#♤ || Dance with the Devil (IC)

[necrostar]

Anonymous asked:

How do you feel, Bakura, about almost being killed by Marik in your own home?

"Don't bring that shit up with me again."

[necrostar]

There was a heavy silence while it contemplated 'Sorry's' words. He was correct; the intruder was already here, so what was left that it could do? Granted; it was at the near beginning of the labyrinth. He had not gotten far. A hidden trap will stop the intrusion in its tracks. Yet, there was something about that face. The apologetic eyes with a determination bubbling up to match. There was little recourse it could take at the moment. A concession was in order.

"Very... Well." It conceded. "You... May... Proceed." The black sludge began to flow like a creek, pushing the former pharaoh in the path toward the rightmost hallway.

The depictions in these halls were far less kind. Nothing was buried under censorship. The slayings of men, women, children. Their bodies dumped in a vat of molten gold. The melting bodies, the death screams, the scent of gold and molten flesh. And lurking behind a house, cowering in terror, was a young child. White hair, lavender eyes, tears pricking down small cheeks. A terrified eye that seemed to follow Atem as he passed. All the eyes seemed to follow him as he passed. The river stopped at another fork in the path. The jingling of chains came from both; the hiss of a snake to the left and the crunch of rock to the right. The scent of incense began to invade the area; the origin of which could not yet be determined.

"I... Carry... Their... Burdens." The voice echoed, seemingly coming from all angles. "Their... Sins... Their... Regrets." There was another pause of silence. There was something it just could not ignore. What could it be? The answer was in front of its eyes, it must be. But why was it so hard to determine? What piece of the puzzle was it missing? It had to press further.

"You... Seem... Familiar." In what way, it could not determine. "They... Know... Of... You." They must; how else would it have this feeling? "What.. Do... You... Desire.. To... Understand?"

The onyx liquid diffuses over the golden rings on Atem’s fingers but that doesn’t faze him. It didn’t hurt. Yet, at least. He’s accepted the denseness of it on his hands quicker than he’d thought and isn’t attempting to scrub it off. It won’t matter. What would he be scrubbing off?  The fear? There wasn’t a time when he’d not faced a fear head-on. He is terrified but staying grounded is more important than anything.

He realizes that there is a misunderstanding. At the time when the voice asked who he is, he didn’t think of his name. He voiced what he felt at that moment. And something tells him it would’ve not been appropriate to directly voice his name either way.

Instead of breaking down, the pharaoh anchors his psyche on his deep calm from within. This isn’t the first ‘trial’ or the last. He bore the burdens of others, of the world, to his father’s dismay. The fact that he is still standing is what motivates him. He’s on a mission to understand why is he experiencing this.

He doesn’t belong here, that is true. Yet he isn’t desperately trying to leave. He was brought here for a reason. The depictions on the walls are the first factor that urges him to venture further into this dark sanctuary. He turns in the direction of the hallway, impossible to overlook the noises getting louder.

“To understand,” an immediate response follows from Atem. “If you allow.” He doesn’t say what because even he is uncertain what. But the only thing that could stop him from going in further is whoever loomed out in the darkness. He doesn’t want it to seem like he’s infiltrating, however.

“If you deem I shouldn’t be here, I won’t oppose that. But I am already here.” So, please let me stay a little longer.

He couldn’t break his focus from the screams. No matter how heavy the black goo is around his ankles he takes one step towards the hallway. And then he stops, as though waiting for permission to proceed. Whatever awful things he may see or hear… he’s already prepared himself mentally. What is looping in his mind is that his father couldn’t prevent the tragedy which is why he’d grown ill from grieving. He never told him why he was crying, why he’d gotten sick. So, he wants to do this for his father… For Bakura.

[icycoldninja]

Fluffcember #25 (Sparda boys x reader)

Sparda boys spending Christmas with their S/O

A/N: MERRY CHRISTMAS Y'ALL

¤Dante¤

-Dear God, if you think he was a wacky woo hoo weirdo before, he gets even crazier during Christmastime. Gorges himself sick on spiced egg nog and iced sugar cookies, as well as stuffed turkey and mashed potatoes with extra thick gravy.

-To Dante, Christmas is all about eating. That line from "A night before Christmas" has never been applied to someone in real life more accurately than now. "Visions of sugar plums danced in their heads..."

Yeah, that's Dante.

-Plays Christmas rock music (think Jingle Bell Rock) on full volume while jamming along with his guitar in the middle of the living room, wearing naught but a Santa hat.

-Decorates the whole of Devil May Cry with like a thousand knotted Christmas lights because he was way too lazy to untangle them (Figures) and brings in a really cheap, withered looking tree like the one in Charlie Brown. Though, like Charlie Brown, you guys managed to fix it up real nice.

-Drags Vergil and Nero to your place for a fun, family Christmas, but things go south real quick: Nero ends up stealing all the treats and eating dessert before dinner, Vergil and Dante drink too much liquor spiked egg nog and have a drunken brawl in the living room before passing out in the hallway.

-At the end of the night, you had to drag all the boys into the living room and cram them either into sleeping bags or wrangle them onto the couch before exhaustedly trudging back to your own bedroom for a long night's rest. Merry Christmas.

《Vergil》

-The mature and responsible one--also the one who wants to have the least involvement with everything. Just sits in his plastic chair, reading his book, not caring nor acknowledging what is happening around him.

-It is therefore your duty to put up the decorations and cook the Christmas meals, but don't despair. You won't be alone. Nero and Dante have come over for Christmas (Vergil was against it, but they're family) and are more than happy to help--even if all they do is make messes.

-Christmas dinner with the Sparda family are typically a mixture of loud and rambunctious chattering (caused by Dante and Nero joking around) and quiet conversation with Vergil, which can barely be heard over the other two's yammering.

-After dinner has been devoured and the two idiots have left, Vergil lets out a sigh of relief--a sigh only a long suffering eldest sibling can make. Then he heads for his plastic chair, ready to delve back into the world of his book.

-Doesn't mind if you want to sit on his lap and cuddle while he reads. It is cold out, after all. ♡

-Spends the entire night chilling with you, watching movies, reading books, and eventually falling asleep in each other's arms.

♤Nero♤

-Takes after his father, in the sense that he likes cuddling and just relaxing, either by himself or with you.

-Unfortunately, he also takes after his uncle, in the sense that he's loud and loves to eat. He loves it so much in fact, that nearly all the cookies vanish before you can get to ice them, and it probably wasn't Santa.

-Has no idea how to hang decorations so he just buys a cheap wreath, throws it on the door, and decides he's done for the day.

-Dresses up as an elf and parades around with a radio blasting Micheal Buble on loop, specifically to get on your nerves and distract you from whatever you were doing.

-When Vergil and Dante come over for dinner, expect absolute chaos. Vergil cannot wrap his head around why his son--his own FLESH AND BLOOD--is prancing about dressed in a green skintight leotard. It's too much for him. He spaces out and just stares at the wall blankly, barely touching his food while wondering what influenced his poor baby boy to be this way.

-Meanwhile, Dante is having the time of his life, laughing his head off while snapping pictures to post online and to show the others so they have more excuses to make fun of poor Nero.

[necrostar]

@ofthepuzzle asked:

🏛

Send me “🏛” for your muse to take a glimpse at my muse’s mindscape!

The scene was not what one would call 'welcoming.' The stone walls were dimly lit; torches spread just enough to allow the carvings upon the walls to be seen. Upon these walls were paintings, stylized in the depictions commonly found in Ancient Egypt. They depicted a boy; tan, white hair, violet eyes. But they were not perfect; for these walls were tainted. Jet black goo dripped from the ceiling, slid down the walls, gathered in an ankle deep pool obscuring the floor. The hallways splintered; each showing different paintings of the same boy as before. 

These halls were eerily silent; the only noise came from the constant drip, drip, drip from the ceiling to the floor. Yet, no matter how much seemed to fall from the ceiling, the pool never got bigger. The air was pungent; the scent of fire and something burning lingered heavily. Something... organic. Something that could make human sounding screams that faintly accompanied it further down the hall. 

Yet, Atem was not fully alone. Something else lingered here. Something that carried a voice that was likely quite familiar to him. It sounded like... Suddenly, a voice echoed throughout the room. Coming from everywhere, yet nowhere. Here, yet there. Up, yet down.

"Who... Are... You?" The question came slowly. Uncertainly. This visage looked like one it had seen before, but in this state it was... difficult to pin, to say the least. It would have to wait and see for the time being.

[necrostar]

@kitxkatrp replied:

Atem waves.

[necrostar]

Anonymous asked:

you're going to have to be specific...there AE chaos.. or there ..other chaos-

"The fact that you even need to specify says everything I need to know."

[necrostar]

The ink is heavy; unnaturally so at that. Thick, viscous, carried a heavy metallic scent. Walking through it was probably difficult; it clung like glue, as if desperate for anything in its path to stay. The torchlight danced with the chill, flames flickering between a natural warm orange to a blood red. Especially when the voice spoke. Yet, at Atem's apology, there was a heavy silence in the air before it spoke once more.

"You... Are... Sorry?" The tone was questioning, but not maliciously so. So the being that is here is... sorry. What a fascinating name. Yet, it did not quite feel that it matched the face. It was a haze, sure, but even now it recognized how odd of a name that 'Sorry' was. But if that's what this newcomer insists...

"You... Are... Sorry." The voice repeated, slowly yet confidently. There was little emotion in the words that were spoken, but it did not need to be emotive to get its points across. And now that it had some confirmation of an identity, it could proceed.

"You... Do... Not... Belong... Here." It was quite certain of that. There should only be two; what is this third? Did the others know? Surely if they did, it would have known about it. It knew all that occured within these hallowed halls. The screams that came from up the hall, one of them at least, picked up in volume at the declaration. In doing so, it revealed where it was coming from: the rightmost hallway. The origin of the voice, however, is yet to be determined.

"Tell... Me..." The command wasn't very firm. Or perhaps it was. The lack of emotion, the robotic way it commanded the room, self sabotaged the points it was attempting to make. "Why... Are... You... Here?" Who was 'Sorry?' Why did he look so familiar? It would not attack the intruder. Not yet. It needed information to fortify its defenses for the next time an intruder comes, and the best way to do that is to interrogate first.

Cont. [x] // @necrostar

He would’ve said that he’s already used to getting flashbacks. But this isn’t it… This isn’t his own. This might not even be a flashback. The place he’s currently is bone-chilling. Eerie is in the eye of the beholder. Where is he…? His body is completely still for a few seconds, almost as though if he makes a move the brittle atmosphere will snap. Or is that just his fight or flight response switching on?

Before he could realize it he’s making a step forward. Something feels heavy on his feet and for a second he takes a glimpse down to notice the grim black river surrounding his ankles. Where is the source? Atem lifts his head to spot the ink-like streaks on the wall, reaching the ceiling.

His fixation on the goo is short-lived when his magenta gaze perceives and reflects the depictions on the walls. A person. He needs to get closer, so he does. But the goo is in the way, it spills over the carvings. Without even considering it possibly being toxic to the touch, the pharaoh brings his fingers onto the obscured wall and with one fluid motion brushes the dark liquid from the first depiction. Nothing was familiar to him until he could recognize who these carvings represent. Are they all the same? His digits, murky, tainted, they kept trying to clear what is obscuring the paintings. Bakura’s piercing violet eyes occurred multiple times in his dreams— rather nightmares. Is this yet another nightmare…? The wind carries the smell of smoke and he inhales it.

He proceeds forward, the smell becoming stronger to his senses. For a moment he thinks his mind is playing tricks on him when the faint screams buzz in his ear. Right at that moment, he recalls the time when his father was kneeling and praying. That he was begging to carry the sins on his back instead of Atem. The pharaoh’s chest feels heavy, like a tight orb has found its spot right inside his ribcage. Right where his Millennium Item used to be… The screams come from the souls of the people— used to create the Millennium Items. Atem’s breathing hastens and he raises his hands, palms up, and looks down at the black goo. For a split second, it looks red rather black. Blood… The blood of the victims. On his hands. On his father’s hands… No… A ten-second chill causes his body to become painfully stiff. Despite how much he gets filled with denial, he can’t deny that this tragedy happened. No matter how, by who. It was done. People suffered. Bakura suffered.

The echoing voice snaps him out of his spiralling and he sets his hands down to his sides. Who is he, he was asked. He can’t tell where the voice is coming from. Guilt. Guilt settles on his chest now rather than fear and denial. His hands fold into a fist.

“I am…” Atem attempts to muster his words. “… sorry.”