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darkpoisonouslove · 3 years

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Witch x Witch Hunter AU

You’d be correct in guessing this is a new AU that I have come up with and I have zero idea what to title it yet! I just have to talk about it and that is why we’re doing a different WIP Wednesday this week.

To give a little history on this, I watched a review of a book that I haven’t read (Serpent & Dove) about 3 weeks ago. And it wasn’t until a week later (on my birthday actually) that I went to bed and randomly thought of a way to fix up the driving event of the book. From there my AU quickly spiraled into a novel-length story that I’m piecing together relatively quickly. This has been on my mind ever since I came up with it and I am obsessed with how it’s actually turning out. I am less obsessed with the fact that it will most certainly be 40+ chapters but what can you do about it? The story demands what it demands. I have written down half a notebook for this already and I have managed to get to the outline of chapter 18. I have solid ideas up to chapter 20 and a general sense of how the rest is going to go plus more emotional development of the characters as well as of their relationship.

To summarize briefly - Griffin is a witch who is looking to access Eraklyon’s top secret library/spell reserve. That leaves her having to face Valtor who is a witch hunter. Griffin is in for a nasty surprise when Valtor turns out to have much more powerful magic than she could have anticipated and Valtor is in for a nasty surprise when Griffin manages to stab him with his own blade. In the end of their fight, Valtor captures her and saves her life from the crowd gathering that would have torn her apart. Griffin is a prisoner to the Eraklyon crown and gets sentenced to death at the stake. However, she is offered a deal - marry Valtor to act as his cover for infiltrating the largest and most notorious witch coven and get to live another day. No one’s giving her any guarantees about her safety during the mission or her fate after her job is done and she has a secret she must protect at all costs. To top it all off, the royal family of Domino approaches her with the true agenda behind the mission and she is forced to reevaluate her own priorities and feelings on the public’s general attitude towards witches as well as her interactions with Valtor, who is struggling with the demons of his own past and present.

That was not entirely brief but I have only made it up to chapter 6-7 there. Here is a little sneak peak from chapter 8. Valtor has just informed of all the atrocities the Coven has committed and Griffin is being forced to acknowledge his disgust of witches. Or rather she’s looking for a way to avoid acknowledging it.

“Why would they do that and make everyone hate witches?” As if the general public needed more excuses to murder innocents. Covens were becoming a rarity when the most common safety precaution witches chose to take was solitude. To have the luxury of community and throw it away to make life harder for your own kind, for those witches out there who were on their own... Griffin herself was still worlds away for becoming so jaded by witches’ constant mistreatment that she’d stop caring for the people like herself.

“Because they don’t care about others. Including their own.” Valtor’s eyes had strayed from the memory of her retching over a poor’s girl agonizing death at the stake that should have been hers but there was a certain smugness to his gaze as it challenged her to prove him wrong.

“What if they’re being framed?” That was unlikely but she couldn’t lead a dialogue about nuanced moralities with his refusal to acknowledge the existence of morality in witches. She was having a hard time proving the loyalty between witches as a lone witch and he took her silence as support of his ludicrous notions.

“Why would anyone try to frame them?” Valtor was rather pushing to make her stumble than from honest interest in a continuing debate.

“To get rid of them.” Out of all people she would’ve thought he’d grasp the objective. “I told you - royals fear dark magic because it’s powerful.” Without the shackles that had been on her wrists or the chip in her neck that could blow up her magic Erendor and Samara’s crowns would have been nothing more but clay in her hands. She could have fashioned their demise with the snap of her fingers and the only person that could have stopped her was also forced to obey their will.

“It’s dangerous,” Valtor sounded like they’d put a whole new brain in him instead of just chipping him.

“You have it.” And he was a rare case of voluntary possession of magic. So many witches she’d met would have traded their magic for some peace and safety but he’d chosen to have it instead. He didn’t have the moral high ground to stand on.

“Which is how I know it. Negative emotions are a hazard to society in and of themselves. Add magic that is powered by them and we’re witnessing catastrophe after catastrophe caused by the coven you’re defending.” He wasn’t going to use her own points against her. He’d already stolen her life and her magic.

“If they weren’t necessary, they wouldn’t exist.” Dark magic wouldn’t exist either without purpose but his delusion was far too grand for that to reach through it.

“Are you telling me that I had to go through the...” Valtor swallowed, and then again - all the words he was discarding from fear, “pain I was put through?” He balled his fists and Griffin’s muscles tensed. He needed her alive, not necessarily untouched.

“That’s not what I meant.” How could she tell him he’d deserved to have his body defiled and his heart poisoned with hate? He’d brought on so much pain under the reign of his own. How could she stand to watch that cycle repeat over and over again? “I mean negative emotions in general, not in specific instances. In certain situations it is more appropriate to feel negative emotions. It wouldn’t be right not to feel sad over the loss of someone you care about.”

Valtor looked away again, his hands clasped together in his lap. Whatever he was holding in his white-knuckled grip on himself wasn’t good.

“You would want to be angry at something wrong,” Griffin licked her lips. Finding the similarities between the two of them wasn’t easier for her than it was for him. The song from their car ride was echoing in her head. Their favorite. “Without loneliness you’ll never know you want another’s presence. Fear tells you what you need to reshape to have a better life. Without any of that how can you be human?”

Valtor pounced off the bed, shoulders shaking as he turned his back on her like a wall he raised between them. “There was nothing humanly about Belladonna. She was a monster,” his voice was so low it dove below what she could hear every time he lost a grip on the trembling of it.

“Yes, a monster who happened to be a witch.” He hadn’t shown Griffin much humanity either. It only made him more human as he struggled with the weakness he’d forced her to endure as well. “Not all witches are like that. Haven’t you seen positive emotions in me, anything good at all?” Granted, she hadn’t had any reason to smile since she’d met him but that just made her more human, too, as she pushed through to find some sliver of happiness or at least something to hold on to.

Valtor whipped around, the motion so abrupt that Griffin’s stomach curled in a ball as she held her breath. He was going to crumble in pieces right there in the middle of their hotel room.

“That’s different,” Valtor croaked out, the words coming out as if he was chewing glass while he spoke just to shred them. His eyes were so wide his face had to have changed proportions permanently to accommodate his bewilderment.

“It is because you’ve never spent enough time with a witch to see anything but terror and aggression.” Griffin had to swallow tears. If not for him, then at least for the witches he’d tortured and killed just because of the evil he’d been raised with. “I am capable of all the same emotions that you feel and so are other witches. Maybe not all of them, but we’re not all evil either.” She’d caught him before he’d frozen in his own space of mind again. She had to keep him on that thin edge where she’d gotten him to meet her world. “Anyone who knows you’re a demon would think you’re an abomination, too. But you’re not, are you? You can feel something good.” Whatever sick pleasure or relief he got from murdering was not something she’d count even if it were the first thing coming to mind. But she’d seen him relax as he’d sat in the driver’s seat, had seen him tap his fingers on the steering wheel in tact with the music, had seen him radiate joy when he’d been in his element.

Valtor’s voice was hardly a whisper as his gaze burned into her eyes. “I don’t know. What does your book say?”

Griffin clutched at the pages to keep the book in her lap as she staggered. She’d pushed against the world telling her she was a monster but Valtor had only had the strength to free himself from his abuser, not from the darkness instilled in him as well. “What does your heart say?”

He gave her a soulless chuckle. “Which one? The one I ate or the one that was eaten?” His fingers twitched and closed into his shirt. He had to pry it out of his grip with his other hand to avoid tearing it off to reopen the scar on his chest. “I don’t think either one of them has felt anything good, ever.”

“There’s always a first time, right?” She was a first for him no matter what he said. Their marriage was just a cover but the blade in his hand had been real, and his murderous intent had been as tangible as the shackles on her wrists suppressing her magic. And he’d dropped it before she’d been any use for his mission.

Valtor didn’t say anything but his peace of mind was restored to let him sit back on the bed next to a witch he had to share it with.

#winx club #winx griffin #winx valtor #griffin x valtor #covenshipping #witch x witch hunter au #my wips #my fanfic #wip wednesday #excerpt #snippet #fanfic snippet

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the-order-of-fools · 3 years

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The knights' treasured keepsakes? Specter Knight has his locket and Propeller his rose but what about the other knights? Also, I just remembered reading something in the comments section on Treasure Knight's wiki page where it mentioned a dev (I think Sean Velasco??) saying TrK used to have a wife and I thought you'd find that interesting.

This was such a fun idea to work on. We made Treasure’s ex wife a buff, sea dragon corsair. King Knight happens to be quite the materialist. His Majesty proves himself to be superior to others once again as he not only has one personal keepsake, but two; the first being his iconic crown. His loving and supportive mom once bought him a platinum crown (platinum wasn't considered a valuable metal, so it used to be quite cheap) which he painted with a gold layer and decorated himself. He's incredibly proud of his work. During his early days adventuring (in search of kingdom to rightfully conquer, despite the fact that he was quite literally in a kingdom already), he had amassed enough jewels and gold to improve not only his crown, but also afford a hefty gold armor (though - he could only afford a gold finish and not a suit made entirely out of gold - and you do not want to show up to a duel in what is practically a flashy cardboard box). The second keepsake is his cape, as his mom has lovingly sown it for him. Even if he occasionally denies it, he's attached to his mom's gifts. It's as simple as that

Specter Knight has his dear locket. Gifted to him by his late friend Luan, Specter finds himself heartbroken whenever his mind wanders to it. What he now realizes was practically an engagement ring, was a testament of the bond shared between them, a bond forged through years of thievery. If only he could have realized his feelings for Luan were more than platonic... Bitterness fills his heart when he recalls the showdown at the Tower of Fate, how he had forsaken his only chance at humanity in exchange for Reize's freedom. He does no regret it one bit, even if a frighteningly selfish part of him wishes he had just accepted his reward without a fuss. For a moment, the memory of the locket doesn't stab into his dead heart. Perhaps he could take it out of its chest again? Just for a moment, to remember the last gift Luan bestowed upon him

Mole Knight has always been a being of simple tastes. He's happy with what he has, he's happy with who he is. Still, he knows that he could never have the life he has if it wasn't for his beloved armor. Yes, the armor he possessed is his keepsake. It's resistant enough to face the high temperatures of a lava-filled mine, and it allows him to perform all of his tasks easily. He found it one lucky day when he was still a shapeless mass of sentient magic, seeping into the very soil the mine workers always dug through. The armor he found seemed to bear the appearance of a giant mole - maybe the legacy of an ancient civilization of giant moles? Still, he had no problem claiming it as his. He has never thought about changing it, he feels comfortable in it - you could say that it has become his permanent house. Plus, it gives him the appearance from which his name is taken, Mole Knight wouldn't be Mole Knight without his armor

Plague Knight has his reasons to keep a giant grimoire close to his heart. His birth was... complicated, he gained his sentience artificially, and whoever created him left this strange book before he disappeared. It's a little bigger than Plague himself, but he can use it just fine (as long as his Plague minions put enough work into holding the giant thing). The tome contains a variety of alchemical formulas, old legends and spells. They were all written by hand - and Plague has taken the liberty to add his own formulas, the most notable one detailing the process of creating a human-shaped body out of magic. Sadly, certain pages have been ripped out at some point. He has managed to find a few of them hidden throughout the Explodatorium, but most seem to have vanished

Tinker Knight is the most practical out of the entire Order. He must have at least one thing he particularly cares about. Every engineer, no matter how old and skilled, must have started from scraps and faulty attempts - our tiny Knight is no different. Back when he was still an amateur, his head was already buzzing with ideas that he promptly scribbled down as blueprints. Only one of these projects was put into practice in order to create a little basic robot with no function other than moving around and emitting monotone beeping sounds. It wasn't the result Tinker Knight had hoped for, but it was a starting point and he was still proud of it. To this day, he keeps his first blueprints and the -now old and unusable- little robot. He has challenged himself to renew the blueprints and bring them to life thanks to the skills he has acquired. Once the Order will fully establish its power and he’ll find some spare time for himself, he may take up those old scraps once again

Treasure Knight is greedy. A greedy underwater pirate who is obsessed with gold. If one were to guess his most beloved keepsake, they would turn their gaze to his treasure vault. Despite this educated guess, there's something more to him. He may seem shallow on the outside, but he treads deep waters. Inside his vault, away from the most desired riches, lays a small chest. Inside of that chest sits a silver ring with a pearl head. At first glance, it seems awfully suspicious. Why leave a single ring in a chest all to itself? Does it hold great power? Can it lead you to an even greater treasure trove? No. It's a memento. A memento of someone he can only come to describe as his past wife. During their first meeting, she decked him. Hard. How they had gotten along after that is unknown to him, but at some point, they simultaneously accepted the fact that they were a couple, and with it, he gifted her a ring resembling her pearly dragon scales. However, sea captains aren't bound to stay together. His choice of pursuing riches was clear, and forcing her morality onto him wasn't ideal. She gave it back right before she left - the same ring locked in that little chest. He doesn't regret it, or so he tells himself

Polar Knight is awfully difficult to read. The mysterious aura that envelops him might appear as apathy and hardness of heart, which seems to drive away the majority of adventurers. As you may guess, this titanic Knight does not have a keepsake. Or at least, one that he could define as a possession of his. If you pay attention, you'll see how deeply he seems to care for life. The loyal Spinwolves that never leave his side, a poor black tortoise that he took care of when its master was nowhere to be found. The icy wastelands around the Stranded Ship claim many lives, but not as many as it used to, back when Polar Knight didn't preside the lands that were rightfully entrusted to him by the Enchantress. He took care of them, nursing them to health until they were able to leave the Stranded Ship again. His keepsake might not belong to him directly, but it's one that gives him immense satisfaction - and a sense of redemption from the terrible duty he has decided to honor

Propeller Knight is a stud. Some may come to ask themselves: has anyone conquered this gentleman's heart? Yes, you thirsty motherfuckers, but not in the way you may expect. Propeller was a bit of a wild card during his younger years (to be fair, he remains as flighty as ever), and during that period, he had been through many on and off relationships, mostly due to his tendency to court others, single or married. Though, one of them was different. The bouts of love were nothing compared to the flame burning bright within his heart. There was only one problem: his newfound lover was very ill. Propeller wasn't one to quit. For perhaps the first time in his life, he had truly felt love and affection for someone, and he cared for them until their very last breath, holding the very final present he had given them, a brilliant rose. He had arranged for them to be buried quietly, and planted roses at their grave. He took the last rose that they've ever held and found a fellow who enchanted it for him. His lover has faded into the realm of the dead, but the rose will forever remain intact. He placed it in a chest for safekeeping, and left. Members of his crew, as ordered, continue to keep a watchful eye over it

Black Knight might have an infamous reputation, but we all know that he's the romantic type deep inside. His romantic vein might be a little twisted, just like his sense of justice, but this doesn't mean that he's uncaring. He happens to have two keepsakes instead, one of them being his mighty steed. Black Knight raised Terrorpin with all the care and patience he could muster (something you wouldn't expect from him) as the creature mistook him for its mom when its egg hatched unexpectedly, right as the Knight was passing by. How lucky, if it wasn't for the fact that Black Knight wasn’t (and still isn't) quite the perfect parent, that little tortoise would have been no more. He tried his best, though. His second keepsake is his beloved Shovel Blade, which was forged by the same blacksmith who created Shovel Knight and Shield Knight's weapons. He wanted to wield the same weapon as his rival. He must have had his reasons. He, too, is a very practical person, so it's no mystery that he prefers weapons over useless trinkets

-Mod Tinker and ~Mod Propeller

#shovel knight #treasure knight #Specter Knight #king knight #Tinker Knight #mole knight #plague knight #polar knight #propeller knight #black knight

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cannibalcreeps · 4 years

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Yandere Hilliker Brothers x Reader.

I had to look up what Yandere fully requires (I know what it means but want to make sure I got it right)

And lol one definition is like ‘Looks sweet and innocent but secretly obsessive and violent to get the one they love’ and those boys are far from sweet or innocent and they already pretty much act that way lol.

So here we go!

With the Hilliker brothers, the idea of being obsessive over something is nothing new, if they want a thing they will rip apart any human being that stood in their way towards the object of their interest or affection.

So this is like normal shit for them lol

Saw-Tooth: The quiet ‘Yandere’

You never knew what was going through this big man's mind, he would always just stare and have the most bored, uninterested look on his face, you could never pinpoint his emotions or intentions, but one thing was for sure he was rarely ever sweet or kind, especially to victims. The man was brutal when it came to killing people, but lately you had noticed the man had amped up his cruelty whenever an outsider even glanced your way. You had just been tightening up the restraints of a thin scraggly man who had the misfortune of being knocked out by Three-Fingers and dragged all the way back to the hut, strung upside down on the butcher cross to be carved out soon.

When the man awoke he was dazed and confused before struggling and screaming, Saw-Tooth was just a few feet away, ignoring the man’s yells but still glanced up to see if you were handling it fine, which indeed you did by punching the man square in the nose. He let out a gurgled groan as blood dripped from his broken nose and down his head, you smirked and rubbed you bloodied knuckles over his ripped shirt before tugging on the last of the ropes to make sure it was all tight and good, that’s when the sudden strew of verbal abuse was thrown at you. “You fucking piece of shit! W-When i get out of here I’ll kill you!” The man began to shout at you, you were about to shout back only to have the man spit blood at your face. You let out a disgusted cry and began wiping at your eyes and mouth as the man continued on berating you. “I’ll smash your skull in! I’ll cut off your head and shi-” You were still wiping at your face with your shirt when you heard the man's taunts cut off and replaced with the sounds of his gurgled chokes and a sick sliding noise of a blade being pushed through flesh. As you finally cleaned the nasty spit from your face you looked up to see Saw-Tooth digging his hunters knife through the man’s mouth, a dark angered look was featured on his face as he used his palm to push the knife in bit by bit, the strangers body violently shaking as he was still alive through the torturous punishment. The man’s eyes finally rolled back into his skull when the whole blade had gone from his mouth to the back of his head, his body twitching here and there. You were a bit surprised by Saw-Tooth’s actions, how his body was tense and breathing heavily as though the insults were thrown at him instead of you.

Tentatively you reached out to touch his large forearm “Hey….it’s okay” You began to say, but shut up when the enraged look turned from the dead body towards you. Your body froze, fear running through your brain, your eyes going wide and Saw-Tooth saw it all and he hated how you looked at him like you were afraid of him.

So his angered look melted away to a one of concern and then suddenly an emotion you had never quite seen before. He seemed to be just staring into you, eyes half lidded and a small smile forming on his deformed mouth as he ran a hand through your hair and down to cup your cheek, tracing a thumb over your lips. You were so confused by the action that all you could do was stare, you became even more confused when he leaned in and pressed his large lip against you temple and stayed like that for a good moment, your face heating up from the tenderness this large cannibal was showing.

The moment didn’t last long when he let you go and went back to his usual uncaring expression, giving the corpse one swift elbow to it’s stomach before returning to what he was doing prior.

You stood there dazed for a bit before collecting back your thoughts and starting on the gutting, but now you began shooting glances at Saw-Tooth wondering what you had to do to get him to do that again.

One-Eye: The Silly ‘Yandere’

It was obvious One-Eye was into you, how he stared so longingly at you whenever you’re close by, having his big goofy smile on his face when he sees you and listening to every word that drops from your lips.

His affection was always bashful though, staring at you with his large puppy eye every time you were so gentle and kind with him, he craved your attention and love so much, he wanted to drown in it. He could be shy at times, but the man would grow more confident in pulling you towards him to show how sweet he could be.

But when there were others involved that tried to give you similar attention, other than his family of course, that sweet cuteness was replaced by this ungodly rage you never thought could ever emit from this man.

You had been acting as a lone hiker coming across a bunch of camping college students one day, being as you looked pretty harmless and friendly you could integrate quite quickly into a group of fun-loving partying people who had no idea they were being watched by one of the cannibal brothers who had tagged along with you.

You were flirting with one of the women in the group, letting her grind and dance up around you and smiling when she whispered sweet lusty words into your ear. It was all a ruse as you had no interest in her at all, but you played along by biting you lower lip, you let her take you hand and drag you to a more private area in the forest, the both of you having no idea the seething rage of jealousy and anger that was now following you.

You let yourself be pinned up against a tree while the girl continued telling you how hot you were and how much she wanted to play with you, you were stronger than her but continued to let yourself be handled whilst reaching behind your back to pull out the hidden knife.

You were just about to slash it across her face before her hair was suddenly yanked back as One-Eye came yelling from the bushes. He had a fistful of her hair, tilting her head back so she would stare shocked and frightened at his teeth-baring, glaring expression. You were just as shocked as the woman, this wasn’t the plan at all, One-Eye was risking everything by grabbing the woman like this.

She was about to let out a scream when she got over her confusion only to have One-Eye force her head forwards towards the tree, you had to jump out of the way so as to not have her body thrown into yours as the Hilliker man slammed her face into the bark over and over until her gargled cries and gasps went silent and her body slumped, her skull crushed into nothing but gooey flesh and gore with hair.

One-Eye was growling and letting out a range of angered and upset yells as he kept slamming the ruined woman’s head into the tree, you had to grab him by his arm to stop him “She’s dead! She’s dead stop it!”

Your yelling was enough to make him stop, dropping the mangled corpse to the ground so he could grab you and pull you close into a tight hug, your face being smooshed into his chest as he let out a range of whines and grunts, swaying side to side as he held you.

You couldn’t understand why he lashed out in such a way, but reached around to rub his back to comfort him. “I’m here….I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have let it go that far….I am not leaving” You’d whisper, looking up to stare up at his pouting face. “You’re a good boy” You’d smile, sticking out your tongue playful which One-Eye responded by sticking out his tongue as well along with a smile.

Now you had to make up a new plan to deal with the fact there was a ‘missing’ woman from the college group.

Three-Fingers: The insane ‘Yandere’

Oh yeah nobody was getting between you and Three-Fingers, well other than his brothers, but nobody else was getting between you and Three-Fingers. This man is malicious, cruel and adorably fun. Quick witted and even quicker in speed, Three-Fingers was obsessed with you and made it very well known to the point you did not find it strange that he would kill anyone that even looked at you funny.

While the two other brothers surprised you at times, seeing Three-Fingers swoop in to stab someone for breathing the same air as you was always amusing to the point you would do it on purpose just to watch what he would do next.

So here you were, watching two young men trek through the old road the ran through the mountain forest, you and Three-Fingers had been stalking them for a good long while and were planning to jump them once they reached the second curve up ahead, but you were bored listening to them rant about bullshit outside life, you wanted something to happen.

So with a mischievous smile you left your post, you knew you were going to get into the biggest of troubles but you also knew it was going to be worth it. You did a bit of a roll down a ditch real quickly to get some scrapes and dirt, grabbing a rock to tear at the old shirt you were wearing before letting out an ungodly screech that caught both the two men and Three-Fingers attention, the scrawny cannibal had been following on the other side of the road, hidden in bushes and the thick trees, thinking you were doing the same as he was. His heart hammering as he thought you had gotten caught, about to bolt his ass to your position only to see you stumbling through the road and towards the two men, his blood beginning to boil at seeing how the two grabbed you and asked if you were alright.

What were you doing? This was not what you two agreed on, why were they touching your face!? He let out an angry range of giggles that made the two men head snap around to see where the noises came from, a smirk forming on your face quickly as you knew what was about to go down but you had to quickly turn into the scared victim.

“Please! He’s out there! He has kept me captured for so long, please help me!” You sobbed, clinging onto one of the men who held you tight as the other was trying to pull out his phone to call for help, but you knew it was useless, there was never any service out here.

Before you could say another word, an arrow shot into the back of the head of the man who held the phone, he stumbled slightly before falling dead on the road. The man with you let out a scream, you doing the same as you gripped onto him to keep up the ruse.

Three-Fingers suddenly burst through the bushes and ran towards you and the man, your grip tightening as he attempted to run, screaming and confused.

As the cannibal jumped at you both did you let the man go and quickly crawl out of the way as Three-Fingers began clawing and punching into the man. Pushing his fingers into the man’s eyes and biting his nose off, the man tried to fight back only to have the arm that had been holding you pinned down and the small hatchet that usually hung on Three-Fingers belt was grabbed and being slammed into the man’s flesh.

His screams were loud and echoed across the forest, only to drift into silence when Three-Fingers put his deformed hand into the man’s mouth and yank out his tongue.

All the while you watched gleefully, clapping your hands at the brutal massacre that was in front of you. Letting out angry hisses, Three-Fingers gave the dead body as few slaps across the face, holding the detached arm before turning to look at you with annoyance. Angrily he squabbled and hissed at you, point the mans limb at you as he practically told you off in his wordless squawks and sneering giggles.

“Aww, I’m sorry….I just wanted to see how much you cared about me” You pouted, acting all innocent and sweet, which Three-Fingers responded by narrowing his eyes and making a long winded “eeeeeegh” sound before walking over to you and pulling you up to hug you close, using the detached hand to pat your hair and smack you butt a few times.

At least there was dinner for tonight now.

#Wrong Turn #Wrong Turn writings #I hope I did it right idk I don't tend to watch anime or anything with yandere in it #hilliker brothers #it is cute tho and them getting aggressive and possessive is normal UwU #One-Eye needs hugs after slamming someones face into a tree #but i like writing the whole pushing knife through someones mouth from Saw-Tooth

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eldunea · 4 years

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god ok i haven’t even started anakin’s blog yet but i already have his entire pokéverse thought out here i go

ORIGINS.

anakin was born in my fakémon region of preuzien to an enslaved old prussian (prūsai) family. in real life the old prussians were exterminated but in the pokémon world they were made the slaves of the junker ruling class. when the allies came into germany after wwii they tried to put a stop to this but unfortunately were not entirely successful.

as in canon, he has no biological human father, he’s like……the universe’s kid or something, it’s where he gets his insane powers from. in this verse he is also definitely a chosen one, but don’t take that to mean he isn’t a douche because he still totally is

like in canon he was a racer, but he didn’t race pods he raced dragons. his master knew he could make big bucks off him from an early age due to his abilities so according to prussian custom he was put on a dragon before he could learn to walk and learned how to ride that way.

he speaks three languages: german, prūsiskai (the old prussian language) and english. his inability to speak japanese has been a weakness of his that he wants to improve on, and so he is studying that as well.

his first pokémon was a racing noivern that he named majjis, which is old prussian for “corn.” she loves her name and he didn’t even change it after he went vader, it was real fucking obvious which one of “team sith” would go back to the light side when all the other admins named their pokémon stuff like “void devourer” and “bone crusher” and here was darth vader with his ace named fucking. corn. he is currently 36 and starting from like age 10 he never lost a single race while riding corn until he was finally defeated by his son luke.

also like in canon, he won his freedom in a race but was unable to free his mother. much like lotor at the age of 12, anakin had the sense to get the fuck out of preuzien, but unlike lotor, nothing pressing dragged him back. he went to make a name for himself as a trainer and racer around the world, and also became the world’s strongest psychic.

he did go back to prussia briefly to rescue his mom. by that point shmi had been brutally beaten for refusing to give sexual favors to her master, and died in anakin’s arms. enraged, he slaughtered the entire family that had enslaved him.

DESCENT AND REDEMPTION.

as in canon, he was tormented by prophetic dreams of his lover padmé amidala dying and was corrupted by sheev palpatine to join the sith order (colloquially referred to as “team sith”), a criminal organization in orre that stole some of team snagem’s shadow-turning techniques and aimed to do it on a grander scale. palpatine’s goal was to build something known as the shadow star, a weapon so powerful that when aimed at a planet, it could turn all beings shadow, even arceus. the sith order would then use shadow control techniques to rule the world. but one thing that palpatine was also obsessed with was the search for immortality, which is how he baited anakin into joining him--by promising he could save the one he loved.

when anakin became darth vader, he allowed palpatine to turn him into a SHADOW HUMAN, just like all the other team sith admins. this means that much like a shadow pokémon, the door to his heart was sealed and much of his original personality was subsumed into just. this roiling inner turmoil of anger and violence. formally, nobody knew that star trainer and dragon racer anakin skywalker was actually underground crime lord darth vader, but they could all tell that something was really, really wrong because he started becoming colder and more withdrawn to his fans that he had formerly loved.

nobody guessed that he had become a shadow, however, because they all attributed his change in personality to the cybernetic enhancements he had been given. by this point he had lost half his head and three of his limbs in battle, and so they were replaced with prosthetics and his artificial brain was enhanced with programming for metagross supercomputers. metagross are known for being assholes who think more like machines than living beings, so it was easy for his adoring fans to believe that anakin’s change of personality was no fault of his own.

he was purified by his children, luke and leia. they were battling rivals who later discovered that they were twins and figured out who their father was. meeting them, he felt human again for the first time when he was around them…then they told him they wanted to defeat the evil darth vader and darth sidious and restore balance to orre, and he was just. well this is awkward.

his first instinct was to just kill his children but something held him back. so instead of killing them, he accompanied them on pointless missions that would ultimately lead them nowhere near close to defeating him and sidious--just to keep them distracted. little did he know, the more he fought alongside them and spent time with them, the more his heart gauge was emptied and the closer he became to purification.

much like a shadow pokémon, the more he was purified, the more his body and brain resisted it. finally the temptation to stay shadow became too strong, at which point he told his kids he was vader, locked them up, and turned them over to sidious to dispose of them. they managed to escape, however, after which there was a double battle of luke and leia vs. vader and sidious. the twins found themselves quickly overwhelmed, and sidious was about to kill them--when the sight of the two children about to die in front of them instantly emptied the remainder of anakin’s heart gauge. finally feeling real love again for the first time in years, anakin killed his master and saved his twins. luke and leia then took him to a purification chamber to be fully restored.

CURRENT STATUS.

anakin has returned to preuzien to become one of its strategic gym leaders. his gym’s theme is sky battles, which are fought only by pokémon that can stay airborne such as flying-types and those with the ability to levitate. though this may seem to be restrictive, anakin can still fight with a diverse mixture of pokémon.

he’s actually a league member in two regions: preuzien, aka german prussia, and prutenia, the newly-instated old prussian nation. essentially he’s a diplomat but in many ways he’s the wrong choice because……darth vader, have you fucking met him? however, lotor deliberately chose someone who was angry and undiplomatic to fulfill this role because he wanted to make it very clear to the german prussians that the rights and sovereignty of the prūsai are completely non-negotiable and there is a guy in the prutenian league who will happily beat the shit out of anyone who says otherwise.

he and lotor have a very strained relationship. on one hand anakin has healed a lot since he left the sith, and he is very concerned because he sees lotor going down the same path as he did. but on the other hand he still has a long way to go yet acts like he’s 100% redeemed when he lectures lotor, and lotor sees right through this…then when lotor calls anakin out on the fact he still has issues, anakin gets all pissy. also, anakin correctly suspects that lotor is using him as an ally for his “chosen one” status, inviting him to the league and giving him a second chance in spite of him being vader because he wants to get on the legendaries’ good side by treating their chosen one well. basically them being colleagues is an Angry Bastard Disaster that they need a lot of sorting through if they are ever going to be on truly good terms.

one time anakin straight up “force choked” lotor using his psychic powers in a fit of rage. lotor taunted him by choking out the words “vader…you haven’t changed.” this could easily have led to lotor’s death, as anakin was highly emotionally charged, but instead of snapping his neck psychically at that moment he dropped him to the floor and left the room. a sign of hope in their relationship perhaps?

honestly he’s? still a fucking mess??? like just because he left the sith doesn’t mean his issues are over. he’s still angry over his mother’s death and over padmé’s death, and now he’s angry that he let palpatine manipulate him and suffers from crippling guilt that he nearly killed his two kids. not to mention psychologically he’s part machine now so he has forgotten how to be human in some ways, and it’s in this way that he still hasn’t stopped being vader.

he doesn’t feel love for anyone except his twins, majjis, and padmé. he feels small likings toward other people and pokémon and he is trying to turn that into something deeper, but he’s still extremely stunted.

he gets terribly impatient with humans when they’re not as precise or as exacting as he is. in the og movies darth vader hated anything that he perceived to be incompetence, and anakin is the same way…except now that he’s part metagross, his standard of “competence” is so far above anything humans can do that he inevitably gets irritated and lashes out at people just for being human.

he’s lost all interest in “the little things.” he doesn’t appreciate the warmth of a sunny day or the coolness of a soft breeze or seeing a pretty looking bug on the sidewalk or anything like that, the only thing he is fixated on 24/7 is sharpening his intellect. he’s kind of like sabrina in that way.

MISC.

this would be his battle theme, full stop.

he has an aegislash variant that is basically a lightsaber: the hilt is metal but the blade is pure energy.

he is an overprotective dad and in that way he’s kind of a hypocrite, because of how he was once the biggest threat to his kids before he reformed. he gets rEAL FUCKING ANGRY when leia starts dating han solo, saying he’s just a street rat from orre and he’ll eventually stab her in the back and she’s like do i need to remind you of how you almost killed us?

he doesn’t need to hold out his hand to force choke someone bc that’s not how psychic powers in pokéverse work, he just does it because he’s a dramatic little bitch

he eventually has five grandchildren, all of which he gets overprotective toward. on luke’s side: ben skywalker. on leia’s side: jaina, jacen, anakin and ren solo. and if you thought him disliking han solo was bad, you should see his reaction when ren starts dating palpatine’s granddaughter rey…he just tENSES any time he’s around her saying i sense a great potential for evil in her and his kids are like oh really, well we’ve been sensing that in YOU ever since we met you and we don’t judge, so………damn i hate canon reylo but i mean it could work in an AU where kylo ren was never evil

#word of god™. || tian speaks #forcefuried

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pinkletterday · 6 years

Text

The Universal Constant

Pairing: Gen, Barry Allen/ Iris West

Rating: Teen

Characters: Barry Allen, Joe West

Tags: Pre-series AU, Grief, Bereavement, Wrongful incarceration, confrontation, junk-adjacent science, Not any junkier than the show though

Warnings: Death, Graphic Description of Murder, Discussion of Intimate Partner Violence

Summary: When Henry Allen dies in prison, Joe goes to comfort his foster son. He's unprepared to confront Barry's hard truths.

A/N: One author's determination to shove the Savitar storyline and its perversion of who Barry Allen is where the sun don't shine, thanxkbai.

Read on AO3

To say Henry Allen's funeral had been sparsely attended would have been to understate the case. His friends and family had all cut ties with him over the decade he had spent in prison, so that when the casket was lowered to the ground, only his son stood over it, flanked by Joe and Iris in silent support.

(Joe would later discover that Henry's cellmate had appealed for furlough to attend the funeral but had been denied.)

Barry had walked through the entire affair as though in a dream. He had stood at a remove from the proceedings, staring sightlessly out into the sea of headstones dotting the green through the pastor's generic eulogy, and then at the dirt trailing through his fingers as though analyzing the soil composition, ignoring the coffin it fell upon. The only point he had been adamant about when Joe and Iris had handled the arrangements was that his father be laid to rest beside his mother. They had expected nothing less, even though Joe knew Chyre and a few others in the force thought it perverse that the man be buried beside the woman he had murdered.

He had been equally adamant on not having a wake ("Why? Who else is mourning him?") so when the pastor had taken his leave, Joe turned around to find his fosterling missing.

Barry would need space right then, Joe knew, but he was also worried about what he might take it into his head to do if he was left alone. Joe had despised Henry Allen since he had first drawn back the plastic sheet over his wife's face to shield the young shell-shocked eyes of their son, but the man's death could not have come at a worse time for Barry. He was almost done with his CCPD internship, so close to graduating and joining the force with Joe where he could keep him close but behind the scenes. Where he could slowly experience for himself the inevitability of the evidence that condemned his father and finally move on with his life.

Instead, Henry Allen had died protecting another prisoner in a riot and martyred himself forever in Barry's eyes.

Despite all the interactions he had seen betweeen them giving every appearance of selfless devotion, Joe had never been able to figure out whether Henry really had loved his son as much as he seemed (hadnt he also seemed a devoted husband till he murdered his wife?). But now it was a moot point, as he had died letting his son believe the lie of his innocence. It was the worst kind of cruelty to the boy, and Joe feared that the boy's obsession with proving the impossible would now carry him further adrift than he or Iris could ever reach him.

He finally found Barry sitting in the second pew inside the empty chapel. His back was still held in that unnaturally ramrod line, staring at the kaleiscopic pattern the afternoon light cast on the limestone floor as it filtered in through the stained glass window. A sunbeam from another overhead arch slanted over his head, illuminating the dust motes dancing around him, bringing out the mahogany burnish of his hair. Taking in his pale composure, tie loosened under his Adam's apple and blazer outlining the breadth of his sloping shoulders, Joe could still only see the little boy of ten years agone, uncomfortable as a penguin in his starched Sunday suit, holding his and Iris's fingers in a death grip in front of his mother's coffin - a small, terrified but brave David facing his own Goliath of tragedy.

Joe shuffled himself over next to him, the honeyed oak seat sliding solid and polished despite the clear scuffings of age. Barry's hands rested on the back of the pew in front, long fingers unfurled as if to catch the light on each tip. Joe didn't know what to say, so he said nothing and simply sat, the ache in his heart heavy with the storm he could sense within Barry's.

"Do you know who I love most in the world, Joe?"

Iris. He had always known that. He suspected most people who knew Barry knew that; those expressive eyes always so unknowingly worshipful of her since they were kids.

Still, he wasn't sure he was supposed to know, so he stayed silent.

"It's Iris," said Barry. "Always has been. She's - to me, she's everything."

Joe nodded cautiously, wondering whether Barry meant him to interpret this as a platonic love or if it was a tacit confession.

"Do you ever wonder about the inconsistencies in my mother's case?"

Joe blinked, unprepared for the subject change. Then sighed deeply. So we're doing this again.

"Barry, your father was found-"

"Over her body with the knife in his hand, no sign of break in, yeah I know. But what about the autopsy report?"

Sharp projectile thrust diagonally through the 2nd rib, two inches to the right of the heart, penetrating the upper ventricle and top of the left lung. Projectile embedded five inches deep stoppering blood flow without immediately rupturing the organs. Impact has failed to shatter rib but penetrated cleanly without laceration. Slow haemorrage took approximately three minutes, victim likely in shock but maintaining blood pressure for approx 60 seconds before bleeding out. Cause of death: aortic rupture

"It was a deep stab wound."

"Yes it was," said Barry, distant yet conversational. "It was just a paring knife, not a meat cleaver or fish knife. She was cutting an apple. The blade was slightly curved, the sharpest edge along the side and not the point. It would have needed a huge amount of force just to drive it into five inches of muscle....but it also went through bone."

"The bone should have slowed the knife's downward thrust, but it didn't. He had to have pinned her down and held it right over head while she was looking up at him. And then, instead of jamming it into the join between her neck and shoulder - the most vulnerable place she had from that angle - he drove it into her heart...and missed."

Joe tried not to at cringe the dispassionate way Barry rattled off the facts. It was a testament to how long the boy had been analyzing every gruesome detail inside his head until the most traumatic event of this life was nothing more than a breakdown of physics and anatomy, detached yet frustrating as constantly fiddling with an unsolvable Rubik's Cube.

"My father was a surgeon, Joe. He knew exactly where the ribs are in a body. Why would he miss the heart and try to go through a rib instead of over or under?"

The old fatigue sank like a stone inside him as his breath escaped in an even deeper sigh. He had tolerated and fielded a barrage of questions like this for years after Barry had come to live with them, usually culminating in Joe sharply ordering him to his room or Barry storming off in tears. But after that last terrible fight during his senior year of high school, the boy had finally realized the threshold of Joe's patience and the cross examinations had stopped. Something had broken between them in the aftermath, some strand of hope and trust forever retracted from Barry. Joe had balanced out his irrational guilt with the sheer relief at the tenuous peace he thought they had forged - till now.

"Barry, stabbings are usually not premediated," he said, dusting off the same old, well-worn arguments in resignation. "In the heat of the moment, people forget who they are, much less their training."

Barry nodded complacently. "Yes. It must have been the heat of the moment. No one ever saw them fight before it happened, did they? My Dad's lawyer tried to use that. Usually before a crime of passion happens there's some sort of tension, some background that leads up to it. But no one ever thought my Dad had anything but love for Mom, and there was never any evidence of money disputes or cheating. Heat of the moment...with no fire behind it."

But you can never know what happens behind closed doors, thought Joe. Sometimes our own love takes terrible faces, especially when betrayed.

"But you can never really know someone, can you Joe?" said Barry as though he had read Joe's mind. He examined the texture of the aged oak pew under his hands with distant interest, fingertips trailing lightly over the slight cracks and grooves. "You only assume that you know them, until you don't, isnt that what you always say?"

"Everyone assumed my Dad loved my Mom till they assumed he drove her to her knees, braced her shoulder with one hand, and plunged a fucking paring knife into her chest, somehow passing through bone without crushing it. That should be impossible, Joe. There were no lacerations. That bit confused the fuck out of three separate medical examiners and what the defence lawyer tried to get to stick before the proesecution decided that the knife being the murder weapon was enough. He was precise and powerful enough to somehow incise through bone from and he still missed the heart." Barry's hands gripped the wood convulsively, gaze now fixed unseeing over the altar.

"A longtidunally oriented stab requires an axial force of over nine hundred Newtons. That's for an overarm stabbing. For a light handled knife to be embedded five inches deep into the body, clean through both rib and lung, you need a whole lot more. He'd have had to lay her down on the floor and sit on her chest before driving it into her heart with both hands, which at that angle, was not what happened. At that angle, for that depth, you'd need far more than twice that power."

"When a person sees something bearing down on them, they turn their face away. The knife had to have come down on her from roughly two to two and half feet from her face, giving her enough time to flinch away. But the blood splatter pattern indicated she never had."

Joe couldnt take it anymore. "Barry, please..."

The boy ignored him and pushed inexorably on, reciting his well-learned catechism of facts. "For her to not have had enough time to turn her face away, at the force of roughly 2000 Newtons wielded by a 200 pound man the knife should have come down at an acceleration exceeding -"

"People arent physics, Barry!," Joe burst out in frustration. "They can do things in an adrenaline rush that shouldn't be possible!"

The kid's posture suddenly relaxed. "Yes. Again. 'The heat of the moment'," said Barry, still with that light, eerie pleasantness. "An unlikely knife and lack of reflex, an entry point and angle that makes no sense, an unbelievable force, a completely unexplainable wound and the "heat of a moment" no one ever saw coming."

"Unexplained but not impossible," said Joe gently. "The paring knife was the murder weapon. Your Dad's prints and Mom's blood were all over it."

Barry's face looked more angelic than ever as he continued gazing thoughtfully at the resigned countenance of Jesus on the cross, the marble head bowed in an eternity of disappointed, weary love.

"Not impossible," he acquiesced. "Less impossible than a man in a ball of lightning that only a frightened child saw. Less impossible than someone else having broken in, knocked out my father, killed my mother and left without leaving a trace. Less impossible than a fruit knife that can cut through a bone without shattering it or crushing the muscle underneath, clean as butter."

"What's your point?," said Joe, patience too frayed to keep the bite out of his tone.

Barry leaned forward, resting his elbows on the front pew, trailing steepled fingers over his face to rest under his chin. "Tell me, Joe," he said, "How impossible would it be for me go home today, and become so angry at Iris that I would push her to the ground. How mad would I have to be to look her in the eyes, the ones I can never say no to, and plunge a knife into her beating heart, nearly to the hilt, with enough force to break bone? What in this world could she do that would make me do that?"

He could see it all too clearly, his baby's eyes glassy and vacant, the blood seeping down her chest, the dusky brown skin ash-grey under the blue plastic tarp...

"That's it," the sudden chill in his bones burned away as he rounded on Barry furiously, trying to pierce through this terrible, impassive veil and rip out his son who was bleeding underneath. "Don't think I dont know what you're trying to do, Barry, but you are not him! You are not your father -"

"But I am his son," he said calmly, "the son of a murderer who has defended him all his life."

"You're my son!" said Joe angrily. "You're the boy I raised! I know you!"

"And I knew my father, Joe!"

He got his wish when the unnatural stillness was shattered by Barry's shout, a thunder clap in the high enclave. The fury Joe had sensed seething under the surface was finally unleashed, teeth bared and eyes streaming, his face a rictus of wild anger he had never seen on Barry before.

For a strange, unforgivable moment, Joe wondered whether this was the same kind of ferocity that had ended Nora's life.

"I knew my father! I saw the way he looked at my mother the first decade of my life! The way he held her hand, the way he kissed her hair, the way he smiled at her - I know what that feels like, because its the same thing I've felt in me for Iris since I was ten!"

The tears drowned Barry's eyes and voice even through his yelling, but he leaned away from Joe when he tried to pull the boy to his chest. "I couldn't do it, Joe! I could never hurt Iris like that, couldnt ever even dream of hurting her, there's nothing in the world that she could ever do that would make me so angry, no heat in the world, Joe!"

"I know that," Joe finally managed to grab him by the elbows, forcing him to look at him. His own vision was blurred with tears now, desperate to get through to Barry, to make him understand how much Joe loved him, trusted him - "Barry, I know that! I know how much you love her - I've always known!"

"No, you don't!," Barry cried, struggling against him. "You don't know. Because if you did you'd at least believe I know what love feels like! You'd believe I saw it in my father! You'd know how impossible it is to love someone so much and ever - ever -,"

He crumpled with a suddenness that caught Joe so off-guard that he barely caught him when he fell forward. A keening wail burst from Barry's throat that he tried to bury too late in Joe's shoulder, slender frame shuddering and wracked with an anguish still too towering for his young body to contain. Joe could only cradle the back of his boy's head and wrap his arms around him, as tight as he had when Barry had cried for his parents after Nora's funeral, holding him as close as when he had found him huddling in the dark, tear-streaked and terrified from his nightmares. He simply held on, anchoring him through the storm, murmuring comfort into his hair.

Gradually, the violence of his sobs subsided. Barry drew away and wiped his eyes, neither of them caring about the wet patch left on Joe's coat.

"And if I ever - Iris - if that ever -," he stuttered, determined to finish saying his piece even with his face damp and averted, tremors still running through him, "- I wouldn't be able to lie, Joe. I wouldnt be able to live with what I had done. I'd...I'd kill myself too. Because, she is... she's everything to me."

"I know, son, I know -," Joe kept up his low, soothing litany.

"Do you really? Do you really understand?" Pleading, desperate, searching eyes pierced into his own. "We can disagree about what things are impossible in this world but not that. That is the only impossible thing I could never become. It's because I know that to be true...that's why I don't doubt my father."

"A man that's faster than lightning may be impossible," Barry slumped against the pew, head bowed low, his face bathed in both tired, resigned grief and the rose-gold of the dying light, "but it's less impossible than that."

Joe held onto the boy's limp hand. "I know," he said helplessly, "I understand."

The two of them sat in silence, Joe rubbing the aftershocks from the line of Barry's back. Eventually as the shadows of the pews lengthened, the boy stopped shaking, instead leaning listlessly against him, head flopped on Joe's shoulder, completely worn out and drained. He slid an arm under Barry's back and helped him up from his seat then, almost carrying him out of the pew and along the aisle, a mess of heavy, hollowed-out limbs. Joe chivvied him outside in front of him and turned around to close the heavy chapel door.

The jeweled light now lay at the feet of the Saviour, His body limp with agony and exhaustion but his face still gentle with love - patient, forgiving, inexhaustible.

"Barry, look at me. Look at me! Now, Joe's gonna look after you till I get out of here. You just - be the good boy your Mom and I know you are."

"I love you, son. You hear me? I will always, always love you."

#myfic #fanfic #the flash #westallen #genfic #au #barry allen #joe west #grief #mourning #bereavement #violence tw #domestic violence tw #death tw #religion #junk speedforce physics

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keii · 6 years

Text

I had such an intense and kind of fucked up dream last night. It was actually about Rein and it seemed as if I was watching a movie, so I decided to write it down LMAO. I’m pretty sure my dream was triggered from this movie I was watching last night-- Anyway ya idk I thought it was interesting how accurate dream Rein was lool.

He was acting undercover, pretending to be the “new” guy in this whole arms or drug deal (don’t remember tbh). They had to travel a lot, meeting with different clients to see who would offer the best deal. Some clients would try to be less diplomatic and try to kill them, but luckily Rein was there to prevent that. Each time, winning over the enemy’s trust little by little. The leader of this operation, who was this beautiful woman, favored him, whereas her trusted bodyguard didn’t like Rein AT ALL. It was a bit rocky at first, he got into fights with the bodyguard and Rein won. There was one deal where Rein saved the body guard’s life. He then learned that the guard and the leader knew each other ever since they were young. The guard told Rein that the leader meant everything to him and that he hoped Rein would learn to cherish her as well. Eventually they treated him like family and trusted Rein with their lives. As time progressed, the leader called Rein into her suite after they finished another stressful meeting with a client. There she told him that she was fond of Rein, where he cooly replies, “I’m fond of you as well.” She laughs and rephrased what she meant as she walked closer to him. Rein watches her closely— there she stops right in front of him. She stares at his face and inquired about all his scars, where did he get them, how— were there more located on his body? Rein only laughed and answered none of her questions except the last. He slowly lifted up his shirt, casting it aside to reveal his scar ridden torso. The leader’s eyes widen in surprise, not expecting so much. She used her fingers to trace along the long wounds across his chest, traveling down past his abdomen and following below his navel. Right before she could venture any further, Rein caught her hand, startling her. She looked up and was met with his glowing eyes. The corner of his lips curled into a sly grin, parting his lips slightly, he said in a deep voice, “Don’t go any further, or you might regret it.” He warned her. She noticed how sharp his fangs were, and it all just added to this newfound excitement. Her fingers danced slightly above his zipper, teasing him slightly, “I never regret any of my decisions.” Rein breathed in deeply, lifting his hand to brush away some of her hair that covered her face. He noticed there was a scar beneath her eye and he leaned in, kissing it. Pulling back slightly, he kissed a different area of her face, always making sure to avoid her lips. He traveled further down her neck, biting down, bruising her porcelain skin. It wasn’t the first time he slept with the enemy. It made him sick actually— but in a strange way it gave him satisfaction knowing he has them in such a vulnerable state, wrapped around his fingers. She called out his name between panted breathes as she dug her nails deep into his back, causing him to hiss in a mix of pleasure and pain. He quickly grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head with one hand while using his other hand to wrap around her neck. He gripped tighter and tighter, but not enough to fully choke her. Her face was flushed red and he leaned in closer, whispering in her ear with a deep voice saying, “I could kill you right now if I wanted to.” He watched the expression of her face changed, there was fear, but she did and said nothing for him to stop. In fact, he felt the walls around him tighten, catching him off guard for a moment. He loosened his grip and distanced himself where he lifted her legs above his shoulders. Her face in the beginning when he had first met her was cold and powerful. She had no mercy when it comes to the lives of others, regardless if they were innocent or not, young or old— it didn’t matter to her. Each life she took, Rein could only watch with his hands behind his back, nails digging so hard into his skin, enough that he bled. And now here she was, every move he made was his to control. He positioned her how he wants her to be positioned. He told her when she could look at him if he wanted to. He ordered her to get on all fours, ass up and to take it without any complaints... and she did. She repeated his name over and over that he got sick of hearing it. He told her to shut up and how she can only make a noise if he allowed it. In front of her men, Rein gave her the respect to be in control, but behind closed doors, she begged for him. His expression was cold one night as he watched her moaned in pleasure. The way her brows curled upwards, beads of sweat running down her flushed face— every detail he hated. She told him she was about to climax and he took it as a signal to go harder. Pathetic. It was the morning of the meeting with the last client. Rein was already awake, watching the sun rise out from the balcony. He blew out smoke, taking the cigarette out from between his lips to tap the ashes away. He felt small hands wrap around his waist and he turned around to see the leader. He put out his cigarette and pulled her closer to him as they watched the sunrise together. “Today’s the day.” She said. “Today’s the day.” He repeated after her. There was a moment of silence before she cleared her throat. “I was thinking...” she started, “After... this whole deal is over, maybe I should retire.” “Retire?” Rein asked, one of his brows raising slightly. He actually didn’t care. She nodded and looked at him, “Yes, I’d like to retire and live a cozy life. Somewhere peaceful with someone I love... I want you to be the one to share it with me.” It was quiet again and they stared at each other. Her face was soft, there was a glow to her skin and a shine to her eyes when she said that. There was a strange feeling in his heart that twisted him inside, and the way she was looking at him right now made it seem as if she was innocent... pure. Her lips looked so inviting. Not once at the start of their fucked up relationship did he kiss her on her lips. For some reason, at that moment he wondered how it would taste. He held her chin with his hand, lifting her head slightly as he began to lean down. Maybe... Just this once he’ll have a taste of the forbidden fruit. His lips stopped when the moment was interrupted with a loud knock on the door, telling them that they they’ll be heading to the rendezvous point in an hour. Rein regained his senses and pulled back. There was a slight disappointed look on her face as she walked away to get ready. Rein only turned away and gripped hard onto the railings of the balcony. Letting out a deep sigh in frustration, he thought, “What the hell was I thinking?” If he had kissed her at that moment, he really believed that he might have fallen in love. It wouldn’t even be real. None of it was real. It was only a cheap imitation— a sick illusion. God, was he pathetic. The two parties met inside a docked shipped. Both making sure that each one had their respective items of trade... the leader with the drugs/weapons and the other with the promised payment. The other leader smiled, content with the deal and he held out his hand for the agreement. She smiled and took his hand... but at that moment, she pulled out a blade she had hiding up her sleeve and slit his throat. Blood flowed out of the deep gash with eyes staring at her with disbelief. Her men quickly took care of the rest of the enemy and she walked over, picking up both her case and the case full of money. “Alright boys, you know the usual.” She told them. Rein walked up to her, “What happened to retirement? Wasn’t that supposed to be the client you made a deal with?” She only laughed, placing a bloodied hand on Rein’s cheek. “My dear, we have only just begun. I have received a message from our provider that we have double the amount that I could sell. So I can hold off the retirement a little bit longer. I hope you can as well. Now, if you could, help the boys get rid of the bodies and after you’re done, meet up with me in my yacht so we can get cleaned up.” Rein watched her leave and he went back to the other men. There was a smile on his face and when asked why he was grinning, he simply said, “My job here is done.” They were all confused, and Rein pulled out a mysterious sword from beneath his coat and unsheathed it, revealing a blade that looked completely different from what the scabbard was shaped like. The men were startled and like lightning, Rein disappeared and from the corner of the room, they saw him slice off one of their heads cleanly. He kicked the decapitated head towards the direction of the other men and laughed. “Come.” He said. Bullets slipped passed him, knives were swung, but never cut him. There were a few lucky hits here and there, but those were short lived. One by one, they fell. He was faced with the bodyguard, the only true threat to him. He wasn’t a human, but a Mayari (a different race in my story) and they were always tough to kill. Rein provoked the guard, questioning what the Mayari felt towards their leader. “Did you love her?” Rein asked, “Or are you obsessed with her?” Rein knew the answer already. It wasn’t a secret. He knew the guard stood outside their hotel door, listening in on the conversations Rein and the leader would have... and much more. He just wanted to see how angry he could make the guard. Despite the Mayari becoming more dangerous the angrier he got, he was also a lot more reckless. With a stab right through the Mayari’s heart, Rein had only one more target to go. He made his way to the leader’s yacht. She wasn’t in the room, but then he noticed her clothes sprawled across the floor and realized she was in the bathroom. Before entering, he found her phone and slipped it in his pocket.

Rein opened the door, seeing that she was in the bathtub, back towards him. The lights were off, but candlelights surrounded her, the fresh aroma of jasmine along with the rose petals scattered in the tub filled Rein’s senses. He let his footsteps be heard and she turned around, “Oh, you made it—“ her voice stopped upon seeing how bloody he was, “Rein?” He said nothing and she gave him a nervous smile, “W-Was there a surprise attack?” He grinned and he slipped off his coat, revealing his blood stained sword, sitting on the edge of the tub as he looked down at her. “No.” He placed his hand in the water, the blood spreading across the surface. There was a defending silence between them, she quickly opened her mouth to scream for her bodyguard, but Rein covered her mouth with his still bloodied hand. “Shh...” He hushed, “For you, my love, I’ll make it quick.” Tears streamed down her face and he pulled his hand back. “Who do you work for? I can pay you more! You know I can!” She started listing out names of other underground leaders and he laughed, tracing the bloodied blade up her throat. “I don’t work for any of them.” He told her.

Her eyes widen in realization, “You’re an A-Axil agent aren’t you?” He smiled. “Why Rein? I loved you! We treated you like family!” She said through her sobs. Rein hushed her again, calming her, slightly pulling his blade back and leaned in. He kissed her gently, stroking her cheek, wiping her tears away. The taste of iron filled his mouth and he pulled back. It was bitter, but warm. Sweet, but so tooth achingly rotten. The kiss was bittersweet. That was the word to describe this. The blade he held went through her abdomen. She stared at him with betrayed eyes. The last thing he heard him say was “I already have a family.” And everything went dark.

#HEY YA'LL THIS IS LONG LMAO #i like to write my dreams out alkdjfls #ANYWAY WOW IT'S ALMOST A NEW YEAR #OR ALREADY A NEW YEAR FOR PEOPLE #how exciting #uhh i should add warnings i guess #tw: blood #tw: gore #tw: violence #??? IDK #//nsfw #BASICALLY LMAOO LADKSFJ #killadreams

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movietvtechgeeks · 6 years

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Latest story from https://movietvtechgeeks.com/supernatural-various-sundry-villains-kill-darlings/

'Supernatural' Various & Sundry Villains: Kill Your Darlings

Okay, I’m going to be upfront, I was ready to be super underwhelmed by last week’s Supernatural episode “Various & Sundry Villains.” All of the promotion focused on the love spell, and frankly, we’ve been there, done that. In fact, I’m shocked that showrunner Andrew Dabb let this pitch go to script given that he wrote the controversial episode “Season 7 Time for a Wedding”, an episode that I can honestly say has only one truly redeeming quality: Leslie Odom, Jr. was in it. While this was arguably derivative of that episode, giving this the go ahead was risky on Dabb’s part. It paid off for writer, Steve Yockey, because this love spell outing was much better than the last. In the opening of this episode we meet the Plum sisters, and I hate to say this, but despite watching this episode three times I don’t actually remember their first names and I could barely tell them apart anyway, so we’ll just call the one Dean “falls in love with” Harley Quinn and the other one we’ll call… Harley Quinn’s little sister? Yeah, sure, why not? Between the cutesy valley girl verbiage and the bloody sledgehammer, I’m sure we were supposed to get an Arkham Asylum vibe off these two. At least, I really hope that was the intention. I’ll be honest, I was not impressed with these characters and I’m not sure if it was off writing, off casting, or off directing, but they felt really forced. From their overly stereotypical Millenial way of speaking to their overtly blatant mirroring of Sam and Dean (yes, we get it, one is younger and brainy, they other is older and protective, they’re obsessed with their dead mom and it could go badly, was that a hammer they were using or an anvil?) the Plum sisters, unlike their Winchester counterparts, came off as grating. Maybe they were supposed to? Again, I hope so. I will say that as a horror buff I enjoyed the return of Rowena’s mad dog spell and the demise of the Plum sisters at each other’s hands. I saw a lot of people say it was too much, too gratuitous, too gory. And perhaps it was, but given the movies I regularly watch and enjoy, well, I embraced it. While I will say I’m glad the love spell portion of the episode was short-lived, it’s always fun to see Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki show off their comedy elbow chops; Ackles with the perfectly timed glibness he brings to Dean Winchester and Padalecki’s Sam Winchester, ever the earnest Abbott to Ackles’ Costello, was subtle, stoic faced gold. Ackles and Padalecki got to play off each other magnificently in this episode; from Dean walking in practically floating on a love cloud, to Sam trying desperately to remind Dean they’ve been down this weird love spell road before, to Ackles’ delivery of “‘cause she’s got a sister”, to their tussle in front of the Impala (though, dang, these boys horseplay hard given the butt dent Sam left on the hood after Dean rushed him) the two actors smoothly show how well they work together no matter the material. But the star of this episode was Rowena. Her entrance was stellar, and she stole every scene. Ruth Connell is delightful in this role and for the most part (we’ll get to that later) I was glad to see her back because I was sorry to lose her last season, especially in such a cheap, off-screen way. I’m hard-pressed to fall for new characters, but Rowena is one that I really enjoy. Connell was able to give us comedy and tragedy in this episode, going from snark to desperation fluidly. I also have to give Steve Yockey heaps of credit for having Rowena not only ask about Crowley but allowing her to have an outburst about his death. Hearing her say that she’d rather have him alive than to have died a hero hit really close to home given that the lack of Mark Sheppard as Crowley has been quite the gaping hole this season. Take a note from Yockey, other writers, because I’m still waiting for Castiel to ask about Meg… Speaking of Castiel, he and Lucifer were locked up. Now they aren’t. And like, they had a whole big penis to penis measurement contest and Castiel for some reason tried to hurt Lucifer by telling him that Jack doesn’t even look like him, which… um, Lucifer is in the image of a seasons dead vessel so, of course, he doesn’t look like him. And also, when did you get to know so much about Jack, Castiel? I think maybe the writer accidentally gave Misha Collins some of Sam’s lines to say. If I sound like I was less than moved by any of these scenes, it’s because I wasn’t. The scenes weren’t objectively bad or anything, and not only has Mark Pellegrino has found his footing as Lucifer again, but he and Collins play extremely well off each other. Unfortunately, their scenes simply didn’t mesh well with the “A” plot and the dichotomy crashed the episode’s momentum. Although, I did enjoy both characters reminding each other what untrustworthy, hypocritical screw-ups both have been. Again, I appreciate it when Supernatural is self-aware like that because fallibility gives depth and interest. Now, you didn’t think I was going to review this episode and not talk about Sam and Rowena sharing their trauma, did you? Because that was a scene that many Supernatural fans have waited years for. In season 11, Sam was forced to not only work with Lucifer, but he had to allow Lucifer into his home, into his room, and wasn’t allowed to voice any grievances about it and while Padalecki did a phenomenal job adding little twitches and moments of tight body language and subtle distance, it was all too obvious that the writers were wary of taking Sam’s trauma seriously because at the time Lucifer was possessing Castiel’s body and the “Cassifer" version of Lucifer was played mostly as a joke throughout that entire arc, nothing but a bratty teenager throwing a tantrum, while Sam Winchester, the boy who had every reason to rip into both Lucifer and God, just stood on the sidelines silently like he was totally fine. But he wasn’t, he hasn’t been, and watching Sam and Rowena both delve into the trauma and abuse they experienced at Lucifer’s hand was fantastically written and acted. Yockey was able to give the characters just enough for them to convey, through their tone, inflections, and facial expressions how much they were, no are, broken by the Devil himself. Having them both admit to seeing Lucifer’s real face, while giving no descriptive details was brilliant. Both Padalecki and Connell were able to communicate to the audience how horrific it was for their characters without any unnecessary detail. Such a great “show, don’t tell” moment; it’s so much more frightening for the viewer to fill in the blanks. And Sam explaining that it isn’t that he’s okay, it’s that he never gets the chance to fully deal with his trauma because the world is always falling apart was both heartbreaking and much needed, not only for Sam to say it but for the audience to hear it. At the end of this episode we got to see the other side of the Ackles/Padalecki chemistry, their ability to rip your heart out, when Sam and Dean have a frank discussion back at the bunker about what to do going forward. Dean knowing that Sam gave Rowena the spell she wanted and instead of yelling and belittling him, he’s simply honest and direct with him and doesn’t question Sam when he says that if Rowena played him again, he’ll personally kill her. It was also good to hear Sam be open with Dean about how defeated he feels, about how he tried to mask that with conviction and hope, but that he can’t fake it til he makes it anymore. And while Dean’s words of encouragement and confidence may seemingly ring hollow to Sam, it’s not because Sam doesn’t have faith in Dean, it’s that right now he can’t see where Dean is coming from. Dean knows, because characters have told him for years, how important he and Sam are, how they keep this world spinning, but Sam has never heard it directly, not from God, not from Amara, not from Death, not from Billie. Those declarations have only been uttered to Dean and then conveyed by Dean to Sam, so Dean knows that they’ll figure out a way, that it’s basically destiny and Sam has no choice but to take Dean’s word for it. I could go on and on about the isolation of Sam Winchester, but that’s an article for a different day. [caption id="attachment_53290" align="aligncenter" width="696"] Photo: Home of the Nutty[/caption] Overall, this was a mytharc episode done well, slightly overstuffed as most mytharc episodes are, but coherent and well paced with a fantastic blend of horror, levity, and angst. That said, the last thing I want to touch on for this episode is something that was absolutely no fault of the writer, Steve Yockey, but I think is an increasing problem on Supernatural; the element of surprise is gone, as are the stakes. Supernatural was once known as a show where rocks fell, and everyone died. It was also a show where Jim Beaver once hid his reprisal of Bobby Singer by trying to convince fandom that he was in Vancouver shooting an abominable snowman movie so that his return to the show wasn’t spoiled Fast forward just a few years and the cast, crew, and network PR are spoiling character reveals weeks, even months in advance. Instead of being shocked by Rowena’s return we all went into this episode waiting for her appearance, and while we saw Castiel stab Lucifer with an angel blade; saw the red light go out of Lucifer’s eyes; it’s all for naught. Lucifer is the focus of the promo that aired right after the episode, and the synopsis for the next episode lays out exactly what he’ll be up to. Even last season finale, no one believed Castiel was actually permanently dead. Hell, it took Mark Sheppard declaring that he refuses to ever reprise his role for fans to believe Crowley was truly dead. No stakes means no emotional payoff. No secrecy means no shock and awe. Take a page from some of the greats, Supernatural, including yourself: what’s dead should stay dead, so kill your darlings and if you must bring them back, stop telegraphing their returns. Check out this week's Supernatural Devil's Bargain trailer above.

Movie TV Tech Geeks News

#Featured #Jared Padalecki #Jensen Ackles #Mark Pellegrino #Misha Collins #Ruth Connell #Supernatural

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itsthesinbin · 6 years

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Old World Blues

FINALLY wrote the thing for Melinda and Heather. This is just an introductory thing- the two get REALLY lost on the way to Diamond City and end up in Goodneighbor instead.

If I do decide to continue this, it’ll be a while before I post anything else/upload it to other platforms [like my ao3], as I’ll want to write a few chapters out so it isn’t just like... one lonely chapter sitting on ao3/sitting here.

So, after rewriting this about six times, I finally got it down in a way I like. It’s a bit short, but I knew if I dragged it out too much, I’d hate it.

Also the title is inspired from the New Vegas DLC, both because I’ve recently [finally] started getting into New Vegas after having it for like... a year, and the description for “Old World Blues” is something that really hits with these two characters. “It refers to those so obsessed with the past they can't see the present, much less the future, for what it is.” It reminds me of Heather, in particular. So if I do make a fic out of this, it’s definitely keeping the title.

The world was a shithole.

Two hundred years after the bombs dropped wasn’t enough to miraculously fix everything, much to Heather’s disappointment. Instead of hanging out with hot future people, she’s trekking through the possibly-irradiated mud with her mother, her brother’s robot, and a random dog they found. An old bat and measly pistol as her only weapons, and her mother carried a small rifle they picked off of a dead body on the way out of Sanctuary Hills.

The walk through Boston was horrible. Rubble and broken buildings surrounded the streets, making some areas inaccessible. It was also getting way too dark for the group’s liking. Codsworth’s flashlight was already on, and Melinda’s Pip-Boy was shining as bright as it could.

She brought the device up to her eyes, squinting slightly at the light, as she checked the downloaded map. She sighed heavily, making Heather and Codsworth turn to her. Heather let out a whine.

“Don’t tell me…” “Yeah, we’re lost, honey,” Melinda said, making Heather groan like a teenager being scolded. Head-tilt and all. Melinda couldn’t help but snort at the sight- hadn’t seen Heather do that in years.

“I saw some signs pointing to a place called “Goodneighbor”, though. Maybe someone there can lend us a room for the night, and help us out,” Melinda assured, starting to walk to where the signs had pointed. Heather kicked a small rock, huffing, before following.

The four came upon a huge barricade, with a single door leading into, what they assumed was, Goodneighbor. Hesitantly, Melinda knocked, not knowing if that was the correct thing to do. When she got no response, she checked the door. It was unlocked. Slowly, she opened the door, and the small group moved into the city.

Guards, and people, nearby stole glances at them- their dirty vault suits. What the hell were vault dwellers doing in Goodneighbor?

A couple of people just had to find out.

A large man stepped forward, blocking the women’s way. The ghoul leaning against the nearby wall watched carefully, eyeing the way Heather’s fingers gripped her bat defensively.

“Is this your first time in Goodneighbor, ladies,” the man asked, voice holding a hostile tone. “Can’t go walking around here without insurance.” Heather growled, propping the end of her bat on her shoulder.

“Unless it’s “keep-dumb-assholes-away-from-me” insurance- sorry, mom- we’re not interested,” Heather huffed, annoyance and anger too high to be any kind of polite right now. Melinda couldn’t help but snort softly. Finn smirked, clearly amused by the small woman’s sarcasm.

“Now, don’t be like that, sweetheart- I think you’ll like what I have to offer,” he said, voice growing flirty. It made Heather sick.

“You two hand over everything in your pockets, or “accidents” are gonna start happening- big, bloody accidents-” Before he, or Hancock, could make a move, Heather stepped forward, poking the end of her bat at Finn’s chest.

“Listen, buddy, I don’t give a goddamn rat’s ass what you’ll do. We’ve been walking for hours, chased by- by dogs and freaky green shitlords and who knows what else! I’m tired, I’ve been out in the rain, and I don’t want to be threatened by a two-bit criminal who’s too scared to leave a city to become a raider that’ll end up a bloody pile at the end of my BAT,” Heather ranted, drawing attention from others nearby. Finn scowled, reaching down to pull out his weapon.

“Woah, woah, time out,” Hancock yelled, finally able to move over. Melinda grabbed Heather’s arm, pulling her back. Hancock grabbed the back of Finn’s jacket and shirt, choking the man a bit.

“Someone steps through the gate the first time? They’re a guest- lay off the extortion crap, Finn.” “Why d’you care, Hancock? They ain’t ours,” Finn snarled, yanking the mayor’s hand off of his clothes. The ghoul feigned a hurt look, putting his hand on his chest.

“Oof… No love for your mayor? I said let her go,” he said, voice going from joking to serious in an instant. Finn rolled his eyes, hand gripping the grip of his gun.

“You’re going soft, Hancock- letting outsiders walk all over us. One day… there’ll be a new mayor”. Hancock saw that he was trying to pull the pistol out, and put on a more relaxed stance.

“Come on, man, this is me we’re talking about. Let me tell you something,” he said, reaching over to grab Finn’s shoulder. The human let his guard down, allowing Hancock to strike. He pulled out a switchblade, stabbing the man in the chest a few times.

He heard the women gasp, but didn’t look at them for a second. He dropped Finn’s body to the ground, putting the blade away.

“Now, why’d you have to go and say that, huh? Breakin my heart over here,” he mumbled, jabbing the corpse with a foot a bit. “You two alright?”

The look Heather had was definitely comical- eyes bugged out and head drawn back. Melinda just looked ill- arms over her chest, and a hand over her mouth in shock.

“What the FUCK,” Heather shouted suddenly, making her mother jump. “You killed him!” Hancock snorted.

“Got a good set of eyes on you, missy- you’ll fit in fine here”. Before Heather could say anything, Melinda stepped forward. She looked up at Hancock, making him wonder how the fuck these two survived while being so damn short.

“Look, Mister… Hancock, was it?” A nod prompted her to continue. “We… appreciate the help with him, but we really just… need a place to sleep for the night. There wouldn’t happen to be any vacant rooms in town, would there?”

“Hotel Rexford- just follow the alleyway over there,” he said, jabbing his thumb in the right direction. “In fact…” He pulled out a small bag of caps, handing them to the older woman.

“Buy a room on me- least I could do for your less-than-warm welcome,” he said. Melinda, too tired to argue and all too knowledgeable on how light their own pockets were, smiled slightly in gratitude. She pocketed the caps.

“Thank you, mayor”. “Please, just call me Hancock. “Mayor” sounds too stuffy”. Heather snorted from her new spot- poking Finn’s body with her bat.

“Heather-!” “Wanna take a quick whack at it, kid?” Codsworth and Melinda gaped at the mayor, while Heather was seriously considering the offer.

“Heather if you do it you’re grounded”. “I’m twenty five and this place has a new set of rules!” She gave the corpse a hard smack, yelling loudly, and clearly getting some of her pent up rage out.

“Ffffuck you, dead man,” she said, giving the body one last kick, before high-tailing it with Dogmeat down the alley Hancock had pointed out. She wasn’t going far- just right out of sight- but it was enough to make Melinda and Codsworth sigh. Hancock couldn’t help but laugh.

“The kid’ll fit in great around here, lady”. “Melinda… “lady” sounds too stuffy,” she joked, causing Hancock to snicker. “Got it, sister”.

Melinda said her goodbyes to the good mayor, catching up with her daughter. She grabbed Heather by the ear, pinching harshly and pulling.

“What the hell is the matter with you,” Melinda hissed over Heather’s whines. Melinda let go, letting the younger woman rub her ear.

“I wanted to make a statement- look, I won’t do it again”. In front of Melinda, at least. Her mother rubbed her face, too exhausted to argue further. She just started walking towards the hotel, Heather, Codsworth, and Dogmeat trailing behind.

“Alright… we’ll sleep for the night, ask for directions to Diamond City, and use what caps we have to prepare for the trip. Sound good?” “Yeah, mom, sounds like a plan”. The two stared up at the half-standing hotel, an ache settling in their chests- a famous hotel reduced to a level above rubble.

The two walked in, going to the front desk to rent a room.

The world was a shithole. It was full of crime and destruction and sickness and death- even more so than before the bombs dropped. Full of people and cultures and creatures that they didn’t recognize. The whole world was out to get them, it felt like.

“Ugh,” Heather groaned, flopping onto their rented bed. “I wanna sleep for another two hundred years”.

#fallout 4 #sole survivor #ocs #melinda #heather #fic

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bickwrites · 6 years

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Hello, I just wanted to say that I really love your writing style and how you manage to make all your characters come to life. If it's ok to ask, are you planning to write a piece on Alexander Pavos and his family? I always found him and his family to be interesting people. I understand if you're too busy but I wanted to ask.

No problem, thanks for the ask! I’m glad you’re interested in the Pavoses actually because I do intend for them to take center stage in the third Magus Verse story (which will be a long time coming…but I’m already planning it out hohoho). I also have written a little short about Alexandir and Philomel, which I’m putting below under the cut if you’re interested. ^v^

An energos’ scent stirred the air of the Consort’s Court. The heavy musk cut through the sweetness that normally suffused the air, sharp as a heated blade, but it didn’t stir to life any of Philomel Pavos’ instincts.

Indeed, instead of burning her blood and leaving her weak-kneed, it filled her with a calm reassurance. Why shouldn’t it? She recognized the sharp piney tinge to the scent instantly.

It was her brother.

So Philomel remained kneeling before the low table in the private room, her composure perfectly intact. When the door slid open, she sat further upright and put on a calm smile.

A tall man ducked through the door. He moved with the bold, sleek confidence of an energos, a jarring contrast to the elegant ministra stateliness that surrounded Philomel every day. As her brother went to kneel opposite her, the already cozy room seemed to shrink in size, barely able to contain his presence.

Ever since she was little, this was how Philomel had seen her brother - more a force of nature than a human being, with a natural gift for compelling attention wherever he went. When she was younger, she’d believed he could do anything. Now she knew better, but she still couldn’t help relaxing in his presence.

Her brother was here. He would make everything all right.

Alexandir Pavos smiled at her with the forest-green eyes they shared. “It’s been a while. Sorry I couldn’t come sooner, Mel.”

“It’s no problem,” Philomel said. “I’m glad to see you, big brother.”

A Silent Servant served them tea and delicate finger sweets, then left the siblings alone. Through the thin paper and bamboo walls, Philomel could hear the muffled sounds from the rest of the Lotus Mansion - murmuring voices, tinkling string music, the rhythmic tread of servants - but otherwise it was like she and Alexandir were in their own world. These private rooms were the only places where ministra could meet their energos relatives within the coral walls of the Consort’s Court.

Alexandir lived at the royal palace but rarely visited her; he trusted her to take care of herself, and he was quite busy with his work on the Circle of Magi besides. But he had come personally today, because the matter was just that serious.

They didn’t talk about it at first. Philomel poured cups of the fragrant jasmine tea for her brother and herself, and they nibbled at the rice flour dumplings and rosewater candies and lightly chatted about their family back in the Forestlands, her lessons, court gossip. Philomel almost let herself get drawn into the simple comfort of conversing with her brother, where she didn’t have to carefully appraise every word she said and observe for signs of subterfuge and deception.

But that wasn’t the way life worked at court. Not even between family members. Eventually, Alexandir set down his cup and looked at her with serious eyes and said, “Mel, I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry for what, big brother?” Philomel kept her voice soft and pleasant, showing the demure submissiveness that had been drilled in her since she had manifested, but her pulse had begun to race. At last, they were cutting to the chase.

“I had no idea….” Sighing, Alexandir raked a hand through his wavy golden hair. “Honestly, that capricious little prince. To think he’d reject you like that - he has no manners.”

Yes, indeed. Life at court, unpredictable as it might be, still followed a basic rhythm. All the players were in tacit agreement of the rules. Until the prince had gone and broken them.

The entire court was still reeling from his announcement a week ago. If Philomel thought too hard about it, the shock stabbed her heart anew, sharp as a bolt of lightning - and just as unexpected. Ever since then, she hadn’t been able to escape the whispers, the furtive glances, the eyes that looked at her with pity.

Philomel couldn’t stand it. She was a Pavos, the most powerful House in Senero. None should pity her.

She kept her rage to herself, of course. It was unseemly for a ministra to display such forward emotions. She must always be pleasant, gentle, kind. All her teachers had taught her over the years. Charm was the weapon of a ministra, and she would use it to ensnare the prince’s heart and advance the Pavos cause. This was her duty to her family, and Philomel had never resented it. Why should she?

Ever since she had manifested as a ministra, ever since her mama had braided the first peacock hairpin into her hair and given her her first set of cosmetics, everyone had told her the same. One day, she would be Royal Consort.

If she was sweet and charming enough. If she practiced her wood magic and became the strongest and most skilled. If she danced with grace and sang with beauty. She would stand above all the ministra and the prince would only have eyes for her. Philomel had never envisioned another destiny for herself.

Often she imagined her bonding ceremony - ministra always did, and many of them imagined bonding with the prince themselves. But while her fellows fantasized, Philomel looked upon them with smug pity because she knew they were just fantasies, while for her it would be reality. It would be her standing beside the prince clad in the peacock robes of Pavos House, the most beautiful ministra in the palace, the most adored, the most fortunate. They would cheer and sing, courtiers, foreigners, and commoners alike, and it would all be because of her.

Now…now it would never come to pass. And she was angry, yes, even though it was unseemly, but more than angry she was disappointed. In her brother, her parents, her tutors, for their blithe reassurances and unshaking faith in her - but above all in herself.

She had tried her best, but it wasn’t good enough.

“Mel.” Alexandir’s voice snapped her back to reality. He leaned across the table toward her, his eyes shining with concern. “Don’t be so depressed now. It’s not over. The prince may have made his decision, but he’s not the only one who gets to choose. The matter of who he bonds with affects all of Senero. Do you think the rest of his family and courtiers will allow his selfish decision to go forward unchallenged?”

“No, big brother,” Philomel said, soft and dutiful.

“That’s right.” Alexandir spoke with increasing energy. “The royal family has always bonded into the Six Great Houses. We are the very foundation of Senero. The Queen and Consort understand this. How could they countenance their heir tying himself to a family of fish merchants? It’s absurd. I have already raised my objections with Her Majesty and Lord Hazan, and I plan to speak to His Highness about it as well.”

“Even so, the decision is the prince’s,” Philomel murmured, gazing at her faint reflection in her half-drained teacup.

“He must take his family’s input in consideration,” Alexandir said. “Mel, have heart. We haven’t lost yet. We just need a new avenue of attack.”

He was reassuring her, yet to Philomel’s dismay it didn’t banish the discontent swirling inside her. Alexandir had not brought it up yet - indeed, it seemed he was deliberately avoiding the subject - but they both knew the real reason why the prince had rejected her. In spite of all her hard work, in spite of the path the Pavos family had so carefully prepared for her.

And it angered Philomel that she’d never once suspected, not until it had been too late. Yes, Aramy Basquiale came from the most insignificant of insignificant houses - but there remained the crucial fact that he was an aether magus. The first to arrive in the palace in generations.

Through her multiple dates and interviews with the prince, Philomel had come to understand one thing about him very well. Even if she had never met him, she would know from the rumors alone. He was obsessed with strength. Obsessed with it, and insecure over his lack of it, and Pavos had hoped to exploit this fact to put themselves in an advantageous position once they tied Philomel to him.

They’d been outwitted by Aramy Basquiale’s very existence. Pavos was powerful, yes, but not in the way that mattered most to the prince - the way that could most help him. Money, political power, influence - what did that matter compared to raw magical potential?

Philomel was a strong magus. She prided herself for this. How could she be a Pavos otherwise? From the moment she’d manifested her aura, controlling plants had come as easily to her as breathing. Now, even unbound as she was, she had already learned how to grow trees in quick-time from a single seed. It was only right for the one who would someday be the most powerful ministra in Senero.

When she was little and still living in the Pavos estate, her tutors had rhapsodized about the prince’s skill with water aura, how it would complement her wood aura perfectly. They would be able to cast the strongest spells together, his water feeding her wood. But when she’d met the prince, she came to understand the truth. The prince could barely summon a single raindrop. His strength would not be able to augment hers in any appreciable matter. She would be the stronger one in the relationship. It might be unnatural, but Philomel had told herself it was all right, because it ensured she would hold the advantage. And through that advantage, she would help Pavos House.

But of course if the prince found a way to give himself the power he so desired, he would seize it in a heartbeat. How come it had never once crossed Philomel’s mind?

“I should have seen it, big brother,” she found herself saying. “I knew all along that Lord Basquiale was an aether magus, but I never even suspected - ”

“That’s right, it all boils down to this Lord Basquiale,” Alexandir said, drumming his fingertips on the tabletop. “I should have kept a more careful eye on him…I met him a few times at dances, and he impressed me with his unusal appearance, but he never stood out to me otherwise. He always seemed like the shy, retiring type. But you surely must know him better than me.”

The worst thing was there was no reproach in Alexandir’s voice; he wasn’t blaming her. It didn’t make Philomel feel any better. “I don’t, really. He was like that in the Consort’s Court, too. He kept to himself. He didn’t seem interested in forming alliances with powerful families. I don’t think I’ve ever exchanged more than five words with him.”

In retrospect, it was amazing how well Aramy Basquiale had managed to hide himself, slipping away so inconspicuously into the background that sometimes Philomel even forgot he existed. Even if he was from a house far beneath her notice, he ought to stand out by virtue of his unusual appearance and even more unusual aura. Instead, Philomel’s main impression of the man was that he tended to spend his time in the library and was a decent nature painter. He’d won one or two poetry competitions, once turned down a bonding offer from Saunt House, and that was about the limit of Philomel’s knowledge of him.

Now it was obvious what he’d been doing. Cloaking himself in innocuousness so as to not appear a threat, only to swoop in at the final moment and claim his prize in a way that ensured the prince would never be able to refuse.

He had outplayed her, he had done it perfectly, and she didn’t know if she could ever recover. She was a Pavos. Destined for greatness. The perfect ministra.

Silly of her. She’d allowed herself to forget. The perfect ministra wasn’t the most beautiful, the most graceful, the most noble, the most magically skilled. The perfect ministra was the one who supported their energos the best. Philomel could never do it; she would always outshine the weak prince.

But a ministra whose aura by its very nature augmented other auras might well make the perfect ministra.

Philomel’s hands started to shake. She mentally cursed her lack of composure and folded them in her lap, hidden away beneath the table so Alexandir wouldn’t see. Even so, the concern on his face was obvious.

She didn’t want him to look at her like that - him, least of all. She’d always wanted him to think of her as capable, one worthy of carrying the future of Pavos House in her hands.

“You know I’m here for you, Mel,” Alexandir said gently. “I will speak to the prince, the Queen, Lord Hazan, the Consort, the vizier - whoever I need to. I’ll learn more about Lord Basquiale, I’ll find a way to defeat him. As long as we don’t give up, the future is bright. I’m your big brother. I promise, I will give you the crown that you deserve.”

“Thank you, big brother.” Philomel lowered her head in a brief, respectful bow. Funny how his words left her completely cold. If anything, the doubt only gnawed a bigger hole into her heart.

She already understood that she had lost. Alexandir didn’t know the prince like she did - he didn’t see the gaping patheticness inside him, that desperate, floundering desire to prove himself, to be strong. It had always disgusted Philomel, in a faint way, listening to him ramble about his prowess with swords or how he was practicing his rain-summoning spells. The prince should not be like this, she always thought even as she nodded and smiled and flattered him. He should be so assured of his skill that he has no need to speak of it.

Carnelio Azed was nothing like the fairytale prince she had imagined back in her innocent days at the Pavos estate. Maybe he looked the part. Tall, handsome, with intense dark blue eyes that made Philomel feel as though she were falling into the ocean - but when he spoke it was only weak and pathetic words that oozed out. When he smiled it was odious and false. When he kissed her hand it was clumsy, devoid of passion.

When he talked it was only about himself. When he gave gifts he was blustering, overly proud of his magnaminity. The prince of Philomel’s imagination was calm, brave, dashing, gracious. He made her feel safe and protected, loved and cherished, the perfect epitome of energos dominance.

Philomel knew such a prince had probably never existed in real life, but Carnelio Azed was perhaps as far from it as a person could get. She told herself she was fine with it. This was not for her, it was for Pavos House. Even if she loathed him, she would still become Royal Consort. This thought got her through countless awkward dates with him.

Yet even as she dreamed of her bonding day, she never let herself imagine what would come after. Their bonded life. It was too sickening a prospect to face. Most likely it would be just like their courtship, as empty and insincere. She would have to watch every word, take care not to tread upon his fragile ego, while he gave absolutely nothing to her. And she was fine with that, really, except in her heart, she…foolish. Childish. Alexandir would make fun of her for it.

But she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life manipulating her energos. She wanted what her more romantic fellows sighed and pined for. To let herself follow the energos’ lead, to give in to his command, to fall into his arms and never have to think about anything ever again besides being by his side. To experience true submission. How wonderful it would feel. How freeing.

And now her life with the prince might never come to be, and…Philomel did not want to admit it. Especially not with her brother in the room, so determined to continue fighting for her. But a shameful selfish part of her, buried deep inside, was glad that she would not have to bond with the Crown Prince.

Weak. Wrong. She was a proud Pavos and a Pavos could not simply concede like that.

Alexandir reached across the table, and Philomel reached for his hand, and when his warm strong fingers squeezed hers, she squeezed back just as hard. “I promise,” he whispered. “Mel, I won’t stop fighting for you.”

“I know you won’t, big brother,” Philomel said, and she knew he meant it, and she was grateful, but it didn’t stop the faint pulse of sadness somewhere deep in her heart.

Was Alexandir fighting for her, or for Pavos House? They were one and the same, she reminded herself. And it wasn’t like he really knew what she thought of the prince. She had never revealed it - it would be ungrateful. Undutiful. Not after everything her family had done to get her into this position, and not after everything she had done for their sake.

She’d never be free from this, not as long as she was a Pavos. Perhaps for a Pavos ministra, there could never be true submission.

It didn’t matter. She didn’t need an energos to submit to. Not as long as she had a brother who would protect her and care for her. The bonds of blood were thicker than anything else, even the bond of magic.

“For Pavos House,” she said, “we won’t ever give up.”

“Of course not.” Alexandir winked. “That’s what Pavoses do. No little Basquiale will stand in our way.”

They smiled at each other above their clasped hands, and though Philomel’s doubts and fears didn’t disappear, they felt further away than ever.

#magus verse #alexandir pavos #side story

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victorluvsalice · 7 years

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AU Thursday: I'd Do This, But How? -- Yandere

It's Thursday -- time for another installment of "AUs I like in theory but are hard to put into practice." This week, we have perhaps a rather weird one -- a "yandere" AU! For those unfamiliar with the term, it refers to a person (usually female) who looks like a nice, or at least nonthreatening, person -- but secretly is unhealthily obsessed with someone and is willing to do ANYTHING to have them to themselves. "Anything" usually being "murder."

Why I'd Want To Do It: Mostly because I follow the development of the Yandere Simulator game. I haven't actually downloaded any of the bug-testing builds, but I watch the videos Yandere-Dev releases and keep up on the blog. It's a dark game, for sure, but I find the development process pretty interesting. And I find myself rather amused by putting Victor and Alice in the appropriate "senpai" and "yandere-chan" roles. At the very least, they'd probably look good in the uniforms.

What's the Problem?: The fact that I don't like Alice as a random serial killer -- certainly not as someone who kills innocent girls just because they're talking to a boy she likes. That's not her. I know it's fun to depict her as covered in blood and waving that Vorpal Blade around, but in-universe, she's only killed one real-life person (Bumby, who more than deserved it). Even her Wonderland violence is pretty much entirely in self-defense. She's not a psycho killer, and thus not really suited to a "yandere" AU.

Doubting Thomas: "You have two serial killer AUs!"

Okay, true -- but in "Catch Us If You Can," Alice and Victor are explicitly murdering Bumby's associates and others in the child trade. They don't go after anyone else unless they're attacked first. And in "As Long As You Love Me" -- well, Alice is Bart's counterpart, and the universe seems to only have Bart kill real assholes. (According to Bart's own account in the show, she's never killed the wrong person, and when she goes after Dirk, the universe tells her she's wrong via Farah beatdown.) Victoria and Emily, being decent human beings, are not the kind of people Alice would ever kill, even in those AUs. (Hell, I even had a thought about "As Long As You Love Me" Alice teaming up with Victoria and Emily in a potential sequel involving Victor getting kidnapped by the local Blackwing equivalent.) Not to mention my poly AUs way outnumber the serial killer ones...

Why I Keep Coming Back To It: Well, again, there's the "they'd look good in the uniforms" factor -- I wouldn't mind something with Alice cosplaying Yandere-Chan/Ayano. And I can see Alice feeling kind of possessive of any romantic, or even close platonic, relationships she develops. After all, her backstory is all about losing her entire family -- everyone she loved -- in one awful night. I can't see her being eager to go through that again. Granted, it's much more likely to be expressed in Alice getting nervous any time anyone she cares about gets near fire, but still.

How I Could Do It: Actually, Yandere Simulator itself provides a solution to my dilemma -- the pacifist run! You see, the game is all about choices, and in addition to the violent elimination methods, there are also relatively kind ones -- befriend your rivals and ask them nicely to stay away from your Senpai, and matching them up with other boys that like them. Alice need not hurt anyone to get Victor to herself. In addition, she could be a very low-key yandere who represses those impulses because she knows they're wrong. I even have an idea of how it would work -- an angel/devil mechanic where her "stab anyone who might lure Victor away from me" thoughts are personified in the Queen of Hearts, and her more rational side in the Cheshire Cat. Alice is a lot more inclined to listen to Cheshire than the Queen, after all. (I imagine a lot of snarky conversations between the three of them.)

I also already have some ideas for rivals:

Victoria Everglot (obvious; she'd be the "childhood friend pushed into dating him by their parents" and could be matched with the local version of Christopher or Emily)

Emily Cartwell (also obvious; she'd be the "excitable new girl who latches onto Victor because he showed her kindness" and could be matched with the local version of Richard or Victoria)

Jack Skellington (because he's the one I most see in CB slash fiction; he could be a perky goth version of the Occult Club Leader Oka who thinks Victor is cute, and could be matched with Sally)

Nell Van Dort (the local NON-romantic rival -- Yandere Simulator has Senpai's sister as a rival in the sense of "she's really close to her brother and worries their bond will lessen if he gets a girlfriend." Nell of course would be more along the lines of "no son of mine is going to date a girl I don't approve of," with Alice having to find a way to present herself as a suitable candidate or subtly encouraging Victor to stand up to her more)

Angus Bumby (Yandere Simulator also has two non-student rivals, a substitute school nurse and a substitute teacher. The nurse is downplayed as being kind of a ditzy, innocent klutz who just happens to be in a profession Senpai has a thing for. The TEACHER, on the other hand, deliberately seeks out and seduces teenage boys. As you might imagine, that kind of creeper deserves to have Bumby take over the role. I actually have a scene in my head where Alice catches him pinning Victor against a wall, trying to get a hand in his pants (probably the whole thing sparking memories of her poor sister Lizzie) -- and the Queen and Cheshire look at each other before saying in unison, "Kill him." Cue stabbination -- and Victor, after it's all over, falling into her arms crying.)

So yeah, there might be a way to make this work if I ever had the urge. Really, though, I prefer the idea of Alice as the Violently Protective Girlfriend. All of the badass with fewer unfortunate implications.

#yandere simulator #yandere AU #really this one might just be all about Alice cosplaying Ayano #the amusement factor of seeing her in that uniform #interacting with some of the characters in the game #wonder what she'd make of Midori #she'd probably feel sorry for Kokona #but I do like any AU that involves violent Bumby death #I don't like random murderer Alice #but damn I like seeing him get his #queued

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devilmaycry-arts · 7 years

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Vergil

I knew all the info but reading this was is still interesting these character profiles are missing the events and info from the Dmc Anime and Dmc 4.

Intro: Vergil is Dante’s twin brother, another son of the Legendary Dark Knight Sparda and his human bride Eva. Alike Dante, he is half human and half demon, and so possesses amazing powers and abilities, however Vergil has chosen a very different path for himself. Whereas Dante has dedicated himself to hunting and killing demons, Vergil has become solely obsessed with gaining more power, no matter the cost. Powers and abilities: At a basic level, Dante and Vergil have extremely similar, if not identical abilities and powers. It is in fact stated in the manga, that they were born with “identical faces, identical powers” However, the two have very different combat styles, developed and trained at different rates, and utilise their gifts in very different ways, and so, they now demonstrate/manifest very different abilities to each other. Despite this, I would definitely assume they both share near identical natural powers. Vergil is alike Dante, gifted with superhuman speed and strength, and due to incredible regeneration abilities, he has amazing endurance, his wounds healing near instantly. As a secondary character we don’t see as much of Vergil though, and his powers have not been tested as far or as often as Dante’s during the games. He has also not been subjected to as much punishment as Dante, so we have not seen his regeneration tested in many ways. Again, despite this, it is logical to assume his regeneration works in the same way as Dante’s does, (i.e. Vergil also, can’t be cut up, as by the time the blade has sliced through him, the wound has healed over already. Possibly seen in his final battle of DMC3, were it seems Dante cuts him clean through the torso, yet he stays whole) and that Vergil can survive all the things Dante can/has. These include, gunshots to the face and body, multiple stab wounds, being impaled, smashed into the ground by a large demon etc. Therefore, also alike Dante, Vergil can be worn down by continuous attacks, and when he is tired or consistently/badly wounded (which makes him tired anyway), he is far more susceptible to damage. If really exhausted and beaten, Vergil can pretty much be killed by anything that would usually be fatal to a human. Speaking of rumoured natural ability, in Dante’s profile it is discussed how he can seemingly master any weapon he picks up nearly instantly. Vergil also demonstrates this ability, although again it is unknown if it is due to a wide knowledge of different weapons and fighting styles which he can adapt to anything he gets, or some kind of natural power/superhuman intelligence that lets him learn skills and master combat styles at a far faster rate than a human. (I repeat- not academic intelligence) Again, we do not see as much of Vergil using this power, and in fact in Vergils case it can only really be seen in the case of the Beowulfs, which might just have been a display of already present martial arts ability. And unlike Dante who just takes whatever he gets, apparently enjoying the variety and fun he can have with each weapon, Vergil seems to instead base his use of a weapon on if it is powerful enough to be worthy of his attention. (When he receives the Beowulfs, he give them a brief test run before presumably deciding to use them) Once he does find a new worthy weapon however, he seamlessly incorporates it into his fighting style. Due to Vergils more discerning eye, (and perhaps Dante stealin up all the weapons and killing all the gatekeepers himself) he only carries a small selection of preferred weapons of choice. Also, whereas Dante’s abilities in DMC3 are fragmented, Vergil has but one “style” when playable, which is known as Dark Slayer. In its description it states, “The power of darkness gives birth to all kinds of new abilities” so we could easily assume that these powers come from Vergils acceptance of his demonic side and the darkness within him. Dark Slayer is mostly based around various advanced teleportation techniques. Using these skills, Vergil is an extremely skilled teleporter, although, he is only seen teleporting over relatively short distances. Vergil also possesses the ability to magically generate ghostly floating swords in the air around him, which he can then fire at enemies. As stated in his DMC3 file, Vergil refuses to use guns (except in that unique “Jackpot” scene with Dante), as he doesn’t see them as weapons of a true warrior. So instead he makes use of these “summoned swords” when at range. He has exceptional skill summoning and manipulating these blades, demonstrating various formations and techniques with them, although the more advanced summoned sword skills, which involve generating groups of them, are quite draining, and use up demonic energy. When they hit, the swords shatter like glass, and it is interesting to point out that in design, the summoned swords are actually ghostly forms of the Force Edge. The very thing Vergil so desperately wants in DMC3. (Perhaps he has deliberately made them this form, or it is a subconscious thing, or, most likely, it is just a completely unimportant aesthetical element) It has also been suggested, that the source of Dante’s infinite ammo when using guns, is a similar power to what Vergil is using to create these swords out of seemingly nothing. i.e. Dante is magically generating the ammunition into his weapons. (Further development and theory of this idea has led to the suggestion the twins are using some form of alchemy- this is as yet circumstantial) Also like his brother, many of Vergil’s powers come from his use of “devil arms” weapons that either were once demons themselves, are charged with demonic powers, or contain a demon. These usually must be earned, either by defeating the demon, or enduring a test, as generally in order to use a devil arm, you must first prove yourself worthy to the demonic presence in the weapon. Vergil’s demonic blood means that he cannot only wield these weapons, but he can access and channel their powers. When using a devil arm, Vergil can be granted a selection of new abilities. One of Vergils signature abilities, another one he shares with Dante, is that he can “devil trigger”, and assume a demonic form. However, he discovered/unlocked this skill before Dante did. In DT, Vergil is considerably more powerful. He is stronger, faster, and he takes far less damage. He even heals faster, if possible. Vergil requires a devil arm to DT, channelling the demonic essence in the weapon through him using his demonic blood. This means that depending on the weapon he is using, the DT will look different, and have different powers, reflective of the devil arm itself. Vergil can only stay in this form for a short time, as it costs him considerable demonic power, and is rather draining. Vergil’s powers and abilities as Nelo Angelo are discussed later. History: Dante and Vergils earliest history is for the most part unknown. Sparda died sometime during their childhood, and some even say they never met their father. However there is evidence that both the Sparda brothers did know him, at least long enough to form an opinion of him, as it states in Dante’s Code 1 profile, Vergil “reminds him of his father”, who was “cold-hearted”, and if Vergil has successfully emulated his father so, he probably had a living model to base himself on. This is of course, only speculative and the evidence is circumstantial. After Spardas death, Dante and Vergil were raised by their mother, Eva, in a house on the outskirts of town. Both received half of an amulet. Dante was very close to Eva, and Vergil apparently was jealous of their relationship and felt she loved Dante more than him. Then when Dante and Vergil were around 8, demons attacked their house. Eva told Dante to hide, and from his hiding spot, he saw his mother brutally murdered. The demons then reported everyone dead and when they left, Dante thought both Eva and Vergil had been killed. Vergil’s real whereabouts during the attack are currently unknown. However, there is a scene within code 2 of the DMC3 manga where Vergil is put through a mental test by a demon. This featured a complex hallucination, wherein Vergil appeared around 8-10 years old, and is in a cemetery, naked, carrying only the Yamato sword, under attack by a legion of demons. As he is impaled against a gravestone by their spears, and even the Yamato itself, Vergil remarks that the scene is familiar. This is perhaps a nightmarish interpretation or twisted version of what happened to him that night. This is however speculative, and as it was a demon inspired hallucination, cannot be trusted as fact or explicit truth. The next 10 years of Vergil’s life are as yet completely unexplained. It is unknown where he was, how he survived, if he went to school, what he was doing in that time, if anyone raised or looked after him etc. In fact, Dante (and likely everyone) continued to believe Vergil was dead until the DMC3 manga, when he resurfaces. (It is also not definitely known if Vergil knew Dante was alive, and if he did, when he found out) DMC3 Vergil Like Dante, Vergil was deeply affected by his mothers’ death, and suffers from a powerful self-loathing due to his hybrid existence. However, unlike Dante, who is sickened by his demonic side and the darkness within him, Vergil instead despises his human side. Vergil sees his emotions as a cancer constantly poisoning him, making him weak and incomplete, unworthy. There are various fan theories and interpretations of Vergils motives, many believe that he secretly holds himself responsible for Eva’s death, as he was not strong enough to protect his family, or even himself, and that his experiences have led him to believe that in order to have control over (and protect) yourself, your life and what you care about, you need power. This is popularly based on Vergils line to Dante “without power you can protect nothing, especially yourself” Although it has been put forward this was directed at Dante’s struggle to defend the humans, but still he refuses taking the power necessary to do it, or that Vergil was remarking ironically on the fact Dante is too weak to save even himself, never mind everyone/anyone else. The topic remains a matter of interpretation. It is however stated in his manga profile that he seeks power to “validate his existence”. Vergil clearly admires and emulates his father. Sparda was strong, powerful, a true warrior (he could have defended Eva against that attack, in fact) It certainly appears that Vergil wants to be like him. After all, it is from his father’s side Vergil’s strength comes from, his demonic side; his weakness comes from his humanity. In his eyes that humanity that what holds him back and makes him unworthy (of the legacy of Sparda, of life and living). Vergil therefore believes that if he gains enough power, he can become worthy again, a complete being rather than an incomplete and corrupted halfling. This will be in his eyes validating his existence. Just like Dante, it is his endless rage and self-hatred that drives him. However, whatever the reasoning was behind Vergils quest for power, it has become his obsession, and has consumed him utterly over the years. When Dante asks him what he will use all that power for, Vergil has no answer. And one of the greatest ironies of all is that although Vergil wants to be like his father, and Dante begins DMC3 hating Sparda, Vergil entirely missed the point of who Sparda was and what he stood for, in the end it is Dante who really follows in his father’s footsteps. It is said in the manga that Vergil is extremely selfish. And Vergil has always been jealous of Dante. When they were children he felt Dante got more attention from Eva than he did (although we know Vergil loved her as well) and he believes Dante’s power should be his. It may seem childish, but Vergil apparently doesn’t like sharing the legacy of Sparda with Dante, who he probably sees as unworthy of it. Perhaps this is the reason the only time Vergil ever seems to derive pleasure in battle is against Dante. A common debate between fans is the question, is Vergil evil? In order to remain as unbiased as possible, a definitive answer will not be given here (although funnily enough the manual does call him Dante’s “evil” brother..) In utter contrast to Dante, Vergil is always cold and rational. He has discarded/suppressed his humanity, and all his emotions with it. He sees humans as insignificant insects, kept weak and useless by their emotions.

#devil may cry #Devil May Cry 2 #devil may cry 3 #Devil May Cry 4 #Dante #Dante Sparda #Vergil #Vergil Sparda #sparda #eva #story #history #law

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