Don't Fuck with the Forest Spirits || OTA

[evulsed]

characters: Vanitas (evulsed) + OTA
location: mostly The Church, the Invincible + the Boathouse
date/time: July 19 and the days following
content: just waking-up-after-being-dismembered things
warnings: violence

Comments

[replicates]

[ he doesn't know what happened to vanitas after he returned. he doesn't know the gentle kindness he'd received from gene, from wanda; from sora. he doesn't know how to provide it, wouldn't know how to, because kindness and gentleness are things he'd never been given. but it doesn't make him crave it any less, doesn't take away the longing for it, even if he doesn't think he'd ever really deserve it.

all he knows is how to break, himself and others. all he knows is how to survive. all he knows is the kind of desperation that comes off of vanitas in waves, fills his nose with that changing scent — the hunger that shifts to vulnerability that shifts to rage. he remembers that scent; it was his own, for some time.

and maybe he should have expected this too: the fact that vanitas would take and take, just like he did, because it's all he knows; it's all he's ever been given. and dawn's steps slow, tipping his head up as he closes his eyes just for a moment, embracing that rage and frustration, the lingering sense of longing just beneath it. he's not gentle, he doesn't know how to be and neither does vanitas, but he can imagine what it's like: soft sands and a warm sunset; a smile that holds nothing but understanding and acceptance.

take the time you need.

he sidesteps the strike and pivots in the same movement, reaching out to grasp vanitas' wrist. way to dawn remains embedded in the sand next to the dark lantern and he makes no movement to retrieve it. ]

You can wait here, or come in with me. [ his tone is even as he repeats what he says, the disaffected expression from before replaced with something less closed off. his grip is tight, careful, but not bruising. ] Your choice.