long since descended into Arcana hell. unapologetic Lucio & the Courtiers love. give us the forbidden Vlastomil route. please read "about/rules" first. imagines/reactions/headcanons requests: closed
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(A/N: Ahhh, my first preference-thingy, isn’t that lovely. I just wanted to write something for my favourite Chaotic Demons™ even if I had no requests for them. Inspired by @apprentice-lex and made because of the support I get from the lovely @secretlyshycomputer)
Thank you so much, dear anon! That’s incredibly kind of you 💜
It’s no trouble at all, and I would also like to use this opportunity to wish all my lovely followers (and the wonderful Courtiers fandom) happy winter holidays! ✨
Best wishes from Valerius, Valdemar, Volta, Vlastomil, Vulgora, and myself!
Winter holidays with your favorite Courtier(s) under the cut; enjoy!
(sfw, fluffy, and long)
Valerius
He is familiar with holiday celebrations, but... why would you want to spend the holidays with him? He still has trouble believing you want to spend this time with him, aren't you meant to spend it with your loved ones, friends and family? Surely, someone better than him, someone who deserves your time more. He won't say it out loud, of course, but it's obvious from his careful, hesitant behavior that he expects you to tell him to go away. Before he met you, he would of course receive invitations to holiday parties, but he'd inevitably spend the holidays shut in his study, working, secretly envying all those people who were well-liked enough for someone to want to be around them. And now you're here, with that genuine smile and that look in your eyes that tells him he's worth it and you want to be around him and he just doesn't know what to do with that.
Everything must be perfect. The decorations you put up together, the food you make... he's such a perfectionist that you have to stop him in the middle of decorating, take his hands in yours, and tell him to stop worrying because, yes, you want to be there with him and he is someone you care about deeply. He'd blink the tears away and try to salvage what remains of his dignity with some wry comment. But, from then on, he is much calmer, you catch him genuinely smiling - so often as no one can remember him smiling before.
He commissions artists to make sure your decorations are the most beautiful in Vesuvia; some whisper that even the decorations in the palace are lackluster compared to yours. Some of the palace cooks are whisked away with the promise of much higher wages.
But what surprises you the most is the evening he invites you to his estate, and there isn't a servant in sight; just Valerius alone, putting the final touches on decorations. He turns around when you enter the room, smiles, and wordlessly holds out an ornament for you to take - an invitation to help him. Of course, you happily accept. Later, he takes you to the kitchens, and for the first time ever you see Valerius try his hand at cooking. Of course, it's rather disastrous, but filled with laughter and spilled flour and icing sugar in your hair; but when it's late in the evening and you and Valerius twirl around the dimly-lit kitchens to some unheard song, laughing together, a smudge of icing on his cheek and a spoon still in his hand - but the look in his eyes is one of deep, genuine happiness - you realize that this is it. There's no other way you'd rather be spending the holidays.
Tomorrow, you'll be seeing all your friends and, knowing Valerius, there will doubtlessly be a pile of outrageously expensive presents waiting for you... but tonight, just the two of you, seeing this side of Valerius no one else gets to see, the two of you dancing like this with nothing to distract you but firelight and candles and the smell of cookies in the air... that's the best gift.
Valdemar
They're not usually one to celebrate - or pay attention to - such silly things as human holidays. They have far too much to do. But for you? Oh, for you they'll try their darnest to make these the best holidays ever. And what does Valdemar do when they feel they're unprepared? They read, of course.
At first, you are surprised to find a book on "DIY decorations" among their medical encyclopedias, but you ascribe it to their eternally curious nature. However, it doesn't stop there. The week after, you find one on woodworking, one on paper sculptures, and a cookbook, of all things. When was the last time you saw Valdemar eat? You decide to confront them.
They don't even try to hide what they're doing from you. Instead, they seem so proud to explain in detail the various projects they started; their smile wide and sharp, their crimson eyes glittering with inhuman focus and poorly subdued joy. It's not the holidays, you realize, it's the fact that they're doing something for you. They do need a bit of guidance; catching them poring over a book and muttering "hearts, yes, easily done, I do have several no one is using anymore..." you have to explain it's paper hearts, and not actual ones, but they're a fast learner. And they do so enjoy planning, so their staff all receive a detailed schedule and meticulously thought out arrangements, what pieces of furniture go where to make room for decorations, what times the meals are to be served... They approach the whole affair like they're planning a siege, stockpiling food and giving orders for their estate to be decorated like they're planning its defenses, and not holiday decorations. All the while they wear that wide smile and that obvious joy in their eyes; it's endearing, if eccentric. So, instead of stopping them, you join them, the two of you become a a force to be reckoned with, extending your efforts to the palace.
When it's time for the holiday meal, everyone shows up - and you realize that the usually solitary Valdemar extended invitations to all your friends and loved ones, because it would make you happy. So as you sit at the table together, you hold their hand and smile at them, which they return. When you have a moment to yourselves, they wordlessly hand you their gift - it is a book, with a neat, dark cover; you open it to see pages of narrow, orderly writing. It takes you a moment to recognize their handwriting. You have no time to read it with all your friends around you, sharing food and happily talking. But you see enough to understand - they gave you their journal, started on the day they met you. People misunderstand too often, thinking that because the outward displays of affection aren't as prominent in your relationship, it is somehow lacking. Those people couldn't be more wrong. In your hands, you hold pages upon pages of all the things Valdemar loves about you. You are surrounded with the proof of their affection, their dedication.
"Volume one," they explain, their eyes lingering on the tome in your hands before they settle on your face, and their sharp smile widens with sheer joy. "The first of many to come."
And tucked between the final pages, crafted with otherworldly skill - a little paper heart.
Volta
The changes to the Procurator's personality in the few weeks leading up to the winter holidays are... alarming. Where you'd once be invited to almost every meal - and several picnics - throughout the day, these few days she's been... reclusive. "Otherwise occupied," her servants tell you. Worried about the Procurator, you resolve to confront her and find out more about what has been keeping her so busy.
You are a guest at her estate so often that the staff treats you as if you lived there... and maybe you do, with how much time you and Volta have been spending together... but you wander the long, cluttered hallways without anyone questioning your presence there. Her staff - mostly comprised of cooks and other kitchen staff - are busy with the upcoming meal. They always are.
But Volta is nowhere to be found... until you hear the familiar sound of her footsteps from a long-disused hall.
Covered furniture looms in the semi-darkness - the fireplace is the only source of light. Chests and shelves and piles of clothing from ages past, from every corner of the world, fill the otherwise cavernous room.
And there, amidst all those things, is Volta - her dress is stained with paint, and she is running an unfinished, gold-embroidered, translucent shawl through her hands with an anguished expression on her face.
You call her name quietly and she almost jumps - like you'd caught her doing something forbidden.
You do not have to insist much - she shares everything with you willingly, so she shares this, as well; try as she might, she could not find the perfect gift for you. So, she tried making one.
Slowly, you take in the chaos around you - half-finished portraits, done by the Procurator's own hand. Half-finished garments, hundreds of hours of focus and effort gone into the stitches. Half-finished poems and unfinished recipes, sculptures half smooth lines and half rough clay.
"Nothing," she confesses, her smile tearful and trembling as she looks up at you. "Nothing is good enough. And there is no time, anymore."
Wordlessly, you embrace her; she'd spent so, so many hours crafting, sewing, painting, creating with you on her mind. You were, judging from her attempts at art all around you, her sole muse almost from the day she met you. None of the works are expertly made, but all are clearly made with love. Uneven brushstrokes of a loving hand, after all, make for a masterpiece much greater than a loveless heart could ever produce even if it belonged to a master artist.
Embracing her, you realize that Volta had already given you a rather priceless gift; her love, her loyalty; and, through her art, countless hours with nothing but you in her thoughts.
She has given you her trust. Her hope.
Her heart.
Vlastomil
He starts worrying nearly two months in advance. Others fail to notice, but you notice how the Praetor has become distracted, sweeping papers off his desk when you enter his study, stopping on your walks to talk with merchants. It becomes clear what this is about, when you enter his study in search of him one day - he isn't here, but the window is open and the wind carries several sheets of papers right to your feet. You pick them up, scanning the neat, looping script in his handwriting, and the world spins when you realize this is a list of gifts - every single thing you mentioned you wanted, even in passing, no matter how ridiculously expensive.
Usually, you'd not pry into whatever you come across in his study, but this? You have to confront him about this.
You bring it up that evening, while you're having tea, and the moment you pull the paper out, his silvery eyes widen anxiously, darting from the paper in your hand to your face.
He's... afraid? What could Praetor Vlastomil possibly be afraid of?
With much - gentle but firm - insistence, the story comes to light: yes, he has been keeping a list of all the things you mentioned wanting, and yes, he commissioned and ordered many of those things, because he absolutely cannot find a gift worthy of you, and oh, he thinks you deserve the world. Besides, he isn't really... used to celebrating holidays, with people not usually wanting to be around him...
Taking his hands, you smile and you explain to him that you don't need those things, that you need him. He's at a loss for words.
But the next day, you find out from palace servants that the Praetor announced he would be unavailable all throughout the winter holidays - because he is spending them with you.
And indeed, you spend those days at his estate - the decorating and cooking has all been taken care of by the staff, as Vlastomil wants no distractions. He wants to share all his hobbies with you, and he wants to learn all about yours - as well as to try new things together. You try your hand at painting, at playing the piano - Vlastomil spends more time holding your hand than playing - you read a book together in the evenings, and you make sure to pick a hilariously inappropriate play just to see him blush reading his lines.
It finally sinks in what he's doing - your gift-related plea was heard, and what Vlastomil is trying to do is give you something that can't be bought. The things he is adamant you deserve - his time, his attention, his care. He is sharing with you endless gardening tips and worm care trivia because he wants to share with you all those fundamental things that make him, well... him. And he wants to learn about you. In truth, you've never seen the Praetor so vulnerable, so open, so enthusiastic; his smile so genuine and the look in his pale eyes one of sincere adoration.
Of course, you still received way too many expensive gifts, but the greatest one? Curling up with him under a blanket, in front of the fireplace, with a book in his hands and a faint blush on his cheeks every time he looks at you as he reads a line where the hero speaks of love.
He repeats that line. But this time, he puts the book away.
Vulgora
"You LIGHT THINGS ON FIRE? I LIKE THIS!"
You smile with endless patience and more than a little amusement.
"You light candles, Vulgora."
It's been like that ever since you expressed the desire to spend the winter holidays with them. No wonder - Vulgora lived and breathed battle. And so, all the efforts they put into decorating and preparing for the holidays were just that - war.
"Our decorations shall be a thousand times more brilliant than Nadia's."
When they first made that solemn promise, their gauntleted hands clenched into fists and their golden eyes narrowed, you did not take it seriously.
The next morning, you woke up to the entire estate covered with decorations - Vulgora elected to decorate instead of sleeping.
The same thing happened with food - they were standing in the middle of the kitchens like an avenging angel, hands on their hips, issuing commands to the kitchen staff like a general on the battlefield. The large ladle they brandished like a weapon made more than a few of the servants wince, and you were at the very least grateful the ladle wasn't sharp as you gently pried it from their hands, laughing.
Vulgora set out to give you the best possible holidays with single-minded determination, and they ran their estate like a monarch would run an army. You could do nothing to stop them - not that you wanted to - so you elected instead to follow them around, laughing good-naturedly at their unshakable determination.
When the holidays finally arrived, passers-by would stop to look at Vulgora's estate in open-mouthed wonder - they seem to have acquired almost every single decoration available in Vesuvia. The stockpiles of holiday food were probably enough to feed a small army, and you could do nothing but laugh at Vulgora's brilliant, sharp, proud smile as they presented their accomplishments to you. Well, the holiday meal could always be moved from the palace to Vulgora's estate, you mused.
That winter - with you at their side - was the first one Vulgora didn't spend alone.
As the last guests said their goodbyes you found yourself alone with Vulgora; they took your hand to lead you out onto the balcony, crisp night air stinging your cheeks, but Vulgora's cloak was warm around your shoulders. There, they wordlessly handed you yet another gift - a box, beautifully carved and made from some dark red wood.
The blade it contained wasn't a surprise, as beautiful and masterfully made as it was, breathtakingly expensive, its hilt decorated with gold and rubies.
What surprised you was how well it fit your hand, how incredibly light it was - and yet by merely holding it you could tell it was deadly.
It was a symbol as much as it was a weapon.
The laughter, their bluster, was gone; replaced with something you couldn't quite define - a quiet determination. You gazed into Vulgora's golden eyes, understanding dawning on you. They didn't need to speak.
You shared the silence in the falling twilight.
But you understood what the blade in your hand meant.
They were the blade, and you the hand that wields it.
They were the will and you the purpose which drives it.
You were their hope now. Their why.
Without the other, both of you would feel so woefully incomplete, now that you knew there existed another who felt like the other half of you.
Tugging their gauntlet off, they quietly intertwined their fingers with yours.
Yes, the Courtiers would sever their ties with the Devil. It would be a process, and ultimately, it would happen because the MC gave them a new perspective on humanity.
Before they met the MC, it was easier for the courtiers to not care for humanity; the courtiers changed themselves through the deals with the Devil and became immortal, powerful creatures - as years passed, they slowly forgot the woes and sorrows of humanity, it became easier for them to slip into a cold, uncaring mindset regarding these creatures whose lives are so brief and whose woes are so laughable. Especially those courtiers who made those deals to escape and forget said woes themselves.
Some of them suffered as humans. Some of them detested their own human weaknesses and the fears that consumed them whole - so they made deals to rise above said fears and pain.
And now, the MC enters their lives, and they are slowly made to remember their own humanity. It isn't easy. With the memory of it, the fear and hurt return as well.
But being with the MC is worth it. By then, there isn't much the Courtiers would not do for the MC.
Immortality and uncaring power of their non-human nature would ultimately part them from the MC forever. So they accept the pain, face the fear, in order to stay at their beloved's side. However, it isn't easy...
There is the fear and the pain they forgot... but there is joy too. And all of it is coming back. They need to re-learn so much.
(Warnings for alcohol, violence/injuries, blood, and implied self-destructive behavior.)
Valerius
- he's relieved. He's so relieved to be freed; for all his feigned confidence and bluster, Valerius was terrified by the changes he'd undergone.
- he seems more cheerful, more unburdened, more himself. You find yourself invited to accompany him to dances and soirees more often, instead of him just shutting himself in his study and wallowing in self-hatred while he pretends to work.
- there was, however, an incident. He'd forgotten that he no longer possesses the resistances he once did; his human body is simply not as strong.
- you find him slumped over in his chair, face obscured by long, tangled hair, bottles of wine around him half-empty and overturned, rich crimson dripping off the table and soaking into the carpet. When he doesn't respond and doesn't stir, you realize at once what had happened, and rush to get Valdemar.
- Valerius wakes to you holding his hand - and the first thing he does is smile feebly at your worried expression. "You'd care..." he says in a quiet, shaky voice. "Of course I'd care, you foolish, insufferable..." instead of finishing that sentence, you kiss him. And despite his biting humor and disbelief at finding you at his bedside, Valerius kisses you back as if he were a man drowning and you were the very air he was so desperate for; where his words fail, his desperate kisses convey just how much he was afraid to lose you because of his own mistakes.
Valdemar
- human Valdemar is... a handful, to say the least. They've probably been a demon the longest of all the Courtiers, and they forgot so much.
- it's easy enough to anticipate their patients' needs and tend to their ailments. But themself? Oh no. It takes an incident - they collapse in the middle of a surgery - for you to realize something is seriously off. Once they have a blanket wrapped around them and a cup of tea in their hands - the surgery in the capable if less experienced hands of their assistants - it becomes obvious what's wrong. They are exhausted, dehydrated, and starving. Oops, they forgot they were reduced to a flesh vessel, after decades of relying on their supernatural stamina and abilities.
- that's it. You sternly tell them they are now in your care, and surprisingly, Valdemar doesn't protest.
You don't dare leave them unattended, so they sit at your side with their blanket and their tea, as they watch you prepare something to eat. It's endlessly fascinating to them. When you place the food in front of them, they have no complaints. They tentatively taste it, only for their eyes to widen in pleased surprise at the taste - regardless of your cooking skill level. They savor every bit of the food and praise you; in truth, they spent so long being nonhuman that every taste and sensation is new to them.
- after, they ask to hold your hand, they marvel at the texture of your skin and how nice it feels. For once, they're not viewing another person as merely a potential experiment. Still, their scientific curiosity remains. Only, now they're approaching commonplace, everyday things with wonder. They marvel at the taste of soup, the softness of a pillow, a butterfly in flight. For once, everything around them is more than just facts and scientific potential - there's sensation and beauty.
- the most wonderful and fascinating thing, however, is still you.
Volta
- the first time she eats and feels sated, you have to hold her in your arms for a while as silent tears of joy and relief stream down her face. She thought she would never know respite from the hunger again.
- she forgets that her limitations are different now that she's human again. So, be prepared to stay at her side while she has to stay in bed with a stomachache, because how was she supposed to remember that eating ten slices of pie would be a bad thing now? She'll whine and complain and ask for cuddles. You can make her a cup of mint and lemon tea to help settle her stomach, and you'll earn her eternal gratitude. But you'll also have to stop her from having a few biscuits with the tea. It's a process...
- she can properly taste things now, not just devour them to sate the yawning emptiness that once plagued the core of her being. And she will be so happy about all the amazing flavors, she'll bring you bites of food at all times, to share the wonderful flavors with you. Her enthusiasm is adorable.
- once she truly realizes she doesn't have her powers anymore, and that you have to rely on each-other more instead of her being able to call on her demonic form, she's terrified. She can't protect you anymore, what if someone harms you? She begs you not to leave the mansion. You have to sit down with her and gently explain to her that it's okay, you were human all this time and nothing happened, humans aren't helpless, and you can protect each-other. Once you reassure her, she is surprisingly fierce, protecting you with all that she is; although now she is just a short, tiny woman with an adorable fearsome glare. Of course, you won't tell her that outright, but you find her confidence both admirable and adorable.
Vlastomil
- the two of you make sure that his transformation, the loss of his powers, happens in the privacy of his chambers, where he can get used to his mortal body away from prying eyes.
- when the supernatural strength and the eternal life drain slowly from him, with the Devil's magic, he is left terrified and trembling, staring down at his shaking hands, looking at them like he's seeing them for the first time. What is this sensation? Cold? He forgot he could feel anything but comfort from it. What is this sound? Is it his heart? It seems so much louder and faster now that it regained its human properties. A thin sheen of sweat forms on his brow, and he swipes it away curiously. So many sensations. Discomfort and hunger and cold, so many things he's so unused to feeling. Completely overwhelmed and despairing, he reaches out to his one source of comfort, reaches to embrace you.
- Oh. How his mortal heart quickens as he wraps you in his arms. How wonderful the warmth of your skin, your sheer presence. How differently your presence feels now - he can no longer sense the blood rushing through your veins, he can no longer sense your bones shift as you move - the things his demonic form could sense. But he can hold you in his arms, in awe of how warm and alive you feel, holding you tightly against him until his mortal heart syncs up with yours.
- he presses a kiss to your forehead and laughs breathlessly, still trembling, tells you that there will be so many things he will have to re-learn, but that he is looking forward to learning how to be human again, with you.
Vulgora
- they... forget, a few times. The first time someone challenges them after their transformation, they rush into battle with no regard for their safety, forgetting they are not immortal, forgetting they can bleed, forgetting that they can feel pain now.
- the first strike that gets through their guard stops them dead in their tracks - rage drained out of them, the expression on their face one of wonder, their eyes wide as they softly touch their fingers to their lips, and their hand comes away bloody. What a curious sensation, pain.
Their lapse in concentration is all their enemy needs.
For the first time in ages, Vulgora loses.
They are beaten practically into bloody pulp; they are lucky nothing was broken.
- they wake to you tending to their wounds, and when their eyes flutter open you see in them humbling realization in place of anger, you see fear. They are mortal. They can bleed. They can die.
- they don't stop. Of course, they heed your advice to be more careful, and they train twice as hard now, to make up for the "shortcomings of mortal flesh." But the realization that they can bleed now, and that they can die doesn't stop them. They'd do both for you, gladly.
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Wow, this blog is certainly getting more followers than I ever expected to be getting when I first made it with the intention of throwing my writing at baffled passersby and yelling into the void about my love for Vlastomil.
I truly appreciate every like and reblog, and the comments and tags give me life. Especially the folks I see often in my notes - I see you, I recognize your url, and I love every single one of you guys.
@ all the amazing people following me - thank you 💜
Thank you, dear anon! This is a very nice ask, and your English is great, don't worry! 💜
Reactions under the cut. SFW.
You tried your best, really. You didn't mean to slip. Perhaps you've grown too comfortable around them, perhaps your emotions got the best of you. Whatever the reason, all it took was the tiniest slip of concentration, and they saw you in you true form. Anxious thoughts swirled in your head, even as you transformed back as soon as you could, pouring every ounce of energy into the rushed transformation. No, no, no, no, no. What if they leave you? Worse yet, what if they decided to tell everyone, would you be imprisoned, executed? Would they see this secret you've kept as a breach of their trust? Fighting the mounting panic, you look into their eyes...
Valdemar
Their eyes immediately light up. It's like they've been given a gift - their crimson eyes practically glow, their lips twisting into a smile - but there was no ill intent, no malice. Only joyous curiosity. They ask you to transform back, to allow them to observe the majesty of your true form. They ask you to allow them to touch you, too, and if you agree, they'll trace their elegant fingers feather-light over your demonic features, your inhuman form, and all the while the expression on their face is one of sincere wonder. There's no trace of rejection, of judgement, of anything you feared. Valdemar accepts you, you realize - which is more, they accept you whatever your form, and they find every facet of your existence infinitely interesting. They treat every single thing you choose to trust them with like a gift, like a thing they value most - an opportunity to learn about you. Indeed, learning and you are two of their favorite things on earth, and your accidental transformation just combined those two things. They get to learn something new about you. What's not to love? You see that fact written clearly in their expression as they study your form with reverence.
Vulgora
The momentary surprise gives way to a grin of triumph. Their smile perfectly summarizes everything about them - it is sharp and unrelenting and unabashed, and of course - perfectly focused on you. They're overjoyed, truly, because you're like them. There is no rejection or hurt that you so feared to see in their expression. Instead, they immediately ask you to join them in their next battle, before they're even certain what sort of a demon you are. It matters not, in the end - you certainly have your unique strengths just as they do, and they're eager to see those strengths on display, they're eager to see your true form on the battlefield and enemies at the mercy of your certainly considerable powers. With them, it's not so much "what are you" as it is "what can you do." They do not judge one's worth based on appearance, but instead on how that person chooses to use their unique abilities and strengths, whatever these may be. Your accidental slip makes for a very, very happy Pontifex. They're even more eager for their next battle to come as soon as possible, as they hope that you will join them.
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Yes! Thank you for the ask, I really enjoyed writing this. Fluff with the slightest sprinkling of angst (and angst with the slightest sprinkling of fluff) is probably my favorite thing to write.
Warnings for unhealthy coping mechanisms and implied/referenced self-harm. Otherwise SFW.
Valerius
In front of everyone else, he pretends he doesn't miss you. He pretends there isn't an aching emptiness somewhere inside him, in the general vicinity of his heart, he pretends he doesn't have to grip the armrests of his chair because his hands feel so empty without yours. The others pretend they do not see the Consul's fingers idly stroking the velvet of his chair, the silk of his sleeve, anything to dull that ache of missing your familiar touch so badly it hurts. Luck would have it that he catches the servant in front of your now-empty quarters, with your pillows in her hands, intending on washing them while you are away. He will also pretend he didn't almost tear those pillows out of her hands, making up some errand on the spot that he needed her to immediately devote her time to. He sleeps with the stolen pillow every night, hugging it close to his chest and pretending he isn't missing you so much. It's completely unbecoming of a Consul, so he pretends. Of course he's not writing your name on the margins of his journal, of course he isn't lying awake at night, staring at the ceiling, wondering where you are at that moment, and if you're missing him as much as he misses you. Of course not...
Valdemar
Usually, they do not like to be touched. But you... you, they trust. In fact, they get so used to those small, idle touches, sliding their long, slender fingers between your own, their arm around your shoulders or yours around their waist... they get so used to it all that, when you have to leave for a while, they find that they terribly miss it. Funny, of all the things they thought they'd miss - your long conversations and shared looks and quiet understanding - your touch wasn't one of those things. And yet, they miss it so, so much. They try distracting themself with work, but even then the ghost of your touch is burned into their memory, into their skin underneath the gloves, like a beacon in the night the warmth of which they can feel but cannot see. There is no tide that can erase you from their mind, and they find themself alone, tugging their gloves off and examining their skin, expecting to find some mark of your touch that they constantly feel there, like an unremembered ache, like heartbreak, now that you're gone. They get more and more wistful, thinking about how much they miss you, that they begin making mistakes. It's unheard of - wrong tool grabbed while they work, re-reading the same page for the third time, and one morning they find themself away from the palace, lost in the maze because they took a wrong turn, thinking about you instead of where they were going. By the time you return, the whole palace has noticed the change in Valdemar's behavior, their distracted mistakes, their wistful looks. Of course, once you're back, the Quaestor doesn't leave your side; finally, finally - with their fingers intertwined with yours and the familiar warmth of your touch - they feel whole again.
Volta
She is devastated. She refuses to go to the palace, instead choosing to remain at her estate; but her favorite dishes do nothing to ease her sorrow. She misses you, and now not even food helps. An idea occurs to her - and she starts choosing your favorite dishes instead. It helps a little, the taste of your favorite spices brings back memories of those times the two of you spent laughing, sharing your favorite dishes, exchanging those little touches and brief hugs. While you're gone, she'll sometimes see or remember something exciting, something she wants to share with you, and she’ll turn around to tell you with the brightest smile on her face - only to realize you're not there, her smile falling, replaced by an expression of sorrow. Choosing your favorite food and the small comfort that brought her gives her yet another idea - she actually leaves her estate, only to go to the market and try to find and purchase your favorite perfume, if you have and wear one. She'll search the whole day, and when she finally finds something that's a good enough match at least, she'll happily pay several times the price, thanking the merchant over and over again. She wears the perfume for the next few days - applying it in the morning tempts a smile to her face, almost as bright as when you were with her. Soon, though, soon you'll be back and she cannot wait to hug you.
Vlastomil
The Praetor is distraught. Before you, no one would really want to touch him. To say that he was starved for simple human interaction was a major understatement. And then you came, and you didn't shrink away from his touch, you'd hold his hand, you'd hug him... and he started needing your touch more than he needed the very air he was breathing. So, when you leave for a fortnight, he can barely breathe for how much your absence hurts. He catches himself reaching for your hand which isn't there, he finds himself aching and alone... the kind of loneliness he'd hoped he left behind forever. During the day, he has his duties in court, and the idle chatter of others serves to distract him, but the nights... nights are the worst. He sits in his study, hands trembling, trying in vain to finish a letter he was writing, only for the loneliness he kept at bay during the day to return tenfold, washing over him like a tide and threatening to pull him under. He is alone, so he allows the choked half-sob that might have been your name to escape his lips, he allows himself to blink away the promise of tears that gather in the corners of his silvery eyes. He misses you so, so much... He wishes he could sleep, because that would mean your return is one day closer. Seeing that he can't, he will stay up, thinking about you, wondering with a mounting heartache whose hand you are holding...
Vulgora
Missing your touch? Of course they're not missing your touch! The fact that they pick twice as many fights means nothing. The fact that they overexert themself during training, because the ache in their muscles dulls the ache in their heart... of course it means nothing! The fact that they may have allowed a punch or two to break through their guard on purpose when they last picked a fight...well, pain is something. At least they feel something in place of that terrible, all-consuming void that was once your presence, your laugh, your touch. You'd be angry with them if you knew, they know this. They know you don't want them hurt. But how to explain that your absence hurts so much more than the bruises they get during their training, so much more than any punch that gets through their guard, so much more than... anything, really. Your absence is a particular kind of hurt they don't know what to do with. They're a demon, their flesh will heal so much faster than that of a human. But their heart...they're not sure if that's due to their demonic nature of the simple fact that they love you, but their heart seems to be healing at a much slower rate. Humans forget. They love one another and lose one another and seem to be just fine in a day, a month, a year. But Vulgora... Vulgora isn't sure they'd ever be alright again, if they lost you for good. Sometimes, they muse, it is a disadvantage to have a demon heart...
@rain-hides-my-tears Not weird at all! And thank you <3
These got absolutely out of hand and turned into huge mini fics.
Warnings for insults and general negativity towards the courtiers (some regarding alcohol consumption and food), otherwise SFW.
A little angsty, a little fluffy. Really, really long post.
It was at one of the Count's soirees. Unlike his usual parties, this one was noticeably subdued - you suspected the Countess had a hand in that. The summer roses perfumed the evening air beautifully, and you strolled through the open doors, out of the ballroom and into the gardens. Guests walked in twos or threes, engaged in hushed conversation. It was a beautiful place to wait for the one who accompanied you to the party - none other than one of Vesuvia's courtiers, who went to fetch you something to drink. So far, you've been denying your feelings, uncertain whether they'd be returned, but perhaps tonight you two could talk... You smiled to yourself, lost in the fond memories of how the two of you met, enjoying the peaceful, pleasant evening...until you caught a snippet of the conversation between the two silk-clad nobles who failed to notice you. Your blood froze, then - once the words they were saying sank in - boiled with rage.
Valerius
"Truly... the Consul is such a tasteless, horrid drunk. For all the grace and class he pretends to have-"
The second noble giggled. "Quite right, dear. An awful man, terrible lack of manners..."
You've heard enough. Fuming, you stepped from behind the tall rose bush that - accidentally - prevented the duo from noticing your presence, your hands balled into fists.
"If anyone lacks manners, it is the two of you!" you spat venomously, your gaze burning holes into their shocked faces. But you did not let that stop you - the words, once free, would not stop coming.
"Consul Valerius is one of the most powerful, influential men in Vesuvia - which I suspect you begrudge him, or else you would not be here spewing this filth where he cannot hear you!"
One of the nobles opened his mouth to speak but, thinking better of it, closed it again and let you continue your tirade.
"He is also one of the kindest, nicest men you could ever meet, if you only spared the effort to get to know him. But of course the two of you would fail at that, and get nothing but his scorn which I'd say you rightly deserve!"
The two nobles before you seemed like fish out of water, opening and closing their mouths, their eyes fixed on some spot behind you, but you cared nothing for it - you weren't finished.
"You know nothing about him, and you have no right to speak of him this way! You know nothing of his work, nothing of his virtues - of which he has many -"
Someone behind you cleared their throat, and you felt the blood in your veins turn to ice.
How long was he standing there, drinks in his hands and that amused, unbearably fond twinkle in his eye?
You felt heat rise in your cheeks, and you did the only thing your panicked mind could come up with - you ran.
You ran back into the ballroom, through the confused dancers, until you reached a door which you could slam shut behind you.
Then, you leaned against that door and allowed your body to slide to the floor, hiding your face in your hands.
He heard everything...
Sure enough, you heard familiar steps coming from the other side of the door - of course he'd find you.
You groaned silently, contemplating an escape through the balcony. But no, you had to face him sometime.
You heard the soft rustle of expensive silk as he leaned against the other side of the door, and called your name.
"I... truly appreciate what you said, you know." A small pause. "I...share the sentiment."
You could have sworn there was some choked embarrassment marking his usually calm, collected tone. "I'd love to discuss it further."
Yes, there definitely was something in his voice.
"But, dear, you've locked yourself in the Count's bedchamber, and he will want to retire for the night eventually..."
Valdemar
"They are a disgrace-"
"I don't know how Nadia puts up with it..."
You stilled, trying to control your breath as to not give yourself away, the tall rose bush hiding you perfectly from sight. They couldn't be talking about...
"Valdemar is an abomination."
Your heart sank. Unaware of your presence or your tumultuous emotions, the nobles continued.
"Indeed. Did you see the way they appeared in court the other day, with bloodstains on their clothing?"
You could hear the disgust dripping from every word, and it made your heart ache for your mentor.
"What did they ever do for Vesuvia, aside from terrifying its poor citizens? I say run them out..."
That was enough.
You stepped out, your eyes burning with all the rage you felt, every poisoned barb their words stuck in your heart fanning that flame.
"They were trying to cure the plague," you hissed, your eyes never straying from the nobles' now-terrified faces. "Why, what did you two do?"
They were quiet for a moment, before one of them recovered from surprise enough to retort:
"Of course you'd say that, their apprentice, their..."
His face twisted into a cruel, mocking expression. "...lover."
That caused your rage to overflow.
"You know NOTHING about them!" You yelled, not caring for the other partygoers nearby who ceased their conversations and turned their frightened eyes to you. You didn't care, for once, that you were causing a scandal. You've been listening to these malevolent whispers about Valdemar for the longest time, and you could bear it no longer.
"Whatever I may feel for them, it doesn't matter. What matters is the facts, and it is a fact that they are the most skilled physician alive." You took a step towards them, your eyes burning and your fists clenched, and they took a step backwards. But you did not relent.
"It is a fact that they worked on the cure when no one else would, and it is a fact that they saved more lives than you can imagine."
One more step. And another.
"It is a fact that-"
You looked up, past the terrified pair, and fell silent as your eyes met those of Valdemar, standing some distance away, with a wide, unrestrained, amused grin of their face.
"I-" You faltered, the two unlucky nobles looking at each other, unsure of what had caused your anger to dissipate.
You turned on your heel and ran.
Your escape lead you into the maze - you weren't watching where you were going, wanting just to escape from your unplanned and implied confession - and soon you found yourself lost.
Tall, green walls closed in on every side, and you realized that you did not know which way to take to go back.
It was then that they appeared, like a shadow out of nowhere, towering over you with that same wide grin - unashamed of their sharp teeth, of the captivating crimson of their eyes.
They just watched you.
"Well, well... that was quite a confession."
You remained silent, your face burning. Their grin remained unchanged as they took a step towards you.
"Luckily, we're alone here, and I would very much like to hear more..."
Volta
"Look at the glutton."
"Shameless."
The two nobles clearly hadn't noticed you - both were looking at Volta, who had apparently stopped by the buffet on her way to get the drinks; she was now piling sandwiches on her plate. There were in fact two plates, you noticed. One was meant for you.
Dark emotions swirled in you as the two nobles continued disparaging the Procurator, calling her all kinds of names, saying she was a drain on the palace resources, things you cared not to repeat.
"Look at her," one of them continued, unaware of your presence; "eating like a-"
You've had enough.
"Will you shut up?!" You spat, stepping out in the open. Both of the nobles looked on, thankfully speechless.
"You accuse her of wasting the palace food, but people such as you - malicious and cowardly - waste its very air."
The nobles were too shocked to respond to the insults. But you didn't care - unlike Volta, they deserved them.
"You know nothing of the Procurator, you know nothing of her troubles! You accuse her of wasting food while others go hungry - what have YOU done to feed them? What did you do to help the poor of Vesuvia?!"
Still, they managed no response, and their opulent dress and haughty air told you they did exactly nothing to aid the underprivileged.
"You wag your forked tongues, gorging yourselves on slander and the misfortune of others, and you have no idea what this wonderful, kind woman is going through-"
CRASH
You spun to discover the source of the sound, and found Volta standing there, the plates shattered in the grass at her feet, her lower lip trembling as she watched you, unblinking.
You realized she'd heard your confession.
You did think she was kind and wonderful, but you didn't want her finding out about your feelings like this.
The best your mind came up with was running, so you did just that - pushing the stunned nobles aside, you ran, Volta on your heels, pleading with you to stop.
Whether it was the adrenaline from facing the nobles or something else, you quickly ran out of breath.
You and the Procurator found yourselves alone, some distance from the party, under a large tree spreading its branches proudly over a small clearing in the garden.
You leaned against its bark, breathing hard from your run, and you could do nothing but watch as Volta approached you, her eyes wide and fixed on your face.
"Did...did you mean that?" she asked, a rosy color climbing to her otherwise pale cheeks.
"What you...what you said about me?"
Your heart racing, you watched the small woman in front of you - her innocent face that hid a darkness you knew all too well, her heart laid bare in her expression.
"I..did. I do."
Even before she closed the distance between you, even before she spoke, you could clearly tell she felt the same.
Vlastomil
"Disgusting. Did you know he keeps worms in his estate?"
Nothing but a disgusted noise as a reply. The first voice continued.
"I swear, it was like grabbing something deceased, when I was forced to shake his hand... absolutely revolting."
Completely alight with rage, you stepped out in the open to face the two nobles - consequences be damned.
"What did you say?"
The two nobles looked at one another, but hadn't seemed half as uncomfortable as they ought to have been - clearly, these horrible rumors were a commonplace occurrence, something that hounded the Praetor's steps for years.
That didn't mean you'd tolerate them.
"If I'm not mistaken, you two pathetic excuses for human beings called Praetor Vlastomil disgusting?"
You were unsure where the rage and courage were coming from - perhaps that luminous, tightly coiled ball of warmth in the center of your chest that'd light up every time the Praetor's pale eyes were on you. Perhaps it was your love for him that allowed you to play the part so well.
You made a point of looking them up and down.
"You have some gall."
Hearing that, anger darkened their features, and the first who spoke challenged you;
"Rich, coming from Vlastomil's pet magician..."
The second one snickered, their eyes overflowing with malice.
"No telling what you do for the freak..."
That feeling - that tightly held and safely kept secret - exploded outwards, flooding you with courage; the words came before you could stop them.
"You... you know nothing. The likes of you do not know what it means to care for ANY other living being. All you do is judge and judge and gorge yourselves on the misery of others, never stopping to think your supposed beauty is only skin-deep, with an abyss of ugliness underneath. Vlastomil is kind, and caring, he is...everything you could never be. And you... you disgust me. Not him. You."
Silence descended, disturbed only by your heavy breathing. You felt like you were running for miles, like you swam across the ocean... but all you did was finally say out loud what was in your heart.
You heard the tiniest clink of a teacup being set down.
There he was, two cups of tea on the table by his side, because he didn't trust his shaking hands to keep the fragile porcelain safe.
The look on his face was the look of a man watching the first dawn after a life of solitude in the dark...only, he was looking at you.
You turned and ran, through the dancers, out of the garden, down the stairs and through the winding alleys...into the trees.
And you didn't stop running.
You were unsure what it was that gave you the stamina to keep going, but you refused to think about it and you refused to stop.
He'd heard everything.
How could you face him now?
Finally, you were beginning to run out of breath, sweat cooling on your heated skin into uncomfortable prickling. Finally, you looked around.
You were in the middle of the forest, deep amidst the massive trees... and there was a sound.
A barely perceptible rumble, a note on the edge of hearing, like something massive and unseen moving through the trees - or underground. Too exhausted by your adrenaline-fueled flight to think, you instead elected to simply run, until the last vestiges of your strength drained away.
It wasn't much longer until that happened.
You couldn't hear the thing that was pursuing you any longer - whatever it was - and you had reached a clearing in the forest, the bright full moon shining above you.
And in that clearing, brushing the dirt from his clothes and looking at you like you might turn and run at the sight of him, was Vlastomil.
You opened your mouth and closed it again, without a sound.
What was there to say? He must have heard everything. And you...you weren't ready to hear his rejection.
Until he closed the distance between you with swift steps and swept you into a hug; you understood that no such rejection would ever come.
Vulgora
"Pontifex? More like a vicious beast," snarled the first noble, while his companion nodded.
"A wild animal," he snarled, "one that even Lucio cannot control. Did you know they attacked one of the ambassadors? Right before the Countess' eyes, in the palace. Guards had to intervene. We have cages for such things."
You have had enough.
The rage in you had reached the boiling point, but you knew you would be doing no favors to Vulgora's already tarnished reputation had you succumbed to that rage. You cleared your throat, causing both nobles to look up.
"A pleasant evening, is it not?" You managed to say coldly, your voice dripping with restrained anger.
"Why, yes in-"
"A pleasant evening for baseless, vicious slander spewed by two of the lowest weaklings the nobility of Vesuvia could produce. Pleasant indeed."
You cut them off, and the nobles simply stared with a stunned expression.
You clasped your hands behind your back, simply to curb the need to strike either of the ill-mannered, malicious nobles. Your nails almost drew blood.
"I will hear nothing more that calls into question the valor of the Pontifex - the one defending you and your ilk - have I made myself clear?"
The nobles frowned, but thought better than to speak.
You weren't finished.
"You think them uncultured...while being afraid to even approach them, let alone stand up to them, if their behavior offends you so."
You took a step closer, gritting your teeth and narrowing your eyes at the nobles, who clearly weren't expecting anything like that from you.
You leaned closer, and they scrambled backwards - likely fearing Vulgora's retribution should they provoke you more than your own reaction. You didn't care - you wanted them gone.
In truth, your heart ached for the Pontifex, so feared and so alone.
They'd never hurt you, and you alone did not fear them.
Which meant there was no one else to defend them, no one else to say a kind word about them.
The nobles looked away, clearly upset but too afraid of Vulgora's retribution to insult you.
You used that silence to speak, instead.
"You are beneath them. Their deeds, their words - once you've earned their words, that is - are worth so much more than your own. For all of your supposed valor, the best you can do is baseless slander and powerless malice. Begone."
Both of the nobles looked up, color draining from their faces, and scrambled away.
It was a moment later that you realized they didn't flee from you, but from Vulgora - who was standing just behind you with a wide, sharp smile on their face.
Their golden eyes alight in the same way they'd be after a victory on the battlefield, after their enemies crumbled and begged for mercy which would not come.
Only, they were looking at you - like you were that victory personified, a muse of blood instead of their accidental shield from vitriol and cowardice of the lesser nobles.
You realized they'd probably heard every word.
Knowing that running would be meaningless, you simply hid your face in your hands, embarrassment burning your cheeks like fire.
What would they think of you now; you used no weapon but words to defend them. Would they think you a coward? Worse yet - will they chastise you for defending them when they - clearly - preferred to fight their own battles?
"I...need some air," you mumbled - a pathetic lie, given that you were already outside - and turned to run from Vulgora.
You made it halfway through a group of dancers, before a gauntleted hand grasped your arm, gently but firmly; the movement forced you to turn around and meet Vulgora's luminous golden eyes.
"I-" you began your excuse, unsure of what to say, but at that very moment, the string quartet had begun the first notes of another song. A waltz.
Your cheeks burning and words eluding you, you remained speechless as Vulgora's other hand settled on your waist. Held firmly against them, you could do nothing but gasp as they brought your hand to their lips and whispered against your skin, their sharp grin never wavering and their golden eyes never leaving yours: "A victory dance then, shall we?"
The music filled the air, lively and sharp and promising.
Oh~ who’s this? maybe @apprentice-lex’s lex? sure they are! and I’m really happy about how this drawing turned out! 💜 I did two versions ‘cause i’m used to color them in a scale of greys uwu
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Yet another out-of-context Vlastomil thing found in my sketches folder, from the Vlastomil x apprentice comic I never have the time to actually work on.
origamiaround
ellievsbear
romaincrisis
jacobvanloon
blakekathryn
