#i fought the girl on giving me her childhood toy but she won out

[theloveinc]

working in education is so funny. today was my last day working with my class and as my goodbye gifts, i got $3 cash, someone's childhood toy bunny, and a self portrait that included a realistic drawing of a dick

[bodhrancomedy]

Sometimes I have dreams where I think, “Yeah, you can tell EXACTLY what anxieties lead to this.”

Like, it started off nicely enough. I was with my family outside and we were going to go on rides. My sister and I were discussing making gingerbread and icing it. I was even holding a living version of my childhood toy.

Then suddenly, I was in a corridor between two bathrooms. I went into the male bathroom. I opened what I thought was the exit door out and I was in a second bathroom. Possibly also male. I opened a third and it was a female bathroom.

THEN IT WAS A CONTINUOUS OPENING OF DOORS INTO FEMALE BATHROOMS. It was like a fucking endless mirror of bathrooms I didn’t want to be in. Over and over again I yanked open the door to find myself in the wrong bathroom, panic building because I WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO BE THERE. IF SOMEONE SAW ME THERE, THEY’D BEAT ME UP.

TRANS MASCS CANNOT BE IN THE FEMALE BATHROOM.

Then, finally I opened a door and was out, but I’d stepped into a school. But I wasn’t supposed to be there either. I wasn’t a student, I was a fully grown adult and fully grown adults are not supposed - quite rightly so - to be in schools where there are primary school children without a reason.

But schools also are dangerous places for obviously queer people.

But there were no classrooms, but another unfolding maze of PE halls. No matter which direction I went, no matter which door I opened, it was yet another PE hall all set up and ready for sports day. And every room had a different primary school with a teacher and every time I had to offer some explanation of how I got lost, of how I wasn’t a creep because I was trans. I even came across my old primary school with kids I didn’t recognise in my old school uniform, but of course the teachers didn’t recognise me and why should they? They’d last seen a miserable twelve-year-old girl with a raggedy bob and an unyielding hate for her body.

Someone did try to give me directions to the building I wanted, but they started pushing me to take part in the sports and I was trying to explain that I was in a binder, you can’t exercise in a binder.

They were so disappointed that I ‘had fallen victim to all that’ that I suddenly had to defend myself on this PE hall with the basketball court lines painted on the floor that seemed to suddenly, symbolically be a courtroom complete with teacher stood in front of me with a basketball.

For a gravel, I suppose.

And just as I was finishing an explanation of why a children’s writer is hardly some beacon of intelligence or omnipotence until the lives of trans mascs, I was climbing up a massive bed-thing where I was trying to hang onto the fitted sheets which kept tearing -

And I woke up with the words, “Children’s books are a microcosm of the time they were written,” on my lips and I knew with absolute certainty I was talking about that bit in Narnia where the Pevensie children tumble out of the wardrobe again, shrunk back to prepubescence with the knowledge and life as adults where no one understands or believes them and how it’s a metaphor for returning from a War you fought and - somehow won - before you were even 21.

I think I was explaining why Harry Potter isn’t some bible of literature to try and shake the hands She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, that cowardly streak of piss (pretty sure this is what I called her, so much for measured eloquence) has around a generation of trans kids’ necks.

So, yeah. It sucks for trans people at the moment.

At least I wasn’t late for an exam or forgot my lines on stage, eh? (Bitter).

[aggressive-positivity-network]

Okay, so you said I could send an ask for headcanons about the childhoods of some specific merc(s)... I think I would really like to read your headcanons about Soldier’s and Engineer’s childhood :)

Thanks in advance and I hope your well.

Ooooh…I’ve been waiting for this! And thank you for being specific and not just saying “the rest of them.” Sometimes I get overwhelmed with nine specific mercs to write for. Your specifics are much appreciated.

****************

Soldier:

Soldier doesn’t talk very much about his childhood - whether it’s because something happened or he just doesn’t remember it, no one can tell. It’s nowhere in his file, either…he refused to do anything except tell fantastic tales of a fictional youth.

However, in a rare streak of almost lucidity, he spouted off the entirety of his younger years, much to the team’s surprise. Usually, if anyone asked directly, he changed the subject.

But now he described everything in vivid detail. And, with a bit of research from Miss Pauling, everything fell into place.

Apparently he had been born in a small military town in Georgia. His father was overseas, leaving he and his mother alone in their small yellow house.

In order to make ends meet, his mother worked at a nearby factory, mostly leaving Soldier to fend for himself and the house.

“Can you be a big, strong soldier like daddy for me?”

Soldier would always agree, finding his own food, his own entertainment, and his own friends. No matter what happened, he never bothered his mom. If anything, his job was to protect her.

That’s why, when his stomach started hurting and his arms and legs ached, he said nothing about it.

When he forgot the chores he was supposed to do and even the names of his friends, he didn’t bring it up.

When he felt tired all the time and some days could barely get out of bed, he just chalked it up to laziness like his mother did.

It turns out the factory they were next to was polluting the water next to the house with dangerous amounts of lead, which soon overcame Soldier’s immune system of steel.

He could barely remember anything anymore, and he became more and more distraught every day. Sometimes he would forget where he was and run outside, then get lost in the woods, only coming back once he remembered where he was supposed to be.

Soldier began to wear one of his father’s old helmets after his mom commented on his red eyes and the dark circles around them. He didn’t want to worry her. Besides, it helped bring back a few memories if he ever got lost again.

Finally, it got to the point where he didn’t even remember his mother, or his promise to her. He began to wander farther and farther away from home.

One day, he didn’t come back at all.

Out in the world with not a single memory to his name, Soldier wandered far and wide. He usually slept in barns and old, abandoned houses, cut off from most people.

Occasionally, he would find a family that wanted to “raise him as their own,” only to turn him away after finding him too difficult to care for.

He had frequent nightmares, ate little due to his unresolved stomach issues, and could barely walk ten feet without forgetting where he was going.

If he accidentally wandered into the same house twice, he would be chased out with either a broom or a gun - usually the latter.

He became “the demon child” in some counties, and “g*psy kid” in others, due to his long, unkempt hair, hidden eyes, and odd habits.

It even got to the point where Soldier couldn’t sleep on anyone’s property because he would be actively fought off like a wolf or a bear.

His only pleasure was an old movie theater that, as he recovered from his lead poisoning, remembered the location of and frequently snuck into.

The only thing that played were romance movies - which, like many children, Soldier hated - and war movies, which he watched over and over again with starving eyes.

Because of these movies, a single memory from his mother’s house came to him. A woman, tall and muscular from hard labor, giving him a shiny badge to hold, asking him to be a strong soldier like his father.

And thus began his life-long dream of becoming a military officer.

He trained according to what he knew from the films…which was mostly running, doing jumping jacks, and occasionally rolling around in the mud.

This only served to distance him further from his fellow human beings, but he didn’t care. Soldier had a mission, and he was going to do it well.

But the biggest change was his hair.

He had started cutting it off with sharpened rocks, but he was always saving up coins he found for a “proper army cut.”

Finally, he had quite the collection in a dirty mason jar, and marched into the barber shop in his town to ask for a haircut.

The manager was appalled, and at first refused, but Soldier stood his ground.

“Civilian, I’ll have you know that by denying a soldier with a haircut, you are denying America one of its best fighters! I can’t curdle the enemy’s blood looking like a hippie!”

After a short yelling match that, of course, Soldier won, the manager decided it would be in his best interest to comply.

He walked out of that shop with no hair on his head, but a huge grin on his face. Next stop, the ranks.

Soldier went from draft office to draft office, applying for and being denied entrance to the army for his obvious lack of mental stability.

This is when the personal retelling ended, since Soldier became very upset by the memory of his recruitment failures, but Miss Pauling concluded that he just bounced from state to state until Mann Co. found him, quote, “sitting in an alleyway, eating army draft paperwork while sobbing uncontrollably.”

Engineer:

Engineer also never really talks about his childhood, but both Medic and Spy (Spy knows everything about everyone on the team) know that’s for a good reason.

He grew up in a trailer community near an almost ghost town in Texas.

His father was an abusive car mechanic with a mean streak a mile wide and a shop full of failed inventions. His mother wasn’t any better - she was bitter and reclusive, only really coming out of her room to pick a fight with her husband.

However, what Engie lacked in family, he more than made up for in friends.

He had a rag-tag, Rugrats-esque team of pals from all walks of life: Rhapsody, the daughter of a struggling porn star; Tom, the son of two farmers wiped out by blight; Cici, an adopted girl that could barely walk into her trailer without a black eye and a string of slurs; Quinn, the nervous child of a single mother that serves as guidance to the other kids; And Fred, who didn’t seem to have any family, but had become a greaser big brother to all of them.

Together, they explored the desert near the trailer park, pooled their resources to feed and support each other, and used their individual strengths to get through each day.

Engineer, whom everyone affectionately called “Big Dell,” snuck parts from his dad’s workshop for his own creations.

By the time he was twelve, he could make a small, running engine for the soapbox cars his friends frequently raced.

No toy, piece of clothing, glasses, or tool was out of his line of expertise.

One day, though, upon finding that some of his parts were missing, Engineer’s dad gave him a terrible beating that broke a few of his fingers and left a huge gash near his eye.

Since then, he refused to fix, make, or even touch a tool.

He wouldn’t tell anyone what happened, but they could make a pretty good guess, since they knew where the scraps and parts had come from.

The whole group was furious with Engineer’s dad - their Big Dell was funny, smart, and was more loving than every family member they had combined. Even Quinn was red in the face.

They wanted to break into his dad’s workshop and destroy all of his inventions, just to teach him a lesson, but they knew Engineer would take the fall for it.

Instead, they rummaged through trash cans, searched their toy chests, and looked under their trailers to find things Engineer could use.

They waited until his birthday to unveil the massive pile of supplies they had stowed away.

Engineer immediately dropped to his knees and began to cry, and everyone else dogpiled him for a huge hug.

As the creme de la creme, they gave him a pair of welding goggles - the same welding goggles he wears to this day, having modified them so they still fit his growing body.

With his healed fingers and renewed spirit, he made each of them a gift: a toy car for Rhapsody, a skull ring for Fred, a full set of candle wax crayons for Cici, a chewable necklace for Quinn so they wouldn’t chew on their collar, and a mini-planter for Tom.

But Engineer was given the greatest gift - confidence in his own abilities and that he can be and was appreciated for more than his services.

This gave him the drive to build bigger and better things, which his friends happily assisted in creating.

Engie’s best memories are with that motley crew of scrawny, beaten-up kids.

But, as he became a teenager, the abuse grew worse by the day.

He was often kept in his dad’s garage to fix cars in sweltering heat and with nothing to show for his work except threats of what would happen if a customer complained.

His mother finally grew bitter enough to pick on him, wondering aloud and pointedly if she had made a mistake by having him, then immediately contradict herself by wailing in his arms about how she’s the most awful mother in the world, and how she would be gone soon, and then nobody would have to deal with her anymore.

Engie grew more and more distant from his friends as they either moved out, ran away, or, in Rhapsody’s case, died.

He thought of just shutting the garage door and turning on a car a couple times, but he would always return to his memories of the hidden cave of goodies his friends had collected or the many inventions they had helped him build.

It just wasn’t worth it.

On a night when his depression and self-doubt was especially bad, he decided to build a personal invention for the first time in years - a small, robotic chicken made out of bent gears and empty oil cans.

He worked on it for a few weeks, but made the mistake of leaving it on a work table once it was finished.

Engie came to work the next morning with his dad ready to chew him out. But, before any finger could be lifted against his son, he was interrupted by a sweet older couple that was having their tires replaced.

“Now, Ethan, ain’t that just the cutest thing you’ve ever seen in your life?”

“Hm?”

“That there chicken statue over there! It looks like it could very well get up and start peckin’ for worms, don’tcha think?”

Engie looked at the couple, then at his dad, then at his chicken. He slowly lifted it from the table and turned the key.

It started to slowly lean forward, then took a few steps on it’s long, spring-loaded legs. The neck went down, and the chicken’s rusty beak began to scrape at the pavement.

Now he had the husband’s attention.

“Didja build that yourself, son, or did your daddy help ya?”

Engineer looked at his dad for a split second before answering.

“My own sweat ‘n blood, sir. My daddy says I should stop wastin’ time on ugly thing-a-ma-jigs an’ put my hands to somethin’ worth doin’.”

The man smiled. “Well, this ‘ugly thing-a-ma-jig’ shows real skill. We could use somebody like you, once we train you up a bit.”

“Now hold on a damn - !” his father interjected, but was silenced with a cold stare.

“We’ll put ya through a state-of-the-art school, then put ya straight inta the work force. You can build whatever you like…and you’ll have a lot better materials than rusty tin. Whaddaya say, son?”

Engineer just nodded, and the man grabbed his hand and shook it.

“We’ll keep in touch.”

Engineer left that trailer park at age seventeen, leaving his fuming father and drunken mother behind.

He only stopped to visit Rhapsody’s grave before embarking on his new life.

There is still a stone plate with a message carved into it next to the headstone. If you brush off the leaves and dig out the moss, you can see Engie’s parting words:

“A friendship with you and the rest of the gang is the greatest thing I ever built. -Big Dell”

[reinerispretty]

rotations. bonus! azula returns

HI THIS ONE HAS BEEN IN MY HEAD FOR A WHILE PLS ENJOY

(Y/N) was happy in her life. Being married to Zuko was better than she could have ever imagined. His stoic expression as Fire Lord faded away as soon as they were in private. She saw her friends as often as their schedules would allow, and enjoyed sitting at Zuko’s side in the throne room. But sometimes, she felt trapped within the palace walls. When she was young, she traveled the world. Now, the only time she traveled was for diplomatic affairs. She loved her life, but sometimes she longed for a new adventure. These were leftover feelings from her teenage life, it was obvious. She was an adult now, with adult responsibilities.

“Mommy?” A tiny voice called out. 

Responsibilities like the baby girl at the edge of her bed. It was early in the morning, around the time that she would normally wake up. (Y/N) slid out from underneath Zuko’s arms to look at her daughter. The three year old clutched a stuffed platybus bear that Iroh had given her for her last birthday. (Y/N) smiled at her little girl. “Hi, little blossom,” She whispered as she picked up Izumi and placed her in the bed between her and Zuko. She made herself comfortable in the plush sheets as she stared up at her mother. “How did you sleep?” 

“Good,” Izumi played with the bill of her platybus bear. “Daddy?” 

Zuko turned over and wrapped his arm around his child. She giggled as he peppered her face with kisses. “Good morning, Princess,” He said with a smile. His voice was husky from sleep, his eyes barely able to open in the morning light. (Y/N) leaned over to press a kiss to his cheek. 

“What’s your plan today?” Zuko asked as Izumi cuddled himself into his arms. (Y/N) shrugged. 

“I was thinking about maybe going on a picnic?” She looked at Zuko hopefully, but his sad expression made her pout. 

“I’ve got back to back meetings today. And tomorrow.” 

“And the day after that and for the rest of time,” (Y/N) said with a playful roll of her eyes. “I’d really like to get out of the palace for the day. Izumi, would you like to go on a picnic with Mommy?” 

“Icknick!” The little girl cheered, a bright smile on her features. 

“Where will you go?” Zuko asked. 

“I think I’ll take her to the hot springs behind the palace. It’s really beautiful this time of year.” 

Zuko exhaled. He grabbed (Y/N’s) hands and began playing with her fingers. “I wish I could go with you. Can I send some guards with you?” (Y/N) scoffed. 

“I’m pretty sure I can protect myself.” 

“Mommy firebend,” Izumi said to her father matter-of-factly. Zuko chuckled. 

“Mommy does it best,” Zuko agreed. (Y/N) smiled and took her daughter into her arms, sliding out of bed. 

“We’ll be back before dinner time,” She assured her husband as she kissed him. She left the room to get Izumi dressed. “Don’t go starting any wars,” She called to her husband from the hallway. 

“Very funny!” 

---

The hot springs were in a wooded area behind the palace, accessed only by a cobblestone path leading from the turtle duck pond. (Y/N) and Izumi walked together, both with a hand on the handle of the picnic basket. Izumi’s platybus bear toy dragged behind her on the ground. 

The hot spring steamed and bubbled in a stone pond. (Y/N) had grown up visiting it occasionally. She, Zuko, and Azula would take turns seeing who could last longest in the boiling water. Firebenders could withstand some of the highest heats, but Azula always won out in the end. 

(Y/N) shook her head to make the thought go away. It was hard, sometimes, to be in the palace. Memories popped back up without warning. And despite everything that had happened, sometimes she found herself missing her. She shoved it down as far as she could, but it still crawled up inside of her at the moments she least expected it. Like today. 

So she focused her attention on Izumi. She unfurled the picnic blanket and set the food the servants had prepared for them. Izumi ate sandwiches in the shapes of stars and moons. It was something the servants liked to do for her. She was the sweetest child the palace had seen in years. 

(Y/N) ate her sandwich and moved onto dessert: fruit tarts. She gave Izumi a tiny piece. “Did you know that these are how Daddy and I met?” 

Izumi took the piece between two fingers curiously. “Fuit dart,” She whispered to herself. (Y/N) smiled. 

“Yeah, fuit dart.” She gave her daughter a kiss on the forehead. 

Once they had finished eating, (Y/N) let Izumi run around while she basked in the sunlight. Like most firebenders, it revitalized her. It made her feel new again. She closed her eyes and tilted her face up to feel its warmth. 

“Swim!” Her eyes opened again to see Izumi standing at the edge of the hot spring. (Y/N) shook her head. 

“No, Izumi, we aren’t swimming today.” 

“Swim!” Izumi said again, stamping her foot on the ground. 

“I said no, Izumi.” The little girl began to cry. (Y/N) stood immediately and took her daughter into her arms, shushing her to calm her. She bounced around on her feet to soothe her. 

“Poor girl. She’s a princess, she should do what she wants.” 

(Y/N) felt her blood run cold. She clutched Izumi tightly and it was as if the little girl sensed her mother’s fear, because her cries fell into small shakes of her body as she recovered. (Y/N) turned around and found the last person she wanted to see at that moment. 

“Azula.” She set her jaw. She felt anger swell inside of her. Azula stared at her smugly. They hadn’t seen each other since she and Zuko had left ot find their mother. Azula had escaped from him and spent years on the run. (Y/N) had heard rumors of Azula gathering subjects for her cause, but what that cause was, she had no idea. 

“I see you’re not without any guards. Very irresponsible of Zuzu, don’t you think?” 

“I can handle myself. Or did you forget about our Agni Kai?” 

She watched Azula’s eye twitch, ever so slightly. “A stroke of luck on your part. I’d be happy to go again. Or perhaps little Izumi would like to try her hand at firebending?” 

(Y/N) held her daughter closer to her. “I’m only teasing. I know she can’t firebend.” 

“What are you doing here, Azula?” 

“It’s been too long since we’ve seen each other, wouldn’t you agree?” 

(Y/N) had to admit that she was scared. She was here, alone, with her daughter and Azula. Even if she fought Azula, Izumi was too small to know that she should stay out of the way of the flames. (Y/N) thought she had been angry when Azula hurt Zuko, but if she hurt Izumi...

Azula sighed and rolled her eyes. “I’m here because I wanted to see her. It hurts, not being invited to the wedding, but it hurt more not being told I had a niece.” 

(Y/N) furrowed her brows. “You wanted to see her?” 

“Yes, (Y/N), is that so hard to believe?”

“It is, Azula, considering our history.” Azula scoffed, flicking her hair over her shoulder. 

“I’ve never lied to you.” 

“You’re lying right now!” 

Azula sighed, reaching into her pocket. She pulled out the crown worn by the crown princess of the Fire Nation. She extended her arm out to (Y/N) in offering. “I brought this for her.” 

Cautiously, (Y/N) crept forward to take the crown from Azula’s hand. She put it in the pocket of her robes. She wasn’t sure if Azula was above lacing things with poison. 

“Motherhood has made you overly cautious.” 

“No, I think it was my childhood friends trying to kill me.” 

“You forgave Zuko. Why can’t you forgive me?” 

(Y/N) opened her mouth to speak, but she couldn’t. She found herself at a loss for words. How could she explain to Azula that the things she had done were unforgivable.

“You tried to kill me, Azula. You tried to kill the people I love.” 

“And why wasn’t I one of those people, hm?” Azula snapped. “Every single day you chose someone else over me. First it was Zuko. Then it was the Avatar and his friends.” 

“I never chose anyone over you, Azula. You chose the Fire Nation.” 

“And you betrayed me!” Azula’s eyes danced with anger. (Y/N) swallowed the lump in her throat. Izumi held on tightly to her mother’s robes. 

“I didn’t betray you, Azula. I never wanted to leave you. Your father forced my family to leave. And then I saw the horrible things our nation was doing to people. Everything we had ever believed was a lie.” 

Azula’s eyes brimmed with tears. She wasn’t sure how to feel. She had seen (Y/N) and Izumi alone and her first instinct was to talk to them. She hadn’t planned this far ahead. 

“I never wanted to leave you,” (Y/N) said again. “But you did some horrible things.” 

“You think I’m a monster, just like everyone else.” (Y/N) shook her head. 

“I don’t think you’re a monster. I think you were confused and had no one to be there for you. You are one of the people I love, Azula. You’re just lost.” 

“Don’t throw that word around like that?” (Y/N) stared at her in confusion. “Love. You don’t love me, (Y/N), I love you.” 

“Azula--” 

“I love you! I’ve loved you since we were children and you never saw it, you never realized. You were too focused on Zuko to even give me the time of day.” 

(Y/N) looked at the ground. “I never knew.” She said quietly. 

“I know. So believe me when I say that the only reason I am here is for Izumi. I just wanted to see her.” 

(Y/N) looked back up to see Azula’s face. She was an excellent liar, but (Y/N’s) heart told her that she was telling the truth. About everything. So she took a step forward until they were arm’s length away. 

“Izumi,” She said to her daughter. “This is Aunt Azula. Can you say Azula?” 

Izumi stared shyly at her aunt. “Zula,” She said quietly. (Y/N) watched as Azula broke into a genuine smile, her eyes watering. 

“Hello, little princess.” Hesitantly, she reached out to touch Izumi. Her small palm wrapped against Azula’s finger. 

“Zula,” Izumi said again, quite seriously. 

(Y/N) looked at the sky to see the sun was beginning to set. She turned back to Azula. “Zuko will be expecting us soon.” 

“Don’t tell him,” Azula stared into (Y/N’s) eyes. 

“I won’t. I promise.” 

---

(Y/N) and Izumi returned to the palace a little before dinner. They found Zuko in the throne room, his presence full of advisors. He dismissed them as soon as he saw his wife and daughter. 

Izumi giggled as she ran up to her father. She jumped into his arms and he lifted her high above her head. “How was your picnic?” 

“Very good,” (Y/N) said, the smile on her lips tight. Zuko stared at her for a moment, but decided to let it go. Perhaps Izumi had been difficult today. 

“Zula!” Izumi said happily. (Y/N’s) stomach dropped. “Zula! Zula!”

“What’s she saying?” 

[sincerelyravens]

sobbe hunger games au be like:

since this probably will never end up as an actual story

sander is from district 2 (speciality is masonry). his father is a peacekeeper and his mother is one of the most skilled in her field. despite being raised to fight, to win the games, sander never wanted to kill. he would take a paintbrush for a spear over any day and he was outcasted from his war-loving district. when sander is 14, his name is drawn but no one volunteers for him. it’s unheard of in the entire history of district 2—especially for someone so young—but it’s what happens. his father was frozen, his mother wailed, his little sister begged him not to go, and sander was sent off to the capitol. 

the previous victors, their mentors, focused their sights on cornelia, the female volunteer. cornelia promised that she would make sander’s death easy. the other careers mocked him behind his back, but sander paid them no heed as he circled around the trap making, didn’t give his all to the showing of the judges—walking out with a 6. no one expected sander to survive his games.

but no one expected him to come out and be crowned the victor. 

once the countdown sounded—signaling the start of the games, sander raced off. his agility allowed him to reach the cornucopia first, grabbing hold of a bag and fleeing the upcoming massacre. in the midst of it, someone came at him with an ax, swinging, and sander’s body moved for him, pulling the knife from his bag and stabbing him. as the person fell to the floor, sander seized the ax—and the knife—and raced to the forest. it wasn’t his only kill—he killed the girl from district 12, the boy from district 6, the girl from district 1, and a few others he wasn’t sure of. when there was three tributes left, cornelia found him in the forest, having grown bored to let him die on his own. they fought for five minutes until the gamekeepers summoned mutts. while sander sought safety in a tree, cornelia fled, being killed—leaving only sander and one other person. in the end, the final kill wasn’t even his to take—the last tribute succumbed to a leg injury. 

the trauma from the games stay with him—as they always do. in his dreams, he sees everyone he killed—everyone he didn’t—and he sees them every night. when sander returned, the younger fighters looked up to him but those in his years didn’t—he was still an outcast.

but his new victor status came with new opportunities—and burdens. during his victory tour at the capital, sander snuck on the roof of the president’s mansion and met senne de smet, probably the only normal capital citizen without the fancy or grotesque makeup or fascination with the games—and somehow, beneath the night sky, sander made a friend. in addition, he was finally able to paint like he always wanted to, sticking a suitcase full of paints and canvases to take back to district 2... and they sold. but, one night, president snow made it clear that he wanted one more thing from sander. he introduced him to a rich family—with a daughter his age—and threatened his little sister’s life in the span of three seconds. and, every year with a new game and a new set of tributes to mentor, sander was forced to keep up the rumor of his conquests. 

and it continued... year after year. his nightly duties continued (though the people he was with increased once he turned 18). the gossip spread about the broken hearts trailing behind him. even after senne fell in love with a victor from district 10, a girl named zoë, the same old routine with the same old saying—an oxymoron truly—may the odds be ever in your favor. sometimes, sander thought about ending it all, stripping the president and the capital of their prized toy... and he got as far as his hotel roof before he couldn’t—he thought of his parents and his sister—who loved him, senne—his best friend since the night they met, and zoë—who had become his friend and confidant during the games even as their own tributes competited against each other. so, he stepped off the ledge, headed back inside, back to the same old thing.

until sander saw him.

robbe ijzermans. district 4. 

he was six weeks from aging out—six weeks away from freedom when his name was pulled. despite coming from a district that focused on fishing, he looked more like a fox than anything else with long brown hair pulled back into a bun and wild brown eyes and freckles. he was easily the most beautiful man that sander had ever seen before. when sander turned away from the screen, he found alexandra—his mentor partner—looking at him with a sad look in her face before she said, “Don’t fall for a dead boy, Sander. It never works out.” 

the girl who was reaped with him was a black-haired girl, noor bauwens, about the same age who shook as she walked up to the stand. as they were escorted off the stage, robbe reached over and wrapped the girl in a hug. before the train had left district 4, caesar flickerman had already spun a tale of childhood lovers fighting to survive in the hunger games and the district 4 mentors confirmed it once they arrived (they also cut off his hair, which sander really thought was a tragedy). and they did look like a couple. robbe would always reach out for noor’s hand, hold her close—before the parade, in the hotel elevator, in the training arena. whenever the footage of the training center came on, sander always found himself watching. he told senne and zoë that he was just watching the competition, but he could tell that they didn’t believe him.

when the games had begun, robbe and noor had stuck together, somehow managing to evade the blood bath, racing from the cornucopia with two backpacks and rope wrapped around them. every night, sander found himself rooted on the screen, trying to find out what happened to robbe as well as his own tributes. caesar flickerman kept his attention on the favorite couple of the games. but, overnight, noor had gotten injured in an ambush and robbe had managed to kill them all. even with medical supplies that the sponsors sent over, noor wasn’t getting any better. even through a screen, robbe looked upset and wrought with inner turmoil—like someone who was losing the love of his life. one night, noor breathed out, “you can’t do this anymore, robbe. you need to fight.” and robbe had shaken his head, saying, “i’ve got you, noor.” then he handed her some food and water, making sure she ate it all, before ushering her to sleep. as noor closed her eyes, robbe repeated the phrase. it was only a few minutes later that the cannon sounded off, signaling her death. 

after collecting his things, robbe fled their hideout so the game keepers could take her away. by this time, both of sander’s tributes were dead but he still found himself glued to the screen, unable to turn his eyes away for a second. he lost sleep, but he didn’t care. even alexandra was beside him, curious to find out about him. 

in the end... robbe won, practically holding his pierced stomach together to keep him alive, as the helicopters descended to pick him up. caesar flickerman talked about his heroism for staying with noor, for fighting his way home, but even with the cameras, sander could see how robbe looked whenever they brought up noor but caesar remained oblivious. before they had all gone home, until the victory tour in the winter, sander went up to the roof for a smoke and one last glance at the capital skyline—and he found robbe sitting on the ledge with his legs over the side. when sander had announced his presence, he had jumped but let sander sit down beside him. they had been quiet for a few minutes before robbe asked, “does it go away?” before elaborating, “the nightmares.” 

sander didn’t lie. “no.” he was quiet before he added, “there’s no cameras up here.” robbe had stared at him for a few moments. 

for about ten minutes, they were quiet before robbe breathed out: “everyone thinks i lost my girlfriend, even everyone at home—except maybe one person—but that’s not true.” sander had glanced over at him, the cigarette in his fingertips. “we were never like that. we played it for the cameras, thought it would get us good sponsorships on top of our scores... and it did. but i didn’t lose my girlfriend in that arena... i lost one of my best friends.” he let out a breath and rubbed at his eyes. “sorry, i don’t know why i said that. you don’t even know me.”

“i know you.” sander had interrupted. robbe had looked up. “i know you,” he repeated before reaching out his hand and saying. “sander driesen. district 2.”

for six months, robbe disappeared. 

then came the victory tour and he was charted off to every district like they all were. finally, he arrived back at the capital, back at the president’s mansion, until he bumped right into sander in the midst of talking about paintings with one of the capital people. the two had exchanged muted greetings before the customer was interested in buying his painting—and his sister was interested in something else. as sander felt her making her move, felt himself succumb to the nightly activities (that president snow had told him about), he found himself looking for robbe and found him over with senne and zoë, who were both talking with him.

after sneaking out of the girl’s room, sander went back to his designated room and bumped into robbe in the lobby, carrying a bunch of supplies and cameras in his hands. sander had laughed, helping him carry them to his room. once they were inside, they started talking about the past six months—about how robbe was adjusting. sander had mentioned about how the capital takes some getting used to but promised to show robbe all of the good spots. even in the darkness of the apartment, sander could spot the flush on robbe’s cheeks before he said that he would like to go. 

the next day, sander took robbe around the capital in search for new things for robbe to take home—now that he had an virtually unlimited supply of money at his disposal. everywhere they went, heads would turn to see where they were going, and sander wished they would all go away. sander bought some new art supplies and robbe found some more electronics that he could salvage. sander teased him for being a techie from the fishing district 4 and robbe had blushed, saying that it helps calm his mind. 

when they arrived back at robbe’s apartment, arms full of shopping bags, robbe invited sander in for a drink to thank him for the tour and, somehow, sander had pinned robbe against the refrigerator and kissed the daylights out of him—and robbe kissed him back. kissing robbe felt different than anyone else he had kissed before and sander never wanted to stop—but unfortunately, his phone rang with one of his “clients” who had a sultry voice and wanted his last night before they all left. sander wanted to snap, say that he was busy, but the thought of his little sister being killed—or worse, reaped on purpose—tore him away from robbe with a mumbled “i’m sorry.” 

for the next games, robbe and sander had run into each other in the elevator and had talked mindlessly before robbe got off on his floor and motioned sander to follow. alexandra had looked at him with wide eyes as sander followed in suit. safely in his apartment, robbe asked why he left and why he didn’t reach out. when robbe asked if he was another one of sander’s conquests that he strung around the capital, sander couldn’t helping kissing that thought off his lips. sander told robbe of snow’s threat and how he doesn’t want robbe to be caught in the crossfires and how, if sander could have his way, robbe would be the only one. robbe closes his eyes and kisses him again, pulling him in the direction of his bedroom, and that’s how their life together begins. 

when the games weren’t going on, his mornings and afternoons were completely owned by robbe. if the games were going on, the tv would be on in the background or they’d be out with sponsors, trying to help their tributes in any way that they could. when one of their tributes died or the nightmares got too much, they would hold each other as the sobs overwhelmed them. but, his nights, were mostly reserved for others in the capital—but robbe never left sander’s mind... not even for a second. whenever they called, robbe would press a kiss to his forehead and mumble out an “it’s okay” like he could read the thoughts in sander’s mind.

if snow ever knew, he never said but sander always prepared like he had known the entire time. snow was smart like that. thankfully, robbe didn’t get the same treatment that sander had gotten. instead, with his engineering mind, he was tasked with helping build the arenas, which took it’s own toll on a more permanent basis, and—as much as sander hated his evening work at the capital—he gathered more support for his paintings so he could come to the capital more often, hold robbe a little tighter. 

when it all got too much, the hatred of their situation and the nightmares they wouldn’t wish on anyone else, they had each other to hold onto, to kiss away the nightmares in the rare nights that they were allowed to be together—and, when they heard of a rebellion that would stop the nightmares from happening to someone else, the thought to join the fight, to rebel against the twisted system, was instantaneous. 

[thenightgazer]

Spark of Stardust

Chapter 1 : An Interstellar Quest It's not a date. Vergil insists upon it, even when he doubts himself as he asks Lyra to accompany him to search for a perfect birthday gift for Kyrie. But just like the dying star that sparks its undying stardust; the "date" is just a start for him to get to know more about Lyra, as the librarian reveals her "little, deepest and darkest secrets"

Warning : implied psychological and drug abuse

Part 6 of Tales of Apotelesma

You can also read this fic on AO3

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

~~~

It starts with a soft hand that brushes his face. The fuzzy sensation wakes him up. The lamp on the ceiling is the first thing he sees when he slowly opens his eyes wide awake. His eyes linger to his surroundings— and that shocks him because he’s no longer in his bedroom at Devil May Cry. He’s awakened in someone else’s bedroom. The wall is painted with warm colours and there is a large bookshelf besides the bed. When he turns his head to his left, he spots toys and trinkets which supposedly belong to a little girl, and there sits a young woman who smiles at him.

Where am I?

“How was your sleep?” she asks him. Her soft hand ruffles his hair gently. “You look so peaceful.”

He’s speechless. Not because he doesn’t want to answer, but his mouth won’t cooperate with his head. His survival instincts scream at him to get away from this situation, but all he could feel is numbness.

“I brought you dinner,” the beautiful woman continues. He observes her cautiously; she is approximately in her thirties, with long brunette hair and brown eyes. She looks like the kind of woman who looks absolutely harmless. The way her body moves is delicate. Her voice sounds appealing as she tells him the menu and hopes he will like it. She gives him the same warm impression as his own mother, but this woman seems shady. Her eyes remind him of someone... but he couldn’t remember the person. The same cold, void eyes...

“The nurse said you haven’t eaten since last night. You refused to take your medicines. Why? Don’t you want to get better?” Her voice turns colder. “When I heard that you refused to eat, I couldn’t concentrate on my work. I’m afraid you won’t get better. Now you will eat and take your medicine for me, okay?”

He can’t follow everything she has said just now. Who is this woman? What medicines? What nurse? But his head nods automatically as if his body is controlled by someone else, and that little gesture makes this woman’s warm smile appear on her pretty face again.

“Good. Let’s eat! After that, I’ll read you something exciting. How’s that sound?”

He nods obediently, opening his mouth to eat the porridge. He can’t feel the taste, nor can he sense the texture of the food. But the woman looks at him as if she would blast if he didn’t eat. The sound of friction between the spoon and the bowl drives him crazy. She’s making sure that he swallows the food as she cleans up his mouth. After the bowl is empty, she proceeds to pour something from a bottle—medicine— on a small spoon and look up at him, opening her mouth as a command for him to mimic her gesture. She seems delighted when he swallows the medicine.

“Atta girl.”

What is this nonsense? What is that thing she put inside me?

But he knows he won’t get the answer.

It’s all just a dream, right?

The woman walks to the bookshelf. Her fingers run through the book until she finds the one she desires. She sits back besides him again and opens the book, her fingers scan through the pages.

“You don’t like Cinderella, so I picked up this one,” she shows him the cover of the book. “I guarantee you’ll like it! It’s called The Hobbit, an adventure story. Your favourite, right?”  

I do like adventure stories. But it isn’t my favourite. It’s Dante’s…

She starts her storytelling in a clear voice. “In a hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit...”

There’s something in her face when she reads. She seems more relaxed and softer than before, as if she got lost in the story. His suspicion is surprisingly gone while he listens to her and the familiarity strikes him again. She reminds him of his own mother when he was a child, reading him bedtime stories. Cambions in their early childhood needed a lot of sleep just like human children, but Dante and he always refused to sleep early and asked for more stories. There’s something peaceful about this familiarity. It calms him, then he decides to close his eyes again whilst the woman’s voice slowly fades away.

---

The dream shatters as Vergil’s cell phone rings loudly.

The hybrid lays still on his bed. He was sleeping for two hours just because he had no other options left to do aside from sleeping. Yet, even though his body doesn’t particularly need to sleep, he hates it when his slumber is interrupted. His hand reaches to find his phone and immediately pick it when he finds it on the desk beside his bed without seeing who’s calling him because he doesn’t bother to open his sleepy eyes.

“Dad?”

That familiar voice forces Vergil to open his eyes.

“Nero?”

“Yeah. You busy?”

“No,” Vergil throws a blanket from his naked chest as he moves his body to sit and brushes his hair. “What’s wrong, Nero?”

Nero doesn’t reply immediately. Vergil can hear a heavy sigh from his son and that makes him a bit anxious.  

“Nothing wrong. Just...” The young devil hunter lets out another sigh. “Today is Kyrie’s birthday. She invites you and the crews for dinner at six. Uh… six as in Fortuna time, which is an hour later from Red Grave time. Just in case you got lost in time again.”

“Of course. We will be attending the dinner. Thank you for the invitation.”

“It’s Kyrie who invites you, not me.”

“...”

“... but having you around here is not so bad. The kids were always whining whenever you and Dante left the house.” Nero’s response is almost excited and eager, much to Vergil’s relief.

The picture of Julio, Carlo and Kyle somehow makes Vergil grins. “You did very well taking care of those little rascals.”

“Thanks,” there’s a pause before Nero continues. “Anyway, I should get going. Nico needs my help to do some crazy shit.”

“I hope all is well for you.”

“You too, I guess...” the young man clears his throat. “And... thank you. For accepting the invitation.”

“It’s the least I could do,” The blue devil smiles, his anxiety is gone as their interaction goes smoothly. “Carry on, son.”

“Y-yeah— bye, then.”

Warmth fills Vergil’s heart as he cleans up his bed and folds the blanket neatly. Never in his life would he have thought that he’d become a father. Even though it was unplanned, having a son does change his life. He has no parental figures to ask advice from and those parenting books are not helping at all, but he learns at his own pace. Two years of effort of atonement is nothing compared to his sins, yet he wants the very best for Nero and is very protective to him.

Then the word stings him.

Birthday, huh?  

Ever since he was a little boy, Vergil has never understood the concept of celebrating birthdays. For him, birthday is just another day to pass. If anything, it seems like people love to celebrate the day when their life spans decrease. People are getting old, so what? Why do we celebrate that irony? Is that because of the presents and cake? Little Vergil never found the answer, but he did feel happy whenever he received presents and ate his birthday cake, even if that means he had to share it with his twin, Dante (he had given up the dream of having his own cake, since being twins means sharing almost everything). He didn’t even think about birthdays until Nero reminded him.

I wonder if he knows his birthday...

Vergil walks to the bathroom and washes his face. He looks at the mirror and the man guy in the mirror stares back at him. His reflection somehow reminds him of the strange dream. What was that dream about? It seems visceral, like it was my own memory. His heartbeat gets faster when he has a dreadful negative thought that it could be Mundus’ mind manipulation. If that was Mundus, it’s too pointless. He’d use my own memories to torture me, not with some kind of irrelevant vision.

“Mornin’,” Dante shoves himself besides Vergil and yawns. “I’m hungry.”

“Pleased to meet you, Hungry.”

Dante bursts into laughter. “Since when are you into dad jokes?”

“I’ll take the shower first.” Ignoring Dante’s question, Vergil picks up a dry towel and gets inside the shower cubicle.

Dante takes off his shirt and stretches his muscles. He washes his face and begins to shave his beard. “You said you fought Angelo demons at last week’s gig, right? Heard from Lady the same Angelo demons got sighted at another city. We still don’t have any information on who created and summoned them.”

Vergil wipes the droplets of water from his face. “It seems like those Angelo demons were none like all the artificial demons we have ever seen before. Their form, their abilities, their durability. They looked rather... futuristic, I'd say. I got an impression that the new Angelo was created mostly by advanced science rather than magic.”

“Another thing happened these past weeks. There are three outbursts at restricted medical facilities in different cities.”

“What medical facility?”

“Trish said that the three of them were research laboratories owned by Ravenhill Corporation.”

“Isn’t that the same corporation that won a peace award or something like that?”

“Yeah. The Ravenhills are an influential aristocrat with power over the health and security industry. Most of the health facilities in this world are sponsored and if not, owned by Ravenhill Corporation. They have a branch company here in this city too.”

“And do you think those incidents have a connection with the appearance of Angelo demons?”      

“Just a gut feeling, but that’s worth investigating, better safe than sorry, aight?” Dante brushes his hair and flips it back like Vergil. “Hey, I look just like you with this hairstyle! Perhaps I should go with this style from now on.”

“If you’re done talking, get out of the bathroom.”

“This is MY bathroom!”

“And I’m the one who cleans up the mess you’ve created in this house, Dante.”

“Fine~!” Dante chuckles as he cleans up the remaining shaving foam from his jaw. “Have you bought something for Kyrie’s birthday? Got missed calls and a text about the dinner party from Nero.”

“Not yet.”

“I’ve been thinking of giving her a fancy revolver. Heard from Nero that she’s quite good at using guns.”

“... do you really think that women fancy weapons as a gift?”

“Trish and Lady do. But hey! You can go ask our clever librarian!” Dante's face lightens up in exhilaration.

Vergil turns off the shower and wraps a towel around his waist as he opens the cubicle. “What do you mean by ’our’?!”

“Yours, then. She’s a normal civilian woman. Perhaps she can recommend you a perfect gift for Kyrie.”

No, if only you know that she’s not normal! “... you’re probably right.”

A teasing whistle comes from Dante as he takes off his pants and walks inside the cubicle. “As Yoda said, Verge, ‘ do or do not. There is no try ��. Call her and ask her out for a date.”

“I’m not taking any advice from a man who has rotten luck with women. And who is Yoda?”

“Call it what you want it. If you’re not asking her out, I’ll go ask her by myself.”

“Not before I step over your dead body.”

“Ha! Someone’s jealous for realsies~”

Vergil walks away from the bathroom before his inner turmoil tempts him to try to kill Dante… again. His insolent brother might have been teasing him too much, but in a way he’s right. He needs to find someone trusted enough to help him buy the perfect gift for Kyrie.

But she’s on duty today is her work day. I won’t make it right on time to the party if I have to wait for her shift to end.

He’s still thinking about it when he enters his room on the second floor and grabs his phone. Lyra’s contact name is showing up, but he hesitates. It’s still 9 o’clock. The library must have just opened.

After having a quite long internal battle with himself, he decides to call her anyway.

It takes a little bit long for Lyra to finally pick up her phone. Vergil catches the sound of her voice and a man’s laugh who Vergil assumes is Nate. “Bugger off for a minute, will you? — Clayton here.”

“Lyra.”

“Oh, hello Vergil!”

“Am I interrupting?”

“Not at all! Is there anything I can help you with?”

“... yes.”

“Are you okay? You sound like you want to cry.”

“I am certainly not,” Vergil groans at Lyra’s giggle. “Yet, I do believe I need your help.”

“Name it!”

“... it’s about a birthday present.” Vergil clears his throat. “Do you remember Kyrie, my son’s fiancée? She will be celebrating her birthday this evening. She invited Dante and I to her house for dinner.”

“I see.”

“Kyrie has always been there for Nero,” he continues. “She helped guide him to become the person he is now. She took care of him while I wasn’t there for him. She’s an important person to my son. That’s why... at least I have to show her some respect.”

“By giving her a decent birthday present.”

“Yes.”

“I think she will appreciate everything you give to her.”

“She will, certainly. She’s too polite to reject a present, but I don’t want her to think that I’m a careless father-in-law by giving her a gratuitous gift.”

“You’re right. I’d be delighted to accompany you to buy the present, but…I’m on duty right now. I’m afraid I couldn't help you any further.”

“That I know. That’s why I call for your advice.”

“I suggest something small, but meaningful. You told me she love to sing, right? Maybe a vinyl of classical music would — what in the bloody—! Nate! Give me back my phone at once!”

Vergil hears them grumbling and arguing at something. He considers to just hang up the phone given to his hunch that Lyra and Nate are probably having a fight right now, but suddenly he hears Nate’s voice as the young librarian speaks to him.

“Mr. Vergil? It’s Nate!”

This scoundrel's audacity...! “I recognize your voice, Nathaniel. What are you doing with Lyra’s phone?”

“Err... sorry for the interruption, but Lyra forced me to tell you this myself, or else you won’t believe her! I told her that I don’t mind if she wants to go on a date with you! My father won’t be checking on the library today!” Nate lets out a dry chuckle to break the ice, but since Vergil says nothing, Nate continues to speak. “She insisted on at least working today, so I told her to finish the duty earlier so she could spend her time with you. That’s all! Oh yeah, a little advice here; Lyra has a terrible sense of direction, means that you should hold her close— ouch!”  

A sound of a book slapped on Nate’s head comes to Vergil’s ear. The next is Lyra’s nervous voice talking to him. “Vergil? You heard Nate. So... we meet at three. How’s that sound?”

“I’ll pick you up at the library.”

“Okay!”

“Then... I’ll see you around.”

“Cheerio!”

Vergil hangs up the phone, unexpectedly feeling the queasiness after he recalls the word ‘date’ as Dante and Nate said earlier. Foolish. We are not dating. We are just going to buy a birthday present. That’s all. Stop this unnecessary disquietude. It’s just Lyra—

“Tell me you’re not gonna go on a date with your boring clothes!”

Vergil hardly glances to his side and sees Patty’s figure standing by his door. The twenty years old girl is wearing an apron and holding a broom in her hand. “At least wear something stylish! You and Dante are all hopeless! No wonder the two of you haven’t gotten married yet!”

“I believe that’s none of your concern, Miss Lowell. And although I lack what humans would consider common sense, the last time I know about human norms and etiquette, that it is rude to trespass on someone's private space and eavesdrop on other people’s conversation.”

“I’m not eavesdropping! I just happened to pass this room while cleaning this house because lately you are not present in this house and Dante is being a lazy bastard as usual! Show some gratitude!”

“Thank you for your help. But as you can see now, I am here and that means I will do the household job while you can go disturb Dante’s peace now.”

“Hey! I heard that!” Dante shouts from the first floor.

“Anyways, let me help you to choose better clothes for you!” Patty insists. “I don’t know who this girl is because Dante won’t tell me, but she seems special to you. You need to dress at your best! Impressing a girl on their first date is a must!”

“I’ll forgive your impudent attitude this time if you kindly close the door, Miss Lowell. I need to put some clothes on.”

Realizing that Vergil wears nothing but a towel wrapped on his waist, Patty flusters as she looks away and grabs the door knob violently. “Fine!”

The blue devil chuckles softly when he hears Patty goes downstairs and screams at Dante for whatever antics that he does right now. He searches through his wardrobe, pondering if Patty was right. And maybe she is. He’s about to blend into society, that means he needs to look less suspicious. He should wear something casual and humane.

Humans and their fashion. Even demons are much simpler.

He picks some clothes with a hope that he won’t look too ridiculous.

---

“Do you think he’s the type of person who brings flowers for a date?” Nate throws paper planes at Lyra’s direction, which she blocks it all with a book.

“Why do you insist that this is a date? We are friends. Friends go hang out sometimes.” Lyra says.

“Dammit, Lyre! You are older than me but I can’t believe you’re so clueless about this. Even idiots could tell that he likes you!”

Lyra groans desperately. “That’s it. That’s the problem of modern society. People nowadays confuse politeness with flirting!”

“Sometimes both work simultaneously! And that’s the case of Mr. Vergil. Sure, he’s polite to everyone even though he always looks like he wanted to kill someone. But he’s different with you; he’s not just polite, but kind. That’s two different things!”

Lyra half-heartedly listens to Nate’s babble; despite she already knows what is inside Nate’s mind. She knows what he means about Vergil being kind only to her, and Nate’s mind interprets how soft Vergil is whenever he’s around her. The thought of those forms of romanticism confuses her. Being a telepath, she has seen and listened into people’s minds for almost her entire life. She’s no stranger to the concept of love according to universal belief, yet she still doubts its existence.

Sometimes, what people think about something isn’t always synchronized with how they feel about it.

And speaking of which, I haven’t heard Nate’s thoughts since fifteen seconds ago...

“He’s here!” Nate declares as he looks up at the window near the front door. “Wait, uh... is it really him?”

“What?”

“He looks... different.” Nate mumbles. “And he didn’t bring flowers. Guess he’s not the flower type of guy.”

“On the contrary, he is.” Lyra takes a brief look at her appearance in the mirror and puts on eyeglasses before giving a wink at Nate. “See you tomorrow!”

“Now who’s excited about the date!?”

She giggles throughout her journey to the front door, only to be surprised when she opens the door and finds Vergil standing in front of her and about to open the door too. But today he looks stunningly different; he is wearing as black shirt beneath a navy-blue casual coat. His dark trousers make him look taller than usual. He changes his footwear into a pair of black chukka boots. Even with his usual warrior clothes, Vergil Sparda is already breathtakingly handsome. His casual look just enhances his majestic stature.  

Lyra has never really given any attention to fashion, but now she can’t take her eyes off of him. “What’s with the sudden change in your sense of fashion?”  

“You don’t like it?”

“I like it!” she blurts. “You look… so… normal”

“Is it just me or does it sound like an insult?”

“It’s a compliment!”

“... thank you, I suppose,” Vergil reluctantly scratches his nape. “Shall we go now?”

“Let’s!”

Lyra glares at Nate who’s giving her double thumbs up and loudly wishing her good luck before she closes the door.

“So,” the librarian walks side by side with Vergil. “Do you remember I mentioned that I purchased my devil arm at an antique shop?”

“Yes. What’s with that?”

“I think it’s a good place to start our quest. The shop sells antique weapons, jewelries, old books and trinkets. Perfect collection for Kyrie.”

“Very well. Where’s this shop located?”

“Nova Town.”

“It’s too far from here.”

“Lucky for us, you have Yamato.”

“I’m beginning to think that you see me as a mere means tool of transportation.”

“Maybe,” she winks playfully. “But you are too decent to be a mere tool, my dearest friend.”

The hybrid rolls his eyes, “Let’s find an empty alley first.”

---

“That was the first time I saw Lyra smiling like that,” Nate mutters at himself as he taps something on his cell phone. “Good for her! Ever since I saw their chemistry on the murder in the library weeks ago, I know they’re going to form a relationship soon!”

The twenty four years old librarian giggles at his own fantasy while drowning himself further into a mobile game he always plays whenever he has free time. He almost startled himself when the bell rings and a customer comes in. Nate abruptly pauses the game and greets the guest. “Welcome to The Literarium!”

The guest — a tall and ginger-haired man — returns Nate’s greeting with a nod. A suspicion arises in Nate’s head as he observes the man’s eyes that are covered with sunglasses. Why the hell does he wear sunglasses indoors? He continues to follow the man’s movement, which is also suspicious. The man seems detached from reality as he stares at one of the shelves quite long without really doing anything, not even touching the books. He walks slowly to another section, again without any interest in the books. The man seems eager to look for something as he repeatedly tilts his head to look outside the window, but Nate is certain that he’s not here for books. Then why bother coming here if he’s not interested in books? Nate clicks his pen anxiously. Paranoia begins to consume him. What if he wants to rob this place?!

The ginger-haired man approaches the sale section and finally picks a book. He looks at the cover briefly before heading to the counter. Nate fakes a polite smile when he scans the book— Lord of the Flies by William Golding— and forces himself to make a small talk. “Fine day, isn’t it?”

The man nods while giving Nate his money. “I agree.”

“You like allegorical one, huh?”

The man furrows his brow. “Sorry?”

Nate lifts the copy of Lord of the Flies . “You don’t know that Golding wrote one of the best allegorical novels all the time?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know. I only recognized it as one of the bestseller books,” the man chuckles. His laughter surprisingly sounds very friendly. “I picked it because the synopsis reminds me of the past.”

“Jesus, what a chaotic past you must have back then.” Nate gives him the book and his change.

“Quiet so,” the man flips the page, but Nate can sense he’s focusing on another thing. “By the way, the woman who wears eyeglasses… She came out from this place with a man about five minutes ago. Does she work here?”

Shit, another Lyra’s admirer. That explains my suspicion! “Yeah. You know her?”

“She looks like a person I used to know. Quite different, but I spot some similarities.”

“Maybe they are the same person?”

“The same person?” the man chuckles again as he closes the book. “That’s impossible.”

“Why?”

“She died years ago.”

“Oh, man… I’m so sorry...”

“It’s fine. She wasn’t related to me, just a person I knew. At first glance, your friend looks eerily similar to her,” the man’s face abruptly turns into doubt and anxious. Nate swears he can see his hands tremble. “I was terribly surprised when I saw your friend out there. I thought the woman I knew was alive again. What is the name? Your lady friend, I mean.”

“Louisa.” Nate lightly says his lie as soon as he’s aware of the man’s intention. I’m not doing anything wrong. Lyra told me to fake a name in case some flirty bastards ask me her name.

“Louisa, then. Pretty name,” the man seems pleased at Nate’s answer. “Thank you. Lovely library, anyway. Good day for you.”

“Thank you. Happy reading and have a good day!”

He’s different from any of Lyra’s secret admirers, Nate feels uneasy about the man’s strange attitude even though the man has already taken his leave. He makes a mental note to contact Lyra soon after he closes the library. “That guy looks like he’s about to plan something fishy. But I can’t disturb Lyra and Mr. Vergil right now.”

Nate grabs his cell phone and restarts the game with a hope that nothing bad would happen.

---

She’s strangely quiet today.

Ever since they arrived at Nova Town, Vergil catches something unusual from Lyra. She guides the way to the antique shop without talking to him but carefully watches her surroundings. But at the same time, she seems to lose her focus and sometimes stares blankly at something. They have been walking for almost 30 minutes and they haven’t arrived at the antique shop yet. Also, that’s not the only thing from her that is unusual... “You wear eyeglasses.”

“Huh?” Lyra automatically touches her eyeglasses. “Why? You don’t like a girl with eyeglasses?”

“I don’t dislike it.”

“You have a funny way to compliment others, don’t you?”

“I have never seen you wearing eyeglasses before. I thought I was looking at a completely different person when you opened the door earlier.”

“I always wear eyeglasses whenever I’m out to shop, just for aesthetic purposes. I’ll take it off if that makes you uncomfortable—”

“Please don’t. You look lovely with that.”

“Thanks!”

“You’re welcome. Are we getting closer to the shop?”

“… I think so?”

Vergil stops abruptly, “Tell me we are not lost.”

“W-we’re not!” she stutters in panic. “I’m just having a little confusion here, because this town looks different from the last time I came here. It has only been two years and the town is already changing...”

“Are you even certain that we are in the right town?”

“One hundred percent certain!”

“Then tell me,” Vergil curves a devilish grin. “Is Nathaniel right? That you have a terrible sense of direction?”

A light blush blooms on Lyra’s face. “Uh... yeah— but we are in the right town! For real! Just because I have a terrible sense of direction, doesn’t mean I’m an idiot!”

“Yet we are lost, aren’t we?”

“We are not! See that monument over there? It’s the town’s icon. We just have to turn left to that road and the antique shop should be on the right corner.”

Vergil watches the monument that Lyra mentioned before he glances at her again with doubtful looks. “Alright, then. But why don’t you use… what is it again... GPS?”

“Later. I’m practicing my sense of direction by practicing my telepathic ability.”

“Does your telepathic ability have something to do with your sense of direction?”

“Since the murder in the library, I’m practicing to read people’s mind whenever you’re around me because your magical defense blocks my telepathic ability. Normally, all I need to do is just focus on their minds and find out if some of them have knowledge of the place I’m about to go.”

“Why bother? You still can read minds by touching their body parts.”

“That’s impractical! Not everyone wants to be touched. Just imagine if I need to touch a person with haphephobia.”

“I thought you like it when you don’t have to read minds anymore.”

“Just in case of an emergency. Who knows if we would find any strange cases again, or if I’m stuck with Dante and there’s an urgent situation where I’m required to smuggle into someone’s head.”

“Hold on. Your telepathy doesn’t work on Dante too?”

“I guess the power of Sparda includes protection from telepaths.”

“I see. Now I understand,” Vergil scoffs. “The reason why you were awfully quiet since we stepped in this town is that you tried to practice your telepathic ability to find out the antique shop’s direction, so you won’t embarrass yourself in front of me because you have poor sense of direction and you think having to use GPS would make you look unreliable as a guide.”

Lyra hides her hands behind her back and stares at the ground, which to Vergil indicates that everything he said is true and that she’s embarrassed to admit it. To be very honest, he doesn’t think that Lyra does something wrong. He just wants to clarify things behind her unusual behavior, but it unconsciously sounds like he’s scolding her for her little secret.

“Just use the GPS if you need it. You have nothing to be ashamed of. That won’t make me think less of you.”

Lyra seems to hesitate at first, but eventually shrugs and takes her phone out from her bag. Vergil quietly smirks at her surrender.

“Fortunately, we’re on the right track!” She shows Vergil the map. “Thank you for your encouragement, Vergil. That’s the longest advice you ever said to me.”

He shrugs it off. “I guess that’s what friends are for.”

“Still, that means a lot to me.”

“Just forget it. Then how’s your practice going?”

“Still doing my best. The first time I tried to read someone’s mind without touching them whenever you were around me, it was all nothing. But now I can see blurry images and hear buzzing sound!” She smiles at him, her eyes beam as she points at the rustic shop at the corner of the street. “Look! We've arrived!”

When Vergil enters the antique shop, he expects the shopkeeper to greet them with unstoppable pestering offers like all the shopkeepers normally do. That’s why he hates shopping. Thankfully the shopkeeper is sleeping on the counter, like she doesn’t care if someone steals one of the items. The shop itself is quiet and the goods are all unique. The problem is, Vergil doesn’t know where to start searching. There are many items that Vergil puts a certain degree of interest in—necklaces, bracelets, clocks, paintings—but he doesn’t think that it would be useful or meaningful to Kyrie. He starts to think about Dante’s suggestion to give her a weapon for self-protection. It seems easier than this endless searching.

“Do you know the biggest dilemma when it comes to shopping? You expect to find a certain thing, but when you’re in the shop, suddenly you’re not sure what to buy anymore.” Lyra chuckles at Vergil’s confused expression.

“Evidently,” Vergil picks an antique revolver. “I think I want to give her a weapon.”

“Is Kyrie an excellent combatant?”

“She can take care of herself, though she still needs a lot of practice, but she won’t survive a second if she had to fight multiple opponents.”

“Mmmm... okay but... how about something for protection from the demons?”

“That will do. It’s way more practical and useful.”

“Alright. Let’s ask the shopkeeper.”

Vergil points his chin at the counter. “She’s sleeping.”

“I’ll wake her up.” Lyra fixates her focus on the shopkeeper until she slowly raises her head from the counter table and rubs her eyes.

Vergil almost couldn’t hide his amusement. She can wake someone up from slumber? How advanced is her ability actually?

The shopkeeper yawns loudly. “Welcome. How can I help y’all?”

“We’re looking for an item for protection from demons. Do you have anything suitable for that?” Lyra asks.

The shopkeeper looks straight to Lyra’s eyes, then to Vergil’s. She sighs as she walks to the weapon cabinet. “I don’t have much of that, but I have this one. Take a look.” she mumbles, handing Lyra a red music box. The music box looks captivating with a rose pattern carved on the box. When Lyra opens the music box, Vergil recognizes the box is playing Bach’s The Well-Tempered Clavier.

“Lovely, but I don’t see what’s so special about the music box,” Vergil mutters his doubt.  

“Easy, dude. Push the button near the mirror to open the secret room behind it.”

Lyra does the exact instruction until the secret room is opened and reveals a golden bracelet inside.

“What’s that for?” Lyra asks.

“It will glow red whenever there's demons nearby,” the shopkeeper lights her cigarette and walks back to the counter. “When the bracelet glows, you press it and close your eyes, because it will cast a very blinding light. It’ll blind and burn demons and that’s the best time for you to run away.”

Lyra glances at Vergil, who’s examining the music box and the bracelet. She holds her giggle when she notices that the bracelet glows in red when Vergil holds it and abruptly puts it back to the secret room behind the mirror before the shopkeeper notices it.

“I guess the bracelet couldn’t distinguish demons and cambions,” she whispers to him.

“This should be fine,” Vergil forms a satisfied grin. “It has both protection advantage and aesthetical function. Perfect.”

“You take that?!” the shopkeeper shouts eagerly.

“Yes,” Vergil replies. “Is there a money-back guarantee in case the item doesn’t properly work?”

“This is an antique shop, dude. Some items might not working at all—”

“I believe I don’t have to repeat myself.” Vergil insists.

The shopkeeper gulps at Vergil’s unspeakable death threat within his icy eyes, knowing that there’s no use to argue with a man like Vergil. “Dammit, fine! Now can I get my money?”

Lyra howls with laughter, “Blimey, you are a terrifying customer.”

Vergil grins in pride as he heads to the counter.

---

The birthday party will begin in an hour, but Vergil chooses to spend the rest of the time with Lyra at the Sparda Manor. During the day time, they only meet in the library. That makes their little adventure today seem rare... and fun. Lyra buys them ice creams at the end of their journey in Nova Town. She can’t hold her laughter when she catches Vergil’s eyes sparking in childish interest as he holds his ice cream once the magic portal opens its way to the Manor.

“The shopkeeper was different from the one whom I met two years ago. He was nice and helpful,” Lyra murmurs, licking her bubblegum ice cream. “Guess he didn’t work there anymore. We get a sleepyhead instead.”

Vergil says nothing as he examines his blueberry ice cream cone. His memory of V eating cheeseburger hits him. “Why do humans think that creating something messy is a good idea?”

“It’s called innovation, Vergil.”

“Messy innovation.”

“As long as people like it, it is considered as a great innovation.”

He finally gives up and chomps his ice cream. “This is not bad.”

“Tell me this is not your first time eating ice cream.”

“I might be inexperienced in human lifestyle, but that doesn’t mean I never tasted ice cream.”

It’s strange, Vergil recalls the moment when they used to be strangers before Almagest helped them to get closer. Now they stand side by side and talk about stuff like old friends to the point where he could never get enough of her companionship. He lets her wander around his childhood house, even if he barely calls it a house now. He lets out a silent chuckle when she lifts a pile of rocks up to the air just to see what hides behind it, only to find another ruins and she’s slightly disappointed.

“For a second I thought your father was Johann Sebastian Bach.” Lyra looks up at Sparda’s family painting.

“You are not the first person who said that.”

She laughs. “Oh look at you… stoic since you were born. And I already got a picture on Dante being impatient while the painter kept asking him to stand still.”

“Pretty much correct. He complained how itchy his feet were at the end of the session.”

“Your mother was gorgeous,” Lyra admires Eva’s angelic stature. “No wonder Sparda fell for her.”

Vergil forms a wistful smile. “She was.”

“This painting reminds me of The Picture of Dorian Gray .”

“Pray tell, why?”

“Dorian sold his soul to the devil for eternal youth, and it decayed his self-portrait painting every time he did a sin. Of course your family portrait is a different case, but you see, your mother’s face is the only one that didn’t get burned by fire. It’s like a sign that she was the only human in the family…”

“And the rest of the family members were cursed by the evil blood that ran in their veins. That’s why the faces of the three of us were burned. That’s a picturesque perspective.”

“I didn’t say that demon is always evil—”

“I know. Still, it’s a good metaphor. Haven’t thought of it myself.”

“Why don’t you take the painting with you? People keep their family portrait in their house.”

“Dante and I agreed to leave it here as a sign that this mansion once belonged to our family. Besides, I can’t imagine such a painting to be hanged on the shop’s soiled wall. It would be a disgrace for the painting itself.”

“Now that you mentioned it, I think you are right.”

Lyra continues to lift some rocks and put it back carefully once she finds nothing interesting.. “Have you been in there again after you escaped the Underworld with Dante?”

“To collect mementos, yes. Though, as you can see, nothing much was left since Urizen destroyed the whole city. Not to mention almost all parts of the house were destroyed or blocked by pillars and huge stones. We tried to remove them, but it’d cause a domino effect throughout the manor and demolish it completely.” 

“How did it feel to visit your childhood home again?”

Vergil swallows his ice cream at once. He puts a handkerchief out from his coat and wipes his lips. “It felt mostly heartbreaking.”

“I see,” Lyra nods and gives Vergil a light pat on his shoulder. “Not everyone could even come back to the place where their trauma began. Not that it’s necessary. I just found it encouraging.”

“Speaking of memento, what was the most valuable present you had ever received?” Vergil curiously asks.

“Oh, we start to have a small talk now?”

“I thought we agreed to trust each other, don’t we? Then we should start from mundane things.”

“Alright. Make sense. Let me recall it… mmmm… oh right! A lyre!”

“You play lyre? Amazing.”

“I thought you were about to say ironic.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“You know, a lyre plays a lyre.”

Vergil smirks, recalling her remark on their previous little adventure, “You’re right. It’s ironically amazing.”

The librarian rolls her eyes as she bites the ice cream cone. “My mum bought me one for my fifth birthday. It only lasted for two months before I asked her to give me a harp for the next birthday.”

“Did she finally buy you a harp?”

“She didn’t.”

“Why?”

“She died before my next birthday.”

Vergil immediately stared at Lyra’s sullen eyes. “I’m terribly sorry to hear that.”

“It’s okay,” she smiles at him, chewing the last part of her cone. “It was a long time ago.”

Lyra has so many things she hides behind her amicable demeanor, and Vergil should’ve feel relieved because after all these months, Lyra finally opens up a little bit about her family, yet he doesn’t feel it at all.

“Were you close with your mother?” Vergil’s tone is full of consideration.

Lyra taps her fingers on her chin. “I guess so. We only had each other.”

“… How did she… die?”

The librarian smirks at him. “If I told you she fell from the tree, would you believe me?”

“Only if that’s the truth.”

She goes silent for a while, seeming unwilling to continue her story. She opens an empty drawer, looking at nothingness for a while. “You might’ve heard about her.”

“Your mother?”

“Uh-uh,” Lyra nods calmly, but Vergil senses a slight hesitation. “Her name was Asteria Crescent.”

Impossible! “The award-winning astronomer?”

“Astrobiologist, yes.”

“I see. That explains your fondness of astronomy.”

The first time Vergil heard about Asteria Crescent was when he was eleven years old, still homeless and constantly moved out from place to place in search of power. Asteria’s groundbreaking research of modern astrobiology broke the news. Her discovery led the scientists to rethink human’s position in this world and question the exact location of the Underworld in the known universe, considering demons as an extraterrestrial creature with its own origin and evolution. Demons and magic are inseparable, but Asteria Crescent was brave to make a further step to explain demonology in a scientific approach. Science and magic are two sides of a coin , Vergil recalls her statements. Science just has yet to understand magic.

“Asteria was a Titan goddess of falling stars and nighttime divinations. That suited her very well,” Lyra chuckles bitterly, swinging her hand to lift a pile of ruins back to its place. “I once wondered why she didn’t name me Hecate, daughter of Asteria and goddess of witchcraft. Maybe at that time, she didn’t have a thought that someday I’ll develop this… psychic ability.”

“The media never reported anything regarding her cause of death. It happened all so sudden, they said.”

“They always spoke highly of her. But when she died, they turned the story into rumors and gossip.”

“So did she fall from the tree?”

“She did fall.”

“But not from the tree.”

Vergil’s demonic eyes catch Lyra’s body slightly flinching, but she maintains her calmness and fakes a smile. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“I'm sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you further about your private life.”

“You entrusted me your biggest secret. I intend to do so. I’m just… not ready to open up, but I know that I want to.”

“When I said that we should try to trust each other, I didn't mean that you should abruptly open yourself to me.”

“Too late. Now you know I’m the daughter of a dead astrobiologist.”

“Why did you change your surname then?”

Lyra stops and gazes at Vergil. She seems anxious while glancing at her surroundings carefully, as if she’s afraid that someone else would hear them. Vergil slightly bows his body when Lyra whispers in his ear.

“I’m being hunted.”

The furrow on Vergil’s brow is going deeper. “By whom?”

“Someone who wants to abuse my power. That’s why I need to change my surname and hang out around wearing eyeglasses, so people won’t find out about my identity.”

For a moment, they stand still there, staring at each other’s eyes to find some clues. It’s logical that Lyra’s unique ability would attract power-seekers, be it humans or demons. Vergil knows it too well; the danger of possessing a greater power. A part of him wants to believe her words…

If only he failed to spot a subtle grin on the corner of her lips.

I would be absolutely fooled by her deception, Vergil grunts discontentedly. "You are lying, aren’t you?”

Lyra’s laughter echoes throughout the lake.

Vergil snarls at her unstoppable giggle. "Quite a jester, I see.”

“I take that as a compliment.”

Vergil doesn’t bother to reply, because he knows it would lead to another bickering. He doesn’t try to hide his amused smile too, even though Lyra teases him about the ‘sly devil smile’. To be honest, he couldn’t care less. He just wants to see her smile, her true smile.

Like the way she’s smiling right now.

“Do you want to have a look at the lake?” Vergil offers, trying to lift the mood. “There’s nothing left to see here.”

“Sure!”

They sit on the cobblestone pier in the lake while admiring the twilight sky. It’s Vergil’s favorite place, ever since he was a child. This place has changed; there are no more Qliphoth roots left and there are several trees and wildflowers growing on the land. The lake no longer contains human blood. It’s mesmerizing how fast time flies and changes the entire city.

“I used to spend my days here, reading and playing with Dante,” Vergil says. “We loved being here more than staying indoors.”

“I can see the reason. It’s bloody beautiful here.” Lyra mutters her admiration. She taps her fingers on the cobblestone playfully, causing a small rift in the lake.

“Dante once pushed me to the lake because we fought over a chocolate bar,” Vergil recalls one of his precious memories. “I pretended to be drowned. He pulled me out of the water and cried, pleaded to me for not leaving him alone and that he’s sorry. Promised me that he won’t disturb me again. Right when he shook my body to wake me up, I pushed him to the lake but he managed to drag me with him.”

Lyra can’t hold her howls of laughter. She chortles until her stomach hurts and her throat gets sore. Vergil swears he never saw her laughing like this. “I’m sorry— I— HAHAHAHAHA!”

“Lower your voice,” Vergil grunts. He starts to regret his decision for rambling about his childhood antics just to get rid of Lyra’s gloomy face. “You might end up choking yourself to death.”

“ Pfffftttt!”

“Will you shut up?!”

“Sorry!” Lyra bites her thumb to hold her cackle but fails. “I just… bwahahaha! It seems that ‘never hold a grudge to the people who wronged you’ is true!”

Vergil pulls her thumb away from her teeth, caressing her reddened thumb. “A little deeper, you would bleed your thumb.”

The careful touch from Vergil distracts Lyra for a while. It’s the first time he holds her without gloves on, and it surprises her how soft his palm is despite the fact that he is a warrior who wields various weapons. Her thumb slips lightly from his palm. “Even if I bleed, I got your Lucy Pevensie’s cordial to heal me.”

Vergil sighs heavily as he removes some strands of Lyra’s hair from her forehead. “I gave it to you for an emergency case only. The cordial was made mostly from demon’s blood, mixed with rare herbs and some complicated spells to make it suitable for human’s bodies. Even the bottle was made from demon’s materials to prevent physical damage. Trish produced only a few bottles of cordial, so use it wisely.”

“I will,” Lyra picks out the cordial bottle from her bag and shows it to Vergil. “See? I haven’t used it since Capulet.”

“Put it back into your bag before it slipped from your hand and fell into the lake.”

“Alright alright! Why do you sound a lot like my mother?” Lyra puts the bottle back into her bag.

“You are clumsy and easily distracted. I have to keep my eyes on you every time. It’s rather distressing.”

“I can take care of myself!” Lyra lays a punch on Vergil’s chest. “Remember, I weakened Phantom last week, so you devil twins could kill that spider easily!”

The cambion smirks disdainfully to her weak strike. He puts something off from the back of his coat and hands it to Lyra. It’s an old book with a black leatherbound with the title engraved in a beautiful golden emboss. “Your payment for escorting me today.”

Lyra observes the front cover with beaming eyes. “The Poems of Edgar Allan Poe...”

“It’s one of the mementos I brought from the Manor. I reckon you would love Poe, given to your fondness of horror and mystery.”

“Then I have to refuse! It’s yours!”

“I believe I made myself clear when I said the book is for you.”

Lyra was about to refuse again, but quickly zip her mouth when Vergil glared at her with his terrifying and undeniable gaze. He won’t take any ‘no’ from her. She flips the pages, and something almost falls from the book before Lyra catches it quickly; an antique necklace with an obsidian pendant. She takes a closer look at the pendant and recognizes the familiar white, shiny dots pattern on it— the Lyra constellation.  

“… did you pick this one too from the manor?” Lyra asks carefully.

“… it was from the antique shop.”

“I didn’t see you strolling around the jewelry section.”

“It was displayed on the counter. Nothing special. Just normal jewelry. The pattern just reminded me of you—”

Vergil can’t finish his sentence because Lyra wraps her arms between his waist, locking him in a tight embrace. He can feel the strange, but comfortable warmth fills his body as he returns to hug her without hesitation. Her body is so small and shorter compared to his height that he needs to bow slightly in order to balance the embrace. He loves her scent— a strange mixture of peach, black tea and old roses— and quietly inhales the intoxicating fragrance from her hair. He feels like he could do this all day.

“Thank you,” Lyra’s murmur vibrates his chest. “I’ll cherish this forever.”

“It's just a book and a necklace.”

“These are the best presents since the lyre from my mum!” she chuckles. “I’m sorry. I don’t usually hug people around.”

“Neither do I.”

“So let us hug a bit longer, shall we?”

“It looks like I have no choices but to comply.”

For a moment, they banish their distrusts about each other, breaking the adamant barrier and wishing the time to stop ticking.  

---

Yesterday, Lyra dreamt of a boy who wanders around a big house.

She thought it was just a meaningless dream, at least until she realized that she was the boy himself. She looked at her—  his — reflection in the mirror; the little boy was handsome with swept back silver hair and a black pajama. His serious and grumpy expression reminded of someone she couldn’t remember yet. She— the boy —wandered off around a big and dark house. It wasn’t her own intention; like her movement was controlled by someone else. She opened a chamber and let herself in. There was a woman who lay unconscious on the bed. Lyra could see traces of tears on the woman’s sullen face. Her body forced her to lift the quilt to cover the woman’s body and tip-toed herself out from the room.

When she was about to go back to her room, she heard a wheezing cry and followed the voice to the main hall. It didn’t take her too long to find out the source of the voice as her hand reached to open a white drawer, where another little boy with the same silver hair cried inside it.

“Vergil…” that little boy stared at her with a turbulent sob coming out from his mouth. “Father… you… you d-d-don’t believe that he died… r-right?”

I am…Vergil?

Does that mean that this crying boy… Dante?

The next thing Lyra remembered was she woke up with tears stream down her face like a waterfall, soaking her pillow. She was sure the sadness she felt in the entire dream wasn’t hers, but Vergil and Dante’s. She was going to tell Vergil about her strange dream when she saw the exact same white drawer in her dream at Sparda Manor, but she thought she was biased. Vergil had told her about how devastated his family was when they heard that Sparda was deceased, and her dream must be just her brain playing a trick to her.

But then she thought, Vergil never told me that he found Dante hiding and crying in that draw…

Tonight, Lyra falls into another strange dream. Even weirder and scarier. A titanic, god-like demon tortured her in the most unimaginably painful way. Her entire body was chained and spiked. The demon was merciless. His face was full of disgust and hatred as he spat her insults and penetrated her head with dreadful illusions she couldn’t even envision. He kept calling her “disgraceful offspring of the traitor Sparda”. It was only then she realized that she wasn’t herself, but Vergil.

Lyra fights herself to wake up, and is barely successful. The dream is too visceral that she almost still can feel the pain all over the body as she opens her eyes. Her back is wet from her own sweat.

Why do I keep dreaming of him? Moreover, I never experienced this kind of pain…

Does it have something to do with our accidental mind link on that day? Strange things have happened since then...

Her wave of thoughts are interrupted by the sudden thirst in her throat. She snaps her fingers and the light from the lamp brightens the bedroom. The door cracks slowly to open its way for Lyra. The librarian walks with leaden steps as she rubs her sleepy eyes. She almost stumbled upon a chair when she entered the kitchen.

“A cuppa sounds delightful to cure nightmares,” Lyra mumbles at herself, swinging her hand to summon a cup from the drawer. The cup flies and lands right in front of her, but she makes no further movement but staring blankly at the cup. Her body is still shivering by the imaginary pain from her nightmare.

“From all the people in the world, why does it have to be Vergil? This mind link is vexing me...”

The harsh cry of a raven causes Lyra to glance over the kitchen’s window. She curves a light smile while opening the window and lets a little raven enter her house. The raven lands on her shoulder for a while before flying around the house and lands on the kitchen counter.

“Where have you been, Corvus? Haven’t seen you for days!” Lyra greets the raven.

The little bird tilts its head and squawks. Lyra giggles as she pats the raven’s head. “Hey look. My friend gave his poem book to me and one of the titles is The Raven. I like it, by the way. And I’ve been thinking about him lately, even dreaming about him. To be honest, it’s disturbing. Do you think I should invite him here and tell him the truth?”

The raven gives her a nod.

“You are right. A cuppa is best served with a friend, don’t you think?”

Corvus flaps its wings eagerly. The black bird flies around Lyra’s head before making its way outside the house.

“Leaving already? You haven’t eaten yet!” Lyra shouts at the raven. “Alright then, send my regard to your girlfriend!”

Corvus squawks something like a curse, causing Lyra to barks in laughter. She heads back to the counter as she turns on the radio to entertain her confusing state of mind, picking the channel telepathically until she finds her favourite channel. She listens to the song while summoning her phone from the bedroom, tapping the screen until Vergil’s contact name pops on the screen.

Down in the willow garden

Where me and my love did meet

As we sat a-courtin'

My love fell off to sleep

I had a bottle of burgundy wine

My love, she did not know

So I poisoned that dear little girl

On the banks below

I drew a saber through her

It was a bloody knife

I threw her in the river

Which was a dreadful sign

“By Jove, that song is sinister,” Lyra chuckles darkly. Her solemn face is turning pale. “As for the poisoned little girl… well…”

She clicks Vergil’s name, waiting for the devil to answer with fingers tangled between the black pendant on her neck, hoping half-heartedly that he wouldn’t pick her call.

~~~

A/N : the song mentioned at the end of the chapter is “Down In The Willow Garden” by The Everly Brothers.

Tagging : @drusoona @harlot-of-oblivion @queenmuzz @shiranyaaww @andieperrie18 @rubixa-seraph @blooddrop-palace (I honestly forgot who to tag, so if you want to be tagged just send you reply or DM me! XD)

Masterlist | AO3

[theguineapig3]

Goodness and Love Colloyd Week 2020, (Late) Day 6: “Goodness and love will always win.” Words: 1778 Genre: Childhood Fluff

The moment Lloyd first fell in love with Colette was when he realized that she embodied the Dwarven Vows more perfectly than anyone he knew… and she didn’t even have to memorize them.

When Dirk had first insisted that Lloyd go to school, he resisted. Normally Lloyd only went into town only when the two of them needed supplies- he didn’t like being away from Noishe, but at least he had his dad with him. But at ten years old, Dirk decided that Lloyd was old enough to go back and forth to Iselia on his own and insisted that he enroll in the local school. “There’re things in this world ya need to know that I cannae teach ya,” he’d said, and while Lloyd was initially excited to interact with the other kids, that excitement faded quickly.

Lloyd was an outsider, unable to break into the already-established friend groups. He hadn’t had the same schooling they’d had, so he was behind in all of the lessons. And the teacher, an old man with a penchant for slapping hands with his wooden ruler, had no sympathy for those who fell behind. So, when after two long years, the teacher announced his retirement, Lloyd was the first one to wish him well. The young elf woman who replaced him was just as strict, but in Lloyd’s eyes, she was fair with her strictness. She tailored lessons and assignments to her students’ abilities and recognized their potential, and when she was strict with Lloyd, it was because she wanted him to succeed. She made coming to school so much easier.  

It wasn’t the new teacher that improved things the most, however. It was the little elf boy who was now sitting in the first row. Lloyd hadn’t been the only loner, of course- the quiet, clumsy blonde girl who sat near the front was always looked at by her classmates with more reverence than friendship. But she was the Chosen, the one who would one day defeat the Desians and regenerate the world, and if the Iselian students weren’t worthy to speak to her, the Dwarven country boy shouldn’t even consider it. After one lunch period, Lloyd and the loudmouthed pipsqueak that the Professor had brought with her became fast friends. It made Lloyd feel bad for the lonely looking girl who shared her lunch with the local dogs instead of other kids.

Show-and-tell was one of Lloyd’s favorite school activities, where students had a chance to show off items from home. He’d already shown some of his craft projects in previous weeks, things like wood carving and carpentry that he’d learned from his dad. This time, to show off in front of the new teacher, he’d recited the first one-hundred and fifty Dwarven Vows. ...of course, he only got through one-hundred and twelve before Professor Raine cut him off for time, but he was proud of himself nonetheless. Genis, who’d assured Lloyd the day before that his show-and-tell would blow Lloyd’s out of the water, had given a pretty basic display of kendama tricks. Sure, the kendama was difficult to handle, but Lloyd felt certain he’d won.

Lloyd never got the chance to brag, though.

About halfway through the afternoon, one of the students in the middle of the classroom got caught playing with the slide puzzle he’d brought to show off. Raine was quick to confiscate it from him and scold him for not paying attention. He wasn’t going to take it lightly, though, and shot back a rebuttal.

“That’s not fair!” the boy protested, pointing to the front of the class at Genis. “You let him play with the kendama!”

Raine shook her head. “Genis’ kendama helps him focus. You, on the other hand, are being distracted. I’ll give you this back after class if you focus on the rest of the lesson.”

“....mmmhmmm…” 

The boy sunk back into his chair, and Lloyd assumed that was the end of it. But after class, when Lloyd exited the schoolhouse, he saw the boy and a few of his pals standing over Genis. His blood boiled as he watched them push Genis to the ground.

“-think you’re so special just ‘cause you’re the teacher’s brother? Helps you focus, my ass!”

Genis was shielding his head, trembling as he tried to articulate a response. He had spirit for a seven-year-old, but even so, he was still too small to put up a decent fight without resorting to the magical spells his sister had forbidden him to use in the village. “I-it does! I-! I can’t-! I can’t pay attention without-!”

“Shut up!” Another of the boys started kicking. “When our parents hear about this favoritism, it’s over for you and your sister-”

“LEAVE HIM ALONE!”

Lloyd had been puzzling over what to do, and he was ashamed of his hesitation. It came from his dad’s repeated warnings not to get into a fight in the village- Dirk always said there was a reason “let’s all work together for a peaceful world” was the first Dwarven vow. However, another Dwarven vow, way up in the hundreds somewhere that Lloyd hadn’t memorized yet, said that “the first fault lies with he who commits and the second with he who permits.” If Lloyd did nothing, it would be just as bad as if he’d bullied Genis himself. And he could never do that to anyone, least of all his dear friend.

Lloyd grabbed the kicking boy and pulled him backward. The boy struggled against his grip, yelling something along the lines of “let go, you idiot hick Dwarf!” but Lloyd kept his grip firm. He waited for the original bully to come at him, but… he didn’t. Instead, there was a soft voice beside them that drew everyone’s attention.

“You guys… is everything okay?”

The surprise caused Lloyd to let go of the boy he was holding, and it gave Genis a chance to rise to his knees. “Colette!” the original bully gasped, taking a step back from Genis. “It’s not fair that this kid gets to play with toys in the classroom while nobody else does, right? You agree, right?”

Lloyd wasn’t used to hearing Colette’s voice, so he had no idea what he expected her to say. He was still surprised, though, when she completely dodged the question.

“You got new glasses, right? They look good.”

The bully appeared just as surprised, but his cheeks flushed and he smiled. “Yeah. My dad sent them from Palmacosta. They’re special order.”

“Can I see?” Colette held out her hands, and Lloyd fought back the urge to speak up. While she was distracting the others, Genis had taken the opportunity to flee back into the schoolhouse. Lloyd wanted to go comfort him, but he knew Genis’ sister could probably do a better job of both patching him up and comforting him, and his curiosity as to what Colette was trying to do was too strong. 

The bully had handed his glasses over for Colette to examine, and she delightedly put them on, taking a moment to examine her surroundings. Her smile disappeared the longer she looked, however, and she let out a gasp.

“Whoa! These are… they’re not working right! I can’t see anything!” Colette removed the glasses again, looking them over. “Everything was so blurry. I couldn’t see people’s faces or read any of the signs. How can you even do schoolwork with these? I’m worried you could hurt yourself!”

The bully stepped toward her, holding out a hand. “No, see, they don’t work for everyone. They’re a special order for my eyes-”

“You need to get your dad to send them back! Tell him they made a mistake!” Colette held the glasses close to her chest. “I could do it. Maybe they’ll listen to me if I-”

The bully reached over, still vying for the glasses but trying not to touch her. “Everyone’s eyes are different. Glasses that work for my eyes might not work for someone else’s. My glasses are fine, okay?”

Colette’s smile returned in full force, with a look that gave Lloyd an odd, fluttery feeling in his stomach. She handed the glasses back with a nod.

“I get it. Everyone’s body is different. You have special glasses that help your eyes see, and the new kid has a toy that helps his brain focus. Thanks for teaching me about that- I can’t wait to tell the priests at the temple all about it!”

The bully’s face turned pale, as did those of his friends. They sent each other a look and then retreated.

“R-right…” The bully nodded and shot a glare toward Lloyd before running off. “...see ya tomorrow!”

There was a moment of quiet, the sounds of village life filling the space between them. Lloyd could feel his face heating up as he stared at the girl across from him, but she was distracted.

“-where did Genis go? Is he okay? I hope he’s not hurt too bad.”

“...that was really cool,” Lloyd finally spoke, though he processed what she’d said just a moment later. “I mean-! Genis went back into the school building. I’m sure the Professor is probably patching him up.”

“That’s a relief.” Colette sighed. “I still want to check on him, though. He’s so tiny, those guys could’ve really hurt him.”

“I wouldn’t have let that happen,” Lloyd replied, crossing his arms. “Picking on someone who can’t defend themselves is something only cowards do.”

“Is that a Dwarven Vow? You didn’t say it today in class.”

“No, it’s-” Lloyd stopped. “-wait, you were actually listening to those?”

“Of course!” Colette chimed. “They were all such good sayings. I loved all the ones about dogs.” 

“There’s another one I didn’t get to. Dwarven Vow 132, feed a dog for three days and it’ll be grateful for three years.”

“Aw, that’s a good one!” The absolute joy in Colette’s voice made Lloyd briefly forget his concern for Genis, and he had to remind himself of the situation. 

“Why don’t you come back into the school building? I want Genis and Professor Raine to know what you did for him.”

Colette twirled around toward the school. “I didn’t do anything special. It was you who stepped in. I was just thinking about your vows earlier. My favorite was the one toward the beginning… what was it… goodness and love will always win?”

“That one?! But it’s so cheesy-!”

His protest made Colette giggle, and the sound of her laughter sent another pang of emotion through Lloyd’s chest. He didn’t recognize it, but it felt good. No one had taken an interest in the Dwarven vows like that before, not even Genis. And, Colette may not know them all, but from what Lloyd could see, she embodied the heart of them.

He’d never seen anything so beautiful in his life.

[mrsunderhill678]

Oh, shit... Did I write something? Woops, those demons, eh? Always possessing your fingies and making you write.

“I ain't a sinner, ain't a saint, just the result 'a my brother's choice wrapped up in barbed wire and regretful survival, and I wondah, if 'e saw me 'gain, would 'e call me Lazarus? 'E put me down and spected me ta stay, but I ain't da kinda man dat dies so easy.” - Anthony Burningsky

“Lacin' a lie with sugar is da only way ta convince a man ta consume it, mate.” - Anthony Burningsky

“We're all scars, memories and graves, wonderin' a wasteland 'a sin. And I'v found, dat redemption is a small price ta pay when you're wookin' at eternal damnation.” - Anthony Burningsky

“I can't be the only one with a loaded gun, certainties and doubts in every chamber. All I can do is spin the chamber and pray I find certainty and stable ground, but only bullets of doubt and misery pierce my skull and bleed my mind.” - Pryella Burningham

 “I'm looking for the map to hope, cause I heard it's a journey, but here I am, fucking lost. In me, in doubt and everything in between, because I fear that with a family tree this sinful, I'm bound to become the very thing that scares me the most. My father.” - Pryella Burningham

“I fear the forest, yet I hide in it's shade, playing my game of Russian Roulette all on my lonesome. The ground shakes beneath me, as if it wishes to swallow me whole. And perhaps, when the dirt brings me into it's maw, and the grass waves above me, and I stand with no tomorrow, no yesterday and no today, is when I'll be at peace. Because with these memories? With these hauntings of my father's yellow smile? I fear death is my only release, and perhaps Russian Roulette with a fully loaded gun is the only form of rest I'll ever receive.” - Pryella Burningham

“I have reason, the world has madness, but perhaps that is only my perception of it, slaying he who is mad only giving myself madness in return. If you have reason to your madness you're still mad, after all.” - Weston Sardisco

“This is a war of a different kind, and all I require is a six shooter followed by my wit.” - Weston Sardisco

 “I'll lay my hand on the bible and say a prayer for all who lost themselves in the brutality of this world, because I, intend to find them. For I care not who you were, only who you are, and if you see me on the horizon, please, remember, do not bring up your rights, in the midst of all your wrongs. Because one hundred twenty two rights does not make a life time of wrongs, holy.” - Weston Sardisco

“You will sooner find the dirt than my forgiveness, tired sinner.” - Weston Sardisco

“I am a creature of the night, drunk on the light of the moon, dancing under it's harsh glow with the blood of the fallen spilling crimson at my feet.” - Valentin Ogarzia

“Tell me, do you fear the howl or the wolf? The man or the blade? The gun, or the bullet? Or shall you simply fear all? Because I, am a devil, dressed in robes of false silken intentions, but you don't fear the crimson on these robes, for you simply believe them to be threaded embroidery and design.” - Valentin Ogarzia

“I have romanticized the art of murder, and you should fear the man who's built a masterpiece of scarred corpses and slashed throats.” - Valentin Ogarzia

“Beg and plead, wail and confess, every road ends with me. Every life ends with me. I am a moon drunk creature, howling under the blanket of shade and stars, and you should learn, that to fear me, my friend, is a choice, but to die, is not.” - Valentin Ogarzia

“I was born in the shadows of the pine, with the world’s darkness in my mind, wondering how oh how can a man stray from his family tree, when all he could ever do is crawl? But all I did was fall into my own shadow.” - Faustina Cordoba

“If the light from the sun had a choice, it wouldn't shine upon me.” - Faustina Cordoba

“I realized I had to say goodbye to who I was, because that isn’t who I am. Farewell, young man, dapper child, you fought so bravely, but I’ll take the battles from here on out. It's tiring, being who you're not, because you're always actin', and the mask is heavy, cripplin'. So farewell to every past version of myself, you did the best you could, and I'll bleed out for you, if only ta achieve the dreams we've held so dearly but hidden for so long.” - Kadel Smith

“I've spent my life battlin' myself, and though it wasn't 'a war 'a the trenches, or bullets cuttin' the air, it was a war 'a the skin, 'a the mind. As my old pal Duke would say, "It's a daunting task, wrestlin' with oneself," and I suppose I would know the feelin. Cause that's all I's ever done.” - Kadel Smith

“If life is a war, then I've been hit by a dozen bullets, but I'll continue to walk the path with this blood in my lungs and soul, cause though I've spent so long in this world's ugliness, I can still find the beauty all around me. Like the twilight fallin' of snow whilst you're sat with an old friend on two rusted pairs 'a swings. I can find beauty in that, in life, and most importantly, in me.” - Kadel Smith

“To the world, I am cannon fodder, I suppose my purpose is to continue to drop in sprays of red and sorrow, if only for the powerful to charge in leaps and bounds, clapping for all they’ve won, and all we’ve lost. To the powerful, the rich, the world is their home and I'm just an uninvited guest, suppose in a world that doesn't care for the weak, I'll always be God damn trespassing.” - Gabriella Vaxwington

“When I come for you, with my glock, my rage and my mother's eyes, you will see all the fury she hid, you will watch the sky fall and heaven's gates shake like thunder. Cause brother, my mother's up there, with her wings and her pain, and when your blood spills on the dirt, the angels will fuckin' sing, cause my ma weren't meant ta join their ranks by your hand. But you? You're meant to join the devil, by MY, hands, and that, is fate. Or 'ow did you put it? Karma always pays her dues, and I suppose that makes me, karma.” - Gabriella Vaxwington

“Execution, the act of killing a man for a damning transgression, sometimes it takes a guillotine, or a bullet point blank range, but usually, all it takes is a single word.” - Beautler De Niro

“You can get any barking dog to bite if you threaten it's existence or the life of another, and any man in anonymity will commit the egregious deeds they'd never dream of while under the spotlight. All you have to do to put a man under your control is to put him in the dark, take a dog's feeding bowl and he'll bite anyone for a morsel, all but the hand that feeds him.” - Beautler De Niro 

“You give a man half truth and he'll dive through hell to find the other half, even if it means he must burn.” - Beautler De Niro

“I am an untrustworthy man, but anyone will trust a man with a firm handshake and the same opinion as they. Trust is so easy to gain in a world of fools and cheats.” - Beautler De Niro

“All who stand up to me, fall, because they trust too easy and crumble upon the truth revealing who the villain was all along. But I propose to them a single question, if it was you who trusted the man who undid you, then who's hands was it dropping the guillotine's rope? Him, or your falsely placed trust?” - Beautler De Niro

“I do not enjoy the fight nor the battle, and though I end up victorious, it brings grief to he who loses. I would rather not fight, I would much rather offer a helping hand, but life tells me not to. It shoves a rifle in my hand and says, "By God, Bertil, by God, pull the trigger and spare yourself a moment of grief!" But I never can, not when my bullets indirectly harm those I never aimed for.” - Bertil O’Day

“To a paranoid man, every word spoken is a crime against God, and every dead end is a cliff-side. Some men pray, other's drink, me? I sit here, in my little corner 'a nowhere, and I leave well enough alone.” - Theodore Holymann 

“How terrible, to ruin someone's life with your memory.” - Theodore Holymann

“I'm guilty, with cuffs round my wrists and a rope 'round my throat, so oh gravedigger, pull the lever and watch me swing, cause I'm sure as all the air leaves my lungs the last thing I'll hear is a melody 'a cheers for the damned preacher.” - Theodore Holymann

“I'm paranoid, terrified that my past'll catch up to me God damn swingin. And maybe these days, I'd take the hit and drop.” - Theodore Holymann

“Oh heavenly father above, give me salvation or death, either way I rest.” - Theodore Holymann

“Someone took a dagger to this silk heart of mine, and I guess I'm nothing but a torn curtain, these days, only small rays of light passing through me.” Alice Sharenburg

“Who would've imagined, with our Halloween masks and toy guns, that we'd be marching into war? How could it have been, that in all our childhood wonder, we found darkness?” - Alice Sharenburg

“Draw the curtains, kill the fucking lights and let us bow to the crowd. Throw your roses and cheer for the lost boys and girls, but in the end, as the story wraps up in tragedy, just remember.... When the curtains draw, and the lights dim... That's all, folks.” - Alice Sharenburg

“I stand sturdy, smelling of ash and smoke, but zis is no after affect of var. I vas destroyed by no fire of war, but a fire of ze heart, a fire wrought with passion and love. I allowed it to consume me, to burn my whole state of being and make me anew.” - Gregory Kizerfretzen

“Vhen it scares jou to jour very core, and jou feel it in jour heart, zat's vhen you know it's real. Because as long as you haz love, and as long as you haz family, blood, or no blood, var can nezah vin.” - Gregory Kizerfretzen

“Oh fazah, I know I followed ze path jou would never want for me, but I followed in jour blood-stained footprints, and I learned ze same lesson jou did. Ve are all human, even if we stand on ze opposing side.: - Gregory Kizerfretzen

“Someone once told me, that when your demons are silent, listen for your angels. But what do ya do when all ya hear is radio static and your sins echoed in the buzz?” - Octavio Claytor

“I held onto my faith, but I guess I got butterfingers, cause my faith, my sense of self and my love tumbled from my fingers like ash and cinders.” - Octavio Claytor

“God ain't dead, he just damn well ain't here.” - Octavio Claytor

“Only the dead know a glory greater than the gods.” - Alistair Von Alisworth

“A king will always find himself crushed under the weight of his decisions unless he has blood black enough to make them.” - Alistair Von Alisworth

“Stand up to me, try to steal this crown reigning over my head, but all you'll ever find is that the crown was never intended for good men. The crown is for those who can handle it, the crown is for those who will enjoy the lives ended to earn it. I am death, and for all those who rise up, I am here to deliver.” - Alistair Von Alisworth

“Perhaps every church is Eden, there's bound to be shade somewhere between the flowers.” - Alders Holymann

“My heart's been capsized, and it ain't rowing to shore these days. I pray, and I pray for a rowboat, but all God ever gives me is a single broken paddle. What am I to do when all the signs lead to death?” - Alders Holymann

“God, please forgive me for doubting you, I pray and I pray, but the only answer I get are my own thoughts. Is that all a prophet ever hears? I say amen, I say grace, but all I hear is the emptiness in my heart. I fear I never heard God, it was only ever me.” - Alders Holymann

“I wear this cross around my neck and it's become a rope, stealing all my air.” - Alders Holymann

“My lord, my loving father above, I ask one question. Is it better to be crushed under the weight of your trembling faith, or to go forth with no faith at all?” - Alders Holymann

“Rev this motorcycle, and send me spiralin' down the damn highway, cause if I'm meant ta crash, so fuckin' be it. Give me a grave by the road, give me a wreath and a name etched onta wood, so long as I'm underneath the dirt, hearin' the engines roar and the traffic stand still. Cause brother, my whole life's been on the road, 'spose ta me, the revvin' 'a the engine and the screech 'a the wheels is a symphony. My own broke symphony 'a burnin' track and dead ends.” - Alessandro Bones

 “I live life on repeat these days, the same mile, day in, day out. And once I close my eyes, I put my engine in reverse, and wake up at the beginnin' 'a the damn highway, preparin' to rev my engines for a single mile, yet again. I don't trust myself ta go a mile further, I'd have ta face myself, and with all that anger and regret, I'd fear he'd gun me right the fuck down. I deserve it, anyway. But I ain't never had the courage to go careenin' off the side 'a this road. Don't got the courage to die burnin', prayin' ta every God. All I want, is ta die quiet in the night, empty bottle in my hand, nuthin' but a mess 'a blankets and sheets on the damn bed.” - Allesandro Bones

 “I am lost, travelin' the same mile, again, and a God damn gain, cuz it's the only path I can take without resistance. And I fear resistance, cause that means a fight, and that's all I's ever done. Give me no more riots 'a the self, give me no more wars 'a the road, give me peace, or give me death.” - Allesandro Bones

“I've always told myself I was Rumpelstiltskin, spinning hay into gold, but alas, alas, the old crone has fooled himself, and he only spins hay into more hay while Rumpelstiltskin dances and laughs, holding in his arms the old crone once had.” - Peragrin Hufflesburg

 “We've only ever fooled ourselves, it's funny how other's can catch our lies but we can never catch the ones we tell ourselves.” - Peragrin Hufflesburg

“If I had a dollar for every time I prayed and got an honest to God answer, I'd be begging on the fucking streets.” - Peragrin Hufflesburg

“I ask to be forgiven, but why? What would being forgiven do for those I have hurt? Would they look at me and say, "Oh, look at that changed man, his hay has turned to gold and his sin to faith!" Or would they simply pull the trigger?” - Peragrin Hufflesburg

“I sit here with my wheel, spinning all this hay, praying one day, I'll have a pile of gold. But all I ever do is drown in more God damn hay.” - Peragrin Hufflesburg

“We're stars shining in the night sky, lighting up the dark knowing we too, one day will end, we'll implode upon ourselves as stars do. But perhaps, it isn't the end of the journey that matters, but the miles we walk.” - Melinda Myers

“Life can be pain, it can be cruel, but there's strength to be found in that grief.” - Melinda Myers

“I've spent my life surrounded by love, my two sons are the light of my life, they're my stars in the night sky, and I know it's my job to watch over them. To implode before them. But perhaps I'll create a galaxy in my wake, and whenever they look to the sky, and see the stars and the beautiful silence of the night, they'll smile.” - Melinda Myers

“If he's a sinner for loving that man, then let me have a talk with God. Because if someone can look at a love that beautiful, and say, "God condemns you," then they need to realize, they condemn them, God, does not.” - Melinda Myers

“If ever I returned to those I love they would call me changeling, fearing that the fairies had stolen me away in the night and swapped me with an eldritch beast that knew only the vileness of nature. But oh, can't you see? I'm crawling, ever crawling, with broken fingers and battered knees, scraping against the bloodied flowers and roses of all I'll ever be.” - Richard Notorangelo 

 “Legends are realities we forgot, often twisted by those in power so the common folk fear what was never real. Does that make me a myth? Or another victim of it?” - Richard Notorangelo

 “I met evil when I was only a child, and oh, how I wish it hadn't been me.” - Richard Notorangelo

“My daughter, oh my beautiful little girl, if ever I crawl my way out of this garden, this maze of my own lies, throw me back in. For it's what I deserve. Shout at me, throw me to the fairies from whence I came, for I fear I am a changeling, a twisted shadow of myself, vile and cruel, sick and diseased.” - Richard Notorangelo

“I do not deserve death, for that is peace. With all this blood on my hands and these wicked deeds in my memory, I imagine, the single thing I deserve, is life.” - Richard Notorangelo

 “In the end we're all by ourselves, no one follows us into the dark, not even our shadow dares.” - Tricia Jenefine

“I can't remember the intricacies of her smile, the melody of her laugh, or the beat of her heart when I laid my head on her chest. I was hers' and she was mine. Not only do I miss her, I miss the parts of myself that left with her. My heart is a wisp without her, she was supposed to be my eternity, but now life is a curse, without her.” - Tricia Jenefine

“I could have a roof over my head and the rain would still find a way in.” - Tricia Jenefine 

“The only pieces of me that remain are the parts that remember her, and the parts that remember pain.” - Tricia Jenefine

“When the sun forgets to shine on you, and your shadow slinks back to it's kin, all you have is yourself and the memories that once brought smiles, but will only ever bring tears.” - Tricia Jenefine

“I'm the damsel, the dragon and the knight, and some day, I'll burn myself to cinders.” - Priscilla Sage

“I am a witch on the stake and the farmer with a torch, perhaps I too, am the flame. Of hatred, of grief, of pain, no matter what I am made of I still end only in ashes.” - Priscilla Sage

“Perhaps one day, I'll be free of myself, perhaps one day I shall be the raven, soaring through the air, singing my own happy song. And though no one but the sun shall hear me, perhaps she'll smile down at me. If only I could feel the wind rush past me as I leave everything behind. Oh how I would love to be free. But I am a cage, and what can I do when I don't have the key?” - Priscilla Sage

“I am rottin' bark and fallin' leaves, I flutter ta the soil as if it weren't my demise, and oh how I wonder why it is, always am I crushed 'neath the damn boot.” - Levina Rainbolt

“We're all guilty in some way, that's life. We lie, we cheat and we steal, but we love a helluva lot better than we hate.” - Levina Rainbolt

“Perhaps I am rottin' bark and fallin' leaves, perhaps I've been crushed under the boot more times than I can count. But I've found, that whenever I fall ta the soil, someone I love picks me up, and puts me in their favorite story book. Perhaps it ain't bout how many times ya fall, maybe it's bout who picks ya back up everytime.” - Levina Rainbolt

“I will stand at the edge of my doom and leap. From these heights I shall fall until it is my demise I receive, because it's all I deserve.” - Albus Kirk

“I am wrapped and bound in silken secrets and forbidden treasures, speaking from the tongue of a mad man, for only a mad man hides secrets from himself.” - Albus Kirk

“I could compare myself to a beast, I could give you metaphors, I could give you lies. But at the end of the day, I'm human and mad, it's what makes me so ugly and twisted, I suppose.” - Albus Kirk

“My father always told me I was meant for great things, I would build fortunes but all I built was my own misfortune.” - Albus Kirk

“We're trapped in Pandora's box, and perhaps, we're the horror they wish to keep at bay. We're a plague, an illness, but we poison ourselves. This world we live in is quite simply put, Pandora's box, harboring the horror and shade others wish not to deal with. We are the price of tranquility for others, our suffering is the price they paid to forever live in peace. We are the soldiers, we are the sheep walking to the butcher, we are the testing subjects and the victim. We are a price, meant only to be paid. So what can we ever do, but stand at the edge of our doom and leap?” - Albus Kirk

“I am the one who pulls the trigger, the one who knocks on your door and gives you only the gift of death. Peace is a double edged blade, my friend, for with true peace, comes death. And I am simply here to give you, true peace.” - Palazzo Bullet

“Most men live and die in a single day, they stay stagnant, they're a grave before they've ever stopped walking.” - Palazzo Bullet

“You should fear the man dressed in black, who has your grave freshly dug, gun in one hand, bible in the other.” - Palazzo Bullet

“Look up to the sky one last time as the dirt covers you. Pray to the fucking stars. All they'll do is continue to shine, because the world never needed you. Watch from heaven as the sun rises, without you, and watch as it sinks. Because you, aren't important, and the world simply goes on, without you.” - Palazzo Bullet

“So dance, my marionette, twist and spin, avoiding the bullets coming your way. Stay focused on the threat at hand, only to realize you weren't saving your life. You were saving it for me.” - Palazzo Bullet

“You can never stain the river crimson, the stream always runs itself clear. Life goes on, it always does, the sun sinks, the moon rises, but we still have light.” - Jameth Waterbrood

“War does not bring peace, it brings pain. A battle does not make heroes, it makes survivors. The only true thing that can bring peace, is love.” - Jameth Waterbrood

“I intend to live life as if I was meant to, because perhaps, our destiny was never grand, maybe our destiny was never war, or some higher purpose. Perhaps, our destiny was always to simply live, love, and be loved. Because that, no matter what way you put it, is a destiny worth fighting for, a destiny worth laughing for, and a destiny worth living for.” - Jameth Waterbrood

“You can think yourself high and mighty, king 'a the hill and master 'a the crop, but there's always a man willin' ta take you down. Cause there ain't nuthin' mightier than the man who watches the crown tumble from the head of the king but doesn't take the throne. The strongest message 'a all is ta kill a man, and give no reason.” - Justice Hansell

“You, my friend, are the cigarette, I'll crush you under my boot once you've lost my interest. The echoes of wolves echo in my heart, their howls ricochet in my ribcage, I am a beast by heart, and you should fear the man standin' at his own grave. Cause he don't fear death. Which means he don't fuckin' fear you.” - Justice Hansell

“My threats are promises I keep, and I fear if you try ta snag this crown from my head, all you'll find is one 'a my promises ripped inta fruition.” - Justice Hansell

“You can't swim 'gainst my tide, you will drown far before you ever reach the source 'a your damn misery.” - Justice Hansell

“I just want the rights of my corpse, to be free, to be still, to be me, to be me, to be me. But all I've learned, is that a millions scars makes me the man I'm not.” - Rin Otishiro

“My father always said hard work always pays off, good friends never grow old, and good always prosper, and oh how I wish that was true. Because my hard work has led to pain, every good friend I had is a corpse, and the good never prospered.” - Rin Otishiro

“The good ol' days vanish when the bad times come, how can I smile, when every good memory I had, is tainted with the tragic outcome that followed?” - Rin Otishiro

“Why the hell do we fear the dark when all the monsters stand in the light? They don't fucking hide anymore, man. They've come from the shadows and claimed the light.” - Rin Otishiro “I guess I've always lived just between the valley of death and the shadows of my past.” - Rin Otishiro

“You wanna know me? Walk a mile in my shoes, but don't you dare walk two, because you don't want to see what I've been through.” - Rin Otishiro

“The past exists to remind us that we’re not there anymore, we’re here, and that’s what matters.” - Renna Forbes

 “My aunt has always said, she doesn't pick favorites, and maybe that's because in love, there is no favorites. Love doesn't choose who it touches, it doesn't envy those who hold more of it. It just is. It always forgives and it doesn't remember wrongs. It just exists despite the overbearing weight.” - Renna Forbes

“Cut out my heart and serve it on a silver platter for all who wish to choke on its' darkness.” - Mortley Dekruiful

“One day you'll learn there are more miles of darkness than there are stars, just because there is light, does not mean the darkness has not won.” - Mortley Dekruiful

“I am a clown, the lion leaping through the ring of fire, fearing the burns he may receive on his pelt. I, am a man of the circus, a sinner at heart, and though we are all sinners, not many take it to a higher degree.” - Mortley Dekruiful

“I fear myself, no thoughts nor prayers could save me, for if they can't save those I've killed, why should they save me?” - Mortley Dekruiful

“If I were to serve my heart on a silver platter to myself, would I choke and sputter on the shade? Would I finally be able to swallow this darkness within?” - Mortley Dekruiful

“All I can ever do is crawl away from the spotlight whilst it burns my back, and pray that the shade will bring me what little refuge it can. At least it is less blinding, but alas, just as cruel.” - Mortley Dekruiful

“We are our own beasts, and we bow to no man.” - Bortley Dekruiful

"Maybe life is a series of consequences good and bad, or maybe I'm just blind to all the dark. I don't know. All I know, is that we're only human, and placing blame only gets fingers pointed in the wrong damn direction." - Jake Bonefire

"My silence has been a chamber for too long." - Jake Bonefire

"Gods above, witness my blood spill, hear my prayers, for if the afterlife, is a cell, I, am the key." - Starburden Vaganbrok

"All it takes is one bad day, and I intend to give you a year of them in a matter of hours." - Hugo Valritten 

 "They say life is whatever we make it, they pump their fists in the air and cry, "We are in control of our own destinies! We are our own fate!" But then they look men like me in the eye, they laugh in my face and they say, "Get off the tracks, boy. This is a revolution, and you're in our damn way." - Corvo Crinklewick "Da hares wage war against da dogs and ask why dey are losing." Brickylda Hildengarde

"Peace and death are not the same thing." - Gunhild Brokldottir "Ow am I ta be 'eard if my screams sink to da bottom 'a my silence?" - Archie Upperton

"I'm just the same, brother, just because I was a dream, damn well don't mean I can't be a nightmare." - Zafavri Holts

"This is my end, Madusius? I believe you mistook my beginning for my reckoning, my rebellion for my downfall. You're a tyrant, and I suppose I'm the snake that crumbles the Garden of Eden." - Dayvella Ma'Vayar 

“Get away with it? My boy, no one in history has ever gotten away with it! Jack the ripper's name is tarnished, Julius Caesar lies dead with a thousand knife wounds in his back! We're all doomed, creatures vying for a throne no one can ever have. I'm not here, to get away with it. I'm here, to go down in history.” -  Madusius Crudelis 

 "I shoot and stride for the throne, I am the king above kings, the man above God. I, in of myself, am a dynasty, both a relic and the future, an idea, that cannot be killed." - Madusius Crudelis

"You, can crush, my dynasty, but you can never, destroy the idea of it." - Madusius Crudelis

"You can run from your debts, my friend, but you cannot run from me." - Lorcan O'Venefrives

"Nothing good was ever done by force." - Mortley Dekruiful

"They say you are dead to me Rolf, you are dead. But I say, I am alive, I am alive! And isn't that what frightens you?" - Rolf Lambs

"I look inside me, and see a devil's dog, howlin' at the darkest side of his own moon." - Zafavri Holts "The sun ain't gonna rise for you buddy, you just watched it sink one last time only for you to fade along with it." - Eddy Lambs

"We're in the circus, dancing, jerking and twisting away from the spotlight because the shade was always more comforting than the blinding light." - Mortley Dekruiful

"You will face a thousand tragedies before the sun fucking rises, and you ain't lucky enough for your death ta be one of em." - Zafavri Holts

"I, am where myth starts, and legend begins, but you, my friend, are where history starts." - Defforest Van Patten

"Life will hang ya from a tree and call ya three heads taller simply cause your feet are three feet off the damn ground." - Sampson O'Connel "Soldiers? Soldiers?! We're the civilians of a foreign country hiding from the fucking gunfire! But they don't care, brother, they don't FUCKING care! They'll drag us out anyway. To a firing squad, everyone is cattle." - Burasbley Highersman

[in-tua-deep]

So I imagine that the kids eventually find out that their moms gave them up, and as they grow older they each grow angrier and angrier at these people they’ve never met. What if at the end of S1 when they all travel back in time they don’t arrive to a place/time that they’re all at the academy again,what if they somehow arrive in a time/place where they meet their mothers and have to pretend to be complete strangers to these women that they find unforgivable?

HMM honestly I can’t see most of them really being angry? On a big level their mothers just,,, don’t matter to them. They probably didn’t even know mothers were a thing until Grace came into their lives, and by the time they got around to learning about the birds and the bees and knew enough to know that Grace couldn’t exactly have brought them all to term, they already knew they’d been bought

and maybe they were angry at first, but they know their circumstances. Their mothers were seven (or six depending on if you think Luther and Five are twins in the show) women who were exceptionally unprepared for what happened to them. 

Honestly that must have been so incredibly traumatic for all of them, they never consented to that pregnancy. They had to give birth, a process that is incredibly painful, when they had no prior knowledge or preparation mental or physical. They didn’t have a choice whether these children came into their lives, and honestly I don’t blame them for giving up the kids - and frankly having them be adopted by a billionaire? Who clearly has enough resources to take care of this child when perhaps you yourself so not?

The question isn’t why Reginald Hargreeves got so many kids, it’s why he got so few. 

I would however be interested in maybe thinking about an au where one or more of the parents looked at the unveiling of the Umbrella Academy and looked at the seven children knowing that one of those kids was theirs and they just stopped a robbery (the one on the end is covered in blood, and some of the robbers are dead and the kids are little soldiers) and them trying to take some kind of action. Any kind of action. Because she thought her child would be safe and provided for, not… this. 

And maybe it’s not out of place in canon. Maybe it’s an attempt that doesn’t work, because Reginald has access to plenty of lawyers. And the mothers terminated their parental rights. No matter how much they try, they can’t touch those kids.

I don’t know I understand that maybe some of the kids are angry. But I think some just… don’t care. These women aren’t in their lives. They aren’t important. They didn’t ask to have these kids, they didn’t have a choice. I can see at least some of the kids being downright empathetic about that - I mean, wasn’t their whole childhood about not having a choice but to obey Reginald Hargreeves? It might not have even occurred to them until they were older that their mothers even had a choice in giving them up, because Reginald is the ultimate authority in their lives.

There are a lot of reasons to give up a baby, and I refuse to think badly of these women for doing so. Not when they had to go through that. Not with how traumatic it must have been. They did not consent to these pregnancies. They did not ask for a child. They were not prepared for a child. They didn’t spend months bonding with a child growing inside them, didn’t go out to buy little onesies and cribs and toys, they didn’t pore over books of baby names, or have a baby shower, or get congratulations from coworkers and friends and family - they didn’t ask for this. That girl from the start of the show was young. She was shy with a boy that she liked and flirting and having fun, and she wasn’t expecting to give birth on the floor in front of all those people in her life, including the boy she liked. 

So maybe they do go back in time, and there’s one of their mothers. And maybe they are angry at this stranger who didn’t want them. But they look at this young woman who gave birth to one of their numbers, and they see how young she is. See how she smiles and laughs without a care. Maybe she’s still in school. Maybe she isn’t. Maybe she’s working, working hard, she’s passionate about her career. Maybe she already has a family, maybe she has a husband or wife and maybe they already have kids or maybe they don’t. Maybe she’s helping take care of her parents who need assistance. Maybe she’s on her own in a shithole apartment and yeah it’s shitty but it’s hers and she’s out on her own and she’s independent and she worked so hard to get to this points.

My point is, they see their mothers, and they’re incredibly human. These women? They have lives. They have friends. They have family. And maybe they were angry, but they look at these women in their normal regular lives and think - how would I handle it? If I had a baby thrust upon me, right here, right now, with 0 foreknowledge and preparation, would I be able to take care of them? Would I keep them? If a billionaire swooped in and was able to make it all just - go away, wouldn’t I take him up on that?

Honestly I don’t think all of those children were bought. He probably got some of the kids for free, from mothers who weren’t willing to put a price on a baby’s head but were equally relieved to have someone to make it all go away. For this man who is obviously of means who has the funds to take care of a baby. Children are expensive, after all. That day would have been one of the most traumatic of their lives, wouldn’t you want to pretend it didn’t happen?

For this purpose i’m going to say Luther and Five aren’t twins and that there are seven individuals

So yeah, they meet their mothers. They pretend to be strangers and chat to these women. They find out that Luther’s mother is the first in her family to go to college, on a scholarship. She’s got big dreams and even bigger plans for her life. They learn that Diego’s mother is the eldest of four children and she’s very responsible, helping her parents out. She picks up her youngest sister from school and walks her home every day, she helps her siblings with their homework and cooks and cleans when her own parents are too tired to do so. They can barely make ends meet, but they’re close knit and they care about one another. A new mouth to feed on top of all of that would have been a terrible burden to bear (and Reginald’s money could put her siblings through college, she can make sure her parents don’t have to work as hard, that they can have some security, and all it costs is a baby she doesn’t even know). They learn that Allison’s mother is a leader among her peers, confident and social and outgoing. She’s climbing the ranks at work, confident and working hard to prove herself to all the people around her who say she can’t do it. She’s got her whole life ahead of her, and there’s no room in it for a baby. Not yet. Not now, when she has so much to do, so much to work towards. Maybe in the future, but not now when she has so much to lose and no one to help her.

They meet Klaus’s mother, who has clawed out a place for herself in the world with her own two hands. She has no one, she has her apartment and the two jobs she’s working and she’s going to make it no matter what just to prove everyone else wrong. They meet Five’s mother, who ran away from home when she was a kid and she’s putting herself through school going to night classes and working during the day. She runs on just as much spite as Klaus’s mother, but she has people. She’s stubborn and furious at the world, but she loves as furiously as she does anything else. She didn’t run alone, her little brother is with her. He’s in high school and she would sacrifice everything to make sure he has a future. She fought for custody of him, and she won, and she won’t do anything to jeopardize what little stability she has fought to give him.

They meet Ben’s mother, who has someone important in her life. They’re in love, but they have to keep it quiet. She loves her girlfriend, loves every stolen kiss and every moment they hold hands beneath tables. They plan to run away together, they’re saving up and they’re going to get a house together far away from everything that holds them down. They have plans. They barely have enough money scraped together for themselves, let alone a baby. A baby she knows her family won’t love, won’t want to take care of. They barely love her. They meet Vanya’s mother, who is afraid. She knows her family. They won’t love this child, born out of wedlock. She can’t make it on her own. She’s too young. She can’t support herself, let alone a child. She loves her family, she loves them, but they don’t understand her. They’ll take care of this child out of a sense of obligation perhaps, but they won’t love her. (They wouldn’t let her take care of her daughter anyway, would sweep it under the rug, maybe pretend that her daughter was her little sister. She wouldn’t get to raise her daughter, no matter what she chooses. And at least maybe this man, this rich man, wants her - and that’s important)

They meet their mothers, and learn about them, and they know Reginald. It isn’t these women’s fault, they didn’t choose this. They didn’t ask for this. And even if they did spend nine months carrying these children in their bodies, even if they were aware and prepared and knew what they were getting into, that still doesn’t mean that they were required to keep the kids. 

So maybe they are angry, when they arrive. But that anger doesn’t survive contact, because these women are just… people. They’re smart and funny and sarcastic and irritating and passionate and spiteful and they’re so very very human. They have jobs, and families, and friends, and lives. 

The Umbrella Academy arrived on a day like any other, the only remarkable thing was that their mothers weren’t pregnant when the day began. They arrived to a world that wasn’t prepared for them. To mothers who weren’t prepared for them. To mothers who had their own problems, their own reasons. 

And now the Umbrella Academy gets to learn them. 

Gets to see Luther’s mother who’s still in school, who can’t take care of a baby and complete her studies. Maybe she could have, if she was prepared. But she was taken by surprise. Gets to see Diego’s mother swing her and her sister’s hands between them as they walk back from school, hand-me-down clothes and worn out shoes. They’re living paycheck to paycheck, and babies are expensive. Gets to see Allison’s mother, a career woman, who doesn’t have time for a baby and doesn’t want a baby. She has a life, and a plan, and she knows what she wants. 

Gets to see Klaus’s mother, who has clawed out a place for herself and herself alone. She’s supporting herself, she can’t support a baby on top of that. (and it’s not the baby’s fault, but her body was supposed to be hers, and she can’t help but hate what was forced upon her - she didn’t want to have a baby, didn’t want to go through that). Gets to know Five’s mother, who loves her little brother so fiercely and is so terribly proud of him. She worries over him and hangs his report cards on the fridge and neither of them speak about the home they left behind. She puts him first. Her brother comes before a squalling infant she didn’t ask for. They’re finally getting their footing, getting in a good spot. She can’t jeopardize that. She won’t. 

Gets to see Ben’s mother, who is so in love and so ready to leave. A baby would be a chain, tying her down, making her have to stay because she can’t do it alone and she’s in love and their relationship isn’t ready for a baby. Gets to see Vanya’s mother, who is responsible and a member of the community. She swims. She flirts with a cute boy she wants to like her. She figures this baby has the best chance at life away from her, in a home that isn’t hers. She’s a nice girl, she wants to do what’s best, and she believes giving the baby up was the right thing to do.

Maybe they built their mothers up in their minds. These terrible women who would give their child to Reginald Hargreeves. But they didn’t know. They thought the babies would be cared for, why wouldn’t they? 

The moral of this experience, the result of this time travel, is that they learn about the reasons someone can have for giving up a child. They learn that these abstract women in their thoughts are real people, with real lives, who make real mistakes.

They’re not monsters. They’re not evil. They’re frightened people who don’t know what’s happening to them, what’s happened to their bodies. None of them asked for this. None of them knew what was happening. It was painful, and frightening, and it wasn’t their fault.

And the kids have to realize that.

[the-depressed-shiny-buneary]

Contestshipping and How it Happened in my Canon

May and Drew met on similar terms in the anime, Drew being his cocky self and showing off as May was still a newcomer to contests. They soon got on better terms later down the line.

May did have a small crush on Ash, but after he told her that he had a childhood crush on his childhood friend she started squealing, saying how cute it was and how she ships it despite not meeting Serena (as May is known for loving romantic dramas and romantic stories so hearing Ash having a crush on a girl he met when he was little would be enough to make her push away her crush on him.) May did slowly start gaining feelings for Drew once they started getting to know each other better. At some point after they both lost to Ash in the Hoenn Grand Festival (it’s my canon I do what I want, and let’s face it with the creative crap he pulls off in regular battles Ash can be great in contests) May and Drew had a heart to heart.

May: My first Grand Festival, and I lost.

Drew: Hey, don’t get down over this. You did great in your first Grand Festival. I’ll admit I lost my first one too.

May: You did?

Drew: Yeah, I did. I even cried.

May: You, the oh-so-amazing Drew cried?

Drew: Yes, I cried... And...I’m sorry I was a jerk to you when we first met.

May: You are...?

Drew: Yeah, I guess I should have been helping like your boyfriend Ash.

May: Ash is not my boyfriend and he likes someone else. He’s my teacher.

Drew: Right right, anyway....just here. *hands her a rose*

May: Again with the roses. I should start calling you Mister Rose~

Drew: *blushes* Whatever May. Look, I think you’re a great Coordinator and you shouldn’t give up or whatever. Just think of where to go next or something.

May: Where will you go?

Drew: I don’t know, probably Kanto. They have a contest circuit. So, friendly rivals? *sticks his hand out for a handshake*

May: *smiles and takes his hand* Friendly rivals.

After they departed on good terms, they became closer and they both got feelings for each other. After they both lost in the Kanto Grand Festival (Drew lost against May and May lost against Solidad. Solidad lost against Ash, once again I do what I want) this happened.

Drew: Another Grand Festival loss. 

May: Yeah, I lost against Solidad.

Drew: And I lost against someone who I thought wasn’t cut out to be a Coordinator. But you proved me wrong May.

May: I did, didn’t I?

Drew: You should be happy. You won against me and gained my respect. *mutters: And my love.*

May: What was that last part?

Drew: Nothing!

May: Oh, okay.

Drew: *thinks: I should tell her.* There’s something I have to tell you May.

May: What is it Drew?

Drew: Ever since we had that talk back in Hoenn and we became friendly rivals, I started feeling....different about you.

May: What do you mean?

Drew: I mean, *sighs a little* I like you. I like you a lot May.

May: *blushes* Y-You do?

Drew: Yeah, and I was going to travel to Johto after Kanto since it’s close by. I was wondering if you wanted to come with me...If you want.

May: I’ll come with you Drew.

They then became a couple and traveled through Johto to compete in contests. They had gotten married and had their son Daichi, however they had later gotten a divorce.

Before the divorce, May and Drew were a happy couple with a great relationship. Like Dawn and Paul they had their arguments when they were younger, mostly because they had trouble navigating through Johto and had disagreements on which was to go because Drew wanted to get to the next town and May wanted to keep exploring. But they would soon make up and go back to each other before the day ended.

The reason for the divorce was because Drew ended up getting popular and was being blinded by that popularity and ended up staying away from home more often May and Drew got into more serious arguments, sometimes when their son was in the house (when May heard Daichi heard them fighting she sent him to Silver’s house so he wouldn’t have to hear them fighting) and May declared she wanted a divorce and Drew agreed to it. After the divorce and Drew moved back to Hoenn, May has some bitter feelings towards Drew and Drew regrets everything he did, wishing he was at home more often.

When it came to their son Daichi, Drew and May were always teaching him about being a coordinator but Drew was more closer to Daichi which is why Daichi took the divorce so hard and still is as he was five when it happened.

Despite the fact Daichi looks like Drew, May still loves him and fought tooth and nail for custody over Daichi. May loves her son and was always finding ways to cheer him up, cooking his favorite food, setting up days where it was just them, giving him various toys, letting him sleep over at Silver’s house so he can be with his best friend Grey, the list goes on. When dating Harley she was more worried about how Daichi would handle it and would reassure him that nothing will change between them and whatever new baby May will have that’ll be his half sibling.

Overall, Contestshipping had its ups and downs and they did love each other. But it wasn’t meant to last for as long as they thought it would.

[redslilstories]

Hugo

Author: lilyme (aka. redslilstories aka. me ;)) Summary: Early season 13. Arizona realizes that upon moving to New York Sofia had left something... someone important behind. Characters: Arizona Rating:PG Disclaimer:I do not own the characters in this story, nor do I own any rights to the television show "Grey's Anatomy". They were created by Shonda Rhimes and belong to her and the ABC network. No copyright infringement intended! All mistakes are mine. 

It didn't happen right away.

Not on the first night she was back home in Seattle.

Not even on the second or third.

It happened about a week and a half later.

She found herself alone in the house. Deluca being at the hospital as so often.

She walked by the slightly ajar door to Sofia's room, casting a casual glimpse inside. The neatly made bed. The pastel walls and light pink curtains adorned with butterflies. The shelves that still held some of her daughter's favorite books and toys.

And suddenly there it was.

The realization that her daughter was gone. That she was actually living on the other side of the country. That she couldn't just pick her up from school on the days she was scheduled to spend with her. That Sofia wouldn't just come running down the hall and give her a casual hug, her mind already set on going outside to play with their next door neighbors' daughter. That they wouldn't sit together on the couch together in the evenings, cuddled up under a blanket and played one of Sofia's beloved card games or braid each other's hair, as both "girls" loved to do.

She knew this wasn't forever.

Sofia would be spending this year's Christmas this year with her in Seattle. And they had made vows to each other to at least talk on the phone every two days and have long facetime sessions on the weekends. And if needed she could get on the plane and go to New York to be with her.

But the sudden realization that she couldn't just go see her and meet her after a twenty minute car ride to Callie's house... It hit her like a ton of bricks.

Gulping back a sob she nudged the door to her girl's room open and stepped inside.

It just felt surreal. Even though Arizona remembered vividly how this had all happened. The past years that had actually led up to this situation.

Mistakes made on both sides. Love that was not enough to fix them anymore. Hurtful avoidance. Once lovers, now not knowing how to even exist in the same room any longer. New developments. A new love. A decision to start something new.

And a hideous fight for the one thing neither wanted to give up.

They had lost so much already. And neither was willing to make their daughter their biggest loss of all.

In the end the need for happiness had won. And had led them to the only possible compromise.

She knew that Sofia was happy in New York. With Callie and even Penny. She knew that her baby girl was well and loved. And if Sofia needed her, she would always be there.

And Arizona herself... she would eventually get used to this subliminal feeling of loneliness. Already knowing that next year Sofia would be back in Seattle for a long while. Also realizing that, sadly, then Callie would be the one having to deal with this temporary loss.

She knew that Callie would feel no different. Would need time to readjust as well. And she knew that they both would live through this situation and eventually be able to smile again.

But for the moment Arizona just needed to feel it.

She ventured further into the room and sat down on Sofia's bed. Just looking around this very special place in her house that held so many memories of her precious baby girl for her. Of them decorating this room together, of her reading bed time stories to Sofia and sometimes even vice versa once Sofia had started school.

Unexpectedly she caught a glimpse of a flappy long arm peeking out from a shelf near Sofia's closet.

She frowned.

Could it really be...?

She went over to check and soon her suspicions were confirmed.

Surrounded by a few more toys and knickknacks sat Hugo.

Old trusty Hugo.

A plush monkey. Terribly worn because he really was... well,old.

The monkey had been Callie's from early on. She had once told Arizona that her parents had given it to her on her third birthday. And it had been her loyal companion throughout the years. Her friend and cuddle buddy.

Then when they had become a couple, the monkey had been theirs. Always having a spot on their bed. His duties never changing; always the proverbial cuddle monkey.

And when Sofia had been born, he had at some point found his way into their daughter's room. Receiving just as much as love and attention than her mothers had already bestowed on him.

She picked the plushie up, stroking the head, scraggly and worn from years … decades … of caresses and cuddles, his arms and legs already surgically worked on, since the seams had loosened over time. The monkey had a faint smell of memories and childhood. Of tears and joy. Of love.

Should she send him to New York? Would Sofia miss him once she noticed she hadn't brought him with her? Would Callie be wondering where her childhood friend had gone?

Arizona fought with herself for a moment. Before she decided to be a little selfish for now.

Hugo would stay here with her for the time being.

He was her link to Sofia.

To Callie even.

To the life they once shared as a family. As lovers.

To memories forever held dear.

He was a sign for her. No matter how far away her loved ones were, there was a part of them that stayed with her.

END

A/N: Just a little idea that came to mind while rewatching season 2 and noticing the monkey in Callie’s basement hideout in the hospital ;)

[hide-the-cutlery]

It’s one of those stupid nights where I keep checking my phone, just hoping to see something from someone.

I’m lonely. The kind of lonely that digs at your insides.

I had a really vivid dream about my ex last night. I was in a car with I think (?) his actual girlfriend/fiancée/wife, and his mom was there, talking to us. She was talking about him finishing his high school diploma (he graduated irl, with me, actually, but I didn’t know him at the time...) and then start college. And, as it always is in these dreams, he’s not with me, and I’m trying to get him to talk or listen to me, because I’m desperately telling him he’s with the wrong girl... that it’s me, not her (whoever she might be).

In this dream, I spoke to her. I asked if they’d ever broken up, and she said yes. I asked why, and she said because of some other woman, and I asked “Nicole?” And she said yes! I laughed. A big, ugly, fake, “I knew it!”, sucks for you, laugh. I don’t remember what really happened after that. I did have sleep paralysis in either that dream or another one later in the afternoon. I slept a lot today. Sleep paralysis is terrifying. I kept trying to move and thinking I did move, only to realize I was actually still frozen. I even tried to yell for someone to come wake me, but I think only a nonsense muffle came out, if anything. The strange part was I trying to get my vibrator (which hasn’t seen any action in like 2+ years) and a toy I don’t even have anymore. Finally, I woke up. I tend to have sleep paralysis when I take naps. And sexual dreams. Fun fact: I have orgasms in my sleep. And believe me, they’re very real. I guess I at least get some tension out that way, because I don’t even try anymore. To touch on an entry I think I started yesterday, the last time I actually enjoyed sex (besides when I was with a woman) was my ex, who shares a name with one of my celebrity crushes. He’s most known for playing a certain “villain” in a very popular space saga, but he is a phenomenal actor in everything I’ve seen from him. (It’s Adam Driver 🙄)

Anyways, (my) Adam was special, but I was too deep in my disease to see it. Well, I did see it, I just didn’t know what to do with it. He was on pills, and I was drinking heavily. We both were. I used to be floored with how fast he’d go through bottles of Percocet and Soma, along with alcohol, when now I go through my meds just as fast. He loved nature and was a very emotional person. I’ve never seen a guy cry so much, but it was okay. I liked how vulnerable and open he could be. When I was sad, he’d play his guitar and sing to me. I miss that — a lot. He wanted to go off and live in a commune, and I wanted to be a doctor with a nice house with a “white picket fence”, all that. We both couldn’t see the merit in each other’s visions. I’d take off with him to a commune right now if I could. I think of messaging him all the time, but I’m too shy. I check every so often to see if he’s still on my Facebook. (He is.) Funny I worry about interacting with someone I once shared such an intimate bond with.

I got into it with my family again. I tried to have a conversation with them regarding how difficult it will be to get a job with all that’s going on. It was supposed to be just a neutral thing, but it blew up, like always. They don’t understand how my poor mental health is impairing my general functioning. I don’t understand why my mental health is impairing me so much. I don’t know what’s going on with me, but I’m getting tired of it. I need more help than I’m getting. I tried to get more help than I’m getting, and it didn’t work out. It was no fault of my own.. last year I was supposed to spend a few weeks in an inpatient facility, and I got accepted, but my insurance wouldn’t cover it because I hadn’t been hospitalized recently enough. I could get myself hospitalized, easily, but I feel like that’s a bad idea and I should avoid that. But I wouldn’t have to tell a single lie to get baker acted.

Q: Do you think about hurting yourself or other people?

-I did last week.

Q: Do you think about suicide?

-Constantly.

Q: Do you want to kill yourself?

-I don’t know. I’m just so tired. Things aren’t working out in this life, and since I got sober, I can’t think of a single thing that makes this miserable existence worth it (besides my cats, and their lives aren’t good because I can’t give them something better). Maybe what comes after this is better. I like to think our spirits are working their way through the Universe. Sometimes I’m ready to just say “okay, this one (existence) sucks — NEXT.”

Who knows — maybe something good would come of it. I met Adam in a hospital, in the psych ward, after we’d both been baker acted. They gave me Remeron to sleep, and it made my legs give out. I crawled out of my room to get a nurse, and he was sitting in a red, comfy chair outside my doorway. He helped me get off the floor and got me a nurse. He waited with me while me and the nurses waited to hear back from the on-call doctor. We were both really drugged, and he talked to me about books. I think he was telling me he was really into Lewis Carroll. I’d read Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland at least, so I didn’t look that stupid. He would get the vegetarian meals (I can’t recall if I did, too), and we’d make fun of them. I remember when I got discharged and my dad came to get me, we were leaving, and I saw him on my way out. He had elected to stay a few days extra, but we hugged and swapped numbers. About a month later, I sent him a text, and within a few weeks, we hung out a few times, and had one crazy night together that I don’t think either of us expected, but we definitely wanted it. Then we got separated for a while, but stayed in contact — phone calls and letters. I loved his letters. He’d adorn them with lyrics and doodles, just like I do. I kept them all. What a sweet guy. God, I’m so tempted right now. Just to say “hi there, I wonder how you’re doing (a lot? Frequently? From time to time? Occasionally?), and I hope it’s well.” Why can’t I just say that? Ugh, I’m such a pussy.

Anyway, my parents and I fought again. My dad did acknowledge that I have health problems, but I know he thinks I’m making too much of them or is in complete denial. My mother just doesn’t get it. She twists my words and tries to make me sound nasty, condescending, lazy, etc... I asked my dad how old I was when they realized I wasn’t “right”, and he kinda dodged the question, saying he never really thought I wasn’t “right”. I’ve been talking to a friend a lot lately, one of the only people who understands me. She seems to think I might be a survivor of childhood (sexual?) abuse, because she is herself, and says comparing my behavior and demeanor to hers and other abuse survivors, I just scream TRAUMA. I brushed it off at first, but I’m realizing some things, like my lack of memories as a child and the fear I felt as a child that I still carry with me today. I guess there’s more, like the way I respond to people, my anxiety, “The Third” part of me, how I disassociate at times, my rampant addictions... the list goes on. Maybe she’s on to something, or maybe she’s planting falsities in my already crooked mind. I do know she’s brought me to a very unique state two or three times now, where it’s like I’m having terrifying epiphanies. Why can’t my therapists work that hard at cracking me?

I don’t think I’ve written about “The Third” yet — not by name at least. The Third is the part of me that separates itself from the rest of me (I imagine it to hover over my right shoulder) that talks to me in stressful situations. It’s typically always criticism of my behavior or accusing me of lying. “Shut up! You know that’s not true! They don’t care! You sound stupid! Why the fuck did you say that?! You’re an idiot! Tell the truth! Tell the fucking truth!” At first he didn’t have a name, but I guess he and I came up with “The Third” together, because people are typically two things: mind and body. This is a third extension of me. Maybe everyone has a part of them hovering over them, smashing their nose in the dirt, or maybe not. I tried to tell my psychiatrist about him, but he was pretty dismissive. He did, however, change up all my meds again. He put me on something he said he’s seen work well for people who are having mixed episodes of bipolar disorder. I’ve never been diagnosed with bipolar disorder, although my last therapist (who told me I had BPD) said she “wasn’t sure” I didn’t have it. I don’t think I have it. I’ve had some manic spells, for sure, and I guess I do have depression, even though I don’t like to admit it. For some reason, I’m not okay with the thought of just having depression. I feel like my symptoms are too much for just having MDD. I’ve been on practically every SSRI on the market, and I just don’t respond to them. He’s dropped the phrase “treatment-resistant depression”, but I think it’s more likely that I’m being misdiagnosed. My big problems are my bizarre thinking, anxiety, and panic attacks, not depression. The things that make me sad are situational. I know situational depression can turn into clinical depression quickly, but I still don’t consider it what I most importantly need help with.

In other news, we acquired Tom Brady, and Biden won FL. For shame.