#abandoned palazzo
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Flo Doehmer Fotographie
#art#photography#naturerights#nature#abandoned mansion#abandoned castle#palazzo#abandoned palazzo#urbexitalia#urbexphotography#urbexplore#urbex supreme#flo doehmer#decay
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Another abandoned castello in Italy...
#urbex#lost places#abandoned#urban exploration#rotten#decay#urban decay#abandoned places#photographers on tumblr#urbex italia#urbex italy#ascosilasciti#castello#palazzo
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From the outside, nothing can hint at the treasure that lies within. The house is entirely covered with greenery and access is not easy. After having climbed the surrounding walls, crossed the annexes with collapsed floors while walking on planks, and crossing the very many brambles, the explorers reached Palazzo Oro in Italy.
"Oro" suits it perfectly because one of the most beautiful rooms in the house has the walls and ceilings painted in a dazzling gold.
I don’t understand how they just abandon these properties and leave all the valuable treasures inside to rot.
And, that’s not even mentioning the priceless frescos on the walls.
This room is so intact, it looks like people still live here. Look at the fireplace and the ceiling. Even the fake flowers are still in the vases.
The architecture is so beautiful and look at the tile floor.
This bedroom furniture is so beautiful and they’re just letting it sit here, decaying with the house.
That iron bed.
Here’s a painted bed and that ceiling is carved.
This is my 2nd post of an Italian villa that no one cares to save. Even if it’s privately owned, you would think that the municipality would say something.
I’m sure that someone would salvage the railings, etc.
They do have Architectural salvage companies in Italy.
Look at this- they even had a small altar set up with a prayer bench.
This looks like a mid century modern dining set.
A boat and a bike in an arched outer building.
Someone’s work shop. This is such a waste.
via abandoned everything
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A few moments between Armand and Marius that I love ❤️
Marius rescuing Amadeo from certain death, caring for him, loving him, cherishing him, and making the boy smile for the first time in a long time.
Amadeo is sick with a fever and he pushes his cheek to Marius' cheek to cool off (TVA pg 51)
Marius hires four new chefs after Amadeo tells him the Arabian food he ate for three days in the brothel was better than the food he was served at home (TVA pg 65)
Marius' beautiful painting of Amadeo
Armand writing a note to Marius telling him to start acting like a proper master 😂
Armand seducing Marius so utterly that he breaks his years-long fasting and drinks from him. (TVA pg 58-59)
Amadeo grabbing a battle axe and smashing down Marius' door when he would not let him in and talk to him - when Marius is being stubborn and emotional ❤️🪓 (TVA pg 79)
"Sir, mind my Master. You weary him, and in weariness he is a perfect crank" - Armand speaking of Marius (TVA pg 102)
Marius tells Bianca he loves her for her heart and for protecting Amadeo (TVA pg 215)
"You love me," I said, "as I am now, even more than before." "Oh, yes," he said. He hugged me roughly and kissed my throat all over, now, and my shoulders, and began to kiss my chest. "I can't hurt you I can't snuff out your life with an accidental embrace. You're mine, of my flesh and of my blood." (TVA pg 158) (the cute aggression! 🥹)
"Marius must have seen this hesitation. He passed his right hand through the very fire of the torch, and touched his warmed fingers to my cheek. Then he kissed me where this warmth hovered, and his kiss was warm." (TVA pg 179)
"I gasped. I turned my head and fell stupidly into Marius's arms. "Don't cry, Amadeo," he said tenderly in my ear." (TVA pg 187)
Marius and Armand drink from the same victim, and sometimes Marius holds the victim just for Armand to drink from (TVA pg 165)
Armand goes to sit and write after Marius punishes him. Marius approaches him and Armand knows it's to kiss him. Despite having just been punished, he lifts his head for the kiss even before Marius bends down. Marius confessing later he hates punishing Amadeo (TVA pg 206)
Marius hates punishing Amadeo, and always gives him kisses or pleasure afterwards. Amadeo always lavishes it.
How they nearly always greet each other with hugs and kisses, no matter the circumstances.
Armand mentioning that he avoids Marius because he is afraid he will fall completely back in love
Their mutual obsession with technology - While Armand is obsessing over blenders and microwaves, Marius is in awe over film and cameras.
"Marius stared at the distant house. My world trembles and I think of him, my Amadeo, my Armand." (QotD pg 242)
"Yes, my old child...." he murmured. He felt the longing for Armand again like music, like Bartók's violin phrases played in a remote and safe place where there was all the time in the world to hear. (QotD pg 248)
"Centuries ago in a palazzo in Venice, he had tried to capture in imperishable pigment the quality of this love. What had been its lesson? That in all the world no two souls contain the same secret, the same gift of devotion or abandon; that in a common child, a wounded child, he had found a blending of sadness and simple grace that would forever break his heart? This one had understood him! This one had loved him as no other ever had." (QotD)
"I love you," Marius whispered suddenly, passionately as a mortal man might. "I have always loved you. I wish that I could believe in anything other than love at this moment; but I can't." (QotD)
It was then that Marius came. He was trembling. "Unburnt, whole," he whispered. "My son." He had that wretched neglected old gray cloak over his shoulders, but I didn't notice then. He embraced me at once, which forced my girl and my boy to step away. They didn't go far, however. I think they were reassured when they saw me put my arms around him and kiss him several times on the face and mouth, as we had always done so many years ago. He was so splendid, so softly full of love." (TVA)
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Nevermore characters based from Edgar Allan Poe’s works (Part 2)
Will, short for William (from the short story “William Wilson”)
LET me call myself, for the present, William Wilson. The fair page now lying before me need not be sullied with my real appellation. This has been already too much an object for the scorn, for the horror, for the detestation of my race. To the uttermost regions of the globe have not the indignant winds bruited its unparalleled infamy? Oh, outcast of all outcasts most abandoned! To the earth art thou not forever dead? to its honors, to its flowers, to its golden aspirations? and a cloud, dense, dismal, and limitless, does it not hang eternally between thy hopes and heaven?
Montresor (from the short story “The Cask of Amontillado”)
“The Amontillado!” I said.
“He! he! he! — he! he! he! — yes, the Amontillado. But is it not getting late? Will not they be awaiting us at the palazzo — the Lady Fortunato and the rest? Let us be gone.”
“Yes,” I said, “let us be gone.”
“For the love of God, Montresor!”
“Yes,” I said, “for the love of God!”
But to these words I hearkened in vain for a reply. I grew impatient. I called aloud —
“Fortunato!”
No answer. I called again —
“Fortunato!” No answer still. I thrust a torch through the remaining aperture and let it fall within.
#nevermore#nevermore webtoon#will#montresor#will nevermore#montresor nevermore#nevermore will#nevermore montresor#webtoon
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On January 31st 1788 Prince Charles Edward Stewart died in Palazzo Muti, Rome, he was 67.
A longer than normal post, but he had a profound affect on events in Scotland, so it's merited......
Well he actually died the day before, but you’ll need to read the post in full as to why history gives this date!
With Bonnie Prince Charlie featuring in a number of my posts throughout the year I will cover the latter part of his life today, basically after Culloden.
When Prince Charles escaped from the battlefield at Culloden, he left almost all his personal possessions behind. During the months that followed he was hunted by government forces throughout the western Highlands and Isles. He was helped by many loyal followers, and this period gave rise to some of the most enduring myths of the rising.
I think it shows the loyalty he was given by the Highlanders that he managed to evade capture, over the five months after Culloden and no doubt execution. He was sheltered, smuggled from hiding place to hiding place, and given clothes and other items, by Gaels who risked their own safety to help him.
Charles eventually escaped to France and then Rome. Many of his followers were captured and some executed. Others were forced into exile and had their lands forfeited. The government was determined to eliminate the Jacobite cause once and for all.
The Highlands were disarmed and even highland dress was banned for a time. The breakdown of the clan system accelerated, while improved roads and forts led to more effective government control of remoter areas.
On reaching the safety of France Charlie sked King Louis XV for 20,000 more soldiers to help "finish the job”. The myth propagated by his Hanoverian enemies was that Prince Charlie abandoned Scotland after Culloden. The memorandum written by the Prince to the King of France on 5th November 1746 provides evidence, in the Prince’s own hand, that directly contradicts this myth.
In the letter,seen in the third pic, the Prince wrote: “I never lacked Scottish subjects ready to fight. What I did simultaneously lack was money, supplies and a handful of regular troops; with but one of these three, I would today still be master of Scotland and probably the whole of England."
He goes on to claim he could have marched into London “unopposed" after his clear victory over General Cope’s troops at Prestonpans in September 1745 had he 3,000 more soldiers under his command.
At the time, Duke of Cumberland and the British Army were then in Flanders fighting the French and their allies in the Austrian War of Succession.
Things turned sour for Charles when the French and English reached a peace deal, where they recognised the right of King George and his successors to sit on the British throne, ending their support for the Stuart cause. Prince Charles was then expelled from France.
As far as the French Government were concerned, Prince Charles and his Highland supporters had served their purpose as pawns in their wider political game. The Prince had now become an embarrassment to them and was of no further value. Not that the peace lasted that long, both countries were at it again within ten years.
At one stage, accepting the fact that as a Catholic he was unlikely to ever be crowned King Charles indicated to his followers he was willing to become a Protestant in order to accede to the throne. In 1750 he visited London incognito, staying at a safe house near Holborn and converted to Protestantism by receiving Anglican Communion. But due to his increasingly brusque and argumentative manner he managed to alienate himself from the French foreign minister in 1759 who was planning an invasion of England in the midst of the Seven Years’ War between Britain and France. After Prince Charles’ father James III died in 1766, Pope Clement XIII recognised James as King of England, Scotland and Ireland but did not bestow the same title on his son Prince Charles.
Over the decades as he grew older and bitter about his lost cause he turned to alcohol as his dream for restoring his lineage faded.
The Prince is known to have travelled around Europe in the years that followed, trying to garner support for another tilt at regaining the crown for the Stuarts, Often using an alias, he spent a couple of years in Basel, Switzerland as W. Thompson physician and ‘gentillhomme Anglais.’ He later spent time in Florence in 1774, where he was provided with a residence by Prince Corsini, he used the alias Count of Albany at this time. Charles's health deteriorated in later life, and he was reported to have suffered from asthma, high blood pressure, swollen legs and ulcers. He suffered constantly from his illnesses, which required him to be carried by his servants to and from his carriage.
After separating, she claimed that Charles had physically abused her. This claim was generally believed by contemporaries. The historian Douglas states that Charles had been drinking following Saint Andrew's Day celebrations, and after accusing Louise of infidelities, may have attempted to rape her, resulting in her screaming to the extent that the household servants intervened. In the years that followed, the pope awarded Louise half of Charles's papal pension, and Charles's international reputation was greatly damaged. He was said to live an increasingly isolated and unhappy life, especially after his brother Henry agreed to house Louise at his estate.
By 1783 his health was deteriorating swiftly to the extent that during one bout of illness he was giver the last rites. Although Charles recovered, he agreed to create a new will, and signed an act of legitimation for his illegitimate daughter Charlotte. Charles also gave her the title "Duchess of Albany" in the peerage of Scotland and the style "Her Royal Highness", but these honours did not give Charlotte any right of succession to the throne. His daughter stayed with him until his death, she herself only lived for less than two years dying unmarried at Bologna in November 1789
Charles died in Rome of a stroke on 30th January 1788, the cardinals stated officially that he died on the morning of 31st January, as it was deemed unlucky to have him declared dead on the same date as his great-grandfather, King Charles I, who of course was covered in an extensive post yesterday.
On his death, a cast of his face was made, and his body was embalmed and placed in a coffin of cypress wood. Adorned with the Order of the Thistle, the Cross of St Andrew, the Order of the Garter and the Cross of St George
On Charles’s death in 1788, his brother, Henry Benedict, became the Jacobite Henry IX of England and I of Scotland, it was with him that the direct, legitimate line ended on his death in 1807. By this time the beleaguered cardinal, who had witnessed the French Revolution (and lost the financial support of his Bourbon cousin in the process) had begun receiving an annual pension of £4,000 from George III – yes, from the very Hanoverian monarch or, in Jacobite terminology ‘usurper’, that his father and brother had fought so hard, and at such great cost, to remove from the British throne. Henry, unlike his father and brother, did not press his claim.
There is an interesting article about Charles in the Scotsman from a year ago, unlike most of the posts I have read about him in the newspaper it is actually very sympathetic and defends him in some ways, it is quite scathing towards Diana Gabaldon‘s Outlander, not all of which is deserved in my own point of view, the show, and books , are after all a work of fiction, and only draw on actual events.
https://www.scotsman.com/.../outlander-promotes-a-deeply...
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Do you think Marius actually loved Armand? I'm so conflicted on how to feel about it.
Yeah, I mean, I think he very explicitly does!
Their reunion in QotD:
Centuries ago in a palazzo in Venice, he [Marius] had tried to capture in imperishable pigment the quality of this love. What had been its lesson? That in all the world no two souls contain the same secret, the same gift of devotion or abandon; that in a common child, a wounded child, he had found a blending of sadness and simple grace that would forever break his heart? This one [Armand] had understood him! This one had loved him as no other ever had. Through his tears he saw no recrimination for the grand experiment that had gone wrong. He saw the face that he had painted, now darkened slightly with the thing we naively call wisdom; and he saw the same love he had counted upon so totally in those lost nights.
"I love you," Marius whispered suddenly, passionately as a mortal man might. "I have always loved you. I wish that I could believe in anything other than love at this moment; but I can't."
Armand's turning scene as told through Marius's memories:
At last, he obeyed me, and suddenly with all his force he drew on the blood. Had he not tasted it enough to crave it? And now it came without measure, and he was passionate for it, and I closed my eyes, and felt an exquisite sweetness that I had not known since the long ago night when I had given my blood to my blessed Zenobia to make her all the more strong.
"Be my child, Amadeo," I whispered in this sweetness. "Be my child forever," I said. "Have I ever loved anyone more than you?"
I crushed him in my warm embrace, "Amadeo, my love," I whispered, and it seemed the long centuries I had endured had been but preparation for this. Old images came to me, bits and pieces of dreams. Nothing was substantial but Amadeo. And Amadeo was here. And so we went to our separate sleep, and as I closed my eyes I feared only one thing in the whole world - that this bliss should not last. ~ Marius, B&G
Following Armand's suicide attempt:
It was then that Marius came. He was trembling. "Unburnt, whole," he whispered. "My son."
He had that wretched neglected old gray cloak over his shoulders, but I didn't notice then. He embraced me at once, which forced my girl and my boy to step away. They didn't go far, however. I think they were reassured when they saw me put my arms around him and kiss him several times on the face and mouth, as we had always done so many years ago. He was so splendid, so softly full of love. ~ Armand, TVA
I'm not sure if there's anything more specific you had in mind? There's so many kinds of love: familial/paternal love, romantic love, platonic love, etc, and in VC one doesn't necessarily cancel out the other. It depends on how you want to read it I guess, but to me the love is always there — for better or worse, they all love each other very much and that's kind of the point! ♥️
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I need a dose Ezio Fix-It and Desmond Being Alive and Badass, so imagine: Desmond sends Ezio back in time to save his family and when Ezio comes to theres this head sized smooth stone next to him. It is as white as snow with red "veins" running thru it and it glows so golden in Eagle Vision it almost hurts to look at. Not sure what else to do with it he takes it with him to his family home. His father asks where he got such a precious stone and all Ezio can think to say to be able to keep it is: "I found it hidden in some abandoned building, my Sight led me to it". His father decides that as long as no one misses it, Ezio can keep it. Once that is over with, Ezio gathers proof of the conspiracy and foils Ulberto's immediate plans. But the Pazzi gets desperate and sets the palazzo on fire in an attempt to get rid of witnesses to keep the conspiracy hidden. Ezio grabs the stone from a shelf near the bed and helps his family escape, but the entrance gets blocked and he tries to find another way out. Except, the roof collapses on him. As the flames rise and the heat increases, all he can think of is that at least his family gets to live. Federico will make a great assassin and maybe he will become the mentor Ezio was in his previous life? That would make Ezio so proud. Claudia definetly became a great assassin once he let her. Hopefully Federico and Father will see more sense than he did.
All Ezio feels before he gives in to unconciousness is peace and gratitude towards Desmond, for this chance to save his family. Hopefully he'll see him on the other side, maybe even with his Leonardo? He misses the old Maestro. That would be nice.....
Ezio did not expect to wake up, but hes glad none the less. Hmm, his back hurts from the ceiling falling on him and hes laying on his stomach, but other than that nothing hurts. Looking at his arms hes apperantly naked and covered in sooth and ash, but theres not even a blister from the heat. The fire didnt hurt him? He then becomes aware of the feeling of something pressed next to his side. Looking he sees what he can only call a dragon. Its pure white with red accents on its spikes and talons. It actually looks alot like the stone? Wait, the stone was a dragon egg!? The dragon opens its eyes when he starts moving and it looks at him with such deep brown eyes that Ezio suddenly feels such unexplainable deep love and joy in his mind, along with a simple name whispered in his thoughts: "Ezio"
Basically: Assassin's Creed with Games of Thrones dragons and fire immunity, with the mind bond from the Inheritance cycle cause Desmond copes with cracking jokes and hes allowed to cope/make Ezio laugh whenever he feels sad.
Ezios family is so relieved to see him alive, but shocked when he just shows them a baby dragon. Like: "This is Desmond, he hatched from the pretty stone i found and now hes mine". They just kinda go with it, cause what are you supposed to do in this situation? Take the fiery murder reptile from your absolutely soot covered, barely (stolen)clothed child? Yeah, thats not gonna work.
When they go to Monteriggioni Desmond and Ezio end up sleeping in the Sanctuary once Desmond gets too big for the bedroom, cause thats the only place large enough for a dragon that is clearly going to get big. And Desmond kinda turns into his lair, cause a dragon gotta have a lair with treasure! It is a must! Too bad he cant kidnap maidens, but honestly Ezio gets around enough that Desmond guesses it evens out. Still gotta have a pile of gold to sleep on, definetly.
Here’s a Desmond gets turned into a dragon idea I’ve written before as well.
For this one, Desmond would definitely start the hoard in the Sanctuary and his most prized possession would be the Statue of Armor of Altaïr. He definitely melted the bars but he still won’t give them to Ezio until he gives Desmond the Assassin keys. Also, Maria would be handling the finances of Monteriggioni with Claudia’s help (while Claudia is slowly chipping away Giovanni’s resolve to not let Claudia be an Assassin using a combination of her own brand of Auditore stubbornness and strongarming her brothers to join her cause) and they decide to put their money and extremely valuable items in the Sanctuary after a few cases of Desmond finding ways to get them anyway even when he’s getting too big to do such thing. At the end, Desmond’s hoard is more like the Auditore’s private bank and he lets them take money from it since it’s more of a ‘family account’.
Leonardo also paints him in his hoard but Desmond looked half-majestic, half-lazy in his painting instead of fierce which Ezio comments are actually very accurate of the kind of dragon Desmond is.
Thankfully, Maria and Claudia are very good at what they do and Ezio and Federico are bringing in a lot of money because they do need a lot of livestock to feed to Desmond. Mario once joked that they could feed Desmond the body of their enemies and that scared Desmond so bad he tried eating only grass for a week.
Well…
Three days.
They soon realized that grass, fruits and vegetables don’t have the necessary nutrients a dragon needs to survive and Desmond’s white scales started falling off (making Desmond shout at Ezio telepathically with a “Am I going bald?! Is this the dragon version of getting bald?!”)
On the other hand, the best place to stay in the villa when it’s called is in the Sanctuary because Desmond runs hot. Not hot enough to burn but a pleasant heat that makes people sleepy.
And then they get the Apple of Eden and placed it in the Sanctuary for safekeeping and…
Desmond turns it into a batting toy like a cat with a yarn ball.
(In his defense, he was just trying to use it but it seemed getting turned into a dragon meant he was now unable to use POEs which sucks ‘cause he’d really like to know why he was a freaking dragon of all things)
#no one is going to scold a dragon for playing with a poe#desmond as a dragon#desmond as a white dragon#assassin's creed#desmond miles#ezio auditore#ask and answer
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you all really thought you got me with that tied poll, but i decided on his color scheme way before it ended
meet rodrigo, the fourth and youngest of the viscontis. rodrigo is an outlier among his siblings. vivacious, foolish, and foppish to a fault, he is borderline obsessed with the concept of his birth mother, who has not deigned to acknowledge any of her children. though he writes letters to her constantly, the maids of palazzo ordelaffi have long since abandoned the idea of delivering them to orchidee. she just uses them to feed the hearth, anyway
#oc bullshit#mad artz#lafossa tag#rodrigo#unicorn#anthro#furry art#with the addition of a fourth visconti i have come to the humbling realization that ive applied the personalities of the ukqs gods#to a bunch of unicorns#im sort of finding myself modeling these kids off of the borgia family though.....#this one is named after rodrigo of aragon
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So I have a question that I feel as if you're the only one who'll get it well:
So imagine this, a world with the stories is the same but sometimes after the villains have a final curtain call of their motives, but one thing is drastically different... And that's their recruiters are fully evil. Not only that but are so wicked and far not even their once masters can stop them
Either some were abandoned or betrayed by their villains or others simply didn't get their villains help from the beginning, but the end result is the same, they are cruel and ruthless
My question is, if this case scenario was true, what would you think their villain arcs are like?
First off, I'm sorry that it took so long to answer this ask. Life has been quite hectic for me these past few months, so I took a bit of a break. So, to make up for it, let's have some fun here!
Second, it really depends on what established lore you've set for them. Some people have different interpretations of their characters, but if you're going by my personality pages, I have some ideas:
Apple 🍎
Apple seems like the type to claw his way to power no matter what. If he didn't meet the Evil Queen/Grimhilde, he probably would've served under other corrupt monarchs before somehow manipulating them or the people around them to overthrow that monarch and take his "rightful" place as the new ruler.
Very politically oriented than outright murderous.
Jack Heart ❤️
Jack is kinda hard to imagine being strictly "evil" since he's more of the "fun guy who doesn't care about the consequences" type.
But, if you want to lean into him being more insane, I can totally see him becoming more and more unhinged as time goes on.
He craves chaos. He craves destruction. Similar to Kefka Palazzo from Final Fantasy, but less existential and nihilistic.
I doubt that he'd take out the Queen of Hearts, but for this case, let's say he did: He'd make it a spectacle. To show everyone in Wonderland who the true king is.
No longer does he want to be a pawn at her disposal. He'll have it all, one way or another.
Mr. Dalmatia 🐾
Even if this is the 101 Dalmatians universe, where animals are way smarter than we know, I don't see Dalma becoming a supervillain.
Maybe a gang leader of street dogs or something if he was never adopted by Cruella.
Or, more likely, if he was ever betrayed by Cruella, he would plot his revenge, killing everyone, even Pongo, Perdita, the puppies, and the others by burning Hell Hall to the ground and closing any escape routes, then disappear into the woods. Never to be seen again.
Eight Foot Joe 🐙
MURDER.
He finally snaps from exhaustion and has a full-on Death Note-style murder plot to kill Ursula.
Whether he uses an ancient artifact, potions, or goes along with Ursula's plot, only to steal the trident from her after she accidentally kills Flotsam and Jetson, that betrayal is coming full force.
He becomes the new king of the sea. Finally earning the respect he deserves.
Malfi/Malfie 🪞
Malfi, at least in my headcanons, was an actual bird who was later turned human-ish by Maleficent.
Considering how powerful she is in comparison to everyone on this list, I doubt that Malfi would be brave or powerful enough to take her on in a fight.
Malfi is more of an opportunist. He'd lie and wait for Philip to kill Maleficent. Then, once she's out of the way, he'd kill Philip himself.
Unfortunately, while he was trained by the Mistress of All Evil, he knows Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather would cause problems, so he'd capture them somehow and drain them of their magic, so he could use it to curse the kingdom once again.
Malfi would have everything he's ever wanted: Power, a kingdom, a beautiful bride, and servants and subjects that cater to his every whim.
Pretty Scar (Mzuri) ✨️
I've talked in length about what would happen at the end of The Lion King if PS was there to witness or take part in the killing of Scar, and I honestly don't see her in a leadership position of any kind.
But, if we want to change it up a bit, instead of giving up on Scar after he dies, we find out later that she joined Zira and helped raise Kovu.
Like Zira, she believes Kovu will one day become the great king destined to overthrow Simba and avenge Scar
This Mzuri, despite the fact that Scar betrayed her fellow hyenas, still worships Scar because she's used to the abuse she suffers from her family. She blames Simba for placing Scar in a position where he would have to throw the hyenas under the bus to save his own life.
Ms. Hades 🔥
As I've stated before, I see Ms. Hades as a creation of Hades, so her betraying him is kind of pointless, seeing as he could easily destroy her if he wanted to.
If she was to go all-out villain, though, she'd probably wait to reveal herself as the true villain until Hercules was far enough into the River Styx to die of old age. Then, she'd most likely push Hades down there or use some enchanted item of some kind to bind him, then throw him into the river.
Her motive? She despised working for someone who treated her like an object. She was created for the sole purpose of working beneath him, and she could stand it no longer.
I see her as someone who doesn't focus on the petty things, and that's what makes her so deadly.
She's so calm, collected, and controlled that she doesn't let any weakness of hers slip through the cracks. She looks through every possible option, every little detail. She makes good work of using any opportunities Hades never thought to use.
She is a force of nature; an untamable fire. There is no question that she will take over the living world and Mount Olympus. All hail the queen.
Veil 🔔
If Veil had never met Frollo, I don't see the possibility of her becoming a villain simply because she wouldn't have the resources to raise her status as a "lowly commoner." That, and her personality. She was essentially groomed to become Frollo's loyal follower. That wouldn't have happened otherwise
So, if we work with the opposite of what I wrote as an ending for Veil on her page, similarly to Pretty Scar, Veil would be so brainwashed that she'd still defend Frollo and continue his reign of terror in his absence. Only this time, it's even more dangerous than before.
Lady Hock (Hook) 🪝
Again, I really don't see her as a supervillain personality-wise, and even if Hock was betrayed by Captain Hook, I see her going down a more heroic path than anyone else.
Even if she never met the captain, I don't see her becoming a villain either. She's remarkably chill and goes with the flow in most situations.
The best I can see is that if you altered her personality a tad, she'd allow Captain Hook to kill the Lost Boys and Wendy.
Unless she finally got fed up with Hook's cowardice and decided to get rid of him, then the kids. But again, that's less likely.
Faja 🌹
I'll give Jafar this: He never betrayed Iago. They were practically best buds in the first movie, so I don't doubt that he might be the same with Faja.
However, if all three of them became trapped in the lamp, they'd all drive each other crazy. So much so that later on, once they learn about Iago's escape and betrayal, Faja realizes how power-hungry and abusive he's become. Should this happen, she will help defeat Jafar with Aladdin and the gang once and for all, but she'd immediately turn on them all afterwards.
Or, if we go with the option of her never meeting Jafar, unlike Veil's situation, magic exists in this world, so I can definitely see her taking a similar path as Jafar and learning magic on her own to escape her life as a street rat. Except more erratic and unhinged.
#disney villain recruiters#villain recruiters#disney villain recruiters apple poison#apple poison#disney villain recruiters jack heart#jack heart#disney villain recruiters malfi#malfi#malfie#disney villain recruiters mr dalmatia#mr dalmatia#disney villain recruiters eight foot joe#eight foot joe#disney villain recruiters pretty scar#pretty scar#disney villain recruiters ms hades#ms hades#disney villain recruiters veil#veil#disney villain recruiters faja#faja#disney villain recruiters lady hock#lady hock#disney villain#disney villains#tokyo disneyland#disneyland#disney#asks#disney movies
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Abandoned somewhere in Italy...
#art#photography#abandoned places#abandoned#abandoned house#urbexphotography#urbexsupreme#urbex#zombilenium#decay#italy#abandoned mansion#palazzo#caryatid
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The echo of laughs that are no more
“Mom, mommy, look at how pretty that is,” A young girl screamed in a high voice, so typical of children her age. She pointed at the palazzo, framed by the light of the dying sun that colored the marbles in red and orange, like the fire that was said once destroyed it, with her chubby finger and her eyes shone with marvel when she looked at the beautiful place, but the mother did share the same joy at the view.
She ran to where her child was standing, her little hand still raised, and grabbed her with more force than necessary before she ran away, her precious cargo safely in her arms.
“Mommy you’re hurting me,” The child protested, but the mother didn’t care and she moved faster between the calli and porteghi of the old city, disappearing from view.
From her full lips, cracked by the cold wind, a prayer fell. Latin mixed with Italian words like every prayer of someone who came from the two worlds. The young woman, whose face was already wrinkled by the weather from working outside day in and day out, was Catholic, but also held old beliefs that never faded with time.
Only when she thought they were far away enough from the palazzo did she let go of her daughter, but before the child could protest, she knelt in front of her and with a shaking hand signed the child's forehead with a cross.
“How many times have I told you not to do that, Giovanna?” She said when she was sure the young girl was okay and still her.
“But mommy, the palazzo is pretty.”
That was what worried Ofelia. The palazzo was pretty, it lured in men and women since Ofelia could remember. The stories went on and on for generations, even her own grandmother once told her about the strange figures dressed in old capes that would dare to enter the place to defeat the devil living there. But the palazzo never gave back any of those who dared to walk inside.
The palazzo was a place that everyone learned to fear. Venice was full of stories of ghosts and powerful mages, evil witches and even alchemists looking for eternal life, but nothing could compare with the palazzo.
“Promise me you will never go there, Giovanna.”
She was openly crying now, knowing how her curious daughter could disappear one day, never to be seen again.
Ofelia grabbed her little shoulders, her hardened fingers sunk in the delicate flesh that still had so much of the baby fat Giovanna didn’t shake off yet. She was so young and naive, how could Ofelia keep her safe?
Giovanna screamed in pain, but her mother didn’t let her go, shaking her slightly, until Giovanna yielded.
“I promise mommy. Please don’t cry.”
When Ofelia let her go, Giovanna threw her small arms around her neck, comforting her, the promise she made still echoing in the alley where they lived.
***
It was a terrible night outside. The wind howled all day and only got worse when the weak sun disappeared, leaving its place to the darkest sky Venice saw in months. It wasn’t just the storm that worried the people, who preferred to stay inside, safe in their houses. No, it was something else, something that had no name, for the people of Venice refused to say the word.
“It’s a bad night for the business.” The owner of the bacaro sighed. There were only a few people tonight, two or three customers brave enough to challenge the night for a glass of wine and something to eat.
They were lost souls with nothing to lose. No families waiting for them home, or the warm body of a woman to keep them from slipping into despair.
The place itself was shady and it smelled like old food that had long since gone off and watered down wine - the one some owners would give away when the patrons were drunk enough they wouldn’t even notice the difference.
A young boy, not older than ten, with too pale skin spread on high cheeks, was slowly pouring stale beer from abandoned glasses into the jug he was holding, the same jug that soon enough would end up on a table, offered as fresh to some unknowing idiots.
From upstairs came the loud noises of drunk customers taking advantage of the merchandise offered by the owner, and the counterpoint voices of the whores used against their wishes were the only noises that could be heard over the storm outside.
Riva degli Schiavoni, that’s the new name of the place, was since forever the place where the brothels were. Founded by the mercenaries who fought for the Serenissima, it had changed names many times in history and yet it always remained the same, a place where young boys and girls would see their innocence taken and burned to the altar of the only god people would always worship: money.
“The palazzo will claim other victims tonight,” someone said. The voice of the unnamed man, intent to drink himself to the grave, sounded hollowed and broken, but when he looked up at whoever was interested in listening, his bloodshot eyes burned with horror.
“I know. I was there when it happened.”
No one paid him attention but for one man, hidden in a corner, unseen. He was hidden under a thick cloak that covered his face. If anyone had paid him any attention, they would have seen red eyes shining in the darkness, for this man with the face of an angel and the heat as dark as pitch, was a demon escaped from hell to torment humanity.
“When what happened?”
The most beautiful voice filled the bacaro with its melody, and no one dared to deny him an answer.
“Don’t pay him attention, good Sir. he’s crazy.” Another answered, hitting his temple with his index finger, to indicate the man was touched in the head.
“I’m not crazy. I was there.” The other screamed, fear clear in his voice. “I was there, I tell you, when I heard them laughing. Children. So many children. All dead, burned -”
The jug the boy held crashed on the ground as he signed himself, more scared by the man’s words than his owner’s punishment. Like him everyone else signed themselves, muttering the holy cross between their lips.
“Burned children?” The stranger asked again, and like under a spell, the mad man told him the story of the palazzo and how it was burned down by mad people, killing the Maestro who lived there with his children.
“Don’t mind him, Sir. It’s just an old story, but people are so simple. They still believe in evil. If the fire ever happened, it was centuries ago…”
Before dawn the stranger was done. Of the people inside the bacaro only the young boy was still alive when the day came and the guards arrived, called by the screams of the whores who went downstairs to begin a new day.
***
“You have been out all night.”
“And that’s your business why?”
“You should be more careful. Venice is full -”
“I know Venice better than you do. Don’t forget who I am and what I can do.”
That ended the short conversation the stranger had with a servant as soon as he came back to the place he rented.
It wasn’t opulent or anything, but cozy and above all it was private, exactly like the man loved the place he called home.
When the servant moved away, the stranger took off the cloak and reached for a secret room behind the bookshelves, where a coffin laid on the ground and went to sleep, with more questions than answers.
***
“Did you find the answers you were looking for?”
Armand growled. He was barely awake yet and the servant was already there, busying himself with mundane tasks, keeping an eye on him.
Armand knew the old man wasn’t even loyal to him. Coming from a long line of humans who for whatever reason helped vampires during the day, the man was now his property, and yet he wasn’t his servant.
However Armand found him useful. The old bastard knew how to navigate the human world and its intrigues. When members of the different covens began to disappear, and among them Santino himself, the situation became dire enough that Armand had to act.
At first no one seemed to know anything and even now after decades the only trace he managed to find was a link with Venice. Nothing more, nothing less. His inability to find a solution to a problem he couldn’t fix undermined his power above the others and he knew it wouldn’t take much to push those unhinged monsters he called his to betray him.
The coven wasn’t really his, the power he believed he held was just a pale reflection of what Santino once had. No, he wasn’t naive enough to believe he was equal to the man who took him from his maker and tortured him into the twisted and perverted creature he now was.
“Just stories created by frightened minds. The only common ground is the palazzo, but I can’t find any information on when it had been rebuilt.”
Armand answered, remaining vague. He wasn’t going to reveal his secrets to someone who could still be in touch with Santino, if he was even still alive. With that snake, one never knew, and Armand had learned the hard way to never underestimate Santino and his madness. said he would investigate what was happening in Venice, but his reasons were his own and no one else was entitled to them.
“That’s because no one ever rebuilt it. It was just there, one night, restored to its ancient splendor, like nothing happened.”
That was something Armand already heard, but how could it be possible? He was there when the attack happened. He was there when his maker and his brothers had been killed by the same person who he had called Master.
Shame made him sick, how easy it was for Santino to twist him enough he forgot everything that Marius taught him. The beauty of the world he had seen through his eyes was forgotten as the poison instilled in his ears took roots in his mind, for Santino gave him the one thing Marius could never do, a belief that was as extreme as the one he held dear when he was human, in a vengeful God that would punish the sinners. Santino gave him purpose when Marius had tried to give him hope and he chose the first, given through violence and pain, over what his beloved Maker had freely offered.
“That’s just a legend. No places can rebuild themselves, not even the palazzo.”
How bittersweet that simple word tasted in his mouth, so many memories connected to the place where he had been happy once, until the very night when he had lost everything.
“It’s no legend. It’s what happened, and you above anyone else should know that in this world there are more things that happen than what a human eye can see.”
***
Armand waited until the night had engulfed Venice in a blanket of cold and fog. No one was brave enough to be out. It was the perfect time for him to stroll the streets like he owned them.
He gave himself a moment to remember and when he did, Armand was back to being Amadeo, running along the streets with Riccardo, free and careless as only someone who had known the true meaning of slavery could be once freedom was at their disposal. When the weight of memories became too heavy to carry and too painful, Armand locked his mind once again. Red tears stained his flawless skin and he harshly wiped them away with the back of his hand.
His silent steps led him where he never thought he would return, and along the way poor souls filled with despair and loneliness laid on the cold ground, their throat ripped open and their blood stolen by a beast.
Yes, Armand reminded himself. He was a beast, the dread of Paris, the fallen angel who would drown the world in blood, nothing of the young man who lived in Venice so long ago was left for he didn’t have any place with the new person he became. He was there to look for Santino and discover the truth of what happened to him, and once his mission was complete he would go back to Paris, where the echo of his past couldn’t follow him and he would take full and complete control over the cult there, so that those nonbelievers would see the truth, or perish under his wrath.
Those were the thoughts that supported him as Armand stopped in front of the palazzo and let out the shaking breath he was holding. It looked impossible and he still didn’t believe it himself, but the palazzo looked exactly like it was before the fire. If he didn’t know it was impossible, he would believe that those rumors were real after all, but legends were just that, stories that the commoners would tell themselves to exorcize their fear.
Armand didn’t have any fear, they had been purged from his body with fire and violence, torment and starvation. Nothing of the weak fledgling who couldn’t save himself was left, he was the master of his own life now and soon he would uncover the truth of the mystery surrounding this place.
Just a few more steps, he told himself, and he would step on the land that once belonged to Marius. Just a few more - then he felt it and froze.
The whole place was reeking of power. Armand felt the moment the mind gift engulfed him; whomever was inside the palazzo was ancient and so powerful. In the gift he felt fury, like a feral animal trapped in place. It was madness and rage and bloodthirst all at once and it took Armand’s voice away.
How could this be happening? Who could be so powerful to create something like this?
Suddenly all the lies he said, about being the most ancient vampire still alive, came back to him and he knew he was nothing compared with whoever created all of this.
The unknown power pulled him in, and even if he tried to fight and step back, there was nowhere he could go but forward.
***
In front of him stood the beautifully carved front door, imposing and alluring at the same time, like it was when Armand knew it, when it represented the entrance to the only place where he had felt safe.
Memories assaulted him, of a time long gone in which he had been happy, and tears fought their way out of his unnatural red eyes. It was with great struggle that Armand managed not to allow them to wash his face, proof of how much he was still grieving inside, where no one could see him so weak and pathetic.
Before he could even think about touching the wood, the gate opened in front of him and Armand took half of a step back. What was this treachery? He thought, for he knew someone was making things happen like this. Not for a second he believed there could be any other explanation but an immortal playing with all these human minds.
Only it wasn’t the scent of mortal blood that greeted him when the door slammed closed behind his back, locked by a strength Armand couldn’t hope to face and win. Armand’s heart raced in his chest when the first bit of blood invaded his nostrils. Stale and rancid as it was Armand couldn’t miss the fact that it was immortal blood, a revolting mix of too many people to prove to estimate how many.
It was when his mind was running in circles, trying to find answers for questions he couldn’t even fully form, that he heard it. The laugh, like the old man said. Laughs of children and young boys. He pivoted on himself, ready to attack, but he saw nothing behind him and yet the laughs filled the silence once again, and this time they came with the tip tap of running feet.
Armand turned again, furious, and looked towards the stairs, in his mind he could see himself and Riccardo rushing there, to prove who was faster. He remembered how slippery the marble was under their shoes, but neither of them was ready to slow down. Furious, his long fingers curled into shaking fists by his side, Armand shook his head to clear it and marched towards the sounds, ready to call out whatever scheme he just stepped into and destroy whoever dared to play so cruelly with his memories.
His steps rushed towards where the smell was stronger, and he found himself in the ballroom, the one that was once full of life and joy. The one where Marius had hosted his parties and where Armand and the boys had been allowed to play and study, knowing their presence wouldn’t bother their Maestro but bring joy to his heart. He stopped dead in his tracks. No, it was impossible. His eyes filled with tears once again and his hands flew to his mouth, slapping it closed. No, he begged in his mind. It wasn’t possible.
His immortal eyes had to play tricks to him, what other explanation could it be for what he was seeing? There, in the middle of the room, standing on the marble floor, where his brothers. He could see them like he did that morning, before doom fell upon them all. When a strangled sob left his mouth, making Armand jump, they turned and looked at him, as shocked as Armand felt.
It was only then that he saw that there was an ethereal nature to them. Their bodies, once warm and solid, were now too light. Their feet didn’ really touch the marble and it was like they were floating in the air, without really doing so.
When Armand moved a step towards them, their eyes grew wider in shock and they ran away, too fast for even his senses to catch up with them.
“No. No please. Come back.” He cried, uncaring of the tears now free to run. “Please come back.” He sobbed again, but no one answered his call.
Blinded by tears and pain, lost in the memories of a time when he had been happy, Armand began to wander, lost like he had been when he first stepped into the palazzo, from room to room.
Once he knew them as his own pockets. He had explored, alone and with the other boys both, every nook, every hidden spot where he could wait for his Master to come back and from where he could watch and learn about his secret. Now those same rooms, but were they really the same? Was all of this even real, Armand thought, or just an intricate plot to trap him somewhere, for he still couldn’t believe anything of what he was seeing.
“You were always like that.” Armand froze once again, unable to even move. The voice came from him from behind and it echoed in his mind at the same time. How could this be?
“You never believed, until you saw.”
The same voice kept going. A voice he knew and had once loved. Albino, gentle Albino, lost to madness and cruelty like the others.
“Even now you are like Saint Thomas.”
He remembered when they used to talk about religion and Saints, the same in both of their religions, sometimes just with different names or different details in their stories. A new wave of tears fell from his eyes, now kept tightly shut, so that Albino couldn’t see their color and that he became one and the same with those who had taken him from life.
“You are not real.” He tried. “You can’t be real.”
“Saint Thomas.” The voice said, in a mockery voice and yet not malicious, just the voice of a brother making fun of another.
When Armand turned, he saw no one there.
***
Lost and alone, his heart heavy with sorrow and longing for those he always missed the most, Armand kept walking, hoping to meet them again, to hear them again, but the place had gone silent, like a haunted mansion full of memories and nothing more.
For a very long time he didn’t even realize that he couldn’t reach the exit, every time he was sure he was close to the stairs he couldn’t find them. It was like the palazzo had claimed him to stay, and for the first time in years he felt at peace.
Maybe this was his punishment, after all, to be forced to stay forever, in the company of ghosts that maybe were just in his mind, starving to death where he had been alive and happy with his brothers and Master.
“A house is built from the foundation up.”
His heart broke when he heard the new voice. Riccardo, his dearest friend, the one he has killed in his starvation induced frenzy.
“You are not as alone as you fear.”
But he was, Armand wanted to scream. He was so alone, always alone. He lost everything and now he didn’t even know who he was anymore. He never wanted to be the monster that terrified Paris, or Santino’s perfect heir.
Armand didn’t even know who he was anymore, but one thing was clear to his mind. He was alone in the world and no one would ever love him again.
It was when he was thinking those gloomy thoughts that he saw stairs again, not the one that would lead him outside, but the ones that would take him to the basement, the deepest place in the Palazzo, closer to the foundation than any other place he could imagine.
***
Unlike the rest of the palazzo, where there was light everywhere, the way downstairs was dark and menacing. As he went down, Armand felt like he was being swallowed by hell itself and he knew it would be a fitting ending for his life.
If this was how it ended, he thought, at least he wasn’t going to die under Santino’s gaze. He never deserved any part of him, and certainly not his demise. His only regret was not having the opportunity to kill Santino to avenge himself and his brothers.
The basements were like nothing Armand ever saw before, with long and intricate corridors, not at all like what he remembered. At the walls, a long line of lightened torches casted their shaking shadows on the nude rocks.
There, in the orange light Armand saw Jacopo, sitting on the floor like he used to do when his short legs wouldn’t carry him in his plays with the older boys. He looked up when Armand approached and after a moment of confusion, when he realized that Armand could see him, a huge smile blossomed on his face and he waved his small hand towards him.
Armand felt what was left of his heart to break in his chest. In all the centuries he had lived as a rat in the sewers, no one has ever shown so much happiness in simply seeing him.
“It’s scary inside. Do you want me to keep you safe?”
It was that, some simple words said by a child, that broke Armand. Gone was the cult leader or the monster, killed by a dead child’s innocence.
Armand fell to his knees, the echo of the bones breaking because of the force so loud that Jacopo had to cover his ears. Armand wailed and screamed, all the pain that he kept hidden inside finally free.
He cried and cried and as the blood soaked his clothes he couldn’t stop, he couldn’t breathe or think, all he could do was to break.
In his state of distress he felt Jacopo’s little hand petting his hair. He wanted to hug the boy, to beg for his forgiveness, but when he tried it was only air that he met. He screamed even louder, but the presence was still there, comforting him at best of his possibility.
“Don’t be sad, Amadeo. Il Maestro doesn’t like when you are.”
Il Maestro. Could it really be possible? Could Marius be still there, tied like the boys to the place where he had lived? He needed to know, he needed to see with his eyes if Marius was still there.
Slowly he got back to his feet, feeling weak and defeated and yet he could only move forward, Jacopo by his side, holding his hand.
“It’s scary, but you must be strong.” Iacopo said before they stepped into what was once the cellar.
If only his brother knew what he became, Armand thought, he would be the one afraid to be with him, not the one comforting him about whatever it was that was hidden behind the heavy door that, even with his strength, barely moved when Armand pushed.
The door finally gave up its resistance and shuddered in a deafening noise of bent metal and splintered wood, but when Armand looked he understood Jacopo’s fear. He looked at the child by his side, and even knowing nothing could hurt him anymore, he felt the urge to send him away from what his eyes couldn’t bear.
Like he understood his thoughts, Jacopo was gone after waving to him for one last time.
***
The first thing that assaulted his senses was the overpowering smell of rotting blood. He hissed under his breath, unable to contain his reaction, but then he saw it. The room, as large as the whole palazzo, was filled with dying vampires.
Their clothes in pieces, rags that were impossible to recognize for an untrained eye, but that to Armand spoke of decay and cemeteries no one visited in a very long time. What little remained covering the emaciated bodies so close to the final death, were the old robes and cloaks that the Children of Satan wore for their sacred rituals.
Those walking corpses were just a pale echo of what they had been before. Among them he could recognize those who had attacked Marius and the palazzo, vampires so old and yet now weak and dying.
Their hands didn’t have claws anymore, or meat to cover the dry bones. Those shone, white and fragile, as even the blood was gone. It was like they dug and dug and dug until they consumed themselves.
Armand looked around for corpses, real ones, rotting, that he knew weren't there, and he was right. The only source of food those prisoners could have found in their slow agony was eating each other, partaking in the most extreme form of blood communion, something he knew well, the old coven was above doing, and yet, it looked like that old habit died inside them like everything else.
“Help,” One of those shells whispered. “Help us.” They finished.
Armand couldn’t even say if the person who just spoke had been someone he personally knew, so unrecognizable he was under those layers of dry blood and dirt, with gaping wounds over their bodies that couldn’t be healed.
When they spoke, Armand understood. Where their fangs were supposed to be, two holes were left behind, the wounds cauterized shut. Whoever did this to them made sure they would starve to death, slowly, and there was nothing that could be done.
In the silence that followed, the distinct sound of breaking bones echoed and Armand watched, unmoved, as the vampire who dared to speak fell on the ground, his neck twisting in a strange angle, too weak to hope to recover from that.
When Armand raised his eyes, glued for a moment on the scene in front of him, unable to really understand how everyone else didn’t so much as move when one of them just died. Too busy with what they were doing, their eyes downcast, smelling like terror to care for their own fallen brethren. Then Armand finally saw him.
A figure dressed in black, head to toes. The long cloak that finished the outfit embroidered with gold, the only accent of color together with the gold mask he wore to cover his face. This man looked like an angel of death, one that Marius would have made immortal in one of his paintings. By his feet there was a pile of rags, Armand thought. Strange, for the place was neat if not for the dying bodies. Then the lump moved and Armand realized it was someone, not something.
But thinking about Marius pushed Armand back to the edge of a breakdown, but he couldn’t show weakness, that would be too dangerous in the presence of someone who seemed to be presiding over this torment. What exactly he was doing Armand didn’t yet know, however he could guess.
“They rebuilt the place they had destroyed.” A voice that had a known quality but still sounded foreign to Armand’s ears said.
Muffled by the mask that didn’t have a mouth, Armand noticed, the voice could have belonged to anyone, and yet Armand couldn’t shake the feeling that it could be Marius, hidden behind the faceless mask, even if the voice was cold as ice and full of a cruelty Armand never thought Marius could possess.
But how could this be possible? For the man standing in front of him, in the middle of all this blood and violence couldn’t be Marius. From him Armand could feel hate and rage and darkness come off of him in waves, and when he thought of Marius, it was light and gentleness and love that Armand imagined. It was everything that Marius had been for him, everything he needed in the shelter he created in his mind, in a place where Santino could never enter. That had been his safe haven, the one Santino could never stain with his poison.
Unable to speak and ask the only question he wanted an answer to, uneasy with the mask that covered Marius’ beloved face, and still unsure if the person standing there, looking both too real and as though he were something his mind made up. And with what he knew about hell, the latter would be true, and Armand was forced to look away and it was then that he realized how distracted he became.
In any other place and occasion this could have cost him his life, and yet, even with his mind still unsure of who the masked man really was, he knew deep down, that for whatever reason he was safe in the palazzo, like the place itself would protect him from harm.
What he thought were rags, was kneeling at the man’s feet, broken and dirty and ugly outside like he always was inside, ruined by fire and unspeakable tortures, was Santino.
The once proud and unhinged cult leader, the Coven Master who fed him Riccardo, his best friend and anchor in the darkness, was now worse than a beast. A mangy animal for whom death could be a blessing. One that apparently he didn’t deserve yet.
This time Armand did move and Santino, as though attracted by the change in the air, raised his head to show his nearly desiccated face. So starved was he, that his lips were cracked and drawn, revealing that, like the others, he didn’t have fangs. He sniffed the air between them.
“Armand,” he asked aloud, his voice broken and yet filled with a renewed hope that had no place to be. “Is it really you?”
“Armand.” The man said, and never before his name has sounded so dirty and wrong. “A fitting choice. Soldier. I wonder who you fight for now.”
Armand was the name Santino chose for him, the one he kept to remind himself of everything he had lost. Amadeo was dead, killed by Santino’s cruelty. He couldn’t be Amadeo and survive when everything he was, existed because of Marius’ love and affection, and what he had taught him.
He needed to be strong and assert his mastery over his own life, so he picked a name that was both a reminder of what could never be again, and a warning for those who could be so stupid to see weakness in him.
Now he wasn’t so sure anymore, he didn’t feel strong, or at all like a soldier. He just felt like a lost boy all over again, confused and isolated in a world that was bigger than he could ever hope to understand. After everything that had happened to him, Armand was once again faced with the devastating truth that he would lose everything time again. He was, after all Armand, and he was alone.
“I fight for myself.” He answered when the silence became too much.
He learned to do that, he had to. When he found himself alone, in the hands of Santino and his men, all he could do was to survive, in any possible way. He became everything that Santino wanted and more. He became his soldier, at first, only to take his place by force and fear when Santino disappeared. He fought for Satan in the beginning, and for the darkness when he began to change things. He took pleasure in holding the power but finally, he fought for himself and to keep the power he had tasted for the first time.
“Yourself? Not Satan himself, or Santino?”
That simple question and the mockery in the voice of someone who didn’t even believe Satan was real, and who hated Santino with a passion rooted in the centuries, told him what deep in his heart he already knew.
Santino, wrong as always, picked that moment to start talking. Unaware of the turmoil that was torturing Armand, and perhaps also unaware of who his jailer really was.
“You came. I called for you…”
But Armand could never hear his call, it fell deaf to everyone’s ears and Armand suspected it was because of the power that permeated every inch of this place. A power that was ancient in blood and fueled by hate and resentment.
However, the familiarity Santino used to speak to him, like he really believed Armand was there out of loyalty for him, unnerved him like nothing else could. For that Armand decided he would set things right between them, for he knew this was the last time he would talk to Santino. The older vampire was dying and Armand would watch and enjoy every second of it.
“I came to see you rot, Santino. I came because my only regret in life, if this is where I die, was not to have killed you.” Armand finished for him, crushing under the weight of his words whatever emotion and hope had pushed Santino to speak.
Next he looked back at the man with the mask, his eyes seething with fury and bloodthirst.
“Allow me.” He begged. “Allow me to kill him for everything he took from us.” He said as bile rose in his mouth with its bitter and acidic taste. He was now ready to admit what his mind still couldn’t believe, but his heart knew it was the truth, that the man in the gold mask was Marius, that this was how it all ended for them.
“For my brothers. For the time he stole from us. For Amadeo who died and left only me in his place. For you, Master, and what you are now. Allow me to be the one to end him.”
Those words seemed to bring a halt to the masked man’s action and thought, like he didn’t expect to hear them and now, he couldn’t believe that what Armand said was true. To believe him would mean that he had been wrong, that Amadeo - no, Armand, he corrected himself - never betrayed him and what they had, as he had believed for far too long. Amadeo was the one Marius had loved and lost, and Armand was the man he now couldn’t trust.
“Be careful what you wish for, Armand.”
“It’s the only thing I ever wanted. Since I lost you to him, since he killed who you had once loved and created me, all I wanted was the power to avenge us. Let me kill him and then, you can do whatever you think I deserve.”
Those weren’t the words he had dreamed of speaking to Marius. Alone in his cell when Santino was starving him, Amadeo had wished and hoped that Marius was still alive and would come to rescue him. Armand wasn’t so naive, he couldn’t allow hope to weaken him, so he simply dreamed, sometimes, of seeing Marius again, of having the chance to tell him he never stopped loving him. Never had he thought that in seeing Marius again he would have also given up the power he gained over his life, putting that very same life he so hard fought to keep, in the hands of someone who now hated him, after teaching him what love was.
“Your sweet words won’t buy you freedom.” The man reminded Armand, but he already knew that.
“I don’t want freedom. I want revenge.”
“Revenge shouldn’t be more important than freedom to you.”
“It is, if it means I can see him suffer.”
“Oh he already suffered, a lot. His life, slowly drained from him, it's what makes this place so special. With their life, the Palazzo has been restored, Santino’s death will be the last stone on its resurrection.”
Armand already figured some of this out. “Like Dracula did with the Boiardi, when he decided the price for their betrayal was to die rebuilding his family’s castle.”
“You remember your history.” Once again he sounded surprised.
“I remember everything that you taught me.” Armand said again, without heat behind his words, just an extreme sadness. “Even if you won’t believe me.” He finished the sentence, words leaving his mouth before he could stop them.
“Why should I believe someone who still didn’t even use my name?”
“Marius.” Armand said. “You are Marius, my beloved maker, the one I have loved above everyone and everything else. My savior and the one who left me to rot.”
“What was I supposed to do, Armand?” Marius asked.
“When I recovered enough, I heard you were the Coven Master, the cult leader. You were everything I tried to keep you from becoming.”
His heart had broken when he first heard about Armand. He didn’t know his name back then, when he had still been weak and vulnerable, and yet he traveled to Paris and saw with his own eyes his beloved becoming Santino’s heir.
“I thought I was alone. I thought you died and left me alone in this world. I wanted to survive Marius, hate me all you want for this, but I did everything to survive.”
Marius had many words for this. He had imagined many scenarios where he and Amadeo would have met again, and yet, everything faded in the background and it didn’t matter anymore, not when his beloved really believed that Marius would hate him for surviving.
Was he disappointed? Yes, of course he was. He had tried to keep Amadeo from descending in the blind fanaticism that always held too much power over him. He also was heartbroken that his beloved would choose the path he picked, but hating him? No, that was something Marius could never do.
“Say something.” Armand demanded, and while he didn’t raise his voice, the desperation behind those words echoed in the room like a scream. “Say something damn you.”
It was then, that Marius removed the mask from his face, showing his features for everyone to see who destroyed them.
Behind Armand’s command Marius could hear the pain of a lost soul, of someone who desperately wanted to come home, but thought he could never do that.
“I could.” Words died in his mouth. Never before they failed him like now, in a moment he needed them more than ever. “I could never hate you, no matter how you choose to be named, no matter who you became, I could never hate you.”
It was Armand’s turn to be shocked into incredulity, but soon he recovered and in his fiery red eyes, a new fire burned.
“Now you should be the one to pay attention to your words.”
“It’s just the truth, as hard as it can be to believe it.” For Marius knew Armand wouldn’t trust simple words. He knew he would demand more, but now there was something else that demanded their attention.
“You let me to rot. Why should I believe you don’t hate me?” Armand asked, for the thought of Marius leaving him without a reason as strong as hate, was unbearable.
“Tell me something, Armand.” Marius said and his voice was heavy with gravitas. “Look at me in the eyes and tell me if I walked into the catacombs and asked you, in front of your coven, to follow me outside, would have you done it?”
Leaving Armand behind had been the hardest thing he ever did. It had been his greatest regret and he almost lost himself in the long years that followed that decision. But deep down Marcus knew it was the only thing he could have done.
Armand had been so lost, so deep into the lies that Santino had created for him, he couldn’t be saved by someone else, not even Marius himself. The decision to walk free from the brainwashing and the lies, but also the decision to walk away from the power he now had tasted, had to come from Armand himself, everything else wouldn’t have been strong enough.
“I - I would…” Armand didn’t know what he would have done. No one did. The past between them couldn’t be changed. It was painful, it was unfair, but it also was what brought them here and now and Armand needed to believe there was a reason why he was standing in front of Marius as those who wronged them were dying.
“You needed to decide you wanted your freedom back, Armand, and I couldn’t make the decision for you.” Marius’ words weighed down on both of their souls with their finality.
“Now you are here, begging me to be the one who kills Santino, even if you know how long I kept him here, even if you can see with your own eyes how long I spent torturing him. Tell me why I should allow you to be the one to end him.”
Marius was curious. He spent decades torturing his old enemy, taking everything from him, his fangs, his blood, his coven, his eyes, everything he ever held dear, Marius had taken it, he had taken his time, waiting for the right moment to end his pathetic life, and now someone else wanted what was rightfully his. He needed to know why he should concede his prize to someone else.
“It is my right. He made me the monster I am. He helped to destroy Amadeo, the one you have loved so deeply. He destroyed everything of me you could have loved and left the monster you can’t even look at. You speak of wanting to free myself, his death will be my freedom.”
Marius felt silent, his blue eyes dug holes in Armand’s soul but he didn’t flinch. He submitted himself to such a scrutiny and at the end Marius must have found him worthy because he simply nodded his head. Yes, Armand had the right to kill Santino.
Santino followed the exchange as bile raised in his mouth. Blinded by hate and betrayal, prayed to Satan himself to give him revenge against those who betrayed him. He really thought that Armand was meant to be his, why else had he broken so easily and totally? He couldn’t accept he was wrong from the beginning, couldn’t accept that after everything he did, Armand was back to Marius.
Those filthy words from a dead mouth enraged Armand and a fire burned in his eyes. He knew what Santino was thinking. The man forgot that Armand wasn’t his. It wasn’t his dark blood that created him, and so his mind was open to Armand.
If I can’t have you and your loyalty, Marius won’t either.
Santino never had time to wonder how it was possible he had been so wrong, before Armand slashed his throat with his claws.
The pain of his former acolyte’s claws tore through his throat, and wath little blood remained in his veins, sluggish and black, oozed from the gaping wound.
The gash was deep enough that Armand could see Santino’s spine, but he didn’t feel pity for him. This was right, this was everything he always wanted.
I won my boy, my monster. How can Marius love you as you are now?
When Santino’s last thoughts hit Armand, a renewed hate surged in his own heart. To watch him slowly die, as Santino bled to death wasn’t enough. With all his strength, Armand broke his chest, shattering and tearing apart the ribs until he reached for his weakly beating heart.
Santino slumps to the ground, the life leeching out of his eyes, though he was still just conscious enough to see the moment Armand let go of his heart. It plopped on the ground between them with a wet sound. There was a coldness in Armand’s eyes that made even Santino shudder as his heart was crushed under Armand’s heel, and in those final moments he knew Armand had neer been his.
And just like that Santino died, among the rags and bones in which he’d chosen to live, leaving Armand free and finishing what Marius had started. The palazzo was now steady and secure, founded over the blood of those who had dared to desecrate it and who had killed the children the palazzo and his Master had swore to protect.
After Santino’s death, they left the basement, side by side, close but not touching, both afraid to break thi moment and discover that it all had been just a dream.
When they reached that ballroom, the children were there, brothers and sons, lost and found again, they ran to Marius and Armand, and for once their hugs felt solid, powered by their love, and when they parted, it wasn’t a goodbye for they would stay with Marius and Armand forever, bonded to the souls and not the place.
Don’t waste your second chance.
At first Armand believed Albino and Riccardo had spoken to him alone, but when he looked at Marius he saw the same expression in his eyes, of love and regrets, and he knew he heard the same words.
They didn’t say anything, but looked at each other. Following an instinct that never left them, but stayed asleep in his hearts, their hands moved at the same time and when they touched, no one could say who grasped at the other’s with more force and fierce possession. Tears shone in their eyes as they lost themselves in each other but when they felt the boys uneasiness and confusion they both mastered the will to smile. Those were tears of joy, not pain.
For centuries after that night the Palazzo would stand, a reminder of what it had been before, and little by little Venice found in herself to love it again. Slowly life came back to it with balls and masquerades, but only at night, when few stunning but distant creatures would dare to venture there and mix with humans. They would know the truth and remember Marius and his love for Amadeo. Whispers would tell the story of Marius and Armand, but that story was still unfinished, for their love that consumed souls and lives is still burning.
Theirs is a story that still doesn’t have the word end on it. Many would think they would still be there, at the end of time and space, together, to say goodbye to the world. Others whisper that eternity is not enough to contain their love.
A story of blood and tears, of revenge and longing. A story that is violent and could, alone, destroy everything in its path, but also a story of love like no one else.
They bathed in the blood of their enemies, the bodies of which their home still stands upon. Some still say it’s a cursed place, and yet it is never far from the hearts of those who reforged it through blood.
Stay away from the Palazzo, or, if you are brave enough, embrace what it means and hope you can find a love like Marius and Armand’s but knowing that such a love always requires sacrifices.
That’s what Giovanna wrote in her book, before she disappeared, looking for someone to love, many said. Her mother was long gone when it happened and she had the stars in her eyes when said her goodbyes to Venice and the Palazzo.
THE END
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Lost, but not forgotten || 𝐕𝐨𝐥𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 (𝗛𝗖)
ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ @mywinterivy : "THE TIME HAS COME- forgive me for the influx of requests coming, I’m very excited
I absolutely loved your headcanons of the Kings with an artist/theatre/musician mates, and I was thinking of something:
You know how famous artists and writers (Van Gogh, Dickinson, Poe, Bach, etc.) died relatively unknown only for their work to become popular later? Imagine the King’s mate being some kind of artist (painter, actor, singer, composer, etc.) who’s art wasn’t recognised by the time they faked their death/turned into a vampire, only for their work to be ‘rediscovered’ a few years/decades afterwards and become famous.
(Documentaries are made, exhibitions, people recognise paintings/music playing on the first/public floors, movie or tv adaptations of their novels, etc.)
How would the Kings react? I feel like the mate may have some mixed feelings about it, flattery, bitterness, embarrassment, pride, annoyance, gratitude? How would they deal with that?"
I do indeed understand where you come from. Sadly so many of our great artist’s do not see the appreciation they deserved in their lifetime, only for us to gobble it up now. Personally I would hope this was my trajectory if I was blessed with immortality, I would enjoy it immensely.
!𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒! None.
𝐀𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬, 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐰.
— 𝐀𝐑𝐎
Their art was in fact the reason they met in the first place. Aro had always been a patron of the arts, willing to sponsor all artist’s he saw great potential in. When he had spotted them in their cramped atelier he had known within his non-beating heart that they would be a star. When fame did not find them in the years to come he grew worried, for the life of an unsuccessful artist was cruel at best. They had been a few months from deaths door when he turned them, and the coming days they mourned their human life of supposed failure together.
The king had offered to have their works transferred to Volterra but they had refused, swearing to never paint again. The words stung, but Aro remembered how his brother had exclaimed something similar after finishing his magnum opus; they would paint again... he was sure of it.
About five years later during warm summers night, Caius returned to the palazzo with a cheshire grin upon his lips. Beneath his arm he held a painting, carefully wrapped and of a decent size. It came as a surprise that it was in fact one of the works Aro’s mate had abandoned in their haste to escape their mortal life. But the greatest shock came when Caius announced he had paid over 2000 Crowns for it.
It took a while before they began creating art again, but slowly they regained that fire of inspiration that had engulfed them as a human. Aro breathed a sigh of relief.
“Love, you must paint me!” “... Aro I have painted you sixty times the last twenty years.” “But I had Renata trim my hair ever so slightly, I am practically a new man.” “I would argue all of us are expired, but I will retrieve my art supplies; a sketch will have to do” “You wound me.”
He would certainly get a lot of joy out of visiting museums and exhibitions featuring his significant other. All through the day he would make sure to study the works of art and ask for his mates opinion on them. It would take a good while, but his mate would finally relent and play along; the end of the evening filled with much laughter.
⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆
— 𝐂𝐀𝐈𝐔𝐒
The king had been front row to witness many composers make their debut, most of them did not impress him in the slightest. Humans had a way of either overcomplicating their works, or creating something so simple that a child could have played it. Personally he had always been fond of Tchaikovsky. So when he first saw his soon to be mate on the stage he had not had the highest expectations. How wrong he had been.
Humans did not share his appreciation however, not for a long time. His mate was well into their immortality when they were hailed as a long lost female that rivalled the greats.
Though it was quite a hassle, Caius had a piano installed in his art studio to make sure his mate could work on their craft at the same time as him. There is nothing he adores more than listening to them play as he paints. At this point there are quite a lot of paintings depicting them in front of the instrument in clear concentration.
It is their music that plays on the first floor of the palazzo, many a tourist has recognised the composer and the receptionist cheerily replies the owners of the building are quite fond of them. Sometimes new and mysterious tunes are played over the speakers, little do they know that a beloved composer is still making music to this very day.
“Play a concerto with me.” “Love, are you sure you wish to do that? Your skills with the violin put my piano to shame” “Nonsense.” “Caius-” “I shall fetch my Stradivari. Prepare your ‘Winter’ movement.” “Yes, Sir.”
Whenever Caius has a particularly difficult time due to nightmares that still plague him, it is his mate’s music he fills his private quarters with. In those precious moments he is able to close his eyes, finally being able to simply exist without worry. He leaves a kiss filled to the brim with desire on their lips the next time he sees them.
⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆
— 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐔𝐒
In the beginning the two of them had laughed about it, twenty years had gone by since he had turned his second chance at love; perhaps they would finally be appreciated for their creativity once their corpse lay rotting in the ground. The jokes were all well and good until a new guard wandered into the palazzo, one of their belongings? A first edition of Marcus’ sweet mate’s first novel.
It did not take long before Marcus’ mate began writing again, beginning with short stories and poetry they began dedicated to the various inhabitants of the palazzo. Soon enough they had their own section in the library The Volturi is known for.
Though the couple rarely leave the safety of the palazzo, when they do; there is always room for stopping by a library or bookstore to look at their name on the shelves. Sometimes it is bittersweet, but most of the time it brings a sense of joy to Marcus’ mate.
What his significant other is unaware of, is that the king has secretly been collecting all editions of their written works that have been in circulation. Though they continue to write personal prose, poems and books within the safe walls of Volterra; there is something especially beautiful about seeing all the languages his beloved’s stories are translated into.
“Will you not read me an excerpt of your first novel?” “Marcus.” “Hmm?” “I have written far better stories after you turned me, why not one of those?” “They do not contain your humanity, and there is something sweet you do not capture in the same way. It reminds me of when we met.” “Fine, I will read it for the 658th time” “659th actually.”
One evening Marcus would drily suggest they should audition to play themselves in an upcoming biopic, the suggestion was promptly shut down with a glare and it ended up being difficult for Marcus to rein in his boisterious laughter.
#Aro Volturi#Aro Volturi Headcanon#Caius Volturi#Caius Volturi Headcanon#Marcus Volturi#Marcus Volturi Headcanon#Twilight#Twilight Renaissance
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I'll happily ask for your headcanons about teenage srmand
Either a Cuddly Drunk or a Sad Drunk or a combination of the two. All of the times Riccardo dragged his drunk ass home ended with Riccardo in bed with him petting his hair, because Armand turned those big brown eyes on him and told him he couldn't possibly leave him after tucking him in.
Shirt stealing menace. If Marius left two shirts at the palazzo for the staff to wash he only ever got one back because Armand would steal the other one. On hot days he'd lounge around on that big red velvet bed wearing just one of his shirts, because they were so long on him they were basically a dress.
It was inappropriate for wealthy women to wander alone, and so Armand was Bianca's best friend for running errands with. He'd abandon his lessons and escort her to the jeweler or the dressmaker and offer her his opinions on fashion whenever she couldn't make up her mind.
He hosted little fencing tournaments against the other boys in the palazzo's marble courtyard, which Bianca presided over. She'd always bring a pretty lace handkerchief and bestow it on Armand as a token of her favor.
Armand never had any pets per se, but there was a particular cat that hung around the palazzo he befriended. He didn't feel quite so alone waking up in that big bed when the cat would sneak in and curl up at his side.
He and the other boys had a period of being little gambling fiends, going down to the taverns and hustling at cards or betting at bear baitings. Marius put a stop to it when got wind of it, but Armand had a sharp eye for cards that only came back out five hundred years later when he and Daniel took a trip to Vegas.
Overall a good boy, whose worst crime was tossing snow balls from the balcony at the other boys the one freak time it snowed and sneaking wine from the cellars so they could all get drunk at home the nights Marius wasn't around
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Maria Gaetana Agnesi (1718-1799): A Very Short Biography
Maria Gaetana Agnesi was born in Milan, then the capital of a Duchy under Austrian rule, on 16 May 1718. She was the daughter of Pietro Agnesi (1690-1752), the scion of a family of wealthy merchants who traded in luxury textiles. At the age of five, Maria Gaetana was already known in her native city as a prodigy, well versed in languages, memorizing lengthy Latin speeches, and performing effortlessly in front of an audience in her family palazzo. Available descriptions of her skills may contain symbolic elements —for example, her alleged ability to speak seven languages fluently— but it is clear that the young girl was highly talented, and most intriguingly for her contemporaries, she would soon excel in the typically masculine art of philosophical disputation.
A booklet dated 1727 celebrated Agnesi's wit and the female intellect through a collection of poetry composed within a circle of family friends, and included a Latin oration in defense of the right of women to pursue any kind of knowledge. That oration had been written in Italian by one of Agnesi's tutors, and she had translated and memorized it as part of her studies. In the following years she studied natural philosophy and mathematics with prominent local scholars. Her studies were interrupted in the early 1730s by a mysterious and persistent malady, coincident with a period of repeated performances, the departure of her favorite tutor, and the death of her mother. Her "convulsions" eluded any diagnosis or treatment until about 1733, when she apparently recovered and returned to her studies. Her healing was attributed to the direct intercession of Saint Cajetan (San Gaetano), for whom the family had a particular devotion, as evidenced by her name, Maria Gaetana. Saint Cajetan was the founder of the Theatine order, to which Maria Gaetana kept a lifelong, profound spiritual connection.
In 1738, aged twenty, Agnesi concluded her studies with the publication of her thesis, under the title Philosophical Propositions (Propositiones philosophicae), thus mimicking the academic path of male students in contemporary colleges. By this time she had achieved the status of a minor celebrity in northern Italy and was the protagonist of the conversazione (literally, "conversation") that met regularly at palazzo Agnesi. A year later, at the height of her career as a filosofessa (woman philosopher), Agnesi expressed the desire to abandon the very public life, in which she could dedicate herself entirely to the study of mathematics, as well as to charitable activities and devotional practices.
After initial resistance, Pietro eventually accepted his daughter's requests. On her part, she promised she would still participate in the conversazione, although only sporadically. The following decade of intense mathematical study culminated in the publication of the Analytical Institutions (Instituzioni analitiche), a remarkable introduction to the new techniques of differential and integral calculus "for the Italian youth" and the first book of mathematics to be authored by a woman. Institutions was well received in Italy and was later translated into French and English. In the aftermath of its publication, Agnesi was invited to join various literary and scientific academies, and in 1750 she was offered an honorary lectureship in mathematics at the University of Bologna, then under the control of the pontifical government. However, she did not accept the position, considering her work in mathematics concluded with the Institutions.
Pietro's sudden death in 1752 made it possible for Agnesi to cut her last ties with the world of the conversazioni, give up her wealth and inheritance rights, and devote the rest of her life to charitable activities - such as teaching children in parish churches and assisting infirm women at the Ca' Granda, the ancient city hospital. In 1771 the archbishop of Milan, Giuseppe Pozzobonelli (1696-1783), offered Agnesi the directorship of the female section of the Pio Albergo Trivulzio, a new institution created to house invalid and chronically ill patients from the lower urban social strata.
She took up the job with her usual determination, steering the Albergo through the jurisdictional conflicts that characterized the reformist age and the turbulent close of the century. Maria Gaetana Agnesi died of pneumonia in the rooms of the Albergo on 9 January 1799. Milan was under French occupation at the time, and she died a citizen of the Repubblica Cisalpina. All forms of public ceremony had been prohibited to avoid confrontations between French troops and the local population. Agnesi was buried hurriedly in an unmarked mass grave outside the city walls, together with fifteen other women from the Albergo.
- Massimo Mazzotti ("Maria Gaetana Agnesi: Science and Mysticism")
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