#chernabogs 💖💐

[rayroseu]

the fic captured all stages of grief perfectly OHMYGOODNESSJSDKFJK nothing like a good cry from malleyuu angst this fine thursday night,,,, 💚💚😭✨✨

OKAYY first off, the way i could just feel that you really think A LOT about briar valley lore because the worldbuilding here goes so beautifully, ITS DELECTABLE LIKE HELLOOO sin eaters at briar nation funeral??? GOES SO HARD ODSFMDSJ that is real and official as far as i know--- also love how each memory is separated in a meal/plate, and how significant the memory was, the more the story described the sin eater having a delicious meal ✨lowkey mean to malleus though, scops having michelin food experience while malleus is crying lol😭😭😔

and and the backstory between yuu and malleus,,,??? ASDFJDHFHEAD IN HANDS,,, Malleus having to listen to Yuu plan about their death even though theyre still together?? the way they cannot be married but they can still be together?? THESE LINES?? “We could not be married, and so I made sure they knew my devotion.” “Magic bends to my whims, but I bent to theirs.” 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

You really dont hold back in Malleus' love declarations, literally that whole paragraph, I reread it a lot to SAVOR the feeling 😭always love how you write the dialogues of malleus when he finally spills out what he feels LKSDJFKLDS its so poetic but still felt turbulent 😭✨💞

They stayed with me for a week, and I wished every night that the next day would never come, only so that I could hold onto them for just a bit longer. I kissed their cheek before they departed through the mirror back to NRC—I wanted to kiss their lips, but I panicked and missed.” maybe its a reach, but this is a Elegy reference to me DSKJFKADJ

AND THE ENDING WAAAHHHHHHH 😭😭😭😭✨✨✨godddddd i always await for the day Malleus can face through death and loss like this 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

“Their memory carries on through years upon generations of work. They brought life back to Briar Valley’s beliefs. They reshaped this old, rotting home—reshaped me—into something better. I may have portraits of them, and statues, and items that they loved dear stored in my rooms—but I think the only thing they would wish for me to do is continue the work they had started.” I REMEMBER this one post about how Malleus is like Ramshackle that was both abandoned but then renewed to something "more lively" because of Yuu's presence and I am never the same ever since 😭😭😭

AND YOU REPLY THAT MIRA CALIRH MEANS MY HEART AAAAAAAAAA you bring another meaning to the word "sorrow" ISTGGG

I can see an entire bouquet matching Malleus 😭 Calla lily, Ivy, Red Salvia, NATSURIUM and White carnation with pecks of Daffodil and Fern

Don't feel obligated to use all of them! Chose whichever you find most suitable! I just could stop with one alone, the more prompts i read the more i had this idea for a story in my head

I think you and I had the same idea cooking LMAOOO I hope I did this well! <3 Thank you for the request!!

Sin Eater

Inc: Malleus, Reader, a sin eater, and one advisor WC: 3.4k Warnings: Heavy discussion of grief and coping with loss Flowers: Calla Lily (something at first sight), Ivy (we’ve always been friends but we were never just friends), Natsurium (I refuse to bury you), Daffodil (a god bows before a mortal), Fern (In a world of magic, the greatest miracle was you... subtly implied) Summary: A quiet conversation in a hall between a prince, a starving idol, and a body.

Their arrival is marked with the sombre chiming of Dragon City’s bells, which is the only reason Malleus knows they’re approaching Black Scale. The window of the bedroom you shared is wide open, letting in both the breeze and the song as he stands so still that one may consider him to be a mere statue on display. He feels equivalent to one; his breath is shallow, his body cold, and his expression far away enough that he hardly registers the carriage approaching. 

“Your highness?” A faint voice speaks by his right side. Malleus’ finger twitches at the sound as his emerald gaze slowly slides from the streets below to the advisor who is now anxiously twisting her sleeve. He can hardly remember her name—advisors come and go so often that they’ve become a blur in his mind—but he’s taken to calling her Scops due to the owlish stare that she always seems to wear around him. “The sin eater is here.”

Malleus stares for a moment before he looks back down to the courtyard. The carriage door is open, and a figure is now standing on the stone, speaking with one of the guards. The discussion is brief, ending with the guard walking to the doors and the figure looking upwards at the palace walls. A golden mask conceals their face, capturing the rays of the sun which battle through Briar Valley’s ever-present clouds, and they wear a simple black funeral suit. 

“I see that.” He replies curtly, his voice ungiving on how he’s really feeling. “They arrived quite quickly, didn’t they?” 

“I suppose they have,” Scops steps a bit closer to the window to look down at the sin eater. “Strange, really. It isn’t like their profession is a competitive market anymore.” 

Sin eaters used to be far more prominent in Briar Valley back when it was still Briar Nation, and old traditions were held to a greater esteem. Unfortunately, the changing of times meant the dismantling of old organizations and beliefs, rendering the sin eaters as nothing more than a token piece in a funeral party. Perhaps once they were esteemed in a religious fashion—but not anymore. Now they will sit for anyone, so long as they get their meal. 

You had always admired the old traditions, though. He remembers your avid interest in his family’s history, and the many nights you’d waste away in the library, reading tome after tome in delight. You had been the spearhead of a new age for old beliefs—revamping Briar Valley’s tourism through the demonstration of habits long dead—and you had made a difference. That’s why there is a sin eater here today. 

Malleus dislikes their presence, however. Them being here means that what he’s going through is not just a simple dream. He exhales through clenched teeth and forces his shoulders to relax as he turns on his heel and nods. 

“Regardless, it’s best not to keep guests waiting.”

_____________________________________________________________

The hallowed hall in which you lay is silent, even with the presence of the sin eater looming over your shrouded form. How they managed to move quickly enough that they arrived before Malleus did is something he decides not to question—nor does he question how they knew of the hall to begin with. Their profession is one that draws the most peculiar of magic users into it. Like a bloodhound, they caught your scent and followed it to the room. He’s surprised the guards who have been standing watch over you for a day now permitted them to enter. 

Malleus enters alone and waves for the room to be sealed. He notes the hesitation in his guard’s body language before they oblige, stepping away to pull the great wooden doors shut with a resounding boom that stirs a pair of birds residing in the rafters. Their wings flutter in distress as Malleus spares them a passing glance before returning his focus on the figure ahead. The sin eater has turned to look back at him, and he sees upon closer inspection that the mask they wear lacks a mouth. They incline their head in greeting before speaking in a surprisingly clear tone considering their facial obstruction. 

“Your grace. Forgive me for the intrusion before your arrival; I merely wished to prepare in advance.” Their voice is soft and low as they touch a hand to the place above their heart. Malleus hardly reacts to their words as he brushes past them to where you lay, body enshrouded in a white sheet with a torc affixed upon your neck. His fingers brush along its form; forged of mystium and gifted to you as a token by him. It was the closest he could get to a marriage declaration in the eyes of the Senate. 

“It’s hardly my place to prevent a sin eater from completing their role.” He replies languidly as his fingers skim off of the torc to rest on your chest. Stiff, still, and cold against his fingers. “I just wish you had not come to begin with.” 

He doesn’t wish to have you buried quite yet, but he knows he’s already pushing the limit of how long he can keep you. He kneels by the platform that holds your form as his fingers brush along the shroud that hides you. If he could, he would drag you off of this macabre display and back into the rooms you shared for so many decades together, to wrap you in his arms and pretend this isn’t happening. 

But that was foul. Utterly, utterly foul. Your body would putrefy and decay while he clung to a false hope of resurrection. 

No, the sin eater is here now. He just doesn’t want you out of sight quite yet. 

“Many do not welcome me, but I have never left without gratitude.” The sin eater replies softly. Like a god before a mortal, Malleus’ ethereal features are painted into a stony expression, his gaze still distant. He hardly feels a part of this world right now as he hums quietly in turn. 

“Perhaps.” He muses as his fingers toy with the shroud before he turns to look at the sin eater. Like his own face, their mask is a stony expression, their eyes concealed from his seeking gaze. If they were to not move and speak then they could easily be dismissed as one of the many statues adorning the hall. “How shall we proceed?” 

“Do you feel ready to proceed?” They posit as they gesture to your form. 

Malleus rises back to his feet but doesn’t remove his hand from your body. The pungent scent of flowers—used to disguise the sweetness of decay—wafts up with the abruptness of his motion. “The opportunity to refuse has long passed. I am aware that there is a feast to be had—that, they regaled me of this back when they were still alive.”

You had been enamoured by the concept of Briar Valley funerary rites throughout your time in life. He remembers thinking it to be grim when you would speak of them, and rather anxiety-inducing when you began to plan for your own. He always knew that your status as a human meant that you would join the stars long before he did—he had simply not wanted to think about it, though. In the end, your efforts to establish your own postmortem care had saved him a great deal of distress these past few days.

Your ability to think far ahead had been one of the many aspects he had loved about you. 

“Indeed, and I am delighted to see one is set for me.” The sin eater drifts off of the steps of the platform towards the far side of the room, where a table lay with an array of foods on it. Wine, dates, meats, and a variety of other luxuries decorate pristine plates and spotless cutlery. He had spared no expenses in the lavishness of your memoriam. “Sometimes I have served people who are still cooking the final meal by the time I arrive. But then again, I would expect a prince to have ample amounts of resources available to get things done.” 

“I give nothing but the finest when it comes to them.” Malleus retorts sharply as he goes to sit in the chair on the other side of the table. Before he can properly settle, the sin eater raises a hand and shakes their head. 

“Turn the chair around if you please. You are not meant to see my face when I eat—that honour is for the deceased, and the deceased alone.” 

Malleus pauses, his hand resting on the back of the chair before he obliges and twists it around to face the wall. He then sits down and crosses his legs patiently. Despite the fact that he knows the sin eater to be unarmed, he still feels a prickle of paranoia creep up his spine. Old habits die hard when one has been hunted for so many years. 

Eventually he hears the sound of the sin eater sitting down in their respective seat, followed by something heavy hitting the table. The sin eater clears their throat, and the sound is far clearer now than before. Their mask has been removed—which means the rite has officially begun. Malleus inhales and readies himself for what he recalls the next few steps to be. 

“Tell me about them. Call them to the table where we feast.” There’s a brief pause then before a fork scrapes against porcelain plates. Malleus’ eyes flutter shut as he gives a low sigh. 

“Mira calirh.” The affectionate term flows from his tongue easily as he touches upon memories long passed. How can he summarize you in a simple conversation? You had been a person of many complexities—of devotion, of will, of love as boundless as the sea. To boil all that you were down into a mere few lines felt sacrilegious in his heart. 

“Tell me of your first.” The sin eater prompts, and so he does. 

“I met them outside of their dorm. I thought the place was abandoned, but suddenly they were there before me, sleep-dazed and curious. I remember thinking how calm they were when facing me directly—only to find out they hadn’t a single clue about who I was.” Malleus’ lips curl into a faint grin as he pictures the moment so clearly. He can see you in your youth, eyes glassy with sleep and hair slightly dishevelled. You had not registered in his mind as someone of importance quite yet. 

Oh, how such a thing would change. 

“Tell me more.” The sin eater urges. He can hear the wine glass lifting and being set back down on the table. Malleus’ hands clasp tight as he feels his fingers begin to grow numb. In his peripheral vision, he thinks he sees movement from the pedestal. He resists the impulse to look its way as he considers his next words. 

“It made me feel… alive. For a moment. They would accompany me, speak with me. It was shortly after my overblot that I began to consider them as a friend—although I suspect we never were just that. It was two summers later that I began to consider them something more.” 

Malleus pauses for a moment to gather his thoughts. He remembers that summer—it had been warmer than usual in the Valley, and you had come to visit for a week. He recalls the smell of sunscreen and the sight of you with your hat on your head as you sat in a field of eternal green. The land was lush and abundant with life, but it had been you that had drawn his gaze the strongest. 

The sin eater pushes a plate away before grabbing another. It drags across the wooden table with a bitter screech. “Is that so?” 

“Quite. They stayed with me for a week, and I wished every night that the next day would never come, only so that I could hold onto them for just a bit longer. I kissed their cheek before they departed through the mirror back to NRC—I wanted to kiss their lips, but I panicked and missed.” He can’t help but laugh at that. His palms had been sweating and his mind had been in a panic when he clumsily pressed his lips to your cheek in a kiss of farewell. “Foolish I was. Fortunately, it didn’t turn them away from me. The next time we met, they made sure my aim was true.” 

“Young love has a habit of sending our hearts aflutter, no?” The sin eater muses as more scraping sounds out. “Tell me when you loved them.”

When? Malleus’ brow furrows as he considers the question. When did he not, really? 

“Every day. Every hour. Every minute. I think once they became mine there was not a moment I did not love them, even when we had our disagreements, or the obligations of my role drew me abroad. I loved them in the day, I loved them in the night. And in the sparse moments between, I loved them even more.” Malleus feels his jaw clench slightly. “We could not be married, and so I made sure they knew my devotion.”

“You could not marry because they were not fae. I remember that being a point of contention in the papers.” 

The sin eater must be a fae themself, then, if they can recall the tabloids from that time so easily while looking as young as they appeared. Malleus bristles at their comment. 

“Yes, that was a point of great contention, and one I had to swallow despite working to change the laws. Even my grandmother agreed that such outdated beliefs had no business in and amongst our courtiers.” 

He had fought viciously against nobility for the opportunity to keep you by his side. Eventually it had ended in a standoff, with the courtiers begrudgingly agreeing to permit you to live in Black Scale, so long as you never officially became his consort. Your body hasn’t even been cold for a day, and he’s already heard rumours from Scops that the Senate is hunting for a suitable replacement. 

The knowledge tastes like bitter fruit on his tongue.

He thinks he sees the flutter of white fabric moving at the pedestal again. His brow furrows as he rationalizes it away as a trick of the odd lighting in the hall. Still, the cold breeze that follows makes him shift in his seat uncomfortably.

“Tell me how you loved them.” The sin eater diverts his thoughts and the conversation once more as something heavy scrapes across the table. It may be the plate of quail he saw—or the pig's head. “What did you do to always let them know?” 

“Everything. Anything they wanted I would give to them. If they had asked me to move the mountains we rest on, I would do so. If they asked me to pluck the sun from the sky and fasten it into a brooch for them, I would make sure it was held by the finest of metals. If they wished for the rains to fall and the earth to turn green, then I would drag the clouds from across the world to where they stood.” Malleus shivers again as he feels an ache in his chest. It’s been there for days now. “Magic bends to my whims, but I bent to theirs.” 

“But you couldn’t give them time.” There’s a licking sound and a low hum of satisfaction from the sin eater. “Time will eat everyone in the end—much like how I feast on their memories now. You could give them every precious gem and flower in the world, but you could not give them a second more than what they were meant to have.” 

“If I could have, then I would.” He snarls back, his head turning slightly to glare at the blurred image of the sin eater. “I would have stolen the seconds from anything and everything and given it to them instead. The gods know they would have benefited from it. They had plans, ideas, to improve this nation and now? Now they’re already beginning to decay.” 

“As things do.” The sin eater tosses a bone onto a plate as Malleus looks back to the wall. He feels something cold brush against him again, and then the scraping of a chair to his right. His shoulders tense at the sound and he wonders if the sin eater has changed places. 

Until they speak. 

“How very kind of you to finally join us.” 

The comment is simple and one that draws confusion in Malleus until it finally clicks in place and his entire body plunges into freezing water. The world spins to a stop as he hears a whispering voice by his ear, its words indiscernible. Malleus’ eyes widen and dilate as any words he had to say stutter to a stop from his lips, drawn shut by a cold touch brushing up his arm—much like how his touch had brushed along yours moments ago. 

“One last bite, then.” The sin eater interjects once more as they push another plate away. “Tell me how you will keep them alive. The body may be rotting, but the soul does still linger. Within this hall, within this palace, within the memories stored in your mind. How will you honour that?” 

The words become clearer now. Your voice is soft as your breath brushes against the skin behind his ear, making him shiver as a small, painful sound escapes him. The scent of you lingers just beneath that of the roses your body was bathed in before being wrapped for your cremation. He can feel the brush of the shroud against him as phantom fingers touch his back. 

He wants to turn to see you as he once knew—but something tells him that doing so will merely send you away faster. 

“Their legacy.” He offers slowly, eyes fluttering shut again as he loses himself in your touch. “Their memory carries on through years upon generations of work. They brought life back to Briar Valley’s beliefs. They reshaped this old, rotting home—reshaped me—into something better. I may have portraits of them, and statues, and items that they loved dear stored in my rooms—but I think the only thing they would wish for me to do is continue the work they had started.” 

A sensation floods him then like that brought on by a lover’s kiss. It curls around his wounded heart and floods itself through his veins, warming his body in a way that it hasn’t been able to for days. Another pained sound leaves him, but it is not drawn out because of any agony. 

Then, as quickly as it arrived, the sensations are all gone. Your scent disappears, your touch disappears, and Malleus Draconia is left once more to sit in a stiff wooden chair in a large, desolate hall, with a body and a sin eater as his company. He wants to grasp for you and hold you in place like he did so dearly with your body—but the voice screams at him again that this is not the way it plays out. 

The sin eater sets the cutlery down before drawing their mask over their face. They push the chair back to stand, and only when they’re on their feet again does Malleus turn to them. He can feel wetness on his cheeks as he stares at their slender, frail form. He had managed to keep himself from crying so far—but now it’s become a battle he can no longer wage.

“What a delectable meal.” The sin eater sighs as they brush down their suit before stepping away from the table. They pause as they face the prince before bending at the waist in a low bow. The black pits that represent their eyes do not stray from his face as they do so. “They rest—as you should, too. I know you have at least another day of the wake to endure, so try to recover as much energy as you can. They would not want you to suffer on their behalf.”

Malleus doesn’t reply as his gaze drifts to your shrouded form on the pedestal. His love, his partner, his calirh. When the sin eater is already halfway to the door, he clears his throat, causing them to pause and look his way. Malleus stares at their masked face with an expression of neutrality once more. 

“... thank you.” He offers softly. The sin eater tilts their head, bows, and steps out of the silent hall.

[rayroseu]

I drew this for @chernabogs story Elegy !!! The way they wrote this scene was just so tender and soft, I HAD TO DRAW IT ‼️‼️😭😭🙏🏻💖💖✨✨ it was such a perfect treat considering how the previous chapters was "coarse" with how the story handled Malleus poor coping skills with loss, I love reading and rereading the chapters lol

I wishhh i was eloquent enough to verbalize how much I loved reading it 😩😩😩 The repeated questions of am i ill or that ever repeating quote that love is for the lonely then it gradually changed to its meant to be or or the way in every chapter there is always an element of Malleus wanting to get to know Yuu WAGHHHDJDBIEB JUST THE YEARNING OF IT ALL!!!!

ALSO ALSO ONE THING I NOTICED.... all the chapter names relates to a lament for the dead, and i just think thats such a devastatingly beautiful detail to add considering that even until the ending Malleus will still lose Yuu from death and he'll be alone just like how he always fears JUTSGUEGKFGDKBCHFKN i know it ended on a happy note but the chapter titles makes me think of that quote where "there WAS love but it didnt change anything" or smth😭😭😭

also love how "Malleus in a crisis" was written as well,,, malleus was so on character omfggg I swear Ames' characterization of this guy makes me feel like Yana Toboso is ghostwriting with them/lh ☠️☠️ LIKE HELLOOO the way the story sways erratically between Malleus accepting Yuu made an impact of his life and Malleus wanting to go back to being alone where he didnt know anything at all and wasn't quite in distress about having relationships, thats soooooo GOOD 😭😭💐💖💖💖 granted i cried from it though aihskwbks

Dont even get me started on the buildup????!!! and conflict that was all resolved in the final chapter was AUGHHH THATS BEAUTIFUL IM SO GLAD I CAN READ 😭😭✨✨✨ And and the realization that Malleus fears is not death but them?? Beautiful!!!!! 😭🙏🏻✨✨💖💖 Cuz really its true throughout the whole story he was more stressed that he's so attached now XD AND AND I LOVE HOW ALL THE MESSAGES(?) FROM PREVIOUS CHAPTERS MAKES A CALLBACK TO THE FINAL CLIMAX LIKEEE "He can be bold. He can be brave. He can say this.“I was not ill that night, nor are you at fault for that. I was… I am afraid." PEAK LITERATURE!!!!!!! I LOVE FORESHADOWS AND REPEATING THEMES, MAKES ME GO YELL ABOUT IT ALL 😭😭😭💖💖💖💚💚 I love the kobold on the last part as well lol he is a promoted therapist now 😭✨✨✨

also going back to the way the chapter titles are meant to be lamenting for the dead, "A new memory for each day he outlives you. He can capture those memories, store them in a glass ball so that he may watch them whenever he pleases. You will never truly be gone if you can both make it work." HELPPP THE RESOLUTION,..... AUUGHH IT MAKES ME CRY AIHWLDHOSHSK 😭😭😭💖💚💚

anyways my favorite part always ehehe grim fishing with lilia✨✨✨🥺🥺 and malleus having the naive expectation that first kiss is magical and wanting to test it out again skgixgsk😂

I love the part where Meleanor would raise an objection the moment its a human hes been contemplating about, this story just made me think.... LMAO MALLEUS IF MELEANOR SAW YOU LIKE THIS,,,, XD i feel like she'll tell you that if you fear living alone, just go out first and damned the other person about it instead JSKHDKDHHK i think it was really tragic how Lilia seemed to be set on dying for Meleanor only for the tables to turn ☠️

yes i did reference that acheswan dance from honkai star rail on lilinor part lol

[rayroseu]

WIAYTOUQOHSIJWOHROHWOJFD WHAAAAAA 😩😩😩😩🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻✨✨✨✨✨✨💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚🛐🛐🛐🛐🛐 HOW YOU DO SUPERB WRITER OF DIASOMNIA FANFICS THIS CONCEPT MADE ME ILL

I know its just ch 1 here but im commenting for ch 2 as welll heuheihe ✨✨✨

FIRST OFF THE CONCEPT THE CONCEPTTT!!!! ACKKKK I COULD GO ON FOREVER HOW MUCH I LIKE LOVE ADORE CHERISH IT. Its easy to assume that fae-knowledgeable Yuu would get along with Faes in TWST... but i love that you wrote for the other side of the spectrum where being fae-knowledgeable is realistically more anxiety inducing 🙏🏻✨ I love how consistent Yuu's character was in being cautious of faes, and the little call backs to their traumatic experience w the faes was a nice touch throughout the story, it really felt like i was experiencing their trauma lol

and im always so happy to read how you stretched out Malleus and Yuu's dynamic to the bits, its always the little details for me in this case !!! Malleus calling Yuu his friend then taking it back , Yuu being cautious of Malleus by still practicing their fae warding habit yet continues to invite Malleus,,,,, there is no label in their dynamic BUT THERES INVITATIONS... 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻😭😭😭✨✨✨ ITS EVERYTHING

ANDDDDD THERE WAS MELEANOR MENTION😼😼😼💚💚💚✨✨✨‼️‼️‼️‼️ WOOZAHHH MY FAVORITE PARTTTTT I feel like that sequence just hit right with all the opinions about how the human fae war went lol a little talking could've save more live slshldkdhhks

ALSO ONE MORE THING,,, i love how you characterize Malleus emotions by making note of his surroundings I LOVE THAT SO MUCH... i always squel whenever theres the word fireflies lol

ALSO YASSS SILVER BACK TO THE BEING THE MVP of the family again,,, 😭😭🙏🏻🙏🏻✨💚💚💚

Also i learned a lot of words from your stories 😂😂😂 I didnt know "tithe" or remora or ill boding before now i do lol

ERLKÖNIG

Inc: Malleus (/Reader later on), Reader/Prefect, Lilia, Silver, Sebek, Ace, Deuce, Grim, and a lot of fae who should not be in this dimension yet somehow are. Wc: Roughly 9k (Currently sitting at chapter 2/23). Warnings: Violence, reference to war, kidnapping, rituals that fae allegedly did in mythology (wild), psychological horror, body horror (not until much later), and the boys are fighting... a lot. Relies heavily on ancient Celtic and Welsh lore (Tam Lin, Thomas the Rhymer, and Oisin I owe u my life) Summary: Your first encounter with the fae was not in Twisted Wonderland, but rather on the coast of a village your grandmother once lived in—where stones bit into your bare feet and the water poured into your lungs as you were pulled to a world so different from your own. It was by cunning alone that you managed to escape, having since pushed those memories aside. But the fae do not forget—not even when you cross dimensions once more—and as Beltane looms, the time for collecting is near.

Chapter 1 (Prologue) below the cut. Check out the work up to chapter 2 here!

I saw their starved lips in the gloam,

With horrid warning gaped wide,

And I awoke and found me here,

On the cold hill's side.

-  La Belle Dame sans Merci, Keats

19??, Dunhill, Ireland. October.

There is an unsettling truth behind the superstitions we hold. After all, why else do we face horseshoes upright, or close our blinds when the sun begins to set? We did not learn to play mute when we hear our names get called at night for no reason, nor did we discover on a whim that blackbirds circling are harbingers of ill outcomes.  

Your grandmother was a woman of superstition. Because she lived in Dunhill, Ireland, you very rarely had the opportunity to see her growing up. This didn’t mean that you weren’t occasionally shipped out to arrive at her doorstep for a few weeks at a time over the summer months.

Your memories of her appearance are mostly flashes of the few moments you saw her. Knotted joints on her body, silver hair hidden behind a headscarf she always wore, and the way her shoulders would stoop with each shuffling step she took. What you remember more vividly was the way she acted when the two of you went out. Her trembling hands—Parkinson’s, you think your parent may have mentioned—would always press an iron nail into yours to put in your pocket before you departed.

“They like to wait on the coastlines,” she had murmured when you asked why she gave this to you. “And they’ll like you the most.”

She would not offer any further information, nor would she let you out until the nail was securely tucked away. Despite how slowly she would move on your many walks along Benvoy Beach, you never once failed to miss the way her sharp gaze would always be fixated on the unruly seas beyond.

She dies when you’re ten years old. Her funeral is a vivid affair. Your grandmother’s humble home has been transformed into a centre of traffic within a matter of hours since her passing, barely giving your family a moment to breathe despite catching the red-eye flight earlier that day. People you have never seen before shaking your small hand and offering their condolences. The strong fragrance of unknown flowers and cheap perfume fills each room, suffocating out any last semblance of your grandmother that may have still lingered. It feels more like they’re spitting on her memory than honouring it. You know your grandmother—she is, was, a quiet woman, and not one for all this pomp and circumstance.

Perhaps this is why no one notices when you sneak out and down the rocky hills.

You slip on several rocks and scrape up your hands really good by the time your feet hit the familiar sandy beach below. With the way the sun is beginning to set, the waters seem to be a wine-red color, swirling in their chaotic fervour to reach the earth you stand on. You pause to take several breaths before kicking your shoes off and stepping forward into that hungry sea.

Your parent will be furious at you for dirtying up your formal garb, but this isn’t at the forefront of your mind right now as your eyes slide shut and you stretch your arms wide. You feel the wind rush along your body and the fragrance of salt overtake you as you spill your grief into the vast waters, letting it mix and swirl into that abyss for a moment of catharsis.

It’s when the wind carries the scent of something pungent that your eyes snap open again. The foulness is brief, and for a moment you write it off as simply a byproduct of the ocean, until it returns again stronger than before. It smothers the brine and has your head turning to look around for the source. You look over your left shoulder at the empty beach around you. The sun continues to set, and your gaze tracks the path of a gull flying overhead before you look over your shoulder once more.

This time, someone is waiting.  

There is an unsettling truth behind the superstitions we hold. The reason why we are scared of things that try to look like us, why we try so hard to ward them off, is because we know that anything that wants to be like a human certainly has no good intent in their heart. This is the case for the figure you see standing on the beach.

They’re wearing the same dark funeral garb you had seen the others in your grandmother’s home wearing. A wide-brimmed hat sits upon their head to conceal most of their features, although you can see scarlet hairs peeking out, and their hands appear to be clasped behind their back as they stand stoically ahead. Despite the winds that bite at your cheeks, not a single scrap of fabric on the figure’s body moves. It’s as though they’re cut from a painting and placed in real life.

You both observe each other in silence. You can feel your body locking up as your mind chants to you wrong, wrong, wrong, over and over again like a mantra. Your right hand drifts down to your pant pocket—you did not take a nail with you before you left the home.

They like to wait on the coastlines, and they’ll like you the most.

Your breath catches in your throat.

The figure smiles—black, sharp, and not quite human. 

Something in your gut tells you to run and you, even as a rebellious child, do as you’re told. Your body twists around to scramble towards the rocks as your feet slip in the wet sand. You completely discard grabbing your shoes in your haste to get away, fully accepting the agony that the stones ripping into your soles will bring as consequence.

You don’t get very far. Whatever is on the beach with you is far quicker than you will ever be. Within moments of you turning, its cold fingers dig into your shoulders. You scream—cry—as the figure leans down and the pungent aroma of rotting fish emanates with each breath it exhales. You thrash and twist in its grip until you face each other, and you lock eyes with her.  

She looks exactly as she did the last time you saw each other. Same knotted limbs, same silvery hairs, same stoop of her shoulders.

She stares down at you. The wind whips the loose strands of her hair around her face, and her eyes are the cloudy blue of the dead as something begins to claw in your mind. You watch as her thin and cracking lips form the syllables to your name—but it’s lost to the roar of an ever-cacophonous sea. The ground surges up around you, wrapping thorns—thorns? —around your legs. They bite into your skin, draw ruby gems from beneath your frigid flesh, and when you lift your head again, your grandmother merely continues to wear her blackened smile at the sight.

You cry out once more, but just like your name, your pleas are stolen away by the winds.

Everything lasts all but a few moments before the sea finally reaches what it has been clawing for. 

[rayroseu]

THE WAY I QUICKLY RAN HERE KNOWING THERES MELEANOR HERE AIXUIQUCJAX ✨✨✨✨🤌🤌🤌🤌😭😭😭😭 OKAYYY serious though, I love your writing on the villages around Wild Briar and its state and its citizens,,,,, the game just explained its "barren" or "abandoned" but I love your interpretation that its just bleak there (from the lands to the people)

ALSOOOO HELLLLLL YESSSS MALLEUS DRINKING ALCOHOLLLL WOOOHOOOOOOOO✨✨✨🎉🎉🎉🍻🍻🍻🍻🍻🤩🤩 arguably my fave part ahdhahhs

ALSO i love how Malleus' privileged ass is noted here, JJFJWJD NOT HIM being squirmish at sitting beside dead fishes... BUDDY THATS WAS YOUR BABY MEAL...🤣🤣🤣

ALSOO WPOOSIAOIDOAIJQJFHWS WILD ROSE PALACE WILD ROSE PALACEEE 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 okay the way you wrote its deteriorating state so much justice 🤌✨✨✨

His mother apparently did have brilliant ideas—one of them being to give him a healthy dose of magic before her departure. YOU"LL SEE ME CRYINGGGG

the part where the phrase anticlimactic, and brutally honest. keeps repeating makes me soooo OWURIWJGKWV.... ITS TOO GOOD THE DESPERATION OF WANTING TO FEEL SOMETHING ABOUT HIS MOTHER.... SOBBING AT THE RUINS RN.... 😭

I saw a tag saying Maleanor jumpscaring Malleus LMAOOO (@kitwasnothere i see you XD) , it’s utterly her to give him a fright before vanishing into the ether once more. XD Meleanor goofy ahh even as a ghost lol

He used to do this with his grandmother when he was little—play on her throne, try to get her attention for even a moment. He’s always been somewhat of a needy child. WHY DOES THIS PARAGRAPH GEST ME AKDJKADI.... Subtle i feel a nod here about Empty Chairs for abit Kjskakf...

Okay but deriousslyy i love that the fireflies came on as Meleanor appeared lol because theres a japanese myth that fireflies were like the souls of the dead particularly from the fallen warriors of ancient japan WHICH DESCRIBES MELEANOR AKDJAJD

the Japanese appear to have derived the custom of viewing fireflies as souls of the dead..." The ones at the Uji River near Kyōto even came to represent the deceased warriors of the opposing armies of the struggle between the Minamoto and Taira clans during the 12th century.

also fun fact this is also the reason why there's two words for fireflies (its generally just hotaru) in JP genji-hotaru and heike-hotaru (genji and heike are alternstive readings of minamoto and taira) this is just used to differentiate the two firefly species lol

Perhaps the realization will never come at all because it never existed to begin with. Anticlimactic, and brutally honest. AKDKKAKCE.... the way it foreshadows the warning of the fisherman that if you stare into the shadows (of the ocean) too much, you might start seeing things Kjzkaks... 😭😭

dont worry malleus i too starts seeing Meleanor delusions bcs i keep hoping she'll appear QHHSJAHA

Hello! I rise from my tumblr slumber to humbly ask if you’d be interested in writing for Malleus, based on the prompt ‘I didn’t feel like I’d step into another world, but like it’d stepped into me. I knew I was there and forgot I’d left anything behind.’ from the prompt list you’d reblogged? I am…sensing much Malleus related angst potential here.

Hehe yes... sort of angst, sort of spooky

RUINS

Inc: Malleus, a fisherman, one ghost (maybe?) WC: 3.1k Warnings: Bleak LMAO. Drug use (smoking, alcohol, and tobacco thanks to the fisherman), ocean horror mention, supernatural horror mention. Summary: A boy looking for his mother visits the last place she was before her passing.

“It’ll be a few hours down the path just beyond the tree line. Impossible to miss if you ask me.” The man pauses to chew on his cigar, his dark gaze narrowing, before grabbing for his pint again. “Why’re you interested ‘n that place anyway? Right rotten, it is.” 

The Red Rabbit is a place renowned for information gathering and sharing—so long as you allow the bartender to continue pouring the mead. Malleus’ fingers reach up to brush along the hood of his travelling cloak as he pulls his own pint glass close. He’s used glamour to conceal most of his obvious features. If anyone saw the crown prince sitting in a dingy pub asking for directions, it would most certainly cause a stir. 

“Right rotten, is it?” Malleus raises the pint to his lips and allows the burning liquid to slide down his throat. Fae mead is noxious, only in that it can get you intoxicated in the first few sips—if you’re a human. The man who sits before Malleus has taken more than a few at this rate. “Perhaps it would be best to let me be the judge of that myself.”

His companion snorts before setting his cigar aside. He’s a fisherman; the scent of the ocean lingers on his person, and his hands are calloused from tossing and hauling nets into an ungiving depth. The shores of lands that had once been Briar Nations have been deprived of fish ever since they became isolated. The village’s landscapes, once vibrant, have now become jagged rocks and dead trees. The villagers are no different. “Go where y’want, see what y’wish. So long as yer not on the rob. That’ll get you killed.” 

This is another thing that Malleus has noticed regarding the village and its denizens—people mind their own business. This is uncommon for small villages, where most would be itching to get in everyone’s affairs, and only further emphasizes the economic faults of the borderlands. It unsettles him.

He didn’t come here on a whim. The thought of this journey had sat in his mind ever since he found out the origins of his birth, and the deception under which he was raised. Perhaps this is why when he slipped out of the palace through the servant’s entrance and into the forest late at night, he did not feel threatened by the burning gaze he felt on his back.

His grandmother owed him. This, she seemed to know, and so she let him go without protest. 

Still, the villagers final comment piques Malleus’ attention. “Get me killed, hm? And what could be there to kill me if it’s just a rotten, desolate place?” 

“Dire beasts’ nests are in there. Few of the guys have seen ‘em—big, hungry things lumbering past the stained-glass windows and down the corridors. Lots’ve people who try goin’ there end up goin’ missing instead because they underestimate how vicious a defensive mother can get.” The fisherman picks up his cigar again and chews on the end. “Anyone who’s lived here long enough knows.” 

Malleus’ nails tap against the pint before pushing it aside and setting a coin pouch on the table. The fisherman raises an eyebrow, his beady dark gaze darting from Malleus to the pouch in interest. There’s enough to pay for Malleus’ drink, the fisherman’s drink, and probably tide the man over for the wintertime as well. A saccharine smile pulls on Malleus’ lips—the part of him that isn’t shadowed by the hood he wears over his head. “Take me there yourself, and I’ll give you more.” 

The fisherman chews on his cigar, staring at Malleus as he does. A thoughtful look crosses his face before it ends in him shaking his head. “Fuckin’ rich ‘uns…” 

His grumbling doesn’t stop him from grabbing the pouch and opening it up. He drops a few madol on the table before shoving the rest of the pouch in his pocket and tossing his cigar aside. A foul, hacking sound comes from his lips before he spits on the floor—which Malleus tries politely not to make a face over—and grabs his raincoat. “Come off it, then. I’ll take it the ocean way. It’s a lot faster and safer than tryin’ ta move through the woods. Bad season for that.” 

“Bad season?” Malleus asks as he rises to his feet. The fisherman shuffles past the other patrons in the crowded space before shouldering the door open to step back in the bleak outdoors. He mutters under his breath as he digs around his pockets before pulling out a small container and popping something into his mouth. The pungent smell of chewing tobacco notifies Malleus quickly of what it is. 

“S’breeding season. Everything in those woods is all riled up and starving in their energy. You’d make a fine morsel for somethin’.” The fisherman glances back at him and grimaces. “Tall n’ scrawny.” 

Well, Malleus tries not to take too much offence to that as he follows the fisherman down the path towards the docks. In his transformed appearance, his physique did look different than usual—leaner, less ‘victim of countless years of training.’ 

“Tragic,” is all he sighs instead before adjusting his hood once more. 

_______________

There’s something humbling about sitting on a cramped boat next to a net full of dead fish that you don’t really realize until you experience it. For Malleus, who sits with his knees to his chest and his body leaning as far away from the net as possible, it’s an experience he doesn’t want to go through again. The fisherman seems utterly unbothered as he stands at the end of the boat, looking out at the murky waters beyond while still chewing on the same tobacco lump. The vessel putters slowly with its magic-powered engine into the night. 

“Gotta go at this pace in case we run into rocks below.” The fisherman shouts over his shoulder as he looks down to the waters again. “Or anythin’ else for that matter.” 

“Anything—” Malleus recoils as a slimy fish corpse brushes against his hand. His expression twists and he swats it away. “Eugh. Anything else?” 

“Merfolk, sea creatures, indiscernible entities. Y’know—no man’s land specialties.” The fisherman’s foot kicks against the engine as the boat is guided to swerve around a rock in question. “Merfolk especially have been comin’ up and around these parts. Which is strange, considerin’ they usually mind themselves down in the Coral Sea.” 

“Perhaps they are vacationing.” Malleus prompts. He knows this is a stupid idea as soon as the words leave his lips, and the fisherman’s bark of a laugh reassures him of such. No one is vacationing to these no man lands. 

The two of them fall back into silence as Malleus looks out to the sea. The lamp on their boat hardly cuts through the darkness that shrouds around them, churning and twisting like the waters they drift upon. He can see why stories of sailors going mad in the night are so prevalent in these parts. The world around them, which seems to hold no beginning or end in this moment, is a prime canvas for delusions. 

“Try not to look out too long. Focus on the lamp instead.” The fisherman’s voice draws him once more as the boat sails along a cliffside now. Black stones loom over them in a daunting stance. It’s the same stone that was used to create Black Scale Palace—carved from the body of Briar Nation itself, back when the body still had a lot to give and belonged to his family. He can see faintly where fae-made chips reside and where nature itself has taken course. “It’s a fool's role to try and see out there. You’ll start seein’ shit that isn’t.”  

Malleus sinks back down in the boat with a sigh. The fisherman is weathered enough to have done this for a long time now if his grey hair and sun-wrinkled skin had anything to say. If he can survive to this age, then it’s for a good reason. 

“How much longer?” He asks. The fisherman scratches his chin before stepping off the bow and sitting against the side of the boat. Fish corpses, a fisherman, and the void-like world around him—Malleus is beginning to doubt the journey’s worth. 

“Five minutes, give’r take. Best just get comfortable.” 

Comfort is impossible with the pungent scent around them, but Malleus pulls his cloak tighter regardless and looks back to the lamp. A few insects bump against the glass in a foolish bid to reach the light, and he busies himself by counting how many burn up in their efforts. 

_______________

When they finally arrive, he pays the fisherman enough madol to wait for him at the bottom of the cliffs before beginning the steep ascent up the hills. His mother had an apparent idea that building a palace near the edge of the nation’s lands was a brilliant one. Perhaps in the forgiving summer months the view of the ocean was tranquil and pleasing. Right now, it’s the most loathsome thing in his existence. 

Making it to the top of the cliff offers no reprieve, either. He’s greeted abruptly with an excess of thorns twisting and writhing their way across the earth. Brambles, starving for something, shudder and groan as he inches past them. The only reason they refuse to sink into his supple flesh is perhaps because they can smell the magic of their creator imbued within him. His mother apparently did have brilliant ideas—one of them being to give him a healthy dose of magic before her departure. 

“Gods,” he hisses as he burns away another bramble. The sudden light seems to make the patch shudder and retract with an angry sound. The movement enables Malleus to notice a different aspect of the palace that he neglected—the scent of diurnal fae magic. He can feel it clashing with his mothers in a power-struggle for control, the two essences entwining and biting like starving dogs. The diurnal fae likely wished to keep humans away—Malleus wagers his mother wished for the opposite. 

His lip curls in disgust as he makes his way down the stone path leading to the decrepit white structure beyond. The closer he gets, the more he begins to see the truth in the fisherman’s warnings. Stained glass windows are either blown out or breaking along the palace’s walls. The stones themselves are chipping and beginning to crumble, crushed under the weight of the thorns that still twist and move subtly. The musky scent of animals also begins to appear alongside the earlier magic. This is what draws him to a stop as he reaches the front door. 

It may have been heavily fortified once. Now, it looks as though one door was violently kicked in, lying broken on its hinges and giving just enough room for Malleus to wiggle inside. He nips his finger on a thorn, causing a curse to slip past his lips as he presses his wound to his tongue before his feet finally meet stone again. 

There’s no chuffing of dire beasts from within like the fisherman warned. There’s also no indication of any sort of haunting present, which Malleus has also heard rumours of. 

No. Upon entering Wild Rose Palace for the first time in his life, Malleus is greeted with silence—anticlimactic, and brutally honest. 

“... hm.” He shoves his hood off his head and waves a hand to dispel the transformation glamour he’s been wearing. Once that’s in order, he begins to move down the hall to his right, his eyes narrowing with intent swimming in their green depths. If the layout of this palace is the same as Black Scale, then the throne room is likely down this hall, past a few more turns, and then through another set of double doors—nestled right in the heart of the building. 

As he moves, he does begin to track similarities to his grandmother's home. It didn’t feel like he had stepped into another world—rather, that it had stepped into him. He knows he’s here and yet feels like he forgot he left to arrive. It’s unnerving. His fingers trace along the wall to his left as he passes by suits of armour, portraits either torn up or faded from age, and tapestries that display tales with which he isn’t familiar. His grandmother had tried hard to shield him from a lot of things. This apparently includes censoring literature that may have once existed. 

The brambles continue to part for him as he makes turn, after turn, after turn in the labyrinthian design that was formed in his mother’s mind. His breath hitches a few times in panic when he hears a sound from behind him in the hall, causing his pace to pick up, only to level out again when the sounds fade. It feels as though he’s been walking for eons when another set of doors finally appear. 

Carved of black oak and adorned with two dragons curled on their frame, he reckons that they can only lead to one place as his hands grasps the cold, metal knobs. With a jerking motion, he pulls them open to a cacophony of deafening shrieks, and steps inside. 

_______________

Glass. 

The sight of his body takes him aback for a second as his expression becomes almost comical. The wall behind the throne that sits at the end of the large room is glass, polished and untarnished despite nearly 400 years of neglect. His hands fall from the knobs as he slowly makes his way inside. There are stained glass windows lining the one wall while the other is white stone, which is decorated with brambles crawling to the rafters above. Malleus steps over them deftly, frowning as he does before coming to a stop in the middle of the room. Once he reaches this point, he pauses, before closing his eyes and trying to think. 

He wants to see if he can feel her. Even a slight lingering wisp of her presence would be enough to please him. He wants to know if he can experience what it’s like: a mother’s touch, a mother’s voice. His grandmother had tried hard to shield him from a lot of things, with maternal affection also being one—not that he can blame her. He used to, but experiencing loss first-hand had taught him that not everyone heals the same way. A few remain more fractured than others even in the years after. 

“Mother?” He tries the term on his tongue, tastes it, rolls it over to see what that’s like as well. It’s foreign. His mouth struggles to form it and his voice warbles as his eyes open and he grimaces. Sour and strange—that’s how it tastes. His feet drag him closer to the throne before he kneels upon it to peer at the glass wall. 

It looks like it was covered by fabric once. Scraps of violet remain pooled on the floor, which he passes a sparing glance at before looking up again. He feels like a child as he peers over the thrones edge to his curious reflection. He used to do this with his grandmother when he was little—play on her throne, try to get her attention for even a moment. He’s always been somewhat of a needy child. 

“Mother?” He prompts again. Maybe saying it twice will do something. Instead, the only thing he receives is his own voice echoing back as he looks over his shoulder to the darkened hallways beyond. 

Silence—anticlimactic, and brutally honest. 

His nails dig into the metal of the throne as he slumps down, temporarily dejected. It’s a stupid thing to get dejected over, he reasons to himself. It isn’t like he expected to hear what her voice sounded like anyway. All he has are a few nagging memories of it from his time within his egg. His head turns to the side to look in the glass again. His expression is less curious and more frustrated now as he stares into his own green eyes. 

And then, a flash. 

It’s so subtle that he might have missed it had he not been looking in the glass at the right moment. It makes him sit up straighter as his breath stutters to a pause. There’s nothing for another few seconds before another flash, and another. A few lost green fireflies seem to have found their way into the palace and are now floating by his head in interest. Malleus’ lips crack into a faint smile as his hand goes up to brush against one, which lights up bright before floating just out of reach. 

He can see them in the mirror. The fireflies, the stained glass, the tapestries, the shadow—

Shadow. 

He thinks for a moment—just one, foolish moment—that he can see standing behind him in that glass, something tall, with horns like his own and a flash of green that isn’t a firefly. Malleus twists around rapidly in the throne, his body tense and ready for conflict, only to look upon a room devoid of anything but him and the insects. The silence of all but his own breath is becoming oppressive, weighted, like he’s starting to no longer be welcomed in this place. He hears something low rumble from somewhere else within the palace as he waves a hand to conceal his appearance. 

He rises from the throne, shaken but not put off as he steps down to the stone floor once more. A thought crosses his mind that he can’t help but find amusement in—it’s utterly her. From the stories he’s heard through Lilia, and Baul, and even his grandmother on the odd night, it’s utterly her to give him a fright before vanishing into the ether once more. 

It thrills him. It vindicates him. 

“Thank you, mother.” There’s a dry bit of humour in his tone as he casts one last glance to the throne before turning away. 

Does he feel as though a part of himself is satisfied now? Does he feel whole? He isn’t sure. Perhaps the realization will come to him on the boat ride back to the bleak, miserable village he came from. Perhaps the realization will come to him in his bed, when he’s wrapped in sheets of black silk and staring at the stars beyond. Perhaps the realization will never come at all because it never existed to begin with. 

Anticlimactic, and brutally honest.