#v. fate is a cruel mistress.

[redvexillum]

A/N: Please be gentle with me during Smutmas, my writing sort of feels like it deteriorated. But to @redfoxwritesstuff you have my permission to pop party poppers around her when she posts her story tomorrow. She dislikes colours /nsrs

SUMMARY: You have reunited with Alastor in Hell, and after celebrating a holiday party at the hotel, he decided to take you back to his room. He has a gift for you, after all, and it’s meant to make up for all the missed opportunities you two had back when you were both alive.

TAGS/WARNINGS: f!reader, soft!alastor, somnophilia, tentacle s♡x, p in v, overstimulation, oral s♡x (m!receiving), established relationship, past human relationship with alastor mentioned

The room was a sanctuary of quiet intimacy, a haven far removed from the cacophony of the holiday party outside. The heady aroma of the bayou mingled with something ineffably him—earthy, dark, and comforting. You inhaled deeply, the scent curling through your senses like a caress, as you swayed slightly. The spirits you’d indulged in earlier still buzzed warmly in your veins, giving the moment a hazy, golden hue. 

Alastor stood with his back to you, his silhouette framed by the low flicker of ambient light. He’d whisked you away from the festivities, murmuring something about a gift. The word had lingered, foreign on his tongue—he wasn’t one for giving, not like this. In all the time since your reunion in Hell, you couldn’t recall him ever presenting you with anything tangible. 

"Al?" Your voice was a gentle tease, the nickname rolling off your lips with the kind of easy familiarity that made your chest ache. A giggle bubbled up, warm and effervescent, the alcohol making your joy feel boundless. 

You caught the faintest intake of breath before he turned to face you, and the sight sent your laughter spilling over. There he stood, cheeks tinged with a rare pink flush, a comical yet oddly endearing bow pinned to his chest—a stark forest green against his usual ensemble—he was a walking Christmas decoration. The contrast of the absurdity with his usual self-assured demeanour made the sight even sweeter. 

“Am I supposed to unwrap you, Al?” you teased, your laughter falling into the space between you. You saw the flicker of recognition in his eyes—he must have remembered Angel Dust’s teasing question to you the week before about what you wanted for Christmas. 

Without thought, your body moved toward him, an instinct as natural as breathing. Your arms slid around his waist, your head tilting up to meet his gaze. 

“You could’ve asked for anything, cher,” he murmured, his voice low and rich, like a melody meant only for you. His arms wound around you, pulling you closer. “Anything.” 

The words struck a chord that resonated deep within you, their weight pulling you back to memories you’d tried so hard to bury. Before death, fate had been a cruel mistress, ensuring your lives had brushed against each other without ever fully entwining. You had died first, your last breath spent shaping his name in a barely audible whisper. 

“Alastor,” you said now, his name a prayer, a plea, a promise. 

His grin softened, and for once, the edges seemed less sharp, less dangerous. His hands rose to cradle your face, his touch achingly tender. His lips brushed yours in a fleeting kiss, a whisper of what was to come, before he dipped lower, capturing you more fully, tasting you as though he’d been starved for centuries. 

In this place, there were no barriers—no rigid societal expectations, no cruel husband to keep you chained to despair. Hell, for all its torment, had given you the one thing life had denied: him. Wrapped in his arms, you felt an unshakeable truth—you could endure anything, so long as he was by your side. 

“Do I get to unwrap my gift now?” you asked breathlessly, pulling back just enough to toy with the satin ribbon at his chest. Your fingers traced its silken loops before catching the end of the bow. Slowly, teasingly, you pulled, the ribbon unravelling with a soft whisper. 

Before you could revel in your playful victory, a sharp snap of his fingers sent a shiver skittering across your skin. The temperature shifted, a sudden, electric charge filling the air. Looking down, your eyes widened in astonishment. You were completely bare, while he remained impeccably dressed, the undone ribbon dangling mockingly against his chest. 

His grin grew, all teeth and mischief, his voice honeyed with amusement. “My, my, cher, you do get to unwrap your gift... but I thought it only fair to claim mine in return.” 

Before you could retort, he guided you to the bed—its crimson sheets flawlessly pristine. You rolled your eyes, only for the motion to be cut short as he turned you to face him. His hands found your waist, and in a sudden collision of bodies, he tumbled you both onto the bed. 

The mattress cradled you as he loomed above, his frame bracketing you in. His grin never faltered, the faint glow in his eyes smouldering with something darker, hungrier. The world outside ceased to exist, replaced by the magnetic pull between you, and the unmistakable sense that you had never been more wanted. 

The atmosphere between you simmered with tension, the kind that sent electricity crackling over your skin and left your breath coming in shallow gasps. Alastor's grin was sharp, mischievous, as he leaned in closer, the weight of his presence almost suffocating in its intensity. 

“Let’s see,” he purred, his voice rich and low, wrapping around you like velvet. His hips pressed forward, and the firm heat of his arousal met your core, a jolt of sensation tearing through you. “My gift to you is making up for all the missed...” He paused, his grin widening as he rolled his hips ever so slightly, the friction drawing a sharp gasp from your lips. “...opportunities.” 

“Missed opportunities?” you murmured, your tone a sultry challenge as your fingers drifted to the buttons of his trousers. Your touch was teasing, light, deliberately slow as you felt the way his body tensed beneath your fingertips. 

His forehead dropped to yours, his crimson gaze locking with yours, and for a brief moment, the playful glint in his eyes gave way to something deeper, more ravenous. “And your gift to me…” His lips brushed against your nose, his grin softening into something almost tender. “Is your soul.” He kissed you again, a quick, fleeting press of his lips. “Ah, figuratively speaking, of course.” 

A laugh bubbled from you, soft and genuine, though your voice trembled with the undercurrent of arousal. “Naturally.” 

For a moment, time seemed to stop. His gaze softened as he studied you, as if etching every curve, every detail, into his memory. Then, as though compelled by something far beyond words, he kissed you again. This time, it was slower, lingering, his lips moulding to yours with an almost reverent hunger. 

His free hand drifted downward, deftly undoing the buttons of his pants. The air between you grew thick with anticipation, the faint sound of fabric shifting almost drowned out by the quiet, shared breaths and the soft, broken moans slipping past your lips. 

“Cher,” he whispered, the word dripping with longing as his forehead stayed pressed to yours. His hips moved, dragging the head of his cock down through your slick folds, sending a shiver racing down your spine. His lips barely parted from yours, the taste of rye and something darker lingering in the kiss. “Cher,” he sighed again, the head of his cock nudging against your entrance, pulsing with restrained need. 

Your legs wrapped around his hips, urging him forward, and the sensation of him stretching you, filling you inch by inch, stole your breath. The molten heat of him seared into you, leaving you trembling beneath his touch. 

“A-Al,” you gasped, your voice breaking as you clung to him, needing him deeper, closer. His groan vibrated against your throat as his head dropped to the crook of your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. 

The moment his hips met yours fully, he stilled, shuddering against you. His claws threaded through your hair, their tips grazing your scalp, sending a tingle of sensation. His cock throbbed within you, the intensity of his presence overwhelming. 

The soft fabric of his suit teased your skin, your hardened nipples brushing against the lapels. Heat built between you, your clit pulsing with aching need. A small, desperate moan escaped you, and Alastor chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating through you. 

“My, my, how awfully impatient, darling,” he teased, though his tone was thick with lust. Without warning, he drew back and thrust forward sharply, the force drawing a sharp cry from your lips. 

He pulled back, his grin morphing into something more wicked, more predatory. Sitting upright, he kept himself buried deep inside you, his sharp red eyes alight with sadistic glee. Shrugging off his jacket, he let it fall carelessly to the floor before setting to work on his shirt buttons. His hips rolled against you with a steady rhythm, pulling soft whimpers from your throat as he worked. 

“Look at you,” he muttered, his voice heavy with a mix of affection and delight. His claws fumbled with one stubborn button before he tore the shirt open, the buttons flying, a few bouncing harmlessly against your skin. The fabric joined his jacket on the floor, revealing a chest marred with scars. 

Your gaze lingered on them, but before you could look too closely, his fingers gripped your chin, forcing your eyes back to his. “Eyes on me, cher,” he commanded, his tone sharp, yet dripping with desire. 

He thrust hard, the slap of skin meeting skin filling the air as you cried out, your walls tightening around him. “Good girl,” he murmured, his cock pressing against the sensitive spot deep within you, drawing another desperate moan from your lips. 

He hadn’t changed—not truly. Alastor was still a contradiction, a walking paradox of hard and soft, cruel and kind, cold and impossibly gentle. 

His pace quickened, the friction between you building until every nerve in your body felt alight with pleasure. The wet sounds of your arousal mingled with his laboured breaths, and you felt the tension coil tighter and tighter, drawing you to the edge. 

Just as you were about to fall, he buried himself deep with a final, forceful thrust. His teeth gritted, a guttural groan tearing from his throat as his release flooded into you, hot and thick. He moved lazily, shallow thrusts prolonging the sensation as he spilled every last drop, your walls clenching greedily around him. 

He slowed his thrusts to a near standstill, the aching stretch of him buried deep inside you. His chest heaved above you, rising and falling in a slow, deliberate rhythm, as if savouring the moment. His hands pressed firmly into the mattress on either side of your head, caging you beneath him. His eyes glinted with something dark, something possessive, as he leaned closer. His thumb brushed a damp strand of hair away from your sweat-slick cheek, the gesture almost tender. 

“Don’t worry, cher,” he murmured, his voice a low, sultry promise that sent shivers racing down your spine. “The night isn’t over yet.” 

Before you could respond, his form dissolved into shadow, leaving only a fleeting warmth where his body had pressed against yours. A gasp escaped you as he reappeared beneath you, his sudden shift causing a rush of his seed to slip free from your core. Strong arms wrapped around your torso, pulling you flush against his chest. His warmth seeped into your skin as his breath brushed against your ear. 

“Alastor?” His name tumbled from your lips, barely a whisper, the question laced with curiosity and anticipation. But his answer was not words—it was action. His fingers found your swollen clit with ease, circling it with maddening precision. “Ah!” you cried out, your head falling back against his shoulder. 

Your thighs quivered as your legs fell apart instinctively, granting him full access to your trembling body. His chuckle rumbled against your back, a dark, pleased sound that only heightened the heat pooling in your belly. 

As his seed lazily trickled from your entrance, a cool, gelatinous pressure filled you, making you gasp. The sensation was unlike anything else—a shadowy tendril easing its way inside, gliding with ease. “O-oh,” you stammered, your gaze dropping to the writhing darkness between your legs. 

The tendril curled, brushing against your most sensitive spot with unerring precision. “Th-that’s…” Your voice faltered, stolen by the mounting waves of pleasure. 

Each deliberate motion of the tendril sent sparks of pleasure shooting through you, your inner walls clenching around the inky form. Alastor’s fingers, however, were merciless. They danced over your clit with a teasing rhythm, bringing you to the edge only to stop, denying you release. 

Your breath hitched, and frustration bubbled in your chest as you squirmed against him. The corners of his mouth twitched with suppressed amusement, his grin as infuriating as it was captivating. “Patience, cher,” he purred, planting a soft kiss on your cheek. 

That kiss spoke of unspoken promises, of history shared between you—a silent claim that you were his. 

“Cher, you can hold on longer, can’t you?” 

“Cher, let me have this just a little more…” 

“Cher, my darling… stay with me forever…” 

Each whispered plea dripped with longing, wrapping around your heart even as your body begged for release. Soft mewls escaped your lips, your abdomen tightening as you teetered on the brink. But just as you thought you’d fall over the edge, his movements stopped entirely. 

“Al, please,” you whimpered, the words trembling with desperation. 

But no answer came. Instead, you felt his breath grow softer against your skin, his touch slackening. 

The soft cadence of Alastor’s breath ghosted over your damp skin, and the weight of his wrist rested limply against your thigh. For a moment, you thought he was catching his breath—teasing you with the stillness of his body before surging to life again. But as the seconds stretched into an eternity, the truth hit you like a cold slap.

He had fallen asleep.

Your chest heaved with indignation and disbelief. The shadow tendril nestled deep within you remained still, its presence a cruel tease against your quivering walls. Every nerve in your body was strung tight, the edge of an impending climax so tantalizingly close yet utterly unreachable. The audacity of him—Alastor!—to leave you hanging like this was almost enough to spark genuine outrage.

Desperation clawed at your senses, and your gaze fell to the inky black tendril still rooted inside you. A spark of determination flared as your trembling fingers trailed down to your abdomen, tracing the faint bulge the tendril made as it rested within you. You bit your lip, resolving to take matters into your own hands.

But just as your fingers brushed your swollen clit, a cold, serpentine tendril coiled around your wrist, halting your movements.

“What th—mmph!” Your protest was cut short as another shadow slipped between your parted lips, pressing insistently against your tongue. Shock and indignation flooded your senses, but they were quickly overshadowed by surprise as multiple tendrils sprouted from Alastor’s form beneath you.

Before you could react, they lifted you effortlessly into the air, suspending you above the bed like some obscene starfish. Your limbs were splayed wide, leaving you utterly exposed, while Alastor remained oblivious below you.

A flush of heat rose to your cheeks—not from arousal this time, but sheer disbelief. “Are you kidding me?!” you wanted to scream, but the tendril in your mouth reduced your complaints to muffled, garbled sounds.

The shadows pulsed and writhed, their cool, slick texture a stark contrast to the heat radiating from your overstimulated skin. One tendril inside you shifted, dragging ever so slightly against your inner walls, and your breath hitched despite yourself. The sensation sent a jolt of delicious pleasure coursing through you, making your toes curl in response.

“Alastor…” you moaned around the obstruction in your mouth, your voice a mix of frustration and pleading. But he didn’t stir—not even when his shadows began to move with more intent, exploring and teasing your body with eerie autonomy.

You tried to wriggle free, tried to regain some semblance of control, but the tendrils held you firm, their grip unyielding. The one within you began to pump lazily, its pace maddeningly slow, as if savouring your predicament. Another coiled around your waist, pressing you down, while a thinner tendril circled your sensitive clit, brushing it in featherlight strokes that sent shivers up your spine.

Your body betrayed you, arching into the relentless sensations.

The tendril in your mouth withdrew briefly, allowing you to gasp for air. “Al-Alastor,” you managed to rasp, glaring up at the ceiling. “You’re—mmph!” Your words were cut off as the shadow returned, plunging deeper and muffling any further complaints.

Your body burned with overstimulation, your walls pulsing around the tendril that began to move again, gliding in and out with excruciating slowness. Its tip curled, grazing your g-spot with surgical precision, the sensation making your toes curl. The obscene sound of slickness filled the room, each thrust sending a fresh wave of heat through your body. 

Tears pricked your eyes as the denial of release became unbearable, but the tendril between your legs showed no mercy. It swirled against your inner walls, driving you higher and higher, until the coil in your belly snapped violently. 

Your body convulsed, a scream muffled by the tendril in your mouth as your orgasm tore through you like a raging inferno. But the tendrils did not stop. They pressed on, their relentless movements prolonging your pleasure until it blurred into overstimulation. 

Another orgasm built, faster and sharper than the first, and your head lolled back as tears spilled freely down your cheeks. Your muscles twitched violently, your hips bucking as another wave of ecstasy crashed over you, leaving you trembling and spent. 

Before you could catch your breath, the tendrils shifted, flipping you onto your stomach and angling your hips upward. Your lips were now mere inches from Alastor’s softened cock, lying exposed against his trousers. His tendrils, however, showed no signs of stopping. 

The one inside you continued its rhythmic pumping, keeping you teetering on the edge of pleasure and overstimulation. Your body quaked as yet another orgasm loomed, relentless and inescapable. And still, Alastor slept.

You were trapped between torment and ecstasy, held captive by his powers even in his unconscious state. Each movement of the tendrils, every teasing caress, reminded you that you were his in every sense of the word—and he, whether awake or asleep, owned you completely. 

The shadow tendril withdrew from your mouth in a slow, languid motion, leaving you gasping for air. Saliva trickled from your lips, pooling in shimmering droplets on Alastor’s cock. The sensation stirred him slightly, a twitch signalling his body’s eager response to your presence. Your limbs, trembling and weak, were now bound snugly behind your back by the same inky restraints. Gradually, they guided your body downward, your lips brushing against his softening member. 

A faint exhale escaped you, warm against his sensitive skin, and his cock twitched in reply, stirring to life as blood began to fill him once more. 

“Alastor…” you murmured, your voice rough and tinged with the weight of exhaustion and desire. The air was thick with the scent of sex—a heady, intoxicating blend of sweat, musk, and release. Just as a fresh wave of sensation overtook you, the tendril inside you shifted, pressing deeply against your cervix. Your mouth fell open in a soundless cry. 

A slender tendril of shadow slithered around the base of Alastor’s cock, guiding his thickening length toward your lips. Inch by inch, it slid past your tongue, filling your mouth with salty, musky warmth—the combined flavour of both of you. 

“D-darling…” Alastor’s voice cracked faintly, a low, drowsy murmur. His hips jolted the moment your tongue swirled around his sensitive tip, and for a fleeting moment, you thought he was awake. But the lazy thrusts of his tendrils inside you told another story. He was still lost in his dreams, his powers acting entirely of their own volition. 

The thought sent a shiver through you. You wondered if Alastor dreamt of you, dreamt of this. 

Your lips tightened into a seal around his now fully hardened cock, your head bobbing slowly as you savoured the weight of him on your tongue. Each movement was purposeful, drawing out his pleasure as you worked him with your mouth. The wet sounds of your efforts filled the room, each slurp and suck echoing alongside the squelching rhythm of the tendril thrusting inside you. 

Your breath hitched when the tendril quickened its pace, its thick, writhing form pushing you toward another peak. “Mmf—!” Your cries were muffled by Alastor’s length, his cock throbbing insistently against your tongue as you gagged lightly. Immense pleasure overwhelmed your senses; every nerve ending felt raw, every touch electric. 

The tendril inside you coiled and thrust, dragging against every sensitive spot with ruthless precision. When it pressed hard against your cervix once more, your body seized, and a scream tried to escape around his cock. Spasms wracked your frame as a gush of wet warmth spilled from your core. 

Alastor’s body responded in kind. His hips bucked, his cock surging deeper into your throat as a guttural growl escaped his lips. Thick ropes of his release filled your mouth, the bitter saltiness coating your tongue and sliding down your throat. You swallowed instinctively, your breath shuddering as the tendrils binding you moved once more. 

They flipped you effortlessly, turning you to face Alastor’s peaceful visage. His expression was serene, utterly unaware of the chaos unfolding around him. Shadows curled and slithered along your body, their cool touch contrasting with the heat of your overstimulated skin. 

“Al-Alastor…” you rasped, voice breaking on a moan as the tendrils grew thicker, stretching you to your limits. The slick noises of their movements mingled with your cries, filling the room with the notes of your surrender. “H-how many…?” you whimpered, your words dissolving into incoherence as one tendril flicked over your swollen clit. 

Tears welled in your eyes as another orgasm built, your body trembling with the relentless onslaught of pleasure. Alastor’s earlier promise echoed faintly in your mind—he’d make up for all the missed opportunities.

You hadn’t expected this.

The tendrils’ rhythm grew merciless, coaxing another scream from your lips as they found another perfect spot deep within you. Your body convulsed, overwhelmed by yet another climax, the waves of pleasure crashing over you with brutal force. 

For a fleeting moment, you hated him—hated his unrelenting power, hated his absence at this moment. But beneath that frustration burned something deeper, something primal: a longing for him to see what he did to you, to witness how completely he owned you. 

As you trembled through the aftershocks, you swore you’d make him pay for this. When morning came, you’d demand retribution—a night where you held the reins, where you edged him to the brink of madness. 

But for now, as the tendrils shifted again, coaxing yet another orgasm from your spent body, you could only give in to his power. You clung to the pleasure, to the rare, dizzying sensation of being utterly ravished. 

A weak, breathless laugh escaped you as his arms instinctively curled around your trembling form. His shadows retreated, their touch replaced by the steady warmth of his hands. 

Your muscles quaked as the final wave of bliss overtook you, your eyes fluttering shut as exhaustion pulled at your limbs. Somewhere in the haze, Alastor stirred, his his crimson eyes opening to find you sprawled and trembling in the aftermath of his power. His grin widened as realization dawned. “My, my, cher… it seems I missed quite the show.” 

“You’ve always had such a soothing presence on my twisted soul,” he murmured, his voice a low, velvety hum that wrapped around you like a warm, toasty blanket. His eyes softened as he pressed a tender kiss to your sweat-damp brow. “I haven’t rested this well in ages,” he added, his words brushing against your skin like a gentle caress.

His arms pulled you closer, his embrace firm yet comforting, as if shielding you from the world. “I’ll take care of you properly in the morning… so rest now, cher” he whispered, his voice trailing off into a soft hum.

You couldn’t help but relax into him, the weight of his arms around you melting away the tension that had held you so tightly. Your eyelids grew heavy, each blink slower than the last, as his warmth seeped into your bones. His presence was a lullaby, coaxing you into a peace you hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever.

As you drifted into the edges of sleep, a faint smile curved your lips, your body thoroughly spent but your soul somehow alight. Indulging in the quiet hum of his breathing, you felt a rare sense of satisfaction settle over you, a fullness that made you feel whole in a way you hadn’t dared to dream of.

But just as the lullaby of slumber began to pull you under, you thought you heard it—soft, so soft you almost dismissed it as a figment of your imagination.

“My love.”

The words lingered, wrapping around your drowsy mind like a bittersweet ribbon. Your heart stuttered, warmth blooming in your chest, only to be tempered by the ache of reality. A faint, forlorn smile tugged at your lips, even as exhaustion claimed you.

That couldn’t be right. Alastor… he didn’t do love. Not in his lifetime, nor the next.

For someone like him, love was an abstraction, a concept too fragile for the sharp edges of his world. And for someone like you, love was a distant star, shining brightly but always unreachable.

Still, it was nice to imagine.

Just for tonight, you allowed yourself the indulgence. To believe, even fleetingly, that you were his love. That in the quiet moments when the world felt so far away, and it was just the two of you, he might feel something more.

For tonight, it was enough.

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[scotianostra]

24th July 1394 saw the death Alexander Stewart, 1st Earl of Buchan AKA the Wolf of Badenoch.

Alexander Stewart, the Earl of Buchan, earned several nicknames during his lifetime given his loathsome reputation for murder, violence and fire raising, Many knew him as the Wolf of Badenoch while others referred to him as the Celtic Atilla. It has been questioned whether he was indeed Scotland’s vilest man.

The Wolf died on this day in 1394 at Ruthven Castle near Kingussie with legend claiming that he met his maker after playing chess with the devil. The story is perhaps a fitting end for a man who honed his reputation with a series of rampages through the north of Scotland and his terrifying appetite for destruction of his enemies.

He set fire to the towns of Forres and Elgin, where the cathedral was torched and chaplains and canons burnt out of their homes. It is believed that Pluscarden Abbey was also lit by the Wolf as he fought back against the influence of the Bishop of Moray. The driver for much of his rage was his marriage to Euphemia I, Countess of Ross, who was unable to bear him a legitimate heir and the church refused to end the marriage. However, he reportedly had seven children with his mistress, Mairead nighean Eachann, with other accounts claiming the Wolf fathered up to 40 offspring with other women.

The Wolf was powered by a toxic combination of anger and power which was gifted to him by his father, King Robert II, who made his son the Earl of Buchan in 1382 and the Crown’s chief law officer in the north of Scotland. The Wolf’s territory stretched from Moray to the Pentland Firth - with much of its people to feel the full force of this “avarious and cruel” according to one historian.

In 1390, by which time the Earl was bedding down at his secluded island home of Lochindorb Castle, the Wolf’s touch paper was lit when the Bishop of Moray, Alexander Bur, refused to annul his marriage. He was later to excommunicate the Wolf. The Earl was “exasperated....to such a degree of fury” that he was reduced key parts of his territory to ash.

In the month of May 1390 he descended from his heights and burn the town of Forres, with the choir of the church and the manse of the archdeacon, the next month he burnt the town of Elgin, the church of St Giles, the hospital of Maison-Dieu and the cathedral, with 18 homes of the canons and chaplains in the college of Elgin.

It is likely that the Priory of Pluscarden was burned at the same time with traces of fire lit still seen today in the building .

The Wolf, whose other homes included Drumin Castle near Glenlivet, Castle Garth near Glen Lyon, and Ruthven Castle near Kingussie, was prosecuted and punished by his father but ultimately absolved of his crimes and received back by the church.

According to accounts, Pope Clement V subsequently annulled the marriage in late 1392 after Countess Euphemia complained to Rome that her marriage was meaningless given the Wolf was cohabiting with another woman.

And so to this fateful day in history...or legend, you decide!

It is said he was visited by a tall man dressed in black and the pair played through the night, with a storm conjured when the visitor called “check” and “checkmate”.

In the morning, the Wolf was found dead in the banqueting hall and his men too found lifeless outside the castle walls.

Like all good legends there are differing versions of the story, the other was that the end “duel” was playing cards.

[romaritimeharbor]

also v v out of context but i found a sentence i wrote god knows how mych time ago and went !!!

idk where the inspo came from but i love it omg look

"But fate is a cruel mistress, and even the most endearing stories must eventually come to an end."

YOU'RE SO VALID FOR LIKING IT SO MUCH. I DO TOO. THAT IS SOOOO GOOD i loveeee when you write that one line that's just so insanely good. i love having that experience. i love this line soooo much aly 🙏🙏🙏🙏 ❗️❗️❗️❗️

[modernprometheuus]

“But-!”

Victor struggles as hard as he can to escape Hange’s grip - but it’s useless. No matter how much he thrashes and tries to break free, she has a firm hold on him, and she isn’t letting go.

He turns to her... and there’s a wild, desperate look in his eyes. Tears streak down his face, and he looks like a cornered animal lashing out in fury - yet at the same time, fragile, as if he could collapse at any moment.

‘Why...?’ he thinks. ‘Why did they have to be here, now of all times!?’

One more time, he tries to pull his arm away.

“Let me go!!"

@wingsofintxlligence (continued from here!)

[esoteric-mantra-stuff]

Persephone and Hades (an Icebound slighter return)

CW: Once again mentions of patricide and femicide with an added side of childhood trauma. We're going there folks

This is a follow up to my last fic of a fic that features Blaidd and the Tarnished finding some peace in the afterlife, I don't know how much of this fits with the narrative of the icebound stars ending of UC, but I couldn't stand leaving two friends in bad terms. Especially after Lobo wished for them to reconcile.

For the correct experience, play this while reading: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v5pDcfRRpe4&ab_channel=Ivarov23

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You are sitting by a cliff overlooking the sea. The sunset plays across the waves and the sound of them reaches your ears. The seagulls cry, and night might be approaching. You don’t mind the dark so you don’t move. Your ears pick up on someone approaching, but you don’t turn around.

“Excuse me, may I sit next to you?”

The voice says, you gesture to the spot beside you, not taking your eyes away from the dimming sunlight. From the corner of your eye you make out the vague figure of your new companion, they’re a human from what you could tell, a woman most likely if the voice was anything to go by. She sits in silence beside you, basking in the sunset. You stay like this for a while before the woman breaks the silence “Would you mind… if I ask some questions?” she says pulling something out of her bag. You turn to look at her, she’s wearing a large straw hat that hides her face as she opens a notebook into her lap. How strange. “Go ahead, ask away.” you tell her, returning to the sunset in front of you. Without looking up from her notebook she asks “What’s your name and how did you end up here?” and you ponder the question for a moment. You’re about to tell her to be more specific before it hits you.

Your name is Blaidd the Half-Wolf and you were killed. Your son… killed you.

You don’t react at first, obviously, you are dead, you remember it happening, but if you’re dead then what is this? “I’m… Blaidd, and I died… I think” you tell her, she doesn’t seem phased by your answer as she jolts something down “Why… why am I here?” you say, and she stops her writing “...this isn’t the afterlife just yet… I wanted to ask you some questions first… before you go…” she continues, never looking up from her notebook. You try to relax, if you met your end then there’s not much else to do, it’s strange but you’ll have to go along with this woman. “...ask away then” you say once more, she continues in silence for a moment before stopping once more “I want you to tell me, what happened with her and why did her child bring you to your demise?” her pen tapped into the page, you’d never seen one so compact before.

You focused on the sunset again. It hurts to look at her. You figured she might ask you something like that. The truth is long and complicated, but you’re dead, so you have enough time to tell it. “We were in love once, I wanted to be with her forever, I wanted to be her’s forever. She… she was second only to my mistress, but…”  it’s hard to say it, she betrayed your and your mistress' trust, she betrayed you. So then why did it hurt so much to think of the happy times you had together? You continue when the sound of her pen stops “I trusted her… I warned her that I could never go against lady Ranni’s wishes, but she tried to stop her fate anyway.” you swallow, your mouth feels dry and your hands are clammy “I… I told her I would hunt her down, that she should give our children up for adoption, or else they would never have a normal life” you chuckle, but it’s without any joy “I should’ve known she wouldn’t listen.” her pen stops, you stay quiet while she ponders your words “A bit cruel of you, don’t you think?” you nod. It was, you were hoping at every word that she would go back on her choice, that she would hand you the Fingerslayer, that she wouldn’t force you to become enemies. She never did, not even when…

“Please continue” the woman tired of your silence, you obliged, you’d have to relive that moment eventually “I was upset, she said she wanted to protect me, she was convinced that Ranni’s fate would mean sacrificing my life, but it’s my duty as her shadow, if I must give my life for my master then so be it, even if…” it dies in your throat, the heresy you’re about to say burns a hole in it, ‘even if my heart wishes it were otherwise’ is what you mean to say. The woman nods, but you doubt she understands “So, what happened after that?” she motions with her hand for you to continue “I… I gave her five years so she may have them, then I started looking for them. It didn’t take long, at first I hoped that she might’ve changed her mind, that she’d forgotten her love for me and handed the blade over, I would’ve left her be, truly I would have, the betrayal I felt… it still wasn’t enough to push me into it… into the ‘cruelty’ I promised, because…” you stop yourself, but the woman doesn’t let you off the hook “because…?” she asks in that calm, uncaring tone of hers. You breathe in deeply “Because I still… I still remembered her as she was in that time we spent together, I couldn’t bring myself to believe she would betray me. When she said she wanted to protect me, I knew she was telling the truth, that’s how she is, that’s why I couldn’t do it” there’s a burning sensation in your throat, a lump you simply can’t swallow. The woman ignores you, jolting something down again, turning the page to begin filling that one too “...Continue with your story” her voice clinical and cold, compared to yours on the verge of breaking. You continue, looking at the sun as it lowers further under the horizon “I figured so long as I got the blade I could leave them alone, forget about them, let them forget about me. I stalked them, trying to find a way into her spectral storage. I watched as our children grew, oblivious to my presence. I was tormented by thoughts of regret, and heresy for I couldn’t turn my back on Ranni’s wishes, but my mind couldn’t help but wonder what it would’ve been like to be a part of their family. I couldn’t forgive, no matter how much it tormented me I couldn’t, I had to…” You attempt to swallow the lump in your throat again “...I had to be done with it, I couldn’t handle the pain anymore. I thought it was my chance when I saw the littlest one with the uneven walk take the blade out of the chest, I thought that so long as I was discreet about it the child would simply hand it over” you touch your chest where the black blade struck you last “What a fool I was…”

The woman pulls a page out of the notebook, crumpling and tossing it to the side, before writing down something else, she motions you to continue with her hand. You steady your breathing again, this is the worst part of your tale “...he was scared, I tried comforting him, I tried asking nicely, but I couldn’t keep myself in check, those scared little eyes were the same color as mine. He screamed even though I tried to keep him quiet, he called for her help… that’s when things took a turn for the worse” the sun had not moved from its position, a moment suspended in time. You tried to ignore the burning sensation in your eyes “She put herself before him, sword in hand, she thought I would hurt the child. I warned her that she must return the blade, or I would do good on my word, she said that the blade could never be Lady Ranni’s now and that it had chosen someone else to wield it. I got… I got angry, and we fought” you hated re-living this part, but you had to get through it “Even then I could tell she was pulling her punches… her swings had no killing intent even though she could never truly kill me, I… I wish I had been the same…” there’s something wet in your lap, but you don’t look down, you keep the tears down as best as you can, but it’s a losing battle “I struck her down, and she grabbed me before she passed, grabbed my face like she used to. She asked me… she asked that I look after them… and that I tell them she’s sorry for not being able to protect them. I thought her a fool, for surely she would rise again… surely…” you know she didn’t, you waited and waited and waited, it was only once her body started to decompose that you had to accept she wouldn’t come back. It still hurts, you tried everything, you pleaded with her lifeless corpse she come back to you, you thought of asking someone, anyone who could bring her back, but no such person existed in the Lands Between. On your last day you still couldn’t sleep well, for you kept imagining her weight atop of you, your mind still brought back her scent every time. You started bathing more often, but nothing would get rid of the feeling of blood on your fur, of her hands cradling your face, to her dying breath she loved you, and you couldn’t do anything to save her.

All because you could never forgive.

“He saw me strike her down, the littlest one whose eyes were filled with fear, he was hiding, worried for his mother’s sake, and that’s why when I returned to the camp they were gone and so was the blade.” You almost growl at the memory. How on earth did a group of children, one of which had trouble walking, escape you? “I followed their scents, but I could never find them. Days would pass and I would have to report every time back to Ranni that I couldn’t find them or the blade, she chastised me for letting a bunch of children make a fool out of me.” She’d said some harsher things too, like if you were planning on slaughtering them when you find them or if they would outwit you again, that… that hurt more than you could say to her face. You look down at your hands. You remember the way you screamed their names in the woods, even years after you’d looked for them, dead or alive you wanted to find them, you kept up with any and all stories of wolf children you could find, you followed every lead no matter how small, but you never found them until one of them found you. The Fingerslayer blade would become no more than a second thought, as you spiraled in on yourself you wondered if maybe you should fully commit to being a traitor. If it truly had chosen another master you should let the child keep it then. You already betrayed one woman you loved, it was only your nature as a shadow that prevented you from betraying the other.

The woman stops her writing again “Then, one of them came back for revenge, right?” you nod, the littlest one whose eyes were filled with hate and grief, he’d called you a traitor and came to seek justice for what you took from him. You wanted to say something. You wanted to explain why you’d done what you’d done. You wanted his forgiveness even though you knew you didn’t deserve it, but his eyes told you his mind was made up, and words would do no good. “I’d never seen anyone fight like that” you wipe the tears in your eyes “I thought it might’ve been a mistake, the child could barely move without falling, and yet here he was using his strange way of moving to attack out of nowhere. I…” you falter. What you were about to say was more than heresy, it was going against your master’s wishes, but you had to say it “...I-I couldn’t make the same mistake again, what I did to his mother, even though that would mean losing the Fingerslayer Blade forever. I couldn’t bring myself to do it again, her hands… I could feel hers on mine as we fought, her memory dulled my swings, I… I just couldn’t do it!” and in the end, you lost your life, and ended up here. “I wanted… I wanted him to know how I felt… I wanted him to avoid becoming like me, someone who couldn’t forgive until it was too late. I ruined his life, but I needed him to know” the knot in your throat was almost enough to stop you from breathing, but you managed to stave off the tears, just barely. “In the end, I couldn’t help anyone. The age of stars will never come, my own flesh and blood grew to hate me, I lost the one person who loved me above even her own safety. I-I’m the scum of the earth! Whatever exists to punish people like me, will surely-”

“Shut up, don’t speak about yourself like that!” the woman says. You turn to look at her, your eyes widen and your jaw drops, you feel dumbfounded at the sight of her. “It- It’s you! b-but how?” You exclaim, stupidly, obviously it’s her and you know how, she’s dead too after all.

Her straw hat and notebook were discarded by her side, her eyes puffy and red from crying. She stares at you, through you, to your core “I was supposed to keep things impersonal, that’s why I disguised myself, but I couldn’t sit here and let you badmouth yourself like that!” she grabs your hand, it feels the same as it did back then “You’re still the one I fell in love with, even after everything that hasn’t changed. You’re not scum, not in any sense of the word!” the tears flow from your eyes again, you don’t care “I-I don’t understand, I killed you! I ruined everything! If I had trusted you, maybe… maybe there was something we could’ve done together, but I just couldn't get over myself! If that’s not scum then… I don’t know what else to call someone like me!” you scream, everything you’ve wanted to say since that fateful day is pulled out of you, you no longer have the presence of mind to care about how it comes out. You’re dead anyway, who’s left to judge you?

She cups your face, it’s comforting and surreal to feel her warmth on you again outside of your nightmares, how it was always meant to feel “Listen to me, It-it’s my fault too. I should’ve trusted you, I knew your loyalty would always be with Ranni and that I could never ask you to stray from her, but I was afraid of losing you, and I should’ve been honest with you about that from the beginning” you see her throat bob as he swallows, this is probably the first time you haven’t found that arousing “At the time I told myself that between having you hate me and having you die, it would be better for you to hate me. At least then, I wouldn’t lose you forever, but now I realize that I should’ve trusted you with the truth, with my fear, so we could’ve found a way however impossible. So… if you’re gonna call anyone scum, it should be me, not you!” you’re both crying, and the sun has still not set. You pull her into your embrace. You’ve both been idiots, though this isn’t the first time it’s happened. It’s a long time before either of you says anything, but you want to make something clear to her “I… I apologize… f-for everything, for k- for attacking you, and I wish I could take it all back. I don’t care anymore about that stupid blade, if it’s chosen a new master then there’s nothing that I can do, as much as it pains me that Ranni’s wish will never come to fruition.” you’re dead, your heresy no longer holds meaning, so you say it openly. She hugs you tighter, her weight on you no longer feels crushing, it’s comforting instead, as it was always meant to be “I’m sorry too. I’m sorry I took everything from you. I shouldn’t have chosen your fate for you, you’re more than capable of choosing things for yourself. I hope you can forgive me.” you put your nose to her head, and she giggles as you take in her scent once more “I already did” you whisper. You could never truly forgive, not in life anyway, not yourself, not her, not your son, but once it came to an end you did.

Forgiveness is the final form of love, after all.

[tinyholygrail]

Examine: The servant "Faker", so obviously Shirou, yet has somehow become a Heroic Spirit after living his lifetime in full.

Send “Examine!” and an item or person and I’ll write an RPG description of it/them.

The Servant you summoned, of a previously unknown class, and entirely different from the Heroic Spirit your catalyst had been intended for.►There are a few nonstandard Servant classes that you know of, but ‘Faker’ is not one of them. You can’t believe that you messed up that badly to have called forth a Servant that shouldn’t even exist in the first place.►You refuse to think of what his existence means. ►Who he really is.►It doesn’t matter how much you ignore it, because the dream cycle tells you anyways. ►You despise it. You despise him, and what he represents.►You don’t want to see his life, because the only thing that you have left is your rage against the boy that had replaced you in your father’s eyes. It’s the only thing you have, when the end is approaching, far closer than it has ever been, and you don’t want to lose the only thing that gives your suffering a reason beyond your ingrained purpose.►But you see his life anyways.►You see it and despair, because that one thing, that one thing that has kept you going, you are watching it slip away.◼

[leo-interactive-fiction]

How would the Ros react to mc being scared of tornados and the tornado sirens? I'm really scared right now because tornados terrify me and I might get one in my area rn ;-;

Let’s see.

E: They squeeze your shoulder reassuringly, “No matter what happens, I’ll be here with you. We’ll get through this together!”

R: They humor you with a thin smile. “I’ve never led you astray before, have I? Put your faith in me: I’m like a lucky charm, you know.”

L: They nod, “Your fear is justified, but it’s how you look past it towards a brighter future. You taught me that.”

V: They pull the slide of their pistol back, ejecting a shell before allowing it to snap back in place. “Stay behind me, Commander. You will not die.”

P: They scoff, rising to their feet with cracking knuckles. “Scared of a little wind? Keep your head up: I won’t allow you to cower and resign yourself, dumbass.”

M: They grow seriously, offering you a thin guidance. “Don’t worry...you can...hold onto me...”

Ra: The thin smile on their face grows as the siren sounds. “There’s no need to be scared...” Their eyes glimmer darkly as they look into yours. “Fate will never take you away from me.”

S: They look idly out of the window, a whistle escaping their mouth. They turn and give you a confident smile, “Eh, don’t look too bad to me. Better to ride it out than worry, yeah?”

F: “Nature is a cruel mistress...” F begins, before turning to you with a wicked smile, “But she would not dare to tread upon where I stand.”

Thank ya for the ask. I would also offer my own guidance. There’s a lot of things I’m scared of, but no matter what happens, I always know the bad events of my life make the good ones more prominent and worthwhile. No matter the storm that sets upon you, know that the rain brings rainbows haha. You have my prayers and good fortune, Anon.

[books-and-milkshakes]

Work in progress Sunday

From an enemies to lovers fic

Betty slams her shot on the table.

“Jughead Jones,” she growls. “Do you remember that asshole.”

Veronica chuckles as she watches her best friend chuck a beer. Betty Cooper didn’t often get drunk, most of the time she was the only sober person after going out, but when she did, she didn’t half-ass it.

Betty had called Veronica 2 hours earlier and said she wanted to go drinking. It was rare that Betty initiated a night out, so Veronica knew it was serious. She brought along her new friend Toni Topaz who is now looking at Betty concerned.

“Yes, I remember that asshole,” she says while trying to wrestle the beer glass out of Betty’s hand. “How can I forget when you mention him all the time.”

“Who is Jughead Jones?” Toni asks.

Betty just groans and lays her head on the table as if that is an answer.

Toni looks at Veronica confused, who just shrugs and smiles affectionately at her best friend.

She is tempted to take a picture and send it to Alice Cooper. The woman would age 10 years if she could see her perfect daughter like this.

“Jughead,” she says to Toni. “Is an old friend of ours. We all met in kindergarten and attended the same schools ever since. He is also Betty’s eternal rival”

Betty groans her agreement, but doesn’t care to lift her head back up. Veronica pats her hair before continuing.

“In middle school they were on the school newspaper together and they both wanted to be editor. They tried to outdo each other with bigger and better stories, and they uncovered a lot of shady things about the school and our hometown in the process, but eventually they became co-editors. The same went for grades, they were the top students of their year and were co-valedictorians.”

Veronica smiles at the memory. Even during their speech they tried to shove each other of the podium.

“They wanted to outdo each other so badly, but they were evenly matched. God, they hated each other.”

Toni nodded. “So they were rivals, but that was back in high school which was six years ago. Why is she mentioning him now?”

Veronica smiles. “Because, my dear Antoinette, fate is a cruel mistress. They went to the same college, both majoring in journalism and they now work for the same website.”

“Wow,” is all Toni says before she starts laughing. “That is some bad luck.”

Veronica has to restrain herself from laughing, it is quite funny.

“My stupid boss,” Betty speaks out loudly. She slowly lifts her head like it hurts to do it.

“He says we have to work together on our next article.” 

She turns to Veronica with a pout on her face. “Why V, why do I always have to work together with him.”

Veronica sweeps some hairs that have escaped her ponytail out of her face.

“I don’t know sweetie, but let’s get you home. You have to work tomorrow.”

Yes, Betty Cooper decided to get smashed in the middle of the work week.

To her surprise, Betty doesn’t fight her decision. Instead she stands up with a surprising amount of grace, smoothes out her work skirt and starts walking towards the bar. 

“I’m paying for our drinks,” she says over her shoulder.

Veronica huffs a laugh and pulls out her phone to dial an uber.

“Wow,” Toni breathes out. “I did not expect her to get like this.”

“It’s an annual event, so be honored you got to witness it.”

“That guy must be really irritating if Betty has such a reaction to him.”

Betty is known to get along with everyone. She is a people pleaser and goes out of her way to make sure everyone likes her, so it can be surprising that the resident good girl dislikes someone so much.

“He can be quite irritating,” Veronica pauses and looks back at Betty who is eagerly paying the barman. “But there is something else going on between them.”

Toni scoots her chair closer and leans towards Veronica. “How much sexual tension?”

Veronica rolls her eyes. “It’s unbearable. You can choke in it when you’re in the same room as them.”

Toni laughs but immediately shuts up when Betty reappears at their table.

“I paid the barman,” she says proudly and judging from the giddy look on the guy’s face she tipped generously.

“You sure did, B,” Veronica says while putting an arm around her best friend. “Now let’s get you home.”

[friendlyneighborhoodmadscientist]

Settle in folks, here’s a story from my most recent gaming session, it’s pretty long but it was such a transcendent moment I have to share it with all of you. Due to length I’m going to try to put it under a cut.

So a bit of background information. We are playing a Kingdom Hearts game and have been for… A while. We can’t quite remember exactly how long. It’s a custom system of the DM and my design (THAT I WOULD LOVE TO SHARE BUT CAN’T GET DISNEY OR SQUARE TO TALK TO ME ABOUT IT).

Our PCs:

Lonnie Clawford, a snow leopard from Zootopia, with an affinity for Ice, and focused on Power abilities (like Terra). Lonnie is functionally immortal in combat, kind of anxious, and grew up in Zootopia’s foster care system until she was like 12 and was picked up by our Master. Played by @thepioden​

Lydia, a young woman from The Corpse Bride (in our defense, we knew it was Tim Burton and forgot it wasn’t Disney until we finished the world) with an affinity for Moon (blame Saïx) and focused on Speed abilities; her combat style focuses especially on aerial tricks and abilities. Gravity is a suggestion at best for Lydia, she’s a hopeless romantic (“MISSION OF LOVE” is a common refrain from her), and she grew up an orphan on the streets until she was about 5-6 and was adopted by our Master. Played by @tsukidoesthething​

Polaris Caelestis, a young man from ??????????? (likely a Final Fantasy World; we didn’t learn my last name until halfway through the campaign so far) who was found as an infant by their Master in the void between worlds (earning him the nickname “Space Baby” from his friends). He has an affinity for Thunder and is focused on Magic abilities. Pol has spent the most time with his Keyblade, tends to try to solve every problem with his knowledge or magic (earning him the nickname “Mage-Wrists” from his friends), and he tries to be a Fixed Point for his friends. I play Pol.

By this point, we have journeyed through so many worlds. Atlantis, The Rescuers, Wall-E, Princess and the Frog, Wreck-It Ralph, Secret of Mana’s Japan-only Sequel, Zootopia, Corpse Bride, Treasure Planet, The Incredibles, Monster’s Inc. And we have ended our first ‘lap’ in Chrono Trigger. We arrive in the bleak, dead, post apocalyptic future, and pick up Robo/Prometheus as our companion. Together, we visit the remains of human civilization, lightly perform a few miracles for the survivors, and end up making our way up to Death’s Peak. All the while, an oppressive feeling of despair, desolation, and Darkness is mounting. At the summit, we find ourselves face to face with a Lavos-Spawn. A horrible tick-like monstrosity the size of a bus that at least in our game was ALSO a variety of Heartless.

So, it’s already not looking GREAT for us. As the boss fight begins, our DM starts this music:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nReqeBSp_WY

Our DM hands us each two notecards taped together along the edges; on one side was a Whisper of Darkness, and the other was a new keyblade (with some flavor text) the Darkness forced us to use.

Lonnie declined to share the Whisper of Darkness she received, but she was forced to use Shattered Steel: 

“If someone has to take hits, let it be you, because you deserve them. Maybe you will be remembered fondly if you keep real heroes alive. Better to spend yourself until you’re battered, broken, and shattered, than to let them see what you really are.”

It lightly corrupted her heart with Darkness if she gave or received a buff, which she does automatically when she stands next to an ally.

Lydia heard this Whisper of Darkness:

“Your mother would have lived if you had not abandoned her and run to spare your own petty feelings. You always have, and you always will flee when you fear pain, and it will always harm those you claim to love and protect.”

And she was forced to use Broken Wings:

“Only unburdened hearts can soar. When you think about what you could have done differently, you only drown in doubt and loathing; cast it aside, and the guilt and regret hang around your neck like unseen weights. Better to give up the skies before you crash, broken, to the ground.”

It lightly corrupted her heart with Darkness if she went into the air or used an ability while aerial.

Polaris heard this Whisper of Darkness

“You spout the tenets of hope, desperate to distract yourself from the ugly truth. Your identity is staked upon it; if there really is no hope, no redemption, then you yourself are a cruel lie to those around you.”

I was forced to use Endless Night:

“Light brings not hope, but casts how much is lost and beyond relief into painful clarity. You cannot heal all wounds, and insufficient healing does more harm than good. Better to do nothing, and turn away from a night you cannot dispel.”

It lightly corrupted my heart with Darkness if my MP pool changed.

With each boss fight thus far, our DM showed us an “Information” notecard that gave a hint to the boss fight’s gimmick.

This one was completely redacted out in permanent marker.

Needless to say, the boss had abilities that forced us next to each other, knocked us aerial, and drained our MP. On top of this, our characters could not communicate.

It was bad.

We fought futilely for a time, and I did crit the bastard with a melee attack to the face, but after we dealt about 100 damage, the boss rewound time and healed itself to full. We were on the ropes; I had nearly been knocked out, Lonnie had nearly been halfway corrupted, and Lydia … well she was actually kind of the MVP but it was still Not Great.

Prometheus spent most of the fight trying to get our attention and was very concerned about how atypically we were behaving. He pulled us back, out of the fight and out of the worst of the boss’s aura. Prometheus started playing some recordings of his creator, a Professor Ashtear (likely a descendant of Lucca, but our DM created the character from whole cloth). As the recordings played, the music swapped to: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FvEJSvgl9Us Our DM’s delivery of the below was quite frankly superb.

“Okay, diagnostics are complete; everything’s in the green. Ready to go offline and get some upgrades?”

“Professor? I have a concern.”

“What’s up, 66?”

“I understand the mission and I will assist to the best of my capacity, as always. However, my calculations all project that I am insufficient for the role I have been given.”

“That’s what all this preparation is for.”

“Acknowledged, but am I not a sub-optimal model for integration? A military unit such as a mobile defense platform--”

“--Wouldn’t have what you have. It’s nothing in the numbers, 66, it’s something you’ve got to feel in your heart.”

“I am a robot. I do not possess a heart.”

“You don’t think so? I’m sorry to hear that. Maybe one day you’ll understand, but in the meantime I guess you’ll just have to trust that you’ve been chosen for a reason. Do you trust my judgment?”

“Of course, Professor.”

“Then believe in my trust in you. Fate has a way of putting us all where we are supposed to be. And if you have doubts, check in with me, or Lumie, or the people you’ll be helping. You won’t ever be alone. Not really.”

“Acknowledged, Professor.”

“But not really understood, right? Hm, maybe a good first step would be to give you a proper name... I think I’ve got just the one. See you again when you wake up, Prometheus.”

 “No. I appreciate the thought, Prometheus, but we can’t cut out the groundwork we’re laying for short term gain.”

“But if we do not take any measures to accelerate our action plan--”

“I’m under no illusions. The work ahead of us will exceed my lifetime. Even optimistically, I will never live to see the fruits of our labors. Neither will Lumie, nor any child of hers or grandchild. The world’s going to get worse --a lot worse-- before it gets any better.”

“...Regretfully, I have reached the same conclusions. You are not perturbed?”

“Of course I am. I’m a problem-solver. It’s what I do, and I’ve always been very good at it. To be confronted with something like this, where there’s no possible way I can see it resolved? Especially when it’s so important? It’s a bitter pill to swallow, some days. But I’ve come to peace with it, because I know my efforts won’t go to waste. What I do now, I do to fling a light into the future. Every step I take is one that Lumie can follow forward. She can take what I’ve started and advance it a little further. The rest, we can entrust to you, and to those who come after us.”

“Future generations may not be as capable as you are. How can you be certain that they will know how to use what you will leave behind?”

“I can’t. All I can do is have faith. I won’t be the last good man in the world. Where there’s life, there is always hope. Besides, you’ll be there to tell them what I’ve done, right? Our legacies live on in the hearts we influence. If I know that, through you, my example will continue to guide and inspire --even if it’s in ways that I can’t expect or imagine-- then I can rest easy in the knowledge that I’ve done all I can do.”

“Understood, Professor. I will remember.”

“Registration complete. Administrative access and privileges have been successfully transferred to Mistress Illumina Ashtear.”

(coughs) “Excellent. Thank you, Prometheus. When you go down, would you mind sending Lumie up alone, first? There are some things I want to make sure to tell her before I say goodbye to the rest of the family.”

“...As you wish, Professor.”

“Something on your mind, old friend?”

“Regret. If I had returned to escort you here sooner, your condition would not have degraded so acutely. If I had prioritized repairing the medical facility over stabilizing the foundation, Mistress Illumina might have had time to treat your symptoms or cure them.”

“Maybe. Or maybe we’d have lost a promising young mind to that mutant attack that we’ll need in the future. Maybe the building would have collapsed, and all the functioning medical equipment would have buried Lumie and me both. Or maybe all of that would have worked out and we would have learned that there was nothing that could be done for me anyway.”

“Those are only negative hypotheticals. There are an equally infinite number of positive alternatives, and the only concrete data I have to analyze is from this negative outcome.”

“Listen to me, Prometheus: we all make mistakes, believe me, I know. Heated words regretted, or necessary words left unspoken; time not spent, or misspent. Things we’re not proud of, and can’t do over, and good intentions that don’t work out the way we thought they would. But what do we do when we break something?”

“Attempt repairs.”

“And if we can’t fix it, make something new from what you learned. The only way a mistake leads to a wholly negative outcome is when you choose not to face it. It can hurt. Sometimes it can hurt like hell, but that pain will shape you, whether you acknowledge it or not. It can slow your hands from doubt, or it can guide them with purpose.”

“I do not understand, Professor.”

(coughs) “That’s alright. You will, one day. For now, let me just say this: don’t forget me, but don’t let me haunt you. Keep moving forward, Prometheus, even if you stumble. Be who you are meant to be and do what you’re meant to do. Live on. It’s all I’ve ever hoped for you.”

As these recordings wrapped up, Prometheus turned and addressed the monster directly, (DM’s robot voice is exquisite), and the DM swapped the music track to his leitmotif from his original game:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eaUNpJAgD4w

“I understand. You are not the creature that has taken so much from this planet. You are its offspring, leaching from our remains as you prepare to invade another world and repeat this heinous tragedy. Defeating you will not restore our resources, or the people we have lost. It will not save our planet; it will only spare a host of strangers I will never meet. And I understand now, that this is a worthy cause.”

“I am a robot. I was not designed or built for this battle. I still have reservations about my aptitude for the role and responsibilities I have been given. I have no statistical evidence to prove that I can prevail. But fate has a way of putting us all where we are meant to be. I have no compunction in my code to fight this battle, but I feel an imperative to achieve victory. It is irrational, but I understand it. Logic and concrete analysis compel me to doubt. My belief in those who chose to invest their hopes and dreams in me instruct me to ignore the odds.”

“I understand now. I am Prometheus, and I am alive. When we prevail over you, I will take what I have learned down off this mountain, and I will get back to work. I will let myself feel loss. I will let myself hurt, and I will grow to be more than I have been. I will continue on, as I know those I have left behind would want me to. I am alive. Their memories are alive in me. There are still people I have to protect. This world is still alive.”

The Professor’s voice sounds one more time. “Where there is life, there is hope.” A woman’s voice answers. “Where there is life, there is hope.” (The phrase echoes again and again, on down through the generations. Finally, the whole host of voices, Prometheus’s among them, rings out in a shout.) We were offered the opportunity to roll an Insight check to join in. Lonnie and Pol rolled first, and we BOTH got nat 20’s; with that, he didn’t even make Lydia roll, and we three joined our voices to the chorus: “WHERE THERE IS LIFE, THERE IS HOPE!”

With this, the DM said we were fully healed, the corruption to our hearts gone in an instant, and the DM instructed us to open the sealed notecard-packets. On the back of the corrupted keyblades were new purified (and mechanically magnificent) ones for each of us (also with flavor text).

Lonnie received Resonant Glass:

“No one voice can sing a chord. If I fear I am unworthy for the melody, then let me be the harmony. If I doubt the character of my soul, let me raise my voice with those that know me best, that I may hear my heart resonate with theirs.”

Lydia received Reclaim the Wind:

“Hopes and dreams have ever been the wind beneath our wings. If I sin, then let the hope to mend what may yet be righted and lift my face to the skies --not to avert my eyes, but to pursue the dream of my better self.”

Pol received First Light

“Not even the brightest star can light the void alone, and a beacon saves only those that pursue it. If my spark must pass before the Darkness, let it seed an ember in the hearts of those that chase the Dawn, a reminder that every night ends.”

 Prometheus addresses the boss one last time before the fight begins anew: “Now, Spawn of Lavos. (Dukes up) Prepare for termination.”

It was electric; we all could perfectly visualize the moment. I think we all had tears in our eyes at one point or another.

The DM changed the music one last time (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oWSB3qL5qs8) and showed us an Information card about how we could disable the boss’s temporal rewinding. Furthermore, any Dual-Tech/Team Attack we performed with Prometheus would automatically critically hit.

We kicked its spiny ass.

[lettersofsky]

DistantPastZine - Orphaner Dualscar - At the Whims of the Seas

Second of the extra pieces I did for the @distantpastzine. 

Rating:Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning:No Archive Warnings Apply Fandom:Homestuck Character:Orphaner Dualscar Additional Tags:A lack of nautical puns Language:English

When one’s life is dictated by the ebb and flow of a power greater than anything one can create, you kind of figure out there’s no need to worry about much else beside that.

~

The Orphaner Dualscar had a busy lot in life, well-earned and exactly what he’d always wanted and worked towards but busy all the same.

It was a difficult task to keep on top of all his many responsibilities and duties when the sway of the Ocean’s tides and currents were never as forgiving as one would like them to be but, in his most humble of opinions, he felt his long sweeps of existence at his disposal to assist him in getting through life and his duties in kind. So that he may continue to perform to the best of his abilities, better than the best of his abilities even as they never had been up to snuff, and continue to prove that he’d earned his position and place on the mortal plane as fleeting as they may be.

Which only made returning to the whisperings of a potential up and coming rival, as side-splittingly hilarious as it was that these wrigglers would even dare to think to claim being anywhere near equal standing, following him through the halls of the submerged docks.

“… already with a ship of his own…”

“… 3 lusii in this extended cycle alone…”

“… the Officials have even put in a good word for him…”

Oh yes, impressive feats each and every one of them. Without the much-needed context behind each that would give any real merit or worth for consideration.

How had he acquired his ship? Had he built it with his own claws? Stolen it from another troll? Had he gained it through mutiny? Had he found an abandoned ship with no one to contend his claiming of it? Or had it been handed to him along with that good word? Had fortune and luck joined to simply hand the opportunity to him upon a platter of silver fish scale?

He certainly hadn’t earned it like Dualscar had; hadn’t worked his way from the bottom rung up to a captaincy all of his own. Hadn’t lucked out the way Dualscar had at being the most senior onboard when the previous captain had been lost to the ocean waves. Really, trolls should stop being so impressed with the notion of a troll having a ship to their name; Mindfang did after all and she was the lowest of the low, completely undeserving of the honour and prestige of having a ship, an entire crew, under her command.

As for the lusii, there’d been numerous times Dualscar himself had returned with a number of them for Gl’bgolyb. Just another matter of lucky timing and good fortune, which so many seemed to both wilfully ignore and overlook in kind.

“… going to do about ‘im?”

He paused at the voice much closer than the passing whispers had been, turning his head and looking down at the younger troll at his back. As close to a second-hand as Dualscar would allow himself to keep; loyal only as far as it was in his favour to be and waiting for the first scent of blood in the water to turn on him, just as the rest of them were.

His fins fluttered as he considered the question, knowing better than to dismiss it out loud else he make himself a potential target for no reason. “As long as he is performing his duties in an admirable fashion then there is no reason to bother w-with him. The Empress and Gl’bgolyb are, at all times, our most important priority.”

“Yeah,” his second was younger, prouder, had yet to have that flame of aggressive territorialism beaten out of him by the cruel, uncaring tides of the Ocean and the Empress’ utter disregard towards those that worked tirelessly to ensure that her monstrosity of a lusus remained fed and silent in the deepest reaches of the oceans. “But what if he makes moves against us? How are you going to answer that?”

“W-what a w-wrigglerish question,” Dualscar scoffed, turning away to continue his stride through the halls, steps measured and even, unhurried and practiced, just the right length to them to indicate exactly how foolish he thought the question without making it too difficult for his second to keep pace if he wished to continue the conversation. Which, from the increased, quickened footfalls behind him, the younger troll did.

“If this w-would be Orphaner w-wishes to try his hands at sailing w-with the real sea-faring folk then he is w-well w-within his rights to try to.” Dualscar wouldn’t mind a weak attempt at actual competition for once, if the wriggler could last on the ocean long enough to pose anything like a threat at all. No matter how imbued this young upstart turned out to be with natural talent and standing within the collection of Sea-Dweller society the upstart was, the Ocean was a cruel mistress, cold and uncaring, and if at any moment she decided that a troll’s time was up then there was little one could do to change her mind.

It took a certain touch to navigate the Ocean, one trained under years of command and one that didn’t come pre-packaged in a troll’s genetic makeup.

“You’re really just going to let him be? Are you sure that’s a smart thing to do?”

He kept himself focused forward, carefully keeping his features blank else the other troll catch wind of his irritation and the clear, singular moment where his decision to be rid of the younger troll was reached. There was no reason to clue the other troll in to the fact the Dualscar would start to make moves towards his permanent dismissal from his duties as second-hand to their ship soon enough; the troll still held a wealth of knowledge he could use to ruin Dualscar if he were give both the chance and opportunity to.

With a new upstart making waves in the waters it was best to remove potential threats to both himself and his position as quickly as he was able to.

“W-we aren’t like those land-bound sav-vages, there’s no need for infighting w-when it can be av-voided. The Ocean’s big enough for the tw-wo of us to nev-ver cross paths for the entirety of his v-voyage.”

Up until the new troll in question decided that it might be an idea to weasel himself into Dualscar’s waters, but that was implied and hardly needed to be spoken out loud.

It seemed to appease the troll following him though as he quickly fell silent and chose not to question Dualscar further on the matter of the new upstart for the rest of the journey through the halls.

They weren’t planned to be docked long, just enough to unload what lusii Dualscar had managed to secure for the Gl’bgolybe and restock their own supplies before setting back out onto the endless expanse of space and waves that was the Ocean.

Which was exactly what Dualscar wanted. He didn’t want to deal with being on land, even if the halls of the Sea-Dweller port were mostly submerged beneath the waves themselves. There was a difference, subtle as it was, between the true freedom of open, endless water and the simulated, contained nature of the submerged buildings Sea-Dwellers created to accommodate their needs.

One of those differences being the attitude of the trolls around him even though Dualscar had long since lost whatever care he might have had towards the fact that he would never be as respected as some of the others due to his lack of natural talent and the fact that he’d earned his rank and station through his own hard work and dedication instead of having it gifted to him.

He cared little for them and their ideals, they mattered not when it came to the task of sailing and manoeuvring a ship through waves, storms and the beasts that lurked far from the laws of the lands, both troll and beast alike.

So let the new upstart come if he so wished to, Dualscar would gladly see the Ocean swallow him whole just as it would the corpse of his soon to be de-ranked second.

The Ocean was wide enough for them both if the upstart had any sense about him, and if not then she’d decide who would come out on trop of this faux rivalry when the time came for her to, impartial and uncaring as she ever was and so very, very alike their Empress herself.

Praise be to her name.

~

When he next returned to port, a new second at his shoulder, it was to a noticeable absence in rumours and whispering about that young violet that had held ambitions at becoming his rival.

“He must’ve run into a bit of trouble out on the water?” His new second, a violet she-troll of fewer sweeps than her predecessor had been, commented her fins fluttering softly as if trying to find some muttering of the other troll’s fate.

“V-very likely,” Dualscar agreed, barely resisting the urge to press at the fact that he’d been so very correct in his assumption that the little would be Orphaner would not last long upon the actual Ocean herself, certainly not to the extent dualscar himself had anyways. “A shame. I w-was looking forw-ward to a change of pace for once. Seems w-we’ll hav-ve to w-wait for another opportunity to show-w our merit, w-won’t w-we?”

“Yes Captain, we’ll get another chance soon enough.” His new second was much more polite and orderly than his previous had been, another added bonus to the new arrangement. Definitely enough to make up for the fact that his previous second hadn’t even had the opportunity to learn of this development and change his tun regarding it before the Ocean took him.

A shame indeed.

[demonslayvr]

VERSES RUNDOWN.

'fore blazing home came atumbling  ;  there was a family of four  (  childhood v. )

PRE GAMES  /  NOVEL’S  /  MANGA’s.   pretty clear  --  this is any interaction that has been plotted or otherwise during dante’s childhood til the fire.  by default he’s going to be about 6 - 8 years of age with the latter age at least a couple months before the fire.  

quite indeterminate yet the bang of a gun and the slash of a sword still remain a constant ( undetermined v  )

PRETTY OBVIOUS.   i haven’t made a decision where shit goes yet thus its undetermined.  will change during thread once we plot more on it or i figure something out myself.

not everything has a simple ending.  crashing demons is easy but other things ? that can be tough  (  multifandom v  )

GENERAL CROSSOVER / MULTIVERSE v.   pretty generic verse for when either dante himself or another character   outside   of the devil may cry canon gets tossed comes inside it.  i’ll probably branch off if and whenever i make verses for  in - fandom specific  threads when i build something for each one of them but this is it for now.  sometimes this verse tag will accompany another one  ;  which just means whichever verse he’s in and what you should follow development wise is connected. basically just a multi - fandom tag for crossover threads,  lads.   

die trash man  ;  take your sword and SHOVE IT  ( crack  )

GENERAL CRACK.   as the package says it’s just a verse / tag for crack whenever it happens.  sometimes it may 

a flash to a past that holds bitter air.  pain was a story here.  you wish not to go back   ( post dmc5 / alternate interaction v )

ALTERNATE INTERACTIONS.   pretty much like with the multifandom verse tag this one is simply going to go with   any   other version of himself dante interacts with.  might get latched onto with another verse tag just for my own sanity but  . .  yep.

low feelings  ;  simply moving along to find dangers and distractions ( devil may cry one v. ) 

SET JUST BEFORE,  DURING OR AFTER DMC1 AND BEFORE FOUR.  pretty much as the previous sentence says lads.  he’s an angstee boy but not as angsty as his two self i guess lmao.  but yeah,  this verse is a huge back track in terms of development and how he is in the verse   below  this one.

bang bang bang kiss of the gun & blade ; where are we?  (  post dmc5 - main )

POST DMCV.   follows the full OG dmcv canon til end  -  depending on interaction this could mean that any vergil written with and dante are in hell still doing whatever the fuck they please   or   after the fact and home and going on with their lives.  or trying  ;  considering vergil is back in his life and alive.  this is also the   DEFAULT   verse of the blog.

there's a fire in your veins that speaks your losses yet you continue to bend in remembrance (  atla / lok v.  )

SHUNNED.   known for killing his twin brother,  his very name and even more so in taking jobs to pay the bills   --  jobs that more so upset the delicate balance between the human and spirit realms.  

dante sparda   comes from the fire nation  -- his father a previous high general in the army  ; one that tried to broker peace in a time where it was unheard of while the fire nation ruled. his father met eva when he was traveling the earth nation and secretly begun a relationship with her.  their love was beautiful,  eventually in as much secret as possible eva bore two young boys:  vergil and dante sparda.

happiness was not to last however as wind was caught of the affair and the children,  leaving eva and the young sons to go on the run with sparda defending their escape.  the name sparda was drug through the mud as the man was never heard from again after that night. unknown what became of him as deflected firebending set the house ablaze.

short years pass,  spending it on the run from those who want to end the chapter of embarrassment  --  but it finally catches up.  one evening eva comes running,  telling her boys to go  --  to run and hide.  forget their names but stay at each other’s side.  the twins do as told and don’t look back  ;   the last time they see her.  however in their escape they end up separated,  captured by soldiers of the fire nation.  dante’s anger and despair of losing his entire family causes him to lose control  ;  lashing out on the soldiers that caught him and running away

“ you must change your name  ;  forget your past and start a new life as someone else.  “

that he does.  he changes his name and disappears,  alone.  fast forwarding a couple years he’s a spirit hunter  ;  taking jobs that rid   “  evil spirits  “  that cause issue or problem for anyone that pays a good amount.  a mercenary that cuts down those who’ve wronged the wrong person  ;  non and bender’s alike.  his father’s sword,  rebellion,  at his back to assist and create a dancing display of fire just as much as his bending.  he’s a difficult one to get close to but once you cool him off   (   haha )  he’s a loyal friend and ally.  

with the war over at the end of the series he’s more vocal of who he is  --  even though he was  previously   but with some of the fire nation’s  “ norms  “  kind of relaxing from fire - lord zuko’s rule   . .  he’s his father’s son.  his mother’s son.

lok  verses are basically  . .  kinda the same.  except i guess he’s older   . .  ??

pay off the debt to save your skin  ;  something within broke and former gentle soul crushed under weight ( dmc 2.0 v )

CANON DIVERGENT.  dante snapped,   perhaps it was inevitable  -  perhaps losing too many people tore what little the cambian could handle to pieces and the person that emerged from it was more a threat than he was before.  after the events of devil may cry 1 after realizing that he had  ( supposedly   )  killed his brother there was something in him that couldn’t handle it and everything begun to crumble.

in this timeline something in him changed, and while it wasn’t immediate  –  little things when he would have been understanding over a situation didn’t sit as they should.  but it happened quickly.  with trish’s betrayal he didn’t help her,  allowing her to get crushed by the tumbling rocks  ;  simply standing there and watch it happen.  its drawn out,  with him coming over to crouch beside her as she struggled to heal.  in his allowance bore cruelty,  snarling that she should have known better to betray him  –  mundus shouldn’t have done what he did and expect him to now not try and go after him.

he,  as he does in the normal timeline,  states that while she looks like his mother that she has no soul,  no fire and for that she’s just a puppet.  he shoots her more than once,  killing her   –   the last time he sheds a tear.  he reaches mundus,  who commends him for his actions yet the hybrid isn’t having it.  the fight with mundus goes about the same but with dante  killing him   for ultimately forcing him to murder his brother,  being the one who set the orders to   burn down   his home  –  twice   –  and turn his life upside down.

he goes through the portal mundus opened to  try   and escape and ultimately assumes himself as the  new king  of the underworld.  he still runs his business since even though he’s king there will always be factions that don’t   like it   due to his bastard blood and he’s more than happy to snuff it out.

his attitude is   mostly   intact   (  though this is said   loosely   since he’s less talkative and jovial   )   though now it’s unsettling at times since his jokes and humor can be a bit morbid  – let alone how his aura feels.  its dangerous and uncomfortable to be around  ;  his care for humans as a whole is almost non - existent except for a small inkling for lady.  

BIG NOTE:  THIS TIMELINE IS SET AFTER DEVIL MAY CRY ONE,  KIND OF   SKIPS FOUR    (    though it   IS   likely nero still exists but dante doesn’t care much about it  or know   )    SLIGHTLY INVOLVES TWO    ( aka:  dante gets annoyed that some idiot human is making helicopters messed up with demonic juju and wants to become king.  so he kills arius  )  AND INVOLVES   SOME CONTENT   OF FIVE.  

to enact your revenge most had been taken  ;  body & mind broken so it could begin   (  witcher v  )

———–   destiny.  you hear it more than you’d like to admit.  destiny is what brought your parents together  ;   one monster and the other a witch.  two were born,  twins and raised in care by the witch til fate came to pass and ripped the three of you left apart.  in trying to halt destiny the father,  sparda,  had done his best to hold it off  ;  disappearing one afternoon when the boys had been young   ——–   so long ago.  his hope ??   that staying away would bring a kinder reality and future.

fire and blood,  a mother doing best to protect her children was found disemboweled on the floor within the crumbled castle foundations.  the youngest child was told to hide,  hide away and if the mother didn’t resurface   . .  to run.  she didn’t,  but the youngest fought his way out of the castle   —-  skills of his mother surfacing with an aptitude for beast slaying in the same scope.  his father’s sword,  created by hellish and beastly means was his and aptly used to start a revenge   —  to   KILL   demons in his mothers name.  and in his brothers   —   as both were believed to have perished in the attack.

in a short time and with training the young hybrid killed demons for a price   ;   eventually catching the eye of a witcher.  the nature of the hybrid himself and the skills he held were of interest   —   brought to kaer morhen to be trained as a witcher.  almost losing himself in the process yet he endured,  it further altering his physiology that was already different with the hybrid nature he had.

with the trials and effective torture to   be   a witcher an astounding success he buried into the extensive training to pursue the beast that slayed his family while also being a monsterslayer for hire.  

———–   destiny.  you hear it more than you’d like to admit.   destiny and fate has brought you here.  brought you a thought lost ache in your heart for the family lost all to avenge them and   kill   the beast that killed   them.   you feign your disinterest,  your lack of care but there is much of it in soul.   destiny   is a cruel mistress,  son of sparda.  yet perhaps she may gift you the   KINDNESS   to provide retribution if you are to   live   long enough.

Notes 1:    with his father’s blood and how he is part beast,  his body temperature is more abnormally hot than normal  –  able to reach just below lava temperatures without it seeming to create any problems for him.   Notes 2:   his magic is mostly fire based,  secondly offensive  (   akin to geralt’s in show how it can push things back,  etc  ).  with the fire being used to distract he’s referenced to a dragon at times which he ignores. Notes 3:   dante’s still trans because i say so   ;   while magic used to be used to help him pass he’s since has procedure through coin to get effectively top surgery  —  the scars easy to pass off due to his occupation.  bottom surgery hasn’t been attempted but with becoming a witcher,  like the rest,  he’s infertile. Notes 4.    he’s   school of the wolf   because i said so,  wolves are cool and it has geralt so sue me  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

you wished you could forget ; everything else seems to blur but not him. not the brother you lost. (  IT v.  )

AFTER THE FIRE  you found yourself in foster care with your brother in tow. foster turned into adoption with the family that adopted the two siblings ended up bringing the two of them too derry,  maine.  immediately the youngest sibling knew something was off about the town  ;  the atmosphere unsettling but kept it to himself,  not wanting to blow the change he had with his brother at having a new life.  (   he and vergil are still cambion’s,  but their power is,  like,  kinda not as Large as it is normally.  still half demons tho folks.   )

the youngest had trouble settling in a new town,  smaller than the last  –   economically  (  as he and his twin were upper class before this )   and town size in general with more seeming conservative values.  he was lucky to find himself in a slightly liberal and understanding household as he was a transgender kid who no one knew any less of. something he was more careful to keep to himself.

everything was fine,  the brothers settled in and all was well until it wasn’t.  exploring the woods and the barrens  –  finally opening up to his brother that things were strange in the town and he could feel something off.  they went looking but in doing so  . .  there had been an opening of weakness for the two  –  distractions and a trap.  their mother,  burned and in pain asking for their help  ;  of course the two came closer.  there was a small difference in this faux recreation and trauma that dante noticed  –  calling out for his brother to stay away but,  unfortunately the youngest saw the eldest fall victim to the trap  –  terrified and running away when he couldn’t do anything but possibly fall victim too.

time passed,  school continued on with whispers and comments on how the twin had probably did it himself,  causing the kid to isolate himself from everyone even though he knew what he say.  adults didn’t believe him but there was a group that seemed to have had a run in with this   . .  fuckin’ clown.  

(   going off:  smol™ dante getting involved with the losers after he straight up talks to one of them about what happened and what he saw  /  big™ dante having gone off like the rest of the losers doing his own thing aka kill other demon / eldritch things as normal kinda sorta and then re - meet up with them  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ )

same person but different mistakes  ;  still wrought pain upon brothers ( altered outcome / divergent v. )

CANON DMC DIVERGENT.   pretty much a what if  /  reversal if dante led the life vergil did instead of vergil himself.  it’s pretty much the same events but with dante the cause of them or involved instead of vergil.  his attitude is close to what 2.0 dante is but not entirely there in terms of destruction.  however he is still trying to deal with the aftermath of nelo angelo fame and dmcv’s whole thing.

ARISE ;  for you are reborn into something greater.   ARISE    baricontralto angelo - fight.  ( post dmc 5 div. nelo angelo dante v  )

HE HAD BEEN COCKY. the cambion had been cocky upon returning back with his twin from the underworld   ;   cocky that with his twin that nobody could beat them if they simply worked together.  and he was right.  he was right up until he was wrong and time,  well  . . time wasn’t kind.    it had been nine months   since their return from the underworld from cutting down the qliphoth and in that time a   familiar blue amulet   found itself back in dante’s possession.  it had been lost for several decades,  having been lost to the boy during the day he had come home to find gavreel and the family slaughtered on the lawn.

he kept it close,  he knew the meaning   –  he knew that there was   peace   again but  .  . he knew the danger of once again having this but would not dare get rid of it   –  he’d ride the coaster until it stopped.  he’d be happy to have this shred of happiness and he felt he was finally allowed to have something   –   happy to have his brother back and have some semblance of family.

that was,  well,  until he   lost   the amulet.  he didn’t notice that he did,  believing it was still in pocket during a small run in with demons  ;  a job that he had taken alone   –  it seemed that fate was playing her hand that day.   it had been dropped during an evasion and was lost upon his shift ahead   –  he didn’t even spot it.  the job became less easy,  it tiring him considerably as the  small group   of demons became larger   –   and while it was initially a challenge   . .

it soon became taxing.  as the larger the numbers the more exhausted the demon hunter became,  the more he started to slip up.

it was only then did he realize that this was no job.  it was a   trap   and he was caught in a net he couldn’t tear himself from.  a familiar feeling emerged,  one he   hadn’t felt   for decades.  a demonic force that he had thrown fury at that same time.  he hadn’t been this week before.  he knew who this was and   . .   he was in trouble.  this trap had been calculated and he had fallen into it hook,  line and sinker.

the distraction of the feeling,  of the demonic energy rising in the space leaves him vulnerable  –  attacks slicing at his back,  his arms and legs   –   a lucky slash to his throat leaves him struggling and gripping his throat.   he hits his knees before he realizes he does  ; he ultimately   —   unintentionally   —   bows    to the demon king before he passes out, demonic weapons and claws slashing into his back.

the next   redacted years   in the demon world are a nightmare that  post   angelo dante would have trouble remembering for all that happened are buried deep in repressed memories.  the years blur together,  but dante holds for a long time  –  dante suffers,  he burns,  he aches,  he struggles    –   he perseveres.  for a time anyway.   he recalls and holds onto the trade out  . .  that this could have been   vergil   here instead of he.  last minute changes,  bouts of laughter as he accepted the job and ran out the door.  

see you soon   he had said.  but the jovial air had long past.  memories begin to muddle,  to ebb and fade in and out as things became foggy.  a struggle to remember  –   a struggle to fight but   . .   not all fights can be won.  this one eventually was lost.

out of years of torturous pain and bloodshed arose a new pet,  a puppet that was loyal and true.  one that slaughtered doppelganger after doppelganger of brother and self,  of friends and allies that the king knew that the former knew.  he was satisfied that his little puppet would do just fine.  that perhaps he could lure in his old   ;   have the complete set  –  for use of the younger did fine in breaking the elder.

this soldier has two forms  ;  one that fed to his devil trigger (   generic nelo angelo  –  not much power is used for it  –  basically it’s dante on the regular tapping into demonic power with his first devil trigger.  he’s stronger than normal,  having given into his addiction to human and demon blood and grown more powerful because of it  )  

and another that feeds into his   sin   devil trigger  (  essentially the  ‘  dragon  ‘  -  esque look.  however its almost imperfect in how the black scales have become the darkish red  / brown  ;  something not quite right.  scales do fall off without warning from time to time, revealing a near lava like flow underneath.   )  

baricontralto  . .  a name to be used to not arouse suspicion  ;   a soldier that would destroy armies and bring cities to their knees in the name of his master.   time would be swift for the pawn to be used,  for the king himself was pleased.  he was cocky with his new toy  . .   and it wasn’t long before he was to be used   . .  

despite all your losses & destruction ; despite trauma &  trials  . .  my darling boy you’re still you. (  undertale v.  )

[  fight  ]                     [  act ]                    [  item  ]                   [ mercy  ]    

                                     ↳   [  dante sparda ]                                      ↳   [   check  ]

IT WAS UNPRECEDENTED.  a human and a monster coming together and falling in love.  falling in love after the war to a human   witch   that found herself in the closed off underground after a tumble.  sparda protected eva from the monsters at first,  keeping her under his care  –  yet the umbra witch found herself using her powers and skills to assist in healing a monster in peril.  

keeping eva out of harms way was  . .  difficult due to her humanity being a source of contention.  monsters wanted to escape.  eva rather enjoyed being alive.  in the end eva’s healing magic to save and protect those around her and her love and the fact that she was  older   and not prime use to open a proper exit to the human world.  asgore swore eva off limits to monsters as she was kind and a healer to them all.

in time sparda and her married and she bore two children  ;   hybrids   –   part monster and part human.

but not even the king’s word could stop those who still feared humans and humanity.  those who held   rage   toward a species that had caused so much trouble and locked them away for thousands of years,  if not more.   a fire erupted into the underground,  started at the quaint yet spacious house and spread further throughout the underground.  by the time it had been put out  –  eva had been recovered,  dead,  in the home attempting to escape herself but the boys nowhere to be found.  with her last ounce of magic she had sent her boys away,  far away and out of the underground and topside.

now alone and separated from his remaining family and traumatized by the attack to his home the hybrid remained alone  –  growing up such until he found himself protecting humanity against   other   monsters   ;   demons.  demons and monsters that had managed to stay in the human world but grew dangerous and lost themselves.   dante sparda grew to love his humanity yet slowly accept the monster part of himself.

with a job giving him   whispers   of the brother he thought he lost through his own hand now somehow residing in the underground  . .  he flew in to investigate,  still holding some anger over what had been done to his family yet   . .  holding   determination   and patience to deal with the rumors and what he’s about to come across.

[aomgtrash]

Bet with my Bae-st friend.

So, more than a year ago, my great and dumb friend found my tumblr app on my phone and tried to read my “work”. He then told me that if I let him read what I wrote, he would write one. I gave him the prompt: “tall girl meets Jay Park”. This is the nonsense he sent back ONE YEAR LATER.

Yellow skirt, white T-shirt standing outside under the blinking neon lights. The smell of cigarettes lingered in the air, the bar behind you was humming with the vibrations of the bass with silhouettes of the drunken masses clustered inside. You tighten the grip on your wadded-up jacket, it was better out here. Always the outsider. With your head always above the level of the crowd, you always stood out. Staring down at your beat-up sneakers, you wiped your nose and took a deep breath of the cold evening air.

“Noisy” Shifting your gaze from the shoes to your brand-new vomit-stained jacket. Some asshole inside couldn’t hold his liquor and ruined the night. Focusing on the jacket, you were being oblivious to the luxury car that crept towards the nightclub. The sterling silver vehicle pulled close to the curb. Stepping out in a tight t-shirt, all black shades with his entourage behind him, little Jay came out to play. Moving towards the door, Jay slowed down. “Lost?”, Jay asked admiring your figure. Startled by the sudden appearance of a stranger, you let out a small peep and had taken a step back. Looking at the icon that stood in front of you, you quickly brush your hair behind your ear. “I didn’t realize you were cute and mute” giving a cheeky smile that hid his mischievous agenda. You smile. Suddenly you felt like you have stepped into the limelight. “Relax, I’m not that scary”, Jay said taking a small step forward. Struggling to find words, you told him that you were just tired of the club and was on your way home. “Trust me, a party is always better with good company”, Jay reached out for your hand. “Maybe if you party with me, you night might just get a little better?’. You chuckle. Grabbing you by the hand and pulling you towards the door, Jay reassures you. Dropping the jacket behind you find yourself taken away into the night. Back into the bright lights. Even though the bar was crowded, it felt like you two were the only ones there. Jay started to show off some choreographed moves and sang loudly along to the music. You almost immediately begin to mimic his moves and loudly sing along with him. Reaching for your hand, he twirls you around, pulls you close and sways to the rhythm. Still loudly singing, you have both reached a point where your making up lyrics. You run your fingers through his hair. It is literally how you imagined it. Soft, thick and smooth; Almost nothing could ruin this moment. Almost nothing; Whatever evil you have done in your past life had reincarnated into a drunk 20-year prick that vomited your jacket. Now, he came back to apologize. Spilling his drink on your back, he shouts out how he would pay you back for the ruined jacket. Your shirt and skirt reeks of alcohol, people in the crowd are now staring at you and worst of all, Jay let go of you to deal with the nuisance behind you. Unfortunate; Embarrassed, you make your way through the masses to reach to the bathroom.

You run into the girl’s restroom, lucky for you you’re the only one there. You pull off your white top and hold it under the running sink. Standing in the bathroom in your bra is not the most glorifying position to be in the world but it could be worse. You hear the door creek open. This may be one of the only few moments of your life where you didn’t want to see Jay Park’s hair and eyes. Flushed, you cover your chest and leave your shirt in the sink. “You doing alright? I wanted to check up on you”. Jay stepped into the bathroom. On the verge of tears, you tell him that the stain isn’t going to come out. You try to convince him that he should just enjoy the rest of the night without you. You couldn’t even look at him. Wiping your tears and shifting your eyes, you finally decide to look at him. To your surprise you see him taking off his t-shirt and offering it to you. “Think of it as a cute crop top”. Looking into your eyes, you see his smile. His body was flawless. His toned body, tattoos and abs made your heart squeal. Peeking out from his pants were boxer briefs that pressed close to the V that formed at his waist. “Let me take care of your shirt”. You pull him close. Feeling the warmth of his body, you begin to kiss. He moves his hand around you and begins to grope your ass. He bites your lip and you begin to French kiss. He moves you unto the counter and you feel his hard on against your crotch. He slides your skirt off, “You okay?” He asked. You cleared your throat, “I’m fine.” Jay presses a finger to your clit and you gasped again. “What’s wrong?” He asked sarcastically. Then he started to move his finger in a circular motion.

“How I hate writing this so much, why did I agree to this” complains a voice over the speakers. Jay backs off of you and looks back at the restroom door. After a moment of silence, he looks back at you, shrugs and smiles. The stall behind them flushes. Did you think the bathroom was empty? I know I said it was empty earlier but I changed my god damn mind. You grab Jay and run into the last stall (the handicapped one, because you’re a terrible person). Passions are dying down but you kiss him in efforts to reignite. Electric surges run through your body as you run your hand through his hair. Jay, terribly confused but also incredibly horny goes with the flow. Unknown to him, its been an entire year that Jay has been rubbing your clit. The author had been procrastinating that long to finish this piece. You know the author isn’t going to make this easy but you are GOING TO GET THAT JAY PARK DICK (eventually). You take off your bra. There could have a more romantic way to go about it but ultimately this is a quickie in the club.

Looking through the crack of the bathroom stall, you see a nun washing her hands at the sink next to an overflowing sink due to a white top blocking the drain. Ignoring the consequences of your previous actions, you lock the cubicle. Jay pushed your back against the wall. His lips once again meet your fierce and desperate. Your hands drop and you begin to tug at his zipper. Jay helps you out and drops his pants. He moans against your mouth. “Holy fuck.” Jay whispers “Do you always get prettier the less you have on?”. You break into a smile and reply “But are we going to fuck or not?”. Now he is the one blushing. You bend down toward the black boxer briefs. Your hands meet his perfect V and you pull down the briefs. Alas, fate is a cruel mistress. The author did google and thoroughly researched about average penis length and girth sizes to accurately determine the most realistic size for men of that region. He realized two things, racism isn’t necessarily fact and that also he is racist. If you had used the word small to describe the imaginary dick in front of you, it would have been generous. You shrug your shoulders and now you fuck. With as much grace as possible, I have written my smut. For all the sluts for smut, I am sorry that this disappointed you.

[scotianostra]

24th July 1394 saw the death Alexander Stewart, 1st Earl of Buchan, the Wolf of Badenoch. 

Alexander Stewart, the Earl of Buchan, earned several nicknames during his lifetime given his loathsome reputation for murder, violence and fire raising, Many knew him as the Wolf of Badenoch while others referred to him as the Celtic Atilla. It has been questioned whether he was indeed Scotland’s vilest man.

The Wolf died on this day in 1394 at Ruthven Castle near Kingussie with legend claiming that he met his maker after playing chess with the devil. The story is perhaps a fitting end for a man who honed his reputation with a series of rampages through the north of Scotland and his terrifying appetite for destruction of his enemies.

He set fire to the towns of Forres and Elgin, where the cathedral was torched and chaplains and canons burnt out of their homes. It is believed that Pluscarden Abbey was also lit by the Wolf as he fought back against the influence of the Bishop of Moray. The driver for much of his rage was his marriage to Euphemia I, Countess of Ross, who was unable to bear him a legitimate heir and the church refused to end the marriage. However, he reportedly had seven children with his mistress, Mairead nighean Eachann, with other accounts claiming the Wolf fathered up to 40 offspring with other women.

The Wolf was powered by a toxic combination of anger and power which was gifted to him by his father, King Robert II, who made his son the Earl of Buchan in 1382 and the Crown’s chief law officer in the north of Scotland. The Wolf’s territory stretched from Moray to the Pentland Firth - with much of its people to feel the full force of this “avarious and cruel” according to one historian.

In 1390, by which time the Earl was bedding down at his secluded island home of Lochindorb Castle, the Wolf’s touch paper was lit when the Bishop of Moray, Alexander Bur, refused to annul his marriage.  He was later to excommunicate the Wolf. The Earl was “exasperated....to such a degree of fury” that he was reduced key parts of his territory to ash.

In the month of May 1390 he descended from his heights and burn the town of Forres, with the choir of the church and the manse of the archdeacon, the next month he burnt the town of Elgin, the church of St Giles, the hospital of Maison-Dieu and the cathedral, with 18 homes of the canons and chaplains in the college of Elgin.

It is likely that the Priory of Pluscarden was burned at the same time with traces of fire lit still seen today in the building .

The Wolf, whose other homes included Drumin Castle near Glenlivet, Castle Garth near Glen Lyon, and Ruthven Castle near Kingussie, was prosecuted and punished by his father but ultimately absolved of his crimes and received back by the church.

According to accounts, Pope Clement V subsequently annulled the marriage in late 1392 after Countess Euphemia complained to Rome that her marriage was meaningless given the Wolf was cohabiting with another woman.

And so to this fateful day in history...or legend, you decide! 

It is said he was visited by a tall man dressed in black and the pair played through the night, with a storm conjured when the visitor called “check” and “checkmate”.

In the morning, the Wolf was found dead in the banqueting hall and his men too found lifeless outside the castle walls.

Like all good legends there are differing versions of the story, the other was that the end “duel” was playing cards. 

[modernprometheuus]

He couldn’t have taken his eyes off her even if she’d asked him to. The relief he feels when the soldier calls out that Elizabeth is okay lasts for only a moment before she cries out again - this time, telling Victor to prepare to catch her. ...Catch her? What?

Then, his stomach lurches, as Elizabeth suddenly drops.

Reaching out as fast as he can... he barely manages to cling onto her. Her grabs her by the arm, his nails digging into her skin as he holds on as hard as he can. But she’s heavy, and her weight is pulling him down.

Fresh tears fall from his eyes - tears of pain; of desperation. But he’s determined not to give up. So gritting his teeth, he grips even tighter, and yells-

“What now!?”

@wingsofintxlligence (continued from here!)

[madaraism]

Apate - Part IV of Himeros

Απάτη ; Of betrayal and deceit.

A/N: Thank you so much for the growing and continual support and love for this series. I hope I’m doing a decent job for all of you. Please read the previous parts here:

Part I – Himeros // Part II – Algea // Part III – Aletheia // Part V - Hestia // Part VI - Achlys

Summary: Four years apart can really change a person.

Pairing: Liam x Riley

Rating: Mature (language)  

Words: 5050

Inspirations for this chapter – Consequences by Camila Cabello

Tag List: @hhiggs @theroyalweisme @itzmequeenb @alicars @cocomaxley @blackcatkita @trianiasti @viktoriapetit @umccall71 @topsyturvy-dream @kawairinrin @jayjay879 @bobasheebaby @choiceswreckedme @queencatherynerhys @laniquelove @philiasperanza @hopefulmoonproject @mfackenthal @hellospunkiebrewster @boneandfur @gracepedia @jared2612 @jamielea81 @ashtonmore @alwaysmychoices

He remembers the look on Regina’s face very clearly from two years ago.

She sat there, almost uncaring, sipping tea from her fine bone china Wedgwood cup and saucer.

He remembers swallowing his anger, his hurt, the bile in his throat, the silent tears that stung painfully at his eyes when he refused to blink.

He remembers how ecstatic he felt when Bastien handed over a folded sheet that contained Riley’s address earlier that day.

For the first time in forever, he could feel the warmth from the sun on his back. His day to day life finally meant so much more than endless work, endless meetings with different nobles, with different business men, politicians from surrounding countries.

When he received the note from Bastien, he felt hope.

Hope to see Riley again.

Hope to change whatever that made her leave Cordonia in the first place.

Hope to bring her home.

But hope can be fleeting.

They say hope is like a flame that lights the way in the dark, but they always forget to mention the part where the night is cold. The part where the night is eerily silent except for the sound of wind howling. The part where the night is filled with shadows that lurk in the dark, snatching and clawing.

When he received the address, he had immediately arranged everything with Bastien; scheduled his private jet, his transportation and accommodation with the Cordonian Embassy in America – everything.

He was so ready to leave.

He was so ready to see her again, to see the light in her eyes, the way she would sigh contently in his arms when he hugged her, the way she breathed him in as if he was air itself, and him, her.

He was ready to pick up the pieces from where they left off and to give her the whole world again.

But if anyone held a torch for Cordonia that was brighter than Liam and Madeleine combined, it would be the Queen Mother.

When he sees his step-mother sitting there with Madeleine by her side, he feels his steps falter, his legs that walked with such pride in his stride just a few seconds ago, now heavy, refusing him the freedom to move.

He is honest when the Queen Mother asks where he is planning to go.

Her retort is calm and predictable.

His wife sips her tea, eyes all-knowing, eyebrows raised as if to say ‘I told you so’.

And he feels his heart falter, air knocked out of his lungs, his battle with his own tears lost as one escapes and slides down his face.

Their very presence and their cruel words reminded him again of his duty to Cordonia that day.

The bitter words that Madeleine had uttered to him when Riley had left – that his heart, his soul and presence ultimately belonged to Cordonia.

That the monarchy would falter if he flew to New York alone and came back with his mistress when he already had a Queen.

That no matter how much he wanted to go after her, to bring her home, he couldn’t.

He mustn’t.

He can’t.

-

Fate had been cruel to them, but fate can also be kind.

Their words wash over each other like waves, emotions overflowing through the form of their tears, their kisses and their embraces in the middle of the street.

“I missed you…”

“I can’t believe you’re here Liam…”

“Why did you leave, my love, why…”

“I’m so sorry Liam, I missed you too…”

“Fuck, I love you Riley. So much.”

And they find themselves after the longest time walking around New York City hand in hand, their steps in sync with each other, bodies lightly swaying as if they had never spent a single day apart.

He can’t keep the smile off his face – a bright grin forever on his lips. He feels reenergized – the exhaustion and loneliness for the past four years lifted off his shoulders as if deadweight had just been dropped.

When he sees her still wearing the ring he gave her, he is positively over the moon with joy. She had kept him close for the past four years, even if it was in the form of his mother’s ring.

He can’t stop kissing her hand.

He can’t stop leaning into her and pressing kisses to her forehead.

And they find themselves gravitating towards the famous Central Park.  

They talk about Constantine’s passing and Riley can see the sadness in his features, but the determination in his eyes.

They talk about the wellbeing of the country that he rules, and she is glad that it has been overall stable despite the few attacks from nearby rebellion groups and the usual pointless, trivial gossip that rolls around every few weeks.

After four years of being apart, she sees the change and obvious growth in him.

The maturity and the depth of his wisdom. The unwavering loyalty to his country and his confidence as King. How wise he looks.

She can see the countless battle-like negotiations, complicated courtly politics that he has had to endure and has overcome. She sees the light indentation of the worry lines as a form of battle scars from the trials he faced. Yet when she meets his gaze and his beautiful smile, his youth is still so very evident.

After four years of being apart, Liam still sees the confident, strong and determined woman that he knew and loved. He easily guesses that she has gotten thinner from the way her clothes hang on her frame and was evidently more stressed and exhausted from the constant furrow in her brows. Their first embrace only confirmed his observations and he feels a small tug in his heart as he imagines the vast possibilities of what she must’ve endured by herself the past few years.

Liam looks into her eyes with the most amount of love he can muster as he observes her before him. They too, appeared more mature. The way she looks at him is still unchanged and he feels relief filling his body when he sees her love for him reflected in them.

He swears he sees underlying guilt and regret in her features, but she masks it well with sheer determination.

When he asks her why she had left, her answers are always deferring, guiding away from the truth.

She speaks of heartache and plain reluctance of being around a life that Riley wanted but could not have – one that he was supposed to share with Madeleine.

Liam is hesitant in his response as he squeezes her hand, deciding to drop the topic for the time being whilst they rekindled a passionate love that had been forced to pause for the world around them.

They seem oblivious to the hustle and bustle of the world around them as they settle down onto a wooden bench; the noises of laughing children and concerned parents, the busy chatter of various businessmen and the forever present group of gossiping office ladies never seemed to leave their surroundings. Yet in the face of each other, the chatter around them seemed to fade.

To him, it didn’t feel like their love for each other had faltered. He can still see the comfort that he brings to her poise.

Nevertheless, the hint of guilt that lingered on her face made him somewhat uneasy.

Liam could tell that she was hiding something, but he wasn’t entirely sure what it possibly could be.

When he decides to address the matter of her departure that hangs heavily over their heads, she speaks.

“So… Madeleine.” Her voice is almost silent. The meaning behind Madeleine’s name was simple.

Riley couldn’t help herself but to be curious. She knew and was prepared for the pain that was to be expected from his words. She keeps her gaze away from him, her hands holding her onto the bench beneath her as if she would fall into oblivion when he speaks.

He looks at her, eyes full of sorrow. Liam knew he had to be truthful. All he hoped was that Riley would understand.

She can feel her body quivering in anxious anticipation as she tries to remain a façade of calmness.

They both know it is a sensitive topic. If anything, Liam knows that this was the very reason that caused her to leave.

And what if she was to leave again?

Liam wouldn’t be able to take it. Not after he had been missing, craving and hoping for her to be by his side again for so long.

His words are brisk and cautious – carefully selected.

“…We… We tried. Not often, but… we tried.” His brows are furrowed as he tries to gauge her response from her side profile.

Neutral.

Blank.

But he can see her shivering, knuckles white against the dark wood of the bench.

“…Riley…” He starts, voice full of concern as he reaches out to push the hair away from her face.

And he uncovers silent, steadfast streams of tears that overflowed from her unblinking eyes.

And he can see how hard she is biting down on her bottom lip as it was in a shocking shade of red.

His heart breaks.

Such tremendous, overwhelming waves of guilt shakes him and he tries to hug her rigid form as his own tears threatened to spill. He rests his heavy head on her shoulder with his arms draping uselessly around her unmoving frame.

“Riley, I’m so sorry…” His croak was almost unrecognisable. He lets his tears fall.

His words repeat themselves over and over, barely audible.

When Liam dares to look at Riley’s face again, he sees the most painful frown on her face; her lips upturned, eyes squeezed shut, her brows furrowed in agony.

She fights an ongoing battle of clashing emotions. The storms of anger and betrayal screaming from her tightened stomach, the pain and remorse of recalling just how much she had to endure over the past four years and her brain, trying to be the voice of reason as she tries her very best – despite close to failing, to reason with herself that it was his duty, that it was what he needed to do to serve Cordonia.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t warn her.

But that isn’t the point, is it?

She feels the tears that she thought had stopped reappear, pushing their way through her clenched eyes.

It didn’t matter in the end.

He didn’t need to sleep with Madeleine after all.

Levi was the crown prince despite everything that they had to endure.

Pointless.

Futile.

Wasted years.

Wasted tears.

His voice brings her back from her own personal hell.

“…Riley… My love… Is this why you left?” Liam feels almost stupid for asking. But with Madeleine now officially out of the picture, he wanted to double, triple check.

His face mirrors her own; lashes wet from tears, eyes bloodshot, his nose tinged pink from all the crying.

She stares at him for the longest time. Disbelief, ridiculing, questioning… hurt.

She wants to scream out of frustration and she wants to yell.

She wants to curse at him for being so loyal to his damn country and duty.

She wants him to go through everything that she had to go through.

The pain of childbirth, the terrifying moments as a first-time mother, the fear that she had when Levi had a high fever for days on end and she had to spend almost every penny and every second of her time to make sure he got adequate care and love.

The exhaustion of working multiple jobs to provide shelter for herself and Levi, to provide food for the table for his damn son, to give him the time and opportunity to go to a good day care and to give him the best possible start to life with countless toys, clothes and the children’s books that he loved so, so much.

The constant terror and dread of living each day since she got back to New York that Madeleine and Regina’s men would come bursting through her door, taking the poor, illegitimate child of hers away.

She wants him to endure every ounce of pain, every ounce of loneliness and suffering that she had to endure by herself for the past four years.

Four, wasted years.

And Riley is so, so frustrated.

With every right.

She battles with her anger, her inner turmoil, her sadness and her frustration.

Liam wasn’t the one to blame while Regina and Constantine edged him on to perform his duties.

She can’t help herself but feel almost disgusted with the fact that he actually went through with it.

She can’t help herself but feel angry at him for not having a better say in the situation as King.

She wanted to continue keeping Levi as her secret, even for just a few more years until he was older – to be away from courtly gossip and rumours, to be away from the terrors of court politics, the weight and the responsibilities as crown prince.

To be away from the judgemental stares and ridicule from his own grandmother, the Queen Mother, for being a disagreeable child born out of wedlock.

An illegitimate bastard.

But her emotions get the better of her.

“No.” Her reply was sharp, poisoned with anger. “No. That isn’t why I left.”

She stands up hastily, ready to strike with hurtful words. He follows suit, confused and worried.

Riley opens her mouth to continue, but she finds herself on pause when her eyes trail over to a family of three; a young boy perched on his father’s shoulders whilst his mother has a hand hooked onto her husband’s arm.

Her voice falters as her brain pressures her into imagining Liam, Levi and herself in such a hopeful situation.

She feels the same guilt that she felt since Liam had run towards her to collide in a hug, limo door still wide open.

The guilt of keeping Liam in the dark about Levi.

The guilt of depriving Liam and Levi their time to bond as father and son.

But she knows that what she did was right, simply for the safety of their son and a simple wish as a mother, for him to grow up healthy and happy.

But she knows deep down, she wishes for nothing more than for the three of them to be an ordinary, happy and loving family.

“No? Riley… Then why did you-”

“…I was pregnant when I left, Liam.”

He blinks.

“…What?”

Time seemed to stop around them as Riley repeated herself.

“…We have a son, Liam… His name is Levi…” The previous heated emotions in her voice was completely extinguished.

Her voice was no longer music in his ears, but simply bland and bare, an echo that was accompanied by static.

Liam feels his mind slip, his body numb.

His back is straight, shoulders squared as he closes his parted mouth. He realises when he speaks, that he has slipped into the mode of a strategical King.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Riley?” His voice is calm, cold almost.

But she sees right through him and her anger appears again in the form of a wagging finger in front of him.

“No. No, Liam. I am not some court subject that you can talk down to.”

And she sees the momentary shock that flashes across his eyes as his composure crumbles, his features now showing the fury and hurt that imitated her own.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Fuck… Riley, I had every right to know.” He was angry and irritated at the situation that Riley had put him in since he had left.

Did she not trust him?

“I couldn’t tell you.” She begins, unable to contain herself and she spills, “How could I tell you when you had just told me Regina and Constantine wanted a child? And not one with me either!”

Liam stares at her almost dumbfounded with his lips parted in disbelief.

“It shouldn’t have mattered, Riley. You know that I want to start a family with you regardless. I could’ve helped you raise the child. I want to be a father for him, for him to be brought up by us.”

“And what? Raise a bastard in the shadows? Allow Regina to continue ridiculing me for my choices?”

Her words are like a knife to his heart.

“No, but-”

“There are no buts, Liam, what if Regina and Madeleine told me to get rid of the baby? Leaving you and Cordonia was the only move that I could think of that made sense, the only move that was safe for Levi.”

Did she honestly not trust him?

Liam grabs her by the arms, the anger and hurt very much evident in his eyes. His fingers almost dig into her skin.

“Riley, I am the King of Cordonia. You should’ve trusted me more-”

“You being King didn’t stop Tariq from running away, Liam.”

The pained look in her eyes never faltered, never left his own.

His grasp on her arms loosens as he stands up straight again.

He can’t bear to look at her, feeling almost undeserving.

Her words echo in his ear and he is lost and cold. The turmoil within him growing; anger, guilt, hurt and frustration adding into the churning mix of a mess in his gut.

What use is being a King when he can’t give the whole world to her?

Liam finds himself back on the bench, a hand on each thigh as he gazes at the world before him, dazed as so many different thoughts run through his mind.

Riley swallows almost guiltily, her own words stung even herself. She didn’t mean for it to come out so harsh and cold, but it was the truth.

Liam being King didn’t stop Tariq from running away – if anything, it pushed him away from court life and press even more.

Him being King didn’t prevent himself from marrying someone that he didn’t want to.

And him being King didn’t prevent him from sneaking away from events or staying out at night just to meet her in secret to share stolen moments.

She runs a hand through her hair frustratedly. This isn’t how she had thought their first meeting in four years to be like.

When Riley brings a hand out to touch him, he is unresponsive and cold. She almost winces at his defensive actions.

When she decides to speak, she is hesitant.

“Liam… I…”

There was so much that she wanted to say, but she didn’t know where to begin. She wants to apologise for her words, but at the same time, she knows what she said was the truth.

The alarm on her phone rings and she curses at the time.

She is timid when she tries to place her hand on his; he was so frozen and still so unresponsive to her presence, her actions and her words. She was at a loss of what she should do.

“I… I need to go, Liam.” Her voice is nothing more than a gentle mumble, “I need to get to my shift and run some errands… I… I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier about Levi, but please try to understand where I’m coming from.”

Riley pauses, hoping for some form of response from him.

Nothing.

She bites her lip out of nervousness and tries to caress his hand. “…If you want to meet him, Liam… Come over later.”

Riley wants to so desperately press her lips to his cheek or for him to show some form of affection, but it seems like he had built a shield around himself, blocking out her words.

As she stands getting ready to take her leave, she finds herself worrying if this would be the last time that they would see each other.

She knows that the news about Levi is a big blow on him and isn’t surprised at all that he would need some time to process the information.

But she doesn’t dare ponder on the thought for too long that this might be the end of the chapter of their lives. She doesn’t dare to think what this could change in their relationship.

The past four years had been hard, yes, but she had never once stopped loving him.

But if this is goodbye…

She bites back tears as she places a timid kiss on his cheek before leaving.

“I love you, Liam… I meant what I said back then and I mean it even now. I love you, my King.”

-

When she leaves, Liam finds himself bent forward, his face in his hands as he takes deep, calming breaths.

He found it impossible to pinpoint exactly what he was feeling. When he came to New York, some part of him had naïvely thought they would pick up the broken pieces and fit them back together again like a puzzle.

He had thought that Madeleine was the only reason that pushed Riley away and that all he had to do was reassure her that she is now gone.

He felt so hopeful, so full of smiles and love for Riley. So happy and ecstatic of what the future would now hold for them.

She could be the Queen that Cordonia deserved; full of endearment, full of aspirations and optimism, full of strength and courage to bring positive change to Cordonia, to shape the old-school traditions into a more modern one.

He hadn’t predicted a child.

He hadn’t expected a child.

He hadn’t expected her to be filled with such distrust in him as her partner, as their son’s father and as Cordonia’s King.

He is filled with resentment that Riley had kept her pregnancy from him.

He had imagined and wanted her first pregnancy with him to be a magical time; a time where he could spoil her with backrubs and foot massages, a time where he could accompany her to every single appointment, to hold her hair back when she suffers through morning sickness, to experience their child’s first kicks in her stomach, for him to spend time with his head on her swollen belly, telling stories and various tales to their unborn child, to be there for her whole heartedly and experience the joys and adrenalin of being by her side, holding her hand and wiping away her sweat as he fills her with encouragement when she is in labour.

He is frustrated to no end that he missed out on Levi’s first four years of his life. Liam can’t even begin to imagine how it must have felt to be there by Riley’s side, experiencing Levi’s first words, first crawls and first steps… All the in-between moments that he wanted to be able to recall when he was older, to be able to look back with such fondness and to share with Levi when he grew up…

He knows how crucial it is to spend time with children when they are young; after all, the time that he spent with his own mother was not long, but it was engrained in his memory so deeply that he still remembers her each passing day.

He is so angry with her words and at her distrust.

He is so disappointed and distraught at how powerless he is despite being the King. He hates the truth in her words; the actuality and the fact of how his Kingship had no effect whatsoever on Riley’s situation with Tariq.

Helpless.

Perhaps even useless.

Liam had nothing but bitter resentment towards himself.

But amidst the gloominess of the situation before him, he was able to find himself a reason to smile.

He has heard of so many stories of the joy of people watching in bustling places, and Central Park was definitely one of them.

It is then that Liam truly realises he is in America again. He observes the countless families, business people and tourists alike, enjoying the cloudless, sunny day in Manhattan. Some were more in a hurry, talking busily on their phones and some where more relaxed, taking in the sunshine and the peacefulness of the nature surrounding them that only Central Park can bring.

He was filled with sadness and resentment, but he finds himself to be also filled with happiness.

It is a strange feeling, he decides as his eyes finds themselves on a happy family of five. A loving couple accompanied by the eldest son who looked no older than eight years of age, studiously reading, a younger girl, who was intent on braiding her mother’s hair and a baby boy waving a few blades of grass in his hands animatedly.

The smile that graces Liam’s lips as he observes the scene in front of him is of a weird mixture.

Happy but sad, wanting and longing.

Liam knows he can’t do anything about the years that he has missed, but he swears to the deities that he would never miss out on another moment in Riley’s life.

He has a son, and Cordonia has a crown prince.

The tears that begins to prickle at his eyes are a mixture of happiness, pride and of the responsibility he now has as a father.

“…If you want to meet him…”

Of course he wanted to meet him.

Liam stands up to dust the imaginary dirt off his pants.

He has a lot to do to make up for lost time and broken promises.

-

He loses his sense of time as he gets lost in various shops, browsing for unique trinkets and gifts that the city can offer.

When Liam makes his way back over to Riley’s apartment with Bastien trailing behind, the butterflies in his stomach reappears.

He is excited and nervous, almost shy but very eager.

Liam wonders what Levi looks like, and he wishes that he has inherited Riley’s beauty and grace.

He wonders what Levi’s personality is like, and he wishes his son has inherited Riley’s determination and passion.

He wonders what interests Levi has, and hopes the small collection of The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry that he has gotten will suffice for the time being.

He wishes that he is enough for him and for Riley.

Liam has dreamt of being a father to Riley’s children for such a long time that the moment is almost overwhelming for him.

No amount of training that he partook in since he was a child would ever prepare him for this moment.

When the door opens, he comes face to face with Riley. Liam smiles at her, his voice half weak, half apologetic, “I come bearing gifts…”

And she throws her arms around him, relishing in his warmth.

Their actions mimic the past that they shared as the King and his mistress. Bouquets of roses and tokens of love and apologies, tear-stained hugs as Riley would pull him inside…

Liam finds himself letting out a shaky breath as he wills for his nervousness to vanish. He takes in the small, quaint apartment, noting the homey touches that Riley has decorated the place with – a vase of handpicked flowers on her dining table, small candles and other trinkets on the coffee table, crayon drawings on the fridge, children’s books upon children’s books on a small shelf and a neat pile of toys that sat in the corner where the figure of a small boy sat with a book in his lap.

Levi…

His breath hitches in his throat again, as his own eyes come into contact with Levi’s small pair.

Liam wants to drop everything and head over to the small boy to embrace him, but he knew it probably wasn’t the best idea unless he wanted to scare him off.

So, he stands there, keeping the distance between himself and Levi as Riley makes the introductions.

She is ever cautious as she kneels down next to Levi. She herself feels rather unprepared.

How would one even approach this topic to an innocent four-year-old?

She reassures him of Liam’s presence as a start, a hand of hers ruffling his hair lovingly.

“This is Liam, Levi…” Riley begins, her voice soft as she tests the waters. “He’s… He’s going to be in our lives for a while, my love.”

Levi’s dark eyes moves from his mother to the strange man who stood a few steps away from him. He allows himself to scan the man, his eyes tracing over his posture. The emotions on his face show that he is unconvinced of the man’s presence – his gaze is unwavering and his lips is void of any smiles.

“Like Uncle Daniel?” His voice is light, questioning with a hint of distrust.

“…Like Uncle Daniel.” Riley repeats, “But it’s a bit different… because, Liam is… Liam is your father, Levi.”

The boy blinks.

The concept of having a father in his life is foreign to Levi. In fact, the only person coming close to having that title would be Daniel, and it was only because he helped babysit once in a while.

But Levi didn’t even consider himself and Daniel close.

His whole world revolved around his mother and his mother alone.

He was the foundation of his mother’s smiles since the day that he was born. Every time he would see his mother in quiet tears, he would give her his best comforting hugs. Every time his mother would seem to zone out as her hands would absentmindedly play with the blue and silver ring on her finger, he would slip his small hand into hers and give her a reassuring smile.

He had never understood the reason as to why his mother would get upset for no reason from time to time. All he knew was that his presence, words and smiles alone helped get him and his mother through each day – Levi didn’t understand how having a father all of a sudden would help in any degree.

So he lets his eyes wander back down to the page of his book where his finger remains at the last word that he had read.

He mumbles, mostly for his mother to hear, but with clear knowledge that the man could hear his words as well.

“…I only need you, Mom.”

--

Part 5: Hestia

[reawakenment]

the insecurity of the wicked

[] xi : condemnation

william shakespeare (1564–1616)

 cymbeline

act iii. scene v.

all-worthy villain!

discover where thy mistress is at once.

at the next word; no more of ‘worthy lord!’

speak, or thy silence on the instant is

thy condemnation and thy death.

 § condemnation §

you don’t know.

and that’s nothing like you, is it?

you believe that it has finally come, your time. yes. yes, yes, now it is time, you’ve delayed it, you’ve loathed it, you’ve despised it from afar, but now you fear. you fear to tell what it is that you have been holding back for so very long. you’d nearly succeeded in staying it, in staying this, your unwanted destiny. the time is finally come, but…

something strange is happening.

deep inside of you, you feel something that you’ve not felt before. this something, this faceless, nameless something deep within the hollow of your chest is unlike anything you’ve ever known. and that makes you afraid.

no, the truth is what makes you afraid.

that you may not be what you think you are. what mother or sister thinks you are.

what it wants you to be.

what are you to do now? this situation that you have been thrust into… with every breath, you are breathing it for another – your sister, who, by circumstance, is no longer able to fulfill her duty. at first, when she was…you didn’t think you could face your life without her. there had been no comfort for you (as cold a comfort as your sister had been) and without her presence in the city, in your existence, you’d momentarily believed that you could be… nothing.

how wrong you were. how easily shaken your thoughts, your beliefs… the change, swift, cruel, had stunned your now fading sanity.

now you are to take her place.

you no longer sleep, no longer feel. your senses have all but left you now. ironic, that; they seem to know better than you. they know to leave when you make every false effort to stay.

the pain is so great you no longer cry. you no longer shed tears over the realization that you are not your sister; never have been, never will be. you can’t pretend to be the monarch that she is. though fated (doomed) to walk this path, you’re saddened by the fact that you cannot fulfill her dreams, your dreams, not in this lifetime.

(you said that you could, you swore that you could, but you know that you cannot. these things you must hide, as all truths related to you, hide all of the things that you hold dear.)

so you come to a decision, the one that dictates you must leave as you can never be what she wants, what she needs. it’s mad, all of it, all of them, mad. you’d done well in deluding yourself, in deluding the others into believing that you’d take the vows, lay the killing blow. it was, after all, your plan, your scheme, your cunning that set all things into motion. you’d accomplished what had previously been unattainable. it falls now to you to win the battle that will shift the course of the war. this one battle… upon which rests everything… the impossible dream made reality.

but you are without help now. alone. afraid.

after all, what are you, without your sister standing behind you? just a little boy set out to kill an old man.