#▐ .｡*ﾟ━ V. DEATH: HELL IS EMPTY & ALL THE DEVILS ARE HERE.

[killrate]

‘ keep your eyes open. ’

♡ @freedthedark

She probably would have been feeling her muscles aching, had she not been overstimulated by the constant combat and running. 

Mary was an excellent ranged wizard, but made no claims to be practical. It’s hard to conjure up a game-plan when she was alone, and had never experienced war. 

So instead of staying in one area and helping, Mary had kept moving constantly. Her pattern was simple: incapacitate entire squads - dropping them to their knees as they doubled over in pain, and let the various other mages do the rest. She was being more conservative with her magic than with her stamina - but there was no way for her to think about how tired she was. There was hardly any time to process it. Which is probably why it didn’t occur to her that her thighs and calves were beginning to throb by now. 

She spotted a group of Alvarez’s mages from a distance, and instantly cast Virus - focusing their bowels ( as usual ) - but there was one who didn’t go down as the others did. 

Oh, he’s resilient. 

Under less stressful circumstances, Mary may have been intrigued. This was not the time for it, however, and her lip curled up into a snarl as she decided to instead target his eyes. Evidently that did the trick, because his hands came up over his face in distress, and very likely, in agony.

A decision which she may have regretted, had a much taller mage with pale green hair not been close enough to quite literally save her life. 

Mary didn’t actually see the spear coming for her - but she heard what almost sounded like some type of energy barrier right behind her. 

She turned her head wide-eyed, just in time to see what looked to be a weapon made of shadows, evaporate.

It was obvious to her that the man had somehow blocked it for her.

“Keep your eyes open,” he told her. 

“Hah. That’s ironic,” Mary mutters mostly to herself - because she didn’t realize she’d said it out loud.

His words remind her of an old lecture that she really shouldn’t need to be reminded of. 

She’d tunnel visioned. 

“Right,” Mary’s voice is quiet. Unlike her, but she takes criticism bitterly. She was yet another example that too much power at a young age breeds a sore loser. 

However, it wasn’t uncalled for. 

When he turned to face her, Mary was mildly surprised to have actually recognized him. His name was Freed - though his surname escaped her. Truthfully, she may not have remembered him, were it not for her shocking collection of magazine clippings of Laxus Dreyar. 

Mary had to take care not to appear mortified at her own train of thought. Honestly, the fact that she’s nearly twenty years old, and still collects those…!

Thankfully, her expression didn’t give her away. She merely straightened up, and fixed the cuff of her sleeve - the bruises on her own knees not going unnoticed. 

“I’ll keep in mind that I should expect projectiles to come my way,” She jokes, in a far less lively tone than was common for her. “Thank you. For the save,” She specifies, “And good luck.” Then turns her attention back to her original target - only to see him out cold, and another next to him, petrified by some strange magic, which no doubt had been cast by the young woman standing over them. 

As Mary was about to turn to keep moving, the atmosphere around her shifted, her legs not recognizing gravity anymore - and she fell over. 

For a moment, she considered that perhaps she had stepped into a black hole of some kind, and that she would slowly be turned to flesh spaghetti, in slow motion as a cruel joke by the gods. Or maybe she was already dead! Maybe this was death - and it felt a lot more anxiety-inducing than—

Before the dramatics going off inside her mind could finish that thought, she was thrown into dirt, landing roughly with her face against the grass prickling her cheek. That was going to swell, she could already tell. In other news, she was very much alive ( she supposed ).

Once she regained her balance, she pushed herself up carefully, only to see that… Freed, and the other mages that she’d been just 30 feet away from seconds ago, were gone. Or perhaps, she had gone. The terrain, the location was completely different, and as she looked around frantically, she could no longer see any buildings ( damaged or otherwise ). 

She had no gods-forsaken clue where she was now, but she did take Freed’s advice. She kept her eyes peeled, expecting that she had stepped into some type of spatial rift or.. something. 

And landed in a heavily wooded area. Alone, for the moment, but she can still hear the sounds of metal clanking, and the sounds of piercing light produced by sorcery.

“U-uhh… ah, shit…”

[ladythornofrivia]

👹 Match Made In Hell 👹 || Aemond x Reader (My Demon AU) (Part Three)

Next Chapter

🍒 a/n: this series is inspired by k-drama, and it’ll deviates from the canon, but still had the same atmosphere as the netflix version. i’m so sorry it took so long to update a new chapter!

🍒summary: reader, who has now made pact with the devil, must face the difficulties by the likes of her surroundings, and Aemond, who took pleasure on tormenting her, even divulge his dirty thoughts.

🍒 warning: Dark!Aemond, violence, blood, misogyny, mentions of cheating, Aemond is a demon in a fic, he’s a d*ckhead, but charming, reader is a b*tch, spoiled brat, smut, action sequences, oral sex, rough sex, public sex, hotel sex, hate sex, contract, blood kink, religion themes, knife play, sexual tension, Aemond in a red suit, money kink, p in v sex, breeding kink, sex in the club, sex in a hospital bed, toxic relationship, fake relationship, possessive Aemond, obsession, jealousy, stalking, blackmail, dom/sub relationship, wet dream, cunnilingus, fingering, squiriting, reader is a virgin, aemond is experienced, moaning, reader and aemond being horny, 69, lotus, sex on the wall, praise kink, creampie, daddy kink. Demon!Aemond has powers, but needs reader to fuel and restore his power. The story from the show will be different in fanfic. Inspired by K-Drama “My Demon”.

Chapter Three: Heiress’s Bitch

Afar from a thickened crowd of paparazzis and reporters, on the left side of the corner, there was Aemond, in a fanciful suit of black and green with gold-embroidered scarf hung loosely around his neck, leaning and beaming as his violet eye watched the spectacle, and you on the platform, microphone on the podium, distress overwhelmed you, attempting to cooperate on various questions, concentrating. Accidentally eyeing on a one-eyed devil, a former prince regent to the Greens, only for him to withhold the possession of your thin lacy pink thong that was once clinging between your legs, with his tongue licking over his gleaming, fanged teeth.

“You may now suffer and keep your empty, prideful head high as you wish, but soon I shall have a taste of you, my little angel,” his thoughts penetrated in your head.

The Devilish Prince is waiting outside the fitting room. And it bugged you to a point you want to strangle yourself to death. If Aemond wanna-be decides to torment by reviving you back, you have another chance to get rid of yourself again.

Why on Earth did he decide to pick you, or pick on you—you’re unsure. Thoughts stifled yet jumbled all at once that you hadn’t realized your top sleeve slipped from your shoulder, and your pink satin skirt is crooked, tilted on one side. Everything went wrong. So wrong all you crave at this current moment is to sleep or eat fast food or drink away. Or possibly thinking about crawling up to a hole and die. Or somewhat in that order.

You still couldn’t register in your head that Aemond Targaryen—as a devil—would step into your life—audacious and malicious! And superstitious!

The audacity is real!

A real good one at that. Aemond, a total bastard—jerk—a former Prince Regent—is in your world—your real world—one true flesh. A fucking prick with a demonic stick up in between in his legs is here. As much as you admire Aemond in the series, despite his war criminal activities, his charisma oddly exuding through screen, you can’t help but admire, but seeing him now, has shrank your heart to hate thousand times fold.

And here you thought, being in a room with devilish jerk has set your heart of fire—and not in a romantic idealistic way. You wanted to stab him with a Dark Sister. Over and over and over and over again. You wanted to hear his scream, for what he did to you. It was unbearable. Your purity, your maintained image dwindled in a flash.

Why can’t it be Cregan Stark? Or Robb Stark? Or Jaime Lannister? Jaime Lannister—Kingslayer has devilish charm you couldn’t resist. The problem is, you’re not blonde enough. And you’re not Cersei or Brienne of Tarth.

What about Loki? The God of Mischief? He’d be perfect. Tom Hiddleston with a devilish scheming smile he beholds and puts everyone on a chokehold. But all you got is the Aemond the former Prince Regent.

In all days, you shouldn’t be nervous. In a fitting room, you are alone, with your heart pumping. In an unusual circumstance, you should be ecstatic with your new attires to a press conference. Press conference might boost your business—or lowers—depending on which answer. There are several conferences you’ve dealt or saw before. One is from Philippines, the other is from Italy.

It’s a hassle as it already is. The question is; why does your “attempted” suicide had to be announced? Who could possibly leak the information? More importantly, who started a commotion—an accusation of you being suicidal? Your soul is dying from stupidity everyday, not to a certain of killing yourself from someone stupid—maybe that’s another list of stupidity, but surely there’s more to it.

You never thought of dying once. You never thought of injuring yourself. Keeping your held up high by doing hard-work is ultimately the best. Self-care and fashion lifestyle goes second. You love yourself too much to make a “jump” for the sake of a stupid man—a wild mongrel who has more worth of acting like in a zoo than a quiet and lavish luxury.

Picking another attire, before slithering out from the top, large hands abruptly rotated you, pinned you against the wall and meet his eye—Aemond.

“Aemond, what are you—”

His lips plunged against yours. Those damnable smooth lips, drowning the squeak in your throat, one hand held your neck while the other pinned against the wall.

He pulled away, and undo your outfit in one swoop.

“I’m hungry for a moment, darling,” he purred, untucking his trousers. In between the opening, hardened cock stretched in the undo zipper, and your legs hiked around his waist, his body pressing you down until the space enclosed. Grunting, Aemond thrusts into your cunt, panting together.

“Aemond, not here,” you said in a strained tone.

“Shut up, you fucking cunt,” he said, biting your lower lip, drawing a wet scratch, taste of iron left in your mouth and his scathing teeth, as his pounded movements became sloppy and messy, heavy with breathing and muscles on his legs fatigued.

Nevertheless, he quickened his pace, and his semen spurted in your tight folds, leaving you breathless.

“Aemond, you—”

“Get dressed, stupid bitch,” he ordered, shoving you forcefully back on the wall. “Don’t make me repeat myself, little girl. Have your white outfit ready.”

Choking, your soft hands grasp against his, but not powerful enough. “I was going for pink—”

“Fucking bitch, I’m not asking you,” he seethed, hand strangled on your neck. “Did I not make myself clear?”

Under his grasp, your eyes blurred, chest constricted and deprived from air. “Why are you doing this? If you hate me that much, why did you decide to fuck me?”

“Isn’t obvious? You’re so hideously repulsive, I can’t stand the sight of your feeble appearance. That lousy and bratty mouth of yours needs to be shut. I can’t stand the noise—the sighs—you make in the fitting room.” He loosened you and watched you dropped on the ground. “A little girl like you has no place in a woman’s world.”

Absconded from the fitting room, tears ran down on your face. Picking yourself up off the ground, numbed fingers swiped across your wet cheeks.

Could he really be comparing you to someone else? There’s no way. Even in a form of a man, a devil’s no better beside the lousy man.

As you stepped out of the dressing room, the assistants had no expression but an obvious mark of reddened blush on their cheeks and neck, as Aemond had a scowl etched on his princely visage.

~~~

On a Sunday mass, everyone bowed their heads with prayer as the priest preached regarding to loving your enemies, and forgiving others’s sins. Though this is a quiet mass—a private mass, more like. As a sign of good luck. A prayer.

Aemond found it ridiculous. His eye stared and lanced at the back of your head as you kept yourself down, memorizing the priest’s words and its uniquely hymn.

Aemond, in his cherry red suit, kept an eye on the family. Blessed, no one is able to notice his true form except in a disguise of your butler.

“Let us pray,” the priest said, “Our Father, who art in Heaven, hollow be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in Heaven…”

Aemond never heard of prayers like this before. For him, it’s a fascination, but a grotesque sound in unison. The recital conjured him back to the days where Queen Alicent and Otto Hightower are highly dedicated to the Faith of the Seven, how his mother wore the ornaments of seven-pointed star on her lavish gowns in most days. King’s Landing’s walls were adorned in statues and stars—their holy grail to keep the place from evil’s perseverance.

To him, as a Westerossi, this is nothing new.

Aegon’s holy grail is drinking and whoring, while Helaena’s is her insects and her children she bore with brother-husband. Aemond’s holy grail is history, books, swordsmanship and Vhagar, the largest dragon in Westeros—he recalled it all too well. He figured that there were no dragons in this world—your world, but has airplanes and helicopters—that’s how you were transferred into the hospital, just down by the isolated beach, carrying you in his arms, unbothered if someone sees you and him strolling casually out from the deep waters. Despite all the deeds he has done, Aemond found your modern world amusingly impressed.

When the prayers are done, there was a bread and wine communion—again, new and beyond from Aemond’s religious practices in Westeros’s Old Gods and New, something about Jesus and his twelve disciples at the last supper. His eye watched over your feeble and small stature gracefully taking the offer. He eyed on the paintings. Scanning the room, you see nothing but marbled statues of historical figures and angels depicted from a human’s eye, paintings and depictions of Old Testament and New Testament in the Bible fascinated him more than his own religion, something about religious emanates soothing and sinister to the past testimonies in the past of mankind. If Faith of the Seven were decorated in paintings like this, maybe Aemond would’ve been convinced. He could’ve been as a sworn servant to the religion, a maester in a way—never to be wed, forever devoted to the goodwill of guidance to sinful peasants and subjects to the light.

Though, your mind differs. There weren’t any sincere prayers and mournful thoughts in your head, rather shrouded by a dark aura, something he can’t pinpointed. He watched you taken your seat as the mass hymn a song regarding to praising God.

And there, the Devil awaited.

~~~

As the future president of the AURORA company, you strolled and mounted inside the car—assurance within you is hanging by a thread, but you kept yourself in check, telling yourself that this won’t take a while. But beforehand, Aemond’s hand blocked you from entering the copper and black sports vehicle.

“Don’t touch my Vhagar,” he reminded, rather strictly. His violet eye gleamed—no, darkened within his short warning.

“Vhagar? Are you serious right now? I can open doors myself,” you shot back, the feeling of inadequacy hadn’t left in your chest since the fitting room on the previous day.

Aemond, without showing his obvious grimace, escorted you inside the car, lifting the car door in an upward direction, leading you inside the passenger’s seat and drove you all the way to the press conference.

~~~

For the press conference, things hadn’t been gone so smoothly. Paparazzis invaded the moment you arrived, dubbing you as “Miss Future President” of AURORA.

Reports bombarded you with useless inquiries and what outfit you were wearing. Obviously you wanted the people to focus on your outfit more than your “suicidal attempt”. As for Aemond, hands on his back, striding alongside you until you reached the platform with your pink suit with gold buttons and your simplistic threads of gold bracelets and thin necklace on your neckline, your hair tied up in a low ponytail, long framed bangs slightly tucked (hair reference).

“Are you ready to set hell on stage, Miss Future President,” Aemond mocked.

Nonetheless, you disdained him with cold shoulder, and stepped onward to the clear-glass podium, formally address the issue to a recent event. Cameras clicked and reporters typing on their laptops, then you began to speak in two languages, which Aemond doesn’t recognize, nonetheless his curiosity piqued.

Endless topics from reporters came, already slandering accusations disguised as questions, but you handled it well.

Rabbit questions like regarding to comparing your nightly activities to your ex-fiancé, how both are reckless and childish—nepotism. Then partying, then other scandals that are once addressed as false had been brought up again—their resolved minds can sometimes fickle.

Until…

Afar from a thickened crowd of paparazzis and reporters, on the left side of the corner, there was Aemond, in a fanciful suit of black and green with gold-embroidered scarf hung loosely around his neck, leaning and beaming as his violet eye watched the spectacle, and you on the platform, microphone on the podium, distress overwhelmed you, attempting to cooperate on various questions, concentrating. Accidentally eyeing on a one-eyed devil, a former prince regent to the Greens, only for him to withhold the possession of your thin lacy pink thong that was once clinging between your legs, with his tongue licking over his gleaming, fanged teeth.

“You may now suffer and keep your empty, prideful head high as you wish, but soon I shall have a taste of you, my little angel,” his thoughts penetrated in your head.

“What the—you fucking—”

The press conference grew in silence, cameras flashing. The crowd is in awe of your random reaction.

“Pardon me,” you uttered, cheeks reddened. “I’m still in quite state of shock since I have been taken to the hospital. Forgive me.”

“As the next president, what is your next move for the Aurora company?”

Several cameras clicked.

“Regarding to the AURORA company, nothing is set in stone. When the next project is ready, I’ll be the first person in the company to inform you and the media. That will be all.” Bowed, you stepped off the stage.

Your back inclined to a bow and left, leaving the press rowdy, bombarding you with questions, questions that involved and regarded to personal affairs with your ex-fiance and the CEO of EDEN company.

Meanwhile, Aemond’s mischievous smile grew, taking the scenery in.

And the only thing he could utter, within a crowded noise was—

“This…should be interesting.”

Tucking your rosy light-laced underwear in his pocket, saving his dessert for last as he watched you disappear through the doors.

~~~

“I want my underwear back, you asshole.” Stomping outside the AURORA building with heavy huff. Pink heels clicking the pavement as you went your way to the wide parking lot.

Aemond’s violet eye flickered. “Only if you say “please”.”

“Fuck no. Give it to me! What if I have blood on my thong, are you still going to play yourself?”

“A deal’s a deal, Miss President. Keep this up, you’ll get more scandal,” he reminded, his teeth gleamed.

“I thought you said you’re going to help me, not humiliate me. I almost cussed out to hundreds of paparazzis and reporters because of your perverted ass! Don’t tell me you also have my bra?” Pulling the fabric, you spotted your croquette lace bra shielded your chest beneath the pink office suit.

“This is rather fun. I’d rather have this, than a formal way of ending the conference. Dare, I must say you have an exquisite taste in wearing these contraptions you women covered your maidenhood.”

“The fuck is wrong with you?”

Aemond’s platinum hair swayed. “Your face is quite amusing. Don’t get yourself hurt, Miss President. Otherwise, you’ll get sick from your anger issues.”

Raising your fist, the mark on your wrist glowed. Bemused, Aemond clicked his tongue as he stopped your motion with his hand caught your marked wrist, his other hand—still holding your thong—his index finger swished, his tongue clicked. “Ah, ah, ah, that’s not how our deal supposed to go, little angel.”

“Go to—”

“Hell?” Aemond’s brow flicked. “But I’m already here.”

Then he released you; the mark went black as he successfully dodged your punch before giving him a menacing glare, marching down at the sports car.

As you went your back to the car—Vhagar—Aemond began with, “So, what are you going to do now, Miss President? Are you going to let yourself fall, or are you going to give them hell?”

You didn’t look at him in the eye. “I want to go back to my apartment and rest. And don’t you dare talk inside my head! It’s creepy enough as it is. It makes me think you’re Voldemort instead of Prince Aemond of House Targaryen.”

His brow flicked. “Who’s Voldemort?”

“Your twin!”

“I don’t have a twin. Besides, I’d rather be the eldest child in the family.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, just take me back to my apartment.”

Aemond hummed. “As you wish, Miss President. When an angel is there, a devil also is present. Never forget.”

“Never forget also the you’re my bitch.”

“On the contrary, my dear,” he sneered. “A Devil is no slave to anyone.”

“And I’m an Heiress to the AURORA company. Therefore you’re my bitch—Heiress’s Bitch.”

Huffing, both you and Aemond then mounted inside the sports vehicle, Aemond geared his shift and stirred the wheel to a sharp turn, maneuvering right then swerved on the road.

A first step to hell has commenced.

Taglist: @daonenonlysandman @toodlesxcuddles @kittendoll05 @omgsuperstarg @xcharlottemikaelsonx @paninisstuff @danika1994 @angeljcca @marvelescvpe @kukulyarva @namelesslosers @heavenly1927 @snh96 @herathedreamer @fandom-maniac-anime @httpsmenace @velunis @nananeptune @domithebomi @moonseye @valeskafics @faesspace @rxixo31 @tm-starr @xinthia19 @popsycles @naiaaramena @aleemendoza2425-blog @letmehavemyfictionalmen @ammo23 @blackswxnn @buccini555 @watercolorskyy @taangie @wolfdressedinlace @qardasngan @justyelena @jolixtreesunn @runekisses @jmii722 @remuslupinwife1 @evergreen9083 @foggypeacestarlight @dixie-elocin @galactict3a @momowhoo @saturnssrings @dani5216 @laureeedn @mylosz0

[lizsos]

Chpater 2

Bad girl

Disclmair : none of this is real , none of these characters are real (expect bada)

Tw : mention of killing people

It is now the next day . You have been given specific orders by the boss . Tracking down this wanted man was no issue for you . You've been given a location to where he was going to be tonight . What annoyed you the most was that old hag had never mentioned that this club you were going to was the place other clan members would hang out , especially your enemies , You dint want to deal with their shit on the job but ofcourse you weren't going to let no weak wannabe thugs get in your way .

Hours passed by as the sun finally begins to set down . Leaving up your apartment , you decided to walk to the club since its not that far from your place . You were dressed in a nude , deep v-neck dress with a side slip diamonds . This dress hugged your figure and showed off your curves nicely and you You wore nude colored high heels . You decided to have your hair let go with a natural makeup look. The dress revealed couple of your tattoos . You received many stares and many thugs approaching you but you ignored them all, passing by them. Finally, your arrive at the club.

"Here it is" you thought to yourself . You pull your hair back revealing you clan crest on your neck (death dolls) . You finally enter The Devils Den . One of the most popular clubs in Scarlet Street. The nightclub where different clan members and Mafia bosses who look for new recruits , kidnap women or men and kill people . Sometimes they do it for fun, satisfaction or for killing time you could say .

Honestly, you weren't afraid of it "Well, here goes nothing..." you quietly mumble to yourself.

The bouncer look at you and immediately lets you in as he noticed you clan crest . You walk in , receiving a few cat calls , whistles, and stares . You sit at an empty booth ,ignoring those around you. The waiter comes up to your booth .

"What can I get you miss ?" The waiter politely asks . You decided to order a strong drink . He nods and leaves . You look around trying to spot your target. Yet , you don't notice that a certain pair of eyes were staring directly at you .

Receiving your drink , you thank the waiter as you take a few sips from your drink . You continue scanning the room . "Where the hell is he?..." you thought to yourself . Looking straight at the bar you could help but smirk .

Bingo

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Finishing your drink the waiter brings another drink "Excuse me I did-" he interrupts . "Its for from the woman at that table" he points at the woman who bought you the drink . Black hair with white stripes, dark brown eyes , fair skin . Ypu admit she looks gorgeous but you weren't interested. You give the woman a smile along with a friendly wave .

Ding...

Nana ( the boss)

' Did you find him?'

'I'm working on it '

Nana

'Stop working on it and do it'

You ignore the texts of your boss as you see a very tall figure approaching you . The woman who bought you the drink was now standing near you . She had a little smirk on her face . "Who the hell...." your thoughts are interrupted .

"Whats a lovely little thing like you doing here all alone ?" Her deep yet husky voice asks you. "Can't a girl go out and enjoy a drink?" You calmy responded . She chuckles. "Mind if I join you?" She po,it'll asks "Fuck" your thought . Yet you smile at her and say

"Sure thing love"

She sits across from you . Ylu thank her for the drink and she nods as she says "no problem doll , what's your name"

"Y/n" you say not wanting to tell her you last name . She scoots closer to you ,grabbing your hand into her . She brings your hand up to her lips giving it a gentle kiss .

" what a lovely name ..... I'm bada "

Bada lee

------------------------------------------------------------------

Thats it for this chapter next chapter there will be a lot of tw if I'm correct thank you for reading 😊💙

Taglist : @badaleesbish @badaspebble @badaleeswifey @badasgirlfriend @badaleewifeyyyeah @badaleesimp @ssivinee @sydnerss @sun-nyy @aericrys @allur1ngs @galletitaluna @woniverse-writes

[artknifeandglue]

as shattered stars shine: DVD Commentary (part 2/12)

stopping at chapter 2 for today!

Discharge paperwork takes fucking forever to fill out, what with billing and insurance claims and unique forms of bureaucratic torment that the Devil himself must have developed on a slow day in Hell.

I am not American, and I love my country’s healthcare system, but sadly I imagine the paperwork involved in a hospital admission must be much the same everywhere.

“Next time,” he informs Harry, “try to get shot in a country where healthcare is cheaper.”

“Duly noted,” Harry answers calmly, unruffled by Merlin’s prickly demeanour, “though I’d assumed you would want me to not be shot at all.”

Merlin’s scowl only deepens. “Never stopped you, did it?”

Merlin is Done With This Man. Thirty years of dealing with Harry Hart’s bullshit will probably do that to someone.

He’s read the reports and seen the same story played out the world over: the mass casualties flooding into emergency rooms from all directions, all bearing grotesque injuries from Valentine’s attempt to recreate The Purge; patients upon patients spilling out into the hallways where hurriedly parked beds sit pushed up against the walls in an attempt to make space where there is already horrifyingly little, the wards at full capacity and then some; hundreds and thousands of bodies littering the land and gradually finding their way into mortuaries and funeral homes and crematoria alongside the onslaught of hospital deaths, coroners and morticians and public servants vainly trying to empty the constantly full fridges by tracking down identities and next-of-kin and contact details to arrange burials or cremations or something; memorials for the dead and dying amidst the spiralling numbers of both, barely making a dent in the mounting lists of names to be printed in ink or carved on stone.

None of which they would have found for Harry, because the same Kingsman that leaves its dead agents where they lie also covers its tracks well. Eggsy grits his teeth and keeps walking, keeps putting one foot in front of the other, stares straight ahead at the cheerful green sign pointing him towards the hospital entrance. Harry’s fine. Harry’s alive.

But he wasn’t, a small voice whispers in the back of Eggsy’s mind, the one that refuses to let go of the haunting image of an unclaimed, unknown body in an ocean of empty eyes and empty faces, cold and still and lost, soon to disappear into the earth or the sea. Eggsy shoves it to the back of his mind as he keeps walking, step after step until the sterile white lighting of the hospital gives way to sunlight that blazes down on him, an experience not unlike stepping out into the fires of hell.

Once again, the sun is not exempt from the “stars are not to be trusted” principle. Featured here also is Eggsy’s unwillingness to let Harry disappear among the innumerable dead in V-Day – too much emotional attachment to let that happen, and the only reason it did was that he couldn’t do anything about it.

He pauses, eyes scanning the shelves for a moment before he pulls a bottle of scotch from the second shelf and studies it carefully. Other than maybe two or three drinks’ worth missing, the bottle is still mostly full. “Someone’s pilfered my whisky,” Harry notes.

“That would be me,” Merlin answers from behind them, and Eggsy turns to see Merlin stepping out from behind the cockpit door. “In my defence, it seemed like fair game at the time. We did think you were dead for a while.”

“Evidently I am not, and so this is once again off-limits to you,” Harry returns smoothly, reaching for a glass and pouring a drink. Probably not for himself, Eggsy thinks.

“Ingrate,” Merlin jibes as he joins them at the bar, leaning against the counter. “I flew all the way out here to fish you out of that awful hospital, and you repay me by denying me good scotch. Bloody Galahads.”

“Oy, fuck off,” Eggsy protests. “What’re you coming at me for?”

“You have a particular talent for doing everything you shouldn’t be doing. Also, your taste in music is disgraceful.”

Manly bonding session through giving each other a hard time. Also, I think Eggsy and Merlin would actively try and get on one another’s nerves by hijacking each other’s Spotify playlists or Bluetooth speakers.

Well, since. Percival installed a fish tank in his office last month; Bors has got a new car, a sleek Aston Martin that looks amazing and handles like a dream, and no one is allowed anywhere within a hundred metres of that beauty; Ector surfaced two weeks after V-Day by stomping into the shop delirious and covered in mud and snow and blood, loudly demanding to know if anyone had bothered to water the succulents in his office (“So did anyone?” “Merlin didn’t even know he liked plants, bruv. The lot of ‘em died.”); Roxy’s got a second dog because the vet said Lady Audrey was lonely, and Lady Evie is an absolute chaos gremlin of a dog with a fondness for stealing Eggsy’s shoes and hiding them every time he stops by Roxy’s place.

Yes, that Aston Martin, the James Bond car. Hugh Grant is Ector. Lady Evie is an English Cocker Spaniel. I will not be taking questions.

“Holy shit,” Eggsy blurts out, “you’re real.”

“Of course I am.” The man from that strange dream raises an eyebrow at him. “Would you mind sitting back down? You’ll ruin the armrest.”

Eggsy just stares. “How the fuck—”

“—am I here? So predictable,” the man drawls. “Powers beyond your understanding, Eggsy Unwin. Same way I brought him—” he gestures in the direction of the bathroom where Harry is, “—back when you asked. Really, I’m a little insulted. I pull a whole human life out of the clutches of Death, and you think I can’t get onto a plane?”

If you haven’t read Goethe’s Faust, I highly recommend reading it just to encounter sassy Mephistopheles. Goethe’s character is very much the inspiration for Mephistopheles in this: mildly amused by humanity, always ready with a witty comment, endearing and offputting at the same time.

Instead, Eggsy closes his eyes and leans back in his seat, focusing on Harry’s presence opposite him, living and breathing. Harry Hart is alive, and that is enough.

That will always be enough.

One of the motifs of this fic, but also one of the core tenets: they’ll fight death because what matters most is being able to be with one another in this life, here and now, and separation is unthinkable for both of them.

Harry’s changed too, just a little. Medical predictably refuses to clear him for fieldwork until they can investigate the long-term impact of the gunshot wound, but it isn’t the crippling

bolt-from-the-blue headaches that has them in a whirlwind of activity. Instead, an offhand comment Harry makes during a walk in the garden sends everyone scrambling when he asks Merlin, “Were there always this many butterflies?” only for Merlin to glance out at a completely empty field and immediately summon every neuropsychiatrist in Kingsman’s employ.

Ha. We still get the butterflies! Much as I think we give the second movie a hard time, I liked the idea that Harry can deal with the visual hallucinations and still be a perfectly competent spy. Plus, it gives me an opening to have Mephistopheles start popping up around Harry quite a bit without raising alarm bells for Eggsy, because Harry spends a good chunk of time believing Mephisto is a hallucination too.

“Just here to see how you’re holding up. Satisfied with our bargain?”

“Yeah, about that.” Eggsy jabs a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the door. “You said you weren’t going to cheat. What’re you playing at with the butterflies?”

“What exactly do you think it is that I do?” The arched eyebrow and folded arms only make the visitor look even more supercilious than before. Eggsy hadn’t known that was possible. “There’s only so much I can do when someone gets shot in the head, you know. You’re lucky I even got his eye back.”

And on that note, were the butterflies intentional sabotage on Mephistopheles’ part? Initially, I was going to write them that way, but then I figured Mephistopheles could read them both well enough to know how to make Harry sell his soul too. They say the Devil is an excellent salesman, and there’s already enough in Harry to manipulate/tap on without having to add something to it. Plus, the idea that even the Devil can’t do everything is fun, so I suppose this is a completely harmless form of the “came back wrong” trope.

In the end, for all the grand gestures Eggsy can think of, the truth slips out in the middle of not very much at all. It happens on the most unremarkable of Wednesday afternoons, after Eggsy has again made himself comfortable in Harry’s office all day to while away the rest of his mandatory downtime.

Up to this point, Eggsy’s love for Harry has been (to his knowledge, at least) unrequited, and he hasn’t exactly had any signs that his affections are reciprocated. In light of this, an accidental confession seems to be the right way to get them both moving. Also, I recognise one of the issues that comes up in a relationship with a large age gap (despite them both being consenting adults) is power distribution and the power dynamic, and I attempt to tackle some of that in Harry’s segment, so I’ll reserve the commentary for then. Then again, I suppose if you’ve read an entire Hartwin fic, you’re already on board with the ship and I’m preaching to the choir here, haha.

The momentary break in eye contact is enough to jolt the rest of his body into action, and his feet start carrying him towards the door, towards the most sensible path of escape.

“Eggsy.” Wood creaks. Arthur’s chair, Eggsy thinks. Harry’s gotten up. “Eggsy, wait.”

Five strides more to the door handle. The thundering of his heartbeat is all Eggsy can hear.

Man’s flight reflex kicked in lol

“Not saying anything without a lawyer,” Eggsy jokes weakly, and Harry sighs.

“Please stop talking.” Then Harry’s lips are on his, and Eggsy understands.Yay! This line will come back to bite everyone, starting with me. This I think was the first instance of a phrase as motif that I wrote, and it stays in because I like it.

[hotchocolatewriting]

Transported #1

TW: cursing, death of a character, burning

Transported! They had been transported to.. whatever this place was. Hero looked around their eyes wandering over the cobblestone streets and wooden houses. People walking around in old clothing guiding horses and other farm life, their hands and faces dirty from the hard work.

Hero spun in place trying to get at least a glimpse of Villain or the book they stole at the museum. Instead they found more medieval life, wooden carriers and a village they didn't know. Where was the city? Where had the museum and all the treasure gone? Where was the book?

Hero reached for their phone, hoping to find at least some kind of clue about their whereabouts. But their hand reached an empty pocket of what wasn't even their suit.

Instead they were wearing loose pants with a leather shirt and some chain mail that covered most of their chest.

"What the hell is happening to me?!" Hero screamed, earning concerned expressions from nearby villagers who quickly stepped away. Hero could hear them talking about the devil and see how they made crosses in front of their chests. Hero cursed and turned around determined to leave this shithole of a village.

Suddenly Hero felt something pressing in their head. A heavy pressure landed inside them almost forcing all of their breath out. It felt as if someone was watching them from a distance. That feeling you used to get when you were followed. But Hero saw nothing now that most villagers had taken their distance and gone inside. There was no one and still Hero couldn't shake the feeling off them.

"Well, Hero, what do you think of the world I created?" Villain’s voice sounded loudly in their head. "Could have cared to make some cars and hygiene rules," Hero said, peeling their eyes together as they searched for the source of the voice.

"Don't bother," Villain said, a soft laugh sounded in Hero’s head. "I'm safe in the castle and by the feels of it you're somewhere far away. It's a bit of a misfortune that you still have to exist here as long as I can't find a way to kill you, but I will find you one way or another and you will find out how fun it is that dragons exist here." With that the voice cut off and Hero felt alone again. Their head still spinning from Villain’s presence, but no trace left behind.

"Dragons," Hero muttered as they kicked a stone away. "Have they finally gone crazy?" 

They continued their way towards another medieval looking village and eventually arrived at a bigger city. Big walls were pulled up around the buildings and Hero could see guards walking around, bows in their hands.

The bridge was drawn up and the gate was closed. The night had already fallen which probably meant there was no way they would get inside.

All day they had been walking. A whole day without the slightest sign of technology. No cars, no modern buildings and no electricity. The people all walked around in weird old clothes and most of the villages Hero saw just plainly stank. 

By now all Hero wanted was just to go home and head to bed. Instead they were trapped in a place they didn't know. A place without any technology and they themselves had nothing to reach out with.

Hero's legs burned from walking all day and their stomach rumbled. They were exhausted and wanted nothing more than sleep.

"Hey!" Hero screamed towards the nearest guard. "Can you let me in please? I would like to sleep at some kind of tavern which you probably have around." The guard looked down at them, holding the torch a bit away from their face as if they would be able to see Hero better. "Too late, the gate closes at dusk and opens in the morning. Good luck with the dragons pal." Then they walked away again.

Hero sighed, but headed for the nearby woods at the edge of the mountains. "Dragons," they huffed, "Don't talk shit."

They needed a plan. A way to find Villain and get back home. They needed a weapon, a way to get around and some money. Tomorrow, Hero thought. Tomorrow I will take care of this and Villain will regret that I had to sleep in the woods because of them.

--

The next day Hero managed to get into the big city. They sold the chain mail they were wearing and managed to find some coffee to start the day with. A sigh of relief left them at the first sip. At least something was normal in this place.

Then the floor started to shake and so did the buildings. Hero heard people scream and it sounded like buildings were falling down as they heard the cracking of wood. A loud roar sounded outside and a bright light came through the window.

"Dragon attack! Dragon-" The man that had been shouting suddenly cried out so hard that it gave Hero goosebumps. The door of the tavern opened to reveal someone burning. Then he fell to the ground and lay there not moving anymore.

Hero leaped to their feet and ran outside. Dark glinstering scales like onix flew close over the building. Another roar sounded and that was when the beast turned around and Hero’s breath stocked.

Right in front of them was a creature as big as one of the houses, maybe even bigger. Golden eyes stared right at Hero and big strong wings. Every step made the ground shake as the dragon leaped towards Hero who stood frozen in shock.

A dragon. A real fucking dragon?! 

I have gone crazy, Hero thought. This is it, I will wake up in the museum and see that Villain has escaped after all.

But then they felt the heat burning all around them and before they could decide on their move the dragon opened their beak revealing a fire hotter than the inside of the earth. And then that was all Hero could see as the fire surrounded them and burned everything away.

[alighieri-sparda]

DMC Boys Sucking Male S/O Off

➤ Masterlist | Rules

Yeah, I know it’s not a request, but I had this idea a month ago and just now I decided to write it out. I took a while to finish it (as usual), but here we go.

I have a lot of Male!Reader stuff prepared to be written. Boys also deserve attention from our handsome devils, right?

Enjoy. :)

WARNING: Explicit descriptions of oral sex under the cut.

‣ ‣ ‣

Dante

It is one of his favorite things to do on you. No matter if it’s part of foreplay or just a random blowjob in the office, Dante likes giving you as much as he likes receiving it.

When he wants to have you in his mouth, you can easily catch him staring at you and then sense him behind you. His arms embrace your shoulders as he guides his mouth to your ear and asks you to sit on his chair and let him have some fun.

“I mean… You want it now?”

“Why not? You and I aren’t that busy anyway,” says Dante, trying to run away from his responsibilities.

Even though Dante can take you entirely in his mouth with no difficulties, he usually starts slowly to tease you. He loves when you start to beg him to go deeper with his mouth in a muttered and shaky tone of voice.

Dante is also very much skilled at deepthroating. This teasing devil is aware how much you like it when you can feel the tip of your shaft touching the back of his throat and how difficult it is to keep quiet when he does it, so Dante rather saves it for when you’re close. Thereby, he can make sure he’s going to swallow everything, wasting no drop of your seed.

He’s probably going to touch himself while he has you in his mouth. Not only to please himself but mainly because the grunts and moans he lets out against your sensitive skin make you throb even harder between his lips.

Read his actions while he’s sucking you off. If he’s constantly grabbing your thighs and being too slow, Dante can’t wait to have an opportunity to fuck you. But if his actions are a bit intense and he’s moaning too much against you, it is a not-so-subtle request to get laid. If you’re not sure about what he wants, it’s okay to ask him when you’re both done. 

That’s pretty obvious at this point but it has to be said regardless: Dante has no gag reflex. Don’t be afraid to cum at his throat and neither feel guilty if your mind was too numb to warn you were close. Dante knows when you’re about to come and he always swallows, so that’s no big deal for him.

Nero

Oh, if it isn’t a hell of an amazing experience. Nero somehow manages to make you feel that’s the first time you’re feeling his delicious mouth around your flesh. Perhaps the factor that increases his ability is his true desire of doing it since he explicitly prefers to give you head instead of receiving. He likes when you do it on him of course, but if he had to choose, the answer is pretty obvious.

Most of your make-out sessions with Nero will end up with him kneeling before you and teasing you to death. 

Though he doesn’t necessarily want to make you beg for him or whatever, even if he thinks that’s a nice extra. Nero enjoys the sight of you gradually losing your composure, going from a few simple gasps to a bunch of contained groans and desperate hip movements.

“That serious already? Let me take care of it then.”

He’s usually submissive to your commands, so take advantage of it and tug his hair to control his head or thrust against his mouth, moving your hips at the pace you enjoy. When Nero wants to dominate, he’d go for some lazy and controlled handjobs on you.

And yes, he loves when you facefuck him. This is important.

Nero has an average experience. With a bit of effort, he can take your cock entirely in his mouth — and even not so skilled at deepthroat, Nero doesn’t mind choking sometimes. He’s naturally too giving, so he’s constantly trying to take you deeper and make you feel more satisfied at each attempt.

Similar to his uncle, Nero is a damn switch. However, unlike Dante, Nero will always act the same when he’s sucking you off, whether he wants to fuck you or be fucked. What will determine his preference is the sentence he says after swallowing your cum. 

“I’m not done with you yet,” Nero would say before preparing you to be fucked in the nearest safe spot. But if he wants you to fuck him instead, you’d hear something like “Why don’t take care of me now, hm?”

V

Sudden blowjobs in empty alleyways? It’s more likely than you think.

The lack of experience of Vergil obviously reflects on V. Much likely his complete part, V doesn’t rush his apprenticeship: he acts slowly, repeating what you do on him. He’s more used to submission than Vergil though, so even after learning everything, V can switch between dominating you or just obeying your commands.

During his first attempts, you are completely free to control his head movements or just face-fuck him, but always remember to be gentle to the fragile poet. V can easily choke if you go too hard on him — but the fact that he doesn’t complain about choking makes you think of interesting possibilities.

He likes the idea of swallowing, but you’ll prefer to cum on his lips and face instead of doing it directly on his throat. Eventually, it’s going to become his preference.

V may not be skilled at blowjobs in the beginning, but his devilish hands compensate it all. He’s constantly stroking the part of your shaft he cannot take in his mouth yet and massaging his balls/inner thighs. It helps him a lot since he knows the pace you like when he has his hands on you.

If you want to press his “hornier” button, caress his hair and praise him. Tell V how fast and well he’s learning, and how good his mouth feels around you. Extra points if your voice is trembling due to the pleasure you demonstrate you’re feeling.

Speaking of which, you better don’t hold back a moan because V won’t do it either. This new sensation is so good for him, feeling his mouth so full with your throbbing and wet sex, so he takes his chance to stimulate you even more with the vibrations of his groans around your sensitive skin.

Once he learns what to do and gets confident about his skills — which won’t take much longer if you're praising him correctly —, V will realize he prefers to give you oral instead of receiving it. No matter if he’s going to fuck you until you’re both exhausted or if he’s about to be gently pegged by you, V will always kneel before you to at least tease your cock with his mouth.

“It’s not my fault you taste so good, prince.”

Vergil

At first, you’d avoid asking him to suck you off. Vergil is still pretty inexperienced and you’d be afraid to make him uncomfortable somehow. But Vergil himself will come up with this idea during foreplay, not exactly giving you the chance of objection though. He just knees and hopes you get what he will do.

“Vergil, what are you—”

“Just let me do it.”

His first movements are going to be gentle and almost experimental. It’s not like he has absolutely no clue of what to do because… well, he has a dick himself and you already satisfy him like this very much. He only needs to get used to having his mouth full while he tries to satisfy you.

He tries to imitate what you usually do on him with some variations. Since Vergil cannot take you entirely in his mouth at first, he decides to stroke the part he doesn’t reach. Depending on your reactions, Vergil surely will risk some attempts to take your entire shaft.

Vergil won’t ask for it, but he will be very grateful if you gently guide his head at the pace you prefer — he already enjoys it when you tug his hair while he fucks you anyway. Do not be afraid of giving you some tips and do not contain your reactions: those factors are important for him because that’s how he knows if you’re liking it or not. 

But when he finally learns how to do it properly and what you like, don’t even think about trying to control his movements. Vergil will press you against the mattress and suck you off while he spreads your legs and grips your thighs, preparing you for what will come next.

He doesn’t like the idea of swallowing at his first attempts, so take care not to surprise him and choke the poor devil: warn when you’re close. After some practical lessons, however, you’re always going to feel a low satisfied grunt against your shaft whenever you cum between his soft lips.

It’s also important to say that Vergil won’t deny you a blowjob — woah, never —, but he usually doesn’t offer to do it. So, if you want it, you will have to ask him.

[sergeant-donny-donowitz]

The Lady in White: UtivichxFem!Reader

Happy Halloween guys! :))) Here's a lil spooky basterds fic for y'all 

TW: Gore/blood/animal attacks/ghost stories

@owba-chan @war-obsessed @inglourious-imagines @tammykelly @struggling-bee @frozenhuntress67 @kwyloz @sodapop182 @marlenemarauders @what-the--curtains @taikawho @spookybearlandtaco Let me know if you wanna be added to the IB or OUATIH taglists! :)

******************************* 'Baba Yaga brodit no lesu dazhe zdes...' "Baba Yaga wanders the forest, even here."

Aldo narrowed his eyes as he stood over a heavily wounded Soviet spy with weary eyes and a frightened whisper. The basterds had been hunting a patrol, and just when they were close, they heard blood curdling screams. All they found was this Soviet spy, tortured half to death...who could only speak Russian, German, and French. "What's he sayin' Wicki?" The spy was loosing blood, but seemed to speak with a sly smirk, repeating it over, 'Baba Yaga brodit no lesu dazhe zdes...' Wicki shrugged, "I don't know he's saying it in Russian now." Hugo hovered over the wounded man, "Deutsch sprechen?" "You speak German?" The agent's eyes darted, and looked directly at Hugo, speaking with as much conviction as a half-dead man could, "Baba Yaga wandert auch hier durch den Wald." Aldo nodded, his hands at his hips, "That. What's that mean?" Wicki turned back, "He's saying Baba Yaga wanders in the woods, even here." Donny narrowed his eyes, "Who, or what the fuck is Baba Yaga?" Hugo grunted, "Slavic myth. A witch." Smitty, who had just returned with a member of the resistance the basterds were friends with, managed to sputter, "W...witch?" "It's only a myth. Besides, he's lost a lot of blood. He's delirious." Wicki chuckled, though he looked back at the agent, "Die Franzosen werden sich um Sie kümmern." 'The French will take care of you.' The day went on as usual. Evening came, and the basterds sat around a fire, eating some Hershey bars as the wind tussled the red leaves of autumn. "So... suppose the patrol did see something out in the woods, and they left the commie behind..." Smitty looked around, hoping for some reassurance. "There's nothing in the goddamn woods, Uti." Hirschberg rolled his eyes, though he held his breath, and turned to the others, "Right?"

Wicki, who loved a good scare, chuckled and shrugged, "I don't know, kid. The Soviet said somethin' about 'dama v belom'. Know what that is?"

They shook their heads. "Lady in white." He smirked, and Hugo muttered, with a slight nod, "Haus Ausel..." referring to an old German myth about a ghostly lady in white. Wicki chuckled, but shook his head dismissively. "He was delirious. There's no such thing as ghosts." "But...we heard the screams. Krauts wouldn't have just left a high stakes prize like a Soviety spy behind like that." Donny shrugged, grumbling with a mouth full of chococlate, "So they saw a wolf or something." Smitty shook his head, "When have you ever seen a fucking wolf around here?" "Well.....fucken..." Donny scrunched up his nose in thought for a moment, then muttered"...just eat some hersheys damn it." Wicki smirked a little, "You afraid of a ghost story, Utivich?" "Wh....no...."

Aldo smirked, catching on, "Well, you ain't been scared till you seen the ghost of Sadie Baker." "Who the hell is that?" Omar rolled his eyes, though...he did love a good ghost story. "Well ain't you a lucky man," Aldo cleared his throat, snorting some tobacco, and then facing the boys, about to make them 'unlucky,' and telling them about Sadie Baker. Omar laughed, "Get the hell outta here." "You got a better one?" Aldo leaned back against a tree with a dismissive smirk, and Omar shrugged, "Better one? Here's a good one: Ghosts aren't real."

Hirschberg shrugged, "Maybe not...but you ever hear of the Jersey Devil?" Omar rolled his eyes, "Oh again with this shit? There is no Jersey Devil!" Donny frowned a little, "You ever hear about somethin' called the wendigo? Now...I'm not sayin' it's real...but that is some scary shit...if you believe in those things.... Which I don't." The night went on, the leaves rattled in the breeze, the yellow moon rose. There was wild screaming in the distance the likes of which they had only heard in chilling radio shows or horror pictures. Wicki and Hugo smirked seeing Smitty jump and look around nervously with every snapping twig and falling lead. They started joking around about the supposed 'lady in white,'. The only one who seemed fully unfazed was Aldo. When asked why, he replied simply, "Down south everything's either built on an Indian burial ground or on a civil war battlefield. This ain't nothin'." Though Utivich was the only visibly frightened basterd, the others were beginning to wonder about the howling in the distance. "Maybe there is a wolf..." "So that explains the screaming?" "If you saw a wolf you wouldn't scream?" "Not like that." Omar smirked, "Hey...isn't there a cemetery around here? Between that last village and the forest?" Smitty narrowed his eyes in suspicion, "You're setting me up, aren't you?" "You think I'd make all this up to get to you? I have other things to do." Omar rolled his eyes, and Hirschberg sighed, "Cemetery's down that way. Southeast." They heard another bone chilling scream, followed by an echoing howl. "It's...uh....just the wind." Hirschberg cleared his throat, crossed his arms, trying to look unbothered. "Hell of a wind," Donny mumbled as he looked up and around. Omar was smirking, poking around as he walked away from the group, "Aldo?" "Yeah?" "Can we go check it out?" Aldo sighed, having just taken off his boots for the night. "Take two of the boys with ya. Come back in an hour. We got a long day ahead of us, and ain't no ghoul out there gon' help us scalp nazis. Got it?" Omar nodded, "Got it. Come on." He grabbed Hirschberg and Utivich. Hirschberg seemed game, being bored out of his mind and not quite tired enough to get to sleep yet. Utivich....well... he stammered "Oh no. No fucking way. Take....take literally anyone but me. Take Hugo or-" Hugo scowled. "Or maybe not....How about Wicki?" Wicki was already laying down, his arms crossed behind his head, and his coat draped over his upper body. He sighed, half yawning, half disinterested, and one hundred percent too old for this shit. "Not tonight, boychik."

"But...but..." Utivich turned to Donny, panic seeping through his wide eyes, "Donny?" Donny was sharpening his knife, "You heard Aldo. We got a big day tomorrow, kid" He smirked, not just because of the big mission, but because he got a kick out of giving Utivich a good scare. Which wasn't very hard to do. "Come on, we're just checking it out." Omar nudged Smitty, who sighed as he dropped his head and followed along. About thirty minutes in, he asked "Are you sure you know where we're going?" Omar turned around, "Look." he sighed, "Ghosts aren't real. You know that." "Yeah but...." "For the last time, Uti, there is no wolf," Hirschberg chuckled and patted Utivich on the back as they kept walking. Omar asked, "What are you scared of anyway? If anyone's out there, they should be scared of us." Smitty chuckled a little, "I guess you're right." "Atta boy, now-" They reached the last few trees, and could see the looming, ancient gates, and the silhouettes of crooked and broken tombs just beyond it beneath the silver moonlight. And just as it came into view, they heard a shrill, guttural scream of a man. "It's uh...coming from the cemetery..." Hrischberg stalled for a moment, and Omar rolled his eyes, pulling them both behind him. "Come on." "You know...in the pictures, it's always one dumbass that gets everyone killed." Omar shook his head with a smirk, "Yeah, well we ain't in the pictures, Hirschberg." Omar pushed open the rusting, dusty, forgotten gates, and stepped in. "Footprints. Ghosts don't leave footprints." He turned around, "And no, a dybbuk wouldn't either." Hirschberg narrowed his eyes, "How do you know..." "We don't have time for this! I'm just saying that w-" There was another scream. "This way..." He seemed a little more hesitant, but still, made his way toward the screams, towing along the other two basterds. The cemetery seemed to go on for miles and miles, almost as if it were endless. "See? Nothing. I told y-" Omar's eyes went wide as he wobbled at the edge of an open grave, "WHOA-" Hirschberg grabbed onto Omar's arms and pulled him to safety. "Alright. That's it, asshole. Let's go home." "Aww you scared of a little wind?" "No." He clenched his jaw, "I just...it don't seem too respectful to be stompin' around these graves." Utivich nodded hastily, "Y-yeah...r...respectful..." "You coulda gotten hurt, Omar. Let's go." Omar sighed, "Just a few more minutes. I wanna see if-" They heard a low, ghastly groan, "Hilfe..." it almost seemed to be begging for mercy. Begging for death itself, "Hilfe!" 'help...' It was German. Omar then peered over the ditch he nearly fell into....and realized it was far deeper than six feet. And it was far from empty. There was a pile of men, bloodied, seeming as if they'd been gutted and torn apart by a wild animal. "Hilfe...." 'Help...' Omar's eyes shot wide, his heart stopped, and his blood went ice cold when he saw one of the bodies reach up with a shaking, bloody, mangled hand, eyes looking directly into Omar's. Hirschberg then peered over, "Holy shit. It's a nazi!" He laughed, putting his hands at his hips as he looked on at the bloody masterpiece. "I-it is?" Utivich felt significantly less scared, as he  looked between his friends' shoulders, and saw just that. An endless pile of dead nazis in a seemingly bottomless pit. "It is!" He smiled, though he was still a little uneasy with the idea of being in a cemetery in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night. Hirschberg kicked some dirt in, "Wonder what happened." "Who cares." Omar crouched down, wondering what to do next. Killing the nazi was too much mercy...leaving him be meant a small chance that he'd survive and tell someone he saw the basterds. Hirschberg seemed to read his mind. He called out, "English?" The nazi sobbed, "Ja...Yes!" "What happened?" He sputtered, blood trailing out of his mouth, his eyes shifting back and forth as he struggled for a breath of air long enough to speak. "W-woman...." He looked with blank eyes remained unblinking and unresponsivein fear, gasping for breath,  "W-white...white dress..." he gulped, "Wolf....attacked..." His mangled  arm wrapped around his sliced abdomen. Omar looked back at the other two basterds, "Ok...so he's delirious." "Omar, I don't think-" Smitty peered over, "Are you delirious?" Hirschberg rolled his eyes. "Hey." Omar threw a rock into the pit, but the nazi didn't answer. His wide, yellow eyes glazed over. His mouth dropped open as final streams of blood poured out. His arms fell to the sides. His organs spilled out. "....A wolf could do that..." Hirschberg pointed at the evisceration with a shrug. "Let's go." "Don't you wanna know how the bodies got here? I mean-" Omar loved a good mystery. "Why would a wolf drag bodies to a grave? A spirit can't pull bodies into a ditch. A spirit wouldn't care if all the evidence was found! Someone's gotta be out there." "Or....s-something...." Smitty's hands were shaking as he looked around. Omar rolled his eyes, "For the last time, there is no such thing as ghosts." Hirschberg pushed Omar, "Who cares. It's late. It's way past the hour that Aldo gave us. Leave well enough alone."

"You too, Hirschberg?" "What!" Hirschberg was visibily irritated, and uneasy, mostly because of the pungent smell. He didn't care about the nazis...he cared about being in the middle of a graveyard in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the night, with the possibility of a wild animal attacking. "You're scared too." Omar grinned smugly. "I'm scared of Aldo knowing we stayed out here for more than an hour on purpose. Sure. Come on, kid." He pulled Smitty along, and Omar sighed, "Fine. Fine, lets go." The three wandered back through the gates in silence, not even commenting on what they found. "Umm...Omar?" Omar sighed in annoyance, "What, Smitty?" "Do you know where we are?" He slowed down, beginning to realize they had been walking for a lot longer than when they left camp. He looked around, suddenly not recognizing anything despite having known this side of the forest like the back of his hand. "Uh..." He practically turned in a circle, squinting, trying to make something out of the dark, vast nothing among the dense trees. "Are you fucking kidding me?!" Hirschberg groaned, more annoyed than scared, as he sunk down on the ground, catching his breath. "What? We can't be that far!" Omar stepped a little further into the woods. "I...think we should stay here till morning." "Oh is someone getting scared?" Omar smirked a little as he glanced back at Smitty. "This isn't fucking funny, Omar. We're lost!" Hirschberg crossed his arms, and Smitty said, "Besides...even if there's nothing out here, it's fucking cold." "Then let's keep moving." Smitty  shook his head, "No."

Hirschberg knew Omar wouldn't stop.. As much as he hated the idea, he couldn't let Omar go on his own. "Fine." Smitty definitely couldn't handle being alone, so he quickly followed. After what seemed like a thousand years, Omar stopped to catch his breath, finally conceding, "Ok...so we're lost." "Fucking knew it." Smitty looked out into the darkness, whispering under his breath, "lost..." Omar and Hirschberg stood beside each other, looking up at the towering trees.Suddenly, they both felt a heavy, iron grip grab at their shoulders, and pull them back. Both of them screamed at the top of their lungs. "What part of 'one hour' and 'big fucken day tomorrow' did you not fucken understand?!" Their hearts eased, and the color came back to their cheeks when they turned and saw it had been Donny who snuck up on them. "Oh fuck...." Omar rested his hand over his racing heart, "Ok..." he took a deep breath, "Ok..." Donny saw how pale they were. Smitty suddenly hugged him. He'd always been like a younger brother to Donny, though Donny found the hug odd as it seemingly came out of the blue. "You uh...you alright, kid?" Smitty looked up at him, and said about a million words in half a minute, none of which were understood by Donny. "I'll take that as a no?" Donny then glared at Omar and Hirschberg ,"What'd you do to the kid?" Donny knew it was a sort of favorite past time among the basterds to scare Smitty, but this seemed to have gone too far. "Nothing!" Before Donny could respond, they heard a howling sound. It wasn't the wind because there was no wind. And it wasn't a distant figment of their imagination. They all heard it....and it was close. "Can we please get back to camp for the love of- They heard snarling and growling as if they were surrounded by a single creature. The four basterds stood back to back, keeping their eyes ahead of them. A pair of glowing, pale, yellow eyes appeared in the underbrush. "oh shit..." Donny's heart skipped as he fumbled with his gun, trying to load it. Just before he could, they all heard a distant, bubbly, almost innocent laugh. Smitty's hands shook almost as violently as his voice when he raised his finger, pointing at something behind the wolf's eyes, "Wh-what the fuck is that!" It was a white silhouette, barely within sight.

He shut his eyes, and as if in response, there was a whistle. The snarling stopped, and was instead replaced with a whine, and the sound of retreating paws. The figure was gone, along with the glowing eyes. Donny still had his gun aimed at the now vacant forest. He didn't dare look away yet. He did ask one thing. "You...you wanna run that story by me again, Smitty?" ***** Aldo didn't believe a word of it. Neither did Wicki, or Hugo. After their mission, they went back to the cemetery with the younger basterds. Aldo joked as they stepped through the gates, "Whatever it is, it's making our jobs a hell of a lot easier." "There." Omar pointed to. The rest of the basterds huddled around it....a patch of dirt... "I swear it was right here." Hirschberg and Smitty looked on in shock. There was dirt where there were bodies the night before.  Wicki shrugged, "You dragged us all the way out here...for an unmarked grave?" Hirschberg picked up a handful of soil, letting it sift through his fingers, "Why is it so fresh?" Smitty nodded, "Yeah...it looks like it was just dug." Hugo grunted "Maybe because we're in a cemetery." Donny shook his head, "No. We saw something." He was so adamant, it made Aldo pause for a moment. Donny had never lied to him before, why would he now? "Alright." Just as the basterds were beginning to push dirt aside, they heard an old, creaking voice that nearly stopped the hearts of the younger basterds. " Puis-je vous aider?" 'Can I help you?' Omar, Smitty, and Hirschberg immediately held on to each other. Aldo rolled his eyes. It was an old man in worker's clothes, and was presumably the graveyard's care taker. The old man repeated again, "Puis-je vous aider?" In broken French, Wicki and Hugo pieced together a story: The kids heard a ghost story in town, and they'd all leave and stop bothering him. Instead, the caretaker invited them all to his house, seeing as though they might be hungry. Smitty shook his head, "Creepy old man in a creepy cemetery with a creepier house..." Aldo, being a southerner, and  therefore literate in the art of hospitality, knew it was rude to say no. "Just cause he's old, and we're surrounded by dead people don't mean you get to be rude. Ya did break into the man's property, after all." And with that, the basterds followed the old man through the cemetery to another gate, newer...and less creaky, behind which there was an open space, and a small cottage, with a fresh coat of paint in whatever spots weren't covered with bright bougainvillea. It seemed so out of place, so charming, almost enchanted. It didn't seem to belong there, like an oasis in the middle of a barren desert, but boy was it a sight for sore eyes for the tired basterds The old man apologized, as all he had to offer the brave basterds was some stale bread and water. Rations had been cut in half in the village. He sighed with a smile, though. "She'll be home any minute with more." Wicki asked, "She? " The heavy wooden door opened with a slight creak, and in appeared a figure in a deep green dress, with a basket, "Je suis de retour, papa!" you announced your return, and just as you stepped in, you spotted the crowd of strangers.  "Visiteurs?" 'Visitors' you asked, seeming a little uneasy, unable to identify their allegiance. 'Soldats américains,' He explained with a hearty laugh, "american soldiers"  with pure joy in his eyes and all the hope an old man could have. Wicki began to explain, "Well..." Hugo waved it off dismissively. Your dad explained that the younger basterds had heard some scary story around the town, and had come by to investigate. You laughed, though nervously...it sounded familiar to at least one Basterd. Smitty mumbled, "It's you..." Donny instantly caught on. He nudged Smitty, "Shut up." Aldo introduced himself, and each of his basterds to you. You nodded with a simple innocent smile, and introduced yourself, as shortly as possible, "Y/n." Aldo nodded, "Pleased to meet you, Y/n..." He turned to Smitty, "Utivich, why don't you go on and help Y/n." "I....ok..." You forced a polite smile to keep up appearances, and he followed you into the kitchen to put away what you'd brought. You were both quiet for a moment, though at one moment, you both looked at each other. You spoke at the same time saying, "I know who you are." You both raised your eyebrows, stepping back in shock, and again on the same beat, quipped, "No you don't!" "Quit it!" You put the tea kettle on, and arranged some cakes you'd brought into a tray, remarking, "You're a basterd." He raised his eyebrow with a smirk, as he leaned against a cupboard, "And you're a ghost." You rolled your eyes, "Really?" You tapped on your left forearm, "I think I know a dead person when I see one, soldier boy. And you should, too." He was quiet as you turned around to pour the boiling water into cups. You sighed reluctantly, "Sorry....that was mean," You sighed sighed again, "Things have been so..." He nodded, having seen the decimated, occupied village himself not too long ago. "I know everything." You looked at him, "You know nothing of hell." You stepped outside through the back door, into a peaceful meadow, seeming even more out of place than the cottage itself, and he followed, "I saw you." "I don't know what you're talking about." "The lady in white bullshit everyone's talking about. Killer wolf. Unmarked grave with a stack of dead nazis in it? I-" You turned around, "Do you see me wearing white? Don't you see endless graves around here? And killer wolf? Here? That's absolutely ridicu-" You both heard a whining.... You shut your eyes, and sighed, and muttered through gritted teeth, "Pais maintenant, Brouillard..." 'Not now, Brouillard...' Smitty saw a greyish-white wolf standing by your side, "No wolf, huh?" "He's not a wolf," you crossed your arms defensively. Smitty looked at you, absolutely puzzled for a moment, and you muttered, giving up. "He's a wolf-dog." "So it was you." "You're lucky you weren't here a few nights  too soon, or Brouillard would've howled, and papa would have shot you down." "Your dad? That sweet little old man?" You chuckled with an understanding smile, "It doesn't seem like it, but he takes his job real serious. And well... last night of course you know Brouillard wasn't here to warn him about your little...uh...escapade... We had our hands full." "Does he know?" Smitty spoke softly now, looking at you with wide eyes. "No. And..." You smirked a little, "Let's keep it that way." He nodded, and you stepped back inside, reaching for the tray with cakes as he took the tray with tea, "Wait..." You glanced back, "Yes, private?" "Why?" "Why?"

"I mean...thank you for the help and  all, but...why you?" You sighed, putting the tray back down on the counter. "Let me show you something..." You pulled him back outside, but he stopped in his tracks when he saw the wolf again. Brouillard trotted up and rubbed his head on Smitty's leg, as you laughed, "Go ahead." Smitty smiled, and patted Brouillard on the head, commenting, "Your laugh is a lot less ominous now....I mean...I...uh..." You laughed again, taking no offense, as you reached for the young soldier's arm, "Come on." You climbed up a trellis hidden by the vines, and sturdy enough to hold you. You popped into the second floor, and peeked over the window, "You won't fall, I promise!" Smitty nodded, trusting you for reasons he'd figure some day. You helped him in, and he looked around, immediately blushing realizing it was your bedroom. "Ummm..." He rubbed the back of his neck nervously, and chuckled, "No one's going to come up. It's the only room up here." You still peeked into the hallway and half down the stairs before slowly shutting the door, and then the window, and closing the curtains. "Y/n....I hate to say this...but I-I think y-you, this is a misunderstanding! I-I don't want to- I mean you're gorgous but. Fuck! I mean-" You opened a dresser, produced a long, lovely, lace and pearl dress, and laid it over the bed. He stopped stammering, and was more intrigued than embarrassed now. He spotted the ragged, torn bottom, with leaves and twigs etched into the lace. "It's a wedding dress." He looked up at you with a sly smirk, "Impressive...Nice disguise." "It was my wedding dress." You sighed, as your fingertips brushed over pearl buttons. Smitty caught his breath, knowing there were a million things that could have led to this: Number one: Widowed by the war But he was wrong... And when he heard the truth he wished he had been right. "No." You smiled a little, "I was happy here. We all were. Then the nazis came." You held the dress up, "One of them, a sergeant... He saw me, and demanded I marry him, or he'd never stop terrorizing the town." "Y/n..." He shook his head, heart broken by the extent that war could go. "The night before the wedding," You turned to him, with the glint of a grin hidden behind your eyes as they wandered over the lace, "He was in the pub, and I knew it. I knew where he'd be. I knew where he would go. And..well, people here are very superstitious. Everyone knows these old myths.  Especially in small, isolated places like this. So, naturally, if a...say....vengeful spirit appeared when the town was disturbed, no villager would really say it was fake. They wouldn't dare." "You killed him?" Smitty was grinning a little, as he sat on the edge of the bed. "Me?" You smirked, pleating the white dress against your chest, tracing the details with your finger, "I simply lured him into the forest." "You?" "Well," You shrugged, "You know what they say. It's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding." His jaw dropped, both in awe and in shock. "Now, it looked complicated, but Brouillard is a watch-dog...wolf-dog. Very protective. But, it's also not uncommon to spot wolves around here every few years. So naturally, have him howl around a little for a week or so before the deed, and people think it's just one of those wild lone wolves wandering in the woods. So...when a nazi turned up mauled in the woods, well, c'est la vie." "It was that easy?" "Easy?" You scoffed, "It was messy. But...there was no blame. Oh, no. Just what a tragedy before a wedding. Killed by a wolf, well, no one's to blame but his drunken self... Now, when his mates refused to leave town, a little more luring and a few more unpredictable wolf attacks meant the town was free. Well..." "Till more nazis showed up?" "Well...the people seem to understand that wandering the forest late at night might not be the best idea. Naturally the new nazis always want to be the one to solve the mystery of their missing soldiers, they want to get a prize.... So the nazis have no problem ending up at say, the wrong place at the wrong time. Still, Brouillard is a lone wolf. He can't get to each and every one of them so quickly, so, a few have gotten away having spotted a 'lady in white,' But, as of last night, the town is free of nazis. And when the next patrol arrives, I'll be here, waiting." You sighed, placing the dress back into the dresser. "I never would've....This..This is fucking amazing! How have you not been caught?" "The last place anyone would look for a dead body is in a graveyard," you smirked as you sat by him. "You're fucking brilliant..." "Well...I don't  know if I'd say 'brilliant,' but...." You stammered a little, tilting your head down, though you now shyly glanced up. You opened the curtains and the window, and stood there for a while. You felt him standing by you.  You both looked out at the endless graves, and he asked, "Do you ever feel scared by that?" "Scared?" You shook your head, though your eyes didn't part from the cemetery bathed in the falling red light of sunset. "I think it's peaceful...Though, maybe a little lonely at times." Your shy glance met his timid eyes, and you both smiled softly. In only a moment, you both began leaning in for a kiss, before sneaking back down to the garden, and back to the kitchen.

**** The basterds were walking back to their camp out in the woods, and Donny smirked, "So, Uti...." "What? Yeah?" Utivich snapped out of a trance where he was smiling dreamily at nothing. Donny raised his voice up a few pitches, "YoUr LaUgH is LesS ominous..." "Fuck. You." Utivich blushed as the basterds cackled, and Aldo sighed with a smile, "So? What'd she say?" Utivich sighed and explained the whole story. Aldo nodded, "Well...I'll be damned." Omar grinned, "Ha! No ghost." Hirschberg nodded, "No...but that's one hell of a girl..."

For as long as the basterds hid out in that part of the woods, a year or so, Smitty snuck off alone into the woods late at  night, no longer scared of howls or shadows. Where he went....well it didn't take a genius to figure it out. All it took was a minute of bravery to run through the graveyard, luck to not trip over any crooked tombs, and a good grip to climb up to your open window. When the inevitable day came for the basterds to move on, Smitty went back into the woods one last time. This time, he didn't run through the cemetery. He took his time... He'd take his time for once. He walked around to the back of the small cottage that didn't seem to belong, and found a dim, orange glow in the second story. He climbed up carefully after petting Brouillard once more, and bribing him with some dried meat so he wouldn't blow his cover with whines. You heard the familiar shuffling and rustling. You smiled, as you met him with an open window, and a kiss. He couldn't stay much longer, though you knew the day  would come. So when the night was over,  the dark blue sky began to give way to a new day and mission, he was off to a town in the other side of occupied France called Nadine, about thirty kilometres from Paris, to meet a British contact. Smitty said goodbye to you... But not before swearing he'd come back some day, when the war was over. You watched, as you sat by the window, as the basterd disappeared beyond the forest, as the moon faded and the sun rose. You smiled softly, knowing he'd be back. And, you'd heard that patrols in the area would be discontinued until an investigation gave an answer as to what lurked in the woods... So, as you wondered about the end of the war, you put the dress away with a soft, and relieved smile. You knew he'd be back...and when he was, you knew just what to do. Maybe the dress needed some mending....maybe a new one was in order... But, he'd be back. And when he was, you'd leave the window open and the candle on just for him.

[pestopascal]

sorry if it's not too mcuh to ask but are you able to share the endings? ive seen a lot of mixed reviews in regards to them and player choices and i wanted to hear your opinion

uhhh pfft okay spoilers below... but there are like “five″ endings, each with variations and reflections on choices that you go through

devil ending (arasaka)

so assuming you have done nothing game wise (no side missions, no friendships), this is the most basic ending you will get besides one other. this has several differences based on whether you saved takemura or not (yes, you can save him in search and destroy, and he doesn’t like an outcome of this ending if you save him. quite frankly, it’s hilarious).

this ending basically ends the arasaka story of the game, which was the heist section, as well as takemura’s general story direction. you realise along the way that yorinobu wasn’t just the antagonist but an antihero in hating his father’s stance on separating the rich and poor further, as well as attaining immortality via the relic. he wanted to give it to everyone. saburo had uploaded his soul to mikoshi (think along the lines of the stacks in altered carbon), knowing that yorinobu was going to make an attempt. turns out hanako knew all this. there is more backstory with hanako’s connection to alt explained. saburo’s relic is installed in yorinobu’s body.

- variation 1: goro died, hellman takes you to the facility

after the choice, hellman will be the one to escort v to arasaka, having survived conveniently. after some other missions involve a hostile takeover of arasaka, hanako fulfills her promise of removing johnny, but in the process v’s mind is practically destroyed beyond saving. there is a sequence of testing, with the scientists and lots of psychological implications. hellman will arrive to give the choice of whether to upload v’s mind to mikoshi in an attempt to save them in some years time (because, as it turns out, there are stipulations in that cloning is not near the level of science it needs to be, saburo and yorinobu obviously had close enough genetic material it made transfer easier. also johnny’s relic has apparently ‘changed’ v’s dna enough (which is questioned and evaded). that and it is arasaka. they could just be lying, and v knows this). so v can sign a contract to be uploaded to mikoshi, or can return to earth with 6 months to potentially live, although is speculated to have less time than that.

the credits roll with dialogue from those you may have befriended in some capacity discussing either the fact you have signed on to arasaka, or you have disappeared/returned to earth. hanako offers v a job if they had chosen to return to earth to die. your love interest makes reference to not having heard from you/wishes to see you soon.

- variation 2: goro survives, also escorts v to arasaka

takemura fills the roll of hellman, and ultimately proves that he is arasaka until the day he dies, even after the apparent ‘wavering’ dialogue. he didn’t make it this far in life without being able to lie the way he does. he’s a lot more gentle in the approach compared to hellman in asking v to return to mikoshi, there is some reminiscing dialogue, and also promises of visiting in the future if they manage to find v a body.

the biggest difference is should v choose to return to earth, takemura tells v to rot in hell for refusing arasaka’s help.

the sun (rogue)

this ending relies on side missions being completed for rogue (NOT just a good relationship with johnny, that is another ending as well that will be mentioned after). blistering love is the last one for rogue.

what happens is that you give johnny and rogue their last attempt at the assault on arasaka tower. johnny will be in control for the duration of this mission. rogue dies during the assault when adam smasher arrives. at mikoshi, johnny is the point of view character for the decision on who remains in v’s body. alt recognises that the relic has altered v’s body too much for v to remain there, but johnny would survive without problem.

- variation 1: v remains in control

johnny assimilates with alt in cyberspace and v returns to the world as a living legend. your love interest can potentially appear in the suite, but they recognise that v has become incredibly distant as a person (implied only a few months to live, that only they know of), and is taking on one last gig like no other. the love interest may potentially break up with v. ends with v eventually going to attack the crystal palace (casino in space).

- variation 2: johnny remains in control

vastly different, and i recommend playing this ending out at least once. johnny appears some time after the events of arasaka leaving the city, with collecting belongings and also going to visit the columbarium and deposit the bullet in v’s grave. it also gives a lot of insight into other memorials to characters you may have met in other side missions, there is jackie’s, rogue’s (per this ending), etc. johnny leaves night city.

- VARIATION 3: TECHNICALLY THE SECRET ENDING and in some cases considered ending 5

DIFFERENT in that it has a set of requirements that include maintaining a relationship with johnny ABOVE 70% (which can happen in the missions for him). need to wait and not decide on an ending for johnny to personally suggest this, so that no one else will die for them. it goes the same route as the rogue/johnny ending but instead v/johnny assault arasaka tower themselves. this is the HARDEST mission in the game, there is NO save option, you have to complete it in one go. if you die it is treated as an ending, and the end credits will even reference this with other characters talking about this. should you make it through, it plays out similarly following on from the other variations, save for the fact rogue will actually be alive, and the afterlife sequence will reflect her survival.

the star (aldecaldos)

should you befriend panam, including completing all of her lines (queen of the highway being the last), there is the offer to join them. it follows a very similar path in terms of attacking arasaka tower per rogue/johnny, but with the aldecaldos, and saul dies when adam smasher appears for the fight. this is one of the endings where you can choose who stays in v’s body however, but played from v’s point of view.

- variation 1: v remains in control

again, similarly follows the sun route, however v will wake up later with the aldecaldos en route to tucson. judy if romanced will join v, panam will obviously have a continuing romance, but river stays behind due to his family commitments with promises of maybe someday if they return, and kerry i believe at this stage, doesn’t want to give up night city just yet, but again similarly to river, promises.. it ends on a more hopeful note.

- variation 2: johnny remains in control

plays out like the sun ending.

path of least resistance (suicide)

easily the most heartbreaking. depending on how you may have played v, it is the one time they feel the most in control. johnny and v have an incredibly emotional discussion about death and life and rebirth. the credits will roll, and any relationships you have established will have a spoken part. i sobbed during the credits. it is.. yeah. well.

my opinion

the endings are confronting, or hopeful, depending on what is chosen. siding with arasaka goes against your better instincts, especially as a corporat. even after believing that perhaps takemura has changed, v realises that to his heart, that man will never leave. becoming a living legend just like jackie wanted leaves v feeling quite empty, as they have made it to the heights and there’s nothing for them. the aldecaldos are viewed as the best simply because there is that hope that in arizona, someone might be able to help, but potentially at the cost of your own relationship. and then... after seeing how much v has been punched down... the last ending just truly hurts. both in terms of characters understanding and being so angry at themselves and at v. i personally don’t know what specific ending i would choose for my v as i’m still working it out, but they all do punch in some way i personally think, especially if you have... actually played the story, and it does like tie off specific ends here and there. also like... finding out what happens to the peralezes and other people you might’ve met... yeah. i recommend playing through all of them + variations at least once (granted.. if you are comfortable with it. the arasaka ending is very invasive and well, the suicide ending can be incredibly uncomfortable).

[laerrynseelie]

TAD death/chronic illness theory

buckle up motherfuckers and blame the discord for this because this is about to get into some real fucking sad shit and it’s gonna be a very long post my apologies in advance (tw death! chronic illness! mentioning respiratory issues + tumour + hospital! please take care of yourselves)

for me, this all begins in Not Yet/Love Run, just from the words “not yet”. it’s all about someone (Mads) who is dying of a chronic illness, and the phrase “not yet” of don’t go yet, keep going, just a little longer. “it’s time to fight”, “keep running it’s up to you now”. and so through the song, they go on adventures in their head using their imagination and songs because that can’t do that irl, with 

sing me awake with a song about pirates

I’ll point you steer and we’ll rip up the map by the seams

or since you’re stuck inside, perhaps on bed rest or in a hospital “sip the sunlight from your eyes”, experience what I can’t, I’ll live vicariously through you, “sing me awake with all the things we’ll do today but instead we’ll build a den out of pillows and get drunk again” because we can’t do anything else. “run until your lungs are numb” is it a respiratory illness? “run from all you know that’s coming” is the end, connecting to this “run from all you know that’s coming”, “oh let the world come at you love”, “it’s not from what we run that drums / but what’s to come, what’s to come”. and “it’s nought that rum won’t solve / though some would harm you, none - not one - no none / will raise to you a hand nor thumb” nothing else can hurt you, or when you’re gone all this pain and suffering and hurt will end.

some more straightforward NY/LR things connecting to this is “but I held your hand as you shook in the middle of the night” “seems to me that you can’t sleep” “where is god ma” “I cannot find the words to keep you” “for all the things we wished we’d done”

let’s connect this to Pruning Shears! because why not destroy myself with my fav songs from this album first. “my entire life it’s running away too fast” is sung by Joey, and underneath Mads sings “my whole life”. her whole life is going, she’s about to die, but she’s his entire life and she’s about to go. and he’s listening to all these people talk about being rich and all this stuff that doesn’t fucking matter compared to the fact that she’s dying. “the best laid plans had it all planned” “we do each other’s laundry in our hearts sometimes” they were going to have this long, happy, domestic life, and it’s all gone straight out the window. “my fall makes no sound here”. “we don’t have time to fuck around”. “come back”. “doesn’t matter mate”. “forget the girl that she once was” “my whole life it won’t last”

this is gonna be a stretch, also with PS, but clothing from the “lost and found” because you didn’t have time to prepare? or don’t own clothing for a formal event? could it perhaps be... a funeral? and since she’s dead “yes I know you got your shoes from Oxfam” is like kinda omnipotent. “whatever you do don’t turn round” don’t watch me slowly die, or that voice you hear in your head that you think is mine isn’t, I’m gone. move on, “merry make me love forget the past”. “watching everyone I’ve ever loved walk past” she’s watching her own funeral.

“put up one hell of a fight against all my sins and the candlelight”, fighting against the illness, the “light” is death

alright so I really only made this theory for PS and NY/LR, but then I went through the other songs of Love Run and hoo boy buckle up because I am making myself sad with my own bullshit

king is preparing him for her death. she’s trying to make sure he’s okay after she’s gone “when you are gone away” “I’ll keep him safe from the dark things that wait” “rips into the bark of my bones”. is she buried at “the house at the top of the rock”?

I’ll smile as I climb the stairs (to the light) To the light that you keep burning there (all hell) And our muscles that are waltzing and our shadows that are bold sing Come rip up the flesh of my fears

is he dying to be with her? more evidence:

I know your fingernails are the colour of rust (come back) And your veins are empty of dust (but our voices)

and finally

all hell and its fire waits for us

Elsa’s Song? more funeral stuffs. 

I can hear the cannons calling As though across a dream And I can smell the smoke of hell In every stitch and seam And like flowers, the bodies tumble Around this muddied lot I cannot hear them scream ‘Forget me not.’

Because love does not exist here In this garden there’s no feeling

And in years to come you’ll wander To the place up on our hill And then you’ll cry to our painted sky ‘I loved him then, I love him still’ And you’ll strew some sage and lilies And roses where I rot Of all the flowers you picked I knew you would forget Forget-me-nots

want me to make Shower Day even sadder? I can do that! “its just a sitting down in the shower day” is already a v sad, energyless idea, could be from exhaustion, illness. but something I thought of is how people hide their tears in the shower. and he’s trying to keep himself strong for her, making sure she doesn’t see him sad. same with the other lines of the chorus

You’re the one who asked me if I’m feeling ok I said I’m fine

as well as “walk around all nonchalant”. along the same lines of her preparing him for her death:

Know you should love him but its such a pain Would have stayed if you’d had asked But instead you just walk away

You’re the one who told me to never look back Well I’m looking back and looking back And looking back and looking back at you

Pray, death, sin, yeah it all fits together real nicely. exhibit a:

Pray for me, I’ll run until I begin to understand What holy men really mean when they speak of sin 

I’m what’s left when children go to war Run from you, I’ll run until I begin to understand What holy men really mean when they speak of sand and sons and seams and symphonies and sweat and sex and sin

“when children go to war” I take as when battling a disease. also “the hearts I’ve broken” from dying when there are people who love me. very tfios, I know. staying with someone, “I’ll haunt the very wrinkles of your skin”. and finally, “my eyes are made of winter and these hands I hold are skin and bone” for eyes made of winter could be blue eyes, could be eyes drained of life, as winter seems sometimes. 

I don’t want to go into Little Miss Why So too much because it’s already so sad for me but here have some prominent lyrics

You’re going too fast You’ll burn up soon

Just to distract you 

I don’t know how to reach you when you get like this I’ve been waiting for you to come home

Full of people just pretending to be brave

You don’t see daylight anymore Something’s sucking out your core and it’s so boring

Why so sad I’m here and I’m alive Stop making up death wishes just take my life line

If I am good will you come back

it’s a lot, I know. okay, New York Torch Song! tumour. yes. 

It starts off like a pin prick A trick of the light oil slick Then grows to the size of your hand Turns you outside in Cigar burns and scar skin Ripping bone and nail and gland

connecting to this being a huge thing for both of them and trying to support the other through it but also not yet

From within this gaping wound of ours 

Can’t we just talk about this Tomorrow

I cannot find the words to keep you

and now death

But your blood does not bleed red no more

Are you god or devil

Two Minutes, another devastating song. for me it’s similar to Shower Day, of trying to be strong and not showing her how hurt he is. “give me two damn minutes and I’ll be fine”. and the “him” in the following lyrics is the illness:

If there was one place I could be right now I’d be standing there between you and him And I’ll fight you both, fight you both for the rest of my life long days

and death. again. and the bar thing I’m thinking of it sounds far away. the other dead children are calling for me to go to them.

These hands are growing cold They’re running out of things to hold

I can hear the children calling as though across the bar

and some repeats like “if you’re good will you come back” 

okay, that’s it for this theory in Love Run. I’m gonna go be sad now. goodnight.

[killrate]

“i’m this close to starting a forest fire.”

♡ @seraphias

Mary finds it in herself to laugh quietly, even in the face of chaos and violence in the fog of war.  And she gets it. Frankly, Mary has had an urge to cry for the last six hours, but there is no time to cry, let alone to finish processing one thing before another comes.  Mary had known from the minute she was thrown into the fray, that it would never have been an option to stay out of it. The council would sooner see her locked up than as an asset, but Fiore is still her home - and it's being ravaged by these brutes. Still, after all they've seen... Some part of her wishes she had stayed up in the mountains.  She pushes those thoughts aside for now, though. “Oh, come on. What’d the trees ever do to ya’? It's not their fault that these ugly bastards in their hideous trousers are out here, ruining our week.” She jests.

[rhaegaring]

WE BE MIGHTY.

ONE.  |  MOLLYMAUK  

i.  gypsy  //  fleetwood mac  //  back to the floor that i love, to a room with some lace and paper flowers.   ii.  friend of the devil  //  grateful dead  //  i ran into the devil, babe, he loaned me twenty bills. iii.  coat of many colours  //  dolly parton  //  perhaps this coat will bring you good luck and happiness, and i just couldn't wait to wear it. iv.  nick of time  //  bonnie raitt  //  life gets mighty precious when there's less of it to waste. v.  if i ever leave this world alive  //  flogging molly  //  in a word don’t shed a tear, i’ll be here when it all gets weird.

TWO.  |  BEAUREGARD

i.  hit me with your best shot  //  pat benatar  //  put up your dukes, let’s get down to it, hit me with your best shot. fire away. ii.  kiss with a fist  //  florence and the machine  //  my black eye casts no shadow, your red eye sees nothing. iii.  hunger  //  florence and the machine  //  at seventeen, i started to starve myself, i thought that love was a kind of emptiness. iv.   no one knows  //  queens of the stone age  // we get these pills to swallow, how they stick in your throat. tastes like gold. v.   short skirt/long jacket  //  cake  //  who uses a machete to cut through red tape with fingernails that shine like justice and a voice that is dark like tinted glass.

THREE.  |  FJORD.

i.  ocean man  //  ween  //  ocean man, take me by the hand, lead me to the land that you understand. ii.  the plank  //  devil makes three  //  down to davy jones' locker where the fishes sleep. won't be prayin' for you, so don't be prayin' for me. to all our enemies, we'll see you in hell.  iii.  hey stranger  //  mandolin orange  // as soon as you pick yourself up just to say ‘hey’ to your loved ones, who'll all turn away, don’t go living with trouble in mind. iv.  glory  //  dermot kennedy  //  for all the love he'd left below in the waves, he made his peace with letting go. v.  the funeral  //  band of horses  //  at every occasion, i'll be ready for the funeral. every occasion, once more, it's called the funeral.

FOUR.  |  JESTER.

i.  i believe in a thing called love  //  branches  //  just listen to the rhythm of my heart! ii.  smother  //  daughter  //  i'm a foolish, fragile spine. i want all that is not mine.  iii.  she’s got a ticket  //  tracy chapman  //  she’s got a ticket, think she gonna use, think she gone to find a way. no one should try and stop her, persuade her with their power. iv.  the traveller  //  the fedz  //  i guess nobody's interested to knowin' my name and no one cares about you unless you have game. v.  the hustle  //  van mccoy  //  do it! do the hustle...

FIVE.  |  CALEB.

i.  beginners  //  slow club  //  in a second you’ll be gone and i won’t have to think. i got enough to keep me going, keep me from the brink. ii.  eyes on fire  //  blue foundation  //  i'm taking it slow, feeding my flame. shuffling the cards of your game. iii.  sometimes  //  gerry cinnamon  //  if you wanna know some things i've learned about myself, been in sticky situations - i won't bore you with the filth. iv.  my boy builds coffins  //  florence and the machine  //  my boy builds coffins he makes them all day but it's not just for work and it isn't for play. he's made one for himself. v.  horse to water  //  tall heights  //  i lived in the rearview to wish back an image of myself i thought was true.

SIX.  |  YASHA.

i.  mercury  //  sleeping at last  //  that somehow, all of this mess is just an attempt to know the worth of my life. made of precious metals, i'll go anywhere you want me. ii.  high hopes  //  kodaline  //  i remember it now, it takes me back to when it all first started. but i've only got myself to blame for it, and i accept that now. iii.  still  //  daughter  //  two feet standing on a principle. two hands longing for each others warmth. cold smoke seeping out of colder throats. iv.  when the man comes around  //  johnny cash  //  whoever is unjust let him be unjust still, whoever is righteous let him be righteous still. whoever is filthy let him be filthy still. v.  jagadamba, you might  //  first aid kit  //  but, kid, don't tell me that you're frightened. this war begun long before you were born.

SEVEN.  |  NOTT.

i.  old number seven  //  devil makes three  //  tennessee whiskey got me drinking in heaven, angels start to look good to me - they're gonna have to deport me to the fiery deep. ii.  changes  //  langhorne slim  //  there are many reasons we are what we've become, i'm going thru changes. iii.  semi-charmed kinda life  //  third eye blind  //  i want something else to get me through this semi-charmed kind of life. iv.  alcatraz  //  oliver riot  //  come on, someone, take off your mask, it's nice to meet. honey, what you done, come from, escaping so fast? v.  valley of death  //  blitzen trapper  //  said i know what it means to get left for dead, when the saints rise up at the sound. when the spirits don't move in.

[amwritingmeta]

15x03: Oh hell yes!

I don’t even know what to say. Honestly, does anything have to be said? It was grand! It delivered on all the levels. And it set us up for a run toward the midseason finale that’s already making me sweat along the edges. 

I mean, here, three episodes in, we have, let’s see, what do we have? We have:

Sam shushing Dean with that epically impatient gesture, yeah? 

Yeah. Or more like... WHAAAAAAAAT?? He actually did that? *rewind* Yeah, no, yeah, he did. He put his hand up as Dean was doing his “We’re not just giving up that’s not who we are” infuriated rant at anything inevitable (I mean, yes faith in their abilities is good, just not how it’s delivered bulldozer style) and Sam SHUSHED his brother.

Leader!Sam. Tick-a-box.

We have, what else do we have, oh, yes, we have Dean SENDING CAS TO HELL.

Wow. Woooooooooooow. Like. w o w.

That was h a r s h. No, that was Harsh with a capital H and I knew it would come back and bite him on the ass, the damn stubborn dickhead. Because of course he knows Cas isn’t to blame, logically, for what happened to Mary. He’s just dead set on pushing Cas away for a myriad of reasons all tied to his skewed sense of self, which is still skewed, I believe, no matter how far he’s already come in his progression, and this slight skew-age is making him dig himself into this hole of self-punishment. 

Because, logically, he knows what Cas means to him and, perhaps, he’s starting to get to a point where he can actually see and believe what he means to Cas and he can’t have that. Why should he get to be happy? E v e r?? And, of course, this is mirrored in what Cas is going through with his shadow representative telling him that the moment he is feeling even a breath of happiness, he’s bound for the Empty and eternal oblivion. Alone.

I can’t.

Only CAS will NOT HAVE IT, Dean. *sorry for shouting* *it’s just so perfect*

Cas says: “Jack is dead. Chuck is gone. You and Sam have each other. I think it’s time for me to move on.”

I’m cry. I’m cry so hard. I’m not cry really but on the inside I’m cry and I’m hap. I’m so hap. (wtf stop that) (that’s not even language-ing) (it’s just confusing af) Sorry. Crying from goddamn happiness at the CHOICE Cas makes by the end of this episode to fucking move on from a situation where he’s getting no emotional support from this man with whom he’s been through so much, no benefit of the doubt this time around, because of Dean’s own internal hangups, and Cas is saying, for himself, that that’s enough now. 

Cas is saying, for himself, I’m clearly not wanted. 

Cas is looking at the situation before him as though soon he won't even be needed, because it seems his powers are failing and without them, what use is he to Sam and to Dean exactly? (coming off of what the abominable Belphegor said to him about being used and discarded, of course)

And so Cas is saying, for himself, time to move on from this. Time to let you go. Because I can’t continue on like this, being rejected and sent to my death as if I mean nothing to you, not being listened to, only here to be blamed for everything that’s going wrong. No. You’re not putting that on me. You’re not putting all of it on me. You do that - and you lose me.

Head. Fucking. Exploded.

Cas just drew a goddamn line. 

And look. Look at it. Look at the narrative as a whole. Look at what they represent to one another.

With Cas as representative of Dean’s Faith (in himself and in the future) 

Dean as representative of Cas’ Humanity (mildly dormant until Dean)

then what needs to happen narratively for these two to actually be truly GOOD for each other is a closing of the arc that has seen them standing in as representatives of these core traits for the other, and for these core traits to exist within either of them without the other’s direct influence.

See? See what is happening?? They are letting each other go. They are stepping away from needing the other to find their way into their true identity - which is the function they’ve both served in each other’s individual arc since 4x01 - and, instead, they are moving into the final lap of actually reaching insight and understanding and self-actualisation of their own accord.

I swear.

It is breathtaking. It’s taken my breath. My breath is gone. I’m suffocating. Send help. Send. Help. Now.

Okay, I’m good.

Letting each other go means letting go of need and making way for want, for choice, for invitations to stay and for actual proof that they know who they are whether they have the other in their life or not, yeah? 

Oh man I hope we get this. Whatever form it takes, however subtly they play it, I do hope we get the spirit of this!

Imagine Cas powering down and dealing with humanity on his own, no longer lost and alone and afraid, but choosing to hunt without a second thought. No more dressing himself up as Steve and trying to find purpose in human everyday activity, because his purpose - whether angel or man - was always and will always be to protect. 

And even his worry about dying, if it even comes up, might be dispelled if he realises that death means a 50/50 chance of Heaven and absolutely no chance of the Empty... Taking away Cas’ powers is the ultimate way of making him realise he can cheat that deal plus give us insight into what will make him truly happy! But. We shalleth see-eth!

And Dean? He needs to boost that good old faith in himself, and that faith, to me, is all to do with chilling the fuck out. With allowing Sam to take the lead (and boy is he starting to). With easing up on the need for control. With relaxing into himself, his true self, and letting his facade, his performance, fade away. I wonder if we’re bound for one final short deconstruction arc. 

I’m interested in the cheerleaders next ep. Would be nice to not get a single white straight male dudebro comment out of Dean, you know? It’d just be creepy at this point anyway. But yeah, seeing the underlining of how the kid full of bravado and faked self-confidence is now becoming a true adult would be wonderful. That said, part of the real Dean, I believe, is his giddiness at nerding out over stuff he truly loves and that childlike side of him should never ever go away. More of it, says I! :)

Dean needs to believe he deserves to be saved, but he’s the one doing the saving now, opening up to himself and, more importantly, to actual, real, raw vulnerability. Will he act as though Cas leaving means nothing to him? Most likely. But for how long? Sam will see right through it, right? It would be amazing if Dean’s not being defensive about it. You can tell the moment he says the damning words “And why does that something always seem to be you?” that, the moment the words are out, Dean’s questioning them like he can’t believe he actually said them out loud.

No faith. Stated. 

Dean’s faith in Cas - an expression of Cas being representative of faith to Dean - is gone. And it’s gone for a reason. Because it has to be. Because Cas isn’t representative of faith anymore. Because he shouldn’t be. Dean isn’t aware of it, of course, but narratively he’s being pushed into a position of letting go of Cas. So. It would be amazing if that’s what we get. Not Dean being defensive of Cas’ need to go, but rather Dean being quiet, accepting, perhaps a little defeated, because he literally drove Cas away, but thinking (erroneously but still) that this is for the best. Cas is moving on and so should they and all is well.

Except.

He’ll miss Cas. He’ll miss Cas for who Cas is, not what he represents. He’ll want Cas back, because he loves him. But he can’t want Cas back... maybe hopefully... before he feels deserving of it. Before he believes that what’s actually for the best is for Cas to come home.

The “Where are you going?” is enough to show that Dean cares, that Cas is not really dead to him and that he doesn’t want Cas to leave, no matter how much he’s pushing and pushing and pushing Cas away. And, yeah, the expression on Dean’s face as Cas walks out the door says more than a thousand words. *hot damn Jensen Ackles*

Cas is taking control and he is done being taken for granted. Glory Effing B.

Now I’ve gone into an absolute melting pot of fantabulous setting up for possible character progression for both Cas and Dean, I cannot leave Sam out of it, because I dance, you dance, we all dance under a pogo stick at how this was a fantastic ep for him!

Rowena and Ketch both dying in the same episode is interesting to me, but instead of looking at Dean mirrors (going from dark to light - shadow to integration) I’d like to look at Rowena as Sam mirror this episode.

Sam is at a point where he’s going to have to deal with some deeply buried memories of Hell and of Lucifer, as well as some deeply repressed fears of his idea of being tainted by the devil, if he’s to heal the wounds of his past.

In 13x12, Sam’s conversation with Rowena in Baby revealed that he’s scared all the time, pushing his fear down because it’s necessary, not talking about it because, basically, it’s private/he doesn’t know how to. How can anyone relate to the fear he carries around? Only someone who’s seen Lucifer’s true face would know. 

But Lucifer - for better or worse - is Sam’s dark mirror, his shadow manifested, and all the sides to himself that he’s tried for so long to pretend aren’t a part of him, out of fear that they are all that there truly is to him, should begin to surface so that he has to face them, only to look them in the eye and realise that they don’t hold sway over him, because he’s learned, throughout this journey he’s been on, what matters to him, deep down, what he stands for and what he believes in.

And, front and centre, Sam believes in saving innocent lives. Just as Dean and Cas, Sam is Protector and Shield first, Killer and Weapon second. 

I believe Sam needs to lose his so tightly held and finely tuned control over himself, his ability to push things down, in order to reach proper self-liberation and move into self-actualisation and inner balance. What better way for him to lose it than through a possession. Very intrigued to see what that flash of black eyes from the Godwound might bring us. And Sam is still wounded, lest we forget, so there is still some healing to be done here.

So the symbology of having to kill Rowena then becomes Sam killing someone mirroring his fear, his memories of Lucifer, and this mirror then falling into the Pit through a gaping wound in the ground, bringing back thoughts of Sam’s first sacrifice that brought him to the cage and started his entire journey into true self-repression. 

I see the symbology as calling out Sam’s need to stop pushing things down, to stop burying them, but also, through him being the only person who can kill Rowena (face and integrate his fears) the symbology becomes an underlining of how he, and he alone, holds the power to heal his wounds.

We shall see how it develops, but I have all the hope that it’s going someplace good, that we’re moving towards healing for all of them. And nope still not expecting rainbows and daffodils galore but... a few rainbows would be so nice.

Understated rainbows. In sort of washed out colours. On the wall of a lake house. Mayhaps?

(come back, Jack) (we miss you!)

[djevelengriner]

Hi hi how are you? Could I request some Vergil fluff, of any kind, please. I just love him so much

I'm good and I hope you're good too! 💖 And yepsi pepsi, Vergil is a babe

Fluff-ish? Vergil is v angry - you know the deal.

You walked into the Devil May Cry van, finding Dante and Vergil sitting across from one another, appearing to have a death-stare contest. You sighed and dropped your bag on the floor but neither of the brothers bothered to even glance at you. "Guys..." you sighed. After Vergil joined the team the tension had been through the roof constantly, and you, Nico and Nero had had enough. Speaking of Nico and Nero...

"Hey, where is everyone?" you asked and removed your shoes and jacket, tossing them in a corner. "Out." Dante said without looking. You rolled your eyes and stepped between them, making sure to have you butt turned to Vergil. He immediately sat up and mumbled something angrily. "I don't mind this view, y'know?" Dante said still staring straight ahead, meaning straight at your crotch. "Speak for yourself," Vergil hissed from behind you. "I just did, jackass."

"Guys! I've had it up to here with you," you yelled and moved to the side, crossed your arms and stared at them. "You," you said and pointed at Dante who raised his hands defensively. "Out. Come back when you're ready to talk like adults."

"What? Why me?" he said angrily and stood up. He was at least a head taller than you and if it was not for the fact that Dante was a big man-baby, you might have been intimidated. "Because I say so." you said and glared at him. "Or because you have a thing for idiots who are CONSIDERABLY less attractive than me, might I add," Dante said loudly and turned to meet Vergil's eyes only to almost crash into his face. "I don't see any proof of you being with a woman," Vergil taunted and you could not help but giggle. "Oh, so because I didn't knock up some chick and then disappear for twenty years, I'm the failure here?" Dante snapped back, resulting in Vergil grabbing him by his shirt. "Okay, okay," you said and got between them again. "Dante, please. You both need to think and I need to talk to Verg, so..."

Dante looked at you with heavy eyelids, clearly not impressed. "And, between you and me," you whispered. "We all know you're in the right."

"You know I can hear you." Vergil growled behind you. Before Dante could say anything snarky you dragged him to the door and pushed him out. "Don't forget to use protection--"

You slammed the door in Dante's face and locked the door. "That asshole..." you blushed and turned to Vergil with a sheepish smile. But, Vergil was not smiling - he was fuming. You walked closer and tried to put a hand on his crossed arms, but he turned away. "Verg, I was just trying to get him to leave!" you said as he sat back down on the sofa. "What do you want?" he said through his teeth. You gestured to the sofa and sat down next to him after he nodded... at least you think he did. "I just want to get to know you better, since we're gonna be working together now," you smiled to the cold man next to you. You waited a bit for an answer but he was as silent as ever, looking straight ahead. "You're not gonna make this easy, are you?" you sighed and leaned back in the seat. "You are too much like him." Vergil said. You sat back up to look at his face. "What? Like Dante?"

He nodded slightly, still avoiding eye contact. "I don't know how to interpret that..." you giggled awkwardly. "It means I have no interest in talking to you," he said and looked at you. "And I would prefer if you left me alone."

His words stung a bit but you managed to brush it off with a nervous laugh. "Verg..."

"Don't call me that. Ever." he hissed and you pretended to save a white flag. He shook his head in annoyance and stood up. "Leave," he said and clenched his fists. You figured you should relax the attitude a bit. You were used to joking around with Dante that way, but Vergil was very different. "Okay, I'm sorry. I'm not used to being serious," you said and looked at your fingers. You had some dirt under one nail and started picking at it. "I guess I've spent too much time with Nero and Dante. You know how they are. They're loud, rude, inappropriate and--"

Vergil grabbed your hand firmly which made you jump and look up at his angry face. "Stop that," he said sternly. The sound of you picking at your nail must have been louder for him than you. "And stop talking. You're giving me a headache."

There was no use. It seemed impossible to get to this guy. You got up and grabbed a soda out of the small fridge in the back of the van. You caught Vergil glancing at you before looking back out the window. "... do you want a drink?" You asked carefully. He glanced back at you and you have him a small smile. You bent back down and took out a can of coke before throwing it to him. He caught it, opened it and took a sip. His face gave no indication of how he felt about it but you dared to walk closer again. "I like your hair," you said and sat down on the couch and looked up at him. "You and Dante don't look that much alike, but I guess it's a good thing."

"...How come?" he asked curiously and looked at you. "You're way hotter than him," you smirked and took a sip of your can. He looked away abruptly and you swore you could see his cheeks turn pink. You chuckled and relaxed now that you had gotten to him... kind of.

A few minutes of silence followed. Vergil stood still, silently sipping coke while you played with your phone. You did not want to speak, as it might make him angry again. He cleared his throat and you turned your attention to him. "You're... You look pretty."

Your heart skipped a beat and you felt your face turn a dark shade of red. Did he just say that?

He frowned and shook his head. "Never mind. I don't know why I said that," he mumbled and put the empty can of coke on the counter. "I... thank you?" you stuttered and looked down. Why did he say that?

"I haven't really socialized in a long time," he said and sat down next to you. "Forgive me."

You were so shocked that you could only look at him with wide eyes. He was leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees, hands folded. "There's something about you that makes me want to... talk to you," he said calmly and looked at you. His suddenly calm eyes made you almost uncomfortable and you had to look away. He turned his head away again. "I guess you remind me of a girl I met a long time ago."

"Nero's mother?" you blurted out and immediately regretted it. "Indeed," he sighed. You sat up a bit and much to your surprise he turned his entire body towards you, resting one leg on the couch. Your heart was racing and threatening to jump out of your chest. "She was... the most beautiful creature I had ever layed eyes upon..."

Two hours later...

"What the hell is happening?!"

Dante exclaimed when he burst through the door and found you and Vergil on the couch, holding hands. Vergil quickly let go and got up while you pretended nothing ever happened. Dante was covering his eyes. "I don't know how to feel about this!" he said and pretended to gag as he leaned on the wall. "Seeing my brother - my own brother... acting human?"

"I will kill you!" Vergil growled at him. "Oh, please, brother! Not again!" Dante cried dramatically, holding out one hand against Vergil. You hid your face in your hands in pure frustration. "Dante..." you sighed. Vergil pushed him out of the door and stepped out. You heard what sounded like Dante turning into his demon form followed by "You ain't scared, are ya?". A bright blue light filled the van as Vergil turned. "No, I'm motivated!" he... laughed? You could not believe your ears and got up to see what was happening outside. You chuckled and shook your head as you watched the brothers wrestle in the dirt.

"Brotherly love, I suppose."

[skvaderarts]

Soliloquy Chapter Five: Adrift

You can check out the Masterlist Here for more links to places to read!

Otherwise, you can read the new chapter below. Enjoy!

And sorry it was late today! Family got int he way!

Chapter Five: Adrift 

Note: Once again, Mallovarwen and Skylarmorgan1899 are my emotional support reviewers, and reading your comments always puts a smile on my face. Thanks a bunch! I’m always happy to read everyone’s comments and feedback, so feel free to send them my way. I don’t care if it’s just a smiley face emoji. Now back to the story!

The overhead fan that hung from the double-height ceiling spun lazily as it wafted barely chilled air throughout the front office. A nearly finished box of pizza sat next to a pile of now negligible utility bills and empty drink bottles on the desk. Despite the fact that the music was still booming loudly throughout the space, Dante had slumped onto the front desk, his arms hanging over the far side facing the front door. The Youngest Son of Sparda had dozed off shortly after his troublemaking older brother and nephew had vacated the premises. It hadn’t been until they left that he realized how much he needed a good nap.

At seemingly the precise moment that Dante entered deep sleep, the front double doors slammed open and knocked against their respective sides of the wall. Dante jolted slightly at the sound but didn’t make an effort to raise his head and see who had just come into the building. He already knew. This wasn’t the first time this had happened. Not by a longshot.

“So you both made it back, hu,” Dante inquired, the desk muffling his speech as he laid face down on it,” I was starting to think that Nico had finally crashed the van and killed you ya.”

Standing in the doorway was none other than Nero and Vergil, the two of them looming over Dante from across the room like gargoyles. Nero crossed the room and leaned over the desk, trying to rouse Dante from his restful state. The older man didn’t exactly feel like snapping out of his groggy delirium when Nero probed him, however.

Nero stood back and shook his head. The gravity of the time constraints they were under made him feel uneasy, to say the least. “Come on, get your ass up. We need to get going!”

Dante rolled his head to the side to make blurry eye contact with the younger descendant of Sparda. What was he going on about now? He then glanced over at the clock in another part of the room, exhaling in discontent. “And where the hell are we supposed to be going at almost ten at night?” Dante asked in a mixture of distaste and disinterest. He had been taking a perfectly good nap and now it was ruined.

From his place standing against the far wall of the shop next to the now-closed doors with his arms folded across his chest, Vergil chimed in. “Apparently, to Fortuna. I would have never seen myself going back there, but here we are.”

Dante sat up at his brother’s statement, now more curious and perplexed than irritated at them both. “And why would we go there?”

By this point, Nero was pacing aimlessly in front of Dante’s desk. He was not accustomed to being this out of his depth in a situation, and the time pressure only made things worse. At least when his arm had been cut off, there were more definite variables in the situation. Like the guarantee of pain, suffering, and the risk of bleeding to death. But using some sort of arcane anchor to pull a soul from Purgatorio, or limbo, or hell, or whatever this place was called and risking basically everything? Everything about this situation was supremely stress-inducing. He barely understood the concept of what they were even going to use the book for when they got it. All he knew is that they needed it because it was an item that V clearly cherished and that made it vital to this situation. And somehow it had made even less sense when he had tried to explain things to Nico. Magnolia would have to explain it to her later.

Clearly realizing that his hypertension riddled son wasn’t going to answer his brother’s question, Vergil interjected again. “We need to recover something important and we have a rather short window of time to accomplish our goal.”

Setting aside the fact that Vergil has just used the word “our” for probably the first time in their entire time that Dante had known him, the youngest Son of Sparda stood up at his desk and stretched, yawning. After he had cracked all of his bones, Dante shoveled down the last sliver of pizza in the box on his desk and turned back to face his clearly disgusted twin. “Alright, so how are we gonna get there? Doesn’t the ferry stop after dark?”

Nero nodded. “The last one runs in less than an hour. Which is another reason you need to get your ass in the van so we can go before we miss it!”

Dante chuckled under his breath at Nero’s comment. He was ever the firebrand of the family, no doubt about that. He didn’t respond, but he did decide to reach back and grab his blade off of the back wall. While Fortuna was relatively a cakewalk after the events of the last while, it was still better to be safe than sorry. “Alright, but this better not be the day she decides to drive through a building or something. I’m in enough debt as it is.”

Vergil raised an eyebrow slightly at the statement. “I should look into that one this is over. But Nero is not incorrect. Time is of the essence.”

As the eldest Son of Sparda turned and headed out the door Dante visibly paled. Nero shook his head and snickered as he walked towards the front door with his uncle. “200 bucks says he’s going to beat the living shit out of you when he finds out how far in debt you are, Dante.”

Dante shook his head and passed through the threshold of the front property. “Considering the fact that I still owe Patty those ten ice cream cones, making a bet with me isn’t going to do you any favors.”

Nero mulled over the comment for a moment in confusion before deciding that he’d just ask another time. Right now, they had much more important things to take care of.

~-~

To say that Vergil’s brilliant plan to simply use their Devil Triggers to fly to Fortuna instead of just taking the ferry had been a bust would be a gross understatement. As a general rule, none of them were willing to, under normal circumstances, reveal their true nature to innocent bystanders (unless you counted V…), but there had been no inconspicuous places to trigger at the waterfront, and doing so in the van was an explosive accident waiting to happen, so they had been forced to board the vessel. It wasn’t a huge ferry since cars weren’t exactly used commonly in Fortuna, but no one was going to comment on Nico’s driving abilities or the fact that she was probably the only person going to this island who knew how to fix a car. The vessel was mostly used to transport goods back and forth between the island and the mainland, but it hadn’t taken much effort to get on board at the last minute once one of the former had recognized Nero. For better or worse, seemingly everyone on the island knew who the young white-haired man was. This just happened to be one of the only times that that had been a beneficial thing.

Given the circumstances, Nico was the only one excited to be returning to Fortuna. The young woman missed Kyrie’s cooking and it had been a little while since she’d had the opportunity to terrorize the little ones. Before today, she and Nero had been out of town checking on things in Redgrave city, and before that, they had been out of town doing a mission for a client in Enamel City. Things had been tricky lately. After everything that had happened, the local government on the mainland had addressed the public, announcing an investigation into the matter. Catching the eye of the local authorities didn’t seem like a great idea. But they had left Fortuna alone, at least for the time being.

Nero leaned on the rail looking out across the water. The young devil hunter let out a steadying sigh. Given the fact that they were on the last boat for the night and were going to have to stay the night on the island, it was best that he calm down now as to not upset his family when he arrived at home. The boat would be docking soon, so he had come here to enjoy a last moment of reprieve before they disembarked.

As if carried forward with the breeze, Nero suddenly felt another presence near him. The young descendant of Sparda snuck a glance over his shoulder only to see Vergil walk past him. His father leaned against one of the nearby poles, leaving ample space between them. But somehow Nero could tell that despite the distance between them, Vergil had come here to say something. Or maybe he was just losing his grip and Dante had gotten on his nerves again. Either way, he didn’t spare it much thought. After all, he was trying to relax, and what could be better for his state of mind right now than salty sea air and solitude?

“... So who is Kyrie?”

Nero could practically feel the nerves in his brain pop lose and the neurons die as his brain came to a screeching halt. Vergil seriously wanted to ask him about that right now? This was the furthest from a relaxed topic that he could get at the moment.

To Nero’s continued horror, Vergil briefly smirked before turning slightly away from him. He no longer needed his young son to answer the question. The implications of their relationship were written across his now blush covered face.

Vergil stepped away from the pole and slightly closer to Nero, even if only by a few feet. He folded his arms and leaned over the railing, quietly captivated by the black sea before him. In a way, they reminded the eldest twin of his time in the underworld. Although not quite as luminescent, the mirror shine on the water’s surface was reminiscent of the quicksilver river that Dante had so foolishly questioned if he could drink from earlier that same day. Vergil shook his head silently. Dante would be dead within a few hours if left to his own devices in the underworld.

Nero rubbed his neck in discomfort before looking out across the water again. Vergil couldn’t make eye contact with him if he was faced out across the water sea. Or so he presumed. In all honesty, Vergil’s immense strength and power made Nero question just what he was capable of. He hadn’t forgotten how powerful Urizen had been and he never would. “She’s my, um… girlfriend. Why?”

The younger man hadn’t intended his response to come off so awkward. As he watched Vergil nodded in amused satisfaction, he decided that the best way to get out of this conversation and reclaim his now tarnished reputation was to redirect the question.

“Anyway, while we’re talking about family, where the hell is my mother? Do V and I even have the same parents?”

Despite the fact that Nero didn’t ask the question with any level of malice in his voice, Vergil seemed like he wanted to avoid his son at all costs. He leaned further over the rail, seemingly keying into Nero’s avoidance method and using it to his advantage and stayed quiet. Nero wasn’t sure if he was being ignored by his father or was thinking, but he decided to give Vergil a few more seconds before he got confrontational about it.

Vergil shifted and stood back up straight, his hands resting on the rail. He spared a glance at Nero, half looking at him but still not fully facing him. Nero gave him a sideways look, insinuating that he was still waiting for an answer and that he wasn’t exactly bursting with patience. After an awkward moment that felt more like a standoff, Vergil turned to full-face Nero. Despite his discomfort, the eldest Son of Sparda had never been one to back down from anything, even in situations when it most suited him. Call it a fatal flaw, but it was simply the way he had always been. At least as an adult. “The two of you have different mothers... And I have no idea where they currently are.”

Nero nodded slowly, quietly taking in the information he had just been provided. He was not shocked that Vergil didn’t know where either of them currently lived. After all, he had been in the underworld for probably as long as Nero had been alive. It made sense that he didn’t exactly have them on speed dial. Knowing Vergil, he probably didn’t even use a phone. But that did raise a few questions, some for now and some for later.

“... So do you know which one of us is older, then? Or did you even know you were related before all this bullshit started?” Nero asked sarcastically as he unfolded his arm and placed his hands in his pockets. He was starting to see why his uncle never seemed shocked when his older twin told him something else despicable or unbelievable that he had done. Although, this didn’t seem quite like the other times. Nero couldn’t quite place what it was. Maybe it was his father’s demeanor, his reluctance to speak on the matter, or maybe what he had said back at Magnolia’s house had changed his view towards him a bit, but Nero couldn’t quite shake the feeling that Vergil might actually regret what he had done to the two of them. He wasn’t sure if the eldest Son of Sparda was capable of apologizing, but Nero was willing to be surprised.

Vergil seemed to be becoming used to Nero’s little jabs at him, as the comment didn’t seem to affect him in the slightest. “I knew about him long before I knew about you, but that is... an exceedingly complicated matter for another time,” Vergil glanced in the direction of the van where Nico and Dante currently resided,” As for your second question, you’re younger. I’ve known his mother longer than yours.”

The eldest Son of Sparda paused for a moment, giving his next words careful thought. “... I will look into their locations after this is done. I make no promises.”

As if on cue, the horn for the ferry blew, signaling that it was time to disembark. Vergil headed back towards the van. It seemed that this conversation was done for now. Nero seemed to understand that and opted not to press the issue, for now, opting to head back to the van instead. After all, the ferry was going to dock and then return to the mainland again, with or without them on it. They needed to go. After all of this magic and mayhem was behind them, they would have all the time in the world to talk. That would be the time for concrete answers. As the sun fully fell behind the water blanketed horizon, one thing was certain. A reckoning was coming.

OMG, I AM SO SORRY THAT THIS IS SLIGHTLY LATE!! It’s just past midnight, but family matters came up, so I had to set aside my writing for the majority of the day. Also, this is a shorter chapter than normal by about 1k words or so. My bad! The next chapter is going to be much longer though. Much, much longer. And a lot harder to write lol! But look forward to Friday. This chapter is going to be fun hehe! And once again, thank you for your lovely comments!

[terapsina]

5 Times The Doctor Talked About River Song With Graham (+1 Time The Fam Finally Met Her)

---          ao3 ---  1 ---

Graham finds it on the floor of the TARDIS control room.

Everyone else is asleep, emotionally wrung out from their latest trip, he thinks even the Doctor might have gone off for a nap and he’s never actually seen that happen before now.

But Graham can’t sleep. His mind is still painfully stuck on Grace. On having held her in his arms not even a few hours ago, on having lost her all over again. Logically he knows it wasn’t really Grace. Now that it’s over and he’s looking back he even realizes a part of him knew all along.

It doesn’t make the hurt of it lessen.

And it’s not because the illusion was flawed, if anything it’s because it was too perfect. She looked like Grace, sounded like her, fit in his arms like her. She even smelled like Grace, like Shea butter and vanilla, because all the products Grace liked to buy had those ingredients in them. Everything about her was as warm as he remembers, from her smile to the soft touch of her hand. Even her mischief twinkled like the fire from a candle in her eyes.

It was like a dream come alive, a dream he never would have been willing to wake from if not for Ryan.

He’s so angry at himself for almost having abandoned his grandson for an imitation of the woman who was the love of his life. However flawless of an imitation it was.

He’s pacing from one side of the console to the other, mind lost to self-recriminations, when he feels his foot step on something small, kicking it across the room with a light tinkle.

His eyes follow the small golden object as its slide down the floor stops in the middle of TARDIS, and finally focuses on the last thing he’d have ever expected to find here if he’d ever thought to consider it.

It’s a ring.

He walks toward it, bending to pick it up. It turns out to be a simple gold band, moving it to catch better light he notices a small inscription on the inside that he can’t read. The TARDIS isn’t translating it. It’s written in the same circular pattern that he’s seen all over the ship since the start of this strange adventure into time and space.

It’s also, unmistakably, a wedding ring.

Breath catches in Graham’s chest, because in a moment between one heartbeat and the next, he knows. And his heart breaks for his alien friend.

The Doctor was married.

He stands frozen, uncertain if he should go looking for the Doctor now or to wait until later. Picturing her face the last time he saw her, those tight and drawn eyebrows and the dropping shoulders, he comes to a decision. He pockets the ring and goes back to his room. 

The Doctor deserves some sleep too, he’ll find her tomorrow morning and return it then.

-

Tomorrow morning turns into afternoon and then evening before Graham gets his chance. By the time he woke up, both Ryan and Yaz were awake too, and the Doctor was already busy with finding their next adventure.

And he knows if someone had found Grace’s ring he’d want them to return it in private.

He loves his grandson and Yaz. But they are so young, their curiosity would have gotten the best of them and Graham doesn’t want to put Doc on the spot like that.

So he waits until Yaz and Ryan have gone off exploring the dizzying number of rooms of Doc’s ship, or whatever else it is they like to do when they’re not running toward death defying adventures with grins on their faces, before he pulls the Doctor away from tinkering with the mechanisms of her time machine.

“You have a moment?”

She slides out from underneath the opening into the console, her sonic screwdriver between her teeth. The humming of the TARDIS engines grows softer as if in response.

“What’s up Graham?” She asks, after taking the screwdriver out of her mouth and as she’s pushing her goggles up to her hairline, making her hair go in all kinds of interesting directions. She looks like the mad scientist he might have found on the screen of one of Grace’s science fiction shows.

In a way he supposes that’s a pretty accurate picture of the Doctor, and any other time Graham might have smiled in amusement at his thought. Today he flinches at the smile she sends him, knowing he’d be taking it away with his next words.

“I found something yesterday. I think it’s yours, Doc.” He says, and pulls out the object that’s been burning in his pocket the whole day.

The Doctor’s eyes slide to his arm and once they narrow in on the ring laying in the palm of his hand, her face transforms from the carefree adventurer he’s gotten to know in the past few months, to something painful and lost and hurting. It’s a look that’s far too old for that face. And so very familiar Graham can’t help but look away.

“Where did you find it?” the Doctor asks, voice a breathless whisper, her hand hovering over the ring, seeming unable to cross that final little bit of air to touch it.

“It was here on the ground. I don’t know how it got there.” He says with a nervous shrug.

“I do.” The Doctor says, eyes momentarily glaring toward the center of the room. She doesn’t explain, instead finally taking the ring from him in one quick movement and pulling it to her chest, squeezing it in a fist against her.

“I’m very sorry Doc.” Graham says. The words are inadequate but sometimes they really are the only ones available.

“I know.” She says, eyes looking to a point in empty air behind him.

He nods and pats her lightly on her shoulder, before turning around to leave her to whatever memories have washed over her with the return of that wedding band.

“Her name was River Song.” She says once he’s already taken a few steps. He stops, turning around, giving her the opportunity to continue or not as she needs. “She was an archaeologist. And a professor. And a criminal. And she was brilliant and absolutely mad.”

“She must have been. Married you didn’t she?” Graham jokes before he can help himself.

But Doc just grins like she agrees and laughs to herself. 

Something uncoils in Graham’s chest at seeing Doc’s face regaining its natural brightness, however tinged with grief. The grief isn’t new either, he’s seen shadows of it in her all along but this is the first moment she doesn’t seem to be trying to hide it. Or maybe the first time she’s not trying to hide from it.

“She did do that. Married me at every point in history happening all at the same time. And a few times after.” The Doctor tells him, leaning forward like she’s revealing a secret instead of saying something that makes no sense at all.

“Sounds like quite a woman.” 

“She was.” The Doctor says, eyes now down on the hand hiding the precious metal band within its hold.

There’s an extended moment of silence and then; “Graham?”

“Yeah, Doc?”

“Thank you.” She says, a serious and infinitely grateful look overtaking her face.

He nods at her and turns around, knows the conversation has come to a close and he should leave his friend to a moment that’s something meant between her and the specter of her wife.

In the privacy of his own mind he wonders why the Solitract never took on the form of this River Song. Whatever the reason, he finds himself grateful, he wouldn’t wish that cruelty on his worst enemy. And he certainly wouldn’t wish it on Doc.

---  2 ---

“She used to leave me coordinates and jump out of the most impossible places, waiting for me to catch her. I always did.” The Doctor says out of nowhere, both of them chained to the stone wall of the dungeons of the Victorian castle, waiting to get executed, or getting saved by Yaz and Ryan. Whichever comes first.

Personally, Graham’s hoping for the second one.

“What?” He asks, lost.

“River,” the Doctor explains. “She once defaced the oldest cliff-face in the universe. And before that she left me a recording inside a Home Box so I’d come catch her jumping out of a space ship into vacuum. It was the day her mother met her. Well, that face anyway.”

“That must have been frightening.” Graham says, uncertain. He’s not sure he wants to touch the bit about the mother. Sometimes he thinks she likes to confuse them on purpose.

"Oh no, she was absolutely fearless. Hell in high heels and it's the devils who ran." The Doctor says either misinterpreting his words or choosing to misunderstand on purpose, her voice full of spousal pride and a face painted with smitten adoration. It’s so unexpected, so unlike the Doctor’s usual disposition, that Graham needs to clear his throat to get past the sudden awkwardness of it.

"Sounds like she was made for you, Doc." He finally says, trying to picture this impossible woman who married the Doctor, and falling short. The only impression he can summon up is someone dangerous and larger than life.

He’s so busy with his mental portrait it takes him a moment to notice the Doctor has fallen silent, once he looks at her though his breath stutters. Her face is so pained it’s as if he’d landed a physical hit with his last words. She looks almost... ashamed.

He curses himself for whatever it was he said that put that expression there.

“You okay, Doc?” He asks, voice as gentle as he can make it, trying not to startle her into pulling back into herself.

The Doctor flinches and blinks rapidly like waking from a bad dream, then her face transforms into her usual bright but slightly removed facade, and she’s back to trying to reassure him.

“I’m always alright.” She lies and changes the subject. “I wonder what’s keeping Yaz and Ryan, they should really have gotten past the sleeping guards by now.”

He doesn’t call her on it and moves his mind back to the problem at hand. The problem at hand of course being; the part where they’re chained to a prison wall for trying to assassinate Queen Victoria. The fact Queen Victoria has been replaced by a homicidal alien copy asks for some worrying too and Graham is more than willing to oblige.

In the end it turns out there’s no need for either worry, Yaz and his grandson find them twenty minutes later and they’re away from 1882, London within an hour.

The real Queen back on her rightful throne, though still yelling threats to the Doctor’s back even as they’re being whisked away by the little blue box.

---  3 ---

They’ve split into pairs again. Usually he prefers to watch his grandson’s back when that happens but today is March 18 - or would have been if they weren’t jumping all over time and space, - and Ryan had been snapping at him since morning.

He knows Ryan well enough to know that if he doesn’t give him some space before trying to talk to him about it, they won’t talk at all.

“Everything okay with Ryan?” The Doctor asks as they’re traveling through the apparently semi-sentient crystal tunnels of the newest planet she’s brought them to, trying to find and stop whoever it is that’s been attempting to mine it.

Grace would have loved it here. The sapphire-like stone itself is the familiar blue of what he’s pretty sure is Doc’s favorite color but it’s mixed with golden strands that run through the fault-lines and leave the strange impression of blood vessels, veins running through the body of the living crystal.

“It would have been Grace’s birthday today.” Graham says, heart clenching in his chest at saying it aloud. In a perfect universe he would be home right now, standing over her favorite cake - red velvet with cherry frosting, - and singing a ‘Happy Birthday’ with their grandson.

In a perfect universe she would be here beside him, just as in awe of their surroundings as he is.

“Oh.” The Doctor says and grows quiet.

“It’ll be alright tomorrow. It’s just… today is hard. For both of us.” He hopes he’s not lying. Hopes Ryan will let Graham find him once they’re back in the TARDIS so they can spend the evening talking and laughing and crying about Grace. So they can pick themselves up tomorrow and continue living in her honor like she’d have wanted them to.

They spend a few minutes just walking when the silence finally becomes too much for Graham. 

“How long were you married?” It’s the first time he’s initiated the subject of the Doctor’s wife himself, the two previous times it was her who opened up first, so he’s not entirely sure how she’ll respond. But he’s ready to fall back into silence and not press if it looks like she doesn’t want to talk about it.

“I don’t know.” She says, still steps ahead and with her back to him.

“How can you not know?” Graham asks, mind heavy with confusion.

“If I count only all the days we were together; then two, maybe three centuries. If I count all my days from our first wedding to the last time I saw her, then almost half my life.” She says with a forcefully easy tone. 

Graham stops in his tracks as the implication hits. “Centuries?” 

She turns around and looks at him like she’s measuring the words she’s planning to say, or if she’ll say them at all. After a moment her face clears and she seems to come to some sort of decision.

“I’m more than two thousand years old, Graham. I’ve loved River Song through four of my faces and had more than twice as many before that, most of them male. I’m not human.”

Graham had known that, that the Doc wasn’t human, that she had two hearts and enough lives to make a cat jealous. In an abstract way that they were a man before they were a woman, because she’s dropped enough comments to that effect by now. But he hadn’t realized the differences between them were quite so vast as two millennia.

“Was she?” He asks and immediately thinks better. “Wait, no, you said three centuries, she couldn’t have been.”

“What?”

“Your wife.” He doesn’t know why he’s asking that, except maybe because he knows Grace would have, and so especially today of all days he has to in her place. Or maybe it’s just that pesky human curiosity.

“She wasn’t. And she was.” She says after a moment and turns back around to continue walking. “She was the daughter of my two best friends. And the daughter of TARDIS.”

She doesn’t explain further than that, so he’s left puzzling over the new contradiction on his own for the rest of the way through the alien tunnels with his strange alien friend as his company, a silent one now.

He turns his head back toward the faintly glowing walls and once he looks more carefully notices the slightly irregular pulsing of the golden veins. Fascinated he again thinks about how much Grace would have loved to see this.

‘Happy birthday!’ He thinks toward her, hoping she’s seeing this from wherever it is she’s watching over him and Ryan.

---  4 ---

They’re back in Sheffield the next time the subject of River Song comes up.

Yaz is off spending some time with her family and Ryan is meeting his father for dinner. Graham is trying really hard not to stress himself into growing ulcers over that last one.

It’s not that he thinks he’s going to lose to Aaron the bond he’s finally building with his grandson. He understands Ryan’s wish to repair the relationship between him and his father. It’s just that despite Graham’s belief in Aaron’s genuine regret, he can’t help worry that Ryan will get his heart broken again.

He doesn’t think he could stand seeing Ryan disappointed like that again.

Which leaves him at home. Worrying. With the Doctor as company.

“He’ll be fine, Graham.” The Doctor says, not for the first time this hour.

“I know that.” Graham says back, eyes still on the door.

“Oh, do frowns and scrunched up foreheads not mean what they used to mean in you humans?” The Doctor’s voice sounds amused so he can’t help but glare at her a bit.

“Hilarious.” He mutters under his breath.

“I am, aren’t I?” She says. 

He huffs loudly and goes back to staring at the door. Waiting for Ryan to come home.

“Do you want to talk about something else then?” She offers. “Might distract you.”

“Be my guest.”

“The first time River met me she shot the TARDIS, tried to kill Hitler and poisoned me with a kiss.” The Doctor drops, and to give credit where it’s due, distracts Graham absolutely.

“What?” He doesn’t even know which part to touch first.

“Poisoned lipstick. So glad she switched to hallucinogenic ones later.” She almost sounds dreamy. Graham feels his brain beginning to hurt.

“She poisoned you?” Honestly, he doesn’t even know why he’s shocked, it’s the Doc after all. But still, how do you marry someone who poisoned you in their first interaction?

“Only a little bit. And she saved me right after.”

“And that makes it okay?” Graham says, furious on her behalf.

“There were... reasons. She didn’t know me yet but she knew about me and- well, there were reasons.” The Doctor explains. Even though Graham doesn’t really think it explains all that much at all. Something about her expression though tells him to leave it alone, there’s that guilty, haunted look in her eyes again and Graham isn’t sure he wants to know what’s behind it.

So maybe it’s a good thing that before he has a chance to put his foot in his mouth there comes the sound of a key turning in the lock and the front door slamming open.

“Hey, gramps.” Ryan says walking in, a wide smile on his young face.

Graham exhales, the knot of worry loosening for now and smiles back, hiding the stress he’d been struggling with for the past few hours. “Hello, son. How did it go?”

“Good.” Ryan says, a slightly shy happiness dancing like starlight in his eyes.

---  5 ---

It’s almost three months since Graham found the ring and gave it back to the Doctor before a moment comes where he feels like it might finally be the right time to touch on the one thing that’s been implied but never addressed in their conversations about the Doctor’s wife.

The day isn’t particularly different from any of the previous ones.

It’s late and Graham can’t sleep so he walks to the kitchen for a cup of tea when he finds the Doctor already there, eating custard cream biscuits.

He nods tiredly in her direction, grabbing two blue cups from a shelf and going through the motions of making both of them the peppermint tea he finds on the counter-top - he’s pretty sure it wasn’t there a moment ago but he’s also gotten used to not questioning things like that while aboard the TARDIS.

“Sugar?” He asks, because he’s noticed she never puts the same amount in any of her cups. He thinks it might depend on her mood.

“Two and a half teaspoons, please.” She tells him and he tries not to grimace as he follows her instructions.

“Here.” He says and passes her the cup once he’s done. Pulling his own cup - no sugar - with him to the other side of the table. 

She gives him a few biscuits in exchange and for a few minutes they share their midnight snack in peace. And then the thought that has been ruminating unvoiced for a long time now surfaces in his mind again, and for the first time he doesn’t push it back down.

“How did you lose her?” He asks.

The biscuit halts halfway to her mouth and then lands heavily back on the plate. For a long time she just stares into her tea and Graham thinks she’ll choose not to answer.

But then she looks up into his eyes and breathes out very slowly.

“She died the day I met her.” She says.

“I thought you said you were the one who almost died when you met.” Graham says, confused again.

“When she met me. This was before that- well, from my point of view at least. We never met in the right order. She was a time traveler too, had a vortex manipulator, I think she might have stolen it from an old friend of mine actually, not that she ever actually admitted where she got it.” She says, growing more animate as she switches gears mid-tangent. “Our timelines went in opposite directions. Not entirely of course, there were loops and twists and exceptions but for the most part the older I got, the more often the River I ran into was a younger and younger version of her.”

“So the day you met her...” He says not finishing the thought, horrified as he realizes what she’s saying.

“She died saving four thousand and twenty-two people.” She finishes for him with a shrug that belies the pain he knows she must be feeling at saying it.

“That couldn’t have been easy, knowing the entire time what would happen to her.”

“I spent centuries running away from the last date we’d have before she went to the Library.” She snaps. “So, no, not easy.”

“Did you ever try to-”

“What? Change it? Save her? Go back and make sure she never died there? Take her place?” She glares at him and for a fraction of a moment she looks her age, millennia old and furious and terrifying beyond reason, and for that one moment Graham is almost scared of her. And then she blinks, her gaze losing it’s terrible intensity, and he’s not even sure that he didn’t imagine it. “She would never have forgiven me. And- and her timeline is complicated, even if I tried to- there’s a very good chance if I did it that I’d be erasing her from the universe entirely.”

He stares at her, heart full of grief for the pain she must have lived through. He tries to imagine having known the entire time about the day he’d lose Grace to that fall and almost breaks with it. He doesn’t think he could have survived that.

“You’re like a Greek tragedy, Doc.” He breathes past the knot in his throat.

“Always preferred the Romans.” She says and goes back to eating her biscuits, eyes skittering away from meeting his.

He knows the conversation is over and by the way she’s starting to fidget with that chain around her neck, - the one that wasn’t there three months ago but which she hasn’t taken off since, - and by the way she is decisively avoiding his gaze. He knows she wants to be left alone.

Respecting her wish for privacy he finishes the last of his tea and gets up to leave. “Goodnight, Doctor.”

She doesn’t answer but by the time he’s reached the door he does hear her say something. Something he’s pretty certain isn’t addressed at him. Both because he doesn’t understand it and because he’s pretty sure she’s already forgotten that he’s still in the room at all.

“Not those times, not one line. I promise.”

--- +1 ---

It ends the way it began. With Graham noticing something small in the control room of the TARDIS. Though this time it’s not the middle of the night and he’s not there all by himself.

It’s mid-afternoon and the Doctor is laying on her stomach, playing with the insides of the ship, sparks flying around her whenever she touches a wire with her sonic and once in a while being interrupted by what sounds like the irritated humming of the TARDIS itself. Yaz and Ryan are on either side of her trying to figure out exactly what she’s doing, though Graham is not at all sure even Doc knows what that is.

And then something catches his eye.

“There’s a blinking button, Doctor.” He says and goes over to it for a closer look.

“Red or green?” She asks, not moving from her place halfway into the console.

“Blue.”

“Oh, someone’s left a voicemail. Put it on speaker, will you?” She says louder, in answer to the sudden shudder that runs through the ship and makes Graham catch the console for balance.

“Sure. How do I do that?” He asks, eyes running over the large number of doodads in front of him.

“Flip the first switch to the right down, and then press the blinking button.”

He follows her instructions and as soon as he’s done so, a low female voice with a Southern British accent rings across the room, a playful lilt to her tone.

“Hello Sweetie, be a dear and come pick me up, please?” There’s the sound of an explosion from the other side of the call echoed by the unmistakable clang of someone hitting their head against metal from under the TARDIS console. Before Graham can do more than lean over to check that they’re all okay, the Doctor is already up and pushing him out of her way. “I’ve sent you the coordinates.”

“Who was that?” Yaz asks with obvious concern as soon as she and Ryan join them. 

Graham has a feeling he already knows.

“River.” The Doctor exhales more than says, Graham notices her hands shaking as she pulls up the mentioned coordinates.

“Doctor?” Ryan asks, looking just as worried as Yaz.

“My wife.” The Doctor says and starts running around them, flicking switches all around the control table even quicker than Graham’s already used to seeing from her.

“Your what?” Yaz exclaims in tandem with Ryan’s: “What?”

The Doctor ignores them both, halting with her hand atop the lever that will make them take off and turns her head to face Graham. She’s paler than normal, eyes blown wide from terror and tears starting to visibly gather in the corners. Graham has never seen her scared, not truly, but right now she looks on the edge of breaking.

“I can’t go through this again. I’ve already lost her three times I can’t- not again.”

Graham stands frozen, for a moment absolutely uncertain about what he could possibly say to help her. And then the answer hits him and it is so very simple.

“It sounds like she’s in trouble, Doc.” He says, remembering one of the things she’d told him.”You said you always showed up to catch her.”

The Doctor lets out a shuddering breath and seems to steel herself. She pulls the lever and they all grab for the nearest steady surface to stay on their feet as TARDIS takes off with an almost exhilarated sounding wheeze.

“Is someone going to explain what is going on? Where are we going?” Yaz yells again, this time directing the question at Graham.

“It’s not my place to say.” He says, holding on to the table for dear life but upon noticing Yaz’s frustrated expression expands on his words. “But I’m pretty sure you’re about to find out.”

When they come to a halt a moment later the Doctor is already running toward the Police Box door, flinging it open with a snap of her fingers before she’s even halfway there and then crashing to the ground as a woman lands sprawling on top of her.

“Well hello there,” River Song purrs for all of them to hear. “That’s new.”

“River!” The Doctor says, like all the breath has been knocked out of her. To be fair, Graham’s pretty sure that’s literally the case.

“Yes, Sweetie?”

“What were you doing breaking onto the Museum Planet. They execute their thieves.” The Doctor says from underneath her wife, looking all too happy to stay where she is even as her voice turns chiding. “Also it’s boring down there.”

“Yes, well, it’s not my fault that I’m so infamous that when I’m presumed dead all my personal possessions suddenly turn into priceless artifacts they want to put on display. They were practically begging me to steal them back.” The Doctor’s wife says with a smirk Graham can hear even without seeing her face.

“Presumed dead?” The Doctor asks, voice turning small again.

“Oh, honestly, Doctor! Did you expect me to spend all of my eternity in that data core? It took me a while, I’ll give you that, but at the end of the day it was just another Stormcage.”

Graham is starting to feel like he might not have gotten anywhere near the entire story himself here. But he’s also beginning to get the feeling that the Doctor might be getting her wife back from the dead after all.

“You’ve been to the Library.” The Doctor says, starting to struggle to be let up and Graham finally catches a glimpse of her face. She looks overwhelmed, but where just minutes ago it was with fear of having to say goodbye again, right now there’s a dawning realization of something akin to bliss.

Graham feels his own heart tremble in his chest. It hurts. River Song is alive and Grace is still dead and no matter how happy he is for the Doctor, there’s sudden gnawing envy trying to swallow the heart that he’d only barely started to mend.

He has just enough time to see the Doctor pull River into her arms, crushing her mouth against her wife’s, before his eyes turn away and land on the shocked faces of Ryan and Yaz.

He walks over to the two of them and turns them around by their shoulders to steer them out of the control room and into the deeper hallways of the TARDIS.

“Come on son, Yasmin, we should give them some privacy to catch up. I think they haven’t seen each other for a very long time.”

[harinawa]

atdah; new wip intro

A l l  t h e  D e v i l s  a r e  H e r e

type: novel

genre: ya fantasy / murder mystery / academia

setting: a fantasy universe with certain twists

themes: found family, friendship, politics, power and corruption, selflessness, coming of age, duties v desire, follies of the youth, responsibility

features: diverse cast, powers, magic, magic murder, academia, royalty, girls who take over the world

synopsis:

The elusive Madam Quincy is said to have revolutionized education when she established the House of Royals. It became a pillar of ambition, catered to hone the world’s next great leaders.

However, scandals and controversies rattle the House of Royals’ reputation, with heirs dropping dead like flies, and no one can tell who the murderer—or murderers—is.

The deaths spark unrest among the kingdoms, and if the murders aren’t solved soon, then the already precarious balance between the two strongest empires might be tipped.

And the rest of the world along with it.

main characters:

H i r a y a wishes to save her country and her family, and if the only way to do it is to descend into a world of sparkling vipers and poison-glossed lips, then she will. // 16. Ambitious. Powerful. Compassionate. Idealistic. Creative. Mischievous.

C a r m e l l a has never been a risk-taker—but justice does not come to the spineless, and if she is to become the Tiger of the East, she will have to earn her stripes. // 17. Kind. Gentle. Loyal. Nurturing. Artistic. Merciless.

A l i c e has been taught to cry, bleed, and sweat only perfection from a young age, but if she wants to keep those she loves safe, she may have to learn that perfection never comes easy, and that she will never come close to it. // 18. Tenacious. Vicious. Temperamental. Cynic. Talented. Strategic. 

E l o i s a views the world as a game and she knows sacrifices must be done, and yet the thought lingers still—she might not be able to afford the price of victory. // 18. Vivacious. Resourceful. Honest. Sly. Realist. Warm-hearted.

[wip tags + taglist under the cut]

notes from the author’s desk:

i never really planned on writing this?? it more like ambushed me when i wasn’t looking

yes it’s another wip revamp and has an earlier dystopian version

i made it fantasy bec why not,, and besides i got carried away with the worldbuilding

has a ton of other characters but i think i’ll just introduce them by batch

earlier i labelled it as dark academia but uh i’m not sure if i can deliver to that subgenre so i switched it to academia instead

title came from shakespeare’s “hell is empty and all the devils are here” from The Tempest.

relevant wip tags:

# atdah for all main content

# atdah.misc for all the related aesthetics or posts

# atdah.rant for my adventures while writing this wip

# atdah.bits for small snippets

relevant character tags:

# a: hiraya

# a: carmi

# a: alice

# a: lois

taglist (lmk to be added/removed!):

@ditzysworld // @lynn-iswriting // @stand-inthe-rain