It had been the first decade passing that made Cloud think that something wasn't quite right. He'd never been good at facing things, least of all his own face in the mirror.
At thirty-something, Cloud was pretty sure he shouldn't be staring into the face of the same Nineteen-year-old cadet he had been when all of this had begun. Maybe it was impossible to perceive aging on your own face, or something like that. Hell, maybe it had something to do with the mountains of identity related trauma he had. He really, desperately hoped that that was the case.
That same year, Vincent laid to rest the last surviving remnants of Deepground with something of a heavy heart. The things that ShinRa did to the human body had wildly varying effects. He considered his own lengthened, possibly endless, lifespan the extremely unluckiest end of the spectrum. He had selfishly thought that perhaps the survivors of Deepground might have the same misfortune but today had proved there would be no such luck. He turned away from the lonely little makeshift graveyard in the forest of the ancients that he'd been tending for years now, and brushed the dirt from his hands.
Cloud went about business as usual, happy to take the most dangerous jobs that cropped up in Edge for a modest cut of the pay-- or none at all. He wasn't just a courier, but a proxy-- something that he found a good deal of meaning in. The same as always-- no matter how many times he got crushed or stabbed or grabbed in the jaws of a great mako-mutated beast, he survived. Tifa had begun to look at him strangely, with some sort of distant, haunted expression that he couldn't place. Marlene was gearing up to take over the bar, and Denzel could almost keep up with Cloud-- almost.
Vincent still loved his solitude, but he kept closer to those he cared for. Time was short. He knew you could sleep it away, if you tried hard enough-- and there was too much to lose. It was twenty years since meteor-fall when he really noticed the anomaly when he went to speak with Cloud. He had thought it could happen, but hadn't thought fate or-- their personal goddess, would be that cruel. Vincent sat in the city of the Ancients, alone in the sea-salt air and prayed. He begged Her, begged Her to not put Cloud through what he had to live with for years-- and a yawning, empty future spread out before him. He had the distinct flash of a vivid memory, of Aerith laughing and mocking him-- not entirely kindly.
Then stop moping about it. If you're both stuck, then don't you want to make it less awful for him, too?
Nanaki was the only one not sobered by the news. It was hard for the others to wrap their heads around. Cid looked positively envious. Cloud couldn't stop staring at Barret's head of silver hair. He had joked about it, hoping he wasn't showing late signs of Jenova genes or something. For the others, the truth meant something strange and unknowable but it wouldn't bother them-- they wouldn't care once they were dead. For Nanaki it meant relief at not living the eons without a friend or two. Saying the words made it more and painfully real. Cloud wasn't aging, and likely wouldn't any time soon.
That was when Vincent moved back to Edge permanently and let Cloud and the others help him get a small apartment of his own-- he didn't want anything more. He began to learn how to live normally again albeit a bit stubbornly. He spent the days helping Cloud with work, and the evenings in quiet, rapt conversation with him trying to untangle the existential dread that was surely settling over him. Vincent himself had never had the chance to feel it creep up. He was simply thrust forward into the reality of it.
A few months into this shift, Vincent found Tifa on his doorstep, her mahogany hair streaked with white he wasn't sure he remembered noticing before. She hugged him suddenly, ignoring the bewilderment that caused him to stiffen as though he didn't know how to return the gesture. She thanked him for being there for Cloud. It was so
very simple and he thought it was strange-- wasn't it simply what he must do? What he would always do? He had looked after him ever since they'd met, an instant fondness grown towards the man that he couldn't name.
Everyone was in town for the 25th anniversary of Meteor Day. Yuffie's entire surviving family, including her children and husband were lavishing-- or perhaps harassing-- Nanaki with affection, and the others were already drinking and reminiscing, though Cid and Barret couldn't really hold their alcohol as well as they used to.
Vincent moved through the shadows in silence as he always did, unchanging and a bit melancholy despite everything. He had changed though, even going so far as to don new clothes in an effort to wash away his past. It had taken years and years of unfurling the tightly clenched fist he kept around his heart. Lucrecia's digital memory and knowing the Rui siblings had begun the process, and now he felt Cloud reach out and gently uncurl the fingers of his hand.
Vincent hadn't noticed him. He'd thought he'd been alone on the stoop of the warehouse overlooking the festivities. Cloud had quite literally taken the digits of the new prosthetic that had been made for him, gently pulling the fingers out of the fist Vincent had clenched them in to get a better look at it himself. Luminescent blue eyes shone softly out of the darkness as he looked it over.
"That's some craftsmanship. They're coming up with new stuff every day. Looks like it works good." Vincent had been reluctant at first. He still felt he didn't deserve anything but a hand that served only as a weapon.
"It's... yes, it works quite well." Vincent let a small smile touch his lips, fleeting like a ghost.
"Good. It suits you. It's... it's good," Cloud seemed to struggle with the words for a moment, and he-- to Vincent's surprise-- laced his fingers with Vincent's golden metal ones. "See? Now I can do stuff like this. No pinching or poking."
Bemused, Vincent drifted back towards the metal stairs that lead up to a side door, a good perch that Cloud seemed to have picked out for himself. He tried to come up with a way to admonish him; to remind him that they didn't know how many more festivals like this they had with the others. But Cloud's eyes seemed to warn him away from it, and he let the seeds of a selfish wish sprout. That alone was why he settled on the stoop and rested his head on Cloud's shoulder.
"I... never wanted this for you. I had hoped..." Vincent began, as he had a hundred times.
"You hoped I'd die, right?" Cloud said, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.
"That-- well, when you put it that way..." He looked bashful, as though he'd been caught with his cloak on inside out or something.
"I know. I... You're always telling me. That it's gonna hurt. I know that. I know what it feels like. We all do. So when it comes... well. We'll just have to face it. I'm kinda scared-- anyone would be. But I'm grateful. That I can be with you. I hated how you were always alone, and I guess now I get why everyone was always trying to bring me back out of the inside of my head." Cloud didn't always have a lot to say, but when he did it was what he meant. It meant everything.
Vincent lowered his head for a moment, eyes closed as he tried to accept what Cloud said and not fight him. It was selfish to want him there with him, to want him at all.
"We're going to be... together for a long time." Vincent said uselessly.
Cloud nudged him gently, and Vincent lifted his gaze, turning to look at him in the close quarters. He hadn't stopped to think about how they were crushed in together on the narrow staircase, and he hardly processed the soft hush of Cloud's lips against his when it happened. Cloud could only think about how soothing the cool of Vincent's skin was compared to his own, and Vincent drew in close to the warmth.
"Yeah. I think there are worse things. Even if another meteor comes... I'll be here with you." Cloud squeezed his hand and let out a little sigh as Vincent relaxed against him, his cheek on his shoulder again.
The first burst of multicolored light sang across his pale skin as the fireworks started, and Cloud knew that he had been given a gift rather than a curse-- it was time Vincent started seeing it that way too. They looked up into the sky, and though every star could be seen for miles, Cloud was sure he felt a drop of rain splash onto his cheek. He smiled, and up to the stars whispered a silent "Thank you."
A strifentine wip. I have a whole thing I’ve been drabbling, taking place like a good twenty years down the line.
I’ve always liked the hc, since waaay back in my early fandom days of Cloud and Vincent kind of slowly realizing... “well damn, we’re not aging” and the only person not terrified is Nanaki who is of course, relieved to think that maybe he won’t outlive everyone by quite so much--
Ahem. Anyway, they’ve picked up some chunky leather bracelets, Vincent has a nice scarf, and they’re hopelessly into each other, idk if you can tell...
I built this road and this journey before you
These bones were men who all fell at my feet
And when you’re tired and afraid I will hold you
Build you up, just to tear you apart
This way, my child
"Therion, what is it? I don't understand."
It was always like that, wasn't it? For all of his books and theories there was so much that Cyrus didn't understand. So many times that Therion had found himself looking at him, igniting hope that he didn't know he had-- only to have him respond with pure obliviousness to his attempts at advances.
"You don't understand?"
"I... No. I'm afraid I don't. Therion what is this? What do you need? You look so troubled... Let me help you."
Damn his bleeding heart, and damn mine, Therion thought.
"What don't you understand? Do you think I followed you for my good health?" Therion lurched forward, betrayed by the desire that had made it impossible for him to maintain his own personal space. Cyrus didn't back away by some sort of miracle.
"Truth be told, I was delighted to find you had a new lease on life. I do recall saying I'd love to take you on as a 'prentice once not so long ago, did I not?"
Therion's head lowered until he was nearly resting it against Cyrus' chest, his hand having come up to fist in the soft material of his cloak. Was that it? Was that all this had been to him? Was what little hope he had for nothing?
"What do I need--? I need you to feel something damn it! I need... I need you to notice when I watch you. Gods, Cyrus you're a fool."
For the first time that Therion could remember, Cyrus dropped his coy act and his blue eyes left his face as though he couldn't bear meeting his gaze. They were both quiet for a long time, Therion's heart sinking further and further into dread with every moment.
"You have been ever by my side since the beginning, even when you pretended as though you could not stand my kindness. Therion, I... I believe you deserve someone better suited to you. Someone who will give you the attention you deserve. Someone who you can see eye-to-eye with-- who won't rile you into agitation so readily--"
"I don't want someone who doesn't piss me off, Cyrus. I want you." He only irritated Therion in the sense of how close he was able to draw to the parts that the thief had cordoned off from everyone else, never to be touched again.
The professor was dumbstruck, but oh-so-pliant as Therion tugged at the fabric in his hands, bringing them close enough to taste one another's breath. Cyrus froze, but did not draw away.
"I... I mustn't..." He muttered a weak denial.
"Why?" Therion asked. "Because of my reputation? Because of yours? I don't give a damn."
"Because I want you too much." Came the answer, hardly more than a breath.
Therion didn't hesitate after that, after hearing the confirmation. He closed the scant distance between them and kissed Cyrus as hard as he could, his heart pounding so loud that he was sure they could both hear it.
Luckily, Flynn was too blissed out to think about asking Yuri where the unfamiliar scar on his torso had come from. Surely, a fall into the ocean didn’t wind up with a blatant knife-wound-scar... did it?
Full NSFW under the cut, fullview in a new tab for the unfucked-by-tumblr version etc. the usual. Tales of Vesperia Definitive edition. Are we there yet?
I actually cleaned my lines for once AAAnd I’m fashionably late as usual. Buy me coffee!
@leonilesweek Day 1: Meeting
So I have no end of headcanons for that fateful night in Castle Krakenburg. It’s probably the one instance that I could write in a hundred different ways. I’ve always thought of Leo as feeling left behind by his siblings and obviously neglected by his father. I like the idea of him making the choice to make Niles his retainer in a perfectly reckless and terrible moment. If Niles wants to die, then why couldn’t he be his entire reason to live?
He was filthy, covered in cuts and bruises of varying states of healing. The tunic he wore barely stayed in place by virtue of the belt strapped high upon his waist. Leo also noted that the man likely would've stood a full head taller than him if only he could stand. Someone's weathered knife protruded from the intruder's thigh, clearly making it either impossible or extremely painful for him to do that. Surely, he would've tried to make a run for it by now if he could have.
Niles knew that he was nothing but canon fodder now truly and fully betrayed by the other thieves he’d been with. Kept alive by scraps and begging. Lost dignity and body parts to inconsequential mistakes and their so-called leader’s short fuse. Now, he’d just be tossed somewhere to rot and probably end up in a flashy public execution-- King Garon seemed fond of that kind of thing these days. He drew in a ragged breath, dirty hair like dusty starlight obscuring his eyes as he spoke.
"Kill me." Leo was a bit taken aback.
His brow shot up, emotion etched clearly on his face. He nearly felt pity, but no-- nothing so simple. Was it kindness to give the man his wish? Leo was the faceless younger son of a monarch gone ma. He couldn't risk making a choice that made him seem weak.
"Tell me your name." Leo demanded, kneeling down to face the thief as he tucked his housecoat in around him.
"I’m... I’m Niles. Please. I'm begging you. Just kill me. It would be an honor to see something so beautiful in my last moments." Again, the prince blinked and watched the intruder in the shifting shadows, too stunned to think clearly after that comment.
Niles knew now what they meant by the divine right of kings. They were descended from dragons or gods, or dragon gods-- weren't they? This prince, as he was certain he was just at a glance, was without a doubt divine. He was everything that Niles had ever feared of divinity as a child: a swift and merciless judge, and as beautiful as sunlight. His heart raced, but he did not tremble.
"Death is a mercy. You ask mercy of a Nohrian prince?" There was laughter in Leo's voice, but it was unclear as to whether it was cruel or not.
A shudder ran through Niles' body, his hair standing on end and he licked his dry lips.
Leo leaned forward and lifted the thief's chin with fingers so delicate they felt like warm silk to his skin, that had so often known pain rather than gentleness.
Baffling. This man did not tremble, did not weep or grovel. He asked only for one thing. Was his plight so hopeless? Well, getting left behind in the keep of the most feared dynasty on the continent was certainly reason to abandon all hope. Leo shook his eyes, mahogany meeting dusty blue. Leo knew in that moment that he had to have him.
"I would not sully my good name. I am Prince Leo of Nohr, and you will address me as "your Highness" or "Lord Leo" is that understood?" He asked, voice low and as dangerous as the knife lodged into Niles' flesh.
"Yes, Lord Leo." Niles found himself saying. It was clear that he had lost all will to fight; that he had nothing to live for.
"Do you crave the darkness? The sweet embrace of death?" Those long fingers caressed the underside of Niles' chin as though he were a treasured pet already. The thief gave a small nod, unable to break his gaze.
"Then you will follow me. You will serve me with both your soul..." he gave a sinister pause, "And your body. And I will show you the path of darkness."
"Yes, Highness."
Leo hadn't expected it to go so smoothly. He hadn't even made any of his words magically binding-- but perhaps Niles was just desperate for structure, for something to cling to. And Leo would not deny longing for the same thing, ever feeling left behind by his siblings who were tied up in his father's wars and obsessing over Corrin.
Something-- nay, someone, of his own.
"Pledge yourself to me, Niles. Make a pact with me." Niles still couldn't break away from the entrancing gaze holding his, the shivers he was wracked with probably caused by shock and blood loss-- but he believed they were all in Leo's hands.
"Yes, yes my Lord. Anything." He paused, choking as he tried to come up with something with enough gravity to swear. "My life has no meaning to me. I already cast it at your feet. I will do anything you ask of me. I will follow you to the ends of the earth. I will use every skill in my arsenal to thank you for your kindness."
"Oh Niles, kindness? No, I will work you to the bone. You will know true suffering, and you will repent for your evil ways... Save for when I want to make use of them." A wicked smile split Leo's angelic features. "But I will never abandon you. I will never leave you to founder alone. I will be ever at your side. That is our pact."
Niles nodded again, light headed and dizzy.
There were sounds of commotion outside, likely the castle guard making sure everything was fine after sighting intruders. Absentmindedly, Leo wondered if anything had been stolen. He hadn't yet been allowed to take a retainer. His father was infuriating, pawing through everything, wanting control of everything. But if he made this pact and sealed it in blood as was their tradition, there would be nothing anyone could do to stop it.
"In my veins flows the blood of dragons. Will you accept it and be bound to me ever more?" Leo asked shortly, the sound of armor and talking coming closer. There was a knock on the door.
Niles' trance seemed broken, and he looked sharply at the door, a spark of fear and confusion dawning on him. Leo grabbed him by the shoulder.
"Quickly now. We haven't any time." Niles nodded, and Leo drew the tip of his finger across his wrist. Magic sparked, and the prince winced, grunting as his skin split open as if a sharp knife had been drawn across it. A few moments later, blood beaded to the surface, then began to pour at a nearly alarming rate.
"Drink." The door burst open as Leo pressed his wrist to Niles' mouth, and he locked eyes with his frantic older brother as he charged into the room.
Leo was calm, a wicked, nearly cruel smile on his face as he slowly drew Niles closer.
"No--! Leo-- what is this madness?" Xander barked, rushing up to stop short knowing full well that what was done was done.
The prince's fingers passed briefly over the' bleeding wound on Niles’ leg, and he touched the thief's blood to his lips.
"He's mine now." Leo said simply.
Niles' strength seemed to be running out, and he blinked rapidly as he fought the urge to pitch forward.
"What have you done?" Xander breathed, shaking his head so hard that his pale blond curls bounced.
"Only what you have done, and Camilla. I have a retainer who will serve me." And I will never be alone again. He reaffirmed, and began to ignore his brother to tend to Niles' wound.
He was tired of being denied, of being left behind-- and now, he would never stand for it again.
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