Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
>tw: intended âfluffâ that eventually became filthy smut⊠i will tell your mom if you are under 18 reading this.
>tags: sexual tension, teasing, pervy!jude, dom!jude, humiliation, LOTS of oral (f!receiving), overstimulation
You canât convince me that Jude doesnât secretly adore a brat. Beneath all those hardened scowls and snappy gripes is a man that goes soft for a girl that challenges him. Being the head of a successful trading company is someone who lives in domination and control, day-in and day-out faced with subordinates that fear him and enemies that detest him, Jude breathes hostility in and out. Enter the sweet little Robin, with a headstrong and self-affirmed character that haunts his mind but with a kindness that hits him at the knees. He likes things done a certain way: his way. So whenever she retracts against his prescribed way, paving her own path to the side just to prove him wrongâit doesnât displease him. Somehow, her indignantly victorious expression instead of fuelling hate, fuels deep fondness tainted with sadistic lust.Â
Jude has a dangerously rational mind, cold logic and pessimism freezing his brain and hardening his heart. He was born raging at the world having seen too many innocents die at Fateâs blindly cruel hands, so when he encounters something pure and soft, he bristles up and braces himself for the worst. The Robin, a beautiful balance between a benevolent perception of the world and an unfailing kindness towards even its worst dimensions, is someone that messes with all the components of his mind. Jude knows heâs unpleasant company, even overcompensating on that bitterness to deter those who would be compromised by his association, but when she looks up at him with those scrunched brows and teary eyes, it lights a fire inside that wintery interior of his. Against his better judgment, should he torment her further, heâs rewarded with an unconscious lip bite and a pitifully sweet expression urging him to stop. The feeling she ignites in him is filthy, down to the level of the immoral and indulgent Alfons, but even Jude is infallible to the syrupy fruits of lust, especially when she offers them so sweetly to him.Â
Visits to his company to do work for him is worse for his predicament. Being in such close proximity to her, when Jude could clearly see her successes and how she can do such difficult work against his expectations brings a warm pride to his heart. But when she fails⊠Jude was characteristically harsh and though unintentionally patronizing, he belittles her out of habit. Expecting her to run away in tears, she instead holds her ground, calling him out on his unceasing cruelty with teary eyes. Her body language was hostile, her face presenting such clear distaste for him, he should be enraged, and he is, but it was not isolated. Instead he felt such strong hunger towards that indignant face of hers. He wanted to grab her chin, squeeze her cheeks until her lips pursed into a stupidly cute pout and lick that mouth open. Her crossed arms pushed her breasts together and it took remembering his trauma to prevent him from ripping her blouse open to bite her soft nipples. So instead, Jude had to look away from those irresistible eyes of hers.
Jude was particularly restless on missions with the Robin. He detested Victor and his insistence on constantly allowing her to put herself in danger. A princess like her shouldnât have to witness such cruelty. Still, her headstrong nature was what attracted him to her against his better judgment. Her kindness always meant she would try and assuage the situation, help the victims in the case even knowing her own safety was compromised. Jude would do his best to protect her, but when she defied his orders to save someone else, he hated how his heart palpitated in both worry and admiration. Scolding her on the carriage ride home, she would always fight against his lectures so that instead of indignance, it was a deep passion that attractively hardened her features. That strong defense of her morals and affirmation of her valuesâit was too beautiful to look away from.
Jude forced her to reveal her injuries this time. She unbuttoned her blouse to show the scrapes on her arms but Jude sickly delighted at the reveal of her soft skin from her shoulders, her delicate collarbones, and her arms. He treated the scrapes, but touching his rough fingers to her soft skin, even he couldnât escape the sexually charged air, especially after such a passionate fight between them. Jude tried to be gentle but knew that he was anything but, so she would flinch in pain at his ministrations. Her silence was loud. She defended her actions and while Jude hated them, it was right in her mind. In punishment, he allowed himself a small indulgenceâhe trailed his nails from her hands up to her bare shoulders whispering a threat to her ear that if she were to be so reckless again that he would no longer be such a civilized man, especially not when she undressed herself so easily for him.Â
It was a miraculously slow day at Crownâs palace where Jude is granted precious time to study the stars. The livelier members were off on missions and indulgences alike, and as far as Jude knew, sweet solitude was his. Nothing was to disturb his peace⊠that is, until her scent of London rainfall and vanilla buns wafted into the library. The foolish girl couldnât even hide the sound of her footsteps, so even with her hushed whispers anyone in that castle library could hear her presence. Jude could see in between bookshelves how she was an adorable little thing, peeking around corners so as not to impose on anyone else. A strange glint of mischief hit Judeâs heart, wanting to claim this rare opportunity of just the two of them. So what if he was marked with bitterness in her heart, at least he was in her memories anyway.Â
Like the perverts he detests, Jude followed her around the library. She perused around the books about economics and business, warming Judeâs heart when he realized she was studying for him. Still, he noticed how her eyes seemed to linger on the romance books over the next bookshelf. Her girlish innocence fighting with her determined mindâthat dynamic melted some of Judeâs cold brain. With a conscious glance around her, she eventually relented and stepped towards those romantic novels.Â
She opened a book Jude knew was particularly erotic, so he seized the moment, âthis is what the pristine Robin does when no oneâs around? What a pervert.â She jumped, whipping around to face Jude and his arrogant grin. Immediately, her face contorted into his favourite expression: indignant and frustrated, brows scrunched and shining eyes looking up at his own. Denying his accusation, she squeezed herself against the shelf, a cute but useless act to protect herself from Judeâs oncoming torment. He devised a scheme, deciding to challenge her, âread that book aloud to me. If it isnât as perverted as you say, then weâll have no problem.â Jude adored how her face was like an open book, especially in moments such as this when he can clearly witness the fight between wanting to prove him wrong winning over the need to prove her innocence, all seen through her wavering expressions.Â
The image in this quiet afternoon shows the indignant Robin with her straight posture in contrast with Judeâs cocky figure leaned against the couch with his heavy boots nudging her pretty skirt. She huffed at his pestering her, each little tease of his warranting a bothered response from her, altogether eliciting a sick satisfaction in Jude. Jude read that book before, so he knew the plot very quickly dissolved into indulgent smut within the first two chapters. She stopped after the first chapter, her eyes regaining confidence at the harmless text sheâd read so far. Her self-important little smirk brightened her entire expression, her eyes scrunched in delight and victory. She crossed her arms, leaning forward ever so subtly towards Jude, those expectant eyes of hersâJude wanted nothing more than to push her down to the plush and tease her until those eyes melted into tears. As she went on and on about how Jude always belittles her, watched those smiling lips form word after word, noting how her lips pursed into a pout when she said his name. Oh⊠when she said his name... Jude could imagine how he would hold her hands above her head while his other hand trailed up her skirt⊠She was a masochistic little pervert, he could already picture how her juices would obscenely soak her knickers.
His throat ran dry at that image.Â
âDidnât tell you to stop reading,â Jude commanded. She jumped again at the dangerously low pitch his voice had taken. Her brief little lapse into obedience after such indignance burned straight to his crotch. As each line in the book increased in sensuality so did the warmth of her face, and before long, her voice cracked and dissolved into shameful murmurs.Â
âCanât hear that sweet voice princess,â Jude snapped. Her breath always stopped whenever he called her that. It was always in a mocking context but at this point fondness had begun to battle that teasing side. She disobeyed his command, too ashamed to read such filth aloud. Even worse, she began to hide her body away from his, perhaps the worst thing she could do to Judeâs increasing hunger. Jude tsked, grabbing her thigh and pulling her entire body forward, right up and lush against his. She gasped at the heat of his body, completely unaware of how she so easily undid him just by being her.Â
âDisobeying and now hiding from me? Youâre such a little brat.â Jude relented to his temptations, trailing his hands from her thighs down to her ankles, stroking them as her chest dipped up and down.
âYouâre enjoying this? You really are a perverted princess.â Jude trailed his fingers from her ankles and allowed his hands to lift her skirt up over her knees. This time stroking her knees, he nodded towards the forgotten book in her hand. She resumed reading the chapter.
Jude stroked her knees again, whispering a âgood girlâ as he pushed his other hand down to her stomach. He softly pushed her down to the couch so she would lay down. Using his other hand to push her knees aside to spread her legs, she stuttered on a line. He made sure to stop his action as a warning should she stop reading.
âThatâs a good girl, spread yer legs fâme.â Jude relished in the indignant huff from her, her face expressing distaste but her body clearly asking for more. He pushed her skirt over her hips this time. Those sweet thighs and the stockings that squeezed them called to him. At his intense gaze, she squeezed her thighs in shame. That bratty little action sent waves of heat down to his dick. In retaliation, Jude slapped her thigh, alighting a gasp from her. That brief moment of vulnerability allowed Jude to push her thighs apart.Â
âIf you stop reading Iâll leave you alone like this,â Jude warned, âhot and bothered but no one to help you. Just a poor helpless princess.â Obeying him, she continued his reading. He allowed himself to bite them, and when she flinched, he pressed an apologetic wet kiss on the marks he left. She stuttered with her reading, but like a good girl, she continued her lines.
As he had expected, her knickers were almost entirely drenched. That growing hunger blazed even strongerâhis mouth watered at the sight. She flinched and quickly covered that delicious sight from him. Her defiance, even at this moment still excited him, so as much as he hated her hiding, it still tickled that same fondness in him.Â
âYouâre just begging for punishment, arenât you?â She adamantly shook her head but Jude was too far gone at this point. Grabbing her hips, he flipped her onto her stomach, blocking her sight from his ministrations.
âKeep reading if you know whatâs good for you,â Jude warned, âand I know this is good for you. Your knickers are fucking soaked.â Breathing hard, she resumed reading once again as Jude finally buried his face in her pussy. Even covered by her panties, her sweet juices dripped down to his waiting mouth. A moan interrupted the line she just read, but Jude could care less now that he could finally taste her. Sucking the now-translucent fabric in his mouth, those broken moans fully rendered her wordless.Â
He growled, spanking her ass when he noticed her distracted state, âKeep. Fucking. Reading.â As soon as her words continued, he yanked her panties down, licking a long stripe up from her clit to her hole. She gasped once again, pushing backwards towards him, but Jude pressed a hand betwen her shoulders to keep her down. He dipped his tongue into her sweet cunt, letting the juices gush around his waiting mouth.
Rewarded with a startled whimper, Jude played with her cunt like she played with his heart. He spat on her quivering hole, letting his drool dribble down to her clit before licking back up. She shivered, the book fully forgotten. He devoured her cunt whole, flattening his tongue and massaging it over her clit. Those sweet little whimpers became whines and her legs quivered, weak and unable to support her weight. Jude mercifully wrapped his arms under her thighs to hold her up, selfishly, really, just so he could keep devouring her.
He switched from playing with her clit to fucking her hole with his tongue, the change eliciting another helpless gasp from her. She seemed to melt right into his hands, submitting herself to his rough hands. But that sadistic streak in Jude persisted, so he spread her ass apart and spat on her other hole. To Judeâs frustration, she wriggled away, rambling about how he was being improper or how that place was dirty, whatever it was between the two, Jude no longer cared. Fed up with her bratty behaviour, he landed another hard slap on her ass. She jolted, her cunt clenching around his tongue making him moan.Â
The book clatters to the ground, pages spread open like a fan and exposing the sinful pages that started this whole predicament. Jude held her thighs up, selfishly feasting on her sweet juices while her nails dug into the couchâs cushions. She buried her face into a pillow, her moans far too loud for the quiet library, but this only earned another hard slap against her ass.Â
âFucking brat. Need to hear those slutty moans princess.â As if punctuating his command, he took her clit into his mouth, delivering a harsh suck that left her breathless. He continues this torment, switching between sucking, licking, spitting, and spanking, especially when she tries to hide her voice. That cold, logical brain that Jude was so proud of was scrambled, thoughts scattered because of how drunk he was becoming off her pussy. It was only fair he should devour her with how much she occupies his thoughts these days.
Her moans increasingly staccatoed, voice pitching higher and cunt clenching tighter. Jude ate her out as if she owed him her orgasm, drinking her juices as if he was trying to rip it out. She cums hard, reaching that pinnacle violently because Jude was not a gentle man.
Despite the violent quivers of her entire bottom half, Jude did not relent, punishing her in his own way for how much she torments him inside. She reaches a shaky hand around, pulling at his hair, uncertain whether she wants to pull him away or pull him closer.Â
The both of them lost count of how many orgasms she gave Jude. Eventually he does relent and give her mercy, the sweet Robin twitching on the soaked couch. All of Judeâs icy rationality, detestable fondness, and even desperate hunger melted into a quiet fondness at the sight of her ruined body.
While in the aftermath of their rendezvous, she turned around in the midst of Jude cleaning her up. Knelt on the floor and wiping her thighs with his handkerchief, she huffed in fond frustration at Jude. Met with the sight of her angry eyes Jude felt that fire rekindle inside.Â
tl;dr: God, does Jude love his little brat.Â
a/n: wowie that was a lot. I was kinda sick of how the game always portrays Jude as this teasing sadist, and while he is, I wanted to have a moment where he overindulges the Robin in some way. I hope you enjoyed me sharing my sick little mind with you. Leave a like/reblog if you think Jude is a stinky meanie
>a/n: I know all of my works are pretty self-indulgent but this is probably my most self-indulgent post so far. Still, I hope all my quiet girlies out there enjoy this little blurb. Thank you for checking me out and enjoy! <3
Thinking about how Roger would be perfect with a quiet MC. You always had a quiet voice growing up shy in your childhood but as your anxiety developed you silenced your voice even more. Anxious about others hating you and uncaring of what you had to say, you muted your voice and insulated your thoughts to protect yourself; never speaking up so others couldnât hate you for the words you wish you could say. The few times you did speak out of obligation, your voice was squeaky and unrefined, vocal cords unused out of fear. Occasionally, some thoughts escaped your head in quiet whispers not meant to be heard by anyone â you remained unaffected because no one could decipher your words so this was never an issue⊠that is, until you joined Crown.
After negotiating for your life in exchange for a brief tenure as âFairytale Keeperâ for Crown, your even more reserved nature diminished into itself even further. Before you learned everyoneâs abilities, you were sent on a mission with Elbie, Alfons, and Roger (the Snow White gang) to investigate a human trafficking ring under the guise of a shipping company. The three of you needed to act as Elbieâs entourage to inquire on the business. The man you met made some unsavoury comments on the higher âvalueâ that certain women had and you couldnât help the curses under your breath, âDeath is too merciful for men like you, you deserve only to rot in hell.â Roger couldnât help the startled chuckle at this comment. Youâve been shy, muted, and unreadable so Roger was charmed he could finally hear your thoughts. Of course, you were even more startled that he could hear what you said so your face was hot with shame. Roger wouldnât hear any of your embarrassed apologies and instead leaned in to whisper (much to the jealousy of Elbie and Alfons) that no matter how hard you try to suppress your voice, he will always hear what you have to say.Â
Roger could confess that he selfishly liked being the only one to hear your voice sometimes. Although he knew it was better in the long-run for you to gain more confidence and finally speak your mind, it thrilled him that his Curse gave him way more of your personality than the other guys could even hope for. And he was certainly no Elbie but his own greed won him over whenever someone like Liam would have to beg and beg just to hear a word from you yet he had unlimited access to your voice all the time. Of course, he did help you slowly gain more confidence and grow more comfortable with the guys by either interpreting and repeating your words or shutting the guys up whenever you had something to say so they could all hear. A particular act you noticed was that he could tell during missions that you often shrunk into yourself so as not to hinder the operation; whenever they were stuck and you had an idea, Roger would tune into any word that left your lips (more so than usual at least) and repeat it out loud while crediting you.Â
Rogerâs consideration, while coming from a place of fondness, doesnât go without payment. He tends to take credit as the first man among Crown to truly get close to you, which he uses as his justification for whenever he wants to be affectionate, teasing, or protective. After particularly difficult missions, he and Alfons (sometimes Jude as well) will take you out to drink where they hope youâll indulge them more of yourself without so much of your anxiety holding you back. Whenever your lips began to loosen, Alfons would use the excuse of ânot hearing you well enough Miss MCâ to slither next to you and intimately wrap his arm around your shoulder. Roger would always block him and claim the seat next to yours as itâs âhis rightâ as your first man (Rio?). Another you-privilege Roger indulges in is holding an entirely private conversation with you in front of the others. Guys like Liam and Elbie will whine (one more elegantly than the other) over sitting close with you so they can get just a tiny glimpse of the you that you hide, but Roger can sit on the opposite end of the room and just converse normally. Additionally, with how quieter you tend to be compared to the others, Roger is always a little worried over how youâre doing throughout the day; he strives his listening abilities to hear your small footsteps throughout the castle, the rustle of your skirt when you move around your room, and his favourite: when you sing a little song under your breath when you think no oneâs listening. Heâs a little protective of you, so he gladly listens in on you whenever he can (and heâs glad heâs the one who can do that). So yes, unfortunately his ears are always âonâ for you. With Roger you never have to worry about repeating what you say over and over, or speaking up because the other person canât hear you, or even just holding back. He greedily consumes every sound coming from your lips, so itâs immensely comforting you finally have a faithful listener to the repressed yapper in you.Â
In short, Roger would be a dream to have around girls who tend to be shyer and have quiet voices. Heâs always there to listen, tease, protect, and be with you. And donât worry, he adores you and your quiet presence because the possessive and greedy man in him gets to be the only one for you in this way.Â
Bonus: Itâs not explicitly stated but I feel that out of the other guys, Elbie also tends to have a quieter voice. He has such a soft tone that grows even gentler with you because he finds you so precious and as something to protect the first time he hears your voice. He understands the struggle of having a quieter voice but never had to feel silenced/overlooked because of his enormous aura or have to repeat what he said because everyone was already paying such rapt attention to him. In a way, he feels possessively protective of you (does that make sense?) because heâs the only other one to know your struggles but simultaneously doesnât experience the hardships from it. So he takes on the pleasant burden (donât worry he loves it) of being your voice whenever you donât want to speak. After noticing (and admittedly growing jealous of) how Roger has an intimate bond with you, heâll trail very close to you so he never misses what you say. You catch him just full on watching you sometimes, paying such close attention to your lips and whenever they move that youâre always warm in the face because of it. So if youâre a shy and quiet girl, itâs almost a 2-for-1 deal that you get two handsome guys hanging on to your every word!Â
Hi if youâre an ikemen blog or whatever feel free to PLEASEEEE interact with this post (comment or reblog) because I wanna find people to follow and make friends and mutual for the fandom because I hardly know anybody đđ đđ
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
>tw: isaac yearning for a curvy reader/mc, he has dirty thoughts and barely holds onto his self-restraint
>a/n: suggestive short based on this meme I saw on ig. minors dni or I'll tell your mom!!
Isaac likes them thicc
 Isaac Newtonâs most well-known law of gravity: the greater the mass, the greater the force of attraction. It was about gravity but with the way Isaacâs eyes raked over your body, you could apply it to your situation now.Â
âIsaac, is something the matter?â The timid scientistâs eyes snapped up to yours, its sinful trip down your soaked body interrupted. The both of you had fallen into the fountain earlier, and to your delight, you believed that Isaac had finally stepped out of his shell and grew comfortable with you. With some laughter at your rotten luck and an irritated carriage driver later, the two of you sat inside the bumbling vehicle back to the mansion. Isaac gave you his coat to cover up, but you caught his lingering gaze on your body. Your own face wasnât spared from warmth with the knowledge that your loose clothes now stuck tight, your every roll accentuated and presented to the world. Or at the moment, to your dear Isaac. Heâs probably shocked at how big I am. Heâs used to petite French girls with tiny waists, or delicate English ladies. He probably thinks I look so disâ
âForgive me, MC! I was justâoh dearâthis is most improper of meââ Isaac stumbled over his words, his face hot with shame and his eyes dark with an emotion you canât quite place. He would avert his eyes around the carriage but an unexplainable urge kept pulling his eyes back to your body. It was such enigmatic behaviour, but if you could describe it he looked almost⊠hungry.Â
âItâs alright. I apologize for looking so⊠uncouth. Itâs not a pretty sight.â You hugged Isaacâs coat tighter, praying you could take up less space. Not only did you embarrass yourself in front of your favourite resident, his poor eyes had to witness such a horrid sight. Isaacâs face melted from its shameful expression into one of confusion. The problem he was facing certainly had to do with your appearance; not with its unattractivenessâthe very opposite, in fact. Isaac, as a true gentleman, couldnât very well tell you of the depraved thoughts circling his mindâŠburning through his veinsâŠand alighting his manhood. You were too precious for him to outright confess his yearning for your body; you were too important and he cared for you beyond the sinful attraction he harboured at the moment. He vowed he would never act like Arthur, rakish, immoral, and unable to resist pleasure. With how desperately Isaac wished to worship every curve under that soaked shirt, heâs reminded again of how badly he desired you. Those damn buttons. He could almost picture how he would claw at each one⊠or would he gently undo them to tease you? No, he knew that if you allowed him, all sense of composure would leave his mind. He was far more likely to just rip that godforsaken shirt apart to expose your beautiful breasts. The thought was far too enticing: your pretty little face tinged with shyness but your eyes with a touch of eagerness. His greedy hands wouldnât hesitate, relishing in the softness of your breasts while he trailed his sharp teeth down to your nipplesâ
You cleared your throat. Isaac had been staring at you again, his eyes even darker with that same hunger as before. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. In a battle for self-restraint, he tilted his head, licking his dry lips. It wouldnât be safe for him to lose control. His aberration would fuel that desperate urge for you even more than it had before. The sight of Isaacâs irritation was far too attractive. His sharp jawline was clenched, his Adamâs apple bobbed as his fingers loosened his tie with surprising strength. His now-behaved gaze lay on your feet. He looks so uncomfortable⊠While wishing for the carriage driver to make haste, Isaac finally cast his eyes to yours, tinged with barely contained self-restraint.Â
âItâs nothing that youâre doing, MC⊠Iâm afraid I justââ his breath shifted as he allowed his gaze to fall to your chest again, âcanât hold myself back anymore.âÂ
A bump on the road violently rocked the carriage but Isaacâs strong hands steadied your hips down on your seat. His warm body, now far closer than before, inched even more. Isaac dared to inch his face closer to where the sweet scent of your body was the strongest. In a way, burying his face in your neck would prevent you from witnessing his unravelling restraint, but selfishly, Isaac was just tempted to sink his teeth into your soft skin. His voice was right next to your ear. âYou look far too delectable right now.â Isaacâs words only made your blood course faster through your body. It was too hot with Isaac right there. Whatâs gotten into him? He must be feeling sick because why else would he be saying all this?Â
âOĂč est-ce que je tourne?â The carriage driver yelled out.Â
Isaacâs breath warmed your ear. âTournez Ă droite au coin, s'il vous plaĂźt,â he replied, not taking his eyes away from yours. Knowing you were almost at the mansion brought both relief and disappointment. Seeing Isaacâs normally stiff composure fall apart because he saw a glimpse of your body was⊠riveting, to say the least. When else would you get to see his handsome face all warm and needy? For someone like you, who normally never caught the attention of others being worshipped with a single gaze⊠could you really blame yourself for wanting to revel in the pleasure a bit longer?Â
Whatever sinful spell Isaac was under faded the closer the carriage was to the mansion. Isaac, with newfound boldness, kissed your neck once⊠twice⊠and when the carriage driver announced the arrival, he left one last lingering kiss on your collarbone. When the doors opened, he helped you down like a proper gentleman. As he held your hand, he squeezed your fingers longingly before leaving to pay the driver.
I've just finished reading your 'having an off day' Ike amp fanfic, and let me tell you, the excitement I felt when you mentioned Napoleon Bonaparte's Italian ancestry.
I am a history enthusiast (specifically post-revolution France) and have always been repeatedly discontent with a few people forgetting that the emperor was Italian, so thank you for pointing out that small, albeit important detail.
Have a good day!
OMG OMG THANK UUUU
the way this small compliment motivates me to do more writing is crazy so thank u sm
love transcending time - aka the ikevamp prologue still unnecessarily narrated
>ikemen vampire
>everyone x reader
>a/n: here are chapters 3 and 4 of the prologue. it's about 5k words long, so sit back and relax, and I hope you enjoy. i have some shorter works coming soon!
Chapter III: The Hourglass
Outside the lavish mansion where a puzzling banquet was being hosted was a lush coach stopped just past the grand gates. The coachman turned towards his passenger, a rose-haired man who donned a thousand masks. The man, who sometimes played the part of a king, a prince, a lover, but always in all, a liar. He spoke with the ambiguous tone of someone who could laugh or cry at the next word, â... I apologize my good sir, but I have decided not to stay after all.â He faced away from the cruelly smiling crescent moon to re-enter the coach.Â
The baffled coachman asked, âBut Monsieur, what about the banquet?âÂ
The mysterious passenger ominously chuckled in return, âCapricious Fate has invited a guest of fairer mien than mine to take my chair. Hers is centre stage tonight, though I shanât stay to see how she performs.â His eyes were of opposite colourâthe right eye a misty green, the left a bloody red. The coachman shivered at his gaze; this was the first time in their evening he had donned an expression that felt⊠genuine. And it was genuinely dark. âLet us depart anon.âÂ
The coachman quickly hurried the vehicle off through the night, while its passenger relaxed into the velvet cushions. With only the laughing moon as his companion, he spoke to herâa bard playing to a lone audience, âO, what upturned expectations have come at the arrival of this new player?â The bard had seen MC but for a spare moment, and yet, he found himself haunted by her vision. âNo devil can beguile men to persuasions more than she with an angelâs form. Or be she one of heavenâs messengers behind the horns and wings of temptation?â The coach jolted as it hit a divot in the path, sending the bardâs scripts scrawling to the coach's floor. Visible on the cover was the distinct signature of William Shakespeare.Â
âSebastian, if you would make us a cup of herbal tea? I think anise would beââ
âNone for me, itâs okay.â As expected, dinner had ended with none of my questions answered. Le Comte remained true to his promise, however, and invited me to his office for an explanation. Still, my anxieties were left rampant in my head, and I could find no energy inside of me to remain courteous after such an absurd banquet. As Sebastian quietly closed the door to retrieve the tea, Le Comte looked at me with a sympathetic mien. âI just want to know how to get back. My aunt, she must be so worried,â I weakly muttered.Â
âI presume you wish to exit through the door back to the Louvre? Iâm afraid doing so will be difficult. You see, it only opens under very specific conditions.â
âWhat conditions?â
âThe specifics are difficult to explain.â Le Comte rose from his large mahogany chair and stopped in front of a grand hourglass. It was unusually large and had gold furnishings, the top half full of sand. âThe door will open once all the sand in this hourglass has fallen. Itâs quite precise and I match that timing with the doorâs opening myself.â I donât like how much sand is in there. And how slowly itâs falling if it even is.Â
â... How long does that hourglass run for?â I croaked out in a panic.Â
âIt takes a month, on average.â A MONTH?Â
âPardon me? I must have misheard,â I laughed in incredulity. I could feel my sanity crumbling between my fingers like the sand in that hourglass.Â
âIt typically takes a month for all the sand to fall. Doesnât it, Sebastian?â I didnât even notice the butler come in with the tray of tea.Â
âYes, M. le Comte. Meaning she will not be able to return for another month.â I squeezed my eyes, hoping this was all some sort of nightmare.Â
âWeâre in Paris, yes?â I asked in trepidation. There has to be another way to leave. As le Comte sipped his tea, he nodded.Â
âIâll just leave through the front door. How far are we from the Louvre?â No one said I had to leave through that strange door. Why would I need to use that to return? I can just get back to the hotel and apologize to my aunt for being gone for this long. Le Comte picked up a newspaper from his desk and gently placed it on my lap.Â
âIâd like you to look at the date.âÂ
I looked at the date and grew cold. This didnât feel fakeâthe news articles, the feel. It was genuine.Â
âThis is from this morningâs edition. As youâve no doubt gathered from the date, weâre in the nineteenth century.âÂ
âThereâs no way,â I whispered under my breath.Â
Le Comte spoke in the same soothing tone, âWeâre in France, but not the one you know. You arrived at this mansion by travelling through time.â
I donât understand. No words came to my mind. There was not a single statement he said that could be serious. And yet, everything Iâve witnessed so far could attest to what heâs been saying.Â
âYou look like youâre struggling to believe it.âÂ
âIâm really quite sorry, youâve been very kind to me. But there is absolutely no way Iâd believe time travel before any number of explanations.âÂ
âItâs true that a newspaper can be easily faked. Perhaps this will convince you?â Le Comte moved towards a window where an old-fashioned brass telescope was pointed outwards. He gently beckoned me over.Â
âWhat an excellent idea, M. le Comte. Seeing is believing, they say.â Sebastian said.Â
âIt is our good fortune that, owing to the genius of one of our guests, this telescope provides an excellent view of the city.â I let them guide me to it and peered within. Sure enough, when my vision cleared, the entire view of Paris turned back in time and greeted me. No neon signs. No skyscrapers. No cars. I turned the telescope around, hoping to see any glimpse of a modern city, but only Paris of a hundred years ago was present. Gentlemen in morning coats escorting ladies with bustles. There was no prank elaborate enough to dress an entire city.Â
âSo Iâve really travelled through time?â I gasped in disbelief.Â
âThereâs a phrase you use in Japanese. Do you recall it, Sebastian?âÂ
âYes, we call it a âtime slip.ââ The name hardly matters, weâre facing the impossible!Â
âThat door connects to both the past and the present. Like me, you used it to travel here, to the past. You may have read or seen stories about time travel, but in my experience, it is neither a simple nor an everyday occurrence. Time travel has very particular rules. And in this case, you cannot return for the next month.âÂ
âWhen the sand in the hourglass falls, can the door take me back?âÂ
âYes, when that time comes, either you or I could open the door. Like so, I must also follow the rules. It remains sealed to me for a month as well. If the door hadnât shut, you could have passed through it exactly the way you came. However, once itâs closed, that passage ceases to exist. And the door requires time before it can open that passageway again.â I could have walked back if the door hadnât closed. I degraded myself in my head. It was my own stupidity that really got me in this situation.Â
âLikewise, all the men youâve met tonight were gathered here by way of that time slip. That is why people from such diverse times and countries are all here, living in my mansion.â So the men I met at dinner are actually legit? Names from history, famous throughout all the world, transcending time in their gloryâand they all live together in this mansion. âI can see you still have some doubts. But I assure you, youâve just met the real van Gogh, the real Mozart, and the real Napoleon.â If time travel really isnât out of the question, then I suppose itâs not unreasonable to assume that all these men are the real deal. Still, itâs truly unbelievable.Â
âAnd who are you, Comte, that you were able to collect some of historyâs greatest figures to live here in your mansion?â I looked at him, fully admiring his figure. This ineffable gentleman who said that people CALL him Comte de Saint-Germain.Â
âI promise Iâm not trying to evade your question, but in truth, itâs getting quite late. Please, stay the night. Sebastian will prepare a room. In fact, youâre welcome to stay here for the entire month at no cost. Itâs the least I could do to land you in this predicament.âÂ
âFor the night perhaps, but I canât possibly ask you to welcome me for a whole month,â I fumbled over my words at the Comteâs generous offer.Â
âYou do realize you canât return to your time for another month, donât you?âÂ
âThereâs no need to worry, I can make my own way. Iâve done it all my life.âÂ
Sebastian regarded me with a severe look, âI believe youâll find that difficult. This is France at the turn of the century. How do you intend to âmake your way?ââÂ
âI-Iâm not quite sure yet, butââ He has a point. I knew nothing about this place. I didnât even know what currency they currently used. But I canât possibly stay here. Thereâs something theyâre not telling me, but I canât reveal my suspicions, itâd be rude. âI really donât want to impose after youâve been so generous,â I finished.Â
âYouâre not imposing at all, chĂšrie.âÂ
âItâs just that youâre offering me so much and asking for nothing in return.â Thatâs what scares me the most.Â
âPlease, take this as my apology. If youâre truly that concerned about it, Sebastian could use a hand around the house. The other residents try to do as much, as well.âÂ
Now I was faced with two choices. Risk spending a month in a house full of famous, time-travelling figures, who most definitely are hiding a secret. Or make a run for it and face the risks of the nineteenth-century Parisian streets at night. I squeezed my eyes as images of my worried family and friends flashed by. Staying with Le Comte really does seem the safest option right now. I turned towards him with a newfound strength.Â
âI accept your gracious offer. Thank you, Comte.â Iâll trust them. For now.Â
âFinally, another woman,â I sighed in relief, âthatâs reassuring.âÂ
âIâm afraid our Jean is a man, though I can see how youâd make that mistake.â At my baffled expression, he added, âAs to that, truth and history have a curious way of becoming distorted in the telling.â
Whispers of the past unheard by anyone but him, haunted the air like the specks of dust that floated in the light. The whispers, often cruelly mocking his soul, rightfully punished his monstrous existence; but tonight, a new voice urged him toward the window. An eyepatch covered the left half of his face, concealed by his long, dark hair. Jean dâArc was the subject of the crescent moonâs mockery tonight. He watched the moonâs smile morph into a bow, bent to release its message of death, then to a sharp blade mid-slice.Â
âLa lune se moque de moi ce soir.â His voice became lost within the ghostsâ many whispers, but the moonâs mocking laughter remained. âThereâs a curse on this night.âÂ
âBesides Jean, there is one other who did not join us tonightââ Le Comte was cut off by a dull thump, like something heavy falling against the door. âAnd thatâs probably him. Iâm sorry to trouble you, MC, but could you get the door?â He smiled almost knowingly while he gracefully held his cup between his lithe fingers.Â
âAlright.âÂ
I opened the door of Le Comteâs office, expecting a man but encountering none. Warily, I stepped out of the hallway, only to stumble on something heavy. Before I met the floor, I landed on the lap of a large and hunched-over man. While I toiled in humiliation, strong arms tightened around my waist. The sweet scent of cigarillos and amber engulfed me.Â
The velvety rumbling voice of the man hummed in confusion, â... never seen you here before.â Looking at him now, there was no way he could be comfortable like that. Is he sleeping? Finally, he cracked an eye open. His wolfish eyes were the colour of burnt gold. His lips formed a smirk as he observed my features with the same attention a sculptor might have given his subject. âThought Iâd wait patiently until you were done. Took so long I fell asleep.â A huge, brown, leather jacket lined with fur served to make his figure even larger, but the rest of his clothing was unmatched and messy, albeit in a charming way. The delicious drawl of his voice made me shiver, but his lupine gaze had me guarded. âSo, youâre the one he was talking to?â He asked me a question but no words came to mind. He wasnât letting go. I wasnât sure if I even wanted him to. Then, as if waking up from a drowsy stupor, he realized the provocative position we were in. With one hand pushing him up to the ground, and the other supporting my back, we were finally upright. At my wide-eyed expression, he chuckled warmly and murmured an apologetic âscusaâ in a deep Italian accent, âDid I surprise you?âÂ
I nodded wordlessly.Â
He hummed again, âheh. Your words. They match the look on your face. How adorable.â His arm lingered around my waist, and at our close proximity, I caught the pleasant aroma of tobacco lingering on his clothes.Â
âAnd here he is. The last of our residents.â Le Comte emerged from his office with a fond sigh.Â
âHmm? Are we introducing ourselves now? Iâm Leonardo da Vinci.âÂ
âAlong with Sebastian and myself, nine of these great historical figures reside in this mansion.â Le Comte finally concluded with the introductions.Â
Leonardo ran a gloved hand through his brown hair, his voice tinged with that rough, sleepy quality, âI donât know what happened, but your luck ran out for you to have wound up in a place like this.âÂ
âW-why would you say that?âÂ
âSimply put, Cara Mia, I donât think youâre going to enjoy it here.âÂ
Chapter IV: Somnum Exterreri
It was not only the residents of the Countâs mansion that relayed the passage of time with the shadow-cleft moon. Ropes of moonlight from the High Gothic windows of the church illuminated the hallways, leaving behind the shadow of a darkly cloaked figure. The innocent humming of an old Romanian lullaby betrayed the blood-eyed creature with the heavy boots traversing the light. The snow-skinned creature gazed at the laughing crescent moon, the light reflected off his softly lucent smile.Â
His childlike voice contrasted the vile thoughts that swirled behind his blood eyes, âThough it is doomed to the ugliness of utter obliteration, it remains such a beautiful world.â The man, if he could even be called that, crossed under the nave, where two shadows at the end stood obediently waiting. His eyes remained on the cruel moon, but his words were directed to his companions; they were used to his dream-like antics. âHave you seen it? The crescent moon is so beautiful tonight. Let us look at it together. Faust. Charles.âÂ
The imposing and brutal figure of a priest cast his cold gaze on the man. A frosty German voice muttered in distaste, â...Hmph. All the time at your disposal and you waste it in folly, Lord Vlad? We should make the church an almshouse if itâs to host the senile.âÂ
A great contrast to the priest Faust, the syrupy voice of Charles-Henri rose up in defence of their master, âDocteur, le VoĂŻvode wasnât idle, you know that. He was simply doing his job as a florist.â Charles was luscious candy personified; fluffy locks and innocently dressed with a cherub face and a sinful smile. âIâd love a job like that! So many pretty living flowers that all smell so nice and everyone loves you for what you do.â He turned to his friend, Faust, with a gleaming naĂŻvete, âI want to be loved like that! I want everyone to love me more and moreâŠâÂ
âYou do the word âloveâ no favours, muttering it constantly like a curse. Hungering for it like a depraved beggar. Then again, you do the very concept no favours, you mercurial nagetier.âÂ
Charles playfully interjects in a sing-song tone, âWe humans need love. We crave it. Itâs one of our most moral desires.âÂ
âDid I hear you say âweâ â and âhuman?ââÂ
The creature the two called âLord Vladâ hunched over in laughter.Â
âEuer Hochgeboren?â Faust asked.Â
â...Did something I just said make you laugh?â Charles questioned.Â
âI simply remember how easy it is to forget my troubles around you two,â Vlad fondly answered, âthen I remember how even the good times are destined to come to an end and I become sad.âÂ
âYou feel sadness?âÂ
âI do. I feel sadness for the moon in the sky, the flowers in the soil, and the humans who walk between them in ignorance. I want to protect them all so they donât have to ever feel that way.âÂ
âYou love humans more than anything, donât you, VoĂŻvode?â Charles giggled.Â
âOf course. I love them more than anything.âÂ
He who felt nothing but love, only love, looked out the window and up to the beloved moon. However, it was not just the moon his depthless blood eyes saw, but something beyond sight. More than human eyes can capture.Â
âIâm in love with the world. Thatâs why as the unwilting flower called a vampire, I must bear this garden into eternity.â The vampireâs confession of love was released into the darkness, a promise that his beloved subjects were unaware of, with only the cruel moon to bear witness.Â
Finally, Iâm alone. The fluffy white sheets of the bed that Le Comte provided for me enveloped me in their plush embrace. I sank onto the bed in bliss, gaslighting myself into believing this was simply a hotel in present-day Paris, and not a mansion full of historyâs greatest figures. I closed my eyes and the image of my worried aunt flashed in my head. I can picture her panicking at the Parisian police and contacting my mother and father. I can see my younger sibling, eyes brimming with tears at the thought that their sister was in danger. My family⊠My best friendâs face appeared next, her livid voice demanding where I was and why Iâd left her. If only this was all a dream. I was willing to accept that Iâd travelled back in time with everything I was shown. But the fact that Iâd just had dinner with a bunch of time-travelling artists and scientists and musicians? It was harder to believe. I tried to recount everyone Iâd metâif they were all truly who they said they were, Iâd be damned not to remember.Â
Vincent van Gogh, the gentle angel who paints masterpieces.
His brother Theodorus, the enterprising devil that sells them. The brothers were complete opposites, but they seemed incredibly close nonetheless. Â
The frivolous playboy, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, who created the beloved character, Sherlock Holmes.Â
The indulgent charlatan, Osamu Dazai, who penned âNo Longer Human.â They were both attention-grabbing, seemingly overcompensating for a secret they were hiding.
Sir Isaac Newton, who was so shy he couldnât look me in the eye. He was legendary in name, but his presence seemed so small.
Jean dâArc, who I havenât met. I couldnât even picture what sheâdâheâd be like.
âHeh. Your words, they match the look on your face. Thatâs rare.â The dulcet voice of Leonardo da Vinci made me lose myself so easily, but what did his last words mean?
â...As if the banquet wasnât bad enough.â Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, who made the most beautiful music but had the most rotten attitude.Â
And of course, my saviour, Napoleon Bonaparte. The one who tried so hard to rescue me, and protected me until the very end. But what was he protecting me from?Â
I couldnât picture any of them trying to fool me, and honestly, they all seemed so earnest. Besides, what would any of them gain from lying to me? I wasnât anyone influential or wealthy; there would be no benefit to keeping me here. Having realized all of that, the reality of my situation finally came into perspective. All of this is real.Â
âI need to stop thinking,â I muttered to myself. Even though it was midday for me, the crescent moon outside my window brought a wave of drowsiness over my body. I slipped off my jacket and kicked off my shoes across the room. My foolish outfit, what was all of this for? I think back to this morning when I was getting ready in front of my vanity in the hotel with my auntâjoking between ourselves. It wasnât so long ago and yet everything was so different now. My room had an ornate little vanity by the window, with a mirror that had engravings around it and empty drawers underneath. I sat before it and saw my reflectionâmy makeup was the same as before, but my face looked as if Iâd aged ten years from exhaustion. The glint of my amethyst earrings caught my attention; these stupid earrings that got me in this predicament. Le Comteâs golden eyes flashed in my headâthose depthless glinting eyes that I could get lost so easily in. Removing them from my ears, I threw them down on the vanity and stalked towards the bed, my bed now, I suppose. Not even a minute in, the heavy embrace of sleep wrapped around me and pressed me down on the bed.Â
The soft crumple of the thick duvet woke me up. Blinking open my eyes, the bleariness showed me the crescent moon beaming down on my room, stretching the shadows. I thought nothing of it until I heard the creak of the bed frame. What the hell? Every drop of blood in my body turned ice cold. Someone else was in the room with me. And they were on the bed.Â
âW-whoâs there?âÂ
â...â
My eyes cleared and showed the shadowed figure crawling from the foot of my bed. It isnât safe here at all. I lurched upright, but the figure shoved me back down on the sheets. They crawled on top of me, the heavy figure pushing down my arms away from my body. I was fully trapped.Â
âStop!â
âDonât move.â Their whisper felt like a serpent slithering up my body. Their breath was in my ear. They stopped, and for a few seconds, I wondered if I could force it off of me. Suddenly, sharp teeth sank into my neck.Â
A pain unlike any other surged from my neck throughout my entire body. And then, the pain quickly subsided and turned into something indescribable. Itâs so⊠hot. My limbs felt like lead; as if they werenât my own anymore. Heat flickered across my vision like the fading of a desert mirage. Each warm breath that billowed over my neck made the heat even stronger. A strange longing manifested inside of me, the same emotion I felt when I looked into Le Comte and Leonardoâs eyes. It felt intoxicating. I tried to scream, but instead, a groan laden with ecstasy sounded out. I felt the heat in my core, a slow throbbing pulse that edged me further into blind pleasure. I need to snap out of it! I struggled to open my eyes, which had been rolling back in bliss. Dark red rose petals strung around my bed, snapping me out of my stupor. These werenât rose petals⊠They came from me. Blood⊠Thatâs my blood! The sight sent my head spinning, but before I lost myself in the void, I heard the figureâs voice.Â
âI want it all. Your body, your heart⊠and your destiny.â NO!
I scrambled out of bed, furiously grasping at my neck. No blood on my fingers, no puncture wound on my neck. My gaze wildly darted around the room. Empty. No shadowed figure. No one who bit me.Â
âThereâs no one here,â I cried out in relief. That felt too real. My fingers shook as they clutched the sheets. I was shivering. My throat was dry from sleep. My mouth felt balmy, and when I tried to move, everything felt heavy. I need water.Â
Though it was difficult to navigate, I retraced the steps I took from the room to Le Comteâs office, and eventually to the kitchen. There were electric lamps that illuminated the room. Sebastian was still up, washing the dishes. After that nightmare, the sight of him almost brought me relief. My footsteps caught his attention, and he turned around.
âIs something the matter?â He asked in concern. Perhaps my appearance exemplified how I felt.Â
âCould I bother you for some water?â Sebastian quickly poured me a glass. He guided me to a small table and sat me down, taking the chair beside me. His inquisitive glance obliged me to share my problem. He listened patiently as I recounted my nightmare, leaving out the more inappropriate aspects. âThere was someone in my dream,â I began. I told him how this figure was and how he held me down to bite my neck. â...sort of like a vampire would,â I finished. Having confided in someone else alleviated the heaviness in my head. In fact, the more I told him about the dream, the sillier I felt. âDreams can feel so real at the moment, but talking about them afterwards shows you how absurd they can be,â I chuckled humourlessly. Sebastian didnât indulge in my laughter. Instead, he seemed quiet in thought. I grew worried he thought I was prattling on. âAnyway, thank you for listening to my silly dream. I hope you donât find me childish for dreaming about vampires.â
âI donât find you crazy, nor do I believe it was just a silly dream,â Sebastian unexpectedly replied. My brows furrowed. âIndeed, itâs a good sign.â
âHow is my bad dream a good sign?âÂ
âI believe you saw that dream because youâre here in this mansion.âÂ
âIâm sorry, Iâm not sure I understand.â
âThe dream serves as a warning⊠That you are to give them neither your body nor your heart.â A pang of unease hit me. This must be the foreboding feeling I had earlier. This must be the reason why even the kindest residents seemed to be hiding a terrible secret.Â
âThe residents of this mansion, everyone youâve met tonightâŠâÂ
âNo,â I whispered under my breath.
âThey are exactly what you saw in your dream. They are all vampires.âÂ
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
>a/n: the second half of your off day. here is how your morning and early afternoon went.
Leonardo da Vinci
While Leonardo isnât necessarily your responsibility to awaken (he could really be anywhere in or out of the mansion, itâs far too much effort for anyone to find him and urge him to eat. Letâs not forget heâs an immortal vampire, he doesnât even need to.), a small and guilty part of you tends to seek him out anyway. Heâd done a lot for you when you first stumbled into the mansion and has acted as one of the main components of your support system since then.Â
It was nearing noon and after youâve awoken Napoleon, Leonardo was surprisingly awake and in the library. Perched upon one of the oak armchairs by the window, the sunlight streaming through the glass painted him in a glorious light â reminding you of the timeless beauty the purebloods possess. He looked like he was in one of his own paintings, and you would be a villain to disturb that.Â
Still, his vampiric senses had a lower threshold than the others and he could sense your presence (or really, smell your blood) before you even opened the library doors.Â
âSurprised Iâm up so early, cara mia?â The husky rumble of his baritone voice always sent pleasant shivers down anyoneâs spine. His golden eyes, brightened by the sunlight, peered above the book he held in one hand straight at yours.Â
âI suppose.â
âHmm⊠come closer will you?â His wolfish eyes narrowed in disdain at your lethargic response. Reluctantly, you follow his command and sit across from him at the window. He discards his book, leaning on his knees to get a better look at your morose disposition. A displeased hum, then he places a finger under your chin to move your face even closer to his.Â
âThat wonât do. Such an emotion dims your eyes.â His artist-eye grazes over your face, observing your downturned lips and your swollen, teary eyes. A knowing smirk, and he settles back on the armchair. He leans on the armrest, the slouching figure alluring in his own charm.Â
âYouâre a smart girl. You can guess whatâll happen next, canât you?â His handsome smirk grows at your knowing sigh.Â
âJust donât throw me over your shoulder this time.âÂ
âNo promises, cara mia.â He huffs as he rises and moves to your side. With a motion for you to raise your arms, he at least carries you princess-style as he speeds to the mansionâs exit.Â
Itâs not entirely unpleasant being in Leonardoâs strong arms, and you find the warmth almost soothing to your turbulent thoughts. He takes you to your signature spot: a small dock on one of the more solitary ends of the Seine river. He wants to give you the princess treatment, so heâll slowly row the two of you down the water.Â
On the romantic boat-ride through the Seine, with Leonardoâs golden eyes trained on your face and giving you his full attention, it would be quite difficult to resist confiding in him. In your lowest moments so far, heâd been nothing short of comforting â holding you in his arms when you were afraid during your first night, sleeping outside your door for the following week, and whisking you away from your chores to dispel the unhealthy façade you kept up.Â
In fact, a small part of Leonardo is ecstatic that you felt safe and comfortable enough with him and the other residents that you could freely express your more negative emotions with them (but hopefully mostly with him. Forgive him, he can be a bit possessive).Â
However long it takes you to quell the darkness in your mind, Leonardo is there to receive anything you throw at him. He can wrap you in a warm embrace and caress your back, offer you wise advice to your problems, or just listen to your thoughts. Whatever you need most, Leonardo will give it to you.Â
Leonardo hopes youâll always run into his arms any time you have problems and allow him to fix it, like he does with machines. That being said, he doesnât mind seeking you out and literally carrying you away from your responsibilities to ease your torment. Wrapped in his big, strong arms and shielded from your worries, itâd be difficult not to feel at ease with this loveable dork. Anything and everything you ask for heâll deliver, and if you donât know what that is, heâll give you a familiar experience that comforted you in the past. There isnât much that fazes him with his long years on Earth, but just the teary sheen over your eyes is enough to twist his heart in painful knots.Â
Isaac Newton
Lost in his bustling mind and distracted by an equation he couldnât quite solve last night, he unfortunately only caught Theoâs grumbles of âpouring his own damn coffee,â and your departing figure to the kitchen. He thought nothing of it, believing Theo was just being his usual insufferable self and holed up in his study for the day.
If you werenât responsible for delivering lunch to him, heâd have never caught wind of your off-character today. So when your voice behind his door lacked its usual lively pitch, he wanted to bash his head open for not noticing it during breakfast.Â
When you entered his study you quietly placed the tray on one of his tables, wishing for an easy escape from his calculating rosy eyes. At your quickly retreating figure, the swirling worries in Isaacâs head scolded him for his indifference and how that coldness definitely would break your heart. He grasped at your sleeve and pulled you with more force than he intended, landing your entire upper body on his lap. (Youâll have to forgive his awkward execution, he really means well.)
âIâm terribly sorry mc! I didnât mean to do that.â He bristles and helps you regain your composure. âActually, I did intend to pull you closer. I want to apologise as well for not noticing you sooner. I should have been the first to seek you out.â While he does mean what he says, he finds that maintaining eye contact is a bit difficult and from his blushing ears, you can tell heâs just nervous.Â
âThe first? Isaac, you donât have to do anything.â Similar to him, you felt ashamed that he felt obligated to comfort you. Isaac, upon noticing that, wildly shook his hands in firm rejection of that implication.
âNot at all! Youâve always been there for me mc; defending, accompanying, encouraging me. Perhaps itâs even a bit selfish, but seeing your smile is the highlight of my day. Without it, I find Iâm in a bit of a bind, as you can see.â He gestures for the messy scrawls of that damn equation he canât seem to solve.Â
âI hope you wonât let Theoâs boorish manners bother you. And I hope you wonât mistake my foolishness for indifference either. I want to be here for you, mc. Iâm not like Napoleon, so I admit this doesnât come easy to me, but I want to be close to you.â Isaac rises from his chair to move closer to you.Â
Despite his rapid pulse, his trembling hands find yours and squeeze them gently. âPlease tell me all that ails you, all your frustrations, and stresses, and allow me to do for you what youâve always done for me.âÂ
His sincerity is touching. Isaac sits you down on one of the seats by his table and offers you half the sandwich you made for him. Whatever you indulge Isaac with, he eagerly accepts. He canât help the fascinated gleam in his eyes at the unfiltered emotions in your expression â in fact, his heart actually warms at being able to do this for you.Â
It was inevitable that a few tears escaped your eyes; while it did sink his heart, Isaac seized the opportunity to be closer to you. In a surprising show of boldness, he tucks a strand that obscured your face, behind your ear. âThank you, darling, for showing me this side of you.â He murmured intimately.Â
âIsaac, youâreââ
The confidence that deluded him in that moment quickly dissipated at your surprised face. âI apologise! Iâm not sure what came over me then.â Perhaps it was because it was just you and him, and he found your presence far easier to relax in than anyone else, but he found it in him to laugh.Â
âYouâre really a wolf in sheepâs clothing sometimes.â
âYou can blame my teasing on yourself. After all, youâre the reason my new life is more hecticââ Isaac chuckles âbut I canât say that hasnât made it so much happier.âÂ
After supper, Isaac timidly approaches you in the kitchen. âIâve set up my telescope out in the yard tonight⊠Would you care to join me?âÂ
Laying on the soft grass with Isaac was incredibly soothing, the picturesque night sky splattered with the many shining stars, unpolluted by the 19th century Paris city. Isaac would focus the lens on specific constellations and allow you to view them through the telescope. While you admired its brightness, heâd excitedly tell you about each one. Eventually, the dayâs fatigue would catch up to you, and Isaac, noticing it, would seat himself a little bit closer to you, in hopes youâd lay your head on his ready shoulder.Â
Finally, soft peace had settled on your hardened features. It was during moments like these with you that Isaac envied the artistsâ talents â they could capture this moment for eternity and he only had his memory to keep the sight in his mind. In spite of that regret though, a part of him was proud that it was him who could witness this adorable sight.Â
While extremely awkward in execution, Isaacâs heart breaks in two at the mere thought of you feeling upset. This is worsened when it takes him longer than the others to notice it â couple that with his less-than-stellar social skills, and heâs bound to mess up in the process. But his sweet intentions shine through his small, affectionate gestures and his eagerness to listen to you. Itâs quite adorable how happy he feels that he can finally return some semblance of what youâve done for him. Heâd provide his room as a safe space, but heâll also gladly bring his telescope and stargaze with you in the courtyard. If you doze off, heâll offer his shoulder and feel blessed that you shared your day with him, the feeling even sweeter knowing that it was him you chose to spend the evening with.Â
Jean dâArc
Part of your evening routine was to meet with Jean in the library after supper and practice writing. Tonight, despite your mood, you felt it would be far too cruel to abandon poor Jean, who found it hard to spend time with others; it was only through these sessions that you could foster a connection with the elusive man.Â
Jean was extremely blessed that your radiant presence was in the library for him tonight. Napoleon had informed him earlier of your despondent spirits. Initially, it spurred an almost murderous glint in Jeanâs eye at whoever had caused you suffering, but with Napoleonâs clarification, his rage on your behalf settled into a thorny discontent.
Of all people to suffer torment, why did it have to be mc; his radiant angel? The kind soul who ensured that night-after-night, she found time to teach and accompany him? It was because of your beautiful self that his chest was not as heavy with the weight of his sins everyday. And yet, you also had to endure these torturous emotions, despite all that youâd done for him. It truly did not make sense in Jeanâs mind. It should be monsters like him that suffer, not angels like you.Â
So Jean resolved it within himself that he would do all that he could to alleviate the weight in your heart and fight the shadows that dared to dim the brightness in you.Â
Unbeknownst to you, after his work he wrote a letter that communicated his sincere appreciation and sheer affection for you, far better than he could verbally. He wrote of his sadness that a person like you, who cared so much for others and always put themselves last, suffered behind a smile. He longed to one day be as expressive as the writers (he never thought the day would come that heâd envy the likes of Arthur or Dazai) so that he could comfort you directly with words instead of having to convey all his sentiments through a letter.Â
Safe to say that when Jean handed you his clumsily penned letter, tears immediately rushed down your face at his touching sincerity. Jean grew alarmed, blaming himself for causing you further distress. You stopped him from kneeling on the ground for repentance and instead, wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders.Â
âThank you Jean. Youâre much kinder than you think.â Jean would be a touch flustered, but would wrap an arm around your shoulders to offer you the comforting embrace he only dreamed he could give you. And yet, here he was, finally able to offer you at least a semblance of peace in small payment for all youâve unknowingly done for him.Â
It was absolutely unfathomable to Jean that such a radiant and kind person like you had to suffer some of the torturous thoughts like he had. It felt wrong that God would allow those thoughts to plague your brilliant mind; so Jean, aware of his shortcomings in this department, would absolutely try his best to fight your demons for you. Words were extremely difficult for Jean to convey, but heâd try to make you proud by doing so in a letter. Your brightness prevented him from succumbing to the haunting shadows of his past. His sheer devotion and protectiveness for you would be revealed in that letter, but if you needed him to support you in-person: whether by embracing you in his strong arms, punching out your frustrations on his sturdy chest, or burying your face in his neck to block out the world, Jean would do all of it for you.Â
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
The day had stretched on, and while most of your heartache was eased from the residentsâ efforts, insomnia purged your rest nonetheless. You knew that remaining under your warm blankets would change nothing of your predicament, so perhaps a short walk (by the mansionâs standards) to the kitchen for a glass of water would arouse drowsiness back in your hazy mind.Â
On your way, you passed by Mozartâs studio. Tonight he played a more serene song, the soft notes floating through the air and quelling some of the remaining despair in your head. You didnât mean to, as you knew that Mozart hated to be disturbed while practising (really only for the men â it was difficult to be upset at you), but you lingered by his ivory doors.Â
Suddenly, his song ceased. âCome in, mc.â Startled at the fact that he heard you, and even more at recognising you from what little sound you made, you were compelled to follow his command.Â
Mozart was always a vision to look at: the moonlight streaming through the gap in his window was reflected in his alabaster locks. Awaiting for you, his deep purple eyes were unreadable as it scanned your figure. If you looked even closer, there was a discernible trace of worry that twisted his brows.Â
âWhat was with you today?â Not one to mince words, Mozart hit right where it was sensitive.Â
âItâs nothing of concern.â Mozart huffed indignantly. To you this resembled his usual shortness with you, but inside, he was deeply envious at the fact that you opened up to everyone except him today. Wanting to remedy that inconsistency, he rose from his seat and advanced towards you.Â
âLiebchen.â He insisted as he reached for your hand.Â
âYou have enough to worry about, Wolf.â
âAnd I want you to be one of them.â As opposed to his usual rough manners with you, he softly stroked your knuckles. Since he knew that it would be difficult for you to dredge up and unearth your worries once again, he settled for providing you a small piece of comfort for the night.Â
Mozart gently guided you by the wrist to sit beside him before his grand piano.Â
âWould you like to try a duet I drafted recently? I havenât been able to complete it because I had no partnerââ he trailed his fingers from your wrist to your hands to unclench them âuntil now.â He delicately intertwined his long fingers around yours and gave your hand a loving squeeze. Then, he carefully guided your hands down to the piano keys.Â
He slowly taught you a small part of the song, and within a few tries, you were quick enough to match the tempo he had in mind. Your attempt at the duet together went as well as expected, the discordant notes completely altering the softly romantic song to a playful one instead.Â
To your surprise, a loud chuckle burst out of Mozart. âHow clumsy,â he said, his eyes squinting in unadulterated affection.Â
If you confide in Mozart of your lingering disturbance and your insomnia, Mozart will guide you toward the bedroom connected to his studio. Mozart had to fluff up the unused pillows but urged you under the covers anyway. Heâd leave the door open and play the most soothing lullaby on his piano to quell your sleeplessness.Â
Mozart is rather brusque and difficult to approach â painfully aware of that, he knew he wasnât the first youâd approach, as much as it hurts him to admit that fact. Still, when the opportunity arose later that night with just the two of you, Mozart jumped at the chance to ease your pain. Heâd try to cheer you up in his own way, but ultimately does what he knows best. He doesnât play for anyone at all, and while many of his songs are dedicated to important historical figures, he documents a few pieces solely to you and caters to whatever you need most at that moment. Tonight, he plays an improvised song of yearning: he imagines a quiet man, unable to properly express the depth of his love for his dearest one, humming this soothing lullaby to send his suffering love to slumber.Â
Bonus: William Shakespeare
Unfortunately, Will is physically and figuratively out of the loop with the happenings in the mansion. Your off day being one of the most regrettable events that he missed out on.Â
He longed to have witnessed the harsh colours of despair taint your lovely visage and have been the man to lift that darkness.Â
He yearns to have been the loving angel to embrace you while your tears wet the earth. He imagines that black roses and blue violets would grow from your tears that watered the ground.Â
He longs to have been the dashing knight that whisked you away from your responsibilities and brought you to a secret place that only the two of you knew about. The intimacy of being the only one to witness your vulnerable side was tragically enticing for him.Â
How fortunate the mansion residents were to bear witness to all the mesmerising dimensions you had. Capricious Fate has tricked him yet again in this instance as he can only hear about this event from Vincent. How tragic was he that he had only his imagination to provide him inaccurate images of your tainted beauty that day.Â
While he knew this day had long passed, he couldnât stop his longing fingers from scribing a letter to you, urging a visit as soon as possible so that he may offer a belated gift of comfort and perhaps, selfishly, indulge in your presence.Â
Heâd deliver a bouquet of those blue violets, carnations, and chrysanthemums to you (thanks in part to his vampiric benefactor), coupled with an expensive gift of several rings (so that you may imagine it was his fingers intertwined with yours) and a floral perfume that matches the flowers.Â
Bonus: Vlad
After your boat-ride with Leonardo, the two of you idly strolled about town. Leonardo quickly left to purchase a box of cigarillos from a foreign vendor, the limited stock too alluring for him to pass up on. You insisted on waiting on a nearby bench, a little ways away from the busy stand.Â
âA storm is brewing behind those lovely eyes. I wonder what caused it and what incompetent ward has allowed it to continue.â Vladâs sweet voice sounded right beside your ear. You jumped, much to his amusement, but the underlying protectiveness under that pleasant expression was marked by you nonetheless.Â
âHas he been overworking you?âÂ
You hastily quell the accusation Vlad threw in the air.Â
âI wonder what could be the cause of those dark clouds in my darlingâs eyes.â Vlad sighs in stark concern, lifting a hand to your temple gently massaging it.Â
âI wonder what worries your pretty head.â He moves that same hand to your forehead and smooths the wrinkles there.Â
âAnd I wonder what caused these soft lips to frown.â He trails his fingers from your head down to your cheek, and finally on your lower lip. The delicate way he handled your face felt as if you were a newly bloomed flower that was too sensitive to natureâs forces and required Vladâs devoted care.Â
There was both gentleness and a stark possessiveness with how familiarly and easily he glided his fingers across your face. It seemed he longed to touch even more of you, but found restraint and settled in tucking your hair away from your face instead.Â
âIf you stayed in my castle instead of his mansion, you wonât know any misery or work.â He longingly stroked the ends of your hair and eventually trailed his fingers to meet with your hands. Upon closer inspection, Vlad laments the dryness from cleaning products on your hands. He lovingly strokes your knuckles before lifting them to his lips kissing each one.Â
âCara mia, I donât have to beat this guy to get him to back off, do I?âÂ
A painful expression overtook Vladâs sweet face, and with great reluctance, he backs off as per Leonardoâs request.Â
âSuch brutes he houses. No wonder my flower has withered in their company.âÂ
Before Leonardo could provoke him further, you led him away from Vlad, whose eyes longingly followed you until you were out of his sight.Â
Bonus: Charles-Henri Sanson
While waiting for Arthur to pay for his gifts for you, you sat on a bench outside the busy store. A pair of familiar lilac eyes brightened at the sight of your figure. He bounded over to you like a loving puppy reuniting with its owner. This unfortunately startled you as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders from behind.Â
âMc! Itâs been way too long since Iâve seen you. I really really really missed you.â He murmured while nuzzling his face into your neck. To your relief, he reluctantly released you from his hold, only to sit right next to you.Â
Only when he could take a closer look at your expression does his cheerful face crumble. He tenderly cups your face and mourns the wistful spirit of it. âMy poor mc, what happened?âÂ
You shook your head, unable to meet his worried eyes. This breaks Charles-Henriâs heart even further as he wishes he could take whatever was bothering you and replace it with his love instead. In that thought process an idea springs into his head.Â
He takes your hand, and after squeezing it, places it near his heart. âI want you to channel all your sadness into this hand and give it all to me instead.â His silly charade breaks you out of your stupor, and since you donât have the heart to reject his sweet lilac eyes, you relent and play along.Â
âGood girl. Now, Iâm going to channel all my love for you in my hand and place it in your heart. Ready?â He places his hand on your chest and playfully scrunches his face as if he was straining. âMmmm⊠there! Did you feel my love enter you?âÂ
Ignoring the suggestive statement and the even more suggestive position you two were in, his hopeful face was too innocent to reject.Â
âYes, I think I felt a little bit of warmth enter me just now.âÂ
Charles-Henriâs face lit up in adorable joy.Â
âWhatever youâre going through, I know you can overcome it. Youâve healed the darkness in me, and many othersâ and we owe you for that.â
âThank you Charles.â
A satisfied hum left his lips as he leaned even closer to you.
âI love you so much mcââ
âYou can scamper off now, Sanson.â Arthurâs annoyed voice sounded from behind you. Charles willfully ignored him as he continued to squeeze your hand.Â
âI hope you can feel my love whenever youâre sad like thisââ
âLeave, old boy! Canât you see sheâs had enough of you?âÂ
âCome visit me and the others at the church soon!â Almost comically, Arthur drags Charles away by his collar. He turns around and waves at you. Itâs a bit embarrassing to admit, but a small smile reached its way to your lips at Charles' cute antics.Â
thank you once again for taking the time to read my writing. there were a few I wasn't too satisfied with, but I hope you liked it nonetheless.
leave a like and/or a reblog if this was a fun read for you. despite its self-indulgence, I hope this comforted you a lil bit.
>a/n: so sorry for the weird formatting in advance. i hope it makes sense. enjoy!Â
>part 2: how your evening and night went
You woke up with the weight of an oppressive dread. A black hole in you seemed to suck the vitality out of you. Usually your spirit was at least alive and willing to get you out of bed, but this morning, it was only dead static in your chest. You could chalk it up to feeling homesick or hopelessness with your predicament, but nonetheless, you were not up to it at all today.Â
Still, you willed yourself out of bed, afraid to let Sebastian and the residents down (though you knew they wouldnât fault you for being off, you still felt the obligation because Le Comte is letting you stay for free, after all.)
On that note, the residents would fs feel a disturbance in the force if you werenât out in the mansion today. You not being there would set off a chain reaction and have them be grumpy and having off days too.Â
While setting up breakfast with Sebastian, you asked for the cleaning tasks for the rest of the day. You loved the residents but unfortunately could muster up no energy to talk to anyone today. Sebastian's obviously the first to catch on, and as the mansionâs biggest gossip, will spread this notion to any and every vampire he encounters. Thankfully, he didn't question it and hesitantly granted you permission. He usually doesnât give you the heavier tasks like cleaning, but seeing your dour mood, he caught on that you wanted the solitude.Â
While passing out breakfast for the morning vampires (Arthur, Vincent, Theo, Dazai, Isaac, Mozart, Comte) you were unusually quiet. Usually, you would bashfully respond to Arthurâs flirty remarks or retaliate to Theoâs teasing, but today you only acknowledged everyone with a slight (and very forced) smile.
Dazai Osamu
I'm of the belief that Dazai has a sadness antenna that catches on to everyoneâs emotions as soon as they feel them. So best believe that as soon as you woke up, he could already sense a disturbance in the force.Â
So when you very quietly poured tea for him, he placed a gentle hand on your arm and gave you a silent âare you ok?â look. He could tell that you didnât want to bring attention to yourself, but also didnât want to leave you like this.Â
The deal he made with you when you first arrived came to mind. He proposed that whenever you felt even the slightest inclination of sadness, that you came to him to confide in (because you know he gets it fs).Â
You acknowledged it with a solemn nod, wanting to communicate that you remembered the promise but couldnât do it just yet. Dazai pursed his lips in quiet uncertainty, but allowed you to continue your chores.Â
Later in the afternoon, while tending to the gardens outside, Dazai nonchalantly sat by your working figure. He settled for watching you work before piping up, âhow fortunate the flowers are to be cared for by you.â You may have jumped a little bit, having been lost in your thoughts.Â
Dazaiâs gentle smile seemed more genuine this time; not quite the clownish mask he usually wore. âUnfortunately for you, I may be the only one who understands your predicament the most.â He walked next to you, a serene silence in the air. Â
You confess as much of your melancholy as you could put into words while Dazai remained contemplative and respectfully quiet. Whether it was your mental wellness being disturbed, thoughts of home, or even just a broad exhaustion, Dazai will listen and understand. Sometime during your tirade, tears seeped out from your eyes unnoticed, except by his golden eyes. He softly cupped your cheek and wiped your tears away; his touch never more than gentle.Â
At that moment, Dazai touched your face as if it was a delicate flower petal about to fall to its demise. His heart clenched in both tender affection at your vulnerability around him, and deep anguish that it was you who suffered and he couldnât take that burden instead. How was it that a beautiful angel like you was tormented at this moment and not him, the sinful monster who was deserving of your burden and more. Still, he kept those demeaning thoughts quiet and yearned that his love could be felt in his gentle touches to your cheek.Â
Dazai is the most sensitive to othersâ emotions and will be the first to catch on to any of your mood changes. He'd rather die than leave you toiling in your own sadness, so heâll follow you around until you confide in him. As tragic as it is, itâs his responsibility to make sure no one else, and especially not someone he cares about so deeply like you, feels the same torture he does.Â
Arthur Conan Doyle
The writers are perceptive and sensitive to peopleâs emotions and characters, and usually you love them for that. Today, it made you the slightest bit frustrated. With only a meek âthank youâ to Arthurâs compliment of, âyour beautiful face is the perfect start to this day, loveâ he knew something was wrong.Â
You poured his coffee quietly, hoping no one would pay attention to you. Arthur placed a soft hand against your back and asked lowly, âare you alright? Did something happen?â you shook your head and gave him an appreciative smile.Â
You moved to pour Theoâs drink next, but Arthurâs arm wrapped around your waist. He motioned for you to come closer and so you leaned down.
âI've got to run errands in town today, but I'll find you once I get back. Do you think you can talk to me then?â he whispered.Â
âI'm not sure.â
âI hate to leave you like this, love, really. At least promise me you can hold out until later and you can take all your frustration out on me, yes?â you find yourself laughing a little at his suggestion. He smiled in victory and gave your waist a small squeeze before letting you go.
Once Arthur returns from his errands, itâs just nearing lunch. True to his word, he finds you in the mansion (good luck evading his genius mind) and vows to take you out for a meal. You can refuse all you want, but it truly does wound him seeing you the slightest bit upset. Maybe his past influences that, but nonetheless, he wants to make you happy.Â
Heâll do everything in his power to make you laugh, and if that doesnât work, heâll try and pester you so that you take your anger out on him.Â
He treats you like a princess during the date, hooking his arm under yours, pushing your chair in, paying for everything, and if you were up to it, taking you shopping afterwards.Â
Heâll try and seek out a case nearby as those tend to cheer you up and serve as a welcome distraction.Â
Whether you choose to confide in him or not, he might have already caught on to what made you upset and will subtly offer a word of advice or comfort, depending on whichever you needed. And heâs perceptive enough to catch on to what you need.Â
Still feeling Arthurâs and Dazaiâs worried looks on your back, you moved on to Theo, who was unfortunately, less perceptive than the two.Â
âTook you long enough, hondje. Dogs arenât known to be so slow.â he huffed, having already placed a generous amount of sugar in his cup. You could barely register the small, âsche uit, Theo,â from Vincent. Still, his comment served to sour your mood even further, a sinking feeling in your heart suddenly blurring your eyes.Â
Your spatial awareness being off, you almost overfilled Theoâs cup. This time, he took notice of your shaky and meek manner. He was about to complain, but when you turned to him to apologise, he saw your teary eyes.
âYou hurt? What happened? Who hurt you?â Theo immediately asked in concern. You shook your head in alarm. His handsome face scrunched in concern, and he reached out to seize your arm to steady its shaking. He set down the coffee pot and checked if your arm got burnt.Â
he gruffly passed the coffee pot to his brother, and when he was faced with questioning looks from the rest of the table he simply said, âyou pour your own damn coffee.â He motioned for you to leave, wanting to relieve you of your duties for this morning as a small mercy.Â
Theo is unfortunately one of the busier men of the mansion, so he canât do much until the evening when he returns. So despite the tense morning, thereâs no resolution until after supper. what his words canât deliver though, his actions do.Â
Regardless of how many residents have comforted you, you remained silent and thoughtful. Their efforts were greatly appreciated, but your energy was still depleted.Â
Theo catches you right after cleaning up with Sebastian. He hid a large box behind his broad back, strangely timid from his usual bold character. He cleared his throat, âhondje, I brought you something home from work. you told me you liked this last time I took you out for a walk.âÂ
He stepped aside to show you the large and very sweetly decorated cake in the box. you knew how expensive it was, and for a man like Theo, who was quite savvy with money, you felt a tinge of guilt for making him waste money on you.Â
âTheo, thank you. I don't know what to say, you really didnât have to.â
âHush hondje. A masterâs supposed to take care of his puppy. And youâve been working hard latelyâyou deserve a little treat.âÂ
Of course, Theo indulges in the dessert with you, he may have bought it partly for himself too. But when he saw you enjoying something he gave you, it warmed his heart. Perhaps your smile is sweeter than any dessert heâs had beforeâand heâs got quite a sweet tooth.Â
Theo can be brash, and not nearly as emotionally perceptive as the others. So initially, heâll be his usual gruff and teasing self. But heâs a good man (savannah), and will always serve you, regardless of the master-puppy dynamic heâs got going on. Heâs weak to you, and would hand you the world just to get a glimpse of your sweet smile again. He canât have his pretty girl sad, that makes him a terrible master.Â
Vincent van Gogh
You shook your head, insisting that you stay to help Sebastian. Theo disapprovingly shook his head and tried to stop you from doing more work, but youâd already moved to Vincentâs side.Â
Vincent already caught on as soon as Theo asked if you were okay. He poured his coffee himself, so you passed him the small bowl of butter and served a plate of sliced fruit to help. Vincent gently stroked your back, âSchatje, weâre just fine here, you can sit down. Have you had breakfast yourself yet?â knowing you never liked to put yourself first.Â
âI'm just fine, Vincent. thank you.â you stuttered out. He hummed in concern, âSebas told me you were doing laundry outside today. I'll come help you, if thatâs alright?â you shook your head, touched at his kind offer, but dreadful over having a companion. As sweet as Vincent was, you were afraid of being too brash with him, with how short your patience was today.Â
âWe don't have to talk or anything, I'm offering because I want to, mc. please?â Vincentâs pleading eyes were too precious, so you gave him a hesitant nod.Â
Vincent brightened up, his angelic smile lifting your spirits up slightly. with a warm day like today, he usually painted outside anyway. at least you wouldnât have to be with him the whole time.Â
He gave your arm an appreciative squeeze before you left. you werenât sure how to thank him exactly.Â
True to his word, the moment you stepped foot outside, you were greeted with his âcould heal any and every problem in the worldâ smile. He was extra handsome wearing his simple, white, button-up shirt with his sleeves rolled up.Â
You gave him an appreciative nod, a bit flustered with having someone help you with such a simple task. Still, Vincent pleasantly hummed with no complaints, hanging the clothes you washed.Â
Itâs true that his hands were blessed by god, but his somewhat clumsy work with clipping the clothes on the line was a contrast to his paintings. Still, his determined expression dispelled any frustration you had, with how hardworking and adorable he was.Â
With Vincentâs help (and the soft melody of Mozart's distant piano playing), the laundry was hung in sufficient time. other than having tea with Comte, you really didnât have much left to do this early afternoon. Vincent cutely tilted his head in curiosity at your zoned out face.Â
When he giggled, you snapped out of your stupor and glanced questioningly at him. âsorry! youâre just so cute staring into space like that.â Flustered, you faced away from him.Â
âDonât just say things like that Vincent. youâll give me the wrong idea.â
âI mean it though. youâre adorable even just breathing.â He was doing that thing where he innocently compliments you, but just like his brother, actually wants to see you flustered.Â
âVincent!â
âand now youâre even lovelier when youâre all embarrassed!â Vincent chuckled, finally relenting when your hands fully covered your burning face.Â
âSorry for teasing you. I was just hoping I could make you smile. I know I'm not nearly as funny as Napoleon, or as dependable as Leonardo, but it hurts me to see you in pain, mc.â Vincent gently pried your hands away, holding them in his bigger and warmer ones. He stroked your palms in gentle circles.Â
Really, he wanted to just wrap you in an embrace and hoped that you would let out your emotions to him. But he knew you needed time and patience before confiding in him. If you allowed it, he would stay all-day with you, just comforting and listening to any of your vulnerable confessions you chose to indulge him to.Â
Eventually, you did relent to receiving a warm hug from him. you couldnât see his face, but he was overjoyed you felt safe enough with him to do so.Â
Angelic Vincent wishes he could take any and every pain you feel and take it all himself. It truly breaks his heart seeing your usually bright spirit so down, so heâll do everything he can to comfort you. Heâs patient and gentle; never crossing any of your boundaries and allowing you to take whatever you need and however long it takes you to find that out. Heâll help you with your work, sing you to sleep, feed you treats (that you hope he didnât make), and give you as much or as little as you need. He cares about you deeply and only hopes he can be enough to cure at least a little bit of the pain you feel.Â
Comte de Saint-Germain
Comte's face was already scrunched in worry from the moment you entered the dining hall. his calm and elegant demeanour belied it, but he was eager to finally talk to you. Once you reached his side, you swore you could almost hear the sigh of relief.Â
Youâd be hard-pressed not to feel flustered by his words. âYouâre exaggerating, Comte, but thank you.â Your usual routine consisted of having tea with Comte in the early afternoon, but you werenât sure youâd make good company. âabout later today comteââ
âI'll have the tea and desserts set up. iâve found this new patisserie in the cityââ
âcomte, iâm really sorryââ
âYou donât have to do any work, mc. I want you to take a break.â He was clearly well-intentioned and the break did sound tempting. so with much hesitation, you relented to comteâs demands.Â
Perhaps a little part of you dreaded it, knowing how protective Comte was over you. Heâll pry, and if he found out that it was another personâs doing that caused your mood, heâll cause a riot (gracefully and elegantly, mind you). He was already waiting at the gardenâs gazebo, a spread of various sweet pastries and steaming tea set up for you.Â
He perked up upon seeing you, pushing your chair in as you sat down. He poured you tea and placed one of each pastry on your plate while you hopelessly tried to stop him.Â
âIt's not anyoneâs fault, itâs just me.â You wanted to clear up what you knew he was itching to find out. his shoulders sagged down in relief for a brief moment before settling back into his perfect posture.Â
âThat's a relief, but I still want to make sure youâre okay, mc. Come, have some tea.âÂ
You could feel Comteâs golden eyes watching your every move, but otherwise, the tea was excellent and he was certainly generous with all the pastries.Â
The real surprise was later in the night, after dinner, when comte asked you to meet him in his office. He was on the balcony, gazing out to the Parisian landscape (he would have been smoking then, but he tries not to).Â
âYou called for me, comte?âÂ
âAh yes. mc.â The way he said your name was admittedly a bit seductive when accompanied by his golden eyes. he had this excited air about him, unknown if it was for innocent or more sinful reasons. He motioned towards a concerningly large box on his table. you opened it, and to your surprise (not really letâs bfr), there was a beautiful silk dress in your favourite colour.Â
Comte moved close from behind you, and with a quiet âmay i?â he delicately put a necklace on your neck, the light brush of his fingers dizzying.Â
In this position, you could cry in peace, ramble in frustration, or be silent and enjoy his embrace without fear of judgement. He couldnât see your expression, to save any embarrassment on your end, but heâs still there.Â
Comte will definitely be protective and try and figure out if it was anyone made you upset. He would commit a murder to whoever did, but if there wasnât anyone, heâd focus on making you feel better. His love language is gifts, quite obviously, but I also like to believe that heâs an acts of service guy whoâd want to make things at least a little easier for you, like giving you a break. He'd want to reward you with gifts, expensive, but the kind that he knows you like. and if that doesnât show you he cares about you, heâll stay long enough to help you recover; in a way, he feels proudly possessive, knowing you could show your vulnerability to only him.Â
Napoleon Bonaparte
As one of the late risers, you were tasked with waking him up in the morning. you did your usual routine of ripping the blankets off him and blocking his kiss with your hand. this time though, you left the former emperor be, once you caught sight of his half-opened eyes.Â
He took a minute to catch on to your disappearance (forgive him, heâs half-awake) but as soon as it registered in his sleepy brain, he zoomed out of his room to catch your retreating figure.Â
You knew he was one of the persistent men of the mansion, unable to leave you alone even when you werenât upset. so this time around, he was hellbent on following you until youâd answer his inquiries.Â
âNunuche? whatâs gotten into you?â he would quickly catch up to you and grip your arm until you show him your teary face. And only then would he relent and hold your hand instead.
You could confide in him and tell him about all your problems, because after all, he was the man who saved you and vowed to protect you all this time. However, even if you didnât at that moment, nothing would stop Napoleon from making you feel better.Â
He would briefly venture into town to absolve him of any of his guard duties so he could remain at your side the entire day. Perhaps a bit of an overreaction on his part, but owing his new life to you, he wanted to prioritise you above all else.Â
Unlike a certain lazy Italian, this Italian will politely request that you be relieved of your tasks, and though you insisted on at least completing the laundry with Vincent and having tea with Comte, you relented to his demands.Â
His usual routine was to take you to the stables and run as far as you can on his horse. It was often what helped him dispel the ghosts from his past; the coolness of the afternoon wind was a soothing balm to your face that was drenched with hot tears. He would childishly ignite a race between the two of you through the vast woods surrounding Comteâs mansion, if only to ease your heavy mind with a far less laborious task.Â
Heâd lead you to a small meadow on the outskirts of the fields, far from prying eyes and ears. There you can let any emotion out: whether that was a yell of frustration, a scream of rage, or harsh sobs, Napoleon will do it first, if it removes any embarrassment on your end.Â
Whether you choose to confide in him or not, (which you likely would, considering how unyieldingly supportive and protective Napoleon had been for you thus far) Napoleon will willingly listen to anything you say. You could wax cheesy poetry, ponder about the origins of the universe, or just recall mundane moments in the mansion, but Napoleon will respond in kind to any silly statement you make.Â
Napoleon of all people wouldnât be opposed to having a nap on the soft, dewy grass, under the blanket of the warm setting sun. Once it gets cold though, heâd take you back to the mansion.Â
If you still felt overwhelmed, he would bring you up to the attic that overlooked the Paris skyline.Â
Napoleon, as he hopes that you consider him one of your closest companions, would do everything in his power to ease your pain. Heâd begin by alleviating your work for the day, and whether that entailed him undertaking those chores or simply helping you with them, heâd do anything. Then, he might try what works best for him when he has his off days, usually in regard to the past, but allow you to dictate what he can or canât do. Really, he hopes that whatever he does dispels those clouds of anguish and replaces it with some good old Napoleon humour. As the evening closes in, heâd take you to the attic. With only the stars and the moon as your witness, Napoleon would do everything in his power to bring you comfort.Â
sorry that i wasn't able to write for everyone in this post, but I'll feature the rest (Leonardo, Isaac, Mozart, Jean, and a few bonus characters) on the next post. i just wanted to get some content out now.
if you made it this far, thank you so much for spending your time on my writing. lmk if you enjoyed it (or didn't, but pls be nice abt it I'm sensitive). have a great day, my dear <3
love transcending time - aka ikevamp unnecessarily narrated
>ikemen vampire
>everyone x reader
>a/n: dont mind me just leaving my cave to post this
trust i have a headcanon style post in the works and uploaded sometime in the next week or so, i'm just a bit overwhelmed with term papers and stuff sorryyy
enjoy and have a wonderful day dear
Chapter II: The Banquet
At the foot of the staircase was the mysterious gentleman I encountered at the Louvre. He gave a pointed glance to the men. At the sight of him, a wave of relief surged through me and I ran down the staircase towards him.Â
âItâs you!â I hurried down and stopped short in front of him. Suddenly remembering my composure, I clarified the situation, âPardon, but do you remember me? We met in front of the âCoronation of Napoleonâ and you helped me.âÂ
 I was met with a warm smile, âOf course I remember you.â Alright, I can ask him about an exitâany exitâand I can get a ride back to my aunt.Â
Before I could ask him for directions, my saviour âLeon,â stepped in between us. âShe says she came here through your door. Did you bring her?â His tone, and the way he hid me from the prying eyes of everyone, all of it feels as if he was⊠protecting me.Â
âI did not. I can give you my oath if you wish,â the gentleman mused, âher arrival is just as surprising to me.âÂ
âThen how did she get here?â Although the men didnât seem hostile, what they were talking about still made me uneasy. What did they mean by âhisâ door? And why did they talk about âmy arrivalâ as if it was an impossible feat? Where even am I? I donât understand at all. Something is very wrong here. I just need to get out. At the new wave of apprehension, I remember my aunt. She must be so worried. How long has it even been? I rummaged around my pocket for my phone. 2:50 pm. No signal. What is going on?Â
I found the last ounce of courage I had and interjected, âYouâve been very kind, but I really canât stay. I was supposed to meet up with someone. Weâre still in the 1st arrondissement, yes? Where the Louvre is? That door there, does it lead outside?â I asked my questions rapidly before anyone could interrupt me.Â
His expression turned difficult, âHmm⊠Iâm afraid the answers you seek will only confuse you more.â My pleading gaze met the gentlemanâs golden eyes. âThis isnât the place for a long discussion, however. Would you join me for dinner, chĂšre?â I asked a yes or no question. Any rationality left in my mind crumbled, and it seemed to show on my face, as the gentleman hurriedly added, âTonightâs banquet is a rare occasion for us. But afterward, I will answer all your questions. Sâil vous plait.â With a sigh, I resigned myself to his wishes. After all, if there was any person who knew my predicament, it was him.Â
Having owned a travel blog, Iâd been to many hotels, from the hidden gems to the 5-star establishments, Iâd seen it all. The gentlemanâs dining room was unlike anything Iâd ever seen. A stretching room with a long, clothed table with fourteen high-backed wooden chairs framing it. The mahogany walls had intricate wooden carvings around the high ceiling, and a warm atmosphere coated the room with the chandeliers and the candelabras. Four men were already seated.Â
The beautiful pianist with the sharp tongue sat at the far end, secluded from the others. He was true to his statement from beforeâhe truly looked displeased in being here.Â
Around the centre of the table sat two men beside each other.Â
âMustâve been something pretty important to keep us waiting here. One second longer and I wouldâve left.â The first manâs voice was familiar, being the Englishmanâs companion in the hallway I entered. His husky voice, with the Dutch accent, matched his appearanceâdomineering and brusque. He had slicked-back, brown hair and steely blue eyes with a cold expression. He donned a long grey coat, fastened with gold accessories on top of a dark blue sweater, layered over a neat white button-up; basically, what a sensible businessman would wear if he was born a century ago. His tall stature and strong build were noticeable, with him being the largest of the men so far.Â
âNow, now. Getting angry about dinner is not going to make the food come out any faster.â The second man seemed the exact opposite, being much easier on the eyes. He had fluffy blonde hair, and even though the two had the same blue eyes, this man was so warm, you almost couldnât tell. His dimpled smile was almost angelic. He wore a shorter dark brown coat with a yellow sweater on top of a white shirt, but the most attention-grabbing piece was his long yellow scarf loosely wrapped around him. He was somewhat smaller than his presumed brother.Â
âI have to be angry for two, mijn broer,â the gruff one said. The two Dutch brothers seemed close despite being polar opposites.Â
The kind brotherâs eyes landed on me, and he gave a welcoming smile, âWhoâs that? Do we have a guest? Itâs nice to meet you!âÂ
The fourth man was sat a little ways away from everyone, head down and eyes studying the piece of tablecloth he was fiddling with. He looked slightly younger than the others, his innocent cherry eyes matched his auburn hair. He wore a sensible white button-up with a grey vest that had a red lapel. A golden button of an apple was stitched to the collar, giving his otherwise professional outfit an almost adorable finish.Â
His gaze darted around the room, briefly meeting mine then quickly returning to the tablecloth, âWhoever you are, have you considered sitting down? Thereâs a queue behind you waiting to get in, you know.â His voice was light and airy with a crisp English accent.Â
The Englishmanâs chipper voice greeted the shy boy, âNewt, old boy, you do care!âÂ
He bristled, âCan you desist calling me that wretchedâ!â âNewtâ placed his hands on the table, as though intending to stand up.Â
A disciplinary clap sounded behind me. âThat will be enough of that, you two. I require good manners at my table.â The gentleman gave everyone a warning look masked by his cordial smile. âLetâs be seated. Thereâs a few empty chairs, but weâll have to start the toast without them.â The butler had already snuck into the kitchen, presumably preparing the dinner. The Englishman sat beside the gruff Dutch brother while âLeonâ sat beside the shy boy. He gave me a warm glance as if reassuring me that I was safe here. I couldnât muster up a smile, so instead I gave him a timid nod. Meanwhile, the gentleman gently placed a hand on my back and guided me to a seat beside his, which was at the head of the table.Â
The various personalities together seemed as if they wouldnât mesh well together, but surprisingly, with everyone seated down, it felt like they were all a family.Â
I turned back towards the food laid out in front of me. My stomach quietly grumbled; embarrassed, I looked around hoping no one noticed. Wishing to justify my hunger, I rationalized that it would be insulting if I didnât eat. I tried the terrine. Pheasant with fresh basil. And it tasted as exquisite as it looked. The bisque was delicious too. You can taste the crab. Itâs thickened just right! I closed my eyes. Whoever made this food should be as famous as Gordon Ramsay. My increasing satisfaction with the food was noticed by the gentleman, and awkwardly, I chirped, âMy compliments to the chef.â The butler from earlier, who dutifully stood by the kitchenâs entry seemed to relax from his stiff composure.Â
He chuckled, âheâll be pleased to hear that.â Whether it was the champagne or his ardent smile, my nerves considerably eased. Maybe heâs just a harmless nobleman and Iâm overthinking everything. Really, if you looked at this scene objectively, I was having a perfectly pleasant evening. Wasnât this the sort of romantic adventure I was looking for in coming to Paris?Â
At the gentlemanâs words, the menâs amicable chatter was silenced. âYouâve outdone yourself again Sebastian.â His disarming charisma powered over the room. He looked over the men and said, âI believe we should take this opportunity to introduce ourselves to our guest. I will start us off. Everyone has taken to calling me Comte de Saint-Germain.â Comte? A whole count? Maybe that explains this old-word aura he has. âAnd once again, itâs a pleasure to meet you, chĂšrie.âÂ
âOh no, the pleasureâs all mine, Comte,â I mumbled, slightly flustered at his manners and my lack of it. I could feel the manorâs membersâ eyes on me, and my face warmed at the attention. God, Iâm making such a fool of myself. Le Comte de Saint-Germain next turned to his servant.Â
âThis hard-working butler and the chef of tonightâs excellent banquet is Sebastian,â he fondly introduced. The stern butler from earlier formally bowed.Â
âIt is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,â he said. He spoke English with a faint Japanese accent. The butler Sebastianâhow conveniently named.Â
The Comte turned back towards me, âIt occurs to me we havenât heard your name yet. Iâd be pleased to know it.âÂ
There canât be any harm in telling them that. âIâm⊠MC,â I clumsily introduced myself. I avoided the eyes of everyone in the room, incredibly self-conscious and still apprehensive.Â
âThatâs such a pretty name,â the kind Dutch brother piped up. His angelic face, which was sat across from me, was the first to reply, âI wasnât expecting someone like you to turn up here. I hope we can be friends.â I finally raised my head and met his eyes to be polite, and his expression looked relieved at that. âIâm Vincent van Gogh, Iâm a painter. Itâs really nice to meet you.â I almost choked on my spit. A painter⊠named Vincent van Gogh. Is this some kind of themed event? Hoping not to seem offensive at my clumsy actions, I mustered a smile back. He seemed too kind to deserve my stupidity. âAnd this is my little brother. Go on, Theo, introduce yourself.âÂ
âVincentâ gently nudged his brother, the gruff Dutch businessman.Â
âTheodorus van Gogh. Iâm an art dealer. Donât confuse me with my brother.âÂ
âIâll, uh, try my best.â They couldnât be more opposite. Iâm not confusing you two. âYouâre not getting anything else from me. Introductionâs over.â To hammer in his point, he took a pocket watch from his coat and tapped it repeatedly, tap-tap-tap, to show that he had better things to do. How could Vincent be older? Theo had me pegged as the older brother with his seriousness. Realizing I was staring at the two of them in puzzlement, my gaze returned to the table.Â
Sitting to the right of Theodorus was the shy boy, âNewt,â who was difficult to make eye contact with, the both of us too nervous. If he couldâve curled up into a ball to be swallowed up by the ground, he would have. That being said, doesnât he live here? I had more of a reason to be afraid of him than he was of me. âIâm Isaac. Isaac Newton. I study physics.âÂ
âNice to meet you⊠Isaac,â I choked out. A physicist named Isaac. They canât possibly be serious. Despite the absurdity of this situation, I was still fearful of being deemed impolite. âWait. Should that be âSir Isaacâ?ââÂ
Suddenly, one of the dining room windows burst open. To my surprise, a man climbed in from the outside. I flinched from my seat and quickly glanced around to gauge everyoneâs reactions. To my surprise, not a single person looked even remotely startled. The man, who had dark hair and strikingly yellow eyes chuckled sheepishly as he struggled through the window. He had such an easygoing smile that betrayed his serious eyes. He had an old Taisho-style kimono, with a dark purple haori, black hakama, and an unbuttoned white shirt. âWell, well, would you look at that? Iâm a little late, arenât I?â Heâd just about fully entered the room when his sleeve got stuck, â...In we go.â He pulled at it comically, his actions humorously exaggerated and ineffective.Â
âGodâs Truth, canât you use a door?â Isaac sighed.Â
âAnd keep everyone waiting? No, no, the windowâs a much faster entrance.â He smiled, nonchalant about his sleeve still caught by the window. He caught my bewildered eyes. I sat back down, but couldnât wrench my eyes away from the bizarre scene. âOh, hello there, young one. Why, Iâm happy to see you here. Howâs your dinner been?âÂ
âItâsâŠgood,â I sputtered out.Â
âIsnât it? Well, itâs a Sebas-kun meal, so you really canât expect anything less. You wouldnât believe how fast his cooking gets gobbled up here.â He nonchalantly mused and sat on Isaacâs right, who then slithered away from him.Â
âNot to worry, you arrived just in time. We were just introducing ourselves to our new guest here.âÂ
âIn that case, Iâm Osamu Dazai, just a poor writer struggling to make his way in the world.â His eyes closed with his carefree smile, which made him all the more handsome.Â
âOsamu Dazai. The writer. Okay.â I took a quick swig of my champagne. If I had to listen to the rest of these wild introductions I needed to be less sober. Should I have introduced myself as Marie Antoinette or something? I took a quick glance at the âvan Goghâ brothers, who had started this odd chain of improv introductions. His smile seemed too innocent to be trying to fool me like this. Who the hell are these people? Is this some sort of prank? I glanced back at my now-empty glass. Was there something in my drink?Â
Skipping several empty chairs was the beautiful and cold pianist Iâd met earlier. The Englishman called him âWolfie,â but I bet thatâs probably short forâ
âWolfgang Amadeus Mozart. Composer.â Called it. His character seemed the least to play along in whatever nonsense chain the others made up. Of course, the pianist would be called Mozart.Â
â...Hello, Mozart,â two words I never thought Iâd utter in my life.Â
The cheeky Englishman from earlier, who was practically buzzing with excitement piped up, âI do believe Iâm next! Iâm Arthur Conan Doyle. Mystery writer.â I pursed my lips and looked down at the table, uncertain whether I should laugh or sigh. âAnd donât call me Sir, just Arthur. As long as I get to call you MC.â I quickly glanced up at him, and his eyes twinkled with delight. He, I could see was capable of making up this joke. But then, did that mean everyone was lying to me? No, not lying. They have to be pseudonyms. I looked around once again at everyone.Â
Vincent.Â
Theodorus.Â
Isaac.
Dazai.
Mozart.Â
Arthur.Â
They have to be. Maybe they have to use fake names to keep their real identities a secret for some important reason.Â
âI believe that leaves you.â Le Comteâs silky voice interrupted my racing thoughts. Only my hero remained. My protector. He was the only one who was genuinely on my side. The one who wanted me to get out of here. He promised to answer my questions. I trusted him, albeit instantly. But he couldnât possibly lie to me too.Â
With his eyes that hid nothing, my saviour looked at me and said, âNapoleon. Napoleon Bonaparte⊠Iâm a soldier.âÂ
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
love transcending time - aka the ikemen vampire prologue unnecessarily narrated
>ikemen vampire
>everyone x reader
>a/n: as i've promised, here's the lil project I was working on, where I wanted to write the ikemen vampire story, with as much convergence between the routes as possible. this is the first chapter for now (since I'm not sure how much text tumblr allows rip). thank u again for reading, have a wonderful day darling!
âMy rogue earring is certain to behave itself now. Merci.âÂ
âNot at all. It was thanks to the earring that I was granted the good fortune to meet you.â I escaped his dizzying charm by glancing back at the painting that caused this scene. âDid you know that itâs the second-largest painting in the Louvre?â Perhaps in addition to my article, I can write tips on how to stumble upon handsome gentlemen. Just trip clumsily in front of them and you too can win a conversation! His old-world sort of manner was enchanting, and it urged me to hear more of his voice. âThis painting marked the turn of the modern empire and it was highly regarded as this masterful piece of propaganda,â the way he spoke of the painting was almost intimate as if it was a nostalgic memory he could muse about rather than a fragment of history.Â
âYou seem to be well acquainted with this painting monsieur,â I replied. His eyes crinkled at the edges, and a deep chuckle rose from him again.
âMore than you could ever know,â he cryptically joked. Despite the strangeness of it, I found myself politely laughing along with him. The gentleman gave a parting glance at the image, granted me a longer one, and with a resigned smile, bid me farewell, âBon voyage, Mademoiselle.â His beige overcoat majestically flowed after him as he headed down a hallway, presumably to view the Mona Lisa next. When he left my sight, all good reason returned and I hastily checked the time. Itâs been an hour and a half already? If I was to meet up with my aunt in another half-hour for brunch at the hotel, I needed to at least see the Mona Lisa as well. Believing that the cryptic gentleman knew the quickest way there, (and perhaps wanting to see him again) I naturally followed where he went.Â
âIt canât be,â I muttered in disbelief. I may have been distracted by the gentleman, but there was absolutely no way that a whole day had passed. The last pitiful source of rationality left inside nagged at me to find a way out, but a gnawing fear prevented my body from moving.Â
âWhatâs that? âGet back?â Youâre not telling me you came from that door?â Though baffled, his voice softened its initial cautious edge.Â
âIâm sorry, I know I may be trespassing but I got lost and saw light through this door,â I apologized, grasping at the last bouts of my sanity through this conversation. The mystery of the time aside, if I can get back thatâs all that matters. Despite the confusion of the situation, a softer expression melted the manâs face. I was grateful he didnât seem to doubt my story but felt uneasy at how he looked at me curiouslyâas if he couldnât believe his eyes that I was there.Â
âJust what are you?â he murmured in fascination. From down the hall, I could hear the clicking of Oxford shoes and heavy leather boots. Could that be the gentleman?Â
âExcuse mââ The dark-haired man clapped a hand over my mouth and wrapped me in his large arms. He tugged the two of us behind a curtain, with his back shielding me from view. What the hell is he doing?Â
âThat blasted Count is certainly taking his time this visit.â
âYouâre too harsh on him, my friend. Perhaps he was distracted by a little bird.â
âI suppose under that pretentious façade heâs still a man.â
Two deep voices with thick European accents gradually came closer from the end of the hallway. Rational me knew that asking for their assistance would benefit me, but the fear inside yelled that it would be the worst idea possible. Their conversation continued unintelligibly as panic continued to surge through me.Â
â... to my Broer,â the huskier voice huffed. This one had a distant Dutch accent, but his English was so localized it was almost difficult to discern. His footsteps quickly faded away and presumably left the other man. This one instead had a silkier character and a silver-tongued English accent.
âYou call me a dog, but between the two of us, youâre the dog and your brotherâs clearly the master.â The voice was scarily close, and by instinct, I stuck myself closer to him for safety. The thud of Oxford leather footsteps was in front of me now, and I held my breath in a pathetic attempt to hide myself. âI do believe I hear a little bird fluttering her wings where she should not be,â the man whistled wolfishly, âand this bird is quite adorable thinking that she could hide from me.â I trembled in his arms. But he held me gently. His jade eyes met mine. They were powerful. Earnest. The fear in me slowly subsided in his presence. I donât know whatâs going on, but I want to trust him. I nodded to show that I would be quiet, and he uncovered my mouth. When the sound of his footsteps faded away, we stepped out from the curtain. He took my hand in his firm grip and quickly led me away.Â
âYou need to escape before the others find you. Itâs already bad that he knows youâre here, so we need to move quickly.â Escape? What kind of place is this that I need to escape from? âDonât let go,â he reassured me as he squeezed my hand. As I watched his wide shoulders in front of me, the fear soon washed away. The rational side of my brain knew that I shouldnât trust a man I just met, but so far, heâd done nothing but help me. And in this mysterious place, there didnât seem like many choices anyway.Â
âBy Jove, this is what you were hiding, Leon?â Azure eyes with a wolfish twinkle were the first things I noticed. This man was devilishly handsome, with a proud grin and a mole above his chin. His well-tailored navy suit had an unbuttoned collar, giving the otherwise sharp getup a more wolfish feel. He raked his eyes down my body and swiped his tongue across his lips. His gaze grew darker as my breath staggered. âYouâre a lovely one,â he breathlessly sighed. I shivered in disgust. His eyes crinkled in amusement, not at all intimidated by my display of courage.Â
âDid the Count bring you back as a little treat for us?â he mused, slowly inching his face towards my neck. âTruly exquisiteâŠâÂ
My saviour clicked his tongue. Weâre caught.Â
âFrom what I can deduce, youâre trying to help her escape,â he said, âNow why would you go and do that, Leon? I rather fancy her type, you know. She looks absolutely scrumptious.â He leaned forward and tried to get close, but âLeonâ blocked me from his fascinated gaze. He blocked off our possible exit in the smoothest of fashions.Â
He caught my wary gaze. âAh, maybe you fancy me too, judging by the way youâre looking me over.â He may look completely like a gentleman, but heâs a rotten flirt!Â
âIt just had to be you,â âLeonâ sighed in stark irritation.Â
âWhy do you want to help her escape? Letâs invite her to the banquet. She deserves a warm welcome, donât you think?â he interjected.Â
âThatâs not up to me or you.â
âDonât be so stodgy, old boy! I canât think of anyone whoâd complain about having a lovely girl at that drab table. It would really bring some colour to this mansion.â Mansion? Thereâs no mansion connected to the Louvre. What is he talking about?Â
âMessieurs.â A cool-toned voice interrupted. A man with a neutral expression entered the hallway. He was dressed in a grey butlerâs garb, his posture immaculate and his steps measured. âIt is time for supper. Everyoneâs gathering in the dining room now if you please.â I peeked out from above âLeonâsâ shoulder, and his steely grey eyes locked onto mine. âYou too, Mademoiselle.âÂ
Finding my voice, I croaked out, âThereâs no need. Iâm not planning on staying for supper. I was, uh, actually just trying to get back.âÂ
âBut the lord of the manor is eagerly awaiting your presence.â âThe lord of the manor?â Is this really someoneâs place?Â
âHow does he know Iâm here?â
âHe can answer your questions at supper.â Iâm really not getting any answers until then.Â
âOr will you refuse his gracious invitation after breaking into his house?âÂ
âIâŠâ I wanted to defend myself, but knew that there was really no excuse. It was my own curiosity that I couldnât quell, and ultimately, my fault that I ended up here.Â
âAllow me to escort you.âÂ
The butler led me down winding velvet-carpeted hallways. Memorizing the direction proved quite difficult with its identical doors, windows, and mahogany walls. A complicated mess of shame and lingering fear settled in my stomach, but voicing any concern seemed like it would end badly for me. Staying polite and pleasing to the master of the house may prevent an incoming lawsuit for trespassing, and Iâd be a fool to go against his wishes. I studied my guide; his crisp suit and spotless white gloves gave him a sophisticated air, one almost too graceful for a mere butler. His earlier statements proved he was a âno-nonsenseâ and stern man, and I could tell the master sent him to ensure I would comply. As our makeshift party continued down the mansionâs halls, a piano's delicate, tinkling keys softly touched the air. The elegant melody grew louder as we neared a set of double doors.Â
âSounds like Wolfieâs in a sprightly mood,â Arthur hummed. He leaned down towards me and whispered conspiratorially, âVery uncharacteristic of him, Iâll say.â The butler closed his eyes for a split second as if he was bracing for something terrible.Â
Then, he cautiously rapped three times on the door, âPardon me. I know that you are there. Please come join us in the dining room.â The ethereal song cut short, and its pianist revealed himself.Â
âGo away.â The pianist carried a faint Austrian accent in a gruff voice, perturbed at the interruption. He was a beautiful man. His hair was the colour of starlight and softly fanned across his deep-sunken, lavender eyes. His delicate, doll-like face and graceful figure were the manifestation of his dreamy music. Unlike the other three, his suit seemed like it was from the Classical period, with a ruched tie and a feather in his breast pocket. Despite the elegant aura he exuded, he conversed with the butler in such a rudely familiar way.Â
âIt is time for the banquet.â
âWhy was everyone so loud?â His eyes narrowed as they zeroed in on me. âItâs her fault, isnât it?â My fault? I just want to leave!Â
âItâs not like I planned to be here,â I muttered.Â
âWho cares? Why donât you just go back then?â He sighed haughtily. âUnless you enjoy the idea of being everyoneâs food,â he quietly said, slipping past me. âŠFood? He bent slightly away as if repulsed by the thought of making contact with me. â... As if the banquet wasnât bad enough,â he murmured under his breath, loud enough so I could hear. His cold voice, a stark contrast to his music, hung beside the beautiful melodies in the air.Â
We descended a grand staircase, a marvel with its winding gold handrails, marble floors, and lush carpet spread on it. At the end of the steps was the gentleman in the museum, almost glowing with how perfectly he fit in this mansion.Â
âItâs poor manners to keep those whoâve arrived on time waiting.â
if you've made it this far, thank u once again! please leave a like/reblog/comment if you've enjoyed it <3