sorrowshared

[sorrowshared]

Temporary hiatus! :)

Come find me on my Genshin multimuse delusionaid !

[sorrowshared]

If the devil sword Sparda still exists, it may very well be our only hope.

[sorrowshared]

V 🤝 Ulquiorra Cifer looking like the silent type and being unexpectedly chatty

[sorrowshared]

There's a particular and strange kind of dissatisfaction in expecting something terrible and painful and being spared from it at the last second. It comes just before the overwhelming sense of relief that settles in once your brain realizes your salvation, edging its way into your shivering body and leaving just enough unreleased anxiety to keep you unsettled for the rest of the day. Not that V intends to complain about it. The vision of claws and teeth sunk into his skin and bones, perceived to be inevitable when approached by this discharge from hell, was palpable enough to cause him the odd sensation of physical pain from anticipation - and to find himself free of it is as pleasant as it is unexpected.

His salvation, in the shape of a young man, is a spectacle to watch as he cuts through the rows of demons, covering the ground - and himself - in foul-smelling ichor and blood. He makes short work of them, with V having little chance - or need - to help out, although Griffon and Shadow land a few significant hits and bites at his behest. Only when the last abomination perishes with a gurgling scream the latter fades into its namesakes and the black lines on V's skin reappear in full intensity. (And with each time it happens it becomes less unsettling.)

There's no hesitation to take the offered hand but it still takes a moment for V to reach for it. As the fear of imminent death wanes the awareness of a multitude of aches in his body appears and when he's pulled up on his feet he can't help a groan coming over his lips. He feels at least as breathless as the other sounds. "I'm inclined to agree," he admits once he stands, taking the first proper chance he has to get a better look at his opposite. His proclivity for combat is as evident as his familiarity with what they're up against but beyond that and his relative age it is difficult to draw more conclusions without the vehicle of conversation.

"You have my gratitude. It appears I'd found myself in more than a minor predicament before you stepped in." Above them Griffon flies in circles, like a vulture awaiting its feast and V catches a sense of unrest in him that he doesn't know how to explain. Naturally, anyone dangerous to creatures as vile as those they just faced is also a potential danger to him, but considering he just saved him there is no obvious need to assume that to be the primary case. "I did not intend to wander into this alone - admittedly I may have lost my way altogether."

𝐀𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐲, the weather foreshadowing the events to come, Nero slashes through another flurry of demon spawn. The situation seemed to be getting more challenging- possibly closer to a source- ultimately leading him to conclude that it should be eliminated. A smirk of satisfaction spread across Nero's face as the streets were smeared with venom and bile due to the latest prototype Nico had produced. "Ugh!" Shaking the residue off his arm, he looked disdainfully at the carcasses as he trudged forward. "Yeah, somehow I don't think I'll ever get used to that." And the smell - would he ever be able to desensitize himself to it? Only hope remained.

Sadly, his nicotine-addict traveling companion couldn't progress with him beyond this point, so he is left with himself and no one to listen to his complaints. Heavy boots continued onward in search of where these demons were drawing their energy from. It was a dreadful environment exacerbated by a dull echo and looming sky-high buildings. Although it hadn't been long since the attack, these streets were practically ghost towns. Citizens had once crowded and hustled the streets. This, however, would only make the demon hunter more determined to succeed. A noise that sounded like nails on a chalkboard penetrated his ears through an alleyway vibration nearby. That was clearly a sign --

A sudden rush to the location of the sound, only to find something ungodly - whoever designed these creatures clearly didn't care about appearances. Sparks emitted from his arm, and a powerful Red Queen arose (undoubtedly at high speed) as he charged. As he approached, he realized he wasn't the only one invited to the party. Lucky for this man(?) (hard to discern from a distance), Nero arrived just in time.

His arrogant smirk reappears as he swoops in to slash at the demon that chose this innocent as its target. "I hope I didn't miss the toasts!" he huffs. There was no time for pleasantries since Nero had a job - but unfortunately, this stranger somehow took the brunt of the assault, meaning Nero barely had a chance to show off his signature moves before the fight ended.

His breathing was heavy as he retracted his weapons and returned to the distressed man. "Hey." Extending a hand, "You shouldn't be out here alone." Wise words, coming from another who was also out here… alone.

[sorrowshared]

VoV manga didn’t have to destroy me like that

[sorrowshared]

I have no idea if this has been done before. it's just that the trio reminded me of this image.

[sorrowshared]

v… what the hell are you ?

[sorrowshared]

It's cool inside the van which means outside it must be freezing. It shouldn't be; it's not the time of the year for cold temperatures nor has the night progressed enough to vanquish the sun's heat stored in the city walls, but warmth seems to seep out of him with what little energy his body has left, leaving him cold and tired, hungry and exhausted no matter how much he rests or sleeps or eats. Time's a-wasting and they're sitting around as if it stands still for them, the music from the radio creating a nostalgic echo in the space they occupy for the night, luring them into a false sense of security. It's cozy enough to feel safe but safety, too, is a fickle thing.

"And yet our stance on trust seems to differ. Even one and the same experience might not color two people the same way." Not that anything the boy could possibly have been through in his short life could compare to what lingers in V's memory; the suffering of another and yet his own, burned into brittle bones and pulsing through thin veins. It is a matter of trust - but it is also a matter of purpose. What gain is there in sharing stories and details about their lives when their time together might be a short-lived one; or worse, their time on earth in general? Is death more comforting with the knowledge in mind that the man perishing beside you knew your name and convictions in life? A foolish notion.. or perhaps one wiser than V can see at present.

More than fair it would be wise to inquire about the stranger in your midst and yet none of them sought to do so until now. This absence of caution is not rooted in naiveté - Nero clearly possesses the experience that would teach him that lesson - but rather a faith in his abilities that brings about an arrogance not unlike that of Dante. The kind of arrogance that makes him charge at a demon of unimaginable power despite injury and defeat without a speck of fear tainting his resolve. Compared to that how much of a risk can it be to bring a stranger to your inner sanctum?

"A fair trade if the facts shared are of equal value to each side," V retorts but his words are accompanied by the beginning of a smile. It will be hours until sunrise and despite the weakness in his body sleep has not yet knocked on his door. "Very well. I grew up not far from here.. but the city has not been my home in many, many years. --Will that suffice to buy an answer from you?"

@sorrowshared APPROACHES

❝ i’ve never had anything good happen to me when i trusted others. ❞

Trust is a fickle creature. It is a coarse black dog with teeth stained red. It comes willingly and happily to some, like a childhood pet that was never touched by the passage of time. Teeth only pinkish in colour. To others, it is a beast cowering in corners and snarling and snapping with teeth as blood-red as its own gums. IT REMEMBERS WHAT THE BODY MIGHT NOT.

It's quiet in Redgrave. The whole city feels like it has been caught under the influence of a Geryon's time curse. There's nobody outside at this time of the night and the only things slicing through the silence are the rhythmic buzzing of the neon advertisement signs littering the buildings like hungry ticks, and the soft music playing from the dimly-lit van.

Always that damn van.

Nero, who's laid himself across one couch, regards V with a tilt of his head. What a conventional excuse. Always ready to spit it out and remove himself from any kind of conversation!

" WHAT MAKES YA THINK I HAD IT BETTER? " Nero's voice comes out slow, lazily. It sounds venomous and slightly childish. Distantly, he thinks about religions built on the same lies as the Serpent of Eden used on humans. Of a white-haired teen boy who was given a weapon and told to kill innocents people possessed with demons. He also thinks of an older brother clad in regal gold and wedding dress white pointing a sword and looking at him like he's a stranger.

Now, Nero stretches out both arms and legs and groans, both in satisfaction and frustration. " Tellin' me more about yourself ain't trustin' me. I think it's pretty fuckin' fair wantin' to know more about a COMPLETE STRANGER you're travelin' with. " He sounds even more childish this time.

" What if with one fact shared about yourself, I share one about me? "

[sorrowshared]

I'm still here and will come back to write some replies soon, I am currently just hijacked by my Gen/shin Imp/act multimuse 🖤

[sorrowshared]

[sorrowshared]

✨ ‘i’m bored’ gifs( 10 / ? )

v 

[sorrowshared]

V is seated in one of the chairs while Nero chooses to stand, too agitated perhaps to sit still. The tissue in V's hand is stained with the black ichor that's still dripping from his nose, the sharp bitter taste of it spreading to his mouth and running down his throat. It's difficult to breathe and swallow but he knows these symptoms, knows them to fade after a while, which helps him to stay calm despite the discomfort. It seems a small price to pay for his life; for that is the reason he is walking down his path. It's not power for power's sake that he seeks, it never has been. It's the power to defend, to defeat, to survive.

But what would a boy like Nero know about this?

The question - the implied accusation - makes V look up. It's ridiculous, this righteous anger he's faced with; the judgement of a man who's never been in the situation where bad or worse were his only choices. Who is he to have the audacity to rebuke him, to even question him? There's something in Nero's gaze that leaves a bitter taste in V's mouth that has nothing to do with the demonic gunk he's been choking up. It's not the anger or frustration on the surface, not the disappointment over the lack of trust, but something that lies beneath all of that. Something of the same nature that hides in Dante's eyes as well - something that seems to say 'there is a better way that you can't see' when V feels the very opposite to be true. It is Nero who is blinded by his naiveté, he who cannot see the lurking darkness for what it truly is, he who doesn't understand there are worse things to suffer than death.

"If the need for it had arisen, I would have," V finally responds, averting his eyes once more. A cough is sitting in his chest like an ugly quivering beast demanding to be released. He forces it down but brings the tissue up to wipe under his nose when he feels more of the ichor trickling down to his lips. "I did not realize I am obligated to give report about the measures I take."

𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫 @sorrowshared

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤'𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐰𝐤𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 between the two that night. The moment Nero suspected that V was unhappy with his lack of strength and needed to persevere to be helpful instead of hindering - it didn't take a genius to figure out he wouldn't sit pretty and do nothing about it. Lack of communication around it, however, frustrated the demon hunter.

In his optimism that he would eventually be strong enough, he was adamant that these tactics would work, but he would never have predicted that V would seek out means that weren't best suited for him on his own. Risky, reckless, and the result could very well be like what he'd witnessed before.

A fast-tracked ageing process, he watched V grow weary and weak on his path as a lamb raised for slaughter. There were what if's and could've, would've, and should've's that plagued him for nights after he was gone. Did V even realise or consider the magnitude of his actions? Despite losing him once, Nero promised not to lose him again. It wasn't worth burdening himself with the idea he almost could have done if V had persisted down this road alone.

Previously quiet and calm, (minus the tension) the evening now echoed with the volume of their conversation. Unfortunately, Nero had difficulty holding back his emotions when confronted with situations threatening those he cared about. In his restless state, he rests his hand on the back of the kitchen chair. Thumb running over well-used furniture pieces in a feeble distraction to admire its craftsmanship. In his upset, he would sigh or groan and look away every few moments, but his expression was not pleasing, blue ocean eyes staring deep into V's own. "Did you ever plan on telling me?"

[sorrowshared]

What type of symphony are you?

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐚: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐈𝐒𝐓

You are the silence in the theatre as the soloist readies his bow, and the chill one feels at the strike of the first note. You are the undeniable gravity that brings everything together, and you hold captive the fool and the genius alike. You make no promises with life for which path you are to take, and that is why your life can be nothing but extraordinary-- you know no other way. Though the mirror may be your greatest enemy, you know there is no absolution but that in the reflection. Through light and dark, you feel no discomfort in being alone though at times you crave affection. No matter. You persist. And that is your greatest strength. Your song: Partita in E Major by Bach

"I suppose there is something to be said about me receiving the same result as Vergil. I wonder.. if Urizen were inclined to test his mind in this manner - would he receive those same lines or this were we are different?

Tagged by @vischys (thank you! :3) Tagging: you!

[sorrowshared]

@aequitaes sent: “How long have you been having these nightmares?” (:

He's sitting on the floor with his back against the couch, knees bent and the soles of his feet flat against the ground. It's hard and cold and certainly an odd choice to anyone seeing him now, but an instinctual one for V. The floor is grounding, real, solid. A reminder of where he really is that saves him from slipping back into the horrors of his mind, these visions so palpable they cannot be anything other than memories.

Memories of someone else's life; for they cannot be his.

The hands that reach, the voice that screams, even the lungs that breathe (when they allow him to) in these memories are distinctly not his own - and yet they are painfully familiar, as known to him as those he's looking at right now; perhaps more so. It can't be him and yet it must be, as the misery he recollects is entirely his own. It is burned into his mind, his flesh and blood; so much so that there's no doubt that these are not fearful visions of the future but glimpses into a past so terrible it should perhaps be no surprise that he's erased them from his consciousness. --But how can they be his and not his at the same time? It hurts his head and heart to think about, so he tries not to.

The air feels like needles on his skin, the wind outside hurts to listen to. He's trembling while trying not to, cold sweat on his forehead and neck causing his hair to stick to his skin uncomfortably. He wants a shower more than anything but knows the water would be scalding hot against his body; the thought of stripping bare in that cold cramped space an ordeal of its own. He's miserable, cold, frightened - but not alone. For once he is not alone.

He didn't intend for Nero to join him on the floor but he did so without having to be asked, without questioning it either. Though there is little the hunter's courage can do to fight the monsters in V's mind, he is a presence to anchor himself to, a light in the literal darkness of the night, his voice something to focus on. Reaching up, V brushes a hand over his cheeks to wipe away what's left of the tears that fell from his eyes just before he woke up; tears of despair and fear rather than sadness. Their half-dried trails feel like scars on his face.

"As long as I remember," V replies, knowing fully well how meaningless an answer it is. He hasn't told Nero the circumstances of his being here, of the gaping holes in his past. It's not a lie he speaks but an empty statement nonetheless. How long has he been plagued by these nightmares indeed? How long ago were they reality? Unconsciously V moves his hand while he focuses his attention on breathing and making out details around the room: a stain on the opposite wall that looks black in the darkness and could be anything from chocolate sauce to blood; streaks on the window above; a sticker of a cartoon raven glued to the right corner of a cupboard door. His fingers curl around the hem of Nero's jacket, the fabric soft and smooth to the touch.

"They haunt my waking hours too," he admits.

[sorrowshared]

Actually this was my homework but now it has become my doodle of DMC. I personally think V is another person but not Vergil, the same for Urizen. Or to say, both of them have become themselves, neither of them is Vergil, so I really ship these two adorable guys, really.

[sorrowshared]

The confusion is evident and befitting the man before him, the nature of their meeting as baffling to Vergil as it is logical to V - for everything Vergil knows to be true V has understood long before him. Only the secrets Vergil is truly blind to V, too, cannot hope to understand. There is a sense of satisfaction in seeing the other confused and lost, watching him grasp for control and find it slipping away, yet at the same time there is a need to help him see and understand. It's a on-going battle that rages inside V, the manifestation of his conflicting feelings, born from a hatred only pure love can evoke.

"How indeed?" V mirrors his question, the corner of his mouth moving up with the hint of a smile. All that struggle and pain, and for what? No mysterious power now surges through Vergil's veins, no revelation that strengthens his resolve, no battle that marks him the victor behind them. If anything, his existence is proof that Vergil is further away than ever from what they wanted to be. Only death he managed to defeat - but the cost of that seems yet unclear to him.

"Once you've split yourself in half I exist as an idea.." V speaks, slowly placing one foot in front of the other, as if he's walking along an invisible line that will eventually lead him in a circle around Vergil. He's holding on to his trusty cane, swinging it almost playfully with every other step. He doesn't need it for support, has no real need for it to be there at all; it's more so an echo of how he used to be, an afterimage turned real. "We may have joined together but I'm not so readily forgotten."

When he stops the tip of the cane hits the ground with an audible sound. V looks up at the sky, wondering what Vergil might see if he looked up there too. "There are consequences to tearing a soul apart.. but you knew that." His head turns to meet Vergil's gaze. "Did you not?"

​𝑷𝒐𝒐𝒓, 𝒑𝒂𝒍𝒆, 𝒑𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒎 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒇𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒐𝒘 𝒊𝒏 𝒂 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒎

That particular passage of Blake was evoked from his memory upon descrying the sight of @sorrowshared ; pale and frail as ever, pitiable indeed, yet unyielding. Vergil would know, for 'twas the very same trait running through his veins, sprang from the same roots they were.

“ ... How is this possible? ” The question escaped his rosy lips in a quiet, winded cadence. His bewilderment unwittingly verbalized aloud upon seeing what hitherto had been his humanity within the recess of his soul was now outside and solid, uncalled and sovereign.

[sorrowshared]

the  mysterious  one   —    v     +     the  devil  hunter   —   nero