Marius de Romanus @thevampiremariusderomanus - Tumblr Blog

ok I know I say every other week that this is my favourite marimand monday sketch but THIS is my favourite haha

i just think a sloppy bloody makeout session would fix them

ladyvampir3

Marimand event day 2: chamber

texasheretic

“He even had Riccardo sit outside the bedroom door and play for us. Obedient Riccardo never asked to come inside.”

- The vampire Armand

Soft…so soft… of all the senses that returned to me first, it was the sense of feel that flooded my consciousness. I no longer lay on a cold, damp floor, no longer did I hear the crashing of waves against the underbelly of this dark house that had swallowed me like the fish had swallowed Jonah. I thought I was dreaming, I didn’t want to open my eyes at first, too sweet was the sensation of lying in a soft bed. I didn’t think I ever lay on a mattress such as this one.

Not even at home. Home…wherever that was. It felt so distant that even my memory refused to bring back the images. Just one sentence echoed through my mind…”Not made by human hands.” I stirred, rolling over to one side, my face turning towards a source of light and warmth.

I inhaled deeply and another sense came…scent. The whole room smelled pleasant, of flowers. Lillies and roses, I could even smell the wine sitting in a pitcher next to me. My stomach rumbled. I hadn’t eaten for days in the brothel. Not because they didn’t feed me…water and stale bread had been offered once a day. I refused the food, I refused to accept their meagre offerings, barely enough to keep me alive, but enough to fill their pockets and make them rich.

As a final act of defiance, I refused every crumb. I was ready to burn out like a candle. A final act of spite to sour the deal these merchants had struck. I wasn’t sure what my selling price had been. When they discussed back and forth, I only noticed the melodic language they used and the wild gestures they both made as they fought over the price of my life.

I heard movement from the far corner of the room, and finally I opened my eyes. I blinked, disoriented and in disbelief at the splendour that unfolded before my eyes. The four-poster bed was heavily draped in red brocade curtains, a golden pitcher of the wine I smelled on the nightstand, and golden plates laden with fruit and bread.

I sat up slowly, rubbing my eyes to see more clearly. And then I saw him, he sat on his writing desk. Lost in thought, scribbling something into a small book with great speed and great care. He looked concentrated and serene at the same time. His pale golden hair framed his face like a halo. When I first saw him, I had mistaken him for our Lord…coming to free me from my wretched existence. I remembered how he smiled at me, how he lifted me into his arms and told me to sleep on the way home.

Home…was this where this was? I opened my mouth, but no words came out. I hesitated to disturb his seemingly meditative state. But speaking out loud didn’t seem necessary. He had noticed that I was awake, and his pale blue eyes fixated on me with an intensity that made my cheeks redden. “Master…” I said quietly in Greek, the only language other than my own that I remotely understood, no matter how hard it was for me to roll it off my tongue.

For the first hour after Marius had brought the boy home, he’d sat in his chair inches from the bed, listening intently to the faint mortal heartbeat. And in those thinly stretched minutes Marius had feared, perhaps feared too much and with little reason, that at any moment the feather soft beat of the boy’s heart might fade to nothing.

In that quiet, anxious time Marius had made a careful, delicate study of the beautiful boy who was but a slip of a child. In his hands he’d taken a small wrist, feeling in it the sharp bones made too prominent from malnourishment. Dotting the arm were bruises, the sort made by intentionally cruel hands. How afraid Marius was, despite his tenderness, that he might leave more bruises in the wake of his curious explorations.

Vincenzo was in and out, checking on their newest pupil, bringing food and wine and fretting to Marius that the boy’s condition was too fragile, too uncertain. Yet what did he know with his mortal senses, Marius thought, when Marius alone could hear the quiet and persistent beating of his heart, which he hoped had just a bit more will left in it? Marius’s confidence grew after he’d fed the youth some soup and had seen a hint of color return to his cheeks.

No, this auburn haired boy had endured too much to simply give up, not now that the salvation he’d prayed for had come.

After a while Marius had returned to his desk, lulled into an unfamiliar peace by the steady breathing of his new mortal child. Within the book containing his deepest thoughts, Marius passionately recounted his finding of this child. He wrote of the moment the lantern had spilled in enough light to reveal the youth’s soiled but resplendent face. He wrote of how closely he’d clutched the child to his chest in the gondola that had whisked them home. Noted too was the look of curious fear on Riccardo’s face when he glimpsed his newest brother, the other boys long since gone to bed. How solemn the elder had looked when given the task to introduce this precious one tomorrow to the rest of the apprentices.

In the midst of his patient but fervent writing, Marius heard the soft rustle of blankets and the whisper of satin against skin as the child roused and sat up. Quickly he looked up, not prepared to immediately lock eyes. Sleepy, faded amber eyes gazed at him and his heart thundered for a moment. A soft secret shiver worked down his spine. The single word seized his heart and in that moment everything felt right. Gone were his fears, his lamentations. There was only this, their eyes met from across the room and a softly spoken word.

Closing his journal, Marius rose. He brought his chair back so as not to stand over the boy, which may be intimidating considering all he’d suffered. Sitting in the chair next to the bed, Marius leaned forward, keeping hands that wanted to touch and soothe firmly in his lap for the moment. “Yes. Master,” Marius said softly, kindly, worried the slightest efforts might exhaust this waif. “You are too weak still for more than this. How does your stomach fare?”

I watched as the man walked over with cat-like grace. I found myself enraptured by the way he moved. He didn’t even try to move fluently; he just did so naturally, and with such ease it was hard to comprehend. I sat up further, pulling my legs up and wrapping my arms around them. I rested my cheek on my knees, finding myself unable to look away from him. He sat there, at a distance with such respect that I had not experienced in a very long time.

I had been treated like property, like an asset that could earn money, and I was traded through several hands. But he treated me…like a human being. He held me in his arms like a rare treasure. - Why? - Was the question that ran through my head repeatedly. - Why did he care? Why did he choose me? Why did he pay for my freedom? -

His eyes rested on me; there was such gentle light in these ice-blue eyes. It was probably the most intoxicating thing about him. These knowing eyes that seemingly looked straight into my soul and sucked me in entirely. I noticed how he kept his hands in his lap. Long, elegant fingers… quite like mine, I thought. Looking down at them. - Not made by human hands - again, that one sentence of my past that would not leave me alone. What did it mean? What wasn’t made of human hands? Flashes of snow, of riders…a bundle in my arms…me running.

I buried my face in my knees with a groan, but my attention shot back at him when he spoke. His voice wrapped around me like the velvet cloak he had put around me when he brought me to this palace of marble and gold. He had told me to sleep as he kissed my neck. One hand wandered to the spot where I felt his kiss, and then I spoke. My voice sounded weak, coarse… not the way I remembered it sounding. “I’m…a bit thirsty,” I admitted, somewhat surprised how well I understood him, while I untangled my limbs and shifted my position to sit on the edge of the bed.

I sat face-to-face with him now. “Master…if you don’t mind. Where are we?” I didn’t even know his name, and yet I felt this magnetic pull towards him. A shy quietness settled between us for a few rapid heartbeats. And then, as if the distance physically hurt me, I just got up and slowly embraced him. His body was hard and cool like marble. My warm cheek pressed against his, and I could feel it cooling down my reddening face. I didn’t have answers as to how he had found me, why he chose me. But even then, deep down I knew I was saved.

Not made by human hands? Marius pressed into the boy’s faded memory, hoping to glean from them some idea of where he’d come from before he’d ended up in the decadent but terrible brothel. The pieces were too fractured to make sense of, but he saw snow, he saw men on horseback, chasing. Was that when this delicate one was captured and sold? He was from the snow covered east, that much was certain in his faint memory and his facial features. The two of them had been speaking Greek to each other, too, the language of the Greek Orthodox Church that had reigned in the east with Constantinople and the Patriarch at its head before the Council of Florence proved too distasteful an association.

Marius made a quiet study of the deeply forlorned and troubled child. His lustrous auburn hair was in desperate need of a wash, soiled and unkempt as it was, though its condition could not veil its beauty. The natural curls were as if made by the finest of brushstrokes, Leonardo’s curls to be certain.

The Gods had indeed made this one in magnificence. The very Gods of Love Marius painted on his ceiling had artfully crafted this child in all his splendor. Yes, Aphrodite in her beauty had sculpted his features, Eros with love made his countenance so sweet, Pothos and his passion gave him such vibrant warmth, and Peitho with all her seductive charm had imparted the very same qualities in this little muse.

Marius was shocked when the boy so trustingly slipped into his lap. Humbled, Marius was at his most tender as he wrapped his arms around the boy. Once more he was stricken, angered almost, by the sharp feeling and display of small bones. Oh but it burned, his sunken cheek, and the fragrant scent of his blood threatened to overcome Marius. But he must, at all costs, keep himself tempered. He must never hurt this delicate one who had already been injured deep in his soul by the abuses a child should never know.

“Here is home. Your home now,” Marius said in his clear, articulate voice, speaking softly into the small shell of the boy’s heated ear. “In this home we know only beauty and love. The suffering of which you’ve become grievously accustomed to has no place within these walls.” He hoped this provided some comfort, more than his cold, hard body ever could.

I buried my face in his fragrant hair, which was as silken as the bedsheets I had just emerged from. Home… yes. Although the moment he wrapped his strong arms around me with such tenderness, I knew home was not this palace filled with splendour I had never seen before. Home were these arms that held me so gently as if I were made of glass. Beauty and love did radiate not only from these four walls that surrounded me, but from him.

I leaned back again, looking at him, studying him up close for the first time with a conscious mind. I lifted a single finger and started to trace the contours of his face. I made a study of him as I committed each of his features to memory. Like an artist who had to paint someone from memory later. This study of a person seemed oddly familiar to me.

Was I an artist? I couldn't remember, I couldn't even remember my name! But as I traced his perfectly smooth, pale face, the noble brow, the straight nose, the full lips. I felt the smooth, cool alabaster of his skin, and with a gasp of surprise, noticed the golden speckles in his cobalt blue eyes. My past didn't matter then and there. My name would be whatever he would call me.

When I saw him first in the cold, damp dark. In my delirium, I had mistaken him for the Saviour of all men. He had patiently corrected me. But he was my saviour, and like God, he had lifted me from hell and was now promising me heaven. I wanted to thank him, yet the words didn't leave my lips. Did one merely thank one's God? No, as a devout, you loyally followed, you worshipped and adored. You prayed that God's favour would never leave you. And so would I.

I looked at my finger that still rested on his lips as if I were to shush him. And suddenly, as if a bolt of lightning had struck, I tried to pull my hand back. I realised how filthy it was, how unworthy of touching such perfection. "F…forgive me, Master." I stammered. "I shouldn't have…" I stopped mid-sentence and decided to repay my sin with a kiss to his cheek. A chaste kiss of veneration, not unlike one would kiss an icon or the feet of a Saint's statue.

The wandering finger left a trail of sweet fire in its wake, gliding over his cold, hard skin without repulsion. Marius had almost taken the boy’s finger away, so fearful was he that the youth might find something unnatural in him, something worthy of revulsion. Despite the crimes done to him, crimes that would make most shy away from human closeness and touch, certainly the nearness of a veritable stranger, the child looked at him with complete trust. There was something charming in that trust, which could only exist if innocence remained.

Just a hint of the boy remained unbroken, and in that moment Marius swore to himself that the men who ran the brothel that had hurt this child would pay for what they had done. And Marius made a silent but solemn commitment that he would nurture that dying bud of innocence back to blossom.

Ah, and how beautiful this one would be in full bloom, with ruddy cheeks, freckles on his sun-kissed shoulders, and a careless smile on his face. Marius could see it in his mind, painting it there as he would upon a canvas. This one would have everything he desired, Marius decided, lips tingling from the caresses graced upon them. He would be given the finest of clothes, suitable to rival any prince. And bestowed upon him would be the finest of gems, the purest of gold, and with it Marius’s singular devotion.

Surprise filled him at the kiss, which was so innocent that once again Marius could sense the flower bud of purity there. There it was. And in the boys mind… yes, God. Such a devoted one this child was, a quality nurtured in the memories of monastic deprivation too buried for the boy to remember. But Marius could see them, all of those hidden things. And in time perhaps the child would remember, too.

Oh, but what a dreadful, terrible creature he was. The hot lips pressed to his chilled face sent a wave of hunger through him. The scent of blood filled the room like a fresh, youthful perfume. Marius could feel the scent like a silken cloth stroking his skin. But he was no base animal lacking self-control. The boy was in no danger.

What filled Marius next was a calm peace. He would never hurt this child. He was no monster. With the peace came a fuller feeling, this one of redemption. What did those idle, heartless centuries mean now that he could bring life back to innocence? He was going to love, a feeling he’d kept restrained for as long as he could remember. This delicate one would know nothing but love. He was forever safe with his devoted Master who would let no further harm come to him.

With ease, Marius rose to stand with the boy in his arms. Even in his starved condition, no human man could rise so gracefully and easily with him in his arms. Carrying the youth to the other side of the bed, he poured a cup of wine and offered it to him. “Drink,” he coaxed softly. Placing the cup in the boys hands, he walked him to the open window that let in the quiet night breeze.

“You are in Venice now,” he announced, pushing curtains aside for a clearer view. “In the palazzo of Marius de Romanus, who is now your Master. You see, we are a school here. A school of art. And you…”

The boy needed a name. No common name would do. God, he thought again, which ran through the boy’s mind over and over. “You are blessed with the love of God. Of gods and goddesses abundant. You will come to see that soon enough. I know it seems God has forsaken you, but he has not. He has delivered you into my arms.” Marius spoke of God, a being he did not believe in but the child did. “For your love of God, you will be known in this your new home as Amadeo.”

I could feel the tension when my lips met his cheek. Have I offended him? Was my act of showing gratitude misunderstood? I had no understanding that my simple act of devotion could have awoken his hunger for my blood. Thinking back on it…would I even have minded? Granted, I was rather weak still, and yet the kiss he had given my neck when he first found me haunted my thoughts even then. I felt the slight shift when he held me closer, rising to his feet. I didn’t weigh much at the time, but to see how he carried me as if I were but a feather, had confused and surprised me.

Carrying me in his arms seemed no bother or inconvenience at all. I was lowered back down onto the bed. I couldn’t help but notice how massive it was once again. Now, no longer half asleep, I really only started to take the details of the lavish room in. The painted ceilings adorned with angels and Gods alike. The blue sky with soft clouds gave the room something serene. The oval basin of a bathtub in one corner of the room had angels holding a shell from which water would come out. It seemed magical. My attention returned to him when he offered me a goblet of wine.

My warm fingers brushed his as I took it into my hands. The wine was fragrant, rich. Blood red and old, no doubt. With a quick nod, I lifted it to my lips and took a sip. The moment the liquid hit my tongue, I was reminded once more how thirsty I have been. I drank greedily, so greedily in fact that a drop ran down my chin. Once I emptied it, I set the goblet back on the tray, wiping the evidence of my thirst with the back of my hand.

My gaze followed him to the large window, which took more than half the height of the wall. Marble arches, and the clearest glass I have ever seen. When he let the warm night air in, the curtains billowed dramatically next to him. “Venice.” I echoed him, eager to learn, to please. And then he gave his name. Marius de Romanus. A name I’d never really use… it was too sacred. He was “Master”, and I’m his all too willing student.

“A…school?” I asked as I tried to grasp the concept. A school for art…painting. Now the beautiful ceiling and many paintings on the wall made even more sense. But despite the familiarity of it, something inside me seemed to revolt when I just thought about picking up a brush. “Master, what if I have no talent? Will you cast me out?” I scrambled not to sit on the bed but to kneel. Pleading. What if I wasn’t…what if I couldn’t be what he saw in me? I knew I recognised beauty when I saw it, I was transfixed by the faces of angels and Gods that looked down upon me in that perfectly blue sky. But would I be able to bring such beauty to a canvas?

I looked down at my hands; they weren’t rough like the slavers'. But could they create? Hold a brush to capture what God created? Maybe even the face of His son? Suddenly, I felt them shake violently. I balled them into fists and sat on them to hide this from him.

He managed to distract me when he spoke again. And his next words shook me more than the thought of painting. He gave the most precious gift to me. A name. Something I thought I had lost forever. Something the slavers told me needed to be earned. And he gave it to me freely…Amadeo. Lover of God. I loved God, of that I was certain. But did Marius know that in this moment, where my face lit up with the brightest smile I ever had in months, that I loved him so much more than our Father in heaven?

Marius stepped away from the open window, letting his slim, long fingers catch and caress the billowing curtain on his way passed. He came to stand at the foot of the bed where he crouched down, putting himself lower than where the boy sat in states of rotating ease and anxiety. Marius lay his left hand upon the soft bed covering, feeling the radiating heat from Amadeo’s body but not touching.

“I will not cast you away,” Marius assured, curious about this one and his faint memories of being a painter. In his mind were the icons of the East, the rigid Byzantine Christ and Saints. There was Mary in her red cloak, Christ the child in her arms; and there was the man Christ with his long hair and his right hand raised in a gesture of blessing, a thick book of gospels cradled in his left arm. Such curious memories. Marius marveled at the complicated origins of this child.

“All boys have a job here in my palazzo,” he continued in a quiet, soothing voice. “We will find a job best suited to you. Here you will attend lessons for proper schooling, practice for mastery of the sword, and learn skills necessary for the fine arts. Whatever your aptitude, you will remain here with us.” Until the day came when the child must be sent away to University, but by then he would be a man and prepared for the separation.

Marius stood and placed a hand on Amadeo’s forehead, running it through his voluminous curls with special care not to catch on or tug a knot. Not even its soiled stare could mask its beauty. And so kindly Marius bent, pressing a cold kiss to the center of Amadeo’s forehead. It was as chaste as the one he’d been gifted upon his cheek earlier.

Wordlessly, Marius turned away and walked the distance between his bed and his bath. He turned the bath on, adjusting the water until it was a comfortable, comforting heat. With great care he began to pour oils into the rising water, finishing up with a handful of herbs and flowers. “Don’t be afraid,” he finally said, turning to face the boy with a serious but warm expression. “I do not want from you the things men want. Come here.”

My eyes widened when he knelt before me. It felt strangely wrong; someone like him should not lower himself to someone like me. When did Gods sink to their knees before their faithful! It should have been the other way around. I wanted to jump to my feet and pull him back up to his. But deep down, I understood his gentle notion. He avoided towering over me, attempting to make me feel safe. But he didn’t frighten me. His eyes with their supernatural glow, his cold alabaster skin, they should have alarmed me. But I felt safer with him than I ever did before. Especially after he reassured me that even if I didn’t fulfil expectations, he would keep me in this palace of his.

His voice, his reassurance, calmed me and so I pulled my hands out from underneath my thighs after they had stopped trembling. I wonder if he had misinterpreted my shivers for intimidation, when I didn’t even know myself why my body reacted the way it did when it came to painting. Once again, in his soft, casual tone, he continued to promise him the world. An education, honing skills he would need in his daily life, as well as skills in the arts and the finer things in life. My eyes burned; if I had tears left to cry in that moment, they undoubtedly would have spilt then.

“Will you be my tutor, Master?” It was incomprehensible to me that someone would hire teachers to grant us the best education money could buy. “I just…want to be with you. I’ll…I’ll hold your paint or…clean your brushes! I just want to learn from you! I’ll do anything!” I proclaimed while I placed my warm hand over his, which still rested on the bed beside me.

My eyes closed when he ran his hand through my hair. This simple touch ran shivers down my spine, and then I felt the soft press of his lips upon my forehead. My heart fluttered. I received his benediction, a silent blessing from him, and my heart was full. My eyes followed him curiously, already longing for his presence as he stepped away towards the basin.

The white Carrara marble tub is filled with water. The angels holding the seashell seemed to pour an endless stream until the tub had been filled. I had no idea how he had worked this magic, but I was both mesmerised and terrified by it. I hesitated when he beckoned me, but naturally I followed his orders. My bare dirt-encrusted feet walked over the marble and thick carpet that lined the floor of his bedroom. I approached slowly as if I were trying to walk up to a sleeping lion.

I knelt down and hesitantly dipped my hand into the water; it smelled like him. The scent filled my senses, and not only the warmth of the water but the scent of him became comforting to me. I leaned over the edge of the pool further to look at my reflection. But unlike Narcissus, I did not fall in love with what I saw. I was actually shocked to see my sunken cheeks and my tired eyes. Once more, I wondered what he saw in me to bless me with such tender care and luxury. I didn’t look much better than any rat from the street.

With the sudden realisation of my haggard appearance came a sense of shame. My clothes were rags at best, and what lay underneath was battered and bruised. I bit my lip, for the first time, I wanted to hide from his gentle gaze. I stood back up and turned away from him. I didn’t want to see the shock or the pity in his eyes. And so I bit my lip and started to strip down. I stopped looking at my reflection. I knew I had bruises on every surface of my body. Blooming in purple, blue and green. I had been defiant of the fate they wanted to give me, and I had paid the price for it.

I wrapped my arms around myself to cover at least some of my shame. And then I slowly turned around to descend into the water, still avoiding his gaze. Fearing the disapproval. The judgement. But most of all the compassion.

Marius watched in sadness as the boy shrank into himself in shame, not from his nakedness but from the condition of his battered body. The signs of the abuse he’d endured were like a story written in the language of the ugly bruises scattered about his dainty flesh from head to toe. Marius could read them— the ones the size of fingers and the width of a spread hand, the ones long and thin like a switch or strap of leather, the ones fading and brightly new.

How could the men who’d captured and traded the boy, and the men who’d later sold his body in brothels, not seen the treasure they possessed? Had they not seen the beauty? The innocence? The pure artistry is nature’s creation? They should be ashamed that they’d take this perfect flower of a child and hurt him rather than preserve him like the tiny beauty he was. Marius could not imagine laying a single cruel finger on his Amadeo, not even in the height of anger.

Marius brought over a bar of mild Castile soap scented with lavender and other essential oils to give it a floral, sweet smell. It would take a while to scrub clean every inch of dirt and grime. How long had it been since Amadeo had been given soap and water? It didn’t matter, though. He’d never suffer these indignities again. Marius was a generous Master who took pride in the condition of his pupils. It made him proud to imagine them prancing about Venice, finishing his shopping lists and tasks with both happiness and grace, their bellies full and hearts light. The joy in their expressions gave him all he needed to know for they loved him and he loved each of them.

Setting the soap down on one of the golden shells, Marius began to undress. He would see to it personally that Amadeo was scrubbed to perfection. Of course he feared Amadeo might watch him undress and assume the worst of his intentions. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he assured once he was bare chested. “I am going to only clean you and wash your hair. I won’t touch you in any way you dislike.”

Finally naked, he put his clothes aside away from any stray splashes of water. One slow step at a time, he descended into the deep pool of water to join Amadeo. The water came to his chest so the poor boy had to be veritably swimming. With such care, he took Amadeo’s hand to guide him to where there was a seat in the bath he might find more stability on.

Grabbing a soft cloth and the soap from earlier, Marius began a thick lather that he soon brought to Amadeo’s face. Every swipe was firm but tender, effective enough to clean every soiled spot.

“I will not be your tutor, but it would be my delight to see what you are learning. The boys here, my apprentices, put on shows for me. Sometimes they are theatrical like a play. They might delight me with the newest songs they’ve learned to play or put on a mock sword fight. I adore these wonderful displays. Lessons are as important as your duties here in my studio.”

I struggled to stand; that’s how deep the tub was. I tiptoed to keep my chin above water, but oh, how comfortable was this steaming heat. It seeped into my body and revived me. I closed my eyes and just inhaled the scent of the oils and the flowers that surrounded me. With his guiding hand, I found the promised seat, a marble ledge… a bench built into the pool! As little as I could remember, I knew I had never bathed in something like this. Wooden tubs, bathwater shared with others from oldest to youngest…yes. But this?

I heard him shuffle about, grab a few things here and there, but I was too lazy, too comfortable to open my eyes. He commanded my attention when he spoke again. And before he started to unfasten his tunic and drop his trousers, he reassured me once again that I needn’t be afraid. I wasn’t. He had given me no reason to doubt his good intentions. I did, however, sink deeper into the tub until half my face was submerged. I couldn’t help but watch him as he undressed and stepped into the water. I blew a few bubbles before I dove underwater completely to hide my reddening cheeks.

Once he was fully submerged in the tub with me, I slowly sat up again. My auburn locks now clung to my face and neck properly soaked. He lathered up the soap in the washcloth, and I scrunched my face together when he started to scrub at it. There was a thick layer of grime on it. Lying on dirty ship floors and later on that damp stone brick in the dark had done a number on me.

When he told me that he wouldn’t be my teacher, my eyes widened. “But… I don’t want any other teachers! I want to learn from you!” I wasn’t sure why I had such a visceral reaction to the thought of being away from him. Maybe he had become my sun and moon that night. Maybe the mere thought of being separated from him filled me with panic that he had managed to calm before. I didn’t know any of the other apprentices, and I didn’t know if they’d react kindly to a new student joining their ranks. For the first time, my stubborn nature shone through that night. “What if I don’t want lessons? What if I only want to assist you?” Granted, the things he told me were enticing.

Putting on plays? With mock swordfights? Oh, I really wanted to learn swordfighting. I wanted to be proud and strong like my father! The sudden flash of his memory made me lose focus for a moment. His face was still blurry, but I remembered he had hair like mine. And he was respected… a hunter. I wished I could remember his face; I felt guilty for forgetting it. Who forgot their father’s face? With a frustrated groan, I buried my own face in my hands. When I looked back up at Marius, I looked almost wild. “Please, just take me with you, no matter what you do or where you go! I don’t want anything else!”

“I am afraid that where I go, you cannot follow,” Marius said kindly, smiling at the distraught child. He scrubbed away the last of the dirt disgracing Amadeo’s cheek and moved on to his hair. Making a fine lather of the soap, he began to run it through the curling, tangled locks. It would be a task to brush out his knots after the bath, that much was certain. But Marius was up to the task and would not retire until the boy shimmered like the jewel he was.

To distract Amadeo, he gently tilted his head back while he scrubbed at his scalp. “Look above you,” he coaxed, using a soapy hand to point upward before returning to his manual task. “Do you see Heaven?”

On the ceiling directly above the bathtub was a puffy-clouded Heaven painted by Marius’s own hand. It was adorned by ruddy angels who fluttered about in all manner of joyous escapade. As the ceiling spread outward, Marius had painted the myths of his childhood.

Reaching under the water, Marius grabbed Amadeo’s hand and pointed again, this time using his small and now clean finger to help guide his eye line better. “Do you see this one? Do you know who that is? It is Cupid, the God of love and desire.” The mythological scene he pointed to was one of the young Cupid, painted to look like the angels above, sitting upon the lap of the beautiful, divine Venus. On the child Cupid’s face was an expression of pain for his arm was thrust into a beehive swirling with bees.

“Once thievish Love the honeyed hives would rob,

When a bee stung him: soon he felt a throb

Through all his finger-tips, and, wild with pain,

Blew on his hands and stamped and jumped in vain.

To Aphroditè then he told his woe:

'How can a thing so tiny hurt one so?'

She smiled and said; 'Why thou'rt a tiny thing,

As is the bee; yet sorely thou canst sting,” he recited the ancient poem by memory, the poem older than even himself.

“You see, love can sting the same as a thousand bee stings.” Marius tilted Amedeo’s head back more to begin rinsing the soap out. “These are the Gods of Greece and Rome, over a thousand years ago. Do you know them?” But Marius already knew that Amadeo did not for he’d seen hints of his buried, suppressed human life. Amadeo’s father was a rough, burly man who put little importance in education. They’d been peasants, too poor for a tutor.

This man had become the centre of my universe, and now he told me that I wouldn’t be able to follow where he went. I didn’t understand it. “But why? Surely I can be of use to you!” I couldn’t protest further since he scrubbed at my face again. When he started to wash my hair, those artistic hands working my scalp, I couldn’t help but close my eyes and let out a sound of utter bliss. I could have purred like a cat then and there, and for that sweet moment, I couldn’t even protest or utter more pressing questions. My mind went empty and calm, while I melted away under his touch.

I moved closer to him until my back rested against his chest, seeking more of his soft hands on my scalp. And when he lifted my head to look at the ceiling, I smiled as he pointed out the angels and Gods he drew so carefully. They looked alive, as if the small wings could flap at any given moment. The long white robes and togas could easily sway with the movement of the wind. It was mesmerising to watch. His hand was warm from the steaming hot bath now as he took mine in his, pointing at the subjects of his painting like constellations in the sky.

“Cupid,” I repeated with a nod to prove I was paying attention. I studied the painting, the distraught expression on the little angel’s face. The gentle way Venus cradled the boy in her arms, consoling him for the pain he suffered at the bee’s sting. It was bittersweet. And almost a mirror image of what was happening beneath said painted ceiling. I fell quiet when he quoted the poem, listening to his soft voice, feeling the rumble in his chest as I floated there weightless in the warm water.

“But aren’t we meant to suffer, Master? And is the sweetness of honey not worth the sting? The pain will fade, but the taste of honey on your lips…isn’t that something you will remember forever?” I didn’t quite grasp yet what he tried to tell me with that poem. In hindsight, I knew it was a warning. But I am certain my answer would have been the same then as it is now. I’d rather suffer the pain that love brings than never love at all.

To his question if I knew the Gods of Greece and Rome, I shook my head, and droplets of water sprayed around me everywhere. “No. I had seen statues in Constantinople, only in passing, of course. From the cart or when they dragged me through the streets to the auction. But I wouldn’t be able to tell one from the other. Only that they are all beautiful. That they looked…quite like you.” I added while I turned my head to look up at him, now resting fully against his shoulder.

I wanted to float in this bath forever, just him and me. Nothing else. I looked up at the ceiling again. I spotted something, and I pointed at it. “Who are they, Master?” I pointed at a painting of a beautiful woman being carried by a large man. He seemed to haul her into a carriage where one of those angels urged the horses on to hurry. Unlike the others, the cherub seemed to have black wings, though. The woman looked behind her, seemingly distraught, unwilling to leave. The cloak of the man billowed with a raging fire nearby. I shivered despite the warmth. I had pointed out Hades' kidnapping of Persephone. Maybe it was due to my past, maybe it was a glimpse into the future. Either way, it left me with a sense of dread.

The moments passed and the boy drew closer and closer, floating with certain purpose in the steaming water, until Marius could feel every inch of his frail back against his chest. The feeling of the chest should frighten Amadeo as it was unnaturally hard, though the heat of the water took its usual chill away. It was strange indeed that the boy found comfort in the feeling of closeness to him when he should feel fear or revulsion.

Marius gazed down rather than up, astounded at the richness of color in Amadeo’s hair now that he’d cleaned a layer of filth away. The sparse light in the room reflected the red and brown tones, which were unspeakably lovely in every way to Marius’s artist eyes. Amadeo’s skin was pale from too many days locked inside of the brothel away from the beautiful rays of the sun, but he was radiant nonetheless. Marius could imagine him like himself. Immortal. Eternal. Made at the properly ordained time. Oh, it would be a decadent ceremony with just the two of them, intimate and with love. The last and only fledgling Marius had ever made was of dire necessity— no time for patience and pageantry.

But these were too dangerous thoughts to have even as they were equally seductive. This innocent boy should live out his mortal years, live a normal life funded by Marius’s vast and endless wealth, not become this wretched thing such as he.

Under the water he wrapped an arm around Amadeo’s torso, feeling the tireless, resilient beat of his heart. Cradling Amadeo close, he began to use his hand to cup water and wash the soap away.

“Does that one frighten you?” Marius asked because he could feel the racing of Amadeo’s heart. He could positively taste it in the rising steam of the hot water. “Do not fear these stories. They delight and entertain; yes, even the ones that do not speak of love and peace are still beautiful to behold.”

Amadeo was as resplendent and beautiful as Marius had surmised he’d be, if not more, now that he was clean. “But that is Pluto and Proserpina… ah, but did you know that God’s and Goddesses often have two names? They are also known as Hades and Persephone, but I know them as Pluto and Proserpina. In the tale, Pluto fell in love with the delicate, lovely Proserpina, who was the daughter of the mighty Jupiter and earthmother Ceres. While out picking flowers one day, innocent Proserpina was abducted to the underworld by Pluto upon a golden chariot.”

Marius studied the painting he had done, looking at its lines and shadows, wishing he’d done better. “Pluto looks terrifying because he is god of the Underworld, but he is far from evil. His burden is to carry and accompany dead souls to the Underworld, to Shepard them through, but he is not responsible for human death. His is a grave and solemn duty. Nonetheless, he loved Proserpina even as he deceived her. Ceres was in deep grief upon the abduction of her daughter, and she no longer tended to the Earth’s harvest, so a great famine struck the people. Jupiter sent the messenger God Mercury to the Underworld to retrieve Proserpina, but Pluto was too clever. To tie Proserpina to him, he fed her the seeds of a pomegranate. Have you ever seen a pomegranate? The seeds look like little glossy rubies. She ate six seeds, and so she was divided between life and death— six months on Earth, six months in the underworld.”

I felt his arm wrap around me, and I rested my hands on it. A silent plea to be held like he had when he first picked me up. I felt safer with him close by, like nothing could ever touch me again. I listened intently to the tale of the Gods and Goddesses and their fate. “That is why we have seasons!” I proclaimed, quite proud of myself, to have understood the story. “It is autumn and winter when she is in the underworld and spring and summer when she is on earth.” I smiled, thinking myself a little genius for seeing the obvious.

“But…” I paused. “I feel sorry for Pluto.” I continued looking up at the God still, while Marius ever so gently let water run down my chest. “He is being portrayed as a villain, frightful. When all he wanted was to be loved…have someone by his side while he does his duty. He must have been so lonely if he saw no other way than to steal Proserpina. Were they happy in the end?”

Obviously, I was unaware of the thoughts in his head. And maybe my understanding of Pluto had tipped the scales to one side then and there. To his question if I had ever had pomegranates before, I shook my head. “No, Master. I saw merchants selling them in Constantinople; one of my traders liked eating them. He said they were for his virility, and then he grinned at me with his gold tooth.”

I turned my head to look at him. “They do look beautiful. Do you like them? How do they taste? Are they sweet?” Another waterfall of questions rained down on him. But I couldn’t help myself, I had been on this earth for 15 years, and yet I felt like I had known or seen nothing. At least nothing my brain wanted to remember.

I slowly turned around, ripping my eyes away from the painted ceiling. If he expected me to shy away from his touch, he would have been sorely mistaken. He was unlike any man I had ever met. Even then, I knew he wasn’t like any other. Now, chest on chest, I wrapped my arms around his neck and looked at him once more. “Can we have pomegranates tomorrow for breakfast?”

I wasn’t even sure if that was something one would eat for breakfast, but it was my subtle way and my excuse to ask if we’d spend the day together. “I think I’d like to try them with you.” Slowly, my timidness seemed to melt away with the steam the bath provided. Hours ago, I wouldn’t even have dared to ask anything of him. And now I suggested we both eat something as seductive as pomegranates.

And then, unable to withstand the magnetic pull he seemed to have on me, I finally closed my eyes and kissed him. Not his cheeks in silent reverence, not his forehead in adoration. I kissed his lips. Those lips whose phantom sting I still felt on my neck. The very lips that could grant me this moment of bliss once more. And I wanted it, I craved it like nothing else. Since I knew nothing could taste sweeter than this.

A hot wave of shock ran through Marius’s veins, bringing the faint heat from his core to the surface. There was a tentative sweetness to the kiss, a touch of that lingering, seductive innocence. It was the kiss of one unaccustomed to such simple passion. Had Amadeo ever before kissed someone willingly? Certainly not. The monks and priests of his rigid church would have taught him that such physical expressions were lustful and sinful. Purity was only to be found in deprivation as only then would the soul find clarity.

There was so much to the kiss. Marius could taste the faint flavor of wine that clung to Amadeo’s lips. To Amadeo’s burning hot mouth. It was a terrible thing, Marius’s corrupt desire. Terrible because it could mean the end of Amadeo’s last lingering innocence.

How easy it would be to gently open Amadeo’s lips with his own to deepen the kiss. Something told him Amadeo might willingly succumb to his urging. His tongue hungered for the heat within, hungered for the way he could almost taste the blood in Amadeo’s own plump tongue. For a second, he almost did it. His tongue pressed at the seam of Amadeo’s lips, but he retreated before it could enter. Was his Amadeo ready for such a kiss?

“Forgive me,” he said breathlessly. “You are dazed had confused by all of this.” Marius did not wish to take advantage. He only wanted to love and protect Amadeo, never to harm him. He might indeed harm him if he were to push the boundaries— maybe not physically, but emotionally and spiritually.

I drew back when he whispered his apology. He apologised…to me? Even though I had kissed him? Maybe his asking for forgiveness over something I did was what truly cut me. Rejection was something I had yet to experience. If anything, I had been desired by far too many, far too easily.

I loved him, that was certain. And I expressed my love the only way a human could. I entirely misinterpreted his reaction to my kiss. I felt like I’ve done something wrong, something that made HIM apologise…to ME, maybe because he didn’t want to chastise me.

I let go of him; the closeness suddenly felt awkward now. Maybe I had imagined that he was drawn to me as much as I was drawn to him? Had I messed it all up? My feelings were conflicted. But for the first time, Marius might have seen that spark of rage in me that would become more evident in later times.

I didn’t blush… I didn’t apologise. For I was NOT sorry for kissing him. I was sorry that he felt the need to apologise for something I felt was a natural expression of my feelings for him.

And that made me angry. Without another word, I simply walked out of the bathtub and left him in there. I grabbed one of the laid out towels and wrapped it around me.

“You don’t need to apologise, Master. I understand.”

Another towel was thrown over my head so he wouldn’t have to see the angry lines forming on my face as I aggressively rubbed my dripping wet curls dry. I pulled the towel off my head again and sighed.

“I will be at the lessons with my assigned tutor. As instructed.”

My jaw clenched. I didn’t care for lessons, I didn’t care for tutors. But the one thing I cared about had just denied me.

“If you would tell me where the rooms for your apprentices are? I feel….tired.”

This was a blatant lie, and as if I feared he'd see right through me, I turned away from him and towards the discarded clothes and got painfully reminded that I still only had my old, dirty rags. So be it! I’d stomp in nothing but a towel back to the dorms if I had to!

Marius delighted in Amadeo’s display of anger, in the sudden obstinance that had him padding across the slippery marble floor, leaving small wet footprints and droplets in his wake. It meant there was something still unbroken in the boy, a fire unsnuffed by the abuses he’d suffered. Of course it was all a lie, everything the boy said. He felt rejected, hurt, and lashed out in a way one his age was expected.

Patiently, Marius walked to the steps that led into and out of the tub, rising from the water to follow Amadeo a few steps. Grabbing a towel, Marius began to wipe away the wetness that could not sink into his immortal flesh, but just rolled off as water did to marble.

“I do not think you do understand,” Marius said, though with warmth in his voice. It was no challenge or insult. “But you will, in time.”

How would Amadeo fare when morning came and Marius had to leave? How would he endure those hours? Would he feel discarded? It was clear Amadeo was already quite attached to him, more than any of the other apprentices. And it was clear to Marius that he was more attached to Amadeo than he was to any of his young, innocent apprentices. In fact, he had never felt anything close to this with them. They were his apprentices, nothing more. Boys to instruct, care for, and eventually send off with a purse full of gold.

Yet what made Amadeo different? His unprecedented beauty? His unbroken spirt? The water was still perfumed by the scent of Amadeo’s sweat and skin, which filled the air in a tantalizing way. In a dangerous way, for it filled Marius with a hunger he wished never to inflict upon his most precious one, Amadeo. Then there was the sensual moment, that unashamed kiss for which the boy was unrepentant. Had the monks not filled him with fear over earthly desire? Stubborn boy, indeed.

Marius knew what was best for Amadeo. It was best that he go off to bed with his new brothers and awaken with them. They would take him shopping, dress and adorn him properly, and feed him to burst. Over time this natural infatuation with him would diminish, Marius was sure. Was Amadeo a lover of men and not woman? Such preferences were not uncommon. Marius was handsome and charming, and to one with that predilection most desirable. It was only natural that a small fascination with him should develop.

Yes, send him off to his brothers.

“I am pleased that you accept your tutors,” he continued. “You’ll find them intelligent and generous.”

Send him to the others. Let him sink into a warm, comfortable bed and sleep. The morning would refresh his body and mind. With a clearer head, he would feel much different about this whole matter.

A good man would insist he be off, wouldn’t he?

Only, Marius wasn’t such a good man, was he? Amadeo was his most beloved, and Marius was already quite in love with him. He had been since the moment he’d lain eyes upon the angelic youth.

“You will not be sleeping with the other apprentices.”

His collected and calm way of reacting to my anger only fueled the fire within me. How could he be so serene when I was furious? “No challenge or insult, what will I understand in time?” I repeated and tried my hardest not to scoff.

I knew I was ungrateful then; I should not have assumed. I shouldn’t have thought that he… but alas, admitting to failures or mistakes had never been my forte. I did act childish then, still angrily staring with furrowed brows at the heap of dirty clothes at my feet.

I didn’t even dare to look up at him when he spoke of tutors again and how pleasing I would find them. ”I’m sure, thank you, Master.” I politely replied, and while I should have been truly grateful for the opportunities he offered.

A luxury life, an education…an understanding of politics and history. In a way, he offered me the keys to the world itself. I could come out of this a made man, rich in both wisdom and coin.

Yet despite his generosity, I only wanted one thing. And so I silently seethed until he said that I wouldn’t sleep with the other apprentices. I froze for a few seconds. The fear of being cast out for my misbehaving was suddenly all too present once more.

Where did he intend to have me sleep? By the fire in the kitchen? On the floor like a house cat? I would have accepted it at this point. Anything would be better than where I came from. My anger melted like snow in summer, and instead it made way for another feeling. Insecurity.

“I…am not?” My head flew back towards him, and I looked up at him, now rather pleading than angry. “Where would you have me sleep, Master?” I wrapped the towel more tightly, almost a visual reflection of my heart that clenched with dread for a few seconds.

I wanted to apologise for lashing out, but that was yet another thing that barely ever crossed my lips. I felt sorry, I truly did. Sorry for acting like the brat that I was. But that would have been admitting defeat and being wrong for kissing him. Yet once again, I refused to see it that way.

I sounded less confident when I mumbled. “Well, if I am to be in the servant quarters, then…kindly direct me that way.” My toes nervously scratched at the marble floor beneath me.

“You are not here to be a servant,” Marius clarified. Amadeo’s shock and dread were palpable. “You’ll never serve any man again in any way, my darling one.”

Marius reached for his long red robe, but he did not put it on for modesty’s sake. Instead, he carried it to where Amadeo stood. Gently, Marius coaxed the towels from Amadeo’s stubborn grip and rest the robe over his tiny, slumped shoulders. The chill in the air was no matter to Marius who was far colder. Taking Amadeo by the arms, he brought him closer to the fire.

“You will come to understand in time that I am not like other men. This may even frighten you,” Marius said softly, staring into the flickering flames. Strange a thing so violent and deadly as fire could bring such comfort, too. “But you mustn’t be scared of me, Amadeo. I implore you sweetly, you may trust me.”

He ran his hand through the wet curls that weren’t so easy to pass through now that they were clumped by water.

“And you will not bed with the other boys because my bed is yours, too.” His heart raced all of a sudden and he did not quite know why. It was so strange, this abrupt, irrational fear of rejection or disgust. Yet, was that even a possibility? He thought back to the kiss. The inexperienced, wholehearted kiss. And in that memory was the knowledge that he would not be turned away.

Hopefully Amadeo would know that his Master had no plans to abuse him in bed. How could he understand just yet that Marius was a man of no such urging? Marius’s only desire was blood and he’d never dream to hurt his precious Amadeo on that way, who he already loved dearly.

Start June the right way by letting some bloody make-out session heal you this Marimand Monday

(realises I never posted this even though its been sitting on the folder for almost 6 months now)

go see the world my artwork child I am setting you free!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

vampire-dove

Marius de Romanus, they could never make me hate you. I love my swagless freak of a wife

No, this auburn haired boy had endured too much to simply give up, not now that the salvation he’d prayed for had come.

Grabbing a soft cloth and the soap from earlier, Marius began a thick lather that he soon brought to Amadeo’s face. Every swipe was firm but tender, effective enough to clean every soiled spot.

“Once thievish Love the honeyed hives would rob,

When a bee stung him: soon he felt a throb

Through all his finger-tips, and, wild with pain,

Blew on his hands and stamped and jumped in vain.

To Aphroditè then he told his woe:

'How can a thing so tiny hurt one so?'

She smiled and said; 'Why thou'rt a tiny thing,

As is the bee; yet sorely thou canst sting,” he recited the ancient poem by memory, the poem older than even himself.

Under the water he wrapped an arm around Amadeo’s torso, feeling the tireless, resilient beat of his heart. Cradling Amadeo close, he began to use his hand to cup water and wash the soap away.

I didn’t blush… I didn’t apologise. For I was NOT sorry for kissing him. I was sorry that he felt the need to apologise for something I felt was a natural expression of my feelings for him.

And that made me angry. Without another word, I simply walked out of the bathtub and left him in there. I grabbed one of the laid out towels and wrapped it around me.

“You don’t need to apologise, Master. I understand.”

“I will be at the lessons with my assigned tutor. As instructed.”

My jaw clenched. I didn’t care for lessons, I didn’t care for tutors. But the one thing I cared about had just denied me.

“If you would tell me where the rooms for your apprentices are? I feel….tired.”

“I do not think you do understand,” Marius said, though with warmth in his voice. It was no challenge or insult. “But you will, in time.”

Yes, send him off to his brothers.

“I am pleased that you accept your tutors,” he continued. “You’ll find them intelligent and generous.”

Send him to the others. Let him sink into a warm, comfortable bed and sleep. The morning would refresh his body and mind. With a clearer head, he would feel much different about this whole matter.

A good man would insist he be off, wouldn’t he?

Only, Marius wasn’t such a good man, was he? Amadeo was his most beloved, and Marius was already quite in love with him. He had been since the moment he’d lain eyes upon the angelic youth.

“You will not be sleeping with the other apprentices.”

No, this auburn haired boy had endured too much to simply give up, not now that the salvation he’d prayed for had come.

Grabbing a soft cloth and the soap from earlier, Marius began a thick lather that he soon brought to Amadeo’s face. Every swipe was firm but tender, effective enough to clean every soiled spot.

“Once thievish Love the honeyed hives would rob,

When a bee stung him: soon he felt a throb

Through all his finger-tips, and, wild with pain,

Blew on his hands and stamped and jumped in vain.

To Aphroditè then he told his woe:

'How can a thing so tiny hurt one so?'

She smiled and said; 'Why thou'rt a tiny thing,

As is the bee; yet sorely thou canst sting,” he recited the ancient poem by memory, the poem older than even himself.

Under the water he wrapped an arm around Amadeo’s torso, feeling the tireless, resilient beat of his heart. Cradling Amadeo close, he began to use his hand to cup water and wash the soap away.

#theboticellivampire #sorry this one is so short

canvasandcoffin

Headcanon: Marius de Romanus Cannot Dance (in the club)

There is a moment in the opening chapter of Blood and Gold that I do not believe we discuss nearly enough. Marius takes Thorne to a nightclub.

A nightclub. A modern nightclub, filled with flashing lights, loud music, alcohol, body glitter, and mortals making choices they would regret by breakfast. Marius takes Thorne there to dance, observe humanity, and eventually catch dinner.

Anne Rice informs us that women are drawn to both of them in these scene. Naturally, the expected interpretation is that they are captivated by his beauty, his supernatural magnetism, and the general presence of an extraordinarily tall blond immortals. And, to be fair, all of that is probably true.

However, I have a theory.

Those women were not approaching them because they were dancing well. They were approaching because there were dancing terribly. Now, before anyone becomes defensive, let me clarify that I absolutely believe Marius knows how to dance.

Marius can ballroom dance. Marius can waltz. Marius can probably perform every formal court dance introduced in Europe over the past two thousand years. Give him a polished marble floor, a live orchestra, a room full of aristocrats, and a partner who understands exactly where to place her hand, and he will be magnificent.

Of course he can dance.

He probably knows dances that no living historian has successfully reconstructed. He could perform a pavane so beautifully that an art historian would burst into tears. He could waltz with one hand behind his back. But dancing in a nightclub?

Absolutely not. There is simply no way. And we must remember that Blood and Gold was published in 2001.

Two thousand and one.

This is the era of Bootylicious. This is the era of the Christina Aguilera, Lil’ Kim, Mýa and Pink version of Lady Marmalade. This is the musical environment into which Anne Rice placed Marius de Romanus and expected us to believe he was functioning normally. Ain’t no way in hell!

I refuse to believe that Marius walked into a club while Beyoncé announced that her body was too bootylicious and immediately knew what to do with himself. What was he doing? What dance did he select? Did he attempt to find the rhythm? Was he nodding solemnly to the beat?

I know exactly what happened. Marius walked into that club with the confidence of an immortal who has survived empires, religious upheavals, wars, betrayals, fires, abductions, and several extremely complicated personal relationships. He looked around at the mortals dancing and thought, Yes. I understand this. He did not understand it.

He probably began by shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Very slowly. Entirely off beat. There was no dance master. There were no clear steps.

There was only Christina Aguilera shouting “Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?” while Marius stood beneath a strobe light trying to determine whether the people around him were dancing or having some kind of collective medical emergency.

And then there is Thorne. Poor Thorne. Thorne has only recently emerged from centuries beneath the ice. The modern world is already overwhelming enough. There are cars, electric lights, modern clothing, and social customs he does not understand. Then Marius takes him to a nightclub. Imagine being Thorne in that moment. I know, I know he was traveling around via outer body experience when he was under the ice, but come on!

You have awakened into a world that feels completely alien. You are trusting this ancient and powerful vampire to guide you through modern civilisation. Marius presents himself as cultivated, experienced, and entirely in command. Then Lady Marmalade begins playing and Marius starts dancing like somebody’s elegant divorced father at a wedding.

Marius has never lacked confidence in his own presentation. This is a man who has spent centuries commissioning art, designing houses, selecting clothing, educating fledgling vampires, and assuming that his aesthetic judgement is naturally superior. He would not think, Perhaps I am not good at this particular style of dancing. He would think, The modern style is rather inelegant, but I have adapted admirably.

He is tall, blond, blue-eyed, impeccably dressed, and probably wearing something that looks absurdly expensive without displaying a visible brand. He is impossible not to notice.

The women saw a devastatingly handsome man dancing with all the natural rhythm of column and experienced one of the most powerful emotions known to humanity: “Aww. Look at him. He’s trying.”

That is the energy.

They were not seduced by his dancing. The were seduced by his physical appearance. And I don't blame them. I'd stumble over to him too!

palamedestragedy

lovely mortalrius i commissioned from sunei bear!

"I am a demanding creature. I can be selfish and cruel and extremely unreasonable. Much more than a pretty face."

“Much more than a pretty face, indeed. Wicked, clever, brilliant so often. And yet deeply committed to seeing the absolute worst in himself. But demand of me; your wish is my command, eternally.”

"Words as always a healing balm to me. As much as I fight against leaning into this comfort sonetimes. The worst yes, perhaps this habit was ingrained in me since the caves, or on par with my self betrayals during my coven years. My wish is your command, a dangerous temptation and promise."

“My dearest love, you are no more stained by your past than any of us are. None of us are innocent; none of us are beyond love and redemption. What danger is there in this temptation and promise? Would you abuse my offer? Abuse me? Of course not, darling one. I would do anything for you.”

"Out damned spot seems hardly adequate. We are drenched in blood aren't we, some of it our own. Pretty to think so." Pausing to think on this. "The danger is hope, of happiness that lasts." Shaking his head. "Abuse you, why no. Truly anything even now. You must still see the ghost of him, in me. Your beloved by god."

“My love, I see his ghost in everything, everywhere. But I do not see him in you,” he said, a solemn and sad expression on his face. “Yet I know that he is gone and I love you, no matter the things you’ve done. I know exactly who you are and I choose to love you.”

"Maker mine. The urge to continue, to eventually learn from a man who had every reason to fear me, yet loved me - that is the soul tie to Amadeo." Edging closer to Marius on the seat they shared. "Beloved Marius, may you continue to adore me despite my flaws."

“My precious one, I love you for your flaws, not despite them,” Marius murmured, turning a bit to encourage Armand to move further toward him. He would have his arms ready to hold and caress as soon as Armand saw fit to enter them. “My forever is with you, isn’t it?”

"Then I shall also endeavour to do the same for you." Shifting further and finally nuzzling against Marius so the older vampire could gather him in his arms. "Yes. Even in absence we are tied."

Marius wrapped his arms around Armand who still felt small in them despite his age and strength. “Are we tied by love or by fate?” He wondered, kissing the top of Armand’s curls. “Are we done so willingly? I think so. I think fate brought us together but an enduring love keeps us tied.”

#auburnandamberangel

No, this auburn haired boy had endured too much to simply give up, not now that the salvation he’d prayed for had come.

Grabbing a soft cloth and the soap from earlier, Marius began a thick lather that he soon brought to Amadeo’s face. Every swipe was firm but tender, effective enough to clean every soiled spot.

“Once thievish Love the honeyed hives would rob,

When a bee stung him: soon he felt a throb

Through all his finger-tips, and, wild with pain,

Blew on his hands and stamped and jumped in vain.

To Aphroditè then he told his woe:

'How can a thing so tiny hurt one so?'

She smiled and said; 'Why thou'rt a tiny thing,

As is the bee; yet sorely thou canst sting,” he recited the ancient poem by memory, the poem older than even himself.

Under the water he wrapped an arm around Amadeo’s torso, feeling the tireless, resilient beat of his heart. Cradling Amadeo close, he began to use his hand to cup water and wash the soap away.

endiness

The Vampire Lestat, Anne Rice

No, this auburn haired boy had endured too much to simply give up, not now that the salvation he’d prayed for had come.

Grabbing a soft cloth and the soap from earlier, Marius began a thick lather that he soon brought to Amadeo’s face. Every swipe was firm but tender, effective enough to clean every soiled spot.

“Once thievish Love the honeyed hives would rob,

When a bee stung him: soon he felt a throb

Through all his finger-tips, and, wild with pain,

Blew on his hands and stamped and jumped in vain.

To Aphroditè then he told his woe:

'How can a thing so tiny hurt one so?'

She smiled and said; 'Why thou'rt a tiny thing,

As is the bee; yet sorely thou canst sting,” he recited the ancient poem by memory, the poem older than even himself.