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gabessquishytum · 9 months

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really, really love the idea of dream getting bitched. i think it might’ve gotten discussed here before but i’m gonna bring it up again because it’s so good. also, not just bitching, but studding, too. and make it a royalty au just for funsies

dream and hob are in a committed relationship—they’ve been in love for a long time and dream wants nothing more than to finally knot and bite his omega and make him his mate, but they’re both the respective kings of their own kingdoms, and they have to be respectable and wait for the wedding (which is of course painted as a political alliance, but they’re secretly in love, so it’s alright by them). however, just before the wedding, dream’s kingdom is attacked by lucifer’s, and they happen to be an alpha prime. so, when dream gets captured on the battlefield, rather than kill him or enslave him, lucifer does what they believe to be far crueler, as someone who’s aware of dream’s situation; they bitch him and turn him into an omega.

dream gets sent home changed. he’s not the same, as before— everything smells different, his body feels different, even his center of balance is off. everything about him has shifted and he’s so horribly overwhelmed, and the last thing he wants is to run home to hob only to be rejected by his love for their incompatibility. after all, two omegas can’t mate properly, they can’t have babies, they can’t satiate each others heats….as much as dream loves hob, he can’t bring himself to force him into an unfulfilled life because of his new body. so he locks himself away in his chambers, spending his days clawing at his skin, panting and sweating through his heats, feeling like he’s going out of his mind as he goes through everything all on his own.

but hob isn’t entirely stupid, bless him, and he knows something is wrong. he knows that something had traumatized dream on the battlefield, but he had assumed it was something gorey and violent, so he spent so much time worrying himself about just how horrific something had to be to terrorize dream of all people. in fact, he spends so much time worrying about dream, and focusing in on what the hell lucifer had done, attempting to defend dream’s kingdom for him from afar as a soon to be ally, that corinthian can sneak in unnoticed. and he does, very well, and he studs hob— who then spends the next several days shoving his cock in virtually any and every surface in his general vicinity that can get him off and distract him from whatever the hell all these new feelings are like. while dream’s heats overwhelmed him with a sense of fear, and the feeling of being hunted as prey, hob’s mind felt stupid with lust; he manages himself better than his fiancé.

and since hob isn’t as self destructive as dream is, when his rut has calmed down enough that he’s able to act appropriately in public, he throws himself onto a horse immediately and sets out for dreams kingdom. (i was thinking more of a romantic and dramatic ride through the night to reach dream as soon as possible in order to come to his aid and be by his side, but now that i’ve written it all that i can think of is a paul revere “the british are coming!” night ride. sorry hobby) of course, he gets the whole charade of “his majesty is not receiving visitors at this time,” but dream, going through his second ever heat and quite frankly being very overwhelmed, finds himself on the verge of battery ramming his own door down just to get to hob. and of course he’s welcomed with open arms (and legs), and although they’re going to have one hell of a conversation about their new situation, so long as they can make each other feel good as their bodies want them to and secure an heir or twelve, they’re happy. <3

A mini fic in my inbox!!! Once again I am blessed by the horny gods!!!

I love this. Please know that I am yelling over the Paul Revere part in particular. Imagining Hob riding through the countryside and occasionally just yelping in pain because his dick is three times the size it used to be, he's not used to it and riding kinda hurts!!!! He's sensitive ok!!!! He just spent like a week fucking any object he could find and he's a liiiittle bit chafed. By the time he gets to Dream’s castle he's kinda hobbling along, wincing with every other step. And his immediate thought when Dream jumps on him is oh no not so much because he's upset that Dream is different but because he doesn't think his dick will make it through a whole heat with his new omega mate.

But he underestimates the power of his own horniness, and makes a very thorough job of knotting Dream until he's sated and sleepy. Having been an omega until approximately a week ago, Hob knows exactly what Dream needs, and he is very very generous in giving it. Dream is probably the most satisfied omega in the whole land.

He also might have to get his marriage clothes altered but hey, everyone loves a shotgun wedding. After everything they've been through, even the strictest of traditionalists agree that Dream and Hob deserve to do exactly what they want, at least for a little while.

#the sandman #dreamling #nsft #cw dubcon #cw omegaverse #cw mpreg

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tanoraqui · 8 months

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Hi, Maedhros and Fingon from the superhero au make me feral, I love everything about them. if you feel like it I would love to see some more about Elros and Elrond from that au. Or alternatively, i was too shy to suggest anything the other week when you were doing the prompt list, but how about Elros and Elrond, the mafia au, library?

I’ll take “Elros and Elrond from the superhero au” for 500, Alex; thank you!

Elros’s Finwëan superpower is healing, because in THIS house we respect “the hands of the king are the hands of a healer” as an ancient truism of Arda and, accordingly, believe that Elros was the one with innate healing talent and Elrond only learned it later in life, likely in memory of Elros. Superhero au!Elros can heal others and himself by laying hands on them and willing it, though it does require energy from him and concentration. He gets much more efficient with both power and speed once he learns anatomy.

Elrond’s Finwëan power is the ability to radially radiate an aura of peace, in which harmful attacks are physically slowed and the will to violence, and all other negative emotions, are calmed. Ranged projectiles which enter the space also slow, though not necessarily enough to do no damage. He can push it farther out and/or more intensely the longer it goes, with limits. Elrond has to maintain his own sense of peace in order to do this, no anger, fear, desire to injure, etc. Elrond glows while he does this; the light marks the area and strength of effect.

Five generations down from Finwë, these powers are relatively weak compared to previous generations. However, their Maiaran blood means they both have a natural talent for Singing (ie, magic), which they can most easily use to augment their Light-based abilities.

These twins grew up in a post-apocalyptic hellscape timeline in which Morgoth conquered Earth and now most people are dead or, if unlucky, enslaved. The small group of free survivors which their parents led, constantly on the run, was luckier and more protected than most thanks largely to the Silmaril Elwing bore, but they were hunted fiercely by the small surviving band of the Sons of Fëanor (down to Maedhros, Maglor and Amrod) and their few remaining followers...while all were hunted by orcs, wolves, vampires, etc.

They found some sort of rip in reality, maybe caused by Morgoth's discordant war of conquest. Eärendil went through it to seek aid from the Valar. When the Fëanorians cornered them there, waiting for his return, Elwing tried to go through it with the Silmaril. Her sons tried to follow her, holding on to the back of her shirt, holding on to each other.

They got about 1.5 out of 3, and ended up by the side of a random freeway in modern America....

Maglor and Maedhros were driving (being driven) by on their way to a concert - Maglor to sing, Maedhros bullied into having a pleasant night off while supporting his beloved (annoying) brother and smiling for the cameras. Maglor saw 2 bedraggled 6yos trudging along by the side of this random freeway and told the limo driver to pull over...

In short order,

- the Fëanorians are like, 'holy shit, hitherto unknown baby cousins of some sort?!?' because these kids eyes definitely have Light in them

- Elros tries to stab Maglor, because Maglor reaches for them and these are literally the terrible monsters they were fleeing from 30 minutes ago, albeit much cleaner and less obviously scarred, and of course the 6yos from the post-apocalyptic hellscape have their own knives + basic combat training

- Elrond is too scared to stop anything with his power, see: previous comment about monsters.

Maglor's hand gets a little stabbed. Maedhros grabs Elros's arm and wrenches the knife away before he can try again. Elrond bites Maedhros's arm, like, really hard, the way you secretly always want to try biting someone just once, lots of blood.

- Maglor Sings the children to sleep with a hasty but strong lullaby (he was under stress, okay, and stabbed!). He and Maedhros look down at the uneasily-sleeping children.

- "They look a little Turgon-y," Maglor offers. "In the eyebrows?"

- "I don't even know if that's Light like ours," says Maedhros. He kneels down to frisk each boy for more weapons, then picks them up, one in each arm. "Remember Dior?"

- (Dior, son of Lúthien and Beren, had time-travelled back a comic books time!couple years ago from a terrible future in which Fingon was actually for real and ever killed this time so the House of Fëanor went to war with the magical isolated island of Doriath, in the name of retrieving the one Silmaril free of Morgoth, to the detriment of most of the rest of the world. That terrible timeline averted, Dior had stayed in the present and (re?)married his non-future wife, a millennia-old Iathrin forest ranger named Nimloth. They'd just recently had twin sons, though clearly not these ones - those were silver-haired rather than dark, and this one who'd just stabbed Maglor definitely had Fingolfin's nose.)

- (So the Fëanorians both knew that all-out war was to be avoided at almost all cost. But Doriath actually now had two Silmarils, or rather, the same Silmaril twice over, and Maedhros didn't need to say it aloud for Maglor to understand: ransom.)

#my fic #the silmarillion #superheroes #peredhil #kidnap fam #silm super au

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just-dreaming-marvel · 2 years

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The Bond Between Us ~ 27

THE BOND BETWEEN US MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 3,085ish

Summary: You, Obi-Wan, and Rex are taken to the educational center where slaves are broken.

Warnings: torture, enslavement, rape (not in detail)

Notes: This one can be a real tough one guys. Brace yourselves and read with caution.

You woke up upon receiving another round of electricity. You screamed as you tried to writhe but quickly realized that you were tied up by all four limbs. As you panted, you slowly opened your eyes. You noticed that you were still in your slave outfit. You were hanging in a hot boiler room, where the people of Kiros were working as slaves. Using the Force, you could feel Obi-Wan nearby. And it wasn’t long until you heard him.

“No, stop!” Obi-Wan shouted. “It’s my mistake! Leave her alone!”

You came to realize that he was shouting for your shake. Looking around, you saw him just before you were shocked again, this time seemed more unrelenting than the last.

“Beg!” The Zygerrian guard demanded. “Beg me before she dies because of you!”

Obi-Wan got on his knees. “Please,” he begged. “Forgive me, Master.”

The electrocution stopped, allowing your body to go limp. Barely looking up, you met Obi-Wan’s gaze. Guilt was written all over his face. You wished that you could take it away, bring him some comfort, but you couldn’t find any for yourself. Obi-Wan pushed his signature to you and, due to your tired state, caused you to fall back into unconsciousness.

Obi-Wan used the Force to keep you unconscious while he worked. Every time he defied orders, you were electrocuted. Eventually, he held back. It was your life on the line and he would not endanger it more than he had already.

~~~

The next time you woke, you were chained to a bed. Each limb was tied by electric chains to one of the four posts. You could still sense Obi-Wan’s signature with you as you could also feel that you had been electrocuted more times than you remembered. Your body was weak, your heart breathing roughly in your chest. As you barely glanced around the room, you noted that this was one of the guard rooms. Due to your position and the state of your dress, still being in that slave outfit, you knew that this wasn’t a good situation to be in. You had to remain calm, no matter what happened.

Your head snapped toward the door as it slide open and the Zygerrian over the educational center floated in on his hover chair. Most of the Zygerrians were tall and skinny, this man was different. He was overweight, barely even able to walk.

“Hello my lovely Jedi,” he smirked, coming closer to the bed. “I am Agruss.” His clawed hand came out and ran up your exposed leg. “What might your name be?” You didn’t answer, simply scowling at the man. “So that is how this will be? Okay, this is something I can enjoy.” He pressed a button on his chair, causing you to be electrocuted. When he stopped, you were panting heavily again. “Let’s try this again. Your name, Jedi slave.”

“Y/N,” you rasped.

“Y/N.” A sinister grin grew on his face. “This will be fun.”

Agruss began shocking you again as he got off his chair and straight onto the bed. He crawled over you until he was hovering over your writhing body. He chuckled as he stopped the electricity, leaving you completely dazed.

“This will make it so much easier to get what I want out of you, my slave,” he whispered into your ear, fur rubbing up against your face. “I’ve heard that Jedi are often untouched. I suspect you haven’t been yet… I’m excited to be the one to introduce you to the pleasures that life has in store.”

Agruss’ mouth began traveling down your face, leaving open mouth slobbery kisses in his wake.

“Obi,” you called through the Force, trying to get some help. “Obi, please… I need you.”

~~~

Obi-Wan was working on shoveling coal next to Rex when he heard your cry for help.

“Obi… Obi, please… I need you.”

He could feel the desperation and the fear seeping from you. As he pressed forward, Obi-Wan felt like he was going to throw up. It was clear to him that you were experiencing unwanted touching and you were too weak to do anything about it. Looking around, Obi-Wan was reminded that he was unable to do anything about it without putting the people of Kiros in danger and you. Guilt filled him at the thought that he was failing you. He pushed his signature to you with full force, hoping that it could be of some comfort. He felt you grip onto it with such desperation.

~~~

Once you grasped onto Obi-Wan’s signature, you could feel his guilt and you knew that he could not help you more than that. You were on your own. Taking a deep breath, you used the Force to move Agruss’ hand off your body as it trailed toward where no man had touched. He growled in anger as he shocked you again. This time he kept it going as he tour of your undergarment and pushed his fingers into you. Tears slipped pasted your clenched eyes as you gave into the darkness around you.

~~~

Obi-Wan felt you pass out. Your signature had lost its grip on his own. Rex watched as the Jedi Master began to silently weep as he continued working. Rex could only assume that you had to do with Obi-Wan’s current state. Despite trying to hide your relationship, Rex knew. He was never told by anyone but he had seen the way you two interacted and he knew that you two were much more than friends. His heart ached at the sight of seeing the strong and wise Jedi General, crying over you.

~~~

You were grateful to wake up alone. It allowed you time to cry without being ridiculed. You were still tied up to the bed posts. The main difference really was that you were now completely naked, your clothes having been torn off. You felt sore and pain and blood. Before Obi-Wan could sense you or worry, you closed off from him. Needing to cry alone.

You quickly began to blame yourself. You were a powerful Jedi, possibly the Chosen One. How could you have let this happen to yourself? Why didn’t you do more to stop him?

Even with shutting yourself off from Obi-Wan, all you did was long for him. His comfort. His embrace. But you knew that he would be unable to help you. He was a slave, just as you were currently.

~~~

Obi-Wan and Rex were shoved into the main control room of the educational center. Forced downstairs and onto their knees in front of a holo table and Agruss, who was floating on his chair.

“Someone wishes to speak with you,” Agruss told Obi-Wan before Count Dooku appeared in hologram form.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Dooku greeted. “In chains once again, I see.”

Obi-Wan glared at the hologram. “Count Dooku, still afraid to get your hands dirty?” He retorted.

“I would gladly make an exception in your case, my friend. I wanted to say a proper farewell before Keeper Agruss puts you to death.”

“Keeper,” a Zygerrian called from his post at a screen, “the slave ship Tecora is making an unscheduled landing on platform two-four.”

“Skywalker,” Dooku stated. “Begin firing.” They wanted from the screens as Ahsoka, Anakin, and R2 were fired on, avoiding them easily. “Kenobi, tell your young friend, Skywalker, if he does not surrender, the slaves will be terminated in his name… and the Council’s precious Y/N.”

“But she is mine, Count,” Agruss said.

Obi-Wan had never felt anger like this in his life. He now knew who had made you beg for his help and who had touched you without consent. He nodded, wanting to talk with Anakin and try to save you from more pain. He at least knew you were still alive, though you had cut him off from your signature. They put a camera on Obi-Wan so that Anakin could see him.

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan exclaimed. “I’m glad to see you, but I’m afraid our host feels otherwise.”

“You can’t make everyone happy, Master,” Anakin responded.

“They’re threatening to kill the slaves and Y/N unless you surrender.”

“It’s good to see you’re always ready to negotiate. But I’ve had enough bargaining with slave drivers.”

“Anakin, you must realize this is a fight you cannot win alone.”

“Who said I was alone?”

“Keeper, a fleet of warships has dropped out of hyperspace in sector six,” a Zygerrian announced.

“Jedi reinforcements!” Agruss exclaimed.

The building started shaking as the reinforcements began firing. Obi-Wan used the Force to get himself and Rex out of the collars around their necks.

“Rex! Now!” Obi-Wan ordered.

“About time,” Rex commented.

~~~

You could feel the presence of other Jedi as the building trembled. Taking a deep breath, you used the strength you had to unchain yourself from the bed and free yourself from the collar around your neck. Clinging to yourself for modesty, you slowly sat up. You looked around to see a cloak lying on the floor. As you stood up to grab it, you immediately fell to the floor, too weak. You used the Force to pull it to you and slip it over your naked form. You were panting and trembling as you tried to reach the door to escape but were in too much pain to fully stand up. Instead, your body collapsed to the ground. You put down the shields that kept Obi-Wan from your signature and prayed to the Maker that he may find you.

~~~

Obi-Wan had never been more grateful for Rex. They had fought off the entirety of those in the main control room, leaving only Agruss left. He could see in the Zygerrian’s thoughts what he had done to you, only making him angrier. Before Obi-Wan could kill the unarmed man, Rex threw an electric spear into Agruss. He placed his lightsaber on his belt before rushing to one of the screens. He needed to locate you quickly.

Once he was sure he had found you on the map, he could feel your signature. Obi-Wan bolted from the room, Rex on his tail, as he followed the pain in your signature. It only grew with each step closer he took to you, even Rex could feel it.

When the door to the room you were in slid open, Obi-Wan found you laying face first on the ground. Without warning, he quickly picked you up and started running. You whimpered in his arms even though you knew who it was and that you were safe now.

“I’ve got you, little star,” Obi-Wan whispered. He wasn’t sure if it was more for his comfort or for yours. “I’ve got you.”

He ran out to the landing platform and jumped onto the ship that Anakin was also getting on. Anakin was speechless at the sight of your shaking form. Your eyes were closed, but tears trailed down your cheeks. Everyone on the ship could feel the pain you had endured.

Once the rescue ship was back on the cruiser, Obi-Wan immediately took you away to a private bunk room. He knew that you probably needed medical attention, but you could wait until they reached the Temple. You were clearly in too much trauma shock to handle that right now. In the private bunk, Obi-Wan went to lay you down on the bed but your fist gripped onto his dirty robes, not willing to part from him. Obi-Wan sat down on the bed, holding you closer to him as you started crying into his shoulder. He kissed your head as he murmured that you were safe now and how sorry he was. You couldn’t respond, simply sobbing into him, breaking his heart further.

~~~

Being back at the Jedi Temple brought you a slight sense of peace. Obi-Wan had immediately, and personally, taken you to the med center. He, unfortunately, couldn’t stay by your side, having his own injuries to get checked over and the nature of the injuries you needed to get looked at. Once he was checked over, he waited outside your room. His signature had stayed with you, thankful that you weren’t willing to let it go. Obi-Wan paced and sat and paced again as he waited to hear any information on you. Anakin and Ahsoka joined him as soon as they could. They all stood up straight when the medical droid exited your room.

“How is she?” Obi-Wan asked. He could feel that you were alive and knew that you weren’t mentally okay, but he also worried about you physically.

“She is on the mend,” the medical droid responded. “She needs a lot of rest. But she will heal. She is currently unconscious and will be that way for the remainder of the day. Tomorrow, she may go back to her room.”

“Can I— can we sit with her?”

“Of course.”

“I will go inform the Council,” Ahsoka said. She knew the Council would immediately get the information on you, but she was going to fight to keep you here as long as possible.

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan said before heading into the room.

Anakin stayed out in the hall to connect Padme in secret. He knew that she would want to know of your condition and come to your aide. Obi-Wan walked inside and pulled up a chair beside your bed. His hands grasped your hand that was nearest to him. He couldn’t stop the tears that sprung into his eyes, not that he really wanted to.

“I’m so sorry,” he rasped. “I’m so sorry that I couldn’t be there when you needed me… I have failed you…” He kissed your knuckles, allowing tears to fall onto your fingers.

~~~

Padme arrived at the Jedi Temple quickly and rushed to meet with the Jedi Council. Anakin had explained what had happened to you and she knew that you needed to rest away from this place. Away from the pressure of the war and the Jedi Council. Padme offered to have you stay at her place for as long as you needed and was surprised when Master Yoda readily agreed, much to the disgruntle of a few other Council members.

“Rest and recovery, our Padawan needs,” Yoda said. “Stay with you, she will.”

Anakin and Ahsoka had been in the meeting with the Council, while Obi-Wan sat vigil at your side. The Council had also agreed to allow Anakin, Obi-Wan, and Ahsoka a few days off to allow them to recuperate from their latest mission. Padme, Anakin, and Ahsoka headed to the med center after the meeting to inform Obi-Wan of the news. Padme was the one to enter the room. She was saddened to see her friend—her secret sister-in-law—lying unconscious and bruised with Obi-Wan clinging to her hand.

“Hello, Obi-Wan,” Padme greeted with a soft smile.

Obi-Wan barely glanced her way, too scared to look away from you for even a second, afraid you’d disappear. “Hello, Senator,” he responded.

“I came to inform you that I have talked with the Council. They have given you, Anakin, and Ahsoka a few days of rest before your next assignments.”

“Thank you.”

“They have also approved of Y/N staying with me as she rests and recovers.” This caught Obi-Wan’s attention. He didn’t want to leave your side as much as he could help it. “You are welcome to stay there as well.”

He knew that he shouldn’t, for the shake of the Code and the Order. But screw them. You had just gone through a traumatic experience and he was going to be by your side as much as he was able to.

“Thank you, Senator,” Obi-Wan replied, turning to face Padme slightly. “I would like to take you up on that offer.”

“Great,” she smiled briefly. “I will set up a transfer to my apartment and have the guest room put together.”

~~~

You were transferred to Padme’s apartment within the hour. Obi-Wan never left your side once. He was even the one to place you onto the guest bed and tuck you in. Padme watched knowingly. She stood in the doorway as she watched Obi-Wan fuss over you.

“I hope you know that your secret is safe around here,” Padme told Obi-Wan quietly. “Please feel free to stay by her side without judgment.”

Obi-Wan nodded, unable to speak because speaking would be admitting to anyone else besides you that the two of you were breaking the Jedi Code. Padme took that as a sign to leave, letting the door slip shut behind her. Obi-Wan waited a moment before slipping his boots off and climbing into bed beside you. Your signature reacted positively as he pulled you into him to hold you as close as he could. He was careful though, knowing that you were still very injured and would probably wake up confused.

~~~

The only reason you didn’t freak out about someone holding you as you woke was that Obi-Wan’s signature was wrapped around yours. Peeking your eyes open, you saw that you were curled up against Obi-Wan’s chest. His arms were holding you securely to him, almost as if he was scared that you would disappear at any moment. You looked at his face, noticing the dark bruises and scabs that littered it. You leaned in and began to press light kisses to his injured areas. Obi-Wan slowly began to stir awake at the contact. When he opened his eyes, he was all too relieved to find you looking back at him.

“Little star…” He breathed out, carefully putting his hand up to caress the side of your face.

“Obi,” you responded softly.

He could feel in the Force how heavy your heart weighed. “Please, tell me what I can do to help you… I need to do something for not being able to get to you fast enough… please.”

You nodded, tears filling your eyes. “Just hold me right now, please. That’s all I want from you… hold me and don’t let me go.”

Obi-Wan pressed a kiss to your head. “Of course.” He pulled you closer at your bidding. “I can do that… as long as you need, little star. As long as you need.”

next chapter >

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polarisbibliotheque · 2 years

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Invictus (Vergil fighting nightmares and his s/o calming him down)

Pairing: Vergil x Reader

Summary: Calm nights were a rare blessing in your house. When Vergil has memories in the form of terrible nightmares, you are the one to stand by his side to remind him that now, everything is ok.

**TRIGGER WARNING** Vergil's nightmare is very explicit. It's about when he was conscious while being a puppet of Mundus - so we have mental abuse, torture (whipping), blood and humiliation. He also goes through a panic attack and needs his s/o to ground him.

The subjects here are quite heavy and, if you're sensitive to those themes and can't handle some more graphic descriptions, I'd advise not reading it. Like so, reader discretion advised.

Author's notes: Oh well. I always wanted to write on Vergil's past, precisely because we don't know how much this man has suffered to do the things he did. I'm a firm believer he has PTSD and needs a hug - so, if Capcom isn't going to give him one officially, I'll be here to fill this man's life with love and comfort.

Dante too, but today is not about him xD

His knees were buried in the freezing, smooth snow. Vergil wanted to cry, but his body wouldn’t allow it. He wanted to let go of that sword, dripping blood of his enemies, but his hands wouldn’t obey. His dark, crimson bloody fingers wanted to wash his sins away in the whiteness of the snow, but he couldn’t bury them in the frozen floor.

Vergil kept his head bowed, fighting his own body to breathe. But his eyes… His shimmering blood red eyes could still consciously see under the horned helmet.

That wasn’t him. That wasn’t Vergil, the Dark Slayer, Son of Sparda. His body forced him to remain calm, but his mind told him not to. His soul told him to rebel. To break those shackles that kept him trapped in that prison of his own making.

Why…?

That was the question revolving inside the mind of the once great son of Sparda.

Why did all that happen in his life…? Why did his father vanish? Why did his mother die? Why wasn’t him enough to protect her? Why wasn’t him powerful to properly protect himself in that night of fire? Why did he have to live alone, without knowing his twin brother was alive for most of his life? Why was he kicked in the streets like a stray animal by other humans, forced to live on his own at such a young age? Why did he have to tough up as a child to protect himself to survive? Why did people hate him just by looking at him – a helpless, homeless child, searching for food and shelter? Why did demons chase him down like he was the sole survivor of the house of Sparda?

Why was his brother such a fool to insist on making out of Hell with him? They would’ve never made it out together – and Dante would’ve never survived in there. Vergil’s odds were much better. He couldn’t hold that foolish, soft-hearted brother of his back. Dante would’ve died in there – Vergil surely did.

Why did he have to die? To be forced into servitude by his father’s enemies, to have his free will taken away from him. To serve as an enslaved soldier, obeying every order without questioning, but screaming inside his soul – always conscious, but never able to break free... Only to watch the terrible deeds someone else told him to do. Only watching himself sink deeper into failure and humiliation, bowing submissively to the one responsible for his family’s demise.

Why…? Hadn’t he suffered enough…?

Vergil’s very essence was slowly being taken away from him, slowly dying while he watched, unable to change his fate. Unable to move. He wanted to – but he couldn’t. Still kneeling in the snow, Vergil wanted to scream all the frustration out of his lungs – but he had no mouth to do so.

His breath started to gradually raise its rhythm. Vergil didn’t notice at first, until a gush of cold air stung his lungs, immediately flushed out in a hot breath.

“It’s time to come back, Nelo Angelo.”

He heard the voice in his head, another command. His legs wanted to move him up from the snow and walk straight into Mundus’ lair, to report as a humble servant of his; another of his humble knights.

For the first time, his legs dared to disobey Mundus and finally listen to their real Master. With knees freezing cold, Vergil felt his body trembling after a long time without knowing what that was. He forced his fingers to freezingly open, letting go of his sword. Burying the black gloves in the snow, Vergil saw the crimson blood dissolving into the white – never to be seen again.

He fought to raise his hands to his head, as his arms seemed to be held down by weights of pure iron. With fists up, Vergil used all his strength to slowly raise them, trembling from the effort. Under his mask, he bared his teeth, but his body didn’t allow him to make any noise.

One hand glued on one side of the black helmet. The other, soon followed the first, on the other side. They stayed in place as if magnetically attracted, never letting go, but never falling back on the snow again.

Vergil tried to take deep breaths, his lungs stinging from the cold. His throat was dry, coarse. He needed to do it. He wanted to do it.

Grabbing at the sides, Vergil managed to start pulling it out. His hands froze mid-way, refusing to do so – his body fighting his own mind. With every new effort, he moved a few inches up. But he wouldn’t give up. Vergil had suffered too much for one lifetime, but he never gave up. He would drag his dying body to his mother’s grave and die as Vergil, son of Sparda and Eva, brother of Dante – as himself. Not as anyone else.

Not. As. Anyone. Else.

With a last effort, he took the helmet off – being free from his confinements for the first time on his own.

Vergil looked at the snow – so pale, so fluffy, so crystally beautiful, as the one he played with Dante when he was a kid and their parents watched to make sure they wouldn’t get hurt. His eyes didn’t glow red: they were back to his silvery, moonlight tones.

Vergil could breathe.

Tossing the helmet on the floor. He started to cough incessantly. His throat had an ache that seemed to have installed itself there for years. Taking one of his hands to his neck, Vergil coughed blood, spitting it on the snow, another hand on the floor, holding him up.

Staring at his own hand, he realized: it was the first time since he had been encased in that infernal armor, he had control over his own body.

Vergil stared at his hands in awe.

“Nelo Angelo! I gave you an order!”

Once again, his body started to tremble. His veins were on fire, burning from inside out, forcing his body into compliance.

But his soul wasn’t made for compliance. Vergil would never be compliant. He was born to make his own fate and walk his own path, even if it ended with his blood over his mother’s grave. He was Master of himself, and no one else. His essence could never be controlled. And Vergil would die as himself. As his mother’s and father’s son.

“You… Have…” He muttered between his teeth, forcing the words in a raspy tone. His voice hadn’t been used in years, unaccustomed to speaking once again – to be expressed with the fire of the one who commanded it. “No… Power…” As he kept muttering, Vergil forced his body to get up, once again with an effort as if a thousand shackles held him down, to be forever bowed in Hell. As his feet buried in the snow and he pulled himself up, something warm came down his cheeks, contrasting with the harsh, wintery flow. “Over… Me!”

His voice echoed through the mountains and shells of dead trees, reverberating through the corpses of dilacerated demons. Vergil stood, trying to pull his body back to his proud pose, failing due to the lack of energy and trembling legs. He willed his control back to his body, showing a son of Sparda could never die as a mere puppet.

Blood flowed down his face, from his eyes – tears now made of his very own life.

“You have no… Power over me…” Vergil said once more, as if that would remain engraved as a mantra inside his head – as if it had the power to banish the control which made his body obey someone else.

Demons appeared. Angelos. Hell Sentinels. Hell Knights. Mundus sent all of his most powerful brethren to break Vergil once more. He took his sword in his hand again, barely able to stand but never backing down from a fight – specially one that meant his own freedom. If it was for him to die, he would die fighting as himself.

It took time, but he fell once more. Grabbed and shackled with thick, cursed chains, Vergil was dragged by his neck back to Hell – hands tied behind his back, forced to walk like a dog, in a humiliating procession in front of all the other demons. His upper armor was taken off, leaving him vulnerable to all kinds of attacks while his walk of shame proceeded. His chest and back leaked blood, his feet bumping in the horrifying path to Mundus’ lair, his legs trembling, and knees scarred.

Vergil held his head high, forcing the tears of blood to stay back while all his pride was stripped away from him, listening to all the horrible things those demons screamed about his mother, his father, his brother. Hearing the laughs. Being spat, tossed around, stabbed, made a jester to entertain the vilest of creatures in all worlds – helpless, without strength to fight back. Vergil could barely keep himself up, but his head… That was all he had left. A little bit of pride and the memory he was son of the mightiest demon to the day – and of the most loving human in the world, even if she had abandoned him to save his brother on that fateful night.

“Vergil… Son of that traitor Sparda. It seems like you need to be taught a lesson once again.” Mundus’ voice reverberated on the floors of Hell, the cackling laughs of the demons nearby creating a music of horror. Vergil was forced to stop in front of him, still held by his neck with a chain, like an animal.

“You will never break me.” Vergil raised his head even higher, keeping his nose as high as he could, silvery eyes burning like fire. A fine vein of blood slowly dripped from one of his eyes.

“Oh, I will. You will vanish, the bloodline of Sparda will perish. You will remain Nelo Angelo and die when I tell you too – Vergil will never exist again after I’m done with you.”

“I will die as myself.” Vergil took a deep breath, his lungs trembling as he expired. “The son of Sparda and Eva. Brother of Dante. Vergil, the Dark Slayer.”

Mundus’ didn’t answer to Vergil’s boldness. The demons that had him on a leash forced the man to kneel in front of the king of Hell, holding his arms outstretched by the sides of his body. Vergil tried to fight the chains, but they only made them tighter, forcing more blood out of his veins. The demon who held his leash pulled him forward as two other demons appeared with whips.

“Your resolve will break by pain, spawn of Sparda and that whore Eva.” Mundus’ voice jested, making the other demons cackle again. Vergil gritted his teeth, enduring the humiliation – the whips and chains might hurt his body, but the words… Those scarred his pride, his soul. His very essence. “You will son be crowned again… Nelo Angelo.”

As the first whip cracked, Vergil didn’t make a sound – holding his will to grunt. His silvery eyes kept taunting Mundus’, making him know that wasn’t enough – he would have to do much worse to break him. Vergil had suffered and tasted so many kinds of pain before, it would take much more than a couple of whips.

And Mundus would continue until those eyes stopped defying him – something Vergil didn’t do even when he started grunting from the pain.

Those demons never thought they would see Vergil, the great son of Sparda, lying barely conscious on the floor, mumbling for his mother to hold him.

“Vergil…? Vergil…! Wake up, love...!” Your voice seemed like a faint memory to his ears.

But his voice was loud and clear to you. He tossed around under the sheets, screaming as if all demons in Hell were chasing him at once. You never heard him so terrified – only when he had one of his nightmares. Only when his mind took him back to the days he was so abused he couldn’t even call himself ‘Vergil’ anymore.

You had to snap him out of it – but it was dangerous. Vergil turned aggressive: his self-protective instincts triggering and his very own devil threatening to come out – teeth already sharp, nails turning into claws. He could hurt you badly if you weren’t careful.

“Vergil…! Wake up! You’re safe!” You reached out for him, knowing very well he was hearing you. Vergil turned his head to you, making you sure he was chasing your voice. “It’s ok… You’re safe. I’m here. Open your eyes…”

But he went back to screaming, as if something grabbed him by the neck. Vergil was almost kneeling on the bed at this point – and you tried your best to keep him from reaching out to Yamato.

If he did, well… You’d have to buy a new bedframe. Again.

“Vergil…! Listen to my voice…!” You spoke as gently as you could, being bold enough to approach him. You know he wouldn’t stop until something anchored him back to reality. “Vergil…!”

You placed your warm hand on his face, trying to get him to stop moving. As soon as he felt your touch, Vergil gradually stopped, seeming to follow your movements, your voice.

“You’re safe. You’re with me, love.” You whispered; voice as smooth as silk. Your other hand found the other side of his face, carefully caressing a lock of hair away from his forehead, as he liked to wear it. “You are safe, Vergil. Wake up.”

You noticed as his breathing gradually went back to normal, inspiring profoundly to let go of the air and do it again. Vergil opened his eyes slightly, finding your legs kneeling in front of him on the mattress. His neck and forehead were damp with sweat, your hands warming up his cold skin. His own fingers were trembling, and he could barely feel his legs. His back was on fire, as if the whips had just cracked his skin open for the first time.

“I’m with you… You’re safe, my love. Hear me? You’re safe.” You kept repeating those words, knowing it was the key to bring him back to the present – ignoring that intrusive memory in the form of a nightmare. Vergil didn’t always tell you about his nightmares, but he did mention they were about the times he was forced to live under the control of Mundus and slowly lose himself, or when he was just a kid trying to survive in a world that despised him – or that dreadful night he and Dante lived so many years ago.

Vergil raised one of his trembling hands to his face, enveloping your fingers with his. Closing his eyes, Vergil took a deep breath, moving your hand to caress his jaw, his nose, his lips. He ran your fingers on his mouth a couple of times – your touch, so different and softer than his, always seemed to ground him once more. As your fingers painted the form of his lips, he became more aware of the moment he was living: the mattress, the Devil May Cry, his room, the cars passing by on the streets, the silence of an ordinary day in a human life, the texture of the sheets against his skin, the weight of his body on the bed… You.

His heart rate decreased slowly as Vergil came back to reality, to his present. He wasn’t in danger. He wasn’t in Hell anymore. No one had power over him. He was free… He was Vergil. Son of Sparda and Eva. Brother of Dante. Father of Nero. The Dark Slayer. Your lover.

He was safe.

“Did I…” Vergil cleared his throat, his voice rasping to leave his chest after all the screaming. “Did I hurt you…?”

“No. You would never.” You whispered back, smiling peacefully at him while caressing his ruffled, distressed white hair. Vergil stared back at you with tired and melancholic eyes.

“Not consciously, my dearest.”

You knew what that phrase implied. Vergil was one of the most powerful human and demon to ever step on earth – challenged only by his brother – but you knew what kinds of fears he hid away in the darkest corners of his soul. It took you a long time as a couple and eons of trust to reveal the most vulnerable parts of yourselves – and Vergil was no exception.

He was half-human, after all. He had his own demons – the ones only he could see and only he could face and kill. Vergil feared losing control again: of his body, of his soul, of his essence. He feared being a puppet. He feared hurting those he loved – after he did all to gain power to protect, even himself, that power could also be used to kill. And, in case that happened once more, only Dante could stop him – by then, the damage would already be done.

“I don’t believe you could hurt me, even unconsciously.” You murmured back, still caressing his face. Vergil longed for your touch, and it grounded him even more, anchoring him back enough so his mind wouldn’t fly away in a flashback – as he was now awake. “You’d know it’s me. And I know your will, it’s as strong as mine. You’d never allow yourself to be controlled without a fight… And you’d never let someone hurt me, even through you.”

“Hmmm…” Vergil pondered your answer, taking another deep breath. Now he noticed how cold it was, as his body gradually relaxed and the drops of sweat found the chilly air of the night. “What makes you so sure…?”

Your answer wasn’t in words at first. Placing your hand over his chest, you felt his heart beating under your palm – a little fast, but definitely slower than when you woke up. Vergil looked at your hand for a few moments, turning his silvery gaze to your own eyes as your touch warmed his chest. You could always melt the ice he thoroughly encased his heart in.

Staring at the path to your soul, he knew. Nevertheless, you decided to put it into words – believing in their power as a little kind of ordinary magic.

“This is the heartbeat of a human.” You whispered, approaching him enough for Vergil to feel your hot breath on his lips. It was soothing, comforting – as if you could envelop him in a much smoother and kinder world than the one he had lived for so long. Your eyes, though, held his gaze. “The line from your heart would find mine, for it isn’t in our bodies… It’s tied to our essence, to our very soul. As your eyes are finding it right now inside mine, you would find it – no matter in what form, state of mind or lifetime… Your heart, your human heart, would find me, and you’d know. You would never hurt me… Consciously or unconsciously.”

It was a rare sight, but you could see it shimmering in the moonlight and running down his face: a single tear trailed slowly on Vergil’s cheek, glimmering like a lonely diamond, and resting on your thigh.

Another rare sight was the one of Vergil closing his eyes and allowing himself to cry in front of you, letting go of his usual proud, strong, and stoic demeanor; opening a side of himself only for your eyes to see. Leaning his head on your hand, Vergil let his eyes cry to his heart’s content.

“And you should know… I will always be here with you. It matters not how strait the gate, how charged with punishments the scroll*. I will always walk with you, Vergil, to protect you, cradle you or fight by your side.” Your other hand went up to his hair, feeling as Vergil’s tears increased their flow. Even so, he didn’t make any noise. “I fear nothing when I’m with you because my love for you is greater than whatever worry fate can throw at me. My soul will choose yours in any form, state of mind or lifetime – and whenever those memories come to terrorize you during sleep, you can be certain I will never run away, for I am here to walk through life with you, no matter what.”

Vergil always believed there were words, proses or poems for every situation in life – but, at that moment, he felt draught on his tongue and rain on his eyes. There were no words in any of the languages he knew enough to express the warmness on his chest that swelled and made him breathless from the things you told him – because, as he once might have said, he too wanted to be protected and loved.

Vergil’s head found its place on your shoulder, nuzzling your neck while his arms wrapped around your body. You didn’t even flinch or think before retributing, caressing his messy hair and wide shoulders. His form – always so regal, towering over yours – was now curled around you, trying to find the best way to comfortably feel like nothing in this world could tear you both apart.

Your heart found his inside your chests and beat in unison. In all his troubled and tortured path, Vergil never thought he would find love and protection like he yearned when he was a child – turning to power to feel safe. But now, in your arms, he knew he could never feel entirely safe from his power only.

For when Vergil screamed from the terrors he had lived, you never ran away and always held his hand to walk through the very fires of Hell alongside him. In a way, that reminded him of someone else… Someone who held him in her arms long ago, who walked through fire to save her children and put herself in danger for love.

That was the very last time Vergil felt safe in his life… Until now, in your arms. And if that wasn’t love, then Vergil could argue he didn’t know what was.

*Invictus, by William Ernest Henley:

Out of the night that covers me, Black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeoning of chance My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears Looms but the Horror of the shade, And yet the menace of the years Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul.

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blackjackkent · 4 months

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The path through this side of the oubliette is VERY gross. Dead bodies hang from the ceiling and there are several intellect devourers wandering around. Clicking on one of them elicits the reply "DOWN. DOWN. DOWN. SHE WAITS," and also causes Hector to comment, "They're not attacking. Seems they think we're allies."

I'm very curious to get here on my stream playthrough now, where we saved and befriended Us. I'm still holding out hope that Us is still alive and this is the first place we've seen intellect devourers since the start of the game. XD (No spoilers pls.)

And hey, look, we found the weird guy we heard singing from the other side of the oubliette when we were there before, surrounded by massive piles of dead bodies.

Seems pleasant. Let's go talk to him I guess.

"The stench," Hector says as they approach. "I wonder how many pilgrimages to Moonrise ended down here."

The bugbear, dazed and bewildered, speaks only one word as Hector approaches.

"Chop."

Narrator: No will sparks behind his eyes. His mind has been hollowed out, to better echo the commands of the collective. You could kill it, end its miserable life of enslavement. Surely that would be the humane thing to do...

The narrator woke up this morning and chose violence. (Though I don't think Hector disagrees with her.)

Narrator: Or you could take advantage of its vulnerability and plunder what's left of its hollow mind for anything that could serve you.

These two things aren't really mutually exclusive I think. But we'll avoid the tadpole check since it seems mean and just ask some regular questions.

"What is this place?"

"Nur. Sery. Here. They become."

"Become what?"

"Part of One Mind. Four little feet. Dancing. To same song."

Narrator: With a lurch, you realize he means the intellect devourers. Here the brains are harvested, made part of the hivemind.

Yuck.

"What did you do to all these people?"

"Chop. Chop. Help them. Become?"

"I need to find your master - Ketheric."

Immediately the bugbear's whole attitude shifts. His head ducks and his eyes close, and his voice trembles with either reverence or terror. "Mas. Ter? No. Down. Deep. One of Three. ONE OF THREE."

Hector frowns. This creature's miserable existence has only one possible end; he feels more than a little pity for it in spite of the brutality of its work. "Why don't I send you to join all these creatures you butchered?" he asks quietly, and though it is a threat, his voice is calm.

He suspects the bugbear might welcome it - and he is correct. The creature's eyes close and it draws its head back expectantly. "Yes. Yes... please..."

----

Not a hard fight, although all the intellect devourers in the area (five) also became hostile and had to be taken out as well.

Further upsetting things to be found after the fight -

The bugbear was carrying this:

A letter on a bloodsoaked table:

And a note on the opposite side of the room:

This place is even more upsetting than it appeared on initial landing.

#bjk plays baldur's gate 3 #hector carlislie

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pheita · 2 years

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HAPPY STS!

Who are your main characters in your WIPS?

Optional: side/supporting characters? Villains?

Hi @helathorloki happy STS, and sorry for the late answer. Last week kicked me down with a stupid flare up.

So this is going to be long, since I am writing one story and edit another at the same time. Blood Night The main character is Sojan, a lust demon, who escaped his home realm and now lives disguised as human, working as a monster hunter. He is friendly, but tries to stick to himself because the death of his partners from the hand of his father still lays heavy on him. Most of his friends are fellow hunters or shamans. The whole story is told through his POV. Secondary characters: Lyran, the bard from the south-east kingdom of Welazaryth, with a tragic past, who hides behind flirty remarks and smiles. His urge to seek out danger made him join Sojan when they met by chance at Sojan's hometown by choice. The fact that Lyran was smitten by Sojan right away also played a role in his decision. Arritit, Sojan's younger sister, a shaman and mage with quite a temper and a love for fire. She is a caring person under her tough exterior, and she is as hurt as Sojan, sharing a similar fate of her fiancèe being killed by their father. She has a habit for drinking and gambling when bored, and often causes a scene by accident.

Important side characters Elaven, the elven monster hunter, who appears stern and stoic, but is actually just a pretty introvert man. He is a careful hunter, and knows basic healing. His naughty humor is something, that gets everyone unprepared.

Dessielle, Elaven's cousin, who is also a monster hunter. She is more hot headed and easier to pull her weapon on someone. Her stubborn crow Arbane is her loyal companion. Yunadeldi, the half-dwarven hunter candidate, who still tries to find her place in the world, but her moral codex guides her to do everything to protect people. She plays the lute in her spare time, which turned her and Lyran into instant friends. The villains Akamratit, Sojan's and Arritit's father, who is a megalomaniac with the idea that demons should have won the interdimensional war thousands of years ago, and tasked himself with bringing the great time of demons upon the other dimensions, basically enslaving every non-demon. Twice he tried it, and lost, the second time because Sojan, his older brother Akejiin, and his mother Ranhirin stood up against him, but payed the price for it. He is not above killing his own children to succeed. Ren and Ram, the twin sisters, sister's of Sojan and Arritit, who share the same vision as their father. Their violent streak showed early, Arritit can tell long stories how of crazy her older sisters are. Ren and Ram have almost the same magic power as Arritit, which is why their father picked them to indoctrinate and use them.

No Rest for the Wicked Main characters: Sam, the devil himself, but calmed down. His hedonistic years long behind him, he enjoys the simple things in life, such as running a hotel imperium. His biggest task is to keep his angelic siblings under control, while they stay on earth. Besides this, he tries to change things for the better, using the rich folks need to appear philanthropic once a year to direct money where it is needed. Feena, actually Josephina, is a human woman, who got a bad luck from early age on and made herself believe no one will miss her anyway. She meets Sam while she is checking out her bucket lists of things to do before she dies, since she wants to commit suicide. She states, it is because of her chronic pain and her wish to die on her terms, but this is the lie she tells herself to not admit how depressed she is. Alexandra, right hand of Sam, they met when Alex tried to survive on the streets as a teenager after running away from a bad foster home. Fighting herself up to a college degree, she doesn't only play the tough woman. She knows how to get you down on your back in seconds and is not afraid to do it. Her loyalty to Sam is big, but knows borders, and she will call him out on his bullshit, if she thinks it is necessary. Important side characters: Rebecca, one of Sam's sisters, gifted with the power to heal. She us bubbly, sometimes acts before she thinks, but has a good heart and only wants to protect everyone. Anna, the youngest sister of Sam, appears to be an older teenager much to her dismay. She loves music and to play with Sam. Despite her young age, even for an angel, she often is the one with the single braincell left. The villain: Malekay, one of the angelic brothers, who always showed more violent streaks than anyone else. He came to earth with Sam, and thinks Sam owns him for the hotel imperium. His obsession with Sam became more and more an issue over the centuries and finally lead to Sam having to take Malekay's wings and turn him into a human. Sadly, this didn't stop him, and his revenge against Sam just started.

#writblr #writing #storyteller saturday #sojan #no rest for the wicked

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snowman-aesthetic · 2 years

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Female sexuality was insatiable; if given free reign, women would seduce the Devil himself, and use their resulting satanic powers to enslave mortal men.