phoebus-de-chateaupers-blog

[phoebus-de-chateaupers-blog]

I am a mistake, a ghost.

Jorge Luis Borges, from Labyrinths; “The Garden of Forking Paths” (via violentwavesofemotion)

[phoebus-de-chateaupers-blog]

Nikolaj Coster-Waldau | AK Club

[phoebus-de-chateaupers-blog]

Hubris ... [Duchebus]

In which Duchess goes to Phoebus after learning he has been arrested...[takes place: January 16th]

@the-duchess-lablanc

[tw -- uh phoebus being phoebus, talk of murder and revenge all that good stuff]

DUCHESS: The past few months had been tumultuous. Really, the past year had been a rocky one. So much had happened that Duchess was not sure that Swynlake was the place for her anymore. It had turned her into a woman that she didn’t recognize and one that she hadn't ever wanted to be. She’d hurt one of her dearest friends, had nearly destroyed a marriage that was just beginning to flourish. But out of everything had come Phoebus and he was a light in the dark. A light at the end of her long, long tunnel of suffering.

Where Thomas had left her reeling and feeling lost, Phoebus had swept her off of her feet. He was absolutely everything that she wanted in a man. And while he had kept his secrets and their relationship had started off rockier than she had wanted, it had been dealt with easily. Maturely. There was no screaming and yelling and crying. No immature displays of masculinity. Instead, he had given Duchess exactly what she wanted. A relationship that she could be proud of.

So much so that she had packed up everything in her home, had even put it on the market again, so that she could move with him to Denmark.

It was a terrifying thing to think about but it was always calmed with the thought that Phoebus had asked her to come with him because he could see their future. Just as brightly as she could it seemed. And regardless, she was ready to go. All her life all she had wanted was to be better than Adelaide. To do something that would make her parents as proud of her as they were of her older sister. She had her fashion empire, she had won a seat on the Board, and now-- Now she was going to start her biggest venture yet and for once all that mattered was the fact she was happy. So incredibly happy.

At least she was until her phone had rang and Phoebus’ voice reached her.

Fury fueled her as she made her way to the jail, ready to tear into anyone and everyone that got in her way.

“Where is he?” Her voice was shrill as she entered the police station, eyes blazing as she glared at every deputy there. It only took a few seconds before she was being ushered to where he was being held. Seeing him behind the bars only slightly dampened the fires of her rage. “What the bloody hell happened, Phoebus? What--- I thought it was supposed to be easy… How long until you are allowed to leave? They cannot just hold you here.”

PHOEBUS: Phoebus was defeated.

He knew this as he was handcuffed, as he was shoved unceremoniously into the back of the cop car.

The demon had gotten away with it. The bitch Mundus girl too.

His only comfort was that it was not his fault. The plan he had slaved over was excellent. If Merida had not surprised him--with her betrayal, with her curse--things would’ve been perfect. He could still see, in his mind’s eye, the flickering of Hades’ flame dying, the decision there in his eyes. He would have given himself up for Belle and after he was dead, there would have been nothing stopping him from finishing the rest.

But in this cursed town, it was the bad guys who won. Or, perhaps there was no such thing. This place was just full of vile blackness--no matter what Phoebus would have done, he could not have cured it from its evil.

These thoughts comforted him as he sat silently. He knew anything he said could be used against him. He was an officer, after all. And a Prince. They did not wag their tongues. Phoebus refused to do so. He sat stoic and silent.

Inside his jail cell, it was the same. Phoebus held his breath. Phoebus waited. When he got his phone call, he was almost surprised--but why would he be? The people here were idiots. Not that he was going to use his phone call for his parents, though he should. No, he needed to sit with the disappointment coursing through him for longer.

(And there was a part of him that feared his family would not fetch him. His disgrace once more, the final nail in his coffin. They could not stand to lose him, could they? Phoebus knew that they rather would than continue to be disgraced and embarrassed.)

In the echoes of the holding cells, Phoebus could hear Clemens’ laughter.

When Duchess arrived, that guilt dug itself deeper into his gut--and he wondered how long he would carry it.

For the record, it was not guilt at what he had done. Oh, no. If you thought that, you were very, very wrong. It was guilt at having been caught. Guilt of not ridding this town of those demons. Guilt at not fulfilling his promises to Duchess.

“It was Merida,” he snarled at once to Duchess, ignoring the way his face twinged from where Hades had punched him. He hoped she would not shy at the blood on his shirt as he came forwards, for it was not his.

“She’s a fucking werewolf. Apparently, a werewolf with a conscience.”

DUCHESS: Seeing Phoebus behind bars was--- She did not like it. It made her blood boil and part of her wanted to demand they let him out. There was no reason for him to be there. No reason for him to be held like some sort of criminal. She had no idea what he had done to warrant such treatment simply because she hadn’t asked but she was sure that all he was doing was getting rid of a threat that the entire town refused to deal with.

It was only after she got over the shock of seeing him behind the bars that she registered the blood that coated his shirt and the cuts and bruises on his face. Hades had done this to him. All of this was Hades’ fault. If this stupid town had just locked him away when they’d found out about those damned hell hounds none of this would have happened. And now Phoebus was the one being locked away? Like he was some dangerous criminal?

“What do you mean Merida is a werewolf? What did she do?” If Merida had begun to work with Hades… She was as good as an enemy. Duchess would do whatever she had to ensure that her future was not destroyed because some little girl had decided to have a conscious. Hades was dangerous. There was ample proof of that. This should not have happened.

Carefully she reached through the bars, wanting to grab hold of Phoebus in an attempt to ground herself against the current of emotions she was feeling. Again she could feel everything she had worked for slipping through her fingers. Her future was supposed to be secured. They had made plans. They were supposed to be starting their life together in Denmark. It couldn’t end like this.

“What are we to do now? Tell me what I must do to get you out of here.”

PHOEBUS: Duchess reached for him and Phoebus almost wanted to pull away. Not because he did not want her to touch him, but because he was ashamed. They should be on the road by now. Their bags packed. They would stay at the castle whilst they chose a house to live in. And then, they would move in. The Tourney would be soon. If all went well, Phoebus’ family would be the new Kings. Which meant that he could take some time off hunting, to help his father begin to get everything in order.

Could be there whilst Duchess (with input from his mother, he was sure) set up their home.

He would propose, after a few months. They would get married. Have children. It was supposed to be a good life.

Hades and Merida had taken that away from him. He blamed Merida more than Hades, honestly. Hades was going to surrender. He’d seen it in his eyes. Hades defeated. He clung to that look, even if it was fruitless.

But the fight was extinguished. He knew he would not have another shot at Hades. The threat would not be eliminated. Even if he was acquitted (unlikely, unless he was tried elsewhere), he would not be able to come back to Swynlake without detection. He could send someone new in, but the baby would be born by then…and whatever curse that was bound to befall Swynlake would have already come to passed.

Now, he needed to think of this new future. To plan what he needed to do, in order to keep Duchess safe. In order to begin his plans anew.

So, he did not shrink from her grasp, though he wanted to. Instead, he reached forward to grasp her hand, lifting it to his lips.

“The Order has failsafes in place, in case of situations such as this. Do not worry, my love.” He went to touch her hand to his cheek, but remembered that he was still covered in Merida’s blood. So, instead, he took a single step closer. “I will get my revenge on that demon and that mutt.”

DUCHESS: She refused to cry. Even if her tears were only because she was so, so… angry. Angry at Hades for getting out of this. At Merida for being the cause of this downfall. Even slightly at Phoebus for allowing himself to get caught, for not being so totally diligent that he figured out that Merida was a werewolf. If he were not behind the bars, Duchess had a hard feeling that she would have slapped him. Which would have promptly been followed by those hot tears that pricked at the corners of her eyes.

But no. Now she to pull herself together. Think of what exactly came next.

His parents would need to be contacted, a lawyer hired. They would need to push to get Phoebus out of Swynlake. There was no way that he’d be able to stay in the town. Any court here he was brought to would be biased. Hades had already won over so many people in the town. No, he needed to be taken elsewhere. That was the only way that they’d be able to have their future.

“I won’t let them get away with this. Either of them. Whatever you need from me, darling,” she promised as he stepped closer to her. Her fingers curled around his, wishing for a moment that she could press herself against him. Or that he could hold her at least one last time before the literal shit storm that was about to fall over them.

PHOEBUS: Duchess’ words made Phoebus’ heart clench two-fold.

First, he was touched that she was so fierce about the whole situation, vowing revenge. Her eyes flashed and his heart stirred. He’d always liked her best dressed in rage. The first time they’d slept together had been after she’d told off that awful woman and he had licked the rage off of her body, tasting it sweet and salty on his tongue. He had always wanted someone by his side who was just as ferociously dedicated to the cause as he was.

However, the idea of Duchess attempting revenge on that devil (perhaps the Devil made flesh and bone), clouded his heart with worry like a thunderstorm. She was not equipped to handle such things. Phoebus had not had a chance, once Merida turned on him. If he had been with someone else, perhaps he could have done it. Duchess on her own? Phoebus knew his darling was strong and fierce, but she was not a Prince.

And he did not want her hurt.

Phoebus stepped closer and slipped his free hand through the bars to touch her cheek. “You must promise me that you will not attempt revenge alone, my love. He is powerful. More powerful than anything I have ever come across. I would hate to see you hurt because of me.”

DUCHESS: She understood why he did not want her going after Hades. It was the same reason she had been wary about him going after the demon. But she was not weak and she was not foolish enough to go after Hades alone. And she would not go after him in the same way that Phoebus had. Even though she was still quite fuzzy on the details of his exact plan, she still knew that it was more than likely termination. Duchess didn’t want him to die, though. She wanted him to suffer like she no doubt would with Phoebus gone and their town no longer safe from Hades and his demons.

Still, she nodded as his hand rested against her cheek. There was no denying that she would miss his touch, would miss his presence all together. It would not be long, though, is what she told herself as she leaned into that soft touch for a long moment before taking his hand in hers.

“You know I would not go after him alone,” she all but whispered, wishing once more that there were not bars between them. She wanted one last embrace, a chance to memorize his particular musk to memory before he was shipped off to some other holding cell away from Swynlake.

Easily she pressed her lips to his knuckles with a soft sigh. “I will not go after him but I will not make things easy for him.” She vowed this to him because Hades did not deserve to go about acting like a victim or garnering sympathy from the town. “When this whole mess is dealt with there will be more information on him. More of his weaknesses will be known. And that disgusting wolf will be of no concern. There will be no one to stop you from doing what need be done.”

PHOEBUS: Phoebus smiled as she kissed his hand. If only he could reach through these bars. If only he could bend them out of the way and go to her. If only there was someone on this police force that he could bribe to open the door. He wouldn’t even run (though, he would like to, if he could bribe them to let him go, he’d take it.) No, really all he wanted was to hold Duchess. To kiss her. To tell her that everything was going to be alright.

He did believe everything would be alright. Truly.

And he believed even more strongly than that in Duchess. She was a powerful, strong, elegant woman. There would be no one else that he would want by his side through this.

His hand lifted to touch her cheek, then her golden-spun hair, soft as silk. He imagined it was what the hair of Aphrodite might feel like. He would claim perhaps even softer, but he was no fool, he knew the myths. (Not that he believed in those gods, he believed in his God that would not let this injustice go unpunished.)

“Your strength gives me strength,” he told her. It was true too.

He stepped closer to the bars, drawing her closer too. He kissed her through them, just once, just softly. The kiss a promise.

“I love you,” he told her. “I promise I will never stop and that we will be happy. You deserve that.”

[phoebus-de-chateaupers-blog]

Horsenapped [Part Two] *** [Ghostbusters feat. Saddle Club]

In which Merida and Phoebus enact their plan...[takes place: January 15]

@heart-of-dunbroch, @trip-downtheriverstyx, @labellerose-acheron

[tw -- so many things. violence, kidnapping, gore, lots of talk and thoughts of murder, self-harm, just anything you would expect from a kidnapping okay it’s a lot. if you want a synopsis hmu bc phoebus is Truly Awful]

PHOEBUS:

The night had finally come.

And none too soon. Phoebus knew that the sheriff was getting suspicious, his plans derailed by the lunatic woman in the back of his car, who was glaring consistent daggers any time he looked in the rearview mirror. This town was too small to move the way he wanted or needed to. However, he knew they would all be thanking their unsung hero when Phoebus vanished after putting a bullet into Hades’ temple.

It was a good thing too for this town was too haunted. Even now, he could feel Clemens’ ghost closer than ever, breathing down his neck. If he closed his eyes, he could picture the same cold expression on Belle’s face on Clemens’. If he blinked too long, they shifted--one to the other, his victims. His collateral damage, for yes, Phoebus knew that Belle would die by the end of this too. That was his secret, his burden to bare.

Whatever was inside of her was stronger than some succubus. Was stronger than some lower tier demon. She may just be a poor Mundus woman that had been seduced and tricked, but there was no way to keep her alive--and the baby could not be born. It would be too dangerous. Sure, they would try the exorcism, but Phoebus knew that it wouldn’t work. The thing growing inside of Belle was evil in the purest sense, just as a babe was good in the purest sense.

The whole family needed to be extinguished, snuffed out like a candle. Their bodies buried in the Catholic cemetery so that they could not rise again. (This only worked on demons, for the record. Anything else in a Catholic cemetery could very much rise again.)

“Get her inside,” Phoebus instructed Merida, even if he didn’t need to. She was doing a very good job. And of course she was--he would not have included her if he did not trust her implicitly. If he did not think she was up for the job. (He had tried to recruit Phillip but the worthless boy hadn’t answered his phone. No matter, Merida was worth ten of him.)

The old wooden doors creaked, but opened easily. It was not locked, Phoebus knew that it would not be. There were a few votive candles flickering in their containers, but besides that nothing moved. Moonlight spilled through the stained glass, but otherwise it was dark. The shadows did not stir here, however. There would be no ghosts.

“Seat her in the pew,” Phoebus told Merida, gesturing to the last row, right in front of the altar. Phoebus moved towards it, striking a match laying near one of the candelabras and lighting it. The flames jumped to life, casting a golden glow over Belle--though she still looked white as a sheet, sweat beading on her brow. He had not realized quite how sick she was. Perhaps that would work out well for him. She’d never survive the exorcism in this state.

Collateral damage indeed.

“I really am very sorry about all this,” Phoebus cooed at her, taking a few steps closer.

Belle’s eyes flashed. “Stay away from me.” She wiggled her shoulders, even though it was very clearly a feeble attempt to get away.

“Do you have your phone, love?” Phoebus reached forward to tuck some of her hair behind her ear, but Belle jerked her head away. He let his hand drop with a little frown. “I fancy a chat with your demon husband. Merida, check her pockets.”

MERIDA: Merida tasted bile, seeing Phoebus touch Belle like that. The urge to grab his wrist and twist it-- knee him in the groin just to watch him whine like the pig he was-- nearly overwhelmed her. She clenched both fists and bit down hard on a growl that threatened to come outta nowhere--

She imagined her fangs ripping out his throat.

It scared her. Scared her enough that Merida didn’t step forward or mouth off at all, but she stepped back, swallowing the growl roughly as the world tilted around her for a moment.

She’d not felt… for so long, there had been nothing but fog. The fog only lifted in her dreams, and so she had believed the curse was contained there and in a longing she’d never answer. But here it was, a second from ripping through her skin. Merida breathed in. She still had her knife. She could press the tip of it into her wrist, just enough to draw blood and silence the howling.

But she didn’t want to draw Phoebus’s eye or his suspicion. She’d been dead lucky so far that she’d managed to evade his scrutinization and she knew it was only because he was obsessed with this mission instead.

So Merida breathed and let Phoebus get away with his behavior, even if she wanted to bite off his hand too.

She swallowed again, took another second, and then moved forward, keeping her eyes off Phoebus as she dug through Belle’s pockets. She didn’t look Belle in the face either. There’d be no point. She already had Belle’s hatred slashed into her, a different kind of knife.

She got out the phone and handed it to Phoebus. “She won’t call ‘im,” she informed him, knowin’ enough about Belle to know that. He might as well not waste his time.

(And she didn’t want to see him-- touch her. Taunt her. Hit her. Merida had meant what she said when she pledged herself to protect Belle. That loyalty churned through her, nearly as powerful as the urge to maul Phoebus in front of them both.)

PHOEBUS: “She’s right,” Belle threatened, lifting her chin. Her eyes flashed, glinting like a flash of lightning.

It was admirable that she looked so brave. None of her bravery mattered, however. It didn’t stir Phoebus’ heart. He cared for nothing except the fact that Clemens was far from this place. That his ghosts could not enter here. Neither could Hades’. It was blissfully, peacefully quiet. He could pause properly for the first time in days. Everything was falling right into place. The only possible contingency was—Hades not coming. Hades, the ever-practical, heartless demon, not coming for his little Mundus wife. The theory as to why he would? If not for her, for the demonspawn. Whatever he was cooking in Belle’s womb meant something to him. The evil there he had spent all this time tending to.

“Good thing I wasn’t asking you to,” Phoebus told Belle with a saccharine smile.

“Passcode?”

“Why should I tell you?”

“Because otherwise I’ll have Merida cut off one of your pretty little thumbs to use to open it. And it would really be a shame to rob a mother of one of her thumbs.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Zero five zero six,” Belle finally said.

Phoebus typed in the code and opened her contacts. Hades was right there at the top. He pressed his name, holding the phone up to his ear and rocking back on his heels slightly. It rang and rang and rang and rang.

Voicemail.

Phoebus scowled and hung it up before redialing.

Voicemail.

“What kind of man doesn’t answer his phone when his wife calls three times?” he hissed in annoyance, shooting a glare at Belle as if this was her fault.

“A demon,” Belle said plainly, but as Phoebus turned to look at her, there was a twinkle in her eye.

“Bitch,” Phoebus snarled back. His gaze snapped to Merida. “Let’s get your knife on that pretty neck again. I’m no photographer, but the glint of light off the blade against that pale skin? The contrast will make for a beautiful picture.” He held up the phone to get a better shot, waiting for Merida to do as she was told, his gaze drilling into her until she moved so he could make sure nothing that would identify Merida was in the frame. He smiled again, feeling giddy and light.

So close. A year of work. So close.

“Smile.”

Click. Went the camera shutter.

“Perfect, thank you, ladies,” Phoebus complimented them both as he opened Hades’ contact once again and sent the picture, along with a text: You have twenty minutes.

Then, he ambled towards the pew and sat down next to Belle, heavy enough to shake the bench and make Belle wince. “You want to take bets on if he shows or not?” He tilted his head a little, close enough that his breath stirred strands of Belle’s hair. Close enough to see the sweat in her hairline, the blue veins along her cheek. She really was tragically beautiful, wasn’t she? If only Phoebus had gotten to her before that demon.

She didn’t look at him. This time, she didn’t even flinch at his proximity.

Phoebus turned his head to look up at Merida, giving her a broader, more genuine smile—manic, some might call it, but Phoebus would just say: triumphant.

MERIDA: Merida still clutched the knife in her hand.

She clutched it as though it were a long, black claw extending from her knuckle. Her eyes drank in the sight of Phoebus’s jugular. A voice inside her, animal and wordless but a voice nonetheless, told Merida that if Phoebus touched Belle again, she would slice her claw across that throbbing artery and paint the pews with his blood.

Her gut told her there were things he was not telling her, there were lies her mentor had weaved thinking her a simple woman, not realizing that Merida had become something else-- and she could smell his lies like she could smell the sweat on the back of Belle’s neck.

HADES: Across town, Hades’ phone buzzed again and again. He ignored it with great difficulty--mostly because this meeting had gone on too long and he was bored out of his brain.

On the third ring, though, he began to worry. It was a scratch-scratch-scratch in the back of his brain.

It buzzed again and under the table, Hades slipped it from his pocket and turned it over. Belle’s name lit up the screen. A text.

He opened it quietly there at the table, then calmly turned off the screen, and pocketed the phone again.

“I have to go,” said Hades abruptly. He smiled at the board members and said as his explanation, with a small shrug of his shoulders. “Pregnant wife.”

He gathered his things and walked out the door. As soon as it was shut behind him, Hades broke into a run, and halfway down the hall, vanished into shadow.

MERIDA: “So nice of you to text the address!”

Hades’ voice rang through the cathedral in ominous echo and Merida whirled round to see him there at the end of the long aisle, door open from where he’d stepped in. It had been only six, seven minutes since Phoebus sent the text. A nothing amount of time if you asked Merida, and so the sight of him kicked up her adrenaline and she clenched her knife.

The wolf laid back down to make room for her instead-- warrior, knight-- a girl who knew supernatural when she saw it, let alone sniffed it.

Hades strolled down the aisle. “You’ll move away from her now, the two of you. I’m not your average demon.” He lifted his hand and the flame licked the air. “My powers work just fine here.”

PHOEBUS: It was very hard to get your hands on a gun in England, as it should be—according to Phoebus and the rest of the Order. Guns were messy, new-fangled things. Swords were cleaner, more holy. They had ancient rites written into them. However, sometimes, guns very much came in handy—according to Phoebus and not the rest of the Order.

A bullet could incapacitate a demon far better than a sword, enough that an exorcism could be performed on the prone body before it had time to re-awaken. A bullet could make a demon think twice about attacking.

It was very hard to get your hands on a gun in England, but if you were a police officer, with access to the gun safe—it was very easy.

Phoebus had not expected Hades so quickly. He had thought that he would skid into the cathedral at the last moment, making for a lovely dramatic entrance—if he deigned to show up at all. If he didn’t, well, it would be back to the drawing board. But Hades manipulation (devotion?) to Belle was one of the things that made this case so strange. Phoebus had never seen an incubus or demon act that way towards the object of its manipulation. And he had seen this story play out time and time again.

Which was why he’d decided on the cathedral. Everyone knew that demons’ powers did not work on holy ground.

So, when the little blue flame jumped into being—Phoebus’ eyes went wide, but they narrowed just as quickly. An unforeseen hurdle, but no less. Hades had come for Belle, which meant she or the baby meant something to him. And that was all the assurance that Phoebus needed. Now he knew that Hades was not completely powerless too. If he was a demon, he was a very stupid one. He could’ve hid that fire until the perfect moment.

Phoebus was not going to let him get that chance.

Roughly, he grabbed Belle by the bicep and dragged her up out of the pew. She stumbled, but Phoebus’ grip on her arm was strong enough to keep her upright. He pressed her flush against his own chest. His other hand twisted behind his back to the gun, which he pulled from its hiding place and pushed against Belle’s temple in one swift motion.

“Would you like to test them against my reflexes?” Phoebus snarled. “Now, play nice and perhaps we will consider letting your little pawn go.”

HADES: His eyes flicked, once, to the shadows on the ground. Then up again, his flame still flickering in his hand. Otherwise he was stone still and silent as his brain churned. It ran quickly through all the scenarios--

He could grab Merida. Hostage for hostage.

He could try to shadow-jump and end up behind Phoebus.

He could burn the fucking cathedral to the ground.

None of these options guaranteed Belle’s safety. It took a twitch of the finger and the gun would go off and Hades didn’t know if he could bank on Phoebus not being a complete monster and shooting a pregnant woman-- considering he’d already kidnapped her and had a gun loaded to her head. She’d be dead in a second, their daughter dead several minutes after. He could not enter Limbo; he knew there was no Limbo here.

Surrender was option four, one Hades rarely entertained, but this time it floated so easily to the top of the list.

And Hades got-- calm. The blue flame flickered again, but grew low, its eerie light drawing itself back…

Merida, however, wasn’t so calm.

“Oi! What the fuck are you doing?” she hissed at Phoebus. “He’s here, isn’t he? It worked, he came, let Belle go!”

His fire jumped back to life. Hades raised his eyebrows. “Trouble in the ranks, Officer? Did your lackey not read your memo?”

“You shut it!” Merida snarled.

PHOEBUS: Phoebus could taste the victory on his tongue.

How the Order would praise him. Taking out two demons at once? It was almost unheard of more or less on one’s own. (Merida half-counted, she was but a Knight and a woman besides. Everyone would know that this was Phoebus’ triumph.) Most demons took a group to kill, if there was more than one, and only experienced demon hunters managed without assistance to take down one demon by themselves. Though, of course, one of those demons was enwomb and there would be the death of a Mundus on his hands, but if he could take down whatever the fuck Hades was? (Clearly a level four, at least, perhaps a five—Phoebus had no idea if ‘opening the Gates of the Hell’ was even quantifiable.) The Order would sing his praises.

It was the perfect hunt to round the year off with (even if a few weeks late), just in time for the Tourney to choose the new king. Phoebus the Demon Slayer would not entertain much opposition.

And what was more—if he won King, perhaps Clemens’ ghost would be put to rest, since his death would not have been in vain.

Phoebus could see all of this right in front of him as he watched Hades’ flame diminish. He could see in the demon’s eyes that he was calculating, and he knew that it was hopeless. If he wanted to save his little wife—or his demonspawn—the only way to do so would be surrender.

His eagerness was so tangible, he almost felt trigger happy with it. He just needed Hades to take a few steps forward, right into range—so that he would not miss. Phoebus could already see the finish line, see passed it to the Tourney and his victory there as well. Could see himself being crowned King, Duchess his Queen. (Even if it was really his father would be crowned, Phoebus’ delusions of grandeur did not stop at murdering Belle. No, they ran far deeper. A father was not so different from a cousin, after all.)

Belle trembled against him, her hand squeezing pathetically weak at the wrist wrapped around her shoulders. “Hades,” she whimpered—sounding scared for the first time.

The demon’s name was hidden beneath Merida’s growl. Phoebus snapped his head towards the girl, his lips turned immediately into a scowl as from the corner of his eye, he saw Hades’ flame jump higher, banishing the finish line to the shadows, the demon’s hope restored.

“He hasn’t surrendered yet, you idiot girl,” Phoebus snarled at Merida.

As quickly as he glanced at her, he looked back at Hades—making sure the demon hadn’t taken another step on his watch. “So, surrender, and we’ll let her go.”

“Hades, d-don’t listen. He’s lying,” Belle said, her voice cracking, but it was stronger than he suspected, since he could feel her shaking.

“Shut up,” Phoebus hissed, lowering his head to press his cheek to the top of her head, the muzzle of the gun still flush with her hair. “Not another word.”

HADES: Of course the man was lying. Villains always did-- Hades should know. He was one.

But he didn’t have any bargaining chips of his own. Phoebus had cornered him. Phoebus had outsmarted him. There was no point trying to deny it, though to Hades’ meager credit it was Merida in the end who had outwitted Hades-- Merida who was a plant and a spy, her duality more clever than he would have ever thought of such a girl, who had a rough, loud laugh and the kind of straightforward nature he’d never expect to be a cover for this. Phoebus had failed, in the meantime, to stay hidden.

It was Merida who fooled them. And Merida now who might be the wild card and Hades’ only chance.

His eyes once again darted from Phoebus and Belle to Merida, the girl looking surprised-- unhinged. Something was going on under the surface between Merida and Phoebus, a slip in floorboard, a knot Phoebus, himself, did not see.

“I’ll surrender when you stop putting that gun to my wife’s head. Because if you’re going to murder her anyway I might as well set the both of you on fire now. Belle can take a little heat,” he said.

Merida’s eyes widened at that. Ah yes, she cared about Belle. Or the baby-- either way, she wasn’t entirely heartless.

Hades smirked. “Hand her over to your personal assistant to hold onto and I’ll come to you, hands up, no magic.”

And then you can shoot me, Hades thought, as he eyed that gun.

Or you can try.

PHOEBUS: Now, Phoebus didn’t know if Hades’ threat was real or not, but to him—he’d be willing to take the chance. Hades had come all this way, somehow arrived in record time, for his little wife. Phoebus would not put it past him to light her on fire, but he hadn’t yet. He cared. That was why he was still here. That was why his flame had flickered low and Phoebus had almost had him in his clutches just a moment ago.

It didn’t make any sense, but there was no time to wonder.

If anything, it just worked to his advantage.

His head tilted, lifting up off of the top of Belle’s, as if he was considering.

“And why should I trust you? If you’re so eager to set your wife ablaze, what is to say as soon as she’s out of my grasp, you don’t use your magic on me—uncaring if she gets hurt or not? Maybe I should just do away with her now and shoot you next. Plenty of bullets for that.”

HADES: “Then I definitely will set you on fire. You’ve seen me spontaneously combust an entire river before. Distance isn’t a challenge,” he taunted and glared, and he knew he would. If Belle dropped, the church would go up. It’d take a blink and the sound of his heart breaking. Broken hearts made excellent kindling.

“Enough!” Merida barked. Her wild eyes were darting back and forth between Phoebus and Hades. He noticed how knuckle-white she’d gone, gripping the knife.

Her eyes settled, though, on Phoebus-- not him.

“Stop usin’ a pregnant mundus woman as your hostage and puttin’ her unborn babe in danger! That’s disgraceful and you know it! Face him like a man-- fight him like a Prince!” she declared and pointed Hades’ way. “We never talked about ye puttin’ a damn gun ‘gainst Belle’s head!”

“Yeah Phoebus, c’mon mate. Let’s solve this like men. Which I guess means hitting things with big pointy sticks,” mocked Hades. He snuffed his fire but spread his arms.

He knew it made himself an even larger target. So did the mocking.

But even just as second with that gun on Hades, instead of Belle, earned him a second more than he had now.

And who knows? Fates have pity on him, maybe the shadows would take Hades before the bullet did.

PHOEBUS: At first, Phoebus glared at Hades. Blue to unearthly blue. His threat would not go unheeded. Phoebus knew that demons had no morals or honor and nothing he said could be trusted, but he also knew they had irresistible bloodlust and it would not be above him to set him aflame with a thought.

He had to recalculate. Phoebus has not planned on Hades having his magic. He was supposed to be near-incapacitated by the holy ground. He wasn’t. The bastard still had his pyrokinesis. Perhaps his telekinesis too. Phoebus couldn’t be too sure.

His hand adjusted its grip on the gun as he thought. Recalculated. It would be best to shoot Hades first. Belle could not defend herself. He could give her to Hades and shoot them both as they turned to leave.

And then, Merida snarled.

Phoebus’ gaze snapped towards her, his own face twisted in fury. The dumb bitch was making this ten times more difficult. Phoebus should’ve known that this would be the case. What he got for working with a woman to start. She had played house with Belle, had gotten her here, but he should’ve made her leave. He saw that now. Mistake after mistake. He was supposed to be cleaner than this. Better than thing.

Hades spoke again and Phoebus’ head whipped back towards him, though he was half-paying attention to Merida again.

“Shut up, the both of you. Or I swear on the Lord I’ll shoot her right now.” His head shook like a dog with water in his ears. “This girl is far from innocent, Merida. She carries an unholy, powerful spawn. It goes against God and all that is good. It’s not a baby, it’s a demon. Getting rid of them is what we planned. Now stop your whinging and help me kill the bastard. Or are your weak emotions going to take over? We don’t have time for a woman’s remorse. Princes do not have sympathy for women who lie with demons.” His hand knitted in Belle’s hair, yanking it back so that she cried out.

His attention snapped back to Hades. “Who would you rather go first? You or her?”

MERIDA: She carries an unholy, powerful spawn.

It’s not a baby, it’s a demon.

Getting rid of them is what we planned.

Phoebus had lied to her. With each one of his spitting words, he revealed those lies as a cold crept over Merida, a feeling she’d had before, a feeling, sometimes, she felt she had been born with. It came from looking someone face-to-face and watchin’ them let you down. Her father had let her down before in a manner quite similar. Her uncles, her cousins, her friends. Everywhere Merida looked for someone to believe in her, she only found liars and cowards.

And so it didn’t feel like a surprise. It felt inevitable. Phoebus had lied. He had never intended to try to save Belle at all, she saw it clear-- he’d shoot Belle in the head as soon as he could, then wipe his barrel clean and go have a beer. He thought that made him stronger than her.

It actually just made him stupid.

That wild, savage voice in her quieted then. It did not growl, it did not snarl or ask for Phoebus’s blood. It was Merida who was in complete control then, the same sort of control she had when she laced a bow and locked eyes on her target. It took a crack eye, a steady hand, and an instinct to know when to let the arrow go.

Merida laced her arrow now as she sucked her teeth like the annoyed, wild girl who showed up to Phoebus’s practices and mouthed off. She glared-- rolled her eyes-- scoffed. “I’m not weak,” she retorted and let Phoebus think he’d won her.

“Well then. If I really get a choice--” started Hades, drawing Phoebus’s eye back to him.

And that was the moment Merida released her arrow. She moved with the strength and speed of a wolf. Her hand grabbed the barrel of the gun and shoved it to the ceiling as the other twisted Phoebus’s wrist. It was enough to give Belle a second. 

“RUN!” she hollered at Belle.

BELLE: There was little Belle could hear over the sound of her heart beating, her blood rushing in her ears. Since he had arrived, she’d not taken her eyes off of Hades. He’d barely looked at her—and she knew why—but she’d drank him in, so close, yet so far. She wished he hadn’t come. She was so glad he was there.

For once, she didn’t know what to do—how to save them. Any of them (her, Hades, Opal.) The desperation clawed at her heart, but between the panic and the tourmaline and the adrenaline, she didn’t have thought in her head besides please. She didn’t know who she was asking. Some long-dead god? Some fate? Some destiny? This couldn’t be theirs, she thought. They had suffered too much for this.

And then, she thought, that she hoped Hades died first, if it came to it. She’d rather save him from the pain of losing his wife and daughter. At least she’d only lose him. Opal would survive longer than her, at least she could give her that.

It should make her calm, she supposed, but that was not how she felt. She felt like exactly what she was—trapped, helpless, useless, so stupid.

Belle wanted to live, she wanted to meet their daughter, she wanted Hades to meet their daughter. The idea that any of that wouldn’t come to pass froze her with fear, kept her perfectly still. The muzzle of the gun was cool against her head. She could smell whiskey on Phoebus, beneath the scent of his awful cologne.

And she could hear her heart beating fiercely in her ears. Not yet, not yet—it woosh-wooshed.

Something jerked—and for the sharpest flash of a second, Belle had thought the gun had gone off, she thought that she’d feel the impact and then—nothing.

“RUN!” was what she heard instead, the command like a bolt of lightning striking through her.

It was just enough to propel her forwards as her heart clenched in her chest. Her wild gaze searched for Hades, but the darkness of the Cathedral bled around her, the edges going fuzzy. She stumbled one, two steps, her legs like jelly, barely listening to her brain. She couldn’t breathe. Before she could stop herself, she was pitching forwards, heading right for the stone floor.

Behind her, the gun discharged, and stone rained down over them all like snow.

PHOEBUS: “NO!” bellowed Phoebus, just as Merida slammed into him. His hand clenched instinctively as he braced himself to throw her off. And normally—he would be able to throw her off. He had wrestled with Merida since she was a tot, and more so recently. He knew exactly how much strength she had. He had trained her himself.

This was not her normal amount of strength.

His eyes went wide as his body stumbled from the sudden impact and Merida peeled his arm off of Belle as if she was opening the lid of a can. Belle managed to slip from his grasp and Phoebus’ face twisted in anger.

The gun went off much on accident as Phoebus tried to jerk his hand back and away from Merida.

“What are you doing, you bitch?” he snarled, practically spitting in her face. “I’m not the enemy. You’re going to get us both killed!” His knee came up to her gut, his hand twisting out of her grip as she bent to the pain of the blow. He reached up and snagged the gun from his other hand, waving it wildly about, attempting to find Hades in the chaos.

MERIDA: Her own strength surprised her. Like thunder, it roared through her muscles and then exploded, Phoebus’s hand jerking up farther than she anticipated, his wrist in hers feeling strangely thin and fragile, reminding her more of the horsehair of her bow-- bendable, pliable-- than bone. Though she knew it would snap if she twisted just a touch more. And that surprised her too, knowing she could break his wrist. She could break a man’s wrist before-- but this-- this would be easy as breathing.

It surprised her and so did the gunshot. The echo of it rattled through her eardrums, much too close for her liking. It jolted the beast inside.

The beast didn’t like the sound of guns.

The smell of gunpowder made her face twist and her eyes glint.

She barely felt the blow to her stomach, just bent to it as bodies do. It was all instinct. Action, reaction. The gun tore from her hand. She heard the sound of something falling and knew it was probably Belle, Belle not safe, Belle one second away from a bullet put through the brain.

She got her foot between Phoebus’s and she tripped him. The two of them fell with a thud of their own. An animal snarl rose from her lips as she reached for his hand again, to pin the wrist, to squeeze with sheer force the gun from his hand--

Her other went to his neck. If she couldn’t get the gun, she knew who could.

The necklace’s chain snapped as easily as a wrist could.

HADES: Merida had whirled on the man and with her action, the tension in the cathedral had shattered. Its pieces went everywhere-- Merida onto Phoebus, the gun pointing at the ceiling, the bullet discharged somewhere into the walls, Belle stumbling like a blind woman away, and Hades going straight for her too.

She fell. Phoebus and Merida fell. Hades arrived a second too late to catch her but reached down for her anyway, hoisting her roughly to her feet. His hands went straight to her face, his palm smoothly over her tangled hair and pale skin. His eyes conducted a wild, but thorough search of her face for blooms of bruise or blood. But she was untouched, except for the damage of the tourmaline.

“We have to go,” he said to her. As much as he wanted to inspect the rest of her, to sit down and to hold her, there was no time.

And then the gun went off a second time, Hades’ flinch turning quickly into action as he twisted Belle around so she was behind him and shielded.

BELLE: Belle barely felt hitting the ground, her conscious flickering in and out for those few seconds—though instinct had her flinging her arms out to try to catch herself.

What she did feel, however, was a hand on her bicep, jerking her back to her feet with force. For a few moments, she thought it was Phoebus. He’d thrown Merida off and come for her again. And next, he was going to put a bullet through her temple. She lurched, trying to pull away on instinct, even if it meant crashing back down to the ground.

But then—a hand touched her face and she knew that hand. Blinking, she took in Hades’ features as they came into proper focus and she felt some part of her unclench. She wanted to fall into him.

Safe. Safe. She was safe. Opal was safe.

And then, the gun went off again—that semblance of safety ripped away as swiftly as it came. Hades pulled her towards him in a split second, before she could even register what had happened. She stumbled and tensed, her heart jumping right back into her throat.

The echo of the shot petered out and Belle looked up at Hades, her hand reaching for the collar of his shirt, searching his eyes—looking for any trace of pain. “Are you--?” was all she could think to say, the terror had her by the throat.

PHOEBUS: The bullet whizzed right passed the couple, shattering into a column nowhere near them. Only three bullets left. And now—there was no breath in his own lungs, the fall having knocked it out of him. Merida’s fingers brushed his throat and he thought in the confusion, that she was looking to strangle him.

It was much, much worse than that—

He felt the chain of the necklace snap. “No!” he snarled again, his stomach twisting—for the first time that night—in fear. The necklace was his protection. With it, he was immune to the telekinetic tricks of demons. Nothing could touch him. Now, he was exposed—and Merida knew it.

“Traitor!” he snarled at her and thrashed—trying to dislodge her from his hips. His free hand went to her own throat, he’d kill her if he had to. The Order would understand. They did not take kindly to traitors. He should have expected no less from a woman. It was not often that they had loyalty or nobility or common fucking sense.

His fingers wrapped around her neck and they squeezed.

The pain in his wrist would not alleviate, but he refused to drop the gun. It was his only defense against the spectre now. If he could just get Merida off of him—there was a bullet for each of them.

One for the traitorous cunt.

One for the delusional bitch.

And one for the demon responsible for it all.

MERIDA: Merida used to wrestle with her father. They were games of pretend: Merida three times her size and her father the rambunctious pup who showed her his belly, there on the green of Cawdor gardens. She’d climb all over him and shout with the force of her lungs her victory. With her fists raised high in the air, she’d declared herself king-- king of fathers and king of Cawdor Castle.

She knew that he had let her win those games. Now-- this wasn’t a game and Phoebus wouldn’t let her win. But she knew how to fight. If wrestling had taught her anything, it was how to want something so badly, you would fight for it.

So Phoebus thrashed and she steeled her thighs around him. He discharged the gun again. The cathedral echoed with that iron sound. Merida banged his hand back with her own so hard she imagined the itty bitty bird bones of his knuckles crunching into grains of sand.

She raised the necklace away from him with her other hand. He flailed to catch it and when he didn’t get it, his thick fingers found her throat.

Merida choked. Her breath squeezed in her belly, her lungs bursting. And in between her ears it wasn’t the ringing of the gun anymore, but the howling begun, growing louder and louder, closer and closer--

She flailed her hand and threw the necklace behind her. “It’s-- the-- necklace!” she tried to rasp the answer. Her hand now free, she reached for Phoebus’s hand around her neck.

And she fought. She fought to peel every one of those fingers off her, with a strength she knew was not her own, but the beast’s.

She watched how his eyes bulged, reminding Merida of prey.

Her own flashed as her mouth twisted in a snarl.

PHOEBUS: Phoebus watched, his own eyes bulging as Merida pulling his fingers from her neck, one after another. It shouldn’t be possible. Men were stronger than women, just by default. It was the way their bodies were made. Not to mention, Phoebus had been training almost his entire life. Over twenty years—he never missed an exercise. He worked hard every day to keep himself in the best shape possible. He was strong.

Merida was not this strong.

And still, she peeled his fingers back one by one, like snapping the strings a guitar.

It shouldn’t be possible—but it was.

Phoebus’ brain was attempting to recalibrate. If he could not defeat her by brute strength, he could certainly outsmart the dumb broad. This was a lie he told himself, for he knew Merida was sharp as a tack—but he was smarter, older, had been doing this much, much longer. Merida was all brawn. Phoebus was all brains. It was what he had always excelled at. This was why he was glad to fight demons, not dragons.

She peeled his fingers from her throat, but she needed both hands to do it.

Which meant that Phoebus had one shot.

Surprisingly, shooting someone at close range was at times more difficult than at a distance. It could be hard to get the angle correct. But Phoebus knew he needed to get her off of him if he had any chance of taking care of what he needed to. If he could just destabilize her at least, then he could deal with the Acherons—and Merida later.

With a twist of his wrist, Phoebus aimed the gun up and towards Merida, the shot loud and echoing once again.

Blood splattered on his face and he heard Merida give an inhuman growl. The next moment she had sprang off of him.

The moment after that, Phoebus had also jumped to his feet.

He spun on his heel to find the Acherons again. “STOP!” His voice boomed through the nave of the cathedral. “I swear to God I will shoot either of you.”

HADES: The first shot didn’t hit them. He waited for the sharp bite, but it never came. The scuffle behind them continued, Phoebus snarling and Merida gasping. She said something about a necklace, but--

“I’m fine. Let’s go!” Hades hissed. He grabbed Belle’s hand and yanked her into motion.

They stumbled into a clumsy, staggering run, Belle still weak and sick and very, very pregnant. Feet pounded anyway. Down the aisle, halfway to the door, Hades’ eyes scouring the shadows and wondering, wondering if he could take Belle with him--

Another gunshot. Hades flinched and looked over his shoulder. He saw Merida stumble back only to collapse out of view.  

He felt a flicker of something in his chest, but didn’t have time to consider what it was. Because Phoebus scrambled up and pointed the gun at them again.

Hades once again shoved Belle behind him. He obeyed the order, his feet, heavy as concrete as he stared back at a manic Phoebus. He looked more monster than Hades ever had-- hair wild, uniform crumbled, and blood spattered across his front.

But he didn’t have his hostage anymore. And Hades remembered what Merida had gasped. Necklace, she said, and Hades decided to take a chance, based on an inkling in his stomach that felt exactly like his sixth sense.

He waved his hand and ripped the gun from Phoebus’s hand. It flew across the church and got lost in one of the pews. Phoebus looked startled. Then scared. Hades smirked.

He reached forward and grabbed Phoebus by the throat with his magic. With his hand extended out, fist white-knuckled with his grip, he moved forward, back down the aisle and toward the choking Prince. Who was the devil now?

“What do you think of me now?” Hades snarled. He forced Phoebus to his knees as he got closer and closer. The candles on the altar lit a ghostly blue.  “Do I look like the demon yet? Am I the devil?” He wrapped his powers so thickly and tightly around Phoebus that he couldn’t move his arms.

He arrived in front of him and leaned down so he could spit directly in his face.  

“I’m something so much worse,” he told him. And he contemplated Phoebus’s death--Hades’ most familiar friend standing next to them both. He sensed there was a choice here when sometimes there was not. To choke, to burn, to slice Phoebus open--to spare him-- Death waited, silent and patient, for Hades to decide.

Behind him, a different creature rose from the shadows.

PHOEBUS: The gun sprung from his hand as if attached to a string. Phoebus stumbled, more on instinct than anything, as if he had just received a blow. He thought that he might be able to bluff. Hades knew that Phoebus was immune to telekinesis but didn’t know how. Phoebus could hope that Merida had not been able to convey her message. Whether through sheer luck or the sense of some otherworldly creature—Hades called his bluff.

And Phoebus felt the cold trickle of fear. It started as a quiet thing—as silent as a prayer.

Invisible fingers closed around his throat and Phoebus’ hands came up at once, clawing at the nothing of it, desperate and instinctual. He was dizzy even before Hades shoved him to his knees. His brain confused at that point—unable to feel what was choking him, unable to understand why that was. Hades looked just as terrifying as Phoebus knew him to be—that unearthly blue fire bouncing off the stained glass, turning the Cathedral dark instead of warm. Or, perhaps, that was just the blackness creeping into the sides of his vision.

BELLE: Belle had stumbled to a pew as Hades moved off. She got her hand around the side of it and leaned over for a moment, attempting to catch her breath. Realistically, she knew the threat was gone now. Phoebus was unarmed and unprotected from Hades’ powers, which meant there was no way to overtake him.

Still, the fear rushed through Belle. She was dizzy with it. Could feel her hands shaking. So, she pushed back up and gripped at the back of the pew, trying to find the spirit inside of her that had faced off with murderous muses and dragons and shadow creatures galore. She couldn’t find that girl. Instead, she found another as she watched Hades force Phoebus to his knees. She found a vicious, vindictive woman—who wanted to watch Hades snap Phoebus’ neck.

The thought didn’t even startle her. She didn’t look away. Instead, she stood taller. Her gaze was hard and cool. For a few moments, there was no sympathy in her heart, only the thirst for revenge. And not just for this incident, but all the ones that had come before. Belle could see it all now, clicking into place. Phoebus, the officer who had arrested Hades. Phoebus, the officer who had been the first to show up after Shuck’s collar had come loose. All the rumors kicked back up and swirling around Hades. Rumors that had died down considerably when Hades had won his seat on the Board.

Their lives—Hades’ life—potentially ruined by someone who was going to murder him and her and their unborn child in cold blood.

Belle had no sympathy for him.

However, her gaze fell softly on her husband. Even from a distance, even though he kept it contained to the thunderous tilt of his brow—she could see the fury etched into every line of his body. In that same moment, Belle knew that she would not allow her husband to kill Phoebus in cold-blood. (no matter how delicious the sound of Phoebus’ neck snapping would sound in the echo of the cathedral. Later, it would haunt them both.) She knew Hades had killed before--she knew that he had killed just like this, not under threat of attack, but because of his fury. Belle wouldn��t let him this time and she would not have let him if she had been there before.

And this was not because of some higher moral obligation. No, Belle was woman enough to admit that. It was not because there wasn’t some riotous, monstrous part of herself that wanted Phoebus dead. It was not because she thought Phoebus worth saving.

But because she knew that Phoebus’ death would do nothing to clean up their reputation in town. If Hades wanted to salvage any of that, they needed to play the victims. Which meant keeping Phoebus alive, taking the moral high ground. He was just a Mundus anyway. If he was put in jail, there would be little risk of him leaving. He was no longer a threat. It was better to keep him alive. Phoebus was the one who was going to kill them, not the other way around.

“Hades,” she called—her voice soft but ragged--she knew he would hear her regardless.

Don’t. He’s not worth it.

This was what she was going to say, but movement caught her eye.

In the blue of Hades’ candlelight, Merida’s fur shone black—but Belle knew who and what she was at once—and she was stalking right towards Hades.

“Behind you!” she called then, her voice much louder.  

Her gaze turned frantically towards the wolf and she moved from the pew into the aisle again, as if she would be able to run fast enough to do anything at all. She knew she couldn’t. Still, she gathered what little strength she had.

“Merida, no!” The command bounced around the walls of the cathedral, echoing much louder than Belle herself was.

HADES: Hades turned at Belle’s voice and had approximately half a second to react to the werewolf that had fucking materialized out of nowhere.

Okay, realistically, in the next five seconds, he’d put together the werewolf was Merida all along. But at first, all he saw was animal and all he thought was animal. The wolf hulked, massive, its fur a rustic red-tinted penny colour with eyes like molten lava. It dripped blood. Hades barked in shock and he literally collapsed back onto Phoebus as the creature lunged with a terrible cry of its own.

His magic lashed out. It grabbed the wolf like it had grabbed the gun and flung the creature into the altar, knocking the whole damn thing over. The werewolf snarled then screeched with pain. When it got up again, it scrambled on clumsy legs like it didn’t know how to use it.

And then it bolted down, toward Belle.

“Belle!” he cried out and was about to toss the wolf against the pews.

But the wolf streaked past Belle, straight for the open door, and out again.

Now it was Hades turned to scramble off Phoebus. He twisted around, grabbed the dazed, gasping corrupt cop by his ruined uniform and then punched him once across the face. It was surprisingly more satisfying than he thought it would be, for someone who had never had to throw a punch before. His knuckles crunched cheekbone. It hurt, but Hades liked it.

He then let Phoebus fall back onto the ground. He got up the rest of the way and jerked Phoebus’s hands above his head in mock surrender.

“You didn’t mention you were working with a fucking werewolf. What the fuck?” Hades panted. He twisted half-round to look at Belle. “Are you okay?”

BELLE: Merida lunged and Hades knocked himself backwards, toppling him and Phoebus both to the ground and out of sight behind the pews. Belle felt her heart jump into her throat the moment Merida’s paws left the ground, her heart sinking—helpless once more—into her stomach.

But Hades managed to toss her into the altar with an awful crash. There was just a moment, just a moment of respite (though, Belle’s heart clenched in her chest at the sound of Merida’s whine—though she wasn’t sure why, she had no pity for the sorrowful, hateful creature.) Then, Merida got up and shook herself off and barreled towards her.

Though this, at least, Belle was not afraid of. She had been stared down, stalked by a werewolf once before. She knew the look in their eye, hungry and focused. As Merida neared, she knew that was not the case—her head was shaking back and forth like she was attempting to fix a ringing in her ears. So, Belle’s heart jumped back into her throat but she did not flinch as the beast blew passed her, fast and powerful enough to ruffle her hair and clothing.

She turned to watch it go, wondering what would become of the girl. If she cared, it was only because there was a rogue wolf on the loose. When all this was over, she should probably call Adam and give him the heads up, (When all this was over, she would forget.)

Her reverie was broken just a moment after it had started (another moment of respite gone), when she heard flesh against flesh and turned—startled—back to Hades and Phoebus. Her breath caught in her throat just before she registered that it was Hades who had thrown the punch, Hades who was still in control of the situation. For a second, she had thought—

Phoebus’ manic laughter filled the cathedral, bouncing off the walls and making Belle shiver and her stomach sicker. She clenched white-knuckled at the pew and wanted to beg for him to stop. But Belle had not begged with a gun to her head and she would not start now.

Instead, she looked to Hades and nodded her head slightly—making her way back towards him slowly, her whole body trembling as the adrenaline began to eek out of her.

“I’m fine,” she reassured him, though it was not wholly the truth. “We need to call the police, Hades,” she told him. “I-I don’t know where my phone is. They—” her voice caught, strangled as her throat closed, “—took it.”

HADES: The wolf-- was gone. Phoebus-- had lost. Was manic and laughing, unhinged as Hades expected he had always been under his uniform. And Belle was okay.

For a brief second, Hades just let out a breath and enjoyed that fact for what it was: Belle was okay. Yes, she was still pregnant with a baby that was sucking all of her health from her. Yes, she had been kidnapped and all his fault again. Yes, she’d been held at gunpoint. Knifepoint. The nightmares would keep them both awake.

But in that second, she was alive. Alive, standing, still pregnant, her hair a tangled mess but otherwise alive. If he could just hold onto that, maybe he’d make it to March and see the other side of this.

But he couldn’t. Hold onto it, that is. There was a list of things to do tonight, from the police to the Board to scheduling an appointment with Hera to check the baby-- couldn’t be too careful. And so the second ended and Hades had to go on. That’s how you made it to the other side anyway. Not by holding your breath and waiting for things-- but by going on.

“I’ll call,” he said. He still had his powers wrapped tightly around Phoebus, a hand out to keep it that way while the other dug into his pocket. “Is Opal kicking? Can you feel her?” he asked Belle as he dialed.

If she was kicking, then, at least… at least it would be one good thing.

BELLE: Hades asked about Opal and Belle blinked a little. It surprised her—though, guilt nipped on her heels the next second. In her mild defense, she had just been kidnapped and held at both knife- and gun point, betrayed by someone she had thought of as a dear friend. (For the second time in a handful of months, though really, Berlioz’s betrayal seemed meager to all of this.) In her mild defense, Hades barely took an interest in the baby these days outside of making sure Belle was as comfortable as possible.

So, yes, she blinked a little, and then—with a jolt, realized she hadn’t felt her at all since—the car? Or, perhaps, when the gun had pressed to her temple. She couldn’t remember when the last time was. And Belle, you know, was very diligent at measuring her kick count every day—and Opal was always delighted to participate, if you caught her at the right time. Which was just about now. If Opal wasn’t tap-dancing on Belle’s liver, something was wrong.

Something might be wrong.

Belle put a hand to her stomach, and for the first time in several minutes, focused on her daughter in more than the abstract “save her life” kind of way. She held her breath for a moment, two—

There she went, kicking right against the bottom of Belle’s stomach. Belle’s hand arched down towards the movement as the relief washed over her.

She heard Hades’ voice speaking to the emergency operator, so she took the moment to edge her way back into a pew and sat down, her hand pressed against her daughter’s foot, like she could hold it already. She wished she could count all of her toes.

Belle watched Hades hang up the phone and turn towards her. “She’s—she’s fine, I-I think. Tap-dancing, a-as usual.” She smiled just a little and wanted to reach out for him, but she was terrified for him to come any closer whilst he still had Phoebus in the grip of his powers. Realistically, she knew Hades could probably hold Phoebus steady from across the cathedral and not simply a few pews away, but she did not want to risk it.

Instead, she just slumped down and tilted her head back, looking towards one of the stained-glass windows. A pietà. Belle looked away.

PHOEBUS: Phoebus gave up fighting rather quickly. It was no use against the invisible binds around him, stronger than any rope. Rope, he could wiggle his way out of. Magical binds that defied the logic of physicality? It was impossible.

So, instead, he was quiet and still. He did not try to fight. He began to plot.

In truth, it was not going well. He knew that Hades was too dangerous a target now. With a hunting party, perhaps they would catch him. There was no one Phoebus trusted enough to be smart and steady, to bide their time and strike when the moment was right. The Order was full of impatient, amateur assholes just looking to make an easy kill. Fine. Let Hades live and destroy this town. The people in it were idiots for living within its borders.

His planning turned towards the future. Getting out of prison. He was confident it would happen. Swynlake was not quipped to handle a trial of this caliber. He would be outsourced to a proper jail, a proper prison. A different court system entirely. One that was not magick-friendly. One that would sympathize with his position. His family could hire a perfectly powerful lawyer. He could get acquitted. He could have a vastly reduced sentence. He could break out. The Order knew enough people in the prison system. It was how they continued to operate the way that they did. He was confident he would not be in jail long.

Which left—Duchess. Would she wait for him? He prayed she would. Phoebus would still give her the big beautiful seaside house. A wedding that he would let her busy herself with planning whilst he was dealing with the red tape. He would take care of her still.

Phoebus hardly noticed the handcuffs going onto his wrists or being jerked to his feet. He stayed stony and silent as he left the sanctity of the cathedral and was shoved into the police cruiser, the red-blue lights flashing like the sun spiraling through stained glass.

[phoebus-de-chateaupers-blog]

#beard #also hair #😍😍😍

[phoebus-de-chateaupers-blog]

The Winter’s Ball ... [Duchebus]

In which Duchess and Phoebus attend the Order’s Winter Ball in London. [takes place: December 29th]

@the-duchess-lablanc

[tw -- phoebus being phoebus which means like objectification and plotting murder,,]

PHOEBUS: Ah, the Winter’s Ball.

The tradition. The glam. The frivolity.

It was everything that the Order of the Prince wanted to emulate.

Phoebus normally found it dreadfully boring. Sure, he liked a good party, but he knew these were the types of events where even he had to be on his best behavior. When he’d been younger, he’d tripped over himself like an overgrown pup, excited to meet all the pretty girls and feel them up in corridors...erm, dance with them…

Anyway, as he had gotten older, everyone had paired off and it had led to a rather boring procession. Of course, he danced with his mother and his sister and his little niece. Occasionally, he managed a dance with Olivia. (That was always the highlight of the night.)

But now, he was here with Duchess on his arm. Who looked more beautiful than any of the Order women. Was smarter too. Independent. And looked absolutely gorgeous in her dress, which he was sure would be the talk of the ball, if they weren’t the talk of the ball themselves.

See, you weren’t supposed to bring someone who wasn’t your betrothed with you to one of these, if they were outside the Order. Phoebus didn’t really care. He trusted Duchess and that was all that mattered to him. Also...he hadn’t exactly told his family. Which was going to be hilarious, for they were going to have to just grin and bare it. It would be unseemly to yell at their only adult son, the only remaining male heir of age, in front of the whole Order.

They stood outside of the Guild Hall doors now, people sweeping in and out around them. Though located in the theatre district of London, no one paid them a passing glance in their formal wear. Hiding in plain sight, as the Order was wont to do.

Phoebus turned to Duchess before entering and smiled lightly at her. “Are you ready? I’ve got to find my mother first and say hello. Tradition,” he explained with a little roll of his eyes.

DUCHESS: She had been surprised when Phoebus had invited her to the Winter’s Ball. There was still so little she knew about the Order of the Prince. Just what Phoebus had told her. She’d tried to do her own research but there hadn’t been much. Just stories that changed and twisted and contradicted with every other source. It was infuriating.

Added to that the new status of her and Phoebus’ relationship and it was very safe to say that the normally very well put together designer was in a state of panic. Not that that could be seen if you looked at her. As usual she was a picture of confidence. Inside, her mind was a tornado of thought. So many questions that she felt she couldn’t ask, situations that could happen, and what if’s twirled around mind. Sooner or later it would quiet down; more than likely once they were in the midst of mingling and more in her element.

She watched as people milled about, amazed how not one single passerby stopped to question the people standing around in such attire. Her own dress, while simple and understated, was not one that would be seen just out on the streets of London; even if they were in the theatre district.

Phoebus easily and quickly brought her out of her thoughts, his voice causing her gaze to return to him. His mother. Duchess had not yet gotten that far in her spiralling thought process but now that it was there she couldn’t help the way her stomach clenched. Very rarely had she ever had to meet parents as a significant other. Most of her relationships either fizzled before that point or she already knew the parents.

“Who am I to argue tradition,” she returned his smile easily. “Shall we?”

PHOEBUS: This was a very big deal.

Which meant that Phoebus was acting like it was not a big deal at all. In fact, he didn’t think it was, not really. The Order was who made it into a big deal. They were the ones with the rules that said so. Phoebus just happened to...follow those rules. Which was why he thought the same way. He had never done this before. Taken someone to meet his parents. Well, when he had been younger and a rapscallion, he had brought girls to these events just to be scandalous.

He had never done it seriously.

But, here they were.

It was a good thing if Duchess was nervous that she was doing a good job masking it. Her nerves would certainly make his own worse. She was calm, however, and it calmed him.

“We shall,” he said, offering his elbow to her before stepping forwards into the building that had been owned by the Order for generations.

It opened into a hallway, people mingling, but Phoebus ignored them--heading right for the ballroom at the end of the hall. He knew that his mother would be more likely to be mingling inside, as she always arrived to these events promptly. Unlike him.

“That is the King of the Order. Not a real king. Title only. This year is the melee to change the family. I will be fighting for my family and I have a very good feeling about it,” he murmured to her as they walked, his eyes still scanning the crowd.

“Ah! My little far-darter,” came a cooing voice and Phoebus turned just before his mother reached up to tug him down by the shirt and kiss both of his cheeks. “And who is this, you rascal?” His mother said, pushing him away and zeroing in on Duchess. “Could it be that LaBlanc woman I’ve heard so much about?” Her expression was assessing, but not negative nor positive.

“Duchess, meet my mother--Lady Sorcha de Chateaupers. Mother, this is Duchess. My date.”

DUCHESS: This was a daunting feat that left Duchess feeling so out of her depth. While she was known to be charming and alluring, it was all a facade for the public. A way to keep her life as private as possible.  But this was her private life. She was very much smitten with Phoebus and after the rather frank discussion about his dalliances with other women, she was sure he felt completely the same. Being allowed to see this part of his life, to actively participate in it, was surreal and terrifying. Too far out of the unknown.

She took his arm without pause, gliding along beside him. Inside the building she could see the heads turn towards them, hear the whispers. This must be as new to them as it was to her. At least she was making an entrance. Her head was held a bit higher, her gaze staying ahead of them. It only faltered when Phoebus pointed out the ‘King’ of the Order and even then she assessed the man quickly before turning back to look at Phoebus. “Winning would make you king, non?” She asked with a raised brow. The term sounded almost silly on her tongue. Though she couldn’t deny that Phoebus already held a somewhat regal air that would allow that title to fit him quite nicely. (And if there was a part of her that wondered if that would make her Queen, she didn’t speak of it. Simply squashed it down with the other questions she had.)

In what felt like no time at all, they were approached and as Duchess had turned to admire the great ballroom she couldn’t help but feel a small chill. There was absolutely no turning back now.

A small smile tucked itself into the corner of her lips as his mother greeted him. For the briefest of moments she wished her family was the same, but just like her previous thoughts it was whisked away to the farthest reaches of her mind. All too quickly, however, the attention was turned to her.

Duchess knew the look the woman wore well. She was being appraised much like she had done to various runway shows before. To be the object of that appraisal was nerve wracking. Her heart beat out a staccato sort of sound in her chest, rattling her rib cage as she held her breath. Said breath wasn’t released until her name fell from Phoebus’ lips.

“A pleasure, Lady Sorcha,” Duchess bowed her head towards the woman, her nerves skillfully hidden away. Mothers were like predators. They could smell fear and Duchess refused to give that to the woman. “I do hope all you have heard has been good things.”

PHOEBUS: Well, she’d used his mother’s title. That was sure to earn her some points. Though, Phoebus had a feeling his mother was simply putting on a show. She had been wanting him to settle down for a very long time now. And with someone as beautiful and accomplished as Duchess? With so many connections and influence?

She really was the complete package, and his mother should know that.

Still, Phoebus reached over to give Duchess’ hand in the crook of his elbow a little squeeze, though to the outside it would look as if Phoebus was simply resting it there.

“Oh, of course, my dear. I don’t know what there would be bad to say!” His mother smiled then, looking much more warm. “We will have lots to talk about, I’m a bit of an artist myself.”

“Duchess is also a businesswoman, mother,” interjected Phoebus.

“Ach, I know. Beauty and brains? I wouldn’t have any less for my Phoebus. I don’t think he’d have any less for himself, though the last girl he’d brought was a bimbo if she was anything.”

“Mother, that was eight years ago,” Phoebus protested, his cheeks coloring a bit.

“Well, you shouldn’t have brought her at all.” She sniffed and her expression turned a little harder towards Duchess. “I am sure this one has a proper head on her shoulders, though, don’t you, my dear?”

DUCHESS: Phoebus’ mother turned to her fully and Duchess would have wilted under that assessing gaze if she were a lesser woman. As it was, she didn’t feel the need to. Instead met it with a smile of her own as she gave a soft laugh. It was a quiet relief that the woman had not heard bad things about her. After all, the rumor mill was always churning against her. Tabloids trying to do anything they could to dig up dirt on the elusive Duchess LaBlanc.

Still, she was grateful for Phoebus’ gentle touch.

“Oui,” she spoke quickly, interest painting it’s way onto her words. She hadn’t known that his mother had an interest in art. In fact there was not much that she knew about his mother. Nothing at all could have prepared her for this meeting. Something she would have to chide Phoebus about later in private. “Do you paint?” She found herself asking, wanting to know more about her. The Order was still a confusing thing to her. It’s purpose was clear but the role of each member was still something unknown to her. Were the women of the Order simply there for decoration? Or was there more to it? She had a feeling that if she was able to please Lady Sorcha she would have a better in on everything to do with The Order.

As Lady Sorcha continued, Duchess couldn’t help but chuckle oh so softly.

“I can assure you, I am no bimbo.” Duchess sobered quickly as that harsh gaze was once again turned towards her. The fact that she needed to assert that was almost an insult. Duchess kept her remark to herself only because she knew that his mother was feeling her out. “And I do not mean to brag but if my business is anything to go by, I can also assure you that I have quite the head on my shoulders. Good enough to keep Phoebus in line, should he need it. Though, I can safely say that he has been nothing but a perfect gentleman since I’ve known him.”

PHOEBUS: “Of course he has been.” Sorcha reached out to pat her son’s chest fondly. “But, I’m sure you could handle him otherwise,” she added, giving Duchess an appraising glance.

“I’m standing right here,” Phoebus said with a little huff--if only to make his mother chuckle at him.

His father appeared through the crowd just then, weaving his way towards his wife and son--whom he had not seen in several months.

“Phoebus!” his father greeted in a gruff voice, reaching out to shake his son’s hand. “And who might this lovely woman be? Surely not our Phoebus’ date!” It was said jovially but Phoebus heard the words beneath: that better not be Phoebus’ date.

“Silas, stop it. This is Duchess LaBlanc,” Sorcha introduced, “Duchess--this is my husband, Silas.”

“A pleasure.” Silas’ blue eyes twinkled but Phoebus knew better. There was a calculation to his gaze. Not that Phoebus cared, he would be with Duchess either way, because that was the kind of person Phoebus was. He didn’t care to listen to an old man’s opinions about who he should or should not be with. The Order had always been stifling that way. Phoebus agreed with their mission, but he did not agree with their traditions.

“And how are you finding our little gathering, then?” Phoebus’ father asked, but Phoebus knew what he was really asking: how do you feel about the Order?

DUCHESS: For a moment, as Phoebus’ father approached, Duchess was speechless. The man was, in a word, handsome. Of course it went much deeper than that. There was something about his presence. It demanded to be noticed, commanded Duchess’ attention even as she hung off of his son’s arm. Maybe that was what Phoebus would look like when he was older. The hair that he’d clearly gotten from his mother would turn a lovely shade of white and he’d grow some black in there for that lovely salt and pepper look. He’d be so dashing; even more dashing than he was at the moment.

Not long after he announced his presence, Sorcha introduced her to him and Duchess had the good sense to at least incline her head at him as she offered a kind smile. “It’s lovely to meet you, Silas.” Even his name felt handsome rolling of her tongue. Rich and decadent. And she only hoped that she could make as good an impression on him as she did with Lady Sorcha.

His question caught her off guard just a bit. If anyone were to ask that question, Duchess thought it would be his mother. After all, it was a question Duchess would have asked because that sort of thing was important to her. What people thought of her events often reflected what they thought of her and— oh. There it was. The secret question hidden within the other question.

“Well,” she started slowly as she looked around at the people that were beginning to mill about more. “From what I have seen this is all very lovely. While the events in Swynlake are nice. It’s more satisfying to be in a more familiar space.” She gave him a smile as she leaned into Phoebus just slightly. “This is the type of soirée I would prefer to associate myself with.”

PHOEBUS: Silas chuckled heartily at Duchess’ answer, his eyes twinkling.

“Yes, well, you fit in wonderfully, my darling,” Silas complimented, his eyes trailing up and down Duchess’ frame.

“Silas,” Sorcha said with a smile of her own, leaning in to take his elbow. “Let’s leave the children alone to have their fun.”

“Yes, dear.” Silas smiled at his wife, touching her cheek for a moment before turning back to Phoebus and Duchess. “Have a good time. Duchess, I hope we will be seeing more of you in the future. Phoebus needs a woman like you to keep him in order.”

Phoebus rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Good-bye, Da.”

With another chuckle, Phoebus’ parents moved off. They were still getting curious glances from other members of the Order, though Phoebus knew that a few of them were jealous women--Phoebus now taken and Duchess looking ever so beautiful He put a hand on the small of her back. “Well, that went much better than last time. Not that I am surprised.”

And he wasn’t. Before, Phoebus had been trying to get under his father’s skin. Show him that if he did not think him better than Clemens, then Phoebus really would be the worst son imaginable. Now that Clemens was gone, Phoebus was trying to temper his ways. Also, he did find this life suited Duchess. He wanted to shower her in gifts of jewels and smithery. She would look beautiful against the wild sea of Denmark, where he hoped they could make a home.

“Would you like to dance, my love? Show off that beautiful dress of yours?”

DUCHESS: Duchess caught the look that Silas gave her but she ignored it purely in favor of basking in his approval. It had seemed that she had gained the approval of both of his parents and it was a good feeling. One that made her feel light and airy; giddy even. “Thank you, Silas,” she smiled at him, nodding her head at him. “I hope to come to more of these. They are certainly enjoyable.”

And it was all true. So far from what she had seen Duchess was very much enjoying herself. The Order was not some stuffy institution to be trapped in. From what she had seen it was a place where like minded people could come together and celebrate beautiful things, all while making the world they lived in a safer place. It was a place she would be able to find her place in easily.

She was stuck in her thoughts, watching as people danced and mingled and interacted. So much so that when Phoebus addressed her again she nearly startled. Instead, though, she turned towards him with somewhat of a smirk on her lips. Oh did she love the chance to show off. And from the looks she had garnered from some of the women (and their counterparts) there was already some jealousy in the room.

“Mmm, maybe show off the woman on your arm. Have I snagged the most eligible bachelor?” She smirked as they moved towards the dance floor.

PHOEBUS: Phoebus hoped that Duchess could attend more of these as well. His mind spun with all the possibilities. It spooled out a thread--

One day, soon, Phoebus as King, Duchess by his side.

A year from now, perhaps, a wedding (the Order had very specific courtship rituals and whilst Phoebus had never been interested in marrying within the Order (besides one), he would want to honor those rituals.)

A year after that, a baby. A boy first, and then a girl--and after that, as many as Duchess would want. He had always wanted a big family. Duchess would be a wonderful mother and they would raise strong sons who would keep their seat as King for longer than any family that had come before him.

Years from now, he and Duchess would retire by the seaside--their children grown, the castle theirs. Duchess would still do her fashion. Phoebus would write his demon encyclopedia for young hunters.

It would be a good life.

But first, a dance.

Phoebus pulled Duchess onto the dance floor and spun her once. “Perhaps, but it doesn’t matter, because I found a woman smarter and more beautiful than any of them could ever hope to be.”

[phoebus-de-chateaupers-blog]

the-duchess-lablanc‌:

Those three little words never ceased to make Duchess feel like a little school girl. I love you. She felt the butterflies in her stomach even as she gave Phoebus a small smile. It wouldn’t matter if they lived in the castle with his parents or if he bought them a house on the coast. All that mattered was that they were together because that was what Duchess wanted. To be with Phoebus and to start her future with him.

She shifted enough to be able to press a soft kiss to his lips, that warm feeling radiating through her.

“I don’t think she would be too unbearable,” she teased, lips upturned in a playful smile. “She is a rather lovely woman. She may even help with the transition. I imagine Denmark is very different from Swynlake or even France.”

A soft sigh followed as she settled back against him, fingers moving back to trace mindlessly against his skin. “But I think I would enjoy a house that is our own more. Imagine coming home to me in our home, not having to worry about whether or not your mother will be lurking around the corner. It will be nice, non?”

Ah, there was the optimism that he knew and loved. Phoebus did not have much of it himself. Certainty was not optimism. He had certainty that his hunt was going to go well--because of experience, because he had done this before, but he was never optimistic about something like the future. He did not know what it contained and that meant he was cautious.

Though, if Duchess was there--she would have the optimism enough for both of them. She would brighten their house--no, their home--with it. It was exactly what he needed.

He smiled into the kiss, his hand lifting to stroke her beautiful hair.

“It will be nice, because I promise you, she would lurk. Lurk and lurk--waiting for grandchildren, even though she already has them.” He was speaking of his sister’s children, of course. (Though, were there illegitimate de Chateaupers running around out there? Possibly.) 

“A house is much better. You can decorate it just to your liking and I will always be eager to return home to you.” 

The Penultimate Night ... [Duchebus]

[phoebus-de-chateaupers-blog]

alzcomicbarn‌:

“Mhmm, well I guess the closest precedent we have is the whole Soleil incident,” said Al, with a sigh. Truth be told, he was still kinda hurt over the whole thing, since he had considered Soleil one of his friends and had trusted her. But Hades was just a colleague. If all these allegations were true, Al would be disappointed but not surprised.

“She resigned before like the real bad shit happened, but I assume we’d remove him from his position and find a replacement. We’ve had bad turnover with Board seats, what with Soleil and then that one sorcerer’s wife and the cat.” He made a face, because the fact the town had elected a fucking cat was still just mindblowing to him. “So we have a pretty good system to find replacements on short notice.”

Yes, Phoebus had heard about Soleil. It was one of the reasons he had come here. What he had not heard about was the...cat. An animal for an elected government position? This town got more backwards and strange every day that Phoebus lived here. It made him itch to be done with the place. The whole thing felt cursed. Beyond help. If it was up to him, he’d tell people to leave and then burn it all to the ground.

But--he kept a pleasant smile on his face.

“Well, that is something, I suppose. I wish you luck with all of that. And just know--if you ever need anything, you’ve a friend with the department.” He touched the corner of his brow in a mock-salute. 

“I’ll, uh, get this one for my nephew, by the way. Thank you for all of your help.” 

Like-Minded Fellows ... [Phal(lic)]

[phoebus-de-chateaupers-blog]

[phoebus-de-chateaupers-blog]

the-duchess-lablanc‌:

It was not the answer she had been looking for but she understood to an extent. She did not think that the town would be scornful of Phoebus. He would be ridding the town of an evil that would only bring the town to ruin. “I suppose…” she trailed off, wondering how exactly it would feel to be cut off from her family for a time.

Duchess huffed out a laugh as she shifted to rest her chin on Phoebus’ chest. A castle! Of course his parents owned a castle. Everything about The Order seemed old fashioned, old money. It was only natural that such a prominent family have a castle. But she had not expected Phoebus to still be living there or to even have access to it. 

“Would your parents be welcoming of the both of us living there?” She found herself asking instead of just saying that she would love to have a home in Denmark. Something that they could make theirs for when he was not off on a mission. Duchess knew the importance of family. It was the reason she had first come to Swynlake. If Phoebus did not wish to separate from his own family just yet, she would not force him. “Though, having our own home would not be terrible.”

Phoebus knew this was not the ideal situation and that he was asking much of Duchess, but he also knew that she could handle it. He would not be asking her if that was not the case. But, no--Duchess was strong. And she needn’t be completely cut off. Just at first.

Still, part of him worried. He knew it was a lot, very soon, but he also knew how he felt and he was confident how she felt. They were both adults. They did not need to pussyfoot around. That was what he had always appreciated about Duchess--from the beginning. 

However, she surprised him with her question. So much so that he chuckled.

“Oh, they wouldn’t be welcoming--they’d be delighted. Almost too delighted. The castle is large, we would have our own wing, but--I believe my mother would find a way to always be around regardless.” He said this fondly, he did love his mother so. But, he also was not particularly enthused about living on top of one another again. 

“I am willing to do whatever you wish.” He grabbed her hand and kissed the back of it. “I know I am asking much of you--and I would not if I did not love you.”

The Penultimate Night ... [Duchebus]

[phoebus-de-chateaupers-blog]

photo — @ergoequus-blog

[phoebus-de-chateaupers-blog]

The Color of Pomegranates (1969)

dir. Sergei Parajanov

[phoebus-de-chateaupers-blog]

the-duchess-lablanc‌:

A week. Seven days to get her things in order. She would have to contact movers to get all of her designs into storage. He had a home in Denmark she assumed but would she have to get rid of all of her furniture? Would her life with him be like his apartment? As little as possible and always ready to move on to the next place? Duchess was not used to a life like that. She was used to a rather lavish lifestyle, one filled with excess. 

But they were going to be headed to Denmark. His home. Which would surely differ from the places he stayed while he was on missions for the Order. It wouldn’t be so bad. It couldn’t be.

“A week,” she nodded thoughtfully, her fingers moving to trace along his chest again. “I will need to contact movers and potentially sell the furniture here. Do you think we could ever come back?”

Phoebus thought about that. It was certainly risky. He had never returned to somewhere he had once been on a mission. There was never a reason to. His job was done, the town safer than when he had arrived. But--he knew Duchess had her niece and nephews, whom she loved. Knew that she had friends here. Not that he was worried about her making friends in Denmark. She was Duchess, charming and effervescent. 

But he understood family.

So, he was quiet for a while, mulling it over.

“Eventually. Not at first, not for a while. A year, perhaps--unless, of course, something happens to your family. They are more than welcome to visit us in Denmark, as well as any of your friends that you trust.”

He paused again and then smiled.

“You know, I don’t have a house in Denmark. I’ve lived with my parents in the castle when not on a mission. But, if you would like a home--I will buy you whichever one you’d like.” 

The Penultimate Night ... [Duchebus]

[phoebus-de-chateaupers-blog]

the-duchess-lablanc‌:

–I am asking you to come back to Denmark with me.

Duchess had shifted to be able to properly see Phoebus and so he was more than likely able to see the slight shock on her features. She had not been expecting him to ask that. In her mind, she was prepared to say goodbye. That was exactly how these sorts of things went with her anyways. Love was not in the cards for her. It never really had been. That was evident with Nicolai, Edward, even Thomas. Those who earned her love left her.

But Phoebus was offering to take her with him. He wanted her to go with him. 

Slowly she leaned in to press a kiss to his lips, feeling a strange elation sweep through her. As often as she had claimed that she had come to Swynlake for her family, she knew that she was searching for something. Something she hadn’t been able to find in France. And she had been beginning to think she wouldn’t find it in Swynlake either.

“I would want nothing more, darling,” she whispered as she pulled away from him. “How long do you think it will take to deal with the Hades issue?” After all, she would have to say her goodbyes and get all of her affairs in order. It would be impossible for her to just leave everything and everyone in her life without explanation. 

Duchess leaned up to kiss him and Phoebus felt it in his whole body. He was not going to wax poetic about it, for that was not the kind of man that Phoebus was, but--it was a good, warm feeling, like a gulp of whiskey. It was an addictive kind of feeling too. He understood now why some men were stupid for love.

He had not expected such a thing from this small town. Phoebus always went from one place to another with his mind clear of expectations for the adventure ahead. Otherwise, his vision grew clouded and he could not see what was necessary. However, this time, he had been bewitched--and he knew wherever he traveled next, he would carry Duchess with him.

Which did not bode well if she said no--but the kiss felt like a promise.

“A week’s time,” he told her, feeling on the edge of something, though he did not know what. “Perhaps less.” 

The Penultimate Night ... [Duchebus]

[phoebus-de-chateaupers-blog]

the-duchess-lablanc‌:

A soft hum slipped past her lips as his lips met her forehead. Even still she couldn’t get over the soft gestures, the tenderness that Phoebus could posses. He was such an outwardly strong man, a man’s man for lack of better phrase. And she did love that about him. That ruggedness that not many had any more. She didn’t want a man that was weak but rather one that was strong and could protect her.

It’s what Phoebus was doing with Hades. What he had done with the vampire that had attacked her. At the end of the day he was protecting her and it was a feeling she wanted to hold close. As close as that contentment that flooded her whenever she was around him.

That feeling fled quickly, though, with his words. The knowledge that after the Hades business was done with Phoebus would be leaving often fell over her like a dark cloud waiting to drop it’s rain any minute. That minute was now as she looked up to him with a slight frown. Was this to be goodbye? 

“I– I had figured that you would leave once it was done with. I did not realize that the final stages would be enacted so soon.” She spoke softly, weighing her words and trying to figure out how to say she did not want him to leave without seeming weak and clingy. If he did not want her to go with him then she would take the decision with tact. “I… will be sad to see you leave. Actually– I do not want to see you leave.”

Yes, Phoebus, admittedly, did not want to leave either. Well, he did. This little town held very little for him besides Duchess. Though, Duchess was reason enough to stay. It just wasn’t possible. No matter what he wanted, it was more important to fulfill his duties.

“Unfortunately that messy business with the arrest moved up my time frame. I cannot have him or the department growing suspicious,” Phoebus explained, running a hand up and down her arm.

Idiot. Rookie mistakes, hissed the ghost that was more of a conscience. Despite Duchess’ warm body next to him, he could still feel the chill. 

“I do not wish to leave you either,” he murmured. “That is why--” Phoebus shifted a bit, a cue to Duchess to turn so that he could properly see her, “--I am asking you to come back to Denmark with me.” 

The Penultimate Night ... [Duchebus]

[phoebus-de-chateaupers-blog]

the-duchess-lablanc‌:

Content. Duchess LaBlanc was content. All of her life the word had alluded her. She wanted to be better than her sister, she wanted fame, she wanted an empire. She had also wanted a family of her own, a love story that she could tell people of. Each had slipped through her fingers. 

But no more.

She was curled into Phoebus’ side, fingers tracing idle patterns over his chest after a rather passionate evening together, and she felt content. This was the man she could spend the rest of her life with. He did not coddle her, did not treat her like porcelain. Yet still he offered her a sense of safety, of protection. 

Her eyes were beginning to flutter closed, that feeling sweeping through her and making her complacent and sleepy next to him, when she felt the soft vibrations of his chest; the deep timbre of his voice following soon after. 

“What is it, cher?”

He smiled a little at her, kissing the top of her head. She smelled as wonderful as she always did. Phoebus inhaled her scent and knew that he was stalling, for he was worried about her response to everything he was about to say.

And he worried in a way he’d not worried about a woman in a very long time, because he could see himself with Duchess. She was dazzling and bright, like a diamond, as sharp and hard as one too. Phoebus had never met a woman like her. He knew there was probably not anyone else either.

“Tomorrow, I will begin the final stages of my plan to--do away with our little demonic problem. As you--can imagine, I won’t be able to stay after it is done.” 

The Penultimate Night ... [Duchebus]

[phoebus-de-chateaupers-blog]

The Penultimate Night ... [Duchebus]

@the-duchess-lablanc

It was late. Phoebus and Duchess lay in bed. Her hair spilled like moonlight over his shoulder. He could hear her quieting breaths in the quiet. Her hand was on his chest, he could feel her tracing nonsensical patterns. It was calm and it was good--and it was something Phoebus would miss.

He never missed things in these little towns. Moving from one to the next never bothered him. Phoebus had only lived in one place until he was fourteen and then he was traded from hand to hand to hand. He was used to a life on the road. But now, he felt tired of it. When he won the Tourney, he wanted to come home to someone. He wanted to have a life outside of slaying monsters.

And he wanted that life to be Duchess.

“Darling,” he murmured, so that she would look up at him, “I have something that I need to tell you.”