#twst Lilia

[jelsah27]

MC: *tries to open dorm door but it's stuck* what the? Grimm, did you break the door again?

Grimm: The great Grimm did nothing of the sort!

MC: *sighs and goes outside the back door.*

*Outside the front door is a stack of iron bricks. Malleus is also there, placing down more with magic with Lillia grinning behind him.*

MC: Malleus... my dear, dear fae... why does my front porch look like a construction site?

Lillia: *chuckles* Why, child of man, our... *tries not to giggle* our dear Malleus has decided to help you with your... problem.

MC: My... problem?

Malleus: Yes. Trappola and Spade made me aware of your iron deficiency. Lillia told me that swords would also be helpful, so I have commissioned two for you, although they will take some time.

MC: Malleus... thank you... for trying to help... but I have anemia... which means I don't have enough iron in my blood. This is very sweet of you though. But... if you don't mind... could I still have the swords?

Crowley: *popping up out of nowhere* My, my. I could provide you with what you need! For I am gracious!

MC: *hides behind Lillia* I'm getting supplements from Crewel, you worse than the American health care system leech!

[hanafubukki]

Summary: Despite his flirtatious acts and many years of living, even Lilia Vanrouge gets nervous while trying to court you.

Imagine if Lilia was awkward and shy when it came to romance.

Lilia has traveled and gained experience when it came to physical intimacy through the centuries.

But this feeling between you two? It was different. It wasn’t something he had experience with. Not something he can just do whatever he wants.

Well…he can but…this feeling in his stomach stopped him. A feeling that’s similar and yet different from his time on the battlefield.

Could he be nervous? Over something like this? At his age?

He usually acts all charming and flirtatious. He knows how to get a reaction out of you, but that was before you two started courting.

Now he doesn’t know how to react. The most embarrassing part of it all? The other three noticed.

Which makes it worse.

Malleus teasingly, “Oh? Are you having trouble romancing YN? How unlike you. Should I message grandmother and ask her how she had courted grandfather?”

Silver, direct as ever, “Just tell YN how you feel about them as you usually do.”

Sebek hesitantly, “Do you want some help from popular novels?”

Meleanor strike him with thunder now.

…she’s probably laughing at him from the stars with Levan.

But Lilia is not the type to give up, didn’t kids these days say to fake it till you make it?

He can do this.

Nope.

He can’t do this.

He would rather be on the battlefield right now.

It didn’t help the other three were watching nearby, making sure he didn’t run away.

Malleus ready to smite him if he hurt you in any way.

He would never do that.

He cared for you too much to do so.

But he needed a minute!

“Lilia?”

Shit.

He was so overtaken in his thoughts he didn’t realize the door had opened in front of him.

Lilia straightened up.

He took you in.

His heart rate increased.

His mouth felt dry.

His hands sweaty.

Fuck.

Oh Great Thorn Fairy help me.

I had this thought one day and it just wouldn’t leave me. Ahhhh it’s such a funny and cute thought if Lilia’s this way when you two start courting 💚🫶🫶 I love it so much 💞💞

[frootloopscos]

Vice Housewardens With a S/O Who Gets into Danger For Fun!

This is Part 2 to This Ask! Have fun!

Taglist: @naompspsps @bagofburntcreampuffs

Jamil Viper

Jamil already has to deal with Kalim, why would you give him more stress to deal with? Whenever you call him telling him about your adventures you go on you nearly give him a heart attack every time. So when you called him after saying you were going on an adventure again let’s say he was worried to say the least.

~~

“(Y/N)?” He asked having a student keep stirring his curry as he stepped away. “What’s wrong? You usually only call me when something dangerous happens.” You laugh nervously, “I need first aid. . .I may or may not have been bitten by a spider.” “You WHAT?!”

Rook Hunt

You actually think he’d allow his beloved Significant Other get harmed? You are never alone during your activities he’s always there watching somehow! He’s just making sure you’re safe, nothing else! Or so he says, so when you somehow managed to escape his sight while in the forest hunting together he got worried.

~~

“Oh dear, where has my beloved gone off to?” Rook asked not seeing you beside him anymore. “Rook!” You yelled making him above him as you jumped down from the tree you were in for him to catch you. You giggle and kiss his cheek.

Lilia Vanrouge

Unfortunately, well, not really, Lilia is actually one to have fun with you! The two of you have dates going on these fun activities! Rock climbing, canoeing down raging rivers, taking to the skies on his broom over.

~~

“Lilia! Let’s go mountain climbing!” You say to your boyfriend with a grin, “I think it would be fun don’t you?” Lilia chuckles, “I have to agree with you beastie, though I’m not sure how malleus would react if we come back injured again.” You sigh disappointed, “you think if I give him puppy eyes he’ll let us?”

[ravenpunkofficial]

i wonder what we get on twst en next month i'm thinking either tamashina, haveston (rerun) deuse tract field card, book 7 update with lilia card and or master chef event with leona and epel those are my guesses what do you guys think🤔

[trey-the-mom]

Diasomnia

It was so hard getting some of these pictures, but I did it!

Created by @nocoffee-notea

[llondonfog]

Since now we have Tsum Silver in JP, I just want Lilia to go through absolute baby fever. HE NEEDS TO TREAT SILTSUM LIKE HIS BABY ALL OVER AGAIN!!!

" . . . I suppose I might have known," Lilia hums, a playful smile tugging at his lips as he lounges against the doorframe and crosses his arms. "Is this where you've been hiding all along, hm? You've given him quite the scare, you know— he's running frantic all around the castle grounds trying to find where you've wandered off to all on your own."

Nestled between the bat-patterned bedsheets and carelessly scattered homework assignments, Silver's tsum blinks sleepily up at him, the picture of unrepentant, bleary innocence. It makes no move to wriggle itself out of the cozy little burrow, and Lilia's grin only softens. In a funny way, he's all too suddenly reminded of those early cottage days— of Silver buried so far into his quilts during the bitterly cold Briar Valley winter, that stubborn tuft of moonlit hair poking out from the blankets like a beacon, a lighthouse drawing Lilia close until he could wrap the child up in the warmth of his arms instead and pepper his giggling face with good morning kisses.

A strange pang pricks his heart at the memory, and Lilia shakes his head with affected disappointment at the once again dozing creature, rubbing a hand absentmindedly against his chest. "I ought to scold you for distressing him so," he mutters with no real heat behind the words, floating the short distance over to the bed and settling down among the mess. "He's a good child, too good for his own heart. I won't have you causing him any grief, no matter how adorable you are— do you hear me?"

A gentle poke to the tsum's plushy cheek begets no response, not that Lilia was truly expecting any with how eerily similar the creature resembled his son in not just looks, but behavior. It merely snored on in complete disregard to Lilia's words, and yet somehow . . . Lilia could swear it looked even more at peace than it had moments prior. Up close like this, if he ignored the uniform tucked around its tiny body, he could believe that he'd somehow found himself seventeen years in the past. He could believe that they were tucked away in the serene safety of their forest home, and that he was once again watching in the dumbfounded awe of a parent in breathless admiration of their baby's first slumber.

Deep in the pocket of his uniform jacket, Lilia can hear his phone buzzing, texts no doubt from Silver asking if his father has had any luck scouting out the dormitory for his wayward tsum. He'll text him back, of course he will— he doesn't want to prolong his son's distress anymore than it already has. But for now, for a moment, he can't bring himself to glance away from the tsum happily sleeping in his bed— perhaps it just might open its eyes and look at him. Perhaps it might yawn, stretching tiny, perfect little arms and sharing a crooked, perfect little smile under those silvery bedhead bangs.

"Good morning, Toto! I had the most interesting dream last night, do you want to hear about it?"

[rayroseu]

i cant wait for malleus, king of silly, to be back ON (with his equally silly tsum nonetheless!!)

[lisunee]

i drew x chan’s upper half back in 2023 but i got bored and gave her legs last tuesday

at last

[blackopals-world]

Unhappy Reunions

Celestial!Yuu finds what was lost

Angst

Humans are cruel and so are gods.

I was once the silver god who embodied love, marriage, and fertility. I was supposed to be the mother of gods the bringer of a generation of godlings.

I believed in my role fully and understood that it was for the good of the world. So I created. I made gods from stardust and clouds. So many wonderful creations. Fully formed and whole on their creation they took to the heavens and created more life. And I was happy.

I was creator, not mother to them. I was respected and revered.

Another god as ancient and powerful as I set his eyes on me. If I became his bound in vow I would be promised more power than I imagined. That might have worked on a lesser goddess but I was too powerful for that to work. But gods have tricks.

Lured in by my reflection on the ocean he trapped me in a black silk blanket. The moon disappeared from the sky until I agreed to be his.

I made the most of it but he demanded a child of me. But I was a god, I couldn't make a child without it. I had no love for him. Especially when he had children with mortals and goddess alike. I was resentful. Born to be the goddess of motherhood but not allowed to be mother to none. Dispite it all I converted my title to God of heroes. I looked after his demigod children, the blameless.

There were jealous goddess who wanted my place and they turned their children's blade against me. But I still wept when those children died to serve the purposes of more selfish gods, hen my husband didn't even shed a tear for his fallen children.

My anger and loneliness bore fruit. Perhaps in spite my womb fashioned new life. From it, my first and only true child was born from me. A child of smoke and ink with a face shrouded in hair. This thing I had birthed from my negative emotions was still beautiful but the nurse maid reached in horror at my child. I demanded that she say the child was dead and hid it away in my most isolated corner of my heavens.

But he found them. He scorned me for birthing such a hideous creature. He took them from me.

He said I would have to pay for my actions and if I had done as he said this would never have happened.

There are many stories of gods doing horrible things to children, even their own. There are just as many with mortals.

But I can not explain the fracturing of my soul the moment he tossed my child to the wild beasts of the land after cutting them to pieces.

I still have not recovered from that day.

My nameless child was blameless.

I abandoned the heavens and have never returned. I left him and abandoned my titles of marriage goddess and mother goddess. I had neither now. I abandoned my very nature. It was no different than carving up my very being but I had already felt that pain.

How pathetic is it for a God to wander the earth calling for a child that no longer lives? Searching endlessly for what can't be found.

I'm not proud of what I did after. I wanted a child to fill the void in my heart. Silver became that for me. I wanted to be a mother again at any cost. I fought Lilia for him. He was mine by right.

I didn't intend to fall in love with Lilia. Perhaps I had always loved him at least a little. A strange thing for mortals to grasp that a God can love someone they have never really met. But it's true all the same. Still, there was a time I contemplated making a demigod of my own.

But I started to heal with him. I recovered that parts of me could be salvaged. The pain can never disappear with a memory that was infinite. Still I moved on.

Still, life found another way to curse me.

My child had returned. I found them. No. They found me.

My beautiful child of smoke and shadows. Neither God or mortal. Not demigod or monster. They stood shrouded in darkness before me but they did not know me. They were drawn to my side but knew nothing of their birth.

Perhaps it was for the best. I had failed them already, I should not be remembered.

Child was quiet, just how I remembered them. They spoke like the rain in the night and walked like fog.

I hope they know I love them. I hope they would forgive me. I wished I had been by their side. The pain they must have suffered must have been unimaginable.

My poor baby.

[chernabogs]

Belladonna, Forget-me-not, Hyssop, dwarf sunflower 🌻

ouagh thank you for sending a request <3 check out the list here! <3

Inc: Lilia (both present and general), Reader, Silver, Sebek mention WC: 3.5k Warnings: War mention, arson, crimes committed during war time (all my homies hate Silver Owls). Lilia cussing, as he should. Flowers: Belladonna (a confession given without words aka we are pining mentally in the club), Forget me not (the one thing I remembered and how it brought me back to you), Hyssop (one last walk through a house—sort of), Sunflower, dwarf (how many ways do I have to confess for you to believe me?). Some flexibility with these. Summary: A trinket he had forgotten pulls him down a path of memories that he wishes he could forget.

There’s a sunflower in the garden this year. 

He thinks it’s quite curious when he first sees the bud, its petals still closed tight as though afraid to enter the world. He’s standing outside of the front door of his cottage with a mug in hand as he gives it a scrutinizing look. The silence of the forest surrounding his home lets him focus ample attention on how this oddity came to be. Silver has run to town and won’t be back until the evening, aiding Sebek in purchasing school supplies for the coming year, and Malleus is likely packing in his eagerness to get out of the palace for another ten months. 

It’s just Lilia, his mug, and the sunflower. 

“Shy, are we?” He murmurs in amusement as he raises the mug to his lips before they twist to a wry grimace. Perhaps being alone is not good for him—he’s beginning to speak to his gardens like an old man already. 

He wisely turns heel and re-enters the cottage as he downs the bitter coffee before discarding the mug in the sink. He’ll wash the dishes before Silver gets home, only because he knows the boy will do it all himself if he doesn’t, which would do nothing but make Lilia feel guilty. Silver insists it’s fine, he’s happy to help his father—but it shouldn’t be that way. His brow furrows in dissatisfaction as he weaves through the cottage's halls to arrive at his bedroom.

Contrary to his room at NRC, this one is so barren it looks downright unoccupied, like no one has ever lived in it to begin with. Lilia had moved most of his valuables with him when he had received notice of his pending enrolment alongside Malleus. This at least makes sorting out what he’s to wear today much easier as he pulls open the closet to peer inside. His fingers dance along the various fabrics as he hums, and haws, and already knows he’s going to wear the same outfit he wears essentially every day.

Lilia Vanrouge has become a man of consistency—another factor that serves to paint him as ‘old’. 

“Decrepit, even,” he grumbles to himself as he tosses his clothes onto the bed. Perhaps he can spice it up a bit to combat these self-perpetuated accusations through the application of an accessory. The thought pleases him enough to make him reach for the top shelf of his closet, his hand hitting against objects and shoving things around in his bid to grab something useful. Maybe he would have benefited from just floating up to see what he needed to get, because his hand soon hits an item that topples off the shelf and nearly clocks him in the face.

“Shit!” He snarls as he moves back. The box clatters to the floor by his foot with a loud rattle, causing him to glare down at it accusingly. His eyes narrow as another low curse slips out and he fumbles to pick the box up. 

It’s made of carved wood—oak, by the weight of it. Each etching along the sides paints a tale that draws Lilia to a stop as he turns it over in his hands. A figure perched on a tree branch with another sitting beneath, a blade and wood in hand. The two figures are next in a home, with a few flowers hanging to dry from a window. Then they are standing beside each other by a body of water; the carving here is detailed enough that he can see apprehension in one’s gaze and sternness in the others. 

The final carving is incomplete, only because a blackened char mark has burnt the wood to an unusable state. 

Ah.

He remembers why he didn’t take this to NRC. He remembers why he had it shoved in the back of the closet like something rotten, something meant to be concealed. He feels his mood darken as he turns the box over again. Each nick, each mark, tells a tale of something that stirs a burning shame in his gut. His hands tighten enough that he hears the wood creaking under his strength before they relax once more. 

Then, he pauses. Silver won’t be back until far later in the day. He has nothing to do but wash a mug that now sits fermenting in his sink. Beyond this, he’ll simply be wandering from room to room in his cottage like a ghost, perhaps cutting some firewood, perhaps seeing if the bloody quails that have been tormenting his vegetable gardens are back. 

Lilia moves until the back of his knees hit his bed and he sits down, cradling the box more gently now. A sudden urge—a bit of masochistic curiosity—tugs at his heart as his lips curl into a sneer. His thumb brushes against the carving of the figure crouching in the tree. 

Well, if he needs a good way to kill an hour or so. 

“All is as if it were days long past. No matter where it takes us, it will all be over in the blink of an eye. Far cry cradle.” 

_________________________________________________________

The memory begins as it always did any time that he did this. He’s just over 300 years old, his hair long and his body perched on the branches of a tree. He forgot that if he’s personally in the memory, his magic has a habit of tossing him headfirst directly into his body again. The scent of pine overwhelms him as he looks across a Briar Valley that once was just as full of life as he. Green, as far as the eye can see, and the songs of birds that have since gone extinct filling the warm air. 

He shifts on the branch and closes his eyes for a moment as he drinks it all in. Things long since gone, things he wishes he could experience just one more time in his current life. He almost loses himself in the memory—a dangerous risk—before he hears the faint sound of scraping from beneath where he’s perched.

Lilia’s eyes snap open and his gaze travels down to see a figure with a cloak sitting against the pine tree, their hood pulled up as their hands expertly carve a piece of wood with their blade. He can’t quite tell what it is they’re making—and truthfully, he’s long since forgotten. 

But the sound of their voice as they hum an old folk song he hasn’t heard since the war times makes him tense all the same. 

You.

Fuck.

The uncomfortableness of the situation, the realization that perhaps doing this was a mistake on his part, makes him shift back on the branch. This is enough to make a few twigs snap and force your attention to jerk upwards to where he lay. His red gaze locks onto yours as every sound in the forest falls silent and all he knows is the confusion in your eyes. 

“How long have you been up there?” You blurt out, your voice sounding exactly how he hears it in his dreams for the past four hundred years. A strangled sound leaves his throat, and with all of the energy he can muster, Lilia jerks himself free of the memory. 

_________________________________________________________

He stutters for air as his eyes open once more and he grips the box tight. The carving of his body on the branch overlooking yours at the base is now just a mockery for things he foolishly lost. The only way he can know you now is through the use of magic, and even that cannot return you entirely. 

He shouldn’t be doing this. A glance at the clock on the wall tells him he was in the memory for fifteen minutes, despite it feeling only like mere seconds. 

He shouldn’t be doing this. He turns the box over in his hand to look at the next carving. The two figures in a home, with a few flowers hanging to dry from a window. He notes with a bitter amusement that they’re all sunflowers.

The box should go back on the top shelf. He should lock it away again and forget it, leave it for Silver to find only once his father is dead and rotting under the earth. Perhaps the boy can finish what the humans started—burning it to nothing but cinders. 

He shouldn’t be doing this to himself, and yet… 

“All is as if it were days long past. No matter where it takes us, it will all be over in the blink of an eye. Far cry cradle.” 

_________________________________________________________

Lilia finds himself standing in a small cottage eerily reminiscent of his own. He knows a few months have passed since the first encounter by the way there’s snow falling heavily from the skies outside. Briar Valley’s winters are vicious—as untamed as the land itself once had been before metal teeth had torn it apart and left the fae to clean its viscera. His gaze travels to the window nearby to look out at the landscape before it’s drawn upwards to the flowers hanging down from the sill. 

Sunflowers, which look as fresh as the day they were likely picked, paint a cheery picture against the bleak backdrop beyond. 

“I am afraid it isn’t quite perfect, but it should do the trick to warm you up.” Your voice's soft cadence causes his shoulders to tense as he doesn’t turn around to face you. He can hear you humming, the sound of a bowl being set on a nearby table, and the aroma of something so intoxicating it makes his stomach twist in phantom hunger. “Why were you rushing through this blizzard to begin with?”

Lilia blinks as silence falls. You’re waiting for his response. This likely won’t play out unless he gives it.

“Her majesty bid me to deliver a missive to Princess Meleanor.” He murmurs, eyes still fixated on the sunflower. They almost look real to him despite the knowledge that this is nothing but an illusion. He hears you hum in disapproval. You often did that—hummed a lot, laughed a lot.

“Terrible weather to be doing so, but I suppose if it’s urgent, you can’t sit on it. At least have something to eat before you go braving Briar Nation once more.” 

His head turns slightly so that he can catch a glimpse of you in his peripheral vision. Your back is to him as you scoop more food into a second bowl. You’re not unique—just another fae in a nation of many—but you stand out to him. Four hundred years later, he still struggles to rationalize why. 

“You must like sunflowers a lot.” He comments abruptly. He didn’t say this in the memory, and he can tell by the way it seems to stutter around him. You still turn and look at him in confusion, however. “You only have sunflowers hanging on your window.”

“Oh!” You seem surprised, and then delighted as a smile graces your face. He wishes he had never seen that again. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” 

He wants to say something, perhaps ‘I know’, but the memory melts away before the words can leave his tongue.

_________________________________________________________

Lilia tastes copper when his eyes snap to the clock on the wall. Thirty minutes have gone by now—another fifteen in the previous memory. His hands shake slightly as he turns the box over like a man under a compulsion. The carving of two figures by the water seems to be taunting him as his thumb traces across your body. 

He doesn’t even bother speaking the phrase clearly this time. It comes as a mumble, and suddenly he’s falling into darkness again. 

_________________________________________________________

Tension is palpable when Lilia opens his eyes. Although it’s spring, the warmth seems nonexistent in the air as deafening silence fills where he stands. You’re by his side, your arms crossed tight over your chest as you stare at the pond beyond. By your feet, a patch of sunflowers smiles up at the bright skies above.

“How much longer do you think it will last before they wipe it clean?” You ask, your voice containing barely concealed rage as your nails dig into your sleeves. His jaw clenches as he shrugs one shoulder.

“A week. A month. A year. It could be any amount of time. They have new machines that they’ve been using—new means to rip open our nation to reach its heart.” He scoffs and turns sharply. “Fucking humans. Why did they need to come here to begin with? We were fine before they came crawling onto our shores, with their bitching, and moaning, and noxious fucking machines!”

“Lilia.” Your voice is calmer as he feels your hand touch his arm. His fury simmers slightly under this action. “At least we’re gaining some ground against them, right? And they haven’t reached all of Briar Nation yet. I can still provide game and herbs to the neighbouring villages—there’s an abundance surrounding my cottage.” 

Lilia wants to say that’s because all of the animals are being driven deeper into the woods, but he holds his tongue as he meets your steadfast gaze. In the period of time since he’s come to know you, he’s also realized that your stubbornness will have you refuting every claim with an optimistic one of your own. Already you had staunchly refused to leave your cottage despite the looming threat drawing ever so nearby.

“I need to go soon.” He finally sighs as he tears his gaze away from you to the pond again. He hasn’t seen this pond since the war era simply because he knows it was drained for the Silver Owls' use. He hears your own sigh slip out as you remove your hand. The skin that you touched aches in its absence. 

He steals a glance at you and tries to preserve your side-profile in his mind. If he could, he would carve it onto every surface he possessed, marking every line and bump that comprised the masterpiece that is you to his liking. He has already devoted himself by this point to mapping these curves with his fingers under the shadow of Briar Nations endless nights. He has memorized every sound you make, as sweet as any song can be, and which places on your body elicit such music. You had both entered this dance as a means to release stress—but now, four hundred years later, he knows it meant so much more. 

He wants to sweep you in his arms. He wants to pull you to safety, to silence your protests with hushed whispers and utterances of his devotion. He wants to pour his heart into your hands until he’s empty and belonging entirely to you. He is a man who, once he devotes himself to something, gives endlessly until he remains a ghost of who he once was.

He loves you in this moment, where the sun dapples your skin, and he can pretend he’s still in the Briar Nation he knew. So, he breaks conduct again. 

“You should leave.” The memory wavers at his words. In the past, he had simply turned at this point to begin returning to your cottage so that he could ready his travel pack. “You should go to the next village over. Go somewhere safe.”

The memory wavers again, fraying along the edges, and yet still Lilia finds himself persevering. “Please. I don’t want to see what’s going to happen next.” 

You turn to look at him as his vision begins to darken. Your brow furrows, confusion etching your face as the last words you speak feel like a nail in his own coffin. 

“Lilia, this is my home.”  

_________________________________________________________

He doesn’t immediately speak as he comes back again. The clock shows forty-five minutes have passed now, and the lighting in the bedroom he sits in has altered to reflect this. A numbness has crept into his body and settled just below his skin. It fluctuates and writhes like an insect and causes him to shiver as he rotates the box once more.

The last carving is incomplete. The black marks that mar its surface guarantee this. Faintly, he can smell smoke on both the box and his hands as he traces his thumb across this, as well.

It comes back filthy. 

Lilia’s expression schools itself to a blank look as the silence of the empty cottage perpetuates. Only his breathing breaks the still air, stuttering slightly as his lips part. 

“... far cry cradle.” 

_________________________________________________________

Lilia can smell it before he sees it. Wood, smouldering in the unforgiving winter sun, accompanied by something more pungent and feral. He’s already running by the time he snaps into the memory, his feet dragging through heavy snow as he fights against the elements to reach the treeline. He can see dark smoke pluming upwards.

It’s always too late by the time he arrives. 

His steps slow, his feet drawing to a stop as cold snow soaks through his pants. Before him lays a painting of carnage, crafted by human hands, and displayed for the eyes of any fae passing by. Footsteps trample in the aged snow that surrounds the smouldering husk of the structure. Your words regarding your cottage being in a hot spot for game and herbs ring as a mockery now in his ears as he slowly, slowly, inches closer. 

“Hello?” His voice cracks as the words leave him. The forest echoes them back—hello? Hello? Hello?

Stone dust scatters across the white earth as his hand comes to touch the frame you had been so proud of when you had first shown it off. Burnt, with embers still smouldering in the wood. He feels afraid to step further, but he knows that if he doesn’t then he’ll never get the satisfaction of knowing whether you may have survived it or not. 

Lilia passes through the door frame. He looks up to what remains of your roof, to the space where sunflowers once hung, and then just beyond the large wooden table you had carved for yourself as well. A small box sits perfectly on its blackened surface, like it had been placed on display intentionally for his discovery. 

The memory begins to blur at this point. Things that should be there soon bleed into black outlines, dripping down onto the floor with a rhythmic thump. He can see static in what looks like the shape of an arm peeking out from behind the table leg as his stomach twists, and rage begins to flood through his veins in place of blood. A stuttering breath leaves him as the static arm remains still.

He is General Lilia Vanrouge. He is a soldier. He is meant to protect his people, and yet, and yet—

_________________________________________________________

Lilia snaps out of this memory by throwing the box to the floor. It clatters at his outburst before he kicks it viciously into the closet, his breath leaving him in ragged gasps as he does. His mind is a blur as his one hand grips the sheets beneath him and the other grabs his collar, trying to ground him in the moment before the whole world spins out of proportion. 

He is not General Lilia Vanrouge. He is not a soldier. He is not walking into the home of the person he thought he loved, forced to bury what was left of them in a pauper's grave—just another loss in the wartime. 

He is a man, sitting in his cottage, with a son who will be home by evening and a school he needs to pack for. 

“Fuck,” he groans, pressing his face into his hands as he shakes himself free of the thoughts. “Fuck... fuck!”

A brief glance at the clock shows an hour has passed by now. His chest feels heavy, and his mind full of cotton as he dresses in a mechanical manner before going about his chores for the day.

By the time Silver returns, he’s fought off the quails, weeded the garden, cut firewood, and cleared the gutters. What he hasn’t done is clean the mug that’s been sitting in the sink since the morning—a task that Silver happily takes on after Lilia looks close to losing it.

If his son notices anything else off about his father, he says nothing about it, but Lilia does note the way Silver seems a bit more talkative than usual this evening. Lilia’s mind continues to replay the memories he experienced in a macabre theatrical viewing as he tries hard to listen to what Silver is saying. Eventually, they both fall silent as Silver washes the mug, along with the dishes from dinner in addition. The sun is beginning to set when he pauses to peer out the window with a curious expression.

“Did you see the sunflower in the garden?” Silver asks, his voice soft as he finishes drying off the mug. Lilia raises an eyebrow as he looks up again.

“What about it?” 

“It opened up.” Silver looks surprised, and then delighted as a smile graces his face. Lilia’s eyes widen as he notes the similarities between the childish joy on his son's face, and that which he once saw on your own.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

[violetlunette]

I just caught up with the bunny event, and I remember how your Yuu passed out when he saw Silver in bunny outfit 🤣 So did our moonstruck lad really miss out his opportunity to record his voice in Silver's alarm? He missed out the opportunity to wake Silver up with his voice?

lol, yup! Poor little guy. (Though I may do an alteration post where Yuu was revived right away by Ortho so I can make more jokes.) But let’s just imagine if he was somehow able to record his voice;

Yuu’s voice: Hey, Moonshine; time to wake up--

Wall: BOOM! *Destroyed*

Silver: Huh?! Father?!

Lilia: *Standing on room mate while holding the “wood chopper” and looking feral* WHERE IS HE?! I know I heard him! Why was he in your bed? You are too young to have boys in your bed! I forbid it!

[storiesofsung]

If I could be anybody dead or alive, I would wanna be my dad in 1985

[harunayuuka2060]

Azul: I wish I could read minds.

MC: I wish I stop getting lost.

Azul: ...

Azul: Are you serious?

MC: What? That has been my problem since birth.

Azul: ...

Azul: How the hell did you get lost when you were a baby?

MC: The fairy bitches, man. They liked to hide me from my mom.

Malleus and Lilia: *who are sitting at the other table*

Lilia: *almost spits out his food from laughing*

Malleus: *couldn't feel offended because most fairies indeed do that*

[rizdoodls]

The prefect was lucky not to end up propelled into the air...

[blueastrum]

Eternity banquet

[cheekinpermission]

Just another day of me wildly misinterpreting lines from the game

Here's how it played out in my head

Petition to let Epel eat what he wants. Someone mentioned an apple fritter. He deserves an apple fritter.