#cursegiven

@cursegiven​ asked: ❛ I had rather hoped that you would come. ❜ || PHANTOM OF THE OPERA

“Didn’t keep you waitin’ around too long, did I, big guy?” Funny question to ask, knowing well and good by now that Simon would wait all the hours God sends, patient, generous man that he is--the thought tugs a smirk to the corners of Nero’s lips as he steps out of the storm and into the quiet dim of the bar, rain combed back out of the short of his hair under one gloved hand as the other claps the hunter between the shoulders. “Well, sorry, but you know how it is out there right now. Everyone’s looking for a piece of me these days--work’s booming off the charts after everything that went down in Redgrave.”

Laughter breeches his voice, roguish and bright as the door is kicked shut behind him with one booted foot. “But hey, here I am, huh? Finally.” That clapping hand reaches on high, arm following behind to catch the curve of Simon’s neck in the crook of Nero’s elbow to tug him deeper into that space between them. “Front and centre, at your service and all that. Sort of on time...”

@cursegiven​ said: ❝   i’m thinking about coming home. ❞ ||  * 𝚅𝙰𝙽𝙲𝙴 𝙹𝙾𝚈

@cursegiven​ said: Simon helping Leon clean blood off of them. B’) || BLOOD   LUST

               A part of him that is fatherly beyond help feels that he should be shamed to have his son stoop to this--that Simon should have seen him mad with rage is one thing, that he should still be so tender as to dry the blood from Leon’s cheek is another. Leon kneels in the dust of his courtyard nearly numb with the noise of battle flowing out of him--perhaps too with blood from wounds slow to mend (very soon, he really, really must drink--)

@cursegiven​ said: “ I’ll save you ” (hey bitch here I come for your heart) || VINDICTIVE SUGGESTIONS

             “There is nothing of me left to save, my son. This was chosen for me before you ever were born to us, and this is a fate that is fairer to us all. At least, I think it so. It is only fair that I finish what I begun sooner than leaving my grief to my sons and daughters. I am only sorry it has taken me so very long to make it so...” A softness is written into the quiet of Leon’s expression; for all the solemnity of his answer, there is peace in it as much as sorrow, as much as regret. As much too as joy to see one of his blood again after so very long, even if he wished it could be that they met any other time, any other way.

               Or perhaps this is altogether for the best. The patriarch shifts, lifting himself from a throne both his and not to approach his newfound son with arms open in a gesture that is beseeching as it is earnest. “I stand where he stood. I am both he and myself. He is always on the edge of my soul while I keep his close to my heart, where I shall see it is never risen again from the grave. Look--” A hand flickers; the walls shimmer and churn and change, patterned into whatever Leon has seen to will into shape. The smile turning up the corners of his mouth is bittersweet at the sight of it. “The castle answers to me as it did to him, mine to keep, mine to guard. My cross to bear. It will no longer be yours or your children’s. I am happier for it.” Both hands reach then--wary of the whip he knows will sear him with rage-blind hate if he draws too near--to place either palm on his boy’s shoulders.

@cursegiven​ asked: ☠ - slam my muse into a wall + ♭ - grip my muse’s jaw to make them look yours in the eye || MANHANDLE MY MUSE

He’s strong. Like Nero remembers, and in ways that he doesn’t, the years stretching between then and now taking shape in new, wonderful ways on the other man’s physique. Taller, broader, handsome in ways impossibly greater than what he was that summer in Fortuna. A name dances on the tip of his tongue, so close to becoming real--were it not for a broad hand crushing the sound out of reality altogether as it shoves him back, holds him prisoner on cold brick (like it had to--Nero had given up the fight the moment his face came out of the dark.) Nero laughs, obedient to the hand guiding his jaw with crushing authority that sends lightning crawling through his bones. When their eyes meet, his heart feels like thunder. “Hey, what’s the matter, huh? You don’t remember me, hot shot?”

That would be a sore pity--though one Nero isnt entirely convinced is true. He dares to challenge the prospect regardless, the heel of one booted foot dragging impishly against the back of one strong calf as his lips curl smirk-wide over tooth and fang and simmering laughter alike. “Well...that’s a real shame. ‘Cause I sure remember a whole lot about you.”