HERES NERO. he’s a sideblog to this blog so if im following you here, im following you there.
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HERES NERO. he’s a sideblog to this blog so if im following you here, im following you there.
why dont we talk about what killing vergil does to dante every single time, every fucking time, why dont we talk about how he’s always putting on the tough guy front and always hurting, how killing someone is traumatic enough, but killing your brother? someone you love, regardless of what he’s done? over and over? notice how dmc5 dante is kind of angry he has to keep doing this, but resigned, too, because if not him, who else? and how he becomes warm and cheery again when he realizes it doesnt have to end the way it always does, and they can finally break the cycle, and be brothers again?
killing vergil takes a toll on him. he does it because its his duty. but its not like he wants to. its not like he doesnt walk away hurting all over again.
what do i do with this stuff? it seems like yesterday you were alive and it’s as if you never really died
this is a fresh sc! my muse isnt puttering but my (vergil vc) motivation is, so i wanna do some fresh things to kick it up again. (i’m not dropping threads i owe, btw, i still wanna do em!)
ignore my besties wizard tower in the background but im making fortuna castle in minecraft and replaced the painting
i want you guys to know that things like that genuinely make me nervous and uncomfortable to be trans. i want you to know supposedly innocuous questions make me feel hot and strange in my own skin. i want you to know that from these little things is where broader things start, and that, while its okay to ask trans people about their experiences, to want to understand a scope that is beyond your own, it isn’t okay to badger us, to prompt us with offensive questions that are supposed to.. i dont know. challenge our identity? pull a ‘ha! got ya!’ on us? trans peoples identities and feelings are not yours and not yours to own or investigate unless they choose to fucking share them with you or you have questions about our lives and experiences and feelings that will help you understand and better yourself to the extent you can understand as a cis person. a trans person wanting to write characters like them is incredibly normal, especially considering the amount of canon trans characters in media is slim to none. name a main character off a comic book thats transgender. name a main character in a popular movie franchise thats transgender. a video game. you cant, can you?
thats the point. thats the problem.
red dead redemption one starters. edit as needed.
i can give you some insight. i can show you what your guts look like.
before i act selflessly, allow me to act selfishly.
if you think i’m gonna lower myself to make a joke about being all tied up, you’ve got another thing coming.
this man is a fucking charlatan.
for a man of the people, you sure ain’t very popular.
i wont pretend to understand you, but i will make you endeavor to understand me.
a bunko, a graverobber, and a drunk. how could things possibly go wrong?
he’s already gone off to (place). you’ll never find him down there.
oh, it’s true. they love me down there.
i’m not sure your idea of paradise and mine are quite the same, (name).
i know we ain’t exactly old pals, but, y’know, have i ever done you wrong?
i’m a traveling man, sir. this land is much too small for the likes of me.
they say god invented whiskey to stop the irish from taking over the world.
i was real drunk last time i was here, (name).
he was a real nice chap. or maybe he was a real bastard?
oh, let me guess. you gotta be on your way.
the famed hospitality isn’t what it once was, and i’ve never been known to overstay my welcome.
you’re an angry and a fuck-ugly man, but not a bad one.
i’m many things, most of them bad, but a man of political principles? no.
well, you won’t make it in the circus, but you can shoot.
it means a little. you were famous when i was a boy.
killing men is a strange kind of fame.
i was the fastest in my time.
sure. somewhere between the threatening stare and the soldiers armed to the teeth, yeah, you had me.
my country is in pain. terrible pain.
sometimes, in the service of what is right, you’ve got to do terrible things.
my men are trying to lure him into a trap.
(name) is a good man, a strong man.
you talk bad about other people because it makes you feel better about yourselves. maybe you should look in the mirror.
we are poor. kindness must take a different form.
they’re part of a past i can’t seem to get rid of.
the past is all that’s real, my friend. it cannot be erased.
i know i can’t change the past, but i’m sure gonna do something about the future.
(place) is an easy place for a man to lose himself, whether he wants to get lost or not.
i’m not getting paid. it’s a long story. i’m being made to do this.
if you help us, we help you.
no one hides from (name) for long.
don’t the people have the right to stand up for themselves?
for a tired old revolutionist, you are very naive.
he’s a traitor, a liar, a coward and a sinner.
when a mans family is involved, you need a little more enthusiasm than apologies.
those who sit on the fence make their own choice, in their own way.
man living in the past, who ran away from home. what choice did you make?
funny how everyone seems to know my business, but nothing about the men i’m looking for.
you rest. don’t worry about me. i’m too old for sleep.
you’re the hero around here, not me.
if they lay a finger on her, i swear i’ll feed those bastards their balls.
here we are. looks kinda sleepy, don’t it?
we all have problems. we must solve them together, or die alone.
and one day, one day soon, (name) will know justice.
in our hearts, we are all free. let us make it so.
you can take it off my dead body!
it’ll mean that war is brutal, and unnecessary, and good people die. that is all it will mean.
while there are guns, and money, there won’t be any freedom, (name).
i have my own family to worry about.
good actions make you a good man.
i will help you, out of respect for your loss.
(name) betrayed me, and i saw him do bad things. things that disgust even me.
but me, you, him .. we’re all shooting people. don’t really seem like we’re very different.
you americans forget too quickly, that is the problem.
i once believed it was possible to make a difference. that, if we spilled enough blood, we could change the way people think.
i feel terrible, but it isn’t safe for them here anymore.
i will stay and fight. i’m ready to die, if necessary.
we tried to protect him, give him a gentler childhood than what we had. guess i failed at that.
i ain’t been much of a father. we tried to hide the bad from him growing up, but he saw things he shouldn’t.
old friends make the worst enemies.
we was friends once, a long time ago. not anymore.
very little is beneath a man such as me.
if i find out you’re lying to me, (name), you’ll really find out the man i used to be.
i wasn’t gonna give him a second chance to kill me.
not particularly. he was hardly worth the bullet.
(name) would die fighting for what he believed in. he had a lot of passion, but no love.
it was like the one thing he ever believed in turned out to be a fraud.
it ain’t exactly fondness. we was close once, but he never cared for me, or anyone else.
i’m a semi-literate farmer and a hired killer. i’m hardly in the power game.
you have an interesting way of serving the people. kind of like a national gigolo.
one way or another, this might be the end.
i don’t care who a man is, what he does, or where he’s from. he treats me right, and i’ll do the same.
the poor are many, and together, we are strong.
it’s hard for me, too. but i’ve pulled this trigger too many times, now. i’m getting tired.
a famous outlaw come to die in the sunshine.
(name) woulda killed you by now. she always thought you were a creep.
you wanna settle this now, friend? or do you want me to shoot you in the head right now for that poor girl?
if you win power, remember why you wanted it.
no, sir. i want you to shoot him for me.
your wife and son are doing well. lets both try to ensure things stay that way.
i can’t imagine i’d ever say anything quite so trite.
i’m sure all the men you murdered wanted their families, too.
we both know how this has to be, and it could all be over today.
it ends when we say it ends, you’re in no position to make demands.
you can’t erase your past, (name), but we can.
a bit of a cliche, admittedly, but still a dying breed. like a buffalo. still just as dumb, but not quite as noble.
oh, i think he knows whats at stake. don’t you, (name)?
you’ll make me blush with all these kind words.
i can walk faster than this piece of crap. give me a horse any day.
it’s a fairly simple agreement, even for a man as devoid of intellect as yourself.
how does it feel? taking a mans wife and child from him? does it make you feel good?
how does it feel to kill hundreds of men in cold blood?
i’ll put a bullet in him, don’t you worry. won’t like myself for doing it, but i’ll do it.
i know, it’s hard. you like (name). he’s charismatic.
i don’t rightly know. but it felt good saying it.
i think we need to get him before sundown.
well, before i shoot you myself, let me just point out the obvious.
the one person we have left who can appeal to (name) is the last person we have who knows him.
we can’t always fight nature, (name). we can’t fight change. we can’t fight gravity. we can’t fight nothin’.
my whole life, all i ever did was fight.
when i’m gone, they’ll just find another monster.
our time has passed, (name).
so at the end, you didn’t have the guts to shoot him?
oh, trust me. it looks better in the report that way.
they’re quite safe and sound.
i know this wasn’t easy for you, but, i have to say, you’ve done your country proud.
come on, (name), lets go find somebody else we can annoy.
i wasn’t so ladylike, and he didn’t try it again. nor no one else.
that’s a nice way to greet somebody. why donts i get a warm and tender embrace?
hold your excuses until you figure out which one to use.
he saw things no boy should see.
your back’s tense, and it’s making the rifle jump.
you always was a hard and nasty man, (name).
i’ll give you a bad case of ‘someone just shot me in the head’ if you don’t hurry up.
this is my son. anything that happens to him, you’ll wish it was you that was attacked.
don’t be too eager to grow up, son. ain’t as much fun as it looks.
is there anything you don’t like shooting?
i won’t let nothing happen to you.
HERES NERO. he’s a sideblog to this blog so if im following you here, im following you there.
questions like this
dante is a good person because he chooses to be one, not because he inherently is one; he accepts all his faults, pain, anger, etc, and his demonism, and in doing so, accepts that he wants to be a good person, and does his most to be a good person, because other people need him; because he can do something positive with his life. its a choice he makes. (notice that when he’s angry and serious, he sheds some of that friendly personality he’s adopted--he’s rude at worst, and cold and seething at best.)
“I sleep, and dream of holy things.”
— Renée Vivien, from A Crown of Violets; ‘Epitaph’
My brother, my long lost friend We cut our hands to have more skin All I found once I left this land Is the desolation of humankind
phantombs.
“But then you wouldn’t take me out for walks anymore, would you, if you gave me a name more human in your mouth? And it’s lonely out there. Stars are poor friends. They won’t talk to you like I can, and make thoughts run too long.”
Far too long, twisted foully as they brine in the night’s slogging hours. He knows how it goes, how the shimmer of the blinking stars beckons one’s mind to wander…. Come, come, they’d whisper conspiratorially, let me reunite you with your old mental wounds. Cường looks to this killer. Well, does he have any? His hair ruffles to a stray gust of mountain-wind as he appraises his company, and the werewolf blinks slowly, his silhouette sharp and jutting.
Dante, he lips. Dante is a complicated man, more layered than an onion for a beefy stew, and thinks he catches a passing glint of understanding, but then, Cường isn’t looking for – what’s the word? Oh, right. Camaraderie.
Between murderers. Between monsterish blood. Between whatever it is between them, even empathy in hurting.
Cường fans his hand, on the approach again. The glassy-eyed dead regard them coolly.
“I’m Cường.” His eyes soften. “My evening’s not soured, I don’t think. Though, you speak funny. Heatedly. If anything, I think you spiced it up a little. I suddenly feel burned.”
And he isn’t afraid of the danger he’s approaching here: the cracking of skin, the snapping of bones. Time has balmed the absurdity of it all and rendered the novel – supernatural as it is, the very fuel with which tales so breathe and feed on – disappointingly and irreparably mundane. Still, the agony of it, the gut-curling anguish… Slayer. Slayer, with your guarded, daring eyes, do you really think anything can come and save him? And from what? He doesn’t need saving, and more to the point, how does he still speak of chances?
Cường wonders how many he’d cut down to yet barter those words. He doesn’t care for the evil brewing, either, but he supposes he’s got nothing better to do tonight. So, he walks. He looks at the blood on Dante’s boots.
“I lied. You’re sweet and spicy, offering hope like that. Has anyone ever told you you’re bad at it? Convincing? I wonder how many people actually believed you and held you to it. ‘Maybe.’ It’s a pretty word, now that I’m here thinking.”
THE AIR DANTE BREATHES is one of mild bewilderment, amused and perplexed at the same time. he tilts his head to indicate their ascent, and begins his casual hike toward the mountain, long steps on long legs. ‘ maybe its you i can be friends with--don’t mean ya gotta stay on a leash. ‘ he spoke in half riddles, like he knew what he meant to say, but it was all strange and out of order to dante. he casts cường a skeptical look over the red hide shrouding his shoulder, lifting a pale brow. ‘ i talk funny? you listen to yourself recently? ‘
but that was the nature of beings such as these, himself included; no real familiarity with anything of the natural world. everything and nothing was the norm for dante, the son of a demon knight--a being of neither here nor there, satisfaction only in a certain conglomerate, hand picked parameters that were never fully met either way. he feels the air pressure concentrate and compress his ribs, knitted up against his bones. his boots scuff the path as he turns, smoothly gliding backwards without any stagger or human disorientation in the shift, meeting the were’s eyes.
‘ tell me, then, cường, you convinced? ‘ dante doubted it--and wouldn’t blame him, either. the path he sought to emotional freedom had come with tolls and collateral, damage he could not control--his twin’s clunky armor cracking under the weight of his blade, how many lives could he squander, how many would it take? what did cường have to lose with a devil hunter like sparda’s kin? dante turns his ivory head up toward the peak of the mountain as they enclose on the base, glad, for once, there’d be no scaling involved. he was tired of climbing towers and castles. ‘ i’m just not a liar--doesn’t convincing and lying go hand in hand? its better you know what you’re getting into before you hold onto false hope.. that i’m not gonna provide. ‘ he sifts around the brush, reaching a hand out to trace the steep basalt columns. ‘ but i can try. so can you. s’all i can promise--that i’ll try. hey! over here. ‘
ok before i go to sleep, im bouncing a bit off tristan here, but i am really fond of the idea of the twins ‘true forms’ not looking like their devil triggers or their human forms, and their human forms technically being an exertion of energy to keep them disguised in the way that dt exerts energy to unleash their demonic side in full. i like the idea of the dt being something that sort of manifests itself partially in a relaxed state--the dante and vergil that are newly born to eva and sparda probably do not look human, but not quite demons either, and its with time as they get a little older that they learn to mimic human appearances, since they have to whenever they’re in public.
"i like dead things. they can't hurt me."
siken. / always accepting. / @beforewecrash
' I DON’T KNOW ABOUT THAT. ‘ dante is a vibrant man, flair and dramatics contained between sheets of solemnity and battered bruised skin, a man who kept his heart snug in the chamber of his chest, and let red threads hang out of his sleeve--lines like the rings inside of a tree, a man whose seen more than one would think, given the particular self image he projected. he was loud and funny--but he was quiet and muted, too, the streaking of red and orange colors on a sky graying with thunder, how he stared at his shoes yet did all the talking, too. the lights weren’t working here anymore, but the windows--dirty with dust and time--filter in thick slats of early light. dante doesn’t sleep much. he watches ellie, a burning feeling swelling in his belly like a bonfire, warm enough to keep them both safe. it didn’t hurt as much, letting it out, as it used to. ‘ most things can hurt you. even dead things. ‘
they’re looking at a gutted television with a crumpled nest in the hollowed part, and the bones of a long-dead bird nestled in her encampment. there are no broken eggs or tinier skeletons to be found, which felt like a lesser evil, at least. maybe she was old, and her children had long flown the nest. that was a comforting thought, and dante preferred not to sully it with the unknown truth. ‘ especially dead things, i’ve found. ‘ brothers and mothers and fathers and friends. jessica and grue and nell and eva and vergil and--well, where would it all end?
‘ ... its more about what you give power to, and whatcha dont. easier said than done, right? ‘ and he certainly didn’t mean the cordyceps. but she was young--she was surviving. dante hopes, in time, she’ll live, and not just survive, surrounded by these dead things that will not hurt her. that life was hard. ‘ i think you’ll get it. ‘