wings of feathers, tails and fin tips

[amo]

Who: Vash & YOU?
What: January (+ backdated December) catch-all, includes an open aurora: nascent prompt.
When: All throughout this (and the previous) month.
Where: The Church, Milton's surroundings.
Content Warnings: Will be added as necessary here if not mentioned in the thread itself.



prompts & starters ↯

( plotting | permissions & sing-specific info | gusts )

feel free to hit me up on the plotting post or plurk if you want a personalized starter!
i'm down for any wildcard prompts too & always happy to match format.

Comments

[brutalact]

[the recognition is immediate, but it isn't until his eyes open and he can see it cradled between both palms that he actually believes it to be true. his sister's - their sister's - feather, perfect in all its soft edges and still lingering with that familiar warmth that tingled against his skin. whatever memory this held was faint now, the universes that separated them now leaving only a sliver of what once was, but it was more than enough for knives to behold it with moonstruck eyes. how vash acquired this little treasure was a question for later, unimportant in this moment. he's left speechless, leaving vash to smile in knowing pleasure that this would be the exact reaction he'd receive from knives. typical and expected, they both knew each other so well.

at first he doesn't dare move, fingers curling around the feather protectively just as the wind brushes by them, lifting loose snow to dance across the ground and frozen lake behind them. yet despite the bitter cold, he can feel his face heating up, cheeks reddened by more than just the wind. eyelashes fluttering as more heat builds up to the now inevitable arrival of tears. his vision blurs just before he blinks, finally remembering to exhale.]

This is...

[it's difficult to speak around the growing lump of emotion in his throat, voice quiet under the low whistling of winter winds, but he manages somehow. at least it's nothing vash hasn't seen from him before, always too emotional at the worst times.]

[amo]

[ Even if he knows what kind of reaction to expect, it does nothing to dim Vash's eager anticipation as he watches Knives' eyes open. If anything, he's all the more delighted for being proven right when his gift is met with stunned silence and wide, awestruck eyes. He's unable to contain the smile that the sight evokes, lips stretching helplessly wider and eyes going hooded with sheer fond affection. Naturally, he's going to have to explain the rather absurd and fantastical manner in which he acquired the feather, but— later. He doesn't want to ruin the moment with words just yet, too busy beholding that astonished look with the satisfaction of a cat who got both the cream and the canary.

Until Knives surprises him, that is.

For all that he'd been expecting, what Vash distinctly isn't is seeing the rose-red bloom in his brother's cheeks and the wet glimmer in his eyes as the unmistakable threat of tears begins to build swiftly. It's a dear and familiar sight and yet one Vash hasn't seen in many, many years. It steals the very air from his lungs, his own eyes growing just as wide. It's the one thing he never could have expected and no one can blame him for it when the last time he saw Knives cry was... before Tesla, he's pretty sure. His twin had started bottling everything up after that horrible discovery and it had been their doom; their downfall, the apple Eve ate to be left forever changed in the knowing.

Vash isn't sure if that before is actually the last time Knives ever cried, but it's the last time he recalls seeing tears clinging to his lashes, his ruddy cheeks, and snotty nose when it had been a near-daily occurrence before that. His brother had always felt too much, too deeply, for his tiny body to contain until he'd built a wall around himself and locked up everything deemed too soft and vulnerable. Knives has never shed any tears in their meetings and clashes later in life, not even at the very end when Vash's warm blood ran over his hands and the sound of beating wings faltered.

Now Knives is overcome with emotion at a relatively simple gesture and it's Vash who's left moonstruck in turn. He's forgotten how to breathe, can't possibly tear his gaze away from Knives' face, but somehow susurrus words fall from his lips in response to the unfinished sentence anyway. ]

A sister's feather, yes. I know you've been missing them and it's not much, but I thought it might help.

[ He'd just wanted to help, that's all. Never in a million (ha) years did he think this impulsively wished gift would get him a precious one of his own. He can't look away or even so much as blink when he doesn't want to miss a scintilla of his brother's tearful reaction. ]

[brutalact]

[in the long expanse of time between the opening of their pandora's box to this very moment, knives had shed many tears. clutching at the ruined bodies of decomposing sisters, their pain and grief flowing into him time and time again never failed to stir up the silt of emotions he could never successfully bury deep enough. failure, rejection, and shame so finely mixed together by what should have been the end of his life, he had thought he was numb to that familiar calling of tears. yet here he was, vision blurring before those emotions begin to spill over, fat tears cutting wet streaks down ruddy cheeks.

he'd always hated how easy it was for him to cry, so easily reduced to a whimpering mess when compared to how confidently vash could keep his composure. at times he had longed for the day when such overwhelming emotion would grow dimmer and he'd feel nothing, hopeful that maybe then he could breathe easier in the face of adversity.

but unfortunately, such a wish was a pipe dream at best. just like everything else he had hoped for, now dashed against the rocks.

the tears don't stop, as if waiting for the opportune moment to break free and reduce him to mess. his hands continue to carefully cup the delicate feather, knuckles turned pink from the cold, but compared to the softly pulsing warmth resting between, it hardly even registers to him.]

I... [not a day goes by that their sisters aren't in his thoughts; he worries, hopes, wonders about them. how they are, if they're being treated well, thoughts that spiral towards the hopelessly dark rooted in the reality he knows they are actually living in. vash had hope, but knives was realistic. even if he were still back on that planet, there was nothing he could do for them. some would survive and some would suffer until their demise. it broke his heart over and over, but he had accepted it as much as one could while picking at the slow to heal scab. old habits died hard.

knives feels outside of himself, vash physically close but still too far away. selfishly, he wants to bridge the distance and demand more, but the words clog in his throat. instead, all he can manage is a tinny,] ... Thank you.

[amo]

[ Vash is utterly transfixed as he watches the tears start to brim over. Bearing witness to them as they fall and Knives struggles to speak, he's as frozen as the ice surrounding them, not daring to move or even breathe for fear it might shatter the moment. It's only briefly that he remains as still as a statue though. He can't just watch, the sight pulls on his heartstrings far too much and the urge to soothe away those tears takes hold swiftly enough that it breaks him out of his spell somewhat. He's barely aware of what he's doing when he's taking the gloves off of his flesh hand — the snow glove and the fingerless one underneath it — and tucks them away into his coat's pocket, eyes never wavering from their fixed target that is his twin's florid face. He's only vaguely registering the choked words of gratitude or that he's lifting his arms, reaching out to catch and cradle Knives' face between his hands.

He's dreaming — he must be, how else would he explain the magical impossible gift-giving boar — but the wetness feels so very real when a thumb makes a pass over Knives' cheek, his cold skin too solid under his bare fingers. It must be a dream, but it can't be. It feels realer still when some old forgotten instinct draws Vash in further, has him leaning in to press slightly parted lips to his brother's other cheek in a gesture he hasn't gotten to share since their loss of Eden. It's in this, the quiet weeping that he can perceive through touch and the taste of salt spilling in past his lips, that he finally feels like he recognizes his brother again; not the stranger who he'd followed for eighty years after the Fall and eventually violently clashed with over and over again, but the boy he thought died back on the ship that was their home. He's still there, just like Vash had hoped.

He can't tell if what the emotion that washes over him is joy or sorrow, a mix of both, or something else entirely — the dichotomous sensation of his heart being broken and mended all at once, maybe. ]

There you are.

[ He breathes out against flushed skin before he's pulling his head back just enough so he can look at Knives, his voice growing tighter with every word. It's a struggle to get past the growing lump in his throat and fiercely whisper the rest of what he wants to say. ]

My crybaby brother, I've missed you.

[ So much. He's never let himself feel that completely, the loss too tangled up with anger, guilt, and hate for Vash to allow himself to grieve. It hadn't felt right, grieving the living even if they had been rendered unrecognizable to him, but now the admittance comes easy albeit with stinging eyes and a tight throat. ]

[brutalact]

[caught in the riptide of emotions he'd kept buried under stomped ground for so long, knives can feel himself drowning. lungs filling with salt water and sand, the air thinning with every shaking inhale and every exhale pushing forth more ugly tears. he is made undone so easily it should be insulting, but in this moment he can't even conjure a hint of his old pride. such a useless relic had been washed away by the changing sand dunes of their home far from here now.

vash takes him by the face and knives shudders at the gentle touch, warm lips pressed to his cheek that elicits another sob to come crawling up. he can feel his nose dripping with distant disgust. lower lip pulled under a sharp canine as if that may quell its trembling, but with little success. all over he feels too much, desperation squeezing at the cage around his racing heart.

he can't meet his brother's eyes even if he wanted to, vision too blurry from tears that refuse to yield and shame for his own weakness. a weight keeps him from looking up any higher than the quivering pull of vash's smile, haunted by the effect he had on his brother still. he's sorry, he's sorry, he's sorry he's so selfish--]

[amo]

[ His brother is a glorious mess of snot and tears and Vash knows he should probably take mercy. Maybe hand him the handkerchief he keeps in his pocket, step back and let Knives compose himself before wounded pride can rear its ugly head. Vash can't bring himself to. Part of him relishes the sight with a bittersweet joy and it's that part of him — however mean it might be — that wins out over anything he ought to do. He wants to take these remnants of his crybaby brother and hold them tight, never let go again just like he promised Rem. Cultivate them, if he can, so his brother can be more open and honest with his tender heart once more. ]

Come here.

[ He murmurs, his hands shifting to take up new placements. His intact hand finds its way to the back of Knives' head, fingers curling into dark locks and tugging his twin closer. His lips briefly find Knives' temple to bestow another gentle press full of fierce unspoken feelings along the way before Vash finishes the motion, pulling his brother's forehead against his shoulder. His artificial arm is moved around Knives to where he can run his hand up and down his spine soothingly in rusty yet familiar movements.

There's warmth trickling down Vash's own cheeks, but he's scarcely cognizant of it, more concerned with getting Knives close yet careful not to squash his hands and thus the precious feather between them. There isn't much he can offer to ease the tears, just a simple, old reassurance. ]

It's okay, I've got you.

[ If he closes his eyes (which he does), Vash can pretend that the years fall off of them like the molt of their feathers, that they're small again, standing in the cold air of the cryo chambers in their oversized coats, that the sound of the wind through the trees is the low constant hum of the ship's engine. That, for this small moment in time, they're just them again like they used to be — everything else nothing more than a distant bad dream. Vash has always been good at pretending. ]

[brutalact]

[the relief is a double-edged blade, pressing down until the pressure erupts and floods his sensibilities. he remembers now why he hated crying, how it rendered him utterly useless. what good were tears for? the act of weeping would never revive the dead or turn back the clock. they could never erase the actions he had taken, the hands he had raised against his brother, but despite his very best efforts the weak and wounded heart that never had a chance to heal still beat heavy inside his aching chest.

at least, later, he could be a little grateful breakdown happened with only vash to bear witness. only vash deserved to see him like this, sobbing softly into the stiff fabric of his brother's shoulder. the relief felt good, and because it felt good, it also felt very undeserved. shame curls long fingers around the edges of whatever it is he's feeling now, a pot boiling over.

vash holds him just like when they were children, the horrors laying dormant in their space-faring paradise still left undiscovered. this is what he wanted, if knives were really honest with himself. vash's arms wrapped around him so tightly, squeezing the ugly emotions out of him through the tears that slipped down his face. all he wanted was his brother, the halcyon timber of his voice soothing away his ragged edges. knives had wanted for it for so long, he had almost forgotten completely.

their sister's feather is well protected between them, just as it should be. knives leans his weight into vash's all-encompassing embrace, allowing himself to want this while in the safety of their momentary bubble.

the sobs are slow to quiet down, everything always such a process when it came to his inner machinations. even now there were parts of himself made unknown and unrecognizable, stained black by the soot of the fire he kept burning inside himself all these long years.]

Vash...

[he whispers against his brother's shoulder, voice raw and tinny from misuse, and closes his eyes to the rest of the world. maybe something shifted inside, the wound he'd kept festering finally allowed lancing. whatever it was, he hoped for this to last a little while longer.]