#he was placed on such a high pedestal I doubt it even crossed his mind how the rest of the world lived until he met suguru

[tojiswhore-aventurinesslut]

Do you ever think Geto showed Gojo all the mundane things non-sorcerers do? Like Gojo probably grew up pretty sheltered due to possessing the limitless and six eyes. The Gojo clan knew how important he was and given the assassinations of previous users I'm sure they kept him on a tight rope.

So I can't help but think about Gojo meeting Geto for the first time and the two of them going on missions together at jujutsu tech and Geto showing Gojo all these super mundane things that he never got to do as a kid.

Like taking him to his first drive-in movie or his first concert. Taking him bowling or to arcades. All things that Geto did on the regular before attending jujutsu tech but which Gojo never got to experience.

[saphirered]

Would a sweet and spicy number 11 from the autumn prompt list be possible for Molly x reader? You write my absolute favorite Molly fics!

Okay I'm really going there with these autumn requests. I think this is the most risqué piece I've written? I hope it's any good. All the sweetness , all the spice. Hope you enjoy this one as much as the others and thanks for requesting! 😘

A busy day in town leads to a crowded circus tent. Good for business. Good for the show. What a marvellous show it was. The people hung onto every word, every action. They clapped and cheered and cried for the stories told through marvellous performances. All in all that’s a good night. People stay around after the show. They partake in all sorts of games, and more individually targeted entertainment. Hours on end Molly stuck to reading cards. The sun had long since set. The moon peaked from between the clouds as the last customer leaves his tent. He goes through his usual routines, stacks his cards in the usual way, tidies up a bit to assure sleeping arrangements are ready and suitable for just that because once the patrons are gone, the real party begins and he does not want to crawl into his tent drunk, high and exhausted without a relatively comfortable surface to crash down upon. 

Molly knows you’re still out and about. You haven’t come back yet after all and so he decides to do you a solid, get your things sorted too. The intention is to join the others in the after party, and if you’re to drag him back to this tent come sunrise, it’s the least he can do. He just hopes you managed to stash away that good bottle you swindled some royal ass out of. Tonight seems like one of those nights and there’s no use in saving for a special occasion when you live every day like it’s your last. Good booze is good booze so best drink it while you can. That’s a mentality you both share. You live today, so why should you worry about tomorrow, let alone a year or several from now. No grand plans for the future. No idea where you’ll be. And that’s alright because for Mollymauk, all concerns, all doubts and question he may ever experience falls away when he looks into your eyes, when he sees you smile and laugh. He knows he’ll be alright as long as he is at your side. No matter what, you’ll take care of each other. That’s an assurance for as long as you both live; you’ll remain together. 

It’s no wonder that eventually, you stumble your way back to your tent, as ostentatiously decorated as is to be expected for the workspace of a fortune reader. The sight you are greeted with brings a smile to your face; the tiefling adjusts some pillows and gracelessly places the additional blanket on top of the makeshift bed which is just a collection of furs, pillows and blankets at the end of the day but it’s comfortable and cozy. You watch him inspect his work from the entrance. A small wave of your fingers makes the candles on the low table flicker, reflecting the light in the crystal ball on the pedestal and all the shiny and shimmery bits and baubles around. Mollymauk straightens and turns as he crosses his arms. You take some steps further into the tent until you’re face to face. You purse your lips and without a second of a doubt he graces you with his, in a tender peck. 

“You’ll miss the party if you’re going t stay in here all night.” You say as you shift around him, walking out of his grasp when he places a hand on your waist. You have another goal in mind as you reach between your belongings, finding what you’re looking for; that very bottle of booze. You hold it at the neck as you make for the exit. Molly just watches you go, especially when you move past him again. You’re still in your performance outfit and even though you look gorgeous in it, it doesn’t seem very suitable for the crisp autumn weather. 

“And you’ll be freezing if you go out like that.” He leans down and grabs your cloak from where you had previously discarded it, and holds it out to you but you make no move to take it. 

“We both know you are far more bothered by the cold than I am, but if you insist, I guess we’ll just have to keep each other warm.” You wink and that invokes a devilish grin on his part. You stretch out your hand. He drops the cloak and takes your hand instead. And so together you join the party. 

The performers are dancing and singing to their heart’s content. They share drinks and food and talk, telling extravagant stories, of their own or simply the ones they heard in passing. There is laughter and kinship. You are exactly where you ought to be. Molly feels exactly where he’s ought to be. Here you sit when the night quiets down. When legs are tired and voices hoarse. When drink has flowed and the first ones have succumbed to the effects of whatever pleasures they’ve engaged in for the night, to be awoken again come morning. The two of you had simply shared the bottle but taken it slow, together not even half way through over the course of the past hours. You’re seated between Molly’s outstretched legs, your back against his chest and slouched, held in place by his arm around your waist so you would not slide down further. Every so often he would place a kiss at your crown, and squeeze your waist just a little tighter. When you would speak and would be particularly teasing or taunting, he would nip at your neck or ear, and whisper a reply only for you to hear. Sometimes he would watch your cheeks flush but when he would get particularly provocative, and you would turn your head, to look up at him with bedroom eyes, daring him to make good on his insinuations, it took every ounce of restraint to not do so right then and there around the crackling fire, for anyone to see. 

The others decided to play a game of ‘truth and drink’ but you weren’t feeling up to it. Molly did participate, taking a swig from the bottle you offered, even though your mind seemed to have drifted elsewhere, not paying particular attention. You simply leaned your head against his chest, bent your legs at the knee and held onto the hand on your waist. Still the effortless smile on your lips was present, and you would respond to his affections, you were in your head and so after the second round, Molly decided a change of scene was in order. 

“Let’s go.” It’s more of a question, suggestion than anything else but you nod and that’s enough of a reply for him. Both arms around your waist he raises you to your feet as he does himself until you mould yourself into his side. The others give you looks and you’re no stranger to their teasing comments so you simply laugh them off, hand the remaining bottle to them and leave behind the warmth of the crackling fire, and the company that came with it. 

You’re reminded of the cold autumn air and having the tiefling at your side is no punishment. Perhaps you should have brought that cloak after all. Perhaps not. The tent is within sight but your eyes are drawn to the passage that leads into the woods at the edge of the camp. You’re not quite ready for sleep yet and some time alone together outside of the colourful confines of a circus camp doesn’t sound like the worst of choices so you redirect towards the path even though you known not where it leads. Molly gives you a look but follows along when you turn off towards the trees. He’s not one to refuse you anything, unless he’s teasing or you’ll have to earn it and to be honest, he could do with a change of scene too. Some peace and quiet away from the chaos, away from life doesn’t sound so bad to him. 

He’s followed this path before, when he grew curious. He knows it leads to a clearing not too far away from camp, but just far enough removed. He’d wanted to show it to you during the day but now is as good a time as any. Your response to the soft green grass and clusters of wildflowers is still one of bewilderment. The moon shines down upon the field basking it in silver light. You take breath and with it whatever remaining tensions from society you may have held disappeared. You remove yourself from his embrace, but instead take both his hands in yours and pull him along, to a spot of your choosing among the wild grass and splashes of vibrant colours. Satisfied with this spot Molly plops himself down, pulling on your hands to join him and you do. This time you lower yourself in his lap, your legs on either side of him, and lazily you drape your arms across his shoulders. His hands find your hips and you feel his fingers draw circles through the thin fabric of your performing costume. You shudder. 

“I told you you should have brought your cloak.” Molly simply states teasingly as you play with the hairs at the back of his neck. 

“And I told you to keep me warm instead.” The look in your eyes has his stomach do flips. It is both teasing and daring him to make a move. His fingers continue tracing circles but instead of just your hips they dare venture to the round of your behind and along your thighs. 

“Is that why you wanted to wander? To find a good spot for a fuck under in the moonlight? Could have told me so. I’d have shown you this place much sooner.” You adjust yourself on his lap, the friction enough to be bothersome but too light to be satisfying. Still it extracts some low sound from his throat and you grin victoriously.

“And give you a head start?” You chuckle. “No, no. I don’t want to make this easy on you.” 

“Oh so we’re playing games to see who gets to be in charge?” Molly squeezes your behind, making you lean closer into him as you catch yourself. You lean your forehead against his, letting your fingers run through his hair, along his ears, around the base of his horns. Such a delicious sound you extract from him, stuck in between a moan and groan. You press your lips against his, kissing him slowly and every time he goes to deepen the kiss, you hold back, or pull away entirely. When you feel his tongue press against yours, looking for but a moment of control you don’t give it to him. It’s not a fight, just the gentle testing of waters. How far are you willing to let him push you, and how far will you push him. It’s a mutual understanding, a game if anything. And one you both take satisfaction in. 

You gently urge the tiefling back, until he’s flat on the ground and your lips veer from his in favour of his neck, as your hand continue to play with his hair, pulling at the strands every time you feel his hands wander a bit further than you’ll let him. You’re moving this slowly, and excruciatingly so, teasing him and testing his restraint but if Molly knows anything it’s that the reward certainly will be worth his patience. And if anything, he’ll make sure all grounds are equal come next time. Your fingers trail along the neckline of his shirt, dipping under and teasing his skin and sending shivers down his spine. 

“Who’s shivering now?” He feels your lips curve into a smile, your breath against his skin when you speak those words. 

“I suppose you’ll have to keep me warm then. Though, if you wanted my submission, you needed only ask, darling. Anything for you.” He breathes as you grind your hips into his and your lips leave his body. You sit up, placing your hands on his chest, tracing patterns. 

“I wanted to see how long you’d hold on before I’d have you a begging mess.” Those words spur a fire in his stomach and he dares sit up, letting his fingers trace over your thigh and to your apex. You do nothing to stop him and invite the gesture, looking at him through hooded eyes, daring him to keep going. 

“And what do you want now?” You gasp at his ministration when his touch causes lighting to course through your veins. Perhaps it wasn’t his self-restraint that was faltering. Perhaps it was yours. You lean in to kiss him, and he happily obliges. One hand between your still clothed bodies, the other wanders over your chest, and leaves your short of breath so you have to pull back and breathe before you answer his question. You cup his face, as you lean more into his touch of your oversensitive parts burning for attention, burning for more. 

“Now, I want you to fuck me senseless, right here, right now.” The casual but confident bordering arrogant stare he gives you when you moan, is answer enough. Your lips go to find yours but he stops you. You’re at his mercy now. You asked and he will deliver. He watches your cheeks flush with desire, your eyes fill with love and passion. The sounds you make are music to his ears and even when your breathing labours to little gasps and pleas for satisfaction, he happily grants them to you, and more. 

As time passes, and another burst of pleasure is extracted from you you find yourself relieved of your clothes, head among the flowers looking up at the moon, when you cry out, as the tongue tracing between your thighs has no intention of stopping. You feel lips curl up against your skin and finally they offer you mercy, finally they trail up, in sloppy kisses until the view of the night’s sky is changed for the ruby eyes of the tiefling who looks at you with love and satisfaction but you haven’t had enough because as much as Molly likes pleasuring you, there’s gratification in the pleasure of a partner and you take control once more, pulling cat his clothes, which he is happy to remove for you, so slowly until you’re the one to do it for him. Your patience has run out and it shows. With a laugh you push him off you, to your side until you’re on top once more. Whatever laughter remained of his is cut short by a moan of pleasure and the purring of your name as you make good on the promise of mutual satisfaction. Tonight’s a good night.

[nyerus]

hi! i really like your metas, especially ones you’ve written about xie lian. i really think that you have an amazing grasp on the source material and its characters, so i was wondering what you think of feng xin? specifically his relationship with xie lian (and how his blind idolization of his highness became the ‘downfall’ of their relationship)? while rereading tgcf, i’m awed at how loyal he is to xie lian (up until book 4 ofc). this line he said in ch. 82 in particular really stuck with me -> “if it wasn’t for your highness’ appointment, i really don’t care for it. but even if you boot me back to the mortal realm and i become human again, i will still be loyal to you, your highness.”

Thank you so much, Anon! I love writing metas, and TGCF lives rent-free in my brain, so I'm always thinking about the characters and plot haha!

Feng Xin is one of my favorite characters for sure, and his relationship with Xie Lian is something that makes me cry all the time. Feng Xin is, by nature, a very loyal and straightforward person. He grew up knowing his place in the world, as Xie Lian's retainer and protector. (When we remember that he was Xie Lian's bodyguard since Xie Lian was 14, we can see aspects of that "protectiveness" that persisted throughout the years into the present day of the novel!) We can also see that Feng Xin is quite traditional when it comes to things like societal structures, royalty, etc. Unlike others, he has no qualms of royalty being "above" regular folks, and this is probably partly due to how he was raised, and due to the fact that he was with Xie Lian for years and years while Xie Lian flawlessly fulfilled that "divine" image. Xie Lian was a prodigy who excelled at everything he set his mind to, and Feng Xin would have grow up alongside him seeing that. It instilled in Feng Xin a strong sense of "he can do no wrong" because, well, that was just not something that Feng Xin ever witnessed.

Of course, Feng Xin isn't an idiot and he would have known that Xie Lian was not infallible. But that sort of idolization can sort of ingrain itself into someone's mind even subconsciously. We need only to look at like, diehard stans of [insert any celebrity or idol here] to get the point. Xie Lian was his friend, for whom Feng Xin would go to the ends of the earth. But Xie Lian was also his hero and prince. Feng Xin also would have felt a sense of duty to him, obviously. Because of all of that, Feng Xin was never able to really connect to Xie Lian on a very deep and personal level. As close as they were, there was always a line that couldn't be crossed.

The downfall of the idolization of someone is that no one can live up to the height of such pedestals. When Xie Lian fell off, it wasn't that Feng Xin disliked him from there on. He still loved Xie Lian, but it was something that Feng Xin also had difficulty understanding and accepting. Things were so chaotic at the time, especially, and he never had to contend with this before. Because of the distance between them, and also Feng Xin's naturally straightforward nature, he had difficulty with the emotional needs that arose around book 4. What Xie Lian needed at the time was a friend -- which he already thought he had. But Feng Xin was ever staunch in his role as Xie Lian's protector (which extended beyond physical protection, mind you). That line hadn't been crossed yet, but it needed to be.

I believe that they may have gotten there eventually. But neither of them were really in a position to open up to each other at that time of book 4 and such. Both of them were dealing with so much, independently. Feng Xin was still willing to stay by Xie Lian's side, but Xie Lian began to doubt for what reasons that could be. Friendship or just out of a sense of duty? His fears were not unfounded, of course, especially given that Bai Wuxang was hardcore gaslighting him all the while. Naturally though, it led to him pushing everyone away, including Feng Xin. ;v;

I have much more Feng Xin thoughts, but I'll leave it here for now!~

[blackcatrph]

** evermore sentence starters.

willow.

“ i'm like the water when your ship rolled in that night. ”

“ you cut through like a knife. ”  

“ i never would have known from the look on your face. ” 

“ the more that you say, the less I know. ”

“ i'm begging for you to take my hand. ”  

“ life was a willow and it bent right to your wind. ”

“ i could feel you sneakin' in. ”

“ you are a mythical thing. ”  

“ i come back stronger than a '90s trend. ”

“ wait for the signal and I'll meet you after dark. ”

“ show me the places where the others gave you scars. ”

“ anywhere else is hollow. ”  

champagne problems.

“ you booked the night train for a reason. ”

“ bustling crowds or silent sleepers, not sure which is worse. ”   

“ i dropped your hand while dancing. ”  

“ your mom's ring is in your pocket, my picture is in your wallet. ”

“ your heart was glass and I dropped it. ”

“ you told your family for a reason. ”

“ you couldn't keep it in. ”

“ no one's celebrating. ”

“ your hometown skeptics called it champagne problems. ”

“ love slipped beyond your reaches. ”

" this dorm was once a madhouse. "

“ don't think we'll say that word again. ”

“ sometimes you just don't know the answer. ”

" she would've made such a lovely bride. ”  

“ what a shame she's fucked in the head. ”

“ she'll patch up your tapestry that I shred. ”

gold rush.

“ eyes like sinking ships on waters, so inviting I almost jump in. ” 

“ i don't like that anyone would die to feel your touch. ”

“ everybody wants you. ”

“ everybody wonders what it would be like to love you. ”

“ i don't like that falling feels like flying 'til the bones crush. ”

“ what must it be like to grow up that beautiful ? ”

“ i see me padding across your wooden floors. ”

“ it fades into the gray of my day-old tea. ”

“ it could never be. ”

“ my mind turns your life into folklore. ”

“ i can't dare to dream about you anymore. ”

“ the coastal town we never found will never see a love as pure. ”

'tis the damn season.

“ If I wanted to know who you were hanging with while I was gone, I would have asked you. ”

“ it's the kind of cold, fogs up windshield glass. but I felt it when I passed you. ”

“ there's an ache in you. ”

“ but if it's all the same to you, it's the same to me. ”

“ you could call me "babe" for the weekend. ”

“ the road not taken looks real good now. ”

“ the holidays linger like bad perfume. ”

“ you can run, but only so far. ”  

“ i escaped it too. ”

“ remember how you watched me leave ? ”

“ now I'm missing your smile. ”  

“ hear me out, we could just ride around. ”

“ i won't ask you to wait if you don't ask me to stay. ”

“ i wonder about the only soul who can tell which smiles I'm faking. ”

“ the heart I know I'm breakin' is my own. ”

“ we could call it even, even though I'm leavin'. ”  

tolerate it.

“ i notice everything you do or don't do. ”

“ you're so much older and wiser. ”

“ if it's all in my head tell me now. ”

“ tell me I've got it wrong somehow. ”

“ i know my love should be celebrated, but you tolerate it. ”

“ i greet you with a battle hero's welcome. ”

“ i take your indiscretions all in good fun. ”

“ while you were out building other worlds, where was I? ”

“ where's that man who'd throw blankets over my barbed wire? ”

“ i made you my temple, my mural, my sky. ”

“ i'm begging for footnotes in the story of your life. ”

“ always taking up too much space or time. ”

“ you assume I'm fine. ”

“ what would you do if I break free and leave us in ruins. ”  

“ took this dagger in me and removed it. ”

no body, no crime.

“ he did it. ”

" it smells like infidelity. ”

“ that ain't my merlot on his mouth. ”

“ i think I'm gonna call him out. ”

" i think he did it, but I just can't prove it. "

“ no body, no crime. ”

“ i ain't lettin' up until the day I die. ”  

“ his mistress moved in. ” 

“ there ain't no doubt. ”

“ somebody's gotta catch him out. ”

“ i've cleaned enough houses to know how to cover up a scene. ”

“ they think she did it, but they just can't prove it. ”  

“ i wasn't lettin' up until the day he died. ”

happiness.

“ i see this for what it is. ”

“ all the years I've given Is just shit we're dividin' up. ”

“ i can't face reinvention. ”

“ i haven't met the new me yet. ”

“ there'll be happiness after you. ”  

“ there was happiness because of you. ”

“ there is happiness past the blood and bruises. ”

“ haunted by the look in my eyes. ”

“ leave it all behind. ”  

“ tell me, when did your winning smile begin to look like a smirk? ”

“ when did all our lessons start to look like weapons? ”

“ i hope she'll be your beautiful fool. ”

“ no, I didn't mean that. ”

“ i can't see facts through all of my fury. ”  

“ there'll be happiness after me. ”

“ in our history, across our great divide, there is a glorious sunrise dappled with the flickers of light. ”

“ i can't make it go away by making you a villain. ”  

“ no one teaches you what to do when a good man hurts you. ”

“ now my eyes leak acid rain on the pillow where you used to lay your head. ”

“ after giving you the best I had, tell me what to give after that? ”

dorothea.

“ do you ever stop and think about me?”

“ you got shiny friends since you left town. ”

“ i got nothing but well-wishes for you. ”

“ this place is the same as it ever was. ”

“ it's never too late to come back to my side. ”

“ the stars in your eyes shined brighter in Tupelo. ”

“ and if you're ever tired of bеing known for who you know, you'll always know me. ”

“ you'rе a queen sellin' dreams. ”

“ they all want to be you. ”

“ are you still the same soul I met under the bleachers? ”

“ i guess I'll never know. ”  

coney island.

“ break my soul in two looking for you. ” 

“ if I can't relate to you anymore then who am I related to? ”

“ did I close my fist around something delicate? ”

“ did I shatter you? ”

“ sorry for not making you my centerfold. ”

“ lost again with no surprises. ”  

“ it gets colder and colder when the sun goes down. ”

“ what's a lifetime of achievement If I pushed you to the edge? ”

“ you were too polite to leave me. ”

“ will you forgive my soul when you're too wise to trust me and too old to care? ”

“ sorry for not winning you an arcade ring. ”

“ were you waiting at our old spot? ” 

“ did I leave you hanging every single day? ”

“ did I paint your bluest skies the darkest grey? ”

“ the sight that flashed before me was your face. ”

ivy.

“ i'd meet you where the spirit meets the bones. ”

“ your touch brought forth an incandescent glow. tarnished, but so grand. ”

“ i just sit here and wait, grieving for the living. ”

“ my pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand. ”

“ i can't stop you putting roots in my dreamland. ”

“ my house of stone, your ivy grows. and now I'm covered in you. ”

“ i wish to know the fatal flaw that makes you long to be magnificently cursed. ”

“ your opal eyes are all I wish to see. ”

“ clover blooms in the fields. ”  

“ what would he do if he found us out? ”

“ he's gonna burn this house to the ground. ” 

“ i'd live and die for moments that we stole on begged and borrowed time. ”

“ so tell me to run, or dare me to sit and watch what we'll become. ”

“ it's a goddamn blaze in the dark. ”

“ it's the goddamn fight of my life. ”

cowboy like me.

" dancin' is a dangerous game. "

“ now I know I'm never gonna love again. ”

“ i've got some tricks up my sleeve. ”

“ takes one to know one. ”

“ you're a cowboy like me. ”

“ i never wanted love, just a fancy car. ”  

“ i could be the way forward. ”

“ the skeletons in both our closets plotted hard to fuck this up. ”

“ the old men that I've swindled really did believe I was the one. ”

“ now you hang from my lips like the Gardens of Babylon. ”

“ forever is the sweetest con. ”  

long story short.

“ i tried to pick my battles 'til the battle picked me. ”

“ the knife cuts both ways. ”

“ if the shoe fits, walk in it 'til your high heels break. ”

“ i fell from the pedestal, right down the rabbit hole. ”

“ long story short, it was a bad time. ”

“ i always felt I must look better in the rear view. ”

“ missing me at the golden gates they once held the keys to. ”

“ but if someone comes at us this time, I'm ready. ”

“ i wanna tell you not to get lost in these petty things. ”

“ your nemeses will defeat themselves before you get the chance to swing. ”

“ rare as the glimmer of a comet in the sky. ”

“ long story short, I survived. ”

marjorie.

“ never be so kind that you forget to be clever. ”

“ never be so clever that you forget to be kind. ”

“ what died didn't stay dead. ”

“ you're alive, so alive. ”  

“ never be so politе that you forget your power. ”

“ nevеr wield such power that you forget to be polite. ”

“ if I didn't know better I'd think you were listening to me now. ”

“ you loved the amber skies so much. ”

“ and if I didn't know better I'd think you were singing to me now. ”

closure.

“ it's been a long time. ”

“ seeing the shape of your name still spells out pain. ”

“ it wasn't right, the way it all went down. ”

“ i got your letter. ” 

“ i know that it's over, I don't need your closure. ”

“ don't treat me like some situation that needs to be handled. ”

“ i'm fine with my spite, my tears, my beers and my candles. ”

“ i know I'm just a wrinkle in your new life. ”

“ it's fake and it's oh so unnecessary. ” 

evermore.

“ i replay my footsteps on each stepping stone trying to find the one where I went wrong. ”

“ i was catching my breath. ”

“ i had a feeling so peculiar that this pain would be for evermore. ”

“ I can't remember what I used to fight for. ”

“ you cannot think of all the cost and the things that will be lost. ”

“ can we just get a pause? ”

“ is there a line that I could just go cross? ”

“ when I was shipwrecked I thought of you. ”

“ in the cracks of light I dreamed of you. ”

“ it was real enough to get me through. ”

“ i swear you were there. ”

[writing-in-april]

Dear Diana,

Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader

Summary: Spencer can’t stop gushing about how much he loves you to his mom. What happens when he leaves it in a place where someone can find it before he sends it off?

A/N: | Original Request |This took way longer then I would’ve liked, but I’m really really happy with how it came out. It also kind of spawned a non-linear series I’m starting called Spencer Reid & Letters. I loved this request so much 🥰 @spencers-dria came up with the amazing title for this fic that really helped me get the ball rolling, thank you ☺️ I’ve got another fic out tomorrow as well!! Requests are open and thank you for reading!

Warnings: Spencer being guilty about not visiting his mom as much & Secret Relationship (Because their relationship hasn’t been going on for very long)

Main Masterlist Word count: 1.7k

Letters may be regarded by most as a form of communication that has been rendered obsolete by the sands of time. But, there was something different about writing a letter rather than sending a simple email, shooting a text, or even calling someone. The act of writing out your thoughts so carefully crafted for the intended individual before being sealed away and sent off, made every word just that much more special.

Spencer and you both put letters on a pedestal of importance, you both cherished when words were written down in ink and given a sort of permanence in the world. You knew that Spencer wrote a letter to his mom everyday, to Diana, the woman who had raised the genius you loved even after just a few short months of dating. Diana was held in such high regard by Spencer, once he had opened up to you about her condition and you had assured him the stories about her immediately started flowing.

He was writing one of those lovely letters to her now you observed as you sat across from your own desk. You had been able to observe Spencer writing his letters a few times before even before you two had started dating, the one he was writing right now was decidedly different. As his pen scurried across the paper in a fast pace you wondered if maybe he was writing someone else of importance. When he wrote his letters to Diana they were normally carefully curated works of art, using any time he had to craft the perfect words to tell her about his day. He once told you he did this because of his guilt from not going to visit her as often as he’d like, which only made you want to tell him that even though you had never met her that she was in no doubt proud of her only son.

You furrowed your eyebrows at his frantic writing while taking a sip of your own coffee, one that was almost just as full of sugar as Spencer’s. The thought that maybe he was writing to Ethan crossed your mind, they hadn’t talked in quite a while. You were still wondering about what the letter contained, hoping mostly that it wasn’t anything concerning or serious that was causing him to frantically write. However, the large stack of paperwork still unfinished stole back your attention for the moment

——

The letter came back to the front of your mind when Morgan got up to peer over at what Spencer had been writing after he got up to go get a fresh cup of coffee. You immediately stood up to protest, you didn’t want him prying into Spencer’s privacy. But, before you could move your feet fast enough to make the small distance from your desk to Spencer's, Morgan was already right in front of you.

“You and Spencer? You- and Pretty Boy?” You sputtered at his words, unable to come up with an immediate response that would deflect his line of questioning. How had he found out?

Looking down slightly you noticed the letter that Spencer had been penning before he had gotten up to make his coffee, he must have put something into his letter for Diana that had Morgan connect the dots. The way you floundered when Morgan questioned you was definitely extremely suspicious to him, but you decided to object to his ‘assumptions’. However, you were quickly cut off by Morgan starting to read and excerpt from the stolen letter,

“Normally, I would never go to the park to go to a picnic, but there’s something about Y/N that makes all the statistics about germs fall from my head. The time we spent there had been like being stuck in an idyllic paradise, though I’m convinced it would’ve been perfect no matter where we had gone, as long as Y/N was there. Mom, I think I’m falling in love with them.”

The words made your stomach dance with butterflies, you yourself had told Spencer that you were falling in love with him the week prior. You hadn’t been offended at all when Spencer couldn’t quite find the words to reciprocate right away, only saying a quiet me too when he thought you had been asleep. That alone had meant so much to you, you knew that the fact that he was starting to open up to you meant a lot for him and you didn’t want to push him at all.

“It- It hasn’t been very long…” There was no way you could deny what Morgan had read outloud, unless you wanted to call Spencer a liar, which he definitely wasn’t. The date that he had been writing about was just as he had described, it had been perfect in every way.

“How long? Morgan looked smug at your confirmation, almost like he had seen this coming. But, you knew just by how his voice sounded when he had first questioned you that he had been surprised.

“We just hadn’t gotten around to telling you all yet.” You hadn’t wanted to confirm exactly how long it had been going on, not wanting to make it anymore of a big deal then it already was.

“How long?” He pried again, not discouraged at all despite your obvious deflection.

“What’s going on?” Ah, Spencer was back. You cursed a little under your breath, you had wanted to do this on your own terms. Even Hotch didn’t know yet and you both were technically supposed to already disclose it with HR.

“The thing I love most about Y/N- Well, I can’t really pick. I love everything about them.” You cringed when Morgan started reading again. You were definitely happy about what Spencer had written, but you would have rather explained the situation to Spencer yourself. Morgan then rolled up the letter, then smacking it on Spencer’s head before asking again, “How long?”

“Four months, we wanted to wait a bit before telling everyone else.” Spencer piped up shyly, taking a big gulp of his coffee after he had spoken to partially hide his blushing features.

“Four months?!” Now it was his turn to sputter, though his disbelief quickly disappeared and was replaced with a burning question. “Can I tell Garcia?”

You looked sideways at Spencer silently asking with your eyes if it was for Morgan to share his ‘findings’ with the rest of the team. The rosey blush on his cheeks deepened a bit more as he nodded in agreement. His flushed cheeks were probably due to the anticipation of the relentless teasing we would now get from the team, but you knew they’d be doing it out of love for you both. You then confirmed bashfully,

“You can tell Garcia, Morgan.”

“She won’t believe me unless she has proof.” He wiggled his eyebrows at you both, subtly asking permission to show the letter Spencer had written. Sighing deeply you were about to say no when another voice interjected.

“You can show her.” Surprising you Spencer spoke, agreeing to let Morgan show Garcia the letter, though his cheeks looked impossibly red at this point. Morgan was awash with glee at his words and immediately turned to go towards Garcia’s bat cave.

“Hey- Garcia! Look at this letter Pretty Boy was writing!” You knew once Penelope got a hold of it there was no way it wasn’t spreading to the rest of the team, and probably the whole building. But, you didn’t mind, even though the contents of the letter still made you blush hard. You still couldn’t quite wrap your head around the fact that Spencer had said all those things about you and- the fact that he wanted to share every word with everyone.

“Why did you agree to let him show her? I don’t mind at all, I just-” You blurted out loud to him then trailing off when your words started to lose their confidence. Again, you didn’t mind if the team knew, you just didn’t think Spencer would want to be so open so soon. Spencer made his way back to his desk, new cup of coffee in hand, totally unfazed by your words.

“I decided I want everyone to know exactly how I feel about you.” You looked over at him with wide eyes, stunned into silence by his simple words that made your heart flutter and swell. When he noticed that you were still processing his words he turned around from his pursuit to his desk to press a kiss to your forehead before going back to work.

—-

Later that day in your apartment after work, you sat down to write a letter of your own. The letters you wrote were always composed at the same place, the desk that sat in your apartment was almost solely used for said letters, which was unlike Spencer who wrote them on any surface he could (As long as it was clean).

After Morgan’s discovery, the rest of your work day had been filled with questions bombarded at you by everyone that the letter had been spread to. Instead of focusing on that and excitedly answering questions that were thrown at you, your mind was fixated on something else. You couldn’t stop thinking about who the discovered letter had been intended for in the first place, Spencer’s mom. The fact that Spencer had wanted to share all of his feelings about you to Diana made your heart burst.

The letter you had sat down to write was intended for her as well, you wanted her to know your own feelings for Spencer and to assure her that you would take care of him. At first all the words that you could use to describe your feelings for Spencer seemed impossible to be able to write down, but you decided to take a cue from Spencer. Instead of carefully crafting every word you were going to say to her you just began to furiously write.

Dear Diana,

—

Tag list (Message me if you want to be added):

All works: @shotarosleftpinky

Spencer Reid/CM

@calm-and-doctor @destiny-tsukino @safertokiss

Spencer Reid & Letters Series: (Group of Unlinked fluff fics about Spencer and Letters)

@sierraraeck @90spumkin

[justauthoring]

a cruel world.

Request: a soulmate AU with either or both haha maybe one of those where its a timer countdown to where you meet your soulmate but its in the arena?

A/N: The anon didn’t specify whether they wanted the pairing to be with Peeta or Finnick, so I chose the former!

Pairing: Peeta Mellark x Reader Word Count: 1,310 Please don’t plagiarize my work!

You watched as two timers counted down.

The one that could lead to your death; ten seconds, nine, eight...

And the one, coincidentally, that counted down the days, hours, minutes and seconds until you met your soulmate. Only thing is, as you take a split second to glance down at your rest where the timer resides, days are zero, hours are zero and you have exactly ten minutes until you supposedly met your soulmate.

Irony is, you were about to fight to the death for your life.

You found it hard to concentrate, and somehow, a bit of your terror and fear you’ve felt constantly since your name was called at the reaping had dissipated. Everything your mentor had been teaching you suddenly went blank in your mind and you couldn’t seem to focus on anything properly because supposedly you were about to meet your soulmate in a death match.

Where only one could survive.

The world was cruel, and you were beginning to learn just how much.

Your pulled from your thoughts at the sound of the timer buzzing, signalling that the games were beginning. Everything seems to happen in a blur then. Everyone around you races towards the middle, the cornucopia, for supplies and more. You hesitate, standing on your pedestal for a moment, stuck.

You had no doubt that you wouldn’t survive this. It was a terrible thought, especially when now is when you should be most confident and brave for the sake of yourself. But you weren’t a fighter. And whilst you won’t just give up and die, the only thing you wanted to do was meet your soulmate, just once, and then, if you were to die, you could die peacefully.

You only hoped your soulmate felt the same and wouldn’t kill you themselves.

Rushing off the pedestal, you elect not running towards the cornucopia, knowing that in itself is just a way of dying. You head directly behind yourself, burying yourself in the trees, and taking random lefts and then rights as to not make sure anyone knows your trail or is following you. You don’t slow, running for what feels like at least five minutes, could be more.

You slow near a little pond, basking in the soothing scent of the water and the familiar sound of water trickling. It felt silly to bask in something so simple, but this was the first moment of peace you’d felt since the damned reaping.

Setting yourself against a tree, you lean against it, pulling your knees up to your chest to give yourself a moment to catch your breath. You couldn’t even be bothered to think of the fact that you have absolutely no supplies given you’d forgone the cornucopia, and you by right had no idea where you were going to get supplies from. You were still getting off the high and thrill and terror of running away from a bloodbath.

With shaky hands, you bring your right wrist up to your eyes, swallowing thickly when you realize that somehow seven minutes have passed and you’re now, supposedly, three minutes away from meeting your soulmate.

Shifting forward, you cup your hands gently together, dipping them into the water and pulling it towards your lips. You take fast, gracious sips, trying to get as much water as you can since you don’t have a water canteen to bring any with you.

Maybe you should’ve just risked death for supplies.

No going back now. 

Standing up, you glance at your wrist, licking your lips when you realize it’s now gone to two minutes.

You glance around, trying to find the best course of action and direction. You had no idea where led where, obviously, so it was really just a game of chance, hoping you managed to go the right way. Maybe you could steal supplies off of someone else who’d already been killed. You were good at sneaking, it was the thing you were best at.

Just then, the distant sound of a branch cracking echoes. You jump, rushing behind a tree, pushing yourself into a bundle of bushes, crouching low enough to hide yourself in it. You glance at your wrist; one minute and thirty seconds.

Someone was approaching. It had to be your soulmate.

Half a minute later and the sound of footsteps echo. Whoever this is isn’t particularly worried about keeping quiet, obviously, which makes you huff in indignation. They ought to be more careful.

Fifty seconds.

You can see the outline of someone, nothing more then that. It’s a figure and it’s approaching but you can’t make out any distinguishing details.

Forty seconds.

The person has blond hair, is a tad bit short, and definitely male.

Thirty seconds.

He seems to be looking for someone.

Probably, you.

Twenty seconds.

You hesitate, crouching as the person becomes more clear. It’s the boy from district twelve. You couldn’t at the time of training be bothered to remember his name, but you know him and his district partner had been favourites of the capitol. And, if you remembered correctly, it was because of him.

Ten seconds.

He seemed nice enough, you think, from what you can remember.

You just... never ever spoke to him.

Five seconds.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

“You should really try to be more quiet.”

You’re not sure what possesses you to say anything. You figure it’s fate, given that you’ve had this timer on your arm your entire life and it was finally at zero, no point hiding from it now. 

The boy jumps at your voice, obviously haven’t seen or heard you until, well, now. He holds the machete in his hands towards you, and you take a small step backwards in response, but simply hold your wrist towards him.

“Soulmate.”

He eases, lowering his weapon as all intimidation seems to just leave him. 

Taking a step back, you swallow thickly. “I certainly wasn’t expecting this to be the way I met my soulmate,” you mumble, slowly glancing up at him. “Especially since, at least one of us have to die.”

He frowns, but doesn’t say anything.

Blinking at him, you shrug; “what’s your name?”

He hesitates only a moment. “Peeta,” and then, he swallows thickly, “you?”

“Y/N. You’re from district twelve right?”

He nods. “You?”

“Seven,” you laugh lightly, “glad to know I made such a lasting impression.”

His eyes widen in response. “I didn’t mean any offense or--”

“It’s fine. I’m just... pulling your leg.” Leaning back against your leg, you cross your arms over your chest lightly. 

He nods, and for a moment, silence echoes, neither of you sure what to say. It was a awkward thing, to meet your soulmate in a place that encouraged you to kill each other. You’re sure the capitol’s just getting a kick out of this one.

“What now?”

He asks it, and truthfully, you don’t know. Shrugging your shoulders, you lick your lips. “We work together?” You offer, raising a gentle brow at him. “Try to survive until the end. And then, if we make it and it’s just us... well, i’m content with dying.”

Peeta’s eyes widen, snapping up to your own. “What?” He exclaims, “how can you just--”

“I didn’t expect to survive this thing anyway, Peeta,” you smile gently, “and if it means me dying saves my soulmate, well then... I think it’s worth it.”

“We’ll figure something out,” he argues, shaking his head adamantly at you, stepping towards you. “I won’t let you die for me.”

“And I won’t let you die for me.”

Silence hangs in the air.

You laugh. “Look at us,” you snort, “met not five minutes ago and we are already arguing over who will die for the other.”

Surprisingly, the comment makes him laugh too. “We are soulmates.”

“Yeah,” you whisper, “soulmates...”

And your words hang in the air, heavy.

-

Let me know what you thought?

[dindooku]

As a young student studying Criminology, Gotham was the perfect place to study the thoery of crime. But, that didnt come without it’s own risks. Without your intention, your life becomes intertwined with another’s; a life you had so vehemently tried to repress - and now it was within your grasp; the opportunity held upon a golden pedestal, just waiting for you to take it. In your own desperation to fend off the demons tormenting your soul, can you overcome the very thing your swore against? Or will you succumb to the darkness? When had being bad ever felt so good?

Rating: M/E (swearing, triggers, panic attack (not explicitly said) - alcohol abuse (OC isn’t an addict but doesn’t display healthy relationships with alcohol) - please read the tags. this fic is going to be very dark and twisted so please be warned in regards to further chapters

word count: ~5k

You needed this.

By fucking god you needed this.

You could blame it on your studies, your recent move to Gotham city to study your Masters in Criminology; the perfect setting really. And you could blame it on your stressful move; the house that you're renting not being anything like the photos you viewed online - the water-damaged walls and the odd-looking array of bullet holes in the front room, and maybe even the questionable red stain spotting along the cream-turned-brown carpet towards the bathroom.

But most of all it was this.

Moving to Gotham was the worst-best thing you have ever done. It'd do leaps and bounds for your research and personal evolution, but it was also becoming more and more apparent by the day as to why the little flat you lived in was so cheap; having an address with anything to do with Hell on it was probably a good indication.

Flat 221B, 36th, Hell's Kitchen, Gotham.

Yeah. That's why you fucking needed this.

It was an absolute shithole. You'd only been here for a week and you had experienced more crime than you had been privy to when studying at home. It was a catch 22, move to the most dangerous city you can think of and get 1-1 experience in crime, collecting data for your dissertation; or stay at home, go to a safe city and become some pansy police officer who refused to get their hands dirty.

You were always one for taking risks.

So, as you downed your last home-made margarita and stuffed your bits and pieces into your shoulder bag, you were off out the door.

Tonight was a field day; an excuse to go out and get absolutely trollied all in the name of science. It was just getting late, the sun had set a few hours ago and the Gotham nightlife brought the streets to life; ironically, considering the insanely high murder rates. Some would call you mad, a single, young, attractive woman walking unfamiliar streets at this time of night, in Gotham. And you supposed you were. See, the only reason you were studying crime was out of pure fascination. Fascination, yes. The theory of it, really - how the human mind comprehended such decisions and why you lived in such a society - who branded these rules? Desperation was a word you liked to play with. Its meaning subjective depending on your own reality, really. You had always seen the world differently... criminals weren't inherently bad people to you, they were just often misunderstood, brandished, acting out of desperation at someone else's greed. Obviously, you had the complete and utter fucking mentalists, but even then you could find an argument in their favour - like the Joker; he was misunderstood, torn and thrown around like a rag doll until he made a stand, a particularly violent one, but a stand nonetheless; a stand out of desperation to be heard, to be understood. And deep down you resonated with his actions, being driven to the extremes to be listened to.

You knew exactly how he felt. You had the scars to prove it.

Enough on that, though; you're here for a good time, right? Right. You're going out to forget about the stingy shithole you'll be returning to once the night bleeds into morning, to forget about the mountain of case studies you've yet to work through. It was all a bit overwhelming; thus solidifying your burning need to procrastinate and forget about it all, and what better way to do it than get black-out drunk in a bar you've never been to before?

You weren't an alcoholic by any means, you didn't rely on the sweet burn to see you through the days, but that didn't mean you couldn't revel in the double-ended spear of its toxicity - drinking so much to forget, but its effects only temporary. You were a student, after all, you had to live up to the stereotype?

You scoffed at the thought, murmuring out loud, "Fucking hell." Ok maybe you needed to slow down a little bit... you put the hipflask back in its pouch whilst you continued to walk to your third bar of the night.

You were on a pub crawl of sorts, embarking on your own little quest to scout out the best club in town for further investigation. You were just balancing on that fuzzy tightrope between bliss and blindness, the perfect haze to blur out the dangers of the night and warm your skin despite the bitter cold. You were in your own little world it seemed, and as a bright neon sign for a secluded back alley club came into view, you knew you had to investigate.

"Card." Came the burly voice in front of you. You had to crane your neck up to meet their eyeline, trying your best to pull a serious face and not laugh at the imaginary comedy sketch playing out in your mind.

"Card, you mean ID?" You ask, one eyebrow furrowing in question. You had all the relevant stuff, and deep down you'd be offended if they didn't ask, you'd only just turned 21, a few months ago in fact.

"No, Entry Card, VIP." He reiterates, crossing his hands in front of his chest. You scoff at the idea that a place like this required VIP cards to get in. 'Really? They'd have to pay me to not go in, ha' you humour to yourself, finding the joke a little too funny in your drunken state.

"What's so funny?" The man asks again, a bit more aggressively this time, like he knew you were mocking him in your head. And you were. You knew you shouldn't push your luck, his size easily outmatching yours. But fuck it.

"Nothin sweetheart, just surprised 'tis all," You tease, rolling your eyes as you put your ID away and prepare to leave the queue.

The bouncer can't help himself, "Surprised?"

"Mmm, yes, surprised, or disappointed? You choose." You smirk as you turn away, hips swaying in a drunken swagger that you would never normally possess. Something about you tonight just screamed fucking goddess - and 'don't fuck with me else it will be the last thing you do' - you didn't know why; you were in no state to start a bar fight and win. Maybe it was the tight, black faux leather flares and wrap around corset that filled you with a placebo pill of confidence; but by god did you have a stunning poker face, one that seemed to have caught the eyes of someone other than the bouncer you were antagonising.

A whistle stopped you in your tracks.

You stood on the edge of the pavement, back to the club, your hair flowing slightly in the wind. You tilted your head slightly towards the sound, your minimal movement the only sign of your acknowledgement. You really hated catcallers. It was one of the few things that would really wind you up, your short and temperate anger fizzing and popping under the surface.

"Let her in." Came a new voice. You turned around, eyes landing on an unfamiliar face. He was a tall guy, with an ice-white buzzcut and a sculpted face sporting scars; new and old - his brows knit into a harsh line and his piercing gaze instructing you with just his silent intention. You decide to play along, smirking back at him as you turn and saunter your way back to the entryway. As you walk past the bouncer you position yourself against him, slighting a faint touch of your body to his, sure to leave a whisper of your perfume lingering in the air as a sort of poisonous parting gift - a nicely packaged fuck you.

Your pupils instantly dilated to the sight laid before you. Ok, you take it back. This was no dingey club. Your skin was coated in an inciting shade of red; the coloured theme of the club. It was stimulating, the atmosphere - reigniting that previous cockiness you had been secretly harbouring through the night and twisting it into something still unfamiliar to you, the inner thrumming residing behind your naval indistinguishable from the music reverberating around the club.

The man who had whistled at you had disappeared, so you took this as your opportunity to grab a couple more drinks, to scout the club, of course...

You sauntered over to the bar and after a moment of getting yourself comfortable on the stool, locked eyes with the bartender. They didn't hold the same ferocity as the man before, and you felt your outer guard falling slightly at the soft tones lacing their eyes, their general aura giving off nothing inherently dangerous. They walk over, one hand wiping away at a newly washed pint glass with a rag.

"What can I get you?" They ask politely. They seemed young, too young in fact to be working behind the bar, but now wasn't the time for serious investigating - you highly doubted he was underage, just in fact sporting an inherent babyface. You smile sweetly back at the bartender as you purr your reply, "Whiskey on the rocks, please."

"Oh? Honey that's strong?" He questions, an eyebrow furrowing at your request. You giggle at his innocence.

"Mhm, make it a double." You smirk, and he only reciprocated, pouring a double and a little extra.

"You're new 'round here, aren't you?" He states as he passes over your drink, and you nod as you take a sip, soon following up with a further reply, "That obvious?"

"No, I just would've remembered a pretty face like yours if you'd been here before." He flirts, leaning down onto the bar, elbows sitting comfortably on the dark mahogany surface - it was a tactical move, you knew it, he was getting closer to you by the minute and you noticed his blatant interest the moment he locked eyes with you. You'd play along for a little while, it was good practice anyway, investigating.

You smile before replying, a brief pause between sips to sell your contemplation, "I can tell you're not one for wasting time..." You pause, implying silently for his name.

"Alex." He smirks, holding his hand out to you. You shake it, surprised by the dexterity. But as you thought things were going well, he pulls away sharply, his gaze dropping from you as he scurries back to the other side of the bar nervously. Your face scrunches in confusion, wondering exactly what you'd done wrong.

A firm hand around your waist answers your question.

The presence of another behind you makes you tense momentarily, their forward nature catching you off guard. A hand swirls around the small of your back, stopping at the natural curve of your waist, their palm sitting comfortably in the dip as their fingers latched into your exposed skin. The grip is tight, possessive - possessive for someone you didn't even know the face of. Your nervousness quickly turns into a tizzy, frustrated at the being behind you and their audacity to hold you so. You twist, turning your head to meet the side of their face, eyes rough with your bubbling anger.

The sharp-edged, stubbly profile of a man greets you, a little too close for comfort.

"Alex, two of whatever she's ordered on me, 'kay?" The man says. You roll your eyes at his cockiness, picking up your whiskey glass and downing the rest of the hot honey, burning your throat in the process - but you invited the pain, it's scorch momentarily masking the uninvited heat that was building elsewhere.

"I can order my own drinks, thank you." You scoff, sliding off of the barstool and away from his grasp, picking up your bag so that you can leave.

The man scoffs, using one hand to bring the red-tinted shades sitting on his nose sliding down, tilting his head to give you a better look. You turn and face him at the wrong time it seems, interrupting his very blatant scan of your form. You scoff at his actions, turning harshly to go, muttering to him as you walk past him and towards the exit, "In your fucking dreams."

Yeah - you tell him, girl. Too fucking right, that's what he gets for...that. Maybe you were overreacting, but the way your skin heated like wildfire at his unexpected touch, the way the previously dormant thrumming deep within your stomach tinged with a spark of something you hadn't felt in a long time, a feeling that was unfortunately not one of pleasure to you - you panicked. You'd never reacted like this, but something about his presence was just dominating your senses and you had to get away, to clear your head; maybe it was the alcohol, you didn't know - you didn't care, you just wanted fresh air and five minutes to get whatever the fuck has come over you out of your system.

"I see manners are not your chosen language," The man jokes, but he doesn't bother hiding the icy bitter frustration at your rejection. But you carry on, moving away from his ensuing footsteps.

"Neither are they yours," You retort, turning the corner towards the back exit. But you don't make it to the back exit. The scarred man from before moves from the shadows and grips your upper arm, swivelling you in one motion to face your incessant assailant. You don't give him the privilege of your attention, instead choosing to stare wide-eyed at the ground. Your bubbling anger evolves into something more pertinent, more feral, "What the fuck is it with you guys?" You spit, trying your best to yank your arm free. It was no good, every time you moved his grip on you tightened.

"That's no way to speak to a kind gentleman, is it darling?" The stubble-haired man chides, waving a hand in a dramatic swish as he talks.

"You and gentlemen is a bit of a reach, don't you think? And kind too, don't flatter yourself sweetheart -- hey! Let me go!" You scorn, yanking away harder. Your heart was starting to race now, the phantom ghost of familiar brutish hands that had hurt you before were blurring with your present reality. You couldn't go through that again, no. You'd moved away for a reason, even if it were disguised by your University Degree, the real reason was to get away from him.

Your change in body language seemed to shock both men, and soon the bearded man orders the other to let you go.

"Zsasz, let her go." He says sternly. As soon as his grip is off of you, you practically run to the bathroom, locking yourself in the stall. You close your eyes. You were trying so, so hard to help yourself, but it was just not to be. The last 12 months come crashing down on you, and you were helpless against the murderous gravity of it all. Your panic quickly turned into terror, and no matter how hard you tried to suppress the overbearing feelings blistering your heart, their clutch was now embedded into your conscious and they were working their way out, ripping and tearing, leaving nothing but devastation in its wake. It was brutish, the power of it all; how after all this time those short few moments held such a crippling power over you, a power no matter how hard you tried to overrule, decimated you each and every time. You're so caught up in your emotions that you don't hear the lock on the bathroom click, nor do you hear the faint rustling of a velvet suit making its way towards your stall.

However, you do hear the tap-tap of leather-coated knuckles against the door.

"Fuck off," You spit, not even attempting to mask the raspy panic between each word. The other person didn't say anything, and silence engulfed the room momentarily, only the occasional piercing sounds of your choked panic ripping the hazy-yellow neon light animating the bathroom. The clink of glass to wood brought your head up, your attention distracted and now upon the glass of whiskey being slid underneath the door.

"A peace offering," A familiar voice clarifies. You snatch up the drink and down it in one, desperate for a distraction; a controllable discomfort. You cough roughly at the strength, the new soreness from your rasped panic mixing distastefully with the burn from the alcohol - note taken; don't ever do that again.

You take a second to let the burn cool before speaking, "Thanks...for the drink." 

He doesn't bother with a reply.

Another few moments pass and you feel you have yourself under control. You take in a deep breath and straighten your clothes out as you stand, brushing the stray hairs from your face and trying your best to look presentable despite the absence of a mirror. You unlock the door and move to step out, hand holding the empty glass out aimlessly for the other man to take.

He doesn't take it.

You furrow your brows and pause in your movements, and it is only now you chance a look into his eyes for the first time. The moment your eyes meet his, you regret it. Not because you're scared or frightened, no; you regret it because you know those are eyes you will forever see in your dreams. This man's eyes told you similar tales of the navy shores from home that you had often resided to in search of peace, the lighter hues telling tales of the midwinter sky you would doze under; and the occasional slash of cobalt reflected the darker depths of his soul, mirroring the light of unnamed stars. His eyes painted your soul in a colour you'd yet to see, a colour only he could grace you with, and it made you weak.

You were transfixed, held stationary by his unspoken authority. He raised an eyebrow at you, his understanding all too clear. You broke from your haze and scuffed, a hot blush creeping over your tear-stained cheeks.

Embarrassed couldn't even cover it.

"Fuck," you whispered, wiping away once again at the drying streaks of once warm tears on your cheeks. "FUCK!" You shout louder this time, chastising yourself as you come back to reality. What the fuck are you doing? You're stronger than this?

"How about we fix you another drink, hmm?" He says. You chuckle as you pinch the bridge of your nose, the heavy daze from the whiskey starting to mount its assault on your senses. Fuck it, you came here to get blackout drunk, so you're going to get fucking blackout drunk - for free by the looks of it.

You roll your shoulders and pick your head up, holding it high. "Sure, ugh--?" You say, holding out your hand to shake his as you hint for his name.

He replies with a smirk before turning you towards the door, catching himself before he places a hand at the small of your back, "Roman, Roman Sionis."

"Well, Roman, how about a pitcher or two?" You challenge, "Ever drunk with a student before?"

He didn't reply instantly, but you didn't let him, storming confidently out of the bathrooms and to the bar. You honed in on Alex, and at first he looked excited to see you, but as you approached he saw the darkness in your eyes and instantly knew you were'nt to be messed with. He poured a double shot of Vodka and Coke as quick as he could; it didn't even reach the counter before its contents were emptied by yours truly and slammed back onto the mahogany.

"Another." You growl, and Alex doesn't hesitate, the next drink landing in your hands within moments. You sink this one like the last, face maintaining the deadly glare it had held since you entered the room. Roman was soon at your side, marvelling at your drinking abilities; it was scary actually, how you managed to down your alcohol with such ease, expressionless. His grin faltered on your fourth shot and he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, breaking your anamatronic trance and stealing your attention to him; that's better - Roman always got what he wanted, and he wanted you. He raised an eyebrow at your anger, wondering how he could capitalise on this and turn the situation in his favour. But for some reason, he hesitates; the thought of being cruel to you made his skin shiver in an unpleasent way - oddly. See, Mr Sionis was a criminal, a violent, feral monster who, if he did not get his own way, or was undermined or disrespected, made sure that those were the last things said person would inflict - for disrespecting the King of Gotham's underground was a penalty punishable by death. A slow, torturous death, courtesy of his own cynical ministrations. He was the Black Mask, and the Black Mask felt no mercy. Why should he sympathise when he could not receive such pleasures? Others can't have what he cannot, that simply is not fair, its preposterous. And like the narcissistic bastard he was, he reasoned with this part of himself, convincing the little golden figure sat perched on his right shoulder that he was doing the nice thing by not kidnapping you right now and keeping you for himself. Something about you was different, he could sense it - he recognised the brutal blaze swirling in the depths of your eyes. They reflected his own - murderous. And that's when the little red devil on his left shoulder made their attendance known, reinforcing Romans suspicions. This girl had the devil in her, the same devil within him.

"What?" You asked, incredulously. Roman had been staring at you for longer than was comfortable, and you knew he was deep in thought over something. His eyes flicked like an old VHS tape, his physical thoughts and their direction reflecting in the depths of his scrutiny over you.

Roman grinned at his plan. He had to have you, but he knew now that forcing himself was not an option - he had to wait for you to come to him. And what better way than to get someones attention by no longer wanting it? It was the ultimate power play he thought, his excitement at the idea of you being his under your own intention ignited a blistering fire of self admiration within him - Roman Sionis was a fucking genius he thought, no, he knew.

"Nothing Darling, ciao." He replied smugly, his lips stressing a shit-eating grin at his own devious plan. He waltzed away from you to find Zsazs, desperate to let him in on his incredible plan.

You scoff at your dismissal. The fuck was all that about?

Rolling your eyes, your turn to Alex. You take a second to allow the room to catch up with you, "Did you see that?" You ask Alex, moving your head slightly to the side in a nod towards the now retreated Roman. Alex scoffs, placing a pint of water on the bar in front of you. You cut him a look of displeasure but knew you should probably slow down if you wanted to get back safe tonight.

"That guy, my dear, is Mr Sionis." Alex said, lifting his brows as at your confused look.

"Mr Sionis...right, and he is...?" You say, waving your hands in a confused manner.

Alex looked stunted, but continued to serve a few orders before continuing his conversation with you, "Well, Mr Sionis is the owner of this club."

Your eyes widen at the realisation, "The owner?" You mutter.

"Mhm." Alex hummed, amused.

But the conversation took a new direction, a direction Alex was not expecting.

"Tell me about this Mr Sionis, Alex." You murmur, gliding into your soft, convincing voice you used to get information about men.

"Well, he's the owner of this club, and my boss. He pays well." Alex starts, trying his best to close of the conversation.

"Hmm, yes; but what about him? What type of person is he?"

"I don't think--,"

"Alex," you growl, darkly. Your face dropped the sweet smile it had held before and Alex visibly winced. He knew he couldn't say too much, and he didn't know much either, but he also didn't know you, and if living in Gotham had any perks; he knew those eyes - they were the eyes of someone you did not fuck with if you wanted to keep breathing. So, Alex moved across the bar, leaning in on his elbows so he could whisper to you over the loud music; where only the two of you could be heard.

"He, he has a particular personality - colourful, bold,-" Alex starts, his eyes shifting past your figure a few times to make sure he wasnt being watched, "-Possessive. He gets what he wants - always. And he will do anything to do so, there's no limits with the guy. You fuck up, you're done."

"Done?" You whisper back, leaning in closer to Alex, only a hairs breath away.

Alex stalls, trying to find a way to answer your question without sinking himself to that fate. But he doesn't get the chance to, as you're pulling away and turning towards an unknown figure behind you.

The next few moments were a blur.

The next thing Alex knew, there was a face being buried into the hard mahogany of the bar, and the loud crack of the mans nose being broken shook Alex from his trance.

You moved so effortlessly, your movements only so perfect through hours of repetition. You didn't even stumble, and with the effectiveness of your ruminations, practically no attention was drawn to the now escalating scene at the bar.

"On what fucking planet is it ok to grab anyone like the way you just groped me, huh?" You whispered into your assailants ear. They whined and coughed, shifting under the mounting pressure you were placing at their shoulder. You had grabbed them by the arm the moment you felt their hand sliding across your ass, and the quick pinch had you seeing red - moving through muscle memory and destabilising the man by using his own weight against him. He was now bent over the bar, head buried in broken glass, his shoulder ready to pop at any moment. He was at your mercy and your blood turned primitive. You'd had enough of creepy perverts tonight.

"The fuck is wrong with you lady? It wasn't anythin' bad," The man groans, blood pouring from his nose and staining the white shirt he was wearing.

You pressed harder, muffling the pop of his shoulder joint and his cry of pain with a loud laugh, "Say, Frank - how bout you walk out this club now under your own premise before I have you wheeled out in a bodybag?" You sigh.

"The fuck, how'd you know my name was Frank?" he growled, grunting at the pain.

"Not only are you incredibly rude, but you're also rather obnoxious too, you fucking loser." You sneer, shifting his dislocated shoulder further round. He screamed, but only briefly, as you soon shut him up with a face full of glass.

"Fuck off, Frank, and don't come back."

You release him and he instantly turns and scampers away like the injured hyena he was. Rolling your eyes you turn back to Alex, who's eyes are wide with shock.

"Alex..." You mumble, and he gulps, his eyes searching yours out of panic over what you'll do next, "Just fix me a drink and I’ll be off. Sorry for the mess." You say calmly as if nothing happened. And that's the way it seemed, as no one even batted an eyelid to the violent display from moments ago. Alex says nothing but does as he's told, making you up an extra strong rum and coke. You down the drink and place the glass down.

"Where's the emergency exit?" You ask Alex, and he points to the door behind the bar. You smile, sliding him a small tip - hush money - and exit the building.

You made it about five minutes down the road before things began to get weird - real weird. This wasnt the same type of blurry you got from alcohol, this was colourful, dazy.

"Fuck - that fucker drugged me!" You sneer, words merging together as you propped yourself up against a brick wall. You tried to run over the events in your head, wondering where you tripped up. And then it hit you, the pint glass - when you leaned in to talk to Alex, he’d slipped something in the drink.

"Fu-cckk" You mumble, eyes incredibly droopy now.

You needed to get back to your flat, safety - yes.

But you didn't, as when you tried to move your legs they gave out from under you. This was an incredibly dangerous situation for anyone to be in, especially a young woman on the streets of Gotham. But the drugs worked quickly against your system, and before you had any time to prepare yourself for your inevitable demise, you blacked out

[gladiators-intoxication]

In Search of Justice, Concerning Chivalry

Part two of three: Kaeya’s final act of service, and his final betrayal.

Warnings: Spoilers for Kaeya’s companionship stories, arson

[1], [2], [3]

“Are you sure?” Diluc asked for what seemed to be the millionth time.

“I’m not sure of what’s changed since I left,” Albedo replied, “but there’s a fair chance he’s still alive.”

Diluc scowled, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like ‘why are we doing this again?’

Albedo frowned a bit. “The killing of innocents is unacceptable in Teyvat’s eyes. Do you not consider yourself to be the voice of true justice?”

Diluc’s scowl darkened, but he didn’t respond. Somehow, the prodding question felt like something Kaeya would say.

A few corners later, Albedo unceremoniously shoved Diluc into an alcove behind a statue, before leaning against the pedestal, arms crossed over his chest. It was comical, almost, unsubtle. Albedo was nowhere near large enough to physically hide Diluc with any measure of success. It seemed, though, as the conversation began, that that hadn’t been his intention.

“You,” came a venomous voice.

“Me,” Albedo agreed. “I’m not here to cause trouble.”

“Your being here is trouble,” the unseen man said coldly.

“I’m not here to give you any more reason to want to kill me, that is,” Albedo amended, somehow sounding wholly unconcerned. “But if you’re anything like I remember, His Highness’ wellbeing is more important to you than this ruined country.” Diluc could only see a flash of a black cloak around Albedo’s foot. Albedo paused, feigning a thoughtful silence. “Unless all these years has changed you.”

Privately, Diluc thought that if Albedo ever got tired of alchemy, he ought to join a theatre troupe.

The unseen man muttered something that sounded like a curse in an unknown language. “What do you want?” he relented finally.

Albedo made a pleased noise, as if to say ‘still got it.’ “The keys to His Highness’ room.”

“So you’ve turned traitor too,” the stranger sighed. “Am I the only one left?”

Albedo snorted. “I know where your loyalties lie, Dainsleif. Don’t pretend you care for these ruins any more than His Highness or myself.”

Dainsleif scoffed, but the jingle of keys could be heard. “His Highness is in the third room from the end of the hall in the western guest wing,” he said. “He hangs at dawn if you fail. You’ll follow next.”

“Scary,” Albedo replied drily, righting himself as if to leave. “You were scarier the first time, though.”

“Wait.”

Albedo did.

“To think that two of our people have been recognized by gods that have scorned us,” Dainsleif said, more to himself than Albedo. “I do wish to speak with you on such matters at a different time, should we meet again.”

“I look forward to it,” Albedo said, dry and unconvincing. “I care little for the goings on of the gods, but I’d be delighted to share my research with you.”

“Oh, and your friend can come out now. You’d best get moving before the patrol gets to this corridor.”

“You talk too much,” Albedo grumbled, stepping away. “You heard the man, let’s get going. It’s not far, but we’ll likely have to fight our way out.”

Diluc only caught Dainsleif’s eyes widen before Albedo was walking away so quickly Diluc had to jog a bit to keep up with him.

Diluc didn’t really like how far ‘not far’ was to Albedo. Admittedly, Albedo spent most of his time in Dragonspine of all places, nearly a week’s trip from Mondstadt, but even so, it shouldn’t change Albedo’s perception of space that much.

“Where are you going?” Albedo asked, dragging Diluc out of his thoughts. “This is the room.”

Albedo leaned on the wall beside the door, twirling the key around a finger. Diluc couldn’t help but be distracted once or twice by the flash of the red palm of his glove. “It has to be you,” Albedo said. “You understand, don’t you?”

Diluc stared at the still-locked door. “Are you sure?”

“His Highness’s personal retainer, for all his dislike of me, would be quite lost in the world without him. Put simply, Dainsleif’s loyalties lie with His Highness. Not necessarily with Khaenri’ah.”

Diluc frowned. “How does that work?”

Albedo shrugged with one shoulder, held out the key. “Plausible deniability.”

As long as Khaenri’ah didn’t know that Kaeya had betrayed her, Dainsleif wouldn’t have to choose.

Albedo had joined the Knights after Diluc had left, so he’d never had a reason to know Albedo, but his blue eyes were piercing, cutting. Diluc wondered for a moment if everyone from this godless country had cold, cruel eyes like that.

Dainsleif’s, for the brief moment Diluc had seen them, had been hollow, deep, devoid of meaning, full of confusion, but they’d held no human warmth.

Albedo’s eyes felt like a scalpel cutting into Diluc’s very soul, cold, so sharp he couldn’t feel where they cut, only that he was bleeding.

Diluc’s heart twisted, just a little, to remember that Kaeya’s eyes had laughed far more than they’d cut. They’d danced much more than they’d hardened. Even if it had been a lie.

Diluc put the key in the lock.

“Back already?” Kaeya’s voice asked from inside, but it wasn’t Kaeya’s voice. Not really. It was tired and melancholy in a way that Diluc had only heard once or twice.

The same voice that had made a confession one night in the rain.

“I was left here to spy on Mondstadt. Khaenri’ah wants war. I don’t know what I want anymore. I know you’re in no place to help me, but I’m asking anyway.”

“You’ve come a long way,” Albedo said softly. “Young Master Ragnvindr.”

Diluc startled at how gentle the title sounded. Affectionate, almost.

It had been Albedo that appeared in the rain, eyes blazing. “They have him.”

“Who?”

“His Highness’ betrayal has finally caught up to him,” Albedo said coldly.

“Who?”

Albedo’s eyes, Diluc realized with a shudder, didn’t burn like fire. More like frostbite, or hypothermia. There was no passion, only a steely glint of the blade he’d use if he needed to. “Your brother,” Albedo spat. “And you’re coming with me to retrieve him.”

“No, I’m not,” Diluc replied. “If the Knights want him back, they can do it themselves.”

Albedo, despite his frame, managed to be more intimidating than anything Diluc had encountered up until now as he stepped forward, murder flashing in his eyes. Perhaps this is what it felt like to be one of Diluc’s unfortunate guilty, to stare up him standing over them with his flaming greatsword in their last moments. “You will come with me. You are going to right your wrongs or die trying.”

Albedo, Diluc noted, does not mince his words.

“What wrongs?” Diluc asked, briefly afraid for the answer.

“He’d lost everything but what little place here that the Knights could give him. Now come, while Klee’s occupied with the Outlander. I don’t need children interfering.”

“Why should I go with you?” Diluc challenged. “He was a spy.”

Albedo’s eyes, bright and blue as they were, felt like a sword through Diluc’s gut.

“The night he went to you was the same night His Highness betrayed Khaenri’ah.”

Diluc’s temper flared. “How do you know about that night?”

Albedo scoffed. “The young master Ragnvindr is a fool. There were two of you involved in that fight, no?”

The title cut more than the words did. “Why would he tell someone like you about that?” Diluc snarled.

“Never mind my relationship with him. This is about your relationship with him. I see you kept the vase. Do you want to keep him alive?”

“I want him to rot for a while,” Diluc hissed.

Albedo’s lip curled in disgust. “He has been. Perhaps you wouldn’t know it, but the only inescapable prison for one of our people is one’s own mind.”

“’Our’?” Diluc echoed. “Are you a traitor too?”

“Khaenri’ah never had any love for me,” Albedo said dismissively. “My craft stems from her, but I was never one of her subjects. My point is that he’s been rotting in a prison he couldn’t hope to escape.”

“Why can’t you help him on your own?” Diluc grumbled, still angry.

Albedo sighed, as if Diluc were some ignorant child. “Because he isn’t looking for my forgiveness.”

For a moment, one hand on the doorknob, Diluc doubted. Himself, Albedo, everything he’d done to get here. For a long moment, Diluc doubted the sky blue eyes that cut deeper than any blade ever would. He pushed that aside. If Kaeya wanted a rematch, Diluc supposed he’d brought it upon himself. Quietly as he could, Diluc opened the door and stepped inside.

“I guess not, then. So soon? I swear Dainsleif just left,” Kaeya sighed. “I was hoping for a sign from the Tsaritsa at least.”

Diluc couldn’t stop his mouth fast enough. “Are they your gods or not?”

Kaeya’s head snapped around at the sound of his voice.

“That’s not what I-”

“What are you doing here?” Kaeya was in his face in a heartbeat. “What are you doing here? Get out. Do you think they’ll let you live?” Kaeya’s eyes weren’t laughing, they weren’t dancing. They weren’t smug and calculating. They were hollow and intelligent, full of a resigned sort of despair.

“Come with us,” Diluc said, because somehow he couldn’t find something more meaningful to say.

Kaeya hesitated.

After a moment, Diluc realized how rare it was for Kaeya to hesitate. He always had some kind of plan, some kind of mischief. He always had something else going on.

“Someone’s coming,” Albedo hissed. “We can have a touching reunion after we’re out of this godforsaken city.”

“It would’ve been easier to get the four of you there together- ah. They’re still here.” Diluc whirled around at the sound of Dainsleif’s voice.

Dainsleif only inclined his head. “Young Master Ragnvindr.”

“I thought I told you to keep her away from here,” Albedo snarled, bloodlust in his voice.

The Outlander gave him a sheepish smile. “She wouldn’t stop insisting. She said you let her go to Dragonspine…” he trailed off, sort of bewildered. “What is this place?”

“Khaenri’ah,” Kaeya said, in an attempt to save Aether from any more of Albedo’s tongue-lashing than he needed to endure. “We really do need to get going.” He hesitated for a second time. “Will you stay behind?” Kaeya asked, seemingly to no one. “I don’t plan on returning again.”

“If that is the case,” Dainsleif said slowly, “Then I too have no place here.”

Diluc’s eyes found Klee, clinging to the Outlander’s leg, eyes wide, staring at Dainsleif and Kaeya. “Kaeya, who is this?” she asked.

Diluc could see Albedo’s shoulders relax a little, even if his scowl didn’t.

“Dainsleif, dear,” Kaeya said warmly, as if he hadn’t been awaiting his own execution five minutes ago. “He’s… a friend of mine.”

Dainsleif and Klee both paused, confused, but Albedo went over Aether and picked up Klee, eyes stormy, but relieved. “You’re a terrible babysitter,” Albedo sighed, to the Outlander, inspecting her for injuries.

Aether, appropriately contrite, looked down at his shoes. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“Never mind that,” Albedo said. “Let’s just get going.”

Of course, it would never be that easy.

Bitterly, Diluc couldn’t help but laugh a bit at how his relationship with Kaeya would never be ‘easy.’

“I can hear the guards coming,” Dainsleif sighed. “I’ll meet you on the surface, yes?”

Kaeya smiled, a brittle, forced thing. “If you would kindly.”

In a foreign gesture of subservience, Dainsleif took Kaeya’s left hand in both of his own and knelt, pressing his Prince’s knuckles to his forehead. “If I fail, please don’t remember me in contempt.”

Kaeya’s sad little smile wavered. “Never. You are the only part of this place I wished for when I was away.”

Dainsleif nodded, as if satisfied with that answer, as he got to his feet. “Please excuse me, your Highness. I won’t be long.”

Kaeya didn’t wait to watch him go, taking off at a brisk clip, as if he still owned the place, a hard, well-practiced mask of determination already in place. Albedo was quick on his heels, despite carrying Klee. “We shouldn’t lose them,” Aether said, sounding nervous, tugging on Diluc’s sleeve. Diluc only hesitated a moment longer before following Aether’s anxious scamper.

As they approached the chamber Albedo had originally argued with Dainsleif in, the walls shuddered with a blast of biting cold.

“Tell Diluc to stop dragging his feet!” Albedo shouted over a shoulder. Diluc scowled a little bit, but picked up the pace. He faltered at the chamber.

Diluc blinked.

They were still underground, weren’t they?

A generous layer of snow covered the polished stone floor, and the walls of the great, round room were freshly decorated with a coating of ice several feet thick. Several humanoid guards were frozen in it.

“Come on,” Albedo barked, “or we’re collapsing the tunnel without you!”

Diluc shook off his shock and caught up.

Kaeya was leading Klee by the hand, pointing to seemingly random places in the floor, near the walls. Aether accompanied them, sword drawn. This hallway, Diluc noted, was peppered with small bombs. Albedo still looked tense, eyes flickering, scanning. “Keep moving!” he snapped. “We need to get out of here, and if anything happens to Klee, I’ll bring you lot back to life so I can kill you again with my own two hands.”

“Just a couple more, Albedo,” Kaeya said. “Then we run.”

Albedo opened his mouth to protest, but thought better of it. “Make it quick.”

Diluc had been present for a few of Klee’s infamous escapades, but none of the ones he had or would experience would rattle him like this one did. The main entrance to the city was housed in a temple to a god Diluc had never heard of, and Klee, Kaeya, and Albedo were running around, placing explosives in no pattern Diluc could discern. Columns that didn’t seem to hold anything up, walls that seemed oddly placed, random patches of floor.

By the time they were done, Diluc could hear the boots on the stairs leading from underground.

Klee lobbed her specialty- a round, especially large, admittedly cute bomb- at the temple. “Run,” Albedo said, taking her hand. “Now!”

And they did. Diluc could feel the heat behind him, smell the burning grass.

Klee’s was a terrifying Vision. Diluc shuddered to think of the day where she’d be allowed to use such power unsupervised.

The blast had sent Albedo and Klee tumbling over each other, laughing good-naturedly, and launched Aether a few feet, but they seemed unhurt. Kaeya had stopped and turned back, staring at the pile of rubble that remained.

Diluc wanted, as he so often had when they were younger, to ask what was on his mind.

“My last service to my country,” Kaeya said softly as Diluc approached. “Fitting, isn’t it?”

“What do you mean?” Diluc asked. He had no love for Khaenri’ah. “You could’ve destroyed it entirely.”

Kaeya’s smile was bitter and crooked. “The only thing left of my glorious kingdom were sinners. Her time was long over. You should know about holding onto things past their worth.”

Diluc found himself with questions, but didn’t get a chance to ask.

“Pardon me, your Highness, but might I ask what in heaven, on earth, or in the pits of the abyss was that?” Dainsleif’s voice asked.

Kaeya offered his best charming smile, eyes dancing with mischief. “That would be Sir Kaeya to you, Dainsleif.”

[idyllicstarker]

Fic prompt: Tony acts all high and mighty until he makes Peter mad and it makes him drop to his knees and go into sub space

Thank you for the ask anon!

I struggled a little, I won’t lie to you. One, I’ve never really tried to write sub space before, two I’m still getting used to bottom!tony. So those two togther meant I was really pushing my ideas.

I don’t think you particularly wanted an established relationship, but I wasn’t confident enough to write anything too long. Hence why there isn’t much progression and it’s quiet short.

I’m not happy with this and I’ll openly admit it. But since I didn’t know who to contact to apolgise formally, I tried my best to at least write you something.

I’m really sorry.

Warnings: Sub!Tony, Dom!Peter, implicit toxicity in a relationship, sexual themes

Tony knew he was annoying.

It wasn’t exactly something he tried to hide. It wasn’t an opinion that people may hold. It was just a simple fact. Even Tony admitted wholeheartedly that he could be a real arrogant bastard when he set his mind to it.

He knew exactly how to pick at people until they were dying to get away from him. It was a trait he’d picked up from Howard. The only difference was, Tony used it for a laugh. A false persona of his superiority. But unlike Howard, Tony didn’t like to be on top all the time.

Metaphorically and figuratively I guess.

But for the past few weeks, Tony seemed to have forgotten his place. He’d been a little shit to everyone- acting as if he was so much better than them. And it didn’t seem like it was going to stop anytime soon.

His self-proclaimed self-importance (and therefore self-entitlement) started one day and just never stopped. Tony had placed himself on a pedestal above the others, acting as if he’d earned some kind of superior status overnight. They weren’t sure if Tony’s true colours were showing through, or if it was some kind of sick joke, but as the fourth week approached everyone was sick and tired of the man’s behaviour.

Even Peter, who idolised the man, and loved him more than anything, was pretty much at ends with the way Tony had been treating him lately.

“So what, we just bust in there Rogers..? Die? They’ll kill us all in ten seconds dipshit”

In the meeting room, the avengers were silent. Steve stood at the head of the table, the screen behind him lit up with their mission plan. He was angry, and only getting angrier with Tony’s continuous backchat and snide remarks about everyone and everything.

With a sigh he turned to glare at the man, arms crossed over his broad chest as he shook his head, completely unamused. . “So do you have any better ideas?”, he asked.

But the question was only returned with a half-hearted shrug of shoulders. “Isn’t that your job? We both know it won’t go to plan and I’ll end up leading when we get there anyway”, Tony waved his hand passively, slouched back in his chair.

“Tony”, Peter quipped gently, remaining soft as usual, never usually getting mad at Tony no matter what he did. But he could sense the anger radiating of Steve, and he wanted to avoid a fight between the two. He’d deal with Tony’s attitude later.

Sitting up in a manner in which can only be described as an excitable meerkat, he raised his hand for permission to contribute.

“Why don’t some of us try going in from the back, and the others distracting them, that way-”

“Peter, shush, we’re talking”, Tony cut him off, finally looking up from the stark pad in his hands with an uninterested gaze.

Peter went silent, his excited posture slipping away as he looked over at Tony, seemingly quite hurt. “Why are you being like this Tones”, he spoke, his voice much quieter but it didn’t lose the softness it usually held. He wasn’t angry, just upset, at least for now.

“Sweetheart you know I love you, but you’re eighteen and have about as much skill as Barton. Why don’t you go play in the lab for a while.” Peter could deal with Tony’s sass, he could deal with his arrogance sometimes, but doubting his skill was a low blow.

To the right of him, there came an offended “hey” from Clint but Peter ignored it.

“You’re being an arse Tony”, Peter said, his eyebrows knitted with frustration as he looked over Tony’s face but there was no ounce of remorse present.

Red faced Peter huffed lightly, before abruptly standing up and grabbing onto Tony’s shoulder. It seemed Tony had forgotten that Peter’s super strength, although not used often, was as enhanced as it could be.

He roughly pulled Tony up, gripping onto the collar of his shirt. “Excuse us for a moment guys”, Peter said quietly, not giving any explanation as he dragged Tony from the room.

The man didn’t struggle, actually finding Peter’s sudden confidence quite amusing. In Tony’s mind it was like a kicked puppy growing at his owner. Adorable.

Or so he thought, at least.

~

“Where are we going?”, Tony asked with a laugh, stumbling as Peter pulled him down the hallways. He didn’t get an answer, but he realised soon enough as Peter pulled the door open to their (or rather his but Peter had claimed as his own at the beginning of their relationship) bedroom.

With a grunt, Peter pulled him inside, letting out a long breath to try and calm his anger, before slamming the door.

“I’ll ask you one more time, what’s gotten into you?”, Peter said. trying to keep his voice steady. His fingers tapped at his thigh keeping a careful gaze on Tony as the man adjusted his collar with a smirk.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about sweetheart”, he hummed, only to have Peter scoff.

“You’ve been nothing but downright rude to everyone Tony”, Peter whispered, the pain in his eyes clear. He was frustrated at not being able to get through to him, but also more than upset at the fact that Tony was acting like he was some child. “What you said to me, just now in the meeting, was uncalled for. If my age means I can’t even talk in meetings because I’m too young, then why are you even with me.”

It was evident that in that moment Tony’s facade dropped. He knew deep down that he was hurting the ones he loved dearly. But even himself couldn’t figure out why. He just felt compelled.. wrong, but uncontrollable.

Peter however, well Peter was pretty sure he knew.

Tony sighed, stepping forward slowly in a guilty manner. “I’m sorry baby, you know I didn’t mean it-”

Yet much like Tony had cut him off, Peter held up a hand with a glare.

“No Tony, I know you didn’t mean it. But you’re sure as hell ain’t sorry. Making a direct attack against my skills, and my age, you wouldn’t do that. You’re nice despite whatever kind of hero complex you currently have. It’s not the truth, and we both know that”, Peter said, his voice raising slightly.

By the way Tony was shifting uncomfortably at being put in his place, Peter realised he was right.

He didn’t let Tony even open his mouth, arms crossed over his chest he lifted his shoulders slightly. He was in no way taller than Tony, but it gave him a bit of height.

“That’s how I know you’re just doing this for attention”, Peter finished, his eyes bright at his newfound power between them, as he looked over Tony. The man in question looked good in surprise, a small frown on his lips.

“What…?”, he questioned quietly.

“Attention”, Peter repeated, “You’re being a brat on purpose”, he stated stubbornly, looking Tony up and down with an angry gaze.

Tony almost choked. Looking over Peter with an embarrassed gaze. “A brat, really Pete?”, he muttered quietly.

“Yes. A brat. That’s all you are. Don’t act like you haven’t been doing this so that I’d notice and out you in your place”, sensing Tony’s embarrassment, Peter sighed quietly, moving to run a hand through Tony’s hair gently. Unlike usual, in which he may press a kiss to his wrist or something like that, this time Tony nuzzled against the hand with a quiet mewl.

“Don’t think this is me letting you go away with this”, Peter said sternly after a moment, pulling his hand away. “You’ve hurt Steve, been mean to Clint, made Bucky very conscious this week, and you even pissed James off. If all you needed was for me to take charge, you didn’t need to act up to do it. And when we’re done here you’re going to apologise.”

Tony nodded lightly, refusing to look at Peter, but gasped as he felt a sharp grip grab onto his chin and force him into look into deep brown eyes. “Use your words…”. Peter growled.

Tony let out a shaky breath, his throat suddenly very dry as he swallowed before opening his mouth. “Okay”, he croaked our, but by the darkening of Peter’s eyes he tensed, not even needing Peter to say it before he continued: “Yes sir”, he finally answered. Peter raised an eyebrow - Tony coughed slightly. “Yes master”, he finally muttered.

Peter smiled, not his usual cute innocent smile, but an amused smirk. “Good boy”, he hummed, pressing a kiss to Tony’s lips gently before pulling away. “It’s not good enough tho, you’re going to have to work harder than that to gain my forgiveness!”

Practically keening at the praise, Tony dropped to his knees, head bowed, hands on his knees. “I’m sorry sir, please forgive me”, he begged quietly , chest rising and falling as he panted softly at the thrill of it all.

Peter laughed, quite enjoying the sight in front of him, titling his head slightly. “Mhm, I dunno baby, you’ve been real bad”, he teased, revelling in the sound of Tony’s whine.

“See, all you needed was for me to take care of you. Right Tony? The little brat just needed some attention from his master?”, he asked, as Tony nodded eagerly.

“Y-yes sir. I’ve been such a bad boy. Wanna make it up to you. Bad boy, I’m a bad boy. Do anything master”, he hummed, looking up at Peter, wide eyed and innocent.

“Okay baby, don’t worry, I’m going to make sure you pay for your behaviour”, he said softly, pressing a light kiss to his head, before he pulled Tony’s head to his crotch.

Instantly Tony began to mouth at Peter’s thigh, never once taking his gaze away him as he began to undo his pants.

Yeah, Peter was sure he could get used to this sometimes. Sure Tony was annoying, but if this is what he got out of it, Peter wasn’t complaining at all.

~~~

Tag list: @itsmexavie @icandoakickflip

[waltzingin1698]

A Curious Species Indeed [Clexa]

A season 7 finale rewrite. Clarke and Lexa get their happy ending. Everybody transcends.

Read it on AO3

The door was still swinging by the time Clarke reached The Bridge. Her gloved fingers closed around it for a moment before she pushed it to the side and stepped into the room. Taking a step back, she used her arm to shield her eyes from the blinding sphere of pure energy hovering in the middle of the room.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” said Cadogan.

She could hear footsteps moving closer to her on her right. Squinting underneath her raised arm, she saw the bottom of his white dress robe brushing the floor, his sandaled feet peeking out.

“Clarke, you cannot stop this.”

“This is for Madi.”

Dropping her hand to her side, her fingers curled around the sharp plastic of the gun and she fired, pulling back the trigger five times. Red tendrils started sprouting immediately from his chest as his body hit the floor with a loud thump. The blood continued to spiral out from his wounds, dripping first onto the floor and then pooling under him. His hand grasped towards the bright sphere, scratching, until it dropped, heavy against the pristine flooring.

Clarke watched his life leave his body for a moment, stepping gently to the side as his blood crawled towards her. It was justice, she reminded herself.

With one last look at Cadogan, she turned, but instead of passing through the door like she intended, she felt a warm ripple against her back and dropped to the floor, barely metres away from Cadogan, staring straight up at the glowing sphere as it pulsed, and moved, and darkened until it was encased with black and red tendrils.

When her eyes reopened, she was standing tall at the front of a balcony, overlooking a sprawling city. The city spread for miles around, decorated with stalls and make-shift shops and worn homes.

Polis was asleep beneath her, all the people tucked away in their homes for the night, safe under the watchful eye of Heda’s tower.

Clarke leaned closer, her heart squeezing, before she turned to face the throne room she knew so well. Her throne was where it always was, sat high on its pedestal, its back to Clarke and the balcony she stood on. It was dark, the shadows creeping in, unchallenged by the dim candles lining the walls.

She stepped forward, running her hand over the arm of the throne, feeling its roughened texture beneath her fingertips. She pulled back immediately as her heart started to pound against her ribcage. She turned away, spinning to face the wall

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair.

All the people she had lost were dangling in front of her on a thread, near enough to see, but far away that she could never reach, no matter how hard she tried.

“You loved her a lot.”

The voice that spoke was low, and warm, gentle in a welcome contrast to the darkened room.

“I did,” she said, eyes roving over the cracks in the wall.

With her fingers curled into the palms of her hands, she turned slowly to face the throne once more.

There, legs crossed, head held high, sat Lexa. Her arms were placed neatly beside her, her hair pulled back, no doubt in the same intricate braid she always wore. Her face was adorned in her war paint, black icicles reaching the bottom of her face. Her normal red sash was missing.

“Clarke Griffin, you have come to take the test for all mankind.”

“No,” she answered, resolutely, placing herself directly in front of the throne. “I’m not here to take any test.”

“Did you not kill Cadogan for the chance to represent your species yourself?”

“No. I killed him because he killed my daughter.”

Lexa moved, pulling her hands together and interlacing them as she stared down Clarke from her pedestal.

“Does your need for vengeance outweigh the need for your species’ transcendence? Have you put your own feelings above their survival?”

“No. Everything I have done has been about their survival. I have borne so much so that they did not have to. This was justice. He did not deserve to represent us.”

“And you do?”

“No,” she repeated.

Lexa stood up from her throne, towering over Clarke for one long moment, before she stood down from her pedestal and approached where she stood. She could almost smell her now, the familiar scent of melted wax and the forest after a heavy rainfall. Her hands curled again, resisting her desire to reach forward and touch this pale imitation.

“And yet here you are, taking the test for your species. A rose by any other name is still… jus drein jus daun.”

“I didn’t ask to take the test. I was leaving. You could have let me walk away. You’re the reason why I’m here, facing you, while you’re wearing her face.”

“The test had already started. With Cadogan dead, there was no other option.”

“You can stop the test. I know you can. But you don’t want because you’d rather see my entire people die. You’re here judging me, but who judges you? Who gave you the power to decide if entire species deserve to die after testing one person? How dare you!”

Lexa turned away, barely a hairbreadth away from Clarke, facing outwards over the balcony. She walked that way, stopping just shy of the edge and stared outwards over a sleeping Polis

Clarke stepped up besides her, her veins still bubbling, but bit her tongue as she, too, stared out over the city. She had never gotten the chance to get to know it well, but that old desire rose within her. I’d wanted to make this my home once, she thought. I’d wanted to walk these streets with Lexa, wanted to stand behind her as she made tough decisions and support her. Instead, my tears had landed on her still form as I cried and raved over her loss.

“I am sorry for all you have been through to protect your people, but if you are humanity, then you have failed the test. Yu gonplei ste odon.”

Lexa turned to face her, her face barely a metre away, before her skin seemed to morph and glow and her form slowly burst into a million small golden spheres that filtered out over the city like a heavenly blanket.

A tear slipped down her cheek as the edges of the city wavered and moved and shrunk inwards, pulling everything in its radius into the abyss until the black edges reached the bottom of the tower and started to crawl upwards. Clarke took a step back, her hand still hovering in mid-air from where she’d reached out to touch what was left of Lexa.

Another tear slipped down as the edges of the room collapsed in on themselves and she fell to her knees, right beside the throne, holding on for dear life.

*****

“I don’t want to be alone.” The words slipped from her, coming out as a choked sob, as the stones dug into her feet from below.

“You’re not.”

She turned her head to the side sharply as Lexa came into view. She moved her head back, watching over the water, letting her hair be a curtain between her and the higher being. She blinked back the hot wall of tears that threatened to slip down her cheeks.

“Are you here to take me with you?”

“Yes. Humanity has passed the test, and therefore all mankind may transcend.”

Clarke spun to face her, her face opening up to the possibility of a second chance with every word.

“And Madi? Is she with you?”

“Yes. She is without pain, as you soon will be. Come. Join us.”

She offered out her hand and Clarke reached out immediately to take it, feeling its warmth in between both of hers. She looked up at Lexa, taking in every detail, remembering her as she was. Another wave of tears built up behind her eyes at the thought of this being the last time was she was able to look upon her.

Her skin started to glow as Lexa’s had in the tower above Polis, moving first with a golden shimmer and then fading away to small golden spheres. Their joint hands melted away into the spheres and they spread into the air.

When she reopened her eyes, she was back standing atop the tower in Polis.

The city was awash was sunlight. People were bustling about below, small as ants, as they went about their daily lives. She stared down at them for a moment, before feeling a warm hand on her shoulder.

It gently turned her, bringing her back face to face with Lexa.

“Why am I back here?” She asked. “The test is over. You said I could transcend.”

“You have transcended, Clarke,” she said, lifting a hand to place gently against her cheek. She leaned into the warmth, her eyes fluttering closed.

“It’s me.”

She stared up at her, noticing the lack of warpaint, the soft details of her skin. Her hair was flowing about her shoulders, loose and free, uncaged from her braids – and she was wearing a black dress, not her usual armour. Her lips turned upwards and she stepped even closer to Clarke.

“We’re here, Clarke.”

Clarke moved forward, her hands moving slowly up to Lexa’s loose hair, the other interlacing their fingers. She leaned her forehead against Lexa’s, before gently bringing their lips together. She kissed her with everything she had held back when they had known each other, with everything she had thought and everything she had never gotten the chance to say.

They pulled back after a moment, resting their foreheads against each other’s again.

“How?” Clarke whispered.

“My mind still lived on in the mind-drive. Only those alive could transcend, and I was alive within the flame.”

“But – I saw it get destroyed.”

“Not completely,” said Lexa, laying another gentle kiss on her lips.

A tear slipped down Clarke’s face.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She smiled, flexing their joint fingers, running her other hand down Lexa’s back. “I’m finally happy.”

She pulled her close, breathing in this moment deeply, even as the knowledge settled in her mind that this was just the first of many.

She moved back again. “What about Madi – and my friends? And everyone?”

Lexa smiled again. “They’re here.” She gestured out the balcony. “They’re all here. Come. I’ll bring you to them, Clarke.”

Face alight with the sound of Lexa saying her name, she allowed Lexa to lead her out of the throne room with their joint hands. She brought them down a few flights of stairs before stopping in front of a door.

“Go on. They’re inside.”

Clarke reached forward, turning the handle down and softly shifting the door open.

Inside, a group of people sat about in various small group, chatting animatedly, easy grins on their faces. Emori and John were sitting close together on one couch, his arm wrapped around her protectively. Indra and Guia were talking by the window. Guia was making sweeping gestures with her hand out towards Polis.

Echo, Raven and Hope were sitting across from Jordan and Octavia. They were all wearing grounder clothes, even Hope, as they talked comfortably to one another. Even Miller and Jackson had wide easy smiles on their face.

They all turned to face the door as it swung open to reveal Clarke, and, behind her, Lexa.

“There she is,” said Murphy.

“Clarke!” Madi came barrelling from the other side of the room, where she had been standing beside Indra and Guia. “You’re here.”

Clarke leaned down, pulling Madi into a deep hug. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”

“Yes! And we’re in Polis. I always wanted to visit Polis.” Before she could continue, she looked behind Clarke to Lexa standing at her shoulder. “Heda.”

“Madi.” Lexa stepped forward, standing beside Clarke. “I am happy we get to meet in person now, instead of in the flame.”

Madi rushed into her arms. “Thank you. Your voice was strongest of all the Hedas. You helped me when I couldn’t fight for myself.”

Clarke stood back, a smile lighting up her face as she watched her two favourite people interact.

Lexa looked over her shoulder at her, holding out her hand to bring Clarke into the hug. Her eyes were full of love and wonder. Clarke looked back at her, smiling, soul light for the first time since she had set foot on the ground. They had each other, and all their friends, and they were happy, finally.

“We’ll always be with each other.”

[sleepdeprivedheretic]

Kill Me Hardly (Ch.4)

Notes: Tai’s Point of View in the beginning. She/you used

@youtubequeens : It’s a roller coaster, lol

Warnings: cussing, deranged criminal, poor excuse of sibling rivalry, death, PTSD, ect. Read at your own risk

…….

He fucking hated it. Craving warmth and friendship, a familiarity that he’d once known. For so long he’d push those feelings down, and then a fucking ethereal ghost had to show up, tearing down the walls that he’d built, while wearing a little heart on her sleeve while not giving a shit.

He wanted to strangle the damned woman to death, well, to another death.

He was too prideful, he knew, but he had demons of his own that were locked tightly within his personal hell, and this fucking...annoying angel, he guessed, seemed to calm them. He didn’t let her know that, though.  

 Two months. Two months he fought to keep those barriers up, metaphorical walls had been covered in thorns, and for what?

What was he even fighting for? He questioned himself. Memories of blood and lifeless eyes filled his mind. It was such a dark place that he’d tried to shut out for the longest time. He ran from his fear, yet he had embraced whatever life had thrown at him. He had spent so much time either stalking the streets, in hospitals, or behind bars, and he was getting tired of it all.  

The ghost’s company actually helped. He had to tear his gaze away from her. Telling himself that she wasn’t special, she was a dead woman walking. She was a thorn in his side until she could move on. His own words hurt him, for he knew that she was more than that.

Brick by brick, she seemed to remove, and yet, he found himself placing three or four more on that wall.

 Then, he woke up without her in the house for once in two months. Empty. Cold. He couldn’t help but think. He didn’t know how much influence she had on him, until he began panicking. Did she finally cross over? He should feel relieved, he berated himself. He didn’t. He felt as if he had accomplished nothing, and now the only one to seem to really give a shit about him, was gone.

Hours later, he seen your figure, and yelled out his displeasure, sounding more violent than he meant too, because he was scared. Then your eyes met his, and his world stilled, and then cracked as you admitted to what you’ve heard.

No, this couldn’t be, couldn’t it? His stubborn, stupid little ghost was actually fleeting, this time when he finally decided that he tolerated her company. It would be hours later when he would see you again, but he couldn’t help but feel weighed down by the news, how you looked with a broken heart, and how he was feeling such feelings that he never really did want to.

He actually gave a genuine damn about somebody who he could say that was stuck to him. Tears slid down his own cheeks as he hastily rubbed them away. It’s been so long since he had cried for another person. The last one was for the kid who he was trying to save. Opening a pack of smokes, he looked at the thing with disgust as he threw the things in the garbage can, opting instead to light his favorite candles, the vanilla cream one that oddly smelled like you.

He couldn’t save you, even though he kept saying that he wanted to kill you. He awoke later with your hand floating through his hair, a gentle expression of care marred your features, and he couldn’t help but sigh. No, he couldn’t think about such thoughts. You were going to die. Then the two of you began talking, and then, it hit him on how truly lonely and fucking scared you must’ve been.

No warmth, no safety, nobody to care about you or hug you, or brush away your tears, as your family grieved for your dying body.

A dumbass, is what he had felt, another set of tears stinging his eyes as he took your exhausted, tired form in. You weren’t fully dead, but you looked like that’s what you wanted to be. He had to be alone and think some more. After telling you that he was going to take a nap, he sat on his bedroom floor and thought. You were dying, and although he could understand why that you stuck to him like glue, you did things that he wanted to do. You stuck by him as he hurt those people, taking their money as you helped be his eyes and ears, never betraying his trust.

Then he turned on the news in his bedroom, to get his mind off of things. Tough luck for him, for when he was about to switch the channel, the subject had changed, revealing a very familiar face of a certain caught criminal. Your brother, he couldn’t help but think as certain physical similarities between the two of you had matched. There was no doubt that the young, hooded-eyed young man was related to you.  

He needed to talk to you.

…………

Here you were, staring at the man with bewilderment and wonder. Who was he, and what did he do to Taishiro?

“Stop fuckin’ lookin’ at me like that.” He griped across the dining room table.

 “But it’s so weird, you look so soft.” You said.

“Pft. Ya have a weird image of ‘soft’. Anyway, let’s get started. Ya don’t ‘ave enough time, an’ probably need to make peace, right?” He asked suddenly, and it confused you.

“Peace with what?”

“Yer brother. Fucker got arrested last night’, and you and I are gonna see him.” He said smoothly, and it caught you off guard.

“What?” Was all your brain could ask.

“Ya heard me! We’re gonna see yer brother! Ya wanna, or not?” He snapped, and your heart pounded in your chest. Although it was two months, why was he doing this for you? Didn’t you annoy the hell out of him, constantly? You asked him, and he groaned into a sigh, palming his face with exasperation.

“The sooner ya make peace, the easier it is for ya to finally fuckin’ leave.” Came out harshly, he bit his lip, as if embarrassed by his own words. It had hurt, yes, but he was right. You didn’t want to be like those spirits who weren’t at peace. The bloodied ones who had an emptiness to their eyes, stalking old memories that they only knew.

“Will you be my voice, Tai-chan?” You asked, instead, and he looked at you as if baffled.

“What else, ya Ninny? Tch! Don’t let anybody, even me, say stupid shit like that to ya!” He huffed out, and you smiled despite the churning of nerves within your stomach.

………

It was easier to visit than you expected. With a roll of her eyes, the secretary had one police officer escort Tai into the cells, you following as you gathered your courage, sick to your stomach. You wanted to face him and your fears.  

“I’ll leave you to him.” The officer said finally, opening a metal door, and Taishiro gave a curt nod as the two of you went inside. It was a fairly large, yet empty room, surrounded by chairs and in front of the chairs, were different, mostly empty cells. Save for one.

You swallowed thickly you had easily found your brother, who was looking down, hooks underneath his eyes as he resembled a pale, sickly shell of his former self.

“Ya sure ya wanna do this?” Tai asked thickly. You stared at him, seeing his mouth pursed in a thin line, eyes trained onto your brother with a look of fury and yet exasperation. He seen the type, you knew, yet his hot-blooded anger wasn’t aimed at you. It seemed as if it never was, not this type.

“I’ll be fine. I just…want...closure, I guess.” You admitted, looking at the shell who use to protect you from bullies. As the two of you neared closer, you felt nauseated and tired, but it was as if it was nothing compared to the loneliness and lack of warmth and closure that you had felt for a little over a year.

You and Tai still as your brother raised his head. A sinking dread churned your insides as you felt as if you knew what was about to come.

Your brother’s eyes met yours, and you froze.

“Holy shit.” Taishiro murmured.

“Yeah.”

    “T-the fuck? I-is this a nightmare? You’re suppose to be dead!” Your brother shouted, his words echoed in the almost empty room.

“Not dead, thanks to your shitty skills with a blade.” You swallowed thickly, tears threatening to spill, already. You weren’t sure if you were ready for this.

“Why did you do it? Was it worth it? Leaving us all behind while you snorted crack beside some dumpster with your ratty friends?” You couldn’t help but growl out, anger bubbling within you as tears of frustration threatened to boil over, yet you couldn’t care less, as all of your focus was pinned onto your brother.

“What do you know?! They were all I’ve got! You know Mom and Dad held you onto a pedestal, leaving me to fend for myself!” He gripped the bars, knuckles turning white as he stared at you with wild-eyed abandon. He wasn’t making a very compelling argument, and you knew that it was due to the drugs.  

“Says the guy who had a scholarship in Nursing! What was the real reason for that night, dumbass? You’ve been missing for months, and finally! Finally when you visited, Mom and Dad welcomed you in, crying with relief...and then…and then….” You choked, holding your hand to your throat as you pinned your brother with a hateful, seething stare mixed with agony. He stilled, as if seeing your wound   for the first time.

Paling, he fell to his knees, holding his head in his hands as he grit his teeth, his eyes widened as fat droplets of wet fell onto the floor.

“You were in the way! I was gonna just hack the old goat and hag! But then, the inheritance would just fall onto you, instead! I wanted to spare you, I did! But I needed that hit, that high! You’ll never understand!” He growled out, facing towards you with a furious glare. Your stomach sunk as the realization had hit you. You weren’t the only target planned for that night, and you were wasting your time with somebody who had replaced you, along with the rest of his family, so easily. The knowledge of the fact had hurt worse than you wound, you swallowed thickly.

“We’re done here.” You choked into a whisper.  

“Okay.” Your attention snapped towards Taishiro. He was so quiet, and yet you’ve never seen so much fury and hurt burn underneath those amber irises, before. His hands clenched as if itching to tear the other man apart.

“Let’s go home.” He growled out, instead, and you nodded dumbly, following him as your brother shouted more obscure things, wedging that metaphorical knife deeper into you, still. Knocking on the metal door, the police officer’s face looked pale.

“I didn’t know that he was that bad. Are you alright, Sir?” He asked, and Taishiro huffed out a nod.

“Man’s been admitting that he was gonna kill the girl’s parents, too.” He thoughtfully added. The officer nodded.

“Yes...we have the right to record, and so it’ll show up in his court hearings. If you mind me asking, who is this man to you?” The officer prodded gently.

“His sister’s a friend of mine.” Was all he said. The two of you moved in silence as he unlocked the front door to his house, actually holding it open for you, this time. You could tell that he was worried about you, glancing at your grieved expression as you felt almost nothing but numb as the realization had hit you. He was going to cause your parents more grief after his confession, you couldn’t help but think bitterly.  

“Sit down.” It was a demand, yet something in his voice sounded as if it were pleading. Curiously, you looked at him. Once again, he was biting his bottom lip, his hands clenched as if he was preventing himself from crying.  

“Okay.” You said softly as you sat on the couch. You wanted to touch him, to hug him, and let him comfort you, yet you couldn’t. He sat close to you, though, and the action was rather comforting.

“I known them since high school,” He began, shifting himself to be in a comfortable position, eyeing the carpeted floor, rather than at you. Yet you listened closely with awe. “older adults who preyed on hurtin’ kids like me. They offered me a way out from underneath my pa’s boots, an’ I took it.”

“Older adults?”

“Yeah. Yakuza wannabes who plucked out fledglings for sport. Anyways, the group taught me how to fight, steal, sneak, and then allow me to crash at their homes. I was good at it, an’ soon, I began thrivin’ on my own, crashing at different hotels, an’ runnin’ with them. I grew to hate the fuckers, but it was the only home I’ve really known.”

You opted to say nothing as he continued, letting your hand to rest inches away from his as he glanced at it.

“Been doin’ gigs that they’ve wanted me to do. I never really wanted to murder anybody, but they sure as hell did. Laugh at the corpses of drug-dealers, robbers, salesmen, shop-owners…ya get the idea. They were a bunch of sick bastards, but they were my sick bastards. Then...this fuckin’ kid, all starry-eyed and hopeful, wanted to join.” Tai’s voice cracked, but he swallowed thickly as he continued.

“He had to support his ma. He’d start doin’ crimes tryin’ to impress us. He annoyed the fuck outta everybody else, but he took a shine towards me. I was the youngest, and my ego was easily stroked when some hotshot declared me as “big brother”. So I ran a few gigs with ‘im, helpin’ him get money for his mother ‘cause he was a fresh face, and wasn’t an asshole crone who thought he was better than me.”

“….” Your mouth was pursed as you listened closely.

“His ma was nice. Reminded me of mine. Cooked for me whenever I came, totally unaware of our lil’ activities. She helped with the orphanage and donated a lot of stuff. Anyways. Like Icarus, he flew up too close to the sun. Word got out about it. I didn’t get into any trouble, seein’ that I was the “baby” of the family, but….they didn’t like that a young, inexperienced hotshot bargin’ in on ‘em. When I came to his house to pick ‘im up for a job...the door was unlocked.”

“What happened, Taishiro?” You gently prodded. He looked worse for wear as he glanced at you.

“He and his mother’s throats were slit open, and the fuckers had the gall to stay and wait for me, and laugh ‘bout it. Laughed as I fuckin’ stood there, seein’ white film over their distraught faces. I couldn’t help it. I fuckin’ snapped.”

“You…”

“Did what I should’ve done years ago. Reached for the same knife, inspected it, and lunged it in the closest one’s throat. I hate killin’, but I felt like that kid and his ma could do some justice. Burned the bodies n’ place, never looked back. Course word got out that I wasn’t with ‘em, anymore. I found myself doin’ things what his mother had did, and felt as if I was atonin’ fer her son. How I should’ve left him alone, shouldn’t let ‘im get so close to me.” Taishiro finished, gripping the couch as you let everything sink in.

“His death wasn’t your fault.” You said. He sighed.

“I know that, now, but the guilt of how I easily murdered my comrades, and letting this kid prance around me while I knew that my former gang were murderers, shook me. Started findin’ myself turn towards thievin’, giving money towards the same orphanage that his ma donated to, and other charities. Dabi and Tomura found me, then. Knew that I was good at my job, an’ were good at shuttin’ up the police.” He finished, laying fully back with glistening eyes.

“Taishiro...you went through so much.”  You said. You honestly couldn’t imagine the pain he had went through, as well.

“I saw myself in ya. Goin’ through all of this crazy shit, your mind on the brink of insanity at the exhaustion as the ones closest to ya hurt ya. We both have nobody.” He shrugged.

“I have you, though.” You admitted, letting the words flow out before you could stop them. He then stared at you in surprise.

“Yeah, I guess we have each other.” He admitted it softly. Despite of everything happening, you couldn’t help but let out a small smile.

…….

He took a break from being a criminal the day after, the two of you just taking a walk in the park as he snacked, and you enjoyed the view around you. After both crying your eyes out in separate rooms, he offered to take a break away from the violence and hurt, if only for a little bit, and you agreed hastily.

“Whatcha gonna do when I’m gone?” You asked, floating beside him as he popped a piece of candy into his mouth.

“Don’t fuckin’ know. I’m twenty-nine, been doin’ this shit since fifteen.”

“F-fifteen!? No wonder why you’re emotionally stunted!”

“Oh, fuck off!”

“Wish I could do that. So? What about charity work? Or a job that requires you to be swift, like housekeeping!”

“Housekeepin’?”

“Yeah! I use to work as a housekeeper for the nursing home! It’s a pretty rewarding job.” You grinned.

“Pft. If ya went there now, could ya see the gho-

“Tai, noooo those are nice, elderly people! You can’t make a joke about them being dead!” You pursed your lips.

“What? You’ll have somethin’ in common, then.” He snickered, and you huffed.  

“Okay, you blonde giraffe, do you have any ideas?”

“Probably work as a stripper.”

“You’re kidding.” You deadpanned, giving him a guffawed look of disbelief. He grinned at your expression.

“I don’t know, Dabi might hit me up. Might look good in heels.” He chuckled, but you were fighting with your dirty mind, trying not to imagine him looking at you seductively as the lingerie rode up- no! No!

“You can’t be a stripper, Taishiro.”

“Oh, an’ why not? Might be afraid of seein’ something ya might like?” He grinned sleazily, wiggling his eyebrows.

Yes.

“Nope! Do you even know how to dance? Or work your way around a pole?”

“Hey! I’d make a pretty damned good stripper!” He shouted, and you bit your lip.

“We’re in public, Tai-chan.” You said instead.

“So?”

“A bunch of kids just heard you shout to thin air that you’d make a good stripper.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up and c’mon.” He growled, yet there was pink dusting his cheeks. How cute, you thought.

………………..

      Your two months left had slowly became one. His attitude had shifted into something calmer, friendly on some days, and it didn’t help your growing emotions. You liked him. You didn’t know if you loved him, but you knew that the two of you had helped each other, and made a great team. You wished that you could live certain moments forever, but not in the gruesome way some spirits did.

 The missions had dwindled down as to your amazement and pride, he started doing more charity work, helping out Dabi’s girls and other places such as the orphanage through non-violent crimes. It was as if he was another different person, despite him still being snappy to you, it was a little bit softer. Of course he didn’t change over night, he had a lot to learn. Such as biting his tongue when there were children nearby, trying his best to keep his temper in check, and you, still being a little shit, but less, still liked to rile him up sometimes.

“Oh! I’m going to kill you!” He huffed, crossing his arms as you smirked, standing behind him as he made pottery for a small business, earning a little bit of money.

“Maybe next time, I should lift a penny for you to prove that I’m here?” You grinned, and he gave you an ugly, disapproving look.

“I’m not Demi Moore, an’ you’re not Patrick Swayze. Fuckin’ cut it out.”

“Whooooa~!” You started singing. He turned to you and growled.

“Don’t you fuckin-”

“My Loooooooove! My Daaaaarlin~!” You laughed manically as his ears and cheeks flushed red. Oh, it was a treat, you thought with glee.

“If ya somehow miraculously make it alive, I’m gonna make you sit through so many fuckin’ horror movies.” He huffed, turning his attention back the pottery. You smiled, seeing his ears flush with red.

………..

  Fate didn’t want to give you a break, however. It was the day of Halloween, and you went back to the hospital, having another, dreadful epiphany. Fear churned within your gut as you tried your best to rush towards your body’s resting place.

“-doctor, please. I’ve already lost one baby...I can’t lose another!” Your mother’s dreadful wailing greeted you when you finally had reached your destination. The old man’s eyes held nothing but sorrow and sympathy. You glanced at your body. It looked pale and thin, and you knew that if you couldn’t inhabit it soon, it was going to wither.

“I’m terribly sorry, but it has to be done tonight. You and your husband have been grieving for the longest time, and Kami knows how long it’ll be until her body decides to shut down itself.” His gentle tone wafted over you as you clutched your chest. It was sooner than you’ve expected, but you felt oddly relieved and yet so scared.  

You swallowed thickly and you rushed to tell Taishiro.

…….

“What?” He looked pale, disbelieving at you as the noodles slipped from his chopsticks.

“We have all day until night falls. So...would you like to spend the remaining time of my life with me?” You asked softly.

“Of fuckin’ course, Sweetheart. Where do ya wanna go?” He didn’t hesitate, and if you could blush, you knew that you would. You glanced up at him.  

“Everywhere.”

………………..

   The two of you just took your time as he took you to Disneyland’s Halloween theme park, enjoying your lightened up face with pure joy and innocent happiness for the first time since he’s met you. He was the only one who could eat, of course, but he delighted you in describing the texture and sweetness of each candy and treat, your eyes shining with your own memories as you replayed them aloud.

Of course there were stares, but for once, you didn’t try to egg him on. He was sweet to you, and you knew that he was crumbling on the inside. It hurt you, seeing him like this, yet the both of you wanted to spend your last moments together.

“Ugh! Damn it, it’s getting dark!” He shouted as the night had started to crawl upwards into the sky, and you knew that you didn’t have much time left. You were correct, seeing your ghostly arm burn brighter with white. Yet, you didn’t feel too scared. For over a year, this is what you’ve been wanting. The people you loved dearly, could grieve properly and move on, and you were more than willing to accept that.

“Taishiro.” You said slowly, catching his attention. His eyes widened with horror.

“Damn it! Y-you should’ve been wakin’ up! Why does it fuckin’ have to be you, huh?” He growled into a choking sound, trying to grip your arm, but no avail. You felt oddly peaceful as you stared into a teary-stained face, your body burning brighter as you looked in amazement. It didn’t hurt, but your fingers had evaporated into floating white butterflies, floating along loftily, as if seeking your body.

“Don’t fuckin’ leave!” He tried gripping them, but no avail, your heart lurched at his determination.  

“I’ll never regret meeting you. In the next life, I hope that we can probably become friends. Perhaps something more. I hope that you have wonderful parents, and an amazing job. Please don’t lose hope in this life.” You said softly, more of the butterflies evaporated from your body.

“Y/n!” He cried out, gritting his teeth. You could only give him the location of you hospital, finally as your world floated to black.

…………..  

 The reference is Ghost, a classic 90’s movie if anybody was curious

[inspector-montoya-fox]

#11 - A Tangled Web

Setting: oh, boy...... where do i even start with this one? welcome to your worst nightmare, or as Sly puts it a well-fortified gothic nightmare. if you thought Jailbreak was the embodiment of fear, A Tangled Web is ten times that. i mean, it doesn’t really develop any of the previous Prague characteristics because they’re the same, but the towering buildings really hone the spookiness. developments in the story also add to the fear factor. the Contessa has been ousted from Interpol and is now facing newly-promoted Neyla’s wrath. i’m thinking about what Hitchcock said on suspense and how having a bomb go off is scary, but having the people anticipate the blast is even scarier. that’s the case here. war is about to erupt and the gang is caught right in the middle of it all. although the fighter planes are casually attacking the castle and tanks are roaming the area throughout the episode, the operation establishes that full-out war is the climax for this episode. despite all this, the gang is united again and is ready to take down the Contessa. i absolutely love how there are two areas in this hub: Neyla’s side and Contessa’s side. Neyla’s side is a charming European town, reminiscent of Jailbreak’s hub. Contessa’s side is an intricate maze, full of arches, bridges, stained glass windows, crypts, dungeons and a cottdamn cemetery. similar to The Predator Awakes, i often get lost when playing this episode. the hub’s two areas also highlight the war aspect because it shows how there’s two indefinite sides to the subject, even though both characters (Neyla and the Contessa) are villains. essentially, the gang is a tiny league of their own swept up between a boiling feud. the safehouse is placed upon stairs to show how the gang doesn’t belong on Neyla’s side. as soon as you walk down those stairs, you face the danger of ruthless tanks (one of the game’s most annoying “guards”). the gang is definitely not welcome here. the hub’s architecture comes into play a lot throughout the episode: you have to climb the highest high to get to the Re-Education Tower and crawl under sewer tunnels to get to some of the crypts. some crypts are water-based, some are medieval trap-based, some are full-on coffin-based. and the missions really emphasise this as most of them have the gang traverse through a variety of rooms. fab.

Characters: before i touch upon the Contessa, i just wanna say, Carmelita’s back, after an episode of being completely MIA. yeap, right off the bat we find out she’s being held captive by the Contessa, who wants to turn her brain into mush. things are looking dire. for Sly, this brings back memories of Clockwerk’s lair. we haven’t seen Carmelita this defeated since she was Clockwerk’s hostage. this just further proves what a force the Contessa is. i love Carmelita’s lines in this episode (e.g. Let me out of here and I'll readjust your face!). Sly calls her his violent little princess and honestly that encapsulates everything. A Tangled Web overturns everything we thought we knew about Carmelita. after missing out on an entire episode, she’s being held captive for the majority of this one, and when she’s finally freed, she’s out of control. so we see two new sides of Carmelita: first restraint and then extra-powerful. the latter is due to her taking control of the tank at the end of the episode. she blasts the Contessa’s blimp down and even gets her hands on one of the Clockwerk eyes for a bit. Carmelita’s frenzy eventually winds down when (we’re informed via cutscene) that the gang helps her make a quick escape. so, basically, she’s back. let’s talk about the Contessa. as i’ve said above, the Contessa is an absolute force. i’m so happy to see a female villain surpass the other villains and their brute force. mind over matter, baby. absolute savage Jean Bison can’t follow up the Contessa’s act because he’s just plain muscle. in A Tangled Web, the Contessa is in her prime. i don’t know if she thrives under pressure or something, but she’s reached a divine level, elevating her persona and delivering PRICELESS dialogue such as I'm above all that, above good and evil. this episode is what makes her my favorite villain. SP gave her the “psychology trait” and took that to its full extent by having her psychoanalyze every character, almost drive Carmelita mad, and then try to hypnotise Sly. similarly to Rajan, the hub’s architecture resembles its baddie by having all those arches and tunnels resemble the Contessa’s spider legs. in the end, we get to fight her, head-to-head. it’s a great bossfight, albeit simple. but i want to focus on the dialogue during the bossfight. we have a character that knows Sly. again, only Clockwerk was that familiar with the Coopers. the rest of the villains up until this point (up until Dr M, that is) have been goons and crooks. but the Contessa, having researched Sly and his psychological profile, actually knows him. i know i speak for all of y’all when i say that You're an ignorant child playing dress-up in his father's legacy is A Tangled Web’s absolute climax. because it hits so hard. oof. it all just culminates and gives this marvel of a character an awesome conclusion. so now, we naturally have to talk about Sly. it’s been a hot minute since the raccoon’s had some character development. after being double-crossed, trapped and then had some reconnecting with his friends, he’s back. and he feels kinda different. i mean, he’s still the fun-loving, sarcastic Cooper we all love, but i think he’s started considering the gravity of the situation. Sly 1 saw Sly gradually realize what he was going up against, level after level. in Sly 2, he had to be cocky enough to get betrayed and thrown into jail before coming to the realization that the stakes are high. the episode starts with Sly saying Time for a little payback in full seriousness, and ends with him saying I tried to put it all out of my mind. This Klaww business was spiraling out of control and I knew that my gang was at the center of it. yeap. this set of episodes has definitely changed Sly. and i think having the Contessa mention his dad really pushes him even further. when he says sHE’s GOT THE EYE!?!!!? you really feel it (?). and finally, Neyla. ah, we finally get to see her true colors (at least that’s what we think). the cutscenes’ animation really does a great job in outlining what a war mongrel she really is. stomping around with her Timberland boots and barking out orders, having a hoard of tanks and fighter planes follow her. she’s absent for the majority of the episode but finally makes a grand entrance at the end. and the deception is brilliant. SP presented her as an angry war leader, had her hide in her HQ for most of the episode and only showed her making offensive moves towards the Contessa. so we were all shocked when she sneaked into the Re-Education Tower at the end. it was so un-war-mongrel-like, further proving that Neyla can easily shed her skins and how versatile she is. she’s like the yin to Sly’s yang..... until she gets stuck in a web.... *sigh*

Themes: when i say war, you say theme: war theme ! hear me out, this episode is very character-driven, but the themes are heavy too. having the episode take place right in the middle of a war is a new direction for the series. in the past, every episode had a different location and different aesthetic, but it was usually the gang stealing stuff in the night. here, we’re in an active warzone. the fighting heightens tensions and adds pressure to an already tough situation. the theme also embodies the characters and the hub. if Neyla is the embodiment of war (tanks, planes, etc.) and the Contessa is personified by her gothic estate, it further highlights how the former has the latter quite literally surrounded. tanks have driven the Contessa into her estate, surrounded by water, and the planes keep attacking the buildings inside. all this might and fury places the two villains onto pedestals. the theme is present everywhere: the Prague sky is especially red in order to exhibit the wrath of war, some of the missions take on a destructive nature (Mojo Trap Action, Tank Showdown). we all know war never ends well, and that’s exactly what happens: the gang is forced to flee at the end, barely managing to obtain both Clockwerk eyes. lastly, the fear theme is still present from last episode, but ties in with the war theme. the architecture, the guards and the missions still emit fear, but fear of war overshadows everything else. so, essentially, the war preserves the fear aspect and even sharpens it. and then, there’s the theme of defiance which fits in perfectly with the war theme. we’ve reached the end of this set of great episodes and the characters are fed up. as i’ve mentioned above, after Carmelita breaks free, she wreaks havoc. she’s been warning the Contessa about breaking free and there was doubt, but she succeeds and that shows defiance against her captor. Sly defies Neyla, after she double-crossed him. this is the first encounter between the two after what went down in India and the chase is great. both are defiant in their own way and that’s why their remarks bounce back. and finally, Sly’s defiance towards the Contessa. i mean, she’s been pulling the strings and been suppressing the gang for two episodes straight so it’s only natural for Sly to beat the shit out of her. and again, the dialogue here is absolute gold. there’s even defiance towards Bentley, when Sly doesn’t stick to the plan and goes rogue (lmao). i guess the last theme, or rather motif, here ties into the theme of defiance, because it’s mischief and tricks. i mean, it’s a form of defiance, so there you have it. even though the situation is extreme and the stakes are high, the gang seems to be having as much fun as ever. in Stealing Voices, there’s that great gag with Bentley imitating Neyla. Tank Showdown sees Murray try to fit into that tiny-ass tank in a cartoony manner and then squash all the guards in his way. Ghost Capture has Sly break a coffin in order to unleash pesky ghosts and then try to capture them by taking pictures of them. and i’m sorry, but every time General Clawfoot blurts out gibberish i crack up. there’s contrast between the war’s grimness and the way the gang handles the missions, and it’s great. i guess it’s comedic relief during harsh times.

What I Like: the character development, the themes and the quotes! i mean, analyzing this episode is my favorite thing about it. it’s a reminder that Sly 2 has the best and most well-constructed narrative in the series. favorite detail would have to be the guillotine. it’s so fun cutting the rope and watching it drop. so yea.

What I Don’t Like: i’ll be honest with you - this episode’s missions weren’t the best. they felt like small tasks to build up an excellent, narrative-driven operation. i mean, abducting General Clawfoot was a brief one and Stealing Voices felt too similar to Ghost Capture and Mojo Trap Action. and, sorry SP, but having me drive the tank as Murray twice felt like punishment...

Quote: deciding what gets included here is literally the most difficult thing i’ve ever had to do. how can i pick between utterly ICONIC lines such as Weren't you listening? She was an Evil Wolf Priestess and You're an ignorant child playing dress-up in his father's legacy. the latter never fails to send shivers down my spine. i honestly can’t do it. the whole damn episode is a fucking quote.

[oatsn-honey]

fragile

ao3

masterlist

summary: 

Zelda just doesn't understand why he can't admit that it's his fault they're in this whole "Calamity Ganon" mess. But, maybe she just wants someone else to blame.

or: Link and Zelda get into a fight, both running off into separate directions. Eventually, Zelda seeks to find him and apologize

notes: i'm rlly hesitant about posting this, just because i worry it won't be well received, but i figure i need to share it at some point.this is a vent-fic, so it is technically me projecting onto a character, so if you have a problem with the sensitivity to the content, i ask that you please simply stop reading instead of coming for me. thank you. for readers who are sensitive, this does contain references to self harm (although none actually occurs).

Turning the fish skewer absently over the open fire, Zelda observed the lake in front of her; Link leaping in and out of the frigid water, still fully clothed. His head bobbed up and down as he swam, dashing towards fish and capturing them in swift motions, securing a hearty lunch.

She would’ve found the sight amusing, had it not been for a single thought plaguing her mind. That, and the fact that not even Link himself was smiling — not even in the slightest. It was annoying. It was annoying that he could look regal and refined when doing something so seemingly foolish (any other person would’ve looked either insane or ridiculous). It was annoying that she could never do that.

“Link! I think we have caught plenty!” She called, eyeing the pile of assorted fish at her feet with disdain — just another reminder of her own incompetence. He nodded, lips still that hard line, rising out of the water, catch in hand. Zelda sighed, turning back to the flames and adjusting her grip on the stick.

She could hear his sloshing steps as he approached, clothing dripping and hair soaked, and feel the splash of water when he sat down. “Here,” She thrust the skewer out to him, giving not the briefest glance upwards, before puncturing another fish. “Take it. After all, you were the one to catch all of them,” She could hardly keep the indifference from her voice.

She had to refrain from rolling her eyes when she received no answer and her arm continued to hang in the air, food still very much held in her fingers. The softest touch met the back of her hand — he wanted her to look up. “What?” She hissed, launching up, the contempt too obvious to miss or cover up.

His hands stopped, suspended in the air, ready to sign, fingers curled back in resignation. His expression remained neutral, flat as ever, but there was a flash of hurt across his ocean eyes. Barely detectable, his shoulders drooped, and his hands went limp.

Zelda ran a hand down her face, harshly blowing air through her lips, before asking more gently, “What?”

He pushed the skewer toward her and began to move his hands slowly, carefully so that she understood, “It’s for you, Princess.” The words were kind, but she felt no different. This was probably just another ploy — a way to make her feel guilty.

She narrowed her eyes at him, yanking the fish away, sinking her teeth into it in a single aggressive bite. “Fine by me,” She growled. And he had the gall to continue on with that straight face. Had she been paying any attention, and she wasn’t, most definitely not, she may have guessed there was a small smile on the corner of his lips.

Link grabbed a sharpened stick of his own, sliding a large Hyrule Bass onto it and roasting it over the fire. Zelda slowed her bites (she reminded herself to remain calm), watching the flames lick the food as Link turned it in his hands. He seemed fairly satisfied when the fish reached a golden brown, taking a mouthful of it.

Zelda finished her own meal, stabbing the skewer into the soft ground. She wiped her hands on her dark trousers (her father would’ve been mortified), shifting to rest her elbows on her knees. The princess placed her chin in her hand, blankly watching her knight  — within mere moments, her teeth were already grinding in unfounded anger.

“You know, Link,” she started, voice too innocent and unassuming, “Why does everything come so easily to you?”

She waited for a response, the moment only filled with the sounds of the lake’s water stirring and the creatures flitting about the area. Her patience was wearing thin.

“Well?!” She snapped, face filled with annoyance, “You don’t know how to answer?” She stood up, clenching her fists in rage, “You’ve probably never known what it’s even like to work hard, or to not excel at something! Because you’ve never had to try at anything, right?”

She gave a hysterical laugh of repudiation, “You are the chosen one, after all! It makes sense, you were able to become a knight as a child, no effort, no sweat! You pulled the sword from its pedestal as if was hardly a stretch!”

She turned to fully face him, eyes misty but harboring a deep animosity, “I bet you look at me and laugh, ‘Why is everything so hard for her? Why can’t she just figure out how to unlock her blasted powers? Wasn’t she supposed to be born with them?’”

She gave him no room to argue, her fury passionately forcing his protests back, “I wouldn’t doubt it if you’re sick and tired of waiting around for me. I bet I just slow you down and annoy you to no end!”

“That’s probably why you never talk, right?” Zelda insisted fervently, “Because there’s no way that you could ever say anything to me without insulting and breaking the knight’s code! I’m sure that you say horrid things behind my back.”

Each assumption stung like a poisoned weapon slicing through Link’s skin, but he had already lost the right to fight against her.

“Nothing to say, chosen one?” She sneered. “Well, I’ll have you know, it’s your fault that we’re even in this mess! This mess of Calamity Ganon, this mess of unlocking some accursed sealing powers. If you hadn’t pulled that glorified blade from its resting place, none of this would be happening!” She waved her hands around emphatically, every word stressed by the motions, “That’s right! Maybe you should tame your foolish avarice and realize that not everything is some childish game that can be easily conquered!”

Her final words were accentuated with a sob and flying tears, “This is your fault!”

Zelda heaved, still reeling from her outburst of raw emotion. “Well?” She cried breathlessly, “Don’t you have anything to say?”

Link’s jaw quivered, expression withdrawn and head hung in surrender. His knuckles had grown a bone white from the force of his clamped fists. Silently, he made his way over to discarded weapons — “that glorified blade.”  

“Where do you think you’re going?!” She demanded, foot stamping in agitation. He didn’t respond, continuing to sling the sword across his back. There was a quiver in her voice as it bellowed after him, “Link!”

Her response was boots pounding on the ground, drifting farther away.

With an infuriated huff, she turned on her heels, her arms crossed and teeth grinding in agitation. “Fine then-! If he wants to be immature then so be it!” Scooping the discarded Shekiah Slate into her hands, her thoughts escalated, “Just wait until Father here’s of his behavior — he will no longer think so highly of a knight that can’t handle the truth!”

The princess stamped out the remainders of the fire, each stomp in time with a jab at her ‘protector’. With fire burning at her tongue, waiting impatiently to be released, she mounted her steed, urging it forward. A speech of malice was already racing through her mind, only pushing her onward towards the castle. She didn’t even look over her shoulder to ensure that Link’s own horse was following her.

Foreboding clouds formed only 2 minutes into her journey — or perhaps they had been there the whole time, unnoticed and overpowered by her boiling temper. The promise of a storm only served to further damper her mood.

When the first drop splattered across her nose, she wanted to scream, “Well isn’t this just my luck!” Instead, she dug her heels into her horse’s sides. Galloping towards the castle, Zelda anticipated her arrival, her anger coiling painfully in the pit of her stomach.

“Oh, when Urbosa hears of this…”

By the time hooves collided with perfect stone slabs, the storm had begun, water flooding Zelda’s vision and thunder peeling through the sky. Without a thought, she leaped from her horse, leaving it to the guards, and took long, heavy strides towards the gates.

Bursting through the door, she dismissed her father’s reprimanding comment, quickly scanning the room for a single person.

“Ah, little bird—“ Her strong voice rang before she caught sight of Zelda’s expression and stiff body language — the girl was nearly boiling over. “Please excuse us, your highness,” Urbosa apologized. The king waved his hand, using the other to rub exasperatedly at his face.

Steps confident, Urbosa followed after Zelda, peridot eyes cold and calculating as she observed the young princess. They ascended several flights of alabaster steps, twisting through familiar corridors, illuminated by flames and adorned with ornate tapestries. When they reached Zelda’s quarters the princess heaved open the unwieldy doors, her lacy top nearly ripping at the shoulders with her impassioned strength. The blonde stomped into the room, furiously tugging her braid from its place. The Gerudo woman followed her, curiously cocking a sharp eyebrow at the girl’s huffing and agitation.

“Ugh, Urbosa!” Zelda groaned, hands tensing as she began furiously pacing the room’s length. “I just can’t believe him -- the audacity!” She turned to her friend, who had taken a seat in Zelda’s plush desk chair. “He’s just so, so,” she stuttered, mind muddled by her fury, “so irresponsible! And disrespectful! I am the princess, I am royalty, he can’t just ignore a question!” She let out a choked scream, “And he has the gal to just leave! How unbelievable!”

Urbosa’s face remained calm as she began to speak, relying on her intuition to fill in the blanks in Zelda’s ranting, “Now, little bird, please take a moment.” Zelda shot her a deceitful glare, but Urbosa simply raised her eyebrows, unintimidated. “I don’t see why royalty matters in this instance. Isn’t your anger caused by the envy you feel towards his ability to discover his foretold destiny when you have yet to?” Zelda stuttered, forming a rebuttal that had no chance to surface, “In that case, shouldn’t you treat him as an equal, and give him the respect that you desire from him? Besides, his whole life has been respecting others, and you are no exception to that.”

“W-Well, I--” Zelda stammered, hands clenched as she hoped to conjure a response.

She wasn’t given a moment to try, “You know, that boy hasn’t quite had an easy life either. There’s no plausible way a child could’ve advanced the ranks to knight without grueling training and  a strict upbringing -- I’m sure he has struggled. Being the “Goddess’s Chosen Hero” is certainly less than it is envisioned as, and I doubt it’s what he wanted from his life. Just as you despise being the Goddess Incarnate. Trust me, I’m certain there is more to his silence than timidity and conduct procedures -- he’s probably seen his share of the world’s darkness, just as you and I.” Zela hung her head as Urbosa continued, “We do not possess the knowledge of what plagues his mind and heart, the burdens he carries -- for all of our ignorance, and who’s to assume differently, his lively-hood could be dangling above destruction, and it could easily be caused by what others, or even you or I, say.”

“Urbosa, I apologize, I spoke out of m-” Zelda started, before a harsh glare from Urbosa caused her to teeter out. After a moment, the look softened out.

“Life is a lot more fragile than we think. So you should treat others in a way that leaves no regrets.”

“I understand…” Zelda resigned in defeat, hands limply clinging to the sides of her dirty trousers.

Catching her off guard, Urbosa commanded with a thunderous voice, “Now! Go find that boy!”

Nodding determinedly, Zelda snatched a coat on her way from the room, heart beating with the pelts of rain against the castle. She set out on horseback, galloping across the plains and forests of Central Hyrule.

An hour of searching, soaked to the bone by the frigid rain, all to no avail, left her feeling hopeless. Steeling herself, guilt still rampant in her spirit, encouraged her to begin again.

She found herself drawn to the Applean Forest, the small wooded area beckoning her towards its trees. Zelda was certain that he was there. Dismounting from her horse, she hesitantly approached the wood, her clothing and shoes plastered in mud from the wet ground.

After weaving through the trees, a soft sounds piqued her attention, and she sets out to follow it. She rounded a tree carefully, eyes coming to rest on Link (as she had suspected and hoped) huddled up against it, his knees pulled close to his chest and arms cradled between them.

“Link?” She asked ever so quietly, moving so little that she refrained from blinking. He made a muffled, surprised noise, choking on his cries, before backing away from her like a frightened animal, avoiding her eyes.

Then, she saw it. A knife to his side, cast away, glistening with rain water.

“For all of our ignorance, and who’s to assume differently, his lively-hood could be dangling above destruction, and it could easily be caused by what others, or even you or I, say.”

“Oh, Goddess, Link!” She collapsed before him, praying that he didn’t have so much as have a scrape, forcefully grabbing his arms and pulling them forward for her to see. When she threw the dripping sleeves forward, she was met with… smooth skin, untouched.

He gazed up at her, hot tears still trailing down his face, before he looked at the knife. His voice wavered as he spoke, “I couldn’t do it.”

Zelda’s heart swelled with tumultuous relief, “Thank Hylia,” She breathed before dropping her head and lightly kissing his arms in a beholden act.

“I’m sorry,” She heard him mumble, soft voice bubbling with emotion, tears blurring is vision. “You’re right, it is my fault, if only I hadn’t--”

Throwing her arms around him, Zelda refused his admission, “Shut up, you dummy! I’m sorry! What I said was so, so wrong. It’s never been your fault, ever. I’m so sorry, I just wanted someone else to blame, and I never, ever should’ve said that. I was so wrong, I know that life hasn’t been easy for you, either. I never should’ve assumed that. I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, Link.”

He didn’t return her embrace, but he eased into her hug, his crying slowing to gentle sniffles. She mumbled apologies repeatedly, tears soaking into his uniform.

“Link, can you forgive me?” Zelda pulled away from him, looking into his swollen, but brilliantly blue eyes. The knight nodded softly and she pursed her lips, hoping to hold onto the memory of his voice, for she had never heard it before. Why is he so silent, the princess asked herself.

Shrugging the thought off for later, she stood, extending her hand down towards Link. “We should probably head back now.” He hesitantly accepted her offer, hand cold in her own. “It’s late and you’re shivering quite a bit.” His lips pressed together in embarrassment, a vain attempt to quell the chattering of his teeth.

As she helped him mount her horse, this time the role of guard belonging to her, Zelda felt her stomach knot with apprehension and her senses overwhelmed by a strong bout of protectiveness. She smiled up at him briefly before grabbing ahold of the reigns. As they set out towards the castle, the rain still bombarding the earth, her eyes set with cold conviction. She would come to understand him.

“I am fragile. He is fragile. All of life is fragile.”

sorry >< i know that it's not the best and that it's probably not everyone's favorite topic,,,,

but, since i did mention that this was a vent fic and that i was projecting onto a character, link in this case, i would like to let anyone who is curious know that i have been doing much much better (and that this is from a couple months ago)

thank you sm for reading! i love all of you! please stay strong!

[boundtoyouphff]

Chapter 11: Royals Do Not...

A/N: Hello everyone! I am so sorry that I have not been as active on here. I have moved to England temporarily and its been quite the adventure! I feel inspiration here and there to write this story so I am hoping that this inspiration and I can continue to share more of this story with you. Much love xx

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From the moment I was born I have lived my life in the spotlight. Many people I have met are envious of that fact, of the fame and apparent glamour that my birth right gave me. But... it is far from what they dream it as to be.

It is not all glitz and glam or dressing up in a pretty designer dress and wearing magnificent sparkling jewelry. It’s about being a public servant to the people of your country and with that, there are rules that are not meant to be broken. Rules of how I should be greeted by another, who is allowed to touch me, how I am supposed to act in every occasion you can think of.

My grandmother instilled this quote in me at a tender young age as my rebellious side craved to appear... ‘to be believed you have to be seen. You have to give the people a monarchy they desire and envy to be like and thus act like one.’

I have stopped counting the amount of times I have been lectured on what “Royals do not...” do, mainly its because I don’t want to do things the way I was taught. To show no empathy or compassion, to not embrace and hug someone or try to relate to them by putting myself down from this pedestal that I should be cemented in.

I have been told to act ‘more royal’ but what does that even mean? Does anyone really know? What really makes me different from anyone else I pass by on the street?

Nothing.

I can hear my grandmothers scolding tone invade my mind when I am on an engagement, telling me how I should be acting or the fact that I held someone’s hand was wrong. And yet, I can never learn to stop that. I cannot put on a fake smile or not feel genuine emotions that these people elicit in me.

Those three little words.

Royals do not...

They define my life. Or at least that is what they want me to believe.

—————————————

Emilia lifted her chin up in the air as her stylist and make up artist, Ella, applied a natural layer of make up to her face. Mia Deacon was rambling off in the corner about the day’s full itinerary of Harry’s tour accompanied by the princess, stressing over every single detail with little side notes of protocol reminders, no doubt her grandmother incorporated in through Mia.

Ella rolled her eyes with her lips spreading into a cheeky smile picking up on the fact that Emilia was starting to get annoyed with her private press secretary. “Just be you, Emilia.” Her stylist encouraged in a sincere tone that was matched within her eyes.

The princess closed her eyes with a slow nod and tuned out all the voices from around her to focus on calming her nerves. Emilia felt the pressure from every angle and today would only be another day that every moment would be cautiously watched and scrutinized not only by her grandmother, but also the Illyrian media.

“There how do you like this Em? I could add a bit more but felt a natural look would be perfect for today and then this evening for the state banquet we could amp it up!” Ella delightfully smiled at the finished product and grabbed a mirror to hold up in front of Emilia.

“Looks perfect like always Ella. Thank you very much.” Emilia’s lips tugged into a smile and stood up from her stool motioning for her stylist to follow her into the closet. “Now, I forgot which outfit we talked about last week for the first engagement.”

Mia’s heels clicked behind them and entered her walk in closet ready to put her opinion in. “Let’s make sure it’s elegant and regal. The style of a true princess.” Emilia’s press secretary was adamant that she would be the one to ultimately decide if her dress was suitable for the occasion, but the princess was not going to succumb to the pressures placed on her when someone else would decide every single little detail.

“I appreciate the input Mia.” Emilia sorted through her closet analyzing a few options before continuing. “But, I think this is a decision for Ella and I. Besides I am heading to a children’s hospital in a lower socioeconomic community and do not believe that is the place to be ‘regal’ as you put it, but more... relatable...” Emilia angled her head down, admiring a dress she thought would be a good fit for the event.

“Emilia… these engagements are important for you.” Mia was not backing down from the princess.

“Important for me? Or important for you so you don’t lose your job.” Emilia sassily replied and turned around to confront her private secretary with a disappointed expression morphing onto her face. With each passing day, it seemed like Mia was no longer interested in working with Emilia, rather for her grandmother. Able to keep a close watchful eye on the young royal and persuade her actions to those that would align with the Queen’s.

“Both.” Mia crossed her arms defensively and narrowed a stare towards the princess. “Your grandmother hired me to set you on a straight path and you have been making this job more than difficult because of your attitude and the need to be on the front page of the daily paper... daily.” The brunette freely spoke her mind, not holding anything back. “You need to grow up and be the princess your grandmother wants you, rather needs you to be.” Those words cut through Emilia like a knife, stinging on their way out.

Tristan had walked in mid conversation and was casually leaning up against the framed entrance watching the encounter unfold in front of his eyes. His brow furrowed in displeasure seeing how Mia was treating Emilia. He could recall all the difficulties he previously had with the princess, but he showed Emilia how they could work together and gave her the freedom she craved every once in a while in return for her cooperation and in time, built an understanding relationship. The moment he met Mia, Tristan had an inkling that she would rub Emilia the wrong way mixed with the fact that she was not the princess’s choice rather the Queen’s intention to keep a closer eye on Emilia.

Emilia’s silence was profoundly felt amongst all standing around her as the awkwardness in the room rose. The disappointment that was etched on her face provided more proof of what the silence meant as she stared down Mia

Mia had over stepped majorly and she knew it. Opening her mouth to apologize she was interrupted before she could even start.

“Mia.” Emilia spat out her name. “I need people on my team who can work with me, not work against me. There really never was a cohesive feeling when you arrived and partly for the fact that you believe my grandmother is your boss as she is the one you are required to please and not me. That was your first mistake.” The princess calmly spoke, mustering all she could within herself to not lose it. “Your second mistake is thinking you could speak to me that way and this is not the first time I have let it go unchecked.”

“Emilia, I apologize.” Mia stepped forward towards the scowling princess to beg for forgiveness, but Emilia was through with her.

“It’s your royal highness or ma’am to you.” Emilia interrupted with a clenched jaw. “Mrs. Deacon, I think this is where we say our goodbyes. Thank you for your service and I wish you all the best in your future endeavours.” The princess raised her head to look past Mia at Tristan giving him a slight nod of the head. “Tristan, please escort Mrs. Deacon out of my apartment. I am sure she will be wishing to speak with the Queen on this matter.”

“Gladly, ma’am.” Tristan stepped forward and gripped Mia’s arm tightly, giving it a tug back. “It’s time to leave here, Mia.”

Mia’s big brown eyes that were filled with regret peaked up at the blonde RPO. “You know this is ridiculous Tristan.” She was practically being pulled out of the princess’s apartment.

“What is ridiculous is how you thought you could change Emilia. Maybe she is what this family needs right now.” Tristan stood up for the young princess he had grown fond of despite her unprecedented ways. “A breath of fresh air.”

Emilia turned around being no longer able to watch Mia’s figure slowly disappear in the distance. She had to hide the tears that were threatening to over pour. Never had she felt so alone in this world before, but her mind could not stay on that thought as it brought images of articles to the forefront of her mind knowing this would have to be revealed publicly. Not to mention how her grandmother would react once she heard the news of Mia Deacon no longer being her look out for Emilia.

The princess fought back the tears and gained her composure while sorting through her dresses. “Can you pick one out Ella, I trust your judgment.” Emilia sat down on top of a white cushioned bench taking a moment to herself.

“I think this one will look fabulous on you along with these shoes and a simple pair of pearl earrings.” Emilia lifted her head and smiled weakly at a beaming Ella who was holding up a black and white simple dress with a turquoise heel to add a pop of color.

“Me too.”

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“Good morning.” Harry leaned in and pressed a greeting kiss on both of Emilia’s cheeks. He had been waiting for the princess to join him on their first engagement as his team waited at the convoy along the palace’s gates, but Emilia was nearly twenty minutes late. Judging by her quiet demeanour the prince guessed that something had happened.

“Morning.” Emilia spoke with a quiet voice and was visibly distracted, barely looking the prince in his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Harry’s brow furrowed with concern while the princess peaked up at him through her dark lashes with those mesmerizing piercing blue eyes. For a brief second she allowed him into her thoughts that were painted across her face for him to clearly see, but they morphed into a fake smile that hide it all too quickly for Harry’s liking.

“Nothing.” Emilia brushed him off and stepped around him to get in the vehicle. “We better leave, Henry.”

The princess stared out the window hardly acknowledging the prince’s existence. Neither of them spoke a word to one another throughout the whole drive to the children’s hospital alerting Harry that something was definitely up with Emilia. His head lifted and locked with Tristan through the rear view mirror who was driving them to the engagement. Her RPO gave him a simple nod and pushed the button to bring up a separator between the back seat and the drivers, giving Harry and Emilia a bit of privacy.

“Talk to me, Emilia.” Harry’s soft voice was laced with genuine concern for the princess. “Please.” The prince begged of her when he was met with a silent reply.

Emilia closed her eyes and swallowed a lump in her throat. She could not bare to look at Harry so she continued to glance out the window, staring absentmindedly at the buildings they passed by while her thoughts consumed her.

All her mind was filled with was her grandmothers ridiculing voice saying...

Royals do not be irrational about their decisions.

“I am sure you will hear a few people commenting today that I fired my private secretary this morning.” Emilia sighed at the end of her sentence.

“Well, that happens.” Harry non-chalantly played it off, not wanting to make a big deal out of it. “I am sure there are other people more capable for the job.”

“No…” Her head snapped towards Harry as he was met with a hard stare. “You don’t understand, Henry.” Emilia’s cold icy stare bore into him. “Mia was hired by my grandmother to keep a closer eye on me and change my unroyal ways. I am just waiting to hear word from her about how disappointed she is in me... again.” The princess turned away from Harry to hide her somber eyes. “Nothing I ever do is good enough. No matter how hard I try, I am not good enough.... not royal enough.”

“I am sorry, Emilia.” The prince’s heart felt for her while her words tugged at his heart strings. “But, think of this as an opportunity to find someone who you can work well with, who will be on your side now and do things the way you want to do them.” Harry shifted in his seat to move closer to Emilia. “Come here.” He whispered and gripped her arm gently to pull Emilia into him.

“Nooo.” She fought it for a second, but quickly gave into his request craving his comforting touch. Emilia wrapped her arms around Harry, releasing a deep sigh and finding comfort once again in his arms. “I feel so alone, Henry.” The princess fought back the tears, but a stray one trickled down her cheek. “Why can’t being me just be good enough for someone? Why do I have to bend to their will only because I do things a little differently?”

“You aren’t alone.” His thumb rubbed over the soft fabric of her dress on the back of her arm. “You have me.” Emilia picked her head up off his shoulder to look up into his eyes to see if the sincerity in his voice matched. “And you are good enough, Emilia. Don’t let anyone tell you different.” The kind words that rolled off his tongue made the hurt subside a little, as she found solace in them.

“Thank you for being you.” Emilia cupped his cheek and without warning, leaned in and captured Harry’s lips. The princess had no idea what had gotten over her, but having someone on her side without any ill intentions brought a sense of reassurance and security to her that had been lacking for numerous years, so she welcomed it with open arms. She realized what she had done and tore her lips off of Harry’s only to feel Harry’s hand on her neck to stop her from moving any further away.

“Don’t pull away.” His lips embraced Emilia’s again while holding her head steady. She smiled into the kiss and welcomed the feeling of Harry’s lips softly kissing her. He was gentle, but passionate as the prince continued a feverish attack, making his motives clear that he indeed wanted Emilia.

There was a piece inside of Emilia that had feelings for Harry, making it more difficult for her to ignore with each passing day as it continued to grow stronger within her. It was undeniable that there was this palpable connection they shared like an outside force was playing like a puppet with their heartstrings.

Harry tugged hard on Emilia’s lips and captured a tiny moan that escaped from them. She clutched the collar of Harry’s shirt and pulled him down, fighting for a piece of control, but the prince did not back down and fought back with soft kisses trailing down her jaw line down towards her collarbone. Emilia was breathless as her head gently tipped back, giving Harry full access to her neck.

“We should stop…” The princess forced out from a fully clouded mind with evident regret laced in her tone.

“We should…” Harry mumbled against her soft skin as he found his way back to her lips and delicately tasted them, savouring the taste.

The screams of fans muffled from outside the vehicle brought them hastily back to reality. Emilia released her grip on Harry’s shirt and immediately sat back, clearing her throat and checking to see if her dress was in proper placement.

The prince was beaming from ear to ear as he licked his lips, tasting the remnants of Emilia on them. His eyes drifted towards a half stunned princess as she stiffly sat beside him, attempting to get the moment out of her mind.

“We should not have done that before an engagement.” Emilia’s shaky voice sounded as she fidgeted nervously with the ends of her dress.

“Don’t worry, it will be fine.” The ever-assuring prince calmed her. “It’s not like they are going to ask if we locked lips, Emilia.” Harry tossed his head back in laughter after seeing her ice blue eyes wide with shock.

“You can thank the blacked out windows for that.” The princess nervously giggled.

“Just, let’s keep it professional.” The princess informed him and even shifted further away from him. “Keep a good distance away from me.”

“Yes, princess.” Harry tugged on the sides of his suit jacket to straighten it out as their vehicle pulled to a stop. “Let’s not forget to have a little fun too. You aren’t the only one who likes to do things a little differently so let’s show them how the Brits do it!” Henry flashed a flirtatious charming smile at Emilia before his door sprung open and exited the vehicle to hear the hundreds of screaming fans hollering their names.

But, the same voice in her head was still louder than the cheers from the people... her grandmothers scolding her, again.

Emilia, Royals do not show any displays of affection.

Emilia gracefully stepped out of the back seat of the vehicle and briefly locked eyes with Tristan who displayed a genuine smile back towards the princess. Her eyes scanned the awaiting crowd and offered them a cheerful wave as they shouted her name. The princess walked around the vehicle to see Harry waiting patiently for Emilia before they headed towards the entrance of the hospital to greet the CEO and founders of St. Thereasita’s Hospital.

Harry motioned for Emilia to step ahead of him, technically against royal protocol but he was bound to break a few rules today to show the Illyrian media that breaking protocol was not as awful as they were portraying Emilia while she did it.

“Your royal highness, it’s a pleasure to have you visit us again Princess Emilia!” The founder of St. Thereasita’s Hospital greeted the princess with a warm handshake, attempting to speak above the erupting crowd behind them.

“It’s always a pleasure, Mr. Davies. Thank you again for allowing us to visit and see the children and their families.” Emilia smiled warmly and angled her body to proceed down to the next person while the prince stepped in behind her.

Harry and Emilia walked down through the pediatric cancer ward and visited a few families along with their eager children who were so excited to meet a prince and a princess. Along they way, they were educated on the different programs offered for families in this low income community and how their out reach in their community has changed many lives for the better.

Emilia sat down on a little girls bed who was playing with a stuffed animal. She looked quite pale and ill, lacking any expression. “Hello there.” The princess quietly intruded in the little girls thoughts as she peaked up at Emilia. “My name is Emilia, what’s yours?” The girl leaned forward and tapped Emilia on the nose with her stuffed bunny.

“Charlie.” She cupped her mouth and whispered, shyly eying the hoards of cameras behind the princess.

“That is a very pretty name, Charlie. I love your bunny!” The princess tried to distract Charlie from the media quietly listening to every one of their words.

“Do you have a bunny?! Like this one?” Charlie held the ratted out stuffed bunny proudly in the air, showing it off.

“You know, I don’t but I really wish I did though!” Emilia shared a glance towards Charlie’s smiling parents and delved into a conversation with him. She listened to Charlie’s story with empathy etched on her face, learning that this little girl was indeed a fighter but her treatments had recently stopped working. This family was at a crossroads in their life, unsure whether to let Charlie enjoy the rest of the little time she had left or go on to explore treatments in other countries that would put her body through so much to extend her life only by a little.

Emilia’s eyes were brimming with tears while her heart ached. Her hand flew to her chest as she leaned in and tried to formulate a string of words that got caught up in her throat. “I can’t imagine. She is a very strong little girl.” The princess felt a stray tear trickle down her cheek that she quickly brushed away and heard an array of cameras clicking making Emilia hide her face away from them.

Royals did not show emotion. Emilia could hear those exact words in her mind being spoken by her grandmother.

Harry was leaning up against the wall, watching the whole encounter take place before his eyes. The media were practically starving for anything they could use against the princess, rather anything that would sell the papers. He felt for Emilia deeply. Even though he had an understanding of the level of scrutiny she was under, this felt more like an obsession, like she was a money target.

The prince stepped in and made a joke with Charlie to which everyone laughed. Emilia was grateful for the distraction and was able to thank the family for a visit before moving on to the next event on the agenda. Emilia felt the immediate presence of Harry beside her and silently whispered a quiet thank you. She received a small nod from the British prince before Emilia heard the shouting coming down from the hall.

“My friend! It’s my friend!” A small little girl was holding on to her IV pole as she came running down the corridor towards Harry and Emilia.

As the child came closer and closer, Emilia was both heartbroken and caught off guard to find out that she recognized the young child with her tilted purple beanie slipping off her head that revealed her hair was all gone. It was Olivia, the little sweet girl she befriended at her patronage, the Breakfast Club, a few months back. She was sitting all alone because the bullies at school did not like her shoes.

Emilia crouched down and opened her arms out to invite Olivia in for an embrace. The little girl wrapped her arms around the princess and squeezed her arms so tightly around Emilia. Closing her eyes, she heard the clicks of the cameras going off behind her capturing what should have been a private moment between them.

Emilia hugged Olivia tighter as the words crept in, blocking them out and relishing the feeling of the embrace as if she tried to convince herself it was worth the risk.

Breaking away from the embrace, Olivia stared up at the princess with her big blue eyes smiling. “Did you come here to visit me?” She innocently asked with an excited tone in her voice that made Emilia giggle.

“Yes! I did!” The princess stood up from and laid eyes on what appeared to be Olivia’s mother.

“Come sweetheart, the princess is busy at the moment. Maybe we will see her later.” Her mother reached out for her hand, but she grasped Emilia’s instead.

“But, mummy! My friend is here to see me!” She pleaded with her mother. “I have a drawing for her.”

Emilia’s head turned to see Harry smiling down at her with a fond smile plastered on his lips as he silently watched the sweet, but sincere interaction. His head lifted to stare into the depth of her blue eyed gaze that looked to him for guidance. He understood what Emilia wished for in that moment, private time away from the intrusive press, but if she asked for it there would be no doubt something written about her being difficult with them the following day.

Royals do not be difficult with those promoting their causes. Smile and give them what they want.

The prince stepped in and cleared his throat, approaching Mr. Davies. “Would you like to take me on more of the tour? I would love to see more of the work you are doing here and meet some more of the families and children here if possible. Emilia will join us for the story telling session later.” Mr. Davies hesitated briefly and looked beside the prince towards Emilia who subtly nodded her approval.

“This way, your highness.” He led the way as the press followed in behind them.

Emilia stood there holding Olivia’s hand loosely as she watched Harry glance back over his shoulder with a small smirk at the corner of his lips. One photographer lingered behind and snapped his lens at the princess, bringing her back to the moment.

Before Emilia could speak, Tristan stepped in front of him. “Sir, please join the rest of the media crew ahead. Princess Emilia has a privately planned meeting.” The photographer reluctantly left them and joined the rest up ahead, leaving Emilia alone with Olivia and her family.

“Hello, I am Emilia.” The princess stretched out her hand and shook the mothers hand, greeting her warmly.

“I must apologize. I have no idea why Olivia thinks you are her friend and for her barging in like that.” Her mother attempted to apologize.

“No no! Do not apologize.” Emilia was quick to re-assure her. “Actually, she is telling the truth. We are friends, aren’t we?” She glanced down at the smiling little girl. “Why don’t you take me to your room?”

“And this is for you!” Olivia handed the princess a drawing to which Emilia took in delicately in her hands to analyze it. It was a drawing of the two of them at breakfast that day, but both of them apparently had massive feet as she had show cased them both wearing her idea of replicas of the shoes she had worn. Their smiles stretched across their whole face, making Emilia’s reflect the same in that moment.

“This is so well done Olivia! Do you mind if I keep it and hang it up?” The princess gently asked. Olivia was quick nodding her head in reply.

“You can have it! It is a drawing of our friendship.” Olivia tilted her head and gave the most proudest, sweetest smile that tugged at Emilia’s heartstrings.

“I know what you are wondering.” Olivia’s mother broke the moment as she gained Emilia’s gaze upon her. “Of what happened to my little girl.”

“I do... but you don’t have to tell me.” Emilia reached out and brushed the little girls beanie gently with her hand. “In my eyes, nothing has happened. Olivia is still that sweet, adorable girl I met that day. Who is now rocking more amazing style choices just like she always has.”

Olivia’s mother, Leah, was taken back and grew into a silent demeanour while tears quietly streamed down her cheeks. It had been months since someone had looked past her daughters diagnosis and saw Olivia for who she really was and Princess Emilia did that. Wiping away her tears subtly, she watched from a close, but far enough distance to observe her daughters interaction with the royal. But, one thing her eyes could not stray from is the smile, rather the sparkle of life that had grown in Olivia’s eyes at the moment she saw Emilia.

Leah had read her fair share of the news that surrounded the Illyrian royal family, more so of the princess who was now sat in front of her. The media had been slamming her for nearly every blink of an eye, tearing her down. But, she witnessed another version of Emilia that was often not showcased in the news and the rare time it was, they ridiculed her for being too ‘common’ and ‘not enough royal.’ In reality, that made her more relatable than most people who had walked through her daughters hospital room.

————

Emilia followed the sound of laughing children with Tristan in step beside her. She could hear the sound of Harry’s laughter from down the corridor that elicited a growing smile on her lips. Her feeble attempts to mask it failed miserably, she loved his laugh. Entering the room, Emilia opted to sit back and watch Harry interact with the children. Leaning up against the frame of a door she quietly kept her eyes on him, careful not to alert the media to her presence.

Harry was sitting on the tiniest chair she had ever seen, obviously meant for a child and not a grown man. But, there he was with a book in hand reading a group of children a story. He made silly faces and gave each character a different voice. Harry had the children holding their bellies in laughter, forgetting for a few minutes why they were in this hospital to begin with. They, were just being normal children the way they were supposed to be.

She sighed a breath of relief. Some piece of Emilia knew that Harry was putting on a bit of a show to show the media that it was ok to be relatable and to have fun on engagements. She deeply appreciated what he was doing for her, but in the end she knew things would never change as that small voice in the back of her head came to the forefront.

Royals do not have fun on engagements.

————————

Harry and Emilia exited the hospital after having a lovely visit at St. Theresitas. They both thanked Mr. Davies and chatted for a few minutes longer. Emilia felt Harry’s body become tense next to her and saw his jaw clench out of the corner of her eye. But, she continued the conversation with Mr. Davies.

The princess said her goodbyes only to turn around and find a swarm of paparazzi that had not been invited to attend the event, nearly pushing some of the barriers forward. The police told them to step back raising their arms up in the arm as a line of police built a barrier with their bodies, but Emilia knew exactly what was about to happen.

“Princess Emilia, Duchess of difficult! Why did you fire your private press secretary this morning?” One of them yelled at the princess. “Or did she actually quit because you were so demanding of her?”

Of course they had found out.

A sickening feeling in the pit of Emilia’s stomach began to grow as anxiety coursed through her body.

She felt a hand being placed on her back, settling her nerves with a simple touch. “We should go.” Harry’s voice broke through the clicks of the sea of cameras, his hand riskily guiding her forward. He knew that placing his hand on Emilia would insinuate rumours, but her safety was at the forefront of her mind.

Emilia quietly nodded and turned on her heel to leave, settling into Harry’s guiding hand on the small of her back. Showing off a fake smile and waving one last goodbye to the people who were awaiting so patiently to see them. But, with this media circus, a walk about would not be possible for security reasons.

The sound of metal crashing and shouting caused the princess to glance back over her shoulder to see some of the barriers being knocked down and a flood of paparazzi breaking through past the officers. Emilia gasped in shock as they shoved a policeman to the ground just to get to her, a hoard of running determined photographers came at her.

Tristan turned around and looked directly in Harry’s eyes for a brief second. “Get Emilia in the car now and go!” He barked an order at the prince, hoping he had made the right choice in trusting Harry with Emilia’s safety. There simply was not enough security to hold them back from the group rushing at her.

Emilia felt an arm wrap around from behind her and brought her body protectively into Harry’s to shield her from them. “Emilia, run.” His voice was commanding and cold. She picked up her feet as her fear drove her to run towards the vehicle that had swiftly pulled up.

Glancing back over her shoulder she nearly stopped in her tracks to see Tristan and the rest of her security team combined with Harrys attempt to hold them back just long enough to get the royals out of what had become an unsafe situation for them. Tristan grabbed someone who lunged forward, trying to break through and shoved him to the ground.

Emilia locked eyes briefly with the man as he smiled devilishly seeing the fear in the young princess’s eyes and yelled....“Emilia! Are you not royal enough? Is that why no one can stand working for you?! ARE YOU EVEN PRINCE FREDERICKS DAUGHTER?”

Those words cut deeper through her more than anything before, wounding her internally.

Harry grasped her forearm tightly and pulled her ahead with such force her arm stung with pain. “Emilia! Get in the fucking car!” He spoke to her through clenched teeth, forcefully pulling her along side of him. Not understanding why she was stalling and ultimately in fear of her safety.

He opened the back door and nearly shoved her in the back seat. “LET GO OF ME!YOU DO NOT NEED TO SHOVE ME!” She glared back at the prince who climbed in beside her and slammed the door closed in a fury of rage.

“GO!” He yelled at the driver. “I said go! Get the princess fucking out of here!”

The vehicle hastily sped off into the distance.

Emilia had not spoken a single word since they had driven away. They both sat there in silence. But, unknown to Emilia who refused to look at Harry as she looked out the window, Harry’s gaze never faltered from her.

He felt a pang of guilt when she grabbed the spot on her arm that he had gripped so tightly, wondering if he had hurt her. All he was doing was trying to protect Emilia without showing the onlookers how much he actually cared for her. He couldn’t just grab her hand and interlock their fingers in an intimate gesture for fear of reprisal.

“Are you ok?” He broke through their silence, asking a question he already knew the answer too. Harry had heard the words and accusations being tossed her way. He placed his hand on top of her knee, feeling a stiff tense body that did not reciprocate his touch.

Emilia didn’t acknowledge Harry. She sat there with her head resting on the window, absentmindedly watching the world go by as she was trapped in the depths of her mind, replaying the words of grandmother over.

Royals do not be irrational about their decisions

Royals do not show any displays of affection

Royals do not show emotion

Royals do not be difficult with those promoting their causes

Royals do not have fun on engagements

Royals do not cause a scene

“Emilia! Are you not royal enough? Is that why no one can stand working for you?! ARE YOU EVEN PRINCE FREDERICKS DAUGHTER?”

After everything the media had bore witness to, after seeing a side of Emilia she was hesitant to even show, all that would be reported about was the scene that had unfolded while they left the hospital.

A deep sigh was released from the princess.

“No, Henry.” His head lifted, hearing his name roll of her tongue.

“I am not ok.”

[timebird84]

🎄 PotO Advent Calendar ‘19 🎄

The Angel’s Gift

by @the-angel-in-hell​

Christine could still remember when Christmas felt like magic. The whole month was filled with such delightful anticipation, both for the gifts she would give and those she would receive. Her family had never possessed much, even after her and her papa moved in with Mama Valerius and her husband, but it never seemed to matter much then, at least not to her. Whatever they managed to do had always made Christine so happy. Now, however, the season just seemed bittersweet, permeated by the sadness and longing she felt over everything she had lost. Even after her marriage and in her new, lavishly decorated home, it just felt…lacking. Like something was missing, and to her something was.

Raoul didn't seem to share the same feelings. The holidays, in fact, only served to make him ever more jovial. He went about the house in seemingly high spirits, planning the party they would throw on Christmas Eve and trying to entice the same anticipation in her by teasing and hinting about the gifts he had gotten her. Christine had gotten good at painting a smile on her face and exclaiming how excited she was. It wasn't a lie. She wasn't completely lacking in excitement, but she just couldn't seem to share quite the same spirit. Not anymore.

Her ability to mimic and feign such unadulterated joy was a skill that would serve her well at tonight's Christmas Eve party, however, when she was to wear one of the most lavish dresses she had ever owned and prance about their high society guests. She would pretend to be one of them, pretend she did not notice the glances they cast her way when they thought she wasn't looking. The galas at the opera house, though fun, always made her a little nervous. The grand ball they would hold here tonight, however, only filled her with dread. It seemed to only remind her that no matter how wonderful Raoul was and how much they adored each other, she would always be different to his family. She would always be out of place. Christine would not have changed her choice for the world but she could not displace this feeling all the same.

"Madame," came a voice from behind her. Christine turned from the window to peer across the dimly lit room at the woman who had only just tentatively entered. It was one of the paid servants that scurried about the manor, though this one she knew by name. It was the same kind, middle-aged woman that had attended to her everyday since she came to live here.

"Come in," Christine said, though she had no need. The woman was already crossing the floor.

"It's about time you got dressed, don't you think?" she asked. "The party will be starting soon."

"Yes, I suppose you're right."

Christine flashed a polite smile and the woman moved to the bed, where the dress Christine had chosen for the party lay. It seemed to take an unusually long time to finish her personal preparations tonight but perhaps it was simply her wandering mind. When Christine looked at the clock again, after the dress had been laced up and her hair pinned into a flattering updo, it seemed they had actually made record time.

Just as the woman was opening the door to leave, another familiar face poked its way into the room. This one did bring a genuine smile to her face.

"Christine," Raoul said as he moved forward to stand in front of her. Christine's gaze instantly found the flat, black velvet box in his hands, a blue and silver bow tied around it. "I know it's a little early but this suited your dress tonight so well I thought it would be quite a shame if it had to sit under the tree until the party passed."

His hands moved and Christine's followed each of their movements, watching as they adjusted the box it better present it to her. Her own fingers moved to meet the velvet, urging the box open to reveal the gems inside. Blue sapphires inlaid in intricate silver sat there upon the inky backdrop of the box. Just as Raoul had claimed, the gems seemed to match the fabric of her dress almost perfectly. It would have been a shame to leave it indeed.

The smile that had come to her lips only moments earlier seemed to brighten instantly. "Oh, Raoul," she breathed. "It's beautiful."

Returning that beautiful smile with one of his own, Raoul took it upon himself to lift the necklace from the box. Moving around her, he draped it around her neck, clasping it into place for her. "Not nearly as beautiful as you are," he said, his hands finding her waist and spinning her to face him. "Though, there is little in the world that could surpass your beauty."

"You flatter me," she said, the amusement in her voice made quite clear.

"Are you ready?" he asked her. "There are a few more things we need to attend to and the guest will be arriving soon enough."

"Oh, yes," she answered. "Just let me get my gloves."

Raoul gave a single nod. "I will be waiting for you outside, then."

"It won't take me but a moment."

As Raoul moved to leave, Christine turned the opposite way, making her way towards their shared closet until something caught her eye. There, sitting on top of the table next to her side of the bed, was another black box, this one much smaller than the first and tied not in blue but in red. She hadn't noticed it before and she found herself unsure as to how long it had been waiting for her there.

Initially, she believed it to be from Raoul and a quiet chuckle escaped her. If he keeps this up, I shall have nothing to open tomorrow morning, she thought. But when she turned over the tag and saw the red ink on the underside, her smile faded instantly. Erik.

How he had managed to gain access to this room without being seen, Christine could not fathom. She could not say why he thought it worth the effort to leave her something so long after their parting either. She had not heard from or seen the Opera Ghost since that last day in the cellars. Curiosity lead her to open the box, however, and she only received further confirmation at it had been the Phantom to have left the gift. No one else could craft something so exquisite. No one else could bring such music to life.

The box was the kind you stored earrings or rings in but on the inside, there was no jewels. Instead, it was a tiny, almost lifelike figure of herself standing a top a bronze pedestal. She spun there like a little ballerina as an all to familiar melody spilled out of it. It was the same melody as the song he had sung to her that first night in the cellars, back we she believed he was an angel.

Christine let the melody swell around her, felt the sound as it seemed to fill her very soul. She would not have changed her choice, but the sound did bring about a strange longing for the music she once shared with the Angel of Music. Her fingers moved to shut the box again before the feeling could grow too strong, before she found herself trapped in his grasp again.

"Christine?" came Raoul's voice again from the hallway.

"I'm coming, dear," she called in return, quickly stashing the box in the small drawer of her nightstand. Moving to snatch the gloves from atop the trunk in the closet, she hurried away again to meet her husband in the hallway. Though, she found herself glancing back into the room as her arm linked with his.

Poor, unhappy Erik. She hoped, though she greatly doubted it, that he found some happiness this season. Even if it wasn't with her. Her eyes closed for only a moment to lift that silent prayer up to Heaven, leaving it in the hands of God above, before offering one more smile to her husband, walking with him arm in arm to the ballroom.

[belmontsfate]

MoF - Awakening: Ch 4

Many times over the course of the last thirty years had Simon envisioned what Dracula's throne room would be like. In his mind, he always imagined the Lord of Vampires seated on a throne made up of the bones of his enemies, drinking their blood from a skull.

As he once again found himself crashing through a stained glass window, this time of his own will, he found himself in a room that was far from the gloomy throne room he had expected. In fact, it wasn't even a throne room at all.

His jaw fell as he took in the sight.

He was in a room, closed in by a wall of tall columns and an open ceiling. There was no sun in the sky, nor was there a moon, only a pinkish-orange fog hanging in the air. There was a pool in the center, with fountains and lush greenery dangling from the surrounding columns.

Then he saw them. Lounging around the side of the pool were a group of scantily dressed women, their breasts just barely covered. Simon couldn't help but stare at them, feeling himself grow oddly thirsty.

"Simon," he heard the women call out to him. Somehow they knew his name. "Come, Simon."

The sound of their voices was sweet, like music to Simon's ears. His legs moved as if by their own accord, taking him towards the pool.

He could sense a great power, not coming from the women as a whole, but coming from the one at the heart of them. She is their leader … She is their queen …

She was the most beautiful of them all, yet at the same time she was the most bizarre of them all. Her face was pleasing to the eye, her body curvy and attractive. Yet, sitting on top of her head, sticking straight out of her long magenta hair we're a pair of … Horns? Tentacles? He wasn't quite sure what they were. And then there were a pair of bat-like wings protruding from her back. Whatever she was, it was clear she wasn't entirely human.

"Welcome warrior, we've been waiting for you," the queen greets him. "You have travelled so far … You must be weary."

That much was true. He would be lying if he denied it. Fighting his way through this castle had taken its toll on him. Even after the brief nap he had taken during the daylight hours, he still felt as though he could sleep for days on end. Unfortunately, there weren't many places to rest in the castle of chaos.

"Come, stay with us. You will find our hospitality most … pleasant," the queen offered him.

Crawling forward on their hands and knees, the women began to close in around him. The queen was the first to reach him, stroking her soft fingers along his cheek with one hand as she trailed the other down his chest. Before he knew it, there were hands all over his body, clutching at his arms and legs, dragging him with them to the harem bed that they had been previously lounging on.

Flat on his back, Simon couldn't help but let out a sigh of contentment at the softness of the mattress beneath him. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so comfortable.

The queen soon climbed on top of him, straddling his hips as her fingers pried the belt from his waist, casting it off to the side.

"I want you to feel this. Let us show you how good you can feel…"

One by one the other women joined their queen, stripping him of every piece of armor on his body. By the time they were done, all that remained was his trousers, and the only reason they still remained was because the queen was sitting on top of him, preventing the others from ripping them off.

A feeling of ecstasy washed over him as the women hungrily kissed every inch of his skin, their moans ringing through his ears.

Deep down, he knew he should be fighting them, fearing that this too was a trap, but he couldn't seem to find the will to do it. His mind was in a haze, unable to take his focus on anything but the pleasure he was experiencing.

"Close your eyes and enjoy, my sweet," whispered the queen. "You are in good hands."

He obeyed without thought, and as he did so, a pair of moist lips pressed against his own, assumably the queen's, her tongue trying to break past the barrier inside.

However, no sooner had he granted her entrance, then he felt himself grow weaker. It was as if his very life force was being sucked from his body. This succeeded in snapping him from his euphoric trance, bringing him back to the reality of his situation.

This beautiful yet demonic woman was a creature that he had heard tales of but never seen before; a succubus.

As desperation set in, Simon began to fight back, kicking and clawing away at those who held him down. It was difficult in his weakening state, but he managed to gather every ounce of strength that was still within him and push her back. Her body fell back, colliding against the hard ground.

"Ugh!" the succubus groaned with pain.

Untangling himself from the other women, he made a run for it, quickly locating and retrieving his battle cross from the pile of armor that had been thrown aside.

By that time, the queen was back up on her feet. "Don't you like how I kiss, Simon?" she taunted him as she broke out into laughter.

Flying high up into the sky, she began to fire down at him with blasts of magic, and once again Simon found himself running and dodging attacks. He was getting terribly sick of it, but it seemed that no one in this castle would grant him any mercy.

Well … There was one person, but Simon hadn't seen him in some time. Not since the toymaker's obstacle course.

"You will regret rejecting me!"

In an attempt to fool him, the succubus created two clones of herself, casting a magical barrier around each of them. Through trial and error, he managed to figure out which one was the real one, eventually breaking through the barrier with the combat cross' grappling hook, grabbing the succubus and pulling her back down to the ground.

The succubus came crashing down hard, face scraping into the rock.

Simon retained battle stance as he waited for the succubus to get up and resume attacking him. That was not the case.

Scrambling to her knees, she lifted her head up to the sky, folding her hands as she spoke. "I am sorry that I have failed you, my lord!"

Slowly he approached her, but she did not move. She just knelt there, her head hung in shame. It was as if she had just given up. Perhaps she knew that she was going to die either way? If not at Simon's hands then those of her lord.

A piercing scream filled the air as the final blow was struck. The succubus slumped lifelessly to the ground.

Retracting his battle cross from the succubus' fallen body, he turned around and went back for his armor.

The other women tried to approach him, but one glare from Simon was enough to discourage them.

"Don't even try!" Simon barked.

With his armor back in place and the succubus defeated, he was left to question where he was supposed to go next. He had reached the furthest point in the castle, thinking that Dracula would be there to meet him, but the vampire lord was clearly nowhere to be seen. All he had found was his harem.

"I've had enough of this, you crazy old man!" he yelled out, hoping that Dracula would hear him, wherever he was. "Come out and face me!"

No sooner had those words left his lips, then things began to change. The room began to shake as the tropical paradise of the harem gave way, transforming into a dark sanctuary. Gone was the warmth that had flooded the harem, and in its place now stood an unearthly chill.

Goosebumps running down his spine, he turned and found exactly who he had been looking for.

Seated at the far end of the room on the throne of a king, surrounded by statues of dragons, was what he could only assume to be the vampire lord himself; Dracula.

"You fight well…" The shadowed vampire complimented him. "Worthy of the name Belmont."

...

The tower leading to Dracula's Lair was swarming with elite vampire guards, tasked with protecting the blood orbs that opened the way. They hid them well, making it difficult for Alucard to find them.

With gritted teeth he searched the den of vampires. At one point he stumbled across the dining room, where he found half dead women spread across the table. He was filled with disgust as he saw them there, bite marks spread all over their bodies.

Alucard couldn't help but imagine his wife in place of the women, her long red hair splayed out on the table beneath her head, her body torn to shreds by those who feasted on her. He imagined that she must have met her end in a similar manner.

Tears threatened to rise again, but Alucard pushed them back along with the horrifying mental image he had just produced. He didn't have time to mourn and beat himself up over how he failed to save her. He needed to focus on the task at hand.

Eventually, he managed to find one of the orbs sitting on a tall pedestal, but the second one wasn't so easy to find. He found the second pedestal, but it was empty, no sign of the orb to be found.

With a sigh, he retraced his steps through the castle in search of it.

Hidden away in one of the dark crevices of the kitchen, he found a dead, or rather he assumed to be dead, hunchback, hugging the blood orb tightly in its claws.

"Stupid creatures…" Alucard shook his head. "Always causing trouble."

For such a small creature, it sure had a lot of strength to it. Alucard pulled and pulled before he finally broke the orb free, breaking off the hunchback's arms in the process. The severed arms were promptly cast off to the side.

With both blood orbs in his possession, he made haste in returning to the top of Dracula's tower.

He could still sense Simon's presence inside by the time he got back, but this time he sensed another presence, one that he recognized… It was Dracula… There was no doubt about it. The power he sensed from the other side of the door was raw and powerful. It was almost stifling.

Gently setting the orbs into their slots, Alucard watched as the blood slowly began to trickle out and make its way through the channels of the door, joining together in the middle to form a heart; the dragon's heart.

Taking a deep yet unnecessary breath, he pushed open the door and stepped inside. He found, much to his relief, that the warrior and vampire lord had yet to engage in actual battle.

Dracula was the first to notice him.

"Good of you to join us, Alucard," the powerful vampire greeted him.

He had wondered if his father would be surprised to see him, but it was now clear that he was not.

Alucard cast a brief glance at Simon, noticing that he had turned towards him, but soon averted his gaze to that of Dracula.

"Father…" he greeted back.

He honestly didn't know what to say. Thirty years had passed since the father and son had last seen each other, according to what Simon had told him, and the two hadn't left off on the greatest of terms.

Flashes of memories filled his brain. Thanks to his vampiric powers, the memories were clearer than ever before, allowing him to remember even the tiniest of details. Dying at his father's hand… Witnessing the tragedy of his father's life in the Mirror of Fate… and lastly, he remembered hearing the hysterical crying of his father as he held him in his arms, hugging him close…

To say that he was at a loss was an understatement.

"Father?!" Simon echoed, his eyes widened in a mix of shock and horror. "You mean to say that Dracula is your father? As in..." he trailed off.

Alucard nodded. "I am his son, born of his flesh and blood."

Simon faltered backwards, evidently disturbed by this.

Alucard had hoped to keep such information from Simon, but it seemed that some things couldn't be helped.

"Indeed he is," Dracula affirmed. "It's been a long time since I've seen him though. He let me think him dead for thirty long years."

Could it possibly be that his father was angry with him, believing that he had purposefully remained inside that coffin for so many years? It seemed highly unlikely, especially from the fearsome dragon, but it was the only explanation that came to mind.

"That is because I was dead," he explained. "I only just awoke when Simon stumbled upon my tomb, and even then, I did not remember who I was or how I had come to be placed there."

"And now that you have regained your memory, I take it you have come to finish what you started," the elder vampire assumed, averting his gaze.

Alucard hesitated.

He wasn't sure how to reply to that. Was that what he wanted? Was it still his desire to put an end to the Prince of Darkness? A lot had changed since that fateful night he came charging through the castle doors, ignorant to the truth. He would admit, he still wanted to put an end to all the killings. He understood his reasoning, but couldn't entirely condone it.

Knowing what he did of his father's tragic past and how he had mourned the death of his only son, he felt that he wouldn't have the heart to go through with it.

His last words to his father before he died came to mind. "In the end… I pity you…"

The hatred he had once held in his heart towards Dracula was gone, replaced by a feeling of sorrow and pity.

With that in mind, he made his decision.

"No, I have not come to end you, Father."

Dracula's expression changed rapidly.

"What?!" Simon and Dracula said in unison, both now with widened eyes and jaws hanging open.

Alucard could have laughed at how amusingly similar their faces were. Even though one was a vampire and one had a full beard, he could still see a family resemblance.

"Actually, I came to make sure that this one doesn't do anything too rash," he pointed to Simon. "The last thing we need is for history to repeat itself."

Dracula immediately understood what his son meant.

"What are you talking about? Does this have to do with my father?" Simon asked. "You mentioned earlier that you knew of his fate."

Dracula glanced between the two, a dark brow raised in question. "You haven't told him?"

Alucard shook his head. "He's better off not knowing."

This reply angered the elder vampire.

"Is that so? Tell me, Alucard, do you think I was better off not knowing that I had a son I never knew about?"

Alucard bit his lip, something that should have hurt quite a lot, especially considering how this caused his fang to pierce through his lip, drawing blood as a result. His tongue quickly slid out and caught the blood before it could dribble down his chin.

His father did make a good point. The truth had been kept from both of them for many years, causing nothing but pain and misery. He had been trying to protect Simon by keeping the truth from him, but in reality history was already starting to repeat itself.

With a sigh, he turned towards the red haired warrior, struggling to figure out how to tell him.

"Are you finally going to tell me who you are?" Simon asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Alucard nodded, and after a few more moments, he finally gathered the courage to do so.

"Alucard was the name given to me by my father upon my death. However, I was given a different name at birth… a human name."

"And that is?" Simon pressed on.

"My real name is Trevor … Trevor Belmont…"