fancy snowflake

A pin could drop from somewhere in the Tuscany estate and it would startle Dex, the jilted awkwardness of the conversation growing as he spoke. Her words elicited a slight chuckle from the lycan, surprised to see a vampire call him on that. “You’re interesting. The vampires I am… aware of would probably agree with me.” Though, Dex could guess that there were all types that made up covens. He’d just only come in contact with the kinds who’d been hardened by war and slaughter. “Me, worry? Never,” he found himself replying, grin stretched across his face. Despite the fact vampire bites are made to kill, Dex had never found himself worrying too much about it. Most couldn’t get close enough anyway. 

Of course, right now was close enough, hand-in-hand with Margaret. Her hand is a lot colder than he expected, the only contact he’d really had prior was slapping away hands of the likes of Astor or Ashton. “Maybe. It’s better than finding out on a battlefield, that’s for sure.” As if Italy wasn’t another one. Though instead of being fast-paced, it was a slow one, like a game of chess. Something one needed to watch. He thought he might have held on a little too long, so he let his firm grip fall slightly. His face falls along with it when she mentions his least favorite person. “Romulus? I don’t really find myself involved with him, either. I’m more… neutral, I guess,” he sighed, letting out the brief tension from his shoulders. “I’m just on a simple errand. Not really here to see anyone.”

          “Probably, but many of them are just old fogies who’re jealous of anyone with a good head of hair,” she says, giggling to herself.  ( she should know, margaret cards through her curls and smiles. )  He doesn’t seem to mean the word in a bad way, so she accepts interesting as a compliment. Conversation is so much easier when she’s feeling flattered. And she needs the newfound confidence because his mention of a battlefield makes her stomach twist. She’ll always find the subject unsettling. “Yes,” she agrees simply, lips tightening. “Always better.” Margaret feels too close to an outbreak of violence already, and it’s just as nerve-wrecking as she imagined. Nothing’s happened yet, so she tries not to worry. She’d just rather be away.

         “Ah.” She thinks she understands. Either way, neutral doesn’t sound too bad. “Well,” Margaret settles back in her chair, “if you’re lost, I could show you the way. I have a few hours to spare and the bad fortune to have read everything that’s worth reading from their library.” With a sigh, she frowns at the Kindle abandoned atop a pile of books. “And this thing is — hopeless. I watched a Youtube for how to make them work, but there are just far too many questions. Too many options, I just want to read.” She gives an annoyed little huff and turns back to Dex. Blaming boredom, she suggests, “You could help me. You seem young. Unless your errand needs to be done now, in which case … you should take care of that. I can find someone useful later.”

@oxtsider·

   It was late in the evening when Sebastian finally stopped byMargaret’s room, not because he’d been avoiding this—though he had been—but becausehe thought it might make the conversation easier when the sun wasn’t outsideshining brightly. He stopped outside her door, checking himself over andpulling the sleeves on his shirt down to hide his wrists. There was only aslight discoloration there now where the ropes had been, his healing factor hadquickly taken care of the bruises on his temple, there was practically nophysical evidence at all now of what he’d been through. But Margaret wouldlikely know by now what had happened. If she hadn’t been informed, then he wasprobably to be the one to inform her, there was no use keeping her in the darkabout this, especially since it painted a target on her back as well.

   They were in this together now, whether they liked it ornot.

   He knocked on the door, three quick raps of his knucklesbefore he took a half-step back away from the door. The more distance he putbetween them, the more he hoped she wouldn’t notice his nervousness. Sebastianhad never been formally introduced to Margaret, the party had meant to be theirdebut, and he remembered thinking before that he would have felt so much morecomfortable just meeting with her in private first. Now that he was gettingwhat he’d wanted, he wished someone was there with him, Ophelia maybe, thoughshe’d most likely be just as anxious as he was.

   As the door opened, all the previous thoughts in Sebastian’smind were wiped clean and replaced by the persona he usually put on insituations like these. “Margaret,” he said calmly, offering an apologeticsmile. He lifted a small vase filled with purple hyacinth flowers so that shecould see them. “The woman at the flower shop I went to told me these weremeant for apologies, and I think I might owe you one.”

            Margaret spent the day preparing for the evening. She deserves to treat herself after the rough few days she’s had. There was the engagement, a missing fiancé who turns out to have been kidnapped --- kidnapped! --- and a dismal encounter with Morrigan. While Margaret’s relieved Sebastian hadn’t meant to humiliate her by skipping the announcement, she’s not quite sure who’s had the worse week. She mulls over the question as she combs her hair, smooths on a face mask, and watches the home shopping network from the couch, yet she’s no closer to figuring out the answer than she was when the news first arrived. 

           After slipping into a decent dress and a pair of pearls, Margaret’s about to find the boy herself when there’s a knock at the door. She’s expecting Ashton, so it’s a little surprising to find Sebastian on the other side, not that she’s complaing. The heels she wears aren’t the best for running around Italy in search of a lycan. “Apologies?” Margaret gasps, eyes drawing up from the pretty bouquet to give him a frown. “Sebastian, that’s completely unnecessary. You’re hardly in a place to ask forgiveness, you’ve done nothing wrong,” she assures him with a genuine smile. “But,” she begins, stepping into the hall to touch the bulbs and breathe their perfume, “I will accept the flowers because they’re perfect. Thank you.”

          They could be stilted, as awkward as any arranged marriage, but Margaret’s already spent the better part of the past week irritated towards him. She’s eager to move on. They have enough troubles --- with a ruined first impression and an imperiled groom. ( not the drama she wanted from an engagement announcement. ) “I was just coming to see you, actually. I figured you would want some rest first, or that your everyone would have hundreds of questions for you, so I wanted to wait . . . Would you like to bring those inside?” She gestures to the door, her other hand resting lightly on his shoulder as if to say it’s not an invitation he can deny. “I was a little worried we wouldn’t have the pleasure of meeting. You’ve had quite an adventure.”

        She’s been so many different people in her life–each one crafted carefully to deal with the trauma of her colorful past. When she met Margaret, Morrigan was struggling with her newfound independence of the Lada family. She’d been fast and wild, her affection was given freely and without limit. She had no brakes, and was on a crash course for self-destruction. Being with Margaret had made Morrigan realize she deserved better than temporary happiness, that she didn’t have to rip herself apart to make someone love her. Although those sentiments hadn’t been enough to stop her from going back to Erik Lada, they gave Morrigan the strength she now relied on to be a better mother for her daughter. 

     Morrigan’s twiddling her fingers, letting Margaret speak without interruption. It’s only when she accuses her of not loving enough that she lets out a wet cry, shaking her head and dropping her hands to her side. “Margaret…” She wets her lips, knowing the words she needs to say. Her voice wavers, but she gets the words out as strongly as she can. “….The only thing greater than how much I loved you..

                                      …was how much I feared my husband.”

     She could talk about her past. Her mother’s suicide. Her time at Lennox Hill, and subsequently, the time at Hans’ Lada’s house. They all had their share of horrors in them, abuse and neglect aplenty. The one thing she couldn’t talk about was her marriage, and how what was meant as a means to an end became a noose around her neck. Morrigan felt it was the one thing in her past ( the one traumatic thing ) that was entirely her own doing. She did it to herself, and hated knowing it. “When I left I–It felt like the only choice I had.” Morrigan had feared for both her own safety and Margaret’s, and placating Erik had always been the safest choice for her. “He found me. And he wasn’t just going to leave without me.” 

     Morrigan threw her hands up in a motion of surrender, dropping them with a small shrug of her shoulders. “I’m sorry Margaret. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you–that I didn’t….fight back or ask for help.” Her apology was sincere, and she couldn’t help but to think of all the possible solutions she’d missed back then. At the time, she’d just been so fucking scared. Doing anything but what was expected seemed unthinkable. “I put myself into a bad situation, and I was too scared to get out of it. I don’t want you to pity me or think of me as a victim because I’m not that woman anymore.” 

          Fear, excuses, crying --- nothing Margaret wants to listen to, nothing she needs to hear. Clenching her jaw, she rips away as if she’s stung. “I don’t care. I don’t care, Morrigan! Why doesn’t matter anymore. All that matters is you left, and you chose to when I could’ve helped. You didn’t have the decency to say goodbye or explain --- anything, not until now. You did that to me. Me.” Wide, sad eyes glisten as she shakes her head, choking too much on her own emotion to even consider Morrigan’s. She’s struggling not to cry, not wanting to return to her room shame-faced and streaking and doubting whether or not she really can’t forgive Morrigan. 

          Swallowing tightly, Margaret grapples for a sense of control. “You were just gone. For years. Not a call, not a visit, not even a chance,” she sucks in a breath and musters a glare, “but you didn’t disappear. I heard your name from everyone before I forbade them from ever speaking it in my presence. I knew about Liliana, I knew you were a mother.”  ( she could’ve made morrigan better again. she could’ve loved her and her daughter so, so much. a princess to spoil, a woman to caress. a home full of laughter and life. ) 

            “But there was nothing from you, the only one I wanted to hear that from. All of that, I had to hear from others like we were strangers --- or something, certainly not who I thought we were.” With a sniff, she crosses her arms. “I’m sorry that you were scared and that he was terrible. He sounds absolutely horrible, and no one deserves to be so unhappy. But nothing you can say makes this better. It doesn’t change the way I hated you,” Margaret mumbles. She’s ashamed to admit that she loathed Morrigan for a time. How, when she was alone, rotten, and worrying, she regretted getting so attached to begin with. It was a terrible time, she hates to wallow. “An apology’s a little late. Even for us. It’d be best to forget, move on.”  

Ashton wouldn’t even call what he have now a career, a career needs to be paid. If anything this was the result of the unfortunate event of losing it. He was happy with his career, it almost seemed as if that was all he ever needed, and he didn’t know how easy it was to lose it until he did. He couldn’t help the small smile when he rolled his eyes at her as she joked, but any evidence of amusement dissolved when she asked a question he hasn’t seem to have heard in a long time. He had an answer almost instantly in his mind - no. But he simply looked down, quiet until Marg excused him from an answer. “Is having someone adore you really the answer to happiness in life?” Ashton quipped, Marg always had such a positive outlook, something Ashton had always been thankful for. Truth be told, he’s probably a little terrified of what she has planned for him.

“At least we’re free to express how we feel,” Ashton rephrased himself so that it didn’t seem as if the whole of the estate was going to be gloom and doom. But it was hypocritical, when he has his own responsibilities that included not expressing how he felt. He sighed, almost embarrassed at the compliment, “You’re saying that because it’s your handiwork.” He tugged at his sweater and sweatpants, almost changing as soon as the party was over lest he increases the chance of ruining it. “This is not the kind of pain that I’m used to, sadly.” He chuckled, but there was a certain darkness in it, knowing that there is some kind of pain that he’s used to.

He nodded his head vigorously in response to her, Marg was an open book in certain aspects, but sometimes it’s used to hide other things beneath it. He paused, raising an eyebrow in confusion. “Me. Dress consultation.” He folded his arms, punctuating every syllable, making sure Marg wasn’t going crazy. He could barely survive help Juliette with her closet situation. Helping make these decisions seemed above him. He groaned as soon as she brought up a new suit again, “can’t I just where the ones you’ve already bought me? Which is like, ten. That’s plenty to choose from.” Plus, Jonathan wouldn’t be the only one he’ll have to drag himself away from. “Months? Just what are you planning, woman.” He didn’t know whether to laugh or be afraid and he probably did both as he spoke. Though taking a little time off to help Marg with that seemed like a nice break, but even the thought of a few days made him nervous, he didn’t know what he’s supposed to do and he can’t be sure if they’d need him in those few days of absence. But looking at it so far, the fact that he’s not out there, it doesn’t seem like they’ll need him any time soon. “Have you find a place yet? For the dress.”

        Margaret flashes a smile. “Finally --- you’re getting it! My entire philosophy on life. The secret is adoration, both receiving and giving.” Leaning closer, she adds, “There’s nothing better than doing something nice for someone, or making them happy. It’s warm, comforting.” Margaret nestles against the couch and curls her legs underneath. Her skirt wrinkles, disastrous. “But do we really? I know you’re trying to defend the boy, Ashton, but there’s no need. I don’t think terribly of him at all.” She sighs, mumbling as she runs her fingers through her hair, “And to be frank, I’d rather talk about your astrology show than my runaway fiancé.” 

       “A little pain never hurt,” she pats his shoulder, “that’s another secret to happiness.” Margaret winks and snickers, turning innocently back to face the television. She likes the pictures, and sometimes they’ll mention something familiar that piques her interest, but science has never been in her repertoire of knowledge. It changes too quickly for her to keep up. She’d rather devote that energy to aesthetics and culture. The narrator here can dazzle her for a few minutes, but science is rarely so pretty and she’s no fool. “Of course I’d want you there, now’s your chance to return all of those compliments I give you when we shop for you. I’ve been training you this whole time. Think of this like a test if you must.”

       “No,” she says, shooting his suggestion down immediately. “I’m starting to think you don’t understand how big of an event this could be. Besides, who knows? Weddings are wonderful places to meet people in the mood for love --- ” It was unfortunate she may not have the opportunity to take advantage of it herself. “Everyone’s so . . . inspired. And, hopefully, they look their best. The wine’s flowing, the music’s playing, people are coming together and laughing it’s --- wonderful. So wonderful.” She smiles. “As for the dress, I have a few designers on hand, but I’m keeping an open mind. You never know when the right one will just appear.” Thinking about all of the gowns she’ll get to try on makes her practically sparkle, absolutely delighted. If only Ashton understood. She doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to teach him that. “You’ll come with me, right?” She looks at him, hopeful as she prods him with a finger. “Promise me. I need a smart friend for these things.”

     At mention of her name, Morrigan’s fingers clench so tightly to the wood that it begins to crumble under the pressure. She has to will her hand to open and release its grip, using the moment to prepare herself for whatever expression she’ll find waiting on Margaret’s face. She turns, watching Margaret go through a handful of emotions in the span of several seconds. In the end, Margaret offers a smile. 

     The words feel h o l l o w , and Morrigan has to swallow to keep the bile from rising in her throat. Watching Margaret keep her perfect composure hurt, and for a moment Morrigan began to question everything they’d had together. Before she could go too deeply down that rabbit hole however, she chided herself. She has no right to feel this way, to be upset, after being the one to leave all those years ago. She knows that, and so she tries to return the smile–but it’s small and falls short of being believable. “Hi.” She says, in greeting. Her voice is heavy, thick with anxiety.

     The question is both simple and complex, and it’s enough to cause Morrigan to loose her composure. She sniffles, looking down for a moment before meeting Magaret’s gaze again. “…I don’t really know.” She lets out a wet laugh, shaking her head. Her eyes are wet with tears that will shed any moment, but she doesn’t care anymore. “I guess I wanted to give you an explanation. I think after everything….that’s the least I could give you.” She knew it was wrong of her, to come back after all those years with no words said between them, and then to bring this up with no warning. “But if you don’t want to hear my excuses, I understand–I do.” She assured Margaret, trying to make things easier for the other vampire. “I can…I can just walk away and we can pretend I never came back.” It’d hurt like hell, to throw away both a chance to redeem herself in Margaret’s eyes and any possibility of making her happy again–but Morrigan would do it, if that’s what the other wanted. 

          The moment Morrigan sniffles, Margaret looks away, arms hugged against her chest like she’s cold. She wishes she was. Seeing Morrigan --- hearing her, it’s too much. Margaret feels too much. And she doesn’t want to feel anything but contempt, no matter how it blackened her heart into something that just wasn’t simply her.  ( she’d made a lot of exceptions for morrigan over the years . . . it seems only fair. )   Margaret manages to listen, quiet as she stares at the crumbled railing but Morrigan’s said enough over the years. Her silence spoke in the place of much-needed words, words Margaret need to hear. Staring out over the garden, she thinks of the months she wasted alone, waiting for a phone call that never came. All the questions she asked herself --- Morrigan offers the answers now. Just . . . now, when Margaret doesn’t want to know. 

         “Is that what this is about? The past?” She brushes her hair back with a shaking hand, lets out a breath because there’s so much she wants to say. Things she’d never say. “And you’re wrong,” she continues. “The least you could do is not try to justify the pain you caused me. It’s years too late --- I stopped wanting to care the minute I realized you didn’t love me nearly as much as I loved you.” If Morrigan did, she wouldn’t have needed excuses. She would’ve looked in Margaret in the eye and said goodbye rather than leave a harrowing phone call Margaret listened to too many times. 

         For all of her anger and humiliation, Margaret maintains her composure, voice as soft like when they were on better terms. But she doesn’t look at Morrigan, she can’t stand to watch her cry. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” she whispers, staring down at the way her hands knot together, fingers interlaced and squeezed tight. “I’m not sure what you hoped for. If you want to walk away from me again, then you’re going to have to make that decision yourself like you did before.” Her eyes are wet but her cheeks are dry, she swallows the lump in her throat as she looks up, “You didn’t give me the choice when we were together, so don’t --- don’t give it to me now when everything’s different.”

They only gather when they feel like you’re weak Bleed into the water  Until they show you all the rows of their teeth

sweet lies --- exo ( @ncnpareil )

Even if it’s a lie, I’ll make you happy With the sweetest lie in the world

foreigner’s god --- hozier ( @astormayfair )

Despite whatever lingering hostility dissipated during their awkward introduction, Dex still felt on edge. He wasn’t used to dealing with vampires he couldn’t just snap at. He almost wished to harp on someone like Ryder of all people. “You want me to wax about how the color you picked matches your eyes? Works well for your skin tone?” Dex asked, quirking an eyebrow at the other. “Don’t know much about that sort of stuff. I just buy stuff I like and wear it.” Of course, that was also how Dex had ended up with almost twenty leather jackets, half of them he probably didn’t need. “Glad you like it, or whatever. The look.” 

Bouncing on the balls of his feet, the lycan almost wished for a change in topic. Of course, he couldn’t be so hopeful. It felt piercing, but he tried to play it off with a laugh. “My bark is worse than my bite. Mutt through and through, you know.” With that, she introduced herself as Margaret, which wasn’t ringing any large-scale alarm bells. He wasn’t even sure he’d heard of her before. “Dex Woo,” he replied, crossing the room to stick out his hand. “Probably not. I don’t often find myself… involved with vampires. At least, prior to all of this.”

          “If you’d like, it’s always nice to hear,” she admits. Nothing about him screams nice, so Margaret isn’t too surprised that the compliments --- ? --- sound more grating than flattering.  She accepts them nonetheless. It’s much easier to like people when she speaks for them.  “That's good to know, but that's not a nice word to call yourself,” she frowns. “As for me, my bite is far worse --- but you don't need to worthy. Neither are very scary.” Margaret didn’t know a Dex. She doesn’t know many lycans, period, so maybe she’s a little surprised when he moves forward, so fast and sudden that she almost cringes, smile wavering on her lips before she realizes he’s stretched out a hand. He’s being polite. 

         She takes his hand but remains seated, raising her eyes to regard him with a polite smile. “Then, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Margaret says kindly, “it’s better like this than some --- other way.” She holds on a little longer than proper because he’s warm, wet blood and there’s no way she could ignore that. But she keeps a soft, gentle grip, admiring the way it feels. “Were you looking for anyone in particular?” She asks when they pull back. “I haven’t seen Romulus around.”

That dimple is illegal No, it’s dangerous, oh yes So I call you illegirl 

boy problems — carly rae jepsen. ( @sebarnett )

Ashton cringed at the thought as she ran her finger through his hair. He doesn’t understand how she has so much faith in him, it’s been years, decades, this is.. one long, long project. “I feel like that’s what they use to tell me when I was 20, but then I threw myself at a career. And then they all just kinda gave me a pitiful look.” But they also stopped asking him when he was getting married which was a big plus point. Though he was younger than a lot of the vampires here, when you’re in war, being young doesn’t matter. He couldn’t bring himself to make any of those she listed matter. Dying can happen anytime, and to him, it still can. He didn’t voice it out because he wasn’t really here to dampen Marg’s mood right now, or ever. “Yeah yeah sure, this is gonna be more than an every-few-years kinda thing now huh?” He simply gave a defeated smile, giving into her, because she did make a point. Maybe, just maybe, this truce can stop the war and give him that chance. Give him- them, that chance he was always afraid to give.

“Maybe,” Ashton gave her a small somewhat hopeful smile, but his eyes said differently, knowing that that was a maybe that’s hard to believe. Sebastian didn’t seem very… loved. And he doesn’t want to stick his nose in family affairs, but sometimes when family affairs can affect a whole lot of people.. He sighed, rubbing her arm in comfort, “Basically, but at least we have the right to look as miserable as we feel sometimes.” Political responsibilities, always one up his own.

“You saved me, but what did you save me from?” He sulked, it was a few torturous hours of him being thrown on so many things he lost count. Basically all of the fancy stuff she gets him stays at her place, also probably because both of them don’t trust him to take care of it. But Marg was so happy and excited to finally dress him up again, how could he say no? “If I wasn’t almost choking half of the time…” Ashton mumbled, but he mumbled even softer as he begrudgingly admitted, “..a lil bit… Thank you.” He winced when the names left his mouth, realising what he just said, “Oh, Marg, I’m so sorry.” He mimicked zipping his mouth. They’ve had this talk, they didn’t really need to again. Just moving forward. “I mean, I just thought… nevermind.” Of course she already knew what he was getting at. It’s all he knows, no one asks him anything, they just order. And he didn’t want that to be the way for Marg. He grinned to bring up the mood again, “So is this what’s it all about? Just so you can get a new wedding dress?”

         She purses her lips in thought. “I’m not trying to say a career can’t make you happy, because it possibly could, but would you say you’re happy now? Like not — not right now, obviously you are since I’m here — but when I’m not there,” she finishes her laugh before she continues, “for the most part, are you as happy as you want to be?” It’s a little personal, a little probing, so she shrugs and settles back against his side. “You don’t have to answer. Just think about it. There’s nothing wrong with having someone adore you for a while.” It’s a shame, really, the types of things Ashton’s few years have seen. She’s not as oblivious to some of the things he’s done as she wishes to be, but that’s a dark thought for another time. With a grin, she simply shrugs her shoulders. “I find it precious how you think I’ll be able to contain myself that much.”

         “Oh, God,” she groans, “I hope not. We’d be so unfortunate looking, all dismal and gloomy. That’d just make everyone more miserable.” Margaret ignores Ashton’s half-hearted attempt to defend Romulus’s personality. Thinking about having a dreadful soul for a father in law wasn’t making this entire thing easier. And besides, Ashton’s biased, he’s a soldier. If Keket thinks this is safe, then Margaret does, too. “ — I saved you from looking a mess. You looked so handsome.” She beams with pride, patting his thigh. “Pain is beauty. I’m sure a tough, strapping man like yourself didn’t have too much trouble.” Still, she makes a note to take him back to the tailor for another measuring. Luckily, there’s one in Tuscany she trusts.

         Margaret refuses to comment on his little slip. She doesn’t want to think about Morrigan and her daughter any more tonight. “Am I so transparent?” Margaret asks, quickly turning back to Ashton, bouncing as she sits on her knees and sinks into the cushions. Her hands fall in her lap, lips painted in a broad, pretty smile. “You should come with me when I go for my dress consultation. I’ll need a few choices, of course, so we’ll need a few days.” Margaret’s not even sure there will be a wedding, but she figures the least she could get out of this are modern gowns for her private collection. Leaning an elbow against the back of the couch, Margaret rests her head in her palm and gives him a mischievous look, eyes sparkling, “And we’ll need to find you a suit … Actually, you’ll need to drag yourself way from Johnathon for months.”

slow --- matoma ft. noah cyrus

that’s what i like --- bruno mars.

i miss you — grey, bahari   /   cross my mind pt. 2 — arizona ft. kiiara   /    warm on a cold night — honne    /   pretty girl — hayley kiyoko    /   wine — suran ft. changmo