#and so tired of his cowardice allowing others to be hurt or even die when there's something he can do about it

[river-muse]

The most recent session of the Starfinder campaign I've been in broke me so bad I had to go horizontal for a bit and then get the very last scene drawn <3 Tai really isn't allowed to keep anything good in his life.

After so many years they reunited at last in the worst way possible- and all this time neither of them have been able to let the other go in some fucked up co-dependency.

This arc was gonna be fun, they said. It's a Battle of The Bands event at Songbird Station for charity, they said. The team's Captain didn't sign up for his finally rebuilding confidence/mental health to shatter at Ikoma coming back into his life. Especially because it's unknown how much longer that Ikoma will even be alive for or if he'll even stay the rest of that time.

[god1ngs]

━‎ visitation

synopsis; a certain someone pays a visit

contains; major angst, arguing, one mention of vomit, swearing

day two + 1.6k wc

note; sorry this took so long! but here is day two :]

previous part ; seven days masterlist ; next part

   your rage fit from yesterday had calmed down, allowing you to be at peace once you awoke. the ache of your knuckles, red and scraped, had reminded you of it ─ the anger that coursed through your feelings, for not only your nation but yourself as well.

   the deal you made with dream hasn't, and won't, gone away. how you wished it was that easy. how you wished the contract would leave you alone. the nagging of his words, constantly on repeat in your head, made your everyday life harder and harder.

   knowing when you would die haunted you.

   it was the second day, you had noticed. you didn't want to get out of bed, didn't want to face the world that morning. however, life didn't quite work out in your favor. you sighed, dreading the hours that would follow once you got up.

   a banging at your door had been the push to get you out of bed. you frowned, almost ignoring the other before getting out of bed. you frowned, an anguishing weight being shoved on to your shoulders as you got up. you pushed open the door, revealing a familiar brunette.

   wilbur, who had been making his daily rounds around the crater that was his country, had decided to come check up on you. the state you were in yesterday had worried him, not allowing a peaceful night. he gave a small, yet weak all the time, smile. a hopeful flame ignited in the smile.

   "are you alright? i wanted to check on you." his thick british made you more hopeful of a greater future, one where you weren't threatened by the laws of the land. you have a sigh, nodding your head before apologizing for your outburst. wilbur, in his naturally good nature, waved you off with a smile.

   "don't worry about it, [name]. we all get mad sometimes. i'm just glad i found you before you hurt yourself more." the brunette said, placing a hand on your shoulder. wilbur was someone who always knew how to calm others down, someone who could pick a persons brain in a matter of moments.

   you leaned into the touch, one of the only comforting feelings you've had in days. dream's words came to your mind, making you shudder. wilbur, having noticed, spared you a glance. "are you cold?" he asked and, although you wanted to say no, you couldn't give any indication that you were scared.

   at your nod, wilbur stripped himself of his suit jacket, placing it over your shoulders. the man smiled at you, truly a gentleman. "it is a bit cold around here. you can keep my jacket until you find one for yourself, yeah?" he told you, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze.

   wilbur had always been kind like that, gentlemanly in his own sweet ways. the brunette had always acted like this around you, giving you his jacket whenever you were cold or shooting you a smile whenever you were sad. he was like your rock in hard times.

   he was one of your most trusted friends, you could even say you would trust him with your life.

   you and wilbur talked more, although the conversation was mostly him. dream's words still haunted you. they replayed in your mind like a broken record, scratchy and out of tune, yet terrifying all the same. you weren't ready to face death yet.

   you weren't ready to die.

   you still had so much to live for.

   and yet, fate worked in cruel ways.

   wilbur had noticed how weird you were acting. he had always been observant, coming with his natural person and his role as president. you weren't there, off in a distant world doing god knows what. he wasn't the one to be nosy, but he was curious as to what was on your mind.

   the birds chirped their melodious tune, a peaceful melody to interrupt the dreadful silence.

   explosions cut through the silence. loud and abrupt, the explosives at the entrance of l'manberg, already blown up beyond recognition, exploded. people came rushing out of their homes, scared and confused and tired. the war was still taking its toll on them.

   always making the grand entrance, stood dream. his smiley face mask, chipped at the edges from years of wear and tear, stared back tauntingly at the citizens; it mocked their fear. he didn't say anything for a moment, only staring. waiting and watching for someboy else to make the first move.

   "for fucks sake, dream," shouted tommy, irritated. "what do you want now!? you already blew up l'manberg and now you're doin' it even more!" the tangent he was about to go on was interrupted by wilbur placing a hand on his shoulder, silencing him. wilbur stepped up, appearing to not be afraid of stepping up to dream.

   "what do you want dream?" he asked coldly, eyes of steel narrowed at the other man. dream only snickered, his smirk obvious. he only came to taunt you all, to shove his win in l'manbergs face. the face that l'manberg wasn't free overjoyed him.

   "oh nothing," dream said in a sing song tone. "just wanted to come by to see one your people, wilbur." wilbur hadn't known what to reply, the response from dream confusing him. he opened his mouth to speak, yet you couldn't hear or decipher his words.

   dread washed over you. it enveloped you in its cold embrace, smothering you while you begged for it to stop. you almost wanted to plead, to plead dream to leave you alone. you swallowed harshly, nervous as dream scanned the crowd ─ presumably for you.

   maybe you could leave. if you slipped out quickly, no one would notice. you could leave so easily, without interfering with what was happening. although it would be a cowardice move. you blinked back your fears as you stood there, silently hoping he wasn't there to see you.

   the universe didn't seem to hear your pleas.

   dream had came up to you, grinning and glowing with glee. "[name]!" he exclaimed, the sadistic undertone clear in his words. "how've you been?" you could only stand there in shock, all eyes on you. your next few moments depended on this, for you could lose your life within a few minutes.

   your lack of an answer clearly displeased him, his grip on your shoulder increasing. you winced, hissing underneath your breath. "i've been okay." you stammered meekly, reluctant in answering his question. he only smiled wider, letting go of your shoulder.

   "good, good! i came to remind you of our little deal. remember what my words were, okay?" your blood ran dry at his words, and so did everyone else's judging by their reactions. dream only turned, saying goodbye to the citizens of l'manberg and being on his way.

   all eyes were still on you when he left. they didn't leave you even as you crumpled in on yourself, grasping at whatever warm skin you could find. shouting began quickly. tommy was shouting, yelling at you for what deal you had made with dream.

   you could see wilbur's shocked face. disappointment shone on his features, his creased brow in confusion making you want to vomit. he stopped tommy yelling, although only a short amount of time before it began again, while walking up to you. "you made a deal with dream? the villain?"

   you couldn't speak even if you wanted to. words wouldn't make it past your throat, you almost clawed them out. you only choked on them, eyes wide and panic filled. you were scared of losing your friends, as well as your life.

   telling them about the deal would be going against him, right?

   you nearly started sobbing. the reminder that you were around people who expected you to be strong stopped the urge. you sniffled, opening and closing your mouth to speak yet no words making it past. wilbur's disappointment strengthened.

   "[name], tell me what deal you made with dream." the firmness of wilbur's voice had been one you hadn't heard directed at you before. to tommy, and sometimes tubbo, but never you before. you couldn't shake the feeling of dread that voice came with. he put a hand on your shoulder, and the familiar comfort didn't come with it this time.

   "i can't, wilbur..." you choked out, the fear of power from dream outweighing any of your friendships. you couldn't bear your death coming earlier, as well as your friends having to watch it. tears steamed down your face, lip quivering and eyes fluttering. wilbur showed no pity. he wasn't the kind man who had offered his jacket before.

   "i'm sorry, [name], but until you tell us what deal you made with dream, you can't be here anymore."

   the words taunted you. they laughed and mocked and jeered you while you sobbed. you could only look up at wilbur, stammering out words you don't even know made sense or not. he apologized again and, with that, escorted you out of l'manberg.

   you cried as you left.

   you had no where to go. your home was l'manberg, and now you had been escorted out by your friend of years. you didn't know where else to go except the lake. the lake you had met dream only days ago, your own pathetic relfection staring back at you. your eyes were red and puffy, a significant indication you had been bawling.

   footsteps approached you, and much like that night only days ago, there dream stood.

   you flinched as he sat next to you. he hummed, leaning back on his palms, grass blades tickling his fingers. he looked up at the sky, the twinkling night stars. you sniffled. he let out a sigh, one of content and pleasure.

   "this is going to be the worst week of your life, and i'll make sure of it."

   he would keep his promise.

taglist, (open)

━‎ ‎ ‎@paradigmax ; @pachowpachowbucket ; @acatstalkingyou ; @angelicaschuyler-church ; @saucey-kneecapzz42020 ; @piano-boo ; @i-need-hugs ; @strawbrinkofdeath ; @halloweenpoison13 ; @boiled-onionrings ; @feverish-dove ; @ahmya-4 ; @queenwastaken

[youuuimeanmee]

Would Eren run away?

@rosemary80071​ I want to answer this in a reblog, but this topic is too interesting so I decided to make a separate post. To answer your question: Why not? Eren is a human too; he has many flaws. Eren mentioned again and again that he never changes;

meaning all the good and bad side we’ve seen is always a part of him, including his cowardice. Sometimes.

I’m not here to diss Eren’s character, far from it. He’s a beautifully written, complex character, where his decision doesn’t merely come from other people’s influence; it also comes from his personality and environment’s pressure around him. The strings of events will always lead to some consequences.

In the battle of Trost, for example. Eren had to prove his alliance to humanity by sealing the gate using his titan power. It was his first, big responsibility, and what did he do?

He shut himself off.  He's so tired, he’d rather stay at home comfortably with his family. But Armin reminded him that he has a dream. A dream to be free, because he was born into this world. Here, he fight back against his cowardice.

There’s always a part of him that wants to go home. With the ever-growing pressure around him, that wish is only getting  stronger.

Eren was devastated when the Smiling Titan ate Hannes. He lost another family figure, he lost another home. The situation seemed hopeless, he was about to give up. Who’s the one who saved him that day?

Mikasa. She reminded him that he still has a home, and that’s her. He wanted to protect her and live; to do that, he has to fight.

Another time he showed his cowardice is when Kenny forced him to fight, after Rod Reiss revealed all the horrible things Grisha did. What did he do?

He was in so much guilt, he wanted to die. He thought he doesn’t deserve to live, but in reality, he’s just scared. He wanted to escape the harsh reality and be at peace. You could argue it’s normal for him to behave this way since there’s too much he has to take on; I agree. But that’s the point.

When he’s burdened with so many things, the first thing he wanted to do is to run away. Ignoring all responsibilities, even though he’s the one everyone relied on. Well everything is sorting out in the end though so it’s fine.

In the after-party after Rod’s incident, EMA is having a chat.

Again, it was mentioned that, aside from his freedom dream, Eren also wanted to go back home, so he has to fight.

Before the battle in Shiganshina, he was too caught up in thinking all the lives he had to shoulder.

He was afraid. And rightfully so. If it’s not for Armin reminding him of his dream, who knows what will happen to Eren.

Do you see where this is going? Eren is growing up. He is learning to be more responsible with his power. He learned the weight of lives, especially the one entrusted to him. He learned to be decisive, he became aware of the consequences of his action. Even if he wants to run away, he can’t. At this point, his freedom dream merely serves a purpose to keep him going, NOT for the sake of it.

After the revelation of the world, everything is at a greater stake than before. All lives matter, but he has to pick a side: His people or the rest of the world? Both of them are not an easy choice. His personal feeling told him to choose the former, yet, this is what he saw after he kissed Historia’s hand:

Hell.

He still needs to keep fighting. Ultimately he wanted to protect his friends, but in order to do that, he has to hurt them and trample many innocent lives; to make matters worse. Everything is going according to his dream; to his wish to wipe away the rest of humanity. But, at what cost? He knows he can’t. It’s just wrong.

Some people may see this picture as Eren  daydreaming about his freedom that will come true. But, what I see, is despair. Eren is tired of fighting. He thought Grisha’s basement would be the ultimate key to reach freedom so he could finally be at peace. But no, turns out it’s not. He can reach it, but he has to pay a huge price. He has to sacrifice his friends, his morals, salvation, everything.

I wrote an essay that explains Eren’s build-up in the last 4 years that lead his decision up to this point so you can check that out, but to make it short: Eren was reluctant to do the the Rumbling, but the environment forced him to, so he might as well go along with his dream. The conditions support Eren’s selfishness to wipe out the world. But again, no matter what, there’s no excuse for genocide. Even if could give up his dream, he still has to do it anyway. If not, Historia’s sacrifice to support his plan would be for nothing; all the sacrifices for Paradis’ freedom would be for nothing. But once he do it, there will be no going back, he won’t be able to go home; he’ll be too damned for that. Eren was scared, anxious, guilty, depressed.

Remember all those strings of events I explain above? When he’s overwhelmed, he tends to wish for an escape. Yeah.

And right after that moment, Mikasa arrived. Be it platonically or romantically, she is his home. Eren sees this as his only chance to live in peace, to go back to those simple days without having to worry about anything.

Eren never changes. His tendency has always been fight hard, or run hard. He was driven to the corner, so if the opportunity and circumstances come at the right time, he would run away, together with Mikasa. 

But that only happens in the alternate timeline. In the current timeline, the timing and circumstances don’t allow him to drown in depression. In “this” timeline, Eren chose to fight. And he did.

So yeah. If you’re reading this until the end, thank you for listening to my take! I hope this could make you understand even if it’s just a little bit. Isayama’s writing has been so consistent until now, I can’t help but marvel at it :D

[friendlylocalwhumper]

quinn, dawn's green-grey, and the vibes of echoes on cold cement!

content warning: referenced death, referenced gore, dark hopeless vibes.

These alley walls hold shadows that flicker even when there are no clouds overhead. Echoes, even when no voices are ringing out to cast them. It’s colder in this space than out on the street, and not just because of the wind caught between the buildings.

Quinn sits on the ground, leaning against a grimy brick wall, and stares at the alley floor. If they look at one spot and let their eyes go unfocused, they can almost see the bodies they found here, once.

Koda. Jost. Nikhil. Peter. Cap. Noam. Two-face. Emmie.

Tired brown eyes unfocus further until memory-corpses fade into fog.

Koda was always pushing into their space. Nudging, grabbing, joking around with Quinn. Getting up in their face with a big grin, or a smirk, or a frown. All about face-to-face confrontations, he was. Chomping on gum, kicking his feet up on furniture, slamming doors without meaning to. Dakota never had a lick of cowardice in him. He must have been the first to die.

The night is deep, but there’s a whisper of silver on the horizon, peeking out behind a building’s pointed roof. It’s not that cold but Quinn’s fingers and toes feel numb, their own heartbeat sounding muffled in their ears.

Jost was odd. Mysterious, but not like Quinn; he was from some other country, but every time he was asked which, he said a different one. Not very good at accents, but no one could ever pinpoint his real one, since he was always faking. He had a little smile that slipped out every time he confused someone with his single, constant trick. He liked touching coins, finding old ones, reading the tiny words and dates printed on them. Quinn never saw him in a fight, but they doubt he would have run away from one - he probably lingered long enough, deciding what to do, that he got caught up in the violence and went down hard.

Light is creeping up behind the silhouettes of the night. Black melts into a sickly grey. Ugly, these first moments of dawn. Only something ugly could loom over this haunted place.

Nikhil never seemed to sleep. His humor was dark and fleeting, his attention always scattered. He could write two different things at once, each hand occupied. It was never in the name of efficiency or productivity, though; Quinn always suspected that Nikhil was so scared of dying that he had to prove to himself constantly that he was alive. He never shared with the others what he went through to make him feel that way. In the end, he faced his worst fear far too soon.

A tinge of green has seeped into the sky, mixing with the orange that the thin edge of the sun is leaking. Some might call it golden, gorgeous. To Quinn, it is rotten, brown-tinged. The alley smells wet. Dew is coming soon.

Peter was sweet. Sandy hair, eyes with a ring of gold in them, a scar on his cheek that he swore was a birthmark. All he ever wanted was to play games. Board games, card games, drunken games, late-night chatting games centered around shared laughs and misheard whispers. He just loved people, and in turn, everyone else loved him. If you got enough cheap wine in him, he’d drape himself over your lap and loosely proclaim his love for you, his wonder at having such great friends. He was so bright and kind that Quinn can’t even imagine what his death must have looked like, sounded like. There’s a blank spot in their mind where they try to envision it.

Beads of water have formed on the only plant in the alley, a weed with long, thin leaves. They buckle under the weight. Quinn glares at the wretched thing as sunlight encroaches on this shadowy space. It’s greedy, that little thing. It shouldn’t be alive. It doesn’t belong here.

Cap. A tall, strong girl who didn’t much like being the center of attention, but frowned whenever she felt excluded. Dirty shoelaces and snacking on dry, hard pasta and humming every song by her favorite singer, like she’d listened to one album on repeat for years and couldn’t get any of those tunes out of her head. Koda called her Captain, and she rolled her eyes at him for it. She had eyes for Nikhil, but he never knew. Quinn knew. They think she probably tried to protect him, to die nobly for him or something, and only doomed him to seeing her die before he got to.

As soon as the sunrise’s light became too bright and vivid to call ugly, Quinn turned their attention on other things. The moss in the creases between walls. The angle of the dumpster with its dented lid and peeled-off stickers. The pathetic little weed that weeps dew and soaks up sunlight, mocking them.

Noam was a critic, a skeptic. Always arguing. They’d get into heated debates with anyone who’d give them the time of day. Quinn often indulged them, and worked Noam up into a frenzy - that was when they were most interesting, spewing facts and opinions left and right. Quinn always suspiciously submitted to Noam’s arguments whenever Noam seemed to be on the verge of tears. Someone that passionate, that indignant? There’s no way they even considered standing down from a fight when their life was in danger. Noam wouldn’t have believed for a second that they deserved it, that it was pointless to fight.

But Two-Face? He would’ve surrendered in a heartbeat. He would’ve known it was pointless from the start. Probably tried to run. His problem wasn’t that he was a coward, or a traitor, although he sure wanted others to believe that. Quinn knows that he lost something. They could always see that grief in him, that deep hopelessness when faced with any challenge. Like he’d already lost the most important fight of his life, lost someone so valuable that there was no point being brave anymore. The others teased him for being a coward, for having no follow-through. Abandoning half-cooked food. Giving up on getting dressed and just lounging in the previous day’s outfit. Bailing on a plan to hang out. Quinn didn’t judge him when they found his body a minute’s walk from the others’ corpses. They know that he was brave in his own way, being in a group at all, trying to have friends. Giving himself a coward’s name so no one would think better of him. He wasn’t as weak as he tried to appear.

And Emmie…

The plant is crushed easily in Quinn’s fist. It’s wet, leaves sticking to their fingers, to their palm. It’s dead. They rip the pieces further, brush them off on their pants. The stupid living thing is gone. Nothing here is alive. Alleys are not places where things are found alive.

Emmie was a stupid girl. She braided hair and cuddled close to people and asked how their day was going. She made food and music instead of watching out for danger, instead of making sure there was enough gauze and food and booze for everyone if things went wrong. She gossiped and giggled and gave presents on what she declared to be each person’s birthday. As if that was what a birthday was, a random day you’d get soap or a bag of chips or a single sneaker wrapped up with ribbon, two or three times a year. She was too stupid to live for long. She didn’t belong in this world. Her cheek-kisses and back rubs and soft concerned questions were a waste of time and energy to receive. She was weak, so she must have been easy to kill. Her braids must have been easy to grab. Her hands were soft from crafts and hand-holding, not calloused, that’s why they were scraped when Quinn found her. She chose to wear sandals with thin white straps instead of running shoes, that’s why she couldn’t run away, that’s why her legs were all bloody from falling hard, maybe being dragged. She was kind enough that she probably begged for the others not to be hurt, probably tried to scream for help, and that’s why her throat was slit. It was so obvious, seeing her body, that it was her fault.

Trembling hands find and collect each shred of the weed’s leaves from the ground. Cupped in one palm, they look so small, all the fragile pieces. The plant can’t be put together again and planted back in the little crack in the ground that must have held just enough soil to sustain a life. It didn’t know what was coming. It had only been collecting dew, drinking up the sun that had finally come after a long, chilly night. It didn’t have any way to fight off the hand that tore it up and ripped it apart like it was made of tissue paper.

The sun has risen. Quinn pushes themself to their feet, allowing the shredded corpse of the plant to fall and scatter again. Nothing here can be fixed. The haunted alley is not a place for the living.

[everdino]

So, i

Really I really wanted Deadstick (oc that belongs to @eve-of-halloween !) to be alive (cause hes Adorable), so I wrote a little drabble with this au.

And also, I wrote it before I saw the canonical version of Deadstick alive, so I probably could not portray it correctly. Yes. Well. I hope you will like it.

Sorry for any mistakes. Deadstick and Hornet belongs to Eve, i dont own anything.

--

- "Oh come on you. I just want to take a closer look at her." -

With a soft laugh, the orange-violet con said. He stood leaning against the wall of the old building, with his shoulders down to show a lack of hostility. But this didn’t really convince the older mech. Triplechanger was still at a distance, clutching his own precious treasure to his chest. He was a bit confused, weighing the pros and cons

Blitzwing did not expect to meet him here. At least not now. This used to be a short walk around the base so that his little dear daughter could refresh herself a bit. Hornet giggled and wriggled among the claws of her sire, unaware of the uncomfortable situation he was in.

On the one hand, he should have lowered his guns and demanded that con get out of here right now. On the other hand he looked calm and unarmed. And most importantly it was his own Brother...

Blitz stepped aside, frowning at Deadstick. Too much shit happened between them so that the former con could entrust his brother with the most valuable thing that he ever had.

Deadstick, whose name Blitzwing called him, though he knew that it had been changed, was smaller and weaker than Blitzwing, even after the upgrade he received. But he was still a Decepticon, a damn smart Decepticon, and that made Blitz be on his guard.

- "I understand," - Dead said again, - "you don't have to trust me. But you must believe me, that I will not return to them."

- "I can’t see the reason why not." - Blitzwing answered sternly, turning his gaze either to Deadstick or to his own hands where Hornet was, as if she could magically disappear from there.

- "I'm tired," - Deadstick simply answered. - "I've always been superfluous among the Decepticons. Even when I, instead of the triplechanger programme, had another operation, my mind did not change much. I could stand up for myself, but still felt as if i was in cage."

Blitzwing's spark trembled painfully in his frame, and his mind was clouded by those memories that came to him in nightmares

I hate you. I hate you

His own voice echoed in his mind, making him squint with pain.

I hate you

It was only his fault. If he knew...

- "You...never told me what really happened to you." - Blitzwing said slowly, when the hated voice trailed off. Deadstick was silent for a while, gathering his thoughts. Not for Blitzwing alone, this was a tough topic to talk about. The silence was broken only by Hornet who honking to attract the attention of the creator. Blitz looked from his brother to his daughter, beginning to carefully pat and caress her head with a claw, at the moment when Deadstick spoke:

- "You went into stasis first. I remember that when you fell asleep, I was...broken. Scared. I cried" - Deadstick paused, expecting to hear a flurry of insults and accusations of cowardice, but much to the younger's surprise, Blitzwing looked at him silently. - "I did not want this, but obviously everyone did not care. Except...Shockwave. I remember that he went into the operating room and said to work with you first. And he took me to another room. He asked if I want to become stronger, if I want to avenge the carrier. I did not answer then because I was afraid that if I agree they will return me to the operating table. I felt that it would be bad there, it would hurt." - Deadstick again fell silent and suddenly exclaimed with sharp aggression - "I loved carrier! But I did not want to die! I knew that I would die. I was never like you!" -

Blitzwing staggered back in shock, instinctively hiding sparkling in his hands. Hornet stopped making a sound and peered curiously out of sire's claws. The Deadstick took a deep breath, calming. Maybe because he didn’t want to scare his niece. Maybe because, he was afraid of a triplechanger, who was on alert. - "I was never strong like you, I never wanted to fight with everything that I see, like you. I was different. And I knew that whatever they did to you there, I would not survive after it. And I told Shockwave that I did not want to die. He replied that my fears are true. That I really will be a waste of time and resources. Therefore, he offered me a different outcome. He offered me trainings, with a slight upgrade of my frame, which would compensate for my weak characteristics and limitations. Provided that all my loyalty will belong to the Decepticons and that I will work for him. And I agreed. I mean, it was the best deal of my life at that time." -

- "He told me that you did not survive." - Blitzwing said with increasing aggression, making efforts not to be furious and not to frighten his daughter. - "He lied."

- "Perhaps they expected that your breakdown would be beneficial for manipulations by Megatron" - answered the younger - "My frame was slightly altered and then I was taken to another place, to another ship. I spent a huge amount of time there, under the control of Shockwave, training and working with archives and other information. I probably was beneficial to them with my intellectual abilities, but despite this, my training with combat training was very tiring. I did not become a soldier, but i was quite useful in the information part, sending various information to Shockwave and doing other small and dirty work. He did not give me a single minute of rest, constantly monitoring my every move. Not to mention the fact that I continued to hear from other cons a bunch of shit about my weakness. until I started defending myself. But I was still afraid. Shockwave constantly reminded of the deal, reminded that I was alive only thanks to him and Megatron's mercy. Everyone treated me like an empty place. Once, something has changed. Shockwave...began to mention you. He had never done this before, but then he began to remind me that you left me. That you hate me Every day, he made me hate you back, but I really didn’t understand what it was all about. Therefore, I began to study the documents until I came across information that you are listed as traitors." -

Hornet let out a worried squeak when she noticed how intense Blitzwing was. He did not take his eyes off his brother, processing his words. His whole body was ready to either run or fight, for his sparkling, but everything was accompanied by painful memories.

- “And you know what?” - Deadstick looked him in the eyes. - "For the first time in my life, I felt anger. The anger that tore me apart. I was angry because you told me that we must be strong in order to take revenge on the Autobots. To avenge our carrier, it all happened because of you! And after that it was you who got along with the Autobot. It was you who connected your life with the Autobot and, moreover, gave life to sparkling from the Autobot! It's dishonest, Blitzwing, it's mean and dirty!" - Con soaked every word with resentment and anger, carefully studying the face of his older brother. To his even greater inner surprise, Deadstick noticed sorrow and regret on Blitzwing's face. But it only gave strength to continue:

- "Shockwave liked it. He kept reminding me of you, making me angrier. One day he called me. He said it was time for my last exam to prove my dedication to the Decepticons. I had to find and kill you. For this, Shockwave promised me a raise, he promised that I would get respect, which I lacked. But if I disobey him, then I will be dead. And I promised him that I would bring him your head, because I was angry with you. I crossed the half-universe to find this damn organic planet, find you and... Don't kill you! I broke a promise I made because, I can't kill my own brother. I could easily trap your autobot and, as a result, kill both with an accurate shot from a gun, but I could not! I was so close that if I didn’t kill you, then I would make you suffer by killing your autobot. But I did not do it!" - He gestured emotionally, quickly but clearly pronouncing every word. Blitzwing stood at a loss, frozen in place:

- "And now I'm here! A traitor like you just because you couldn’t kill a horse because of which I almost died, who hates me, who abandoned me!"

- "I did not hate you, Deadstick" - In one breath Blitzwing blurted out - "I was wrong. Believe me, I was very wrong"

Triplechanger's spark pounded inside, as if ready to leave his chest. His body was trembling a bit, old wounds opened and came out. All his regrets, worries and all his pain spilled over at one moment.- I'm really very sorry, Deadstick. I was blinded. I was hurt by the loss of Bronzewing, I could not think sensibly!

- “Bronzewing loss hurt me just like you Blitzwing,” - the younger answered, in a more calm tone, - “But I stopped only because I remembered him. Because this is far from what he want from us. He would never want his sparklings to end their lives spilling each other's energon. And I stopped. I lost my title and gained hatred among those with whom I lived all these years. - Blitzwing wanted to say something, but Deadstick did not allow, continuing: - "But now i am free. They hate me, probably a thousand times more than you. So I made my choice. Now there is no longer Shockwave above me. Now i'm on my own"

There was silence. Both mechas turned away, mulling over everything that had happened. Hornet put her tiny arms around Blitzwing's claw, as if she knew how hard it was for him now.

- "Deadstick" - Triplechanger was the first to break the silence. The younger brother looked at him again:

- "Please...forgive me. For everything i said. For all that i have done. I let you and our carrier down."

Deadstick silently studied his face before smiling a little - "You have changed a lot. Did the Autobots make you so soft?"

And before Blitzwing wanted to demand an answer, Con continued - "Your apologies are accepted, Blitz."

There was silence again, but this time there was no more tension. As if with one phrase, they destroyed the invisible barrier between them.

- "Well come on can i please look at her? I'm curious" - Deadstick said after some time of silence.

Blitzwing looked at him a little incredulously, but nevertheless removed his hand from the Hornet, allowing it to be seen better - "But just look. Do not touch."

Deadstick walked away from the wall and went toward them, leaning slightly to see sparkling. He stared at her for a long time with a slight smile on his face. Con raised his hand slowly, holding one claw closer to Hornet. Blitz strained again, ready, in case of something, to pull his hand back, but his brother was still careful. While Hornet herself was looking at Deadstick with no less curiosity. She poked her uncle's claw with her small hand and giggled loudly.

"She's so cute" - concluded mech, stepping back again - "Take care of her."

- "I give you my word" - Blitzwing nodded. - "What now? What will you do?"

- "I don’t know," - Deadstick answered honestly. - "I feel freedom, but I’m not sure that Decepticons will leave it just like that."

- I could not protect you then, but I think I can now." - answered Blitzwing. - "I can hide you here."

- "Blitz, i..really have to think a little more. For now, i'm gonna stay somewhere here, until I make some decision"

Blitzwing nodded - "I just...wanna tell that you're welcome here"

- "Wow. Autobots really makes you softer, don't they?

- "Shut it"

Deadstick chuckled, as they both heard voice of small little autobot. Hornet heard carrier too and began loudly honking.

“I have to go", - said Deadstone, quickly stepping aside. - “See ya, Blitz!”

- "Bye" - former con said as his younger brother disappeared into the dark. He turned to his daughter and a big scarlet grin grew on his face - "Will that be our little secret okay Hornisse?"

Hornet made a cheerful Honk sound, hugging his claw. Blitz with a Hornet made a cheerful sound, hugging his claw. Blitz with a chuckle carried her to a displeased Bumblebee.

[dweetwise]

day 9: take me instead

prompt from: whumptober pairing: felix x ace notes: tunneling is fun for the survivor warnings: typical dbd violence and death word count: 1130

Felix had never considered himself to be a brave man.

His life before the realm had been proof enough of his cowardice, donning expensive suits and hiding behind a mask of rigid professionalism and pointless small talk. All he’d really wanted to do was lounge around in his sweatpants and draw unconventional buildings that would never be approved by the stuck-up traditionalists in his field.

His defining moment of courage had been walking after his father into the mysterious fog, despite every bone in his body screaming at him not to.

Maybe it was some sick kind of destiny that brought him to this world, filled with violence and death and forcing him to forget about his own insecurities lest he wanted to end up on a meat hook five seconds into a trial. His façade had cracked as quickly as his spine when he took a chainsaw through it during his second match. Now he was showing genuine emotion for the first time in what had to be a decade, even if that emotion was fear.

He had companions that shared his fate, a ragtag group of unfortunate souls who were all just as broken as him in one way or another. They didn’t care that he was awkward and scared, going as far as to trade their lives so he could escape, reassuring words that he’d eventually get the hang of it and they were there to support him until then.

Maybe this was him finally getting the hang of it, or maybe it was just that he finally had someone he wanted to protect.

Felix knew that Ace could handle himself better than most of them, giving the killers a run for their money and always seeming to manage a lucky dodge or stun at just the right moment. He also knew that the man wasn’t particularly bothered about getting sacrificed, usually going with a grin on his face and waving off the others’ concerns back at the campfire.

He didn’t like seeing his newly acquired boyfriend running for his life and getting hurt, but he also knew they’d both have a better chance of escaping if he let Ace distract the killer while he focused on the generators. Felix felt bad for not being as good in a chase, letting fear control him and make mistakes. Ace had responded with an encouraging smile and a “Don’t worry your pretty head about it, let me handle the killer and everything will be fine!”, and Felix felt a little better about his cowardice.

Right now, fear about his own well-being is the last thing on his mind as he runs through the labyrinth of The Game’s basement, bumping into crates and barrels in his haste to locate the heartbeat. Felix didn’t think he’d ever be chasing the killer, but the adrenaline pumping in his veins isn’t because of the close proximity to the Ghostface, it’s from fear for his boyfriend.

Felix almost sobs in relief when he finally spots Ace, rounding a corner and running toward him, face twisted in pain and holding his bleeding gut, the killer hot on his heels. Ace’s eyes meet his and widen in surprise, and Felix doesn’t give him time to protest, shoving himself in between the two to protect his lover from the inevitable fatal swing of the killer’s weapon.

But the hit never comes, the Ghostface only interested in his original target, and Felix feels anger bubbling up in his chest. This is not fair, why did he have to pick Ace, throwing the entire game just to make sure he gets the kill?

They reach a narrow corridor next to the freezer room, and Felix stops dead in his tracks and turns to face the killer, creating a physical barrier in front of the asshole and allow his boyfriend to get some distance from his pursuer.

Felix doesn’t expect the killer to shove him aside, stumbling into a wall and his mind reeling because he didn’t know they were allowed to do that, the killer now going against the Entity just to make sure he kills Ace.

Right as Felix regains his balance and is about to run after the killer, he hears Ace’s scream as he hits the ground for the third and final time in the trial.

Shock mingles with fear and hate in his chest, rounding a corner just in time for the killer to pick up his lover’s mostly limp body.

The utterly defeated look in Ace’s normally lively and expressive eyes is what finally breaks him.

“NO!” Felix screams louder than he thinks he ever has, hooks and stabs nothing compared to the feeling of his heart shattering into pieces. Even the killer seems surprised, turning around to face him instead of immediately transporting Ace to a hook to finish the job.

“Take me instead!” Felix pleads, desperation clear in his voice. “Just let him go!”

Ace, too tired to even try to struggle free from the killer’s grip, weakly lifts his head to look at Felix, and God, he wants nothing more than to pull him down into his arms—

“Oh my God, you have to be kidding me,” the Ghostface snorts in disgust, and Felix grits his teeth, radiating offense but not wanting to piss off the killer further. “You don’t seriously care about this worthless sack of shit, do you?” the killer asks in a mocking tone, jostling Ace’s broken body on his shoulder and making him hiss in pain.

It takes every ounce of Felix’s willpower not to slam a fist into the killer’s obnoxious mask, knowing he’s just trying to push his buttons.

“Let him go,” Felix tries again.

“Hmm,” the Ghostface pretends to mull over. “Okay, I will. If you ask nicely.”

Felix can’t believe his ears and even sees Ace perk up, regaining some of his usual energy.

“I—” Felix starts, humiliation flooding over him but forcing himself to continue. “Please let him go, you can kill me instead. Please.”

“Baby, no—” Ace tries to protest, but it’s interrupted by a broken sob as Ghostface slams shoulder-first into a wall, banging Ace’s head against it with a sickening ‘thud’.

“Don’t!” Felix yells, helpless to do anything but watch, his entire body shaking from anger.

“Yeah, you’re right, shithead,” Ghostface mockingly addresses Ace over his shoulder. “Tell your girlfriend he needs to work on his negotiation skills.”

And before Felix can do anything, the killer lifts his quietly sobbing lover up on a hook, and Felix feels a part of him die right along with Ace when the Entity claws into him and claims its prize.

“Now, where were we?” the Ghostface turns to him, twirling his blade in his hand, and Felix doesn’t even bother running.

[lucarioisinthevoid]

(Okay, I recently realized a few asks that are very interesting and out of left field and whoever sends them, I really appreciate you. All asks are great, but it’s pretty fun to just look at an ask and go “… I never implied anything about this, but I will take this, no questions asked. I wish I weren’t so tired, otherwise I would answer them ALL in one go. … welp, I mean if I could I would answer ALL asks in one go, but my brain is just so drained. H e c k. Anyways! I’m happy about these, always feel free to go nuts on my inbox! Thank you!) Well this is quite the question! We’ll start easy! Mike is obviously wrath. That really doesn’t need explanation, does it? Hell, rage is his main emotion, both as a defense and to solve his problems. I think though if wrath was his true signature, as in him being a personification of wrath, ironically enough, he would have a better grip on it. Mike doesn’t LIKE his wrathful behavior, that’s why he doesn’t ever confronts it, thus getting better at acting on it or not. There would be something to rationalize himself with and that would do Mike some good. Now, you guys are probably going to laugh, but I’m serious: My Dave certainly represents Lust. Not in the outright sexual way, but he is led by his desire to feel good and happy, all his acts are led by his desires for good emotions and his immortal passions- which also tends to include killing children/building dangerous robots. It’s borderline impossible to make Dave do something he doesn’t want to do already, at least not without talking it up for him. The sinful nature of Lust is that it’s about picking up passions and indulging in them when they’re not helpful or healthy. That oftentimes is sexual in nature, but at its core, it can be a lot. Hell, it even got characterized in a few translations more as “set one's heart upon a thing, long for, covet, desire". He’s the little stupid impulse of doing something anyways, because it feels good and makes you giddy. That could go as far as theft, or to drive on the highway on your motorcycle without helmet, without a care in the world- Yes, Dave always submits to his impulses. Jeremy for sure is sloth. He isn’t EVIL. He isn’t MALICIOUS. But oh dear, he is inactive. What did he do to help? What did he do to find out the truth? No, as long as there isn’t an obvious problem, he stays in his bubble, happy as can be, a foolish boy who thinks making the world a better place is as easy as giving everyone a smile and a hug. He doesn’t understand anything and even worse, he never tries to learn. Any excuse to stay passive is taken. Like I said. Jeremy isn’t evil. But in a way, he is harmful. Now it’s getting less easy. Marion, COULD be envy, that is one of his characteristics, his envy towards the other kids and the guards who get to live and be grown up. But I think another fits just as well! Marion is Gluttony! Sure, usually Gluttony gets associated with food, but technically speaking it is merely over-indulgence… craving more and more of what you already have… and the Marionette certainly is the definition of that. One more row of kids doesn’t hurt. One more row. ONE more row. ONE MORE ROW. What did he think? Why didn’t he leave the spirits well enough alone? Sure, the murder and pain scarred their soul, but they could have rested in the purgatory, instead of being forced to perform in front of audience that laughs at their misery, just to afterwards be confronted with their killer constantly. Really, what would a group of terrified ten year olds really do? Creating an army against Dave and Henry was stupid and pointless from the beginning. But he couldn’t help it, could he? Just a little more. Just a little bit more. Not much, just a little bit extra. Stuffing kids into suit when they could have retreated without losing their sanity, hell, maybe moving on from purgatory on their own… Yet somehow, Marion needed more helper. More kids on his side. More kids he abandoned, alone, discarded because he never needed them in the first place. Gluttony is a tragic sin. Phone Guy is PROBABLY envy? He doesn’t show it a lot, he tries to stay focused on what he is doing and where he is. Though, it’s true, he doesn’t feel bad for the customers and part of that is, because he feels like he has a worse lot in life. Even compared to the kids- yes, they are dead and all, but so is he and he gets watched over 24/7. The animatronics were allowed to murder and fuck up, but he gets threatened with a SECOND death if he misbehaves. It’s unfair. And that makes him spiteful and uncaring. He inflicts misfortune on them with his lack of empathy, born by envy. It’s a sin, for certain, harming so many opportunities they could have helped each other! It doesn’t show itself outright, that makes it hard to pinpoint. But perhaps that is the toxic part. We never really realize we feel lesser than those around us, do we? Thus we can never really deal with such an emotion maturely. No, it shows itself in bad talk, in dragging the person down, attacking them more aggressively on other fronts, where we sense weakness in them. In finding excuses, seemingly good excuses to do harm to the others, to take something else from them, if we can’t directly have what they have. We start looking for the worst in the others, so we can say “sure, they may be/have x, but at also, they’re y, so I’m glad I’m not like them.” Yes, truly, this is the serpent’s sin, the sin of cowardice. Now though, we come to the hardest. Henry and Old Sport honestly are birds of a feather in regards to their sins, but I can’t decide to which I apply which sin. You may say “Of course Henry carries pride, the devil’s sin”. The sin to birth all sin? I don’t think so. I think Greed is the sin of humanity, out of which everything else comes. Hell, everything can be turned into an act of Greed. It would make sense if every other sin has elements of greed, of the desire for MORE, that Henry carries that sin- the others are creations of his making. He and Old Sport share the trait. They want more. More of everything. Drowning in their desire to overcome what they are and grow into more and more, into EVERYTHING. Restlessly searching out more stimuli, more goals, more life! Henry’s desire to be immortal is fully greedy. He wants to live more. Learn more. Experience more. That is also the part that he tries to keep under control the most. He knows it’s his weakness. Meanwhile Old Sport acts on all of these things, gathering things, tokens, then uses those to gather more items, they might become useful sometimes, oh, he wants this and that and he takes it, regardless of how many people it messes up. “More than you need”.   If that isn’t what describes these two, I don’t know what. Though Pride is also very prevalent in both of them. Neither of them thinks anyone else is more important than them. Sure, Old Sport used to and Henry fakes to, but both of them they’re the only ones that matters. Hell, his pride and savior complex led Henry to help a few people out, turning nasty really quickly when he felt replaced by someone who apparently did it “better”. He’s desperate to become the best at everything and he cannot bear the thought of someone being smarter and more capable than him. That is all the more motivation for him to get better, solely to overcome that person. Sure, he’s not canon level Henry, who pretty much killed children to get his doctorate back, but he’s pretty bad. Meanwhile Old Sport solely acts good due to validation. As soon as the praise from the puppet and the ghost children became insufficient, he turned to other things to get his kicks… eventually Dave, who is seemingly endless supply of love, validation and admiration. Hopefully he is right about that, because if Old Sport feels like Dave doesn’t respect or cares about him enough… oh dear. Jesus Christ, even my good route Old Sport is willing to let children die, despite being able to wake and release the puppet, just because he craves being surrounded by admiring and grateful yes. Yes, these two are more alike than either of them likes. You get your pick which of these you think fits best. Every sin has its horrible side, but every sin also has their place within a human. As bad as these things above are, we need a little bit of all of them to be truly human. They have their good parts, even as sins and in the end, perhaps it will reveal itself to those that deal with them. Maybe they get the best out in each other. Or maybe they’re doomed to fall prey to their own vices. If you meet them, then don’t fear them. Know what to do with them. Then maybe they can turn into your most valuable asset.

[bssaz97]

RWBY Ancestries Chapter 5 Part 2 of 3

* Hello Everyone! I’m back with part 2 to the 3 part chapter 5. I’ll admit took me longer to write but that’s because I have been busy with work and didn’t have enough energy to fully finish this part. But here it is and hope you all enjoy!*

* Also to clarify because I completely forgot to explain how the dialect goes here’s a chart. So you all won’t be confused. *

Talking: Something.

Thinking: 'Something'

Telepathy: 'Something'

- Schnee Manor -

Jaqcues: Arthur! What are doing here?! Nevermind, that, why have you been not answering my attempts to contact you?!

Watts: Hmm? Oh yes! How rude of me. I have been noticing your attempts contact me but you see I’ve been preoccupied with other matters at the time. Such as making it to your lovely home. And as you see I had the trouble of bringing my colleagues along with me.

Jaqcues Schnee is honestly baffled by Arthur’s blunt explanation. He had been having a panic attack for a good two hours before he started his attempt to flee, and here comes the source of his unrest and what does he say?

Jaqcues: You mean to tell me you avoided all my calls today, just so you come to here to tell me you were busy with other matters?!

Watts: That would summarize what I just said yes. But enough about that, you see I need to ask a favor of you. You see my colleagues and I are in desperate need of shelter and transportation for the night. So because of our partnership I thought that, well, if you allow us to borrow one of your personal ships.

Jaqcues couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This man who had persuaded him to give him access Atlas’s Control grid in exchange for assurance that he would have been the victor of the election and to have Ironwood’s figurative head on a platter. Seemed like a worthwhile deal at the time. Now, Arthur assumes that he has him around his finger. Because of this, Jaqcues finally sees his fears are coming to fruition.

Jaqcues: You’re leaving. What’ve our previous arrangement, your promise of my victory against Hill and Ironwood.

Watts: Oh yes, well you see some pressing matters compel me away for the time being and well I cannot simply ignore it for the time being. Though I have not forgotten about our deal.

Jaqcues: Oh really now, and what assurance do I have to know you will keep your promise.

Watts: Well, on that matter it will need to be a matter of trust.

Jaqcues: Trust, how exactly do you expect me to trust you? Not only have you not yet fulfill your part of our agreement but you are also asking me if I could lend you a airship. If anything I’ve put more trust in your hands than you can assure me.

Watts: Jaqcues I just need this small favor and then you will have-

Jaqcues: NO!!! YOU’RE NOT GETTING ANYTHING MORE FROM ME! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT I HAVE RISKED FOR YOU?! AND THEN YOU ASK ME FOR MY DAMN SHIP!! I’M TIRED OF YOUR DAMN PROMISES AND NEVER GETTING THE RESULTS I WANT! WELL GOOD SIR I’LL TELL YOU WHAT I SHOULD HAVE TOLD YOU WHEN YOU FIRST CAME TO ME! GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE, TAKE YOUR FUCKING CHEAP PROMISES, AND FUCK OFF!!!

Jaqcues takes a few deep breaths to recompose himself, but damn did it feel good. Honestly, while he is normally never so vulgar he must admit after these past few days he feels he needs the stress relief. He looks to Arthur to see he has an unamused face, but he couldn’t care less about what this man cared about.

Watts: So...I assume that this means the end of our partnership then, yes?

Jaqcues: Oh gods sakes- YES! I’m ending our partnership!

Watts: Oh good, I just wanted to make sure. Tyrian if you’d please?

Jaqcues: 'Tyrian? Who’s- Wait where did that Faunus go-!' AAAGH!!

From behind him felt two arms wrapped around his mouth and torso in the span of a two seconds, then in less than one he felt the stinging sensation of a needle being stuck into his neck and feeling a injected dosage being sent into his body. In a matter of three seconds he feels light headed and has feeling of vertigo. He looks towards Arthur only to see in appear to move in slow motion. Then he feels the most disturbing thing he has ever felt in his whole life. The Faunus behind him exhaled a breath, what’s terrifying is that the breath seemed to sting like residue of burning Dust. And when he spoke it was like hearing a spectral phantom.

Tyrian: Oh what fun!~ It’s been awhile since I have seen Watts lose his nerve like that! Bet you feel special, don’t you.~

Jaqcues:MMFF! MMMMFFFF!

Tyrian: Ssssshhh. Don’t rush the moment.~ Saver it.~ My poison won’t kill you just yet, it’ll just make you experience everything at ten times more sensitivity. Oh how I wish this could go one for longer.~ But alas we are rushed on time so~!

Jaqcues: MMAAAAFFFF!!!

From behind Jaqcues, Tyrian unwrapped the arm around his torso, switching for his mechanical tail, and used one side of his bladed weapon to impale Jaqcues from the back. Without ever having his Aura unlocked, the blade finds no resistance in going through his abdomen. The blades, thanks to the poison, feel like they could have been chainsaws being stabbed through him at ten times the agony. It was a pain too much for the old man and in a matter of seconds to them, his eyes rolled into his skull and hangs his head limp, succumbing to his injuries.

Tyrian then looks behind the suit of the man just murdered and sees the pool of blood coating the prestigious white suit, and begins to cackle. His laughing is heard by his colleagues and besides Watts, who is unfazed by his antics, disturbed the two youths. While Emerald and Mercury were no strangers to killing, having to do so on occasions, the pleasure that Tyrian was getting from this was disturbing none the less. They haven’t found out until recently that the man was a infamous serial killer and that shocked them quite a bit. Eventually settles down his laughing and places the dead man on the floor.

Tyrian: Aaahhh!~ That was very savoring, out of all the victims I killed, I think that will stick with me the most. I mean who else can say that they killed someone as big as Jaqcues Schnee.

Watts: Yes, yes, you can celebrate your popularity later. We have pressing matters at hand.

Tyrian reluctantly does as Watts says and along with Mercury and Emerald, move pass Jaqcues Schnee’s dead body and make way to find where the ship garage is. Not knowing that they had a hidden witness watching their escape from the crime scene. Their watcher was none other than Willow Schnee, who was hidden around the corner of a room near the front door. She had a hand covering her mouth silencing any noise that they could hear and bore a haunted expression.

Originally, Willow came out here because through her camera system around her house, she saw her bastard of a husband strike her poor youngest child Whitley across the face and dared asked him to apologize for it. She had lived with the man’s neglect and mental abuse of herself and her children for many years, but never was she aware that the bastard was actually physically abusing her dear boy. Out of all things that man has done to this family, that is what broke the camels back. She was done, she was so done with this man’s abuse to her family. She was going to confront the man herself about this and see just how long had he been mistreating her children as such. But before that, those people came. They killed her husband and she could only watch hidden away from their sight. Now Willow could only feel shock but also despair. Why? Because now, all the years she had spent trying to keep her family safe from that man, were wasted. After finally finding something that could incriminate him enough to send Jaqcues away for good. The man is killed in her home. Which now means that everything, the evidence she held was null and void. For how can one incriminate a dead man.

Now those people are in her house, looking for a escape. But then she had a horrifying thought. What if they find anyone else in the house, more specifically her Whitley. She needed to find him before they do and get to safety. Who knows what these people will do to any of them if they find either of them. However, while she feels much complement to find her son, she feels as movable as a stone pillar. Had the assailants scared her to the point of fearing to move?

Willow: 'No...NO! I need to get to him before they do! Now is not the time to play frozen statue right now, your son needs you! ....my son.....my baby.....Who probably will want nothing to do with me. No! Don’t think like that, even if you had been the worst example of a mother you need to get to him! His life is not yet decided, you can save him! ....but I’m afraid....I don’t want to die....what can I do to save him if I can’t save myself....'

Willow can’t help but feel frozen in place. As much as she tries to move her will is to weak to make her move on her own. She looks down and in her right is a half full bottle of ‘Six Swans’ white wine. Willow recalls taking the bottle with her to give her courage to confront her husband and hasn’t let go of it since. She looks at herself, the daughter of Nicholas Schnee a renowned huntsman and founder of one of the biggest Dust company on Remnant, who is a foolish alcoholic who can’t even lift a finger to save one of her own children. She desperately wanted to I cry at her cowardice. For all the years she allowed that horrible man to ruin her own and her children’s lives. For being a failure to her father’s name. Why couldn’t she had been like him? Where did all of her courage go?

She looks towards a portrait of her father on the wall next to her, as if it was casting judgment on her she looks away in shame from her father’s gaze. Too ashamed to call herself a Schnee. What would he say if he saw her now?....Maybe a sip of her wine will numb her pain? Yes. Numb her and take her away. She brings the bottle close to her lips, just one sip couldn’t hurt.

...

Immediately she tore the bottle away from her face and turns away in disgust. What she been thinking? How could she possibly even think of getting drunk while her defenseless boy is alone at the mercy of these assailants. She looks towards her father’s portrait once more to see his eyes as if they were looking into her soul, disappointment clear in his lifeless face. She swallowed a very large lump in her throat, and not even looking at the bottle, she turned it and poured it’s contents on to the floor. She may have failed as a daughter and a mother, this she knew to be true. But she’ll be dammed before she’ll let her son suffer a worse fate than her. With one step forward, she moves towards the staircase and in the direction of Whitley’s room. She will not lose him, there’s still time. If she was a failure, so be it, but she will save her precious boy.

- Somewhere In Mantle -

Jaune: Auuuughh...

Jaune wakes up having a splitting headache, wondering had what happened. From what he recalled they were flying to face the Wyvern, he was hearing more of the same voice in this head. One the thought was imagining. But what happened after that. He opened his eyes to see he was in the deck, with all his teammates scattered about-!!!

Immediately Jaune refocuses and sees that he lying in a crashed airship. That was right they did crash, right after colliding with the Wyvern. It was coming back to him. He rose to his feet only to wince a moment later, but continues to stand. He surveyed the deck to see if his teammates are okay. He moves forward, using the wall as his support, he sees Ren being the closest to him and sees Nora right next to him. Huh, even in a airship crash and they still are inseparable.

Jaune: 'Not the time Jaune'

He moves his gaze past the two and sees his youngest teammate... With blood on his forehead! He immediately moves to the boy’s side and shakes his shoulder gently but urgently. He knows that since Ozpin no longer aiding Oscar in his training, he still doesn’t know how to manage his Aura’s protective abilities.

Jaune: Oscar! Oscar can you hear me, please you got to get up!

Oscar: Uuugghh... Was’ that. Jaune is that you- Agh! My leg hurts! What’s going on?

Jaune: Turns out our plan didn’t go as smoothly as we thought buddy, we got hit by that Wyvern pretty hard. Hang on, let me heal you you’re pretty banged up.

Oscar: Wait shouldn’t you save your Aura, I know you’ve been training it but healing somebody else’s still takes a lot out of you.

Jaune: Hey don’t you worry too much about me, from where I’m standing you are in some desperate need of healing. Besides I’m the leader here so I can pretty much order you to accept the healing.

As Jaune starts to amplify Oscar’s healing, both Ren and Nora starts to come to. They untangle from each other and noticed their two other teammates. Nora is immediately alarmed by Oscar’s critical condition.

Nora: Oh my gods, Oscar! Are you ok?! Oh I knew we should have had you in a secured seat!

Oscar: Nora! Don’t worry I’m ok. Jaune’s is healing my aura so I’ll live. Nothing fatal.

Jaune: Don’t think that’s gonna calm her down there buddy. (Noticing Nora’s still panicked state)

Nora: What happened? One minute we’re in the sky, now we’re grounded!

Jaune: The Wyvern is what happened. Turns out our plan didn’t work out, because it went back to flying to hit us again.... Oh my gods! Ruby and the others are still out there!

Jaune after done healing Oscar to the best of his ability, reaches his scroll and tried to contact Ruby, only to see that it was damaged during the crash.

Jaune: Damn it my scroll is damaged! Nora is your scroll working?

Nora: Let me see... Oh no mines busted too! And it’s the fancy new one too.~

Oscar: Wait... where’s Ren and the pilots?

Both take notice of their absent teammate and see that he has made his way to the cockpit.

Jaune: Keep an eye on Oscar for me a moment, I’ll check what Ren’s up to.

Nora:(Nods) You got it fearless leader. Don’t take too long, I’m kinda starting to feel claustrophobic in here.

Jaune moves towards the cockpit, using a small bit of his semblance to heal himself. While not at 100% he would gladly take anything if it meant he could help his team. As he reaches the cockpit Jaune does find Ren, right next to the pilots who look like they didn’t make it through the crash.

Jaune: Ren...are they?

Ren: Dead, both of them. Appear to have suffered from the impact of the crash.

Jaune closed his eyes in sadness, he knew Ren was somber over their deaths. These men were the same ones to fly them during their first mission when they came to Atlas and got their modifications. While not particularly close to either pilots, it was sad to see them suffer such a fate. He recalled trying to warn them of the danger but alas he couldn’t get there in time.

Jaune: Ren...I-

Ren: How did you know what was going to happen?

Jaune: Huh?

Ren:(Turns to face him) How did you know that the Wyvern was going to attack us? Because even I didn’t sense that before you apparently had.

Jaune:(Looks to the floor) I...don’t know.

Ren: How could you not know! Jaune I’m not blind, Nora and I could see that something has been bothering you since this mission started and you’ve been zoning out for instances at a time. I know it’s not sleep deprivation because I male sure you don’t wander into the night to....Look just tell me what’s going on, Jaune, I don’t want there to be anymore secrets that we have to keep to ourselves. Please.

Jaune: I....I can’t explain it exactly but I can try. It’s like I’m hearing something or someone trying talking to me but I can’t see them. I thought at first I was imagining it and blamed it on my nerves, but it persisted. I kept hearing them, and the weirdest part, I feel like a familiarity with the voice, but it’s of a person I have never met before. I didn’t want to say anything because I thought it would bring down the team but here we are. I’m sorry if it doesn’t make sense but that’s all I got.

Ren tried to process what his friend told him, given how bizarre it sounded. It sounds like someone or something was trying to contact him telepathically? Not too out there as there are different semblances in Remnant but they knew no one with such a ability. What’s worse is that Jaune doesn’t know who the person was. All in all while it doesn’t explain how he is able to hear such a voice, Ren could clearly see why such a thing would be bothering Jaune. It’s not everyday you have something talking into your head.

Ren: I’ll admit what you’ve said is strange, but not unsympathetic. I guess one would act strange if they heard someone talking to them in their mind. Sorry if I seemed too pushy on the matter.

Jaune: No you’re fine Ren, I guess I shouldn’t keep things like this to myself too often. Make myself crazy. But maybe let’s not explain this to Ironwood or Ace-Ops until we have a proper explanation for this. They may try to lock me up for being crazy.

Ren: You’re not crazy. Though I do agree that we should probably keep this incident close to the chest.

Jaune: Thanks Ren. Oh! Yeah, forgot do you have your scroll intact. The rest of ours are damaged by the crash.

Ren: I do. I’ve been trying to get in contact with Team RWBY but to no avail. However, I have been able to use the ships distress beacon to pinpoint the location of the other airships crash site. So hopefully we can find them.

Jaune: Ren, this is brilliant! I never knew you were so good with machines!

Ren: Well when you have been with someone who’s as hyper as Nora, you have a lot of time to get things done quickly.

Nora: I heard that mister!

Both winced at their fellow teammate overhearing them about the slight comment about them, one thing was for sure. They were both in trouble once this was over. Once they were all ready they made the difficult of breaking down the airship’s escape hatch. All of them came out one by one and they gathered together once they were a good distance of away from the ship.

Jaune: Ok so Oscar and Ren’s scrolls are the only ones that weren’t destroyed from the crash. Which means can track the others location and meet up with them.

Nora: Alright, lets get moving then.

Jaune: Ok let’s move out team.

*Clang*

Jaune: Huh?

They all look to see what Jaune stepped on and sees that it was a piece of a Atlesian Knight that was in beyond repair damage. Upon noticing their full surroundings they see that they were surrounded by mangled and destroyed Atlesian Knights all over the place.

Oscar: What the-? Why are there Knights here? I thought they were supposed to meet us at the rendezvous point.

Ren: The way they were damaged doesn’t look like they fought the Wyvern, it looks like they were facing a human sized opponent, maybe more than one.

Nora: Guys....look.

All three boys turned to their female teammate and saw what she was holding. It was a piece of a glass knife. With a distinct orange markings. The sight of the weapon caused Jaune’s blood to run cold.

Jaune: No...no, no, no, No! That can’t be what I think it is. There’s no way!

Ren: Who else do we know that happenes uses glass weaponry.

Jaune as much as he wants to deny the truth, the proof was in his presence. Cinder Fall was alive, and apparently she wasn’t alone. He clenched his right hand into a fist. He desperately tries to calm his thoughts but the negative emotions and thoughts were coming faster than he could handle. His brow furrowed in anger.

Jaune: 'She’s alive. Cinder is here In Mantle. But if she’s here then that means....!' RUBY!

His thoughts are going a million miles per hour as it was not hard to picture the scenario. Ruby and her team were here but in a state of shape he didn’t know with a woman who’s got a fierce vendetta against his silver eyed friend. Who could be in a vulnerable state. While he’s standing here just doing nothing about it! Quickly he snatched Ren’s scroll and earning a cry of protest from his fellow teammate but dismissed it.

Jaune: Change of plans! You guys need to contact Ironwood and send back up. I’ll go find Ruby and her team.

Nora: Jaune wait! Where are you going!

It was too late to stop their leader as he made a mad dash towards the direction of the other ship. Hopefully with enough time he can make it there before them. However his team did not have the same thought he did. Quickly Ren chases after him only turning around to call out to Nora.

Ren: Nora! Stay with Oscar I’m going to go with Jaune.

Nora: Wha- Like hell I am!

Oscar: Wait shouldn’t we be sticking togeth-WOAAH?!

Nora proceeds to pick up Oscar and carry him by the shoulder and makes chase after theirs two other teammates. Not noticing the two figures watching over them from a roof of a building. Cinder Fall watched as the blonde fool took her bait and now sees that they are making the path to the target she and Neo both seek. Ruby Rose.

Cinder: Come Neo, looks like our time for vengeance is at hand.

Neo: (Grins sinisterly)

-End of Chapter 5 part 2-

Preview: Part 3

Ren: Jaune you need to stop! You’re not thinking straight!

Jaune: Cinder Fall is out in the streets of Mantle, probably planning to make Atlas another Fall of Beacon and you want me to calm down!

***

Qrow: Team JNPR is not here!

Winter: Could they have?

Qrow: No, they’re not dead. We would have found bodies if that were the case.

****

Whitley: M-Mother what are you-?

Willow: Whitley we don’t have much time we need to leave the mansion! There are intruders in here, they’ve attacked your Father already. So we must leave at once!

*****

Watts: It appears we are not alone...Tyrian, Mr. Black, you both know what to do.

******

???: Oscar, Oscar! Can you hear me!

Oscar: ...Ozpin!

*******

Salem: Jaune Arc, I finally found you.

[spirit-of-the-void]

Ebony and Ivory (V x Reader Fanfic) Chapter 39

Author’s notes: This chapter took me a fucking week to write and im BEAT. No cutting chapters in half, we die like men.

Chapter 39

(Vergil POV)

Who the hell is that?

Vergil stared in blank confusion at the newcomer, not recognizing him in the slightest. Was this supposed to be another god, one who existed with the Outsider among the endless darkness of the Void? He...didn’t seem like it. This man was rugged in appearance, his eyes a clear brown and hair dark with hints of gray. Older in age, grizzled with an unshaven face and an air of tired annoyance as he stared at the black-eyed God. Speaking of that, this newcomer had normal eyes, and no appearance of ethereal energy to suggest he was anything other than human--nothing seemed amiss minus the clear mark of the Deity on his hand, glowing lightly so close to his presence. But how had he gotten here when the God clearly seemed surprised, and why did the Outsider look like he had been caught red-handed doing something he wasn’t supposed to be? 

What is going on?

Among the chaos swirling in his head, mingling with the sound of V protesting his choices and voicing that guilt and agony eating them alive...this new surprise definitely wasn’t appreciated, or needed. An interruption had arrived and prolonged his punishment, which was something Vergil found a twinge of exhausted annoyance in. God, he was so tired. Not himself, not sure who “Vergil” was anymore. Guilt was such a new thing, one he spent so long avoiding and pretending wasn’t there. It now bloomed inside him like vines gripping every organ, suffocating each breath and making his heart thud painfully. He had done wrong by you, by everyone in his life. Years and years of pride and foolishness had blinded him into thinking one way, plunging into fear and cowardice like they somehow protected him. 

They never did, and he was always found wanting.

The Outsider had opened up those wounds with serrated blades, flayed him alive and leaving him to bleed upon the ground. Vergil would have gladly gave every drop of that blood to you, like it would have somehow repaired the damage he did all those years ago. It never would, of course. How would he ever be able to look Nero in the eyes after this, and see every way he had wronged the boy? Causing the destruction of his mother, abandoning them in Fortuna, ripping off his arm for some selfish idea of power...Every encounter he had with the white-haired demon hunter had been rife with agony, and Vergil knew now that Nero’s hatred of him was far more deserved than previously anticipated.

He would live with that hatred, that agony. Now he only wished this newcomer would let him get to it.

Vergil, please--

He ignored V, staring between the Outsider and the unfamiliar man as the God visibly flinched. His black eyes widened, jaw tightened in a visible display of discomfort that shocked the son of Sparda. Who was this grizzled man, one who clearly had a hold over the black-eyed bastard? The stranger in question crossed his arms, narrowing his brown eyes at them both and seeming heavily displeased all things considered. This was all growing very confusing, Vergil half expecting another God or something to show themselves and stop the Outsider, not someone so unassuming and normal. Could the God sweat? He sure seemed like he was on the verge of it, almost sulky as he finally released his grip on Vergil and letting him collapse in an unceremonious heap on the floor.

The impact hurt, but Vergil couldn’t care less. He was resting on his knees again, body aching and lungs feeling like they had been doused in ice water. Why wouldn’t they just get on with his torture, so he didn’t have to listen to V yelling at him anymore? This is growing so tiring. The God paid him no mind, turning away to look at the dark-haired man and clasping his hands behind his back. Was that a nervous tick, the way his fingers tapped lightly in sets of three on his own skin? Seemed like it.

“What are you doing here?” The Outsider replied flatly, seeming definitely sulky as he kept that little tick going beyond the stranger’s view, “I did not summon you forth, and you are supposed to be aiding Emily with the young ones, are you not?”

The strange man rolled his eyes at the Outsider’s irritated tone, not seeming impressed or intimidated in the slightest bit. He merely rose a thick brow, muscles bunching and relaxing under his black jacket in a show of his athletic build. This man had seen combat, and it showed down to the little pink, faded scars on his face to the callouses on his fingertips.

“Am I not allowed to come and visit?” He replied with a snort, lifting the hand with the Outsider’s mark and wiggling his fingers meaningfully, “You are the one who gave me that option, bastard. Not any other black-eyed God’s called ‘the Outsider’ around here, are there?”

What in the world is going on?

The God in question blinked at his response, seeming to blanch even paler despite his already-light complexion. Those fingers twitched, digging into his palm hard enough that any normal person would bleed. Had he really forgotten granting one of his followers an ability? Why was this person throwing him so off balance? To allow someone to travel freely to the Void on will must mean he was important to the man, that was to be certain. 

Did he know you? Did he know what had transpired here?

The Outsider let out a low sigh, seeming thoroughly angry with himself as he clipped in response, “This doesn’t involve you, Corvo. Go home to Emily and your grandchildren.”

Corvo? Who the hell is this man?

 And Emily as well, there was so much Vergil didn’t understand.

“Its night time in Dunwall, Emily and Wyman have things under control without me,” The gruff man--now dubbed Corvo--clicked his tongue in aggravation, his eyes lingering on Vergil for a moment before slipping back to the God, “I had my suspicions that you were doing shit you weren’t supposed to, but I didn’t realize just how far you went through with them. A brat, as always.”

He called this God of the Void a brat? If Vergil wasn’t so broken already, he might have been shocked or amused. All that could flicker forth was confusion and astonishment, especially when the Outsider looked visibly put off by the comment. His poised stance faltered for a brief second, like the words had jolted up his spine before he settled back and rolled his head on his shoulders. Vergil was growing agitated with this, especially when he seemed like a partial focus for attention. Every second spent here was just prolonging the inevitable,was it not?

Regardless, the Outsider’s annoyance seemed to grow in spades, his bad mood from seeing your previous death only heightened. Like petting a cat the wrong way, he bristled and snapped back, “I see you are still prone to putting your nose where it doesn’t belong--” He raised his fingers, seeming intent on banishing Corvo away as he hissed, “--It matters not. You have no place in my business.”

Corvo rose a brow, quickly speaking up before the God could remove him, “Send me back and you’ll never hear from me again, Outsider.”

His tone was firm, unyielding and clearly telling the truth with that threat. It made the God freeze in place, wide eyes meeting Corvo’s with a shocking amount of hesitation.

Corvo’s presence must have been important to him, very important. Because he backed down a moment later, lowering his hand and glowering at the grizzled man with a hint of resentment and exasperation. Vergil was aghast--why was Corvo interfering, when the Outsider definitely had viable reasons for doing all of this? It made no sense, this conflict didn’t involve him and Vergil was reluctant to admit it. But...he would. He knew his place, wanted to make up for all the wrongs he caused. 

But...he also didn’t.

He didn’t want to stare at you, watching as you held V’s hand and kissed his cheek. Didn’t want to feel his love for you ache and ache while you gave away the affection once belonging to him, the very love he had thrown away. His human half was the only thing deserving of it, and that knowledge burned and clawed away at the remaining traces of dignity he had. God, how was he supposed to live with this feeling? These memories of you, of loving and wanting you under all those layers of pride? All he had wanted was to never be hurt again, and in turn had caused his own undoing. Selfish, why was he so selfish? This despair, this unhappiness, this fear...it was everything he deserved and more. Yet…

You fear like any other person, V whispered in reply to his thoughts, pressing lightly on the edges of his consciousness, Neither of us were deserving of her, yet we took anyway. I just...was a lot more honest with my emotions.

That was precisely why V deserved you more, at least in Vergil’s eyes. 

“Why must you interfere right when I so very wish you wouldn’t?” The Outsider’s hiss, laced with desperation drew Vergil out of his thoughts, looking up to see the God stalk up to Corvo with an arrogance in his step, “You test me, Corvo. After all I did to aid you in avenging your Empress, in saving your daughter Emily and helping her save you in turn…!”

There was clearly a lot of missing information here that Vergil was just now learning. This man seemed to have a story behind him, one the son of Sparda would not have minded hearing if the circumstances weren’t so dire.

Corvo rose that brow again, tone shockingly calm as he replied, “Which is exactly why I’m here, to help you in return,” He looked at Vergil again, several layers of understanding and recognition in those brown, tired eyes. This man clearly knew the son of Sparda, despite him having no knowledge in comparison. Regardless, Corvo let out a light sigh as he continued, “I had suspected you were scheming the first time around, when she almost lost herself in Fortuna. Is this really what Y/N wants, for you to punish Vergil for something she won’t even remember with relentless torture?”

He knows me by name. You as well.

And when you broke after Fortuna.

How did he know about that? 

Wasn’t that memory from several years ago? Maybe time passed differently in the Void, especially for those who only visited from time to time in comparison to staying there. Corvo had an intimate understanding of the situation, of what the Outsider had planned and what Vergil had done. Why was he interfering if he knew all that had transpired? What did he hope to gain, and how did this help anyone?

The Outsider tensed at Corvo’s declaration, voice whipping out sharply as he spat, “He almost took my child from me…! You of all people should know not to question my actions considering what was done to Emily--or have you forgotten how she was kidnapped twice, or how she was forced to fight Delilah to return her throne…?!”

Corvo still remained calm, staring at the Outsider’s face with his expression not changing. This man seemed...wise, showing his years in his poise and control whilst the Outsider seemed volatile in comparison. How was the God this lacking in control after so many years of being in existence? It didn’t make sense, not this level of anger or hostility. It was almost like he wasn’t used to dealing with emotion at all, which was all too similar to…

Corvo let out a slow breath, taking a step forward and placing both hands on the Outsider’s cheeks. The action surprised Vergil, and the God too by the looks of it. He froze in place, back tense in Vergil’s view and hands clenched at his sides. That motion looked oddly...tender? Romantic? Just what was the relationship between these two? It wasn’t in Vergil’s place to question or wonder, but just what else did he have left to do while sitting there and trying not to interfere?

Just hush. And wait.

“You’re right,” Corvo said simply, staring intently at the Outsider’s face and projecting an air of absolute reason, “And as a father, let me be the first to give you advice--I know you are still learning, and I know it’s hard for you to grasp what you’re feeling after sitting in this shitty place for years and feeling nothing. But...in regards to your child, forcing your wants upon her is never something that can work out.”

The Outsider was breathing quickly, shown by his shoulder blades moving every so slightly with the movement. The son of Sparda couldn’t see his face, but his low voice betrayed his emotions just as easily.

There was a pause, the God seeming to collect himself ever so slightly before whispering in response, “He hurt her. She almost crumbled away to nothing and he would have lived on in ignorance,” His tone was bitter, laced with anger and hatred as he hissed, “He deserved every ounce of pain he went through and more.”

That made Corvo frown, working his lower jaw lightly while a thoughtful expression made a home in his rugged features.

“...But did she?” He finally replied, tone low and gruff as he tried to reason with the volatile God, “You put Y/N through the wringer too, sent her to all those places and made her hurt more and more. Like making Y/N suffer constantly would somehow make her invulnerable to pain.”

Vergil could remember from V’s eyes, seeing how tired you looked when speaking about your God. Each praise tinged with hesitation, every memory lingering on the edges of trauma that you seemingly couldn’t grasp on to. He had worried about you, especially considering your nightmares that you could never remember afterwards. Taking away the memories of the things that hurt you was only a temporary solution, and not a good one--how could you work through and process traumatic memories if those memories weren’t there at all? You couldn’t hope to work through a feeling that had no roots, it would continue to plague you with no rhyme or reason.

Not that Vergil could talk. He was notorious for ignoring his problems, his trauma and past memories like they were weaknesses weighing him down. How ironic that of the two of you, it would be the woman he hurt most of all that would come out the other end stronger, more stable? You had been so bright, even to V and bouncing back from the bad things that happened to you. Where V gave up, you were determined to save him and fought with every ounce of strength to get him up the tree. And then...all those months later, you looked like the sun again. No trace of your death on the steps of the orphanage, heart still beating despite how they broke it and taking your happiness as you saw fit.

Where he had stayed stuck in his ways, you moved on and flourished. Like a lotus, blooming and beautiful even in the mud that tried to stifle you.

The Outsider sucked in a breath at Corvo’s calm-spoken words, indignation crackling like a physical force in the air as he ground out, “I made her strong, my actions worked…!” He yanked himself back from Corvo, forcing the man to let his hands drop to his sides, “Every pain she will feel after this will be like a fleeting sting now that she has felt the worst she will ever had…!”

Maybe...he and the Outsider were more alike than he thought.

If I grow powerful, so powerful that none can stand before me...maybe I will never feel pain again.

Corvo’s expression finally slipped into a hint of anger, lingering more toward exasperation as he took a step closer to the God and snapped, “Listen to yourself! Do you realize how messed up that is, to think hurting your own child is the only way to make her strong?” He grabbed the God by the collar when he tried to retreat another foot back, bringing them closer to Vergil as Corvo continued on forcefully, “I may not have been the best parent, but I know damn well that when you’re teaching your child to swim, you help them until they can do it on their own--not toss them into the ocean and hope they don’t drown…!”

When someone begins to drown, they are likely to drag down the ones who try and save them.

Vergil felt his gaze lower to the ground, remembering the tower with Dante, remembering every time he fought his brother from childhood to adulthood. What had driven him to such violence other then the intense hatred he felt at seeing Dante so content? How dare his brother come out the other end whole and capable? All Vergil had done was drag his twin down to the same level of misery he felt, taking glee in it like some sadist. How petty it felt, how idiotic. While he was wasting time searching for power, feeling cold and brooding...Dante made a business, made a life, made friends. And that was what had stung the most, realizing that at the end of the day he would always lose to Dante, always be a step behind and lacking in something.

But this wasn’t about him anymore--it was about you.

The Outsider reared back from Corvo’s harsh words, shoulders jolting like the man had visibly slapped him. No such action had occurred, but the meaning had come across loud and clear. He  said nothing, lips sealed shut with either regret or indignation, Vergil wasn’t sure which. Whatever it was made Corvo pause, anger starting to slowly drain as he stared at the black-eyed God with far more patience than he deserved, than any other human could probably muster. It was very clear the gruff male cared about the Outsider, made obvious by the how hard he was seeming to try. The Outsider must have looked unhappy, because he softened his approach in an instant.

“Think for a second what that would do to her,” He coaxed instead, letting go of the black-eyed bastard’s collar and instead placing a hand on his shoulder, right where it met his neck, “If you leave Vergil with his emotion for Y/N, their connection will never leave. It will confuse her, and complicate things more than they need to be and tear her in two. But--” Corvo glanced back at Vergil, narrowing his eyes a bit and saying in a very reasonable tone, “Sever the connection he has to her, take away the emotion he feels and leave the memories...things will right themselves automatically. She can be completely connected to V, and fate will deem someone new for Vergil in return.”

What…?

That wasn’t possible, was it? You were the one he was meant to be with, how could he possibly be allowed anyone else after screwing up the first person he was given? Not only that, but he didn’t deserve it, didn’t want to end up ruining someone else’s life like he had done to you. Those visions of the beach, the blood and the sand were so fresh, like daggers in his heart and mind that stabbed relentlessly. He had been the cause of all the suffering, even now sitting on the Void’s floating debris he was the source of the two fighting.  I am poison, aren’t I? Vergil couldn’t imagine wanting anyone but you, and look what happened then. Anger, heartache, death, agony. He grit his teeth at the memory, sucking in a sharp breath and digging into his palm with nails so hard they bled. Pointless, selfish--he could not want something new, it wasn’t...wasn’t…

But...would removing V from him still leave you loving Vergil too? He couldn’t take the risk of that connection remaining, of leaving you in conflict between loving one or the other.

“Enough…!” He hissed, drawing the attention of both men and making them turn to look at him. Corvo seemed surprised to finally hear him talk, and the Outsider merely looked annoyed--typical, all things considered, “Isn’t there a way to remove V... and still sever the connection to me without dragging in someone new?” 

I don’t deserve another.

I won’t hurt someone again.

Let me suffer like I deserve.

Corvo let out a light huff, seeming non-impressed by Vergil’s attempt at self-sacrifice, “No, it’s just how things work. Others have lost soulmates too, so it just finds you someone like that too,” He stepped around the incredulous Outsider, kneeling in front of the son of Sparda instead and staring into his icy blue eyes with stern, cold ones of his own. It made Vergil feel oddly...uncomfortable, like being scolded by his father when very young, “Mind you, some things will remain. You deserve to feel guilt, empathy--you deserve to keep those feelings of grief about what you did to her and Nero. But...she’s not yours to love any more, so why not let those feelings go so you can both move on?”

V was strangely quiet at this suggestion, not sure how to feel about it either. Because at the end of the day...he loved you so much, craved to touch you with hands that weren’t owned by another. If there was a chance that the poet could become your soulmate, full and unburdened by Vergil...was it so terrible to want such a thing, especially if his counterpart could end up free of his feelings for you? This solution worked out for everyone, didn’t it? V could have you again, Vergil could be free of his connection to you, everyone would be able to move on. But…

Vergil put a hand to his chest, clenching his fingers around the fabric of his jacket to make the ache go away. The son of Sparda...he loved you too, didn’t he? Just like V. His first love, the one who had been meant for him and him alone. The idea of no longer feeling this emotion, to no longer have someone like you to give him that hope and affection…bittersweet was the best word for it. Lonely. Someone new would be meant for him according to Corvo, but...would it ever be the same as this, so deep he felt like drowning? How could he hope to do right by anyone else, to fill that aching Void with anything but what you gave him?

Selfish. Poison.

Do right by her--you swore you would.

He closed his eyes, knowing the answer to all his emotion and swallowing it down like bile. This was no longer about what he wanted, what he felt. After being selfish and cruel his whole life...he needed to make a choice on someone else’s behalf, one that he knew would hurt. And that was the price he would pay for his mistakes.

Vergil--V whispered, sensing his thoughts and feeling hesitant despite how this proposal aided the poet--You...are you sure this is what you want?

I just want to do right by her.

Corvo was a human, plain and simple, but he read the fear and hesitation in Vergil’s expression easily enough. He rubbed at his beard, seeming a bit thoughtful as he said in a low voice, “After all that you did to hurt her...maybe it would be best to set her free--this works for everyone, yeah?” 

He looked over his shoulder at the Outsider, met with an annoyed glower from the man in question as he barked, “He still gets punished in the end--he lives with the guilt and regret for the rest of his life, and he has to search out his new soulmate after losing his old one. Is that tragic enough for you, brat?”

The Outsider bristled at that nickname, like icy crystals were shuddering along his shoulders as he growled, “Your insults don’t amuse me, Corvo Attano. You test my patience,” But...he hesitated, seeming swayed by the steady look the other man wore and the argument he had in place. Those black pits shifted to Vergil, flickering with a thousand emotions he could barely read. Hatred, anger, resentment, impatience, reluctance, but...ending on acceptance. He looked away, crossing his arms over his chest like a sulky child and muttering softly, “...So be it. Y/N has been through enough...she deserves to be set free from you and live her life as promised.”

This is the end, isn’t it?

The end of my story with her.

And isn’t it bittersweet?

Corvo nodded, seeming satisfied with the Outsider’s answer and rising to his feet in a fluid motion. He grunted, rolling his shoulders before turning to face the black-eyed God and putting a hand to his cheek again. Tender despite how they had just butted heads, loving. The God’s face was finally visible this time, expression softening and those eyes closing as he breathed deep and even.

It was clear the Outsider had two people he considered very precious in his life, you and Corvo Attano. As twisted as it was, all he had wanted was to do right by you, to fix what Vergil had so carelessly destroyed. And in the end...it was clear he had no idea what he was doing, so similar to the son of Sparda in many ways. Maybe that was why Vergil’s actions made him so angry, because he saw himself in Vergil’s struggles with emotion?

Difference was, Vergil was allowed to walk in the sun--The Deity was not.

“Do right by them,” Corvo instructed the Outsider, stepping back and watching with calm eyes that leveled on Vergil again, “No more suffering today, I think everyone has had enough.”

Enough to last a lifetime.

And several more after that.

The God opened his eyes again, seeming tired and reluctant as he too turned to the man kneeling before them both. The anger he had carried for so long was starting to drain, making way for regrets and hesitations now that his own actions had come into question. Maintaining that level of hatred for so long became a weight on one’s shoulders, a heavy and tiring burden. Vergil knew all too well of that weight, having carried so many with him for years that his shoulders ached. Everything hurt now, life full of exhaustion and uncertainties that he didn’t know how to face. You, Nero, whatever his future would bring...it was a lot to take in, far more than he had ever faced head on.

There were a lot of sins to make up for, more than he could ever hope to fix. A life of servitude could never bring back the lives taken by the Qliphoth tree, nor could years of trying to make things up to Nero fix what he did to you both. But...He was so tired, so exhausted with being angry, holding in emotion and trying to be strong and steadfast. It helped nothing and no one...things had to change, and he was not given a choice.

That was acceptable. He didn’t deserve one.

Wait--V said softly in Vergil’s skull knowing the Outsider could easily hear. It made the God stop mere feet from him, frowning as he stared at Vergil’s numb expression--Please. Do not take my memories of what happened to my Sparrow in Fortuna. Let me keep them.

He wanted to keep the memories of your suffering? Why?

“You wish to hold onto that guilt and pain?” The Outsider sounded just as perplexed as Vergil, tilting his head to the side and staring with cold, dark eyes, “Why is that?”

V paused, his consciousness hovering on the edge of Vergil’s like a tangible force. As if he was gathering thoughts, ones that the son of Sparda could not see or read.

Because they will serve as a reminder, He finally whispered, tone soft and filled with mourning as they both remembered that day. Seeing you on the beach, bloodied and drenched in rain as you gave birth to your child. It stung like nothing else, but V was resolute as he continued, It will remind me to give her every ounce of happiness we took away--I never want to forget that guilt. I played a part in it too.

The Outsider rose a brow, seeming perplexed by the answer as silence stretched between the two. Corvo looked on with confusion, not hearing the exchange but knowing well enough to hold his tongue and stay out of it. Vergil too--what V chose did not involve him anymore, despite how hesitant the choice made the son of Sparda. To have another share that guilt, to live with the aching memories of your suffering...it didn’t seem right, didn’t seem fair. But...V had been inside of him even then, it would make sense that he wanted to help shoulder the blame. And if he could translate that into more love for you...who was he to stop him?

After a few more seconds of silence, the black-eyed bastard nodded, a low smirk on his lips as he flicked his fingers upward. As he did so, black crystalline hands lifted out of the ground beneath Vergil, grasping his arms and legs to lift him up before the god. They were cold, so very cold--one could get frostbite being touched by fingers like these. He then turned to his right, another motion of his hand opening a portal in the chilled air.

Vergil felt his heart pound faster at the sight of your familiar form being lowered down from it, face now peaceful in comparison to before. The whale oil no longer stained your cheeks, body cradled by gentle black hands that held you upright. You were beautiful, weren’t you? Strong, resilient. Everything he had needed, everything he had turned away.

Had he swallowed his pride...would you both have been happy? Nero born somewhere safe, Vergil finding the will to let go of his past and accept the love chosen for him. Would he have found peace, solace? Maybe the son of Sparda could have found the will to seek out Dante with something other than malice, to make amends and help build up Devil May Cry. You would have gotten the chance to raise Nero, to give him all the love he deserved. As for Vergil...To teach Nero how to fight with a sword, to be a father...all the possibilities were laid out before him like a cruel joke, one that he deserved to have thrown in his face.

So many things could have been, but those choices were gone now.

The Outsider approached you with Corvo by his side, laying a gentle hand on your cheek and stroking a thumb over your soft skin. He leaned forward, putting his lips by your ear to whisper something softly, to the point that Vergil could barely hear it.

“I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me,” His voice was gentle, filled with unspoken regrets as he lingered there for a moment with you, “And then...well. I still have much to learn about being your father, don’t I?”

He leaned back, staring at you with calm eyes and an expression of sorrow. They knew damn well what damage had been done to your relationship with him, but...all you had wanted was him to care, to be the parent you had never been allowed, that was very clear. You had it in your heart to forgive your father, that kindness was stronger than anything.

The God finally stepped away from your resting form, leaving Corvo to stand beside you and place a hand to your head. He was a father through and through, having more than likely played a part in bringing you up alongside the Outsider. To see you find happiness seemed like a relief, especially if he could help bring it about. His hand in things was needed,  bitter as it was. Vergil was grateful he had saved you from more pain.

No more suffering, no more heartache.

V will be all that you need, and I--

I will set you free.

The Outsider turned back to Vergil, steps careful and measured as he stopped a foot in front of his suspended form. V was quiet again in his head, those sensations of hesitation and worry fading into a dull roar under Vergil’s tormented swirl of emotions. He could still see you there, held up by those hands, oblivious to all that transpired between them. You would never remember loving him first, the pain you suffered in Fortuna, giving birth to your son. Never--you would never know Nero is your flesh and blood, that little boy you gave up everything for. And worst of all...that was for the best, the only way you could exist without agony and despair breaking you in two. He would take the secret to the grave, carry it as a reminder of all he had wronged and make sure you never found out.

Vergil, V finally whispered, sounding tired and hesitant as everything else seemed to quiet, fading into background noise, I...thank you. You are not the same person we were before, and that...is a good thing. For the record...I know you will do right for the next person meant for you, because I can feel how much you loved Y/N. If you can feel that deeply for her after all that transpired...you deserve to be free to love without me there to hurt you.

How could he be kind to Vergil after all the years he spent suppressing his humanity? He had tried to remove V from him entirely, cutting out his humanity like it was nothing but a burden or weakness. And yet...this human half had found kindness and empathy a lot faster than he had, willing to forgive years of stupidity in an instant now that they were being split apart. Seeing something that was once a part of him existing on his own will be strange, but...it would have to be accepted, no matter what.

Let’s both try to do better next time.

The Outsider raised his hand, placing it on Vergil’s forehead as the howling of the Void grew in intensity, filling the space around him with that all too familiar chill. It started seeping into his bones again, wrapping around the very culmination of his being and making his breaths heave out of his chest. It burned, it froze him inside out until he was certain there would never be warmth again, that this cold would carry with him for years to come. He was lucky you had introduced this energy to his human half, the demonic side was flinching away on instinct. But the Outsider was stronger, able to push past and latch onto both parts of him with absolute ease. Like icy fingers on his heart, lungs, organs. Gripping tight and preparing to pull him in half once more.

And through it all, Vergil stared at you with those icy blue eyes, chest aching with that throb of regret and agony. He memorized this feeling, this need and desire. To stroke your cheeks, to fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness he didn’t deserve. The son of Sparda would never feel like this again, not for you. All those memories in Fortuna, of his first kiss, making love, falling in love with you bit by bit...They would be empty, memories there but without any substance. You had made him feel weak, so blessedly weak, and he had craved every moment of it. God, he had needed it so much--to let go of that felt so gut-wrenchingly painful, so wrong and agonizing. You were everything, and he was nothing. 

And now...now you would be meant for someone else.

This is the end of our story.

Isn’t the ocean beautiful, Vergil? You gentle voice flickered through his mind, accompanied by a memory of sitting beside you on the beaches of Fortuna. The sunlight had made you glow, smile so soft and filled with affection only for him, You should take time to relax more often--you’re bound to get wrinkles frowning like that.

I’m sorry.

It’ll be okay, You whispered that night, stroking his cheek after his nightmare and pressing your lips to his forehead, I am with you, Vergil. Always. You don’t have to hide your pain from me, you don’t have to be ashamed.

I failed you. This is what I deserve.

That warmth was dripping down his cheeks again, under the Outsider’s hand and down to his jaw. No sobs accompanied these tears, but that was for the best. He had no place to cry, not after what he had done. This pain was his punishment, and he would remember it till the day death came for him. Even if he found someone new, even if he somehow managed to move on...he would remember what this taught him, how you had showed him a love he didn’t deserve. He was losing you, his everything--and he would never open his mouth to complain. Not to anyone, never. After those emotions were gone and only the guilt was left behind...the scars would remain for a lifetime, and that was for the best, wasn’t it?

The Outside paused at Vergil’s tears, the God’s silence speaking volumes as he let his hand linger, that cold spreading deeper and deeper until he felt like he was being torn apart inside. Vergil could no longer tell which way was up, could no longer see your sleeping face, beautiful hair, and those lips he once kissed. The blackness was starting to fill him, like the Void itself swallowing whole all that he came to know and accept.

V wasn’t felt anymore, nothing was. Vergil Sparda became one with the dark, body feeling weightless in the pain and sensations pulling him in every direction at once. This was the end, this was the end to his story with you. And it was happening just how he deserved it--bitter, hard to swallow, but with you coming out the other side free of the burden he was. At the end of the day...the only weakness here was him, and you deserved to live with someone who could help you spread those wings.

You could be free. And he would remember where you could not.

“Goodbye, Vergil Sparda,” The Outsider’s whispers reached him in the darkness, low and full of warning as everything faded away, “I hope to the Void that I never have to see you again.”

And with that, came nothingness.

(Nero POV, Hours Later)

The white-haired demon hunter hadn’t stopped pacing since they abandoned the search for you both on the beach.

Seeing the ocean swallow you, seeing Vergil plunge into the water right after...his mind had practically went apeshit, Nero slashing his way through a horde of demons to try and help. As soon as Vergil was gone, the demons seemed to give up, taken down easy and crumbling to nothingness under the weight of his and Dante’s strength. The storm eased up too, rain fading to a drizzle and thunder quieting in the distance. What the hell had happened? What the hell had happened to you? He had dead-sprinted for the water, diving in with his uncle in unison to search for any trace of you or his father, but...nothing. No bodies, no sight of you floating down there or the fiery blue form of Vergil. Something had taken you both, and Nero had an idea of who it was.

Your Deity had played a part in this.

After hours of searching, Kyrie had begged them both to return home. And honestly...what else could they do but listen to her requests? Chilled to the bone, soaked and exhausted from fighting and searching... Nero felt awful, like he had somehow failed you. The boy had sworn that he would keep you safe, but was helpless in watching that fucking asshole snatch you and his father away. As for your familiars...they were even bigger messes than he was. Griffon and the others had went into a blind panic, screeching for you and circling the ocean for hours to find even a trace before Kyrie forced them all to wait on the deck. And that just made shit sadder--they claimed they couldn’t feel you, but the connection was still there. 

Shadow hadn’t moved from their spot, staring out at the ocean with sorrowful eyes and drooping ears. Griffon sat on their back looking forlorn, his gold eyes anxiously scanning the line of sand like he would somehow see you there. And Nightmare...he sat down nearby on the sand, shoulders hunched forward and completely silent. All three felt like even bigger failures than Nero--they were your familiars, damn it. It was their job to keep you safe, but they’d been useless too. Now all they could do was wait and hope, which wasn’t much to be honest. 

Dante was the one who set about trying to form a game plan, silently furious at the prospect of losing his brother and you at the same time. He called Trish and Lady over to help, contacting Morrison in the hopes of getting information on your God. But...the reigning fact was not much could be done without knowing his name, and that was the one thing you hid from the familiars. Morrison was trying to find shit out through books, looking up things on black eyes and the Void. They hadn’t heard much back, so it was now a waiting game, one that Nero didn’t particularly care for. Things were much easier when he had a target he could punch or shoot at, and in this case…

They had nothing.

Cut to present time, the sky now dark and Nero still pacing the kitchen with measured steps. Kyrie sat at the dining room table with her head resting on her arms, Nico stroking her back from time to time. Christ, there was a sense of dread in the air. The kids had, luckily, not caught wind that you were gone. Lady and Trish had kept them busy while the other adults talked, all the way up until they went to bed and still giving them their little camp out. They could sense something was wrong, but not know what--And each one was smart enough not to ask. Nero felt awful about their worry, but...there was not really any other choices left.

It was already going on ten o’clock, his legs starting to feel tired from the pacing. He leaned against a nearby wall, the cool air from outside blowing through the open door to the deck where Trish stood keeping watch with the familiars. How long were they supposed to wait? What if you and Vergil never came back? The very thought made him squeeze a fist tight enough to crack bone, jaw tight and uncomfortable. You were family, his family, and they all loved and cared about you. Honestly you and Nico were the closest things to sisters he was ever going to get, and that was enough for him. Nero wanted you home, they all did. And if that wasn’t going to happen on its own...he was willing to kick his way into the Void if need be.

“Shit, this sucks…” Nico croaked from the table, making him turn to see her flop down with a low thunk of her head on the wood, “What are we supposed to do? She said that jerk used to erase her memories...what if he does that?”

Nico was already going worse case scenario, which he understood. They had spent the past few hours reasoning and hoping, despair was starting to set in. 

The only one who seemed to remain steadfast in her faith was, understandably, Kyrie. She lifted her head from the table, those brown eyes soft and determined as she took one of Nico’s hands in her own.

“She will come home,” She said quietly, but firmly, turning to look at Nero where he stood nearby, “We have to believe in that, believe in her. She would never go quietly, not after everything that has happened.”

He knew that, they all did. These months of living together and working toward letting go of what happened in the Qliphoth tree had taught Nero just how resilient you could be. It would be downright disrespectful to throw in the towel this early on, to give up on you coming home. Morrison would find something out, he had to--and when that call came, they would enter the Void guns blazing if need be. Nero had fought something close to a god before, hadn’t he? He would curb stomp the bastard if it meant getting you home, making Kyrie smile and everyone happy again.

“Vergil isn’t the type to go quietly either,” Dante muttered from his spot standing by the phone, brow furrowed and arms crossed stiffly over his chest. Nero glanced at him, frowning as the older man continued, “Which could be both a bad and good thing. This God is arrogant, self-assured--he’s had a game plan from the start, it’s just shit that we don’t know it.”

Nero let out a light grunt of agreement, running a hand through his white hair as he sighed, “Y/N seemed reluctant to talk about him, she didn’t know his plans either in the long scheme of things and especially not after what he did in the tree.”

He remembered your recollection of that day, having been forced to stand prone by the Deity while V absorbed back into Urizen. The half-demon had noticed something was wrong, had found it odd that you were sitting back and letting V do something so dangerous without bouncing in to stop him. One glance at your face had revealed you pale and face blank, sweat dotting your brow like morning dew. Something had been wrong, but they was so much going on at the time that he didn’t know what to do, how to help. The rest had fallen to pieces, and he was left regretting not stepping in. The God had been there with you, holding you down like some monster and leaving you in desperation and terror. Nero should have done something, anything.

But that was the past.

Now he was left waiting again. Helpless. And that didn’t feel right at all. 

Nero let out an aggravated sigh, pushing off from the wall to start pacing again. He could feel Kyrie’s worried eyes on him, watching as he walked to the door and looked out along the beach. Like checking again would somehow change anything. The silence was heavy and stifling, sky now clear enough to showcase the stars above Fortuna in all their glory. Far too calm despite all that had gone down. The familiars had not moved from their posts, seeming glum and tired as they kept their eyes on the beach. Nero hated admitting it, but he felt bad for them--this had to be worrisome considering how dependent they were on you.

Griffon let out a low trill when the silence persisted, his sapphire feathers shuddering and showcasing all those glowing marks woven between as he muttered, “Shoulda done somethin, shoulda been faster. We said we’d keep her safe, but choked at the follow through,” He sounded forlorn, tail feathers drooping pitifully as he closed his golden eyes, “She was afraid something bad was gonna happen and I told her not to worry, like a fucking idiot.”

Your instincts had always been keen, there was no denying that. Now that Nero put some thought into it...things had worked out far too conveniently. 

He blew some air out from between his cheeks, leaning against the door frame to the kitchen as he replied, “Stupid is in your blood, chicken. You did come from Vergil, after all.”

Well, that certainly ruffled his feathers. Griffon puffed up in instant annoyance, glaring daggers at the white-haired boy as he snapped, “Is that your idea of comforting someone, slim? You are really bad at this shit, you know that right?”

Nero let out a slow, heavy sigh, looking away and scratching the back of his neck. Yeah, he knew pretty damn well that emotional support wasn’t his best feature. It was a lot easier when it came to Kyrie, she always knew exactly what people needed to hear and said it with enough faith and certainty to put her point across. He was a lot rougher around the edges, finding it easier to fight and protect people that way rather than with words. Maybe that’s why Kyrie evened him out so well?

Regardless.

“...I think that God would have taken her even if you had been attached at the hip,” He reasoned after a brief moment of silence, broken only by the sounds of the ocean rolling over the sandy beach, “That bastard would have ripped you off of Y/N in an instant. So...don’t beat yourself up too bad, chicken.”

Griffon paused at that, probably not expecting anything remotely resembling kind words to come from Nero’s mouth. On the ground, Shadow’s ears flicked upwards for a moment, mourning eyes drifting to the demon-hunter’s face.

The bird finally sighed, looking away toward the ocean and settling into his own feathers a bit, “Maybe,” He muttered, sounding glum and irritable, “But we wouldn’t have known until we tried.”

And that’s all we could have done--tried.

Nero let out another slow breath, turning to look back in the kitchen and leave the familiars to their musings. Talking wasn’t helping anyone. Well...at least not for him--Dante was back to theorizing with Lady and Trish at the table, a book open between them depicting stories of ancient beings and legends spoken by demonologists and religious nuts alike.

None spoke of anything close enough to you worth sticking to, your powers far too spread across several spectrums and different words and phrasing used for each one. The “Void” was a common term for so many things, some ranging from hell to purgatory, the latter sounding closer to what you described according to the ladies. The Void is a place where broken souls go when they die. Problem was nothing really mentioned that to such fine details.

As for your “God”...well, everyone was looking for a name. You not being able to describe him when last you spoke of him hadn’t helped, so they were at a standstill as to who he could be. Not of any legend or part of mythology Dante knew the specifics on. He had sensed your power when he met you, telling right away that you were the follower of a God that did not align himself with good or evil. Something dark and chaotic, mischievous--he had met beings like that before, ones who prided themselves on simply seeking entertainment and manipulation of human souls. Regardless, he had guessed right that the God didn’t come from any part of the known realms he was familiar with. The sensation that came when that portal had opened to grab you was one of darkness, the cold. Not demonic, not angelic. Something...else.

But where is this place, and how can we get there?

“You think we should perform a ritual even when we do find out?” Trish sounded displeased, lips drawn in a firm frown as she stared at Dante’s face, “I don’t trust this creature, it’s a risk we can’t take.”

“You’re preaching to the choir, Trish,” Dante huffed in response, leaning back in the chair and crossing his arms over his chest. Now dressed in his own clothes, especially considering the ones he borrowed from Nero had been soaking wet after their searching in the rain, “You think I’m not ready to tango with a God? He doesn’t impress me with these little parlor tricks of his.”

“Oh I know--And that’s exactly what I’’m afraid of.”

Dante clicked his tongue at Trish’s heavily annoyed tone, looking away and rubbing a hand over his unshaven jaw. She wasn’t having any of his brazen, hot-headed stunts that day it would seem. Nero hated that he wanted to side with Dante, but the devil hunter was raring to go and put some action to this situation. If this God wanted to play ball, he was more than willing to come in swinging. And kicking. And shooting. Sitting back and waiting for things to change was making him irritable now, so if they didn’t come up with something...well, dangerous or not, if a lead came they had to take it. They owed it to you to at least try.

But...it would seem no ritual would be needed. 

Something...felt off. It was getting colder, the air taking on a strange chill despite how warm it had been during the day. It made Nero freeze, looking quickly at his uncle and seeing a similar realization echoing in his eyes. He felt that too, didn’t he? That eerie feeling, like something cold and dark was trying to--

“Dante…! Nero!” 

Griffon’s frantic screech made everyone look up, seeing the bird start flapping his wings and staring up at the sky with alarmed eyes. Shadow skidded to their feet, a roaring ripping its way from their throat as they took off out of sight, paws pounding into sand and faster than a bullet. Every person in the room stood in an instant, rushing outside to see exactly what had gotten the creature’s attention--but Nero already had a guess.

He had felt it in the air right as the bird spoke, the temperature started dropping rapidly and a prickle of energy had tapped its way along his spine. A similar feeling to how your powers felt when activated, but far stronger and stiffing. He took off out the door before everyone else, one hand already gripping the handle of the Red Queen before he had even lifted his eyes to the sky.

Something broke the clear night air, a fissure that extended like a black fracture between the stars and clouds. It was unnerving--resembling the jagged edges of a sadistic smile, its maw partially opened and leaking out a cold that did not belong in the waking world. Nero felt his heart rate speed up with the prospect of battle, hairs standing up on the back of his neck as hands started to creep their way out of the portal. There was no hesitation, he and Dante took off at the same breakneck speed down the beach with their feet digging into the sand, Griffon sailing on sapphire wings right beside them. Lady and Trish followed as quickly as they could manage, Trish yelling to Nico and Kyrie to stay behind where it was safe. That was for the best, none of them knew what they were dealing with at that moment. 

Dante skidded to a halt mere feet from the portal above, eyes sharp and attentive as a few more black, crystalline appendages weaved their way into the air. Both men had swords raised, in fighting stances like they were preparing for war. To be honest, the God’s level of unpredictability was part of the issue--if he couldn’t be understood, then no chances could be taken. But...the arms were not making any motions to attack, merely drifting and twitching without rhyme or reason in the night air. Nero exchanged a quick look with his uncle when a lack of violence persisted, a low hum of energy and whispers filling the space around them. Like a thousand voices where speaking in hushed voices, but making no sense.

Nero didn’t have the patience for the otherworldly shit. And neither did Dante.

“Not showing your face this time?” The older man taunted loudly to the open portal, taking a step forward and holding out his hands in challenge, “This theatrical shit ain’t my shtick, so let’s get to the show already…!”

His words were met with silence, only broken by the low whispers and the howling of wind. Griffon landed on Shadow’s back, both familiars staring up at the sky with desperation, a hint of hope and despair. This was the only sign they had received since you were taken, and it was more than they had hours ago. Nero was prepared to launch into the portal if he needed to, not willing to let this opportunity pass up with so much on the line. You were family now, and contrary to what he wanted and felt... so was Vergil. He wasn’t about to let some smug god take away his closure, his ability to tell that spiky-haired bastard exactly what he felt. And if that meant plunging into the unknown...he would do it, for you, for the kids, for Kyrie. She knew he could handle it, knew he always came back to her.

She trusts me. She always has.

The hands from the portal twitched before he could even begin readying himself, gripping the jagged edges of emptiness like they could somehow pry them open wider. Which they did--the portal opened several inches, exposing more of the dark to their eyes and sending the temperature down several degrees. Cold enough that Nero could see his breath, goosebumps rising on the flesh of his exposed arms. The appendages glittered like obsidian, holding there without moving another inch and seeming oblivious to the men down below. Shadow let out a low growl at Nero’s feet, baring their teeth skywards in a threatening manner. He doubted the two had any patience left to give either, not with their lives ridding on yours.

Griffon extended his wings, feathers rippling like he was contemplating flying up into the portal himself. A risky move, one that Nero knew you would not want happening. But there would be no need, not when something new started to slip out of the inky darkness above their heads.

That’s--

Both Nero and Dante gasped when a body fell out from the blackness above, landing limply on the sand in a flash of white hair and a familiar black and blue jacket--Vergil. He was unconscious again, but not looking hurt in the slightest save for his hair being messed up and discoloration in his cheeks. Dante didn’t hesitate like Nero did--he rushed forward in an instant, gripping the man by his coat to drag him away from the Void portal and not seeming hindered despite how heavy the half-demon was. Vergil let out a low grunt at the motion, head lolling to the side as he was rolled over and propped up into an awkward sitting position.

He looked alright, didn’t he? Just exhausted, dark circles under his eyes and hair draping down in messy pieces from his usual hairstyle.

“Vergil…!” Dante exclaimed, looking worried as he shook his brother by the shoulders and looked him over for wounds, “Talk to me, Verg--you alright? Can you hear me?”

Vergil let out a low groan, the sound raw and raspy. As if he had inhaled shards of glass, or had been screaming for hours. Nero watched in worry as he blinked his icy blue eyes slowly, seeming dazed and confused of his surroundings and…volatile, uneasy. Seeing such emotion on the stoic man felt strange, incredibly off. He watched as his father gripped Dante’s shirt for a moment, like he was testing the solidity of it, and stared at his brother as if he was several miles away. Even Dante seemed surprised by his siblings expression, more worry taking away his usually bemused demeanor and one of his hands resting on Vergil’s shoulder.

“Hey--you alright?” He repeated, firmer this time as he pinched a part of Vergil’s cheek, “Up and at ‘em, brother. We need to know what happened in there.”

Vergil swatted his hand away, the annoyance flickering across his expression more in tune to how he usually was. He turned away, resting one hand on the sand and taking slow, measured breathes through his teeth. 

Is he okay? 

“I...I am undecided on how I feel at the moment,” He muttered hoarsely, pressing his fingers to his temple and closing those tired eyes again, “And I...I…”

He trailed off, lifting his head to instead gaze up at the portal above with apprehension and a million other emotions on his face. Fear, anger, regret, sorrow, remorse...was that what Nero was seeing? Certainly not on Vergil, the cold and cocky man who seemed to feel nothing after causing the calamity in Red Grave, after discovering he had a fucking son. It was almost insulting to see such a level of emotion now, but it was far too tempered by his own shock and worry to be even remotely stinging. He lifted his eyes too, just in enough time to see more black, obsidian arms reaching out of the portal, but...this time they brought another body with them.

Oh thank God.

Griffon and Shadow let out varying sounds of relief and delight at the sight of you wrapped in those black arms, the bird springing up and meeting them halfway so he could anxiously press his beak to your face. You were unconscious too, skin pale and hair draped around your cheeks as the hands brought you gingerly to the floor. Far more carefully that they had with Vergil, who had been practically tossed out onto the sand.

Nero dropped the Red Queen instantly, lurching forward so he could put out his arms underneath you before your body touched the ground. Thank the Gods in heaven, you weren’t injured either--still breathing, heart still beating, but feeling chilled to the bone after your time in the Void. Nero let out a sigh of relief, crouching down at Shadow’s insistent cries to the cat could lick frantically at your face and hair.

They’re both fine--they’re both fine and alive.

“Toots…!” Griffon cawed in something close to a sob, hovering around you with worried eyes and feathers puffed out, “Is she okay? We can’t see what happened--everything in her head feels messed with…!”

Messed with? The God didn’t erase your memory, did he? That made Nero frown, unable to tell if anything had been taken just by looking at you. But what was the point of erasing your memories just to give you back?

“She good?” Dante asked, peering over Nero’s shoulder worriedly so he too could look at your face.

Nero paused, watching as Griffon landed on the ground nearby and pressed his beak into your limp, cold hand, “She’s freezing, but that’s to be expected,” The white-haired boy lifted his eyes upwards, noting that the portal still had not closed despite depositing the two people they had been looking for, “What the hell was the point of this? Yanking them in only to give them back unharmed hours later? I don’t get it.”

Vergil let out a bitter, bark of a laugh at Nero’s words, making both he and Dante turn to look at him. The older male was leaning forward on the beach, one hand bracing him while the other pressed to his temple like someone had cracked him over the skull. Something his son had said seemed bitterly amusing to him, the expression tempered with exhaustion and...what was that look? So faraway, so unlike the proud bastard to wear remorse on his sleeve in such a manner. 

What the hell had happened to him in there?

“The Outsider...got exactly what he desired,” Vergil whispered, lifting his fingers away so he could give them a light flex, “Everything played out exactly as he wanted it. There was no reason to keep us--it was never about that in the first place. And it feels...so very odd...very...”

His words trailed off, so low that it was almost impossible to hear. But Nero caught the back end of it, or at least what his ears thought they had translated from the jumbled mess that broke from Vergil’s lips.

“...Empty…”

Empty? What did he mean by that?

And what the hell is “the Outsider”?

Was that the God’s name, the one they had spent so long trying to figure out? So unassuming, something he never would have guessed. It was a bit mysterious and annoying too, absolutely fitting of this creature who became a steady thorn in everyone’s sides.

But that was a thought for another time. What the half-demon said was far more concerning to Nero.

Dante seemed troubled as well, putting an arm slowly around Vergil’s waist to help him up off of the ground, “Come on, you’re disoriented right now. We’d better get them inside, Nero,” He looked at you, still in the boy’s arms and showing no sign of waking, “We can ask questions tomorrow, neither of them are in any shape to answer anything.”

Much to Nero’s shock, Vergil did not protest his brother’s help. He let the other male lift him up, head still lowered and a look of exhaustion in his eyes. There was a conflicted tone in his expression, lacking the usual anger or pride that came with taking Dante’s assistance with anything. And he wasn’t oblivious to it--the seasoned devil hunter looked even more worried, pausing for a moment like he was waiting for Vergil to push him away, or maybe a snide remark about how he could “do it on his own”. No such thing came, and that was pretty unsettling to say the least. 

All they could do now was go home and try to piece together what had happened. Something big must have gone down to unsettle Vergil so heavily, to stomp down his pride and anger until something broken remained. Nero hated to admit how worried he was about his old man, but the sensation was there and growing. This incident was done, and he wanted nothing more than to go back to the orphanage and leave the mystery until morning reared its head the next day. 

But the portal was still open. 

And it was not done yet.

Nero had told himself that if it continued to remain open they would have someone keep watch, that it could be dealt with after making sure both of you were safe. He didn’t know what could be done, but leaving it to linger on the beaches of Fortuna wasn’t an option, especially not with the kids in the orphanage being so close. Morrison was still doing his research, they could try using the Yamato if needed to close it and bring so peace for a little while at least.

But...a crackling sound made them both turn, confusion in Nero’s expression as he saw the hands twitch and rotate in the portal above. A few retreated back, some lingering the keep it wide open enough to allow a person through. For a brief, horrifying moment Nero thought the “Outsider” would come out of it himself, to speak with his cursed lips or attack them while their guard was down.

But no…what did come out of the portal was far more jarring.

What the hell…? What the hell is that?

Nero felt himself tense up in shock and disbelief as another body started being lowered down by the hands of dark crystal. Recognition was working its way into the chorus of emotions in the boy’s head, skidding everything to a confused halt as he took in this new person’s appearance. He saw a flash of white hair draping in front of an all too familiar face, long arms dangling limply down from a naked body barely covered by the modesty of the hands. Pale skin, scars lining his shoulder from when the horseman attacked him all those months ago in Red grave. There was no way--There was no fucking way, that is impossible. The boy couldn’t believe his eyes, even when the hands laid the familiar body gently down onto the sand, his nude form easy to spot in the moonlight and laying on his stomach with his head tilted to the side. Allowing them both to see his face, but hiding the parts of him they’d rather not see.

That’s impossible--

He can’t be here, can he?

But there was no mistaking the man Nero had traveled and spoken with all those months ago. The image of his face had not faded in the slightest.

V was laying lying on the beach.

The hands set him down gently, retreating back into the portal and leaving his unconscious form to rest on the sands with that white hair drifting ever so slightly. The fingers gripping the portal to hold it open finally let go, the jagged maw snapping shut with a crack that rang through the night air. Slowly, painfully so, the edges of the portal fused together until it disappeared into nothing, a warm breeze washing away the cold it had brought moments prior.

The whispering was gone, the howling was gone, and all that was left in its wake was the blissful sound of rolling waves and the gentle thrum of the wind chimes the children had hung a few weeks ago around the deck. Neither made things feel any less chaotic--Nero looked between Vergil and the man on the beach in an almost comedic fashion, watching as his father turned to glance back at V with his own expression of recognition. And of clarity. 

He knew exactly who it was lying there, and didn’t seemed shocked in the slightest. Nor did he seem...incomplete, like Urizen was still absent and no longer split in two. No, Vergil seemed like his usual self minus the exhaustion and the complete whirlwind of emotion he was expressing. In fact, the only thing he seemed to show other than tiredness when looking at V was...satisfaction? Relief? Tinged with his remorse and guilt, one that did not fade as he lowered his head once more, eyes closing like everything had finally reached its conclusion. Dante was staring in absolute shock as well, a muscle twitching in his jaw as those gears in his brain tried to work out just what the hell was going on.

What the fuck happened in there?

How is he HERE?

How is this possible?

“Holy fucking shit…!” Griffon whispered in front of them both, reminding Nero that he and the big cat existed, “Is that...is that Shakespeare?!”

Shadow stared with wide eyes as well, ears pressing flat against their skull and now silent in the face of all the madness. Griffon exchanged a long glance with Dante, both seeming at a loss for words with V’s body lying there on the sand with no one knowing just how the fuck it was possible. There was no mistaking it though--that was V, in the flesh on the sands of Fortuna but without his tattoos or black hair. It made sense, the familiars were no longer connected to him after he went back into Vergil’s body. Nero couldn’t wrap his head around anything anymore, not a damn bit of it. All he knew was something had happened in the Void, and now Vergil was a trainwreck, and V was somehow alive as well.

While Vergil was still in existence.

Holy fuck, this is insane.

“How the fuck is this possible?” Nero hissed, turning to level his gaze on Vergil’s lowered face and feeling his anger spike back again. What were they supposed to think, to trust? How could his father be here while his human half was separated again?

Vergil let out a low sigh, opening his eyes so he could shift them over and stare at his son. He flinched for a moment, grimacing like Nero had reached out and slapped him and wearing a look on his face the boy didn’t...understand. Why is he looking at me like that? Like just staring at me is complete agony. Guilt was back again, a realization that made Vergil look a thousand times more tired than he did before. No more condescending stares, no more cocky attitude...Vergil was looking at his son like a man who had failed him in every single way.

And that...that was even more unsettling. 

It hurt, he didn’t like it.

“...The Outsider has a way of getting what he wants,” Vergil replied, low and hoarse as he held Nero’s confused gaze, “All of this was to...punish me, and to return V back to Y/N without me losing my humanity. He...simply made it so my humanity was rebuilt anew, and took V’s half-soul and made it a full one of his own.”

Was...was all of that really possible? Nero felt disbelief slipping onto his expression, but Vergil didn’t sound like he was lying. It would make sense as to why he was so messed up, anyone would be if they had their soul rearranged and altered in such a manner. Maybe what Nero saw as guilt was merely his father feeling unsettled, confused and messed up by the apparent punishments he received while in the Void. There were so many questions to ask, but this was not the time to do any of that--Not with everyone so on edge, not with Vergil looking like he was on the verge of falling over and passing out again.

Nero needed to stay level-headed, focused.

“Son of a bitch…!” He cursed, pulling his gaze away from his father and looking at Dante, “What the hell should we do? Is that possible?”

Dante blew out some air from between his cheeks, frowning and deep in thought as he replied, “With a God like this one? Sure is,” He turned away from the confusion boy, yelling to Trish and Lady staring from their defensive positions a few feet back. Both looked like they were in varying stages of shock, looking between you, Vergil, and V and at a loss for words, “Care to lend a hand? Nero, give them Y/N and carry V to the house for me--we can figure shit out later, I gotta call Morrison.”

Lady and Trish jolted when spoken to, exchanging a brief glance before putting their weapons away and rushing forward to help. Nero handed you to Lady easily enough, the woman not hindered by your weight in the slightest and just looking relieved to have you back. He felt the same way, but damn if he wasn’t at a loss for words right now. Griffon and Shadow followed both women when they rushed you back to the house, Kyrie and Nico meeting them halfway with cries of delight and joy.

Seeing his wife so happy for your return made everything worth it--he could worry about the confusing shit at another time. They couldn’t very well leave V alone and nude on the beach overnight, that would be cruel despite all that had happened. Contrary to how his father seemed, V had been his better half, his humanity. Despite Nero’s doubts...being angry could wait.

So he nodded at Dante, turning his back and heading toward V’s prone form and shrugging off his coat in the process. The former goth  was certainly out like a light, there was no denying that. But he looked...better than he did before. No longer carrying dark circles under his eyes, pallor more of a normal pale than the sickly one he carried whilst limping his way around the Qliphoth. Nero thought he would never see the poet again, so doing so now was...very odd, unsettling in a way. V’s black vest and slacks were long gone, it would seem, naked as the day he was born--wait, was V born? This was getting SO confusing. 

Nero shook his head, sighing as he rolled the poet over and draping the coat over him in one fluid motion. No offense to the guy, but he’d rather not carry him around with his dick out for all to see--nothing personal. Only then did he lift V up, noting that he pretty much weighed the same as the last time Nero had carried him. On the way to Urizen, holding up the poet’s form with one arm as they walked and spoke of who the demon was. All those half truths were pretty aggravating in retrospect. V had only given him enough of the story to make it sound believable, conveniently leaving out how he himself half also been Vergil too. Typical.

Regardless.

It was a quick trek back to the house, one filled with unanswered questions that hung in the air and weighed him down at the same time. Did...did you know that V was back? What did it mean for Vergil now that his human half had been removed and changed? You had loved V so much, to the point that your love extended to Vergil too despite how much you tried to deny it. Nero had seen it in your eyes the instant his father returned, a deep ache that refused to quit no matter how much you reasoned through it. But now...everything would change, everything. Hell, what did this make V in relation to him? A second father? An uncle? Brother? Christ, everything was a mess.

He tried to ignore it as he carried V inside, Trish closing the door behind him with an absolutely incredulous look. Nero didn’t blame her--he felt the same way.

He looked gazed the kitchen, not seeing his wife nor Lady in the warm glow of the light overhead. Vergil was sitting at the dining table, head held up only by his hands and quiet as a mouse. Those blue eyes didn’t open even when Nero came in, the man looking like an absolute mess all things considered. He would have to be focused on later.

“Where’s Kyrie?” Nero asked Dante, who was standing by the phone on the wall and patiently waiting on the line for Morrison, most likely.

The grizzled man pointed upwards, signals read loud and clear as he covered the mouthpiece of the phone in hand, “They took the kid to her room--I told her to bring down a few sheets for V as well, ‘cause no offense...I don’t wanna tackle dressing him.”

That was completely fair and understandable. Nero didn’t want to do that either.

Speaking of his wife, she came back downstairs in that moment, looking a bit frazzled and clutching a bundle of sheets wrapped around a pillow. Everything had grown incredibly chaotic in the past few hours, even Kyrie had her limits of where level-headedness failed to solve problems. She very carefully made sure not to look at V’s body as she followed Nero into the garage, placing the poet down on the cot and taking the items from her hands a moment later. Precious, adorable woman was trying so hard to protect V’s modesty, red cheeks and eyes making sure to look away until Nero had placed both sheets over his body, pillow under his head. 

“It’s safe to look,” He told her, holding a hand on her cheek and stroking his thumb on that soft, familiar skin, “I’m sorry about everything that’s going on, babe...shit has gone completely off the rails.”

She smiled at that, meeting his anxious eyes with her own warm, brown orbs. A light kiss to his lips followed, taking with it all his fears and worries in an instant like a breath of fresh air.

“Don’t worry,” She promised, turning to finally look down at V’s sleeping face with curious eyes, “I’ve never seen him before...but Y/N talked about him a lot. V is truly special to her, and now...now he’s back. And that...that’s what matters, we can figure everything out as we go.”

He nodded at her words, taking solace in how steady and reasonable she sounded. Always the voice of reason, his shelter in the storm. Things always worked out when Kyrie made them so, and he would hold faith to that despite how batshit insane everything seemed. 

Focus on the good for now, the rest would fall into place.

So, he kissed her hand, standing in the doorway and watching as she walked back into the kitchen to survey how everyone was doing. Trish was sitting at the table trying to question Vergil, getting barely anything resembling responses while Dante talked over what happened with Morrison over the phone. Nero still felt...uneasy about how his father was doing, watching as Vergil practically peeled his eyes open to stare in exhaustion at Trish’s annoyed face. The poor guy looked like he needed a round of shots and then some--there was no telling what kind of punishments a god could put in place for a man like him. Whatever had happened left him without the energy to even banter with Dante, left him...guilty.

Kyrie wasn’t oblivious to any of it either. She paused by the coffee table, eyes understandably concerned as she graced Vergil with that caring expression of hers. Kyrie was such a fucking angel, far better a person than Nero--despite all his father had done, to him and others...she was still willing to help, to try and ease his suffering. The only reason Nero hadn’t kicked Vergil’s ass again was due to his wife talking him down from that anger, reasoning out why he should try and talk to this man who was his father. Kyrie was so good, a shining light in comparison to both Nero and Vergil in kind. And he couldn’t talk her out of that kindness, even for those who didn’t deserve it.

It was why Nero held his tongue while Kyrie paused, hesitating as she stared at Vergil’s face like those motherly instincts were battling with the reasoning inside her head. But, as always, kindness would always be the victory in these types of inner conflicts. A second later, she inhaled, putting on her most gentle, hesitant voice as she placed a hand on the table to get Vergil’s attention.

“Mister Vergil?” She asked, smiling softly when his father tilted his gaze in her direction with a hint of surprise, “Would you like some tea? I have herbal remedies that might make you feel better, you must be very tired.”

Say one mean thing to my wife, and you’re dead meat.

Nero stiffened, narrowing his eyes at Vergil as he waited for a response. Kyrie’s kindness aside, he was more than ready to punt the man out the door for her sake even if he was going through some rough shit. She always took priority, and anyone without manners didn’t belong in their house anyway.

But...Vergil managed to shock him again.

He merely closed his eyes, letting out a slow breath and running a hand through his messed up hair. Tone tired, voice heavy and hoarse as he replied quietly to her question.

“If it doesn’t burden you...then I wouldn’t mind some tea.”

Cue shocked stares from Trish, Nero, and Dante in kind. Vergil’s brother especially, his mouth popped open in surprise and eyes practically burning a hole into the man’s back. Out of everyone in the room, the devil hunter knew Vergil the most, so this must have been incredibly out of character, to be even remotely polite in any circumstance. But...Kyrie didn’t seem to mind, looking downright tickled pink as she nodded and turned toward the stove, putting the kettle on to boil and searching for their tea set in the cupboard. Damn, things were just growing more and more confusing, weren’t they? A downright mess, one that had been preparing to blow up after months of peace and quiet for all of them. 

But...Nero looked back at V’s peaceful face, his chest rising and falling with slow, even breaths. He looked at his father, seeing a change in him that was far beyond what anyone could comprehend. Everyone was back together, alive, whole. And you would get the love of your life back, after all these months of pain and suffering. He didn’t know what the God did, what transpired during those hours of time only you and Vergil had experienced. 

Regardless of all those uncertainties...he found himself far more relieved and happy than anything else. And if things tried to fall apart again…

Well. Then they would fix it.

(Your POV, the next Day)

Something...something is missing.

Something was taken.

Something was gone.

You had your memories altered frequently enough to know what your head had been fucked with. The sensation was unmistakable, more familiar than anything else as you started pulling yourself out of unconsciousness bit by bit. Back in that damned, dark pool of water again, the same one that weighed down your limbs and fogged out everything else. There were so many questions, so many swirling thoughts that constricted your mind like the flow of water. What had happened while in the Void with Vergil? Everything was so fuzzy after the second trial, cutting off abruptly after the Outsider started changing things over. Why couldn’t you remember? Did Vergil fail the third trial, is that why your head had been altered? For a brief, fleeting moment of panic that was the conclusion you drew, scrambling to pull yourself out of the darkness and back into waking once more. 

Get up, we have to do something.

Everything was so god damn heavy. It was like trying to yank your limbs out of mud, one appendage at a time, finger by finger. Waking came in bits and pieces, some faster than others, some slow and agonizingly patient. The sensation of warmth came first, a far cry from the Void despite that chill still lingering in your bones and limbs. Not that much time had passed, then--but the fact that you were no longer in the Void was startling enough. Or...was this another illusion, one brought about to make you feel a strange sense of comfort? You thought that living in the Void long enough gave you a good sense of reality, but...those trials had shaken your confidence a bit more than you’d care to admit. 

That uncertainty continued even as you regained feelings one by one, recognizing the softness of your own comforter under your shoulders and fingertips. My room? The taste of salt water was in the air, the sound of billowing curtains reaching your ears as the muffled feeling of being underwater faded away. Was it morning? How had you gotten home? And when? The breeze felt so real, so unbelievably welcome as it washed over your skin like a gentle caress. Illusion or not, you could have wept at the familiarity of your home, the sanctuary of your bedroom. It was on that comfort alone that you willed your eyes to open, flinching at the sunlight and lifting a hand to shield yourself from the glare.

Home...you were home.

You breathed slowly in and out as you watched the white curtains flow on the breeze, light and airy as they drifted above your bed. Dust motes danced in the sun’s rays, barely visible to the naked eye, but there nonetheless. Was...was this real? Were you really back, safe and sound? But...what about Vergil? 

Wait...something was off.

Worry...you were worried about Vergil, wanted to make sure he was safe after the ordeal he went through. The trauma of his mother’s death, of seeing the truths he fought so long to ignore...was he okay, after all of those terrible things? You still felt concerned about him, mind swirling with questions that weren’t answered. But...why did this feel off, different? Lacking its weight, lacking the spark it had before.

You waited for that sensation to return at the thought of him, that deep ache in your chest that longed for his touch and affections. Because V was a part of the surly man, and you longed to have him back even if it meant learning to love Vergil too. But...nothing came? You blinked, breath catching in your lungs as you searched inside yourself for those feelings, for that deep desire that had driven your emotions and actions for so many months. But...when you thought of Vergil, it felt strangely...disconnected. The worry for his well being existed, you still cared about his safety and his traumas after what happened...but something was very lacking, and you couldn’t figure out what.

That love for V was still there, thinking of him still made you ache and crave and hurt terribly. That was stronger than ever, a flame that would never go out inside of you for as long as you lived. If you were still in love with your poet, why did everything with Vergil feel so off now? Maybe...maybe that was what the Outsider altered, alongside your memories? But...he couldn’t have done such a thing, it would never benefit anything for either parties. The thought made your panic grow deeper, heartbeat speeding up at the idea of not being able to love V in his new form, the only opportunity you would get to have him again. Even if the son of Sparda had hurt you, even if he was cruel...you wanted to try, and that was never a choice you had wanted taken away.

Feeling that way felt so empty compared to before, lacking the conviction and focus. No reason to now, your mind told you, shrugging it all off like it was nothing. Didn’t it matter? Didn’t you want it to?

This should matter, shouldn’t it?

 You bit down on the confusing sensations, sitting up slowly and pressing a hand to your head. Upon further inspection, you were still wearing your clothes from the previous day, but the cuts on your arms were now gone. A frown marred your lips as you inspected them, lifting your palms to search for any trace of soot or ash from the fire--nothing, like none of the trials had even happened. There was no way all of it had been a dream, of that you were certain. The pain had been real, that raw, aching emotion. Your Deity had a hand in all of this, down to the last detail--you just didn’t know what he hoped to gain. It hurt to think of how complicated your relation with him had become, your father figure and only parent to speak of. He cared about you, didn’t he? It seemed like he did, at least from what memory you had. 

Christ, my head is all messed up.

You quickly surveyed your room, feeling a bit surprised at the sight of Lady asleep in an armchair, one tucked away near the steps leading up. When had she gotten here? The woman certainly looked...real. Leaning her head on one hand, lips parted with light breaths and wearing a tank top with black shorts. The sun made beautiful patterns on her thighs, dancing and swaying each time the curtains billowed. You hadn’t seen her in a month, having spoken and caught up during a visit to the orphanage not that long ago. Tears sprang to your eyes, heart aching now that she was there again like a life preserver in the sea of uncertainty. Waking up alone would have been awful in that moment, but...you realized that wouldn’t have been the case either.

Sitting up jostled a familiar cat-shape next to you, Shadow yawning and looking up at your face with bleary eyes. You breathed out a sigh of relief, hugging your arms around the demon and feeling that comforting purr in response--thank god, thank god. Real, solid, not an illusion. They felt happy to see you as well, seemingly unharmed by your time disconnected from them, which was a relief all its own. That connection was now loud and clear, a soundless cry and happiness coming from your familiar as you shared a brief moment of comfort.

Upon looking to your left, Griffon’s form was found huddled above your pillow, reflecting the light beautifully from his sapphire feathers and eyes still squeezed shut. Even in rest you could feel his worry and fear for you, stroking a hand down his back and smiling softly. Poor boy had a rough time when you were taken, that was for sure. It looked like he had preened his feathers one too many times in stress, quite a few missing from his tail. You felt so bad, forgetting your own woes for a moment in light of his as you gently scooped him up into your arms, the bird almost curled into a ball while sleeping. He gave a light trill when you did so, feathers shuddering out in delight when you scratched under his beak. So simple, as always. 

This is real, isn’t it? This is reality.

No more illusions.

For a few moments, things passed peacefully that way. You grounded yourself in reality, memorizing the sensation of Griffon’s silky feathers under your fingertips and counting each breath. That black strand of hair was back, which meant Nightmare must have returned to you while unconscious. His presence was most certainly there, gracing the edges of your mind in a low, wordless rumble of relief that made you give a gentle smile.The sun was warm, the breeze soothing, and both familiars were now held against you in a gentle, comforting manner. Enough to prove the truth before you, enough to shake off some of the fear and worry. But...not all of it--you still didn’t know what happened to Vergil, after all, and that was making your concern and hesitation grow like vines gripping your lungs and heart.

You heard low voices talking downstairs, barely audible through the floors and almost intelligible. It was uncertain if any of them were Vergil, but you were certain you heard Nero tell someone “Clothes first--then you can go see her.”

Clothes first? Her? Were they talking about you?

There wasn’t long to ponder it. Griffon started blinking awake in the next moment, squinting around the room before lifting his golden eyes up to your face. He earned a soft smile from you, his thoughts reached through your connection in a slow growth of shock and utter relief once he registered it was you holding him in your lap.

He jolted immediately, maw popping open as he squawked in surprise, “Toots….! You’re awake!”

“Shh…” You put a finger to your lips to shush him, looking up to see if he had woken up Lady at all.

 Unfortunately, it seemed like he had, unable to control his volume in such excitement. The woman in the chair started to stir, blinking awake right when Griffon pressed his beak insistently to your face, like doing so would somehow convey his level of urgency. Mind you, it did, but you felt a little bad about Lady being awoken by all the noise.

“You okay, toots?” Griffon squawked insistently, clawed feet gripping onto your arm as you let out a huff of air, “Hurt anywhere? Forgetting anythin’? What did the big bad bastard in the sky do to you?”

Well, that was a lot to answer, and worse so considering you had no idea how to respond to the ending two. No pain, but if you were forgetting memories how the hell could you know what they had been? Something was definitely missing, but...it was just that third trial, nothing else. Your mind still remembered V, your family in Fortuna, the familiars. Just what had Vergil seen that the Outsider felt the need to take away? It made no sense.

And trying to figure it out was...making you feel uneasy, like something was prickling its way along your spine. A warning, one that felt close to your Foresight and froze the thought before it had the chance to form. 

Bad, bad. You should stop doing that.

Don’t--just leave it alone for now.

“Y/N...!” 

You looked up in just enough time to see Lady launch herself from the chair, wrapping both arms around you and the familiars with a sigh of relief. Warm, she was warm and real. It was almost overwhelming for a moment, tears pricking your eyes and head leaning against her shoulder as the torrent of leftover fear and uncertainty tried to surge again. It had been so frightening, not knowing if you would be allowed to come home, trying to hold Vergil’s head above water through a flood of punishment and pain. You never wanted to lose what was here, this feeling of belonging and love. Nor did you want anyone to suffer that same fate, one of being thrown into the Void with no hope of getting out. 

Regardless.

“Y...you’re here…” You whispered to Lady, leaning back and letting her cup both cheeks, “What...what happened? How did I get home? Did Vergil make it back too?”

Please tell me he did--I don’t know if I could be allowed back there to find him.

But Lady smiled softly, leaning forward to press a kiss to your forehead and bringing an air of ease with it. There was no doubt she was sensing how overwhelmed you were, how worried. But if she wasn’t upset or concerned...things had to be alright, didn’t they? She would not lie.

“He’s alright,” She said soothingly, squishing your cheeks together lovingly, in a childish manner, “A portal appeared and spit you out onto the beach--he was downstairs with Dante and the others when Kyrie and I brought you up here last night.”

A gusty sigh of relief left you, head leaning forward to plop on her shoulder again as you muttered, “Oh thank God.” 

Vergil wasn’t in the Void, that alone was a huge blessing and a load off your back. The loss of memory, all the uncertainties...they could wait now, couldn’t they? To just make it out unharmed was enough of a victory to put you at ease.

But...was he alright? After all that emotional trauma, the trials, anyone could be severely messed up mentally. If the Outsider had freed Vergil, then something must have happened in that third trial to change his mind about punishment. What could have gone down? You were just hurting yourself trying to figure things out, not knowing if you had actually seen the trial at all--if your memory had been erased, it must have been something either the Outsider or Vergil didn’t want you to remember. Maybe the son of Sparda had done something truly terrible in his past that upset you? Something unforgivable. It both concerned you and released some of the ease on your half of the mystery. Maybe it hadn’t involved you at all, something super humiliating that Vergil just didn’t want you remembering.

Maybe.

You didn’t get the chance to bring anything up about it--Lady suddenly gasped, seeming to realize something and peeling herself off of you in the next instant, “Oh…!”

What had her so riled up? You blinked, watching in confusion as she kissed your cheek again, hurrying to your dresser and starting to rummage through clothes like her life depended on it. Did you miss something by chance, some sign or signal that they needed to get ready? A bit of nervousness remained, making the thought of seeing Vergil again seem...off. There was no more of that charged energy for whatever reason, but it was still going to be hard to face him after everything that happened. That kiss seemed pretty far away, more muted in intensity alongside all the other moments shared between you and the surly son of Sparda.

Oh lord. You’d have to tell the girls about that at some point.

But Lady didn’t notice your hesitation, nor the questioning looks thrown her way. There might as well have been a question mark above your head, but the older woman only held up a finger in a motion that said hold on. Well then. You instead exchanged a look with Griffon like he would somehow have the answers you sought, but were immediately startled when all three familiars blocked their thoughts out--What the hell was going on now? Shadow ignored the very loud thought pushed their way as they licked your cheek and excitedly trotted down the stairs, tail swishing back and forth. As for your favorite bird, he gave a low, ominous chortle, hopping out of your arms and to the dresser Lady was busying herself with.

What the hell was happening? And why did it feel like you were missing the punchline to a joke? 

“What are you guys doing?” You asked aloud, hopping off of the bed and pressing a hand to your head when a wave of dizziness hit like a baseball bat. Ugh, coming out of the Void always made you feel gross, like your sense of balance was thrown off. Shaking the sensation off slightly, you peeked over Lady’s shoulder and asked in deep concern, “I feel like you both are scheming--what have I missed?” 

And why did it involve your clothes?

Lady smirked playfully, turning to face you and shoving a few pieces of clothing in your hands, “You’ll see. Be a good girl and put these on.”

A frown marred your lips, eyes darting down to see a lacy, shoulder baring top and high-waisted shorts. Very pretty, very feminine and picked out for a reason if Lady’s careful searching was any indication of her motives. This was feeling far too theatrical for your tastes, and the reason for all of it was being very clearly hidden by your two friends. The schemers in question exchanged a quick glance, Lady winking at him before turning away to head for the stairs and ignoring your looks of bafflement. 

She paused at the top, blowing you a light kiss as she purred, “If we’re going to do this, we’re going all out.”

You opened your mouth to ask just exactly what “this” was, but Lady wasn’t waiting for a reply. She quickly trotted down to the second floor, the sound of her footsteps fading away and leaving you standing there in a state of dazed confusion. What...what was going on? They all seemed pretty excited about something, despite how dire everything had been just the previous day. 

You lifted the clothes Lady had deposited in your arms and gazed at them with wary eyes, not wanting to be difficult despite how strange everyone was acting. The whole state of this situation wasn’t helping your nerves, not after just convincing yourself that this was reality and not an illusion. Everyone was acting really weird, but...maybe you had just missed something big while being asleep?

You turned to level a look of annoyance of Griffon when he chuckled again, feeling a bit betrayed considering the fact that he and the others were making sure you got absolutely nothing from them. Whatever this was, they were in on it, and that so wasn’t cool.

Griffon rolled his eyes at your sour expression, tapping his claws on the dresser as he sang at you, “Don’t give me that look, toots--you should probably light a fire under that butt of yours.”

“I get sucked into the Void for a night and you guys have me playing dress up?” You replied shortly, tone clipped and very doubtful as you sat down on the edge of the bed to undo your suspenders. 

“Boy, you sure are cranky today, aren’t ya?” The bird rolled his eyes, shaking out his feathers and looking a bit impatient at your slow, hesitant process of removing clothes, “Just play along.”

Wasn’t like you had any other choice, right?

Griffon pointedly looked away while you undressed, always trying to be respectful of your modesty despite literally living in your body most of the time. He didn’t respond to your annoyed question in the long run, wearing the closest thing to a smirk that an avian demon could have. That beak was sealed up tight, wasn’t it? What a traitor--you rolled your eyes at the thought, shimmying out of your clothes piece by piece and putting on a completely fresh outfit despite the grievances weighing you down. There would be not point in arguing with everyone so dead set on not explaining, so the next best thing was to simply play along and get to the answer sooner rather than later. You didn’t mind just as long as people were honest when this big secret was revealed to your eyes.

Griffon seemed satisfied that you were now complying, letting out a low chuckle and turning only when he was sure you were decent. One hop later and he was perched on your bare shoulders as always, careful not to mark up your skin with his claws. You would admit it just felt nice to be back with them, those hours in the Void seeming like a lifetime with you not knowing if they were alright. And despite Griffon’s mischief, he seemed just as pleased to be right where he wanted to be again, leaning his beak on the top of your head and settling into the familiar pattern you both shared. It was almost enough to make you forgive him for hiding this big secret from you. Almost, but not quite.

“Let’s get movin’,” He insisted impatiently, tugging on a piece of your hair as you started slowly walking down the stairs, “I ain’t got all day, and I wanna see the show god damn it…!”

Show? What show? Things were only growing more and more convoluted.

“What on Earth are you going on about?” You sighed softly, making your way through the hall and down the main steps to the foyer of the house, “What show are you waiting for exactly?”

“You’ll see.” Griffon chortled, launching off your shoulders to sail ahead of you. Down the hall, toward the kitchen and out of sight. 

Well now. That was certainly ominous.

 You paused in the hallway, vaguely wondering where the children were at this time of morning, and if Kyrie and Nero were okay. It must have been past eight o’clock, usually the kids would be running around and chaotic at such an hour and getting ready for the day. There was no patter of little feet, no yelling or giggling to be heard of. You took the time to peer into the living room where their camping stuff was still set up, worrying that their evening events may have been further ruined by your disappearance and the demon attack. Christ, you hoped they weren’t too scared--things like that could be damaging to kids. But it still looked like they had slept overnight in the front room, a mess that would have to be cleaned up later.

You shook your head, finally resigning yourself to the fate waiting with the others. Each step felt measured and careful, the kitchen door ajar as you approached it and wafting out the lightest aroma of tea. That was the herbal stuff you and the girls had purchased from the market, scented with the faintest hint of chamomile and honey. Familiar voices were speaking, relief filling you when you recognized the soft voices of Kyrie and Nico with Nero adding in his two cents occasionally. They sounded calm, albeit slightly riled up about something you couldn’t identify by their light chattering. Well... If they were here and awake, then maybe there wasn’t so much to worry about, right?

Swallowing your sense of confusion, you pushed through the door. 

All eyes immediately turned when you entered, making you feel a bit nervous and out of place. Kyrie, Nico, Lady, Dante…and Vergil sat at the table, throwing you through a complete loop. You weren’t sure what to feel when your eyes locked with the silver haired male, taking in his normal clothes with a surreal sense of bewilderment. He was here, he was alive, and…

You felt nothing.

 It felt...off, seeing him now in comparison to before. Something was different, the air no longer charged with an energy you didn’t understand. Your eyes met, but you saw a similar lack of emotion coming from him, like whatever had bound you together was now...gone. And that was worrying to you, sending a ball of anxiety to your stomach and making you hesitate in the doorway.

Did the Outsider change us?

But...I didn’t want that, didn’t want to lose the part of Vergil that I cared about.

Is this what Vergil wanted, to not have to worry about our feelings anymore?

The man in question seemed to be sipping a cup of tea, donning a simple blue button up and black slacks instead of his fancy coat and vest. It looked strangely domestic, and there was definitely something different about him in comparison to before. He looked...tired, eyes meeting yours for that second and lacking the usual hardness he once showed you. No longer cold, just very heavy and...guilty? He didn’t look away, but didn’t show any indication of feeling for you what was shown in the Void and through those trials.

Christ. What the hell was going on?

“Y/N…!” Kyrie exclaimed in relief, standing so she could quickly walk around the table and hug you close. Her embrace was always so warm, so comforting and definitely needed in the moment of uncertainty you were experiencing. Nico came next, hugging you tightly and squeezing until you felt the need to wheeze at such an exuberant display of affection.

“You sure had us worried, sugar,” Nico huffed, leaning back and pinching one of your cheeks between her fingers, “How are ya feelin’ this mornin’?”

Well now. That was a very good question, wasn’t it? Confused, disoriented, uncertain ...but otherwise fine. There was no word that summed that all up in one fell swoop other than...strange.

You paused, looking around the kitchen for Griffon and Shadow only to find that they were absent as well. Where had the familiars gone now? Still no sign of the children either, something that was slowly beginning to worry you considering all that had happened in the night.

You let out a slow breath, trying to gather your racing thoughts together before replying, “I’m...I’m fine, just a bit disoriented is all,” Understatement of the century, but there were questions that needed answers, “Where are the kids? Are they okay?” You paused, looking between the two women to the spiky-haired male that went through the whole ordeal all the same, “Are you okay?”

Vergil paused in sipping his cup of tea, icy blue eyes meeting yours again with that same guilt you saw before, but...a lot more calm. He in general seemed a lot less tense, that rude temper he seemed to pride himself on dulled to the point that it was no longer present. Was that...normal? Had the Outsider done something to him too, maybe changed his memories or his mood? But if he meant to punish Vergil, why the hell would such a thing be done in the first place?

It didn’t make sense.

 The son of Sparda hesitated before replying to you, exchanging a short, knowing look with Dante as he sipped that tea.

“I am fine,” He finally spoke, tone low and unreadable as he closed his eyes and savored the flavor of his beverage like it was one of the most calming thing he had tasted, “You should focus on yourself, Y/N.”

You frowned at his response, feeling a tad uneasy with how simple and calm things felt. That familiarity you once shared with him, that deep need and affection...where had it all gone? It was all very strange, your body whispering of things long passed, and things that would never come again.

All of it felt very...final. Like the closing of a book, the pages able to rest after years of being plucked with no end. 

Kyrie grasped one of your hands to gain your attention, her brown eyes soft and kind when you turned to look at her, “Trish took the kids out to the bakery for breakfast--they were a little nervous about the demon attack last night, but Trish and Lady helped calm them down and keep the distractions going until they went to bed in their tent.”

Thank the Void for that at least. You released a light sigh, putting a hand to your chest and willing your heart to slow down just a tad. The children had still camped out in the living room, and they didn’t see any of the bullshit that went down when you were snatched away. This was for the best, you would hate for them to be traumatized by the day’s events after losing out on the festival and having their camp out disturbed. One worry checked off the list, now about a million more to tend to.

But there was no chance of asking any more questions.

Dante smirked over the rim of what looked to be a cup of coffee, one loaded with cream and sugar as he took a loud sip, “Your little birdie and kitty cat are out the beach--you should go out and say hi.”

Everyone took on a strange look of anticipation at his words, minus you and Vergil. The expression on your face was somewhere between wariness and confusion, whereas the son of Sparda looked calm and content in ignoring the whole situation and enjoying his tea. Just what the fuck was going on, and why were they all looking at you like there was a big secret to tell? It made you very nervous indeed, blinking as you met Kyrie’s eyes and felt her squeeze your hand encouragingly. There was something in her smile, something that made your heart start pounding faster and faster until you were sure it was trying to burst from your chest.

Why...why am I feeling this?

Vergil is right there, isn’t he?

So why is my heart aching so much?

Your mind refused, it was trying to protect you from anything it might try and conjure up as the source of all this madness. What could cause them to all look like that? What could be waiting for you outside that would require so much secrecy? There was only one thing you wanted, craved, needed more than anything. And he...he was gone, he couldn’t exist while Vergil was still here, living and whole. You were supposed to try for him, right? You were supposed to help him through his trauma and let him embrace V after years of suppressing his humanity.

But...your soul was starting to ache, to tremble. Not for you to stay with Vergil, but to walk out the back door and onto the beaches of Fortuna.

That can’t be right...can it?

Nero was watching you from the table, taking in the changes of your expression and probably reading the nervousness and hesitation there. You met his gaze briefly, seeing a steadiness there that you wished could be shared through the rising torrent of emotion trying to rise in your head. 

“Come on, kid,” He said after a few moments of silence, grunting as he stood up from the table and holding out a hand for you to take, “I’ll come with--trust me, this is definitely not something you wanna wait on.”

Nero knew you well, knew what happened in the Qliphoth tree and saw you at your most vulnerable. There was a level of trust shared that had not been broken, but...Why were you so anxious? Where was this uncertainty coming from? You didn’t know what was waiting for you out there, but...there was a ball of anticipation and worry curling in your stomach, heavy and showing no signs of leaving. 

This is reality, isn’t it? There’s no chance, there’s--

You swallowed, hesitantly taking Nero’s hand with unsteady fingers. For whatever reason, you could feel Vergil’s eyes watching as this happened, seeing only a glimpse of his expression out of your peripheral view. What was that look that flashed in his eyes, something like...remorse? But that couldn’t be right, could it? You didn’t get to focus on it long, Nero tugging you around the table and heading toward the door. Everyone was staring now, Nico and Kyrie smiling goofily and inching their way behind you as Nero clicked the door open, allowing a rush of warm, morning air to gust into the kitchen and curl around your form.

You paused in the doorway, feeling Nero’s fingers squeeze yours encouragingly as he stopped to look back at your conflicted face. The boy certainly looked wise beyond his years in that moment, the sun making his white hair glow as it swayed in the breeze and eyes steady and encouraging. He was your best friend, a brother in so many ways after all he had done to help you bounce back from the terrible events in the Qliphoth.

You had laughed with him, cried with him, and went on so many missions to both fight demons and improve Fortuna. Kyrie, Nero, Nico, Lady, Trish, all the kids...they were so very precious to you, filling up the void V had left behind and not faltering once despite not owing you anything in the first place. Dante too, and then Vergil...all these people formed pieces of your lives, and they should have been enough.

They were everything. Everything you wanted, needed, and adored. 

Why should you want more? Why was your heart throbbing in your chest, pushing you to look out at the sand, searching for the one thing you knew shouldn’t be there?

Nero gave you a crooked half smile, coaxing you forward with a little push to your lower back. You tried to keep your steps steady, eyes down on the sand and watching the way your toes sank into it, glistening warmly in the morning sun. Why couldn’t you bring yourself to look up? Why couldn’t you look out across the beach for the familiar shapes of Griffon and Shadow? You were no coward, not a fool and certainly not the type to hope for silly, impossible things. But there was a rising sense of energy in the air, one you recognized all too well. That drawl, the way your chest ached...swallow your fear, lift your head.

 You’ve come this far, haven’t you?

The worst case scenario is nothing will be there.

But somehow...that seems like more than I can take.

You breathed out a slow, shaking breath when Nero paused in front of you, releasing your fingers despite how desperately you wanted to hang on. Lifeline gone, eyes still down on the floor despite how much every part of you was screaming for the chance to look up. The silence was so...peaceful, usually calming but not so much with how frayed your nerves had become. The rolling waves, the summer breeze, and the sensation of being watched from all sides. Every person in the kitchen was more than likely watching out the window at you, eager to see your reaction to whatever awaited. It was incredibly nerve wracking, your heart thudding away very quickly and lungs feeling like they were aching in your chest. 

Look up.

Please, look up.

There was a sound on the beach in front of you, like someone was pulling themselves off of the sand. For a moment, you thought it was Shadow, hearing the padding of their paws as they settled around your feet. Black, shiny fur, red eyes. Now in your line of view, purring away as a means to try and comfort its host in such an obvious state of worry--but it wasn’t the mighty cat that was heard. A rustle of fabric, breath sucked between lips as someone stood mere feet away from you, their eyes locked on your face. And yet...you still couldn’t bring yourself to look up, the wind sending your hair waving in the breeze as a moment of silence passed uninterrupted by any of the people standing there.

Afraid. You were afraid everything around you wasn’t real, that when you looked up nothing would be here. Back in the Void, an illusion. Or maybe that it would be something else, not what you were hoping for more than anything in that moment. Things rarely worked out so easily, did they? Not for someone like you, born to taste the fruits of happiness but never be able to keep them. Things that were too good to be true generally always were, so how could you even begin to hope for what you wanted, what you craved more than anything? The thought of it alone made you want to cry, to wail and weep like you had all those months ago in the Qliphoth tree. Everything had come so far, the recovery process hard and filled with turmoil. 

It never stopped the desire, it never stopped the loneliness and longing.

Your fingers started to tremble when footsteps approached you slowly from the front, muffled and soft in the sand. Like whoever it was walked barefoot. Even then, you didn’t look up, heart pounding like fists on steel walls, sobbing and begging to see who it was, to embrace it. Shadow leaned their weight on your legs, the only proof of reality you could ground yourself in with the storm of emotion raging in your heart. They were solid, warm, fur soft as it brushed your bare skin and rumbling with a purr. Those red eyes lifted toward the newcomer when they stopped in front of you, feet away and still silent despite your terse refusal to look up yourself. You couldn’t even see their feet, but the presence was undeniably familiar. 

That energy, that sensation of being so close to home with it just out of reach.

You know who that is, don’t you?

Why not take the chance?

After everything that has happened...we can afford to be disappointed.

Nero took a few steps back, like he was passing you off to the person standing silently in wait. It felt...strange. He briefly put a hand on your shoulder as a sign of support, a light squeeze that was enough to remind you that someone always had your back. Whether it be him or the others, if you felt like falling there would always be people there to catch you. Good things had happened, didn’t they? A family, a home, a purpose...all things you never thought would come, but they had. You managed to lift yourself up, their hands supported you until each foot could move on its own. And now it felt like the impossible could become real, that you could somehow get everything you had hoped for.

But your mind still didn’t want to risk hurting you. Even when the silence was finally broken, when the person before you sucked in a soft breath, releasing it slowly before they spoke in a voice all too familiar. Like melted honey, soft and melodic. One that made your heart go into overdrive, so many emotions and feelings flooding inside that you felt like you might collapse, knees weakening and head feeling a bit dizzy. Mind over reality, hopes and dreams battling with the acceptance of that you thought was set in stone. 

But this was reality, wasn’t it? 

“He who binds to himself a joy, does the winged life destroy,” His voice was gentle, sounding just as hesitant and aching as you. Like he was putting a thousand apologies into those words, a million emotions that echoed yours in kind, “But he who kisses the joy as it flies, lives in eternity’s sunrise.”

It can’t--

It can’t be him--

That wasn’t possible, was it?

You were on the verge of collapse, tears burning in your eyes as the torrent of emotions threatened to rise. God, how long had it been since you heard his voice? Months, so many months of missing and craving that warm tone, of hearing him whisper and recite those same poems that you had read in the book Nero kept in the kitchen. V’s book, the one he left behind. Hearing it now was like being hit by a truck, threatening to make you fall to your knees and weep for all you had lost, for how much you wanted it back. Please--Please please please. Let this be real, let this not be a dream or an illusion.

I can’t take disappointment again.

You were starting to breath heavily, one hand raising to grip at the lacy blouse above your heart and clench around the fabric. What were you supposed to say? To feel? How could you begin to accept this as real?

How could you possibly get to feel this love again, after waiting for so long?

“Why do you hide your eyes from me, Sparrow?” His voice whispered softly when your silence persisted, aching like he wanted to reach over the distance and touch you. Waiting, not wanting to move too fast, not wanting to push it, “Won’t you look at me? Are you angry?”

This hurts. This is too much.

I want--

You swallowed down a sob, shoulders shaking delicately with the force of your restrained emotions as you whispered hollowly in response, “B...because...I’m afraid that when I look up, none of this will be real. I...I don’t want any more illusions.”

Not anymore. 

You can’t exist while Vergil does, can you?

He paused again, a shaken breath leaving his lungs at your soft, trembling words. He knew just as well what happened in the Void as you, having seen it from Vergil’s eyes. Each trial, each seemingly real image of other places and other times...surely making him seem there could be child’s play, as unrealistic as it would be for the Outsider to do that to you. But maybe all of this wasn’t real, an illusion created by the Void to put you at ease? It didn’t feel that way, it felt achingly warm and real, solid and lacking the instability those illusions had. No Void whispers, no occasional flicker of cold. Just the sun, the beaches, and…

 I’m scared. I’m want you so badly, and I’m afraid that you’re not really here. 

You had been hurt far too much the way it was, that was common enough knowledge. He knew that.

It was why he crossed the space between you both, slipping his warm fingers over your cheeks to hold them with a gentleness you recognized and ached for. His touch was like a jolt of electricity, making you gasp and those tears finally drip from your eyes, no longer held back like all the conflicted emotions. Solid, solid--that feels so real, so god damn real. It was like a breath of air after months of drowning, sending your heart racing and sobbing in absolute relief. More than that kiss with Vergil had been, more than anything you’d ever experienced. It was what finally made you knees give out, all of the emotions too much for you to handle and sending you to your knees like you were in prayer.

Or it would have. He caught you with those familiar arms, holding you up and against his chest as the first sob broke from your lips. His embrace was so warm, one hand holding you up while the other tilted up your chin, letting your eyes see him truly for the first time--and what a sight he was, illuminated by the rays of the sun, white hair drifting in the breeze and jade gaze staring into yours with so many apologies, so much emotion and adoration it made your heart break in two. There were tears in his eyes, glistening on his white lashes in the morning sun like diamonds.

Real--he is real, he is here. You could hardly fathom what you were seeing, taking him in through the tears in your eyes like he was the sun itself.

So many months spent imagining him, so many nights dreaming of what he looked like and if you would ever see that beautiful face again. This was everything--he was everything, and your imagination could never truly capture him. Your hands lifted on their own, tracing the soft lines of his lips, up his high cheekbones and through his soft hair. Real real real. Alive. You were feeling him, he was here--and that was enough to send your head spinning, eyes dropping more and more tears for him to brush away with his beautiful fingers. Illusion or not, real or not...this was everything. A balm on your wounded soul, like coming home after months of wandering lost. The last piece of your life’s puzzle falling into place.

He was back. You didn’t know how, but V was back and alive.

“Oh darling…” V breathed, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead while sobs continued to leave your lips. He then kissed your cheeks, your hair, murmuring softly and sorrowfully, “I don’t deserve your forgiveness, not after how many times I have made you cry...I am sorry for everything that I have done, every lie that I told you, I…”

He was apologizing over and over, kiss after kiss grazing parts of your face and even sweeter than the last. You didn’t care, you didn’t care--All of the anger, the heartbreak, the betrayal you felt while processing the loss of the one you loved most...none of that seemed to matter anymore. You launched yourself at the poet, causing him to release a startled grunt as you knocked him back onto the sand with your arms around his neck. Griffon and Nero snickered at your exuberant display of affection, watching in amusement at V’s flustered expression. Making him blush was something you never thought would happen again, but it did when you pressed your lips to his, hands buried in his silken hair like he had never been gone at all.

You didn’t care who saw, either. All the eyes from the house were watching, but Christ you could never care.

It came with belated realization that V was no longer wearing his vest and slacks from the day he left. When you leaned back from kissing him, you realized he was in a baggy, black v-neck and jeans that both looked like they didn’t fit him very well. No more tattoos, but that made sense considering that they were on your body now--he looked healthy, a far cry from the cracking man in the Qliphoth tree. His jade eyes were bright when they met yours, lips tilted in that familiar smirk and skin glowing in the sun. Still skinny, but with steady meals and care he could probably start feeling a lot better. The idea of getting to do that with him, getting to live with him…

It made you positively lightheaded.

“How?” You breathed, putting a hand to his cheek and feeling giddy when he nuzzled into your palm, “I don’t understand--Vergil is still here, still whole. How can this be real?”

V let out a low hum, sitting up and kissing your fingers with gentle lips, “A gift from the Outsider...He was angry at Vergil for the things he had done, but…” His eyes went dark for a moment at mention of the Void’s events, but it disappeared as he added, “A man named Corvo stepped in to calm him down, and they both decided it would be best to separate me from Vergil and allow him to keep his humanity anew.”

Corvo had been there? You blinked in surprise, feeling a bit disappointed that there was no chance to say hello. You hadn’t seen him in ages, always off on missions when he visited or sleeping in the Void. The fact that he had to calm down the Outsider was surprising to you--the God had never seemed easily emotional, so hearing that he was angry was...strange. Everything was now. After all the mixed feelings you had for the man you considered a father, he had still come through in the end and brought V back, fixed everything. And that…that was more than you could hope for.

I’ll have to make a shrine at some point...talking to him about what happened might be best.

You shook your head to clear the thoughts, pressing a hand to his chest and feeling his heart thudding at a steady pace. Warm, alive.

“So...so no more crumbling…?” You murmured hesitantly, threading your fingers with his when he grasped with his own, “You...you’re not a part of Vergil anymore…?”

V smiled softly, white hair drifting over his lovely jade eyes as he confirmed, “No more crumbling--I share Vergil’s memories, but I am my own person now. Whole, with new memories to make and a life to live outside of him.”

Free.

You wrapped your arms tightly around his neck again, feeling his warm chuckle right by your ear as absolute relief and joy threatened to spill forth. No more lies, no more barriers, no more hesitations--V was himself, and yours to hold and love without worry. That was why the energy between you and Vergil seemed gone, why the surly man seemed indifferent now. The part of him that was in love with you was now free, separate to do what he wished and make his own life. And what better outcome could you ask for other than this? All your worries about the third trial missing from your memory, all the uncertainties and worries that had once been so loud...they were quiet now, buried under layers of overwhelming joy.

You kissed V again like he was the air your breathed, a soft sound of contentment brushing against his lips. There were several months apart to make up for, and things were starting to get carried away.

How could you help it?

Griffon let out a heavy, impatient sigh from behind you both, the sound of flapping wings coming next as he landed on the sand, “Alright kids, gettin’ too cozy for our liking. Are you forgettin’ you have an audience?”

You and V both blinked, looking up and behind to see Nero was no longer standing there by himself. Kyrie, Nico, and Lady were now with him, grinning as they watched embarrassment flash across your expressions. Dante and Vergil were now out on the deck, both still holding their cups and watching all of this go down as well. Dante smirking in amusement, Vergil looking impassive and blank. 

Did he willingly give up his human half for you, so V could be reborn again? At some point you might have been a bit wistful about that, wondering why Vergil just didn’t try to pick up where V left off, but it hardly mattered. There was no connection left for him, but you did hope to be his friend at the very least, or to thank him for what was done.

Regardless, you smiled at the bemused group, rising to your feet and helping V up. This all felt so surreal, but you were riding on a wave of so many good energies that there was no room left to care. 

Kyrie looked ready to bounce in place, hands clasped together in front of her chest and beaming with happiness, “We should have a celebration today--no better way to mark a joyous occasion, and It’ll make the children happy…!”

You nodded at that, feeling V come up behind you and wrap both of his arms around your waist. It was definitely odd--you he had ever been to a party before, and especially not one marking his return. Hell, this could be his birthday if they wanted it to--and judging by the looks everyone wore the idea of having a celebration was exactly what everyone needed.

Nero put an arm around Kyrie’s waist, pressing a light kiss to her brow as he replied, “Sounds good to me--just as long as we never let Dante near a grill again.”

“I heard that!” The man in question called from the deck, but he was still smirking as he lifted the coffee cup to his lips. 

You had no idea what Dante did to earn a ban status on the grill, but it was not the priority at that moment. Nico and Lady started tugging you both toward the house, Griffon landing on V’s shoulders this time and complaining at him about what a dumbass he had been, and about how they would be forced to have joint custody over the familiars because “there was no way in hell he wanted to lose out on the cool Void powers”. Shadow weaved between everyone’s legs, tail swishing excitedly and red eyes bright with interest as they all started making their way back in. You couldn’t blame them for being so energetic--things had gone from absolute madness and chaos to the best outcome you could hope for overnight.

V’s fingers entwined with yours while walking, determined not to let go after so long of not being able to have you. A lifeline, one that you never thought you’d have again. No more worrying about him falling apart, or about hidden secrets. There was so much room to grow even closer, no more secrets left to hide and everything laid bare. And you could tell he had realized the same, his jade eyes soft and deep when you glanced back at his lovely face. There was a hint of nervousness there with so much attention on him, especially with Nico and Lady making sure to lecture him on what happened.

But...your poet looked happy. There was an ease to him no, lacking in the driven, haunting looks he had in the Qliphoth tree. Peaceful--there were no more burdens to bear, no more sacrifices to make. Just time to heal, to grow better and start a new life. 

And for once, after years and years of fighting and struggling...the fruits of happiness were yours to take. No more reminders of pain, no more sleeping in the Void. It finally felt like you were home, surrounded by smiling family with V’s hand back in yours. The kids would come home from the bakery to a new member of the household, but somehow you had the feeling that V would be good with kids. To move on from Vergil’s memories wouldn’t be easy, but you knew he could handle it with everyone here to help. 

And Vergil...he was free of V, and of you. Something that might have been bittersweet, but he seemed content. Sipping his tea, quipping back at his son when he made a snide remark about his cooking too. There was a hint of a smile on his lips, lacking the bite he had before and seemingly trying to talk to Nero, to get along and learn about his son. The trials really seemed to change his mind about things, which might have been for the best.

You were happy. Content. And at the end of the day, that was all you ever wanted.

Read on AO3

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Tagged: @nightshadow4713 @slightlylunatic @silentwhispofhope @efiicitia @just-call-me-no-name @raven-huntress @shaelin444

[talesfromthetabletop]

Astara’s Tale Part One: The Iron Wind

“It looks like a dust storm might be coming”, Cara called up to Nex, who rode on top of the aneen ahead. The great beast swatted at the stinging flies around its face with its diminutive arms as it plodded onwards. Nex looked to the horizon, shielding the eye sockets of his mask from the midday glare.

He stared for a moment, the caravan lulling to a holt. He shot up suddenly, startling the aneen and the rest of the group following. “That's no Dust storm!”, he yelled jumping down from the creature. “That’s Iron wind!” 

He pointed to a small cave opening a short distance away, his voice loud and authoritative. “Get to shelter! Move!” 

Astara froze for only a second, her mind processing the danger that had sprung upon them. She turned and sprinted towards the hole in the rock face, her feet digging deep into the soft ground. The air around her became thick with drit and took on a coppery taste. The flavour in her mouth brought with it a memory from her past. A memory of burst lips and spitting blood. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to force the memory back when her foot hit a loose rock and her ankle gave way. She slammed into the ground with force, the air in her lungs knocked out of her violently. 

She lay on the ground for a second, dazed, the pain in her ankle shooting up her leg. It took a few moments before her mind kicked back into gear. 

I've got to move. Move or die. It's that simple.

She tried to scramble to her feet but the instant she put any weight on her ankle it gave way causing her to fall again and cry out in pain. She pulled herself across the ground, digging her nails into the earth and heaving herself towards shelter.

I'm not going to make it. The words screamed in her mind. I'm too slow. At this rate that storm is going to rip me to pieces. 

She twisted around and stared in horror as the large dark cloud on the horizon drew rapidly closer. 

Is this how I’m going to die? Here? Some dusty trail in the middle of nowhere? This wasn't how it was supposed to go. How could I die when I still had so much unfinished business? Maybe it was for the best. At least here I could see it coming, face it head on and be brave for once. 

She closed her eyes and prayed to any god or power watching.

Please don't let this hurt. Please let me die quick

She drew her hand up, the blade she kept sheathed to her wrist flicked out. If I’m going to die then it would be by my own hand.

She closed her eyes and took in a breath. She placed the cool edge of the knife to her throat but just before she could rake it across her flesh, arms tucked under hers, wrapping around her and dragging her to her feet.

She let out a startled gasp, the sudden stay of execution stunning her enough to allow herself to be hauled backwards. Dumbfounded she looked up into the pale mask of Nex as he rushed her toward the shelter. 

Once inside with the rest of the group, Nex let her drop against the cold stone walls. Spinning and reaching into his pocket, he threw out a small silver ball. It bounced across the ground before shimmering, a blue wall of light erupting from its center. It covered the entrance to the cave, sealing and protecting all those inside.

For a second they were still, quietly panting in the dim glow of the shield. The respite was short lived however, when a blood-curdling scream erupted from the other side of the blue light. All heads turned to see a silhouette still outside. Cara scrawled across the ground, desperately trying to crawl towards the cave fighting against the dark swarm that was slowly surrounding her. Her face was afire with pain and panic. 

The youngest of the group, Anya sprinted forward, moving to scoop up the silver ball but Nex caught her sharply, pulling her to face him. 

“We have to go save her!”, she screamed, trying desperately to pull her arm free from his gloved grip. “Nex please!”

“Anya”, he said softly, his voice low and gentle. “It's too late”. 

“No it's not! How can you say that? You can see her! You can hear her, for Calaval’s sake!” 

“Anya”.

“Nex, please! She my sister! She's all I have!” 

Nex’s grip did not lessen.

Cara’s screams were becoming more guttural, the pained cries slowly giving way to loud gurgled howls. 

Anya turned towards the barrier, her eyes wide and tormented. She pulled and clawed in vain against Nex who only pulled her closer, whispering soothing words as the young girl slowly crumpled to the ground. 

Astara looked away, closing her eyes to hold back the tears she was fighting. Each pathetic wail from Anya tore right through her chest despite her efforts to keep her distance from the group. Quietly, she moved away, using the wall to help her limp over to a large bolder before sitting down. Once settled, she stared at her companions, each of which just sat quietly on the ground staring at the dirt with harrowed eyes. 

It felt like a lifetime until Cara’s cries died away. the only sound left the rhythmic clicks of Vox’s mechanics and the muffled sobs that erupted from Anya every few minutes or so.

Deciding it was best to give her some space, Nex moved back, wrapping her in his long outer robe. Without speaking, he stood up and seemed to collect himself, running a hand over the dark blue fabric that wrapped around his head. After a second or two he straightened up and made his way over to where Astara sat. 

“Can you stand?”

Astara looked up at him. “Sorry?” 

“Your ankle. Can you stand on it?” There was something to his voice now, a soft strain. It was hard to tell but he seemed tired. Though after what they all had just gone through Astara guessed that was to be expected.

Astara bit her lip and tested her ankle out. Placing her foot on the floor, she tried to bare weight with it but sharp pain shot up the leg, causing her to wince. 

“I'm going to take that as a no”. Nex signed, kneeling down in front of her. He reached out slowly, taking her ankle into his gloved hand. “Can you move it?” 

She stretched out her foot and nodded. 

He slowly pressed the muscles around her joint, stopping occasionally when she hissed in pain.

“Hmmm. Well it's not broken”. He reached into a small satchel on his belt and pulled out a wad of bandages. “Probably just a nasty sprain. Try to rest it if you can and if any of my belongings survived this storm, I’ll see if I can put something on it later that might help relieve any pain”.  

He began to methodically bandage up her ankle and Astara couldn't help but notice how soft and gentle his touch was. She shook herself and took stock of what happened. 

He had saved her life. Her. a complete stranger to him yet he had saved her life, risking his own life in the process. How was she supposed to handle that? No one had ever done something so selfless for her before. Growing up it was very much a battle to even survive. If you wanted to see tomorrow then you looked out for yourself and no one else. 

Blushing, she turned away from Nex. Maybe he had an ulterior motive, keeping her in his debt until he can trade it in for his own gain. That was the style she was more accustomed to. “No one does anything out of the goodness of their hearts”  her father would say. “Everyone wants something at the end of the day” 

Did Nex have other intentions? If so she had no shins to give nor anything else of value. She had her body but she wasn't about to sell that again without good cause. Besides, he didn't seem the type so far to seek female company - or any company for that matter.  She was already obligated to work for him so that couldn't be the reason. 

She chewed on her lip as she thought.

She wanted to say something to him, to thank him for risking his life. She wanted to tell him how much she appreciated it and how grateful she was to him, how much she would be in his debt. She wanted to say so many things but the words stuck to her teeth, refusing to budge off her tongue. Instead she looked away, a crimson glow working its way across her cheeks

“There”, Nex said, pulling the bandaging tightly. “That should at least get you back on your feet”. 

He got up in one fluid motion and Astara could feel the words ‘thank you’ form on her lips but by the time she was ready to push them out he was striding away, off to check up on the rest of them.

Well done, Astara. First kind act someone has shown you in years and you can't even manage to say thank you. Aren't you just going to be little miss popular. 

She dug her nails into her palm and cursed her own cowardice. 

She didn't need friends. Not with the path that lay in front of her. They would only get in the way or get hurt.

She looked back over at Nex who was trying to inspect Taran for wounds. 

These people had been hurt enough.

Hi!, Thank You for joining me on my first part in what i hope will be an on going story. please feel free to message me with any feedback or tip! 

Glossary

Drit - Sand, ground up synth, metals etc. that make up the majority of the ground

The Ninth World - The world. As it after after eight other incredibly advanced civilisations have risen and moved away, abandoned the planet or died out.

Synth - Synthetic materials, primarily plastics. Not created by ninth-worlders.

The Iron Wind - A cloud of nanites which randomly change or destroy anything that comes in contact with it

Navarene - The country you are in, the Northern-most kingdom of the Steadfast

The Steadfast - The ‘enlightened lands’. Nine kingdoms in a fragile alliance who mostly pay fealty to the Order of Truth. Think of it as a subcontinent.

The Order of Truth - A quasi-religious organisation obsessed with the Numenera, maintaining order and control

Numenera - Artifacts left behind or forgotten from previous civilisations

Aeon Priest - Members of The Order of Truth, who oversee things in many smaller communities.

Abhuman - Mutants and sub-races. They are all bad-natured, the distinguishing characteristic from ‘normal’ mutants.

The Truth - The primary language of The Steadfast. Taught by aeon priests.

Cypher - One-use pieces of the Numenera, ranging from pills to grenades, ray-emitters to teleporters.

Shins - coins, shiny baubles, dials, buttons etc. that are used as currency. Minted coins are less common, but some places use them exclusively.

[maximusthewolfe]

hope in the hopeless

Time Dwarf gets a sandwich. Margo and Eliot go camping. 

Also on AO3

It took Eliot too long to realize that Margo was gone. To more accurately define “too long” in this particular fiasco: it took a slide to the center of the Earth, ham sandwich in hand to exchange for as many psychedelic Fillorian cave mushrooms as he could carry, a gloriously freeing trip that started somewhere around minute 45 of the slide back up to the surface, and a quiet, aching hollow that told him he needed more mushrooms to realize that Margo was gone.

He weighed a mushroom in his hand, staring at it like it held answers to questions he was too chickenshit to ask, before he shoved it back in his pocket and pulled out his flask instead. "Bambi, you better be grateful for this," he muttered under his breath before throwing his head back and gulping greedily. After drinking until he coughed from the burn in his throat, he capped the flask and set off in the direction of the dungeons. It was the only place he could imagine her being. Even on Margo's most furious days, she'd never stayed angry at him this long.

Annoyed, frustrated, and terrifyingly close to sober, Eliot twisted his fingers expertly, blowing the guards at the front of the dungeons away without a second thought. They hit opposing walls like rag dolls and if they were unconscious or dead, he didn't really give a damn.

"This is a little melodramatic, don't you think? Even for us," he mused when he found Margo, clinging to a drab piece of cloth on a cold, stone bench.

"Get me the fuck out of here, would you?" Margo hissed, standing from the bench and meeting Eliot at the bars of her cell.

Eliot knew Fillory wasn't really one for progress, but he thought maybe three centuries would have brought a little more advancement in the way of holding cells. He supposed he should be blessing the kingdom's ridiculous, archaic ways for making this so easy. He glanced up at her for the first time since her dramatic exit. There was a tension in Margo's brow, a tired, sad something in her eyes that hurt for Eliot to look too closely at. Hurt even more to think he might have caused it.

"You sure you don't need a little more alone time?" Eliot sniped, already raising the ring of keys he'd levitated off one of the immobile guards.

"I'm not alone, that's the fucking problem," Margo said, glancing back at the concrete bench. Another quip about fairy overlords being so 300 years ago danced on the tip of his tongue when a strange static filled the air in the cell and, with a few flickering spasms of light, there was Josh.

Oh.

With haste he hadn't felt since returning to his body, he rushed forward, slotting the key into place and turning it, opening the gate and tugging Margo out by the wrist just as he heard Josh's worried, quiet voice echo.

Margo, wherever you are.

"Time for our grand exit," Eliot said, raising his voice to drown out whatever came next. He pretended not to feel the way Margo's shoulders shuddered under his arms as he led them out and hurried them away from the castle.

They were settled somewhere in the Darkling Woods by the time the suns started to set. Margo started a fire with her fingers in record time and with impressively explosive results. Eliot tried not to think of what allowed that power. Eliot tried not to think of a lot of things. He stood from the log he was perched on and walked away from the roaring flames, turning to face the darkness of the wilds around him. He reached into his pocket and broke off a piece of mushroom, and quickly popped it into his mouth.

Eliot didn't want to take away Margo's chance at happiness, not really. But she was all he had, now. He'd seen the pain on her face in that cell. Seen the toll it had taken on her. And here he was, cursing her for it. Cursing the fact that she'd been visited by the trauma ghost of about-to-be-beheaded Josh because it was something. It was more than he would ever see.

"At least you get that," he wanted to say.

He wanted to scream it, to shout until his throat was raw about how she had real memories, from this timeline. About how she had the opportunity to make the right choice, and she did. About how he would give anything including the pathetic, bourbon-washed excuse for a life he was drowning in now, to be visited by the ghost of Q. But that wasn't the kind of thing you got when the man you loved didn't just die - he was obliterated.

All Eliot had was a memory of cowardice. A flash of what he prayed was hope in a short-lived freedom. And something he wished he could forget.

It was right after he'd returned to his body. Right after cooperative magic and Margo's insane desert axes saved his life and almost ended it. Margo was the sweetest thing he could have hoped to see in that moment. Her saving him, it was the image he was clinging to for however long he was trapped inside his own mind. She was everything, everything, everything. His Bambi had saved him. What he hadn't dared to hope for, though, that surprised him. His eyes shifted, just past Margo's shoulder, and there he was. Right there. Almost within reach, if he had any abdominal muscles left to speak of.

Fierce, determined, inimitable Q. Tutting like the world depended on it. Tutting like it was the last thing he would ever do. Both were true, as it turned out.

Eliot remembered looking, staring, drinking in the sight of him. It was equal parts heartbreaking and life-affirming. The kind of feeling that started somewhere beneath the giant gash in his stomach and grew, glowing and brilliant, until he felt like it was pouring out of every piece of him. The kind of thing he assumed all the Renaissance writers were on about all those years.

Peaches and plums. Let's try again.

It was there, stuck somewhere in the back of his throat. He was sure it would burst out of him if only Quentin would look over at him.

But he never did. Whatever ancient, unstoppable essence the monster was made of after the axe slashed through him filtered into the bottle and Quentin capped it, grabbed it, lightning-fast. His jaw was set. He hiked the strap of the bottle over his shoulder. Penny popped in. Quentin nodded. The muscle just below his temple flexed, restrained. So much restraint. Then they were gone and the vignette of Eliot's vision faded to black. When he woke up, Q was gone.

Hopeless.

He didn't want to tell Margo that this was hopeless. After everything she'd done to save him. After everything she was still doing to try and bring him back from yet another brink. She deserved to know he wasn't giving up. But hopeless was the only thing he felt. It was a hungry, vicious void inside of him that refused to be sated. It wanted only to consume everything inside of him, everything around him, until he existed in a black hole that felt as insistently, pervasively empty as the hopelessness itself. Empty, he thought, might be better.

He returned to the fire, ignoring the flickering against Margo's sorrow-lined face and how familiar it looked. Ignored the phantom fuzz of a fucking stone fruit in his fingertips as he sat down beside her.

"I'm not giving up," Margo said, resolute.

When they were first years, there was a night, basked in the warmth of red wine and before apocalypse was their baseline state of existence, when Margo looked up at him, her head in his lap, and smiled. Eliot had asked what dirty things she was dreaming up, and Margo had laughed, a softer laugh than he'd ever heard out of his sharp-edged Bambi. "I think I need you," she'd said. At the time, he'd grinned back and waved a hand in the air for vague emphasis. "Of course you do. I'm fucking fabulous," he'd quipped back. But he'd never understood why she said that. Margo fought for what she wanted. He was fairly certain he'd never been resolute about anything other than ascots and alcohol. Eliot needed Margo far more than Margo needed Eliot, from where he stood.

"I know," he said finally, shoving away the memory as the crackling of the fire reminded him they weren’t in the Physical Kids’ Cottage. They weren’t lying on the floor in a too-damp forest. They were here, now, in a reality he was ready to forget.

His muscles were starting to loosen up, his thoughts slipping through the spaces in his mind that the mushrooms created. He was moments away from losing himself in the sway of the fire or the rustle of the leaves on the trees just beyond it. He needed the escape, needed to feel fine again. But he could give Margo something before he slipped into sweet, sweet oblivion. He wanted to. Needed to. Hopelessness wouldn't stop tugging at his ankles, grasping at his wrists and beckoning him into its dark embrace. But if he couldn't fulfill his promise the way he had intended, maybe he could get somewhere close. If Margo needed him, maybe he could, for once, let himself be needed.

Be braver.

"We'll find a way," he said. Margo slid her hand over to cover one of his, and maybe it was the mushrooms slowly leeching away his pain and replacing it with a technicolor version of the wind and the sky, but there was something about the way she squeezed his fingers that said he'd finally done something right.

It wasn't enough, but it could be enough for now.

[etaeternum]

Resolution

Bond of the Grey (Dragon Age Fanfic)

Ch 4

A flashback on the pain of Caoilainn’s infertility. The healing couple sets some rules.  TW: Depression, infertility, referenced cheating. 

9:35 Dragon

The third year, toward the end of their holiday at the cabin, they walked to Redcliffe Village to gather supplies for their trip back to Denerim. Merchants gawked at the royal couple’s candidness each time they came for supplies. The pair wandered the town with relaxed conversation until Caoilainn stopped in her tracks in the busy commotion in the village.

Alistair noticed she was not at his side from a few paces ahead. Brows furrowed with concern, he swiveled to see her staring. Following her eyes, he spotted a common woman holding hands with a small child as they walked through the crowd. Conversing with the little one, the mother pointed to something in the distance and looked back to her daughter with a wide smile. Alistair’s gaze followed where the woman pointed. A short distance away, a man who must have been the girl’s father bent to his knees and opened his arms. The little girl waddled to him. He scooped her up and lifted her into the air before bringing his giggling daughter in for a hug. The mother, still smiling, walked to them; she was expecting another child.

“Oh. I just remembered I probably left the lantern lit... and the front door wide open,” Alistair mumbled, painfully aware of the sensitive topic of their infertility highlighted by this happy family's sentimental moment. What had once been a distant hope for a miracle pregnancy had sharpened to stabbing hopelessness over the years. He knew it sank into her gut each time she witnessed a mother and child, even worse, an elated family. “Come on, my love. Let's get back.” Alistair put his arm around Caoilainn’s shoulder and ushered her to walk a different direction.

Caoilainn gave a blank nod, her eyes reddening, tears pooling as she turned away. She shielded her eyes with a free hand as they walked, hiding her tearful reaction. With no clear way to console her, apart from offering guidance, Alistair walked Caoilainn in silence back to the cabin. Grief-stricken mood swings often incited emotional distance. Alistair still didn't know how to handle them; his usual method of giving her space wasn’t an option.

The two entered the cabin. An unexpected change of pace, Caoilainn spoke. With a heavy sigh, her head lowered and shook before facing Alistair. “I don’t want to go back,” Caoilainn declared as the door clicked shut behind Alistair.

His head tilted to one side. He made careful choice of his words, “I’m sorry, my love but we have to go back. We can’t stay here.”

Her gaze met his, brows furrowed, pleading and angry. Stubborn by nature, Caoilainn's stance stood strong. “Alistair, I’m tired of it and I don’t want to do it anymore. It’s like I’m at my mother’s salons all the time.” She rolled her eyes. Elbows bent, her hands spread with her aggravated speech. A probing gaze searched for his understanding as her words fell. “I hate entertaining noble women and I’m certain they judge me for not giving you a child. And you know I want to, Alistair, more than anything. But I can’t.” Caoilainn’s final statement released with a tired sigh, “I’d rather be in armor.”

He snorted, a slight chuckle of agreement. “Oh, I know it. You and me both. I hate meetings with advisors, signing scrolls, sitting through court,” he walked to her and put his gentle hands on her shoulders. “But I need you, my love. The gorgeous, smart, strong Queen that you are. I need your help with all this King stuff.”

Alistair valued his wife's return to Denerim three years ago. If he ignored what he knew of her relationship with her Lieutenant, Caoilainn's presence gave him support and her experience as Warden Commander made for good counsel. The choice to enjoy her return and trust its permanence abated any urge to confront the issue.

Caoilainn took an intense turn to meet his gaze with a creased brow and set jaw. “Then let me come to your advisory meetings. I can add my thoughts in court. It would save time from you asking for my advice later when you need it.”

“Well,” his gaze wandered and his eyebrows gathered as the word trailed off. “It’s really more of a man’s game. You know what I mean? No girls allowed, so to speak. I know it’s stupid, but I can’t change the rules.”

The excuse lacked validity. Women held roles and had voice in his court though few. Representatives from varying regions of Ferelden primarily consisted of men. Alistair's aversion to Caoilainn’s proposition sprang from insecurity.

Disgusted, her mouth slacked, lip curled; she blinked in disbelief. Exaggerated and annoyed annunciation coated each word. “But you can. You’re the King, Alistair. You make the rules.” She shirked her shoulders away from his hands.

Cheeks reddened, Alistair shrugged and his palm rubbed his neck. “That’s true, I suppose but I don’t know if everyone else is ready for that. I’m sorry, my love. I’d rather not rock the boat too much just yet. I’m still fairly new to this King business.” He avoided her suggestion.

That same year Caoilainn returned to Vigil’s Keep.

Days passed. Alistair’s disdain became annoyance with longing; churning the strange amalgam of love and resentment, anger and pining with neither a catalyst nor relief in sight.

The size of the collective forces required the fleet to march north through the Emerald Graves, reaching the low-lying Dales. Plains of open field skirted the forested land east until the frigid climate of the Emprise. Wider ground permitted the armies to march freely, less encumbered by the wooded environment. Grass and sparse trees spread through the large valley. Formations of rocks protruded from the earth, breaking up the uneven grasslands. Abandoned buildings showed remnants of complicated history, and occupied military bases needing repair scattered between boulders.

Alistair’s frustration came and went in waves as he stood away from the bustling camp unpacking for the evening. Instead, he observed the land ahead. Typical, he noted. She's given up. It often seemed habitual for Caoilainn to practice evasion of situations where she didn't have control. Reminded of her predictability, Alistair evaluated her absence as true to her pattern. Though he wasn’t surprised, the realization hurt.  

“Alistair?” A tentative and careful voice rang from behind; she stated simply his name. He closed his eyes. With a deep breath, he allowed Caoilainn’s voice to resonate and soothe stressed nerves, unable to deny he had missed the sound.

He replied without facing her. “Come join me to revel in the wondrous sight of the Orlesian countryside.” His sarcastic sing-song voice played at the deteriorating environment. Caoilainn’s quiet steps brought her to his side; Alistair pointed. “See, on this side is a crumbling Orlesian building. But over here is a collapsed military base because of civil war- Orlesians love civil war, you know.” He took in an excessive gasp, “And if you look far enough in the distance, you can even make out decayed elven architecture. Isn’t it lovely? We should come back here on holiday.”

“I’ll pass,” she gave a relaxed giggle, amused with Alistair’s review of the landscape. Relieved to receive his humor after spending days hesitating to approach him again. His playfulness made uplifting distraction from her fatigue. “I’d rather the cabin.”

She referred to the cabin outside of Redcliffe Village: the peaceful resting place purchased the first time she returned from Vigil’s Keep. After each Summerday the royal couple hid for a month in the mountains, away from the city. The visits ceased when Caoilainn fled back to the Wardens.

“I sold it,” Alistair replied without moving, his tone cold and indifferent. “The second year you were gone, I couldn’t reach you. I wouldn’t use it and I didn’t want the reminder of the good times we had there.”

“They weren’t all good times,” Caoilainn’s sad murmur echoed his aloofness. Her fond memories of the cabin had been sullied by Alistair’s timidity when she confronted him about changing policies.

Their last conversation at the cabin, not one of his finest moments, had replayed until his stomach turned. Nauseated and ashamed of his cowardice, regret singed his ego, now prodded by her murmur. “I’m sorry,” Alistair snapped an authentic but irritated apology.

“I’m sorry I ran away,” she mirrored his remorse with her own.

Amends hesitated; silence burdened with the unsaid. Side by side, the pair stood looking out on the horizon as dusk fell. Tacit reconciliation teetered on a cusp.

Emotion broke through Alistair’s tone. Sadness and regret sounded from the surface and underneath it, fear. “I don’t know what to do,” he explained. “Whether you cheat on me, or you run, or you die-” The last word stung. Alistair’s head made a quick turn as the impact hit. He inhaled. “How do I know you’re not just going to leave?” Like everyone does. Pain filled his incredulous question.

A teary gaze up from Alistair’s side, Caoilainn wiped her eyes. “I’m here and I'm not going anywhere. I’m committed, Alistair. I’ll do my best not to die anytime soon, but in the meantime I want to be with you. What do you need from me to prove that?”

“Rules,” his even tone gave a quick reply. Head turned to pierce her stare, he bit his lip for a moment then replied, jaw firm. “I need rules we agree on.”

Brows furrowed, unclear of his demand, she asked for clarification, “What sort of rules?”

“No one else,” he answered with his first rule. “It’s our marriage, not to be shared with anyone. No matter the distance between us, and no matter the time before we see each other again.”

“Of course,” she gave a hurried nod, “that’s a given.”

“Well, I figured I would make it clear, in case you had any other plans.”

Caoilainn sighed at his admonishment. “Alistair,” she groaned.

“I’m not done, my love,” he said, his sharp tone lifting as his mood softened. “Rule two: be honest with me. I want no more secrets.” Caoilainn’s silent nod gave him a signal to continue. “Rule three: Don’t make your decisions based on me. I don’t want your counsel if you’ll resent me for it. Don’t come back to Denerim to make me happy.”

“Thank you,” she cooed. Unhealthy elements of their relationship often arose from ill-considered efforts to satisfy the other. Caoilainn smiled; her tense shoulders eased.  

“Uh-huh,” he took her gratitude and gave a meager grin. “But that one’s for my sake as much as yours. Rule four: do not undermine me. I am the King of Ferelden, Caoilann and I need your respect.”

“My fealty stands, Alistair,” her hand covered her chest as she bowed her head. “No undermining. Do you have any other rules?”

“At the moment, just one. Tell me what you want from me. Please, if you’re missing something, if you need something, I need to know.”

“Those rules are fair,” she agreed. Her head lowered as she sought words. “I’ll need my own.”

“All right. State your terms, my Queen.” He lifted his arms, palms out. “Remember to go easy on me.”

Caoilainn gave a playful roll of her eyes. “One,” she lifted her finger to exemplify the word. “I need my independence. I’m not just your lovely Queen. No more spies and I want my own work. Most importantly, I want to be recognized for it.”

“Oh, woman,” Alistair snorted and rubbed his chin. “I said go easy on me. Damn, you drive a hard deal.” Caoilainn’s brows lifted, waiting for his confirmation. “We’ll make it work, my love.”

“Two: Don’t appease me. Don’t hold your frustration, anger or sadness and take it out on me ten years later.”

“Got it. Must bottle feelings for less than ten years,” he bobbed his head in agreement, a playful grin highlighting his jest.

“Alistair,” she groaned, failing her attempt to withhold a chuckle. “I’m not kidding.”

“No appeasing,” he confirmed. “Check. It’s a real shame though. I’m definitely the best appeaser I know.”

“Three: I won't make your decisions for you. I’m your wife, not your mother.”

“Ouch!” Alistair laughed and cupped his hand over his heart.

“I mean it,” she assured, her expression showing her severity. “Four: I stay Commander until we find a cure.” Alistair’s eyes squinted, humor lost. “Or until the Inquisition no longer needs us, then I’ll come back to Denerim. But I still want to make time for the search.” He gave a solemn nod and waited for her final rule. Caoilainn’s eyes widened, her face pleading, palms lifted. “Nate is my friend. I swear to you, nothing will happen between us, but he’ll need me if he takes over as Commander. Five: I keep communication with Nathaniel when I return to the city.”

The wisdom Caoilainn gained as Commander occurred when she undertook rebuilding the order on her own. Alistair's duties as King kept him from joining. She stayed embittered by his abandonment, neglecting her anger around the topic until she confessed her pain at Skyhold.

Frowning, Alistair gave a decisive shake of his head. “I can’t have that,” he replied. “I don’t trust him, Caoilainn and that would challenge the trust I need to rebuild with you.”

“It’s not that simple. There’s so much to leading the order, communications with Weisshaupt, the other divisions. I can’t just leave him to figure it out like I had to,” she reasoned, desperate to explain the complicated nature of taking over as Warden Commander.

“No,” Alistair reiterated, predicting her rationalization. “You can find someone else to command or he can communicate with me, the King if he needs help.”

“Alistair,” she made a curt statement of his name as if he might hear the harshness of this requirement. Unmoving, Alistair peered down at Caoilainn, set in his decision. With a deep breath in, Caoilainn centered herself, calming her nerves and worry surrounding her potential successor. She gave a patient nod. Her future with Alistair dependent on this priority made the choice simple.  “I understand.”

Resolution discovered, conversation assuaged years of bitterness and guilt. Mutual observance of reaction found amity. The two faced each other, Caoilainn in her Warden gambeson, Alistair in his leather brigandine; the Inquisition camp nearly set for the evening on one side and the open field of the Exalted Plains spread on the other.

“The rules can change.” Alistair broke their respectful silence. His hands found their way back to her shoulders. “But we need to talk should they be changed, expanded, or added to.”

“I appreciate that,” Caoilainn replied and held his gaze. Eyes locked, intense in agreement. Her excited heart fluttered with gratitude as relief washed over. The looming fear she might lose him vanished, bringing appreciative tears in place. “Thank you. I love you.”

“I love you too,” he replied. Effortless words, unneeded, understood by both, and spoken out of familiarity.

Rules set, hearts lifted, and hope renewed, both given an opportunity for redemption. Alistair’s anger now distant with her assurance and commitment; Caoilainn’s blind trust affirmed by his ardent love.

Alistair stepped in. Bodies pressed, a hand moved from her shoulder to her neck, his thumb pressed against her cheek. The other hand found her waist. Foreheads touched, thankful for reunion, absorbing hard earned connection. Alistair’s head lowered; earnest lips found hers, sealing their agreement with a kiss.

In unspoken congruity, the pair walked from the camp. Extending the harmony of this unifying outcome, savoring the moment in ardor. Like-minded steps carried them through the plains as darkness fell. The two walked in reverence. Stars shined from the clear sky, illuminating their path. Unhurried conversation allowed time to wander; flirtatious subtleties mixed through their dialogue more as the hour drew late. The Inquisition camp drifted from sight.

Concordant, the couple stopped as if reaching their intended destination. A tree marked the location. Its drooping limbs and base composed of many wide segments was unlike the barren branches of timber in the rest of the plains.

Caoilainn turned to face him. “We made it,” she whispered, distinguishing their wordless communication of intention. A few steps backward brought her under the tree’s protective arms.

“We did,” Alistair echoed, following her steps until they were both under the branches’ haven.

Steady steps, Caoilainn’s back bumped the tree and Alistair closed the space, pinning her so the thick trunk stood between them and the Inquisition camp. A small whimper released, Caoilainn’s hand grabbed the cord linking his spaulder. She pulled him in for a kiss. Engaged, the pair locked mouths. Alistair’s hand returned to the base of her scalp and their tongues separated lips, twirling in celebration of reunion.

Long seconds stretched by, love rekindling to fire until Alistair broke away. Caoilainn’s moan resonated as her neck tilted. Revealing sensitive skin begging to be bitten or throttled in a primal nature.

“I have another rule,” he mumbled, nuzzling his nose against the tender skin of her neck before leaving a gentle kiss.

Caoilainn emitted a soft ‘mmm,’ lost in anticipation for him to inflict brief anguish to stimulate pleasure.

“Rule six: no more pain. I’m not hurting you, Caoilainn. Even if you like it,” he murmured into her ear. The curve of his grin tickled.

Her hum turned to a whine; a disappointed groan unhappy with this information. She lifted her head, returning his gaze; displeased brows furrowed, lip protruded in a subtle pout. Something she discovered in her time away from Alistair, Caoilainn's penchant for masochism, built on a foundation of trust in whoever delivered the sensations, offered a reliable escape from life's pressures.

His wrinkled forehead reconnected with hers. “There’s already been enough pain between us.” Light earnest explained details of the rule, “But I reserve the right to grab that magnificent ass, and I might take an occasional nibble here and there, but no pain. If you want to get hurt, go practice in the training yard.”

She gazed up from under thick lashes and inhaled; her face relaxed, and she agreed. “Yes, my King.”

Alistair blinked, cherishing her reply, and allowing its essence to sink in. The authentic tone delivered three words and promised her total commitment, confidence, and faith in him as her protector; he grinned. “Rule seven: keep doing that. I like it when you do that.”

Caoilainn smirked and crooned another “yes, my King.” She tilted her head back against the tree, waiting for his next step.

Both hands found her waist, a half step back permitted momentum along with her compliance. In a quick motion, he turned her around to face the tree. A kiss on her clothed back coerced her head to turn to glance over her shoulder. She watched as he admired her form from behind. A hand cupped a muscular cheek of her rear.

“Rule eight: trust me,” he growled.

Caoilainn's body quivered, grateful adoration coursed through her veins. Extolling Alistair's direction, his certainty permitted her concerns to leave, replaced instead with freedom to savor their connectedness.

He squeezed her cheek harder, rougher with a satisfied grunt. In reply she moaned, frustrated with her limitations caused by clothing.

Alistair's head wandered to the other side of her neck, lips brushing skin, hot breath against her ear. “Rule nine: tell me if you don't like something I’m doing.”

“I like this, my King,” she whimpered, fleeting tension fled. Gooseflesh spread down her neck, tingling down her arms to her hands. She steadied herself on the tree.

“Rule ten: tell me what you want,” he ordered between kisses on her shoulders.

A giggling moan sounded, tempted by his affection, but amused at his last rule. “That was rule five.” Tactful teeth found her ear and nipped lightly on the cartilage. Her giggle lowered into a blissful sigh. “My King,” she added.

“Mm-hmm,” he sang. “You’re paying attention. That one is so important I said it twice. So, my love, what do you want?”

Decorum forgotten, responsibilities to the Wardens fled from her mind. Love brimmed, overflowing from every pore. Smiling lips buzzed pleasurably and Caoilainn whispered, “I want you, my King.”  

[otomeonfleek]

Request: Sick w/ Eisuke Ichinomiya

anonymous asked:

i have a request, can you write about eisuke having an affair behind mc's back but little did he know mc knew it all along. Mc didn't leave or confront him because she wants to keep her promise that eisuke makes her which is to never leave his side.But everything changes when mc was diagnosed with a terminal illness. Mc left him without telling the true reason why she left. Eisuke regretting his actions try searching for mc but maybe a little too late?? ( the stick around fic was hella good!)

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Ahhh I made a fairly long fic again. It seems that I am incapable of making short ones lol. I hope you enjoy this and I apologize if it isn’t what you had in mind! Btw, there isn’t any proper dialogue until the very end as I wanted to focus on building up to it. 

-------------------------------------------------

Is there any right way to tell someone that you’re dying? You can recite it, make drafts, practice in the mirror, and it still is something neither is ready to hear. 

In your youth, you’ve envisioned a million ways your life could go. Tucked in the arms of a man that loves you in a white dress, moving into a beautiful house that you’ll spend months decorating to make it feel like home, having a darling child or two, and then spoiling your own grandchildren. That was the plan-not this. 

You stood bare in front of the bathroom mirror, burning the image into your mind of the nasty purple splotches peppering your arms, the thinning limp hair, and the gaunt hollows of your cheeks. 

It had been weeks since you found out the technical terms of what was wrong with you. The fact that a few syllables stringed together could ruin you made you bitter. Perhaps a reason why you were especially vulnerable to the negative thoughts running through was because of a certain someone. 

Lately, you were ensnared in a continuous battle of what hurt more-the sickness or the lies. As cliche as it was, one was tearing at your body and the other your actual soul. You almost felt that knowing the truth crippled you the worst. It made you passive and proved how willing you were to look the other way because of the hold he had on you. 

No, it wasn’t his money or power that kept you trailing behind him. It was worse-you stuck around because you loved him with every fiber of your being. Through the disappointments, the arguments that strained both your throats raw, the dates long-forgotten, and the supposed business calls- you were stuck in a love he considered routine. 

Regardless of whether it was his personality or his social class, he was the one calling the shots and jerking your feelings around. Knowing that you were the one that let him take advantage of you furthered how repulsed you were at the sight staring back in the mirror. Yes, the form in its bruised flesh and skeletal-figure horrified you, but you hated the person more for allowing this to continue for so long. 

It took you a while to piece it together. The first incident that caught your eye was the night of your fifth anniversary. You scrambled to finish your shift early, then spent hours fixing your appearance and nicked the price tag of a new dress that strained your budget. 

That entire week, your colleagues and friends teased you on how giddy you were. Years into the relationship and you still felt your heart flutter for the man. 

You found yourself an hour early in the penthouse and eagerly waiting for your partner to arrive. The restaurant was Michelin worthy and kept a stunning view of the city below. It was a place you had long raved about and that he had secretly made note of in that emotionally awkward way of his. 

Before you knew it, three hours has passed and you had already blowed his phone up with texts to no avail. You were a combination of concerned and furious, but knowing his background, you felt with your luck that maybe he had been kidnapped. 

Burning holes in the tiling, you had been found by the other bidders that seemed especially disturbed that you were still in the penthouse sans hotel magnate partner on the evening of your anniversary . 

You brushed them off and made an excuse of how you understood he was a busy man, but felt odd on how Soryu seemed to avoid your stare. From his nervous tic of painfully rubbing the back of his neck to his downcast eyes, something was surely eating at him. Had you not been so disappointed with the night’s turn of events, you would have approached him. If you had, maybe things would have turned out better. 

Nearly one in the morning with you curled up on a love-seat and half-asleep did your date finally arrive. You were too exhausted and emotionally-drained to respond when he gently picked you up. Cradling you in his arms, he carried you to your shared bedroom. 

You recall him softly apologizing and then making up for his absence by spending the remainder of the night entangled in another’s arms. Nothing else was strange except for the faint scent of lavender you remembered. From then on, you would smell lavender every few weeks until a hatred of the plant festered in you. 

The instance that shook your world was when you woke up in the middle of the night with murmuring faint in the other room. You crept past and felt your heart drop to your stomach when you heard his familiar baritone utter lewd phrases meant for another. 

There had to be some mistake. It was a bad dream. Perhaps, he just needed to sweet-talk someone for another shady deal. 

You had been together for years through thick and thin from attempted assassinations to blackmail and petty arguments. Promises to stay together for the long run and countless actions proving your trust in another-no, this could not be happening. 

The next morning, you kissed him on the lips as you usually did and carried on with your life. It was the cowardice and desperation inside that prevented you from confronting him and risk the life you had made together. 

You knew it was unhealthy and violated every one of your values to think that maybe if you kept your mouth shut, if you continued to play the role of the perfect girlfriend that he would marry you. The two of you could still be happy together and that he would soon tire of the other woman. 

Now as you stare in the mirror and dissect every freckle and insecurity you have harbored for the past year, you know you can’t go on. 

The young girl with an honesty like no other still exists in you, dying shell and all. With that, you make the decision to disappear. You feel bittersweet when it’s Soryu that helps you get away. 

-----------------------------------------------------

Sitting on a lone park bench, you don’t react when he comes to sit beside you. You keep your eyes forward with your thin lips pressed in a tight line and wait. 

“...” The silence drags on for several moments as the chill of autumn breezes past. With a slight childhood-like innocence, you note that you can see your breath. 

He shifts and leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees before burying his face in his hands. The way he holds himself is so different from the Eisuke Ichinomiya the public knows. There is no confidence and the way his shoulders are hunched over makes him seem smaller. His designer and neatly pressed purple dress-shirt and suit is replaced with a quiet black sweater. 

For how well you are holding up, you nearly flinch when you hear him speak after going without the sound for months. “...It wasn’t easy...finding you. I was surprised.” 

Rather than wasting your breath to entertain his version of small-talk, you keep silent and focus on a grand tree with reddening branches. It would be lovely to paint it. 

“I thought I knew you better than anyone else,” He slowly rose and cocked his head to catch your eye. 

The piercing and calculating sepia was vacant, and now seemed more exhausted than anything. His features were always finely chiseled, but the hollows of his cheeks seemed sickly. In your mind, you laughed bitterly at how you were supposed to be the dying one yet his haggard appearance challenged yours. 

With a rather heavy exhale, he continued, “I once thought I could see right through you and read everything about you. I was wrong.” His tone was low and each word carried its individual weight. 

You used whatever remaining strength and furled your thin digits into fists, trying to fight back the trembles as your throat tightened. 

“I could do anything, say anything, and know that you would still be there. I could hurt you-I did hurt you, and you stayed.” The brunette male pursed his lips and glanced away with a pained expression. 

You finally gathered the bits of resentment and hurt that festered in you to air it out. “I...I really believed in you. I convinced myself that if I stuck it out that...You would forget the other woman and that we would be okay. We could just continue on, we would get married, and we would be fine.” Mustering the nerve, you properly jutted your shoulders to face him head-on and stunned him with the severity of your eyes. 

“Do you know how twisted that is-to think like that? I was so in love with you that I made myself sick,” you spat out the words with such venom that he nearly reeled back. 

Forcing a bitter laugh out, you gritted your teeth, “Now look at me! I really am sick.” Mockingly, you gestured to your frame and picked at the sweaters that swallowed your thin frame whole. 

He remained still, finally getting a proper glimpse into your perspective after all this time. Chest raising heavily, your ex-lover tried, “I can get you help. There’s a hospital in-” 

“Stop. If I really wanted, don’t you think I could have asked Soryu or any of the others?” You sent him a bitter smile, your eyes twinkling humorlessly. Oh, how the tables have turned. You were like a stonewall with cool features while he was fumbling around. 

“(Y/N), you don’t want to die. You’re not throwing your life away because of something shitty I did. I can help-” The words died in his mouth when you raised your hand to signal that he stop again. 

“I’m not throwing my life away. I just want to do things at my own pace now.” This time, your smile was much less cruel as you considered what that meant to you. You pulled at the collar of your woolen coat, noting how stiff your fingers felt from the frigid air. 

The fury and passion that was the Tres Spades King seemed to ignite as he straightened in his seat to bark out, “At your own pace? You can’t think like that and take your damned time!! This isn’t a game-you are dying!!” 

You shook your head, almost feeling oddly comforted to see him in his usual raging spirits. “You’re not listening. I spent years living at your pace, trailing after you, doing what you want. Now I want to live as I like.” 

The words seemed to finally hit him and you decided to provide that extra security for him. “I’m actually getting better. It doesn’t seem like it now, but I feel it.” 

Several long moments passed as your own (e/c) gazed into his, trying to convey every frustrated and hopeful emotion that was surging through you. 

This was your life now. 

It wouldn’t have the white dress, the giddy laughter of children running through a home that you’ve built, or the adoring spouse. Your plans had changed and your priorities altered to fit this reality. It would be one likely without Eisuke Ichinomiya and that knowledge made your heart crumble once more as you forced a smile towards him.

Being with him had been painful. 

Learning to be without him as you healed would be painful. 

The realization that you could no longer smell lavender on him was painful. 

This was your life now.   

[restitutiion]

          He is sitting with Laurens when it first strikes, like an impending storm too cowardice to shed its first downpour.

          A sharp pain shoots between his ribs, and he swears this too-clean hospital room once white now washes itself red; like a memory, death seizes control. He can see his mother, his friends, his husband --- they are all waiting for him on the other side, and his breath desperately attempts to regain conscientious control. He knows, through whatever dwindling awareness he may possess, that this is but a dream. A cursed, wretched thing meant only to taunt and dissuade him; he knows better than to believe such images, no matter how desperately they may cling to faux truth. He looks to John, he looks to the floor; he settles a few seconds later on simply watching their hands, his holding his husband’s gently. He always hated hospitals --- memory wore itself a noose around tender throat, and he toed the edge with each passing second. His mind continue to conjure up distant thought, vivid colors of a world still growing, a life born anew with each passing day.

           ( “Who did this? Alexander, did you know?” she shouts, rushing to her son’s dying side; Alexander stands nearby, too terrified to take ownership of the life fading before him. Pride proves itself uncompromising to say the very least, and he wishes to not even glance in the direction of such tragedy. His son, all brash behavior and proud defense, was fatally shot through a duel that he allowed, a duel that he encouraged. Eliza screams out as the boy falls limp in her arms. )

           The cry rings in his ears, and he winces at the sheer volume of the aggrieved tone; he knows that he is still in the hospital with John, still sitting anxiously at the bedside of the man he so adamantly adores, and yet despite this rooted understanding of reality, his mind continues to insist otherwise. 

           ( Doctors stand nearby, backs turned for liability’s sake, and Alexander watches as his husband aims a gun towards a stranger. The details come at a slower pace, and all he can think in the moment is this: Laurens, don’t die on me. Again, he thinks it, clenching his husband’s hand a little tighter in the present as his mind displays a showing of defiance and strength more evocative of Laurens’ pride than of anything else. The other man is shot, and Alexander is later reprimanded for the behavior he so arrogantly supported. )

            Avoiding such stinging revelations is a task obstinate at best, so he opts to simply relinquish himself to fate; if he was meant to discover a world foreign in action yet familiar in heart, then so be it. He would not, nor could he, simply disregard the continued assault of memory upon a previously tired brain; he looks to John, wishing, almost, to apologize --- for what, he isn’t entirely sure, as proper phrasing escapes him as the onslaught of thought persists.

            ( She is beautiful, stunning in a way only a temptress through plot could be; Alexander was weak, forlorn despite an ever-growing family filling the loving home he continues to abandon --- he flinches at this realization, the parallels of his own childhood screaming red and burning on the edges of this cursed recollection. Her husband comes in to her defense, demanding payment in favor of secrecy; it was an offer Alexander couldn’t rightfully refuse, given his reputation and status. He couldn’t say no. Not to her husband, not to her; he writes a pamphlet in defense of his actions --- he would never swindle funds from his country. Cheating on his wife, hurting the relationship with his own children --- this was the lesser evil of the two, he was sure of it. )

             This past life, this terrible version of himself, remains intransigent through trauma, unmoving despite the world insisting that he should; if infidelity weren’t involved, Alexander may have even admired such a strong will. Instead, he simply allows the memories to continue to emerge; he looks to his husband, offers a gentle reassurance that he is fine. They both will be; despite this pained memory unhinging itself from its resting place, despite these vivid images painting a life bred of violence and casualties, they will continue to uphold the lives they always have. History could not, nor would it, prevent them from reaching recovery and forgiveness; could you imagine, he wants to say, forgiveness. For all it was worth, for all it could provide --- forgiveness was a double edged sword, a vague sharpness lingering between his ribs, his husband dropping due to an invisible shot ringing through his ears. Forgiveness would come; Alexander was sure of it. 

[ikesenhell]

Between Seasons

This is the Professional Integrity series, part five. For all other parts and additional IkeSen works by me, see here.

She didn’t blow dry her hair or straighten it or curl it--none of that. When she slipped from the bathroom, her hair dripping still, he knew she meant to dry it in the rush of wind from road. There was something worshipful about that. If the whole crazy, heady, strange journey had a souvenir, it was every inch of her hair slipping in the air, absorbing the weight of her smile. 

God. He was a man well and done for. 

Her hair was almost the only part of her he felt safe around. Now that he knew how far he’d sunk, he couldn’t help but look at those hands that he’d touched and worry that he’d tainted her. That was what he was, after all. He was the wall from the storm. He was the muscle and blood. He was the dirt of the grave, and the promise of pain, and the ferryman of the Styx, and she was Persephone--and he, with no designs on making her eat a pomegranate, was terrified of putting his mark on her. 

But her hair--her hair was a safe Purgatory. There was something less intimate about that. It was the gate to heaven that he could see and touch and turn away from before it burned him.

“Got any ideas where we’re going yet?” He asked her. 

“Mmm, maybe Chicago. It’s been years since I last went.” But she paused, something hovering around the periphery of her thought. “You know where I want to go and I’m too scared to?”

“Do tell.”

“Mackinac Island, Michigan.”

“Where’s that? Never heard of it.”

“It’s way, way, way up north, in the Great Lakes. I think it’s actually in Lake Michigan.” Her thumbs skated over the soft vinyl of the steering wheel. “It’s this tiny little island. It has some woods, and there are no cars allowed, and big rock beaches and the softest grass I’ve ever touched. I went there last when I was like, oh, thirteen?”

He shifted back in his seat and tried not to watch those supple wrists flex and turn. “Why would you be scared of it? You’ve already been. Did something bad happen?”

“No.” Another pause. She tilted her head as if measuring the weight of her words against the feather of truth. “I don’t know. I’ve never felt rooted in my life. Does that make sense?”

Entirely too much. He felt it in every pore of his skin. “I can imagine.”

“So I just kind of... I don’t know, I was always happy to run away. I was at my best when I wasn’t home. And it didn’t matter that there was nothing wrong with home, I just--even when I got older, I’d do this thing where I’d hop in my car at two in the morning. Maybe I’d grab someone, maybe I wouldn’t, but more often than not I’d just hop onto a highway and drive until the city lights were gone and I could finally see the sky and breathe. And when we visited Mackinac...” She inhaled deep, as if she were filling her lungs with the tang of Lake Michigan air. “I was just. I was home, for once in my life. It was there.”

“I’m not following why you’re scared of it.”

“Cause that was over a decade ago.” Her smile was thin and hollow now. “And I’m terrified that I’ll go back and find out it isn’t the place I remembered. I don’t know what’s better: only visiting your home in your mind for fear of losing it, or returning only to find out it never existed?”

He couldn’t answer that for her. She realized that, too, because quietly, she reached out and flipped on Hotel California. 

Mitsuhide had worked in Chicago once, but it was long enough ago and the family had been homebodies enough to where he honestly didn’t know the city with any certainty. She didn’t either. They fumbled around their phones until it felt ridiculous, and then she caved and bought a paper map. 

“Wow.” He snickered. “Haven’t actually seen one of these in ages.”

“Right? I wonder all the time how these are so accessible to some people.” She flipped it around and around, pointing eventually at Millenium Park. “Let’s go there first. There are some statues and things, and I think it’ll be neat.”

They walked along the promenade and saw the butterfly gardens. She snapped pictures of almost every piece of modern art and filed them away in her phone, chatting animatedly about the finer points of performance art (which he’d never been interested in before, but honestly, her enthusiasm had a way of catching).  Her repeated attempts to take a picture of a massive, silvery bubble sculpture were thwarted by Mitsuhide making as many ridiculous faces as he could manage into its reflective surface and watching her die laughing. Afterward they caught a taxi over to the Navy Pier, which jut out sharply into Lake Michigan.

“Want to ride the Ferris wheel?” She motioned at it, looming large overhead. 

“Whatever you want. Are you a fan of heights?”

“Love them.”

They settled into a car together, the attendant shutting the heavy metal door shut behind them. Up, up, up they swung, their fragile little basket sweeping up into the Illinois skyline and toward the infinite heaven. Out over the water, the sun was setting in shades of green and mist. 

“Wow.” She murmured, her camera utterly forgotten and eyes filled with twilight. And Mitsuhide took one look at her--one long, long look--and he couldn’t decide if the taste in his mouth was acrid or sweet. He wasn’t too good at tasting anyway. Watching her was the bitterness of seeing the glory of fall dissolving into winter, swirling firebrand leaves fall from empty arms and collect around his feet. She was temporary and permanent the same way so many of his worst scars were; red and unforgettable for weeks, and then left in him forever, etched in his skin to take to the grave. 

And god--it hurt. It hurt so badly he couldn’t breathe. Mitsuhide couldn’t pick whether he wanted to bring her into his arms and kiss her, drug her with his pomegranate tongue and trap her in his underworld, or let his hands be and see her return to the surface of the world unharmed. 

He needed to resign. 

The next morning he told her he would be back, just going to fetch them some coffee, and when he stepped out of the RV he was already rehearsing his resignation in his head. 

How did he word this? Who did he recommend to her? She needed someone else to be by her for a little while longer, at the least. The heat hadn’t pulled away from her after James’ death, if the incident in New York were to be believed. Was it cowardice to leave? No. Not when he could feel so much of his heart winding tight between her fingertips and squeezing, squeezing, squeezing out his soul until he wanted to cry for the first time in his life. 

His feet took him further than he realized, and at present Mitsuhide suddenly noticed he was in front of a Buddhist temple. 

“Speak of the Devil.” He chuckled to himself and prepared to leave, but... well, maybe just a little while. Maybe he needed some quiet.

Shoes were left in a cubby in the hallway. He padded softly in on bare feet to the main room, mats arranged before a small shrine. What did he do? It had been so long that he’d damn near forgotten what the appropriate action was. Right. Dipping his head, Mitsuhide made his way to one in the corner, settling down on it. 

“Welcome.” A low, deep voice greeted him, echoing through the hall. Mitsuhide glanced up, suddenly feeling quite like he was a child again. 

“Hello.” 

The monk came from seemingly nowhere. What an interesting character. He had a deep, intense scar through the length of his face, and his eyes were tired and wan, but he seemed genuine enough. Settling alongside Mitsuhide, the man addressed him again. “I am Kennyo.”

“Mitsuhide.”

The monk was at least fourty-five, if not fifty, or maybe he’d simply had a tough life. Either way, his eyes were boring straight through Mitsuhide. “Have you come here for something?”

“Uh, no.” He paused, staring straight at the Buddha on the altar, incense swirling around his outstretched hands. “No, just for some peace.”

“Peace from the world, or peace from yourself?”

He couldn’t answer that. Truth stuck like a wedge in his throat. Kennyo continued, his voice soft. “I know the struggle of finding your peace.”

“I was just fine.” 

“And now?”

Once again, he didn’t have words. What could he say? There’s a girl felt so ridiculous, and besides, she wasn’t a girl. She was a woman. She was life and love and laughter and sunlight and a thousand things he wanted to taste, the host at the feast of life and he didn’t feel he’d ever been invited to that table--

“Now I can’t get her out of my head,” he admitted thickly, eyes pinned to the altar. If he tried--really tried--he could pretend he wasn’t addressing a man, just a statue. “And I don’t think I deserve that. Not her. She deserves more than me.”

The monk was silent a very, very long time. At last, he sighed. “Have you asked her that?”

Mitsuhide laughed hollowly and didn’t answer. The elder continued. “It doesn’t do to make choices about another that the other has no input on. You may well find that you’re mistaken.”

“And if I’m not?”

“Then you will put to rest that part of you that always asks the infinite question: What If.”

[progeny-of-the-fury]

The Return of Hestia De’bayle

Log date: 2/28/18

OOC Note: The text in these logs are strictly for the reader’s enjoyment. Anyone using the knowledge displayed within this text without the participant’s knowledge risks the potential of blacklisting from future communication and roleplay. Please do not meta-game!

Tags: @pain-and-pistolet

Things had reached a tense point. Even after the Blitzball rally, I did little more than disappoint Killian with my cowardice. I had made myself untrustworthy, how could I face him again. I needed to know… if being me was okay. If… returning to that… was the right choice…

Adelise De'bayle clicks open the door to the workshop slowly, peeking her head inside with a narrow of her eyes. The item of question that Astrelle had told Adelise of yesterday was already long gone, yet the girl still made her way inside once spotting the Elezen. “Astrelle?”

The sound of hammering steel rang out in the cavernous walls of the workshop. Noises from each corner hummed; mechanical whirrs breathing life into the large and spacious area. Astrelle would be found at her usual post, the sound of clinking metals and idle tinkering audible even through the din of machines and holograms. Wiping a bead of sweat from her brow, the woman would pause at the sound of her name cutting through, turning over her shoulder. “Adelise. Hello.” She placed a small hammer upon the desk, rounding to lean her rear against the edge of the long counter. “Problems with the typewriter?” she asked, guessing at the younger woman’s presence.

Adelise De'bayle: “I would not know. I had it sent to his apartment. He left back home without me last night,” she noted blandly, shrugging a shoulder as her wyvern sat there dutifully, for what felt like forever since he was last seen. “I had not… anticipated coming back here so soon. I still have my trials to finish back in Dravania, but… I am left torn on an issue, and needed some guidance.”

Astrelle De'bayle screwed her mouth at the news. Reaching into her pouch, she withdrew a small remote with a single red button which she clicked - the humming of the workshop quieted some in response, a gentle hiss escaping out from a far corner as blue smoke rose into the air slowly. “How can I help?” the elder woman asked, her tone carrying evenly and with genuine curiosity and concern. She stepped forward and pushed her goggles up onto her forehead, a faint imprint of their frame around each of her eyes.

Adelise De'bayle: “I know there are probably worse things to be concerned about as of late, with raised tensions throughout the House… your brothers return home,” she gestures out a hand. “Along with such… perhaps even as a direct correlation, Killian and I have been arguing with one another almost non-stop. And most issues… are my fault,” she inhales some, “I am a coward and a liar, and I am not sure how to fix it. He wishes for me to be Hestia,” she admits out, “but… I am unsure if that is the right choice. Or if I even have a right to do something so selfish to the people who did so much to help me. I do not want to jeopardize anyone with such a hasty decision, but… I figured that rather than continue to hurt him by insisting I will try to be Hestia and failing time and time again, I would ask you all. My… family. If it is okay for me to be… Hestia.”

Astrelle De'bayle listened politely to her niece’s concerns. With each new word, her serious expression softened a touch until finally her brows would furrow in a bemused acceptance. After Adelise finishes speaking, Astrelle holds her gaze level with the girl before slowly canting her head. “…who have you been all this time?”

Adelise De'bayle laughs sadly, shaking her head, “it silly… is it not? To even worry about such a thing. It is just a name…” she pressed her lips together, her brows furrowing in upset. “No… it became more than just a name when I returned and was treated like a stranger on more than one account. Told I was one. Suddenly, I knew I was no longer the ‘Hestia’ people loved. I was just, Adelise. A completely different person. I never had such a… identity crisis, but… Killian describes it as a mask. That Adelise is a mask I put on, and… that when I am ‘Hestia’ things are different… I do not know. I suppose the answer is, I do not know who I am. I feel like I am tugging between two people are just… me? It seems ridiculous.”

Astrelle De'bayle notes the wyvern—finally—and looks it over with idle curiosity. She elects to leave the topic alone for the time being. Instead, she gingerly begins to pull her gloves from her hand, one finger at a time. “And who do you think you are, my dear niece?”

Adelise De'bayle: “I only ever wanted to be Hestia,” she notes in a sad tone. “But my final orders from Hitokiri, was that Adelise was to remain my name… that my mother requested I go by an alias, as me being this way. As old as I am, would confuse people. People would ask questions that I had no right to answer,” she squeezed her hands tightly, “but I wanted to be Hestia. I never wanted any of this to happen, and now all this pain that has been following me as of late, has seeped into my current relationship.”

Adelise De'bayle: “I should have let Hestia die there… but instead I wanted so badly to keep that name alive. To be that. I wanted to be Hestia, even if I would not admit it then. And so I told those closest to me that they could call me that in private. Now, Killian wishes to marry me as Hestia because he knows that to be what I consider my realest self. But if I do that. If I allow how to do that… what will happen then? I cannot hurt my mother and father like that…”

Astrelle De'bayle watches the girl with a sympathetic expression, continuing to listen to her rambling. The sound of her boots meeting the metal grate beneath her as she steps forward announces her approach, a rough palm lifting—after warily watching to see if the wyvern would attack—to press against Adelise’s cheek if allowed. “It should never be their choice for who you are, lest you die cursing your own name.”

Adelise De'bayle winced some as Astrelle raised a hand to her face, the wyvern perched on her shoulder offering Astrelle a sharp gaze but otherwise doing little else but exhaling a sharply though his nostrils. “I just… Serick told me all my life, about the family waiting for me when I got back. And while Hitokiri became a father to me where my father could not be in all that time… and leaving him was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do… but I wanted to be here with my family again. To show them how far I had come… but they do not love Adelise. I do not want just to be a mask to them. I want to be Hestia… but what is the cost of that? How many people know and would ask… Killian says it is not their right to know. I wanted to know what you thought.”

Astrelle De'bayle dropped her hand back down to her side, keeping an eye on the wyvern with a slight hum of disapproval. “It is not, should you not wish for it to be,” she answered casually with a raise of a single shoulder. The engineer turned with a sigh, glancing towards her unfinished work as she mulled over the words of the younger De'bayle. “You are as much apart of this family as any other De'bayle—name or not.” She turned a cryptic look to the half-Hyur, eyes narrowed somewhat before she offered a pre-emptive smile. “I recall meeting you upon mine return to the family. You were small—far smaller than now. The way you spoke to me; with which you said the word 'aunt’,” the Elezen sighed, “left me a mess, in truth. I do not know if you recall, but I slept in your room with you that eve - to see the future of mine family—of the De'bayle name…” She trailed off, looking far older than she actually was now; wrinkles faintly etching around the lines of her eyes, mingling with the soot and grease that dotted her cheeks and chin. “You are oft a foolish girl, Hestia, and far too reliant on your pride to carry you through things. Yet I have never wished to treat you as anything less than family. If you wish to be Hestia, then be Hestia—the consequences will be dealt with as they arise.”

Adelise De'bayle tightens her hands some, lowering her head. “I know I am a fool. I am a fool with an ambition larger than I am capable of, but I feel that… I have a responsibility to do something with this life I was granted. For the time I… wasted on those who cared for me,” she shook her head, mumbling to herself. “I do not want to live in uncertainty anymore. I want to live! And I want to live for myself! And for my family, and my future family. To see my brother grow up knowing me as his sister and not as his cousin…” she inhales deeply. “And I want to be at my father and mothers side. And to do anything I can to see not just our people prosper, but anyone I can reach. I know I am just… in the eyes of most, some delusional girl. But those ambitions have to start somewhere… no matter how impossible they must appear,” she laughs bitterly.

Astrelle De'bayle gave Adelise a soft smile; tired but genuine. “The only responsibility you owe is to yourself—you have never owed us anything.” Her smile grew some at Adelise’s continued words and she gave a soft laugh, not bothering to hide it as she spoke out, “I feel as if you may have already made your choice, my dear girl.” The Lady fixed her niece with a kind, uncharacteristic smile—something had her in a good mood lately. “Know that I am always willing to support your decisions, so long as they are not detrimental to the family as a whole.”

Adelise De'bayle looked up at Astrelle expression, her lips peeling into a small smile themselves. “That… means more to me than anything. Especially from you… my aunt. I am sure as of late with the things you have heard… I have done much to disappoint everyone,” she straightened. “I let the fury of someone who hurt me and the people around call me a stranger to him because I was no longer Hestia get the better of me. His words. I will no longer allow that to be the cause of any of my rage.”

Adelise De'bayle: “If people cannot accept that same girl from all those turns ago, then they are no friend or family of mine,” she huffs, blinking some at her, “ah… thank you… for listening to me. You seem to be in a good mood. I hope this does not do anything to damper that…” she murmurs, tugging at some of her long hair that draped over her shoulder.

Astrelle De'bayle waved a hand airily to dismiss the younger woman’s concern. “While it may behoove everyone to straighten out their priorities a touch—I shan’t lie and say that I agree with Guillemont properly, either—I am glad that… progress is being made. Fret not for your effect on mine mood - were it anything to have concern over, I would have started locking my door many moons ago.” Her nose wrinkled at the teasing jest. “Until then, do you still wish to be known as Adelise? I wouldn’t wish to say anything before you are ready.”

Adelise De'bayle takes a deep breath, before exhaling it out slowly. “I know this seems positively dramatic, the way I am acting… but I just. I have been told my whole life to be anything but… Hestia,” she nods her head a few short moments. “I wish to be Hestia, from now on.”

Astrelle De'bayle flashes her niece an almost motherly smile, dipping her head in deferrence. “You always have been,” she said softly.

Adelise De'bayle flashes an emotional expression at this, as though the thought never really dawned on her. Swallowing hard she managed a weak smile. “It will be a bit hard to get used to that… but I think Killian is right. I think in the end, it will be for the better. I just need to try and see that,” she mumbles, “in regards to that situation with Guillemont. Ar-” she stops clearing her throat, “my father, and Denz. They came and spoke to me out in Dravania. Killian and I. That is what spurred this all I suppose. I felt… they really cared about what happened. I do not know why I just assumed they would only care about what Guillemont had to say and what happened. I just accepted that fate. But… they came and spoke to me, and I felt truly like apart of the family again. And I realized… I wanted to be the person who was born into this family.”

Astrelle De'bayle ’s soft expression turned into a far more neutral one, a half smile still gracing her features. “Oh! Well, glad am I to hear that Armont is doing something. I hope he hasn’t noticed the dwindling supply of his wine.” Her words came as an attempt to lighten Hestia’s mood, if only just. “In truth, I wished to speak with Guillemont first before I saw to you, but I have not been able to—it seems I have been beaten in both regards, then.” The woman teeters her head upon her shoulders in mock consideration. Her neutral expression slowly fell back into a soft one soon enough however, not wishing to draw Hestia back into the pointed young woman she had presented herself as. “I am glad they spoke with you, though. Truly.”

Adelise De'bayle shrugged slightly. “I understand. He is your twin brother. You will have to forgive me, but I fear this situation has left little for us in regards to a growing relationship. I would hardly like to go into that now, as I think we are bother better off currently, but… I would simply rather avoid the man if I can. Or at least conversation with him. His actions in the face of my frustration over what his actions caused, be them directly or indirectly, leave me little to believe he feels remorse over what happened. No matter what was said behind closed doors. I think it would simply be best that way,” she raises a hand to brush her hand over her head, turning to peer over toward her wyvern.

Astrelle De'bayle raises a hand to deflect her words. “Hardly a solution, but I will respect it for the time. I must needs speak with him and reprimand him for such foolhardiness. Despite the … words exchanged, the actions are far more poignant in memory.” She exhales through flared nostrils, “So soon after we sacrificed so much to bring him back, no less.” Astrelle stood motionless, lower lip sucking into her mouth in deep thought. It took a moment for her to shake out of it, remembering Hestia’s presence. “I digress. Let us speak naught of the matter. Mayhaps you can share your news with Killian?”

Adelise De'bayle: “I am sure this will help our situation. Things have been so tense between us, and as I have said… they have mostly been my fault,” she grumbles. “Ah… I have seen you eyeing him some. Have you met Nogelle?” She asks, gesturing toward the fiend on her shoulder.

Astrelle De'bayle ’s eyes flit over to the wyvern. “Repeatedly,” she replies flatly. “Though it’s been some time since last I spied him perching upon your shoulder. I had thought him ill or lost.”

Adelise De'bayle: “Ah, he was dead,” she says simply, as though that were a normal thing. “He is fine now though.”

Astrelle De'bayle blinks dumbly. Her gaze snaps back to Hestia with confusion etched over her brow, the fluttering of her lashes betraying the not-so-mild-befuddlement happening in her mind. “…pardon?”

Adelise De'bayle: “He was gone… I had uhm…” she gestures up her hands, as though trying to find the words, “in a moment of weakness, bashed his skull in. But he has sense fully recovered.”

Astrelle De'bayle stares blankly at the woman, still trying to process precisely what she was saying. Unable to grasp it, Astrelle slowly shook her head in mild disbelief. “…well,” she cleared her throat quietly, “I certainly wouldn’t still be perched upon your shoulder should, uh… should that have been done to me. He is quite… loyal.” She paused before adding evenly, “Or stupid.”

Adelise De'bayle: “It would not be the first time, though he probably believes I deserved my own chance at revenge. All other times were his own doing, and he put me through great suffering because of that,” she continues on cryptically, as though the older woman were somehow supposed to understand anything she was spouting out. “It does not help that [REDACTED].”

Astrelle De'bayle quirks a brow. Shit like this is why she’d gone into machinery. “I-” her mouth tightened into a thoughtful line, though it did little to help combat the question marks zooming over her head. “You are… [REDACTED].” The older woman speculated cautiously, keen orbs peering over both Hestia and the wyvern upon her shoulder. “…in truth, you may have mentioned something to that effect before but I did not ask.” She paused. “…ah, would it be long-winded?”

Adelise De'bayle: “Not particularly… he [REDACTED]”

Astrelle De'bayle ’s brows rose at the explanation. She didn’t have a full grasp of the reply, evidenced by the way her eyes still darted between Nogelle and Hestia, but some realization dawned upon her. “…he is effectively a sort of [REDACTED], then.” She set her mouth in a pensive frown. “As well as having properties of [REDACTED]. How is it that he comes back into being?”

Adelise De'bayle: “[REDACTED],” shrugs. “But unlike when I was a child, where we had countless turns to adjust to one another’s presence, it is so…. [REDACTED]” she frowns.  "The process of [REDACTED]“ she grimaces, ”[REDACTED].“

Astrelle De'bayle cut her eyes back to Nogelle with interest. "An… unwelcome image, but an interesting idea.” She kept an intrigued stare on the wyvern, fingers tapping against her elbows now as her mind slowly wrapped around the subject, plying it to better understand. “…would you wish him gone?”

Adelise De'bayle: “Perhaps once upon a time. Him and I were not on the best of terms for a long period… as he could be extremely negative and cause me quite a bit of grief. He… has gotten better as of late. In fact, the last I rid myself of him momentarily, I was [REDACTED]. Despite our hardships from time to time, he is… he is my friend. I would not want him to be gone, even if he can be troublesome. Each time that happens though, leaves a mark.” Opening her mouth, she exposed her sharpened canines. “These [REDACTED],” she frowns.

Astrelle De'bayle lips draw into a inward pucker, brows creasing in mild concern. An image of Hestia with [REDACTED] crossed her mind, followed shortly by a faint cry of 'Heretic!’ in Denz’s voice. She forced it back with a shake of her head. “…I… hope for the best, then.”

Adelise De'bayle: "As do I,” she exhales, “as though being a half-breed is not bad enough…” she mumbles, “I do not hate my father… but… I cannot say his choices made my life very easy.”

Astrelle De'bayle hums a soft note in reply. “No, I should imagine not.” Unable to think of anything else to say on the matter, Astrelle peers over Hestia for a lingering moment before slowly gesturing back to her desk. “…I was in the middle of repairing a gun—mayhaps I can find you in the foyer or in the yard in a short amount of time?”

Adelise De'bayle: “Ah… sure. I should see if Killian is around. Thank you for listening to me,” she brings an awkward hand to rub the back of her neck.

Astrelle De'bayle nods absently at her niece. “Aye… of course. We are family.” She manages a smile at the woman, composing herself. “I shall speak with you shortly.”

Adelise De'bayle turns with a small smile, opening the door to slip out.

Finally, this was the assurance I needed…