#FATHER [the little bird on his shoulder] HAS A KNIFE HOLY SHIT

[doodlboy]

Insane abt these outfits tbh

[indigosandviolets]

Hi could you write headcanons for what the basterds from Inglorious Basterds are like AS fathers? You write so well!! Aaah!!!

of course! i’ve gotten a couple of these, so here we go!

Aldo Raine

Aldo is a very loose father in that he is very leneant on rules

he is very much a, “yes, unless your mother finds out. then i had nothing to do with this, alright?”

you two have three kids — a ten year old daughter named Maria and two sons, Irving and Peter who are eight and five

they are all as mischievous and clever as their father

like holy shit, you have three Aldo clones because they mostly have his personality

Peter even has the accent, which you don’t even know how that happened

Maria and Irving don’t have it, so why the hell Peter picked it up is a complete mystery to you

Aldo loves it though

he’s taught each of them a valuable life skill as their personalities take shape

Maria? Knife welding and carving. Irving? Basic bootlegging tactics and how not to get caught. Peter? Apache phrases and code speak.

he has his own little group of basterds

Donny Donowitz

i wrote a little bit about this already in my serious dating headcanons for Donny so read there because i already included him as a father in that

but as an overview, you two have two kids — a son named Art who you call Artie who plays baseball and a daughter named Anja who is fascinated by Donny’s dog tags

Donny coaches Little League and it’s cute as fuck

he loses a lot of his edge when he becomes a father and it’s a good change for him

he’s not as much of a loose canon but you have to talk him out of doing stupid things with Art and Anja ALL THE TIME

it gives him people to come home to and a reason for him to smile and you’re glad that he’s become a much happier person in general

Hugo Stiglitz

you have twin boys named Leon and Benjamin and a daughter named Margret

Leon and Benjamin are just like you and Margret is just like Hugo

i mean exactly like him. strong silent type. she opens up to very few and for very little.

but, because she is just like Hugo, he’s great with her

they’ll watch Westerns together when she can’t sleep

Leon and Benjamin are constantly trying to get his attention and he tries to share all of the love equally

does this mean you have come home to the three of them piled on top of Hugo, all four of them fast asleep with the tv playing a random movie

Wilhelm Wicki

Stefan is your only kid but he’s you and Wicki’s world

he’s also a crackhead and the two of you together doing something is Wicki’s nightmare

he has woken up in the middle of the night to you two making brownies because Stefan couldn’t sleep

he loves hearing you read Stefan to sleep

since Wicki works as a translator for German and Jewish immigrants, he’s taught Stefan German and Hebrew

you two also take him to the Art Museum whenever you can and he always darts straight to the Suerat pieces

Stefan also can and WILL sleep in your bed with you and neither of you really mind

Smithson Utivich

you and Uti were only planning on having one kid — until you found out it was twins

“Twins.”

“Twins, Y/N.”

“Fucking — really?”

y’all are great parents though

you have two sons — Dov and Eli who look absolutely nothing alike

Dov looks more like you and Eli looks more like Utivich

you teach them Hebrew, Yiddish, Polish(Uti’s parents don’t speak English), and everything about hating Nazis from the comfort of your New York apartment

they’re the exact opposite of each other but you and Uti handle it pretty well

“Okay, so Dov wants to go to the dinosaur museum downtown but Eli wants to go to the statue of liberty.”

“So...both?”

“You’re paying the cab fare.” (Uti still cannot drive.)

Gerold Hirschberg

You and Hirschberg have a daughter named Sarah and a dog named Dog

it wasn’t your idea, it was Sarah’s

to explain how Hirschberg is as a parent, Sarah’s first word was, and I quote, “Damn!”

“Gerry, what the hell.”

“She probably learned it from you!”

“Damn!”

“Jesus fuck.”

you love her with all your heart but she’s just as much of a wacko as him sometimes

this means the two of them will poke you while you sleep in order to wake you up just to tell you they’re making breakfast

she is also constantly on his shoulders

they are inseparable

Omar Ulmer

you and Omar only have one kid named Elizabeth

he’s very involved in her interests and you two both make it a point to do what she wants to do with them

she became obsessed with Omar’s camera so you called her ‘Clicker’ as a joke

it stuck

it stuck enough for her to not realize that’s not her actual name

Omar ended up getting her a camera of her own for her seventh birthday so she would stop taking his

the only pictures she takes are of birds and you two while you’re not looking and Omar gets the film developed every two weeks

“I think this one is from your birthday?”

“Is it?”

“Yeah. When the hell did she get in our room?”

“I have no idea.”

[border-spam]

(Featuring @godkingsanointed ‘s amazing OC JK)

  Mid COV

   “There’s a H… there." 

Seifa tapped a black nail into the paper Jak-Knife was staring at so intently their mask’s front grill brushed against the page. They let out a rumbling groan, slowly shaking their head side to side as she reassuringly patted their hand, leaning pressed against the length of their back so she could peer down at the scrawled letter splayed on the table in front of them.

"A H? Why??” they whined, cupping the sides of their head in calloused hands with a dejected sigh. Words were stupid.

It had been a long day for both of them.

Sei had only just made it to her ship after a night of red tape and managing delays in her office below. Tyreen’s Saints had incredible skill in somehow making sure their daily business ended up impacting Troy’s in some way. Missing shipments, deadlines shifted far shorter than possible with no warning, the usual shit. She’d sat for hours after her shift, gritting her teeth while pouring through their condescending e-coms, pausing every now and then to distract herself from the frustration by catching flashes of today’s arena stream.

The Blight Devil had ripped through raiders on the flickering office screen as her papers shuffled. Heretics who’d led an assault on a protected settlement and refused to repent now faced the Holy Father’s executioner, a fitting end to parasites sucking lifeblood from the isolated villages the COV kept in food and medical supplies.

She’d found them after the fight as she left her office that night, leaning silently against the elevator gate in the lower workshop that lead to her ship docked above the Mechanicum. Head bowed and tilted to the side, ankles crossed and arms folded across their chest. They were spotless as usual, arena blood expertly removed from their skin, but the weight of the fight was visible on their frame - tired and quiet.

They’d perked out of their doze as she approached, and lifted a bag filled with something hot and spicy from the Slums as a greeting. JK was always like this. They had as much an open invitation to her home as the others, but while she’d retire some nights and find Ven and Eli already smiling cheekily from her kitchen table and expecting dinner to appear now that she’d gotten home, or Troy curled up asleep in the same tiny wall cot that she’d told him was his years ago, JK never entered without her.

Always waited by the elevator with offering in hand, a gift of food or beer like an olive branch. Habit, she figured. Something from a life of survival in Pandora’s roaming clans she’d maybe never understand, but she could appreciate even though she reassured them it wasn’t needed every single time.

She could tell they were struggling to keep going now still, heavy muscle shifting under her ribs as they groaned at the letter covered in smudged ink between their elbows on the kitchen table, muttering about the rogue “H” through their mask’s respirator.

Words made no damn sense, even less when they were marked down in writing.

 Bandit cant had always served JK well, icons, symbols, communication scratched into rocks and dirt and corpses with the tips of jagged blades. Writing was pointless, they’d been told that for as long as they could remember. Adults in their clan had mocked newcomers to Pandora, said their big words and fancy letters were just to hide behind. A mask without a mask, so they could pretend they were better, stronger than the salt and blood of the earth that crawled across the planet’s dusty wastes in scavenging mobs.

You didn’t need to write or read when your family could respond like a singular pack unit to bird whistles or rhythmic pounding on dry rock. Learning would be a waste of time and resources better used to serve the marauding horde.

This H was a waste. The flimsy, golden pen clutched in their calloused fist was a waste, a symbol of wealth, education, of weakness on Pandora. If it hadn’t been a gift, they’d…

“Because without the H it says tanks. Like, war-machines, you know?” Seifa laughed, pushing against them to her feet and shooting a deadeye finger gun at their chest with a silent pow as she back stepped to her side of the table.

“But gotta say, that looks like a love letter, JK” she grinned, lowering herself into her seat with an ungraceful thump.

“..She a fan of tanks?”

They huffed quietly, refusing to meet the shit-eating grin they knew she was aiming at them as she shuffled the papers in front of her and leaned back into her chair with a creak of wood.

“She likes tanks, yeah. She.. likes all weapons. All machines. Makes ‘em, fixes 'em..” they murmured as Seifa clicked her tongue in response, wolf whistling.

“Sounds like my kind of woman.”

“She’s… my kind of woman.” Jk replied through a crackling laugh, scratching the pen against the paper with practiced concentration. “She should have nice things like.. letters. She should have poems, songs.. chants… and thank you.” they looked up, catching Sei’s inquisitive gaze “Thank you for helping me.” She followed their hand, gesturing towards the paper with a blunt finger.

Sei laughed, smoothing loose hair back over her shoulder. “Don’t thank me, pal. I think if anything, I’m using you as a distraction..” she sighed, expression turning somber as she dropped the stack of papers to the table in front of her, grimacing. 

“This jank is terrible.”

“Words?” they offered, lenses catching the light as their eyes followed her when she stood. 

“Nah JK, numbers” she scoffed, rolling sore shoulders as she stepped towards the kitchen counter to their side. “WAY worse. Listen, want to try something gross?” the chair struggling to support their bulk squeaked behind her as JK turned to face the cupboard she was rooting through. “I got this new coffee..-somewhere.. where is..- Ahh!”

“I like coffee, sure!” they chuckled with a nod, thumping their fist onto the little table the pair had been sharing in her ship’s kitchen

“This coffee though - ” she corrected smugly “This coffee has been shit out of some horrible little monkey thing on Eden-2” she smirked, stifling a giggle in response to the barking guffaw that erupted behind her.

“WHAT” they yelled through the muffle of the mask’s filters, deep voice cracking in amusement.

Sei turned, waving the foil bag towards them playfully as she leaned back against the counter.

“I’m not joking, gift from an ore dealer me and Ven had to sweet talk into very generous trade agreements on Astrensis a month ago. I don’t know if he was trying to impress me or what, but this is basically worth its weight in platinum and it’s-”

“ - It’s shit juice!” JK gasped between rolling belly laughs.

“It’s fuckin’ shit juice pal, you’re not wrong!” she chuckled, smile wrinkling across her nose as she flipped the coffee maker’s switch, grinning softly as the clunky hiss of the machine filled the little kitchen quarters.

Jk sighed happily behind her, twisting to stare at their paper again. “Rich people are so wrong. They don’t belong, not here, waste everything. Just walking sacks of ego thinking their paper money will stop this place taking its due from 'em”. They grunted thoughtfully, then continued in a quieter tone.

“I thought you were a rich person when we first met, another off-worlder.”

Seifa turned, wide-eyed in surprise at the comment.

JK was someone she’d known for years now, but even with so many hours of quiet time together in this ship, a quiet hiding hole away from the Holy City’s heaving bustle and fame both their titles reluctantly carried, even after all this time, they rarely spoke of their own feelings in this manner. JK’s thoughts were something they held deep in their chest, opinion’s they’d share, advice they’d willingly give, but their thoughts? She wanted to hear more, it was an unusual glimpse into an incredibly interesting mind.

“You thought I was rich?” she balked, pointing towards her chest. “How? You seen the way I live?”

Their head tilted, turning slowly to glance around the cabin. Clean, homely. Plants and textiles covering cracked wall panels… repaired and well-maintained kitchenware, the coffee machine behind her newer than nearly anything else surrounding it. They shifted, looking down at the polished and well loved table, the stains and scratches buffed but still visible in the finish. Years of love and use.

They made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a laugh, tilting their head slowly to the side. “Not about what you own, Seifa. It was how you carry yourself. You’re the only person in the room till you don’t want to be, then you were never there at all. Eyes miss you.” they rumble.

“Don’t belong here. Don’t belong out there either, in the city. Covered in gold, thought you were like the others. You aren’t though.” JK hums, shifting their eyes to the scrapped together coffee machine behind her.

“..You’re like him.”

She’d laugh if that wasn’t such an insult, rolling her eyes and huffing a chuckle into her fist.

“Thanks. What a compliment.” she groaned, flashing a quick grin before lifting a finger to scratch at her jaw thoughtfully. "… I’m not rich though I fleece the twins for all they are worth, sure, but that’s just good business.“ the homemade machine behind her whistled quietly as she paused, breathing deep the acrid aroma of roasted coffee wafting through the room.

"My clan might not be called that, but it’s still what they are. We’ve a creed of support. One of us does well for themselves? Strikes it rich? Lucks a factor as much as skill. There’s 10 bad deals for every good one.. some get a real bad streak, JK.” they nodded, understand her meaning if not her experiences.

“There were times before the twins where I needed help from family, care packages and donations to keep my ship running and fuel tanks full, now I repay that debt with what I earn here, spread the wealth to others who struggle now like I did then.” Seifa shrugged, uncomfortable in sounding anything close to generous regardless of the truth. “ It’s our creed, like I said. Family first.”

Jk grunted, nodding to themself as they stared at the table in front of them, the scrunched letter in shaky lines.

“Family first..” they echoed, not quite to themself, and not quite to her either.

Family.

They let their eyes rest on the pen gripped in their hand, tilting it slowly. The solid gold barrel reflecting light the same way the gilded fangs in his crooked grin had as he pressed the box into their open palm. Troy had been so happy when he handed them the case, blushing and shifting his weight from foot to foot as he waited for them to open it. They’d not known what to do with the contents, looking back and forth between the solid gold pen and him awkwardly. Waiting for him to explain how they should react, anxiously hoping he’d guide them as always.

He’d laughed, plucking it from the case and pointing at the name etched into the bodywork.

“It’s for you, see, it’s your name like we p-practiced. J.a.k-.k.n.i.f.e, see it?” his hand had been trembling with excitement, cheeks flushed and smile squinting his eyes as he loomed over them, pressed close enough to hear his ragged breaths.

“Now when you write you’ll know I got your b-back, yeah? I’ve got your back, understand? 'Cus you’ll know that I know you can do it, and I’ll keep teaching you.”

They hadn’t known what to say, the words that felt right were choking in their throat. They knew Troy often compared himself cruelly to them, would emasculate himself by placing aspects of who they were on a pedestal then berate himself for not reaching. It was hard to communicate their awareness of it with him. He was so easily hurt by his weaknesses being recognised, it was easier to pretend they didn’t notice and insist on complimenting him when they spotted him sinking under his own detrimental thoughts. Lift him up when they saw him flag.

But this, writing? Reading? Troy was excellent at this. It was something he could help them with, and as soon as he’d realised they could do neither, he’d jumped on the opportunity to teach them. They understood it was a repayment of his own volition, even if they couldn’t understand why God King Calypso would feel like he’d owed them in any way. They were his guard. They shielded him. They didn’t need to be thanked, you don’t need to thank a brother…

Seifa waited for as silence fell between them, giving JK the chance to continue, but they said nothing, nodding almost imperceptibly as they continued to stare at the pen.

They got lost sometimes in the depths under that mask, but the people close to them understood, and it was easy enough to bring JK back into the current. Wait a moment, give them a chance to snap back, then pull them back into the conversation.

She cleared her throat to break the quiet.

“So, is this lady rich then? If she likes poems and songs… and weapons?”

It snapped them out of their daze immediately, turning snake quick to glare through the mismatched lenses at her instead.

“She… she has money yes, she works hard. Very hard. I don’t know if she even would like a poem. It’s just something.. I see sometimes on the echonet, those movies Troy watches.”

“You give poems to great women, don’t you…?” their voice caught on a question towards the end, something they weren’t wording but clearly needed an answer for.

Sei stepped towards them, reaching out to lay a hand on their shoulder as she carefully arranged the words that felt most right for them.

“Maybe..” she started tentatively, leaning down a little to meet their eyes through the mask’s glass. “..if that’s what she wants, sure. But it sounds like this woman doesn’t need fancy things, JK. Sounds like she’s plenty good at seeing the truth of what things are, huh?”

They nodded emphatically, the quiet choking sounds from under their mask emphasising their eagerness to agree.

“Thought so” Sei grinned cheekily. “Why not write how you see her then, huh? No poems, just the truth of how things are.” They rumbled as she patted their shoulder, turning back to the small kitchen to prepare their drinks.

She smiled triumphantly to herself as the welcoming sound of the pouring coffee mixed with the scratching of their pen behind her, before it was interrupted by a stern grunt.

“Seifa, how do you spell refuge?”

[mangled-dreams]

Winchester Reader tries to hunt alone, but Castiel has to drag reader back to their older brothers. Reader is unhappy that their crush is dragging them back to Sam and Dean. But Castiel surprised them by taking them to a beautiful garden. Happy cuddly fluffyness pls.

Eden

“Castiel! Put me down! I don’t want to go back!” You shoutkicking your feet back and forth, your hands curled into fists and thumpingagain Castiel’s back. It’s childish and shows just how much you lacksophistication and maturity, but seriously? An angel appears out of thin air,plucks you up over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and starts walking offwith you.

How else are you supposed to act? You can't very well stab your brother's favorite angel. And, if you're being honest your secret crush. You've met angels before, fought with and against them, but just like your brothers before you--you felt an instant connection with Castiel. But aside from your affections you know Cas could probably take you in a fair fight.

Castiel is strong already due to his angelic nature but also from working with your brothers.He easily capture you, not to mention he could easily kill you if he really wanted too. Aside from Cas being a trusted friend and ally you know your brothers toldhim to bring you back conscious and alive. Alive being the important bit of the kidnapping plot.

“Your brothers are worried about you. You are too little beingout on your own.” Castiel says continuing on his path.

"Cas, come one, I've been literally doing this since I was twelve, just because I'm shorter than  you doesn't mean you can treat me like a child!" You shout watching pedestrians turning to gawk at the scene. You want to shout at them but hold your tongue, you've pretty much humiliated yourself enough for one afternoon.

Not only did Cas appear out of nowhere, but you'd been getting your ass handed to you by the werewolf you'd been in combat with. The lycan had gotten the drop on you. He'd dropped from the ceiling and knocked you flat on your back.

You'd been able to get him off you with a silver knife but it'd done little for your pride. You'd tried to take out the lycan with little struggle but that's all you got. The lycan knew you were there before you'd even gotten close to him, hid, then ambushed you.

You can already hear Dean scowling at you, lecturing about being reckless and not covering your ass better. He'll tell you that only seasoned hunters can take on a lycan alone that's even iffy. Groaning you let your face rest right against Castiel's back.

"You're going to tell my brothers I fucked up, aren't you?" You ask through his favorite trench coat. Every once in a while you're able to get him to try on different clothes, other than heights he's about the same size as Dean so swapping clothes is pretty simple.

"I will inform them that you had been caught in a difficult situation, Y/n, it's apparent you need more training." Castiel says indifferently. You roll your eyes.

"No, Dean doesn't know when you stop with the shouting when he's training." You groan expecting to be somewhere near the bunker but when you look up you seem to be in a very well floral grown forest. "Cas, where the hell are we?" You ask looking around in wonder. It's been a while since you've seen anything this pretty.

"I know you've been pushed very hard by Dean and Sam lately. They just understand they will not be around forever to protect and help you, but you do deserve to have some freedom. I do not wish you to get hurt either when you leave the bunker." Castiel says setting you down on your feet.

The ground is covered in a lush soft green moss that skins a little, cushioning your every step. Slowly you walk into the place of beauty and tranquility. Tall, thick trees with bountiful green leaves and fresh fruit are scattered far enough apart to accommodate a small lake fed by a smooth running brook.

"Holy shit, Cas, this place is beautiful." You manage to utter in a whisper. Squirrels and small birds scatter into the trees as your approach. Flowers of all colors, sizes, and shapes bloom along the lake and trees. You've seen flower fields before, but nothing like this. It's just so peaceful and tranquil.

"I stumbled upon this place a few months ago. There has not been much time to bring you here, but after today I wanted to show you." Castiel explains watching you with an almost permanent O on your face.

"It's so beautiful, Cas." You remark smiling. Finding a spot on the ground where the noon sun filters through you lay down and bask in the sunlight. Casitel joins you on the ground. "Thanks, Cas. I didn't think places like this still existed." You say with your eyes closed.

"It reminds me of Eden." Cas says honestly.

Cas is pretty must secret about a lot of the things he does unless he's talking to Dean and occasionally with Sam, but there is a trust level between Dean and Cas that is unmatched by anything else.

You love seeing Cas and Dean having such a great bond but it does leave you feeling a little left out. You grew up quickly as a hunter like Dean and Sam had. Your mother had been a hunter that met up with John and had a few nights of fun and a nine months later you were born.

Your mom had gone legit for a time before she fell back into her old ways. You never got to make friends after your tenth birthday and have remained a loner since, well until you stumbled upon an injured angel by the name Gabriel. He'd been fun to team up with for a time but all good things come to a close.

Before Gabriel left and things went to shit for a while he essentially cocooned you in a gossamer of protection and you were secured from everything, but that hadn't set well. As soon as you got loose you ran to find him only to be told he was killed by Lucifer. That hadn't set well and you went on a killing spree against all angels and demons.

Until you met Cas and your brothers. Gabriel never mentioned that you had brothers and it'd never occurred to you that you had any other family aside from your dead mother, she never mentioned who your father was other than his name was John and he was a hunter.

"Cas, is Gabriel really dead?" You ask quietly. It's a question you've asked before and you always get the same answer.

"I cannot feel him, I'm sorry, Y/n. Even Father has said he is truly gone." Cas says watching the conflicting emotion cross your face. You already understand your brothers think you and Gabriel were in an intimate relationship, but that couldn't be further from the truth. He was like your big brother, the one you never had as a kid.

"Yeah, I know. I just keep having this stupid hope that he's hiding somewhere again. I just miss him." You say looking up at Cas with watery eyes and a sad half smile.

"You really cared for him." He says in a tone you don't hear often but nod all the same.

"Of course, he was my partner in crime. Apart from you, I've only felt safe with Gabriel hanging around like my guardian angel. I never expected him to save me when things got tough, but I knew if I really needed him he'd come." You explain.

"Were you ever romantic?" Cas asks point blank.

You laugh. "No, Gabriel is cute in a chipmunk kind of way, but I was never physically attracted to him. Not to say he wasn't attractive, just not my type." You smirk at Castiel. "I like 'em tall, brooding, and a bit on the strong silent side." You laugh before quieting. You have no idea why you just said that.

Castiel stares down at you in quite a bit of shock displayed on his face. You've described him with those exact words on more than one occasion. Looking around Cas smiles, it's very small and very subtle but it's there on his lips.

"You are my type as well." Cas tells you glancing down at your tomato red face when his words sink in.

Your grin is something unstoppable as you look away from him bashfully. You'd thought maybe one day you could tell him but never like this. "How long can we stay like this?" You ask looking up at Castiel again.

"A while longer. This place isn't too far from the bunker and I did not tell your brothers how quickly I would bring you back." Cas says. You chuckle. Your bother's influences on Cas shining through.

"I'd like to stay a little longer." You says scooting closer to Cas, turning your head slightly in order to touch his thigh with your head. Cas nods and relaxes back against a thick tree behind him. His arm stretches above you before resting along your shoulder.

You both know you cannot allow anyone else to know about this mutual affection, not even your brother right now, but at least you'll have Eden. Closing your eyes to enjoy the little time you have with Cas in this garden of paradise you hear Cas's voice.

"As you wish."

[xadoheandterra]

Title: Eternity in an Hour Fandom: Devil May Cry 5 Characters: V, Griffon Part: I | II WARNING: HEAVY AS ALL HELL SPOILERS ABOUT V. Also Poetry. Summary: He came into this world with the breath already stolen from his lungs, the strength taken from his limbs, and his skin as thin and fragile as ash.

V knew one thing for certain and one thing only—he didn’t want to die like this; weak as a newborn kitten in frail humanity. Of course, that meant surviving and, well, V wasn’t sure if surviving would be any worse than dying really. Not with—not with what that fool of a devil had planned to go down.

Especially not without Dante on board—and fuck did V not want to deal with Dante right now. Not like this. Never like this—and even worse he didn’t really have a choice. What had he been thinking, originally?

Oh, right, he hadn’t. Fate fuck him.

Notes: The poem that is the source of the title and is referenced here is Auguries of Innocence by William Blake and apparently V references it a lot in the game? I hadn’t even realized that he did so because 90% of the time I was more focused on fuck there are a lot of demons and V is a squish.

I picked the poem honestly because it’s one of my favorite’s of Blake’s, and I thought it fit the character rather well too, and well apparently Capcom agrees so there’s that? IDK. It’s an interesting bit of poetry. Contradicting and confusing, but interesting.

Perhaps it should not have surprised him so much to see the manor still stood, if a little run down and beaten up. Furniture rested, well cared for despite the age and lack of use, and Vergil stared at each item he came across for a good second until he felt a not-so-subtle nudge from the nightmare bound to his skin. It’d been years since he’d come to this home, the last time perhaps when he was almost nineteen before the mess in Fortuna—and he still could barely recall even that. Something about a potential resurrection ritual, some sort of girl, and Dante?

What had Dante been doing in Fortuna all those years ago? Vergil knew he went to find out more about Tamen-ni-gru and how to raise it—not to mention their father. If rumors were to be believed the beast of a man had lived and even ruled there for some time, long before their mother came into the picture. The worshippers left a sour taste in his mouth, a bit of disdain—and Vergil couldn’t recall while and it bothered him.

“Focus,” Vergil hissed to himself and moved on. He passed room after room until he came upon the master suite—he’d lost his way, frustratingly enough, and found himself trapped in the halls of his childhood. Now he stared at one of the last places Mother stood before she—

—there was the closet he—

Vergil sucked in a breath and hissed, “Focus,” to himself. This half-brained plan of his to split devil and human had left him rattled, and this piss-poor place of memory best left forgotten wanted to take root. None of it mattered, not now, not when—Vergil stumbled into the wall as his legs nearly gave out from under him and he coughed a wheeze of surprise as his breath stole away.

It took him five minutes to recover even a semblance of himself, leaned against the wall and wheezing as he tried to draw in a real breath, to bring strength to his limbs. Vergil felt like he was a hairs breath away from crumbling into ash and it scared him.

“You really should take it slow, V,” the Griffon said as it burst into life around his shoulder. Vergil tilted his head toward the creature.

“What…did you call me?” Vergil questioned.

“Uhhh, Vergil?”

Vergil eyed the bird and then turned away. V—Dante used to call him Verge, and when they were very, very young he’d call him ‘bee’ – he never could quite get the sound of Vergil’s name right when they were small children.

“V, huh?” Vergil mumbled. Maybe that was a better thing to call himself. He was barely even half of what he was—just a letter tacked onto a name long, long forgotten in the dust of Hell. V—not Vergil, because he wasn’t. Vergil wasn’t weak, or human, or dying.

Except he had been, hadn’t he? Corrupted, twisted beyond his ken, and dying. He was days from crumbling into ash, wasn’t he?

V hated the thought.

“Well looks like the smart mouth actually kept things pretty neat here,” the Griffon huffed as he took off from Vergil’s shoulder to explore the room. “Shit’s all pristine. Who woulda thought?”

“Maybe that’s why he never has any money,” V said dryly.

“Oooh, look! A book, V!”

V hummed, and Vergil pushed himself off the wall and fumbled into the room.

“What is this? Poetry? Eugh.”

In it’s talons Griffon held the book in question as he beat his wings an angled his head in a way that no normal bird really could to stare down at the cover. The embossed ‘V’ caught Vergil’s eye first, and they widened in surprise. With trembling fingers V took the book away from the Griffon, who scoffed in response.

“Don’t tell me you like that shit,” the Griffon grumbled, and V felt his lips curl into a smile. He leaned back against the wall, far more relaxed now as he flipped the book open and stroked long fingers down the edge of the page. As if from memory V began to quote, voice soft even as it trembled with pain.

“To see a World in a Grain of Sand And a Heaven in a Wild Flower, Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand And Eternity in an hour.

A Robin Red breast in a Cage Puts all Heaven in a Rage. A Dove house fill’d with Doves and Pigeons Shudders Hell thro’ all its regions.

A Dog starv’d at his Master’s Gate Predicts the ruin of the State. A Horse misus’d upon the Road Calls to Heaven for Human blood.

Each outcry of the hunted Hare A fibre from the Brain does tear. A skylark wounded in the wing A Cherubim does cease to sing.

The Game Cock clip’d and armed for fight Does the Rising Sun affright. Every Wolfs and Lions howl Raises from Hell a Human Soul.

The wild deer, wandering here and there Keeps the Human Soul from Care. The Lamb misus’d breeds Public Strife And yet forgives the Butcher’s knife…”

V trailed off, unaware that his still naked form was now surrounded by the Griffon, the Shadow, and a hulking form off in the corner. He took a moment to take a breath and then continued softer than before, brows furrowed down in intense sort of thought.

“A truth that’s told with bad intent Beats all the Lies you can invent. It is right it should be so; Man was made for Joy and Woe;

And when this we rightly know Thro’ the World we safely go. Joy and Woe are woven fine A Clothing for the soul divine.

Under every grief and pine Runs a joy with silken twine. The Babe is more than swadling Bands Throughout all these Human Lands.

Tools were made and Born were hands Every Farmer Understands. Every Tear from Every Eye Becomes a Babe in Eternity….”

“Holy shit Shadow did you know he could do this?” the Griffon landed next to the Shadow and stared at V who stared at the book and flipped the pages almost reverently. He faded away from speaking for a moment, voice trailed off in hoarseness, before he eventually finished with a whisper,

“Every Night and every Morn Some to Misery are Born.

Every Morn and every Night Some are Born to sweet delight. Some are Born to sweet delight, Some are Born to Endless Night.

We are led to Believe a Lie When we see not Thro’ the Eye Which was Born in a Night to perish in a Night When the Soul Slept in Beams of Light.

God Appears and God is Light To those poor Souls who dwell in Night. But does a Human Form Display To those who Dwell in Realms of day.”

For a moment Vergil leaned against the wall in silence as his fingers brushed against the last page of the book and the hastily scrawled name within it.

“Auguries of Innocence,” V said softly. “One of the more…popular of William Blake’s poems.” One of his favorites, he could remember. The juxtaposition of the poem, the pitting of sides against one another over innocence—it spoke to him as a teenager. It spoke to him now.

V slipped his fingers from the name—Vergil Sparda—and snapped the book shut. He couldn’t find himself to part with it, to leave it here—and he wondered if Dante even knew the book resided in the ruins of their home, but it mattered not. Half a second later, as if he came out of a trance, Vergil stood upright and began to search the room with more awareness than he’d had when he first touched the book.

Within minutes he found clothing—obviously Mother’s, he noted, but they fit this body’s slim figure. V wondered what age he was—did he look like himself in any form, or did he take far more after Mother like this? Mother to whom he could once attribute the human blood that ran in his veins.

“Lookin’ good, V!” the Griffon cackled as V tugged on the jacket.

“Be quiet,” V replied and with a wave of his hand the Griffon burst into shadows and seeped into his skin. He grabbed a silver cane from where it rested—Sparda’s, V thought, although he could never remember seeing the Devil with a cane before. Still it had a weight to it, and it could bear his own when he felt his limbs weaken.

Distasteful, but the cane would have to stay a permanent part of his attire for now. V needed to get out of the manor, find some funds, and then—well, there was not a chance in Hell that he could handle the swarms of demons that would follow the fools call to arms. He’d need protection to get where he needed to go—to do what he needed to do. Protection meant—Dante.

Dante meant money.

V sighed.