#wretched!gangle

[bananafire11]

A puppeteer au doodle because i think its about time i drew fanart for this au mwahahah

Also what would happen if wretched!gangle tried this. It doesnt go as planned 😔

Oh and... that guy too. I made him a sammich

Both aus belong to @rorydrawsandwrites !! 💛

[linebot]

@bananafire11

Im not really happy with wretched jax, i fear he is too creature for my art style 😔

STILL i adore ur drawings of the sillies, i had to add Dr Gloop to the fun. Idk how AIs will be like in your au so im kinda winging it

I imagine Dr Gloop is an assistent for Caine. They cant move unless Caine instructs them to. They also double as a shocker for any subjects that get out of line

They dont feel any remorse except to jax. Dr Gloop lets jax hurt them to make up for shocking him. No one really likes Dr Gloop, but they dont care 😋

[void-hoodie]

Got a little carried away

Made more Wretched!Blesk for @bananafire11 wretched au

I drew some of her interactions with the other members

-her and Ragatha are good friends but the doll is still overwhelmingly positive even in this situation

-she always goes to kinger when she find an insect and tries to struck some conversation with him even if he does nothing but mumble (yes she can talk but her voice is horribly ruined from the muzzle)

-she keeps away from gangle when she has the comdy mask on or is 'drawing' as she becomes very unpredictable

-Blesk always checks on zooble and tries to help lessen their pain any way she could

And a small hieght comparison between her previous form and the current one

And she is generous to Jax, but you're correct he's still a little shit, but no worries she has her ways to deal with him

But she hates his tantrums

Scary dog privilege only for Pomni

Plus this nightmare foul image of gangle when I was fixing the canvas

[fragbot]

It wasn't Crown. It was someone exactly Crown's height, someone with Crown's face, but like someone had washed her in hot water and soaked the colour out -- a Crown who gangled, without any of Crown's lovely curvy softnesses or bignesses, a wretched white Crown.

- from Nona the Ninth, Tamsyn Muir

[mwolf0epsilon]

The Umbaran Pathogen - Day 6: Mind Control

Summary: The parasite that had burrowed into Tup's nervous system and altered his brain chemistry had more than taken a hold. It had begun to slowly turn Tup from the sweet caring brother he was, into a mockery of his former self. His mind so out of it that he no longer cared that he had completely overwritten his twin's free will into a vague idea of a happy and relaxed lackey.

Warning: Mentions of blood drinking, egg implantation, parasites, body horror and organic fleshy material used as a construction base (this chapter is a little bit gross but it's nothing too descriptive, just conceptual).

Prev / Next

[In which the events on Umbara are worsened by an unknown pathogen taking hold of both the 501st and 212th. These series of drabbles will follow a non-linear timeline based on the AI-less Whumptober prompt list for 2023.]

THIS STORY IS ALSO ON AO3

---

Tup couldn't help but smile as he felt the cool Umbaran breeze in his hair. His armour and helmet had begun to feel so terribly stuffy as of late, that being able to zip about with his face exposed for just a few minutes felt absolutely heavenly.

Alas it was but a fleeting moment of bliss, since it was not yet time for him to shed this plastoid shell. Not yet at least...

Everything was still (frustratingly) in the initial preparatory stages. Resources needed to be collected, more eggs needed to be planted in the Worker Cast candidates, and the Hive needed to be properly constructed to house all of those who'd be pupating soon. His loyal Drone had been doing a phenomenal job thus far. So eager to please. So happy to do whatever needed to be done to make Tup a happy, healthy and strong Hive Leader. Unshakably loyal.

He couldn't imagine why he'd ever been nervous when he'd first began to size Dogma up for this particular task. This new role of his. Nor could he remember why he'd felt so revolted when he'd first drawn blood from his little brother, to begin the vital egg production phase of their newfound life-cycles.

It was unfathomable to him why he'd found this heinous or disgusting. Especially now that he could see the end results.

Sure there was an absolutely gag-worthy ugly duckling stage. When the implantation spot first flared up in a desperate but futile attempt to fight against the little Larvae that emerged from the egg. The rash wasn't nice to look at, and the way it eventually spread as the body began to fully integrate the new genetic coding was... Well it was a little gross to bare witness to...

Dogma had looked pretty horrific when the changes overtook him. The pus-filled blisters and boils, the crusty eyes and dribbling nose, the pain on his feverish face had all but broken Tup's heart as he kept checking in on his pupating sibling.

He'd been more resistant than Tup had been to the lesser parasite's influence. Had tried to fight it off and even seek outside help from the medics. But then he'd finally succumbed to dronification completely, and his defiance had become open acceptance of his new nature. His mind calm, collected and his to do with as he wished.

And Tup wanted nothing more than to make his little brother happy. Make him feel safe. Which he did whenever he was near Tup. So he was doing a finer job than anyone else on this wretched planet.

The moment his rotting flesh sloughed off from his trembling body was also one to remember. The slick black and blue carapace, the long luminous wings and strong limbs, that powerful stinger, the twitching antennae and sharp mandibles...

He'd made his frightened and gangling little brother into a powerhouse. A warrior of epic proportions. Tup had made him into something infinitely stronger and more beautiful than any mere clone could ever hope to be, and yearned to do the same to all of the remaining vode. To make them better, stronger, less likely to be killed by that... That horrid brute...

The thought of Krell made Tup's blissful expression take on a much more sour note. The delight at feeling the cool wind lost, as he considered how to best deal with the Besalisk bastard that threatened his Hive's safety. That monster needed to be dealt with. Sooner rather than later, otherwise the few he'd already infected might not make it to the Pupa stage. The Nest needed to be finished soon. Which meant they needed more Larvae to begin producing material for construction.

That was exactly what they were doing. Dogma effortlessly carrying Tup between the 501st and 212th basecamps. Giving him ample opportunity to lay more eggs and spirit away those who housed a newly hatched Larvae to their forever home.

All organic matter they shed made fine building materials for a proper cozy nest. Insulating walls, cushioning surfaces, creating the perfect living space for Tup's Hive, and providing a surface for which the fungi and flowering plants they needed to thrive off of to grow on. They'd be self sustaining, seldom needing to go out hunting unless protein provisions ran low. Once Tup could finally pupate and become his bigger stronger more beautiful self, he'd be able to protect and provide for his family. His beloved Hive brothers.

And that was a thought that had him smiling again, pressing his face to the crook of Dogma's neck as he continued to carry him to and fro. Pleased to help in Tup's progress towards power and control. Relishing in his Hive Leader's noticeable satisfaction as he chaperoned him through the air.

Tup loved the new them. He was sure the rest of their brothers would love their new selves just as much. If not, then he'd simply make them. The Hive Leader knew best, after all.

[xxmia0wm4yh3mxx]

I wanted to draw more rogerg

Hes very dubious but to physically weak for anything super bad to happen basically just pick him up by the scruff of his neck like a kitten

"After everything this wretched circus has done to me, this has to be the worst tramua I have gone through, I was almost poisoned and bearly made it out alive"

"You literally just ate a vegetable"

"H-h-h-h-hey d-d-did you know that-that when -uh um-ah fruit fly becomes s-s-s-s-s-$#%ually frustrated t-t-t-they will drown there s-s-s-sorrows in alcohol?"

(Rogerg trying to make friends while sweating from places that shouldn't sweat)

"Hey Gangle, Guess what fruit this was?"

"Rogerg! Thats so disgusting! Throw it away!"

"It was a Orange! Its definitely going in my display!"

"Rogerg!"

(Gangle is the rare occasion where Rogerg makes a friend! Let alone someone he cares about they have a sibling like relationship, Kinger and rogerg would probably get along very well because they both love bugs)

"Let me at him! LET. ME. AT. HIM!"

Rogerg has zero sense of filth so he occasionally goes dumpster diving, he has a room of his own but prefers the trash can

[iviarellereads]

Nona the Ninth, Chapter 32

(Curious what I'm doing here? Read this post! For detail on The Locked Tomb coverage and the index, read this one! Like what you see? Send me a Ko-Fi.)

(Open tomb icon) In which someone goes full American Horror Story.

Nona is wrapped in one of the big black cloaks, and Pyrrha carries her out, with Paul supporting Crux, with Kiriona. Aiglamene leads them down passages, until they stop before a door, and Aiglamene turns off the lantern. Pyrrha asks if they have to go in blind, but Aiglamene says bad enough that anyone's going in besides the Reverend Daughter and her cavalier. Kiriona says the Daughter has no living cav anyway.

They open the door, and Nona is carried into a void of a cathedral cave, with a rock in front of a tunnel.

And standing before the rock—a lantern by one booted foot—was Crown. Nona’s eyes had been tricked by the light. It wasn’t Crown. It was someone exactly Crown’s height, someone with Crown’s face, but like someone had washed her in hot water and soaked the colour out—a Crown who gangled, without any of Crown’s lovely curvy softnesses or bignesses, a wretched white Crown.(1) A Crown with an arm that was all bones���metal-shod bones, real moving bones, with bony gold fingers holding a tiny pinpoint of orange light. Nona realised that it really was her arm; that it really was a cigarette.

Pyrrha steps forward, but her feet are caught by some "soft, jammy yellow" substance on the floor. So are Paul's. Kiriona asks how Ianthe got here before her. Ianthe says she didn't, she just looked for "any signs of God and slithered downward".(2) She advises the rest not to move, and puzzles over her assumptions about not-Cam until they say their name is Paul. Ianthe says she can respect the choice, but not admire it.(3)

Pyrrha asks if John sent Ianthe, but she ignores the question and asks who Pyrrha is, really. Pyrrha admits that Varun ate G1deon, she's just "his leftover cavalier parts." Ianthe asks if that's typical of Lyctors, and Pyrrha says, no. Ianthe is relieved and says no, John didn't send her.

Ianthe moves to stand before Kiriona, and they stare each other down. Kiriona asks if she really has to smoke in here, there are fire detectors. Ianthe rolls her eyes and stubs out the cig on her flesh hand, tossing the butt over her shoulder. She asks if they brought her sister, and Kiriona confirms, she's upstairs for the taking when they're done. The Sixth leaders are there too, but she's not sure if John will want them, or the rest of their House.

It had slowly dawned on Nona—by the look of everyone else caught in the yellow muck, it was dawning on them too—that this conversation was not being carried out in a way anyone had expected. Ianthe reached out—her sleeve fell away from her wrist—and Nona saw a strange fat bracelet ringing her bony wrist: a braided, hyper-coloured cord in shades that were somehow even uglier than the cords she had seen before—in her class—and on the wrist of— “Friendship bracelets,” she fairly shouted. “They’re wearing friendship bracelets.”(3)

Ianthe frees Kiriona from the sticky stuff, and they do a secret handshake. Paul asks if they can be freed to get into the Tomb or not. The stick extends to take Nona out of Pyrrha's arms and pull her over to Ianthe, who says she's just doing what she thinks "Harry" would want, to keep the Tomb closed, and asks what Kiriona thinks. Kiriona says she tries not to, and they laugh in genuine, friendly mirth.

Ianthe says it's good to see her, and Kiriona says, yeah, but, time to get this Tomb opened so they can get out of here. Ianthe is confused, but Kiriona draws her sword, and Ianthe returns the favour, calling her a "three-way double crosser." Kiriona says she hasn't double-crossed anyone, John sent her. Pyrrha and Ianthe express doubt on this account.

“No. He did,” said the corpse prince. “I didn’t sneak onto that ship for my health. Don’t you see? This is my chance. We go in there, we open up the Tomb, I take down whatever’s inside—Alecto, Annabel, I don’t care, whatever her name is—boom, we’re done. Dad won’t be immortal anymore, but he says he doesn’t care about that, and I believe him, Tridentarius … I’ll be his cavalier. I’m the First. Hell, I’m his child and heir. Isn’t this the neatest way? Are you going to help me, or not?”

Ianthe has withdrawn, disgusted, saying Kiriona can't really believe that. Kiriona says he's never recovered, and if they weren't around, she's not sure what he'd do. Ianthe says he'd drown his sorrows with "whatever or whoever comes to hand". She even saw Grand Admiral Sarpedon coming out of his room the other day.

Kiriona is mega grossed out, because Sarpedon looks so old, and John doesn't, and also because John's her father and she doesn't want to know about his affairs.Ianthe calls her all sorts of names and says the important part is, nobody's killing or releasing the thing inside the Tomb, and Kiriona isn't becoming John's new cav, and is this all just about Harrow after all? Kiriona gives her a dressing down in return, and they argue for some more paragraphs until Kiriona says John told her that, with her blood, with his blood, she was the only one who could do it.

“He loves her!” Ianthe howled. “John loves Alecto—John needs Alecto! Without that piece of goddamned fridge meat, he’s nothing—and we need to keep him that way!” The secret was told: the secret was out—the middle brain disappeared. Nona unravelled.

I won't relay the details of this one, there are too many, but Kiriona begs Harrow to keep it together, and Paul gives Pyrrha a signal, at which she shoots Ianthe, who just falls and rolls and screams. Pyrrha says she was saving that one for John, since she stole the Herald bullet from Wake. She asks if they can still save Nona, and Paul tells someone to open the door, now.

Kiriona lifts Nona's shoulders, Pyrrha has her hips. Pyrrha warns Paul to keep her arm in place as it tries to fall off. Paul has no problem rolling the rock away, and Crux warns of the traps, but Paul takes point on those, too.

Nona remembers being Alecto, walking down this corridor, with a promise from John that there was something pretty to show her.

Paul reports that the traps have been disabled already, and it was very tidy work. Nona blacks out, until she hears Kiriona urgently asking someone to take something, as Crux mourns, and someone doesn't need all of something, but needs to keep it wet.(5) Pyrrha says they need fresh thanergy to activate something.

John loved her. She was John’s cavalier. She loved John. For she so loved the world that she had given them John. For the world so loved John that she had been given. For John had so loved her that he had made her she. For John had loved the world.(6)

They argue, but Crux offers that they should take his life to do this.

(Another memory of Alecto entering this place, being bound with chains and ice.)

Crux says he's the only one who knows how to properly die for Harrow anyway. Kiriona, though in a new voice altogether,(7) says it's the only good he'd ever do Harrow, and the only thing any of the Ninth knew how to give her. Crux protests that Kiriona doesn't know what she's talking about, and Aiglamene forbids it outright, but Kiriona snarls that he wants to die, and she's wanted to do it for years.

(Another memory, John saying the thing is so beautiful, Alecto saying there are hardly any beautiful things left, and she'd like to talk to Anastasia.)

“Then do it, coward,” Crux said. “Do it—the knife is before you; the work has been done.” “Did you know I’m God’s child?” Kiriona demanded. “Did you know all the things you did—[...]—did you know I was the real, true-blue daughter of the Emperor? I want you to know that—I want you to know what I am!” “You remain—what you are,” said Crux. “A worthless millstone hung about my darling’s neck. You were born to make her suffer. You died as you lived, Gideon Nav—a disappointment to me—and to God.”(8) There was a wet, meaty sound. The old man exhaled. It was dark. Then there was light, bright, cold, electrifying, like death; and the noise of another rock—slowly—agonisingly—grinding away. And Kiriona kept saying— “It didn’t feel good … Fuck … It didn’t feel good. Why didn’t it feel good?” A rising, hysterical note. “Why didn’t it feel good? You fucking old … You hideous, cruel … you bastard … Why didn’t … Why can’t I…”(9) Glowworms, she had told John. Technically beetles, said John, but I always loved them.

Glowworms take up most of a paragraph as Harrow's body loses a foot, Paul jams it back on, and they come to the giant pool of saltwater(10) where she had knelt and taken a drink...

She moved the baby’s body apart from the others. They could not stop her. She stepped into the water: A-a-a-ah! That was good. The water was ice-cold—it froze the baby’s heart in its tracks—but she was moving her now and did not need her heart. Someone said, “Let her go. It’s gravity. Let her go,” and those voices were dim now—she could no longer distinguish them. Most human voices sounded alike, after all. They were not beautiful. The waters parted for her and it became possible to walk, crunching through the bones at the bottom. The bones at the bottom; what did they make her think of?

She and John had swum to the not quite island in the pool, he told her to lie down on the marble, and she had liked hard things to lay down on.

An echo down the tunnel, Ianthe, still screaming, drawing closer.

Alecto finds her body, just as John made it, so ugly.(11)

But there she was—and within her the child, asleep, with the strange sword.(12) The sword—her sword—her own edge had been pushed out, her swinging edge, her toy. Her plain bladed sword. And her body was chained up …

Someone howls defiance from the shore, but she looks up, sees Anastasia's skeleton, where she lay once, ready to close the door after it had opened.(13)

Her vision swam: her heart was in her throat. “Well, happy birthday to me, I guess,” sighed Nona. And Nona tumbled forward onto the icy dead breast of the Body.

=====

(1) The first person Nona hasn't thought was beautiful or at least interesting. The very first person she's ever seen and described in the text who's not beautiful and who she doesn't love instantly. And it's IANTHE! The wretched pale imitation of her sister. I cackled the first time and I'm giggling now. Also, my above-the-cut description is at this appearance. It's not exactly that AHS:Coven meme scene, but Ianthe would absolutely "Surprise, bitch" the fuck out of these pals. (2) Very evocative of the snake in the Garden of Eden. (3) We haven't had any indications that the modern Nine Houses use any form of the our-world Christian bible, but do you think Ianthe got crash courses from John, or did some reading in a Mithraeum library of some sort, to make this reference? Or, unexpected third (pun intended) option, do the Houses have their own stories about famous Pauls? (4) You may or may not recall that back in GtN, when Harrow had cocooned herself in the Facility, Gideon wondered if Harrow had been murdered, and if it would be awkward to be married to Harrow's murderer in gratitude, or if maybe they should just swap friendship bracelets instead. (5) Gotta have something for Harrow to come back to. (6) Hard to even pretend to attribute this to Nona at all. It also has a very biblical bent to the phrasing, doesn't it? (7) A new voice to Nona-Alecto. Possibly the same Gideon we knew in GtN. (8) How much of this is his genuine feeling? How much is that he knows he's dying, can probably feel that corrupted devil wound spreading, knows this is the last gift he can give the daughter he never had, or perhaps the girl who replaced the daughter he once actually had, who died to bring that miracle-abomination into the world. How much is him letting Kiriona have her vengeance if it will make her feel better? Do you think he'd still do it, knowing how she feels after, or would he have been gentler with her, like he was with young pre-Canaan Harrow? (I'm just gonna need a moment to weep before I continue, you wouldn't have noticed but I felt it worth noting.)

(9) (Oops, another weepy moment already, bear with.) John has been driven for ten thousand years to avenge someone he killed first, even if those he sought vengeance against would have done it eventually, and even if those decision makers are long, long gone. We don't know much about Wake or her life except that she had at least one sibling, at least one niece. But, I think it's fair to say that she was also driven to vengeance against the man who had been persecuting her and her ancestors for ten thousand years over an injustice that never happened and would have resolved itself almost that very long ago. But Kiriona, but our Gideon, is not her parents. She was raised in a love-hate environment, it's true, but that just means she is not the pure product of her genes. She is so much more than the sum of those parts. She puts on a front because she's been hurt so, so goddamn much, but she loves, maybe almost as much as Nona does, and her heart, her soul, her body know that vengeance isn't what she ever sought from Crux. She fantasized about killing him, even thought she regretted not doing so, but she did it because that was the only framework she'd ever been given to contextualize her feelings. I really think that this moment is setting her up for something special in AtN when she finally reckons with it all.

(10) I suspect the reason Harrow's family used a saltwater pool to share secrets ties back to this, the secret saltwater pool in the biggest half-secret of the Ninth House entire. (11) The only thing Nona-Alecto has described as ugly, as far as I can remember or tell? Is the toy-body John built without her asking, without her consent, without her input at all. His conception of beauty, such an ugly thing. (12) Harrow did have another place to escape to, when she didn't want to return her soul lest she hurt Gideon's chances. Alecto made that connection with her… and she made one back. At least, I think this is what this means, since the last time we saw Harrow, in the last chapter before the epilogue that properly belonged to Nona, she was in a coffin with Gideon's sword and titty mags. (13) Anastasia locked herself in the Tomb? John put Alecto to sleep, chained her. Why did Anastasia stay?

[wordbot]

gangle

to walk or move with or as if with a loose-jointed gait: move like a gangling person

"not [protected] from the wretched, clumsy, gangling paws of fools and children." (scar night, p.94)

[awoohowls-ffxiv]

FFXIV WRITE 2022 // Prompt #10 Channel

The Shroud’s song in the early morning hummed his senses to awareness. Although he did not sleep as normal creatures or people did, there were still resting periods to recharge himself. His fur bristled, the glistening morning dew catching the dim lighting filtering in through the crosshatch of trees of tree roots at the mouth of his hollow above his head. The light also caught the various baubles and trophies hung from those selfsame roots, those splayed rays striking off and highlighting the sharp edges of metal sunk into the walls around him.

A catalog of his collection.

Sharp, glimmering gold eyes flecked in yellow snapped open to the message. Not an immediate danger, but caution. A warning. A whisper of greetings along his hide, petting up across his ears and soothingly under the long curve of his jaw. Paws shifted in the pace-packed dirt and ratted blankets piled on the floor beside one wall of the hollow. Shoulders rolled as he first drug his front end up in a stretch, backend raising slowly after.

His body shook, dislodging the dew from his pelt with soft sounds as the droplets hit the soil walls and his tattered blankets. Ears flapped against the white-bone horns with their numerous prongs protruding up and backwards from his skull with the full-body shake. A ripple of electric sparks trailing across his fur to dry the dampened ends with the sharp tang of ozone hitting his nostrils. His tails unfurled from their coiled rope form, stretching and recoiling together in a thick, fluff-packed braid looking not unlike a normal tail. Paws flexed and pushed at soil below him as drew his claws in the dirt, stretching with a rumbling grumble before straightening.

Both ears pricked up and forward as the song in his soul quickened. The warning was louder, then, than it had been. A growl started low in his broad chest, dark fur glinting with his gold undercoat puffing around his neck.

A stray beast from that wretched tower was in HIS home. HIS world. HIS territory.

HIS hunting ground.

He shifted positions, diving headlong into the soil that parted with a sigh and a murmur of song for him. Ambient aether pulled his form inside the soil to the position atop of his hollow, emerging spotless from the very ground he’d dove into previously.

That growl in his chest bubbled up his throat, hitting the back of his tongue and an eerie, bellowing howl erupted from his mouth. A long length of it whose song and warning bounced off the bark and swaying boughs. A second howl quickly followed the first, the bray of an angry, hungry, hound on the hunt.

The song in his veins straddled his back, leaning forward along his spine to whisper an urgency.

Sharp white teeth bared as the first gurgling snarl hit his ears and his hackles full raised in anticipation and glee. Ozone smells from the lightning glittered across horn and fur alike filled the tree-thick area with the smell as the gangling beast trampled quickly towards his direction.

The beast had heard him.

It was coming.

It was not prepared for the reckoning for disturbing HIS space.

Grom did not take anyone - let alone trespassers - LIGHTLY.

It would pay dearly for its disruption.

[bananafire11]

Finally, FINALLY sat down and got these done. Concepts for Zooble, Gangle, and Kinger for my The Wretched Digital Circus au

[spirit-of-the-void]

Ebony and Ivory (V x Reader Fanfic) Chapter 16

Author’s notes: Can’t believe we’re already on Chapter 16! Thank you so much to all of you who have shown your support in every way! The messages, Kofis, fan art, everything. You guys keep me going.

Chapter 16

V approached the dancing demons with the confidence of a jaguar.  

You had seen this look in his eyes before. That crooked smirk, the tilt of his head, his observing jade gaze with a hint of amusement. Their display of devotion was almost comedic to the poet, that much you could tell. He was driven again, focus back on the mission at hand. Christ, he was a handful. You couldn’t blame him for that considering the object your group was seeking was absolutely within reach. Part of you was tempted to grab it with your tendrils, but you weren’t sure how the demons would react. They were so focused on the sword, bodies turning and writhing in rhythms you didn’t understand. How dancing for this sword would benefit them was beyond you, but it didn’t seem relevant at that moment.

They barely reacted when V approached, despite the fact that the tap of his cane was pretty damn obvious. It hit the ground in a satisfying metallic sound, the demons barely even twitching even as their bulbous eyes swirled around to look at him.

Gross, very gross. You winced, tendrils already waiting just an inch under the ground to burst out and attack when needed. The ground felt strangely...disgusting? Where you were standing the Earth was dry and cracked, like the tree was sucking every ounce of nutrition from the landscape and leaving nothing but a husk behind. But you could feel the ground growing oddly soft and moist, disgustingly so as your tendrils made their home in the dirt. You hated being able to feel what they touched, but that was beside the point. 

Focus first, make this fight short and easy so you and V could catch up with Nero. You were still worried about him heading up the tree by himself, and even more worried at the prospect of him facing Urizen on his own again. He was a cocky, hot-headed brat with a chip on his shoulder in regards to the mission. Like he had something to prove, and people with things to prove tended to do stupid shit. As for Nero, he was bouncing with dumbass energy waiting to be spent, which made for a bad combination with the whole “dead weight” thing that kept making him mad.

But that was another thing to focus on when you got to it. There were enemies to fight.

Griffon flew past you and the poet towards the demons, seeming just as cocky as his master as his strange, triple-iris gaze passed over them. You knew he was going to say something taunting before he even opened his demonic beak.

“Whoa, this is some kind of ritual shindig, isn’t it?” He caroled mockingly, tone filled with mirth as he swept around the creatures, “You guys got the dance fever for Sparda, dontcha?”

You half expected the creatures to keep ignoring the bird and your group, but they didn’t. They immediately swept around at his words, turning what looked to be golden masks attached to their flesh. Spitting and hissing, like enraged beasts. No longer dancing, it would seem. In attack mode now, their feet stepping closer in the blood all of the ground. Christ, now that you looked at it, the ground was coated in pools of the red liquid, the smell very foul and strong as you fought retching. That’s what you were feeling before, when your tendrils were traveling through the ground—part of you had thought it was somehow residual traces from the rain, but the reality was far more unpleasant. The cracked, thirsting Earth was soaked with blood like a sponge, aching for moisture of any kind.

Griffon seemed taken aback by the creature’s response to his taunting, leaning back in-air and letting out a low huff.

“Whoa, easy on the dance floor there, partner...!” He swept back around, yellow eyes sizing up the demons with wariness and bemusement.

V took a few steps forward, that smooth smirk on his own lips. He lifted his cane, pointing it up at the Devil Sword Sparda high in the area. Lodged in that building, just waiting to be taken.

“I’ll be taking that back,” V’s voice was like a purr, yet firm and decided. It left little room for argument, mouth smirking cockily as he turned to face the demons again. Lord, he was something else. He tapped that silver cane in his hand as he walked, like he was readying it for a spanking as he continued smoothly, “You know your endless worshiping isn’t making Sparda...any happier.”

The demons definitely didn’t like that, letting out reverbed shrieking as their limbs twitched and spasmed in rage. You took their distraction as your opportunity, sending your tendrils shooting up out of the ground into their legs and bodies.

Immediately, they reared back, echoing snarls and screams of rage echoing through the broken landscape. V immediately set his familiars into battle, Griffon swooping past your head with an elated cackle. You swept a hand over Shadow’s back as they ran past you, enjoying the smooth feeling of their fur before darting into the battle yourself. You had done damage to the demons, but not enough to down them all yet. Still, you wretched a few back, trying to put some distance between them and the poet pulling out his book. Christ, they were heavier than they looked, consisting of so much flesh and cracking bone.  

You concentrated, that burning pain spreading from your chest to your limbs as a huff of cold air left you. You kept by V, listening to his smooth voice as he recited another poem. You two were in sync now—as he moved, you moved. Smooth and fluid, like water as you matched his pace and watched his back. It almost felt like a dance to you, and he was the one in the lead. Through you got the feeling that was going to be hard to keep up considering the enemy type. They were fast, unpredictable with lurching movements and swift attacks. Though Shadow and Griffon seemed to be taking a lot of the agro, the bird swooping down in a flurry of lightning attacks that made the creatures snarl and spit like mad. Shadow’s morphing ability was truly amazing—watching the mighty cat turn into a flurry of spinning blades and harsh attacks was incredible, and very deadly.

You saw a few eyeballs bounce off of the demon they were attacking, almost hoping toward you and the poet as the irises rolled and spun. You immediately suspected something bad, pulling yourself and V back with your tendrils and impaling the eyes with other ones. They exploded as soon as you did, sending out shrapnel and spikes like a god damn bomb. You and the goth just barely got out of the way, so you tucked into your brain the knowledge that those should definitely not be touched. How disgusting. These demons were of a particularly gross variety, the eyeballs dripping and diseased looking and their bodies absolutely no better.  

Still, you pressed on, attacking with all the tricks you could think of to help the demonic familiars. Blood was sloshing all around as the opposing creatures scrambled and slid, trying to fight back with everything they had. Desperation fueled and frantic, they swept a gangling arm toward you, making you rear back and roll to avoid it. A bad idea, especially considering all the blood on the ground in those puddles. You were immediately coated with it in several places, the least favorite being your hair. It dripped down from your locks as you steadied yourself, making you groan with disgust and gag.

V immediately darted to your side, snapping his book closed so he could lend a hand to help you up. Your hand was slippery with blood, a bright contrast to V’s pale skin as he tugged you up to him.

“V,” You said in a complaining tone, pulling back your hand with a rueful expression. He eyed his own palm with a smirk, flicking his fingers to remove some of the thick fluid, “If I had the words to express my disgust right now, I would say them. But I don’t.”

He chuckled apologetically, smoothing some of the blood off your face with his thumb as he replied, “But you look so ravishing in red, sparrow.”

You made an obviously disgusted face, making him chuckle openly as you tried to focus on the battle again. You both were lucky Griffon and Shadow were keeping things spicy while you got up. It looked like the bird had latched onto the demon that tried to attack you, yanking it back with the help of Shadow while you situated yourself. Very kind of the bird. You decided to wait till the battle was over to clean your body, because you got the feeling you’d be rolling a few more times before the fight was done. Fuck, though. That shower you had the pleasure of getting seemed pretty damn far away now, despite your ability to cleanse yourself. It wouldn’t feel the same as that lovely sensation of being squeaky clean, skin warmed by a shower spray. You sighed, feeling wistful but knowing more chances would come. You could live with feeling gross until then.

V let out a low hum as he surveyed the battle, snapping his fingers and sending his black hair to white. A portal opened in the next instant, Nightmare rolling out with a heavy thud and landing right on one of the creatures. Yeah, you were going to assume it was dead after that. The familiar stood, looking around with that swirling eye and raising its massive arms. You immediately got ready to dodge, knowing damn well his laser attacks could easily hit you if you weren’t careful. Sure enough, he shot a beam out in the next instant, laying waste to the demons with a crackle of energy and fire. Surprisingly, V grabbed you by the waist before you could leap away, Griffon yanking you both up and depositing you on Nightmare’s back. The bird huffed a bit at the strain, but seemed able to lift you easier now. Why was that? You hadn’t gotten any lighter, that was for sure.

Regardless, you landed lightly on Nightmare with a gasp of surprise. Unsure of where to put your hands, not sure what to make of the situation. Nightmare made no indication that the change bothered him, but then again you doubted he could talk. He was big, it was like sitting up on a balcony and staring out at a bloodied battle field. You gazed down at his body in awe, hands resting on one of his shoulders as he continued his attack on the twitching and spasming demons. Christ, how to describe what Nightmare felt like? It was odd, his fluidity was constantly in motion yet oddly solid. He had mass, but also held the sensation of a swirling bundle of tar and energy. It was...amazing. V chuckled at your absolutely fascinated expression, probably already guessing how floored you were to be able to at least touch this familiar once.

He was in his usual position of pressing his cane to the creature’s back, his other hand holding your back steady. You wrapped a couple tendrils around Nightmare to hold on, hoping you weren’t hindering him in any way.  

“You two havin’ fun up there while we do all the work?” Griffon squawked as he zoomed past, sending your hair flying up a bit as you darted your gaze to him, “This ain’t no leisurely stroll in the park...!”

You let out a sigh at his accusatory tone, sending your tendrils into the ground all around you and slicing at the attacking demon’s legs, “Sorry Griffon. I just got distracted for a second.” A very long second.

The bird chuckled in response, wings flapping powerfully as he swept down past Shadow, the mighty cat releasing a mighty roar at a demon. They were near death now, you could tell that much. Which was V’s cue to bounce.

He leapt off of Nightmare, leaving you to hop up on one of the creature’s shoulders to watch him finish the demons off. Tendrils at the ready to stop any last-minute attacks—you had learned from the horseman incident. You sat down, eyeing Nightmare a bit for a moment to see if the creature minded. You saw the big eye roll over to glance at you, but the creature gave no indication of any kind. Instead he started walking forward, seeming to tread carefully as not to sway too much as he approached V killing the remaining demons. Christ, the poet was graceful. He spun, killing the first, then the next, then the next. Like a dancer, his movements were beautiful and precise. For the last creature he skewered its eye on his cane, twirling it leisurely before slamming it into the demon’s head. How the thing didn’t explode like the others, you didn’t know. Maybe it was because the demon was near death?

That, luckily, left the battle at a and blissful end. You smiled once at Nightmare, giving his head a light, tentative pat before hopping off. The familiar made no sound, but his head tilted a bit after you dislodged yourself, his body dispersing again and returning to V’s white hair, making it black once more. That was definitely fun. You felt accomplished, like you made some progress with the companion you knew the least about. Nightmare was big, with arms good for hugging so you were determined to do that at some point. You had no idea how the creature would take it, but considering you were willing to lose a hand to pet Shadow you were more than up to the danger. V definitely wouldn’t like that. But he definitely wouldn’t let one of his familiars hurt you either.

Griffon landed on your shoulders, shaking out his feathers as he too watched Nightmare take his leave for the time being. He seemed amused.

“Are you seriously that determined to win over all of us?” He huffed, beak brushing the side of your face as he spoke, "You do realize not everyone needs to be your friend, right?"

You shrugged, giving his head a light scratch. He immediately let out a relaxed trill, leaning into the touch. Like putty in your hands, he talked big but he was secretly aching for affection too.

“Never stopped me before,” You replied to him, tone leaving zero room for argument, “So it’s not going to stop me now. I mean, it worked with you, didn’t it?”

Griffon let out a chuckle, opening one eye lazily to look at you, “Are you implying that I’m easy?”

You smiled, “Nope. Just saying I’m happy you’re my friend.”

“Awww, shit. You trying to butter me up, toots? It’s working.” Griffon puffed out his feathers proudly, his eyes watching as V started toward the bundle of Qliphoth blood he seemed determined to destroy.

You took the time to clean the blood and muck off of you, content in watching V’s shoulders roll as he lifted his cane, stabbing it into the bundle of red flesh with a low grunt of exertion. He seemed...very tired, struggling a bit today. You were noticing it especially so after this fight. He sounded out of breath just from doing this simple task, which wasn’t a good sign. You weren’t going to wait to give him energy this time, since he clearly wasn’t going to ask for it. But before you could summon the tendrils, he yanked his cane back from the roots, stumbling a bit and staring up at the building. A low rumble began to echo as the Qliphoth roots started to shatter, bringing most of the structure down with it. A little too close for comfort. Reckless, as always. You took several steps back, grabbing V by his collar and making him do the same. It seemed to amuse him a bit in his fatigue.

The dome building crumbled down as well, sending the Devil Sword Sparda skidding across the dirt and blood. Up close...it was an ugly thing. With bones and flesh and an eye on the spine, like someone had built it from the body of a demon. It looked like a hefty boy, the blade almost as long as your body. That was a lot of steel for someone to swing around in a fight, it would definitely take a lot of strength to wield. And judging by the demonic side of it, that was where the “strength of mind” thing came in. A weird sensation traveled up your spine, a mingling sensation of uneasiness and discomfort. You could tell this blade belonged to something powerful and revered, and you definitely couldn’t imagine V lugging it around. You loved the man, you really did, but he was a twig.  

You still didn’t know why he was so sick.

You didn’t get the chance to dwell on that thought for long, especially since V was already making his way to the sword.  

You opened your mouth to try and say something to him, but he had that look in his eye, the one that told you he was incredibly intent. He gazed at the sword, lips parted in a smile as he panted a bit. He let his cane clatter to the ground, hands reaching out to grab the handle of the blade before you could stop him. You took a couple steps toward him, worry in your eyes as you watched him struggle to lift the mighty blade. And struggle he did. He grunted in strain, arms barely able to lift it even an inch. You and Griffon exchanged a worried look, the bird launching from your shoulders to hover anxiously around his master. You thought V knew his limits but...he still seemed determined to try and carry the thing. Why was that? You could see a hint of frustration there, like...like he had something to prove.  

You came closer, putting a hand on his shoulder and gently stroking it over some of his tattoos. You could feel the muscles in his arm clenching with the struggle of holding it, his breaths short and quick.

“You’ve done enough...!” You said in a worried tone, not liking seeing him push himself this hard, “Please don’t strain yourself, V.”

He seemed to find reason in your words. You felt his muscles relax, the poet sighing lightly as he gave up and let the blade hit the ground again. But his fingers still gripped the handle, holding onto it like it was a life preserver. So tightly. His knuckles were white, showing the strain even that had on him.  

“It seems this sword is still too strong for me.” He breathed simply, eyes still cast down at the sword. He was smirking, but it was more akin to bitterness now, his chest risking as the strain probably started registering on his already-weakened body.

Griffon let out a low, bird-like sound, flapping his wings and circling V as the poet caught his breath, “So close though, so close! You’ve got a lot of heart, kid, you really do! But you’re a bit of a sissy in the strength department,” He let out a bit of a laugh, swooping by with a hastily added, “Hey, hey. No offense, uh, you know.”

You sighed lightly at the bird’s words, pressing a light kiss to V’s cheek as a means of comfort. You saw him close his eyes, expression relaxing a bit as he leaned into your touch. You wished you could do more, but there was so much about all of this that you did not understand.  

“You did your best,” You said softly, offering an encouraging smile, “We will figure things out.”

He let out a slow breath at that, opening up his eyes to look back down at the sword.

“That kid, Nero...He has the strength.” He breathed, tone sounding very decided.

It made you frown a bit, crouching down by the sword to size it up. V was not one to budge on things he was certain about, that was for sure. Still putting all his hope on Nero, it would seem, a thought that made you a bit uneasy. Betting all your chips on one card seemed like a very bad idea, one that would lead to disappointment in most cases. Plus, Nero was far ahead of your group, and you couldn’t see V lugging this thing around for any amount of time. It was heavy, lunky, and you didn’t know if your tendrils could manage.

“Let me take care of the sword for now,” You hummed, summoning said tendrils to wrap them around the blade, “Maybe we can call Nico along the way and see if she will take us to—”

But you didn’t get to finish your sentence.  

The instant your tendrils touched the blade it sent a burst of energy out at you, sending you flying away with a sharp cry of alarm. Painful, paralyzing, and definitely demonic in origin. It made your Void power spike in rage and rejection, sending two different types of agony bouncing around your skull and limbs.

You tumbled, barely managing to not fall off the cliff due to Griffon and Shadow darting over to stop your momentum. Christ, what the hell was that? It felt like you had been tased, tendrils falling limply to the ground as you landed--Griffon’s talons latched onto you, Shadow’s teeth catching your boot. You thought you heard V shout your name in alarm, followed by the sound of the sword hitting the ground. But there was a buzzing in your head, one that was very loud over everything else.  

And there was a voice, one you knew only you could hear. It hissed in your head, deep and threatening as you tried to get your bearings.

You stink of whale oil and that creature lurking in the deep, It snarled, Your filthy hands are not welcome to touching what once belonged to the mighty Sparda..!

Well. Warning heard and received. Honestly? You weren’t shocked.

No more touching the sword, you knew that much. This was definitely a case of an energy type not liking the void, but it made you wonder. Did demons themselves feel unsettled but the Void naturally, or was this something left behind from Sparda? Because if that was the case, that meant the legendary demon had met your Deity, and it wasn’t on the friendliest terms. You weren’t surprised, but you also weren’t happy about it.

Regardless, you sat up, pressing a hand to your temple as Griffon squawked loudly in alarm, right in your ear. Asking if you were okay, asking if you could hear him. You could, but that sensation needed to fade before he got his answer. It had been a while since you had been so thoroughly smacked by an opposing energy type—Sparda had to be a very hefty boy, that was for sure.

But shockingly the more upsetting thing was that it had forced V to push himself more in his fatigue, the poet rushing to your side in an instant. You felt V grip your face, pulling you up gently and anxiously smoothing the hair away. His hands were shaking, you could tell that much. Precious boy, his concern was definitely sweet. You blinked up at him, seeing fear and worry in his expression as he looked you over, repeating your name.  

“Y/N...! Are you alright?!” He asked, voice becoming louder as the sensation faded. You blinked again, trying to shake the dizziness and letting him wrap his arms around you.

“Ow...” You muttered, letting out a light groan as you summoned your tendrils back, “Well...that wasn’t fun.”

V tilted your head up, crouching in front of you and pulling you into his lap.

“Are you alright?” He repeated, tone breathy and filled with concern, “Are you hurt?”

You let out a low hum, resting your head on his shoulder and letting yourself relax, “I mean it didn’t feel good, but I’m fine now.”

Fine was a loose term, but you were getting better. There was still lingering numbness in your hands and feet, but the dizziness was now dispersed. It felt a little immature, but you wanted to stick your tongue out at the Devil Sword for its harsh actions. Way to smack you first and ask questions later—you worked for your Deity, sure, but it was impolite to attack you without at least questioning your motives. Those being your aching desire to just help the goth in sandals.

You let out a light laugh at your own train of thought, eyeing the sword a bit and adding in a low murmur, “Told you my Deity doesn’t play well with others. The sword did not like me, and gave me a little love tap to warn me away.”

“I’d hardly call that a love tap!” Griffon squawked angrily, landing next to you and V and letting his gaze travel over you, checking for wounds you assumed, “You almost went flying off the fucking cliff...!”

You shrugged, “You caught me, didn’t you?”

“That isn’t the issue here...!”

Shadow let out a low growl, flicking their ears as the cat turned away and prowled the cliff side. You smiled ruefully, hearing V’s relieved sigh in your ear as the poet pulled back.

“No more handling the sword for you,” He murmured, grasping your chin lightly with those slender fingers so he could put you into a kiss. You accepted it gratefully, savoring the warm feeling of his lips pressing to yours, “Under no circumstances are you to touch it.”

You let out a fake sigh, smiling innocently when he pulled back, “But what if I need to be launched somewhere? Could use it as a glorified catapult.”

“...Y/N.” V’s low, displeased tone only added to your amusement, that look in his jade eyes making your heart thud like a caged bird again. He gazed at you with a bit of exasperation, mingled with unwilling amusement at your light teasing. Was that adoration? It sure looked like it.

You couldn’t help yourself—you leaned forward again, capturing his full lips in kiss. He grunted lightly at your actions, but eagerly returned the favor, one hand cupping the back of your head to pull you in more. For a moment, you forgot where you were and who was there. Tongue slipping past his parted lips briefly, stroking along his and making a tingle of arousal travel down your spine. Dangerous, you shouldn’t be doing that. You almost moaned, feeling his fingers thread with your locks and tug a bit. Maybe something about the danger made you feel a bit bolder, mind still a bit frazzled from the attack the sword landed on you? At least, that’s what you told yourself.

You thought It would be Griffon’s complaining that would jar you back, especially considering that he was hovering nearby and watching. There was definitely an exasperated groan rising in his throat, but it was cut off by the sound of Shadow’s loud roar.

You and V broke away, you trying to hide how flustered you were as you turned to look at the cat. V seemed a little hot around the collar as well, but he recovered quickly once you both noticed Shadow looking over the edge of the cliff side.

“It speaks...!” Griffon said in a mocking, hushed tone of awe, seeming relieved that he didn’t have to be the one to cut off your public display of affection. He swooped over to the cliff, you using your tendrils to pull you and V to your feet. So much for that kiss, but in a way that was for the best. There was still so much to do, so much ground to cover. You exchanged a soft look with him, the poet stroking his hand over your cheek before you turned away.

You heard Griffon suck in a sharp breath before you even looked over the edge of the cliff, trying to see what had him so shocked.

This side of the ledge had land close enough below to see, a drop you could probably make if you were careful. Down there were crumbled statues, and what looked to be...the body of a man? You blinked, eyes widening as you crouched down to get a better look. Sure enough, there was someone down there. Almost cradled in the arms of a creepy looking statue, covered in blood and body slumped in an obvious display of unconsciousness. Who in the hell was that? You knew human survivors were heavily unlikely, in fact it was downright impossible. Unless he was already dead down there, but at this point what the hell would anyone be doing here, this close to the Qliphoth? It made no sense. Then again, you got your answer right away when you heard V suck in a sharp breath next to you.

He stared down at the man with burning eyes, his expression stuck somewhere between shock, relief, and... what was that emotion? Almost like bitter amusement.  

“...Dante.”

You blinked in shock at his low tone, jerking your gaze back down to the man. That was Dante? You weren’t sure what you expected of a legendary demon hunter, but this... wasn’t it. He looked like he hadn’t shaved in a while, which made sense for how long he was missing.  But he wore a simple leather jacket, a faded v-neck and pants. Dressed like every average guy who rode a motorcycle that you had ever met. He also vaguely reminded you of uncles you saw in sitcoms. He was drenched in blood, but you were fairly certain he had white hair just like Nero did. In fact...you blinked, wishing you could get a closer look at the infamous man you all had been searching for. Nothing was stopping you, right?

You summoned your Void energy, making another slide for you and your group to get down and taking a quick hop onto it.  V didn’t come right away, turning away to most likely retrieve the devil sword. That was to be expected, but it still made you super wary to be around now. You would trust Griffon and Shadow enough to make sure V got down safely, since there was no way in hell your tendrils could touch the weapon that sent you flying moments before.

You landed on the ground with a low thud, rushing to wrap your ability around the devil hunter, pulling him off the statue as gingerly as you could. Head elevated, body steady, just in case he was injured. Christ, how long had he been there? And how had he survived a whole freaking month? He was pretty heavy too, a hefty lad to say the least—made of muscle. You set him down on the ground just as V landed down, riding on Nightmare’s back. The thud shook the ground, but you were used to that.

You looked over the demon hunter for damage, but...you saw no visible wounds. You put an ear to his chest, but still heard a heartbeat and breathing. Holy shit, he was definitely alive.

“This is Dante...?” You asked the group in a disbelieving tone, settling his body on the ground as gently as you could, “He looks...different from what I imagined?”

Griffon landed on the ground next to you, staring at the demon hunter with a mix of shock and awe as V trudged closer with the demon sword in tow.  

“I don’t even have the words,” Griffon sounded absolutely flabbergasted, staring at the unconscious man aghast, “I--He’s alive, he’s alive!”

He let out a light chortle, closer to a shocked laugh. You were in heavy agreement. How was he not dead just sitting out in the open, vulnerable and exposed like he was? It was ridiculous.You inspected him a bit, noting mentally that he looked pretty similar to Nero, just with longer hair.

V looked just as surprised as you all, standing nearby and holding the hilt of the Devil Sword as he muttered incredulously, "The Devil Sword Sparda was concealing Dante’s presence.”

“How does one friggin’ guy have so much luck, huh?” Griffon commented off-handedly, clucking his tongue as his head tilted back and forth in a very bird-like way.

You doubted luck was the answer. It made sense, especially considering the others telling you how Dante wielded the sword. You didn’t really know what to do in that moment, looking around the area while Griffon and the others stared at the unconscious man. You slid your tendrils off of Dante, not wanting to put energy into him yet. He was apparently half demon himself, so you weren't sure how he would take the Void’s power, especially considering how the sword reacted to you. The risk of making him worse after an apparent month-long coma was too much to handle at that moment. V was, luckily, human, so he was able to take the energy and use it accordingly. You had yet to test in on someone with demonic blood, so at this moment you were unsure of how to proceed. Could you carry Dante back to Nico’s van? Maybe, but he would need to see a doctor if he wouldn’t wake up.

You took a few steps closer to the statue he had collapsed on, eyeing it with intrigue at its gothic design. It looked like it belonged in a cemetery—how ironic that the devil hunter landed there. How did he not break any bones landing from a fall that high, assuming that he fell from the tree? You doubted Urizen sent demons down to carry him and deposit him ceremoniously on a dramatic stone statue. No...he would have been killed on the spot if such a powerful demon had a hand in this.

You weren’t really listening to the others behind you as you pondered the notion, not paying attention. That was, not until you heard the sound of V’s ragged breathing, and of his cane clattering to the ground.

“Uhhh...V?” Griffon squawked nervously, his tone making a shiver travel down your spine, “No no no, get a grip on yourself now, c’mon!”

You immediately turned, eyes widening at the sight of your usually calm poet. Now...not so calm.

“If only you could defeat Urizen...” He rasped, using a voice that was a far cry from the soft tones he used with you. His eyes were so sharp, head downcast and shoulders hunched, “If only...no.”

What the hell was he doing?

“V? No no no...” Griffon squawked in clear alarm, raising his feathery wings and flapping them a few times as he tried to get V's attention.

He was walking toward Dante, dragging the Devil Sword Sparda with him. You had never seen him wear a look like that before, not in all the time you knew him. Bitterness mixed with anger, mixed with a thousand other things you didn’t understand. His gait, that dark look in his eye, the sword tightly in his grasp...there was no way. There was no way he was about to do what his body language said he was going to do. Your heart immediately began to pound, time and everything seeming to slow a bit in that moment as you decided you weren’t going to wait and see if you were right. It didn’t make sense, but nothing ever did on these missions. You tried to move your feet to launch yourself and stop the poet, tried to activate your tendrils to grab him. but something stopped you. Something that had never happened before.

Your own power flared on you.

The foresight burst in your stomach like a bomb of acid, screaming to life and paralyzing you in place. Agonizing, burning, clawing at your insides like a creature seeking to escape from you. It made bile rise in your throat, threatening to make you retch as you doubled over. What the fuck was that?! In all your years of doing a mission you had never felt a sensation like that, never felt the foresight retaliate against you for any action. But the message was there, plain and clear in your mind as you lifted your spinning head, mouth opened in a shout of alarm and denial as you watched V reach the devil hunter, oblivious to you, oblivious to the world as he stared down with malice. Dante was still unconscious, unaware of anything that was happening, or about to happen.

You wanted to move. Why couldn’t you move?!

You cannot interfere. Your Foresight, screaming in your ears, filled with a thousand whispers of the void, This is an action you cannot forfeit.

An unchangeable action, one you weren’t allowed to stop. But why?

“If only you never existed,” V’s voice was dripping with muted anger, growing louder and louder as he did exactly what you feared. He lifted the Devil Sword, arms straining as he positioned it right over Dante’s head, “Then I...!”

You saw Griffon snap a panicked look at you, but you knew what he saw. Your eyes were black now as you fought this sensation, fought your own power’s grip on you. You couldn't breathe, you couldn't think. You were bound.

Stop him...!

You cannot. Interfere.

“Don’t do it V!” Griffon screeched helplessly, flapping his wings wildly, “No no NO!”

What is happening?

You were prone, helpless and watching in panic as V sent the Devil Sword down toward Dante’s head.

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18136193/chapters/43720067

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

[shizibande]

“ It’s you. You’re it. You’re the one I want. ”slightly drunk ikkaku confessing to pb tho

shang hasn’t been h o m e in so long that he’d almost forgotten the smell — the warm, iron-scented barracks a pleasant reminder of where he’d grown up. there’s a sort of guilt in him, when he’s aggressively invited for drinks by ikkaku, wrangled into his arms like a long-lost little brother who’d ran away from home, but he hasn’t smiled this hard in months. and maybe its the sake, poured neatly into cups on the barracks stairs, just the two of them, that has shang laughing so hard he’s all teeth and all comebacks, but he’s finally feeling like himself again after a while. 

it’s good, and he can a l m o s t ignore the stabbing in his gut at being so close to ikkaku, at smelling the soap he’d used earlier, at hearing him s p e a k, with so much voracity and joy that shang knows he brought him. it should feel good. and it does. it does, until ikkaku’s careless, barked laughter turns into quiet contemplation, the echoes of his laughter trailing off until he’s piecing words together that shang quite comprehend. 

until he does.

bronze eyes go w i d e, some youthful shock and awe spreading ‘cross his face. he isn’t exactly sober either, by most definitions, a warm buzz spreading through his head, but he isn’t drunk enough to be imagining things. no… oh no, he’d heard correctly, as Ikkaku spoke those three fragmented sentences into the space between his knees, now wringing his wrists in some small measure of certain uncertainty ; craning his neck and turning his chin skyward as a narrow, draconian gaze flickers to shang’s face with some fierce determination. resolution. emphatic seriousness that makes shang’s stomach t w i s t. 

his mouth opens and closes, whatever words he’d meant to say getting stuck in his throat ; makes him want to gag, because if there’s ever been a cruel joke played on him, this would be the worst. his eyes search ikkaku’s face for any inkling, any modicum of a smile, a grin, an ‘ oh my god, you fell for it ’ written on his chiseled features and there’s none. the gaze the dragon wears, in all of its unfocused seriousness, was s o f t — soft in a way shang isn’t used to seeing. 

it would be a lie, though, should he say he’d never seen it — a mischievous peer through lashes during their spars, a warm, telling side-eye — rather, he had elected to ignore whenever that sort of gaze was thrown his way, because he had to have been imagining it… 

“ p l e a s e ”     and it takes a moment for shang to realize, but he actually has said something, a singular word that wrenches up from his gut in a wretched, gravelled whisper. and he laughs, a broken little noise, forceful in an attempt at breaking tension, only to make it worse. he can feel his heart hammering in his chest. wonders if ikkaku can, too…     

shang wrings his own hands so hard he feels his knuckles crack, and scarcely holds back a whimper at the pain under his ribs. although he’s filled out, and grown into the long and gangling limbs, shang is still young, his adulthood fresh on his skin. doesn’t quite know what to do with the limbs he’s grown into and so he brings them closer to himself in some uncharacteristic display of uncertainty.

if he would ever guess what heartbreak feels like, he would liken it to this — the man you love saying beautiful things he won’t remember in the morning.

“   you’re drunk, ‘kaku… you don’t —…   ”    he pauses, makes a garbled sigh and rubs his face in his hands.    “   don’t… say things you don’t mean… that’s…   ”   and he l a u g h s, but its w e t, and he realizes much to late that it’s tinted with the beginnings of tears.   “   that’s just fuckin’ mean.   ”

[prevestitor-blog]

Steam rises from the water around him and yet the bath fails to imbue him with any warmth. Not even the porcelain under his hands is not nearly as cold as he is. Yet what else but this should be expected of the undead? He is cursed.

The hands of another take to his ivory curls. Trimmed nails trail across his scalp. He can feel their strong arms glance his angular shoulders. By comparison his body is a gangling wretched thing, twisted like his legend, a shadow of the glory he once knew. 

Slivers of water scale his brow, escaping his hairline. 

                    Little by little more of them trace the contours of his face.

❛ I do not show up in mirrors, ❜ he laments as if he is without suspicion for his present company,  ❛ The assistance of another is therefore always welcome... Moreover, there is nostalgia to be had. ❜ 

He was a king: adored, feared, doted on. How he yearned for those better times.

[floating-city-of-nem]

Refusal

A cold Thanalan dusk painted its colours across the sky, orange, violets and bloody scarlet. It was Fiona’s favourite time of day: The dying of the last embers of sunlight, and yet not wholly given to the freezing darkness of the desert night. 

And she aimed to enjoy it, the slender half-elezen sitting crosslegged on a stone in the midst of Soot Creek. The time of night, that pristine moment, where she could clear her mind most of all the things that ever pressed upon it. No heartbeat, no breath, no press of crowds, no unending noise, just the peace of flowing water and the distant splash of the orobon. Clad lightly, workout clothes, the fair Fiona too indulged in the one time of day where she did not need cover up for fear of burning alive. She was at peace, no longer even ruminating over the words in Lucerna’s cafe but bells previous.

We have heard you, sweet Children. We have heard you call out to Us. We have heard you scream and cry.

The words spoiled her peace, leaving her with a grimace and with one pale blue eye flitting open, searching, to her surrounds.

We know how it must frighten you. Frightened, perhaps, might have described her a turn ago. But she’d seen too much to find even this a cause for fear. So often had strange voices intruded upon her, begging her heed.

 Such vivid dreams – such lies you spin for yourselves, assuming you are safe within their webs.

Dreams. Fiona had long taken heed of the import of dreams, that reflection of the realms beyond she suspected they were. That the voice continued on and on only left the Ishgardian with teeth bared. How dare.

We were here before. 

Many things were. And then they were not. 

We will be here again. And We desire you to be with Us always. A tired promise. Fiona’s lip twitched in disdain as she rose, smooth and graceful despite her gangling and wearied form.

For We are the Contagion, the Eater of Dreams, the Terror that Walketh in the Darkness. And Our Reckoning comes.

At the least it gave a name amidst the self-aggrandizing melodrama, Fiona half-sneered to herself. Every wicked force that had assailed her since arriving in Eorzea suddenly lost its terror the moment it named itself. A plague, a dream-eater, and a terror? This was nothing new to her. And to the whispers, she snarled, one word that she had always wanted to say to every wretched monster she’d faced, every fiend, every madman, every abomination. “Piss off.” Fiona left the creek with a few nimble leaps from stepping-stone to stepping-stone and stalked off under the painted sky. She had preparations to make. Horrors wouldn’t kill themselves.

@the-faceless-ffxiv

[mystisnykoto]

Side Story #6: Toads and Trees

A younger and still miqo'te Ruri sat deep within the Black Shroud, staring across a small lake with several glowing bulbs rising up from it. The lights glowed with a dreamlike aura as they floated out from the water. It was a favorite spot for her to escape to when other matters in life grew to be too much. She splashed lightly at the water with her feet as she rocked back and forth. She quickly popped up to her feet, splashing water about as she started to dance along the shore. Her clothes floated as she twirled and spun. Her plain dress dipped into the water, flinging droplets of water with each spin. She started to hum a soft tune to herself, not able to hear the rustling in the nearby bushes. Ruri spun, catching a quick glance of the giant toad crawling out of the shrubs. She staggered back and fell to her rear in the water. She scrambled as the toad stomped closer. It neared the edge of the water, a mere 6 fulms away. The toad looked gangling, seeing Ruri as the nearest source of possible food.

“AAAHH! GET AWAY!” Ruri screamed as she scrambled, grabbing hold of a large rock, preparing to throw it at the toad. The toad lashed it's tongue out and grabbed onto Ruri's foot. Ruri wretched at the feeling of the sticky and slimy tongue on her foot. She was tugged forward slightly, as Ruri leaned forward and smashed the rock against the tongue. The toad let her free as Ruri jumped to her feet, sloshing through the water toward a fallen tree. Ruri scooped up a sturdy branch, holding it as a spear as the toad approached. She swatted and stabbed at the toad, jabbing at it a few times on the head before catching it in the eye. The toad stumbled back, slowly retreating as Ruri shouted at it, doing her best to further intimidate the beast. The toad turned and fled, as a crew of adventurers entered the grove.

“We heard screaming!” shouted the hyur leading the group. He spied Ruri holding the branch, as Ruri fell to her knees. The hyur rushed over to check on Ruri. “Miss, are you alright?”

“Y-yeah...” Ruri responded, clearly shaken by the ordeal. She still held tight to the branch, blood from the toad's eye coating the far end of the improvised weapon. Ruri, bit lightly to her lip as a sense of dread washed over her.

“Do you need help getting back to the city? You're out quite far on your own,” the hyur spoke as one of the elezen in the group called out.

“Leave her!” he shouted as he swiped his ivory hair from his eyes. “She's got the wrath on 'er! I don't want the shite tainting me!” Ruri began to worry more as she let go of the branch. She covered her face, worried at what may come from her actions. “The thing attacked 'er first, she's had the wrath more'n just today!”

“Then we help her cleanse it,” responded the hyur as the elezen scoffed and wandered off. “Pay him no mind, you did well for yourself on your own.” He extended a hand to Ruri, helping her to her feet. “You look untrained, but I'm certain a few friends in our group would be move than happy to help you train.” Ruri nodded and smiled as she steadied on her feet. The hyur handed a spear from his back over to Ruri. “My name is Kung. Here, give this a couple pokes, see how it feels for you.”

Ruri nodded, gripping the weapon tightly, thrusting it forward with all her might. As her arms snapped to full draw, her sight darkened. Flames and smoke surrounded her as a Garlean sat impaled upon the end of her spear. Sweat dripped from her brow as the enemy soldier looked into her eyes. Blood leaked from his mouth as he collapsed, ripping the spear from Ruri's grasp. She looked to her hands, slick with blood as several small cuts and scrapes covered her arms, lightly obscured under a thick coating of dirt and dust. Ruri started to panic, watching as her friend Kung began to crawl near her. Blood poured from a wound to his gut, as he rolled to his back.

“Don't give up... R-Ruri! Don't ever give up! Keep fighting and pushing f-forward... f-for your friends!” Kung coughed and smiled, his eyes closing as Ruri looked around, seeing all of her fallen friends, the only one remaining from her squad. She looked up, as Dalamud hatched open. A massive dragon sat inside the flames as the blastwave knocked Ruri to her feet.  She staggered back to her feet, her eyes never leaving the monster in the sky.

“What in the Hells is THAT!” screamed out a voice from not far off. Ruri looked towards the voice, seeing a brown-haired miqo'te wielding a massive axe trying to stand to her feet as a shard from Dalamud's shell landed near her and sundered the ground. A massive cave opened a few yalms before Ruri, as a white light surrounded her feet and swirled over her body. Tears streamed from her eyes as she looked back to the monster in the sky, a ball of fire hovering above it.

“I-I won't... I won't give up...” Ruri spoke out, as her body vanished in a pillar of light.

                                                                                                     Ruri stirred and rolled over on her bed, smiling as she saw Iris asleep next to her. She snuggled in close to her wife, her eyes wet with tears. 

“Just a dream...”

(First Chapter)     (Previous Chapter)     (Next Chapter)

(Into the Machine pt. 1)

[paddy-garcia]

Perpetual prison blues

“You get the same amount of time as usual, sir”

“I know, it’s the same as always”

I saunter down the hallway, half blinded by the vicious light parading off each beige wall most unceremoniously. The brickwork is shoddy. Cracks of significance appear at every given opportunity and the lazy paint that’s been thrown over to doll up this forlorn wall only acts to emphasise the poor quality of labour. The pathway seems ever so slightly longer than usual today. Each step that additional act of effort. Like sleeping to the heartbroken, that which I action with minimal effort now requires an assiduous encouragement of mind and limb. It’s because I don’t wish to see what is waiting for me. I digress from these visits as often as possible. They’re not boring but I wish they were. They’re taxing, morbid, emotive and frankly fucking unpleasant. But it is of course inevitable and must be met with composure, as these things ought to be. I approach the first cell. 

The gritty bars appear to my left and I inhale deeply to examine what’s on the other side. And there he is, just as he always is. An apoplectic man pacing from left to right in a terrifyingly precise rhythm. The cadence to his aggressive walking was striking.  He would put his cigarette out angrily after 20 paces and 3 puffs, before then lighting another (the original being discarded to a large pile beside his bed). Occasionally, he would mutter the same phrase in hushed but plenty audible tones “Fool, you damn fool. Stupid now and stupid then”. There is very little for me to gain by attempting conversation here. This cell never changes, though the motivation for his pacing does change with time. There is always a reason for rage 

Cell number 2. The cells aren’t directly opposite each other; they zigzag down the corridor so as to keep each inhabitant as ostracised as possible. In here, I find The Weeping Man. When his cell is too hot, he weeps. When it is too cold, he weeps. When it is neither, he weeps still - for there must be a reason to weep that he isn’t yet aware of. Exclusively, he weeps for himself and no others. Which in itself is the only great tragedy he has. This is sadly another cell where conversation is futile. Still, I like to observe The Weeping Man from time to time. It is important that he is indulged. Lord knows what he would do otherwise. Just viewing is enough; he knows when eyes are set upon him. It’s one of his greatest tricks. His oily hands cover his wretched little face but the eye occasionally appears through the gaps between his gangling fingers. Weep some more today, enjoy it whilst you can. Time to move on. 

“Ahhhh, here he is. The big soulless man of freedom come to parade himself around” this is going to be an absolute chore. The owner of this cell is trouble. I wish him the best for now but he doesn’t want to know because it’s my fault he “feels like fucking dross” and that he “should never have paid attention to” me. He’s an individual of the heart, an emblem of passion. Whereas I am more logically focused, a man of the mind. “I should have done what I wanted, I wouldn’t have been in this mangy fucking room with no escape, no windows just walls and the occasional drop in from you, you fucking idiot. Mr intelligence doesn’t know a god damn thing about happiness”

“Now, that’s unfair. You wanted my counsel and I offered it - you’re too visceral. You can’t hold everyone accountable other than yourself, it’s insane. I told you the right thing to do, I didn’t promise you paradise”

“Ahhhhh will you give over, you knew what would happen. I asked to gain nothing but ended up with less. Then I had to drive the knife into myself all the deeper. It started to heal and then it dawns on me the wound may be opened again another time. Where was that advice eh? So selective is your advice! But you’re untouchable out there on the big great outside; you’re a solid oak floor that won’t be broken but I, I am the flammable material hidden underneath casually burning away at an infernal rate, but it’s fine so long as the floor doesn’t cave in! God forbid and no doubt God forgave! We are all here because of you, for one reason or another. Ask everyone to put their hands up if they want to do and you’ll see a thousand moribund hands cascading toward you. You think too damn much, whereas we all suffer in here. Your thoughts have consequences. For every second of sleep you gain, I lose another. For every hot shower you take, I become filthier. Your gains are my losses.”and more articulate tirades like this. He was becoming more vexed by the moment. We betray ourselves even when opening the right door, as what is closed remains closed. Onto the next one. 

Just the same carcass remains from last time. Decaying and grey. The cell stinks of booze but then it always has done. It’s a real shame. The next cell along is empty. 

Onto the next one. And the next. There is always another cell, so it seems.

My eyes meet his, my sight creeping between the iron bars. The only agreeable man here. So passive, so unassuming in his way. The only one not incandescent with rage but so acceptingly ignorant. I greet him and wish him well. He responds positively; he always does. He accepts his sadness. Oh yes, he has sadness. But the inexorable suffering is known to him and he just lets it rain over him, accepting and ignorant. He’s happy for his heartache, for it means he has felt. He’s happy for the wome(a)n that he has lost, for he knows that he has held one. He’s happy for the ghoul that holds her ghostly hand when she haunts his cell at night, for his hand merely passes through hers. He is bitterly broken and that’s absolutely fine - he will just lay down and die with some level of pleasure when the time comes, because that’s just how he is. He’s never leaving this cell; he’ll die here. And that’s just fine, to his mind.

Last cell. It is unlocked and slightly ajar. This cell always used to be locked and it was once opened, only once. Something had to be released and it duly was. That something caused untold havoc. It built up vast walls before tearing them down, launching bricks like rancid confetti across the lands. A whirlwind plague of fucking fire was cast down upon the villages it once built. It was god. It was the devil. It was the creator. It was the destroyer. It was the great punishing happiness. It was the redeeming sadness. It was repent. It was punishment. I’ve closed this cell door, never to open it again.

I sign the papers to confirm my visit is over. Another prison trip done. The prison guard smiles and nods as I leave.

“Take care of all of my children, won’t you”