#but Dante always manages to be more sweet than bitter

[dolletro]

Tender Moments

Hello everyone! Thank you for all the feedback! I really appreciate every single one ^^ I had this idea that lived in my head rent free for weeks now so i ended up writing it as a continuation for the other fanfic!I hope you will enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing! Word Count: 1.6+k

Chilly breeze swayed the curtains despite the blinds being tightly shut. Through the small gaps golden sun rays tinted the walls and the posters and paper sheets you called "manga wall" that were plastered around your room. You must have forgotten to close the window after you opened it to let some fresh air in. To be fair, he couldn’t really feel the cold underneath the mountains of blankets you placed on him. Even your cats were nestled into his sides keeping him warm even more. Vergil's eyes scanned around to find your clock you always manage to relocate, only to realize that your phone was on the nightstand right next to him, along with a tray of food, a bottle of water, mug with something hot inside judging by the steam, a strange pill and a note dedicated to him.

"Went with my one and only babygirl because he wanted to wake you up for a job. 

I dunno if you like soups but that is all I was able to cook sorry! Also, the tea is herbal, not your usual choice of tea. Hope it tastes good, it should help with fever.

Eat, take in your medicine and hydrate and rest plenty!

Will be back in the evening... hopefully"

 He was grateful, yet he couldn’t help but feel like everything else other than the medicine on this tray felt a bit too excessive. You took your time to prepare a meal and tea for him, without knowing when he would wake up. Vergil took his time while he ate, enjoying the quiet atmosphere of your room. The stillness felt a tad bit out of the ordinary, although this was the third time he had ever stepped in, even then the first two times were to inform you about a quick change in the training schedule. He intended the third time to be just the same, but there he was, sick in your bed.

 With a sigh, he took the mug into his hand, carefully not to spill any on your blankets. The tea had quite an unfamiliar smell. He took one sip, it tasted sweet but at the same time there was a bitter tone to it. Vergil found it interesting, and somehow it reminded him of you. Maybe he was just associating now, since he was sure you were the one who brewed tea for him and not Dante; though you certainly asked for help from him, the soup was just a tad too salty; or maybe his fever was running high again.

He placed the now empty mug back on the tray, and he decided after taking the medicine in, getting more sleep would help him recover quicker.

—

 Vergil once again awakens to a soft rustling. When did he fall asleep? He could see Agni and Rudra resting and glowing next to the door, staying silent. You probably asked them to do so. Then, he noticed you. The shoes were still on your feet and the same clothes you probably went out in were now covered in blood, they must have been uncomfortable, yet the first thing you did when you came home was to wash your hand and check up on him. You tried to be as quiet as possible, he knew, by the way you slowly lowered yourself to his level to check his temperature with the back of your hand then your lips.

"Good. Hope you are having a nice dream." You were too focused on collecting the dirty dishes on the tray to notice that he, in fact, was awake. Your name rolled off of his tongue, quiet and hoarse earning a small but kind smile from you as you sat down on the bed next to him.

"How are you feeling Verge?" Quick to abandon the tray, you brushed the stray hair strands out of his eyes. Your fingers were cold against his burning, feverish cheeks.

"Certainly better than yesterday evening…" He slowly sat up. There was a twitch in your hands, he noticed. Perhaps you didn't like how close the two of you were currently seated, yet there was a slight doubt in his mind, as your eyes were plastered on his fingers and the back of his hand. The room was so silent he could hear how your heartbeat quickened just for a short while. Hesitance was apparent in your stature, as if you wanted to say, or do something but were afraid to do so.

"I'm glad your fever has gone down a bit." You slowly and gingerly grabbed his right hand with both of yours. The ring on your middle finger is just barely cooling his skin. Refusing to meet his gaze you rubbed small circles on Vergil's palms, inspecting the small cuts and calluses he gathered over the years as a result of wielding a katana.

"I was a bit worried, you know…that is why I reassured you that it's okay to stay here." Like a mouse's, your voice was quiet and meek, a rare occasion truly. You had always been just a tad bit louder than an average human being, either not knowing when you were shouting or just completely ignoring it. Your shining personality showed well in how outspoken and easygoing you were with those who you think are important to you, your loved ones, be that family or friends, you certainly were ready to give everything you have. Yet now Vergil just realized, this is the other end, the kindness and the caring nature in you. The way you are now holding his hand so tightly, afraid, as if he would be gone in a blink of an eye. If he had to be completely transparent, he never really paid any mind to your gentle touches in the past few months, but recently it became quite evident how you caressed his back in a calming manner whenever Dante was being one big idiot, or the way you sat closer to him whenever you two happen to be reading on the worn out couch, as if you were gravitating towards him every time. 

 Speaking of his brother, now he was hyper aware of the difference between the way you shared skinship with Dante and between the way you did with him. Lingering fingers, asking for his attention without demanding anything, always soft, always warm.

 There was an itch, planted deep deep inside of his mind. What would it feel to initiate the kind of tender touches? Would you reciprocate it, or would you be in too much of a shock to even process it? Vergil had barely given himself enough time to mull over such things. In the past he deemed relationships as useless distractions, now since he just feels like he is undeserving of love. You always broke him out of his prison of thoughts, when he was internally beating himself up over the past and you never asked nor expected anything in return. For that Vergil is utterly grateful, since there cannot be such an item that could ever hold the same value as your reassuring, kind words, albeit sometimes they were masked with sarcasm.

 God and heavens above, he really does cherish you more than he could've ever thought.

 The blue devil didn’t know how long he was lost in his mind palace. Eyes grazed your features, just like they did yesterday. Today, for the first time, he let himself be pulled in by your presence.  His hands gingerly wandered on your arms, delicate shoulders and now cheeks, just as hesitantly as yours did before. They were certainly tinted with blush, something you always brushed away, too embarrassed to admit it. Yet now your sheepish smile and a glint in your eyes allowed him to experience such a thing.

 Neither of you dared to speak, afraid to ruin the tender and memorable moment between the two of you. Your heart was about to break out of your ribcage, this was something the both of you certainly noticed, although now Vergil was wondering if it was because you were nervous about it, or if it was just the affection you happen to receive from one and another. 

As if you wanted to change the, albeit unspoken, but obvious subject, you cleared your throat.

“How was the tea Verge?”

“It was…bitter.”

“You didn’t like it?” there was a tiny bit of panic noticeable in your eyes. Vergil shook his head and gently tightened his grip in your hands, reassuring that you didn’t do anything wrong.

“I did enjoy the tea itself, the taste just perhaps took me by surprise.”

“Sorry, I read nettle tea is good for a cold and the flu, so I thought maybe it would help with the fever too.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for.” 

“I should go clean up after that, I’ll leave you to rest.” you already missed the warmth Vergil’s hands provided as you stood up to your feet, checking the blankets if you got any demon blood on it or not. Your eyes fell on your console just for a brief moment, but you quickly averted it, thinking it would make too much noise. Those seconds were enough for Vergil to figure out what you were thinking about.

“Your games are the last thing that would honestly bother me at this point.” he said, giving attention to both cats as he was petting them.

“They slept like that all day?” you placed your hands on your hips, only now noticing the way your cats were nestled against the blue devil. Vergil nodded his head, while it was your time to shake yours, only now it was in disbelief.

“Honestly, why am I surprised?” and with that sweet chuckle you disappeared into the bathroom.

[polarisbibliotheque]

Dante & Vergil falling asleep on their s/o lap

Pairings: Dante x Reader; Vergil x Reader

Summary: "Rest" is something the Sparda family doesn't know very well - luckily to them, you were the perfect pillow to lay your beloved's head in order to relax.

Author’s notes: Do I love Dante and Vergil being vulnerable when treated with kindness? Yes. I do. There's a lot of feelings, I hope you're ready for the ride :D

Also, three things: 1 - I hate Wrath's in DMC 3 and it shows in Dante's part; 2 - I might have spent an entire afternoon explaining my fear of "dumb ways to die" to a guy once and it seemed like it'd be a funny running joke between Vergil and his s/o, I am not sorry; 3 - The movie line from Vergil's part is from Labyrinth (1986), "for my will is as strong as yours and my kingdom as great - you have no power over me" ;)

Dante

“Geez… I’m exhausted.”

Dante sighed audibly while literally throwing himself in the couch right by your side. You smiled, even though your eyes didn’t leave the pages of the book you were currently reading – with your legs resting on Cavaliere-made-coffee-table right in front of you, there couldn’t be a better way of resting your tired muscles after a long day of work.

“I can imagine, big guy. The way you fought those Wrath demons today was no joke.” You said slowly, finishing to read a sentence while Dante fumbled by your side. He looked up at the ceiling, closing his eyes while allowing a laugh to leave his lips.

“I know how much you hate those guys, babe! Thought it’d be nice to do you a favor!” He finally rested one of his arms under his head, still seeming to search for a comfortable way to lie on the couch.

Which was always a mission on its own, to say the least. The shop’s couch was big indeed, but Dante… Well, he was bigger. Than everything, if you were to be honest to yourself. It could fit him comfortably, yes, but only if you – or anyone else for that matter – weren’t occupying it as well. If there was someone else other than Dante on that couch, he’d have to settle with sitting until he could use it as a makeshift bed.

Something you had absolutely no trouble with: there could be anyone sitting on it, you could always find some space to lie down and take a nap. He envied you for that, sometimes.

“Oh, I do. Those things seriously make me lose my temper.” As you responded, you could hear Dante giggling by your side. Never tearing your eyes from the words in your book, you didn’t need to look at him to see how much your lover was having fun with that little conversation. “Honestly. Even the noise they make is enough to make me want to throw things around.”

With that being said, Dante did his best to copy the noise of said demon, making you finally put your book down on your lap and look at him – your eyes were annoyed, but you had a knowing smile on your lips. He was the only person in the whole world you could have a conversation like that: which enemies you despised, which ones you had fun with and the ones that made your day worth it.

You just didn’t know Dante enjoyed it as much as you did. Even though he had Lady and Trish around, with the same occupation as his, they weren’t very keen on talking about demon species and such in a regular basis. Sure, they joked here and there, but with you… It was different. He knew exactly which ones you enjoyed going against and which ones you didn’t like – and the reciprocate was true.

You were both proud and didn’t like showing weaknesses – but your love for each other was your greatest weakness of all. There wasn’t much space left for pride after that.

“Exactly. That noise triggers every bit of anger I have in me.” You looked mad. But Dante knew better, hearing the laugh you had in your voice while speaking. “I am more than thankful you decided to deal with them to give me a break today.”

“Yeah, no big deal, love… You’d ‘ve done the same for me.” He sighed back, reaching for one of your hands before closing his eyes once more while playing with your fingers. “Those guys sure wasted a lot of my stamina, though…”

“Oh, don’t I know. They run amuck like a bunch of headless chickens, it’s impossible not to waste energy against them.” The dread in your voice made Dante laugh even more with that phrase.

“There’s a good definition for Wrath demons: headless chickens! I sure won’t be forgettin’ that!” His calloused fingers ran through yours quite gently for such a rough devil hunter – Dante said that a couple of times only, but he loved how silky your touch felt against him, even though you always said your hands weren’t the smoothest ones.

In his point of view, your skin was like the velvety touch of a flower petal.

“They do stutter around like caffeinated hamsters. You can’t argue against that.” As you spoke, Dante could only laugh and shake his head, finding so many new descriptions to those demons – he made sure to include those in his insult repertoire for later use. Those would certainly make some demons mad while fighting. “It’s too erratic for my taste. Sometimes I’m fighting other demons and they appear out of friggin’ nowhere, hitting me just because I’m focused on something else.”

“Makes you wanna go like ‘hey, can’t you see I’m havin’ a fight here?’” Dante opened his eyes briefly, staring at the ceiling as if he was talking to a demon.

“Yeah. ‘Wait for your turn!’” You added as he agreed with his head. “Some demons are so eager to have their ass kicked.”

“Well, I dunno. I’d be eager to have my ass kicked by you anytime too.” He shrugged, wiggling his eyebrows back. You just rolled your eyes, trying not to laugh at that goof – but failing beautifully.

“And don’t I know that…?” You sighed in response, looking back at him only to find Dante’s sky-blue eyes admiring you. It wasn’t news that he had a thing for spending such a domestic and relaxed time with you – Dante never had much of it, and he truly cherished the little moments you had together. “Hmmm, wanna lay your head on my lap? You’re gonna get your arm hurt if you fall asleep like that.”

“To be fair, it’s already hurtin’, babe. A lil’ pain ain’t gonna kill me.” He had a humble smile on his lips – you were reading, and Dante didn’t want to annoy you, even if he had already made you put your book aside.

“That ‘little’ pain can become ‘a lot’ of pain if you keep on like that, c’mon.” You encouraged him to get closer, letting go of his hand and resting yours on his shoulders as if you were pulling him to you. Which you wouldn’t exactly do without his help: you were strong, but Dante was heavier than any sword you used to carry. “You fought those demons for me today, I might as well return the favor, even if it isn’t much.”

“It’s enough, babe. Much better than killin’ a bunch of demons.” Dante murmured back as he helped you slide him in the couch until his head was comfortably laying on your thighs. As Dante settled, his sky-blue eyes looked back at yours – a faint, content smile hidden on his lips as he spoke. “Gotta admit… You’re much better than the couch.”

“I know, crazy, huh?” You quipped back, making him snort ever so slightly. You ran your fingers through his white hair – surprisingly smooth, you’d say – making Dante close his eyes and take a deep breath. “Any plans for the evening, cowboy?”

“Nah… Was just thinkin’ of spendin’ some time with ya, sheriff.” Even though his answer was lively as always, Dante didn’t open his eyes. “That’s all…”

You couldn’t stop a fond smile to color your lips in return. Dante was always in a state of awareness, his body was always tense and ready to fight any incoming attacks, from whatever direction – even if he was supposed to relax. But there, laying his head on your lap, with your fingers slowly and gently caressing his head, playing with his silvery strands of hair, you could feel his shoulders relaxing. You could see the worry melting from his face, slipping through his eyebrows, unclenching his jaw. You could feel how the Crimson Slayer seemed to get even heavier, his breathing slower and deeper.

That could only happen when he was in your hands, in your arms.

“Yeah… I was thinking about that either.” Your voice was but a whisper, carefully taking his hair away from his eyes so those rebellious strands wouldn’t annoy Dante in his sleep.

You admired him in that quietness for a while. Dante’s breathing pattern was calm and silent, having finally fell asleep on your lap as your fingers gently caressed his hair. Ever so slightly, you moved your index finger down his forehead, tracing the shape of his brow, only to go down the bridge of his nose until you got to the tip. In his soothing slumber state, Dante couldn’t refrain from smiling slightly – barely knowing if you were really doing it or if it was a dream. You smiled in return, running your fingers down until you could trace his mouth carefully, as if he was a statue made of porcelain.

After everything that ever happened to him, Dante had a rule to not let people in. He was so friendly and kind to those who deserved it, but he always kept everyone at a safe distance – protecting them from getting hurt and his heart from breaking once more. Having a moment like that was so foreign and, at the same time, so soothing; like the afternoons he remembered spending with his parents, resting on his mother’s lap while she gently hummed a song he couldn’t recall anymore.

You wanted him to know, to remind, what care and gentleness felt like – how it felt to be loved by someone the way you loved him. Words seemed so limiting whenever you wanted to express it, but moments like that… They didn’t always happen, and you had to seize it. You’d say it was one of the rare occasions where Time had stopped – not in a demonic way or in an occult manipulated one: the only way Time could naturally freeze.

It was in little moments like these you were sure your existences weren’t limited to a few seconds in the History of Time – as far as you were concerned, you lasted forever, even if for a moment.

Grabbing your book once more, you went back to reading while one hand kept caressing your devil hunter’s hair – ever so gently not to wake him up.

“Sweet dreams, Dante.” You whispered in the quietness, noticing a faint smile in his lips. “And don’t worry. When you wake up, I’ll be here… I’ll always be here.”

Vergil

“You should rest, Dark Slayer.”

Vergil heard your voice in the dark, your hands suddenly resting on his shoulders as he leaned on his desk – studying, as always. You’ve never met anyone who read as much as you did, and Vergil was the first who probably surpassed you.

But all his drive and thirst for knowledge made him overwork – something you were quite familiar with as well. That day, you had spent your working hours relentlessly fighting demons until going back home needing a good shower to get rid of the aftermath of all the killing – and now, at night, you were already entering your relaxed state as Vergil was still working on his desk.

No wonder his shoulders felt like bricks as soon as you touched them.

“You might just kill yourself from stress, love.” You whispered, leaving a gentle kiss on the top of his head. Vergil leaned back on the chair, relishing on the feeling of your hands slightly massaging his sore muscles.

“That would be a terribly stupid way to die.” His agreement made you laugh briefly – it was a running joke between you: dumb ways to die. You would always complain from innumerous situations claiming they would be ‘stupid deaths’: situations in which you saw no honor or just plain stupid ways to go.

It all arose when you were explaining your fear of flying: whatever situation that gave no chance for you to fight back or try to change your fate got classified as a stupid death in your dictionary. After listening to your exposition, Vergil couldn’t agree more – being one to always hold fate in his hands, he also didn’t enjoy the prospects of not having power over it and his own ending. Since then, it became your running joke.

“Stupid indeed. Just imagine the great son of Sparda being finally defeated by stress and overworking.” You giggled while trying to make his shoulders relax under your hands. That was a task you knew it usually took you more than one hour, at least. “You deserve more than that.”

“I will stop here soon, love.” He took a deep breath when you found an especially tender spot on his back, still having his arms crossed. “I will just wrap things up and organize this mess.”

You smiled gently, watching his ‘mess’: Vergil wasn’t one to scatter books and papers around like you usually did when studying. His workspace was much tidier than yours – but he always had to put things away before calling it a day. You certainly wouldn’t complain about that.

“Ok. Don’t take too long.” As you answered, he just agreed with his head. You left him with another kiss on his hair, making your way to your room.

Resting comfortably on your pillows, gently wrapped in your pajamas, you read peacefully for some time until Vergil finally wrapped up his day and sat on the edge of the bed by your side in order to take his boots off.

He would always go about his business in silence when you were reading. He knew very well how annoying it was to be interrupted, so he had utmost respect for the time you spent with your books. As he took his boots off, Vergil set them aside alongside yours – but, before he could get up to change his clothes, you reached out to him with one of your hands.

Your eyes didn’t leave the pages of your book, though, making him smile. If one person in this world would understand you, that person was Vergil – and the reciprocate was also true. Holding your hand on his, Vergil allowed you to play with his fingers for a while, before grabbing your attention from the pages you read so intently.

“I do need my hands to change my clothes, love.” His voice was lower than usual, something Vergil only used when the day was over, and it was time to relax.

“Unfortunately, I didn’t have much of their company in the last few days.” You raised your eyes from the pages, a slight smile hidden in your lips. “Maybe I’m growing soft. But my hands are longing for some company.”

Vergil copied your faint smile in return, slightly bowing his head to show he understood what you were talking about. You saw that as an opening to pull him to you – and he followed without resistance. It was in moments like that both of you realized how far you’ve come: being vulnerable and open towards each other was uncharted territory in your lives, and it took you a very long time before both allowed gentleness in your day to day.

As Vergil casually laid by your side, you took the opportunity to keep playing with his fingers, having your eyes back to your book. None of you could say how much time passed between your comforting silence – but Vergil could feel your touch slowly lulling him to sleep. It was only then he noticed how tired he was.

“Perhaps… I overworked more than I should have today.” Vergil’s voice echoed through the room wrapped in a deep breath while you kept caressing his fingers. His hands were always gracious, but rough – and Vergil always remarked how delightful your smooth touch felt against his skin.

“Hmmm. I’m glad you realized you overwork every day, but today it was even more than usual.” Your voice dripped sarcasm, making him look back at you with annoyance in his silvery eyes – even though his lips were covered in a knowing smile.

“It would be very foolish of me not to admit something blatantly obvious.” He quipped back, making you giggle. His next words, though, made your cheeks run rosy, even if you didn’t want to. “I know when my body can keep going – something that does not apply to a rather stubborn human I know.”

“I go as far as saying it’s my stubbornness that appeals so much to you.” You shrugged back, trying to avoid the piercing look in his eyes. That sort of banter always amused the both of you – and Vergil couldn’t be happier to have someone to talk to like that after so many years in solitude. “My will is as strong as yours…”

“And your kingdom as great. I know.” Vergil slightly chuckled while repeating one of your favorite movie lines alongside you. It always warmed your heart the way he took time to watch the things you loved and even memorized the ones you remarked as most special to your heart. “A kingdom made of stubbornness.”

“I’d classify it as ‘determination’ – we have to match ours somehow, don’t we, love?” You gently squeezed his hand in return, hearing how much that phrase amused him. Vergil couldn’t say much about you being stubborn: he was king of his own headstrong realms. “Hmmm, aren’t you uncomfortable without your pillow? I stole it, but I can give it back…”

“It’s alright. I will get up soon to change my clothes.” He didn’t even allow you to finish your sentence – and, as you slightly turned your head to check him out, you found Vergil with his eyes closed, already looking too peaceful.

“Oh. I can see that.” You had absolutely no inflection in your voice, which ironically made it overflow with sarcasm. That made Vergil open his eyes to stare at you. “Now, now. Who’s being stubborn here?”

“You did say ‘determined’, if I just heard you correctly.” Vergil didn’t even flinch to use your own recently said words against you – and that made you smile. Spending your time with him and some playful banter was one of your favorite past-times. “I guess I…” He took a deep breath, closing his eyes once more while caressing your hand, taking his time to work the words out of his mind. It was always a process for Vergil. “I just realized how tired I am.”

“Come here, then.” As you spoke, he opened your eyes only to see you signaling to come closer. “You can rest your head on my lap, love. If you want to, of course.”

Vergil wouldn’t put into words, but his chest warmed up with something he didn’t know how to classify as. It was only in moments like these he realized how limited great writers and poets were – how to translate such a feeling into words? Vergil didn’t think it was possible. He thought he knew a great deal about feelings – and love – from his epic poems and great stories, but it was only when those new feelings took him like golden waves of a glistening sea during quiet, rosy mornings that he realized how little he knew. How little he had allowed himself to feel, to experience.

Luckily, he had you to help him make up for the lost time.

Letting go of your hand, Vergil finally approached you, resting his head on your thighs. After he got comfortable, you rested your hand on his forehead – feeling it gradually lose its wrinkles as Vergil allowed himself to relax.

You slowly ran your fingers through his hair, combing it perfectly backwards as he liked to wear it – as the day went by, some strands always fell over his eyes, and now you were putting them back where they belonged. Vergil was thankful for that, taking some time to truly calm down with your touch.

Saying he was always in survival mode was an understatement. Vergil didn’t know how to live a single moment of his life with his guard down – he was always aware, he was always on guard and there wasn’t a second his hands wouldn’t be ready to draw Yamato and cut whatever tried to approach him in a thousand little pieces. Relaxing wasn’t a word much used on his dictionary – you even had suspicions it didn’t exist before you arrived in his life. Even when he was asleep, there was something in Vergil that didn’t allow him to fully rest – plaguing his dreams with memories from his traumas and making him sleep so little every night.

It was difficult for him to understand he was safe. Vergil didn’t quite know what it was like to be protected instead of protecting himself. With you around, though, he could work on letting his guard down – even if just a little. It wasn’t usual or easy, but there were very rare moments you got to experience a more vulnerable side of the Dark Slayer.

You made sure to caress Vergil’s hair with nothing but gentleness in your touch. Having combed all his hair back, you decided to slowly turn your attention to his face – stroking his features with a tenderness he wasn’t used to in a touch. You could feel him tensing up every time you touched him in a different area, but, gradually, his jaw started to unclench. Vergil’s usually furrowed brows gave room to a smoother, more peaceful demeanor as you slowly drew their shape with your fingers.

“Can I kiss you…?” Your voice was a gentle whisper in the quietness of the night, having only a gentle nod of his head as an answer. You didn’t want to startle him with a sudden move – something that happened often with Vergil – and you had learnt to ask him as a way to announce what you were going to do next, avoiding taking him by surprise. And that always made him feel at home.

Feeling your silky lips on his forehead, Vergil let go a sigh, while you only felt his body sinking even more in the bed and his head weighting in your thighs. Caressing his hair for a brief moment, you moved your lips down to plant a little kiss on the tip of his nose, hearing from him a dark, quiet giggle. Smiling to yourself, you cherished a few seconds before allowing your lips to touch his, in a silent and gentle kiss.

Vergil had never been treated so kindly in all his time – perhaps only when his parents were alive, and his life wasn’t war field. He had few memories of those times, though. Seeing his parents faces, hearing his brother’s laughs, feeling his mother’s embrace made his heart bleed too much – and so, he forced himself to forget. Locking it away so it wouldn’t bother him in his relentless pursuit for power.

If someone ever told you the Dark Slayer himself would one day sleep soundly in your lap, you’d deem the bearer of those news crazy. Leaving his lips, you could only see how worries seemed to be temporarily away from his mind, how his body lied calmly in your hands, how his breath found an unusual gentle rhythm for him. Your hands went back to his silvery hair, the book forgotten for a while – you often found that even the most beloved of objects didn’t have the power to freeze time like people did.

You smiled, slowly caressing his face with the back of your hand, the other cradling his head. Vergil spent his life in an endless quest for power, but he couldn’t see the only thing that truly makes one Eternal is love – for it was that which made Time stop that night.

“To see a world in a grain of sand and heaven in a wild flower…” You whispered, only for him to hear. And, in his slumber, Vergil smiled slightly, never having looked so human before. “Hold infinity in the palm of your hand, and eternity in an hour.*”

Even if he wouldn’t consciously admit it or say it out loud, Vergil knew he would always be safe in your arms.

*Auguries of Innocence, by William Blake

[astarryon]

Promise Me

Red is a Wondrous Color

Warnings: Gentle jealousy

Chapter Summary: Spencer knew he started wearing scarves for a reason.

Masterlist

Chapter One: You’ll Always Have Me

It isn’t often that Spencer is left feeling powerless.

It happens on occasion. As unfortunate as it is, it’s a hazard of the job and comes with the territory, and, more out of necessity than anything else, Spencer has gotten very good at recognizing that there will always be those certain situations that he can’t control. His genetic predisposition to schizophrenia, always dancing at the back of his mind, the possibility of what awaits him in the future a constant taunt he’s never quite been able to ease. That nasty drug habit he’d picked up all those years ago, one he hasn’t acted on since finally getting clean but that his nerves always ache to feed when he gets just a little too stressed to cope. Those particularly difficult cases where the unsub turns out to be little more than a kid and he can’t seem to find the right words to get everyone out of a hostile situation safely, the results of which usually manifest in someone who the world didn’t try hard enough for dying right in front of his eyes.

But just because it doesn’t happen often doesn’t mean it never happens, and as Spencer wraps his scarf around his throat before exiting Quantico into the abnormally wintry air, his eyes fall upon your form standing in the distance, and — not for the first time where you’re concerned, though recalling how many times it’s actually happened is just a little too embarrassing to stomach for the night — he stops dead in his tracks in awe.

Red is Spencer’s favorite color on you. It’s taken some time for him to figure that out. Flashy as it is, you never have the chance to wear much of it in the field, which is a loss he takes the time to mourn whenever he recalls the team’s last Christmas party at Rossi’s, when you’d been clad in a dress of silk and crimson and insisted he sway along to Billie Holiday with you in the living room despite his meek protests. Something about that dress brought out the rose blush in your cheeks, set your eyes off with mischief and delight, made the fringe of your lashes appear that much darker. It also made his mind wander with thoughts he’s still not entirely sure he’s allowed to have, so he’d gazed at you as respectfully as he could and tried not to focus too much on the feel of your breath against his neck.

It’s a wondrous color, red. An enchanting color.

And you’re wearing it now as you stand with your arms crossed over your chest to serve as protection from the cold, though he’s not really sure how much that’ll help with the expanse of your legs, moonlit and glittering, bared to the wind. You’re also bawling your eyes out, and it’s noticing this that finally stops Spencer standing there like an idiot with his mouth hanging open and starts his feet carrying him toward you at a pace that would make Morgan proud.

“Are you okay?” Spencer asks, and he immediately has to squash the urge to kick himself. You’re standing here, alone in the cold, dressed like that and openly sobbing. It doesn’t take a profiler to see that nothing is okay for you right now.

Your eyes widen at the sound of his voice, and he might take the time to marvel at how cute you look when startled if he wasn’t otherwise preoccupied with concern for your well-being. “Oh,” you breathe, hands instantly reaching up to swat at the tears trailing messily down your face. It won’t do you any good, not with the black streaks of mascara staining your skin, but Spencer knows enough not to point that out. “H-Hey, Spence. I thought you’d have gone home by now.”

“Yeah, I was supposed to,” he responds, trying for a kind, reassuring smile and remaining unsure of whether it actually appears. Try as he might, he can’t bring himself to care. He doesn’t want to pretend not to notice your pain, even though he knows you probably rather he do. What he does want is... something he doesn’t think he can have. “I got a little caught up going over my closing report. What about you? You left a couple hours ago, didn’t you?”

“I did,” you sniff, and Spencer is suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to reach up and wipe the rest of the tears from your face himself. “Um... I had a date, actually.”

“Oh,” he says, making a concentrated effort to keep his voice light. “And you... came back to the office?”

A bitter laugh escapes your lips, though it comes out more as a garbled choke. “Yeah, I guess it didn’t go so well. I was going to go home, but at some point I turned around and kind of just... ended up here.” You shrug, your eyes falling to the ground, and Spencer follows your gaze down to your red toenails, gleaming in the lamp light and contrasting starkly against the black of your strappy heels. “I just didn’t think I could handle being alone right now. So.”

It’s difficult not to make assumptions in that moment, and though he tries, he feels his chest swell with an inappropriate surge of protectiveness. Again, it doesn’t take a profiler to read the implications of this situation, or to know that something has to have gone terribly wrong in the three hours since he’s last seen you. He can’t do much about the crying — he’s never been good with tears, no matter who they’re coming from — but his mind tumbles violently with the possibilities of what all could have gone wrong on your date, and his limbs itch to track down whoever’s responsible for getting you to this point of emotional distress and... and... telling them off with some strong vocabulary at the very least.

But there’s no use in that. He can’t change what’s already happened, and he doubts you’d let him go and yell at whoever’s done this to you. Anyway, you’re standing here in front of him, wide eyed and shivering. He might not be able to do much about the crying — he might not even be able to do anything about the reason for your crying. But... maybe there’s a chance he can soothe the pain, at least a little.

“What about you?”

Your voice startles him out of his reverie, bringing him back to full consciousness of the situation at hand, and he’s embarrassed that he’s gotten so caught up in thoughts of defending you that he actually has no idea what you’re asking him. “Me?”

You nod, a wobbly smile edging at the corners of your ruby red lips. So much red. It really does suit you wonderfully. “Yeah, you. You don’t have any plans tonight?” He furrows his brow, searching your face for any hint of your meaning. Three seconds later, and his obvious cluelessness manages to pull a more substantial laugh out of you. “It’s Valentine’s Day, Spencer. Don’t tell me you forgot.”

“I didn’t,” he defends, and it isn’t untrue. Morgan spent the whole day detailing his extravagant plans for the night, Will had sent in quite the rose bouquet for JJ, and even Hotch had been quite a bit more preoccupied with his phone than was typical. Valentine’s Day. Reid knows it’s a special day to the calendar, but it doesn’t hold any significance for him. “But, no, no plans. I was actually just on my way home to skim over Dante’s Inferno.”

You scrunch your eyebrows in a sarcastic manner, and Spencer’s just relieved that he’s managed to cheer you up enough that you let your eyes wander back to his face. “What is that, like, the sixth time this week?”

He shrugs a shoulder, unsure as to the reason for the flush of embarrassment creeping up his neck. “Classics never get old.” And then, because he’s an idiot with an ironically one track mind where you’re involved, he adds, “I... like your dress. You look really beautiful tonight.”

“You’re sweet,” you murmur, unsuccessfully attempting to conceal another sniffle. Not at all, actually. ‘Sweet’ implies deception. ‘Sweet’ makes it sound like he’s just trying to soothe your ego with flattery, which couldn’t be further from the truth. He’s not saying it because he thinks you want to hear it, he’s saying it because it’s the truth and he knows it like he knows the sky is blue and the earth is green. He wishes he could convince you to see it that way. “Shame it’s going to have to go to waste, huh? Guess there’s always next year.

“Well it... doesn’t have to,” he stammers. “Go to waste, I mean.” He’s not sure where the bravery for his outburst comes, and he doesn’t particularly care to pursue figuring it out. His senses are screaming at him, going into shock with the sudden uptake in adrenaline pumping through his body, but he only swallows and forces himself to finish. “Not if you don’t want it to.” You only blink at him in silent confusion, trying to puzzle together his meaning. His heart hammers against his chest so hard it’s a wonder you can’t seem to hear it. “There’s a planetarium in town that’s staying open late for the night. When you lay back in the seats under the projector and look up at the stars you lose your central sense of gravity and trick your body into experiencing a floating sensation. It can be kind of off putting at first, but it helps to hold onto something. Which—“ He should really quit while he’s ahead —  “you could hold my hand. If you wanted to. And we could, we could go to the planetarium. Together.”

He watches as you blink, once, then twice, then three times, and all the while his heart’s pace never deadens for even a moment. When your eyes finally focus back on him, eons have passed and stars have expanded into supernovas, all within a few short moments. “You’re… Spencer, are you offering to take me on a date?”

Yes.

No.

... Yes.

The wind picks up suddenly, ruffling your skirt in the breeze, caressing the loose tendrils of your hair. The scent is so intoxicating that it nearly stops Spencer from noticing you shivering once again, and before he even knows what he’s doing, he’s unwinding his scarf from around his neck and taking a confident step toward you.

“Well, it’s like you said,” Spencer responds, wrapping the scarf over your bare shoulders. It’s grey wool and it doesn’t match your dress in the slightest, but he likes seeing you in something of his, and he especially like the way you instantly curl into the garment, inhaling his scent as deeply as he’d been inhaling yours off the breeze. “I don’t have any other plans, and it would be a shame for that dress to go to waste.” He offers his arm for you to accept, unable to pinpoint where this sudden burst of confidence is stemming from. He almost wishes Morgan were here to see it. “Would it make a difference if I promised to have you home by midnight?”

Again, you’re silent, save for another bout of sniffles. Spencer is horrified to see fresh tears brimming in your eyes, coupled with a wobbly frown, and is met with the sudden fear that he’s managed to screw this up — because he always screws things up for himself, even when he’s not trying and even when he’s actually just trying to find more reasons to smile. He’s made you cry now, too, which makes him no better than whichever monster ruined your night in the first place. Any second now you’ll recoil from his offer and tell him to get lost, at which point he will only be able to clutch his wounded pride, and—

You nudge his arm aside and barrel forward to wrap your arms around his middle instead, clutching him close and tight and squeezing just enough to make him feel like an offered lifeline. Well. If you hadn’t been able to hear his heartbeat before, there isn’t any way you don’t hear it now.

“I love you, Spence,” you murmur into his shoulder, and he’s so mesmerized by the perfect fit of your cheek against the base of his throat that he almost doesn’t totally register what it is you’ve just said. “I don’t tell you that near as much as I should.”

Butterflies. You’re prompting butterflies to flutter through his stomach. Like he’s nothing more than a twelve year old schoolboy with a crush on the sweetest girl in class.

“Let’s get going,” he chuckles, smiling down upon you with fondness as he steps back and winds his arm around yours. Huh. Maybe Valentine’s Day shouldn’t be so easily written off after all. “We don’t want to keep the stars waiting, do we?”

“No,” you laugh — actually laugh! — as you rest your head against his shoulder. “I don’t think we do.”

And as the two of you walk down the street, arm in arm, excitement and giddiness charging each and every one of your steps, Spencer can’t help but ponder the fact that he’d left work expecting one sort of inferno for the night and stepped out only to find himself engulfed in a different one entirely.

It’s almost kind of poetic.

—

Chapter Three: In the Name of Dry Shoes

[shianhygge-imagines]

Silver Rose [Vergil/Reader] {Devil May Cry} Umbral Angelo

AN: I managed to finish this one in record time, and am already working on the next chapter. I’m intending the next chapter to be a bit of a dive into V and Vergil’s mentality, so it’s going to be a bit tricky to write... and a bit long. (If you take a look into my masterlist, I’ve already titled the next chapter “Bury the Light” so I’m going to try extra hard to make the next chapter worthy of the song.)

On another note: I’m probably going to start using my handwritten banner for this series from now on. I’ve noticed that gifs are rather intense for loading on certain devices/internet speed... and I’m tired of looking for appropriate gifs to use. I may end up changing the banner once I get photoshop or something >.>

If you like the content I create, please consider donating to my Ko-fi! Please help me feed my tea addiction!

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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

15th June 06:03am

- V’s POV -

V watched as you raced to greet Nero with a flying tackle hug that nearly sent the one armed boy tumbling to the floor from the force of your excitement. The mortal half of Vergil couldn’t help but feel equal parts bitterness, sadness, envy, and longing as he watched you fuss over Nero with worry. As he was, V didn’t feel like he was capable of having a family. Not only was the mysterious man dying the longer he remained separated from his demonic half, but because he felt unworthy after everything that had transpired since the day his family home was burnt down. Although he longed for this, it was probably one of the biggest conflicts within him during the past few weeks with you… and one of the reasons why the days had passed with too much left unsaid.

“Nero! Light of my life! My reckless son!” You continued the embarrassing titles while straightening his jacket and hair, taking care to pat down the spots covered in rubble dust. “I’m so happy to see you! Nico did such a good job with your arm! Oh! But that last one broke-”

The demon hunter’s cheeks pinkened as his mother continued to fuss over him, “Mom,” he whined, embarrassed at the fact that a stranger like V had to bear witness to this. “It’s good to see you, too, but I’m fine. I got a spare arm here-” Nero gestures to the red colored mechanical limb attached to his hip, “-see? I’ll be fine. But enough about me, what are you doing here?”

Like mother, like son, I see. V mused with amusement when the pair of you completely ignored the dying Goliath. Shadow had stalked over to sit at your side with a content flicker of its tail while leaving his weakened master to slowly walk over. “Little wanderer…” V addressed the dying demon, raising his cane to deliver the killing blow, “hie thee home.”

Just as the massive demon faded into burning ashes, you and Nero stopped your fussing to address V’s arrival. “Well, it’s a bit of a long story, Nero.” Your grin is sheepish as you pointed at V with two hands, “Apparently, V’s been living like a hobo before he came to Devil May Cry for the job. Since he didn’t want to leave Red Grave City… and I have a house here, he kinda stayed with me the past few weeks.”

“Uh-huh.” Nero crossed his arms and leaned on one foot, his expression incredulous as blue-green eyes flickered between you and V. “You expect me to believe that your old house is still standing after over two weeks of this.” To V’s amusement, Nero nodded at the rubble and chaos that surrounded them as he finished his sentence.

Kid’s got a point. Griffon communicated telepathically as it circled the sky above their group.

You pouted and slumped over slightly, “… well, it’s not standing anymore.” You looked saddened and bitter at the loss of your home, something that V understood. It had been the home Vergil gifted you, and watching the structure of the building get torn in two had been a devastating loss to you both.

Nero grimaced and uncrossed his arms, pulling you into a comforting hug. “Shit, mom. I’m sorry.”

“It’s uh, one of the reasons why I’m here, actually.” You confessed, hugging your son back. “I’ve got business to settle with Urizen… and I’m sorry to intrude, but would it be okay to stay at the orphanage with you and Kyrie after this is all over?”

“Do you really gotta ask?” Nero smiled gently, pulling away. “Kyrie’s been begging me to ask you to come over. So, just take this as a permanent invitation, okay?” The boy’s attention diverged to V, who had settled to stand off to the side, “By the way, V… Thought I was gonna have to pick you out of his… uh… tummy teeth.”

V didn’t bother hiding the smirk that appeared on his face when you pulled away to look at the fading Goliath and promptly giggled when you realized that the dead demon did indeed have tummy teeth. “Pardon our delay.” The mysterious man holds up the collection of William Blake poems to show Nero, “I was… catching up on some reading.”

Nero’s eyes narrowed at the book, “Yeah… looks like a real page-turner.” The young man remarked dryly. In the background, V and Nero both noticed your renewed laughter at your son’s dry tone while a section of the Qliphoth Tree crumbled. “So uh… you think Dante’s still in there?” Nero asked V, the pair now watching as a path forward was cleared by the falling debris.

“If Urizen defeated him, then I expect he’s not much more than Qliphoth pollen by now.” The somber words from V’s mouth put a stop to your laughing, and while he hated when you were upset, he would rather stay honest when possible.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

- Y/N’s POV -

You knew what a Qliphoth tree was, so you didn’t bother paying attention to V’s explanation, preferring to explore the area for anything remotely useful or valuable. Shadow followed after you, its red eyes watching your surroundings in case a demon tried to get a drop on you while away from V and Nero. “V may very well be right about Dante.” You muttered to the demon panther as you nudged a slab of concrete to the side with a foot. “But we’re also talking about Dante, here.” You smirk down at Shadow with hope, “He’s always been the lucky one out of the Sparda twins. Whether it be a winning prize popsicle, or taking on a demon overlord… Dante’s always been able to pull through…”

When you hear the distinct sound of a car smacking against slabs of stone, you turn to walk back towards your son and V, watching with barely concealed amusement at Nico’s antics. “You know, Shadow… Some days I wonder what would have happened to us if Vergil had even half the luck Dante has.” Ignoring Shadow’s questioning gaze, you wave at the trio waiting for you by the van. “Oh well, forget I mentioned.”

Once you were close enough, you plastered a carefree grin on your face, “Hey, Nico! Thanks for looking after my reckless son!”

“Wha-Hey!”

You and the aspiring legendary smith ignored Nero’s indignant cry. “Ah! Don’t mention it, Mrs. S! It’s always mah pleasure!”

“Bullshi, then why do you compl-”

“How much does he owe you for a new arm?”

“Mom! I can pa-”

“Nuh-uh, Mrs. S. Don’t worry about it.”

“D-Don’t worry about it?! What a load of-”

“Aw! You’re sweet as always, Nico!” You grin, walking around to enter the van with V in tow. “I’m looking forward to working with you!”

“Ditto, Mrs. S!”

Poor Nero looks like he’s about to have a fit from his seat inside the van. You feel slightly guilty for teasing your son in such a way, but quite frankly, you and Nico were having too much fun. To rain on your parade, when V climbs up the stairs to stand just behind you, he leans over to whisper in your ear, “Perhaps you shouldn’t tease the boy so much.”

And of course his father would be against my need to tease. You roll your eyes and sigh theatrically, “Alright, fine. I’m sorry, Nero. Please forgive your mother?” You know he already did, but you bat your lashes at him anyways for the fun of it.

Nero just shakes his head and folds his arms, “Just sit down. I don’t wanna risk you two falling and breaking something because of Nico’s shitty driving.”

You and V take a seat to the soundtrack of Nico’s indignant yelling.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

15th June 06:26am

- Y/N’s POV -

“I think we should split into two groups.” V suggested as the group of you sat in the van while Nico worked in the back.

“… And cover more group. Good idea.” Nero finished, turning to leave the passenger seat.

“Three groups.” You amended, getting up to snatch the Totsuka from where you rested it. “We’re splitting into three groups to get rid of the Qliphoth roots, and I’m leaving no room for arguments.” You shot a challenging look at both Nero and V when they opened their mouths to protest.

“Wait, Mom. Are you sure about this? We could still get this done in two groups.” Nero stood up to stop you from leaving the van.

“Yes, I would rather we all play it safe as well.” V’s green eyes locked with yours, silently worried for your well-being.

Sighing, you lifted a hand to pat your son’s cheek fondly. “I’m touched that you’re both worried about me, but you both said it yourselves. We’re on a time limit if we want to stop Urizen. I have Nico’s number, okay? So if I run into any problems, I’ll make sure to call.” With that, you waved goodbye to Nico, Griffon, Nero, and V before departing from the group, jumping out of the van with a spring to your step.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

15th June 08:30am

“Maybe I should have stuck with V.” You muttered out loud, back hand-springing off the wreckage of an industrial building to land on a sturdier platform. A few moments prior, you’d been strolling rather peacefully along the city’s central boulevard… or what was left of it anyways. When you noticed a peculiar figure standing in a dead-end of the collapsed street.

Having just dealt with a few lingering red Empusa stalking the streets and destroyed a few bundles of Qliphoth roots, you were still on high alert. For a moment, you simply stared at the tall imposing figure before it clicked in your mind how familiar the shape was. The last that you had seen that figure was a dark stormy night. “Nelo Angelo?” You whispered in disbelief, yanking the Totsuka from a dying Empusa and taking a step towards the imposing figure.

Of course, the moment you stepped towards Nelo Angelo’s direction, it turned its back on you and jumped atop the rubble blocking the street, only turning to look at you briefly before walking away. You weren’t naive enough to rule out a trap considering how close you were to the main Qliphoth’s structure, but if that phantom was connected to a main root… you would have to deal with him anyways. Sheathing the Totsuka, you followed after the figure, eyes set with flames of determination ablaze.

Which led to your current predicament: scaling collapsed buildings and platforms as you followed the figure of Nelo Angelo. “Honestly, why does every incarnation of Vergil make it their life’s goal to be difficult?” You cursed when your feet made contact with another unstable platform.

The floor gave away just as Nelo Angelo stopped to turn around, your eyes connecting for a moment before you plunged into what seemed to be a tunnel made by the Qliphoth roots. When you failed to grasp ahold of something to stop the fall, you cursed and fixed your position midair. Ah shit. Stick the landing. Stick the landi- You tucked and rolled to absorb the impact from the fall, but instead bounced as you rolled, “Oof!” You grunted when your back collided with a fleshy wall.

“Oooo… ‘A’ for effort.” You huffed, out of breath as you clambered to your feet and strolled over to pick up your Totsuka.

It was… deceptively quiet in the tunnel while you regained your bearings. Red, fleshy, pulsating walls told you that you were definitely somewhere inside the Qliphoth, though probably not in its main structure… maybe you were within one of its main roots? When the walls pulsed rather violently, you grimaced and backed away from the wall, trying not to remember Dante’s comments about demons and vore. “Urgh. Too late.” You groaned, going the slightest bit green as you journeyed deeper into the tunnels.

The further down into the tunnels you went, the less light there was, until you were forced to use a smidge of demonic energy to see in the dark. You’d seen Dante and Vergil use this ability mostly for intimidation purposes, but you found that it was useful for seeing in the dark. With a simple blink, gone were your human eyes, and in their place stood slit pupils, dark sclera, and ethereal glowing light grey irises.

When light was at its minimal, a wail reached your ears from deep within, and suddenly you were sprinting down the tunnel. The closer you came to the wailing, you realized with shock that it was a baby’s cry. What’s a baby doing down here? You wondered, turning as the tunnel drifted left before skidding to a halt at the scene before you.

“That’s not…” your words stopped, caught in your throat as something tight and unpleasant clawed in your chest.

They stood before you, a family. They weren’t much more than shades… shadowy images and illusions… falsehoods… but you knew what you saw. A mother comforting the crying baby boy in her arms while the father stood by his wife’s side, helping her quiet the little one with comforting shushes and whispered words.

“Shhh, shhh, everything’s going to be okay, Nero.” The woman carefully rocked the baby boy in her arms. “Vergil, do you mind humming to him? He always did love it when you sing to him.”

The man nodded and gingerly accepted the baby from his wife’s arms. “Of course, Y/N. You should get some rest, it’s my turn to look after our son tonight.”

The woman yawned and rested her head upon her husband’s arm, watching as he began to hum a familiar lullaby to his baby son. “No, I think I’ll stay right here, Vergil.”

You watched, eyes transfixed with longing and melancholy over the scene. How you wanted this for your family. How you wished that Vergil would have stayed all those years ago. How you wished that Nero was your biological son. How you wished and wished, but your wishes never came true.

The shades before you vanished into wispy shadowy smoke before reforming into two figures and a bed. The tears that had gathered at the corners of your eyes fell as you stared in misery at the scene before you. “No. I don’t want to see this.” You sobbed even when you couldn’t tear your gaze away from the two figures involved in a passionate embrace. Your hands rose to cover your ears, not wanting to listen as a shade of your husband made love with a woman that wasn’t you.

“V-vergil! Ah! Harder!”

“Stop.” You begged, finally closing your eyes, but you could still see and hear the shades.

“Y-you said you had a wife waiting for you at home.”

“Please. Stop!” You cried, shaking your head, not wanting to hear or see any of this.

“Tell me you love me, Vergil. If you don’t care about your wife.”

“… I love you.”

“STOP!” You wailed, throwing a volatile pulse of demonic energy at the shades, banishing the scene completely until you were the only one stood in the middle of a large room filled with rubble. Huddling into a ball of misery, you wept, your hair now a dark silvery white to match the rest of your family.

“Why must you torture me?” you asked the figure stood behind you, though you didn’t rise to confront them face to face, still drowning in your woes. When the figure didn’t answer, you let out a bitter laugh, sniffling, “Figures. You never answer. I don’t even know what I didn’t file for a divorce all those stupid years ago.”

Still crying, you rose to your feet and turned to meet the eyes of Nelo Angelo, though its armor was much different than you realized. Though its eyes glowed red from within its helmet, and its body was solid, you noticed that wisps of shadow and smoke would occasionally fall off it like a fog. This entire time, I was chasing a shade… Umbral Angelo. Probably a pawn of Urizen given life by the Qliphoth. Your grief seemed so intense that it felt like you were choking, but somehow you found it in you to be angry. “Of course Urizen would find it amusing to dance all over my emotions.” You snarled, drawing your blade to point at Umbral Angelo. “So, what! Are you a puppet as well!?” You demanded, taking a menacing step forward. “Are you a puppet to Urizen like Vergil was to Mundus!?”

Umbral Angelo seemed to flinch back, as if struck, but still it didn’t answer you, opting to hold its massive blade at the ready. Gritting your teeth in frustration, you charged forward, swinging the Totsuka in an overhead strike that Umbral Angelo easily parried and countered with a backhand, sending you flying backwards even when you blocked.

“Tsk.” You clicked your tongue in annoyance as you skid backwards upon sticking the landing, “Katana versus broadsword. Really should have taken Dante up on those spars.” You couldn’t get cocky here, you decided, widening your stance and sheathing the katana once more. “I’ll let you come to me, big guy.”

The shade knight raised his broadsword with both hands in a preparation for a lunging motion, the blade glowing and ominous purple before it blinked forwards. You barely had time to switch your footwork and unsheathe the Totsuka to parry the blow to the side before Umbral Angelo was upon you again. Being much smaller than the shade knight, you dodged the incoming elbow thrust by getting in close and under his arm, thrusting the Totsuka into a crack of the armor before pulling away and creating distance.

A growl escaped the shade knight as he too jumped away to create distance. For a moment, the two of you stood at a standstill, simply observing one another from across the room. “I don’t understand you.” The statement falls out of your mouth, eyes narrowing as you run a hand through your silvery hair. “You won’t attack unless I provoke you. You won’t speak. You just stand there!” When Umbral Angelo remained silent, you threw up your arms in exasperation. “Is it the grey eyes? The silver hair? It’s probably a little darker than those of Sparda’s bloodline, but- I’m getting carried away. Answer me!”

The shade remained silent, only changing its position from one ready to attack, to one of rest, stabbing its broadsword into the ground in front of its feet.

“Fine!” The Silver Rose is drawn and its trigger pulled in the blink of an eye, the single bullet hitting the wall just next to the knight’s head.

“…s…r…gi…” Broken sounds echoed from within the confines of the shade knight’s helmet as it shifted its position once more, raising its blade to swing. “…fea…m… w…i…”

Surprised, you could only jump to avoid the wave of energy sent at you from the swing. “Wait. What did you say?”

It didn’t reply, sprinting forward in a violent horizontal swing as you bent backwards to back hand-spring away. The assault of strikes was overwhelming as you were put on the defensive, parrying and dodging while trying to get a few hits in with Totsuka and Silver Rose. There were chinks in its armor, but very little injury to his person. Now that you were closer, however, you could finally hear what Umbral Angelo was muttering.

“…use your gift… defeat me with it…” The shade knight muttered, its voice an echo of something that was once familiar, but long since a memory. “…you must… for your own sake.” It pulled back just enough to throw another downward slash at you. “…please…”

The force of the strike as you block it causes the ground under you to give away. The knight is unrelenting as you struggle to lift the blade or even parry it to the side. You didn’t want to rely on your demonic power so much, but at this rate, you were bound to be defeated by a mere phantom.

A flash of light blankets the room in searing white as you call to your demonic powers. You can feel your body absorb both the Totsuka and Silver Rose as it changes. Before the bright light can disappear, you’d practically teleported to dodge the still descending broadsword.

You grunt in annoyance when you feel your grey hair cascade down your back, having grown longer than it was in your mortal form. Like Dante, your Devil Trigger causes you to take on a draconic appearance, tough silver, grey, and black scales adorning your body in a mimic of a knight’s armor. There’s a ridge around your neck and shoulders that resembles a high collar, protecting your neck from potential damage should the need arise. Your head and face are pulled into what looks like a snout, though your mouth and eyes seem to be stuck in an eternal grin of mischief. Behind you are a set of white leathery wings and a long tail. You have little practice with your wings in tight spaces, so they are currently folded into your spine, keeping them out of the way while you make use of your tail, probably one of the only weapons you have in this form besides your fists and feet. Though describing the appendage as a simple tail would be an understatement, as it is probably more like a stinger, its point, a sharp dagger that can shoot energy beams.

“If you want me to win so badly,” your voice is a hollow echo when you activate your Devil Trigger, “Then, come at me now.”

Umbral Angelo flies at you with another lunge, but this time you dodge and summon white energy copies of the Totsuka to lay into the knight while you throw in a few jabs and kicks, mixing the barrage of attacks up by occasionally backing away so your stinger has enough room to fire a beam of energy or two.

The assault is too much for the shade knight, and it is forced to create as much distance from you as possible. It looks like it can barely lift its sword from the damage you caused. Umbral Angelo drops his broadsword and falls to its knees, weakened and defeated as you approach.

“Now, let me ask again. Why did you show me those things?” You demand, releasing your Devil Trigger to stand as mortal once more.

“To show you the truth. To show you his demons. A part of him regretted. But a part of him did not. Before you face him again, you needed to know.” Umbral Angelo forced himself to reply, though his voice was weak. “There is… one more thing. He-”

Umbral Angelo did not get the chance to finish when a sword cleaved through his chest, killing the shade instantly.

You stood, wide-eyed, your face slightly splattered with dark blood as another figure bearing Nelo Angelo’s semblance stood before you. When it didn’t attack you, you wondered briefly why it had killed its own ally. And then, you heard a distorted demonic cackle behind you.

“A pity it wasn’t even useful to defeat his old whore.”

You had no idea what the hell you were staring at. A three headed woman fused with a giant chicken fetus. Wait… whore?

“WHORE!?” You screeched, immediately activating your Devil Trigger once more to rush the cackling abomination. “I’LL SHOW YOU A WHORE YOU RAGGEDY EXHIBITIONIST!”

“Oooh! I touched a nerve!” The abomination sneered before disappearing into a portal. “Deal with her.”

Just as you’re about to close in on the backend of the retreating abomination, you’re tackled so hard that you get sent through the floor and into open air.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once again, Thank you for reading! :D

[archangel0lucifer-a03]

Needing a wee break from actual story telling I have decided to share little fact sheets about a few of my characters (existing as well as OC). I have put all under a read more for possible spoilers for things to come. There are spoilers if you haven’t read fics from my What’s This? A Ghost Series collection. My take on Papa 2:

(mentions of abuse. not detailed.)

Full name: Dante Emeritus

Species: Half-breed demon (⅜ Human, ⅜ Andras demon lineage, ¼ unknown demon origin) While his demon heritage does not make him immortal, he has slower age progression and a life expectancy of approx 600 years

Date of Birth: 21 December 1739

Place of Birth: Rome, Italy

Height: 6 foot

Sexuality: Pansexual

Relationship status: Long-term committed relationship with Syver Andersson 

Notable features: When you see Dante, you notice a man who clearly had a privileged upbringing. He is elegant and classic, well put together. He is a distinguished man, a wealthy man. He lost most of his hair at an early age, keeping his head shaved since his mid twenties. He looks older than middle aged, but upon seeing him you'd never know he was well over 200 years old.

In his demonic form, Dante stands an impressive 9 feet tall, if he stands upright. Large, heavy wings stretch out from his back, causing him to stand almost hunched over. His skin is solid black in color and a thick leathery texture. Sharp angles and bone give him a terrifying look, though he remains slightly humanoid. His legs bend back, like a goat, his feet are large and he has clawed toes. His arms are long, ending with massive claws. His face shares features of a large beakless owl, most notable are his large, yellow eyes. His mouth never fully closes, filled with 2 rows of sharp, jagged teeth. If his enormous size and horrific features were not enough, he smells of fire and brimstone, same as the very landscape that his demon relations call home.

His two forms are interchangeable - not one masked over the other. He endures full transformations. It's excruciatingly painful and leaves him drained for days. He will not take his demon form, unless it is entirely unavoidable.

Eye color: One green, one white (right & left respectively). They're both yellow in his demon form.

Hair color: n/a

Piercings: 5 frenum piercing- laddered barbells in increasing gauges

Tattoos: 2, both are on his chest. His first, a bold-line Satanic cross (brimstone). It’s thick black lines, outlined in a vibrant green. It is located on the right side of his chest. The other, an ornate grucifix done in grey-scale sits on his left pectoral.

Typical style: Dante will almost always dress in a manner that touches formal. His tastes are classy and expensive, always cut and tailored to him; he will not buy right off a rack. The closest he comes to casual is forgoing a jacket. He is always in dress pants, button shirts. He isn’t always in a waistcoat or jacket but often can be seen in wearing both. He does not own a pair of jeans nor a pair of shorts.

Personality traits: On first impression, Dante comes across cold, serious and a little bitter. On some level, these things hold true. However, once he is comfortable with someone enough to drop the exterior, he's actually warm, fun and sweet. He is very emotional but internalizes most of his emotions unless he deems it necessary to share them. He likes to be alone but with the right people, he enjoys company. He is not shy, but won't waste his time speaking to someone he doesn't find worth his time.

Family is important to him and he is very protective of them. Several poorly managed romantic relationships left him less likely to seek more than strictly physical, short lived relationships, most of which have been one night sexual encounters. With the right person, he will open up, spoil them, treat them well and love them more than anything. Growing up in his father's church, he has deep connections to faith and worship of Satan. Religion is important to him, guides him but he does not let it control him. He is not a selfish man, but believes that the central part of life is to put oneself first and foremost. He is slow to trust and doesn't cope well with loss of control. He is not a demanding person, feels that everyone should have the free will to choose, but he doesn't do well in situations where he can't be in some control. His desire to be that way stems from abuses in his past, specifically abuse from his demonic mother. (Demons aren't all evil, she was). There was a point in his life where he struggled with drug and alcohol addiction. It did shape some of his mannerisms but eventually he overcame the hardships, coming out victorious and as he believed, a better man. Dante has the ability to strike fear into men, make women swoon and babies laugh. He has extensive patience with people, unless it's stupid people. He is much more than first meets the eye.

Parents: Enzo Emeritus (Papa Nihil) is his father. His mother is an Andras-line heiress named Aurrah. He has a close relationship to his father and a burning hatred for his mother, who was banished back to Hell when Dante was in his late teens.

Siblings: a younger brother, Alessandro (Papa 3)

Other noted relatives: a close cousin Celso (Papa 1)

Pets: A python named Cassandra

Occupation: Retired. He was the former Papa (Emeritus the Second) at his father's church.

Hobbies: reading, writing (texts and music), collects vintage wines, scotches and bourbons, he enjoys hiking (mostly on his own), he loves to cook (for himself or others), he likes listening to music and watching old films, he enjoys playing games (card & board), he likes to travel, he likes to gamble.

Favorite color: Green

Favorite food: Italian cheesecake

Favorite movie: The Devils

Favorite song: Seven Lives - In Strict Confidence

3 likes: peace & quiet, the smell of old books, kinky sex

3 dislikes: being lied to, having his time wasted, willful ignorance

6 Random facts:

- Dante is very close to his cousin Celso, as they grew up together.

- He helped with raising his brother, when Alessandro's mother left.

- He is deeply afraid of the dark. Like he cannot be left alone in total darkness.

- He learned to drive as a teenager, just to go against his father's wishes.

- Laughs at his own jokes.

- His top three places to visit are Florence Italy, Paris France, and Las Vegas Nevada USA.

[vindictalead]

@ofairheart​ said ; This is always a strange time of year, and even though she had just met him, it seemed fitting to at least give the sullen crow something to lift his mood. Why did he always appear to be so serious and bitter? Which is why, once she had found him, she had handed him a small bundle of Cinnamon sticks with gingersnap cookies. "I may not be a bell bottom during my time in the sky, but these are something i used to dip into my drink while relaxing. You should give them a try, they're very swell!"

                   Ah...The aviator woman, foreigner, Amelia Earhart. It wasn´t particularly an uncomfortable situation for the count to stumble across her, afterall, she was certainly an interesting servant to exchange words with, even in those times in which he could not properly understand her choice of words, a thing he attributed perhaps to the difference in time periods in which both came from.

This time though, as soon as their eyes met across the hallway, before the count could even formally greet her, the foreigner was faster than him and cut his words right as they were about to slip through his own cold lips. A small bundle filled with sweets was now presented to him with expectant eyes. Dantes couldn´t help himself, but blink in slight confusion as he stared down at the sweets, yet what truly snatched his attention away were actually the words that followed the woman´s actions.

Was she offering those sweet treats...To him? Now this was an unexpected scenario in which the count would have never thought he would come to stumble across of within his time around Chaldea, yet to be completely honest, being able to experience little interactions such as the one presented to him were certainly...Nice from time to time.

As he held the plate where the small treats were currently deposited on in between gloved hands, Dantes could feel the very tip of his nose start getting warm over the warmth the cookies released as they appeared to be freshly baken out of the oven. Perhaps for an avenger, it would have been odd to feel any sort of emotion over such a simple thing, yet Dantes wasn´t just any other regular avenger, but one who did not only feel feelings of hatred and resentment, but a full variety of other emotions that perhaps were not often portrayed on the outside. This time though, that shifted as Dantes couldn´t even realize at first that his very own lips were slowly curving upwards the slightest bit as he stared down at the small cookies.

Shifting his gaze from the cookies to now the woman, he now took conscience of the fact that his lips were curved upwards into a small smile, and with this new bit of information now settled inside his mind, the count couldn´t help, but feel a slight bit of embarrassment crawl up his spine. Tilting down his head a little, Dantes proceeded to close his eyes for a few seconds as a matter to regain his composure back again. Once did though, he was quick to open his eyes again in order to stare back at her once again;

"I feel grateful you took the time to think of me lady Earhart." He spoke firmly and sincerely, yet his following words managed to surprise even himself as it made his previous small bit of embarrassment grown a little bit more; "Would you mind... Accompanying me over to grab a cup of coffee to taste these sweets with?"

[strangeopinionsforresolutewyrdos]

So cute I want to throw up: a few alternatives to romantic comedies this coming Valentines.

Many mainstream romantic comedies have always been, in my modest opinion, the cinematic equivalent of candy floss: delicious but completely nutritionally void, and in their total sweetness, may cause intense existential nausea. Of course, I’ll grant that there are a few heartwarming exceptions, namely Ten Things About You, starring the ever-handsome Heath Ledger. However, these classics tend to be seen and experienced through the rose-tinted glasses of nostalgia, and often this tends to be the only thing really that they have to go for them. They often don’t age so well, since their main theme, the romantic relationships between men and women, is something that is, in the ever-changing, fevered landscape of gender politics, tends to fall short when being viewed by a generation which has loudly proclaimed that traditional gender roles should be nothing more than an option in weird and wonderful menu of choices.  Anyone who perhaps takes a gander at Love Actually might notice the creepiness underlying some of the main plots. In more obnoxious terms, across the pond in America, the majority of romantic comedies tend to run on the underlying principle that, according to Hollywood, there is no greater ambition no more all-encompassing life event for a woman than marriage. Films such as 27 Dresses, The Proposal, and even the otherwise heartwarming and genuinely whimsical Bridesmaids are all offenders of this tired trope. So, Valentine’s Day is upon us the epitome of the candyfloss mentality and I say: hell no. We can do better than this. 

Disclaimer: I’m a hetero, cis. gal, and feel that it would be best since my romantic experiences involve mostly jumping on hetero, cis. boys, to cover films that are, albeit unconventional, about men and women. I can run my mouth about this stuff, and I wouldn’t want to spout my cis, hetero opinion about films that have LGBT+ relationships, which I myself, have never had any personal experience of. 

1. The Only Lover’s Left Alive (2014)

I first saw this film at the Picturehouse in Manchester, where was being screened, topically, on Valentine's day. 

 The story follows two ancient vampires: the slightly depressive Adam (Tom Hiddleston) and the quietly jubilant Eve (Tilda Swindon), who have been married for millennia. 

The whole tone of the film is a brooding and meandering, filmed exclusively at night, lit in cold blues and warm yellows, and scored with clangy wailing distorted electric guitars.

Eve and Adam’s relationship is one rarely depicted in cinema. Immortality aside, they present a harmonious long-term relationship, where each party has found things like their love of art science to sustain the joy and intimacy of the many years of being toghether. Yet the passion is not gone. Eve comes to Adams’s rescue in his moments of existential crisis and she is greeted by Adam like she’s salvation incarnate. The joke, dance and laugh toghether, yet at be beginning of the film they live apart, though that doesn’t seem like much of an issue for either of them. There is a true sense that the parameters of their relationship have been comfortably set, over many centuries, to a pristine level of satisfaction. One thing which is particularly interesting between the two vampire lovers is the seeming absence of lust, a refreshing change in a society that bombards us with hypersexualised messages. It’s true that in the film they are often seen sleeping nude next to each other, but this I think server to reinforce the genuine familiarity and intimacy between them. After all, lust and infatuation can only last so long, and when you’re immortal the honeymoon period can feel much shorter than for us mortal “zombies” as Adam calls us. I think this film shows what love can beyond the fleeting moment of “falling in love” which romantic comedies can’t seem to look beyond.

2. Clerks (1994)

On the face of things, Kevin Smith’s debut is nothing more than an offbeat comedy about slackers, and about the main character’s Dante (Brian O’Halloran) identity crisis. However, Kevin Smith masterfully gives us a cautionary tale of the unrealistic expectations we place on ourselves when it comes to love. Dante has a loving, doting girlfriend Veronica (Marilyn Ghilgotti) who showers him with attention and affection and who Dante resolutely takes for granted, choosing instead to peruse his old flame the outgoing and sexually exciting Catlin (Lisa Spoonauer). He’s bitter, sexually insecure (one of the funniest sequences in the film is Dante losing his mind once he finds out how many men his girlfriend had fellated) and manages to encompass the consequences every ridiculous and toxic notion we have adsorbed about pride and relationships. Although Dante is an adult, I would describe the level of maturity shown in his romantic escapades to be equivalent of a teenager, all impulsivity, lust and dumb decisions. Thankfully Kevin Smith allows Dante to develop, so things end with him realising his mistakes. There’s a universality to the journey ark of this character because as a collective we’ve all been stupid insecure teenagers terrified by ourselves and love and generally inhibited with hormones. The key message of the films is this: there is hope! The hormones settle and we eventually pull our heads out of our asses. 

  3. I Don’t Feel at Home in this World Anymore (2017)

This oddball comedy is about depressed woman Ruth ( Melanie Lynskey) whose house is burgled, leading her to go on a reckless mission to retrieve her belongings, with the help of her neurotic neighbour Tony (Elijah Wood). Their relationship blossoms as their shared mission bring them toghether. Where classic romantic comedies bring people toghether on pretences not much more complex than physical appearance and circumstantial tomfoolery, here we see two people come toghether as equals and comrades.

4. Byzantium (2012)

One of the most underrated British films of the decade and my absolute favourite film of all time, Byzantium, is a feminist masterpiece. Vampire mother Clara (Gemma Atherton) and her teenage (sort of) daughter Elenor (Saoirse Ronan) lives as fugitives from an exclusively male secret society from which Clara stole the secret of vampirism for herself and her daughter. Besides the film being astoundingly visually beautiful and completely original, it contains one of the tenderest love stories between Elenor and her ailing neighbour Frank, with who, against her better nature she falls in love with. In contrast to Clerks, this young love is of the best possible kind, both showing fortitude and dignity more than many of the adults around them. 

[travllingbunny]

The 100 rewatch: 2x11 Coup de Grâce

This episode may be called Coup de Grâce (death blow?) but it would probably make more sense if it was called Coup d'état – because two leadership changes happen in this episode, pretty different ones, but in both cases, it’s someone taking power from their less radical parent who should be in charge due to their title, because they have the de facto power due to their support bases. It also has Bellamy start his mission as the action hero of season 2, and Jasper and Maya becoming on their own and saving some important characters. It’s an excellent episode that starts the uninterrupted series of great episodes until the end of season 2.

Rating: 9/10

This episode has a very effective but very unpleasant beginning, following the cliffhanger from the previous one, with scenes of Bellamy being tortured in the Mount Weather harvest chamber and put in the cage. (Oddly enough, in spite of that, it then goes on to be lighter than the upcoming episodes, in retrospect –I’d say, the last episode of this season that isn’t too dark, with too many moral compromises.)

Torture hasn’t broken Bellamy’s spirit in the slightest, and he is determined to get out of the cage so he could try to get free and start his mission. He has a little talk with an unknown Grounder woman – who we now know as Echo (her name is not mentioned until season 3) from the next cage, after she makes a comment and he says in English he doesn’t understand, and she reacts by spitting in his face. OMG that’s so romantic! It totally justifies the line “We found each other in cages, we’ll find each other anywhere”. LOL He tells her that the Sky people and Grounders are allies now, which she obviously wasn’t aware of, and they start talking in a more neutral/almost friendly way. Bellamy manages to get out of the cage (and saves Echo’s life in the process) by yelling and shaking his cage, having been told by Echo that the Mountain Men take the most unruly ones first. He achieved half of his goal, but he would have still died if Maya hadn’t saved his life, after noticing how quick the treatment was (Arker blood heals stronger than Grounder blood, as we’ve learned before). She sets him free, but then danger comes in form of a guard called Lovejoy. Bellamy, in spite of still being not at full strength, manages to kill him, with some help from Maya and Echo. I wonder how many other people were turned on watching shirtless Bellamy choke a guy to death? :-/ I’m guessing Echo may have been.

Bellamy tells Echo he’ll come back for her before leaving… And let’s say something about this interaction. Watching this episode for the first time, I was thinking that the character is likely to be seen again, and I thought show may or may not be setting up a future love interest for Bellamy – but that’s just because setting up a future relationship through a “meet-cute” first meeting that starts off as antagonistic but then people start working each other is a very obvious and common writing device – for future romance or future friendship. However, to claim that these scenes were “setting up the romantic relationship”, as if no other setup was necessary, is utterly ridiculous. (Not to mention how amusing it is to see some of the same people who claim that fans see romance in the Bellamy/Clarke interaction because they supposedly can’t see a man and a woman in a platonic relationship, go on to treat 2 minutes of Bellamy’s interaction with a random new female character, which were all about trying to survive, as practically an established romance.) This was nothing more than the bare bones of introducing a new character and setting up possible future development. It wasn’t a romantic moment in itself, it didn’t establish romantic interest, and it certainly didn’t offer much development, since we barely learned anything about Echo in the 5 minutes or so she was on screen. But it could have been the start of developing a romance… if the show didn’t then take a complete left turn and bring back Echo in season 3 at first apparently as an ally, then revealing that she was a villain using her connection to Bellamy and the fact he thought saving each other’s lives meant something, to manipulate him and facilitate a mass murder of his people, if it didn’t have Bellamy and Echo as bitter enemies throughout most of season 4… If those 2 seasons had instead been about making them friends or at least allies, then using a time jump to put them in a romantic relationship that was totally developed off-screen would not have been so jarring. That’s not how you do an Enemies to Lovers story. That’s not how you do a love story, period.

One moment in this episode that feels harsh and ironic in retrospect is Bellamy saying that he wants to get out of the cage and then "I'm gonna kill everyone in this mountain". It’s not the only time this season that one of the main characters says something like that in anger that sounded cool at the time, but that came true way too literally in the season finale. Bellamy would have been very unhappy if he had known how literally this would come true.

I love the fact Bellamy realized who Maya was right from the start, because Clarke told him about the girl that Jasper had a thing for. Clarke and Bellamy exchanging important info but at the same time gossiping about Jasper’s love life is such a great image.

Watching Maya and Bellamy working together was great, but so sad now, knowing how the season ends. It’s why Bellamy took it particularly hard that he and Clarke were forced to kill everyone, including “people who trusted me” – the Mount Weather rebels, most of all Maya.

I’m sure he also felt particularly horrible because he actually got to see the children in Mount Weather (killing children is awful by itself, but it must be worse when you have seen these concrete children), and even talk to one of them. Here he felt very bad just because he realized the sweet child he was talking to was Lovejoy's son, due to the nametag. (BTW, why do they all wear name tags when everyone knows each other in Mount Weather?) It’s easy to hate groups of people when you think of them in abstract terms, as an evil collective, but meeting actual people changes that.

Meanwhile, Jasper decides to go against Maya’s advice to not do anything stupid – because he is worried about his best friend, Monty, and there’s nothing that’s more certain to make Jasper brave and determined. He confronts Dante and even pulls a sword from Dante’s own office at him – which doesn’t work out well since Dante is better at sword-fighting. But Jasper manages to enlist Dante to help and save Monty and Harper, who were being drilled. The friendship between Jasper and Monty is certainly one of the most important and strongest relationships in the show, and it’s touching seeing Jasper get Monty out of the cage and hug him. Whatever else happened in Mount Weather after this point, Jasper did manage to save Monty and Harper, which will have huge consequences for the rest of the show. Not just because those two are lovable characters who will be on the show for a while after, or because they’ll have a son who will also become an important character, but also because Monty will eventually save everyone by finding the new planet.

Dante is genuinely against killing the kids, and confronts Cage, appealing to moral concerns, and calling Cage “a stain in our legacy”. Cage replies: "We've been bleeding people for decades to survive   that's out legacy" – and much as I hate him, he has a point there. Things don’t exactly do as planned when Dante tries to arrest him, but it turns out that the guard is loyal to Cage now . (it’s quite similar to the Jaha/Abby scene from 2x07), because they all want to go to the ground. And it’s not just that they want it – they feel entitled to it (Tsing says: “The ground is our birthright".) Cage does a coup and makes himself the new leader/President, while Cage ends up locked up in Clarke’s old room. The 47 meanwhile get locked up in their room, everyone finally learning what’s going on. Before that, it seems that only Jasper, Monty, Harper and Miller were in the know. (How come others hadn’t noticed Monty and Harper missing for 2 days, or Clarke missing for much longer than that?) Noticing little moments between Monty and Harper is one of those things that’s fun on rewatch. Here we saw Monty worrying while Harper was being drilled, and later he is comforting her after they’ve been saved.

Meanwhile, outside of Mount Weather:

This is the episode where the ambiguous leadership status among the Arkers gets resolved by Clarke wrestling power from her mother and becoming the de facto leader of the Arkers.

Another big development is that the Arkers now have a way of preventing the Mountain Men from controlling Reapers through the tone generator – since one was found on captive Emerson.

But it all starts with an assassination attempt on Clarke’s life. We see Clarke riding a horse… (Wait, when did Clarke learn horse riding? Can you do that in a couple of days? I’ve never tried, so I have no idea)…Clarke nearly escapes death, as the mission by Emerson and another guard fails. The shooter is killed, while Emerson’s hazmat suit gets a bullet hole, so the little party made of both Arkers and Grounders take him back to Camp Jaha and put him in quarantine, in order to question him. The photo they find shows that Clarke and Lexa are both targets. Lexa doesn’t otherwise appear in this episode, but her support is very important– the fact she told the Grounders to listen to Clarke, seeing her as the leader of the Arkers, is what gives Clarke a lot more power and allows her to win the power struggle with Abby.

But being the sole leader of the Sky people for the first time may not be the best thing for Clarke’s emotional well-being. (Being the sole leader generally isn’t a good idea, it’s always better to share power.) She and Bellamy balanced each other well in season 1, but they are separated through most of season 2. Even though their connection is no weaker for that. Fans, writers and even the characters on the show itself like to say that “Clarke is the Head, Bellamy is the Heart”, but that doesn’t mean that Clarke is not driven by emotion. If anything, in season 2, she is acting in a very impulsive way, and her concern for her friends, desire to save them, and her anger and determination and despair are driving her most of S2. At this point, she’s obviously on the edge. Now she’s not just worrying about the 47, but about Bellamy’s life, too. She’s worrying and walking around like a lion in a cage, and started to snap at people. Or rather, she and Raven start snapping at each other under the pressure, while waiting for Bellamy’s call. Clarke’s instinct is to try to control the situation and try to find a way to resolve it – by figuring things out and by telling others what to do. Which irritates Raven, who tells her to stop giving her orders. This is the second time (after Bellamy in 2x09) one of Clarke’s friends has made a remark about Clarke giving people orders – though I don’t think Clarke would see it as “giving orders”, but she can’t help herself. When Raven mentions the possibility of Bellamy not succeeding (i.e. dying or already being dead, though none of them are able to say it aloud), Clarke does the typical Clarke thing – insists that Bellamy will succeed. It’s in her character to cling to faith and hope no matter what, because she can’t bring herself to think of the alternative. The same way she insisted that Finn and Bellamy were alive in 2x01, while Jasper thought it unlikely but didn’t want to tell her that (Raven and even Octavia have the same “she’s probably wrong but we can’t tell her” look that Jasper did), the same way that she will talk to Bellamy for 2199 days, without answer, refusing to think he may never return.

At one point, she starts losing hope, which makes Raven get angry for her, telling her that she can’t give up now – “You killed Finn and I didn’t give up!” It feels like this is always going to be a point of contention somewhere at the back of Raven’s mind.

Raven: “Do your job!”

Clarke: “What is my job???”

Raven: “I don’t know, to come up with something!”

This encapsulates Raven’s contradictory attitude to Clarke: both resenting her for being a leader and the hard decisions she makes, and expecting her to be just that and do just that.

When Bellamy’s voice is heard on the radio, it’s a huge relief to everyone, and Clarke’s and Bellamy’s body language when they hear each other’s voices makes for one of the cutest moments of season 2 and maybe the show overall. “Bellamy… you came through. I knew you would.” Bellamy tells her he needs a distraction so he wouldn’t get discovered, that Maya saved his life, and that they need a plan that doesn’t kill innocents, such as the Mountain Men children. “We need a plan that doesn’t kill everyone” – the opposite thing of what he said in the cage before. (In 2x16, he will be telling her the same, and she’ll desperately be asking him to give her another plan, but no one will have one.)

This gives Clarke the push to take the power from her mother. Abby is still trying to hold on to the same ideas about morality Clarke believed in during season 1: she doesn’t allow Emerson to be tortured, for instance. (Clarke agrees, but only because she now knows that torture doesn’t work as an interrogation tactic. It’s the exact opposite of her attitude in 1x07 – back then she thought it would work, but had moral concerns about it, and felt bad when she participated in it.) And at moments, Abby sounds really naïve (“Maybe he will talk because we saved his life” – which, of course, does not turn out to be the case.) But Clarke is at a point where she’s desperate and ready to start crossing more lines, if it means saving her people who are in grave danger. After Abby has told her she’s not in charge, Clarke uses the fact that Grounders all listen to her and makes it clear to her mother “You may be the Chancellor, but I’m in charge”. (Callback to 2x01 when the adult Ark leaders came and took over – and Kane told Bellamy “You’re not in charge anymore.”)

She decides to distract the Mountain Men from Bellamy by telling Emerson to give them a message that the Grounder army is much bigger than they think and that acid fog won’t be able to hurt them, which was technically true but also a red herring. The part that is less rational is where she intentionally gives Emerson oxygen for only 6 hours to get to Mount Weather, though the walk takes 8 hours. Yes, Emerson can get there by running like crazy, but it’s a risk – her distraction plan won’t work if he dies. It seems that this is just Clarke enjoying taunting and tormenting one of the guilty Mountain Men who have been keeping her friends captive, simply to take out her anger. A little before, she even wanted to kill him, something that she never wanted to do before without a good reason (self-defense, protecting her people, mercy kill…).  

The REIGN song used in the last scene makes it looks triumphant, but things will quickly turn dark in the next episode, Rubicon, and Clarke will start crossing lines that will damage her emotionally and make her slowly lose all her moral certainty.

Background info: The Arkers were genetically engineered. I wish we had more details on that

Timeline:  At the beginning of the episode, it has been 2 days since Monty has been missing – which means, 2 days since the end of episode 2x09.

Body count:

Mount Weather guard Lovejoy, killed by Bellamy.

Another Mount Weather guard/assassin (which means that there are 380 Mountain Men remaining),

1 Grounder who died of injuries after being shot in the fight with the two Mountain Men.

[dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt]

So, I see you write in tags about your OCs. Could you tell us more about them?

YES!!!!!! OH MY GOD THANK YOU FOR ASKING I LOVE YOU FOREVER AND EVER AND EVER AND EVER AND-

I’m going to answer for my “main seven”/my favourites atm, AND for Var, Jose, Eva, and Claudia (these 4 are from a different original universe of mine than the “main seven”) bc I’ve been thinking about them a lot, BUT I have 25 OCs in total… it’s just overwhelming to answer for all of them at once. I hope this is okay!! A main masterpost for all my OCs is coming soon in the new year if Tumblr survives that long!!

Joseph is a 25 year old man. He’s got blondish brown hair and blue eyes. He has anger management issues that are a sure fire way to get him into trouble. He is all too loyal and protective of the people he loves and can love very deeply, which can also get him into trouble. He’s reckless, impulsive, but his heart is always in the right place where his loved ones are concerned.  He has a daughter, Claudia, by his late wife who he loves more than anything in the whole world. He was raising her alongside his best friend, Var, before the apocalypse hit. He later becomes a part of a poly relationship with Var and Eva.

Varisse is also 25 year old. He’s got close-cropped black hair (and a few grey hairs to show the years he’s spent putting up with Jose’s shit), dark brown eyes and dark skin. He is patient, intelligent, and caring, the ying to Joseph’s yang. He tries to try to see both sides of an issue, almost too much so. He worked as a DJ before the apocalypse and he has a lifelong passion for music… though he can’t sing a straight note to save his life, he’d be the first to tell you that, with a rueful smile. He’s known and been in love with Joseph since kindergarten, and was happy to raise Claudie alongside his best friend.

Eva is a 26 years old woman. She has fair hair, green eyes, and pale skin that burns very easily. She tries her best to be brave and level-headed but is far out of her depth, since she’s used to being a teacher and dealing with a bunch of 6 year olds, not hordes of ravening undead. She can still show spine when pushed to it, though, and is capable of ripping apart arguments and ego with no effort at all. She was Claudia’s teacher before and after the apocalypse and over that time developed a crush on both Varisse and Joseph. After they meet up again amid zombie-filled hardship, that crush developed even more and was quickly requited. She’s out of depth as Claudia’s mother but is learning more each day, and is always a pillar of faith for her boys.

Claudia is Joseph’s 6 year old daughter. She may have her father’s sandy-brown hair but otherwise she’s a spitting image of her mother, with her olive skin and hazel eyes (she’s cranky she didn’t get her dad’s eyes). She’s made up of pure precocious intelligence and sass. She doesn’t take shit from anyone, least of all her dad; Varisse is the only person that can order her around and she’ll listen to no matter what. She has no problem with doing what she’s told… so long as that person asks her respectfully, she thinks it’s a good/fun idea, and they don’t try to boss her around. She has her Dad’s recklessness and will and her mom’s wit and cute face, not a great combination if you’re an authority figure, she’s a master manipulator. She’s very proud of her dads and mom and will loudly support them.

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June is a demon. They’re agender, have black hair cut down to their chin, olive skin, black eyes, and an oval-shaped face with a sharper jawline. They’re covered in tiny crucifix-shaped scars all over, one in particular above their left eyebrow. They’re tiny (4′9) but armed with a mouth full of razor-sharp shark teeth, hands tipped in claw-like nails, and a ready willingness to use them. They dislike the features of the modern world and are generally a Grinch about everything. They only like about 2 people in the whole world. They believe complaining to be an art form and practice it - regularly. In a nutshell they’re a bitter, cynical, PTSD-filled, cantankerous ball of apathy and hate. They’re the leader of Hell’s pack of hellhounds. They were in a very abusive relationship with Mars but after a particularly horrific event, they left with Dante’s help. They keep a lessor hellhound with them at all times as a companion; on earth, it takes the shape of a small black pug named Taco. They somehow mix not caring about anything and being very Extra. They sleep in expensive silk pajamas. They’re fond of red wine. They also love fast food - they particularly enjoy it when it runs. :) yes June’s my favourite how can you tell

August is a drama queen angel. They’re genderfluid (they go mostly by gendered pronouns but since their gender isn’t clear or pointed out in most posts I make on Tumblr, I use ‘they/them’ as a catch-all kind of thing.) They’re Asian in appearance but since angels are not natural humans, they have silvery-blonde hair down to their shoulder-blades and their eyes are a bright crystal blue (they hate looking so unusual though so most of the time they use dark contacts and hair dye to blend in with the humans.) They’re tall at 5′11 and they love elegant dresses. They excel at dancing (they’ve mastered all kinds but their favourite is ballet) and swordsmanship. They have AD(H)D but rather than sort it out like a normal person, they deny it and disguise it as them just not caring. They also have anxiety and struggle with overthinking. They’re somewhat (understatement) of an alcoholic due to the constant deaths of their mortal lovers from old age, while they themself remain unchanged. They’re aloof and think of themself as superior, though they’re easily flustered if you try and can actually be quite clingy. They’re very emotional despite their shows of coldness in public.

Myriad is a demon. They’re also genderfluid and they’re indifferent to pronouns. They’re very tall at 6′5, they have very dark skin, and wear their black hair in dreadlocks down to their shoulders. Their eyes change colours like a kaleidoscope, shifting eerily between shades of yellow, grey, blue, and green depending on the lighting and their mood. How they treat you depends entirely on how you treat them and others: if you’re kind, they’ll be fine with you, but if you’re a bad person… well, they are the demon of punishment after all. They do have a soft spot for the small, the sweet, and the helpless and can be quite protective, but mostly they’re entirely self-centred and act on their own whims. They’re quite sexually prolific. They enjoy pranks with malicious glee. They’re very physically intimidating. They have 2 sets of fangs, both potent, one full of a paralytic venom and the other an excruciatingly painful and lethal venom. They also have a harmless pet ball python named Albert and their favourite item of clothing is a soft knitted sweater with kittens on it. :D

Ben is a fallen angel/demon. He identifies as male. He’s medium to smallish height at 5′8. His facial features are quite plain, with a slightly crooked nose and a squarer chin. His eyes are calf-brown and his hair, the most noticeable thing about him, is wavy/loosely curly down past his ears and a bright, dark, unnatural red colour (though it is quite natural for him.) He fell in love with a demon and fell from heaven for her, but it turned out that she was tricking him and left him soon after. His angel grace is out-of-control since he is now technically a demon, and randomly bursts out of him every few months, obliterating everything around him with black fire. Despite how volatile he is, he’s a very quiet person who keeps to himself. He has trust issues and is wary of people, and can be quite timid and easily embarrassed. He works on earth as a primary school teacher, since he loves kids and the demons in hell scorn him and he can’t return to heaven. His fashion sense is absolutely abyssal and he dresses like he’s a 90 year old (technically he’s older even than that but, come on, man, get with the times!) He is very, very depressed.

Ginger is a demon. She identifies as a girl and, unlike the others, who are all pansexual, she is mostly only attracted to girls. She is chubby and has carrot-orange hair (thus, the nickname-that-stuck-and-became-her-name-while-on-earth) and pale turquoise eyes. She doesn’t have a filter and loves very loudly, openly, and strongly. She has a big heart but that can be hard to see since she mostly only thinks of/about herself. She has a great need for speed and her version of heaven is being behind the wheel of a fast car. She has a hard time settling down and is constantly itching for her next adventure and/or challenge. She thinks of Ben as a big brother and constantly annoys him like a little sister; she’s the only demon who accepts him as one of them. For somebody who is so loud, she has a hard time really and truly expressing her feelings when she cares deeply about someone. If she has a crush, she is the stereotypical ‘teenager in love’, stuttering and blushing bright red. She swears a lot, is pretty brash, and - you guessed it - has a strong Australian accent.

Mars is a stink man, evil horrible person, most hated OC an angel. He identifies mostly as male with some exceptions. He has white skin, cherubic blond curls, bright golden eyes, a kind, handsome face, and a charming smile. He’s also an abusive piece of shit . He often dallies with the mortals, luring in lovers with charm and sweetness, and then abusing them in every way possible before eventually killing them. If somebody refuses him, he hunts them down, murders their loved ones in front of them, before raping them and murdering them, too. He’s very possessive and volatile and will throw very dangerous tantrums when denied what he wants. He’s spoiled rotten and has never had consequences for his actions. He wears a ring adorned with a crucifix. He’s got an excellent sense of fashion and is very rich. He’s owned a great number of mansions throughout the years and still does, though he currently lives in a very expensive penthouse.

Dante is a demon - a hellhound, to be exact. He identifies as male, and is the only of the seven to have been born a human before being inducted to hell. He’s not very tall but is bulky due to pure muscle, Vietnamese in appearance, with brown skin and a large scar across his collar bone and shoulder like he’d been savaged by a massive dog at some point (spoiler alert: that’s exactly what happened.) His black hair is cut short military-style. He’s second in command of the pack of hellhounds, under only June, who he sort of took under his wing after they left Mars, built them back up from the years of servitude  and abuse. He cares about them more than anyone… That being said, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t call them out if he thinks they’re making a dumb decision. They banter like siblings and he finds great delight in taking his life in his hands and messing up their hair. He’s fiercely loyal but strong willed and will only take orders that he thinks are good ones. A solider born and raised, from human life to demon existence. He loves adrenaline rushes and thinks all fun has to involve danger of some kind. He’s absolutely deadly in a fight, whether it be in his ‘normal’ form with its proficiency with all kinds of weaponry, or his hound form - a mountain of sheer muscle and terrifyingly large jaws. He shows affection in rough ways, such as headlocks and friendly punches, but make no mistake, he really cares. also his ears stick out a bit and he sleeps with his mouth open and hes actually kind of adorable

If you made it this far… thank you so much. Getting questions/messages about my babies honestly keeps me going, so… thank you!!!

[wineanddinosaur]

How to Drink Bourbon, According to a Kentucky Bartender

All September on VinePair, we’re turning our focus to America’s spirit: bourbon. For our third annual Bourbon Month, we’re exploring the industry legends and innovators, our favorite craft distilleries, new bottles we love, and more.

Kentucky is known as the bourbon capital of the world. According to the Kentucky Distillers’ Association (KDA), in 2020, the state counted over 9 million barrels of aging bourbon and filled more 2 million, breaking the state record for the second year in a row. The stats serve as a testament to just how massive the Bluegrass State’s bourbon industry truly is.

Louisville native and spirits expert Dante Wheat has a personal connection to bourbon. “What I appreciate most about bourbon is, it’s an art that requires patience. You can’t rush it,” Wheat says. “If you want good bourbon whiskey, you have to wait four to five years. It’s one of the last big businesses that’s built around waiting; most of the big businesses are built around what can be done immediately [or] as soon as possible. Bourbon can’t be like that, and never will be like that.”

Wheat pursued a career in bartending after deciding medical school wasn’t for him. He says he always knew he wanted to work in a restaurant but didn’t know in what capacity. “I wanted to go the path of being a cook, but I hate being hot — so, the next best thing was bartending,” Wheat says. He walked into Louisville-based restaurant, 8UP, without any prior knowledge of bartending, but convinced management to hire him as a server’s assistant — and within two months, he became a bartender for the restaurant, he says.

The now-six-year vet currently owns a spirits-based content and consulting company, Raw Pineapples. and acts as beverage director of Louisville Thoroughbred Society, a members-only club focused on off-track betting.

Even though visiting bars looks a little different now amid the pandemic, Wheat believes bars are essential to human connection, especially when whiskey is involved. “I’ve noticed that the most real conversations I’ve had with people are either in a bar or over a glass of whiskey,” he says. For me personally … I always remember who I was with, what we talked about, and how the place made me feel.”

With VinePair’s annual Bourbon Month in full swing, we tapped into Wheat’s expertise on how to drink bourbon, according to an expert.

In a cocktail for bourbon newbies

New to the world of bourbon? No problem. Wheat recommends enjoying a Gold Rush, made with bourbon, honey syrup, and lemon juice, as an entryway to the spirit. If the drinker thinks the Gold Rush is too sweet, Wheat recommends scaling back to a classic Old Fashioned.

And if the Old Fashioned is too much? “If they think it’s too much, we can cut it with soda, tonic, or do something else to make it more along the lines of what will be perfect for them,” he says. He then scales back on the mixers so the drinker can taste more of the nuances of the bourbon.

Wheat’s end goal is to get drinkers to the point where they can appreciate bourbon on the rocks. He says, even if they don’t enjoy it the first time, they can “appreciate the flavors that go into it instead of just looking at it as alcohol, it’s an art that took someone years to perfect.”

On the rocks

“For me, on the rocks, is as close to ideal as you can get,” Wheat says. “The way I drink whiskey is neat with a splash of room-temperature water on it, just to knock off the heat.”

Adding a hint of water or a cube or two of ice helps to expand the flavors of the bourbon, and can help beginners pick up flavor notes they wouldn’t typically taste due to the heat of the proof.

Wheat believes that “for most people, on the rocks is ideal because it creates a milder but more flavorful spirit — something that’s more open, more enjoyable. You really get the essence of everything that’s in that spirit versus drinking it neat because more often than not, you’re getting the heat more than anything, and then the flavor after it.”

In an improved whiskey cocktail

Fans of an Old Fashioned or Sazerac, the Improved Whiskey Cocktail is best, Wheat says. For bourbon aficionados looking for a boozier option (outside of enjoying their spirit neat or on the rocks) this recipe calls for 2 ounces of bourbon, a bar spoon each of Maraschino liqueur, Demerara sugar, and absinthe; four dashes each of Peychaud’s bitters and Angostura bitters; and a lemon peel for garnish.

Then, voila! You’ll have a delicious bourbon-forward cocktail. Wheat adds, “It’s complex and it keeps your palate more interested than an Old Fashioned.”

The article How to Drink Bourbon, According to a Kentucky Bartender appeared first on VinePair.

source https://vinepair.com/articles/kentucky-bartender-drinking-bourbon/

[consciouslyrebel]

Japan As A First Timer: Be Prepared.

This is the eighth installment of my Japan travelogue. Read my first impressions here, my visit to Odaiba here, my visit to Akihabara here, my last day in Tokyo here, my first day in Kyoto here, my shrine visit here, and my traditional inn excursion here.

After nine days in Japan, my sleep schedule finally caught up to Tokyo time. That meant that instead of getting up at 5 AM to write my travelogue, I woke up just in time to go sightseeing.

Our final two days in Tokyo passed like a blur, as we made the most of our Japan Rail passes and cheap subway fare. Instead of climbing Tokyo Tower or the Skytree, we went to the top of the Tokyo Metropolitan Government Center, a free observatory where you can see both. We ate crepes in Shibuya, saw peak cherry blossom bloom among the temples at Asakusa, and in Harajuku I bought myself a capsule wardrobe on a dime.

Now that I’m home and have had some time to reflect, however, I would rather spend my final post not recounting, but sharing the most valuable things I learned traveling to Japan. If you’re planning on making your first visit there, here are my top ten suggestions:

Take an internationally run flight if you can.

On the way to Japan, we took a United Airlines flight, which was exactly like any domestic flight except that it was 13 hours long. On the way home, however, we flew All Nippon Airways and it was leagues better—roomier seats, footrests, personal TVs on the back of each seat. What was especially cool is that, aside from blockbuster films, the TV also came with dozens of documentaries on Japan. They would have been great to watch on the way there.

Get a JR Pass if you’re planning to leave Tokyo.

Much fanfare has been made of the Japan Rail (JR) Passfor foreigners. For about $250, you get a pass that will allow you to access any JR line in the country for seven days, including several different shinkansen (high-speed) trains.

I was in Japan for 10 days and couldn’t bring myself to spring for $500 on the 14-day JR pass, so John and I used the Tokyo subway for the first few days we were there, activating our JR passes on the day it was time to visit Kyoto. This turned out to be a great idea! Not only are Tokyo subway fares extremely cheap (in the $2 range), but very easy to get from electronic ticket machines, which all have English menu options. With such low prices, it would have been very hard to justify a JR Pass just traveling around Tokyo. However, a 7-day JR Pass conveniently costs about the same as a round trip ticket to Kyoto. In conclusion: it’s only a great deal if you’re planning to travel outside of Tokyo, and not so much of one if you’re not.

Bring cash and a way to get more.

Japan is a cash-based society and many places that you might expect to take credit card normally—like McDonald’s—do not. A lot of stores simply aren’t equipped to take card and usually have a sign out front on the rarer occasion that they do. We ended up taking cash out of ATMs twice on our trip, at 7-11 and the post office, both recommended. I also recommend taking a card without any foreign transaction or cash withdrawal fees, like Capital One.

Also, since everything from 1 yen to 500 yen (about $5) are coins, I highly recommend bringing a coin purse with you, you’ll need it. After realizing how often I took mine out, it wasn’t any surprise to me that coin purses are one of the most common souvenirs at tourist shops.

Convenience stores are your friend.

If I could bring one Japanese thing back to the US, it wouldn’t even be those cool toilets with the heated seats—it’d be their convenience stores. Where else can you get a filling, semi-nutritious meal for about $5 American? From their ambient music (usually an instrumental version of a Beatles song) to their easy-to-use ATMs to their friendly staff who will go out of their way to understand your bad accent to the food that they WILL heat up for you right then and there, I wish I had one. If I had one instead of my local Rite Aid, I would probably never cook again.

Almost every morning, I now admit, we ate breakfast at 7-11, grabbing sweet melon or bean jam bread and hot coffee (or, on one occasion, cocoa milk that was certainly darker and more bitter than any kiddie chocolate milk), and saving ourselves dollars and time while we were at it.

Eigo o hanashimasu ka? / Do you speak English?

Though I strongly recommend that you learn Japanese before visiting Japan, you should at least know just this one phrase. Don’t be fooled by Japanese modesty either—as long as somebody doesn’t say “iie” AKA “no,” they speak well enough. Some of the most articulate English speakers told us they spoke English “just a little” or “not well.”

There are also places where people are more likely to be good English speakers—train stations, airports, and major tourist attractions especially. Try to save your questions for those places.

The five-story pagoda at Asakusa.

Bring hand sanitizer and a plastic bag everywhere.

In the end, there were only two things that I didn’t like about Japan. First was the lack of soap dispensers in many public restrooms. People would exit the stall, dribble some water from the sink over their hands, and leave. I thought at first that maybe soap was mixed into the water—the toilets are high tech, maybe the sinks are too? But no luck. To avoid finding yourself without soap after using the bathroom, always carry hand sanitizer with you.

The second thing that was hard to live with was a lack of trash cans in public spaces. Apparently this began as an anti-terrorism measure in 1995 after a cult attacked the Tokyo subway by leaving explosives in public trash cans. Now the only trash cans you can find in Tokyo are privately managed, at convenience stores and the like. I got used to carrying a plastic 7-11 bag in my purse and just putting my trash in it, dumping it out at the end of the day.

A wifi hotspot is essential.

When we arrived at the airport, we picked up our eConnect hotspot at the airport post office and instantly had data on our phones. At any time, we could make calls to the US, check out Google maps, or be assured of wifi connectivity even in remote places (like our mountain inn).

I think I used my phone in Japan more often than I usually do, and I always had it open to a couple specific programs. First, a yen to dollar conversion, so I could always tell instantly how expensive something was. Second, a Japanese to English translation window in Google. Third, jisho.org, a fantastic kanji dictionary, so I could more easily read signs.

Want to surf the net like an American? You need a VPN.

Like many Japonophiles, I’m a big anime fan. In fact, I review anime professionally for Anime News Network, a North American fan resource. The anime season finales were airing while I was on vacation, so I needed to watch those final episodes and review them for my work.

But when I tried to access US streaming sites, like Crunchyroll, Funimation, Daisuki, and even Hulu, I wasn’t able to see a thing. None of these sites have permission to air shows online to Japanese users. In order to let them know that I’m actually an American, I had to first connect to my Virtual Private Network (VPN) that I run off of my Raspberry Pi mini-computer back in my Virginia apartment. If you’re curious about setting up a cheap VPN before your trip, I  once wrote a tutorial about how to turn a Raspberry Pi into a VPN.

Bargains take effort.

Japan seems to reward an adventurer. In general, the further away you go from the train station, the cheaper everything becomes. Souvenir shrine amulets at the entrance to the Fushimi Inari Shrine cost 800 yen; amulets at the top of the mountain cost 500. Women’s shirts at the entrance to Harajuku’s most fashionable street, Takeshita dori, cost anywhere from $15-$30. But when I stumbled into basement shop Smile Market, I found comparable clothing for around $2.50.

This might be obvious advice, but I just want to encourage you to keep walking before you make any purchases. There might be more of the same later on, and for less.

Tokyo Skytree, as seen from Asakusa.

Take it one thing at a time.

From the moment I booked my trip last August, I received tons of useful advice for cool stuff to see and do in Japan. Planning out my trip, I originally had a more ambitious itinerary that would allow me to check a lot of these experiences off the list, but after John had to get emergency surgery on the eve of our trip, I decided to scale it back a ton, to just one activity a day. I thought that would be “taking it easy.” I was wrong.

I haven’t traveled internationally for eight years, and back when I visited Italy I was advanced enough in my language studies that I was reading Dante’s Inferno. When you don’t know the language or the culture, the little things intensify. Stuff you take for granted in your home country, like visiting the post office or ordering a coffee with skim milk instead of whole milk, are suddenly on hard mode. Doing one of those things first thing in the morning, when I am refreshed and have my best language skills at my disposal, is OK. Doing one of those things at the end of the day when I’m already tired, not so much.

Since I’ve gotten back from Japan, a lot of friends and family have asked me, “Did you do X? Did you do Y?” And I’ve had to answer in the negative. I did not see everything in Japan, or close to it—and yet I still wrote a 10,000 word travelogue about the things I did see. I don’t feel like I missed out at all, and you won’t either. One thing at a time.

[clairescreativeadventures]

New Post has been published on https://clairescreativeadventurescom.stage.site/tintoretto/

Tintoretto

Aubé is another sculptor of acknowledged eminence who ranges himself with M. Rodin in his opposition to the Institute. His figures of "Bailly" and "Dante" are very fine, full of a most impressive dignity in the ensemble, and marked by the most vigorous kind of modelling. One may easily like his "Gambetta" less. But for years Rodin's only eminent fellow sculptor was Dalou. Perhaps his protestantism has been less pronounced than M. Rodin's. It was certainly long more successful in winning both the connoisseur and the public. The state itself, which is now and then even more conservative than the Institute, has charged him with important works, and the Salon has given him its highest medal. And he was thus recognized long before M. Rodin's works had risen out of the turmoil of critical contention to their present envied if not cordially approved eminence. But for being less energetic, less absorbed, less intense than M. Rodin's, M. Dalou's enthusiasm for nature involves a scarcely less uncompromising dislike of convention. He had no success at the École des Beaux Arts. Unlike Rodin, he entered those precincts and worked long within them, but never sympathetically or felicitously.

The rigor of academic precept was from the first excessively distasteful to his essentially and eminently romantic nature. He chafed incessantly. The training doubtless stood him in good stead when he found himself driven by hard necessity into commercial sculpture, into that class of work which is on a very high plane for its kind in Paris, but for which the manufacturer rather than the designer receives the credit. But he probably felt no gratitude to it for this, persuaded that but for its despotic prevalence there would have been a clearer field for his spontaneous and agreeable effort to win distinction in. He greatly preferred at this time the artistic anarchy of England, whither he betook himself after the Commune—not altogether upon compulsion, but by prudence perhaps; for like Rodin, his birth, his training, his disposition, his ideas, have always been as liberal and popular in politics as in art, and in France a man of any sincerity and dignity of character has profound political convictions, even though his profession be purely æsthetic. In England he was very successful both at the Academy and with the amateurs of the aristocracy, of many of whom he made portraits, besides finding ready purchasers among them for his imaginative works. The list of these latter begins, if we except some delightful decoration for one of the Champs-Élysées palaces, with a statue called "La Brodeuse," which won for him a medal at the Salon of 1870. Since then his production has been prodigious in view of its originality, of its lack of the powerful momentum extraneously supplied to the productive force that follows convention and keeps in the beaten track.

His numerous peasant subjects at one time led to comparison of him with Millet, but the likeness is of the most superficial kind. There is no spiritual kinship whatever between him and Millet.

Dalou models the Marquis de Dreux-Brézé with as much zest as he does his "Boulonnaise allaitant son enfant;" his touch is as sympathetic in his Rubens-like "Silenus" as in his naturalistic "Berceuse." Furthermore, there is absolutely no note of melancholy in his realism—which, at the present time, is a point well worth noting. His vivacity excludes the pathetic. Traces of Carpeaux's influence are plain in his way of conceiving such subjects as Carpeaux would have handled. No one could have come so closely into contact with that vigorous individuality without in some degree undergoing its impress, without learning to look for the alert and elegant aspects of his model, whatever it might be. But with Carpeaux's distinction Dalou has more poise. He is considerably farther away from the rococo. His ideal is equally to be summarized in the word Life, but he cares more for its essence, so to speak, than for its phenomena, or at all events manages to make it felt rather than seen. One perceives that humanity interests him on the moral side, that he is interested in its significance as well as its form. Accordingly with him the movement illustrates the form, which is in its turn truly expressive, whereas occasionally, so bitter was his disgust with the pedantry of the schools, with Carpeaux the form is used to exhibit movement. Then, too, M. Dalou has a certain nobility which Carpeaux's vivacity is a shade too animated to reach. Motive and treatment blend in a larger sweep. The graver substance follows the planes and lines of a statelier if less brilliant style. It has, in a word, more style.

I can find no exacter epithet, on the whole, for Dalou's large distinction, and conscious yet sober freedom, than the word Venetian. There is some subtle phrenotype that associates him with the great colorists. His work is, in fact, full of color, if one may trench on the jargon of the studios.

It has the sumptuousness of Titian and Paul Veronese. Its motives are cast in the same ample mould. Many of his figures breathe the same air of high-born ease and well-being, of serene and not too intellectual composure. There is an aristocratic tincture even in his peasants—a kind of native distinction inseparable from his touch. And in his women there is a certain gracious sweetness, a certain exquisite and elusive refinement elsewhere caught only by Tintoretto, but illustrated by Tintoretto with such penetrating intensity as to leave perhaps the most nearly indelible impression that the sensitive amateur carries away with him from Venice. The female figures in the colossal group which should have been placed in the Place de la République, but was relegated by official stupidity to the Place des Nations, are examples of this patrician charm in carriage, in form, in feature, in expression. They have not the witchery, the touch of Bohemian sprightliness that make such figures as Carpeaux's "Flora" so enchanting, but they are at once sweeter and more distinguished. The sense for the exquisite which this betrays excludes all dross from M. Dalou's rich magnificence. Even the "Silenus" group illustrates exuberance without excess: I spoke of it just now as Rubens-like, but it is only because it recalls Rubens's superb strength and riotous fancy; it is in reality a Rubens-like motive purged in the execution of all Flemish grossness. There is even in Dalou's fantasticality of this sort a measure and distinction which temper animation into resemblance to such delicate blitheness as is illustrated by the Bargello "Bacchus" of Jacopo Sansovino. Sansovino afterward, by the way, amid the artificiality of Venice, whither he went, wholly lost his individual force, as M. Dalou, owing to his love of nature, is less likely to do. But his sketch for a monument to Victor Hugo, and perhaps still more his memorial of Delacroix in the Luxembourg Gardens, point warningly in this direction, and it would perhaps be easier than he supposes to permit his extraordinary decorative facility to lead him on to execute works unpenetrated by personal feeling, and recalling less the acme of the Renaissance than the period just afterward, when original effort had exhausted itself and the movement of art was due mainly to momentum—when, as in France at the present moment, the enormous mass of artistic production really forced pedantry upon culture, and prevented any but the most strenuous personalities from being genuine, because of the immensely increased authoritativeness of what had become classic.