#Funeral “Death Valley | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

solecize · 11 months ago

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ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 | 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘. every summer on your grandpa's farm was real-life magic to your younger self, who left a piece of her heart in amber valley when the years went on and the town became nothing but a faint childhood memory. soon enough, you become rocked by his death and realize the dead end in your bustling city world. this leads to you making an abrupt decision.

despite knowing nothing but designer purses and the corporate ladder, you uproot your entire life to take over your grandfather's old farm in the town you were desperately trying to remember - alongside a familiar face from your youth that permanently finds his way into your heart. 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. jungkook x reader 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. swearing 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. 5k 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒. inspired heavily by stardew valley, friends to lovers, childhood friends, small town alternate universe, slice of life, grief, growing up.

part one: the storm, the envelope and the granddaughter ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ next. masterlist

i. the storm

for the first time in a long time, your eyes flutter open to the golden curtains of the sun and not the blaring noise of a royalty-free iphone alarm. the rays are harsh and welcoming all at once, as you blink away the stinging sensation and adjust to the muddy path ahead. there was no mistake about it, the town withstood an unforgiving storm last night. however, mud coating the wheels of your bus seemed to be the only indication, as you became distracted with the kiss of summer from the skies above and the clear cerulean painted across cotton candy clouds.

memories of amber valley became bygone over the years, as memories always do. but, amber valley seemed to be a long lost chase you haven’t won in years and the older you became, the town disappeared entirely. it was like the smell of your favourite scented markers and the feeling rumbling at the pit of your stomach on the first day of school - nothing but faint ideas from your childhood.

“we’re not going to visit grandpa this summer?”

at age twelve, you couldn’t fathom missing out on the midsummer festival or being away from your horse, marshmallow. for that age, absolutely everything felt like the end of the world, whether it was missing an episode of your favourite show or not getting an invite to a classmate’s sleepover. it was a little different for you, though, as you looked at your dad’s dull eyes. they’d been dull since the divorce went through that february. they never shone since and that’s how you knew things weren’t going to be the same.

he shook his head at you, but never met your eyes. “no, i’m sorry. he’s coming up for to the city at the end of july, though - “ it would be later in life, precisely at age 25 and months removed from your grandfather’s funeral, when you would learn that he only began coming up to the city to regularly see a hepatologist, “ - so you can see him on your birthday.”

you did, in fact, see grandpa for your birthday and for the rest of the years to come. he laughed with his whole body and his smile never failed to reach his eyes when he gave you updates on the farm and amber valley. grandpa did his best, but time passing came with you losing your bright eyes whenever he spoke fondly of his town. it was inevitable, when the big city enveloped your teenage self and you became more concerned with interests that come with the turn of youth - clothes, parties and boys.

now, there was absolutely nothing wrong with any of those ideas. you stood by this at heart, embracing femininity and defending it alongside your love for science and life. you grew up and began wearing high heels to dates, to university lectures and finally, to your 9-5 on the busiest corner of your city’s financial district. you had long outgrown your riding boots, likely tucked away at the back of your closet in your studio apartment. you began just politely smiling and nodding when your grandfather shared local amber valley gossip about individuals who were just names to you now, also tucked away at the back of your mind.

even though you eventually grew past the age where you needed your parents’ permission to make the trek over to amber valley, past the period of time where your mother refused to speak to your father to coordinate your trip to see your grandfather, the idea of returning to the valley never crossed your mind. like summer camp, it was something you thought you didn’t need anymore and preferred spending your school-less months with your friends in your hometown, working away at your first part-time job and getting your first ever drivers’ license. a seventeen year old city girl wouldn’t want to waste her summer at her grandfather’s old farm.

“mrs. oh’s husband just left the valley for his deployment overseas. may god watch over that family.” it was one of the last times you saw grandpa, late on christmas eve when everyone else went to bed. your mom, her new husband and your little sister had bade their goodnight’s by 10pm and left the two of you sipping honey lemon tea by the fireplace.

your mom’s new husband made a lot of money. that was one of the first things you noticed about him and it was so different from the two bedroom inner city apartment you were raised in. it was certainly different from your grandpa’s farmhouse, where the television only got three channels and all of the windows never fully opened because they would fall apart entirely if you pulled too far. you and your grandpa mused these thoughts on their white leather couch, when the conversation slowly moved back to how the old farm was going.

you tried to sound interested. “oh really?” the reality was you couldn’t remember if the oh family was the one that ran the general store or the one couple who seemed to be constantly fighting, on the verge of divorce.

grandpa grunted in response. “mhm. thankfully, they have jungkook helping out around the store. ah, the wasted potential with that boy, but such a kind heart.”

“jungkook..?”

“oh, you remember him! the two of you would always bike by the beach,” he said. “i’ll never forget, you two would always come back and show me the seashells you collected that day. always made a competition out of everything.”

he chuckled and you joined in, hiding the despondence for being unable to recall. grandpa didn’t seem to notice, though, continuing to discuss amber valley. cranberries and pumpkins were the strongest crops of the fall, mayor kim was re-elected for a third time and something about the town soon getting their first chain convenience store since amber valley’s founding. then, grandpa’s face lost his smile and a serious expression formed on his ageing features. he asked you about your job and how life was for you.

by now, you’re 22 and working an entry-level position with nothing but a bachelor’s in your pocket and a hunger to climb the corporate ranks. like any fresh college graduate, there was no meaning to life if it weren’t for paying overpriced rent, mimosa sundays, dating apps, and maybe remembering to go to the gym every now and then. the life you lived was loud from city traffic and heavy from looming student debt.

“my job is..okay. i’m just starting out and i’m really just trying to do my best,” you replied.

grandpa, still with a serious look, placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. “it gets stressful, doesn’t it?”

you opened your mouth to respond again, but failed to find your voice this time. your stress was found in a growing caffeine addiction and getting too tired to give your parents a call on the weekends. adulthood was everything you expected and nothing you expected. you secured a job that you dedicated four years of studies to and just like that, was pushed into a world of hustle and bustle and nothing in between. once this realization settled, you tried to hide it by cracking a faint smile. grandpa saw through it, though - he always did.

“well, darling, if it ever does get too stressful..” you became confused when grandpa reached into his back pocket and pulled out a sealed envelope. he handed it to you and you turned it over, finding no writing other than your name in your grandfather’s decorative penmanship.

you asked, “what is this, grandpa?”

he finally smiled again, but shook his head. “a gift. it’s yours for when you find that you need a break from the challenges of life.”

grandpa only gave gifts from the heart. only, this time, you wouldn’t know that he was giving you his entire heart and soul. you had taken this envelope and slid it in the drawer of your desk at home, where you tirelessly worked after hours, even after returning from the office. it was hidden away, but always poked your curiosity at the back of your mind. however, you restrained from opening it, even when it eventually became one of the last things you had from grandpa.

ii. the envelope

the only time you took the pristine envelope out of your desk was on the day of his funeral.

it was no surprise that grandpa wanted to be buried in amber valley, his home for over fifty years and his birthplace. it was once your heart’s home, too, once upon a time when you were a child skipping rocks by the town river and rode your horse through mustard-hued sunflower fields. for that, you were nervous to return and confront the realities of your coming of age in the face of a town that only lived in your memories, sickeningly reminding you of the years that have gone past.

wedged between your mother and father who had only began speaking to one another as of three years ago, you stared blankly at the onyx coffin that, in about 20 seconds, was gone from your sight and lowered into the ground. it happened all too quick. you clenched your arm tighter, squeezing the envelope tucked underneath and protecting it from the rain. your very last summer in the valley was marked by constant rain and wind and once again, you greet the town amidst storms.

the drive was quick, having gone directly to service after the three hour drive from the city. you couldn’t make much of the town through the gloom and suddenly, the valley was so much colder than you remember. like your being since your grandfather’s passing, it lost its colour. it was unwelcoming and felt like a punishment for your neglect over the years. amber valley was unforgiving as much as it was perfection.

you couldn’t make out much of the attendees through the gloom, either. many of them appeared absolutely devastated, sobbing and cold-faced at the goodbye of a beloved neighbour. your grandfather was always well-liked amongst the townspeople, helping out his friends with mundane tasks whenever he had free time away from the farm and shared his warm personality at community events. this was affirmed through the stories that were shared about him at the service, recognizable for his distinct good heart, but seemed so far away for you, having detached yourself from amber valley.

“oh, an unfamiliar face! what’s your name, dear?” a man around your father’s age with salt and pepper hair was handing out hor d'oeuvres at the post-service gathering in the church basement. he seemed to be the most upbeat one in the room - though, it wasn’t saying much, considering the occasion.

you told him your name, while looking around for either one of your parents. being in a room of strangers wasn’t your favourite activity, especially following a funeral. the last thing you wanted to do was socialize, feeling like you weren’t even in your own body all day. while you were saddened and to an extent, numb, you knew your grandfather’s passing was coming up. his illness was going to catch up to him and you spent months mentally preparing yourself for the day you would have to say goodbye. despite not being surprised, your grief was accompanied by the painful nostalgia of the town that raised you in the summertime.

the man looked at you, appearing to search your face for something. “you’re the old man’s granddaughter? bunny?”

the nickname almost made you flinch, having not heard it in so long that you were surprised you recognized it. you began searching the man’s face, too, also looking for some signs of familiarity. for so many years of your childhood, you were almost exclusively called this nickname by adults and friends alike.

there wasn’t room for a response when the man pulled over another individual by his sleeve, merely attempting to walk by in peace. this one was a man closer to your age and you were too distracted by the glisten of his facial piercings to scan for recognition. the second thing you noticed the adornment of tattoos peeked from below his sleeve and trailed onto his hands. the third and final thing you noticed about him was how gentle his hands were. this was realized because the sight of this man made you drop whatever was in your own hands in surprise.

the only thing you were holding was your grandfather’s envelope, no longer pristine and stained with a few raindrops. you noticed that you had been clutching onto this keepsake the entire service. you bent down to reach for it, when he also attempted to make the save for you. your hands brushed and you looked up at his eyes, suddenly taken away by confusion.

“jungkook, you remember bunny?”

you forgot the older man was in your presence, as he was the one who pulled jungkook over in the first place. jungkook. this was the little boy you spent hours running around with all those years ago. although you seemed to forget when your grandfather had last brought him up, those moments began to rain down on you upon taking sight of him for the first time in years. you had barely looked, but it hit you.

jungkook handed the envelope over to you and you cleared your throat, standing up properly and trying not to wobble on your favourite high heels. he also stood up and seemed to mirror your confusion, not understanding who was the person in front of him. you muttered a thank you and fixed an imaginary snag on your cardigan.

“i just go by my first name now,” you said through a tight smile to both men, still feeling like your gut was punched in after hearing the nickname that your grandpa coined,

“oh, of course. you’re all grown up now!” the man exclaimed. “do you remember me? mr. kim?”

the truth was that you didn’t remember him by face, but instead remembered that your father mentioned a man of this name being the mayor. if he was the same person, mr. kim’s father was the previous town mayor, as well, and was your grandfather’s best friend before his own untimely passing. given his larger than life presence, it was same to assume that the man in front of you was the tiny valley’s politician.

“mayor kim, of course.” you hoped you sounded convincing.

jungkook was still standing to the side, the same confused look etched on his face. “you’re the girl that tricked me into eating mud that one time?” he blurted, as if an imaginary lightblub flashed above his head

that took you by surprise and you almost snorted. “i didn’t trick you, you just went for it.” the quick snap back also took you by surprise, having left behind a bit of your normal self in the city before coming down to the valley for the funeral, as well as your instant recollection.

somehow, this memory was clear as day and you could remember jungkook as a seven year old with a horrible bowl cut and missing teeth. you wore light-up sneakers and candy bracelets that day, sitting on the porch of your grandfather’s farmhouse with him and were exchanging dares to see who would give up first. maybe that was why your grandpa said you two were -

“ - always competitive,” jungkook said.

although the two of you surely shared countless more memories, it was this one that stood against the test of time and it showed when it immediately hit you with a laugh. it took jungkook a second, too, but he eventually gave in and joined with his own. you hadn’t realized it until his swollen eyes became crescents in his giggles, but he seemed to be having his own trouble of a day.

“there it is, jungkook! nice to see you finally cheer up a bit,” mayor kim encouraged and jungkook’s chuckle immediately fell back to a straight face, almost intentionally. you suspected that this was not the first time today that mayor kim was on his case.

before mayor kim could add on, his attention gravitated towards something at the other end of the room. he sighed and set down the hor d'oeuvres, checking the time on his wrist dressed with gold.

“oh, i’m being called over,” he sighed and turned back to you. “it was a pleasure seeing you again, i hope to see you around town before you have to go back to the city.”

swiftly, mayor kim weaved his way through the crowd and just like that, it was just you and jungkook.

you took this opportunity to give jungkook an actual once over, comparing it to the faint image you had of this man from when you were children. undeniably, he was handsome, but you were more concerned with the fact that this was still the little boy you spent your summers with. he grew into his face and you didn’t realize that you accidentally said this out loud.

jungkook looked as much taken aback as he was amused. “oh, you got jokes, huh? that’s what you learned growing up in the city?” he teased.

“i didn’t mean it like that - “ you started, but he waved you off with a laugh.

the conversation was a bit overwhelming, considering you were still stuck in a church basement following your grandfather’s funeral service and could not locate your parents anywhere. jungkook recognized this in your face and eased into a sympathetic smile. somehow, you felt okay enough around him to drop your tense shoulders for the first time that day.

“i’m sorry, i should be giving my condolences. your grandpa was a loved man by everyone here.”

looking around the room, it was clear. everyone had shared fond stories and were making toasts in his honour. you felt out of place, but more so because you felt like you should have been joining in with the attendees. instead of being a kind of extended family that once saw you grow up, these people were strangers. you weren’t sure if anyone recognized you, having tried to lay low and not draw any attention to yourself. the only times you seemed to have caught anyone’s eye was when you were sat beside your parents at the burial, but no one dared approach you then.

“you were like a son to him, too,” you offered. it was true, given the amount of time you spent with jungkook as a child, maybe even going so far to call him your best friend at one point.

he let out a long breath, eyes moving to the enlarged portrait of your grandfather propped up on the wall. “that’s nice of you to say. i miss him already. i’m sure you feel the same.”

you learned quickly that, in light of your disappearance from your grandfather’s farm over the years, jungkook was the one who began helping out and taking over what were your old chores. your grandfather was physically able, but he kept the young boy around for company and made feeding the chickens an excuse to have his presence. hearing this made your heart drop, feeling an unknown sense of regret that you didn’t know existed when it came to the farm.

“it’s not like that!” jungkook cut in, seeing the tears well up in your eyes. “he would always talk about the two of you going on adventures in the city and how he loved spending time with you whenever he came up to visit. he knew that’s where your heart was.”

you sniffled a bit, having already promised yourself to limit your breakdowns to two that day, and took a second to reel it in. “sorry…i don’t mean to - “ you sighed.

“it’s okay. it’s weird being back here, huh?”

it was weird. it was so damn weird that the air of amber valley stuck with you for the months following, like bubblegum in your hair and a melody on loop in your head. you couldn’t shake it. not when you were working an extra 20 hours overtime in a week, not when you became stuck in traffic everyday, and especially not when your boyfriend of three years dumped you because you “changed” so much since the start of the year.

and, it was true. you changed a lot since your conversation with your grandfather on christmas eve, with his words echoing about the stressors of life everyday. it opened your eyes to how much you were really struggling and it wasn’t simply you who had changed, but your outlook on life. ever since you were twelve years old, everything shifted to the fastlane and years breezed by you in the blink of an eye. everything moved so fast and you never got a chance to catch your breath. one moment, you were 15, sneaking a sip of your first ever drink, and the next, you were 24 and drinking straight out of the wine bottle on a tuesday evening. you wondered how you suddenly found yourself jaded at a 9-5 black hole of a job that sucked out your energy and passions.

these days made you think about what truly deserved your energy and what truly were your passions. did you like your everyday routine of gluing on false lashes and slipping on pantyhose? were you happy, alone in your apartment with not even a cat to talk to? your parents had their own worlds and new lives to deal with and long stopped asking why you never call. your friends were co-workers, having no time to meet anyone new. you didn’t even have time for hobbies, given how tired you were every time you finished work and the amount of overtime you did.

one thursday night, you arrived home from work at 10:13pm and decided you had enough. it was constraining, nearly strangling you with exhaustion everyday. you spent the entire day wondering was “it” was and when you kicked off your loafers by your doorstep, it hit you. this was what your grandfather was talking about.

almost walking with fear of what was to come, you creeped over to your desk. after your grandpa’s funeral, his envelope no longer lived underneath manila folders in your drawer, but found a place on the surface. you kept it there, as it mocked you every time you opened up your work laptop after hours. you didn’t realize why you left it in plain sight, until this moment when you came to terms with the fact that you were reminding yourself of him.

“if you’re reading this, you must be in dire need of change. the same thing happened to me, long ago. i’d lost sight of what mattered most in life. . . real connections with other people and nature. so i dropped everything and moved to the place where i truly belong.”

it took you precisely two weeks to pack up your things after opening the envelope. nobody could convince you not to. your mother complained that you were wasting your degree and your father had concerns about the massive role you were about to take on all by yourself. it didn’t matter.

two weeks later, you met amber valley and its sunlight for the first time in years, pretending that the storm ceased and the sun shone to welcome you back.

iii. the granddaughter

the sun faded quickly when you realized the bus dropped you off on a plain dirt road in the middle of nowhere. the movers took the rest of your belongings separately, so you were left with nothing but a duffel bag and a cell phone that couldn’t find any signal.

“oops,” was all you could say. you didn’t think it was a crazy idea, that there would be service at the very least.

it took you a few moments to let the situation settle in and for you to realize that you were abandoned in a place that was unfamiliar to you. was it unfamiliar? you looked around, seeing nothing but fields on fields and accepted that there was no way you could even try to remember where you were, even with the help of the maps app. you knew you made it to town, but you were certainly left at the farthest point of the borders.

and then, you heard it.

it was over at least ten years since you last rode, but your ears perked up at the sound of a horse’s gallop naturally. you had to squint, but it was unmistakable.

they were going in the other direction and they were going fast, so you had to think fast. you tried yelling and waving your arms, but quickly saw that it was useless. so, you dropped your bg and brought your hands to your mouth, releasing the loudest whistle that your vocal chords could handle.

the horse and its rider kept going and for a few seconds, you thought you lost hope. but, then, as you were about to pick up your bag in shame, you watched them take a wide turn back around. they were headed to you.

you waved your arms back and forth again, affirming that you needed their attention. as they came closer, you could make out a figure of a man with chestnut brown hair peeking out underneath his cowboy hat. he wore medium wash, stained jeans and a plain white t-shirt.

“that was the loudest whistle i’ve ever heard,” he hollered, drawing closer to you.

you shook your head bashfully. “didn’t even know i remembered how to do that.”

“pretty sure the whole town heard. my name is namjoon, are you visiting someone here?”

likely a few years older than you, you tried to recall someone named namjoon from your memories. his appearance didn’t ring a bell, so you were searching your brain for his name or if you heard it from somewhere.

you told him your name and then squinted at him, pausing for several moments before speaking again. “are you. . .joonie?”

his eyebrows shot up immediately, looking at you like he couldn’t understand what language you were speaking. “pardon me?”

joonie. he was mayor kim’s eldest son, who was sent to a fancy arts camp every summer when you were younger. you only met him a few times throughout the years, as he often arrived back the same week you were due to leave your grandpa to go back to your parents, but one feature stuck in your mind always. his dimples. you thought you recognized namjoon’s polite smile and piecing it together with his name seemed to be the key.

“i’m pretty sure you’re mayor kim’s kid. i’m bad with faces, but you’re joonie, aren’t you?” the confidence in your voice was fuelled by the fact that no one really left amber valley. it was the kind of place where families would raise their children with the kids they grew up with themselves.

namjoon seemed to still be calculating your appearance in his head when you heard the faint noise of galloping once again. the two of you looked over to see another person on a horse who was looking around the field, likely looking for namjoon. the man in question brought his hand to his mouth and released a whistle similar to yours - though, you did gloat silently because yours was, in fact, louder.

still, it was enough to get the person’s attention and they finally made eye contact with the two of you. they began approaching and you could make out that it was a man’s figure. still, even with how small of a town amber valley was, you were surprised to see who it was.

“jungkook!”

“namjoon, i just spent fucking 15 minutes looking for you - “

you tried to keep your expression neutral when you saw that it was actually jungkook on the horse. he wore an all-black outfit of cargo pants and a wife beater tank that exposed his tattooed arms. it made it hard to keep your expression the same.

“oh, hey. did you come to collect something from your grandpa’s property?” jungkook suddenly ignored his previous frustration at namjoon, cleared his throat and dropped his voice by an octave, in addition to cutting his voice’s volume by a cool half. he swiftly hopped off his horse, too cleanly to be casual.

namjoon’s confusion only doubled, darting eyes between the two of you. “sorry, have you guys met?” he didn’t miss the way that jungkook straightened his shoulders without even trying to be subtle.

you missed it, though, having cut away your stare to double check if your phone managed to get any signal. none. sighing, you shook your head at jungkook, as he began explaining to namjoon.

“ - we called her bunny. remember bunny?” he nudged towards you.

namjoon looked back at you again and concern formed. “you’re the granddaughter. oh, you were at the funeral - i’m sorry about your loss. your grandpa was such a great person.”

you put on the same tight smile every time someone mentioned him. the worst of the grief came back on some days, but you learned how to manage it day by day as time went on. jungkook watched you do so and cleared his throat.

“the old bus stop is the worst,” he interrupted, gesturing towards the tiny sign that indicated that it was in service. “people get lost all the time when they arrive. well, we don’t really have a lot of people visiting by bus - “

you couldn’t help but cut in. “i’m not visiting.”

the two men gave you and your single chanel duffel bag a blank stare and wondered if the idea was so hard to believe. it was for your parents, who both thought you caught them on some sort of prank show when you told them about grandpa’s envelope. you were wearing platform mary janes and a leather skirt in the dead of the june sun, so maybe they had a reason to be confused.

there was a moment of silence, so you decided to speak again. “yeah, i’m not visiting. um, i’ve decided to take over my grandfather’s farm. i’m moving to amber valley permanently.”

#jungkook au #jungkook fanfic #jungkook scenarios #jungkook x reader #jungkook imagines #bts fanfic #kpop fanfic #bts imagines #jungkook x you #bts scenarios #jungkook series #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #bts series #jungkook reaction #*** / the farmhouse.

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obeymeshallwedateaddict · 5 months ago

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I'm not sure if you write angst or not, but if you do can you write the brothers (separately) and mc get into a big argument like a very heated one and the brothers says something like "im so fucking tired of you blah blah blah the next time i see you better be at your funeral" and then like a few hours later mc either dies or is like almost dead but survives you can pick 🫶🏿🫶🏿 FEEL FREE TO MODIFY(?) MY REQUEST AT ALL !! you don't have to write all of the brothers

Hello. Thank you for your request. Honestly it was a little hard for me to write this but I hope you enjoy it.

Summary: During a heated argument the brothers say that they wished MC would be dead but unfortunately their wish came true.

Contains: Angst, death mentions, blood mentions

GN!MC x each of the brothers

You can find more of my work here: Masterlist

Be careful what you wish for

Lucifer

You were in the eldest's room. You and Lucifer were arguing. Recently you've been feeling suffocated by Lucifer's overprotectiveness so you decided to confront him about it.

-Lucifer, I'm tired of this! You're always all over me, always worrying, calling me, texting me.. I feel like I can't breathe! –You yelled, looking into Lucifer's red eyes which were burning with wrath.

-I'm doing this for your own good, MC! The Devildom isn't a safe place for humans like you! Not all demons here have good intentions. I'm trying to keep you alive! –Lucifer shouted back at you, his hands turning into fists.

-You can keep me alive without suffocating me like you are, you prideful bastard! –You yelled and pushed him back by his chest and that was it. The demon snapped. He took you by the collar, lifting you off of the ground and slamming you against the wall. His eyes could burn a hole through your forehead as he spoke.

-I'm so tired of dealing with your stubbornness, human! The next time I see you, you'd better be on your deathbed, because that's the only excuse I'll accept for this behavior! –Lucifer yelled and dropped you to the ground before leaving the room. You left the room as well.

After a few hours Lucifer is in his room pacing around. He knew he should've been more careful with you. He shouldn't have yelled at you like he did. And that caused for you not to come back home for the next few hours and the eldest was worried. Suddenly he got a call from Diavolo. The demon took a deep breath before answering the phone.

-Hello, Diavolo. What can I do for you? –He questioned in a calm manner.

-Lucifer, Lucifer! Come to the castle. Now! I don't know if MC is going to make it.. they got into an accident. Fast! –As the eldest heard Diavolo's words the colour drained from his cheeks. Hanging up the phone and grabbing his coat the demon rushed to the castle. He was welcomed by Barbatos who led him to the castle's hospital wing. What Lucifer saw next made his heart sink into his stomach. MC was laying unconscious on a hospital bed, surrounded by doctors and Diavolo was holding their hand. Lucifer ran up to the bed, dropping to his knees before the bed and grabbing your hand. You looked horrible. Bandages all over your body, bruises and blood. It made Lucifer's heart break into tiny pieces. That's when suddenly the beeping from the heart rate monitor stuttered, a final, irregular beat, and then... silence. The thin green line on the monitor that had traced the heartbeat in peaks and valleys now flattened into a straight, unwavering line. Lucifer's breath hitched and a tear fell down his cheek.

-MC, NO! Please! I didn't mean anything of what I said! Please, MC! Stay with me, please! –The demon whined as he took your dead body into his trembling arms. The Avatar of Pride wasn't ready to lose another family member. He leaned down and pressed an uneasy kiss to your forehead, forging all of his power into it. And all of a sudden.. beep.. beep.. beep... The heart rate monitor showed signs of life once again. Lucifer's teary eyes widened as he looked at the thin line and then back at you. You opened your eyes, looking over at the eldest with a weary expression. The demon let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding, pulling you tight against his body.

-MC, I'm so sorry.. please forgive me. This is all my fault.. Oh, my love, thank you for getting back to me.. thank you..

Mammon

The second-born was mired in debt once again. So you found yourself inside his room, yelling at him about the whole situation.

-Mammon you and your stupid gambling! Can't you see that you are mired in debt once again? And who is going to pay off these debts? Yes, Lucifer. But Lucifer can't always clean your messes! –You spoke, looking over at the demon, who looked extraordinary annoyed.

-I can't help it! Plus Lucifer has never had a problem paying off my debts! –He yelled.

-Oh you bet Lucifer doesn't have a problem. Oh yes he fucking does! –You respond, crossing your arms at your chest.

-Well I don't care. –Mammon speaks and looks away from you.

-How could you not care?! You need to learn to pay off your debts yourself, Mammon-

-Jesus fucking Christ, human! I'm sick of your nagging! Maybe if you were gone, I could finally live my life without you breathing down my neck! –The demon cut you off and upon hearing his words you rolled your eyes and left the room.

Hours later Mammon was sitting on his bed, thinking about the argument when he gets an unexpected phone call. It was Lucifer. The Avatar of Greed was ready to hang up but then remembered what happened the last time he did so he picked up the phone.

-Yeah? Lucifer, what's up?

-Mammon, come to the living room. One of your goddamn debt collectors found MC and beat them to death. You have some explaining to do you, idiot! –The eldest hung up before Mammon could even speak. The second-oldest's heart sinks as he runs to the living room where he sees all of the brothers gathered around Lucifer who was holding MC in his arms. They looked completely beat. There were bruises and blood all over their body. Mammon's eyes widened and he ran up to you, putting his palms to the sides of your head, tilting it towards himself.

-MC! What happened?? MC! Please! Don't die! Please! MC stay with me! I didn't mean a word I said, ya hear me? –The Avatar of Greed yelled and you managed to nod slowly. You didn't die (which Mammon was thankful for) but your recovery took a while.

Leviathan

You and the third-born were playing games together in his room. But as time went on things took a more serious turn. The demon began complaining about his life, saying how useless he was and how no one cared about him.

-Levi, it's not like that. You aren't worthless.. –You tried to tell him but the demon was blinded by his self depriving thoughts.

-No! I'm a useless otaku that nobody cares for! –Leviathan shouted and gripped his hair. You were tired of how he was talking about himself, you nearly snapped.

-Leviathan, stop talking like that about yourself. Nothing of that is right. Nothing! –You yelled and the Avatar of Envy moved his gaze towards you.

-You don't understand any of this! Why don't you just disappear already? The only time I'd want to see you again is when you're lying cold and dead, at least then I wouldn't have to deal with your bullshit of an opinion! –Your eyes widened at his words and you took a deep breath before leaving the room.

Hours later Leviathan is sitting in his chairs staring at the countless messages he sent you. But the thing that was worrying him the most was that you hadn't answered any of them. He bit his lip and dragged his hands over his face. Suddenly he got a call. It was from Satan. Levi grabbed his phone and picked up the phone before bringing it to his ear.

-Y-yeah, Satan? –Leviatan questioned before hearing a sob from the other side of the phone. The demon's eyes widened.

-S-satan?

-Levi, MC is d-dead.. Solomon found them laying on the street.. they were ran over a car.. Levi, come to the entrance hall... –Leviathan's eyes widened at the news, a sob threatening to find its way out of his lips. The demon ran to the entrance hall as Satan had told him. The sight broke his heart. MC was laying on the floor, blood dripping out of multiple parts of their body. Their eyes were open but they weren't showing any signs of breathing. They were dead. Solomon was talking to the eldest which was barely containing his tears while Satan and Asmodeus were on their knees before the dead body. Leviathan ran up to you, shaking you in an attempt to wake you up but it was pointless. You were already dead. The demon stood there, staring at your motionless body before bringing a hand to close your eyes.

-MC!.. no.. it's.. it's all my fault.. I shouldn't have said all that.. I shouldn't have let you go.. but now it's too late. Goodbye, MC.. I l-love you.. and I always will.

Satan

The fourth-born was caught while trying to prank Lucifer, which ended up as a long lecturing session from the eldest. And now you were in Satan's room trying to calm him down since he was blinded by rage. But you were unsuccessful.

-Satan, calm down! You know Lucifer has always caught you with these pranks! Calm down! –You talk to him but he growls once again.

-Okay but why did he have to lecture me for 2 hours!! Two our of my precious time that I could spend reading! That fucking bastard! He'll pay for this! –The fourth-born yellednand threw one of the books that was laying on his bed over at the wall.

-Satan! Stop that! It's nothing serious! –You reassure him as you try to take his hand but he shoves it away.

-It is fucking serious..! Why does he ALWAYS manage to catch me and end up YELLING at me!?! Why does nobody ever yell at HIM?! Grrr –Satan shouted once again which made you snap.

-Satan! I'm so tired of this!! Why do you always have to get so irritated over the smallest thing!? Can't you control your temper? You've been around for who-knows-how-long and yet you still can't control your temper! –You yell at the demon which looks at you with angry eyes before turning into his demon form.

-Well if you can't put up with me and my wrath you'd be better off dead! And let me tell you. I'd love to see you dead! –He yells back as he stares deep into your eyes. You scoff and leave the room as fast as you can.

Hours later the fourth-born finally managed to calm down and when he did he finally realised what a grave mistake he'd made. The demon tried focusing on the book he was reading but his thoughts were occupied by you. Were you okay? Are you still mad at him? That's when the demon got a text from Mammon.

Mammon: "Satan, this is bad! Come to the living room! MC came home injured!" Upon reading his brother's text his heart sinks in and he rushes to the living room where he sees you, cuddled up into Asmo's arms as Lucifer treats your wounds. There were tears running down your cheeks which broke Satan's heart. Mammon was pacing nervously around the room while Beel was eating a sandwich with a gloomy look on his face. Satan walked up to you and took your hand in his.

-MC, What happened..? –He asks in a gentle mannerz noticing the hesitation in your voice as you answer him.

-I got into a fight.. –You mutter and look away, hissing as Lucifer rubs alcohol onto another one of your wounds.

-I... I'm sorry, MC.. if I had only been there for you, you wouldn't be in this situation right now.. please forgive me.. –The fourth-born mutters, shooting a hopeful look your way.

-Of course I forgive you, Satan.

Asmodeus

The fifth-born has been all over you recently. You could never find yourself alone. Asmo was practically glued to your side. You would sit in your room, studying and Asmodeus would be there, brushing your hair. You would be walking to RAD with Asmo glued to you. You would spend time with the others and the fifth-born would always have his arms around you. You want to shower in peace? Good luck with that. Asmo would either join you immediately or stare at you while you showered. It was getting too much so you decided to confront him.

-Asmo, you can't always be glued to me! I understand that we are in a relationship and all but your constant attention is driving me nuts! –You yell as you look at the fifth-born's nonchalant expression while he paints his nails

-I just can't keep my hands off of you, hon. You know that. –He answered without even looking at you.

-It's getting too much, Asmodeus! I want some time for myself! –You yelled and threw a pillow at him, which caused him to mess up his nail polish. The demon snapped and looked over at you with an angry expression.

-MC, that's enough! I messed up my nail polish because of you! Maybe if you were dead I wouldn't have to always listen to your complaints about the attention I give you! –He yells as he grips the bottle of nail polish remover and a little cloth to clean up the messed up nail. You left the room upon hearing his words.

A few hours later the fifth-born is sitting in the bath, thinking about the things he said to you and that he should probably give you more time alone when suddenly his phone buzzes. He takes it and picks up the phone.

-Yeah, Lucifer, dear?

-Asmodeus.. –The eldest takes a deep breath– MC was found dead.. Apparently they were buying some cosmetics probably a gift for you, considering there is a letter, addressed to you along with it. They were brutally murdered.. –Lucifer's voice hitches before hanging up the phone, to prevent the fifth-born from hearing his sob. Asmodeus immediately gets out of the bath, putting on the closest clothes he saw and ran to the entrance hall where he saw your dead body, covered in blood, laying next to a bag of cosmetics. Lucifer was on his knees before you, looking at you with a devastated look. The fifth-born's heart sank as he ran up to you.

-MC! Sweetheart wake up! Please wake up! He kneeled down before you, taking your hand in his.

-MC, please.. I didn't mean what I said! You know that, MC! Please! –He begged and sobbed, gripping your hand tighter but it was too late. You were gone forever. As for the letter.. Asmo took it after a few minutes of grief. In it you were saying how sorry you were and that you enjoyed his attention and affection no matter what. Asmodeus sobbed while reading each word. Upon finishing reading the letter he brought it to his chest, hugging the thin paper. It was the only thing he had left, related to you.

Beelzebub

The sixth-born has been neglecting you lately. He was only thinking about food, always eating and looking for food. When you'd ask him to spend more time with you he'd come up with an excuse that he was hungry and would immediately leave you alone to go find himself more food. So you finally decided to confront him. You walked into the kitchen, finding him looking inside the fridge while eating a hell tomato.

-Beel, we need to talk. –You speak up and the demon looks over at you with a questioning gaze.

-Yeah, MC? What's up? –He says as he takes a bite out of the tomato.

-Beel, I'm tired of this. I need more attention! You always neglect me! And instead of spending time with me you eat! It's always food and never me! –You yell and cross your arms at your chest, while looking at the demon who seems conflicted.

-But, MC you know that I'm constantly hungry.. that's why I always think about food but I'm not neglecting you. –He speaks and takes another bite out of the tomato.

-See this?!? Even when we try to have a regular conversation you are always eating! –You shout and shake your head before looking back at Beelzebub. The demon was fed up. He couldn't understand why you were acting like this. After all you knew he was like this.

-MC, you know what? Maybe if you were gone I wouldn't have to argue with you right now and instead I could just go back to eating.. –He speaks in a harsher tone and looks back at the fridge. You leave the room angrily upon hearing the demon's words.

A few hours later Beel was in his room, working out and rethinking the things he said to you. He used some harsh words that he didn't even think he was capable of saying. Suddenly you walk into the room. You wanted to buy the sixth-born some food from Hell's kitchen as an apology for your sudden outburst when two demons caught you and beat you up. When Beel saw you his eyes widened and he rushed to you, wrapping his arms around your body as you hissed upon his gesture.

-MC, what happened?! You look hurt... Are you okay? –He asks in a gentle voice as he brushes a strand of hair from your face.

-I wanted to buy you some food.. when.. when.. two demons beat me up and took all of it.. I'm sorry, Beel.. –You whined and cried softly into his arms.

-No, MC.. don't be sorry.. it's my fault.. You were right. I should spend more time with you.

Belphegor

Lately the seventh-born has been neglecting his duties and instead of doing his student council work he'd always sleep. One day you decided to talk to him about it so you walked inside the attic where you thought he might be and smiled upon seeing him sleeping on the bed.

-Belphie, wake up.. I have to talk to you about something.. –You said as you walked up to Belphegor's sleeping form and caressed his cheek.

-Mhmm.. hm..? MC? What's up? –The demon murmurs with a groggy voice as he rises from his slumber.

-We need to talk.. –You say and sit across him on the bed.

-Yeah, MC? What's wrong? –He asks before yawning.

-You have been neglecting your duties.. you're always sleeping instead of doing your work.. –You say and the demon's expression turns serious.

-Yes because I need more sleep. You sound like Lucifer, MC. Stop that. It's irritating. –He speaks and leans on the headboard of the bed.

-Oh so now it's irritating? Do you think you should be the one being irritated? Or me? Because Lucifer has been making ME do your job. –You speak and look over at the demon who seems close to drifting off again.

-Well then stop doing it. Lucifer can do it himself. –He says and yawns once again.

-I can't say no to him! You know how he is! Plus he is overworked. I don't want to make him work more. –You yell at the demon and he looks at you with an irritated look before speaking.

-MC, leave me alone! I'm so tired of your constant nagging. Maybe the next time I see you, you should be in a coffin, so I can finally get some peace!! –Your eyes widen at his words and you leave the room, before you say something harsher to the demon.

A few hours later Belphegor was awakened from his phone ringing. He groaned before picking up.

-Yeah? –The demon spoke as he rubbed his eyes.

-Belphie I have some horrible news... MC.. they.. they passed away.. someone pushed them off a cliff... Lucifer doesn't let us see the body.. so we can only see them during the funeral.. –The voice of the fourth-born echoed in Belphie's ears as his heart sank. He proceeded to cry and blame himself for what happened. After two days all of the demon brothers are in black, surrounding MC's coffin as they bury it into the ground.

-I never meant what I said, MC.. it's all my fault... I hope you can forgive me.. and.. I love you.. –Belphegor sobs as he places a rose over your coffin.

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rel124c41 · 7 months ago

Text

BACK TO CHEST (SOUL TO SOUL). jade leech

Saprophytic organisms obtain their nutrients by breaking down dead organic matter.

tags: main character death (permanently tho?), dark magic, family dynamics, survivor guilt, established relationship, malleus’s unrequited crush on reader, & happy halloween

a/n: jade & floyd's mother's name siphon from @mochinomnoms

word count: 12, 802

When Malleus Draconia, prince of Briar Valley, overblotted, you were beheaded.

Jade has been rolling that sentence in his head for the entire month. He has been trying to make sense of it. Like a student retyping a sentence, he changes it up every so often; when housewarden Malleus Draconia overblotted, you were beheaded; when Malleus Draconia, born January 18th, 202 centimeters tall, green eyes, a hundred or so years old, overblotted, you were beheaded; when Malleus Draconia, nicknamed Tsunotaro, overblotted, you were beheaded; when Malleus Draconia overblotted, Jade had to watch you be beheaded from Diasoma’s dormitory barbican. The facts do not seem real no matter how much he edits them.

Part of him deducts that it might be because beheaded is the wrong word. Beheaded implies decapitation: the head fully cut off from the body. You did not resemble a cleanly-made dullahan. The slashing, void magic Malleus Draconia sent out cut from your frontal bone diagonally down to your occipital bone.

Jade hopes more fiercely than a child wishing on a star that it felt like a painful flick to your forehead than nothing else. He does not want to entertain the thought you might have been conscious, wondering when your hair caught fire as you suffered through incomprehensible pain. Visible brain matter stuttering with a few painful last thoughts as you were cut apart.

So, with that said, it has not really registered in Jade Leech’s own brain that you are really dead. He can find the words perfectly fine. He cannot find the meaning of that mysterious poetry, no matter how embellished or how nudely plain.

Which is why his brother has to say certain words to him real slowly. Make sure the meaning sticks. Elongating them, sometimes repeating, “Today’s (Name)’s funeral, Jade. You have to get up.” Which comes out as fuuuh-neeer-al, yooo-u, and uuuh-puh.

Floyd has to repeat ‘get up’ four times because Jade refuses to. As he has been for the last month, he rots in bed. Luckily, Jade has always been an exemplary student so he will still be able to graduate his second year with all his high marks. Thank the Seven for small miracles.

“Cooome on, Jade. Jade, please, get up. Jadeee.”

Roughly, and then softly and sorrily, Floyd tries to shake Jade out of his pretend sleep. His brother has been doing that a lot – sleeping and then, not sleeping, but still laying in bed with his eyes closed. Who knows what is so alluring about the ebon made from flesh-shuttered windows. A week ago, Floyd had a thought that turned his stomach rotten. What if Jade has been sleeping so much so he can pretend he is still under Sea Slug’s spell, before anything happened?

He does not like to think about it. To be frank, he has been hating thinking this entire month. It makes bile poke its tiny fingers on the muscles in his throat, watching his mirror reflection lie somnolent in bed, looking halfway dead. Which is why Floyd shifts back to shaking Jade at a harsher pace – which he will eventually slow down again, feeling regret for being rough.

“Jaaadiooo, waaake uuup. Jade. Jade Jade Jade!”

Floyd wonders if he has to get Azul to assist him in picking up Jade. It is not that Jade puts up a struggle when getting dragged out of bed; it is just that his weight feels like dead weight and that makes Floyd queasy. He likes having Azul there. Azul dresses Jade; Floyd brushes Jade’s teeth. They both take turns taking cups of water and rinsing shampoo out of his hair.

However, Azul is not needed because Jade voluntarily opens his eyes a moment later. Dull, rusted gold and olive peers through black eyelashes. Lifeless eyes flicker, registering what the waking world is showing him.

Shoes that are worth a king's ransom crease because Floyd decides to crouch rather than kneel by Jade’s bed. His hair is neatly slicked back, gel fixating his black strand behind his piercing. Dressed in a simple black suit, Floyd gives a shy smile and whispers, “Hey.” Jade notices something that makes him close his eyes.

Floyd did his tie correctly this time.

“Hey, no goin’ back to sleep. Ya gotta get up today, Jade, c’mon. I’ll eat one of your mushrooms if ya get up. You can decide which one, whatever works for me. Hehehe, how does that sound? … Jade, please. Get up.”

“What’s the point?”

“Because you’re gonna be pissed at yourself if ya don’t. Ya gonna hate yourself more if you don’t get up.”

“Not possible.” Jade’s nose wrinkles when Floyd starts to run his fingers through his hair, combing back black hair.

“You have to get up today. If you do, next week, Azul and I’ll leave ya alone.”

“Leave me alone now.”

“Ya have to get up to say goodbye. Come on, (Name) deserves you there. You have to get up for (Name).”

Jade does the only thing that allows Floyd to know his brother is not a corpse - he sheds a tear. Dried-up, pruning corpses cannot shed tears. It comes with a double edged sword of relief and pain; Floyd watches the tear escape from Jade’s left eye, descending down over the bridge of his nose, and onto his pillow.

Emptied of one of a thousand tears, Jade whispers back, tormented, “I can’t.”

In your absence, Floyd’s verbose brother has turned into a man of little words. As if the action of talking is just as strenuous as getting up. It is unnerving for Floyd who is so used to his brother talking so much.

Grief shackles a body like an anchor. So used to swimming through life with dexterity, grief has tangled itself upon Jade like cutting, tangling fishing gear or stabbing, soda-can-holding plastic. Each limb is ten times heavier than it has ever been. His tongue is an iron paperweight.

And, Floyd knows. That weight has been crushing him too.

Floyd still looks towards your designated seat in Mostro Lounge by mistake. Waits with a heavy heart to see you sitting there, ordering one of their chocolate-or-caramel themed drinks. Waits for your voice to just suddenly be in his ears talking, asking about basketball practice or new menu items.

But, he has been brave for his brother’s sake. Which is why he requests, touching their foreheads together, “Then, get up for me. Get up for me.”

For the first time in the month, Jade brushes his teeth without help. He cannot manage to do his hair but Floyd gives no complaints, slicking his own hands up with opaque green gel.

Only one month after death, a body fully liquifies. Life deflating, the soft tissue starts to decay. Oval holes in the skin appear with the ease of stretched dough. Flesh’s solidity fails and melts like candle wax. In a month’s time, a cadaver is expected to expose its vulnerable skeleton.

Against all physical laws, you have not rotted away like an apple attacked by fungi and bacteria. In fact, it would be appropriate to say you look alive. It is inappropriate though because of the downward, diagonal scar across your forehead. Magic keeps your body fresh but your grave-ushering wound remains.

They stitched you back up? Jade wonders which friend of yours had picked the top part of your cranium off the rain-soaked ground.

Even though Ace and Deuce were the closest to you – both physically, you had thrown them out of the way of that slashing attack and emotionally, you had thrown them out of the way of that slashing attack –he cannot picture them picking it up. Neither Grim; paws are too small. Perhaps, aspiring not-yet-doctor Riddle Rosehearts had the guts in his tiny stature to scoop up the top half of your brain. Holding a hand under like one does with a napkin full of broken eggs, making sure nothing drips onto the floor. Jade grows too sick to think of the hypothetical of who stitches you back up.

Jade only remembers shaking, cold due to the rain and the sight. A hand reaching up to his breast pocket to grab his magic pen. Then, Floyd grabbing his shoulders to stop him from making the awful mistake of firing a spell at THE Malleus Draconia. Jade forgets the rest.

Apparently, he screamed himself hoarse. Apparently, Floyd got a broken wrist from their tussle. Apparently, Azul knocked him out with a powerful sedative spell. Apparently apparently apparently.

The following memory goes like this: waking up in bed the next morning, throat sore, thinking about what tea you might generously brew for him to fight off his evident illness. Usually in good health, Jade is a bit surprised that morning to wake up with a flu. Then, his world is torn apart. Then, Azul and Floyd explain to him slowly – they are always talking to him slowly now – why his throat burns. Not from bacteria-made illness, from screaming, from losing you.

Sometimes, just for a span of a few moments, Jade wishes another thing with childish ferocity — prays to a shooting star.

He wishes he could have stayed in that peaceful dream — “There is no need to shed tears nor are farewells necessary! … A new world in which none shall ever experience the pain of loss!” he had said — that Malleus was bestowing upon them. I wish Malleus had succeeded in his overblot. With a similar vehemence, he wishes Malleus Draconia died.

There is no graveyard on the northside of Sage’s Island. No one expects to bury a student. So, someone, perhaps Dire Crowley or your trio, has chosen to bury you just a bit off the hiking trails you and Jade use to venture on. A glade chosen by someone to put a coffin smack in the middle of, still on land owned by Night Raven College.

Your dead body rests ahead, laid in a virgin’s coffin. A tree line formed by an expanding corpse of trees marks a clean circle. Him, Floyd, and Azul come upon the funeral last. Right at the start of the column and rows of seats, Jade’s feet suddenly grow roots into the ground, on par with a neem tree which has the strongest taproot system. He is paralyzed by the sight: you, arms resting on your abdomen, laying in a fairytale’s glass coffin.

The casket is elegant beyond elegance. Silica sand dug from Al-Asim’s numerous deposits was smelted for the glass. Inscribed with gold, your name playfully stretches its arms across the coffin, bordering angels and swans kneeling before it.

Your head rests on a pillow-bouquet. Speckles of white daisy, ivory white carnations, and eggshell white spider mums kiss your hair. The centerpiece flower is Easter lilies, though. Trumpet-shaped, with shooting stars of pollen branching out from the center of them, Easter lilies crowd the bouquet like purple prose in a literary work. They crowd around your resting, stitched head with delicateness. Another bouquet of identical pattern rests too in your hands.

The fairytale ensemble makes you look like a martyr.

You are not a martyr. Jade hates the very thought that that could become your legacy. Wrongly transcribed and reprinted, a publisher who does not know you writes you as martyr. It makes his stomach rot. Neither hero or villain, you are not to be idolized. Bread should not be broken in honor of you and wine should not be drunk in honor of you.

You were wonderfully simple, with flaws and strengths. Now, you are gone.

“Jade, come. There is a spot up at the front for us,” Azul says softly and slowly.

A gentle hand pushes on Jade’s back — Floyd’s hand. “They’re not goin’ to start without us.”

That’s not what I’m worried about. I’m worried that —! Jade, not really thinking well, rips himself away from his brother too fast.

“Woah,” Floyd shouts like a cowboy whose horse has started acting erratic. His gold and olive-brown eyes flicker with concern. Once more, Floyd goes to put his hand on the back of Jade’s suit, only to feel more like he is touching stone rather than flesh. Hm?

Out of Floyd’s knowledge, students, close friends of yours, have started to turn around, and one of them happens to be Malleus Draconia — who makes direct eye contact with Jade Leech.

I can’t breathe.

Eyes that shimmer like Sheecle’s green take their poisonous green hands, stealing oxygen from the eel-mer’s body.

Jade finds himself breathless. In his chest, his heart grows in weight tremendously. All of the hurt in his bones is pulled towards his center, acceleration like fire. Heavy as osmium. Heavy as tungsten. He feels like something is crushing him with a sleep paralysis-esque weight. Out of his nose, his last breath slithers away; out of his brain, all his thoughts file out of the building in fire-drill-fashion. Buh-bye, Jade! his thoughts wave as they go. His breath walks out like a scorned lover, never to be heard from again.

I can’t breathe.

Suddenly, Jade’s motionless chest is grabbed by a wayward arm. His spine collides into a breathing, functioning chest. Over his shoulder, Floyd whispers to his brother, lazy drawl slithering in Jade’s ear:

“Follow along to my breathin’ pattern. Try-a match your breath to mine.”

The words are spoken carelessly, with a lazy drawl, but the intent is vigilant. Seeing his brother needing help, Floyd reacts. He holds him close enough to feel the bones of his ribcage.

On Jade’s back, he can feel the rise and fall of Floyd’s chest — Floyd elongating his breaths to gather deep oxygen in the very bottom of his lungs. They come in slow, constant waves. An inhale causes his chest to expand. An exhale causes his chest to flatten. Each slow rotation hits Jade’s spine in measured breaths — that I’m supposed to follow along to. Match the tempo of.

Jade closes his eyes so he can focus upon the rise and fall of Floyd’s living lungs. It proves difficult to hear the sound of breathing over the ringing in his ears, like detecting a single scent in a saturated perfume store. Earth makes itself into a curlicue of sensations. Amongst the raging riptide, Jade tries to grab his brother’s hand. Grab onto it and share the same breath.

It takes a few moments, a continuous rise and fall. Deeper lungfuls of oxygen push at his spine; heavier exhales stir through his three-piece earring. In. Out. Jade is trying. In. Out. In. Out.

He breathes in through his nose and out his mouth until he can complete the cycle of in and out with a skip between the steps. When he takes his first complete breath, eyelids fluttering open, he sees only the back of Malleus’s haircut and curling horns that hook up like antlers. As he studies ebony locks cascading into layers, Floyd whispers in his ear, “We don’t gotta go up. I’ll stay back with ya.”

A coward down to the bone, Jade nods his head. Well, not always a coward; he is quite a capable eel-mer. In this particular setting, he finds himself to be as cowardly as the lion in The Wizard of Oz. For this month, he has felt that only the worst traits of his personality have survived the aftermath of a torrential blot-storm.

He lets Floyd push him down to sit at the last row on the right. Your friends in Savanaclaw and Pomefiore are in the back rows as you are not too close to either. Diasomnia and Heartslabyul are gathered close to the front. The remaining dorms are in the middle.

Ebony locks styled into a jellyfish cut sit in the second row, left side. If Jade looks straight, he can completely dispel Malleus Draconia from his eyesight. Azul moves up to the front, perhaps to tell Dire Crowley or your friends that everyone in attendance, time to start. Jade is beyond grateful for the hand rubbing circles into his spine, as if the touch keeps his breath circulation working.

There are a few moments of talking. Deuce Spade shuffles a bit closer to hear what Dire Crowley is saying; Azul gestures with his hands and when passed a paper, passes it back in rejection; Grim, who now attends in Heartslabyul, starts to grow louder in volume but so far Jade cannot catch a word. Eventually, it is Riddle Rosehearts who stands up. In his hand, the paper that Azul recently rejected.

Even though it is given an introduction, explaining the contents, Jade would have known it without prelude. Off Riddle’s tongue, your poetry falls like a meteor shower, silver fish-tails stretching with warm tenor. The title and author already given, Riddle reads:

“In a sea of nightmares, I spy a rock

Smooth, with a thousand freckles of fresh rain

The maelstrom brings inky monsters and villains

When I place myself upon your shore, I stop drowning

Across the water, you and I are on a rock, braving the storm.”

You wrote a lot of poetry. You were never good friends with Rook Hunt though; you clashed a lot with Pomefoire, unable to make friends with them. Perhaps because your poetry and beauty is different. Not very often did you string words together amorously, rather the words were desolate.

Your persona – the cultivated, embellished image of the artist you were – was always sort of tortured and damaged. That worst of you created poetry with the rigorousness of an inventory. This one Jade knows well – you wrote it for him. You were embarrassed about it but brave enough to tell him: “I wrote something. I feel … I feel it describes us.”

He misses those nocturnally active times in the botanical gardens. Transcendent music playing between the spaces of silence, filling you with his feelings, sharing feelings like they were heat and you too were cold-blooded. Under a gazebo of stars on the edge of the universe, you once said. A pocket of paradise stolen was found in the moments creating and cultivating with him, you once said. It feels like a dream, you once said.

Jade stands up from his seat, not able to withstand hearing another word. This gross, wrong interpretation of your work feels like dirt and maggots grinding his mouth. It is not a poem meant for a funeral. Between Floyd’s knees and a chair, he squeezes himself tight to escape.

Bystanders expect him to do just that: escape. Floyd anticipates it too. He takes those expectations and breaks them. In a domino effect, row by row, people notice Jade drawing closer. Murmurs start to rouse awake the sleepy, forlorn crowd.

Undeterred, Jade walks closer and closer. When he briefly passes the second row, he lets his gaze flicker over to his left. Eyes pinched together in small slices, gold and brown irises catch just the briefest glimpse of rotating horns and a sharp nose. The curious quirk of Malleus’s lip has his heart electric with lightning bolts of hate.

Across the water, across the wave, Jade approaches you on that lone rock. He is going to save you from the grave and help you weather this maelstrom. The divide between you and him in life and death is a thin, easily breakable glass barrier.

“Jade,” Riddle questions.

Back to him, Jade responds, “You should sit, Riddle. Your words were very courteous but I have a few of my own to say. Can I ask you to forgive my gross impoliteness?”

“No,” Riddle fumbles with his words, “no, no it is quite alright. Go ahead … I’m - I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Your sympathy is much appreciated.”

The crowd watches on with gross intrigue, wondering what your boyfriend could possibly be thinking of or what his next move might be. Is it not obvious from your poetry – he is going to outstretch his shore towards you. He does this through violent action.

Jade brings up a fist. Jade brings down a fist.

Though it does not give easily, the glass still breaks in fractures. Triangles and rhombuses branch out from underneath Jade’s fist. Jagged, uneven connect-the-dots shapes make up a circular pattern that splinters from the point of contact. A little less than ten pieces fall into the tomb, landing on your ebony dress and bouquet.

Steeling himself, Jade turns his attention to your face. Gloss from the glass makes you look angelic, like a shimmer of makeup glitter. Someone has painted your lips in a dark, blood red – (“I can’t stand bright lipstick! It makes you look like a clown. Jade, you’ll catch me dead before you catch me in dark lipstick”) – which boils up Jade’s month long, hidden away anger.

His second punch causes glass to land on your dress like snow knocked off a branch, heavy with volume. The plummeting glass is also followed by a trickle of blood. Jade pulls back his bleeding hand, hooks it underneath a section of glass, and pulls it up like one might do with rotten floorboards. Glass pierces through the material of his glove, hitting bone. He grabs another part of the coffin, snaps it off like it is a mere graham cracker, and forms a fist with shrapnel of glass embedded in fingers. Fragile glass hovering over your face breaks and showers down like freckles. Steadily, he keeps punching and breaking off glass until none remains.

When he pulls back his right hand, the leather is thoroughly drenched in a red flood. Instead of spraying bloody water in thin sheets, it flows off his fingers like a spilled milkshake. Black and red combined, Jade adds the last color to the Snow White triptych.

Avenging, he takes the bouquet of white flowers from your hands. The stems crunch in his harsh grip; the flowers sway in their downward descent. He brandishes them down by his thigh like one might hold a sword in the midst of battle. Nitroglycerin sweat bubbles and propane sweat pops on his palm. His black gloved hand catches fire, enveloping the bouquet in a blaze that rises vindictively up to his shoulders.

As the last bits of a fire spell, done without the conductor of his magic pen, start to shimmer away in ash and smoke, Jade lets the incinerated, curled inward, black flowers fall to the ground. He takes his dominant hand and slowly places it upon your cheek.

Soft. You are so soft. I should have taken off my gloves. His bleeding hand infects your skin with a new paint. Jade puts his thumb over your lips where someone has put clown lipstick on you. When your lips part slightly under his ministrations, no breath hits his thumb.

His precious pearl, breathless. He wishes nothing more for you to open up your eyes and dispel his worries.

“Jade!” Ah, it seems people are starting to come out of their stupor at the display Jade is presenting. He looks vexatious over his shoulder, briefly catching eye contact with Azul. “What are you possibly doing!” Jade also manages to catch his brother breaking comatose to stand up.

“There is no need to fret about me overblotting. I have a secure lid placed on my emotions. Unlike others.”

Hurt flashes in Azul’s eyes. Jade cannot stomach to check if his insult hurt who he intended it to hurt. Instead, he gingerly lifts you in his arms. Limp, you tumble into his embrace with gravity-obeying limbs. Your neck tilts back and your toes point down in Jade’s careful hold.

“Jade!”

This will prove difficult with both my hands holding them and no magic pen as a conductor. It is the only thought in Jade’s head as his brother shouts his name. Worry rarely crosses his twin’s face with such an intensity; most would judge it as anger. Ah, I am really being so impolite today. Sorry Floyd. The starting sparks of a teleportation spell start to pop around his shoulders and torso like fireflies.

With a deep breath, Jade disappears in a supernova.

More or less, Jade Leech has returned to being himself. Verbosely polite and formal; eager to lend a helping, subservient hand; jumping right back into the schedule he has: classes, duties for Azul, Mountain Lovers club activities, etcetera. He is a different picture of the man laying in bed, stricken with your absence; now, he has returned to the man he was in your presence.

Is it because you two are reunited in presence? That old tale of Hercules and Meg, interlocked souls, finally touching again? Are you reunited? Azul cannot be certain that is true. Nobody has been able to locate your body since that day.

Behind his glasses, Octavinelle’s housewarden traces the motions of his vice. He cannot see Jade’s expression, only scrutinizing over his back as he pens the order of a customer. It is a week after your uncompleted funeral. Azul’s stomach turns sick, watching Jade work effortlessly in Mostro Lounge, not knowing where Jade keeps your corpse.

Corpse … All his limbs shudder at the word. It could be hidden under his own bedroom’s floorboards or locked away in Ramshackle with your three ghost companions. You could be anywhere.

Every thought Azul has on the situation makes it feel like salt and ice are colliding in his abdomen in a hissing burn. So, he decides to stop thinking about it. Which is why he is almost grateful when Jade comes up to him, distracting his mind from slipping into darker speculation.

Hand on his heart, Jade says, “Table Fifteen is requesting your presence. They have a question about one of our discontinued menu items – the salmon and lemon-ricotta pasta. I already divulged about the excess supply getting thrown out because of low demand. However, your presence was requested nonetheless.”

“Ah, thank you, Jade,” Azul says. It is just the distraction he needs before he thinks about anything more ghastly. Stock issues and dining will not haunt him with goosebumps and night terrors. He starts towards Table Fifteen.

“Though … I can return and take care of it, if need be.”

It is that odious sentence that gives Azul pause. Because that is exactly what the old Jade would offer, using a bit of rough, predatory treatment to de-escalate an issue. Same old Jade Leech, hiding a corpse somewhere on campus … who even knows if your body is on campus.

“No … No, you are dismissed from the issue. Do whatever you please for the rest of your shift.”

“Very well. If you’ll excuse me.”

I have to go make preparations, Azul thinks as he goes to greet Table Fifteen. I don’t see it as necessary but, Azul glances one last time at Jade as the distance between them grows, Jade’s spine once again all he sees, I should prepare for the event of him overblotting.

Saprophytic organisms obtain their nutrients by breaking down dead organic matter. Fungi, bacteria, and water molds all have an exclusive diet of nature’s cadavers. In the simplest of terms, they eat death to sustain their own life.

Not all mushrooms are saprotrophs. After all, mycorrhizal and parasitic and endophytic mushrooms have a different diet; it is just that a majority of the mushrooms one finds, one will find them living among them dead. As active decomposers, they refuse to let death be finite. As Jade opens his terrarium, chip-esque mushrooms that mimic the look of a body’s heat signals, he recalls fondly how saprotrophs are the easiest to cultivate.

He takes out the turkey tail mushrooms, ripping them from their roots. Well, mushrooms have no roots but the image is still true. Turkey tail mushrooms are fascinating – they look so much like thermal heat vision, little branching waves of red, yellow, and white, thus making them look alive. And, they have a history of being used as medicine.

So vigorous with life yet bloated after a meal of death.

Jade opens the book on his desk in the botanical gardens. People always chastised him for his love of mushrooms. If he had an affection towards flowers or perhaps even pretty yellow weeds, he supposes it would not be as frowned upon. He has always been this way, preferring the ugly duckling over the swan. You were of a similar disposition.

Around his work station, an incense holder burns wisps of Worm’s Wort – which can dull the odor of anything. He flips through pages at a languid pace. From the window panes, moonlight slithers down a thousand maggots and makes their congealing home on Jade’s desk. Interlocking light lies down to rest as Jade stays awake into the night.

I’m so tired. The thought seeps in like a maggot in the ear of a cadaver. Numerous times, Jade changes his pair of nitrile gloves to rub at his eyes, warding off sleep. Moonlight maggots crawl over his skin.

It is only after his sixteenth failed potion (eighty-first if you count the others he has made in the past six nights after your funeral) with the wrong color, wrong texture, or wrong smell, does Jade’s head start to slip off his neck. On the verge of burning out, eyes blinking close, the desk rushes towards him like ground to a meteor, about to kiss his nose and face with pain, and – you catch him in your hand despite the smoldering sting of touching a meteor.

“You make and pick the strangest beds to fall asleep in. I can’t take my eyes off my Jade for a second, can I?”

Jade blinks to see you resting next to him, forehead on your forearm which lies on the table. His cheek is warmed by your right hand which acts as a bridge between his flesh and the desk. Even though some of your hair is in the way and the left side of your face is shielded in the cradle of your arm, Jade can see it clear as day. There is no scar threading itself across your forehead.

You give him a warm smile and Jade, who is a cold-blooded creature, replicates that warmth. The last exhausted fuses of energy left in him lift up his lovestruck lips. “Tired, baby,” you ask him.

“Mmmmh, just a bit. I have been at this for quite some time.”

“We should head back to Octavinelle then. Can’t have you knocking over a potion in your sleep.”

“No, no. Let’s stay here a little longer.” To bask in your presence, Jade needs that to a higher degree than he needs water or air. “Don’t go so soon.”

You are dressed in your school uniform. It has all of your soul’s idiosyncrasy in each article. Not really enrolled in Night Raven College, therefore lacking a uniform, you wear a leather jacket without pockets and a grid pattern collared shirt. The sleeves of your button-up gently pull away from being sandwiched by his cheek and desk. You busy yourself with brushing strands of black hair into its correct placement.

“Okay, okay. We can stay here for a while, but you’re definitely going to have a sore neck and sore shoulders in the morning.”

“Pamper me tomorrow?”

You hum, considering it. By now, most of the mismatched, colored tresses have been tucked gingerly behind his ear. You follow the diamond outline of a single sturgeon scale with your finger as you say, “If the price is right.”

Jade's smile grows stupid at that, showing just a sliver of his teeth. You always did like poking fun at his Octavinelle habits. Allowing himself to melt under your ministrations, he murmurs, “Anything for you.”

“Happy to do business with you then, Mr. Leech.”

You move the nail of your index along diamond scales’ edges, content to do as he says. Stay here a little longer under a gazebo of stars. Sevens, it might have been cheesily poetic what you said in the past, yet Jade agrees in totality with your poesy. The universe has collapsed, burnt away worries and responsibilities, and all that remains of creation is you and him.

Jade lifts his face so the hand playing with his earring falls over his mouth. With pouting lips, he plants a field of kisses on your palm. Such a warm palm. Your hand smells of raspberries and whipped vanilla from a foam soap you were particularly fond of. Jade can even smell it over the Worm’s Wort. And, Worm’s Wort – that is meant to keep his potion-making a secret – is an overwhelming, astringent scent that blankets other smells with high efficiency.

Everything, even his nose, narrows down to you. It is not an unpredictable feat. Azul once said your voice drags him out of any task with the ease of a siren working to drown a sailor. Which is why he hears you clearly even as you mumble, “Oh, I have this poem I want to workshop with you.”

Jade mourns the loss of your hand when you move energized. Leaning back in your stool, both hands fall behind you to grip under the seat. You throw back your head, conjuring all the verses up in your head. When you tilt your eyes to look at Jade, you have this grin on your face that balances on the fence of being sleazy with gross intent or being liberative with genius intent. Like you will either tell him you found a dead animal or you found the cure to cancer. He is all ears for whatever you throw.

He is only thrown for a bit of a loop as you swing your feet to the side and leap off the stool. Not perturbed over your body but rather an article of clothes. The noose around your neck is a blood-red tie with a stark white pattern of skulls upon it, mimicking the look of cut-out paper snowflakes. Patterned by two distinct rows: skulls connecting forehead to forehead then skulls facing the viewer. It vanishes from his sight as your back faces him.

Out of your mouth, poetry diffuses in the heavy, wet air of the botanical gardens.

“Wake up. (your feet carry you out towards the stretch of cobblestone, then playfully, you turn and disappear behind large, flowing leaves and unusual flowers)

Door Death, I knock upon thee (“(name)?” jade springs up, a deep fear swimming through him because you are out of his sight)

I ask the eternal question (when he pushes back the large leaves and peculiar flowers, you are no longer in that same spot; his head moves on a swivel, looking for you)

Has my life all been a dream? (your voice carries on the eastern air)

Has all my life been a dream? (your voice carries on the western air)

The eternal question unanswered (pressure falls over his eyes and heart, where are you!)

Door Death, I knock upon thee (a finger taps his shoulder-blade)

Wake up.”

When Jade turns, your embrace retreating slowly, you are holding out a solitary Easter lily out towards him. The gesture plainly tells him to take it. A white trumpet-shaped mouth yawns at him, five or so tongues of yellow pollen sticking out. It looks so correct in your hold that Jade almost doesn’t want to accept it.

Heart knocking with lingering desperation, he takes the Easter lily in hand all the same. In replacement to his palm, he rests his knuckles to his avalanching chest, careful of the flower in his caress. Before he can comment on the verses, you beat him to the punch. “Don’t do anything you’ll regret; my Jade isn’t stupid.”

He chuckles at that, eyes squinting with mirth.“Don’t I always say you should set your expectations upon higher platforms when with me?”

“My expectation towards your stupidity or your intellect?”

“Oya? I’d prefer the latter.” A teasing eyebrow is raised.

However, you grow grim like this is a matter of life or death. You twine arms around his neck and ensnare him to lean down to your height. In your eyes, a maelstrom of mental unease rages and causes your hues to appear milky-gray with worry. Under the concern of your bruised eyes, Jade responds, “You think I’m making a rash decision? Or perhaps, one that is not fully educated. I assure you that I have rigorously studied this.”

Your mouth quirks. “I think you are choosing the wrong method.”

“Then, enlighten me please.”

You lean close to him, nose to nose. Unlike the sweetness of raspberries and vanilla, your breath is something foul. Cadaverine and putrescine scent that he can only compare to the smell of his mushrooms at peak rot. Jade cannot focus on the scent because your voice hypnotizes him.

Slowly, you recite a song like it is poetry. “A dream is a wish your heart makes; when you’re fast asleep; in dreams you will lose your heartaches; whatever you wish for, you keep.”

Whatever dust of happiness is holding Jade’s lips blows away. The frown cuts his features. It takes a great deal for him to respond over the commotion of rain and lightning storming around in his ribcage; he only manages one word, perfumed in hurt and hate. “Him?”

Your next breath smells like mint. He imagines it would be something lovely to taste in a kiss. “I trust him. He is dear to me.”

Hate and hurt dull Jade’s casual loquacity. “But he hurt you.”

“So have you.” Now only hurt remains on Jade’s tongue. You do not let him refute, listing off, “So has Riddle, so has Leona and Azul, so has Jamil, so has Rook, so has Vil and Idia, so has Sebek, so has everyone that has known me. What is one more scar?”

It is the harsh truth, Jade knows. Magicless and fragile, you have been in the infirmary as often as an alcohol back to the liquor cabinet. Nothing worse than scratches and one broken wrist, nothing like this, Jade wants to desperately argue but your eyes silence him.

“So please,” you continue. “Please, give him a chance … You know, I’m still so sad that I never got to arrange that joint club meeting – Mountain Lovers and Gargoyle Research Studies. I think it would have been a peaceful walk at night, looking out for mushrooms and gargoyles.

“You two are so alike. It amuses me.” This truth takes its knife and thunders itself into Jade’s gut. Maneuvering with incredible dexterity, truth stabs into the eight tic-tac-toe regions of his abdomen, cutting deep red mouths into pallid flesh that tell him: yes, this is a truth. We love the same person. Jade does not voice this growing pain.

“I assure you, it is beneficial to have full faith in me. Have I ever made a split -choice decision? Do I not map out everything ahead of time? Besides, failing to my weaknesses in magical areas is not something I’m inclined to do, my dear.”

“Consider it. Anything for me, right?”

Ah, how villainous you are. To use his own words against him like that is a quality he both adores and loathes. Jade maneuvers the Easter lily so it sits in his hand like a cigarette. A loving hand raises up to one of the arms entwined around his neck, rubbing along the sleeve, as he slyly objects, “Surely you can understand my hesitation. After his -”

“I almost died –” Jade’s heart stops beating, fear is a powerful clog to all his heart’s arteries. You continue softly, “ during Azul’s overblot. What happened –”

“Let’s not talk about it. Just trust me.”

“Jade.”

“(Name).”

“No matter how your heart is grieving, if you keep on believing, the dream you wish will come true … Please, consider it for my sake.”

“... I will play around with it in my head … No promises that I won’t crush it like it’s a bug.”

The tone of the conversation turns light. “I hope the sound of it buzzing annoys you.”

“How cruel of you.”

“Ah, NRC has really rubbed off on me. I’m just too wicked.” A laugh breaks your lips.

“The worst. Worse than the worst. Vile.” Smiling with a mouthful of glass, shark-like teeth, Jade finally closes the gap between the two of you. The scent of mint too enticing and the sight of you too dopamine-inducing, he has to kiss your lips until you cry or moan. It is in his biological nature.

The gazebo of stars rebuilds itself. Each cedar wood paneling falls back into perfect placement. Yours and Jade’s lip find all the old familiar spots of pleasure; first just lip fat smooshing together until you both in perfect sync open your mouths to each other. It might be seen as tedious already knowing the moves but Jade thinks it is a testament to how truly made for one another each of you are.

And, of course, he never allows it to get boring. Tongues like magma flowing in combining rivulets, Jade takes to moving his hands down past the curve of your shoulders to the side of your cheeks. He tilts your head in the opposite direction of how he moves his, deepening the kiss.

You grip the back of teal strands and real pain ignites on his skin. Pain made by your physical grip. Jade follows along to mimic that harshly loving gesture. However, when he rests his fingers to cup the back of your head, he stumbles upon a scar line. A few inches above your nape. It lies like a jagged river cutting apart two pieces of land.

A warning bell blares in Jade’s mind. The sound causes him to break away. It is not buzzing though, like you were predicting.

Night Raven College’s clock chimes twice, deep in the bowels of dark, interlocking hallways. It knocks on Jade’s skull and pulls him away. When he lifts his head off the desk, blinking at the sight of potions, his shoulders and neck are incredibly sore. 2 A.M. Two chimes after all mean 2 A.M. The air is so thick with Worm’s Wort that he almost chokes on it.

He does end up choking. Not on something as flowy as Worm’s Wort smoke. Rather, he chokes on something rather salty and dangerously watery.

At 2:47 A.M, Jade Leech walks into the Diasomnia dorm.

At 3:08 A.M, Jade Leech walks out of the Diasomnia dorm, a deal made.

Floyd wakes up facing an empty bed. This is not entirely odd; Jade has a scheduled A period while Floyd opts to keep his first period free. With thick fog still lingering in his brain, it does seem a bit odd not to see Jade because for the past month he has remained in bed. But – Jade is doing better. What gives Floyd pauses is the lingering thought: did I hear Jade come in at all last night?

Floyd is a light sleeper, always has been, so he should have been able to hear him at least enter the dorm last night or exit the dorm this morning. He doesn’t even think he heard a ladybug on the creaking floor; all of Octavinelle was unnaturally still last night like a graveyard. Before he can ponder longer on dead silence, his phone rings.

What Azul hisses over the phone has Floyd kicking his covers like they have caught fire. “Tell me you know where Jade is. Tell me right now; where is your brother?”

From point A to point B, Floyd and Jade Leech’s dormitory to Mostro Lounge’s VIP Room, the distance is about eight minutes for a normal person. Due to their longer strides, Floyd and Jade can cut this measurement by two minutes while Azul takes the full eight. It takes Floyd three minutes to point B, as while Azul curses his ear and Floyd curses under his breath.

Floyd knows it bad when dogmatic Azul does not scold him for walking through numerous hallways and his precious Lounge without a pair of socks, and it gets worse when Azul does not scold him for still being in his pajamas – an XL shirt with poetry in a downward pattern saying: “®, 40S & SHORTIES, BAD DECISIONS. GOOD TIMES., WORLDVIEW” with a pair of white striped, blue cotton pants – at nine on a Tuesday morning. Two Azuls speak in unison, one on the telephone receiver and one in front of him, “I think he has sealed it up with magic.”

It is a book. Just as Floyd’s hand had fallen on Mostro Lounge’s VIP door, he had inquired why Azul Ashengrotto of all people was having such a hard time getting a single book open. A book is easy to open; a book sealed with magic should be easy too, for a mage of Azul’s talents.

“Well, can’t ya just break it? It can’t be anything stronger than what we learned in Practical Magic?” Floyd disconnects the call as he talks; he does not need two Azuls in his ear.

“If the charm was something from that course then of course. This is more on par with the third year Conjuration course … or Ancient Curses.”

Though only seventeen, one would think with the maturity etched in Azul’s features that he was nearing twenty-seven instead. He has a hand depressed on his face and his eyes drawn into a sharp squint. Behind the shield of his glasses, a dozen speculations and calculations dance like sparks of lightning. Floyd hates it as much as he is glad to see that incisive prowess.

“But … it’s just a book about mushrooms.” Which is entirely true. The book that Azul’s stare is burning a hole through has written plainly on it: Chanterelle Dreams, Amanita Nightmares.

When considering current events, the title causes Floyd’s stomach to turn inside out. However, it is something Floyd has seen Jade read before Malleus’s overblot. It is just a boring book. A boring book that for some reason won’t open.

Azul verbalizes Floyd’s inner doubt, “A book that Jade left behind. A book that is not opening no matter what elementary magic I throw at it.”

Left in the botanical gardens. Left there overnight when Jade said he was going to be right back after tending to his terrariums. Getting back into hobbies was a sign of healing from trauma, right? Floyd feels like the skin of stomach is not only inside out but being torched by fire.

“I‘ll open it. I’m on the same level as Jade. Can’t be too hard.” Just as Floyd starts walking up to Azul’s desk, he is stopped.

“No! No … we shouldn’t risk your health if this takes something more to open.”

Vexation falls on Floyd’s face. His teeth displayed and brow crinkled, “Huuuh?” He stomps over to the desk. “It’s Jade magic. It ain’t gonna kill us.”

“No, but it might drain one of us. And,” Azul hesitates. But when Floyd slams his hands down on the VIP desk, determinate coals burn in his sky-blue eyes. He stares down Floyd without a single flinch. “And you run the fastest out of the two of us, so we cannot risk your energy.”

It takes a moment for him to back down. Reading the map of the plan on Azul’s expression, it comes to Floyd’s attention what exactly Azul is hinting at. “Fiiine.” Floyd’s dominant hand still crosses up to rest on his right shoulder. “Doesn’t mean I’ma be happy about it though.”

“Trust me, neither am I.” And he really isn’t. This entire situation leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

On the ledge of Azul’s desk rests his staff. The octopus’s bulbous head keeps it steady on the surface. Authentic silver shines elegantly under the expensive lighting. Between the nest of curling tentacles, Azul’s gray gemstone sits, ready to be utilized. White gloves wrap around the sleek black handle.

When Azul holds his staff above the book, Floyd interrupts, “Ma called me two nights ago and said – (Floyd sits in his bed, stricken by the sound of his grown, emotionally shielded mother crying. The sound of her sobs feel so artificial in his left ear, like hearing a creature trying to mimic human speech patterns. Something so visceral wrong laced in the vocal cords of it.

“Mama, Mama, what’s wrong,” Floyd pleads, about one breath away from grabbing a transformation potion and rushing to the Mirror Chamber.

“Tell – Tell Jade to pick up his phone please – I just! I – auh – Floooyd,” his mother sobs.

“Mama, he’s in class. He can’t pick up his phone right now. He’s in class. What’s wrong? Ma?”

That seems to soothe something in Narissa Leech. There is a slick sound of her wiping away tears, probably bringing talons under her eyelids and probably bringing her forearm across her nose. After a few tearful breath, she whispers, “He’s not sleepin’?”

“No, he went to his A period class. Mama, what’s wrong?”

“I,” she sniffles, “I had this awful dream. You and Jade were tiny and still sharing your bedrooms. I went to wake up both of you for breakfast but Jade wouldn’t wake up. I kept shaking and shakin’ him. It was like he was in a coma and just wouldn’t get up. He looked like a tiny corpse.

“I kept calling for you and Dad, but neither of you would come help. My little baby. I kept trying to wake him up. I just tried and tried. Then, I pried his left eye open and ah!” His mother cries once more. “He looked so dead in his sleep!”). – and I haven’t been able to stop thinkin’ ‘bout it,” Floyd finishes.

It is very rare for either of the twins to show their fears. Fear is a delicious seasoning that gets you devoured in the Coral Sea. Though it wears a mask on Floyd’s face, fear is still evident in his voice despite the steadiness of each syllable. Sometimes friends can just measure how much fear the other has, even when it is not shown.

Azul frowns sympathetically. He has only really had his mother and step-father; worrying about a sibling is uncharted territory for Azul. However, if he had friends with a bond as close as a sibling relationship, it might be Floyd and Jade. It just might.

It probably is not though. Probably.

“Since we were little, your brother has always been capable. Both in his magic and in his wit. Even … even in this instance, I doubt Jade will ever make a decision hazardously.” Which is exactly what worries them; Jade is brilliant, who knows what an odious mixture of intellect and grief could end up making.

Azul touches the octopus’s forehead to the cover of Chanterelle Dreams, Amanita Nightmares. In reaction, the room explodes with the power of a violet tornado.

“Fuck,” Floyd shouts as wind body-checks him like a obese linebacker.

Azul’s hat flies off his head. His glasses would risk being magnetized into the same wind-polarity if he tilted his face away from the shimmering violet. However, Azul does not wither even once at the tremendously powerful locking spell. The violet that stains his face like grape only hones him into the irrefutable fact that this is Jade’s magic. Despite being on the verge of being knocked over by it, the realization fills Azul with relief.

Floyd’s violet nails scrap lines into Azul’s desk but Azul does not twitch out of his resolve. Papers lying on his desk go airborne. The housewarden grits his violet teeth so hard that he risks breaking his jaw, his mole stretching down with the shape of his grimace.

C’mon, c’mon! Slowly, the tentacles on Azul’s staff start to unfurl from their comatose state. His gem stone and the octopus head remain fixed to the handle unlike the squirming appendages. Silver metal moves fluidly and wraps itself around the cover of the book like a starfish.

Then, with a burst of brighter violet that fades away to nothing, chanterelle dreams and amanita nightmares reveal their faces to the two of them. Well, not to Floyd. Temporarily blind due to the atomic explosion, he is wiping his eyes with his knuckles, blinking away little spots of endless black and blinding white. Which is why for a vital moment, Floyd misses the look of absolute horror that paints Azul’s face.

“Th-This –.” As the tentacles of his magic staff congeal back into their normal state, Azul sets the handle’s end down on the ground. Uncoordinated, it tumbles to the ground just as Azul picks up the book, holding it close to his chest.

“Wha? What’s in it? Shit, this kills,” Floyd hisses, hunched over. A stray tear falls down Floyd’s left eye as he slowly straightens out. “Stupid Jade.”

With each page flip, Azul’s face turns a lighter shade of white. When a hand reaches out to grab the book, Azul slaps it with so much force that Floyd groans in pain.

“C’mon, let me see,” Floyd whines. It is not a childish whine but more of a warning, he is going to get violent if Azul does not hand over the stupid book now. Floyd grabs the desk and leans over the top, trying to get a glimpse of whatever Azul is hiding. All he sees is paragraphs of text and a block where an image is drawn.

He does not get to know what the image is because Azul slams the book shut and demands with urgency, “Where is your brother, Floyd?”

A dragon’s treasure is guarded and hoarded with a shield-and-sword-heart acting as its knights. Malleus has found his treasure to have become his memories of you. If each recollection was a shiny ruby or bright diamond, Malleus puts them all in an isolated, inaccessible cache. In times where comfort is needed, he returns to roll a precious gem in his talons, moments of just you and him unshared with others playing in his mind. Right now, Malleus rotates a rose quartz.

This particular rose quartz was formed by magma crystallization as all are. The time period it was formed in was before you knew his true identity.

You two are perched miles above the ground, on one of the eastern turrets of Night Raven College. You curl into your notepad as Malleus takes in the scenery.

He took you up here by teleportation. You have improved in leaps and bounds from your first time being maneuvered about the earth by a teleportation spell. Unlike your first time, you only gag now rather than puke. After a spell (not performed by his hands) of dizziness, you two took your seats upon the roof. Meters in front of you lies a single gargoyle. Wingspan extended out and the spine facing you.

He has already explained it to you in great detail, and you listened. Really listened. So used to be stared through, Malleus has recently been finding his ears turn pink at how you look at him. Tonight, he has cut off his presentation earlier than normal. Bashfully empty of words burnt out from your smoldering eyes.

Malleus welcomes the reprieve with gratitude. Chirping crickets and grinding graphite is the only music playing in his ears – though he can sometimes hear the jazz notes of you going no, no, that line does work, no, what’s another word for … no, too pretentious and has to keep himself from chuckling fondly.

Soon, the crickets find themselves without any further accompaniment; you have stopped writing. Curious, Malleus looks away from the stone he has been studying. His neck rolls. Rejuvenated, his pulse pounds in the taut muscles found in his throat at the sight of you. What a sight you truly are, unafraid to be here with him.

You catch onto his unshakable staring. Tongue in cheek, pencil clenched in hand, you announce “I.” The pencil weeps under your strength. “I think I got it now.”

Malleus raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

You tap your pencil on the edge of your notepad anxiously. Then, taking a deep breath, you read your haiku:

“Apathy on stone

My prince, do not reveal tears

Gargoyle, keep your face.”

The look you give him is uneasy. He imagines you are anticipating harsh criticism, writing a poem on a subject matter he is so endowed in. Rather than criticism, the only thing in Malleus’s heart is a quick skipping beat.

You have such a way with words that it leaves his spellbound despite the unequivocal fact that you are very magicless. The words seem so knitted together for his especial heart. His own face of stone. However, knowing you do not know he is a prince, he considers the five-seven-five syllable poem and covers up his growing blush with one inquiry , “tears?”

“Because gargoyles are waterspouts. So, I wanted to layer an emotion to the functionality, the rigid job.” For a moment, you consider the poem in your hand then your mouth moves a mile a second. “Ugh! Truthfully, I wanted to say ‘a prince must never cry’ so it can keep the chain of commands like ‘keep your face’ but then the line would only be six syllables! Ugh, I hate haikus! I can’t write a single good one.”

You look about ready to crumple up and toss the note away with hatred. It would not be surprising, you do this a lot. Enough to the point where Malleus has a collection of crinkled up poems — “If you want them, you can have them. They fucking stink though,” you had first bemoaned when Malleus first asked to keep your workshopping words. This one though, Malleus wants you to be proud of it.

“I happen to think it is quite beautiful, spellbinding almost.”

The way your eyes shimmer when looking at him leaves Malleus choking on the night air. He continues despite his temperature rising in his gut and nape.

“The first and third lines feel impersonal, but the middle line is soft. It is the gentleness sandwiched and withered away by the stone. Despite the cold exterior, there is a heart in there.”

The way you look at him — all the ways you look at him, but even more so now — has him falling helplessly in love with you. Stars blaze in your eyes like he has opened up the jaws of the universe and plucked your favorite part of the cosmo down for you. He would do so for you. He would do so much for you – divide the ocean down the middle, change the phrase of the moon, or tear the sky in two. Wounded so tightly across your finger that it surely cuts off circulation. You look at him so sweetly, bathed by the night’s glow. Malleus bites his tongue bloody to keep from telling you that you have the prettiest eyes.

“That’s — That’s actually really a revolutionary way to look at it. I —,” you glance down at your work, “I really didn’t have the optimism to see it that way.”

“You should be more prideful of what you create. Your work too has a heart despite its cold exterior, even at its most tortured.”

“Stooop, I’ll blush.” You raise a hand over your eyes but a sleazy grin is underneath your fingers. You enjoy praise a lot.

“I am just being honest with you, Child of Man. You always asked me to be.” He pauses then asks, “however, may I inquire why use the word prince?”

“I don’t know. Don’t they seem regal to you at times?”

“Hm, there seems to be a resemblance.”

“They remind me of you a lot. Regal. Ah, not that you’re a prince though … What’s that grin for? Don’t tell me I inflated your ego.”

“Nothing of the sorts, Child of Man.”

“Ah, whatever.” Despite your grumbled tone, you flip to the next notebook page. It is the first one he has seen you save rather than tear up.

Rain pitters on the building, starting out soft like the languid pop of popcorn in a microwave. No, not on Night Raven College’s roof. Rainfall taps like fingertips on Diasomnia’s dormitory, and Malleus realizes it is time for him to put this rose quartz back in his treasure hoard. When his and Jade’s eyes meet across the room, his breath grows thorn in his lungs. Now is not the time to reflect.

From the towering polygon windows, the icy clouds heavy with rain are just barely visible through the shower sticking to the panes. Worser weather is certain to come like an expected guest. Malleus, tongue heavy, announces, “All that is left now is to retrieve their body.”

Diasomnia’s lounge has been cleared of all its furniture and rugs. Tables teleport away and rugs roll themselves up. Black leather couches and chairs are depressed tightly on the southern wall behind Jade and Malleus, blocking the entrance. Not that they are necessary barricades when the bombay blackwood doors are locked firmly with ancient magic.

It is set in motion to take place in the lounge’s heart. The nook bordered by two grand staircases and twenty feet below where Diasomnia’s throne resides. Upon the cement ground, illuminated by no light, lies a circle of complex patterns and symbols made of thorns. In the middle of linking sigils, Octavinelle’s vice-housewarden stands with an apathetic, stone face. The same expression he had worn when he and Malleus made their contractual deal.

He keeps his cards so close to his chest, you once bemoaned on your nightly ventures. Malleus remembers it well; you were reaching tear-out-your-hair hysteria due to cooking a meal for Jade Leech and not receiving a clear glimpse into his opinion. He’s impossible to read! Your teeth flashed with frustration.

It is an appropriate analogy. Like an experienced gambler, Jade knows not to leave his hands vulnerable to any ill-intent strikes. At first, he was incredibly suspicious of your kindness until evolution changed your kindness to a craving. With Malleus, Jade hides his cards behind his back and then shields them with an illusion spell to change the faces of the playing cards.

Making this shrewd deal was one of Jade’s finer moments. Like an experienced brain surgeon, he knows where to pull with roughness or push with softness in the intricate webbing of nerve-endings. Using survivor’s guilt as keen forceps and using his own signature spell as hooks, Jade performed a deal Azul would have been praiseful of.

Which is why he will comply with the terms, because he has already prematurely agreed to them. Green eyes watch him pull black gloves carefully from his hands. He folds them once, pockets them, then unclips his magic pen from his breast pocket. A collision of two stars bursts in bright colors on the surface of Jade’s pen.

From out of thin air, you appear. You fall into Jade’s arm with all the grace of a dead body. Jade catches you in a dancer’s standard dip. Limp, your neck stretches as far as it can while dangling strands of hair point down at the ground like a thousand knives.

He plants a gentle kiss on your cheek. Mourning and love mix in his heterochromic eyes. Jade takes to silently brushing away the pieces that cover up your forehead’s scar as if to almost say to Malleus who watches Jade lift you bridal style: look at what you did to them, look.

Malleus’s otherwise imperative stare moves to a window. The rain is starting to get gradually heavier. When Malleus looks back, Jade is kneeled in the middle of the circle of thorns, as was pre-planned. The stone-faced prince of Briar Valley interlocks his gloves underneath the gem’s handle base instead of just holding it in one hand.

“No matter what you see or hear, your focus must never flicker from the Child of Man. A single interruption is a breakage in a dam of irreversible consequence. I ask you to heed these words carefully … Jade.”

“Of course.” Curt and clip, Jade’s confirmation is nothing more than contractual obligation.

The vines from the head base to gemstone bring to shift. Two interlocked vines rotate in a downward spiral, dancing around one another.

“Then, let us not waste another second.”

The spindle’s wheel starts to spin. Slowly at first, it moves at a pace where one can keep track of the mismatched sized spokes. Gradually, the spindle picks up pace. Inner spokes start to move in a heartbeat-esque pattern, up and down from long to short to long to short. Bombay blackwood twirls; the natural grain melts together into one smooth surface. It keeps picking up pace, twirling faster and faster. It is now impossible to distinguish where the spokes lie as they all melt into nebulous black. Accumulating to its peak, Malleus’s spindle moves so swiftly that it appears to slow down, moving counterclockwise.

Wind picks up in Diasomnia as if a tornado is tearing through the stone ribcage. Malleus’s hair flies around him like ebon seaweed caught along a boat’s racing hook. The obsidian markings on his forehead stay relenting to the fierce winds, tight upon his increasingly crinkling brow. Behind his pointed ears, ebon strands whip back and forth with a vengeance.

Jade’s and your hair move in tandem, blown in the same direction. Despite the discord around, despite when Malleus starts to chant, nothing tears his gaze from you. His eyes are intent on you like a mere blink would cause you to dissolve into seafoam. Despite the lighting hitting the ground, he keeps his stare.

A breath later, the lounge is plunged into green.

On the tongue of a stone bridge, Floyd and Azul appear out of thin air. Not entirely out of thin air though; around their shoulders, the shimmer of the transportation mirror into Diasomnia fades over their bodies. Rain smacks them in the face with a grievous scorn. Azul loses his footing temporarily but Floyd catches him by the elbow.

He pushes up his glasses, rain falls so hard and fast that they become more of an obstacle than a helper for sight. Getting drenched by the second, Azul stops with Floyd to watch the show of dancing lightning. “By Sevens, do you really think Draconia is overblotting again?”

Diasomnia staff and students in Mostro Lounge had started checking their phones as Floyd and Azul stepped out from the VIP room. Apparently, there was a storm brewing in the Diasomnia dormitory. Apparently, the main foyer was closed off and the vice-housewarden was evacuating students. Apparently, Malleus Draconia is overblotting a second time. Who knows if the information is reliable. All that is important is Jade was seen days ago, walking on this very stone bridge past midnight.

“I don’t care. I know Sea Slug knows where Jade is.” Floyd’s lips pull into a beastly snarl. “C’mon.”

A cold sweat breaks on Malleus’s forehead. From the two connecting diamonds imprinted on his forehead, sweat drops. It trails down over his nose to his lips which are harshly breathing air in and out.

Malleus Draconia has to minutely remind himself how breathing works as the tornado rips through Diasomnia like a savage bear. Pressure stomps on his chest with an iron boot. Through all his wild chase to keep oxygen in his lungs, he recognizes it not as pain but rather a deserved punishment. I’m sorry, Child of Man. It is an unheard sentiment; even if said, it would be torn from his lips and thrown yards away by the wind.

There are many unheard sentiments chopped by the furious air. Most of them come from Silver, Sebek, and Lilia, behindthe barracked door, drowned out by turbulent winds. Harsh air chops up the syllables like a knife, turning them into incomprehensible poetry. The sentiments matter little until among them a single voice shouts, “JADE!”

Stricken, Jade tears his hell-bent gaze away from you. He does not answer loud enough to be heard over the maelstrom but the sentiment is still sincere. “Floyd?”

“Ignore it! Focus on them!!” Under Malleus’s instructions, Jade fixes the nucleus of his sight back onto you. A resurrection can only be completed with the kiss of true love. Without that passionate embrace, the body will lose the returning soul it momentarily holds. A true love’s kiss seals it back in the body. He waits for the predestined moment where he can connect your lips together with unwavering focus.

“Just a little longer now, my love.” Jade’s lips pull into a lovestruck grin. “Soon.”

Among the wind, voices converse:

“Pry open the door!”

“We have been trying to!”

“Your hands are not broken or bloodied! You obviously have not!!”

“Malleus, this could kill you! This could kill you both!”

“ Malleus!!”

“Jade, you fuck!”

Azul shouts with all his remaining strength, “Jade, don’t do this!!”

A black star forms silently over Jade’s head.

All of his life, he has been unapproachable. All of his life, people have found his teeth nightmarish and his eyes ghoulish. All of his life, he has waited for someone like you. You mean the universe to him; driven to the point where he would do something as forbidden as this. Malleus grips his staff tighter and Jade grips you tighter.

The black star is an abomination. Quantum processes work in rotation, lapping over each other like yin-and-yang. Ebony water shimmer in the middle of the black star while the outer ring strangles the air atoms with thorns. Atomic particles split into twos, going smaller than scientists thought possible, with the strength of the semiclassical, gravitational abomination.

It thumps like a grotesque, wet heart and churns with the sound of visceral tearing. From the black thorns, the atmosphere collapses into blue-gray dust, destroying the atoms in its way. The black star gives a pained groan before it expels what it has taken.

From the inky depths of a black star, wisps of smoke start to seep down like water from overhead greenhouse hoses. The plumes of cloud hiss with head-splitting volume. Slowly, those misty clouds spiral back into a congealing mass. A split tornado swirling back into its original shape. Smoke tightens and arrows down before erupting into a cloud over your face. You swallow it; from your eyes, to your nose, to your ears, to your mouth, you swallow all the mist until there is nothing left in the collapsing air.

Perhaps you are not swallowing; perhaps it is entering.

Jade watches intent each centimeter square of your face with glassy eyes. He waits until each wisps of vapor diffuses into the very pores of your skin. When the air is clear of the smoke, he brings up his right hand to move hair that has fallen over your features.

Onto the skies of your lips, Jade Leech whispers his heart. “I love you. I cannot live this life without my heart and soul. Come back to me; where you belong, my love, is with me.” Under a gruesome black star, he kisses you.

It is an unreciprocated kiss. When kissing a corpse, one should never expect to be greeted with tender amorous sensations. This is why Jade does not despair when he feels nothing, suctioning your lifeless lips in two kisses before pecking harshly for the third and final kiss. It is alright – he can have his real kiss soon – because the black star is killing itself.

Collapsing air closes in a snap. Leftover blue-gray powder hangs in the air like dust particles seen from the sunlight’s rays. Slowly, green light starts to slither away, dimming in quanta measures. All is so tranquil; even the tornado winds bottled in the lounge start to dim away. Then, like your heart is trying to jump from your chest, you start to hyperventilate in Jade’s arms.

“(Na-Name) … (Name),” love washes over Jade’s tongue. You twist violently in his arms, throat and chest pounding up and down with irregular breaths. Like a cornered prey, your eyes are wild with confusion. “It’s okay … I got you. You’re safe … Oh, you’re so beautiful. My love.”

Neck rolling back, seizure-like eyes go white and you cough out a mushroom-shaped cloud of blue-gray dust. Black blood drips down your left nostril and trails like a tear off your cheek. Exhaustively, your chest continues to punch in and out with air that misses their connection in your lungs by centimeters. If you do not find a way to breathe, you will surely die a second time.

Not that Jade would let that happen after just getting you back. Jade maneuvers you with ease. He moves your back so it lies on his chest and whispers, “I know it will be difficult but follow along to my breath. Feel it go in … out … in … out … in … out … there, there … out … in … good, so good.”

Your chest beats wildly like the tempo of a metal song while Jade’s chest beats with the measured drum of rhythm and blues. Ungloved skin rests, fingers spread wide, on your chest. Each groove of each other’s bones are felt. Past the layers of muscle, skin, and clothes, your lungs touch together in a kiss. Jade depresses his chest on your back, bending you into a hunch. His words are almost delirious.

“I love you. I love you so much. I love you, please see it and believe it. I would do anything for you, (Name).”

Slowly, the tempo of your lungs start to dim like the lightning, green lights, and wind do. Jade moves his hand from your chest to your left shoulder. He depresses his lips on your neck, holding onto you painfully tight.

“ … Right where I want you to be again. Be here with me. Be awake with me. I love you.”

You capture your first real breath as the door to the lounge bursts open.

You turn, eyes wide as saucers. Behind you, Jade’s timid smiling face greets you from your eternal sleep. Another string of black blood drips down your face, this one coming from your right nostril. Your brows creases then flattens out, recognizing the face after a moment of hesitation..

“Jade?”

In response, Jade smiles with all his teeth.

Separate from you two, Malleus lies on the floor. His own heart and lungs beating erratically, panting like a dog on a smoldering summer’s day. Lilia may put his hand on his shoulder to try and vanquish the tidal wave of breathlessness but Malleus shrugs it off. His staff is knocked by his side from the explosion of the black star collapsing. Malleus uses it to push himself up on his knees.

His heart floods with relief and love at seeing the sight of you breathing in Jade’s arms. Besotted beyond belief, he whispers lovestruck, “Child of Man.” Then, the calm expression melts off his face and reveals panic. Because that is not –!

“Jade!”

Floyd breaks into the room like a storm; shoulder-checks Sebek who is trying to reach Malleus; jumps over the furniture that prove to be useless barracks. “Jade,” he shouts again when he notices his brother has yet to turn away from you.

Their eyes find each other across the room easily. It is incredibly hard to see in the Coral Sea, biological and environmental factors working double-time together to ensure they stayed in the middle of the food chain. Their shared beacon of gold keeps them tethered together in the sea and on the land. No one else, not even their parents have an eye similar to theirs. That’s my brother is what that single ring of gold means.

Floyd can recognize Jade as such even now at the worst of times. However, a marginal note is stapled onto the thought. That’s my brother and, right now, I’m terrified of him. It is an odious thought. Sevens, Floyd can feel the tap-dancers of bile make their merry way up his throat at this very moment. What keeps them tethered together feels more like a chain than a security line to use.

“Bad decisions, good times,” Jade reads off his t-shirt. “Hm, Floyd?”

How can he speak so calmly with that in his arms? Perhaps, that too is part of why Floyd feels goosebumps on the back of his thighs. A prey or lower predator has signals receptors to recognize danger. A cat shows its fear in a twitching tail; Floyd wonders how he must be showing his own fear. Call it animal insight but a part of Floyd knows deep down, that is not you in his brother’s arms.

“Ja-Jaido.”

“Florido.”

Do this for me, Jade’s eyes seem to implore. Ah, you asshole, Floyd’s eyes respond.

He walks forward through a graveyard of thorns. “They probably can’t walk that well. Gotta be winded.” Floyd outstretches his left hand; Jade’s eyes squint in gaiety and your own gape wide in curiosity. The grip Jade has around you is protective. “C’mon, get up.”

“Thank you, Floyd,” Jade says, placing his hand on his brother’s.

#twisted wonderland x reader #jade leech #jade leech x reader #twisted wonderland #malleus draconia x reader #twst jade

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cmncisspnandmore · 1 year ago

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Simon Riley’s been dead before.

He was buried alive to be exact. But he was never part of the plan to fake his own death. Now that he’s standing at the table with the rest of 141 planning out how they’re going to work it out. It hits him like a freight train.

This was need to know. Only task force 141 would know that Simon and Johnny were still alive. And it was starting to leave a sour taste in his mouth.

He could picture it now. Price standing at the door of your shared flat. The moment of realization causing your features to fall. The knowing look you give Price as he asks to step inside.

He can almost hear your broken sob as you fall to the floor, the broken skull plated mask clutched in your hands. Knuckles white from holding it so tight.

He can picture Price crouching down next to you on the floor, as he tries to offer you some comfort. As he feeds you lies about how ‘Ghost died a hero’.

He can imagine the dress you wore to his funeral, the casket empty as they lower it into the hole. He knows which one you’ll pick too. The short black dress with the lace detailing. It falls to your knees, the v neck collar scalloped in little lace skulls that you can only see if you get really close. The metal of his dog tags resting in the valley between your breasts.

His heart aches as he pictures you coming home each night to an empty flat. Always pausing at the hall closet where he stored his duffle bag when he was home. He can picture the way your hands shake when you get to making his side of the bed, trying your best to do military corners like he would.

He can hear your cries behind the bathroom door as if they were his own. The heart wrenching sobs that escape when you least expect it. The kind of tears that cause you to double over and wish you were dead with him because it would be easier than feeling this pain.

Simon’s stomach rolls as he looks around the table at his teammates. Each giving him a small half smile. Price comes around to him, his large hand clasping his shoulder as he looks at him.

“Only for a little while, yeah? Then we’ll get you and Soap back where ya belong.” He promises, and he does. 6 months, 3 days and 14 hours after he gave you the news that Simon was dead, Price knocked on the door of your flat once more.

But this time, it was the shadow of the man behind him that caused you to collapse to the floor. This time it was Simon who held you in his arms and rocked you back and forth on the tile floor of the kitchen for hours as you struggled to make sense of what you were seeing.

The next time you wore a black dress it wasn’t to a funeral but to Soap’s wedding, where he had helped Simon plan his own proposal.

Now when you paused at the hall closet where his duffle bag was kept. It wasn’t for the fear of being reminded he was gone. It was to laugh at the memories of Simon pressing you against the door, promising that there wouldn’t be any sad memories left in its wake.

The next time Simon heard sobbing from behind the bathroom door, they weren’t tears of pain and sorrow. But tears of hope and the promise of new life when the tests came back positive.

Simon Riley had been dead twice before. But with you in his life, he never felt more alive.

#simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon #cod x reader #cod mwii #ghost cod #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod #call of duty

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thescarlettbitch · 6 months ago

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Devotional Acts

For love or beauty deities

Skin care

Make up (or embrace your natural beauty)

Dress up a little

Paint your nails

Love letters

Self /love/ iykyk

Change your bed sheets/clean up your room/space

Listen to love songs/songs about sex/loving yourself

You know that trend of people, typically women, painting a canvas black and then painting their legs/ass/hands/boobs and making a form of silhouette art for their partners?

Read romance novels

Play Interactive romance novels/romance games (stardew valley, dream daddy, The Arcana, etc)

For war deities

Listen to angry music

Advocate for yourself

Reinforce your boundaries

Cut out the negative people in your life

Feel your anger, recognize your anger, don't force it down, but don't lash out to others. "I am angry. This thing made me angry. It's okay that I am angry, it is not okay to cause harm to those who do not deserve it." Etc etc

Read biographies or accounts of war, or dystopian novels (accounts of war like Night by Elie Weisel, dystopian like Divergent or Hunger Games)

Learn self defense

Learn about how your area was used in past wars.

Play fighting games (call of duty, mortal combat, etc)

For music/art deities

Create! Learn an instrument

Write a song

Paint for them

Listen to experimental or storytelling music. All music is art, so find a vibe for your deity.

Take pictures of nature, art is everywhere in nature, from the paintings on butterfly wings to the sunset

Read/write poetry

Read poetry books, or books about music or art (think biographies from musicians/artists, or books like Guitar Notes by Mary Amato or such) (guitar notes is a midgrade book but it's the only one I could think of the name of)

Visit galleries or local shows, support local artists

For wisdom deities

Read books, any type, but mostly classics like Sherlock Holmes or Jane Austen

Watch documentaries

Take free online courses on subjects that interest you

Visit and support your local libraries and independently owned bookstores

Find old unloved books at thrift stores

Learn a new skill

Listen to music from different time periods

Visit museums

Play strategy games (chess, supreme commander, etc)

Do puzzles

For nature deities

Raise a plant, or a garden

Listen to nature sounds, or music with nature sounds

Observe nature persevering, vines crawling up a building, dandelions in cracks in the pavement.

Read wilderness guides

Learn about your area's native flora and fauna

Visit local parks

Open windows and let the fresh air in

Scavenge/forage (in safe areas)

Play cozy games (animal crossing, etc)

For death deities

Visit local graveyards/cemeteries (don't forget to be mindful and conscious of others and the spirits there)

Listen to music by artists who have passed on, or music about death

Learn about different cultures' funeral practices

Safely move roadkill out of the road, leave a small offering if possible (again, do so SAFELY)

Read books that have death themes (like Edgar Allen Poe, Wuthering Heights, or They Both Die In The End)

Think about how you want your body to be treated in death. Do you want to be buried? Cremated?

For home/hearth deities

Read cozy books

Play cozy games (sims, animal crossing)

Make your house seem warm and inviting to visitors

Learn how to bake, either from scratch or a box, both are acceptable

Learn how to sew or knit or crochet.

Watch cozy movies

Light candles if you don't have a fireplace

Listen to soft music

Visit your friends or family and bring them baked goods

For strong parental deities

Take care of your friends

Make sure your friends eat and are drinking water, do the same for yourself

Tell the people in your life you love them, you're proud of them, they're doing a good job

Read books about found family, self help books

Listen to music that makes you feel safe and loved

Carry a figure that represents them

Take care of yourself the way that they would take care of you.

Cook for yourself. Make yourself feel safe and loved

For health deities

Carry bandaids and Tylenol and extra pads/tampons for people who may need them

Learn about the human body and how it works

Take your meds

Make art out of old pill bottles for them

Know and respect your limits

Watch documentaries about doctors or health sciences

Research holistic remedies and see if any might be of use to you (DO NOT SUBSTITUTE THEM FOR MODERN MEDICINE) be careful of misinformation, and any interactions that certain things might have with your meds

For sea/ocean/water deities

Have a small fountain in your home (you can find them at some dollar stores, or if you're mechanically savvy, make your own)

Salts in your baths

Visit local streams, creeks, rivers, or beaches.

Read about marine life / river life

Read about your local water sources, learn about the water cycle

Collect rain water

Stand in the rain, feel it on you, let it ground you

Listen to music about water/with water sounds/the ocean/the beach

Have pictures in your home/space of the ocean

If you visit the ocean, collect some water and sand and seashells (make sure you follow your own personal gratitude system) to have in your home

Don't fret if you're landlocked, you're practice is valid, you don't need to be at the ocean all the time to feel it's presence. The rain clouds blow in from hundreds of miles away. The ocean is always with you.

Drink water

Carry a small vial of water with you (could be ocean water, river water, or tap water with or without salt in it) you can keep it in your car, in your pocket, or wear it as a necklace

Carry a small vial of salt with you (could be hand harvested from the ocean, table salt, or any kind of off the shelf salt)

For sky/wind/air deities

Let the air in, open windows when possible

Let yourself be free.

Sit outside for a few minutes a day, or longer.

For traveler deities

Pick something up for them on your travels, could be a rock, could be a souvenir

Put a symbol of them in your car

Wear shoes that are good for walking

Drive/walk around to explore new places (you don't even have to leave your town)

Take backroads

Be a (respectful) tourist in every new place that you visit, don't be afraid of looking stupid.

For queer deities

Educate yourself on queer history

Express yourself truthfully

Listen to queer music

Read queer books

Embrace your identity

Read queer poetry, like that of Sappho

Keep yourself safe in spaces that are less open to identities.

Support local queer owned businesses or artists.

Queer art

Love yourself and take care of yourself.

Go to drag shows

Relish in the fact that queerness has been around since the very first civilizations

For Inventive Deities

Do a metal puzzle

Learn metalworking, or just read about it

As always, please feel free to add on, I only work with one deity so please tell me if anything is incorrect or confusing.

Blessed be <3

#witch aesthetic #baby witch #closet witch #crafty witch #eclectic witch #cottage witch #witchcraft #kitchen witch #teen witch #green witch #witchblr #witch #deity work #devotee #witch tips #pagan #pagan witch #witchcore

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litmisfit · 3 days ago

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— 𝙒𝙃𝙀𝙍𝙀 𝙄 𝘼𝙈 𝘿𝙀𝘼𝘿 (𝘽𝙐𝙍𝙔 𝙈𝙀 𝙒𝙄𝙏𝙃 𝙔𝙊𝙐)

—.🌿. PAIRING. choi beomgyu x f!reaper!reader

—.🌿. TW. cursing. death. suicide. drug overdose. alcohol usage/mentions of alcohol abuse. mental health issues. trauma. mentions of animal death/cruelty. car accident.

—.🌿. GENRE. angst. fluff. reaper!au

—.🌿. NOTES. not my best work :< and not proofread. sorry </3

— IT WAS WARM.

Much like sunlight, Beomgyu felt a blanket of warmth swaddle him. A gentle breeze passed by. The passing wind danced through the strands of his wild locks, tickling his cheeks much like the blades of grass brushing against his bare arms.

He heard a distant bird call softly. The tune blended with the rustling of leaves and made a perfect, natural melody.

Brown hues fluttered open and winced at the bright sky. He blinked weakly until his vision cleared, giving him a crisp view of fluffy, white clouds. His brows furrowed slightly, creasing the smooth skin of his forehead with confusion.

He sat up and glanced around. He was in a clearing, he noted. Large and full trees towered over him and casted shadows of ruffling branches. The temperature was comfortable, not cold and not uncomfortably hot either. Wildflowers and bushes danced in the air and a flock of black birds flew overhead.

Where was he?

The last thing he remembered was his cold bathroom floor, a bloodied family photo crumpled tightly in his hand, and a bottle of cheap vodka helping him down the handful of pain killers he took. His eyes were blurry with tears and his face was blotchy from crying and the alcohol.

He sucked in a breath. He glanced down at his attire. He was in the same clothes: a wine-stained shirt and a pair of thin pajama pants.

He swallowed and exhaled softly. He felt a great absence, shoulders no longer carrying a familiar heavy weight. It was strange to feel such a thing. It was like he never knew negativity existed, much less experienced it.

He laid back down, basking in the sun’s warmth.

Wherever he was, he doesn’t know and couldn’t find it in himself to care. He was much too relieved to be free of such painful burdens to wonder about where he woke up.

Beomgyu buried his slim fingers into the ground, digging his nails into the dirt to convince himself that he was here and that this isn’t a figment of his imagination. He felt petals of white clovers crumble in his fists.

He let go and the flower bounced back up.

A few minutes went by, but it felt like hours to him. He soaked in the nature around and let it fill that hole in his heart that was usually home to despair. It was now replaced with relief.

He jumped slightly at a sudden pressure on his chest. His peeked his eyes back open and was met with a singular one back.

A black cat laid on him, one golden hue staring, examining. Its thin body vibrated with a deep purr and blinked slowly. A thin tail flicked.

He relaxed and brought a palm to run through its midnight colored fur. The feline pressed its head into his touch as his hand trailed down the valley of its spine. Beomgyu gave it a small smile.

“Seems she’s taken a liking to you.” A voice nearly made him yelp.

He shot up, causing the cat to leap down and crawl in his lap. He met the gaze of a woman and felt his cheeks redden slightly. She was ethereal, almost otherworldly in her beauty. Her features were soft and gave Aphrodite a run for her money. However, her attire was the complete opposite. She looked as if she’s came straight from a funeral: a black sweater, black pants, black boots, and a long, black jacket.

It made Beomgyu’s head tilt slightly, but he didn’t speak on it.

He peered down at the cat instead. He nodded. “Yeah.”

The stranger took a step closer and sat on the grass, putting a respectable distant between them. She looked at him, clear hues skimming over his form.

“You know why you’re here, right?” She asked.

He sighed. “Yeah.” He had an inkling.

“Okay.” She answered.

A quiet beat goes by.

“I don’t want to go just yet.” Beomgyu spoke.

She gave him a small smile, lips tugging up weakly. “That’s okay. We can wait a while.”

She watched as the cat snuggled deeper into his touch. The animal buried her head in the boy’s shirt, enjoying the affection.

“Is she yours?” He questioned.

“No,” The woman said. “She’s just another soul I’m helping along the way.”

Beomgyu looked up and caught her line of sight. “You lead animals, too?”

“Of course. Death can be scary for anything. Humans and animals.” She responded, thumb grazing a yellow dandelion. Beomgyu watched in wonder as it withered under her touch only for it to turn brown and fall.

“What happened to her?”

The woman looked at the feline and frowned. “Ran over. The driver reversed to make sure she didn’t get back up.”

Beomgyu felt his heart snap at her words. “People are cruel.”

“They are.” She agreed.

Another breeze rushed by, shaking the trees. The stranger peered around. “This is a new one. I haven’t seen a stop like this before.”

Beomgyu blinked at her. “What?”

“Your stop,” she gestured towards their surroundings, “it’s unique. In all my existence and centuries of guiding souls, I haven’t seen one quite like this. It’s nice.”

“What’s a stop?” He questioned.

“It’s a… holding place.” She said. “It’s somewhere comforting, sometimes even important. Each one is specialized for the next soul ready for pick up. It’s a place where the newly deceased waits until I arrive to lead them on.” She explained, hair swaying with the breeze. “I’ve seen houses, beaches, parks covered in thick layers of snow… but I haven’t seen one that’s anywhere similar to this.”

Beomgyu bit down on his lip. He wondered what his brother’s was like. Was it his childhood home? Was it the skatepark they always went to? Was it the city?

That sense of guilt that wasn’t there now flooded back, making his gut churn.

Did Death help him? Did she do the same for Soobin as she was doing for Beomgyu now?

His nose began to burn and his lash line filled with sudden tears. He tried to force them away, but had no luck. He took in a wavered breath. “Did you—“

“I did.” She spoke, knowing what he was trying to ask. “He was calm and knew where he was and what was happening. For people so young, it’s hard to accept that they died. But Soobin,” Beomgyu held back a wince at his name, “he understood and was okay with that.”

A few tears slipped down his pale cheeks. “It’s my fault he came to you so early. I fucking killed him.” He nearly whimpered. He tried to keep his tone steady.

The scene will forever be burned into his memory. He recalled the panic flooding his veins as he slammed against the break petals, only for it to fail. The icy feeling of the truck headed towards them stuck to him like glue. He can still feel the impact of the airbag knocking the wind out of him.

And he can still remember Soobin lying against the dashboard, eyes lifeless and the blood dripping from his nose smeared across his mouth and chin.

Death shook her head quickly, bringing him back to the present. “No.” She said, voice strong like stone. “No, it isn’t your fault, Beomgyu. It was simply just his day. Everything has one, but it pains me to know you’re the one who witnessed it.”

He met her eyes, his own now red-rimmed and slowly swelling. He sniffled. “But I was the one driving.”

“I know.” She stated and scooted a little closer. “But I also know the breaks went out. And I know that semi truck came from nowhere. There wasn’t anything you could do. His death isn’t your fault.”

“How do you know about that?”

“Because I was there. I’m always there when a death happens.” She hummed with a light shrug. “Like I was with yours.”

Beomgyu gulped. “You were?”

“Of course.” She replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I sat next to you when you took those pills. I hugged you while you cried your brother’s name and I held you when you died. I was always there. You needed comfort. I didn’t want you to be alone during your final moments.”

Another pause went by. Beomgyu hiccuped yet pretended it didn’t happen. He continued to scratch the cat’s neck.

“You’re kind.” He spoke hoarsely.

“Thank you.” She smiled, placing an ice cold hand over his spare one and gave it a light squeeze. She went to pull away, but found the boy’s fingers quickly lace with hers. “My sister, Life, is incredibly beautiful.” She began. “She’s creative and forms her creations with much love, but she’s careless. Vicious, even. When she creates, she also throws away. That’s where I come in to pick up the shattered pieces and lead them to our mother, Light. She decides what to do with you then.” She explained. “With the tenderness she makes you all with, humans aren’t born with anger bred into their hearts. It’s Life’s treatment mostly. She becomes neglectful and bored. I think that’s why people turn out to be bitter and mean, but my job is to show them the kindness they haven’t experienced since they were created. They’re just dealt difficult cards. I don’t want to bring them any more malice.”

“Soobin,” Beomgyu started, attempting to wipe his tears away with his shoulder. He didn’t want to let go of her being that kept him grounded, almost like letting go would mean this isn’t real. None of it was. Tears kept falling. “Where’d he go? What did your mom do to him?”

“Last I heard, he was on the road. He likes to travel rather than to stay stationary. He comes back to check in from time-to-time, though.” She responded. She made sure to catch Beomgyu’s sight. “He’s been asking about you.”

He felt his chest tighten. “What?”

She nodded. “He has. Every time he sees me, he asks me about you.” She saw a look of something unreadable in his eyes. It seemed like a mess of hope, sadness, relief, and a little bit of fear. “He doesn’t blame you, you know?”

“He doesn’t?”

“No. That’s actually one of the first things he told me. That when I speak to you, I’m to say what happened to him wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t even the truck driver’s. You were just at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

She watched Beomgyu nod along with her words. A few stray tears fell and soaked into the dirt they sat on. “I-I don’t think I can ever face him again.” He muttered.

Death came closer, their knees brushing against each other with each small movement. She put their tangled hands in her lap. She ran a finger down the veins running below his knuckles. She sighed and Beomgyu was quick to catch the small cloud slip past her lips. “He’s excited to see you. Though he probably hoped it wouldn’t have been so soon. He talked about you and your mutual friends a lot.”

“What’d you tell him? That I became an alcoholic because I couldn’t handle the guilt of being the reason why he died?” The boy pondered sarcastically.

“No. I leave details like that out. The After is a place where negativity is prohibited. I abide by the law proudly.” She stated. “But he knew you were struggling. Even if I didn’t tell him you were. He knew.”

“I know. He’s always been a perceptive person.” Beomgyu spoke. “What…” He trailed off. “What was his stop like?”

Death hummed. “Cold.” She replied. “And warm. It was snowing outside. Practically a blizzard. He was in an old house and wrapped in a fuzzy blanket. He was sitting on a couch next to a fireplace and Christmas lights decorated the houses across the street. He was staring at them through a window.”

“You said he was calm.” He recalled. “But was he scared?”

“Everything’s scared of dying, Beomgyu. To exist is to survive. It’s normal for souls to be scared when they first see me. So, in a way, he was.” She stated, the truth dripping from her words. “Fear’s normal. It’s expected given the situation, but it was surprising how he accepted where he was so willingly. I’ve been doing this since your kind was created and every single soul I’ve lead on had never been so fast to understand where they were and be okay with it.”

She turned towards the clouds and watched as they floated along. She gave Beomgyu’s hand another soft squeeze. That made him look at her. “He’s okay now. He’s not mad. He’s not hurt or in any pain. In fact, last I heard, he was preparing for another trip. Said he wanted to make it to the other side of the After and back.” A grin tugged at her lips. “Little does he know there’s no other side. The After’s plane is infinite, but I didn’t want to burst his bubble. It’ll be nice for him to explore some more.”

“You promise?” He whispered after a moment. He was quiet and if Death didn’t strain to hear it, she would’ve missed it. “You promise he’s not upset at me?”

“I promise.” She nodded. “You’ll see for yourself if you don’t believe me.”

“Do you know what would happen to me? When I see Light?”

“No. Everyone lived different lives, made different decisions, and had different outcomes. But you shouldn’t have anything to worry about. Light knows kindness, even if the souls have flaws. Nothing’s perfect. Mistakes are made. Pain is experienced. That’s the cost of living, but just because you do things for yourself, it doesn’t make you a bad person. As long as you were nice to those around you and never willingly sought out violence or misfortune for others, you’ll be fine.”

Beomgyu bit down on the skin of his bottom lip, teeth digging in until the subtle taste of iron flooded his tongue. The cat in his lap peered up at him. Gold and brown met and it was as if the feline was silently telling him that everything the reaper next to him stated was true. He watched as she got up, back bent in an arch as she stretched, and leaped down.

She trotted over towards the woman and rubbed her side against the fabric of her pants. The animal purred. Death smiled and ran the digits of her free hand through the fur.

“I think she’s ready to leave now.” Beomgyu stated softly.

“We don’t have to leave just—“

“I think I’m ready to go, too.” He locked eyes with Death. Though his still looked swollen and bloodshot, they crinkled at the small grin on his lips.

She looked at him. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I want to go home.” He responded.

Death mirrored his expression and gave his palm another squeeze. “Alright.” She said and stood, helping the boy up. As soon as he got to his feet, he latched onto her tightly. His arms wrapped around her shoulders and held her close. He buried his face into the icy skin of her neck. Another couple tears fell.

She recuperated almost instantly, limbs circling around his waist. She felt his body shake.

“Thank you.” He muttered into her hair. He sniffled and pulled back a bit, resting his forehead against hers.

She chuckled. “I’m just doing my job.”

He shook his head but didn’t comment any further.

Death reached up and used the sleeve of her sweater to wipe at his sticky cheeks. “We should get going, Beomgyu. Someone’s waiting for us.”

“Okay.”

His iron grip went to her hand again. She lead him away, exiting the clearing and following a blinding light hidden deep between the trees. The cat followed closely behind.

And for the first time in a long, long while, Beomgyu slowly started to forgive himself.

#txt x reader #txt imagines #txt x you #txt scenarios #choi beomgyu x reader #choi beomgyu x you #choi beomgyu fluff #choi beomgyu angst #choi beomgyu imagines #choi beomgyu scenarios #kpop x reader #kpop x you #kpop scenarios #kpop angst #kpop fluff #txt angst #txt fluff

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imagining-in-the-margins · 2 years ago

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For the audience challenge - how about pregnancy themed fics? ❤️

Well, this is a popular one... 🤭

Smut

Domesticity: Reader gets worked up watching Spencer with kids. He notices. (Content Warning: Breeding kink, established relationship (married), unprotected sex)

Santa’s Gift: Reader asks her husband what he wants for Christmas. (Content Warning: Spencer/Reader have a son, Christmas mention, mentions of the Santa story, established relationship, breeding kink, unprotected sex, trying for a baby)

Thimble of Honey: Fantasy!AU, Fairy!Reader. Spencer falls for the fairy in his garden. (Content Warning: Fantasy elements, Magical!Reader, Fairy!Reader, oral sex (fem receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, brief allusion to breeding kink/pregnancy, marriage mention, nickname “Princess”)

Different Kind of Daddy: After a rough day, Reader has good news for her husband. (Content Warning: Oral sex (female receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, DD/lg kink, alcohol, Reader’s weight is implied)

Fluff

Painting by Numbers: Spencer is still a little worried about his pregnant wife painting the house.

Practice Run: Spencer and Reader take on Derek’s challenge to babysit.

Impromptu: Reader learns some shocking news when a case lands her in the hospital. (Content Warning: Hospitals, unexpected pregnancy, concussions)

Moral of the Story (Series): (NSFW) Spencer has a surprise for you on the night before you two get married. (Content Warning: Unprotected sex, breeding kink, marriage, jokes about infidelity, Garter removal/toss)

Keep reading for Angst Fics & Series !

Angst

From the Tree: The kidnapping case becomes personal when Spencer and Reader get a call from their nanny. (Content Warning: Kidnapping, fighting, knives, children in danger, guns, death (minor character), murder, happy ending)

Stork Song: Spencer and Reader try to find intimacy again following a terrible loss. (Content Warning: miscarriage, trouble conceiving, potential infertility, crying, yelling (brief), grief, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, vague references to divorce (does not happen)

Phoenix (Series): (NSFW) Spencer Reid had a secret, and now you have a funeral to attend… Rewrite of the Emily/Doyle arc with Spencer taking Emily’s place. (Content Warning: gun violence, major character death (faked), heavy portrayals of grief, heated arguing/yelling, pregnancy/miscarriage)

Lily of the Valley (Series): (NSFW) Unsub!Spencer was found guilty but mentally ill after the torture and murder of several men. He finds solace in his psychiatrist at the institution. (Content Warning: institutionalization, state hospital, Doctor/Patient, Major Character Death (not shown), Mentions of death/murder, public sex, penetrative sex, forced sedation/tranquilizer use, needles, kidnapping, displays of force/violence, rough sex, chemical and physical restraints, knives/cuts, blood, reproduced/false depiction of a rape scene, DubCon (in that neither party wants to be violent, but both feel it is necessary), tearing clothing, choking, crying during sex, pregnancy discussion, guns, yelling, arguing, murder, death, stabbing, implied threats of assault on a woman)

Thanks for reading!

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid/you #spencer reid/reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds fanfic

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guardianinthemist · 2 months ago

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I wanted to try and design a dress for Ludmilla that was a homage to her white dress in canon. I had a lot of fun with this one! I really have started to like drawing lace, and I'm really happy with how it turned out. Detailed explanation of the dress and it's symbolism below the cut!

One of the big things that I wanted to express through the design of this dress is the juxtaposition of grief and happiness. Her sleeves were based off of the lily of the valley, often used in weddings, symbolism of happiness. The skirt of her dress, on the other hand, was designed based off of the petals of a lily. A flower commonly used in funerals, symbolic of the soul's return to innocence. I wanted this dress to really symbolize this duality of marriage and death, grief and happiness, achievement and loss. It's about new life through death, shedding the sins of mortality for the innocence of vampirism. The dress, in itself is, primarily, contradiction. The bodice of her dress focuses on extenuating the features of womanhood, yet is barren all the same. Grieving madonna, bereft of child. It is an hourglass, but it is empty, void of time, caught internally in this very same contradiction of grief and happiness, never able to permanently reside in one emotion or the other, but forever pressed into the cycle of both, forever consumed by them.

#ludmilla #ludmilla vilisevic #curse of strahd #cos #dnd #dnd 5e #my art

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viviennevermillion · 2 years ago

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ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ

❝ always there to warm you in the winter.... always there with shelter from the rain... always there to catch you when you're falling... always there to stand you up again... family...❞ — Lady & the Tramp 2

notes: i see chapter 7 part 4 did things to our puny little minds. part of @briarvalleyarchives "anthems of old" event. a short story about lilia, malleus and whom they've lost.

warnings: character death, major chapter 7 spoilers

The winter after the beloved princess had passed was a cruel and solemn one. The snowflakes would travel through the cold air of Briar Valley as they had done so many times in the years prior and hit the ground, melting into the ones that had come before; a fate that was all too familiar to the residents of the small nation. The war had left its scars upon the lands. Beasts had run rampant in the villages; destroying homes that had been carefully built with love and dedication. The caves in the mountains were stripped of their glamour, the crystals that had reflected the sunlight that would, despite all odds, break through the cracks, were stolen by beasts unfamiliar to the once peaceful home of the fae.

Because some beasts were not as easy to handle as the demon beasts that came from the mountains to wreak havoc in the settlements. No one knew that better than the fearsome General Vanrouge. From the moment Lady Mallenoa had entered her eternal slumber; with no amount of love able to wake her once more, it was as though winter never ended. Memories of times gone by would flash through his mind; the way they had played in the snow as children and the young princess would never go easy on him; using her magic to turn the previously innocent game into a battlefield of snowballs that left Lilia no room to fight back. It took centuries for him to be able to hold a candle to her power.

Now the snow was stained with the blood of his enemies. At the time, the general had never taken a moment to think about whether the Silver Owls he had slain had a family waiting for them at home as well. They had taken his, so they were undeserving of theirs. General Vanrouge had been consumed by the rage and bitterness in his heart, destroying all who dared stand in his path, for his heart now belonged to battle. This way, he wouldn't have to mourn the past.

He remembered vividly, always, the day they laid her to rest. It seemed as though the whole kingdom was present to say their goodbyes to her. Each citizen who attended the burial was dressed in black for this day, illuminated in the dead of night only by the candles they held as the princess was carried in a casket to her final resting place. The queen had placed a single rose on the ground that to Lilia seemed as though it had swallowed her. Lilia had walked up to the grave later when everyone had left. He thought of the egg still rested and protected within the chambers of the castle. "I promise, for as long as I live, no harm shall come to it. And not a day will go by....that I don't miss your smile", his voice cracked as the tears started streaming down his face. The seasons would go by and yet the cold never passed. Not when the sun would rise on the next day, not when it had risen a hundred years later.

General Vanrouge remembered how she had taught him to play stringed instruments, something he found boring and pointless as a child. Princess Mallenoa always had such a soothing voice. He remembered how she'd sit next to her egg with Prince Levan and sing a soft song to the unborn child. Now Lilia's heart sang without a sound; a quiet melody of grief and unrest. Her funeral was the last time he had allowed himself to cry. The numbness in his heart when he'd open his eyes in the morning didn't fade for decades, centuries even. These were lifespans in the eyes of a child of man; and they seemed to have forgotten all about the devastation they had brought to Briar Valley just a few hundred years later. But a soldier's heart never forgets. It never forgives. That was what Lilia thought at the time. Pain had made him heartless and his heart had been locked away for he feared the pain it held more than any foe on the battlefield. He only hoped, wherever she was now, that she had found peace.

How many times had he wished to feel again? To wake up in the morning and hear her pounding on his door, angry about something. It had annoyed him at the time. But she had been alive.

Yes, the seasons had gone by, yet eternal winter resided in the hearts of the people. But nothing stopped another day. Nothing stopped the inevitable; that the general's heart would thaw one day and spring would arrive in Briar Valley.

It was a miracle. At this point, the egg was more of a reminder of a future that would never be. A memory. Something to make one realize that the royal family would die with Queen Maleficia; the future of the kingdom as uncertain as it had been since the day the war ended. And who would blame anyone? It had been centuries.

But Malleus was spring.

He was the reason General Vanrouge shed a tear once more. One of relief and of love he thought he no longer had inside him. He had smiled when he first saw the little dragon fae with his eggshell on his small face. A smile he was sure the princess would have teased him for. After all, wasn't it him who had always said that he hated children? Who had refused to hold her egg when she had offered it to him? Yet in that moment, he couldn't help to do so. He had picked the little prince up and looked at the queen with the brightest smile she had seen on him in centuries. Tears were streaming down his face as the small fae was just looking up at him with awe and curiosity in his eyes. People say that when someone passes, in a way they are still with you. Lilia had always thought that this was bullshit, he had been far too bitter to notice. But in that moment, he realized that Mallenoa was all around him. He held her legacy in his arms. "She saved us once again, didn't she?", he had whispered quietly, wiping the tears from his face.

The little prince grew up healthy and not one bit less of a fire hazard than his mother had been. He grew up unaware of the bloodshed that had stained his beloved homeland when his egg had come into existence. Unaware of what his parents had sacrificed, of what Lilia had sacrificed, so that he could live and grow. But he had often wondered what it would be like if his parents were still around. Sometimes Malleus would sneak out of the castle, quietly observing the people in the village at the foot of the mountain in awe. He saw little children, not much older than him, protesting under tears because they didn't want to go clothes shopping for their uncle's 900th birthday as they were dragged by their parents' hand and promised their favorite candy if they would go along without making a fuss. He witnessed a mother explaining to her toddler what a bird was. He watched and listened as a father read his son a story on a bench by the fountain. Lilia had read him lots of stories before. But Malleus had always wondered what his father's voice would have sounded like doing this.

The prince spent most of his days alone in the castle. Lilia still had work to do and his grandmother was busy ruling an entire country as he would come to do one day as well. So as soon as Malleus had learnt to read, he would spend his time in the library, curiously exploring stories from a world beyond the castle walls; hoping that he would one day spread his wings to set off and see it for himself. Lots of the stories contained themes of family but few of the families looked quite like his. There was always a mother, a father and at least one child. Malleus would take the books and show it to his guardian, asking Lilia what his father was like and whether he would have taken him fishing like the farmer did with his son in the picture book. There was a flash of pain on Lilia's expression that Malleus had never noticed back then. "I'm sure he would have", the older fae had answered. The stories Malleus heard about his own parents were always short and vague. But Lilia had told him that they were exceptional people who would be proud of him if they could see him now.

Malleus had always wondered what having a father was like. He would get his answer when Lilia took a small human into his custody. Malleus was curious about the baby, always sneaking out to visit the cottage in the forest to see what his guardian was up to. At first he was pouting because Lilia was now giving most of his attention to someone else. But with time he had grown to care for the little child of man. Lilia seemed much happier now. Time had healed his wounds despite the scars of battle and loss never truly fading. He would arrive at the castle to do a task the queen had assigned to him and the prince would greet him to ask about how Silver was doing. Malleus was happy that Silver got to grew up with a father. He never fathomed that both of them could lose him.

The world was simple back then. It was just the castle, Malleus, his grandmother, Lilia and the little human he was raising and that Malleus would often play with or read to when Lilia had work to do at the palace. He couldn't ever have imagined going to Night Raven College and finding the world had changed so much from the one he read about in books. Or that his third year would mark his last with Lilia. That he would see Silver cry and grieve like this.

The world outside of Briar Valley was one he had always longed to see and that brought him many curious, but happy memories. He had learnt about the Halloween traditions of other nations and celebrated the holiday together with them. He had cooked a meal for the first time and the person he had served it to had enjoyed it. He had seen other countries and took part in their culture.

Even Lilia still found the school to be a place for new experiences. He had met a friend on this strange invention called the "Internet" and treasured that friendship despite never having met this friend in person. This online friend would often talk to Lilia in the chat, casually mentioning how he had obtained the newest addition of his favorite manga or played a game with his brother. Lilia would hesitate for a moment, recalling memories that seemed so long ago to him now.

"I had a sister... once."

He deleted the words before he had sent them. No need to bother Gloomurai with a sob story from his life that happened centuries ago. Little did he know that the stranger on the other side of the screen understood all about the struggle of losing a sibling.

Yes, Night Raven College was full of new beginnings for Malleus and his family. But it was the way of the world that nothing could truly last forever, tragic and unfair as it was. Nothing stops another day. Not even a sleeping curse or an overblot dragon. The spell laid waste to Sage's Island, and although the damage was way less than it could have been, the aftermath of it could still be seen everywhere one looked. Malleus felt ashamed of what he had done and Lilia was reminded of scenes from the war long ago.

But everyone joined together to help and rebuild what had been destroyed. Night Raven College and Royal Sword Academy. Fairies and Humans.

"Seems as though we avoided the worst case, huh?", Lilia mused as he noticed Queen Maleficia, the dragon fairy who had raised him since he was a baby, standing next to him. The queen nodded and noted what a bureaucratical nightmare this whole ordeal would be despite all.

Lilia looked at the scene that was unfolding before his eyes. The fae who had come to the island to break through the spell and fight against Malleus's overblot were now helping the locals rebuild their houses with magic. The students would hand out meals to everyone who helped. The citizens were already planting new seeds in place of the trees and fields that had been destroyed. They would one day grow into an idyllic image of a peaceful home. Just as Malleus and Silver had grown into formidable people. The young prince had fallen further than he ever did before, but now the old general was certain that he could stand on his own feet at last. Both of his sons could. And the bat fae was glad that he could depart knowing this much.

"It seems the children of man truly know no rest when it comes to progress", the queen remarked, looking at the humans who fixed the fields beside the village and the fae soldiers who were assisting them.

"It appears so"

"What are they planting?"

Lilia looked at the rising sun, remembering the faith that Princess Mallenoa once had; that mankind and fae would one day live in peace and help each other grow. He had called it foolish at the time, mocking his sister's words by calling them a fever dream. Yet this was just another way in which she had changed his world, just as the little prince he raised had been. There was a smile on his face as he thought about how this day might just mark the beginning of the future the princess had envisioned.

"Hope."

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst chapter 7 spoilers #twst spoilers #twst chapter 7 #malleus draconia #malleus #lilia vanrouge #lilia #general lilia #twst fanfic #twst fanfiction #mallenoa draconia #maleficia draconia #malleus x reader #malleus draconia x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader #lilia x reader

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irafuwas · 2 years ago

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Electric Dreams Summary: Malleus’s 1000th birthday is coming up, and the Queen decides it’s as good a time as any to abdicate the throne. Plans for the coronation soon get underway, and when Malleus sits down to write a list of people he’d like to invite to the ceremony, he realizes that almost all of them are already dead. Content Warnings: Major character death Pairings: None Length: 16k (Header artwork from here)

You can either read it after the cut or on AO3!

They bury Silver next to his father in the plot behind their dilapidated little cottage, just as he’d wanted. It’s a warm, sunny day, and the meadow around their home had lately exploded in yellow buttercups and golden cowslips and cool, hushed bluebells, as if the earth had flung its arms wide open in rejoice of the lone casket being lowered into its shadowy embrace. After they smooth over the last clump of dirt and the final eulogy has been read, the tiny procession splits up - some going to loiter in the garden, others heading inside the cottage to dab their damp faces and seek refuge from the heat.

Although Malleus and Sebek never did get to discuss the details of the funeral before Silver passed, they both feel confident in their choice of a modest ceremony – he never was one for frills and fanfare, after all. But even with the small crowd gathered, the cottage is livelier than it’d been in a long while. There’s a spread of traditional Briar Valley fare laid out on the tables – steaming dumplings heavy with ground veal and spices, piles and piles of roast pork and sausages, and fresh apple strudel topped with a blanket of powdered sugar - and Malleus and Sebek can hear the clink of tableware mixing with the murmurs of low voices all around them. But neither of them speak as they quietly sip on their tea.

After a while, Malleus gets up to refill his glass, and he realizes on his way to the kitchen that it’s Deuce Spade who’s been chatting with Kalim al-Asim outside in the garden for the past half hour. He glances at them through the kitchen window as he reaches for the kettle.

They’ve both aged considerably since the last time he saw them. The edges of Kalim’s eyes crinkle severely every time he smiles at something the other man says, but his laugh still rings out as loud and as true as ever. Deuce’s dark eyes crinkle in return, and his hair has frosted over to a dull white that rivals even Kalim’s near-translucent locks. He reaches out to pat a trembling hand on Kalim’s back once his laughter breaks down into a rattling cough.

Malleus turns away, frowning. He goes to rejoin Sebek in the living room, raising an eyebrow at the untouched plate of sausage still resting on his lap.

“Are you not hungry?”

Sebek doesn’t look up as he shakes his head. He sets the plate down on the table and rubs his arms as though he’s cold. It’s a nervous habit that has disturbed him since he was a child, and he scowls once he realizes he’s doing it again.

Sebek had lost his father a few decades prior. He remembers the funeral as though it were yesterday; it felt like he’d just finished washing all the dirt from his hands a few moments ago, and then he blinked, and it was already time to pick up his shovel again.

There are nights where he finds the black maw of the sky is somehow darker and infinitely vaster than usual. Its magnitude, its perfect darkness - blacker than obsidian, blacker than the purest coal, blacker than the gentle luster of a raven’s feathers – immobilize him. Only then, as he lies in bed, transfixed by the endless night, as whispered prayers begin to spill from his lips - at times haltingly slow, at times rushing faster than a waterfall - only then does he admit that he misses his father. The man’s death had ripped a hole in his heart that still hadn’t healed, and Silver’s passing had knocked him down right when he was finally ready to try and get back up again.

He never could comprehend how his mother had remained so stalwart and strong all this time, nor how she’s still retaining her composure at the funeral right now. He’s been watching as she flutters from one guest to another, thanking them for coming, and checking if they need their glasses or plates refilled. It’s striking how young she looks in comparison to his former schoolmates, and he wonders if everyone else felt just as shocked when they saw him and Malleus mingling with the guests earlier.

It takes a few moments for Sebek to put his thoughts together, and then he says, quietly, “I just… I just don’t understand why humans are put on this world for such a short time? What good does it do them - do anyone - to lead such short lives…?”

Malleus doesn’t know what to say, or if he should even say anything at all. He tries to think back on all the times Lilia had soothed his fears as a child, tries to cobble together an appropriate answer based on the bits and pieces of hazy memories that flit through the caverns of his mind. But he knows that nothing he comes up with would help.

Finally, Malleus replies, “Yes, that’s… That’s something I’ve long pondered, as well.”

Sebek balls his fists in his lap. “Damn humans!” he chokes out, his voice barely a whisper. “Damn them all!!”

Malleus places a hand on Sebek’s shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze. If he cannot imitate Lilia’s soothing loquacity, then at least he can do this much for the boy, he decides.

The minutes turn into hours, and the small crowd begins to disperse as the sun dips low into the sky. The air is still warm when Malleus at last steps outside the cottage and begins to head home.

Sebek ends up staying behind the longest. Malleus can hear his sobs echoing through the forest all the way back to the castle.

The day he received news of Silver’s passing, a part of Malleus - a small part he never wished to think about or speak of - was surprised that he ended up living as long as he did. Malleus had always feared, in private, that the boy’s broken heart would claim him much sooner, and he never could decide if he felt saddened or relieved that Silver had waited so long before setting off to go join his father.

In the weeks leading up to the funeral, he’d often think of Silver. Sometimes, the Silver he remembered was just a tiny infant napping in his arms, and other times, he was a bright-eyed boy waving around a crude wooden sword in the air. Occasionally, he’d think back to their years at Night Raven College, and he could still clearly picture Silver’s entrance ceremony in his mind. Lilia was positively electrified that day - he trembled with excitement as he stood next to Malleus in the darkness of the mirror hall. The two of them exchanged proud smirks when the mirror announced the boy’s sorting into Diasomnia.

Malleus never liked to think of Silver in his final years.

As the decades passed, his once lustrous hair eventually faded to a lifeless gray, and wrinkles and worry lines tugged down at what used to be supple skin. And yet – even as he approached the twilight of his life, there was still that same glint in his auroral eyes, still that same air of nobility about him that hadn’t dulled in the slightest. And still that same stubborn streak he’d inherited from his father.

Even a weeklong shouting match with Sebek wasn’t enough to get the aging man to step down from the Imperial Guard. They’d both made great strides in their careers, and Silver was fiercely proud of his hard-earned title – the first ever human to attain the rank of Colonel in Briar Valley’s armed forces. But the aging man was struggling to keep up, some days failing to draw his heavy longsword without it crashing to the ground. And Sebek was quick to notice.

“You utter moron!” Sebek had snarled at him one evening. “You’re going to work yourself to death at this rate!”

Silver sighed. “You think I don’t know that? This is what I… This is what my father would’ve wanted, so…”

Any mention of Lilia always brought the conversation to a quiet end. And then night would fall, and then the night would turn into day, and their argument would begin anew together with the rising of the sun.

Malleus finally stepped in when he found out that Silver had cracked a rib while sparring with some of the new recruits during morning training. He signed the knight’s honorable discharge papers later that afternoon.

After Silver stepped down from the Guard, he and Malleus would often walk together through the young prince’s rose garden. They’d go early in the morning, before the sun had climbed too far overhead and her amber rays were only just starting to bleed into the hazy blue of the cloudless sky.

It was something they used to do from time to time when Silver was little. The rose seeds Malleus’s grandmother gifted him every year on his birthday were rarely ever the same - one year, he’d get a mix of floribunda and polyantha seeds; another, damask and tea – and he would hold the baby up to the rose bushes and point out all the different types of flowers. He’d tell him about how old garden roses differed from the modern varieties, and when and where to do your pruning and why it was so important. And the baby would listen and listen.

“Do you still remember how you’d try and help me prune the roses when you were little? I’d hold the shears for you, and you’d try to press down on the handles with all your weight, but they wouldn’t budge. Your entire body would shake all over with the effort and you had the most serious look on your face. It was always so hard for me not to laugh.”

Silver smiled but said he didn’t remember. He began saying that a lot as he grew older.

“Are any of the roses here the same ones from when I was a child?”

Malleus scanned his garden and pursed his lips before answering, “No, my oldest bush is only about 40 years old. Many of these flowers are the descendants of seeds I planted during your infancy, however.”

“Amazing,” Silver whispered. He reached out and traced a gnarled finger along the velvet petals of a young rose, still not yet unfurled.

“What is?” Malleus asked.

“Ah, I was just thinking about something I’d read in a book lately. It said there’s trees in Twisted Wonderland that are older than even the oldest living human. And I was thinking, long after I’m gone, those trees will probably still be standing there, right? And the planet will keep turning, and the sun will keep shining... It’ll be like I was never even here.”

Malleus furrowed his eyebrows in thought. “…And you find that amazing? You aren’t afraid to leave this world and miss all those things?”

“I’m trying not to be,” Silver replied, a tired smile tugging at his dry lips. “I guess I just...”

Silver searched for the right words. “…I just take comfort in knowing that your roses will keep blooming for you long after I’m gone, my Lord.”

Malleus had wanted to snap at him, wanted to whirl on him like a viper and spit, “But what will I take comfort in?”, but the words got caught in the lump forming in his throat. He turned away from Silver and cursed himself for acting so childishly.

At Silver’s funeral, Malleus’s eyes blurred as they lowered the casket into the ground. He tried to focus on something else, on anything other than the sound of dirt and rocks being heaved onto the wooden frame, and he clung desperately to the shard of a memory from what felt like a lifetime ago.

He’s standing in Lilia’s cottage, and Lilia offers Malleus to hold the baby for the first time. Malleus holds out his hands, but then draws them back in hesitation.

“And you’re certain I won’t injure him?”

“Oh, you’re such a worrywart. It’ll be fine…” Lilia thinks for a moment and then continues, “Ah, I know. Just think of him like he’s one of your roses! You’re always so gentle with them, aren’t you?”

Gentle. A word most would refrain from using to describe Malleus, what with all those rumors and stories of his awful powers. (The Halloween incident still hangs fresh in his mind.) But Lilia was correct – Malleus fawned over his roses like nothing else.

When he was little, he would cup their pleasant, pink faces in his hands with a featherlight touch and whisper to them the secrets of his child’s heart. And every year, when the juvenile buds slowly began to unfurl for him, stretching out their newborn petals in welcome of the boy’s fanged smile and glittering eyes, the joy that washed over him was gentler than any spring rain and warmer than any afternoon sun. They were more precious to him than all the jewels in the castle vaults combined - his own dragon’s hoard of living rubies, topaz, rose quartz, and garnet.

And so he nervously accepts the tiny infant that Lilia holds out to him and he shifts the child awkwardly in his arms. Be gentle. He’s like one of your roses. Be gentle, be gentle, be gentle.

The sound of Sebek loudly clearing his throat next to him ripped Malleus from his memories. He whispered a quiet “Thank you” and took the handkerchief from Sebek’s outstretched hand.

Malleus buried a piece of his heart together with Silver that day, and he buried yet another piece when Sebek passed away a couple of centuries later. And when a record-breaking snowstorm ripped through Briar Valley that winter and decimated his rose garden in its icy wrath, he found he simply did not have the energy to mourn any more.

II.

Malleus can tell that someone is standing outside his room. He figures it’s one of the young servants in training; he can hear her muttering the lines she must’ve been instructed to say as she paces back and forth for a few minutes.

Finally, a tiny voice squeaks out, “Umm, Lord Malleus...?”

Malleus looks up from the book he’d been reading and sees his door has been opened just a crack. A young girl dressed in a servant’s uniform peeks through, wide-eyed.

“Yes, what is it?”

Perhaps out of fear, or excitement – or a juvenile mixture of both – she hurriedly blurts out, “Her M-Majesty requests your audience at once!!” and then promptly shuts the door with a soft thud.

Malleus sighs and tells the closed door, “Thank you. I’ll go to her now.”

“You called for me, Grandmother?”

His grandmother, Queen Maleficia, smiles broadly at him as he steps into the throne room. She bids him to come sit, and he lowers himself hesitantly into the empty chair – the king’s throne - next to her. It’s seldom that he ever comes into this room, and rarer still he’s allowed to sit there. The hard armrests dig into his elbows, but he doesn’t complain.

“Malleus, I called you here to talk about something very important,” His grandmother says with sparkling eyes. “Your birthday is coming up!”

“Yes?”

“Your one thousandth birthday, my dear. A momentous occasion for us dragon fae, for you’ll finally become a full-fledged adult.”

“Ah.” The cobwebbed gears in the attic of Malleus’s mind begin to turn. He has an idea of where this conversation is headed.

“And as such, I’ve been thinking… I’ve ruled over Briar Valley far longer than I had ever intended. I meant to step down from the throne and let your parents rule after you were born. But of course, things didn’t quite turn out the way I had envisioned.”

His grandmother’s smile falters for a moment, and then she continues, “But now, I feel certain the time is right. My precious grandson, you have grown into such a wonderful young man. You are clever and resourceful, and you have a passionate interest in history and foreign affairs the likes of which I’ve never seen in any budding politician before.”

“I know you’ve faced so, so much loss in your young life already, and you’ve come through it with such grace and humility.” She reaches out to clasp his hand in hers, and Malleus shivers at the shock of her cold skin.

“There is no doubt in my heart that you are ready for this. And that Briar Valley is ready for you.”

Malleus isn’t sure what he’s supposed to say, so he just smiles and then whispers, “Alright.”

“Excellent!” His grandmother rises and claps her hands together loudly. “Someone, go fetch me the members of the royal planning board! We have a coronation to get ready for!” She turns to Malleus, and he rises, too.

“Do go ahead and start thinking about whom you’d like to invite, my dear. I’ll have the board reserve some seats up front for your friends.”

Malleus’s birthday comes and goes with much fanfare and hoorah, and once all the confetti is swept away and the banners and flags are taken down and he no longer has to dread passing a window and risk seeing an effigy of his awkward face staring back up at him from the town square, Malleus takes some time to think about whom he’d like to invite to his coronation. He sits at the desk in his room, pen and paper spread out on the table before him. He sits there for a while, as still as stone, until finally, like a petrified creature released from decades of slumber, he slowly, stiffly reaches out, takes his pen in hand, and starts to write.

He starts with whatever names come to mind first – his old classmates and instructors from Night Raven College, the people he met during his brief internship, the politicians and members of foreign royalty he’s had to endure countless boring dinners and stuffy balls with. His little list grows longer and longer, and he grabs another sheet of paper after filling up the first one. As he sets his pen down after a couple minutes of hurried writing, he’s surprised, but pleased, at how many names he ended up recalling.

And now the difficult part: He must choose the fortunate souls who shall be blessed to attend the coronation of King Malleus Draconia. He smirks and starts with the first sheet of paper, slowly reading aloud the name he’d written at the top. And then he frowns. No, you can’t invite Kingscholar; He passed away already. You attended his funeral, don’t you remember? He picks up his pen again and draws a black line through the name. And then he reads the next name and recalls Sebek once complaining about how the television programs wouldn’t stop replaying Vil Schoenheit’s movies for weeks on end after his death, and he strikes through it. And he does the same for the following name, and the one after that. His list turns into a jumble of scratchy lines, and then he moves to the second sheet, crossing out one name after the next. He realizes with a shaky sigh that most of these people are already dead.

But there is one name that he’s not so sure about, it’s the only one that stands unmarred in his clean handwriting amidst the mess of black ink: Ortho Shroud, younger brother of the late Idia Shroud. He can’t remember the last time he’d seen the tall, lanky figure of the elder brother, but he’s certain he wasn’t at Silver’s funeral. Only Ortho attended; he’d mentioned something about once treating some injury or other that Silver had incurred at the equestrian club. Malleus had smiled as he listened to the story back then, and he smiles again now as he recalls Ortho’s animated figure telling the tale.

He leans back in his chair and rests his chin on his hand as he thinks. Malleus never quite grasped just what the boy was, only that he wasn’t quite human, but not fully machine, either. If he truly was some form of inorganic creature, then perhaps there’s a chance that he’s still…

Malleus moves aside his stationery with a sweep of his arm and pulls out the laptop he keeps stored in the drawer underneath his desk. The construction of Briar Valley’s first nationwide power grid and internet network had recently been completed a couple of centuries ago, and electricity now thrummed throughout the land. It took some getting used to, especially for a folk so accustomed to their magic, but the citizens quickly grew to enjoy the novelties of television and the world wide web. Malleus had also recently learned of the wonders of online chess, and he proudly considered himself a bit of a gamer.

He opens up his email and begins his search. There is a faint memory that clings weakly to his brain of Lilia sending him a message not long after he’d departed for the Land of Red Dragons. There was a grainy picture attached showing Lilia’s pale, outstretched hand, his nails painted cherry red, pointing to some snowcapped mountains towering in the distance. If his memory serves right, Lilia had sent that email to a number of addresses, and one of them might’ve had Ortho’s name in it. He scrolls through his archived folders and clicks on the one he created just for Lilia’s old emails. It takes only a moment to find the message he was thinking of. He remembers now that it was the last time he’d ever heard from the man. He didn't see Lilia again until Silver dutifully retrieved his small body from those frozen peaks.

He doesn’t dare open the attached picture. He quickly scans through the list of names and addresses in the “to” field until he finds the one he was hoping to see, and with shaking hands, he begins a new email. He types a curt message asking the boy how he’s been and if he’d like to stop by for a few days so they can catch up.

He clicks “send”, and then folds his hands in his lap as he waits for a response.

III.

Ortho comes to Briar Valley later that week, and Malleus is surprised at the pure quietness of the boy’s arrival. He’d expected something more grandiose from a member of the Shroud clan, like dark clouds of smoke and exhaust and great explosions of light. But there is none of that – Ortho merely descends from the sky with all the whispered elegance of an owl gliding through a nighttime forest, and he alights a few meters away from where Malleus had been waiting for him in the courtyard.

They shake hands and say their hellos, and Ortho adds that the current director of Styx sends her greetings. Malleus raises a thin, black eyebrow at this.

His curiosity piqued, he asks, “Is she, ah, descended from your brother, then?”

Ortho laughs, high and bright like the aluminum wind chines that hang from some of the trees in the courtyard. “Oh, no! My big brother never got married or had children. After he passed away, another branch family in the Shroud clan took over Styx, and their descendants have been running things at the Island of Woe ever since.”

As they walk towards the castle gates, Ortho explains that the new management agreed to let him stay with them after his brother died, and he’s been spending most of his time the past few centuries overseeing the island’s security system. (Apparently, he can operate it remotely via “satellite”, but for Malleus the word only conjures up visions of the moon, and he tilts his head in perplexment.)

Malleus asks, “And you’re absolutely sure it’s alright for you to be here? I don’t want any problems with Styx, especially not so soon before the coronation.” His grandmother had scowled deeply when he told her whom he’d been planning to invite, and he was eager to assuage her concerns.

“Yeah, Styx is still as secretive as ever, but they’re pretty lax when it comes to me leaving the island. As long as I don’t divulge any top-secret info, of course.” Ortho finishes with a wink.

“I see. Good, then let me show you to where you’ll be staying.”

They walk together to Ortho’s guest room, and the castle servants scatter before them like a parted sea. Malleus knows they’re staring; he can see the white faces of the chambermaids peeking out from behind half-shut doors, but he doesn’t mind. He remembers how intrigued he’d been when he first met Idia Shroud and the little robot that always seemed to be hovering in his shadow. And how shocked he was when the device opened its mouth and began to speak.

Malleus, too, finds himself glancing now and then at the boy walking beside him. He doesn’t look much different from how Malleus remembers. He’s not grown any taller, and his fiery hair isn’t any longer than before. He still has that soft, round face, and those striking yellow eyes and that small mouth filled with razor-sharp teeth.

Later, while Ortho unpacks his charging apparatus and surveys the room for the closest outlet, Malleus asks the question that’d been pestering him since his guest’s arrival.

“Ah, it made my big brother uncomfortable whenever he saw my face, so that’s why I always wore either a visor or a mask while he was alive. Since he’s gone now, I don’t bother with covering up my face anymore.”

“What? Why would your face make him uncomfortable?”

Ortho looks over his shoulder from where he’s kneeling before the outlet he selected. He states plainly, “Because it reminded him too much of his little brother, Ortho Shroud.”

Malleus blinks. And then he frowns. “Wait…. Seeing your face – you, his little brother, Ortho Shroud – reminded him too much of his little brother…. Ortho Shroud. And that made him… uncomfortable?”

“Correct!” Ortho grins like an absolute imp, and Malleus wonders if he’d been studying up on fae humor before coming here.

“….I must say, the more I learn about your family, the more bizarre you all sound.”

Ortho laughs again. “You have no idea.”

Once Ortho is done packing, Malleus asks if he’d like to go tour the valley with him. He answers with an excited “Absolutely!”, and they make their way back out to the courtyard. The day is still young, and a sky as blue as freshly picked morning glories greets them once they step outside.

At the castle gates, Malleus asks Ortho to wait a moment. He squats before the boy and takes his smaller hands into his own. Lilia had once told him that children listen better when adults get down to their level, and Malleus wants to make absolutely sure that Ortho understands the gravity of what he’s about to say.

“Listen to me well, Little Shroud. Most of the fae here are kind and virtuous people, and I trust the castle staff not to lay a hand on you. But I cannot say the same about our townspeople and countrymen. I fear a young child of man like you… Yes, even one made of cool metal and not the warmth of living flesh and blood, will attract those who wish you harm. If, when we are away from the castle, I take your hand and draw you close to me, you must not let go, for it means they are near. You must not listen to their whispered temptations; you must not believe their siren lies. Do you understand? If they gaze at you with eyes of black fire, if they promise you Heaven’s greatest rewards, if you turn to them and see your brother’s face and hear his voice calling out your name, you must look away. Can you promise me you will do that?”

Ortho nods his head slowly, and they set off.

They begin with a cursory flight over the valley; Ortho using his machinery, and Malleus his magic. Malleus restricts his speed at first, concerned he might accidentally leave the boy behind. He’s pleasantly surprised to find Ortho easily keeping pace with him, and when he cries out into cold winds asking if they might go a bit faster, Ortho responds with a thumbs up and a sharp-toothed smile.

And so they race over the castle town, past the church, whose twin spires watch over the land like a pair of dark sentinels, past the cobbled streets and the timber houses of the residential districts, past the bustling marketplace and the quiet town square. Malleus explains how all the buildings radiate around the castle like the petals of a flower surrounding its pistil, and he points down to the linden trees - dull and naked in their meager spring attire - that line nearly every street. He tells Ortho that come summer, the whole town will be bathed in their flowers’ intoxicating perfume, warm and soft and sweet like honeysuckle. The cool breeze feels delicious on Ortho’s skin, and the low buzz of Malleus’s voice beside him is as tender as the overhead sun.

As they circle overhead once more, Ortho is surprised that no one seems to pay them any mind. Not the merchants behind their stalls, and not the townspeople passing by; not the swarm of children playing tag in the maze of shadowy back alleys; not the red-faced shepherd barking at his sheep to move, and not his perfectly unhurried sheep. None of them so much as glance their way as they fly by. Ortho glides next to Malleus and asks him why that is, and Malleus laughs. “My people are deeply intertwined with magic; it courses through our veins from the moment we enter this world. Seeing two people soaring through the sky is no more riveting to us than a toad that hops or a cow that lows. Many of us begin flying at a few months old, after all.” Malleus laughs again as Ortho’s mouth drops open in astonishment.

They leave the castle town behind them, flying faster and faster, beyond the evergreen forests and the rolling hillsides and the miles of grassy fields glimmering with white snowdrops and yellow daffodils. Malleus describes with a smile how beautiful the valley looks in the summer, when the wheat is heavy and ripe for harvest and the modest green farmland transforms into an ocean of gold. He loves windy summer days especially, loves how the acres and acres of wheat undulate and dance in time to the rhythm of the breeze, the entire countryside sighing and rolling like gilded waves as far as the eye can see.

They press on, and Malleus leads Ortho towards the mountain range that rises in the distance like the spikes on a dragon’s back. The farmland below transforms once more into lush grasslands and forests, and a massive river cuts across the valley plateau.

The sight reminds Ortho of a passage he’d read in one of his travel guides:

“Briar Valley is a relatively small nation, flanked on all sides by jagged mountains and bisected by a massive, winding river that many of the locals continue to worship as an ancient Lindwurm. The winters are bitter cold, and the summers are pleasantly warm; it is a fertile land, and the majority of the county’s foodstuffs is produced within Briar Valley’s borders.”

Ortho’s eyes follow the twisting body of the river, and he can easily imagine why the fae revere it as a deity - the mouth of the great waterway stretches infinitely wide like the jaws of a python as it spills into the freezing ocean. But it’s the mountains that truly take his breath away. They are a thousand times bigger and a hundred times darker than what he’d been envisioning based on the photos he’d seen, and their obsidian bulk nearly consumes the skyline.

Malleus points a pale, clawed finger at the angry mass of black rock and stone that rises up taller than all the others. “That is the Forbidden Mountain,” he shouts above the roar of the wind. “Legend says the Thorn Witch once ruled over the valley from atop its peak.”

“It’s amazing!” Ortho shouts back.

They stay there for a while, quietly admiring the black obelisks towering before them. Ortho almost wonders if the Thorn Fairy might still be lurking up there somewhere on that dark peak, the shadow of her terrible specter still searching in vain for the lost princess after all these millennia. He dispels the thought with a shiver.

Finally, Malleus turns to Ortho and says, “Come, let us return to the castle town. There’s a place I want to show you.”

Even from high above, the church had looked magnificent; and now, standing before it on the ground, it’s absolutely breathtaking. The fae’s connection with Nature - a glorious mixture of reverence and intimacy – is evident all throughout the building’s architecture. The façade is richly decorated with a host of stone creatures: rearing bucks locked eternally in battle, golden eagles and barn owls and songbirds frozen in flight, and foxes and hares circling each other in an endless hunt. From up close, Ortho now sees that the bulging lines he’d noticed winding around the twin spires are delicately sculpted rose vines, replete with thorns and all. Jagged spikes erupt down the spines of the flying buttresses, reminiscent of a beast Ortho doesn’t quite want to think about, and they stretch and yawn as they support the heavy weight of the towering walls. As they circle the building, Malleus happily points out all the different gargoyles that snarl at them from their guard posts up high; Ortho had nearly overlooked them in the forest of masonry and metalwork, and he stumbles as he tilts his head further and further back just trying to take it all in. All the travel guides that he’d downloaded had lavishly praised the church as the “Pinnacle of the Briar Valley Gothic style”, and now he understands why.

Malleus ushers Ortho towards the heavy bronze doors at the entrance of the church, and they head inside. A few members of the laity sit hunched over in the wooden pews within, murmuring prayers in a language that Ortho cannot understand. His eyes flick up to Malleus’s face, and then down to his hands, which lay unmoving against his side. After a moment’s hesitation, Ortho takes a step forward, and then another, and he quietly walks down to the end of the aisle, walking just the slightest bit faster whenever he has to pass one of the fae mulling about. Finally, he reaches the apse and the alter. He doesn’t notice Malleus joining him a moment later; he is far too entranced by the stained-glass windows that tower before him. The afternoon sun spills through the windows and pools onto the floor below, bathing him and Malleus in a shower of multicolored light.

In his mind’s eye, Ortho can see the master architect urging his laborers to keep building higher, to push the spires taller, up into the sky, closer and closer to the seat of Heaven’s mighty throne. He can see the sculptors playing with light as though it were clay, molding it in their calloused hands and transforming it into the countless stained-glass windows that crown the head of the altar. He thinks about the townspeople emerging from their dull and darkened homes and blinking into the bright light of the completed church for the first time. What must they have felt? Had their hearts ached for something they couldn’t find the name for, like his heart aches now? Had their eyes burned hot with the threat of strange and unfamiliar tears, like his eyes are burning now? Had they felt as overwhelmed and insignificant and small and suffocated as he is feeling now? Oh, and to think! To consider - how many weary pilgrims, how many desperate worshipers and weathered souls have stood in this very same spot before him, gazing up at these same venerated panes of kaleidoscopic glass and feeling what he feels; how many millennia upon millennia has this architectural wonder united the peoples of its creator in whispered awe and indescribable rapture!

Ortho takes a shuddering breath, and he steps back to admire the windows once more. He’s seen tracery like this elsewhere, in the churches of the Queendom of Roses and the cathedrals of the City of Flowers. The square sections of glass come together to create a series of fantastic images, and they remind Ortho of the illustrated fairytale books he used to read with his brother when they were little.

Ortho tilts his head back and focuses on the pictures up at the very top.

He sees:

The golden fields of corn and wheat that dot the valley’s farmlands.

Lush forests, twisting rivers, towering mountains, and azure lakes.

Smiling children - with horns and antlers sprouting from their foreheads and wings fluttering on their backs - dancing in a circle, arms linked together.

A fae mother sitting before her cottage and nursing her child, the baby’s tiny horns but white specks on its head.

Ortho’s eyes travel further down. The glass panes gradually transition from cool greys and blues and bright yellows to duller oranges and reds. Further and further down, the redder the panes become, like tongues of fire spilling over the window.

He sees an image of a human man and a fae woman holding hands, with shy smiles on their faces. Both the woman’s wings and the human are gone in the next image, and her smile has warped into a scream. He can’t quite tell what happens after that.

“What is that grey substance the humans are forging in that pane there?”

“Iron.” Malleus hisses the word, as though it burns him just to say it.

Ortho doesn’t say anything as he turns back to look at the windows.

He sees:

Human and fae armies marching towards each other with swords drawn and war flags raised.

Villages engulfed in flames.

A smokey battlefield littered with armored bodies.

Flashes of lightning splitting a crimson sky.

And finally, the last image: A black dragon, its wings spread wider than a hurricane. The glass surrounding it blazes as red as blood.

“Malleus Draconia… What… is this?”

“My people’s history. Our triumph.”

Malleus swallows thickly, and then he whispers, “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

All Ortho can do is nod. He dare not defile this place any further with his words.

It’s late afternoon by the time they return to the castle. They head to the dining room to get some lunch, and Ortho watches wide-eyed as a horde of servants materialize as soon as Malleus takes his seat.

Malleus lifts his hand, and a servant steps forward to slide the day’s menu into his waiting fingers. He contemplates for a moment, and then announces he will have the slow roasted pork shoulder served with shredded sauerkraut, potato dumplings, and gravy. A young chambermaid asks if Ortho would like any refreshments, as well, and he declines her kind offer with a smile. His oral intake unit isn’t equipped, and he doesn’t feel bothered enough to go fetch it from his room. He looks around the dining room while they wait for the food to be served. It resembles a grand hall more than anything else, with a massive glass chandelier hanging overhead and several huge windows lining the walls, and he figures the long table they’re sitting at could easily seat over thirty guests.

Presently, the head chef and sous chefs and other kitchen assistants march out in a line. The assistants all carry a silver cloche server in hand, and they remove the domed covers with a flourish as they set the trays down before Malleus. The pork shoulder has been roasted to a brown perfection, and a thick, crispy layer of fat sits atop each slice of meat. The gravy is dense and richly seasoned, and the sauerkraut is the most beautiful shade of lavender that Ortho has ever seen. A stack of steaming potato dumplings completes the ensemble. The head chef nervously searches the prince’s face for the slightest sign of approval or dissatisfaction, and his shoulders sag in relief when Malleus dismisses the troupe with the wave of a hand. The head chef bows deeply, followed in turn by the sous chefs and other kitchen assistants, and they file back to the kitchen as efficiently as they came.

The entire spectacle delights Ortho, and he kicks his feet in excitement while he waits for Malleus to finish eating. He imagines how the dining room must look like when the castle is hosting a party, when the heavy window curtains are pulled back and the rays pouring in from the evening sun dance across the rows of silver plates and golden goblets and the entire room erupts into light. And he thinks of gaudy princes and princesses discussing the silliest of things in their ridiculous costumes, and tireless knights prowling the castle grounds in search of hidden marauders and ne'er-do-wells, and he thinks of royal balls that last until the first light of dawn pierces the sky when it’s still not quite morning but no longer night, and other such things that tickle a child’s heart.

After lunch, Malleus resumes showing Ortho around the castle. They start with a tour of the Imperial Guard’s training grounds out back, and they stay and watch for a while as the young recruits spar with some of the captains. Ortho almost thinks he should cheer on the recruits, since they might like the encouragement, but he also considers taking the side of the captains, since they are so spectacular with their flashy jabs and stunning parries. The captains ultimately prove victorious, and as they turn to greet the prince, the sight of the small, fiery-haired boy clapping enthusiastically next to him perplexes them more than anything else they’ve seen the past few months.

Then Malleus takes Ortho to the highest of the watchtowers, where they can see the church’s spires jutting up not too far in the distance. And then he takes him to the castle archives and the library and Malleus’s private study. Ortho is especially fascinated by the library, and they spend hours going through ancient spell books and history books and collections of Briar Valley fiction and poetry. So many of these texts have never made it outside the small nation, and Ortho uncovers books about species of fae he’s never even heard of, and books written in languages he’s never even seen. He drinks it all in with sparkling eyes and toothy smiles. In his eagerness, he accidentally tips over a heavy bookshelf while attempting to extract one of its paper treasures, and Malleus laughs so hard that his eyes water when the boy ends up buried under a mountain of leatherbound tomes.

The heavy wooden doors of the library close behind them with a loud bang as they leave. They only make it a few steps before Ortho reaches out and tugs on Malleus’s arm.

“May we go see your rose garden now?”

Malleus blinks. “My… what?”

“Your rose garden! All the travel guides I downloaded mentioned it. They say it’s one of the greatest wonders of the valley, and that you can see it all the way from the forests that border the castle town.”

Ortho notices the frown forming on Malleus’s face and asks, “Don’t tell me something happened to it?”

Malleus sighs. “Indeed. Sadly, the whole garden was destroyed when we had that bad snowstorm not too long ago.”

“Bad snowstorm…” Ortho closes his eyes for a moment as he thinks. “Wait, I remember that! You mean that monster blizzard that struck Briar Valley over a hundred years ago? People were calling it the storm of the century!”

With a solemn nod, Malleus replies, “I do believe that was the one. …Has it really been a hundred years already? I suppose I just haven’t gotten around to fixing it up yet.”

In truth, he’d considered rebuilding his garden more than once, but he never could bring himself to do it. All the seed packets his grandmother’s been giving him for his birthday the past century have yet to be opened, and they lie buried deep within one of the chests in his room.

A week after that awful blizzard tore through their small nation, he and his grandmother gathered together around the dining table for the first time that winter. They both shivered as they ate, and at one point she looked out the window and murmured something about his “poor roses, the dear things”. Malleus was shocked. He hadn’t even remembered to go check if his flowers had made it through the storm. He’d stopped tending to them sometime after Sebek’s death. It was a gradual thing. He’d water them less often - once a week instead of twice, and then once a month, and then not at all. And then he forgot to tell the servants to purchase more fertilizer when his supplies were getting low. And then he didn’t bother deadheading the bushes in the fall. And then he just stopped going to the garden altogether.

There are times when he’ll wonder, where had that gentleness that Lilia had once spoken of, that love in his heart gone? Had that vengeful snowstorm ripped it from his chest and scattered it to the winds together with his roses? Or had it withered and died and returned to the earth alongside Silver and Sebek’s worn and ashen bodies? Or had it been stolen from his heart long ago, had Lilia taken it with him as he climbed those great mountains, up higher and higher, beyond the radiant clouds and into a world he wasn’t yet ready to journey to?

And there are other times where he’ll go look at the skeletal remains of his garden and he’ll wonder if those rumors about him being detached and apathetic and cold were true. He knew many in Briar Valley believed so. He knew they’d hesitate to even speak of him, as though his name were an ill omen. And he did not blame them. His love was never anything flashy or obvious, was never as bright and as brilliant as the shy half-smiles that Silver would reserve for his father.

No, Malleus’s love was soft and quiet, the glass of his heart opaque, not clear. It was often timid, often awkward, but his love was always there. Even now, even if he could no longer detect its gentle thrum coursing through his veins, his was still the love of that lonely little boy who’d hold his ear against the warm mass of his rose bushes and listen as the flowers revealed to him their perfect wisdom.

And the people he cherished in his heart of hearts were his roses, too. All of them – Lilia, Silver, and Sebek, his parents and his grandmother, and his dear friends from school. To try and rebuild his garden - to press those expectant seeds into the wet earth and wait for the tiny buds to emerge into the light of a January day, to look with bated breath for the sepals to fold open and reveal the sacred pink gems held tightly within their green grasps, to awaken to the sound of the cardinals heralding Spring’s arrival and race to the garden while the sky is still yawning off the night’s indigo embrace and to rejoice at last at the first newborn blooms - it felt blasphemous, like summoning the dead back to life. And his heart was simply too dark and too heavy still for such a thing.

Malleus watches silently as the light of excitement rapidly fades from Ortho’s eyes, and he snuffs out the last dim sparks with a shake of his head.

Ortho sighs. “Well, it’s too bad I couldn’t see your garden, Malleus Draconia. It always looked so beautiful in those pictures I saw. But I’m glad at least the castle and the town and everything made it through the storm okay.”

They resume walking, and Ortho decides privately not to mention the garden again.

Later, after the lilac night had blanketed the valley once more and a calm hush had fallen over the castle, Malleus stalks through the dark halls trying to shake off his restlessness. He passes by Ortho’s room and can hear him murmuring through the closed door. It sounds like he’s talking to someone, but Malleus can’t imagine whom. He hovers at the door for a moment, and then he continues on, not wanting to disturb the boy.

IV.

The next morning, Ortho and Malleus are to have breakfast with the Queen. Ortho wakes up early so he can hook up his oral intake unit in time, and he opens the windows before setting to work. The sun has just barely risen, and the sky is a pleasant gradient of pinks and oranges and yellows and blues. The chilly air is abuzz with thrushes and chiffchaffs singing their daily praises, and the loud cries of haughty wrens undercut the performance. March was in full swing in the valley, and before long the chorus would be joined by the excited twitter of the goldfinches and the sugar sweet call of the willow warblers as spring rolled on.

Just as Ortho finishes equipping his unit, Malleus knocks on his door and softly asks, “Little Shroud, are you ready?”

Ortho answers, “Yes!” and he goes to join Malleus in the hallway. They walk to the dining room together in comfortable silence. Ortho stayed up late last night, gripped with an innocent mixture of nervousness and excitement, but he’s still bright-eyed and brimming with energy. He knows very well that few outsiders are lucky enough to get invited to Briar Valley’s royal castle, and that even fewer still get to receive an audience with the Queen.

Two servants standing before the dining room pull the heavy doors open for them, and they go to where the Queen is waiting for them at the head of the table. She rises from her seat as they approach.

Ortho bows deeply, just as he’d practiced the night before, and says, “It’s an honor to meet you, your Majesty. Thank you so much for permitting me to come here.”

The Queen smiles. “And I thank you for accepting my dear grandson’s invitation. I hope you’ve been enjoying your stay.”

Ortho confirms that he has, and then he looks up and studies her face. The Draconia family’s resemblance is plain to see. She and Malleus have the same bright green eyes, long, black hair, and those sharp fangs that peek out when they smile. Only the thin crow’s feet around her eyes and the slight gauntness of her high cheek bones betray the difference in their ages. She’s a good head shorter than Malleus, but her presence is so much more intimidating. Malleus’s great aura feels like an April shower in comparison to the tempest of energy emanating from her body, and it takes every ounce of Ortho’s willpower not to crumple to the floor when she goes to shake his small hand.

The Queen bids them to sit, and they all take their seats, with her at the head of the table and Ortho and Malleus flanking her on either side. Bowls filled with wax-white sausages floating in steaming water sit before them. A gorgeous, herbal scent - a dazzling mixture of cardamom, mace, parsley, lemon, and other more deeply buried smells - wafts from the bowls. Their plates are decorated with large dollops of dark brown mustard, along with a number of soft, golden pretzels. A crimson-colored juice of some sort swims placidly in their goblets.

Malleus takes his fork and deposits some of the sausages onto his plate. “They’re filled with very finely ground veal and bacon - made from pork loin, rather than pork belly. Poached just long enough for the meat to turn this greyish-white color. They’re one of Briar Valley’s specialties,” he explains.

He waits for Ortho to fill up his own plate, and then continues, “The skin is edible, but we typically don’t eat it. Just take your fork and knife and cut the sausage open lengthwise, and then peel back the skin and eat the meat. And do be sure to try the mustard.”

The explanation finished, Malleus and the Queen take their cutlery in hand and begin to eat. Ortho watches how they expertly incise the sausage casings and extract the white meat as though they were performing surgery. He picks up his own fork and knife and tries to copy their nimble movements as he slices open the fibrous skin. He is pleased to find the meat tastes just as delicious as it smells, and his mouth pulls up into a smile from the rich blend of spices.

Ortho next dips a piece of sausage in the grainy mustard and gingerly takes a bite. He gasps at how sweet it is - he’d been expecting something spicy. It’s nearly too sweet, but only just nearly, and in a strange way he can’t explain, the sugary flavor perfectly complements the savory meat. He eagerly dips another piece of sausage in the mustard and brings it to his mouth, and then another, and another.

The Queen laughs at the boy’s exuberance. “Please take your time, my dear. There’s plenty more where that came from, and if you’d like another serving, just let one of the waitstaff know.”

Ortho begins to reply, but quickly remembers his mouth is full of food, and he shoots his hand over his mouth in embarrassment as he nods. He takes a sip of the juice and considers the flavor for a moment – it’s a pure, bright blend of various kinds of wild berries and other fruit, and the cool liquid somehow invigorates his appetite even more.

As Ortho sets to work on the pretzels, the Queen finally begins her questioning.

“Malleus tells me you went to school together at Night Raven College. I’d been envisioning someone a tad older when he told me that, so I was quite surprised to see just how young you are. I take it your species must age slowly, like ours does?”

Ortho chews contemplatively on his pretzel. “It’s not that I age slowly, it’s just that my appearance doesn’t really change as time goes on. I guess you could say?”

“Oh, really? My, how very interesting.” She takes a sip from her goblet, and her pointed tongue darts out to capture the stray drops trying to escape down her lips. “He also told me you hale from the Isle of Grief, from the Shroud clan. Is your family doing well these days? I haven’t heard from Zephyr in quite a while.”

“Ah,” Ortho says, but then closes his mouth. He’s not sure if it would be impolite to tell the Queen that Zephyr Shroud had passed away four decades ago, and that someone new is leading the family now. He pushes around the last piece of sausage on his plate as he searches for the safest answer. “The Shroud family is doing well. We…. recently got a new clan head, and she sends her greetings.”

The Queen continues, “I see. Please do send her my thanks and well wishes in return. And I hate to pry….” (Ortho privately thinks she does not) “…but are you involved at all with Styx’s operations, by any chance?

“They make my equipment for me, and I help run security at their headquarters, but I’m not involved in their research, no.”

“I see, I see. Good, yes, that’s good.” She nods, but Ortho can’t tell if the gesture is directed at him or herself. She pushes her empty plate away and folds her hands on her lap. Ortho sees a glimmer of hope, and he thinks this strange and awkward conversation might soon come to an end. But all his hopes are dashed when the Queen turns and asks one of the servants for two more bowls of sausage and another plate of pretzels. “Now, what do you mean by “equipment” exactly? And I noticed you hardly seem to have any traces of magic about you. How were you able to attend Night Raven College, may I ask? And is your hair actually on fire? I’ve always wanted to ask your family’s clan leaders, but it slips my mind whenever I see them, and I don’t remember until they’ve already passed. It’s as though each time I blink, you’ve got someone new in charge!” She finishes with a curt laugh, and her bright green eyes bore into Ortho expectantly.

Ortho glances across the table and gives Malleus a plaintive look, but he is seemingly far too engrossed in his pretzels to offer any help.

After breakfast, the Queen excuses herself to go attend to some royal matter or other, and Ortho and Malleus quickly retreat to the library. They wander up and down the rows of shelves for a while, only half paying attention to the books they pull out and flip through. When they happen to meander towards the same shelf and meet in the middle of the aisle, at last they talk, having recuperated enough for conversation.

Ortho starts first, and he exhales like a pierced tire. “That was…. Intense.”

Malleus sighs, as well. “Yes, my grandmother can be quite… severe in her inquisitiveness. I do apologize if she made you uncomfortable at all.”

“Oh, it’s alright. I remember my mom used to drill me and my big brother like that whenever we came home for the holidays, so it was kind of fun, in a way.” Ortho smiles to himself reservedly, as though recalling some precious secret.

“Anyways,” he continues, “I wish my big brother could’ve been here. I’m sure he would’ve loved to meet the Queen.”

Malleus raises an eyebrow. “You really think so? I always had the impression he wasn’t a very sociable fellow.”

Ortho laughs. “You’re right, he wasn’t. But her Majesty resembles a character from an anime he really liked, and I bet he would’ve gotten a kick out of meeting her.”

Malleus isn’t sure whether his grandmother has just been gravely insulted or highly praised, and so he resigns to simply hum in agreement. He tries to imagine how a meeting between the two would even look, but the image refuses to form, his brain balking at him like a stubborn horse. He gropes through a haze of hundreds and hundreds of years of memories and tries to conjure the elder Shroud’s face in his mind, but all he sees is a blur of white skin and blue hair and sharp teeth.

Finally, he looks over to Ortho and slowly admits, “You know, I can’t quite… seem to recall how he looked…”

Ortho flashes him a reassuring smile in return. “That’s okay, I will assist you.”

Some part of Ortho’s body emits a beep, and then his chest plates slide back to reveal a black lens at their center. Before Malleus can ask what he’s doing, the lens turns from black to bright white, and now Idia Shroud himself is standing before them. He’s dressed in the navy-blue coat with the white triangles down the sleeves that he’d always wear at Night Raven College, and his long, fiery hair undulates like waves around him.

For a moment, Malleus is stunned. And then his stupefaction quickly melts into hot anger. Necromancy is strictly forbidden amongst his people, and by no means will he permit this black magic in his own home.

“Wretched spirit!” he snarls. Dark emerald green energy swirls around him, and he raises a glowing hand towards Idia. The books piled around them fly open and the bookshelves begin to shake as a whirlwind of paper dances around the room.

Ortho runs between Malleus and his brother and waves his hands frantically as he shouts, “No, no, no wait! It’s just a hologram, Malleus Draconia! It’s not a ghost, it’s okay!”

Malleus’s slit pupils dart between the two brothers. He tries to focus on Idia for as long as his rage allows, and at last he notices the miniscule dust particles passing through the beams of light that make up the specter’s body. Malleus lowers his hand and dispels his built-up magic with a shake of his arm, and Ortho sighs in relief as he watches the green sparks dissipate into the air. The airborne books crash to the floor a moment later.

Malleus says quietly, more so to himself than to Ortho, “My apologies, I thought you’d…” He doesn’t trust himself to finish the sentence. He knows just speaking the words would stoke his wrath again.

Ortho quickly scans Malleus’s vitals and blot accumulation levels, and he can feel the tension seep from his own body once he confirms the storm of danger has passed. He looks over and sees Malleus staring at the floor, working his jaw in contemplation. Ortho waits for him to speak again.

Finally, Malleus plucks one of the thoughts swirling around in his mind, and he asks, “Can you… Can you project the other students, as well?”

Ortho nods, and the lens in his chest whirs for a moment before the room suddenly fills with a crowd of figures. Malleus scans the familiar faces. There’s Deuce Spade and Ace Trappola and the Child of Man together by one of the windows. There’s Leona Kingscholar, frozen in the middle of a yawn, surrounded by his pack members. And there’s Vil Schoenheit, a compact mirror in one hand, his other paused midair as he fusses with some miniscule imperfection in his mascara that even Malleus’s fae eyesight couldn’t ever hope to uncover. And then he sees them. They’re standing together in the corner of the room.

Malleus takes a step forward, and then stops.

“Do they… Can you make them move?”

“Yes, by taking the footage I recorded while at school and running it through one of my AI programs, I can configure the holograms to perform pretty much any action you can imagine. I can also simulate their voices, if you’d like.”

Malleus opens his mouth as if to speak, and then he closes it again. He shakes his head and says, “Ah, no. No, that’s fine. I’m not even sure why I asked, please don’t mind me.” His gaze lingers on the three of them while he talks. He continues staring at that spot long after Ortho shuts his lens off.

The rest of the day passes in a blur. Malleus has a fitting to attend to, and then yet another rehearsal for the coronation. The servants hurry and fuss around him like honeybees on a wildflower as they double-check and then triple-check their measurements. He slowly disappears underneath the long bands of white measuring tape, and Ortho tries his best to stifle his laughter while he watches, looking away guiltily whenever a surreptitious giggle escapes his lips. But Malleus doesn’t pay him any bother; his mind is too focused on other things.

The holograms have been haunting him all morning. He sees them when he looks into the mirror, he feels their presence when he’s alone. They’re always at the corner of his eye, always just out of arm’s reach. As though taunting him. He wonders if they plague him so because of how real they looked. He had seen movies projected onto screens before, and he still remembers the ghastly window projections Lilia would dig out every Halloween. But that footage was always so grainy, so dull and lifeless. The holograms that Ortho had conjured earlier were deceptively vibrant, they had breathed. They were alive. If Malleus had reached out and touched them, he scarcely doubts he’d have felt warm flesh under his hands.

The murmurs of the servants around him pull him from his thoughts, and he is gradually befreed from the prison of safety pins and sewing needles and measuring tape and color swatches. He turns slowly as he hears someone approaching, half dreading it might be another radiant phantom coming to vex him.

“Malleus Draconia, I’ve been detecting a delay in your response speed since this morning, as well as periods of increased heart rate. Is something on your mind?”

Malleus’s shoulders sag in relief. With a sigh, he answers, “Ah, it’s just you, Little Shroud. No, I’m fine. I’ve just been preoccupied with the preparations is all.”

Ortho smiles with all the innocence of a lamb. His barracuda teeth glint portentously. “…Did anyone ever tell you I can detect lies?”

“I am not-“

A chambermaid interrupts to ask if Malleus is ready to start the rehearsal, and he gratefully follows her to the throne room. He hears Ortho walking behind him. He tries to ignore the second set of footsteps he knows isn’t really there.

The cool reprieve of night is accompanied by a sudden rainstorm, and Ortho excuses himself to his room at the first crack of thunder. The blinding marks left behind by the lightning raking its great claws across the sky still terrify him after all these years, and he closes the windows and draws the curtains shut, not wanting to look at those awful flashes of light.

Later, Malleus passes by his room during his usual nighttime stroll, and he again hears Ortho’s excited voice floating through the wooden door. He stands there listening for a few minutes, and then finally knocks on the door. He asks loudly, over the pouring rain, if he might come in, and Ortho shouts back, “Of course!”

When Malleus opens the door, he sees Ortho reclining on his bed, and Idia Shroud sitting in a chair nearby. Malleus groans and closes his eyes, shaking his head. But Idia is still there when he opens his eyes, and he takes a hesitant step back.

“What’s wrong, Malleus Draconia?” Ortho asks wide-eyed, looking between his brother and Malleus. “Is my hologram bothering you again? Here, I’ll turn it off.” The apparition disappears without a sound, and Malleus takes a shuddering breath.

“My apologies, I just wasn’t sure if he was really…” Malleus shakes his head again. “No, it’s fine. What were you doing just now? I thought I heard you talking with someone.”

Ortho sits up and hangs his legs over the bed. “Oh, I was just talking with my big brother.” He watches as Malleus’s usually stern face scrunches up in confusion, and stifles back a laugh.

In his stupefaction, Malleus blurts, “And what were you talking to him about?”

“All sorts of stuff! I was telling him about our breakfast with the queen, and all the cool books we found in the library. Oh! And I’ve been showing him all the pictures and videos I’ve been taking so far.”

Malleus thinks for a moment. “Ah, so when I heard you speaking with someone in your room the other night…”

Ortho nods. “I was just talking to my big brother, yeah.”

“I see,” Malleus breathes out. And then, quietly, he murmurs, “I see… That’s quite surprising.”

“What do you mean?” Ortho asks.

“I suppose I hadn’t expected a robot to be able to be so sentimental, missing your brother and talking to his photo like that.”

“I mean, of course I miss him! But there’s nothing in my programming that makes me feel this way. It comes from my heart, the same as you.”

Malleus blanches. “You have… a heart? The literal organ, you mean?”

“Erm, no.” Ortho winces. “You see I’ve got this magical circuitry onboard and-”

“And there it is again,” Malleus sighs.

“What?”

Malleus crosses his arms. “To me, you have always been a very confusing amalgamation of machinery and human. And I fear I shan’t ever understand exactly what you are.”

During his time at Night Raven College, Malleus had only ever heard fragmentary rumors about the Shroud brothers. The other students would whisper that something terrible had befallen their family in the past, and that Idia had created the little robot in his grief. But neither of the brothers had ever offered to divulge their past to Malleus, and he never asked them to. He kept many things close to his heart, and he respected others who wished to do the same.

“Well,” Ortho says as he folds his hands in his lap. He stares at them for a moment, and after looking back up at Malleus, he continues, “I can try and explain it to you, if you’d like.”

“Only if you don’t mind, I don’t wish to pry.”

Ortho shuffles further down the bed and pats the empty space next to him, and Malleus sits down.

Ortho takes a deep breath, and then begins, “Well, this story starts a really long time ago. There were these two brothers named Idia Shroud and Ortho Shroud, and they always dreamed of going on adventures together…”

Malleus leans over, trying to grasp onto the shaky whispers that spill from his mouth like a confession. He had always thought of Ortho’s voice as bright and animated, like the titter of a goldfinch on a summer morning. But now, for the first time, as he listens to the boy talk, he finds his voice is very small. It’s as though his words have been crushed and shattered, the fine bits and pieces sent adrift like dust in the wind. He notices for the first time, too, just how small Ortho is, he notices the smallness of his hands. Is this not but a child’s body shivering hesitantly beside his? Is this not but a child’s tiny hand gripping nervously onto his own? For him to be carrying such an endless ocean of sorrow inside of him, how has he not drowned from its tremendous weight already? How has the earth not opened up and swallowed him whole, trapping him inside the same deep, dark pit that Malleus has been staring up from for centuries now?

The story comes together slowly, dripping like water, steadily taking shape like some great crystalline structure in a cavern long forgotten by time. And at long last, the pure light of revelation dawns before Malleus’s eyes. With a gasp, he tells the boy he understands now. Yes, that secret truth that has stood unnoticed before him for half a millennium, that has always slipped by him unheard, like a distant cry swallowed by the winds - now he sees it, now he hears it. Now he finally understands.

Exhausted, Ortho closes his eyes and sinks into the bed.

Malleus reaches out and cups Ortho’s cheek in his hand. A dim warmth emanates from the synthetic skin. As he sits there in the cold darkness, he wonders and wonders just what haunts the boy in his electric dreams.

The rainstorm fades away into the black night as quickly as it had appeared. The next morning, the sun rises sluggishly, as though weighed down by the lingering dampness that hangs heavy in the air. The dawn chorus, as well, lacks its usual fervor, and only the intermittent cries of a distant blackbird accompany the horizon’s slow transition from black to red to blue.

If Ortho had been at all bothered by their conversation last night, he does not show it. He greets Malleus cheerfully when they sit down for breakfast, and they discuss only the drab weather and what plans they have for the day. When Ortho asks if he might accompany Malleus on his morning rounds, he readily agrees.

First on Malleus’s agenda is a violin recital. Sometimes he will perform for his grandmother, and he used to enjoy showing off a piece or two for Lilia, but as of late he’s been playing for only himself. The usual forlornness of the music room is somewhat stifled now that he has Ortho with him, and he searches for a chair the boy can use. Ortho watches him, shifting speculatively from one foot to another.

After Malleus locates a second chair and goes to take his seat before the music stand, Ortho timidly asks, “Remember when we were talking yesterday after your fitting, and that maid came and interrupted us?”

“…Yes?” Malleus replies, pausing as he picks up his violin case.

“Well, I still want to know if you’re doing okay. I keep detecting irregularities in your adrenaline and cortisol levels.”

“I assure you, I’m quite fine.” Malleus puts on his best smile as he unlocks the case and takes out his instrument. The smooth blend of maple and spruce feels reassuring in his hands, and he sets his jaw as he begins his tuning. “Now hush for a moment, please. I need to focus.” Ortho acquiesces, and he dutifully goes to sit in the corner of the room. The violin’s mournful voice somehow dissolves the tension that had been sitting uncomfortably in Ortho’s body since that morning, and as Malleus decisively strikes his bow across the pearl white strings for the final, piercing note, a firm resolve solidifies in its place.

Next is a morning meeting with the royal council, and Ortho resumes his endeavors while they walk to the council chamber. He breaks into a trot to keep up with Malleus’s long strides.

“Talking things out can help you feel better, you know!” Ortho implores.

“And that would be lovely,” Malleus huffs through gritted teeth, “- if only I needed to feel better!”

The servants passing by wonder to themselves if the boy is purely brazen, or if he’s just ignorant. They watch as the black column of their prince stalks faster and faster down the hallway, unable to shake off the white and blue speck following him.

The council meeting provides a short reprieve from Ortho’s questioning, and Malleus listens eagerly as the advisors, merchants, secretaries, and other council members take turns giving their rambling reports. The meetings were one of Malleus’s greatest delights; he was always eager to hear how things were going outside the castle, and the merchants would often bring back fascinating stories of what they’d seen during their travels. Most of the members pay no heed to the small boy sitting quietly next to the prince, but Ortho catches some of them glancing his way. Their blue and green and yellow eyes remind him of cat’s eyes marbles, and he admires how they catch the light. He ducks his head whenever they notice him staring.

Malleus’s excitement quickly disperses together with the conclusion of the meeting, and Ortho, in turn, swells up again with curiosity. The other council members file out of the room first, some of them still quibbling and grumbling over the issues they’d been discussing, and Malleus and Ortho bring up the rear. Ortho tugs on Malleus’s sleeve after they pour into the hallway.

“Are you-”

“I’m fine!”

For the rest of the morning, Ortho clings to him like a shadow, his perturbations hanging over Malleus’s head like circling buzzards. No matter how many times Malleus shoos him away, no matter how fiercely he glares, no matter how much venom he tries to inject into his refutations, the boy simply flutters back to his side moments later, as unbothered as a dandelion on the wind. Even teleporting to another part of the castle proves fruitless – Ortho’s location systems keep tracking him down within a matter of minutes.

Finally, around noon, Ortho corners him in Malleus’s study. He asks once more, “Are you sure there isn’t anything bothering you?”

Malleus sets down the book he’d been hiding behind and sighs. “You really aren’t going to let up until I talk to you, I suppose?”

“Nope!” Ortho grins.

“You’re truly vexing, you know that?” Malleus replies, a tired smile pulling at his lips. He gestures to a nearby chair, and Ortho sits down.

“Very well then. If you must know, it’s because of those…” He waves a hand in the air as he searches for the word. “Those holograms you showed me yesterday. I can’t stop thinking about them, for whatever reason. I don’t know if it’s just because I haven’t seen photos of them for so long or…”

“Them?”

It takes Malleus a moment to coax the names out of his mouth. “…Lilia, Silver, and Sebek.”

Ortho nods his head. “Oh, yeah. I remember you were really close to them.”

“Yes, they were like family to me…” Malleus murmurs, trailing off in thought. He licks his lips and asks, “…Does it not… Does it not make you sad, seeing your brother’s picture? And talking to him as you do?”

Ortho shakes his head. “It’s perfectly normal to feel uncomfortable when looking at pictures of your deceased loved ones. I just happen to be one of those people who doesn’t. And when I talk to my big brother, it helps me feel close to him. Everyone processes grief in different ways, after all.”

“Grief?” Malleus scoffs. “It’s been ages since they passed. Why would I still be grieving? It’s not like I hole myself in my room all the time, sulking about.”

“That’s not…” Ortho frowns. “Grief isn’t always loud and in your face. Sometimes… Sometimes it can be really quiet.”

“Mm,” Malleus sighs. He was familiar with that sort of quiet grief, the kind that would strike him faster than a cottonmouth, usually on still mornings or hushed nights, when his loneliness was at its most palpable. It always felt like an ambush, the way it would suddenly materialize in his heart like a rainstorm on a clear day. It was not like the burning, bone deep sorrow that had gripped his body after Lilia left, and neither was it suffocating, like how he’d felt at Silver and Sebek’s funerals. But it hurt him just the same.

“And how exactly does talking with his pict- his hologram make you feel better?” Malleus asks, genuinely curious.

“So my big brother and I had always wanted to travel the world together- Well, more like I wanted to get him out of his room, for once.” Ortho laughs, and Malleus smirks.

“But anyways, we never ended up being able to travel much since he was stuck dealing with Styx stuff most of the time. That’s why I like to talk to him and tell him about the places I go to, and the things I see. I know it doesn’t make up for the memories we never got to make together, but that hologram kind of helps me process all the stuff I regret not being able to do with him.”

“I see.”

Ortho takes his lower lip into his mouth and nibbles it pensively. “Is there anything you regret not being able to do with Lilia Vanrouge and the others?”

Malleus nods gravely. “Of course, for I never got to… Lilia was already gone by the time Silver and I arrived at his farewell party, and that has always weighed heavily on my mind. I know there’s nothing I can do about that now, but… I still would’ve liked to have at least spent one last night together with everyone.”

Malleus opens his mouth to continue speaking, and then closes it again. Ortho waits patiently, watching as Malleus furrows his brows in thought.

Finally, Malleus continues, “…I wished desperately, perhaps more so than anyone else at Night Raven College, to have the kinds of school experiences I’d always read about. I wished to have study sessions with my classmates, to go visit my friends and stay up late talking with them, to go to parties and other social gatherings… And yet, when I finally received the party invitation I’d always longed for, I didn’t even go. I still marvel at my foolishness to this day.” He finishes with a shake of his head.

Ortho crosses his arms and closes his eyes. “Hmm… I might be able to assist you with that. Could we reserve the castle’s ballroom tonight?”

Malleus blinks. “That shouldn’t be a problem… But why?”

“You’ll see!”

Later that night, after Ortho explains his plan, he instructs Malleus to go put on his old house warden uniform. It’s been ages since he last wore it, and the fabric feels alien to him. He tugs at his collar and fiddles with his gloves and fingers the lining of his coat, as restless as a snake eager to shed its skin. Even standing before the mirror, it feels like he’s looking at someone else, like the pale, awkward face staring back at him belongs to some unfortunate stranger. He clicks his tongue and turns to make his way to the ballroom. Ortho greets him when he passes through the towering doors.

“Now, it consumes a lot of battery power for me to run so much footage through this specific AI program all at once. I’ll probably be able to display the holograms for about two hours before I’ll need to stop. Okay?”

“Yes, that’s alright. I don’t imagine this will go on for very long, anyways.”

Ortho glides up to the gallery on the second floor, and he turns to face the dance floor. The plates in his chest once again unfurl to reveal the lens of his built-in projector, and in the blink of an eye, the ballroom is filled with the glimmering holograms of their old Night Raven College classmates.

“Is everything okay? May I start the music?” Ortho shouts from the gallery.

Malleus stills his nerves with a deep breath. “Go ahead!” he calls out, and the ballroom’s speakers start thrumming a moment later. At once, all the holograms turn and look up at him expectantly. Even from where he’s standing atop the stairs, he can easily pick out Silver, Sebek, and Lilia’s white faces peering at him from the crowd. Silver steps forward and offers his hand. Malleus rushes down the stairs and takes it.

The first few steps are awkward and offbeat. Again and again, Malleus moves his hands or feet too close to the hologram’s body, and his limbs pierce through the projected light like a clumsy blade. He winces, both at his inability to perform a simple waltz, and at the sight of his fingers halfway embedded in Silver’s waist. Eventually, Malleus figures out that if he counts the steps, it’s easier for him to move while hovering his hands just above Silver’s body. One, two, three, one, two, three, one, two, three. Their steps finally line up with the beat, and they glide across the dance floor with confidence and surety.

For the first time that night, Malleus smiles, and Silver smiles back. How he ached to pluck that smile off the boy’s face and safekeep it in his pocket forever! Alas, all he can do is drop one arm and raise the other, signaling Silver to turn. He watches silently as Silver twirls beneath him, and their hands rejoin at the next step. After a few minutes, the music swells – it’s time for the swap.

Silver swings away and takes his father’s outstretched hand, while Sebek separates from Epel to come join Malleus. Malleus almost wants to turn around, to just stop right there and simply watch Silver and Lilia dance, but Sebek’s brilliant smile captivates him like nothing else. They move quickly, with Malleus leading the way, and Sebek forceful and heavy in his movements. Where Silver was reserved, Sebek is thunderous, and Malleus laughs as they whirl and race across the dance floor. When the music finally swells again, Sebek hands off Malleus to Lilia with a bow.

Malleus again fumbles for a few moments, having to adjust to Lilia’s much shorter height. He curses as his one hand shoots right through Lilia’s face and the other cuts through his shoulder. After a couple of hesitant steps, he at last finds his rhythm once more, and they move leisurely to the steady thrum of the music.

Like a pair of jubilant cranes declaring their great love, like the push and pull of the moon and the ocean’s tides, they take turns leading and following one another. The throng of students parts before them, clearing a path for the two to drift down. As the song races on, more and more couples stop to watch them, and soon it’s just Malleus and Lilia floating across the dance floor. Malleus can feel their eyes boring into him, but he doesn’t care. He has been bewitched. He grows more and more drunk on every turn, every dip, every carefully placed step and dizzying revolution. The floor disappears underneath him; the ballroom fades away. There is only him and Lilia and the music. Rapture’s final trumpet could’ve sounded in that moment and he wouldn’t have noticed.

As the last, winsome notes of the song gradually fade away, Lilia reaches up and ruffles Malleus’s head, and Malleus closes his eyes. For nearly five hundred long years he has lived trapped underneath the immovable weight of his sorrow. He has beaten his fists against it and kicked it and raked his claws down its sides, he has wailed and screamed and roared until his voice grew hoarse, he has cursed Heaven and Hell and begged for salvation from both, but he was never able to get it to even budge. The past few days, he finally felt it starting to shift. And just now, when that small hand he so desperately yearned to feel the touch of had reached out to him, it nearly disintegrated on the spot.

Finally, the song ends, the air stills, the spell is broken. Malleus opens his eyes, and the world reforms before him. He raises his hand and rubs his head where Lilia had touched him. He had almost felt it, almost felt those familiar, thin fingers running through his hair. Maybe if they just start the song over and go through the dance again, he’ll feel it next time.

“Little Shroud!” Malleus cries. “Please! Do it once more!”

“Okay!” Ortho yells from above, and the song begins again. The holograms disappear for a moment, and then reappear in their starting positions a second later. Malleus retreats to the top of the staircase. Then he turns around and takes Silver’s hand.

This time, there is no awkwardness, no clumsy missteps or fumbling movements. Malleus and Silver spin with all the grace of a courting swan, he and Sebek whirl as determined as a maelstrom. When Sebek releases him into Lilia’s arms, he handles the transition with ease, his hands finding their correct positions all on their own.

Yes, this time, when Lilia goes to pat his head, there is the slightest hint of the cool fabric of Lilia’s gloves ghosting over his skin. And as Lilia pulls his hand away, a scent not unlike one Malleus has smelled a thousand times before washes over him – it’s sharp like iron, and musky and sweet like jessamine. He’d always thought it fitting that Lilia smelled that way. The canary yellow bells that adorn jessamine vines were often mistaken for honeysuckle, and many a thirsty child had fallen paralyzed to the forest floor after drinking its sugary nectar. Its sweet smell was both a warning and a temptation, and Malleus found it purely intoxicating. He breathes in the air greedily.

Oh, if they could just try again! Surely, he’ll feel that hand’s tender caress next time!

“Little Shroud!”

Ortho restarts the music and resets the holograms again. And again and again, for hours on end. As the night marches on and the firefly lights of the stars begin to dot the sky, Ortho ignores the high-pitched beeping of his low battery alert.

It takes a few minutes for Malleus to realize the holograms have vanished. He’d been keeping his eyes squeezed tightly shut as he twirled Silver around the dance floor. When he finally opens his eyes, ready to take Sebek’s hand next, he sees only the dark, empty ballroom.

“Little Shroud!” he calls out, and then louder, when he doesn’t get a response, “Ortho!”

He teleports up to the gallery and finds the boy sprawled out on the floor, his eyes closed. He goes to check for a pulse, chiding himself once he realizes his simpleminded error. He flips Ortho onto his stomach and searches for the battery indicator light the boy had mentioned before, and he sees it blinking an angry red.

Malleus lets out the breath he’d been holding with a hiss, and he gathers Ortho into his arms. He staggers as he rises from the ground, the boy’s small frame proving much heavier than it belies.

He takes Ortho back to the guest room and deposits him on the bed. He fumbles as he hooks up the charging cable to the port on the boy’s back. Nothing happens at first, and Malleus worries that he’s done something wrong, but then a voice sounds out, “Time Until Full Charge: 3 hours and 42 minutes”, and a faint, green light begins to glow near the battery port. Ortho’s eyes open a moment later.

Malleus peers over him as he asks, “Little Shroud, are you alright? Can you hear my voice?”

“Malleus… Draconia…?” Ortho blinks a few times, and then sits up. “…Yes, all my systems are operational. According to my memory dump files, it appears I crashed due to a critically low battery. I’ll be good to go as long as I fully charge my battery tonight.”

“Ah, thank goodness…” Malleus exhales, relieved. “I do apologize, I was so absorbed in my own whims I lost track of time. I shouldn’t have put you in danger like that.”

Ortho looks away. “It’s okay... and I’m sorry, too.”

“For what?” Malleus asks, confused.

“I was trying to give you one last night together with everyone, but I went and ruined the whole thing…”

“You didn’t ruin anything!” Malleus exclaims, and then he clears his throat. Quietly, he continues, “You didn’t ruin anything. You gave me something I wasn’t aware my heart desperately needed. And I thank you sincerely for it.”

“Mm,” Ortho mumbles, only half listening. He blinks rapidly and looks around the room - at the door, at the bookcase, at the bedside table. Everywhere except at Malleus.

Malleus frowns. “Is something the matter?”

“I guess I just… I don’t know.” Ortho lets out a shaky sigh. “When I saw you dancing with those holograms, you looked so happy. And that made me really happy, too. But then I started thinking, you’re my last friend from NRC, right? One day, you’re going to be just another hologram to me, same as everybody else...” He brings his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around his legs. It reminds Malleus of how Silver and Sebek would look when they got upset as children, and a feeling he can’t find the name for begins prickling in his chest.

Perhaps encouraged, perhaps despaired, Ortho’s words pour out faster and faster. “I never asked my big brother to make me, but he did. And then he just up and left me behind. Everybody does. And there’s nothing I can do about it…”

His voice shrinks to a whisper. “…I guess I just don’t like that I never got any say in the matter.”

Ortho clears his throat, and then a heavy sob wracks his small body. The tears he’d been fighting so hard to hold back finally burst free and rush down his scrunched-up face. Malleus desperately wants to look away, but the moonlight reflecting off the boy’s tears paralyzes him.

He thinks back on all the times in his life when he had failed to comfort someone. He still remembers the night of Lilia’s departure with perfect clarity, he remembers the pure white of the snowflakes that fell on Silver’s face, how they mixed with the iridescent tears that spilled from his eyes, and how they melted from the warmth of his quiet sorrow. And he remembers the hard line of Sebek’s shoulder trembling under his hand at Silver’s funeral, he remembers how small the huge man had looked, crumpled over, folded in on himself, crushed under the immense weight of his endless grief.

And now he stands before this child who has wrenched back the heavy curtains of his heart and led him into the blinding light of the world for the first time in nearly half a millennium. At times, he viciously fought back against the small hand that guided him, refusing the open pastures before him like some forgotten creature long left to rot within the darkness of its cage. And at times, he was only eager to follow its gentle coaxing, desperate for even the slightest bit of reassurance that he really could escape the pit of his sorrows and the ground wouldn’t swallow him whole again.

Is there truly nothing he can do, nothing he can say to soothe the poor boy’s heart? Must he once again be rendered dumbfounded and dazed by those silent tears?

He decides this time will be different - it must be.

He sits down on the bed next to Ortho and takes some time to gather his words. After a couple seconds, he utters, “I see. Yes, I can certainly understand how you feel.”

“While I cannot say I agree with what your older brother did, I will say this...”

“When Lilia announced he was going to be raising a human child, I thought he had finally, truly lost his mind. I eventually figured out why he must’ve seen no problem with it, since he would far outlive the boy - he’d have his hands full for a couple of decades at most, and then be free to continue living his life as he pleased. I’m sure you can imagine what a shock it was when he ended up passing so much earlier than Silver did.”

“It wasn’t until I got older that I realized I had it all wrong. He must’ve known very well that he was going to die before Silver, and that’s precisely why he decided to take him in. For he knew that he couldn’t… He knew that he wasn’t strong enough to live in a world that had taken his heart away from him.”

“But he must’ve felt that I was strong enough, and that I can do what he could not. I suppose older generations always have such hopes for those who come after them.”

Ortho finally looks at him. He wipes the wet mess from his face and takes a deep breath. “Maybe my big brother felt the same way, that I’m strong enough…”

“Perhaps he did. I certainly think you are, at least.”

“…Thank you.”

Malleus stays with Ortho until his battery finishes charging. Ortho is due to return home the next morning, and they talk about all the things they saw and did together on his much too short visit. And then they talk about everything and nothing, about their memories from their time at school, about all the different people and things they missed, about all their budding hopes for the future. And finally, enveloped in the twilight darkness of that small room, they promise to always keep in touch.

They fall asleep to the sound of the cardinals heralding the dawn.

VI.

Malleus squints as walks with Ortho into the soft light of the courtyard. They stand still for a while, just listening to the gentle hum of the windchimes. The foul weather from the day prior has vanished, and the sun’s golden rays stretch triumphantly overhead. Ortho remarks that it somehow feels like it was both forever ago and only just a couple seconds ago since they last stood there, and Malleus quietly agrees.

He turns to Ortho and places his hand on the boy’s shoulder. It’s time for him to go home.

“And I will see you at the coronation?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world!”

“And you will let me know when you’ve made it back safely?”

“Yup, I’ll email you soon as I get back to the island. And then we can schedule a time to play some online chess together!”

Malleus smiles, and Ortho beams up at him in return. “Good. Take care, Little Shroud.”

“You, too, Malleus Draconia.”

As he watches the lights from Ortho’s propulsion system dissolve into the amber sea of the early morning sky, Malleus strokes his thumb across the packet of rose seeds in his pocket.

#malleus draconia #ortho shroud #twst silver #lilia vanrouge #sebek zigvolt #twisted wonderland #twst #txt

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