sicsemper

[sicsemper]

on “the nightmare” (visions of v: vol 01, missions 07 – 09).

so, i’m rereading visions of v. this means that, naturally, my monkey brain demands that i write little metas as i come across things in this current read. i’m aiming for this to be (fairly) brief commentary, as this will be an ongoing series. my goal is to write one meta per volume, there being the existing five total volumes — but we’ll see if i end up with more (or less)! i should iterate the disclaimer: i do not adhere to the interpretation that v = vergil. i’ll write a little meta on that in and of itself one day, but the long and short of it is: while v is borne of vergil’s actions and vergil’s being, one of the most significant things about v’s narrative is the concept and development of personhood. it’s evident through the canon (especially through visions of v) that the two characters are not interchangeable. that being said, v is a terribly fascinating vehicle through which we can analyze vergil due to his very nature — ie: being the host of vergil’s nightmares, etc. — and that is the perspective from which these metas are going to dig into the material. also to note, usually when i go about these things i insert little links to direct folks’ attention to particular caps / scenes — and i will do that, as always — but for sake of ease, these might end up having some caps alongside the text itself. apologies if this makes things a wee bit messy! all that being addressed, let’s get into it.

as referenced above, it’s worth stating more clearly that this meta is going to be a more in depth look at the introduction of “the nightmare” — v’s most powerful familiar — in volume 01 of visions of v. there’s a lot going on in just these three short chapters in terms of how the narrative of v’s introduction to and interaction with “the nightmare” reflects on vergil’s trauma. which, of course, is one of my favorite things to poke at. so, really, how could i resist?

Keep reading

[sicsemper]

[ WOUND ]:          upon noticing a recent injury on the receiver’s person, the sender carefully moves closer, running a thumb (or hand) across the wound in a gentle, troubled manner. (For Mydei Ahem)

“You worry too much,” it’s immediate, abrupt. “You know that?” The bandaging wrapped around his arm, his core — the center of himself where old blood has seeped through from several wounds across his abdomen, on his back just left of his spine — it’s all familiar, but not fatal. But ‘not fatal’ had in and of itself become familiar in a way that he tried to be quietly mindful of, most days. Most being the key word. In reality, his recklessness had grown, followed him beyond the earliest days of his youth. More than once in his life he’d thought, if Death would not ferry him, why ought he worry his mind?

But then, the wound struck left of his spine — too low to be too concerning — still tugged at his thoughts. Blood deep and dark as the chaise he sits upon, one foot tucked under the opposite knee, stripped of his armor within his own chambers where he’d sought solitude. Lumbar, perhaps, but close enough that the scar will be an ever present reminder that he had slipped, had let his guard down. All lashes from a dying god, yes, and in a successful effort to retrieve the coreflame… but perhaps the cost had nearly been too high; and he’d yet to tell another soul about it. The gentled hands, the light brush of fingertips over that exact wound — oblivious to any true meaning behind it. It’s only then that his eyes snap up, a lion’s gaze at first because it stings, but settling into something less fierce; a fire spurring and then simmering to nothing but warm coals.

He tuts, raising his hands to undo his braid so he can run his fingers through it idly, only to begin to redo it, twining the strands together with practiced ease, though that sting makes his movements slower. “I came here to be at peace.” In his room. Alone. “Not that you’ve ever respected that much.”

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The way Phainon was all relieved and smiley after hearing Mydei's voice. Them smiling at each other before preparing to attack. I am in shambles.

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— Found you.

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As ever in jest, the other’s words are met with a simple roll of his eyes. “Cheeky to think you’d be invited to the party, Deliverer.” Bold, even, all circumstances considered in the eyes those that feign to truly see. The exiled prince wasn’t exactly the best company to be seen with amongst Okheman society; and whether or not being deigned an Heir made that better or worse was something he’d yet to decide. Or, rather, something Okheman society had yet to decide. Such judgment was far better lain bare in Talanton’s hands than his own, if such a thing could still be done. But dead gods were the latest trend. With a short sigh — rubble at his feet — he turns to follow, though his steps are slow and his amber eyes wary as they flit about their surroundings as he proceeds. Nothing of this truly felt like what he once knew — false memories he’d clung to.

Or, perhaps it was. Decayed and fragmented, covered by cobwebs and dust; ivy growing over it so thick that its once shining stone was cracked by slithering roots, and falling away to nothing at their feet. A dynasty of a bygone era that continued to wheeze on its last breaths and a man walking amidst its encroaching corpse that wasn’t ever meant to take the throne. To return wasn’t a simple matter, no matter their mission. Mydeimos wasn’t here to claim the crown ripped from his hands at birth. He was here in aid of another. Pursing his lips as he steps lightly, he watches as the cape billows behind the man in front of him, but doesn’t think to scoff or scowl. An aid, a guide, a translator. A comrade; though there would come a time when that couldn't be. But for now, that was all he was here to be, no matter his worries about what may finally come to pass at the center of it all. Phainon's jokes were mere folly, and Mydei had the sneaking suspicion that they were half meant as a facade; a jester’s mask to hide his fear. For if he held no fear, he was more arrogant than Mydei had once turned his own nose up at.

Once. Strange to think how their bodies moved in sync now, one tailing the other or vice versa. Perhaps two outlanders with no home to truly reclaim found more solace in one another than they had cared to admit. Perhaps Mydei had finally found an opponent worthy of his blood, his sweat. Even if he wanted to spit at his feet when he acted like this whilst stepping forward to challenge what would perhaps be the most deadly of any opponent on their Flame Chase Journey thus far. And again, he thinks of arrogance. The crevice is a tight fit, but when they emerge on the other side to see a staircase across the steep slope of rotting stone, he pauses, arms folding over his chest.

“And how,” he begins, eyes slanting to Phainon at his side with a level of silent sarcasm that had rarely been matched up until this point. “Do you suppose we continue?” His gaze then drops, down to nothing at their feet. “Unless you can sprout a pair of wings I don’t know about.” With a wide gesture of one arm, his chuckle is deep with a hint of warmth he would later deny, "Be my guest."

“why do you continue on like a bleating sheep trapped under a dromas’ tail? we both know this was your fault.” / take a grand guess. <3

𝐀𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐦 𝐊𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐧𝐨𝐬, the colors drained from the world - sun-bleached stone, rust-streaked metal, and wilted banners stirring faintly in the dry wind. The air hung heavy with the scent of dust and decay, every step stirring the silence of a city long abandoned but not quite forgotten.

The city lay in ruins, its once-proud structures swallowed by time and tangled in the slow, relentless crawl of moss and vine. It was the only place Phainon truly believed Mydei could be free. Markings still clung to the stone, ancient carvings that told stories long fused into legends - tales of how this land came to perish. These carvings acted as a silent testament to the civilization that once thrived here, offering glimpses into their culture, beliefs, and struggles. They served as a bridge between the past and present, allowing those who stumbled upon them to piece together the history of the fallen empire. For Phainon, these stories were not just remnants of the past but keys to understanding the path forward and the potential for Mydei's liberation.

It wasn’t something Phainon often spoke of. Not to Caelus, and not even to Mydei himself. In the silence that settled over Kremnos, he caught it in Mydei’s eyes: that flicker of recognition, a quiet ache buried beneath his fire-hardened resolve. These ruins weren’t just remnants to him - they were fragments of something unfinished. Not merely as a record of loss, but a thread of possibility. A future reclaimed from the ash.

In those rare, quiet interludes between battles, Phainon would linger beside him fingers brush over ancient script, reading meaning - and asking for the occasional translation - into the weathered stone. No grand declarations, no heavy-handed comfort. Just presence. A shared moment beneath faded banners and broken archways, where their silence carried more than words could. And in that stillness, Phainon let Mydei know that his longing hadn't been forgotten. He wasn’t alone in carrying it.

Their journey was a trial — a gauntlet of obstacles both physical and personal, each trying to outpace the other on the path to Nikador. A constant, unspoken wager: who would land the final blow? The bond between Phainon and Mydei ran deeper than simple camaraderie - it was forged in quiet moments between conflict, tempered by hardship, and sealed by the kind of understanding that didn’t need to be spoken aloud. Phainon, ever the picture of composed amusement, took it all in stride. If anything, he found greater satisfaction in outmatching Mydei with words - a quiet victory he never felt the need to boast about - and offered little more than a faint smile when the inevitable sarcasm came in return.

Unfortunately for Mydei, he continued to fall into the traps Phainon laid with ease. Lines like “You're my only hope to transcribe this ancient relic,” or “Are you tired already?” were met with predictable sneers - and yet, somehow, they worked every time. Mydei’s frustration only fueled Phainon’s quiet amusement. Each verbal jab, each moment of exasperation, only served to deepen the unspoken bond between them, a delicate balance of rivalry and respect that neither could deny.

The enemies that met them now were not like the ones before - they moved with purpose, as though aware of who approached and why. No longer just mindless remnants or opportunistic scavengers, these foes fought with strategy, with spite, and with strength drawn from something ancient that still clung to the bones of Castrum Kremnos.

They came from sudden silence - slipping from broken archways and ivy-twined ruins like shadows wearing flesh. Quick and coordinated. One lunged for Mydei wielding a blade that sang through the air like scorched metal, while another circled Phainon with a reverence that felt almost religious. A test. A challenge.

Phainon moved deliberately - not slow, but unhurried, like a man certain of the outcome. The clash of steel echoed through the hollowed city as he parried and turned, weaving light and precision into something almost ceremonial. The climax wasn’t explosive. It was clean - a decisive thrust between the ribs of the last adversary, delivered with the grace of someone who had long since learned not to waste motion on pride.

As the enemy collapsed, the stone beneath them groaned. One of the broken arches, already cracked by age and strain, gave way under the shock of combat. With a low roar, it crumbled inward, slamming into the ground with a violent crash that sent up clouds of dust and shards of splintered rock.

Phainon stepped back, the weight of the moment settling around him. Bright blue eyes lifted to the wall of rubble now sealing off the path ahead - the only direct route to Nikador, now buried beneath stone and time. Dust hung in the air like ash, and silence pressed in again, broken only by the distant creak of the city shifting beneath itself.

He exhaled once through his nose. Not frustration - calculation.

“Now, if we’d just done what I suggested,” he said, a hand settling on his hips, “instead of you getting all high and mighty - or should I say, Mydei - we wouldn’t be in this situation.” A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. His tone was light, but his edge was unmistakable.

“why do you continue on like a bleating sheep trapped under a dromas’ tail? we both know this was your fault.”

“My fault?” he echoed with a hearty laugh. “Still able to crack a joke, I see, all hope isn’t lost yet.” He allowed himself a brief smile - first at the absurdity of it all, then at Mydei directly.

“Come on,” he said, turning on his heel and sheathing his sword with a familiar, practiced motion. “Once you’re done hosting your pity party, perhaps we can get back to our challenge.” Without waiting for a response, he started on a narrow detour snaking around the fallen stone - his silhouette disappearing briefly into the dust and dimming light.

[sicsemper]

You didn’t come down from the sky? — This city is mine anyway.

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consider i've done nothing wrong, ever, in my life.

@sicsemper get out. I’m banishing u

[sicsemper]

Mydei🍷

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# 「 mydei 」 this city is mine anyway. so why shouldn’t i go through the front door? 

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which member of your otp says “no” right after the other takes a deep breath

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#「 neuvillette 」 it's said that a dragon of water once resided in fontaine. every time it weeps the skies will cloud up and pour out rain.

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#「 childe 」 if you make a promise: you keep it. if you make a mistake: you apologize. if you give someone a dream: you defend it to the end.  

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i have done some renovations to the blog to dust things off and recovered the necessary tags i neeeeeeed to be functional on this blog once again. woof. yet i feel oddly good about it. it's both strange and good to be back.

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update part ii:

once again -- i am not dead! and finally have the time after projects and recovering from surgery to actually dust off my blogs and bounce around a bit. that said, i'm teaching now so i still don't have a ton of time. i'm going to be focusing probably on 1-3 muses at a time with a rare random throw in. but that's usually how i've always done things, so here we are.

tldr; i'm back! mostly.

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a small post to say hello to any mutuals that remain, i am not dead. any and all writing energy is currently going toward work projects or finally starting the book series i've been working on for like a decade. the time will come when i return to either this blog or any of my others. but that time simply isn't just now!

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i have finished ff7 rebirth and have been processing the ending for like two straight days because... well.

that said, this is not gonna be a spoiler free zone SO -- anything i post that is spoilery will be tagged with "/ spoilers" or put under a read more. or both!

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ZACK FAIR ↳ requested by anonymous