Taking Requests!

Carla's aesthetic and headcanons maybe?

I honestly don't know much about Carla, but I still tried my best! I hope you still like it!💕

I feel like Carla and Shin used to sneak around a lot in their different forms, especially in their wolf forms, when they were younger.

He's terrified of the fact that he starts forgetting the faces of his loved ones, especially his mother's. The reason why is not only because it has been a very long time since he saw her last, but also becasue of his illness Endzeit.

Carla's aesthetic

The Giaour [Unquenched, unquenchable] by George Gordon Byron 

. . . Unquenched, unquenchable,

Around, within, thy heart shall dwell;

Nor ear can hear nor tongue can tell

The tortures of that inward hell!

But first, on earth as vampire sent,

Thy corse shall from its tomb be rent:

Then ghastly haunt thy native place,

And suck the blood of all thy race;

There from thy daughter, sister, wife,

At midnight drain the stream of life.

Shu Sakamaki: sloth

Cradle Song by William Blake

Sleep, sleep, beauty bright,

Dreaming in the joys of night;

Sleep, sleep; in thy sleep

Little sorrows sit and weep.

Sweet babe, in thy face

Soft desires I can trace,

Secret joys and secret smiles,

Little pretty infant wiles.

As thy softest limbs I feel

Smiles as of the morning steal

O’er thy cheek, and o’er thy breast

Where thy little heart doth rest.

O the cunning wiles that creep

In thy little heart asleep!

When thy little heart doth wake,

Then the dreadful night shall break

Eve's Inferno: RukixYui by mythicamagic

Omg I had this in my drafts for sooo long!!

This was inspired by the work of @mythicamagic: Eve's Inferno. Please check out her work!! Her writing is god tier!!!

Could I have a board of marrying Reiji? I love your work!

Thank you so so much!!!💕🥺 I hope this comes close to what you had in mind!! I also included bits of the wedding night as well!

Marrying Reiji

Variation on the Word Sleep by Margaret Atwood

I would like to watch you sleeping.

I would like to watch you,

sleeping. I would like to sleep

with you, to enter

your sleep as its smooth dark wave

slides over my head

and walk with you through that lucent

wavering forest of bluegreen leaves

with its watery sun & three moons

towards the cave where you must descend,

towards your worst fear

I would like to give you the silver

branch, the small white flower, the one

word that will protect you

from the grief at the center

of your dream, from the grief

at the center. I would like to follow

you up the long stairway

again & become

the boat that would row you back

carefully, a flame

in two cupped hands

to where your body lies

beside me, and you enter

it as easily as breathing in

I would like to be the air

that inhabits you for a moment

only. I would like to be that unnoticed

& that necessary.

Queen Yui aesthetic

Imagine living in a country with her as a queen omg

Nothing gold can stay

Thank you so much for hosting this event, @aquagirl1978 and @violettduchess 🍂

Character: Leonardo da Vinci

Promt: Changing seasons

Tags: angst

Warnings: minor spoilers, turns a little bit suggestive (nothing explicit)

"...You know, in the 15th century lots of people were thinking the same way you were. Some tales claim that humans were originally created with four arms, four legs, two faces. They were complete, nothing missing, never lonely. Zeus split them in two, forever separating. But even though the god split them, they kept on seeking what they once were. Used alchemy to try and get it back. Immortality. They tried to recreate it. But these experiments failed. So, tell me…how beautiful do you think immortals are now?..." (Leonardo's route, chapter 23)

“Titan! to whose immortal eyes

The sufferings of mortality,

Seen in their sad reality,

Were not as things that gods despise;

What was thy pity's recompense?”

Lord Byron

They say when humans rebel against gods, nature is on the latter side. Prometheus granted people with fire, and the earth reopened the sores buried deep in its soils, spreading plague and diseases all over the world. Ancient Egyptians, once ready to disobey Ra, choked with their own blood as the Sun god sent the lion goddess Sekhmet to punish them. 

Yes, Leonardo always imagined that on the day like that he would face the force of nature like Moses did, gazing at the sight of the Red Sea parted in front of him, dark as despair, deep as an unfathomable abyss. The rumble of thunder would resemble the drums calling for every alive or dead creature to witness the justice of Heaven. The rain would silver in the air, covering houses, statues, faces with its snake’s scale, and thick darkness would make those with sharp vision become blind. 

But the spring night that wrapped the city of Florence in its warm embrace was soft and calm. Lily-white cypresses were rustling quitely, a thin layer of dust was settled on the ground and the roofs of tiny dandelion villas. Somewhere on the other side of the central square there was a gypsy woman sitting in front of a fire, surrounded by three children. Her deep sad voice echoed with hope through the painted walls of the Basilica di Santo Spirito, the most obscure one among all the basilicas in Italy.  

Meanwhile, here, in the cold and damp basement settled right under the benches where people prayed to the sacred void, Leonardo spent sleepless nights, researching and perfecting the art of hic et nunc, here and now, the one he would be praised for by his predecessors as the Master of Life. Because if you want to study life, you should firstly experience death. And so the great polymath was there to turn his plan into a reality.

He was in a morgue. 

There was a disgusting scent — a mix of ammonia, smoke and mould — coming from the bottles on the table. Old yellow sheets of paper were dropped on the floor, each and every one written with chaotical symbols and even holed in some places the brilliant Renaissance man felt mostly excited about. Alchemical signs on those sheets were looking at him with anger and animosity, as if they were a curse screamed in the holy place. They were indeed, though.     

Leonardo looked up from the pile of schemes and formulas, walked up towards a low stone pedestal with a fur tipped on top — a present, or more specifically, a mere pittance offered by his patron, King of France.

The pureblood kneeled in front of a woman lying over there. The moonlight made her face features soften, and she looked almost like a child watching her innocent dreams. Her curly hair didn't hide — on the contrary, it pointed at — her sharp ears and a gossamer of sunspots flowing from her neck to chest. The woman was radiating with peace, and despite the seriousness of the situation,  Leonardo couldn't stop thinking about how he wanted to paint that strange face, how he should blend hyacinth with aquamarine to underline the shadows under her eyes or find the most beautiful shade of ocher to colour her dress, the one he would give her after the awakening. Her or his, he couldn't decide yet. 

Leonardo didn't recall the young woman’s name. He didn't know whether she had a lover, a favourite dessert or a strange human habit of counting sheep before going to sleep. According to Giovanni, local baker who had wrinkles sparkling with laugher in the corners of his half-blind eyes, the girl used to sell smeraldo flowers on the central square every Friday but had never earned a single soldo, she was an orphan and hit by a carriage of one of those pseudo-Medici bastards. 

Life full of loneliness, destroyed so early. Da Vinci knew quite well what it was like to live on loan. To look for the lights in the windows that were never meant to greet you. To forever part your ways with people while wishing them good night. To make friends accepting that every promise would be untrue. Time. Cruel, insidious, merciless, miraculous time was like a chariot of fire, dragging him along the road where the only direction was forward.   

He had to restore justice. He had to save the girl, use all his knowledge, experience, innate perceptiveness, extraordinary intuition. And he was about to do so. Ignoring a tiny voice in his head whispering that it was him Leonardo wanted to save most. 

Taking a pot off of the heat, the pureblood poured the boiling liquid into a bottle and pressed it gently to the woman’s lips. After years of experiments, secret meetings, private talks, one of which resulted into him being charged with sodomy, Leonardo knew exactly how to make the elixir of life. The reason why so many bright minds had failed before him was that immortality, the main ingredient, couldn’t be invented. It was only possible to grant it. And the only one capable of it was someone who carried immortality within himself. A pureblood vampire.

He had to bite her. 

Her body was still warm. Skin was scented with olives and salty sweat just like the skin of any other commoner. Honest, true, strong and alive. After a minute or so everything would be the way it should be but never the same.  

Blood. It tasted like a promise. Of a story ended up too early. Of  hopes stolen by a cruel coincidence. Of love that was about to bloom. Of happiness they both deserved. 

A second lasted forever. Drops of water were monotonously tapping the ragged rhythm of his heart. Only once had he ever experienced something like this. When the young and wild artist from the town of Vinci was standing in front of his master, the famous Verrocchio, and waiting for his verdict.     

A second lasted a moment. Verocchio took Leonardo’s painting in his hands. The girl’s chest fluttered like a bird’s wings. The teacher dropped his brush in defeat. The eyes still capturing the reflection of death stared at the pureblood wide and curious.   

He did it. Prometheus won over the Olympians. 

Rough gloved fingers caressed her cheeks, tucked dark curls behind sharp ears, tenderly brushed the right temple where the scar from touching the ground could still be seen.   

“I should have apologised, piccolina, but then it would be a lie. Cause I’m glad to have you in this damn world.”

Now he can’t sketch her face. His mind refuses to play the loquacious soprano of her laugh, it hides the dim remembrance of twenty five shades of red that touched her cheeks when she was angry, thrilled or surprised. Treacherous time has been slowly but gradually gnawing Leonardo’s memories, leaving nothing more than the shadows of them. 

Yet, they once were real. 

There were walks under the searing heat of the white Italian sun. There were talks about everything and nothing in particular. She used to wear a shamrock green skirt and buckle a red ribbon around her waist, rushing in the honey scented meadows like a sea breeze while Leo was trying to catch the red silk with both his large hands.   

‘Gotcha. Heh, can’t say it was easy, mia gioia. You’re pretty fast.’

‘Hmph. I just didn't want to listen to your nugging, grumpy old man.’

‘Hm? Did you say anything? I think I’ve heard kitty's meowing.’

‘Put me down, you—’

The great Italian taught her to draw and told about distant planets, and the girl mumbled that he’d better learn how to get rid of the mess in his room instead of counting stars. Little signorina, that's how he called her, baked apple pies, spicy and stale, but she looked so proud of herself, so happy to have something she could treat him with that Leonardo swallowed the dish without hesitation.    

Summer reached its zenith. In the mornings Florentines stifled in the heat, and in the evenings — from the lack of air after siesta as crowds spilled into the streets, dancing, singing, arguing. Oranges were burning in tangerine fires, gardens were soaked with green and roses were filling lungs with the sweetness of velvet. Never ever did life seem so full of meaning to the pureblood. 

One night, when the Moon was high in the sky, Leonardo was rowing a boat, a seal of frozen puzzlement was put on his handsome face.

“Hey…” 

She lowered her gaze from the stars, curious eyes immediately catching the shift in the man’s expressions as well as a small wrinkle of doubt at the corner of his lips.  

“Still don’t know your name. And you’ve never asked mine.”

“What’s the point?” She brushed his question so casually as if it was a mere trifle.

“How am I gonna find my tesoro, if yall get lost?” 

“You don't need my name for that. Listen… ”

Little signorina leant closer so their eyes could meet.

“...names only make it more difficult. It's like putting a label on goods. Before they represented something unique. After that they turn into one of many others.”

Then came a pause interrupted only by the sounds of silk dark waves beating against the boat. Leonardo grew silent, observing the girl’s face and, as if having reached some kind of conclusion, grinned broadly.  

“You’re a curious one.” 

Silent tenderness of his features was replaced by something new, something hidden deep inside those warm hazel eyes — devotion and poorly restrained passion.  

“So, how should we call each other, bella?”

She already prepared the answer. 

“You’ll continue to call me Gioia, because I’m the only one capable of bringing you happiness. As for me—”  

His Gioia pretended to act indecisive, though it certainly looked like she was enjoying herself. 

“You’ll be anima gemella. My other half. Reminds me of that funny story about Ze..Zeus splitting people with two faces, four arms and four legs in two parts. I‘ve heard it from foreign traders. Do you mind listening?”

Surely, she couldn't see through the night shades. Otherwise, she might have caught a glimpse of pure pink blush pinching Leonardo’s ears. All the guides lost their meaning. All lighthouses were destroyed. There were only a river and a man following blindly the scent of olivas and the ghost of the Moon on shining curls. 

Prometheus was able to screw gods. But he had no idea how revengeful they might be. 

Autumn gradually claimed its rights to Italy. Every day laughing workers gathered together to  go to vineyards bathed in dazzling yellow, forest green and umber colours. Every afternoon Italian women, proud, with high-bosomed figures and thick long braids that were about to burst under their own weight, went down the hill with baskets full of chestnuts and olives. Their skin, wet from sweat, was sparkling, reflecting the red glow of the sunset. Wherever one looked, all he could see was an endless sea of pear and bronze. Summer went unnoticed, making way for the fall melancholy. 

By the beginning of November, pouring rains washed away the golden Renaissance of the Florentine autumn, and the city’s streets looked like a bright piece of canvas with sapphirine inks accidentally spilled all over it.  

This was also the time when certain rumours began to spread across Florence. Allegedly, there was a monster scouring the night streets, hunting people and drinking their blood. For Leonardo those talks could mean only one thing — another pureblood vampire came to his city.  

He was standing in front of a large window in his workshop located in the western wing of Florence where wine and oil fragrances blended, where artists walked arm-in-arm with rich nobles, where Italy gave birth in agony to its geniuses. Heavy rain drops were drumming outside, grey smoke was wriggling like Hydra with its tentacles spread to get inside and choke the fire his lovely Gioia was trying to keep burning. Leo watched her hands nervously sorting out the brushes, honey gaze never leaving the sight of dark curls waving in the air from quick rushes across the room. Recently, she began to eat more, and her body became even more curvy and beautiful. How scared the man was of his signorina’s deep clear eyes losing their humanity and, instead, filling up with the evil desires. But it seemed that he feared for nothing as she never showed interest in blood. Probably, Leo thought, it was a side effect of the elixir mixed with the vampire’s poison. Or, maybe, Heavens finally had heard his prayers, granting the poor creature another chance to live life free from pain and sorrow.     

The young woman put brushes into a jar with water and turned to face him. And again Leo was ready to swear that her eyes could look through him, reaching the very soul. 

“Anything happened? You’ve been acting like this the whole day.” She pressed hot cheeks against gloved hands, lips kissing long fingers. 

“People say there’re murders occuring in the streets. You’d better stay here, Gioia, where I can watch you.” Not so many knew the flower girl, and even those who did paid no attention to her sudden return together with the well-known engineer and artist. Da Vinci feigned a story that the girl’s injury after the incident wasn’t fatal, and those who preached the opposite were just the Medici’s enemies. People tend to believe in nonsense that sounds logical, and even the girl herself at some point believed in his lie. Leonardo didn’t mind. After all, he had to be the one bearing responsibility for those actions. He was guilty of dragging her out the Styx without permission, so why bother her with his pitiful doubts on what was right and wrong? 

“Everything will be alright. I have you by my side.”

Tiny hands flew up Leo’s shoulder, caressed broad hairy chest. Somewhere far away the thunder spoke, but Leonardo couldn't care less. The artist’s hearing, nerves and whole body were devoted to that gentle ray of light, the scent of olive soap, hoarse breaths and fingers drawing magical formulas on his back. Most certainly, to tie him completely and entirely to his little signorina who was whispering his name in the dark workshop in one dark night city.   

They were lying on a leather coach under Leda's thoughtful gaze. Fire flames sharpened the mythical queen’s features, making her look pale and pathetic, if not grieving. Carefully, not to bother her dreams. Leonardo wrapped his arms around the woman, no, the real goddess, sleeping beside him. The end to his inner demons finally came. No more nightmares, tears of pain and fears of the future. For the first time in his long eternal life he knew something for sure. 

He was no longer alone in the world. 

The next morning chill welcomed him with sticky fog and the sound of the window slammed shut. Damn drafts. The pureblood stretched his hand, wishing nothing more than to warm up in his lover’s sweet embrace. But the only thing he could touch was emptiness. 

Scraps of clothes were lying on her pillow, and it didn't take the ultimate Renaissance man long enough to realise what big red spots covering them were made of.    

Gloomy landscapes, boring buildings, narrow streets. Dirty puddles near apple carts. Rose petals left crushed on the paving stone. Loud screams, green faces, sikly mixtures of smells, loneliness was the top note. Leonardo ran about the streets like a wild animal locked in a cage, hating the city that managed to turn from the Garden of Eden to Hephaestus’ blacksmith within one night. Florence, the mother of his youth, remained silent to his pleas, refusing to give him a single clue about where his Gioia could be hidding.    

The pureblood visited every shop and tavern, talked to street vendors, postmen and watchmakers. Nobody had ever seen her. Despair was fretting his stomach, crushing chest bones into pieces, chaining his once again beating heart with grave coldness. No thoughts except one. Her saying, 

“Everything will be alright. I have you by my side.”

Gosh, she didn’t. He failed her. Betrayed. Wasn't smart enough to predict it. 

When the sun dipped below the horizon, Leonardo, wet, dirty and desperate, reached the Santo Spirito square. A strange feeling of nostalgia coupled with the presentiment of an inevitable disaster suddenly came upon him and became unbearable the moment Leo crossed the backyard of Santo Spirito, the only witness to his heretical sins.  

Jaw-stiffening scent of blood reached the vampire’s nostrils, and he let himself succumb to ancient predatory instincts. Pale blue spilled on the grass, lighting the backyard statues of Cupids, an empty draw well and a body lying near it. Another figure, much smaller, hunched over the body, leaning with greed towards already lifeless hands. Crunchy and chewing sounds urged Leo to vomit, but he resisted the need and stepped forward, picking up a thrown dugger from the ground — a weapon probably lost by the victim. 

The Moon emerged from behind the smoke clouds, and Leonardo got it all. 

Poor Giovanni was looking at the sky with his strange half-blind eyes, wrinkles of laughter already dropped across his cheeks like tears. Little signorina raised her curly head and stared at Leo emotionlessly.  

Autumn wind touched her curls, and she started speaking with the husky colourless voice of an old woman. 

“I wanted to eat…so much. But that wasn't enough…I needed…I needed more—”

The baker’s hand was brushed away with disgust. Another look — now hot from tears of pleas and rebellion — pierced Da Vinci’s soul. 

“What have you done to me? Turned into a monster…And now all those lives…I am guilty…I…”

Shaking hands squeezed head tightly, hair turned crimson red with blood. Leonardo stared at the person who had given him nothing but joy and made no effort to approach her, to say that everything would be okay. He couldn't do that. 

“Please, put an end to this. I’ve never asked you to do anything for me. Now I do. Stop it, Leo. Stop me.”

He flinched as if from a hit. Turned away, knowing it was cowardly of him. But yes, he feared. Oh, how he feared to meet her eyes and not be able to read blame in them. No anger, no disappointment. Just love, just a few drops of humanity. The humanity he deprived her of, striving for his own selfish ambitions. 

Spasm convulsed her muscles, yet she slowly walked towards Leonardo like a cobra ready for the last jump.    

“We’ll figure it out, bella. I will. You don't have to suffer on your own—”

Distant voices interrupted him. A gypsy’s figure could hardly be seen in the black blue void. Her daughter was following her when suddenly she stumbled over a stone and fell to the ground, crying from pain. 

In a matter of seconds the creature behind him jumped over the backyard, driven by the scent of innocence and blood. Leonardo didn't have time to think about what to do. He saw the shadow of his lover moving gracefully and fast, fangs ready to soak the red liquid. The next moment a loud sound of flash piercing resounded right at the sacred walls of Santo Spirito. 

But the holy spirit was about to leave that place. Gioia, his dear innocent  Gioia, was crying with relief. Leonardo catched her weakened body, searching for the familiar human warmth, but it was almost gone. 

Gioia touched the tip of the dagger in her chest, allowing her fingers to get soaked with blood. Then pressed those cold, lovely fingers to his cheek.    

“Do you think immortals are beautiful?”she whispered softly. 

Florence got silent, watching the agony of defeated Prometheus who once dared to laugh at gods.   

“If I had an extended life, could you let yourself love me?”

You see his face losing any colour. Tick, tick, tick, goes watch on your arm. Counting down the seconds of your life. 

“You can turn me into a vampire with a bite. I’d agree to it, if it allowed us to be together.”

Leo’s smile captured the sorrow of a thousand years. Memories of hundreds of countries. Fragrances of a dozen types of roses. Loneliness of a single universe. You know the answer and still have to clench fists so tight that nails leave crescent marks on delicate skin.     

“What I think, cara mia, is that it’s not your destiny to love someone who will only make you cry.”

Your dreams made of glass are cracking right behind you. His dreams. There are always shadows that cannot be replaced with the brightest sunlight. There are memories you think you’ve already escaped from, but they still bring you pain like the scar that remembers the wound. And this pain is the worst possible. Chill emptiness. You can’t get rid of it. You should only learn how to live with it.  

But how can you convince him? 

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Twilight Fair begins tomorrow, so... Let's meet there, shall we? 😉

Merhabalar canısı Türk diabolik lover fanı görmek beni çok sevindirdi kalbima atıyo..!!! acaba laito sağlıklı bir şekilde büyüseydi nasıl olurdu gibi bir moodboard yapar mısın 👉👈 buarada kolay gelsin!!

Merhabalar!! Sözlerin beni çok mutlu etti!! Çok teşekkür ederim!!! Umiyorum bu seni mutlu eder.💚

So they basically requested a moodboard, where you can see how Laito would have been like, if he had a healthy and happy childhood and upbringing. Not gonna lie I struggled with this one a little bit..

I feel like he would have been a hopeless romantic.

I also wasn't sure, if he would have had a healthy relationship with a human, afterall he still is a vampire. I just went with the happier option.^^

Laito having a somewhat normal life

How Do I Love You? by Mary Oliver

How do I love you?

Oh, this way and that way.

Oh, happily. Perhaps

I may elaborate by

demonstration? Like

this, and

like this and

no more words now

Prince Ruki aesthetic

Let's be friends <3

Just started playing Ikemen Vampire again. And I need some friends, for the gold cause ya gurl is broke :(

My friend code:

P9E2RH9R5