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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 years ago

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She [1]

Warnings: non-consent sex (series)

This is dark! Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Series Synopsis: Steve Rogers’ life is turned upside down by a reporter.

Chapter Summary: You meet Steve Rogers for an interview but he’s not what you expected.

Note: I’ve been trying to chill the last five days but I obviously got some writing in. It has resulted in this impromptu series and I hope you all like it. It’s looking like it will be about 10 chapters when all is said is done but that being said, I am still working on it.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Reader

Your left ankle bent as you leaned heavily on your heel. You stood before the thick walnut door, a round frosted window on its face. The townhouse stuck out on the old Brooklyn row and all knew its resident. It surprised many that he remained in the borough and he was cherished all the more for it. He was the golden boy of New York.

Well, that’s what people like to believe. You weren’t there to paint another flowery picture of the saviour. You were there to speak with the real man behind the plan. There was a story behind Steve Rogers that had yet to be told and when you were selected to tell it, you knew you had to do it right. The task was both daunting and humbling. It could be your big break.

You knocked and adjusted the bag that hung from your shoulder. You didn’t miss the group of kids at the end of the block gathered around for a glimpse of their hero. The door opened and you were greeted by the man himself. He smiled at you as his hand rested on the curled door handle.

“Hi,” He greeted you. “Thanks for coming. It saves me a lot of trouble.”

“Not at all,” You shook his hand.

You’d spoken to him briefly over the phone and negotiated the time and place for your interview. You agreed that him coming to the office would cause too much of a flurry. You were sure he was over that.

“Come in,” He stepped back and waved you through.

He closed the door as you looked around the entryway. A thick banister with the same dark wood as the walls led up to the second level and a finely carved archway peeked through to the next room. It was cozy and a lot quainter than you expected. The exposed brick above the panelling lent it a warmth.

“Shoes?” You stopped by the mat.

“Your call,” He said. “Can I offer you something to drink?”

“Thank you, Mr. Rogers, but I’m fine,” You assured him as you stepped out of your heels. You’d hate to scuff the hardwood. “I’m sure you're just as impatient as me to begin.”

“Steve. And yeah, I suppose. I don’t really do much more than pressers and usually, I don’t do much talking.” He confessed. “Just through here,” He pointed to the front room.

You nodded and stepped through. He directed you to the pair of armchairs before the artificial fireplace and you set your bag down as you sat. He lowered himself across from you as you reached into your bag and pulled out your phone and notebook. You swiped up and flicked your finger across the screen.

“Do you mind if I record you? It helps with editing and of course, accuracy,” You said.

He scratched his jaw and shrugged. “I don’t mind.”

“Great,” You hit the red dot and set the phone down on the small table with the mic facing him.

🖋️

You were a bit surprised by how it had all unfolded, but, you supposed, you were right when you said no one was ever exactly what they seemed. Steve was nice enough as he showed you the door but you could see the agitated impatience behind his eyes. You should’ve eased him into it more. Timing was everything.

Even so, you had promised your editor a story and if you didn’t deliver after being chosen for such a coveted one, well, you would never see its likes again.

So you sat at your desk in your small but comfortable city apartment. It was nothing compared to the star-spangled hero’s walk-up but it was home. If you could work the interview the right way, it might mean an upgrade, or at least a television that didn’t flicker.

You hit play on your phone for the third time that night. Steve Rogers’ voice was etched into your brain. And that tension in his forehead, the tic in his jaw. A thinly veiled wrath unexpected of the valiant soldier-turned-saviour. You shivered and paused the recording. It was almost startling how quickly he’d turned on you, but you weren’t entirely innocent.

You stretched your fingers over the keyboard and sighed as you stared at your blinking cursor. You couldn’t just sit on this forever. You had a deadline and an extension was an impossibility, if not a death warrant for your career.

So you hit play and began to type, pausing to play back snippets as you went.

🖋️

‘It’s early afternoon in the heart of Brooklyn. Amidst the old brick buildings that line the cracked sidewalks is a townhouse unlike any other. The home of a man born there over a century ago. A living ghost that haunts the block. Most would say he is a friendly spirit.

Steve Rogers answers the door as a boy lets his baseball roll under a car and his friends lower their mitts to watch. A teen on a bike, a ring in his nose, even slows to admire the hometown hero as he smiles; a beacon of the borough. A glimmer of hope for all to think that the block is not the whole world.

He greets me like an old friend. “Hi.” The same smile seen in newsprint. He thanks me for coming and ushers me inside. This is the first time I’ve met him in person. I can’t lie; I’m intimidated. I’m just another person in debt to this great veteran.

His house isn’t what you would expect from a man as prestigious as him. No medals hanging on the wall, no vainglorious cut-outs of his image, or pictures of him shaking hands with men in suits. Only framed baseball cards along freshly laid wood-panels. It’s like any other house in Brooklyn, just newer. An ancient skeleton revived.

We sit in the front room, he offers me a drink. I’m not very thirsty. I’m more anxious to start talking. I can see he is too though his facade is hard to crack. He tells me to call him Steve as my recitations of ‘Mr. Rogers’ become almost pathetic. We begin.

Interviewer: “Great.” I hit ‘record’. “I’ll start by saying you have a nice place.”

Steve: “Thanks.” He seems to relax as he leans back in the chair which is nearly too narrow for his broad shoulders. “It took a while but I think it’s coming together.”

Interviewer: “Can’t take the boy out of Brooklyn, I guess.”

Steve: “Wouldn’t leave it for the world.” He smiles again, though he never truly looks less than amiable.

I: “Only to save it,”

S: “I do what I can.

I: “More than most; New York, Sekovia, the world. You’ve done it all. Do you ever just take a break?”

S: “I try. And sometimes I get a chance to just… be here.”

He looks around, proud of himself, of his home.

I: “Any hobbies?”

S: “You know, I used to love to draw. Nothing special, you know. But I found it calming. I actually bought a bunch of pencils and a pad but I never touched them. I’m sure they're just sitting up in my closet, neglected.”

I listen intently, imagining this man bent over a notebook. It’s an absurd picture as my mind returns to the man in his cowl with shield in hand. The red, white, and blue bullseye is more suiting in my head than a pen.

I: “Anything else? Anything you actually do?”

S: “I like to run. Helps me get to know my neighbours, reconnect with my roots. I read… a little. I’m still not really into the whole internet thing but I try. I still get the newspaper just to read the strips and fill in the weekly crosswords.”

He confirms my suspicion. A man lost in time, but it seems he has found his place.

I: “A man for all times. And you work? I’m sure you get tired of talking about it but well, there’s been a lot of speculation about a possible retirement.”

He ‘s silent as he looks away and fidgets in his chair. He becomes the rehearsed hero at his podium.

S: “I’d hate to fan that fire but I think it’s only natural to consider it.”

I: “Thinking of settling down?”

S: “It’s always a thought but I’m not stupid. It’s not that simple. I’m not the type of man that gets to settle down.”

This remark might break the heart of every woman in Brooklyn and beyond but it seems to hurt him more. A grim truth for a man who many would say has the world in his hands.

I: “And if you did hang up the shield, is there anything you want to do? Anywhere you want to go?”

S: “I’d like to try fishing. I’ve heard it’s relaxing. I love the city but it’s nice to get away now and then.”

I: “Is there anything keeping you from retiring? Besides the obvious; we all know you’re a good man and a great hero. You’ve shown commitment to the city, the world, humanity.”

He looks to the artificial fireplace and shrugs. He’s thinking; perhaps censoring his response.

I: “Co-workers? The world is well aware of what you did for your old friend. And it has proven to be a point of contention, even after the pardon.”

He clears his throat and he’s no longer smiling.

S: “Bucky is an old friend and a commendable soldier. He does his job well. I wouldn’t take anything back. He has more than earned his place.”

I: “So, if you retired, you believe that he would retain his place among the team?”

He’s frowning now. He adjusts his posture so that he seems even bigger than before. A formidable opponent, if not an overwhelming one.

S: “He is not there because of me. He’s there because of himself. Because he is an asset to the world.”

His blue eyes are darker now. No longer the crystalline waves shining in the sun but those foreboding tides which crash together beneath the moonless sky. My ship has gone awry, carried by an errant wind.

I: “Well, I can’t help but point out that many wouldn’t agree. You put yourself and several of your associates on the line to save him. To bring him into your fold. To place a man who was once a national enemy beside you. I hate to say it but, frankly, even if he were pardoned on his own merit, I fail to imagine him being allowed the same access to confidential intelligence and tasked with the protection of civilian life.”

His hands are fists. I could put up a front and say I’m not nervous, but I am. I have done what I once thought impossible. I have angered Steve Rogers.

S: “He wasn’r Bucky, but he is now and he has been cleared. I’m sorry, but I thought you were here to talk about me.”

I: “Yes, I am, but the world is well aware of your friendship with Mr. Barnes and all its implications. It is hard to separate him from your life.”

S: “I agreed to talk about me.”

His tone is set in stone. I attempt to stay calm myself.

I: “We are talking about you, but we can move on. Now, even with its dissolution, there are still questions being asked about the Sokovia Accords and your opposition to it. While many can acknowledge the need for your team and their work, they can’t help but wonder at the lack of restraints placed upon it. There are regulations even for the FBI and CIA and other protective services. So why should you be exempt?”

He sniffs and stands up slowly. He retreats behind his chair and nears a table along the wall. He distracts himself with a signed baseball. I don’t have a chance to ask who scribbled along the stitches as he tosses it and finds his voice.

S: “I never disagreed with the sentiment of the Accords. As heroes, of course, we should have obligations. Our first and foremost being the protection of innocent lives. The hardest to uphold but we do it.”

He is ever the statesman but he isn’t finished and his voice gets low. Dangerous, even.

S: “At the same time, we put our own lives on the line and you come here and nag me about formalities? What is it you want? Paperwork? Reports on how I threw my shield to stop a bullet from striking an innocent bystander? How a piece of shrapnel nearly severed my tendon as I threw myself in front of a speeding vehicle?”

I: “With all due respect, I am only asking about transparency. People deserve to know more. They deserve the truth.”

S: “Is that what you’re looking for? The truth? You want to know what we don’t tell you and your readers?”

He puts the baseball down and his hand is on his hip, disapproving. I suspect his lecture will continue. He nears the chair and grips the back of it as he narrows his eyes at me. I fear he might throw it in my direction though for now, I hope it should act as my own shield against him.

S: “About how I have to lie about how many men I lose to keep this world safe. Because I can’t scare the people. Because I have to keep on this mask of the brave hero.”

His eyes go to the ceiling. He takes a breath to calm himself. I can tell he wants to continue. That he is holding back something which has brewed within him for a very long time. It is a moment before he speaks again.

S: “We’re done here. That’s it. Turn your phone off and go.”

The interview is over. What happens next will remain off the record. I leave with a mouth full of bile. My childlike wonder has been extinguished. I came to seek out the man behind the shield and I have done just that, but he is not who I expected.

I was ready for a humble man, a man like any of us; the same wants and desires. Still human despite his enhancements; despite his superhuman status. What I discovered was a man who’s exceptionality has nurtured a sense of entitlement.

And we do owe him our lives, our gratitude, we owe him the world. Yet I cannot dismiss the sense that he might regret his good deeds. That to him, it has become a thankless chore. That we are the needy children and he has been burdened with our cries for help.

So we should not be surprised or upset upon his retirement, not if, but when it comes. And we cannot fault him for his departure. It has been a long-time coming.’

🖋️

You took a breath and sat back in your chair. You rubbed your cheeks as the recording began to repeat itself. You stopped it and checked the time. You’d spend your morning editing and hope you would be ready for submission by the evening.

As you hit save, you felt an odd tremor deep inside. This could be it. Your big story. Or you could be tired and entirely up your own ass. You only hoped it was the former.

🖋️

You sat across from Poppy as she read your article through the glasses which sat low on her long nose. She was just past forty and wouldn’t look it if she didn’t wear the ridiculous half-circle spectacles. She wore a shade of red which paid homage to her name and her lipstick was just as bold. Her long lashes flicked up as she lowered the pages and her blonde hair fell behind her shoulder.

“Well…” She said carefully. “It is…interesting.”

You swallowed nervously as you teetered on the edge of the acrylic seat. Her long manicured nails played with the corner of the article.

“I had initially planned to have this in the back pages. No one really cares about the Avengers anymore.” She said. “But this is… I will discuss it with our marketing team but I know a feature when I see it.”

“A feature?” Your lips parted and you sat back as you gripped the thin arms of the chair.

“Oh, yes,” She said. “Another celebrity break-up is not exactly scandalous and to be frank, I do tire of that ridiculous narrative. But this… you will be hearing from me soon.”

“Uh,” You stood awkwardly at what you were sure was a dismissal. “Thank you.”

“For what? Doing my job? Should I thank you for doing yours?” She countered.

“N-no,” You stuttered.

“Go on then. I’m certain you have other work to do.” She tapped her long nails. “You certainly will once this is ready to print.”

You nodded and left her. She was already on her phone before the door closer behind you and you looked around the blindly bright office. It would be your first feature and it was the first article which had earned you more than a passive grumble from the woman. Perhaps you hadn’t been so foolish to think you had actually done something well.

#Steve Rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers x reader #she #dark fic #dark!fic #au #series #fic #mcu #marvel #captain america

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yi-dashi · 4 years ago

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Starter for @nithhaiahh

Sometimes, Yi wished for a normalcy that would never come.

For as long as he could remember, the Bladesman had fostered a tightly knit bond between himself and the spirit realm. For slightly less time he had been co-dependent on it, to the point of crushing obligation. For every drop of energy he drew from across the veil, so too did he feel compelled to answer queries from the denizens that aided him. So even when he was trying to sleep, and his attempts at meditation were half-hearted, the softest light projecting vague anxiety was enough to have him internally sighing.

“By all that is good in this place...” He thought, though the words felt spoken as he leaned backwards into the light. The sensation of falling took him for a moment, though reassurance came in the fact he knew he was still seated safely. He opened his eyes as his fall stopped, suspended upside down in some strange, vague mirror of his wilderness camp. Whatever spirit had called him, it wasn’t so strong that it could manifest a tangible environment, “You know, we do have mortal organizations for this. For spirit troubles? I suppose Wuju is one, but forgive me if I am not excited about the hour of this audience.”

Yi righted himself, gravity light around him as he touched his feet to the ground. A part of him was ready to huff, and cross his arms, and otherwise be grouchy, but the nervous energy that had summoned him only grew stronger. The air felt thick against his throat, as if the humidity around him was increasing. Though the goggles could not follow him to such a place, it wasn’t as if the magic here struck him as pure. Something more serious lurked, and his amethyst eyes scanned the suggestion of a tree line for the source.

“Hello?” He offered to the darkness, his voice middling somewhere between commanding and concern, “I would appreciate it if you showed yourself. You are causing unrest in this place, from the feel of it...”

#nithhaiahh #starter #sorry if this is long!#and i hope its okay #wanted to get this penned out while I still was remembering it #please feel free to change the environment as Yi doesn't really have any control over that pfffft #local spirit gets spooked and runs to wuju master for help #local wuju master just wants to nap ahahahaha

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alchemabotana · 3 years ago

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St. Bahkita - by Antonina Whaples 2021

Mixed media painting

Medicine people are more apt to be holding and releasing large facets of consciousness in this time. The message has been clear: go easy on yourself, pace yourself, rest often, and communicate only as needed.

It’s felt for a while that the medicine world has been deep undercover, and there’s been some in-fighting amongst the spiritualists about facets and tenants of what should be allowed to proliferate, and what is ultimately harmful to us all. Those who are still in fear of punishment, but truly animated by Spirit are being initiated through their own personal Great Mystery in various dimensions of Spirit World and this time-based concurrent reality. Those who were unjustly punished will be granted many graces in this time. Those who unjustly punished them will have their graces stripped away. To every season, turn, turn, turn.

In the next 6 months, some study could be used towards the influence of Saturnian energy on the consciousness we inherently perceive and struggle with when it comes to the panic it induces to begin to accept reality as fuzzy-wuzzy until a new clarity is discovered. When reading astrological reports with Saturn in Aquarius, make sure to try to relate to any patriarchy messages coming down through the spirit sponge to a fun, positive archetype in your mind. As in: what if so-and-so were here at this moment to give me encouragement, how might that sound in my head? In other words, redefine the voices in your head to send you intel and self-talk that is, at the very least, highly amusing.

And it’s not just the medicine people “feeling it” - there is a great number of uninitiated psychics and healers of all nations who are undergoing a psychological and personal spiritual awakening. There are new nations of imagination being introduced to the grid. “Boys have become men” so to speak - whatever your relationship to gender or sexuality - your inner masculine has had to arm wrestle his way into the current condition, and he deserves an epic theme song.

The divine feminine is asking this timeline “are you living with art? Are you living with heart?”. It’s been the remembrance of the knowledge we’ve been tuned into our whole lives (and the ones in the past), coming forward in an epic sweep. If your waters, earth, or air was littered with shipwrecks, mine fields, and poison gas - you’ve been feeling the triggers in every element of your life.

Take a moment to consider the reality of your lived experience, the spirals that they take, and the ultimate return to yourself through it all. We are cyclical creatures, animals of a planet, who rise and fall with the sun and the moon, and steer our destinies in the field of ownership of our minds. Like never before the nations of this planet have been revealed to themselves through the eyes of others. It’s not a surprise to begin to discover who has been avoidant of mirrors (literally, and in the outside world). Be cautious of reading too much into the “whys” of the action (or lack thereof), and be more conscious of your personal power to co-create entirely new realities, and the dominion you’ve been given karmically to do so.

Many in the mojo have discovered that there are personal power rules to any craft, be it intrinsically practical or utterly magical. Deep awareness of the lessons of the past and present are becoming embarrassingly clear to the lot of us. When responsibility needs to be claimed, it is actually an act of courage to pick up what is yours and transform it into something useful. Those who have abused their power are being dosed out timely warnings and opportunities for recompense. Those with real healer hearts should remove themselves from scenarios where other’s energy sources are disruptive to the real work being done. Revelation of this personal removal is indeed a tricky communication from Spirit and your Guides. Be watchful of subtle cues from the universal communicators in your day to day, and make sure to acknowledge that just because it’s happening, doesn’t mean something is wrong.

It’s a big message from the Spirit World these days that spiritual activity is only on the rise. Apparently many nations have called in some very powerful healing requests, and this ancient technology supersedes the forward drive of whatever other power players there are. For those obsessed with the advancement of this timeline and the legacy that they will leave, this spiritual thumbprint will be difficult to navigate. If you find yourself cursing in traffic, using expletives to explain everything, or decide that everyone is evil, you’re probably just normal.

Universal Spiritual Law has been triggered on many levels for some time. Although to many it feels like the spiritual authority and power of those they pray to is waning in this timeline, the personal revelation of spiritual truth is a promised covenant of this era. We will all discover the unveiling of our personal identities to ourselves, and revel in the discovery and love of who we were created to be. Self love and the care of the Self is and will become a spiritual dawn of community care, with generations of young people focused on how to make environments feel safe, comfortable, and healing. As people further emerge from their dwellings and interact with the outside environment it will feel like we are rediscovering our world. Absence has made the heart grow fonder. This refreshment will quickly fuel the arts and further encourage entrepreneurial growth. Those in the art sectors of the economy will breathe a sigh of relief to discover that their exploits, struggles, and expressions are important, valid, and very valuable. Quality of creation across the board will be re-evaluated. Less focus will be paid to functionality of design or shows of artistic mastery, nor will it be another reductive view into the abstract. This new art coming from this era, and the one to come, will be focused on process and emotion, meditation, feeling, intuition,spirituality, and self love. Everything for quite a while will feel very “personal” and people as a whole will need the niche of creation in their day to day routines in order to feel grounded and supported. This will take many forms, but ultimately be incredibly expressive. This new expressive voice will sound quite different from the ones that came before, and new definitions reflective of our human experience will be written in our history books. One day we’ll look back and realize just how much we knew all along.

Shamanic Reading for the Next 6 Months:

July: Elk

August: Deer

September: Whale

October: Squirrel

November: Butterfly

December: Coyote & Possum

The animal medicine consulted for the next six months indicates that timing in the natural world is healthy and centered. The more focus we as animals pay to our cycles with the natural world around us, the more healed we will become. Our focus will shift from drive to trust as we learn the ebbs and flows of the world around us, and are able to remember it through generations of whole peoples.

It will be a gentle fall into the Autumnal season, and the equinox promises to bring balance and opportunity for healing, forgiveness, reconciliation, and internal restfulness. All empathic people will feel this gentle spiritual wave as they continue to tune into the larger frequencies of the changing season.

The thinning of the veil will be informed by the emotional work we do in September, with focuses on the deep waters of emotional consciousness. It will not be surprising if you are able to, without even realizing it, leave behind facets of yourself that no longer serve you. On a very literal note, I have gotten messages for several decades now that we need to be listening to the frequencies of the whales regularly in order to heal from the psychological trauma of the past, especially war and slavery. The Whales have kept an unbroken consciousness in the waters of this world, and they are trying to reconnect with us in order to help us heal. This is part of the cycle of how animal nations help and heal each other. Other animals are very clearly able to communicate complex matters to each other and we are being invited to the pow wow to listen, learn, and grow.

The Gathering energy of All Souls will be a much needed source of energy for the late Fall and Early Winter dynamics arriving at the end of the year. It will truly feel like it is time to begin to hibernate sooner than usual. It will not be because of bad weather, but because people are choosing transformative activity of the inner self over social interaction. Something about the high Yang energy of the beginning of this 6 month journey has worn us out, and we’re ready for the respite offered by our cocoons of choice.

December is notable for further explanation as it is two animals together: Coyote and Possum. In this case we can trust that these tricksters are up to some good, and there are safe passageways being opened this holiday season that may not have been available in the past iterations of the holiday cycle. Watch as things mysteriously go right, and try to lean into your trust of your intuition and spirit guides as they whisper to you all the right answers to the final exam.

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solynaceawrites · 4 years ago

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Promise Me Forever [9]

Fandom: Devil May Cry Characters: Dante, Lirael Thorne (OC) Tags: Slow Burn, Romance, Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe, First Time, Friends to Lovers Chapters: 9/14 co-written by @lickitysplitfic Summary: An old, long-forgotten promise between gods comes back to haunt Dante when it deposits an unfamiliar woman on his door. Claiming to be the descendant of Ler, she says that they’re meant to fulfill the oath made by Sparda centuries ago, and all he can do is watch as she turns his life upside down. Yet when her parents come knocking, demanding the oath be fulfilled, he’s forced to choose: return to the bachelor ways he loved so much, or give in to the emotions brewing between him.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Dante frowns at his reflection, adjusting the collar of his shirt as he tries to tug the tie a bit looser. He can't even remember the last time he wore a get-up like this . . . Hell, he might never have worn a suit and everything. He leans in to examine his face, clean of any stubble and pizza sauce, before straightening up so he can smooth his palms down the jacket.

"Hmm," he says to himself. His hair hangs in its typical messy-but-totally-intentional strands, and he wonders if he should gel them back or something. But then he'd look like Vergil, and Dante snorts, wondering what he would think of all this—of course, if Vergil was around, he'd be the one about to marry Lir.

"Whatcha laughing at?" Nero asks from the bed, where he is bent over tying his shoes.

"Nothin'." Nero snorts, but doesn't press, and for that, at least, Dante's grateful. Today is going to be enough of a pain without dredging up the kid's trauma—not to mention his own—and any reprieve, however slight, is more than welcome.

He eyes the decanter of whiskey set on the dresser. Lir had sent it up with Nero when the kid arrived, alone with her hopes that he would enjoy it, but he hasn't been able to bring himself to touch the stuff. The last meeting with her family had been disaster enough without alcohol involved; he'd hate to hear their bitchin' if he showed up with liquor on his breath.

"Right." Nero stands, running a hand through his hair, which is far shorter than it was when he and Dante met. "You ready?"

"I don't know," Dante admits. He turns and puts his arms out, glancing down before frowning at Nero. "How do I look?"

Nero laughs and shakes his head. "You want my honest answer?"

"Sure."

"Like you're about to piss yourself," he chuckles. "But grooms are supposed to be, right?"

Dante makes a face. "No? I don't know."

Nero shrugs. "I don't know, you look like a guy who hunts demons and had to put on a suit. So I'd say, you look like yourself."

Dante sighs. "Let's just get this over with."

"That's the spirit," Nero teases, followed by another laugh.

He starts towards the door, still fussing with the tie at his throat, only to be stopped by Nero. Frowning, he tilts his head, and the kid shrugs and reaches up to fix the mess he'd made of the knot. "There," he mutters, stepping back and studying him with a squint. "Least now you look like you know what you're doing."

". . . Thanks," Dante mutters.

Nero nods and moves to open the door, holding it open until Dante has stepped through. Then they descend the stairs towards the main floor, from where the sounds of laughter and excited chatter echo. That makes him feel worse, somehow: so much on Lir's shoulders, forcing her here to marry a jackass with nothing much going on for him, and those people are having fun?

By the time they get to the bottom, Nero is looking at him funny again. "You okay, man?" he asks. "Never seen you that color before."

Dante nods, and they head over to where Morrison is waving at them. The shop has been transformed into a party area, chairs lined up in rows before the little foyer in front of the door, where the two of them will say their vows. He spies Lir's parents trying to get his attention, but Dante ducks down and makes a beeline for Morrison. "Thanks for doing this," he mutters when they reach him. "Can we get started?"

"Just waiting on the bride," he chuckles. "You doing okay? You look pretty pale."

"He's nervous as fuck, that's why," Nero offers.

"Lir's family is here, can you cool it with the swears?" Dante hisses. He nods over to the two dozen or so people who occupy most of the space, chatting excitedly and sending sideways glances towards Lady and Trish. They are the only ones sitting on the groom's side, and Dante grits his teeth to see that neither of them are dressed like normal people.

Lady is in the same all-white ensemble she'd worn in Fortuna, while Trish's black corset is drawing more than a few scornful looks, but neither of them seem to care much. At least they aren't all over one another. He has no idea if the conservative values of Lir's family extends to personal relationships and has no desire to find out. He levels an unimpressed stare their way, one that Lady returns with a poisonously sweet smile. 'Don't faint,' she mouths, and he turns back to Morrison with a growl.

"Where's Lir?" he asks lowly.

"Upstairs with Kyrie," Nero answers. "I think a couple of women who might have been her sisters went, too. Something about prepping her for tonight, whatever that means."

"Oh, God," he groans. Dante wipes his brow with the back of his hand, then on his pants. Lir's parents have finally started over, and he considers hitting the fire alarm as he watches them approach.

Her father puts his hand out, which Dante takes weakly. "Very exciting!" Augustus says, nodding to the others. "Are we just about ready?"

"About time, too," Lorenna huffs. "Can't put this off forever." She narrows her eyes at Nero, looking him up and down, frowning when she spies his right arm, partially hidden by his coat. "Who is this?"

"Nero," Dante replies quickly, cutting off whatever profanity was, judging by how sharply Nero scowls, about to come out of his mouth. "He's a business associate. Runs the Fortuna branch of the Devil May Cry."

"Oh!" Lorenna perks up a bit. "Were you familiar with the Order, perhaps?"

Dante watches Nero visibly swallow his anger, and his voice is stiff when he says, "Yeah. I knew 'em."

"Interesting business that was," she says. "You must know a lot about Sparda, being familiar with the Order."

Nero shrugs. "Some I guess? Who knows if he was even real though, right?"

Internally, Dante winces. That was the entirely wrong thing to have said, and he realizes then that he should have warned Nero about how devoted these people are to Sparda as a mythical protector of humanity. Before things can devolve further, Kyrie appears at the bottom of the stairs and hurries over to Morrison.

"She's ready," she announces.

Augustus drags his wife away, who looks as though she has more to say, and Nero snorts. "These people are weird," he says before kissing Kyrie's cheek and watching as she goes to sit next to Lady.

"Yeah," Dante answers. Music starts from somewhere, and Nero frowns at him, grabbing his elbow and positioning him the other way.

"Stand here," Nero snorts. He looks over Dante's shoulder and nods. "She's coming down the steps, don't you want to look?"

Dante blinks. His palms are damp, the small of his back clammy, and he's nervous, more so than he's ever been before. Makes sense, he supposes; like Nero said, grooms are supposed to be, right? Yet he feels like his body weighs tons as he turns, the world swimming around him in slow motion, and the sight of Lir nearly sends him running.

She's fucking gorgeous, and she's making a terrible mistake.

The dress she wears is the one he knows she's spent weeks carefully sewing, and it fits her like a damn glove, hugging her chest and hips before flaring into a train at her thighs, and her neck and shoulders are left bare. Dainty lace gloves cover her hands, clutching a bouquet of white and red roses, and, while he can't see much of her face due to the veil covering it, he already knows that she's going to be stunning. She already is, every single day, in jeans or a ball gown. Christ, his eyes are burning, and next to him Nero mutters, "You can cry. Most guys do."

"I'm not crying," he hisses, smiling at Lir when she reaches him.

Lir beams up at him through the veil, and holds out her hand to him, which he takes eagerly. "This is exciting, isn't it?" she whispers.

Dante nods, feeling his nerves start to settle as she grins.

"You look very handsome," she murmurs.

He swallows thickly. "Yeah. You look . . . Uh. Well. I've never seen anythin' prettier."

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Dante wrinkles his nose as he knocks back a sip of champagne. The taste is a bit weird, definitely preferring beer, or whiskey. But champagne was needed for the toasts, Lir had insisted, so he sighs as another one of her relatives or sisters or friends or whoever this seemingly endless parade of people are gets up to give them another lecture about Sparda and Ler disguised as a toast.

"You okay?" Lir whispers, patting his arm.

"Right as rain," he answers, returning her smile. She sits on his right, their table actually his desk, covered with a long linen cloth.

He feels a nudge on the shoulder. "How much longer is this?" Nero hisses in his ear. "I'm starving and these people are starting to freak me out."

Lir gives him a sheepish, almost embarrassed smile. "I'm sorry, Nero. It should be over soon. They're just waiting for . . . for the sun to go down."

Dante frowns, glancing towards the windows. The sky outside is taking on the burning hues of evening, and the sun is barely touching the roofs of the buildings across the street. "Sunset? Why sunset?"

"Well, it's . . ."

She closes her mouth as a woman with Augustus' dark hair and Lorenna's shrewd eyes approaches. There's a band on her finger with a large diamond set in the center, but that doesn't stop her from eyeing him in a way that feels far too intimate. "Lirael," the woman coos. "Aren't you going to introduce us?"

"You know who he is, Irene." It's the first time he's ever seen something akin to dislike settle on Lir's features, and he wracks his brain at the inkling of familiarity the name brings. "Dante, this is my older sister, third daughter of Augustus and Lorenna, 59th in the line of Ler."

She sticks out her hand, which Dante takes. "Nice to meet you?" he says uncomfortably.

"Mm-hm." She looks around, holding onto his hand so he can't pull away. "This is your place? Not much to it. You'd think the son of Sparda would have something . . ." Her voice trails off as she slowly drags her eyes up and down him. "Bigger," she finishes.

Behind him, Nero makes an odd sort of noise somewhere between a cough and a laugh, and Lir's brow pinches. "Irene," she says, warily.

Irene releases him with a smile and lifts the flute of champagne in her other hand. "A toast to the newly wed couple. May your union be satisfying too all, your joining full of delight."

"Thanks," Dante says, putting his arm around Lir for good measure. "Same to you," he continues, nodding towards the rock on her hand.

"Oh, this? It's nothing," she laughs. Then her eyes flicker over to Nero. "Another son of Sparda?"

Nero makes a face. "Hell no, I ain't a Sparda. And I'm taken, lady."

"My mistake." She smiles at Lir again, taking a thoughtful sip of her champagne before saying, "Interesting ceremony you have here. Our sister was married on the beach, but an office building is nice too, I suppose. And pizza? You are living well."

"Dante likes it," Lir hisses.

"Does he?" One perfectly shaped brow arches. "Well, then I suppose it's alright. Though I must say, sister, I'm very surprised to see how well you've adjusted. What was it you said when you were chosen? That you'd rather die?"

Dante goes cold. She never told me that. But Lir is already lifting her chin. "That was before I knew him."

"I see." Irene taps the rim of her glass against her lips thoughtfully. "Did you know," she says to Dante, "that the only reason Lir was sent was that my engagement was announced two weeks before we learned of your existence?"

"Sounds like you had a lot of reasons to celebrate," he replies. His voice sounds steady, despite how numb his lips feel. Is she still miserable with this?

"Just think," Irene says, as if he hadn't spoken, "it could be the two of us sitting here right now." She laughs and takes another drink from her glass. "That would be interesting, wouldn't it? We wouldn't be eating pizza at a wedding, that's certain."

"Hey, back off." Nero steps up, his voice angry , putting out his left hand as if to keep her away. "Why don't you go find your table and leave them alone?"

She gives a simpering sort of smile before turning on her heel, her hips swaying more than Dante thinks is natural as she saunters back over to her parents. "I'm sorry," Lir murmurs. "She's . . . She wasn't happy to be passed over. I thought that wound would have healed by now, but . . ."

"It's fine." Dante sips his champagne and wrinkles his nose. Too sweet. "Believe me, I understand sibling rivalry just fine."

The speeches finally over, food is served, which seems to settle everyone. Dante is amazed at the dishes served, a combination of pasta dishes that does include pizza. He eats his fill as Lir discreetly points out who everyone is among their guests, keeping one eye on the table that sits his friends, hoping they don't get too rowdy. He notes how Lir seems to be getting fidgety, and after the caterers take the food away, she seems to be stiff as a board.

Dante spots some of Lir's family getting ready to swarm, so he leans over and murmurs, "Is it, uh . . . time?"

She jumps, but then nods. Dante frowns to see the bit of pinching in the corner of her eyes, but Lir tries to visibly relax. "Yeah. We’re going to need to go upstairs."

"Sounds good." Dante stands, putting his hands up and calling for attention. If Lir is this nervous, it's up to him to take charge, he decides. Least he can do after all this mess.

Everyone stops talking and looks at him in surprise, and he ignores the whoop that comes from Trish. Lir whispers his name in the silence, but Dante's mind is made up. "Everyone, uh, I guess it's time for me and Lir to do the thing we need to do. So make sure to leave me some pizza, and don't drive if you get too trashed."

The expressions of their guests ranges from surprise to delight, but their stunned reaction to him is made worth it when he hears the little laugh that escapes Lir before she smothers it, and he offers her his hand. She takes it with a smile before addressing the crowd. "Thank you all for being here. I know the road has been . . . strange, but I'm happy, and proud, to be where I am. To be by his side."

He doesn't quite know what to make of that or the knots it sends his stomach into, so he merely nods, moving to rest his palm against the small of her back and guiding her to the stairs. Whispers erupt behind them, easy enough to ignore given his own inner turmoil. Dante is actually looking forward to this, and that makes him feel guilty, which only confuses him. Lir, at least, seems steady, climbing to the second floor with an easy grace.

Dante follows her into his bedroom, and he lets out a surprised noise when they get inside. It's the cleanest he's ever seen it, a completely new bedding set on the bed, fresh flowers placed around on the furniture. He looks around with a smile as he shuts the door, putting his hands on his hips as he takes it all in. "This place looks great," he says. "Did you do this?"

"Some of it." Lir moves to the window to open in a bit, and he watches as she takes a deep breath when the curtain sways a bit. She glances over her shoulder, but when their eyes meet she quickly turns away. "Can you help me with this veil?" she asks. "There's like a million pins in it."

"Sure," he murmurs, shrugging off his jacket as he walks over. Dante tosses it onto the chair in the corner, cleaned off of the pile of dirty clothes and even a new pillow fluffed on the seat, and steps up to Lir as she turns away from him. He frowns for a moment but then finds the first hairpin, pulling it out and tossing it on the top of the bureau. Carefully he works until he takes out a couple dozen and is able to work the comb attached free from her hair.

Lir sighs deeply, reaching up to help him. "My scalp thanks you," she chuckles, tossing the veil to join his jacket on the chair.

On impulse he slides his hands in her hair, giving her scalp a gentle massage, and Dante grins when she gives a little groan. "That's nice, thank you," Lir sighs.

"Mm-hm." The scent of her shampoo wafts gently every time his fingers brush through her hair. It's sweet, light, like the strawberries he loves so much, and he wonders if she'd chosen a new one just for him or if he never noticed it before. "I'd say you've earned it."

"Earned it?" He can hear the confusion, and it's cute enough to make him laugh.

Resting his hands on her shoulders, he carefully presses his thumbs against the nape of her neck. "Yeah. You had to put up with me an' Nero an' all of your family for the entire day. Keep it up, and I'll think you're going for sainthood."

Lir doesn't respond right away, her head dropping as he massages her skin. Then she turns and looks up at him with a shy smile. "You did pretty good too," she says. Then she licks her lips, a little gesture that sends a jolt through him, and she reaches up to undo his tie. "Let's, uh . . . let's get you comfortable, okay?"

"Right." His voice cracks, so he clears his throat and tries again. "Right. Okay. Think you're a bit more, uh . . . I mean, the dress seems . . ."

Her fingers brush his throat as she carefully undoes the knot and pulls the fabric from beneath his collar. "I'm okay," she replies quietly. "It's not the worst thing I've ever worn." Before he can ask what was, she sets to work on the buttons of his shirt; Dante can feel her hands trembling, and he covers them with his own when she reaches the third.

"Take it easy," he murmurs. "It's just us."

Lir glances up, her cheeks turning a bit pink. "I'm just so scared I'm going to screw this up," she whispers.

Dante can't help but chuckle at that. "Don't worry, I got that covered I think." He pulls her hands away and finishes the buttons on his shirt. "I can do this. Do you need help with your dress?"

She shakes her head, watching him for a moment as he takes off his shirt before glancing away. Lir turns a bit as she reaches back to pull her zipper, and the two undress silently. Dante doesn't take his eyes from her as he takes off his belt and pulls off his shoes, breathing deeply when she lets her dress slide to the floor, leaving her in a white slip, the satin clinging to her body. He is nervous as hell but seeing Lir just as unsure has given him a weird boost of confidence, and before he removes the rest of his clothes, he reaches out and grabs her wrist. "Come here," he murmurs, tugging her gently.

Lir blinks up at him, and Dante leans in, smiling as her eyes widen when he gets closer. Slowly he wraps his arms around her, his skin warming when her palms go to his arms and gently settle against him. "We can do this," Dante says.

She exhales slowly with a nod. "Yes." Her gaze drops to his mouth, and a flush stains her cheeks as she looks away. "I know I don't . . . I mean, it might not be proper or correct, but . . . may I kiss you?"

His mind flashes to her underneath him on the couch, her thighs cradling his body, and he swallows thickly. "If that's what you want."

Like then, her hands cup his face, her thumbs smoothing carefully over his cheeks, and his heart is pounding in his chest as she goes up onto her toes to press her lips to his. It's the same tentative brush she had used the first time, like she's afraid to ask for more, that she's doing something wrong, and he holds her firmly, forcing himself to be patient. If he moves too quickly, he could scare her again, like he had when he'd torn the couch trying to keep himself under control.

His hands fist into the slip, but he holds back, letting her lead the kiss. Lir presses her lips to him twice, three times, and then Dante follows the tilt of her mouth, returning her slow kiss with soft pressure. After several moments she starts to grow bolder, and he feels her tongue flicker against his lips; they curve into a smile as he opens for her, Lir sighing into his mouth.

She hesitates again, and Dante tugs on her lower lip before moving down her jaw and to her throat. He shivers at the little catch in her breath as he leaves a trail of kisses down her neck. "You know I have . . . some things I can do . . ." she whispers.

"You do?" Dante nibbles on her shoulder, kissing along the strap of her slip.

"Yes, I was . . . I was taught how to . . ." He presses his lips under her earlobe, cutting her off as she sucks in another breath. Her fingers dig into the muscle of his arms as she tilts her head, exposing more skin to his kiss. "I'm supposed to be making you feel good," she whimpers.

"Mm, think that's supposed to go both ways," he murmurs, more than half-distracted by the softness of her throat. "Ain't fun if only one of us feels good."

"Fun?" she mumbles. She strokes him lightly, sending a shiver up his spine, and he groans and teases her pulse carefully with his teeth. "Oh," Lir breathes, the sound erotic and sweet and making him twitch. "Oh, do that again, please."

Dante complies eagerly. He kisses her neck, teasing her with his tongue as his arm slides around her waist, holding her tightly against him. The other hand moves to her hip, and slowly he walks her backwards towards the bed. "Is it okay if I touch you?" he whispers.

"Y-yes," she stutters.

He drags his palm down her thigh, and then grabs the fabric, pulling it up until he can feel her skin. They hit the edge of the bed, and Lir sits, pulling Dante down on top of her as she slides back to the center of the bed. Their eyes connect as he strokes her thigh, and she moves her touch up his arms and back down his chest, carefully tracing the outlines of his muscles.

"I wasn't lyin' earlier," he says, quietly, and her hands pause on his stomach. "I've never seen anyone prettier than you. Don't think I ever will."

He strokes the crease of her thigh as her gaze softens. Then Lir grabs his arms and tugs. "Sit up on the pillows," she says, quickly scrambling back.

Dante smiles and crawls up on the bed, flopping over with his back propped on the frilly pillows at the head of the bed. "This good?"

"Perfect." He grins as Lir straddles his lap, and then his eyes almost fall out of his head when she pulls the slip off over her head. Underneath is a lace set that is barely more than a triangle between her legs and over her breasts, and Lir reaches back to undo the bra, taking it off and tossing it onto the floor.

She settles back to sit on his hips, and Dante swallows as he takes her in. Her hands press on his stomach to steady herself, and as his gaze hovers around her chest, her nipples soft and pink against creamy skin, his own body starts to rapidly stiffen. Her kiss had already gotten his blood pumping, but his heartbeat is at full speed ahead with Lir now perched nearly naked on top of him, her hair falling over one shoulder as she chews her lip nervously.

Dante clears his throat as she shifts a bit, certain she can feel his erection inside his pants and now pressed against her backside. "I guess I should . . ." she murmurs, her fingers tracing down his stomach and towards the little trail of hair just visible above the waistband of his dress pants.

Still gathering his wits, or what little of them he's ever had, he doesn't realize what she's intending to do until the button is unfastened and the zipper eased down, and, even then, it doesn't really click until her her hand eases beneath the fabric and her touch grazes the base of his cock. Both of them freeze, and what he thinks is alarm flickers briefly across her features. "Oh," she says, then again: "Oh. You're bigger than . . ."

Lir trails off, her cheeks scarlet now, and there's another of those strange boosts to his ego, though it's dulled a bit by concern. She havin' second thoughts? "You okay?"

"Huh? Oh! Yes." She gives her head a little shake. "I'm sorry, I only. I mean, they told us—told me about the anatomy and used props to demonstrate how things could be done, but nothing was . . . as large as you are."

Dante's burst of pride is quickly dampened as she starts to stroke him, her hand exploring his length, but her expression one of confusion. "This isn't . . ." Her voice trails off, and now it's his turn to frown as she yanks down the fabric, his cock springing free as she examines him closely.

"Uh, easy there," he chuckles nervously.

But Lir only stares at him, expression deep in thought. Carefully she wraps her hand around him, and Dante bites back a groan as she slowly drags her fist up and down his length. It's pretty much the most erotic thing he's ever seen—only, really—and her beautiful face and perfect body and delicate hand now jerking him almost experimentally have him gripping the blanket beneath him tightly. Her other hand strokes his pelvis, the touch of her fingertips almost featherlight and in stark contrast to the firm grip she uses to pump up and down his length that is now aching and throbbing.

"Lir," he grunts. She stops, peering up at him from beneath her lashes, and he tries to think of a polite way to tell her that it she wants to have sex she better get a move on because he's not sure he can last with her doing that. But the words won't come, and he curses as her brows furrow.

"Was I doing it wrong?"

"What? No!" He pushes himself up onto his elbows. "Christ, no. Just, uh . . . Seems unfair that you're getting to touch me but I can't touch you."

"Oh!" She giggles, a slight blush creeping over her features. "Sorry, I was distracted."

Her smile is lovely as she leans over him, her free hand pressed to his shoulder as the other continues stroking him. Lir gazes at him sweetly, her long lashes making her look almost sultry, and the mix of innocence and sexiness makes his heart skip a beat. Dante reaches up to feel her thighs, and then slides his hands over her until he carefully covers her breasts. He can feel her nipples grow hard against his palm, and he gives her flesh a gentle squeeze, swallowing a groan at how soft she feels and how small she seems in his large hands.

She bites her lip, and he leans up to kiss the plump flesh, sucking on it softly while he cups her breasts and uses his thumbs to rub small circles over her nipples. The little noise she lets out as she arches into his touch has him panting, rocking up into her hand; nothing could have ever prepared him for the sensation of her body against his, of her skin brushing his. He feels almost drunk, and he releases one hand to drag it down her stomach, groping over her waist and hip just to feel her tremble.

Lir is still stroking him, her hand feeling like a slice of heaven, her skin so soft as it drags up and down his length. Occasionally she pauses to rub her thumb on the tip or tease the head, and Dante groans. He would love nothing more than to take hold of himself and hurry up the end his body is craving, but her touch is so sweet and sexy that he wouldn't stop her for anything.

She moves closer, his erection now pressed against her thigh, and Dante pulls her down to kiss her eagerly. Lips and tongues slide together as his hands roam her body, and then he tilts her back so he can place a kiss to her breast, using his tongue to roll around her waiting nipple. Lir gives a little gasp that sends a shot of pleasure right through his dick, and he pulls her nipple in his mouth, wanting more. Her hands move into his hair, his cock straining for friction where it presses to her thigh, and when she lifts her hips slightly to press her chest closer to him, he feels the lace drag against the head of his cock, nearly driving him crazy.

"Dante," she murmurs, her nails scratching lightly over his scalp, and it's damn near over right then. Then she asks, shyly, "Should I . . . finish undressing?" and he goes lightheaded at just the thought of it.

"Yeah, yeah," he huffs. "You got me so worked up, angel . . ."

Lir presses a quick kiss to his lips and climbs off, and Dante stares as she stands next to the bed and shimmies out of her panties. When she turns he quickly pulls the rest of his clothes off, grabbing the base of his cock and giving it a squeeze as he closes his eyes and breathes in deeply. Keep it together. Keep it together!

Warm silk wraps around him, and with a groan he peeks an eye open. Lir is spreading lube along his length, coating him well before she straddles his hips.

She holds his shoulders and rocks her hips, and Dante hits his head back against the pillows. He watches with widening eyes as she grips his length, and then angles it between her legs. Lir grabs onto his chest for leverage as the head of him parts her folds, and Dante wonders what to do, if he should help, when the first couple of inches enter her body, and his cock is wrapped in the most delicious tight heat he could ever have imagined.

He digs his fingers into the quilt, a faint ping of remorse making itself known when the fabric starts to rip. But it's easy enough to ignore that when the alternatives are either losing control or hurting her or both, and he does his damndest to keep himself still while she works. His thoughts jumble together the more of him she takes: christ she's so small is it gonna fit is she okay oh fuck oh fuck fuck fuck.

"Dante . . ." she whines, bringing him back from his own overwhelming thoughts. "Dante, I can't . . ."

He sits up, wrapping his arms around her waist, and kisses her. Lir freezes in his hold, her hands on his shoulders, and Dante kisses her as passionately as he knows how, ignoring the insistent throbbing of his cock. He rubs her back in slow circles until after a minute, she begins to relax, sinking further onto him.

"Lir," he groans, pressing his face to her neck. She starts to rock her hips, easing him in and out of her body, but still far from taking him completely inside her own; but it doesn't matter, the movements still erotic and incredible, her sex squeezing him tightly. He remembers the spot below her ear that had her trembling earlier, so he lavishes her skin with his teeth and tongue, letting Lir work at a pace that is comfortable for her but nearly torturous for him.

He's so caught up in keeping her comfortable that he doesn't realize how dangerously close he's getting until his sac starts to tighten, and he pulls from her skin with a stuttered groan, grabbing at her hips even as ecstasy starts to overflow. She lets out a startled noise as his seed fills her in pulses that mimic his hammering heart, going still with her hands braced on his shoulders, her nails biting into his skin with her surprise.

Dante can't take it anymore and he thrusts upwards, another pulsing wave of pure bliss wracking his body, the friction silky as he slowly rocks up and down. He falls back on the pillows as he catches his breath, staring at the ceiling as it finally begins to fade, Lir a comfortable weight on his lap.

Sleep is already tugging at him when she carefully climbs off of him, and he tugs her down next to him with a yawn that makes his jaw crack. Belatedly, he realizes that she probably hadn't gotten off—not that he'd noticed—but her hand is drawing lazy, soothing circles on his chest that only serve to lull him deeper into slumber, and his last bit of awareness is focused on the soft brush of her lips over his shoulder.

#dmc #devil may cry #dante sparda #lirael thorne #lir #dante/lir #dante/oc #dante x oc #dmc oc #dmc fanfic #dmc fanfiction #fanfiction #writing #story #myfic #collab #promise me forever #pmf

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strainingfororiginality · 6 years ago

Text

Chapter 13.2 - Redemption

Home - Zayde Wolf

Home, never too far, never too close to come home

Never too lost, never too found to come home

Never too young, never too old to be known

No matter how far you go, you're never alone

We can believe in

We can believe in dreams

Can you hear them? Can you hear them?

The lanky figure to her right she recognized immediately. This recognition stemmed from both EL’s memories as well as her own, though this woman shared far more features with Quintus now than she did with The Master. Dawn wasn’t sure how she felt about her, given their muddled past, but she knew now was not the time to hold any lingering grudges.

As she craned her head to the side and spied the being out of the corner of her eye, a goofy grin slowly creeping across the angel’s face in a poor attempt at half-apology, half-greeting.

Ozyrel. The Master. The Ancients. The Right Hand of God. Angel of Death herself.

"Hello there …" She wiggled her fingers at Dawn with a hesitant wave, followed by a nervous little chuckle all while nervously clearing her throat. “... heheh … hello again … I mean … um ....”

Dawn squinted and her nostrils began to curl up. That fucker ...

"He’s coming." Raphael cut off his sister mid-babble. “Reunions must wait.”

Dawn shuddered. She had never felt as tiny as she did in this moment as she looked around at her uncles and found that they towered above her. She locked onto the intense amber eyes of Gabriel again and she swallowed hard. "So … What now then?" Her time in Hell came flooding back to her and she remembered how Quinlan had used her gifts to defeat their serpentine jabberwocky. “I will be your weapon.”

It was a statement of fact, or at least she felt it was. It was obvious, wasn’t it? It was why she was made, after all. Wasn’t it? To be their weapon. To be their storm. Right?

But she could not have been more wrong. She was not their weapon, just as Sandalphon had never been. She was not something to be used and later discarded. In fact, she was born to replace something that they had each lost, and standing in the center of this powerful formation, she knew what it was and what she represented within it. Dawn gulped again.

"Not at all, my silly child ..."

Michael gripped her left hand first. Energy sparked across her vision and as he stepped into her, his spirit faded to vapor and particles of gold danced over her body. Just as he felt her hate earlier, she was overcome with his love. There was a tiny instance of resistance before she realized how this had to work. She had to forgive him. In all of his glory and all of his flaws, in all of his victories and all of his stumbles, in all of his hate and all of his love. She had to accept him. In fact, she had to accept them all. In every shade of gray they existed.

Her Left Hand. The grandfather. The Lion.

She accepted him. Her residual hate dissolved.

Dawn accepted love. In fact, she bathed in it.

"You misunderstand ..."

Ozryel gripped her right hand. Silver flooded across their skin and Ozryel stepped into her next.

Her Right Hand. The torturer. The Eagle.

She let go of her unrelenting anger towards this angel and her need for vengeance retreated.

Dawn gave forgiveness.

"You are not our weapon …"

Gabriel laid a palm on either side of her shoulders and he nodded to her once before he stepped within and her vision danced with amber streaks.

Her Shield. The pursuer. The Ox.

She released her fear of him. Her desire to run waned and then abated completely.

Dawn took courage and this made her smile.

"We are yours, Daughter of Days."

She could not see him, but she felt his touch as Raphael placed his hands onto her shoulders.

She struggled with this one the most and Raphael was infinitely patient as he squeezed her shoulders gently. "Now it’s time to forgive yourself." His forehead pressed against the back of her head and the tears welled up furiously in her eyes.

"I don’t deserve that. They died …" All of those souls. All of that pain. Their existence had been snuffed out because of her actions. She didn’t deserve to be forgiven. “Because of me … because of my actions.”

"Yes. You are ultimately at fault." Her head swung low and the first tear broke free from her eye and travelled down her cheek. “And no one can understand that pain as I do.” He did. He really did and she felt it. “The past cannot be changed, not even by someone such as you.” She had seen the destruction he caused that day. The souls that he had extinguished. “But you have to let it go.” She clenched her fists. “Atone for it by proving now that their deaths had purpose. Atone for it by ensuring he takes no more this day.”

Her Heart. The guardian. The man.

She set free her self-loathing. Her yearning for punishment.

Dawn welcomed the possibility of redemption.

This was the divine chariot and she was at its very center. Their powers swirled all around her, and she realized she had always been wrong. Dawn assumed she had been born alone with a tormenting insatiable ache that drove an unrelenting loneliness.

Such a terrible fate to be a Hayyoth without an other. EL shared this pain, he explained that they were utterly defective. He said they were broken in such a fundamental way, they could never be fully complete. But now, as the reality of her current situation dawned on her, a slow and steady smile crept over her thin lips.

In the end, EL was right, but just not in the way he had always assumed. She didn’t have an other.

She had four ...

and together, they made five.

He landed on his feet this time, cratering into the pavement below as his thighs tensed, taking the brunt of the impact as an impressive little shock wave emanated in rings around him. He was already moving the manhole cover when Raum landed less than gracefully several feet away, crumpling into a broken ball on the hard street. He whimpered lowly as he cracked himself back into composure.

"Keep her busy." Quinlan barked the command as he moved into the small hole, stepping down onto the ladder and reached to pull the cover closed to hide his escape path. “Buy me as much time as you can.”

Though he couldn’t see the beast, he could hear it clawing is way down the side of the building, barrelling down on them as fast as her seraphim speed could manage.

"Keep her busy?! Are you mad?!" Raum snapped his arm back into place, growling as he came back to his feet. “Wait! Where the bloody hell are you going?!”

"It is clear you are faster than I." Quinlan shrugged, offering an excuse veiled as compliment. “Meet me in the south junction of the 23rd street tube station.” As the dhampir pulled the manhole cover closed above him, he looked at the marid through the tiny sliver of opening left. “Buy me as much time as you can. Take her the long way around. That is …” Quinlan grinned with mischievous and manipulative intent. “If you can manage it, Duke.”

"Hey! I can mana--" Quinlan felt the impact of the dragon on the ground above and even heard a tiny curse from Raum as the marid fled on foot, leading the beast away from him. He waited on the ladder until he was certain she was in mad pursuit and then he jumped down into the belly of the tunnels and smiled gloriously, remembering Vasily’s incessant babbling of this very area.

"Thank you, Mr. Fet." He missed the big man and he was suddenly and irrevocably grateful for all this “useless” information of the New York underground. As he navigated through the tunnel system of the sewer, he quickly found his way into the subway just as the Ukrainian had instructed him.

Sandalphon came to mind and he shook his head as he wondered how fortuitous it had been to have met the man. Everything had always been for a reason. Every single thing. "Clever little prophet."

He followed the tube passage and jumped up to the platform of the familiar station. The very one that Dawn had fled from the train that fateful day and he had pursued her. He hopped over the fallen and lifeless shells of people litter about the ground and on the stairs. His heart thundered with anticipation and he smiled as he drew nearer to his intended destination.

Everything was for a reason. Everything. Dawn had been drawn to that man for an uncertain reason and he had helped to open Quinlan’s eyes to the control of this purgatory. He had told him about the mind fleas and to the conspiracy of this reality. But the dhampir’s absolute certainty slowly waned as he approached the junction of hallways and he heard ... nothing.

He had hoped to hear the ranting from afar but all was entirely quiet and as he rounded the final bend, his heart fell. No one stood. Not a thing moved. Fallen people littered the area and the bum, his obvious target, was slouched against the far wall, legs sprawled out before his limp figure. His head leaned to the side. His hands open and still in his lap.

Could Quinlan have been wrong? Apparently this man was just like all the rest of the mortal souls here. Damnation. This was not what he expected and a Latin curse escaped as he turned to flee back into the belly of tunnels, unsure what he might try next.

Free - Tommee Profitt, Svrcina

Known by the sin of our fathers

Let it all come out and burn like a fire

We'll shout a little bit louder

Cos the night still has a thousand nights

And when the truth is brought to light

You and I, you and I will be

Free, free, free

"I … doubted." It was a whisper, laden with sadness and such viceral anguish that Quinlan froze mid-retreat.

Quinlan spun and the man leaning against the wall twitched and spoke lowly. Oh gods. He had been right. This man was not like the others and the dhampir’s heart raced again with burgeoning hope. "Pardon?" He stepped towards him. “What did you doubt?”

"Forgive me." The beggar seemed to stare down into his open, dirty hands before struggling to his feet, using the wall behind him as leverage. Quinlan might have offered him assistance, but he did not imagine the man would accept it. In fact, he knew he would not. “For the first time, I had begun to doubt you ...”

"I do not require your forgiveness. Right now, there is far more serious--" He offered the statement, but as the man continued to speak out into the open space around them, interrupting the dhampir mid-sentence, it was quite obvious Quinlan wasn’t the intended recipient of his words.

"My faith … I am sorry. I faltered. Forgive me." The man reached for a headless mop handle and took several steps towards Quintus as he finally acknowledged his existence, leaning heavily on the makeshift staff. “Well? Shall we?”

Quinlan cocked his head to the right. "Shall … we?"

"Well ... She is coming." The man pointed down the corridor, in the direction from which Quinlan had entered. “I think we should go now. No?” He took several steps in that direction before the dhampir stammered.

"Wait … Wait." This was no place or time for small talk, though Quinlan didn’t imagine he would have even attempted had there been, but he still felt he was missing something and he hated to be in the dark. “Who … are you?”

The old man tilted his head just a smidge to the right, pushing the hood of his dirty jacket back. For the first time, the dhampir got a clean view of his overly bearded face, of his matted dark brown and gray hair, of his soot smeared skin, and of his … glossed eyes. He had entirely missed this detail before as the man’s eyes were so gray in color that the matching non-black tint of the pupil had been masked.

"That’s the wrong question."

Quinlan was not a fool and he actually knew the previous question had been wrong the moment it fled from his lips and his body flooded with bumps as he knew what the right question was even before the man asked for it. "Who … were you?"

"Yes … Good. Clever one, aren’t you?" The sigh that escaped the man’s lungs was long and tortured. “You see … “ He tapped his ear. “He wept into my ear that night … my last night on Earth ...” He pulled back his sleeves to show Quinlan the scars across his pale wrists. “He wept when he told me I would need to suffer here ... for thousands of years.” He pulled his sleeves back down, subduing the shame that accompanied these marks. “He asked that I come here ... knowing I would bear witness to all the punishments for my fallen children.” The man laughed and though his words were sad in nature, this laugh was rich in relief and gratitude. “He wept when he said he needed me to sacrifice myself.”

"Who?" Quinlan pushed, though the answer was quite obvious. “Who wept into your ear … ?” He very nearly called the man child, but even as the title brushed apprehensively across the dhampir’s mind, a shiver ran down his spine, stopping him. He knew this man was older than even himself. In fact, he felt like he had always known this man.

"My father. My maker. God." The blind man said simply. He was definitely blind, though he stared directly into Quinlan’s eyes and the dhampir swallowed hard. “God cried when he asked me to sacrifice. When he asked me to die … for this.”

"I do not understand." Quinlan prodded as he looked around. This was taking far too long. They didn’t have time for this. They didn’t have time for such crazy banter. And yet … he needed to know. “Why would he ask this of you? Why would he--”

"He said that I would need to be here ... at this time ... in this place ..." Fate. That tricky invisible hand. There should have been no wind in this place and yet the breeze plucked across the man’s face and his mangy hair danced in its chaotic embrace. He smiled, breathing another sigh as he reached out to touch Quinlan’s half human face and much to the dhampir surprise, he allowed him. His dirty fingertips, sticking out from the ends of the tattered gloves, glanced off of Quinlan’s largest cheek scar precisely. “That you would need my help here, son …”

Son.

There was something so profoundly true in that word and Quinlan found himself unable to shake the feeling that encompassed him now. "Your help …?" He whispered the question. “With what exactly?” Quinlan didn’t want to sound desperate, but he was. He knew he was trapped. He knew he was damned, and he still wasn’t entirely sure if this man wasn’t just mad. “What could you possibly do to help me?” This man was blind.

"To help you do what you do best, Fifth Invictus." Was Quinlan really shocked this man knew who he was? Yes and no. Quinlan waited with held breath. “Unconquerable. Invincible. To do what you were born to do.” The man grinned furiously. “Quintus Sertorius … sorry … Quintus … Densus …” Quinlan’s doubt of the man’s sanity melted away. “To do what you do better than anyone else ...”

"And what exactly is that?"

"To disrupt, Prince of the Pale. To dismantle. To destruct. There has never been a cage that could hold you, has there?" The man smiled and for the first time, Quinlan saw a brief glimpse of sanity. Quinlan saw the man behind the crazy and his skin crawled with bumps. “I’m here to help us break free from this cage.”

"And yet, you have still not answered my question." Quinlan tilted his head to the right and peered into the strange visage. “Who are you?”

"I have already said who I am." The man stiffened and stood tall, throwing his shoulders back as pride filled his posture. “I am the Prophet of the Lord.”

"Yes. So you have said." Quinlan tilted his head the other direction. “And which one would that be? History knows many.”

"Really? Certain of that, are you?" The old man chuckled. Old? Was he truly older than Quintus? Very old, in fact.

"Methuselah?" Quinlan offered and the man snorted, waving him off as he began to step towards the tunnels again. “Enoch?” The dhampir scurried after him and his frustration began to mount. “Please, I do not follow. Who are you? Why would God send you to me? What could a blind man possibly--”

"There is not a single answer to your question. I have been many, Prince. My soul has spanned lifetimes."

"How many?"

"I have been a prophet of the Lord hundreds of times. Perhaps more. What does it matter? I’ve lost count now. The years blur since my true beginning."

"Hundreds?" The question was but a rasp as its true gravity hit Quinlan fully.

"A prophet is a dangerous thing, or have you not gathered as much yet?" The prophet shuffled around the corner as Quinlan followed. “Surely you realize that The Great Spirit would not have made more than a handful of us. In fact, there have never been more than five ...” The man pinched his eyes shut with sadness. “At any single time … There is great power in five, don’t you see?”

Five. It was always five. Not four. There were not four brothers. There were five. Five invictii. Five prophets.

"Only five?" Quinlan’s mind swam with the possibility of the man’s statement. “But … there have been more than five prophets …”

The man stopped and faced Quinlan. "I … was the Patriarch of all prophets. I … led the Exodus of the Israelites out of Egypt. I … built an ark so massive that my children could persist after God’s childish wrath. I … brought peace to the five warring clans of the Iroquois nation. I have been burned at the stake more times than I care to remember. And where I am the alpha." Deganawida closed his eyes, taking in a deep and passionate breath, relief washing over him as he shed all need for disguise. “My child … your love … is the omega.”

"The … alpha … ?" Quinlan squinted at him. “You are … ” The Alpha prophet himself. Patriarch of all the prophets. The First? Which meant before even Lilith herself. And this simple fact left only one possibility. Quinlan was unsure if he should be surprised or impressed. He had met many who were more impressive, hadn’t he? “You are …” And yet, this caused him great pause. “Adam.”

"Was." The man stretched. “I was … at one point … at one time … in another life … very far from this one.”

"Was. So then what are you now?"

"Now?" That smile. Quinlan knew it though he was certain he had never met this man before. He knew what it was and what it expressed because he felt connected to him. The feeling of that connection coursed through his veins. “At this point in time? At this instance?” The man placed his hand on the dhampir’s shoulder and gripped it with a familiarity that rattled Quinlan to his very core. “I am to be your salvation, my son.”

There was a concerning vibration in the background, though he knew he had heard this before, he wasn’t able put his finger on what it was. Not yet at least. This should have been his first concern, as EL considered his memory unmatched.

He knelt on that rock and touched it inquisitively. He had left her right here. Dammit. He stood and squinted into the vast darkness, resisting the urge to scratch the back of his head, lest she might be watching him. Best not to give away his utter confusion. "Where’d you go, you slippery fuckers …"

While he knew Michael was here, he wasn’t sure if Raphael had been foolish enough to follow his brother in. "I know you’re here!" He called out. “Come on!” He waved his arms around, egging them on. “Aurora … where did you go? Aurora!?”

Something glinted in the distance and he casually strolled towards it, his footsteps echoing against nothing and everything all at once in the infinite and dark space. "Ah hah! There you are."

As he approached, his head craned to the left. Wait, that wasn’t Aurora. It was much larger than her and it glinted of bronze for a moment. Or perhaps it was silver? Or maybe even gold ...

"Gabriel?" EL snorted merrily. “Are you serious?!” Oh this was getting good. The brute would be the easiest path into the Nexus. He would take him right now in fact, but as he closed the distance, he thought he saw Michael instead, or perhaps it was Ozryel?

As he got closer and closer, he did see Dawn. Short and still. Standing and silent. Her eyes were closed and he stopped five feet from her, pausing as the uncertainty rattled him. Where was the Indigo Child? "You guys really should have stayed out. This isn’t Earth." He waved his hands around at the space in Dawn’s mind. “I’m in charge here.”

"Takes a big man to pick on such a tiny woman, doesn't it?" Gabriel voice echoed from somewhere, from everywhere, all at once, but her lips hadn’t moved. “Feel proud of yourself, Lucy?”

"Small woman? EL chuckled and his laugh was thick and rich with disgust. “You have no idea what she’s capable of. You always think size indicates strength. Haven’t I proved you wrong enough times, big brother?"

"That, my dear, sweet, lost, little sibling …" This was Ozryel’s voice. Her quip rattled through the darkness as she snickered. “Is actually exactly what we’re hoping for.”

"Enough." EL scowled at Dawn, cocking his head to the right and twitching like the bird of prey he was. “I’m done here.” He reached into her mind, feeling for anyone or anything. “I don’t have time for you right now.”

"But … all we have is time, you little shit." Michael laughed with unhindered amusement leaking in his voice. Everything began to hum louder.

Champion - Barns Courtney

I've been on a long road

With the devil right beside me

Rising with the morning sun

It's a hunger that drives me

Woah Lord, set my soul

Take my pain and turn it into gold

Cause all I know, all I know, all I know is...

Champion

I can take a beating, I'll rise again

Burning through the jungle until the end

I can live forever, I'll rise again

Keep rising up I'm

Champion

That sound. Fuck. He knew that sound. The darkness itself had started to vibrate with its rhythm and she hadn’t moved yet. Not even to open her eyes and EL laughed, masking his concern, as he always did.

"It’s not too late." This time it was her and though her lips moved, her voice came at him from all directions. “You can go back home, EL. I’ll allow it.” A smirk. She was making him the very same offer he had just made her. “Trust me, it’s a better deal than Heaven will offer.”

"I’ve been patient." His voice cracked with budding disappointment as he sighed all too dramatically. His form moved and he reshaped himself. His height stretched several feet and his tail slithered towards her, weaving its way around her ankles as the crown of his cobra physique flexed out around his face, curving up around his entire head. “I assure you, far more patient than I have ever been with anyone. You should be honored.”

"You’ve overstayed your welcome and we’re gonna have to ask you to leave now." There was a familiar vibration in those words. Her tone was more masculine than feminine and the vibrations only increased. It wasn’t just one voice. It was many.

"Oh Aurora, Aurora, Aurora ... who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?"

"My name …" That damn noise. It had been distant, but now it was clean and sharp and overly familiar. He remembered it. He had trouble recalling it before because he had only heard it once, at the very moment of his creation. This was the sound of the Living Creatures locking into the chariot. It was the vibration of the individual Hayyoths seeking alignment within the gears of the divine wheel itself. And then the noise hummed with absolute clarity. It began to spin all around them. Faster and then faster. Wind blew through EL’s hair. “Is Dawn.”

"Oh … " EL whispered as a confident grin stretched across her face and he fought the urge to take a step back when she looked upon him with matching rainbow eyes. “Fuck.”

It was too late. This discussion had delayed them far too long and Quinlan was not surprised when Persephone rounded the corner ahead of them. Though, he was surprised to see Raum’s feet in her claws as she drug him carelessly behind her.

"You seem to have forgotten something!" Upon seeing the dhampir, she chortled with glee. “Pity, I might have dropped a bit of him along the way though.” Quinlan hadn’t noticed that the body was lacking its head until she flung the limp Marid towards him with as much strength and speed as possible. He attempted a dodge, but the body hit him with such force, he continued with its trajectory into the brick wall behind them, connecting with the blind prophet as he went. “I’m afraid he wasn’t as fast as you assumed.” The next cackle echoed.

"And you are dumber than I imagined! Fleeing from me into the bowels of the Earth?!" She grunted a low and guttural chuckle. “Stupid thing. Did you forget this is my domain!” The walls shook and the brick that lined them cracked and fell as the ground around the tunnel heaved and swayed to her will. “There are no windows down here from which you might flee me. I have won.”

Damnation. Useless Djinn! Quinlan pushed the headless body from him and came to his feet, glimpsing that the prophet was now unconscious from the impact. He might have cursed, but her claws prevented it as she pinned him against the brick. Leaning down, she took in his smell with deep and eerie inhales. She tasted him from his aroma, drawing it out of the air itself and she licked her lips, showing pleasure from its flavor.

He struggled against her grip. "Stop fighting me. It’s pointless. Useless in fact. No one can help you. Just give in to me, Invictus." Persephone purred into his ear and she stroked the hair that was still upon his head with strange affection. “Surrender.”

He grunted like a child, tensing and thrashing. He bit down, flexing his muscles against her strength. This position. This feeling. Being subdued. Being dominated. It was unacceptable. Clenching his jaw, he felt panic set in and he struggled harder than he even had against Raphael when the angel had pinned him in a very similar way.

"No. No. No. I must go. Release me, Demon!" He chanted over and over and then something began to give. The wall behind started to soften. In fact, everything began to soften. If her eyes hadn’t grown large with burgeoning worry, he would have thought it was her doing, but Persephone pulled him back from the brick and flung him away, sending him skidding across the ground on his side.

"I am insulted! Why don’t you like it here, Invictus? I gave you a beautiful wife. A perfect little family, albeit just a little broken by design. I thought you might enjoy something you would have to fix. It would have made it feel more … like yours." Persephone ruffled her frills as she spoke. Her scaled dragon lips exposing the large teeth in graceful waves as she spoke. “I gave you a life that most would cherish.”

"It is not real." He was back on his feet, glancing at the still unconscious prophet. Useless! “They are not real. Dawn is real. Dawn is--”

"Aurora?! She is above you, lowly born bastard slave. You should be happy that she is free of this place and free of you."

"And that was your folly, Demon. There is no happiness without her."

"If you really cared for her, you’d let her go, wouldn’t you? Everything that you touch, turns to ash. Everyone that you love, eventually suffers for it." She paced before him. “I gave you a suitable replacement, didn’t I? A far more beautiful one.”

"I believe you and I have two very different definitions for that word." Quinlan shook his head as he laughed at her attempted manipulation. “And I will reject any soul you give me to replace her. You cannot … you will not … control my emotions.”

"Oh, you simple little thing. You think that was just any soul? Didn’t you recognize her? Didn’t she feel … familiar to you?"

"What treachery--"

"I plucked her from my garden especially for you. Out of all the ripe ones, I picked her … for you."

"You are mad. You implying I could have wanted that … thing?!" He knew this was harsh, but he wished to make a point of it.

"Do you still not recognize her, little lord? Think. Remember." The stench of her hot breath nauseated him. “Your precious, lost … tormented … tragic priestess.”

"No." Quinlan blinked. She was lying. She had to be. No. NO. “NO.” Purgatorium was filled with the lost and most broken souls of Hell and he knew her words were truth. The familiarity hadn’t been fabricated. The unshakable sense of responsibility that had plagued him. The sense of shame, of betrayal. The sense that he had failed her … Oh gods … Persephone had indeed used this to control him.

"As you said, I cannot control your emotions. That was … all you." Her tongue pressed against the back of her fangs and she whistled the word through her teeth. “You used her up …”

"Stop." He didn’t wish to remember this.

The beast snickered. "Used her up and spit her out. As you do with everyone. Just as you would have done with my niece. Michael was right." She purred. “You are a piece of shit, just like all of them are. They will use us up and spit us out. All the same … all the same.”

Her niece? This was the first folly she had made and Quinlan heard it. Hers. Was there a crumb of affection there?

"Wait … is this really your plan?" He laughed. “To force my compliance through self-loathing?” He shook his head. “You are too late, beast. I already hate myself more than any creature can. There is nothing that you need to say to make it more true, but that will never dissuade me from my happiness.”

"Happiness?" She scoffed Did your priestess experience your … happiness?”

"Then that is why you failed." He laughed. She lunged again and he was too slow again. She squeezed his ribs and even through the pain of her strength, he laughed. “Do you not realize the folly? The fact that I did not love her was why she killed herself.”

"You cared for her once. You still do. I feel it." Persephone licked the side of his face and rolled the tongue in her mouth as she relished in his skin’s taste.

"Caring and loving are two different hearts." Quinlan tilted his head, carefully considering his next words and their ultimate intention. He was about to utter something quite incendiary and her reaction might be explosive. “You would know that … if you ever bothered to love.”

Bellowing a gargantuan laugh that echoed, she cackled at his attempt to infuriate. "That is rich coming from someone as repugnant as you. I’ve seen your mind. Your memories. I doubt that even what you feel for Child of Prophecy is real love."

But something had been plaguing him since he woke. It had itched at the back of his brooding mind and now was the time to call it out. If she wanted to chat, then he would comply. "You are full of shit." The language was overly vulgar on purpose to pique her attention and it worked beautifully.

"Excuse me?"

She gripped his neck tighter and he pulled at her claws, trying to relieve enough pressure for him to speak again. "You know it. Or else why would you send us to that museum … together? Of all the places to send us … "

"Me? I did no such thing." She lied. She was a terrible liar. “I was toying with you both!” The laugh was nearly genuine, but he smirked slightly as he picked up the hint of dishonesty lingering in the very back of her tone. “You know nothing.”

"Bullshit. The fliers in the lobby … the last day … " He could see it now. In her face. In her eyes. The tone of her words. He could see her agony. She was a prisoner herself, the same as he. His lips curled up and what Quinlan did next was entirely against his nature. He took a deep breath and surrendered to her. Every muscle relaxed and he whispered the word again. “Bullshit.” She could have ripped him apart at this moment, and instead, her claws loosened. This had been nothing more than a game to her and he wasn’t going to play it any longer. “You wanted us to find each other. You wanted us to love.”

"I wanted …" Persephone stuttered. “... I wanted her to see the repugnant thing I know to be.”

"Bullshit. You fear her. You would not have toyed with her heart as such." Quinlan stood tall before her and touched his neck as he stretched it, clearing his throat. “The museum. The exhibit. Beauty. Monstrosity. The battle between light and dark. Michael vs. Lucifer. You were painting our narrative for us to see. You were trying to awaken--”

"I wanted her to see you. I wanted you to reject her for who she really was. I wanted her to experience the pain I have. I wanted her to see who your true heart. What men really are ..."

"Bull … shit." She ruffled at the word and Quinlan smirked, shaking his head at her continued excuses and lies.

"You are right, Quintus." This came from the side as the prophet finally spoke. “She pushed you two together. She wanted to watch you fall in love again. She wanted to feel the love that I know she so desperately misses.”

"Shut up!" She spun, spitting at the man. “Enough!”

"And the reason is so very simple. It’s because …" The homeless man hummed. He was back to his feet finally, with that ridiculous mop handle in his hand again. “Persephone has always been a romantic at heart.”

"Don’t speak as if you know me, dirty peasant!" Her attention diverted to the raggedy man and she took several menacing steps towards him, threatening as she approached. “I will wipe your mind again and again and again. As many times as it takes.”

"Wipe it then. Again and again and again. Send your fleas in. It makes no difference because it will never stick. It never has and it never will."

"You are a continued annoyance I will no longer tolerate. Just a fly. Buzzing around my world."

"Do you not wonder why, Maiden?" Quinlan interrupted. “Do you not know what he is?! What makes him different?!”

"Nothing makes him different! He’s just a man." She hissed towards the beggar. “I’ve been in his mind and he’s just a man.” She spun again. “You’re … just a damned man, like all the rest here.”

"You are absolutely right, big sister." Sister. Persephone paused. Her shoulders and neck frill rattled as she shook in disagreement with that word. “I am just a man, but hardly like all the rest. And each time you take from my mind …” A breeze danced across the air. “Our Father will always give it back to me.”

Our … Father.

"No!" She charged him and Quinlan knew there was no time to react. She charged at the gray, frail man, but he stood his ground, not moving an inch as she came to a stop before she touched him. “Stop!”

"I am just a man, big sister." He reached up to touch her cheek and she shrieked at the motion, moving away just slightly enough from his reach that he could not touch her. “I am just a man. In fact, the only man who shares your father, sister.”

" … lies … You are lying." Her resistance to his words waned. “You … you … you wouldn’t be here. You wouldn’t have … damned yourself ...”

"I would have said the same of you, beautiful maiden."

" … lies … No. Enough! I will not be--"

"אויב איר טאָן ניט טראַכטן וועגן דעם, איר טאָן ניט טראַכטן וועגן דעם .רעהטאָרב רווי אָסלאַ מאַ, איך טאָן ניט גיין"

And as the enochian flowed freely from his lips, she came down to her knees before him, accepting the truth of his words and the truth of his soul. Quinlan had no idea what was uttered, but absolute relief followed her whispered word: "Adam? Why … why didn’t you say something?!"

It was perfect. This distraction was perfect. The dhampir grinned with sinister intent as he quietly dipped to retrieve his sword, approaching her from behind.

He would have swung the blade up and down through her unsuspecting neck, but Adam waved a hand towards him, halting the stealth attack. "Put the sword down, Quintus. There is no longer a need for it. The fight is done."

"Wait … what?!? Are you … mad?!" The dhampir stared at the blind man with budding frustration. “You cannot trust her! If you are not here to help me defeat her, then why are--”

"There is more than one way to defeat an opponent, General Densus." Adam reached out for her again and this time, she allowed him contact with her skin. “When I said I was sent here to help free us from this terrible cage … from this accursed place … from this endless punishment and torment ...” He gripped each side of her massive jaw and pulled the beast’s head down to his level and she allowed it, his touch seemed to soothe the burning fire within her. “From damnation.” Pressing his cheek against the scales of her face, he sighed deeply. “I was not referring to just you and I, Quintus. It’s time to go home, big sister.”

Quinlan’s brows knitted together and his forehead grooved with lines of intense expression as he watched the once great and giant dragon melt back into the frail, old woman she had begun as. Adam accepted her, his arms wrapping around her tiny frame and she wept into his raggedy coat as he rocked her back and forth.

"You should not be here." She cried. “What have you done to yourself? You should not--”

"You have been so very angry for so very long. But it’s not your fault. You’ve simply forgotten how not to be. It’s time to let the despair go. I was sent here to remind you ..."

"I … I am damned. I am alone. Forgotten." Her words refused him, but her body did not and he rocked her, cradling her head against his shoulder. “Forsaken.”

Adam grinned ever so slightly. "Damned? Perhaps, sister. Perhaps. But never alone and absolutely never forgotten. You have never been forsaken. Father has never torn his eyes from you … even in your time here." Adam pulled back and cupped her wrinkled cheeks in his tattered gloves, the very tips of his fingers poking through the torn leather ends and touching her white skin directly. “In fact, his trust in you was so fundamentally absolute that he chose to let you come here, just as he chose me. We are not forsaken. We are chosen.”

"I …" Surrender washed over her and she questioned the prophet with great apprehension. “Do you still hear him?” The blind man nodded simply.

"Such is my curse."

"Does he …" She swallowed hard. “Can he ... forgive me?”

"You have never needed his forgiveness." Adam pulled away from her completely now and she wiped the tears from her face. “Never then and never now. But your next choice will ultimately determine whatever redemption you wish to seek for yourself, big sister.”

"Redemption?" The word hung on her shriveled lips and she considered it carefully. “I am not worthy of such--”

"All things are worthy of redemption." Adam shook her slightly. “Everything that has ever been created is worthy of forgiveness ... and redemption. So what will it be, sister? Freedom or confinement? War or peace? Damnation or redemption?”

"I …" She looked down, shaking her head twice before she met the prophet’s gaze again, understanding what they were asking for. “I can’t help you. I don’t know the way out.”

"Of course not." Adam grinned. “Of course you don’t. You’re a prisoner, the same as me. We cannot break this cage, sister …” He flicked his head towards the silent figure who watched their interaction without interruption. “But he can.”

Quinlan looked shocked to be called out and he motioned to his own chest. "Me? How can I--"

"You cut your way into this place." Adam shrugged and pointed towards the sword in Quintus’ hand. “He says you can cut your way out. Do you remember where you tore through?”

"I do not understand. How can I do something she cannot?" He pointed at the old woman. “Is this not--”

"It’s the Power of Creation." Revelation danced across her hazel eyes as Persephone understood at once and she smiled, staring at his bone sword and then deep into his eyes. “You are an extension of Ozryel himself. Your soul reeks of his divinity.”

"Yes." Adam agreed. He turned to the reluctant dhampir, leaning heavily on his “staff” as he did. “I am told that you started a rebellion in Heaven, Prince of the Pale. And I am told that now … it’s Hell’s turn.”

"Very well then … I can try." The dhampir gripped the blade in his hand, the leather of his gloves squeaking as he shrugged. Just as he was an extension of Ozryel, his blade was an extension of him. In another time, in another place, he would resist fully accepting her as a new ally so quickly, but something felt remarkably right about the situation. He took several steps toward the tube exit, but neither moved to follow him. “Well? Are we going?”

"Quintus ..." Persephone cleared her throat with a tiny giggle and Adam sighed, shaking his head as he pointed the end of his mop handle towards the limp and headless body against the southern wall, expressing disappointment in the dhampir’s feigned ignorance. “Perhaps we should retrieve Raum’s head first?”

Quinlan hadn’t purposefully forgotten about the downed Djinn, or at least he would never admit that openly. The man had helped him, however pointless it had been and the dhampir groaned. "Fine. I suppose he may still be of some use."

House of the Rising Sun - The Animals

And don't forget what your name is

And know what the game is

From the North coast to the South coast

From country to country

Mind to mind

Generation to generation

From time to time

And to sniff across your mind

It wasn’t at all what she was expecting. It wasn’t order. It wasn’t beautifully aligned. It was absolute fucking chaos. They locked into place and as the divine wheel began to spin around her, everything hummed in beautiful harmony until EL came at them. He saw her eyes and there was no hesitation. She envied his quickness to act but it did not belay the fear that she saw thick in his eyes.

But then everyone tried to step forward all at once.

Well, not entirely everyone. She and Raphael watched as the other three struggled for control, attempting to block his first blow. As a result, Dawn took no action at all, and they went sliding across the ground.

It didn’t help that she could feel another fight taking place at the same time, but this one was not in her mind. This one was on Earth. Each of the Angels, including EL, was splitting their attention between the two.

EL pulled her to her feet and his forehead connected with hers. Everything echoed with viscous waves as the force of his strike drew sparks across all their sights.

"Good lord! Who’s elbow is in my face?!!" Ozryel screamed.

"Oz, no one has elbows in here!" Michael sighed.

"If it’s not an elbow, then what the hell is it?!" She bellowed. “Oh god, Gabriel that better not be you!”

"Yeah, you’re gonna wish that was my elbow." Gabriel quipped back, snickering sinisterly.

"Oh my fucking god … that had better be your god damned elbow!" Ozryel was horrified and Gabriel was laughing.

"FOR FUCK’S SAKE! THERE ARE NO ELBOWS HERE! OR ANYTHING ELSE!!!" Michael wailed.

Another strike was imminent and she felt them all flood forward again.

"I’ve got this!" The three of them said all at once.

It was too much. There was too much. EL hadn’t let go of her since the last hit and he cocked his head back as he prepared for another blow and everything slowed to a stop as Dawn gasped for breath. She didn’t even know where she was anymore. She was inside of her mind … inside of her mind? Oh god … Everything reeled and she thought she might throw up, but of course, there was no body. Nor was there a stomach from which to eject stuff. There was just this. Just … her. Her and … them. The chaos of … them.

"I don’t know how to …" She wasn’t even entirely sure who she was talking to and when no one responded, she realized there was no one she could talk to. Everything had stopped. No, that wasn’t entirely right. She had stopped everything.

"Oh shit." She spun but nothing changed. She was alone. “Oh no. No, no, no, no.” She remembered the confluence and Ellie and Lilith. She remembered their training and she closed her eyes (even though she had no eyes) and she took a deep, long breath (even though she had no lungs) and her heart raced furiously (even though this was just her mind) and she focused. She focused on one person in particular.

"Very good." He responded as she released him, or rather, pulled him into her bubble. “You’re learning.” He smiled. She didn’t see his grin of course, but she felt it.

"I suck at this." She had barely begun to reinforce her lack of confidence and she felt him shake his head. “Are they always like this?!”

“Yes.” The answer was immediate and curt. She thought it was intended for humor, but his face was entirely serious.

“I can’t--”

"I have never heard Sandalphon utter those words." He stated it as plain as day. “Not in a million years.” That time span sounded facetious, but something assured her … it was likely not.

"I’m not Ellie." She retorted, stating the obvious but she somehow knew she would regret this doubt.

"Clearly you’re not." Raphael shrugged, squinting at her with friendly, yet manipulative eyes. “You’re much stronger than she has ever been. Than she could ever be.”

Shit.

She waved towards the other three angels in disgust. She knew it was childish to blame Raphael, but her embarrassment allowed the words to rush forth without much lingering thought. "You’re not saying anything. You were just standing there. Why don’t you just do it? I’ll let you. You can--"

"It’s not my place to command here." Raphael admitted without an ounce of arrogance. “I can’t feel them as you do. Besides …” A small and innocent snicker leaked out of his jovial words. “Right now, they are much more likely to surrender to you than me.”

"Yeah right." She dismissed his claim with a huffed breath. “I don’t buy that for one second.”

"I’ve caused them to doubt me. And rightly so." He admitted. “I’ve kept things from them. I’ll have to earn that trust back, but you … “ Oh god. That damn smile. “They want to trust you. I can feel that.”

"I just … Can you help me?" She looked at them and then she looked at him. “I don’t know if--”

"Does a sword command the person who wields it, Dawn?" She didn’t want to answer his question and really, she knew it didn’t matter if she did. He was right and she was just stalling. “Do you take orders from it … Or you do command it?”

"But … What happens if we do and I force him out?" She was terrified to hear the answer. “What happens if we succeed?”

"You know the answer to that." Raphael was full of bitter honesty. “He will be pushed back to Hell.”

"And what about Quintus?" She jumped on the question immediately. It plagued her more than any other. “He’s still there … I shouldn’t have left him there.”

"That’s a very good question. One I have no doubt Sandalphon has already considered. Whatever you might think of her now, you and I both know … there’s more left to whatever plan she set into motion." She felt the longing that raged in Raphael’s heart. “So I suggest … We give The Born as much time as he might require.” She felt his hands on her arms, turning her back around to face the fight. To face her other uncles. “How long do you think the two of us can keep our Light Bringer busy?”

"You mean the five of us." She corrected and she felt the archangel beam from behind.

"Yes. Five."

There is power in Five.

He pushed on the middle of her back gently, urging her to step toward. "Now … try again."

Ah hell.

Adam was less than spry in his stroll. He took up the rear and they had to slow down for him quite often. But it was now only a few more blocks to the point of Quinlan’s initial entry to purgatory and the dhampir slowed down, allowing Persephone and Raum to take the lead so that he might steal a private word with the prophet.

"You can hear him?" Quinlan asked lowly. “God speaks to you even now?”

"I can always hear him. Even when others do not. Even when he himself does not wish it. This is my gift. My curse."

"Hmmm." The dhampir nodded as he carefully considered his next line of questioning.

"Just ask. He already knows what you wish to know."

"Can he …" Quinlan resisted the emotion, but his voice quaked with the words. “Can he see her now?”

"He is always watching her. All of us, in fact."

"Did she make it through her gate?" Quinlan slowed his pace even more, putting more distance between them and the two in front. “Does she live again?”

"Yes."

A wave of relief flushed his body and he breathed out deeply

"But she battles the Morning Star now." The Prophet grinned with great pride. “One of my children fights against the greatest of snakes right now, for the existence all.” Adam’s smile only widened further, exposing the coffee stained enamel of his underlying yellow teeth. “Between the two of us …” He leaned in and whispered the next words as if they were a great secret. “I don’t think the the Light Bringer understands the wrath that he has unleashed.”

"No. He does not." Quinlan tried to meet his smile, both in pride and love, but his weariness shown through. “She is … defiant.”

"She’s with her uncles." Adam nodded. “She is with Raphael now. She has embraced them all.”

This sentence, this thought, was incredibly comforting and Quinlan pinched his eyes shut. "Good."

"But ..." Adam gripped his shoulder, squeezing it slightly. “It was not just her wrath I was speaking of … Your wrath is quite legendary, Prince.”

"My wrath …" Quinlan sighed, shutting his eyes in shame. “My anger drove me for much of my life. It was addictive, in a way. I fed off of it, and it fed from me. But now ..." Quinlan stared down at his gloves. "I am fueled by a new addiction, a better one, I feel."

"Do you really think she is an addiction, Quintus?"

"There is no better word to describe the visceral need I feel for her."

“You can just call it love.” Adam nearly laughed. “All things in creation are worthy of it. Even you, Quintus. In fact, most especially you.”

“I … I wished to prove myself worthy. I told Michael I would, but I … sent her on alone. I promised her I would not do so again. I promised–”

"You worry, but there is no need for that." Adam noted. “She will win, and that outcome, thanks to you diving head first into the belly of the pit itself, thanks to you following her beacon into the most terrifying of places, Invictus, is already in motion. Her victory is unstoppable. That has always been her fate ... but …”

Quinlan opened his pale eyes. "But?"

"But our fates … Our outcome … has never been certain, Prince of the Pale."

"Well?" Persephone interrupted, waving at a spot near in the middle of the road. “This is where he popped right in, swinging his big sword everywhere and cutting my little dolls in half like a barbarian.”

"Are you sure?" Raum looked around, his hand finding its way back to his neck as he stretched it again. Since they had pieced him back together, he hadn’t been able to leave his neck alone let alone stop glaring at Persephone when the situation would permit. He kept a cautious five foot distance directly behind her. “I don’t see anything.”

"No you don’t." Adam leaned on his mop handle. “But he does … don’t you, Quintus?”

Stepping forward, the space flooded him with memories. Yes. This was where it happened and yes, he did see something, but nothing like what he was expecting. He thought it might be a gate of some sort, as Dawn had described hers, but this was almost unperceivable.

The only thing he could see was a blurry spot hovering in the air about five feet high, barely the size of his fist. As he tilted his head from side to side, approaching it slowly, it flickered and undulated, weaving in the air as if it was a heat distortion dancing back and forth above an invisible fire.

As he approached it, he could hear something seeping from it. It was a faint whistling, as if the air was escaping from a tiny hole in a balloon. It was a pressure leak.

"Alright. Great. So what now?" The Djinn asked, but no one answered as they watched Quinlan reach into the spot and his hand faded from site. “Whoa …”

The dhampir pushed his fist in as far as he could and then he felt the edges of the rip fight against the full size of his arm. When he pulled his hand back out, he was relieved to see it was still in tact. But this hole was too tiny for his entire body though. "It’s too small." He voiced the concern out loud, not expecting an answer, yet Adam provided one nonetheless.

"He says to make it bigger then."

Hmmm. Taking a deep breath, Quinlan reached both sets of his fingers into the space and gripped the invisible edges of the hole from the inside. He was certain it would not budge, even as he put his full strength behind it. There was a grunt and he pulled his hands back out. "I cannot."

"It’s not about strength." There was a hand on his shoulder and he didn’t need to turn around to know it was Adam. “Remember what drives you. What motivates you. Find the beacon that calls to you, Quintus. You followed it here. Now follow it out.” It was not a coincidence that that was the very word Sandalphon had uttered to him in Heaven. He had no doubt that even now, God and her were working in concert and then he remembered the angel prophet’s words as clearly as if she was right before him, speaking them again.

"Love, you see, Quintus, is the one force that cannot be explained, that cannot be broken down to a chemical process. It is the beacon that, I am hoping, guides you back to her."

He reached into the void again and gripped its sides, the leather of his gloves squeaking as if they were rubbing against clean metal. Instead of forcing it this time, he felt it. He felt into it.

"And when we find love … no matter how wrong, how sad, or how terrible … we must cling to it, it gives us our strength, it holds us upright. It feeds on us and we feed on it."

He felt through it and then beyond it. He felt out and somehow, he heard her in the distance. She was calling him home and sparks arched through his fingers and then his hands and then his arms. He felt the divinity that was shaping this construct and he began to pull it apart and her beacon became louder. Quinlan smiled. "I am coming ..."

"Love is our grace."

The hole widened and he continued to pull, stretching it out all the way to the ground. As it became bigger, the light all around began to leak into the void and there was nothing but darkness beyond.

"Alright, great. You’ve made a hole. What do we do with that?" Raum noted sarcastically from behind. “What’s on the other side? Should we tether something and throw it in?”

"You are more than welcome to cautiously remain here, great Duke." Quinlan smirked as he drew his blade and stepped into the darkness without further delay.

Note from Author:

Oh good lord. Where do I even begin? Well, first I’d like to ask a few questions of my lovely readers who are left ... this chapter has been a very long time coming. I’m curious about a few things and I’d love to hear some answers to a few questions I had:

Who saw the reveal of Danny being Deganawida and/or Adam?

Who forgot about Deganawida completely? (I mean, he had to have gone somewhere, right?) I kept expecting someone to ask where the hell he was.

Speculation: Who blinded Adam?

Speculation: Who broke Persephone’s Heart?

Speculation: If there is power in FIVE, Quinlan, Raum, Persephone, and Adam make four. Any guesses on who will be their fifth?

This chapter has been a long time coming and it always takes me longer to write them lately than in the beginning. I don’t think I’m waning in motivation, but rather I’m not looking forward to it coming to an end. Three or Four parts left now (depends on how long winded I make the daring escape from Hell). I hope you are still enthralled and enjoying my long winded drabble.

Cheers my friends!

#the strain fanfic #quinlan fanfic #Mr. Quinlan fanfic #quintus sertorius fanfic #quintus densus #strainingfororiginality #an insatiable ache #chapter 13 #part 2

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psychotickol-a · 6 years ago

Text

TVD / TO VERSES

CLICK HERE FOR ALTERNATE UNIVERSES

PRE-VAMPIRE KOL

794-818 AD, the Viking Age

the Original Family are still human

Kol has a reputation among his people, the English and French as Kol the Blood Drinker

Kol is the fourth son of Esther and Mikael, younger brother to Finn, Elijah and Niklaus, and the older brother of his sister Rebekah and youngest brother Henrik. He's young, ambitious and impulsive. Married at fifteen, he's a prodigy with magic and accompanies his father on raids on the West (England and France).

Kol worships the Norse Gods and is a fierce and reputable warrior. There are many tales of his savagery and prowess in battle and rumors that say that he is Bodir reborn or that he is god-touched. Kol sails often between what will be known as the Americas and his former home Denmark often, building his own reputation and striving to one day annihilate the Kings of England.

VAMPIRE HISTORY

10th-19th centuries

this verse is for period threads

any interactions that happen after Kol has been turned into a vampire but before his final daggering in the early 19th century

Kol is one of the first vampires in existence, living in the dark spaces of history, Kol and his siblings have been advisers to Kings and Queens, conquering heroes and hellish invaders. Kol has traveled the world and spends his time learning various forms of magic and ritual across the globe, etching what he learns onto his body in ritual tattoos and is one of the only members of the Original Family to venture out into the world on his own without his siblings.

Like his brothers and sister, Kol is being hunted by his vampiric father for his crimes committed as a vampire, this is what forces Kol to remain in the dark, in the shadows, rarely able to remain in one place for long. Kol's bloodthirst and hunger for battle and death is insatiable that often puts him at odds not only with those around him, but his siblings as well.

VAMPIRE DIARIES DIVERGENT

The Vampire Diaries seasons 3-4 divergence

this verse is for anything following the Mikaelson ball up until his imprisonment at the hands of Bonnie Bennett

Kol is accumulating to the 21st century

Undaggered after a century of endless darkness, Kol awakens into the 21st century and is reunited with his brothers and sisters. Kol does not hesitate to begin making up for his lost time in annoying his siblings and tormenting his enemies however after confronting his mother, Esther, and his eldest brother, Finn, for their schemes in wiping out all vampire kind, Kol leaves Mystic Falls. Kol promises his siblings to come to their aid should they need him but chooses to explore the new age on his own but returns soon after Finn's death in order to enact his revenge.

With Elena off limits, Kol goes after the next best thing. Kol Blood Eagle's Matt Donovan and leaves his corpse outside the Gilbert residence before Klaus asks him to babysit Jeremy Gilbert in Denver. When Kol beats Damon it's only the cherry on top of an already satisfying quip of vengeance.

Kol eventually returns to Mystic Falls to help his sister find the Cure for immortality but turns on his siblings when he attempts to stop the rise of Silas. In his efforts to kill Jeremy Gilbert, Kol burns the Gilbert residence to the ground and prowls the surrounding area for the Gilberts until Bonnie, using Expression magic, traps Kol within a prison world.

Bonnie, able to channel Kol through this mirrored prison world is able to tap directly into Kol's sireline, allowing Jeremy to wipe out over a third of Kol's sired vampire line in a single blow without having to kill Kol and even sparing thousands of other vampires. Jeremy completes his Hunters Mark and their search for the Cure is renewed.

IMPRISONED

The Originals seasons 1-2 divergence

any threads that take place while Kol is trapped within his prison world

Kol has the ability to "Astral Project" his consciousness using Dark Objects found in his prison world

Imprisoned by Bonnie Bennett for attempting to kill the Gilberts, Kol finds himself isolated from the real world, completely alone in a mirror universe of the real world. As an Original vampire Kol can survive without blood far longer than the average vampire but he knows that time is not on his side and that eventually he will desiccate. Kol travels across this mirrored universe and finds copies of the Dark Objects he had witches craft for him in the 14th century and uses these objects to attempt communication with his siblings only to witness Rebekah working alongside the Gilberts, Elijah has abandoned him and Klaus shows no signs of avenging him as he had promised. Furious, Kol begins to attempt to find his own way out of his prison.

Kol would eventually find a way to the real world when the Veil falls, allowing him to feed on living people once more and once again attempts to kill Elena Gilbert. Before he can succeed however, Bonnie, now dead and a ghost visiting the real world due to the veil having fallen, banishes him back to his prison.

Kol eventually uses Dark Objects to commune with a powerful witch in New Orleans, a young girl with a direct link to the ancestral magic that runs through the city, Davina Claire. Kol communicates with the witch, teaching her spells, enchantments, curses and rituals, working with her in order to squash his siblings under heel.

When Esther manages to revive herself in the body of a witch, she attempts to convince Kol to help her stop his brothers and sister, promising to place Kol's spirit within a body of a witch and free him from his prison. Kol rejects her offer, refusing her aid as he has no desire to be her pet dog. Esther reaches into Kol's prison world and destroys the Dark Objects in his prison, effectively cutting him off from the world for good and trapping Kol in an endless expanse.

Davina eventually manages to pull Kol from his prison world but the act is only temporary as the spell is not enough to pull all of him through and thus Kol begins to be torn apart between worlds. Kol confronts his siblings in a maddened state of fury and grief before finally having that dance with Davina and getting his siblings to promise to help him. Davina is forced to banish Kol back to his prison world or risk Kol facing a true death.

Due to the prisons instability following this event, Kol finds himself able to move between his mirrored world and the Afterlife, putting him in direct contact with the ancestors of New Orleans. Kol finds himself at war with the dead until he is finally freed from his prison after Davina aided the Strix in unlinking Klaus' sireline.

THE ORIGINALS DIVERGENT PT. 1

The Originals seasons 3 divergence

threads that take place in this verse are set during the events of the last two seasons of the Originals but is highly canon divergent

any interactions while Freya, Elijah, Kol and Rebekah are living within Freya's conjured dream world also takes place in this verse

Finally freed from his prison, Kol works closely with Davina and even reunites with his siblings against their enemies whom have come to New Orleans to take revenge against Klaus. Throughout these events Kol proves an invaluable asset but his warnings and advisement's are often ignored or shut down. Kol also faces another trial of his own, during his time with the dead witches of New Orleans, they manages to place a curse of hunger on him. His lack of control and his quick temper proved so out of character that Kol knew that something wasn't right. Discovering the curse and knowing that it would only be lifted if he killed Davina, Kol asked her to dagger him.

While the action stalled the curse, the ancestors were determined to strike Davina down once and for all. Kol was awoken and the curse forced him into a blind and uncontrollable rage and an unquenchable thirst in which Kol killed Davina Claire against his own wishes.

Kol mourned the loss of Davina, having grown to care deeply for her and worked to find a means of resurrecting her and protecting her from the New Orleans ancestors. His efforts proved a waste however as he and Davina were betrayed by Freya and Marcel.

This severed the efforts made by Kol and his siblings in rectifying their past affronts to each other, Kol lashed out, turning on his siblings in anger.

However blood proved thicker than water, as in the end Kol fought against Marcel and was bitten. Poisoned, Freya managed to seal them within another world to save their lives and Kol finds himself once again, trapped within a prison now forced to live with the very people he holds responsible for Davina's death.

Eventually returned to the land of the living after five years, Kol's anger has tempered slightly but is instantly reminded of his pain when they return to New Orleans to save Klaus from Marcel. (under co)

THE ORIGINALS DIVERGENT PT. 2

Pre-season 4 & post-season 4 of the Originals

this verse focuses on interactions after the Original family is forced to separate due to the hollow and during the events of season 4 of the Originals

this verse is currently under construction as I haven't actually watched season 4

After their forced separation, Kol travels in large part while within the company of Davina Claire, taking her to see the world. During their travels, they create new alliances and contacts with covens and individual witches all over the world, studying magic and sharing what knowledge they have to further those they find. Eventually, Kol and Davina's paths diverge from one another and the pair separate on good terms, as Kol was incapable of fully committing and how he was unable to give Davina the true love that they both know that she deserved, Kol wished for her to find someone who could well and truly be the soulmate and the love of her life that she needed.

Kol remained in contact with his siblings, his relationship with his family repaired after a thousand years of strife and pain. He also remained in contact with Hayley and Hope, though not nearly as much as Rebekah or Freya, Kol always answered her call.

(under co)

LEGACIES

set pre & during Legacies

this verse is under co

After the deaths of his brothers, Elijah and Klaus, Kol falls into a devastating spiral of rage, grief, hunger and madness. Having believed that his siblings would always be there, his foundation for his entire life was destroyed in a single night as Kol was forced to come to the disturbing and heart wrenching realization that the people he believed would live until the end of the world at his side, had died and were going to die, Kol descended into a quick and brutal pit. Maddened by grief, Kol is a vengeful and uncontrollable plague, he sweeps across the planet in a biblical disaster and is satiated only when confronted by either Davina or Hope.

Hope represents the last fragments of his family and she always manages to pull him back from the darkness but these moments are fleeting and last only as long as Hope needs him. The moment that Kol is away from her, his madness returns. For Davina it is even more difficult to keep Kol anchored, his fury and blind grief broken only by intervals of clarity that leave him guilt ridden and disgusted.

This verse is under construction but it is also the verse in which Kol is at his most unpredictable and most dangerous.

#verses.

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wyrdsistersofthedas · 7 years ago

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Sinners all? Geldauron to Hakkon

Hey Nony,

Don’t be done or sorry! I know what you mean about not being able to sleep and it’s being 5am, and you have DA ideas that just have to be written down just in case they turn into something. And you do raise a very interesting possibility. Is there a connection between the Sinner, Geldauran, and Hakkon? Looking into your question brought several things to light I would not have noticed if you hadn’t asked. So thanks!

There’s a lot of weird shit going on in the Frostback Basin, not least of which is (what appears to be) a firsthand quote from one of the Forgotten Ones. Is it possible there is a connection between this powerful “dark god” from the elven pantheon and the later rise of Hakkon? It sure looks that way!

Here’s the quick summary:

*Geldauran is sealed away in the elven ‘temple’ in the Frostback Basin, a Creator-forsaken land (to the ancient elvhen at least) with almost no edifices or monuments to the elven gods. That tomb is sealed with spirit stones that are almost impossible to see, let alone find, once the Veil is place. Those stones are scattered across the valley to prevent them from being reassembled easily, and the prison/temple itself was buried beneath the earth.

“Their pride will consume them, and I, forgotten, will claim power of my own, apart from them until I strike in mastery.” (Geldauran’s Claim)

*Some time later (possibly as early as 3200 years before present) the Avvar enter the region. The Avvar live with the spirits of the region, shaping them into their pantheon of gods. They communicate with one “spirit” or entity in a very curious way:

“The savages speak to their gods in the cave passage. They call it the Mouth of Echoes. They light fires and feed them with green spruce and shout their questions into the deep. They say answers come to them on the last whispered echo.” (Mouth of Echoes)

*Tevinter mages, searching for a way to communicate with Razikale, arrive in the Frostback Basin in the time gap between the Corypheus and the Magisters Sidereal entering the Black City and the foundation of the Orlesian Chantry. They believe that the Avvar may have special knowledge about communicating with spirits. These followers of Razikale reshape the land and expose the buried elven temple, but whatever was inside (Geldauran) was beyond their ability to control or dangerous in some way. They construct an elaborate system of magical beams, crossing the Basin from Razikale’s Reach to the Old Temple, to seal that spirit in an even more powerful ice ward prison.

They then abandon the region.

“Some of the Avvar, he said, believed the temple to be the haunt of old, vengeful spirits. The Tevinter had come here long ago and built their great temples and then one day, without warning, they had abandoned them all. Ragnarr was convinced they had done something terrible here, though he could not tell me what it was.” (Razikale’s Reach)

*Tevinter’s efforts to seal away what they found in the elven temple were not successful. Within a few hundred years at most, the original Jaws of Hakkon learned to enter the the Old Tevinter Temple. In the early Divine Age, they emerge with “Hakkon” bound to a dragon.

“In the old times, the first Jaws of Hakkon spoke with the great spirit himself. He opened their eyes that they might see the elfstones hidden across the world, and they entered the old cave and learned the mysteries of winter. Their working of cold let them slip through the ice-wall that wards the lowlander fortress, and we must now do the same if we are to take it as our own.

Hakkon has been silent all our lives. He cannot speak to us in dreams or open our eyes, and we remain blind to the elfstones. The lowlanders, though, have found a new way to see them. The skull of a dream-slain, set with the right magicks, can bring the elfstones to our sight.

We will regain the mystery of winter.” (Leather-Bound Hakkonite Journal)

*Ameridan travels to the Frostback Basin to stop Hakkon, but miscalculations on Ameridan’s part and the power of Hakkon himself is more than the Inquisitor and his companions can overcome. The last Inquisitor traps Hakkon with time magic until the modern Inquisitor sets both free.

“The dragon's power is like none I have ever seen. Possessed by this Avvar god-spirit, it rivals the legendary Archdemon Dumat in its fury. I pray the legends of another Archdemon leading the Blight in the Anderfels are just foolish stories, but if they are true, then I understand why Emperor Drakon asked me to come here. Drakon's new "Orlais" cannot face two god-dragons at once.” (Pages near an Old Campfire)

*Time magic wards (which I would really like to know how Ameridan knew how to do) and 800 years later, the modern Inquisitor finishes the job Ameridan started, finally killing Hakkon.

The chain of events certainly seems to lead back to the Geldauran inscription in the elven temple.

Proving a connection to the Sinner, however, is nigh impossible at this point. We just don’t have enough information about who the Sinner was, what exactly he did, and what happened to him. If the Sinner took the form of a dragon, like most of us meta writers assume, he could have shown the elven people that the Evanuris were not the only ones who could take the form of the “divine”. He would have been punished for such an act, perhaps being sealed in a temple/tomb bound in body and spirits, but there is no way to say for certain.

All the same, I think all of these individuals and groups are connected through the Evanuris. Is the Sinner an important player in all of these events? Very likely. The ominous tenor of the codex entry certainly makes it seem like a turning point, but we won’t know for what until at least DA4.

Thanks for the ask, Nony! I found a lot of things I wasn’t expecting, which makes this result all the more satisfying.

-MM

PS: There is a lot more to this meta than the summary. For a more in depth analysis of the evidence that led to this summary, and a lot of other cool discoveries, check out the long version of this post under the cut.

Geldauran seems to be the lynchpin here. We have more information about him and the other the Forgotten Ones than we have about Hakkon or the Sinner, but even that information is limited. We know the Forgotten Ones are portrayed as enemies of the Elvhenan in Dalish legends. But what are they really? Elves? Spirits? Titans?!?

Let’s go to the source and see what we can figure out:

Geldauran wanted his message to be clear to anyone who came across it. And the first thing he wants them to know: “There are no gods.” Geldy knows the truth about the Evanuris. He refuses to bow to the elven gods, and he believes that, in time, he will claim power enough to strike (at them? at the elves?). So far, that is matching up pretty well with what we know about the Forgotten Ones, with one exception. According to Dalish legends, Geldauran, Daern'thal, Anaris, and the other Forgotten Ones were afforded “god” status by the elves.

The legend says that before the fall of Arlathan, the gods we know and revere fought an endless war with others of their kind. There is not a hahren among us who remembers these others: Only in dreams do we hear whispered the names of Geldauran and Daern'thal and Anaris, for they are the Forgotten Ones, the gods of terror and malice, spite and pestilence. In ancient times, only Fen'Harel could walk without fear among both our gods and the Forgotten Ones, for although he is kin to the gods of the People, the Forgotten Ones knew of his cunning ways, and saw him as one of their own.

And that is how Fen'Harel tricked them. Our gods saw him as a brother, and they trusted him when he said that they must keep to the heavens while he arranged a truce. And the Forgotten Ones trusted him also when he said he would arrange for the defeat of our gods, if only the Forgotten Ones would return to the abyss for a time. They trusted Fen'Harel, and they were all of them betrayed. And Fen'Harel sealed them away so they could never again walk among the People.

—From The Tale of Fen'Harel's Triumph, as told by Gisharel, Keeper of the Ralaferin clan of the Dalish elves (Emphasis added.)

So what do we have here? First of all, the fact that the Dalish after thousands of years still remember the Forgotten Ones as gods in spite of Geldauran’s claim that “there are no gods”. This feels like post-Veil propaganda that seeks to cast aspersions on Solas, but also claims that Geldy and co. were gods like the Evanuris. Think about what that means for a moment. The Forgotten Ones were so powerful that the elves had to say they were also gods in order to keep the Evanuris on their pedestal.

And doesn’t it sound like the Forgotten Ones were elves? Really powerful elves, like the Evanuris, but elves all the same. So what made them dark and terrible? And notice that something in the Fade whispered to the elves post Veil that these Forgotten Ones were really evil. Who do we know who are stuck in the Fade? Spirits obviously, but the Evanuris too. The elven gods trapped in the Fade seem to have thought it was worth their time to keep up the pretense that the Forgotten Ones were gods. Why? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Kidding. I do have a theory. It is probably because the Evanuris thought that they would be able to escape Solas’ trap fairly easily (at least at first) and believed that the Forgotten Ones would too. Keeping fear of them alive would keep their worshipers from seeking out these other “gods” in their absence. And on that count, they seem to have been right, with an exception of those Dalish near Serault in the Tirashan Forest who seem pretty scary and worship the Forgotten Ones. I suspect these elves will get screen time in the next game.

Next step: Where and how were the Forgotten Ones imprisoned?

The Geldauran codex is inside an ancient temple that is very familiar. One of the things that stood out to me when I first played the Jaws of Hakkon was the lack of elven sites and artifacts in the Frostback Basin. There is a statue of Falon’Din above Stone-Bear Hold and that’s about it. Well, except for a temple, which is a scaled down version of the Temple of Solasan in the Forbidden Oasis. These ruins show that there was an ancient elven presence in the area, but limited and likely for a specific purpose. If the Temple of Solasan is any indication, that purpose may not have been to worship the elven gods or as a place to enter uthenera. Instead, they may have been used as a prisons.

The Forbidden Oasis is the next piece of the puzzle.

youtube

There are codex entries that indicate that the temple is elven in origin and very ancient, but there is little to indicate that there was anything significant in the area, unlike the Temples of Mythal or Dirthamen. In fact, the whole construction technique with Solasan and the Frostback Basin site (let’s call it the Frosty Temple, to make things simpler) is different. These structures were built into the earth, and may have at one time been completely buried, given the stratigraphy of the land around them and erosion from the nearby rivers. And notice...no eluvians in either site. Once you were in, there was no coming out..at least until time and erosion, perhaps with magical help, exposed the “temples” once again.

Another sign that these two sites may have been used as prisons is found on the stele in the innermost sanctum of the Solasan Temple. It reads:

Also, as shown in the video above, the entrance of the Solasan temple had a warding spell on it that frightens mortals and spirits, another line of defense to prevent the door from being opened. The stele at the entrance of Solasan reinforces this feeling with a warning, telling people to stay away:

There are other warning signs as well, including the statue that greets people entering the Oasis with a severed head. People that stay in the area too long eventually go mad (1, 2, 3), either from the wards, from whatever is in the temple, or from strange “warping” of the Veil in the area. Didot, the miner featured in the three codex entries, however, is compelled to return to the door over and over again. There are probably two different and opposing magical compulsions going on in the Oasis; something inside the temple wants out but the wards push people away. Stay too long and insanity is the result. While you are in the temple or the oasis, Solas makes several interesting observations about the temple and the Veil there. He says:

(Forbidden Oasis) The Veil is strange here... as if it were reinforced, but for a few places where it has been warped.

Yeah, Solas. We saw your damned elven Veil artifact in the temple. Turned it on too. Sigh. Clearly, Fen’Harel’s agents were in the temple before. A good question would be what were they there for? Were they just putting the hardware in place to create the Veil? Were they responsible for imprisoning the individual shown on the stele in the inner chamber? Were they staging a jailbreak? Were they after the powers gained from opening the various chambers? Hard to say, other than the Forgotten Ones seem to hate Fen’Harel, in spite of codex entries to the contrary. Felassan is as close to a first hand source, and he says that Anaris wanted to kill the Dread Wolf “for crimes against the Forgotten Ones”. So whatever Solas’ agents were doing in Solasan, he definitely knows more about the temple than he says (as usual). Later, when the Inquisitor opens a sarcophagus inside the tombs, he says:

Solas: The magic was drawn to you, possibly because of your mark. The effects were purely benign.

Inquisitor: If it wasn’t a trap, what was it?

Solas: It may be a reward for those who prove themselves worthy.

What kind of a person sets up a warding system that will drive people in the area to madness and death if they get too close to the temple, then rewards them after they fight off the possessed corpses with magic that may only be attracted to you because of a very specific type of magic only currently known to be used by the Inquisitor, and previously contained in the Orb of Fen’Harel? Seems fishy, but I don’t have time to follow up that the thoughts I am having about that here.

The next part of the mystery explains why the Solasan and Frosty temples remained sealed and hidden away for so long, and also how they were eventually found again. Let’s talk about spirit stones and oculara, people.

In the Hissing Wastes the Inquisitor finds a diary with some background on the spirit stones:

So spirits can see or feel the stones, they have been there for ages, likely since the Veil was created, and the Breach may have made it possible, or easier, to find them, at least according to a codex entry from the Hinterlands. More information about the shards is found in the Frostback Basin, including a sequence of event that seem to be the key to the Mystery of Winter.

The Avvar had lived in the Frostback Basin region for thousands years, communicating with spirits who they shaped to become their gods. Then Tevinter shows up:

Tevinter went to massive efforts to uncover the ancient elven temple, at least if Helsdim Rolfsen isn’t a total nut bag. (He’s definitely has a problem with over complicating a story, which I can totally relate to ^_^, but the initial observations that lead him to his outrageous conspiracy theories are usually sound.):

Whatever Razikale’s followers found in the temple, it’s pretty clear that it scared the shit out of them. They construct a complicated magical ice machine that sealed the Old Temple and then they abandon the region.

Tevinter, however, underestimated how powerful the being/spirit/whatever in the elven temple was, and how strong Avvar magic is, especially concerning their connections to spirits. After the Imperium abandoned the basin, the original Jaws of Hakkon took up the challenge of “taming” what was in the Old Temple.

All of these codices create a complete chain of custody, from the ancient elves to the modern Hakkonites. Ameridan, himself, gives us the final piece of the puzzle.

Ameridan compares Hakkon’s power to Dumat’s, the archdemon who lead the darkspawn in the nearly 200 year long First Blight. Whether or not the Old Gods are the Evanuris (I typically think they are probably not, but if any of us could prove it one way or the other, we all would have a lot less meta to write. ^_^ ) Hakkon’s power is beyond that of a normal spirit, implying that he is extraordinary. But was he truly a spirit/demon? We have instances of elves dropping their bodies in order to seal themselves in spirit crystals, and elves basically become spirits while they are in uthenera. It is even possible that Geldauran lost his memory of who he was during the ages he was in captivity, as happened with the arcane warrior elf in the spirit crystal.

But I digress, and could write a whole different post about whether the Forgotten Ones were spirits or elves, and I probably will some day. But today is not that day. Any of you who are still reading have been very patient, so let’s wrap this up.

Whether Geldauran was a spirit or an elf, the Avvar communicated their belief that he was their god Hakkon, and Geldauran seems to have come to believe it himself. He rises from the Old Temple to challenge the modern Inquisitor to single combat and the dragon is killed.

So there you have it, Nony. Not crazy at all. There is very compelling evidence that Hakkon is actually Geldauran. Now whether Geldauran is the Sinner...well, like I said in the summary, there just isn’t enough information about the Sinner to draw from. Is it possible the Sinner was related to the Forgotten Ones? Sure. Clearly, there was some drama going down in the pantheon when the Sinner took the dragon form of the divine, but what it all means is pure speculation at this point. There is so much dragon imagery associated with Hakkon, Geldauran, and the Sinner, that it is possible they are all related or even the same being, but they may also just be pieces in a bigger puzzle.

And, I suspect, that story will explain many of the mysteries of the Dragon Age.

Thanks for reading!

-MM

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doriscahill · 7 years ago

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Gendor Roles and S*x Education 1970s style

My Catholic grammar school class was small, 33 students (1967-1975). ALWAYS the same kids, possibly adding 2 or 4 children. New students on joining were instantly popular. Classmates who could not keep up or deemed discipline issues were removed quietly. Almost all were of Italian, Irish or German ethnicity.

You never spoke out of turn, and bathroom time was scheduled. All time was rigid and routine; mass, meals, recess. Children responded and did not ask questions until spoken too.

In 8 years I forgot my homework once, often delivered straight A’s, never missed school 4 years straight and even served as an altar girl. I do think the discipline impacted my life and success, with the exception of my s*x education. Retrospectively close to none or not what could be considered important.

In 4th grade, our nun was called Sister Rose…she stood slightly over 4 feet, wore a full black habit; her black veil trimmed in white and ironed; tightly framing her face, her forehead protruded forcing a permanent scowl. At her desk, resolutely, a wooden ruler or sharpened pencil clasped in her hand at all times. Intermittently on any day her voice gently climbed “Class, CLass” “CLAss, CLASS till a high …shrill “SIIIIILENCE!”. We cringed, then ducked, a pointed pencil hurls towards center front row. She gets up.

Barely lifting her black oxford shoes off the vinyl waxed floor; slow pace shuffle through desk isles. Each desk lined 6 across and 5 deep; students filled the hollow with hardcover books covered with brown paper bag, a notebook and indented tray to hold 2 readied pencils with erasers, an ink flow pen, ruler and protractor. Through the desk isles she shuffles. Bowing her head and inspecting. Slowly peering at each desk contents, stepping forward, stopping then back, Suddenly, with a single flip “BOOM!” An unlucky desk turns over loudly for effect, contents spilled to the floor. Successful one child is humiliated, the others thanking G_d it was not my turn. An untidy student was bad, it was Joe Doe.

Joe Doe always sat a seat in front of me, peering under his seat there is a yellow puddle and ammonia stench. He was sensitive for a young man, too sensitive. Shortly after he never returned to class.

“Before the Vatican II Council the trademark of Catholic nuns used to be their habit, consisting of flowing robes and veils that covered the entire body, leaving only the face and hands visible.” Girls were lined up routinely to check the length of their uniform skirts and appearance. Standing in front of the classroom blackboard, two, not one nun paced and analyzed you. Jane Doe was sent home for a height more than half inch above the knee and for wearing Mary-Janes. Short skirts signaled a neglecting mother. Jane Doe was often singled, she was not well bathed, hair a mess, she got sent home one last time, never to return. Later in life we were told the boys could see the reflection of your panties from her shoes.

Mary-Janes are for Sunday church and special events. Bought annually and shined weekly with Vaseline.

S*x Education and Catholism see this link its a great read

S*x education was taught in Catholic school, but not as it today. To be honest I am far from how its taught today. Then S*x was considered a private and modest matter to be handled and taught by the parents; abstinence and practiced only when married.

The some information is provided in 5th grade. In a girls only classroom a book pamphlet is passed out. The boys weren’t allowed; paper was placed over the classroom door so no one could peek inside. The pamphlet measured 5 by 5 inch, not a ¼ inch thick, but modern in graphic design. The cover was shiny and had hippy flowers on it and filled with cartoon like drawings and subtitled phrases. A woman’s body was like a flower with parts, no mention of exactly how, and its ending culminated in a stick figure with a swollen belly under an apron in the kitchen. Understandably I was confused.

Very important facts were not taught; the purpose of breasts, and where is the vagina? Why do we grow pubic hair and how does it actually work? Only a youthfully illustrated flower book depicting the uterus, ovaries and explained in comparison to flowers parts. When it came it fashionable to video tape child birth I thought it more than odd and not natural.. I struggled breast feeding the first time, as it was hard to understand what breasts are for. America in the 1950′s converted many mothers to bottle feeding. All I ever encountered were baby bottles.

I had never even dare look at my vagina till my grown girls took me to Vagina Monologues presented at Simmons College where the monologue suggested its okay. Unfortunately, about ½ way through the monologues I asked them to take me home, it overwhelmed me. At the birth of my first daughter, I said no thank you to video taping. My first college roommate shared her vagina was on a slant, she must have taken a look ;-). I suppose they are all different.

In the same Catholic grammar school, young men were obligated and shown how to to open doors so girls would proceed first. For any assembly girls lined up first in two’s, then boys, then the nun’s signaled to proceed. We’d march to any and all activities. Only boys handled the film and reading machines and were given the chore of cleaning the blackboard. The head Priest, or pastor would visit regularly to announce names and hand out all report cards or dole-out discipline. All were penalized for the behavior of a few. We confessed our sins regularly and to a priest in a Confessional Box. We were assigned prayers to complete our absolution. All compared how many prayers we were given to measure how bad we’d been since our last confession.

I recall Joe Doe, my classmate streaking in the boys field when fashionable (the history of streaking) , he was suspended or expelled and the entire class punished. I missed seeing it, boys played in “the boys field” at recess. Mostly boys saw it. Keep in mind I am clueless what “it” even looked like. Joe was a really nice person with great spirit, my grammar school crush was on his brother.

I saw my first “it”, that coming summer at the local lake, a non classmate boy had cut-offs on with no undergarments, I peaked between his legs multiple times. Total shock set it having no idea what I just I saw and how awful looking. With my best girl friend, we giggled hard, but before you knew it, the boys knew it. A very embarrassing day.

In 8th grade and a right to passage, I got my period, but thought it cancer for several months, stuffing tissues in my panties. Eventually, I approached my mother with my plight and fear of death as my condition worsened. She threw a box of Pads to me and said “you are fine, its your period, go back to bed”. Happy to know I would live, it was through my close friendships gaps about managing my period would be filled. We all carried a flowered embroidered jean purses to school; holding our pads and displaying our entry to womanhood.

Many sports were problematic when you menstruate regularly: leakage. And I was told a tampon makes a summer swim possible. While visiting a girl friends house she says “use my mom’s”. In her bathroom and after some figuring out where to place the glider, it seemed easy enough. Later that day I discovered they expand like an umbrella in the vagina and large ones were not my size. It took an hour or more to get it out and it hurt like hell. Was that suppose to prepare me for losing my cherry?

I quickly cruised the internet and see in 2011 its still a big hidden secret.

“Did my tampon expand too much?Today I used a tampon for like the 4th time. This was my first time using a tampon for a “regular” flow… I’ve only used light since I’m small and they’re easier to put in and take out. I put it in with no problem, and about 5 hours later i tried to take it out. It hurt like a b!t¢h! I took a deep breath and finally it came out. It was so big, much more expanded than my previous times. SHOULD tampon expand this much? Is that why it hurt so much to take it out? How can I avoid this? Thanks. “

Most educational details came from older siblings or the constant pajama parties and sleepovers. Looking back on those discussions: playing truth and dare, Ouija Board and seances asking dead people our fate. All of us would abstain until marriage and maybe go to second base. By this time we began sneaking the neighborhood boys into the PJ parties, having co-ed parties and of course spin the bottle.

At an oddly supervised spin the bottle party. I recall 2 girls not getting their fair share of kiss turns. They were not popular, but everyone deserves a kiss. I spoke up, the mother scolded me for me ruining the party. Weird. Why does a mother attend this and watch? Glad that party ruined my relationship, they were ultimately not so Catholic perfect. Technically my first known orgasm was around age 10, my cousin had a Ken doll, my home did not. I’d play act with Barbie and Ken. They would make- out, then “it” just happened,not on purpose, must be natural. I really hadn’t pieced things together until far later, what a well kept secret! My first boyfriend explained the “it”: “you have an orgasm too”, Wow, thanks, knowledge is freedom. Not having a Ken doll was stupid and so was not being allowed to read MAD magazine. I’d go to a neighbors house for that.

Catholic List of Forbidden Books

In my opinion my parents stalked my personal activities through my teens. I could not lock my room door when dressing,was beat with a broom when I was laying next to a boyfriend fully clothed (both), my closets were filtered through with constant folding and rehanging, pockets, draws and mail were routinely opened and contents looked at. Any date could face a bat from my dad if bringing me home late. Do young men have this experience?

Eventually, I began to place birth control in my small dresser draw hoping it would be discovered, silently communicating leave my things alone. In the 70′s nurses and hospitals notified parents of any health issues, no privacy, only shame if you were discovered being active. An older nurse tossed my new diaphragm at me and left me alone to learn how to insert it, “saying I will be back”. The size provided was too big. Too ashamed I wore the wrong size until an IUD at age 31.

Laying next to mom near bed time she sparks a discussion with me “had I ever had an orgasm?” Mumbled “rr…yes” and promptly ended our discussion. From that point mom began sharing the most dirty romance novels just in case my hearing was bad or misunderstood. I bet those novels were on the prohibited book list. I suppose it became important I understood the woman’s side of of enjoying intimacy. I bet she read Lady Chatterley’s Lover.

My teens was crammed with; endless passes, uncomfortable hugs, vulgar slurs, ass slaps and the now famous uninvited Pussy Grab.

The first pussy grab was 1975. I was dutifully waiting for my dad at a lamp post after Elton John concert with my sister at Madison Square. 14 years old, a few young men walked straight towards, one grabbing me between the legs laughing. The second time walking to church a convertible Cutlass pulls up slowly, young men laughing and leaning, slapping my butt and grabbing from the car, then sped away.

Though life, I found myself and intimacy despite the crazy. Thanks for reading! Doe

#danbury

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