#MY BELOVED HE BE SLAYING BOTH ON AND OFF THE COURT!!!

[bigsoftmarshmallow]

How does The Ganondorfs (Wind Waker, Ocarina of Time, Twilight Princess, Hyrule Warriors, and Tears of the Kingdom) and Demise (From Legend of Zelda Skyward Sword) court someone? What is their style of Courtship? Are they sentimental romantics? Are they more predatory (Showing off catches and hunts, taking down monsters and giving parts of it as prizes, etc)? Are they more of "This person is Mine and I'll slay anyone who dares think otherwise"?

Wind Waker Ganondorf

Style of Courtship: Sentimental Romantic

Wind Waker Ganondorf has a softer, more introspective side, especially given his years of solitude and reflection. He values deep emotional connections and seeks to build a bond through meaningful gestures.

Scene:

Ganondorf had been watching her from a distance for weeks, his sharp eyes catching every subtle movement, every smile, every furrowed brow. He knew she was different from anyone he had ever encountered. One evening, he approached her with a gentle, almost hesitant, demeanor, holding a beautifully crafted seashell necklace.

"I found this while walking along the shore," he said, his deep voice soft. "The colors reminded me of your eyes. I thought it would suit you."

Her eyes widened in surprise as she took the necklace from him. "Thank you, Ganondorf. It's beautiful."

He smiled, a rare and genuine expression. "I wish to know more about you. Spend time with me, and let us discover each other's hearts."

Ocarina of Time Ganondorf

Style of Courtship: Predatory

Ocarina of Time Ganondorf is more aggressive and dominant in his approach. He seeks to impress and demonstrate his power through grand gestures and displays of strength.

Scene:

Ganondorf stood over the massive carcass of a defeated dragon, his chest heaving from the exertion of the battle. He called out to her, his voice echoing through the cavern. "Come, witness my victory."

She approached cautiously, eyes wide with awe as she took in the scene. Ganondorf reached into the dragon's mouth and pulled out a shimmering, intact fang. "For you," he said, handing it to her. "A token of my strength and devotion. Know that I will always protect you."

She accepted the fang, her fingers brushing against his. "Thank you, Ganondorf. This means a lot."

He nodded, his eyes intense. "You are mine, and I will slay anyone who dares think otherwise."

Twilight Princess Ganondorf

Style of Courtship: Predatory and Possessive

Twilight Princess Ganondorf blends displays of strength with a possessive nature, ensuring that his beloved understands she is his and his alone.

Scene:

Ganondorf led her to the edge of a cliff, overlooking a vast, moonlit forest. "Do you see that?" he asked, pointing to a group of shadow creatures lurking below. "They will not harm you. None will, so long as you are with me."

He raised his hand, and with a swift motion, commanded the shadows to disperse. Turning to her, he took her hand in his, his grip firm but not painful. "You are mine," he said, his voice a low growl. "And I will ensure your safety, no matter the cost."

She looked up at him, a mix of fear and admiration in her eyes. "I trust you, Ganondorf."

He smiled, a rare and almost feral expression. "Good. Now, let us return. There is much I wish to show you."

Hyrule Warriors Ganondorf

Style of Courtship: Grandiose and Charismatic

Hyrule Warriors Ganondorf uses his charisma and grand gestures to woo his beloved, making sure they feel both special and integral to his plans.

Scene:

Ganondorf stood at the head of his army, his crimson cape billowing in the wind. He turned to her, his eyes gleaming with determination. "Watch," he said, raising his sword high. "This victory is for you."

As he led his forces into battle, she watched in awe as he fought with unparalleled skill and ferocity. When the battle was won, he returned to her side, presenting her with the enemy's banner. "For you," he said, his voice filled with pride. "A symbol of my strength and devotion."

She accepted the banner, her heart racing. "Thank you, Ganondorf. I am honored."

He smiled, a genuine and warm expression. "You are my queen, and together, we will conquer all."

Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf

Style of Courtship: Sentimental and Protective

Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf values deep emotional connections and seeks to build a bond through meaningful gestures while ensuring his beloved feels protected and cherished.

Scene:

Ganondorf led her to a secluded grove, where the moonlight filtered through the trees, casting a soft glow on the ground. He reached into his cloak and pulled out a small, intricately carved wooden box. "For you," he said, handing it to her.

She opened the box to find a delicate bracelet, crafted from rare stones. "It's beautiful," she whispered.

He smiled, a rare and gentle expression. "I want you to know that you are cherished. You are my light in the darkness."

She looked up at him, tears in her eyes. "Thank you, Ganondorf. I feel the same."

He took her hand in his, squeezing it gently. "Together, we will face whatever comes our way."

Demise

Style of Courtship: Predatory and Dominant

Demise is aggressive and dominant in his approach, seeking to impress through displays of power and ensuring his beloved knows they are his.

Scene:

Demise stood before her, his fiery hair blazing like a beacon in the darkness. He had just defeated a powerful enemy, and his chest heaved with exertion. He stepped closer, his eyes burning with intensity. "Do you see what I am capable of?" he asked, his voice a low growl. "This power is yours, should you choose to stand by my side."

He reached out, taking her hand in his and pressing it to his chest. "Feel my strength. Know that I will protect you with every fiber of my being."

She looked up at him, a mix of fear and admiration in her eyes. "I do, Demise. I trust you."

He smiled, a fierce and predatory expression. "Good. You are mine, and together, we will conquer all."

[theviridianbunny]

💕 self-love time! talk about which ones of YOUR creations (edits, artworks, fanfics) you like the most then send to other creators to do the same 💕

aah hi heather!

ok- i know i made a similar post about viridian- but now im going to make one for my beloved Rowan Hawkmore- who was probably my main oc blorbo before Viridian- i guess this will be a little rammble about the evoulution of her!

I have had Rowan since I was 19- i was in my first year of uni and started to play dnd at a local board game cafe!!

Rowan started off as a wild magic sorcerer- just a chaos gal who pushed people into lakes and flirted with everyone. big shoutout to my dm and party for loving rowan regardless XD

first sketches of rowan - drawn on the back of a character sheet and a wagamama menu

meme sketch of our party at the time - Rowan is in cardboard jail for causing too much chaos (and other reasons)

After a few weeks- I changed her class to a warlock- the backstory chnage being that she struck a deal with the fiend Opium- Over a pot of tea and a chat that seemed a bit too casual- the tiefling made a pact with the god. He’d give her a fresh start. A new home in the hallowed mountains - protection from the eldritch knights of the Hawkmore court - all Rowan had to do was cause a little chaos- that’d be easy…right?

very early warlock rowan design - drawn my by dear friend robin. check out their art here

After finishing our first campeign (which took us to from level 1 to level 3) we took a break for the summer- over the summer I gave Rowan a redesign. see below for amazing art by my friends!

credit to the talented @vrovij - you can find her caard here. her tumblr is here

credit to my dear friends kath (their piece is on the left) and nat (AKA @ciph3rrr) (her piece is on the right for these drawings of Rowan. kath's work can be found here and nat's here

credit to my wonderful friend Marvin for this piece of Rowan - his art came be found here

Story wise- at the time of the second / new game- - Rowan gets branded with curse marks. Her patron very displeased in her non chaotic actions- so the fiend brands her. At the snap of his fingers he could double Rowan over in the worst pain she's felt. She had learnt the hard way that Opium was a beautifuly sadistic man. So she takes a step back and I then play as her husband Grayson (Rowan still travels with our party though!!) - this game took us from level 3 through to level 7 (i think?!)

In our third game- I go back to playing as Rowan. She's lost the connection to her patron and she can't reach out to him. She wonders if Opium has just grown bored of her- but she still has all her curse marks on her- so... there must be something going on...right? Around this time, Rowan’s travelling companion - Nugget, the paladin to the god of balance , Raava - felt the connection to his god weaken. During this game- our party go off on this grand adventure to find both Opium and Raava (more Raava- then Opium....)

Along the way, Rowan alomst dies a few times (because she dosn't know when to shut up- and get's gets far too cocky when the party fight a dragonborn crimelord)- The party also learn Rowan's backstory and how she came into the service of Opium (you can read a little about that here- but one day i'll do a full back story lore write up)

In time, the party would learn that Opium and Raava were two sides of the same coin- twin gods. Gods of Balance and Chaos. One could not survive without the other- Opium had vanished from Rowan’s life- to reclaim his godhood - to drown out the light that Raava brought into the world. Destroy his twin and rebuild the world in his own image. A world of chaos and darkness-

Rowan was left with a choice- Join Opium in creating the new world- or fight against the darkness. Slay her sadistic master.   The warlock chose to slay her master with the help of her companions - restoring light and balance to the world.  

In the split between warlock and parton- Rowan's cursemarks cause her a great deal of pain. She feels the killing blow as Opium did and she herself almost dies- but she pulls through. (even if she suffers a great deal of eye trauma)

again credit to my wonderful friend Marvin for this piece of Rowan - his art came be found here

Returning to hertribe in the hallowed mountains and reuniting with her husband… Rowan was named as the eldritch god slayer.  Finally free to walk her own path- free from the pain and chaos that she thought had been with her for all of her life.  At the end of this game- our party was level 14 !!

Nowdays Rowan exists within other game universes (as well as DND). I have made her (and grayson) in the sims 4 (where she and him exist in a modern / magical realism AU) - and have also had a go at making her in BG3 - I don't really draw her much anymore... but one day i might try again !!

uhg uhm idk how to finish this- so Thank you for coming to my TED talk <3 if you're reading thts - you're a star and ily <3

[lonesomedotmp3]

this is so embarrassing <3 but would you happen to maybe possibly have a merlin (2008) fic rec list beloved mutual..... not nearly enough fic writers get it like my beloved mutuals do

i can assure you that is absolutely not even close to as embarrassing as it is to have devoured any and everything the merlin fanfiction world has to offer. i have read aus that you would not believe. i have been subjected to characterisations and headcanons that would make anyone else instantly close the tab. i have read authors with such a poor clumsy grasp of british slang i could weep from embarrassment. yet i persevered. for MONTHS. and here is what me (and beth <3) have managed to scrounge up after all of that. please use everything i've just said as context that we were NOT in our right minds reading these. proceed with caution

tributes - the! hunger! games! fic!!!! iconic legendary spectacular THEE revolutionary turnaround for the merlin fanfiction game and for the horrors generally. do NOT go in overhyped tho me and beth went in like haha what a cool weird au and then it caught us off-guard that it wasn't written terribly. also good for something longer and about much more than just merlin and arthur. it's fr like watching the show again for better and for worse. it's got camp whimsy it's got our main duo acting like complete freaks it's got this constant suffocating sense of inevitable tragedy... slayed!

history books forgot about us and in dreams - by the hunger games writer so u know it's actually written well!! don't read their other stuff tho just trust me. my memory of the first one isn't great but i remember feeling with both that finally FINALLY someone Got the finale like me + beth did. short but just rlly solid satisfying follow-ups to the show.

the court of avalon - freya + arthur best friendism in avalon realest shit ever said!!! makes me go fucking crazy fr. YES this has way too much magic lore bullshit to it and i don't careeee they're my friends.... and FINALLY a proper post-finale fic where they don't just freeze arthur in time for 1500 years...

to the point of fear - slay little mordred character study!!!!

the world i built for you - the disir fix-it!! smth i have always wanted due to being sooooo Normal about that episode (arthur's matrix. if u even care). not perfect but worth a read for sure!!

long title and also long title - i rlly like established relationship fics. sorry for being cringe and boring some crimes can never b forgiven etc.

like clouds in starlight widely spread - ok the rest of these i'm going to copy/paste from my list for beth sorry <3 but if i've already written a little deseription for each one why give myself more work yk. anyway: sad and wistful and A Lot as someone who was about to move out of my hometown when i read this. if i said it chapter two vibes. actually that doesn't mean anything ignore that. at one point arthur goes "are you trying to tell me something?" and merlin responds with, "i'm always trying to tell you something." which uh. he really is huh. it's whatever though.

fundamental imperfection - merlin and arthur as writers, gets their first meeting right (arguing and being dicks, then immediately becoming obsessed with each other). don't remember much else except the sequel is unfinished heavy angst and i cried like three times. don't read that (+ HIGHLY positively peer reviewed by beth. tell us a story about love!!!)

as long as we have we - i know you've read that fake marriage christmas fic which i love a lot (maybe it has problems but it's just so endearing...) and this is the same vibe. or well it's christmas and it's sweet so

(and said xmas fic: no matter how far away you roam <3)

tintagel - i don't know how i feel abt merlin and arthur in this but the parallels made to ygraine and nimueh are just too insanity inducing to ignore. my price is my life yours is to bear witness.... they wrote that in 2009!!!! insane

ok that's a lot + it's the best merlin ff has to offer. which is still not that great but. enjoy!! + b thankful you do not have to go into the hellscape that is the merlin ao3 tag...

kingdoms - i have no memory of this tbh but i wrote 'yeah.' underneath the bookmark so it's gotta have something

sorry edit one more I forgot - merlin and arthur are exes and arthur is just soooo weird and sad and repressed about it. also peer reviewed 🫶 (X) and also check out beth's merlin fanfiction recs tag if for some insane reason u want more. ok bye 🫂

[redshoes-blues]

Reading The Priory of the Orange Tree 🍊🐉🗡

Chapters 9–17

Overall

Okay. I’ve got some of my confusion over the dragons cleared up. I originally thought all dragons were the same (despite having different species or subspecies depending where they’re from), and that the West/East worldviews surrounding dragons, as well as their mythology, was the reason for why they’re viewed differently. Now it’s clear that there are some dragons that are evil, such as the dragon who attacks the tower. Makes sense!

Also so much has happened that I don’t even know what to say here lmao. This book is so good. Somehow I’m 25% through, and I’ve only been reading it for three days. That’s insane for me.

West

It’s official. The dragons have returned. I’m so intrigued by this magic system and my heart was racing when the dragon was facing off against Sabran (and then Ead). That whole scene was written so well that I could perfectly visualize it happening.

I. FUCKING. LOVE. LOTH. Oh my god. He’s so good I just love him. And Kit is giving Shakespearean himbo in the best way. I love their dynamic. Am I picking up ace or demisexual vibes from Loth? I thought for sure he and Kit were gonna have a romantic relationship at first, but Loth mentioned never have feelings for somebody, and he’s in his thirties. Which is making me think he could be some kind of asexual?

Also I love Margret and I love her friendship with Ead. She’s one of the most understanding people in the court and I love her.

Chassar is so beloved to me already I stg if anyone brings harm to this lovely man…

Ead continues to be absolutely amazing. I love how protective she is of Sabran, which I suspect is because she’s harbouring some feelings for her maybe. BUT also. The dynamic of Sabran being a descendent of Cleolind, WHO EAD WORSHIPS IN SECRET (just like how she’ll maybe love Sabran in secret). So that’s why she’s SO protective of her. More so then she was asked to be originally. Nobody is doing it like them.

The whole Priory situation is fascinating to me. Both the secretiveness of what it is, and especially the mechanics. Like, okay. Cool magic aside, eating fruit from this tree gives her power. A power viewed by some as evil. It so reminds me of a garden of eden situation. Eat the fruit and you gain something forbidden by some. At least, that’s how it seems so far. Such a unique magic system, and really unlike anything I’ve read before. Did I mention I love this book?

Sabran has 100% been putting off marriage for lesbian reason, combined with her horrifying dreams, and I feel so sad for her :( she’s in such a difficult and impossible situation, having to sacrifice her happiness and desires for the sake of the world’s survival. God.

The final part I left off on. Sabran is having horrifying visions and thinks witchcraft may be involved. First of all, the image of her giving birth was so awful and as someone who gets very vivid, disturbing intrusive thoughts, I honestly appreciate how this scene was handled. I know it’s not exactly intrusive thoughts and seems to be something related to magic. But still. The way Ead talks to Sabran about this darkness was beautiful and made me teary eyed.

East

Tané my girl, slaying the competition, as she should. I loved the descriptions of she and her childhood friend. Very sweet. And the dragons of the East have so much personality I just love them—that dragon that was smiling at her and almost seemed proud of her was so!!

Technically some of this info comes from the West chapters, but we’re learning a lot about Niclays, and it makes me feel even sadder for the guy. He lost the man he loved and turned to alcohol to cope and he seemed to genuinely want to help Sabran. But then everything goes to shit and he’s exiled and now he wants revenge on her. Which…Niclays, you silly goose. I understand, but also how about no?

This section has been very West-heavy, with Niclays captured and Tané undergoing her training, so I don’t have any more to say here.

[sinemoras09]

I think probably because I started as a TV viewer first, but reading The Witcher novels is interesting because book Cahir is just so different. Like, TV Cahir is a ruthless badass Commander General who shared an intense vibe with TV Yennefer. Meanwhile, book Cahir is just this sweet, level-headed young guy who dreams of Ciri and is trying to fill big shoes left by his father. (His age isn’t specified, but I think he’s like only 18-19 when he first meets her? So the age gap isn’t even that significant). I don’t even picture Eamon Farren as book Cahir, I read the descriptions and I’m picturing like, Robby Keene from Cobra Kai:

 (Credit to cobraskai for the amazing gif )

Like, I’m shipping TV Cahir/Yennefer like whoa, but it doesn’t take away from the canon Cahir/Ciri ship in the books at all because in my head, book Cahir is a different character.

I love book Cahir/Ciri - it’s just so tragic. I’m such a sucker for unrequited love where the guy just wants his beloved to be happy. Like, the hunchback holding Esmeralda’s skeleton, or Erik letting Christine go despite her agreeing to marry him...stuff like that slays me, and book Cahir/Ciri has that in spades. “I think...I think I love her,” is just so sweet and sad and tragic and lonely, especially how he tells Geralt he’d be happy to see her as the wife of the emperor, because at least at court he can see her from afar. Like....give this guy a hug! Give him all the hugs and cuddles and a happy friggin’ ending! jfc he just wants to watch his love from across the room! He dreams about her! OMG!

(Also? Tanner Buchanan pining over Freya Allan. In my head I can just see it.)

I am just beyond entertained that TV Cahir/Yennefer is A Thing, and I really think it was an accident on the showrunner’s part. Like, there was a ~vibe~, Eamon Farren explicitly says it, and it just cracks me up that the actors’ chemistry and how they read the words on the page ended up with this intense scene. I mean, the bones of it are there - I legit expected Cahir to haul ass the moment that elf got taken down by the octopus - so I really was surprised when he jumped down to help Yennefer. And it was just so ferocious, just the two of them trying to save this random guy, and Cahir’s “HELP US” shouted at the bystander...wow.

And then there were all these little flourishes. How their bodies were always angled together. The sudden “We” and “Us,” in the dialogue. And this isn’t even getting into That Scene, where Yennefer wigs out because she lost her powers and Cahir has to talk her down.

Like...wow, that was a moment. Again, I don’t think it was the intention on the page, but the way it was played out, there was totally an undercurrent of Something More simmering beneath the surface. Like, there’s these two characters, both who were brought up to power and then discarded when they no longer could be of use. And there’s this tension there, because they are enemies, but they’re relying on each other to survive. They’re comfortable with each other in spite of each other, in a way. Like they both trust each other even when they have every reason not to.

And the acting! The way he gets into her space, how he grabs her by the shoulders. And then they share a Look which looks like it could be a kiss, but then how he’s like, “You were incredible at Sodden”....like....holy shit. Holy shit. Ships are launched from moments like this! And again, I think it was a total accident. I think it was the actors, their charisma and comfort with each other, playing off each other. And I am here for it. I hope that there’s more Cahir/Yennefer type moments in season 3. I ship Cahir/Ciri in the books, but I totally wouldn’t mind if they change the dynamic to be more platonic :)

[acebladespades]

For the sicktember thing, 9 with Nameless King, please? Thank you! 😊

Title (Do not) let him eat cake!

Fandom: Dark Souls

Characters: Nameless King, Ornstein, Gwynevere, Smough, Artorias, Sif.

Word-Count:2911

AO3-Link:https://archiveofourown.org/works/34321024

Summary: Eating too many cakes in one go may not have been as fun as Gwynsen had thought...

Prompt: I am not sick

I am so sorry for taking so long!! Life got in the way but I finally finished your prompt :D I hope you like it, writing this was fun!

@sicktember

It was the smell which lured him out of his way and guided him to the dinning hall. Deep down, he knew there was something of importance he was meant to be doing. There was someone waiting for him.

Unconsciously, Gwynsen tried to remember, but all his thoughts faded into the background of his mind once he saw the tower of freshly baked pastries carefully placed on the table.

They exuded a sweet and delicious steam, the spicy scent of marzipan.

There were plenty, enough to feed a small army or a very hungry court.

Or, in Gwynsen’s case, a god of war with a grumbling stomach and a watering mouth.

Well, marzipan cakes are my favorite. Gwynevere finds them overly sweet and Gwyndolin often says they would rather lick a basilisk’s eyeball than to take a single bite of these sugary abominations. Oh Dolin, always so melodramatic.

Gwynsen carefully took one of the cakes in his hands.

So, surely, these were baked for me. The cooks must have wanted to surprise me. They are too generous to me. I shall see that they are rightfully rewarded! But first…

“I shall feast!” He opened his mouth and prepared to take the first bite.

“No, Gwynsen!”

But all he ended up biting was thin air and almost the tip of his tongue when, with a swift swing of her hand, Gwynevere took the cake away from him.

“What the--” Gwynsen said after his jaws recovered from the forceful impact of his empty bite. “Sister, where did you come from? And more importantly, why have you stolen my cake? Could this be fraternal betrayal?”

Gwynsen’s heart started to break at the mere thought of his own sister turning against him; thankfully, Gwynevere soon proved him wrong, but not before giving him a small slap on his head.

“Please, stop fooling around.” Gwynevere said with a heavy sigh as she placed the marzipan cake back in its former place. “Father will not approve of you eating his desserts. You know well how finicky he is about his midday cravings. Do you remember the time he destroyed the East tower with one of his lighting spears just because his pastries did not have enough powdered sugar on top? Because I do, and so do the cooks. I created many lovely memories in that tower. I loved that tower, brother, I really did.”

Gwynevere’s gaze became dark and sharp.

“Sister, please. You are scaring me.”

“Oh, I am sorry. I got a little carried away.” Immediately, Gwyenevere went back to her laid-back and cheerful demeanour, but her determination had not waned. “In any case, you shall have none of these baked goods. Unless, of course, you convince Father to share a few of them with you, but we both know that taming a rageful dragon would be an easier task, so really brother, don’t waste your time.”

“Ask Father?” Gwynsen snorted, half amused and half angry at how ridiculous the idea was. “Please. I would rather kiss Smough on the lips.”

“Brother, don’t be like that, for underneath that grotesque armor, lies a skilled kisser.”

“What?!”

“I said I would never want to do so either.”

“Gwynevere, that’s not what you said.”

“Brother, don’t you have places to be?” Gwynevere interrupted him without shame. “Isn’t it time for your daily training with Ornstein? It is not proper of a god to leave others waiting for long.”

Ornstein!

So that had been his original task before he had become distracted by the mesmerizing aroma of the cakes.

“I shall go to him at once.” Gwynsen exclaimed. His treacherous stomach seconded him with a loud growl.

He looked at the cakes again.

I’m already late for our training… so truly, you wouldn’t mind waiting for a few minutes more, would you, Ornstein?

Ornstein would definitely mind, and Gwynsen knew it.

I’ll think of a way to make it up to him later. Right now, there are more important matters at hand. And I know the way to turn things into my favor...

“Nevy, please.” Gwynsen looked around to make sure no one was around. Once he made sure there were no witnesses, he joined his hands together and looked at Gwynevere with hazy and sad eyes. “Let me have one. Father will not notice its absence, I promise. Please my dear, wise, beautiful, patient, smart, noble, brave--”

“No, Gwynsen.” Without mercy, Gwynevere interrupted her brother’s overused list of compliments. “I already told you no.”

“Then I hope you know how to explain Father about those little kisses you steal from Executioner Smough everyone now and then.”

“Oh dear… you know about it? Yes, I should have expected it. Gossip travels faster than light in this place.”

“So it’s true?! Gwynevere, you really should be more mindful of your secrets and your words. You are not what I would call subtle about them. And why, sister? Why Smough?”

“I think the right question here is ‘ Why not Smough?’ ” Gwynevere answered, winking an eye to Gwynsen.

“Gwynevere, stop. You’re killing your big brother.”

Unrepentantly, Gwynevere chuckled. “Don’t you worry, it was all a jest. Very well Gwynsen… if only to keep this small rumor between us, I shall let you eat one of Father’s cakes. Just one, understood? Now, if you excuse me, I too have someone to meet. He awaits for me in the west tower. And that someone’s name is Smough.”

Lighting power began to manifest around Gwynsen’s frame.

That bastard! How does he dare?

Gwynevere laughed at his reaction. “Oh brother, you are so easy to fool.”

She gave him a small pat on top of his head to calm him down. Gwynsen had just succeeded in controlling his temper when Gwynevere pulled him closer to her and whispered, “Seriously now, don’t come by.”

And with that, she was gone.

“My dear sister and the Executioner? No, I will not allow it!” Gwynsen exclaimed, his voice echoing with ruthless determination, the same way it did every time he commanded his soldiers to battle. “This is a transgression I cannot overlook! Wrathful lighting shall be your punishment, Smough! You shall curse the day you were--”

His stomach growled again.

Almost unconsciously, one of his hands reached for a marzipan cake.

“By the first flame, they sure smell good.”

His fury started to disappear, and it was completely forgotten when, at last, Gwynsen took the first bite.

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

“Master!”  Ornstein welcomed him as soon as Gwynsen entered the training grounds. His apprentice and friend did not bother to hide his anger at his pronounced delay. “What took you so long? We were supposed to start our training two hours ago. I had to listen to Artorias’ anecdotes this whole time. And don’t get me wrong, Artorias is my beloved friend and you know how much I care about him, but I swear, if I ever hear one more story about Sif’s antics...”

“What?” Gwynsen had heard only half of Ornstein’s rant. He wanted to pay attention, but it was difficult for him to focus on anything else other than the torturous knot on his stomach.

It hurt more than a dragon fang stuck in his gut after failing to evade the beast’s jaws. Gwynsen didn’t know how he was still standing, or how his fever had not melted his brains yet.

Oh, nonsense. I’m fine. Am I not the god who slays dozens of dragons and comes out of their fiery attacks unscathed?  I am fine! I just need to walk it off.

“Oh… Oh yes, Artorias.” Gwynsen said, doing his best to sound amused. “Where is he? I thought he would be joining us.”

“He had to leave. It was time for Sif’s daily walk.”

“Wait, the wolf walks his master?”

“What? Master, what are you talking about? Sif is the wolf, Artorias is the knight.”

“Oh… right.”

An awkward pause followed, one in which Ornstein took off his helmet and revealed his concerned expression to Gwynsen.

“Master, is everything alright?”

Ornstein’s worry was like a wake-up call for Gwynsen.

“Of course it is! “Gwynsen replied with the most forced smile he had ever made in his life, even more than when he had to pretend to be happy in his father’s presence. “ Why would you ever think otherwise, Ornstein?”

“You are sweating, your face is red, your legs are trembling.” Orbstein observed, unamused but still concerned. “And you keep embracing your stomach as if you were hugging an invisible lover.”

“Ornstein, don’t tell me you’re jealous!” With gigantic effort, Gwynsen straightened his back and unfolded his arms. The sharp sting in his stomach came close to making him gasp; to conceal it, Gwynsen cackled instead. “There is no such thing as an invisible lover in my arms! Ornstein, you say the wildest of things!”

An agonizing sting pierced Gwynsen’s stomach.

I am going to pass out.

His sight blurred and his belly burned as if he had swallowed the First Flame like it was wine.

No!

Gwynsen stomped his feet. Lighting energy shattered the ground below his sandal.

No, I am not sick! I am fine. My stomach is simply overreacting at the memory of my sister and Executioner Smough sharing kisses.

His stomach growled louder than a furious dragon.

Why Gwynevere? Why did you brand that image on your brother’s mind?

“Master, you are not well!” Ornstein exclaimed with great concern. “We need to take you to Lady Gwynevere. She will know how you heal whatever ailment is--”

“Nonsense!” Gwynsen countered, making Ornstein jolt back in surprise. “My sister is quite busy, you see. He is tending to Smough at this time of the day, and not in a chaste way.”

“What?” Gwynsen and Ornstein said at the same time.

Realizing he had spoken more than he should have, Gwynsen quickly gave Ornstein a strong slap on the back. “It was a jest! Ornstein, you are such a stick in the mud! You need to loosen up and relax, for laughing and resting are also fundamental parts of a knight’s training.”

Before Ornstein could protest, Gwynsen wielded his spear and readied his fighting stance.

My stomach is going to explode. Oh Father, what will you see when you gaze upon the scattered guts of your first- born?

He would probably say something akin to “Oh Gwynsen, look at the mess you made! You are a lost case, boy, you truly are!”

“Oh Father, you insensitive knave!”

“Master, there’s no need to be rude.” Ornstein protested. He too had wielded his spear and had readied his stance.

“No, I was not talking about you, Ornstein.  I was talking of my big, dumb, stupid… No, it doesn’t matter.” Gwynsen shook his head and focused. “Let’s begin. Come at me and try to land a hit, Ornstein. I will treat you as I would an enemy, so don’t hold back.”

“Master, I really think we should take you to your sister instead.”

“You talk too much! Battles are not won with words, but with arms!” Gwynsen charged at Ornstein. For a second, the adrenaline of battle, even one of training nature, erased any trace of pain. For Gwynsen, it was like a blissful and distracting gift.

I knew it. I knew my pain would go away on its own.

Gwynsen closed his eyes, rejoicing in his healthy and numb stomach.

You were no foe for this god of war, marzipan cakes! Your sweet and delicious ingredients are no match for my iron guts. MY IRON---

The rest of his victorious thought remained forever unfinished after an explosion of burning pain, born from the impact of the blunt side of Ornstein’s spear, spread from his stomach to the rest of his body.

Perhaps… I am sick.

Gwynsen thought as the darkness of unconsciousness took over his world.

Just a little bit.

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

“Last time, Gwynsen.” Gwynevere said to her brother with anger as she and Ornstein helped Gwynsen keep the vasin still on his lap as he emptied his stomach inside it. “That was the last time I ever trusted you and your insatiable hunger!”

“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to.” Gwynsen stuttered in a small pause his intestines gave him. “My will may be strong, but the marzipan was stronger.”

He wanted to say more, but he was interrupted by another gush rushing up his throat. Once he was done, Gwynevere and Ornstein put the vasin down on the floor and tucked him in bed.

“Well, I have to say,” Ornstein sighed with little enthusiasm, “this is not how I pictured my day would go. There was supposed to be more training in it and less vomit.  At the very least, I am glad you are feeling better now, master. Next time, don’t try so hard to pretend you aren’t feeling well.”

“And while you are at it, how about you also try not to devour four hundred marzipan cakes in one go like some hungry animal?” Gwynevere added as she glared at her brother. “God of war… The only thing you are a god of is gluttony!”

“Four hundred marzipan cakes?” Ornstein said in disbelief, only adding to Gwynsen’s shame. “Master, how could you have done such a thing? And here I was starting to think one of the cooks had tried to poison you! Four hundred cakes! And worst of all, why didn’t you ask me to join you or save some for me? You know they are my favorite too.”

“Dragon Slayer Ornstein!”

“N-no, no.” Ornstein turned crimson and began to stutter. “What I meant was… I was just saying… Oh, bollocks.”

“Ornstein!” A newcomer exclaimed. He entered the room and carefully closed the door behind him. “Such foul language in the presence of Lady Gwynevere. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

Gwynsen, Gwynevere and Ornsteind stared at Artorias at the same time.

“Hey now, do not look at me all at once.” Artorias chuckled nervously. “No, seriously, please stop. I’m getting self-conscious.”

“Artorias, what are you doing here?” Ornstein asked. “I thought you were walking Sif.”

“I was, but Lord Gwyn summoned me. He told me about what happened with Lord Gwynsen and his poisoning. Something about marzipan cakes? I am not sure. Honestly, I stopped listening to Lord Gwyn soon after he started talking.  I don’t know the details, but he assigned me one task: to be Lord Gwynsen’s one and only companion during his recovery. I told Lord Gwyn that you would be more fit for the job, Ornstein, but he insisted I was the one to do it. He also told me how much Lord Gwynsen is fond of my anecdotes of Sif…. Oh master, I had no idea you felt that way. Worry not, I have plenty of stories I have not told you yet. I’m sure they will be a fine diversion while you recover!”

Gwynsen closed his eyes and cursed his father in his mind.

Father, you vengeful twit! I knew you would not let my mischief go unpunished! It was just some cakes… is this truly the punishment I deserve? You are cruel, Father. Cruel.

“But at the very least, I’m not alone.” Gwynsen said under his breath with relief and gratitude. He opened his eyes again and smiled. “For I have my dear sister and loyal friend by my side.”

The words died in his mouth when he saw neither Gwynevere nor Ornstein around. The only evidence they had left behind of their presence in the room was the open door they had forgotten to close during their hurried escape.

“Nevy?” Gwynsen whispered in despair. “Orny?”

But they were gone.

Only Artorias was there with him.

Artorias and his endless anecdotes of Sif.

“Do not worry master, I am sure they will be back soon.” Artorias said, pulling a chair closer to Gwynsen’s bed and sitting on it. “In the meanwhile, how about I tell you about the time Sif answered the call on nature inside Smough’s helmet and he only noticed once he put it on? That was a day Smough will not forget....”

Father, if I ever turn against you, know that this was the reason!

Gwynsen thought as he hid his head under the pillow.

As for Artorias, he kept talking and talking.

This was the reason!

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

It didn’t take long for Artorias to regret having left his master behind.

“Oh Lady Gwynevere, we should have not abandoned your brother. We should have remained by his side.”

“And listen to the time when Sif chewed on Father’s favorite sandals and almost brought doom upon us all? Do forgive Ornstein, but I think I shall pass. Besides...” Gwynevere turned around and stared longingly at the West tower. “There is someone waiting for me, and his name is…”

“No, I do not want to hear it. My mind shall not be branded as my master’s was!” Ornstein covered his ears and escaped from the scene. He did not know where he was going, but anywhere was better than staying there. As he ran, he kept chanting, “If I don’t hear, it isn’t real. If it isn’t real, it won’t haunt me!”

Gwynevere watched him go and laughed, unaware that Smough was standing behind her and had witnessed the whole thing.

Before he too walked away, he shook his head and rolled his eyes.

“By the Lords,” he lamented under his breath, “it is always the same thing with these gods and their knights. Every day. Every darn day.”

[starkerforlife6969]

Starker - Reward

It’s a world rife with magic and monsters. Full of fantasy and witches and fate.

Tony cares little for those. He’s an inventor. A mechanic. An artist. He hones his skill, his craft, every day for twenty years, and then another twenty years. Worn and scarred, fingers thick and nimble, tremble-less. He knows little of magic and monsters. Of fantasy and witches. Those things that change and shape the world.

He uses his craft and he earns his power.

He’s a court favourite. The King likes him well-enough. That’s as much as anyone really likes Tony. Well-enough.

“You’re too tough. Too sharp. People don’t like that.” His mother had warned, even as she smoothed her fingers through his hair.

He hadn’t heeded her advice. His eyes had been on her loom. “There must be a better way,” he had said, “for that to work. So you don’t have to weave the cloth yourself.”

There is little to be said of gallantry. Heroes who have slain monsters come into the golden halls. They show King Brock the latest head of some nymph, or some great, long lost treasure, but in the end they must go on other adventures.

Tony, a court favourite, has a place in the palace always. A little wing to call his own. When he asks for iron, he is given iron. When he asks for silence, people hush.

Of course, when Rumlow demands an invention, or a maze to house some monster, Tony has to stop the whirrings on his mind to tend to those whims. He does not fight that. HIs mother was right, he’s rough and sharp, but he is no fool.

So, when he’s summoned for the King, he sets down his welders tools and follows the guards. He chatters at them, trying to see them rile, but they only smile tightly. Something weighs on them.

“Stark,” Rumlow beams, too encouraging, “men, leave us.”

The guards disappear. Smoke in the wind.

“My lord.” Tony doesn’t get down on one knee. But he inclines his head and Rumlow lets him have it.

“I have a task for you.”

“Name it, sire.”

“Years ago, I was shipwrecked across the strait.”

Tony nods. A sea-farer, perhaps a boat, a new oar. He can design something. Plans start to form in his head.

“I was given refuge upon a tiny island. It housed a demi-goddess. I lay with her.”

Tony waits. It doesn’t click. He doesn’t understand.

“It has become apparent that she had a child. My son. His name is Peter. He is mortal, but his blood, I believe, carries some trace of the gods. Because of this, they give him favour. My heroes have not been able to slay him. The seas that should kill, full of sirens and monsters, give him way. I have sent assassins and witches, and they fall prey to his charms.”

“Magic?” Tony asks, intrigued and a little disgusted. The petty foulness, the ease of magic. The fact the King is trying to kill his own blood, that is of little consequence. There are at least a dozen princes and princesses that flit about the kingdom now. Bloodshed will come once Rumlow dies as they battle for the throne. One less contender should shorten the battle.

“I had hoped it was magic.” The King sighs. “I fear it is him. He is…” the King sneers. “Beloved. They fall to him. Pledge their allegiance as if he were already their King.”

“I don’t understand.” Tony confesses, a hardship. “What would you have me do?”

Here, Rumlow smiles. Like the monster that prowls beneath the palace. “I would have you kill him, Tony. Don’t you see? You’re the only one who could. Who would not fall for his doe-eyes or sweet words. You are hardened. Use your mind, that cunning tool, or any of your inventions, and slay him. I can promise you rewards.”

Tony nods, already exhausted. This is not his domain, but the sooner it is begun, the sooner it is done. “What about the ire of the gods? You said they have given him favour. Will this not beget their anger?”

“Gods are fickle.” The King waves him away. “I have a hundred lambs all ready to be slaughtered for them. Pilgrims ready to visit their temples. I have had a boat prepared for you to leave this evening. I have heard from Cleo that Peter dwells on an island off her shore. My men will guide you.”

Tony grits his teeth a little at the lack of control, but it is a familiar ache. “And what proof of his demise? His heart?”

The King laughs at that. “You speak like a solider, Stark. I do not need proof. I will trust your word and the darkening skies.”

It goes unsaid, of course, that failure means death.

***

Tony likes sea-travel. The allusion of freedom on that endless horizon. The rough work of rigging. The smell. He used to pour over his father’s atlases, used to dream of travelling the world.

He has made himself content with Rumlow’s palace. The golden walls. His inventions.

They reach the island swiftly. The seas are much calmer. It must be Peter’s presence.

“We can go with you no further.” The men say. “Rumlow forbids it. He believes Peter would affect our minds.”

Tony wades through the water to the craggy edges. Rocks black with wet, gulls screaming.

“Sailor, let me help.” Comes a voice, soft as a siren, and Tony looks up and sees- him.

For it must be. Gold eyes. Eyes of a god. Traces of that divine lineage, but so devastatingly mortal. And it’s devastating, because Tony knows he cannot kill such beauty.

There’s no magic, but it feels like it. Carved like one of Romanov’s marble statues. It’s hard to believe such a thing could be part Rumlow.

He takes the lily hand, bronzed with sun, and lets himself be pulled up.

It’s but a boy. Not old enough to command armies. Barely a man.

“Peter.”

Peter smiles at him. “It never fails to surprise how many know my name. Where do you travel from?”

“From your father.”

Peter nods. He helps Tony manoeuvre the slippery rocks onto the sandy beach. There, he stoops to collect perfect white shells. “He would see me dead.”

“Yes.”

“I do not desire his throne.”

Tony smiles a little at that. “I don’t think it much matters.”

“Maybe not.” Peter’s eyes appraise his form. Tony puffs like a bird. “You’re no sailor. What are you?”

“An inventor.”

“An inventor.” Peter breathes, looking up at him in awe. He says the word with sacrilegious reverence. “What a gift my father has given me. I have been searching for an inventor my whole life.”

Tony itches to touch him. His skin prickles with a strange desire to taste. He’s had lovers in the past, in the endless escapades of youth, but Peter would be the only one that Tony would remember. “Hardly twenty years then.”

Peter laughs like music. “Will you help me?”

“Do you command me?”

“Of course not.” Peter humms, his eyes sparkle. “The God’s command. King’s demand. I am neither.”

“You are both. Son of a king and a goddess.”

“Bastard son of a king, and of a demi goddess.” Peter bows his head. “For some reason people help me. I cannot say why. I appreciate it, but I do not expect it. Your king would have you kill me.” Peter looks up at him. Eyes glazed like honey. Lips like wildflowers. “Will you?”

Throat dry, Tony croaks: “No.”

“I would ask for your help. Will you?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.” Peter whispers, genuine, artless. He is pure, an unwilted flower. He could command strangers. Unite enemies. “I need a boat that would withstand the river of the underworld.”

Tony recoils from this. Unnatural. “I deal with inventions, not magic.” He spits. 

“They are one.” Peter insists gently, but sees Tony’s face. “You build. I’ll do the magic.”

“You can command magic?”

“Barely. Basic charms. The ingredients are kind to me.”

“As is all of life, it seems.” Tony quips.

Peter’s smile is indulgent. “If that were true, I would need no ship.”

“Who are you collecting from the underworld?”

Peter’s eyes scan over the horizon. In the distance, the boat Tony came on bobs. Peter tilts his eyes to the sky: the countless, silent, watching Gods. “Later.” He vows.

Tony believes him.

…

He seems older than his face suggests. In the same way Gods that saw the beginning of the earth have scarce a mark of time upon their face.

Tony wonders if it is his divine blood.

A ship to withstand the underworld needs to be very slim indeed. The rivers below are narrow, sharply turning. Tony cuts and shapes the wood, methodical in his work.

Peter, meanwhile, gathers roots and strange plants, grinds them into paste, spreads them onto the wood planks and whispers. They glow under his touch, seep into the wood. “Protection,” Peter will say after one, “courage,” after another, “safety”, “resistance”, “resoluteness”, “fierceness”.

In the evenings, Tony is led to Peter’s home. It’s a small castle, grand in it’s own right, teeming with treasures but empty of attendants. They sit before the hearth and Peter brings out salves, and rubs Tony’s hands; eases out the splinters and sprains of the day’s work.

“There is no need.” Tony insists, though the sight of Peter on his knees before him is one that will haunt him.

“There is every need. You do me a great kindness.”

“This is my reward?”

“No.” Peter hums, “this is my reward.”

His fingers unfasten the belt of Tony’s britches, the hot, wet mouth tight and stomach-lurching. It’s all Tony can do to breathe, jerking in his chair, sparking with pleasure.

When he’s finished, Peter tucks Tony away. Cleans him up. “Is there a deity you worship?” He asks, and Tony wants to say you but knows the gods would scorn him for it.

“Hermes is well-travelled.” He says instead.

“I will ask him to give you favour.”

“There is no need-”

“You say a lot about need.” Peter laughs, airy, nymph-like. “I suspect you understand very little of it. Your own are so tightly bound within you. I do not need, but would very much like you in my bed tonight. How is that?”

Tony’s throat is dry, blood already hot. “That is well.” He whispers.

*

A smarter man would delay the building of the ship. Spend more seasons with Peter on this island.

But the only thing that can rival Tony’s passion for the boyy, is his desire to work and invent.

As he sands the boards, he notes the cove they take shelter in. The shadows that hide them from the gods of the sky. “Who,” he says quietly, the waves lapping at their toes, “do you seek to bring from the Underworld?” A parent, who has died? A dear friend lost in battle? Worse- a lover. Tony almost could not bear it.

“I will bring an army of the undead,” Peter says, and Tony drops the block of cinder from his hand. It clatters to the deck. Peter continues to hum, binding rope with moss for strength.

Tony must be deceived. But there is no lie anywhere in Peter’s body. Just slim, muscled, beauty.

“Do not look so shocked, mortal.”

“Mortal?” Tony croaks.

Peter laughs. Musical. “I confess to you then. My mother was no demi-god. She was Zeus’ first born. I am no human. I’m more powerful than that.”

“You are not a god.”

“And grateful for it. Gods cannot go into the underworld.”

“You want war. Against who?”

“Rumlow. I will take his city. I will rule Attica.”

Tony laughs in disbelief, trembling with fear. He has been taken here for a fool. This is no kindness. This boy is vicious and cruel, like any God. “Attica cannot be united-”

“An army of the undead will unite them. The fates have written it. Led by me.”

Tony turns from him, shaking, eyes stinging. “I thought you good. I loved-”

Peter is before him, hands gentle on his face, smoothing through the inventor’s beard. “You love me with your mortal heart, dear sweet, Tony,” Peter whispers, kissing him. Melting into him, seeping into him, taking him over. Tony feels the eagerness against his thigh. Wants to jerk away but cannot bring himself to. He clutches Peter tighter. “I will reward you for it.”

Peter’s hand slips into Tony’s trousers. Tony is hard. Throbbing. But he resists. “I want no reward from you who brings such bloodshed.”

The boy, not a boy at all, laughs. Even as his hand works at Tony, spreading wetness, teasing, touching all the right ways. “This is not your reward. Your reward is much greater,” his teeth find Tony’s ear, nipping. “I will make you a god.”

Tony moans, Peter works him harder, he’s shaking, closer, trying to resist. “M-mortals cannot be made-” he gasps for breath, “-into gods.” He knows little of magic, but he knows that. Peter is pressed flush against him, hand moving between them.

“It must be written in Fate. I chose you, Stark. I had Rumlow choose you. I orchestrated it all. You are fated to be a God. Inventor who trapped the Minotaur, it is your destiny. You will be powerful and eternal and you will be mine.”

“I will be a god, and you not- you will die.” The thought is arresting. “I will have to continue without you.”

“There are tricks,” Peter grins, “Goddess of beauty is charmed by me. She will keep me young and beautiful forever. I will do a favour for the Underworld harpies. They will not take my soul.”

“What is this favour?”

“Do not fret,” Peter coos, licking Tony’s lips, grip merciless, taunting, Tony’s so close. Hips thrusting. “I have taken care of you now, have I not? I will give you all you desire. Every invention to make, all the means. I will care for you and not ask much in return. Let me do so for eternity. You can release, god.”

Tony cries out, does as he’s commanded.

An eternity. Ruled by Peter. A mystery wrapped up like a kindness. He’s hungry for it. He is no fool, Peter will ask for few, but terrible, things in return. Inventions that will turn Tony’s stomach. Wings of wax to trick a father and a son. A sea-spider to eat good sailors. A poison sword and arrow to destroy demigods. And he’ll make them all. Just like he’s made this ship. He’ll obey.

And if he’s good, Peter will reward him.

[vegalocity]

Tell no tales (Red Groom AU)

I debated for awhile about whether to make the Miracle Max segment its own part or not, and then figured 'eh may as well for tonal consistency' this is the act 2 darkest hour one may call it because...

...well you've seen the princess bride you know how this story goes once Westley's in the dungeon

TW: Suicide mention, Death

Red Son's knuckles were turning purple.

He didn't know how many times the bands had tightened around his wrists, restraining his magic further and slowly cutting off the bloodflow, but he could barely move them, and the slightest twitch brought pain.

“Ahhh beloved.” He glanced up and glared with as much venom as he could muster at the prince on the other side of the cage. “The time has come for you to make me the happiest man in this mountain!” The prince reached forward Seemingly to try and stroke Red Son's face, and perhaps if Red Son hadn't already been down in this cell, powerless and slowly growing more and more pained, he would have tried to play along in attempt to remove his restraints, but as it was, he was full of nothing but contempt and rage for the prince, his only thoguth was to lash out. So as the Prince's hand neared his face Red Son snapped his teeth, the threat to bite as clear as possible. The Prince pulled his hand back and huffed.

“Still so stubborn. Well Beloved, It saddens me to realize that your selfish stubbornness has forced my hand so, but all the same my hand has been forced. We must be quick before my father passes, his curse is getting worse and the healers have yet to heal him.”

“You cursed him yourself didn't you? Kin slaying garbage.” He hissed back, and the Prince at least had the good sense to not keep up the act. He rolled his eyes.

“Honestly, Macaque was right about you. Far too hotheaded to be of any use.”

“Why haven't you killed me already then?”

“You're going to need to be my husband before you're more useful dead.”

“You think I'd be consenting to a wedding at this point?”

“You don't need to. You know the old time customs as well as I do. And since you're not here by choice then wouldn't that mean-?”

“You think my parents wouldn't notice the change in circumstance? They're not stupid, you worm.”

“Oh of course not, but that doesn't mean anything when marrying you off means they don't have to deal with you anymore.”

“...Excuse me?”

“I mean, It makes sense doesn't it? Weren't you their only child? Why did they marry you off to another demon king-to-be instead of keeping you to inherit your father's position? Especially when they didn't even have much to gain from allyship with us?” The Prince laughed, a bitter, cruel sounding thing. “Your parents wanted rid of you once it became obvious what a weakhearted fool you always were, Red Son. They basically told my mother 'we will pay YOU to take him' when they arranged our betrothal, And once you're gone no doubt they'll only care as much as the blow to their image it will be that you died so quickly. 'Our poor useless boy didn't even have the time to pretend to TRY to be a good husband he could have at least saved us the trouble and taken his own life before we'd wasted so many resources on sending him over there.'”

Red Son snarled at the arrogance dripping from the prince's words. He knew his parents had grown rather short with him near the end, but that was in part due to his own stubbornness, not simple callousness.

“Not everyone is as heartless as you, scum.” Sure his family wasn't the warmest, but that didn't change that when he was at his lowest both his mother and father had been at his back. Though it was vindicating to know his continued dismissals of his suitors before the option was taken from him was the right course of action, it's not like he didn't know that his parents wanted what they believed was best for him.

They honestly thought that he needed to move on, they didn't know Xiaotian was still out there, they thought he was clinging to the memory of a dead man, and for a long time there he thought he was too.

Besides... If he had his days right he still has about a week before the ceremony and-

“It doesn't matter. My love will be coming for me.”

The Prince's face twisted in a scowl. “Your 'Love' couldn't stop a wedding in a few short hours time! I was merely visiting you as a courtesy 'beloved'. Maybe no one told you, but we will be wed tonight-” the Prince turned on his heel and snapped his fingers and a small gaggle of servants rushed in carrying bathing tools and finery. Before Red Son could make a break for it the cuffs straining his hands shuddered and forced his hands together. Though he could barely feel the motion until it was complete.

“He'll know that this wasn't my choice. And I'm not so easy to kill.” Red Son hissed with as much venom as he could muster into his voice. “My Xiaotian will return for me, and it'll be YOUR head I have on a spike while waiting for him, mark my words.”

The Prince turned on his heel and marched away. “Your Xiaotian will be dead on the 'morrow and so will you husband.”

Red Son would like to see him try.

–

“Ah, my prince, what a pleasant surprise. Shouldn't you be preparing for the wedding-?”

“Plans changed Macaque. I know you've had fun with him but I want this man dead. Now.”

“Bro, Bro we gotta get out of here!”

“Master Six Eared Macaque, My brother and I will be taking our lunch now 'Kay Thanks Byyyyeeeee”

“Is there something wrong?”

“Yes. I cannot afford to have my 'Husband' still counting on this helpless slab of meat to be able to stop things or he'll put up a fight I cannot afford to chance loosing! End him!”

“My prince the machine is very delicate-!”

The Prince cranked the machines settings as high as they would go.

A scream echoed through the air so loud that the heavenly court above took note for only a moment, a wave of pity from all whom heard the torment and agony was offered to the poor soul who uttered such a ravaged note.

Red Son looked up from where he'd been struggling against the servant trying to force him into his marital robes, a primal fear as he instinctively recognized the voice springing his fire forth and scalding himself as his restraints blasted his magic back onto him once more.

It couldn't be. As that was the cry of a dying man.

And he knew better than to doubt Xiaotian ever again.

If he could convince his heart to stop pounding that would be nice.

–

The Pit of Despair was spoken of only in rumor among the guards, so Sandy had heard of it briefly in his workings on the hastily assembled brute squad. Therefore after caring for Xiaojiao until she'd once again reached sobriety, he told her all he knew.

“-The only problem is, if the Monkey King really is this love of Prince Red Son's, the Pit of Despair is hidden from all eyes.” Sandy mused as he and his friend wandered through the forest. “It's said only the prince, and his adviser: Your enemy, know of its whereabouts.”

“Well there has to be SOMETHING we can work with!”

Then, much like Red Son surrounded by enemies in the mountain, they heard the scream.

“That way.” Xiaojiao uttered after a pause. “Follow the scream.”

“You can be sure it was the Monkey King?”

“Sandy my friend, that wasn't any scream of pain.” Xjaojiao stopped only for a moment to place a hand on his shoulder. “That was a cry of true agony. I felt it in my heart ten years ago watching my father bleed out, and I remember it's timbre. His true love is being forced to marry a cruel prince who intends on murdering him after the fact. If anyone knows true agony on this day, it's the Monkey King.”

“Do we really need him to find the Six Eared Macaque, you think?”

“Think about it Sandy, he outplayed me; blade versus staff, he subdued you despite your attempts to stall, and he must have outsmarted the Spider Queen, if there's anyone who can get us into that mountain it's the Monkey King.”

But their conversation was cut off as a pair of urgent whispering voices made themselves known.

“Ohhhh man, I heard that, that's gonna haunt me forever. Boss just totally killed that guy.”

“We all heard it Jin. I'm pretty sure the heavenly court heard it. Come on, brother you're going to be fine.”

“Don't just say stuff like that Yin it just invites disaster!”

“Jin, bro, I need you to be real with me, like one hundred percent real.” only then the two voices curved from behind a tree, a wheelbarrow carried between them. “Do you not have the stomach for this anymore? If you don't, we can leave. We can find work elsewhere, I don't think Mother would begrudge us for taking a little break-”

“I'm FINE Yin. Don't be so dramatic I'm not a sissy-!” The golden demon trailed off with a yelp as Xiaojiao grabbed him by his front.

“You know where they are? The man that screamed do you two know his location?” She unsheathed her sword just a bit, just enough to make the threat present. But just as the silver demon moved to try and throw her off of his brother Sandy stepped in and placed a large, iron gripped hand on either of their shoulders, pulling the gold one free from Xiaojiao's grip but keeping him just as immobile as his brother was now.

“Settle down, we're just tryin' to find our friend.”

“Haven't the foggiest idea what you guys are talking about.” The Silver demon tried.

“Indeed!” The Gold demon concurred. “Never seen any secret tunnels coming out of trees around here!”

Sandy raised his brow and Xiaojiao shared his look as the Gold demon seemed to realize he'd said too much.

“Well! It was nice talking to you both good luck in finding your friend!” he chirped, struggling to get himself free from Sandy's grip.

“And don't try to bother us further because we know nothing-” The Silver demon continued. Xiaojiao unsheathed her sword and held the very tip to the gold one's chin, tilting his head to meet her eye.

“In a funny turn of events something tells me you two know what we're looking for. Talk.”

“...Anyone ever tell you you have beautiful eyes, madame?”

The silver one groaned, and didn't even look particularly startled as Xiaojiao reeled back and knocked his brother out with the pommel of her sword.

Sandy scrambled to catch the gold demon as he slumped over, and though he had to let go of the Silver demon to do so Xiaojiao kept him from moving by turning her sword to him instead.

“You got any better ideas to cover your ass than flirting with the woman with a sword to you?”

“Uhhh Nope. Honestly I hate working here anyway. The secret passage is about a five minutes walk from here in thaaaat direction.” He pointed behind them. “Straight too, no turns, the tree is the one with all the knots. The Prince wanted Boss' workshop to be far enough from the mountain's base so he'd have distance for his 'experiments' to get loud without alerting anyone.”

“You're a fountain of wisdom. Take your brother and find some better work.”

The Silver demon did just that, and once they'd both vanished in the treeline she and Sandy exchanged a glance and nodded.

Five minutes was generous an estimate of course, and implied quite a lot about the lackadaisical pace the brothers usually kept as Xiaojiao and Sandy found the grove described to them within three. However, the Silver demon had neglected to mention a very important detail: There were many trees with many knots in the grove and it would be impossible to determine which of them was 'The' tree without searching every knot on every tree. Which could easily take hours that they did not have.

Just as Sandy was pondering over the quickest way to solve this conundrum he'd turned to see his friend in a very peculiar position, dropped onto a knee with the Jade sword held upright toward the sky.

“Xiaojiao?”

“I need a moment Sandy.” She stated calmly, her eyes shut and she took a deep breath.

“My family had a river of our own. When I was a girl I couldn't get to sleep without the gentle rush of the stream in my ears. I haven't slept a full night since the day I was expelled from my home. Every night as I settle down my ears strain for the familiar rush. My mother once said that I had an ear for the river's flow, and every night that was proven to be a curse as well as a gift.” Xiaojiao stood, her sword now held in both hands again, eyes still shut.

“There's water flowing near here.” she stated, voice barely over a whisper. “I can hear it.”

Sandy was quite literally a fish demon and even HE didn't have a sense for water like that. Nonetheless He found himself impressed with his friend all over again as she began to tilt her sword this way and that, as though it were helping her detect the source of the noise.

“I can hear it-” Xioajao whispered again before the tip of her sword embedded itself in a particular tree. She didn't open her eyes, merely placed a hand on the trunk and leaned in until her ear was pressed to the tree.

There was silence and then Xiaojiao smiled.

“It's this one. Sandy my friend, help me find the knot.” she quickly sheathed her sword and began to try as many knobs on the tree that were in her reach as possible.

It was only luck that the first knot Sandy tried gave way beneath his hand and with a small 'click' a hollow panel on the side of the tree swung open, revealing a staircase descending below.

Xiaojiao shot him a bright grin and Sandy grinned back bashfully, but before they could trade witty banter his friend's eagerness to finally reach her goal implored her to descend down the stairs. It was a bit of a Squeeze for Sandy but he was able to make his way down a few paces behind her.

And... Well the Pit of Despair was about what he'd expected. A dank dungeon like place, ornate lamps lighting the room trying to pretend there was a level of class present in the torture chamber, a huge water wheel was perched in the corner, heartily chugging away but no Six Eared Macaque for Xiaojiao to face.

There was however a figure strapped to a table beside the water wheel. Xiaojiao was quickly ensuring the three of them were alone but Sandy rushed to the strapped figure's side and-...

He was human. He was wearing the same clothes he remembered the Monkey King wearing, and his hair was the same shade of dark brown as he'd remembered the Monkey King sporting, but there were no simian features and no tail.

And he wasn't breathing.

--

“What?! Xiaotian dies!?”

“Well The prince had the machine turned up all the way, remember?”

“Well then who KILLS the prince? Is it Red Son? Xiaojiao?”

“Nobody. The Prince lives.”

“SO HE WINS?! That's not right who would write a story like that!?”

“You know- we should probably stop here, you're getting too heated, and you're sick, I don't want my own kid glaring at me because I made my grandbaby feel worse.”

“No! No! I'll be good I promise! I won't interrupt anymore I need to know how it ends!”

“You sure?”

“I'm sure! Grandpa Pleeeaaasseeeee?”

“Alright, if you're sure.”

“I am!”

“Well then....'Xiaojiao came to find Sandy quickly and examined the body on the table herself, a quick pass over with her eyes, and finding the same tells He did quickly enough.-

--

“He wasn't really the Monkey King...” she breathed. “A body double or something- How'd he learn to shapeshift like that?”

“He was mortal. Poor guy.” Sandy sighed and placed a large hand over the still chest.

Sandy held a moment of silence to try and give the dead man a moment's respect, but Xiaojiao had other plans, Her only shot at finally finding the Six Eared Macaque and having her revenge and he was dead on a slab. She shouted and kicked at the water wheel until one of the spokes cracked beneath her rage.

Then something occurred to Sandy.

“We have to get outta here.”

“Why?! Where are we going?!” Xiaojiao shouted, still lost in her anger. “It's not like we've got anything we're doing that's FEASABLE ANYMORE!” She kicked another wheel spike.

“Don't give up just yet, my friend.” Sandy huffed as he looked the body over once more looking for any lingering damages, and finding none he hefted it over his shoulder. “There's this guy back in the village, While I was on he brute squad, and you know, they thought I was actually gonna fight, they said not to worry about 'going too hard' because this guy can heal just about anything.”

“He's already dead Sandy-”

“Better than nothing.”

After a moment's pause, Xiaojiao shrugged and followed behind him.

“-Oh, you still got much money left after your bender?”

“Not much, why?”

“Sandy how much does this guy charge?”

“SANDY??”

[djemsostylist]

What is Libertas?

Tl;dr Libertas is the Sword of the Red Hilt, first wielded by Galahad in the Quest for the Holy Grail, and Nathaniel Garro is probably a descendent of Joseph of Arimathea. Or something.

Okay, so this summer, while waiting for the next Siege book, I started a thorough reading of Arthurian Legend.  I’ve read Malory and de Troyes and I’m currently making my way through Vulgate.  (Bear with me, this is going somewhere I promise)  It was in reading Malory though, that something kind of crystalized. 

I got access to Saturnine back in early quarantine, like mid-March or so.  The whole book was phenomenal of course--particularly the part with the Kill Teams.  The whole thing is cathartic and chaotic and perfect, but it was also the first time we’ve seen Loken and Garro in a while--and damn was it an outing for both of them.  But it was also where we sort of went from “Libertas is a really good sword” to, “okay, what is up with Libertas?”  And while it seems the most obvious answer is “Excalibur” because swords in stones and all that, I actually think there is a better answer. 

From Saturnine (pg 331 of the ebook): “Garro cartwheeled, and landed hard, his pauldron splintered. Libertas had been knocked out of his grip. The sword had landed two metres from him, tip down, the blade buried a third of its length deep in the stone floor...Kibre thumped towards {Garro]. He glanced at the sword, quivering in the ground. He’d seen what it could do...He grabbed it to pull it free. It would not budge. He pulled harder, applying the full might of his amplified body and amplified plate.

Libertas would not come free...Garro was on his feet again...Garro slid the sword out of the stone with no effort at all. The blade came up, and impaled Kibre through the chest.”  (Kibre failing to draw the sword is important--remember it, and we’ll come back to it later).

My immediate reaction on reading it was “holy shit, EXCALIBUR?????” because yes, Excalibur was technically the sword Arthur received from the lady in the lake after pulling the sword from the stone and then breaking it fighting Pellinore, but also the tales are often confusing because Malory refers to both swords as Excalibur (because of the differing versions in Vulgate), and then there’s Caliburn from Geoffrey of Monmouth which is probably also Excalibur, and yeah.  Anyway, the point is that while the sword in the stone isn’t really Excalibur, it also kind of is for most people, so that would seem to be the obvious answer to “what is Libertas?” when you have a sword that only certain people can pull from a stone. 

EXCEPT that reading both Malory and various other Arthurian legends this summer led to another and actually more fitting answer. 

First let me start with what we know about Libertas (mostly taken from Garro and Flight of the Eisenstein).  It’s a greatsword, easily wielded two handed, and has “elements” from Old Earth before the Age of Strife.  We know that it is a power sword (so likely the hilt has been replaced and the “elements” are in the blade) and that holding it makes Garro feel “complete” and “right”.  

But perhaps the most interesting bit we have about Libertas is this passage from Garro: “At the last second, the legionary jack-knifed and fell on the attacker with his sword aimed down. The tip of the blade almost hit the mark, a fraction of a centimetre from the point where the neck-ring of the attacker’s armour joined the helmet seal. Had it fallen true, Libertas would have sliced down inside his collarbone, bursting through lung and primary heart. Instead, the sword tip slashed away hood and cloak, screeching down the chest plate to leave a sparking gouge in the ceramite. In the bright aura of the power sword, Garro saw the colour of his adversary’s wargear for the first time. A matte yellow-gold that could only belong to one legion.” 

This is Nathaniel Garro.  He’s a consummate swordsman.  He doesn’t miss.  We know Libertas is a strong blade--it is capable of literally bisecting fully armored marines.  And yet, the sword skips.  Nathaniel Garro jumps on a man, blade down, and somehow, despite the close range, element of surprise, and the fact that he’s Nathaniel Garro, it misses.  What it does do, however, is reveal a disguised brother for who he truly is.  Remember this--we’ll also come back to it in a bit.   

Then, of course, is the iconic moment in Saturnine, where Libertas is embedded in the stone, and Kibre fails to pull it out, Garro succeeds, and then Kibre is subsequently killed by Libertas. 

So this means Libertas is special.  The sword itself has meaning, unlike say Rubio’s sword, whose “specialness” is mostly in that it shows off Loken’s latent psyker abilities.  But Excalibur is a little too famous for Libertas.  Firstly, because Excalibur is a king’s sword--whether given by the Lady of the Lake, or pulled from the stone, the sword is given to a ruler.  And while I love Nathaniel Garro, he is not king.  And secondly, Excalibur just comes with a little too much baggage, if that makes sense.  

Luckily, Arthurian legend is full of nothing but swords, and this is where we find a perfect candidate, or as near to one as we are going to get.  

In Arthurian legend, there is a knight called Balin.  He is one of Arthur’s knights, but he is not a knight of the round table--that hadn’t been established yet.  Balin is a young knight in Arthur’s court when a maiden enters with a sword she says can only be drawn by the worthy.  Balin draws the sword, but when he refuses to give it back, the maiden curses it to “slay with the sword the best friend that ye have, and the man that ye most love in the world, and the sword shall be your destruction”.  This leads to a series of adventures (most of which end in tragedy--it is Arthurian legend after all), all of which culminate in him fighting his brother to the death. 

The catch is, he doesn’t know it’s his brother.  His brother, Balan, is currently serving as the Knight of the Fountain, which means he is wearing different armor and not carrying his usual device on his shield.  Balin also is not wearing his usual device, having just traded his shield for another.  So, unknowingly, the two brothers fight and mortally wound each other and thus Balin fulfills the curse by killing his brother with the sword--and, the sword becomes marked as a kin-slayer. 

After the fight, Merlin takes the sword, sets it in a new hilt, and places the blade in a marble plinth which he sets to float on the river.  “This is the cause, said Merlin: there shall never man handle this sword but the best knight of the world, and that shall be Sir Launcelot or else Galahad his son, and Launcelot with this sword shall slay the man that in the world he loved best, that shall be Sir Gawaine. All this he let write in the pommel of the sword.” 

Years later, the sword is spotted by Arthur and his knights before the feast of Pentecost.  The inscription on the blade reads “Never shall man take me hence, but only he by whose side I ought to hang, and he shall be the best knight of the world.”  Arthur asks Lancelot to draw it, but he refuses, saying that it is clearly not a sword meant for him, and also that “who that assayeth to take the sword and faileth of it, he shall receive a wound by that sword that he shall not be whole long after.”  

Okay, now, remember Kibre?  He tries to draw the sword from the stone, but fails, and shortly thereafter, he is killed by Libertas when drawn by Garro, it’s true wielder.  This fulfills the points of the curse--when an unworthy man tries to draw the sword, he will, after, be wounded by it.  Excalibur (or the sword in the stone), is attempted to be drawn by many hands.  And none of those people are killed by it.  (Okay, so maybe some are.  But only because they fought against Arthur, and not because of a curse).  

Arthur then asks Gawain to draw the sword, and Gawain attempts but fails, as does Percival.  Not long after that, Galahad, Lancelot’s son, is brought to court.  He proves his worth by sitting in Siege Perilous, which is the seat at the Round Table which could only be filled by the greatest Knight in the realm.  In some versions, when the seat is filled, it heralds the end of Arthur’s realm and the splintering of the Round Table. In Malory and Vulgate, while it’s not specifically stated as being prophecy, after Galahad sits, the Grail Quest is commenced, and the Round Table is never filled again, and after achieving the Grail, Arthur’s reign does begin its downfall and its descent into blood feud and civil war.  In a way, Galahad’s arrival is the beginning of the end for Camelot. 

Anyway, after he arrives in Camelot, Galahad goes down to the river and draws the sword (sometimes known as the The Sword of the Red Hilt).  Shortly thereafter, the quest for the Grail begins, and of course, Galahad is the only one to achieve the quest through his purity, piety, and strength of will and character.  

Back to the curse--if someone unworthy attempts to draw the sword, they will be killed by it.  BUT, also remember that time when Garro tried to murder an Imperial Fist and didn’t (or couldn’t)?  After starting on the Grail quest, Galahad comes upon two knights in unknown armor--and he himself is also disguised.  One of the knights is his father, whom he overthrows with a lance, but the other knight is Percival--who also tried to draw the sword.  With Percival, Galahad has to resort to using his sword, and he does wound Percival, thus fulfilling the prophecy again.  However, he doesn’t kill him because at the last minute the sword “swerves”, sparing Percival’s life.  “And then he drew his sword, and dressed him unto Sir Percivale, and smote him so on the helm, that it rove to the coif of steel; and had not the sword swerved Sir Percivale had been slain, and with the stroke he fell out of his saddle”.  Sound familiar?  Like perhaps the sword has something of a will, and will not slay a beloved brother in unknown guise?  Especially a brother who is doing the work of God--or the Emperor?  (Percival did almost achieve the Grail after all, and was with Galahad until the end).   

After his death, the sword goes to Lancelot, who eventually uses it to mortally wound Gawain--who originally tried to draw the sword first--after the sundering of the round table--again, fulfilling the curse.  Falkus Kibre anyone?  (Which, I know we are focusing on Garro/Galahad parallels, but the point is that it is not the wielder who fulfills the curse, but the sword itself. ) 

And not that Garro is Galahad (although they both start with G, so take that as you will).  But, Galahad does sit at Siege Perilous, which is a seat that can only be occupied by the most worthy knight.  Garro is a Battle-Captain, which is an old, symbolic rank, that no one else in the Legion occupies.  And Garro is there at the beginning of the end--some might say he is the cause of it, when he witnesses the attack on Isstvan and brings the news to Dorn--but he also fulfills the quest that no one else can by bringing the news early and giving Dorn some time to prepare.    

So this is my theory.  The blade of Libertas is the sword of the Red Hilt, Galahad’s sword.  The hilt is replaced many times--the blade is what matters.  It retains the original prophecy and curse--that it may only be drawn/wielded by the worthy, and that anyone who attempts to draw it will be killed.  It also retains an element of will or memory--it began as a kin-slayer unknowing, and thereafter, its will allows it to turn aside when brought to wield against unknown brothers fighting in the service of God (or the Emperor BBA).  It is wielded by a true and honorable knight, one who follows a path of truth, righteousness, and reconciliation, a true knight of the realm, who lives to serve his king and God (and also one who saves a not insignificant number of maidens…) 

[a-vintage-snake]

Drift Away

Pairing(s): Romantic Royality

First chapter - Previous chapter - Next chapter

Warnings: Gaslighting, Remus centric stuff Characters: Roman Sanders, Patton Sanders, Character Thomas

Summary: Roman comes back to an unexpected surprise, but can it distract him from his missing brother?

Word Count: 5023

People who were asked to be tagged: @avocados26, @fandoms-will-collide @nottoonormalme, @bihighandgivinghighfives

If you want to be removed or added to the taglist, just ask!

Read on AO3 The second the castle came into view, Roman spurred his horse on into a fast gallop. He ignored the yelled protests from the general behind him. Within record time he arrived in the castle’s courtyard, where he jumped off his horse and sprinted inside. Navigating through the halls he kept running even when he bumped over several of the castle’s staff, causing them to drop whatever they had in their hands. Usually he would immediately assist them up, but now Roman only yelled “Sorry!!” over his shoulder and kept running. He had to get to his parents, and fast.

He could almost weep in relief when he rounded a corridor and saw his father walking towards the parlour.

“FATHER!!” He yelled. King Augusto turned, confused, but smiled when he saw his son.

“Roman! You’re back early. How did the monster slaying go?”

“Fine, fine!” Roman reached his father and leaned on his knees to catch his breath. “But there’s- something- something I need- need to-!”

“That’s great to hear.” His father interrupted. “You must tell all your stories at dinner later.”

“I need to talk to you!” Roman wheezed, trying to get his breath under control.

“It’s a good thing you’re back so soon, actually,” His father took him by the shoulder and started walking them both to the parlour doors. “It would be preferable if you freshened up first of course, but I’ll let it slide this time.”

“Please father, it’s important!!”

“Yes, yes, you can tell me everything later, but now there’s a surprise waiting for you.”

“A surprise?” Roman asked puzzled as his father pushed him through the door of the parlour. “What do you mean a-?”

Arms threw themselves around Roman’s neck before he could finish his sentence. Roman let out a startled shout. Dizzily he registered soft blond curls, a face snuggled in his neck, which was only slightly uncomfortable because of glasses on the person’s nose, and the scent of warm cookies that clung to their hair-

“Patton?!” Roman squawked out.

The person pulled back a little, proving Roman’s deduction correct as a radiant smile beamed up at him from a round freckled face, baby blue eyes shining from behind circular glasses.

“Hiya sweetie! Surprise!” Patton chirped.

Roman gaped at the chubby man for a few seconds, before he laughed and lifted the other into his arms.

“Love of mine!” Roman twirled Patton around, earning those sweet little giggles he loved so much. “My soft little puffball, my beloved fiancé that owns my whole heart! How are you here?? I thought you were at university!”

“How can I stay away from the most handsome prince in the world?” Patton peppered his face with small kisses. “I just-” Kiss. “Had-” Kiss. “To see you!” Kiss.

“Patton, you’re smothering the poor man.” An amused voice said. Roman halted in his twirls to see his mother and Patton’s father king Thomas drinking tea together near the window. “Let him catch his breath, son!” Their neighbouring monarch laughed. Patton blushed and mumbled a ‘sorry’, but Patton’s smile and one final kiss pressed to Roman’s nose proved that the shorter man was maybe not so sorry.

To this day Roman was elated that his parents hadn’t disapproved of his choice of love, as they had done with his previous paramours in the past. In fact, when Roman had fumbled through a confession of his feelings to his parents, they had encouraged him to court Patton. Which he had done with… Varying degrees of success.

Okay, this was it. Roman had it all planned out. It was a beautiful summer night, the moon was full, he had decorated the garden with candles, and he had composed the most wonderful ballad on his lute highlighting everything he adored about Patton.

Roman couldn’t help but letting out a soft love-struck sigh when he thought about the sweet crown prince from their neighbouring kingdom. How had it taken him years of just being friends with him before Roman realized just how lovely and pretty Patton was? From his sweet laugh, his gentle demeanour, to those dumb jokes that would be infuriating from anyone else but coming from Patton were just adorable. And his freckles, oh goodness… Roman had an entire verse in his song just dedicated to those freckles.

Now if he only found the courage to throw the pebble in his hand to his love’s window, so he could serenade him in the full moonlight. Roman swallowed nervously as he turned over the little stone in his hand, staring up at the balcony of the guest suite where his love resided. What if Patton didn’t like him back? What if he just ruined his friendship with him like this? What if-

“No! Be brave!” Roman whispered to himself. And before he could change his mind, he threw the pebble up against the window.

Roman waited with bated breath. Just when he considered throwing another one, he saw movement. The balcony door swung open. Roman’s breath hitched, but he quickly took the flower he brought out from his breast pocket (A blue dahlia, Patton’s favourite).

“There you are, my love!” He sung out, thrusting the hand with the flower upwards to the balcony, his other hand resting fanned open on his heart and giving his most dazzling, princely smile.

A smile directed at someone who was decidedly not Patton. Instead, king Thomas was staring down at him with quite possibly the most perplexed look seen on this side of the kingdom.

“Uuuuh…” Roman said, eloquently. Quickly he straightened up, bringing the flower to his chest like it could shield him from the blush he felt rising in his neck.

“This isn’t what it looks like! Well, actually it is, but this wasn’t meant for you-” Roman started babbling. “Not that you’re not a handsome man, sir! That sounded weird- I mean, you are, but you’re not exactly my age- I MEAN I DON’T MEAN TO IMPLY THAT YOU’RE OLD, BUT- Oh my god stop talking Roman…”

King Thomas took in the scene before him, the candles, the lute at Roman’s feet, the stammering prince, and a grin broke out on his face.

“Ah… I’m afraid you have the wrong window.” The king sounded far too amused for Roman’s liking. “My son is one balcony over.”

Roman’s face felt like it was burning as he turned his attention to the balcony the king pointed at.

“Of course! Haha, sorry, it’s dark- How silly of me! I’m such a simpleton sometimes, wouldn’t be able find my sword if it weren’t always next to me! Not like I sleep with my sword in bed or anything, it’s just always by the bedside table! See, I could your protect your son even when we’re married! NOT THAT I EXPECT HIM TO MARRY ME!!” Roman laughed in the strangled way of a man who was caught with his hand stuck in a cookie jar. “That is obviously his choice, but I would like it if he did- If he doesn’t that’s fine too, obviously, I would never want to impose-!”

“What’s all that noise?” A sleepy voice asked. Roman immediately (and thankfully) swallowed whatever dribble had wanted to come out of his mouth. During his little tirade the right balcony door had opened, and he was graced with the view of his love’s messy bedhead and soft blue pyjamas. Patton squinted down, confused. But when he pressed his glasses on his nose and saw just what lay before him, his eyes widened and his mouth opened in a gentle “Oh.”

“M-My dear heart,” Roman started, and he was rewarded with Patton giving a soft squeak. “I am here before you, humbled by your beauty and with the hope that you’ll listen to this ballad I have written… for you.”

“For… Me?!” Patton yelped. He buried his face into his hands. Roman’s heart soared.

“Always for you!” He belted out. He pushed the flower behind his ear and grabbed his lute off the ground. He opened his mouth to start, but stopped when he remembered his other audience member. He glanced at king Thomas, who was still looking like he was struggling not to laugh.

“Oh right, of course, I’ll just go,” King Thomas grinned at the two love-struck boys and moved back into his room. “You two have fun!” And with that he closed his balcony door.

Breathing out a sigh of relief, Roman turned back to Patton, who was peeking at him through his fingers. Roman beamed, and played the first chords.

Gently Roman set Patton back on his feet.

“So sorry dear heart,” Roman said with a shy smile. “I’m probably a bit smelly.”

“Little bit,” Patton admitted with a small grin. “But I won’t give you the stink-eye for it!”

Both of them chuckled, and Roman pressed his forehead against Patton’s, who took that opportunity to nuzzle their noses together. Roman sighed happily.

“Well, our plan appears to be successful!” His mother laughed.

“Plan?” Roman tore his eyes reluctantly away from Patton. “What plan?”

“To cheer you up.” King Thomas smiled kindly. “Your parents wrote us saying you were a bit down in the dumps lately, and they thought a surprise visit might just be the thing to get you back on your feet!”

“It would help get your mind off things!” His father added cheerfully.

Instantly Roman’s good mood plummeted.

“My mind off things…?” Roman said incredulously. “My mind off things?? A bit down in the dumps? Are you two-? Are you actually serious right now??”

“Roman?” Patton asked, a soft tinge of confusion and worry in his voice. Roman pulled himself away from Patton’s embrace. The smiles of his parents vanished.

“Sweetie, what’s the matter?” His mother asked. “Aren’t you glad our guests are here? They journeyed a long time specially to see you!”

“This is how you handle this?” Roman bit out, his voice shaking. His chest felt tight. “Hoping you’ll pacify me with shiny distractions??” He pointedly ignored how his parents were giving him warning glares and how their eyes darted between him, King Thomas and Patton, both of which were looking more and more confused by the second. Just like he pointedly ignored the scared little voice in his head that told him to stop right now what the hell was he doing??

“Roman, please!” His mother chided him. “You’re upsetting our guests!”

“Oh right, my brother goes missing, but the worst part is that I put a damper on the mood!” Roman laughed bitterly.

“Missing?” King Thomas frowned. “What happened?”

His mother smiled reassuringly to the other king, and she laughed a bit.

“Nothing, old friend! Remus is just on another one of his travels-”

“No, he’s not!” Roman interrupted. “Remus went to the Desolate Mountains!”

“The mountains? Are you sure?” King Thomas rose from his seat. Patton let out a shocked gasp.

“Yes I’m sure!”

“Now now, son,” His father laughed a bit strained as he grasped Roman’s shoulder tightly. “Didn’t we already discuss this? Of course Remus hasn’t gone to the mountains, we warned you both-”

“BUT HE STILL WENT!!” Roman exploded. He ripped his shoulder from his father’s grip. “REMUS WENT TO THE DESOLATE MOUNTAINS, AND YOU WANT TO KNOW HOW I KNOW THAT?? BECAUSE PEOPLE HAVE SEEN HIM GO!! MY BROTHER HAS BEEN IN DANGER FOR TWO MONTHS, AND WE HAVEN’T DONE ANYTHING BECAUSE YOU DIDN’T LISTEN TO ME!! YOU DON’T EVEN SEEM TO CARE!!”

You could hear a pin drop in the silence that fell. Everyone went stock still, including Roman. He breathed heavily, his heart beating painfully fast. Ice seized his veins as Roman realized what he had just done. He had just yelled at his parents. In front of guests no less. A whirlpool of fear opened in his chest and drowned out every bit of anger still burning in his veins. Dizzily he fell down on one of the couches and propped his head in his hands.

“I’m sorry…” He brokenly whispered. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

He didn’t see how his mother got up from her chair. He didn’t see how she and his father had a silent conversation over his head, but he did notice when the couch dipped at both of his sides when they sat down. Roman tensed, preparing for the worst when-

“Roman,” His mother asked in a trembling voice. “Are you certain that he…?”

Roman didn’t look up, instead kept his eyes firmly on his knees. But he nodded.

“The town where I was, they… They saw Remus go into the mountains.” He muttered. His mother gasped, covering her mouth in shock.

“Oh by the gods…” She whispered. “Augusto, our son, he-! We sent the knights the wrong way!”

Roman frowned in confusion. “Knights…?”

“We would never let our son endanger himself, Roman. So we sent knights to look for him.” His father said as he placed a hand that was meant to be comforting on Roman’s knee, but it did nothing than make Roman more nervous. “We sent them out to the sea, because that is where Remus… Where he always goes… He loves the sea, so we thought-” His father’s voice stammered. “Obviously we thought wrong.”

Roman said nothing. His mind whirled as he digested the new information. A part of him desperately wanted to shout, yell or scream again just to let the hurricane of emotions out. But that would be bad behaviour for a prince, so instead he focused on his breathing and the hand on his knee. Dully he inspected the large hand, marked with spots of age and wrinkles. His father always wore a small golden ring, a family heirloom shaped like a snake biting its own tail. Two tiny emeralds served as the snake’s eyes, and shone up to him indifferently. Roman had felt the sting of that ring on his cheek often enough that he forced himself to breath in deeply before he dared to open his mouth again.

“Why didn’t you tell me…?” He finally asked.

“You already have so much on your mind, Roman. We didn’t want you to worry over this as well.” His father shook his head. “That was our mistake. We’re so sorry, son...”

“Oh my goodness my son! My poor boy, my sweet Remus!” His mother suddenly wailed loudly. “How could we have let this happen?!” With another cry of anguish queen Nadia buried her face into her hands. The most heart wrenching sobs tore themself from her chest. Roman startled up in shock.

“Mom? Oh gosh mom I’m so sorry, please don’t- I’m sorry.” Hesitantly he embraced his mother, unsure if his comfort would be appreciated. His mother however immediately pulled him in a crushing hug.

“Please sweetheart, believe us… If we had known that Remus had thrown years of warnings into the wind, we would have marched our army straight after him.” His mother said wobbly as she gently rubbed Roman’s back.

“Of course, of course…” Roman mumbled. “It’s not your fault, mom. I’m sorry for yelling…”

“We’ll search for him, Roman.” His father said, as he squeezed Roman’s knee reassuringly. “We’ll bring him home.”

“And I will help!” King Thomas said. Roman sat up alarmed. He had nearly forgotten king Thomas and Patton were in the room as well. Their neighbouring king looked sympathetically at the grieving family.

“I will assist you in every way to look for your son. I can have my best knights assist you in the mountains! With our strengths combined and enough man force I’m sure we can defeat the warlock-”

“That’s not necessary.” King Augusto said quickly. Both Roman and king Thomas frowned in confusion.

“What I mean is,” King Augusto clarified. “We simply cannot accept your generous offer, old friend. That would leave your kingdom without it’s best defence.”

“Are you certain?” King Thomas asked uncertainly. “It would be no trouble at all, really!”

“Please Thomas,” King Augusto rose and grasped the other king’s shoulder. “You are a good man, but this is about our son. He is our responsibility, and this is our mistake to fix. We won’t ever ask of you to amend our problems.”

The other still looked hesitant, but he nodded. “I understand.” King Thomas said. Roman bit his lip. He wished they would take the offer, but his father was right. That would be unfair to ask. Roman stood up.

“Then I will join the party to look for Remus!” He said.

“NO!” Both his parents yelled in unison, spooking the other three men in the room.

“I can help!” Roman tried.

“We forbid you!” King Augusto said.

“But-!”

“Roman, please,” His mother’s voice was strained. “One of our sons is already lost in the mountains. My heart would not be able to bear the sorrow if you would… Would disappear as well…”

“She’s right, Roman.” King Thomas said gently. “Trust in them; they will solve this.”

“You are too kind, Thomas,” His mother said with a shaky smile. “Your support means so much to us, especially in such-” She swallowed thickly. “Such horrible times…” With that his mother buried her face into her hands and once more started weeping grievously.  

Both of the kings sat with the queen to console her, and Roman was left standing feeling like the biggest jerk ever. Guiltily he watched how his mother cried and how his father tried his best to comfort her. How could he ever say that they didn’t care? What kind of horrible son was he?

Turning his head, he caught Patton’s gaze and guilt barrelled even down more on him when he saw that Patton was teary eyed as well. He knew he needed to step up, comfort his love, but the storm in his head made it impossible to do anything. Wow, he was a horrible fiancé too huh?

“Sorry, I need to go.” Roman mumbled before he rushed out of the parlour.

“Roman, wait-!” He heard Patton say before the door closed behind him. He didn’t stop and turn back. He had to get away.

--

There were a couple places Roman truly felt like he could calm down. The palace gardens were one of those places. With his head storming as it was, he had made a dash for his favourite bench underneath a big oak. He sat down; worrying his red sash over and over in his hands while his mind kept racing.

They were going to search for him. They would find his brother. Remus would be okay.

Maybe if he repeated that mantra in his head, his urge to disobey his parents and go look for Remus himself would die away.

Gentle footsteps approached him. Roman was so lost in his own anxiety he didn’t notice them until the owner’s shoes came into view.

“Hello there brave knight,” Patton’s voice was gentle, like he was trying not to spook a frightened animal. “Can this damsel join you?”

“You and I both know I would be the damsel, sweetheart.” Roman answered with half a smile. Patton ducked his head with a giggle, and sat down next to Roman. Tenderly he entwined their hands between them and laid his head on Roman’s shoulder. Roman pressed a kiss on his love’s head, inhaling the scent of Patton’s hair before he leaned his cheek against the soft locks.

One of the great things about Patton was that he always seemed to know exactly when Roman needed to talk about what he was feeling, and when he needed some more time to think. So time passed in silence, only occasionally broken by Patton as he would bring up their tangled hands to press a kiss on Roman’s knuckles.

“So,” Patton said after quite a few minutes. “Your brother is missing.”

“Yes…” Roman felt the dread of the past weeks curling in his stomach.

“Do you know why he would go to the Desolate Mountains?”

“He-” Roman took a deep breath. “He wanted to kill the warlock.”

“…Why?”

“I don’t know!” Roman stood up, pacing before the bench in the hope of loosening the tight knot in his chest. “Why does Remus do anything? I just don’t know!” He ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. “He’s done crazy things in the past, but never something like this!”

“Hey hey hey…” Patton grabbed his hands, stopping him in his tracks. “Take a breather, honey.”

“How can you tell me to take a breather right now?!” Roman yelled.

“Easy! With my mouth, kiddo!” Patton smiled.

Despite himself Roman snorted. It was a lame joke, even by Patton standards, but it eased the tension in his shoulders immediately. Under Patton’s loving gaze, he took a deep breath through his nose and focused his attention on their hands. Roman smiled at the contrast of his long brown fingers entwined with Patton’s pale freckled ones.

“I’m sorry Patton…” Roman said quietly. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

“That’s quite alright, I understand,” Patton rubbed his thumbs over Roman’s knuckles. “This is a scary situation for you and your family! It’s no wonder you’re under a lot of stress!”

“Oh Pat…” Roman marvelled. “What did I do to deserve you?”

“By just being your wonderful self, you brave and beautiful sweetie-pie!” Patton gushed. Now it was Roman’s turn to blush and chuckle.

“Oh, you… You need to chill!” Roman laughed.

“Why? Because I’m such a…” Patton wiggled his eyebrows. “Cool guy?”

Roman let out a good-natured groan.

“Wow, there was snow way I saw that one coming!”

“Really? I thaw it coming from a mile away!” “Well, I’ll be going now.” Roman released Patton’s hands and dramatically sauntered away a bit. “It was ice knowing you.”

“Oh, don’t act so cold!”

They only needed to make a second of eye contact before both of them burst out laughing. With every giggle leaving his mouth, Roman felt the tight knot in his chest unwind bit by bit. He felt lighter than he had in weeks!

…Now he felt even more of a jerk that he yelled at his parents for inviting Patton over. They had just wanted to cheer him up, even if it had been a bit misguided.

Pushing that thought away for now, Roman sat back down next to Patton. Their mirth slowly died down, but there were still smiles on their faces.

“Feeling a bit better, honey?” Patton asked.

“Quite a bit, yes…” Roman couldn’t help but press a kiss on that freckled nose. “I’m just so glad you’re here.”

“Anytime!” Patton grinned. “Maybe you would like it if I come over more often?”

“What? But what about your studies?” Roman asked, a little shocked. Patton shrugged.

“I have the very lucky privilege that I can go back to university any time I want. And you’re going through a tough time right now! I want to be there for my lovely husband to be!”

“Aaaw, Pat…” Roman melted a little bit. “I couldn’t ask that of you!”

“Well, you’re in luck that I’m offering then!” Patton threw his arms around Roman’s waist and snuggled in. Roman happily answered his affection with another kiss to his blond curls.

“You’re my literal beam of sunshine, my love.” Roman muttered adoringly.

“Oh?” Patton asked mischievously. “Is it because I…”

“Oh no.”

“Light up your life?”

“That’s it, the wedding is cancelled.”

Another bout of laughter later the two lovers sat in comfortable silence, enjoying the setting sun and the disarray of colours that painted the sky. For a few minutes, everything was perfect. The cooling air, the few stars that dotted the quickly darkening sky, the beautiful man in his arms…

“I hope Remus is okay…” Patton murmured beside him, and with that the reality came crashing down once more.

“And here I thought you disliked him.” Roman half joked. Patton sputtered a bit.

“Well, dislike is a strong word-! Don’t look at me like that!” Patton pushed a hand against Roman’s sceptical face. “But you know what, even if I do, no one deserves something like this to happen to them! And besides, he’s your brother… Of course I want him to be okay.”

“Wow,” Roman was slightly impressed. “Even after what he did at our engagement party?”

Patton groaned and buried his face in Roman’s chest. “Don’t remind me…”

The whole room exploded into applause when Roman made the happy announcement that he was now an engaged man. Everyone wanted to congratulate the happy couple, but Roman and Patton barely had eyes for anyone else. Roman kissed his love’s hand and never wanted to kiss another one again.

The dining room was filled with wished of good health and cheer, all the court’s nobility toasting for a happy marriage. His parents were smiling proudly, and king Thomas discretely wiped a tear away. However there was one who didn’t seem happy.

Remus sat in his usual spot across Roman. That in itself already was quite unusual, since their parents had banned Remus from attending formal dinners with the court after he had asked the count if he was aware that he had birthed a literal pile of shit instead of a son. Roman however had wanted his brother to be there when the happy announcement was made. So Remus was dining with them, and he was… Glaring. Yeah, there was no other word for it. Remus was glaring, not at him, but at Patton for some reason. He saw Patton getting more and more uncomfortable with every passing minute, and still Remus didn’t stifle his glower.

Just as he was about to ask if Remus could just knock it off, his brother rose from his chair and smashed his wine glass into little pieces on the table. Shocked gasps and screams echoed across the table as bits of glass flew and landed on plates filled with food. Remus didn’t seem bothered as he leaned forward over the table, with a wide manic grin directed at Patton.

“Dare to make my brother unhappy,” Remus jeered. “And I’ll chop both of your legs off, slather them with honey and feed them to a local ant farm!”

Appalled everyone stared stock still at the younger prince. Patton looked on the verge of tears. Outraged Roman stood up.

“WHAT IS YOUR DEAL?!” He yelled. His brother looked taken aback.

“What is my deal?” Remus asked. “Uuuh, bitch, what is your deal? He has to know, hasn’t he? No one is allowed to hurt my bro-bro, or I’ll-!”

Their father grabbing him by the neck and forcefully dragging him out of the room cut Remus off. Remus made a choked sound of half-hearted protest, but Roman didn’t care. He sat down and whispered comforting words to his fiancé.

“Look, I know it was just his way of supporting me, but it was WAY out of line and-” Roman tapered off.

“…And?”

“…And I think that is the last time me and Remus actually talked.” Roman made a small hum of surprise. “Has it… Has it really been two years since we got engaged?”

Two whole years of not talking to his own brother. Two years were he was dismissive of every little thing Remus did, ignored him and made fun of him behind his back. And now his brother was missing, and he couldn’t be more terrified.

“…Did I overreact? That day at the dinner?” Roman asked.

“Absolutely not!” Patton immediately said. “What he did was horrible, and completely out of line, like you said! You have every right to be angry!”

“Right, right…” “But I think a more important question is… Did you two ever make up?”

That shut him up. Roman quietly played with his sash again, before he shook his head.

“No… No we didn’t. We used to be so close! And now I might never get another chance to tell him he was stupid knucklehead for doing that.”

And didn’t that scare him to death?

Patton intertwined their fingers again and gave them a gentle squeeze of support. Roman squeezed back and smiled lightly, before he sighed.

“It’s just… I thought I knew him, Pat… But lately I’m not so sure anymore.”

“He’ll be okay, Roman.” “How do you know that?”

“I can feel it! In my belly! And if the belly says it, it must be true!” Patton joked. Roman snorted.

“Not sure if that’s how it works, love.”

“You must trust the belly Roman…” Patton said seriously as he drummed out a little tune on his stomach. “Trust iiiiit.”

Roman laughed again, the weight on his shoulders lifting a bit. Gently he caressed his love’s chubby stomach.

“Alright, I’ll trust the belly.”

“Good. You better BELLI-eve it!” Patton nodded, satisfied. Roman looked up at the sky, as if to implore a merciful god to strike him down. The grin on his face ruined the effect though.

“That was awful.” He said, lovingly.

“Hush I’m hilarious. SO, on to a lighter subject! I’m here for two weeks! What would you like to do tomorrow? You can pick! Anything you wish!”

Roman thought for a moment. What could they do together? He would have no lessons or hangouts with his friends when Patton was a guest, so they had all the time in the world. His parents always said that he needed to woo his fiancé, make sure to do things he wanted to do. But he wasn’t sure if he could properly focus on giving his love all the attention he deserved. So what to do…

Suddenly an idea came to him. He turned to Patton, smile on his lips.

“Have I ever shown you the library, dear heart?”

--

From a window above the garden, the queen watched as her son talked to his fair-haired fiancé. Her tears had long since dried up. Her fingers tapped out a soft rhythm on the windowsill she rested her hands on.

“So,” Her husband moved next to her, gazing down at the pair as well. “Remus truly went to the Desolate Mountains.”

“It appears so.” The queen answered him.

“Should we be worried about this…?” The king asked hesitantly. The queen rolled her eyes with a short laugh.

“Please. That boy could drive a monk to first-degree murder. What makes you think the warlock spared his life?”

[villainqueen]

The Marriage of Heaven and Hell - Chapter 2

V X Fem!Reader fanfiction, set after the events of Devil may Cry 5.

Prologue / Chapter 1 // Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5

Ao3 [Link]

Chapter 2

There is no mistake so great as the mistake of not going on

August 1st 11:00 am

The clicking of Nico's lighter could be heard while she lightened her next cigarette. It broke an awkward silence in the Van as she drove it to the destination of their next job. Normally they would have at least talked but thanks to the new guest who accompanied them on this road trip, Nero didn't seem to be in the mood. She couldn't really blame him; he sure must have been surprised to see V standing in Dante's office as they received their next Mission. It was strange for Dante to give them a job and not doing it himself but who could've thought they would see V again and even team up with him like they did before. After the initial: "How can you even be here!", "There is Urizen?" and "What the hell happened to Vergil?" was sorted out, they welcomed V on board. Well, at least the gunsmith did and Neo? It seemed like he needed some time to collect his own thoughts on that matter. Nico looked over to her partner in the passenger seat next to her. Lost in thoughts and grumpy, usual Nero. Sometimes she wished he would be more open to her and not eating up all his emotions. In these situations, only Kyrie could really get through to him, but she was left behind at home. And as for the other member of their team. V sat in the back, eyes closed and slouched over his cane, but not fooling anyone. Nico doubted that that guy was really sleeping, with her driving ability and the condition of the road, there was just no way.

"So… Nero what do you think about this job?" began Nico to break this awful silence.

"Go to some place, kill demons. Sounds like a normal Tuesday, if you ask me." He replied without really getting invested in a possible conversation.

"Ah, fuck this crap, can you both stop makin' this weird. Nero, I know you're glad V is back, don't try to play hot'n cold with us. And you V, you're not sleeping, can you at least say somthin' or bring out that talking chickn'. Everything is better than this shitty atmosphere here. Can't work like that!"

"Nico, just-"

"Don’t Nico me, Nero. Don't you have a book to give back?"

With that Nero reached out to the book of poems with the golden letter V on its cover, he hesitated a few seconds before he spoke up again: "V. I don't know if you want it back or if I should give it to Vergil, I mean the real one. Shit, that sounds wrong, I mean, you know what I mean..."

"I would appreciate it." Said V, as he received his beloved book back. After he stared at it for a good minute, he continued: "Nero I am not your father, you don't have to act so stiff around me. I only have very selective memory that I share with him. Our childhood, some nightmares and the past few months in Red Grave City."

"So you don't know anything about my mother?"

"No, I've never met her…"

"Ah great, the ice is broken, thought the silence never gonna end. So awkward!" Nico chimed in to change the heavy topic, now in a much better mood.

"V, can tell us something more about this job?" questioned Nero as he felt pressured by Nico to at least try to have a normal, non-depressing conversation.

"I don't have much more knowledge about the place. It's an old castle, solitary in the mountains. A magic seal got broken and now demons have claimed it."

"Okay? It's really that simple, just slaying demons again, no Urizen, no hidden surprises?" Nero could help himself but doubting V's words, well knowing what happened the last time he told them about a "simple job".

"No, I have concerns as well. That is why I accompany you on this. However even I don't know what's behind all this. I am not the client this time after all."

"Guess we just have to figure it out on our own." Nero said casually as he stretched his arms out like he was getting ready for what was waiting for them.

"Hey guys, looks like we're there soon. You can already see that old place over there. Better buckle up, this small mountain road could be a bit bumpy." Nicoletta laughed as she made a sharp right turn on to a small road that lead upwards directly to the castle.

"Are you certain you want to use this road? It doesn't look like it's safe."

"No backseat drivin' here V, I got this, I can get this baby to any place, ya should know that by now!"

"Nico, the question here is not if we'll arrive, it’s more about if we'll survive!" Nero shouted while grabbing his seat. The road was narrow and not some everyday concrete path, needless to mention that their Van was not made for off road driving. Something Nico frankly never cared about.

August 1st 11:45 am

With a loud bang Nero closed the car door behind him. Standing now in front of the large gate that separated the outside from their destination.

"It looks we are not the first ones to arrive." mentioned V as he gestured with his cane to other vehicles parked on the outside nearby them.  A group of four, soldier looking, guys stood beside an army jeep near them, all dressed in protective gear that made them look like they were ready to go to war.

"Great, G.I. Joe and his buddies are here too." frowned Nero while gearing up. His trusty sword Red Queen on his back and his revolver Blue Rose by his side. V had less weight to carry, only his simple cane and the book he ever so often sunken his nose into.

Nico meanwhile was tapping the ash of her cigarette out of the car window while instructing both men: "Yo guys, I'm gonna wait here, can't drive that van in a castle after all, come back if ya find some nice demon parts, got it!"

"Yeah, yeah you don’t have to tell us that…" Nero said as he saw one of the soldier guys approaching them. He had no hair, sunglasses and a scarred face. The perfect caricature of a though soldier guy. "Whattya kids doing here? Go home to ya mamas, this place is dangerous!"

"Whatever sergeant dickhead, why don’t you mind your own business?" answered Nero in his usual standoffish manner. This did not set well with the unknown man as he grabbed Nero by the color and growled in the young devil hunters face: "Ya better watch yaself, that place is full of monsters and no human came back from it yet, would be a shame if ya end up like em!"

"Thank you for the kind warning!" said V politely but with a grim expression as he held his cane to the man’s neck. Nero wasn't one to let that slide either, his revolver in silent motion pressed against his aggressors’ body, ready to pull the trigger.

The bald guy released Nero from his grip as he proceeds to walk back while shouting: "Let yaself get killed kids, if that’s whattya after! Just don't get in the way!"

"What an asshole!" Nero muttered but before he could antagonize the soldier any further V changed the topic: "Let's see that this is all about, we didn't come to fight humans!"

Both men went off to the castle, passing the front gate that led them to the front court. It looked like it was well maintained even through it was supposed to be untouched for a long time. Yet, no birds were to hear, giving the place an awful ominous feeling despite the bright midday sun. They could hear rustling between the bushes that began slowly to surround them as they made their way towards the front door.

"Do you see that?" V asks pointing is cane towards some lifeless bodies a few feet in front of them.

"Looks like we're not the first but really dying before even getting in that place, that sucks. Good thing the pest-control is here now!" And in no time Nero took his Red Queen from his back, letting its engine roar. This was the sign for around twenty to thirty Msira, little monkey like demons, to crawl out of the surrounding woodwork. Those Msira, who are unlike their size would suggest, quite an opponent, especially in numbers.

"Very well, let us see if my powers are enough to deal with these vermin!" remarked V while pointing is cane up summoning on of his demon familiars.

"About time, Shakespeare! Thought you wanted to deal with them yourself. Not that I’d recommend that…" The demon bird Griffon materialized itself and wasted no time to open it's cheeky beak: "Let’s deal with them quick, you're still a wimp, you know! Doubt you can keep me up for long!"

We a slight smirk on his face V stated: "The true method of knowledge is an experiment. Now go and destroy them."

"I don't get what you mean by that, but the last part, that’s my jam!" Nero responded even though he was not addressed and all three of them started to slash through the Msira. It didnIt took them long, a few minutes at most and every demon defused into air. However, Griffon was also at its limit.

"That's it V, told ya that you can't sustain me for long. See ya later!" With that the demon bird became a puddle of black mud before it completely vanished.

"I've reached my limit faster than expected. I need to gain more power." V whispered to himself while marching onward to the front gate of the castle. Not wasting any time, Nero pushed the heavy door open, which led them into a grand, dim light, entrance hall. It had a heavy atmosphere to it, almost like they just entered a haunted mansion. At the end between two staircases that led to the upper floors was a statue of an angel holding a sun and a moon in its hands. The light from the outside was hardly illuminating the room as the stained-glass windows kept most of the light outside, instead several big chandeliers with countless candles gave light to the place. A few bodies could be seen on the floor and gave the demon hunters a clear indication that demons entered the castle as well.

"Man, this place gives me the creeps…" said Nero, as he looked around.

"It sure has an interesting architecture, while I personally would resign from decorating it with corpses." V answered and after a quick look around he continued: "Did you notice Nero? This castle is still in such a perfect condition, even after hundreds of years untouched."

"Now that you mention it, even the candles are still burning… it's almost as if time stopped for it."

"Exactly!" V had come to the same conclusion. The castle wasn't just sealed to prevent entrance, it was frozen in time till the moment those demons broke the barrier.

"And this guy must have been the owner!" Nero claimed, pointing to a portrait of a middle-aged man with a stern expression. Under it was a golden nameplate mounted to the wall.

"Count Caius the first, well isn't that a nice fellow..." Nero joked but was quickly brought back to the task at hand as he heard human screams coming from the westside of the castle.

"Sadly, admiring the art has to wait." chuckled V in response.

"Sure, wasn’t my taste anyways, let's finish this and get out of this place."

And with that both men hurried to the west wing of the castle towards the inner courtyard.

[mtraki]

Hey, Prompts open? Kingsglaive divergence, Ravus Pocketed The Ring Instead Of Putting It On Like A Moron.

[[I know you have been waiting forever for this!  I’m sorry! I hope you like it!]]

(THIS IS SO GOOD.  But there’s a problem: Per canon, originally the plot to offer a fake peace treaty to get the Ring and the Crystal are Ravus’s idea.  The massacre in the Citadel isn’t just a dick move to stab Lucis in the back, it’s just the means to get the Ring and the distraction to get the Crystal.  Those two items were the objective.  So it’s hard to imagine the Niflheim forces would leave without both accounted for.  In the Kingsglaive film, Glauca knows where the Ring is– Lunafreya or Nyx has it, which is why he keeps trying to get them until his climactic fight with Nyx and his subsequent defeat and death.  But what would happen if Glauca cuts off Regis’s hand in the treaty room and nobody knows where the Ring went?  Even manufacturing that instance is difficult because Glauca and Regis were essentially alone in the room when it happened…)

(I’LL DO MY BEST TO SUMMARIZE THE TWO MOST-LIKELY SCENARIOS [separated by *s]) :

It was the metaphorical pin-drop in the room, repeated in unbalanced cadence.  General Glauca turned his helmed head to track it, and King Regis took the opportunity to thrust forward his still-whole hand, now empty of his sword, and cast a sharp gout of lightning into his foe.

Whether this truly accomplished anything more than distraction, Ravus did not know, but he took the opportunity to tuck the fallen Ring of the Lucii under the shoulder of the nearest corpse with the toe of his boot before stepping further into the chamber and drawing his saber as if he were committed to stepping to the General’s defense.

It would have suited himself just fine if the two killed each other without his interference.  All he wanted was the Ring and the power that came with it– power enough to throw off the shackles of the Empire and reclaim his homeland and throne.

But keeping appearances was something Ravus Nox Fleuret had grown accustomed to over these long, long years.  Just a little more patience was needed…

Despite his injury and age, the King of Lucis was swift to reclaim his blade and parry away the swift down-stroke of Ravus’s blade.  It was a weak and obvious strike, but it looked good, and that was his only goal now.  He knew what would come next.

“Stay back, Nox Fleuret.” Growled the General, his voice heavily modulated by the magitek armor, “His life is mine, not for your glory-seeking.”

Oh, Ravus did seek glory– Tenebrae’s glory– and he knew it wasn’t bought with the blood of the King of Lucis.  Not even in all his hate did he think so.

No, leave that to satiate the bloodthirst and vengeance the General had been nursing for so many years.

“Secure the Ring.”

Ravus turned his back, then, on King Regis as Glauca stepped forward to dispatch him, and thought it fitting.  Let him suffer the same dread as Ravus had.

Let him suffer.

With convincing urgency, he made a show of scanning the floor, stooping and moving bodies before returning to where he knew it was.  His timing was good, for Glauca was busy admiring the culmination of all his plotting realized at last, and the running footsteps charging down the corridor had not yet arrived to see him.

The Ring of the Lucii was tucked away into his keeping.

Then his beloved sister, Lunafreya, entered the room accompanied by one of the Kingsglaive.

“King Regis!” The Oracle cried.  With a shout, the Kingsglaive launched himself at Glauca.  Briefly, Ravus wondered what he planned to do with the source of his power gone.  It was only a brief curiosity. The majority of his attention was on seizing his sister by her arm and keeping her away from danger.  He doubted Glauca would hesitate in slaying her if she interfered.

He was surprised to see that he spared the Kingsglaive, leaving him broken on the floor, but still breathing.

“The Ring?” He demanded.

“I’ve not seen it.”

A team of MTs clattered into the room, giving Ravus an idea, “Let them search.  They can dig up the floor if needed. I will go and place the Oracle back into Niflheim custody where she will cause no further harm.”

*  ”Go.” And Glauca turned away, giving directions to the MTs to search the floor and littered corpses for the Ring of Lucii.

Ravus had no doubt the corpses would be stripped and the floor dug up before the night ended.  Perhaps fortune would favor him again, and someone would come and deal with the General before his suspicions turned his way.

The airship was waiting, and he locked his sister away, ignoring the accusation in her looks and her queries as well as her demands.  Let her think what she wished now. Once Tenebrae was ripped from the greedy clutches of Niflheim, he would explain all and perhaps… perhaps she would even forgive him and all he’d been willing to sacrifice.

Even if she didn’t, a lifetime of her resentment and ire would be worth it to see her safe again.

Later, he learned that the General met his end in the treaty room, not far from the King of Lucis, at the hands of the legendary “Immortal”, Cor Leonis, with some assistance from the thought-defeated Kingsglaive that Glauca had foolishly left alive.

Both men were still at large.

Later still, secluded in his offices, Ravus decided his moment had arrived at last…

Hours later, after commanding enough composure into his manner and body language, and after convincing the servants and soldiers that all was well, he went out of the manor in a heavy coat to disguise his injury.

The Ring of Lucii left his keeping into the fast moving river that fed north into the sea.

Only the Chancellor of Niflheim, Ardyn Izunia, seemed to ascertain how his injury had come about, if his strange, sly comments were to be understood.

(end 1)

** “Wait.” Glauca barked. “Turn out your pockets.”

“What?  Turn out–”

“–You’ve been sniffing around the court long enough for me to know you seek opportunity like a snake, Nox Fleuret.  The Ring is too crucial for me to ignore my doubt. Turn out your pockets.”“You dare accuse me of theft?” Ravus buried his worry in audacity and offense, clinging to his haughty exterior.  If he was discovered now…

The General stepped forward, a terrible crunch of steel against the marble tile, like the tolling of judgement, “Turn out your pockets.”

Ravus didn’t move, scrambling.  Trying to think…

“Search him.” Glauca ordered the waiting MTs.

“Ravus…?” Lunafreya murmured.

(From here, it seems pretty grim for Ravus.  He knows if the Ring is found, it’s curtains for him and likely his sister as well.  He can try to fight, but I have no idea how long he’d last– we don’t have a very good measure of how strong Ravus really is at this stage without his magitek prosthetic, though he’s purportedly an excellent swordsman.  He might put on the Ring after all, as a last ditch effort, and we all know how that turns out… Really his only hope is to try and escape, and his chances of doing so in an unfamiliar city that Glauca is familiar with is not great…)

[thisway-imagines]

Eirika and Tana comforting their S/O after they lost a battle!

So for the previous request I wrote, I misread it and originally wrote 2 small ficlets for these two girls instead...I’ll be posting them down here for you all to enjoy!

Eirika

You had been steeling yourself for this day for so long now. Today was the day where you would finally go out to battle in war – and Princess Eirika (or simply Eirika, as she preferred you to call her that) was there to help you as well.

Under King Fado’s command, you were sent to guard Eirika with your life to see her safely through her journey to find Ephraim. Nervousness crept under your skin, however – this was the very first time you had ever been engaged in battle, after all. But luckily, you were sent along with Seth as well; you were extremely thankful that he was there. He often took care of both you and Eirika when trouble came – and right now, you were facing dangerous trouble.

Your capable lance had grown weary under your overuse of it – and when you guarded Eirika with your weapon, it completely shattered from your hands. Immediately, you were caught off guard and pushed back due to the impact of the bandit’s axe. For a short moment, you became stunned – but you quickly snapped out of it once you saw Eirika almost barely being able to hold herself-

Thank the gods that Seth existed.

Seth quickly realized the danger that both of you two were in, and swooped in with his steed and sword in hand. He made no haste to slay the bandit and swept both of you away from the area once it was strayed clear from any bandits.

And for the rest of the day, you refused to look at Eirika or Seth in the eyes.

You were tormented by the failure of your preparations and your incapability to protect the Princess – someone who was crucial to the Grado family line – and your beloved. Failure hung onto you constantly – and you were so deep into your thoughts that you barely noticed when Eirika put a hand on your shoulders, softly asking: “[Name]? Are you alright?”

“P-Princess Eirika!”

Erika puffed her cheeks. “Back with the formalities again! [Name], can you please drop the formalities? We are lovers, are we not?”

Once again, your eyes averted to the ground, guilt now clawing up your back again like a parasite. Eirika takes notice of this, and guides one of your hands onto her cheek. 

“Is anything the matter, my love? You’ve been avoiding my eyes ever since the last battle, and it worries me so…”

When you finally looked into Eirika’s eyes, they were full of worry. Shame rose in your chest, and you couldn’t help but confess your failures as a lover to her. 

“Eirika, my dearest… Why don’t you feel contempt for me? I was unable to defend you during today’s battle, and it almost got you injured at the process. Why would you hold such respect for me, when I can’t fight for you in return? You are the princess of an entire kingdom, a much higher class than a common soldier than I am, and yet- “ 

“Stop!”

You widened your eyes when Eirika pulled you into a hug; her soft sobs could be felt as small rumbles on your armor, and all you could do was pull her in tighter.

“Why must you feel like that, [Name]…? Aren’t we lovers? We’re supposed to share burdens together, and yet you were tormented so by these thoughts…”

Your throat tightened.

“… But please, I am still here today. We are still both here right now.”

For the rest of the night, she brought you back into the little tent that both of you shared, reassuring any worries and invading thoughts you had in your head with sweet kisses and words. You would do better for her next time – you had to.

Tana

You had always known how competitive and overprotective Innes was when it came to the topic of his sister, Tana. He would always challenge you to any duels possible – whether it might be bow training, lance training, swordplay, and so on… So far, you’d been able to tie with him (miraculously, and to Tana’s delight). To be honest, courting Tana was quite tiring, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“[Name]! Just the person I wanted to see!” You turn around to see Innes walking up to you with a confident grin. “I doubt you’ll be able to triumph me in horse riding!”

“Again, Innes? Didn’t I beat you in that last time?” You returned his grin with a cheeky grin of your own, taking pleasure in his reddening face.

Innes’ face might have flushed with indignity, but he haughtily replied: “Hmph! Wait until you see me, you won’t be able compete with me now!”

“We’ll see about that,” Tana replies with a slight giggle in her throat.

… Truly, Innes did become better at horse riding. Extremely better, in fact. You found yourself at a disadvantage when your horse struggled to coordinate with your responses to overcome the hurdles in your way, yet when you glanced towards Innes’ direction, he was doing exceptionally well for an archer.

You were bested when you heard Innes’ laughter as your horse trotted towards the end of the obstacle course, with him proudly boasting how he was superior to you. You felt annoyance starting to build up within your body - but before you could make a retort back at Innes, Tana noticed the tension that quickly built up and immediately started to drag you away from Innes.

“Wow, good job brother! It’s amazing how you’ve really improved in such a short amount of time! But sorry, there’s no time to celebrate your victory now, [Name] and I have to run off to do something important now! See you in a bit!”

Despite Innes’ protests, she dragged you off into your shared private corners. Tana started to brush off any dirt or grime that was on you from that match.

“Tana…?” 

“Hush, [Name]. I know that my brother may seem arrogant and standoffish sometimes by initiating these silly competitions, but they’re important for my brother to see that you’re worthy of my attention. Please don’t hate him, he just wants to know that you’re good enough. And even if he thinks you aren’t, you will forever to me be.”

You sighed, but smiled when her hands delicately travelled up your face to clean. Once she deemed that your face was perfectly back to normal again, she kissed you sweetly on your lips and gave you a squeezing hug.

“I understand Tana. I’ve already noticed that from the past little tournaments we’ve already had before,” you laugh into her ear, reassuring that you could never hate her brother.

“But when you treat and spoil me like this after I lose to your brother, you almost make me want to lose to him every time,” Tana gasped, tongue almost ready to reprimand you until you smiled against her face and sweetly said: 

“You’re truly the light of my life.” You were happy knowing that despite everything and anything, she would love you nonetheless.

[dailybestiary]

Nemhain

Named after an Irish war goddess, the nemhain (pronounced “NAY-wuhn,” because Irish spelling is the world’s greatest exercise in trolling) is an undead creature who is interesting on a number of levels:

1) The nemhain chose to become undead—Bestiary 5 says “as a means of protecting a person, object, place, or ideal.”  That’s automatically interesting to me—committing yourself (and your loved ones; see below) to eternal unlife to protect something is devotion/fanaticism on a grand scale.  You don't do that just to guard treasure in a 10’x10’ room…but you might for a holy (or unholy) relic, a political movement, a beloved hero, etc.  Every nemhain once made a choice, and that means every nemhain has a story…perhaps one that your PCs would be wise to ferret out.

2) The nemhain is surrounded by a cloud of bound spirits—usually the spirits of her relatives or friends.  I love this because it recalls one of my favorite undead of all time, the gray philosopher (from the Creature Catalogue and the Monstrous Compendium: Mystara Appendix), whose malevolent thoughts took shape as wispy spirits called malices.  I also love it for the pure horror of this scenario—B5 makes it clear that these souls were usually unaware that they would be drawn into the nemhain-to-be’s self-sacrifice.  It’s one thing to consign yourself to eternity; it’s quite another to bring the local PTA along with you.  And speaking of which…

3) Some nemhains start out good—but they all become evil.  No matter how pure a nemhain-to-be’s motives, the vileness of undeath and the violation inherent in harvesting the souls of her loved ones seals her fate.  So the nemhain is at best a tragic figure whose single-mindedness damned both herself and those around her.  At worst, she’s an abomination willing to sacrifice anything—and anyone—to her cause.

All in all then, every nemhain is special, every nemhain has an interesting story, and every nemhain is deadly (CR 15) at the gaming table.

The pride of elves is dangerous indeed.  When a wild elf soothsayer foretold that the Rose Chamber would be claimed by the dead, the grey elf princess Dharotea swore it should never come to pass.  She promptly closed the borders to the human mage-scholars, the halfling river traders, and especially the dwarf nations and their necromancer-kings.  Even as her self-isolated nation suffered, Dharotea, now queen, never wavered—she would protect the capital, the palace, and its glittering Rose Chamber at any cost.  Finally, to stave off her own death, she performed the Act of Reaping to become a nemhain…inadvertently slaying the rest of the royal court and fulfilling the vision the soothsayer warned of so long ago.

No one expects a bardic college to be deadly—especially not one famous for its jugglers, tumblers, and acrobats.  But the nemhain known as the First Harlequin roams the Laernuin College grounds, and those he selects to perform in his monthly pantomimes must have the ancient forms memorized exactly or be struck down mid-performance.

The worst revolutionaries are the time-traveling ones.  After thwarting a dangerous anarchist—a fiendishly charismatic bard with enough alchemy under his belt to be a literal bomb thrower—adventures discover that he has hatched plots in both the future and the past to undo their hard work. Worse yet, defeating the anarchist’s allies in one time period doesn’t always mean they’re off the game board.  While in their own time the anarchist’s chief lieutenant, Victoria Graves, is too elderly to do more than fund whisper campaigns against them, in the past she is a dashing vigilante, and in the future she is a nemhain determined to see the Scarlet Revolution come to pass.

—Pathfinder Bestiary 5 182

I’ve always wanted to learn Irish (I’m still in touch with my whatever-cousins-however-removed in Carndonagh) but I’m pretty sure I’m 20 years too late for my brain to expand as far as it needs to.  (Hell, I bought a bodhrán in Donegal when I was 17 and I still can't play it, and I’ve been drumming since fourth grade.)

If you’re looking for a fantastic fall-from-grace tale that echoes the nemhain’s, I highly recommend Garth Nix’s Clariel: The Lost Abhorsen, as well as the rest of The Old Kingdom series.

[edream93]

Time Is Not A Toy

So I did a thing loosely based off of this post I replied to from @kindofchaoticgood a while ago. Essentially it started out as Ben and Uma bonding over times where Mal possibly used the “go back 15 minutes in time” spell she used in “Rise of the Isle of the Lost”. And then of course, I came along and just threw some angst at what could have been a Buma brotp experience by adding that not only does Mal’s spell make you question your memory, the more times she uses it the more it affects the magic users near her in increasingly detrimental ways until they’re not who they used to be. By the time Mal realizes what’s going on, it’s too late.

TL;DR: Mal’s time spell has very evil side effects.

Anyway, this had been in my head for weeks and I just needed to get it out. I hope you all enjoy some more angst. 

TW: mentions of suicide

--

Mal had a list of names that she went through everyday.

(Freddie Facilier.)

She just sat there.

Well technically Freddie always just sat there, once mischievous eyes, now seemingly unseeing. Strands of black and grey hair hung limply around her face, framing it in haunting shadows that seemed more alive and responsive than the girl they covered.

Mal could never stay too long in Freddie’s room. The shadows always seemed hostile in her presence, too close, too suffocating, too ready to drag her down to wherever they came from as payment for her sins.

Leaving the tray of food that she knew would still be untouched the next day, Mal walked down the hall, feeling knife cutting accusing glares of every non-magical imbued student. Another reminder that the Freddie’s shadow friends weren’t the only ones who perhaps wished to exact punishment on her.

Mal cooly walked past them, head held high, golden circlet denoting her rank as the King’s Lady firmly in place. She was forced to hold herself above their scathing glares and insulting comments; above their cries for justice, above their poison and assassination attempts. And instead of retaliating, she listened. She listened and empathized

(Jordan.)

She restrained herself from hissing and cursing and unleashing the fire that burned beneath her skin on all of them, those who once called her friend but now who spat on her name. They didn’t know her. They never knew her. They at first only saw her as the daughter of their most feared nightmare, wicked and cruel; then as a lady of the court, delicate with too bright smiles that blinded all from how she was screaming inside; and now, now she was their greatest nightmare reborn. At most, they demanded her blood, one life never being enough to return the many that were lost, but it would be justice! The dragon would be slayed! The kingdom would be safe once again.

(Jane.)

Instead, they found a second rate sorcerer - who had been miles and miles away, out of the reach of her accidental curse - to bind her powers tight, prickly underneath her skin.

Not even on the Isle did Mal wish for death as much as she did then.

She went to Harry Hook, at her lowest of lows, knowing that in the past the pirate never hesitated to show his complete and utter disdain for her. Harry would do it, she thought hopefully. Harry would kill her. After all, Mal took what was most precious to him…

But when she found the pirate, he waved her off like a pesky fly, turning his back on her as he crouched next to a smaller figure, patiently showing how to tie the simplest of sailing knots, never raising his voice as the once fearsome and passionate pirate queen and sea witch fumbled with knots that she should have been able to tie in her sleep once upon a time.

She had looked at Mal, head titled face blank. “Who is that?” she had asked the pirate next to her and Mal felt sick to her stomach at the question.

“No one to concern yourself with, love,” Harry had murmured gently, tying his own knot. That answered seemed to satisfy her as she turned away from Mal and back towards him.

“And who are you?”

Mal wished she could gouge out her eyes and never have to see the look of agony on the first mate’s face ever again as he gently replied, “Harry. Your Harry.”

The girl who both was and wasn’t his beloved captain nodded again, satisfied, looking down at her messy knot of ropes. “And who am I?”

Mal had turned away, running like she always did. The scene too intimate. Too heartbroken. All her fault. All her damn fucking fault...

(Uma.)

She never meant...This wasn’t supposed to…

“You did this,” Carlos had once whispered weeks ago, face expressionless as he went back and forth between feeding Evie - too gray, too quiet, too lifeless - and tucking in the blankets over Jay - face pale and parchment thin, eyes seemingly forever closed. He had turned to her, a shadow of the once bright and friendly and encouraging boy she once knew. Something though broke, like a damn breaking under so much pain and anger. “You knew that your mother’s spell book was dangerous! That every spell in it was meant for evil! And you still used it!” he cried, the other two occupants of the room unaware of the two most important people in their lives breaking. “And for what? To go back in time whenever you tripped and made an idiot out of yourself? Or to go back a few minutes when you just needed that strawberry smoothie before class and didn’t want to be late? Or when you couldn’t fucking own up to your own shit and just how much of a fucking disaster you are! Are you happy? Are you happy at how you destroyed our family?”

(Jay.)

(Evie.)

“I’m sorry” Mal had whispered tears streaming down her face. “I am so, so sorry Carlos!”

A dark laugh that sounded eerily too much like his mother’s left Carlos’s mouth as he slowly applauded her. “Oh lookit here,” he sneered. “She does know how to say sorry. Thought you were allergic apologies.”

“Carlos, please! You’re all I have left,” Mal begged. “I can fix this!”

“Like you did with Ben?”

(Ben.)

Mal looked at him, silently begging him to not turn her away. Trying to push away memories of a boy with a too kind smile and eyes that had so much hope for the future. She tried to push away thoughts of a boy who began to fear his memory when it went from 15 minutes that couldn’t be remembered to whole days forgotten. Who after months of this, fear and self-doubt invited him to fall several stories out the window of King Adam’s tallest tower.

At that point she had started sobbing, unintelligible sounds coming out as she attempted to beg with him to not leave her alone. To not turn his back on her.

The boy chuckled again, a dark hollow sound as he returned to his caretaker duty, ignoring how she crumbled inside. “Thought so.”

(Freddie Facilier.)

(Jordan.)

(Jane.)

(Uma.)

(Jay.)

(Evie.)

(Ben.)

Mal had a list of names that she went through everyday.

The list of names was always growing both with names that she was very familiar with and with those she had never heard of before, never set eyes on them, never would get to know them as they were before. Names that wailing mothers carved out into her brain until their voices went raw.

And despite all that, despite the many statements, apologies, donations, penance, and libraries filled with rare spell books she went through, there would be seven names she herself would mourn daily.

(Freddie Facilier.)

(Jordan.)

(Jane.)

(Uma.)

(Jay.)

(Evie.)

(Ben.)

[runesrule]

A legend reborn: Guy Richie reimagines King Arthur (and should probably take a chill pill before directing any more movies)

It’s fairly well known that any film directed by Guy Richie should come with some kind of warning that encompasses overuse of shaky-cam, jump-shots, abrupt transitions and an all-around epileptic-fit inducing, cheerleader-on-speed style of film-making. King Arthur: Legend of the Sword, is no different in that regard. However, for a film which on the surface is everything I hate—it’s a cookie-cutter style Straight White Hollywood Wet Dream—I got totally, totally suckered in.

Here there be spoilers, kids. 

I can only partly blame it on my massive and enduring crush on Charlie Hunnam. There’s also the fact that they’ve actually managed to do something new with an ancient myth in a visually epic extravaganza, the awesome soundtrack and the ambiguous nature of character alignments. 

Charlie Hunnam’s King Arthur isn’t the clean-cut Lawful Good protagonist we’re used to seeing in this role. At best, this King Arthur is a True Neutral, at worst Chaotic Neutral. This is not a man who gives a flying rat’s arse about rules or any kind of heroic morality. His motivations are simple; look after me and mine, in that order, and the rest of the world can burn. When a wounded rebel chooses to hide in the brothel which Arthur lives, the dialogue seems to be leading to the obvious heroic choice for Arthur to aid the wounded, bleeding man. Instead, he turns him over to the villainous Sergeant Jackseye without a second thought. Even when Arthur finally chooses to join the fight against his uncle, the tyrannical King Vortigan, it’s not for any reasons of nobility or ‘the greater good’. It’s only after Vortigan’s men literally burn his entire life to the ground, forcing the people he cares about on the run that he darkly vows to kill slay the monster. When his offsider Back Lack points out that the rebels who remain of King Uther’s court are going to be happy to hear the prophesised king say such a thing, Arthur darkly replies: “I’m not doing this for them.” Any story with an interesting protagonist deserves a compelling antagonist. Luckily, Jude Law delivers. King Vortigan, brother of King Uther, a mage, advisor, husband and father, is one of those bad guys whose deeper motivations can be argued about again and again. There are those who will sympathise with his actions, those apologists who’ll claim that there is good in him, and those who’ll say that one tiny hint of actual humanity does not make a monster a man. He’s almost Darth Vader in his ambiguity of character. I mean, obviously he’s a power-starved egomaniac who straight up murders his own brother after siccing a crazed lunatic hopped up on dark magic after his kingdom, but… He displays empathy. He screams out in agonised grief after slaughtering both his wife and daughter in exchange for power from creepy lake-Ursula and her equally creepy daughters/sister-wives. How does one categorise a villain who lets jealousy and greed consume him to the point he’ll murder his own beloved family, and then mourn them with tears and a broken heart? In the wise words of Detective Jake Peralta:  ‘Cool motive, still murder’ However, the hint of a deep, vibrant conflict within him does add an interesting element to the theme of power and corruption that runs through-out the film. (Now there’s a sentence straight out of my Year 12 English essays) After pulling the sword from the stone and being captured, Arthur and Vortigem have a conversation about power in Arthur’s cell. Arthur denies ever having any power, “-or any desire to achieve it,” despite exuding dominance over lesser thugs throughout the entire introduction. On the streets of Londinium, Arthur is a medieval kingpin, leaving Vortigem to—quite rightly—wonder: “What kind of man would you have become had you inherited your father’s kingdom?...what gave you such drive?” The answer, of course, is that this hero has been forged in a crucible of broken knuckles and cheating death and scrounging for a living on the mean streets of post-Roman Londinium. This is the Han Solo to Darth Vader, and what that really means is the King Arthur who retrieves the sword from the stone in Guy Riche’s telling is a whole other animal to any mythos that we’re familiar with. A lot of the central figures of the Arthurian legend are missing in this retelling. There’s the vague idea that Merlin’s out in the world somewhere, perhaps in hiding from Vortigan. The monolithic figure of Mordred gets killed off in the first five minutes after playing into Vortigan’s plot to overthrow his brother, Uther. There’s no Guinevere, only a mysterious woman known only as the Mage, apparently sent by Merlin, who acts as both spiritual guide and shrink for King Arthur. Of course, there is a sword in a stone which must be retrieved by the true king of England—the Born King, in this case. The stone in which Arthur pulls Excalibur from is, in fact, his father’s magically petrified body which is a very cool, poetic representation of the he took up his father’s sword storyline. (Also, super disturbing when you really get to thinking about it. No wonder baby!Arthur repressed the hell out of that shit) There’s cameos from a couple of the Knights of the Round Table; notably Sir Bedivere, who doesn’t normally crack a mention in film adaptations. He’s played by Djimon Housou , our resident Token Black Dude. A Chinese Sir George and an ethically ambiguous Sir Tristan also get a place at the Round Table. Don’t get me wrong; there’s a lot wrong with this film. To start with, it doesn’t even come close to passing the Bechtel Test, the lowest possible bar you could set for female representation. It’s whiter than me after a summer in New Zealand and it plays fast and loose with history. (Seriously, this is a fantasy Dark Ages King Arthur shoved into a post-Roman occupation Britain and costumes that are aiming more to make Charlie Hunnam look good than historical accuracy.) Look, it’s a fantasy. We can suspend our disbelief for psychically-controlled war elephants and wish-granting squid-ladies, we can probably work with gangster Arthur raised in a brothel owning a pristine white jacket and being taught kung fu by a Chinese dude who doesn’t seem to have any other occupation. It’s also got David Beckham wearing scar make-up and a prosthetic nose, some seriously cool special effects, a banging soundtrack, and Charlie Hunnam. So, screw it. I’m allowed to have the occasional guilty pleasure, and this one is mine.