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driaswrld · 5 months

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🪷 — A ROYAL AFFAIR . . . THE SCANDAL OF THE CHILDHOOD CONSORT

LADY DRIA WRITES . . . ˚ ༘ *

🪷 dearest gentle reader, in matters of love and longing, prince satoru comes to the realization that love may only visit the fearless, whilst prince suguru comes to terms with the taste of hope on his tongue... 5k words.

🪷 prince gojo x reader x prince geto jjk regency/royal au, romeo & juliet esque balcony meeting, fruit flavored jealousy.

CHAPTER TWO. . . ˚ ༘ *

GRAPE FLAVORED.

Sleep eludes you tonight.

Two nights have passed since the first feast and despite Areta’s consistent chatter of appearances and well needed fun time for a lady of your stature — you’ve chosen not to attend the others for the time being.

You’re assured that Satoru’s presence at the feasts and balls in between remain slim to none unless called upon by his mother, a notion that you would be grateful for under any other circumstance to dodge the question everyone at the palace court whispers behind your back—

( why hasn’t the prince married her yet? )

—but you miss him.

Embarrassingly so.

With palms outstretched, you cradle your weight against the concrete rail of the terrace adjoined to your bedroom. A wisp of wind cooling your cheeks, realization settling in.

You miss Satoru — your best friend, your person.

You miss when he’d sleepily stumble into your alcove by the palace’s west wing and lay dramatically before you, begging you to paint him or at least sketch the width of his shoulders ; begging you to 'immortalize the omnipotent beauty of the realm’s strongest' — his words not yours.

The way he’d linger by your side, laugh at your jokes and make even cruder ones of his own—

This yearning settled deep within your bones akin to that of a grieving widow doesn’t feel the way it should feel when one misses a friend.

( satoru does not yearn for you in this way, you know it. )

It’s hot, a boiling pit within your stomach and it never leaves your veins—

—not until two nights ago, that is.

Two nights ago when he reappeared.

“Your highness?”

Dearest gentle reader,

in these delicate matters

of love and longing—

“My lady,” Suguru calls out in a similarly hushed fashion. “You're awake.”

Down below the terrace, he stands on the trimmed lawn in his sleep trousers and shirt, dark hair tousled and eyes half lidded — you would've laughed at him if the air between you two hadn't settled with something else.

“I couldn't sleep,” you respond, watching with bated breath as he steps forward, one foot resting atop a raised brick in the mud, eyes trained above, where you stand.

“You often take late strolls, your grace?”

Suguru laughs, breathy, soft. “Your grace,” he repeats your words, mockingly. A few dark strands fall over his eyes as he tilts his head back to look up at you. “You’d think having me in my sleeping trousers alone would be enough for you to discard all formalities—”

( right, this encounter is improper. )

“Forgive me, Suguru,” leaves your lips in correction. You lean further over the terrace rail, body bent in near half to gaze down at him. “It isn't often I speak with men while in my dressing gown.”

“Dear God, I hope not.”

A laugh of your own breaks through and he joins in unison.

So far, and yet so close.

A soft silence soon passes over the two of you under the moonlight.

Suguru, who’d been away for so long, could make years of absence feel null — as if he’d been residing here with you all this time. As if he had been keeping your company in tow, as if the breath of your laugh belonged to him.

As if he hadn't left you.

“I wondered,” Suguru breaks the silence, pale fist wrapping around a stray vine along the wall. “If I would get the chance to speak with you like this.” He whispers, but even from so high above, you hear him clearly in the night's silence.

You know what he means. Just us two. You’ve wondered the same, albeit too often through the years.

Why didn't you write to me? You want to ask. Why didn't you come to visit? Follows next in your brain. Did you move on? Did you fall in love?

( have you been happy away from me? )

“Did you read my letters?”

—often we forget

just how greedy

the heart can be.

“All of them,” Suguru breathes, almost like it hurts to say.

As if it pains him physically to remember how he tore the wax seals open with his teeth, licked the flap of the envelopes and nearly cried when it tasted of you—

“More than once, more than I ought to.”

Suguru grips the vine tighter in his fist, stilling himself and invoking restraint. This isn't his place, not anymore.

If he had it his way, he’d be on the terrace with you, and he’d tell you every thought he had about each word you’d written, with his hands, his teeth, his tongue.

“Suguru. . .”

It reminds you too much of your childhood.

Often you would chase after Satoru and Suguru.

Always both, never one.

And though you knew your fate as a Princess — who would marry a crowned Prince — your foolish heart, so greedy and naive. . .

“I have my obligations.” It leaves your lungs like a lie, something you won't even begin to believe.

You're betrothed to Satoru. It's set in stone.

But the both of you know that's not why you're saying no. “The solstice ends in a week and you will be—” He'll be gone again.

“I’ll not wait a whole week.” Suguru’s voice is still quiet, but even you can't deny the raw hunger behind his words. “If I apologize and say that I wish—”

“You will do no such thing,” you warn, shakily. “Not now, not. . . because of this.” Not because in nearly every way that matters, you’re Satoru’s.

( i wish i told you. i wish i wasn't too late. i wish )

Suguru wished he had stayed.

He wished he had made do on the promises he made to you as children and been at your side, not just as your friend but as the man you would marry—

All those things he had sworn upon his own heart. . .

“Who’ll marry you if you spend your days swinging a sword and broadening your shoulders?”

“And if I say I will, what then?” Suguru had scoffed at your cousin back then. At the mere age of twelve.

“Aren’t there girls your age you can follow around? I don’t care if you’re a princess, we’re not friends.”

“Don't be so crass, Satoru.” Suguru grumbled, grabbing ahold of your hand and tugging you forward the moment you fell behind. “She's my friend.”

( and yet. )

Lady Dria writes : Prince Geto to assume royal estate in the North following rumored betrothal to mystery woman! Is this the end of our beloved royal trio?

( duty came first. )

“I don’t know why you’d believe he’d ever want to court you.”

“I’ll let you keep your tongue,” Satoru scoffed, stepping between you and one of the ladies at court the day after Suguru left. “But address the Princess so loosely again and I swear—”

That night, you cried in the confines of Satoru’s private chambers, your fingers bleeding ink and red wax staining the front of your dress.

What was her name? How long had Suguru known it was arranged? Why didn't he tell you? If you ask him now, will he tell you? Is he ever coming back?

Does he love her?

And it was then, when you didn't have any more words to write, nothing left to say to Suguru that he might not have known, did Satoru tell you,

“I’m here.”

And you believed him.

“Name—” Suguru calls to you and you shake your head, straightening your posture and leaning off the terrace rail. “I wanted to say it before, you were gorgeous at the first solstice feast. . . Still are, even after so long.”

Suguru bites back the words he really wanted to say. I dreamt of you, you look the same.

“You flatter me,” it leaves you breathily, and the beats of your heart elude your better judgement.

“Perhaps, silken gloves suit you, my lady.” Suguru's words hold an undertone that’s lost on you in the moment, yet still you smile at him.

He doesn't see the expression on your face when you turn away, craning his neck to find something— some inclination that he has a chance—

“Goodnight, your highness.” In your voice he finds it, that small sliver of nostalgia, and his heart grasps it in earnest.

Beloved reader,

I fear I must also

impart the knowledge—

Satoru stops dead in his tracks, a single peach colored rose falling from his palm.

—that there are always

three sides to a story.

From across the way his cerulean eyes lock with Suguru’s darker ones, and there is nothing to be said, as they both know what the other is thinking.

You are not worthy of her.

Morning gives way to the first of three hunting days.

As per the terms of the competition, all commoners go ahead before nobles to keep the proceedings fair.

Satoru sits still atop his horse, cerulean orbs downcast and flitting through the mass of bodies in the crowd riding ahead of him.

“Have you and Suguru finally fought?”

Satoru’s eyes widen for a brief moment, turning his head to the side and loosening his grip on the horse’s reins, his mother standing at his side, caressing the mare’s mane with jewel adorned fingers.

“I’ve no idea what you mean, mother.”

The older woman scoffs, the horse leaning eagerly into the touch of her palm.

“When you and Suguru were but meek babes, you two had your first fight you know.” Satoru’s mother smiles a little at the memory.

Back then, both boys were merely toddlers and squabbling with tiny fists over nothing but a simple rattle.

Neither would concede to the other.

Even so young, they fought as they still do to this day. As rivals, as best friends.

“Did I win?” Satoru asks, lifting his gaze to the scenery of dawn before him, drowning out the eager shouts of men and women alike, placing their bets for the competition to come.

“No,” she responds and Satoru’s lips curl into a small frown. “The rattle you fought over snapped in two, ‘toru.”

This isn't about a rattle, is it?

“I won't concede, if that’s what you’ve come to ask of me.” He affirms, and his mother shakes her head, stifling a laugh.

“She isn't a rattle, nor is this a battlefield—” Satoru’s mother is observant, painfully so. “I asked your father to arrange the match myself for the sole purpose that I know you care for her, and I would not subject you to a fate not of your choosing—”

( she can choose, whereas a rattle could not. that is the sole difference is it not? )

“But you would have me sit here and let her choose him?”

Satoru Gojo is many things.

Selfish, spoiled, strong. Greedy even.

He fights for what he wants and he remains determined to win no matter what.

But when it comes to you. . .

Doting reader,

our beloved Prince Satoru

has yet to realize—

“I did not raise a selfish fool. Maybe a proud fool but not a selfish one—” She smacks the side of his leg to which he immediately recoils with a pout on his lips. “You never win love, you earn it.”

As if love can be akin to fleeting favor.

“I am selfish,” Satoru confirms, not shy of shame though. “She would hate me for it, if she doesn't already.” He hangs his head for a brief moment, a puff of a sigh leaving his parted lips. “But can you blame me?”

Satoru is many things.

But not blind.

How can he tell you that he cares for you, that he’s fallen helplessly and carelessly in love with you knowing that he’d be imprisoning you to a fate he loathes?

Whispers behind your back the more you are seen with him or without, the more he puts off the betrothal, the more he leaves your side the more he hopes you’ll learn you don't want him—

That this life, at this palace is less than you deserve.

And yet. . .

—that love is not

a war you march into

of your own accord.

He’s selfish.

“Have you asked her what she wants?”

No, because he’s afraid you’ll say what he wants you to. That you don't want him.

That by the hour you grow more miserable the more he keeps you waiting, tethered by a short thread just waiting to snap—

Satoru convinced himself that if he waited just a little longer, that maybe you’d grow tired and snap the thread all together in one go.

And then the marriage wouldn't happen, you’d contest it and he'd agree. He could keep you close like before, without breaking your heart, even at the cost of his.

“Satoru.” His mother warns, deep azure boring into the side of his face. “That debutant at the dinner—” God forbid she did raise a selfish fool, who would selfishly self sabotage—

“I never touched her.”

“You say that and then you do these things as if I'm to be convinced you've changed.” His mother sighs, as if history has come around to repeat itself. “You don't even realize you're clutching your end too tight.”

And you’ll break if he doesn't let go.

“I can't tell her.”

“You must.”

Who is he to condemn you to the life of a Queen?

In the same way his father did his mother?

That spark in your eyes will go dim, and he’ll watch you give yourself to your duty and it’ll kill him, even worse than you not wanting him will.

He’d prefer you hate him altogether.

“Are you happy with father?”

Darling reader,

perhaps love

only visits the fearless.

“Your father is a good man.”

Satoru would rather die by his own hand before he hears those words from your lips too.

“My lady?”

You visibly wince, cowering behind one of the marble columns in the ballroom.

The few chandeliers that provide light do little to help your situation as Areta’s voice had already notified a few of the dancing nobles of your presence — to which you were met with confused stares.

“Please, keep your voice down.” You hush her, sliding around to the other side of the column where Areta stands, eyes wide and curious.

Areta’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, her lips parting, about to question your odd behavior.

You're hiding. Or at least trying to.

You had no choice in coming to tonight's festivities, as you were already knee deep in your pre-arranged afternoon nap when your dearest mother barged in and asked ( read : demanded ) that you attended tonight's ball to quote en quote ‘keep up appearances.’

With much practiced skill, you’ve eluded Satoru and Suguru by barring yourself in your room recently.

But, cowering behind a column won't get you far, right?

“I don't think hiding is what I mean when I encouraged you to have fun, my lady.” Areta speaks hushedly, joining you behind the column, two full glasses clutched between her fingers. “And if it’s the Prince who you—”

“Oh, spare me, which one?” You chuckle, tilting your head back onto the marble with an eye roll.

“You’ve had trouble with Prince Geto too?” Areta gasps, though not shocked, the young girl's eyes gloss over with curiosity — ever the devoted gossip.

( perhaps if you stay here and sip drinks with Areta, no one will even notice your presence ! )

Devoted reader,

our protagonist

has a pattern of

terrible judgement.

“Hardly trouble, I’m afraid.” You take one of the glasses from Areta’s hands and bring the rim to your nose — grape juice. How fitting. “Trouble would be better, I can handle trouble.”

What you can't handle is both your childhood friends driving you mad with feelings you never even knew existed.

One who torments you with mixed signals and provokes new feelings in the pit of your stomach.

And another who stirs and awakens old feelings inside of you that you thought were long lost.

“Well, I doubt trouble is what you need presently, my lady.” Areta chuckles a little, her voice soon trailing off as she takes a sip of her own drink. “Oh! You wore them—”

“I thought perhaps,” You murmur, more to yourself, fingers fiddling with the edge of your silk gloves – the same black ones from a few nights ago. “I’d wear them once more before I set them aside.”

Now that you think about it, Satoru never said anything about the dress or the gloves — not that it matters to you anyway.

Faithful reader,

it matters.

Too much.

“They're quite beautiful, as are all Prince Satoru’s gifts.” Areta affirms with a soft smile as you drink from your glass, leaning off the column and straightening your posture. “But, I thought he usually had more of an affinity for lace—”

“I was called?”

You jump just a little, turning immediately to meet the source of the intrusion, to which you bump straight into Satoru, spilling the contents of your cup on both of you.

“I’m sorry—” “Grape juice—”

You take a few steps back, immediately crouching to retrieve your fallen cup, but Areta beats you to it, not shy of shooting you a quick wink before she scurries off into the crowd. Deviant.

“You don't like the wine tonight?” Satoru hums, outstretching a hand to pull you to your feet, and you hesitate for a moment.

Only for a moment.

“I didn't think drinking would be wise,” You take his hand, silk sliding soft against his awaiting palm. You don't miss the way his shoulders tighten. “And grape juice—”

“Is your preferred drink of choice, I know.” He finishes, cerulean orbs gazing into your very soul.

You can feel the thrum of his pulse speeding up against your fingertips, calling you, like a siren song. . .

( you should've stayed in bed tonight. )

Admittedly, Satoru was never the type to drink either. He could never hold his alcohol, hated the taste, even if it was just a drop in fermented fruit.

Grape juice was his drink of choice.

And then it became yours.

“I’m sorry, again.” It leaves your lips in a hurry as you look away from him, pulling your hand back as soon as you're upright. “My head must've been somewhere else. . .” Last night on the terrace. Your mind remains there.

Is Suguru going to magically appear too?

You furiously rub a fist over the purple stain forming at the front of your gown. “I need to change my dress—”

“It's not your fault, silk can be slippery.” Satoru bites back a grunt, bringing a palm to your elbow as he guides you off to the side, towards the adjacent corridor. “Come, I’ll help.”

Silk.

( what's his problem with the gloves? )

You follow his lead, a sigh escaping your lips as you both come upon the nearest alcove in the dim light.

You can barely see the velvet cushioning of the sofa tucked away neatly in the back.

The soft moonlight falling through the open window brings a sense of calm when you take a seat, eyes catching on the violet smudge against Satoru’s pearl white vest.

Often in your youth between balls, you, Satoru and Suguru would sneak off to the nearest alcove you could find, pry the window open and sit together on the sill—

“Your vest—” He follows your gaze as he bends a knee, kneeling at your feet casually.

Satoru presses his middle finger over the damp fabric, and unabashedly sticks the digit into his mouth. “Mhm, that's grape juice.”

“Satoru!” You scold.

He only laughs, strands of snowy hair bouncing with each shake of his shoulders. It's a very Satoru-like laugh, but there's something else you can't quite place—

“It's just a juice spill, I’ll live.” Satoru’s smile dips into his cheeks. Dimples. “Hated this stupid thing anyway, I should be thanking you for ridding me of it,” he murmurs, rolling his shoulders back to slip the vest off, muscles taut against his shirt with each movement of his arms.

“Hey— hey—!” You raise your palms to push against his chest to stop him, heat rising at the back of your neck. “Don't do that—” It comes out too late because Satoru is in the middle of rolling the vest off his arms. "You can't just undress—"

The way Satoru only leans forward, shades of azure searching your gaze for something, it's like he's daring you to not look away as he slips the vest off his arms bent behind him.

( why did you run away from me? )

You hold his gaze, the longest you have in days, manicured nails digging into the fabric of his shirt.

( why didn't you give chase? )

“Name,” he whispers, as if he’s holding back, but he refuses to look away from you. Not right now.

“Don't look at me like that, ‘toru. . .” You whisper, and it takes everything inside you not scream at him, to say everything you've been wanting to say, everything that's burning your insides.

( don't look at me as if you know desire. )

“Name.” Satoru calls your name, firmer this time, just as his vest drops to the floor behind him.

His knees burn, or maybe his eyes — he doesn't know, his mouth has gone dry and oxygen eludes him.

He's not how he was in your youth.

Satoru slides a pale hand up to grasp one of your palms against his chest, pads of his fingers hooking under the dark silk, and in one fluid motion, he's pulling the glove off your hand.

“That's disrespectful,” you breathe, voice barely audible, the echo of classical instruments sauntering through the vacant corridor. “You can't have two times the favor in any competition—”

“It's not your favor I want.” Satoru grasps the silk in his palm, biting back a grimace.

I’m jealous, he wants to say. Instead he leans closer, and without letting go of your bare hand, he’s aiming to toss the glove over your shoulder and out the window.

“Satoru—!” You retract your hand from his chest to paw at the glove, trying to get it back, and his breath tickles the skin of your throat, his eyes looking down at you, only this time a few shades darker — royal blue, cobalt.

Perhaps, silken gloves suit you, my lady.

( so that's what suguru meant. . . )

“Are you—”

“Jealous? Me? Never.” Satoru rasps the words out like a cancer, his heart seizing and doing somersaults against his ribcage.

“I have to commend Suguru though, the North does make the finest silk. . . Any lady would be glad for such a gift,” he whispers. Even praising Suguru is like an act of surrender to him.

“I wasn't going to say jealous, my Prince.” Your brain melts to a mush of questions.

Satoru isn't jealous because of you— no, that can't be right— he’d be jealous if someone bet on the same horse race as him and won—

( you’re thinking too much, name. )

It's the assessment of his audacity that has the back of your neck heated.

Satoru bites down on his bottom lip, and for a second he squeezes his eyes shut.

Everything burns, it's a miracle he can still see straight.

“What were you going to say?”

You swallow, hard.

Satoru’s face is so close to yours that every word he speaks reverberates through your being like electricity. “I was going to ask if you were okay.” A half truth, really. "Your vest is stained—"

First, you were going to ask if he’d lost his damn mind.

“God, name.” Satoru grunts, dropping the glove dramatically onto the velvet sofa, instead moving his hand to cage you between his arms, his hips against the outerskirts of your dress. “You don't even know what you're doing. . .”

His lips curve into a smile, dimpled cheeks staring back at you.

“Satoru—” It’s innocent enough, the way he leans forward enough to press the side of his face against your cheek.

It’s innocent enough, the way his hand grips your hip, firm and reassuring, the way he’d guide you on horseback. You only pretended not to be good so he'd teach you.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes against the shell of your ear, his lips soft against your burning skin.

“Do you even know all the ways a woman can be seduced?” It's a sultry tease that has your nails digging into the sofa under you.

Silk gloves, he wants to say. Men seduce women with silk.

Satoru dips his head in a swift motion, his mouth planting a ghost of a kiss to the corner or your lips, and his dimples deepen when your head moves forward to chase his taste, something you’ve never had but crave with every inch of your being.

“Satoru.” You whisper, desperate. He hates himself for wanting this so bad.

He doesn't make you wait long as he presses his lips to yours, it's rough, hungry — he sighs into your mouth, shoulders drooping like he’s finally found what he's been searching for all his life on your tongue.

He’s kissed you before, on the cheek, side of your neck, corner of your mouth — tasted the salty tears of your youth, licked his lips and drank in the remnants of your flavored lipgloss.

He was too young then, too foolish, too afraid to want more.

Satoru’s tongue slips past your parted lips, teeth on wet pink muscle and a shiver runs down his spine when he tastes you, truly tastes you for the first time.

Grape flavored and starving.

Your hand reaches for the collar of his shirt to tug him closer, to pull him deeper into you.

Slender fingers wrap around your wrist and your body trembles, unravelling, unravelling for him until—

He stops.

“Name,” Satoru breathes it in a broken whine, lips wet and swollen with you, each exhale he makes tickles your chin. “We have to stop.”

He’s made a mistake. A foolish one.

“‘Toru, it's okay,” you urge him, moving to pull him closer but his grip on your wrist tightens, keeping you still.

A frown forms on your lips when you see his gaze downcast, unable to meet you, and that gleam in his eyes — guilt.

“We should stop.”

Darling reader,

we all know

how the saying goes. . .

“Why?” The way it leaves your mouth so innocently, so small, in the same tone you had when you were little, chasing behind him no matter how he tried to leave you behind—

( why won't you look at me? )

It makes Satoru hate himself more.

“I’m a gentleman.” Satoru clears his throat and rises to his feet, folding his vest haphazardly over his arm. “You're a lady— a Princess— I can't just. . .”

“You can't just what?” Satoru doesn't recognize the bite behind your voice, the thread he kept toying at with razor blades finally thinning out, ready to snap and break apart. “You can't take me in a dark corridor as you do the other girls?”

He sputters.

It is that. But it's also so much more.

“Princess—”

“No.”

Nothing has changed. And you're not stupid, maybe slow, but never stupid. This isn't about a grape juice spill. It isn't about titles or being respectable.

( it’s about the three of you. )

Is it jealousy? Is this all about a stupid pair of gloves? About his pride? Why? Because he won't let Suguru win even if it means—

“Look at me.” Satoru is slouching in front of you, holding out his palm for you to take. He’s sincere, raw. “I swear to you, the way I feel about you cannot be likened to a secret in a corridor.”

( and yet, you always wished you were one of those girls with him in a dark corridor. )

. . . it's all downhill

from the first kiss.

“Your excuses again—” Satoru steps back when he feels silk stinging against his outstretched palm in a slap of rejection.

The glove he pulled off your hand, the glove Suguru gave to you, falls to the floor.

“And what even is it that you feel?” Your tone reverberates through his bones and Satoru’s considering finding purchase on his knees, where he’d show you what exactly he feels, he'd drink you in, drown in you and be done with the aftermath. “Do you enjoy this? Making me feel like a fool while you stay the bachelor—”

“This engagement was never my choice!” Satoru’s tone raises an octave, brows dipped and frown deep. “And I never—”

That's not what he means to say, not now.

( i never touched another since i laid awake thinking of you. )

“And that's why you won't touch me? Because I'm not your choice, I'm your duty?”

“God, ofcourse I want to touch you—” A guttural groan leaves him then, a rumble in the back of his throat. “If you would just understand—”

He’s a gentleman. Is what he says every waking moment he spends lying to himself that this is for you, that this is for your own good. . .

Because he knows—

( if he touched you now, he’d never stop. )

“Even now you can't say it.” How long have you known Satoru? How long have you been by his side, or rather, chased after him while he remained out of your reach? How long— “That you want me.”

It's almost comical, the way Satoru’s breath hitches in the back of his throat and the palm at his side forms a fist.

He wants you.

“Say it.”

Tell me you want me, tell me it’s me, tell me you feel what I feel too—

“I can't.”

You don't deserve this, I can't give you what you want, hate me so it hurts a little less—

You rise to your feet, the grape juice bleeding into your dress forgotten. “I always thought you were the bravest person to ever live. . .” The strongest. Prince Satoru, the realm’s omnipotent son — “You’ve fought in all these wars and you’ve fought and fought—”

Ever since you were children.

Satoru was every bit a soldier, princely and polished to perfection with his blade. He’s never lost a battle, you're sure, poets write about him.

( what does it feel like to be fought for? )

“Why won't you fight for me, Satoru?”

Satoru Gojo is many things.

Selfish, spoiled, strong. Greedy even.

He fights for what he wants and he remains determined to win no matter what.

But when it comes to you. . .

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

Sorry, I’m so selfish. Sorry, I don't want you to leave. Sorry, it should be me and not him.

Sorry, I'm paralyzed in love with you.

He’s not asking you to stay.

This is what he wanted, right? For you to hate him — who is he kidding, you wouldn't hate him even if tried to make you — for you to realize he isn't what you need.

“You won't even give me one reason to stay.” Your throat hurts, you can still taste his tongue in your mouth, grape and mint, mint and grape. “Of all things, I never thought you to be such a damn coward—”

“I’m the Prince, for fucks sake!”

Your lips part then shut again, and Satoru takes a step back. This barrier between you two was always there, wasn't it? Invisible, cold to the touch.

Don't question me, I'm the Prince, he had said the day you asked him why, why can't I come play with you and Suguru?

( why won't you let me in? what are you so afraid of? )

“Then if it pleases the Prince,” It comes out shakier, in a voice that's barely your own.

Satoru picks it up before you do, you sound like a child — the same way you used to when he left you behind. “I’d like to be dismissed.”

The Prince.

Not your Prince.

( does a heart make noise when it shatters? )

“No,” Satoru steps forward, and you step back. It's like a sick game now, and with every thrum of his heart he swears he’ll die. “Name— just. . . no.”

He’s selfish. He knows that.

After this you’ll run off to Suguru won't you? And he’ll be there with open arms and words as soft as silk—

Satoru would know. Because he did the same thing once Suguru left.

But that was before it was this, before this was everything, before—

“Then forgive my defiance to the crown tonight.” You murmur and turn away, the glove is left behind.

Satoru is left behind.

You never win love, you earn it.

L’Incomparable is hardly the jewel on Satoru’s mind when you walk away from him for the second time.

( before he knew he loved you. )

🪷 taglist : @angelshimaa @yunymphs @todorokies @satocidal @maeby-cursed @rinniessance @cinnaboonn @shegetsburned @starry-grace2 @selfishdoll @shuuennovirche @wishmemel @riaki @yazzzmints @aphroditisxc @gojorbit @izakyun @satoruoo @irisxyphium @zwtari @/lollipop974 @r0ckst4rjk @softgirlgonehaywire @lilvampirina @brianmaysclog @/baepsays @xxemmarldxx @/adoraspace @/hikaorinx @/lanecass @/theloveofnagiseishiroslife @/bajbbq @/jiraiyaisgod69 @/gojo-sunglasses @/in4rizaki @/chimsblogg @xkittiecatx @lordbugs @soultoru @ladytamayolover @the1exiled @pasta-warlord @drogonfruitzen @sexeyess @siren776 @v0ctin @scinclaitnoir @gugggu6gvai @shartnart1 @nnanamii @vanevafu @lillmyg @nikitopia @altyx @beaniedoodz @fubukeys @simpforramenboy @sinnerstardoll @coco-cat @melancholia-k

#⋆ 🪷 A ROYAL AFFAIR ! ˚ ༘ *#👑 TSCC — series.#★ driaswrld #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader #satosugu x reader #satoru gojo x reader #suguru geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk fic

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urbandesign-lab · 1 year

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Follow @urbandesign.lab The Designing Resilience in Asia (DRIA) is an International Research Programme on urban and architecture resilience launched in 2014. The DRIA is a flagship initiative of the School of Design and Environment of the National University of Singapore that aims to promote and foster a substantive research and discussion about innovative ideas and propositions towards the resiliency of Asian cities responding to the environmental effects caused by climate change. All entries from The Designing Resilience in Asia (DRIA) DM for credits/Removal. . . . . Photoshop Masterclass (2 Days Integrated Workshop) Session Details: • Day 1: 18th of February, 2023 | Urban Mapping • Day 2: 19th of February, 2023 | 3D Urban Visualization 🔗Registration link in the bio Limited Seats available! Early Bird registration ends on 12th February, 2023 . . . . #photoshop_creative #urbandesignjobs #architecturegram #architecture_magazine #adobephotoshop #urbandesigncompetition #architecture_minimal #architecturestudentprobs #intags #urbandesignsketch #urbandesignstudent #architecturedetail #architectures #photoshopmanipulation #architecturesketch #urbandesigncare #architecturestudents #architecturestudentlife #urbandesignlab #archilovers_urbanism #architecturedose #urbandesignmatters #photoshop_art #photoshopskills #architecturestudentofficial #architecturecompetition #architecture_hunter (at Asia) https://www.instagram.com/p/CntabIpsoxr/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

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90spumkin · 3 years

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Home Salon

Summery: Reader convinces Spencer to let her cut his hair. Based off this request by @criminalmindzjunkie

A/N: This fic #1 for my 5 fics in 5 days for my 500 follower special! Thank you all for allowing this to happen. I hope you enjoy this fluffy blurb. I loved writing this!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader (no pronouns used)

Warnings: maybe one swear word?

Word Count: 688

One thing Spencer would never get over was how domestic it was to wake up to the smell of coffee brewing and to hear you humming in the kitchen.

You always got up before him because “he takes longer than a stereotypical girl to do his hair”. He loved how you would lay out two outfits for him to choose from because he can never decide if he should move on from his cardigans or not.

Today was an off day and so instead of getting ready first thing, he made his way to you in the kitchen. When you saw him, your face lit up with a smile and you gave him a quick kiss, mumbled a ‘good morning’, and proceeded to fix his coffee just how he likes it.

He took his usual seat at the kitchen table and watched you hop up on the counter as he took his first sip. He would always find you to be the most beautiful woman, but the way the morning light was hitting you made you radiate perfection.

He abandoned his coffee and made his was to you where he nudged his way between your legs that instantly wrapped around his waists. Your arms were over his shoulders and your hands had found their place in his long hair. You started to twirl pieces of his curly locks between your fingers as he started to pamper you with kisses. He had to hide a groan with a chuckle when you gave his hair a small tug.

He leaned back to see a smirk playing on your lips. He reached a hand up to caress you face as he asked, “What’s going on up there?”. You didn’t respond immediately, instead you ran both hands through his disheveled hair. You gave him a small smile and shyly asked, “Ummm- could I maybe give you a haircut?”

Spencer’s first reaction was to say no. When you’ve had long hair as long as he had, it was hard to think about ever cutting it. He looked back and forth between your pleading eyes before letting out a small sigh and nodded in defeat.

The squeal you let out as you pushed him out of the way and hopped off the counter was enough to let him know he made the right decision.

He could hear you mumbling different things as you looked for your shears. Once you had returned to the kitchen with a spray bottle, shears, and a towel you had the biggest smile. He chuckled as you pulled out a chair and excitedly patted the seat for him to sit.

You asked Spencer one question and sent him into a tangent. He didn’t stop talking and was so lost in his words that he hadn’t realized you were no longer cutting his hair. It wasn’t until you were removing the towel from his shoulders and wiping off stray hairs from his neck that he realized you had made him distract himself.

He stood up and faced you. He was kind of scared by the look on your face, that was until you said, “You look pretty damn good if I have to say so myself.” Spencer’s cheeks heated up with a blush, but before he could respond you were grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the bathroom.

You put your hands over his eyes and told him not to peak. You slowly counted to 3 before removing your hands. Spencer stood there in awe. He wasn’t sure if it was just because you had cut his hair and was so happy about it, but he decided he actually liked it. The rest of the day Spencer could barely keep your hands out of his hair, but it wasn’t like he was really trying.

The next day at work Spencer was running a little late and was not thinking about how the team would react to his new haircut. When he entered the round table room and was greeted with stares. He was a little confused and was really confused by Hotch’s question, “What, did you join a boy band?”.

Permanent Taglist: @criminalmindzjunkie @brooklynxnicole @the-queen-of-moons @imdefinitelyfloating @muffin-cup @theintimatewriter

500 Special Taglist: @kyomito @spencers-dria

#spencer reid #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #dr. spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid blurb #500 followers #500 follower special

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writing-in-april · 3 years

Text

Pleasant Surprise

Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: Reader asks Spencer if she can try to be more dominant in the bedroom.

A/N: This is my 5th fic for my 750 follower celebration! This one was especially hard for me to finish, I’ve had a massive headache all day 🤕 it was also hard because this reader is definitely very different to how I am in real life. I hope you guys do enjoy it I tried really hard to make sure I could finish it today. Thank you @spencers-dria again for fueling all my sub Spencer fics this week and giving me this idea!!

Warnings: 18+, Reader is a bit nervous at first, Use of the name Bunny (F), Spencer is tied up, Hand job, Sex toy (wand vibrator M receiving), Edging

Main Masterlist Word count: 1.4K

“Hey Spencer?” You called from the bedroom of your apartment with Spencer just a little bit nervously, you couldn’t lose your nerve. it was now or never.

“Yes, bunny? What is it?” You always blushed a little everytime Spencer used that nickname, inside and outside the bedroom. Usually, Spencer was the dominant one in the bedroom. Recently however, you had been fantasizing what it would be like to have him underneath you for a change. You had been wondering endlessly how he would react. Would he beg for you quickly? Or would he be stubborn? Would he be a brat? Or would he be a good boy for you?

The questions wouldn’t stop bouncing around in your head and you finally decided that you needed to ask him if he would let you test it out. Your resolve dimmed just a little as Spencer entered the bedroom after you had not responded immediately.

“W-well I was wondering…”

“Wondering what?” He looked concerned now, his eyebrows raised high as he made his way to sit next to where you sat on the bed.

“I was wondering if maybeyouwouldletmedominateyou?” You rushed out, faster then even Spencer normally spoke when he was especially excited about something.

“Could you say that again I didn’t quite catch that.” He was probably thinking that there was a much more serious thing going on, you felt kind of bad that you unnecessarily worried him. Hopefully, you could actually get the words out, instead of worrying poor Spencer anymore, he already worried enough as is.

“I-I was wondering… If maybe you would let me dominate you?” Even if Spencer said no to your request, you were proud of yourself for finding the words to ask.

“Th-that’s not what I was expecting you to ask me…” He wrung his fingers while he stuttered, however he wasn’t rejecting you, he looked intrigued if anything.

“But, would you be interested in it Spencer?” You bit your lip in anticipation, pretty sure that he was probably interested just by reading his immediate reaction to your request. His eyes were focused intently on you with his pupils blown wide and when you looked at his slacks you could tell that they were tightening slightly.

“Yes.” Once he had confirmed that this was something that he wanted, your confidence returned, and you were ready to unleash all your thoughts onto Spencer.

“You’ll let me know if it’s too much?” He snickered a little at your worry, probably thinking that you weren’t even going to get close to his threshold. However, you had some pretty extreme plans up your sleeve.

“Of course, bunny.”

—-

You now had him laying down on the bed completely naked, legs spread and a tie he no longer really used knotted around his wrists bound to the bed frame. Spencer’s eyes were wild and desperate already with his cock hard leaking precum all over his belly. You hadn’t even really touched him yet besides a few kisses. Spencer definitely wasn’t expecting you to be this prepared.

Grabbing the lube and opening it you then dripped it over his leaking cock, making sure to make a show of it before wrapping your hands around his length. You started to jerk him slowly, barely even really brushing over the skin causing Spencer to let out a beautiful high pitched whine.

“Does that feel good baby?” You teased, knowing it wasn’t nearly enough for any kind of relief, really only serving to spread the lube around. Then you moved your mouth down near his cock letting your hot breath hit him while you continued your lazy hand movements.

“Bunnyyy- Bunny, Will you please let me touch you?!” Before you had started, you had asked him to still call you bunny, finding it quite amusing how he was begging for mercy so easily while using a moniker normally associated with submissives. You hummed and thought about his request for a moment while he writhed in desperation underneath you.

“No, I don’t think you’re nearly desperate enough for me yet. We’ve only just started.” He was most definitely one to beg easily, after all you had only been jerking his cock for a minute before he had already started pleading. You continued to pull pleas from him, only speeding up slightly when you wanted to make his moans just a little bit louder. When you could tell he was going to cum soon you pulled away, his hips bucking up off the bed

“Please! Bunny- free me, let me touch you! You know I’ll make it feel good!” His pleas did little to convince you, you still had so much planned. You then went under your bed to pull out your secret weapon. Your hitachi magic wand. The wand was normally used by Spencer to edge you and you thought it was time for a little bit of payback.

“Remember to let me know if it's too much for you, Spencer.” You said as you made your way back to him armed with the rechargeable vibrator. Spencer’s eyes were wild as he nodded in confirmation.

It roared to life when you pressed the power button, then you brought it to his cock lightly while you sat on top of his thighs. When you started to focus the vibrations at the head of his cock his thighs started to shake under you and his eyes rolled back.

“Remember to ask for permission.” Taunting him evilly while you turned up the vibrations to a slightly higher setting.

“I cant- I cant, I’m gonna cum!” He cried, with involuntary tears now rolling down his cheeks.

“Hold it. If you hold it just for a few more seconds I’ll let you touch me.” He let out an unexpected growl at your command, causing the fire in your belly to be stoked just a little bit more. He probably expected to be allowed to take over when you freed him, but you weren’t going to give up control that easily.

After the few seconds were up, you removed the wand from his aching cock. He jerked around again in frustration after being edged for the second time, but he’d soon be happy that he successfully held it. Once he started to come back from the edge you reached forward to undo the knot of the tie and he breathed a sigh, relieved that he was free.

When he tried to flip you over to enact his own little revenge you held your ground, the only way you were going to let him fuck you is if you were on top. You gripped his jaw between your fingers and pulled his face up close to yours, then making him look directly before speaking, “Remember I’m in charge tonight. I get to be on top or you don’t get to fuck me. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Bunny. I understand... Can you please fuck me?” You let go of his face after he spoke, letting him hit the back of his pillows harshly before giving him some relief by sinking down on his cock.

You weren’t gentle as you started to roll your hips into his own, loving the feeling of Spencer’s cock dragging through your walls. Spencer was crying underneath you, begging for you to let him cum as he gripped your hips hard.

“You only get to cum after I do.” You growled out while slamming your hips down harshly, causing a squeak to fall from him. Luckily for Spencer, it didn’t take long for your own orgasm to come over, helped by him rubbing your clit in quick circles. It was a long and powerful one, coming over in waves that had you moaning out loudly as well. Spencer was finally going to get what he had been desperate for.

“Alright, you can cum.” All you had to do was say those simple words and Spencer exploded inside of you. His moans were so loud while he rode it out that you were sure you guys were going to get a complaint in the morning.

After you both had come down a little you made sure to do a similar aftercare routine that Spencer did for you when he dominated you- cleaning him up, massaging his wrists with lotion, getting him some fresh clothes, and especially making sure to cuddle him up tight. Just before you were about to fall asleep Spencer asked you, “You were really good at that bunny, that was a pleasant surprise. Can you do it again sometime?”

—-

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

All works:

@shotarosleftpinky

Spencer Reid/CM

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

Sub Spencer

@thatsonezesty13 @pastathighs @virtualpeanutartisanjudge

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler x reader #matthew gray gubler smut #750 follower celebration #750 followers

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memcjo · 4 years

Text

I was tagged by @befitandchase

Five names I go by:

1. Mary

2. Mary Jo

3. Mrs J

4. Mom

5. Teacher :)

Five things I love to watch on TV:

1. Schitt’s Creek

2. Stephen Colbert

3. Bill Maher

4. SNL

5. Westworld

Ten places I have visited:

1. New York City

2. Santa Barbara CA

3. London

4. Paris

5. Rome

6. Madrid

7. Florence

8. Dublin

9. Edinburgh

10. Lucerne Switzerland

Four things I love to eat:

1. Pasta

2. Pizza

3. Pancakes

4. Chocolate

Four people I tag that I think will respond and be fun:

1. @hope-for-olicity

2. @love-dria

3. @mel-loves-all

4. @green-arrows-of-karamel

Four things I love to drink:

1. Coffee

2. Wine

3. Water

4. Ginger Ale

Six Favorite Ships (OTP&/orBROTP):

1. Olicity

2. Sherlolly

3. Clintasha

4. msr

5. Diana/Matthew

6. Linctavia

Copy and paste, clear my answers and put in your own!

#tag game

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lwoscar123 · 4 years

Text

Search for Closure

This is the full version of the short story. it is a work of fiction all characters and plot were created by me. I should probably warn you that this story has mentions of suicide and murder, so please read at your own risk. anyway i hope someone enjoys this. if you read this let me know what you think.

“Are you sure that this can’t wait until after I’m done with college? I don’t think I’m ready yet,” Alexandria said as she stood on the front porch of her childhood home.

“It’s better to get this over as soon as possible. Besides don’t you want to sell the house? People won’t always be interested in buying it,” her grandfather said putting his hand on her shoulder.

As she fumbled around in her bag to find the keys she tried not to think back to the last time she was in that house. She tried to find comfort in the fact that if she was able to get through this then the horrid house would no long be there to torment her.

“There you are”, she mumbled to herself as she felt the cold metal of the keys and pulled them out of the bag. After unlocking the door, she took a deep breath and slowly opened it letting the light devour the darkness that was locked inside for so long.

Alexandria paused in the doorway before turning to her grandparents. “If it’s okay with you guys I would prefer to do this alone.” Her voice heavy, was it fair to refuse her mother’s parents right to see the place where there child had spent her last moments before choosing to end her misery. “I’ll let you come in when I’m done. I’m so sorry.”

“Alright Dria, just know that we’ll be out here if you need us,” her grandmother said with a gentle nod of her head. Her grandfather nodded in agreement and understanding.

I’m back Ma, sorry it took me so long, she thought to herself as she walked in to the entryway almost being taken by surprise when she saw the shoe cubby and coat rack empty. The further that Alexandria walked into the house the smaller she felt. She was suddenly that stunted fifteen year old that was naïve enough to believe that she was enough to make her mother whole again. She tried to keep her gaze forward. She knew that if she acknowledged the silhouettes that they would lead her down the same path that her mother fell victim to.

The shadows were there to taunt her, to bring back feelings and memories that she would rather keep buried and forgotten. The memories that was only full of loneliness and other negative emotions. .

“Let it go, Andri. Don’t let it control you,” a voice that was warm and motherly said. The voice had startled Alexandria and she almost looked over what it had said when she looked around the empty room in search of the source of it.

Until she had realized what the voice had called her: Andri, it had referred to her using the nickname that her mother would use in the rare and precious moments where she would come back from whatever world she would escape to and recognize that Alexandria was a person with emotions and that she needed someone to be there for her too.

The voice that had been there to comfort them through the separation of her parents and had explained to her that it wasn’t her fault they split. The voice that told her they were going to be fine because even though her father had left them she’d at least got to keep the house. That day she had promised the young girl that they would make it just fine on their own and that they will always be together no matter what. A promise that her mother had broke so long ago. Alexandria spent a majority of her time trying to figure out when the promise had lost its meaning.

Alexandria remembered the first and last time she had spoken to her in that voice. God, she wished she could forget them, but they were burned into her mind like a brand.

The first time she heard that voice being on the night of her fifth birthday. A night that she never discussed with anyone, not even her mother. She was supposed to be tucked away in her bed fast asleep, but a sound had woke her up. It was the sound of the front door slamming closed and the heavy thudding of footsteps. Father, she thought rushing out of bed and out into the hallway. Her foot had just touched the landing at the top of the stairs before she was frozen in her place by a loud crashing sound and her mother’s angry voice.

“How dare you?” Alexandria had never heard her mother sound like this before today. “How dare you bring that man in our house?”

“That man is my brother and he has every right to come here. After all, this house belongs to my family and he is Alexandria’s rea-” my father said, he was rubbing the bridge of his nose something he did when he was trying not to explode. “You loved that man or did you forget that you planned to marry him and not me?”

“He lost that right long before Alexandria was born. When he decided to become a murderer. ” my mother screeched, she was holding a baseball bat using it to distance herself from him.

“The only reason he did what he did was because he was protecting you and you didn’t seem to mind it” my father remarked lip curving up at the end “I mean Alexandria is proof of that isn’t she”

“It was a lapse in judgment” she hesitated “Don’t act like you haven’t had any of those”

“Can’t we stop arguing for one day? I just wanted to do something nice for her.” He sighed, “Can’t we talk about this tomorrow. I just want to go to sleep.”

“Something nice? She doesn’t know him or who he is.” She said blocking his way to the stairs. Scared of being caught, Alexandria scrambled back to bed tucking herself in and closing her eyes.

Ten minutes felt like forever in the quiet darkness of her room before she heard the door slam and her mom make her way up the stairs. Her mother paused mumbling to herself before quietly making her way into Alexandria’s room and kneeling by the side of her bed. “I’m sorry. I can’t lose you again, I’m sorry. I love you, Andri” she whispered her soft voice clashing with the odd heaviness that came with those words.

Little did Alexandria know, but her mother cried herself to sleep that night. The more and more she looked back on that night over the years the more empty she felt inside and the more alone she realized she was. Who was that man that her father had brought to her birthday party? How did mom know him? What did her father mean when he said she was proof her mother didn’t hate him? Why did she get the idea that her mother wasn’t talking about her when she came into her room that night? These were some of the questions that have come up since that night; questions that she still didn’t have answers to.

She looked up seeing the silhouette of a young girl cower at the top of the stairs hoping that her parents wouldn’t catch her. Alexandria locked eyes with the girl and watched as the girl gasped and then darted into her room. Alexandria followed her up the stairs and opened the door to her child hood bedroom. Her eyes scanned the room looking for the girl, but it was like she had disappeared. Instead her she saw a desk with a chair in the corner of the room, the same chair that her father had sat in when he told her the history of the house

“Did you know that my great-grandfather built this house?” her father asked a six year old version of herself. To which she responded by shaking her head, her unruly auburn curls swaying along. It was back then that Alexandria thought she was the prettiest. Her skin was dusted with freckles and her bright blue eyes still filled with hope. Back when she was still filled with the innocence of a child.

“He built this house as a way to prove the strength of the love he had for my great-grandmother” he started “when he had first asked her to marry him all those years ago, she had told him that the only way she would marry him was to prove that his love was strong enough to last forever”

“But how did that prove anything it’s just a house? It’s not even that big.” She said, she wished she could go back just for a while. Her parents might of fought often, but at least she had someone who actually cared.

“It might not be big or even good looking but it serves its purpose doesn’t it. It has been here way before either of us and even though it has been through a lot it is still here” he explained with a soft smile. “My father and his siblings were raised in this house and so were his children. In fact my mother gave birth to my younger brother in this very room.”

“You forgot me.” The little girl says and her father raises his eyebrow “I’m growing up in this house too!” she says pointing to herself, her crooked smile on display.

“You remind me so much of my brother” his voice going soft

“What was he like?” She wondered “I didn’t know I had an uncle”“ Have, he is still alive you know” he corrected her “Believe it or not but you met him before. He came to one of your birthday -”

“Alexandria say goodbye to your father, it’s time for him to leave” her mother interrupting. Alexandria wasn’t at all surprised when her parents had begun arguing as soon as the door to her bedroom closed.

It wasn’t even a week after he told Alexandria that story that he just stopped coming to visit all together. She knew that he was tired of the constant arguing, but that didn’t mean he had to leave her all alone. There were plenty of ways for him to spend time with her without having to deal with her miserable mother. It was back then that she should have realized that it was just a house and that if it had a choice it would probably leave her too.

She waved her hand to disperse the shadows and the memory that had clouded up her train of thought. As she headed out the door and into the hallway she noticed that the door that led to her mother’s room was wide open for what felt like the first time in forever. She was never allowed to go into her mother’s room.

There’s no one to stop me anymore she thought to herself as she marched into the bedroom. Halfway into the room her march turned in to a jog and she jumped onto the bed. As she landed a cloud of dust flew up from the mattress and sheets.

“I should have really thought that through” she said going into a coughing fit. She looked around trying to spot anything out of the ordinary as her coughs died down and she waited for her breathing to return to normal. After finding nothing of interest she stood up from the bed and meant to head out of the room.

As soon as she took another step her foot got snagged on something and she face planted the hardwood floor. Regaining her composure she sat up and turned around looking for the culprit only to find a box labeled Andri.

“What are you doing under mom’s bed?” She questioned the box as if it could answer. “You should be in my room”

She grabbed either side of the box and was surprised when it offers more resistance than expected. “You’re a heavy little guy aren’t you?”

She pulled with all her might and still had to struggle, but she had finally pulled the box all the way out. She folded the flaps back and was surprised yet again when all she saw was photo albums. She pulled out the first one and used her sleeve to wipe the cover so that the cover was clear enough to read “The Martin-Arnott Family Album ….hmm”

As Alexandria opened the photo album she was greeted with a picture of a teenage girl in a hospital bed holding a baby that was wrapped in a blanket with a teenage boy sitting in the chair next to her. The teenage girl had shoulder length dark hair that was all over some strands stuck to her forehead due to copious amounts of sweat. Her slightly tan skin and clear complexion worked together to give her the illusion that she was glowing. She gave off this amazing energy that made you completely look over her messy and tired state. She was very petite and being combined with her baby face made her look slightly younger than she actually was. She still looked amazing even though she just spent hours giving birth. She knew the girl was her mother at least that much was obvious, but she looked so unfamiliar almost like a whole other person.

The teenage boy on the other hand was a completely different story. They looked like polar opposites. He was pale and his skin had a yellowish tint to it that made him appear to be anemic. His skin was dusted with an obnoxious amount of freckles no matter where you looked and his short hair was orange? He was of average height and build. He should have looked out of place sitting next to her mother but oddly enough they complimented each other. Instead of staring at the camera he was staring at the girl and Alexandria suddenly felt a pain in her chest.

Is this what she looked like when she was truly happy? Who was the boy next to her and why did he look to be related to her father. Under the picture was the caption “Emily Martin and Jacob Arnott with their new born Andri. (1989)” Emily? That was her mother’s name, but who was Jacob Arnott? Who was Andri? Did she have an older brother? She hastily flipped through page after page until she got to the middle of the photo album in her hands and saw another picture with the same people, but now they were older.

The same teenage boy was now a young man whose hair had been grown out and was styled in such a way that it reminded her of the long hair that James McAvoy had for his portrayal of a young Charles Xavier in X-men. His hair had now darkened to a nice auburn and his skin had finally reached a healthy color. He still had all those freckles though. In his arms was a toddler who also had bright orange hair that was all over the place. He looked almost exactly like the man holding him but instead of his father’s blue eyes his eyes were grey.

The young woman, who still had the appearance of a teen despite being older than the male in the picture, was sitting outside on the porch of the family house in the background as if she had been watching them run around. The caption under the picture read “Me and my two beautiful boys outside enjoying the summer breeze (1993)”

Alexandria placed the album to the side of the box and picked up the second photo album entitled “The Arnott Family Album #3”. She didn’t waste any time flipping through pages and just opened it to a random page to see a picture with my mother and father in cap and gowns it must have been their high school graduation. Jacob was also in frame carrying Andri in his arm the caption reads “Emily (17), Scott (18), Jacob (15), and baby Andri (10 months) (1990)”

She closed the album, placed it on top of the other one, and reached into the box once more this time her hand found a slip of paper. When she pulled it out and flipped it over to read it, Alexandria was suddenly overcome with a sick feeling. It was a news paper clipping and the headline read “serial murderer found dead after breaking into the Arnott family home 5 dead total, 1 severely injured”

On the night of February 5th, the serial killer ‘The Surgeon’ broke into the Arnott family home and wreaked havoc. By the time Emily had woken up and become aware of the fact that there was an intruder it was too late. He had just finished dissecting her 12 year old son and had already killed the other family members that were home at the time. She had called out for her fiancé Jacob forgetting that he had went out with his older brother Scott to drink and unknowingly alerted the man of her presence.

He was on the other side of the upstairs hallway and making his way to her, when Scott and Jacob arrived at the scene. They were alerted to the horrible situation when they saw that the door had been kicked in. Scott had decided to stay outside and call the police. Jacob worried about his fiancé and son entered the house and upon hearing Emily’s screams raced upstairs to their shared bedroom where the man was now standing over her about to strike. Jacob engaged in a struggle that resulted in him being stabbed twice and the suspect bleeding out from multiple stab wounds. By the time that the police arrived the suspect was dead and Jacob had gone into shock from excessive blood loss.

The list of dead in result of this break in is: Thomas Arnott (52), Edith Arnott (53), Faith Arnott (20), Andri Arnott (12), and Greg Barley (age unknown)

Alexandria didn’t know what to believe anymore she checked the date on the paper and it said February 7th 2001. She had been born February 9th of the following year. Was this Jacob person her real father? She thought turning to look into the mirror on her mother’s dresser, but this time instead of seeing her own reflection she saw a man’s. A man with long ginger hair, an abundance of freckles dotted his face and his grey eyes seemed to glare into her. You’re just a replacement it seemed to say.

Alexandria quickly looked through the box once more to see if there was anything else of importance and found a huge pile of letters addressed to her from her biological father. She picked up the bundle and stashed it in her purse, so she could read it in the privacy of her room back home later on.

“Please, just let it go and forgive me” The voice pleaded. Alexandria rolled her eyes

“Forgive you” Alexandria screamed as she desperately looked for something to throw or punch “you want me to forgive you for lying to me my whole life”

“Shut up. You’re not real. Shut up” she said and turned to the man in the mirror who seemed to be taunting her “you’re dead”

“Please Andri” the voice begged

“Don’t call me that” she roared and stormed out the room and down the stairs “I’m sorry” Alexandria’s eyes were drawn to the entry way.

The last time she had heard her mother use that voice was the morning of the day her mother died. Alexandria had woken up late and was rushing around trying to get ready quick enough to catch the bus. She had just finished stuffing her newly printed English paper into bag trying to be careful not to crumple it when she remembered.

“Oh! I almost forgot, you’ll be home later today right? I need your help filling out some information for applications for some summer programs I was interested in.” She called. She was now at the front door and in the process of shoving her feet in her shoes, when her mother responded.

“Yeah I will be, but maybe it would be better if you didn’t apply to any summer programs. Something might come up and it’ll look bad if you applied, but can’t attend”

Maybe if Alexandria had woken up on time and wasn’t rushing to get to the bus stop on time, she would have been able to catch what her mother had actually said and the double meaning behind it. But at last Alexandria didn’t she had just assumed that all she said was yeah. She didn’t realize what her mother had said it until she was in her math class and even then it was far too late to do anything because she was trapped in school for another five hours. When she had rushed home instead of being greeted by the smell of her mom’s cooking she was greeted by what she at first thought was an empty house

“Ma? Ma where are you?” she said as she checked the kitchen and then went to go look in her room.

“Ma.” She hoped that maybe she had gotten tired and went to take a nap.

“Ma!” or she was taking a shower and couldn’t hear her calling her.

“Mom” her heart was racing now as she reached for the curtain that separated the living room from the rest of the house. She closed her eyes slowly pulling the curtain to the side.

“Mo-”she choked on the word. She slowly opened her eyes and at first her heart dropped with disappointment, but soon that was washed away with anger. How could she be so selfish after all that we’ve been through? I thought she said she loved me? If that was true how could she just leave me?

Believe it or not she didn’t cry when she found her, not when she turned to go get her phone to call the police, nor when she had to explain what happened, not even when they cut down her body and covered her with tarp. No, Alexandria decided that 6 months later, when she was introducing herself to her classmates at her new school that that was the perfect time to cry.

“Come here” the voice called beckoning her to the living room. She walked on her shoes feeling heavier and heavier, until she was in the same spot she stood that night, the air feeling the thickest as if she reach out and hold it in her hands. She suddenly dropped to her knees feeling her throat constrict as if the air had turned tangible and shackled her in place.

Alexandria felt the atmosphere start to shift as she was finally beginning to see what her mother had been suffering through and understand that it wasn’t her fault that her mother took the actions that she did. It was just that she wasn’t able to cope and she couldn’t live with the guilt of forcing her problems onto her daughter and that it was crippling her growth.

“Just let it go, I’m sorry for everything,” the disembodied voice that Alexandria believed to be her mother’s begged her. By the end of apology the voice faded out and she knew it wouldn’t come back this time. The house was now the only physical remnant of her the mother and the relationship they had. This house had been here for her mother when she needed it and now it was here to support her. Alexandria knew that in order for her to truly begin to heal and be able to grow any further that she would have to let go of everything that burdened her. She had to first admit to the true feelings that were involved in her mother’s death and the relationship they had when she was alive. She had to acknowledge that she felt the tiniest bit of relief when she found her mother’s body hanging there when she had returned from school and that she had held a deep resentment toward her mother while she was alive and even a while after her death.

She had to forgive her mother because she now knew that it wasn’t her mother’s fault for abandoning her long before she had physically left the world. That her mother was too weak to mother a broken child. When she was a mother that refused to let go of the child that she had lost so long ago. Alexandria wished she could bring her mother back for just long enough to tell her she was sorry that she was so selfish and that she forgave her because she finally understood what she was going through. Alexandria walked out of the house with a new sense of purpose and a new understanding of her mother because she had gained the knowledge that she hadn’t failed to fill the role of a good daughter, there was just some problems that the love and support of a daughter couldn’t fix. She also left promising herself that she would find her real father if he was still around and find out if they shared any other similarities other than their physical appearance.

“You know what,” she said walking over to her grandparents who were patiently waiting for her to come back. “I’ve decide that I’m not going to sell the house. It holds too many important memories” The weight that she had been carrying for years had finally been lifted and her relationship with her mother repaired. She was going to keep the house in the family and return it to the man it truly belongs to, but they didn’t need to know that.

#something i wrote #commingofagestory #here's a short story #pls leave feedback

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banditthewriter · 5 years

Text

Deserve - Billy Russo

My entry for the writing challenge that @littledarlinhavefaithinme created is for the quote “Don’t let anyone, ever, make you feel like you don’t deserve what you want.”

Tags are at the bottom. Let me know if you would like to be added to one of my tag lists!

*gif is mine*

Enjoy!

*****

The party was actually pretty boring. You weren’t even sure why you decided to come to this party except that the invitation for one of these hoity toity rooftop parties didn’t come along that often. Of course you hadn’t realized just how many people were going to be there.

How’d you get invited to a party with so many people that were probably models? In fact you were pretty sure those two women near the table with the finger foods were in a magazine on your coffee table back at your house.

The real reason that you came to the party was near the beer with a woman who looked like she was made from ninety percent legs. Billy Russo was gesturing to the area with one hand while his other was propped up on the railing, his eyes twinkling as he talked to the leggy bombshell.

And here you were wearing the same thing you wore to work. You pulled at the hem of your blouse and mentally berated yourself for not going home to change first.

Not that anyone was looking at you.

You glanced over to where you had seen Billy but he was gone. And so was the bombshell. You felt a frown tug on your lips before you shook your head.

What use was it to get upset just because Billy was going to be getting laid? You should be happy for him; he was your friend, after all. Weren’t friends happy when the other got laid?

Granted you were kind of in love with your friend so him getting laid kind of soured the whole mood.

You put down the drink you had been nursing for the last twenty minutes. You had spent the first five or ten minutes with Billy but he had excused himself to greet someone from work and then you hadn’t seen him until you saw him with the bombshell. Of course the two of you hadn’t come together, not really, but since he was the one that asked if you wanted to come, you kind of thought you’d spend more time with him.

A hand brushed against your arm and you looked over your shoulder. It was a guy you had run into a few times at other functions. You apparently orbited similar groups but you couldn’t think of his name.

“You’re the girl that came with Russo, right?”

Oh, great. A cherry on top of your night.

“He was kind enough to give me a ride, yeah,” you said careful, always on alert when people asked you about Billy.

“Hah, yeah,” the guy said with a smirk as he looked around the party. “Looks like your ride ditched you. I was wondering if you’d like to hang out with me. Maybe I can give you a ride home.”

Your stomach rolled and you tried not to make a face.

“No thanks,” you said, hopefully politely, and turned to leave.

The guy grabbed your arm and stopped you from leaving.

“See, I don’t really think you have much of a choice. You’re obviously in love with Russo and he can definitely do better,” he admitted with a shrug as if he wasn’t insulting you, “so you really shouldn’t look down your nose at someone who is offering to spend time with you. You should just be grateful.”

God why did you come here? This was adding insult to injury.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realized I should be flattered to have some guy I don’t know flirt with me, grab me, and then insult me all in one go. Where are my manners?”

You pulled your arm away from him with a shake of your head. If this was the state of the city’s elite, you were happy on your lower level.

The flick of the guy’s eyes had you turning around to see Billy. He was giving the guy what you could only describe as a murder stare. He was dressed more casually which meant that it was a little more obvious that he was in good shape. And the asshole who had come on to you looked like his version of working out was lifting his phone for a selfie.

“Russo,” the guy greeted with a meek nod of his head.

Billy just raised an eyebrow. When it became apparent that he wasn’t going to respond, the guy huffed a breath through his nose and raised his hands.

“Teaches me to hit on the wallflower,” he muttered as he stormed off.

Wallflower? You made a face at that. Billy caught the sight and let out a short laugh.

“You looked like you were handling that on your own. I just happened to come up at the end,” he added as he gestured towards the edge of the roof.

You followed him over there and away from the crowds. It was less noisy where you were so you sat down, your back leaning against the ledge around the roof. Billy copied you, his arm brushing yours as he leaned against the wall as well.

“I can handle myself okay,” you admitted with a shrug. “My dad gave me pepper spray and brass knuckles when I moved to the city.”

Billy laughed outright at that. You enjoyed watching him in moments like this. The joy on his face was contagious and you giggled along with him.

He got a little more serious, his eyes finding yours. It felt like you were drowning in his dark—impossibly dark—eyes. All you wanted to do is stay in this moment for a little while longer and then go home to change into comfortable clothes and ignore the world for the weekend.

But…

“You shouldn’t listen to him, you know,” he said as he finally tore his eyes from you.

You bit your lip as you tried to remember what all the guy had said. The last thing you could remember before you snapped at him was him telling you that you should be grateful that he was hitting on you.

“Oh what, about me being grateful? Guys like that think they are hot stuff. It’s just bravado,” you added with a shrug.

He gave you a look that said that that wasn’t what he was talking about. You thought about it again, recalling what else the guy had said.

“You’re obviously in love with Russo and he can definitely do better,” is what he had said in an offhand manner that you hadn’t even paid attention to at the time.

But now you couldn’t stop hearing it repeat over and over in your head.

“Oh. That.” Your chest hurt from how fast your heart was racing. “Billy, that was just… he d–doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He was just being a… dick.”

You looked away from him, your fingers tight on your knees. There were going to be nail imprints on your legs when you got home.

This was mortifying. This was… this was what hell must feel like.

While you tried to think if you could survive the fall if you jumped off the building, Billy bumped his shoulder against yours.

“Don’t let anyone, ever, make you feel like you don’t deserve what you want.”

It was so simple and yet…

“You don’t have to say that,” you said quietly with your eyes still on your hands, unable to even think about looking over at him right then. “You don’t have to try to make me feel better about this.”

He tilted your face to his, his dark eyes moving over your face. When he leaned in, you started to jerk away, but you froze in place. He brushed his lips against yours so gently that you barely felt it.

“I meant every word,” he whispered against your lips, his eyes searching yours for a moment. “And a few that I haven’t said yet.”

You swallowed thickly, your eyes not wavering from his.

“Like?”

He grinned and leaned in for another kiss. Guess you were going to have to wait for those words.

But you had a feeling they were going to be worth the wait.

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for-the-haunted-mist-i-ride · 4 years

Text

The aftermath: (Semi Complete RP between Abaddon and Nortrom)

for-the-haunted-mist-i-ride:

Abaddon crushed the ancient bones beneath his feet, dust collapsing from the withered fragments that had once been a man but to the Lord of Avernus they were nothing more that a fallen enemy. The last of the Ostarion’s troops had been vanquished, shattered beneath the Blades of Avernus and the soldiers of Aeol Drias. As they had breached the inner gates Ostarion had waited with his personal retinue, none now stood. Ish'kafel, the dark seer, had fled the field in a surge of speed when Jah'rakal, the troll warlord had destroyed Ostarion in single combat.

With the enemy so to did silence fall, not true silence, but the end of battle, cries of the injured rang true and clear, the creaking and groaning of the city fires below could be heard even in the citadel. But the clash of steel and bone ended, life was all that remained in the citadel of Franktou, no undeath to speak of, only the dust to mark their final passing.

Grinding his armoured boot into the dust Abaddon turned his luminous eyes upon the hall. It was a scene of carnage, a grand throne room of white marble, cascaded in the blood of the fallen, dust littering coating the floor in a grey flood of death, if their enemy had been living, the floor would have been a river. At the end of the throne room, lying across the throne was Jah'rakal, tossing his axes up randomly to his own amusement, after vanquishing Ostarion and in his eyes, proving himself the greatest, Jah'rakal,had taken to the throne in an act of pure, though not uncalled for, arrogance. Ahead of the troll were the remains of their forces, soldiers of Aeol Drias supported troops from Avernus and a vice a versa in a sight of brotherhood that had not been seen since before his fathers time; but celebrations could wait.

“You, men of Aoel Drias” he called indicating a group of the purple glad soldiers closet to him, they were young but their eyes glistened with a determination that he had come to expect from Aeol Drias, “Secure the doors behind us” he barked, indicating the throne rooms entrance way.

“Captain Franquer” the Lord continued, looking for the captain amongst his men. As he spoke a trio of men clambered forward, one supported by the other two. The centre man and the man to his left were clad in the garb of Avernus, obsidian plate armour, devoid of decoration except for a faint crest upon their chest. The final man, to Abaddon right, wore the garb of Aeol Drias; he look battle hardened akin to the centre man. As they approached the young soldier of Avernus spoke.

“Captain Franquer is injured my Lord Abaddon, “we have to get him out of here.” the man implored, though in reality he was little more than a boy.

Abaddon looked to the centre man, sure enough it was the captain, his beard and rugged face were unmistakable. Though he was battered and bruised, his armour dented, blood dripping from his left side and a large gash across his head. “What is your name soldier?” he inquired, looking to the young man, he held a strong form for one so young, and his eyes, they seemed so…

“I am Hurgoth my Lord, Franquer is my Father” he explained quickly, hoisting his father up as his form slipped a little.

Abaddon nodded, the mans words answering his incomplete thought, “Very well Hurgoth, you’re Captain now in your fathers absence” he ordered, the youths face twisting through an assortment of emotions, bewilderment, shock, horror before finally, Duty. As the boy nodded Abaddon continued, “take half of the company captain and work your way back to the lower citadel gates, gather the wounded and get them to the grand hall two corridors back, I want it turned into a healing station at once. And send a runner to out forces outside of the city, have them send supplies to the hall on my express order.

“Yes my Lord” Hurgoth responded curtly, waving for half of the company to go with him, a few of the battle healers of Aeol Drais volunteering to go with them as they did so, a dash of enchanted blue in the sea of Black that swiftly began to search the immediate vicinity for the injured. As they began to work the soldier from Aeol Drias who had been helping Hurgoth turned to Abaddon.

“And what if their injuries are to severe Lord Abaddon?” he inquired sternly.

Facing the man directly, Abaddon stared into his light brown eyes and dark skin, “Then put them out of their misery” Abaddon responded curtly, his voice echoing through the room, a potent reminder of what this war would entail.

Turning away from the Lord, the soldier of Aeol Drias left with Hurgoth to take Captain Franquer to the great hall.

Turning on his heel Abaddon marched through the throne room, gathering soldiers of both Aeol Drias and the house of Avernus beside him, Abaddon worked his way to the throne and Jah'rakal, the imposing warlord.

“Jah’rakal!” the Lord commanded as he reached the throne, the troll twirling his axes absent-mindedly until the Lord called his name, at which point he turned. Abaddon could feel some of the men behind him shift nervously, the trolls temper was legendary. “Last I heard” the lord continued unabated.”The scourge of the plains, Luna, was having trouble clearing the enemy out of the Northern part of the city, care to show her how a real warlord does it?” the Lord inquired, knowing that the troll would no be able to resist such a temptation.

The trolls eyes shifted at the mention of conflict, turning to the lord but not moving from his throne. “I could go” he mused lazily, looking at all of the puny humans in front of him, only Abaddon looking anything more than a bag of blood. “But what do I get Lord Abaddon?” he wondered, his tone offering little respect to Abaddon, though that was not unexpected, the troll didn’t respect anyone really.

Abaddon looked at the Troll curiously beneath his helm, he looked pretty comfortable in that chair; he had an idea, “Well, besides the bragging rights over Luna, why don’t we have that chair you’re so fond of delivered to your home after the battle?” Abaddon offered, causing a few concerned glances from his surrounding soldiers. “I mean, you did just shatter Ostarion twice for it, it would be a shame for it to go to someone… less deserving” the lord continued, watching the Warlord’s eyes react to the offer.

“A throne? all for me? YES! The Warlord deserves a throne!”he declared, jumping from the throne in one swift motion, shaking the ground with his bulk even as he twirled his axes. “I will show that elf!” he began, striding on past Abaddon and his men in eagerness.

“Oh Jah’rakal!” Abaddon called, causing the Troll to paused mid stride.

“Wha…” he began before it became clear. Waving his hands before the Troll Abaddon cast a shield of energy about him.

“Go with my blessings” the Lord commanded, nodding to the troll even as he turned away without even a note of thanks.

“On to my next victim!” he declared, twirling his axes as he ran from the throne room, intent of causing carnage wherever he want. As the Troll departed Abaddon could hear an audible sigh from his men; the Troll frightened everyone it seemed.

Turning to his soldiers Abaddon wasted no time on sentimentality, “We can celebrate later men, our job is not yet done. you men” he indicated a group to his left, roughly authority soldiers of both Aeol Drias and Avernus, search the remaining rooms for survivors, intelligence and artefacts, I want them all placed in this room unless they require medical attention.” he waved the men off, movement beginning immediately as the soldiers organised themselves into mixed bands, a growing sign of the trust the two forces had earnt for one another.

“The rest of you, with me, we are going to find the Nortrom, to the Cathedral!” he barked, his voice gaining a note of strength as he spoke. Striding away from the throne the soldiers followed, a mixture again, followed. As they marched quickly through the derbies one soldiers called from the group.

“How do you know he is at the Cathedral Lord Abaddon?”

“Do you really have to ask?” the Lord retorted, looking over his shoulder with his luminous eyes.

nortromthesilencer

Nortrom’s eyes had finally adjusted to the dark. There was little room for movement, the cathedral collapsed around him and the beams became propped up against the altar creating a small area of respite from the rest of the falling debris. In his arms the Silencer felt a weight, now cold and lifeless; He was trapped in a metaphorical broken sarcophagus with the corpse of his only known family member. Gone.

Shifting, he ran his fingers in a circular motion over the Inquisitor’s armour, the dents and cracks from battle making an uneven texture that split between metal and cloth unseen in the darkness. Around them there was no sound, the fires since died down, but the ash and smoke remained in a haze around them making each breath grate against the back of the throat.

Nortrom sighed. He was tired, and from the lack of feeling from his right leg, most likely injured. An effort to move quickly confirmed this, as pain shot up from the limb, pinned down by remains of a heavy stone pillar. Another, deeper, sigh. The effects of the artifact would last 48 hours, and were he to not be found before dehydration set in there would be two corpses, two silencers, uncovered in the end. That wouldn’t do- it would be a disrespect to his brother, to everything strived for today were such a thing to occur.

Unknowing if Abaddon and the main front had succeeded in their march, the Silencer could only have faith and put his trust in their troops: men and women, heroes and mortals, all walks of life - trust that they were capable to see the job done. With this in mind Nortrom felt it best to signal the others in some way, even if only to let them know there was someone still alive in this mess that was once a place of worship.

Raising his hand slightly, he called forth one last bought of strength, and Franktou was blanketed in silence.

for-the-haunted-mist-i-ride:

They metallic, rhythmic sound of marching vanished, as did the hushed whispers of the men… and the moans of the dying. Silence fell like a heavy blanket over Franktou, all fell into the abyss of the void as magic faltered and screams died while lungs still stretched; it was an uncomfortable sensation. doubling their pace in perpetual silence, Abaddon and his men reached the battered and somewhat collapsed gates to the grand Cathedral of Franktou with greater vitality than before, Nortrom.. a Nortrom, was still alive. Using hand signals, Abaddon ordered his men to begin moving the debris as carefully as possible, the intent to make room for one man at a time into the unknown centre of religion.

As they began their work minutes passed in absolute silence, no muscle twitched, no mouse scurried, no breaking stone shattered the silence. Then, with the force of an explosion the noise of life returned, screams and clashing steel, heavy breaths and roaring fires, their was no rising sensation, no warning, just the full force of noise and all it entailed.

“I really hope no one needed healing in that time” Abaddon remarked to himself as the men finished clearing a small entrance way into the cathedral. “We must be careful men, the Cathedral is unstable, do not move anything without my express command, do you understand?” he ordered.

“Yes my lord” the men rang, Avernus and Aeol Drias alike.

Nodding, the Lord of Avernus turned and proceeded through the tiny entrance way they had carved fourth; beyond it lay an image of desecration and carnage. The Cathedral was all but ruins, the roof collapsed, ash strewn, the western wall all but collapsed, the three remaining walls barley standing, their once beautiful stone scorched by flame; it was a miracle that anything could have survived in here.

Walking slowly into the cathedral, derbies high all about him, he felt as if he was weaving from a maze of death and masonry, walking for about a minute but barley making headway, Abaddon found a slightly larger patch of open ground.

“I need four men with me!” he ordered, “And tread carefully, this place is unstable” he barked even as a small selection of the roof’s tiles collapsed down, shattering shrapnel in the vicinity of their landing. Breathing deeply Abaddon focused his mind, their was at least one person in here, he could feel at least six fates pulsing in the room, though he would not know the location until he was much closer.

“How will we find Nortrom in this detestation?” one of the men rang, his accent that of Aeol Drias.

“I cannot see him, if it is him, yet, but I can tell you if we are going in the right direction.” the Lord responded simply, not looking back, but instead beginning to walk forward, slowly and deliberately; his men following in single file behind him.

nortromthesilencer

From the enclosed space, the approaching footsteps echoed and caused the stones to shift, letting lose small specks of gravel and dust from already precariously placed surfaces. Raising his head, the Silencer moved his grip from his brother’s corpse, lifting both arms over his head to brace their shelter lest what he was about to do caused it to collapse. Taking a deep breath, he called out as loud as possible. “Under here!” He hadn’t spoken since the battle and afterwards coughed heavily, the soot and smoke stinging against his throat.

Hopefully his words were heard, and those overhead were friend and not foe. Being in no condition to fight, leg pinned and broken, strength used up, there would be nothing he could do in defence should the ones that found him be Ostarion’s forces.

for-the-haunted-mist-i-ride:

Abaddon raised a fist to halt his men, the metallic ringing of their boots falling silent as they stopped suddenly. Abaddon had heard a voice in the dust filled air, its volume muffled by the dreary air which circulated them. The very fabric of the air was coated in dust and ash, it hung like an incense of decay over the once proud cathedral. The ground below them was a mosaic of broken craftsmanship, masonry, glass and woodwork crunched underfoot as the men had weaved through the rubble.

Abaddon breathed deeply, the voice had sounded familiar, could it be him? he could feel the fate getting stronger as they had progressed into the cathedral, maybe, just maybe. “Nortrom!?” he called, loud and clear, taking a step forward, “Where are you? We are coming!” the Lord continued, waiting in the desecrated cathedral ruins for a response from his friend.

nortromthesilencer

Another voice! Not only that, but a recognizable one; while the words were masked under rock and echoing chambers the deep, ethereal tone carried strong into his ears. Nortrom cleared his throat with a few more raspy coughs, gaining enough air to call out once more. “Abaddon! The centre of the cathedral!”

for-the-haunted-mist-i-ride:

As one the men turned sharply, the shout was muffled but hear able, there was no mistake, it was Nortrom. Moving swiftly Abaddon and the men closed in around a large pile of masonry and wood, it was a miracle anyone could have survived the rubble.

“Nortrom!” Abaddon called, “Are you hurt? we’re going to get you out of their.” he called, leaning close to the rubble as the men attempted to locate him and a way to remove the rubble safely. They were looking through gaps in rubble as well as moving some of the immediately obvious debris such as loose roof tiles and fallen beams.

nortromthesilencer

The echoing steps grew louder and more lose debris was sifted from the pile. Being sure to keep his arms up, to support what was keeping him from being buried and ignoring the sharp pains from where the shards of glaive had hit and rubble had crushed, he tried once more to help in their locating of his whereabouts. “You’re getting closer; The centre altar.”

Unable to hear the exact words spoken by Abaddon, Nortrom failed to answer his questions. Still, it was good to know the lord was alive- perhaps their side had won this after all. Leaning back with a sigh of relief, the Silencer waited.

for-the-haunted-mist-i-ride:

Listening to the words Abaddon nodded, they were in the right place. “Men! Find a quick way in, we don’t have time to move all of it!” He ordered, beginning to circle the mound of rubble, a collection of masonry and iron.

Abaddon shook his head as he circled the would be tomb, it didn’t look good, but maybe they would luck out. After all, Nortrom must have survived in a pocket, maybe their would be a route to him, or at least to get him out of the rubble.

Breathing deeply Nortrom focused on the fate of his friend pulsing faintly beneath the rubble. He was close enough to see his friend now, an skeleton of light twisting and turning in its fight for life. Across it lay another fate, recently extinguished. Abaddon shook his head as it dawned on him who the other fate belonged too.

“My Lord!” Called one of the soldiers, breaking Abaddon from his mind. “We may have something” he continued, waving the Lord over to the east side of the rubble. As he approached, the men now gather around, the solider continued to speak.

“This beam is wedged between the masonry here and it’s proper against the wall” he I dictated behind them, if that thing moves, the while lot will collapse, but, if we are careful, we can move the stuff to the right of it, it is mainly loose rubble, the beam seems to have held the heavier stuff from adding it’s full weight.“ As if to prove his point, the solider strode up to the rubble and removed a hefty piece of stone from the right of the beam, a chunk of debris came off around it but the larger mass did not move.

Nodding Abaddon strode forward and stared into the abyss that yawned beneath the rubble, the removed stone offering a tiny window by which to see.

"Move it all, and hurry! ” He ordered, stepping back for his soldiers.

nortromthesilencer

More shifting of stones from above. The Silencer winced, his broken leg displeased by the movement around them and Nortrom’s own movement to maintain the structural integrity of his shelter. The body on his lap was easy to pull away, none of the rubble had seemed to harm it’s form; even being the one to kill his brother, he wouldn’t want the remains to be mutilated.

Around him the continuing sounds of debris being moved were heard, and the weight above his arms became easier and easier to shift with every passing minute. Eventually a crack of light peered through, breaking the darkness and causing the man to squint and cover his eyes. A face, human, not undead. Good.

Nortrom lowered his arms, once more cradling the body of his brother, taking a deep breath of the fresh air that wafted in from the slowly expanding hole. Attempting a thankful smile as the gap widened and Abaddon came into view, the Silencer sighed with relief. “You’re one hell of a sight for sore eyes.”

for-the-haunted-mist-i-ride:

As the rubble broke away and the Lords nervous wait was over, he was relived to see the face of his friend, Nortrom the Silencer, champion of Aeol Drias, was alive. Smiling beneath his helm, the Lord nodded, “As are you Nortrom” he indicated for the men to continue moving the rubble. In truth Nortrom looked disheveled, weak and in pain, both emotional and physical. Bu the fact remained he was alive, he hadn’t realised it, but Abaddon had been highly string over the whole ordeal, he had hated the plan from the start, such solo ventures more often than not resulted in death.

As the men moved the last of the rubble the Lord pushed his wandering mind to the side and took a step forward, two of his men propping the Silencer up, another two gently, but slowly, moving Red’s corpse away. It was a strange sight, to see the two of them together, even in such circumstances; though he guessed no one would ever again.

Looking the man over again Abaddon noticed the trapped leg, pinned beneath masonry; it looked painful, “Get his leg free men” he ordered quickly, indicating the rubble. He looked down to Nortrom, masonry dust heavy in the air from the constant shifting stone. “Nortrom, I can seal the wound if you wish, it should make it easier for you.” he offered sincerely, his mind still a little stunned by the whole image, Reds cold corpse, Nortrom’s injured leg, the whole ruined Cathedral; in truth this campaign had been one of horrors.

nortromthesilencer

Nortrom was reluctant to turn over the corpse, but knew he couldn’t hold on to it and move from this location at the same time. “Be careful, I don’t wish him harmed.” To late for that…

When first being moved Nortrom winced, a strained hiss given as his leg was pulled and a faint internal cracking could be felt. Thankfully the fact he was pinned was caught right away, the soldiers setting him back down and working to lift the pillar away. He thought all feeling had been lost from below the knee. He thought wrong. The moment blood was attempting to return to the lower limb a surge of pain shot through his extremity, causing the man to jolt giving an embarrassing yelp of pain.

Catching his breath, Nortrom nodded in thanks towards one of the troops who had offered up their canteen. The water was cool and much needed, soot and dust stinging the back of his throat and leaving his lips dry and mouth parched. The man downed most of it immediately and messily, caring little for manners at the moment. Wiping his mouth with a gloved hand, the Silencer handed back the canteen and looked to Abaddon. “I- I think that would best. Even so, I doubt I can walk without assistance.”

for-the-haunted-mist-i-ride:

The Lord nodded, waiting a moment for the Silencer to compose himself, water dripping down his dust covered chin. To his right his men gently as they could, moved the body of the Crimson inquisitor, Nortrom’s twin brother; depositing him in a slightly less debried filled spec of floor to there left. Stepping forward the Lord of Avernus kneeled besides his friend and slowly moved his gauntlet covered hands over his leg, hovering just above the wound for a moment, tendrils of mist examining the wound through his gauntlets. Without a word the Lord of Avernus clasped his hands about the wound, causing a yelp of pain to escape the silencers lips; but the Lord ignored it he could not care for such minor pain now. As his hands met the wound, a flash of blue and black light shone through the gaps between the Silencers wound and the lords hands. Bone was instantly set, flesh covered the external would and a small semblance of pain relief undoubtedly came to the man. yet as this happened, the Lords felt his own leg, the one deliberately braced against the floor, shift and surge in pain for the briefest of moments, though he made no sound of it. To heal meant he suffered a minor version of the same wound, such was the price for his gifts.

“I do not expect you to walk unassisted” the Lord proclaimed, standing straight, ignoring the pain in his leg, it would die down soon enough. Offering Nortrom his hand, one of the other soldiers also offering the Silencer assistance, the Lord of Avernus smiled beneath his helm, “So lets walk out of this ruin together.”

#Dota 2 #roleplay #nortromthesilencer #semi completed RP #Post War #abaddon

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