dimly lit by the warm glow of the wall lamps dotting the hallway. Pictures of his daughter, the other Sins, and the grand opening of LuLu World. The final portrait next to his bedroom door was a small painting, an almost-perfect recreation of the only Heavenly creation he still held close to his heart.

The Morning Star.

The large ball of bright, white light illuminated against the oily-black backdrop that was also speckled with smaller, glittering stars. Some shone in vibrant, multi-colored hues that lit the painted night sky with a soft celestial light.

Except, none of those stars shone as bright as his star, the star specifically created for him by a face whose familiarity had been long lost in time. A face that still gnawed at the edge of his mind every time he stared at that painting, those long-buried memories slowly crawling from the depths of his soul.

Maybe, one day, he’d have the strength to remember.

When the door to his room was pushed open softly, Lucifer’s eyes hit the digital clock on his nightstand. It was one in the afternoon, and Charlie would only nap for a few hours before she awakened with renewed energy.

The toddler has grown restless lately, anxious to see a new face, to take a peek outside of the confines of their large home. No matter how many magical displays Lucifer presented the child, she always grew bored, and that frown was becoming more permanent on her lips as the days passed.

It must be tiring waking up and practically seeing your reflection almost every minute of your day.

There was no one Lucifer could trust in the presence of his daughter, though. No one he could see fit enough to care for her, not even himself. He struggled, being a father, for his little apple pie.

Parenting was not easy, especially when you had no idea what you were doing. It was especially hard when you were too afraid to upset your daughter with stern words and an authoritative voice, which meant the toddler ran the house.

The most powerful being in Hell would have to put his foot down to his little girl… eventually. After this quick nap, maybe.

The large bed, much too big for only one person, beckoned Lucifer with an irresistible invitation. His legs moved with renewed strength before he fell face flat into the soft, cool duvet that welcomed him kindly. His muscles relaxed instantly, his feet dangling limply from the end of the bed as he finally opened his mind to the idea of sleep.

Slowly, Lucifer’s consciousness began to ebb, and his snores echoed around the room as his mind stilled into blackness.

What he wasn’t aware of, as the fallen angel sunk deeper into the plush, red blankets, was that the small bed on the opposite side of the hall was empty. Its previous inhabitant was currently tottling towards the door to his workshop that had been slightly ajar just across from her bedroom.

With wide eyes, Charlie scanned the room as she poked her head through the crack in the doorway, her little button nose twitching as she drank in all the little knick-knacks and prototypes of fantastical ideas that would never see the light of day.

It was dimly lit, save for the faint red glow pouring in from the large circular window above the desk across the room. There was nothing of interest on its smooth, wooden surface to the tiny awe-struck eyes. Instead, it was the soft, chromatic light that caught her gaze on a low shelf right next door.

Floating elegantly above a short, circular pedestal were seven glowing rings, stacked above each other a few inches apart with zero gravity. Each held a unique hue, from green to pink, as they lured Charlie with their ethereal glow. If she could lift her little body just slightly onto the chair against the desk, she could reach them.

What could they be, so pretty just floating like that? They looked just like glow-stick necklaces! Would Daddy think she was pretty if she put them on and showed him?

With a large smile and slightly unsteady steps, Charlie crossed the room, her tiny feet pitter-pattering against the soft carpet as she beelined for the colorful display. When she reached the wooden chair, her chin barely grazed against the cushioned seating as she placed her palms gingerly against its plush surface.

With a mighty heave and a sharp inhale of breath, the toddler began kicking her legs wildly as she tried gaining momentum to hoist herself onto the chair.

Charlie sputtered for breath as her grip loosened due to her sweaty palms, but then her leg hooked onto the seat railing, which gave her momentarily support to pull herself farther up until her knee grazed the top of the cushion.

Placing one arm underneath her for support, the toddler reached the other out towards the ring. Her fingers splayed out, the whites of her eyes glowing red as they reflected the ring’s vibrant hue.

Charlie held her breath, beginning to tip over just as her index finger grazed the very edge of the ring’s surface. Red energy shot down her spine, sending her hair to stick out with static

The girl barely got a squeak in before she vanished in a burst of lightning that barely resonated a sound as it zapped her away.

The red ring flickered once, faltering above the rest for only a moment, before it stilled into place.

And the room was empty once more.

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀🤍🤍🤍

On the outskirts of the Pride Ring was a small, white villa nestled against a rocky cliff face, surrounded by tall, black fencing that ended in sharp, spiked ends. Purple magic sizzled off of the tips, a clear warning to anyone who wanted to enter: They would not be welcome.

Inside the powerful barrier, was a large garden filled with a surreal combination of beauty and decay. Vibrant flowers bloomed amidst twisted, blackened trees that seemed to reach out with gnarled branches like skeletal fingers.

The floral scent that wafted from the blossoms permeated the air, mixed with the slight tinge of sulfur of Hell’s odor.

Nestled among the dark purple bushes and other hellish flora, were tall snow-white sculptures of men and women, their stone eyes staring lifelessly across the garden’s expanse.

A diverse cast of figures, short and brawny, too tall and lanky. Each unique from the rest.

Except, for their facial expressions, in which they each held a similar look of terror. As if they had been frozen in place during a time of anguish, of a terrifying encounter that left them to rot inside their pretty stone casks.

They were positioned across the lawn in a perfect, meticulous manner. As if someone spent day in and day out holed up inside the black fencing, with nothing to do but continuously cultivate their blooming garden.

One particular statue, which held the image of a goat-like man, staring up at the sky as if in one final prayer, was currently being inspected by a gracefully poised woman standing before it. Painted on his frozen cheek, was a small black lipstick-stained kiss.

From a distance, you’d think she was human. The silky, black dress that hugged her curves was reminiscent of ancient Greek fashion. Her shoulders were fully exposed, garment held up by a high neckline that tickled at her throat as she leisured, a glass of alcohol in her hand.

Her rich, deep brown skin stood out among the pearlescent, marble statues. Practically shimmering against the red hues that basked her home with the midday light.

An ethereal radiance seemed to seep from her skin, giving her silhouette a faint, golden glow that made her skin shimmer like light on morning dew.

Her hairstyle was similar to a ponytail, a partial updo that sat at the top of her head like a bun, before the long, white locs cascaded down her back.Along with two large strands that framed the sides of her angled face.

The big differential between her and a woman strolling down the street? The horns that graced the top of her head. They curved to end just above her forehead, a black crown that cemented her place as another resident of Hell.

Travel a bit farther down her figure, and you’d find those large, white tendrils of hair that swished as she turned slightly had a funny texture to them that most would mistake for thick braids.

Except, braids aren’t made of scales, are they?

At her ankles, a multitude of snakeheads stuck out their tongues, tasting the air as their beady red eyes scanned across the grassy scape.

They twisted around each other, curling into themselves to keep a tighter form as they wriggled against the woman’s back, interest peaked at their surroundings as their tongues flicked in and out.

Once in a while, a head would spot some small, hellish critter skittering across the yard looking for food. And, before one could blink, its jaws would open wide as it shot forward, pulling slightly at the woman’s scalp as it clamped its maw around the tiny creature.

It would slink back near her ankles, trying to gulp down the tasty delicacy as the other snakes around it poked and prodded for a taste. They hissed and snapped at one another, fighting for a morsel.

The woman turned her head, shooting the reptilian mass a glare as they wrapped around her legs. Milky white pools met multiple red, glowing eyes as they slunk back slightly at her scolding, giving time for the one snake to finish gobbling up his snack without fuss.

The two smaller serpents that framed her face weren’t as long as the rest of their siblings, instead reaching to her breasts as they lazily rested on the fabric of her dress.

Tenderly, the woman lifted an arm, and her shorter serpent curled delicately around her hand, until its head rested gingerly on her palm.

Gently, she brushed a thumb along its snout, and it hissed softly with pleasure, its eyes closing shut as it nestled farther into her warm skin.

“Jameson, another margarita, please.”

“Yes, Lady Kokabiel,” a small imp butler bowed, his cropped, curly white hair bouncing slightly as he lowered his head.

Turning, the imp trotted towards a shaded area underneath a weeping willow tree, its low-hanging branches that grazed against his shoulders were dark red, shielding the large mixture of alcohol from the heat of the day as he poured another glass of the blue liquid.

When Jameson returned, Kokabiel handed him the empty glass before plucking the margarita from his grasp. She sent him an appreciative smile, her white freckles sparkling like starlight as they curved with her lips.

She swirled the alcohol in the glass, watching the small vortex for a few moments, before lifting it to her lips and taking a sip.

That’s how Kokabiel spent most of her days in Hell, nowadays. Getting a buzz off of fruity liquor and fawning over her snakes, as she lounged in her garden with no one to bother her.

It had been a long time since she left the spotlight, previously a fashion and sex icon, Kokabiel had flaunted her good looks and curves to promote all kinds of products and events, dominating the biggest runways. She even starred in a couple of A-list movies, growing her until she reached the peak of stardom.

Kokabiel had earned her place at the top of the pyramid, right next to many older, successful celebrities in the industry. Lilith was a big name, even bigger than Koko’s with how beautiful of a singer she was, pulling in fans like a siren with her honeyed voice.

Even with such cutthroat competition, Kokabiel never felt that she was fading out of the audience’s vision with how fast her mailbox would fill with writings from her fans

Fanart, declarations of love written in sparkly pink ink, and invitations to large parties and prestigious events. Even now, she still received fan mail here or there, although they were usually left unanswered.

She had never wanted to retire in the first place, her plans for the future only confining to grow bigger by the day. Until one night, during a party hosted by the overlords of the city, was Kokabiel confronted with an ultimatum.

“I know your secret,” he had smiled devilishly. That flat-faced, know-it-all smirk the man sent her one evening, as he confronted her in the darkness of a hallway.

“What secret?” Kokabiel laughed dryly, shooting him a question glare.

“Oh, you know,” his pixelated eyes lifted to the darkened sky through the ceiling-high windows nearby, Heaven’s white glow cascading through the panes, “The one about where you really came from, not the Lust Ring lie you like to spin to the audience.”

The alcoholic buzz in Kokabiel’s system faded in an instant, and her snakes coiled against her back, hissing loudly as she shot him a deathly glare. It had seemed he had chosen to give the news from a safe distance, too far for her snakes to reach. A smart man.

How did he find out, and what did he plan to do with that information?

That smile of his had only widened further, giddy at the fact he had her in his grasp. He could pull the strings, keep her away from his industry. This secret, that he had only stumbled upon accidently, was going to make sure she stayed gone.

Kokabiel had never caused trouble, never flaunted her power to rise up Hell’s hierarchy, never made any public displays of how easily she could rip demon’s souls out of their bodies if they got too close.

Nor did any demon claim to be owned by her, as they were too busy being decorative pieces to tell their tale.

Kokabiel’s presence was a mystery to her powerful counterparts. Her aura was too clean, too ethereal to be a sinner or an average hellborn. But, she had never actually said the words ‘Yes, I’m from Heaven.’

She didn’t need to, anymore. After that little conversation, the talking TV had made a deal. Keep that pretty face away from the cameras, and his lips were sealed for eternity.

Kokabiel had announced her retirement a day later, not answering a single question about why or where she was going. Those cameras and microphones that had gotten shoved in her face received no words as received hurried into her limo.

How could Kokabiel, someone whose face was once plastered onto entire sides of buildings, fall so hard because of some up-and-coming overlord with the intent to control the masses? She’d had bigger spats with the paparazzi on the side of the street than this!

Now, she didn’t have to worry about those annoying flies anymore, with their constant flashes that always anguished her snakes and the peppering of questions.

Finally away from any prying eyes and those awful, bright flashes that plagued every step Kokabiel took out in public. Here, she could do and say anything, without someone waiting to jump at the opportunity to sell a shitty, non-contextual picture to the highest tabloid bidder.

Solitude gets boring, though. Even with her snakes to crawl over and her garden to tend, one could only vent to the marble figures for so long before they felt their sanity slipping.

That was until an imp had squeezed his way through the thick pickets of her fence, those short white curls singed at the tips from the magic that stung him.

Whatever was chasing the small man was more dangerous as he continued to beeline toward the bushes that could shelter him.

The imp had turned his head, catching the sight of his pursuers as they reached the fence. Three burly, tall shark demons roared as his tiny frame sped off.

That only led him to meet horns first into the stomach of the owner of the fence, and the land he was currently trespassing on. With an oomph he landed on hit, gaze darting at the being standing above him.

Kokabiel had quirked a brow, unamused as she wiped the dirt from the front of her dress. It wasn’t until one shark demon rammed into the fence, did she lifted her head and a dark frown played on her lips.

He had seen it, the power behind her gaze, when the loan sharks blew up one of her favorite rose bushes as they broke through the gates.

“How dare you,” she had hissed, her white gaze boring into the thugs, glowing with a much fiercer intensity as she bared her teeth, “Get out!”

The imp had flinched, but Kokabiel’s anger was not directed at him as she stepped right above his quivering body, and he could feel the soft grazing of scales against his raised arms before he turned to watch the woman continue to meet the loan sharks halfway.

“Not without our little friend there,” one sneered, his teeth glinting as he gave the woman a silent warning of his strength.

“Unfortunate that you aren’t the one making the demands,” she retorted, putting herself between the sharks and their prey.

With a loud, collective hiss, the bodies of her snakes lifted, encircling her head, and they opened their maws with extended fangs, displaying their own grim warning with bright red eyes.

The aggressor didn’t like that so much, as he opened he pulled out a large, glowing steel-laced ax and charged right for the duo. The imp squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the killing blow.

The Kokabiel’s pupils shifted from that starlit glint into black pools of emptiness, and the air sizzled with a powerful energy right as the shark-faced man swung his weapon to connect with her shoulder. At the last moment, the fallen angel ducked and backpedaled, right as one of her snakes lashed forward, jaw wide to reveal twin, deadly fangs and struck the demon right in the eye.

The scales of her snakes pulsed with a golden shimmer, and the demon’s mouth opened in a painful scream as his feet took on an ivory color, hardening to stone.

The other sharks near him tensed, the rage on their faces instantly draining as their comrade's feet cemented to the ground, that stone plague creeping farther up his waist as he writhed in place, clutching his eye as black blood seeped from the large gash.

They took a step back, then another, and another as the only blubber left on the struggling man was his large head. His teeth gnashed in mixture of anger and pain, but his good eye only showed fear, right as it was glazed over by white stone.

After that, the rest of the loan sharks had fled, huffing and puffing as they tumbled through the broken fence.

Then, the snake that had bit the demon began to convulse, writhing with an open maw like it had something stuck in its throat as black blood from its victim landed on the grass below.

Like some hellish form of mitosis, the scales of the serpent began to stretch and split, revealing a mirrored version of the reptile that began to take form and separate from its twin.

With wide eyes, the imp watched the two snakes finally , this new, fresh face shaking its head in confusion, before the rest of the scaly follicles began to surround and inspect their new friend with flicking tongues.

Kokabiel only watched the demons scurry off, before she sighed and adjusted her dress. Pivoting, she turned to face the imp, her arms crossed as she regarded him curiously.

The scrawny demon gulped as he stared wide-eyed. Was he next?

“What’s your name?”

“W-what?” The imp replied hoarsely.

“Your name. You have one, don’t you?”

“it’s… Jameson, madam,”

“Thank you, and I assume they’ll kill you if you try and go back into the city?”

Jameson nodded slowly, rising tentatively from the ground to look up at the woman.

“Well, it seems you are out of options, Jameson,” Kokabeil had quirked a brow, a small smile on her lips, “but, it appears I’m in need of a butler. What do you say to free room and board in exchange for your services? I’ll let you keep your soul, I promise.”

He had looked at her, suspicion in his gaze as his eyes darted to the snakes that coiled around her, shooting him hungry glares. How could someone with power like that be so… nice? If it were any overlord back in the city, they’d have taken his soul and his free will.

But, the offer didn’t sound too bad, and she didn’t look crazy. Just… lonely. Maybe, staying here would be so bad.

That’s how Jameson had begun working for the retired celebrity he now called master. Weirdly, he didn’t do many things a butler would do.

Sure, he cleaned and was at her beck and call most of the time, but Kokabiel did most of the things on her own. She cooked, tended to her garden which was slowly growing by the day, and kept up on the juicy rumors that circled the city.

Usually, Jameson spent the day as entertainment for her. As an ex-clown in the circus, Jameson had a few tricks up his sleeve he’d showcase for the fallen angel, and she seemed to eat it up with amusement.

Kokabiel’s thoughts towards him? He wasn’t exactly sure. Obviously, she was much kinder to him than anyone else he’d worked for, but her zipped lips on anything related to her past or what kind of demon she was made him unsure.

There were times she got… sad. That was the best way to put it. Jameson never saw her cry or have a tantrum, but sometimes she’d get so sullen even her snakes seemed rather depressed.

And, once a year there was a day that Kokabiel would lock herself away in her room, and would not call for him at all the entire day. Not even for food to feed her snakes. What could make her so depressed for that one day? A lost loved one? Her death day, perhaps?

She rarely mentioned her influential era as one of the largest fashion icons and models Hell had seen, although she didn’t need to with her collection of the seductive, sultry gazes she on the many ripped out pages of magazine covers she had framed on her walls.

The few times he did go into the city, heavily disguised to run errands for Kokabiel, he’d pick up the newest tabloids or fill her ears with the latest gossip circling the entertainment industry.

“That’s what that old fart is up to now?” She had chuckled about an old acquaintance as she moisturized her snakes with a scale-safe lotion, “He used to be an A-list actor, and now he’s selling retinol cream? Ha!”

The snakes had hissed with a chuckle-like sound, mirroring their mother as she coddled them. They still made Jameson nervous, even after all these years, they had a mind of their own, each individual one it appeared. But, they all seemed to have the same thoughts when it came to him: hungry.

Watching the snake finish its snack made Jameson a little uneasy as Kokabiel turned away from the statue and she took another sip of her drink.

“I’m getting tired, Jameson. I think I'm going to go inside, maybe take a nice, warm bath to relax.”

“Would you like me to get the water heated?”

“No, thanks. I can do it myself.” She said, beginning to walk towards the patio doors.

Jameson’s eyes flicked past her shoulder, at the very moment the statue began to sizzle with a powerful energy that even made his curls stand on end.

Red sparks erupted from the front of the statue, right on the pedestal it was standing on which raised a few feet in the air. Jameson could only stare in disbelief as the sparks began to swirl like a vortex, until they burst and sprayed like confetti and a figure materialized an inch off the marble surface.

The tiny stranger landed with a quiet oomf, before she stood on her feet with a slight wobble, her little hands held out in front of her for balance.

Jameson’s eyes flew open at the sight. It was a child! Her platinum-blonde hair disheveled, and her large eyes were darting around the area with confusion and fear.

When her eyes landed on him, she took a tiny step back, her eyes growing wide as she stared nervously at the new face.

“M-m-madam!” Jameson finally croaked, his finger pointed towards the girl with a slight quiver as he tried to get the words out.

“What..?” Kokabiel quirked an eyebrow at his stammering figure. Jameson’s eyes never left the strange girl, and she slowly followed his gaze to the statue.

The toddler and the fallen angel locked eyes, before Kokabiel’s mouth fell open and she stood there silently for a few moments. Charlie’s eyes widened, and she pulled her arms to herself in comfort at the shocked faces.

“What…. is this?” Kokabiel finally spoke slowly, eyes trained on the little being standing awkwardly on the statue. Her snakes lifted their heads slightly, tongues flicking the air as they tried to get a scent of the girl.

“It’s a child, madam,” Jameson whispered.

“I know that! But, how did it get here? What’s the point of having a magical fence if everybody can just walk right through it?!”

“She didn’t get through the fence, madam!” Jameson squeaked, shaking his head furiously as he explained, “She just… appeared here, like out of thin air! I saw it all!”

How could that be possible? There’s no way a child could harness such strong magic. It must be some kind of illusion, trickery by a powerful demon trying to use her empathy to get the best of her!

“You!” Kokabiel pointed an accusatory finger at Charlie, taking a small step forward “How did you get in my garden?”

“Um…” Charlie started, but her words—of what little she had—died in her throat. She only took a step backward, trying to escape from the attention

“You’re trespassing on private property!” Kokabiel continued to stalk forward, she was only a few feet away now, her snakes becoming antsy as they curled around her, hissing softly.

“Oh…”

“Who are you?”

Charlie took another step back, her hair grazing the leg of the marble figure. Where was she?

“…Char—eep!”

Charlie’s heel hit the foot of the statue, and she tripped, her back hitting its leg as she slid awkwardly sideways. Her tiny fingers grasped desperately at the smooth, white stone, but to no avail, as she tumbled right off the edge of the pedestal.

Jameson squeaked in terror, before throwing his hands over his eyes to protect him from any grisly sight. He heard Kokabiel gasp, but no sickening thump or terrible crack of bones meeting the firm ground.

Slowly, he splayed his fingers and lowered his hands, his eyes widening. He stood there gobsmacked at the scene, mouth agape in silence.

Yes, Charlie had been unable to save herself, falling helplessly in the air…. right into the arms of a shocked Kokabiel.

Kokabiel stared wide-eyed at her own reaction to the split second of instinct that propelled her to catch the child. Charlie was tightly secured in her hands, being held at arm's-length as far as possible.

Charlie blinked, before her eyes met those glowing white pupils with a slowly growing smile. She had one hand wrapped around the wrist of the taller woman, as she lifted up her free hand and sent a small, shy wave.

“Hi!”

[art i commissioned for the chapter by ruspettaa]

woahhh nice little(ha!) introduction to my oc, with some cute art of charlie! If I were to ever continue writing this fic, the relationship would be more focused on charlies than lucifers, at least at first. Slow-burn/co-parenting kinda thing bc Koko can def exist without being a relationship with our handsome king. she’s sipping margaritas free as a bird rn.

kokabiel is a loosely based version of the biblical figure with the same name who created the stars and constellations. One of the reasons she fell was for teaching humanity astronomy. A few others fell with her too, but she instead melded into demon society instead of her heavenly counterparts.

the only people that know of her true identity are Hell’s royalty, and Stolas probably has a signed autograph of hers somewhere around his office seeing as his duties are closely bound with her creations.

she’s a business woman too, though i am trying to figure out whether she sells snake-skinned accessories as a fashion line or diluted venom that’s a psychedelic drug which makes you feel all euphoric and stuff. l

I also have no idea who her voice claim is 😭 i imagine it being smooth and buttery like Beyoncé, but i’m sure there’s other voices similar to hers that I haven’t found yet.

i’ve got a comm [by wkyarts51243] in the works that will be styled closer to the show, so here’s a sneak peak i guess ☠️ I’d say her height is slightly shorter than charlie (not counting her horns lol), but I haven’t settled yet.

i have more art (one of her and luci hehe), which i might share either. but you can have the full version of the first art pic, with an extra piece from the same artist 🤭

also making this post so i can cement her backstory and stop changing it up ☠️ it’s its writing officially now yall

anyway, enough rambling, back to writing!! have a great weekend 🤍

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel oc #helluva boss oc #mommy 🤍#look at her so yummy #a literal goddess #hazbin hotel au #hellaverse #lucifer morningstar x oc #that one fic forgot #yes her snakes are souls #they have the same personality as before but cuter

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rosequarzo · 2 months

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hello, I see the request are open *˙︶˙*)ﾉ

how about yingxing x tailor!reader? reader want to surprise yingxing by making something, but then yingxing also thought about the same thing, they didn't find out about it until the day they were about to give the gift (that surprisingly match)

great minds think alike.

૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა • ! yingxing + reader reader is not part of the high cloud dan feng being a wingman the high cloud being a family and rooting for their relationship ☆ warning not proofread . . . !? & 940— catalogue

notes. hi anon, this was a cute idea and i had fun writing it! hope you like it <3

And it’s done!

Your eyes sparkled with pride and satisfaction as you admired the meticulously crafted hanfu you made from scratch. You had spent the past two months making the outfit, pouring your blood, sweat and tears into it. Moving back, you rested your hands on the side of your hips as you admired the result of your hard work.

The deep, enchanting shade of dark blue envelopes the garment, reminiscent of the night sky’s elegance. Intricate gold details of cranes and flowers adorned the edges, weaving through the fabric like glistening constellations. It helps to add a touch of regality to the masterpiece.

You glanced at the clock, only to do a double take when you realized there was only thirty minutes left before the agreed time. Quickly, you sprinted to take a quick shower and changed out of your dirty clothes, wanting to make yourself look presentable.

You hurriedly folded the hanfu, dumping it into a bag and made a mad dash out of your home. You could only pray that you weren’t the final person to arrive and how the others won’t get mad at your poor punctuality. However, it seems like luck wasn’t on your side as you were the last to arrive; much to your hidden dismay and embarrassment.

“Look who’s finally here. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten about today?” Yingxing was the first to acknowledge your incoming presence and of course, he was the first person to make fun of you the moment you joined their group.

Rolling your eyes, you placed the bag down on the stone table. “Haha, very funny, Yingxing. How could I forget about today?”

That’s right, today was the day of Lunar New Year and it was thanks to Baiheng’s suggestion of visiting the Aurum Alley together, as a group. The High Cloud Quintet had recently returned from a long-term mission and they wanted to celebrate the yearly festival with their people. Yingxing was the one who extended the invitation to you and you accepted without a second thought. After all, how could you miss out on an opportunity to spend time together with your crush?

“Wait, it looks like you bought something with you,” Dan Feng spoke up, his eyes fixated on the bag placed before you, faint curiosity seeping into his voice.

His statement alerted the others and they tried to look inside the bag but you pulled it closer towards your chest. Your cheeks flushed red when everyone’s eyes landed on you, with matching expectant expressions on their faces. You didn’t dare to glance at Yingxing, choosing to stare at the table instead; like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

“Ah, I made something for Yingxing and didn’t know if he’ll like it or not…” You mumbled under your breath but thanks to his heightened sense of hearing, Dan Feng was able to pick up your words with ease.

A ghostly smirk flashes across his stoic face before it vanishes in a blink of an eye. Dan Feng rose to his feet, his sudden movement making the rest turn towards him. “I see, it will be best to give you two some privacy then.”

“Huh? Dan Feng, what- wait! What are you doing!?” Baiheng questioned, confused, only to shriek when his tail coiled itself around her waist and roughly tugged her out of her seat. Jingliu and Jing Yuan obediently followed The High Elder out. Your left eyebrow twitched when Jing Yuan gave you a thumbs-up and mouthed ‘good luck’ before walking round a corner, vanishing from your sight.

“Huh, I wonder what’s that about? But never mind them, I’m assuming whatever’s in this bag is for me, right?” The craftsman inquired, getting straight to the point.

You meekly nodded, pushing the bag towards him. Until now, you were still avoiding eye contact but your ears picked up rustling sounds as he picked up the hanfu, lifting it out from the bag. The next three minutes passed in awkward silence and at this point, you swore your heart was about to leap out of your throat with how anxious you were feeling.

“I know it’s probably not your taste but it’s fine. You can return it to me if you don’t like it,” you nearly fumbled over your words as you spoke up.

Yingxing blinked, his eyes darting between your face and the hanfu he was holding. “What? No, I like it. It’s just that I made the same outfit for you too.”

“...What?”

Your eyes widened; shock and surprise was written all over your face when he pulled out a neatly-folded clothing from his side. You accepted the outfit, unfolding it to get a better look of the whole thing. True enough, it was exactly the same: starting from the color to the designs and so on.

Yingxing chuckles, reaching out to lower the clothing so he could look at your face. “I guess that means we’re matching outfits now.”

Meanwhile, the other four had witnessed your entire conversation from the sidelines as they hid themselves from your views. Jing Yuan sighed when he saw how both of you are being painfully oblivious to one another’s feelings.

“How long do you think it’ll take for one of them to confess?” He asked the other two.

“Bold of you to assume they might confess,” Dan Feng retorted, rolling his eyes.

Jingliu merely hums, nodding in acknowledgement. Baiheng on the other hand, was squealing as she coos over how adorable they are.

“I can’t believe Yingxing has grown up! I still remember when he was a shy kid!”

“Baiheng, you’re going to expose us…”

#୨୧ magazine articles #honkai star rail #star rail x reader #star rail imagines #star rail blade #blade x reader #blade imagines #star rail yingxing #yingxing x reader #yingxing imagines #yingxing x you #yingxing x y/n #blade x you #blade x y/n

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sinfulscream · 4 months

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character essay: topaz from honkai star rail

strap your seat belt in, we're going for a ride.

topaz is a debt collector.

now you may start thinking: did belobog commit a tax fraud? if so, how? i thought this was a very interesting thought process. because have you ever considered interplanar debt or financial settlements in sci-fi media? unless if they were sky pirates or very simple transactions of sale and purchase - it is often not explored and perhaps, most might even consider it not interesting.

for those who played the game and dedicated their time to the events, you'll find and agree that the influence of the interastral peace corporation (ipc) is wide - considering they hold a stake in an underused freight vehicle for the aurum alley business event. the ipc was also painted as calculating, for wanting to take back not only the freight vehicle, but any semblance of a bustling city. the ipc is a capitalist loaning body, driven by its "philanthropy", until it's time to reap the benefits."

when topaz walked into the story, that painting proves to have more details - more than just freight vehicles, the ipc could do more than just assistance in business, but repairing an entire planet.

topaz's exterior personality leaves readers with quite literally no hint to who she is or where is she from, aside from her love for animals, but playing the story leaves you to find out that she came from a heavily polluted planet that the only choice left was to leave everything to the ipc. however, it was also because of this upbringing and story that topaz would prioritise survival, more than its people's freedom. after all, protection from natural disaster as well resource allocation for a planet's rebuilding is a tempting deal - especially for belobog, that had only recently been cleared from its stellaron crisis.

not only that, belobog had also borrowed funds from the ipc prior to the planet's isolation from the rest of the world due to its extreme weather. the contract topaz offered to rebuild belobog and employ its citizens under the ipc would clear the arrears owed for over seven centuries.

despite the ipc's opportunistic nature as a body, topaz came to belobog and spoke to bronya with unmatched sincerity. topaz was a character that did not come from a privileged place, yet took the steps to dance alongside the work opportunity she was provided with. even if the contract offered by the ipc was tempting, even she was amazed by the thriving spirit of belobogians, looking toward a future with their intelligence and enduring the coldest blizzards. she could no longer compare the environment between jarilo-vi and her home planet.

despite having objectively failed her mission, she was humble, and did not assert her task more than necessary. if this was what the people of belobog wanted, then she would not force it upon them.

which comes at the cost of her current position, and she was demoted by one rank. even so, she still found beauty on this planet.

as a character, one would assume that her position meant she was always out for money, but she herself said that she was past working for the money, and thus did not mind the pay cut that came with her demotion. but more than that, she maintains a headstrong personality through it all - a marketing expert who knew how to use her story to resonate with potential clients, yet endearing for her love of animals.

she is also noted to be very capable and places the interest of the planet's ahead of work - the probability of success among her planet projects stood at 80%, higher than the ipc's average of 60%.

topaz is a multifaceted businesswoman: friendly with her network, assertive with her staff, a marketing expert and most of all, good-natured. as an experienced businesswoman, her story clashes at the differences in culture and ideals against bronya, a fresh-faced leader trusted by her subjects.

this blog entry was originally posted on stormofblood.

#honkai star rail #hsr #topaz (hsr)#character essay }#character: hsr

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robotsprinkles · 2 years

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Lords of Honour: The Tyrant

Tell me, O Tyrant. What honour is there to be found in war?

— Ailar, Truth of Justice, during the seventh and final siege of Halethe.

The silence is broken by the opening of a wound.

The wound is not in flesh or bone or steel or stone, but in space — in the fabric of reality itself.

It begins as like the cut of a razor: sharp and thin, an almost invisible scar of heat haze that rests unmoving a few feet above the charred stone of the valley floor.

It hovers there, a shimmering suggestion of something more.

From within the wound, beginning like a whisper: a low rumbling, an almost inaudible howl.

In pitch and volume the howling rises, and with it the wound begins to grow. The edges pry apart, distorting the space around them in jagged shimmer, warping light and scorching shadow.

Inside the wound — grown from razor cut to open scar — a window of gold fire burning calm resolution

The flames coil, convulsing radiance, writhing agony.

A figure emerges from the fire, sparks and cinders sloughing off armour the colour of dried blood and splashing against the ground, burning rock and stone away to aurum smoke.

The warlord pauses, a moment’s hesitation. It has been three thousand years since they left this world behind.

Three thousand years of attempting to redeem themselves.

Their halberd glows with gilded light, flames dancing across its crescent blades. Tell me, it asks, its voice a calm rumble of crackling sunfire, for what purpose have you brought us here?

A dry and desolate scream echoes through the valley. It is an old memory. A ghost of suffering long passed.

Gazing out at the slate-grey hills and shattered plains of scorched glass and burnt stone, Kadariv answers thus: “We are here,” they say, “for the purpose of thrones.”

You would bring your throne here? To this sunless corpse of a world?

“I would.”

Kadariv begins to walk.

They walk a long way past barren stone mountains and through fields of shattered glass. Down beneath the crystal earth rest the remnants of meteors fallen from the sky above. The world is lifeless, covered in scars that will never heal, a cold and barren body of dead matter and minerals under a sunless and moonless sky.

Somewhere along the way they pass the remains of a tower that once reached up into the clouds. All that remains is a blackened spire that barely reaches past the shallow hill beside it as if it is nothing more than a snapped bone.

Hours later, they reach their destination. Beneath an amethyst sea of glistening stars, a mountain of colossal stones lies bathed in pale blue light.

What is this? What significance do you see in these pebbles?

Kadariv draws their halberd. Its words have yet to fade.

They press their head against the halberd’s, as if to push all their guilt and regret and sorrow out from them and into their weapon.

“This is where I first came to power,” they say. “Where I built my first throne.”

The halberd falls silent. Its thoughts are a pleasant warmth against Kadariv’s gauntlets.

Your first throne, the halberd says, incredulous. was merely a chair, nothing more. Would you bind yourself to this world for nothing more than nostalgia?

“Sardras, my friend, do you truly think so little of me?”

I think nothing of you, little tyrant. When your petty little spat of a war ends and your Virtues fall and all you amoebic forge-children die forgotten I will rise up from the ruins and laugh at the memory of what you were.

Gifting Sardras the gift of the last word, Kadariv raises him up high above their head.

They pause, taking one last look at the rubble. Sighing, they turn their gaze up towards the stars, and reach for their Absolution.

Silent nothing.

A soft, peaceful hum.

Soft gold aura wreathes around armour and weapon, pulsing in the dark like whispered breaths.

Blue starlight shifts to gold, somber melancholy giving way to bitter guilt.

The smell of coals, and cold metal, and fresh rain.

An earth-shattering roar. The world shakes, the ground groaning beneath the strain.

From Kadariv’s armour erupts a blast of gilded fire, burning stone and glass to clouds of golden smoke.

The fire grows, streaming out in a flood of shimmering waves, rolling over mountains, through valleys and plains, filling caves and empty oceans, enveloping the world in its harsh and burning glow. It rises, reaching up and out, smothering the world from land to sky in its gilt embrace.

Slowly, the flames begin to take form and shape.

The sky clears, the flames coalescing into a glare of four stars sitting high above in silent regard.

The fire recedes from the mountains in an avalanche of sparks, leaving leviathans no longer scarred and battered from millennia of meteor showers, but vast and proud bastion ranges with gilded peaks that melt off into rivers and streams of molten gold.

As the flames descend, they describe newborn forests, the autumn leaves shining as if aflame beneath the sunlight.

Finally, the flames sink down beneath the earth, revealing oceans of liquid gold and fields of orange grass and deserts of pale gold sand.

Kadariv falls to their knees, exhausted. They lean against Sardras, his haft dug into the fresh-born soil. Never before has anyone done this; Throne-binding has existed in theory for centuries, but no-one has yet had the will or the reason to try it. Perhaps, Kadariv thinks, none have had the strength.

I ask again, says Sardras, Why?

“The reasons for which I do this are many,” Kadariv says. “Power. Strategy. Redundancy. Failsafe. History.”

So this is about nostalgia.

“No. Nothing so simple. Nothing so foolish. There is power in deeds, Sardras. and this is where I grew to be what I am. Where I learned to kill, to conquer. Where I slaughtered gods and empires and rebuilt peoples and lands in my image. Where I learned to master force and matter with nothing but my will and mind.”

What will these memories help you when there is no one to share them with? The power they hold is bound to this little space-borne rock; you cannot wield it against any but those who set foot upon it.

“You think too small, Sardras.”

I eat suns, little warlord. I think bigger than you ever could.

“That once was true, but it has not been so for over two thousand years, my friend.”

And whose fault is that?

“Mine, for killing you. Or perhaps yours, for failing to stop me.”

Maybe Kin’s. She was the one who set you to it, after all.

“Perhaps. It matters not. All that does is the truth: you are dead, your bones and scales are now arms and armour for Honour’s purpose, and you are no greater than any other thing that lives or dies.”

We’ll see about that, little tyrant.

“We may. Someday.”

Kadariv rises, looking upon the palace that has risen from the rubble of their old castle.

“To answer your question: Adrath is a farmer; he thinks only about the harvest and the crop. Tlacatl is an ascendant; she thinks only about power. I was a god and an emperor; I was born to hunters and gatherers and forged myself into kingslayer and godslayer. And I did it here, on this world which I made my own.”

They pause, letting their words hang heavy in the air. “I was master of this world, and I am master of this realm. Now in merging them I have made a place in the materia where my word and will alone are Truth and reality — where I can reshape existence to serve my needs and wants. In the event Kinreon falls, this world will serve as our sanctuary.”

For a moment, all is silent.

Then, the slow, mocking laughter of long-dead suns.

If Kinreon falls, you will need much more than sanctuary.

#Digital Painting #Digital art #fantasy art #Writing #Vrateriin #Lords of Honour #My art #Kadariv #My Writing #definitely going to have to edit this at some point #there's a very high chance everything written here is going to change at some point #there's so much worldbuilding and plotting and outlining and basically just everything that I still need to do #and I might end up completely rebuilding everything from the ground up #it's already happened twice #Robotsprinkles draws

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fantasy-fairykingdom · 5 days

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Hearts in Gear

Pairing: Cindy aurum x reader

As you walk into the bustling garage of Hammerhead, the scent of grease and engine oil fills your nostrils. You’re here to get your car fixed, but little do you know, your life is about to take an unexpected turn.

Amidst the clanging of tools and the revving of engines, you catch sight of a young woman with fiery red hair, her face streaked with grease, but her eyes shining with determination. She’s working on a car with such focus that you can’t help but be captivated.

“Hey there,” she says, wiping her hands on a rag as she notices you watching. “Need some help with your car?”

You nod, impressed by her confidence. “Yeah, I think it needs some work.”

She introduces herself as Cindy Aurum, the resident mechanic at Hammerhead. As she examines your car, you can’t help but admire her skill and expertise. But it’s not just her talent that draws you in; there’s something about her smile that makes your heart race.

Over the next few days, you find yourself returning to Hammerhead more often than necessary, just to catch a glimpse of Cindy. Each time you visit, you strike up a conversation, learning more about her passion for cars and her dreams of one day owning her own garage.

One evening, as the sun sets over the horizon, you find yourselves alone in the garage, the air thick with tension. Cindy looks up from her work and meets your gaze, a soft smile playing on her lips.

“You know,” she says softly, “I’ve never met anyone like you before. Someone who shares my love for cars and adventure.”

You feel your heart skip a beat as you realize that you feel the same way. With a nervous smile, you reach out and take her hand, feeling a spark of electricity between you.

As days turn into weeks, your bond with Cindy only grows stronger. You spend your evenings exploring the countryside in your newly repaired car, laughing and talking for hours on end.

One night, under a blanket of stars, you find yourselves parked on a hill overlooking the city, the lights twinkling in the distance. Cindy leans against you, her head resting on your shoulder as you gaze out at the breathtaking view.

“This is perfect,” she whispers, her voice barely audible above the gentle hum of the engine. “Being here with you, it feels like anything is possible.”

You wrap your arm around her, pulling her close as you realize that you never want this moment to end. With a smile, you lean in and capture her lips in a soft, lingering kiss, sealing your love for each other under the watchful gaze of the stars.

From that moment on, Cindy Aurum becomes not just the mechanic who fixed your car, but the love of your life. And as you drive off into the night together, hand in hand, you know that no matter where the road may take you, as long as you’re together, you’ll always find your way home.

One afternoon, Cindy surprises you by taking you on a spontaneous road trip in your newly repaired car. With the wind in your hair and the open road stretching out before you, you feel more alive than ever before.

As you drive through picturesque landscapes and quaint towns, you can’t help but marvel at the beauty of the world around you. And with Cindy by your side, every moment feels like a new adventure waiting to unfold.

As the sun begins to dip below the horizon, you find yourselves stopping at a secluded beach, the waves crashing against the shore in a soothing rhythm. Cindy takes your hand and leads you down to the water’s edge, where you stand together, watching the sunset in silence.

“It’s moments like these that make me realize how lucky I am to have you in my life,” she says softly, her voice filled with emotion.

You pull her into your arms, holding her close as you whisper words of love and devotion. In that moment, with the colors of the sunset painting the sky above you, you know that you never want to let her go.

As night falls, you build a bonfire on the beach, its warm glow casting shadows on the sand as you sit together, sharing stories and laughter late into the night. And as the stars twinkle overhead, you realize that this is where you belong – in Cindy’s arms, with nothing but the sound of the waves and the beating of your hearts to guide you.

As the days turn into months and the months into years, your love for each other only continues to grow stronger. Together, you face life’s challenges with courage and determination, knowing that as long as you have each other, you can overcome anything.

And as you look back on the day you first met at Hammerhead, you can’t help but smile, grateful for the chance encounter that brought you together. For in Cindy Aurum, you have found not just a lover, but a partner, a confidante, and a best friend – someone to share life’s joys and sorrows, its triumphs and its trials, until the end of time.

As your love story with Cindy continues to unfold, you find yourselves building a life together filled with countless cherished memories and shared experiences.

You decide to embark on a new adventure together by opening a garage of your own, fulfilling Cindy’s lifelong dream. With your combined skills and passion for cars, your garage quickly becomes a hub for car enthusiasts and travelers alike.

Every day is an adventure as you work side by side, repairing cars, sharing laughs, and making dreams come true. And through it all, your love for each other only deepens, growing stronger with each passing moment.

But amidst the hustle and bustle of running your own garage, you always make time for each other, stealing quiet moments alone whenever you can. Whether it’s a stolen kiss in between customers or a leisurely drive through the countryside on a lazy Sunday afternoon, you cherish every moment you spend together.

As the years go by, you find yourselves facing new challenges and obstacles, but with Cindy by your side, you know that you can weather any storm. Together, you celebrate life’s triumphs and support each other through its hardships, knowing that as long as you have each other, you can overcome anything.

And as you look back on your journey together – from that fateful day at Hammerhead to the life you’ve built together – you can’t help but marvel at how far you’ve come. For in Cindy Aurum, you’ve found not just a partner, but a soulmate – someone who completes you in every way imaginable.

And as you stand together, hand in hand, watching the sunset on another beautiful day, you know that your love story is just beginning. For with Cindy by your side, the possibilities are endless, and the future is brighter than ever before.

#ffxv x reader #Cindy aurum x reader #cindy aurum #x reader #ffxv

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mortrichor · 1 month

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「 ✦ XIAHUI ✦ 」

how to obtain: paper starskiffs that dance on the breeze

⤷ name: xiahui ⤷ other titles: the dancer among the stars ⤷ age: 200 years old ⤷ pronouns: she/her ⤷ species: foxian

⤷ factions: the xianzhou alliance, the sky-faring commission (on profile) ⤷ path: destruction ⤷ combat type: wind ⤷ world: the xianzhou luofu

⤷ nicknames: xia, madam xiahui

「 lore 」 a former renown fight pilot, xiahui is a mischievous foxian associated with the sky-faring commission. xiahui doesn't work for the sky-faring commission, no not at all. in fact after retiring from being a fighter pilot, she became a performance dancer located in aurum alley. sometimes, she can be found in starskiff haven doing collaborations with the storytellers there.

xiahui is affiliated with the sky-faring commission because she'll occasionally do work for them, usually at the request of yukong. the two of them are close friends following their past as fighter pilots and they share a common interest - caiyi, even more so with caiyi's death being the cause that made them both retire from the sky. xiahui shares a similar response to the medals they received for surviving that battle.

despite xiahui usually causing more trouble than yukong needs, there's a tension between the two women that no one wishes to intrude on. they're close, closer than they tell people and whilst they're both aware of this tension, they're not willing to step over the boundary and make a move on each other.

xiahui may be mischievous but she's quiet without good company. she first meets the astral express crew whilst they're under tingyun's supervision, specifically when they first arrive at the exalting sanctum. xiahui had been there on behalf of the sky-faring commission, completing work within the realm keeping commission when the trailblazer was protecting bailu.

due to this first meeting, she's quite welcoming of her benefactors. always cheerful with her ears perked, xiahui is quick to help whenever she's needed if it's for a friend. despite acting hopeless, just a mere foxian who carries only her dizi, she's quite fearsome in battle, using her melodies to summon paper starskiffs that represent those she once piloted, bending the wind and breeze to attack her opponents.

when on her own, lacking friends or people she's familiar with, xiahui is nonchalant and does not speak much. people who work at the sky-faring commission describe her as a "young foxian kit" whenever she's around yukong, always bouncing around the more stern woman and purposefully winding her up.

「 character description 」 work in progress.

「 combat 」 work in progress.

「 eidolons 」 work in progress.

「 traces 」 work in progress.

「 voice-overs 」 work in progress.

「 notable songs from her playlist 」 ⤷ my type - saint motel ⤷ supermodel - maneskin ⤷ little bad girl - david guetta ⤷ dangerous - kardinal offishall, akon ⤷ troublemaker - olly murs, flo rida

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#( paper starskiffs that dance on the breeze )#( death sentence nav. )#© mortrichor

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vrateriin · 2 years

Text

Lords of Honour: The Tyrant

Tell me, O Tyrant. What honour is there to be found in war?

— Ailar, Truth of Justice, during the seventh and final siege of Halethe.

The silence is broken by the opening of a wound.

The wound is not in flesh or bone or steel or stone, but in space — in the fabric of reality itself.

It begins as like the cut of a razor: sharp and thin, an almost invisible scar of heat haze that rests unmoving a few feet above the charred stone of the valley floor.

It hovers there, a shimmering suggestion of something more.

From within the wound, beginning like a whisper: a low rumbling, an almost inaudible howl.

In pitch and volume the howling rises, and with it the wound begins to grow. The edges pry apart, distorting the space around them in jagged shimmer, warping light and scorching shadow.

Inside the wound — grown from razor cut to open scar — a window of gold fire burning calm resolution

The flames coil, convulsing radiance, writhing agony.

A figure emerges from the fire, sparks and cinders sloughing off armour the colour of dried blood and splashing against the ground, burning rock and stone away to aurum smoke.

The warlord pauses, a moment’s hesitation. It has been three thousand years since they left this world behind.

Three thousand years of attempting to redeem themselves.

Their halberd glows with gilded light, flames dancing across its crescent blades. Tell me, it asks, its voice a calm rumble of crackling sunfire, for what purpose have you brought us here?

A dry and desolate scream echoes through the valley. It is an old memory. A ghost of suffering long passed.

Gazing out at the slate-grey hills and shattered plains of scorched glass and burnt stone, Kadariv answers thus: “We are here,” they say, “for the purpose of thrones.”

You would bring your throne here? To this sunless corpse of a world?

“I would.”

Kadariv begins to walk.

Hours later, they reach their destination. Beneath an amethyst sea of glistening stars, a mountain of colossal stones lies bathed in pale blue light.

What is this? What significance do you see in these pebbles?

Kadariv draws their halberd. Its words have yet to fade.

They press their head against the halberd’s, as if to push all their guilt and regret and sorrow out from them and into their weapon.

“This is where I first came to power,” they say. “Where I built my first throne.”

The halberd falls silent. Its thoughts are a pleasant warmth against Kadariv’s gauntlets.

Your first throne, the halberd says, incredulous. was merely a chair, nothing more. Would you bind yourself to this world for nothing more than nostalgia?

“Sardras, my friend, do you truly think so little of me?”

Gifting Sardras the gift of the last word, Kadariv raises him up high above their head.

They pause, taking one last look at the rubble. Sighing, they turn their gaze up towards the stars, and reach for their Absolution.

Silent nothing.

A soft, peaceful hum.

Soft gold aura wreathes around armour and weapon, pulsing in the dark like whispered breaths.

Blue starlight shifts to gold, somber melancholy giving way to bitter guilt.

The smell of coals, and cold metal, and fresh rain.

An earth-shattering roar. The world shakes, the ground groaning beneath the strain.

From Kadariv’s armour erupts a blast of gilded fire, burning stone and glass to clouds of golden smoke.

Slowly, the flames begin to take form and shape.

The sky clears, the flames coalescing into a glare of four stars sitting high above in silent regard.

As the flames descend, they describe newborn forests, the autumn leaves shining as if aflame beneath the sunlight.

Finally, the flames sink down beneath the earth, revealing oceans of liquid gold and fields of orange grass and deserts of pale gold sand.

I ask again, says Sardras, Why?

“The reasons for which I do this are many,” Kadariv says. “Power. Strategy. Redundancy. Failsafe. History.”

So this is about nostalgia.

“You think too small, Sardras.”

I eat suns, little warlord. I think bigger than you ever could.

“That once was true, but it has not been so for over two thousand years, my friend.”

And whose fault is that?

“Mine, for killing you. Or perhaps yours, for failing to stop me.”

Maybe Kin’s. She was the one who set you to it, after all.

We’ll see about that, little tyrant.

“We may. Someday.”

Kadariv rises, looking upon the palace that has risen from the rubble of their old castle.

For a moment, all is silent.

Then, the slow, mocking laughter of long-dead suns.

If Kinreon falls, you will need much more than sanctuary.

#my writing #my art #fantasy art #Kadariv #Lords of Honour #Sardras #Uneshindra-Eaosta #Absolvent Thrones #Thronebinding

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charlieweasleyxmc · 3 years

Text

June 1991

Graduation

(Y/N) tweaked her graduation robes until they were situated correctly in place. And then, with a flurry of her wand for a finishing touch, she said, “Tactus aurum.”

A halo of light lifted around her and then fell, falling onto her sleeves and other parts of the draping cloth. When it settled on the black fabric, it turned into starlight sparkles of gold.

The final task of any Hogwarts student, picking the spell to bequeath to their graduation robes.

“You ready?” Chiara peeked her head inside, her own robes lined with silver, and if one looked closely enough…wolves.

“I like your robes,” (Y/N) smiled, reaching her silver haired friend.

Chiara gave her a grin that was almost more a baring of teeth and (Y/N) laughed. It felt like a mirthful laugh and she let herself feel it, let herself treasure it and lift her up.

The way down to the great hall was not clogged like it usually was. Indeed, all the younger students were reportedly already down there, in their places so that the seventh years, the graduates could arrive last.

As (Y/N) and Chiara approached the back hallways, the thin corridors that led to the back of the great hall and the room behind it, she caught sight of more than a few of her fellow classmates. Diego Caplan’s robes were a sunshine yellow. Tulip Karasu’s blue robes sported exploding fireworks actually exploding on the fabric, sucking in and then exploding again. Liz Tuttle’s robes were the simple graduate black, but had a tiny picture niffler running along the fabric so that one tried to keep track of him only to lose sight of him again.

Chiara broke off from (Y/N) to talk to them right outside the room while (Y/N) entered alone to the sight of even more of her seventh year friends.

Badeea Ali in robes of moving falling stars; Talbott Winger, with a full raven, wings spread wide, on the back of his; Merula and Barnaby in robes of emerald green, though Barnaby’s had tiny bowtruckles running all over it, Ismelda in robes somehow even blacker than the rest of them; Penny Haywood in light yellow robes with flowers drifting to land on the bottom, so that the flowers were slowly building up at her hem; and Ben Copper, a moving, roaring lion on the back of his robes.

(Y/N) smiled when three familiar figures approached her.

Jae wore scarlet robes with a golden sheen that (Y/N) swore looked like tiny galleons in the shifting light. Andre wore robes with more delicate spells than any of them, moving brooms around the collar and other hem lines, delicate and artful stitching in other places that he no doubt did himself, and delicate, but polished buttons. (Y/N) smiled when she saw Tonk’s robes.

Dora wore robes that faded from pink the color of her hair to the truest white at the bottom, and along the hems, wands and dragons.

(Y/N) felt her eyes well with tears at the homage to Charlie.

“What do you think they are gonna do?” Andre asked, shifting his robes so that they sat straighter on him.

(Y/N) shook her head, but it was Dora who answered.

“Whatever it is, it’s going to be memorable.”

(Y/N) smiled then, “things at Hogwarts always are.”

“Graduates!” Professor Flitwick whisper shouted from the front of the room, closest to the doors out into the Great Hall. “It’s time!”

Her peers hustled to get in line, those in the hallway called back in by other students and they all filed into one long single file line. She found herself, not by accident, right behind Nymphadora Tonks.

And suddenly the doors were opened, and the first person in line, Murphy was ushered out in his announcer inspired robes, followed shortly by Skye Parkin in quidditch robes.

The line shifted forward. (Y/N) felt herself shuffling forward, just focusing on keeping track of the end of Dora’s robes in front of her.

More people were called out. (Y/N) could hear mumbled speaking, mumbled cheers from the hallway, and one by one, her friends left the room stepping out into the Great Hall beyond.

She could just make out part of the doorway above the heads of the other graduates; all she could see through that little bit of window was the ceiling of the Great Hall.

Sunset, to match the time of day and no doubt what was happening outside the walls of this castle as the day turned to night, evening turned to dusk.

Another graduate, Badeea this time, left out into the hallway and (Y/N) watched her and then three others follow with baited breath.

Ben, then Barnaby, Ismelda then Merula, Diego, then Talbott and Tulip. Liz, then Chiara, and finally, Jae.

That’s when (Y/N) looked behind her and realized she was the last person in line.

She exhaled.

Andre left through the doors, leaving only her, Professor Flitwick, and Dora in the room when suddenly Dora turned around, stopping, and pulled her wand from her robes.

“May I?” she asked, gesturing to (Y/N)’s robes.

(Y/N) nodded and Dora reached out, waved the wand over her head.

And Dora spoke, her voice sure, but soft, softer than (Y/N) had ever heard it.

“Memini Doni.”

Golden stars fell before (Y/N)’s eyes, blurring her vision as they landed on her robes. She looked at her right cuff, where one of the golden stars landed amid the ones she had placed on her robes earlier, but this one exploded when it hit.

And it turned into a phoenix.

The phoenix flew off, across her robes and she watched as another star landed, this one exploding into a snitch.

She watched the snitch fly off as another star landed right beside it on her arm and a book exploded into the fabric, flapping like wings. As the stars landed, they all exploded; a thunderbird, then a cauldron, a broom, then a bowtruckle; a feather, then a scarf, a bubble then a puffskein, and a firework. Altgoether, the items soared across the fabric, manifesting in shades of gold.

The last star, the one yet to land, floated above (Y/N)’s nose before falling, landing and exploding somewhere on the bottom of her robes.

She saw a shifting of wings, and then the creature soared up, flying out of sight as it circled behind her back.

But it reappeared, launching itself right onto her right arm and curling up around it.

(Y/N) found herself reaching with her left hand to touch the dragon, the gold embossing on her robes shimmering with its scales.

She meant to thank Dora, but all that came out of her mouth was:

“I miss him.”

Dora laid her hand right over (Y/N)’s.

“Me too.”

She turned from her and stepped up the steps.

“Dora?!”

She turned back.

“Thank you.”

Dora turned back, glancing back just once , smiling, before she stepped out into the Great Hall to a roar of cheers.

(Y/N) felt a few tears fall from her face, landing on her robes and making the golden parts of the fabric shimmer even more.

“Whenever you’re ready, Miss (Y/LN),” Professor Flitwick spoke from where he stood right beside the door.

(Y/N) took a long pull of breath, looking up.

“I’m ready.”

The crowd cheered just as they had when the others had entered the hall, and altogether, the graduates stood together on the stage, holding hands, before they were permitted to move to their seats and their house tables, right in the front. Honors were announced then, as well as students who received varying academic awards for various subjects. (Y/N) barely heard they announced her award for defeating and finally breaking the curse on all the cursed vaults in the school.

But she did hear when they announced the awards for Care of Magical Creatures astounding N.E.W.T.S. and honors.

Lizard Tuttle, Barnaby Lee, (Y/N) (Y/LN), and finally, Charlie Weasley, for the award of most outstanding caretaker of all magical creatures, demonstrating the most bravery and compassion in any field.

(Y/N) smiled, touching the dragon on her arm as she watched Professor Dumbledore make his speech to the graduates. At the end, he spoke four words that she had never heard him say before.

“Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!”

The whole crowd cheered when the feast appeared before them, everyone found themselves filling themselves to their fullest, as well as traveling around the room to hug various other graduates, or in the younger students’ cases, hugging graduates that they would miss.

It was long after the sky overhead had turned to starlight, the candles floating in the air trying to reflect the light from the heavens that the heads of houses collected all the graduates, leading them out of the hall and through a side corridor first. They waited for a while, talking among themselves when Professor McGonagall finally let them all exit out a side door of the castle, into the starlight and out onto the grounds right before the Black Lake.

It was only then that (Y/N) realized what was going on when she saw the little boats on the shore, lanterns at their prows, and Hagrid standing on the sand before them.

She glanced back up at the castle, seeing the lights of dozens of lanterns and candles and the shapes of hundreds in front of the doors to the castle, notably among them, a candle lit a figure with long robes and a silver beard.

She could have sworn she saw him smile before she followed the others down to the beach and helped them all get into the boats.

“Forward!” Hagrid called and they all felt the boats lurch forward and they sailed across the Black Lake, under a sky of stars, and away from Hogwarts.

(Y/N) glanced back once more, glimpsing the sight of all the lights in the castle, the towers and turrets, and the crowd of people with lanterns and candles right before the doors, all of which she could only see the lights.

Then she turned back, gazing towards the other side of the lake and the train that she knew was there.

This is the end of Year 7! Stay tuned for more!Comment with the Hogwarts house you’re in and a description of your Mc!

#charlie weasley #charlie weasley fanfiction #charlie weasley x jacob's sibling #charlie weasley x mc #charlie weasley x reader #charlie weasley x you #harry potter fanfic rec #harry potter fanfiction #hogwarts mystery #hogwarts mystery charlie #hogwarts mystery fanart

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naerysthelonesome · 3 years

Text

Before I Go

A Jeyna fic no one asked for.

Listened to folklore again and was cursed with feelings. I’m sorry.

Please, picture me in the trees I hit my peak at seven Feet in the swing over the creek I was too scared to jump in But I, I was high in the sky With Pennsylvania under me Are there still beautiful things?

Reyna, Jason had found in the two years he’d known her, did not tell people things about herself. And she sure as hell did not talk about her childhood. So he was surprised and more than a little gratified when she’d decided to tell him about her life in San Juan.

He couldn’t stop thinking of her now, as a happy little girl with untidy braids and a bright smile, strolling the cobbled streets with her big sister. Dancing around in the dappled shadows of the banana trees as the salty breeze blew past.

She’d told him of how she’d tried to catch a Coqui frog once, but had failed spectacularly. She gotten herself scratched up and muddied, and ripped all her clothes. Her older sister, she’d said, could be scary when she was mad, and Hylla had been infuriated at the state of her when she got back from the field. She spoke of that summer like it had been the best one of her life.

He couldn’t begin to make sense of how he felt about Reyna, but knew without a doubt that he liked the idea of spending a summer with her in San Juan. They could walk down the streets and she could point out her favorite cats, and trees, and rocks, and he’d make sure to remember every single one of them. They could spend long days with the old men playing dominoes, sucking on Piraguas without a care in the world.

But he knew these were just dreams, memories of a life long gone. Reyna barely spoke about her home town, let alone made plans to go back. Jason was not nearly dense enough to believe her life back then had been all sunshine and beautiful colours. They were demigods, and all demigods had monsters. Maybe someday, Reyna would tell him about hers.

Sweet tea in the summer Cross your heart, won't tell no other And though I can't recall your face I still got love for you Your braids make a pattern Love you to the Moon and to Saturn Passed down like folk songs The love lasts so long

Jason was nothing more than a ghost now. Barely even a lare, who unlike himself, could be seen and talked to. That was alright. He wasn’t here to be perceived.

He’d tried to visit his friends multiple times over the months since he’d died- to see them one last time, for just a moment of closure- but this was the first time he’d had any success.

Of course the first person he came to see had to be Reyna. He’d missed her more than he knew he could miss a person. He supposed it was because he hadn’t so much as had a proper conversation with his best friend since Juno had so rudely snatched him away. And then it had taken so much time, time he only later realized he didn’t have to waste, for his memories to return fully. All he’d had of her for so long had been a space in his heart where she should have fit. Not a name, or a face, but a feeling. He wished he’d had more time to find his way back to her.

Reyna meant more to him than he had ever told her, and familiar regret came bubbling up like bile in his throat. Wasn’t the afterlife supposed to give him peace? But how could there be peace when there she sat, thick braid hanging loosely over her shoulder, sharpening her silver dagger? She looked so beautiful in the moonlight, her breath fogging up in the cold air seeming to breathe life into his dead soul. He’d never stopped loving her.

He was glad she’d found a home with the Hunters of Artemis. For the first time in a long time, she looked free. And while it meant they wouldn’t meet again anytime soon, he was glad to know she had the chance to live a long, long life. One full of the adventures and love and happiness she deserved. A small, perhaps selfish part of him hoped she wouldn’t forget him along the way.

And I've been meaning to tell you I think your house is haunted Your dad is always mad and that must be why I think you should come live with me And we can be pirates Then you won't have to cry Or hide in the closet And just like a folk song Our love will be passed on

Wanting to strangle someone that didn’t exist was a strange feeling, but one that was evoked in Jason every time Reyna mentioned her father. Neither of them had had happy childhoods or good parents, it seemed. Well, that was something to bond over.

It hadn’t been easy for Reyna to talk about him, which he understood, especially now that he knew how that story ended. He didn’t blame her one bit for what she’d done, but couldn’t help but wish she hadn’t had to make such a decision at all. The burden it seemed she would always bear was heavy, and she shouldn’t have been made to carry it at all. Not speaking ill of the dead kept getting harder by the second.

Maybe if her story had gotten better after she and Hylla had run away, his nerves wouldn’t be feeling so shot. Circe’s island should have been an escape. With its sandy beaches, and palm trees, and miles of sparkling blue ocean Reyna liked to describe in such detail. But no. All the adults in their lives had to be exploitative bastards. Reyna hadn’t sounded too angry about it though. She’d laughed as she recounted her tales of turning pirates into guinea pigs, coerced into the act as she may have been. Jason couldn’t lie- he saw the allure.

Speaking of pirates- the one’s Reyna had escaped with unfortunately hadn’t been the swashbucklery kind either. They’d been the cut-throat, cruel kind and now Reyna couldn’t stand sea shanties anymore; which was alright with Jason since he couldn’t sing anyway. The only reason the sisters had to escape with them at all had been because two upstart demigods she refused to divulge the names of, decided to blow up the island. Jason couldn’t decide whether he wanted to smack them upside the head for it, or thank them profusely for unwittingly steering Reyna to Camp Jupiter.

He hoped that here, she’d finally found a home and a place to rest. It wasn’t perfect, not even close, but she was making it hers. Reyna was already well on her way to becoming a praetor, and he knew she’d make one of New Rome’s finest.

Please, picture me in the weeds Before I learned civility I used to scream ferociously Any time I wanted

Jason often wondered how Reyna had thought of him after she’d found out about his history. There hadn’t been much he’d been able to remember about his own childhood. He’d been only two years old when he’d been given to Lupa, and all his memories of a family were little more than a blur. His home had been Camp Jupiter for most of his life, and he truly couldn’t remember another.

When he’d told her all he could remember of how it was to be raised by a wolf, she’d only looked amused. She’d simply looked him up and down and laughed. She had a cute laugh, all snorts and shaking shoulders. He didn’t always understand the things that made her laugh, but laughing with her felt so natural he did it every golden time.

He wondered if she’d had anyone to laugh with when he was taken away. Had she missed him? Every memory he’d had of her had been snatched away, but there were some people with whom you were so completely intertwined, even the Gods couldn’t untangle the strings. Perhaps he couldn’t place a name to what had been missing, but he had remembered her. Even in death, he would remember.

Sweet tea in the summer Cross your heart, won't tell no other And though I can't recall your face I still got love for you Pack your dolls and a sweater We'll move to India forever Passed down like folk songs The love lasts so long

What he wouldn’t give to go back and have one last Hot Chocolate with her in the Garden of Bacchus, to speak one more sentence in Spanish (Te amo, Reyna) and hear her snort at his accent, to brush her hair behind her ear once more. He hadn’t told her nearly enough times, how much he’d loved her laugh.

What he wouldn’t give to have one last chance to confess to her how he felt, with Aurum and Argentum there so she knew none of it was a lie.

But there was nothing he could give to turn back time, or build himself a different fate. They could only be together now in stories, and memories, and alternate universes. If there were any kind Gods left, perhaps in an afterlife that wouldn’t come for centuries.

Maybe he should feel sadness or loss, looking at her now for the last time. Mourn the loss of all the happiness they could have had together. He was going to leave again without a way to say goodbye or wish her well or have her look at him, but all he felt was contentment. She sat around a glowing fire, surrounded by her friends and sisters, singing soft campfire songs and telling stories of old. Maybe someday, she’d narrate their story too.

Jason finally found peace in the knowledge that his girl was going to be okay.

#jeyna #jeyna angst #they were soulmates #jason grace #reyna avilla ramirez arellano #jason x reyna #jeyna fanfiction #jason is a ghost in this one #my sincerest apologies #just assume Thalia is elsewhere #and Reyna did tell him about her childhood #because of course she did! They were besties #seven

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op-peccatori · 4 years

Text

Selenophile (M) | IkeVamp Comte

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire

Pairing: Comte de Saint-Germain/Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit/18+/NSFW

Word Count: 5k

Summary: You’re just a girl who fell in love with the moon, and got lucky enough to have him love you back.

a/n: Always thought Leonardo would be my first, and then Faa happened (~˘▾˘)~ All those Daddy Comte conversations sent a hoe tumbling into love. Also told myself this was going to be short and sweet, and in doing so, played myself. Sorry about that.

Also, for Thirst Purposes, we’re going to believe that Comte can bite her without turning her.

Warnings/Tags: explicit sexual content, vaginal and oral sex, mentions of blood due to vampire bite, this is my love letter to Daddy Comte, pretend im v romantic, also another episode where I had fun with online translators French speakers please don’t kill me

Selenophile (n.) a person who loves the moon.

“Here’s the next stack, and please, try to finish them before dinner?”

Collecting the last of the stray envelopes on the desk, you jog them and place the stack in one corner. Narrowed, aurum eyes watch you over the top of a letter. “These aren’t quite as urgent, so you can have a look at them later.”

“Mm,” the Count sighs into his cup for the fifth time, no doubt waiting for you to turn around to see what’s got him so down. Your eyes drift to the ostentatious bouquet of roses in the corner of the room, a soft, blush pink this time, before you squint at the seal on the last envelope. Placing it on top of the pile in front of him, you smile down at his pursed lips and pleading eyes.

You know the gentlemanly persona is just one of the many facets of the Count’s personality, and it seems to be the one he chooses to adopt when amongst company. Your relationship thus far has been nothing short of an adventure, complete with adversaries and sacrifices, and a man that can take your breath away with just one little smile.

He loves, and lives to spoil you. He delights in drawing you into his arms and kissing you as he stealthily clasps delicate necklaces around your neck and slips bracelets set with sparkling gems onto your wrists. It still makes you uncomfortable at times, but the way his eyes shine when he admires the way they rest against your skin, a pleased smile tugging at the corners of his lips–it kills any real motivation to protest.

And when he undresses you, with a soft-spoken request to keep the jewellery on, you’re hard-pressed to find any real reason to object. It’s all part of his favourite evening game; with you completely bare, wearing just the priceless trinkets he’s picked out for you. His seat of preference is the armchair he pulls up to the front of the bed, from where he calls out his requests for you. You can say no, you’re expected to tell him if anything makes you uncomfortable, but when he tells you to spread your legs a little more, to finger yourself a skosh slower, nearly panting as the smell of your arousal–all you feel is hot, dizzying lust.

To see the wild lust lurking beneath that noble veneer, to open your eyes, trembling through the aftershocks of an orgasm, and see the sheer hunger in his face as he strokes his cock. The way his fangs sink into you speaks of rapidly fraying control, sending agonizing ecstasy pumping through you as he makes you come again.

You enjoy teasing him. It’s a dangerous game to play in front of the ever-observant residents, especially a certain author who would love nothing more than to see you seduce their sire. You had nearly gotten caught just once, when he had had enough of your games.

A brush of your fingers, over his shoulder. A stroke of your thumb over his knuckles, and if you were feeling bold, weaving your fingers through his hair. A lingering kiss on the corner of his mouth and feel the air between you grow heavy. Just a quick pet at the nape of his neck and pulling away before he could lean into your touch.

He always catches on almost right away, and gives you serene smile in response, a gentle warning. Only once had his patience spun out of his control and he pinned you to a bookshelf in the library, slipping a hand under your dress as he crushed his mouth to yours, hissing when he discovered the lack of a barrier between your legs.

You were sure he would have taken you right there if not for the sudden, loud whistling of a jaunty tune–a hint that you weren’t alone in the library. Still, he had considered it for a moment. You could tell by the look on his face–all he had to do was make sure you stayed quiet.

But then Leonardo started singing, completely off-key and almost insistently, as if warning him off. It was the confused whispers from Isaac, no doubt wondering if Leonardo had lost his mind, that finally had your beau stepping away.

Even now, as you pour him his afternoon tea, you can feel his eyes doing a full sweep of your figure, longing and wondering. He’d been away on business for the past two weeks and you’ve missed him terribly. He had only gotten back yesterday, and you’ve somehow had your hands full with errands and tasks for the residents and no time to spend in his arms.

Although, if you must be perfectly honest, you have had a little fun leaving him with affectionate kisses and tender whispers before you rush off to attend to the next task.

“How is your day going, ma chérie?” he asks, accepting the cup with a soft smile.

“Well enough, I’d say. Sebas is going to teach me how to make coq au vin, so please look forward to that!” you inform him, stars in your eyes. You pretend not to notice the way his smile grows just a tad strained, no doubt at the realization that you’ll have your plate full today as well.

“I can’t wait to try it.” His sincerity is genuine, though, and you have to restrain yourself from climbing into his lap, striding over to the door instead. “Darling?”

You turn back to see him hesitating, searching your face for something before sinking back into his armchair.

“Have a wonderful day.”

There’s hunger in his eyes and your heart pounds within its cage.

“You too. I love you,” you add, unable to help it, and you’re glad you did because of the tiny smile curling along his mouth as he echoes the words back at you.

This waiting game can’t go on much longer. He hasn’t lost his composure the way you had secretly hoped to see, but it seems that his patience is running out.

You rarely find chances to spend together during the day, and today is no different. Dinner takes up much of your time, and after you find yourself swept up in conversation with Napoleon and Isaac, cleaning up takes more time than you had hoped.

As Sebastian shares what he had discovered about Napoleon’s sparring preferences, while you dissolve into helpless giggles at his enthusiastic reenactment as you scrub the dishes, the Count stops by for more tea.

“Ah, still here? It’s quite late, you must be tired.” He watches over the rim of his teacup as you study at a plate, before wiping at a barely-visible smudge.

“We’re nearly done, Sir. Not to worry though, it’s always fun when we work together,” your companion assures him, and you shoot him a quick grin.

“That’s right. And we do make a great time, don’t we?” You raise your hand, and with a half-hearted roll of his eyes, Sebastian smacks his palm against yours.

“I suppose we do.”

You turn to Comte just in time to catch his small smile, and your own fades slightly as he turns to leave with a low, murmured goodnight.

Even as you hurry through your bath, rushing to your room to change and don a thin robe, the hint of melancholy in his smile stays with you and apprehension courses through your veins.

It wasn’t quite jealousy. It’s tempting to play that game, but usually, you avoiding it. He’s a gentle, benevolent man, but the Count does not wear jealousy well. Thankfully, the only resident you run into on your way to his room is Vincent, who asks no questions, only wishing you a pleasant night with a knowing smile.

His chambers are empty and you find him standing in the balcony instead, the summer evening pleasant and soothing on your skin as you step out. His head is tilted back, and you realize he seems to be studying the night sky. With the soft, shimmering moonlight eager to paint him in its subtle tones, there’s an ethereal glow beneath his skin.

He shines brighter in the sunlight, but in this moment he truly looks like one untouched by the grasping hands of death in any of its forms, blessed by Selene herself or perhaps, she chose another form, one that is surely far more beautiful than any other. You wonder if that makes you Endymion, the spellbound mortal to his smitten immortal, desperate to do whatever it takes so you never leave his side, destined to be together forever–but only in your dreams.

“Come join me, ma chérie.” He sounds almost distracted, and curiosity bubbles up as you step up next to him.

He’s more underdressed than you’ve ever seen him outside his room; clad only in his white shirt and slim pants. He always appears to be svelte, but with the soft fabric stretching taut over his shoulders, clinging to his narrow waist, you can only try to keep your eyes off his backside. An unbuttoned collar reveals a slender neck, his tie hanging loosely over his chest, his sleeves rolled up to his toned forearms, a glass of half-finished blanc in one hand.

He doesn’t look away from the sky, staring at the stars as if they hold the answer to all his questions. You choose to look at the moon while it observes the stars, studying him quietly, wanting to get closer before thinking better of it and coming to a halt, waiting for him to gather his thoughts.

Always out of reach, but always returning to you.

Or perhaps you’re the moonflower instead. Yearning for the light, for it to find you. With its quiet, yet all-consuming love; too bright for you at times, but even if you close your eyes you know its there, its soft light embracing you, giving itself over to you and sinking into your bones, its love unchanging. You thrive in his arms, blooming to life at his touch, the marks left on your skin always fading but you’re content to keep the one left on your heart, a quiet claiming.

He sighs and rakes a hand through his hair, caramel bangs falling haphazardly over his forehead, before turning to you with a rueful smile that breaks you out of your musing. He finishes his drink with one last sip and sets the glass down to the side, on top of the balustrade.

“Forgive me, darling. I’m feeling a little out of sorts tonight.”

The muted atmosphere falls away as he turns his back on the sky to look at you, and you wonder if the stars think him foolish for it.

“Anything I can help with?” You take his hand in yours, clasping it between your palms and watch as a hint of mischief upturns his lips. And you realize it doesn’t matter if all the planets in the sky call you fools, as long as he never stops smiling at you.

“Perhaps. All day, I feel as if my most precious, mon trésor, has been a tad elusive.” He reaches out to tuck an errant lock of your ear behind your ear, his finger trailing down the length of your jaw as you tilt your head, adopting a thoughtful look.

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“Not at all,” he agrees, assuming a downcast expression, although his eyes still glint with purpose. “Every time I reach for her, she slips right through my fingers, leaving with me nothing but the memory of her warmth.”

“Oh, but that’s dreadful,” you gasp, holding his hand up to your chest. “What fool would try to elude you?”

He smiles a little, leaning in conspiratorially, his mouth ghosting the shell of your ear. You can barely keep from smiling as your stomach clenches in your anticipation.

“One who takes joy in teasing her poor, desperate lover,” he breathes, winding an arm around your waist as you try to slip away, your palms braced against his firm chest. “All day, she smiles at me, and with every smile I’m left wanting nothing more than to kneel before her and take everything she chooses to give me.”

His next breath leaves him on a shudder as you turn your head, your lips skimming the length of his jaw.

“With a man like you, is there really ever a choice? You make a woman want to give you everything she has.”

His smile is truer as he kisses the tip of your nose, while the hand on your hip inches lower. His eyes are bright, almost glowing and you’re struck mute as you watch his long lashes flutter. “As I should. After all, when a woman holds the power to take her lovesick fool apart with a smile, the fool can only try to aim for the same.”

“If this fool tries anymore, there won’t be anything left to take.”

“And, perhaps, then I’ll stop fearing her distance.” His lips trace the length of your neck, his nose pressing to your skin as he inhales deeply. “And the fear of her being ripped from my arms will fade.”

You press your lips to his temples, love and sadness tight leashes around your heart. “Then I suppose I’ll keep giving you everything I have.”

His palm slides further down to cup the swell of your rear. “Your love?”

You kiss his cheek. “You have it.”

His licks at the pulse point on your neck, and you tremble in his grasp. “Your body?”

“Yours.” A gasp leaves you when he sucks at the skin harshly, satisfied at the mark blooming to life. There’s a scrape of something sharp against soft flesh, and your knees grow weaker when you realize it’s the sharp-edged tip of a fang.

“Your happiness?” He tugs at the sash holding your robe together, loosening it to reveal your underthings. Brimming with his desire, his eyes are molten gold as they bore into yours.

“With you.” He kisses you, gentle and deep. Your hands meet at the nape of his neck, tugging him down so you can slip your tongue into his mouth. A low noise of protest escapes you as he pulls away to kiss his way up to your ear.

“And yet, you’ve been denying us both the pleasure of each other’s company.” He nips at the lobe of your ear, squeezing your ass gently, his tone dipping into something sly as he continues. “Then I see you laughing without a care with Sebastian. I...I cannot help but wonder if I’ve robbed you of the happiness you deserve.”

You can’t help the quick roll of your eyes. “Any happiness I deserve is the kind I want.” Your fist the hair at the back of his head, tugging it back to look him in the eyes. They waver in the face of your fierce affection, his lips parted as you tug harder, but you don’t back down. “And I want you.”

He sighs, but his chest quivers beneath your touch.

“Such ferocity. And no power in the world could make me give that up.” He isn’t teasing anymore, but he slips a thigh between your legs, using his grip on your ass to pull you forward. Your fingers dig into his shirt as you try not to gasp. “Ah, I’m afraid you are stuck with me.”

You run a hand through his hair as he ducks his head to pepper kisses all over your neck, and down to your collarbone.

His tongue draws slow, maddening circles over your skin. “So earlier in the kitchen...that wasn’t an attempt to drive me to jealousy?”

“I barely have to attempt, but no, it wasn’t.” You hide a sly smile in his hair. “Why, were you actually jealous?”

“I’ll admit I do find myself rather put out when I can’t have you all to myself. And knowing how deeply you’re coveted…” He pauses. “So you were playing games.” He lifts a breast from the soft fabric of your bustier, tucking the cloth underneath as he squeezes it gently. Even as your body begins to throb under his ministrations, you throw a nervous look over his shoulder to ensure nobody’s in the gardens. “And the roses you received in my absence?”

You roll your eyes, half-hearted this time, even as your heart attempts to inch its way to your throat. “A gift for you, no doubt, from your oldest friend.”

He chuckles, soft and dark, and it goes straight to your pussy “A gift for me they were not. Perhaps an attempt to entice my lady love while I was away?”

“A failed one, then. My heart is perfectly content where it is,” you retort, a pleased smile breaking across his expression before he clears his throat and looks at you seriously.

“Even so. The very thought of somebody else’s hands on you–a touch uninvited by us, that is–I will not stand for it.”

“What do you suggest we do, then?” A soft palm slips down his abdomen, and he smirks down at you.

“I have a few suggestions. Each more depraved than the previous, and none you will approve of.”

His mouth closes over a nipple, sucking harshly, and this time you do moan.

“So-somebody might hear us!” Even so, you push his thigh back to push your hips into his, your lips parting at the press of his clothed arousal between your legs.

“Good. I feel that they can all do with a reminder of who you chose. Including me.” He bites down and you’re helpless to your combined lust in the way you grind against his erection. “This should be a fact they can never forget.“

In a quick movement, he’s shifted your positions, leaving you half-sitting on the balustrade. And then he’s sinking down to his knees, urgently planting hot kisses on the inside of your thighs as he spreads them. You can’t tear your eyes away from the entrance to the balcony, afraid that someone will walk in.

A soft click catches your attention and, incredulous, you look down to see him looking all too pleased with himself, holding your foot up to admire a delicate anklet studded with–

“Those better not be real,” you warn, and he simply smiles at you, pressing his lips to your ankle as his other hand slides up your leg. His tongue traces the skin surrounding the jewelled band, and all the fight leaves you, not that there was much of it in the first place.

He looks happy, after all.

He pets your clothed sex, moving on too smoothly for your liking. “Sometimes, I wonder. What would they think, if they smell you on my breath?”

He pulls the barrier of your panties aside; you can barely suck in a breath before you feel his tongue, hot and deliberate as it sweeps along your glistening slit.

“My, my. You’re nearly drenched. Does making me suffer bring you this much pleasure?” he teases, smiling up at you before closing his lips around your swelling clit. Your teeth sink into your lip as you hold your voice back, but he presses his teeth to the flesh, almost biting lightly and a loud cry forces its way out. Your hands are wrapped around the surface of the railing, knuckles white with strain, and with each second he spends sucking at your bundle of nerves your moans get frustratingly louder. “Good girl, let me hear you.”

You freeze when voices from the garden reach your straining ears. His tongue pushes past your entrance.

He won’t stop.

You can feel it building in you, the slow, familiar sweep of pleasure ready to greet you, and you know you don’t really want the others to hear you scream as you come. Your thoughts begin to cloud over, and you have to act.

“Please?” you whimper, threading your fingers through his hair. He freezes in place. “Not here.”

He peeks up at you, groaning when he catches sight of your face, lower lip jutting out and eyes pleading with him. “Princess, how am I supposed to punish you when you make that face?”

“I’m sorry,” you say as sincerely as possible, your smile clear in your voice.

“I shouldn’t be lenient,” he mutters, kissing the skin where your thigh meets your hip. “And it’s so lovely out here.”

You reach down to cup his cheek, unwavering in the face of his pouting. It’s the Van Gogh brothers down in the gardens, and you’re sure one of them will end you if you subject his brother to the sight of the Count taking you in the balcony. “Do you really want someone to see us?”

He hums, kissing your palm. “Maybe.”

You fight to keep the grin off your face as you school your face into something thoughtful and shy. “I could...I could show you how I’ve been touching myself while you’ve been away. I’ve missed you so much, I...did it almost every day.”

He stares at you.

“You, mon coeur, are bad, bad woman.” Desire flashes, burning bright, in his eyes. “Fine, if that’s what you wish.”

You can only laugh as, before you can feign innocence, he sweeps you into his arms, tugging your robe closed as he practically sprints through the doors. His growls at the way you lick down his neck are warnings, the flash of his fangs at you arousing you more than you would have once thought possible.

“I couldn’t sleep last night, wondering if I should just give in and sneak into your room. Wake you up with a sweet kiss or with your cock in my mouth,” you whisper in his ear, sucking at his earlobe. “You always like that.”

“___,” he warns, even as his grip tightens. “I’m not joking, my love. Say another word and you’ll live to regret it.”

You nod solemnly. He looks satisfied as you grow closer to his chambers. Just as the doors are in sight, you catch his attention with a quick oh!

“I used the hairbrush you gave me once. Just a little bit–”

He kicks the doors open and tosses you on the bed, striding back to slam them shut. There’s that dark, unforgiving sort of lust in his eyes and it’s exactly what you’ve been craving. You slip your robe off your shoulders as his thumbs hook into the waistband of your panties, leaning over you to get them off as you pull the bustier over your head.

“On your back. Spread your legs, you know what to do. I want you ready for me.” He brushes your hair away from your forehead. “And darling–you will not come.”

Your fingers pause in their light stroking.

“Comte?”

“I know you heard me. Your first for the night will be with me. Allow me this, please.” He runs a warm palm up the length of your leg, and to your slight surprise, he takes a seat next to you instead. “Go on, show me.”

You’re inexplicably nervous at first, with him looming over you, but with the way his hands glide over every inch of your skin, tender yet possessive, and his mouth sampling wherever it pleases–it doesn’t take long before your hips are jerking up into your hand. His fingers caress your soft breasts, tugging at the pebbled peaks, sucking until they appear nearly swollen.

You peek up at him, catching the slight bob of his throat as he looks at the fingers sinking into your heat. You don’t think twice before slipping them out and holding them up to his mouth, and he takes them into his mouth with a soft groan and you take this wonderful opportunity to peek at the tent at the front of his pants.

“I didn’t tell you to stop,” he says, but doesn’t stop licking until your skin is free of your slick.

“You just looked so hungry, I couldn’t help it.” He doesn’t argue and doesn’t fight you when you pull him down next to you. He just watches you, fervent and patient, breath growing heavier as you unbutton his shirt before shifting your attention to his pants, tugging them down his toned thighs, smiling at the wet spot in his silk underpants before you help him pull them off.

His hips jerk up when your tongue circles his nipples, his hands digging into the sheets as you lick a warm path across his collarbone, a choked groan leaving him when your hand sneaks past his neglected cock to cup his balls. But as you’d suspected, his patience is nowhere to be found tonight as he groans and yanks you up into a torrid kiss.

“I thought you were going to punish me,” you manage to ask in between his heated kisses, hot jolts of arousal sparking through you at his weak moans as you stroke his cock, spreading his slick along the length.

“Later,” he mumbles, dragging his tongue along your jaw, his abdomen taut as he twists under your touch. “Later. I need you.”

He sits up, his tongue still licking into your mouth, and his hands are everywhere. On the nape of your neck, down your spine, digging into your waist, squeezing your ass. Urgent, needy sounds escape his mouth and send your blood pumping through you.

It’s one of those nights.

You hold him close, even as he moans at the slow rut of your hips against his, your dripping entrance sliding over his length and back, and his fingers dig into your skin as he looks at you through half-lidded eyes, lips never too far from yours.

There are times when he loves a slow, unhurried seduction, to woo you and take his time pampering you. And there are times when he all he needs is to lose himself in your heat, needs you to peel back his carefully crafted layers and dig into the man underneath, to pull him out and hold him to your chest. This man who loses his composure, who throws his head back on a near-silent moan as you sink onto his length, who clings to you as you begin a quick, harsh tempo.

“I’ve got you,” you whisper, your voice breaking, spine arching when he slips in deeper. “I’ve got you.”

He holds on to your hips when you falter, stopping you from rising up and keeping his cock deep in you. “Ma moité. If I could, I would stay here forever. I would keep you in my bed, bury myself in you and never move again.”

“Fu-,” you gasp as he grinds deeper, as if trying to gain access to your very soul, to get his hands on what makes you you and hoard it for himself. He thrusts up, his grip on your hips helping you move against him, forcing you harder onto his cock.

“Mm. Je t'aime et je t'aimerai pour toujours.” You shudder as his honeyed tone roughens into a rumble. He kisses you, hard and fast, and your mind can’t muster up a coherent thought as he bounces you in his lap.

Comte stops to rise to his knees and press you into the bed, hooking your legs around his waist. He continues to push deeper, with his cock and his body, until your legs are bent, thighs nearly touching your sides.

“Hold on tight, darling.”

You’re going to need tomorrow off, you realize in a distant part of your mind as he rears back to slam his hips into yours. Your head crashes back into the plush mattress, muscles straining as you try to meet his thrusts. The refined persona sheds completely and his fangs slip out, and your breath catches in your throat, your cunt clenching tight in the face of the other side of him. His hair is in complete disarray, falling wildly around him, his eyes are all greed and lust, but his hands are gentle as they slip into yours and pin them above your head.

“You’re so beautiful. So bright,” he murmurs, pressing rough kisses over your breasts, groaning at the taste of your skin. And you can only laugh, at this moon turned man kissing his devotion onto your skin when you’re burning inside out with desire and elation, when you’ve managed to draw the moon down into your arms and hold him in your arms.

“I love you,” you sob, trembling with the force of his thrusts and the ardour in his gaze. The anklet jiggles where it hangs over your ankle. You drop your head back, baring your throat to him and you can feel him struggle with his overwhelming need as he whines low in his throat and leans in.

“And I love you.”

His fangs graze your skin ever so lightly even as he pounds into you, and with one last thought of how there probably hadn’t been any point in retreating to the bedroom, you scream as his fangs break through the barrier of your skin. One of his hands slips between your legs, pressing insistently.

“My name, ma chérie. Say my name.”

It leaves you on a broken moan as you come hard around him, your walls squeezing him frantically, and his hips stutter as he continues to suck greedily, his sinful moans muffled by your skin. You can’t stop trembling as he pumps himself into you, mind-numbing pleasure stealing your mind away. His mouth leaves your skin just as he loses control, a warmth filling your trembling sex as you watch him swallow dazedly.

His pupils are blown almost completely wide as his licks around the edges of his lips, hips slowing to a stop as you both look at each other, chests heaving, skin slick with sweat. His blinks rapidly at the taste of your blood, looking half-intoxicated, eyes raking over your flushed skin and wild hair.

“...are you alright?” he asks gently, and you can’t quite speak just yet, nodding mutely in response. He licks the puncture wound clean, wrapping his arms around you and lifting you up, shuffling around the bed until he relaxes back into the pillows with you clinging to him, his softening length still buried in you. “Could we stay like this for a while?”

“Mm. Yes, please,” you finally mumble, and he holds you tighter, smoothing his hand up and down your back. “Feels nice.”

He laughs softly, and you muster up all your strength to shift up and kiss him straight on the mouth, the taste of copper strong on your tongue. You brush past it insistently, tangling your tongue with his as you swallow his soft noises. He keeps you there, breath mingling, smiling fondly as you fight to keep your eyes open, your skin pleasantly warm against his.

His skin is bright with the afterglow, every line of his face relaxed, and you marvel at how unguarded he looks right now. Even now, moonlight falls in through the windows, trying to reach him, but he’s content to kiss the tip of your nose with a soft mwah, repeating it despite your complaints about sweat. You return it, stretching up to reach his nose, and it turns into a swift exchange of kisses until you’re both smiling like complete fools.

“...Did you really use the hairbrush?” He sighs softly, tucking your head under his chin. “I would love to see that, but I can always get you better toys.”

Your responding snort is more amused than disgruntled. “Would that include ones I can use on you?”

He’s quiet for a moment, before pressing his slow smile into your hair, the rise and fall of his chest steady under your cheek.

“Mm. Anything you want.”

Translations:

ma chérie: my darling

mon trésor: my treasure

Mon moité: my (other/better) half

Je t'aime et je t'aimerai pour toujours: I love you and I will always love you/I will love you forever

ending note bc I can’t shut up: the moon was so gorgeous last night, I actually stepped out to get a better look. It seemed to have an almost golden tint to it, which made me think ‘Ah, yes. Comte.’ And then I rushed back in. Yes I’m that b*tch. Romance, baby. its 6 am i havent slept

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp comte #ikemen vampire comte #le comte de saint germain #ikevam comte #will i ever stop rambling nervously in my posts #a question for the universe #ok i've agonized long enough #im posting and going to bed #IM DONE #any editing will have to wait till i wake up #if i f*cked up somewhere...pm me plz #ikevamp #ikevam

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goldenagewebnovel · 3 years

Text

Volume 1 Prologue

Virtual Reality.

The ever sought after paradise for everyone who loves video games.

The first virtual reality developments came in the beginning of the century, but they were all based on external hardware. Awkward remotes and gloves, bulky goggles. The hardware became smaller, sleeker, more immersive over time. But in the end, all they were was an entertaining trick — limited by what it could show and who could even physically use it.

They brought the player closer to the screen then ever before. But they could never bridge the gap between the real world and the game. The true holy grail of gaming would lie in fully immersive virtual reality; that would take you to the very edge of the screen, and then pull you inside. To wake up inside your favorite game, whenever you wanted. It was the dream that could never be.

And then came the Digital Mind Project.

A private think tank based in the city of Seattle. They gathered the world’s best programers, neurologists, biologists, and psychologists. After working for over a decade, they did it. They mapped and named every possible neural pathway in the human brain and explained it’s function. They created the first complete, digital model of the mind, and it could think like one.

Overnight, the processing speed of all technology in the world skyrocketed. Data could be processed faster and more efficiently then ever imagined. Brain diseases that seemed incurable now had mapped explanations and accessible cures.

The digital and physical revolution that resulted led some people to question where the limit really was. If you can put the human mind in a machine, couldn’t it work the other way around?

Countries, governments, armies, corporations — they all fought to develop and control this untouched potential. But the leaders of the Digital Mind Project had decided to join the race, and, just like before, they won. They developed a full scanning pod, that only required a user to sit in it. The pod would sync to the electric signals of the nerves pathways and, upon triggering sleep, allowed the person to fully connect to the machine.

They sold the design for the pods to every business that could afford it, all at the same time. In the middle of the 21st century the age of Virtual Reality had truly begun.

The first games to come out were… disappointing, to say the least. Barely more then tech demos. Allowing the player to get a unique experience but hardly qualifying as a true game. A rushed attempt at formatting a classic MMORPG as the VR game, Fields of Fighting, was a disaster. It was riddled with horribly coded AI, clunky, unnatural movements, invisible walls everywhere that could physically trap players by accident. It was unplayable.

All the technology you could ever need for VR was available, but game designers were struggling to catch up. They had to learn to think and create in a whole new dimension. The old techniques wouldn’t cut it.

That learning curve led to a drought in Full VR games. Most companies stuck to their tried and true dimension of game design, and if people were lucky they might see a halfway decent Full VR game release once or twice a year.

Then, without any warning, two of the biggest games to hit the market were released in the same year.

The first was a sprawling, open world RPG called, Record of the Ancients. Set in the fantasy genre, this was a single player game that offered its players absolute freedom of choice to explore the world and affect it however they wanted. The game held its own share of bugs and the occasional empty plain or lack of detail, but there was nothing else like it.

The second game was a massive multiplayer sci-fi battle called, Solar Forge. Players could freely participate in large scale, solar system spanning battles. Anything from piloting a ship, to organizing a galactic cruiser, to dropping into and storming an enemy vessel with your squad. Two teams ranging anywhere from 50 to 300 participants all fighting a space war to decide a victor. The largest scale fights could even span days, and a lot of people became addicted to acting as a space marine.

These two games sold more then anyone dared to dream, proving just how unique Full VR gaming could really be. They also set the trend for how these games would be approached. Either broad, if shallow, experiences in a large environment or the chance for rich world building but in a very narrow and strict environment. No one would even attempt to make up for the failed promises made by the flopped Fields of Fighting experience.

Things stayed this way for over a decade. New games came and fell, but Record of the Ancients and Solar Forge remained on top.

One day, without any big press releases or industry fanfare, a new game started putting up commercials and advertisement. It promised to revolutionize Full VR and offer an experience greater then any of it’s predecessors. Deeper, more detailed worlds. No restrictions on player freedom. An MMORPG that could support millions of players across the world, all at the same time.

These claims were so preposterously huge that no one believed it. Especially because they were being made by a brand new games company called Aurum Productions, that no one had even heard of before.

But the ads kept coming.

And once people started looking into the game, and more specifically, Aurum Productions, they learned that this new game had some shocking secret weapons going for it. The founder of Aurum Productions was a man named Mike Wirth, one of the former lead programers of the Digital Mind Project. He had brought a gift for this new game: a new piece of technology called, Player Perception Tuning (PPT).

In order to allow the most robust, flexible, and realistic experience possible a machine alone couldn’t cut it. Instead, PPT allows the players own brain, already synced with their pod, to process the game’s data for them on the spot.

Instead of having to code every aspect of the game to recreate reality, they instead offer the brain a very convincing framework of reality, and allow the individual brain to fill in all the pieces. Instead of realism, the programers were going for impressionism.

What they got was more realistic then any game ever made before it.

Since every player was acting as their own processor, it made it much easier to have everyone play at once. Since they only had to design the framework, the game team at Aurum had that much more freedom to create a real, enriched world.

In the summer of the year 2076, the groundbreaking Full VR, fantasy MMORPG, Golden Age, released.

__________________________________

In the void of space, above an endless fog, floats an island of gold and riches. There are artifacts, weapons, and sculptures — all crafted from precious metals and rare gems. Priceless artworks and fine clothing are lazily scattered about. The ground is made up of gold bars and golden coins. They drip from the bottom of the island into the void of the fog, but the island never grows smaller.

At the center of the island, purple strands of energy gather together to construct a humanoid wireframe.

From nowhere and everywhere at once, the Overvoice of the game speaks.

Hello, would you like to customize your character, or would you like a randomly generated one?

A voice from the wireframe responds.

“I’d like to customize.”

Very well.

From all over the island, wisps of light gather together to form a giant ball of light in front of the wireframe.

First, please select what race you would like your character to be. You can chose from Human, Dwarf, Orc, or Elf. You may also choose a ratio, of two of the previously mentioned.

“Human.”

Very well.

Some of the light gets shaved away, scattering into space. The ball of light has now roughly taken the size and shape of a human.

Please select what sex you would like your character to be.

“Um, I’ll take male for me.”

Very well.

Barely any light is shaved away but the figure of light now resembles a blank human male.

Please select your body type.

“How about we go with svelte but athletic. Like a martial artist kind of build, maybe?”

Very well.

This time, more light is shaved away and the figure now resembles a fit, athletic human man.

Would you like to move on to face sculpting, body sculpting, or voice sculpting next?

“You know what, just have everything else look like my real body.”

Very well.

Light flew away from the human figure in spirals of light until everything burst out. In the place of the light was a tan skinned, human man. The body was still athletic, decently tall, had long sideburns, stubble on it’s chin, gray eyes, and streaks of gray hair at the temples and the front. It had on a set of cotton pants and a cotton shirt, tied down by a coarse rope, and simple leather shoes. The body stared lifelessly at the wireframe in front of it.

In front of the wireframe, a hologram of a keyboard appeared.

Please spell the name of your character.

The wireframe reached out with a hand and pressed: D, 0, n. And hit enter.

Please pronounce how to say the name of your character.

“You pronounce it like you would for an Italian mob boss. Or like the dawn of a new day.”

Very well. Please step forward into your character to initiate syncing.

The wireframe took clumsy steps towards the human body in front of it. On contact, the purple lines of energy that made up the wireframe fused into the human body.

I could suddenly feel everything. The clothes against my skin. The shifting, hard coins that made up the ground under my feet. The cool breeze that started to blow across my face.

In front of my eyes I could see that the endless sky of space, littered with stars and streaks of purple throughout. Streams of the gold coins that made up the island were flowing off the edges. They were dispersing the fog.

In front of the island was a floating circular flat world. Absolutely huge, it took up my whole vision. There were three distinct continents in the center of the wide ocean.

The one on the left was made of sweeping mountain ranges and floating islands, that looked like they were made of gemstones.

The one on the bottom was a giant archipelago, made up of countless, rich islands.

The one on the right had sprawling green fields and verdant forests and crystal blue lakes.

The edge of the world had a misty, thick fog all around it, but I could see waterfalls flowing into the void of space underneath. The sun was bright and lit up everything beautifully. I could hear rising orchestral music playing from somewhere. From nowhere and everywhere at once, the Overvoice of the game spoke to me.

Welcome, to the world of Golden Age, D0n.

I felt like I could stare at that sight forever.

But I didn’t have that chance. Suddenly the ground began to rumble under my feet. The streams of gold flowing off the side rushed forward, and huge swaths of the island began to break off.

Eventually, the whole island destabilized, falling to the planet below. I went with it. As I was falling among columns of gold and treasure, I heard the Overvoice again.

Due to your region of origin, you will be starting in the Plains Continent. Below, you will enter the Tutorial Village. There, we have provided class instructors, resources, and all the knowledge you will need to explore the game. Have fun.

The ground was getting closer and closer. I could no longer see the edge of the world. Below me was an impossibly thick cloud.

All of the gold around me started to dissolve into particles of light.

I was in the middle of an uncontrollable free fall. The wind was rushing past me so fast it was whipping at my clothes and shoving my hair away. My eyes were tearing up from the force of it.

I felt a wide smile, that showed all my teeth, spread across my face.

It was time to play the game.

#Volume 1 #Story

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lomiunknown · 3 years

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Lady Aurum's Midnight Stroll

The smell of something interesting drew Lady Aurum from The Red Carpet that night. The end of her shift flew by in a haze, and as she retired her uniform and said her goodnights to the others, she was hardly there. No, there was something else out there.

Aurum stepped out the back exit and narrowed her golden eyes. Whatever it was, it was determined to stay out of sight, and even her superior senses couldn't quite discern where it was. It was like a subtle fragrance from someone who had just passed through. Still, she was sure whatever it was had no business being here in the first place, and Aurum knew it might come down to a fight.

She flexed her hand, allowing her power to seep out just a little. Hers was sweeter than most, but have too much of it and you'll get sick. Lady Aurum adored seeing that expression on those unfortunate enough to bask in her full power. Humans could never experience the soul of a demon like another of their kind, but the Golden Demon was powerful enough that she couldn't be ignored, even by mortals. There was very little she feared, and the creatures of the night knew to stay away from her.

Unfortunately her human side was very curious. A flash of her power was certainly enough to deter unwanted visitors, but she didn't want to scare them away just yet. Anyone who would visit a demon-run establishment such as The Red Carpet must be very interesting, and very bold.

The trail led her slowly away from the city, towards the wilderness. It was quiet at this time of night, even in such a metropolitan area, but the woods were silent. Not even the animals dared make a sound, and it felt as though it was only Aurum and this stranger now. Before, their auras were muffled by the crowd; Aurum couldn't even tell what she was following. But now, she knew the very familiar scent that was now all around her.

She was following an angel.

Lady Aurum salaciously licked her lips, and her eyes flared in the black night. "So, you decided to let me see you for what you really are... You shouldn't dangle steak in front of a hungry wolf." The air shifted, and Aurum quietly followed the breeze. The angel was moving deeper into the woods.

As she mingled with the drifting soul of the angel, it felt like they were having a conversation without words. The angel didn't say much, or really it was more like Aurum was being shushed. Whatever it had to say, the demon would just have to be patient. Their long walk led them to the head of a spring, trickling quietly down the hill, and it was here that the angel finally stopped.

Lady Aurum was drawn to where the small stream had dug out its path in the hill, the water flowing through the channel of a larger river that had ceased long ago. At the bottom was a black abyss, and an almost imperceptible whimpering sound. Aurum would have turned back, but something kept her there. She cursed under her breath.

As she approached the mouth of the cave, she saw one figure cradling another in her arms. The floral fragrance of the angel was now abruptly shoved aside by the potent smell of blood. She thought there could be something interesting here, but it was just another stupid hiker who fastened something wrong and ended up broken on a damp cave floor. Still, Lady Aurum hopped down to get a closer look.

The angel looked up at her, her face almost as pale as the hiker's, and eyes devoid of all light. So she wasn't masking her strength at all, she really was as fragile as a scent in the breeze... The demon sighed. "If you were looking for divine intervention, you're really looking in the wrong place. This really isn't my business..."

"Please, you have to help him, you're the only one..." God, her voice was just as pathetic as she looked. Aurum wondered who was really worse off in this situation. But the middle-aged hiker would certainly be dead if she did nothing, so she really didn't know.

She knelt beside them and conjured a gauntlet made of solid gold ribbons, the tool of her trade. The hiker looked terrified as he took in the sight, but Aurum recognized the desperation of one who would take anything he could get. So she began, reaching past the flesh and grasping onto his very soul. "Wait, you didn't tell me that—" Lady Aurum was struck by what she saw, and as she turned to the angel she suddenly knew why she was called here. This mangled mess of a man was something she could easily fix—even basic first aid would probably save his life—but his injuries weren't the problem.

The angel met her eyes briefly and then lowered her head in shame. "I've been doing everything I can, but it isn't enough... He only had a few months, and I... and I..."

"Don't you get that you're messing with Death?" Aurum barked at the crying angel. "He should have been dead years ago and you've been his life support all this time? How could you do something so stupid?" Aurum returned her attention to the hiker, and the angel's work was clearer. The man was barely functioning, but the angel was holding everything together, forcing him to stay alive like some kind of zombie. But her work did not carry the expertise of a surgeon, and it was clear that she had no idea what she was doing.

Aurum abruptly pulled her hand away. If it was this bad, there was nothing even she could do. And if she did heal this man, she knew that it was only a matter of time before the both of them wasted away. Of course angels couldn't understand this reality. But the man looked up at his angel with a knowing smile. "See, I told you so didn't I?" he said to her. "You've done all you can, dear... You have to let me go."

"No! She can fix you, you'll be all better!" the angel cried, before turning to Lady Aurum. "Aren't you supposed to help people? The hopeless and the desperate, isn't that what you do? I'll pay the price, just please save him..."

"He... he isn't the one that needs saving." Lady Aurum readied her golden gauntlets once more. "No matter what I do, his death is inevitable, such are the laws of nature. But if I end his life now, you can live. Still..." she gazed at the two of them huddled close, clinging to each other dearly, "...if you wish, you can spend your last moments here, together. And maybe, you can even be together in the next life. But I don't make those kinds of promises."

The two of them gave their consent, and Lady Aurum began her work. It wasn't glamorous work, burning sinners in glorious hellfire, nor was it even the self indulgent kind where Aurum would even participate in some sinning herself. No, it was the real work, the kind only she could do. Hell, no one else would do it since there's not even any benefit in it.

It didn't take long, or even much effort. For something as simple as this, Lady Aurum didn't even show her horns despite the fact that one of them was an angel. They closed their eyes and held each other in their arms before relinquishing their souls to the demon. Lady Aurum considered for a moment whether she should eat them or commit them to Hell, but as she held the two misty clouds of light she looked up at the moon peeking into the cave. "Whoops..." Her hands slipped, and the two of them drifted away into the night sky.

#I wrote a little short story uwu #lomi off the shits

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spartanguard · 4 years

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even death won’t part us now (2/?)

Summary: Two covens, both alike in dignity, / In fair New York, where we lay our scene, / From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, / Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes / A pair of star-cross’d lovers take their life; / Whole misadventured piteous overthrows / Do with their death bury their sires’ strife. (Captain Swan + West Side Story + vampires. But not as sad. Probably.)

rated M | part 1 | AO3 | 3.9k words

A/N: I was going to post this update yesterday but *life*. We really get into the story, though—I hope you enjoy it! Thanks again to @optomisticgirl for being an awesome beta; to @thesschesthair for her amazing art; and to @kmomof4 and @cssns for putting this event on and pushing me to continue this story!

say what you will about Glee, but Darren Criss’s version of this song is amazing

part two— the air is humming, and something great is coming...

2020

The sun was setting on another day, just like it had for the last 5000-plus. At least, Emma figured the number was up there; she’d stopped counting around day 4,588. Which was really an absurdly long time to count considering her days were no longer numbered, but old habits died hard, even if she never would.

She’d accepted that fact somewhere around day 4,040, which ironically was her 40th birthday. But instead of dealing with gray hairs and wrinkles and aching joints, she was still in her 28-year-old body, fairly spry and with exactly one white hair blended into her blonde. (Not that she could see it in the mirror anymore—or, you know, anything—but she knew it was there and that was all that mattered.)

She knew she’d finally settled into her new life when she was looking forward to drinking the deer blood she had at home and not longing for chocolate cake like she had the past several birthdays. Well, she still wished she could eat it—real food didn’t digest properly anymore—but the blood sounded just as good.

“It probably took me about that long to come to terms with it, too. Longer for your dad,” her mom had told her about the revelation.

That had been another epiphany: that the kindly undead couple she’d somehow ended up on the doorstep of—David and Snow Nolan—were her parents. Her actual birth parents. You know, the ones she’d been looking for her entire mortal life? (Had once dreamed would save her from one shitty foster home after another until she finally gave up hope, and instead turned to counting the days until she moved again?)

As it turned out, they’d been attacked and turned shortly after she’d been born—which apparently had been in a backwoods cottage in Maine that her grandparents had owned—and were taking her to the hospital for checkup after the fact. They didn’t trust themselves to face their new reality while also in charge of an infant (an infant with delicious-smelling blood, no less—creepy, but true) and so finished the journey to the hospital, but left her there alone.

Coming to terms with that had taken 1,187 days. There would have been lots of tears, were any of them able to cry; but instead, there was just a lot of emotion, which Emma had never dealt well with. But she was getting better. Who knew the kind of personal growth one could achieve after death? And it was a good lesson in how to handle (or not handle) things should the son she herself gave up ever manage to track her down.

(She looked—once, before she was turned. All she’d been able to find out was that he ended up in the foster system, too. She just hoped he was having a better time of it than she did. Well, had—he’d be an adult by now, wouldn’t he? Damn.)

So. Anyways. Sunset. Which Emma was watching from the roof of their building, which had become something of a refuge for her over the past 15 years. She had her own bedroom, but after so long on her own, being an adult suddenly under the same roof as her parents (who, despite being physically younger than her, still acted like her parents) was a bit stifling at times.

It wasn’t much, but it was her own space: she’d cobbled together a tent with some reclaimed tarps, filled with gently-used cushions, and on nice nights, would bring out a sleeping bag and let the lights and sounds of the city wash over her. It had been overwhelming at first—she kind of envied that her parents only had to deal with forest smells when they turned, and not the incredible everything of New York—but it had dulled over time, which she probably should have expected; it had only taken her a week or so to get used to the smell the first time, right?

That’s to say—the overwhelmingness did; she learned to tune things out and let them fall to the background. But her senses themselves were the sharpest they’d ever been, consequently making her even better at her job than she’d been pre-death. Having ethereal beauty compared to a mere mortal easily drew in most of her targets; her preternatural sight, hearing, and strength made it pretty simple to track them down and subdue them (she loved it when they ran); and she’d found out they were extra willing to comply with her demands when they were down a bit of blood. (It probably was connected to the whole your-sire-can-control-you thing but it didn’t last once they’d recovered from the blood loss and it kept her from murdering random ne'er-do-wells on the street; the lower a body count a vampire kept, the better.)

On a normal night, she’d be getting ready to catch another skip: either gussying up for a honeytrap, revving up her old Bug for a stakeout, or trying to track them down on Tinder while binging Netflix in the background (they kept up on technology...for the most part; she still wasn’t sure what a TikTok was). One thing a lot of the stories leave out is that it takes a long time to build up the kind of wealth and decadence you see with old vampires; even Emma’s parents still had to work, 40-odd years into this thing (David was an after-hours vet and Snow taught night school) and their townhouse was not rent-controlled.

Of all the vampire media out there, their existence was far more What We Do In The Shadows than Twilight.

(Emma had always preferred comedy anyways.)

God, she was really getting sidetracked tonight. Anyways. No one was working because it was the anniversary of her being turned—her rebirthday, so to speak—and her mom was very much Leslie Knope when it came to anniversaries, but especially this one, given that it marked them finally coming together as a family.

That, and they were all going to get drunk.

“My class is a bunch of assholes this semester—I need this,” Snow had gushed earlier that week, grading papers behind their blackout curtains. (Vampires didn’t sparkle, thank god—at least, not without the help of glitter—but they were dangerously susceptible to sunburns, so the whole pale thing was accurate.) “And David—you’ve worked every weekend the last month; they can definitely operate without you for one night.”

“I put in for it a month ago, dear,” he tutted as he gathered the laundry, placing a kiss on her cheek as he went.

They were definitely one of those nauseatingly cute couples, so it was a good thing Emma’s gag reflex was dormant. And, though she’d never admit it, she was a bit jealous that they’d been able to find—and keep—something that had evaded her her entire mortal life, and likely would for her afterlife, too.

Every now and then, a flash of blue eyes blinked into her vision; the same pair she’d seen on the night she transitioned. She still wasn’t sure they were real, and her parents genuinely knew nothing when she’d asked, so she never did again. The fact that she hadn’t ever seen them again, despite knowing just about all the vampires in this part of town (for better or worse), had her pretty convinced it was a mania-induced hallucination. But damn, was it a good one.

“Emma, are you ready?” Snow’s voice pulled Emma from her daydreams (nightdreams?). “It’s time to go,” she shouted—not loud enough to annoy the neighbors, but enough for Emma to hear.

“Coming,” she replied, then took one last glance at the night sky. Maybe there was something different in the stars? She didn’t know; she just had this feeling that something was going to change tonight.

She brushed her hands down the skirt of her light pink dress; it wasn’t what she’d usually wear, but since this wasn’t her typical honey trap, she’d borrowed a dress from Snow. It was definitely sweeter than her taste, with its pastel color and A-line skirt, but just cut low enough to not be demure. Her high ponytail fell somewhere in between. Her fangs would probably take it in another direction, but it’s not like she was going to pose for photos—she only just showed up in those.

In a moment, she was back in the house, grabbing her purse and joining her parents (who equally straddled the line of sweet and seductive; it was a vampire thing).

Out of nowhere, a flash of light blinded her. “Seriously?” she cursed, blinking away the temporary blindness, only to see her mother holding a Polaroid camera. That was the one thing that could document them; thank god the hipsters over in Greenwich Village had clung to them.

Snow just grinned and shook the picture while David lectured, “It’s not like we got to see you off to prom or anything.”

“Yeah, but are you going to do this every year?”

“Yes,” Snow stated matter-of-factly, smiling at the photo before setting it aside. “Now come on; there’s a bloody mary calling my name.”

“Where are we going?”

“That new underground club at 43rd and 10th. Figured we should try it, and it should be trouble-free.”

‘Trouble’ meaning the Aurum coven. Emma still hadn’t figured out the reason for this centuries-long blood feud, but she did know that she’d been dragged in on the side of Coroza, under a woman named Cora; turns out Walsh had been one of her cronies. And it normally wouldn’t affect her, save for the fact that her parents were turned by someone in Aurum (led by the mysteriously mononymed Gold) and that had dangerous implications, not to mention the rising tensions between the two groups as they began to encroach on each other (and each other’s feeding grounds) on the Upper West Side.

“You sure? That’s awfully close.” 43rd had become an arbitrary border between the two factions, and there had been more than a few skirmishes while people were on the prowl for a midnight snack. She’d had a couple close calls of her own while tracking down skips in the part of town, but had somehow managed to evade notice.

“It’s on our side of the street,” her mom shrugged in response and grabbed her purse.

(Why one side couldn’t just move to another part of town, Emma didn’t know, but she was definitely aware of how stubborn vampires could be. And she wasn’t going to move; there’s no way they’d be able to get a place like this anywhere else for a reasonable price.)

She’d hardly gotten out the door when a familiar scent caught her nose—and not necessarily a welcome one: Graham.

“Uh, hi, Emma,” he stammered, while giving her a shy yet adorable grin.

“Hey,” she answered back, not meeting his eyes—and instead finding Snow’s, who was intently studying the sky. Snow had been trying to get the two of them together for at least 10 years, and while Graham was a great guy, a good friend, and handsome to boot, Emma had never been attracted to him like that. A fact that seemed to keep falling silent on Snow’s ears despite her enhanced hearing.

(His blue eyes were pretty, but they weren’t the pair that kept haunting her.)

Given the sudden awkwardness that settled over the group—because that was apparently something you had to deal with whether you were dead or alive—it was up to Emma to break it. Not that she had any skill in that department.

“Alright, uh, let’s go,” she said with little confidence, and set off towards the club, with the others falling in behind her; Graham stayed close and if she wasn’t mistaken, attempted to put an arm around her, but she walked a bit faster to avoid his reach. The bar was only a few blocks away, which they could normally cover in less than a minute, but they had decided to blend in with the crowd tonight; it was nice to be normal every now and then.

But still—every now and then, the hairs on the back of Emma’s neck rose, and it had nothing to do with Graham’s proximity. Something was coming; she just didn’t know what.

That wasn’t for her to worry about tonight, though. Tonight was for fun and drinks and dancing. And once they got to the darkly-lit club, that’s what she focused on for the next hour or so—

—Until her gaze locked with the blue eyes from her dreams.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Killian took a deep breath as soon as he exited the jetway—and immediately regretted it. He didn’t know why he expected LaGuardia to have changed at all in the past 15 years. Despite all the reconstruction, it still smelled the same: of old coffee, questionable sushi, and stale humans. (The latter was a double-edged sword: despite eating shortly before he got to Heathrow, there had been a few delays before takeoff and he was feeling rather peckish now, although nothing here seemed appetizing. Which was probably something he had in common with mortals at the moment.)

He didn’t know why he’d assumed that he might have been routed through JFK this time—why would he think Gold would care enough to properly welcome home his best operative from abroad after 15 years?—but he tried to push that ire to the back of his mind as he summoned an Uber.

At least the delays meant he landed just as the sun was setting; his previous plan had been to hang around the terminal until dusk, so at least this prevented any awkward encounters with some overtalkative Midwesterner on their way back to Cleveland. Signs pointed him to the ride share lot, and a gentleman named Marco was waiting to take him home.

On the ride into the city, he marveled at how New York always seemed like a living, breathing thing, constantly evolving and changing. He could still sharply remember the dusty bustle of the town more than 200 years ago, the sound of carriages running over dirt and cobbled streets. He’d watched as the city grew, sprawling both across and beyond the Manhattan island and up into the sky, the smell of horses and people and sweat replaced by the acrid stench of exhaust (although, even his extra-sensitive nose had gotten used to it in short order).

So it was both surprising and not to see how much the city had changed even in the last 15 years, most noticeably in the skyline: the Twin Towers were still fresh in everyone’s memory when he’d left, so to see the new One World Trade Center in their place was a bit jarring. But the sun still glinted golden off the skyscrapers the same way; pedestrians still hardly waited for the crossing signals to give the okay to go; and though he wasn’t in a yellow cab, a language barrier still lay between him and his driver.

Cash tips were understandable to all, though, which Killian handed over once they’d arrived at his apartment building on 34th—the Chelsea side. He’d owned his flat since the building was constructed, which was fairly impressive, but did require him to occasionally change the name on the paperwork lest anyone notice anything suspicious.

(Someone had figured out at some point that it was helpful to have an ally in both the Social Security office and the DMV; Archie and Jefferson traded off every 20 years or so in order to help create revolving identities for the members of the vampire community. The name on his ID at the moment was Kyle Johnson, and during the past 100 or so years since he’d been required to have one, he’d also been Killian James, Ian Joseph, and—though he had to admit, he’d picked this one just to see if he could get away with it—James Hook.)

And thankfully, he’d had a reliable roommate for the past 80 years. “Honey, I’m home,” he called out after braving the still-shaky lift to the top floor.

“About bloody time,” Robin called back from the couch. “You know I had dinner ready for you before you left?”

“Ha,” Killian answered. “I’d hate to see what that looks like after all this time.”

“Oh, I let him go. And good thing, too—he ended up writing Hamilton.”

Killian had barely poked his head into his musty bedroom before he returned to the living room. “You didn’t actually have Lin-Manuel Miranda in here, did you?” To most people’s surprise, Killian was a bit of a theater nerd; the West End was great, but he was looking forward to catching up on Broadway again.

“No. But maybe that’s a good strategy if we want to get tickets.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

His stomach grumbled in agreement.

Robin chuckled. “There’s a bottle in the fridge you can have; figured you’d be hungry when you got back.”

Killian tossed his luggage in his room and emerged again. “Have I ever mentioned that I love you?”

“Maybe a few times over the past several decades.”

He downed the bottle quickly; the black blood market never gave the best stuff—considering the type of mortals who would be willing to sell their blood for money and didn’t qualify to sell plasma—but it hit the spot in a pinch, and every now and then had something good. This definitely wasn’t, but it sated his thirst long enough to take a shower and wash the airplane off of him.

As he stared at the fogged mirror with nothing looking back at him, rubbing his palm over his permanently well-trimmed scruff, he realized he hadn’t yet checked in with Gold. Even if he’d spent the last decade-plus doing the man’s bidding from abroad, it was still easy to forget about him.

Well, mostly—until he glanced back down at his blunted left wrist. Then it just brought ancient memories to the surface, as fresh as the day they’d happened, no matter how many centuries had intervened.

Which reminded him: he was still missing something. He shot off a quick missive to Gold as he pulled some clothes out of his depressingly dated closet (having left anything more modern in a consignment shop in London), managing to put together something vaguely timeless. But before he dressed, he turned his attention on the nightstand drawer.

He slowly pulled it open, though he knew what would be inside: his hook, as sturdy and sharp as ever, with its well-worn leather brace. Sure, he had a fairly modern prosthetic hand—one that TSA didn’t mind so much—but the hook had come first, and was definitely his preferred artificial appendage. He hadn’t meant to go so long without it, but then again, he hadn’t expected his London assignment to take so long.

(Although, 15 years to him was roughly the same as 2 or 3 to the average mortal.)

Slipping on the soft leather was like greeting an old friend (well, another one, albeit he’d known this one longer than Robin). And snapping in the hook settled a part of him that he hadn’t realized had been adrift all these years. It didn’t fully still the odd sense of anticipation he’d had ever since he landed, but he definitely felt more at ease.

With that settled, he finished dressing and then headed back to the living room and flopped on the sofa next to Robin. “When did we get a new couch?” he asked indignantly, inspecting the unfamiliar upholstery.

“As soon as you left.”

“And what was so wrong with the previous one?”

“It was from the 70s! It was hideous and uncomfortable and you know it.”

Killian could only sigh; Robin was completely right.

“Anyways,” Robin continued. “We’ve plenty of time to argue about furniture but very little to decide what we’re doing tonight.”

“Why? What’s tonight?”

“You arrive back in North America for the first time in a decade and a half and you think that’s not a reason to celebrate?”

“Well, I was in Toronto a few years ago.”

“Still the Commonwealth. Doesn’t count. What do you want to do? There are quite a few people anxious to see you.”

Well that’s good for them, he thought, but he wasn’t so sure of the same. The time away in the UK had definitely made him reconsider some of his connections back here in the States; getting away from the drama with Coroza had made him realize how petty he found it all. Though he’d never be completely extricated given that Gold was his sire, he’d definitely be alright with staying distant from the other frivolous disputes.

(And after spending a bit too much time in Brighton—particularly with some headstones bearing the name Jones and some rather divy taverns that were still somehow open all these centuries later—he wished more than ever to be free of Gold’s influence. Alas.)

He supposed he could placate them for one night, though; it’s not like he was going to sleep anyway. “Are there any new clubs to check out?”

“For you—plenty. For all of us...aye, there’s one that’s just opened up about...10 blocks away? Ish?”

“In which direction?”

“Up, but kind of midtown so it should be in the clear.” Meaning no one from Coroza would be there.

“Sounds fine, then,” he replied; after so many years, every club started to feel the same, but he was willing to give it a shot.

It wasn’t long before he found himself dressed in a waistcoat and slacks that were trendy a decade ago, hoping his hair was styled appropriately (he stopped caring about 130 years ago), and waiting outside the apartment building of Robin’s girlfriend Regina.

“Jones, it’s the 21st century; why do you still have a fish hook on the end of that arm?” she greeted when she emerged from the tower, with a young vampire behind her.

“It’s nice to see you too, Regina,” he tossed back. They’d known each other for well over a couple hundred years and this was just how they communicated. Nodding at the young man, he continued, “Who’s this?”

“This is Henry; he’s new.” The statement was matter-of-fact enough that Killian knew she wouldn’t say anything else. But he seemed friendly, albeit nervous, and Gold never complained about new vampires on their side—just Coroza.

It didn't take much for him to immediately think of Emma. His thoughts had drifted to her more than he cared to admit over the past years, wondering if she’d acclimated or if she’d burned out. It was definitely odd that such a brief encounter had left such a lasting impression, but at the same time, it had taken him well over 250 years to get over his first love; he was a romantic at heart, even if that heart no longer beat.

He of course said nothing about it as they continued on; if no one had discovered what he’d done that night by now, he was content to leave it that way. There were other ways of him finding out if she was still around, such as—

—Such as the green eyes staring at him from the other side of the club, barely a minute after he’d entered it, freezing him in place.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

thanks for reading, friends! let me know if you want/don’t want a tag! @kat2609 @xpumpkindumplingx @shipsxahoy @amortentia-on-the-rocks @mryddinwilt @cocohook38 @annytecture @shireness-says @ohmightydevviepuu @profdanglaisstuff @wingedlioness @word-bug @distant-rose @wellhellotragic @welllpthisishappening @let-it-raines @pirateherokillian @bleebug @its-imperator-furiosa @fergus80 @killianmesmalls @sherlockianwhovian @ineffablecolors @laschatzi @ive-always-been-a-pirate @nfbagelperson @stubblesandwich @lenfaz @phiralovesloki @athenascarlet @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snowbellewells @idristardis @scientificapricot @searchingwardrobes @donteattheappleshook @lfh1226-linda

#cs ff #cssns20 #cs vampire au #even death won't part us now #my ff #cssns 2020

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