#diamondskill

Big family man; he wants lots of kiddos

Very likely to adopt orphans after the war

He spoils his little ones to no end; anything they want, he gets

Also can’t correct them on anything, no matter how hard he tries

Would go to the ends of the earth to see them smile

Puppy dog eyes work on him literally every time

Fiercely protective, even from small things; no sticks and stones are gonna break their bones

Is quite scary when he’s actually upset at them for something, but it takes a lot to get him to that point

Never yells, only raises his voice

Teaches them to speak, dress, and act properly; “It is a necessity of the nobility, after all”

Would cry the first time he holds any his kids

Doesn’t like messes; if they get dirty, they get a bath, no exceptions

The most affectionate father; especially after nightmares or when they’re sick

Overworks himself to ensure his children have the best lives possible

Occasionally sits in a chair by their bedside, storybook still in hand, to watch them sleep; they’re his angels, how can he not?

Oversees parts of their education, specifically their weapons training; horsemanship; and lessons in regional history, economics, and politics

Lets them braid his hair and will absolutely wear those flower crowns

Gets very sad when he thinks about how quickly they’re growing up

Commissions a family portrait every year; they all hang in the manor

Very supportive of everything his kids do and all of their accomplishments

Has a drawer in his desk solely devoted to pictures and letters they’ve made him

Lets them sit in his lap while he works

He hadn’t spent too much time with Vexen before Oblivion. Mostly, that was because he had spent more than his fair share of time with Even in Radiant Garden, and fuck, he had had his fill of that within the first fifteen minutes of knowing him.

If personality was a continuum, Xigbar and Vexen were definitively on two wildly different ends. Vexen lived his life underground, frequenting the dark, moist places where only mushrooms and other unpleasant things seemed to spawn. In battle, he hid behind a shield. His friends were beakers and petri dishes and cadavers he’d already slit open and soaked in formaldehyde.

That wasn’t how Xigbar rolled, nosireebob.

In short, he found Vexen (and by extension Even) to be annoying at best, creepy at worst, but hopefully–hopefully–useful somewhere in the middle.

Because, again, the geezer had been spending a lot of time in Twilight Town. And even if the others in the Organization (“real” or not) didn’t see him as a threat, Xigbar knew well enough that even the tiniest splinter could fester into an infection. Calling Vexen a splinter was, of course, a disservice to splinters everywhere, BUT the fact remained that he’d once served under Ansem the Wise (who was currently en route to Twilight Town himself, courtesy of a couple Xehanorts), AND his wiggly little Nobodies had been seen creeping their way through the path to the old mansion, AND his nonsensical babbling had been particularly nonsensical lately, AND…

Well.

He knew a spooked animal when he saw one, and Vexen fit that bill pretty nicely. Something was up. He could almost smell it. And maybe he didn’t completely know what the old coot was planning, but did he really need to? He was as good at connect-the-dots as anyone else, and the picture might’ve only been starting to come together, but hoo boy. What a picture it was turning out to be.

So when the sewers filled with the icy chill he’d come to know and expect, he was already ready and waiting. The dark corridor appeared right where he thought he would, Vexen’s pale form only just stepping out when he let fly the first salvo. His grin was wide and loose and easy when Vexen yelped and recoiled, the corridor already closed, already gone, offering him no escape.

“Now this is…an interesting place to find you, huh?” Xigbar paused before chuckling. “Not really a surprise, I guess, because…” he gestured vaguely to the dank, dripping walls, “Y’know. But still kinda curious, wouldn’t you say?”

Vexen whirled around, his shield materializing before him. “What is the meani–stop that immediately!”

His grin widened, causing the chasm of his scar to pucker. “Uh…why?” In the tunnel, the sound of his arrowgun cocking echoed until it sounded more like a stampede of tiny, clawed monsters on the brick. “You got that big ol’ sheet of metal and ice…and clearly…” He released another shot, the projectile banging off the shield precisely in the spot that would’ve been between Vexen’s eyes, laughing lowly when he yelled out again. “You’re safe and sound behind it, so…what’s the matter, Vex? Why so nervous, bud?”

“Just because I’m–stop that!!!–just because I’m effectively bulletproof doesn’t mean I–stop! Don’t shoot me!”

It wasn’t anything personal. Not really. Vexen had just been a little too…open with the others. Too obvious about his fears, his preoccupation with bodily harm. Two deaths, it seemed, had been two too many for him. Xigbar couldn’t fault him that (not being the biggest fan of death, himself), but shit! Lesson Numero Uno of “Having an Ulterior Motive 101″ was to not let others know how to best pull your strings.