Darwinian Terror

—————–––––––— Earth's Answer: Break this heavy chain, That does freeze my bones around Selfish! vain! Eternal bane! That free Love with bondage bound. —————–––––––— Does your dim heart. Heal or destroy? —————–––––––— Independent Vergil RP blog run by MangledMann. NSFW and mature Themes. 18+ Please read my rules before interacting! Taglist/tracker and Muse info

[yallneedrpmemes-deactivated2022]

mistletoe edition

send one (or more) symbol for a mistletoe kiss situation

💘 : your muse finds my muse under a mistletoe

👀 : my muse finds your muse under a mistletoe

❗ : your muse ambushes my muse under a mistletoe 

❕ : my muse ambushes your muse under a mistletoe 

🌿 : your muse places a mistletoe above my muse’s head

😍 : my muse places a mistletoe above your muse’s head

💋 : your muse kisses my muse under a mistletoe without a warning

💏 : my muse kisses your muse under a mistletoe without a warning

❣️ : our muses find themselves under a mistletoe by coincidence 

💕 : your muse mentions that they want to be kissed under a mistletoe

💗 : my muse mentions that they want to be kissed under a mistletoe

[justmorerpmemes]

Emergency Fluff and Softness Starters

“Hey, come here. It’s alright.”

“Shh. It’s okay.”

“You got me, and I’m not so bad, right?”

“I know what you need. Hold on.”

“I’m arresting you for being criminally cute.”

“Sleeping in? Hell yeah.”

“That was my blanket! Come on…”

“Don’t you dare. No, no puppy face of yours is gonna work…”

“I just found out I have $40 more than I thought. We’re getting take out!”

“Have some of this. You’ll feel better.”

“Ey, I got you. You know I do.”

“I’m glad you’re here. Truly.”

“Thank you for being gentle.”

“You did not just throw that pillow at me!”

“Door’s locked, lights are off… snacks are here, what’s next?”

“Your hands are cold, let me help.”

“You really didn’t need to, you know.”

“You needed a hug.”

“I will not be broken… I will not be… fine, you win stop with the face.”

“No, you’re cute. End of story.”

“I’m not cute. End of story.”

“Listen, we don’t have to fight, we can both be adorable.”

“…but I like it when you’re a soft dork.”

“Come on, get over here.”

“I will squeeze the unhappiness out of you!”

[darwinianterror]

durativo​:

“If it isn’t wrong, why aren’t you winning? Riddle me that, Vergie.” Dante can sense the energy in the air, that feeling that Vergil would be impaling him with a bunch of elegantly folded demonic steel. Sure enough, that’s exactly what happens. Dante jumps back, but the end of the sword does push into him for a moment.

“Excuse me? That half of yourself was a big fat cheater, and you know it.” Dante huffed. “Beside, I only lost the Rebellion. Not much else. I turned out just fine. I’m sure I only have a tiny bit of brain damage!”

Another smirk. “This tongue wont stop waggling even if it does get bitten off. Trust me.” Dante does huff a bit as Sparda is brought up in his midst once again. He acts more like a child the more their father gets brought up. “Like hell Dad can claim my moves. I taught myself. He taught me how to break my own arm, that’s what he did.”

Ignoring Dante’s question, Vergil stalked closer again, eyes razor-thin slits as he squinted down at his brother. “Cheater or no, I got the result I wanted.” Well. Not perfect, but the result was good enough.

Grabbing his brother’s cheeks, Vergil squeezed Dante’s jaw until it was forced open - looking down at his tongue with an arched eyebrow.

“I’m curious if such a feat is possible.” 

Pushing down upon Dante’s tongue with his thumb, Vergil let their eyes meet and reciprocated the smirk, his free hand toying with the Yamato’s scabbard. He did not make empty promises - and was in a mood for butting horns with his brother over petty remarks, especially since he’d technically lost their fight.

[darwinianterror]

durativo​:

“Maybe your stance is the wrong one.” He  says that with a little smirk, watching Vergil’s brow furrow with a confused and frustrated look. He stepped back a bit, making his stance wider, surprisingly obeying Vergil’s advice, although perhaps instinctively wondering if Vergil would teach him any more moves to help him learn how Vergil fought – and, by association, help Dante beat him up even more.

He felt energy from fighting Vergil. Every impact of Vergil’s fists didn’t make Dante stagger. On the contrary, it seemed every hit Dante took was like a thrust of life into him, he only became more energetic, more giddy, his feet shifting back and forth like a boxer as he made a few quick practice jabs at the air.

“Your peak? You think that stuff was your peak? Sheesh! No wonder I beat you so easily.” Another grin. Dante looks Vergil over, wondering what he’s thinking, seeing that expression on his face. “Aw, you got another boo-boo?” He asked. “You need a green orb?” He comes a bit closer, either to taunt him or to actually offer said green orb.

“It is not wrong.”

Vergil narrowed his eyes, insulted by Dante’s accusation, his half-closed fists balling into tight fists at the second scathing comment, and then the third. He was tempted to turn this brawl into something with more steel and sharp metal- able to sense the Yamato’s presence coiling around his wrists and palms.

Pulling the blade forth, Vergil pushed his brother away with the scabbard, then held the weapon at his side, running fingers down the smooth wood. Irritated eyes challenged his brother. “Do not call me wrong, brother. Not when you lost the Rebellion to a half of myself.”

With a half-leer, Vergil returned the slander. “Run your tongue in a fight and you may just bite it off. I certainly know when father began to teach us pugilism, that was not the technique. What pitiful soul taught you?”

[mitchellwrites]

deathless ♚ sentence meme

You will always fall in love, and it will always be like having your throat cut, just that fast.

You are going to break your promise. I understand.

You’re lonely too.

It will stop your breath, how cruel I can be.

I am a demanding creature. I am selfish and cruel and extremely unreasonable.

I am your servant.

I crawl at your feet; for before your love, your kisses, I am debased.

For you alone I will be weak.

I belong here, and you will not deny me.

I say these things, and the world listens.

I do not tolerate a world emptied of you. I have tried.

In the dark, I have pored over the loss of you like pale gold.

I will not let her speak because I love her, and when you love someone, you do not make them tell war stories.

I moved the earth and the water for you.

You will always run away with her.

You will always lose her.

You will always be a fool.

You will always be dead, in a city of ice, snow falling into your ear.

You have already done all of this and will do it again.

No one should be judged for loving more than they ought, only for loving not enough.

We look terrible to you, and severe, and you see our blood flying.

What we carry between us is hard-won, and we made it just as we wished it to be, just the color, just the shape.

There need never be any rules between us.

Let us be greedy together; let us hoard.

Do not leave me, swear that you will never leave me.

I am selfish. I am cruel. My mate cannot be less than I.

Sleep with fists closed and shoot straight.

I can’t abide a poor liar.

You look like a winter’s night. I could sleep inside the cold of you.

Oh, quit that. Blushing is for virgins and Christians.

Scold me; deny me. Tell me you want what you want and damn me forever. But don’t leave me.

Bad luck relies on absolutely perfect timing.

In his own country, Death can be kind.

What is the world but a boxing ring where fools and devils put up their fists?

Men die. It’s practically what they’re for.

I am no one; I am nothing.

Nothing in me was not made by you.

A revelation is always the end of something. It might even be cause for grief.

Just tell yourself a story that’ll satisfy you and pretend he told it.

Forever isn’t bright; it isn’t like that. Forever is cold and hard and final.

I savor bitterness - it is born of experience. It is the privilege of one who has truly lived.

If you want to kill yourself, do not use us as your knife.

What did I do wrong? Was I boring? Did I ignore you?

Don’t you dare speak to me like that.

I have worn nothing but blood and death for years.

I have fought all your battles for you, just as you asked me.

I have learned not to cry when I strangle a man.

I have learned to watch everything die.

I am not a little girl anymore, dazzled by your magic. It is my magic, now, too.

Are we not devils?

No one is now what they were before the war.

I have not seen you without your skin on.

Close up your head; your brain is getting loose.

We obsess. It’s in our nature.

I’ve a devil of a habit for being right.

In war you must always choose sides.

If you try to be a bridge laid down between them, they will tear you in half.

We are all dead. All equal. Broken and aimless and believing we are alive.

My old bones will follow yours soon enough.

It is better to be strong and cruel than to be fair.

I will see him with his skin off before I agree to fall in love.

After love, no one is what they were before.

I have survived, but I have not been spared.

In the space of one heartbeat to another I loved you and I was lost to you.

Frighten me, make me cry, only come back.

It’s not so bad, my darling. Being dead. It’s like being alive, only colder.

You’ll think it’s love, while he dines on your heart.

You will be so beautiful when you are old.

I cannot keep you and I cannot let you go.

You will live as you live in any world…with difficulty, and grief.

I look at you and it is like my throat being cut.

She said you’d come and I swore to eat your heart.

I still want to kiss you.

My heart is being cut in two. I cannot bear it.

What happens to anything beautiful?

I have to know, I have to or else you will just rule me until the end of everything because you know and I do not.

[darwinianterror]

Candidacy

@durativo

“Your stance is all wrong.”

Vergil brought his hand down, away from his jaw with a fluid motion, letting his heels touch the dusty wooden floor. Sweat stuck to his brow in beads, and he lightly panted from exertion.

As they were having a simple sparring match, he did not have the usual greaves and gauntlets on - instead Vergil had gone for bare knuckles and feet, and could feel a bruise blooming over his knuckles. It’d be gone within the hour, but it still stung to know Dante could block his strike. Contemplating the matter had broken Vergil’s concentration enough for a blow to land just below his throat.

Dante shouldn’t have been able to block his jab. He was far too hunched - elbows drawn in and arms splayed out casually. How, how, how- Had he blocked it?!

Masking his frustration with bland disinterest, Vergil pointed to Dante’s feet. “Further apart.” How Dante had outperformed him whilst acting so lax and laid back was borderline infuriating. Vergil couldn’t sense any magic present - and the fact baffled him further.

A twitch of the brow was the only sign of his ire coming to the surface, and he masked how occupied he was by wiping them upon his loose-fitting trousers. This was a trick, surely?

“Dante. Surely you can’t tell me, you took me on at my peak with footwork like that?” He kept his tone scathing, hoping he could work out an offended response to recieve a damn answer as to why.

[darwinianterror]

criimsoncloud​:

Sometimes, V wondered why he would constantly return to this old, crumbling place.

He would leave the city, wander the realm in search of a solution to his weary bones, but every step would just lead him back to his former home, a moth lead to a burning flame. The wood, though splintered and broken, never rotted - still standing as strong as it could. A half ridiculous idea had once entered the man’s mind: was this place still emanating some sort of demonic energy, keeping the place preserved?

It would explain the wonderful condition of the book that once was his.

But though he would stay in the ruins, V would do his best not to disturb much. There wasn’t much he could do about the dust and debris, and it took much effort to clear the rubble from his path. (He once left it untouched, but after injuring himself by tripping over a broken banister and impaling his foot, V had learnt both how dangerous this place could be, and that injuries as a human hurt.)

Stolen blankets and linens were carefully stashed in the remnants of the small office - one of the few places left moderately unburnt by the decades old fire, and still intact after the Qliphoth. His cane, salvaged when the demon tree disintegrated, lay next to the little nest, alongside lit candle, and a hardbound book. It wasn’t that familiar William Blake anthology - that one was left in his former self’s hands. It was a compilation of poems from Sylvia Plath, bound in faded red and silver, a message scrawled in the back cover with elegant penmanship.

‘To Eva, with love.’

Creak.

Step.

Step.

The sounds of someone other than he broke V’s attention from the book. Head slowly tilted up, and he unfurled himself from the nest of blankets. Frail hands, shaking ever since he had returned to Red Grave, grasped upon the metal cane. He had been feeling weak ever since returning, as if he was crumbling once again. His legs trembled, yet he stepped out, eyes accustomed to the ever present darkness of these ruins darting towards every crack and crevice, searching for the intruder.

“Who goes there?”

Although able to pick up on the supersensible, Vergil was convinced that the footsteps putting his heightened senses on edge were another hallucination - akin to those that flickered at the perimeter of his vision - until a pair of legs clad in broken and scuffed leather step out.  With anticipation manifesting as impatience, the man took several paces closer to the half-broken doorway that had confirmed someone else's presence. To corroborate his argument; a silvered cane knocked rubble and shale aside whilst what once was a part of himself stumbled out into the overcast light of the day.

Vergil didn’t bother to hide himself, simply standing where he was. He had no leads to suggest that moving alone could provoke a reaction of hostility - but he expected a reaction for neglecting this part of himself. Nor did he see a reason to introduce himself - the gripes at the sides and back of his head had eased somewhat now he knew their source.

His humanity looked thin. Oh- there was no doubt, this was him. Wary, green eyes that tracked Vergil's hands toying with the Yamato's sageo, his thumb running over blue braided cotton for solace. Hair and skin - which had been decorated in onyx until the familiars crawling inside were called forth - were now uniformly alabaster - save for dark circles below the eyes. Would he need food, rest, and love as humans do? Or was he still a fragment of a personality held together by demonic vows?

About to part his lips to ask all the questions - Vergil frowned. A tremor - which had not been present in the bleary, faraway memories Vergil recalled under that identity - was present in his hands. Had he developed his own identity? Did he have different opinions and points of view? None of those could answer anything that tumbled forth in Vergil's head, even if he could solve them.

The fear present in the eyes of this... ex-piece of him was what halted Vergil's questions from sprouting forwards. Why?

Why wasn't he aski-

Ah. An apology. Dante had practically insisted on it to the point of writing it on Vergil's palm. Even if Demons fought differences out until one yielded or was dead, humans handled things this way. It wasn't a new revelation; their mother had made the twins apologise to one another plenty of times. After decades of not having to make up for actions, it was challenging. Jerking his head, the words sat a little foul on the tongue, but Vergil managed.

"My-” How had he seen these structured? Were they sincere? Did people frown upon sincerity? “-apologies. The actions I took have resulted to you being in this state."

[darwinianterror]

Convergence

@criimsoncloud

Dante had called his feelings guilt, but Vergil begged to differ. He had never felt guilt before - so why now? Especially with his supposed humanity missing? Returning from the Underworld to walk amongst a world he'd only recently had fresh experiences of -- and even then, those memories of asking his brother to help were peculiar. Off. Misplaced. Like he'd observed, but not physically been there; akin to watching a movie played back on a glass screen - yet it was intangible before him. It had been his belief that he had reabsorbed the two halves split from their original self, up until Dante had let it slip that - yeah, the man clad in leather and inked with nightmares, had still been around after driving his cane into Urizen - though had hurried off quickly as he was too weak to aid in the conflict.

Vergil wondered if that was the reason he'd returned. If he was still missing a piece of himself - or if that part of humanity he had shunned and neglected in favour of his more feral side had broken off out of pure desperation. The fact that he was a different man to the one who drove his own blade into his heart unequivocally true. As for the reason? Vergil was still searching. Local libraries were redundant; holding barely any content on demons, let alone the intricate nature of severing souls in two.

From Dante's account - his humanity had been crumbling as he shambled and limped away - so the fact that he could still be alive was a slim possibility to him. Yet that posed more questions. Occam's razor; his humanity was still alive, yet the nightmares had been slain, and Vergil needed to hunt him down to try and answer the slew of uncertainties that had been crawling around in his head, not unlike the roots that once covered his frame. If he found his humanity dead, then he, for once in his life, was at a loss. Take it on the chin, grit his teeth, and moved on - as he always had.

Leaving Devil May Cry for purposes outside of work was unusual for Vergil, but the small room he had been offered was claustrophobic. Too many questions and not enough answers were birthed when he was lying in his single bed with scratchy linen sheets. Before, his prideful self would have refused to sleep on anything less than cotton; but he didn't have such a choice, and gruelling stints of sleeplessness in the Underworld broke his preferences down to where newspaper was a godsend.

Thus, as his feet brought him towards the shattered remains of his family's home, where he made the barrier between the two parts of his soul physical, he wasn't surprised. It was the only logical place to begin. Dressed in a modest, cream button-up shirt and slacks with a dark-blue woollen jumper for warmth - his vest and coat were, to be frank, ruined, Vergil inspected the remains before him with confoundment. Footprints led inside - fresh and disturbing the decades-old settled dust, ash and soot that the wind had not yet swept away. What was more disturbing, was the fact that the back of his head had a pull in it - like a fishhook had been stuck in, and yanked - a sensation which he had felt thousandfold when severing the two halves of himself.