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art-blogge · 6 months

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Christmas and it's Eve Ordeal on the Mephistopheles

Dante came out of their room to an oddly-silent Mephistopheles, not a single Sinner speaking or even moving. That had never been a good sign in the past, so reasonably they believed it wasn't one now and warily stepped back into the safety of the Corridor. Faust spotted this and broke what seemed to have been a long-running silence.

"Good morning, Dante. If the Sinners behave themselves through medical check-ups…"

She trailed off there, unable to bother finishing the sentence. Luckily, Dante caught on and finished it for her.

<"Then we can go get each other Christmas gifts?">

Don Quixote bouncing in her seat was the only answer they needed, though they kept watching. Several other Sinners had their eyes light up at the mention of Christmas, while both Gregor and Sinclair looked elsewhere. They also noticed that oddly enough, Vergilius also seemed unhappy. That made sense. Vergil never really liked people being loud or places being crowded, and anywhere around Christmas time was both.

<"Then let's start today's official Limbus Company business. One Thread Luxcavation, one Ticket Luxcavation, and a visit to the Mirror after medical checks. That is everything planned for today. If we finish early enough, I'll let you guys go out shopping in groups.">

The Sinners mostly all cheered, souring Vergil's mood further.

"Charon wants sweets for Christmas," Charon mumbled, starting the Mephistopheles' engine, "Vroom vroom."

----

Dante spent most of the Mirror run holding a pen and notepad, opting to ignore Reindeer Ishmael nearly killing N-Meursault with Mind Whip in favor of writing down potential gift ideas. Yeah, yeah, whoops. They'd have Faust heal him next fight. Next fight. Faust, Fluid Sack, Win Rate, Go.

Okay, back to the list. Some Sinners were incredibly simple to plan for. Don Quixote, for example, just get her fixer merch. Done. Rodya would want booze.

Other Sinners were a lot tougher to plan for. Like, what in the world would Hong Lu want? Or Meursault?

Sudden blood on their notepad forced Dante to look up. Right. The Bull. They Forgot About the Bull. They'd have to apologize to Sinclair later for letting him die in such a stupid way.

----

No sooner than Dante declaring work over did most of the Sinners rush past them and bail, leaving them with only three others. Sinclair opted to head to the Corridors, so two. Charon also headed back, so one other.

There was no longer a chance Dante could go out shopping. The only one left was Vergil…. But they didn't give up. They flipped to a new notepad page and scribbled a request before showing it to Vergil.

|"Please take me out shopping so I'm not alone,"| was all Dante wrote.

"You're not a child," was Vergil's dismissive response, and Dante whined before writing |"Please?"|

"No."

<"Please?">

"If what you said was "Please", no."

<"Please please please?">

"No."

Still not giving up, Dante wrote something else.

|"How am I supposed to buy sweets for Charon if I can't go out?"|

"Do it yourself."

Dante huffed and tore the page out before crumpling it and throwing it at Vergil's face. Fine. Fine! They'd do it alone!

With that, Dante stepped out of the Mephistopheles and into the cold evening light.

Unbeknownst to them, red eyes followed them.

----

Dante's first stop was a nearby antique shop. If questioned, they would absolutely admit they just wanted to look around for themselves. It was true, too. They really did want to just look around. If they saw anything good though? They'd buy it.

Something they'd been keeping secret for a while now was how much they got in their weekly paycheck. They never ate, so they saved most of it in a lockbox under their bed. They only kept small amounts on their person at all times in event of needing to help someone pay or a robbery- Both of which happened with surprising regularity.

While they were wondering if Yi Sang would like another mirror, they heard what was distinctly Gregor's voice and paused.

"Yeah, I can't afford that though, Rodya bud."

Dante held their breath to quell the flame on their head, and then leaned around the shelf to see what he was talking about. Some kind of candle machine? They had no idea what they were looking at.

"Well, how else would you set a menorah?" Rodion asked Gregor, not really looking at it.

"With a lot of difficulty," Gregor grumbled, shaking his bug arm a bit to emphasize his point.

Dante went back around the shelf and exhaled, letting their flame come back to life. They then proceeded to search through the dictionary on their multi-tool device, taking well over twenty minutes to read through everything necessary. By the time they were done, Gregor and Rodion were gone.

Excellent.

Along with the electrical menorah, Dante managed to also find some antique pens, a ship in a bottle, a red compass, a rusty locket, and a jade necklace. They knew exactly who all of these would go to, too: Faust, Ishmael, Ishmael again, Heathcliff, and Hong Lu in that order.

Dante was a little nervous purchasing something on their own for the first time, but it turned out to be a non-issue. They didn't even need to try and speak, simply handing the desired items over and then paying once they were all scanned. They left the antique store humming, unaware of the figure watching nearby.

Next!

The next store they went into wasn't because they wanted to- It was because they wanted to avoid speaking to Faust and Ryoshu on their way back to the Mephistopheles. They knew Faust saw them, that was expected, but prayed that Ryoshu hadn't. They figured they may as well look around while they were here.

----

Shopping was going excellently, Dante figured. It was cold now, but they'd gotten nearly everything they'd been considering. Nearly. At no point had they become aware that they were still being followed.

Something in a window caught their figurative eye and they stopped to look. A lone camera sat in the store window, surrounded by all sorts of other doodads. Oh. Oh. They wanted that. They really wanted that.

They knew what a camera was. Meursault had told them in great detail when they'd asked. Having photos of the Sinners- No, the entire team… Sounded great to them. Hell, even pictures of themselves. It would be proof they existed, even if they would one day be forgotten.

Dante didn't realize they'd been staring at the camera for several minutes until they heard a stick snap nearby. They looked away for the source of the sound, but they were alone still. Wary, Dante ducked into the store anyway. They weren't here to buy for themselves. They'd at least look around.

----

On the way out, Dante gave a look to the window again and froze. The camera was gone. Someone had bought it when they hadn't been looking. Drat. They couldn't help but let their shoulders droop a bit- They'd really wanted that.

Oh well. It wasn't about them anyway, Dante had to remind themselves. It was for everyone else on the Mephistopheles.

----

"Could you take any bloody longer?!"

Heathcliff's reprimand startled Dante badly, with them nearly dropping their bags and train horning.

Once they recovered the little composure they had, they realized Heathcliff was wearing his coat for once. It was really that cold outside.

"C'mon! You're the last one out, Clockface! Were you gonna camp outside or somethin'? Utter loon."

Before Dante could respond, Heathcliff grabbed them by the collar and started dragging. Dante just mimed a sigh and held onto their purchases tightly, listening to Heathcliff describe his day with increasingly colourful language. By the time they'd reached the Mephistopheles, Dante was certain they'd learned at least ten new words and three phrases, all vulgar in nature.

"Found 'em!" Heathcliff announced to the rest of the bus, and Dante sheepishly dipped their head as they boarded.

"It took you too long," Vergil muttered, barely looking up from his book, "Let Faust assign you a babysitter next time."

Dante apologetically stuttered out a whistle before bustling to their own room. They didn't even bother with words that time- Why would it matter? Vergil didn't understand them.

----

Once in their room with the door shut and work clothes thrown over There, the fun could start. They'd nabbed wrapping paper and tape from Outis earlier in the week, unintentionally starting a chain of stealing/"borrowing" supplies that ended with three Sinners dead and five sets of supplies ruined. They'd never apologized for it, and it was too late to now. Or was it? Maybe they'd apologize on the gift card tag thing.

For Yi Sang, they'd bought several empty notebooks for him to write and doodle in. They were also sure to buy him a large package of motion sickness pills, knowing very well that he'd need them later. Dante wasn't sure how Yi Sang would take the notebooks, but they'd genuinely had no other ideas. It'd be better than him writing poetry on the bus windows in non-permanent marker. Not that Dante ever complained, but they kind of wanted to be able to read those after one day.

For Faust, the antique pens. Like Yi Sang, Dante was stumped on what to get her for the most part, but the pens reminded them of her. The second object they'd bought had been pricey, easily one of the most expensive things they'd purchased- A telescope. Faust had mentioned exactly once a past penchant for stargazing, and Dante never forgot anything (with two total exceptions, which they would later argue didn't count.). Dante made sure these were wrapped immaculately so that Faust wouldn't find fault with the packaging job…. Hopefully. She probably would. She always did.

For Don Quixote, the easiest Sinner to find gifts for, a mish-mash pile of Color Fixer memorabilia. Pins, stickers, a figure or two, etcetera. The second thing Dante bought was two Snow Leopard plush that bore resemblance to Vergilius, with the colors and bright red eyes that Dante swore would glow when they weren't looking. Don Quixote would get one of these. They could already imagine how happy she'd be.

For Ryoshu, a pack of art supplies. Despite her being an artist, Dante had never actually seen her make art. It was possible they were misunderstanding- Was the violence really the art?- But they took the risk anyway. It couldn't hurt. Maybe it would encourage her to be artistic outside of killing everyone. The other gift, smaller in nature, was a few packs of higher quality cigarettes. They just hoped she wouldn't smoke them on the Mephistopheles.

For Meursault, the best pair of sunglasses they could find. They had absolutely noticed Meursault's poor tolerance for direct sunlight, and despite him never mentioning it, Dante knew it was necessary. That, and a pair of noise-cancelley headphones so he could tune out Ishmael and Heathcliff's regular spats. That was also a wild guess on Dante's part.

For Hong Lu, the jade necklace. Hong Lu had been The Most Difficult Sinner to buy gifts for, bar none, and Dante genuinely had no idea what to buy. The necklace had been purely on a whim. It probably wasn't a real gem, but that hadn't been the point. The second thing Dante bought had been from another instance of accidental eavesdropping. Hong Lu and Sinclair had been discussing trying to raise plants, and Hong Lu offhandedly mentioned red flowers feeling like home. The flowers had been purchased mere minutes afterwards.

For Heathcliff, they started with a rusty locket. Before wrapping it though, Dante got up and cleaned it off to the best of their ability. They didn't really want to gift something dirty. Thankfully, between heating and washing, they managed to get the rust(?) off. Pleased, they packaged it before the other headphones they'd bought. These ones were intended for use at night, when Heathcliff's room was regularly thundering. They hoped these would help at least a little.

For Ishmael, the red compass and the ship in a bottle. She'd been the second easiest to find gifts for, and Dante had no complaints. They were sure Ishmael would know the compass at least was from them- It was a similar color to their head, and Ishmael had once referred to them as like a compass. Dante didn't want to say they were teasing Ishmael, definitely not, but…. They kinda were. As for the ship and bottle, Dante included a little note. |"If you want to pretend this is the Pequod, we can smash it with your shield later!! C:"|. That would cover if Ishmael didn't like it.

For Rodion, booze. Nice and simple. Getting ID'd had almost been a nightmare for Dante, what with theirs not actually showing an age, but it was apparently enough. They figured three bottles of varying types would be enough. The second thing was a few board games. They knew she liked card games, but she left everyone in the dust with them with an unsurprising frequency. Maybe a board game would be more fair to them as a whole? She'd enjoy it regardless.

For Sinclair, a little office cactus. That hadn't been decided on until the previously-mentioned eavesdropping incident. For some reason, a cactus had felt like the correct choice. Maybe Sinclair would put it on a desk or something. Did he have a desk? Probably. If not, he could stick it in the office. The second thing purchased was a big blue scarf. Dante didn't think that needed justification. It made sense.

For Outis, the biggest toolbox they could find. Ever since the Mephistopheles had been worked on to achieve Boat Mode, Dante had taken particular note of how Outis enjoyed doing mechanic work. They wanted to cultivate it, encourage it. Outis wasn't happy often, and they hoped this would make her a little happy. The second purchase that Dante was already regretting was a military grade bugle. She'd threatened so many times to obtain one to wake the Sinners with, and she'd never been allowed to get one. If Dante gave her one, would she actually compliment them instead of being backhanded? They had no idea. They could hope.

For Gregor, the electrical menorah. After all that research, they understood why Gregor hadn't been a Christmas fan. He'd never celebrated it, instead celebrating a different holiday. They'd have to ask Gregor about it in person later. It sounded interesting and their dictionary didn't have nearly enough information for them to be pleased. The other purchase was some simple hairties with ribbons attached. Dante had absolutely no idea how Gregor tied his hair ribbon every day one-handed, so this was an attempt to help out. That, and it'd be fun seeing different colors in Gregor's hair.

For Charon, several boxes of sweets. They'd memorized the boxes of what Charon would most often have, and so got the biggest boxes they could find. The second gift was the other Snow Leopard Vergil plush. She liked stuffed toys if Bongy was anything to go by. She would love this.

For Vergilius… Dante proceeded to spend big money. The joke T-shirt wasn't expensive, and neither were the books (which had just released). No. The big money went to a new pair of glasses for him. Vergil owned a pair of glasses meant to reduce the effects of his eyes, but not only did they work poorly, they'd recently been broken in a "spat" between him and two other Sinners. Needless to say, Dante had hurt badly that day. Did Dante hope Vergil would appreciate them for this? Yes. Would they get it? Absolutely not, but they could dream.

There was one more gift, but they stuck it into their coat pocket. That would be revealed much later.

That was it. They'd finally finished. Now for the second part of their plot. They had wanted to leave gifts on everyone's seats, but if they came out in the morning with nothing, it would be suspicious. Therefore, the plan had two steps. Step one, put ONE of the gifts on each person's seat without waking anyone. Step two, bring the second set out in the morning. They had no plan for if someone noticed that Dante hadn't gotten anything. Maybe they should have bought that camera or something.

Step one nearly went without a hitch. Every seat had a gift or two (or three, in one case) on it, and Dante hadn't woken anyone. The only snag was Outis appearing in the hallway as they were retreating.

<"Morning, Outis,"> Dante nervously tick-tocked, dipping their head down and shoulders up, <"Any reason you're up so late?">

"Early," she corrected, definitely spotting that Dante was being Suspicious™. "Someone needs to be on watch duty, and you don't seem to be doing it, Executive Manager. Please allow me."

<"Go nuts."> Dante answered before quickly tacking on <"Uh, I mean, go ahead. Just uh, don't um.">

They'd ruined it. Squandered it, even.

<"Just leave the gift on your seat alone, okay? That's for the morning. Let me have my one evil plot.">

Outis gave Dante her famed dark smirk before nodding and heading past them. She wouldn't speak up. Good. It hadn't been ruined after all. They could finally go to bed.

--------

"MANAGER ESQUIRRRREEEE!!! IT HAS BECOME CHRISTMAAAAAAAAS!!!!"

To say Dante fell out of their own bed would be a severe understatement. A more accurate statement would be to say that Dante not only fell out of their own bed but also blared a scream loud enough that the entire bus heard it.

<"DON'T EVER DO THAT AGAIN!"> Dante honked, hiding their face in their hands as if there was something to hide. Their embarrassment? Clear as day.

Don Quixote did not receive this message and hugged them instead.

"It's Christmas! There are gifts! Come, we verily shall go and receive our treasures!"

She then ran out, followed up by Ryoshu cursing and Hong Lu laughing.

Dante heaved a sigh out of their fire export, blowing a flame a foot higher than they normally go. There was a reason they didn't do that outside of their own room.

Time to go and get nothing, they supposed.

Dante threw on some ratty slippers and their coat before grabbing their pile of second gifts and heading out.

<"Good morning!"> they chimed, <"Merry Christmas and if you heard me scream, no you didn't!">

"Huh? Were the ones on our seats not from you?" Rodion asked, which Dante didn't answer. If they could smile, they would be widely grinning while saying absolutely nothing. They didn't notice their clock hands shifting to mimic the evil grin they were imagining.

<"My gifts are right here, Rodya. Here's yours, Donqui-.">

Without waiting for anyone to exchange gifts, Don Quixote started tearing into the one Dante handed her.

"At least wait, lassie!" cried Heathcliff, but he too was ignored in favor of making the wrapping paper on the gift into a ripped mess on the floor.

Dante covered where they thought their ears were just in time for Don Quixote to dissolve into triumphant stuttering and gibberish. They could see her eyes glittering even from across the bus! They'd succeeded. Someone was happy with their gifts. That was all they needed to be happy.

With Don Quixote preoccupied by Dante's one gift, the Sinners started exchanging gifts and tearing them open.

"R-Really, Ryoshu..? A sword…? Where did you even get this..??"

"S.H.U.T. W.T.F.?"

"Don't you "WTF" me, you ungrateful wretch. I know you needed that. Now who thought this miniature horse was funny? I'd like a word with you."

It… Wasn't going well otherwise, huh?

Dante opted to instead start quickly handing out their gifts again, hoping the mood would change.

"A-ha! You heard my request, Executive Manager! I knew you would understand me, thank you!"

Outis brandishing the bugle was terrifying and they still regretted that decision. A little less now, though.

Meursault wordlessly put on the headphones while Heathcliff tried on the locket. Meursault seemed… Pleased? Dante had never seen that expression on Meursault before.

"HOH! BEHOLD THIS LIKENESS OF SIR VERGILIUS!"

Seemed Don Quixote found Dante's other gift, and she was now proudly holding it up like a trophy. Vergil, for what it mattered, didn't seem exceptionally offended by this plush existing in the same realm as him.

"And there is no tag on this gift! A mystery is upon us! Whomst bequeathed this glorious gift upon mineself?!"

No one answered her beyond shrugs and "I dunno"s. Nobody knew except Dante.

"I have a fairly good idea, but it isn't my place to tell," Outis hinted, and Dante was instantly doomed just like that.

"Manager Esquire, is it true?! You've gifted us not once but twice?!"

<"H-how much money do you think I have…?"> Dante whistled, definitely not trying to escape this conversation by backing away.

"Bug guy is crying," Charon stated, and Dante immediately strode forward to see what was going on.

Gregor had found the electric menorah.

<"Happy Hannukah, Gregor,"> Dante chimed, only to be met with the tightest Gregor hug they'd ever gotten. They did not have a complaint about this and returned it with as much strength as they could muster. It wasn't enough. They'd need to work out or something.

Meanwhile, Faust tested her new pens while Ryoshu ripped open her new art supplies. Rodya cheered as she unpacked booze, Sinclair put the scarf on, and Ishmael grimaced while looking at Dante and holding the compass. Yi Sang hugged the bottle of motion sickness pills, Hong Lu modelled the jade necklace, and Charon hugged her Vergil Snow Leopard plush.

Dante was utterly thrilled, but it didn't end there. The Sinners and Charon seemed to notice a theme (Dante's gifts being good) and intentionally focused their gifts now.

"Hey, I wanted a plant! Thanks, Dante…"

"I do not recall informing you that I enjoyed stargazing. You will have to tell Faust when I said that. This is not a complaint."

"Finally, some good smokes. A.F.T."

"……" (Meursault did not say anything, instead putting the sunglasses on and testing them by looking outside the window. He was pleased again.)

"Something to project my thoughts onto without causing a disturbance… I quite enjoy these yellow covers as well. You have my thanks, Dante."

"Card games! Who wants to make bets on Uno?! Dante, this rocks!"

"… Dante, my shield isn't a good weapon for this. We can use that idiot's bat. Shatter this to pieces. Thanks."

"Manager bud, you're spoiling us! I've needed some of these!"

"Executive Manager, I don't remember giving you permission to read my mind! How did you know?!"

"These are lovely, Dante."

"Oh, hell yeah. No more of that shite noise. Dante, you right cunt, how much did you spend on these?"

"Candy. Thank you, Clockhead."

Dante had rocketed past cloud 9 and into Heaven itself for a few minutes, gaining a halo and being one with the universe. They dropped back down to mortal level when they realized someone still hadn't touched their gifts. Vergilius.

<"Hey Vergil, I got you stuff too!"> they pointed out (literally), but Vergil huffed, clearly uninterested.

<"I spent real money on that!! You're going to like it!">

Faust dutifully translated, but Vergil still seemed doubtful.

"Joke gifts are not gifts, Danteh."

Dante was confused until they remembered the first gift they'd bought him, and--- Wait.

<"HOW THE HELL DO YOU KNOW WHAT I BOUGHT YOU?!">

Another translation, and Vergil rolled his eyes.

"I distinctly recall you wanting someone to go with you. I wasn't aware you wanted your hand held like a child."

Oh. OH. He'd SEEN them buy that. No wonder!!

<"Okay, fine, but the others aren't joke gifts, prommie!">

"… Prommie?" Heathcliff repeated in confusion, wondering who Dante got that off of.

"You really prommie?" Gregor added, egging Dante on to repeat the silly word.

<"Why are you making fun of me? I do promise!">

The conversation turned into a debate, judge and jury battling it out on if "Prommie" was a real word and if it should be used on company territory. Dante stopped paying attention to it within seconds, their full attention on Vergil slowly opening his gifts.

It was worth it. Watching Vergil's eyes widen and slightly light up made the entire world worth having. Dante typewriter dinging in victory immediately made him resume his usual dead expression, but even Vergil couldn't suppress a wry smile.

"Dante. How much. Did you spend on these?"

<"You don't wanna know.">

"Know what, Manager bud?"

<"Don't worry about it.">

When Dante looked back, Vergil had already put the glasses on. Not a single bit of glow outside of them! Another ding, and Dante gave him a thumbs up.

It helped that Vergil with glasses was incredibly hot, not that they'd ever admit that under any kind of torture in a million years.

"…. I appreciate the novels, but I should kill you."

He'd found the joke t-shirt.

"Dante, you know we got you gifts, right? You're not just ignoring them? I'll start chucking cards at you, you know."

They had?! Where?!?!

There was a stack of gifts sitting on their seat that Dante had completely overlooked, and they immediately tore into them like a child on… Well, you know. Because it was Christmas.

Were most of the gifts useless and also goofy? Yes. Absolutely. They had no need for a fireproof reindeer headband or fake kk tattoos, but that didn't matter. They'd been thought about and given physical things.

One gift left after a few minutes. Dante wasn't sure who it was from, admittedly, since it wasn't labelled. It wasn't big, easily holdable, but they had no idea what it WAS and so tore it open carefully.

<"I wanted this!!"> Dante cheered, admiring the camera from the store window with unanticipated glee, <"Thanks Vergie!">

"Don't call me that. Now explain why I am "Not allowed near industrial grade machinery", Dante."

Dante looked up to Vergil holding up the offending t-shirt, a single eyebrow raised and waiting for an answer.

"Any day now. Nice and loud for everyone to hear. Why?"

Dante took a photo instead of answering before standing back up. A pause, and then Dante took a picture of the Sinners. That would get hung up in their room. No, wait. One last thing.

<"I have one more announcement!">

The Sinners shut up and looked to Dante, expecting something earth-shattering. They would be right in a moment.

Dante pulled out the gift card they'd bought.

<"Who wants HamHamPangPang?">

The cheers from the Sinners were audible down the street. Merry Christmas and Happy Hannukah.

#writing tag #limbus company #dante lcb #project moon #Happy Holidays #im not tagging everyone #i would rather explode 16 times #every sinner and charon and vergie #this is the longest one ive written i think. i beat 4k in this oneshot

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somethingaboutmint · 1 year

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I love treating fallout npcs like they're my ocs. This is especially true for bitches with nothing going for them (charon my beloved piece of cardboard that i scribbled on)

#all my blorbos are my ocs at this point hope this helps

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thewhumpcaretaker · 28 days

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⚜ 𝓑𝓮𝔂𝓸𝓷𝓭 𝓙��𝓭𝓰𝓮𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽 - 𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒳𝐼: 𝐵𝑜𝓁𝒹 𝒫𝓁𝒶𝓃𝓈 ⚜

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ ✧.*★ Thank you again to @evren-sadwrn for the beta read!

TW: crying, panic attack, discussions of guilt, mentions of prior sex scene

Summary: The possibility of seeing Vincent reinstated to the High Table forces John to think about what he's been doing. What does it mean to be falling for someone as violent as the Marquis de Gramont?

It was difficult to think of Vincent as dangerous, perched on a log with his feet swinging just above the leaves, with Dog upside down in his lap to get belly rubs. They’d just cleaned him up and changed his bandages, which was tough without the use of a sink. But it definitely had to be done. Sitting across from him with his shirt still unbuttoned, John struggled to reconcile that image with two others: Vincent writhing in ecstasy on top of him, and Vincent delighting in cruelty as he aimed a gun at his head in front of the Basilica.

What did I just do?

This was the exact thought John had been trying to avoid when he turned down the Marquis’ proposition in the motel. Saving his life was one thing – that was just the humane thing to do. Sympathizing with him, trying to put him in a good enough mood to not have a mental breakdown - that was common decency. Fucking him raw on a boulder? Well. That was a little harder to explain to himself.

And falling for him…he wasn’t even ready to think about that part.

He hadn’t thought about any of this, hadn’t invited it. Hadn’t even considered dating after Helen. And for it to be the Marquis de Gramont, former Autem Imperator of the High Table… There was a good reason he wasn’t thinking too much about everything the Marquis had done. Some of those acts were truly atrocious. Charon, the massacre at Osaka…Koji. Would he kill that way again? Did he feel one ounce of remorse for any of it?

“Daydreaming, John?” The Marquis was grinning at him, and the dissonance between that image and his thoughts made him feel a little sick.

John shook himself. “Sorry.” He looked away to the paper cups piled around Vincent, crushed flat and used as vessels for Vincent’s scribbling during his drug fueled hyperactivity the night before. John had gathered them up before leaving, in case any contained some coherent idea, and Vincent had been reviewing them as the sun climbed higher and higher in a crystalline blue sky. “Find anything?”

“Maybe. I was…hmm. Let’s just say some of these sounded better at the time.” He squinted quizzically at one that John couldn’t make out clearly from a distance, but he could see that it included several repeats of the word “kill.”

“There is one…” he continued. “It’s bold. But the present circumstances call for boldness. And when was anything truly great accomplished without it?”

John waited expectantly for him to name this bold plan. He tossed over a paper cup, and John caught it. “The Elder,” he read. Nothing else was written. “There’s a new Elder?”

“He assumed the role just before my trial began.”

John turned the cup over in his hands, considering. “…I don’t know…I tried that. Twice. The advice wasn’t worth the time.”

Vincent laughed. “Oh, no no no. I’m not going to ask his advice. I’m going to hold him at knifepoint until he agrees to reinstate me.”

“That…is a better idea.” Not a good idea. But better. “Do you know where he is?”

“I do! Information is power, no? I took as much as I could when things began to…disintegrate.” A shadow passed over Vincent’s face at the memory. “Anyway. He camps at the ‘Hidden Peak’ of the Himalayas, Gasherbrum I.”

John whistled. “The Chinese - Pakistani border. Can’t reach that by car.”

“So get me a flight.”

That would be a problem. They could hardly just walk into an airport. But… “There may be a way.”

“Excellent!” The Marquis clapped his hands and bounced off the log, sauntering towards John. “What a splendid day. Not even noon, and we’ve accomplished so much.” His eyes wandered over John’s bare chest. Clearly, he didn’t just mean the plan.

He shifted slightly, self-conscious. “It won’t be simple. You’re familiar with the Bowery network?”

“Obviously. What a brilliant idea. This is why you are so useful, Mr. Wick. They aren’t on the best terms with the Table just now, but they seem to have a soft spot for you. With you and your puppy dog eyes, I might just have a chance.”

“No. Not even with me. I go alone, and come back with our travel plans.”

“And I go where, exactly?” Looming over him with his brow tilted down suspiciously, it was suddenly no longer so difficult to believe Vincent was dangerous.

Good question. “Somewhere safe, nearby.” That seemed to satisfy him, as that dangerous look vanished in favor of a shy smile. John stood up, pacing. He didn’t like this at all. “That’s impossible at the New York headquarters. Too crowded. But the Jersey location…” He sighed and came to a stop directly in front of Vincent. “You sure this is the plan?”

“I wouldn’t say we have the luxury of sitting idly by for another three days trying to come up with a new one.”

“No.”

So, within minutes, John’s usual decisiveness had put them on the move again, still sticking to winding back roads. Vincent’s good spirits could not be contained. He chattered away from under the blanket in the backseat, requesting snacks and changes to the radio channels. John, on the other hand, couldn’t bring himself to say much. He had been running on the hope that they’d be delayed long enough for the Marquis to come around to retirement. If he had thought, on that first day, that there was any real possibility of his reinstatement…would he have done anything differently? Could he bring himself to do anything differently now?

“You’re quiet.”

“I’m always quiet.”

“Not like this.” Vincent huffed a nervous laugh. “I know this morning was delectable but I didn’t think it would steal your powers of speech. If I didn’t know better, I’d think…maybe you regretted it.”

“I don’t. It was…I – you’re gorgeous.” That was true. John could almost hear him smiling in the silence that followed.

“What are you thinking about, then?”

“…What are you going to do, if you get reinstated?”

“Rule. Solidify control over the eastern United States, where our punishments have grown disappointingly lax. South America can use significant development. Our prosperity has made us complacent. There is still room to expand the empire, even internally. Morale is low and the Table is divided against itself. Those with loyalty should be rewarded, to act as icons of inspiration. At the same time, our reach is more extensive than it has ever been. With the proper motivation, we could bring about the golden age of the High Table.” It seemed Vincent could listen to himself talk about this all day. “Imagine every High Table member being offered access to a political office of their choosing. Imagine monuments constructed in the Table’s honor, right under the noses of the public who think they are simply public installations. These would stand as testament to my own legacy, over and above the Table as a whole. I would be remembered as a great patron. We could expand funding for arts, historical documentation, and education. Gratuity programs for those who have shown themselves to be exceptionally dedicated. And of course, earning at least doubled over a ten year period - ”

“That level of expansion would be a bloodbath.”

“Such is life. Did you think I was planning to turn the Table into an orphanage for kittens? Maybe you have too weak a stomach for it, but I have my goals, as you’ve known from the beginning, and I will carry them out.”

“No. I will stop you.”

A tense silence followed. Vincent didn’t even seem to be breathing.

“Do you understand why?” John kept his voice deliberately level, flattening out both anger and pity. “You’ve killed my friends. And just…decent people. I will not let that happen again.”

“I didn’t kill them, you did,” he snapped. “I seem to recall that it was you who came begging to Winston until he meddled so much he got his concierge executed. Executed for you. It was you who led Caine to Koji’s doorstep. You’re irresponsible, can’t bow down to the level where you belong even for the sake of those you supposedly care for. It’s your fault they’re dead, your ego.”

For a moment, the wave of rage and guilt that washed through his gut was so deep that he couldn’t speak. Then, John forced himself to acknowledge that hurt as Vincent’s own, thrust onto the nearest possible vessel because he did not know how to endure it himself. John took a deep breath and did his best to lead by example. “Yes. I could have prevented their deaths too. I live with that every day.”

“What a saint. You’ve killed hundreds of people, Wick.”

“And it still matters whether or not I kill one more tomorrow.”

“Maybe I want to kill one more tomorrow. What then?”

“I’d be disappointed.”

No answer came. Somewhere near the state border, sunlight cast rapidly flickering dappled shadows from the leaves that rose up in verdant arches on either side of them, almost tall enough to meet in the middle. John realized he had driven this road once, with Helen, on the way to the beach, and the melancholic dread that had crept up on him ever since the morning sunk right down to the bones. I don’t want to kill Vincent someday. Please. He had to come around, he had to.

It took a while for him to realize that Vincent was locked in a pit of agony. The giveaway was the total lack motion, even the slightest rustling of blankets. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine. I just – “ His voice was muffled and he could not continue. John twisted around over the seat to see a motionless lump in the blanket indicating that Vincent was hiding his face in his hands even though he was already completely concealed. Sighing, he pulled over, parking just beyond the shoulder of the road. The sudden absence of engine noise made the moment feel awkwardly raw. In its place, he could hear slow, heavy breaths.

Vincent broke that silence first. “If I die of a heart attack, it will be because you tried to guilt me when you know I’m already dreadfully unwell.”

“You won’t die. You’re strong and you can face this. Breathe through it.”

He pushed the blanket off of his face and stared at the ceiling, arms lying on his chest in a death pose, deep in some internal struggle. So he had the capacity to struggle. He was alive in there. John pined. To help him, to hold him. But what Vincent needed most now was some confidence that he could endure this feeling without numbing it away. Another breathless silence, before Vincent’s voice came to him, extremely brittle and pained. “How do you do it? You said you live with – with it. How?”

“You won’t like this, but, love.”

Vincent gave a broken laugh. “Oh, va te faire foutre. [Oh, fuck off.]”

“Well, that’s how.”

“That doesn’t even mean anything.”

“It does.” John gathered his thoughts before trying to explain. “The way I see it, there’s no atoning for the things we’ve done. That constant call towards self-punishment…it’s pointless. We can’t change the past. But love is beyond blame or atonement. It’s pure…grace.”

“Isn’t grace for people who are actually trying to stop sinning? I don’t want to stop. The freedom to do as I please has served me excellently and I’m having a good time,” he said, wiping at his eyes.

“Vincent – “

“Va chier [Fuck you]. I have no interest in becoming a speck of dust on the floor. This is who I am. I act for my own glorification. It’s idiocy, what you’re asking for. You ask a man to blow up his own life’s work, turn away from pleasure, and dive into pure self-flagellation until he withers away to a shell of himself.”

“There is no withering involved. I want you to have forgiveness. The way this feels…I don’t want you to go through this. Don’t add wrongs on top of each other.”

He was barely speaking, just mouthing words as he sucked in air violently, his chest rising and falling rapid fire. “I ca- I can’t…”

“Hey. It’s okay. Breathe.” John got out and came around to the side door. “Up.” Vincent managed to sit up and slide over, but his face was hidden in his hands again and he was shuddering terribly. John pulled him into his arms. “If you can’t right now, okay. But I’m not giving up on you.”

“Tu es un connard têtu, [You’re a stubborn asshole,]” he said, muffled, and hugged John back.

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#john wick #john x marquis de gramont #marquis de gramont #john wick fanfic #wickblr #marquis de gramont whumpee #gunshot #angst #emotional whump #guilty whumpee #hurt/comfort #whump fic #redemption arc #assassin whump #ao3 crosspost #enemies to lovers

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noxturnol · 3 months

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quick scribble of my hunter charon for this year's return to yharnam :3

#art #bloodborne #return to yharnam #hunter #human #sketch #noxenart

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general-du-vallon · 3 months

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I was writing 5 times Aramis and Porthos get mistaken for gay dads and 1 time they get mistaken for lesbian mums but I got a bit carried away slash sidetracked making up a world to put them in so now it's just '1 time a lot of stuff happens but also nothing at all happens'. I still want that 5+1 fic. Maybe someone else'll make it. Hm. Anyway. Heres 'one time, some stuff; or burry Aramis in babies':

Porthos finds it a bit odd how often he has to explain that Agnes is in fact not dead. Henry's not Aramis's kid, but Aramis got attached, and Agnes lived with him when Henry was small, so Aramis says it might as well count. Henry definitely isn't Porthos's kid, but he goes to the same school where Porthos teaches now, and often ends up hanging out in Porthos's classroom end of days waiting on a ride home. And Porthos is on hand the time Henry punches someone, and Agnes is on shift: she calls in a favour. Short story long, most people assume Agnes is dead and Henry has two gay dads.

"I'm not even dating Aramis," Porthos grumbles, sprawled in the staff room pretending to do lesson planning but really napping with his head on Constance’s lovely thigh.

"Not a conversation you were having out loud babe," Charon says not looking up.

"Someone said how sad that Henry's mum's dead, when I dropped him this morning," Porthos says, providing the rest of the conversation for Charon.

"Thirsty mothers after your gay dad self?" Charon asks, still scribbling on papers at a great rate. "I'm not waiting on you, you know."

Porthos hauls himself off the sofa and away from his comfy napping spot, grabbing his pile of photocopying and wandering back to his classroom to finish up so Charon doesn't leave without him. Henry's still sat doing his homework, at a similar clip to Charon.

"Bum says Louis' over," Henry explains. "He's so annoying. I can't do this important work when he's there. Bum says being a brother is a honour and all sorts. Porthos, you're not listening to me."

Porthos isn't. He's trying to finish his work before Charon leaves him behind, he doesn't want to walk home especially if Henry's going to be complaining about Louis the whole way. He looks at the chaos of his desk in consternation wondering where to start. In the end he just empties some of the piles into his bag and calls it good. He packs up Henry as well and hurries them back to the staffroom trailing complaints from Henry.

"Nearly missed me," Charon says, breezing out and past, not pausing to allow them to change direction so they have to trot to catch up "Henry's coming? Are you gonna eat in my car again?"

"No. Bum didn't pack me enough snacks," Louis complains. He's side eyeing Porthos, seeing how that's landed.

Porthos is trying to remember if he has his house keys. They're halfway across the carpark when Rochelle comes flying around the school and runs full tilt into Porthos and Henry. Mostly Porthos.

"I'm coming to Bum's," Rochelle says, holding onto Porthos’s arm.

Porthos doesn't even remember where Aramis picked up Rochelle she just sort of crept in amongst some of the other kids who come and go and swirl around Aramis. She's older, a bit quieter, but wild with it. Porthos has a soft spot for her.

Especially since she's almost entirely responsible for convincing Aramis that 'bum' is a gender neutral term for 'parental figure'. Most of Aramis's call him Bum.

"Love you, Roch," Porthos says, kissing her forehead.

Then he has to kiss Henry too and promise Rochelle isn't favoured over him (she is) or loved more (she isn't) and by the time they've all piled into Charon's rattly old banger that he is none the less ridiculously proud and precious over, Charon is about ot leave without them. He pulls away as Porthos shuts the passenger side, flicking on the radio to various groans and grumbles and complaints.

Porthos texts Aramis to check Aramis knows there are two more mouths to feed, and Aramis texts back that actually there are four and can they get Luc and Marie. Charon says no but stops when Henry spots them out the window. Porthos wonders where they're gonna fit.

"You're walking babe," Charon says.

"I could fit in the boot," Porthos says, hopefully.

Charon just waits for him to get out and Luc to finish checking Marie is properly strapped in before climbing into the front seat (Porthos's seat). Porthos suggests the boot again, but Charon pulls away. Well, at least he only has to walk half way. At least its warm. At least Charon let him leave his bag and books and laptop so he hasn't got to carry anything. He sticks his hands in hsi pockets and sets off whistling.

"Porthos! Wait up!"

Porthos turns and sees d'Artagnan coming along at a jog, hair flying. He barrels all the way into Porthos just like Rochelle, kissing Porthos's cheeks and hugging him. Porthos starts forward again but d'Artagnan tuts and waits them.

"Athos is coming along," d'Artagnan explains, when Porthos makes impatient noises. It doesn't soothe Porthos, if Athos wants to walk with them he should run, like d'Artagnan did. Porthos's fine mood sinks. "C'mon, he's old, he can't go so fast."

This for Athos's benefit, because he's jsut swung into hearing range. Porthos sets off ignoring his two companions arguing about whether or not thirty five is old. Athos doesn't bother to refute 'slow', as much as d'Artagnan tries to goad him into a foot race. Porthos also resists, mostly by ignoring. He walks at a steady pace.

"What," Athos asks, d'artagnan giving up on them and racing his own shadow, skipping ahead to look at hedges or something.

"What what?" Porthos grumbles. He gives Athos a shove when Athos stays silent.

"Don't push me into the road just because whatever has your knickers twisted," Athos says. "Did you fight with yout boyfriend?"

"I'm not dating Aramis."

There's a long silence. Then Athos says 'huh' as if he didn't know that. Porthos pushes him again, nearly really into the road, a car goes past, Porthos grabs him.

"Saved your life."

"Endangered my life."

“This is me.”

Athos and Porthos stand for a minute, d’Artagnan loops back to hug Porthos again and then Athos and d’Artagnan carry on their walk, Porthos breaks away to cut through the gennel out to the cul de sac where he and Aramis live. He’s been walking to work on and off with Athos for going on ten years, at first they walked an awkward metre apart, different schools but close enough and similar enough to be walking the same route the same time. Then they’d given up and walked together in awkward silence. Then they’d ended up in an easy sort of friendship that mostly consists of their commute. D’Artagnan started teaching with Athos nearly two years ago and lived close so he’s joined them. Neither of them have, somehow, met Aramis.

Henry is doing his homework on the front step, which is effectively the pavement. There isn’t really a step. There’s noise in the house and thundering elephant footsteps and Marie-Cessette comes teetering to the door, leans on Henry, looks up at Porthos, gabbles happily, and thuds back down the hall. Marie walks after her both ways, studiously examining her steps and making sure she doesn’t fall. Porthos climbs over Henry into his house, scooping up both Maries on his way to the kitchen to search out Elodie. Elodie, Charon, and Flea, it turns out. Sitting around in his kitchen with tea and wine and cookies, Luc sitting being grownup with them, Aramis nowhere to be seen.

“Where is he?” Porthos asks, setting the children down now that he’s not at risk of falling over them.

Sam’s sprawled asleep in Charon’s lap, big, only just enough of a toddler to be napping afternoons especially in people’s lap. Charon likes Sam though, Sam’s probably why Charon even agreed to let that lot of Aramis’s into his car. No one answers about where Aramis is. Porthos can hear Rochelle and Fleur out the back, and Marie and Marie-Cessette have found Louis and are squabbling over a puzzle, Henry’s talking to some of the other neighbourhood kids out the front, but not a sound of Aramis. Until a baby sets up a wail. Porthos rolls his eyes and follows the noise.

He finds Aramis in Porthos’s room, a baby in the crook of his arm, talking to-

“Samara!” Porthos cries.

She turns and she smiles, the same as he remembers; warm and lovely and family. He takes a big step and engulfs her as she turns to him, joy bubbling out of him to see her. He’s not sure if he’s laughing or saying hello or crying, he just hangs onto her, hand around the back of her head to pull her in, her arms around him gathering him to her.

“Porthos,” she says, his name wondering in her mouth, “I missed you! You have got bigger, my friend!”

“Taller,” Porthos says, firmly. It’s not true; he’s gained muscle, and then weight, and then muscle, and some more weight. Seeing as, “It’s been two years!”

“Morroco is far away.”

“Far enough away to have a baby without my knowing?” Porthos says, when the baby starts to cry again.

It’s not Samara’s, it turns out, Aramis has collected it somewhere along the way between leaving work and getting home, a story that will have to wait, he’d come into Porthos’s room to talk to Samara when she woke up from her nap and there’s a little of chaos as they work out that Samara is staying with them, is happy to take Porthos’s room, and Porthos is welcome to share the bed (his bed) but only if he promises he’s fixed ‘the kicking thing’ (he hasn’t).

“You can bunk in with me,” Aramis says.

“Not on your life, not with that one that young,” Porthos says. “Like you’re tricking me into getting up every few hours for feeds again.”

Aramis sniggers.

“You kicked me,” Samara says, sternly, crossing her arms and standing between him and the bed like he’s about to climb in right now and never get out leaving her to sleep with Aramis and do the baby feeding dance of sleep deprivation.

Porthos, effectively ousted from his own home, goes to ask Marie if she minds sharing with him as well as Luc for a few nights. Luc won’t care, he was in group homes for a bit before he found Marie again and dragged them both out, stumbling them into Aramis’s warm little chaotic tangle. They’re the only kids who have an actual fully-owned space here, the others always have a place, they hot desk with bedrooms and share when it’s full, Rochelle and Fleur have claimed the attic but they’re decidedly not allowed to sleep up there until Porthos takes his thumb out and sorts steps and safe exits in the case of fire, and Aramis gets around to stopping Rochelle from using heavy boxes to lock them in up there.

Neither of those things are happening any time soon; Porthos is busy and can’t be bothered to do DIY, Aramis is far too soft to properly discipline his girls. Or his boys, or his in-betweenies-undecideds. Marie says she doesn’t mind Porthos having a mattress on their floor so long as he is happy to tell her stories about giants and pirates and octopuses if she wakes up in the night.

#bbc musketeers #my fic #portamis but not yet obv they gonna be boyfriends in the future #modern au with many babies for aramis

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