bianca di angelo

‘ you mustn’t’ be gentle,    you must hurt me,    unsettle me,    ruin my efforts of tranquility.    ’

raven has always known her life is danger undying,    she feels it vividly in her thorax as she stands as if begging for mercy in the immodesty of a sleep robe and the shy fluttering of a leaves after a monsoon.    she knows she’s asking too much of bianca,    she knows its not fair,    but she cannot submit anyone else with her raw soul,    she would not have it,    it would be betrayal to strip her skeleton into the metaphysical and not do it with bianca’s observance.    it's selfish to ask another to help in the task of self - knowledge, but she's certain to make her appreciation known.

they are set on what should be very simple academic study of her transformation process,    which she’s never been able to control.    instead of morphing into the wicked sovereign,    red fleshed and sharp,    she feels like a trapped bird who’s been craving the absolution of life by teeth.    bianca has never felt docile enough to be prey,    and thus raven's brain fantasizes about the idea of being hers.   she keeps it quiet. she knows its wrong.

firm,    she lays as a poisoned damsel atop the work table,    her eyes wander to the ceiling,    her skin prickles in expectations she cannot explain.    ‘ pain,    injury,    it unravels me,    i have no other methods,    i have only stabbed myself and seen the shift.    it is beyond my control.    ’ she cants her head to the side,    looking up at bianca,    the light haloing her dark features in ways that could only trouble raven’s concentration,    in ways she may not be blamed for what she says next: ‘ if it goes wrong,    if you see me fracture beyond my control… ’ she presses her lips together,    

‘ you must command me to stop,    tame me,    god to demon.    ’ 

her hand,    cautious and slow,    reaches the periphery of bianca’s collarbone,    as if examining the sutures of her bones against the stitching of her blouse.    the demigod’s skin is softer than the silk worn,    and it almost distracts her from their purpose.    subjugation,    soul – deep and preternatural,    is hardly a neutral stance,    and while she’d be only wise to do it under the scope of trust and academic discovery,    but she’d lie to herself    (    as she often does    )    if the prospect of risking her integrity under the heel of bianca di angelo was not appealing.    after all, she knew her safety would be procured nonetheless.   

it was greedy,    she knew,    and she was disgusting and a liar for coming up with excuses to satiate her desires,    but she chooses to deceive herself now,    and denies better judgment or tranquility.    there is no temperance in a half – demon turned priestess.    a devotee of wrong birth,    the natural enemy of that partial divinity that blinds in its equal darkness and iridescence.    it dawns on her then she might believe herself worthy of punishment,    simply by being, that she's dreamt of seeing bianca's power unleashed on her... or maybe, that she simply cannot define the cravings of her skin.

‘ exert the power of your blood, if you must.    ’ 

but this time is different. this time, the frustration which encompasses raven is nothing like she's seen before. this is not about the transformation, not about the failings of her attempting to tap into that magical place in her head and draw the power. this is about raven being so thoroughly disappointed and so thoroughly ashamed that she is boldening into recklessness just in the name of... what, exactly? nothing that will warrant the sharp gleam of a knife lodging between her third and fourth ribs. nothing that will warrant her pretty throat strained from hoarsely gasping for air. nothing that hurts her will ever be worth she thinks she wants, and bianca is so out of words to convince her any different.

so she just watches, both as a guard and as a devotee. watches her eyes trail to the ceiling, silk robe pool on the marble table every curve of muscle and flesh burning into a gospel behind her eyelids, to shine like a beacon in the dark of the night. she can almost imagine it, the smoothness of her skin, if she were to run a palm over the bone of her calf, up her knee, where the robe slips enough to leave room for imagination. and what a horrible imagination it is. or is it? it hardly feels wrong, to think of raven as the drop of water she'd crave in the desert after a thousand days on her knees. it is natural. it is instinctive.

you must tell me to stop, says the demon, with fingertips on her collarbone, and bianca forgets what breathing is entirely. tame me. god to demon. there is no divine power that can control what raven asks her to leash, and she doesn't know how to tell her that. how can a mere woman face a hundred meters tsunami? how can a mere woman not shake against an earthquake that splits a continent into two? how can a mere woman stand tall in the face of a comet hurling her way? she has never been a god with raven. only a human woman. frail, weak, and wanting. there is no golden specks in her blood when raven touches her as reverently as she does now, no immortality. she is all mouth and thirst, all devotion and loyalty. there isn't a way they can untangle from each other in a way that won't cease their existence at once.

‘ there are things beyond your control other than pain, raven. ’     she murmurs instead, leaning over to brush a thumb over the woman's cheekbone, and try her best not to shudder with the warmth of it underneath. it takes a lifetime, the idea of aparting from it, and it is impossible, it is so impossible that her palm connects with the soft and full cheek, a full cradling to turn raven's heavenly face to hers. it is unfair, how beautiful a person can be. how is she supposed to look at her without wanting to drown in her? how is she supposed to not bury her face on her soft lap and plead forgiveness for the sin of daring to breathe in her air? but some by miracle, raven's left the beating heart of hers in bianca's palm. to be trusted with something so tender is a promise waiting to be fulfilled. ‘ gods are not made of spilled blood, only. this isn't what divinity is. ’ and it would be so cruel of bianca not to fulfill it. to not get her hands on the table, so very altruistically, and slowly grab the back of raven's calves to pull them up, until her legs bend, until her feet settles on the marble. it would be foolish, not to watch the way silk slip down from raven's knees, this time pool at her hips. cruel not to run her fingertips down the woman's shins, as her mouth finds the bones of her knees for chaste, tender kisses as she sits gratefully between them.

they collide, more often than not, amidst the order and luxury that so clearly define the City of Progress. Bianca di Angelo is a force to be reckoned with, a young face that betrays worn hands not unused to leaving marks on what she fights for; she would do well in Noxus, able to hide what she's capable of underneath mere appearance. It's why they can discuss commerce over a decadent soup, why it's easy to switch to trade route analogies while they enjoy a slice of cardamom berry tart: they're able to stomach a rich dinner and not let politics sour its taste. Mel smiles around a stray bit of raspberry that she's salvaged from her plate as the topic of conversation strays towards Shurima.

she can't say she dislikes Bianca. In fact, after so many meetings with so many nobles and influential merchants from among the mercantile clans, Mel appreciates a far more overt challenge; one that she can handle, one whose eyes she can stare into and judge by how they narrow, how they widen at the slightest hint of an opportunity.

and yet they remain deathly calm when she declares such a fact, apropos almost of nothing. Lions among lambs. A telling comparison, if prowling beasts is what Bianca would liken them to. [ Is it not what they are doing? Prowling around each other? Mel remembers the Reckoning arena fights she was once witness to; she can almost hear the crackle of sand underneath the fighters' feet, except this time it's been replaced by the soft clack of heels over lacquered floors. They hold the tension lived by their sister cities aloft, not unlike a blade pressing against flesh. ]

different battlegrounds, same principle: strength, and yet ... Mel's gaze mellows. Strength, yes, but hand in hand with compromise. That's all they want.

❛ An existence none ought to envy, then but tell me, ❜ she prompts, and leans back against her seat, ❛ it's quaint that you should refer to us as such, particularly given our ... association. Are we to be the lamb to each other's lion, Bianca? ❜

mel medarda is many things. but most imperatively, she is more than what she seems.

it's why, perhaps, in the years following their conversations became a regularity than a one time miracle. why, they've shared late night bites in the street vendors bianca never thought she'd see the noxian elite enjoy, why they've talked the ears off of poor waiters. never in the daylight, never in the council building. but always some time, and always somewhere. she's kept going back for more, and the most interesting part is that mel kept coming back for, too.

the bathhouse is humid and warm enough to ease her bones, sweat pooling in weary collarbones. the sound of water trickling down against the silver veined marble tiles is soothing, and all bianca think is how the piltover folk really are ungrateful for the luxuries they have. even the finest of zaun merchants and chembarons couldn't access the gold streaked wash basins brought by a pretty faced, smiling ladies with light in their eyes.

mel's questioning brings a lopsided, amused smile to her otherwise serene visage, arms resting on the back of the stone chair they are settled on, her towel slowly growing damp at the hems with the humidity.  ‘ perhaps, ’     she agrees, about the morality aspect of it. ‘ but a factual existence nonetheless. would you not agree? ’

are we be to the lamb to each other's lion, bianca?

[R] = receiver / [S] = sender  /  note.  these prompts are rewritten from my romance series. 

[001] in their sleep, [R] murmurs [S]’s name, unaware they’re listening

[002] [R] hesitates before saying [S]’s name, like they’re afraid of what it means

[003] [R] asks [S] to say their name again.

[004] exhausted and vulnerable, [R] lets [S]’s name slip out without thinking

[005] breath warm against [S]’s ear, [R] says their name

[006] like a warning, [R] says [S]’s name.

[007] [R] lingers on [S]’s name, their voice catching before they can say anything else

[008] when someone else says [S]’s name too fondly, [R] clenches their jaw

[009] [R] dares [S] to say their name the way they really mean it

[010] in an argument, [R] chokes on [S]’s name.

[011] [R] almost says [S]’s name.

[012] alone in a dark room, [R] whispers [S]’s name.

[013] [R] says [S]’s name like a goodbye they never wanted to say

[014] gripping [S]’s face, [R] pleads

[015] [R] drags out [S]’s name like they’re savoring it

[016] [R] laughs when [S] says their name

[017] smirking, [R] whispers [S]’s name just to watch their reaction

[018] [R] playfully refuses to call [S] by name

it is truly a turn of events, that she meets the talk of the hockey scene ilya rozanov right outside the banquet, with a cigarette in his hand and a dried piece of leaf sticking to his honey curls. ‘ can i? ’ she gestures, and upon not meeting objection, she reaches up to pluck the leaf and toss it away to drift away in the wind before leaning back against the brick wall, and feel the november chill in her bones. neil's coat on her shoulders keep her safe from the biting wind, but it doesn't necessarily stop the cold slithering into her spine from where she rests.

sorry about the scene at the bottom of the stairwell and how i ruined everything by saying it outloud.

something's not right about what i'm doing but i'm still doing it.

the enormity of my desire disgusts me.

i woke up in the morning and i didn't want anything, didn't do anything, couldn't do it anyway.

i couldn't make you love me and i'm tired of pulling your teeth.

this is not harmless.

damn if there isn't anything sexier than a slender boy with a handgun, a fast car, a bottle of pills.

okay, so i'm the dragon. big deal. you still get to be the hero.

there are many names in history... but none of them are ours.

i had a dream about you.

let me name the stars for you.

kiss me.

here i am, leaving you clues.

what do you want, sweetheart?

just mash your lips against me.

we are all going forward. none of us are going back.

i swear, i end up feeling empty, like you've taken something out of me and i have to search my body for scars.

you wanted happiness.

the truth is complicated.

i should have known.

tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us.

the way you slam your body into mine reminds me i'm alive.

monsters are always hungry, darling, and they're only a few steps behind you.

i crawled out the window and ran into the woods.

i had to make up all the words myself.

i made this place for you. a place for you to love me.

if this isn't a kingdom then i don't know what it is.

i wore his jacket for the longest time.

you're trembling.

i feel like i've done something terrible.

i'm trying to choke down the feeling.

i've discovered something i didn't even have a name for.

eventually something you love is going to be taken away.

it is finally happening to you.

i am falling to the floor crying.

i realize i didn't paint it very well.

we have not touched the stars.

tell me we'll never get used to it.

sorry about the blood in your mouth. i wish it was mine.

if you love me, [name], you don't love me in a way i understand.

someone has to leave first.

this is a very old story.

i'm battling monsters.

you say "i'll give you anything" but you never come through.

everyone needs a place. it shouldn't be inside of someone else.

you're trying to smile.

how much can you change and get away with it, before you turn into someone else, before it's some kind of murder?

imagine that the world is made out of love.

imagine a story where everything goes wrong.

hello, darling. sorry about that.

tell me we're dead and i'll love you even more.

i should have known.

no one will ever want to sleep with you.

i'm sorry i couldn't come to your party.

i'm sorry i came to your party and seduced you.

you want a better story. who wouldn't?

who am i? i'm just a writer.

let me do it right for once.

this doesn't look that much different from home.

you were crying, too.

you said i could have anything i wanted, but i just couldn't say it outloud.

okay, if you're so great, make it work.

i saved a plate for you.

please keep him safe.

i do believe his mouth is heaven.

i wanted to explain myself in an understandable way.

a series of dialogue prompts from the 2021 dracula re-telling.  feel free to change pronouns as you see fit ! cw; gore, sexual themes, emotional abuse, & toxic relationships

❛ i never dreamed it would end like this. ❜ 

❛ there is no horror left in this world that can surprise me. ❜

❛ eventually, even your death becomes its own sort of inevitability. ❜

❛ i was so happy to be your marionette, at first. ❜

❛ am i sick to still think on you softly, even after all the blood and broken promises? ❜

❛ this is my last love letter to you, though some would call it a confession. ❜

❛ war is never valiant, only crude and hideous. ❜

❛ good. when life fails you, spite will not. ❜

❛ i will raise you out of the dirt and into queenship. and, i will give you your vengeance. ❜

❛ i wanted to break them, even more slowly and painfully than they had broken me, leave them bleeding out and begging for mercy. ❜

❛ water your mother’s flowers with their blood. ❜

❛ in this world, you are what i say you are, and i say you are a ghost. ❜

❛ bloodlust brings on a delirium that’s difficult to describe. ❜

❛ i have loved you too long to imagine you do anything without an ulterior motive. ❜

❛ i’ve never been looked at before. like that. ❜

❛ what is more lovely, after all, than a monster undone with want? ❜

❛ i was your little mouse, kept in a gilded cage until it was time for the cat to play. ❜

❛ i knew nothing except the strength of your arms and the scent of your hair. ❜

❛ your priest’s bedtime stories cannot account for us. ❜

❛ to know oneself, one’s limits and abilities, is its own power. ❜

❛ i was alone, and i was scared. i had no home left to speak of. ❜

❛ and god, how i adored you. it went beyond love, beyond devotion. ❜

❛ i wanted to dash myself against your rocks like a wave, to obliterate my old self and see what rose shining and new from the sea foam. ❜

❛ you turned a strong-minded girl into a pulsing wound of need. ❜

❛ what would you have me do, as ruler? ❜

❛ are you sure you aren’t a holy man come to lecture me on the sins of excess? ❜

❛ i was well-acquainted with violence by then. ❜

❛ but I had never outgrown my thirst for vengeance. ❜

❛ in my mind, i was god’s lovely angel of judgement, come to unsheathe the sword of divine wrath against those who truly deserved it. ❜

❛ you mocked my lofty aspirations, cynical as ever. ❜

❛ when will you give up this ridiculous crusade? ❜

❛ there was a darkness in your eyes and a tightness to your mouth i hadn’t noticed before—or perhaps hadn’t wanted to. ❜

❛ i would never leave you, my love. not for the entirety of my second life. ❜

❛ you seemed to me a fire burning in the woods. i was drawn in by your enticing, smoky darkness, a darkness that still stirs memories of safety, of autumn, of home. ❜

❛ it was like grasping at a flame. i never penetrated to the burning heart of you, only came away with empty, scorched fingers. ❜

❛ whenever we were apart, you left your essence caught in my hair, in my clothes. i scented the taste of it on the wind, I shivered and ached for it. ❜

❛ i was happy to spend countless lifetimes chasing the warmth coming off you, even though the haze was clouding my vision. ❜

❛ my piety was a sporadic, half-feral thing, sometimes lashing out at god with teeth bared, other times nuzzling against his loving providence like a kitten. ❜

❛ i felt my heart tumble down through my ribs and hit the ground. ❜

❛ it tortured me, how perfect you looked. i wanted to pull you behind the carriage and drain you dry. ❜

❛ i wanted to crawl between whatever was blossoming between the two of you and live there. ❜

❛ you’ve found cruelty to be an effective tool. ❜

❛ do you want her for your own? ❜

❛ ours is a solitary existence. it would be good for you to have a friend. ❜

❛ it’s as easy as breathing. one foot and then the other. and don’t overthink it. ❜

❛ you must never overthink any good and pleasurable thing. ❜

❛ you must sit with me tonight at dinner. i must have you close. i want us to be the best of friends. ❜

❛ i think i shall never marry, my lord. i will simply take lovers and never let any man shackle me with wedding vows. ❜

❛ am i to be bidden to my own bed like a dog invited to beg at the master’s table? ❜

❛ desire makes idiots of all of us. but you already knew that part, didn’t you? ❜

❛ there was an uncontrollable fire in you that was hard to look away from, much less resist. ❜

❛ all vampires find some way to stave off the monotony of an endless life, with hedonism or asceticism or a rotating door of lovers. ❜

❛ i’m talking about us, you and i. let’s be honest with each other, for once. ❜

❛ love was no girlhood game. it was an iron yoke, forged in fire and heavy to wear. ❜

❛ laying with you made me feel so vibrantly alive. it was almost enough to make me forget that i was already dead. ❜

❛ this is about your obsession with justice, isn’t it? ❜

❛ i was suspicious, and even more dangerously, i was curious. ❜

❛ i was the love that started it all, wasn’t i? ❜

❛ it has been a long time since i have felt clean. ❜

❛ like christ, i had become intimately acquainted with violence and the sins of the world, but i had not come away unblemished. ❜

❛ but it was not god who spoke.it was you. ❜

❛ you could have kissed me or slit my throat and either would have made as much sense. ❜

❛ i don’t know what I had been thinking, supposing i was strong enough to leave. ❜

❛ you made it into an art form, this quiet sort of violence. ❜

❛ i want to live. but i want to live in the world, not on the outskirts of it. ❜

❛ love is violence, my darling, it is a thunderstorm that tears apart your world. ❜

❛ love makes monsters of us, [ name ] and not everyone is cut out for monstrosity. ❜

❛ [ name], our sunlight, our destroyer. my prince cast in marble and gold. ❜

❛ he was as inevitable as a revolution, and heralded in just as much violence. ❜

❛ potential. you always loved that word. you were drawn to potential like a shark to blood. ❜

❛ look around you. what sort of life is this? ❜

❛ i craved you like maidens crave the grave, the way death burns for human touch: inconsolably, unrelentingly, aching for the annihilation in your kiss. ❜

❛ i still wanted to believe I was living in a fairy tale, that i laid down every night with a prince instead of a wolf. ❜

❛ before your time dear, just some dreadful victorians. ❜

❛ it took every ounce of self-control i had not to pin him down and tear out his throat. ❜

❛ the world has no place for us, we are wanderers by nature, lions among lambs. ❜

❛ we cannot exist only for each other. ❜

❛ i had never allowed myself to want this because i assumed it wasn’t a possibility. ❜

❛ i love you. look at me, [ name ], my jewel, my wife. i love you. don’t do this. ❜

❛ i was tired of waiting expectantly at your tomb every night for you to rise and bring light into my world once again. ❜

❛ i made you into my private christ, supplicated with my own dark devotions. nothing existed beyond the range of your exacting gaze, not even me. ❜

❛ i apologize if you were expecting contrition, my lord. i don’t have any to muster. ❜

❛ here's your demon, do what you will with him. ❜

not that anyone has tried to keep him away or ask questions.  his stare has done a good job so far at dissuading such attempts. and if andrew's teammates or coach are here, neil has seen no glimpse of them — the thought of andrew being alone leaves him cold all over, but he also knows andrew is not the easiest person to befriend. he wouldn't let them in without some serious work.

bianca is on him in seconds, her arms wound securely around him, holding him together.  neil is so coiled tight that it takes him a bit longer than normal to raise his own arms, leaden and stiff, but the comfort of cupping the back of her head to keep her close works through him lightning fast. he sighs, leaving some of the tension trapped in his chest behind.

'' not much, ''   he admits, grimacing softly at the memory of trying to find something edible at the vendors machine.  he had settled on the least offensive granola bar, even if it had been a while. he knows he should get some real food in him soon, but the thought of leaving the hospital makes his skin crawl. '' but i'm not hungry. ''

his phone buzzes in his pocket.  neil doesn't take it out just yet. it must be the foxes asking for updates.

‘ there you go, ’ she encourages softly at the feeling of him loosen, a breath of relief exhaled, that all the worst case scenarios she's had worries over on her way here relinquish their spots to something more mendable, something more solid. he's terrified. she can see that clearly. but at least, he is not catatonic with it. that is better than what she's hoped for.

no food, and that is not ideal but it's at least realistic. she nods, the boy still wound with her, and she blinks at the tea he offers her. she doesn't know how to tell him that it's ridiculous of him to think of her in a time like this, so she just takes the tea with a grateful nod, and gestures for him to sit. the bleak scent of the hospitals and the dull white lights are a recipe for a migraine, and if that's how uncomfortable it is for her, she can't imagine how much of a hell it had been for neil all these hours. she sets the tea in the tray next to her seat. she doesn't ask him to elaborate on andrew's situation. doesn't pester him with questions he probably doesn't have answers to. instead, she leaves her coat, and tells him to wait before she goes over to the front desk.

she returns with the number of a restaurant nearby, settling next to neil before dialing, and ordering two pastas. she isn't necessarily hungry either, but it is easier to convince neil to eat if she doesn't make him feel like she's shoving food down his throat. even if he knows that she really would if it came down to it.