#when Dante is bored and left to his own devices

[of-pale]

Now that's a traffic jam:

[sinful-morningstar]

Spartober 2023 Day 3 Threesome (VerDaNero)

Author's note: I am very tired I'm running on 5 hours of sleep and i just finished this ,This is slightly Smutty but not a full on sex fic it is sexual but not full on in this fic, it cuts off just before penetration, so if you want a full on nakey fic its not it... but nontheless theres making out and dirty talk and some clothed handjobs (Loosley used term cause no one climaxes yet so its all just sensual..or sexual teasing) anyways i tried lol Enjoy .. Prompts by whatsanapocalae1 (I am using a combination of Spartober and Devil MayTonber prompts) {I'll write more prompts to catch up on Tomorrow I am aware of how late into October we are but lucky for me its only been a week in so i can catch up...i am determined...i have motivationi} 3: Threesome (VerDaNero)

Nero walked around the Devil may cry office as he whistled to himself, he was growing bored of having no calls and being left to his own devices, he looked in each room with a sigh, nothing interesting not even V..or Vergil’s Poetry seemed to interest him. He sighed as he sat on the couch with a pout,his mind racing wondering why he was left alone he didn't want to be seen as Dead Weight again not ever again.. just when he let his mind go down the rabbit hole, Dante and Vergil returned from a recent call chuckling and playfully teasing one another as they entered the doors. “No I had that kill” Dante retorted with a smirk. Vergil scoffed “Where’d you learn to count ? We’re Even…” Nero cleared his throat clearly offended at the pair as he glared at them both his eyes darting between them. The Sparda twins looked at the younger with a raised brow. “Hmm? Something wrong kiddo?” Dante asked gently “What's the matter son?” Vergil asked in a similar tone to Dante a more velvety touch to his voice. With a scoff Nero rolled his eyes “Really? you two go on a hunt without me? And you have the balls to ask me what's wrong?I've been bored out of my skull since you two left for the underworld…it’s died down here and the one call you get ..i'm not a part of” he asked with a whine in his voice; his eyes were like a wounded puppy. “Oh sweetheart, we’re so sorry” Dante said with a sweet tone.as he lifted Nero’s chin gently his fingerless gloves made it easier for him to feel just the right places to make Nero shiver.. Vergil sat beside Nero as he sighed “Aw look at you…How can we ever make this up to you?” He said partially teasing, he was being genuine of course but he knew how Nero played this game and they knew it all too well.

Nero smirked, biting his lip gently “I can think of a few ways you two can make it up to me…” he said with a playful tone. “Oh yeah how's that?” Dante asked as he brushed his thumb against Nero’s lip gently making the younger man blush darkly. “Yes dear boy, how so?” Vergil asked with a purr, close to Nero's ear as he leaned down to pepper kisses on his Neck making his son shiver. With a shudder, Nero gasped gently “You..You guys are going in the right direction that's for sure..” he said almost chuckling. “Oh are we now, hear that Vergil, seems we’re doing something right” Dante smirked as he moved closer leaning in “Hmm C'mere baby~” he said as he kissed Nero gently . Vergil gave a simple nod to Dante’s response as he continued to kiss Nero’s neck, gently sucking on the tender flesh leaving marks and lovebites on him. He let his hands reach down Nero’s thighs gently squeezing and massaging them. Gasping softly, Nero bucked his hips letting out small moans. He felt Dante’s hands on his chest slowly unzipping his hoodie “Mmm D-Dante..” he said breathlessly he was cut off by his uncle’s lips on his own. “Mmmph~” He whined softly as he let Dante feel him up and kiss him slowly exposing his chest feeling his toned muscular body against his fingertips.. He felt dizzy With desire as he adored just how strong and rugged those hands were against his tender skin. His eyes widened as he felt Vergil move his hands up higher on his thighs, his fingers dangerously brushing up against Nero’s growing excitement. “Ah..Ahhh..mmm” He panted softly, his lips plump and red as he blushed. Dante has broken the kiss between them leaving a string of saliva connecting their lips together. He was a sight for sore eyes, his neck covered in hickeys and his eyes blown wide with pleasure as he drooled. “P-Please..” he asked, getting heated from the contact. Vergil continued to move his hands up pulling Nero into his lap, he had his hands on Nero’s waist slowly snaking them into his jeans gently stroking him through the fabric of his boxers making him leak with excitement “Shhh..we’ve got you baby boy…Relax..Daddy’s gonna take care of you while Uncle Dante uses that sweet mouth of yours..” “Damn right..you’re always so eager to take me aren't you sweetheart?” Dante asked gently, wiping away the drool dripping from Nero’s chin. He smirked with a pleasantly surprised hum as Nero started taking Dante's fingers into his mouth, sucking on them as he gave him pleading eyes. The sight alone made the heat go straight down to Dante’s own growing arousal. “Mm fuck, look at you..so perfect for me..” he said as he heard the obscenely wet noises coming from his Nephew’s mouth. “Mmm~” Nero moaned softly he felt himself throbbing at Vergil’s touch panting and moaning gently he was so close to release and they all knew it , in the air they all felt pleasure.

Vergil stopped his movements as he felt more of Nero’s pre-Release soaking the boxers, he hummed in thought as he grabbed the belt looks of the jeans and slowly slid them down Nero’s thighs taking them off as he nibbled on his neck. “Let’s get these off shall we?” He asked with a devious grin.

Nero shuddered as he kicked the jeans off once they were at his ankles. Before he knew it he was up against Vergil's chest from behind and Dante’s chest in front of him, perfectly sandwiched between the two eldest Spardas as he legs went wobbly and he fell to his knees.

“Attaboy!” Dante chuckled softly, aware of just how weak Nero was against the duo especially in the art of seduction. He ran his hand through Nero’s hair gently pulling it as he purred “Perfect..Now let me put that pretty mouth to good use..”

With a moan Nero arched his back presenting his plump backside to his father eagerly wiggling it. He yelped as he felt a small swat from Vergil's firm hand making him shiver.

“Behave Nero..i won't tolerate any foolishness while we’re intimate..is that clear?” Vergil said as he slowly slid off Nero’s boxers, freeing his son’s erection as he stroked him gently, making Nero moan. Vergil’s hand squeezes the shaft gently to stave off any more excitement, making Nero whimper pitifully.

“Yes Daddy” Nero moaned softly.

“Good boy~” Vergil and Dante said in unison.

[queenmuzz]

Siren’s Song

If his father found out where Nero had gone, all alone, he’d drag the finling’s tail back and lock him somewhere in the depths of the ocean.  His dad, (and mom, to a lesser extent) tried their best to keep him from the danger of humans, but by the Dawnfather, he was almost thirteen migrations old, and finlings his age were allowed to go where they wanted, within reason.  Besides , he thought as he flexed his fist, his soul weapon had fully materialized, he could defend himself from practically anything.  Only two weeks ago, his entire right arm had changed into a beautiful scaly claw that glimmered silvery blue and red. His parents seemed relieved more that his newly developed weapon was permanently bonded with him, than the fact that he’d gotten one earlier than usual.  It meant he didn’t ever have to worry about ever getting separated from it, a fate worse than death.

Even then, The only two reasons he had managed to get closer to the shoreline was that he was supposed to be with his uncle, who was supposed to be teaching him how to hunt with his new arm, but with the promise of picking up a human trinket for him, Dante had left him to his own devices, while his uncle went on a hunt for something called ‘pizza’. His uncle was weird.

Another reason Nero had gotten so close to the shoreline, was because his dad seemed to think this area, despite the human settlements, was safer than most areas.  This island, this Fortuna…. It didn’t have the large fishing tankers other places did, only the easily dodgible small fishing boats.  And unlike other sandy banks where the dry land met their home, there were few humans wearing those tiny strips of cloths that provided little protection.  When they rarely showed up, they were covered head to their stubbly legs in clothing.  And they almost never went into the water.  

Still, it wouldn’t hurt to be careful.  The legends spoke of how dangerous humans could be, especially when you encountered them on their own domain. The rules were simple:

Never let yourself be seen by them.

Never accept a gift from them.

And most importantly:

   3. Never promise a human anything.

You can also read it on Ao3 HERE

Humans were a strange people, with inexplicable powers that were said to compel or even worse, bind Merfolk to them.  How many tales had his father sang to him about foolish mermen and maids suffering captivity and death because they didn’t understand the danger they were courting by encountering humans?

Well , Nero thought, as he slowly got closer to the shoreline, the tide went out for them, but I’m different.   Besides, he had his new weapon, he’d be perfectly fine.  Already he had perfected his hunting using a manifestation of his claws to shoot out and either spear, or grab a fish, before yanking it back to be devoured.  A group of Cordina swam a tail’s length away from him, and he effortlessly yanked one of them, and with pride, he began to take a bite of its belly.  He wasn’t old enough to swallow them whole, but probably by his next migration, he should be…

Mid bite he heard it.  A beautiful sound that reminded him of the haunting choral singing of the whales of the North.  Except this was higher pitched, came from only one throat instead of many, and strangely enough… it sounded like it came from above the surface?  

Resisting the urge to give in to curiosity and break the surface, he compromised by slowly following the entrancing song from beneath the waves.  It couldn’t be far, sounds in the air didn’t carry as far as they did in water, and sure enough, within a few strokes of his fins, he found the source, a lone wooden dock jutting out over the water.

Or rather, WHO was on it.

Nero had been told by his father that singing was something only Merfolk and the warm blooded fish of the sea could do.  If humans could sing, he explained, they would have to stand right next to each other in order to hear, and their songs couldn’t possibly convey the depths that his people’s songs could.

And yet, this human… this… girl… (She seemed about his age, and his mom had explained that human children had different names for gender) sang so sweetly, it almost felt like she was luring him in with magic.  

But it couldn’t be magic, since he still had the wits to remain hidden, to check for danger, before settling underneath the creaking wood of the dock.  Even so, her voice was so beautiful, he risked silently breaching the surface to hear her more clearly.

He didn’t know why she was singing.  She was apparently alone, so she wasn’t telling a tale, and she was far too young to be singing for a mate.  Tidemother have mercy, he couldn’t even understand the words.  Something about  ‘darkness’ ‘wind’ and… a ‘garden’?  That was a strange word.  Maybe his uncle or mother would know.

But in the end, it didn’t matter as he listened, his claws embedded into the slippery post to stabilize him.  Whatever she was singing, it was beautiful.

And, as he risked a peek through the planks, she was as beautiful as the song she sang.  Her clothing was whiter than seafoam, brighter than the icebergs that floated from the south, with lines of what seemed to be glittering sunlight etched into it.   But that wasn’t the most stunning thing.  Her hair was a vibrant shade between coral red and earth brown, a colour he’d never seen in all of his travels.  And her eyes!  For a moment, he thought they were seaweed green, but then they flashed into dark sand brown, so rapidly, he wasn’t even sure they were different colours, or just a melding of them.  He couldn’t take his eyes off of her.  His father had told him most humans were brutes with harsh voices, but he hadn’t said all of them were. Maybe his dad was wrong, that humans weren’t the monsters the tales said they were.  Or maybe, this one human was an exception, a pearl in an oyster.  

She slowly stopped her singing and with a beautiful smile, she pushed her hair back to form it into a tail of some sort, revealing her creamy skin with reddish speckles (did humans have scales?  He’d have to ask his mom about that, she was really knowledgeable about that stuff) and sighed happily while basking in the son.

“Oh!”  She yelled out, and Nero froze.  Had she seen him, or somehow sensed him?  He clung to the post, quickly calculating paths of escape.  

Instead, he heard a tinkle, a Thud! and a Plop!, as something hit the dock, before slipping through the crack between planks and fell into the water, to sink straight to the bottom.  He could only get a small glimpse as it plummeted down, but it sparkled, like a falling star.

“Nononono!” the girl yelped, and above him, he heard her scrambling, and her head popped down over the side, obviously trying to locate that glittering trinket.  

Nero was totally not terrified.  Not at all.  Sure, this was the closest he’d ever been to a human, and he stilled his breath, she was so close she could probably hear his heart pounding.  All she had to do is look in his general direction, and he’d be spotted. It was only her intense gaze to the sea bed below that saved him.  He couldn’t even flee, because any movement he made would undoubtedly attract her attention.  So, he clung to the post, silently praying for both the Dawnfather and Tidemother to protect him.

The only upside to his situation was that he had an even closer look at the girl.  She was so pretty, and hadn’t been for the fact she had legs, she could have been indistinguishable from one of his people.  But even so, there was an expression on her face that hurt him deeply, a deep sorrow.  Whatever had fallen into the water, it had been very precious to her.

“KYRIE!”  A voice called out from the shore, and the girl's attention swung over to the source, allowing Nero a moment of reprieve, “I told you not to get your dress dirty!  The ceremony is happening very soon!”

Rapid footsteps clattered as an older woman, who bore a resemblance to the girl strode up.  “I’ve been looking all over for you, have you been here all this time?”

“I-I-wanted to practice my singing here, mama.” “You know you don’t always  have to come here alone dear, everyone loves your singing!” “Yeah,”  she didn’t sound convinced.  Did she think her singing was bad?  Nero scoffed at the idea.

“Well, it’s time for your performance,” the older woman wiped off traces of dirt off her daughter’s dress, before gasping, “Where’s your new necklace!?”

“It… fell off my neck,” the girl admitted, hanging her head, “the clasp unlocked and it fell…” she glanced down to the water below.

“Oh Kyrie....” the woman was disappointed, yet not angry. “Your papa and I just got that for you...you need to be more careful with your possessions.”  She glanced over the edge of the dock, and Nero had yet another flash of panic.  Thankfully, she didn’t spend much time scanning the water.  “Ah well, there’s no time to retrieve it.  Your father and Credo will have to look for it tomorrow morning, it shouldn’t go far. Now,” she patted her daughter’s head, “let’s be on our way, your singing will delight everyone!”

Nero didn’t move for what seemed like an eternity, even when the two humans were gone, in the small chance that this was a feint, a trap.  Because that glittering fallen star, that...necklace that glittered in the sand, like an anglerfish’s lure.  But, there were no signs of any other humans laying in wait for him, so cautiously, he made his way towards the sparkly item. Despite it shining like the Dawnfather, it wasn’t hot, in fact it was cool to the touch.  But it glimmered and sparkled like his father’s amulet, it even had a little red gem in the middle.  But the lady was wrong, the way the water moved around here, it would be washed away by tomorrow, or buried by the shifting sands.  Nero had a conundrum:  He could either let it get washed away, lost to the sands of time....

Or he could grab it.  But it belonged to the girl, and the rules about accepting gifts from humans...what if it put a terrible curse on him?

But , he reasoned, it’s not really a gift.   He was merely retrieving it, and he’d give it right back to her… maybe he’d put it on the dock.  

His fingers caressed the shiny metal, as reflective as his father’s blade. No, he couldn’t just leave it here, some bird, or some other human would pick it up for themselves.  Nero couldn’t have that.  He’d just have to hold onto it until he saw her again at the docks.  She apparently hung out here to sing.  Yeah, he’d find her, figure out a way to leave it nearby, and hope she noticed it without noticing him.  Simple plan, really.

The necklace glistened once more in the sunlight, before suddenly with a golden flash, disappeared into his scaly claws.  So his soul weapon could do that too... interesting.  At least his uncle (and dad) wouldn’t be on his tailfins about the trinket he had.  It would be hard to explain how he had gotten a hold of something like this.

“Heya guppy!” his uncle met him a good distance from the shore, ruffling his hair, “you got anything cool?”  

Nero pretended to be annoyed, “Nah, sorry. But,” he scratched the bridge of his nose, “can we come back tomorrow?  I think I heard some of the humans talking about a ‘pizza party’ on the beach tomorrow?  Maybe we could…”

His uncle’s grin widened, “Oh yeah!  We can do that!  I knew you’d pull through!”

Nero almost felt bad for lying...almost.  But his dad would never let him get so close to the shore unaccompanied, and his uncle was the only one who trusted him to go by himself.  He'd just give it to her tomorrow.  Besides, how hard could it be?

It was much harder than Nero had thought.  Finding Kyrie was incredibly simple, she had a very set schedule, spending hours in the morning just singing, or ‘practicing her scales’ as she put it, her voice ascending and descending like the waves.  And he’d hide under the dock to listen, entranced by everything.  He almost was tempted to sing along to the songs she sang, if it wasn’t for the fact he’d be caught for sure.  Sometimes, her parents would come to call her home, or her older brother, but usually it was just her...and him.

But every time he felt he should give back the necklace, he felt… he couldn’t.  And it wasn’t magic, he was certain of it by now.  Honestly, the more he observed her, and the others, the more he was certain that humans couldn’t EVEN do magic.  They were just a slower, weaker, more clumsy version of merfolk, who couldn’t even breathe underwater.

But Kyrie… there was something about her.  Nero wanted to be near her at all  times, and holding onto that necklace seemed to be the only way he could do that.  So, every time when she was called home, he’d promise himself that tomorrow would be the day he’d give it back.  

Unfortunately, that day never came.  “Wait, what do you mean we have to go?” Nero tried to stop his father from swimming off.  He still had plans for the day.

“It’s time, the shoal is on the move to the north,” his father gruffly said, “we’ve wasted enough time on whatever you and your uncle have been up to, if we wait any longer, we’ll spend far too much time chasing instead of hunting.  Tell your mother we must be on our way.”

“But…” Nero still hadn’t given back the necklace.  And now, he might never get another chance to.

His father’s furrowed brow softened as he placed a hand on his shoulder, “Nero,” he spoke softly with misplaced understanding, “I know you’ve enjoyed your new found freedom in this area, it’s why I have put off the migration for as long as possible, I wanted to see my son happy and free in a safe area. But,” the sternness returned, “the Ways must be followed, we must move on.  You understand that, right?”

He was right of course, already the Cordina shoals were slim, and Nero was lucky if he found one on his own per day, and he didn’t relish the thought of eating kelp as a replacement.  (A trait apparently passed down from his father, who detested the stuff)  But still…

“Do not worry” his father patted his head softly, “We will return.  We always do.”  

It was an attempt to reassure him, in his father’s awkward way, but still...Nero hoped that she would keep to her pattern as he did his.  He’d have to get it to her next time on their migration.  It would be easy.

It wasn’t easy.  Eager as he was to see her again the next time they followed the shoal to the balmy shallows of Fortuna, he still couldn’t give up the necklace.  She still stood at the end of the dock at the same time each day, singing not only the same songs as before, but more complex ones as well.  She’d gotten taller, and dare he say it, even more beautiful.  But still, even with multiple opportunities, he couldn’t part with it.  It was like keeping a piece of her with him, and when he took it out of his clawed arm, just the caressing of it calmed him down when he failed miserably at hunting, or when he had an argument with his parents about how independent he was allowed to be.  And so, by the time they had to move on, he still carried it.  There was always the next migration....

He told himself that after the first one, then the second, then the third…

They were approaching Fortuna for the fourth time since he had first met (no...that was the wrong word, but how else could he describe it without sounding like he was hunting her?) and after a particularly aggravating hunt where his uncle constantly ribbed him about ‘If you’re that bad at hunting, maybe you should stick to kelp, guppy’ , Nero had found a secluded shelter to calm down.  He was a krill’s whisker away from punching that smirk off his uncle’s face, and the last thing he wanted to happen is to give his father a reason to restrict his movements, especially as they approached the island.  He rolled his shoulder, and out came the necklace, pristine as the day it fell into the water.  He smiled gently as his fingers traced the shape, like bird wings, that enclosed the brilliant gem.  If he closed his eyes, he could swear he heard her voice.  Perhaps she has another new song?

“Ah, there you are!” His mother’s voice snuck up on him, giving him no time to hide the necklace without looking suspicious. “When Dante said you stormed out of the hunting party at the speed of a sailfish, I was a little worried you’d get yourself in trouble.”   She drifted down towards him, a makeshift satchel made of salvaged cloth from the surface world at her side.  No doubt it was full of shellfish, her favourite food.  She wasn’t as quick at hunting as his father, his uncle, or to be honest, any of the other merfolk, and Nero always worried that she had been injured early on in her life, something that put her at a disadvantage.  But she was always cheerful, and found other ways to contribute to the hunt.

“It’s just…”

“Dante...I know… trust me... sometimes I wish a jellyfish would sting him on the tongue, just to shut him up for a while. But,” she sat down beside him, and began prying open one of the clams with her soul weapon, a small pearlescent knife, and offered him the contents. “ He thinks he means well, he just doesn’t realize he’s swimming against the current.”

He gratefully took it and slurped down the contents.  His mom was always able to mediate between the three mermen, she’d find a way to make his uncle apologize, and things would be back to normal...for a while at least.

“Oh… that’s beautiful Nero! Where did you find that?”  Too late he realized that by grabbing the shell, he’d inadvertently revealed his prized possession.

Parrotfish Sand! He thought, Welp, time to fib a little.

He put on a convincing smile.  “Oh this?  It’s beautiful, isn’t it?  I found it while investigating an old shipwreck a while back!”  Yeah, that was believable.  His dad was more permissive about him going down into the depths than into the shallows.

Unfortunately, the doubtful look on his mother’s face shattered the illusion, “Oh really?  If it came from an old shipwreck it would have had more corrosion on the brass clasp, to the point where only the pendant should still have a possibility of retaining its shine.  That is, if the jewelry had a high enough percentage of gold.  If not, it would have been just as corrode d.”

Nero was stunned.  How had she known he was lying?

“Corrosion?”

“It’s where the water and the salt…” she paused as if she was trying to find the right words, “well, simply put, they change the metal into something different, and often weaker.  Human metal of course, not the metal of our soul-weapons.  It’s why some shipwrecks at the bottom of the sea are all brown,and fall apart just by brushing up against it.  Some metals, like gold, are resistant, some not at all.”

“How..how do you know that? About human stuff?”  

She smiled softly at him, “Nero...I suppose it’s time I told you that once…” she looked up at the dappled surface, the flickering sunbeams shining down on them, “Once, I was one of them.”

Nero choked on the last of the clam he was slurping up.  Maybe he hadn’t heard his mom right.  There’s no way that his dad of all merfolk would have fallen for...a human?  Maybe his dad didn’t know…?

“I’d hoped that your father would have explained our ‘unique’ family situation earlier on...but…” she sighed… “well, if he won’t take the first step-I mean, first stroke.  I guess I should.  Yes, I used to be human, and yes both your father and uncle knew about me.”

“But-” Nero was at a loss for words.  True, his mom always seemed a bit ‘different’ than the other merfolk, but he’d never really minded.  She was a wonderful mother, why should he care?  “How?”

“Magic I suppose, it’s hard for me to wrap my mind around, and I’ve had over a decade and a half to try to make sense of it.”

It still didn’t make sense to Nero.  Of all the mermen to settle down with a ...human? “Dad hates humans!” he blurted out without thinking, “He always reminds me how dangerous they can be, that I should never talk to one, or be seen by one.” Instantly, he felt the urge to slap himself for such an insensitive statement.

His mother looked sad, but not because of what he had said, “I… understand where your father’s coming from, he’s had...an unpleasant history with humankind, it’s tainted his views.  One day he may tell you about it, when he’s ready  But,” she stroked his cheek,   “even he understands humans aren’t all bad, there are some that are ignorant about what happens past their shorelines, and others that are willing to take a chance to dive beneath the waves, so to speak.  I was one of the latter, and it still took me the better part of a migration to gain his trust and love.  I suppose he tries to tell you those stories to keep the risk of you getting hurt as low as possible but,” she looked down at the necklace, “it seems that our family’s obsession with the surface still runs in the blood.  So…” she smiled, “spill the beans, (her penchant for weird turn of phrases suddenly made a whole lot more sense), who’s the lucky human?  I won’t say a word to anyone else about this.”

“It’s...it’s a girl.  Her name is Kyrie...and she likes to sit on the docks and sing in Fortuna.”

“Awww, how sweet!  How did you two meet?”

“Sh-she hasn’t actually met me yet” , he must have turned as red as a snapper by now, “ I just sit under the docks and listen to her singing.”

“But you have her necklace.”

“Yeah, she dropped it about four migrations back, and...well, I wanted to give it back...but…”   ah well, he might as well come clean about it.  Perhaps his mother would understand.  “Everytime I do, I get the weirdest feeling, like I’m giving up a part of myself.” He scratched his nose, “You probably think I’m being dumb as driftwood, eh?”

“Not at all,” his mom said, surprisingly “the heart is a strange and stubborn thing, that makes us do things that we really don’t understand, but,” she smiled, “don’t be like myself and your father and deny your feelings, because you don’t know what the next wave will bring.”   She pulled him close to give him a kiss on the forehead.  “Just promise me that you be careful, alright?  I want you to be happy, AND safe.”

Kyrie was there, sitting on the dock, just like always.  Unfortunately, that was the only thing that was the same.  Instead of her brilliant white clothes, she wore a dress of deep black, like the depths of the ocean.  And instead of singing, she remained silent, not even humming a tune.  And worst of all, her beautiful smile, the thing that only the Dawnfather could compare to in brilliance, had vanished.  Instead, she sat, her legs dangling over the edge, staring out to the horizon, not moving.  Her beautiful eyes had lost their vibrancy, like dead seaweed, and her skin had gone pale, and sickly, like a bloated dead fish.  Strange, there was wetness on her cheeks, that dribbled down before landing in her lap.  Nero wasn’t sure what had happened to her.  Was she ill?  Hurt?  All he knew, it caused his heart to constrict, and that he’d do ANYTHING to bring back her smile.

Steady footsteps on the worn wood caused him to dart back to his hiding spot under the dock.   He knew the gait, even if he didn’t see him very often. Credo strode down, but slowed as he approached the young woman at the end.  He was also dressed oddly, his usual white and gold outfit replaced with a dour black, quite similar to his sister’s.  Was there something going on, a sort of celebration?

“Kyrie…” he spoke softly, as if he didn’t wish to disturb her, but was forced to.  “I was beginning to worry when you didn’t come home after school today.”

There was no response, her eyes still locked on the horizon.

“It’s getting late, and the funeral is early tomorrow.  You and I need our rest for what’s going to be a long day.  The entire family will be coming over… Aunt Lisandra will be taking care of the food preparations, and- ”

“I can’t..” her voice sounded raspy, rough like a shark's skin, “I can’t go home...because mom should be there, taking the poppy seed buns out of the oven, and dad should be there in his study, putting the final touches on that painting he was working on…. But there won’t be the smell of bread in the kitchen, and that painting will always be unfinished.... Because they aren’t ever coming home again....”

Nero was perplexed.  What did they mean by never seeing each other again?  Even if humans couldn’t swim, they could travel anywhere in the world, they could even fly in those metal bird things he would see sometimes up in the sky.

“I know…” Credo answered soberly, “I miss them too…” he placed a hand on her shoulder, before crouching down, “but I know, wherever their spirits have gone, that they would want us to persevere, to remember them, but move forward.”

Only then, did it hit Nero with the force of a tidal wave: Kyrie wasn’t ill, or hurt...well, not in the physical sense.  She was mourning for the dead.  Dawnfather strike him down, what an idiot he was!

“It’s going to be difficult,” the older man conceded, “but you don’t have to bear the burden alone.” “I know…” came the response, a little less soulless, but still with grief.

“If you don’t feel like it, you don’t have to sing at the service.  I don’t want you to feel unnecessary pain, just because some of our relatives desire a show,” her brother muttered darkly.

“No, I need to do this,” she argued back, “not for great uncle Lorenzo, or anyone.  Just for me.”

“If that’s what you desire…”

“Yes.  I just…” she sighed, “I just need some time alone for a bit more.  I promise I’ll be home in an hour or two.”

“Are you sure?” “Credo…” she smiled at her brother, sadly, but with more sincerity, “I’ll be fine.  Don’t worry about me.  But,” her smile lost some of the grief, “thank you for everything.”

Nero stayed still for quite a while after the man had departed, ruminating on what he had heard.  He hadn’t had to deal with the pain she had dealt with, but his father had, and it was obvious that his grandparents’ deaths had affected him.  If there was a way to ease her pain, a way of healing the absence in her heart.

The necklace!  

He looked at it in his clawed hand.  He’d expected the usual reluctance to give it up yet again, but not this time.  This time she needed it more than he could ever.   The only issue was how to give it to her.  He couldn’t just  swim up and plop it in her hand, nor could he attempt to throw it up onto the dock, where there was a good chance it would  just bounce off and back into the water, attracting her unwanted attention.

He looked at the glistening jewelry in his softly glowing clawws, and realized the answer was in the palm of his hand….literally.  All he had to do was find the correct position, speed, and angle...it was just like spearing a fish.

Swimming far enough to get a good angle, but deep enough to not be noticed, he clenched the amulet in his hand one last time, took a mental deep breath and with a force of will, his spectral hand shot out of the water, almost silently, and with precise control, dropped the necklace on the dock with just the barest of noise, enough to get her attention, before it retracted back to himself, and he quickly returned to his hiding spot.

“Oh!” Kyrie had heard the clatter, and turned almost too quickly, a second sooner, and he would have been caught.  But her eyes were immediately drawn to the necklace, glittering in the light of the evening Dawnfather, as she gingerly scooped it up.

“How in the…” she slowly caressed it in her hands, no doubt trying to figure out if it was the same one she had lost all those migrations ago.  Nero swallowed as he peeked through the crack in the wood, getting as close as he dared.  She closed her dull eyes as she clasped the necklace in her hands, pulling it close to her forehead.  After a few moments of silence, her eyes opened, not quite back to their beautiful state, but much more clear, and on her lips, a small smile.  

“Thank you…” she spoke quietly, and Nero froze.  For some reason he was certain she was speaking to him.  But that was impossible!  He had made sure that he was completely undetectable!  She hadn’t ever given an indication that she had noticed his presence.  Maybe she was just speaking to the spirits of her parents or something.

But it didn’t matter, as she began to sing, a song he hadn’t ever heard before, a song full of grief, and yet hope.

Quando sono solo sogno all'orizzonte e mancan le parole

Sì lo so che non c'è luce in una stanza quando manca il sole

Se non ci sei tu con me, con me

Su le finestre

Mostra a tutti il mio cuore che hai acceso

Chiudi dentro me la luce che

Hai incontrato per strada

Time to say goodbye

Paesi che non ho mai

Veduto e vissuto con te

Adesso sì, li vivrò, con te partirò

Su navi per mari che, io lo so

No, no, non esistono più

It's time to say goodbye

And even though Nero couldn’t make out most of what she was singing, it still gave him a feeling of peace

It was the next migration, his seventeenth, when Nero finally broke the last rule.  He was doing his typical thing, hovering under the dock, relaxing to the soothing music that Kyrie sang.  She looked healthier, happier, and more at ease.  The loss of her parents undoubtedly still had affected her, but she had grown from it.  He was happy as well, hoping his action, as little and delayed as it was, had brought her some comfort.

So lost in her melodious voice, he didn’t even notice her slowly lower herself down, and with a sundenness  that would have caught a dolphin off guard, poked her head underneath the dock.

“Hello there!”

His instincts screamed that he needed to flee, that he was in an extreme amount of danger right now.  His muscles spasmed, and instantly he began to calculate on whether it would be safer to dive down and then out, a slower but safer way, or risk making a mad dash from the docks, putting as much distance between her and him.  Then never, ever, EVER come back.   He’d played far too long in the low tide, now he was in danger of being beached, metaphorically speaking.

“Wait!”  Her voice called out, and against his better judgement, he paused, “Don’t go, please? I’m not going to hurt you.  I just…” she paused as she tried to think of what to say, “want to thank you.”

He froze.  He hadn’t expected that.

“Thank me?”  Her eyes lit up brilliantly at his response.

“You CAN talk!  I’m so glad!  I always worried that you didn’t speak our language.” Her smile grew in delight as she pulled herself back up.  Nero floated there, momentarily at a loss what to do.  Should he make a swim for it?  She hadn’t made a move to attack him, in fact, she was giving him an opening to escape.  But what if it was a trap?  He shook his head.  The way she spoke, it seemed like she had known he was there for a while, possibly for multiple migrations.  So, slowly, and with more than a little wariness, he swam from underneath the dock and popped up in front of her.  The delight on her face was infectious, and that smile, Dawnfather be praised, that smile was for him, solely for him.

“Thank me?” He repeated, confused as he looked around, still worried he would be spotted.  But aside from a few fishing vessels on the horizon, there was no one but her.

“For everything…” she explained, as her hand went to her throat, playing with her necklace,.  “Every year around this time, when I’d come to the docks, I swore I felt someone watching me, supporting me, like a guardian angel.”

Nero had no clue what she was talking about,  but he wouldn’t interrupt her.  Her singing was beautiful, but now, her speaking to him, directly, was pure bliss.  If this had been a trap, he would have been a stunned fish right now, easily hooked.  But nothing happened.

“But unlike an angel...it didn’t come from above, it came from below…the water.  It was you.”  Her toes grazed the surface of the water, and she was so close, she could have reached out and touched him, but she didn’t.  Not that he would have minded…

Her eyes went down to the necklace between her fingers.  “In the darkest moment of my life, you gave me something precious.  The necklace, yes… but,” she looked back at him.  “Whenever I couldn’t sleep, when I felt like I was falling into despair, I would hold onto this and would feel a sense of peace, like the rise and fall of waves, of seagulls, the songs of whales.  It was so comforting…  That was you, wasn’t it?”

He didn’t know what to say.  He hadn’t intended it, but perhaps keeping it so close to himself for all those migrations had some residual effect.  

“Uh....yeah.”  It wasn’t a lie, but he wanted to slap himself with his own fins on how stupid he sounded.  “I-I’m sorry I didn’t give it to you sooner, I-”

She laughed, and Nero felt tingles everywhere in response.  “It’s okay, I’m glad it was safe with you.  So,” she leaned forward, getting even closer, and Nero lost himself in her eyes.  If she wanted to, she could reach out and touch him, and he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it (not that he would want to), “Can I have your name?”

Somehow, his mouth was able to work, and he didn’t even stutter…

“Nero...my name’s Nero”

For what seemed like ages, he and Kyrie talked.  She told him all about the surface world, from how they managed to stay sane despite living in the same place for migrations at a time, to her family, (he decided not to pry into her parents), to why she sang.  It stunned him that not all humans enjoyed singing, how in the watery depths were they supposed to pass on knowledge to their children?

But he kept his questions to himself, and when she cautiously asked about him and his people, he felt comfortable to tell her about his family, and merfolk in general.  She never pressed for more details, but she asked how long he would remain in Fortuna.

“It’s about one cycle of the Tidemother, the shoal moves out, so we gotta follow it, or else we’ll be stuck eating kelp”  He couldn’t help it, he gagged at the thought.  “We should be heading out when she hides Her face.”

Kyrie’s face fell a little bit.  “Oh, that means you’ll be heading out pretty soon.”

“Yeah…” he agreed, and for the briefest of moments, the thought of him staying in Fortuna for the rest of the migration, eating nothing but kelp didn’t seem that bad.  But explaining why he didn’t want to leave this island to his father… not so appetizing.  “But guess what, I’ll be back to see you on the next migration!  And I won’t hide under the dock this time!”

“You promise?”

There was a slight pause, as Nero recalled something he’d heard innumerable times

Never promise a human anything.

To the depths with that… he thought, and smiled at the young woman, the one that had unwittingly lured him in, and captured his heart.

“I promise”

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Anonymous asked: I love your book reviews under the banner ‘Treat Your S(h)elf’ - nice play on words. You have such a wide and cultured range of interests that I really learn something new. Do you read poetry? What are your favourite poets? What are you currently reading?

I love reading poetry because as the poet Robert Frost put it succinctly, “Poetry is when emotion has found its thought, and thought has found words”.

Poets are before anything else in the words of W.H. Auden, “a person who is madly in love with language” and language is the bedrock of any culture and society and ultimately civilisation. When you truly think about it, poetry is meaningless when it has been left to gather dust on a piece of paper. It is simply a memory of an idea conjured up by a writer with something to say. Poetry must be read, it needs to be experienced because it keeps these ideas burning. These meaningful concepts about the nature of life, death and everything. Every time a person reads a poem, a new bright spark emerges in that person’s head. A new way of thinking, a new way of understanding. That is exactly why poetry must be read because it is the essence of our language.

The reasons I personally read poetry, you ask? Here are some reasons I can think of from the top of my head others are too personal to reveal:

I read poetry because poetry is thoughts that breathe and words that burn. And I read poetry because it is what happens when my mind stops working , and for a moment, all I do is feel. This is good therapy for me as I’m not the most openly emotional or prone to displays of emotion in public. It’s just not how I was built. Poetry helps one to feel. So some poems remain so close to my heart.

I remember when I was about to go on my first tour to Afghanistan I was quite calm and cold blooded because that was and is my nature. My father - who served with distinction in uniform like his father and grand father, and great-grandfather before him - was always proud and supportive of me being the black sheep of the family as the only girl in our family going through Sandhurst and now I was off to the last embers of a war in Afghanistan that everyone had forgotten about. He was concerned - like the rest of my family - like any loving parent about what might happen. But he didn’t question my professionalism or my abilities so he didn’t give me that lecture instead he thrust in my hand both classical literature (Thucydides and Homer in particular) and the works of selected poets. He told me poetry will save your life. He wasn’t anxious about my physical safety he was thinking about my soul. For what happens during war and what comes after if and when I come home. Long story short: poetry saved my life.

By nature I am restless to an incredible annoying degree. I fear being bored. I find it hard to sit and be idle. Poetry is my balm for boredom.

I am incredibly busy and I work punishing long hours. Time is premium. People make demands on me and my time. Poems are like super-condensed stories, and are therefore usually short enough to be read over your morning tea/coffee. In this fast-paced world we live in, sometimes poems are a better alternative to reading fully-fledged novels, or even short stories and poetry gives you the chance to continue to expand your literary horizons even during the busiest times in your life. And becoming more widely read is an incredible way to ensure you are continuously growing, and learning, while becoming a more cultured individual at the same time. There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you and when I read some of those beautiful pieces of poetry by my favourite poets it's like the paper is filled with the breathings of my heart.

The most frightening thing is people I know stop growing culturally after they leave university and get on with the business of life i.e. careers, marriage and family. Once on that treadmill they don’t or can’t stop. They are unable to step off and take a breath. Poetry gives you a breather and helps you to re-centre your priorities.  The more you read poetry, the greater your quest for knowledge awakens. Doorways will open inside your mind and unlock your hidden potential for a greater understanding of life. Anyone who reads poetry often can connect with this conclusive sentence formation that defines your very questionable outlook on life.

I also believe poetry allows us to be less rigid in our thinking with an authentic, personal touch. When I read poems, nothing is often straightforward. Every poem has a meaning hiding under it, but it is blocked by a myriad of literary devices such as metaphors and symbolism. It is important to be able to think more figuratively because it allows you to understand ideas and perspectives in a more abstract and possibly more meaningful way. Sometimes I find that having a single page of beautifully crafted words can be enough of a distraction to spark a sudden creative leap in my brain. There have been many times where I've miraculously thought of ways to solve a problem (big or small) purely because reading poetry forced me to think differently from the usual day-to-day thoughts required for general life.

Poetry is best read when you’re hidden from the outside world, in a quiet little spot, somewhere away from all the hustle and bustle. It is increasingly hard to do just that. I have so many demands on my time and limited space but I force myself to carve out the time and space to do this - one must try. As a rule I switch off all social media (not that I have many to begin with but most definitely my phone). The best time for me to carve out time is when I’m traveling as I’m able to shut out everything around me. Usually when I’m waiting for a flight in the business class departure lounge it’s quiet and not too many people to distract me and there is usually a delay to the flight. When I check into a hotel I feel a disconnect to the world around me. I feel like an alien. Poetry helps me to connect again. Poetry calms and focuses the mind. With poetry I can almost reset my day because it’s not just a time zone I have to get used to but also a state of mind - and especially if I find myself being unproductive too!

I often escape Paris and go into the countryside. I love going on walks, hikes, mountaineering, and other outdoor pursuits. It allows me the space and time to read poetry and reflect in peace. And of course I snatch time before I go to sleep to read a poem if I am not too tired.

The point is that I need the head space to absorb the poem and take some time to work out the meaning of the full entity. I try not swallow a whole book in one sitting, instead I read a few poems and leave the book until the next day or a few days depending on my schedule. Sometimes, you can read a poem again and you will find other meanings or pick up on information that you couldn’t see before. That’s poetry, you create the film, journey or picture inside your mind from reading the words on the page.

As for my favourite poets this is of course is a very personal choice. I didn’t read English at university but rather my academic interests were Classics and History, so I profess a very paltry poetic palate. Still, I’m grateful to those friends more versed than I to point me to other poets. So I do my best to keep an open mind and try and read poetry recommended by others or some thing that captures my eye when I browse through book stores or read it as a passing reference in a book I am reading. 

Different poets and poems are discovered at one stage of life and where I happened to live in the world and only take on another meaning when re-read them at another stage. So I tend to re-visit poets I used to read as a teen and then see how it resonates now.

The majority of my poetic readings are in my native English and Norwegian languages but because I have varying degrees of fluency in other languages (because I grew up there for instance) I love widening my poetic palate. One of my regrets is not knowing Japanese and Chinese to a sufficient degree to really read poetry in those languages even if I have basic fluency in literature and everyday conversation. So reading Ezra Pound is one way in English to appreciate these Eastern poetic influences. I’m also ashamed to admit that I only know a woeful smattering of words in Scotiish Gaelic - my Anglo-Scots father knows it fairly well but even he struggles - and really I must find time in the future to learn more of it because it’s such a fascinating language (not least because it’s also dying out and that is tragic).

So below is an eclectic and random list from the top of my head and in no real order of preference:

• Homer (Greek) • Sappho (Greek) • Rumi (Farsi) • Mirza Ghalib (Urdu and Farsi) • John Milton • John Donne • William Shakespeare • Dante (Italian) • Robert Burns • William Wordsworth • Samuel Taylor Coleridge • William Blake • John Keats • Emily Dickinson • Christina Rosetti • Gerald Manley Hopkins • Walt Whitman • Oscar Wilde • W.B. Yeats • Rudyard Kipling • Wilfred Owen • Alfred Tennyson • Rainer Maria Rilke (German) • Cavafy (Greek) • T.S. Eliot • Hilda Doolittle • Marianne Moore • Sylvia Plath • W. H. Auden • Olaf H. Hauge (Norwegian) • Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson (Norwegian) • Aslaug Vaa (Norwegian) • Rolf Jacobsen (Norwegian) • Sarojini Naidu (Hindi) • Gulzar (Hindi)

Living in Paris I tend to read more French poetry these days. By osmosis it helps me appreciate the French language and French culture even more.

• Charles Baudelaire. • Paul Verlaine • Jacques Prévert • Arthur Rimbaud • Alphonse de Lamartine • Alfred de Musset • Paul Valéry • Paul Eluard • Jean Genet • Françoise Villon

Poetry is an art that combines the essence of life through the fabrication of reality. Poets challenge and nourish me with their wisdom, philosophy, love and journeys beyond what used to be the limits of my own creative imagination. They push my boundaries ever so more. In doing so they grow my mind for understanding, my heart for empathy, and my soul for wisdom. It would hard to disagree with Robert Frost who sums up what poetry means to me, “a poem begins in delight, and ends in Wisdom”.

Thanks for your question

[the-friday-knight]

Fuck it

Ben 10 OC Time

Name: Jake Mars

Age: 17 (During OS)

Species: Human

Nationality: American

Eye Colour: Bright Blue

Hair Colour: Brown Black

Appearance: Jake wears a red and black hoodie as his common attire, under which he has a range of different t-shirts with various logos or statements on them, usually related to mechanics or rock music in some way. He wears thick blue jeans and brown steel toed boots. His version of the Omnitrix is on his left wrist. It is nearly an exact replica of the Omnitrix designed by Azmuth, but it won’t stay that way for long.

Personality: Jake is kind. Whenever he comes across an Alien, or some situation that seems odd, he gives the Alien the benefit of the doubt first, for all he knows they could just be scared being on a different world. Of course this isn’t always the case and has landed Jake in a few close calls that he quickly had to get his way out of. Jake is also well versed in mechanical engineering, owning a dark red Plymouth Superbird that he uses to travel the country. Jake decided to leave his home after acquiring the Omnitrix, at the start of the Summer after he had just received his drivers license. This is because he discovered that his Omnitrix was not the only one out there, though he still is not sure who has the others. He left because he wanted to find others with a device like his, and maybe they could work together and help each other figure out the strange Alien watch. He likes to consider himself mature, though that isn’t to say he isn’t reckless at times when it comes to people in danger our people he cares about getting hurt.

Likes: Driving, cars, finding and taking apart Alien tech, rock music, country music, apple pie, black coffee, meeting new people/Aliens.

Dislikes: Prisons, discrimination, Dean, people who question his mechanical knowledge.

Flaws: Jake feels like he has something to prove. This is shown most obviously when he is fighting against an Alien that he is also able to transform into. Even if there is an Alien he has that would be better suited to the fight, he will often transform into the same Alien in an attempt to prove that he can beat them at his own game. He also has a bad habit of antagonising those he is fighting against, to the point where it seems less like hero-villain banter and more just straight up arguing or insulting them.

Strengths: His mechanical knowledge helps him in his fights surprisingly often, especially when going against certain robotic drones that might be out to get him. He is usually quite adaptable to his transformations, and situations where he isn’t the Alien that would be best suited. He has a friendly aura about him, making him easily able to hold a conversation or befriend others, even if they are of a different species.

Jake’s Omnitrix: Jake’s Omnitrix is similar to the one built by Azmuth, however there is one key difference. It’s AI.

Omni: Omni is the AI within Jake’s Omnitrix. She has the appearance of an human female with twin green ponytails, a strange black and green shirt and skirt combo and bright green eyes. When she first met Jake, she requested him to call her Omni-chan. Jake promptly refused. Despite the term AI, Omni was actually a member of a once powerful and prosperous race, who transferred her entire mind into a satellite before her races downfall. She remained in that satellite for an unknown amount of time in deep space, but somehow was able to pick up earth transmissions of a form of entertainment called ‘Anime’. Hence her appearance and name choice. While out there, she also discovered encrypted messages of a design for a piece of technology that would allow someone to transform into a different Alien species. Omni realised this device might be a chance for her to bring her race back. So she immediately started constructing it, following the blueprints to almost a t. However, she was unable to connect with the Codon Stream on Primus, as she needed space to put her mind in. Once completed, she locked the Omnitrix and herself in a pod, and shot it towards Earth.

Omni’s Personality: Omni is a very energetic and intelligent girl. She helped Jake understand the Omnitrix when it first attached itself to him, though she may have also gave him a heart attack when she first revealed herself. If there is something Jake does not know, he will almost always ask Omni for help. She is happy to oblige. However, being cooped up inside a watch does tend to make her a bit bored, and sometimes she will either jump out of the watch or transform Jake at inopportune moments for laughs. She will also rarely change Jake into a different Alien than he requested, if she feels like he has been that Alien too much lately. As she has knowledge of what Anime is, she could be considered a weeb. This proves detrimental when Jake ends up fighting a magic user that imbibes origami creatures with magic to make them life sized and attack. She is a big fan of this Villain and often tries to talk to them in the middle of a fight.

Enemies: Canon Villains Dean: Another wielder of a different kind of Omnitrix that seems to only turn him into Aliens from the Anur system. His watch was dubbed the ‘Anurtrix’ and he uses it to commit petty crime. Jake has fought and defeated Dean several times, foiling his thefts. However, every time Dean manages to slip away some how. (Enemy level: Hands. On sight.) Kitsune: A magic user that uses magic to transform her Origami creations into life sized counterparts. She seems to be after magical artifacts, specifically those of Japanese make. However, she seems to be younger than Jake, making him think she is going through her weeb phase. (Enemy level: Why are you doing this crime it makes no sense? I’m still gonna stop you though.) Colonel Rozum: Jake accidentally staged a breakout at Area 51. Freeing wrongly imprisoned Aliens and helping them return home via the theft of an experimental aircraft capable of space travel. Jake did not join the Aliens in leaving Earth, instead trusting them to make it home without him. Colonel Rozum does not know it was Jake who enabled the breakout, as he was transformed at the time. But as far as he is concerned it only confirmed the danger of Aliens. (Enemy level: You’re a government official so I can’t actually attack you but one day I’m going to punch that stupid moustache off your face.)

Allies: The Tennysons. Detective Arnold Mason: A detective in a large city close to Jake’s hometown. It was where he preformed his first act of heroism in front of people. Unfortunately due to a misunderstanding Mason thought Jake was a part of a rival gang. Jake attempted to clear it up. Mason and two other officers are now aware of a supposedly heroic car. (Ally level: Vigilantism is illegal, but you’re literally fighting Aliens so you do you I guess.)

Trouble Gear: Three Planchaküle that were stranded on Earth. Jake brought them to a junkyard and aided them in returning home. The trio were gifted a CD of AC/DC’s greatest hits by Jake. They consider it their favourite item. Having returned to their home planet, they are not currently available to Jake, but would immediately spring into action to help if he requested it. (Ally level: You helped us get home and introduced us to rock and roll. We will die for you.)

Trivia:

Jake is voiced by Dante Basco.

Omni is voiced by Samantha Ireland.

The first Alien Jake turned into was a Planchaküle. He has named this transformation ‘Ratchet’.

It doesn’t matter if you’re human, Alien, or intergalactic war criminal. If you are being driven somewhere by Jake, you wear. your. seatbelt.

The DNA of Omni’s race is available for Jake to turn into. But Jake doesn’t know that, and Omni actively tries to keep that hidden.

Jake’s Omnitrix has access to the Life Form Lock mode and the Scanner mode.

This theme is red and black, which is usually associated with villains but I thought it’d be funny if Jake had it because of association.

His ethnicity is half-Polynesian on his mothers side.

He isn’t sure if there are alternate counterparts in different dimensions. Though he is pretty sure if there were he would immediately throw hands.

Jake currently has no love interest, though I am considering an eventual redemption of Kitsune that might lead to that.

His Omnitrix will go through a serious design change. I shall share it in another post.

[tardis-ghost-blog]

The Master's Game (4 - Traces of ink)

  << Prev - Next >>

"I think... I'm dying," Roka moaned.

She lay on the floor all limbs stretched out, not able to move an inch.

"For once it wasn't me," the Master remarked sarcastically from his desk.

"Oof..." She nudged the empty pizza box further away. At least he had kept word. Though it had felt surreal seeing a villain like him ordinarily ordering food and she had to try really hard not to laugh. Although she still felt a lot more like punching him for the thing with the gun.

And now he was so bold to just sit there... and to read a book. Casually. What a weird guy, she thought. But even someone like him couldn't be destroying worlds all day. Sometimes even a villain had to be... normal? Roka grinned. He was probably reading something that would help finishing a weapon.

"Stop staring at me." He didn't even look up. "You're annoying."

"Was just wondering..." she mumbled.

"About what?" Lowering the book revealed puckered eyebrows.

"Let me guess..." Roka pointed a finger into the air. "'10 ways to destroy earth in a day'. Or... 'How to tame a human'."

He snorted. "What the heck are you talking about?"

"Your book."

"Who would write something idiotic like that?" The Master chuckled.

"Don't know..." She grinned and glanced towards him. "Someone like you."

He laughed. "No, if anything at all I'd write about... hmm..." For a moment he thought about it, forehead wrinkled. "'A guide to find the most tasty food in the universe'." He laughed at that thought and shook his head.

Roka giggled. That had been a bit unexpected. "I know what I'll write about as soon as I get out of here.... 'The ultimate guide to become a cliché villain.' ... Yep, I think that'll do. With that reference..." She stuck out her tongue at the Master.

"Oi, I'm not cliché!" he protested.

"You totally are! So far you are the ultimate prototype of a comic book villain." She counted her fingers up. "Chaotic, randomly cruel, fascinated by his own plans, wants to destroy earth for no reason, including the enslavement of humanity..."

"Don't forget, 'crushing your psyche when he's bored'." A mean grin spread on his face and he leaned back with folded hands.

"Good luck with that." Roka smiled. She'd been long gone before he would have the chance to do that.

Leaning onto his desk he stared at her for a moment, smirking slightly. "I'm more interested in the chapter 'How to deal with annoying hostages'." The Master stood up, came over and dropped his book on Roka's stomach.

"Oooow.... man! Ooof... don't do that..."

"There, read and shut up. It's too loud today anyway. Can't concentrate on it."

What was he talking about? Some of the devices around gave off a slight humming here and there, but apart from that the room was only filled with a heavy silence. She didn't get an answer to her questioning glance, so she picked up the book and looked at it surprised while sitting up. It was an old copy of Moby Dick.

"Oh... I read that as a child." She smiled and looked at the pages. "Nice... looks like a complete version. It's surprisingly hard to get by one."

"The only thing you humans are good at."

"Huh?"

"Literature." The Master waved a hand through the air as if to enclose this word into a bubble. "Most races don't write at all. Others only write facts. It's surprisingly rare to find actual stories."

"Mhm... I see..." Roka looked at him. "Then you're even more stupid than I am." When he raised an eyebrow she continued, "If you destroy this planet... there won't be anyone left to write these."

He looked surprised for a second, then laughed.

"Hey, that's... I can't even argue against that."

"So, you stop?"

"Of course not! There are more than enough books written to spent a Time Lord's lifetime reading. Who needs more?"

"I do. And with you super reading speed you'll run out of them faster than you think."

He grinned. "Just because I can read that fast doesn't mean I always do. It's good to pull out information, but you miss all the nuances and details. And... hm..." A finger sat itself onto his chin. "You kinda have to slow yourself down so the pace of the story synchronizes within the speed of your own time stream."

"Huh, that's interesting. Never thought about it that way." Roka opened the book and started to read the first page when the Master crouched down next to her. She looked up again. "Get lost. I won't annoy you anymore."

"I'm curious." His head tilted. "Your brain is so limited. It just cancels out everything you don't concentrate on."

"I wish I could cancel you out." She sighed.

"How does it feel? Trapped up there..." He poked her forehead. "Looking through the eyes of the author like you're there yourself."

"Don't tell me you can't!" She looked at him in surprise, not getting an answer. But his look was curious, as if she were an interesting animal. "Hm... I don't know how to describe it. Depends on the words the author is choosing. Sometimes the book itself can't manage that. But when you lean back and just... let your mind wander off..." Her voice became quiet and slower. Her eyes closed. "Then yes, I can feel like I'm huddled together with the whole crew on deck in the cold storm, while Ahab is holding his frantic speech about the white whale."

"Ahab's an idiot." The Master rolled his eyes.

She looked down at the book. "No... just old and mad and bitter. I like that character. He's kinda fascinating. And scary."

"How is he fascinating?" The Master sounded surprised. "A stupid whale ate his leg and he kills his crew and ship and himself just to get revenge... on an animal... and he didn't even win!"

Roka looked up and smirked. "Different times I guess. We do have some interesting history, and back then... for them the whale wasn't just an animal. It was... like a dragon. A mystical beast with a mind of its own. So dangerous, so deadly... The only thing worthy enough to throw your soul down into the abyss of the sea. The only enemy worth hunting." She smiled and slid a hand over the page. "I should go there one day... I bet it's exciting."

A chuckle let her look up again. He poked her chest. "You like the danger." His grin got mean and wide... and amused. "I start to wonder... who is playing... with whom?"

"Oh, I'm just waiting for a chance to strike." Roka grinned, but something had felt off the whole time and now she could finally point at it.

It took too long to be forgotten.

Sure, they were in the same room all the time, and she wasn't really invisible; especially not to single people. But still... it took too much time. Maybe the Master had written down some notes to remember her. He was the absolute opposite of stupid, so he probably already thought of something.

"Have you read Poe?" His curious voice suddenly ripped her out of the thought.

"I met him once..." Roka reminisced. "Only briefly though. Fascinating man. And fascinating stories. Wonderfully dark and a fine selection of words, if you ask me." But that probably wasn't what he wanted to hear.

"Lovecraft?"

Roka looked up and tilted her head. Why was he asking her that?

"Uhm... yeah. I've read all of his stuff." She wondered... "Did you?"

A grin suddenly sat on the Master's face. "I even saw some of the locations he described. And I once held the Necronomicon in my hands."

"As if." Roka giggled, but he didn't look as if he was joking. "Wait... that stuff is real? You're not going to summon Cthulhu! That would..."

He started to laugh at her. "Some of it is real, yeah... and no, I won't." His face turned sour for a moment. "None of the summoning formulas so far worked..."

"Of course you tried already." She sighed, then giggled. "See? Cliché. And idiotic too."

"Careful, human. I'm not letting you insult me." The Master gave her a mean look. "Should kill you for that remark alone."

"How can you be insulted by the truth," Roka answered snippy. She really shouldn't provoke him like that... but somehow she just couldn't keep herself from it. Something about him just gave her this itch.

"No self preservation? Or are you just overly stupid?" The Master cocked his head, observing her like an experiment.

"I just really can't stand you," she countered and added in a mumble, "and all stories must end one day."

He poked her chest again. "This is not a story though."

Roka laughed. "Who knows. In some parallel universe we might be exactly that..." Her hand wrote into the air. "Traces of black ink slowly soaking into the fabric of a paper sheet."

"Kinda poetic..." He stood up and went to his desk. "You should write that down."

But halfway back he turned around again, staring down at Roka for a moment as if contemplating something. Then he returned and sat in front of her with some distance. "What about Dante?"

[lily-junoarcher]

Notes from ‘Medusa and the Female Gaze’: Condensed

Susan R. Bowers, 'Medusa and the Female Gaze', NWSA Journal, Vol. 2, No. 2 (Spring, 1990)

 "This symbol of horror is worn upon her dress by the virgin goddess Athena. And rightly so, for thus she becomes a woman who is unapproachable and repels all sexual desires - since she displays the terrifying genitals of the Mother. Since the Greeks were in the main strongly homosexual, it was inevitable that we should find among them a representation of woman as a being who frightens and repels because she is castrated. "

- Sigmund Freud, "Medusa's Head", vol. 5 of Collected Papers, ed. James Strachey (New York: Basic Books, 1959), 105-6

 Freud and Sandor Ferenczi's psychoanalytic theory conceives of female genitals as terrifying images of male castration because it is rooted in the male perspective. - Susan R. Bowers

 'by transforming Medusa' s head into the image of profound lack, Freud and Ferenczi deflect attention from the compelling, frightening presence of Medusa's eyes that are watching with all the force of a powerful subjectivity.

 Hazel Barnes "it was not the horror of the object looked at which destroyed the victim, but the fact that his eyes met those of Medusa looking at him."  - Hazel Barnes, 'The Meddling Gods' pg. 13

She agrees with Jean-Paul Sartre: "... When another person looks at me, his look may make me feel that I am an object, a thing in the midst of a world of things. If I feel that my free subjectivity has been paralysed, this is as if I had been turned to stone." Barnes, 'The Meddling Gods', Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1974) pg. 22, as paraphrased from Jean-Paul Sartre, 'Being and Nothingness' (New York: Philosophical Library, 1956)

 The 'Look' is so disturbing, because it constitutes judgement of the self from outside the self; judgement which can neither be controlled nor even known precisely.

 " The Look of the Other, which reveals to me my object side, judges me, categorises me; it identifies me with my external acts and appearances, with my self-for-others. It threatens, by ignoring my free subjectivity, to reduce me to the status of a thing in the world. In short, it reveals my physical and my psychic vulnerability, my fragility. " - Barnes, 'The Meddling Gods', Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1974) pg. 23

 The Medusa Complex, then, ”represents my extreme fear that by denying my own freely organised world with all of its connections and internal colorations, the Other’s look might reduce me permanently to a hard stone-like object.“ – Barnes, ‘The Meddling Gods’ pg, 23

Patriarchal males have had to make Medusa – and by extension, all other women – the object of the male gaze as a protection against being objectified themselves by Medusa’s female gaze. The defence against having their own free subjectivity ignored, their vulnerability and fragility revealed, and their world shared was the destruction of female subjectivity.

Why was it necessary to destroy female subjectivity?

The answer lies in Medusa’s powerful pre-Olympian history. What we now know is that Medusa was a powerful goddess at a time when female authority was dominant and the power to be feared was feminine. - (Thalia Feldman, “Gorgo and thr Origins of Fear”, Arion 4 (Autumn 1965): 484-93

As the serpent-goddess of the Libyan Amazons, for example, Medusa represented women’s wisdom. A female face surrounded by serpent-hair was an ancient, widely-recognised symbol of divine, female wisdom.

Some feminists suspect that the Gorgons were a Black Amazon tribe. – Emily Erwin Culpepper, ‘Ancient Gorgons: A Face for Contemporary Women’s Rage, “ Woman of Power 3 (Winter/Spring 1986): 22

 As Neith of Egypt and Athene in North Africa, Medusa represented the Destroyer component of the Triple Goddess (*). Her inscription at Sais named her “mother of all the gods, whom she bore before childbirth existed”. She was “All that has been, that is, and that will be”. – Larousse Encyclopedia of Mythology (London: Hamlyn, 1968), pg 37

The snakes on her head are strong mythological symbols associated with wisdom and power, healing, immortality and rebirth. Why the prohibition against gazing directly at her? One explanation suggests that her blood was magic because it represented menstrual blood: primitive people believed a menstruating woman’s look could turn a man to stone. – Sir James Frazer, ‘The Golden Bough’ (New York: Macmillan, 1922), 696, 699

 But others remind us simply that mortals must never look a deity in the face. – Edward Phinney, Jr., “Perseus’ Battle with the Gorgons, “ Transactions and Proceedings of the American Phiologocal Association, 102 (1971): 446-47

“It is never wise in myths and fairy tales to look certain women, death or gods in the face because their unmediated power is too great – like the sun in eclipse”. To be ‘seen’ a woman must be dulled-down, to be accepted in a way that is manageable. Viewed with sunglasses on. – Nor Hall, ‘The Mook and the Virgin’ (New York: Harper & Row, 1980), 65

 Because of Medusa’s powerful image, she was represented on the Temple of Artemis on Corfu, apparently to protect the temple from evil:

“Medusa is intact and unmolested. Oerseus does not figure here because this scene does not exist to glorify any hero. Medusa, and her children, and her lion companions, function here in an apotropaic aspect – to turn evil away from the temple and the goddess within... The entire scene on the pediment is one of teeth, fury and dark power”. – Tamsey Andrews as quoted in Culpepper, “Notes on Gorgons”, unpublished paper, n.d., 5

 When invading Hellenes arrived, they “wrecked the goddesses’ shrines and tore off the masks from the priest-women, an episode in that crucial moment of western civilisation when female powers were replaced by gods and heroes”. – Joan Coldwell, “The Beauty of the Medusa: Twentieth Century”, English Studies in Canada 1 (December 1985): 423

** the rise of monotheistic religion

 The Olympian Medusa lacks sacred power. The male, Poseidon, is divine, not the female. Nor is Medusa’s petrifying look mentioned in Hesiod’s ‘Theogony’ (8th Century B.C.).

However, by the second century A.D., the legend told by Apollodorus states of the Gorgons that “they turned to stone those who beheld them.” – Apollodorus,  The Library, trans. Sir James George Frazer, vol. 1 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1959), 161.

 “Myths in which heroes conquer dragons and gorgons and snakes and other monstrous figures are essentially stories of “riddance” in which the beautiful and powerful women of the pre-Hellenic religions are made to seem horrific and then raped, decapitated or destroyed”. – Annis Pratt, “Aunt Jennifer’s Tigers”, 168

 In Ovid’s ‘Metamorphoses’ (1st Century B.C), Medusa is a young girl whose “beauty was far famed.” Because she was raped by Poseidon, the god of the sea, in Athena’s shrine, Athena, “for fitting punishment transformed / The Gorgon’s lovely hair to loathsome snakes”. – Ovid, “”, pg. 4.800-801

 The grotesque paradox of the Olympian Medusa is the juxtaposition of her extraordinary beauty and her horror, which is represented by the writhing serpents on her head and her power to petrify. She is paradoxical in more than one sense: blood which flowed from her right side created a life-giving drug which permitted Asclepius to bring six mythical beings back to life, whereas the blood from left side produced poisonous snakes. – Philip Mayerson, ‘Classical Mythology in Literature, Art and Music’ (Lexington, Mass.: Xerox Corporation, 1971), 131-32.

The Olympian Medusa has become a “myth of origin for amulets” because her head “literally combines and contains evil mixtures and confuses the sacred and profane, law and taboo, pure and impure... Contagion and cure”, and the purpose of the amulet is to baffle, to create confusion. – Tobin Siebers, ‘The Mirror of Medusa (Berkely: University of California Press, 1983), 8-9

The paradox in part can reflect the coexistence of her pre-Olympian and Olympian history.

 The two most famous artworks inspired by this Medusa are Benvenuto Cellini’s sculpture ‘Perseo’ and the painting ‘Head of Medusa’ in the Uffizi Gallery in Florence. Cellini’s work captures magnificently the ambivalence of the Olympian Medusa.

The body of Cellini’s Medusa is feminine and fragile, while her murderer is Janus-headed. – Siebers, ‘The Mirror’, 12-13 Both the painting and sculpture are tense with ambivalence: neither completely horrible, because of the beautiful face, nor thoroughly lovely, because of the morbidity and snakes.

 The bewitching mixture of female beauty and horror echoes the interpretations of Perseus and Medusa during the Middle Ages. In the ‘Romance of the Rose’, Perseus arms himself “with a mirror of reason to resist the dangerously feminine, to neutralise the erotic power that threatens to immobilise him”. – Sylia Huot, “The Medusa Interpolation, “874.

 The Dantean Medusa is believed to represent “a sensual fascination and potential entrapment, precluding all further progress” for the pilgrim. – John Freccero, “Dante’s ‘Medusa’: Allegory and Autobiography”, in ‘By Things Seen: Reference and Recognition in Medieval Thought (Ottowa: University of Ottowa Press, 1979), 39.

 Art historian Margaret Miles points out that in the 14th Century, women’s sexuality and biological experience were pointedly rejected in favour of an idealised female image. But Miles and others have found strong evidence that some women at this time had considerable power in business, politics an the church. “The spiritual autonomy of such women may have been deeply frightening to patrician men. The device of simultaneously distancing women and informing them of the role within the community that men preferred them to play made images of women attractive to men. For men, the totally visualised and spiritualized – silent and bodiless – woman was manageable”. – Miles, ‘Image’, 83-84

 The ethereal women of 14th Century paintings do not represent actual women but “the qualities men woul have liked women to emulate [as] ‘a way of mastering’  what was otherwise too immediate, too threatening, too intense”. – Miles, ‘Image’, 85

By the Romantic period however, male artists had discovered a new way to combat female power and subjectivity that Medusa could not help but project from her pre-Olympian days. Medusa’s victimisation by Poseidon and Perseus, but especially by Athena, who punished the victim instead of the rapist, contributed to her becoming a “key romantic iconograph”. “Although Romantic artists were all aware that she was, in some sense, a focus of evil, they generally agreed that she was innocent of the horror she generated and that their own fascination was with her betrayed power and innocence”. – Jerome J. McGann, “The Beauty of the Medusa: A Study in Romantic Literary Iconography”, Studies in Romanticism 11 (Winter 1972)

 In William Morris’ version of Medusa, she longs to die but “no one will release her from her death-in life because all men are... Themselves afraid of dying”. By transforming Medusa into a victim, Morris domesticates her and her terrible power dissipates. But in making her the necessary victim for a hero, demonstrating his victory over the fear of death, his desire for “love, integrity, civilisation”, Morris inscribes a prominent aspect of the original myth: Medusa’s role as a Sacrificial victim.

As Rene Girard, who focuses on the function of ritual sacrifice for a community, explains: “Society is seeking to deflect upon a relatively indifferent victim, a ‘sacrificeable’ victim, the violence that would otherwise be vented on its own members, the people it most desires to protect” Girard argues that sacrificial victims, whether human or animal, can be distinguished by their lack of a crucial social link with the community that enables them to be sacrificed without fear of reprisal. While he declares that women are rarely sacrificial victims, I contend that Medusa represents the paradigm of the woman as eminently “sacrificeable”. By being marginal to the patriarchal community, she meets Girard’s criterion of sacrificial suitability.

Medusa and women like her – not owned by the patriarchy – are ideal victims. Destroying them does not challenge male property rights and does not damage those women who serve a patriarchal society. Sacrifice of Medusa-women enables the male communal expression of anger and violence that female eros and power provoke.

** See witch-burning (Salem witch trials etc.)

[icequeenoriginal]

Choices (Devil May Cry fanfiction)

The newborn’s cry broke the silence of the apartment in Fortuna. A very exhausted woman forces herself out of the bed, only to be stopped by an arm, reaching out for her. “Rest. I got him.” The woman didn’t have the strength to object. She smiled fondly at him and laid back onto the bed. The man quickly got out of the bed, wondering how someone so small could shriek so loudly. He entered the nursery, swiftly avoiding the toys scattered on the floor. He made his way over to the crib and couldn’t stop himself from staring. He had a son, the elder son of Sparda has a child. “Why are you crying, Nero?” Vergil gently picked up Nero. Nero wiggled as he cried, only calming down a bit when Vergil held him close. “Was it a nightmare or--” Vergil was being cut off by an unpleasant smell. He placed Nero on the changing table and removed his onesie. Nero giggled as Vergil cleaned it up, happy he could be with his father. Vergil walked around the room rocking Nero, trying to get the babe to go back to sleep. It wasn’t that he need sleep, he found it unnecessary, but Nero needed it. If he was ever going to train the boy to use his full power, he needed to work with his human side. Nero wouldn’t allow sleep to take him again, he wanted to spend time with his father. Vergil walked over to the small Sparda shrine in the room. Nero cooed at the picture of his grandfather when Vergil brought it close to him. “That’s your grandfather Nero, the fiercest warrior in all the world, both demon and human.” Nero babbled as if he was replying to his father. It made Vergil proud, knowing that this would only lead to a path of intelligence and honor. Eventually, Nero closed his eyes and drifted off to bed. Vergil placed Nero in the crib and attempted to walk back to his bedroom. Nero, losing his father’s warmth, snapped open his eyes and began to gurgle. Vergil sighed and sat into the chair next to Nero’s crib, allowing Nero to hold onto his finger with his tiny right hand. It always marveled Vergil at how small Nero actually was. He was weak and vulnerable. Nero needed Vergil to protect him. Eventually, both father and son fell asleep, holding onto each other. ——————————————————————————————————————————------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Vergil watched his son drink from his mother’s breast as he ate breakfast. He felt sorrow that his son would have to grow up in such a small apartment. He was able to get a job at Fortuna’s library, where he was able to study everything the Order knew about his father. Soon, he would get a meeting with the heads of the Order and tell them he was the elder son of Sparda. Then they would worship him. Nero would never know what it is like to suffer. His thoughts were interrupted by Nero cooing for him. He lifted up his son and placed him on his chest. His father’s chest was always Nero’s favorite spot to lay on. He loved the noise Vergil’s chest plate made when he tapped it. Vergil placed the child over his shoulder and gently patted his back. Nero giggled after he burp, he found the noise amusing. Nero’s mother smiled at the connection the two had. She knew Vergil was going to be a good father. “Vergil?” “Yes, dear?” “Could you bring Nero to work with you today? I have my first shift with the dinner today.” This would be the first time she would work since having the baby. Vergil hated that she had to work instead of focusing on the baby. Nero had only been alive a week, he needed constant care. “Of course.” This made Nero squeal happily. He cuddled into Vergil’s chest as if he was gluing himself to his father. He didn’t want to be forgotten. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Nero listened to Vergil’s heartbeat as they walked, smiling. He had never been outside of the apartment before. He smiled, his first smile, unseen by his father. He was hoping they would do it every day. As they were walking, Vergil recounted how he ended up with the child. Vergil entered Fortuna with one goal in mind: Power. This city praised his father as a god, there had to be something of his father this city was hiding. His amulet shined when he made his way through the city, he was close to something. Entering the library, he knew this would be a good first stop. They had a sign pointing the section specifically filled with books about Sparda. He picked up the first few books on the shelf. He was walking towards a table when a young woman ran into him. He was unfazed but the woman fell to the ground. The books she had been holding feel around her. Vergil had never been one to buy into the whole “falling in love”. His mother would tell him and his brother how she and their father fell in love. It always bored him but he wouldn’t lie that he found the woman attractive. But that didn’t matter, she was in the way of his research. “I am so sorry sir!” The woman quickly pulled her hood over her face before collecting the fallen books. Vergil figured it must be a custom here. He hadn’t taken his hoodie off simply because he didn’t feel like it. Smart decision. The woman stared at him. She had never seen anyone like him. He was so mysterious and dark, yet he was so beautiful. He had hair like Sparda and eyes so elegantly blue. Like winter. She wanted to hold him, she wanted to be his wife, she wanted to bear his children. “What’s your name?” “Why do you want to know?” “I…” “You’re wasting my time” He made his way past her, only to be stopped by her grabbing his cloak. “Unhand me, woman!” People around then shushed him, not caring about anything else. “Wait! Let me join you!” “And why would I let you join me?” “You’re trying to learn more about Sparda right? I-I’ll tell you everything I know!” Vergil watched her curiously. He had seemed to have utter control of this woman. She was attracted to him, much like this city was to his father. “Alright” She sat with him. She went on for hours about everything she had on Sparda. Vergil did find it interesting, his father was not the same man he remembered from his childhood. This version was much better. She asked him if he had a place to stay, he said he hadn’t really thought of that. She quickly offered up her place. He said why not. Her place was small, but it would work for a night or two. He told her as much. She didn’t want him to go. She told him as much. He asked how she would make him say. She offered him the only thing she had left, her body. He accepted. It worked out well for him. Every day, she would come back to the apartment with any and all new information Sparda. He enjoyed been waited on, to have someone be so willing to serve him. He wasn’t ready for the change. One day she came home with no books, only a small box. “What’s in the box?” Maybe it was a gift from the Order, begging to take him as their new leader. “It’s…” He quickly grew annoyed, “It’s what? Out with it woman!” “It’s a pregnancy test…” “It’s a what?” “It’s a device that tells me I’m bearing your child.” Vergil froze at those words. He created a child. He, not his twin, made a child at a young age. “P-Please…stay with me…raise the child…the Order…the Order forbids pregnancy outside of marriage…they get rid of the woman and the child…please…” This was the first time Vergil had been asked to do something for someone else. He didn’t have to say yes, he could leave Fortuna and forget about her. As those thoughts entered his mind, he heard his mother’s voice. He looked up to see the ghost of his mother staring back at him. She begged him to raise the child. Like how she and his father raised him and Dante. His father. He could raise the child to be powerful. The child could fight by his side. Who knows what kind of power this child would possess? “I will.” And he did. He got the job at the library, he revealed himself to the landowner, threatened him if he ever told anyone. He took her to the head priest so that they would be married. He did it all. For them. He didn’t know when he stopped caring about the child’s power or his own. He wasn’t sure when he truly fell in love with both of them. Maybe when he first sensed Nero’s soul, heard his heartbeat or felt him kick in her womb. He even remembered shedding a tear when he first held Nero. Nero. That was the name he chose. It means wise, imaginative, philosophical. It was perfect.           Once they arrived, Vergil asked a woman already working there if she had anything he could place Nero. The woman brought him to the back room where she had a baby chair, still in the box. “The others and I bought this for you when you mentioned you had a newborn son.” Vergil noticed the room was filled with other baby items. He wonders if it was because of praise or baby fever. Lifting up the box, Vergil nodded at her. “Thank you.” He walked over to the receptionist’s desk, quickly set up the chair and placed Nero in it. Nero wiggled at the sudden movement, babbling that he wanted to stay in Vergil’s arms. As soon as he felt the chair, he decided it was soft enough and smiled at Vergil. Vergil smiled back and rocked the chair with his foot as he read. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Only two hours passed when that man walked in. Vergil sensed something demonic radiating off of him, but he knew the man was human. He looked down at Nero, who was fast asleep. Quietly, he gets up from his chair and walks over to the woman putting books away. “Do you mind if we switch? I want to stretch my legs.” “Of course, but what about--” “He’s fast asleep, he won’t stir. If he does, I’ll hear him.” Having no time to wait for an answer, Vergil took the cart and looked around for the man. Finding that it was slowing him down, he pushed it to the side. He found him in the archives, reading a book about none other than Sparda. “Hello, Vergil.” “How do you know my name?” “Why, you’re the son of Sparda of course.” “What do you want?” “To give you an offer of a lifetime. Fortuna knows nothing about your father’s power. I, however, know how to unlock it.” Vergil closed his eyes, he sensed that Nero was still fast asleep. “...Tell me more.” Vergil spent the next hour learning everything the man knew. He learned his name was Arkham, he learned the story of Arkham’s wife and daughter, and he learned every single detail about the portal between the demon and human world. He closed his eyes. With that power, he would never be weak again. He would have people praising him without any need for the Order… He could protect Nero without any issue. “I think--” Nero’s cries interrupted him. Nero had awoken and saw that Vergil was no longer above him. He did not approve. Vergil began to walk away. Arkham smirked: “I’ll be here tomorrow for your answer.” Virgil said nothing, he just kept walking. “What are you willing to sacrifice for power, Vergil?” ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Vergil gently scooped up Nero, instantly calming the child down. Nero cuddled into his father, babbling incoherently about what Vergil assumed were based in fear. He didn’t blame him, he knew what it was like to be left alone. As he rocked Nero, he thought about his life if he didn’t take Arkham’s deal. He would have to work nonstop in this godforsaken city, live in a tiny apartment for who knows how long, and listen to the boy cry. He quickly ran out of the library as fast as he could without harming Nero. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- He ate in silence that night, contemplating what his next move would be. He looked up at his wife breastfeeding Nero. There was no way he could bring them along. They would slow him down. He could always come back for them. He shouldn’t be gone for long. “How was work today?” Vergil didn’t seem to hear her, Nero decided to reply. She smiled at her baby babble and smile, he always had the biggest smile on his face. Vergil left the table soon after, he needed his rest. Nero made noises to protest, he wanted to be held by his father. He settled for his mother warmth for now. His father would just have to hold him the next time he opens his eyes. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Vergil sensed Arkham outside of the apartment at around 3 o'clock in the morning. He didn’t care, he already made up his mind. Placing a note that simply read “I need to leave and do something. You’ll understand soon enough, he left without a word. He paused to kiss Nero’s cheek one last time, “I will return son” Nero woke up moments later, he reached for his father who was walking away from him, babbling to be picked up. Vergil ignored him, he left with Arkham. Nero began to cry which in turn, woke his mother. SHe read the note. Nero kept on crying. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- She couldn’t take it, Nero wouldn’t stop crying. He just kept crying. With Vergil gone, she would have to pay to live in the apartment again. She didn’t make enough to feed two mouths. Nero would only grow and grow. She couldn’t raise him. The thunder was deafening as she ran through the streets. Yet it still could not drown out Nero’s cries. Nero didn’t like the cold, he didn’t like her running. He wanted to be held by Vergil. When Nero was placed down in front of the orphanage, she smiled. She was free. She ran away. Nero didn’t like that. He wanted her back, he was cold and sad. He cried louder. His cries were again unanswered.

[inhumansforever]

Secret Warriors #7 Review

spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers

Quake continues her deadly pursuit of her friend’s killer as the rest of the team races to stop her before she goes too far.  Illustrator, Juanen Ramírez, stays on board for the confutation of the arc, along with writer, Mathew Rosenberg, and colorist, Joe Ranch.  Full review and recap following the jump.

Last issue saw Dante’s niece abducted by the Dark Beast and his minions as well as Quake eliciting the aide of the killer, Bullseye, to help her track down Deadpool.  Deadpool had killed Daisy’s close friend, Phil Coulson, in the midst of the Secret Empire todo and Quake is out for vengeance.  

The issue begins with Karnak being introduced to his new digs at the Enillux Corporation.  Karnak had come Ennilux CEO, Ahura, looking for a job.  Ahura seemed well aware that Karnak must have ulterior motives in asking for this job, but he opted to offer Karnak one when it became evident that he might be able to help out in terms of a labor dispute in a fictional third world country where Enillux has many of their good produced.   Karnak is showed around by an Inhuman employee of Ennilux and he is quick to demonstrate both he positive and negative aspects of his cold outlook on the world.  He recommends firing twenty percent of the workforce in the branch; yet also undercuts the notion that he is somehow special because of his royal connections to Attilan.  

In Karnak’s eyes, being a Royal is not at all special and the sooner the Inhuman peoples can move beyond the old ways the better.   After insisting that his fancy corner office have its windows boarded up, Karnak excuses the employee so he can make a video call to Lunella.  What ensues is just wonderful and I would have been fine with the entire issue just being Karnak and Lunella’s terrific back and forth…

Lunella has to get off the line when a knock comes to the door.  It’s Dante who has come to her looking for help in rescuing his niece from the clutches of the Dark Beast.  Despite the perilous circumstances, Dante doesn’t want to miss out on the opportunity to meet Moon Girl’s mom, but Lunella is not having any of it and makes arrangements for the two to meet up with Ms. Marvel later on. 

Meanwhile, Bullseye has put Quake on the right track for hunting down Deadpool.  Bullseye has basically agreed to help Daisy because he’s bored, a psychopath, and thinks it’ll be fun to see the two rip each other to shreds.   Quake engages Deadpool and a firefight ensues.  

Deadpool seems to realize he’s ill prepared to take on Quake and makes a quick exit by throwing a grenade into a crowded restaurant before running off.  Ever the hero, Daisy rushes in to rescue the restaurant patrons thus allowing Deadpool’s escape.  Bullseye is bemused by Daisy’s choice.  She can be a hero or she can get her revenge, he states; she can’t do both…

Talking things over at an ice-cream shop.  Lunella convinces Dante and Ms. Marvel that it is essential that they recruit Quake in their efforts to rescue Dante’s niece.  Ms. Marvel is reluctant toward the idea.  She’s still upset over the fact that Quake had resorted to torture during their last mission and doesn’t feel that Quake, nor Karnak, is the kind of ‘heroes’ she wants to be associated with.  Nonetheless, Lunella succeeds in getting them to agree to find Quake and they use a mini rictor scale device of her to track her.  

They arrive on the scene of Quake’s battle with Deadpool but show up a moment too late and the trail has grown cold.  Conferring with Karnak, Lunella and the gang are clued into some old fashion detective work and are able to track down Deadpool by way of the use of his credit card.  

Deadpool has used this card to rent out a carnival amusement park that’s been closed for the season… an ideal location for a super battle.  Quake has found him and the two once more engage in a fight.  Deadpool has underestimated Quake’s power and resolve and quickly comes to realize that he’s woefully outmatched.  

Bullseye has been watching on from atop the roller coaster and is disappointed to see that Quake is actually winning.  Hoping to make the fight more interesting, Bullseye tosses down a knife that strikes Quake right through the forearm.  

Quake responds by using her seismic powers to tear down the rollercoaster.  

Deadpool isn’t especially concerned over his losing this fight.  He’s basically un-killable and can regenerate from whatever punishment Quake can dish out.  Daisy realizes this and comes up with an inventive solution.  She isn’t going to kill Deadpoll, she’s going to bury him alive in cement.  And it is here that Deadpool finally shows a little fear.  

Bullseye makes his way out of the debris of the ruined rollercoaster.  Now he’s enraged and looking to end Quake.  Before he can, however, Inferno, Ms. Marvel and Moon Girl arrive on the scene.  Inferno and Ms. Marvel take on Bullseye, yet he’s far from intimidated.  These youngster are no match for him and it isn’t long before the two heroes are on the ropes, about to be killed by the deadly assassin.

Quake uses her powers to push Deadpool further down into the wet cement.  He can tell the end is near; he apologizes for having killed Coulson.  He tells Daisy that he deserves it and she shouldn’t feel bad for what she’s doing.  All this stirs something in Daisy… she’s killed before, but never in such a coldhearted fashion.  This isn’t taking someone out in the heat of battle, this is an execution and she knows it will haunt her for the rest of her days.  

Moon Girl intervenes.  She knows Daisy will regret these actions and tries to stop her.  Moon Girl states that Daisy’s decision is clear: she can take one life or save two others (pointing out that Ms. Marvel and Inferno are about to be killed by Bullseye).  

Quake makes to right decision.  She turns away from Deadpool and distracts Bullseye long enough for Ms. Marvel to use her embiggining powers to kick Bullseye far off into the Hudson Bay.  

Doing so has offered Deadpool the time needed to escape and Daisy is forced to reconcile with the fact that Coulson’s murder will go unavenged.  Still, she has made the right call and has acted in a fashion that would have made her friend and mentor proud.  

The matter essentially resolved, the team can now move on to rescuing Dante’s niece… an adventure that will pose the Secret warriors against the dreadful Mr. Sinister.  Although that tale will have to wait until the next issue.  

This was surprisingly good read.  The build up from the previous issue left me a touch unenthusiastic over the direction of this two-issue arc, but the execution and resolution in this issue was quite satisfying and fun.  The key was writer, Matt Rosenberg’s very smart decision to make the matter character driven… utilizing the situation to further explore Daisy’s journey as well as highlight the extremely fun interplay among the rest of the cast.  

It was evident from the onset that Daisy was not going to kill Deadpool.  Not only because Deadpool stars in a ton of books and is unlikely to die in someone else’s title, but also because being a cold hearted killer just isn’t Daisy’s destiny.  How she got there, however, was nicely done and the narrative continues to really excel at utilizing the other players to help build and develop her character.

My take on Secret Warriors is that it is essentially a Quake solo series, but one in which the extended cast plays a key role.  Daisy is clearly the character Rosenberg is most interested in focusing on, yet Moon Girl, Ms. Marvel and Dante are all well used in providing foils for Daisy to bounce off of.  

That is not to say that the rest of the cast doesn’t get their chance to shine.  Moon Girl was especially important to this issue and Rosenberg does a great job of summoning his inner Amy Reeder and Brendan Montclare, offering Lunella a voice that is absolutely in-tune with her personality in her own title.   And again, any scene that entails interplay between Lunella and Karnak is an instant must-read… so much fun.  

Juanen Ramírez illustration matches the story wonderfully.  His fluid and gritty style worked well for the nourish/revenge tenor of the tale; while his great knack for facial expressions punctuated the more humorous aspects of the story.  A tale that is both mirthful while also sort of noir is not an easy task to pull off, yet Ramírez’s lifework coupled with Ranch’s clever color pallet makes it work quite well.  I especially liked the way in which Ramírez illustrated Dante… it reminded me a lot of Paul Pope’s early work in the pages of THB.  

I’ve been very much looking forward to seeing The Secret Warriors do their thing outside of the confines of the over arching Secret Empire event, and this issue delivers on what I was hoping for.  Extremely fun and highly recommended.  Four and a half out of Five Lockjaws!