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beevean · 18 days

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This piece is pretty long (it's actually two), but I'm finally in the swing of things. This is the pure, distilled Isaactor in my view. A complete mess :'D

“But I was asked to give him my body and soul, and so I did. It was the least I could do, after all he did for me.”

The vast castle narrowed down to the four walls of the alchemy laboratory, buried deep underground.

Lord Dracula’s command, white-hot with his fury, was absolute: the Devil Forgemasters were to work until the flesh of their hands had been consumed. It was their duty – no, the very reason they were born – to create and create, to channel Lord Dracula’s essence through their bodies, transmogrified into vessels to bring Hell on earth; the words of the spell fused together in a senseless cacophony of noises, wrenched from their throats by the specter of the Lord.

Hector no longer had the strength to think. It wasn’t unusual for him to wake up with a jolt on his table, surrounded by chipped gems and hasty sketches, with a head that screamed death and tingling hands.

(Were his fingernails always purple?)

Had it been a few minutes? Hours? Days? Who could tell, when not even the moonlight kept them company. He could only get up, tidy up his place, and repeat the litany in an increasingly strained voice.

It was for a good cause.

(He had forgotten what it was.)

His creations had become incredible, majestic. Intimidating skeleton knights, mountain beasts, slender golden gargoyles, dragons small enough to snake around his arm and massive enough to block out the sun when flying. He would have swelled with pride, welcomed the awe bubbling in his chest at the sight of his ever-growing powers, were it not that they all came to the world with the same fate: to kill.

It was the Lord’s will.

(The same will as a rabid wolf driven to bite everything in its sight.)

His Devils, growing in sapience and soft in morals, gleefully brought him back the heads of the men, women and children that they had punished. They wanted nothing more than to make their master happy, and they did in the only way they had learned. Hector threw the gifts away, but they always came back to him, dangling in his dreams with glassy eyes and slack jaws and charred flesh, and it didn’t matter that his breath got cut in his chest and tears pushed to fall from his eyes and his tongue was heavy with blood welling in his mouth.

It didn’t matter, because he had sworn to serve his Lord, with his learnings and with his blood and with all the strength in his body and mind, because he knew what he was doing, he was a rational man who only needed help with his grief, and Hector would have done anything to help him even if he didn’t understand.

(He ignored the rocks settling in his stomach.)

It didn’t matter, because he had to be strong, and keep Isaac upright when he wailed and tore up his hair and sobbed with his head held in his hands and babbling nonsense.

Whenever Hector dragged himself to his quarters to sink into the comfort of his nightmares, Isaac seldom followed him. Just one more, he’d say, and then Hector would descend back the next day to still find his friend awake, attempting to no avail to hide his puffy eyes and the rubble at his feet.

Hector’s craftsmanship improved day by day, improving in number and complexity. Isaac’s masterpiece was still Abel. That was what the Lord would say, with a small smile reserved for Hector. It made all the hardships worth it. It made Isaac slink back to his corner of the laboratory.

The more Isaac worked himself to exhaustion, the more mistakes he made. His Devils were too small, too brittle, lame, a liability in battle. He would rip the gems out of their bodies with a scream and attempt again.

Any suggestion to rest was met with a venomous stare.

« You made it. So I can make it as well. I’m not worse than you! I’m not! »

Hector had to calm Isaac down more times than he could count, when he was overwhelmed by the fear that he couldn’t be useful to his Lord and therefore he had no reason to live. His face became more and more sickly pale and drawn, his eyes bloodshot: he really started resembling an undead creature.

« You’re not useless, » Hector would attempt to comfort him. « No one is going to throw you away. You’re still a General, aren’t you? And my friend, regardless of what you can or cannot do. »

His words never breached him. Isaac was lost in a mire that Hector could only see the surface of.

And that was why, when Isaac would push him to the wall hard enough that his head slammed and would kiss him with teeth and nails and would look at him with eyes as cold as the wind in the castle, Hector let him. If a warm, welcoming body was what he needed to push his head out of the surface, Hector would give it to him. It was the least he could do, for his only friend.

(He would do the same for him. Wouldn’t he?)

Hector pulled back from kissing Isaac’s nape, reeling at the sight that greeted him.

« What is this? »

« Pretty, isn’t it? » asked Isaac with thinly veiled sarcasm, under him.

Hector bit his lip. “Pretty” was not quite the right word: he would have said stunning. A large, intricate tattoo covered the entirety of Isaac’s upper back, from one shoulder blade to the other. Hector knew that symbol all that well: the sun expanding its rays in all directions, the moon and stars inside it, the devil and angel wings spread out, the dragons entangled together in an eternal dance.

It was the very same insignia that the Devil Forgemasters displayed proudly on their uniform. Their rankings, their accomplishments, their purpose in life: all were embroidered on their armor.

And now, it seemed, right under Isaac’s own skin.

Something wasn’t right.

Hesitantly, Hector lightly touched the tattoo with his fingers. The skin throbbed under his fingertips, and Isaac hissed in pain, making him recoil as if he’d been burned.

His friend could tolerate pain. Sought it, even. He had made clear numerous times that he would not let Hector go until he was sore all over. In normal circumstances, Hector would not be deterred, and would have welcomed the distraction regardless of the sluggishness in his own limbs. Isaac’s screams served well at keeping his thoughts at bay.

However, a nagging feeling, pulling in a corner of his mind, held him back.

All of his intentions vanished in a puff of smoke, Hector climbed off of Isaac – which earned him a grumble – to lay down to his side.

« What is the hold up? » the man asked with narrowed eyes, propping himself on an elbow, and Hector wished he had a good answer, one that didn’t make him sound like an unsupportive companion.

« Is that why you didn’t torment me for days? »

« Torment you, » he echoed with a snort. « As if I bother you that much. But yes, I had to wait for it to heal. It hurt… a lot. »

Of course, Isaac would reject ordinary ink – Hector rubbed away the unpleasant memory of the pulsating skin. He was more surprised that he had been able to hide himself from him. Had he been careless? Hector saw himself forced to ask the same question he had been repeatedly asking his friend:

« Why did you do this? »

At that, Isaac’s face brightened up – he must have been waiting for it. « I needed to show to Lord Dracula how committed I am to His cause! How I would do… » He shuddered. « Anything for Him. Even withstanding the most torturous of agonies. He injected His own blessed blood inside my flesh, and now I belong to Him, body and soul. He said as such, Hector! He did! »

That was the part where Hector was supposed to get out and return to his work.

Unnecessary. It was all unnecessary. As it was staying up all day to create Devils bound to be destroyed, as it was cutting off parts of the people they slaughtered, as it was slaughtering them in the first place.

It wasn’t Hector’s place to understand, that much he knew, but he still itched to tear down the wall that had grown between him and the others.

Lord Dracula trusted both of them, even if he was not quite as kind to Isaac. What was the point of mutilating himself for his sake? Weren’t his actions enough?

« I see, » was the only comment he was capable of. He hardly cared that Isaac deflated at his lack of enthusiasm. « You could have told me, you know. »

« Why did you need to know? » Isaac suddenly flashed his eyebrows, before a sly smirk replaced his sullen expression. « Do you want total control of my body? »

« I would treat it better than you do. »

« Ohh, and what would you do? » he purred, swinging a leg over Hector, pushing him closer to his eager body.

He’d show him.

In a swift move, Hector was once again on top of Isaac, this time facing each other; Isaac let out a silent gasp at having his tender back against the bed. Hector couldn’t help it: whenever Isaac pinned him down, he let the victor do with his body as he pleased, but when he was the one holding his friend by the throat, squeezing with just enough strength to feel the blood pumping under his palms, an urge squirmed in his belly, the urge to hurt him, because Isaac was at his most beautiful when he looked up to him with half-lidded, shiny eyes, dark with a sentiment that could only be shared when teeth and nails were drawn out.

A sentiment that was only reserved for Hector. Or, at least, it should be.

Did Isaac look up to Lord Dracula in the same way? Begging to be torn apart? And what did that make Hector, in his eyes?

« Why are you like this? » he asked, knowing he would never get an answer.

He passed his thumb over Isaac’s neck, in search of something. There they were, right on his jugular: the small scars left by Lord Dracula’s fangs, still not fully healed after a few days. Hector would have had a matching mark on his throat, had he not rushed to drink a strong healing potion as soon as the Lord had let him go. The feeling of the vampire’s mouth all over and inside Hector’s neck had been uniquely unpleasant, and he did not wish to see a reminder of the experience in the mirror. Isaac was not of the same mind, it appeared. He never was.

Meanwhile, his friend wheezed a laugh. He didn’t even ask what Hector meant exactly. « Too bad, take it or leave it. » He stroked Hector's back, tickling it with long nails that would soon draw blood. « You don’t want to leave me, do you, Hector? »

The languid tone was not enough to fool him.

Whether Hector liked it or not, regardless of the wall keeping them at arm’s length, Isaac was part of him as much as Hector was part of the only man he could call his companion.

« As if I could. » He nuzzled on the crook of Isaac’s neck, right where it was the warmest. « You’re going to drive me crazy, one day. »

And then he threw all reason to the wind, and bit hard on Isaac’s shoulder, until he finally, finally shouted. Human teeth couldn’t tear skin as easily as a vampire’s, but the purple bruise he left right under Lord Dracula’s mark looked lovely on his friend’s pale skin.

#beev's writing #beev wip #castlevania #akumajou dracula #hector castlevania #isaac laforeze #isaactor #long post #any feedback is appreciated <3 #man it's fun to project on these two lol #i struggle a lot when it comes to writing around dialogue but i have fun packing dialogue with subtext #anyway sadist hector lives in my head rent free it just makes sense to me #isaac is not the only fucked up manwhore in dracula's castle lollll

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blackjackkent · 27 days

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In the end it's not hard to spot the devil Wyll is chasing. She kind of stands out.

The woman is crouched in a ball of flame covering her from head to foot. A deep, brutal moan of agony is audible where Rakha stands almost twenty feet away - just as clear as the heat radiating off her.

The flames aren't magic - not in the sense that Rakha has come to know the term thus far. They're coming from within the woman's body, and though they seem to be causing no small amount of pain, her flesh shows no sign of burn or blood.

Must be devil magic, then. Wyll said she was of Avernus...

Wyll is already moving, closing the distance between himself and the crouching woman, one hand going to the rapier on his back. "One horn," he snarls. It's very unlike his usual pleasant, slightly wry tone; Rakha is struck abruptly with the thought that this is what she must look like when the beast takes over. "The stink of Avernus. Advocatus diaboli."

The woman's head lifts with a sharp jerk. Rakha braces herself for battle, remembering the image in Wyll's head of Karlach covered in blood, a greataxe in one hand - but nothing happens. Instead, the woman just straightens, staggers back a step, and an incongruous expression of exhaustion and grief takes hold of her features.

"Well, I'll be godsdamned," she mutters ruefully. "The Blade of Frontiers. Thought I'd shaken you for good. That'll teach me to underestimate you."

In truth, Rakha had sort of been looking forward to this - a death that needed to happen even by Wyll's reckoning, and thus one into which she could metaphorically (or perhaps literally) sink her teeth into. Something that might sate the blood-hunger in her head longer than usual. Attack with purpose, and savor your kills, as Lae'zel advised.

But the devil is not striking first, or even seeming to want to fight back. Irritation spikes through Rakha's skull. Do not deny me this now.

"Tell me, monster," she growls coldly. "What's it like to know you're about to die?" On some level it is a taunt to rouse the moment to violence. On another, it is a serious question to feed the hunger in her mind.

The woman's head snaps back and her lips curl in a tight, harsh smile. "Touch me," she says, equally cold, "and you'll regret it."

And there it is, the pristine glorious edge of violence--

WHAM.

The impact of the tadpole connection is rougher than usual this time, and it sears and burns like a hot coal against her temple. She cries out, staggers back a step.

Narrator: A great heat roars through you - her heat, fiery as the hells. Then you're lost in visions of demonic armies as you tear through a landscape of fire and blood. The Blood War. You saw it from above as the nautiloid passed through Avernus. This woman was on the front line.

Rakha's heart is racing, her breath coming in quick sharp staggers. The imagery Wyll showed her was powerful enough, but this-- this was a sea of gore, an ocean of death. She barely has enough wherewithal to acknowledge the implications here, that Karlach has a tadpole, that she is another of those seeking the same answers as Rakha. The beast in her head roars eagerly, ravenous, demanding more, demanding to gorge itself on the vision.

"What was that?" she hears Karlach shout, fearful.

And Wyll, cold, implacable: "Evidence. Proof that you're a devil, a gladiator in the archdevil Zariel's army."

"I can explain!" Karlach protests frantically as Wyll's blade draws towards her throat. "But it's a whole situation. If you'd just hear me out--"

WHAM.

The impact this time is strong enough to knock all of them to their knees. Rakha hears a sharp githyanki curse from Lae'zel, and Wyll, next to her, begins to shake his head as if staving off some inner attack.

Narrator: Another vision. Karlach's blade raised, slicing through devils - Zariel's servants - as her eyes dart around, seeking escape. Her rage and desperation seep into you. She is a victim of the Blood War, not an agent of it.

Rakha shudders as the images continue to pour through her; it overwhelms the need for blood in her mind as killing this single soul never could. The beast feeds, and feeds, and feeds... and slowly quiets, settling into a sated calm, rumbling with satisfaction.

Her mind clears, her eyes open. She looks up to see Wyll looking baffled, lost... and utterly terrified.

"She's trying to trick us," he rasps out. "Don't believe her lies."

Karlach looks equally shaken; her hands are up in a defensive posture but she looks more ready to flee than fight. "You saw the truth," she says unsteadily. "I never wanted to serve Zariel. I was enlisted in her army against my will. Forced to fight." Her shoulders hunch slightly, as if with shame. "And fight I did," she admits. A slight pause. "When I saw an opportunity to get away, I took it. I'm finally home-- or near it, anyway."

There's a strange touch of joy under the fear there, just for a moment.

Rakha struggles for breath, for clarity. Wyll was wrong, that much is certain. This is no destructive mastermind; she's not sure it's even a devil. She's never met a devil, so she can't be positive, but the woman seems more like the tieflings of the grove, except for the strange flame curling around her and the pulsing light within her chest.

And she was on the nautiloid. She has a tadpole.

It has been enough to keep Rakha from killing Shadowheart, Gale, Wyll himself. Everyone else is fair game enough, should they stand in her way, but it is few enough who seem to have had the same experience that she did, of being marked for death within that terrible ship. Better to keep this woman alive, to use her in their search for answers.

Wyll, it seems, is not quite thinking along the same lines - or is desperately trying not to. "You served her," he snarls. "That's enough to damn you."

Rakha grunts, knocks her fist against Wyll's sword hand irritably. "Be practical," she mutters. "She's infected. Same as us. And powerful, too. We can use her as an ally."

Narrator: [PERCEPTION] Wyll catches his breath and his lips straighten. Sheer dread twists his face.

"You don't know what you're saying," he says, and there's a strange desperation in his words. "You're asking me to trust a devil."

Her irritation sparks again, though it catches less momentum with the beast currently so sated. "Gods, you're stubborn," she snaps. "Karlach's not a devil." She peers at him. There's that same evasion in his eyes, the hint of misdirection. "And you know it," she adds coldly. What aren't you telling me?

Karlach has been watching this argument unfold in silence, the defensive tension slowly sagging out of her shoulders. She doesn't look angry at being threatened; she just looks sad, and perhaps more for Wyll than for herself, for reasons Rakha can't quite parse.

"Listen to sense now," the tiefling finally puts in, surprisingly quietly. "I don't want this to end badly for either of us." She angles herself a little closer to Wyll. "You know monsters, right? Better than anyone. Look into my eyes. Can't you see I'm not what you think?"

It's such a frank, open entreaty that all of them are struck to silence for a moment. Rakha finds herself eyeing the woman with a new curiosity, and not just because of the mountain of other images of death that probably lurk uncovered in her head.

But she's even more curious about what's going through Wyll's mind. The man looks as if he's been sucker-punched in the gut.

"Shit," he mutters. "You really are no devil, are you? I've... I've been deceived..." Both the anger and sardonic good nature are gone from his tone. There is only a cold flatness. Despair.

Did he want so badly to kill this woman, just as Rakha did? Does he feel the same call for blood? No. It's something different, something deeper that Rakha doesn't understand.

Karlach slumps with visible relief, and she grins crookedly. "Thank the gods," she says, in a somewhat more jocular tone. "Thought I was going to have to take your head."

Astonishingly, in spite of that flat despair, Wyll still smiles in return. "You would've died in the attempt," he says, deliberately mild. "But there have been enough threats today."

"Truce then, hey?" Karlach says cautiously.

"Aye," Wyll agrees. "Truce."

Which, Rakha reflects, leaves pretty much every single thing about this whole situation completely unanswered. But the woman will be a new ally. There's something in that. Her head is clear enough, for now, to see the value in it.

The tiefling turns to look at Rakha and grins widely; with the immediate threat gone, her energy rises immediately. "I'm Karlach," she says. She sticks out a hand towards Rakha's midsection the same way Gale did. "But you already knew that. And you are...?"

Rakha gives her a mildly puzzled look, ignores the hand, but answers curtly, "I'm Rakha."

"Well met, soldier!" she says cheerfully, letting her hand fall back to her side when Rakha doesn't take it. "Nice to meet a friendly around here. It's been tough going so far. I may not be a devil, but I can put the Blade's reputation to work. How would you feel about helping me kill some evil bastards?"

The beast stirs sleepily. Rakha's eyebrows lift and her pupils dilate slightly.

Karlach is still talking, evidently not recognizing that she's already said the key word. "A little background, if your moral compass needs something to point at-- you already know I fought in the Blood War. I was good. *Really* good. Turns out I've got a knack for killing demons. That made me a valuable asset. Zariel, the archdevil herself, made me as her personal attack dog. I played along until I could get the fuck out of there, but devils don't like to lose their assets. Zariel liked it so little, she sent a bunch of goons, so-called 'Paladins of Tyr', to take me back. Problem is, I'm not going."

Rakha stopped listening about two sentences in and has merely been waiting to get a word in edgewise; the woman talks nearly as much as Gale. She does not care about this Zariel, or Karlach's history; none of it seems much likely to be relevant to her own problems.

But Karlach wants someone dead. And dead she can do.

"So you want me to kill the people hunting you?" she asks matter-of-factly.

If Karlach is surprised by the alacrity of her response, she doesn't show it, just grins. "Don't worry. I'll lead the charge," she says casually. "But I could use your help. There's a lot of them and only one of me. After that, we can team up. Take Faerun by the short hairs. Sound good?"

Rakha blinks vaguely at the unfamiliar idiom, but she can get the gist. She helps Karlach kill, and in return, Karlach helps them find the answers Rakha needs. She sees no downside.

"Let's do it," she agrees.

#bjk plays bg3 durge #rakha the dark urge #hooray we successfully avoided murdering karlach \o/#ways to prevent rakha from kill mode discovered so far:#1) confuse the shit out of her #2) flood her with gory mental imagery #3) pet pupper #also the tug-of-war going on in my head between Hector seeing Karlach and going 'KISS?' and Rakha seeing Karlach and going 'KILL?'#was sure something :P #the struggle to not see karlach and automatically want to romance her is REAL #even rakha wants to like her in a weird way #although for less pleasant reasons than hector did :P #'nother long one lol

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lieutenantselnia · 1 year

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Some thoughts on the choice of Carina Smyth's first name

Ngl even though there are many things I don't like about DMTNT, I think that Carina is like one of the best names that could be chosen for Barbossa's daughter. It sounds like a pretty regular name at first, but I think the backstory is what makes it actually a really great choice.

"Carina" is the name of a star constellation which is also known as "keel of the ship". In the german dub of the movie this is actually made more obvious, as Carina says that she's named after said star constellation, whereas in the original she says the the brightest star in the north (which is part of the constellation) gave her her name. Being named after a star constellation which resembles a ship (or at least a part thereof), her name is connected to both the stars and the sea, two focal points in Barbossa's life as a pirate and as a captain. He's a man of the sea and an exceptional navigator, and I think it's safe to assume that he has a very good knowledge of astronomy, particularly for navigational purposes. As he said himself, he knows which stars to follow home.

I like to think that Barbossa consciously chose his daughter's name because of its meaning. However, we unfortunately don't know under which conditions it was chosen, since we simply don't have enough information about his and Margaret Smyth's relationship. How many months before the birth did he learn that he was going to be a father? Were he and Margaret able to prepare for the changes in their lives that might come with having a child, did they make any plans for the future? Did they think up names together, and he suggested Carina, should they have a daughter? Or did Hector just return to land one day to learn his partner had died while he was at sea, and left him a child, and he had to come up with a name on the spot and the first thing that came to his mind were the star constellations?

I kind of doubt that we will get any canonical answers to those questions, so they are left to the realm of headcanons. I personally like to imagine that Barbossa chose the name carefully, and because of what it meant to him personally. Even though he kind of said in the movie that he never wanted his daughter to be associated with pirates (which happens to include himself), I think as her father he still wanted to make at least one meaningful impact on her life, which happened to be the choice of her name. Maybe also, in that way he would never forget her, since whenever he observed the sky and saw the star constellation Carina, he would also think of his daughter.

#tbh the actual reason I wrote this is bc I am struggling to come up with a name for a barbossa x oc fanchild #but nothing feels quite perfect and I ended up thinking too much about it #and came to the conclusion it's because his canon daughter's name already has the best fitting backstory (and a very beautiful one at that)#anyway these are just random ramblings and idk if any of this makes sense or is complete garbage I just thought 'why not share my brainrot'#also I kinda got carried away with the paragraph about Margaret's and Hector's relationship oops haha #pirates of the caribbean #potc #potc 5 #dead men tell no tales #dmtnt #headcanons #barbossa #hector barbossa #captain barbossa #carina smyth #carina barbossa #selniasoriginal #ramblings

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oldshrewsburyian · 6 months

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Care of Future Times?

This is the Wimseyverse/The Hour crossover that I, uh, just need to figure out how to convert research into plot for *sob*. Have a snippet:

Lord Peter Wimsey, given, after a fashion, his laissez-passer, potters along the hallway until he comes to a mahogany door. He knocks, and waits for the hard-edged voice that says “Come!” Entering, he suspects that the man who stands with long fingers resting elegantly on the corner of his desk is, in fact, bracing himself there. “Sir?” says Randall Brown — a little blankly, a little repressively — and his visitor, who knows that it is good manners and good politics never to show surprise, admires him for it. “Lord Peter Wimsey,” says that gentleman, proffering his card.

#me @ me: why are you like this #i do love the idea of these two interacting though #wip titles game #wimseyverse #the hour bbc #angst and literary allusions #freddie will of course struggle to assimilate the reality of lord peter as so many have done before him #hector knows he's unsettled by him and can't quite place why because he shouldn't be (he tells himself)

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jayt23 · 1 year

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I was today days old when I learned that Lyn clones have the same defense as the original unit.. which means that if you put her on Louis you don't have one unit who doesn't take damage anymore- you have five. That also means you can just put him into any group with less than five mages since the enemy will always prioritise the clones instead of Louis

#fire emblem #fire emblem engage #fire emblem meta #fire emblem louis #fe louis #tank louis #i havent used that ring on him before but now that i know ike sigurd and hector kinda seem redundant #also speedtaker is pretty sweet as a little bonus since louis doesnt really struggle with his damage output or defense just speed and res

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dissidiawol · 1 year

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history will repeat itsself forever and ever

#catboy jerma #iv #vlinny #lalnable hector #i dont wanna tag the other ones #ive been comparing cbj to imp vinny in my head since day One its such an obvious comparison of like Its Happening Again #i like mostly do not like this art bcs i struggled with like All of it but i tried and its Okay..#temporary art tag #digibroney

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toothed-raven · 1 year

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Night drawings :D

#struggling game #art #amadeus💖#fanart #troy✨#achilles✨#hector✨#self insert #me👁️#sona #struggling amadeus #amadeus the firstborn #troy struggling #hector struggling #achilles struggling #✝️by me✝️

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ruru0015 · 2 years

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I made it 〜🥰🥰

#struggling fanart #struggling game #achilles struggling #hector struggling #troy struggling #shrink plastic

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ask-hector-and-isaac · 2 months

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Prince Adrian's inhuman dhampir beauty is off-putting, but Lord Dracula's inhuman vampire beauty is not?

I never... I never called Lord Dracula "beautiful"... I mean... that's not the right word to describe him and why are you insisting on having me judge how attractive he is?! That's for Lady Lisa to know!

#ask hector and isaac #honestly thought this question was for isaac before remembering who said it first lmao #guys i'm proud of you for spreading the hecula propaganda but my man is not going to give in so easily :p #poor hec. the word dilf didn't exist back then. i understand the struggle

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incorrect-glitch-techs-quotes · 1 year

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Mitch: Would you guys be there for me if I was going through something?

Five: Nope, absolutely not.

Miko: I hope it sucks, whatever you're going through.

Zahra: I hope it emotionally scars you for the rest of your life.

Haneesh: I hope you reach out to me so I can ignore you.

Nix: I can't wait to go to your funeral, knowing I could've changed that outcome.

#glitch techs #gt incorrect quotes #incorrect quotes #miko kubota #hector nieves #zahra rashid #mitch williams #glitch techs haneesh #glitch techs nix #NIX GETS A QUOTE BECAUSE I MISSED ONE #SORRY FOR MISSING ONE BUT I WAS BUSY AND THEN CRASHED HARD AFTER #introvert struggles

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meechatuck · 9 months

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SOOOOO happy I got this one done. I've had Hectass on the brain lately haha. I really enjoyed drawing and coloring all of these! Love me some dominate Moon Cass over Hector any day.

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beevean · 8 months

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hmmmm... shalaura + absence. and... a ship of your choice + rapier

The village was quieter, when Shanoa was off to one of her missions.

She was not a woman for conversations, which Laura didn't mind: she enjoyed talking, and she could tell that the other still listened to what she had to say. With time, she had even learned to read her subtle expressions, the twitches of her eyebrows, the way she cocked her head...

Sure, Laura was still eagerly waiting the day that Shanoa would crack a smile. She was confident that the woman would look radiant. But she wouldn't force it. It would make it all the more precious when it happened.

The bell on top of the door rang.

"I brought you the onyx and diamond you asked of me," a familiar voice announced.

Laura beamed. Shanoa could easily blend in the surroundings, with her dark armor, the long mane of black hair flowing behind her, and her apparently unassuming personality. And yet, her presence was tangible in the village: she was a kind, selfless person who could make everyone happy.

Well. Laura could only speak for herself, she mused.

You could tell everything about a man by the weapon he wielded.

Trevor had been entrusted with the sacred whip of his forefathers, the Vampire Killer. A strong, flexible weapon with which Trevor could shatter stone and the flesh of cursed creatures alike. He did not need to dash around the battlefield, when a single crack of the whip would send monsters run away in panic, and bring the braver ones to their knees.

Alucard, on the other hand, had a preference for swords. He could also use the dark powers inherited by his father, but Trevor was not surprised by the dhampir's reticence to resort to such means. With a hand behind his back, he counterattacked Trevor's blows with a long, thin rapier. Alucard danced on the field, with a speed and a grace that belied the inhuman strength behind his strikes. When he targeted a monster, they didn't even have the time to flee before being slashed to pieces by the dhampir's blade.

An elegant deadly weapon, for an elegant deadly friend.

#castlevania #shalaura #shanoa #laura castlevania #trecard #trevor belmont #alucard castlevania #i struggled to find a character in cv that uses a rapier (that isn't hector or shanoa lol)#let alone that i'd like to ship #hope you like the shalaura piece <3 #prompt meme

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