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candlelight27 · 4 years ago

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Chapter 4: I Am Finally Me

Summary: Sylvain has been ignoring you since you met him. You had been in love with him since you met him. College is about to offer you a fresh start. New academic year, new life. You were ready to forget him. But fate seems to have other plans… (COLLEGE AU)

Series: Seeking Your Warmth If Only For A Day

Warnings: Lots of talking, discussion about death and wounds in a war context, mild gore? (blood is mentioned)

Pairings: Sylvain Jose Gautier x Female Reader

Word Count: 4267

AO3: I Am Finally Me

A/N: We have a beta reader!!! It’s @galamixx !! Thank you so much for being the beta reader and editor!!

Dimitri and Sylvain had accompanied you to your apartment on your way back from the party.

Of course, after hearing all the ruckus and inquiring what had happened, Dimitri wanted to make sure you arrived home safely. Being the gentleman he is, he offered you a ride home. You tried to deny his proposition out of politeness, but he was insistent. Besides, he was one of the few people who hadn’t drunk anything and, in that moment, not having to walk home was the most attractive option. You were exhausted and the only thing you wanted was lying down on your bed.

There was a downside: he lived with Sylvain, so Sylvain was coming along. It wasn’t itself a bad thing, but you had the impression that fate was setting you both up all the time.

You sat on the co-pilot seat, while Dimitri was driving, and Sylvain was on the back. You looked at Dimitri, but he couldn’t see you because you were on his eyepatch’s side. Silence settled in the car despite the distant chatter of the radio. You were dizzy and drowsy. It was hard not to fall asleep right there.

Sylvain’s breath, steady, a sweet lullaby you focused on. Dimitri said something to Sylvain, starting a mindless conversation about domestic chores. Grocery shopping, cleaning the toilet...

Something poked your head from behind. You turned around to ask the red head what he wanted. But before you could open your mouth, he caressed your cheek affectionately. His hand was warm, and his fingers were soft as he traced the line of your jaw. He then kept talking as if nothing had happened, and you tried to concentrate on the streetlamps passing by.

He really was something else, wasn’t he?

You arrived shortly after. Dimitri double parked and waited inside the car, while Sylvain left the warmth of it to take you to the door of your apartment.

“Thank you, Dimitri.”

“It was nothing. Good night!” He waved at you.

You felt the cold breeze blowing on your face and on your legs during the short space between the vehicle and the building.

“Why don’t we talk tomorrow over some tea?” Sylvain suggested out of the blue. He was feigning nonchalance.

“Are you still brooding over tomorrow?”, you teased tiredly, opening the outer door.

“We hadn’t settled a place or a time.” He hummed. “I don’t want you to sleep over and bail out.”

“You’re turning our serious talk into a date? How sneaky of you!”

“Is it working?”, he laughed as he went up the stairs before you.

“You’re incorrigible.”

You used your key to enter your apartment, but it wasn’t locked. It annoyed you because you thought Ingrid was still out partying somewhere in Hilda’s home. As you went in, you heard some giggling and whispering. You stopped Sylvain from coming in, evaluating the living room and the hall.

“Isn’t that the plastic sword Ashe had?”, he asked, his voice low, noticing something was amiss.

“I can’t believe it”, you covered your mouth to prevent a laugh.

“Ashe and Ingrid? What has university done to my innocent friends?” Sylvain looked almost offended. “What’s next? Manuela and Seteth?”

“Never say never”, you shrugged. “Dorothea could say the same about you and me.”

“Well, yes… I hadn’t thought about that.” Sylvain scratched the back of his neck. He was standing in your lobby, looking uneasy. “Will you be able to sleep with the lovey-dovey lovers here?”

“I have earplugs in case they can’t contain their love”, you grimaced. He felt embarrassed as he was losing time just to be with you, moving his weight from one foot to the other and diverting his gaze, hoping he’d come up with something else to justify his presence there. “See you tomorrow then?”, he said at last, as though his body didn’t want to leave your side.

“Over tea. At 12?”, you suggested.

“Yes. Well, goodbye.”

“See you tomorrow, Sylvain.”

He disappeared into the darkness of the hall. You went straight to your bed, without sparing a second thought to anyone else’s business. You had a lot to think about yourself and needed a good rest.

The next morning your head was foggy. The events of the previous night slowly came back to your mind while stretching your arms. It turned out, as you looked at the clock, that you had woken up way too early. The small hand of the clock marked the number nine. You practically jumped out of bed still in last night’s clothes and went around the apartment. Ingrid wasn’t up yet, but Ashe’s things weren’t there, so he must have left in the middle of the night.

You headed to the shower, rushed without reason. Under the hot water, you closed your eyes. You remembered his warm hand the night before, and the feel of his touch. It was familiar. You had grabbed his hand before, right? But the memory changed all of a sudden. An image flashed, Sylvain caressing your cheek, but you both were standing somewhere else.

It was a battlefield, filled with corpses. Professor Byleth and Dimitri were by your side. All you were tainted by blood: your clothes, your weapons, your hair. But there was an odd silence, a distant cheer. Sylvain, not letting you go, touched your forehead with his and whispered: ‘it’s over. At last, it’s over.” And he repeated your name like a chant.

You fell backwards, landing on your bottom. You didn’t hurt yourself, thankfully. Then, you got up, dried with a towel and put on some clothes.

When you stopped for a moment, you felt that your heart was out of control, beating in a frenzied rhythm. It was 9:23, you weren’t late to your date. You breathed in.

But your body wouldn’t calm down.

You were supposed to be wasted from the party, but if you had drunk three cups of coffee – which you hadn’t, and needn’t at the moment –, you wouldn’t have felt more awake and alarmed. There was something else inside of you trying to resurface, yet it reached the light.

You 09:24: Can we meet earlier?

Would Sylvain be up yet? You hoped so. And deep down, you knew he was reading the message.

Sylvain 09:25: Yes. Pls.

Sylvain 09:25: The wait is killing me.

Sylvain 09:25: [Photograph attached]

You took a deep breath, relieved that he was as restless as you.

You 09:26: I hope it’s not a dick picture.

Sylvain 09:27: I charge for those, sorry.

You opened the file. It was Sylvain, with a scarf, a coat and a backpack, walking around a park near the café you were going to meet him in. His nose was red, his eyes puffy from not sleeping too much, and in a bad way.

You 09:28: How long have you been up?

You 09:28: Let’s meet now

Sylvain 09:29: I woke up at 8

Sylvain 09:30: I couldn’t sleep anymore

Sylvain 09:30: Oh, eager, are we? 😉

You 09:30: …

You 09:30: I’m on my way.

You grabbed your own coat and went out. Sylvain was acting weird, but you guessed that what he was about to reveal was putting his nerves on edge.

You realised halfway to your meeting point that you had forgotten your keys. That’s how disconnected you were from your surroundings. Your head was cluttered. Where had all this come from? There was something else on the back of your mind, right on the tip of your tongue, that you couldn’t exactly take out, but you couldn’t remember what it was, It was unnerving. And the more you thought about Sylvain, the more those visions tried to surface, yet they couldn’t appear yet.

Thankfully, the café wasn’t far from your home and you arrived in less than ten minutes. It was a cold day, and there was hardly anyone in the street.

You didn’t bother looking around for Sylvain. You just knew he was inside of the place, so you opened the door ringing the small bell attached to it. A waiter with purple hair and well-done makeup wished you a good morning. After a quick glance around the local, you found Sylvain on a secluded corner, who was distractedly looking at his own drink and hadn’t realised you had arrived.

“Hi!”, you greeted nervously.

He smiled warmly. He was drinking a bergamot tea and on the opposite side of the table, your own favourite kind awaited you. You felt your heart melt, but then you realised another thing.

“Thank you, but how did you know my favourite kind of drink?”, you tilted your head. “Did Ingrid or Dorothea tell-?”

“Honestly, I didn’t know it.” He sighed. “I only knew from a dream.”

You blinked while he shrugged. He was waiting for you to talk.

“Excuse me?”

“Let me explain myself.” His tone was so serious, it sent a chill to your spine.

“Sure.”

“Okay…” He inhaled deeply. You were so curious about his secrecy. Unconsciously, you were leaning over on the edge of your chair in anticipation. He wasn’t looking at you, his eyes were fixed on his hands, which were holding the warm drink. “Before I begin, I want to warn you first. Felix thought I was going crazy for a month. He still doesn’t believe me, I just stopped talking about it and… well, haven’t talked to anyone about this ever since.”

“Sylvain, I don’t need a warning, I need you to tell me what’s happening.”

“Yes, right.” He finally gazed at you. “I must ask something first. Have you had any nightmares or dreams recently? About the people we went with to Garreg Mach High School.”

Your heart beat faster and stronger hearing that. You had one just before breakfast, and you weren’t even asleep.

“Yes. I’ve had nightmares. About… Miklan. He transformed into a huge, beastly monster. And you were there, right next to me. And Professor Byleth. And many other students. Well, the others changed… Sometimes they were Annette, Dimitri and Felix, sometimes they were Hilda, Raphael and Claude.” You gulped for a moment. “When we were in the library…” Sylvain was watching you intently.

“Yes?”

“My chest hurt. That night, I dreamt someone had pierced me with a spear. It was horrible…” You paused to ease yourself. “I could feel the blood running down my stomach, and… the coldness flowing from the wound. I felt I was dying.”

“Did you know who hurt you?” Your hair stood on end. You didn’t answer. You were too afraid to speak because you, too, knew who it was. Sylvain sensed it. “It was me, right?” You nodded slowly, studying his movements. “I’ve dreamt that too. It was the main reason why I ignored you all those years.”

“Really?”, you frowned. “For a dream? It was not pleasant, but…”

“Well, imagine my situation,” he explained, “Ingrid has a cute new friend and the first time I see you I keep dreaming that I’m stabbing you with a fucking spear.” You giggled at his perspective. He wasn’t wrong. “I had the same nightmare on a loop for a week, so I convinced myself it was a signal to leave you alone. It did really freak me out.”

“And here I thought you hated me”, you made a funny face. “Why did you so suddenly change your opinion and started talking to me, then?”

“I wanted to pass the subject. Hard to do a project without speaking to your partner,” he replied, and you raised your eyebrows.

“Sylvain, weren’t you going to be honest?”

“Ah, this is going to be awkward,” he moved his hands around, not sure about where to let them rest. You could see he was uneasy again. “From then on I had a lot of dreams about you. We would spar together, sneak out of Byleth’s lessons… and we went through a war together. It was like we were the main characters of one of those romance novels of knights that Ingrid loves.” He looked at you shyly. Sylvain took a deep breath, and rushed the next part of his speech, hoping you wouldn’t pay it a lot of attention, considering all he had already said. “I feel like I’ve loved you for a hundred of years, and I can’t deny it anymore.”

You took your time processing all the information and taking it in. “Are you weirded out yet?” He asked, flashing you an apologetic smile.

“No, no. I’m just… amazed that we’re connected in that way.” You took a long sip from your warm drink. “All you tell me sounds familiar, yet I can’t remember. I’ve always had a little crush-”

“Little?” He winked. The redhead knew perfectly how to disarm you.

“Yes, little!” You rolled your eyes. “I didn’t know why, but it was as if I knew you all my life, and all my emotions just got stronger with time. And the more people we dated – it was mainly you dating people, but you understand me – the more I felt a piece of me was missing.”

“So you believe me and acknowledge that there are things out of place here, right?”

“Yes.” Another chill ran through your spine.

“Okay, so I’ve been talking to other people. And they had nightmares or plain dreams in a similar setting. A long time ago, with magic and wars. And it affects all of those who have something to do with Garreg Mach High School.”

“Once, Bernadetta hid in the bathroom crying because she thought she had murdered Ingrid,” you told him, as you remembered the strange occurrences of your high school days. “Edelgard and I were really disturbed all day because… well, why would she even think of that?”

“See? My theory is…” Sylvain interrupted himself. He was sure you were going to question his sanity, but he had to tell you. He knew he could count on you. Even if it turned out he was really going insane, you’d help him find a solution. Even if you’d barely ever talked two months before that moment, Sylvain trusted you. “My theory is that we’ve all lived that and that we have been reincarnated in this world somehow. But they couldn’t erase all the memories because our bonds once were very strong.” He couldn’t stop now. “And I think that we have lived in that world multiple times. Otherwise, the timelines don’t make sense.”

“What do you mean?”

“I killed you. Do you know where?”

“In Gronder,” you answer automatically. “Although I don’t know where that is, I just know the name…”

“It’s a field on the way to Garreg Mach from the south.” He shook his head to clear his thoughts. “That isn’t important, though. The thing is, I have other memories. I recall you calling me with an axe in Deirdru while I was trying to attack Claude. And I can also perfectly remember your face when you- when I- Ugh, when we got married. And we were way older.”

“We got married?” you said astonishingly.

“That’s not my point, but yes. Remember we also murder each other? It’s quite fucked up.”

“This morning… It wasn’t a dream, I was in the shower and it just came to my mind. The war ended, we were with Dimitri and Byleth. And both of us were alive.” Sylvain nodded at your words. He wasn’t surprised. You supposed Sylvain had other visions outside dreams too. You pitied him for all the years he went through this alone.

“Although, there are other occurrences that don’t change between the timelines. Glenn always ends up dying. So does Byleth’s father, and Dimitri’s family too. So far – well, you already know this – they are alive right now, but I’m scared that…'' He couldn’t end the sentence.

“Why would we be in a loop of events that change but always involve us and our friends?” You questioned out loud.

“I wish I knew. As I wish I knew why I’m the one having all these dreams while the rest looks like they know nothing of this madness.”

“You are very touchy-feely, maybe that’s why”, you suggested trying to lift the mood. Suddenly something dawned on you. “Oh... My dreams became more vivid when you touched me.”

“Fuck. I suppose that makes sense. It feels like it’s a divine punishment for my antics”, he dedicated you with a sad smile.

There was tension in the air. Sylvain bit his lip and looked everywhere else but you. You, on the other hand, were as confused as ever, your gaze blank. Your train of thought was a mess. Sylvain was right. The things he said made sense. But at the same time, it was impossible that something like that was happening to you. Surely, you would have noticed. Everyone would have noticed that something was wrong.

“What do you think?”, he finally dared to ask. “Do you believe me for real?”

“I do. But… It’s just too implausible. There has to be another explanation.”

“Then help me find it,” he said. His voice trembled.

“I’m going to. We’re going to find out what’s happening.” You took his nervous hand. “I promise.”

His phone started ringing. He cursed and took it from the pocket of his jeans. His frown deepened as he read the name of the person calling.

“Shit. It’s Felix. I gotta pick it up, he never calls so this must be an emergency.”

“Yes, go on,” you said.

You watched his body language carefully. Sylvain’s theory was madness, as he put it, but it somehow explained all the weird things that were happening to you lately. And something within you told you to believe him. How else were you going to understand what was happening?

Sylvain’s face was alarmed, so you paid attention to his conversation.

“What? A car crash? Where are you?” He started gathering his things on his bag while holding his phone between his shoulder and cheek. “Just Glenn? You’re ok? I’m going to the hospital, Felix.” Sylvain hung up the phone quickly before gathering his things, rushing to leave the café.

“Is Glenn…?” You didn’t want to pronounce the word. The tension was palpable.

“No. He’s alive. Although…” He stood up, worry in his voice. “Can you come with me?”

“Yes”, you agreed. This had to be a shock to him, not only because of other worlds and wars, but because they’ve been friends forever. “I don’t know if Felix would like me there, thought…”

“I need you with me. Please.” His voice was growing sore, almost cracking from fear.

“Of course.”

He grabbed you by your hand and he led you to his car. You sat on the right seat while he started the engine urgently. He didn’t lose any time and headed for the hospital where Glenn was. Judging by the direction, it was Seiros’ Clinic.

“If Glenn dies, does that mean everything else is going to happen too?” You asked, still considering all the possibilities. A war was not probable. But you never knew what could happen.

“I wish I knew.”

“That’s why you are so scared?”, you pressed.

“In part, yes.”

“What else worries you?”

“That you think I’m crazy and never talk to me again.” He focused on the road, resisting the need to look at you.

“Well, you needn’t worry about that. That much I can assure you.”

Sylvain didn’t answer. Instead, he squeezed the wheel. You looked at him through the rear-view mirror. His eyes were red, but your words had soothed him, so you didn’t say anything else until you arrived, letting him think about everything.

The halls of the hospital were coloured with white and a sickly pale green. Everything smelled like disinfectant. You walked aimlessly along the places you were allowed to roam until you found Felix. He was a total disaster, with his hair out of place, his expression of pain. You wished you could do something, but you knew Felix didn’t exactly like strangers meddling in his business.

He greeted both of you dryly with a nod.

“How is he?” questioned Sylvain, hiding his consternation. Still, his worry showed through his lack of greeting back to Felix, as he was more concerned for Glenn’s wellbeing.

“He’s in an induced coma. But he’s fine. His vitals are stable now. The doctors said that was a good sign.” Sylvain let out a relieved breath at Felix’ words. He looked at you, then back at his old friend.

“That’s good, Felix.”

“There are going to be long term consequences, though.” Felix’s eyes went to the floor. “That useless motherfucker,” he muttered, hiding his emotions by masking it with fake disgust.

A small nurse with long green hair emerged from the room. Her face rang a bell.

“I apologize for not introducing myself properly before,” She addressed Felix. “You may call me Flayn. I’ll be the nurse attending to your brother Glenn from now on.” Felix simply nodded, unimpressed, muttering a ‘nice to meet you’ under his breath. “Mind coming with me, Felix?” Her shade of green hair reminds you of your professor’s.

Felix left both of you with a gesture of his hand. Sylvain sat on an uncomfortable plastic chair, of a green darker than the ones in the walls, and you let yourself rest on a seat beside him. You thought of the nurses’ face. Her name. You repeated it to yourself.

“Flayn!” You suddenly exclaimed. Sylvain tilted his head. “The nurse’s name was Flayn.”

“Yes. She said that was her name.” He furrowed his brow. “What’s with it?”

“Felix doesn’t know her?” You asked, surprised. “She’s Seteth’s sister. Or daughter. She was in school with us, right? And yet, Felix doesn’t know her.”

“Neither do you.”

“I do-!” You began, before being cut off by the sound of a door opening. Instinctively, you turned your head to the source of the noise.

Out comes Flayn, gently, letting out a sigh before she uttered some words in a low tone. Had you kept talking, or had some external noise passed from the outside, and you wouldn’t have heard what she said.

But you did, as clear as water.

Thank the Goddess he hasn’t died again.”

Your stomach turned. Sylvain’s theory was starting to finally sink in. You had believed him before, but such a convincing affirmation of his suspicions was disheartening. Why was everything happening? Why did it have to be you and Sylvain the ones who remembered those things? And did Flayn also have those dreams, or did she already know what was happening?

Your hands were shaking.

“Hello, Flayn.” Sylvain stood up to greet the girl with a handshake. “Thank you for treating Glenn and Felix so kindly.”

“It is simply my duty,” She smiled. “No need to thank me.”

“Have we met before?” He asked. From your perspective, you could see that he was feigning innocence, but you knew that he was just as curious about Flayn’s knowledge as you were. You couldn’t articulate any sound, so you just paid attention to them from your seat.

“That’s impossible!” She exclaimed with nervousness, but she calmed down instantly. “I lived in the west of the continent with my family until this year. I moved here a few months ago to live with my brother. Therefore, it’s impossible we have met before unless you’ve gone on a trip there.”

“That must be it!” Sylvain lied effortlessly. “Would Seteth happen to be your brother?” Flayn nodded. Sylvain continued. “That’s why you’re so familiar! He was our teacher in high school, and mentioned you a couple of times.” He turned to you, beckoning to help him with the conversation.

“Yes, Seteth cares about you deeply,” You added without any emotion. You gave Sylvain credit for being able to pull off ignorance so easily.

“I didn’t expect to find you here – you share his striking image.” Sylvain said nonchalantly with a wink. Of course.

“I see! Oh, you confused me for a moment,” She said sweetly, attempting to laugh off her alarm. “Now, I must go and get some supplies, so excuse me for a while. There are more sanitary personnel inside with Felix if you happen to have any questions.” You pondered to yourself for a fleeting second. Her speech patterns were peculiar. It was professional, yes, but it had a certain charm to it that other staff didn’t. You felt as though her and her politeness was speaking through a fairy tale.

Flayn went away calmly and disappeared down the hall, quite pleased with herself. When you couldn’t see her, you groaned, burying your face in your hands while falling back on the chair.

“We’re fucked, Sylvain.” You uttered without regard if Flayn could hear you or not. Sylvain sat next to you again.

“I know this is a very insensitive thing to say, but I’m very happy that you’re freaking out. I feel less alone this way. It brings me comfort knowing we’re in this together.” He rubbed your back and you couldn’t help but laugh. What a mess you were in.

“What can we do now?” You asked him, as if he had all the answers in this world.

“I tried to ignore it, but it’s impossible.” He sounded defeated. “I feel like someone is controlling us and I hate it.”

“Then why don’t we investigate?” You suggested. Sylvain processed your words for a moment, then nodded slowly, agreeing. It seemed like the most logical step right then. He gave you a reassuring smile before moving on, moving his hand to pat your shoulder.

“Alright then. Let’s start with the library.”

#sylvain jose gautier x reader #sylvain x reader #sylvain gautier #sylvain jose gautier #Fire Emblem Three Houses #fire emblem three houses fanfiction #fe3h fanfiction #sylvain x female reader #female reader

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thenightgazer · 5 years ago

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The Finding of Almagest

The elder son of Sparda wants to seek solitude inside a small local library. He finds himself trapped in an insightful conversation with the librarian as they share the stories of the stars.

(A/N) : My first DMC fanfiction! Took me long enough to finally made it. English isn’t my native language, so feel free to send me private message if you find grammatical errors! Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy the journey of our favourite brooding devil and his friendship with a local librarian! xD

Special tags : @queenmuzz for encouraging me to finish this fic❤ @voldemortimaginarynose96 for her nonstop support 🍫 and @drusoona for bombing me with Vergil screenshots! 💜

You can read this fic on my AO3

–

“The meeting of two personalties is like the contact of two chemical substances, if there is any reaction, both are transformed.”

-Carl Gustav Jung

For a second in eternity, Vergil could finally rest his head between the familiar smell of stack of old books.

He just finished his latest mission; a pack of Empusas attacked a local church and brutally murdered the reverend and most of the nuns.

When Dante received the call, he casually laughed and said, ‘That sounds like a wicked slasher horror movie!’. Nonetheless, the owner of Devil May Cry still sent Vergil to do the mundane mission, much to his annoyance. The church paid him and that’s good enough. Vergil never really agreed about demon hunting business since the brothers came back from Underworld, mainly because his brother’s incapability of running the business neatly but that’s the only best thing they could do to make a living— a normal one.

Normal life, huh?

The words already lost its meaning since he was attacked in the graveyard when he was eight years old.

But now he has a second chance— a family to reunite. For that reason, Vergil decided to throw away his pride and stubbornness to make things right. In order to do that, first, no more raising or opening something leading to Hell for the sake of power.

Second, catching up his long-lost time to bond with his son, Nero.

For the love of Sparda, the hybrid demon tries his best to be a proper, competent father of a twenty-something grown man with anger and abandonment issues, which is challenging as much as it’s…. unbelievably exhausting. Not that he hated their bonding moments. It just sometimes confuses Vergil, this humanity contexts. He still has a lot to learn and catch up.

Third, try his best to make a normal life.

Which is one of the reasons why he ended up in this small, rustic local library in the town.

If anything about living as a human that could make Vergil at least enjoy his humanity, that would be a book to read. He is still and always an avid reader, even though there are not much books in the Underworld or Mundus curse was powerful enough to made him senseless about anything but The Prince of Darkness orders.

Before the memories of his time as Nelo Angelo stings his head again, he chooses to focus on his reading.

There is one larger library in the town, but this library suits him best. It doesn’t have too many visitors, much to Vergil’s benefit because he appreciates seclusion. He likes this place particularly because the library has rare collections. Perhaps this place is like a heaven on Earth for Vergil, now as he reads a rare edition of Paradise Lost.

His mother was the one who introduced him to literature, but Vergil’s love for reading bloomed since he meet the Redgrave City librarian— the same man who gave him William Blake’s anthology, which is now Nero’s possession.

A subtle smirk curves in Vergil lips, remembering how angry and nervous his son when Vergil came back from Hell and Nero wanted to return the book. But Vergil declined, said that it belongs to Nero now and to take care of it with honour. Instead of thanking his father, the boy challenged him for another duel.

You said you won’t lose next time, old man, Nero had said to him.

And of course, that time, Vergil won. Which lead to another demand of challenges from his wayward son.

“Cuppa?”

The sound of a woman distracted Vergil.

Another best feature from this library; they serve free-refill coffee. The best coffee Vergil ever tasted since his return from Hell. The fact that the library doesn’t often have visitors might be the reason why they willingly serve free drinks to attract more visitors.

“Thank you,” Vergil said as the woman refills Vergil’s cup.

“You’re welcome,” the woman replies in polite smile.

She always has that kind of smile. Vergil noticed it since his first visit. Always speaks in a-matter-of-fact tone with pleasant but business-only smile. She almost never speak unless necessary.

Dante had brought him fake ID and licenses from Morrison. Vergil isn’t obnoxious enough to not aware about human ways of bureucracy. His time as V taught him a little too much about it. It just hard for him to believe that Dante made him an obviously fake driving license while he possessed the Yamato, which is more convenient than any vehicles.

“At least,” Dante mocked. “It’s way better than your previous not-so-clever alias.”

Which resulted in another jabbing and broken properties.

What a way to show brotherly love.

Luckily, the younger twin was considerate enough to keep Vergil’s original name at those ID cards, even though it irritates Vergil because the main trouble of having an ID is that your identity would easily revealed. Vergil doesn’t need anyone knows that he’s son of Sparda. That legacy always left him more troubles.

So when the librarian lady asked his name to register his library member three months ago, Vergil, much to his dismay, showed her his fake citizen ID.

“Vergil?” she repeated his name.

“Correct.”

She looked at him suspiciously, “Just Vergil?”

“Yes.” He sensed that the librarian didn’t believe him. He would’ve just go and never return if she declined him, but she just shrugged and wrote his name in her notebook.

“Please wait for a moment,” she smiled while walking to back office.

Three minutes later she brought him his library ID card.

“Two weeks for returning the books. No more than three books to borrow for a week. Rare collections are for read here only. We sell secondhand books too— right there before the reading corners,” she pointed to the bookshelves which has ‘FOR SALE’ sign. “Please contact me if you need some help for searching books or recommendation.”

She handed him his ID card which Vergil accepted.

“Happy reading, Mr Publius Vergilius Maro.”

Not that old joke again, he lamented his parent’s choice of name. How dare this woman-!

“Pardon my rudeness,” she apologized in furtive manner. “The name was just the first thing popped into my head when I heard your name. I mean no offense at all, sir.”

Vergil thought probably she was just one of those people who wants to make some meaningless conversation. Or she was just always like that to new customer to break the ice. But in truth, he was intrigued by her audacity to tell him a joke. He, Vergil, whose entire demeanour screams stay back or die. Moreover, she still able to stayed calm and gave him apologizing smile. But her nervous fingers spoke different meaning, like it begged him to end her misery of being intimidated by his infamous deadly glare.

“None had taken,” he finally said, remembered to show some politeness. A devil he might be, but he’s a man with courtesy. “Thank you for your assistance, Librarian.”

She nodded politely and gave him final apologizing smile before she returned to her work and Vergil walked to his reading corner.

The two has never really spoken since then. Just her offer of a cup of coffee and him thanking her. He sometimes observes her talking with another customers, giving some book recommendations to them, and he think her choices of book are quite impressive. It took him almost three months to realized that this woman is unbelievably brilliant. Her love of books is tangible, as shown when she cleans the bookshelves, organizing books, the way she hands a book to a customer and her anger when her co-worker unintentionally scratched the book.

Somehow it reminded him with the Redgrave librarian. The man who taught him to cherish the splendor of the books.

He turns his attention to a passage from Paradise Lost :

The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven…

Such a truth spoken by Satan.

The deeper Vergil digs inside his head, the more he doesn’t want to know what happened in the depth of his memories. His familiars might had gone, but it doesn’t mean he is unbothered with his own dark side of his mind. Ever since his first slumber in Devil May Cry after his arrival from the Underworld, he only slept for no more than a half an hour. His sleep was dreamless, followed with the instinct to stay awake like he used to be in the Underworld. He ended up restless for the rest of the night. Sometimes he would read Dante’s little collection of books, anything which doesn’t include inappropriate contents. He just want to distract his unsettling memories, mostly about his regrets and unanswered questions from the past.

He didn’t know where was that librarian after demons attacked Sparda Manor. Had he survived? He wouldn’t know for sure. He didn’t have time to think about it that time. He needed to save his mother and brother, but instead he was left—

Stop, he urges himself. Mother tried to save me too.

Vergil doesn’t even realized he gripped his book a bit too hard.

Maybe I need something lighter to read.

He close the book and stand up to return the book to its shelf. He never moved too far from his favourite reading corner for an introverted man like him; the farthest corner between rare collection bookshelves. Here he could read in peace, musing without any interferences except the librarian’s offer of coffee, which he eventually get used to.

“Hello again, Mr Vergil,”

There she is, standing on the ladder and organizing books. She barely sees Vergil’s figure, but it’s easy for her to recognize the presence of the only rare collection’s visitor, who is none other than Vergil himself. She knows other visitors would leave this corner immediately because of Vergil’s intimidating demeanor. None of them would stay to read or just searching for book.

Vergil returns the book to its place. His icy eyes sneakily lingers to the figure of the librarian. She looks busy storing the books, humming a song which Vergil doesn’t recognize.

“Done with Milton already?” she asks.

How did she know?

“You looked rather enjoy it before I offered you to refill your cup,” she continues. “It makes me feel guilty, as if my presence ruined your mood.”

“It has nothing to do with you,” Vergil turns his sight to another row of bookshelf. And more importantly, why doesn’t she just shut her mouth?

She finishes her organizing and starts to climb down from the stair. Vergil could not help but admiring the way she seems pleased with her job. She cleans her hand with a napkin, folding it and put it back inside the pocket of her brown midi skirt. She suddenly turns her attention to Vergil, who is quickly pulling away his gaze, pretending to be busy searching for book.

“May I give you some recommendations?” she offers with careful and awkward gesture, like she’s afraid she would disturb the menacing man in front of her.

Despite his annoyance of her presence, he remembers her passion of books. He noted her excellent choices of book. She seems reliable enough. Maybe she really could help.

“At the current given moment, I prefer to read something lighter, but enough to give me an insight.” Vergil answers dismissively. “Not necessarily fiction, actually.”

A little challenge to show your competency.

The librarian goes silent for a moment. Her eyes wander to the bookshelves. There, Vergil silently notice, that the librarian always has that kind of eyes; a pair of beautiful brown eyes, but a blank, void stare.

The truth? Her eyes slightly bothers him. Every humans, even demons, always has something to tell from their eyes. But the ones that librarian possess doesn’t tell him even a thing.

“Right!” she exclaims, pointing at a book in the row next to Vergil. “How much do you know about astronomy?”

“Beg your pardon?” The hybrid couldn’t believe what he just heard as he turns around to face the librarian.

“Astronomy. A branch of science that studies celestial—“

“I am fully aware of what astronomy is,” Vergil declares. “All of those books, why do you choose astronomy?”

“Because,” she takes the book she pointed before. “You seem to enjoy ancient texts. Your top borrowed books were all classics. You see, we don’t have many visitors and it’s noticeable that you’re the only person who consistently lingers at this section. It’s not hard to tell that you fancy this section the most. I thought classics and ancient knowledges would suit you the best. Therefore…” she shows him the book she recommended. “You might like Almagest.”

Almagest. Vergil remembers the copy of that book in Sparda’s private room in the Manor. He didn’t really paid attention to that book, although he did actually pick up that book and observe it delinquently rather than taking it seriously. He was still a child after all. He didn’t even think about reading it until now.

He receives the hardcover book from the librarian’s hands and observes the book. His fingers flip the pages carefully.

“Almagest is one of the most influential text all the time. The very source of ancient Greek astronomy that was accepted for more than 1000 years and becomes one of the basis of modern astronomy. Unfortunately, we don’t have the original version of Almagest… but the one you read now contains both the original and translated texts. You won’t find any difficulty to read it, just in case you’re not familiar with ancient Greek. The book also contains star catalog. Ptolemy’s catalog contains about 1022 stars, including the stars positions arranged into 48 constellations. The Ptolemaic constellation… as we know it in the present. Andromeda, Ursa Major, Sagittarius…” the librarian explains while observing Vergil’s behaviour cautiously, looking for some approving signal from the hybrid. “A rather quite insightful reading, don’t you think?”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Vergil sternly states. His eyes still fixates to the book, studying the graphs and tables, admiring the beauty of ancient Greek text and the planetary model. “Although, indeed, quite like a page-turner for stargazer.“

“I believe that astronomy is more than mere stargazing,” the librarian continues. Her tone is almost enthusiastic. “It is concerned with the formation and development of the universe itself. The universe always expanding, getting further from us while we are still standing here, wondering what happened outside the Earth…”

Vergil glances at her. The librarian’s eyes scanning through the books, but she seems out of the place. Caught in her own muse. The fusion of the magnificence of bookshelves and the librarian’s state of wonder somehow makes her look ethereal.

She looked pale, mysterious—like a lily, drowned, under water.

“There is Demon World,” Vergil sighs, closing the book in satisfied gesture. “The one human still trying to figure out in which system this world could be.”

“Oh, I wonder that too!” she quickly agrees. “They published a lot of researches about that. None of them actually make sense, more like a pseudo-science—Oh, pardon my twaddles! Are you going to borrow that book or should I recommend another one?”

Vergil shake his head, “This will do. Thank you for your recommendation.”

The librarian sighs in relief, “Anytime, Mr Vergil. I shall continue my work then.”

There it is again. The blank stare. The unsettling mix of pretty smile and void eyes. Something is off, but what? What does it means? She is nothing but a mere human. Why am I troubled for something nonsensical like the voidness of her eyes?

Yet he knows that if she turns her back and leaving him, he would never get his answer.

“On second thought, Librarian.”

The librarian tilts her head, “You changed your mind already?”

“On the contrary. I need some enlightment about Almagest and your knowledges regarding astronomy,” Such a buffoon, Vergil Sparda. “I believe your help will suffice.”

The librarian seems pleased with Vergil’s request. She nods in excitement, happy that someone needs her help and ideas, “Certainly.”

She excuses herself to get more coffee for both of them whilst Vergil returns to his usual desk and rest his head, processing to clear his brain from any irrelevant informations when suddenly a glimpse of his experience as V comes up.

This life’s dim windows of the soul

Distorts the heavens from pole to pole

And leads you to believe a lie

When you see with, not through, the eye.

There was a time when he, as V, memorized that poem at the center of Redgrave City. He was exterminating demons along with his familiars. He did his best to save any last survivors as much as he can. Between his own survival agenda and his unnatural obsession to defeat Dante, he truly realized the tremendous gravity of crime he did all this time for his pursuit of power. All he wanted that time was just a chance of redemption. He saved the humans compulsively, again and again. Like he would never get atonement at all.

That was the time he learnt that every humans and demons has stories in their eyes. Whether it’s hunger, glutton, joy, fear, sadness, painful memories. It was all reflected in the eyes. Their desires were always transparent like an open book. Even his mother once said that eyes are the window of the soul. Vergil used this wisdom to analyze his enemies. To find out their true intention. But at that time, as V, he used the knowledge to understand humanity and self-introspection. To accept his own emotions and weaknesses.

It all make sense now why the librarian’s existence intrigues Vergil.

It’s her eyes, Vergil contemplates. Ones that didn't tell me its stories.

He quickly lifts his head when he hears the little steps of the librarian approaching him.

“I am sorry to keep you waiting,” she apologizes while placing a tray of pot of coffee and a book on the desk, careful not to place it too close to the Almagest. She fills their cups calmly, enjoying the coffee’s delightful smell. Though Vergil noticed her awkwardness for being around him.

It’s clear that the librarian feels a degree of burden from accepting the challenge from this mysterious, brooding tall man who visits the library almost every week. She’s aware of how intelligent this man could be. How he would challenge her intellect and make her arguments invalid. Even his name is enough to convince her that the man in front of her will be her most peculiar customer to handle.

However, their discussion regarding Almagest is running smoothly. Though not an expert of astronomy herself, she’s capable of explaining Vergil’s questions regarding the Almagest and astronomical trivias. Her eyes might not tell him anything, but he can sense her true passion in astronomy. She doesn’t speak unless Vergil ask her something he’s not quite understand. He notices the librarian silently reads The Fall of the House of Usher. She shows no difficulty switching her reading and tag along with their discussion.

“I am sure not an expert of Almagest, but I hope I can still give you some enlightment,” says the librarian before she sips her coffee.

“You already are,” Vergil admits. He scans Ptolemy’s equant model and memorizing the librarian’s explanation. From all chapters of the book, he found the star catalogue to be the most interesting part.

Young Vergil was astonished with the stars. Back to his childhood at Sparda Manor, when the night falls, the twins used to sneak out from their bedroom and climb the roof to stargazing. They were too young to truly acknowledged the beauty of the night sky, but Vergil enjoyed that moment. It was hard to find the right time to get along with Dante and made him sit still without bugging him any further. Dante would occasionally pointed on something in the sky, pretending he saw a meteor. Vergil would replied with sarcastic remarks as always, saying that he acts foolish or something. Then it would lead to another brotherly fight.

“The star catalogue is certainly the most enticing part of the book,” Vergil mutters, sipping his coffee as he inspects Ptolemy’s star chart.

“Indeed. The star map is ancestral to the modern system of constellations. Now there is another 40 officially recorgnized constellations and two trillions galaxies.”

The librarian adds new informations for Vergil, including the brightest stars of the constellations and best months to find it. He returns the favour by telling her more details about Greek mythology, which is inseparable with Ptolemy’s star mapping.

“It seems to me that ancient Greek gods has a fancy preference to placed their fallen heroes in the sky, if not, curse them into something ridiculous,” the librarian contemplates.

“Not all heroes,” Vergil refutes. “Cassiopeia mocked the Gods by boasting her daughter being more beautiful than all the Nereids. She was chained in her own throne as her punishment. Then Poseidon condemned her to circle the celestial pole forever.”

“More like a good example of what being a narcissistic could do rather than a tribute for her.” She mumbles. “It’s interesting to note that both Cassiopeia constellation and narcissistics have a similar trait.”

“Which is?”

“They are all easily spotted and visible all around the year.”

Vergil tries so hard not to burst in laugh. “Are there any constellations visible all the year aside from Cassiopeia?”

“There are Draco, Cepheus, Ursa Major and… Ursa Minor. There,” She points the picture of four constellations. “Together with Cassiopeia, they are circumpolar constellations of northern sky. These constellations circling Polaris, the brightest star of Ursa Minor. Commonly known as The North Pole Star. The big bear Ursa Major is the largest northern constellation. It also contains the most prominent asterism in the night sky, oftenly confused for the constellation itself. Cassiopeia is always easily recognized for its clear W shape, like she was being chained on her throne as you mentioned it earlier. While her husband and worst father ever to sacrificed his daughter to sea monster, Cepheus, is not widely known in spite of its size. Cepheus and Draco are two of the largest constellations in the sky but their stars are not as prominent as Ursa Major.”

“And these constellations remain invisible from southern locations?”

“Sadly, yes. But the south has its circumpolar constellations too. There are Centaurus, Carina, and Crux. You won’t find Carina and Crux in the Almagest. It was Argo Navis before French astronomer de Lacaille divided it into the three smaller constellations; Carina, Puppis, and Vela. As for the Crux, it was originally considered to be a part of the Centaurus before 1679, and the smallest of 88 constellations, if I’m not mistaken…”

“If you are not mistaken.” Vergil emphasises sarcastically.

“Which means I am certain that I mentioned it right.” she evades.

The librarian tries her best to not let her laughter comes out when she notices Vergil’s permanent frown gets more crumpled.

The librarian seems to enjoy driving the half-devil to the edge with her dry wit. She finds it funny to see Vergil grunts in annoyance, or his slightly amused grin whenever she said something peculiar. Maybe because the man in front of her right now is always covered by mysterious cloud. That his face is always solemn, imperceptible. He looks sullen, like he never laughed for his entire life. He really needs a bloody lot of kips, she thinks, taking note to Vergil’s darkened eyebags as she compares with her own eyebags, which she thought were quite dark already.

She was going to continue her explanation regarding the southern circumpolar constellations before an unexpected thought spills out from her mouth, “You are haunted, Mr Vergil.”

The atmospheres shifts abruptly. The hybrid’s shoulders stiffens as he glares to the librarian as a warning to not cross the line. His frightening stare sent chills down to the librarian’s spine that she almost choked on her own coffee.

“What’s with the sudden impudent commentary of yours, Librarian?” Vergil doesn’t try to hide his vexation.

“Uh… well…” the librarian chuckled nervously as she hides her face behind her novel, shielding herself from Vergil’s intimidating glare. “You always look like you are either staring to nothing or focus on your book. There is no in-between.”

“You’d be disappointed to know the fact that a lot of people do that. Every time.”

“True,” she agrees. “But you are different. You have the eyes of a man who still try to adjust the new world. Most of people are haunted by the past… but you are haunted by the present.”

She shut her mouth almost immediately, realizing Vergil does nothing but giving her threatening look to stop analyzing him. It was her only detriment; to be innocently curious about everything, silently observing and analyzing things. Most of her ideas are boxed inside her head. She never said it out loud. But this time she couldn’t help but spilling her thoughts. That she finds Vergil interesting.

“I will forgive your impertinence,” the blue demon closes the book and shifts his position to relax his previously tensed shoulders. “Only if you explain why do you think I’m haunted by the present.”

“Well,” she grins and bluntly explains, “There are two kinds of people who willingly to spend the rest of the day staying here; a keen of literature or a misanthrope. I dare say you are both, but I think you are here because you are overwhelmed with the outside world. You are adjusting something you had never experienced before. That adjustment, whatever it is, haunts you. It confuses you, what happens now and how you would react about it. Like the moment when you were unfamiliar with our registrative custom, which was odd because you looked like it was your first time registering something. Honestly? I thought you were making up your name. You looked terribly confused back then, as if you didn’t recognize your own name. You seems… detached from reality.”

I must not let my guard down anymore, Vergil makes a mental note as he feels defeated, even though he won’t admit that everything she said was the truth.

“Pause,” The librarian let out a gasp as she notices Vergil’s inconvenience, “Is it really okay if I continue? I don’t like being psychoanalyzed and I’m completely understand if you want me to stop.”

“You are too late for that. You already talk a little too much.”

“But you said you will forgive me only if I keep talking!”

“If you explain your impertinence.. not chattering like a mockingbird.”

“That’s harsh! Besides, how could I explain if I am not allowed to keep talking?”

I’m done playing words with this woman, Vergil slowly growls in frustration. He never thought that having conversation with a human could be this infuriating. “Then let’s settle the matter. Tell me your thoughts and be done with it.”

“Fair enough,” she seems satisfied, enjoying Vergil’s defeat and curiousity. “For the record, you are the one who asked me to talk. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do. Where was I…? Oh, yes, detached from reality. You speak about humans differently. You treated your surroundings like a bystander. Like you distinguish yourself from reality. It make sense, actually. To understand something, we must separate ourselves from it.”

“I get your point.”

The librarian looks puzzled, “Did you?”

“Of course.”

“Was that mean I was right about you?”

“Even if you are right, I won’t bother to tell you.”

“No… it just…” she taps her fingers slowly. “It’s hard for me to express my point of view, particularly to strangers. Moreover, to make them understand.”

“You’ve done well to the customers.”

“That was different. It’s for business.” She waves her hand nonchalantly. “My point is, maybe this library is the right place for you to adjust yourself. I don’t have any slightest ideas of what you’ve been through, but you deserve to find your peace. Other customers will find you too scary that they will leave this section as fast as they can—I mean, look at yourself! But what I see is just… a man who wants a little solitude from this noisy world. And I believe everyone deserves their own place in the sky… like the stars. No matter how insignificant they feel about themselves.”

The elder son of Sparda found himself stunned by her words. He never thought a human could possess the ability to see people in such illuminating way. She doesn’t flatter nor mock him, just simply stated her intuitive opinions about him. She but a stranger, seeing right through his psyche. The same odd woman who is now obliviously reading her novel like she had already forgotten of what she said earlier.

“You saw a lot, Librarian. That’s an exceptional gift.”

“Compulsive observation isn’t counted as exceptional gift. More like a curse, but thank you. Of course I could be wrong. Maybe you are just another introvert bloke who’s happened to passed by and read something here. Who knows?”

They now surrounded by a soothing silence. Both of them are preoccupied with their own thoughts. Vergil contemplates the librarian’s words about his adjustment with the present. He never really paid attention about that, but it turns out to be the very reason why he still fear any kind of human contacts. He lost so many years that he almost forgot how it is to be alive.

When he saw Dante and Nero for the first after he re-emerged, he couldn’t believe that everything around him was real. That everything was not a mere illusion anymore. He spent mindless and controlled under Mundus’s cruel illusion for years that the line between the real and the fake were blurring. He was blind and chained. Far too long that his soul was decayed.

And to think he still has a chance to make things right… to be truly alive in the present…

Yet there is still one thing that holds him back. There is a part of him which screaming in agony, searching for validity of his confusing emotions. A part which he hides it deep in his mind palace. The one he refuses to share. For he is afraid that he won’t get any enlightment. That he could be the old Vergil who was obsessed with power. The part that granted him moral codes and compassion.

His doubt on his humanity.

“I used to hate humans,” Vergil finally confesses. “I used to think that they are all weak and useless, and I loathed myself for being a part of human.”

The librarian gives him a curious look, her lips curves into a playful smile, “You stop hating them now? Why, you are right about them anyway.”

The hybrid cannot hold his surprise. The lady in front of him… a mortal human, confirmed Vergil’s confession with ease. As if she herself isn’t human. But that can’t be true, you are a human, right? Vergil tries so hard to not bluntly asking something obvious which could make him look like an imbecile. She doesn’t seem surprised at all by Vergil’s unusual confession.

“It might sounds strange, for I myself a human. But you are right about humans. I could understand why you hated them. Easily corrupted and manipulated, they destroy themselves for something meaningless. But humans are truly fascinating being.”

“Fascinating being…” Vergil murmurs dismissively.

“I think you know it as well as me,” she peeks over her book to meet Vergil’s intimidating, yet calming gaze. “They stand on the grey zone. They are unpredictable, complex being. While most demons only want power and human flesh to consume, humans only desire self-actualization. To be a better version of themselves. That could lead them in many ways. To do things differently. Isn’t that interesting, to think that all the humans in this world are never really the exact same individual? Humans are unique, Mr Vergil. Each of them. Their ability to endure is transcendent.”

“Humans are selfish being.” Vergil objects. “Their desire of self-actualization is misleading. Some humans want to be demon so much that they become something worse than the demon itself.” Including my former self. “They crave for something more. Their greed is boundless.”

“Indeed,” she admits. “I won’t defend that fact. Humans are biologically and inherently selfish. The same goes with human emotions. Though oftenly fallacious, it’s important for human survival…”

“Sounds like a creature of flaw.”

“No one’s perfect, Mr Vergil. Everyone’s flawed. “ the librarian took notice of skepticism in Vergil’s statement. “Yet you stop hating humanity.”

“I try to embrace the fact that I’m part of humanity.”

“Why?”

“… because I have a family to protect.”

“There,” she gives him understanding wink. “Unlike demons, humans have connection to each other called compassion. Their instinct to protect their beloved ones. Their need of security and sense of belonging. Without all of it, humans would ended up just like beasts. That’s what distiguished us from demons. But not all demons. They said Dark Knight Sparda fought for humanity and became a human as well. It seems to me that every humans and demons have choice to be the better or the worst version of theirselves… to be a demon, to be a human… to conquer or to protect.”

“Without strength, you cannot protect anything,” Vergil adds, more like talking to himself.

“Fine word, Mr Vergil.”

“That’s what happens when you’re responsible for lives other than your own.”

“Which means you are not fighting alone. You have someone to protect you.”

You’re gonna need some help… and someone to keep an eye on you, Dante’s voice echoed inside Vergil's head. Had Vergil dismissed him, he would ended up alone again in the Underworld. The fact that Dante was willingly throw himself to join Vergil made him feel secure. That he’s protected.

Why did it take him so long to realise that he was always saved by humanity?

“Ah… that remind me of something…” The librarian seems out of place again. Her unusual pale face is suddenly turns deadpan. But that statement just left hanging in the air as the librarian went back from her reverie. Leaving a trace of voidness in her eyes.

“Your eyes, librarian,” Vergil addresses after he saw the voidness again. “Those eyes spoke nothing.”

“Pardon?”

“I’ve seen thousands stories behind every eyes.” The hybrid knocks his fingers on the Almagest as he feels the urge to tell her the truth. That he was enchanted (or bothered?) by her unsettling eyes. “But yours telling me nothing.”

“Oh… well, what am I supposed to do with that information?” she closes her book abruptly, startled by the statement. “They said eyes are the window of the soul, am I right? Was that mean I have no soul?”

“On the contrary,” Vergil disproves. “You have a wanderer soul. A mind of philosopher.”

She flustered as she breaks her eye contact with Vergil. “Well… thank you?”

“You are welcome.” he says softly. “It just… nevermind. Forget everything I said about your eyes. I must have mistook it for something else.”

He lied, of course. His intuition never betrayed him. There’ll be another time, Vergil thought, realizing it’s futile to contend with the librarian. This was their first real conversation since their encounter three months ago and both of them need some time to open up. He won’t rush it. Not that now he really wanted to at least make an acquaintance with a normal human. Moreover, the one who could keep up with his mind and antics,

The librarian seems uncomfortable with Vergil’s appraisal. It was odd, since she thought Vergil isn’t the kind of person who would’ve easily praise someone. Little does she know that Vergil would only compliments people who’s worth his time and energy. She avoids Vergil’s inquisitive eyes, tapping her wristwatch, ”I hate to end our discussion, but apparently we’re closed.”

Vergil surveys at the winter sky that soon will turn into dark, velvet blue from the window beside his desk, “Very well then.”

“You may borrow it as long as you want,” the librarian points at the Almagest as she cleans the empty cups.

“Would that be okay for you?” Vergil doubtly glances at the book.

“Just please don’t report me to Mr Steiner,” she chuckles when she mentioned the library’s owner. Vergil remembers an old man and his occasional visits to the library and checking notes at receptionist table. “A kind one, that man, but his wrath was horrendous.”

“Won’t your colleague complain about this?”

“Nate? He’s off duty today. Worry not, he rarely checks Rare Section.” She stands up, about to lift her tray. “Oh, and please take a great care of it. I’d lose all of my wages if you somehow decided to broke it.”

“I won’t,” he reassures. “Although it is not wise to trust a stranger, Librarian.”

“Righty-ho,” she winks mischievously. “Yet I believe this stranger will keep his words.”

“And how would this stranger keep his words if he doesn’t even know the name of the very person who made him promised?”

“Ah… Mr Vergil… I did mentioned my name in our earlier discussion!” she giggles as she grips her tray in excitement. “But yes, I didn’t precisely tell you that it was my name.”

“I don’t like riddles.”

“Ha! Then let’s play a riddle, shall we? It should be easy if you listened carefully to my explanations regarding constellations!”

It is surely futile to contend with this peculiar woman. As much as he dislikes to accept the challenge, he ultimately agreed to prove his competency. He won’t lose to everyone, let alone this scallywag librarian. He folds his hands on the chest as she prepares to give him clues :

“I am visible in the Northern and Southern hemispheres

I am prominent in the summer night sky

I belong to the Hercules family of constellations

My closest neighbour constellation is Cygnus

The meteor shower appears annually in April

I have one of the brightest star in the sky.”

The hybrid goes silent, recalling his recent discussion with the librarian. He remembers the librarian briefly mentioned this constellation— a small constellation, but its brightest star is the fifth brightest star in the sky…

The process of recall also brings him to the second passage of Georgics, which originally was a Greek tale of tragic story between a musician who attempted to retrieving his dead lover from the Underworld. He managed to get through all of the obstacles only by the play of his music instrument and softened the heart of Hades, the ruler of the Underworld.

This pattern of memories immediately leads him to his answer.

“You are heavily associated with the musician Orpheus, who took his own life after his failure to ressurect Eurydice, his beloved wife. Then Zeus placed you, Orpheus’s most cherished instrument, amongst the stars,” Vergil smiles in victory. “The lyre… Lyra.”

Lyra smiles slyly, “Touché, Mr Vergil.”

“Just Vergil is fine.”

“Very well then, Vergil.”

Lyra excuses herself to wash the cups, but Vergil insists to follow her to receptionist table. He waits her to finish the washing and packing her belongings while reading the motions of Venus and Mars from the Almagest. He occasionally asks her something concerning the part he read on and she’ll answer his questions from her office.

“Your choice of word was interesting, Vergil.” Lyra shouts while drying the cups.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You said Orpheus took his own life,” she recites. “But let say God doesn’t exist, then it’s absurd to say that he took his own life. Taking it from who? If his life was truly his…”

The hybrid demon sighs frustratedly, “It’s a figure of speech. Do you always take things too literally?”

“Blimey, Vergil. I was just joking!” the librarian appears in the office doorway as she wears her gloves. Her blue oversized sweater is now covered with black babydoll coat. Vergil makes a mental note of her elegant, classy appearance as the two of them heading out of the library. Clearly she is a type of person who prioritize comfort in clothing rather than fashion, but she is nonetheless still an attractive woman.

“Your whimsical sense of humour could drive one to insanity,” he remarks, but there is no offensive tone in his voice. He does enjoy her quirky humour, though he won’t admit it.

“Oh, Vergil…” Lyra smiles mysteriously while locking the entrance door. “You have no idea what insanity is.”

Or maybe I do have the idea.

They continue their conversation until they walk pass the crowd of the street. As the conversation goes on, Vergil mentally noted Lyra’s favourites and her quirks; she has too many favourite books, but she will always re-read The Hound of Baskerville and The Silence of the Lambs. Vergil was never stand too close from her to notice her slight limp on her right leg— too subtle that normal human eyes couldn’t spot it. He wonders how she got that, but he doesn’t ask. Instead he tells her his favourites and that he prefers classics, but he’s open for something new.

“Wait a second.”

Lyra jogs to a patch of blooming snowdrops as they’re passing a playground. She picks the flower, making a small bouquet from it, and quickly returns to Vergil, who’s waiting for her in confusion.

“Galanthus nivalis,” she hands him the bouquet. “They say snowdrop represents a friend in adversity.”

“Also consolation and hope,” Vergil adds. He touches the petals with one of his gloveless finger delicately, as he recalls the language of flowers his mother taught him once. The twins were regularly helped their mother gardening as she told them the story behind every flowers.

Lyra lifts her eyebrows, “Never thought you’d familiar with floriography.”

“As a librarian, I think you know it better than me to not judge a book by its cover.”

“You got a point there," she scans through the snowdrops on Vergil’s firm hand. “My mother once told me, if I find myself lost, pick flowers.”

“That was an exquisite wisdom.”

“It is,” she grins. “That’s why I picked you these snowdrops. You seem lost. You should start picking more flowers.”

“Only if I lose myself,” Vergil pledges. “At the moment, I think I already have my answers. You’ve been very helpful.”

“No worries,“ Lyra continues her walk before she turns her back to Vergil again. “I’ll take my leave here. It was a pleasure to meet you, Vergil.”

The hybrid doesn’t respond. He doesn’t like the idea of her walking all alone in dark alleys. There is a part of him which urging him to escort her until she’s safely arrived at her house. The world is full of danger. It could be anything; demons, thieves, serial killers, even natural disasters. “I could… you know… escort you home.” Vergil almost bite his lips, curse himself for his reckless offer.

Lyra shake her head, although she noticed the visible concern from the man who stand still in front of her. “It’s very kind of you to offer me escortion, but I still have to stop by my friend’s house.”

Her face determines her reluctance to be escorted that Vergil couldn’t find better excuse, “If you say so.”

"Well… normally I would say ‘goodbye’ to strangers because I don’t plan to meet them again. But this time I’ll say ‘auf Wiedersehen’, means ‘until we see each other again’”.

“Bold of you to assume that we will see each other again.”

“As a librarian, I have a duty to remind you that you still have a book to return.”

Vergil couldn’t help but chuckles as he’s amused with her perfect comeback. Her laughter is strong enough to make Vergil reciting a poem that revolved around his head regarding her presence :

“The sun descending in the west

The evening star does shine

The birds are silent in their nest

And I must seek for mine.

The moon, like a flower,

In heaven’s high bower,

With silent delight

Sits and smiles on the night.”

The librarian stands speechless. The pupil of her eyes dilates in awestruck, not aware of the hybrid’s delicacy of making those void eyes now full in adoration.

“That was… splendid.” she blurts. “I’ve heard that somewhere… Shakespeare? Wordsworth? Oh, no no no… hmm… Blake?”

She smiles in victory as Vergil gives her a confirmation nod. She remembered Vergil’s book list, “Your favourite, of course.”

“Do me a favour,” Vergil says seriously. “Be very careful on your way back home. Our world is a savage world.”

“Of course.“ She nods in beam. “Though I assure you, I’m penniless and too troublesome to be kidnapped.”

“I can see that.“

Lyra waves her hand playfully as she takes her leave, “Auf Wiedersehen, Publius Vergilius Maro.”

The blue demon couldn’t help but rolls his eyes.

“Word of advice, Vergil,” she shouts before she disappears into the crowd of the boulevard. “Ad astra per aspera.”

To the stars through difficulties. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Vergil waits until he can’t see Lyra’s figure anymore. He somewhat feel guilty for leaving her defenseless, alone in the street. Yet he trusts his intuition, that she is capable of taking care of herself. It doesn’t stop him to think that he will escort her if she allows him, though. Being around her is just… different. It’s different from what Vergil feels when he’s with Dante and Nero. Definitely not the same way when he’s around Devil May Cry crews. Even this is the different kind of feeling he once had for Nero’s mother, a long time ago.

The blue hybrid looks up to the cloudy night sky.

According to Lyra’s explanation, winter is the best season for stargazing. There are so much observable astronomical events in this season, not to mention the appearance of Winter Triangle and Winter Hexagon, the two major asterism that dominates the winter night sky.

“The Winter Triangle formed by Betelgeuse in Orion, Sirius in Canis Major, and Procyon in Canis Minor,” Vergil recalled Lyra’s voice when they discussed asterism. “While the Winter Hexagon are much more complicated. There are Rigel in Orion, Aldebaran in Taurus, Castor and Pollux in Gemini, Capella in Auriga, and the two from the Winter Triangle: Sirius and Procyon. Sometimes both asterisms appear simultaneously.”

One of the perks of being a half-human and half-demon is enhanced senses, including advanced vision. The sky isn’t clear, for the clouds are too dense, but Vergil can easily spot the Winter Triangle without difficulty. The stars are shining brightly that it reflects back in Vergil’s blue eyes. There is Sirius, he spots the second brightest star as viewed from Earth. He remembers Lyra mentioned that Sirius will continue to be the brightest star in the Earth’s night sky for the next 210.000 years.

He’s not sure that he would live to witness that phenomenon. Even Sparda didn’t live that long. Yet the fact that he would someday die doesn’t bother him. He is no longer interested in searching for power anymore, now that he realized that his true power lies within his humanity. He becomes more convinced after his conversation with Lyra. That humanity is flawed, but worth to defend. It makes him the man he is now.

The thought of the librarian gave him a moment of serenity in the darkness of the street. Gently, he slips the snowdrop bouquet Lyra made for him between the pages of Almagest. The token of their friendship. Her offer for his adversity. That remind him of a poem his mother once recited for him, when he was helping her at the garden of Sparda Manor :

“Now— now, as I stooped, thought I

I will see what this snowdrop is

So shall I put much argument by

And solve a lifetime’s mysteries.”

“Interesting.” He mutters to himself as he summons the Yamato, cut the space to open a portal and walks towards Devil May Cry office.

–

Here's the source of recited and mentioned poems and lines :

Paradise Lost by John Milton

Mrs Dalloway by Virginia Woolf

Auguries of Innocence by William Blake

Georgics by Virgil

Night by William Blake

The Snowdrop by Walter de la Mere

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drowzydruzy · 5 years ago

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Heart Breakers chapter two

Hi, Long chapter again! Zadr fanfic.

Even earth’s best warrior has bad days...

Dib had walked back hastily, the mid-morning sun beating heavily down on him added to the boiling frustration he felt. Zim had no right acting the way he did, saying the things he said. The human could barely contain the grunt of rage as he threw open his own front door, storming up the stairs before anyone could interrupt his brooding.

“Plans I made…that’s rich” Dib scoffed to himself slamming his bedroom door, pushing open his window for some air. “Stupid reptile…”

He caught eyes with the alien poster on the wall, the human stared at it for a long moment with a sneer, as if waiting for some sort of retort or comment. He felt pathetic as he slumped down to sit on his bed, why did he have to go near that stupid house? Why did he torture himself like this? The only reason he left his room was to go clear his head and congratulations to Dib Membrane on making it even more confused, a special talent he seemed to have been granted by some hateful god.

He thought back to what Zim said again, the plan wasn’t his or had it been? Dib paused as he struggled to remember before it dawned on him as he stared at the alien head pillow on his bed.

The memory rushed forward in his mind.

The world was cast in grey, the already depressing town looked even worse on its bad days but for once Dib Membrane wasn’t feeling as awful as the weather looked instead, he couldn’t stop smiling. He had done it, the then 18-year-old had just gone and done got himself a good quality video of an alien out of its stupid yet irritatingly more updated disguise. He could barely contain his excitement; it was as clear as day and NO ONE could doubt it. Not his dad. Not anyone.

He had completely forgotten in the exciting glow of having new evidence that it didn’t matter. It never did. No one would believe him and just as quickly the confidence had come, how quickly it had left.

No one even would look at the video, not even a glance.

The people he desperately tried to show in high skool laughed at him. He thought this time was different, he had been struggling to get anything concrete on Zim even with the Florpus opening in front of the world. That time his dad had covered it up as a worldwide effect caused by ‘too much peace’ that science made everyone hallucinate, at least that’s what Dib had heard over his own screaming rant about the reality of it all.

This was different, this was a video taken by Membrane HIMSELF by pure accident on one of his home security tapes which Dib and Gaz have zero access too. The alien is shown darting behind Dib’s home in his normal skool outfit before transforming into his normal alien look and climbing up the side of the house, Dib cut the part where he climbs into his own window. That wasn’t important.

This was concrete, this was supposed to be it. He didn’t understand, why would no one listen? He thought the bullying before came from the lack of evidence, the lack of understanding. That humanity just needed to see the threat in HD, and now he finally had it. IN HD NO LESS but No matter what he did, or how hard he fought to show everyone. The rest of the world seemed to just close their eyes, ignore the horrible reality of what the truth really is and hate Dib for trying to show them.

It had been harder and harder over the years, saving people who don’t want it or don’t care enough to even notice the danger. Dib just wanted to help, even when they smashed his phone because he had let his insisting on people watching it go too far. He just wanted to help, still shouting for them to see Zim for what he is but sometimes when Dib really couldn’t keep telling himself it was for the greater good, he’d wonder if Zim had the right idea as much as he’d hate himself for it later.

Dib’s comfort was knowing that deep down he would do anything for the earth, but at that moment in time as his peers and teachers laughed and his phone lay broken on the floor everything just seemed not to be worth it. He couldn’t even look to a face around him for comfort because Gaz didn’t show up half the time, in his weakness even glanced for Zim and saw the invader watching intently from the crowd. Dib felt so tired. The human gathered his broken phone and quickly left the skool.

The rain had soaked his coat to his skin, his jeans were sticking to him as he got through the gates. Dib felt pressure gather in his throat, his eyes stinging with tears as he prayed, he’d make it home before anyone saw him cry. He had never wished for a friend as much as he had on that rainy walk home.

That night Zim had repeated the video, sneaking to Dib in the middle of the night. The human would usually be ready, waiting for the fight or the taught to chase after Zim but Dib had been busy. He had packed a full bag and was halfway through shorting the rest of his kit, ready to ditch it all and leave before he had heard in the darkness of his room the squeak of the window having its latch opened from the outside in.

The human kept packing ignoring the figure dangling from pak legs digging deep enough into his mattress that the other pak leg marks were starting to make holes. The invader dropped down as his metal legs retracted, Zim watched Dib for a long moment before throwing a book at his head. Dib dodged it.

“Hey!”

“Why aren’t you doing anything? I have come to fight, what are you packing for?” Zim asked aggressively. “Is this a trap?” The invader’s legs came back out like pincers.

“I’m done, it’s all done and I’m going” Dib spoke quietly, trying to hide the tears in his voice. “I’m over this town, congratulations Zim”

“This is a trap! I am not some idiot, I know you human don’t try and trick me”

Dib got up from the bag he was packing and flicked on the light sneering at Zim.

“No, No you fucking don’t know me” His voice was rough, cracking in places as he watched the invader slip his pak legs away and come down from his bed. “I don’t care anymore, no one else does”

Dib thought of every time he had tried to show everyone the truth, Zim half the time must have just eaten it up watching him ruin his social life. the embarrassment was a bitter after taste to the hollow feeling in his heart.

There was a long silence.

“Filthy lies-” Zim was gearing up for a shouting session, Dib could hear it in his tone. The human hissed at him.

“Keep it down idiot!.” The human batted his bag out of Zim’s claws. “I’m running away, I’m gonna travel the world and find other creatures...maybe other people will listen”

“That is hilarious, the Dib really wants to leave” Zim's laugh knocked him from his angsty throne, he glared at the invader completely offended that he’d mock his sorrow. He backed off of the other glaring at the floor instead.

“You don’t get to laugh at me” The human spoke hurt and angry “You have no idea, I am completely alone! no one cares about me, my dad still thinks I’m crazy and he ignores me...”

“You have everything I could ever want, and you never take advantage of it like I would” Dib continued as the invader watched, his zipper tooth grin turning to complexed confusion. “You will never understand me, you have no idea what it’s like to have everyone hate you...and have everyone treat you like a laughing stock”

The flinch was something Dib never expected, the invader quickly acted as if it never happened but Zim had hesitated enough that the human had seen. Dib opened his mouth, about to ask Zim’s if his leaders had contacted him yet before the alien cut him off with a sharp laugh.

“Of course I have no idea what that feels like stupid hooman, ZIM IS PERFECTION” The invader puffed out his chest, the flinch forgotten; he was always vain to the core of his sick little alien heart.

Dib paused staring at the alien before he cracked a smile, the first in hours which is why it slightly hurt Dib’s face. He inwardly wished he could be as confident as his nemesis, but he wondered briefly how honest it was. The last time he checked his monitoring software the tallest hadn’t been in contact with the earth in years.

“Yeah and how’s the almighty gonna deal with his only nemesis gone huh?”

“Only?” The invader looked him up and down as Dib’s face flickered to shock. “What? does the Dib think he’s special?” The alien was teasing him.

Zim was teasing him. Dib blinked looking a little star-struck before he smirked at the invader, his hands getting frustratingly sweaty.

“We both know that’s a lie space boy” He chided Zim with a smirk. “I think you’d miss me”

“Why would I miss such a leach on my AMAZING plans hm?” The alien turned his head defiantly before a smirk grew up his smug face. “Zim would be unstoppable”

Zim’s evil laugh began to build in his chest as Dib watched finding the display almost funny unable to keep his smile at bay. The laugh was of course, the most annoying noise on earth but sometimes Dib enjoyed it though he’d never admit it. Dib felt his gaze melting over the alien as he began muttering to himself delightedly in irken.

Zim paused in his excited rant looking to the human with a smug look.

“But remember, you putrid ape as soon as I have the earth...”

Dib raised an eyebrow, snapping out of his daydream as a shiny black claw was raised to his face.

“Zim will also have the Dib” The look of pure unfiltered malice was enough to shift the human’s gaze off of the invader as the evil laughter stopped “Yes this is perfect”

“Oh, so you would miss me, okay I see” Dib shoved Zim snickering as the Invader fell into his bag. “See now you’re even trying to stow away in my luggage”

Dib began grabbing more of his stuff feeling warmth spreading through his face and over his ears as Zim got up with a huff, looking furious as he strode toward Dib.

“The only thing I’d miss is the chance for you to try and save your stupid dirtball” He curled his fists glaring at Dib with malice. “You will be my servant! you will see, ZIM WILL RULE”

“Zim will rule” Dib snickered at the outbursts, sitting down on his bed with a little grin. “You’re too embarrassing with that take over earth stuff...I’d just leave on your zoot and never come back”

Zim’s antenna twitched as the rage seemed to be taken over by his curiosity, his claw tapped his green chin as he thought for a moment. Dib smirked and copied him whilst the invader wasn’t looking until he noticed and another book went soaring past Dib’s head.

“You are an embarrassment” Zim sneered before his claws tapped together, his tone lightening slightly “You would live in space? Not as if Zim thinks a worthless lump like you would survive...but you would go”

Ignoring the insult Dib thought of his first time in space, the vast galaxy around him. It was utterly terrifying in a way that snared him from the start, he felt his heart pound.

“How could I not, it’s beautiful and everything I’ve ever wanted...” Dib paused his motions setting down his goggles, admiring the view from the window of the night sky bathed in stars. “I miss it every day I’m not up there in the stars...”

The silence between the two wasn’t the first of it’s kind, Dib had felt the same silent awe before when the pair had gotten distracted in their voots by a nebula changing shape. It was a connection that flushed Dib scarlet, the human felt it overwhelmingly. He glanced over at Zim to see him staring at the sky with the same wondering eyes, Dib couldn’t stop the words that came from his heart.

“We should leave earth together...”

#zadr #zim and dib relationship #dib membrane #invader zim #zadr fanfiction #fanfic #long chapter #slow burn #enimies to lovers

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ladytp · 6 years ago

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Jumping from the Ropes - Chapter 1

Here comes my first-ever fully modern AU! Not necessarily by choice, but I received this prompt from @sincerelydayyy for the Sansan Christmas in July 2019 Secret Sansa challenge, “University AU, Christmas party”, and I really couldn’t see a way to wiggle out of the modern AU connotations without seriously violating the prompt… And it was an interesting challenge, so all good! I took the liberty of choosing the setting of my personal preference, a pro-wrestling world - so here goes!

EDIT: Oh my god, where are my manners! In haste to post this before leaving for work today, I completely forgot to give tribute to the beautiful, amazing @queenoferebor1204 who kindly betaed this fic for me! Thank you sooo much!!! 😘💖💕

Summary: What could the big bad heel of the Westeros Wrestling Association, Sandor ‘The Hound’ Clegane, and the university student with dreams of becoming a psychiatrist, Sansa Stark, ever have in common? A chance meeting at the University Christmas party, a moment shared.

…could she take the risk and jump from the ropes?

Sansa

“So, what’s Daddy’s little girl doing alone with a grown-ass man in a secluded place like this?”

The man’s words were as harsh as his tone, low and gravelly. Those, combined with his looks and menacing presence, would have been enough to intimidate anyone – and Sansa was no exception. Her heart started pounding and she almost turned on her heels to ran away, but knowing how ridiculous it would look, she grit her teeth and stood her ground.

The room was dimly lit. White light from the courtyard streamed through the half-closed shutters, but not bright enough nor far enough to reach him fully, leaving him shrouded in the shadows. Sansa‘s belly fluttered when she took in his form, really looking at him.

He was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed across his chest. And what arms; thick and muscled, adorned with ornate tattoos. Not only arms, but everything about him was impressive, from the top of his head, down his thick body all the way to the bottom of his black work boots. His hair was dark and fell lankily to cover half his face, his body perfectly proportioned for such a tall man.

The Hound.

The meanest, the angriest, the most notorious wrestler in the Westeros Wrestling Alliance, WWA.

What have I gotten myself into?

Sansa swallowed, her mouth and throat suddenly as dry as parchment. She had probably drunk a few too many Christmas-themed Cranberry Margaritas, having reached that degree of inebriation where everything was wonderful and she felt confident, funny and in control. Why else would she have followed him, only to find herself in a situation she knew for sure she had absolutely no control over?

The Hound leaned back, his mouth twitching and his eyes travelling down her body. Sansa knew she looked pretty, having prepared for the evening with particular care. The annual King's Landing University's Christmas Party was one of the biggest events in its calendar, its attendees consisting of university staff and selected students, invited guests and sponsor representatives. An event that was worth all the fuss Sansa had gone through by doing her hair, makeup and dress, finishing with adorning herself with an assortment of novelty Christmas jewellery to heighten the spirit of the season.

“I… I thought you might get lost. The corridors can be quite a maze to navigate.”

Sansa had seen him leave the Great Hall after having hovered at the back of the room during the speeches, emptying beer bottles, one after another, ignoring anyone who tried to talk to him. As one of the student body representatives and feeling partially responsible for the main sponsor’s guests – secured by her father’s connections – she had followed him to make sure he didn’t get lost in the labyrinth of the old building’s many corridors.

The Hound snorted. “I needed to get away from that. Too much noise.”

Sansa’s courage started to return. He was just a man, after all. A man in her father’s employ, even. Or to be precise, in the employ of Bobby ‘Stag’ Baratheon, owner of WWA, who’s COO her father was. Bobby had lured his old friend, Ned Stark, from the North to help him manage the unruly organisation, and as Sansa had wanted to take the opportunity of her university’s student exchange program, she had accompanied her father to the capital.

“I think I know what you mean. I’m not keen on big parties either,” Sansa said, relaxing her stance. Her heart rate had returned to normal and the cloying effect of the alcohol was restoring her confidence. She could do this, she could talk with him as if it was nothing special.

The Hound hadn’t moved but as Sansa’s eyes had by then adjusted to the darkness, she could see him better; the way his lips curled when he gave her another once-over.

“You, not keen on parties? I thought that’s where pretty little birds like you flock - to see and be seen.”

Something in the way he said it rubbed Sansa the wrong way. She knew some people saw her just as a pretty bimbo with no substance, but she knew better. She took her studies seriously and didn’t party any more than her friends did – probably less. She wanted to become a doctor, a psychiatrist, to help people in need, so to be dismissed as a party girl irked her.

“How can you say something like that? You don’t know me.”

“Aye, I don’t know you, but I have seen you fluttering around in your pretty pink and blue dresses, sipping champagne at the company events.”

Sansa drew in a deep breath, preparing to tell him she did those things only as a favour for her father who sometimes asked her to accompany him at official functions, when she realised what the Hound had just said.

‘Pretty pink and blue dresses’.

True, she had one pink and another light blue cocktail dress, specifically bought for such occasions – but for him to have noticed them must mean that he had noticed her.

Sansa swallowed the words on the tip of her tongue, suddenly unsure of her footing. She had assumed The Hound wouldn’t know her from a loaf of bread; an insignificant girl in the crowd when there were so many girls clamouring to be seen by him and other wrestlers.

Sansa had certainly noticed him, too. Not only was he hard not to notice, towering at least a head above most people in any crowd, but he was also the heavily promoted up-and-coming star of the company. The Hound was a heel, of course: one of the bad guys.

For a while, he had been an enforcer for the young gun Joffrey ‘King’ Baratheon – Bobby B’s eldest son with dreams of wrestling domination - accompanying him to matches and playing dirty tricks with his opponents whenever the referee’s head was turned. Eventually, a disagreement between the two – apparently a real-life matter, not kayfabe – had seen them go their separate ways. Since then, The Hound’s career had been in ascendance and he was currently holding the WWA’s Universal Champion title.

Sansa knew people she met were often surprised to find out that she followed pro-wrestling. It had been a natural part of life growing up, being surrounded by the wrestling world due to Ned Stark’s position in it. However, even later, she had found herself drawn to it on her own although she often found it hard to explain to outsiders why. Probably partly because of its sheer physicality and athleticism and partly because of the elaborate storylines weaved into it, which hooked the viewers in and reeled them into coming back to see where the story went. ‘Slow-burn soap opera’, as her mother aptly called it. ‘A transcendental art form, where what is presented is less important than how it makes the viewer feel’, as her intellectual younger brother Bran put it.

The Hound’s ring persona was supposed to make the audience hate him – which it did, for the most part. The crowd loved to hate him, and the pop he received was no less than what was given to faces such as the joke-cracking Bronn ‘The Enforcer’ or the all-around-nice guy Gendry ‘The Smith’. The Hound revelled in that hate, spitting it back into people’s faces – and yet, when Sansa had observed him on the sidelines or after the live segment had ended, she had been struck by the air of melancholy that seemed to surround him.

One Sunday morning when Sansa had been waiting for her father at the back of the stadium, she had seen The Hound jogging towards it with a huge black dog at his heels. It had been a Pitbull or some such, as lethal looking as its owner. He hadn’t seen her as she had been sitting under a cover some distance away, but she had seen them.

Sansa had followed curiously, and, after catching his breath and stretching, The Hound had engaged in a playful game of chase with the dog, both taking turns to run and pursue each other. It had ended with him being pinned to the ground under the dog’s huge paws, laughing and play-wrestling it to eventual submission. During the whole time, his face had been transformed from its usual surliness to something more open and relaxed – he had been a totally different man.

And then the backdoor had opened and Ned Stark had stepped out, and The Hound had instantaneously changed back to his brooding self.

Yes, Sansa had noticed him too.

While still wondering how to proceed – or not - Sansa suddenly also remembered an incident that had taken place a few months before, at one of those company functions. Ned had disappeared somewhere with Bobby, and Sansa had had an unpleasant experience of being harassed by two team officials, clearly worse for wear with a drink. They might not have meant anything with their clumsy attempts at flirtation, but Sansa hadn’t welcomed their company and had grown increasingly uncomfortable when they hadn’t picked up her signals to leave her alone.

And then, out of nowhere, The Hound had appeared and nailed the men with his piercing stare - and without him having to say a word, the men had departed. Yet before Sansa had had a chance to thank him, The Hound had disappeared again, moving surprisingly fast for such a big man.

“That doesn’t mean that you know why I was there or what I think of those events. Men like you are too quick to judge a book by its cover,” she finally said, still riled by his poor assessment of her character.

“Men like me? Now, who’s quick to judge? Do you claim to know me? I have seen you peeping at me by the ringside, don’t think I haven’t.” The Hound pushed himself away from the wall and walked towards Sansa. She instinctively took a step back, and noticing it, the Hound smirked.

“Is this what fascinates you? An ugly mug to stare at? Not like the pretty boys here at the campus.” He pointed to his face, the other side of which was covered with scar tissue. It was not a pleasant sight, the hardened tissue distorting his cheek into a bundle of twisted purple knots. Sansa had heard that it had looked even worse before but that one of the conditions of his first contract had been for him to undergo plastic surgery to make his appearance more palatable to the audience.

Whether the surgery had been botched or whether the intention had never been to remove the scars altogether, the end result was that many of them were still clearly visible. Oddly enough, it was usually considered to give him an extra edge in his profession, where much of the story was focussed on the heel trying to be as threatening as possible.

“No, it’s not that!” Sansa exclaimed. “I… I think you’re a good wrestler, that’s all.”

“Hmph.” The Hound stopped his advance and swayed slightly on his feet, taking a hold of the edge of an old wooden table between them. The room was dotted with them, being an old library, later relegated to a reading room for senior academic staff. Comfortable stuffed armchairs shared the space convivially with heavy ornamental tables, representing bygone times when universities epitomised dignity and grandeur.

He might have had a bit too much to drink as well, Sansa realised. He was holding a bottle of beer in his other hand although he hadn’t drunk from it during their conversation – if their exchange of thinly veiled challenges could be called one. Once again, the inadvisability of the notion of being alone in a room with a drunken stranger raised its head in Sansa’s mind, and yet, against all common sense, she didn’t feel unsafe. Despite knowing that none of her friends were aware of where she had gone after sneaking out of the big hall, and that the man standing in front of her was a simmering cauldron of testosterone, probably ready to explode at any moment.

“Your face doesn’t bother me,” Sansa continued, emboldened by her realisation. To prove her point further, she looked straight at him, letting her gaze wander to the burned side. “What happened to you - how did you get them?”

The Hound straightened slowly to his full height, apparently having regained his balance.

“Fuck - I can’t remember the last time someone asked me that question, to my face.” He cocked his head and stared at Sansa. “You’ve got some balls, girl.”

Sansa didn’t know how to respond to such a statement, so she said nothing.

The Hound seated himself unceremoniously on the table, half-sitting, half-standing, his hands crossed on his lap. He looked like a novice lecturer attempting to look hip and cool whilst sharing words of wisdom to his audience. His expression conveyed the same notion, watching Sansa as if to check that he had her attention before he started talking.

“In a house fire. In our house, in my bedroom, when I was just seven.” His tone was even, every word dropped precisely.

“Oh!” Sansa exhaled. For a child to have endured such a dreadful accident was horrible indeed.

The Hound stared at her as if waiting for her to say something else. While Sansa was trying to gather her thoughts and think of something suitable to convey her sympathy, his expression changed. It didn’t seem to be a reflection of Sansa’s inability to respond though – he appeared to have almost forgotten that she was there, instead staring vacantly ahead, his brows drawing together and his mouth twitching. Sansa drew a deep breath and soldiered on regardless.

“I’m so sorry to hear that, it must have –“ The rest of what she was going to say was cut short by the loud bang from The Hound hitting his fist on the table.

“Fuck that!”

Sansa jerked back, alarmed by his outburst.

“The fuck it was a house fire – that was just the lie my father told anyone who asked.” The Hound stared at his curled fist, his nostrils flaring. Then he lifted his head, his face contorted in rage. “You want to know what it was? What it really was?”

Sansa regretted rousing such a reaction from him. Why had she opened her big mouth and asked such a stupid question? It was clearly a sensitive subject and she of all people, an aspiring psychiatrist, should have known better!

It was too late to stop him now, however, so Sansa slumped her shoulders and tried to make herself as small as possible, hoping his ire would soon pass.

The Hound turned away so that Sansa was facing his broad back. He started with a low voice, so low that Sansa had to strain her ears to hear what he said.

“I was seven all right. My brother had a wrestling figurine he had gotten from somewhere, and it was the fanciest figurine I had ever seen; moving joints, exchangeable championship belts, the works. I played with it in our garden – I was just borrowing it - and he saw me. The BBQ was heating up – we were going to grill some sausages later – and he just picked me up, not saying a word, and carried me to it.” He stopped for a moment. “I think you can guess the rest.”

Sansa recoiled. Could it be – no, surely he couldn’t have?

The Hound seemed to have read her mind as he growled darkly. “Yes, he fucking did. Pressed my face against the coals and there was nothing I could do.” He exhaled sharply. “Except scream.”

Sansa stared at his back, her skin crawling. Helplessly, she hung on to the only logical thing that stood out for her in that macabre tale. “Your brother… surely he had to answer for it?”

The Hound threw his head back and laughed, a dry, barking laugh that stopped as unexpectedly as it started.

“Answer for it! Gregor was just about to be signed for the NGW, and had they known about it, he would have kissed that hefty contract goodbye! So my father made up the story about the fire and no one was ever the wiser.”

Next Generation Wrestling was a stepping stone to the WWA and the best way to proceed in the business. Sansa understood the importance of it, and still… Nausea washed over her just from thinking of what she had just heard.

Without conscious thought, she stepped closer and reached out to touch him, her hand meeting his shoulder, the heat of his body radiating through his T-shirt into her palm. The Hound tensed, his muscles as rigid as steel but he didn’t move.

“I am so sorry. I mean it, I really do. He did wrong and he should have never been allowed to get away with it.”

He didn’t reply but Sansa didn’t remove her hand. Eventually, after an indeterminate amount of time, she felt The Hound relax under her touch. To lay her hand on him for longer would have been too awkward, so Sansa pulled away slowly.

The silence stretched on. The low hum of music from the direction of the Great Hall drifted to the room, signalling good times and a party in full swing, somewhere far, far away. Headlights of a car driving into the courtyard traced a bright path across the wall before moving past, shadows reclaiming their place again.

The Hound’s back was still turned but he pushed himself away from the table, slowly, and walked to the window. He stared outside for a moment, then spoke. The heat was gone from his voice and he sounded weary.

“The shit is going to hit the fan soon. In the company.”

Sansa was taken aback by the sudden change of topic.

“Bobby is losing his grip and Cersei and Joffrey want to take it over. And when they do, your old man is going to get the boot.”

Sansa wasn’t exactly sure what he was referring to but lately, she had noticed her father being more distracted than usual and under a lot of stress. If this was the reason…it made sense. But why bring it up now?

“I don’t know much about it. Father doesn’t tell me about those things,” she offered, cautiously.

Slowly, The Hound turned to face Sansa. His mouth was set in a hard line and he clenched his jaw.

“What will you do, then?”

Sansa thought for a moment. “I’ll be fine. I am only here on a student exchange anyway, so once the semester ends, I’ll go back to Wintertown uni.”

“I know what I’ll be doing. Leaving. Don’t want to be Joffrey’s lackey, ever again.”

“I see.”

The Hound fell silent again. He looked at his hand and appeared surprised to find the half-empty beer bottle still in it. That state of affairs didn’t last long, though, as he gulped it down in a few greedy mouthfuls, then dropped it on the floor.

The thick carpet absorbed the sound almost without a trace.

Sansa shifted on her feet, thinking she really should be getting back to the party. It was her responsibility to look after the other guests as well. She hadn’t been surprised not to see the main sponsor himself, Bobby B, in the party, the scene not being his usual hangout. She had been surprised, though, to see some of the wrestlers and coaches there. Beric ‘The Sword’ Dondarrion was there, as was women’s champion Asha ‘The Squid’ Greyjoy, accompanied by their grizzly but good-natured head coach Barristan Selmy with his assistant Jorah Mormont.

“I should get back to our guests. I’m one of the student body hosts, and…” She let her voice trail off, The Hound continuing to stare out of the window showing no signs of having heard her – or caring about what she said.

Quietly, Sansa turned on her heels and walked to the door. Just as she was about to step into the corridor, he called after her.

“Little Bird.”

Sansa stopped, debating whether she should react to such a nickname, especially after how he had used it to disparage her earlier. Yet his tone was subdued, not challenging. She turned around, slowly.

“If you ever tell anyone what I told you tonight…” He had turned away from the window and faced her. His expression contradicted his words: the former spoke of a veiled threat of consequences if broken, the latter conveyed anguish and silent plea. “About anything I told you tonight…”

He didn’t finish his sentence, but it was not necessary. Sansa understood.

“I won’t. I promise.”

A flash of something passed between them, the man and the girl. A quiet understanding, a secret entrusted to the care of another.

“You better get back to your party. Your friends must be missing you.” The Hound’s voice was husky, almost soft.

Sansa nodded and finally made her exit, all the time being aware of the Hound's eyes following her all the way to the corridor, where she broke into a small run. She had an odd urge to leave, to go home, to be on her own and ruminate over the strange encounter she had just experienced.

Once, when she had first arrived in King’s Landing, she had been given a backstage tour around the WWA stadium by the team fitness trainer Davos Seaworth. He had taken her to the ring itself and explained some of the basic training techniques and common moves, Sansa having a go at a few of them. Just simple stuff such as bouncing off the ropes, somersaults and falls.

Then Davos had helped her to climb up on the corner turnbuckles and she had stood there, supported by him from her ankles and knees, and looked down at the middle of the ring. It had seemed to be so terribly far away, and the thought of leaping into the air to execute a diving elbow drop, diving crossbody or, heaven forbid, some even more challenging move such as swan dive, had made her dizzy and caused beads of perspiration to trickle down her forehead. How anyone could have so much confidence, strength and skill to take such a leap, mystified Sansa. How could a human being ignore all common sense and its warnings to jump from so high up, just like that?

Her feet had trembled and sensing her unease, Davos had climbed half-way up and supported her by the shoulder while guiding her steps all the way down. When Sansa had finally felt the solid floor of the ring under her feet, she had taken a deep breath and sworn never again to climb so high - and most definitely never to fool herself into thinking that she could jump from the ropes.

She felt something very similar in that very moment – dizziness, a glimpse of danger, trepidation.

Yet it was ridiculous to think of the encounter in such terms so Sansa tried to push it out of her mind, stopping to gather herself behind the last door leading to the Great Hall. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and only then stepped back into the bright lights and a pulsating swirl of the humanity of the party.

#SanSan Secret Santa #sincerelydayyy #sansan #Sansa Stark #Sandor Clegane #Chapter 1 #pro-wrestling world #Merry Christmas in July!#of course!#ltp's first ever modern AU #yikes #gotfic #my fic #Jumping from the Ropes

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calenheniel · 6 years ago

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Avowal | sequel to Denial

Frozen | Hans x Elsa | Romance, Angst | Oneshot | K+

Two years later, and shame still plagues his every step.

He can walk unfettered around the palace of the Isles, the gardens, and even out so far as the surrounding town—but the rumors and gossip and laughter of the courtiers and common people follow him everywhere he goes.

There is no escape from it, even in dreams.

Sequel to Denial

Author's Note: Years later, I decided that the story of Denial remained incomplete. This is dedicated to everyone who has feelings left unexpressed, and with things left unsaid.

FF.Net | AO3 | Wattpad

Avowal

Two years later, and shame still plagues his every step.

There is no escape from it, even in dreams.

Mocking remarks and laughter are nothing new to him - he's suffered the same all throughout his childhood, and most of his adult life - but the nature of them since his return from Arendelle seem even more poisonous than before.

How many times would the Queen have her way with you? And her sister, the Princess? I imagine they both must've had a go.

How did it feel to finally plunge your sword into those icy depths?

I suppose she must have discarded of you when she got bored. If only you'd been a better lover, she might've kept you around a bit longer!

At first, hearing such comments nearly makes him laugh; if any of them knew how far from the truth their suppositions were, what a shock they might suffer! After months pass in this manner, however, he realizes that telling said truth would only make things worse for him.

After all, was it more humiliating to have been the sexual plaything to a renowned frigid beauty, or to have been a willing prisoner who rejected her advances, and could make no great claims to have bedded the wondrous and terrible Snow Queen? At least by not denying the former version of events, he could hold onto some part of his old reputation as a terrible seducer. With the latter, he would likely be regarded as some kind of idiotic monk, or worse—impotent.

And so he languishes in idle pleasures to pass the time, barred from further naval service or any active role at court, traipsing from one gambling parlor to another. Sometimes, he even dares to venture out amongst the commoners, standing in the back of a theater for a drunken puppet show or sliding into the dark corners of taverns with a pint of cheap ale. These escapades, however, are usually brief, cut short by his fellow patrons’ recognition of his face and misdeeds (followed by their coarse and unbridled laughter).

When all else fails to entertain him (or when he runs out of money), he reads - endlessly, relentlessly - but no book holds his attention for long, and he is inevitably drawn back into morose brooding over his many failures.

It is on one such day spent alternating between reading and reflecting in his quiet, dusty spot in the old stacks of the palace library, that he learns (by way of eavesdropping on a tryst between two courtiers) of the Snow Queen’s upcoming visit to the Isles.

It is to be the first since his attempted coup, and the significance of the event is not lost on him; he wonders at how his older brother, the king, might try to keep him out of sight and sound of the visiting monarch, or at the new rumors and cackles that are sure to haunt him in the days and weeks ahead.

She’s come back for a taste of the young prince, has she? For old time’s sake.

He is filled with bitter hatred for her at the thought, and cannot stomach seeing that weak, pathetic creature again, even if only in passing glances from the shadows.

He recalls her fixation on him, her futile attempts at intimacy, her hesitation—and with each memory, his resentment grows.

Two years later, and she still won’t let him be.

II.

It’s the day before her arrival in the Isles, and it’s even worse than he imagined.

There is no corner of the palace to which he can retreat, no tavern, theater, or parlor accessible to him, where he does not feel the eyes of every courtier and commoner upon him. His own quarters are his only solace, and there he rests on his bed with a great frown stitched onto his lips.

There is endless chatter about what might happen should the two run into one another during her visit—a possibility which, to him, seems unlikely after receiving a predictably stern warning from the king to stay away.

He has no intention, of course, to disobey his brother. In spite of his old penchant for drama, he has no desire to see the Snow Queen again, nor to let her have the upper hand in any way over him in person.

But she’s already won, he thinks, and scowls. To deny that would be a fool’s errand; whatever pleasure he might have extracted from dealing out small cruelties to her in the past, he knows they are worth nothing in the bigger scheme of things. In his pitiful current existence, he recognizes that he does not have the freedom - nor the impulse - to taunt and bait her as freely as he once did.

And yet—

He shakes his head at the stray thought. He cannot imagine that she has changed all that much in the two years since he left her kingdom—not someone like her, who has lived such an austere and controlled life for so long, and who had only just begun to explore the extent of her powers in the brief time he spent in her custody.

Not someone, he thinks, who couldn’t even bring herself to touch me.

Besides, he does not think that he has changed much since then, either. Outside of an ever-growing number of gambling debts he will never repay, and an encyclopedic knowledge of the history of the Northern Isles from his countless hours in the library, he feels the same as ever. (Although perhaps a bit more glum and resigned than before.)

Nonetheless, there is an irrepressible curiosity about her that has always been there, and which remains unstifled by his denials and pretend nonchalance. It has grown with each passing moment since the day he learned of her visit, and now it threatens to upset the fragile peace he has made with his quiet, unhappy life.

He wonders if seeing her again will finally break it.

III.

What are you doing?

He hears her asking him that question again, if only in his mind; he is even sat in the same position, draped across a chaise in his room with a book, as he was when she first asked it.

He shuts the tome abruptly at the memory, though he was not much engrossed in it to begin with. There is no quiet to be found even in his own room, as she is everywhere—and nowhere.

Where has your ambition gone?

He rises from the chaise in a tumult, nearly knocking it over as he snaps open his closet doors, red-faced. The Snow Queen has been in the Isles for a week already, attending meetings, fetes and dinners thrown in her honor, touring the ports, and entertaining the commoners with displays of her ice magic. He’s watched it all from various vantage points around the palace, ignoring the warning looks of his insufferable brothers and their equally dreadful wives when they catch sight of him skulking.

Despite his previous disinclination, he cannot help himself; he wants to, no, has to see her.

You didn’t know me then, and you certainly don’t know me now.

He wonders at that seething little remark as he rifles through his clothes, running his hands over old suits without purpose or feeling for their former significance. He remembers her so differently from the way she looks to him now: determined, confident, even bold in her gait and approach, inspiring awe and obsequious speeches from his relations.

It is strange, he thinks, to see her as a stranger; it feels wrong, somehow, that she should transform into this new person beyond his understanding, and beyond his reach.

Perhaps I didn’t know her after all, he muses, though it is hard to tell from so far away who she is or isn’t anymore—what is real, and what is performance.

There is only one way to find out, but he has avoided doing it. He prefers the cold embrace of the shadows, their anonymity, their familiarity; he has only ever known disappointment when he has tried to step out of them. To let her see him, and to see her again, in the light…

His hand pauses atop a pair of gloves - similar to, although not the same as, the ones he used to wear - and an old, familiar sensation of comfort courses through him at their texture. As he runs his fingers over them, he recalls the redness in her cheeks and the dusky glow in her blue eyes when he drew near.

A grim smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

Or perhaps I do.

IV.

It’s an unusually chilly October afternoon when they are reunited - or, more accurately, when she requests to see him again - and he isn’t informed of the exact hour, minute, or second that he should expect her to call on him.

That doesn’t stop him from restless speculation, though.

It isn’t lost on him that in the exact moment he’d finally made up his mind to face her, she had called for him herself. It leaves him wondering at her motives, and at what he might expect: harsh remonstrances? Retribution for his callous indifference towards her? Perhaps, he thinks, she has negotiated with his brother for him to finally be duly punished for his crimes against her and her country, and instead of her, he would be met with the palace guard carting him off to the dungeons.

This possibility, among many others, crosses his mind in the silence of the king’s study, where she has asked to meet with him, alone. He paces the floors as if in a trance, his hands knotted together behind his back and his shoulders taut, missing their old epaulettes.

“Hans.”

Her voice cuts through the stale air, and he stops. His shoulders lower as he turns towards her, and he fights the urge to bow.

“Elsa.”

She is close, now—closer than he can ever remember her being, even though she is still on the other side of the room, the doors to the study closing behind her.

He swallows a grimace, plastering on a smug look. “You’ve come to see me.”

She takes a few steps towards him, and it takes every bit of his strength to stand in place. “Yes,” she says, “I’ve come to see you.”

Her stride is as purposeful and powerful as he observed from afar in the previous days, but up close, there is something in her expression that unsettles him… something that he can’t define or grasp.

(Something that inspires his old feelings of spite.)

“And I suppose you’ve come to gawk, then?” he asks. “To see what remains of your former prisoner? Or is ‘ward’ the more appropriate term?” His face twists as his fingers curl into fists behind him, and he approaches her with deliberate, menacing languor. When he comes to a halt, he is close enough to see the twinge of pink coloring her cheekbones, rising above the freckles dotting her skin, and he drops his voice to a low baritone.

“Or perhaps there’s something else you want?”

Her eyes lift to greet his gaze, and his breath hitches in his throat.

“Hans,” she says again, “please.”

Her voice is gentler this time, with a plaintive note he doesn’t recognize. It takes him aback, and in the silence that follows, their eyes remain locked.

He notices that something in them again that he doesn’t understand, and as he scans her expression over and over again, his heart races at the unexpectedness and suddenness of their proximity.

(Of their intimacy.)

His skin crawls at the thought. “So what is it, Elsa? What could you possibly want from me now?” He sneers at her. “And don’t bother asking for an apology. You clearly don’t need one from me,” he remarks, looking her up and down for effect. “Not anymore.”

“I don’t want an apology.”

His back stiffens at her immediate, effortless reply, and his hands lock at his sides.

“I—”

She pauses, looking away, and the pink in her cheeks turns to red as her breath catches and releases. He watches her in silence, surprising himself; he is rarely a man without words.

“I don’t want an apology,” she repeats, her eyes softening as she regards him. “Rather, I… I came here - asked you to come here today - to say the opposite.”

His chest tightens. “The opposite?” he manages after a moment, feeling absurd.

She gives a slight nod. “Yes. To say that I—I’m sorry, Hans.” Her breath comes out as a shudder. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t honest with you. About why I kept you in Arendelle, why I sought your company, why…”

She trails off, unable to look at him, and his face grows hot. “You’re sorry,” he repeats, not understanding—never understanding, it seems.

She reaches down into a pocket in her dress, and pulls out a pair of gloves - the very same gloves, he realizes, that he left behind for her in Arendelle - and the sight of them causes a chill to run down his spine.

With some hesitation, she places them on a small table nearby, and then removes her own, one by one, and lays them atop his. Her gaze lingers there for a moment, and then she’s looking at him again.

“I loved you,” she says, blinking back tears. “I didn’t understand it then, but now…”

She reaches out for his hands, frozen at his sides, and brings them to her lips, bowing her head to place a kiss atop each of them. When she exhales, she releases a relieved sigh that rolls across his skin in waves, and then she lifts her head, releasing his hands from hers.

A small smile flits across her face even as her lip quivers, and in that moment, he is moved by her beauty in a way that he hasn’t been since he saw her on the North Mountain.

“Goodbye, Hans.”

He starts at the parting words, unready for them, still lost in the morass of her confession—and then she is gone, like ice retreating from spring, the outline of her back glimmering with a strange light as the doors close behind her.

When he is alone again, he wonders if she had ever really been there at all.

I’m sorry.

The back of his hands are tingling, his skin still warm from her lips, and he knows.

I loved you.

He takes a step back, then two, then three, until he bumps into a table - the same one upon which she placed his gloves, as well as her own - and stops.

His fingers tremble as they touch the gloves, one by one. He cannot help but notice how ragged and discolored his are in comparison to hers, which remain as vibrant and bold a blue as when he first beheld her.

I didn’t understand it then, but now…

He remembers the breathless, reverent way she held his gloves in her hands - as if every stain and tear along their seams were precious jewels - and he chokes as his fists curl around them, his knuckles turning white.

Six years later, and he’s finally let her touch him.

#hans #elsa #queen elsa #prince hans #frozen #frozen fanfic #frozen fanfiction #iceburns #hansla #helsa #hans x elsa #elsa x hans

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hisfatherwillhearaboutthisx · 7 years ago

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'That Dragon...' Draco Malfoy x Reader [pt1]

There's a dragon within all of us, and there is always this one moment where we let is all go and the dragon comes out. We can't stop it and I don't believe we ever will. After years, no one has found a cure for her dragon.

"Draco slow down! this isn't fair; your legs are so much longer than mine!" I chased after him furiously as my shoes pounded down the schools long twisted hallways after the tall blond boy. I do hate him.

"god y/n" he huffed ahead of me "you must be unfit"

he came to a stop at the start of a dark staircase. He rolled his eyes dramatically as I swung around the corner. "take your time why don't you". I scrunched my brows together at his snarky remark. I wonder about Draco sometimes.

‘‘I wonder if he even sees me as a friend or more of a scapegoat, someone to place the blame onto. It’s always been like this really, ever since we were little. When I was 8 years old my father had passed away from liver cancer that spread to the brain and my mother couldn’t handle the pressure of a young wizard twirling at her feet every second. I was then passed on to my uncle a capable wizard who my mother believed would be a good substitute for a parent. My uncle, Julius Sweetgold, was close friends with the Malfoy family. So naturally me and Draco became friends, well at least that is what we told our families. We would pretend that we got along so well, when in reality he used to pick on me and make fun of me for not doing things his way and frankly back then I was completely hopeless when it came to making friends, so I just never tried with him. He would break some old and expensive artefact that his family have had for generations; and then he would blame me for using magic and breaking something. And in the end I would get in trouble for using magic without attending a wizarding school and breaking something that didn’t belong to me.

Now that I think about it Draco isn’t really an ideal friend…but in all honesty he has changed since we were younger, he got taller than me and faster, and he somehow managed to transform into a tall brooding boy with floppy platinum blond hair that fell into his beautiful bright eyes. Bloody witchcraft, there’s no way the boy I knew who always had his bright yellow locks slicked back now looks like this.

He turned back to look at me once more a horribly mischievous grin on his face. “do you have the Veritaserum?” he smiled cheerily after posing his question.

“yes here…” I mumbled placing the small jar in his outstretched hand. He smiled triumphantly and continued up the stairs. As the stairs twisted upwards my eyes wondered over to a quote on the stone wall, ‘The Eagle Soars Where Others Cannot Reach’. And instantly I knew where we were.

“Why are we in the Ravenclaw tower?” my voice bounced off the walls as I spoke louder than I intended to. I saw Draco's shoulders tense as I must have scared him a little. “Because I have some cupcakes to deliver...” I scrunched my eyebrows together at the answer he gave me, I replied a quiet ‘what?’ when he stopped dead in his tracks to turn around to look at me. He placed the small potion bottle in his school trouser pocket and brought a white box out from under his arm; lifting the lid I could see an array of colourful cakes sitting in rows of 4. “Hold it” it said pushing the box to me, the bottle returned to his hand and he pulled at the cork which came out with a satisfying ‘pop’. He carefully tipped the potion onto the cakes and closed the lid, bringing the box back under his arm.

He carried on walking so I ran up after him. We came face to face with a grand painting much like the one in the Gryfindor stairwell. It spoke in an oddly posh voice. “ Where do vanished objects go?” Draco tilted his head at the painting in a puzzled manner.

“I thought it was just going to ask for a password or something...” Draco sounded dejected as he slowly turned back to me. “No Draco, the ravenclaw tower asks a conundrum... I think its because they’re smarter than us...” Draco scoffed and scrunched his face us in thought. I stepped forward deciding to try out a possible answer. “Into the nonbeing” “what is the rest?” the painting spoke back to me “Urm, into the nonbeing, which is, to say everything?” I said it as more of a question than an answer. “correct” the painting faded away to reveal a brown door with no doorknob or keyhole, just a golden eagle.

“How did you know that?” Draco questioned I shrugged and turned back to him “Educated guess I suppose”

I rested my hand on the eagle and suddenly the door opened to reveal loads of ravenclaw students sitting in silence, it was already so different from the Slytherin common room. All heads turned to us at the intrusion.

“Slytherins? what are you doing here?” One of the prefects spoke up. when Draco didn't reply I grabbed the box from under his arm and said “cupcakes anyone?” some of the older years rose from the seats to collect a small cake from the box, groaning at the taste of sugar and saying how much they enjoyed them. At first I wasn't on-board with his whole elaborate plan to find out students secrets, but I had to admit after some thought, I am pretty curious.

“I always thought that you were an absolute dick Malfoy” a girl said, she covered her mouth in shock. This truth option works instantly, wow.

“Hey Matthew!” I heard Draco shout “who do you have a crush on hmm?“ I looked at him confused, is this all he wanted to know, dumb little things no one cares about? Matthew strode up to Draco and said in the nonchalant way “y/n” His hands flew to his mouth as he excused himself and walked away from me and Draco. To be completely honest this is the first time I’d ever met Matthew, I never even knew he existed until today. I turned towards Draco to complain about how boring his idea was and that it wasn't as exciting as he had made it sound. Draco’s ears where red and his eyebrows were scrunched together, I went to tap his hand to ask him what was wrong when I noticed that this fists where clenched so hard to the point where his knuckles were white. He reached over and pulled against my wrist to bring me out of the common room. Once we were back in the hallway that lead to the stair case I asked him what was wrong.

“Draco whats-” “He can’t have you. You’re mine” His voice broke slightly in-between sentences and I stood there shocked just staring at him until his large hands cupped my neck bringing me towards his face. He let his lips fall onto mine in a soft kiss, I couldn't help but kiss back which in response made him smile into the kiss.

As we broke away I spoke to him “why didn't you tell me you felt this way?” “I didn't want to ruin what we already had...” he looked down at the floor when I laughed “Draco, you’re practically my bully” We both then laughed as he pulled me into a hug.

#draco malfoy smut #harry x draco #draco malfoy #draco x reader #harry x ginny #draco x hermione #harry potter #harry x hermione #draco x harry #fred weasley

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stories-from-my-mind-to-yours · 7 years ago

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Humans. Pet, Protégés or Predator? Part V. Ancient truths.

Omega draconis, Omega homeworld. Five days had passed since Cerin's... experience. He had decided to take some time off, due to obvious reasons. The vote concerning the humans had proved useless, since they had opted out of an inauguration, and instead had simply asked to form a coalition of sorts, in all but name exactly the same thing, but in the humans paraphrased words: "but this was our idea."

He couldn't really blame them, young as they were, it's like watching hatchlings try to catch their first rekkh, (a lava-living snake, 2 ft in lengt, often kept as a pet) absolutely convinced no one had ever done it before. Well it had been four million cycles since any egg had actually hatched, but still. The humans were so... for lack of a better word, childish. But at the same time, one of the most tenacious, inventive and dangerous creatures to ever sail the cosmos.

His mind wandered far, as it does when one has nothing to do but wait. He thought of a story his father had told him when he was little. The story of The First Four.

In the beginning there were Alpha, Beta, Gamma and Delta. Alpha and Gamma were female, Beta and Delta were male. Alpha was blue, Beta was red, Gamma was green, and Delta was yellow. The story went on to describe the many great things they did, Alpha had lain thousands of eggs, and she cared for them all, for she was the Brood Queen. Beta was the Father and Teacher, he had shown them how to hunt, and taught them speech and writing. Gamma was the Caregiver, she who gave them heat and comfort. Delta was a trickster, mischievous and inventive, he had found all kinds of new things, like the magma caves they most often slept in.

This is of course considered pure myth by some, and there is no scientific evidence that they had ever existed. But Cerin was a believer, and as such he drew his heritage from Gamma. His thoughts trailed to the fragile creature that slept below his feet.

The female Omega had spoken very little, she answered with yes or no, or a few words together, she had even forgotten to tell him her name, but there would be time for pleasantries later. He had brought her home, not in any way because he felt any obligation for either of them to mate, but simply because it was her home.

He had offered her food several times on the journey home, but she insisted on not feeding until she stood on Omegan soil again. He had obliged her, considering the circumstances, Omegans that hadn’t fed in a prolonged period became irritated and sometimes aggressive, and he didn’t want to provoke her. When they reached his home she had devoured not one, but two whole karrahk! (Imagine a crossbreed between an crocodile and a sabertooth tiger) and for a creature not even five feet tall, that was unbelievably impressive.

After she had fed she needed to digest, so naturally he had offered her one of the volcanic caverns beneath his dwelling, which was for that purpose after all. So she slept, for four days so far, but he had no idea of how long she had hibernated inside the Obelisk. They could hibernate for millions of cycles, but encased in stone? That was new to him. New to anyone. They did need to breathe after all, even though they could ingest oxygen or sulfur through their scales, it was far less effective. But solid rock? As far as he knew, that wasn’t possible. They could swim in lava, but not breathe in it. Should one be trapped in hardening lava or in the vast emptiness of space, you would die.

But that wasn't what occupied his mind at the moment. She would be ready when she was ready, questions could wait until then.

The news of the events that had taken place on Titan had been live broadcasted throughout the universe. Trillions had seen this unassuming little green lizard, barely five feet tall, increase in size tenfold, and turn into a fairytale monster mothers would scare their young with. He had seen the images of it, and it had left him speechless. But reporters didn't worry him the least, since the atmosphere on Omega is toxic to anyone who doesn't breathe or can at least tolerate high levels of sulfur and sulfuric acid rain, and Omegans weren't that interested in him.

But the news of an Omega female had quickly spread far and wide, and most Omegans had returned home to see this legendary being. That was what bothered him the most. They had never been especially numerous, but this, this was truly horrifying. At their peak there had been around 400,000 Omegans. Now, on their entire planet, there were 172 Omega. Even worse, was the fact that of the few who had survived, over a hundred of them were so old they probably didn't have many cycles left in their hearts. He felt sorrow for his many sisters and brothers that lay sleeping in the eternally churning magma below. But there was nothing he could do for now, but wait. He painted. He slept. He hunted and prepared the meat. And then slept again. But eventually he got terribly bored.

He decided it was a good time to see if he could transform again. He tried everything he could think of, even hitting himself to induce pain, but to no avail. For two full days he experimented, before deciding it must be involuntary, and simply gave up. It was almost morning, he had fed a little, and was just about to get some rest when he heard the soft rasp of scaly feet traversing the tunnel from the magma caves.

He had heard the old ones describe young fertile females, the way they had exaggerated their beauty had made him believe their old age had made their minds... slightly less trustworthy, to not speak ill of the dead.

But their words fell oh so short in light of this creature before him. No words could describe her beauty. Cerin had most certainly fallen madly in love with this, for him, unobtainable goddess. The shape of her body enticed him in ways he had never felt before.

He watched as she slowly crawled up out of the tunnel in the floor, not completely awake by the look on her face, but he undoubtedly saw she had shed her skin. Considering how long she had hibernated it was probably long overdue. It explained the excessive feeding as well as the long sleep.

Before, her scales had been a very dull light blue, almost grey. At risk of being insulting, he would have described her as boring. But now... She took his breath away. The now fierce blue tint of her scales revealed she was a direct descendant of Alpha, one of their First Four. He had never seen such strong coloration of scales before. It was a deep, dark midnight blue, and the shimmer on her scales was mesmerizing.

The red jagged lines that before had been barely visible, now had spread across her cheeks, highlighting her feminine snout that now glowed with heat, indicating she must’ve slept very close to the magma.

He remained still, certain she would notice his presence, unwilling to startle someone that had just awoken. She took no notice him, instead she walked into the storage room, where he had hung meat to dry. He felt slightly insulted, but decided to give her some leeway, and sat down at the carved stone bench that was as round as the main dome of his dwelling. The fire pit in the middle had gone out, but the sun would soon heat the surface to a more pleasant temperature. She returned from the storage room with a dried karrahk hind leg, with a large chunk already missing from it. He watched her silently as she made her way around and sat down at the opposing side. She ate in silence, and didn’t even acknowledge he was there. This confused him.

“Ssheeyak sha rasshassh ssherr?” (Did you sleep well?) He asked in their ancient native language. He had missed speaking it, to speak to someone of his own kind.

She had apparently not noticed he was there. She quickly looked up, startled, and swallowed hard, and immediately looked down at the floor.

“Forgive me, I did not see you Guardian, please forgive my faults and be lenient in my punishment.”

“Punishment? Why would I punish you? And why do you call me guardian?”

He couldn’t see her face, but her hands moved nervously, and she stared at the floor. When she spoke, she whispered so low he could barely hear her.

“You... you are of Gamma. You are Guardian. I... forgive me Guardian, I do not understand...” He could hear in her voice that she was close to tears.

He stood up and walked to her, and kneeled at her side. He put his claws under her jaw and lifted it so she would face him, but she shied away and turned her head, as if he would strike her.

“I may be of Gamma, but I will not harm you in any way. I would never do that.”

He paused briefly. He could see that she listened.

“My name is Cerin. The only female I have ever seen died when I was only a few hundred cycles old. She was the last female that lived.” He hesitated, not sure what effect his next words would have.

“No eggs would hatch after that, and most of the remaining males grew old and died. We may have forgotten many things, but I would never punish you for not seeing me, and I have never heard of a Guardian. Now, please, look at me.”

As he begged her to look at him, she slowly turned her head to face him, with disbelief and tears in her eyes. He knew not how old she was, but he knew she must be ancient, to have lived under such a rule.

“Please, speak to me. Why don't you start with your name? And if you can, please explain why you were inside the Obelisk."

She hesitated. She wanted to speak, but couldn’t control her voice just yet.

“Take your time,” he said, “I’m not going anywhere.”

He heard her breathing and hearts slowly returning to normal.

��My name is Amara of Alpha.” He looked into her deep blue eyes. He was utterly lost. He would give anything at her whim, be it his life if she wanted, he wouldn’t hesitate. As she continued he sensed the pride in her heritage, being Alpha is to be the Mother amongst children. Alpha leads, all others follow.

“I am the oldest hatchling of my den. I was encased in The Obelisk because the stone would protect us when all others died, to preserve us deeper than hibernation. My mother and her sister was among the first to die. After that my father made the obelisks to protect me and my sisters.”

“There are others?” He didn’t dare hope there were more like her.

“There were,” she answered. “I don’t know if they remain. We were nine sisters. My father made nine, pillars of rebirth he called them.”

“Your father, how did he make them?”

“With fire, like yours, when you saved me from the stone. I never thanked you.”

He bowed graciously. He saw a hint of a smile.

“You were calling my name from within the Obelisk, then I transformed into... whatever that was.”

“A primordial.” She answered. “How do you not know this?”

“We forgot so many things... We forgot how to transform.”

“Shapeshift.” She corrected. “You are a shapeshifter.”

"Please tell me, you called me Guardian. What did you mean?"

"You are the Guardian. You are a descendant of Gamma.”

She sat before him, confused. Tears fell from her bright blue eyes and trickled down her thorny cheeks. When she spoke her voice cracked with despair.

"So much knowledge lost... Gamma was the first Guardian. The Protector. The Keeper. She was also the first shapeshifter. She guarded our lands, our people and our knowledge."

She fell silent, tears streaming down her face.

Cerin softly wiped her tears away.

"You speak of her as if you actually knew her."

She shook her head and took his hand in hers, holding it softly.

"No, I never got to know her, but I remember her from when my father took me to see her as she lay down for the longest sleep. She was beautiful. You have her eyes... Cerin of Gamma."

He sat before her with a look of absolute disarray on his face. He struggled to fathom the age of this fragile creature before him. And to have met one of the First Four. He was speechless.

"She really lived? Do you... So long you must've slept... How old were Gamma? How old were you when the Sundering began? I have so many questions."

She put her hand on his studded cheek.

"I will try to answer all your questions, but there is something you must do for me first."

He nodded. "Anything."

“There is something I want to show you, but I don’t remember where it is, I only know there is a colossal door at the foot of one of the biggest volcanoes.”

He frowned his snout in thought. “I don’t know of any doors, but the biggest volcanoes are on the other side of the planet, the sleeping ridge. I don’t have a ship here and It’ll take weeks to get there.”

She smiled very lightly, which is the only was an Omegan can smile, since their taut scales allow very little movement, making them masters of face and body language.

“What?” He looked insulted, he didn’t understand but her face told him he had said something incredibly amusing.

“Cerin, you may be older than I in years lived, and one should always show respect for the Guardian, but in my time you would have been called “sshasscheesh”.

He chuckled to himself. Village idiot, hm?

“Well,” he spoke softly, “had there been anyone as beautiful as you here to teach me, I would’ve known even less, as I would’ve only gazed into your bottomless blue eyes.” Her eyes widened and the red lines on her snout blossomed in color, as she turned her face away and closed her eyes.

He was surprised by her reaction. “Forgive me, did I insult you? I apologize. I meant not to hurt you.”

She gazed upon him under halfclosed eyelids. “You did not insult me, Cerin of Gamma, you made me blush.”

“Ah... well, I do not regret it. You are a very beautiful female, but I have only seen two. But I... I feel different when I’m close to you.”

She smiled again. “I know Cerin, your cheeks are practically glowing.” He quickly felt his cheeks, they were warmer than ever, he quickly walked to the mirrorpond, and gasped at the sight of his face. They were glowing!

“What does this mean? I have never...”

She had without a sound walked up behind him, she put her hand on his shoulder, and turned him around. She stood much to close he thought, so close he couldn’t move.

“Amara, what...” she interrupted him. “Shh... You have never, and neither have I, but my mother told me I would know when I found my mate. You make me happy, you make me feel beautiful, and you have already saved my life. I know I want to be with you. From now on, Cerin of Gamma, you are mine, and I am yours, until the end of time, if you will have me.”

He was absolutely stunned. He couldn’t speak, he tried but couldn’t form a single sound. Her smile made his knees weak, and he felt he could drown in those beautiful eyes.

“Cerin, are you all right?” She asked. He could barely nod.

Something inside him had awakened, something he had never felt in his long life. Lust. Desire. Love. He didn’t know what to call it, but her, confessing her feelings for him had given him all he could ever want. He lifted her into his arms and carried her into the magma caves. He carefully placed her on the biggest stone in the cave, her eyes glinted in the glowing light of the bright orange magma. The heat in the cave made him tremble, his hands were shaking. His breath was hot, and his hearts pounded in his chest.

“Easy,” she whispered. “Cherish this moment, it is the last of our lives as children. We will be reborn, as it has always been.” He didn’t understand, and his expression reflected it. “You really have forgotten everything haven’t you?” He thought for a second and nodded.

She sighed. “I will teach you all I know, and we will teach our hatchlings. And they will teach all our people. But for now it is just you and me. Lay with me, my love, and see what happens.”

She pulled him close, and in the bright orange glow of churning magma, they made love for the first time.

Cerin woke slowly, he felt different somehow, but the feeling of Amara’s warm scales pressing against his body made his hearts beat faster. He put his arms around her and pulled her tightly against him.

“Your breath tickles,” she mumbled. He rubbed his chin against hers, feeling the warmth she radiated.

“Feeling you-“ he interrupted himself, shocked to hear his own voice, and sat up quickly. He had not expected to hit his head on the ceiling of the cave that he had walked down into, and he hit it hard.

“What? Why do I sound like this?” His deep growling voice scared even him.

She laughed, and the sound echoed of the walls. She sounded differently too.

“I told you, my love, you would see what happened.” She sat up and turned towards him. She looked very much different, but still the same eyes. He touched her face, and in the orange glow he saw his hand. He could barely recognize it, the scars he had earned was there, but this was not the hand he had been born with. The six fingers were longer and thicker, the claws sharper than karrahk teeth.

“Wait until you see your face my love.” She crawled of the stone, and had to crawl out of the cave. Had the ceiling caved in? He didn’t understand, a feeling he was getting used to. And what was this about his face? He rolled of the stone and crawled towards the entrance to the cave.

Amara had already crawled up, he saw light from above as he started crawling through the tunnel. Halfway up, he got stuck. There was nowhere near enough room for him to get out, he reached out with one arm and could feel the floor of the dwelling above.

He sighed. “Amara, I’m stuck. How can I be stuck? This makes no sense! And why do I sound like a karrahk male in heat!?” She looked down from up above. “It’s fine my love, just dig in your claws and pull yourself up.” He grunted, tried to twist himself around to get a better angle, and pressed his claws down into the massive stone floor, and pulled. He heard and felt the stone around him crumbling, his shoulders and back scraped against the jagged rocks. Finally his other arm came loose, he dug down in the floor and pulled his way up. When he stood up he looked around himself, baffled by how different everything looked. Everything was so small! “It isn’t your dwelling that has changed my love, it is you. And I.”

He turned around, and the sight before him made his cheeks warm. Amara was changed, her tail was longer, her body more curved than before, her legs looked longer, yet she was shorter. She came closer and embraced him, she barely reached to his chest, where she before had been almost the same height as him. She looked up at him. Her cheeks were wider, her snout smaller, and short fur covered her scalp. “Why are you shorter?” He asked. She laughed. “Oh my love, I’m not shorter, it is you who are taller! Look in the mirrorpond if you do not believe me.” He turned around, and the insight hit him like a rock in the head. The mirrorpond that had earlier reached him to the chest, now didn’t even reach his waist. He bent down and gazed upon his face. The pond was too small to let him see his entire face, but what he saw scared him. It was the face of the monster, the Primordial that stared back at him. The elongated snout and jaw, teeth made to kill, the bony ridges around his eyes, oh and the eyes, if those eyes didn’t scream murder he didn’t know what did. He quickly turned to Amara again.

“Please tell me this is a dream. It cannot be real! I am a monster!”

“Oh it is very real. When there is no Queen or Guardian anymore, our bodies sense it, and when two lovers mate, they evolve into what is missing. When the last Queen and Guardian died, our world was made wanting.”

“Now it is our turn, our responsibility to fill that void. And we will fill it, with our hatchlings, and they will fill it with theirs. But we will be Queen and Guardian for the rest of our lives. This is our time, my love. And you are not a monster. What you was before was a child. Now, you are the Father.” She caressed her stomach. “In here lay your children, for now. Come, feel them.” He knelt down before her, and in her abdomen he could sense them, he could see them. Small glowing pods of slumbering fire. “There must be hundreds!” He beamed with pride and joy. He stood and swooped her up into his arms in one sweeping motion, intoxicated by her, by himself, and the things he had learned.

“I love you, my Queen.”

“And I love you, my Guardian. My terrible fire breathing monster.”

#scifi #story time #space orcs #space australia #space exploration #humans are space orcs

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camsthisky · 8 years ago

Note

Prompt 9 between Bruce and Bat Fam where perhaps Bruce was magically transformed into something else, be it angst or comedy. I need more fic with Bruce bonding with his kids.

This didn’t turn into exactly what you wanted, and I’m sorry about that. But I have some problems working with specific prompts like this sometimes. I swear my fingers have minds of their own sometimes. I hope you still enjoy!

This is set a few weeks after Bruce comes back from being lost in time.

“How many times have I told you notto run down the stairs, Dick?” Bruce says when he hears feet stomping down intothe Cave. His head is pounding something fierce, and he’s lying on a medicalcot. Must have gotten hurt on patrol then. Wouldn’t be the first time. He onlypushes himself up when the steps falter at the bottom of the stairs, and thenhe tenses.

Because that’s not Dick. That’s—he doesn’tknow who that is, but it’s not hisson. A young man, maybe seventeen or eighteen, with dark hair and blue eyesthat sport dark shadows underneath, is standing at the bottom of the steps. He’salso extremely pale, and he’s staring at Bruce like he’s just seen a ghost.

“Who—” is all Bruce manages to getout before the other cuts him off.

“I’m just gonna go get—get Alfredand the others," the teen says, blinking rapidly. And before Bruce can respond(like ask how the hell this guy knows Alfred, or why he’s in Bruce’s secret cave), he’s gone. Up the stairsand into the manor.

It takes a few minutes for Bruce tomake himself move from the medical cot and tumble over to the stairs. He’s justabout to try and go up them when the clock above him opens and he hears asharp, “Bruce!”

Bruce’s vision wavers, and onlyonce he steadies himself does he look up to find—Dick. But not Dick. BecauseDick is eleven years old, and this man is clearly only a few years younger thanBruce himself is. If that.

“Dick?” he asks, his browfurrowing, and No-Dick supports him when he wavers again, leading him back overto sit on the cot. “Or are you—you can’t be John.”

Not-Dick sucks in a sharp breath,and no. Bruce would know those bright blue eyes anywhere. This is Dick. This ishis son. But somehow, he’s in his twenties, not his little boy who’d justcelebrated his eleventh birthday. It looks like Dick’s aged fifteen years in anight, and that’s when Bruce’ circling mind really starts working overtime.

“What’s going on?” Bruce asks,meeting his son’s eyes. “Why do you look so—is this some kind of vision? Timetravel?”

Dick grimaces. “Our best guess istime displacement,” Dick tells him. He’s searching Bruce’s face, and Brucesearches back. There are so many—lines. Scars. Even a few freshly stitched cutson his forehead. His hair is still a mess, though, and his eyes shine with thatsame troublemaker glow they’d had just yesterday when Bruce had found Dicksliding the banister full speed. “We found you unconscious on the street whilewe were looking for our Bruce.”

“I see.”

Bruce had known the possibilityexisted, but this is his first experience with it. And Bruce doesn’t doubt thatDick is lying, either. Which means—it means something that Bruce isn’t sure hewants to explore right now. So, he cups Dick’s face with his hands, and justholds him.

Dick’s grimace turns into a frown. “Pleasedon’t look at me like that.”

“You grew up.”

“Yeah,” Dick says, covering one ofBruce’s hands with his own. “I guess I did.”

“Grayson!”a voice calls from up the stairs of the stillopen clock, and Dick smiles fondly at the call. Bruce lets his hands fallaway from his son’s face and turns towards where Dick’s looking. There’sindistinct murmuring between two voices—the one that had called Dick and theyoung man from when Bruce had first woken up, Bruce thinks—from upstairs.

“Dick,” Bruce says, feeling alarmwelling up inside him. Seeing Dick all grown up had thrown him off, and hecurses himself silently for forgetting about the teen from before. “Why arethere more people in my house than you and Alfred?”

Dick coughs awkwardly. “You mayhave, uh, adopted a few more kids.”

Bruce honestly doesn’t know how torespond to a statement like that. But luckily, he doesn’t have to, because akid comes barreling down the stairs and over to Bruce and Dick, barely payingthe former any attention. The teen from before follows, but at a much slowerpace.

“Grayson!” the kid calls again, hisdark eyes furious as he crosses his arms over his chest. “I demand you dosomething about Drake!”

Dick sighs, but it’s exasperated,like he’s one this a billion times. “I’m sure that whatever Tim did to you washarmless. I’m not going to kick him out just because he accidentally upset you.”

“Oh, no,” the teen—Tim Drake, Bruceis guessing, which raises a lot more questions than it answers—says, hiseyebrows raised. He’s a lot twitchier, Bruce notices, giving Bruce side-glancesevery so often. “I definitely did it on purpose. You know, since Damian triedto stab me again.”

“It’s not my fault you can’t dodgeproperly,” the newly named Damian sneers. “I am doing you a favor by—”

“Enough,” Dick says, and Bruce isslightly taken aback. Because he’s never heard Dick sound so authoritative before.And Bruce is having a hard time lining up this man with his eleven year oldback—back in his own time. And these are supposed to be his kids? “Damian, we talked about trying tokill Tim. And Tim, really? He’s eleven years old and he’s still trying to breakout of old habits.”

“He’s a demon,” Tim hisses, hisfists clenching and eyes narrowing as he takes a step forward. “He tried to kill me and now he—”

“Tim,” Dick says, eyes flashing, and Tim’s mouth snaps shut as hedeflates. Those shadows under his eyes look darker than ever, though, and Brucewatches as the teen looks away from Dick and closes in on himself. After aquiet moment of Damian and Bruce both looking in between the two, Dick finallyslumps. “Look, Tim. I know it’s been hard. And that this situation is kind oflike the one before, but—”

“This is nothing like before,” Damian snarls. “Father is not dead this time.He is alive.”

Bruce raises his eyebrows, and cutsin before Tim or Dick can say anything to that. “Dead? I died?”

Dick winces. “Kind of. It’s morelike you were lost in time.”

“I see,” Bruce says. But he reallydoesn’t. “So, is anybody interested in telling me what’s going on?”

This is one of the most insanethings to ever happen to him, and he thinks he should be actively searching fora way home. To his Dick. Who is eleven years old and probably scared. Time displacement, Dick had said. Thatmeant he needed to go home.

“We ran some tests,” Tim saysquietly, and he’s staring at the floor. “Physically, you’re around Dick’s age,so we think something may have gone wrong when Bruce—our Bruce tried to travelto a different dimension.”

“Which means,” Dick continues, asad smile on his face, “that the only way we’ll know where our Bruce is, iswhen he comes back.”

“Do you think your version of me isin my time, then?” Bruce asks, relaxing by a fraction. “And I assume there issome sort of device that can be altered to fix this, as well. The same that wasbeing used to jump dimensions?”

Dick winces. “Sort of. Tim and Bcould probably modify it, but Bruce took the device with him when—”

A sound—louder than thunder—decidesthen is the perfect moment to try and rupture Bruce’s eardrums. Bruce covershis ears with his hands and watches as a bright light flashes in the middle ofthe cave, and when it disappears—both the light and the noise—all that’s leftstanding there is an eleven year old Dick Grayson and an older—well. An olderBruce Wayne.

He has to be in his forties at theleast, with more scars and wrinkles than Bruce has ever seen in the mirror. Theother him looks dispassionate and grumpy,and Bruce can’t help the wrongness bubbling in his stomach. No one should looklike that after spending five minutes with Dick, who is literally a ray of pure(troublemaking) sunshine. And this older version of himself had raised Dickinto a young man.

Why? What happened?

Dick—Dickie, his eleven year oldson from his time, the one Bruce isn’t sure how to admit he’s relieved tosee-bounces up to him, a gigantic smile on his face. “Hey, B! Heard you gotlost. Need some help finding your way back home?”

Bruce smiles fondly, and then, whenDickie jumps at him to wrap his arm around Bruce’s neck, Bruce slides off thecot to catch him and hug him back. Maybe he can admit it after all. “It’s goodto see you, Dick.”

Dickie detaches from Bruce’s neck,stepping back a bit but not losing complete contact, and that grin turns into asmirk as he puts his hands on his hips. “Good to see you, too, B.” Dickie jabsa thumb over to where the other Bruce is watching them. “That Bruce is crabbierthan you would believe. All he does is grunt and brood all the time.”

The older Dick laughs sharply, andeveryone looks over at him. “What?” he asks as his chuckles die down, lookingat the other Bruce in particular. “Little me is right. And I’m sure Jay will behappy to make a sign for you, too. ‘World’s okay-est dad. Warning: will usegrunts and brooding as main forms of communication.’”

The other Bruce shoots Dick ano-nonsense look. “You got me that ‘World’s Okay-est Dad’ mug for me forChristmas five years ago. Try again.”

Dick shrugs, but he doesn’t look fazed.“I’m sure Cass would be able to come up with something.”

“Is that really how you want to getthose two together?” Tim asks, seemingly over whatever was bothering himearlier. “You know that those two will literally turn the entire manor into completechaos, right?”

Damian snorts. “Like it’s notalready chaos? You and Todd seem to bring it with you wherever you go.”

“What about Dick? He literally dyedB’s cape pink last week. Alfred had to make a new one.”

“Grayson is—tolerable,” Damiangrumbles. “You and Todd, however, should be banned from being in the same roomas each other.”

“You’re such a—”

“Okay!” Dick—the older one—chimes in,his cheer sounding a little forced now. He turns to the older Bruce. “A littlehelp here?”

The other Bruce huffs a laugh,shaking his head. “Don’t mind me. The World’s Okay-est Dad thinks you’ve gotthis one handled.”

“Bruce,” Dick whines.

“Wow,” Dickie says into Bruce’s earas the four dissolve into another petty argument. “They fight a lot.”

Bruce chuckles—because, yeah. Theydo. They’ve been arguing since Bruce woke up. But, there’s something underneaththe fighting that resounds in Bruce’s chest. He can see it now that he hasDickie in his arms, settling the ruffled parts of his mind.

And part of him, especially seeingDick grown up like this, scolding his younger brothers, it makes Bruce thinkthat maybe he’s done something rightwith this kid in front of him. Even if he doesn’t quite believe his family willgrow this big. After all, Dick and Alfred are the only family he needs.

“What say we go home?” Bruce asks.

Dickie smiles. “Yeah, I’d likethat.” And then he pauses a moment before he says, “I missed you, Bruce. Itwasn’t very long but—but it was still a little scary not being able to findanyone but that older Bruce.”

“I know,” Bruce says, because asmuch as he hates to admit it, he thinks it was a little terrifying for him,too. To see Dick grown up, his age, at a place where he didn’t seem to needBruce anymore. “I missed you, too.”

And years later, after Bruce andDick are returned to their own time, after Dick’s become Nightwing and provedthat he really doesn’t need Bruceanymore, Bruce finds a kid trying—and succeeding—to jack the tires from theBatmobile, and he does something he’s really only done once before.

He takes him home.

#bruce wayne #tim drake #dick grayson #damian wayne #dc #prompt #angst prompts #time travel #camryn writes

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demonganggg · 5 years ago

Text

Vernon

[TW for wings being r/pped out and mentions of war]

(Warning: long and detailed)

picrew: https://picrew.me/image_maker/125919

picrew: https://picrew.me/image_maker/125981

Basics

-Name: his real name is unknown and unable to be pronounced by humans, so his alias/human name is Vernon.-

-Nickname: his friends call him "gargoyle" because he likes to sit atop high places and observe and brood over everything-

-Species: demon-

-Mental age: teenager-

-Gender: male-

-Pronouns: he/him-

-Romantic orientation: demi-panromantic-

-Sexual orientation: asexual-

-Alignment: True Neutral-

-Myers-Briggs: ISTJ-T-

Appearance/Clothing Style

-Pale blue skin-

-Long, black hair; keeps it braided under his cloak-

-Long, wavy black horns-

-Long, brown gryphon tail-

-Pointed ears-

-Large, mechanical goldish-brown wings that he made himself; they’re too heavy for humans to lift, and only he can wear them. Can attach and detach when needed.-

-Has specialized metal holes in his back where his mechanical wings fit into, like a lock and key-

-Black rimmed glasses-

-Light grey irises; diamond-shaped pupils in his demon form, and regular pupils in his human form-

-Doesn't stray from dark-colored clothing; usually wears casual clothes, and he always wears a black cloak over whatever he's wearing-

-Wears black sneakers for leisure, and black leather boots for work or combat-

-Two eyebrow piercings and some ear piercings-

-Skinny, lanky build; 5'5-

Traits

-Has sight issues; can't see much without his glasses-

-Sunlight hurts him; he gets a bad rash if he's exposed to it for too long. This is why he wears a cloak all the time-

-Unlike humans, his strength not only depends on his physical state, but also his willpower, mental state, and mood at the time. For example, if he is in a deep depressive state or very anxious, he does far less damage than when he's feeling mentally well.-

-His tail and pale blue skin are a mark of his family line and heritage, and began from different races of demons crossbreeding many demon generations ago; so he isn’t a “purebred” by any means-

-In Vernon’s universe, a lot of demons choose to transform into animals to suit their needs, like animaguses from Harry Potter. Vernon and his friends all chose to be birds; Vernon’s bird of choice is a Raven (I mean, really, what bird is a better fit for Vernon than a Raven?).-

Powers

-In Vernon’s universe, demons have the ability to telepathically communicate with one another. It takes a lot of energy to do, however, and usually requires a clear mind. So if a demon is in trouble, they have to remain calm in order to contact other demons for help.-

-Some demons, including Vernon, also have the ability to influence others’ emotions via eye contact; mainly with humans. They often take advantage of this to make humans they’re interacting with be infatuated with them, fear them, etc.-

Preferred Weapons

-Precision-based (crossbow, throwing knives, axe)-

-If he loses his glasses in combat, he’ll use melee weapons (axe, bat, combat knife)-

Fighting Style

-Vernon usually takes a very planned and methodical approach to combat. He’ll rarely charge in guns blazing without thought; instead, he’ll try to take a sniping/long-ranged approach with his crossbow. If he’s in close range, he uses his cunning and agility to his advantage. He also heavily relies on stealth tactics.-

-In TF2 characters: Sniper (stealth+ranged) and Spy (stealth); somewhat Scout (agility)-

Pain Points

-His back where his wings used to be. He has nerve damage there due to his wings being violently ripped out, so not only is it an emotional weak spot, but a physical one as well.-

-His tail is very sensitive; during combat or a risky situation, he tries to keep it out of the way by tucking it in his belt-

Hobbies

-He is very fascinated by humans, their culture, and their history, and likes to study them in his free time. He sees them as an inferior species, but doesn’t have any interest in harming or manipulating them for personal gain like other demons do. He thinks they should just be left alone and studied, and demons should complete their own goals themselves instead of forcing humans to help. He likes to spend a lot of his time disguising himself as a human to blend in to their society to study them up-close and firsthand. He’ll often enroll in a high school somewhere for a month or two, and then drift to another school in another town before anyone in the school or community suspects too much. He’ll be the one kid who sits in the back of class, quietly doing work, not interacting with many people (unless it’s part of his ulterior motive to study them), and never really goofing off or getting into trouble.-

-He likes to brew potions, and often makes potions to help with his human disguise, such as ones that change his skin color to caucasian and hide his horns and tail. However, he is unable to better his eyesight or remove his negative reaction to sunlight, so he still has to wear his glasses and cloak on Earth.-

-He also likes to dabble in magic, and uses a small magical box to shrink and keep his wings in when disguised. That way, he can inconspicuously keep his wings on him at all times.-

Personality

-Worldview: very depressing and cynical. The world is burning and there’s not much we can do about it. Everyone is a possible threat; you can’t truly trust anyone.-

-Cynical and bitter-

-Contemplative, intellectual, curious, thirst for knowledge-

-Insensitive and doesn’t have a lot of empathy-

-Can sometimes be anxious and insecure, but he has an air of confidence and arrogance. He never shows his insecurities or doubts to anyone, but they’re there.-

-He always hides his emotions and likes to keep a stoic mask on for his own protection, but he does have more sensitive sides to him. Good luck ever seeing them, though.-

-He’s usually pretty calm, but when he gets upset, he can become pretty destructive and reckless. He doesn’t like it when he gets like this, however, because he views losing control of your anger as a weakness. He also takes pride in being very careful and thinking things through, and loses these abilities when angry.-

-Very paranoid of people, whether angel, demon, or human, and it’s really hard for him to come to trust people. He likes animals, though. There aren’t many animals in hell, so he likes to study and spend time with them when he makes trips to Earth.-

-It’s pretty hard for him to forgive people, but if someone really shows that they care about him and regret their mistake, he eventually will forgive them. If someone wants to be forgiven by Vernon, they have to be patient and give him space after apologizing.-

-Sometimes feels detached and estranged from his friends-

-It’s easy for him to hyper-focus on things and lose track of his surroundings in the process-

-Most likely has PTSD from the war he was in-

Pet Peeves

-Hates having his horns, hair, or tail messed with, even in a friendly way-

-People trying to hug or touch him without permission-

-People being behind him, or approaching him from behind without warning. He hates standing in lines and people sitting behind him in theaters, stands, bleachers, etc, so he always sits up in the very back. Relates back to his pain points in his back; he also gets nervous in general when he thinks people are looking at his back. Even though no one can actually see his back, he still feels like people are staring, and this feeling can bring on panic attacks and he’ll try to leave whatever situation he’s in. He also flinches and goes into fight or flight mode when someone gets too close to his back or touches it without permission, even if that person is a close friend. TL;DR: don’t pat him on the back or put your hands on his back when hugging. In fact, he doesn’t even like hugs.-

-He absolutely despises getting wet. Squirting him with a water gun or pouring water on him, even as a joke, is a very quick way to get on his bad side and make him hate you.-

-He hates it when people constantly apologize to him; the only person he tolerates it from is Novius, because that’s just how Novius is.-

-It really bugs him when hair gets in his eyes, because he doesn't like it when things block his vision. He doesn't have bangs for this reason. (The first picrew is a bit innacurate because of the lock of hair falling down over his face)-

Mannerisms/Misc

-Furrows his eyebrows and shakes his leg/taps his shoe on the floor/fidgets when focusing. He hates when other people make noises when fidgeting, even though he does it, because it can be distracting for him-

-Fidgets with and cleans his tail when nervous-

-Sort of freaks out when his tail gets dirty. After losing his wings, he’s very overprotective of his tail, since that’s one of the only demon extremities left that he has pride in-

-Despite hating getting wet, he loves the rain. Hell’s weather is very static, so he appreciates it when it rains during his trips to Earth. He likes nature in general, and likes to take walks in the rain, but he doesn’t like to reveal this part of himself, because he sees it as a “sensitive” trait.-

Background

-He fought in one of the many great wars between angels and demons many years ago (a long time for humans, but not that long for demons). This is when he lost his wings. They were a beautiful reddish-gold pair that never ceased to shimmer, even in the dark. They always gave off an air of importance, and were his main source of pride; they also gave him very powerful strength and energy. But unfortunately, they were ripped off by an angel in a demon prison camp. He was very emotionally attached to them, and thus doesn’t like to talk about the war much for that reason.-

-Both of his parents died in the war. He wasn’t very close to them, but he still wonders what it’d be like if they were still around and he had their support. Things work a lot looser in hell; no one really looks after him, so he mostly just goes wherever and does whatever he wants. Hell’s system of government makes sure he doesn’t get into too much trouble, but are otherwise uninvolved in his life. The only real connections he has (as of now) are his two friends.-

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