#rumiiprompts | writings

[themidnightzoneandback]

A scapegoat, I will be

Synopsis: Set during chapter 119. Practically on the run from Guren and the Shinoa Squad, Mikaela confesses to have still not gotten over his guilt.

(Muse A holds Muse B closely to help them wind down after a stressful day/event.)

Pairing: Yuichiro Hyakuya x Mikaela Hyakuya (Mikayuu)

———————-

“It’s my fault that the kids are dead, it’s my fault. We wouldn’t be stuck in this mess if it weren’t for me.”

He meant the resurrection process, of course.

Yuu wouldn’t have had to choose between him and the children from the orphanage they grew up in if it weren’t for him.

It was a blurt that came out of the blue, enough to make the black-haired boy beside him turn his head to give him a glance.

They had just outrun Guren along with the rest of the Shinoa Squad moments ago, and now they were both sitting atop the highest point of the Tokyo Tower.

It was surprisingly peaceful up there; it was the one place where the world weren’t privy to their thoughts. The sun was out and the skies were a beautiful bright blue — so why must on this day, two teenagers be compelled to make such a do-or-die decision?

“No it wasn’t, Mika. We all didn’t know that the plan wouldn’t work.” Yuu responded, a frown now replacing the relieved smile he had after managing to climb all the way up.

The demon placed his hands over his face, as if burying his eyes from the world.

He began to tremble here and there, his eyes watering and his sight becoming glassy. “I regret it...I regret it...I should be blamed for everything that happened, why don’t you blame me?” He whispered in a whimper.

It was barely audible; like Mika was suppressing his own words because he knew that Yuu would’ve worried about him day till night — but deep down, this scenario played in his mind time and time again.

The children.

Sanguinem.

The map.

The gun.

And then blood, so much blood.

The screams of agony and terror had never left his mind; the memories of Akane and the little ones all dashing for the exit.

Then that man appears and muddies his thoughts — that ruthless unforgivable monster — killed them.

And it was all his fault, because he was the one who made the plan to escape that night.

Finding a scapegoat was beyond them, and it should be, because there was no one else to blame aside from him. He should be blamed for their deaths, and him only.

Mika was snapped out of his thoughts when he felt himself leaning towards the left; where Yuu had been sitting. His head was rested on Yuu’s shoulder and he almost let his tears flow down here and there, because he felt a familiar warmth, one that he yearns for every day of his life.

Holding Mika close to him, one of his hands protecting the back of his head gently, “I could never blame you for something that was out of your control, Mika.” Yuu whispered back, it was tender yet so loathsome to hear at the same time.

How can he be so forgiving?

Why is his heart so kind?

Time and time again, he feels like he doesn’t deserve a person like Yuu.

But, each moment that he spends with him, he gets reminded of how lucky he is to still be here, not exactly alive but — to be with Yuu.

And Yuu doesn’t hate him, he can never hate him. Mika sighed, giving in to the boy’s embrace.

He reluctantly wrapped his arms around Yuu as well, holding him just as gently. “How can you always be so positive all the time, do you not see the situation we’re in?” He continued.

The boy leaned back a little, allowing the blonde-haired demon to sink deeper into his loving embrace. “‘Course, I do!” He exclaims, the seemingly goofy demeanour coming back.

Then, it dropped once more again and Yuu let a bitter look appear in the hollow of his eyes. “But, I’m not positive all the time, Mika, I often hide what I really feel behind a smile, ya know?” He tells the blonde-haired demon by his side. “I don’t want the others to worry about me.”

There was a minute of silence between them, none of them were speaking. It didn’t reassure the blonde boy at all that, the person he cared for the most in this world, was saying such a thing.

Of course, he’d worry for him just as much as Yuu worried for him. Maybe, he worried a bit more — or even, a little too much.

But, he’ll never admit that out loud.

“Well, you shouldn’t, Yuu-chan.” Mika tells him, tightening his grip around the boy a little more.

Then, as if his cheeks began to burn a little, “I’m worried about you.” He whispered into the cloth of Yuu’s uniform.

Being in Yuu’s arms and telling him how much he cares and worries about him made Mikaela feel a blast of emotions he couldn’t exactly describe; it’s been years since his humanity had been taken from him, what are these human emotions doing here?

“Really, you don’t hafta worry about me. I’m really okay, I promise.” He ran his fingers along the back of the boy’s head, intertwining his fingers with the blonde locks of hair. “But, I’m here for you, Mika. I’m always going to be, and if you try to stop me then...I won’t let you because I’m not letting you go and be alone again!”

A chuckle escaped the demon’s lips, and he felt his heart become heavy with love for the boy.

“Yuu-chan..”

And the two stayed there for a moment; wrapped into each other’s arms and not minding for the meantime that Guren and the Shinoa squad were out looking for them — they’ll deal with excuses for running off later, but of course, they’ll do it together.

[themidnightzoneandback]

It’s too late

Synopsis: The belief that she could rip his throat apart in a second was the main source of her arrogance. She upheld the reputation of the fearsome bloody Queen that twirled around her enemies and lopped their heads off.

(An alternative ending to chapter 41: “Arrogant Love”)

Pairing: Ferid Bathory x Krul Tepes (Ferikrul)

—————-

In this moment, anyone could’ve felt their lungs be choked with the scent of ashes and dread as the blood-stricken skies were falling down on this poor dystopian country.

It had been reduced into a battlefield in less than an hour for both human and vampirekind.

It was a difficult sight to bear, an utter catastrophe for both sides of this war, including the poor residents living nearby.

Their buildings have been borrowed for close-quarter encounters and then destroyed when everyone was finished using them.

The fog caused by said battles made it harder for everyone to navigate through; the brave soldiers’ eyes watered as they tried to push through to safety.

There were often surprises that waited for them on the horizon, a blade coloured of either bloody red or luminescent green. What it does? Well, the conflict ended rather one-sided.

Being so foolish thinking that she could escape the site so easily, she had been stopped in her tracks by a red and black-braided warrior — his sharp glance with the intention to harm her.

Her impressive display of strength stopped him before he could even raise his weapon at her, the tiny Queen of Japan had cut his arm off as easily as snipping a ribbon short.

Naturally, for the Queen, combat was like chess. It was a game she was knew how to play yet showed hesitance to start it. Regardless, she looked at Crowley with a flicker of annoyance. The belief that she could rip his throat apart in a second was the main source of her arrogance. She upheld the reputation of the fearsome bloody Queen that twirled around her enemies and lopped their heads off.

It looked like she had been dancing in that moment, by the way she gracefully landed on Crowley Eusford’s shoulder, making sure to dig the heel of her stilettos deep and make him whimper. She then gripped his head right after.

Her eyes displayed an unpleasant expression, she did not like that attempt of his of a secret attack. Pathetic.

Beneath such a look, there was very subtle mockery lurking; did he really believe he could stop a third progenitor of all vampires?

She had snapped his head in half the next second, not bothering with applying effort in her hold. She jumped back down, with the same grace as earlier, watching as her target fell immobile on the ground.

She didn’t watch her back.

Too proud of stopping the thirteenth progenitor, she allowed herself to be caught in the fangs of Ferid Bathory, the menace to her Queenship.

“My Queen, you’ve panicked.” The silver-haired progenitor snickered at her, landing behind his now-captured Queen. “You’ve left your beautiful neck wide open.” He didn’t hesitate to sink his fangs in her shoulder’s skin one single bit.

It was a dish served to him on a silver platter.

Eyes struck open in surprise, the vampiress hissed for freedom.

“W-Wait, Ferid Bathory..” she raised a hand of hers to pry his face away from her shoulder. “We can m-make a deal..”

She didn’t resort to pleading often, especially not to a mongrel like him, but what other choice did she have in order to get away from this situation?

It was if her words didn’t belong to her, she never wanted this to fall upon her. She never wanted to beg to the likes of Ferid Bathory.

But she had to. If she wanted to live.

They both knew how this situation could have been avoided. It was merely the consequence of meddling with the divinity and the unknown, Ferid knew her secrets.

As spite, the man clenched her skin between his fangs a little tighter. More blood sept out from the wound and to Krul, it felt much more painful than a pinch now, it was excruciating.

The Queen let out a groan of discomfort at the feeling. She was in trouble this time, she couldn’t move, she was back-bound against his fangs.

He had been drinking her blood so quickly, she began to feel faint. She could barely make out the colour of the skies, red, pink, black?

Her vision made it impossible to see it dearly.

And so, she discovered a grim realization.

“F-Ferid wait...y-you’re killing me..” she whispered out to the progenitor, aware that it was now useless — he continued to drink from her shoulder regardless, eventually, drinking her dry.

Ferid felt her fall limp in his hold and he held back a bittersweet smile. He pulled his fangs away from her shoulder and wiped his mouth with a single finger.

“It had to be done...” he whispered to the fallen Queen of Japan. He knew that talking was useless now. He had killed her; all for the reward and recognition he’d receive by the progenitor council.

All for the sake of advancing forward with his plans.

But even at such a victory, there was anything aside from happiness that washed over him.

He killed her in cold blood.

“I loved you...I loved you so so much...don’t think I don’t know that, I wish you did too.”

He inhaled sharply, still holding on tightly to the corpse of the former Queen of Japan. The royal title now belonged to him but frankly, Ferid didn’t genuinely want it.

“Why did you have to break the laws, Krul?”

His head lowers in shame, pressing down onto Krul’s shoulders, the tears never stopping from trailing down his pale cheeks.

It was unusual for a vampire to cry, but after this, it was all Ferid felt like doing.

[themidnightzoneandback]

A helping hand

Synopsis: When scouting out territories to plan their coup against the humans, the vampires encounter a rather inconvenient hill side.

(Muse A rests one hand on muse B’s back and holds out the other for muse B to hold to help them climb up/down something.)

Pairing: Ferid Bathory & Krul Tepes (Ferikrul) (Can be read either platonic or romantic)

————————

“We will set position down that hill.”

“Yes, Queen Krul.”

Having arrived just in time to see the sun go down, Krul peered out from behind the tree along with a handful of soldiers she had brought with her from Sanguinem.

One of said soldiers was the bothersome Seventh progenitor, Ferid Bathory. The loss of light in a couple of minutes was none of her concern, if anything, it’d be better if they set up everything when the humans were most likely asleep.

Her kind allowed them to stay awake for eternity, not because they want to, but because they don’t require the necessity to sleep anymore ever since they gave up their humanities to become a blood-thirsty monster — but ultimately, a species stronger than humans.

When seeing her conflicted expression at the edge of the hill, Ferid walked over to her. “Allow me, Krul.” He dramatically bowed at her feet, offering himself to go down the hill first, checking to see if there was any danger waiting for them at the bottom.

Not that, it’d be any problem to vampires, again, but there was something amusing to pretending to be worried of such a foolish human scenario. Ferid particularly enjoyed that.

“You may go. But don’t try anything funny.” She permitted herself to give him approval, but in a tone so serious that Ferid knew she didn’t trust him on keeping that promise — and of course, he wouldn’t!

He’s Ferid flipping Bathory!

Ferid instantly retorted with lovingly mocking eyes. “And why would I do that?~” he challenged in a sing-song tone. “I’d never try anything under your watch, Krul.”

Watching the Queen roll her eyes at his remark, his lips part on their own to laugh. He figures that he should get on with what he was assigned to do as standing there for much longer would get him grilled and cut in pieces for serving.

He walked over the edge of the hill and immediately spotted a pile of rocks sticking out. He could use them to get down.

He didn’t play careful at all, not with an audience around. He’d do anything to catch a reaction from Krul, whether it was a flinch when he almost slipped or a shout of his name when he almost lets go of the rocks.

Ah, but he dreams too much, Krul would never do the latter. But, that’s what made everything with her so fun sometimes. Intentionally losing his step and complaining: “Oh whoopsies, I think I almost slipped…” He was baffled to see that his drama wasn’t working at all; Krul was not reacting to him, and Ferid hated being ignored.

He tried and tried again to cause a scene; yelling out in mockingly pain when his nails intentionally crushed the rock when he grabbed on, or when he felt the strength in his bones leave his arms.

But by the time he was down the hill, Ferid didn’t receive the merest of congratulations from his Queen. No “Thank you’s” or “Thank you for going first, Ferid.”

Of course she’d never say that to him, of course that vile greedy woman would never.

“A fine position to plan our coup.” Ferid observed with a satisfied nod. He then immediately looked back up to face the top of the hill where the tiny Vampire Queen and the rest of the soldiers stood.

At her height, those gigantic rocks will sure cause a problem to her getting down — but oh, who was he kidding?

He was perfectly aware that the Queen could get down on her own, but irritating her with a remark here and there was one of his favourite pastimes in this prolonged lifetime. “Oh, does her majesty perhaps need help getting down?”

Abruptly stopping mid-step and thus clinging her nails onto the rocks, Krul jerked her head back and hissed at the man for what he proposed.

“Quiet. I can do it myself.” She snapped back before attempting to climb back down the rocks, definitely slower than he had.

He obviously didn’t buy it one single bit, because his next move was to do something that would deeply frustrate her.

“Clearly not! Here, let me help you~!”

The silver-haired progenitor gleefully walked over to his Queen, and placed a gloved hand on her back.

He could feel the small vampiress tense at his touch, and Ferid couldn’t hold back a smirk.

The fact that his hand was on her back was making her — a third progenitor — on edge.

What an accomplishment that was!

“Don’t touch me.”

Within a few seconds of Ferid placing his hand behind her back, Krul shot him scowl. But Ferid was unphased by such a look, if anything, it threw him in an adrenaline haze.

He loved to cause trouble, anything to feel close to any form of emotion that wasn’t safety. That’s why he loved tampering with the authority heads so much, his particular favourites being the Queen of Japan and King of Germany.

He let go of her back and stepped away from her a little, waiting for her next command.

But, he’d never give her up, so easily!

“If you’d like, I can keep my hand on your—“

He didn’t get to finish, for he felt a surge of pain lodging his left arm. When the vampire glanced down to have a look as to what caused the sudden pain, he let out an “Ah” of acknowledgement when he spotted no hand there. Instead, there was an overflow of blood.

The Queen was happily walking away from him now, leaving his dismembered hand that she cut off, in the grass.

“Ahaha.” Ferid let out a purr of laughter, leaning down to pick up his hand. “You mustn’t be so serious all the time, my Queen!“

He could’ve sworn that for a split second he saw an unamused glare appear on the little vampire’s face before she turned around and began walking out further into their ruined world, she didn’t know that after this day, she’d be outside more often.

But, not for the reasons she believes.

[themidnightzoneandback]

You have entered the midnight zone...

Hi, welcome to this blog! This is where I will keep all of the writings that I have written, whether they were requests on my main or alternative blogs. This blog will be multi-fandom, therefore it won’t be centred around one specific fandom only.

BYI/BYF: Asks will be off on this account as this is mainly to publish the works I’ve written. If you want to talk or request something, please send things over to my main.

DNI: Anything in the basic DNI criteria, if you kin/have an IRL of Krul Tepes from ONS, if you ship Mikakrul from Owari no seraph. If you ship Ruta Skadi and Asriel Belacqua from His dark materials. If you ship any of the ninja with Lloyd.

Will write: Character x Character, OC x character(mutuals only), Angst, Fluff, *Some* AUS.

Will not write: Huge age gaps, Incest, Pedophilia/etc, X readers, Smut, Headcanons(I will write you a prompt based off the HC, but I won’t accept requests asking for hcs about a specific character)

My main, in case you’re curious or want to request something(check the fandom list)! @raspberryrumii

[themidnightzoneandback]

Botanical Blues

Synopsis: Agreeing to meet every summer in the botanical gardens of Oxford, Will and Lyra share what they’ve been up to in the past year to one another.

(Hdm yuletide 2021 day 2: Favourite place — Botanical gardens)

Pairing: Lyra Silvertongue x William Parry (Silverparry)

——————-

It was on the balmy days of late summer that two frequent visitors arrived, the time being midday. A boy and his dæmon, mistaken for a house pet, came to a certain spot in the entire clearing, one that was very special to the both of them, a wooden bench under a large oak that always welcomed them with open arms. It was under mellow skies that the boy found himself taking in the familiar scent of the botanical gardens that he adores. There was an array of foliage from high trees that blanketed them all here in nature’s palms and there were beds of a million flowers that the boy couldn't begin to name, on display to the public.

His name was William Parry. His dæmon was Kirjava, a cat that held her tail up as high as the sun.

Each time they’ve walked through this place, it felt like they were trespassing into a lost paradise of some sorts. It was as if nothing but happiness could be shared among this safe space. But with his eyes shining against the yellow shine of the sunflowers, his skin complimenting the bearded irises and his lips as tender as the petals of lavenders, he knows that today is the only day in the entire year that he’ll intoxicate this garden whole.

“Can you smell that?” His dæmon asks him, following him down the path of the garden.

The boy held his tongue for a second, he heard of many names of all different kinds of flowers pop up in his mind. But alas, he only settled with the three he felt most familiar with. “Roses, lilies, carnations, there's so many scents all blended together, it’s hard to tell.” He replies to his companion.

The cat purred. “That’s what I smell too.” She agrees with him in contemptment. They were one, if that’s what he smelled, she smelled it too.

“Well, she’s probably already here. Come on, Kirjava.” He strolled away from his cat-shaped dæmon, knowing very well that she would follow him despite their ability to separate from one another. Kirjava padded quietly behind him, keeping at a slow pace to take in the scenery of this place that they only return to once per year, it never fails to amaze the both of them.

He took a seat down on the bench, keeping to the right side as he always did each time he came here. Before they said goodbye to each other for the last time, this is where he had sat down meanwhile Lyra was on the left. The two of them knew very well that they would memorize the seating, they would memorize anything to keep the scene as it was two years ago.

“Hi, Lyra, how are you?” He goes silent and he nervously glances down to look at his dæmon, who was sitting by his feet. It happens every year that he’s no longer surprised at the accidental and reoccurring tradition. He pauses because he couldn't physically see Lyra, and he knew how strange it was to be talking to thin air. But both he and his dæmon knew that she and Pantalaimon were listening to him on the other side of this bench. The cat tilted her head to the side, giving him a look that said: ‘Well, speak?’

The boy nodded to himself and even with no one around, he continued to talk nonetheless like he really was talking to someone.

“I’m doing fine, in case you responded already, high school has kept me busy, how is school in your world?” Again, another pause for her to respond and when Will felt it was long enough, he picked back up. His mind lit up with information that he nearly forgot, he just had to tell her. “Did I ever tell you that I’m studying to become a doctor?” He stifled a laugh to ease the silence, he could hear Lyra’s shocked gasps and encouraging words beside him, even if he was probably only imagining them, it was a nice thought. “Yeah, my mum’s been very proud of me, she always has been. She tells me my dad would be too if he were still here.”

It was thanks to her that he even got the chance to meet his real father, even if it was only for a couple of seconds. He’s never been so thankful. He’s thankful of their adventures and her leading him to the subtle knife in the world of the Specters.

“Lyra,” he says absentmindedly for a second. He didn’t know what caused the sudden defocus, was it hesitation? He did want her to know something that happened a few days ago, but he wasn’t sure if on the other side of the bench, she would be as delighted as he was.

He shakes his head and takes a deep breath. It was foolish thinking and he felt for a second like he was making decisions for Lyra. She wasn’t imaginary, she was very much real and she was listening to him on the other side of this bench.

He couldn’t lie to her about this, he and his dæmon knew it. He had a feeling that deep down, he was overthinking things. Lyra would be proud of him for coming this far, so he saw no reason to hide from her. He sighs, bringing his hands to his knees. “I made some new friends at school recently.” He stared at the ground as he spoke. “We found out we had similar interests and they’ve treated me very kindly. I decided to be more open and this is where it led me. I’m very happy with how far I’ve gone.”

The pause didn’t go on for long because Will’s face suddenly lurched with indistinguishable panic, he could picture Lyra’s envious frown from the other side of the bench looking right at him. His heart dropped.

Picking himself up from fumbling over his words, he cleared his throat and shook his head in distress at where she sat. “But I want you to know that no one’s ever going to replace you, you’re my very best friend.” His pulse began to calm when he reassured her that she will always be the one for him, and his shoulders eased at that. “There’s no one else that I’m ever going to cross worlds with, meet in Cittagáze, and I cannot imagine anyone else believing in me as much as you have. Nor would I want there to be.”

He admitted to her, a smile creeping back on his lips — he was realizing that as he spoke about their days together, how much he missed spending time with her and how much he missed talking with her face to face.

Will knew that he had nothing more to say to her, his life went on as ordinary as ever. Even if he did, he had a feeling that a topic about the traffic jams, the latest models for telephones and the gain of popularity of new industries was of no interest to her. So the boy said his final words with a bitter smile, “I love you, always. I never stopped loving you.” He reminded her at the end of these talks, that he will always, always, love her.

His heart beats with tears at the memory that she was away, everyday. It continues to beat for her, and only her.

Nobody from his friend group can even remotely begin to become a replacement to Lyra Silvertongue, no matter how close Will was with them. Lyra will always be Lyra, his Lyra. Oh, help him, if she ever doubted him one day. He wouldn’t bear it.

Glancing back down his dæmon, Will chuckled and he raised his head back up as if he forgot to say something else to her. “Say hi to Pantalaimon for me.” He tells her. He couldn’t help but watch with a glimmer of a snicker how Kirjava’s eyes lit up at the mention of the pine marten’s name, she missed him too.

——————-

In another world, one that was very far away and exceptionally different from Will’s, there was a young adolescent that sat on the left side of the very same bench. She lowered a hand to lay beside her leg, her fingers clutching the wood loosely, as if she was holding onto something — onto someone else's hand.

Her name was Lyra Silvertongue, and beside her was Pantalaimon.

The two of them stayed silent, focusing on the chirps of songbirds and the wind bristled through her hair, carrying the fragrance of many different flowers that Lyra could barely tell apart. “Sunflowers, poppies and orchids.” She whispered with a small smile , loud enough for her friend to hear.

“Wrong. It’s roses, lilies and carnations.” corrected Pan, who sat at the head of the bench. His muzzle shoved a few strands of her hair away from her cheeks.

Lyra couldn't help but give an amused grin, “How do you know?” she asks her dæmon softly, her eyes shining — but still latched on to the deep sadness that has never left her heart since all gateways between worlds have closed forever.

There was still a hope in her, about the size of a candle’s light, that she would be able to cross worlds and see Will again one day. But as short summer mornings leave and long winter nights take over, the flame dies down, leaving her as cold as she was when she first arrived in the North.

Pantalaimon simply looked up at the milky blue skies, “I just do.” Lyra didn’t have the need to question her dæmon further, she trusted his word, she always will.

The two fell into a brief silence, taking the time to enjoy their surroundings. She was looking at thorned rose bushes and her heart felt a surge at the irony that those were the first plants she laid eyes on. She moves her head to look at flowers that matched with her hair locks, casting as golden in the sun’s light. Then, Lyra finally spoke, accompanied with a little laugh. She hid it with everything she could muster, but Pan knew all too well that it was a laugh of sorrow.

“It’s been two years since I last saw you in person,” the girl breathed out quietly, her tiny smile from the short laugh beginning to fall from her lips. She never stopped coming here, every year, during the summer at midday. “How have you been doing, Will?” She waited a few seconds, looking over to Pantalaimon, before she continued to speak once again, pretending that the boy replied to her.

“Oh, that’s good that you’ve been doing well!” Her lips twitched uneasily as she forced herself to beam cheerfully, pretending to have heard all about his endeavours, when really, she didn’t know about them at all — there was no one else on the bench aside from her. “I’ve begun attending St. Sophia’s, to study the alethiometer again.” She paused to swallow, thinking back on the lessons that her professors have given her, she tries to pay attention, she really does.

She had realized that Will probably didn’t know much about St. Sophia’s, after all, the education system and the structure of schools itself worked very differently in both worlds. She bit her tongue and looked over to Pantalaimon, waiting for a sign on whether she should explain herself further. The pine marten gives her a quiet nod and waits at her side.

“It was my mother’s alma mater when she was still alive. I’ve been told that I was just like her while studying in the grand library.” She tells the boy, who was sitting on the other side of her, “I don’t know whether I should be pleased with such comments. But at least, she isn’t all too bad…that’s what you told me, right? She kept me safe in that cavern two years ago.”

It wasn’t worth rambling about her parents anymore, she knew that they were both dead in the fight against Metatron. But she couldn't hide the initial look of shock and genuine sadness on her face when the alethiometer at the college finally gave her answers.

Lyra was left once again an orphan. Each time she caught herself thinking about Lord Asriel or Mrs. Coulter again, she tells Pan that she couldn't begin to fathom even the slightest idea of missing them.

It was a feeling that betrayed her heart several times when she found herself alone. She couldn't understand it even until now. She knew very little about them, most of the things she’s found out about them weren’t all that great. Not to mention, unlike Will, her parents were never there for her. So, why start missing them now?

The idea of living in a family was something that Lyra had been imagining ever since she was still under the care of the Master of Jordan College; she longed for loving parents who actually do love her and she wanted to be told that they were proud of her. The chances of that have long been washed away and Lyra couldn't help but feel a shallow jealousy whenever crossing the roads of Oxford and seeing children hand in hand with their parents.

She’s been so incredibly lonely here. Neither Lyra nor Pantalaimon wanted to reach that conclusion, but it was true, as much as it made them feel weak and pathetic deep down.

She picks her shoulders back up and continues to talk, changing the topic to focus on her studies instead. “It’s been difficult to understand the symbols all over again and sometimes I feel like I haven’t learned anything at all. But Dame Hannah’s been very supportive and she knows that I can do it. That’s why I haven’t given up. I know that you believe in me too, Will.” Her smile has returned on her face, she sees him smiling back at her — even being as bold as to place a hand on her shoulder, an imaginary touch that Lyra oh so wished was real.

“I love you so much, more than you could possibly know.” She mutters out in response to that, there was a sneaky tear that dared roll down her cheek. She doesn’t use her fingers to wipe it away. She wanted Will to know how much she loved him, she didn’t want him to ever doubt it. “Don’t forget me ever, I beg you. I will never forget you either, for as long as I live, you’ll be the only one for me..” her voice began to die down as the grief was beginning to take over her all over again. Her eyes darkened.

She lowered her head to her hands and they captured it in a loose hold. “Oh, Will, when will I ever see you again?” She whispered sadly.

In the quiet of the botanic gardens of Oxford, Pantalaimon could only lower his ears at the sound of his human’s soft sobs. And they sat there for another hour or so, cursing their cruel fate.

[themidnightzoneandback]

A mother’s purpose

Synopsis: As Lyra and the gyptians set sail towards the North, she has a conversation with Ma Costa below deck over hot chocolatl about her missing son, Billy Costa.

(Hdm yuletide 2021 day 1: Favourite minor character — Ma Costa)

Pairing: Ma Costa & Lyra Silvertongue (Familial)

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Just below the deck on one of the many gyptian ships that were sailing down the stream, a kettle cried.

“I’m sorry it’s not much,” called a woman’s voice from the kitchen. She lifted the kettle from the naphtha stove and poured the warm water into two separate porcelain mugs she had gotten from the wooden cabinets. The water turned into a mild brown. “or would you prefer some tea instead?”

The girl and her dæmon, shaped into his favourite ermine form, shared a glance with each other, before she turned back to face the woman and she shrugged. “This is alright,”

She placed the two mugs down on the table before pulling a chair back and sitting directly in front of the girl. Her dæmon, a northern goshawk, stayed behind to be perched on the kitchen counter. Ma Costa’s hands grabbed onto the handle of the warm mug and pulled it closer to her, though she did not take a sip just yet; it was still far too hot to drink. She did not want to feel the sensation of molten lava pouring onto her tongue despite the sweet flavouring the liquid carried.

Lyra didn’t care about the temperature. She sipped briefly at the liquid albeit careful not to sip in too much or else, she too, will feel a stinging burn prodding at her tongue. Setting her mug down for a second, “the taste is familiar,” Lyra begins to say between mouthfuls of her drink. When she first got a taste of it, it tasted of a sweet mixture of powdered chocolatl and silky warm milk. Then, when she swallowed, it became a little bitter, it was the aftertaste of the powder. It clicked. “Could this be hot chocolatl?” She asks.

The woman smiled, “Yes, it is.”

The girl , proud for being correct at the answer she had given. She invited herself to take another sip of the hot drink , a longer one this time and was content with the taste — not until her excitement soured when she felt her mouth burn in fire. “I haven’t had hot chocolatl in ages!” she beamed, the sole reason for her prolonged speech was to let air flood in her mouth and save her. “The master of Jordan college says it’s only for special occasions like Christmas. I found something similar, but it’s not like they’ll allow me to have coffee anyways.”

The gyptian woman laughed, listening to her rambling. “You are far too young to have coffee, Lyra.” she tells the girl, just like how a mother would to their twelve year old children.

“I know, I know, you don’t have to tell me twice.” To anyone else, it may have sounded like an annoyed complaint. However, Ma Costa saw the slight twitch at her lips; and she soon understood that Lyra was suppressing a tiny laugh of what seemed to be her remembering a moment in her life. She could only think of possible scenarios where Lyra would beg the Master, the Librarian or any of the servants really, if she could sample the

“It’s just one sip, though!” her protests would echo through the hallways. She did bothering to catch up to their and ask again after they had left her

“You know,” the woman begins to say, “I used to make hot chocolatl for my boys during the holidays, they both love it so much.” She couldn't help but chuckle softly at the time when Billy tried it for the first time, when he was only six years old, he was so excited to try it because his older brother Tony spoke great things about it. She gives a sharp sigh, pushing the memory away and instead focuses back to Lyra.

The girl was greedily lapping on the chocolatl. Pantalaimon had just climbed up to her shoulder and looked down at the liquid, expressing the same delight as she was.

“But now, sitting here, I can’t help but miss him.” Ma Costa suddenly vocalizes out, not even intending to do so, but it seemed that the Authority had other plans; it was in the moment. All this remembering, all that’s been happening, she truly realised how lonely she has grown. If the Authority had given her two sons, she would be happy with her two sons. It was impossible to forget the existence of the other if he ever disappears from her sides — in which he did.

Lyra and her dæmon let go of the cup for a second, and looked at Ma Costa. They saw her lips twisted in a sad smile, as she looked down at the brown liquid swimming in her own cup. “We will find Billy,” She pushes out, a little too casually than she would’ve pleased. She noticed how Pan turned his ermine head of his, in alarm at what she said. So, as she cringes and feels Pan’s dismay and worry within her, she fixes her wording to add on much more. “I promise we will, and he will come back home safely with all the other children,”

“But what if we don’t find him? The North is vast, he could be anywhere. Oh…and what if he’s already—“ She swallowed hard, her mind just barely processing her words and she hissed to herself, shaking her head for thinking this way. Her eyes shut as she began to shiver at the cruel possibility that the Authority has taken her son away from her in this life. Her fingers had suddenly curled tightly against the mug’s handle. She did not let go, it was as if the porcelain was her only support at the moment, or else she’ll drown in a tide of self-reproach all over again; she should have been keeping an eye on him that day, oh, why didn’t she? “My heart can’t bear the thought of losing him..” the happy memory she was fondly telling her about was reduced to a whisper.

Lyra saw this; her excitement died down and her eyes softened at the sight of the gyptian nurse fighting the urge to cry. She moved her chair forward despite there being no more room to do so, she felt her stomach press against the edge of the wooden table.

Her hand was closed into a fist and was comfortably resting on the tablecloth, she showed a subtle hint of uncertainty on whether she should move it closer to where the woman sat. “Ma Costa, Billy is strong. He isn’t going to go anywhere, not without you right there beside him.” Lyra told the blonde gyptian nurse. Just a few nights ago, the girl was effortlessly lying to everyone that crossed her back when she was staying in London.

Then, revelations of where the captured children were truly going made her realize how much it was necessary to keep lying. It was her only defense in this world, lying was her weapon. “We will find him,” but when she spoke to Ma Costa, told her that they’d find Billy, her irises rimmed with truth.

She placed a hand to her cheek. She left it there to rest and she stared directly into the girl’s eyes for the first time this afternoon. “Oh Lyra, I hope you’re right, I want him to come back home, I want him to know that his Ma misses him so, so much…” she spoke with heavy desolation dangling from her heart. To a mother, this was the nightmare that became a reality. There was nothing worse to imagine than to have her child go missing — and end up in the North, so far away from home. Ma Costa could almost feel her lungs ready to attack; she was ready to scream at her son’s kidnappers for taking him somewhere as dangerous as the North.

She didn’t realize the built-up anger she felt has caused a set of tears to crystallise in her eyes — and her voice weakened to a weep. She pulled her hands close to herself instead, practically wrapping them around as if she was there hugging her missing son. She only felt her hands against her, no child, and she quietly began to cry. “There isn’t a single moment where I don’t think about him,” she paused to sniffle, Lyra knew her place in all of this was to simply listen, and so she did, she didn’t want the woman to feel like she was carrying this loss alone.

She wasn’t. Just like her, there were many families who were longing for their missing children. The country was restless, the dim nights were blanketing a rumble of cries from house to house. Ma Costa continued to cry as newfound words fell off her tongue, “I’m always thinking about him, thinking about how scared he is out there, all alone in the North..…Oh, my poor Billy…''

At this point, there was a storm of emotion shown on her face; her cheeks reddened with grief and she almost choked on another sob, her fingers moved to brush away her tears but she soon found out that she had been blinded with them; hot tears rolling down her cheeks like gushing waterfalls.

It was Lyra’s soft and steady voice that pulled her out of her laments. She was the very opposite of the gyptian nurse right now.

“It’s a mother’s purpose, isn’t it?” — it was a sudden question that Ma Costa flinched. Pantalaimon shot a wary glance to his human and Lyra only nodded her head at him. The woman’s pupils dilated when pages of unspoken text coming from the very depth of her mind came flying in her mouth; Lyra was right.

“Yes, a mother’s purpose is to be at her children’s sides wherever they are, she needs to be there to protect them, cheer them up when they’re sad, hold them tightly against their breast if they’re frightened; mothers always need to be sure their sons and daughters are reminded of how loved they are…” She responded to the short-haired girl, more or less agitated for the long time she was speaking; but it felt like a cold wave through her breast, they were all the things that she should be doing to her lost one, it was too cruel of a reminder that she couldn't tell her son how much she loves him, and that she will find him and bring him back home.

Without either of them expecting it, nor their dæmons, Lyra’s chair stirred back and she slipped out to stand. She walked over to where Ma Costa sat and she wrapped her arms around the woman’s neck. It was a gentle hug, one that Lyra knew in the back of her mind that Billy wished to be in. Suppressing another need to wail, Ma Costa immediately returned the gesture and held Lyra tightly. Her hands were fidgeting around the girl, the woman grew afraid she’d end up becoming too weak at the sound of her cries and that she’d end up letting her go too.

Lyra’s dæmon watched his human and Ma Costa with sadness burrow in his furred-chest. His ears perked up and his muzzle was now in the air, sniffing it. He tried to locate the goshawk dæmon and soon found him on the kitchen counter, watching the two like he was, dolorously.

No one said anything, only keeping their arms around the other. They acknowledged each other’s presence, remembered who they were to each other; Ma Costa was the gyptian nurse who took care of Lyra when she was still a baby. To the woman, Lyra was the closest thing to a daughter she’d ever be blessed with, it was important to keep her safe too, during this rescue mission. She couldn't lose her just as much as she couldn't lose Tony, her only remaining son.

Then, Lyra’s voice almost startled the woman, the girl exhaled and loosened her hold ever so slightly — she rolled her shoulders back, relaxing, and gave a tiny smile. Ma Costa couldn't see it, but with everything Lyra told her so far, she had a feeling that it was there.

“We’re going to travel North, and we will bring everyone back home.” Lyra whispered to her, her chin resting on Ma Costa’s shoulder. She was doing everything she could — to reassure her that these gyptian children will come back home to their families.

“We will bring my boy back home..” She whispered back, not letting go of Lyra. She wasn’t her Billy, that is no secret, but her arms around her reminded her so much of how her precious sons would hug her when they had good news to tell her. She pictured the evenings where they all stood together in the centre of the living room, melted into the warmth of a family hug. With Lyra here with her and promising her more hope than a child her age could give or understand, it helped reluctantly subside the void left by her heartache that was tugging at her chest since midday of last week; the day Billy Costa went missing.

It was a silent exchange between them; the girl was transferring her willpower over to the sniffling and shaken mother. Pantalaimon had just climbed up the kitchen counter to join the woman’s dæmon too. Just like her, the bird had his chest puffed out, his feathers resembling a shield that would protect him if there was any danger.

The small ermine peered at him from time to time, before he quietly approached the other dæmon and nuzzled his cheek against the feathers. It was a one-sided show of affection between them, as the goshawk was his human’s subconscious doubts that she was betraying Billy. But with all this guilt and this pain weighing her spirits down, the feeling of holding someone close to her and feeling their presence here with her was an invitation that her loneliness couldn’t turn down.

Ma Costa focused on repeating her own words in her mind. The impact of them matched the drumming of her grieving heartbeats, it was loud thunder that swelled her ears. She really believed that she would find her son, up in the North with this search party put together by John Faa, without the thought of any more unpleasant gifts coming to them during their travels, why? Was it because she cursed the Authority for committing a wrong to her and many other families around England, so she thought it to feel pity for them? Being beyond doubt about it so early in their journey, was already erroneous.

The longer she heard them spiralling inside her mind, they grew weaker and weaker in volume until they were only whispers, even worse; myths.