#𝕍𝕀. –––––– ✧ events

[fireflics]

𝕀. ⸻ inspo

𝕀𝕀. ⸻ photos

𝕀𝕀𝕀. ⸻ convos

𝕀𝕍. ⸻ tasks

𝕍. ⸻ plot drops

𝕍𝕀. ⸻ events

𝕍𝕀𝕀. ⸻ misc

[rashomonss]

𝕄𝔸𝕊𝕋𝔼ℝ𝕃𝕀𝕊𝕋 ִ ࣪𖤐

𝕒 𝕙𝕦𝕞𝕒𝕟𝕤 𝕨𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕙 || Not all people are so fortunate to be forgiven. The brothers will all learn that the hard way when a not so forgiving version of yourself from another timeline switches with you. However when actual affection is given to the people who begged for your forgiveness in a different time period, they’re not so sure if they want you to leave.

𝕡𝕝𝕒𝕪𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥, 𝕨𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕔𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕙 𝕠𝕗 𝕒 𝕙𝕦𝕞𝕒𝕟?,

𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕝𝕠𝕘𝕦𝕖, 𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕀, 𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕀𝕀, 𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕀𝕀.𝕍, 𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕀𝕝𝕝, 𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕀𝕍, 𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕍

𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕍𝕀, 𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕍𝕀𝕀, 𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕍𝕀𝕀𝕀, 𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕀𝕏, 𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕏, 𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕏𝕀, 𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕏𝕀𝕀

𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕏𝕀𝕀𝕀, 𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕏𝕀𝕀𝕀.𝕍, 𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕏𝕀𝕍, 𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕏𝕍

??? || coming soon

𝕕𝕒𝕪𝕕𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕞𝕤 || angst prompts

𝕝𝕖𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕘𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕥𝕦𝕕𝕖 || a mini event

𝟠𝟘𝟘 𝕗𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕠𝕨𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕟𝕥 𝕞𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥 || every ask for this event is here

𝕤𝕨𝕖𝕖𝕥 𝕧𝕒𝕝𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕖𝕤 𝕥𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥 𝕞𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥 || my small smutty valentines event

𝕝𝕒𝕥𝕖 𝕟𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕤 || the house of lamentation

𝕞𝕔 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕓𝕣𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕤 || the house of lamentation

𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕓𝕣𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕙𝕦𝕞𝕒𝕟 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕝𝕞 || the house of lamentation

𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕒𝕣𝕔𝕙𝕚𝕧𝕖𝕤 || the house of lamentation

𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕛𝕦𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 || the house of lamentation

𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕛𝕦𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕦𝕖𝕕 || all

𝕝𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕠 𝕒𝕕𝕒𝕡𝕥 || the house of lamentation

𝕝𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕠 𝕒𝕕𝕒𝕡𝕥 𝕡𝕥. 2 || the dateables + luke

𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕓𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕜 𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕤 || lucifer

𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕡𝕪 𝕓𝕚𝕣𝕥𝕙𝕕𝕒𝕪 || lucifer

𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕓𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕜 𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕤 || mammon

𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕥𝕪 || mammon

𝕟/𝕒 || leviathan

𝕛𝕖𝕒𝕝𝕠𝕦𝕤𝕝𝕪 || satan

𝕟/𝕒 || asmodeus

𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕖𝕤𝕤 𝕣𝕖𝕝𝕚𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣 || beelzebub

𝕟/𝕒 || belphegor

𝕟/𝕒 || diavolo

𝕟/𝕒 || barbatos

𝕘𝕣𝕖𝕖𝕕 || solomon

𝕒 𝕝𝕠𝕧𝕖 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣 || solomon

𝕚𝕟𝕤𝕒𝕟𝕚𝕥𝕪 || solomon

𝕟/𝕒 || simeon

𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝟙, 𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝟚 || chats that make me do a double take

𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝟙, 𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝟚 || solomon killing everyone

𝕜𝕚𝕕𝕟𝕒𝕡𝕡𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕤𝕙𝕖𝕟𝕒𝕟𝕚𝕘𝕒𝕟𝕤 || the brothers kidnapping mc

𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝟙 || screenshots out of context

𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝟙, 𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝟚, 𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝟛, 𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝟜, || spam of my love for satan

𝕘𝕒𝕞𝕖𝕡𝕝𝕒𝕪 || nightbringer gameplay

𝕣𝕦𝕣𝕚 𝕥𝕦𝕟𝕖𝕤 || ruri tunes gameplay

𝕗𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕕𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕞 || my nightbringer experience

𝕟𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕓𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕖𝕣 || my thoughts

𝕥𝕖𝕒𝕤𝕖𝕣 𝕥��𝕒𝕚𝕝𝕖𝕣 || barbatos lore

𝕘𝕦𝕒𝕣𝕕𝕚𝕒𝕟 𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕖𝕝𝕤 || about guardian angels

𝕟𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕓𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕖𝕣 || who is nightbringer?

𝕔𝕙𝕠𝕚𝕔𝕖𝕤 || the game options

𝕤𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕗𝕒𝕞𝕚𝕝𝕚𝕒𝕣 || comparing the two

𝕤𝕒𝕥𝕒𝕟’𝕤 𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕥𝕤 || i love him sm

[erinkeifer]

ℕ𝕠𝕥 𝕞𝕪 𝕔𝕠𝕕𝕖 - ℙ𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕍𝕀

[Anakin Skywalker x Padawan!Fem Reader]

Masterlist | Wattpad | AO3 Not My Code Masterlist

Summary: After your first solo mission, you return to the Temple, longing only to throw yourself into the arms of your Master. Unfortunately, you are informed that Anakin is not feeling well...

Warnings: angst | hurt/comfort | descriptions of pain | fluffy ending Word Count: 2k

You arrived in Coruscant just after dusk. The mission took up your entire day, and aside from the urgent messages sent by the Council, you didn't even have time to connect with anyone from the Temple. Although you attempted to communicate with Anakin through your comlink several times, he wasn't responding. It had been a few weeks since your knighting ceremony, and during that time, you had spent a lot of time together, practically finishing and starting each day at either his quarters or yours. You had no illusions that you would like to conclude this busy day in his arms. "General Kenobi!" you exclaimed, descending from the platform where Obi-Wan waited, unfortunately, unusually without his apprentice by his side. "Here she is!" Kenobi replied, bowing to you and the crew, whose members saluted as they descended from the platform. "How do you feel after your debut?" Obi-Wan asked with a hint of pride, walking with you towards the Temple's interior. "As you've probably heard, everything ended successfully. We returned intact, didn't lose anyone... Let's hope this streak continues." you replied, walking slowly alongside Kenobi. "I deeply believe it will." he said, smiling at you. "If you'll excuse me." he added, attempting to catch one of the troopers on the way with a mission report. You nodded and stood by, waiting for Obi-Wan to handle his business, but thoughts swirled in your head - Anakin's absence worried you, and considering the lack of contact, you knew something was definitely not right. You paced in circles, fidgeting with your nails until Kenobi finished his conversation, and when the two finally parted ways, you walked back with him. "What's with the melancholy, young lady?" he said, eliciting a gentle, albeit very brief, smile from you. "I don't know... Just... Uh... Have you seen Anakin?" you asked with clear doubt in your voice. "Good question... I saw him in the morning heading to the Chancellor. Later, we had a council meeting, but he left early, said he wasn't feeling well." Kenobi replied, increasing your doubt. Through years of war, battles, you had never seen him sick – even days after the divorce with Padmé, he never skipped a council meeting, as he used to say, 'focusing on work helps forget about problems.' "I guess he'll sleep it off, and he'll be better tomorrow. Then, you can discuss today's events. Surely, you need some rest too." Kenobi added after a moment of silence, to which you nodded. "Sure..." you replied as you reached the crossroads where you should go in opposite directions. "It's probably nothing serious." you added, forcing a smile, which Kenobi genuinely reciprocated. "May the Force be with you." Kenobi said before heading towards his quarters. "May the Force be with you." you replied, and as you turned in your direction, your smile was replaced by genuine emotions. You knew you should go straight to your room, but you couldn't. You couldn't bear not knowing what was happening with Anakin, not knowing why he was feeling unwell. Taking a deep breath, you headed to the elevators and descended one floor, navigating through a dark corridor towards Skywalker's quarters. When you stood in front of the door, you decided to knock, but after waiting for over a minute with no response, you realized no one was opening. You pulled the handle, but the door was locked. Feeling drained to wait any longer, you ultimately used the Force to open the door. You tried to do it as quietly as possible. When the door unlocked, you noticed R2-D2 inside. The vigilant droid immediately directed its diodes toward you but, sensing no threat, didn't react chaotically.

You decided to take a few quiet steps into the bedroom, and suddenly, a sight unfolded before your eyes that shattered your heart into pieces. Anakin sat shirtless on the floor, leaning against the metal frame of his spacious bed, his face buried in his hands. "Anakin." you whispered, not knowing how to handle the situation. Skywalker didn't respond, and you approached him, kneeling beside him. In doing so, you accidentally knocked over a few empty, disposable coffee cups scattered around the room. "Hey." Anakin finally spoke after a while, but so softly that you could barely hear him. "What's going on? Please, tell me." you asked, gently stroking his shoulder. His exposed skin was feverish, his bangs stuck to his forehead, and strands of hair seemed matted – you could barely see his eyes, especially since he kept avoiding your gaze, looking down. "I'll be fine... I just feel... Sick." he replied after a pause, forcing a smile... A smile that you immediately read as filled with pain. "Anakin, please, be serious... I've never seen you in worse shape, and I... I'm terribly worried." you said. He didn't reply. He removed your hand from his shoulder and gently placed it on his own, then proceeded to kiss it fervently. He didn't part his lips from your delicate skin for a few minutes, and on one hand, you didn't want to press, but on the other, you wanted to know what was troubling him as soon as possible. You sat still until you felt something that broke your heart. You felt a tear from Anakin's eye drip onto your hand. Sensing it run down your wrist, you decided to gently lift his chin with your other hand, tilting his head towards you so he finally looked at you. "Please... Look at me." you whispered with sadness in your voice, and finally, Anakin's eyes met yours, instantly causing them to glisten. His eyes and eyelids were reddened, and on his cheeks, you saw both dried and fresh streaks from tears, which you delicately wiped away with the back of your fingers as soon as you noticed them. He looked like he hadn't slept for a very long time – he was visibly worn down, and his forced smile only emphasized that. "Please, tell me..." you whispered, cradling his feverish face in your cool hands. "I haven't slept well..." he whispered as you gently stroked his face. "I think you meant to say 'I haven't slept at all.'" you replied, casting a fleeting glance at the scattered coffee cups with grounds. Anakin always drank strong coffee, but never this strong. "Please... I'm really scared." you added after a moment, once again locking eyes with him. "Me too." he responded, and you furrowed your brows, unsure of what he meant. Your hands returned to his, and you slowly rose from the floor. "First, please get up. Sit here, comfortably." you indicated the bed and offered him your hand to help him up. Anakin took your hand and pulled himself up slightly to sit next to you on his soft mattress. You embraced him gently and again locked eyes with him, signaling that he should continue. "What are you afraid of? What do you mean?" you asked softly, watching as his gaze scanned your slightly brighter face. "Something haunts me... I feel it again..." he replied after a moment of hesitation, and you tried to piece together the fragments. "Again? You mean..." "Nightmares," he answered before you could finish, and you felt powerless. You didn't want to ask for details - a part of you wanted to know, but another part protested.

"They're worse, more realistic than ever..." he added after a moment, not breaking eye contact with you. "Anakin... How can I..." "Hold me." he suddenly replied, and without hesitation, you embraced him, burying your face in his neck. His grip was desperate and strong - stronger than ever. He held you as if the entire world depended on it, as if letting you go meant losing you forever. You felt his unstable heartbeat, and your eyes welled up at the thought of the non-physical pain Anakin was involuntarily enduring. You remembered that nightmares had haunted him years ago, but you had never been this close to him - never had the opportunity to help him somehow endure them. "I'm here... I'm with you." you whispered into his ear, gently running your fingers through his hair. Minute by minute, you felt his body calming down, and the tension slowly dissipating. There was still a sense of brokenness, but both of you knew that it couldn't be bypassed in a matter of minutes. "Let's lie down, okay?" you asked after a while, lifting your face from his neck enough to look into his eyes. Anakin nodded, and both of you simultaneously fell onto his soft pillows, lying facing each other, never letting go. "I would give a lot for you not to have to go through this... I would do anything." you whispered slowly, and now it was Anakin who cupped your face with his hand. "I wouldn't want you to give up anything." he replied after a while, and you didn't even prepare a response. You moved closer to his face, and when your lips met, you left him with a sweet, short kiss. "Please." he whispered, pleadingly, not wanting the kiss to be so short, and quickly returned his lips to yours, kissing them tenderly and not parting for the next few longer moments. When you both ran out of breath, you separated your lips, touching foreheads and listening to only your accelerated breaths. The atmosphere seemed dense, but there was already less pain and more of something you had been suppressing for a long time. "Anakin..." you whispered, and at that moment, your heart raced the fastest. Skywalker looked at you, feeling the emotions tearing through you. "I love you." And the world stood still – both his and yours. You unloaded a huge emotional burden, but you didn't know how he would take it. His eyes sparkled, and you would bet that hearing your words momentarily held his breath. Despite his own shock, he read each of your emotions and scanned your face as if getting to know you anew. He didn't even have to look for answers – he didn't need to make sure that your words came straight from the heart. Both of you felt that the burden of pure truth had been thrown off, just waiting to be voiced. "I love you too." he finally uttered, the voice you had been waiting for, causing tears to gather in your eyelids. Anakin's eyes were also glistening, but this time you saw a flash of relief and happiness in them, until finally, a genuine, beautiful smile appeared on his face, which you instantly reciprocated. After gazing at each other's love-struck faces, your lips met again, this time in a more passionate, tension-relieving kiss, the sincerest and strongest you had ever shared. Both of you were breathless, breaking it. "Promise me something." you said between deep breaths, and his eyes immediately looked at you, expecting the continuation of your words. "Fall asleep with me now... I'll be right there with you, just please, get some rest." you spoke with clear seriousness, and after a moment of hesitation, Anakin nodded, and his smile returned to its place. "I'll try." he whispered before gently sinking onto you, so that he was in your embrace.

"Relax, think of something that brings you joy." you whispered to him, and with your free hand, you reached for a blanket lying next to both of you, covering Anakin enough so that he wouldn't feel the cold on his exposed skin at any moment of the night. You didn't care that you were fully dressed – you didn't want to give an inch away from him, not now, when he finally gained a bit of peace. You looked at his closed eyes and gradually calming breath, gently circling your fingers on his back. When you kissed him on the forehead, the corner of his mouth lifted in a sweet smile, and your head landed on the pillow – not to fall asleep, but to - before doing so - make sure that Anakin had drifted into a peaceful sleep. Soon, all tension disappeared – you felt only calm breaths on your skin and the touch of his chest rising and falling rhythmically. Only peace surrounded him. Only peace and your tender gaze, which soon faded away to drift together with him.

[thewhumpcaretaker]

⚜ 𝕋𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕎𝕙𝕠 ℍ𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕊𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕠 𝕃𝕚𝕧𝕖 𝔽𝕠𝕣 - ℂ𝕙. 𝕍𝕀: 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕤𝕥 𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝕠𝕗 𝕍𝕚𝕟𝕔𝕖𝕟𝕥'𝕤 𝕃𝕚𝕗𝕖 ⚜

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ ✧.*★ Thank you to @evren-sadwrn for the beta read!

Summary: How could this happen?

TW: abusive parenting, canon-typical violence, gore, graphic deaths, dissociation during a traumatic event, Dead Dove Do Not Eat

The worst day of Vincent’s life dawned beneath a rose red sun, foreboding enough to terrify sailors. Flames in the hills to the East had masked the sunrise in smoke. Mrs. Harkan had set fire to their trading storehouses, and perhaps it was Vincent’s imagination, strung out for almost a week now, but he could almost taste burning intoxicants on the wind. Meanwhile, the Marquis called for a constant watch that stretched the half-staffed Myrmidons all too thin, and spent every moment brainstorming retaliation. But Vincent couldn’t focus on the crisis.

Several days had passed since the sparring match, and each one had driven Vincent further into hidden madness. Life had returned more or less to normal in the Gramont estate. The servants maintained immaculately dusted furniture and extravagant feasts. The Myrmidons flanked the doorways or patrolled the grounds. The Marquis and the Comte attended business in their studies, respectively, and occasionally, one called upon the other. If there was any change, it was that Chidi no longer entertained any jabs from Fritz about the young master, and the young master did not seek him out. But Vincent was thinking constantly about how unimportant Chidi was to him.

He was prepared to go back to Rome without seeing Chidi again at all. He had liked every aspect of their encounter, perhaps their struggle over the letter most of all. But it was just fun, just him toying with the help. No, Chidi wasn’t important to him, he told himself. He thought constantly about how effectively he was ignoring Chidi, whether Chidi was sufficiently intimidated by him, how amusing it would be to see Chidi grow more attached to him, whether Chidi thought about him at night, whether Chidi thought of him as commanding, attractive, cool – Chidi, Chidi, Chidi. When he dressed for the day, all in white with red accents along his lapel, it was with the knowledge that he would, at some point, pass Chidi in the hall. And when he did, he would not even look at him, to convey that he didn’t care in the slightest whether they ever slept together again.

And Chidi’s gaze answered “Vincent, Vincent, Vincent” in exaltation. He looked at him, just as he was supposed to, as if he had to restrain his hands at his sides, with a longing beyond hunger. He could do nothing more obvious than that, but it was enough.

Vincent passed him on the way to speak to his father about the storehouses at around 11 o’clock that morning. It was just the usual: being belittled, being blamed for everything. It was his fault that the mission to Germany had been botched in the first place. If he hadn’t acted out of turn in Italy, Àlderic wouldn’t have had to punish him by going alone in secret. He always ruined everything, etc. He just stuffed down the misery in his chest and waited for it to be over.

A hand brushed against his on the way out. Chidi’s hand. A tingle of something soft and hot and electrified sent a shiver through him, deep in the spine, and he stopped, their eyes locked together. Sheer need suddenly overcame him and he pulled Chidi by the sleeve into the adjoining parlor, closing the door behind them. It was empty. “Vous êtes audacieux aujourd’hui. [You’re bold today],” he whispered.

“Est-ce une mauvaise chose? [Is that a bad thing?]”

“Non.” He ran his tongue along his lips and tilted his head expectantly to the side until Chidi kissed him - hurried, sloppy, but a rush of air into his lungs. Like breathing again for the first time since the day of the fencing match. How did he ever breathe before meeting Chidi?

He pulled away, still cradling the back of Vincent’s head by a fistful of hair. “Monsieur,” he whispered, “s'il te plaît, ne crois pas ce qu'il dit de toi. Il ment. Vous êtes une personne extraordinaire. [please don’t believe what he says about you. He’s lying. You’re an extraordinary person.]”

He suddenly felt very lost and small and wonderful all at once. “Ce n’est pas à toi de traiter mon père de menteur. Vous n’auriez même pas dû écouter. [That’s…that’s not your place, to call my father a liar. You shouldn’t even have been listening.]” But there was no bite in his voice. It was too much, with Chidi’s hand in his hair and his sweet musk all over Vincent’s mouth and these overwhelming words. He wanted to cry so badly.

“Franchement, je m'en fiche, monsieur. Je n'aime pas la façon dont il te traite. [Frankly, I don’t care, sir. I don’t like the way he treats you.]”

A wild rush. His hand clenched and unclenched on the fabric of Chidi’s suit coat. He felt full to bursting with a longing that stung behind his eyes and fluttered at his ribcage, a longing to kiss Chidi again, but also to run away from this confusion, this…deep, ancient upset that had been so rudely unearthed. It felt awful. The world was getting messed up again, the same way it did when he held that rose petal. And he wasn’t ready, couldn’t possibly face it. He swiped Chidi’s caress away from his head and took a step back.

“Ne parlez pas de lui de cette façon. Vous ne comprendriez pas. L’estime de mon père est accordée à ceux qui la méritent. On s’attend donc à ce que je mérite cette estime. C’est plus raisonnable que ce qui se passe entre la plupart des parents et des enfants. Il ne m’a jamais dorloté. Il est strict avec moi parce qu’il sait que je peux le supporter. Je ne suis pas un enfant pathétique et blessé. [Don’t speak of him that way. You wouldn’t understand. My father’s esteem is given to those who deserve it. So I am expected to earn that esteem. It’s more sensible than what happens between most parents and children. He’s never coddled me. He’s strict with me because he knows I can take it. I’m not some pathetic, wounded child.]” But the raw, affronted tone of his voice made him sound exactly like that. He didn’t know whether he was trying to convince his lover or himself.

Chidi looked at him with such pity that he left the room at once, feeling worse than when he entered…yet much more alive.

Vincent ached inside for the rest of the day. He kept mostly to his room through the afternoon, but he could not be absent for dinner, and afterwards, he wandered listlessly through the gardens, the stables, the ground floor. Evening was falling, and the majority of the Myrmadons were meeting with Eric and the Marquis to discuss the burned storehouses, so he could walk the grounds without fear of meeting Chidi and seeing that awful sympathy again. Eventually, he settled in the ballroom at the piano, playing by the dusky blue afterglow of sunset and the light of a candelabra. There was no one around to light the chandelier. He’d rather keep it that way.

He was settling into a particularly melancholy piece when he heard a bang.

It was muffled by a silencer (a pretty poor one), but he would know it anywhere. And the guards didn’t use silencers.

Had his piano playing given away his location? He went instantly still. A Chopin nocturne was replaced by the ominous echo of the chapel bell, sounding an alarm. For a long moment, the world held its breath, and then another two gunshots rang out from the opposite direction, even closer to the ballroom. Why was there no answering shot from the guards? There were at least three who weren’t in that meeting - he’d passed them in the garden. Had they been killed on sight?

More gunshots, servants running. He wasn’t fully armed, he remembered. He left his sword in his room, not expecting to need it, so he had only his knife – which he drew. No one knew where he was. He should go find them. He should find Chidi. Yes. Everything would be okay…

He rose to find a man standing in the doorway. By the ace card pinned on his lapel, he was from Himmel und Hölle, most likely a surviving bodyguard. They just looked at each other. Neither of them moved.

Vincent dodged suddenly left on instinct, a second before the man fired. He kept firing. Vincent ducked behind the piano and discordant notes clashed together through the empty vaults of the ceiling as gunfire rained down on its keys. He glanced behind him and saw only a vast expanse without cover. The man stopped long enough to call to someone else and then there were two of them, maybe more. Adrenaline hit, but it was not the thrilling adrenaline of his assassinations in Rome, it was something paralyzing with dread. Something about this whole situation was so wrong. They should never have gotten inside the house. These things happened all the time, but they were never this out-of-control. He huddled against the back of the piano, his palm clammy around the knife, trembling wildly.

Footsteps advanced towards the piano, and then (finally) full-volume gunshots added their notes to the cacophony. One man hit the ground, while the other gave way to the grunts and shouts of wrestling, pained enough that whoever had come for him must already have been badly injured on the way. He dared to peek out. Eric was being battered around the head with the butt of a machine gun.

But that meant the attacker’s back was exposed. Vincent took his chance, threw his arms around his shoulders and slit his throat from behind. Blood gushed out of his jugular onto Eric’s broken face below, already an unrecognizable mass of crushed bone. He had to look away to steady the wave of revulsion. Suddenly he was ten thousand times more terrified. The head of the Myrmidons was dead. And why was he sent alone? Where were the others?

Swallowing his disgust, he snatched the earpiece and mic off the thing that used to be Eric’s head. “Votre imbécile de leader est mort dans la salle de bal. Couvrez ma position MAINTENANT. Qu'est-ce que cela veut dire? [Your fool of a leader is dead in the ballroom. Cover my location NOW. What is the meaning of this?]” There were more footsteps in the distance. He didn’t wait for an answer to throw the ballroom doors closed and start pushing the ruined piano against them.

Chidi opened a channel, and through it he could hear commotion. “Monsieur, nous sommes occupés dans le bureau de votre père. Leur nombre était très grand. Il reste trois d'entre nous. Mais je vais essayer de vous joindre. Mme Harkan – [Sir, we are occupied in your father’s study. Their numbers were very great. Three of us remain. But I will try to get to you. Mrs. Harkan - ]”

Àlderic’s voice cut through. He sounded more desperate than Vincent had ever heard him. “Non, vous ne le ferez pas ! Personne ne me quitte. Je tuerai ta sœur de mes propres mains si tu me quittes maintenant, Chidi. Ou était-ce ton frère ? Cela ne m'importe pas, si quelqu'un part, vous paierez ! [No you won’t! No one leaves my side. I’ll kill your sister with my own hands if you leave me now, Chidi. Or was it your brother? It doesn’t matter to me, if anyone leaves, you’ll pay!]” Back in the ballroom, something struck the door with great force.

Vincent couldn’t understand at first. “Comment ça, personne ne part !? Je ne suis toujours pas surveillé, non ? Tu ne réfléchis pas, père. [What do you mean no one leaves!? I am still unguarded, no? You’re not thinking, father.]”

Chidi opened the channel again but struggled for words. “… Là… nous ne sommes plus que trois. Il y en avait trop et ils sont compétents. Votre père souhaite que nous restions avec lui jusqu'à ce qu'il s'échappe du bâtiment. S'il vous plaît, tenez bon, monsieur. S'il vous plaît, cachez-vous.  […There…there are only three of us left. There were too many, and they are skilled. It is your father’s wish that we remain with him until he escapes the building. Please hold out, sir. Please hide.]”

“Non, il ne comprend pas ! J’ai barricadé la salle de bal, mais ils persistent. Je – je ne peux pas – ça ne tiendra pas – [No, he doesn’t understand! I barricaded the ballroom, but they’re fucking persistent. I – I can’t – it won’t hold – ]“ He backed away from the door, watching it shake under a constant battering. He was starting to hyperventilate.

Chidi was speaking, something about staying calm, but it died in a grenade blast, and for a second, Vincent thought he did too. He had doubled over in terror, deafened, with shrapnel buried in the arms that had darted up instinctively to cover his face. There was a hole torn wide open in the door and the piano alike. On the other side was a woman.

She looked haggard, as if she hadn’t slept in days, but extremely triumphant. “C'est dommage [It’s a shame],” she said, in a thick German accent, “que ton père ne soit plus marié. Un conjoint pour conjoint, voyez-vous, aurait été idéal. Mais je prendrai son fils en échange de mon mari, de tout ce qu’il possède et de sa vie. C'est presque comme même. [that your father is no longer married. A spouse for a spouse, you see, would have been ideal. But I’ll take his son in exchange for my husband, plus everything he has, plus his life. That’s almost like even.]”

Chidi could still hear everything, he realized. “Monsieur, combattez ! Vous devez supposer que personne ne viendra vous chercher. [Sir, fight! You must assume no one is coming for you.]”

No one is coming for you. That could not be. The sinking feeling it produced in his stomach was too great. If he believed it, hell would open up right underneath him like a sinkhole. “NON! Venir me chercher! Vous m'entendez? Viens… [NO! Come get me! Do you hear me? Come…]” His father would send someone, someone would come…

The barrage of gunfire went on on the other end of the line. Meanwhile, the woman began advancing towards him. “Oh, tu parles à quelqu'un, n'est-ce pas ? Entendez-vous cela, Marquis ? Je veux que tu entendes ton fils crier. [Oh, you’re talking to someone, aren’t you? Can you hear this, Marquis? I want you to hear your son scream.]” And she fired a shot into his thigh.

He did scream. He collapsed to the ground with his hands pressed around the bullet wound that had torn clean through the muscle and was now pouring crimson waterfalls from both sides, a horrible slick thing that flowed down his leg to the ankle, so much of it, coating his hands… Immediately, everything went cold and distant. When she shot him a second time, he barely felt it, just noticed more wetness pooling out, across his shoulder this time, over his chest. Strange analogies went through his mind as it tried to cope – he was just covered in honey, he was just stepping into a pool full of water…

He was wailing in agony,

There was a choked sound on the other end of the line and for a second, the Comte hoped it might be tears on his behalf. But no. The Marquis was…he was laughing. He sounded unhinged, raving, on the verge of either history-making or collapse. “Vincent, dis-lui que je m'en fiche. Sa précieuse vengeance ne veut rien dire. Très bien, elle peut te prendre, elle peut tout prendre. Je vais le récupérer. Je récupérerai tout tant que je serai en vie. Je sais ce qui compte ! Je sais ce qui rend un homme formidable ! [Vincent, tell her I don’t care. Her precious revenge means nothing. Fine, she can take you, she can take everything. I’ll get it back. I’ll get it all back as long as I’m alive. I know what matters! I know what makes a man great!]”

Oh. “Est-ce… est-ce que c'est… [Is…is that…]” Vincent could feel something inside of him snap in half and loll around in hideous pain, the way a broken bone might do. His heart, maybe that was what it was. Real heartbreak. Is that really how it is? How it’s always been? The look on his face must have given him away because she stopped and surveyed him quizzically.

Then she fired again.

Through the haze of both physical and emotional pain, he heard Chidi’s final effort. “Monsieur, votre fils est en train de mourir! [Sir, your son is dying!]”

“LAISSEZ-LE ! J'AI DIT LAISSEZ-LE ! JE SUIS SEUL VOTRE MAÎTRE ! [LEAVE HIM! I SAID LEAVE HIM! I ALONE AM YOUR MASTER!]”

If there was any doubt before, now there was none. Vincent gave himself entirely to hatred in that moment. No one is coming. Fine them. I’ll come for him instead. I’ll fucking kill him for this. He twisted the broken thing around inside his mind until it became a weapon. Somehow, screaming, he forced his legs to unbend beneath him and lurched forward onto Mrs. Harkan, driving his blade into her side, stabbing wildly anywhere he could. But then she fired yet another shot, somewhere between his ribs, and he was doubled over, drowning on his own blood, watching it flow out of his mouth onto the floor…this was it. God. He was really dying. Not this way, betrayed and humiliated and completely fucking alone. Please…

And then suddenly there was a shower of blood across his face. Gun splatter. Mrs. Harkan’s eyes rolled back in her head and she sunk to ground, lifeless, exploded by Chidi’s wrath. “Chidi…” Vincent took a shaky step towards him before his legs went totally numb, and great, strong arms caught him on the way down, lifted a limp body in his arms. Chidi felt so warm. Every limb was ice, and they wouldn’t unfreeze, but at least there was something warm beyond them. Chidi’s hands were touching him through miles of cotton, and he wanted them closer, wanted them to really reach him. As if in answer, Chidi pulled him against his chest and sobbed.

“ Je suis vraiment désolé de ne pas être venu plus tôt, monsieur. Je suis vraiment désolé. C'est juste que… je ne pouvais pas sauver tout le monde. Tout ira bien, d'accord ? Tout ira bien. [I’m so sorry I didn’t come sooner, sir. I’m so sorry. I just…I couldn’t save everyone. You’ll be okay, alright? You’ll be okay.]”

“Bien sur. Tu es venu pour moi. J'ai juste... si froid... [Of course I will. You came for me. I’m just…so cold…]” Through the doorway, in the mirrors that lined the hall outside, he saw a sight he would never forget. He was drenched, like a newborn, in his attackers’ blood and his own, just a demonic red thing, wet and marbled and broken and crying like he was trying to breathe air for the first time.

It was then, looking at this unrecognizable fetus in Chidi’s arms, that a voice came through the earpiece. “Le Marquis est à terre. Évacuer. Je le répète, le marquis est à terre. [The Marquis is down. Evacuate. I repeat, the Marquis is down.]”

“Chi-Chidi ? Qu'est-ce que cela signifie? [Chi-Chidi? What does that mean?]” He was shaking so much his teeth chattered. “RÉPONDS-MOI! Qu'est-ce que ça veut dire, « Le Marquis est… » [ANSWER ME! What does that mean, ‘The Marquis is…’]”

“Il est mort, monsieur. Je suis vraiment désolé. [He is dead, sir. I’m so sorry.]” His voice was a whisper, still soaked with tears. They were moving, suddenly, towards the exits, out to some waiting car, but no, they couldn’t be moving, he wasn’t ready, wasn’t done.

“Non, ce n'est pas ce que cela signifie. Cela ne peut pas être ce que cela signifie. [No, that’s not what it means. That can’t be what it means.]”

“…D’accord,” said Chidi, with profound sadness. “Alors ne nous préoccupons pas de ce que cela signifie. Tout ira bien monsieur. Je t'ai. Je ne laisserai personne te faire du mal. [Then let’s not worry about what it means. It’s going to be okay sir. I have you. I won’t let anyone hurt you.]”

I have you…I won’t let anyone hurt you… a flicker of joy bled through the ongoing trauma. But Vincent was still stuck. “Ce n’est pas ce que cela signifie ! Ce n’est pas le cas, il ne peut pas être mort, parce que… parce que je ne l’ai pas encore tué ! Àlderic… Àlderic, salaud ! Tu n'es pas mon père ! Tu m'as laissé mourir ! Tu me détestes vraiment à ce point ? JE VAIS TE TUER! [That’s not what it means! It’s not, he can’t be dead, because…because I haven’t killed him yet! Àlderic…Àlderic you bastard! You’re not my father! You left me to die! You really hate me that much? I’LL KILL YOU!]” The hands beneath him just held him tighter. He was going hoarse. He struggled against whoever was holding him, too delirious to know who it was for certain. All he knew was that it was just the sort of warm masculine presence that he had not felt in some decade or more, not since he was carried to bed as a child. Where had that presence been for so long? Why had it left him alone? He loved it and he hated it and he wanted it to fucking explain itself. He tried to beat the arms that were holding him, but he couldn’t tell whether he was moving or not. He couldn’t tell if his body was responding to him and he couldn’t tell what was real, what was happening, whether he was alive or dead. There was blood seeping into his eyes, a layer of red over the world. And then a layer of black.

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[zafrinaxyz]

⟡ ℕ𝔸❜𝕍𝕀 ⟡

.｡ﾟʜ ɪ ᴀ ᴛ ᴜ ꜱ ..｡

ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ ᴄᴀʟʟ ᴍᴇ ᴢ . ᴀꜰʀɪᴄᴀɴ ᴀᴍᴇʀɪᴄᴀɴ / ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ . ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴍʏ ʜᴏᴍᴇ ᴀᴡᴀʏ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ʜᴏᴍᴇ . ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜱᴛᴀʏ ૮₍˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶₎Ა

۵. 𝓇𝑒𝒸𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓀 : pandora's glow 2024 ⚬ event

masterlist+ . rules . about me . ao3

extras ❤︎︎ emoji anons, tools & info

personal tags

⇩⇩ ⇩ ⇩ ⇩⇩ ⇩ ⇩ ⇩ ⇩⇩

[valericya]

                            homecoming hell. (event 001)

                                    valeriya’s outfit + knives

[tullenlace]

𝔳𝔞𝔩𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔢 𝔞𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔡𝔰 𝔞𝔫 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔫𝔱  :  𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐃  !!

[deacthe]

tags

𝕀. –––––– ✧    isms

𝕍𝕀𝕀. –––––– ✧    plot drops

[wsmiyas]

tag drop >:]

[deviilspawn]

𝔫𝔞𝔡𝔦𝔞 𝔞𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔡𝔰 𝔞𝔫 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔫𝔱  :  𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐃  !!

[centuriomaris]

tag dump

personal tags.

𝕀. 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐏𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 

𝕀𝕀. 𝐄𝐗𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄

𝕀𝕀𝕀. 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄

𝕀𝕍. 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆

𝕍. 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆

𝕍𝕀. 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 

event tags.

𝔼𝕍𝔼ℕ𝕋. 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐃

character tags.

𝕎𝕀𝕋ℍ. 𝐚𝐫𝐨 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐬

𝕎𝕀𝕋ℍ. 𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐡

𝕎𝕀𝕋ℍ. 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐲𝐚𝐦𝐚

𝕎𝕀𝕋ℍ. 𝐜𝐞𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐜 𝐝𝐢𝐨𝐫

𝕎𝕀𝕋ℍ. 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐨𝐬 𝐭𝐚𝐧

𝕎𝕀𝕋ℍ. 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬

𝕎𝕀𝕋ℍ. 𝐣𝐮𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧

𝕎𝕀𝕋ℍ. 𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐞

𝕎𝕀𝕋ℍ. 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲-𝐚𝐧𝐧 𝐛𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐩

𝕎𝕀𝕋ℍ. 𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲

𝕎𝕀𝕋ℍ. 𝐧𝐚𝐛𝐢 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐨𝐤𝐚

𝕎𝕀𝕋ℍ. 𝐧𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫

𝕎𝕀𝕋ℍ. 𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐞𝐥 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐩

𝕎𝕀𝕋ℍ. 𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐡𝐞𝐢 𝐤𝐮𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐰𝐚

𝕎𝕀𝕋ℍ. 𝐬𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐞

𝕎𝕀𝕋ℍ. 𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐨 𝐩𝐮𝐜𝐜𝐢𝐨

[valericya]

TAGS.

𝕀.  ISMS.  all the beauty of life is made up of light and shadow

𝕀𝕀. PHOTOS. the delusion that beauty is goodness

𝕀𝕀𝕀. CONVO. is it really possible to tell someone else what one feels

𝕀𝕍. TASK. i say let the world go to hell

𝕍𝕀. EVENT. it's very pleasant to break something from time to time

𝕍𝕀𝕀. ODESSA. each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way