the-crows-typist

[the-crows-typist]

Hi Lemilia-senpai! I just wanted to stop by to check in on you and make sure you're doing well irl! I myself is becoming a tiny bit stressed because we got a new puppy- and accidents are really making me go nuts. He's sweet, but he can get a little hyper at times (but he's mostly chill and easy-going for an 11-week old), especially when my mother is in the room. Anyways, I wanted to say please remember to take of yourself, stay well-fed and hydrated! That's it from me! ~🍙onigiri kouhai

((Wherever you are, if you're still around this site. I am so sorry it took this long.))

((I'm doing alright, all things considered. Years have passed since this post so I hope you and the puppy are doing alright. Treat it with care, they are called man's best friend for a reason.))

[the-crows-typist]

Time to get back into things

(Hi everyone, it's me! And it's been a really long time since I've touched this place. Still, I hope to continue what I started even though 2 years had passed since. Without further ado, hope you all enjoy!)

Wordcount: 700

A Little Story For You

Back then, Jamil didn't feel that it was likely he would wake up next to someone, yet here he was. His eyes scan the person before him, face half buried in the heavy blanket they shared and lashes long and curling naturally. The prefect of the once defunct Ramshackle dorm became an unlikely partner to Jamil, one he didn't expect to ever bear his heart to. His firm fingers reach out, tracing the skin of their cheek and near their eye. The prefect saw him at his worst, heard him at his lowest and felt him when he allowed the darkness of his heart to consume him. His thumb brushes their brow and he lets out a huff when they make a sound, stirring awake. 

“Good morning.” He whispers. 

Those hands of theirs, ones that never felt the hardships he did held onto him so tightly that he could still feel the marks of their nails on his palms. His gaze meets their moonstone eyes, opening blearily and searching for clarity. That gentle gaze held the desperate hope that pulled him out of his blot, the murmurs those lips screamed his name. 

“You may not value my life!” They screamed, their body dirtied by broken marble and powdered cement, hands pulling at him in a desperate attempt to pull him out of the sand that threatened to swallow him whole. The blot sticks to them like tar, tainting them with its heavy poison, entering their veins like snake's venom.

“But I still value yours!” Those words shook Jamil's core, how someone was able to be so compassionate despite the treatment they faced. Despite the betrayal, the wounds, and the fact he was willing to hurt them just because his heart yearned for freedom. 

“Jamil!” 

“...Jamil?” 

He blinks, their eyes beginning to shine once they come to. He huffs a laugh, pressing his forehead against theirs and their hands cupping both of his cheeks. “Yeah, it's me.” He says and the prefect makes a contented hum. “Mmn. Today's your special day.” They say, curling into his touch. “I wanna spend it with you but…”

“But?” 

“Bed's too comfy.” They murmur. “Need more sleep.” 

“C'mon, spending all day in bed is boring.” He lightly collides their foreheads together but not in the way that it hurt. “But…sleeping in does sounds nice.” The prefect lets out a tired but victorious laugh and assumes their next sleeping position. “Hyu-hyu-! ‘Told ya so.” 

Jamil was morning person, at least that's what his aching back was telling him. He sat by his mirror, twirling his magical pen to get his hair into a decent look. 

“Hey Jamil, Ortho from Ignihyde is here to see you.” Said one of his juniors, popping his head into his bedroom. Jamil pauses, thoughts searching.

“Ortho? Ah, right. Let him in.” 

Not soon after, the little android boy from Ignihyde floats all excitedly. “Jamil Viper, happy Birthday once again!" He says, moving towards him with a box in his hand. "Are you ready for part 2-Oh! did I come in at the wrong time?" He spies the prefect still sound asleep on Jamil's bed, their hand out peaking out of the blanket.

"No, it's fine. I'm just letting them be for now." He reaches out, intertwining his fingers with theirs and squeezing it. "You said something about a part 2?"

"Yes! I did some analysis and surveying and managed to pinpoint what you really wanted for your birthday! And it's specially made by my big brother." Ortho pounds his chest with pride. Jamil lets out a small, amused laugh and takes the box. It definitely was not a commercial grade refrigerator but he'll take what he can get.

"Thanks Ortho." Jamil says and opens up his gift. The small, compact 3-way mirror was exactly what he needed. "You've got good timing too. I needed something like this right about now."

"Hehe, I'm glad you found good use for it so quickly!"

The prefect stirs, their body moving as the noise rouses them from their sleep. Jamil smiles at them before looking back at Ortho. "We should move this to another room. But tell me, what else can your big brother do?"

[the-crows-typist]

Life Update

Alright, I'll be real. I haven't been the best at maintaining this blog like I had planned. First and for most, I'm sorry about that. Life has been pretty busy lately. There's not much time between work and home life but I'll try to keep the balance to keep this blog going.

But now, I would like to say that that my requests are open once again until November 7 2022 (GMT+8)

Please take a peek at the rule before sending an ask my way. Thanks and I hope to see what you all have in store.

EDIT: as for my Hearstlabyul series, I haven't abandoned it. It's still ongoing and Trey is next.

[the-crows-typist]

Kaleidoscope of Life

And here it is, the first part of the Heartslabyul Series: The Painter in the Den starting off with Cater Diamond. I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Word count: 8300+

CW: AU, slow burn, minor mentions of execution, unreliable narrator, loose world building, unbeta'd

Let The Story Begin

"Hold the brush gently, yes, very good. Dip only enough into the paint. That's enough." A voice guided your wonky movements. Your eyes loom over to the taller man whose poise and stance reflected his expertise in the subject of art.

"Envision your goal, reach deep into your heart what you want to see being painted on your canvas and allow that desire to flow to your fingers."

That was the rule of creation as you were taught by the Painter inside the Den, your master and mentor. Your father.

"Understand that with each stroke you make, life begins anew." He says, giving the brush to you and closing your fingers around it. "With that, you will begin to see the beauty of your creation laid out for you to paint."

You follow the movement of his hand, staining the blank canvas with paint and soon a flurry of painted rain descends as you lose your footing. 

the kaleidoscope of colors flow through your fingers and with a final smile, the man who raised you disappears into the light of a new day with a smile. You are alone in your den with a canvas you could never touch even if you tried.

Getting up, your blanket slips off your figure and you look at a warm abode once belonging to the Painter in the Den, the Master Painter, your guardian. 

"That dream again…"

Sitting up, you look at your hands as if to look for the brush he had left in your hands. Since the day the role of Master Painter was passed to you following your late father's passing that was welcomed by blossoms of spring, your mind was filled by both void and memory of the lessons taught in your youth. 

You push yourself off your bed and make your way to the painting gathering dust, the very last work of your father before his passing. The visage of a person was painted with mixes of brown and white, the outline of hair painted so finely you could see each strand stand out. 

From the way you viewed things, this painting was finished but your father said otherwise. 

In his last days, to the very moment of his death he mused over his last work. The brush he used from his time as a young lad was poised but never touching the canvas. Each time you asked why he didn’t let his brush down, he always replied the same thing:

"It's not complete, not yet.”

Your fingers trace the dusty area, dull eyes looking at the painting for but a moment then moving away to get your things ready. A uniform made from the finest linen and red robe stained from a paste only made from the best roses hand picked by the royal gardener slipped around your frame and wrapped in a snug fit. You picked up the garnet brooch decorated in the shape of a blooming rose, a sign and honor that the royal family hand picked you to be a part of the court. 

With the last tie of the ribbon to complete your ensemble, you gaze at the unfinished portrait and remember; remember the words of wisdom of the guardian who took you in on the day the trees had grown a richer shade of green and the sun cast a warm yellow light instead of a blinding white. 

The air smelled of oil and pungent rose, the room was silent save for the brush pressing and moving on the canvas following the sounds of your sighs and shifting of your clothing. In a few days time, a new monarch would rise to the throne.

“Your majesty, please untense your shoulders and lower your head–Yes, perfect. Please hold that position.”

Riddle Rosehearts, despite his small stature, held himself to high regard as a member of the Rosehearts family and heir apparent to the throne of blossoms. He was the poster child of perfection deserving only the highest of merits those of the royal family could only obtain. 

Though, at the times when no prying eyes would look their way and a canvas did not stand between the both of you, Riddle was still as much of a child as anyone would be. 

Those gray eyes, trained to scrutinize and study, held the desire for a world with no limitations. Gentle lips, used to order and berate, held the words of hope tied back by his harsh teachings. And fingers, small and dainty, had a gentleness as soft as the blossoms that held his namesake and the firmness of its thorns.  

He had potential to change the kingdom, you thought to yourself as you carefully painted out the uniquely heart shaped hairs that adorn his head; Riddle, despite his strict upbringing, saw the world in a different lens, one where the colors were rich and bright. Rose colored, if you allowed yourself the humor. 

Though you were sure that his strict upbringing and influence his mother had on him would be a hindrance to any desires of change the heir wished to pursue in the near future. 

It was a path laid out for him from the very start. A path the prince hesitated to take. 

“Shall we take a break?” You offer, seeing his figure shake from stiffness. “It has almost been an hour since we’ve begun your portrait.”

"Won't we be behind schedule?" Asked the heir, the grip on his scepter loosened and the crown upon his head growing heavy. "That might be the case, but I am afraid that if we continue on this way you will not find the rest you require for the rest of the day."

Eyes dull as he thought his decisions through. To his side was an aid, one you know was assigned to him since his mother's health began to deteriorate. They held a kind semblance but were restrictive in movement as they stood behind him, never crossing the line to stand next to him. 

"I think it's a splendid idea." They said, the color of spring left their lips like a warm orange. "This way, you will get the rest you need, your Majesty." 

"...Perhaps so," the heir apparent said, his decision easily influenced by them. "Alrighty then, we shall take a break" the aid declares. "Afterwards, we can finish and move on to the next activity for the day."

You set down your brush and rub your hands from the strain, allowing yourself a time to allow your body to relax. It was closing to noon, the gentle sun peaking through the canopy of trees and a breeze that welcomed the smell of blossoms new and old. 

A tinge of orange and green as freshly trimmed grass. The palace gardener toiled away with his work, brown dirt caked his gloves and a pink glow adorn his cheeks. Cater Diamond caught your gaze, his head bowing to their heir and hand offered in a wave to you.  

"Mister Cater has been taking care of the garden for some time now," you commented, Riddle's eyes flickering while his aid massaged his stiff shoulders. "His parents are no longer able to take the task because of their health so it was better that the role was given to him instead." 

Looking back, you see Cater collecting blooming roses into a basket. No doubt to be used as the special paint your homeland was known for. 

"And his sisters?"

"They make the paints." 

"Only them?" Riddle's silence was heavy, as if hesitant and guilty. 

"Yes, it has always been tradition that the Diamond family creates the paints with the same tools passed down for generations. No one else…"

You take in his forlorn expression and tight lip in a way to stop any more words from coming out. "It seems this year's harvest is bountiful." You say, in a way to continue the conversation despite your mind wandering elsewhere. 

With the last of the petals collected, Cater let out a sigh, wiped sweat off his brow and pushed against his back until it made an audible 'pop!'. That was the last of the roses, he thought to himself. And now, the paint. 

"You seem hard at work." 

His co-gardener, a cousin of his, met him at the resting place under a sycamore tree, handing him a goblet of water. The taste refreshed him and cooled his heated body easily. "Well, its harvesting day again. The roses are on a timer, y'know? Pick 'em too early and you won't get the vibrant red we're looking for. Pick 'em late and we get a bad red." 

Sitting next to him  the co-gardener hummed in approval. "It's such a long process for a small batch of paint." Closing their eyes, they allow themselves a moment of reprieve. "I just wish the process could be made easier."

"You know how the royal family is about tradition," Cater mused, "Change anything about it and it's off with your head." Making a motion with his finger, he made a line on his neck and stuck out his tongue making gurgling 'Bleh!' sound. 

"What an odd bunch that family is, huh?"

"Riddle's got a good head on his shoulders but he could tone it down with all those royal responsibilities and whatnot."

"It'd do him good to—."

A rustle of feet against grass and the tinkling of brushes and glass bottles, you emerged from the corner. 

"You're quite lucky his royal highness was not here to hear this." You commented, the two gardeners quickly came to their feet in a panic. Cater's eyes, once panicked, calmed into a soft green like the meadows during a spring. "Will you tell him?"

"No, I know how to keep a secret." 

"For a price, right?" 

"Yes," you confessed, unperturbed that he easily read through your intentions. "Since I will be the royal family's painter beginning the coronation, I want to be familiar with the process of creating the rose paints." 

"Then it's a deal! You keep your trap shut and I'll show you the process." 

Cater and his cousin exchange looks before they each take one of the petal-filled baskets. Pointing to a basket next to you, the other gardener instructed you. "First things first, we need to take this to the warehouse to weed out the good from the bad. Take the smaller basket next to you." 

You follow suit, hefting the smaller basket to your side while the more experienced gardeners easily hold it above their heads. "And what do you do with the petals that don't make the cut?" You ask, Cater giving you a look and smile, brilliant green scanning you as you talk. 

“We throw them away.” He replies, smiling opposing your furrowed eyebrows and confused expression. "Isn’t that a waste, it may not be the red we want but surely it could be used as another shade."

"You're not the first one to suggest that."  

Reaching the warehouse in record time, all of you set the baskets down as Cater's cousin fishes keys from a satchel on their side. "We know and see there are more opportunities for different shades, new products." The other gardener explained, flitting through their keys to find the right one. "That sort of foresight has been hardwired into us since time and memory." Fitting the key into the lock, they undo the chains and use their shoulder to push open the door.

"We tried," they said, voice low and distant. "Once."

Their tensely calm nature froze into a cold fearful anxiety, the keys dropping into a pile on the ground. Roses were scattered and torn, glass bottles shattered, and mechanisms stolen. 

"No…" their voice equally stumped, equally mortified, and equally panicked. "Who would—How do we tell—? The coronation is so close—!"

Almost like clockwork, the clinking of armor rustles against the tense silence, hair a fiery red and smoldering eyes like orange fire brought upon his gaze to the crowd before him. 

"What's going on here?" Cater's grim expression grew deep, his lip almost quivering as he forced the truth out of his mouth. "Ace, the roses, the paints—Someone–." 

A flit of panic crossed his expression and for a moment, you wished you never came. You wished to be back in the den with your father, aimlessly watching him paint his life away.

In a cruel twist of irony, you had gotten what you wished for, you had been locked away within the confines of your den. Though, you weren't expecting the additional company. 

Everything played out like clockwork, from the wrath of the Queen to the intense gaze of the heir apparent. The thump of her hand hit the throne harshly, her voice loud and shrill with a face red from anger demanding how this would happen so close to her son's coronation. 

Try as they might, Cater and his cousin explained the events but to no avail, there was no getting to the Queen in her anger. She ordered for them to be thrown into the dungeons, have them chained until they confess, and their heads off'd. 

The guards moved, a red haired knight hesitantly laid a hand onto his friend and his companion, the cold feeling of rose tinted metal touching your shoulder made your bones shiver. Angered the very leader of your kingdom all in your first day, what else could go wrong?

"Mother, wait."

Riddle's voice came as a saving grace to those condemned, his aid was right behind him with hands lightly stretched as if to push him past the line of the throne, or were they pulling him back? You couldn't tell.  

"It is under royal decree number 6239 section 23 that all cases of suspected theft will undergo fair trial and conviction. They must undergo the proper rulings prior to their imprisonment."

The sound of her child calmed the Queen, her finger motioning to the present legal counsel who hurriedly looked through the books. "He is right in every word, your Grace." 

Emboldened by the statement, the heir-apparent stood his ground against the reigning matriarch. "It is also under section 35 of the same decree that those suspected of such crimes will be put under house arrest such is the time the investigation has concluded. If I remember correctly, you and I were the ones that penned this amendment, Mother. It is only right that we follow this to the Tee as you taught me." 

The silence was long and light, Cater's eyes caught yours in a worried gaze. The red haired knight's hold on you weakened when the Queen's demeanor changed to one of pure delight. "Ah, what a memory that was, Riddle. And your penmanship was absolute perfection, I expected no less from you!" Tapping her scepter, the gardeners and you were released. 

"Ah but the house of Diamonds—" She thought out loud to which Riddle closed his eyes solemnly. "They will stay with the royal painter until my investigation is over. I want all of my eggs in one basket." He looks over to you, eyes shining in conviction and secrecy, passing a message only you could understand. 

Play along. 

And so you did. You hang your head, looking as fearful as you could try. "To make sure they are being monitored, I will deploy my knight, Ace, whom I've trained for some time now." The knight's armor crackles as he straightens his form and salutes. "As you can see he is as polished as they come."

"Indeed, though I'd do away with a cleaner haircut. Such a slovenly-looking boy." The knight only averted hisngaze, armored hands tightening in frustration. "Regardless, you are right, since you will be king in due time it is only proper you are given the ropes as early as now. I assume you will give proper punishment when it is due, you won't let me down, will you Riddle? After all that I had taught you."

The sweet voice emulated by the Queen had turned to an overbearing pressure, her eyes boring down at her steely son who had since gotten used to her harsh ways. You could only imagine what teachings the small heir endured behind the castle walls. 

"I will do what is right."

"Excellent. Now, dear, let's hurry on now. Our tea time is fast approaching. Remember, only lemon tea." 

"Yes, mother. With two sugars." 

Nodding to his aid, they moved by his side as he held one last gaze at the trio before him. "Take them to the Painter's den. I'll deal with them later." 

The door opens, cutting your thoughts and bringing you back the present. Riddle gave the three of you a knowing gaze, his body loose and eyes relaxed. Cater only smiled at him, brows furrowed and voice light. 

"Please, have a seat, your Majesty."

"No need, I've done a day's worth of my sitting already. Let's discuss what I've already found."

Once you were away from the prying eyes of the elite and within the four corners of your quaint home, the demeanor of Riddle changed almost like a flash of light. Within the protection of the four walls of your den, his demeaning tone shifted to one friendly but distant.

"A theft and you were all the closest to the scene of the incident." He explained. "But this occurrence cannot be overlooked, not when the coronation is so close."

Removing his glove, he stretched out his bare hand to the three of you. "Allow me this selfish request, all of you." 

"The three of you are able to enter places I cannot, therefore, I will be enlisting your help in this investigation in exchange for your freedom." Smiling, a small flit of hope touches your chest, Cater's shoulders tensing not from fear but a sort of indescribable giddiness. 

"That sounds like a fair trade, right?"

You move from your position, all of you gathering in a circle over the old table aged and dried with speckles of paint. In the center, Riddle set down a small wrap that unraveled with a wave of his hand. A powdery substance glimmered in the air, twinkling like stars.

"Stardust?"

"Magical residue in textbook terms, yes. It seems our thief is well versed in the magical arts. I've given a sample to the bloodhounds and they're searching for a trace as we speak." Cater leans in, his figure quite close to yours but not enough to touch. The heat his body gave off comforted you in a sort of way, ever since the beginning of this whole mess he had been by your side comforting you and cracking jokes when it was possible. Truly, he was someone who saw things differently from you. A warm spring to your harsh winter. 

“With so many people within the kingdom that uses magic, will we be able to find them with a size so grand?” He asked. With a finger against his lips, the prince thought out loud. "This magic is quite refined, this makes me think that who we're dealing with is quite the expert but…Something about this doesn't sit right with me."

“What do you mean?” You inquired in turn, Riddle shaking his head and bundling the magical dust up for safe keeping. “It’s nothing. For now, I want you to continue collecting information from any of the townsfolk for any odd happenings that could be connected to this. I believe it's your turn now that Ace has done his rounds with his partner.”

“I don’t think rounds is the right term for what happened considering Ace just took them out on a—Ow!.” Cater jokes, earning a playful punch to his arm by a flustered cousin. By the corner of your eye, you could have sworn that the knight, Ace, peaked in with pink cheeks.

“Yes, well, as long as the objective has been accomplished. That is fine with me,” You nod your head, the aid coming to serve him and all of you tea to calm the nerves and warm the body. “Though, I would admit, this is the first time I’ve seen Ace so disciplined. The boy was a chore to train.”

“I can hear you.” Yelled the knight from outside the house.

“Good to know your ears are disciplined as well.”

The day ahead of you looked bleak and lifeless like sun damaged canvases. Not a single crumb of information brought you any closer to the truth and the disguises were far too uncomfortable under the blazing yellow sun of the afternoon. Cater had no better luck despite his more approachable aura.

"Seven above, not a single bite of info!" He said with a sigh, sitting on the fountain that overlooked the town's square. Cater leaned himself back, bracing himself just enough that he doesn't fall into coin-filled water. Lips pursed and brows furrowed, the gardener rummaged through all his thoughts and ideas yet only a blank slate remained. "Maybe we're looking at this all wrong?"

You take your place next to him, leaning forward. "I don't think so, we've collected what we could with what little information we were given."

"But how are we supposed to pinpoint magic when a good chunk of us use it? This is like finding a needle in a haystack." 

A collective sigh, the two of you remain silent for some time with the fountain being your only source of noise. The day of the trial and coronation loomed closer and with evidence having no substance, you could feel your end nearing.

"Do you think he'll actually help us?" You ask, "The prince."

"I don't know." Cater answered after a bout of silence. "Maybe."

"Then why do you still insist on helping him?"

"Well, for one, our families are connected." He links his two pointers together, then links his hands. "Secondly, It's the only thing I see flowing towards me."

"Flow?"

"Yeah, I'm a 'go-with-the-flow' kinda fellow. I take what comes and go with it." 

"That seems…quite dangerous."

"A lot of people think it is." Cater chuckled then looked over to you. "Going against the flow, against your destiny, it's all a chore." The winds blow, ruffling your and his hair, off color petals and leaves litter the empty palace square. "That's why when I was told I had to be the rose collector of the kingdom, I just went with it."

"But do you like being one?"

"Mmn, no." Cater replied, "But I don't hate it either. What about you, do you like being a painter?"

You open your mouth but nothing comes out, the words you prepared to say vanished the moment he looked at you with those vibrant eyes of his. All your life, you were taught to paint, taught to only see what was in front of your canvas, and learned the techniques created and passed down by your predecessor. Cater huffs a laugh at your silence, moving to pat your shoulder. 

"I guess that makes you the same as me."

You feel shame creep on your face, Cater's hand coming up to cup your chin delicately. "It's nothing to be shy about. We were always taught that we all have a purpose, a sort of destiny we need to fulfill. And when we're met with something that questions that, suddenly we don't know what to do. It happens." 

"Isn't that wrong?" 

"Should it be wrong?" Cater retorts only smiling and opting not to give you a straight answer. His hand leaves your chin, letting his fingers trace your cheek before leaving entirely. His tips were calloused yet gentle, years of picking the same flowers over and over again showing easily by your trained eye. 

"Just go with the flow." He says, offering you a smile for your worries. "And everything will fall into place."

You nod your head, looking down but unable to shake the uneasy feeling within you. Cater uses this opportunity to bring his hand to yours. The feeling of his fingers twining with yours calms you down, but only for a moment.

You continued down the square as more people began to swarm as the sun began to set and the nights became lively. Cater's presences next to you brought you a passing joy, a warm comfort. Though you were nowhere near finding any leads, at least you had someone there to be with you along the way.

The bellows of shopkeepers echoed with the screams of delighted children. The smell of food mingled with the perpetual scent of rose. "This scent," you mused to yourself. "The Clover bakery is open again? Will he be alright??" You ask, tugging at the hand that held Cater's. "I thought he was in mourning."

"He is, but business is business." Cater's voice drips of concern for his friend "A man can't keep to himself if he wants to keep on living. Still, to lose the love of your life is a difficult process…But that's a story for another time."

A flash of green hair moved, setting loaves of fresh bread to the stand, his tired gaze and sweet smile adored his face as another baker came to help him. A tug from Cater nudges you to give them some alone time.

"Let's have a look at that artists' stand."

Your attention was broken by the small keep in front of you. From brushes of ivory and wood, parchment and stone, glass and crystal, the hand crafted tools were all on display for you to see and discern. Cater looked amazed, his hand moving to pick up a glass pen. "You can use glass to paint?"

"Indeed you can but the technique takes time to perfect!" Said the keeper, "Plus, it works mostly with ink rather than paints."

"Inks, huh?" A smile creeps on your lips, a sheepish one at that. "Knowing how this goes, it took you days to bring those inks here. We don't have the means to make inks."

Cater looks at you l, red eyes blinking at your expression. 

"Funny thing about that, these inks were made right here inside the kingdom! And at a fraction of the price our usual products go for." Exclaimed the enthusiastic keeper. "Thanks to some ingenuity from these two travelers that visited, we can pretty much make pigments outta anything, anytime!" 

"Travelers?" Your head tilts, quite surprised at this bombshell of information and the keeper was more than happy to share information. "They're a little rough around the edges, no doubt they went through much but the boy has such amazing skill. Just yesterday, he and his partner got this pressing mechanism working and was able to create liquid pigment in just seconds! My products are selling like hotcakes."

"That's quite a feat, don't you think so Cater?"

"Hm? Uh, yes, of course." The gardener said with a look so distant, ruby gaze dull as if reminiscing about something. Perhaps it wasn't the best idea to talk about paints knowing what had happened. Tightening your hold slightly, you offered him a smile before bidding the keeper a polite thank you and going on your way. 

"Is something on your mind?"

He leans into you, chuckling. "You just look so different when you talk about paint and art, so passionate and happy. I was just taken by surprise." In retaliation, you pushed at his shoulder with yours making both of you laugh. "Your eyes lit up like stars at the sight of it, I just couldn't bring myself to butt in." 

"Well, it's not like we could. We're undercover."

"Right, that. But still, we came up empty handed. The least we can do is enjoy the night time market, right?" 

Your hands tightened a little bit, the comfortable pressure and shared grin brought relief to your heart. "Yeah."

The water pooled at your ankles, pushing against your skin and directing you to where you should go, a dream?, you thought to yourself as you took a step against the current. In the haze that was the unknown, you reached your hand out as if trying to reach for something, or someone. The water had begun to grow stronger, more forceful. 

You lose your balance, tipping and tittering into the cool water below you. A hand quickly claiming yours and pulling you up. 

"Cater?"

He was soaked to the bone, hair a murky orange-brown but eyes coldly brilliant. As he pulls you against him, the current begins to rise yet he refuses to move. Your panic sets in once the water reaches your waist and in the rush of water, you scream at him to move.

Yet he only continues to smile and slowly, he lets go of your hands letting float from him as the rushing water overtakes and swallows him whole. 

The knocking of the door was turse and harsh, waking all three of you from a state of deep slumber. "Open the door for the royal guard!" Said the familiar voice, Ace stepped into the fray with an aura of authority and eyes trained. Behind you, the two cousins get to their feet quickly despite their drowsy state. 

"Ace, what are you—?" The other gardener's lips were silenced once the knight produced a parchment of paper. Your stomach dropped upon reading the bold letters written by an expert hand. 

"Cater Diamond, you are under arrest for conspiring to steal from the Royal Family, trickery, damage to historical artifacts, and disturbing the peace." His red eyes, sharp as a hawk, pierces all of you. 

"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say will be used against you in a court of law. You have a right to a legal advisor. If you cannot afford one, one will be provided to you." With a wave of a hand, more guards rushed in, seizing and motionless Cater from your and his cousin's clutches. 

"You can't do this, he hasn't done anything to deserve this!" You yelled, pushing against the guards

Your words fell on deaf ears as Cater was pulled away, his cousin screaming for Ace to let him go. He shares one last glance with you, a cold green. You dash for him, wrestling Ace who's metal clothing and training was quick to overpower you with strength alone. 

"Let him go, he's innocent!" You yelled, attempting to wring at his hold. Ace did not speak at first, instead moving to push you away harshly into your painting materials and to the floor with clattering wood and spilled colors and canvases.  

Behind you, your father's last painting lay in a mess of color and old brushes. The other gardener's face lost its color, their lips quivering in betrayal. 

"Ace, why are you doing this?"

A flash of deep pain passed his eyes then steeled to conviction as he pushed Cater away from you. "I'm doing this to protect the ones I love. I'm doing what is right."

The gardener screamed Ace's name, quickly getting up to pull them back as Cater slipped away into the waiting crowd of curious onlookers and whispering gossipers.

The days leading to the trials and coronation were eerily silent and heavy. Nothing happened to you, no suspicion was raised against you nor the other gardener. Things had only began to ramp up once the notice had been delivered to your doorstep. 

The trial will predate Riddle's coronation and the fates of those punished will be put on public display for all to see. 

For a moment, you wanted to throw it all into the fire and let the embers burn away what anger you felt. Your eyes move to the still fallen painting on the floor, now gathering dust and dirt then to the other gardener hunched over in their own little world, coping and praying for a family they were going to lose. 

The burn was painful and the subsequent freezing cold of regret even more so. You picked up the painting with shaking hands, putting it back on its stand with shuddering shoulders. Perhaps had you gone against your role as a painter, you went against the wishes of your father then you wouldn't have to feel this pain.

Your hands tightened around the canvas, nails digging into it in your frustration, you wouldn't have had your feelings in a mess had you just pushed all of this away. 

…That's what you really felt, right? 

You go back to the times you and Cater spoke in the empty square, the way he touches your cheek and spoke of his beliefs. The way his hand never left yours that night and how, somehow, despite it all there was something there with you, right next to you. 

"Go with the flow." You whisper to yourself, closing your eyes and envisioning your father by his canvas speaking with you, teaching you the coins of wisdom that he'd collected over the years.

"Understand that with each stroke you make, life begins anew." He says, giving the brush to you and closing your fingers around it. "With that, you will begin to see the beauty of your creation laid out for you to paint."

There was more to that, you think, he said something more than this. 

"But at times, there are moments where you stumble upon canvases too difficult to paint, some entirely unpaintable."

His hand touched your head, thumb tracking your cheek. "But that doesn't mean you can't try and navigate it." That hand comes down to your shoulder, his eyes looking to the brush in your hands. "Go with the flow you feel is right, and you'll find the right stroke, the right pigment…The right answer to all your questions."

Opening your eyes, the painting only stared back at you. Your grip loosening from its wooden supports and completely letting go.

"We're going to the trial." 

As you expected, droves of people gathered near the palace making it hard for you to move and pull the other gardener at the same time. You weren't expecting a crowd this big but knowing it was Riddle's first trial and hours before his coronation, it was no wonder why it was treated with so much fanfare. 

You move between bodies and push against shoulders until you find the entrance. Ace guarded one side of the opening while another took the opposite. His eyes widened at your appearance in the crowd despite everything that had happened. 

"What are you—?" You push through him again, letting go of his paramour. "Let me see Cater." You press and his expression sharpened and eyes steeled. "No can do, he is a suspect and cannot interact until the trial is over."

For some reason, you could see that this response was rehearsed. 

"Let me see him and I'll leave you two alone." You look over to the gardener whose expression is both expectant and hurt, Ace's features soften at their presence and you use this to further your motive in the softest way possible. "It seems the both of you have a lot to talk about." 

Ace hesitates, lips pressed into a line. "The trial will start soon. You have 5 minutes." He points into the corridor before you, "Take a left and go past the 1st large door you'll see."

"Thank you, Sir Ace."

You leave the two lovers alone, your feet briskly running with the directions given to you. You push the door open, the old wood creaking loudly into the empty room. There Cater sat  in a plush chair, his clothes of bright white linen and hair stripped of any ornaments. His dull eyes regarded you, lips turning into a soft smile. "I didn't think you'd come to see me."

"I came to see you because I want to know what happened." You say, staying away from him. "What really happened." 

His smile disappeared, his head turning away to look at the floor. His hands lay resting on his lap and his hair moving past his ears to cover his features almost like a veil. 

"Cater," you mustered the courage to speak, stepping closer little by little. "That magic, that was yours, wasn't it?" 

He did not answer. 

"And the Cater I was with, the one who comforted me in the square—."

You took more steps towards him until you were the only thing that stood in his way. Instead of harshness, your hands were gentle as you knelt down to look at him and took his hands in yours. Compared to what you felt in the square that night, these hands were completely different. More worn, more calloused, more tired. 

"That wasn't you, was it? The Cater I was with, the things he told me—"

He sighed, body hunching until your foreheads touched. "I didn't lie that day, what the clone said, what I said was true." His emerald eyes closed for a moment. "I just couldn't let them leave, not with what happened to them."

"Who?" 

Your eyes meet, Cater's guilt stricken face gives you enough of a hint. "The thieves, you helped them?"

"It's more complicated than that but that's the gist of it."

"Why? Why did you help them??"

"I wanted to."

"Cater, you know this goes against the wishes of the royal family."

"To hell with that—!" His voice was loud for a moment, his eyes hunched and shoulders tense. "All my life I had been told what to do, I became a rose collector because it was the only thing I could see down the line, the only thing that flowed to me naturally. Even if I didn't hate it I—

The bell tolls, footsteps crep closer to the room he was held in. 

"If there was something I could do to go against it. Just for one moment, I could have made a difference…" 

Suddenly, everything made sense to you in a way and Cater's silence gave way to the clinking of the armor. He pushes you into a corner before getting up, shielding you from their gazes. 

"I did what was right. And until the end of my days, I don't regret it one bit."

Cater is taken away, your face caught in your throat as you attempt to yell for him. In the empty room, you stood frozen, your eyes gazing at the door then to the chair he sat on. As the trial began, Riddle took to the stage to recite his oath and judge presiding over the court.

There was nothing you could do, no matter how hard you pushed against this canvas, no matter how hard you tried to sequence your strokes. It was unpaintable. You recall your father's words, your legs moving on their own towards the courtroom as Riddle began the proceedings. His mother looked at him expectantly from own private theater, knowing well her son was the splitting image of her ideals.

With each piece presented, with each story said, more and more evidence was put against those who stood at trial. A boy with blue hair and a kind gaze stood strong for a partner who could not, next to them was Carer who hung his head as Riddle and the law makers spoke. 

"Cater, of the Diamond family." Said the heir apparent. "It brings me great shame to see you this way, for many centuries our families worked hand in hand to create the roses we were known for; even created a kingdom out of it."

His gaze hardened, red gloves moving the scepter to point at him. "For you to ally yourself with thieves, even I could not believe such a thing could happen. This trickery you used with the magic you were born to create copies of yourself to be in two places at the same time…It is both a wonderfully wicked act to both you and your families."

"I did what was right." 

Riddle's eyes widened, his grip on the scepter tightened. "What was that?" He tested, Cater's eyes shined with volition and voice roared with disatisfaction. 

"I did what was right, I gave the thieves the roses and our pressing machines," his lips quivered within the gasps of surprise and horror . "If I hadn't then nothing in this kingdom will change!".

He yelled what seemed like years or frustration, toils and hardships that were not his own. "Making the paints is laborious, each bottle we fill takes years off our lives. Each time we tried to change things for the better, to make things easier, all we got was our heads cut off." The crowd spoke in whispers and murmurs, Cater's tirade did not stop then. 

"Then what did these two have to do with this ideology of yours?"

"They're brilliant. The boy could create mechanisms where not a single finger needs to be lifted to create pigments and not a single petal goes to waste." He went on, "his partner formulated a way to create brushes out of the stems of withered stems and thorns."

Your eyes widened, Cater allowed himself silence to look around the room of murmuring onlookers and the jury. You could have sworn he was looking at you with a look you couldn't explain. Those deep green eyes pulling you in. 

"With this, the labor cost of the paints will drop and anyone can get their hands on our paints. Anyone could paint…No one has to suffer." 

Riddle is silent, his expression painfully neutral against the crowd of yellers and gossipers. For a moment, you saw something spark in those gray eyes of his. Conviction, self preservation,

"Order!" He yelled, raising his scepter off the floor and bringing it down to the wooden flooring in a loud thunderous thump. 

Pride…?

"Cater Diamond, this evidence is solid and tight. With your confession there is no doubt in my mind that you are just as guilty as the thieves brought next to you." He stood, his small stature allowing him to peer over them like. "It is also no doubt that a sound punishment is needed for a crime such as this." 

You wanted to yell, tell Riddle he was wrong, to save Cater from his fate. Bracing yourself, you began to bellow out in the silent crowd.

"Hush now."

A hand went over your mouth, Riddle's aid coming behind you with the same kind smile you saw them give. Thrashing, you tried to move and pry yourself from their surprisingly strong grip. "Don't fight," they tell you. "Watch."

Riddle's body was relaxed and eyes downcast as the written statement was read out. His scepter is raised and with a touch of magic that dusts his surroundings, he willed his ideals to reality.

"Guilty." 

"Cater Diamond, Deuce Spade, for the crimes against my family and thievery of historical artifacts you have broken every possible law protecting the fair trade of our kingdom." He looked over to the blue haired thief, his eyes shaking against otherwise unblemished skin. 

"But because of you, all three of you, you have opened a gateway to rekindle a connection that we, the family, have lost with the people of our kingdom. It is thanks to you that color and art, livelihood and freedom have become balanced." 

The hand on your mouth left, the aid standing next to you beaming like a proud friend. 

"For that, even for a crime of this high a caliber, I cannot thank you enough for doing this." 

The crowd murmured, the Queen's smile slowly morphing into a frown. His body tensed, brows furrowed "From this day forth, all of you will live for the sins you have commited. Cater Diamond, you will teach Deuce Spade and his partner the ways of the trade and incorporate his brilliance into the creation of our paints. And as for you, Deuce Spade, you will work the rest of your days with the royal painter." He looks over to his partner. "And as for you, your ingenious design will be used to manufacture the rose thorn brushes and thus for the rest of your life, you will work with Cater to control the supply." 

You were at a loss for words and so were the others, Riddle stood unmoving, his posture still oozing authority as the shrill cries of his mother came from the theater above. 

"This trial is adjourned." Said the lawmaker quickly, gesturing to the guards to rally the people out while Riddle argued with his fuming mother. In the panic of the crowd, you were pushed away from Cater who struggled to find you in the sea of people. 

You call out his name, your eyes meeting only for a moment until the doors close in front of you.

Hours had passed and no word of Cater or the news of the coronation took place. You sit in your den, twiddling a brush between your fingers, thinking and remembering the trial like clockwork. 

In front of you was the last painting your father made, still unfinished and slightly dirtied from the fall. 

You were unable to paint, your thoughts easily overpowering your need to do something creative. Was Riddle going to be okay? Was Cater and his cousin going to be okay? What about the two thieves who were with him? Did they make it out before the Queen's guards managed to get a hold of them?

The silence was unbearable, you put your brush down and look at nothing; far too numb and far too cold to do anything, much less move. 

"This canvas was unpaintable from the start." You whisper to yourself, looking at your hands and remembering the way Cater held them in his own. "No matter how hard I tried to paint on it, none of the colors…"

You look to remembering his green eyes, the way he gave you that mysterious smile that held the world's stories under the lock of his tongue. "None of it ever stuck no matter how hard I tried."

Bringing your hands together, you intertwine your fingers and squeeze. Was it enough?, you asked yourself, had I done enough despite the circumstances?  

"Did I even do the right thing?"

Your hair was pushed, fingers massaging your scalp. "I can't answer that but I'm still here, aren't I?" 

Looking up, Cater's hands moved away from your head to cup your cheek.. Eyes crinkling and smile easy and warm. "Did I scare you?" 

Warmth, like the summer sun. The two of you shared an embrace, his body looking sturdier than when he took all of you into himself and breathing harshly into your shoulder. "I'm here." He says, rubbing your back in circles. 

"I'm here."

No words were exchanged after that, even when you looked into each other's eyes and Cater pressed a kiss to your forehead in apology. Not even the presence of the soon to be crowned king or his aid were noticed as you basked in this intimate reunion. 

"Cater," you whispered in a shaking voice, holding him close within the privacy of your den.

Hand-in-hand, the two of you walked the streets as the smell of roses permeated the town in preparation for the coronation. 

"Riddle's mother was very angry." He explained as the two of you came to the entrance of the castle where a crowd stood in eagerness for the new leader of the kingdom. 

"I don't think that matters now that he's already king." 

"She knew that too, I guess she got too hung up that her precious son didn't act the way she did when she was crowned."

The roars of the crowd came once the bells tolled, the sun resting among the clouds as Riddle came to view with his aid behind him. 

"His hair!" One lady gasped. The crowd gasped at the snow white hair contrasting his red clothing and scepter yet no one made it a point to yell. You think it suited him more than the red hair he was born with. 

Raising his scepter, his voice bellowed and held command to all. "From this day forth and the rest of time, we live for what is right." He began his speech. "From now until the end of time, until the last rose wilts I will command all the change that is to come."

He stretches out his hand to all of them, as if asking them to take it. 

"Join me, my subjects, my citizens, my friends; from this sea of red, we will create a kaleidoscope of color and paint our futures into creation!"

With a harsh push to the marble of the palace grounds, flowers erupted from the heart -shaped scepter and sprayed a rain of blossoming flowers in every shape, smell and color. Before your eyes, you see change take form as the red of the past is overtaken by pigment of all shades. 

"You did the right thing." Cater tells you, a single blossom coming to rest on his shoulder. "To trust him, you saw something in him, didn't you?" 

You shrugged, sheepishly chuckling to yourself. "What can I say, I have a fine eye for art."

"Really?" The blossom was pushed on your ear, hair tucked behind it. "Then, is that why you chose to help me when I was taken away?" You took his hand, pressing it to your cheek. 

"I like you, Cater" you confessed, pressing your lips into his palm. "I don't want to lose someone like you." 

Like a lovestruck maiden, Cater blushed, it seemed charming words were the key to hos heart. You smile, finding this amusing as you lean into him and watching the king smile down kindly to the celebrating townsfolk below. 

"A future of color." He began, leaning into your hold. The swirl of blossoms make it look like a dream, the same one where your father last showed himself to you. Somehow, some way, leaving his last painting unfinished allowed you to create a new one. "You'll have a new assistant, new paints, new works…" 

"A kaleidoscope of life for us to make, I can't wait to see it." Looking at Cater, the two of you met eyes and soon leaned in sharing a kiss despite the publicity. 

"And I can't wait to enjoy it with you." 

[the-crows-typist]

A Little Story for You

While the series is currently be written, why note get back into things and write a few short ideas? Malleus with the word 'Fall' was given to me and so, I hope they enjoy it! No warning, only soft

The chill of an oncoming winter blows through the sky, ruffling the sleek hair of the prince. His eyes scan the empty surroundings, heels clicking on cool concrete with a sky above him greying into night. 

"You do not need to walk behind me, I have always stated it. I enjoy your company regardless of the time of day." His steps slowed to a halt for them to catch up, his heart leaping in a giddy manner 

The blow of browning leaves and the flutter of cloth. His friend, his only friend stood ways behind him. Their stature is only so comparable to his; even in height he triumphed over those around him. "Are you not cold during the fall, Malleus?"

His eyes crinkled in glee, gone were the days he was called by his nickname. Though he missed it, it felt much better hearing them utter his name in such a gentle way. 

"The nights in the Briar Valley are much, much colder than this. I will be fine." His hand comes to hold theirs. "Though I'd prefer that we both get to a place warm enough to melt your freezing bones." His shoes crunch against fallen brown leaves.

Both of them walk in silence, Malleus leaning his head once he feels added weight on his arm. 

"The fall is a time of great cold."

"Indeed," his fingers intertwined with theirs.

"But I feel that it is also the time of great warmth."

[the-crows-typist]

A Little Story for You

Vil with the word 'Ambition' Warning: OOC

Strenuous effort, that is the law of the Pomefiore dorm. Nothing is achieved without effort. Vil Schoenheit was the best example of that, a man whose career was built from the ground in his youth to a face and he worked every day to keep and maintain.

Everything must be worked for to be earned, everything must be obtained with effort.

"That's enough, my potato sprout."

Long fingers catch your cheek, palms warm against your skin. His eyes, those eyes full of wisdom, look into yours. "You've done well."

"But...My work, my goals" His finger hushes you, pressing it to your lips before you could make another sound. "One must learn to listen to both mind and body." The beautiful queen tugged, your nose hitting the soft fabric of his uniform taking in the comforting scent of a mild perfume.

"Your mind tells you be ambitious but what does your body say?" He asked.

Closing your eyes, your lips form a line in an upsetting frustration. Your body wanted rest, wanted comfort from the ordeals you had experienced through out the day. Vil's embrace around you tightened ever so slightly.

"Hm, it seems we have an answer." His fingers comb through your hair. "You have won the battle but remember, it is important to heal." As you drift off to sleep, Vil chuckles in a condescending way.

"To fight a battle when you are not ready is nothing but a waste of effort, my potato sprout. Remember that."

[the-crows-typist]

As the roses fly in the spring time air, brushes litter the table and a canvas lay empty and dust-filled.

Rose petals fall into a basket following the hum and strum of a lute.

Within the confines of a cell does color begin to take shape and does a warm sweetness fill the air as memories of old melt in the wake of a new day.

The new Queen of Hearts looks over the land, the grip of his scepter tight and eyes wide in determination, expectant of what the future will hold.

An Adventure Awaits

Heartabyul Series: The Painter in the Den

Coming Soon

[the-crows-typist]

A small update for those who are still here. I'm quite embarrassed that I haven't touched this place in a while but rest assured I'm still much into Twisted Wonderland.

But given the state of my work and my time away, it's hard to churn out works like I used to. I hope to be able to get back into the groove again but until then, keep safe everyone.

Who knows, maybe I'll get to show who Lemilia really is down the line, hehe.

[the-crows-typist]

To the anon the requested Leona and the word: Tranquil, I apologize for deleting the ask.

The Possibilities Are Endless

Word count: 4802 words

CW: Alternate Universe: God AU, Angst with a Happy Ending, and minor mentions of war

"After so long," said a chamberlain, whispering to their partner "How long has it been since the mark of the Lion God has been witnessed?"

The King Scholar, patron of logic and conquest, looked with eyes bright and knowing of the millennia past. Before him was you, with the mark of his patronage on your neck. His knowing gaze became one of contempt yet his curiosity at the veil you wished to cover your being with did not hide.

"Not since the end of the war." Said another attendant.

Centuries ago, the world entered into a period of darkness and greed. A time when both sides fought tooth and nail to dominate the other, a time when the gods and humanity saw the world for what it was: a battlefield. The coexistence that once prospered for millennia had been forced apart like taut bindings, blood was shed and homes were shattered, memories destroyed and innocence trampled. The world, with all the kindness that was cultivated by a gentle hand, had disappeared into the ash.

His hands that bore a heavy burden brushed against your neck to see the mark that made you his. From beneath the white veil that covered your face, your voice was but a gentle whisper of a gasp as you felt the rough skin of his palm. The mark of the King Scholar, the face of a lion that roared with fangs sharp painted your skin like shimmering ink.

"Interesting." Said the patron of logic, his fingers move beneath the veil you chose to hide yourself in. "And why do you cover yourself this way? The days of such a practice are long gone."

You did not answer and somehow, the King Scholar was content with your silence. One less voice that will reach his ears. "Keep your secrets then." With a snap of his fingers, his chamberlain moved quickly to the door and opened with a creak of old wood. Your gaze through the veil saw his tail stand on alert the moment the winds of his celestial chambers welcomed both of you.

As the doors closed and the both of you were left alone, you opened your mouth to utter words of praise. "Don't bother." Said the King Scholar, his back turned to you. "If you want to survive, do as I say and be quiet."

It did not matter who they were or the status they shared in life nor what they were identified as in birth, the mark of him on the center of their neck was always an indication that they were destined to be in servitude to the gods for eternity...Or at least until the gods grew tired of them.

"From this day forward, you will be at my command until the end of your days. Be prepared."

What life came after conquest was a relative peace that he could not fathom but the King Scholar had no choice but to continue to walk the path with his own two feet with eyes leading the way.

The winters were silent in the King Scholar's abode, nothing but falling snow to keep you company. It did not take long for you to realize that the god you came to be with preferred a life of solitude.

"I'm not going." Said the slumbering god that lay in a nest of pillows and fur, silk held up from above acting as a barrier between you two. As you sit on your knees, a letter with a bright red wax seal sat on your lap waiting for its intended recipient to read through its content.

A whistle passes your lips, a call to the wind that calls back with its own whistle against your ears. It asks for your request, your hands coming up to deposit the unopened letter. "Please bring this back to the sender. The King Scholar is not feeling well." The winds whistle a tune of disappointment but carry on their duty, it seemed even it was accustomed to the solitary ways of the King Scholar.

"It's an assembly, I can already tell from the wax seal. The King of Dragons wants to bring the gods together again and each stupid year he becomes more persistent." His voice dripped with seething frustration, his body moving for his back to face you. "Send it back, I have no need for it."

As the message rides the wind, you turn upon hearing the door to the home opening, the King Scholar scratches his head with a long yawn, his clothes far too thin to withstand the brutal weather. "My lord, please go ba—" you say, quickly trudging through the snow towards him. In a flash of chilling air, he jumped into the snow and ran through the landscape until his feet made snow fly behind him in a spray.

Your gaze followed him until he came to a sudden stop before a cliff overlooking the winter landscape, his sharp teeth peaking out his panting mouth and cheeks shining with crystals formed by the cold wind. His green eyes gazed above the mountains of his home, a long mist left his mouth in a sigh as he got to his knees without a care that the cold would burn his skin.

"My lord—" You call out to him, stepping carefully through the thick snow to reach him.

Your hand goes to the skin, hard yet delicate, pink like peach skin. Your fingers brush against the area of your eye, or at least what was left of it.

He brushed past you, his robe soft and cool against your scarred cheek, as he went back to his home away from the snow with a tut of his tongue. "What are you staying in the snow for? Get back in here before you turn into ice." He ordered. "Make something hot to drink while you're at it."

As you turned to look at him, his dark hair flowed like silk bounced each step he took away from you and his skin slightly reddened and worn from the cold.

“Hey.” He called out to you again.

“Coming.”

It felt as if the domain he currently resided in did not fit his needs in the slightest.

The water hissed through the opening of the pot, the steam warming the room. Next to you was a knight, once whose frame was sluggish yet firm, his hair a silver hue and eyes downcast and half-lidded.

"You can sit down if you're feeling sluggish, Sir Silver." you place a hand on his shoulder, his body stiffening and eyes blinking awake. "It is quite cold outside, I do not blame you for wanting to rest."

"It is not needed." Refused Silver, his hand coming to rub his eyes. "Regardless of the temperature, I will slowly fall asleep. It is up to me to wake myself up."

"R-right…"

"Hey, is the tea ready?" Asked another man, his blond head popping out from the open door. "The cold is seeping through the walls, I don't think we'll last too long."

"It's almost ready. I'll bring it out at once." You reply to him, his hand waving as he walks back to the room where the guests congregated. The hushed voices of two gods conversing over a chess table with their trusted colleagues surrounding them.

It had seemed that after the spectacle of witnessing the King Scholar's roar, the once desolate land welcomed the presence of those who heard his call.

The slippery-handed patron of thieves, one whose laugh held a naughty greed and childish wonder.

The god of the hunt and athleticism whose frame was large but touch gentle. The patron of young children and wolves.

"Oh, you've retracted your bishop. Running away again?"

From the other side of the board, the King of Dragons sat with a demeanor of that of a monarch. Back straight and leg over the other, his horns shined against the light of the room and tail lightly brushing against the carpeted floor.

"All talk but no bite won't get you anywhere." Replied the King Scholar as he waited for the opponent to move. "Is the tea ready? I'm famished."

"As quick as your little veiled ghost can prepare it." The god of thievery laughed into his hand. "Poor thing has to contend with the sleepy knight and the sheer cold."

"A veil? That practice has been abolished for a long time now if I remember correctly." Said the King of Dragons, lifting his pawn piece to his lips and eyes averted to the side in thought. "To think you still practice such an archaic manner to take away one's humanity."

"They wear the veil as a choice. I have nothing to do with it."

You take careful steps towards the room, the sleeping knight already resting on the chair not too far behind. The once hushed conversation reaches your ears with clarity.

"Do they, now? How odd."

The pieces on the board dwindled but the kings still stood, the King Scholar's knowing eyes scanning the field while the King of Dragon's stared at him with an expectant look. The board tapped lightly as the king made the first move towards the enemy's field. A surprised expression plagued the face of the King of Dragons, his shining eyes wide and mouth so minute.

The King Scholar moved his king a square forward. "Even someone as mighty as you is not exempt from imperfection. Taking in someone who is broken makes no difference to me."

"How dare you!" The board was tossed to the side, hands that both cared and battled within the expanses of the snow and play caught the ones of a strong novice. The patron of wolves growled in warning as the child of human blood and lightning bared his teeth in a snarl.

"Stand down, Sebek." Warned the large man, his hand showing no struggle in holding the other's in place. "This is no place for a fight."

"Then tell your broken King to watch his mouth in front of the King of Dragons."

It smelled of ozone, the air around them crackled and split, the god of wolves was quick to release his hold of him before he got hurt by the power of the heavens. "Calm yourself. This doesn't have to happen."

The tea cups rattle and your feet feel the static. You close your eyes with a whimper and hunched over. Your teeth rattled and your ears popped, an immense pressure bearing down on you.

No, this power isn't from the heavens. This isn't the power of lightning and storm.

"Kneel." Growled the King Scholar. His voice shook to your core as if something had kept you in place, vulnerable to any attack.

With a surprised gaso, the green haired youth got to his knees almost in command, his eyes wide in fear and body unwilling to move at the coming growl.

"A broken King, now that's something new." He walked forth, stepping over fallen pieces and over to the hunches form of Sebek. "Your power suggests you are the child of one of the draconic gods." Sebek snarled upon seeing Leona's feet near his face. "But your reaction to my power suggests you are also human. A weak one at that."

Leona gets on his haunches, eyes wide and irises blown and guarded. "What makes you think you can lay a finger on me with that weak body of yours?" His breath hitched at his growling voice, the King's fangs white and sharp yet dripping with the desire to bite.

Sebek's body suddenly relaxed, his body no longer rigid. Letting out a shaking sigh, he slowly and carefully looked up to the God of Logic and Conquest. His irises were relaxed, slit and his voice no longer holding the pressure that kept him frozen in place. Leona stood up and motioned his hand. "Hoist him up, Jack."

The god of wolves takes the green hair youth by the arm to pull him up, his footing loose. You use this moment to bring the tea to them with a curt bow. "You need to put a tight leash on this one, Malleus. He has potential but that mouth of his will make more enemies than it's worth."

"I have told him time and time again." Said Malleus, looking over to one of his two prodigé. "I will have a word with him once we get back. Would you like to restart the game?"

"No, I'm not in the mood for it anymore."

"Then shall we end this in a tie?" Asked the King of Dragons, his eyes sly and smile teasing.

"Fine...Ugh, I hate it when you make that face Malleus."

"Fufu, apologies. You know I like to tease you. You hate losing and hate tying even more."

The day went on in relative peace until the very departure of the King of Dragons.

As his wings flapped and his limbs loose, Malleus spared one last glance to the snow and its inhabitants. Leona did not bother to see them off thus you were there on his behalf instead. "Please be safe on your journey."

"I will." His wings stretch, his eyes look through the winter landscape with a sigh of melancholy "Leona is a powerful being who once tamed beasts larger than man and won skirmishes with his own will." His eyes scoured the landscape again, his lips hesitating to say anything else. "But now, we are left with nothing but memories."

He sighed, eyes downcast. His two knights are at the ready, waiting for his command to fly to the heavens, to what remained of their peaceful home. "Perhaps that is the reason why he took you in."

"What do you mean, my lord?" You asked, yet he gave no answer. His smile was gentle and eyes knowing.

"Promise me something, child of man. Care for him. No one deserves to remain cold in this tranquil winter." Malleus' hands touch your shoulder, his grip warm and gentle. "Pester him, no matter how stubborn he is and help him see that he deserves peace as well."

"...Yes, my lord."

Your acceptance of his request brings peace to his face and with the forceful movement of his wings, Malleus bids his farewell to the quaint home while his knights fly not too far behind him. Soon, the snow felt colder and the silence became heavy.

"Hey, little ghost. Leona wants more tea." Ruggie calls from the door, the god of the wolves right behind him.

"You're using them to shirk off work, aren't you?"

"Don't expose my sins so willingly, Jack. Besides, they make better tea than me!"

You walk back towards them, "It's alright. Please let me make it."

While you were protected by the warmth of blankets and pillows, the howling wind of the rigid winter nights did little to provide you comfort. Rising from your bed, you gazed into the night illuminated by the moon and raging snow. You didn't know the cold would get this bad.

Getting up, you move towards the kitchen to get something to drink while draping a blanket over your frame. The solitude of this home, the blanket of white that went for hundreds of miles, not a single soul to be found within its confines.

How did the King Scholar survive all this alone?

An unexpected lingering l warmth hits you upon seeing that the stove had been used, the room to your right slightly ajar...That was his, Leona's, bathing chambers. The chambers had a wide expanse but the facilities were simple and evenly spaced out save for some toppled over vials of oil and scents.

"My lord?" You called out, your hand lightly pressing against the wooden frame. His sleeping form that wadded within the warm water was peaceful, deep. You dare not make your steps any louder as you approach him. "Why sleep here?" You whisper, getting your knees to look at him. "Perhaps it's because you want to be warm too."

Upon finding a stool, you sit before the tub and wait. The days that had passed since Malleus' visit, you couldn't find yourself able to be alone or to be away from Leona for long. At a respectable distance, you stayed with him just away from view but never truly disappearing. He was sure to take notice of it but made no action, deciding to eat and sleep his days away. "Your eye is broken."

Stray hair moves over his face, your fingers moving on its own to push it out of his face, seeing the scar over his eye in better detail. Your hand coming up to the burnt skin of your face and neck, feeling the slightly rough patches against your fingers. "Is that why you took mine instead?"

In your youth, your family always used the nights to gather and learn of the celestial beings that lived beyond the clouds. Your father was an avid storyteller and your mother a willing participant. They told you of the many triumphs and despairs of the war and what came before and after it.

"The King Scholar had clear, beautiful eyes. So powerful, in fact, that they could see through anything and think of the most genius solutions with one look." Your father once said, telling you the story of the god you would one day serve.

"Don't get any closer."

Jack, the patron of wolves stood by the door as silent as he beckoned you closer to the door. "Sit by the stove and let him sleep." You give the King Scholar one last glance before quietly following Jack out of the bathing chambers.

"He could be found where the sand met the soil, where beast and prey shared the same land and where the water flowed from each river into one large pool."

Wood was thrown into the hearth, your hands coming to press the clay structure. "Leona is usually alone here so I'm surprised he let a single person in." Said Jack, letting out a chilling sigh as he added more wood.

Your mother moved the puppets, the happy looking King Scholar sitting by the pool with other gods like him. "Deep in the heart of his home, the pool was the King Scholar's favorite haunt. If you wanted to find him, he would be there resting in the cool water away from the sun." You giggle when the puppet was handed to you, the King Scholar's happy face drawn with ink and paint.

"Papa, will I meet him too? When I go to his home?"

The blanket around you tightened in your hold, Jack rubbing his hands together and breathing into it. He does not seem to be affected by the cold very much. Perhaps it was because of his patronage to the wolves that live within the Tundra.

"You will have to look for him, sweetheart. Find the pool and you will find the King." Said your father, tapping your nose.

“Frigid winters are the worst nights for him.”

Jack grimaced, his hulking figure sulking with a pained expression. "He absolutely hates it."

“Honey, do you smell something? Is something burning??” Asked your mother as the smell of burning debris seeps through the walls and into your lungs, the warmth of the light becoming a stinging lick of flame,

Your hands ball up into fists and your eyes close under the blanket that covers you. Why are you remembering this now? Why now of all times?? “My lord, why does he stay in the snow if he doesn’t like it here?”

“He's got no place to go back to.” The fire wood crackled within the clay confines of the stove and the wind pressed against the windows. “Everything he created, everything that was precious to him was taken away in a flurry of fire.”

“Everything?”

“Everything down to the very pool he loved to lounge in.” The god of wolves looked towards the window that thumped and rattled. “Even the large felines that once roamed next to him didn't make it."

The scene quickly comes to mind as well as the circumstances of him seeing beyond your veil. “They were his patronage, his creations. They were everything to him..” Jack's growling was nothing like Leona's, his voice rumbling and teeth sharp in a snarl. "Those bastards who called themselves his friends took everything from him." His hands balled into fists and shoulders hunched over.

“Why did they betray him?” Try as you may, you don’t remember any story told to you by your parents. Not even within the memories of them screaming within the ashes of what used to be your home. Jack looks back at you, brows furrowed, “His eyes were his most powerful tool, with it he could solve anything and during the war that was the key to his survival. They got scared that it could be used against them. Idiots, all of them."

The water began to cool, eyes of shining emerald slowly open to a ceiling painted with murals of wolves and snow. Leona groans, pulling himself out of the now lukewarm water.

"After the war ended, I brought him here so he could live peacefully. But this place is no place for a king."

The water drips from Leona's clothes, his figure pressed against the wall by the door. Your hand comes out of the blanket to touch Jack's shoulder, patting his shoulder.

"If only—If only I had realized they were going to betray him then all of this wouldn't have…" The fire spit and crackled, charred wood crumbling to the ash pit. The warmth of the fire began to dwindle and your heart remained heavy, the King Scholar stood behind the door in silence as he listened to every word.

They were away more often, Leona realized. His little ghost, the veiled servant, was as quiet as they come but these past few days your presence blurred into a heavy silence.

"There is an errand I have to run, I will be back soon."

It all began with that conversation with Jack by the stove, when they heard his story. Perhaps they had finally seen the King Scholar for who he really is. A fallen king, a broken god.

"My lord, I'll be gone for a while."

They didn't need to say if they were leaving, Leona was content whether there was someone with him or not. Whether he hears a pair of footsteps or not, the snow will remain and his calls will go unanswered.

At times like this, when everything was falling apart, he would go to the pool where the beast and prey shared. The cool water would ease his senses and give him clarity. The smell of salt and minerals would refresh his senses and bring him peace.

The snow falling onto the ground from the roof awoke him from his nap, your familiar footsteps nowhere to be heard. With a sigh of contempt, he pushed himself up from his bed and let his hair hang over his shoulders.

"It's cold."

He sauntered over to his door, hand opening the door to a damp cavern that held a welcoming warmth. What should have been the hallway to the kitchen was replaced with soaked rock and a cavernous path filled with water.

Three voices echoed softly through its walls, Leona's feet sending a warming feeling of familiarity the moment his skin met the water that streamed off the rocks.

"—I cannot fully replicate the water that once flowed through Leona's domain but I can offer an alternative." Said one voice with a laugh.

"That is fine, as long as it's close to the real thing." Your voice rings through the dripping caves, his ankles now deep in mineral rick murk that flowed against him.

"Still," another voice piped, a hum leaving his mouth in thought, "For you to seek Kalim and I out for such a simple request. It's quite a feat."

He leveled himself against the wet rock, his splashing catching the attention of all three of you. Your veil was damp, clinging to your face as you came face to face with your patron god, mouth unmoving and heart hesitant.

"Let's go, Kalim. Our time here is up."

"Aw, I wish I could stay longer, Jamil. But duty calls."

In a drop of water, the presence of the two gods vanished without so much of a sound leaving you two in a stand still. You move, feet moving slowly in the water. "My lord—."

"So this is what you've been up to these past few days. And here when I thought you finally left me, you took away part of my house and replaced it with a cave." He stepped closer, not caring if the drops ran down his spine and through his clothes. With your help in keeping him balanced, he descends into the pool with a sigh and the cold melting from his bones.

"Perhaps you can forgive my transgressions now that you know what I did, my lord."

Leona huffed, turned to look over to you as you stood over the pool. "Not until you follow all of my orders." Your body stiffened and your posture straight, Leona's eyes closed again but moving a little closer to the edge of the pool.

"Give me your lap."

"Yes, my lord." And you dutifully followed, entering the pool without a care you would get wet. The King Scholar's head resting on your lap the moment he got close. "Caress my head." Was his next command.

"Yes, my lord."

You were once told of large felines that roamed the wild. Unlike their smaller and more house-broken descendents they could not purr, but instead rumble and chuff. Leona's sigh of comfort was a testament to that, each second that passed the etches on his face began to fade.

"Tell me about your scars." He suddenly asked. Your hand stopping over his head in hesitance. "I was a child when it happened, a fire happened in my home."

The memories of your parents resurface but so did the memory of ash and cinder, the pain along your face suddenly felt bright again. "I was told that it was a divine punishment, that my family had angered you."

Your fingers involuntarily clutch over his hair. "Is that why you took away my eye, my lord?"

The silence was swallowed by a splash and drip of water, Leona's hand reaching up and over. His pads were smoothed by the water and held a molten warmth, as you sniffled, the King Scholar regarded you with a stoic expression as if to think of his next words carefully.

"Even the most battle hardened warriors show mercy." His fingers brushed against the area where eye once rested. "Mere stories of my past do nothing for me, me taking your eye will do nothing for me."

"T-then—."

"It was an accident that cost the lives of the followers. Your parents had a passion many artists wish to have."

Your lips quiver, your breathing coming in a hiss, Leona's thumb traces your cheek and over healed scars "I cannot bring back the souls that have passed on nor can I revert the state of one's being, but there is something I can do as a token of my thanks and forgiveness for what I couldn't do."

"Little ghost, close your eyes."

His fingers passed through your hair to the tie of your veil. You didn't react, instead closing your eyes in time with his. The piece of cloth fluttered through the air as he pulled, allowing it to slap against the stone in a heap. Your face laid bare for him to see, the scars of your face for his fingers to trace.

"The eyes are the windows to your soul," You open your eyes despite no command, a new sensation comes over your new vision. "From now on until the end of time, you will carry my will by my side. You will see as I see."

His hair parted, covering the eye where the scar ran down his face. An eye of shining emerald hue sits where you were hurt, allowing you to view the world clearly for the first time in a long while. "Take care of my gift as you have taken care of me, that is an order."

You sniffle, your vision blurred with tears. "Yes, my lord." And hunched over to weep against him.

"Hey now, treat my eye with respect. The very first thing you did was cry with it." He chided yet his voice held no malice.

Sniffling and wiping your face, you give him a watery smile. "I'm sorry, my lord."

[the-crows-typist]

Hello hello, I hope you're doing alright! Can I request a scenario of Sebek and Reader of Reader using Sebek's clothes? Maybe they were caught in the rain, or something. Please make it romantic.

Thank you, that will be my order.

Enjoy Sebek fawning over you, also warning that this may be a lil bit OOC but it's like, cute OOC.

Let The Words Flow Through You

"I'm a little stingray, my wings go flap."

"Birdy in the ocean, flap flap flap."

"Eat up all the fishies, my wings go flap."

"I'm a little stingray, flap flap flap."

From within the room of one Sebek Zigvolt, you sing your little song as you raid the owner's closet after running in the rain. Outside, Sebek's face, red and redder, buried itself into the towel he brought with him while a senior stood next to him, listening to your sea-themed song as you flapped your arms in his dress shirt.

"How long have they been at this?"

"Ten minutes." Sebek says, his senior raising a brow as he hugged the towel as if he were suffering from a heavy burden.

"You're gonna freeze out here if you don't shower, dude." Said his senior whose expression bore one of contempt. "Just go inside, it's not like your little stingray is not gonna stop singing any time soon."

"I don't think I can."

"Man—." The grip of an annoyed magical being was as strong as iron. Sebek was swung around and flung into his room, the younger man screaming as he's thrown to you. "Go get your little stringray!"

You turn almost on cue and your arms are quick to hug him in all his soaked glory. "Hello."

"Hi." Replied he, his hands holding onto you to regain his footing.

"Would you like some stingray hugs?" You ask, your arms raised to hug him.

"Yes, please."

"Okay. Go take a shower first."

[the-crows-typist]

Boosting this again.

My askbox is open for requests, please be sure to read the rules beforehand. Thank you.

[the-crows-typist]

My askbox is open for requests, please be sure to read the rules beforehand. Thank you.

[the-crows-typist]

A Letter From Me to You

The typist bows her head to the Queen of Hearts, the typewriter ready and primed for the letter he requested to make. “I wish you the happiest of birthdays, Mister Riddle.”

“Thank you Lemi.”

“Lemi…?”

“Apologies, Lemilia. Shall we begin?” The dorm leader clears his throat, correcting himself.

“Of course.”

Dearest Director,

I would like to give my thanks to you for taking time out of your day to attend my celebration. I do hope that everything was to your liking, down to the very tea that you drank.

There is not much I can say to you, knowing that you spend most of your time with my juniors: Ace and Deuce but there is something I notice in you, something special. You have a determination not many students here have. It should come to no surprise that working together is not our forte yet you can make it happen with nothing more than a simple word.

As prestigious as Night Raven College is, there are many students here that have problems they must settle; myself included. Even now, even after what has happened within the rose garden, there is much for me to learn and re-learn and to decide. In due time, I wish for you to be there with me when I make said decisions. A queen needs their advisor, after all.

Take care of yourself, director. You have my respect and my support in your endeavors in the future.

Sincerely,

Riddle Rosehearts

A picture is produced from the envelope, though the birthday scene was not a space Riddle was used to; it warmed your heart knowing he was surrounded by those he cared for and whom cared for him in return. One day, you think to yourself, one day you may get to see that smile of his in its purest form.

An advisor must be there for their queen, after all.

“Nine letters, begins with G and ends with E. Readiness to show appreciation for kindness. Tell me, director, can you tell me the answer?”

[the-crows-typist]

A Letter From Me to You

Ortho is ecstatic upon seeing the typewriter before him. “Oh, so this is what it looks like up close!” Leaning down, his fingers delicately run against the keys. “These are the prelude to the modern day keyboard.”

The typist takes a seat as Ortho hovers down to his. “That is true, while I appreciate the keyboards we have now…I cannot explain why but, I am more comfortable with my typewriter.”

“Yes! I can see the charm in using it. Ah but, Miss Lemilia, can I try typing my own letter out?”

“…It is your special day, after all. Just please do not press the keys too hard.”

“I’ve downloaded a tutorial, don’t worry! I’ll take care of it.”

To the Director,

I’ve been trying to get a hang of making letters based on the images I’ve seen online and just when I think that I have the perfect thing to say I always end up thinking of something better. Who knew it could get so frustrating! Hehe, in the end it was fun to learn.

In class, my professor said that the brain can hold a very large amount of memory even more than any high end computer my brother can make. And yet, we are always so quick to forget.

Director, all my enhancements and data stored into me it’s very unlikely that I will ever forget anything; but here I am, unable to remember beyond 11 years ago. From when I was still a kid.

It’s okay to not be able to remember things, right?

I did not mean for this to be a sad letter, especially on a big day like today but I feel that it was right to talk to you about this and as much as I love my big brother, I don’t want to upset him. You mean a lot to me, you’re my friend so I want to remember you for the next years to come, and I want to make memories with everyone in NRC so I can look back on it when I want to.

That isn’t too much to ask, right?

Ah, so this is what writing a letter feels like. It’s so different from online chats. But regardless, I’d like to thank you for coming to my party and I hope to make more memories to store within me for the next years to come.

Sincerely, your friend,

Ortho Shroud

A picture is included in the envelope, Ortho's joyous expression so bright and curious. A message is written in the back that reads: "Thanks for coming, even my big brother is happy I have a friend like you. -Ortho."

[the-crows-typist]

Hellow do you accept ficlets based of songs

I don't, I fine it difficult to create a story out of it.

[the-crows-typist]

Apologies for the lateness, here is part 4 of our 500 follower milestone and the ending to our tale (for now, at least). Enjoy! The rest of the story under the cut.

[Prologue] ~ [Part 1] ~ [Part 2] ~ [Part 3] ~ [End]

Let The Tale Begin

Watering the plants was always the very first agenda when reaching the school’s botanical garden. Water the leaves but also the roots, de-weed the ground and see if any flower had bloomed or a tree bore fruit. Your gloves were slightly soaked with water and dirt, your goggles fogging from the humidity and warmth trapped within the glass dome.

Now that your feelings had been put to words, writing the letter was easier this time around…Sort of.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes.” You say, pumped yet no thoughts, head empty “…Uh.”

“You’re certain you’re ready?” Lemilia tilts her head, eyebrows furrowed while you stay quiet on your seat. Okay, maybe you weren’t as ready as you had hoped but you’re sure you did well and your feelings were kept in the sealed envelope safe stored in a place you were sure he could find.

Upon finishing your morning chore, you take the hose back to its original place and carefully take the letter out of your bag, examining the beautiful penmanship that shimmered under the sun and just as you put on the work desk both you and Trey share, a small creature races between your feet. A hedgehog runs with a flower in its mouth, your feet quick to run after it.

“Hey, get back here! Don’t eat that.”

The flowers of the strawberry plant bloom beautifully against the sun that bore down from the glass panes, the chuckle of an unknown hand reaching out from within the shadows and into the sun with material sheer, smooth and black as night.

“What do you mean one of our hedgehogs escaped into the botanical garden?!” Though you only saw him once or twice, Deuce Spade stood out to you for looking sharp and well dressed. Like an honor student. That was until you saw him in action with his polar opposite, Ace Trappola.

“I don’t know, I just saw it running with a flower in its mouth so I had to chase it down before it decided to nibble on more plants.” You explain, pushing your fork into the warm food before you yet it did little to calm your nerves. “Still, it’s pretty weird for it to get that far.” Ace wondered, his chin resting on his palm.

“Did Mister Trey read the letter?” Lemilia asked suddenly, her presence had become a constant factor for you ever since she agreed to write your letter. Though quiet, she was good company to have around.

You set your fork down, letting out a sigh you didn’t know you were holding. “I don’t know.” Your appetite disappeared and your back begins to hunch. “I left it on the work desk in the garden. That’s the only place I know he’ll go to. He likes to inspect the strawberry patch every day.”

Lemilia pokes at a piece of her meal, a roast beef sandwich. “Mister Trey will answer you regardless.”

“What makes you say that?”

“His heart is open to those willing to read it, I’ve said it before.” She chews at her food, for longer than usual and swallows it. “He won’t hide from you.”

“I hope you’re right, Lemilia. I really do.”

In the sunset, the garden looked different. It looked sleepier than it used to be, the flowers have closed up for the night and its inhabitants doing their last round before seeking shelter. It almost felt like a place where you could just sit by the plants and watch the moon rise into the sky.

Though that kind of activity would have to be reserved for another day.

Your eyes move to the strawberry patch, your heart plummeting to your stomach upon seeing the letter untouched amongst the leaves. “He won’t hide from you.” Lemilia’s words ring like a loud bell against your sigh.

You move to pick up the letter, the sides wet from hose water and dew. “Well, she was right. He didn’t exactly hide it.” Crestfallen, you take the letter back to where your bag as placed. You think you should call it a day and head home.

“What are you doing here, little guy?”

You inhale sharply and your shoulders are tense, Trey carries a hedgehog carefully in his palm and smiles your way. “Oh hey, I was wondering where you were. You doing alright? I didn’t see you the entire day.” You smile at him, or at least try to and quickly move to hide the letter. “I was busy, lots of school work and all that jazz.”

“I get you. I wasn’t able to visit the garden today because of it.”

And through those words did your apprehensive tension give way to giddy panic and relief as your grip on the letter tightened. “You never got to visit the garden all this time?”

“No, I wish I could have—Ack!”

The letter was pushed to his chest and you bolted for the door, grabbing your bag with you as you ran from him. Your feet took you as far as you could go, as far away from him as possible until you were out of breath.

This was your chance. Tis was your time to say what you felt about him, and in the end, you ran away. You couldn’t help but laugh at the cruel irony of your position. You wanted to be honest and tell him how you feel and yet, here you are…Miles away from him with only a letter to keep him company.

“This was a stupid idea…” You mumble. “So incredibly stupid.”

Slinking your back over your shoulder, you begin your walk of shame home.

If you thought the previous day was bad today was just as, if not more, worse than you had expected. The botanical garden’s entrance was blocked by one Trey Clover, his eyes downcast and hands holding a familiar piece of paper. And just when you thought you could come in, his keen eyes looked to you and effectively locked you in place.

“Come inside.” He said with a voice void of his usual warmth.

“Trey, about the letter—Ah!” Instead of replying, Trey took you by the wrist and pulled you into him and embracing you with the warmth you yearned from him. “Really, you…You didn’t have to run away like that.”

“I was scared.” You tell him, your hands coming up to hug him back and bury your nose into his neck. “I didn’t know how you were going to react.”

His hold on you tightened slightly before loosening. “Is that why I didn’t see you at all yesterday?” His forehead butted yours at your silence. “You know I’m not that kind of person, I’ll never hide from you. So please don’t hide from me, okay?”

“Okay.” You nodded your head and Trey pulls away with a smile but his hold on you remained comforting and strong. For a moment, Trey hesitated to move closer out of fear of startling you but to his surprise your hand came to cup his cheek.

Your lips press against his for a brief moment “I love you.”

Trey kissed back, his reply not needing any words.

“It seems things have gone well.” Vil looks to the school grounds from the balconies above, his eyes spotting you and Trey walking together in close proximity as Lemilia walks by with Deuce behind her. For a moment, you meet her eyes before going about the day with a greeting nod.

“Though I find your tampering be quite unnecessary, Rook.”

As the wind blew, Rook Hunt rested beside the beautiful dorm leader; his chuckle going with groan of the trees. “I would like to term it as ‘setting the stage’, beautiful Vil. I was helping in preparing for the fruitful finale. I am merely fulfilling my role as a supportive senior to my juniors, after all.”

“You dot on them too much, I swear.”

“See it as you will. Fufu~.” From his shoulder, a pink hedgehog yawned and his gloves sleek and smooth; dark as the night remained tattered. His keen eyes look over to you then over to his juniors “Though I feel there will be more stories to unravel and adventures to be had through the letters she will write in the future.”

[the-crows-typist]

A complete side note but your asthetic is SO elegant and calming. Like every time I come to reread you works I feel like I should make me some tea then sit in my favorite seat so I can read and enjoy. So thank you for the nice atmosphere!!!! 😁😁❤❤❤

"You think so?" Lemilia's hands hold onto the teapot, her shoulders hunched for a moment in thought. "I just type what I think but since you like it very much, I'll continue to work hard.

"Oh, apologies. Let me pour you another cup of tea."

This honestly made my day, anon. I really appreciate your words about my works, it makes me very happy.