bareminimalii

[bareminimalii]

Hiii!! This will be my introduction post I guess, I’m Bella (^.^)

I rarely post adult works but this blog is 18+

Requests status: Open!!

I’m open MOST things but I won’t answer without explanation if I don’t like the contents.

Might do ships if it is a request but that’s a huge maybe since I love my X readers!

Fandoms: I will mostly write about Vergil and DMC in general but here are some fandoms I could write for. Highlighted are my favorites.

Fallout New Vegas (fallout in general), Hellsing, JJK, Resident Evil, , Final fantasy vii and xv ,

My other account is @bareminimalist but I mostly post FNV shitposts there

Once my blog gets a bit bigger I’ll make a master list here, thank you for stopping by!!!!

[bareminimalii]

Meetings

Vergil x (LIR) Reader

Word count: 2396

Summary: The mysterious man you had met that day was more that meets the eye.

Contents and warnings: graphic depiction of a corpse (Extremely brief), Poetry, developing relationship, set pre DMC3, possible inaccurate depictions of the Order of the Swords beliefs, religious themes, Grief, Vergil’s amazing communication skills, OC added for plot convenience

Notes: I spent the longest time researching trying to find a concise list of what the people of Fortuna actually believed in but anything unanswered would just be defaulted back to Christian beliefs. Trying to think of William Blake from the perspective of Vergil was challenging but hopefully it’s accurate. Anyways I hope you enjoy!!!! ٩(^‿^)۶ (may make a 2nd part to this)

You rushed to the library that evening. You run through the streets of Fortuna, almost tripping over the hard cobblestone roads several times. You had to rush, of course, you couldn’t miss the meeting time you arranged with the mysterious man you met the other day.

That day, you were sitting in the Fortuna chapel way after mass had ended. You found yourself staring at the statue of the legendary knight Sparda. It stood tall in the center, looking down on the pews. You cursed it, if he was such a savior, why did he allow for such suffering? He shouldn’t be worshiped for sealing hell when demons still haunt the earth.

You clenched your fists, remembering your dear friend Lylabelle. She was smart, beautiful, and the kindest person you had ever known. She didn’t deserve the fate awarded to her. You remember seeing her dead body sprawled on the ground of the forest. You clutched the child she had pushed out of the demon’s line of attack. That act left her gored by the demon, its claws stabbed through her stomach. You could never forget the sickening sound of the demon's claws retracting before swiftly stabbing Lylabelle’s stomach again. What sickened you further, was hearing her last words pleading for Sparda to save her.

You stood in the forest, clutching the hand of your now unrecognizable friend. It was the only part of her left intact. The cries of the child were muffled through your rapid thoughts, but one repeated over and over in your head: why her?

“How can anyone have faith in you…” You muttered under your breath to the statue.

“Whom else would the people turn to if the demon world were to open? ” A voice spoke up.

You frowned, you initially assumed it was one of the more dedicated members, and he was about to lecture you about questioning your faith. You turned around, and it was a hooded man. You remember him, you saw him walking the other day, his hood was worn and dirty. You had spared him a glance before going about your day. The hood was still dirty now, but you could see his shadowed face, his piercing blue eyes standing out.

”It doesn't dull my worries, hoping for a savior. It heightens it, it makes me realize how crazy you all are. Thinking Sparda would come back and save everyone when he already doesn’t save his worshipers.” You admit to him.

The man sits next to you and grabs one of the Bibles that were left in the pew. “You believe I’m a—as you put it—crazy worshiper?” The man asked.

”I didn’t say that exactly, but yeah, tell Sanctus if you want, I don’t care.”

“I won’t, I’ve been struggling with my faith for the past couple of years as well.” The man said reassuringly, “However, I cannot deny Sparda’s existence.”

”Why’s that?”

The man never answered, instead he reached into his cloak and flipped through the book he pulled out of it, glancing at it, then looking at the statue of Sparda “For Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love Is God, our father dear, And Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love Is Man, his child and care.” He then turns his head to you, maintaining eye contact as he continues, “For Mercy has a human heart, pity a human face, And Love, the human form divine, And Peace, the human dress.”

“William Blake,” You blurted out. The Man nodded, “I know that poem, humanity is an embodiment of God's qualities—Sparda isn’t God.”

“You’re correct.”

“From our scripture and Santus’s preachings, I can tell why you would make the comparison.” You admit, “Mercy, Pity, Peace, while he did do that two millennia ago, it’s not enough for me.”

”I agree, it wasn’t enough.” The man looked back up at the statue, “However, it’s everything to me.”

You didn’t pry as he didn’t answer your other question. “I’m glad you can be civil instead of lecturing me. I like how literate you are, it seems like the only book anyone can talk about is scripture.” The Man closed his poetry book and handed it to you. You held it gently and brushed the well-cared-for cover, and not a single speck of dust has flown off.

“Is there a way we can talk more?” You asked, looking up at him and handing his book back. He grabbed the book and smiled, “The library, at the end of the week, I’ll be there at night-time.” He said as he tucked the book back into his cloak. “When you get there, check the poetry section.” You stared as he walked out of the chapel. As the door closes, you quickly follow him, you had to ask his name!

You rush and open the heavy doors, but when you peek outside, you notice he is gone. You stood there confused, but you knew you had to meet up with him again.

Back to the present, you approach the old library and open the doors. As you step inside you take in the emptiness of the place. The library would always be deserted, however not even the librarian was there that night. It creeped you out as you noticed how most of the sections were dark, the candles having been put out already.

The only candles on were leading to the familiar route of the poetry section. It was near the back of the library, past the many sections of books.

Your footsteps are the only sound you hear as you walk towards the back of the library. As you passed each bookshelf and got closer to the back you could hear the flipping of pages and the occasional shuffle of feet.

You approach the section and peek your head into the tall shelves. There the man stood, this time unhooded revealing his elegant blue coat and black under attire. He had pure white hair and the same blue eyes you had first stared into.

He looked focused on his book, you walked up to him and placed a hand on your shoulder. He didn’t look surprised at all, he looked back into his book before turning towards you. “When I’m dead, my dearest Sing no songs for me.”

“I know that one,” You muttered, the man had paused his recital and looked down on you, a bit annoyed at your interruption, “Sorry, continue”.

”Plant thou no roses at my head, nor shady cypress tree-”

His words drowned off in her ears. You knew this poem well, and you hated it.

“- I shall not see the shadows, I shall not feel the rain, I shall not hear the nightingale” The man had paused and looked at your scrunched up face

“You struggle with grief.” He stated. “You’ve lost someone haven’t you.”

“Haven’t we all?” You sighed, “She was my closest friend. I never knew family, but I knew her. She may not hear me now, but my heart cries for her.”

You brushed your fingers against the poem, the tips of them brushing against the words at the end of last stanza, “Haply I may remember and haply may forget.” You echoed.

“I’ve lost my mother long ago, but I realize, it made me stronger as a man.”

You looked at him confused, he closed the book, placing it back into the shelf. “It hurts at first, but once you get over the initial shock and hurt, you rebuild stronger and you feel glad. Her death is why I am like this today. I grieve no more and look towards the future.”

“That’s impossible, you just can’t…” You paused, you knew nothing about the man, what mindset you have would be different from others, “It’s your mother…I don’t understand…”

”Of course the average person couldn’t understand,” He said softly, brushing his fingers through his pale white hair.

“What’s your name?” You finally asked.

He looked around the shelves pressing his finger against the books and used the tips of them to scan through the books he paused and plucked the book out of the shelf and handed it to you.

You looked at the book, it was The Georgics.

”George…?” You questioned, smiling.

The man had sighed and held his temple before pointing to the author's name.

”Vergil”

You looked up at him and he nodded. “That’s an interesting name,” You said, “Have you read The Georgics?”

”Barely, it’s about agriculture but I enjoyed how someone could explain something so laboring and dutiful as something beautiful and rewarding.” He put the book back.

“Do you think what you’re doing will be rewarding?” You asked him, “Burrowing down your grief?”

Vergil paused and tilted his head, “You know not of what I do,” He scoffed, “You’ve barely known my name.”

He stared into your eyes, your words had clearly affected him. His eyebrows furrowed and he clutched his book towards his chest.

“You spoke a thousand words when you talked about your mother.” You stated, “You’re suppressing your emotions, and for what strength? Why does that matter to you?”

You gently rested your hand on his arm, he was tense, “Grief makes us human, it separates us from…from those wicked demons.”

”I suppose I’m in the middle.”

He grew less tense and leaned closer into your touch, “Your friend, after her death how long did you mourn?” He asked.

”I still do.” You stepped closer to him, “That’s what I was doing at the church, she loved church, more than anyone I had known. She loved Sparda, she did everything in his name.”

”You curse him for not protecting your friend?” He questioned.

“I…” You paused, “I do but, I more so get angry.”

”At Sparda?” Vergil interrupted.

“At Lylabelle!” You blurted out, “If she…if she just had more sense! More knowledge instead of those stupid preachings, she wouldn’t have been so involved with the church! If she wasn’t involved with the church we wouldn’t have been going on walks with the orphans at night! If we weren't on walks with orphans at night she wouldn’t have been massacred by those demons!”

You felt the tears well up in your eyes burning them. They slowly fall down your cheek and you wipe them with your hands hoping they’d stop but they would keep on falling.

You felt strong arms wrap around your frame pulling you in close. It wasn’t the most comforting hug, it was rough, almost forced, as if he didn’t know how to portray affection. However, it was all that you had at the moment and you really needed one.

“I understand…the anger part.” Vergil breathed as he awkwardly pulled away from the hug, “Loved ones leaving you, and you have to pick yourself back up.”

”It makes you feel as if you’re the only person in the world,” You sniffed, wiping your damp cheek again.

”I am the only person in my world.” He stated.

You didn’t ask, instead a grin was forced through your lips, “I’m right here,” You laughed.

Vergil smiled, “Do you have time for one more poem? You can choose it.”

You nodded and went to scan the shelves. You realized, maybe you didn’t have to search. You look back at Vergil, “Can I see your book?”

Vergil nodded and handed you his book. You opened it and quickly flipped through the pages, finally landing on the poem you were looking for.

You clear your throat, “ I head an Angel Singing, When the day was springing:

‘Mercy, Pity, and Peace,

Are the world’s release.’

So he sang all day

Over the new-mown hay,

Till the sun went down,

And the hay cocked looked brown.”

You’d look at Vergil, you then reached out your hand silently asking for him to grab it. Vergil looked back at you and then the poem before raising his. You took it and placed his finger tip on the page, running it along as you read each line.

”I heard a devil curse

Over the heath and the furse:

Mercy would be no more

If there were nobody poor,

And pity no more could be

If all were happy as ye:

and mutual fear brings peace,

Misery’s increase

Are mercy, pity and peace.”

You let go of Vergil's hand and finish the poem,

”At his curse the sun went down,

And the heavens grave a frown.”

Vergil contemplated the words. You spoke up, “I thought it would be a nice addition to the first poem you had recited to me, back in the church. Heavenly qualities, Mercy, Pity and Peace, cannot be achieved without suffering.”

”I always saw it differently, I saw the devil as…the smarter and more analytical half of a whole, the angel, the foolish and naive part.” He paused, “The world scorns at the Devil's truth, shunning him.”

”Poetry can never be interpreted wrong.” You added.

You closed the book, brushing over the elegant cover once before handing it back to Vergil. He gently took it and put it once again back into his coat.

”I haven’t talked to someone like this in years,” He muttered, “It was…I guess it was nice…” He scratched the back of his head.

”I supposed it’s easy telling complete strangers things like this, we may never see eachother again after this night.” You continued, “Unless you would like to talk more?”

Vergil looked shocked at first, there was an aura of doubt however, like if he was deciding if this would be a good idea.

After his quick silence he spoke up, “I wouldn’t mind.”

The candles of the library begin to dim, letting the both of you know that it’s time to go, Vergil gestures for you to walk beside him as you make the trip back to the entrance of the library. “I’ll walk you home,” He said while averting eye contact, “I wouldn’t want you to get uhm, harmed on these dark streets…” He shrugged awkwardly.

You smiled at his awkwardness, finding it adorable that a man who could speak so well about poetry and philosophical ideas finds it hard to maintain regular conversation.

You smiled and gestured towards the way back to your apartment, taking the hand of your “protector”.

“Who has seen the wind?

Neither you nor I:

But when the trees bow down their heads,

The wind is passing by.”

You whispered but Vergil didn’t seem to hear.

[bareminimalii]

the city is boring :/

[bareminimalii]

Forever You

Vergil x Fem!reader

Word count: 1332

Summary: You wait months and years for every time you see him, Vergil always comes back the same, and leaves the same.

Contents: angst, hurt/comfort, Vergil’s great communication skills, unhappy ending, slight sexual tension, non sexual (kinda) bathing together, mentions of the reader being Nero’s mother, maybe OOC, post DMC5.

Notes: hii! I’ve been reading and writing (kinda) for years now but never published any of my work. I’ve liked DMC for about five years now and haven’t been able to get my mind off Vergil haha. So now instead of reading x readers I’ve decided to write post my own. This is my first posted work so I hope you guys enjoy!

He always found his way back to you.

No matter the years in between, the fights, the traumas, it’s always you that brings Vergil back down from the grey clouded heavens. You weren't the most beautiful, or even the most kind, however you were real to Vergil, an amalgamation of determination and wits that he felt drawn to. However, it drove him away as well, you were too real, and it scared him.

You were poetic to him.

A condensed form of ideas with a theme that could be analyzed and picked apart and interpreted in different ways. You felt the same about Vergil but he’s more difficult to piece together.

You two could never fully understand each other.

Vergil stood in the door bloody, but it never scared you, not even the first time you saw him like this frightened you at all. He could never understand that. The only disgust brought to you was the fact he was getting the floor of your study dirty. He walked in not saying anything and sat down on the elegant chair in front of your desk.

The blood stained the white velvet chair and dripped onto the floor causing it to puddle. He rested his Yamato on the side of the desk, he gently placed it making sure not to scratch the delicate wood. You sat at your study desk staring at him, your legs crossed and your hands rested on top of your knee as you observed his awkward movements.

He never knew what to say at first, you always initiated conversation.

Vergil sighed and leaned over and rested his head into his lap. He looked tired, he always looked tired. You got up and walked around the desk, fingers gently caressing the dark polished wood. He peeked out from his fingers, his blue eyes pleading with yours.

I missed you-is what he would have said if he had the courage.

You walk in front of him, his legs manspread on your nice chair. You stood between the opening and lifted your hands and brushed them against his earlobe before caressing the back of his head pulling it towards you so that his forehead pressed on your upper stomach.

His hair was stained blood red as if his hair was never white in the first place. When you ran your fingers through it they came out crimson. Your stomach churned, not because of the bloody mess, but because of how disarrayed he was. You could feel his shaken hot breath dampening your nightdress as he wrapped his clothed arms around your waist pulling you closer. You two are fully against each other embracing as you have many times in the past.

“Vergil…” You croaked softly as you felt his fingers grip onto your back. They bury into your skin and flesh, roughly pressing into your ribcage. You grabbed his collar pulling away from him slightly but then you brought your hand to his face and wiped away the blood on his cheek.

Like clockwork he was back and broken, but now you must put him together again.

You ran a bath, checking every few seconds to feel if the water was warm enough for Vergil. He sat in the corner of your master bathroom against the wall-unclothed and still bloody. You didn’t have a sense of urgency since you could already tell it wasn’t his blood in the first place.

His knees were at his chest. He was deep in thought, his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth downturned. You had always wished you could go through his mind and figure Vergil out; find a way to keep him for yourself; find a way for him to want to stay with you; find a way for him to end his slavery to his potential power.

Perhaps you do understand him, but you’re too blinded by your attachment rather than love.

You undress as well, after that embrace you end up just as bloodied. He doesn’t stare as you disrobe despite intentionally drawing it out so maybe he would look your way-it disappointed you. You graze Vergil’s muscular shoulder with your knuckles. He looks your way and you gesture your head to the bathtub. He gets up with a groan, finally letting out a smile from you. You two were both getting older, back problems got the best of everyone, even half demons.

He stepped into the tub and plopped into the scalding hot water. Letting out a sigh as most of the blood washed off almost immediately. He moved his face to the faucet to let the water clean his face. When he pulled back, the steam was already coming off his face. You entered the tub as well, positioning yourself in back of Vergil using his shoulder as a leverage as you sink deeper into the tub.

It was hard to ignore how tense his muscles felt at your touch.

You let out a deep shaky sigh as you lean your head against his back. It wasn’t soft flesh, it was strained and hard, as if you were leaning on a wall. You grab the washcloth drifting in the reddened water and wipe his back arm gently.

“I found out about Nero.” Vergil sighed. Nero…you were confused, “Who’s that?” You asked running your fingers through his stained hair scrubbing it.

”Our son.”

That immediately made you pause your fingers still in his hair. Years ago…when you were much younger, and had first met Vergil. One thing led to another and you eventually had his child. You were freaked out back then and immediately placed your son on the orphanage step, not even giving him a name.

“Oh…” That was all you could have said honestly. The topic of your abandoned son was the last thing you expected. “He’s strong…bested me in combat about a year ago. After visiting you, I then fought with my brother and he broke the news to me…” Vergil huffed, “He was angry, the whole time I was wondering what he would have said to you.”

You’ve thought about that a lot, always assuming your son would just ignore you, tell you off, and continue living his own life. “I can’t call you selfish.” Vergil sighed.

You two were both the most selfish people you’ve known.

Vergil turned around in the tub now facing you. “You could have told me, why’d you hide this from me.” He asked, making complete eye contact with you, “You’re not the only one that can hide things.” You muttered.

You enjoyed how civil you two could be with each other, other people would be screaming, crying, or fighting. But there was a lack of emotion that barred you two from being fully together. “I came back from the underworld with Dante yesterday.” He brought his hand to yours, intertwining your fingers with him, “We fought demons…and I guess each other for over a year straight before returning.”—Well he certainly looked like he did.

You both were so tired.

He pulled you closer, caressing your cheek with his other hand. His fingers still intertwine with yours as he leans in and gently places a kiss on your lips. His lips were cracked and rough, they scratched yours. He pulled away and brought you close to him so that your head rested on his upper chest. Bringing his hand up, he strokes your hair. You bring both of your woven hands up and rest them between you two.

Ten minutes passed, but it felt like an hour.

Vergil got up from the bath, kissing the top of your hand as he got out. You stay there in the crimson water watching as he grabs a towel and leaves the bathroom. Looking back as he closes the door.

You stayed there for another hour.

You get out.

Dry your hair

Dry your body.

You know he’s gone.

You go to bed that night and look at your hand.

The blood was still there.