#i read beowulf last year and i liked it!!

[regheart]

i'm asking a question out of curiosity, but i finally made my way into the english lit subjects in uni, and i was wondering, how do native speakers feel about those writers? i know i had very nuanced views of many authors i grew up reading and studying, so if you see this posts, can you answer me what authors you enjoy in school or later in life, and which ones you didn't? who is generally seen as boring or too old to be interesting? what is a book you loved to study?

[siena-sevenwits]

:-)

[comas-are-for-sleeping]

my ass Cannot get away from alliterations i swear im not doing it intentionally

[vaspider]

In defense of retellings & reimaginings

I'm not going to respond to the post that sparked this, because honestly, I don't really feel like getting in an argument, and because it's only vaguely even about the particular story that the other post discussed. The post in question objected to retellings of the Rape of Persephone which changed important elements of the story -- specifically, Persephone's level of agency, whether she was kidnapped, whether she ate seeds out of hunger, and so on. It is permissible, according to this thesis, to 'fill in empty spaces,' but not to change story elements, because 'those were important to the original tellers.' (These are acknowledged paraphrases, and I will launch you into the sun if you nitpick this paragraph.)

I understand why to the person writing that, that perspective is important, and why they -- especially as a self-described devotee of Persephone -- feel like they should proscribe boundaries around the myth. It's a perfectly valid perspective to use when sorting -- for example -- which things you choose to read. If you choose not to read anything which changes the elements which you feel are important, I applaud you.

However, the idea that one should only 'color in missing pieces,' especially when dealing with stories as old, multi-sourced, and fractional as ancient myths, and doing so with the argument that you shouldn't change things because those base elements were important to the people who originally crafted the stories, misses -- in my opinion -- the fundamental reason we tell stories and create myths in the first place.

Forgive me as I get super fucking nerdy about this. I've spent the last several years of my life wrestling with the concept of myths as storytelling devices, universality of myths, and why myths are even important at all as part of writing on something like a dozen books (a bunch of which aren't out yet) for a game centered around mythology. A lot of the stuff I've written has had to wrestle with exactly this concept -- that there is a Sacred Canon which cannot be disrupted, and that any disregard of [specific story elements] is an inexcusable betrayal.

Myths are stories we tell ourselves to understand who we are and what's important to us as individuals, as social groups, and as a society. The elements we utilize or change, those things we choose to include and exclude when telling and retelling a story, tell us what's important to us.

I could sit down and argue over the specific details which change over the -- at minimum -- 1700 years where Persephone/Kore/Proserpina was actively worshiped in Greek and Roman mystery cults, but I actually don't think those variations in specific are very important. What I think is important, however, is both the duration of her cults -- at minimum from 1500 BCE to 200CE -- and the concept that myths are stories we tell ourselves to understand who we are and what's important to us.

The idea that there was one, or even a small handful, of things that were most important to even a large swath of the people who 'originally' told the store of the Rape of Persephone or any other 'foundational' myth of what is broadly considered 'Western Culture,' when those myths were told and retold in active cultic worship for 1700 years... that seems kind of absurd to me on its face. Do we have the same broad cultural values as the original tellers of Beowulf, which is only (heh) between 1k-1.3k years old? How different are our marital traditions, our family traditions, and even our language? We can, at best, make broad statements, and of inclusive necessity, those statements must be broad enough as to lose incredible amounts of specificity. In order to make definitive, specific statements, we must leave out large swaths of the people to whom this story, or any like it, was important.

To move away from the specific story brought up by the poster whose words spun this off, because it really isn't about that story in particular, let's use The Matter of Britain/Arthuriana as our framing for the rest of this discussion. If you ask a random nerd on Tumblr, they'd probably cite a handful of story elements as essential -- though of course which ones they find most essential undoubtedly vary from nerd to nerd -- from the concept that Camelot Always Falls to Gawain and the Green Knight, Percival and the grail, Lancelot and Guinevere...

... but Lancelot/Guinevere and Percival are from Chrétien de Troyes in the 12th century, some ~500 years after Taliesin's first verses. Lancelot doesn't appear as a main character at all before de Troyes, and we can only potentially link him to characters from an 11th century story (Culhwch and Olwen) for which we don't have any extant manuscripts before the 15th century. Gawain's various roles in his numerous appearances are... conflicting characterizations at best.

The point here is not just that 'the things you think are essential parts of the story are not necessarily original,' or that 'there are a lot of different versions of this story over the centuries,' but also 'what you think of as essential is going to come back to that first thesis statement above.' What you find important about The Matter of Britain, and which story elements you think can be altered, filed off or filled in, will depend on what that story needs to tell you about yourself and what's important to you.

Does creating a new incarnation of Arthur in which she is a diasporic lesbian in outer space ruin a story originally about Welsh national identity and chivalric love? Does that disrespect the original stories? How about if Arthur is a 13th century Italian Jew? Does it disrespect the original stories if the author draws deliberate parallels between the seduction of Igerne and the story of David and Bathsheba?

Well. That depends on what's important to you.

Insisting that the core elements of a myth -- whichever elements you believe those to be -- must remain static essentially means 'I want this myth to stagnate and die.' Maybe it's because I am Jewish, and we constantly re-evaluate every word in Torah, over and over again, every single year, or maybe it's because I spend way, way too much time thinking about what's valuable in stories specifically because I write words about these concepts for money, but I don't find these arguments compelling at all, especially not when it comes to core, 'mainstream' mythologies. These are tools in the common toolbox, and everybody has access to them.

More important to me than the idea that these core elements of any given story must remain constant is, to paraphrase Dolly Parton, that a story knows what it is and does it on purpose. Should authors present retellings or reimaginings of the Rape of Persephone or The Matter of Britain which significantly alter historically-known story elements as 'uncovered' myths or present them as 'the real and original' story? Absolutely not. If someone handed me a book in which the new Grail was a limited edition Macklemore Taco Bell Baja Blast cup and told me this comes directly from recently-discovered 6th century writings of Taliesin, I would bonk them on the head with my hardcover The Once & Future King. Of course that's not the case, right?

But the concept of canon, historically, in these foundational myths has not been anything like our concept of canon today. Canon should function like a properly-fitted corset, in that it should support, not constrict, the breath in the story's lungs. If it does otherwise, authors should feel free to discard it in part or in whole.

Concepts of familial duty and the obligation of marriage don't necessarily resonate with modern audiences the way that the concept of self-determination, subversion of unreasonable and unjustified authority, and consent do. That is not what we, as a general society, value now. If the latter values are the values important to the author -- the story that the author needs to tell in order to express who they are individually and culturally and what values are important to them* -- then of course they should retell the story with those changed values. That is the point of myths, and always has been.

Common threads remain -- many of us move away from family support regardless of the consent involved in our relationships, and life can be terrifying when you're suddenly out of the immediate reach and support of your family -- because no matter how different some values are, essential human elements remain in every story. It's scary to be away from your mother for the first time. It's scary to live with someone new, in a new place. It's intimidating to find out that other people think you have a Purpose in life that you need to fulfill. It's hard to negotiate between the needs of your birth family and your chosen family.

None of this, to be clear, is to say that any particular person should feel that they need to read, enjoy, or appreciate any particular retelling, or that it's cool, hip and groovy to misrepresent your reworking of a myth as a 'new secret truth which has always been there.' If you're reworking a myth, be truthful about it, and if somebody told you 'hey did you know that it really -- ' and you ran with that and find out later you were wrong, well, correct the record. It's okay to not want to read or to not enjoy a retelling in which Arthur, Lancelot and Guinevere negotiate a triad and live happily ever after; it's not really okay to say 'you can't do that because you changed a story element which I feel is non-negotiable.' It's okay to say 'I don't think this works because -- ' because part of writing a story is that people are going to have opinions on it. It's kind of weird to say 'you're only allowed to color inside these lines.'

That's not true, and it never has been. Greek myths are not from a closed culture. Roman myths are not sacrosanct. There are plenty of stories which outsiders should leave the hell alone, but Greek and Roman myths are simply not on that list. There is just no world in which you can make an argument that the stories of the Greek and Roman Empires are somehow not open season to the entire English-speaking world. They are the public-est of domain.

You don't have to like what people do with it, but that doesn't make people wrong for writing it, and they certainly don't have to color within the lines you or anyone else draws. Critique how they tell the story, but they haven't committed some sort of cultural treachery by telling the stories which are important to them rather than the stories important to someone 2500 years dead.

****

*These are not the only reasons to tell a story and I am not in any way saying that an author is only permitted to retell a story to express their own values. There are as many reasons to tell a story as there are stories, and I don't really think any reason to create fiction is more or less valid than any other. I am discussing, specifically, the concept of myths as conveyors of essential cultural truths.

[ochipi]

So I might’ve actually lectured my lecturer. He’s an archivist, but not a historian (in the broadest version of the word).

Previously mentioned: Roman archives, didn’t really survive because of wax tablets and papyri decaying but we know they wrote and archived. Sure.

After the disappearance of the Western Roman Empire (he was very safe with his word choices here), archiving or writing large amounts of texts wasn’t really a thing, until the Arabs came by the 12th century and Europe was archiving again.

HOLD THE FFING PHONE RIGHT THERE! And I did ask why he was reasoning this way. He didn’t really got me immediately so I provided him with examples.

Roman law didn’t disappear, it was held up and added upon. (Fine = income!) we know this because A) we have catholic additions on it making pagan elements in society illegal, B) we have written versions of the Lex Salica as old as the 8th century, C) Carolingian Minuskel is a thing, learned how to read it at previous Uni.

They just continued copying/translating Greek to Latin to f.e. Diets.

Laws are only useful when you have an institute that has them, can check on them and execute them. All those laws are stored somewhere (= archived).

Handy for cloisters to know how many properties they have and what they provide in income and how much they cost.

Roman law became regional, the Goths, Salic Franks, Anglians all had written law. The Catholic Church even invited Irish monks over to baptize Europeans and they introduced the space in written language in the process to make it easier for them. Writing… archiving…

The Catholic Church was very keen on making martyrs immediate saints. Their stories were recorded (!) into hagiographies. We still have those. They were kept (archived!) in churches and cloisters.

They like their heroes. Tales like Beowulf are 8th century. The church wrote their hymns down so they could hand it out to their singers. The church provided education. The male elite could write…

Gregorius of Tours wrote his Historia Francorum. He wrote the history of the Francs, while they were still around! That’s archiving!

Yeah sure, they wrote how the Vikings were invaders and so on and on. But they wrote it down in the cloister archives!

I mean I can continue. But these were the things I mentioned in class.

To clarify, the Arabs did not re-introduce the production of archiving material and archives themself. They were just never gone. What the Arabs did do was re-introduced science! (Scream it out loud for the people in the back!). While Charlemagne was busy killing Slavs, the Arabs had libraries (Baghdad House of Wisdom) and research institutes and were good mathematicians and astronomers (many stars in our night sky have Arab names to this day). Europe owes a ton of stuff thanks to the Islamic Golden Age. But not really recording and archiving.

On the other hand, I was later informed that the lecturer started panicking because i apparently cornered him good. I just took the one time I get to prove that the last five years of me working around the Early Middle Ages wasn’t for nothing. I don’t want to apologise

[themoonking]

don’t know what you’re on about. if someone is actively participating in the hp fandom they aren’t actually an hp hater, they just have some things to say about it.

what utopia are you living in where the majority of people have “moved on” from hp. you don’t even have to leave tumblr to know that that’s not true. like, i fucking wish. but people still buy new fancy copies of the books, still go to universal studios multiple times just to see the park in different seasons, still put their house in their bio, still buy the merch from boxlunch or wherever and where it in public. i mean a new tv adaptation was literally just announced. what are you fucking on.

and apparently having an opinion on one of the most popular franchises in the world is “being obsessed” now. k.

it’s not actually that weird that people are saying “harry potter was never good, actually” after joanne went full mask off, and no it doesn’t mean that we all secretly think harry potter is amazing but don’t want to admit it. it’s pretty simple actually: most people read harry potter when they were children, when they hadn’t read a lot of other books and therefore didn’t have a lot to compare it to. then every time you reread it as an adult, you’re looking through pretty hefty nostalgia goggles. then, after you’ve realized that joanne is a violent bigot that wants you and / or people you love and care for dead, those goggles are broken and when you attempt to look at hp again you’re more likely to see it’s flaws. it’s not rocket science.

[so-long-soldier-writes]

Anchors

liam dunbar x theo raeken

summary: the end of the war brought a slew of changes to the lives of those left in beacon hills. unfortunately for liam, that includes taking his medication again, since telling his mom about the supernatural didn't go exactly as planned. now, he battles a retake of his senior year, the side effects of his medication, and a desire to keep the good things he has in his life, all while trying to keep himself afloat.

tags: angst & feels, hurt / comfort, post-war, implied / referenced s3lf h4rm, mild blood, dread doctors mentioned, protective!theo, theo lives with the dunbar-geyer family & he also works in the hospital bc i can see it, forehead kisses (so many), mentions of past abuse, relapsing, beowulf references, found family, touchy-feely

word count: 7.4k

a/n: So a big chunk of this is about Theo's past with the doctors, and growing up with them, and I'm pretty sure I got most of my facts right, but if something's totally off-canon, my bad. Season 5 is honestly quite confusing to me, and I'm trying to rewatch it to understand better. Anyway, I also did a lot of research on antipsychotics, because that's what Liam said he used to take. I struggled a bit, because a lot of the medications used to help IED also reduce sh urges, but we know Liam struggled with that throughout the show. Ugh, I love him so much. Comfort character <3 I want to give him a hug. Third thing, I haven't read Beowulf in like, six years, so all of my references are from SparkNotes, Quizlet, and a vague, vague, memory of it from the last time I touched a copy of it.

Also, greatest apologies for being absent / not posting for just about an entire month. I'm trying to reclaim my life; I've lost myself a bit this year. I did put in a three weeks' notice for my job, so I hope I can be active again soon.

One last thing, I'm still writing for Kai, I just have had this idea lodged in my brain for a while. I have a lot of stuff to write for a lot of different characters, i just have to get the gears turning again. ily all <3

“I hope loving me isn’t the hardest thing you’ve had to do.”

It’s spoken out in a whisper, but is heard loudly. It rings like a bell in the ears, and makes Theo sigh stressedly before he brushes his hands on his pants. “Clearly you don’t remember the things I’ve been through,” he starts. 

“I’m serious. It hasn’t- I haven’t been easy lately. You shouldn’t have to deal with it.”

“I’m here by choice.” Theo rinses the rag under warm water, then crouches back down to Liam’s level. He takes each finger gently, easing the blood out from underneath his fingernails. “I never had a say in anything that happened in my past, but I have a choice here, with you, and I choose to be with you.”

“Aren’t I making your life harder? You should be out in the world, exploring things you’ve never seen or done. Not stuck in Beacon Hills, babysitting me half the time.”

“I’m not babysitting you, I’m dating you. And I’ve chosen to stay here regardless; I’ve learned I like it here. I like my job, and your parents, and you, and even though I could go out, do something else - and still date you - I don’t want to.”

Part of Liam’s brain knows he’s being ridiculous. Theo’s told him a thousand times how much happier he is now. He does like his job, and he does love Liam and his parents, but he can’t help the insecure feeling that he’s holding him back. “But-”

“And you’re not hard to love. You never are.” He pauses, but when Liam opens his mouth for what he’s certain is a rebuttal, he continues. “Now, the doctors,” he chuckles, “they were hard to love. When they tried to act parental, it was awful. But then I felt guilty for not seeing them that way, because as much as they were killing me, they were also keeping me alive.” Theo tries to bring his attention to the scientists that Liam’s so keenly interested in. Ninety-nine percent of the time, the distraction works, but Theo can tell from the frown on his face that this time is part of the one percent. 

“I’m no better than them; I’m hurting you now.”

The smell of fear still lingers in the air, mixed with fresh blood and the undistinguishable scent of pain. Theo had all but kicked down the door ten minutes ago, leaving it unable to be locked until it’s fixed, but he much prefers it that way. 

“You’re nothing like them. Are you forgetting you saved me from death? From hell? You brought me back, and we fought for each other, almost died for each other, and survived a war thanks to the unspoken trust that that act gave us? I love you, Liam. My stubborn heart can effortlessly say that, because I know you aren’t going to hurt me. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you. I’ve never cared for anyone since Tara.”

Liam’s heart softens. The stone walls he tries to put up crumble down into dust. Theo shares so comfortably because Liam’s given him the time, and space, and love to do so. He hasn’t forced or rushed him; he makes him feel safe, and listens, and speaks, reassuringly, when Theo needs it. He loves him wholeheartedly, and makes sure he knows it. 

A deep sigh makes Liam slump forward, posture horrible, but neither comment on it. He watches as Theo cleans the last of the drying blood from his nails and arms. The slowly healing wounds pick up their pace with his care, and eventually, not even scars are left. 

“Sometimes I wish the scars would stay,” he mutters. “I think it would help me do it less.”

Theo understands. But at the same time, he knows it’s better that they heal. “I think your mom would catch on if they did,” he reminds gently. 

Liam’s eye twitches. The painful reminder seems to do the trick. “Can I see yours?”

Without question, Theo lifts his shirt, revealing the small mark under his heart that never fully healed. Liam runs his fingers along it immediately, feeling the bump of raised skin permanently changed from an invasive surgery he had as a child. The doctors, he said, promised it would heal. It never did. 

Theo watches Liam suck in a breath as he trails his fingers down his body, causing him to drop his shirt and chuckle. “You just wanted me to take my shirt off.”

A blush rises to the younger boy’s face. Truly, he did want to see the scar, but it’s easy to get distracted by his boyfriend’s beautiful features. “No-”

He laughs. “Sure-”

“No, I’m serious!” He puts his pointer finger on the scar again, this time over his shirt. The smile from his blush is gone from his face, the somber mood returning to the room. “Thank you, Theo.”

“You aren’t hard to love.”

“I just feel like a burden sometimes.”

“And I love being the one to remind you that you’re not.” Theo kisses his fingertips individually. Liam’s so full of love he might explode. He sighs, eyes fluttering.

“I’m tired.”

“I know you are.”

“Can we lay down?”

“Of course.”

Theo tucks Liam into his bed and changes into something more comfortable before joining him. As soon as they returned from work, Dr. Geyer fell into bed, exhausted from the day. Jenna won’t be back for another couple hours. They have time for a nap. 

⋆⋅⋆⋅⋆⋅⋆⋅⋆

That evening, when Theo hears the crackling sound of food cooking on the stove, he untangles himself from Liam’s sleepy grasp and tiptoes downstairs. Jenna smiles at him as he joins her in the kitchen.

“Hi, sweetheart, how was work today?��

Theo can’t help but smile. Those are two words he’d never thought to be combined in a nickname talking about him, but Liam’s mom calls him that almost every day. 

“It was good. David had a surgery, so he’s napping, but nothing too heavy.”

“Awh, good. And where’s Liam?”

“Also napping.” He frowns, but doesn’t quite have the words yet, so he asks, “how was your day?”

“Busy, but alright.” She stirs something in the skillet, then tilts her head at him. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I’m…” he struggles, again, for the right words. It isn’t his place to comment, but he’s willing to cross the line if he thinks it’s necessary. Right now, remembering the scratches on Liam’s arms, he knows it’s definitely necessary. “I don’t know how to say this…”

Jenna nods for him to speak, his worried look quickly betraying him. “Talk to me. What’s up?”

“Liam…” he starts slowly, “I don’t think the meds are helping him. I think he needs to come off them. He’s been extremely tired lately, and…” he doesn’t finish the sentence. He isn’t sure how to tell her the rest; the concern Theo has for his safety. 

“Sweetheart, the meds are good for him. They help with his condition, and especially knowing… what I know now… he needs to be in control of himself so something doesn’t happen.”

A month ago, Liam had finally told his parents about the supernatural. The news came with some shock, but they took it well otherwise. The lupine gene didn’t make them love their son any less, nor did they express any fear, but it did cause them to worry about his I.E.D. worsening. Heightened strength and emotion could lead to more outbursts. So, worried for him and the people around him - if he were to get angry - they refilled the prescription they’ve ignored for two years. Ever since Liam’s been taking it again, he’s been subdued. His parents only see him more tired, though, and assume it’s working. They don’t see the side effects that Theo sees, though, the stuff he desperately tries to hide. 

“I understand, but isn’t there another medication he can try? Or something natural?”

“Like a therapist?”

“I don’t know, but something else.” He wets his lower lip with this tongue, catching the skeptical look on her face. “I just… he’s so tired all the time, almost too tired, I just, I don’t know, it’s changing him. He isn’t as happy anymore.”

“He’s only been taking them for a month, he’ll get used to it. Just takes some time.”

“No, there has to be another way,” he argues, insisting she listens. Hoping she senses the urgency in his tone. “He barely has enough energy to play. He told me that’s why he stopped taking them in the first place.”

Jenna shakes her head. “He’s going to have to get used to it. It’s the safest thing for him. I don’t want-”

“But it’s not!” He interrupts. “It isn’t safe! He hasn’t been himself. He’s- he’s-” Theo stops at the disappointed look on her face. Jenna isn’t one to re-interrupt back, but instead wait patiently with an eyebrow raised, which, he’s finding, is way worse than being scolded. “I’m sorry.”

“My husband is closely monitoring his state and dosage. If we determine something needs to be changed, we will make that change. Honey, I know you care about him, and I know he doesn’t have the same energy he used to, but this is necessary, okay? I don’t know much about this werewolf stuff, so this is me doing my best to keep my son safe. Please respect that.”

Theo bites his tongue. He doesn’t want to push Jenna any further. He doesn’t want to hurt Liam - either of them - by telling her the truth of how the medication’s really affecting him, so he stays quiet. Upstairs, he can hear Liam shuffling. “Okay. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Thank you for understanding.”

That is not the word he would use, but Theo doesn’t argue further. When Jenna turns back to the stove, he heads back upstairs to check on his little wolf.

He isn’t okay, and he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to tell her that. 

⋆⋅⋆⋅⋆⋅⋆⋅⋆

The next morning brings the usual hustle and bustle as the found family gets ready for a long day of work. Liam’s waiting for a ride from Mason, since on days Theo works at the hospital with his dad, the two drive there together. His dad, at the moment, is in the kitchen greeting his mom, as Liam lazily hugs his boyfriend. As they separate, he drops something into Theo’s scrub pocket, making him narrow his eyes. 

“What’s that?” 

“Gift.”

He digs out a little folded paper heart and smiles. “Where’d you get this?”

“I made it in math class. Couldn’t focus.”

The cute gesture makes Theo kiss him on the forehead, but then he shakes his head. “You do realize you’re retaking senior year to learn this year, right?”

“You do realize I’m retaking senior year because I couldn’t learn last year because half the town was erased by Ghost Riders, and then a war broke out that was led by one of the teachers, right?” Theo gives him a look, causing Liam’s shoulders to slump. “Sorry. I know. I’m trying to focus, but I’m too tired.”

“I know, Little Wolf. It’s okay.” He plops the heart back into his pocket. “Thank you for the heart.”

Liam smiles, but before he can say anything, his mom calls for him across the room. His daily reminder, every morning, at seven sharp. 

“Hey, Li, remember to take your meds, okay?”

Both look over to see her insistent face, and Liam sighs before grabbing the prescription bottle off the table. Theo takes in a sharp breath that doesn’t go unnoticed by Jenna. She turns back to her husband, whispering. 

“Theo started a little argument about that yesterday.” She nods to her son, who’s popping a capsule into his mouth.

“That’s unusual for him.” Her husband squints.

“Mhm. Let’s keep a closer eye on Liam. He was saying it’s doing more than just making him tired. Asked for an alternative, but I assured him it’s the best option.”

“Okay. Maybe I’ll make an appointment with the psychiatrist again. That might help.”

“Yeah, that’ll be nice.”

“Alright.” He kisses her, then returns to his normal voice. “I’ll see you later, okay? I love you.”

“I love you, too. Have a good day at work.” Outside, Mason honks loudly, and Jenna turns to the boys. “Liam, time for school. I love you.”

“Okay.”

“Theo, I love you, too. David’s about ready to go.”

“Okay, I’m coming.”

He turns to the younger boy. “You gonna be okay?” Liam nods. “You have an issue, you call me. Alright?”

“Okay.”

“If I can’t pick up, what are you gonna do?”

“Make more little paper hearts.”

Theo half smiles. “Okay. Or text Mason, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And I’ll call you back as soon as possible.”

“Okay.”

“Okay. Good. We’ll be back around six today, hopefully.”

“Okay,” he repeats. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, wolf.” They share a quick kiss, interrupted by Mason honking again, and then Jenna hurrying them both out the door. “You be good. Pay attention in class. The goal is to graduate this year.”

“Shut up, Theo.” He smirks. “I’m kidding. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

⋆⋅⋆⋅⋆⋅⋆⋅⋆

Most of the day goes by alright. Except… alright is the only thing Liam’s felt since his mom hurriedly forced him back on antipsychotics after learning about his supernatural status. She was understanding of the news, really, and didn’t mind the fact that he’s a werewolf, but he thinks the only reason she possesses a little bit of concern is because of his I.E.D. If he were a normal kid-turned-werewolf, it’d be no bother, but his condition has always made her worry. 

Jenna loves her son to death and will do anything to protect him. She allowed herself to be an outlet for her angry ex-husband, but the moment she realized he’d also been hurting Liam, she sent him out the door. Finalizing the divorce with the narcissistic man was almost as difficult as being married to him, but it was all worth it once he was finally out of their lives. Despite his lack of presence though, the pain still lingered. The abuse he’d delivered left a mark on them; it left Jenna fearful, and Liam volatile. Letting David into their life was a big step for both of them, but it’s made them better.

The medication, however, has never helped. Liam tends to get the worst of the side effects and little of the actual relief that the chemicals are supposed to give. He stopped taking it for a reason before, and now… well, he’s lucky Theo’s already seen him at his worst, so he doesn’t have to hide his pain from him like he does with his mom. 

He’s struggled with it before, but it manifested itself differently. Liam always remembers the time his stepdad told him, “people deal with anger in two ways: they hurt others, or they hurt themselves.” He used to always hurt someone else first, the way his biological dad taught him, until he turned. Then, every effort became protecting others. And if that meant hurting himself to do so, that’s what he did.

Now, Liam still struggles with it. The Urge. The urge to do something, anything with your pain. Having no idea where to put it, so you put it on yourself. You dig your nails into your arms, extend your claws and bury them in your skin, scratch until all the pain is no longer emotional, but physical, and visible, and out in the open. Bleeding, because it’s easier than crying. He’ll heal faster from open wounds and scars than he will a face red and puffy. 

Liam hasn’t told Mason about the hurt. He knew about it the first time around, but he can’t bear to see his disappointed face if he tells him about the three-year-clean relapse. 

Theo, though, has seen every inch of Liam’s soul, even the icky bits. He’s seen him full of love and full of hate. He’s seen the bits Liam’s tried - and failed - to hide; the shame that you can hide from a best friend but not a lover. Besides, nothing can hide the smell of blood to another werewolf, especially not one you’re living with. Liam wishes he thought twice about that before doing it the time he got caught.

The Urge returns in English class for no particular reason. That’s the thing about it: you could be having the worst day or your life or the best, it doesn’t care. The voice is always in the back of your mind, telling you you could feel a hundred times better if you’d relapse again. Liam bites his cheek, trying to fight it off, and then tastes blood and realizes that’s just as bad. He raises his hand. 

“Yes?”

“Can- May I use the restroom?”

“Sure. Only since you used the correct word.”

“Thanks.”

He calls Theo the moment he locks himself inside a stall. The bastard misses the first call entirely, but Liam calls again anyway. 

Theo feels his phone ringing in his back pocket, but he’s in the middle of taking a patient’s blood and can’t exactly stop right now. Within a minute, the call disconnects, but the caller tries again. Theo hands Dr. Geyer the vial and excuses himself. 

“Can I take a call?”

“Yeah, be quick.”

Beyond the curtain, he panics at Liam’s name on the screen. 

“Li? Are you okay?”

“I’m in the bathroom.”

“Okay? Can you expand on that a little?”

“I’m trying really hard not to do something stupid. I’m really bored. We’re doing absolutely nothing in English class, and my brain is screaming at me.”

“Okay, okay. Hey, take a deep breath. Get your mind on something else. Think about… What were you doing in your English class, hm? Tell me about it.”

“What were you doing in the hospital? I’d rather hear about that.”

“Well,” Theo hesitates, not sure if he wants to talk about it while Liam’s fending off urges about the same thing. 

“C’mon, I’m curious. Your hospital stuff is way more important than Beowulf and the stupid creature he’s trying to kill.”

“Ah, you want to know a fun fact? The Dread Doctors made me read that book.”

“Wait, what?!”

“Part of them trying to be ‘parental,’ like I mentioned before? Yeah, it was a ‘kill two birds with one stone’ kind of thing for them. Read about this giant beast - kinda like the one we’re planning - and get some education in at the same time.”

“Wait, did they make you read a lot?”

“A lot of stuff I read by choice, just to keep busy and feel a little less alone, I guess, but they did make me do some school-like things. She did, I should say.” 

Theo’s talked about her before, The Geneticist, out of the three. A woman was under that mask, and it could be said that she cared more about him than the other two. She saw him as a boy, under all the experimentation. A child, who needed to be raised and taught, despite the environment in which they existed. 

Of course, though, she was as dedicated to the cause as the men were. She bonded to Theo - though it was mostly one-sided - and taught him what was necessary for him to grow up into an intellectual man, just like how he was as the boy they’d stolen. 

She was also the one that selected his fake parents, whenever Theo would need to blend into a new town. She’d study them for weeks before the doctors imposed on their lives. Then, if they failed in any possible way, she would be the one to handle their fates. 

“Wait, so how did that work? In between torture sessions, was she like, ‘hey, and this is the wrench I’ll be using on his teeth. You might use it someday to change a tire’?” Liam asks, then curses himself for being insensitive. 

Theo snorts, unbothered by Liam’s impulsivity. He can’t help his curiosity, nor the speed in which he blurts out questions. “I mean… to an extent? She’d explain the tools they’d use and the science behind their experiments. But like, not every minute was spent torturing kids, so she had some time to actually sit me down and make me learn.”

“So you’ve technically graduated, but through the school of Three Mean Doctors in Gas Masks.”

“I guess so. But remember they’re from 1700s France, so… there’s a disadvantage there.”

“Oh. Oh my god, I forgot about that part.”

“They stayed somewhat in the loop of modern times. Enough so that they could blend in and continue their work. Plus, outside forces coming in exposed them to more present events. Garrett, in the 1940s. Malia’s mom, mid 2000s-ish.”

“Right. So-”

A knock on the door startles both of the boys. Before Theo can call out, Dr. Geyer’s voice comes out clearly on the other side. “Theo? You almost done?”

“Shit, is that my dad?”

“Yeah.” He lifts the phone away for a second. “Yes, sorry. I’ll be out in a moment.” Turning his attention back to Liam, he sighs. “Okay, Little Wolf. How are you doing?”

“Fine. Honestly, I forgot why I called.”

A wave of relief washes over the older boy. “That’s alright. I’ll see you soon.”

“Okay. God, school is so boring. I can’t wait for practice.”

“Score a goal for me. I lo-”

“Wait, Theo?”

“Hm?”

“I remembered why I called.”

“Are you okay?”

Liam takes a shaky breath. “I think so. Your voice- hearing it- talking to you helps.”

“I’m always here for you.”

“I know. Thank you.”

“You gonna be okay if I go back to work?”

“Yeah. I love you.”

“I love you too, Li.”

“Have fun listening to people cough.”

“Have fun reading about Grendel.”

⋆⋅⋆⋅⋆⋅⋆⋅⋆

Liam begrudgingly drags his feet to his appointment. His dad didn’t even bother to tell him he made one until an hour to time, interrupting his midday Saturday catnap to do so, and quizzing him on useless biology facts the whole way. 

“C’mon, I know you have a test on Monday. Let’s go.”

“Mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell.”

“Liam. That is not what I asked.”

“I don’t know anything about blood pH or whatever you said.”

He sighs. “Why are you being so stubborn lately? You don’t put up a fight when Theo quizzes you on homework.”

“That’s because Theo rewards me with-” he stops suddenly, shutting his mouth.

“Don’t even finish that sentence,” his dad says anyway. 

“I was gonna say with candy.”

“No you weren’t.” His tone is joking, but Liam’s not in the mood for it, lighthearted or otherwise. He hates the medication and his parents know that, and now, they’re scheduling him appointments again? The only thing worse than dealing with his anger is talking about it. 

“Hey,” his dad nudges him gently. “It’ll be okay. Just a check up. Nothing major.”

His mom asked Theo to stay behind and help prepare for dinner, separating them at the time Liam needs him most. Whether she did that on purpose or not, he isn’t sure, but it sure feels like it was. 

They pull into the parking lot and Liam already feels his blood pressure rising. He needs Theo to anchor him - that’s all he needs, not this stupid medication. It only makes him worse. They don’t understand. He’d be totally fine if he could just talk to-

“Liam, c’mon.”

He takes a deep breath and exits the car. He swipes the nail bed of his pointer finger under his teeth, cleaning out a bit of dried blood he’d missed earlier. 

“Liam.”

“I am.”

He digs his best smile out from the vault - the one for his therapist, that he hasn’t used in years - and participates just enough to fool her that everything’s fine. 

⋆⋅⋆⋅⋆⋅⋆⋅⋆

“Did you tell her about the… y’know?”

“Of course not. I don’t want to go to Eichen.” Theo sighs. “What? Do you think I should’ve?”

“No, but I think you should mention it to someone… your mom?”

“Oh, hell no. She’ll worry. And clearly, she’s already worried enough with the werewolf stuff. I can’t freak her out more.”

“Li, I’m worried. I don’t like the way this medication’s making you feel. I think you need to get off it-”

“No shit-”

“-and telling her will get you off it.”

“With my luck, they’ll up my dose even more.”

“Liam, please.”

“I can’t hurt her!”

“You’re hurting yourself!” Liam was going to say more, but Theo’s words cause his own to die in his throat. “This medication is literally causing you to hurt yourself because it’s making you so depressed, you’re having trouble coping with it. I know bad coping mechanisms, Liam, I’ve been there. I can’t sit by and watch this happen to you, knowing a huge contributor is that medication, and I know if your mom knew that, she’d do anything to help you get clean again. Just trust her! She cares for you, Li. Like I do, she loves you. Your dad loves you, and Mason, and Corey. None of us like seeing you in pain, and everyone can tell you are, even though I’m the only one that knows the extent of it.”

Liam stuns. His words have so much weight. Theo’s right, as much as it breaks his heart to hear. He isn’t only hurting himself, but those around him, too. Theo, the boy he always swore to protect. Mason, by keeping him in the dark this whole time. 

“I’m not saying this to make you feel guilty,” Theo continues, responding to his silence. “I don’t want to make you feel that way at all. I just want you to know you have people who love you and will listen. Because, I love you, but I can only do so much. I can comfort you, I can clean your hands, and ease you into sleep, but I can’t get you off those meds, okay? You need to tell your parents.”

“Okay.” He finally agrees, hands trembling. Theo grabs them, and like before, kisses his fingertips gently, lovingly. “Can you help me?”

“Of course I can help you.”

⋆⋅⋆⋅⋆⋅⋆⋅⋆

The next evening when both his parents are home, the boys come down together from a ‘study session’ and take to the two chairs they usually occupy in the kitchen. Their knees touch slightly, anchoring each other in the time of uncertainty, and wait for Jenna’s attention to be available. She turns off the stove, then faces them. 

“Hey boys. Studying going well?”

“Y-yeah.” Instead of studying, they’ve been going over this plan for the last two hours, but yeah, he guesses it went well, considering they’ve found the confidence to address the issue. 

“Good, good.” Her eyes bounce between them. “Everything okay?”

“Um-”

“You didn’t break up, did you?”

“What?! No!”

“Oh. Thank god. I got worried for a minute.”

“Nothing like that. Mom, can I talk to you and dad both for a minute? It’s kind of important.”

“Of course, honey. David? Come here for a second, please.”

Liam knocks his knee into Theo’s, who smiles at Jenna for a moment before looking back down at the table. His sudden silence, despite encouraging Liam to talk about this in the first place, is not appreciated. 

“Yeah, on my way,” David says, getting up from the couch in the living room.

“You’re an ass,” Liam mutters to Theo.

“I didn’t say anything!”

“That’s exactly why!”

“What’s up, boys? Everything okay?”

“Um, yeah-” Theo bumps his knee into Liam, who stutters, “-actually, um, no. Not really.”

“Okay, what’s wrong, sweet? School alright?”

“School’s fine. Everything’s fine. Ish. I-”

“Liam,” Theo urges.

“I’m trying!”

David and Jenna grow concerned by the minute. Both have their eyebrows furrowed and their full attention on the couple. Theo’s tempted to jump in and start for him, but fears Jenna’s reaction if he does. 

“I, um, I guess, it’s-”

“Liam,” his mom sighs. “Are you okay? Did you remember your-”

“Yes, I took my meds today,” he interrupts, receiving the same stare Theo got about a week prior. “And that’s kind of the problem.”

Jenna sighs. She looks to Theo, then back at her son, head shaking in disapproval. “Liam, you agreed you’d take them again, for your safety, since we don’t know much about this supernatural stuff.”

“That’s the thing, though. The meds don’t help. They make it worse. I mean, not worse, really. They make me tired, so I don’t really have the energy to be mad, but lately, I don’t have a reason to be mad, so I’m tired for no reason.”

“Okay, I get that. I totally do. But it’s more of a preventative measure than anything else. What if something happens at practice? Or at a game?”

“Well that’s why I have Theo. Well, not the whole reason, obviously, but a large part of it.” He makes the mistake of glancing over at the boy, who’s now chuckling and gently shaking his head. It makes him smile. “Werewolves have these things called anchors that help them control their turns. I mentioned it awhile back, before the meds.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“Anchors can be anything from an object, or a mantra, or even another person, and Theo’s that for me. Whenever I’m angry, or at risk of turning, all I need to do is call him, or hear him, or frankly, just think about him, and I can control it. Or, if I’m struggling, he can always bonk me over the head, which has happened, but only in an extreme situation, where-”

“Liam.”

“Sorry.” He thanks Theo for the mini anchor right there - bringing him out of his rambling and back to the present. He looks to his parents again. “I don’t need the meds when I have Theo. He helps me with my anger more than any chemical drug ever could.”

Jenna shakes her head. “I’m glad you two have that trust in each other, but you have to take them, Liam. Your I.E.D. put you at enough risk without the extra strength of being a werewolf. I don’t want to take the chance.” She turns to Theo. “Did you put this in his head? That he doesn’t need it?”

“I-” 

Theo starts to defend himself, but Liam cuts him off. “Mom. He only helped me admit what I couldn’t bring myself to admit. The meds didn’t help two years ago, which is why I stopped taking them. They’re doing more harm than good, and I don’t want to take them anymore.”

“What’s that mean? They help you, Liam. That’s what they’re for.”

“But they don’t.” He sighs. “Mom, you can’t freak.”

“What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

“I-” Theo nudges his knee gently, urging him on. “I don’t like the way they make me feel. I’m tired, too tired to play lacrosse, too tired to focus in school.”

“You’ve only been on them for a month. You’ll adapt.”

“You’re not listening,” he snaps, looking to his dad for direction. His understanding expression helps a little. He’s pro-medication, obviously, but also knows not every drug works for every situation. Jenna knows this, too - Liam knows, deep down - and she just wants the best for him, but it’s hard for her to understand this route isn’t the best. He knows the next thing he has to say will be even harder to hear, but he knows he has to say it. He has to come clean. It’s the only way to help him find what’s truly best for him. 

“This medication’s messing with my head,” he continues. “I don’t have proof, but it’s bad for me.”

“What does that mean? ‘You don’t have proof’?”

“I… it’s been making me depressed, and I haven’t really been dealing with it in the right way.”

“What are you talking about, Liam?” His dad asks, concern etched on his face. He knows, Liam knows he knows, he’s just anxiously waiting for his worst fear to be confirmed. 

“I, um,” he glances at Theo. “Dad?”

“Mhm?”

“Remember when you told me that people either hurt others or they hurt themselves?”

“I do.”

“Well, before, when I couldn’t control my anger, I took it out on others. But ever since turning, I don’t anymore. Unfortunately, that kinda only leaves me with the other option.” He pauses, avoiding eye contact with his mom who’s slowly realizing what he means. “And a lot of the time, Theo helps me control the urges, and I can fight it, but sometimes, I’m too embarrassed to admit it even to him, but he’s the reason I’m telling you. He’s given me the confidence to tell you. I just… I don’t want to keep hurting the people I love, and he’s made me realize that by hurting myself, I’m doing exactly that, and to be honest, I hate doing it to myself, too.” He looks at Theo, again. “Was that okay?”

The older boy rubs his back comfortingly. “Yeah, little wolf. You did a good job.”

He nods, turning his head once more. “Mom?”

Her eyes are watery as the truth sinks in. The words are like a hundred bricks sitting in her chest. “Show me your arms.”

Liam outstretches his arms, skin clear of any scars or blemishes. “We heal really quickly. Honestly, that’s part of the problem. If I had a scar to show for it, it’d probably be easier to stop, but…”

Jenna takes both of his wrists and examines closely. His skin is as soft as always, not a scar in sight. “Where did you do it?”

“Along here,” he points to the underside of his arms, elbow to wrist.

“With what?”

“My claws, mostly.” Jenna stifles a sob. “Are you mad at me? I didn’t mean to make you mad.”

She shakes her head. “No, baby, I’m not mad.” Jenna quickly makes her way around the counter to embrace him in a hug. “God, I’m not mad. Oh! Baby. I’m so sorry I didn’t realize sooner.” She kisses his head, once, twice, three times. 

“You can’t blame yourself,” Liam says, “I hid it on purpose. I didn’t even mean for Theo to find out, he just… did.”

“Oh!” Jenna’s crying. He can feel her tears on his cheek. Her hands cradle his wrists as if they could shatter. Out of the corner of his eye, Liam can see his dad offering a sympathetic look. He waits for his wife to let go of their son, then gives him a hug of his own. Jenna then wraps her arms around Theo, kissing the side of his head. He freezes from the unexpected contact. 

“Mom,” Liam calls for her attention, sensing his change in heart rate. 

“I’m sorry. Thank you for being there for him. For paying attention to things we didn’t notice.” She lets them both go and circles back around the counter, though reaches across the granite to hold Liam’s hands in her own. She rubs his palms, softly massages his skin, and he can’t help but melt into her touch. 

“Liam’s my anchor as much as I’m his. I mean, my… species, I guess, differs in that we don’t turn on full moons, but he helps whenever I’m angry or upset. Helps ground me back into a normal resting heart rate.” 

Liam notices he doesn’t say something self-destructive like, Tara’s resting heart rate, and smiles. He’s healing, and learning to accept himself, and Liam’s helping him do that. 

“So the anchor stuff you were talking about is really effective? If you’re feeling angry, Theo can calm you down?”

“Yeah.”

“What about before? You said you were turned at the start of freshman year, but you two didn’t start to get close until midway last year.”

“Before then, I had a mantra that Scott taught me. And then for a while, nothing worked, and I was struggling a little, but then, against my will, it became Theo.”

“Against your will,” Theo mutters, shaking his head but smiling.

“Yeah, you were a rat back then. I was so mad when I realized your dumbass calmed me down. And the fact that you already knew made it so much worse.”

“You’re easy to read, Dunbar.”

No, you’re just… overly observant.”

“Yeah, but you’re also easy to read. Especially when you’re angry.”

“Can you tell you’re making me angry right now?”

“Yeah,” he says, matter-of-factly. 

“Yeah? Well what are you gonna do about it?” Theo stares at him. His parents watch in silence, not sure how to intervene or if they even should. “You just gonna stare at me?” Liam eggs on. “Really? You’re just gonna watch. Do nothing? I’m gonna go- I’m gonna go break that lamp over there, you see it?”

“Sure you are.”

“I am.” Liam starts to get up, but then sits back down. “Stop watching me.”

“Can’t. Sorry.”

“I’m gonna break your face.”

“Go for it.”

“You’re so annoying.”

“You’re a little drama queen sometimes.”

Liam rolls his eyes, then shifts to sit with his leg tucked underneath himself. Theo chuckles, but says nothing. 

“Today Coach asked me if I had a twin and if we’d traded places, ‘because I was unusually slow and looked like I’d just crawled out of a rabbit hole’.”

“I’m gonna break Coach’s face.”

“Scott would kill you.”

“Scott doesn’t have good odds against me.”

Liam laughs, but then his eyes go wide at the memory and he covers his mouth in embarrassment. “Okay, topic change.”

“If you were a twin, the doctors might’ve taken you,” Theo continues, completely immersed in his banter with Liam and forgetful of the adults’ presence. 

“They did take me.”

“They returned you for being annoying.”

“You rescued me, dumbass.”

“Oh, right. Wonder if I have a receipt.”

“I hate you.”

“Okay, boys,” Jenna interrupts. She can’t help but smile at how such a serious conversation has turned into a playful argument between the two. Maybe Liam will be okay without his meds. He has been for three years, without her knowledge. Maybe she overreacted a little too much. “Liam? I’m gonna need you to promise me something.”

“Mhm?”

“If we take you off the meds, you promise to get clean again? Come to one of us if you’re having trouble. Let me know if you do relapse again. Let me know when you’re feeling upset, if Theo’s not around, so I can help you get a hold of him.”

“Okay. I promise.”

“Okay, and let Mason know, when you’re ready, just so he knows.”

“I know, I just didn’t want to disappoint him. Plus, the less people that know, the better.”

“I understand.” Jenna squeezes his hands again. “Oh, baby. I should’ve listened to you about the anchor thing. I just didn’t understand at the time. I especially shouldn’t have upped your dose, but was afraid the typical dose wouldn’t be enough, but it just made everything worse!”

“It’s okay, Mom.”

“It isn’t okay! And you tried to tell me, and I wasn’t listening.” She nods at Theo.

“Well the important thing is that we all know, now, right? Liam can get off those meds and play without Coach throwing insults at him that might be incidentally risking his life.”

“Exactly right.” She smiles at the older boy. “Thank you.” Jenna then chuckles at the second part. “Thank you for protecting him.”

“We protect each other.” It’s cheesy, but it means the world to all of them, Theo included. 

“And this time, you were protecting us, too,” David nods to him. The talk may have ended on a light note, but if it was never addressed, it could’ve had a very dark ending. David’s seen dangerous scars. He doesn’t know the depth of his son’s, but with claws, he knows the damage could’ve been worse than anything he’s seen. As for Jenna, he can’t even imagine how she feels. She’s probably wishing she argued to hug Theo for longer. 

Theo smiles, but he clearly doesn’t know how to answer that. He isn’t used to being praised, despite hearing it quite often from Liam’s parents. This situation, though, is new. This is emotional. This affects more than just him and the person he’s trying to protect. 

“You’re a good kid,” David continues. 

Theo just nods. Liam leans over quickly and presses a kiss to his forehead. His parents smile at his inner conflict to accept the praise, while trying to give him more without it being overwhelming. He doesn’t counter it, though, which is progress from last time, so they leave it at that. 

⋆⋅⋆⋅⋆⋅⋆⋅⋆

That night, with everyone off from work, the found family takes to the living room for a movie. The married couple make themselves comfortable on one couch, and the boys curl up on another. Liam’s heavy school binder, flipped to his English notes, sits between his legs - his dad and Theo both are forcing him to study during the intro credits, making him groan with annoyance.

“Alright, riddle me this-”

“No-”

“What weapon did Beowulf use to kill Grendel?”

“Nothing. He just used his hands, or whatever.”

“Right, good. And how many geats did Grendel kill?”

“Just the one.”

“There you go. And this woman, Asc - crap - Ace-”

“Aceshere.”

“Thank you. What’s her role in the story?”

“She’s kidnapped and killed by Gretel’s mom.”

“Grendel.”

“Oops.”

“It’s okay.”

Every time Liam gets the question right, Theo praises him and kisses the back of his head. 

After two more, his arms snake up to rest around Liam’s neck to pull him closer. He points to another question on the study sheet. “That guy, what’s his name?”

“Hrothgar.”

“Yeah. How did-”

“I thought you’ve read this book. Why can’t you pronounce anything?”

“I read it when I was, like, eleven, Liam. Give me a break.”

“Oh.”

“From whom did that guy descend? And how did he know Beowulf?”

“Sheepshear. And he knew him because he was friend’s with his dad, or something.”

“Close enough, yeah. Shearson, I think.”

“Wait, but wouldn’t the doctors not like this book because the dragon’s defeated?”

“See, I asked that, but she said no, because the Beast had been defeated similarly, and so it was kind of a lesson for them to not repeat old mistakes.”

“Oh. I guess I see that.”

Jenna and David listen carefully to their chatter. They know the basics of Theo’s past, but he hasn’t told them as much as Liam obviously knows; they have no idea to whom she could possibly be referring, but whomever she is, Theo’s grown comfortable talking about her, and Liam listens intently, so that’s good enough for them. 

They’re proud of them both, for surviving the things they have, and for coming out of them stronger. They’re proud of them for learning to rely on each other, through war and after it. 

Liam knows it, that they’re proud, but they can tell Theo still has trouble processing it. 

He’s a work in progress, but Jenna has to admit, so is Liam, and they’re dedicated to both.

They’re especially proud of them, now, handling not only supernatural threats, but those that threaten them much more personally. Theo has obvious trauma, and Liam’s battled his IED for years, but they help each other through it. 

When the last commercial plays on the old DVD, the cheery music that opens the movie begins to play. Jenna sighs a little, enjoying watching the boys interact more than she likes to admit. She likes seeing them happy and healthily co-dependent. 

Theo acknowledges the change in music faster than Liam does. He prods him on the shoulder and kisses his head at the same time. 

“Alright, movie’s starting, you can stop now.”

“Thank god.” Liam closes his binder and drops it on the ground with a thud that makes his mom jump.

“Liam!”

“Sorry,” he says, without much apology in his tone. “What are we watching, again?”

“The Conjuring,” Theo jokes.

“What?!” Liam whips his head around in distress, eyes wide.

“I’m kidding! It’s The Parent Trap.”

“God, I hate you!” He turns back and slumps his chest against Theo’s hard, making the boy short with breath. 

“Jeez, Li.”

“Sorry.” There’s a little more sympathy this time, considering Liam can hear the lack of air in his lungs from his small voice. “I love you, actually.”

“I know.” Theo finds his hands from underneath the blanket and pulls them up to kiss his fingers. “I love you, too. Actually.”

“Shut up.”

[21st-century-minutiae]

Hi I just discovered your blog and like wow. It feels so so strange to read, thinking of your present time in the past tense, seeing the possible ways in which a moment you just experienced (reading a funny post, laughing), could be framed and analyzed in a time long enough removed that all living persons that experienced it are gone and only words are left to explain what happened and why it mattered. It feels like peering into the future and looking at a history book written about your time, written hundreds of years after your death. It feels like forbidden knowledge.

You know, I sometimes come across little moments from the past that make me feel almost supernaturally connected to my ancestors. Like that one post talking about getting to hold an ancient flint knapping(?) tool, and their thumb and fingers fit around it so naturally, holding it exactly as their predecessors did, so, so long ago. Those cave paintings of animals with too many limbs and weird scratchy looking lines through them, and the recent(?) discovery that it almost looks like it’s moving and you’re peering at it through grass when you look at it specifically with the light from fire. Just as they did, so, so long ago. There are more examples, but the caveman ones are all I’m thinking of right now. I don’t know if I’m making any sense.

Anyways, your posts kinda feel like that, but in reverse, like we’re the people being talked about and related to. I hope this blog lasts. I hope some 45th century texting format fanfiction writer in northern Canada shows it to her friends.

The past and future are sometimes wondrous, even in tiny ways. I'm glad to share that kind of joy with people.

I don't plan to stop and have been pretty stubborn in this habit so far. No promises about the blog surviving to the 45th century, but I imagine (if languages have not drifted to the point that the blog is akin to Beowulf for how hard it is to read), that said individuals might be more annoyed by what I failed to explain and never thought to explain.

[healerqueen]

Book sale time!

Readers of Tumblr, can I interest you in an e-book sale? It is a very big, very good sale, and I can tell you about some very good books. The sale lasts till Monday night. All books in this sale are discounted to $0.99 on Amazon, and a few of them are free. And I have recommendations! I recommend all these books highly. Visit https://blackfridaybooksale.com/ to browse the sale, or search the title and author of each book on Amazon.

Stay tuned for some really good books in many different genres, for every kind of reader. These are some of my favorite books to recommend year-round, and they're all on sale today. You can get five books for the price of one, the same price as a cup of coffee.

Book Recommendations

BREAK THE BEAST by Allison Tebo (epic and glorious fantasy retelling of Beowulf)

THE RELUCTANT GODFATHER and the TALES OF AMBIA series by Allison Tebo (hilarious, heartwarming, and quirky romantic comedy fairytale retellings)

THE GOBLIN AND THE DANCER (standalone sweet fairytale adventure)

SUMMON THE LIGHT by Tor Thibeaux (fantasy retelling of The Tempest from the perspective of Caliban)

REBEL WAVE: Seasons 1 and 2 by Tor Thibeaux (futuristic undersea adventure)

THE REALM BENEATH (brand-new multi-author anthology of undersea short stories featuring fantasy sea creatures, mermaids, and the like)

ILLUMINARE and DAWNSONG by Bryn Shutt (epic fantasy with deep themes, characters, and worldbuilding)

SEVENTH CITY by Emily Hayse (Alaskan-inspired fantasy with platonic relationships)

THESE WAR-TORN HANDS by Emily Hayse (Western historical fantasy retelling of King Arthur, the first book in a trilogy)

FAIREST SON by H. S. J. Williams (beautiful, wintry retelling of Snow White featuring deep themes and characters with fae elves and goblins)

MOONSCRIPT and COLLUSION by H. S. J. Williams (epic fantasy featuring elves, other fantasy creatures, family drama, and the battle between light and darkness)

MOUNTAIN OF THE WOLF by Elisabeth Grace Foley (Western historical fiction retelling of Red Riding Hood with mystery and adventure)

LOST LAKE HOUSE by Elisabeth Grace Foley (1920s historical fiction retelling of The Twelve Dancing Princesses)

Other Westerns and historical fiction books by Elisabeth Grace Foley (Elisabeth Foley's vintage Western suspense novel LAND OF HILLS AND VALLEYS is on sale for $2.99, 50% off, and so is her excellent new anthology THE SMOKING IRON)

Historical fiction fairytale retellings by Rachel Kovaciny (excellent historical fiction reads, period, and strong, interesting retellings)

THE ACCIDENTAL CASES OF EMILY ABBOTT series by Perry Elisabeth Kirkpatrick (contemporary spy mystery series; fun, humorous, and sweet; the first three books out of eight are free today and the rest are $0.99)

Snap up a few of these before the deals are gone (or after!). It's a great time to stock up on good books to read. This is the only Black Friday shopping I do each year, and I'm always pleased with the good books I buy for such a low price. (By the way, you can read Kindle books on a laptop in your browser if you don't have a Kindle, or use the Kindle app on your phone.)

[shipcestuous]

This might come a little out of left field, but lately I've been thinking a bit about Grendel and his mother, from Beowulf.

Their story in itself shows what looks to be a great bond between them. They seem to live alon together in isolation, under a lake, and when Beowulf rips off Grendel's arm and Grendel flees from Heorot, he returns there to die, or perhaps in hopes his mother might be able to help him. Grendel's mother avenges him going to Heorot herself, which she'd probably never done before, and killing king Hrothgar's most beloved and trusted advisor. Later, Beowful, her son's slayer, dives under the lake to kill her, and she puts up a good fight, sharing Grendel's own strength and invulnerability to normal weapons: in her fury, she puts Beowulf in a very tough spot, and he only saves himself because he finds an ancient magical sword just in time.

Grendel and his mother are said to be descended from Cain and they apparently have some inhuman features (Grendel has nails like sharp iron blades, at least) but they also have human-like shapes as well as human like emotions like rage or grief. This already sets them apart from other characters and creatures: they're only similar to each other, and perhaps that's why they live in the wild together, only interacting with others in violent ways. Then, there's also how they've been interpreted in both academia and pop culture.

You have readings that challenge the way they're traditionally seen as monsters, because we're sure at least the mother is able to feel love and mourn. You also have queer readings of them, focusing on how they live outside the bounds of normal society, with Grendel not seeking either the bonds between men that Anglo-Saxon warriors were expected to develop or anything at all with a woman who's not his mother, while Grendel's mother takes on the usually masculine role of the avenger of her family when usually a woman would need to spur her remaining male relatives or the male followers of her dead husband/brother/son into taking revenge on her behalf. You have the novel Grendel, where said character is very philosophical and nihilistic while his mother is much more primitive and animalistic, and that drives a wedge between them through the years, as Grendel starts out clinging to her and taking comfort in her in his moments of despair but then comes to believe through the years that his mother, fiercely protective of him as she is, is only able to love him as an extension of herself. You even have the movie Beowulf & Grendel, where they're reimagined as the last Neanderthals, with Hrothgar having hunted down and killed Grendel's father when Grendel was just a child for daring to be too different and "uncivilized", and Grendel himself tormenting the Danes out of the desire to avenge his dad, as well as raping a woman to get a child so that his family wouldn't end with him but then not showing any more sexual interest in her.

... you do also have at least two movies that I can remember where Grendel's secretly Hrothgar child and after his death his mother barely avenges him before turning to Beowulf like "hey, handsome, wanna give me another son?" like she doesn't really give a damn about her children and they're all totally replaceable as they're just tools for her to gain power over men and eventually destroy them. But. Let's not go there, lol. Personally, I think of that as just a forced "shocking twist" that doesn't really resonate with anything in the text.

All in all, they're a very thightly-knit pair. And that comes with so much potential to have them be mirrors of each other, too different for everyone else but not for each other, yet also to inject the tragedy of having only one person in the world and then having your relationship with them end too soon or eventually turn sour somehow in their relationship. And the fact that Grendel's father isn't in the picture and is in fact never mentioned in the poem, as well as Grendel not having a mate or showing any desire to have one... well. That's definitely interesting.

For some reason, I thought that Grendel and his mother had been mentioned before. But maybe I just saw it somewhere else.

What a thoughtful commentary on their relationship! There's a lot that seems to be suggestive about their situation. It very much feels like they have no other match.

Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts with us!

[exaltedfuzz]

*Chinhands* Tell us more about your... scaly? Boy Siegvard. :vc

Quite excited to hear that you're interested in him, anon!

Sieg is a dragon. He's technically a DnD character, but I don't play, so I've let my DM friend use him as an NPC, and it's been exciting watching them put him to good use. Had him kicking about in the OC bucket since 2018, but I got super into developing him last year. Ended up writing 35 pages of straight prose (with interspersed poetry, would you believe it) about him. He was very informed by the characters in the texts I was reading at uni at the time (mostly Beowulf, which is, confusingly enough, the name of Sieg's closest friend in the text.)

Generally though, the blurb I gave my DM goes as follows. He's a bit more complex than this, and he has a lot of backstory, but it's quite a lot to go into.

Siegvard (CHAOTIC NEUTRAL) Born from the crest of chaos’ flame, Siegvard von Morddrache is the formidible, imposing figure lurking in the doorway of Barenhunger’s guildhall. His frame stands at 7 and a half feet, though many argue more. He’s fierce, intense and can hardly hear reason, let alone listen to it - he’s an old man, after all - or so it would seem. At a glance, you’d say he was nearing 50, were he to be human, yet he’s not one second past his prime. His reactions are sharp, his eyes wide and wild, and his axe, bigger than any normal man and almost like another limb.

He’s quick to anger, and his anger is quick to fruition. However, he has a soft spot for his beloved guild. Having founded Barenhunger longer ago than most care to recall, he’s upheld his promise to his partner in life, Beowulf, to never let down or betray their guild. He’s like a father to his people, respected and feared, but on the occasion that he cracks a smile, full of sharp, bright teeth, it’ll be with his guild. When he’s with them, he’s affable, jovial, and entirely unlike himself. Ask a guild member and they’ll say it’s because he’s with Beowulf’s lingering spirit. He was never really the same after his death and can rarely bring himself to speak of him now, bar in the occasional weak, fond remark.

His anger is one thing, but his rage is explosive, past what anyone could imagine. Some say they’ve seen him break out in more scales, his eyes have glowed, but no living man, and very few dead, has seen the upper limit of the hunger of Siegvard’s axe. He locks himself away often, and turns at the drop of a hat. He’s unpredictable and dangerous, and he who dares stoke his flame shall have to be contented in knowing it will be the last light he sees. He’s solemn, usually quiet, and when he starts shaking with anger, bowing his head, and labouring his breath, be thankful that he’s trying to delay the inevitable - the unleashing of the Monster of Barenhunger.

[incorrect-hs-quotes]

GG: if you were a video game character what would your catchphrase be?

TG: 'hwat the fuck' with that exact spelling how do yuo say that out loud you might ask idk use ur imagination

GG: You say it like the opening to Beowulf, obviously.

TG: jane what hte fuck is a beowulf is that a troll piss quality of whatever theyre called

GG: Beowulf??? The famous old English epic poem Beowulf??? You've never heard of Beowulf???

TG: htis was written in the year 700 no i havent u nerd what are you goign to tell me to read macbeth now. Good fuxking luck my high hscool English teacher couldnt get me to read htat shit qnd neither can u

GG: it's a cultural touchstone, Roxy

TG: ur mom touhced this stone last nihgt

[hoeratius]

Tag game - books!

Tagged by @child-of-hurin at a time when I actually have time to do a meme like this (RIP to others who tag me in these, I always mean to and then forget...)

Last book I read: A reread of Golden Hill by Francis Spufford - an astonishingly vivid picture of life in New York as it turns from Dutch to English.

Book I recommend: Seamus Heaney's Beowulf translation. Quick, engrossing, poetic, with far more mentions of Friesland than you get in most literature

Book I couldn't put down: Rosemary's Baby. It was horrific. It was engrossing. It made my skin crawl. The only moment I put it down was to turn to my boyfriend and go: 'Babe. What the fuck. What the fuck.'

Book I've read twice: Soooo many. Notable recent additions include Golden Hill (first read about 8 years ago), Flowers in the attic (first read about 18 years ago), and The letters of Abelard and Eloise (first read about 5 years ago). Also the entirety of the queen's thief series, my beloveds

A book on my TBR: The silmarillion (yes I started, no I didn't make any progress), and Emily Wilson's Iliad but read out to me by my boyfriend, which slows it down

A book I've put down: Three body project. I finished it in the end for my book club but at what cost?

A book on my wishlist: An art deco illustrated edition of Couperus's Eros and Psyche

A favourite book from childhood: I recently reread Dianne Wynne Jones's The magicians of Caprona and it explains so much about who I am today: magic in urban Italian settings, yearning, eccentrically dressed tall men with tremendous brilliance... truly felt like reading a blueprint of who I am today

A book you would give a friend: Emily Wilson's Odyssey, if only for the introduction.

A book of poetry or lyrics you own: The prettiest love letters in the world, which is partially letters, partially the poetry exchanged by Pietro Bembo and Lucrezia Borgia. Also, about 3 Italian editions of Petrarch's Rime (< has barely read any of his Rime in any language) (I just can't let them go when I find them in second hand Italian bookshops) (<is not good enough at Italian to justify any visits to second hand Italian bookshops)

A non-fiction book you own: Witchcraft in Venice. I have a whole section of witchcraft, actually, in case I ever get my act together and edit that Venetian witches novel lol

Currently reading: A reread of The name of the Rose. I picked up the epic of Gilgamesh but don't think I got far enough yet to justify saying I'm reading it!

Planning on reading next: I'd love to say Gilgamesh but in reality it'll be whatever books I find lying around my mother's house so tbd!

I'm tagging @en-theos @hortensius @newtsoftheworldunite and @terpsikeraunos in case any of you want to share your books!

[checkoutmybookshelf]

Rereading The Fellowship of the Ring for the First Time in Fifteen Years

Holy Foreshadowing, Batman! Gandalf is SUPER psyched to get his ass under a mountain, but literally Gimli and Aragorn are like, "Nah, bro, we are worried about YOU SPECIFICALLY if we do that." And this is after Mom and Dad fought about going up Caradhras and after literally everyone is like, "We are getting super bad vibes from Moria."

But they can't go over the mountains, they can't go around the mountains, and the Gap of Rohan is too close to Isengard, so fuck it, we ball in Moria, I guess. Let's talk chapter 4, "A Journey in the Dark."

Ok, so this is a relatively long chapter (30-odd pages by my math), but wow is it mostly vibes. We start off very defeated by the anti-wizard-and-elf mountain, which makes sense because if you lose the ring bearer to exposure in the first month of travel, you're going down in history as the dingus who lost the last great conflict with Sauron. Again, Boromir is DEEPLY underappreciated as the reason our hobbits survived Caradhras.

After a few pages of back-and-forthing about where to go next, Gandalf is over here pushing Moria HARD, and literally everyone is like, "This does not pass the vibe check, wizard boy." Although Gimli is like, "I could find out what happened to Balin" and Aragorn literally says THIS:

"You followed my lead almost to disaster in the snow and have said no word of blame. I will follow your lead now..."

Because apparently Fellowship leadership operates on phlebotomist rules. If you miss the vein, you let someone else take a shot.

Ultimately, the decision is made because there are goddamn WARGS after the group, and even Boromir accedes that wolves literally on your tail are worse than hypothetical wolves up the road, so we stop arguing about it and hunker down. This gives us time to have a nice little moment with Sam and Pippin though. Poor Pippin is over here like, "I wish I had taken Elrond's advice [...], I am no good after all. [...] I don't remember ever feeling so wretched, " but Sam is coming in clutch with "Honestly same, but Gandalf isn't going to let us get eaten by wolves." Which like...yeah, I accept that, and it's way more comforting than a generic "there, there." I also appreciate that Sam admits he's scared too. It's like how hearing, "Oh god, I haven't started that either" is so comforting for stressed-out students.

What neither I nor the fellowship love though, is the wolves literally sniffing around their campfire that night. There are literally glowing eyes in the dark, howls on the wind, and a goddamn warg silhouette in the gap between stones. And an arrow through the throat of one warg buys the group some measure of peace until the moon sets. Once the moon sets though, we get a pre-dawn warg attack:

In the leaping light as the fresh wood blazed up, Frodo saw many grey shapes spring over the ring of stones. More and more followed. Through the throat of one huge leader Aragorn passed his sword with a thrust; with a great sweep Boromir hewed the head off another. Gimli stood with his stout legs apart, wielding his dwarf-axe. The bow of Legolas was singing.

The battle scenes in these books read SUPER Beowulf, but are somehow briefer. Tolkien was super not here for contemporary battle scene writing; it's very much painting with watercolors. He gives you the odd detail or two and you pretty much get to fill in the rest yourself. Which is fine, and holy cow can I see where that would inspire Robert Jordan's manner of naming sword forms rather than describing an actual duel (which is not shade, I think Jordan does that really damn well and to excellent effect). But then we get Gandalf doing wizardy things in a really...unusual way?

In the wavering firelight Gandalf seemed suddenly to grow: he rose up, a great menacing shape like the monument of some ancient king of stone set upon a hill. Stooping like a cloud, he lifted a burning branch and strode to meet the wolves. They gave back before him. High in the air he tossed the burning brand, It flared with a sudden white radiance like lightning; and his voice rolled like thunder.

This hearkens back both to "Gandalf the fireworks wizard" who we meet in the Shire, but also to the little moment in Bag End where Gandalf goes wizard on Bilbo to snap him out of his Ring moment. It also is not like...wildly dissimilar to how they teach you to scare bears off in the wild: Get big and loud and look intimidating. We were not supposed to then set a goddamn forest fire--that's a little scorched earth for Alaskan survival techniques--but it was one of those moments where the familiar was made pointedly exotic, and I actually thought it was quiet effective. You take the foundation of something real and then you add a bit of wizard to it. Then things feel sufficiently grounded, but also with just that extra bit of wizard to heighten EVERYTHING. The subtlety (and yeah, I know, forest fire and lightning isn't subtle, but the way this is written is and how it functions is) is really quite impressive. That said...Gandalf, honey. Maybe not with the ecological disasters???

At the very least, the wargs were polite enough to evaporate so they didn't have to deal with any of the bodies when the sun came up.

After that, we haul ass off to the Doors of Durin. It's not a good journey though. Right from the start, the Sirannon wasn't where it was supposed to be, the landscape is lifeless and desolate, and when we do finally find the stream, it's a freaking trickle. If the IDEA of Moria didn't pass the vibe check, then the landscape on the trip in is a parade of red flags. And again, Boromir is SUPER ON POINT with not wanting to get caught between a stone wall and a bunch of wolves. This place is all quiet unease and red flags. Even the freaking WATER is gloomy and unwholesome-looking.

And then we get a WEIRD FLEX moment for Gandalf:

"I am sorry," said Gandalf. "Poor Bill has been a useful companion, and it goes to my heart to turn him adrift now. I would have travelled lighter and brought no animal, least of all this one that Sam is fond of, if I had had my way. I feared all along that we should be obliged to take this road."

Like, I believe he's genuinely sorry to have to hurt Sam and to turn the goodest pony loose. But it's the "if I had had my way" and the last sentence where I'm just like...Gandalf. Sir. Why are you bitching to Frodo that you have to share leadership on this mission? And why are you flexing an "I told you so" on Frodo instead of, IDK, Aragorn??? Is it because Aragorn would kick your wizened wizard ass for it? Because I'd watch that.

Also, again with Gandalf being weirdly open with, aware of, and as solicitous as possible to Sam. He has zero problems kicking Pippin when he's down (as we'll see in a bit in this very goddamn chapter), but he's always been very straight yet compassionate with Sam in a way that doesn't even match how this wizard treats Frodo. Like, we are almost getting to a point where I need to go see what the Tolkien scholars have written about the Sam-Gandalf relationship, because it's getting NOTICEABLY unique and it has gotten a fair number of little moments at this point. Like...what is this relationship and why is this the dynamic? I demand to know.

I also just want to take a second to highlight something DEEPLY inequitable as they round the lake to the door:

When they came to the northernmost corner of the lake they found a narrow creek that barred their way. It was green and stagnant, thrust out like a slimy arm toward the enclosing hills. Gimli strode forward undeterred, and found that the water was shallow, no more than ankle-deep at the edge. Behind him they walked in fie, threading their way with care, for under the weedy pools were sliding and greasy stones, and footing was treacherous. Frodo shuddered with disgust at the touch of the dark unclean water on his feet.

THE HOBBITS DONT WEAR SHOES. Everyone else has boots to act as something of a barrier to this gross-ass water, but the hobbits have to tromp through it BAREFOOT. Did NOBODY think, "oh shit, this will be super unpleasant for the hobbits, maybe we should yeet or carry them?" Apparently not, and honestly now they're just gonna have gross feet as they tromp through Moria and I hate that for their poor hobbit toesies. And as a WWI soldier, TOLKIEN SHOULD KNOW THE DANGERS OF WET, MUCKETY FEET.

But then we actually get to the doors--finally--and Sam has a deeply understandable moment when Gandalf tells him they have to cut Bill loose, and Gimli and Legolas try to start world war 2.5 over Elf-Dwarf relations before Gandalf tells them to knock that shit off.

Everyone is super over everything at this point, and I cannot blame them.

But where Gandalf has zero time for Legolas and Gimli sniping at each other, he takes the time to speak over Bill and give him his best shot at getting home safely. Again, I do not get the relationship between Gandalf and Sam. I appreciate the care for the pony, but whatever the Gandalf-Sam thing is, it's more than just trolling Pippin or ensuring that Frodo makes it to the volcano or ignoring Merry's existence for the most part.

Literally, Pippin gets a "Knock on the door with your head" from Gandalf, and once the damn thing IS open, Merry just gets a casual, "Merry, of all people, was on the right track" before Gandalf pulls ANOTHER weird flex and says "Too simple for a learned lore-master in these suspicious days." Like...ok, sure, Gandalf. You were TOO SMART to get the riddle.

But we get the doors open just in time for Frodo to get nabbed by a metric frick-ton of tentacles. Sam yoinks him back and they haul ass through the door, which get slammed behind them and the tentacle monster bolts it behind them with boulders and trees. After which we get THIS little gem from Gandalf:

"I fear from the sounds that boulders have been piled up and trees uprooted and thrown across the gate. I am sorry; for the trees were beautiful, and had stood so long."

SIR. I was THERE when you burned a flaming doughnut into the land to get rid of the wargs. You are a walking ecological disaster and do not get to high ground the tentacle monster ripping up a few trees by the roots. You probably burned more LAST NIGHT. I know it's unfair to expect characters to know the genre of the book they're in, and by extension its equally unfair to expect them to know the themes of the book they're in. That said though...I WATCHED YOU START A FOREST FIRE, GANDALF. This is not the moment to suddenly discover ecocriticism.

At any rate, we have FINALLY made it inside Moria. Boromir is (rightfully) quite pissed off an apprehensive about this, but Gandalf is like, "Gimli and I will lead the way!" before they manage to get the party fucking lost and Sam is bitching about not having rope. Because oh my god there is SO MUCH atmospheric walking in this book. And most of the time the atmosphere is "vaguely evil with a healthy helping of depression." Which...yeah, that's what we get here.

So it makes sense that Gandalf is SUPER FUCKING OVER IT when Pippin yeets a rock down a well and they hear hammer blows from the deeps. And it makes even more sense when Gandalf realizes he's apparently also experiencing withdrawal symptoms because he hasn't had a smoke since before they started climbing Caradhras. So he non-apologizes to Pippin, lights up, and everything looks better in the morning...sort of. At least the wizard is less grumpy, and he has now firmly established himself as that member of the party who needs to be properly self-cared or he will make it EVERYONE ELSE'S PROBLEM. Seriously, what a goddamn diva.

But getting himself a wee bit of a smoke made it so he could make a decision and they headed up to where the air smelled good. So fair enough.

Then we have EVEN MORE atmospheric walking, and Sam picks up some dwarven lore via Gimli singing a song all about Moria and Khazad-dum, and I swear, the hobbit is going to be a lore-master himself by the end of this journey.

This chapter is also where we get a bit of a mithril infodump, which is pretty cool just in general. We also get Frodo having delayed sticker-shock because he's just casually waltzing around with a whole-ass shirt of mithril on. That's also a nice little reminder to all the readers that hey, remember that Frodo has this thing? I betcha it's going to be important soon.

We end the chapter on the SUPER downer note of finding Balin's tomb, and the dwarves now have their (not unexpected) answer to what happened to the party from thirty-odd years ago. Which is really sad, frankly.

That's also about where we're going to leave this chapter, because I am...exhausted by all the atmospheric walking. We will pick up next time with a relatively short chapter, and hopefully there is more to it than infodumping and atmospheric walking.

[that-gay-guy-from-hell]

Phantoms of the Past: Vergil x Male Reader

SUMMARY: Vergil has always had nightmares and night terrors for as long as he can remember; however, when he met you, those began to subside more and more. Over the years, he had begun to forget what it was like to wake up in a cold sweat and terrified; that is until a few months ago. Once more, his mind has been plagued by these agonizingly real dreams.

BEGINNING NOTES: HAH! YOU THOUGHT I WAS DONE WRITING SAD FLUFF WITH VERGIL; WELL THINK AGAIN (He really is my comfort character--I swear). There are 12,886 words in this… This beats my last one so now this is the longest chapter I’ve written--It’s like 23 pages in google docs lmao. ⚔️🛡️⚔️ ▪️I couldn’t find an exact answer to this so I will put this here: a grin refers to the lil’ smirky smile Vergil gives Dante in DMC5 while a smile is closer to like showing your teeth. I hope that helps clear things up a bit lmao ▫️I use an in-game combo term (DMC 5)--just a head’s up. ▪️When I reference triggering unless I say specifically “Sin Trigger” I am referring to Vergil’s regular trigger (the pre-DMC 5 form; however, I use the concept art for DMC5 as my visual reference… I know that’s kinda complicated. Just look at his fandom page and then the gallery; you’ll see the concept art for DMC5.) ▫️I’ve never personally had a concussion before so I did some online research; forgive me if it is a bad representation of having 🛡️⚔️🛡️ 💠Vergil x Male reader; I tried to write G/N but it got confusing, sorry. 🔹Pre-established relationship--married and living together. 💠Fluff… well more angst; I got kind of carried away. 🔹Minor accusations of physical abuse; THE KEYWORD IS ACCUSATIONS. (trigger warning) 💠Minor blood warning; from both of you. ⚔️🛡️⚔️ READER RELATED 🔹The reader uses: Beowulf and Revenant 🔹Reader is overly chill about things; I am a rather passive person so it ended up being that way with this story, sorry. 🔹It is mentioned that you are younger than Vergil--and closer to Nero’s age. 🔹Reader does throw up; only mentioned it isn’t like graphic or anything--still figured I should warn just in case. 🛡️⚔️🛡️ VERGIL RELATED 💠Vergil has PTSD-related nightmares/actions. 💠Self-harm? Vergil skins himself accidentally; so I am not sure if that is self-harm per se. Plus it’s only in one part so it’s not that big of a talking point. 🛡️⚔️🛡️ Slight spoiler, don't read if you don't want to have things spoiled: To add some explanation to Vergil’s bit where he swore and freaked out: I figure that when Vergil lost his autonomy for so long as Nelo Angelo, he ended up becoming hyper-aware of what he is doing at all times. So when he does something that he either can’t remember doing or didn’t want to do that it would send him into a panic; fearing that he is going to lose his freedom again.

==

INSPIRED BY: And when thy heart ceased to beat--By: Craig 

Please give this a read. It is what originally inspired me to write this, plus it is just a really good story and takes a pretty realistic look at what Vergil’s life could/would be like after everything that’s happened. 

==

     A cold wind swept through the arena as all movement stilled. 

     At the edges were the two remaining contenders; circling one another. One, a male human equipped with Beowulf, was out of breath and exhausted: the other, the olive-armored Nelo Angelo, had barely warmed up and diligently awaited the human's next move.

     Seeing how the man defeated the slew of lesser demons that Nelo had sent prior, he decided to take things into his own hands. The devilish swordsman was confident that he’d win this fight; even if this particular human has been more of a challenge than anticipated--as the pair has been going at it for nearly an hour now. 

     With gritted teeth, the man sprinted at Nelo, cracking the ground in their wake. He was going to try and grapple with the large knight. Right before he was able, Nelo swung his greatsword. The silver blade was suddenly halted as it hit the Beowulf gauntlets. Even though the man was unharmed, the momentum of the attack was enough to fling the human far across the field. 

     Using the claws of the gauntlets, the man shredded the arena’s floor and stopped himself. Nelo turned to face him and waited for the incompetent warrior to stand back up. Noticing that the knight stood still, the man began to grow frustrated; knowing that the devil was taunting him to try again. 

     With a pounding heart and exhaustion only worsening, the man stood up with a grunt. He rolled his shoulders, cracking them loudly, and took a deep breath. Once more he sprinted at Nelo. When the man was close enough, he decided to jump off one of the nearby walls. Springing himself above the Black Knight and performed Starfall. 

     Nelo dodged but wasn't quite fast enough and was nicked along one side; which only further irritated the Black Knight. The second the man's feet landed, Nelo kicked the underside of their knees--bringing them to a kneel.

     Not wasting any time, Nelo raised his sword to strike, only to be blocked once more by the Beowulf gauntlets. The pair locked in a bind; Nelo’s sword heavily pushing downwards onto the forearms of Beowulf, which were painfully held above the man’s head.

     No matter what way you put it, a devil's strength is insurmountable to a human’s, even if the human is wearing the armor of a former devil. Nelo knew this and drove his weapon harder into the demonic protection as it began to falter.

     Knowing it was only a matter of time before the gauntlets shattered, the man moved into a position where he could dig his feet into the ground. This allowed him to stand ever so slightly. Not having any better ideas, he used this small amount of space and attempted to jump. This, in turn, used the demonic energy of the boots to push the gauntlets up harder into the greatsword; allowing the man to stand up further. Without wasting any time, he jumped once more and noticed small cracks that began to spider on their forearm guards. However, he had enough room to break away from Nelo; making the knight slam his blade into the ground. 

     The man grumbled as they looked down at his gauntlets, seeing that they would shatter if hit by the sword again. 

     Nelo pulled his sword back up and huffed. Now it was his turn.

     Nelo sprinted at his opponent and lunged with the broadsword; catching the man off guard; as he only barely dodged the sharp edge, rolling into a stand. Before the man had a moment to think, Nelo attacked once more. A large sweeping motion from the broadsword hit the gauntlets and blue sparks flew off the sword from the impact; sending the human flying into a wall of the arena. 

     Standing back on his feet, the man looked at his forearms; Beowulf had fractured all the way through. Seeing Nelo begin to move in again, he quickly shed the broken armor and dodged. Using Beowulf’s boots, he jumped onto Nelo’s shoulders and used him as a surface to bounce off. 

     The devil turned to face the man and heard him say something unintelligible; and yet, something so familiar. Nelo ignored it with a small dismissive shake of his head and continued the fight. Once more he moved to attack. The man attempted to dodge in the same way again, not knowing what else to do. However, Nelo wasn’t created yesterday. He was quick enough to grab the man's leg in a flash. 

     Nelo used the human’s limb as a handle to swing the attached body into the ground. The floor cracked from the extreme force as the man's flesh made contact; followed by an ear-piercing scream and the sound of an unimaginable amount of breaking bones. 

     A strange feeling ghosted at the recesses of Nelo’s mind, a feeling of terror--a deep underlying urge to stop what he was doing. However, the knight had to finish what he started. The demonic swordsman grabbed the man by his neck; making him scream once more. 

     Despite their wounds, the human still attempted to fight. He grasped at Nelo’s face and horns, pulling on them; all the while, the man was saying something Nelo was still unable to understand. 

     It didn’t matter, the struggle was pointless.

     Like a hot knife through butter, Nelo plunged his broadsword through the man’s torso. Nelo felt the human’s body go limp and their hands released the tight grasp on his face. The dead man’s blood trickled down the silver blade and onto Nelo Angelo’s olive-armored fingers. Before the knight could enjoy his victory, he decided to get a better look at his opponent. 

     A loud clatter emanated from his sword as he dropped it and the fresh corpse. The Black Knight’s hands shook as he looked at the blood that was dripping from them, horrified at what he’d done.

     Vergil shot upwards with a loud terrified scream. 

     He frantically turned his head around to get his bearings. He was sitting at home, in bed, with you. Vergil’s heart was racing and his skin was clammy. With short panicked breaths, Vergil gripped his face tightly, unknowingly tearing at his skin with his claws, as he replayed everything in his mind. 

     “Vergil? Is everything alright?” a confused and very concerned voice called from the space beside him.

     The blue devil nearly jumped out of his skin upon hearing you speak. You sat upwards upon noticing his terrified state.

     “Hey,” you whispered and gently touched his bicep, making him flinch.

     Vergil turned his head to you and just stared. You noticed that his arms were partially triggered, his eyes were glowing dully, and there were small pin-prick-sized bleeding marks caused by his claws on his face. His stare was blank with his brow ever-so-slightly creased. He looked afraid… almost as if he were lost.  

     “Another nightmare?” you softly kneaded against his arm, hoping to bring him back from whatever terrified thoughts he was in, “It’s okay, Vergil. You’re safe. Nothing is going to hurt you.” 

     His stare moved down to your chest and he slowly reached outwards. Confused, you let go of his arm--allowing him to fully pivot to see you. Barely-there scaled charcoal-black fingers ghost down your midline. You noticed a slight tremble in his lips and his stare had softened a bit.

     Slowly you grabbed his arm, making sure he could see what you were doing (and to be cautious of his forearm’s blades), “I’m right here, Vergil. You’re safe and at home. Everything’s okay.”

     He opened his mouth but no words came out, just a weak crack of his voice. The both of you just sat for a few minutes; his palm resting firmly over your stomach while you rubbed his forearm. You continued to try and ground him back in reality with your words, hoping to keep things from escalating. 

     When Vergil’s trigger began to subside, he cleared his throat and spoke in a barely audible voice, “I didn’t…” his voice trailed off once more.

     “It’s okay Vergil,” you noticed his expression had shifted and he seemed to be more present, “You’re safe. I’m safe. We’re alright.”

     Vergil nodded slowly, his free hand moved to yours that you had on his forearm. You let go of him and watched as he removed his palm from your skin. He placed your hand in between both of his. With trembling fingers, Vergil ran his digits over your hand and arm while staring down at the interaction. 

     Another few minutes passed, Vergil’s trigger had fully subsided and a few stray tears fell from his eyes. It pained you to see him like this; to see him so scared and not know how to help him. A small pang of hurt tugged at your heart; you had a feeling that whatever the nightmare was, it involved you as (you presumed) most have. However, tonight was different; Vergil didn’t attack you.

     Over the past few months, Vergil’s nightmares and terrors had been getting steadily worse. Just two weeks ago he woke you up by almost dislocating your shoulder. A week ago? Vergil triggered in his sleep and gouged the crap out of your back--enough that you had to get new bedding because of bloodstains.

     Tonight, you finally managed to get him to sleep for the first time in a week and he had another agonizing nightmare. It was also the first time he had tried to speak to you afterwards; rather than sit in silence. 

     A stuttering breath caught your attention. You looked into Vergil’s eyes as he spoke, his voice still laced with a terror you’d never heard from him before, “I couldn’t… You...” the blue devil’s jaw quivered, not being able to bring himself to finish his thought.

     “You’re okay. I’m okay. Everything’s okay,” you moved to get closer to him, “I promise.”

     He pulled you into his lap and buried his face into your neck and continued to mumble, “I’m sorry,” over and over as he shook against you.

     You gently wrapped your arms around him and rubbed his back, “It’s not your fault, you don’t have to be sorry.”

     The two of you remained this way until you both fell asleep. Vergil, thankfully, did not have another nightmare; however, his sleep was far from restful.

==

     A ringing phone woke you from your sleep and you moved to grab it, only to be stopped by a strong set of arms. Vergil had wrapped himself entirely around you--legs and all.

     “Vergil,” you whispered, “I need to get up.”

     He grumbled in response and loosened his grip just enough for you to slip out of bed. You grabbed your phone and went to the bathroom. While in there, you saw that Dante had tried to call you and text you:

     “You coming in today?”

     “Hello?”

     “I am going to keep spamming you till you respond,” and that he did. 

     It looked like Dante had been doing this for the past 30 minutes. 

     After you finished up in the bathroom, you called Dante.

     It rang once before the red devil picked up, “Mornin’ beautiful.”

     You rolled your eyes as you made your way back to the bedroom, “Do not call me that; Vergil will kill you.”

     “Be one hell of a way to die--make sure to put it on my grave, yeah?”

     The both of you laughed, “So, what’s up? The shop finally burn down or something?”

     “Honestly… I don’t think the fires of Hell could burn this place down…” you could hear Dante’s chair creak as he leaned forwards, “You both forgot about that job this morning, huh?”

     Your face went pale, “What--”

     The younger twin laughed, “Verge and you had a contract for today. It’s nearly noon and you both are still at home?”

     “Son of a bitch!” you yelled, forgetting that Vergil was still sleeping, “We’ll be right there.”

     “See you soon,” you could practically hear Dante reveling in the fact Vergil messed up.

     “Mhm, yep,” with that, you hung up the phone.

     “Dante?” Vergil grumbled from the bed, making you jump slightly.

     The bed creaked as you sat on it, swinging one leg on it, “Yeah… We are late to work…”

     Vergil moved to set his head on your lap and sighed, “I will undoubtedly never hear the end of this mistake.”

     “Mhm,” you gently ran your fingers through his naturally down hair, “knowing Dante.”

     “Brillant,” Vergil looked up at you and had a strange pained look.

     “Something on your mind?” 

     His lips parted slightly as he took a hand and reached up to your face, not saying anything.

     You kissed his palm, “I’m right here, Vergil.”

     He closed his eyes and nodded with a sputtering exhale. This had also become a regular occurrence in the last few months; even before the terrors began. You had noticed that Vergil would often stare at you with this sad and distant look on his face. One night, he finally acknowledged that he did so and admitted why; that he was afraid you aren't real.

     After a few moments, Vergil removed his hand and sat upright. An air of remorse emanated from the twin as he whispered, “I did not harm you last night, did I?”

     You shook your head, “No,” you set a hand on his bicep, “You did talk to me a bit, though.”

     His brow furrowed as he tried to remember and looked over his shoulder at you.

     “You kept… apologizing, telling me that you didn’t know..? I won’t pry, but…” you locked eyes with the blue devil, “I am here if you ever want or need to talk about it, okay?”

     He turned to you, “Thank you for your offer… But I assure you that I am fine.”

     “Vergil,” you placed a hand on his and spoke softly, “You don’t have to be fine all the time; it’s okay to be upset, to have problems.”

     A weak grin was all he gave you in return, squeezing your hand tightly. 

     The eldest twin knew exactly what had set off this spiral of increasingly terrified thoughts; however, he was ashamed to admit it, even to you. 

==

     It had been a job just like any other; clear out demons here and destroy a nest there--a piece of cake really. However, the weather was far from amiable; being overcast and heavily raining.

     “Fuck me!” you growled as you violently yanked the Beowulf boot from the mud. 

    The demonic hardware is rather heavy, at least for your human legs, so it is not ideal for muddy rainy weather--often getting stuck. Vergil noticed your grumbling and scrunched-up expression from the corner of his eye as he stifled a laugh. 

     “Don’t even--” you insincerely growled at him, “I swear I will throw them at you.”

     Vergil smirked slightly and huffed a laugh through his nose, “Perhaps you’d prefer me to leave you here?”

     Playfully you shoved his shoulder, “You wouldn’t dare.”

     His eyes narrowed, "I wouldn't?"

     You raised a brow, "You'll sleep on the couch for a week if you do, mister,” your voice was heavily layered with sarcasm and playfulness.

     Without responding, Vergil grabbed you by your waist and hoisted you over one of his shoulders like a sack of potatoes.

     “Hey--!” you squirmed in his grasp.

     “Stop struggling,” his grip tightened as his fingers dug into your skin, “Or I will drop you.”

     With a shake of your head and a smile, you laughed, “What a romantic husband I have.”

     “Tch,” Vergil was scowling, but you knew it was disingenuous.

     The two of you walked like this for some time, enjoying the comfortable silence (which if you listened very closely, you could hear Vergil purring). A part of you had almost forgotten that the both of you were on a job; that is until Vergil yanked you from his shoulder and plopped you on your feet. 

     He placed a stiff hand on your shoulder, “Stay,” with that, Vergil dashed off behind you. 

     Confused, you turned around and watched Vergil zip around a group of miscellaneous demons. You lovingly wolf-whistled at the silver-haired hunter. 

     Similar to a peacock showing its feathers, Vergil did these solo fights to show off--to flirt with you. You knew that this was the case because he would always finish the fight with a fancy move; be it an over-the-top judgment cut or using his doppelgänger in a combo. Today he opted for the second type.

     You smirked widely as you watched Vergil return the Yamato to its scabbard and dismiss Doppel.

     Lovingly, you cooed at the devilish swordsman, “I love watching you work, you know that?”

     His face was emotionless, holding intense eye contact with you. His lips were slightly parted as he seemingly tried to come up with a response. 

     Under your breath, you laughed quietly and approached him, “my Dark Slayer,” you winked and gave him a large grin. 

     He closed his lips and looked down with a tiny smirk, a trace amount of bashfulness ghosted his features. As you got within reach of him, a loud noise made both of you snap to attention. The two of you moved closer together, back to back; as per typical routine. The source of the noise sprung from the nearby buildings. It was a group of four Scudo Angelos and two Proto Angelos. 

     Vergil’s lip twitched as he huffed in irritation. He would always take care of these two types in particular, alone. Right now, however, it is impossible to get you away to a safe distance without a high risk of hurting you. 

     “So, you got a plan?” you calmly asked over your shoulder to Vergil.

     With a small click of his tongue, Vergil spoke, “You take care of the Scudos; I will take the Protos.”

     “Sounds good,” you nodded and the two of you broke apart. 

     Using Beowulf, you made quick work of the smaller demons’ shields. The talon heels of the boots are always a great tool for crushing the demons’ thick skulls. It didn’t take long for you to have them all but bloodied remains beneath your heels. You turned to address Vergil, figuring that he had finished his fight alongside you; however, he was still in combat. 

     You raised a brow as you watched him take on both of the knights. Confusion pricked at the edges of your mind, it was unusual for Vergil to take longer than you. The closer you watched the more off he seemed; his movements were overly stiff and his technique was sloppy. Deciding to help him, you moved in on one of the Proto Angelos. It didn’t take long for the demon to notice you. It charged at you and, just as it swung its broadsword, you parried the attack using your gauntlets. Taking advantage of the small gap of time that it took for the demon to pull its blade upwards, you hit it square in the chest. 

     The Proto Angelo stumbled back a bit but was relatively unphased by the uncharged punch. Now circling each other, you waited for the demon to attack. Once it did, you jumped upwards and were able to perform Starfall upon the knight. Grinding your taloned heels into the flattened olive-armored demon, you did a fancy flip off of it; deciding to have some fun. Which was a major mistake. 

     You hadn’t noticed that the second Proto Angelo also had its attention on you as it had knocked Vergil into a far-off wall. Hearing movement, you spun around to defend yourself but it was too late. 

     A searing pain shot through you as the demon’s broadsword slashed horizontally along your torso. With a loud shout, your knees buckled a bit as you stumbled backwards. You placed your arm along the slash, feeling it with your fingers--as to not break eye contact with the demon. The wound was bleeding profusely and was much deeper than you anticipated. 

     “Shit,” you grimaced and noticed the first Proto Angelo stand up. Thinking quickly, you sprinted at the second one and jumped off its shoulders. With another loud shout in pain, you landed using a shoulder roll. Your head was spinning as you slowly moved to kneel with your back to the demons. 

     A bright blue flash caught your eye and you felt a gush of wind pass you by. Once you managed to stand, the pair of Proto Angelos had been desolated into nothing but specs of dust in the wind. Where the demons once stood was Vergil in his sin trigger. Instantly, he was in front of you, making you jump a little. 

     With a huff and a weak smile, you jested, “Kinda sad I missed that,” you winced a bit as you felt your gut twitch in pain.

     A large grey-scaled hand gently touched your wound. Despite the heavy distortion of his sinful voice, you could tell he was worried, “You are hurt?”

     You did your best to play it off as you set a hand atop his, “I’ll be fine; it’s just a scratch.”

     He huffed loudly and pulled his hand from your body, looking at his palm that was covered in your blood, “I am sending you home--”

     “What-!” you shook your head, “Vergil, you can’t be-”

     The blue devil snarled lightly, “This is not up for discussion,” he sighed with a shake of his head returning to his human form, “It is not worth the risk to keep you here.”

     With parted lips, you did your best to formulate a sentence despite your anger, “I’m not just going to leave you,” you shifted your jaw to the side, “We’re partners, remember?”

     “As if I could forget,” Vergil’s eyes met yours as he mumbled, “That is why I am doing this.”

==

     “Vergil?” your voice pulled him from his thoughts, “You okay? You’ve been zoned out for a few minutes.”

     “Forgive me,” he removed his hand from yours, “I was lost in thought.”

     You looked at him curiously.

     Vergil shifted to the other edge of the bed, “We should get ready,” with that Vergil left the room.

     You pursed your lips and sighed through your nose as you stood up; admittedly, you had hoped he might indulge you on what he was thinking about. 

     After a few minutes, Vergil returned to the room. You already had the majority of your gear on and were in the middle of tying your boots when the ringing of your cell phone caught your attention.

     Before you could answer it, Vergil snatched it off the bedside table, “What do you want, Dante? "

     Although you couldn’t hear the younger twin, you could tell that he was poking fun at Vergil for being late. 

     “Have you called only to pester? Or is there a reason for this conversation?” Vergil’s lip twitched as he huffed through his nose.

     A small smirk tugged at your lips at Vergil’s feigned irritation at his baby brother.

     “I see,” Vergil slowly looked over to you and eyed you up and down, “My partner and I will discuss it and let you know,” he turned his gaze from you, “Goodbye,” he hung up the phone and placed it gently down on the bedside table as it was before. 

     Vergil moved to the closet and grabbed a dress shirt, his jaw moving slowly around as he mindlessly buttoned the black fabric. Your boots hit the floor with a soft thud. Humming a soft tune as you moved to the dresser to grab Revenant off of it, sliding it into the horizontal holster on the small of your back. From the corner of your eye, you noticed Vergil standing behind you. 

     “Oops, shit-- sorry,” you shuffled out of the way.

     “Do not apologize, I am in no rush,” he opened one of the drawers and grabbed a pair of pants and his belt.

     A bright smile adorned your face as you resumed your humming. You grabbed your coat and his off the nearby wall hooks and walked over to him.

     Vergil had moved back to the closet and slid on one of his vests.

     “Allow me?”

     The blue devil turned to you, “I can button my own clothing.”

     “I thought you weren’t in a rush?” you teased gently.

     You handed Vergil his coat to hold and slowly began to button the slate-blue apparel. Out of the top of your vision, you could see that Vergil was staring down at you with a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. 

     “So what did Dante want?” you reached over to the closet behind him and grabbed one of his ties.

     “He wanted to know if you wished to trade places with him for today.”

     “What’s that supposed to mean?” you made sure the tie was semi-loose--as he prefers--and tucked it beneath his vest.

     “That he would accompany me on the job and you would work with the women--taking Dante’s place."

     “Well,” you rested your hands on his shoulders and sighed quietly, “I guess that makes the most sense since we are so late today…”

     “Are you sure you are alright with it?” his eyes flicked to your hands then back to you, “I know you prefer to work with me,” he tossed his coat over on the bed and placed his hands on your waist.

     You laughed as you felt him pull you closer, “It’ll be fine, dear,” you leaned your head on his chest, “just promise me you’ll stay safe and keep in touch?”

     “Of course,” his voice was barely over a whisper as he kissed the top of your head, “Same goes for you.”

     “I will,” a grin spread across your face as you leaned back to look at him. Lovingly, Vergil pressed further into you and moved one of his hands to the side of your face, rubbing his thumb on your cheek. The two of you kissed gently. His other hand kneaded into your hips as you moved your hands down the front of his chest, grabbing his vest. 

     Gradually, you two split from the kiss. The blue devil stayed touching your forehead. You shivered slightly feeling his hot breath against your lips, wanting to taste more of him.

     “Perhaps we should save this for later?”

     “Just a little more… please?” you pouted slightly.

     The blue devil chuckled softly, “With a face like that,” he brushed his lips against yours, “how could I say no?”

     The two of you intertwined yourselves once more. He moved both his hands to your sides, slowly and strongly kneading down them. With kisses as sweet as molasses, he made sure to show you how much he relishes in your affections. One of your hands moved to his hair and slowly ran your fingers through slicked back pomaded locks. A small distant purring could be heard as he pulled you even tighter to his body. Vergil’s lips left yours and ran down your jawline and neck.

     “I love you,” you murmured, “so very much…”

     He removed his lips from your skin and looked you in the eyes; his way of expressing the same affection. Despite his silence, you knew he felt the same. 

     A ghost of a smile hinted at Vergil's face as he reluctantly let go of your body, returning to his regular volume, “We should get going; otherwise I may change my mind about saving things for later.”

     Your face turned a slight red at the flat-out way Vergil said that he wanted you. The blue devil had walked over to the bed and slid on his coat. He then grabbed Yamato from its resting place next to the bed and your phone.

     With your phone outstretched in his hand, he raised a brow at your expression, “Ready?”

     You shook the ever-encroaching ideas from your head as you meekly grabbed your phone, “Yeah.”

     “Good,” his hand was still outstretched, “Shall we?”

     A large smile decorated your face as you grabbed his hand, “Lead the way, dear.”

==

     The instant you left Nico’s van after work, you went inside to bathe. It had been another rainy day and you were not only coated in demon blood but also mud--lots of mud. You pulled off Beowulf before entering your shared home and set them on the rubber mat near the door; leaving them to clean later. 

     Slowly, you undressed as you made your way to the bathroom when you heard something odd.

     “--to do,” it was Vergil. You peered through the door of the bedroom. He was sitting on the edge of the bed facing away from you and was talking to himself, “Perhaps it would be best--” he stopped and turned his head slightly to the right. 

     You bit your lip and knocked gently, “Hey, sorry to intrude… Didn’t know you were home.”

     Vergil pushed up on his knees, standing to turn and face you, “Do not apologize, I wasn’t doing anything important…” he looked worn out.

     The door creaked as you fully opened it and stepped into the room, halfway undressed, “You look tired, babe.”

     The blue devil shook his head, “Dealing with my brother is exhausting.”

     “Well, then after I shower,” you set Revenant down on the dresser, “maybe we should take a nap together?” 

     “I-” Vergil’s expression hardened, “I don’t know if that is a good idea.”

     Your lips parted slightly as you looked with a soft crease of your brow, “I know it’s been rough but… you need some sleep, Vergil…”

     He looked as if he were going to say something, but moved his gaze to the floor and nodded in agreement. 

     “You don’t have to wait for me,” you moved back towards the door, “I’ll join you when I get back, okay?”

     The eldest twin nodded as he watched you leave the room.

     He had already removed most of his clothing, only having his pants and his, untucked, dress shirt on. Slowly, Vergil stood and went to get a more casual shirt; removing the rest of his work clothes. 

     Now dressed in a loose-fitting black tank top and navy boxer briefs, he moved back to the bed. Apprehensive didn’t even describe how he felt right now; no, the eldest son of Sparda was petrified over the thought of sleep. However, you were right, he was beyond beat and wanted nothing more than to rest. With a heavy sigh, he climbed into the bed and closed his eyes, praying for just a moment of pleasant sleep.

     You came back into the room about an hour later. With a warm smirk, you tip-toed around the room to avoid waking the sleeping devil. Once you re-dressed yourself, you turned back to look at Vergil when you noticed something was wrong. 

     His face was contorted into a rather violent grimace and, as per the night before, was partially triggered. Vergil was also breathing heavily and growling in his sleep. In his arms, he had taken one of the pillows--and some of the duvet--into a death grip, ripping them.

     Biting your lip in thought you sighed, “Shit…” although you knew that this could only end badly, you decided to wake him up from his nightmare.

     Cautiously, you moved to the edge of the bed and placed a hand on his shoulder, “Vergil..?”

     Nothing.

     Your gut twisted with fear as you shook him harder, “Vergil?”

     Still nothing.

     With a heavy sigh, you shook him harder, “Wake up…”

     Instantly, you were pinned to the floor by a set of charcoal-black scaled hands around your throat. You had never been scared of Vergil before but tonight? You were terrified. His face was somewhere between emotionless and furious. A loud rumbling growl emanated from the back of his throat as he continued to squeeze ever-tighter.

     “Verg-” your voice sputtered as you grabbed his arms, gasping for air. 

     Blood had begun to trickle down your palms as you accidentally sliced them on his forearm blades in your panic. Becoming steadily aware of your need for air, you grabbed at his face and neck; anything to get him off of you. 

     Tears sprung from your eyes as you felt his claws pierce the sides of your neck as his grip tightened even further. You knew that if he pressed down his thumbs, Vergil would stab right into your windpipe and kill you. 

     Lightheadedness began to sink in as you croaked out another beseeching plea to your lover, “Vergil--!”

     With nothing left to do, you clawed harder against him and roughly cut into his cheek with your nails. This seemingly pulled him from his delusion as his grip loosened.

     A new look replaced the hardened glare from before, a look of complete and utter horror. 

     Vergil’s voice trembled as he realized what was going on, “What--?”

     You took a loud deep breath and pulled his arms away from you and spoke as best you could with the growing pain in your throat, “Move,” you pushed against his body and did your best to speak normally, “please.”

     Without hesitation, Vergil removed himself completely and stood staring down at you. He looked at his, still-triggered, hands and saw your blood dripping from his claws. The blue devil’s blood ran cold. 

     “Vergil-” you groaned as you sat upwards, watching him bolt out of the room, “Wait-” with a strained grunt, you gradually stood upright and did your best to stabilize your wobbly legs.

     The blue devil slammed the bathroom door close, quickly locking it behind him. His hands had de-triggered and shook violently as he tried to wash the blood from his skin. He had turned the faucet as hot as possible and had begun to inadvertently scorch his skin. While he was brutalizing his own hands, he felt something drip down his jawline and to the tip of his chin. Vergil looked at himself in the fogged-up glass in front of him.

     Upon each side of his face and neck were dark smears of your blood from you pushing him away. Three large scratches decorated one of his cheeks and were slowly bleeding; now dripping off of his chin and to the sink below. Vergil took one of his hands and slowly ghosted over the markings on his face. A deep all-encompassing pit formed in his gut as he replayed the nightmare from just the night prior. The feeling of you desperately tearing at Nelo’s face, trying to escape him.  

     A tremble found its way to Vergil’s lips and body. Pressing as hard as he could, the eldest twin began to desperately scrub his blood-stained face with the sink's boiling water; grimacing from the feeling of peeling the top layers off of his flesh. You were the only person in the world he wouldn’t dare fight, wouldn’t dare harm; yet, only mere moments ago, he had his hands around your neck. A wicked thought echoed in his mind, how it would have only taken just a few more seconds or just a little more pressure for him to have killed the only person he has ever loved. Vergil bared his teeth as he let out a muffled whimper, tears forming at the edges of his eyes.

     The knob of the door jiggled, “Vergil?” the Dark Slayer flinched at the sound of your voice, even though it was soft and calm, “Vergil, are you okay?”

     He couldn’t come up with what to say in response, only whimpering again with a sad twitch of his lip. 

     Using an even softer tone, you set your head on the door, “Vergil… Let me in, please?”

     Despite his effort to come up with something, all he could muster was a loud voice crack as gripped the countertop.

     “Vergil,” you sighed quietly, “I want to see you. Please open the door,” an overwhelming amount of fear had consumed your mind; not for yourself, but over how Vergil might punish himself over this, “Please, Vergil…”

     “I-” he took a harsh breath trying to calm himself--and failing miserably, “What if I--” a crack began to form in the laminate countertop as his raw skinned fingers gripped harder and harder in growing frustration.

     “You won't; I promise.”

     After what seemed like an eternity, Vergil shut off the faucet and unlocked the door. You opened the door slowly and felt your heart sink at seeing your blue devil. 

     At the furthest point from the door, he was sitting on the floor, trembling heavily. Scalding red marks adorned his pale skin where he had been scrubbing and his fingers were no better. 

     “Vergil…” you approached him and saw his body stiffen, “Can I sit next to you?” 

     All he gave you was a small nod. Slowly, you moved next to him and sat beside him.

     Neither of you spoke for nearly a half hour. At one point, you managed to get a hold of one of his hands and intertwined your fingers; thumbing over the fading red marks. Internally, you were fighting the urge to hold him as close and as tight to you as possible.

     Vergil’s voice was nearly silent when he finally spoke, “I’m sorry.”

     “It’s okay--”

     “No,” he pulled his hand from yours and turned to stare at you, “No, it’s not okay,” with each word he got louder and held more frustration, “I could have--” he clenched his jaw as he scrunched his face, holding back his overwhelming storm of emotions, “I could have killed you!”

     “Vergil…” you decided to follow his idea and pivoted to face him fully, “I face death every day with work so it--”

     The blue devil snarled loudly, “I am not some mindless fucking demon,” he gripped his face with his hands, “I should be able to control myself!” tears began to slide down his face as he grimaced intensely, bearing his teeth in frustration.

     You were taken aback, you have never heard Vergil swear before, let alone sound so distraught, “I--” your lips pursed as you carefully chose your words, “I didn’t mean it like that, Vergil,” you gently set a hand on his knee, “I just meant that I’m used to that kind of thing, as morbid as that sounds.”

     A tremble reappeared through his lips, “You shouldn’t have to deal with that from me; it goes against everything I…” his mouth opened as if he were going to continue but no words came out.

     You were trying your hardest to stay calm despite wanting to join his crying upon seeing him this way. Tenderly, you thumbed over his leg, “When we got married,” you made sure to keep your voice slow and soft, “I signed up for whatever hardships may happen, to or from either of us--that we would figure things out together,” you noticed that Vergil’s stare had finally reconnected to yours, “no matter what the what happens."

     Vergil pursed his lips before taking a slow deep breath through his nose. His brow furrowed as he closed his eyes, slowly stopping his weeping, and removed his hands from his face. 

     A part of Vergil wanted to argue with you; to tell you that you're insane, delusional, that you shouldn't bear the punishment of his inner demons. The feeling of you grabbing his hands and holding them pulled him from his bitter thoughts. 

     Bringing one of his hands up to your lips, you kissed his knuckles, whispering against them, “I love you,” you brought the other hand up and repeated your action, “more than anything in the world, Vergil.”

     His grip tightened on your hands, “You are a fool," Vergil did his best to sound normal but only managed to give a small whispering whimper of a response. 

     “If loving you is foolish then I will happily play the court jester, my love,” a small smile tugged at your lips, hoping to make him feel a little better.

     After a brief moment of silence, Vergil released your hands and scooched closer to you, “May I see…” he meekly gestured at your neck.

     You nodded slightly and exposed your neck to the blue devil. The skin of your neck had already begun to darken and had small red petechiae marks. It was easy to tell that Vergil had used his hands on you because of the long slender lines of bruising; which ended in much darker spots where he had been pressing the hardest (except his thumbs). At the end of each dark spot were small needle-like marks that had dried blood on and around them. 

     Although you tried your best, you flinched at the feeling of his fingers ghosting your neckline. Vergil’s expression became increasingly distressed the longer he looked at you. Seeing this, you grabbed his other hand and held it tightly; hoping to provide some solace to him. 

     “It’s alright, Vergil, it’ll heal,” you whispered as he pulled his hand back from your neck.

     A small tremble found its way to his lips as he whispered back, “I am sorry.”

     “You do not have to apologize,” you grabbed his other hand and held it, “It is not your fault.”

     He paused for a moment before speaking, “We,” his voice cracked as he avoided your eyes, “We should get you cleaned up.”

     With a comforting grin and soft voice you thumbed over his fingers, “You sure you are okay to do that?”

     Vergil nodded, “I’ll be okay,” he pulled one of your hands to his lips and kissed it very gently.

==

     It wasn’t long before morning rolled around. Reluctantly, you had agreed to let Vergil stay in the living room for the night and you sleep in the bedroom, alone. 

     You woke up freezing as you had grown accustomed to the broiling body heat of your lover. With a loud groaning yawn, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed. As you walked to the bathroom, you felt a sudden sharp headache form. 

     Upon reaching the desired location, you noticed that the laminate countertop was cracked badly by Vergil gripping it.

     “Shit,” you grumbled.

     Your thoughts were cut off as you began feeling very off balance, leaning on the broken surface for support, before suddenly lurching forward into a kneel and throwing up in the toilet. During all your years of hunting, you knew what concussions felt like and this was definitely one of the worst ones you've ever had.

     “Fu-uck,” you sighed with a scowl slowly emerging on your features.

     Finishing up what you had originally gone in there to do--and making sure to brush and rinse the fuck out of your mouth--you left the room with a few painkillers in hand.

     The house was uncharacteristically silent as you wobbly meandered your way to the kitchen. Once at the sink, you poured yourself a glass of water and took the pills. With your hands resting on the edge of the sink, you slowly drank the rest of the water; doing your best to stay upright. The lukewarm water only helped to highlight the growing pain in your throat. 

     “Are you alright?” a voice called from your right.

     “Gah--!” you jumped slightly and dropped the cup in the sink--which was thankfully plastic. Then turned to see that it was Vergil, “You scared me, Vergil--" you took a deep breath trying to calm your heart, "I am fine, just a little sore is all.”

     His face softened as he cautiously pulled you into a close hug, “I’m sorry--is there anything I can do to help?”

     “This is exactly what I needed,” you leaned further into him and heard him purring quietly, “How are you doing, dear?”

     Vergil had a small smile as he whispered, “Much better now that I am with you.”

     The two of you held each other--swaying slightly--for what seemed like only mere seconds; when, in reality, it had been nearly a half hour. 

     Vergil nuzzled his cheek into the top of your head and spoke very quietly, “I hate to ruin the moment; however,” he pulled back from the hug enough to see you, “Dante requested us to come in early today.”

     You raised a brow, “Why?”

     “Morrison brought in a big contract; Dante requested that all of us be there for the briefing…” Vergil placed a hand on your face, not wanting to let you go.

     “Mmn, suppose I need to get ready,” you leaned into his palm and closed your eyes, and sighed, leaning out of the hug, “Best not to be late again."

==

      Both of you stood at the front door, debating on how you were getting to the DMC. Since you had a concussion, traveling with the Yamato was out of the question--last time you had traveled under the same circumstances, you almost threw up inside the portal and then proceeded to pass out once on the other side.

     “You sure you’re alright with this? I can just call an Uber or something,” you folded your arms and raised a brow.

      Vergil nodded, “I am fine with it; however if you aren’t then--”

     “No- no, it's fine just,” you tried not to laugh, “never thought 'flying via devil' would be something I’d do.”

     He grinned, “Perhaps we should travel this way more then.”

     “And here I thought you only used your trigger for emergencies,” you playfully teased.

     “This is an acceptable outlier,” Vergil laughed quietly. 

     With a bright flash of cornflower blue light, Vergil stood before you in his devil trigger.

     A warm smile adorned your face as you approached the black and blue devil, "I never knew the devil was so handsome,” your voice was laced with sarcasm as you placed a hand on his cheek.

     “Chivalry will get you nowhere, human, ” Vergil gently jested back, holding back a small laugh, “I will devour you whole.”

     “Oh no, whatever shall I do?” you dramatized your words; placing the back of your hand on your forehead and leaning back slightly, “Someone save me,” you did your best to stifle your laughter.

     He wrapped his wings around you and looked downwards at your expression, “No one will take you from me, pet. ”

     “I-” your lips were slightly agape as you tried to formulate a response--Vergil had never called you that before.

     However, he spoke before you could come up with anything, “What? Devil got your tongue?” he leaned in close, breath washing over your lips.

     “Mmn, no,” you moved your lips even closer to his, “I wish he did though.”

     Vergil cautiously connected with your lips. You moved your hands to the dark reddish-brown underside of the leathery appendages and slowly ran your fingers along the grooves. This elicited a moan from your blue devil and made him push himself against you harder. His fingers were trembling as he ghosted them along your sides, catching your attention.

     Breaking off the kiss but not moving away, you whispered against his lips, “You can touch me, Vergil. You won’t hurt me,” you used your hands to push his palms to your sides.

     His pupils dilated slightly, “Are you--”

     You cut him off with an aggressive kiss, placing your hand on his chest and kneading into him. Not wasting any more time, Vergil came back at you with an even more intense fervor. He pushed his tongue within the confines of your mouth. A muffled moan came from your lips as Vergil used his oral mastery inside your cavern; touching everything he could and playing with your tongue.

     After a minute or two, you both broke apart from the kiss. You smiled widely at him and placed a long sweet smooch on the tip of his nose; making him scrunch a bit in confusion. The two of you stood holding one another for a few minutes before you broke the serene silence. 

     “We should probably get going,” you sighed, “otherwise we won’t be making it to work…”

     The eldest son of Sparda sighed as well, “I suppose you are right…” he picked you up bridal style as you wrapped your arm around his shoulders, “Shall we?”

     You nodded as he opened the door. A sudden cold wind shot right through you as you leaned in closer to the hot-blooded devil. It was raining quite heavily so Vergil shifted you to face him completely; sheltering you the best he could from the elements, holding you underneath your thighs. With a small grunt from the devil, you two were off into the air.

==

     The flight wasn’t very long, you were at the DMC within a half hour; however, the rain had steadily gotten worse and made it a less-than-optimal flight. Vergil decided to land on the roof rather than risk being seen on the street and quickly ushered you indoors; fearing you would fall ill. 

     You took off your sopping wet coat and shook your head a bit, trying to dry off. Vergil had de-triggered and, because of how hot his devil trigger is, he was bone dry as he raised a brow at your “dog-like” actions.

     “What?” you looked up at him, giving him a curious smile.

     “Nothing,” he gave you a smirk in return.

     The two of you came downstairs, Vergil went first as you followed. Upon entering the foyer, you noticed that Vergil wasn’t kidding when Dante said “everyone”. Said red devil, Nero, Trish, Lady, and even Nico were inside the Devil May Cry; all chatting amongst themselves. 

     The younger twin noticed you both on the stairs and flashed a wide grin, “Glad you both could make it! Thought maybe you were going to sleep in-- Ah,” a small dagger from Vergil jabbed Dante in the arm.

     You pursed your lips and stifled your laughter, quietly speaking to Vergil, “Give me your coat? I’ll go hang it.”

     He stared at you from the corner of his eye for a moment before doing as you asked; delicately handing you the dark navy clothing. Vergil moved towards the bar counter to converse with Nero as everyone else resumed their conversations. With a small spring to your step, you waltzed over to the hooks near the front door and hung both your jackets. Pivoting on your heels, you went to move back into the room when you were stopped by Dante. 

     The red devil stood in front of you and used his forefinger and thumb to turn your head upwards; revealing the bruising on your neck. An aggressive furrow appeared on his brow as he frowned intensely.

     “Dante,” you whispered so that only he could hear you, “It’s not what you think--” his turquoise eyes locked with yours before he let go of your chin. It was too late.

     He turned around, “Alright,” Dante’s voice was between serious and pissed-off, a tone that was highly unlike the high-spirited brother, “What the fuck.”

     Vergil tilted his head ever-so-slightly and parted his lips in confusion, squinting at his twin.

     Dante made his way across the room, you followed him and tried to get him to stop, but were unable as he spoke even louder than before, “What is wrong with you?!”

     The blue devil’s face only became more confused as his eyes flicked between his brother and you.

     The red devil shoved Vergil, “Answer me, Vergil!”

     Fearing that the two would escalate into a larger fight, you grabbed one of Dante’s arms and tugged him away, straining your sore voice, “Dante you don’t understand-”

     Dante turned to you, “I think I know strangle marks when I see them,” his eyes went back to Vergil, “I'm tired of not saying anything.”

     With a slight sharpness, Vergil closed his eyes and scrunched his face, “What are you talking about?”

     “Don't play stupid,” Dante raised his voice even louder with a slight growl, “You think that I didn’t notice? Everyone here has noticed--fuck,” he flung his arm out, gesturing at nothing in particular, “even Morrison asked me about it!”

     “What does--”

     Dante's voice was unbearably loud as he yelled at his older brother, "You're fucking beating your husband, Vergil!” 

     The shop went silent. At this point, Nero had moved toward the couch the three ladies were sitting on, awaiting Vergil’s response.

     Your eyes widened at Dante and the absurd notion he had brought forth. Knowing Dante as you do, you had figured he was going to jab at Vergil for "being too rough in bed" or something stupid--not domestic abuse. With a slightly furrowed brow, you turned to the group next to you, then back to the brothers, and noticed Vergil’s pale stare. 

     Vergil huffed quietly through his nose as he looked downwards, pursing his lips in thought. After a moment, he looked back up at Dante with a cold glare, "Do you really think that lowly of me, Dante?"

     Dante cocked his head to the side, his voice still laced with a growl, "You know, after what you've done? Sorry, but I wouldn't put it past you."

     Vergil’s face was barren of any emotion--to everyone else besides you, that is. You’ve been in a relationship long enough with the stone-faced slayer that it was painfully obvious how much Dante’s accusation hurt him. Unable to think of what to say, he just stood there and glared at his twin. 

     "I ain't letting this go, Vergil. I'll stand here all fuckin--" a loud crack of thunder cut Dante off as the power went out in the shop.

     You weren't sure what happened, but the next thing you knew, you were on the floor and a sin-triggered Vergil was encompassing your surroundings. It was overwhelmingly hot as you felt his wings and arms tighten around you, pushing you further into his chest. The blue-grey devil shook wildly as a continuous thunderous growl emanated from deep within his chest. At any other point, it would have been a nice feeling; however, the loud sounds, sweltering heat, and the bright blue light from his chest made your headache turn from bad to agonizing. 

     Through the loud rumbling, you could vaguely make out Dante speaking; something about Vergil overreacting. Then you felt Vergil shift slightly and heard a loud yelp from the younger twin. There was a loud shuffling of hasty movement from the couch beside the two of you which made Vergil snarl even louder. 

     Lady could be heard telling Dante to “back off” of (presumably) Vergil. You then a loud creak of the garage door being opened and more shuffling feet. The last thing you heard from the rest of the crew was Nero saying something unintelligible and shutting the door. Leaving Vergil and you alone in the foyer. 

     This was the first time Vergil had done something like this and you were unsure how to calm him down; so you just slowly wriggled your hand free and kneaded into the bright blue lines of your lover’s chest, “Hey,” you whispered in hopes of catching his attention, “It’s alright, Vergil.”

     His growling quieted a bit, however, his grip tightened into an almost painfully tight vice.

     A small grunting groan left your lips as you spoke again, “Vergil, we are okay. I’m okay,” you heard his growling subside further, “It’s okay, darling. We are safe, inside the Devil May Cry,” you leaned your head into his chest and kneaded harder against him, “It was just thunder. It’s okay--we are okay.”

     You continued to intermittently tell the blue devil various forms of grounding statements as he slowly calmed down; loosening his grip and quieting his thundering growl. Although he doesn’t have to breathe when in this form, you heard soft whistling as he took small short breaths in through his sharpened teeth. His shaking had subsided as well; only moving with the reverberations of his small breaths. 

     A grin tugged at your lips as you heard a small distant start of a purr from your kneading, “It’s alright, my love. Nothing is going to harm us…”

     Finally, he pulled back from your body. He placed his palms flat on the floor next to you and kept his wings around you, just much looser now. His pupil-less luminescent eyes just stared at you, leaving you to assume he was looking over your body for any sign of injury. 

     Very carefully, you moved your hands to the sides of his face and gently thumbed over the leathery denim-colored skin, “Hey…”

     He leaned forward placing his forehead against yours and closed his eyes, showing you that he was coming back around. You placed a long tender kiss against his fangs and heard him purr louder. 

     As quiet as he could manage with his distorted voice, Vergil whispered to you, “Are you okay?”

     “I’m fine,” you smiled and gently jested, “head’s killin’ me though and the floors kinda cold” you laughed and moved your hands to the gap of skin between his shoulder pauldrons and neck, kneading with your fingers, “Are you alright, Vergil?”

     Vergil nodded slightly, “Yes,” feeling the soft touch of your fingers against him, he allowed himself to de-trigger; slowly switching to his regular trigger and then his human form. All the while, you continued to massage his shoulders and tried your best to ignore the throbbing in your skull; wanting nothing more than to rip your head off. 

     The blue devil’s breath was ragged and he avoided looking you in the eyes. When he went to sit upwards, you grabbed his forearms, gaining his attention, “Vergil,” your voice was barely audible.

     After waiting a moment, Vergil cocked his head slightly, “What is it?”

     “Could,” you pursed your lips with embarrassment, “Could you help me up?”

     Vergil nodded, “Of course.”

     The eldest twin stood up and then leaned forwards to help you upright. You stumbled into him as you felt nauseously lightheaded.

     Noticing this, Vergil held one of your arms, “Steady…”

     You used your other hand to grab his shoulder and did your best to adjust to standing. He looked over to the couch and then back to you; before slowly picking you up and setting you on the pleather surface. Not wanting him to leave you, you grabbed his tie and tugged it slightly. 

     “I will be right back,” he grabbed the hand from the tan fabric and kissed it gently; which surprised you because of his distaste for out-of-house affections. 

     It was then that you noticed how quiet the shop was and how dark it was; the power had gone out completely. A loud creak from the garage door made you scrunch your face in slight pain. Vergil stood in the doorway and said nothing before moving back to stand near Dante’s desk. 

     You noticed a large cut through Dante’s shirt and realized that Vergil had used his tail to defend you from the red twin. Thankfully, Dante could heal quickly otherwise it might have been a trip to the ER from how large the incision seemed to be.

     “So care to explain what the fuck that was?” Dante’s voice was loud, as normal; however, it felt like he was shouting right beside you.

     Vergil noticed your discomfort and addressed his brother, “Quiet, you are being much too loud,” he flicked his gaze to you, “and no; I don’t.”

     The younger twin’s face scrunched in irritation. Before he could speak, Lady cut him off by roughly slamming her hand atop his shoulder, “Maybe the two of you should go home for the day? Dante can text you the information later on.”

     “Are you sure?” Vergil raised a brow at the sudden personable suggestion, “Or would Dante rather yell more absurd accusations at me?”

     The red devil growled, forgetting to keep quiet, “You son of--”

     “Watch your tongue. Mother is right here,” he flicked his eyes to the photo on Dante’s desk.

     “I fuckin--”

     You scrunched your face harshly and hoarsely snapped, “Oh my g-god,” you groaned, “Vergil isn’t beating me and I have a fuckin major headache. I thank you for your concern Dante, but it is misplaced… so can you please just drop it?”

     The younger twin shook his head, “You expect me to--”

     “It is a result of my night terrors and we are dealing with it ourselves,” Vergil said curtly, despite not wanting to talk about it. Then turned to address Lady, “I think we will take you up on that suggestion and leave,” the blue devil moved to grab your coats from the wall “Keep us informed..?"

     No one responded as Vergil handed you your coat and you put it on as best you could while sitting. You wobbled a bit as you went to stand, but, a set of strong arms picked you up. A small blush found its way to your face as you realized Vergil was carrying you from underneath your thighs in front of everyone else.

     Nero was the only one to address either of you as you headed up to the stairs, “Fly safe; winds pretty bad out there.”

     Vergil nodded in thanks to his son as the two of you disappeared from view, heading to the roof. You nestled your face into the crook of Vergil’s neck, taking a deep calming breath. It didn’t take long for you to sleep--or rather pass out--in the blue devil’s arms and it stayed that way till you got home. 

==

     When you opened your eyes next, you were laying underneath the duvet of your shared bed. Slowly blinking awake, you mumbled, “Vergil?” and felt around to see if he was nearby. Nothing.

     A hissing groan left your lips as you sat up and looked at the alarm clock. It had been several hours since you left the shop. You stretched upwards and immediately regretted it.

     “Fuck,” you groaned as you grabbed your head with one hand, the headache from earlier surged back into existence. 

     In hopes to remedy this, you decided to try taking a hot bath. The moment you stood up, however, you fell forwards and just barely caught yourself with your forearms. A small laugh of disbelief escaped through your painful groan, it was really just not your day. 

     The sound of a familiar sharp voice calling your name pulled you from your thoughts. You slowly moved your head upwards and saw Vergil standing above you with a wide-eyed confused stare. He was wearing a space-blue sleeveless turtleneck with black yoga pants.

     Admittedly, you weren’t exactly in a normal headspace when you cooed at the blue devil, “Ooh! You’re even prettier at this angle, Vergil.”

     The blue devil crouched in front of you and rested his forearms on his legs, “I leave you for five minutes and you end up on the floor?”

     With parted lips and raised brows, you eyed him up and down, “Was my plan all along since, from here, I get a really good view of your--”

     Vergil put up a hand telling you to stop, pinching the bridge of his nose with a sigh, “Would you like help up?”

     “Nah,” you jested and rolled over to face the ceiling, “I like being stuck on the floor,” a sly smirk tugged at your lips as you tilted your head back, “especially when we’re--”

     “Enough,” Vergil sighed and moved to help you upright into a soft embrace. 

     You sighed and leaned into him, “You know I love you, right Vergil?”

     “Perhaps I should take you to the hospital, you are acting in a very concerning manner…” 

     “No way in hell am I going to the doctor,” you pulled back and had a small pout on your lips, “I just need you beside me and I feel much better…”

     “That seems rather counter-intuitive, don’t you think?” his voice had an outlying tinge of sadness as he looked down at you. 

     “Not in the slightest. In fact,” you moved your hands to his chest, “I already am starting to feel better in your arms.”

     He avoided your eyes and had a small sad frown. A deep sharp pang of sadness stabbed at your heart at seeing him look so dejected. 

     You used a hand to cup the cheek facing away from you and gently turned him back to face you, “Vergil, care to join me for a bath?” you knew that he was still beating himself up over things and wanted to distract him for a while.

     A soft huffed laugh came from his nose as he closed his eyes in slight confusion, “What..?”

     “Come on, you need a break… to relax,” you cocked your head to the side, “Please?” you gave him the best puppy dog eyes you could muster.

     Which seemed to do the trick as he sighed with a smirk “If that is what you want then I will accompany you.”

     You pulled his face down to yours and gave him a small peck on the cheek, “Thank you, Vergil.”

     Although the blue devil was hesitant to let you go, you eventually wander off with a very wobbly saunter. Slowly, you moved to the dresser and began to grab some clothing when you heard Vergil murmur, “I’ll go draw it up and I’ll be back for you; please try and stay upright,” then he left the room.

     Your headache had subsided for the most part and was just a dull throbbing now. However, you still wanted to lay with him for a while, knowing that he needed it as much as you did. A warm smile crept its way to your face as you moved toward the edge of the bed to sit until he came back. You decided to lean over to the side table and grab your phone, checking it for any messages. Surprisingly, Dante and Nero had texted you.

     The younger twin had sent a rather all-over-the-place paragraph explaining that he was sorry for the outburst in the shop and that he was just worried that something was going on. You sent Dante a text explaining that it was nice of him to worry but that, before he goes off, he needs to listen better.

     Nero was making sure that both of you were alright and that if either of you needed anything to let him know. 

     Before you were able to respond, Vergil walked back into the room, “Are you ready?” his voice was very quiet and meek; catching you off guard.

     “Yeah just gimme one second, just gotta send this…” Vergil looked at you with a slightly curious head tilt, you smiled at him, “Nero was just making sure everything was okay.”

     “I see,” Vergil gave a weak grin.

     “Nero’s worried about you,” you set the phone back down on the table and grabbed one of Vergil’s hands, “He’s a good kid, ya know? You’re one lucky dad.”

      With a small shake of his head, Vergil pulled you off the bed, “Need I remind you that he is technically your son, too?”

     You laughed and pursed your lips, “Sometimes I forget that part if I’m honest,” the two of you slowly made your way to the bathroom, “Especially since we are like the same age--you cougar,” with a playful wink you let go of Vergil’s hand to get undressed.

     Vergil’s face scrunched, “You make it sound as if I am too old for you.”

     Playfully, you shoved his shoulder, “Bah- you don’t look a day over 30; besides,” you paused a moment as you watched Vergil remove his shirt, “I like older men~”

     “Those two statements contradict each other,” he noticed your gaze as he slid his pants off, “However, I appreciate the sentiment.”

     Once you both were fully stripped, Vergil helped you into the tub; fearing you would fall, “Hey, Vergil..?” he looked at you, “Can you sit in, like,” with pursed lips, you tried to figure out how to explain what you wanted, “in my lap? Like with your back to me?”

     “I-” he raised a brow and turned his lips to a thin line, “May I ask why?”

     A smile ghosted your face as you cooed, “I want to be able to play with your hair.”

     The blue devil was a little apprehensive at allowing such an action, but he did as you requested; positioning himself in front of you. His shoulders tensed up at the sudden feeling of vulnerability and being so exposed to you--even if the two of you have been together for a long time now. Noticing this, you gently wrapped your arms around his middle and leaned him back into you while you leaned back yourself; ending up in a semi-lying position. 

     Tenderly, you ran your fingers through his neatly slicked back locks, “You alright, Vergil?”

     With a small stuttering inhale, Vergil rested further against you, “Yes…”

     A faint purring came from the blue devil as he relaxed against your touch. The two of you just sat in the warm soapy water for nearly fifteen minutes, laying against each other. 

     Vergil shifted a bit to lay the side of his head on your chest before meekly whispering, “I love you,” typically, this would have made you ecstatic hearing him say such a thing; but there was an underlying sullen tone to the phrase. 

     You moved one of your hands to grab his while keeping up your ministrations through his hair, “I love you too, Vergil--more than anything.”

     “May I ask you something? And I want you to answer me honestly,” his eyes were glued to your fingers that were intertwined with his own.

     “Sure,” you removed your fingers from his hair and set that hand on his shoulder.

     “Are,” with each word his voice became quieter, “Are you afraid of me?”

     “No,” you answered without skipping a beat, “I will never be afraid of you, no matter what...”

     Another bout of silence fell as you felt him lean harder into you while taking slow deep breaths.

     “May--,” the Dark Slayer closed his eyes and spoke in a hushed voice, “May I confide in you for a moment?”

     “Of course, my love,” you leaned and kissed the top of his head attempting to reassure the man. 

     He sighed and turned further into your chest, hiding his face, “N-Nothing scares me more than causing you pain,” you felt his brow furrow, “These past few months, have been spurred on by a combination of that fear and,” he had a lump begin to form in his throat, “and my time spent under Mundus’s…” he swallowed audibly in an attempt to deter his emotions.

     You squeezed his hand tightly and you moved your other hand back to his hair, hoping to console him a bit. 

     Which worked, he took a shuddering breath and continued, “In my dreams--” he pursed his lips and unintentionally pushed himself as hard as he could into you, “I’m always back as- and I can’t,” he paused once more, realizing that this is much harder than he had anticipated, “control myself and I-I don’t know that it’s-- until it’s too late,” his voice cracked into silence as he gripped your hand in a vice hold. 

     That was enough for you to put together what he meant as your eyes widened. You whispered and moved your hand from his hair to his shoulder, holding him close, “Vergil…” you didn’t know what to do--how to help him.

     All you could think to do was to hold him close and comfort him as he cried into your chest. You knew that he had nightmares about his time of being enslaved to Mundus and the other atrocities that have happened to the poor blue devil. Throughout your time together, Vergil had told you about that time and has even sought comfort in you when he was upset. 

     A meek whisper pulled you from your thoughts, “I’m sorry,” he sighed heavily, “I know this is substandard behavior.”

     “Vergil,” you kneaded his bicep, “This is normal behavior, you don’t have to be strong all the time,” placing a soft kiss on the top of his head, you murmured, “You’re human--you have emotions; both good and bad.”

     “I feel as if I have disappointed you,” despite his sad tone, a light purring could be heard from him--indicating he was at least comfortable.

     “You could never disappoint me, Vergil--especially over something like this. Things take time to heal and even then they still leave scars; you aren’t to blame for what has happened, my love.”

     “I do not understand how after what I have done in my lifetime,” his voice cracked with a tinge of frustration as he sat upright. His front side was facing out of the tub toward the innards of the room,  leaving you to see his side profile, “Why you still believe me to be a good person…”

     “Vergil,” you moved to sit up as well, no longer resting your back on the tub, “I don’t believe that you are a good person; I know you are a good person,” you watched his adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed his emotions again, “I wouldn’t have married you if I didn’t.”

     A thin pained grin adorned his features as he turned his face from you; hiding the fact he had begun to cry once more.

     “People do bad things,” you shrugged your shoulders a bit in thought, “that doesn’t make them a bad person. Traumatic experiences make people do things that otherwise might not have.” you paused and thought for a moment, “Vergil, you have been punished ten-fold by everyone your entire life, even for things that you had no control over. Which is total shit. You deserve to be treated well and like a living breathing person. I know you are a good person because you have shown me that many times over; you are worthy of love, Vergil.”

     Vergil let out a loud shuttering exhale and turned his head to look at you with pursed lips. He wanted to say something, anything, but all he could muster was a small whimper of acknowledgment. 

     Moving to your knees, you spoke softly, “Is there anything that I can do to help you with these nightmares?”

     “I,” after a small pause in thought, he turned to come face to face with you and grabbed your hands in his, “Could you promise me something?”

     “Anything.”

     “If we get into any altercations with,” he avoided your eyes with an increasing embarrassment eating the edges of his mind, “Angelo-type demons, please, leave them to me; please..?”

     Your brow twitched in confusion as you cocked your head to the side; that’s when things clicked and you remembered what happened shortly before these terrors began, “Sure, if that is what brings you solace then I will,” you smiled, trying to make him feel a little better.

     “Thank you,” his eyes re-connected with yours and he gave a small smirk.

     The two of you sat for a brief moment before you pursed your lips and smiled semi-awkwardly, “I hate to ruin the moment, but could we get out of the water? I’m kinda cold…”

     Vergil straightened his posture and nodded, “Of course, wanderer,” he moved to get out of the water and held his hands out for yours.

     You grabbed them and wobbly got up, “Oh? I haven’t heard you use that in a long time.”

     A small huffed laugh came from the blue devil as he handed you a towel, “It was the first nickname I gave you. I thought it appropriate for the moment…”

     “It was wasn’t it?” you shook your head, “That feels like a lifetime ago…”

     “In a sense, it was quite literally,” he leaned over and drained the tub.

     With a small laugh and nod, you finished drying off. While the two of you got dressed, you couldn’t help but smile at the sight of your lover. 

     “Is something wrong?” Vergil noticed your stare.

     Pursing your lips you thought for a moment and decided to indulge in his love for Blake’s poems, “ 'Joy & Woe are woven fine,/A Clothing for the Soul divine;/Under every grief & pine,/Runs a joy with silken twine.' "

     An amused look adorned his face as he stood with parted lips thinking for a moment, “Auguries of Innocence?” the Dark Slayer cupped the side of your face, “We never did finish that poem; you’d always fall asleep.”

     “Not my fault you have such a soothing voice,” you placed your hands on his chest and leaned into his palm, “Want to try again?”

     He leaned against your forehead, “If it is alright with you, I think I’d rather sleep…”

     “Only if you stay beside me,” you looked into his icy eyes; enamored with the thousands of different blue-grey hues, “please..?”

     “Are you sure-- Mnm,” he was cut off by a sudden connection of your lips.

     It was a slow and passionate kiss as you poured all the love you could into that one moment. Once satisfied, you left the kiss and whispered against his lips, “I wouldn’t have it any other way, Vergil.”

     Without another word, he picked you up and took you into the bedroom. Carefully, he set you down and crawled into bed with you. A small lingering sense of dread crept in from the edges of his mind; however, those were pushed away when you laid atop his chest. You curled into him and he tangled his limbs with yours.

     As the two of you drifted off to sleep, Vergil had a very small content grin as he allowed himself to sleep; knowing that, at least for tonight, his terrors will be kept at bay. 

==

Ending Notes: Sorry that was lowkey all over the place, I just went with the flow of my brain. It kind of just ended up being a long fluff fic.  Also to add some explanation to Vergil’s bit where he swore and freaked out: I figure that when Vergil lost his autonomy for so long as Nelo Angelo, he ended up becoming hyper-aware of what he is doing at all times. So when he does something that he either can’t remember doing or didn’t want to do that it would send him into a panic; fearing that he is going to lose his freedom again. 🛡️⚔️🛡️ Poem quoted:      Auguries of Innocence: William Blake

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MASTER LIST FOR TUMBLR

[chiropteracupola]

tagged in a thing by @verecunda!! it took me ...several weeks to actually do it, but I Have been thinking about it the entire time. so.

rules: list ten books that have stayed with you in some way, don’t take but a few minutes, and don’t think too hard - they don’t have to be the “right” or “great” works, just the ones that have touched you.

The Tombs of Atuan, Ursula K. LeGuin - this is the book that I spent my whole life looking for, was certain existed, and well - it's real, and was exactly what I needed when I found it, and that's not something that happens often.

Treasure Island, Robert Louis Stevenson - so many of the best developments of the past few years of my life can be owed directly to this book. which is a wild thing to say, I'll admit.

Spying on Whales, Nick Pyenson - ocean's haunted! whales are full of weird goo! and other fun facts written in such a tranquil manner.

Beowulf, as translated by Seamus Heaney - it's Beowulf. what more have I to say. if you know you know.

Bonnie Dundee, Rosemary Sutcliff - that incredibly rare thing, a book that actually depicts the artistic process in a way that makes sense to me as a person who draws.

The Flight of the Heron, D.K. Broster - previously unimaginable occurrences have in fact Repeatedly Occurred because of this book. shan't elaborate as I'm sure you've seen my soupy state of being over the last year or so.

The Adventures of Robin Hood, Roger Lancelyn Green - almost positive that this was the first book I ever truly Shouted about. there's a half-written stage adaptation written by twelve-year-old em around in some folder somewhere still...

In Small Things Forgotten, James Deetz - sends me into some kind of Architectural Trance every time I read it.

Tim To The Lighthouse, Edward Ardizzone - administer this potion to your children at frequent intervals to most certainly turn them into boat-obsessed scribble artists who will never recover.

By the Great Horn Spoon, Sid Fleischman - ...actually I just realized that a lot of the way and what I write now can be traced directly to having this poured directly into me as a small child as well. hm.

and I shall tag... @sailorpants, @dxppercxdxver, @sanguinarysanguinity, @natdrinkstea, @alizuriacrow, @cytocutie, @what-even-is-sleep, @graveyardrabbit, @annabellioncourt, @cedarboots, if you'd like to share?