#removing an ounce of context and god I wish that was me

[anyataylorjoys]

THE DREAMERS (2003) dir. Bernardo Bertolucci

[poemfortheprinz]

bumper sticker that just says “i have strong opinions on the tiktokification of will wood”

[fellulahh]

Diavolo crashes MC’s wedding (extra long milestone piece!)

Just a quick note: I could not for the LIFE OF ME work out how to do an ‘under the cut’ on this piece so I apologise if this takes up 99% of your dash!

I haven’t given a name for the fiancé so don’t be alarmed when he’s constantly referred to as this

I hope you like it! Let me know what you think! This piece is very soft just to warn you

-

As Diavolo stood outside the door to MC’s home, he let out a deep, shaky breath. He couldn’t believe he was there. It felt like he’d been standing on her doorstep for hours as he debated whether he should knock or not. It’d taken him weeks before he even decided to go to the human realm but now that he was there he began to regret his decision.

Did he really think it was a good idea going to see MC when she’s due to marry another? It’d only hurt him more to see her with anyone that wasn’t him.

All he could think of was the day that MC left.

Having said her goodbyes to all of the brothers, MC walked up to the Prince. Her lip began to tremble as she avoided his gaze and grinned awkwardly. His would be the hardest goodbye.

“MC.” Diavolo smiled sadly, “I must say I never expected to feel this affected by your departure. It’d seem I’ve grown fond of you...” he spoke quietly to ensure none of the other brothers could interrupt their moment.

Stepping up to him, MC wrapped her arms around his body, pulling him in for a tight hug. “Thank you for letting me experience this.” She breathed, “If it weren’t for you I wouldn’t even know this realm exists.”

“There’s no need to thank me.” He shook his head as he held her close to his chest. “Now you must go - your fiancé will be waiting for you.”

MC’s face contorted at the mention. In her last week in Devildom she decided to tell the brothers the truth about her life back at home. For all the time she’d spent with them, she was actually engaged despite her blossoming relationships with the brothers. However, it wasn’t your usual engagement. Sipping a glass of wine, MC expressed how unhappy she was in the relationship and how she wished she could stay in Devildom forever.

The brothers were all hurt by the revelation at first, but after seeing MC express her anxieties on having to marry such a toxic man, they began to see why she never told them. If she never mentioned or thought about him, perhaps it’d be like he never existed.

Diavolo eventually caught wind of MC’s fiancé through Lucifer but never learned her fears of marrying him. He never expected his heart to sink at the news; Diavolo had never even realised that perhaps he saw MC as more than a friend. Nevertheless, he wouldn’t allow his discovered feelings to change anything. MC was spoken for - he wouldn’t do anything to interfere with that.

As MC’s mind wandered back to the night she confessed to everyone about her secret engagement, she pulled out of the hug with Diavolo. “You’re right.” She breathed shakily. “I assume it will be like I never left?”

“You’ll find yourself exactly where you were when you were first summoned here.” Diavolo smiled as he caressed her cheek.

The brothers stared at him bewildered, why was he touching her in such a way?

Quickly removing his hand after realising he was lingering, he composed himself. “I’ll miss you, MC.” He nodded sincerely.

MC didn’t say anything at first. She wasn’t ready to go back to the human realm without admitting her true feelings. She never wanted to marry her fiancé previously because of the toxicity of their relationship, but now she didn’t want to marry him because she loved another. She’d fallen in love with Diavolo.

Knowing that she’d regret it if her feelings were left unspoken, MC brought her lips closed to the Prince’s ear as she whispered to him.

“I love you, Diavolo.”

Stepping back from him, she walked over to Solomon who had been waiting patiently for her before the Prince could react. Diavolo was left speechless as her words repeated in his mind. MC had promised herself to another but she’d fallen in love with him. Lucifer and the brothers eyed him suspiciously as they all wondered what on Earth she said to him.

Suddenly the Prince’s happy expression fell. MC had felt the same way about him after all this time and now she was leaving. She didn’t even give him the chance to confess his love for her too. And now she was returning to the human realm to marry another. Diavolo had lost his chance to tell her how he felt.

“You ready?” Solomon smiled as MC approached him.

“About as ready as I’ll ever be.” She sighed, as she gave him one last hug.

In her final seconds, she gave a warm smile to all of the brothers as a silent tear slipped down her cheek. And then her eyes fell on Diavolo whose lips were still parted.

“Thank you.” She repeated to him quietly before vanishing into thin air.

Diavolo’s eyes remained glued to the place on the floor where she was just stood. She was gone.

Finding every last ounce of courage, Diavolo finally lifted up his arm, knocking gently on the door. His chest rose up and down as he waited for MC to answer.

Stepping back onto the path, his heart began to race as he saw a silhouette behind the blinds approach the front door. A small smile tugged at his lips as he watched the door handle turn. But then his expression soon fell as a man was revealed.

MC’s fiancé.

“Yes?” He asked rather rudely.

Taken aback by her fiancé’s bluntness, Diavolo quickly shook his head. “Good Morning, I didn’t mean to disturb you. I was wondering if MC was in?”

“She knows you?” The fiancé asked curiously as he leant against the door frame, narrowing his eyes.

“Yes she does.” Diavolo nodded.

“Well I’ve never seen you before.” He scowled as he eyed up the colossal stranger in front of him. “She’s not in though, sorry.”

And with that, the fiancé shut the door leaving Diavolo in complete shock. What did MC see in the man so rude? Confused, and a little hurt, Diavolo began trudging back down the path defeated. Maybe it’s a good thing he didn’t get to see MC, what would he even say to her?

However, he stopped in his tracks after hearing her voice. Spinning around, he saw MC in the window with her fiancé seemingly shouting her. Diavolo couldn’t work out what they were saying but he could tell MC was upset and on the verge of tears. Not wanting to be spotted, he quickly paced down the path and turned at the bottom until he was out of sight.

Pulling out his D.D.D, he didn’t even think as he called Lucifer. Being the trusty right hand man he is, the eldest brother picked up straight away.

“My Lord?” His cool tone spoke down the line.

“Lucifer, I need you to tell me everything you know about MC’s fiancé.” Diavolo demanded. The question caught Lucifer completely off guard. Why was Diavolo calling him about MC weeks after she’d left and why was he asking about her love life?

“Her fiancé?” Lucifer questioned, baffled by the lack of context to their conversation.

“There’s no time to explain, Lucifer. MC could be in trouble - I am aware she told you everything about her engagement so I know she will have mentioned what her fiancé is like.”

Hesitating at first, Lucifer told the truth. “She hates him, My Lord. She expressed that their relationship was incredibly toxic and that she felt trapped with him.”

“Why did you not ever tell me this?” Diavolo asked frustrated, surprising Lucifer.

“I apologise My Lord, I hadn’t realised I should have...” the eldest brother spoke, “is she okay? How have you learnt that she may be in danger?” He asked quickly, beginning to worry about the human he hadn’t hear from since her departure.

“Worry not, Lucifer.” Diavolo breathed, “this is a matter that I shall deal with. I’ll be away from Devildom for the next week. I trust I can leave you in charge.”

“My Lord i—“

Diavolo hung up the D.D.D. There was no time for questions - he had to devise a plan quickly to save MC from her relationship. He silently cursed to himself as he realised the date. The wedding was tomorrow! How was he supposed to have a moment with MC alone away from her fiancé? He was furious at himself for waiting so long to take the initiative. Now it could be too late.

There’s no way he’d ever allow her to marry him, especially now that he knew she wasn’t happy. The only words that repeated in his mind were one of the last she whispered to him.

‘I love you, Diavolo.’

“Why didn’t you tell me, MC?” He asked himself with a long sigh, “I never would have let you go.”

He knew deep down that he’d have to act rash. He’d intended to come to the human realm to just talk to MC but given the circumstances, there was no time for that now. It was a make of break decision that he’d have to make. Should he pour his heart out to her?

Pulling out some human money as he began walking down the street, he realised that time was not in his favour. In mere hours she’d be married to the man who’d trap her forever. Diavolo would have to act fast if he were to save her. Breathing quickly, he couldn’t believe his intentions as his mind raced.

This demon was about to crash the wedding.

*the following day*

As MC stood in front of all of her friends and family in her white gown, she had to try and hold back her tears. Although her groom in front of her had a warm smile on his face, she knew that it was all an act. She let out a sigh as she felt all eyes on them in that moment as they stood in front of the alter.

She’d never felt so alone in all of her life. Everybody had been manipulated by the image of their relationship; nobody knew how trapped MC truly felt.

All her mind could think of was Devildom. The things she would do to throw away this life and return home to the House of Lamentation...

Letting out a shaky breath, she met the cold stare of her fiancé. He’d won.

As the organ playing came to an end, the priest stepped up to the two of them.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the presence of God to witness the joining together of MC and (fiancé) in the holy covenant of marriage.”

Every word felt like venom to MC. To everybody else it was the start of an everlasting bond but to her it was a life sentence.

“(Fiancé), do you take this woman to be your wife, to live together in holy matrimony, to love her, to honour her, to comfort her, and to keep her in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?” The priest continued.

“I do.” He answered, glaring at MC’s concerned face.

She could feel her heart begin to race as the priest turned to face her.

“And MC, do you take this man to be your husband, to live together in holy matrimony, to love him, to honour him, to comfort him, and to keep him in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?”

MC froze on the spot. Her watery eyes slowly trailed across the expressions of the expectant guests as she gulped. Her fiancé tightened his grip on her hands as she hesitated, causing her to return her focus to him. His cold stare burned into her skull as her body trembled.

“I d—“

“STOP” a voice boomed as the doors to the church burst open.

There was a chorus of gasps from everybody in the room as they all turned their focus to the stranger that had just forced his way into the building.

MC’s eyes widened completely and her heart flipped as she saw Diavolo rush into the room. Was she hallucinating?

“Diavolo?” She breathed with a sheepish grin as she let go of her fiancés hands.

“You know him?!” Her fiancé spat in disgust at her, “I knew it, I knew you were hiding something from me.”

There were mixed whispers amongst the guests. Some were of shock at the fiancés outburst, some were of disgust as they assumed MC had cheated.

As the demon marched down the aisle, he ignored the burning of his skin as he made his way further into the church. Seeing that MC’s eyes were still fixated on the man who was at their house only yesterday, her fiancé turned his glare to Diavolo. “What is the meaning of this?!” He asked angrily. “What gives you the impression you can show up at my house asking to see my fiancé and then interrupt my wedding?!”

“I’m stopping MC from making the biggest mistake of her life.” Diavolo breathed heavily through gritted teeth as the sensation of being in a place of holiness caused his body to scold. He had to force himself to not let his true demon form show.

Everybody was speechless. Neither the guests nor the priest knew how to react. Sensing huge conflict between the Prince and her fiancé, MC quickly stepped away from the alter. “Excuse me for a moment.” She spoke only just audible enough for most people to hear.

“Where are you going?!” Her fiancé roared from behind as she walked away.

She quickly grabbed Diavolo by his arm as she led him out of the church, leaving her fiancé seething. Exiting the church, she shut the door behind her as she took the Prince away from the grounds.

“Diavolo what are you doing here? Are you hurt?” She asked worried, noticing how much agony he was in. Her small hands found his body as she gazed up at him with concerned eyes.

As soon as he felt her stare, his body relaxed. He seemed to forget about all the pain as he felt her touch again.

“You can’t marry him..” he breathed, “please MC, don’t marry him.”

MC was in complete shock as her chest heaved. She hadn’t heard from any of the brothers let alone Diavolo since she left their realm. The last thing she said to him was that she loved him and that’s how it was left. She felt incredibly faint after the sudden event that had just happened and her tight wedding gown didn’t help. “Why?” She asked quietly.

“Why do you even need to ask?” He asked desperately, “That man in there is awful - you can’t allow yourself to be with someone like him. You’re a prisoner to him, he doesn’t love you!” He panted, “I love you.”

“You came back for me?” MC asked with teary eyes, unable to believe his confession, “how did you find me?”

“I came to see you yesterday.” Diavolo admitted, “But he wouldn’t even allow me to leave a message for you - he practically turned me away as soon as he saw me. And then I heard the way he shouted at you as I left.”

As the Prince spoke, MC had a serious expression on her face as she remember her fiancé accusing her of seeing other men behind his back.

“That was you?” She asked softly.

“It was.” Diavolo nodded, “After that I knew I couldn’t leave you with him, I called Lucifer and demanded he tell me everything he knew about your relationship. That’s when I found out the truth. Why didn’t you tell me, MC?” He asked upset as he held her hand, “why didn’t you tell me I was sending you back to such a monster?”

“I already loved you, Diavolo. I didn’t want to make our goodbye any harder.” MC sighed.

“You should have told me, MC. If it weren’t for Barbatos I may not have made it in time today...” he confessed, “I was afraid I was too late when I arrived.”

MC silently thanked Barbatos. Any second later and she would have made her vow to her fiancé.

“You’re not too late...” she breathed as her glassy eyes watched over his troubled expression.

“I hoped I wouldn’t be.” Diavolo shook his head, “I already made the mistake of not telling you I love you when you confessed to me on your last day. I’d never forgive myself if I made the wrong decision today.”

As MC glanced over her shoulder at the church that held her wedding, her face saddened. “What do I do?” She asked quietly.

“Come home.” Diavolo insisted, “come back with me.”

“But Diavolo the program is over.” MC sighed.

“I don’t care - that’s irrelevant now.” He smiled tranquilly. “I’ve grown too fond of you to allow you stay here in a life you don’t enjoy. Even if you don’t come back for me, come back for the brothers.”

Sensing that Diavolo was worried that she’d lost her love for him, MC placed her hand on his cheek. “You realise there hasn’t been a day that has passed where I haven’t thought of you?” She asked with a small smile. “I loved you the day that I left, and I still love you now.”

Diavolo licked his lips as he listened to her every word. This one human had made his heart so vulnerable; there wasn’t anything that he wouldn’t do for her. He’d give up his title for her along as it meant she’d return with him.

Glancing at the church one more time, MC smiled as she pulled off her veil from her head. “You have no idea the relief I felt when you came crashing through those doors.” She grinned as she dropped the veil to the floor. “Who would have thought a demon would save me from my marriage?”

“Does that mean you’ll come?” Diavolo beamed with a small blush. “I want you to be with me, MC.”

“Of course I’ll come home.” MC breathed, engulfing him in a hug.

Diavolo’s heart had never beaten so fast in all of his existence. He felt an unfamiliar sensation in his stomach as butterflies erupted. As they pulled out of their hug, MC’s eyes flickered to his lips before she quickly pulled him in for a passionate kiss. He held her body tight in his arms as he felt a sense of euphoria.

Finally he’d made the right decision. Finally MC was his.

“Thank you for coming back for me.”

[kaediisarchive]

R A N D O M   H E A D C A N O N S   [1/?] Cut for length!

Skarlet could reach Elder God level power, but it would require giving herself completely to the Blood Code, essentially turning her into little more than a vessel for it. By the time MK11 comes around, she’s grown strong enough that she could maybe control the full power of it for a short period of time, but she knows better than to keep pushing her luck when it comes to letting such a dangerous, mind-controlling entity consciously inhabit her mind. (As for MK9 Skarlet, she would have no chance of harnessing that power without being overcome by the Blood Code. She can get close, but she doesn’t really reach the point of being able to handle it properly until MK11 when she’s grown much more resistant to the temptation.)

I never anticipated digging into Skarlet’s opinions on glitter but here I am. Copious amounts of glitter are the bane of her existence, apparently. Seeing clothing coated completely in glitter makes her skin itch just looking at it. She doesn’t mind a splash of elegant sparkles or some well-places rhinestones but thinking about her body covered in fairy glitter makes her shudder. She’d rather fucking die thank you. No seriously, we joke about throwing holy water at the blood mage but just throw a bucket of glitter at her she’ll flee instantly. She also hates tiny loose particles in general because of the mess but glitter in particular is Big Yikes for her. 

Skarlet is incredibly touch starved. Throughout all of her life, she’s received only ounces of genuine physical affection, so even the simplest of gestures can carry a great weight with her.

Skarlet indulges way too much in luxury when it is accessible to her. She grew up fighting to survive, so if she has the opportunity to feel like a HighSocietyBitch™ for an hour, she’ll leap at the chance. She spends an obnoxious amount of money on products for her skin and hair so she can pamper herself, mostly, and don’t ever take her to a spa or anywhere high class and offer to pay because she might accidentally drain your bank account faster than she could drain your blood.

Skarlet is the only living conduit for the Blood Code in existence. She was the first, and any attempts to create another like her have failed; moreso, the knowledge of how she was created died with Shao Kahn, as the ritual was something of his own creation and was not a genuine practice in blood magic. Even Skarlet herself does not know how to replicate the ritual.

Shang Tsung’s guidance was the most valuable to Skarlet during her imperial days, outside of Shao Kahn’s, of course. Even though he was subtly manipulating her at the emperor’s behest, a lot of the guidance he gave her was solid and she still holds much of it to heart despite her opinion of Shang Tsung having changed once she realized the true nature of her purpose in Shao Kahn’s court.

Skarlet is a master at stealth. Stealth was survival for her during her youth, whether it was to steal food or hide from the guards that pursued her. She learned to apply stealth into kombat while serving under Shao Kahn, and her skills impressed him to the point that he used her as an infiltrator more than a bodyguard. She was his best spy, so well-concealed that her existence was not even general knowledge to those outside of the Kahn’s inner circle. Blood Magic has made it even easier for her to fade into the shadows, as she can use the Blood Code’s inter-dimensional capabilities to remove herself from an occupying space in the literal sense of the phrase (basically the same application of teleportation without an immediate reappearance).

Skarlet is most talented with her twin Kodachi, a single dagger, or throwing kunai, but she has picked up a versatile range of weaponry skills. She’s an adaptable survivor above all else; she can find a way to use whatever she gets her hands on to her advantage. Her blood magic has furthered these capabilities and her ability to experiment with her skills, as being able to create any weapon she wished for out of blood takes away the requirement of accessibility. Scythes and whips have become a favorite of hers, and javelin spears are another type of weapon she finds particularly useful. Projectiles of any form are effective tools for her, as her marksmanship is pristine. She has a natural aptitude for visually measuring distance and other factors that could effect the path of her projectiles, and if she miscalculates, she could always use a little bit of blood magic to compensate for her mistake and correct the flight path.

Outside of using blood magic for medical purposes, she has a lot of practical knowledge and experience regarding medical treatments. She’s always been her own doctor, and if she hadn’t learned how to be the queen of first aid as fast as she did, she would probably be dead. Her medical skills have gotten more advanced over the years and have become yet another thing to complement her blood magic.

Thinking about Skarlet’s self-perception hurts me. Appearance-wise, she’s solid. She’s subjectively hot, and she knows it. She will actually tell you how gorgeous she thinks she is if you ask her. You’re never going to hear her call herself any variation of ugly in a physical context. She could honestly be considered conceited in this regard, and she wouldn’t deny any accusations of vanity. I can’t think of any appearance-related insults that could actually crack her. Her self-confidence in her looks is godlike. Her inward self-esteem, however, is almost nonexistent by the time MK11 happens. She accepts that her choices were for her survival and she will never apologize for trying to live, but the weight of everything she has done has crushed her value in herself as a person. Younger Skarlet would never confront herself with the true reality that she was a person that did horrible things for Shao Kahn because she deemed them a necessity, and in her mind, that was supposed to outweigh any guilt or blame that could be placed on her shoulders. She was wrong, of course, because it never completely sat right with her in the first place, and now current Skarlet has to deal with all of the repressed guilt that younger Skarlet kept trying to hide and excuse herself from. Hindsight has destroyed any positive self-perception related to who she is and the choices she makes.

[inkstaineddove]

These Fleeting Moments

Ships: PruHun

Characters: Prussia, Hungary, Austria

Summary: After another decleration of his love, Gilbert questions why Erzsébet won't respond - positively or negatively - towards it. An examination of the revelation and Gilbert's mental state directly afterwards, putting in context his strange behavior as he left home for Berlin. A companion piece to chapter 3 of 'Business and Pleasure', but not required reading. 

1806, Vienna.

"God, you are a marvel."

Gilbert took a step back and admired the woman before him. His eyes traced down Erzsébet's body, taking special care to linger over her exposed breasts and lips. He knelt back down and kissed her, desire filling every ounce of his body. She tugged as his waistband, pulling him down deeper. They rolled and she was straddling him. Erzsébet smiled, running a cool hand down his chest and sending a shiver down his spine. "Make me feel like a woman."

Hunger, pure hunger. Hands roaming free, lips kissing and grabbing at any exposed skin they could find. What few clothes remained dropped to the floor. She wrapped her legs around him and in slid one, two, three fingers. The other teasing her nipples, pinching at them just enough to blur the line between pleasure and pain. Kissing her neck, Erzsébet's breathing was hot and heavy against his cheek.

"Ah, c'mon you know what I really want," she pleaded, her voice barely a whimper. Smirking, he placed her vertically on the bed and began crawling over to her. Resplendent bliss, how soon they would find it. A noise from just outside the room reverberated. Erzsébet leaned up. "What was that?" There was an edge of frustration on her voice due to such a rude interruption.

The Prussian bent down and gave her a kiss, one more tender than she expected. "Nothing, but I'll check if the door's locked." The bed groaned as his weight was removed. He licked the residue of her off his fingers. A glint of violet in the dark. Of course he would want to check out the action. Gilbert winked at Roderich as he locked the door. A thud against it and the ringing silence afterwards. Gilbert's hunger grew. "Are you still ready for me?" He didn't have to ask twice, the lust in Erzsébet's eyes all the answer he needed. No more interruptions for the rest of the night.

---

Erzsébet's head sat on Gilbert's chest while his fingers played with the ends of her hair. Never had they both been so satisfied. He wrapped a strand of hair around his fist and kissed it. "You realize you're the most perfect woman in the world, right? If Helena of Troy ever met you, she would be jealous."

The Hungarian rolled her eyes. He was always so affectionate afterwards. And before. Really, whenever the two of them were together. "I may have been told that a time or two. I have an admirer who always feels the need to remind me." She tilted her head up to look at him properly. "You wouldn't happen to know who he is, would you? I have to tell him that I'm afraid he may run out of metaphors soon."

Gilbert kissed her softly. "No idea, but if I ever find him, I'll let him know."

Peaceable silence passed between them. Neither of them could deny how wonderful this, all of it, felt. Nor did they really care about whatever toll it may incur for them to continue having these dalliances. It was worth it to have a little slice of time where they could imagine if things were different and pretend that they were meeting under darkness out of choice, not for practicality. Erzsébet lifted a hand up and rubbed Gilbert's cheek affectionately. He couldn't resist leaning into her touch.

He watched them through the mirror above the vanity. How comfortable, how familiar. He relished when they could spend time like this afterwards, once the lust had subsided and it was only them. His mind slipped to the fantasies it always did in these times - worlds where they were humans and allowed to fall in love with no repercussions; worlds where he had married her instead, their households in Budapest and Berlin filled with joy and love that never waned. His heart tugged and he pulled her closer to him, never wanting to let go. "I love you, Erzsi." Whenever he spoke those words, he couldn't stop the awe from seeping into his voice. How could it not when she provoked such certainties within him?

"I know," her voice a whisper. She gazed at them in the mirror and her heart throbbed. She felt the same happiness as him, but feared what power those words may hold. If they were acknowledged, what would that mean for them? How would that change her situation? They could love and love deeply, but the next day she would always wake up in Vienna. Violet eyes would be the first she'd see, not red, so what could love give her? What could love do but bring more pain?

Gilbert frowned. "If you don't feel the same way, you can tell me. I'm capable of handling my emotions."

She bit her lip. Since 1786, his first confession, she'd tried so hard to avoid this conversation. "You know that's not the case." Not tonight, please not tonight. The two of them had spent three lovely nights together. Erzsébet was unwilling to end the week on a bad note.

"Then what's the case?" All he wanted was understanding. Then maybe it wouldn't feel like he was enamored with a statue.

"It's complicated, Gil."

Gilbert let out a deep breath through his nose, trying to ease his frustration. "This has been complicated, we are complicated!" He kissed her forehead. "I can handle complicated. All I want to know is where we stand, even if it can't be neatly placed."

"It can't be a matter of who I do or don't love. You're free to do whatever you want, be with whoever you please, and feel however you're inclined." She waved a hand around in front of them. "This is my situation. The lives of my people and I are limited by whatever they-" she pointed out the door, indicating Austria and his government, "-are content to allow me to do. Who cares if I love you? What happy ending will it get us? In a position like this, I can only feel safe in loving myself and even that is difficult at times." Erzsébet sighed. "Anything I find joy in is stripped away from me. My freedom, my ability to decide for myself what I would do no matter what I was told was befitting a woman, was deeply prized to me. I missed it when Sadiq took it, I miss it while Roderich holds it. I'm afraid to let my heart decide for herself what she wants. Who's to say the next up-start empire won't steal that from me?"

Subconsciously, Gilbert held her tighter. He didn't know what else to do. What was there for him to do? He could empathize before he became - well, Prussia, when he was still being tugged around by the power politics of the Holy Roman Empire, kicked around from power-to-power to do their bidding. Still, it never felt as personal as this. He had always been allowed to choose for himself, even if he was strongly advised on the consequences. He had never been ruled over so tightly.

"Why confess anything when it won't help you?" She was whispering now. "If I love you, will I wake up tomorrow in Berlin or Budapest, seen as an equal to all? Will it not bring about more pain and suffering for me or my people?" She shook her head. "My heart originally led me to this bed, believing pretty promises with no follow through. My heart is a fool, I cannot afford to listen to her again. Until I, as Hungary, can stand alone and have that be recognized by others than my heart belongs to me."

Somberness fell over the room. They sat, still, Erzsébet realizing the size of her confession and Gilbert lacking the words to adequately respond. "I-" Gilbert stuttered. He wanted to say the right thing, be the right person to help her.

"Whatever you're going to say, don't." There was no malice in her words, only acceptance. "None of this is your fault. It's how things are for now. I'll make it through. I've always had a knack for surviving." She wanted to promise what would come after, when surviving turned to living. She could feel it on her lips, but feared if she spoke it then it would be destroyed by her want.

Gilbert began to rise from the bed. "Maybe it would be better if I slept in my room." He started to retrieve his clothes.

"Don't." Her desperation surprised them both. She reached out to him. "My heart belongs to me, but that doesn't mean I can't hear it. Stay here, please. We haven't fallen asleep together in years."

Such a simple request. How could he deny it? He climbed back in, kissing her so sweetly as devotion filled his being. "Anything for you." It was more wish than promise.

---

The morning passed by in a leisurely way. Waking up besides Erzsébet, not minding the taste of her morning breath through sleepy kisses, watching her bustling around to prepare herself for the day ahead? What a dream. That morning he would've died to take Roderich's place.

Eventually it was time to leave. Well-rested, he began loading up his carriage and prattling on about nothing with his driver. Prussia always enjoyed talking with the common people. It was refreshing, their candor towards the state of their nations and grumblings about the price of things. The one constant through the centuries.

It was in this good mood that Austria caught him. "Excuse me, Gilbert, may I have a moment?" He nodded his head at the driver. "Alone."

Gilbert dismissed the man and, despite the fury in Roderich's eyes, couldn't stop himself from grinning ear-to-ear. "Thank you for being such a gracious host. I might have had the best sleep of my life last night. Your mattress is fantastic."

A blitz of pain. Gilbert clutched his cheek, processing the sound of the smack that rang through the air. All good-humor fell away, outrage quickly replacing it. "You little bitch. I bet you slap her around like that."

"Violence is the only thing you respond to. If I want to be understood by a beast, I have to speak like one. Your stupidity makes you brave, I can commend that at times. It also makes you reckless and insolent. If I catch you disrespecting me in such a way as last night, I will ruin you."

Gilbert huffed. "To be afraid of you would be like being afraid of a kitten, don't waste my time." He returned his attention back to his luggage. "You're not mad about anything I may or may not be doing with Erzsi. Stop pretending like she has any meaning to you. You resent what refuses to bend to your will like any other obstinate little prince." He turned back around, eyes like fire and full of glowing hatred. "You may own her hand, but you can never own her heart."

"Neither will you."

Gilbert winced. The memory of their conversation ran through his mind in living color. The defeat and longing in her eyes. It all felt so real, so raw. He stared at Roderich and desperately wanted to hate him in that moment, to make him understand what he was doing. All of that fell away upon looking at him. What was he, what were they all, beyond puppets of their monarch's designs? Roderich no more decided to the fate of Hungary just as he didn't decide to invade Silesia. Sure, they could give their opinions on matters, but at the end of the day it always went to the real players. They were merely the vessel. He couldn't bring himself to hate his fellow shell. Not right now.

He looked down and sighed. That didn't mean none of this hurt. "So I've heard." He looked back at the house, longing filling his soul. He could imagine him playing a knight and whisking Erzsébet away, laughing while they left Roderich in the dust. He could never have that, but he could have last night and all the little moments like that they'd collected all these years. In the end, wouldn't all those memories add up to a life for the two of them? Maybe one where they could fall asleep at night and not have to live fearing tomorrow. "But what I've got is more than you. That's the only prize that matters, right? What would we be without chasing such an elusive goal?"

"Happier," Austria spoke, as if reading Prussia's mind. They shared their surprise, faint smiles passed between the two.

"Maybe. We might have to try that someday. But for now, why not keep doing what we're doing? We've forgotten how to do everything else." He opened his mouth, a taunt on his lips, wanting to leave on their usual terms. Gilbert's heart was too heavy to fake bravado, to pretend that everything would be alright if he only he defeated Austria today. He looked up at the clouds, praying silently for assistance he didn't believe in, before meeting Roderich's gaze. "This is a meaningless existence. Tell her I'll miss her." Gilbert climbed into his carriage, feeling as if he'd left an important part of him in Vienna.

[wendynerdwrites]

Punch

I wrote a take on the crypt scene from the trailer.

Jon:

Baelish should not be here. He doesn’t belong here. He doesn’t deserve to stand at the crypt of Ned Stark. He betrayed Ned Stark.

Just seeing that worm down here makes Jon’s skin crawl. Granted, that’s how he reacts to seeing Littlefinger in any context. But it’s especially bad down here.

Baelish’s presence doesn’t even make sense. The man is almost always either hovering around Sansa, or trying to. Even when doors get slammed in his face, he’ll wait by those doors, ready to pounce the moment she emerges from the council chamber. Ghost even started sleeping right outside her bedchambers to keep the man away.

Seeing him here, though, it’s especially odd. And not just because Sansa isn’t here. It’s past midnight, everyone should be asleep.

Jon was unable to sleep for a number of reasons. His whole world has shattered and turned itself upside down over the past year. And the revelation Bran arrived with certainly hasn’t helped. In addition to his identity crisis, it’s subconsciously made him a bit more receptive to… well, thoughts he shouldn’t have. Especially at night.

The King figured no one would be down here now. That it was safe to visit his mother’s crypt.

He and Sansa decided to keep it secret for now, not wishing to ignite anymore chaos within their already-fragile government. Or, rather, Sansa decided. Jon jumped at the chance to abdicate in her favor. He’s never felt comfortable with his title.

But they especially didn’t want Littlefinger to know. If Baelish found out that Eddard Stark’s eldest son, the King in the North, wasn’t really Eddard Stark’s son… That he was in fact a potential rival to that dragon queen currently setting half the south ablaze…

As she pointed out, it’s better keeping things quiet.

Still, Jon likes visiting Lyanna’s grave when he’s restless. It helps at least add some context to his new identity.

Littlefinger shouldn’t be here.

Jon supposes it’s better than having the man hovering outside Sansa’s bedroom window, but he still has no place in these crypts.

Baelish hovers around Robb’s crypt instead, studying it by the light of his lantern. With his black cloak and white fur collar, raised arm, and pale face, to Jon he looks like a vulture. Fitting.

The King in the North loathes to be alone with this man. He always feels on the verge of snapping and throttling that vile son of a snake. Especially when he sees that condescending smirk.

Jon knows better. He can’t trust himself alone with this man, not here, with no sleep. But before he can flee, the vulture looks up and spots him.

He straightens up, turns theatrically, and smirks. “Your Grace! I suppose sleep eludes you as well?”

No, I’m asleep right now, actually. This is how I do it, the king thinks impatiently.

“Aye,” Jon says, reluctantly walking over to Robb’s crypt. He wants to know what Baelish was looking for. He stands next to the man silently, arms folded in front of him. He examines Robb’s newly-finished resting place. The masons did good work.

There’s silence for a while. Until...

“You see me as a threat, don’t you, Your Grace?”

Jon glances sideways at Baelish. “I see you as lots of things, Lord Baelish.” Sometimes I see you in my dreams, your cries for mercy dying away as I crush your neck beneath my boot. “You’re a powerful man, and you didn’t become powerful by accident.”

“Good. You’re a smart man. But you must believe me, I only want what’s best for Sansa.”

“I believe you want Sansa,” Jon replies before he can stop himself, “As a smart man, I know the difference. And I also believe that your desire for her is not what’s best for her.”

Baelish doesn’t know that Sansa’s told Jon about him selling her to the Boltons. He doesn’t know that he’s a dead man walking. That the only reason he still breathes is because Sansa wants to milk him dry of all of his contacts, gold, and secrets before she has him executed. He doesn’t know she’s only pretending to trust him again out of resentment towards the half-brother who was crowned over her. He doesn’t know that she’s faking her apparent receptiveness to his attentions. He doesn’t know that she spends at least a quarter hour every evening detailing how revolting she finds him to Jon. Baelish thinks he’s playing the Starks. He doesn’t know they’re playing him. He’s a man who thinks he knows everything. He knows nothing.

“Oh? The man who got her out of King’s Landing before that lunatic Cersei Lannister executed her for a murder she didn’t commit?”

Jon seethes. You’re the one who framed her! But he’s not supposed to know that.

“A man who immediately let her be kidnapped and tormented by a sadist?”

Baelish flinches. “It was a mistake. But I remind you, when you were both about to fall to that sadist again, I was the one who gathered the men you needed. The army that won you back your home.”

The same men you might have gathered before. The one you could have used to win her her home back without selling her to her raper! Jon is ready to scream.

“If the aid you gave us,” Jon says after several deep breaths, “Came under the condition that you have her, then you’re not the sort of man I trust her with. You are her uncle, I’d remind you. You are the Lord Protector of her cousin. The ward of her grandfather.”

“I made no such condition.”

“Are you making a proposal now?” Jon asks.

“No, that would be improper. I’m just… interested.”

“Yes, you’ve made that clear.”

Baelish snorts. “Not just in Sansa. But in you, how you see me. It’s clear you don’t like me. I can’t imagine why.”

This is a trap. Jon chooses his words carefully. “I don’t like the way you do business. Even in the North, we know what trade you deal in, my lord. I also don’t like how you got your current title. You served the Lannisters very well for years. And were richly rewarded for it. Once you got what you wanted, you betrayed them. Just because it served my interests doesn’t mean I can’t find it suspect.”

“I see. But why would I betray those who so rewarded me to serve the Starks if I didn’t truly care for her?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you do. But even if that’s so, that doesn’t mean you’re right for her. Besides, after what my sister endured, she doesn’t need that sort of attention.”

“She’ll receive it regardless,” Baelish points out, “You of all people know that.”

Jon’s heart begins to thud in his chest. There’s something in the man’s tone... He turns slightly and looks Baelish in the eyes.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Though I don’t have any siblings, I understand the instincts of a protective male relation, especially when it comes to suitors. I grew up watching the Blackfish with Catelyn and Lysa. I see hints of it in your little brother. He doesn’t like me, either.”

“We don’t like how you look at her.”

Baelish smirks. “I don’t like how you look at her, either.”

“Excuse me?!”

“Despite what you pretend to think, we both know that when it comes to Sansa, you have far more in common with me than you do with your brother. You don’t care a fig about my business. You don’t care about shifting loyalties. If you did, you wouldn’t be so friendly with the wildlings. The real reason you see me as a threat, Your Grace, is that as a brother, you’re less a Bran Stark and more a Jaime L-”

Jon has him against the wall. He clutches Baelish’s throat the way he’s dreamt of doing for nearly a year. Baelish struggles only a little, grasping Jon’s wrist. He still smirks.

“I observed Jaime Lannister as well,” he chokes out, “I was one of the first to see it! Not hard for a brothel-keeper to notice!”

The King in the North tightens his grip. He can’t stand another word.

The man is silenced, aside from a few choking sounds. His smirk finally drops. His face starts turning blue. And, at last, he looks truly afraid. Now it’s Jon turn to smirk.

“You know nothing, Petyr Baelish,” he hisses, “Better to stay silent and be thought a fool than to open your mouth and remove all doubt. So why don’t you shut up for once?”

“STOP!”

That voice…

It’s become an instinct with him, the way he responds to that voice. He knows it at once. It commands every ounce of his attention at the slightest syllable. And he cannot resist it.

He drops Baelish, who crumbles on the floor, sputtering and clutching his throat.

In a flash, Sansa’s crouching down on the ground beside him, helping Baelish to his feet. She glares at Jon, who stumbles back.

“What are you doing?” She cries, “You could have killed him!”

Jon swallows. Not ‘could have’. ‘Would have’. Would have killed him.

“You don’t understand, he-”

“-I don’t care!” Sansa snaps, “He’s my friend, Jon! And even if you don’t care about my feelings… Strangling a guest, a vassal, an ally under your own roof?! What are you, a Frey?!”

That hurts most of all. Jon is speechless as Sansa tries to soothe Baelish and escort him towards the exist. It’s only now that Jon notices Ghost. He shares a look with his direwolf, and the beast follows the two out.

Jon sinks to his knees when she gone, clutching his temple. Oh, gods. How much did she hear?

He recalls something his fa--Lord Stark-- once said, “Cutting out a man’s tongue does nothing. It merely tells the world that you afraid of what he has to say.”

What did strangling Baelish tell Sansa?

How will he face her again?

Even if she isn’t convinced now, the idea will be planted. And she’ll be looking for it. And, eventually, she will know for sure.

He was her brother.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Sansa:

“He’s a madman!” Littlefinger moans, still clutching his throat as she escorts him back to his chambers. He says much for a man who claims, “He’s broken my neck, I’m sure of it!”

“I’ll have a maester called,” she tells him, depositing him in his rooms. She turns away, as eager as ever to leave him. He reaches for her.

“Sansa… Stay with me, please.” His voice, like the rest of him, is pathetic.

“I will come right back once the maester has been fetched,” she lies, fleeing. Her heart pounds. She gives a quick instruction to an on-duty guard to get Maester Daemon, but then hurries off to Jon’s rooms. He’s not returned, so she rushes back down to the crypts.

She finds him on the floor, back against Lyanna’s tomb, head in his hands. Her heart sinks. Perhaps she’s become too skilled at masking her feelings for her own good.

“Jon.”

He looks up and scrambles to his feet. “My Lady!”

She stifles a giggle. When he’s at his most nervous, he addresses her by title or style. He doesn’t do that with anyone else, she realizes. Only her. Gods, how did she not realize it before?

Sansa walks toward him, gentle smile on her face. “So, what are we to do now?”

“I-I-I don’t know. Have I ruined everything for you?”

“Not everything,” she replies, “Littlefinger has lived out enough of his usefulness, I think. He’s officially become more trouble than he’s worth.”

Jon closes his eyes for a moment. “I’m glad to hear that, at least. But I’m still sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She pauses, take a deep breath, and makes her decision. “You love me. That’s nothing to apologize for. I’ve always wanted to be loved by a good man.”

Jon goes white. “Of course I love you,” he sputters, “You’re my--”

“--Don’t,” she stops him, moving up close and pressing her fingertip to his lips, “Don’t do that. Please don’t pretend anymore.”

Jon closes his eyes again. “Sansa, I didn’t mean for this to happen. I don’t want to be like the others.”

“Mission accomplished.” She smiles. “You’re not.”

She leans forward and presses her lips to his. He’s still for a short time, but then responds enthusiastically. When she pulls her mouth from his, she presses her forehead to his and sighs.

“So I ask again,” she whispers, stroking his cheek, “What are we going to do? You are still a Stark as far as the world knows, and we do not want to provoke the Dragon Queen. So how do you intend to manage this?”

Jon takes a few deep breaths. “I’m not sure. This sort of thing is usually more your specialty. Any suggestions?”

“I suppose we’ll just have to be discreet.” She smiles. “You’ve become a man of many secrets, Jon Stark. Who knew you could be so duplicitous?”

He grins. “I’m not sure. I’m not sure of anything except that I love you.”

Gods, that feels so good. It feels even better to reply, “I love you, too.”

They trade more kisses.

Petyr Baelish is arrested for treason the next day. Sansa revels in the shock on his face as she accuses him. Littlefinger’s trial goes a fortnight. All that time, she and Jon steal wicked kisses whenever they can steal away. They’re like naughty children.

But even he doesn’t know about the things she’s sent for, the materials she’s required. The herbs, shipped in from The Vale, that she hides in little silk bags she keeps in the locked drawer of her desk.

She watches in satisfaction as Longclaw sinks into Littlefinger’s neck, as the blood sprays, as Jon wipes his blade once the deed is done. Their eyes meet as the gallows are cleared. She feels so free.

She feigns a headache at dinner and retires early. She sneaks into Jon’s chambers and slips naked beneath his furs. When he finally enters, his jaw drops at the sight of her. His grey eyes seem to glow with lust in the candlelight as he steps to the side of the bed. She expects him to kiss her.

He does, in a fashion. He drops to his knees, reaches up, grabs her thigh, and pulls her roughly so her spread legs hang over the bed. And he kisses her other set of lips.

Sansa doesn’t know what she expected, but it isn’t this. Her toes curl, her eyes roll back, and she’s as much at his mercy as Baelish was.

She doesn’t mind, as she knows the feeling is mutual.