carriage boots

This is my first imagine I’m posting on here! I normally post these on my Wattpad (you can message me for the username for there if you want) but I wanted to give Tumblr a try! I hope you all enjoy and please feel free to send me some feedback! I would really appreciate it! Also please tell me if you want more! Enjoy! x



“A bit too tight, Mama,” I wince slightly as she yanks the strings to my corset so tight I couldn’t breathe.

“Pain is beauty, Adelaide, and if you need to look absolutely perfect for when the King comes to town tomorrow. The Master can’t see you looking anything less than perfect,” She says as she takes a pin from her mouth and places it near the new, makeshift hem so she can remember to sew there so I won’t trip over my own dress tomorrow.

“I’m scared. He has never come to town. Do you know what he’s coming for?” I whisper as I look out the window to see the tiny faeries glowing brightly as they fly and dance in the moonlight, darting to each and every scarce flower they could find in the chill of winter to find pollen to make their faerie dust. Mama tenses and pauses for a moment before shrugging and continuing her work.

I giggle and wave as one of the faeries flies to the glass and watches in awe as the candle light illuminates my dress that I was to wear for when Master arrived.

The mere thought of him sent chills down my spine. I had never met nor seen him, but I had definitely heard of the cruel, vampire king who ruled over this land. His skin was so pale that it was nearly translucent, every bluish-green vein noticeable, with eyes so red, it was like a fire blazed within them. He had chestnut brown curls that barely grazed his shoulders and his teeth were glistening white with points so sharp that with just a bit of pressure, he could pierce your neck and drain you dry in seconds.

They say he is a sad man, even though he ruled over many, many lands with all the riches of the world. In his thousand year reign, he never found love and, tales say, he searches relentlessly for his mate but to no avail. He knows only two features of his intended mate; fiery, red hair, the color of the very thing he craves the most, and eyes as green as emeralds just as his used to be before his blood lust settled in. They say his eyes have been red for hundreds of years, so long that they were beginning to say his past, gentle, kind nature and viridescent eyes were a myth.

Rumors were now going around that his sadness was developing into fierce, desperate anger, setting fire to every village that lied to him, saying there was a girl there who matches the description of his beloved.

I was used to the stares, the whispers, and pointing over my eighteen years in this world. I was the only redhead on a town of snow blondes and chestnut brunettes; a peculiar sight. I knew I matched the description of the king’s mate and so did everyone else in this tiny town. Sometimes, I dreamed vividly of a man so beautiful that he took my breath away. Even though I never dreamt of him with eyes like fire, only deep green, I knew it was the Master, the king, but I tried not to think much of it. I could never be his beloved.

“Okay, darling. Take it off so I can finish the hemming. I want to be able to get some sleep tonight,” my mother says tiredly as I slip off the beautiful, flowing dress and hand it to her.

Leaning over, she places a small kiss onto my forehead. Pulling back, she gazes at my face with an odd look in her eyes before sighing quietly. “Get some sleep, Adelaide. It could be a big day for us tomorrow,” she says and I immediately know she’s talking about the mate rumors. I nod softly as I pull on a nightgown before climbing into bed.

She walks out of my room, the wooden door eerily creaking shut, and I tug my quilted blanket closer as I hear the winter wind whip against the trees, the snowfall making it difficult to see the faeries glow as they continue to desperately scavenge for a few more hours until barren winter truly begins.

Feeling myself start to drift off, I lean over and with a quick gust of breath, I blow out my candle and my room goes completely dark, moonlight slowly creeping in through the window. Closing my eyes, I wonder if I’m going to dream of Master tonight as sleep overtakes me.


The once boiling water that was now my bath was starting to chill as I soaked absentmindedly. I could hear the villagers clamoring and shouting outside as they ready for the King’s arrival. I couldn’t believe that they believe that I was his mate so much that they sent a messenger to his castle. They put our little village, our home, in danger because of their beliefs. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

“Adelaide! Time to get out! The watchers spotted Master Styles about thirty minutes away, my child!” My mother shouts as I wash the rose oil off my body. Standing, I let the water roll and drip off my naked body as I grab my towel and quickly dry off.

Walking out into my bedroom, I gasp at the beauty of the dress my mother had finished making. The tight, corseted bodice was intricately designed with elegant pearls that shown with brilliant luster. My breasts were lightly pushed up and my pale skin looked even more translucent in the white dress. The flowing skirt billowed to my feet and felt soft on my legs. Extra fabric made a cape-like train appearance that just kissed the ground behind me as I walked. It was beautiful.

My hair was down with a few elaborate, delicate braids across the middle. On top of my head, my mother placed a wreath of baby’s breath that showed a stark contrast against my blazing red hair.

Turning to my mother, I open my mouth to speak when a loud horn is blown. The King was here.

My mother quickly grabs my hand and pulls me out of the house. My father and my younger brother stand there in the snow, looking down the beaten, dirt road in awe. For once, the tinkling of small bells was not heard as the faeries hid from the cold winter. Only gasps and whispers were trickling into my ears as I turn to see what all the fuss is about.

Walking further into the road, I stand there as dry leaves crack and crinkle under my feet, the ground cold and damp from the melting snow.

My eyes dart around to see the villagers in their best outfits gazing at me for a quick second before looking back down the road in trembling fear and excitement. Looking forward, I squint slightly only to gasp to myself as I see a small team of steel, black carriages pulled by dark stallions. Their heavy puffs of breath were evident in the cold air and their black manes were flowing behind them as they trotted, tiny, white snowflakes getting caught in the strands.

They slowly come to a halt as I feel my heart beating fast in my chest, my breathing becoming more and more frantic as I see a man hop down from his driving seat and open a carriage door. One dark boot stepping out is all it takes to send my body into overdrive before a masterpiece of a man as beautiful as the legends say fully steps out of the carriage. For someone who has lived over two thousand years, he still looked youthful and perfect.

His face is smug and dark as he looks around with a slight scowl, the commoners and people of the town swarming him instantly. His steps were calculated and determined as he walks to the stage where local news is normally projected. It was amazing to think he could actually run faster than a gust of wind.

I was in awe of him.

“My people,” he starts as something inside of me begins to tingle and a feeling I’ve never felt comes over me. His voice was raspy and smooth like thick, sweet molasses, sending every hair on my body on end.

He inhales deeply, looking like he was in pain and holding himself back but it seemed me and his guards were the only ones who notice. His guards take a step towards him as if they were ready for him to pounce on someone any second.

“As the years go by, your king stays healthy and young, ruling over this country fairly and keeping war at bay. But as I stay young, my servants and my slaves, especially my dear, sweet, generous blood slaves, grow old and frail. When they grow a certain age or get sickly,” he smiles kindly but I could see the maliciousness behind it. “I dispose of them, letting them leave the castle and go to a… a better place.” He says as the townspeople grow curious and anxious at his impending words.

This is not what they thought he was here for. He wasn’t looking for his mate at all when he decided to come to our village. He was looking for slaves, particularly blood slaves!

I take a step back as the realization comes over me, hoping no one will notice but the guard beside the king locks eyes with me and smiles demonically, his sharp teeth glistening as I imagine all the blood he has sucked from innocent people. His smile widens when he sees the color of my hair and his intrigue deepens.

“So, my lovely people, you are going to have to make a decision - a sacrifice, if you will - and hand over just a handful, only a handful, of your healthiest. After all, it’s the least you can do for your king,” he smiles once more, surveying the area as the people begin to panic. They didn’t want to be separated from their families!

Shouts of disagreement and outrage fill the small space before he holds his hands up to silence them. “If that’s how you are going to behave…Seize them,” he flicks his wrist, instructing his guards to rush into the crowd and start grabbing our healthiest and best-looking villagers.

I let out a small yelp of fear as I turn on my heel and start to run, gathering my dress up so I don’t trip and fall. Looking back, I see the guard I locked eyes with fighting through the crowd to get to me. Sending a quick prayer, I rush into the dark, nearby woods.

“Sir, there is a lady with red hair! Matching the description of your beloved!” I hear the man say as I run through the trees.

“Where?” The way Master Styles speaks sounded desperate and angry that the guard let me get away. His deadly, demonic tone sends shivers down my spine. By now, tears of fear are rolling down my cheeks as I feel briars and switches cutting into my legs as I run for my life.

“She ran through there!” is all I hear until an inhuman growl pierces the air and strikes terror into my heart. My breathing is harsh and scarce as my corset digs into my ribs and I feel myself becoming lightheaded.

Coming to the edge of the woods, I spot the clearing where our horses are kept. The grass is long and it was dark as it was still early in the morning and the winter clouds covered the sun. I pray the heavy odor of the horses will cover my scent as the wind blows, causing my dress to billow freely behind me.

I become so distracted by my loss of breath and the horses stampeding across the dark plain, I forget the one that is chasing me.

“Let me see your face.”

The voice that belongs to the vampire king sounds hopeless and sad, begging for me to turn and face him. I freeze for a moment, scared out of my wits before something inside of me yearns for me to turn to him.

Slowly, I turn to face him and our eyes lock. Instantly, a feeling I have never felt before takes over me and I suddenly want nothing more than to spend my life loving this man.  In a split second, his deep red eyes instantly turn emerald green as a dimpled, beautiful smile outbreaks on his face. His eyes fill with tears as he takes a step towards me, arms open to embrace me.

“My love, you don’t know how long I have waited for you.” He speaks softly and before I know it, he is within arms reach and gently taking my hand in his. He lightly gasps at the electrifying shock that goes through us and somehow his smile grows wider.

“You’re bleeding.” He states simply, making me look down to see my dress torn and my feet and my shin dripping blood from the briars. Surprisingly, I wasn’t scared as he leans down and places his face in the crook of my neck, even though I could feel his sharp fangs scraping across my vital veins. “Your blood smells so sweet, so delicious.” I tremble at his words, his tone causing tingles to run through me.

I actually wanted him to bite me.

Tiny, curious faeries emerge from the wood and their tiny bell-like rings fill my ears as a few watch us. I mentally say goodbye to them in my mind.

“What is your name, my darling?” He asks as he continues to lightly drag his teeth down my soft, vulnerable neck.

“A-Adelaide, Your Highness,” I whispered shakily, shocking myself as I turn my head to expose even more of my throat.

“Adelaide,” He purrs my name, the tingles now in my most private and secret place. I blush at my thoughts and feelings after just meeting this man, but what he does next shocks me to the core.

“You will never run from me or leave again. You’re mine now, ” He says, his voice turning dark before his sharp teeth sink into my neck and a bloodcurdling scream escapes me as he holds me still. He is ravenous and acts as if he hadn’t drank in years as I feel my body being drained dry. He slowly sinks us to the ground and I feel the soft grass against my skin as I stare up at the sky in shock, my mouth open in a silent scream as I feel myself becoming weaker and weaker. My pure white dress was now covered in my own blood as it drained out of the two puncture wounds in my neck.

Finally, he pulls away and I stare at his blood covered face as I feel my eyes failing me. Still, I did not fear him for an unknown reason. I trusted him as he whispers and lulls me to close my eyes. “Sleep, sweet Adelaide. We are going home now.”

Toska (RusAme oneshot)

As the sun sets on Imperial Russia, freelance journalist Alfred F. Jones seeks to interview the growing diaspora of Russian emigres in Paris. There, he meets Ivan Braginsky, who shows him the full spectrum of revelry and mourning, persisting and succumbing. Both far from all they knew, one knows he has a home to return to whenever he chooses, while the other can never go back. Amidst this concentration of pain and stubborn endurance, even Alfred’s optimism is tested. He and Ivan seek in each other the precarious signs of comfort in a world where the only constant is change. The Russian emigre community in Paris, Alfred’s dear emigre, teaches him and the world how to carry on. RusAme historical human AU.

Enormous thanks to @no-rules-no-responsibility for taking time from her day to provide invaluable feedback and corrections, and to @hannicanny who took time from her day to read excerpts and helped immensely with how to direct this.

This is a follow-up to that post I made about writing about Alfred going to Paris to interview the growing diaspora of Russian emigres escaping the revolution, where he meets Ivan and the two learn how the other can help them be whole again. This took a lot of work, and I’m pretty proud of it; it feels good to have done and I tried to incorporate many facts to further educate readers. Anyone familiar with the Anastasia Broadway track, this draws strong inspiration from “Stay, I Pray You” and “Land of Yesterday.” Enjoy!

Full story on FF and Ao3.


“We talked earlier of how we made this corner of the city Russia for ourselves,” Ivan began, once more lounging in his seat. “How we can still open our windows and hear the call of familiar languages, read the paper in our alphabet. Smell the enticing scents of candied sweets and fresh bread, visit one another to serve and be served zakuski. Our names sound similar, follow the same patterns.” A soft featherlight smile played across Ivan’s lips, one of abundant fondness and unshakable love. “Fires crackle in hearts, incense wafts around our prayers drifting up to heaven beneath the tricross. I mention Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring and people say ‘You mean the Riot of Spring.’ The snow falls here too, it crunches underfoot with the same crisp sound. We still take off our shoes at the door to avoid tracking it in. The cold wind still stings bare flesh, the sun still soothes our chilled bones. But…”

For an eternal instant, a roaring silence deafened Alfred.

“This feeling,” Ivan said slowly with his mysterious smile and sunset eyes. “This aura in our exiled corner of the world that feels so different from the rest of Paris, that permeates everyone who comes here… It certainly is not France, but it is not Russia either. I have felt the presence of my home, and it is not here, despite all our efforts. I hear the Seine, but it is not my Neva.”

The smiling face stilled but the smile did not remain. “I’ll never see it again,” Ivan murmured, and with a pang Alfred realized he was witnessing something far too intimate, far too penetrating of the human soul: the dawning realization of a man far from home that he would never set foot in his Motherland again. It was the kind of revelation that stripped a man down to his very essence, beyond thought of vulnerability and protection, for there simply only was the soul and the sinking truth of a longing with nothing to long for because that precious intangible treasure was his no more. Alfred wanted to look away, wanted to save himself from the memory of this émigré’s suffocation in a reality he chased with revelry and mourning of unparalleled ferocity. But his duty was to witness, to put words to Ivan’s story, not just to hear him but to see his futile homesickness, carry that personal burden with him, to no one’s benefit, not even Ivan’s. Lost. Ivan was lost and had lost, and was left longing with nothing to long for…

And as sudden as that realization, so too was Alfred’s awareness that he himself had been changed by what he had witnessed. Like a swift and impersonal step into untouched snow, Alfred was different now, permanently so, and like an imprint in a field of snow there was no way to mask it without changing the entirety. No soothing swipe, no matter how gentle, could erase what had been done without reshaping the landscape of the soul further still.

And so violet eyes searched into the distance, across horizons and nations, reaching beyond comfort of life and acceptance, desperate for a final clasp at the soil he had tread as his own. It was a pain too deeply rooted to ever address, the ache of seeing such futile longing that soared down streets, toppled walls, speared across rivers to glide into the welcoming arms of northern winds and weave among swaying, laughing birches. To hear the call of gulls and feel the rattle of carriage wheels under boots on cobbled streets. To admire ornate wood trim among windows swinging open to welcome the sound of a returning loved one.

To know it all exists.

To have had it.

To be robbed of it.

Alfred did not speak, merely surrendered himself to this raw baring of the soul entrusted upon him. All the while, Ivan himself seemed to be drained of that earlier essence, that sustaining bravado that strengthened his movement and voice, let him create artful tributes with his fellow exiles. All that remained was what he was, human beyond country, beyond home.

anonymous asked:

Ohh i saw reqs are open! How about DIO experiencing his first snow day since coming out of the coffin and also with his s/o >○<

- Dio saw a lot of snow in London, but it was quickly trampled underfoot and turned into nothing but slush under carriages and boots. To him, the snow represented the coldness of the winter when he was never wearing enough layers - even after his time at the Joestar estate, he could never shake his dislike of the cold. He’d look out of the window and see the fields of snowy white, but he wouldn’t want to go gallivanting about in it in the way that Jonathan seemed to. 
- He’s not easily swayed out of his old ways, though. His s/o might be looking out of  the window and smiling at him and obviously angling for them to go out and enjoy the powdery white drifts, but Dio isn’t going to be moved so easily. He doesn’t feel the cold now, of course, but it’s the principle of the thing - and he certainly doesn’t want to mess up his shoes with the snow. 
- If his s/o really wants him to go out and into the snow, they’ll have to appeal to his sense of pride; suggest that he doesn’t want to go outside because he’s afraid of the snow, or because he’s too much of a coward to risk getting his feet wet. Dio does not like being made to feel like he’s not the greatest in the world. 
- He’ll sigh overdramatically as they go outside, as if he’s sacrificing something great to be out there. He’ll remind his s/o that he is a great creature, and that he’s lowering himself to please them; his s/o will have to sigh and smile and act very grateful that Dio’s doing this. 
- Do not try and engage him in a snowball fight; there is absolutely no way that you’ll win. He’s not above using The World to make sure that his s/o is hit with them, and he’s not always good at controlling his own strength. 
- He won’t touch the snow, but he’ll make critiques on his s/o’s snowman. The best thing to do with Dio is to engage him in conversation as you walk and enjoy the sight of the snow laying peacefully over the ground.