reposting from my old blog that i'll be deactivating soon!
Prince Aventurine
You consciously spend the most time with him by far - from the moment you open your eyes, there's breakfast, tea parties, lunches with him alone and dinners with his family. Up till the very moment he escorts you back to your room, leaving you with a kiss on the back of your hand at the door, you spend nearly every waking moment by Aventurine's side. It's undeniably comforting in many ways, knowing that you can rely on a familiar face if anything else.
But on the other hand, it's a little... suffocating. He's absolutely lovely towards you, but there's a certain way he looks at you - like he can't decide whether you'd look better in a birdcage or in a wedding gown.
Dr Veritas Ratio
Though not nearly as important as the prince himself, you're not spared from the pain of compulsory lessons - to get acclimatised to the history and politics of your home-to-be, so you're told. Your lessons are the few times you're apart from Aventurine (though not for lack of him trying to sit in. Ratio tells him he'll be a distraction and threatens to hit him with a book.)
He's a strict but frighteningly effective teacher, and you leave every lesson happy and knowing something new. He can be surprisingly kind too, giving you some leeway if you had a social engagement the night before and hadn't had time to revise.
Until butler Sunday comes looking for you in an urgent summon, citing a situation that relates to you personally. On your way, he tells you that he's never seen the professor so gentle with any of his students before, and that he never spends so much time on anyone personally.
You're not quite sure what to do with this information.
Sunday
You don't spend so much time with him as you do around him - he's a constant, lurking presence, waiting to attend to Aventurine when he's around, or looking after you when the prince gets busy and can't be by your side.
He's more unsettling than his prince is, and a lot more perceptive; but nonetheless, you find yourself making small talk with him sometimes. Sunday appears to gain special joy from fetching and carrying for you: making your favourite teas and cakes or perusing the library with you. Unusual for a butler, Sunday talks a lot, but you're content to listen and he offers you insights on a vast host of topics.
Boothill
A famous bounty hunter slash mercenary, with too-sharp teeth and a too-bright grin. He's charming but kind, and his company brings you some semblance of the days where you could walk the streets without need of a bodyguard. You're not naive enough to get close to him, however - everyone knows bounty hunters have their fair share of secrets, and you're sure so does he. You're not really sure what important things he might be doing in the palace, however, except for finishing all the toast at breakfast and following you around like he has nothing better to do.
Boothill spends most his days lounging around the gardens, shaving an apple with his knife and generally just giving the maids a scare. But when Aventurine can't be by your side, he tends to "just happen" to bump into you, quoting boredom and needing someone to pass the time with him. You let him accompany you to the library then, and tell him about inconsequential things, like the interesting bird you saw outside your window that morning or the new variety of Ratio's threats and insults.
Could you please share any yandere-themed Boothill content? I'm really interested!
TW: mild descriptions of gore, stalking to your workplace (it's unclear whether you know Boothill or not). Gender neutral.
If Boothill could only be one thing, he'd be vengeful.
It was a silly thing, he knew. To be vengeful in this society was akin to being vengeful on the entire world. But it felt so good, to put a silver bullet through the chest of a vampire, to haul bodies back to the crematorium and watch them burn. Boothill made it point to stand close enough to the heat to smell the melting flesh, even if it made his leather boots go soft.
He blows metaphorical smoke off the top of his barrel, spinning the revolver back into its holster (Boothill had always enjoyed being a little dramatic). The corpse - already a nameless, faceless individual fading into the long line of its predecessors - topples backwards, sliding down the wall and leaving a smear of blood down it, black as the night.
"One down, a million more to go," Boothill mutters to himself with a grin.
He hoists the body over his shoulder, willfully uncaring of the passers-by skirting around him on the pavement. Let them fear, he thought to himself. Let them see. This is the vengeance Boothill would bring down on those filthy, worthless creatures.
Because what could ever bring him closer to bringing his little girl back from the dead?
He shakes his head, tossing the body into the open boot. He'd given those muddle-fudging thoughts their time. If they wanted to get him again, they'd have to catch him first.
The sticky city air whisks his hair away from his face. Boothill whistles a jaunty, tuneless handful of notes. Perhaps he'd stop by the office district just to see you. The thought has the corner of his lips quirking upwards like a ditzy teenage girl.
Boothill would be hard-pressed to even begin why he'd picked you out from the crowd. Perhaps it was something about your energy, or your hair, or your dress. To the indiscernible eye, you would've been just another member of the workforce on the street, with your crisply pressed shirts gone limp by the end of a work day.
But there was something about you that glittered, like the promise of an uncut gem under all that rough. And Boothill liked rough. But he liked shiny things more.
He pulls to a stop by the pavement. Your office building towers before him, all glass and lights like every other office building around it. It was around now you'd be getting off work.
Boothill fingers the trinket he'd nabbed from the corpse, turning it over and over, imagining you holding that same trinket in your uncalloused hands. He'd taken care to polish the blood from it before it could dry, but - he brought it to his nose - the scent of vampire still lingered. He wrinkles his nose.
It'd have to do. It wasn't right to show up to a lady's doorstep without a gift.
He drums his fingers on the door, and nearly misses the scent that passes him by in the crowd.
Vampire.
All the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Boothill sits up pencil-straight. Not here, not now. Irrationally, he thinks, are they here for you?
It takes another heartbeat for him to pick out the figure. It isn't difficult, considering his significant larger frame than the rest of the caffiene-addled crowd. Yellow hair tapering to red at the ends. Boothill narrows his eyes. This one isn't on his files.
And- is that-
You appear down the steps, and your face lights up. No. No. No.
It becomes increasingly clear who you're beelining towards as the vampire gets closer, and embraces you in a hug. And as if to rub salt into the wound, he cups your cheek and presses a light kiss on your lips.
The pendant snaps in his fist.
Boothill was on the hunt once more.
for more posts on the "vampiric" au, please check my pinned post!
charity event!
