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phonkscribes · 2 years ago

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"Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?"

Right as the they are about to descend off that cliff, thrown off that ledge, you are there. Your arm hauls them up with a certain strength to them, the sinews in your arms flexing. At that moment, they're unable to say a word, too busy taking in the sight of you as you utter your witty line or carry on as if it weren't an issue-- effortless.

Saving the Spardas asses when they don't expect you to. ft. GN! Reader

Dante

He's fallen off of cliffs and such before, whether it was due to a missed jump or simply because he's gotten knocked out of the air. Dante tries to not make a habit out of it, but it's not like he's doing it intentionally. The legendary devil hunter just happens to be a bit less patient than his brother, even after all these years. There's just some things that don't change, like his eagerness to fight demons, even if it scares him. He isn't mortal, he won't die if he's shot or stabbed, there isn't much that could kill him-- like falling and hitting his head. It'd just hurt if anything, but maybe that's something that you didn't know.

Or at least cared for.

A hit from the devil he was fighting has him thrown back with a grunt, the sound is distinct on your ears as you whip around to see his crimson jacket flail in the wind along with him in it. You make another slash at the devils coming after you to go and chase his flying figure. Dante doesn't see you, as he looks up to the sky, thinking about how he's gonna nail the demon good for that one. As he's cast over the edge, you slide on over, an arm extended and catching his ankle as he descends. The sudden grab has him out of his daydream and curling up to look at... you!

You were a couple of yards away, how did you get here so fast? He could only watch as you used your other hand to start pulling him up by the leg as you swung him up back to the edge where you were. You almost fell in your self as you groan.

"Next time you take a swan dive, do it at the pool, yeah?", you huff, patting his leg as he got to his feet.

"Only if you're watchin' me, babe", he winked as he reached for Ebony & Ivory.

You could've slapped him, you really could've. Dante only chuckles at the way you frown for a moment before you go back to fighting, rolling your shoulders as you go. It's pretty hot, he thinks. The half-demon's glad he's got someone as strong as you are on his side, something that comforts him really, knowing that you've got his back.

Vergil

Falling doesn't scare him, he's done it before, but it's where he'll end up that tends to make him feel something other than adrenaline when facing his enemies. The first time he descended, it cost him his freedom, the last time he went to hell with his brother. Now it felt like a slight, a mistake made and he doesn't quite like those. The devils he was fighting now on behalf of joining Dante's little business were putting on a fight for once, with one of them even managing to knock him back a good distance. He had misjudged that and felt himself lose his footing on solid ground.

You'd seen him tip over the edge and in an instant you were rushing to his side, not that you were too far. With your devil arm, you dug into the side of the ledge and anchored yourself as you grabbed his arm. He had only stared in awe, shock that quickly subsided as he glowered. He was not one who needed saving, quite the opposite, even as you threw him over the edge to resume the fight.

Such raw strength... in a mortal, none the less. It was... curious. Where did such power come from, he had to wonder after he had dealt with your foes with a few judgement cuts. You managed to pull yourself up, rolling over onto your back with a long sigh.

"Thank you for that, though it was unnecessary", he had commented, looking at your prone state.

"You're welcome, you oughta watch your step next time", you joke as he offers a hand to help you to your feet this time.

"It will not happen again, I assure you", he says it with such a straight face, but you can tell that he's the slightest bit embarrassed.

Nero

You had just finished combing through your share of enemies, flicking your weapon to the side to clear it of blood as you look off into the distance. Nero was holding up well with Red Queen, revving her engine and ripping and tearing into the devils seamlessly. You could often admire how fluid he could be, like a duck bobbing and weaving through water. He looked like he didn't need your help, so you'd sit back and watch. Through the demons that surrounded him, he could feel your eyes on his back.

Nero would be lying if he didn't enjoy it when you were watching him, because in truth he had admired you too. Your skills and finesse were so badass and he hoped that maybe you thought of him like that too instead of how his uncle and father had seen him. Sure it wasn't too serious when he'd been called 'dead weight' but... it stuck with him. He wanted to prove that he could stand on his own two feet without needing their help, or yours for that matter. Ironic given his current circumstance. Nero had taken his eyes off of his opponent at hand to spare you a glance, spotting the fondness in your eyes and feeling a bit of color come to his face.

"Woah!", he'd been shoved, having nearly dropped his sword to steady himself, reaching a hand behind him to push himself back off the ground. Only to find that there was none supporting him.

You jumped in just as quickly as he was about to fall, appearing in front of him and grabbing the front of his shirt just as he was about to fly. You bring him in and step back, as he just looks at you for a second.

"... You do know that I would've been fine right?", he asks instead of saying thanks, a small smirk playing on his face as you stare at him for a second. Air hike... right.

"Would you rather I let you fall?", you're quick to respond as he just scoffs, shaking his head as he resumed where he left off with the devil.

He wasn't expecting you to be there, but he's glad that you care enough to come rushing for him like that. Next time he'll be the one saving you.

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burningcheese-merchant · 2 months ago

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"sorry but I love your writing so much OP" ARE YOU FOR REAL? I LOVE YOUR WRITING, DUDE!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ADDING YOUR IDEAS, THEY'RE FANTASTIC

Ugggghhhhhhhh the Ancients and Beasts being SO CLOSE to understanding each other, SO CLOSE to accepting the truth of their undeniable and unbreakable connection, but always letting their personal flaws big and small get in their way and drive a wedge between them!!!!!!! Fear of rejection, fear of further suffering and loss! All of the anger and grief and self-loathing! And amidst all of this, those two that dared to defy this order that no one meant to establish, but no one is able or willing to break, and stepping across that threshold to meet each other halfway, to become one as all five pairs were meant to, if only for a single, fleeting moment...

To the Ancients, they see a maverick. That one that, of their ragtag group of five, they had always known was the one most worthy of the title of "hero", more than any of them could ever hope or strive to be. A man who overcame his fear of the world and of himself, and who somehow always finds insurmountable strength in even the most fragile, fumbling weakness. He did what they so desperately wish to: he confessed. That cloying sentiment that tugged on the strings of their hearts like a delicate instrument; the fabled happy ending they'd see in their dreams, that made them smile and sigh softly in their sleep. He did it. Pure Vanilla did it. It ended badly - the way they all suspected, lamented that it would - but he did it, and that's what matters most at the moment. Do they congratulate him? Do they gather round and cage him in a warm embrace, mourning his cruel rejection alongside him? Bah... they'll do both. They'll do it all for their friend. And perhaps, in doing so, they can live through him, and share in this small, fleeting victory...

Shadow Milk knows better than to show his face to... are they even still his friends, in this day and age? Is that a term he could use, a relationship he could imply, without a savage bite or bark in dismissive response? Did their camaraderie mean anything anymore, after all they've said and done?

Hmph... It doesn't matter. None of it matters. Not them, not the Ancients, not that miserable, mewling, bleeding heart coward Pure Vanilla. Meant to be together? HA! "No one else but me can truly understand you"? Now THAT'S a good joke. So good, that he actually brought the house down! That saying is supposed to be just that, but Pure Vanilla actually gave it life and limb! He was the true jester all along, it would seem! And far be it from Shadow Milk to allow himself to be outdone by anyone, never mind... him. But oh well. That rosy-cheeked bastard's time will come.

Understanding... No one understands Shadow Milk. No one ever did, and no one ever shall. It is Shadow Milk who understands. He, the once great Fount of Knowledge. HE is the arbiter of truth and understanding, no one else. It is HE who understands.

And what does Shadow Milk understand?

He understands that that mask Mystic Flour wears from dusk to dawn and every minute in between will finally shatter, should he ever grace her with his presence again. The cocoon she wove ever-so-tightly around her heart will unravel once and for all - and from it will spring an unfettered, grief-stricken rage the likes of which none have ever seen. Those silk ribbons and spider webs will instead coil around his wrists, his ankles, his neck, and they will squeeze. She will gaze into the abyss of his soul as all of the air and excuses are slowly wrung from his aching lungs, without a sound herself; he won't deserve any answers from her, and they both know what they are, anyway. He had enlightenment in his grasp. The one she recoiled from and longed for so strongly. He threw it away. For it, he will suffer. He must.

He understands that there is no Hell torturous enough for Burning Spice to damn him to, no corner of the earth he can scuttle off and cower in, nothing he can say or do to quell his spitting fury. He will beat him, break him, put splinters beneath his fingernails, slather him in lamb's blood and throw him to the wolves, tear out his guts with his bare hands and use them to hang him from a bridge. And all the while, he will scream and shout every last ounce of his disappointment. His longing. His sorrow. All he wants anymore is Golden Cheese. He needs her. And he KNOWS Shadow Milk needs Pure Vanilla in the same way - and instead of accepting that precious gift, he chose to be boring and lie like he always does about EVERYTHING in his worthless life. If Shadow Milk has a joke, a poem, a scathing criticism, however he chooses to dress his EXCUSES- no, Burning Spice won't hear them. They will seep into the earth, never to be of use again, along with every last drop of his blood as Burning Spice split every last vein open with his axe

He understands that Eternal Sugar will be tempted to play a song for him. Let her fingers dance along the strings of her precious harp one more time, just for him, even though she lost her taste for music long ago. Soft, sickly sweet crooning about how much of a coward and a failure he is. A melody that graces his ears with the warmth and affection of a seditious courtesan dutifully handing her king his poisoned tea. And he would listen and scowl and say nothing in reply - he needed to dedicate his focus to staying awake, because the last thing he wanted was to fall asleep in Eternal Sugar's presence. It was what she hoped for; in his dreams, she could demonstrate her REAL frustration. So he'd deny her that chance for as long as he could, and let her trill that Hollyberry's disappearing act was more captivating than his would ever be

He understands that it never mattered that Silent Salt was born mute, for he was nevertheless a master of expression that rivaled even Shadow Milk himself. The tremor in his hand as he gripped his sword tighter. Tighter. Tighter. The loud, clanking stomp of his armored boots as he marched towards Shadow Milk, unyielding to any obstacle or distraction he tried to throw onto his path. That aura, more powerful than any of theirs had ever been, cold as steel and equally as heavy and suffocating, looming over Shadow Milk like a storm over the sea. The bleeding imprint of his gauntlet on Shadow Milk's cheek. The lilies - soft-hearted fool, he always has at least one on hand - he'd shove into Shadow Milk's mouth and down his throat until he choked and perished in his shaking grasp. The tears Shadow Milk could sense welling in those furious, bloodshot eyes hiding behind that helm. Perhaps it was for the best that Silent Salt was truly born silent; Shadow Milk shuddered to imagine what horrors would spill from his mouth and strike the whole world down otherwise.

He understands that Pure Vanilla's love is persistent and unconditional. There is nothing Shadow Milk can say or do to push him away, not really. He can reject him a thousand times and he will always return and try again. The man wrapped himself around Shadow Milk's finger willingly; he and his heart and soul were forever his to toy with as he pleased.

... He understands that somewhere, in his heart of hearts, he wanted to say yes. He wishes he did. No one will ever hate Shadow Milk more than Shadow Milk himself for choosing not to, no matter his reasoning. No matter the outcome.

He understands that he bears the exact same curse as his compatriots. He understands there is no cure, no solution, no salvation. Not that ones such as them deserve such a mercy, anyway.

... It doesn't matter. None of it matters. Fools, the lot of them. Every single one.

Somewhere in the hollow pit of his damned soul, Shadow Milk understands that he's the biggest fool of them all. Such is the burden of Knowledge...

"You and I... We are meant to be together." okay everyone pack it up. go home. it doesn't get worse than this. I fear all other ancient x beast is #cancelled forever because how the utter fuck do you compete with that. My god. Dark Cacao would die on the spot, his old fucking heart would give out processing a sentence that romantic. Golden Cheese would choke and die from the physical manifestation of her own pride and ego before she could ever utter a sentence that open and honest. Hollyberry is choosing to laugh it all off and pray she can drink away and not think about it. White Lily would fall into another witch pot of bubbling goo before confronting said feelings. Only Pure Motherfucking Vanilla is that clincally batshit and unburdened to spout his feelings 1000% unfiltered to a guy who just killed his friends and got his rocks off psychologically torturing him.

Mystic Flour being utterly repulsed by such naïve, meaningless sentimentality, still clinging to the remains of the apathy she so cherishes and champions even as it slips through her fingers like flour through a sieve; hating herself to her very core because somewhere within it, she KNOWS her heart beats and aches for that ridiculous man, but she would end her own suffering before she allowed the truth to poke its head out from the shadows of her subconscious for even a single second

Burning Spice knowing how he feels for Golden Cheese, reveling in it, LIVING for the way his heart thunders in his chest and his breath hitches at the mere thought of his little bird. Never being afraid to tell her so, to pour out the contents of his dark heart without any filter (and Witches know he needs one at times...), either through his mouth or through the blade of his axe. But... still knowing that it isn't quite enough. Not for her. Because there's still something missing from his confessions. That soft, sugary sweetness that took away enough of the edge to his overwhelming spice that even he himself noticed it. That raw honesty - a different kind than he's used to, not quite what he employs. The kind that well and truly leaves him vulnerable and open to judgment; things he hates himself for fearing, even if it's only in relation to her and no one else. The kind he simply cannot have, that he cannot carry out. He tells Golden Cheese how he feels for her the way he WANTS to, not the way he NEEDS to. For that, he must change. And damn it, he can't handle any more change. It'll kill him, and he doesn't want to die anymore. Not while she's there to make his life fun again

Eternal Sugar sighing, rolling her eyes before letting them flutter shut again, because she knows this song and dance. She once helped countless others perform it; such was her lot as Happiness. And she chooses to ignore it, tuck herself back into bed and retreat into the world of dreams once more. Letting laziness govern her actions, like always. Running away from everything again - including her feelings for Hollyberry, and the fears and doubts that shroud them. Choosing to do nothing with the fact that Hollyberry is a runner and a quitter just like her, instead of taking initiative with her life and emotions for the first time in ages and telling Hollyberry point-blank that they could run away from the world together if she truly wanted

Silent Salt secretly lamenting his condition more than ever before, for now more than ever can he truly say that it is a hindrance, a curse, a stain on the tapestry of his life. Because no matter how well he's trained himself to express his thoughts and feelings through his actions, he knows that there are times where words really DO speak louder - and he can't speak them at all. He can never look White Lily in the eye and open his mouth and allow his praise and adoration to leap freely from his tongue. She will never feel the warmth of his tone as his words embraced her. She will never shiver and swoon at the joy and passion that dripped from every single letter - and there would've been many, there would've been more than could ever have been recorded, for he would've sung his feelings from every rooftop on earth until his lungs gave out. But he can't. He never will. Does he try to pretend it's better this way? Does he try and fail to cope with his lovesickness like his comrades do with theirs? Or does he accept the bitter reality for what it is, no ifs, ands, or buts, only hiding the gloom and doom he knows is written all over his face behind his helm just so he doesn't have to see it for himself?

And, above all of these things, bundling up the other 4 Beasts' feelings and tucking them away... Above all else, they are angry. They are angry at Shadow Milk. Because he achieved what none of them could. He got everything he wanted. His Ancient admitted his love for him, with all of the raw sincerity one could possibly afford another. The other Beasts would do ANYTHING to hear their Ancients speak to them in such a way. To acknowledge and embrace their connection, to confess to loving and longing for them; for their countenance, for their voice, for their touch, for their very souls. Shadow Milk got to reunite with his other half - who chose him willingly, wholeheartedly.

And Shadow Milk chose to throw it all away in the end. Let it all go to waste.

If any of them ever see him again, they're going to let him know EXACTLY how they feel about it all. Maybe it can count as practice towards crafting a proper heartfelt confession.

#TRAGIC MISUNDERSTANDING RAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH #Beast x Ancient makes me so ill. I want them all in prison #thank you so much clockquartet you're the best #shadowvanilla #hollysugar #silentlily #burningcheese #mysticcacao

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