#come join the void tea party

[rebelliousstories]

Rightful Spot

Relationship: Remy LeBeau/Gambit x Reader

Fandom: X-Men

Request: Yes by Anon

Warnings: Fluff, Brief Angst, Mentions of Fighting

Word Count: 1,521

Main Masterlist: Here

X-Men Masterlist: Here

Summary: After coming back to his timeline and finally joining in on missions, Remy underestimated how powerful cuddles could be.

Consider Donating: Here

Looking back on it now, he could have stuck that landing better. However, the circumstances leading to him having to stick a landing were a bit unforgiving, so it should not have been terribly surprising. Still, falling from the sky and rolling into a dark alleyway was not how Remy wanted his welcome home to be.

He could not complain though. Remy was home. He was back in his own universe, and now had a renewed sense of purpose. Stumbling out into where he could see lights, familiar sights and sounds greeted him like old friends. New Orleans, Louisiana; home sweet home. Gambit was on Bourbon Street, which was always hustling and bustling.

His feet began the trek to who knows where. All he knew was that they were going some place familiar and safe. The man ducked and weaved, making his way effortlessly through the crowds. In his hands, a card was always there, just in case. Further and further from the crowds, his feet took him. Down to where there were some apartment buildings, his brain finally started catching up with his feet. Taking over, Remy bolted up to the top, and began to run across the rooftops to his destination.

Dropping onto the fire escape, he thanked whatever was out there that he managed to keep mostly quiet. Peaking inside the window, he was shocked to see someone was still awake. In fact, multiple someone’s had been awake and moving about the apartment. Remy could not hear what was being said, but he knew those faces. Scott with his red glasses, and Jean with her matching red hair, Storm with her flowing white locks, and her. His cher was sitting there entertaining them all.

She looked like she was exhausted. Not from sleep, but mentally and emotionally tired. She looked like how Remy felt being in the Void. In her hands was a mug of something warm, probably that tea she likes to drink, and one of Gambit’s jackets around her. His heart tugged at the sight, and his lips curled in a smile. She never did do well with the cold.

Picking the lock on the window, Remy silently creeped into the apartment. Their eyes had not noticed the new person in the apartment, but he noticed how quiet it had gotten. Before he could speak, his body was suspended in the air as Jean turned to face the man. But she gasped in shock and let the man go almost immediately. The rest of the party was just a second behind her.

“Now, that ain’t no way to treat da Gambit, no?” His hands began massaging his body as the other people finally reacted to the new arrival. He heard her voice whisper out his name as he stood once more.

“Cher, I’m home. I’m so sorry.” But before he got any closer, Scott stepped in front of the ladies.

“If you really are Gambit, what’s something only he would know, huh? What was the last thing he said to me?” Scott pressed, worried that this might be an imposter.

“Cyclops, really? I just got back, mon ami. We really gonna have us an inquisition right now?” But the man was not swayed.

“What was the last thing Gambit told me?”

The Cajun was looked around for someone to support him not doing this, and just wanted to lay his eyes on his girl again. But he groaned, and wiped a hand over his face in frustration.

“Gambit told ya, ‘I’ll go on the mission. Jean needs ya here. Tell my cher dat I love her.’ That was the last thing I told ya before leaving for that damn mission to go so some recon on the brotherhood.” Everyone stood down. But Scott was still unimpressed.

“Where have you been all this time? And why only come back now?” He continued, even though Jean was tugging at his sleeve.

“Went on dat mission, and touched down in da forest. Didn’t find no brotherhood, but instead some people called da TVA takin’ bunch o’ dem out. Next thing I know, I wake up in da desert in some place called the Void. Been der evea’ since. Den a Deadpool and a Wolverine fought to leave the Void, and bargained for my freedom to come back as well as others. Believe me now, Scott?” Remy was getting fed up with answering questions. All he wanted was to get her in his arms.

Before anyone could speak again, he was nearly knocked over by the weight and force of something hitting him hard and fast. Remy regained his balance and looked down to see his girl squeezing him tight. Closing his eyes, he wrapped his arms around her and held her close. Hands landed on his arms, and he found Scott and Jean there on one side, with Storm on the other. Remy pulled the rest of the gang close as he relished this moment he never expected to have again.

After a few months of training, flying back to New York to go live at the school again, and a brief adjustment period to not always being on edge about who or what was going to find him, Gambit was back in the field. He did not do solo missions anymore, but he was excelling in team exercises again. This last one had kicked everyone’s butt though.

What was meant to be a simple mission of going down to help stop a mutant riot in the city, turned into a full scale brawl with the Brotherhood. In the end, they had eventually stopped the riot, but not without acquiring some scratches and bumps. The flight back to the school was a silent one; one where everyone that was not navigating the plane just wanted to rest with their eyes closed, and their brain off.

It was a smooth landing, which was a blessing. But having to walk back up was a curse. Every bone felt ten times heavier, and their feet felt like they were made of lead, but they did it. Bidding his teammates adieu, Remy continued his climb to where their room was. Thankfully, she had moved back into the mansion, having left when Remy disappeared, and was staying in their old room together. It was just like no time had passed.

Creaking the door open, he was delighted to see that she was folding some laundry with music playing somewhere in the background. Upon hearing the footsteps, she looked up, smiled, and abandoned her task.

“Remy, you’re home! Are you alright?” Her arms wrapped around him in a tight hug that made him groan.

“Ease up, cher. Ol’ Gambit done had the card house dropped on him.” Pulling away, she saw that a bruise was starting to form right underneath his chin. She traced a feather light touch over it, and furrowed her brows.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” She pleaded, worried to see what other marks he had gained in the afternoon that he had been gone.

“Non, cher. Just finish wit’ dem clothes so we can lay down, yeah? Gonna go get out of my suit now.” Gambit pressed a kiss to her lips, but was careful over the split he felt in the corner. While he went to the bathroom to change, she resumed her task of getting the laundry done.

Her mind was distracted, and worried about her lover that was just on the other side of the door. She could hear his groans and hisses, especially once the water started and he was underneath the stream. Setting out a loose shirt, and an equally loose pair of pajama pants, she went to work putting the rest of the clothes away while waiting for him to come out.

The door opened, and she just had to turn to see. Bruises started darkening already, and there were some minor scrapes, but that seemed to be the brunt of his injuries. With a towel loose around his hips, he grabbed the clothes from the bed, and sent his lover a wink. Not a seductive or even teasing wink, but rather a way to say thank you. He disappeared back into the bathroom, and she changed herself to something a bit more comfortable. As she was pulling the covers back from the bed, Remy emerged once more, with damp hair, and a fresh set of clothes on.

Gambit crawled into the plush bed, and sunk into it with a groan. She giggled, but crawled in beside her lover all the same. His arms, no matter how bruised or sore, opened wide to accept her right where she was supposed to be. They were facing each other, and her hands were tucked up against his chest to keep her close. One arm under her neck, and one around her waist, Remy kept her as close as humanly possible.

“Je t’aime, cher.” Remy whispered, pressing a kiss to her hairline as they began to drift off.

“I love you too, Remy.” She replied, feeling perfectly at peace in her spot with her lover.

[bucketfullofstrawberries]

The Moon's Teaparty REBLOG CHAIN!!

You're walking down the liminal void of the Paraverse. It's,, pleasant. At best. Not much, but it's certainly there for you to endure and somewhat enjoy.

As you walk, though, you happen to come across something on the ground. Rolling over and tapping against your shoe with a clink, stopping by your feet.

It seems to be a tube of some sorts,,, a scroll, maybe?

It seems like it.

Curiosity gets the better of you. You kneel down and take it into your hands, looking it over -- then opening it up. Before you, you see the following.

" Attention members of the Paraverse! You are all cordially invited to The Moon's Tea Party this upcoming Fall at Hook, Line n' Adventure™️ Grove. There will be food, drinks, and desserts provided free of charge. There is a cottagecore-esq theme to the event if you would wish to match the venue, however there is no strict dress code required. Gifts for the host are optional but appreciated for those who would like to bring one. " " Please reply to this message as soon as possible if you wish to attend this event. All are welcome to join the illustrious Moon on this joyous occasion! "

Three little stars - located near the bottom of the sheet - begin to glow once you've read everything over. A moment or so passes and they beam up what seems to be some sort of holographic-esq image.

You believe it to be the venue.

Now. This certainly seems exciting~

But here comes the question at hand.

Do you accept?

---------------------------------- 𓆩⟡𓆪 --------------------------------------

SO YES!! HI, HELLO THERE!!! GOOD MORNING, EVENING OR NIGHT, WHEREVER OR WHOEVER YOU ARE!!

I've actually been planning this little event for a while~ and it'a FINALLY HERE !! Some people on Discord have been waiting a good while for me to get it DONE too. HehHAH!! So, if you couldn't tell, this is SUPPOSED to be one of those Reblog Chain Events. And I'm hoping, to whoever wishes to participate, you ALL have fun with it!!

There's no real rules, just simply reblog THIS POST with your goober ( OR gooberS, if you have multiple ) dressed up in some sweet cottage-core-esq outfit. Bring whoever you like and whatever you like, it's all about having a wonderful time really~

Anyway, have a MAAAGNIFICENT rest of your evening~ Mx Marlowe will be delighted to see you there~

[phxntomhives]

Pandora Hearts Headcanons to fill the void in my heart

Some of them are painful

Spoiler for all of the manga (mostly post canon)

I had to take breaks because I just started crying all over again

Gil, Sharon and Reim did the tea party at the end, as a memorial for the everyone 🥺. They tried to invite as many people as they could.

Emily has her own spot with her own teacup. At the same table there are also two rabbits.

Duke Barma and Shelly came together. He got her flowers.

Vincent tried to not come but ended up trying to take a peak, Gil saw him and forced him to join in another room where they spent some time together while being hidden.

Leo adopted several cats. They are all named after characters of the serie Elliot likes. And he brought them all to the party (Gil's wasn't happy but he didn't complain either)

They all took a picture in the end, everyone was trying to smile but the sadness was still present.

Ever since then they do the tea party once a year to maintain the memories and feel like they are all still present with them.

Reim had to organize Break's funeral almost on his own because Sharon couldn't make decisions. But they kept Emily always around. Their children know that the doll is important, they use it to play but with the most care. They feed her candies.

Gilbert started to keep a diary of things he wanted to share with Oz and Alice. He wrote several of them and each is kept safe. He doesn't know if he will force them to read it, but he finds comfort in still sharing his daily life with them.

Leo took interest in literature and follows all the series he thinks Elliot would enjoy.

[tannahmc89]

My Brand-New Story on Rich Text Doc.

Lloyd Adventure Series 01.

Najee Blade & Shadoe Beresh.

Jul. 2nd, 2024.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Everything all started in the big city. Lloyd was at his house. Void was at his house. Muscules was at his house. Sarah was at her house. Sophie was at her house. Gamma was out with his friends. Sarah was preparing for a tea party. She wanted Lloyd to join her. So she gives him a call.

Lloyd: just remember that i'll never be your higglytown hero.

Sarah: you always say that. just shut up and come over.

Lloyd: ok. fine. just remember what i said. i'll be there in 3 mins.

Sarah: ok. see you soon. and thank you for answering my call.

Sometimes Lloyd doesn't like hanging out with Sarah. Their relationship is complicated. But Lloyd's friends all agreed that he should try to be more nicer to Sarah. Lloyd finally had a tea party with Sarah and her baby dolls. Lloyd kinda felt awkward at first. But now; Lloyd can post some pics on his social media page. Just to prove to his friends that he likes playing Sarah's games and enjoys hanging out with her. Anyways, Void is still at his house doing some spring cleaning. And Muscles is hanging out at a coffee shop with Sophie. They went to a new coffee shop in Caillou Centre on Seventh Avenue.

Sophie: Sometimes your friend. Lloyd Everett. Can be so mean to

Sarah Lopez. And Sarah is my friend. And I'm really concerned about her mental health. Lloyd Everett is not making things easier for her.

Muscles: I know. Lhoydic James Everett can be quite challenging. And i'm too. Am also worried about Sarah Lopez and her mental health. And what Lloyd's rejection is doing to her.

[katherinejblackwell]

Katherine's Tea Party 1- My Winter TBR

Also read on my website!

Photo by Anastasia Kostyleva

Hello and welcome to the very first blog post on my brand-new website! I'm very excited to have my own pretty little spot on the internet to talk about the things I'm most passionate about. Hopefully a few people decide to join in on the fun along the way, but for now, I'm perfectly content to be yelling into the void. So without any further delay, allow me to share some of the books I've put on my Winter TBR and why.

Number 1- The Secret History and The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt

Amidst my semi-recent foray into the dark academia aesthetic, these seem like no-brainers. I started reading The Secret History about two years ago, but final exams made it difficult for me to find the time to read it. Now that things have slowed down again, I've picked it back up from the beginning, and I'm really enjoying it. The descriptions are what I've found most interesting--even when we're reading descriptions of beauty, there's a constant creepy, haunting undertone in Tartt's words. As for The Goldfinch, I admittedly know very little about it aside from reading the blurb a few weeks ago, but I think the fact that it's by Donna Tartt and is a Pulitzer Prize winner is more than enough encouragement to add it to the list.

Number 2- The Hunger Games trilogy and The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes by Suzanne Collins

The Hunger Games is, and I think will always be, one of my absolute favorite book series. I find myself coming back to it again and again, and I was recently re-infected with the need to read the trilogy amongst the hype surrounding the new movie coming out this month. I'm the type of person who has to read the book before watching the movie, which is why I added The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes to the list as well. It's just come in on hold for me at the library, so it'll be briefly interrupting my reading of The Secret History. I'm very eager to dive back into one of my favorite fictional worlds, despite the mixed feelings I've seen from other Hunger Games fans regarding Songbirds and Snakes​.

Number 3- Six of Crows and Crooked Kingdom by Leigh Bardugo

I picked this duology up for myself many moons ago and have yet to read it. I unintentionally took a break from fantasy for a while, but as we approach Winter, I keep imagining myself on the couch devouring fantasy novels with a warm drink by my side. So, most of the rest of this list is fantasy books. I think these two will be some of the first I pick up when snow starts hitting the ground here because I have heard nothing but good about Leigh Bardugo's books and I'm eager to finally venture into her world.

Number 4- The Red Queen series by Victoria Aveyard

I've read the first two books in this series two or three times each because I was dead set on owning a complete set of the gorgeous collector's editions of these books for the longest time. Red Queen was the very first collector's edition I bought for myself when I was in middle school and I was utterly entranced by every detail of it. I have since seen reason and (mostly) given up on the idea of the collector's editions for the final two books ever coming out, so for now, I'll be checking the next two books out from the library this Winter and crossing my fingers that one day my dream will come true.

Number 5- Set Fire to the Gods by Kristen Simmons and Sara Raasch

This is another title that I started and never finished about two or three years ago. In my defense, I started it as my second book in a 24-hour readathon, and I was absolutely delirious by the time I got to it. I'd actually read a decent chunk of the book during the readathon--I believe half or more--but I could never gather up the motivation to finish it. I could barely remember what I had read in my sleep-deprived state anyway, so eventually it seemed better to just start over altogether. This book has an absolutely gorgeous cover and a very pretty purple map on the inside, so if nothing else I'm excited to stare at it for hours.

Number 6- Iron Widow by Xiran Jay Zhao

This one I bought for myself a while back amidst the craze on Booktok, and I never got around to reading it due to my aforementioned break from fantasy. I don't remember much about the synopsis of this book, and I think I'll keep it that way so it's a bit of a surprise going in. Things are often popular for a reason, and I wouldn't have bought it if I wasn't sure at the time that I would enjoy it, so I have high hopes for it. I think I've also heard that a sequel of some sort came out recently, so if I enjoy Iron Widow maybe I'll add that to my list too.

Number 7- Legendborn by Tracy Deonn

Once again, I bought this title for myself a while ago and never got around to it during my fantasy break. The cover alone is enough to make me want to read it, but I've also heard that there is some amount of dark academia vibes in this novel, so it will absolutely be right up my alley. I am very excited to read it and I'm expecting it to be one of my favorites from this list. I think this will be a good one to read in my initial transition from Donna Tartt's novels to my fantasy picks for the season.

Number 8- The Devil and the Dark Water ​by Stuart Turton

Transitioning out of fantasy-land, we have a handful of mystery novels joining the fray. I was recently reminded of this book while shelving at work last week and added it to my list ASAP. I read Turton's The Seven and a Half Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle a while ago and absolutely LOVED it. It was a creative, incredibly compelling read that I just could not put down, and if The Devil and the Dark Water is anything like Seven and a Half Deaths, sign me up a million times over. ​

Number 9- The Paris Apartment by Lucy Foley

I initially resisted adding The Paris Apartment to any sort of TBR, I think because I kept seeing it in emails from B&N. But I have since warmed up to it, and after reading the description of it by the book drop at work, I became intrigued enough to add it to the list. I do not often read mystery (aside from Turton's first novel), so hopefully, this will be a good book to bring me more into the genre.

Number 10- Arsenic and Adobo by Mia P. Manasala

This is another one I discovered while working at the library, and I was highly tempted to sneakily check it out to myself right then and there. I thought the title was a little humorous, and that combined with the cover art caught my eye right away (and mention of a Dachshund named Longanisa in the blurb only added to the appeal). I'm not sure when I'll be finishing my fantasy craze and getting to the few mysteries I have on this list, but I'm very much looking forward to this book when I do.

Number 11- The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid

Another mystery and another book that has been very popular on the internet. I didn't originally have specific plans to read this book, but I saw a few posts about it floating around at about the same time I was putting my list together, and I thought maybe it was time to see what all the hype was about. The plot certainly sounds interesting, and I'll be looking forward to this one as I work my way through the list.

Number 12- Vanishing Girls ​by Lauren Oliver

This is one I inherited from my sister when she was cleaning out her own collection of books, and it's been sitting on my shelf for years now, constantly getting pushed back in the TBR by newer titles. I've read a handful of Lauren Oliver books and enjoyed most of them, and since it's been sitting on my shelf so long and I'm hoping to read a few other mysteries this season, I think it's time to finally give this one a shot. 

Number 13- The Surrender Theory by Caitlin Conlon

These last few are a bit of a mix. This first one, a collection of poems, was an absolutely adventure to track down recently. I don't remember how exactly I stumbled upon it in the first place, but I ended up reading the preview on Google Books sometime around Winter or Spring last year. Not only was it some of the most engaging poetry I've ever read, it had a poem related to The Great Gastby, which absolutely sent it over the edge for me because I am OBSESSED with The Great Gatsby. A month or so ago, I decided I wanted to read it again, but it had been lost in my mess of tabs and automatically cleared from my history. I only found it again by chance when looking through the Favorites album in my gallery and, lo and behold, there was a screenshot of the Gatsby poem with the title of the book at the top. Now I am very happy to say that I will be reading it as soon as possible. Though that as soon as possible may be some time, seeing as none of the libraries in my system have this particular book as of yet. Perhaps I'll have to buy it as a little treat to myself for surviving the holiday season. ​

Number 14- Self-Made Boys: A Great Gatsby Remix by Anna-Marie McLemore

This feels appropriate to put next after just having mentioned my ardent love for Gatsby. I was beyond excited when The Great Gatsby came into public domain a few years ago and all of the retellings started to appear. My eyes were wide with possibility and my heart full of joy because it truly is my favorite classic and one of my favorite books period. There are a few other adaptations besides this one that I'd like to read later on, including The Chosen and the Beautiful by Nghi Vo and Beautiful Little Fools by Jillian Cantor, but this one is at the top of my list for now, and so has made it onto my Winter TBR. ​

Number 15- Since We Last Spoke by Brenda Rufener

I can't remember now if I saw this book at the library or in a YouTube video, but either way it's the last one on my list! I tried (and failed) to find proof without getting spoilers, but at least from the cover, this novel seems like it takes place in Winter, which is a big reason why I added it to this list. I'm very much the kind of person who likes to match the vibe of a book to the season I'm in. Sometimes the vibe I imagine a book has makes real, logical sense, and sometimes it is utterly nonsensical, but I believe this one is grounded in logic. If I need a break from all of the fantasy or something to transition me back into realistic fiction after I've finished the fantasy frenzy, I'm sure I'll reach for this one.

Book Rec and Drink of the Month

Photo by lil artsy

For my very first monthly book rec, I'd like to recommend The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes by Suzanne Collins. I wasn't originally going to recommend anything from the list, especially something I hadn't actually read yet, but I just adore The Hunger Games so much, and I have such high hopes for both the book and the movie. Additionally, I've always found Collins' writing style and storytelling to be so compelling, and as I've grown older I've come to appreciate the messages and themes within the text more, so I feel I can recommend the book in good conscious despite never have cracked open the cover.

As for my drink this month, I've been really enjoying the white hot chocolate from Starbucks. I'm not exactly a coffee gal, so I'm also not exactly a Starbucks gal, but I've been a few times recently, and the white hot chocolate is just amazing. I remember liking it as a kid and it still holds up today. I think it's a perfect cozy Winter beverage to sip while enjoying some books.

Thus concludes my first ever blog post! I certainly enjoyed writing it, and I hope I continue to enjoy writing them. If this reaches any eyes, I encourage you to leave a comment with some of your own Winter TBR books, book recs, or favorite cozy drinks. I'll be back in about a month with something new. Until then, stay safe and healthy and may the book gods bless thee with ample time to read and plenty of beverages to sip. 

[aethernoise]

Tbh the ShB media tour reveal of BLM changes is making me consider actually investing in the job instead of primarily doing melee things, looks really fun

It’s a blast.

I will not apologize for the pun.

It looks like they’re taking steps to soothe some major pain points with the ‘everyday’ gameplay of the job. These changes* are probably going to make it easier and more comfortable and I see that as a win no matter what– more beginner friendly and a breath of relief for long-suffering mains. That said, I’ve always had fun with it, but it seems to only be getting better. To paraphrase something Larryzaur said in his video, if you’re already good at BLM, you’re just going to be even better at it in 5.0.

I fully encourage you to embrace true destructive power! I’ll be real with you though, as a melee main the lack of movement and necessity for strategic placement might be frustrating and/or hard to get used to. I’m sure you’ve already experienced this playing the job at all much less regularly lol. Then again, I guess it’s all just positionals…. but bigger….

*none of these changes are confirmed or final. Things are still in development. Please nobody forget that.

[yzeltia]

Sentimental

Violet sighed as she wandered through the Balshahn Bazzar. Poised to set forth into the void with her friends any hour now, she decided to kill time with some retail therapy before they were to return The Great Work. If she felt she wasn't about to be swarmed with voidsent, she'd be back at the bar further sampling the spiced whisky varieties Radz-at-Han had to offer. Instead, she was left sober and to her own devices.

Arriving at a toy stand her eyes fixed upon a colorfully patterned stuffed pig.  Loneliness finally clawed at her rib cage. She hated to admit it, but she missed the twins and the others left behind. Traveling the world was lonely business and without them there to keep her spirits up, motivation to stay sober and on task seemed to evaporate.

"Ah, Violet. I didn't take you for the poppet sort," a voice gruffly called behind her.

Approaching in his armour, Esteninen joined the Limsan and gave her a smile. 

"Yeah, they go so well with my tea sets and party dresses," she answered wryly with an eye roll.

"Well pardon me for making an observation. Then what are you doing here?"

Violet paused. "I don't know. Killing time before we help the kid find his sister. I thought maybe twins might want a memento of the journey. They didn't make the trip here last time, right," she asked before snapping her fingers at the Auri attendant. "Hey, you! I'll take the pig and one of the carbuncles."

"Right away miss. Right away."

Esteninen let out a hearty laugh as the toy maker packaged Violet's selection. 

"Do you not think them a bit beyond a stuffed menagerie?"

"Yeah. Probably. I just figured it would have been nice to have had folks get me shit like this when I was their age. It would have meant someone out there gave a damn about me. It's the little things, y'know."

The dragoon straightened up a bit as Violet handed over the Gil for her purchase. He seemed lost in thought, staring at a stuffed Vytra before snapping his gaze towards the toymaker"...I'll take the dragon."

Violet turned, brow raised.

"What," the Elzen gruffed.

"It's a little on the nose for our dear little Satrap."

"Shut up," Esteninen grunted, exchanging Gil for the large plush, "Let us make haste to the aetheryte plaza and send your gifts off with a courier. I imagine Y'shtola will come to collect us soon."

"I didn't remember inviting you along," Violet answered wryly, turning for the suggested destination. The dragoon chuckled and wandered behind, blind to the grateful smile of the woman ahead of him.

[hermits-that-craft]

Homebound - Deya’s childinnit au

This oneshot is for the amazing @deyageka ‘s hotel arc childinnit au! Go check it out, please! This is long, 8 page or 2,641 words, long, please note!

Sam walked home that day, humming to himself. Really, he wasn’t going home per say - just to the small house that Puffy, Foolish and himself had built after they found Tommy. Sam was calm as he could be, he walked instead of using his trident in an attempt to calm himself down after how long the day was. Dream has pulled at his strings early in the morning, and Ranboo sent him on a wild goose chase the second he left the prison. 

Sam hoped that Ranboo’s alright, his message didn’t sound right, even in chat. Why would Ranboo need a totem?

Sam walked into the house, and felt mounting dread as lights didn’t turn on. They should have already been on, the only reason why they would be off is if Puffy had taken Tommy out, but she had sent him a message asking him to come home as soon as possible. They weren’t in danger, she had said, Tommy had just wanted him back.

“I’m back!” Sam called. He smiled as he hoped that the pair were just napping as he shut the door.

False hope can only last so long.

“Puffy!” He screamed, looking at the woman as she lied on the floor. Blood ran down her face, unconscious. Almost like she was dead.

Sam doesn’t remember much of what happened next. Of course, he knows what happened. 

Dream escaped, stealing Tommy. At least, thats the basics. He knows Ranboo was there, he knows that Ranboo was - is - possessed. He knows that Tommy woke up as he was teleported away. He knows that some of the toys that Tommy had were taken.

He knows that Puffy hasn’t woken up yet, even though it’s been three days.

Phil and Techno came around, Techno helping Sam track down Dream and the boys. Tubbo moved Micheal into Sam’s base, hoping that it would be safer. Quackity, Karl, Sapnap and George also joined the search party. The groups split up, scouring the land. Tubbo joins, looking through places he knows Ranboo frequents.

Sam has been banned from searching after Phil found him, half dead, in the snow. 

Ponk helps him heal, but it isn’t enough. Sam can’t - won’t, he’s too much of a coward - voice why he won’t rest. It’s his fault that Tommy’s gone. It’s his fault that Dream got out. He is - was - Tommy’s father, and his was - is - the warden. He failed his jobs. He let not only Tommy, but the entire server down by letting Dream out.

Dream was right, Sam can’t protect anyone, let alone Tommy.  This is his fault.

“Hey, Sam.” Ponk says softly, carrying in some warm soup. “You up to eat now? I’ll eat some too, it can be a real date.”

There’s kindness in Ponk’s eyes, love and sympathy and caring in the brown eyes. Sam doesn’t deserve it. Sam’s hurt too many people, Ponk shouldn’t-

“You’re thinking too hard.” Ponk smiles, handing Sam the soup. “Stop blaming yourself for Tommy’s kidnapping. You couldn’t have known.”

“He’s gone because my prison failed.” Sam whispers. “I failed everyone. I was supposed to be the warden, I was supposed to protect-”

Sam breaks, sobbing. He can’t keep being strong, he can’t keep up this facade. It’s dragging him down, pulling him under the water. Vines wrap around his throat, squeezing the life out of him. The void would be a kinder death, he’s falling apart and-

And Ponk wraps his arms around Sam, letting the creeper hybrid sob into his arms. He holds Sam together, as the world falls apart.

----

“Tommy, settle down.” Dream rolls his eye, not that Tommy can see under his mask. The child is still annoying, but he follows orders easily.

“I want Papa.” Tommy protests, clinging to the Sam Nook toy that Ranboo had stolen for him when Dream took him. “Where’s my Papa.”

“I’m right here.” Dream says, cooing at the child.

“No you’re not.” Tommy glares, tears forming in his tiny eyes. “I want my Papa and Big Q and Karl and Foo’ish and Mama Puff and Sap and George!”

George.

“Do you like George?” Dream asks quietly, shock filling his chest. He could have George back, his best friend.

“Yeah! He reads to me and is safe.” Tommy smiles, tapping the Sam Nook toy around. “Makes me sleepy, though.”

“How would you feel if I asked George to come around?” Dream offers, taking out his communicator.

“Will he?” Tommy looks up, happily. 

“I’m sure he’d love to.” Dream says, and Tommy cheers, throwing Sam Nook to the side as he gives Dream a hug. “But now you need to go to bed.”

Tommy whines, but doesn’t struggle as Dream picks him up. The small child - only two or three years old at most - yawns, snuggling in to sleep as Dream places him in the bed. Dream smiles from under his mask, shutting the door slightly as he leaves. Dream walks down the stairs, watching through the door as Ranboo tidies up the living room. 

Dream whispers to Georgenotfound: Would you like to come around, I haven’t seen you since I left prison. Dream whispers to Georgenotfound: You can bring Sapnap as well, I guess. But I’d like to catch up with you - and tommy’s missing you i guess :/ Georgenotfound whispers to Dream: What are your co’ords? I’ll come now. We can bring Sapnap once he’s calmed down.

Dream smiles, sending through the coordinates without a second thought. Of course George would agree to come around. George is his best friend, he’s Dreams other half. George - and Puffy, a traitorous part of his brain whispers - would do anything for him.

Ranboo stops cleaning for a moment, looking up the stairs. Dream frowns, following his line of sight. No one is there, but he notices the small sobs that emit from the higher floor. Tommy. The child must be crying, maybe a nightmare. He’s too young to remember L’Manburg, the disks or the wars. He only remembers some people, after all.

Sam is one of them. Tubbo was not. A child's mind is a strange place.

Dream walks up the stairs, pausing outside Tommy’s room. He knocks before he enters, warning the boy. Dream turns on the light, not knowing what to expect. 

Tommy sits up in his bed, his eyes screwed shut as he sobs. Tommy hugs Sam Nook close, but no words fall from his lips. Dream sighs, scooping the boy up and gently rocking him. Tommy blinks his eyes open before he screws them shut, crying again. Dream frowns, sinking to the ground as he tries to settle the boy.

“Please stop crying.” Dream mumbles, rocking Tommy. He’s so small, so fragile. Dream can feel every shake of Tommy’s tine body as the child cries himself back to sleep. 

Dream sets the boy back into bed, tucking him in gently. He’ll wait with the boy until Ranboo is done, and then he’ll go to greet George.

----

“Dream sent me a message.” George says, casually leaning against the doorframe. “I have his coordinates.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Eret gasps, covering their mouth. Bad and Phil stand up, looking over George with carefully concealed confusion. “How long ago did you receive the message?”

“About fifteen minutes?” George frowns, checking the time. “Yeah, around fifteen minutes ago.”

“And you didn’t tell us until now?” Techno glares, an axe summoned into his hand.

“I couldn’t find you until now. Are you guys coming or what?”

“Have you told anyone else?” Phil asks, pulling his wings out of his cloak.

“Quackity, Karl and Sapnap are halfway there.” George says, walking towards the coordinates.

“Sam?”

“Doesn’t need the stress.” George says. “He’s too sick.”

“What’s the plan?” Bad asks quietly.

“Karl, Sapnap and Quackity stake the house out from a distance. I go in, distract Dream and Ranboo, and then grab Tommy and run.” George says.

“Where do we come in?” Techno asks.

“I dunno, we didn’t think that far ahead.” George shrugs. “Work it out when we get there.”

And with that, they walk.

----

Dream stands in the kitchen, watching the kettle boil as he waits for George to arrive. He’s boiled the kettle twice so far, waiting for his friend, but he doesn’t want the water to go cold before George can have some tea.

A knock sounds at the door, and Dream cautiously walks over, opening it. White clout glasses and brown hair appears, and Dream relaxes, opening his arms for a hug. George hesitates for a split second before he sinks into the hug. Dream doesn’t - wont - think about it. The hesitation.

“Hey.” Dream breaths, and George smiles. 

“Hey yourself. How are you?”

“Good. I’m a father now.” Dream smirks, and George pulls out from the hug. “Do you want some tea?”

“The gosip type or the good type?” George jokes, and Dream steps aside, showing George the kitchen bench, where two cups are laid.

“Guess.”

----

“Why did George hug him?” Techno whispers to Eret.

“They’re best friends, he’s keeping up the persona.” Eret replies. “Letting Dream’s guard down.”

“Will it work?”

“Well, we won’t know unless George either gets Tommy.” 

“Or he starts screaming.” Phil says darkly, his wings fluttering nervously behind him.

“Dream wouldn’t-” Bad shakes his head. “No, this Dream isn’t the same one who played with Sapnap as a kid. Dream would hurt George, wouldn’t he?”

----

“Is Tommy sleeping alright?” George asks, trying to sound casual. “Sam used to complain that he’d only ever sleep peacefully if I was there.”

It’s a lie, but George and Sam had both noticed that Tommy would sleep easily in George’s arms. Nightmares would still happen, but Tommy would calm down faster.

“He’s been having so many nightmares.” Dream admits. “He also cries a lot, even during the day. I think he needs you around. Familiar faces and all that.”

“What about Ranboo?” George asks, curiosity getting the better of him.

“Ranboo hasn’t been Ranboo since I escaped.” George can hear the self centered smirk in his voice, the proud lilt of admitting that he’s controlling the teen. “I think Tommy can tell that. It doesn’t seem to bother him all that much, he’s seen my face and isn’t scared.”

George’s stomach drops at that, fear lacing his insides. There’s a reason Dream wears the mask. He doesn’t look safe to be around, he looks like if the void had a neon green eye and a glowing, neon green hole gaping where his mouth and nose should be. But George knows better than to mention that, only raising his eyebrows with surprise.

“I would have thought that would make him cry.” George jokes, lightly elbowing Dream. “Is he sleeping?”

“I hope so, do you want to check?” Dream cocks his head to the side, not too unlike a puppy. George nods, and let’s Dream walk him up the stairs. 

Now’s his chance.

---

Sapnap nervously paces, the treeline hiding him from Dream’s watchful gaze. He’s far enough away to see everything, but not be able to hear anything. It’s safer this way, watching from a distance. Karl and Quackity won’t get hurt if he’s caught, this way. He doesn’t trust the silence, and from the nervous looks on his fiancees’ faces, they don’t like not being able to hear either.

An ear piercing scream tears the silence in half as Karl makes eye contact with Sapnap.

“GEORGE!” Sapnap screams, running towards the house. Snow melts under his feet, he can’t contain his anger. “George!”

Sapnap slams open the door to the house, his hand melting the door handle. George lays on the ground, his glasses under Dream’s foot. Blood. There’s so much blood. Too much blood. George is curled around Tommy, who wails at the top of his lungs. George isn’t moving. Why isn’t George moving? Why isn’t he struggling.

Duck.

Ranboo’s punch misses.

Sweep your opponents leg out from under them.

Ranboo falls to the ground, his head cracking painfully.

Keep your eyes on the room.

Blood pools under Ranboo’s head. Dream laughs.

Don’t let your guard down.

“Did you really think that George could take Tommy from me?”

Don’t let your opponent see any fear.

“I trusted you both. You’re my friends. I can’t believe you would betray me like this.”

Focus on the fight.

“I thought you cared about me, all I wanted was for us to be a family again.”

Dream stands on George, and Sapnap can hear the pained weaze that George breaths out. He’s still alive.

“Eyes on me, Snapnap.” Dream taunts, and Sapnap’s eyes jump back to his once-best friend. “You’ve got to work on that.”

Don’t make the first move.

“Not going to talk to me?”

Go on the defensive.

“That’s rude.”

Duck.

“Let’s dance.”

Duck. Sidestep. Block. Jab. Punch. Duck. Owch, was that his eye? Duck again, keep focusing. Get to the door. Duck. Open the door. Punch. Step outside. Block. Run backwards. Duck. Throw a punch

Sapnap is thrown through the air, landing with a scream on the ground. Snow melts around him, and he lets out a gasp of pain. There’s blood underneath him, staining the snow red. It’s pretty, almost.

Sapnap can see Phil and Techno fight Dream, out of the corners of his eyes. Eret and Bad run into the house, carrying out Ranboo, Tommy and George. They’re safe. Everyone is safe now. Sapnap did good.

“Stay awake Sap.” Karl says, and Sapnap forces his eyes open - when did they close - to see his fiancee’s. Quackity cradles his head in his lap, and Karl fumbles with his pockets. “Keep your eyes open, yeah, that’s good. Keep it up.”

Sapnap groans as Karl pours a healing potion directly onto his torso. It wont help much, there’s something in his back, but he can’t speak. It hurts too much.

“Open your eyes.” Quackity says, and Sapnap feels warm fingers on his cheek. “Open your eyes. BAD! BAD SAPNAP’S-”

----

Sam watches out the window of his room as birds flit around tree branches. Ponk had left the room half an hour ago, just after he served breakfast. Ponk hadn’t said much, simply kissing Sam’s forehead and telling him to relax.

Sam can’t relax. He shouldn’t be allowed to, pneumonia or not. Not while Puffy suffers, while Tommy suffers. 

“Hey Dad.” Quackity’s voice doesn’t surprise Sam, who sees his son every morning.

“Hey duckling.” Sam smiles. “How are you this morning?”

“Good. Sapnap and George are in a bad shape though. Bad kicked me out of their rooms.” Quackity laughs wetly, tears in his eyes. 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Sam says, opening his arms out for Quackity. The man smiles, but shakes his head, wiping away tears. 

“There’s something you need to see.” Quackity says, and apparently thats a cue for something, because Jack opens the door to his room.

Niki wheels Puffy into the room, the woman sitting on a wheelchair, her hair falling down over her shoulders. She’s still got a bandage on her head, but there is colour in her cheeks and a knowing smile on her face.

“Puffy.” Sam gasps, happy to see his friend better, if not up and running. Sam tries to stand, to give Puffy a hug, but Quackity just pushes him back into his bed.

“If you’re that happy to see me, you’ll need someone to hold you back with who Foolish has.” Puffy jokes, though her voice is hoarse.

Foolish walks into the room, gently holding a wiggling Tommy. Sam gasps, and true to Puffy’s prediction, it takes Quackity and Jack to stop Sam from getting out of his hospital bed. Foolish passes Tommy to Sam, and the man holds onto Tommy gently, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that he’s here. He’s safe, finally.

“How-”

“We’ll explain later.” Quackity says. “Just relax for now. Everyone is safe.”

[the-royal-bat-snake]

It's one of those Biffa missing nights, y'know? And also you said it was okay to talk about Biffa in your inbox and here I am.

Imagining Biffa in s7-s9.

He would have had a FIELD DAY in Cleo's Head Hunt games. And him playing decked out? I can only imagine how well (or badly) he'd do. Would he have played it? Would it have been a regular thing or just a few times? And Biffa, mycelium resistance, HEP, podzol gang, or neutral? I personally think he'd be on mycelium resistance for funsies. Or maybe even podzol gang. And with the intro of helsknight and the cloning machine, would we have gotten a Biffa clone? (Evil Biffa or Hels Biffa perhaps?)

And for s8. Would Biffa have had a part in Xisuma's story? Or Ren and Doc's story? I'd imagine Biffa would probably go along with the things X and Ex are doing, and only later realize that something's up. And Moon Big, how would have Biffa ackwnowledge it? Would he have acknowledged it?

And s9? Highly doubt Biffa would participate in the diamond measuring contest. Maybe at first like X then pull out shen he sees how hard everyone else is going for it and decided that nah he doesn't have time for that.

God I'd love to see Biffa play decked out or any other mini game with the hermits. And maybe in COTC with them. Or that first HHH Ren held back in s7, where they were all answering questions.

And Biffa streaming/interacting with the hermits in general 😔 just- 🥺 I miss him your honor

-------

Oh he would have loved the head hunt. I think he would have played Decked Out a lot and never trade cards. He hoards them or gets rid of them. Also despite how much I would want him to be with HEP because TEA he would probably be on the podzol party yeah. Then again what is HEP but TEA with a few more death traps? I think he would go in the cloning machine and forget about it until and evil clone comes to beat him up.

I think he would have gotten a similar spray paint thing to Beef in season 8, purely to change the yellow to black to match the aesthetic. But then during the Hels kitchen scene EX realizes he really could have just asked him. Like not even have Xisuma ask him like with Wels but just straight up gone to him like "hello I'm creating an evil cryptocurrency wanna join" and Biffa would go "hell yes". Biffa ignores the moon for the most part but sneaks onto the boatem offworld escapes and he ends up in their outro bit in the void despite them ignoring him following them.

He makes a pillar out of dirt. He is not discouraged but Grian tearing it down and convinces X to join him in a war against the diamond pillars with a dirt tower.

I miss him too,,,

[inposterumcumgaudio]

Poedit Cut/Unused Content: BobbySuit

Was plannin’ to do these in the order I posted them on reddit, but the cut bobby quest concept art is makin’ the rounds so here you go.

Might maaaaybe have found some of the cut mission where, as Arthur, you would impersonate a constable? The first bit sounds like you - Constable Hapenny - would go to a house full of Downers, sneak in, and disarm whatever security they had for the rest of your party of bobbies to raid. Later - or maybe upon rewrite - you'd help quell a Downer riot. I also found a bunch of "poshie_riot" lines that all sounded like stuff Wastrels say, so fairly generic stuff reused elsewhere, not worth collecting.

Respect_StGeorge

01 Now listen here. They're being silly buggers over at Titchfield House. Entire lot of them won't take their Joy and poor Doctor Shelley can't even get in to fix them up.

02 New Boy. You take point and lead us to Titchfield House.

03 Are you sure this is the way to Titchfield house?

04 All right. New Boy. Hapenny. Let's see what you can do. Go on in and calm down those silly Downer buggers, so Dr. Shelley can fix them up. We'll keep the citizenry from lynching the whole lot of them.

05 Oh jolly. They've gone and boarded it up. Well, Hapenny, you'll need to get in there and unlock the door for us.

07 Oh, and if they've got any clever traps intended to kill the lads, be a good lad and turn them off, all right?

11 Did you get all of them? Good lad!

12 Doctor Shelley, they're all yours. Hapenny, you stay with the Doctor in case something goes pear-shaped in there. See you back at HQ.

Riot_Show_StGeorge

01 SO KIND OF YOU TO JOIN US, HAPENNY, DID YOU GET A CHANCE TO FINISH YOUR TEA?

02 MIND GIVING US A HAND HERE? IF YOU'RE NOT TOO BUSY?

03 Well, that got a bit nasty. We'll secure this location till we can get some doctors here. You're needed at the Brougham Hayes.

04 COME ON IN, LOVE, THE WATER'S FINE.

05 FEEL FREE TO CONTRIBUTE. ANY TIME.

07 No, lad, it's not normal at all. I hope the social order isn't breaking down. If people won't abide by the social contract, it effectively becomes void, don't it?

08 Anyway, they need you at Horseshoe Walk. I wouldn't wait. Sounded like it's even worse over there.

Too_Many_Bobbies

Only suspect this might be part of the impersonation quest because Lines 24 and 26 are for Arthur and sound like one of his undercover, gift-of-gab moments. Most of it is an eavesdropper between two female Wellies.

01 You ever seen a man with a mushroom growing out of his face?

02 No, and I don't think I'd like to.

03 Then don't go to Hedgemead Lane. There's a constable on the ground that's got mushrooms growing out of his face.

04 Why doesn't he take them off?

05 I dunno. Maybe he's gone on holiday. There was a whole squad of bobbies around him, and a doctor. They were all "nothing to see here move along."

06 I said, "There is too something to see, he's got mushrooms growing out of his face."

07 They were all, "Police matter, mum, nothing to worry about."

08 I suppose it's nothing to worry about then.

09 Gave me a chill down my spine. People oughtn't have mushrooms growing out of their face, y'know? I can't wait till I forget about it.

10 Ain't that the truth.

11 Has the plague spread here? Christ.

13 That's plague all right. If it's come to the Village, I'll need some more medical supplies. Like that Doctor probably has in his bag.

14 Is that plague? Has it spread here?

24 Yeah, no, the sergeant hates me, and I have to take regular Joy.

26 What do you mean? I took a bath this morning!

Additional notes:

Intriguing that the mission is to prevent the town from killing the Downers in the house. There seems to be a distinction that these Downers are salvageable, if only Doctor Shelley can get in there to tend to them.

More locations! Titchfield House, Brougham Hayes, Horseshoe Walk, and Hedgemead Lane.

---

In a comment on my original post, it was suggested to me that this mission would follow from your conversations with Constables Bevan and Cozans and the riot would take place in Lud’s Holm.

You know, I totally thought that too and I dug about in that area of things for anything that led in that direction and I didn't find anything. It feels like there's definitely parts that either I haven't found yet or that aren't actually there to be found; establishing dialogue that explains how Arthur would get in that situation. It seems like it should follow from there, but there was nothing really segueing one quest's lines into the other.

Although food for thought, the quest titles (which is distinct from the subtitles for the quests) for the whole Bobby HQ thing are codenamed RespectMyAuthority so maaaaybe Respect_StGeorge was related? Hard to say.

I don't think these would be in Lud's Holm though. The "combatants" as such are referred to as poshies in the filenames, meaning they'd be Wellies, civilized people who yet are choosing not to take their Joy. The dialogue about the social order breaking down implies that too. Wastrels can't really be blamed for not observing social mores, but Downers can. (Which is to say that there is a distinction between Wastrels and Downers, although they are often conflated, purposely at times. Arthur even comments as such at a point.)

My guess is this concept was reworked because public Downer revolts don't really jell with the whole sneakily-trying-to-escape-town thing and they complicate other elements of the story like all the more disparate underground resistance movements. Overt resistance like riots would give Mr. Kite, William Godwin, Bolton and the Mad Haberdasher, and whatever subterfuge the Reform Club does reason to seek each other out and organize. As is, they all seem unaware of each other.

Also, if this had played out, Arthur would be in a position of selling out people exactly like him to further his own goals. While that would be keeping with his character, it's makes him a lot less sympathetic to the player. Cracking skulls in a Downer riot is a lot less morally ambiguous than most of the other shitty stuff he does on his way out of town.

Still, it would have been cool to have an undercover mission with the Bobby Suit in some capacity, if only just to make quests like "Moon Juice Leach" and "Tits Up Downer" tidier to execute.

[buglife]

Terra Lumina

A hollow knight au guide that I keep writing in. You can read all my writings and art stuff in the #terra-lumina tag. Mostly so I can just point to this post when explaining things awee. :3 Post subject to edits and changes.

Terra Lumina is an au where both Ghost (the little knight) and Quirrel are together and are the new rulers of Hallownest. So it's a royalty au! Pretty much it's slice of life where they do their best to be a better ruler than the Pale King ever was, ruling with kindness and intelligence. Seriously, like, the Pale King could have just talked to the Radiance instead of letting things snowball like they did. They both live in the new palace which is pretty much like the White House in that it's mostly dedicated to government with an apartment for the rulers to live in. It's where the old palace used to be, but now it's much greener and 100% less buzzsaws. It is post embrace the void ending and an everyone lives/nobody dies au where the only characters that are dead are those that were found so at the start of the game. Takes place about 5-7 years after the end of the game.

The two romantic rulers.

Ghost:Now taller than Quirrel and is the Shade Lord, god of void and dreams. Sovereign of Hallownest and rightful ruler due to king's brand. Can use telepathy but only does so with family/friends, as they are nervous about scaring people so uses sign language with them. Is very happy to have family/friends and overall liked by most folks. Is still scary to some and is sad about that. Married Quirrel. Considers Mato their adoptive father and calls them such. Still enjoys fighting (but for fun now). Since dreams are now their aspect, they gather up nightmares to help the population (and gives to their adopted grimmchild, Allegro, and Grimm themselves.)

Quirrel: Now called the Scholar King, rules alongside Ghost. He still has trouble believing that this is his life. Chaotic Good. Mostly deals with the logistics in running the kingdom. Adoptive mother is Monomon who found him when he was teeny tiny. Did not attempt to drown themselves, instead isolated himself when he thought Monomon was dead so Ghost had to find him. Still fights and can practically teleport. Spends free time in the palace library where a copy of all the surviving books were moved to and is free to the public to check out and read.

Family/Friends

Hornet: Still the Princess of Deepnest and was happy to have her mother Herrah rule again. Is officially Deepnest's ambassador and works closely with her sibling to be sure things that need to get done, get done. She won't admit it but she loves spending time with her siblings. Also randomly jumps Ghost to keep them on their toes and make sure they don't lose their skill. This can happen at anytime, anyplace. Is a close ally with the Hive and is helping the new Queen get used to her role. Also demands spars with Quirrel all the time because she does like her brother and law and the fact she doesn't kill him is proof enough in her eyes.

Mato: Dadmaster. Pretty much raised Ghost in between the end of the game to present day (and did a damn good job). Still lives in the Howling Cliffs and teaches students still, especially knight candidates. Is always on hand to cause trouble if needed. Is so proud you guys can't even. Keeps his home open in case Ghost and Quirrel need to hide for a bit. Officiated Ghost and Quirrel's wedding because of course.

Hollow: Part of the new great knights of Hallownest and is known as Hollow the Kind. Still likes to help people, and after having lots of care and therapy, is now more expressive and open. Is pretty much free to do what they please, and they choose to mostly patrol the kingdom and help when needed. Is constantly sneaking frogs into the palace because Hollow loves them. Can only use telepathy with other void beings and uses sign language to communicate otherwise. Is still missing an arm but had a magical prosthetic built. Loves to be in cuddle piles.

Tiso:Big brother figure and part of the new great knights of Hallownest. He is known as Tiso the Daring. Is actually a badass Captain America type fighter, just couldn't dodge a house sized mawlek and nearly died back then. Taught Ghost all the swears and often invokes 'Big Brother Rights'. Is also Captain of the Guard and has matured a lot since the end of the game. In a relationship with Myla and Cloth.

Cloth:Part of the new great knights of Hallownest and is known as Cloth the Strong. Makes sure people behave. Has healed from her near suicidal want to join her late lover, and now has a more positive outlook on life. Tends to organize tournaments that aren't fucked up and fatal like the Coliseum. In a relationship with Tiso and Myla.

Myla:Was saved from the infection, but it left her prone to sickness and a little weaker than most bugs. Compensates for still being cherry and wonderful to be around. Actually wicked smart and has helped Ghost restart the mining industry. Enjoys going to musicals/plays in her free time. Still loves being a geologist and provided most of the geological samples in the Capital's museum. Is in a relationship with Cloth and Tiso.

Ogrim: The only surviving great knight of old Hallownest. Is part of the new knights as Ogrim the Defender. Is the leader of the new knights and is a brilliant tactician. Has moved up from the Waterways to a new home and no longer lives in exile. Likes to plan parties and is generally doing better. He deserves it.

God Tamer: Real name is Xena (I seen it used around and I like it.) Part of the new great knights of Hallownest and is known as Xena the Tamer. Still works alongside her beast, ‘Pickles’. Has an uncanny ability to befriend dangerous beasts and pacifies them. Now has a small zoo’s worth of ‘friends’ that come and go for pats and treats. Dunks on Tiso a lot. Is surprisingly a conservationist. Will beat the shit out of people without hesitation if needed. Often fights new recruits to judge areas needing improvement. Has no tolerance for idiots. Was saved from the infection, but was not infected long enough to cause long term damage.

Allegro: The Grimmchild. Has chosen female pronouns. She is now past the grub stage and has left the kingdom to travel with her father, Grimm, to learn how to take over the Troupe. Still keeps in contact with Ghost through dreams and loves Ghost very much as their ‘Ren’. Was and still is, a little shit. Ghost misses them a lot but is comforted by her visits. Ghost saves nightmares to give to her so she can get big and strong!

Grimm: Considered a friend at this point, and taught Ghost about the dream realm. Visits through dreams. Ghost saves nightmares to give to him. Often has advice when needed.

Sheo/Nailsmith: Uncles. They both run an art school with Sheo teaching fine arts and Nail(Smith) teaching forging. They also run an art gallery. Are up to cause trouble whenever needed.

Oro: Uncle. The real sour one. Teaches new recruits and tends to weed out those that can make it from ones that can’t. Pretty much a drill Sargent. Ghost pays him not only in geo, but candy. Special, custom made candy just for Oro. It’s the only way they could get him to do this job. Oro won’t admit it’s also because he loves his former pupil no sir.

Monomon: Quirrel’s adoptive mother and currently is the royal researcher. Teaches classes as well. Ghost pretty much told her to do whatever as long as it will improve the lives of bugkind and she loves them for it. Is always down to cause trouble. Chaotic Neutral. Has some type of explosive with them at any given time. Tends to ‘vanish’ people who have wrong her or her son. Embodies chaos. Craves gossip. Former Dreamer and woke up when Ghost took the pantheon approach to defeating the Radiance.

Herrah: Queen of Hallownest and considers Ghost one of her children. Is happy to be Queen of her own people and is making up for lost time with her daughter. Likes to meet with the Hallownest rulers for a good shit-talking session. Is made of sass. Former Dreamer and woke up when Ghost took the pantheon approach to defeating the Radiance.

Lurien: Watcher of the Capital. Disaster. Will stay up for days on end working on things to accidentally invent new things in the process in sleep deprived delirium. Often gets drunk or high and contemplates the universe. Has the best edibles around I tell you. Is actually good at his job, which is finding suspicious things and investigating them. Former Dreamer and woke up when Ghost took the pantheon approach to defeating the Radiance.

Lemm: Runs the Hallownest museum and works in the back where he catalogs and studies findings and doesn’t have to talk to anyone and is the happiest he could ever be.

Seer: Holy shit she is old. Still lives in the resting grounds. Ghost visits often and brings tea and snacks. Grandma energy. Is currently working with Quirrel to recount as much as she can about moth legends and society so it can be preserved forever. It’s slow going because she is old, but it’s going.

The siblings: Are now at rest.

Everything else

White Lady: Is still alive and has left the gardens. She resides in a little hidden cottage outside the palace where she grows flowers. Is often called in to overlook agriculture efforts. Has long since revoked her crown and is content with a quiet life. Is not considered a mother by Ghost, and Ghost will not forgive her for her role in things. She is okay with this and hopes to atone someday for what she did.

The Pale King: Still fucking dead. Rest in Pieces you shit.

Eternal Emilitia: Is a member of the new noble class and takes her job seriously. She mostly keeps the other nobles in line when she can and helps delegate orders to places where they need to go. It’s like herding cats but she’s getting better with it the longer she’s around. Is respected by Ghost since she knows what it’s like to hit rock bottom and is quite sensitive to the needs to the people.

Radiance: Dead. Was going mad and in pain by the time Ghost got to her. Is now at rest.

Greenpath/Queen’s Gardens:Given back to the moss-kin and Unn. Unn has started to awaken more now that the infection is over and her children are freed from it’s influence. Is considered it’s own ‘kingdom’. Is in good relations with Hallownest.

Fungal Wastes: Still thriving. A hivemind made up of everything from microscopic spores to the entire fungal waste itself. The mushroom tribe trades with Hallownest and is in good relations with them. Still considered weird to most but they are good and peaceful people.

Mantis Tribe: Is in a good relationship with Ghost, Hornet and Quirrel, and not much else. Has complete independence but was asked nicely if they could help train the most dedicated of new guards/knights. Did not pass up the opportunity to be allowed to beat the shit out of willing Hallownest citizens who wanted to train.

Deepnest: Ruled by Queen Herrah and Princess Hornet. Good relationship with Hallownest and enjoys full independence. The beasts that reside are no longer hassled by Hallownest encroachment and thus does not push back into it. Exports silk products and is now a very prosperous nation.

Dirtmouth/Crystal Peaks: Still the same, but with now more people. All our favorite Dirtmouth folks are doing well. Elderbug is delighted to have a full town to be a mayor over.

City of Tears: Now called the 'Capital'. Plants are now on the ceiling to redirect water and stop the constant rain. It's much more pleasant now.

Colosseum of Fools: Left alone mostly. Ghost cannot stop people for wanting to go there if they are of sound mind to make the decision.

The Hive: Is now ruled by the new Queen Apis. Is fully independent and enjoys a cushy trade agreement with Hallownest and the rest of the various nations. She wonders if she will ever live up to her mother, Queen Vespa, but has many friends to help her grow into the role. Hive Knight is her loyal friend.

[hellotvshowtrash]

Angel

Requested by @elijahs-wife​ : Hi Ashlee!! Could you write a fic using the prompt "I think I'm in love with you and I'm terrified"? Sending love 💗💗

A/N: TEHANI THANK YOU FOR THE REQUEST ily 💗 I’m sorry this took me a little bit!! I wanted it to be something worth posting! I’m still iffy on it. 

I don’t think I will never NOT be terrified to send something out into the void, so please like/reblog if you enjoyed!! and if you want to read any more from me, feel free to send me a request! I love all our mikaelson boys (except Finn tbh sorry) so i’m down to write for more than just Elijah!

Elijah Mikaelson x female!reader

Word count: 2,970

tw: kind of sad, mentions of being an orphan, not a whole lot!

credit to the gif creator!!

Elijah stood in the crowd, absentmindedly sipping his champagne while listening in on different conversations. Laughter bubbled throughout the compound at another Mikaelson ball. He sighed and made his way to find his brother. He heard Klaus from far off, bickering with Hope about the dress she had chosen for the night.

"Dad, it's my birthday ball. I should be able to wear what I want!" She huffed. Elijah turned the corner into one of the various hallways of the compound, coming around to see the father and daughter facing off.

He chuckled, "Children, please," he said, eyeing Hope's admittedly short dress. Her hair was curled and she sported a sky blue cocktail dress. "Although your father may have a point," Elijah stated, raising an eyebrow.

Klaus gestured to Elijah, "Thank you, brother!" He exclaimed.

"I'm 18! I'm going to wear whatever I want," Hope said, storming into the party with finality. Elijah walked closer to his brother, putting a hand on his shoulder, stifling a laugh.

"She is very strong-willed, like her father," He said, raising his champagne flute to his lips. Klaus glared at his brother and sighed. "She has a point though. She is a young woman now. Just give her this one night to do and wear what she wants." The men turned and departed the hallway, heading back into the party. Klaus grabbed a champagne flute and headed to stand on a flight of stairs. Elijah stood at the base, looking into the crowd again.

"May I have your attention!" Klaus called out into the large room, "I would like to say a few words about my daughter, Hope." Klaus smiled down at her as he began his speech. Elijah continued to scan the room. His brother's voice faded from his ears when his eyes landed on a woman amongst the crowd, standing with his sister Freya. She was beautiful, wearing a blush coloured, floor-length dress. Her Y/C/H hair flowing down her back in an elegantly curled braid. She beamed up at Klaus as he gave his heartfelt speech about Hope. Elijah felt an unfamiliar sensation in his chest, a feeling he hadn't felt in a very, very long time.

In unison, the crowd lifted their glasses and cheered, "To Hope!" The woman put her glass to her full, pink lips. The room erupted into conversation and movement, and Elijah lost sight of her. As if jogged from a trance, Elijah put his champagne on the nearest surface and began searching the crowd once more. He pushed passed strangers and friends alike to get to where he had spotted her. He broke through the other side of the crowd, looking around for her or Freya. He found the two making their way around the outskirts of the party, talking and laughing together. He took a second to compose himself, putting his left hand in his suit pants pocket. Taking a deep breath, he followed after her.

"Good evening," he said casually, coming up behind the two women. They turned and Freya greeted him with a smile and a warm hug. The stranger stood by with a polite smile on her face.

"Elijah! I was wondering when I'd see you," she pulled away and turned to the woman next to her. "Y/N, this is my brother, Elijah." Freya smiled at Y/N.

"Hello, Elijah," She greeted, extending her hand. Rather than shaking it, Elijah took her hand and raised it to his lips, kissing it softly. Blush crept up Y/N's cheeks as Freya's eyebrows raised.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Elijah said, not taking his eyes off her Y/E/C ones. "May I have this dance?" He heard her heartbeat quicken as she gave a small nod, letting Elijah gently tug her to the dance floor.

"I guess I'll just hang out here! By myself!" Freya called after them, huffing to herself.

--

Y/N was a New Orleans French Quarter witch. That was how she and Freya had met and became friends. Y/N had started coming around the compound more and more frequently over the following weeks, becoming closer to the Original family. Rosie cheeks and stolen glances at Elijah filled her visits under the excuse of hanging out with Freya. She loved her friend, truly, but she couldn't get her mind off of the oldest Mikaelson brother. He, on the other hand, seemed to distance himself from her after his first introduction. She had hoped that she didn't offend him in some way. “Maybe I’m just not his type,“ She thought to herself.

"Y/N?" Freya's voice sounded in Y/N's head, jogging her from her thoughts.

"What, I'm sorry?" She looked at her friend, confused. They were sitting on a couch located in the library of the compound, pulling a late-night together. Her thoughts of Elijah had distracted her mid-conversation.

Freya rolled her eyes. "I asked if you'd like to come to the Halloween party we're throwing here this weekend. Hope wants it to be a big event, and you know Klaus would do anything to keep her happy." Freya smiled at Y/N.

Y/N nodded, thinking about the father/daughter relationship Hope and Klaus had brought a sad smile to her face. She was glad Hope would have the love of family throughout her life. Y/N was alone in New Orleans, growing up in different foster homes and halfway houses. Her real family unknown to her, she had been tossed from house to house because of the unexplainable things that happened around her. Until she met Vincent, back when he was still married to Eva Sinclair. He taught Y/N about what living in New Orleans really meant for people like her. He made her feel like she belonged.

"I'd love to come! Costume party?" Y/N asked, sipping tea from her mug.

Freya nodded, "Hope wouldn't have it any other way."

–

Elijah rolled his eyes. "I will not be wearing a costume. I believe I may just stay behind and let you all enjoy the fun," He said to Hope and Klaus. Hope was trying on her little red riding hood costume for the party that night when she turned and glared at Elijah.

"Come on, Uncle Elijah. Auntie Bex is! I even got dad some devil horns that he's going to wear, right dad?" She looked over at Klaus who grimaced and looked at Elijah pleadingly.

"Yes, darling, I'll wear them," He said, defeated. Hope smiled and looked back at Elijah. Elijah shook his head again, turning to exit the room.

"Y/N will be there," Hope exclaimed as he walked toward the door. Elijah stopped in his tracks and closed his eyes, sighing. She knew that would get him to come. He wasn’t as good at hiding his feelings as he thought he was, or maybe Hope was just perceptive. Hope smiled triumphantly to herself as she turned back to the mirror to look at her costume once more, perfecting the details.

--

Y/N entered the compound, her dress flurrying around her as she was met by a large crowd of people. The sun had set and the party was in full swing. The Mikaelson’s sure know how to throw a rager, she thought to herself. She walked farther into the crowd, her dress and cloak billowing around her. She headed toward the bar, keeping her eyes peeled for Freya.

"There you are!" Freya's voice came from behind her, muffled by the music. Y/N turned and saw her friend dressed in a bright pink dress, star wand in hand with a large crown atop her head. Y/N stifled a laugh at the sight.

"And what are you supposed to be?" Y/N said over the music.

Freya frowned, "What, you don't get it? I'm Glinda! You know, from The Wizard Of Oz?" She flourished her wand in Y/N's face and laughed.  Freya was already a few drinks in. "Who are you supposed to be?" She asked, her words slightly slurred.

Y/N looked down at her costume, and back up to Freya. "I'm Sarah Sanderson! From Hocus Pocus," Y/N twirled in her spot. She and Freya giggled as Y/N spun. Mid-spin, she spotted Elijah coming down the stairs and her breath hitched in her throat. She didn't take Elijah for the costume type, so she hadn't expected him to be here tonight.

He looked absolutely regal in his black suit and tie. Large white angels wings sprouted from his back. He looked around the room while coming down the stairs, not yet seeing Y/N. Freya followed Y/N's gaze and saw Elijah.  She drunkenly put an arm around Y/N's shoulder.

"You know, I think you have a thing for my brother," She accused. Y/N blushed, turning away from the angel.

"I'm the last person he would be interested in if I was," Y/N cast one last look his way before turning back to the bar, ordering a drink. "Let's get this party started," She said to her friend, giving her a smile. She reminded herself to not get attached. Everyone leaves eventually.

--

Y/N and Freya were joined by Rebekah, but they couldn't quite tell who she was dressed as. All they could tell was that it was tight and it was spandex. The three danced and drank in the middle of the party, not a care in the world. Elijah watched from the bar protectively. Something about this woman was so magnetic, so charming. He couldn't bring himself to admit that there was a flame ignited in his heart at the sight of her. He doesn't let people in. She's a mortal witch, her life span was the blink of an eye compared to his. No, he wouldn't let himself get attached. She would see him for the monster he was. He turned to mingle with the crowd, although he never let the three women leave his line of sight.

Y/N was having the time of her life with her friends, drunkenly dancing the night away.

“I’m going to go grab more drinks!” She slurred to the other two girls. They cheered in response as she turned and stumbled toward the bar. She caught the bartender's attention and ordered. He returned with three shot glasses and she thanked him, turning to get back to dancing. Before she could take a step, she collided with someone.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” She cried, slurring her words. She stumbled back to look at the person she collided with, finding the handsome angel she had been eyeing earlier. He pursed his lips, wiping the front of his suit with his handkerchief. “Elijah,” she gasped, “I am so sorry, let me he-”

“Do not bother, Y/N,” he said, holding his hand up. He glared in her direction, not looking in her eyes. She gulped at his response.

“Please, let me make it up to you,” She tried dipping her head to catch his eye. He turned and motioned to the bartender for more shots.

“Have a pleasant evening,” He nodded curtly at her and turned to walk away, leaving her standing there, unsure of what just happened. Anger flared in her chest as she watched the angel walk away. She grabbed one of the shots that the bartender had set out and downed it quickly. Taking the other two to her friends, she let the music take her away, continuing to party.

-

The night continued on and the party began to thin out, while the three girls in the center of the dance floor kept going, laughing and dancing. Elijah had kept his eyes on them, amazed at how the two witches could keep up with the vampire. Elijah looked around at the few stragglers left, sitting around drunkenly talking to one another. He made his way across the compound, heading towards the stairs to head up to his room for the night. The music was quieter now,  not as upbeat. Y/N saw him moving across the dance floor and stumbled as fast as she could to get in front of him.

“Elijah,” She slurred,  “Please let me apologize for earlier. Dance with me!” She scooped him away before he could object, wrapping her arms around his neck, not letting him leave.

“Y/N I-” He started, but she shushed him, swaying to the music.

“Elijah I know you don’t like me that much, and I don’t know why but I just want to let you know that I’m sorry for spilling those drinks on you and I’m sorry for making you hate me for whatever reason,” she drunkenly let her head fall on his chest while she spoke, her eyes fluttering shut.

Elijah’s eyes widened at her speech, his hands falling to rest on her back. She hummed at his touch and smiled, eyes still closed. “Y/N… I apologize for making you feel that way, that was not my intention.” He looked down at her, “I just wanted to keep you safe,” He whispered.

Suddenly Y/N slumped into him, dropping like dead weight. Elijah reacted quickly and scooped her up, seeing she had passed out. He looked toward Freya and Rebecca who had already fallen asleep on the couch, snuggling into each other. His heart warmed at the sight of his sisters together. He refocused on the beautiful woman in his arms and began to climb the stairs, heading toward his room. He gently opened the door and crossed the room, laying her in the bed and covering her up. She adjusted into the comfort of the bed, grabbing Elijah’s hand as he slid his arms out from underneath her.

“Stay with me?” she mumbled. His heart softened and he silently agreed, stripping out of his wings and suit jacket. He crossed to the other side of the bed and slid into it, careful not to touch her. She turned to him and opened her eyes slightly. “Will you hold me?” she asked quietly. Tears brimmed her eyes.

He nodded and opened his arms to her, confused and worried. “What’s wrong, darling?” He whispered.

She moved into his open arms and placed her head on his chest, wrapping one arm around the front of him tightly. He felt his shirt dampen where her head lay. He held her close, rubbing one hand up and down her back, waiting for a response. He felt her start to tremble next to him.

“I think I’m in love with you, and I’m terrified,” she whispered into him. She let out a small cry, scared of his reaction. “I’m terrified you’ll hate me for telling you. I’m terrified you’ll leave if we do end up together. I’m terrified of everything falling apart. I’m terrified of people leaving.”

Elijah’s heart cracked at her words.

“Y/N.. I think I’m terrified to admit the feelings I have for you. I wish nothing more than for your safety and happiness,” He kissed her hair and he felt her relax in his arms. She had fallen asleep on him, inebriated and vulnerable. Elijah held her for the rest of the night, stroking her hair and cherishing the moment.

-

When morning came, Y/N thought her head would explode. She groaned and rolled over, putting her hands over her face. The bed was empty beside her. How did she get in the bed? Her memory was fuzzy, but she remembered large white wings and strong arms carrying her. She sat up in bed, suddenly panicked, realizing who’s room she was in. What else had happened? She concentrated, squeezing her eyes shut.  “I wish nothing more than for your safety and happiness,“ She remembered hearing his deep voice whisper to her before she fell asleep. Her heart thudded heavily in her chest. Had she dreamt of this confession? Did her drunken subconscious trick her into hearing his voice?

Someone cleared their throat in the doorway, startling her. She looked up to see Elijah holding a tray with water, aspirin, eggs, and toast. She blushed intensely, trying to brush her hair down and make herself look decent. He smiled at her warmly. “Good morning. I apologize for startling you,” He said. He crossed the room to her, putting the tray on the nightstand and sitting on the bed next to her.

He stared into her eyes, warmth flooding his chest. “It wasn’t a dream,” he said quietly, confirming her silent hope. He heard her heart flutter at his words.

Tears brimmed her eyes again. She bit her lip and looked down at her hands. “What does this mean for us?” She whispered.

He reached out and moved her chin to look at him. “It means I love you.” He smiled at her. Tears spilled onto her cheeks as she smiled and leaned forward, closing the space between them. She kissed him with no regard for the world around them. Her hands moved to his neck, tangling in his chestnut hair. He pulled her close, deepening the kiss and laying her on the bed. The eggs and toast got cold before Y/N got to them.

-

“I’ve been wanting this since you asked me to dance that night.” Y/N said, playing with Elijah’s hand as they laid side by side. “I haven’t been able to get you out of my head.” She smiled.

He adjusted to put his arm around her and pulled her close, kissing her head. “You will never have to be terrified again. I am here and I’m not leaving you. You have my word.” He moved her chin with his free hand to gaze into her Y/E/C eyes. He kissed her again, hoping to convey his pent up love and lust in one kiss. He knew he’d never be able to make her understand the depths of his affection for her. Just as he knew he may never know the extent of hers for him.

She pulled away slightly and whispered, “I love you and I’m not terrified anymore.”

[thetaoofzoe]

Fic: Tea and Edith 1/1

Title: Tea and Edith 1/1

Pairing: Edith Grayston / Mycroft Holmes (Enola Holmes 2020)

Summary: Mycroft Holmes may have said something he regretted, and as a gentleman, he needed to rectify his wrongs. How understanding will Miss Grayston be?

Rating:  Fluff and tea and apologies and sweetness. I guess that’s the answer to the question in the summary.

Notes: I ah... well... I wrote this to indulge in my own pleasures. I know for certain that I was screaming into the void with this one, but hey, I liked it. And if you read it, I hope you like it as well.

Tagging the sweeties who expressed interest :)  @athickgirlsblog @october505​ @hardcandythinking​

Mycroft Holmes was exhausted and all he wanted to do was go home and sulk by the fire with a good stiff brandy. Or two. An evening of silence, reflection and strong liquor was the only thing that could break him out of his self induced dither.

It was late on a Friday evening and the cool autumn rain was busily washing away the smog and fog and filth from the city. Mycroft didn’t particularly enjoy a cold rainy night, but he had to admit that the scent of the clean clear air was a welcome change from the dank scent of the press of bodies and horses and industrial smog. He took in a breath, held it, then let it out thinking about a conversation he’d had with a woman just the night before and he stood there in the blowing rain consumed with guilt because his careless words had offended her.

‘Sir? Are you ready to go?’

The words pulled him from his muse and Mycroft peered up at the hunched man in the Hansom’s driver’s seat.

‘Pardon?’

The driver gave him a curious look.

‘You hailed my cab?’

He had posed it as a question, but the down turn of his voice indicated that he thought the slim man in the trim black frock coat and top hat may have indulged too much at the club and was not in his right frame of mind. But a fare was a fare and he wasn’t going to let the well dressed gentleman get away.

‘Get in, sir, before you catch your death in this rain.’

Mycroft nodded. He had come out onto the road to wave down a cab, and having one there was fortuitous He climbed into the shallow interior and pulled the door closed. It was obvious the previous occupants were not fans of private hygiene and he wrinkled his nose.

The driver asked for his destination and Mycroft gave the address then sat back for the ride.

The city was still alive with people doing God knows what in the evening hours and travel was slow going. Mycroft leaned his heavy head against the padded wall next to the window and closed his eyes, ignoring everything that was going on outside of his own narrow enclosure.

The Hansom suddenly drew up to a jerking stop and the hollow rhythmic clop of horse hooves danced to a halt.

Probably some traffic in the road, Mycroft thought, eyes still closed, but when the cab sat for nearly five additional minutes, he sat forward and used the silver rabbit head walking cane to rap on the window between he and the driver.

‘What’s the hold up?’ he called, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

‘Overturned cart, sir,’ answered the man. ‘Blocking the road.’

‘Oh, for God sake,’ Mycroft grumbled. ‘Can’t you turn round? There are other methods of getting to my destination.’

‘I can do that, sir!’ chirped the man.

He then clicked at his horse who perked up and wheeled round the cab as directed. The cab bobbed away from the obstruction in the road and Mycroft noticed that it was going the long way round and therefore would cost more. He sighed. As long as it got him home, it was bearable.

He idly watched the buildings roll by and after a moment, started to frown. This area they were moving through was beginning to look familiar. Abruptly his heart clenched with panic in his chest, and his mouth was working before his brain engaged enough with his snap decision to talk him out of it.

‘Driver, stop here!’ he shouted and was halfway out of the carriage before it had fully come to a halt.

The driver promptly complained that he had been expecting the full fare (exactly what was promised) to take the gentleman to his original destination. And, that shortening the trip was going to cause a loss in income.

Of course, Mycroft didn’t have to pay full fare, as he was well within in his rights to stop the transport wherever he wished and pay only what the truncated trip required. However, Mycroft relented and paid the man what was originally promised, plus a generous tip. He was not in the mood to fight alone in the middle of a rainy evening on the avenue.

Securing his top hat on his head and grabbing his walking cane, he trotted across the wet street and approached a familiar warmly lighted shop front.

He didn’t know what he was doing there. He didn’t know why he was there in front of her little tea shoppe that smelt of fire-warmed melted chocolate and cinnamon and strong black tea.

No, he thought, unwilling to go along with his own delusions. That wasn’t true.

He knew exactly why he was there.

Through the front glass he could see Edith puttering about, and casually wiping her hands on a small pink towel before she walked towards the door. As she reached to turn the ‘Welcome’ sign to ‘Closed’, she spotted him staring in at her from the street like a ghostly specter.

It took a moment for her to compose herself and when recognition bloomed she scowled. The neatly hand lettered ‘Closed’ sign clattered into place and a small fisted hand came to rest on her hip.

Mycroft felt his cheeks heat beneath her examination. He lifted the silver headed cane and waggled it in greeting.

‘What do you want, Mr. Holmes?’ she asked uncharitably.

I deserve that, he thought. She has no reason to be kind to me.

‘I’m sorry, Miss Grayston!’ he called, hoping to be heard over the night street noise and through the glass. ‘I was hoping to talk with you.’

‘The shoppe is closed, Mr. Holmes,’ she said.

Mycroft glanced at the sign.

‘I know,’ he said, creasing his brow a bit. ‘I know, and I’m sorry to bother you. Please. A moment of your time?’

Edith sighed and for a moment considered letting him conduct his business through the glass, but she had been raised much better than that.

These maddening Holmes men, she thought, unlocking the door and standing aside to let in the elder of the brothers. They will be the absolute death of me.

A thought rose in her mind and Edith immediately dismissed it, knowing that it was her treacherous subconscious trying to unearth what had happened between them the last time they’d butted heads. She pushed down the memory of that sudden lusty heat in his blue eyes, and how hungrily he drank in the sight of her lips in that tense moment after they’d growled near abuse at each other.

What had he come for? More abuse, or to continue what the younger Holmes had so unexpectedly interrupted. She glanced at him and gestured that he follow her into the kitchen.

In the warm kitchen, Mycroft put his hat on the table and leaned his cane against the smooth edge. Edith poured them both a hot steaming cuppa and politely offered the man a seat and a slice of ginger cream cake. He declined the cake, opted to remain standing, but gladly accepted the tea.

Mycroft darted nervous blue eyes round the cosy kitchen. This was definitely a woman’s place, he mused. Edith’s delicate and feminine influence was evident and it strangely comforted him.

She comforted him

Cup still clutched in his damp gloved hands, Mycroft sighed and waiting patiently, Edith sat looking up at him.

He cleared his throat.

‘It’s not that I… hmm no. I’m not…’

He trailed off and frowned, dipping his sharp head to one side so that he would avoid mistakenly looking into her face. Her enchantingly beautiful face.

More silence drifted between them as she watched him struggle with whatever it was he came there to say. If she let him witter on, as he didn’t seem to have a handle on himself, Edith knew that they could be there all night. She was already tired and wanted to go to bed, so she prompted him with a variety of choices.

‘So, you are either here, because you want to … apologise? You are interested in my services for an upcoming tea party? You’re lost?’

Mycroft lifted his head and looked squarely at her. There was a smile toying with her generous mouth and he knew that she was teasing him. At least a little teasing and his spirits lifted slightly.

‘I came to apologise, yes.’

He let out a soft, self-conscious breath and felt relieved when she smiled encouragingly in response. Edith drank her tea and continued to wait, letting her eyes drift over his features, over his elegant moustache, down his chin and over the front of his frock coat. Like his brother, Mycroft was a man of quality. He may have been misguided at times and absolutely block-headed at others, Edith could admit to herself that she enjoyed verbally sparring with him.

Mycroft cleared his throat. Again.

Oh, here we go, the big pronouncement, thought Edith and hid her growing and amused smile behind her cup.

‘I was… I had overstepped my boundaries and offended you. For that I am humbly sorry.’

Edith delicately replaced the cup in the saucer and let him stew for a moment longer as she spooned a bit of cake into her mouth and chewed.

Mycroft looked helplessly at her.

‘Please accept my apology, Miss Grayston.’

She stood after a moment and with hand outstretched, she approached him. An invitation. Mycroft rushed to put down his own cup and whipping off his leather glove, he closed her tiny hand in his, leaned down and  kissed the back of her proffered hand.

‘I accept your apology.’

Head still bowed, Mycroft said, ‘Thank you.’

He held her hand for a moment longer, then drew up to his full height, eyes gleaming at her in the lamp light. Edith looked up into his face and then down at the hand still gripping hers.

‘You are still holding my hand, Mr. Holmes.’

Mycroft made a show of peering down at their still joined hands as if his actions were a surprise to him as well, and nodded, looking thoughtful.

‘Hm, it appears that I am.’

‘And do you plan to release me any time soon?’

‘Yes, yes, of course Miss Grayston.’

But, he didn’t. Instead, Mycroft slid his free hand about her waist and easily drew her closer. He relished the stiff feel of her corset beneath her clothes and made a soft noise of appreciation.

Edith reached up, cupped his face and rising on her tiptoes, she kissed his cheek. Planting both hands on his chest, she gently pushed him away.

‘Now, you know that you have to behave, in order to earn your liberties. Yes?’

Mycroft rubbed his gloved thumb across the back of his own naked hand and nodded like an obedient child.

‘Yes, Mr. Holmes?’ she pressed, biting her lower lip to stop herself from kissing him again.

‘Yes, Miss Grayston. Yes, yes of course.’

Edith picked up his velvety black top hat and cane and presented them both to the elder Holmes.

‘Let me see you home, Miss Grayston.’

‘I’m just next door, you know that.’

Hat still in hand, he made a sweeping gesture towards the kitchen door. Pleased, Edith smiled, and retrieved her coat. The night was foggy and the air smelt of the aftermath of rain.

The walk was short, but nonetheless pleasurable and when she walked up the steps to reach the front door, she turned to look at him over her shoulder.

‘Good night, Mr. Holmes,’ she said opening the front door and walking into the building.

‘Good night, Miss. Grayston.’

-end

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[transxfiles]

for the One Word Prompts ask: any one of (or a combination of all; your choice): Dog, Energy, Puzzle, City

Thanks so much for the prompt! Decided to combine them all into one and went for ~400 words instead of a traditional drabble bc of the four prompts :D

Fandom: The Strange Case of Starship Iris Pairing(s): Background Brian Jeeter/Krejjh and background Arkady Patel/Violet Liu Word Count: 440  Rating: Gen

Time doesn’t really mean the same thing, in space. It’s sort of always the middle of the night when you’re constantly surrounded by the crushing void of the Deep. But Violet Liu figures that when the entire crew’s asleep and Krejjh has the ship’s course pre-set in for the next couple hours, it may as well be called midnight. She assumes everyone else must be sleeping, and that it’s just her anxiety keeping her up, running her mind around in circles, pushing her toward the kitchen to brew some mint tea using the leaves Arkady’s been carefully cultivating over the past few weeks. She certainly doesn’t expect to find Krejjh sitting at IGR-issue counter, opening up a puzzle box while Brian Jeeter sits beside them, smiling at them with disgustingly adorable heart eyes.

Too tired to care if she’s interrupting something at this point, Violet sets the electric kettle to boil and pulls up a stool of her own. “Couldn’t sleep, either?”

“Krejjh was basically bouncing off the walls of our quarters.” Brian says.

“Listen Crewman Jeeter, how am I supposed to stay calm when we were featured on our favorite radio station yet again, this time as the main story?” They spread out their arms and do jazz hands for extra pizzazz. “The Star-Crossed Lovers of Neuzo.” Krejjh sighs happily. “It sure has a nice ring to it.”

“Looks like you’re pretty happy about it, too, Brian,” Violet remarks, watching as he bounces his leg up and down and up and down again. “So, what, you figured… celebratory puzzles?”

Brian shrugs. “I decided to pull out some of the puzzles we found lying in the cupboards of the Iris II. Figured it’d at least help us kill some time.”

“Never done a puzzle before,” Krejjh says, “Hm, puzzle. Puzz-al. Fun word, isn’t it Crewman Jeeter?”

“Heck yeah, bud!” He looks over at the box’s contents as Krejjh pours them onto the table, gently smoothing the pieces over with their hands so that none overlap.

Violet picks up the box lid, looking at the picture on the cover. “Looks like we’ve got a dog walking through a city on our hands, folks.”

The kettle howls, and Violet stands to answer its call just as the doors swish open.

“Dang, am I missing the party?” An amused voice says from the doorway. Violet smiles as Arkady joins her at the tea kettle.

“You haven’t missed anything, yet. We were just getting started.”

“You guys have gotta come over here!” Brian says, excited. “Krejjh found one of the dog’s eyes, looks like things are coming together!”

“Puzzles,” Violet says. “Who would’ve thought?”

AO3

Send me a prompt and a character and/or pairing and I'll write you a drabble

[afewmarvelousthoughts]

The Devil’s Daughter Ch. 1

Master List: @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin​

Pairing: The Winter Soldier X Reader (Bucky X Reader)

Summary: Born and bred to be a monster worthy to lead Hydra into a new age you must decide if you will become the beast they always intended or perhaps something greater... Someone worthy even, of love. 

Warnings: Literally all of them. 18+ only and please read with caution if you’re triggered by violence of any nature.

A/N: Well. Here we go. 

I won’t lie. Writing this was cathartic and I hope that it may be the same reading it. Some serious ANTIFA fuck this up vibes. 

Love y’all. 

TAGS ARE OPEN

You weren’t sure how long you’d stared at your hands. 

They seemed strange things, somehow beyond your comprehension. Attempts to flex the fingers on them had resulted in only an unsettling twitch, you knew that wasn’t the right response, and they were somehow both burning and cold in equal measure. 

In fact, your whole body felt like a contradiction. Something known, yet foreign. Too much feeling, too little. Too hot, too cold. Too still, yet constantly something was moving. 

Had you always been able to feel the flow of blood through your veins? Did each hair follicle always hum as the air moved around you? Who… who were you?

All the memories of the past 20 years hit you with the force of a train. 

Frantically you begin to pace in the small white room, your heartbeat increasing with each lap, your breathing turning into a rapid pant. Your mind steadily piecing things together, for better or worse, pulling who you were back into sharp focus. With that clarity comes something else.

Taking a deep breath your pacing stops. 

There wasn’t a word for what you felt. This emotion went farther than rage, conviction, or vengeance. You think you’ve felt it before, in fleeting moments, but now it’s amplified - along with everything else it seemed - now-

A creaking under your hands draws your attention, pulling you away from that line of thought. With confusion, you gape at the metal bed frame beneath your hands. You’d taken hold of it when you’d stopped pacing and now the metal was crumpled and twisted. 

It worked, you realize. It actually, bloody, worked. A small chuckle trips over your lips - you’d genuinely thought you’d end up like Pierce’s daughter, dead. 

A few weeks ago was the first time you’d seen Eric in almost a year. 

He’d been different in a way you couldn’t name since that night with The Soldier. You knew it wasn’t that he actually remembered what happened - if he had you’d no doubt he’d have come close to killing you - but perhaps an impression of something stuck. Regardless, when the time came for you to go to uni a few months later he’d set you up with your own flat and sent you on your way, saying that you needed ‘time to explore yourself.’ 

It was the one kindness he’d ever done you. 

In the last three years, you’d crafted a new version of yourself. 

She was normal, relatively speaking. Studied business, partied in SoHo with friends, had a string of short - albeit far from vanilla - affairs with several people, fairly typical stuff. 

The only time you saw Eric was for required formal events, someone ascending the ranks within Hydra or the random social event. It totaled to perhaps six or seven in three years. Which was why you were shocked, and a bit unsettled, to see him at your graduation.

You’d been worried his presence would keep you from enjoying the moment with your friends, that he’d pull you into some droll dinner to pretend he was a caring and proud father. Instead, he’d simply given you a cold congratulations and instructed you to meet him at his office the following Monday. 

It still put a damper on your entire celebration - all you could think about was what the hell he wanted from you. Not even the distraction of a beautiful woman clad in leather had managed to remove your worry. 

There had been a million things you’d thought this meeting would be about. You’d run countless scenarios in your head. None came close to what your father shared with you from across his polished desk. 

“We feel it’s time for you to join The Council.” He said as though he was commenting on the weather.

“I-I’m honored.” you stammer a bit grimacing internally. He raises a doubting brow at you before striding over to the stocked bar cart to begin pouring a drink. 

“You’ll be taking the third seat.” You almost choke on your tea. “Is that a problem?” He asks over his shoulder. 

“Not at all,” you say, willing your voice steady. “What position will Jennifer Pierce be taking in that case?” Alexander Pierce headed the US arm of Hydra and to your knowledge, the third seat had been intended for his daughter. 

“Jennifer Pierce is dead.” 

“Ah.”

“Of course-” he says, turning back to you and taking a sip of scotch before continuing- “there can be no ascension of this kind without a trial to test your worth.” You knew as much, Hydra always demanded a pound of flesh - at minimum.

“She failed hers.” Jennifer was many years your senior, had done years of fieldwork and been a trusted confidant of her own father if, she failed whatever trial this seat demanded… “You will not.” 

“Can you hear us?” A male voice asks over hidden speakers bringing you back to the present. 

“Yes.”

“Can you tell us your full name?”

“Catherine Eileen Clayton.”

“What is your date of birth, Catherine?” Ah, cognitive tests. 

“The third of January 1983,” you sigh. “I’m twenty years old, a double Capricorn, and very in control of my faculties. Can we move on?”

A buzz sounds by the door. The noise grates against your newly sensitive eardrums, causing you to grimace. When it opens Eric stands in the corridor, a proud, if not smug, smile on his face. 

“I knew you were born for this,” he extends a hand. You eye it before looking up to meet his gaze. Rather than take it you remain unmoving, waiting for him to tell you what came next. For a fleeting second his eyes narrow before sweeping his arm to beckon you from the room.

“There is one final step before you’ll be ready to ascend to your seat on The Council,” he begins to stride down the hall, expecting you to follow. 

“And that is?” He stops dead in his tracks. Your heart leaps into your throat as you recognize the set of his shoulders, instinctively you brace for a blow. Instead, he turns slowly to you, his expression unreadable as he observes how you haven’t moved. 

“You can rot in that room or follow me obediently to find out.” A too familiar chill crawls up your spine and settles in your chest. Without another word, you follow him. 

As you make your way through the labyrinthine corridors of Hydra’s London base you remember being dropped down here at 10, and having to find your way out - none of the adults you encountered would even acknowledge you existed. You remember training in one of these many blank rooms - both physical and mental - though, torture may be a better word. 

The chasm that opens in your mind almost feels like home, one you haven’t been to in a little while. Quickly you turn your thoughts to how your blood seems to hum through your veins, how loud your steps are, the low tension in your muscles - anything to pull you away from that beckoning void. 

Eric stops in front of a nondescript door, pressing his thumb into the handle. An unseen mechanism whirs to life followed by a distinct click. Before he opens the door he turns his eyes on you, studying. 

“You’ve done well thus far,” he turns the handle, looking forward. “Don’t disappoint me now, Catherine.” You don’t miss the order in his tone. A voice whispers, Yes Papa, but you refuse to let your tongue form those words. 

With bated breath, you follow him. It’s much like a room you remember from long ago, a cell where he showed you exactly the kinds of monsters that Hydra could craft. Behind you the door closes, the locks sliding back into place. 

A cell lies on the other side of the room. Through the bars, you see a woman, nude, her back to you. Deep red hair tumbling in thick waves, her ragged breath scraping over your ears. 

No, you beg silently, not her. Please not her.

Once you and Eric enter the cell, the woman turns red-rimmed eyes to you both. Relief thunders through you as you release the breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. This wasn’t Natalia, they hadn’t brought her here as a sacrifice to whatever future lay before you. Though, now the question rattled in your brain, impossible to ignore. 

“What is this?” You ask, lazily gesturing toward the woman. 

“What do you think?” 

“Can we stop with the riddles? Just fuc-” 

You were clearly out of practice. When his backhand cracks across your cheek it leaves you reeling, ears ringing, though you don’t fall. Once you blink your vision clear you look back to him, attempting to keep your face straight. 

“I believe I asked you a question,” he sighs out. 

You answer, “I assume she’s failed in some way, showed some unforgivable weakness.” You try to stop the words but they come anyway, “But you cannot expect me to kill her?”

“Oh? And why is that?” It’s your turn to sigh. 

“Honestly, that is hardly a test. If it gets things moving forward I suppose I will,” the woman shifts her back against the wall at this. “I just don’t know what that will prove.” He smiles, slowly. Clearly you got something right. 

“Perceptive. Killing her would be nothing for you, even before,” you swear the sick bastard looks proud. That void threatens once more, something whispering from the darkness. You push it away. 

“However, you’re wrong about her crime. She’s not here for being weak or unworthy, rather, she has refused to fall in line. We have no need for an unbroken horse.” He pauses, striding to the other side of the cell.

With his back turned, you look into her eyes. They burn with a fire you recognize - for an instant, you’re 11 again, you can feel the weight of that gun in your hands, hear your Mother’s voice- 

“But you won’t be putting her down.” The sound of another lock clicking draws your focus to where Eric stands, hands behind his back. 

A panel slides open with a swish. Eric steps aside just enough and you see him, The Soldier. 

He’d been gone when you’d woken in the late afternoon years ago, like some macabre guardian angel. Habitually, your fingers stroke the scar on your palm, remembering how gentle he’d been as he sutured the cut. 

The woman begins to sob. A broken, “No,” slipping out here and there.

Eric turns back to you, a wicked smile coloring his features. “The Fist of Hydra,” he walks back to stand beside you, The Soldier doesn’t move. 

“You remember him don’t you?” Your heart begins to beat a tattoo of alarm against your ribs. “I showed him to you when you were a child.” 

“Yes,” you will your heart to quiet, feeling like it’s loud enough for the whole room to hear. 

“It’s one thing to take a life and quite another to put the blood on the hands of someone else.” He looks down at you, “You’ll prove you can handle that, and The Soldier, by utilizing him to remove this stain from our ranks.” 

He looks over his shoulder at the woman, “Be creative. He hasn’t been let loose in some time.” With that, he strolls casually to the far corner of the cell, leaning back against the wall as though he was about to watch some kids play football.

The Soldier steps forward and the panel behind him slides shut, disappearing as though it never was. You study him, searching those pale eyes for some spark of recognition. Whatever had been there before was long gone, all that stood before you was a weapon, a tool waiting to be put to use. It chilled you. 

Behind you, the woman still weeps. It makes something bitter rise in you - pathetic, she was nothing like your mother. Even so, words you hadn’t allowed yourself to remember for so long rise in your mind.

“Always remember that you are more than this.”

“No.” One crisp, clear, syllable. It may as well have been a bomb. 

“Excuse me?” 

“You’ll be better than all of them as long as you remember.” Your mother’s voice echoes in your mind.

Languidly you slide your eyes to Eric, “I said, no.” 

Everything goes quiet as his anger builds, a fire slowly eating all the oxygen in the space. What was coming would likely consume you leaving nothing but a husk behind, you don’t care. It feels good. 

Despite the waves of rage rolling off of him, his face remains impassive as he approaches you. A couple of feet away he stops, head tilting to the side as though he was seeing something puzzling.  

“She’s done nothing worth a death sentence.” You state matter of factly. 

“You’re questioning me?”

“No,” god that word felt so good, intoxicating. Maybe you were mad from the power it seemed to give you. It was the best explanation for your next words. “I’m telling you you’re wrong.” 

You read once that wolves show their teeth before they attack. Devils, you know, do the same. 

Eric’s smile is broad as he slips his suit jacket off his shoulders. Your eyes track him as he hangs it over the horizontal bar of the cell. Unhurriedly he unbuttons his cuffs, methodically rolling the sleeves up to the elbow. When he speaks again, he’s unbuttoning a single button to allow him room to tuck away his tie.

“Then how would you address the situation, Catherine?”

“I wouldn’t.” He steps toward you, on instinct you move back, not wanting to allow him a close range to strike.

“You’d allow disrespect to stand? Allow this stain to spread?” Another step forward, another retreat from you. 

“No.” 

“Then what? You’d do nothing to handle this weak-”

“You said yourself she isn’t weak. In fact, it seems to me, the problem is your own weakness if you can’t handle one-” 

Stupid. That’s the only word echoing through your skull as it slams into the wall behind you with enough force to knock a lesser person unconscious. 

Right now you’re not thinking about the bent metal of the bed frame in your recovery room. You’re not thinking of your sensitive ears or the weeks of preparation, or that you lived through the procedure when others have died. 

No. 

Right now you’re a little girl again, realizing your father is the Devil for the first time. Right now you’re the same powerless thing you’ve always been in his presence, the fear of a lifetime suffocating you. 

“Would you like to finish that statement?” Eric growls. You shake your head, too afraid to speak. “I thought not.” His fingers dig into your neck. 

“You’ve grown far too bold. Forgotten where you belong.” He takes a deep breath, eyelids fluttering as though the smell of your terror was intoxicating. “Perhaps you need a reminder.” 

“I’m sorry, Papa,” god you hate yourself for those words. 

“No,” he reclaims the power you’d felt so briefly. His knee pries your thighs apart, “You will be.” 

When his head dips down, the grotesque feel of his tongue against the skin of your neck almost makes you wretch. Before you close your eyes in an attempt to block out everything happening and all you know is to come, you catch The Soldier’s intent stare. 

He looked as though he was straining on an invisible leash, his entire body coiled tension begging for release. 

He’s waiting on something, you think as teeth sink into your shoulder. The pain brings clarity. He’s waiting on me. 

All it takes is one nod to break the invisible tethers binding him. With terrifying speed, The Soldier strikes, pulling Eric from you, pinning his arms and legs, rendering him immobile. To his credit he didn’t struggle, knowing he couldn’t break such a hold. 

“Release me, Soldat!” Eric barks in harsh Russian. The Soldier doesn’t even flinch, his eyes remain locked on you, awaiting an order. “Soldat!”

The fear which had paralyzed you seeps away as your senses begin to return and you stare at Eric. He looks angry but still calm, never willing to let his facade fall for long. Under the surface though, you can hear the racing of his heart, it seems to pick up at the same pace your own slows. The vein in his throat pulses, his breath is barely controlled, and you note the small beads of sweat beginning to form on his skin. 

Weak, something hisses from that void. This time you don’t silence it - you agree, you welcome it, this darkness he so proudly fostered within you. Now you allow the void to rise. He made you this. Killer. Demon. Weapon. The void whispers. And it is not wrong. You were all these things and now-

You kneel before Eric, gripping his chin in your hand. 

“I don’t think he listens to you anymore, Papa,” you say, the final word laced with mockery. You pat his cheek as you stand and pace away, purposely showing your back to him to be sure he knew you were no longer afraid. That you’d never be afraid of him again. 

“I do think you had a point earlier though. About putting blood on someone else’s hands being different.” You turn back to him, wanting to look into his eyes as you say, “It would be a shame to waste such a prime opportunity to learn. Don’t you think?” His eyes widen in understanding that now, the void he created would consume him.

“Soldier,” you look to him, those cold blue eyes unwavering. “Break him, but do not let him die.” 

You had worried for a moment that you needed to be more specific in your commands. After all, you wanted your father to suffer at least a taste of the horrors he’d done to others throughout his life. It only took a few moments for you to see that you worried in vain. Be it training or retribution, The Soldier methodically broke Eric down in ways that would cause the most pain without the release of death. 

For what may have been hours you remain entranced by the scene before you. Every cry of pain was a symphony. The blood on the cold concrete a masterpiece. 

This was for your mother. For every person, he’d hurt. For the child, he’d broken and forged into something irredeemable. 

This was justice. Or at the very least, the justice you understood, the justice he deserved. 

“That’s enough,” you sigh contently. Without hesitation The Soldier stops, stepping away from Eric. 

Your father’s face is almost unrecognizable. Blood, tears, snot, and vomit all paint his features into something different, something grotesque. The outside finally reflecting the sickening soul beneath. Slowly you take in the rest of his broken body, stopping at the wet stain on his trousers. 

“Piss? Really, Eric, you’re embarrassing yourself.” You press your boot to his throat as he’d done to you when you were a child. 

“You once told me, that dangerous miscalculations only served to land one under the boot of those worthy of bravery. Do you remember?” He makes no move of acknowledgment, only stares up at you with one defiant eye - the other swollen shut. 

“Oh you must,” you press harder and he gurgles. “It was just before you made me put a bullet in my mother’s head.”

“Tell me, Papa,” you spit the word. “Am I brave enough now?” 

You lift him from the floor as though he’s nothing but a rag doll and slam him into the wall where he’d pinned you earlier. Exhilaration didn’t come close to encapsulating this feeling. 

“I believe I asked you a question,” you say in an echo of his own cool tone. 

“You… little… devil,” he manages to say with a mouth missing several teeth. A laugh, bright and ringing, pours from you.

“I am the devil you made. Aren’t you proud?” 

With one hand on Eric’s throat, and the other on his chest, you begin to push your fingers between his ribs, pressure increasing bit by bit. 

The tattered fabric of his shirt and his flesh begins to give way beneath your steel fingers. A whimper rises from him that slowly forms into a cry of agony. All you can do is smile as you feel the wet heat around your hand. 

A little further and you feel the beat, the pulse of life that had animated this man for all his days. 

“Goodbye, Papa,” you whisper as you squeeze and feel that pulse cease. 

The silence that follows is absolute. 

Everything in you, and around you, quiet. 

Eventually, you let him drop to the floor in an undignified heap, stepping back. Only then does the void recede enough for you to feel anything more than triumph. Even then, you feel no regret, only the heavy knowledge of the price your actions would demand. 

A trembling breath escapes you as soft shifting sound draws your focus from what you’d done and back to The Soldier. He stands straight, quietly observing you. When you meet his eyes you’d swear there was satisfaction there. 

Fuck it. You’d likely die for this and even with him by your side you were not going to get out of this building unless they let you out. 

“Care for a drink?” You ask, lips quirking in a smile. He says nothing, just cocks his head a bit to the side. You shrug, “Suit yourself. I’m getting one.” Or several. 

To your surprise, the door to the cell opens. You stroll out hearing him just behind you. Good. 

“Hey!” A woman calls out. “What about me?” Honestly, you’d forgotten about her entirely. 

“What about you?” Is all you toss over your shoulder as the cell slams shut behind you. 

There was nothing you could do for her now, hell there wasn’t anything you could truly do for yourself. It would be a miracle if you made it back to Eric’s office without a bullet in your head. The Soldier may even be the one to put it there, he may be biding his time - though something in you doubted this. 

You’d spared the woman all you could, the rest would be up to her. 

The private elevator slides open, revealing Eric’s office, not a guard, soldier, or assassin in sight - well, save for the one you rode up with. You’re surprised but not relieved. They’d come, and soon. 

You raise your hands to rub your face only to be hit with the copper tang of blood - your right arm covered almost to the elbow. Suddenly you’re too hot, burning, your chest tight.

Outside the floor to ceiling window, London glitters like something in a fairytale. You rush to it, pressing your face to the cool glass, forcing your mind to focus on the city around you. Even through the thick glass, you can hear the rush of the wind, the slightest hum of traffic below. 

Breathe, Catherine, you try to coach yourself. Breathe. But you can’t. 

The blood paired with the city sounds that should have been impossible for you to hear makes you realize something you’d been foolish to miss in the first place. They would not kill you. Not now. 

Eric had once said that Hydra didn’t make a habit of wasting good parts, one look at The Soldier was a fair reminder of that. Before, you’d been valuable enough but ultimately replaceable - now you were an investment. 

“Someone is coming.” The Soldier’s voice cuts through your panic like a knife. You turn to see him by the door, arms crossed. Whether he was keeping you in or others out you couldn’t know. 

Taking a shaky breath you nod, “Thought they’d be faster about it if I’m being honest.” As the doorknob turns his hand moves for the knife in his belt. Interesting. 

“No,” you shake your head. He stands at attention instead, looking more like a blood-spattered statue than a man. You lean against the desk as the door swings open to reveal -

“Secretary Pierce?” You don’t try to hide the surprise in your voice, he wasn’t exactly who you’d expect to come for you. 

“Miss Clayton,” he smiles brightly. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be here. It’s been too long,” he holds out a hand. 

“Ah,” you hold up your red right palm. “Haven’t had a chance to freshen up. Please, make yourself comfortable,” you gesture to the bar cart. “I’ll just be a moment.” 

Freshen up? You lean against the bathroom door judging yourself. Freshen up. As though you’d been out for a light jog rather than literally shoving your hand through your own father’s chest. Freshen up. Christ. 

You catch your reflection in the mirror and freeze. 

Blood not only covered your arm but had soaked into your shirt, staining your chest, leaving splatters up your neck and on your face. Despite the gore, you looked fresh, skin dewy and bright, your eyes sparkling. It painted an unsettling image.

Even so… you smiled. 

He was dead. That bastard you’d once called Papa. Dead. By your hand.

No matter what followed, no matter what they did to you, your Mother had her justice today. They couldn’t take that away. 

You wash your hands as best you can and wipe some of the blood off your face. Getting rid of the rest would be impossible right now and there was a part of you that didn’t want it gone. Let them see it. 

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” you say exiting the bathroom. 

“No apologies needed. Honestly, I wanted to give you time to process before speaking with you, but the others thought it best we move quickly.”

“I see,” you turn to the bar cart to make a drink. 

“So?” You sigh as you take a seat in the wingback across from where Pierce had settled himself. He sips his drink before speaking. 

“Of course we want to give you time to transition. It will be an abrupt change to your lifestyle, especially for someone so young - but we feel confident that you’ll manage spectacularly. You’ve always-”

“Excuse me, Secretary-”

“Alex, please.”

“Alex,” it felt strange to call this man who you’d known your whole life by his first name. “I’m not sure I follow. I just committed treason and-”

“I’d view it more like taking out the trash.” Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Alex looks like he wants to spit, “Your father was... dedicated, to the cause. However, there are some sins that simply can’t be overlooked.” His intense eyes meet yours. 

“We didn’t know for certain until today how far his depravity went. I don’t ask you to forgive us for that, but as a father, I would never have let that…” He shakes his head, taking a deep drink. 

“I’m sorry,” he looks to you confused. “About your daughter. About Jennifer.”

His face softens, “Thank you.” He sneers, “Your father-”

“Eric,” you correct him. 

“Eric,” he nods, seeming to understand. “He said-”

“Let me guess, ‘Blood will out.’” 

“Yes, as though it was a personal failing - her death.” You look away, disgusted. “But you are not him.” Your gaze shoots back to him. 

“Miss-”

“Catherine,” you say smiling. 

“Catherine. You are what we’ve waited so long for. A child of Hydra, fit to lead us into the new age.” Your eyes narrow. “You’ll be taking your - Eric’s seat.” 

You can’t help but be shocked. Taking what should have been Jennifer’s seat had been enough of an upset, to take Eric’s… It would mean-

“It will be an honor to have you serve with me in the first seat.” The first seat, the head of The Council that governed Hydra, was always held as a joint position. “And it will be an even greater honor when you ascend even higher.”

“Higher?” There was no higher seat. 

“In time.” Alex leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, looking up at you. “While Hydra has many heads it has always been in need of a strong body, one that will not easily bow to the weight of time or illness, one that has transcended so many of our meer human weaknesses. I believe that you were meant to be this body, Catherine.” 

“I… I’m humbled,” you almost choke on the word. It was the right response though, judging by Alex’s smile.

“I will take that as you accepting,” he says it like you have a choice. 

“Of course!” You force joy into your tone. 

“Fantastic!” He stands, raising his glass. You join him. “To a bright future. Hail Hydra!”

“Hail Hydra,” you echo as your glasses clink together. The whiskey tastes like dust on your tongue. 

“As I said, we want to give you some time to transition. However, we will need to move quickly to ensure things continue to run smoothly.”

“I completely understand. I shouldn’t need too much time.” You look around this office, a space you’d spent so much time, a space filled with so many terrible memories. “Mainly, I’ll need to… clean house.”

Alex gives a knowing nod, “Absolutely. You have full power to change and remove,” he holds your gaze for a moment, “whatever and whomever you see fit.” 

“Thank you.” Your eyes settle on the soldier. That sense of conviction from earlier floods you again, the slightest rumblings of a very dangerous idea making their way around your mind. 

“Also,” you stride to the bar cart and refill your drink, making a gesture to do the same for Alex. He accepts. “While I can no doubt protect myself, I will need some additional security to allow me to more fully focus on the needs of the organization. No doubt, there will be those who will see this ascension as overstepping on my part.”

“Unfortunately,” Alex concedes. “You can, of course, have any security detail Eric employed.” He catches your cocked brow, “Ah, yes. Well, you can have your choice of Hydra for your own detail.”

“I had a thought actually,” you take a sip before continuing. “I’d like The Soldier.” Alex looks from you to The Soldier, still standing in the same place he was when Alex had entered.

“The Soldier…” He says thoughtfully. 

“Yes. I’d prefer to not have to doubt the integrity of my security detail, especially given the unique situation I’m finding myself in. Typically someone in this position would have had years to form their inner circle - I haven’t had such a luxury.” 

“Of course,” you add, “he’d still be at the full disposal of Hydra should he be needed.”

Alex nods, “I see no problem with it. He’s housed under European jurisdiction as it is and you clearly have a steady command of him - no small feat I’ll have you know.”

“Lovely.” 

“Any other immediate needs to make this an easier transition?” Alex asks sincerely. 

“Just one,” you walk back to the chairs and sit. “The woman Eric was going to have killed. What was her crime?” Alex shifted, seeming a bit uncomfortable.

“She was a Brown Widow,” he began. 

“A what?” You’d never heard of such a thing. 

He purses his lips, “Of course, Eric wouldn’t tell you about the Brown Widows.” He sighs, “The Brown Widow program is a sister to the Black Widow program. Brown Widows are trained in much the same way, in fact, they begin in the Black Widow program before being hand-selected to be Brown Widows. They’re chosen for having a more… genteel temperament if you will. More suited to domesticity than your typical Black Widow graduate.” 

A memory tingles in the back of your mind, just out of reach. 

“Your mother was a Brown Widow.”

You wanted to marry a spider, your mother had spoken those words when she’d garroted Eric the night she died. 

“Her death was not sanctioned, Catherine. I tried to push for an investigation-”

You shake your head, “It’s in the past.” 

“She was a spectacular woman. Eric always had to have the best-”

“So the woman?” You don’t want to think about your mother anymore. Can’t bear the weight of knowing that she could have killed Eric at any time, could have run, but she didn’t… Because of you. 

“Yes,” he clears his throat, “the woman from this evening, was a Brown Widow. She’d been assigned to a lower level associate. He was apparently… unpleasant.” You note that Alex won’t meet your eyes and suspect you know what kind of unpleasantness he means. “She may have removed a specific part of his anatomy in retaliation before fleeing.” You bite your lip to restrain a smile. 

“Is she dead?”

“Not at all. We agreed with your decision. Some punishment should likely be metered but not what Eric had in mind.”

“I’d like to have her as my personal assistant.” 

“Oh?” 

“What better way to foster loyalty than saving someone’s life?”

Alex smiled, “Wise. I’ll have her sent up.”

“Thank you. I feel that puts me in a good position to get moving quickly.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Alex says finishing his drink and standing. He sets his glass on the side table and extends his hand once more. 

“This couldn’t have been a better outcome, in my opinion, Catherine. You’re going to do incredible things. This is only the beginning.”

You take his hand, giving it a firm shake. “I couldn’t agree more, Alex. Thank you for the opportunity.” 

“We will connect soon.” 

“I look forward to it,” you open the door to let him out. 

As soon as he is on the elevator you call out to Eric’s former secretary. “Anita, can you join me?” You don’t wait for an answer, instead, you turn back into the office to refill your drink and wait. 

She enters a minute later, nervous energy rolling off of her. Her eyes grow wider by the second as she takes in your blood-soaked form leaning casually against Eric’s desk. 

“Slackjawed isn’t a good look for you, Anita.” She snaps her jaw shut. 

“W-What can I do for you Miss Cathe-”

“Madam Clayton will do.” Her eyes somehow manage to get wider, making her look like one of those popeyed pugs she doted on. “Will this arrangement be a problem for you?” The vile woman had served your father longer than you’d been alive.

“No, Madam Clayton, of course not.” 

“Good. I need a change of clothes. One for The Soldier as well, and clothing for the woman being sent up - she should be about a size eight.” 

“Yes, Maam.” She turns, her wiry frame trembling. 

“Oh. One more thing, Anita.” She freezes, no doubt expecting something awful. “I want every bit of information on The Soldier. I’ll need all of this within the hour.” Nervously she eyes the statue-like man, you can hear her heartbeat rise. 

“But, Madame Catherine… I… I don’t.”

“Anita?”

“Y-yes?” You hold her bulging eyes, staring her down until you knew she was about to break. 

“My father wouldn’t tolerate excuses. Neither will I. Is that clear?” 

“Of course,” she squeaks. “Yes, Maam.” With one last glance at The Soldier, she scurries from the room. 

Rounding the desk you finish the rest of the entirely, and annoyingly, ineffective whiskey before plopping down hard in the desk chair. Looking across the room you see that The Soldier had recrossed his arms, eyes studying you with unnerving intensity. 

A lifetime of violence had taught you how to scent it. Right now, it was beginning to crackle in the air. 

He moved so quickly you almost missed it. Almost. 

Your hand moves under the desk, gripping the Glock you knew would be waiting. As he went to vault the desk you push the chair back, rolling you toward the window and aim right between his eyes. He freezes, crouched on the desk, murder in his eyes. 

“I am not your enemy,” you say softly, remaining seated. 

“Hail Hydra,” he sneers. His hatred feels like a slap. 

You release the gun, letting it dangle on your finger, from the trigger before you stand slowly, hands up, and place it on the desk before him. Leaning in so close you can feel his breath you return his hard stare. 

“Fuck. Hydra,” you growl. 

Never had you been grateful that this room was off the grid, Pierce had confirmed that earlier. Had they eyes or ears here they’d have known the things Eric had done to you. Even so… you didn’t dare say anything more. 

It must have been enough because his mood shifts back to a skeptical neutral. Slowly he backs up, standing on the other side of the desk. Neither of you speak, you just stare, assessing if you were friend or foe until a buzz sounds from the phone on the desk. 

“Yes?” You ask pressing the intercom button. 

“I h-have the clothing you requested. The woman should be up soon.”

“And the information on The Soldier?”

“I’m getting it to-together now.” That tremulous little stammer was beginning to grate your nerves. 

“Bring the clothes.” 

One bag contained three pairs of black boots, practical though none of you would leave here in them. The other revealed three sets of black hoodies, caps, tees, and bluejeans. They’d do. 

“Here,” you hold out the pile of clothes to him. He eyes them. “Look, even if you weren’t covered in blood you can’t go out on the street looking like Edward fucking Scissorhands.” Did they have a point in dressing the man like he was on his way to a cheap dungeon?

Finally, he takes them. 

“You can use the bathroom,” you turn to pull your own clothes out. “Oh, and be sure to check them for-” He nods, turning for the bathroom. Clothing could easily conceal trackers and bugs - it was why the boots would remain here unused. 

You meticulously check the clothes provided for you and the woman, pleased to find nothing suspicious. In the small closet where Eric kept a few changes of clothes, you find the trainers you were hoping for. They’d be far too large for either you or the woman but at least you knew they’d be clean. 

Just as you pull the plain black tee over your head The Soldier walks out. His own tee stretches tight across his chest, the metal arm somehow seeming more alarming when paired with the plain clothes. Still, no one could deny that the man was a specimen. 

Drawing your eyes away you pluck the card of hair elastics from the bag, handing one to him. “If you wanted to pull your hair back.” He takes it, his eyes landing on your throat. 

“You still have,” he gestures to his own neck.

“Oh, right. If they come with the woman would you mind letting them in?” He says nothing. With a sigh, you duck into the bathroom to remove the lingering traces of blood. 

You hear the door to the office open followed by a muffled cry of alarm. When you pop your head out of the bathroom the woman stands, still nude, in fighting form. Much more firey than when she was in the cell.

“Don’t fucking come near me,” she growls in an American accent. The Soldier stands several feet away, hands tucked into the pocket of his jeans, hair up in a low ponytail. 

“He isn’t going to harm you,” you say stepping out. Though, you didn’t entirely know if that was true. He’d been ready to eviscerate you not a half-hour ago. The woman throws you a wild glare. 

“I’m Catherine Clayton,” you grab the hoodie intended for The Soldier from the pile and toss it to her. Christ, they couldn’t even be bothered to give the woman a towel to cover herself with. It’s just long enough to cover her.

“I know what you are,” she spits. What. Not who. 

“I highly doubt that.” The woman didn’t know the half of it. “Drink?” You ask nodding to the bar cart. 

“So now I’m invited to drinks?” You can’t help but smile. 

“In defense of my rudeness earlier, I truly thought I’d be dead or worse by now. Seeing as that’s not the case,” you shrug. 

“Whiskey,” the woman says, stepping closer but still keeping a wary eye on The Soldier. 

You pour her a glass and look to The Soldier, “And you?” He simply glares and turns to resume a vigil by the door. 

Surprisingly she sniffs the glass only once and downs it all in one go before you take a drink. You raise a brow and reach for the glass to refill it. 

She shrugs, “If I’m going to go out there are worse ways than poisoned whiskey.”

“I’ll drink to that.” You gesture for her to have a seat. She eyes eye chair and simply leans against it, you don’t miss the slight spark of defiance in her chestnut eyes. 

Rather than sit in a chair yourself you hop onto the desktop, facing her, and wait for her to ask the question. 

“What do you want from me?”

“I’d like to offer you a job.” She looks at you disbelieving. 

“A job.” You nod. “I’m not sure if you’ve seen my resume lately, but I didn’t exactly leave my last position on amicable terms.”

“I’m well aware. In fact, it’s what made you a prime candidate for the position.” She studies you as you continue. “I’m not looking for someone loyal to the cause. I need someone loyal to me.” You can see the flames of curiosity begin to rise. 

“And what does loyalty to you look like?” She asks before taking a sip of her whiskey. 

“Details will come in time. But, from what I hear of you, I feel our intentions may align nicely.”

Finally, she pushes away from the chair and steps closer, “Fuck it. I’m in.” You hadn’t expected it to be so easy. Your skepticism must show. 

“Look, I’d rather answer to a woman than another mouth breathing wanna be Mussolini. And,” her stare intensifies, “anyone with the spine to put down that monster like you did today is pretty good in my book.” 

She extends her right hand. Smiling you hop off the desk and take it. 

“I’m Mara.”

“Pleasure.”

“So,” you release your shake and she finishes her drink, “what do ya need from me boss?” 

“On paper, you’ll be my personal assistant.”

“And off the books?” 

“We’ll get to that.” You nod to the clothes, “For now go ahead and get changed. That hoodie is his.” Tension visibly rolls over her. 

Without another word, she grabs the clothes and disappears into the bathroom. A moment later the intercom buzzes. You press the button but say nothing. 

 “Ma-Madam Clayton, I have the f-files on The Soldier you requested.”

“Good. Before you bring them, how much cash do we have on hand?”

“Oh, I can provide you with the ca-”

“I asked a clear question, Anita.” You’d all need a place to stay until you could get your private finances sorted. With Eric gone it should be easier to do so, especially since you’d spent the last three years building a stockpile even Hydra couldn’t trace. Still, for the next few nights you all needed a safe - or at least safe enough - place and using a card would let Hydra know exactly where you were. 

“Yes, so-sorry Madam. We have over one hundred thousand-”

“Bring me forty of it along with the files.” You shut the intercom off and wait for the tentative knock. 

It comes as Mara steps out of the bathroom. She eyes The Soldier as he opens the door and warily drapes his hoodie over the wingback before standing beside you. 

Anita, carrying two banker boxes stacked beneath her chin stumbles in. The Soldier catches her by the shoulder before she topples, causing her to freeze until she catches sight of Mara. Her expression shifts from shock to indignation. 

She pulls away from The Soldier’s grip, blustering to the small table sitting between the wingback chairs. Straightening her dowdy blouse she plucks a thick envelope from the top. 

“The files and money, Madam Catherine.” She shoots Mara a filthy glare. Mara responds with a fox-like grin that further flusters the older woman. 

“Madam,” she clips out in a nasal tone as you pull the money out. 

“That will be all, Anita,” you don’t even look up at her as you ensure the bills are all there and authentic. 

“Madam,” she says again. Slowly you raise your eyes to meet her pathetic attempt at a confident glare. “This-this, woman,” she spits. “She’s to be disposed of! Your father wanted-” The rest of her words are lost in a garbled scream, your grip on her throat trapping the sound. 

For a split second, you’re a bit disoriented by the speed at which you moved, so much so that you almost squeeze too tight. With effort, you relax your grip. This was not her time to die. 

“Anita,” you purr, “who’s blood do you suppose that was earlier?”

“Mr-Mr. Clayton,” she manages to eke out. 

“That’s right!” You say in a tone one may take with a child. “And knowing that, do you suppose I give one holy fuck about anything that beast wanted?” You stare into her bulging eyes, watch her pasty skin burn red with fear and shame - both tasted so sweet. How many times had she turned a blind eye… 

She shakes her head. 

“Good,” you toss her to the ground. She rolls onto all fours, gasping for air as she crawls away to put distance between you. 

“Oh, and Anita,” her whole body goes rigid. “If you ever bring him up again, I’ll do things to you that would make the Devil himself cringe. Do we have an understanding?”

She nods. 

“Excellent. That is all, Anita.” She manages to rise to her feet, though her body remained deeply bowed as she scuttled out the door. 

You could feel the eyes of the others on you. 

“Does anyone here have a problem with how that was handled?” You ask. The Soldier simply looks at you with narrow eyes. 

“Not me.” Mara hops onto the desk. One out of two was good enough. 

“Here,” you tuck a wad of bills into your pocket and hand her the envelope. “That’s thirty thousand pounds. It should be more than enough to get us ensconced in a good hotel. I’d prefer a penthouse, two bedrooms, with clear sightlines to the roofs of the surrounding buildings. But mainly something as private as possible.” She nods. “Book a room for yourself as well.” 

You cross to one of the bookshelves, giving the bottom a swift kick. The old mechanism groaned as it slid open to reveal a small closet filled with an arsenal. 

“Help yourselves.” 

“Nice,” Mara comments with sparkling eyes. The Soldier doesn’t make a move. 

“There’s another elevator in there,” you tell her. “It will take you to the street.” 

“Where should we rendezvous?”

“French House,” it would be easy enough for you and The Soldier to disappear into the ever-crowded pub. 

“Got it,” she slips a gun into her waistband. “Shoes?” 

“Oh!” You kick off your blood-spattered black trainers. “Take these. I found another clean pair.” 

“See you soon!” Mara tosses over her shoulder as the elevator closes. 

Within two hours you’re walking into the Dome penthouse over The Hotel Cafe Royal. The terrace overlooked the London skyline and provided an easy escape should it be necessary. 

“I have to admit, Mara. I’m impressed.”

“Don’t be,” she kicks off your old trainers, slipping into a new pair. “Money talks, so it wasn’t exactly difficult.” You look out one of the curved windows to the terrace. 

“What now?” She asks from behind you. 

“Now,” you sigh, “rest.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. Order food to your room, have a soak, get drunk. Whatever you need.” You don’t mistake the relief that floods her face. “I’ll ring you tomorrow,” you hold up the burner phone that matched her own. 

“Ok,” she sighs. 

“Thank you, Mara.”

“For what?”

“For trusting me this far.” 

“Don’t make me regret it,” she says with a wink. The Soldier reenters the living room and she studies him. “Be careful.”

You nod, “Goodnight.” With that, she leaves. 

“I’m taking a bath,” you say to him. “I assume you chose your room?” His brows knit, a bit confused. 

“There are two additional bedrooms, what did you think I was going to have you do? Stand at attention all night?” His cold glare is enough of an answer. “Pick a room. Order food. Do whatever you want.” You turn on your heel and stalk toward the bathroom. 

You sink under the scalding water, hoping it will help clear your mind, allow the fragments of a plan that had been ricocheting around in your skull become something solid and tangible. Instead... it reminds you of the hot slick feeling of Eric’s blood. 

Gasping for air, you fling yourself from the tub, sending the small table of neatly stacked towels flying into the wall. With no small effort, you force your eyes open, half expecting to see your whole body coated in the thick red substance. 

There’s nothing. Of course, there was nothing. Nothing besides The Soldier, standing in the entrance, concern coloring his features. 

“I’m fine,” you huff, cheeks burning a bit from embarrassment. “A little privacy?” He seems to flush a bit himself and heads wordlessly from the room. 

A shower was clearly the best option. 

You wrap yourself in a plush robe before stepping from the bathroom, expecting to see the soldier in the living room. But he wasn’t there. 

No matter. You head onto the terrace, taking in the spectacular view and relishing the cold night air on your damp skin. 

Now clarity comes. 

You hear the rustle of someone behind you, the slightest hum of gears indicating that it was The Soldier. 

“I’m going to burn it all down.” The words feel electric on your tongue. “All of Hydra.”

Your mother was wrong. You were not more than this, more than them.

She was also wrong about evil. Sometimes the only thing strong enough to defeat it was an equal… 

Your father had made you such an equal. Honed you into a weapon, something as dark and deadly as Hydra itself. Being bred in the belly of that beast you knew its anatomy, its every weak spot, every flaw. 

They wanted to make you the body. Instead, you’d be a cancer, consuming the beast from the inside out. 

You turn to him, “Is that going to be a problem for you?”

His intense eyes seem to sparkle and a slight smile curls his lips. 

“Not at all.”

Relief surges through your body. You knew what you wanted to accomplish was an olympian task and without the strength and fear The Soldier afforded you - well it would have become a near-impossible one. 

A knock draws both your attention. 

“I ordered food,” he says beginning to turn away. “For both of us.” 

The gesture catches you so off guard that it renders you immobile for a moment. When you finally make it inside he’s moving the boxes filled with information on him to the ground to clear the table for food. 

“I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I ordered several things.” The cart was stacked to bursting and the smells rising from it made your mouth water. But there on the bottom, a familiar package catches your eye. 

Chocolate digestive biscuits. The same kind you shared with him on that night so long ago. Silently you bend to retrieve them, looking from the biscuits to him a couple of times before speaking. 

“You do remember.” He nods. Confusion roils, “Then why did you charge me earlier if-”

“People change.” He pulls the cover off of a trey revealing a cheeseburger and fries and moves it to the table. You think he’ll say more but, instead, he starts eating. The growling of your stomach convinces you to not press the subject and instead locate the curry you can scent hiding under one of those covered trays. 

Honestly, you’d never felt this hungry. You tear through the red curry and move on to another tray, this one housing a second burger and fries. It’s not until you’re done with that and are nibbling on a poor excuse for pizza that you actually slow. 

“I guess I was hungrier than I thought.”

He smiles a bit, taking a slice of the pizza, “I think it’s the serum. I’m always hungry.”

You study him for a moment, “Any other insights on that front?” 

He shrugs, “Things can be overwhelming,” he clears his throat, “sensations. Even your own body can seem too loud. You feel… more. Everything’s dialed up so you may be stronger, harder to kill, but it doesn’t mean shit hurts less.” That was actually very good information. “I’m sure there’s plenty of information in those boxes.” You don’t miss the bitter edge in his voice. 

Silence hangs thick for a bit until he asks, “Did you choose this?” 

“Choose what?” You meet his intense gaze. 

“The serum. Did you let them do this to you?”

“Do you think my bastard father would have let me choose something like this?” You scoff. Anger flares in your chest, “No.” You push away from the table and begin to pace. 

“I was simply informed that whatever life I thought I could build for myself was over. That I had to, yet again, prove myself worthy of something I never wanted and never asked for. That I had better not, disappoint.” You feel your body start to shake, “Because even my death, death at their hands, would have been a disgrace.” 

“I got milk too,” he says behind you. 

“What?” The statement seemed absurd until you turned to see him pouring two glasses, the biscuits on the table. Somehow the sight tamps down the flame of your rage. 

“Oh,” you collapse on the couch, hiding your face in your hands. Maybe emotions, like sensations, were dialed up because you couldn’t seem to get a hold of yours.

“I’m sorry,” his voice comes from closer than you expect. Looking up you see him kneeling before you, worry etched across his face, a lock of hair falling from his ponytail. 

“I didn’t… I should have…” He seems to struggle to find the words suddenly. “I don’t have space to speak freely… ever. And I-”

“You’re free. Or as free as I can make you.” You couldn’t truly grant him freedom that you yourself didn’t possess, but you hoped it was something. The emotion that shows in his eyes is beyond words but it makes your chest constrict all the same. 

“Thank you,” his voice cracks a bit at the end and he quickly stands. 

For the next hour, you both burn through the biscuits in comfortable silence. Once they’re gone you slump back into the deep cushions of the couch, exhaustion crashing over you. 

“I could sleep for three days.” You wished. Sleep and you had a tense relationship at best. 

“You should rest.” He says. 

Sighing you nod and stand, turning toward the master suite attached to the living room. 

“Actually,” he begins. You look back. 

“Yes?”

“You should probably take one of the back rooms. Less direct access from the terrace.” He had a point, there were no actual doors to the master bed or bathroom, just an open space cut up with walls that didn’t quite reach the high ceiling and the terrace wrapped around almost the entire suite. 

“I’ll take whichever. Lead the way.” You hadn’t really inspected the other rooms. 

He guides you to the one furthest from the entry assuring you that he’ll hear anyone who comes. 

“You’ll be safe,” he says, reminding you of the vigil he kept for you years ago - protecting you from the monster in your own home. You nod, in acceptance and open the door. 

“One thing,” you turn to him. “What you did back there, to Eric. Was that because I-“

“I did it for both of us.” You don’t think you imagine the slight spark of satisfaction in his expression. 

“Goodnight, Catherine.”

“Goodnight.” You realize suddenly that you don’t know his name, he never offered it, and knowing what little you did about him you wondered if he even knew… 

That would be the first thing you’d find in those files tomorrow. You couldn’t give him true freedom, not yet, but you could damn well give him his name back.

---

TAGS: @mywinterwolf​  @disagreetoagree​  @breezy1415​  @peachthatdrinkslemonade​  @wonderlandmind4​  @stevehesaidabadlanguageword​  @buckysstar​  @for-the-love-of-the-fandom​  @siriuslycloudy2​  @wildmoonflower​  @cutie1365​  @this-kitten-is-smitten​  @nighttwingg​  @handplucked​  @jewelofwinter​  @whiskeywinter89​ @damnaged-princess​ @the7intheimpala​ @saaamsayshi​ @7minutes-tomidnight​ @amorluzymelodia​ @auroraluna777​ @leniaana​  @awkwardlyhot @ilovespideyyy​ @jaxthebookworm​ @docharleythegeekqueen​ @olympos-92​ 

NOTE: Why does The Soldier remember her? Given what we know about him I feel like that may be one of the biggest (most frustrating) questions at the end of this so I just want to share that you’ll get the answer in the next chapter. 

[thenightgazer]

Spark of Stardust

Chapter 2 : Under The Fair Moonlight After months of friendship, tonight is the first time for Vergil to visit Lyra's house for a tea... and some unexpected confessions.

Warning : parental abuse, drug abuse, PTSD, psychological/emotional abuse, munchausen syndrome by proxy

Part 6 of Tales of Apotelesma

You can also read this fic on AO3

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

~~~

He doesn’t remember how he ended up lying on the ground.  

He stares at the sky, only to find the full moon staring back at him.  

Where am I?

What am I doing here?

An agonizing wail distracts him from his own thoughts. If only he could move his body, it would be easier to find out what’s going on here. He starts to lose his sight as he feels something come out from his head, dripping to his ear, then to his back. He tries to glance at his surroundings in vain and realizes that his eyes are going to betray him again.  

Then he feels it— pain.  

A tremendous pain all over his body.  

The woman is screaming again. This time it is louder and sounds a lot more terrifying.  

As he struggles to move his body, with desperation creeping in his spine, he finally sees a glimpse of the woman’s figure. Standing on the rooftop of the house, she is trembling and sobbing. He can’t hear what she’s murmuring, yet something forces him to keep his eyes on her. It’s against his will, and he can’t do anything against it.  

To be fair, everything doesn’t make any sense to him since the beginning. He just wants to end this absurd dream.  

But now he’s sure of something; that he recognizes her face. He can see it clearly now. It all makes sense why she looks familiar since the first time he had this dream. The same cold, void eyes...  

… that belong to the late Asteria Crescent.

---  

The first thing that Vergil feels before he opens his eyes is someone else’s hand over his face. He stares blankly at the dark, which he soon recognizes as Dante’s hand blurring his vision.

He pushes Dante’s hand slowly without waking him up, recalling the memory before the twins ended up passed out on the Devil May Cry entrance floor.  

The party went smoothly. Kyrie loved the music box that Vergil gave her and wore the bracelet after he told her its function. The meal was delicious. The kids were well-behaved—more than usual—they even went to bed early with Kyrie. After that, they played poker and Dante suggested having a drinking game. Vergil was never a heavy drinker, but of course he was forced to join the game. In the end, they drank too much and could barely remember who won the gamble.  

Vergil doesn’t remember the details, but the last thing he knew was that the cards and the smell of alcohol were all over the place. The entire crew passed out. Succumbing to alcohol and an over-flowing fatherly instinct, Vergil moved Nero to the couch and put a pillow under the young devil hunter’s head. He said goodbye to Trish, who was half-asleep on the dining table. Then he dragged Dante with him, made a sloppy movement to create a portal to Devil May Cry before he eventually collapsed.

I shouldn’t have drunk that forsaken whiskey, Vergil curses himself.

The blue hybrid stretches his body and tries to get up feebly, kicking Dante’s waist. “Wake up, Dante. Don’t sleep on the floor.”

The younger twin replies with a soft snore.

Realizing that it’s going to be futile to wake Dante up, Vergil walks to the kitchen and grabs cold water from the refrigerator. His throat is dry and sore after swallowing too much whiskey. He empties half of the bottle while thinking about his weird dream again.  

“... Huston...” Dante murmurs in his sleep.

Vergil furrows his brow. “Who?”

“Play me... Elena Huston...”

Vergil puts the bottle on the table and back to Dante, grabbing his little brother’s ankle and drags him to Dante’s room clumsily. The alcohol still exists in his blood, making him slightly difficult to coordinate his movement. After struggling a little while to put the red devil on the bed and taking off his shoes, Vergil covers Dante’s body with a blanket. Foolish, meddlesome, slovenly little brother, Vergil grumbles, unaware of his opposite brotherly act of love he has done to Dante.

“Hey Verge...” Dante mumbles.

“What?”

“Thanks... you ... sleep... too...”

“Shut up, Dante. Just sleep.”

Vergil chuckles silently after watching Dante go back to unconsciousness. He laments the time gap between them. He didn’t have a chance to grow up together with his brother, but although he was indifferent to humanity, he secretly hoped that Dante was safe, wherever his brother would be. Even when he had defeated Dante for numerous times, he had never meant to kill him even for once.

Vergil cares for his brother more than he would ever admit.

He heads out from the room and takes a seat on the couch. When he’s about to take off his coat, he feels his phone is vibrating. He takes the phone to decline the call and shut the phone down, but Lyra’s name pops on the screen.

Coincidence?  

He picks the call.

“Vergil?”

“...”

“Vergil? Are you there?”

“I’m fine,” he replies, almost like a whisper. “Just a little... tipsy.”

Vergil hears her snorting. “I thought you hated alcohol? You said it makes you lose your control or whatsoever.”

“Let’s just say the crews made me do it.”  

“Even Vergil Sparda couldn’t escape peer pressure, aye?”

A subtle smile appears on Vergil’s mouth. “This is midnight, Stardust. You should’ve slept.”

“I did. Then I woke up and couldn't sleep again. I remember you said cambions don’t need to sleep, so I reckon you are still awake. How was the party?”

“What can I say?” Vergil massages his brow, relieving the pain on it. “Kyrie loved my present. Nero was more talkative to me than usual. Dante was less annoying. For the first time since I came back from Underworld, Mary didn’t glare at me like she wanted to kill me. Trish was civil. Nicoletta still wants to touch Yamato. Morrison still insists to give me his cigarette. The three little rascals asked me to read them Animal Farm and they left early for bed.”

A mocking snort comes out from the librarian. “Normally you would say ‘ It’s fine’ or something like that, but now you bother to describe the entire events to me—not that I complained though—it just convinces me that Vergil Sparda is sloshed for real.”

“... I’m just... happy, I guess. That everything went well.”

“Glad to know it,” there’s a short pause before she continues to speak. “Hey... do you know that there's this flower called butterfly pea?”

“Consider this is the first time I heard that.”

“It’s originally from southeast Asia. It has a pretty blue colour and if we brew it, we can have a blue tea. Bought a jar of it from Chinatown. In fact, I’m thinking of brewing it now, and... I think it would be great if I drink it with a friend,” Lyra chuckles nervously. “Would you mind coming for a cuppa? I know it’s midnight and you’re inebriated right now but—”

“I accept the invitation.”

There’s a gasp. “Seriously?”

“Yes. I’ll be there in a minute.”

“I thought you would decline it, but never mind! See you very soon!”

Vergil looks at the phone screen blankly after Lyra hangs up the call. Sounds odd. This is the first time she invites me to her house. What if this invitation has something to do with my dream?  

He remembers Lyra’s statement that she doesn’t believe in coincidence. It’s all but synchronicity, she had said.  

Coincidence or not, he decides to leave anyway.

---

Lyra’s neighborhood is always quiet. Surrounded by meadows and woods, her house is secluded and quite far from the central city. No one would have thought that there’s a small cottage here and someone lives there. Lyra had said to him once that she wants to live in solitude and avoid having some neighbors, or else she would go crazy by neighbors’ endless thoughts.

The door opens immediately after Vergil knocks. Lyra’s tender face shows up, smiling at his presence. She wears an oversized blue sweater and long pajama pants. But that’s not his main concern at the moment—it’s her stature. The moonlight helps Vergil to look at her scrupulously and realizes that he has never noticed how pale Lyra’s fair skin is, like she hasn’t seen the sun for a long time. Along with her dark eyes and shady smile, anyone could mistake her as a vampire.

“Welcome to my small and humble cottage,” the librarian chuckles after examining the devil hunter in front of her. “You look fine for a drunken man.”

Vergil shrugs. “Cut it out, will you?”

“Just messing with you. Climb aboard.”

As he follows behind her to enter the house, Vergil’s cautious eyes wander off to the house’ interior. The house is small with a cozy living room attached to the kitchen. The two doors beside the living room are assumed by Vergil to be a bedroom and a bathroom. He walks to the windows framed with burgundy drapes; the lace inner curtains remain drawn, allowing moonlight to enter the house. There he can see Lyra’s small garden, blooming delicately under the night sky.

“I always fancy stargazer lilies and munstead wood rose.” Lyra says from the kitchen.

“They look exquisite,” Vergil murmurs. “I can smell the fragrance even from here.”

Vergil still stands in his place, watching the midnight breeze swing the flowers. Some of its petals have fallen to the ground. The next thing he sees is the butterflies flying around munstead wood roses. It’s rare to find butterflies in this metropolis. Knowing that there’s still beauty worth living, Vergil is grateful that he isn’t dead yet. He spent most of his lifetime isolating himself from the world, loathing the beauty inside it because he thought it was worthless.

He glances to the kitchen where Lyra puts the kettle on the stove and takes a jar— he presumes that it’s dried butterfly pea— but seems like she’s having a tough time opening it. Trying his best to keep his dignity by not mocking her adorable struggle, he approaches her and takes the jar.

“The strange and powerful human being with the ability to move every object only with her mind, couldn’t even open a goddamn jar.” Vergil remarks in sardonic tone. “Is this what you call friendship? Acting as your jar opener and transportation device?”

Lyra taps her chin. “Tut-tut, Vergil Sparda. You forgot ‘personal bodyguard’ and ‘heat provider’.”

“I’ve never thought that you’re such an opportunistic capitalist who used your friend for your convenience.”

“Says a megalomaniac who raised a demon tree to fight his brother only to be kicked in the arse by his son.”

“... that's... it won’t happen again,” Vergil looks away as he gives her the jar. “Nero hasn’t succeeded in defeating me since I came back from the Underworld."

“Sure~ I believe you.” The teasing tone in Lyra’s word says otherwise, much to Vergil’s dismay. He decides to help her prepare the cups rather than to continue their banter as she puts the dried butterfly pea flower into the teapot. Lyra had told him to let her do all the work, but she finally gives up after Vergil glares at her while cleaning the cups with a napkin.

“You finally made your dream come true.” Vergil says, putting cups on the saucers.  

“What dream?”

Vergil points at a 36-strings lever harp beside the table in front of the sofa.

“Oh!” Lyra exclaims, turning the stove off and brings the kettle on the countertop. “Couldn’t afford to buy pedal harp, so I’m quite satisfied to have this one. Sugar or lemon? Plain blue tea tastes super earthy, only if that’s your preference.”

“Just lemon. Thank you.”

“Okay. Have a seat on the sofa. I’ll bring the tea right there,” she says.

Vergil takes his time to observe the living room, which he finds odd since he entered this house. This house is too... plain. Except for the harp, a chess board, some Rubik cubes on the table and an old radio on the kitchen counter, there’s almost no personal touch in this house. No family pictures, trophies, or even a bookshelf.

Considering she’s a bookworm, that’s terribly odd. But as she said, this cottage is small. He tries to ignore his hunch and turns his focus to admire the lever harp, plucking the strings cautiously and listening to its mesmerizing sound.

“You like it?” Lyra asks while putting the tray on the table and pouring the tea to their cups.

“It's magnificent,” Vergil takes his seat. “Let’s see if you’re capable of playing this astonishing instrument.”

“Challenge accepted!” the librarian drags the harp to her side. “Happy or sad?”

The blue devil stays silent for a while, staring at the cold fireplace before he glances at the window, remembering the moment when Lyra greeted him under the fair moonlight, causing his old soul to demand something soothing and nostalgic. “Play me Clair de Lune.”

Lyra nods cheerfully. “Easy peasy.”

It’s such a picturesque scenery, to witness Lyra hold the harp like she was born to play it. It’s the same bewitching phenomenon as their little adventure a few days ago when they stargazed together to see the Lyrids. He’s bemused once he hears the strings from the lever harp plucked and formed a beautiful composition. The brighter and folksy sound from lever harp is different from the classic pedal harp, yet it doesn’t change the beauty and romantic tone from the song.

Vergil finds himself frozen under the spell— it’s not just the song, he muses. It’s her.

Your soul is a chosen landscape

Where charming masquerades and dancers are promenading

Playing the lute and dancing, and almost

Sad beneath their fantastic disguise s

While singing in a minor key

Of victorious love, and the pleasant life

They seem not to believe in their own happiness

And their song blends with the moonlight

With the sad and beautiful moonlight

Which sets the birds in the trees dreaming?

And makes the fountains sob with ecstasy

The slender water streams among the marble statues.

By the time when Lyra finally reaches the song’s outro, Vergil senses his body is less tense and his head gets back its clarity after succumbing to alcohol for hours. Her fingers are getting slower as she plucks the pin and a string for the last time, a satisfied smile appears on her face, “I like this song.”

“So do I.” Vergil agrees.

She giggles. “Next time, it’s your turn to play me a song. Dante told me that you’re a gifted violinist. He sent me a video of you playing Caprice 24 yesterday.”

Vergil covers his face with his palm. “Kindly remind me to kill him soon.”

“You play eloquently. You should be proud!” Lyra giggles and pours honey inside her cup.

“Silence,” Vergil put a slice of lemon on his tea, the tail of his eyes spy on Lyra. “Instead of flattering me, why don't we just straight to the business?”

“Sorry?”

“It’s obvious that you didn’t invite me just for a cup of tea and impromptu recital.”

The puzzled expression on Lyra’s face answers it all. She doesn’t say anything for a quiet long time, still stirring her tea as if she’s still preparing what to say to him. Vergil suspects she would avoid his question, but she just sighs and finally sips her own tea, “You’re right. But first, drink your tea.”

Her eyes fixate on his, as if she commands him to mimic her gesture. He has no choice but to obey, lifting his cup to his mouth and carefully taste the blue tea. He enjoys the mixture between the natural flavor from the tea and the acid from the lemon, slurping more of them to please his throat. He would enjoy the tea more if Lyra didn’t give him that hollow gaze, causing him to wonder if she put poison inside the tea and wait for him to collapse, but if there’s any poison inside the tea, he would find it out even before he drinks it.  

“What do you think?” She blows the steam from the tea.

“It’s good. Not too bitter, nor too bland.”

“Drink a little more, then.”

Again, Vergil obeys her.

Lyra puts her cup on the table. “It’s easy, doesn’t it?”

“What is it?”

“When I told you to drink, it was easier for you to drink it.”

“I don’t see why it should be difficult to drink it. It tastes good and it’s an act of courtesy.”

“An act of courtesy,” she smiles bitterly. “Oh yeah, it was easier for me too.”

Vergil puts his cup on the table with the intention to end Lyra’s vague trickery. The words he says next are full of certainty. “You had a dream of me.”

Her eyes are widened, but she already expects him to spill the question. She nods, her fingers trail on a Rubik's cube. “Twice. Weird, huh?”

“What did you dream about?”

“Last night? I was you, grieven by the death of your father. You wandered to your mother’s room and cried together inside a drawer with Dante. An hour ago, I was you again, chained up and this titanic, god-like demon tortured you and called you ‘disgraceful offspring of the traitor Sparda’. I think it was Mundus.”

“That’s bizarre. I believe I haven’t told you about Dante and I inside the drawer. And that was what Mundus exactly told me when he tortured me in the Underworld.”

“What about you? Did you dream of me?”

“I did,” he admits. “I’m afraid I failed to understand the context, since you haven’t told me any single things about you.”

“Fair enough. In that case...” she holds her breath while solving the cube. “What did you see?”

“I believe I was on your point of view when the dream occurred. You were gravely ill and your mother tended you. I still can recall how bad your headache was from that dream. Then Asteria—  your mother—  read you The Hobbit . In that dream, I didn’t know who she was, until you mentioned her name this afternoon. I decided to not bring it up to you until I found out why I dream about something I’ve never experienced and why it was about you.”

“The dream, then,” she continues. “Have you seen another one after that?”

He shakes his head. “None whatsoever.”

“Really?”

Sorry, Lyra. “Yes. Why?”

“... nothing. A lot of weird things have happened since our accidental mind link. The dreams must be our memories. Let's say the dream was our brain projection of what we’ve told each other about our past, then how could we feel the pain we’ve never experienced before? How could I know the face of the demon I’ve never met before? I got a hypothesis that whenever I dream of you, you must’ve dreamt about me. But this time you didn’t dream of me while I dreamt of you. Seems like it doesn’t work like that...”

The sound of clicking cube stops at once, making Vergil wonder whether she stopped the cube because of his answer or she has solved the cube since all the layers are already in the right places.  

“I was sickly back then. Could barely leave my bed,” Lyra says, showing him the cube. “And this was the only thing I could do, aside from reading.”

Vergil receives the cube. “I saw plenty of this thing in my dream.”

She rests her back on the head of the couch. “What do you think of my mother?”

“She seems caring and nurturing.”

“Do you love your mother?”

“What kind of question is that? Of course.”

“I’m glad that you do.”

“You don’t love your mother?”

“I don’t know,” she mumbles, her eyes are dreary. She lifts her feet on the couch and moves her body to face the devil. “I don’t want to lie to you, Vergil.”

“Then don’t. We promised to not lie to each other.”

She chuckles coldly. “Where should I begin... oh right, I told you I was sickly. Mum said I got this rare genetic disorder called severe combined immunodeficiency. SCID made me extremely vulnerable of diseases. Therefore, I should live in a sterile and isolated environment. I could barely leave my own house, couldn’t even open the window just to smell my garden. Didn’t get a chance to meet new people other than my mother, my nurse— I forgot her name, I never liked her anyway— and my governess, Norma.”

Lyra closes her eyes for a while before she continues. “She was a great scientist. She was the smartest person I’ve ever known. She was the one who made me in love with astronomy. I could only see her infamous work on telly and newspapers. Some days, there were people who came to visit us and talked to mum. They were forbidden to meet me because of my condition. Some of them left me notes and little presents, wishing me good health. They told my mum to have faith and carry on. And whenever my mum had to attend international conferences, she cried so much a day before her flight because she had to leave me, even though Norma was there with me.”

“What about your father?”

“Never knew him. Mum was never married. She always looked blue whenever I asked her about my father, so I stopped asking.”

Lyra clenches her hand before taking the Rubik cube from Vergil’s hand and begins to play it again. “We only had each other, that means we need to protect each other. I never questioned anything because she took care of me and devoted on me. If it wasn’t my mother, who else wanted to take care of me? I liked Norma, but she was paid for nursing me. She could leave anytime soon, but not my mum. She was the only family I had, and I loved her.”

Lyra gazes at Vergil, whose face is straight still without any meaningful reactions. “I ate and slept as ordered. Took my medicines. Never once went outside the house. I did exactly what my mum instructed. But one day I couldn’t take it anymore. I felt dizzy almost every day. I threw up a lot. Sometimes I couldn’t even move my own body. I didn’t feel any better, just getting worse day by day. I felt like I could die any time.”

She shuffles the cube again after solving it. “One day, I stopped taking all of it.”

“The medicines.” Vergil emphasizes, remembering the nasty smell of medicine in his dream.

Lyra nods. “No matter how persistent Mum’s and the nurse' persuasion, I didn’t take it. I just wanted it to be over. Then something unexpected happened,” she lets out a small grin. “I was getting better. Much better. I could walk without taking a deep breath anymore. I went to the garden without having a nosebleed. I didn’t throw up. My headache was gone. I felt like I was... reborn.”

Lyra takes another deep breath; her hands stop shuffling the cube. “I never said it out loud, but Mum was sick. Very sick,” she taps her head with her index finger. “Mentally.”

Vergil tilts his head. That’s unexpected. “What makes you think so?”

The librarian puts the cube on the table, leaving it unsolved. “Any time I refused to take medicine or disobeyed her, she distanced herself from me. She didn’t reciprocate everything I did. She was just going straight inside her room and locked the door. It was almost like she resented me— no, punishing me for disobeying her. She loved playing this guilt-trip game so much. It seems like she liked it whenever she succeeded to make me think that I was a worthless daughter.”

“I know there are parents who treat their children poorly and abusively,” Vergil contemplates. “But I’m afraid I still couldn’t comprehend why your mother did that to you. You were only a child. A terribly ill child. She should’ve been happy instead of punishing you for your better condition. I understand that we could never judge a book by its cover, but… in my dream, she seemed like... she loved you wholeheartedly. Why would she want to hurt her own daughter?"

Lyra hugs her knees. “When someone keeps putting a person in ugly circumstances, I can only think that it’s either out of hatred or love.”

“Why would you put the person you love in such circumstances?”

“Love can be... poisonous,” Lyra stares blankly at the ceiling. “It’s always easier to hurt someone you hate. It makes more sense. But if you love someone, you’d do anything for them, even if it’s beyond logic, consciously or not. You’d call it kindness and love, but it’s actually poison. You hurt your beloved ones and say that you do that because you love them. You keep them close to you, shower them your love until they’re blind by your love and never find the help they really need...”

Noticing her body begins to shiver, Vergil takes off his coat and wraps it around Lyra’s body to keep her comfortable. He couldn’t help but empathized with her. She’s as confused as he is about human emotions, which is surprising. She always looks so confident, like there’s no obstacle that could damage her. But now while she slowly reveals her past, she looks extremely vulnerable. It makes Vergil want to help her somehow, even just to calm her down.

“Here,” Vergil says, hesitantly offers his hand. “Just until you feel better.”

Lyra’s anxiety gradually calms down as their hands are attached. Vergil’s gloved palm is hard as steel—one squeeze can crush her bone, yet she can only feel the warmth between their entangled hands.

She lets out a sad smile. How long has it been since the last time someone holds my hand?  

“Do you feel better now?” Vergil finally breaks the ice.

“A little,” Lyra agrees. “Although I must admit, this is awkward.”

Vergil closes his eyes and chuckles as he rests his body on the head of the sofa. “I don’t know what madness leads me to do this. Perhaps it’s because of you. You are a terrible influence for me.”

“That’s not a very nice thing to say to your best friend!”

“How unfortunate.”

With their hands still attached, Lyra lowers the coat from her head, revealing threads of her golden brunette hair, shifting her body to lean on the sofa. “Have you ever heard about Munchausen syndrome?”

“A mental disorder in which a person deliberately malingering?”

“Yup. And there is another one called Munchausen by proxy. Means the caregiver is the one who fakes the illness in a person under their care.”

“You mean...”

Lyra scoffs bitterly. “I know one should not self-diagnose without proper professional assessment. Mum was never clinically diagnosed, nor that people noticed her traits. They only knew her as a devoted mother and a great scientist. But I’m the one who lived under the same roof with her and I knew her better than anyone else. I could give you examples of how much my mother loved me”

“There was one time after my refusal to take my medicines, she humiliated me in front of her colleagues,” she continues with a calmer voice. “I was helping her to arrange a bouquet of roses to be placed at the living room. It was unusual that she allowed me to do the ‘hard work’. I did what she asked. I wanted to please her, just to see her smile again. I wanted her to look at me as her daughter, not a failure. I cut the roses diligently, and my fingers were bleeding because I was careless. I didn’t know that Mum brought her colleagues home, and they saw my bleeding fingers. She went nuts when she saw my fingers, scolded me for touching the roses. She said rubbish like, ‘I told you to not touch them!’ ‘Why are you so careless?’ ‘Oh, my poor, darling baby’ while her colleagues gave us the pity look as Mum brought me to my chamber, tended my wounds exaggeratedly, telling me that the pain will be gone soon and the wounds won’t leave any scratches. I was going to ask her why she lied to her colleagues but she kept shushing me like I’m a bloody idiot. I was confused, like, what did I do wrong?”

Lyra glances at Vergil, whose eyes are fixated to the fireplace in a silent rage. “You might’ve thought I was too naïve to indulge her unhealthy behaviour.”

“It wasn’t your fault. You were too weak and innocent to defend yourself,” the door to Vergil’s memory palace where his darkest memories are stored is widely opened. “It sounds like self-justification, but we were just children. We couldn’t have known the cause of what was happening back then. You didn’t deserve everything your mother did to you.”

The contemplative words from Vergil slightly lightens the weight on Lyra’s shoulders. Her solemn smile emphasizes her hidden sadness and weariness. “At those days, I thought she was just knackered, or in a bad mood. Maybe she really worried about me. Maybe I was too stubborn and that made her gutted, so I endured. I took those bloody medicines because it was easier for me. She was so happy and for a moment, I thought I was happy too. Took it longer for me to realize that I was frightened, but I had no options but obeyed her.”

Vergil remains silent whilst feeling Lyra’s thumb tapping on the back of his hand. He waits patiently for her to gather herself before she mumbles quietly. “I’ve been wondering too... why would anyone want to go back to the person who hurt them?”  

“Violence often acts in a cycle,” Vergil squeezes her hand lightly as a reassurance. “Once the perpetrator realized their mistake, they would beg for forgiveness. Some people mean it, some people don’t,” he sighs deeply, carefully putting his words together. “You thought by forgiving your mother, she could change for the better. That forgiveness would improve your relationship with her. You came back to her, sacrificing your safety and well-being to seek her love and comfort. She planted the fear inside you. It was a wheel you couldn’t escape. But you were never a fool for coming back to her. You loved her and you were a child who had no one to have your back but your mother. Even when your expectation failed you, you could only rely on her. ”

“I tried to break the wheel,” Lyra pulls away their hands and cups her face, sliding it to her head like she had a headache. “There were countless times when I thought about running away. But it never happened. I couldn’t even survive five minutes outside. If I told anyone about my suspicion of Mum’s actions on me, they would never believe me and call me a spoiled child instead. Norma was the only person who believed me. She was trying to help me, like quietly flushing the medicines whenever I couldn’t take it anymore. Then she was fired shortly after she spoke to Mum about her nonsensical punishment to me.”

Lyra bites her lips. “It seemed like Mum tried to cut every string with Norma. I never heard about her anymore. Never found her phone number or address. There was a time when I missed her but I couldn’t contact her. She was the only person who believed me and my mother took her away from me because Norma defended me from Mum’s fucked up behaviour.”

A sting of familiar dread creeps inside Vergil’s bone, despite his awareness that it wasn’t his own fear but residues from his first dream about Lyra. He remembers his futile effort to move the body and the way Asteria’s calm yet terrifying gaze at him when she feeds him. The unpleasant sound from the friction between the spoon and the bowl... Asteria’s shady voice as she told him her worries...

“I told you I never knew exactly when I acquired my power, right? Because as long as I remember, I always had this power from the very beginning. I knew what pawn Norma would pick whenever we played chess. I knew the next word my mother was going to say. There were times I accidentally moved things even without touching them. I thought I was just imagining things,” Lyra fixes Vergil’s coat. “Therefore, when Mum scolded me again, I felt my wrath burning and something inside me burst out. I was shocked because suddenly almost anything inside my bedroom was dropped—the books, the toys, the lamps. Mum was pale and silent like a ghost while staring at the mess, until the nurse came. She glared at me like I was a freak and the last thing I remember was I woke up and was unable to move my body. I suspected Mum had me drugged again to prevent me causing havoc. She still had the audacity to act normal, even read me The Hobbit like yesterday was nothing.”

Vergil’s icy eyes get wider slightly. “The event in my dream...”

“Now you know,” Lyra giggles but her face stays impassive. “Then a month later, there came the moment when we both fell.”

Vergil straightens up his body. The picture of his second dream of her comes up in his mind. The same soulless eyes that he saw back then when there was a murder in the library a few months ago appear once more on Lyra. Somehow, Vergil knows where this conversation is heading and he knows he won’t like it. “What do you mean by 'we’ ?”

The pure honesty in Lyra’s eyes makes Vergil’s blood curdle. “I told you, didn’t I? I don’t want to lie to you.”

---

It was the end of the fall season when six-years old Lyra woke up from her slumber. She glanced at the clock on the wall, grinning unconsciously. They say 3 o’clock in the morning is devil’s hour. Unable to go back to sleep, she grabbed her mauve cardigan and decided to take a little detour to the balcony. I could find some autumn constellation, she thought with excitement. She remembered her mother hadn’t packed the cool and sophisticated telescope she had always admired since the very first time Asteria brought it home, and she left it on the balcony this afternoon.

Little Lyra succeeded sneaking out from her bedroom. The mouthful and annoying nurse was nowhere to be seen. She was sure that Asteria is already sleeping. Lately, Asteria didn’t show her ‘lunatic’ nature to Lyra, which Lyra was grateful for. So when she found Asteria on the balcony, Lyra’s excitement instantly turned into fear. Her mother stood with her hands on the balustrade. The telescope was still there, but it seems like Asteria hadn’t used it again since the afternoon. Thinking that her mother wouldn’t notice her presence, Lyra tip-toed to going back to her chamber, but Asteria saw her and startled. It was almost like Asteria scared of being caught on the balcony.

“Solstice?” Asteria gasped. “Why do you— oh, never mind. You must be here to stargaze, aren’t you? Come here, sweets.” A warm smile appeared on her face as she sat on the chair and fixed the telescope.

Lyra’s fight or flight instinct soared up. It was already horrible to think her mother would scold her for sneaking from her bed, but the sullen face of Asteria was unsettling. It looked like she was able to burst any time soon.

“Come on,” Asteria insisted. “Look, there is Andromeda!”

Without making any sound, Lyra climbed on her mother’s lap timidly. Asteria told her to peek into the eyepiece, which Lyra reluctantly did.

“What do you think?” asked Asteria.

“Beautiful,” Lyra said. “But I don’t understand.”

“About what?”

“The pattern. Andromeda doesn’t look like she was chained. More like she fell from the sky and died on the ground.”

Asteria chuckled. “As per usual, sweets. You have a vivid imagination.”

“I just don’t like that story. It was Andromeda’s parents’ fault, but she was the one who got sacrificed.”

“The gods punished her parents too.”

“Yet the gods placed them among the stars. It’s not fair.” Lyra murmured.

“Well, it’s mythology,” Asteria caressed Lyra’s hair. “On the other side, I think Cassiopeia loved her daughter. Too much that she got the audacity to boast about Andromeda’s beauty. If she were really that self-centred, she’d boasted her own beauty instead.”

Lyra’s small hands adjusted the focusing knob slowly. “If she really loved her, she would think for her daughter’s safety.”

It took Asteria a quite long time to respond. She hugged her little daughter from behind, resting her head on Lyra's crown and massaging Lyra’s shoulders. “Why don’t you go back to sleep? It’s cold here.”  

Mummy sounds tired, Lyra noticed. Yet asking questions right now wouldn’t be the best choice. Asteria gave her a good night kiss lightly before letting Lyra off from her lap.

“You’re right. Cassiopeia’s pride put her daughter in danger,” Asteria said, cuddling her daughter tightly. “I love you, Solstice. I’m sorry for everything.”

What was that? Lyra felt an itchy ache somewhere in her heart by just listening to her apology, but Asteria just smiled as if she had never said anything. She waved at her, telling her wish for Lyra to have a sweet dream.

Lyra walked away from her mother with heavy steps, despite her wish to stay a little bit longer. Asteria seemed to be in a good mood this time, and that tender side of her melted Lyra’s heart. She’s her mother, after all. She couldn’t help but love her unconditionally. I hope I don’t agitate her, she hoped as she turned her direction to enter the balcony again, planning to beg to stay for a while.

But when she turned around, the horror already waited for her there.

Lyra was screaming like a wild animal as she ran and ran...

“MUMMY!!!!!”

… towards Asteria, who jumped from the balustrade.

Don’t leave me here! Lyra’s body felt like it was burning in blaze. She could feel an overwhelming power within her burst out. Please God, let me use that power again!  

Her breath got heavier as she jumped from the guardrail and reached her hand to her mother with a hope to save her. It felt like eternity when she realized that her mother was floating on the air instead of falling. With an eerie face, Asteria screamed her daughter’s name while she was brought by an invisible force to the rooftop again.

I did it! Lyra thought cheerfully, but not for long because she quickly realized her mysterious power didn’t bring her to the balcony too. She tried to focus on herself, doing whatever she can to release her power again. She knew her power was still raw and immature. She had planned to practice secretly tomorrow, but she had no idea that things would go south like this. The first was always luck or coincidence, Norma had said to Lyra when she found out Lyra’s little secret. But there will be no more luck for the second time. There is no such thing as coincidence, but synchronicity...

While Lyra was still thinking about why her power didn’t work, her body crushed on the ground violently.

She was sure she heard the sound of her fractured bones.

She had never experienced that kind of pain before. All those side effects from her medicines was nothing compared to this one. The pain gradually ended as the numbness consumed her body. She looked at the sky, thinking how poetic her fall was under the fair moonlight with her motionless body. She was sure she saw Asteria on the balcony, shrieking and saying something she could not comprehend. Why did she jump? Was that because of me? Maybe because I made Mummy angry again... maybe afterlife seems better than living with me...

Lyra was willing to go. Afterall, she was sick of being isolated. Death seems promising. At least she would be free from medicine and endless hope for getting a healthy body. I look like Andromeda , she thought as she felt her eyes getting heavier. Like someone lying dead on the ground.  

She knew it’s time to go when her eyelids could barely manage to stay open. She hoped Asteria would live a better world without her. If only she could laugh right now, she would do it for the last time, so she wouldn’t feel too bitter about death.

Mum—  

Unfortunately, she never got a chance to think further. The only thing she saw before she lost her consciousness was her mother climbing up the balustrade again, this time to follow her daughter to death.

---

“Stardust?”

The gentle voice of Vergil startles Lyra back to reality. She doesn’t know how long the time has passed since she told him how her mother died. The long, buried weariness and sadness inside her consumes her like she has just released a huge burden from her body at once.

“Sorry, I was preoccupied with my own head.” Lyra scratches her right ankle, a habit she couldn’t let go since that tragic day. “You alright?”

“I was supposed to be the one who asked,” the blue devil says. “Are you sure you’re going to continue? We could discuss this later.”

“Nah, I’m fine. Just adjusting myself because I’ve never opened up to anyone else before,” Lyra continues, ignoring Vergil’s pity look. “Anyway, after that, I woke up in the local hospital. They said my nurse heard my mother’s scream and went to check. That was how she found us and called the ambulance. When we reached the hospital, they said they couldn’t save us. They went insane because suddenly my heart started beating again in an hour. They put me under intensive care for three months. I got severely broken bones and head trauma—I needed to do a couple more surgeries and physiotherapy. They said it was a miracle for me to survive and recover rapidly.”

“That must have something to do with your power.” Vergil adds.

“That’s very likely. I woke up hearing voices and seeing things I wasn’t supposed to be. I thought I was just dreaming, but day by day I spent my time hospitalized, I knew it was real. Those voices and images were people’s thoughts,” Lyra chuckles with irony on her lips. “It was already too much for me to read minds at once, and then I found out that my mother died. I saved her life just for giving her a chance to jump again.”

She sounds ireful rather than sad, Vergil suspects. He can’t deny his instinct to not let his attention to Lyra’s right ankle, which he stores his suspicion for a long time.

“One day, Mum’s lawyer came to visit me at the hospital. She said since I’m an orphan and have no relatives, she will act as my guardian and I’ll receive inheritance whenever I reach legal age. The whole ‘guardian’ part was just formality because she’ll send me to an orphanage once I get discharged from hospital. Even I knew what she had stored in mind before she started to speak. But that didn’t really concern me,” Lyra takes a deep breath and exhales. Her expression is slightly twisted as she telekinetically raises a Rubik's cube and tears every cube apart before she smashes them into flakes.

What in the seven hells— “Lyra?” Vergil calls her, but the word seems unreachable to her.

“I was going to forgive my mother because I wanted her to rest in peace, yet again she proved it to me that she was a fucking devil.”

Another cube is crushed, followed by a loud cracking sound from the teacup.

“The lawyer couldn’t bear to tell me this, but she found fake prescriptions of my daily medicines and a drawer full of placebo pills in my mother’s room. The doctors told her that they found traces of placebo pills and a very tiny dose of rat poison inside me. A. Fucking. Rat. Poison—”

The radio on the kitchen counter starts playing by itself, followed by a loud bang from Lyra’s front door.

“It was all placebo. There was never a fucking SCID nor fucking illness. I was perfectly fine from the start! The only reason why I always felt sick was because of that rat poison and abominable suggestions from that fucking b—”

Vergil grips her shoulder. “Lyra, you will destroy the entire house. Please stay calm.”  

The view of her floating table pulls Lyra back to the earth. She startles at first, but it doesn’t last as she finally gathers herself and puts the table back to the ground. The bleak on her face remains while she tightens up Vergil’s coat. “Sorry.”

“I told you to stop earlier.”

“I can never be ready to tell you the truth unless I do it right now.”

“Fine, but if I notice even a small sign of you going berserk again, we have to stop this conversation.”

“Deal.”

“Good. Then, did the nurse have any knowledge about the poisoning?”

Lyra shakes her head in disappointment. “She claimed that Mum just gave her my medical certificate and records, which the lawyer found to be fake. Mum made up those records as if they were authorized by a credible health facility. She made up things and fucked up my life for Hell knows what she was up to. Then she just fucking died and leaving me alone without any explanation on everything.”

Vergil wipes his face in frustration, This is more messed up than I thought it would be.  

Lyra lets out a rugged laugh. “You know what happened next. The media never told people how my mother died.”

“That’s what I always thought to be very suspicious. They can’t just spread false rumour. There’s evidence, witnesses and statements from the police and hospital.”

“All I could think was that Asteria Crescent was an infamous astrobiologist with great reputation. Imagine if the world knew this brilliant person was a mad woman who poisoned her own daughter. That would destroy the reputation of academical world. Her good legacy must be remembered.”

“... Was that really easy for humans to alter the truth?”

The librarian laughs bitterly. “They do it all the time, Vergil. It’s easier than you think it is. Money talks louder than words. They must’ve silenced Mum’s lawyer too since she said nothing about the truth to me. I tried to tell them that my mother was insane and that wasn’t how she died, but they thought I was the one who lost my mind. PTSD, head trauma, reconstructed memory, call it what you want. I don’t know who started it, why and how, but they closed the case.”

“But who were these people? Why did such a grandiose plan just to cover up a scientist’s death?”

“Who knows. There’s always someone behind the stage.”

“And they really sent you to an orphanage?”

“Yes, maybe to shut my mouth. Mum’s lawyer managed my financial support, but she never showed up at the orphanage.”

Lyra bites her lips, like she doesn’t know how to continue and stumbles over her own words. She scratches her right ankle again. “Kids in the orphanage used to tease me for limping whenever I walked. It’s odd for me, even until now. The doctor said I had fully recovered, just needed to adjust myself to the outside world since I stayed indoors for too long. But the sore thing in my ankle here never really disappears. I never found out why. All doctors I’ve consulted with said despite the fading scar on the skin, my ankle is perfectly fine and should’ve been functional. People couldn’t even see me limping, at least until a certain sulky devil spotted it.”

“I’m not sulky.”

“The more you deny it, the more it’s true.”

“Your logical fallacy amuses me.”

A relieved laugh comes out from Lyra. “You got me there.”

With the smile on her face blooming again, Vergil feels a towering wave of unpleasant ache filling his whole heart. Right now, he can grasp the reason why Lyra acts too secretive. He knows that burden very well; to be unable to trust anyone but themselves. Lyra has never received the real love from her mother, which was different from Vergil. Her childhood and self-esteem were stolen from her own kin. That is also the reason why Lyra can easily understand him, despite his despicable sins. Lyra has already had the power and was able to save her mother, yet in the end Asteria chose to kill herself. Contrary to Vergil, who even had demon power since birth, but he couldn’t save his mother from her doom. His love for his family was Vergil’s motivation to gain more power, which is a total opposite from Lyra who hates her mother and resents her power. They are two sides of the same coin.

“Terra to Vergil?” Lyra snaps her fingers in front of Vergil’s face.

“Pardon me,” Vergil says. “I was just contemplating.”

“About what?”

“About how humans can be so much worse than demons. No offense.”

“None had taken.”

The blue devil hesitates before he asks. “How... How did you cope from that?”

“Hmmm...” Lyra mumbles and sighs heavily. “It’s not easy. It still affects me in a way. I grew up thinking that people can’t be trusted. Telepathy made it worse. I hesitate to live, but I don’t want to die either. It’s difficult to form any connection, no matter how much effort I took to fit in. I’m not even sure myself whether this is the real me or I’m just a skilled imitator who fits people’s expectations.”

She smiles, this time the gloom on her lips is fading. “I met people who were sincerely decent and empathetic. But somehow, I just couldn’t bring myself to open up and let them enter my circle. I used to blame my mum for this trust issue, but lately I suspect it was on me.”

“You’re not the one to blame, Lyra.”

Lyra shakes her head. “I choose to leave them before they get too close to me.”

“Because you don’t want people to see your scar?”

“I thought the reason I’m pulling myself from society was because I’m afraid that I’d get hurt. Took me a long time to realize that I’m worried that I’d hurt people. That’s what you got when you have a telepath as your friend. You’d get caught in endless insecurity of having your minds in constant danger, while I really don’t want to read one. If only Sparda’s magic didn’t protect you and Dante, you’d leave me since day one.”

“I won’t.”

“Mundus screwed up your brain, Vergil. You have a thousand reasons for hating telepaths.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I saw your dreams. I know how much you want to kill those who fucks with you.”

“And I saw yours too, Lyra. I know how much you hate your mother, but deep down you still love her. Even since you saw her falling from the balcony.”

The realization hits her hard. “Wait— you knew this all along?!”

“Forgive me, but you won’t tell me the truth unless I told you a white lie. Your hypothesis is true; that our dreams occurred simultaneously.”

“You—” Lyra glares at Vergil like he has done treacherous betrayal, but she gathers herself up since she knows she was the one who lied to him first. She can’t deny that everything he said was true. It has been said that the dead won’t stay only if the living sets them free. For Lyra, it jabs her heart whenever she tries to brush that fact away. She knows that her hatred would rot her soul, yet it’s difficult to forgive her mother, who had tried to end her life multiple times.

“I envy you, Vergil,” Lyra confesses. “You were an arsehole evil lord back then, but you had a reasonable motive for fighting. You have a family. I got none. I don’t see the point of keep going on. Everyone wants me dead.”

“People are afraid of what they don’t understand,” Vergil states without any doubts in his voice. “It’s understandable since you’re undeniably enigmatic and can be threatening. But my fool brother of mine was right; strength is a choice. You choose to be strong to prevent more loss. You have every right to live, for death is the end. Make a full life while it lasts.”

“I wonder if I had such a reason to stay.”

Vergil straightens up his seat with a wary and cautious expression. “Sometimes… It doesn’t have to be something big. “

“Such as?”

“I don’t know…” he chuckles half-heartedly. “Don’t you have something to cherish for? Something that makes you willing to trade your life with?”

“Hmmm…. I love my job. I love books and the stars. But I don’t think I’d give up my life for that...” Lyra hums indifferently. “I think not. Nothing very important in particular.”

“There are things that could be important, but not everything important is worth cherishing.”

“What makes it different?”

“As time goes on, important things could become less important. The urgency wears off,” Vergil says quietly as he curves a faint smile, reminiscing his bonding time with Nero. “But something precious, something you hold dear most... you will suffer when they are taken from you.”

“Something precious, huh...?” Lyra’s eyes wander off, her voice is softer than a whisper. “Like... you...?”

Vergil almost gets choked by his own breath. “Beg your pardon?”

She shakes her head. “Nothing!”

“I’m certain that you said something.”

“If you’re so certain about that, why can’t you listen and repeat back what I said?”

“Because I couldn’t hear that properly!”

“Your loss.”

“You meddlesome creature.”

“You angry kitten.” Lyra holds her mouth to prevent her laughter from going too loud.

Vergil glares at her. “What did you just call me?!”

“Nothing~ I’m sleepy~” Lyra stretches her arms, the corner of her eyes flashes a mischief as she glances to the oblivious Vergil. “Those self-help books were right. It’s relieving to have the right person to share the burden with—”

“Don’t you dare try to change the topic. If you ever call me an angry kitten again—”

“We’re still talking about that? Bloody hell, Vergil, I’m just kidding!” Lyra holds his palms and takes off his gloves. “Come on, we need to rest. You might be sober now but even the strongest demon needs to sleep.”

A light crumple curves on Vergil’s forehead. “Why do you take my gloves off?”

“Do you have a habit to keep your gloves on while sleeping?”

“Hold on,” Vergil hesitates as he pulls his hand. “You want me to sleep here? In your house?”

“Yup.”

“You know that it’s not… very decent for an unmarried woman and a man to stay under the same roof.”

“Since when do you care about custom?”

“I’m not necessarily care about customs,” Vergil grunts. “It’s your convenience that I’m concerned about.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Lyra cleans up the table and waves her hand to send the tray to the dishwasher before making her way to the bedroom. “But my sofa is too small for you, and considering I have a quite spacious bed that fits two people, I don’t see any reasons why I would let my friend freeze on the sofa.”

Lyra opens the door, glancing at Vergil and tilts her head as a sign for him to follow her into the bedroom.

~~~

A/N : the poem mentioned in this chapter is “Clair de Lune” by Paul Verlaine, which is the inspiration for Claude Debussy’s Clair de Lune

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