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Summary: The Housewardens' behaviour after figuring out they have a crush on someone (you)!
A/N: GN!reader, reader was written with Yuu in mind but doesn't have to be. I feel like I'm a bit mean to Leona here but he's actually my favourite of the characters on this list. Reblogs appreciated!
Warnings: Some of them get a little angsty. Discussions of death and mortality in Malleus'. They're all kind of pathetic
RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS
⢠Riddle does take a while to realise it, and practically everyone else in Heartslabyul notices his feelings for you before he does.
⢠In all fairness, Riddle doesn't have much to go off of here. He barely experienced normal friendship in his childhood, so I doubt he's ever properly had a crush on anyone in his life. Maybe fictional characters. His frame of reference is basically non-existent, so you'll forgive him for being rather clueless.
⢠It was extremely obvious to everyone around you two though. Most in his dorm didn't say anything to him about it, aside from Cater who would make a few teasing remarks here and there (and quickly pass it off as a joke), and of course Ace, who was particularly annoying about it whenever he thought you were getting special treatment.
⢠When he does realise, his immediate reaction is worry.
⢠Riddle doesn't have many close friends. And the ones he does have, he's scared to lose. That includes you, even if he now knows his feelings for you are beyond platonic friendship. You are still important to him as a friend, too, and he doesn't want to lose that.
⢠Once he realises his crush, his behaviour does absolutely change around you. I don't necessarily see him as the tsundere type? But he will be very easily embarrassed by small acts of kindness or really anything that shows you care about him. He may even attempt to distance himself a bit, because he doesn't want to make a fool of himself in front of you.
⢠As for whether he'd confess, I think he ultimately would, but he'd agonise over it quite a bit.
⢠Like I already said, he doesn't want to lose you. Even if his feelings aren't returned, he would want to stay friends, and he wouldn't want things to change between you two either. For this reason, he put off being honest about his feelings for quite a while; but ultimately came to the conclusion that he had to.
⢠It came down to Riddle thinking it would be unfair to keep it from you. He feels guilty for "lying," in a way, and ends up getting it out there just because he thinks you deserve to know, rather than because he truly thinks you'll reciprocate.
LEONA KINGSCHOLAR
⢠Leona's difficult. About everything
⢠Something in him knew he felt a certain type of way about you a very long time ago, but it took him a lot longer to admit that to himself, even longer to even think of admitting it to anyone else.
⢠His first strategy is to ignore you, as well as his feelings for you, thinking that if it's just a meaningless crush, it'll go away. When it doesn't, he'll spend a good while sulking and angsting about it in bed.
⢠When he finally comes to terms with it, his behaviour is kind of confusing. Hear me out: I think he fumbles, but in the way that he overthinks, so goddamn much.
⢠It's very difficult to just have a conversation with this man post-him accepting his feelings for you, because every time he speaks to you, he's over-analysing every word that comes out of your mouth, turning it over a million times in his head before arriving at the "best" conclusion as to what to do next. The problem with this is that it just makes him come across as very strange.
⢠Nothing he says is natural or seems like a normal response, or something that should come out of his mouth. It's like he's committed to a 4d chess game thinking you're on the same wavelength while you are playing checkers.
⢠He's also fully aware of how embarrassing every interaction with you is for him and beats himself up over it relentlessly. Sometimes Ruggie will give him a look as if to say "are you good man? what was that?" and Leona wants to disappear.
⢠Would he confess? I'm honestly not sure - leaning towards no. Leona is a person so full of self-loathing that I think he's more likely to resign himself to pining from a distance, with the reasoning that he feels you shouldn't have to put up with him and his plethora of issues.
⢠I can, however, see him confessing for a similar reason to Riddle - because he thinks you deserve to just know. I also think he might confess if he thinks that it might be his last chance to do so at any point, if that makes sense.
⢠Honestly just take the initiative and confess to him yourself. It's so much easier.
AZUL ASHENGROTTO
⢠So, unfortunately for you, Azul on his own is kind of hopeless with a crush. But, unfortunately for him, Azul is not on his own!
⢠Azul is actually pretty decent at hiding his feelings for you behind a poker-face, but he can only pass it off to people who don't know him well. Jade and Floyd know him very well.
⢠They're extremely unhelpful at first and do nothing but embarrass him. They don't directly say anything about it to you, but Jade gives you both knowing looks whenever he sees Azul speaking to you, and Floyd has made sneaky little remarks about it in front of you in the past, which he thinks is funny to do because it always makes Azul flail in trying to shut him up.
⢠They start taking it more seriously over time when they start realising that Azul really doesn't plan to do anything about his feelings.
⢠He's insecure, absolutely riddled with self-doubt, and as childish as it may sound, he is scared of being laughed at. Of coming to you with his feelings and being made a laughingstock, treated the same way by you as he was by his peers when he was a child.
⢠This basically answers the question of whether or not he would confess: No. Absolutely not.
⢠That is, for the time being. Like I said, he isn't alone.
⢠Jade and Floyd won't actually sit him down and have a heartfelt conversation about this with him, that's not really how their dynamic is. However, they will start actively trying to set the two of you up. Literally "Jade asking Azul to meet him at a specific time while Floyd does the same to you, only for neither of them to show up and you and Azul are alone together" type schemes going on here.
⢠It's mostly just endless ploys to get the two of you alone together to just, talk. In the hopes that, eventually, Azul will become comfortable enough with you to let his guard down and finally just tell you. They are sincerely trying to help.
⢠Time is running out though, because if Azul doesn't do it soon, Floyd might get bored and tell you instead.
KALIM AL-ASIM
⢠Kalim is also going to take a while to realise he has a crush on you. Jamil might actually have to tell him, because he's likely to start doing kind of romantic things with you (i.e holding hands, calling you beautiful, buying you very expensive gifts) without really seeing any of it as romantic. Once he's told, it all clicks in his head, and he comes to terms with it very easily.
⢠Too easily, in fact.
⢠Kalim's biggest problem is that he is going to come off way too strong, way too fast. And Jamil is going to have to be the one to listen to him go on about it and try to give him advice.
⢠Kalim's notes so far on what not to do (from experience):
⢠Do not skip everything and jump straight to marriage. He just thought it would be the quickest, most efficient, most romantic declaration of his love! To tell you that he wants to be together forever. But marriage is, of course, a process that could potentially uproot your entire life, and is a big step forward even for couples who have been together for years. So perhaps it shouldn't be the first step. He didn't return the ring though, just in case he gets to use it in the future.
⢠Don't tell people you are dating when neither of you have even asked the other out. He just thought it was obvious that you both liked each other, so he assumed that meant you were dating. He did end up referring to you as his "partner" to quite a few people though, so he had to correct that.
⢠No pet names, no extravagant gestures, and no absurdly expensive gifts. "Just don't come off too strong in general," was what Jamil said. "You'll scare them off."
⢠Eventually, he will settle down and give you a normal, toned-down confession. Ignore the fireworks that go off right after. He definitely did not order those.
VIL SCHOENHEIT
⢠Vil's situation is still a bit complicated, but he's far less awkward about the whole thing than a lot of the others on this list. He's actually just a pretty normal guy with a crush.
⢠Firstly, his demeanour doesn't change much. He won't get shy around you, if anything he gets far bolder, and I do absolutely see him as the type to flirt. He'd like it if he can get a flirty banter dynamic going with you before anything becomes official.
⢠Secondly, I think he might be prone to jealousy, and unfortunately he can get pretty nasty about it. I think he'd act quite petty if he noticed you getting a bit too close to someone else, or worse, if you actually had a date.
⢠Don't get me wrong, he does just want you to be happy. But some selfish part in him wants to be the reason you're happy, rather than some other student who he likely sees as an overall inferior option for you compared to himself. His logic is that you deserve only the best in life - and it doesn't get much better than Vil Schoenheit, does it?
⢠All of that being said, when he decides to finally be forthcoming with you about his feelings, he will respect your choice. Especially because he's actually kind of worried too.
⢠He is a world-famous celebrity. And he's completely straightforward with you, about the media attention you would receive if your relationship was to go public, about the potential backlash, the stress, all of it.
⢠Even if the feelings are mutual, he wants you to be very sure of your decision beyond just that and for you to understand the risks involved. He might even tell you to take a bit more time to think it over.
IDIA SHROUD
⢠Oh god oh no, oh Seven oh fuck
⢠Predictably not even remotely chill about it at all.
⢠Idia actively hides from you. He just knows he can't speak to you because every time he does, he says or does something so embarrassing and cringeworthy that he's going to lay awake at night thinking about.
⢠I do think he kind of stalks you though. He doesn't creep on you in your room or anything, but he'll use the cameras he has set up all over Sage Island to just... keep an eye on you sometimes. Yes, he is aware that this is creepy, even Ortho says so, and he feels bad about it. But he just likes to look at you.
⢠He ends up treating you like some kind of un-attainable goal. He fantasises about being in a relationship with you in a similar way to how one would with fictional characters or celebrities; he's aware it will always remain as just a fantasy, something he can never have in the real world, and he's okay with that. He thinks he is, at least.
⢠He does talk about you to Ortho quite often. Ortho is the only person he can talk to about stuff like this. And of course, his little brother is supportive, telling him to just go for it, because he never knows what might happen!
⢠But he won't. He can't.
⢠He's a Shroud. His life already has a predetermined path. He'll work at S.T.Y.X, hidden away from the rest of the world, fulfilling his family's duty until he dies and passes the burden onto the future generation. If he were to enter a relationship with someone or potentially marry them, they would have to share that existence with him. It feels like too much to ask of anyone. So he just won't.
⢠I don't think he'd ever confess.
MALLEUS DRACONIA
⢠Malleus is afraid of losing you. He's afraid of losing a friend, and afraid of losing a lover, whether it be because he does something wrong or because your life will inevitably come to an end long before his will.
⢠He's another one who flirts quite brazenly, though behind the scenes I can see him having a crisis over this. He wants to tell you, he has to tell you, but there are a lot of things he needs to come to terms with first. Not the least of which is that he will have to watch you age and die.
⢠He considers for a moment, if it would be kinder on his heart to never let your relationship blossom into something more. But he can't imagine living the rest of his long life thinking of you as something that could've been.
⢠He thinks of Lilia, who took in a human son. He must have been aware of how short the lives of humans are, and how little time he would have to spend with Silver. But he did it anyway, fully aware of the suffering he will face once the time comes for Silver to pass. Why? He spends a long time agonising over the question.
⢠Why let love into your life when you know it will only last a short duration, and ultimately leave you heartbroken?
⢠Lilia and Silver also answer this question for him. Because the people you love leave an impact far beyond the amount of time they remain in your life for. They leave behind memories and lingering feelings of love and joy, and things you've learned from loving them.
⢠And when he remembers you far into the future, he'd prefer to feel that bittersweet happiness, rather than regret and longing over what he never had the guts to pursue.
⢠He confesses. And he swears to devote himself to making your fleeting life one full of happy memories.
When I add more chapters, you can see the full work here!
For day 20 of Twstober!
SUMMARY: When Lilia hangs upside down from your doorframe and proposes a joint venture in the art of fright, the only sane answer is 'no.' Unfortunately for the student body of Night Raven College, 'sane' has never been your strong suit. Now, you're helping a fae unleash a meticulously planned Halloween scare campaign, targeting everyone from the easily spooked freshmen to the unflappable housewardens.
Chapter 1: An Unexpected Proposal
The trip to Mr. S's Mystery Shop had been a surprisingly peaceful one. The path was serene, the autumn wind sending spirals of leaves dancing around your feet, much to Grim's delight, as he pounced on every single one for the satisfying crunch. The closer you got to the shop, the more the air filled with the comforting scents of pumpkin spice and apple cinnamon, a highlight of your day. Grim had been reluctant at first, but he'd eventually been bribed by the promise of smelling all the candles and a premium tuna can if he behaved.
NRC was already decking its halls for the swiftly approaching Halloween. You'd even picked out a few decorations for Ramshackle. The dorm was finally feeling less like a ruin and more like a home, sturdy enough to handle a few fake cobwebs and a jack-o'-lantern or two.
Now, you were walking back, the sky's blue slowly turning into an orange as the sun began to set, the air growing colder. Grim was happily munching on an apple beside you, a tiny engine of destruction targeting every leaf in his path.
"Grim, be careful, or you'll slip," you gently chided, adjusting the paper grocery bag in your arms as the two of you started up the steps to the front door.
Grim looked straight at you as he launched himself onto another particularly crunchy leaf. He took a large, dramatic bite of his apple. "See! I'm not gonna fall! No need to worry, henchman! The Great Grim is far too powerful to be defeated by a flimsy leaf! Nyahaha!"
You rolled your eyes fondly and reached for the doorknob, already anticipating the warmth inside. But just as the door creaked open, you heard a different creakâright above you.
"Ah, Prefect! I'd been waiting for you!"
"NYAH!â"
Grim's scream echoed as his apple went flying. He launched himself into your arms, a blur of grey fur and sheer terror, clinging to your shirt like a lifeline.
"FUCKâ!" You stumbled, catching the feline who'd just sworn he was all-powerful while desperately trying not to drop your groceries. Your heart hammered against your ribs as your wide eyes shot upwards to seeâŚ
Lilia Vanrouge. Hanging upside down from your doorframe like a bat, his black and magenta hair swaying gently, his crimson eyes sparkling with glee.
"Apologies for the scare!" he chirped, not sounding sorry in the slightest. With a fluid motion, he unhooked his legs and dropped to the floor without a sound, landing perfectly on his feet. He brushed off his uniform and took in the scene: you, clutching your groceries for dear life, and Grim, a trembling puffball of grey fur trying to burrow into your shoulder.
"My, my," Lilia chuckled, a hand coming up to his mouth. "It seems my little greeting was a bit too effective."
Grim scrambled out of your arms and back onto the ground, seemingly trying to regain what little dignity he had left. "Mrah!! You can't just go around scarin' people like that! You made me waste a perfectly good apple!" he whined, as if he wouldn't just eat it off the ground anyway. He snatched up the fallen core. "A lesser person could've fainted!" He punctuated the statement by devouring the core in two massive, crunching bites.
Lilia waved a dismissive hand. "Now, now, isn't a little fright part of the season's charm? You must learn to take things in stride!"
You let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding, your heart rate slowly returning to normal. "A little warning next time, Lilia," you managed, readjusting the grocery bag in your arms. "Did you⌠Need something?"
"Can't a fellow student simply pay a visit?" he chirped, tilting his head with an innocence that was belied by his dramatic entrance. His eyes flicked to the paper bag. "Though I do require you for something. But first, it looks like you've returned from quite the errand. Here, allow me."
Before you could protest, he plucked the paper bag from your arms and strode inside the dorm as if he owned the place.
"My, this old place is coming along nicely!" Lilia chirped, his eyes scanning the interior. Truly, Ramshackle had been much cleaned up since his last visit. The dust was long gone, the furniture patched up, and a sense of coziness was finally fighting back the decay.
You followed him in, Grim right behind you, still grumbling. "Hey! That's our food! Don't go gettin' any ideas!"
"Now, now, I'm merely assisting," Lilia said, placing the bag on the kitchen counter. He then proceeded to lean against the counter, watching you with a mischievous sparkle as you began unpacking. He made no move to actually help, far more interested in observing. "A student should take their domestic duties seriously."
You plucked a can of tuna from the bag, and as you walked towards the cupboard, Grim cut in front of you with wide, hopeful eyes. "You already had your snack, Grim."
Lilia chuckled. "Hehe, let him be. The young are always so brimming with hunger and potential. It reminds me of when Silver was small. He'd fall right to sleep after a mealâmuch easier to handle that way." He picked up a stray candle you'd bought, sniffing it appreciatively. "Mmm. Pumpkin. A classic."
You finished putting away the can with a sigh that was more fond than exasperated. As you turned back to the bag, Lilia hopped up to sit on the counter effortlessly, his legs swinging slightly. He spotted the small carton of strawberries you'd bought on a whim and helped himself, plucking one out with a cheerful hum.
"You know," he began, biting into the berry, "life as a student is fun, but it lasts only briefly. It's nothing more than a checkpoint on this long journey we call life." He gestured around Ramshackle's kitchen with the half-eaten strawberry. "Seeing you make this old place into a home... it reminds me to appreciate these little moments."
You smiled, placing a box of tea bags into the cupboard. "Is that your way of saying you like visiting?"
"Hehehe, perhaps." He ate another strawberry, his gaze thoughtful. "But as I was saying before we were so rudely interrupted by my brilliant entrance... I do require you for something."
You finished putting away the last of the dry goods and turned to face him fully, leaning against the counter opposite him. "Always a great sign," you deadpanned, the words dripping with sarcasm.
Lilia hopped down from the counter, landing without a sound. He clasped his hands together in front of him, his expression shifting into one of pure glee.
"Your skepticism is half the fun, my dear Prefect!" he chirped, his eyes gleaming. "But this is a matter of utmost importance, one that requires your unique talents."
Grim, who had been sulking near the cupboards, perked up at the word "talents." "Talents? You mean, like my incredible fire magic?!"
"Among others, yes!" Lilia agreed, his gaze flicking to Grim before locking back onto you. "Halloween is nearly upon us. The season of frights and delights! But the students here... they're all bluster and bravado. They need a proper, memorable scare. One they'll talk about for decades!"
His grin widened, a flash of fang making it clear this was anything but an innocent request. "And I've decided to take matters into my own hands! But even the best conductor needs a first chair! I can think of no one better to share the spotlight with. So, what do you say? Will you be my partner in this delightful little endeavor?"
You froze.
The question hung in the air, and your brain short-circuited trying to process it. He, Lilia Vanrouge, a man who could make Rook Hunt jump with a well-timed "Boo!", was asking for your help. Not Malleus. Not one of his bandmates. You.
A dozen thoughts collided at once. Was this a prank? Was he setting you up for an even bigger scare? But his expression, while bursting with mischief, seemed... genuine. He really meant it. The sheer, unbelievable honor of it all was almost as startling as his initial doorframe ambush. He saw you, a magicless prefect, as a worthy partner-in-crime for his mayhem.
You just stared at him. The silence stretched, broken only by Grim's indignant "What about ME?!" from the floor. Your brain, finally rebooting, could only formulate a single, bewildered question.
"...What?"
Lilia looked utterly delighted by your stunned reaction. "Oh, don't worry! It'll be perfectly safe. Probably. The key is in the execution, you see!" He leaned in, his voice dipping into a stage whisper. "Think of it! My centuries of expertise, combined with your... modern sensibilities. We'll be an unstoppable duo!"
"But... why me?" you blurted out, the question tumbling out before you could stop it. "You're... you. You could scare the stripes off a zebra just by smiling. What could I possibly do that you can't?"
"They've got a point!" Grim yowled, stomping his little foot. "I'm the one with the amazing, spectacular, show-stoppingâ"
"Ah-ah!" Lilia interrupted, holding up a finger without even looking at Grim, his gaze fixed on you. "That is the wrong question, my dear Prefect. The question isn't what you can do. It's the flavor you bring! My scares are classic, timeless. But you... You know what makes this generation's heart stop. You know the modern fears. The little, mundane terrors they don't see coming." He leaned in again, his eyes sparkling. "Besides, where's the fun in terrifying everyone all by my lonesome? Sharing the aftermath with a partner is half the joy."
You fell silent again, but this time it was a thoughtful silence. Your initial shock began to melt away, replaced by a slow-burning intrigue. Lilia watched the gears turn in your head, his smile knowing and patient.
Your mind began to conjure images. Ace's smug grin after a particularly successful prank. Deuce's overly-serious, easily flustered face. The jumpy first-years and the haughty upperclassmen who acted like they were above it all.
Well... a treacherous little voice in your mind whispered, when you put it like that...
"Oh, fine."
Lilia's resulting cackle was a thing of pure, unadulterated joy. He clapped his hands together once. "Splendid! I knew you had a spark of delightful mischief in you!"
"Hey! What about my sparks?!" Grim yelled, tugging on your pant leg. "I'm the one full of 'em! Literally!"
"Of course, of course," Lilia said, finally acknowledging the feline with a pat on the head that made Grim splutter. "We shall need your... pyrotechnic expertise for ambiance. This will be a team effort!"
He then strode over to your kitchen table, sweeping a few stray crumbs aside with his sleeve. "Now, no time to waste!" He snapped his fingers and, out of seemingly nowhere, a slightly yellowed piece of parchmentâa detailed map of the NRC campusâwas laid out with a dramatic flourish. "Hm, where to start..."
A W.I.P! I only have chapter one posted at the moment unfortunately lol.
You can see the fic here! (I will likely only post chapter one on Tumblr, so more edits will be on AO3)
INFO: Inspired by Alice in Wonderland! Yuu is similar to Alice! I did not write it from the reader's POV, but rather third person(Yuu will be using They/Them), so yeah! Yuu has a rural accent,I guess simply because I wanted to try it out lol. Word count for this chapter is 4,436
SUMMARY: After a loss that left their world feeling gray, Yuu didn't expect much from a walk in the garden. They certainly didn't expect to follow a panicked, blue-haired rabbit-man down a hole. Now, trapped in a Wonderland where the rules are absolute and the penalties are severe, Yuu and their newly-talking cat, Grim, must navigate a world of mad tea parties, a tyrannical King of Hearts, and riddles with no answers.
CHARACTERS:
Riddle is The Queen of Hearts
Trey is The Mad Hatter
Cater is The March Hare
Deuce is The White Rabbit
Ace is The Knave of Hearts
Grim is Dinah
I will also be adding side characters and such to fill out the roles of things like the Dormouse, the door, the King of Hearts(I may instead use one of my own OCs based on the King of Hearts, though), etc!
Chapter 1: Down The Rabbit Hole
The morning sun slanted through the cracked curtains of Yuuâs bedroom, cutting the gloom into golden stripes. It illuminated a landscape of neglect: a half-finished sketchbook left open on the floor, a chipped mug stained with the ghost of yesterday's tea, dust motes dancing a slow, lazy waltz in the still air.
Yuu lay perfectly still under a thin, worn blanket, listening. Not to the silence, but to the sounds that filled it. The soft creak of floorboards downstairs, the low, muffled murmur of their Ma and Pa moving about, the gentle sigh of wind through the sycamore trees outside their window. These were the sounds of a world continuing to turn, a rhythm Yuu no longer felt part of.
A shadow detached itself from the corner. Grim padded silently across the floorboards, leaping onto the bed with practiced grace. He wove himself around Yuu's arms, a creature of warmth and softness, before pressing his head firmly against their cheek. The low, steady rumble of his purr was a vibration felt more than heard. His eyes, catching a sliver of light, were sharp and bright, holding a knowing glint that always seemed to say he understood the world's secretsâor at least, the secret of where the best scraps of food were hidden.
The house was too quiet. It had been for six months. The emptiness their sister had left behind wasn't just an absence of sound; it was a presence, a heavy, breathing thing that sat on Yuu's chest and made every movement an effort.
They tried to push the memories back, to lock them away for just one morning, but they came anyway, unbidden and vivid.
Her laugh, wild and bright enough to make the old walls feel new.
The comforting scent of cinnamon and vanilla from the candles she was always burning.
The way her fingers would dance over the pages of that worn, leather-bound storybook, her voice soft and lilting as she spun tales of impossible places.
Yuu squeezed their eyes shut, reaching for the feeling of those moments, but it slipped through their grasp like smoke, leaving only the cold ash of remembrance.
A specific memory surfaced, clear as the water in the garden's little fountain. They were small, maybe six, curled tight beneath a patchwork quilt in their childhood room. The fire in the hearth flickered low, making the shadows on the wooden walls dance like silent, stretching giants.
She was sitting beside them, her hair tied back loosely with wisps escaping to frame her face. Her smile was soft, but her eyes were distant, looking at something far beyond the room's four walls. In her hands was the book, its pages soft and yellowed with age.
Her voice, warm and gentle as a summer blanket, told them of a forest where the trees whispered secrets to those who knew how to listen, and animals spoke in riddles you could almost, but not quite, understand.
Yuu remembered pressing their small hands deep into the quilt, their eyes wide with a hundred questions. âBut why would a cat have a grin without a cat?â theyâd asked.
âSome stories,â sheâd whispered, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush, âare meant to be found, not told. The best answers are the ones you find for yourself.â
They remembered the soft, final weight of her kiss on their forehead. The promise of more stories tomorrow.
But tomorrows had run out. It had been six months since the sickness, a swift and silent thief, had taken her away. It left behind a void where her laughter used to live, a hollow ache that had taken root deep in Yuu's chest.
The ache twisted now, a familiar, dull pain beneath their ribs. Their hand found Grimâs fur, stroking slowly, the repetitive motion a small anchor in a sea of stillness.
They lay there until the sunbeams crept from the floorboards to the wall, tracing the faded pattern of the wallpaper. The house felt less like a home and more like a fragile shell, and Yuu wasn't sure how much longer the threads holding itâholding themâtogether would last.
The weight of it all was a physical pressure. They needed to move, to breathe air that wasn't steeped in memory. But the simple act of standing felt like attempting to climb a mountain.
Maybe it's the sun, Yuu reckoned, the thought a feeble spark in the gloom. Or maybe just⌠out. Something beyond these four walls.
Their fingers traced idle patterns on Grimâs back. He was curled against them now, his purr a steady engine of companionship. He always seemed to understand the weight they carried, offering his silent, furry support without judgment.
But a cold, sharp thought needled its way in: What if going outside doesn't change a thing? What if the emptiness just follows you? The fear was a cold stone in their gutâfear of the unchanged world outside, fear of forgetting the sound of her voice.
Still, the room was a cage today. The shadows in the corners seemed to whisper that memories alone weren't enough to live on.
With a slow, deliberate movement, Yuu sat up, pulling the blanket around their shoulders like a cloak. The floorboards were cool beneath their bare feet. Grim, sensing the shift, jumped down with a soft thud, his tail giving an inquisitive flick.
They shuffled to their dresser, their fingers fumbling over folded clothes that felt leaden. They bypassed nicer things, settling instead on a worn, soft shirt and a pair of comfortable pants. As they pulled the shirt over their head, a faint, stubborn scent of lavenderâher lavender soapâclung to the fabric, a sweet, ghostly reminder that refused to fade.
Dressing felt like a performance of normalcy. Each movement was accompanied by a swirl of memories, dry and brittle as autumn leaves. Her laugh, her stories, the way sheâd curl up beside them when the world felt too large and frightening. They swallowed hard, repeating the mantra in their mind:Â Just a walk. Just some fresh air. That's all.
They pulled on their boots, tying the laces with slow, methodical loops, then grabbed their jacket from the back of the chair. Each small, familiar action was a step back into their own body, a reclamation of a self that grief had blurred. By the time they were fully dressed, they felt⌠ready. Or as ready as they were going to be.
Taking a deep, fortifying breath, they started down the stairs. The wood creaked its familiar song under their weight. The air in the kitchen was a comforting mix of fresh bread and strong, bitter coffee. Ma stood at the stove, her apron tied neatly, humming a soft, tuneless melody as she worked. Pa was at the table, his large, weathered hands carefully folding the newspaper.
âMa? Pa?â Yuuâs voice was low, but it held a steadiness they didn't quite feel. âIâm gonna take a walk with Grim.â
Ma turned, her smile kind but etched with the fine lines of a worry that had become permanent. âYou sure youâre up for that, darlinâ? Sunâs mighty fine today, but donât you be out too long, yâhear?â She stooped, her hand finding the spot behind Grimâs ears that made his purr rev like a motor. âAnd howâs my Grimmy today? Keepinâ an eye on things, are you?â
Grim leaned into her touch, rubbing his head against her leg in a clear display of affection.
Pa looked up from his paper, his gaze steady and calm. He nodded slowly. âA walk sounds like a fine idea. Fresh airâll do the soul good. Just be sure youâre back âfore supper.â
The normalcy of the exchange made a fraction of the weight on Yuuâs chest lift. âThanks, Ma. Thanks, Pa. Iâll be careful.â
Grim, now buzzing with the prospect of adventure, hopped onto an empty chair, his tail flicking back and forth like a happy metronome. Ma gave Yuu one last, long lookâa look that held an ocean of love and unspoken sorrowâbefore turning back to her stove, her soft humming resuming.
Stepping out the door was like crossing a threshold into another world. The sunlight didn't just illuminate; it embraced, wrapping around Yuuâs shoulders like a warm, heavy blanket. Grim trotted faithfully at their side, his nose already twitching at the symphony of outdoor scents.
The garden was a testament to loving hands and the relentless force of nature. It sprawled in a beautiful, tangled mess before them. Neat rows of sunflowers stood like cheerful, golden-faced soldiers, nodding sagely in the breeze, while untamed vines curled around the fence posts in a green embrace. The air was a delicate perfume of honeysuckle and the rich, dark scent of freshly turned earth from where Pa had been weeding.
Yuu wandered without purpose, their boots crunching a soft rhythm on the gravel path. The old wooden fence groaned a friendly complaint when the wind pushed against it. A hummingbird, a living jewel, darted between blossoms, its wings a blurred, iridescent shimmer.
Grim vanished into the tall grass, a streak of gray on a secret mission, his presence marked only by the occasional rustle. Yuuâs eyes followed a butterfly, its wings like panes of stained glass, as it flitted from a violet to a rose with dizzying indecision.
They paused, taking a slow, deep breath, filling their lungs with the clean, green scent of life. The sun pressed its warmth gently against their face, and the rustle of the sycamore leaves was a whispered lullaby, soothing a heart they thought had forgotten how to be calm.
Their gaze traveled upward, catching on the delicate arch of the climbing rose trellis. A cascade of pale pink and white blossoms tumbled overhead, and petals drifted down like soft, fragrant snow, settling on the path at their feet. Yuu crouched, their fingers brushing against a fallen bloom. Its velvet texture was a small, perfect pleasure.
For a fleeting moment, the heavy knot in their chest loosened. This place, her place, held a peace that the stuffy, memory-crammed house could not.
Their fingers were just about to close around the stem of a particularly perfect rose when a violent rustling shattered the tranquility. Their head snapped up.
There, just beyond the proud wall of sunflowers, was a flash of movementâtoo sharp, too quick to be a squirrel or a bird.
A figure burst from the undergrowth, and Yuuâs mind stuttered, trying to make sense of the image. Blue hair, startlingly bright under the sun. And perched atop his head, twitching with palpable anxiety, were a pair of unmistakable, snow-white bunny ears.
He moved with a frantic, skittering urgency, his feet seeming to barely kiss the ground as he wove through the flowers and vines. The look on his face was one of pure, unadulterated panic.
âIâm late!â he called over his shoulder, his voice breathless and strained. âCanât stop nowâjust⌠canât!â
The words seemed to hang in the air for a moment, tangled in the rustling leaves, before being swept away.
Yuuâs breath caught in their throat. It was an impossible sight, a thing from one of her storybooks thrown carelessly into the real world. Before logic or fear could intervene, their feet were moving, carrying them forward faster than theyâd moved in months. Grim was a gray blur at their heels, his paws a soft, rapid patter on the earth, his tail held high and taut.
They ducked under low-hanging branches, leapt over gnarled roots that seemed to reach for their ankles. The familiar garden blurred at the edges, the twisting paths feeling less defined, as if they were stretching and shifting, guiding them toward something hidden and strange.
âWait!â Yuu shouted, their own voice trembling with a mix of confusion and desperate curiosity. âPleaseâwait up! I didn't mean to startle ya!â
But the boyâthe rabbit?âwas already slipping away, vanishing behind the last row of sunflowers and through a thick, swaying hedge that seemed to part for him like a curtain.
He zigzagged with single-minded purpose, heading straight for the massive, gnarled old oak tree that marked the furthest boundary of the garden. And there, at its base, where only a rabbitâs burrow should have been, was a dark, inviting opening, just large enough for a person to squeeze through.
Yuu reached the tree, their heart hammering against their ribs, just in time to see the blue-haired boy disappear into the darkness.
Their breath hitched. They'd seen plenty of rabbits in this gardenâbrown ones, gray ones, even a black one once. But never one who wore a waistcoat. Never one who clutched a gleaming pocket watch. Never one who spoke in a panicked, human voice.
It was that impossible, human sound that decided it. Before their good sense could scream in protest, they were on their hands and knees, crawling toward the opening.
Yuu crouched low, their hands brushing against the cool, rough bark of the oak. Grim pressed against their side, a low, questioning rumble rising in his throat, a clear note of caution. But when Yuu wriggled headfirst into the hole, he followed without hesitation.
The tunnel was dark, earthy, and close, smelling strongly of damp soil and ancient stone. It went straight on for a little way, and the last sliver of daylight glinted off things that shouldn't be thereânot just roots, but what looked like smooth, dark glass and polished wood.
Then, without any warning whatsoever, the ground simply vanished from beneath them.
There was no crumbling edge, no slow slide. It was as if the universe had erased the floor. Yuu was falling, a terrifying, breath-stealing drop that seized their heart in a cold fist.
But the plunge was short-lived. Almost immediately, the fall gentled, transforming from a violent descent into a slow, dreamlike drift. It was as if they were sinking through a thick, invisible liquid. The earthen tunnel walls melted away, replaced by something utterly impossible: walls of deep green wallpaper, adorned with a faint, swirling golden damask pattern. Neat shelves and cupboards, fixed to nothing, drifted slowly past.
There was nothing to do but fall. The initial fear ebbed, replaced by a wide-eyed, bewildered wonder.
They had all the time in the world to look around. Grim, after a moment of frantic, leg-churning flailing, had settled into a state of stunned acceptance, clinging to Yuuâs lap for stability. His wide, yellow eyes were saucers, taking in the floating furniture, the drifting bric-a-brac, his confused rumble a constant, low-grade soundtrack to their descent.
They drifted past a cupboard and, on impulse, Yuu snatched a small jar from a shelf. The label, in elegant cursive, read "MARMALADE." Hoping for a clue, or perhaps just a snack, they twisted it open. It was empty, not even a sticky smear left inside. Disappointed, they carefully set it down on a lower shelf as they floated past. A moment later, a book drifted by, its cover embossed with the title "The Queen's Rules." The pages fluttered madly, like a trapped bird trying to escape its binding. Yuu reached for it, but it spun lazily just beyond their fingertips.
"Well, I'll be," Yuu murmured into Grim's fur, the absurdity of it all finally striking them. "After a fall like this, tumbling down the stairs back home would feel like nothin'. I reckon I wouldn't even make a peep."
Down, down, down. Would it never end?
"How far d'you reckon we've fallen, Grim?" they said aloud, their voice small and strangely hollow in the vast, vertical space. "Must be gettin' near the center of the earth, I reckon. Let's see... Pa said that was four thousand miles down..." The number was too big, too abstract to have any real meaning here, where down was the only direction and time seemed to have stopped.
The gentle, rocking motion, the soft whistle of air, the hypnotic parade of strange, floating household items⌠it was all having a strangely sedative effect. Yuuâs eyelids began to feel heavy, the bizarre reality softening at the edges into a dream. They were just starting to drift off whenâ
Thump.
The fall was over.
Yuu sat for a long moment in the pile of dry leaves. The world felt solid again, blessedly unmoving. They patted their own arms and legs, half-surprised to find them all still attached and in working order.
"Well, I'll be," they muttered, brushing a leaf from their hair. "After a tumble like that, fallin' off the barn roof would feel like trippin' over a loose floorboard. Don't think I'll ever complain 'bout our rickety stairs again."
A disgruntled noise came from beside them. "Mrah! My fur is full of leaves! This is completely undignified for a future Great Sorcerer! It's going to take hours of grooming to get back to my pristine magnificence!"
Yuu froze, their hand still halfway to another leaf. They turned their head slowly. That wasn't just a noise. Those were... words. Clear as day.
Grim was shaking himself out, his little body a puff of irritated gray fur. His back was to them.
"Did you... say somethin'?" Yuu asked, their voice barely a whisper, thinking they must have hit their head harder than they thought.
Grim stopped shaking and turned, fixing them with a glare from his eyes. "Of course I said somethin'! I said my fur is a mess! Are your ears full of leaves, too? Maybe all that fallin' rattled your brain loose!"
They both stared at each other. A beat of stunned silence stretched between them, thick enough to chop with an axe. The only sound was the faint rustle of a leaf still drifting down from the ceiling-high darkness above.
Yuuâs jaw was practically on the floor. "You... you can talk." The words felt stupid and inadequate. "Since when can you talk?"
Grimâs irritated expression melted into one of dawning horror. He looked down at his own paws, then back up at Yuu, his eyes wide. "I... I can!" he squeaked, his voice climbing an octave. "I CAN TALK! NYAH HA HA! THE GREAT GRIM'S TRUE GENIUS CAN NO LONGER BE CONTAINED BY MERE MEWS AND PURRRS! THE WORLD WILL FINALLY HEAR MY GRAND PROCLAMATIONS!"
The initial shock wore off, replaced by a wave of pure, unadulterated panic. Grim began zipping in frantic circles, a blur of gray fur and existential dread. "WAIT. WHY CAN I TALK? WHAT SORCERY IS THIS? IS THIS A CURSE? AM I CURSED?!"
"Will you hush!" Yuu hissed, scrambling to their feet and scooping him up, clamping a hand gently over his mouth. He felt warm and solid and the same, but the stream of panicked words vibrating against their palm was entirely new. "You're gonna attract every... every thing in this place!" They looked around nervously at the long, dimly lit hall with its countless, silent doors. What kind of things lived behind doors in a place like this? "We don't know what else is down here."
Grim mumbled something that sounded like "mmpfh greeeat mmph unhand!" against their palm before he went completely limp with a dramatic, full-body sigh. Yuu cautiously removed their hand.
"This is your fault," he grumbled, though he made no move to escape their arms, seemingly comforted by the familiar contact. "Chasin' after some fancy-pants rabbit-man. Normal rabbits live in holes. This one lives in a... a hallway of doors. And now I'm a talkin' freak-cat. My reputation is ruined before it's even begun!"
"Seems to me you're enjoyin' it a little," Yuu retorted, though their own heart was still hammering. A talking cat. Of all the impossible things that had happened in the last ten minutesâthe rabbit, the fall, the floating furnitureâthis felt somehow the most world-bending. Grim was their constant silent companion. This changed everything.
A flash of blue and white at the far end of the hall snapped them out of their mutual shock. The Rabbit! He was hurrying down the passage, muttering to himself again, completely oblivious to their crisis.
"Oh my ears and whiskers," his voice echoed back, faint and fretful. "He'll have my head for this, he will! He said 3 o'clock sharp, not a second past!"
"There he goes again!" Grim yowled, forgetting his existential crisis in an instant. He wriggled out of Yuu's grasp and landed on the floor with a soft thud. "After him! Maybe he knows why I can talk! Or maybe he's got tuna! Either way, we can't lose him!"
There wasn't a moment to lose. Yuu took off running, Grim a gray streak at their heels, his little paws pattering a frantic rhythm. The hallway seemed to stretch on forever, an alignment of doorsâtall ones, short ones, ones painted a garish red, ones carved with strange, swirling symbols. None of them had visible handles or keyholes, just smooth, unbroken surfaces that promised secrets they couldn't access.
They rounded the corner just in time to see the Rabbit fumble with a key, unlock a small, disturbingly normal-looking door, and vanish through it. The door clicked shut with a sound of finality.
Yuu skidded to a halt, Grim leaping to paw frantically at the solid wood. "He's gone! He locked it! The nerve! After leadin' us on a chase!"
"Maybe the key's around here somewhere," Yuu said, their breath coming in short gasps. They turned to survey the hall, their eyes scanning the endless, identical walls. And that's when they saw it. A single, small table in the very center of the room that they were certain hadn't been there a moment before. It was made of shimmering glass, as if carved from a single block of ice, and on it was a tiny golden key, gleaming under the lantern light.
"Ah-ha!" Grim declared, puffing out his chest and strutting towards the table. "The Great Grim has found the solution! My brilliant detective skills haveâ hey, wait for me!" he yelped as Yuu rushed past him and snatched up the key.
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Yuu said, the metal cool and surprisingly heavy in their palm. They rushed to the nearest door, a grand, oak thing that looked like it belonged in a castle, and tried to find a keyhole. There was none. They tried another, a cheerful green one. Again, nothing but smooth wood. Door after door, all around the vast hall, were all firmly, mysteriously locked, offering no way in or out.
"It's no use," Yuu sighed, slumping against a purple door in defeat. The tiny key felt useless in their hand. "It don't fit a one. We're trapped."
"Maybe there's a smaller door," Grim suggested, his nose twitching as he sniffed along the elaborate baseboards. "A secret one! For secret, important people! Like me!"
It was a good thought. Pushing their frustration aside, Yuu started looking more carefully, running their hands along the walls, feeling for any seam or crack. Then their fingers brushed against heavy, velvety fabric. A curtain. They had been so focused on the doors they'd missed it entirely. With a heart suddenly thumping again, they pulled the curtain back.
There it was. A little door, no taller than their knee, hidden away in the shadows. It was a perfect, miniature thing, crafted with the same care as the larger ones, and when Yuu knelt and slipped the tiny golden key into its tiny lock, it turned with a satisfying, perfect click.
Heart pounding with a mixture of hope and trepidation, Yuu pushed the little door open. It revealed a small, dark passage, and at the end of it...
"Oh, my," they breathed, the words catching in their throat.
It was the loveliest garden they had ever seen. The grass was a vibrant, almost unreal green, flower beds bloomed in explosions of impossible colors, and fountains sparkled under a bright, sunny sky that shouldn't have existed on the other side of a tiny door at the bottom of a rabbit hole. It was everything their own tangled, sorrowful garden was not.
But the passage was far too small. Yuu couldn't even get their head through, let alone their shoulders. The beautiful garden might as well have been a painting.
"Outta the way, let me see!" Grim demanded, squeezing his head into the opening. He wriggled and pushed, but it was no use. "Nyah! It's no use! I'm too big and magnificent to fit! This is an outrage! A garden that glorious deserves to be admired by my presence!"
Yuu sat back on their heels, a fresh, cold wave of despair washing over them. They were so close. The ache of it was a physical pain. "Oh, how I wish I could shrink myself down like... like one of them collapsible fishing poles Pa has. Just... fold right up."
As if in answer to their wish, their eyes fell back upon the glass table. And there, where the single key had been, now sat a small glass bottle. It certainly had not been there before.
Grim trotted over and stood on his hind legs, propping his front paws on the table leg to peer at it. "Says 'DRINK ME'," he read aloud, squinting at the elegant, handwritten label. "Real subtle."
Yuu picked it up cautiously. It was filled with a clear liquid that swirled with faint, pearlescent colors. "Ain't that a little... on the nose? Feels like we're bein' led around by the nose."
"Maybe it's a trap!" Grim said, though he looked more curious than concerned, his head cocked. "Maybe it's poison! Or turns your fur green! ...Actually, green fur might be kinda stylish..."
Yuu, however, was remembering. Their sisters' stories weren't just about whimsy; they were about choices. Taking a bite, drinking a potion, stepping through the looking glass. This felt like one of those moments. Besides, the bottle wasn't marked 'poison,' and when they uncorked it, it smelled... surprisingly delightful, like a whole bakery, a fruit orchard, and a Christmas feast had been combined into one irresistible aroma.
"It don't smell like poison," Yuu said, the scent making their mouth water. Yuu remembered their sister saying something about a bottle labeled once before, albeit they could hardly remember what would happen when you drank the contentsâŚ
Burning with a curiosity that overpowered every last shred of good sense, Yuu looked at Grim, who was now watching them with wide eyes.
"Well," Yuu said, their voice steadier than they felt. "Ain't no use standin' here starin' at it all day. Here goes nothin'."
And they put the bottle to their lips and drank it.
CW: Cannibalism, obbsesive love(?), ngl thz was kinda rushed
SUMMARY: The agonizing truth of loving a mortal has festered in Malleus's heart for too long. He cannot bear the thought of time stealing you away. So, in the quiet of his castle, he proposes a different endingâone written not in dust, but in devotion. To keep you, he must consume you. And you, loving him, find you cannot refuse.
How terrible it is to love something death can touch.
That was a truth Malleus Draconia had learned in the mundane moments that made up a life, your life, more so.
He had first truly understood it one afternoon, watching you nap in a sunbeam slanting through his tower window. You were curled in a chair, a book splayed open on your chest, rising and falling with each breath. To you, it was a simple nap. To him, it was a countdown. He found himself counting the breaths, a grim rhythm that only counted down. One more. One less. Every beat of your heart was a step closer to its final stillness. Every exhale brought you closer to the last whisper of air you would ever draw.
It was an agony he had realized long ago, a thorned vine that had taken root in his chest the day he first admitted he loved you, and now it constricted with every passing season.
He was a being of granite and starlight, of ley lines and immortal magic. You were⌠a candle. A beautiful, brilliantly burning candle. He was mesmerized by your flame. The way you laughed, the way your eyes crinkled with joy, the fleeting passion of your emotions. But he could only watch helplessly as the wax dripped, as the wick shortened. He had seen empires rise and fall from the very spot where this place now stood. He had watched forests grow from saplings to sentinel giants and return to soil. But the thought of watching you age, sicken, fade. You, the one thing he had ever truly wanted to keep, terrified him in a way no battle, no curse, no decade of solitude ever had.
His love was not a gentle thing. It was ever-consuming. A hoarding instinct that wanted to gather you up and keep you safe from the ravages of a world that broke beautiful, temporary things. And the object of this vast, terrifying love wasâŚÂ temporary.
A human. So easily bruised. A single misstep on a staircase, a stray spark from a spell, a common chill that could spiral into a fever⌠the possibilities for loss were endless, a thousand different paths all leading to the same unbearable conclusion.
He would trace the delicate blue lines of veins at your wrist, feeling the frantic, bird-like pulse beneath his fingertips, and his own ancient, slow-beating heart would clench. He would watch a single grey hair gleam among the others and feel a wave of something, not disgust, but a profound grief. These were not the signs of a life lived, but mile markers on a tragically short life.
He loved you. He, Malleus Draconia, who commanded storms and whose name was whispered with fear and reverence, was desperately in love with a creature whose life was little more than a sigh in his long life.
And a dragon could not stand to lose his greatest treasure.
These thoughts, once a distant dread, had now become a constant of his existence. They were there in the silence of his castle and the space between heartbeats. And they were here, now, as he lay curled at your side on the bed you two shared, listening to the steady rhythm of your voice as you read aloud. It was in these moments that he found peace. With his ear pressed against your side, he could listen to the steady rhythm of your heart, a commitment he made to himself that he would never, ever let it stop. He could hear your voice, and he would ensure it never truly faded away. In these moments, he could almost believe the terrible, ticking clock had stopped.
Your voice, soft and steady, wove through the quiet room, tracing the lines of Ovid's Metamorphoses.
"...and though he begged her not to ask it, Semele demanded to see Zeus in his full, divine splendor," you read, your fingers unconsciously carding through his soft hair. "A mortal frame could not withstand the glory of a god's true form. She was consumed by the glorious fire of his presence."
You paused, perhaps imagining the scene, and Malleus did not stir, though his mind was now fully engrossed by your words.
You continued, the last part of the myth escaping your lips. "And so, from the ashes of Semele, Dionysus was born. The god, in his grief, sewed the unborn child into his own thigh to carry him to term. Thus, from destruction came new life, and a part of the mortal woman was made eternal within the divine."
You closed the book with a soft thud, a contemplative sigh escaping your lips. "It's tragic," you murmured, your hand still resting in his hair. "But there's a strange beauty to it, I suppose. To be loved so fiercely by a god that even your destruction isn't the end."
Malleus was silent for a long moment, so still you thought he might have been sleeping. Then, he spoke, his voice low and thoughtful, keeping his eyes closed.
"âA weird beauty.â An apt phrase. Do you believe that is the ultimate form of love, then?"
You blinked, looking down at the dark crown of his head. "What, sewing someone into your leg?"
A faint, almost imperceptible chuckle shook his shoulders. "Heheh. No. The preservation. The act of defying an ending deemed inevitable." He finally tilted his head back, his green eyes opening to look at you, his gaze gentle. "Zeus could not reverse her death. But he could rewrite its conclusion. He ensured her story did not end with ashes."
You pondered the statement, your fingers stilling in his hair. "I suppose. But sewing someone into your leg is a pretty extreme response. It's still a tragedy."
"A tragedy defined by its moment of conflict, or by its final resolution?" he countered, his voice a soft murmur. "Her story did not end in a forgotten urn of ashes. It ended with her essence fueling the birth of a god, her memory woven into the very stars for mortals to worship. He did not let her be forgotten. He made her a part of his own story."
He shifted, turning fully to look up at you, his expression soft yet intensely focused. "If you knew, with absolute certainty, that the one you cherished would be lost to time... that every laugh, every touch, was a step closer to a silence you would have to endure for millennia... would you not be tempted to find a way to keep them? To truly keep them, where no power in any world could ever take them from you?"
You smiled, a little wistful, your thumb stroking his temple. "When you put it like that, it's hard to argue. To be wanted that much... to be loved so desperately that someone would defy the natural order just to have a piece of you forever..." You let out a soft, breathy laugh, shaking your head. "I think anyone would be a little tempted by that. The idea that you're so precious, someone can't even bear the universe taking you back. It's... terrifying, but in a way, it's the most romantic thing I've ever heard."
His eyes widened just a fraction at your words, a certain shine in them as a faint smile touched his lips.
"You think it romantic?" he asked in a murmur, his voice filled with a hint of hope. He shifted, rising on one elbow so he could look down at you, his form casting a shadow over you.
You met his gaze, your heart fluttering. "Isn't it?" you said, your own voice soft. "It's the ultimate promise. No more goodbyes. No more fear of being left behind or forgotten. It's two souls becoming one. No secrets, no separation. Ever." You reached up, tracing the line of his jaw. "You'd never be alone again. And neither would I. We'd be... us. Forever. That's what love is supposed to be, isn't it? Becoming a part of each other?"
Malleus captured your hand, pressing your palm to his lips. His eyes closed for a moment, as if in prayer. When they opened again, they were star-filled and entirely focused on you.
"Then let me provide that for you," he whispered, the words a vow. "Let me rewrite our ending before it can ever be written. Let me spare you the decay, the pain, the slow fading that awaits every beautiful, mortal thing."
He leaned down, his forehead resting against yours.
"Do not be afraid. This isn't an ending, it's a transformation. " His voice was hypnotic, weaved a spell of comfort around you. "Your thoughts will become my thoughts. Your memories, my most cherished dreams. Your love, the very magic that fuels my heart. I will be the vault that keeps you safe, and you will be the treasure that makes me whole. We will be⌠inseparable."
He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze searching, giving you one final chance to refuse. But you saw only the desperate love of a dragon for his hoard, and you found you wanted nothing more than to be kept.
"Is this your wish?" he asked, his voice barely a breath. "To be with me, forever? To become one with me, in the most sacred and final way?"
You looked up at him, at the being who could cause storms yet was trembling at this moment, and you gave him your answer with trusting nods and a sure smile.
A peace settled over Malleus's features.
"Then close your eyes, my love," he murmured, his voice the softest you had ever heard.
You obeyed, the world disappearing behind your eyelids. You felt him shift above you, his weight a comforting anchor. The first touch was the softest press of his lips against yours. A final, chaste kiss.
And then, a sharp, brief pain at your lower lip.
It was gone as soon as it came, replaced by the warm, metallic taste of your own blood. You gasped softly, but his hand came up to cradle your jaw, his thumb stroking your cheek.
"Shhh," he whispered against your mouth, his tongue soothing the tiny wound. "Every memory of your laughter⌠I take it into my care."
This was not a rushed devouring. This was a sacrament. He partook of you like a holy offering, one deliberate taste at a time.
His mouth journeyed to the pulse fluttering at the side of your neck. A kiss, soft as silk. Then, the piercing pressure of a fang. This one was deeper, a claiming of the very rhythm of your life. You felt the pull, a slow, steady drawing not just of blood, but of warmth, of the very thing that made you you. A warmth began to bloom in its wake, seeping into your limbs.
He moved lower, his lips brushing the hollow of your throat, the fragile ridge of your collarbone. Each kiss was a prelude to a merging. Each taste was a memory he was committing to his own flesh. The salt of your skin after a long day, the ghost of your perfume, the simple, human fact of you.
His hands were never still, mapping the territory of your body with a devastating tenderness as he slowly, so slowly, took it apart. One hand splayed over your racing heart, as if feeling the song it was singing for the last time.
"The first time I saw you," he whispered, his breath cool against the shell of your ear before his teeth found the delicate lobe, a sharp pinch followed by the soothing heat of his tongue. "It's a moment I will always keep with me now.'
He continued his journey down your arm, his mouth worshiping the inside of your wrist, the place where your lifeblood beat closest to the surface. He didn't just bite; he drank. He consumed the moments you'd spent holding hands, the strength you'd used to push yourself up, the nervous fidgets he'd found so endearing. You could feel these parts of yourself leaving, a gentle pulling sensation, not from your body, but from your very essence.
The world began to narrow to the sensation of his mouth, the rhythmic pull, the alternating sting and soothe. The edges of your vision darkened, not with fear, but with a profound and welcome heaviness. You were dissolving, melting into a greater, warmer whole. The sound of his voice was no longer a sound in your ears, but a resonance in your soul, the new bedrock of your being.
You were no longer being held. You were being absorbed.
The last coherent thought you had was not of your own life, but of his. You felt the vast, lonely decades he had endured, and you flowed into them like a river meeting the sea, finally filling an emptiness you hadn't known was there.
A W.I.P! I will only post ch.1 here probs, cuz it will be multichapter!
You can see the full work here!
No CWs, but it is a male reader!
SUMMARY:
In the hollowed-out aftermath of war, General Lilia Vanrouge is a ghost of his former self. Consumed by failure and grief after the death of Princess Maleanor and excommunicated from the Briar Valley court, he seeks oblivion in the skies, only to meet a humiliating defeat at the hands of a thorn bush.
Wounded, stranded, and stripped of his title, he is found by a solitary fae, a quiet craftsman trying to rebuild his life on the outskirts of the conflict. With no idea of the bat's true identity, they offer simple kindness: a warm hearth, a splinted wing, and a patience that grates on Lilia's last nerve.
Forced into a convalescence he never asked for, Lilia plans to leave the moment he's healed. But he keeps coming back, inventing flimsy excuses to justify his returns: a lost item, a strategic assessment of the area's infrastructure, a need to critique your terrible cooking.
Chapter 1: A Most Undignified Descent
The wind was a bitter slap against leathery wings, but Lilia Vanrouge felt none of it. The cold was a mere physical sensation, a trifle compared to the yawning, hollow void that had been carved out inside his chest.
High above the ground, a small, dark shape cut through the twilight sky. Lilia Vanrouge, General of the Queenâs Armies, Right Hand of the late Princess Maleanor, and legendary War Harbinger, was, for all intents and purposes, lost.
Not geographically. His internal map of the valley was impeccable, etched by centuries of campaigns and patrols. No, he was lost in a way that was far more disconcerting. The peace was a void. The silence, a roar.
Failure.
The word was a drumbeat in his skull, matching the frantic rhythm of his flight. It echoed the venomous hisses of the Briar Valley Senate, their words sharper than any blade that had ever found its mark.
"Shut your mouth, you filthy bat."
"You failed to protect the princess. Some royal guardsman you are."
"This is how you repay your debt to the Draconia family?"
"Useless ingrate!"
He had taken the words. He had stood there and absorbed every poisoned barb because they were true, weren't they? He had failed to protect the Princess. Maleanor was gone. His Princess, his anchor, his purpose, extinguished. And he, her most trusted general, her sharpest blade, had not been fast enough, strong enough, enough to stop it.
The only option left was to sever the tie himself. To remove the failure from the equation.
"I hereby resign from my post in the royal guard."
The councilâs response had been more insults and a final, damning decree:Â "Never set foot in this capital again!"Â before they had taken the egg. The last, fragile piece of her, the last thing he had been tasked to protect. Maybe it was a good thing. So he couldn't possibly harm another thing connected to her.
The absence of purpose was a physical ache, a hollowed-out space where his duty used to be. And so, he flew. In his smaller, less conspicuous bat form, he could escape the weight of his own name, if only for a little while. The world was simpler from up here. Soar. Drift. Hunt moths. Ignore the gaping emptiness inside.
A sharp gust of wind caught him off guard. It was a petty, insignificant thing. A nuisance he would have easily countered a month ago when his mind was sharp and his magic thrummed with intent. But now, his focus was shattered, his thoughts a thousand leagues away.
The gust sent him tumbling. He righted himself with an irritated chitter, his wings beating furiously against the unruly air. Insubordinate weather, he thought, the general in him rising to the fore. It needs to be brought to heel.
His distraction was his undoing.
He didnât see the thorny bramble bush, a wild, unchecked thing growing over the ruins of a low stone wall, until it was too late. He banked hard, but a wicked, needle-like thorn snagged the delicate membrane of his right wing.
There was a sickening rip.
Pain, white-hot and shocking, lanced through him. A squeak of pure outrage was torn from his throat. He wasnât a general anymore; he was a creature in a trap. He flailed, his uninjured wing beating frantically, which only served to tangle him further in the vicious web of thorns. Each movement was a new agony, the barbs tearing into his wing, his tiny body.
Fury quickly gave way to a cold, humiliating wave of panic. This was how it would end. Not on a battlefield, not in a blaze of glorious magic, but as a snack for foxes, picked apart by ants, because he was too busy feeling sorry for himself to watch where he was flying.
The thought was so profoundly, cosmically undignified that it stole the breath from his lungs. He went limp in his prickly prison, exhaustion and pain overwhelming him.
The world began to dim at the edges, the twilight deepening into a woozy blackness. He was cold. So cold. The warmth of his own blood was a dark stain against his fur. He was so very tired. Perhaps it was better this way. To just⌠stop.
His little body went limp in the thorns, the fight bleeding out of him along with the last of his strength. The last thing he was aware of was the sound of heavy, careful footsteps rustling through the undergrowth. A giant shadow fell over him.
A voice, deep and laced with a gentle curiosity, murmured above him.
âWell, now. Whatâs this?â
A large, warm hand descended, blocking out the dying light. He lacked even the energy to flinch. Fingers, surprisingly deft and gentle, began to carefully work him free from the brambles that held him prisoner.
He had one last, coherent thought before the darkness finally, mercifully, took him.
please remember you are writing fanfiction for fun. please remember you are writing fanfiction for fun. please remember you are writing fanfiction for fun. please remember you are writing fanfiction for fun. please remember you are writing fanfiction for fun. please remember you are writing fanfiction for fun. please remember you are writing fanfiction for fun. please remember you are writing fanfiction for fun
The sky had been a soft grey when youâd left for class, but by the time you trudged up the path to Ramshackle Dorm, it had decided to unleash its full fury. Rain fell in thick, relentless sheets, drumming a chaotic rhythm on the broken cobblestones and the dilapidated roof of your home. You shoved the heavy door open, greeted by the familiar scent of old wood and dust, now underscored by the petrichor of the storm.
âFinally!â you muttered to yourself, kicking off your sopping wet shoes and leaving them on a mat by the door. Your socks were damp, and a shiver ran through you. The grand, dusty hallway of Ramshackle was dim and quiet, a stark contrast to the roaring chaos outside. It was in moments like these that the old building felt less like a haunted wreck and more like a steadfast sanctuary.
You padded into the main lounge, intent on finding a dry set of clothes, when a faint, rhythmic sound gave you pause. It wasn't the random patter of rain, but something more deliberate.
thun-dunâŚ
You stopped, listening.
thun-dunâŚ
It was a tapping, soft yet persistent, against one of the grimy bay windows.
thun-dunâŚ
A smile touched your lips. You knew that sound. You walked over to the window and peered through the water-streaked glass. There, huddled on the windowsill, was a small, bedraggled songbird, its feathers plastered to its body. It tapped its beak against the glass once more, a tiny, futile request for shelter.
âSorry, little guy,â you whispered. âYouâd have better luck than we did convincing Crowley to fix the roof.â
With a sigh, you finally retreated to your room, changed into soft, dry sweatpants and an old hoodie, and felt immediately human again. The allure of your plans, a promised afternoon of chaos in the Mostro Lounge with the first-year trio, probably involving some scheme of Aceâs and Deuceâs earnest attempts to thwart it, had been thoroughly washed away. The world, it seemed, had other, much wetter, ideas.
You flopped backward onto the ancient, sagging couch. It emitted a cloud of dust and a protesting groan, but held firm. Youâd just found the remote when a familiar weight launched itself onto your stomach.
âMyaah! Iâm soaked to the bone!â Grim whined, shaking himself violently and spraying cold water everywhere.
âGrim! I just got dry!â you complained, but it was half-hearted. You were already rubbing his ears the way he liked, and his irritated yowl melted into a rumbling purr. He kneaded his paws on your hoodie before circling twice and plopping down into a tight, furry loaf on your torso. His fur was still damp and cool, but he was a familiar, comforting weight.
You turned on the TV, flipping through channels until you landed on the news. A weathercaster stood in front of a complex map covered in swirling blues and greens.
ââand the system shows no signs of moving out until at least Saturday,â the man said with faux cheer. âSo folks, batten down the hatches! Weâre in for a soaker all week!â
Grimâs head shot up, his ears flat against his skull. âMreow!? All week!? But that means we canât get the limited-edition MagiCam Tuna Bites from the shop! Theyâre a weekend special!â
You couldnât help but chuckle. âGrim, yes we can. The shop has a roof. We have an umbrella. Itâs called being prepared.â
âNot without gettinâ wet!â he frowned, his blue eyes wide with genuine distress. He crossed his tiny arms, his tail twitching with annoyance. âMy fur is gonna get all matted and nasty! A future Great Mage like me canât be seen lookinâ like a drowned rat!â
You only sighed, a long-suffering sound youâd perfected since the day youâd fished him out of a gate. âIâll just go without you, then. More tuna bites for me.â
His dramatics paused. He stared at you, a conflict clear on his face. His desire for gourmet tuna warred violently with his aversion to rain and, though heâd never admit it, his concern for you.
âButâŚâ he started, his voice uncharacteristically small. âWhat if you slip on the wet stones? Or a gust of wind blows you into the sky? Or⌠or a puddle eats you? I canât let anything happen to my henchman! Whoâd polish my medal and tell me how great I am? Itâs a huge responsibility!â
Your heart softened. For all his bluster and ego, the little guy cared. Deeply.
âHow about a compromise?â you offered, scratching under his chin. âIâll go alone, but we can keep in contact the whole time. Iâll take my magic mirror. You can yell at me if you see a dangerous puddle forming on the camera.â
Grim considered this, his whiskers twitching. The image of him officiously directing your steps from the dry comfort of the couch clearly appealed to his sense of importance.
âMmph⌠I guess thatâll be fine,â he grumbled, finally giving in. He nestled back down on your stomach, his purr kicking back up like a little motor. âBut you gotta promise to run between the raindrops! And my tuna bites get top priority! No gettinâ distracted by those weird skeleton snacks for that tall guy!â
âDeal,â you laughed. âAll the tuna bites for the Great Grim.â
The news droned on in the background, but the sound was soon drowned out by the steady rhythm of the rain on the roof and the deep, even breathing of the magical beast asleep on your chest. Eventually, the long day and the couchâs deceptive comfort pulled you under, too. The last thing you felt before you drifted off was Grim, in his sleep, readjusting his position to curl himself around your neck, a warm, living scarf purring softly against your skin, guarding his henchman from any and all stormy dreams.
Can I req a fic with Grim where he insists on playing in the rain but then gets sick so MC has to take care of him? I adore MC and Grims relationship, he's like a little kid, really, and I don't see enough fics with him. Have a good day! 𫶠(This totally isn't bcuz I insisted on playing in the rain and got sick lmao)
Ooo, this is such a CUTE idea!!! It is very true, there is not a lot of things of Grim unfortunatelyđđđ Anyways, here is this lil thing!
The rain wasnât just falling; it was conducting a full-scale symphony on the windows of Ramshackle Dorm. Each heavy droplet was a percussionist, beating a frantic, tempting rhythm against the glass.
The conductor of this unwanted concert was currently perched on the windowsill, his little paws pressed to the pane. Grim stared out with an intensity usually reserved for a can of high-quality tuna. A low, continuous whine vibrated in his throat.
âWhatâs so interesting about water falling from the sky?â you asked, not looking up from your textbook. You already knew the answer.
âItâs not interesting, itâs annoying!â he huffed, his tail lashing. âIâm bored! Cooped up in this dusty old dorm âcause of some stupid rain! Hey, henchhuman! Let me go outside!â
âNo,â you said, your voice firm. âYouâre going to get soaked, catch a cold, and guess who gets promoted to full-time nursemaid? Me. The answer is no.â
âBut Iâll dry off!â he insisted, turning to you with wide, pleading blue eyes. âIâll even⌠Iâll even share my next can of tuna with you! The fancy kind with the jelly!â
You finally looked up, raising an eyebrow. âTempting, but my answer is still no. My immune system is questionable at best in this world, and yours is⌠well, youâre a cat. A magical beast, but still. Itâs a no.â
âI am not a cat! I am the Great Grim, future magician!â he yowled, stomping his foot. âAnd my amazingness means I donât get sick! Itâs just water! PleasepleasepleasepleasePLEASE, MC? Iâll be the best, most famous student ever and Iâll let you carry my trophy!â
The puppy-dog eyes were weaponized. You could see the genuine, restless energy buzzing through him. He was like a kid hyped up on sugar, trapped indoors. With a sigh that came from the very depths of your soul, you relented.
âFine. Fifteen minutes. But if you so much as look at a puddle deeper than your paws, youâre coming straight back in. And when youâre sneezing and miserable tomorrow, donât you dare say I didnât warn you.â
âYou wonât regret it! Thisâll be the greatest performance the world has ever seen!â he crowed, zipping towards the door like a blue-and-gray firework.
You followed him to the porch, arms crossed, watching as the Great Grim embraced his element with terrifying enthusiasm. He didnât just play in the rain; he performed a one-monster epic, chasing his tail, attempting (and failing) to bite raindrops, and declaring victory over the â watery weaklings.â
At one point, he zeroed in on a murky puddle that looked deceptively shallow. You saw the calculation in his eyes, the bend of his haunches.
âDONâT YOU DARE!â you yelled over the downpour.
He froze, shot you a look of utter betrayal, and slunk away to attack a nearby leaf instead.
True to his word, fifteen soaking, muddy minutes later, he trudged back inside, dripping all over the floor. His fur was plastered to his body, making him look half his usual size.
âIâm gonna⌠take a nap,â he announced, his earlier bravado utterly spent, and he dragged his soggy self up the stairs to his cushion.
The next morning, you werenât woken by demands for breakfast or boasts of greatness. You were woken by a sound that was both pathetic and alarming: a wet, raspy cough, followed by a pitiful whimper.
âMCâŚ?â a small, hoarse voice croaked. âHenchhuman⌠I donât feel so good.â
You sat up. Grim was a miserable little ball on his cushion, his nose was dry and warm when you pressed the back of your hand to it, and his ears were drooping.
âWhat did I say?â you asked, your tone more sympathetic than accusative as you fetched the ancient thermometer from the Ramshackle first-aid kit. The reading was⌠impressive.
âWell, congratulations. Youâre running a temperature of 102.2. The Great Grim has officially caught the rain-rumbles.â
âMraah⌠This is your fault,â he moaned, burying his face in his blanket. âYou shoulda stopped me!â
âOh please,â you snorted, heading for the door. âI gave you every warning short of a prophetic vision. Stay put. Iâm going to make you some soup, and then youâre taking medicine.â
âMedicine?!â His head shot up, eyes wide with horror. âNo way! That stuff is disgusting! Iâd rather be sick!â
âTough,â you called back from the hallway. âYou decided to duel the storm. This is the consequence.â
The next few hours were a masterclass in dramatics. Getting him to sip the chicken broth was a negotiation worthy of a diplomat. Getting him to take the cherry-flavored fever reducer was a full-blown siege operation, involving bribes, threats of no tuna for a week, and eventually, a well-aimed dropper when he was mid-complaint.
He complained the entire time. The soup was too hot, then too bland. The blanket was itchy. The pillow was lumpy. His own greatness was being stifled by this âunworthy weakness.â
But as the medicine finally kicked in and his fever began to break, the complaints dwindled into sleepy mumbles. You sat beside his cushion, reading your textbook aloud in a low monotone. His breathing evened out, and a soft, not-unpleasant purr rumbled in his chestâa sound of pure, unconscious contentment.
Just as you thought heâd fallen asleep, a small, sleepy voice piped up.
âHey⌠MC?â
âYeah, Grim?â
ââŚThanks for not sayinâ âI told you soâ too much. And⌠the soup wasnât totally awful.â
You smiled, reaching down to scratch behind his slightly-too-warm ear. âAnytime, Grim. Now go to sleep. You need your strength so you can ignore my advice again tomorrow.â
âHeh⌠You bet I willâŚâ he murmured, already drifting off, leaning into your touch.
And as you watched the famous, fearsome Great Grim sleep soundly, you knew youâd do it all over again in a heartbeat. After all, what was a henchhuman for?
It lulls you first. Gentle waves, salt-kissed breeze, the kind of blue that poets waste ink on. Then, in a heartbeat, it turns.
One second, youâre swimming. The next, the current locks around your ankles like a chain and yanks.
You donât even get to scream.
Water floods your mouth, your nose, your lungs. You thrash, clawing at the surface, but the sea just laughs and pulls you deeper. The sunlight above shrinks to a pinprick, then vanishes.
Your vision goes dark.
Your body goes limp.
And thenâ
Something grabs you.
Not hands. Not arms. Something slippery and strong coils around your waist, your legs, squeezing just shy of crushing. Youâre moving, fast, water rushing past your face, but youâre too oxygen-starved to even panic.
The last thing you see before passing out is a flash of teeth in the dark.
-----
You come to in stages.
First, the heat, sunburn on your cheeks, and sand sticking to your skin. Then the sound, waves lapping, gulls crying, andâŚÂ voices?
"âthink itâs dead?"
"Donât be ridiculous, Floyd. Itâs breathing."
You blink up, vision swimmingâ
âand freeze.
Green.
Not the green of plants or moss, but the sickly, shimmering green of something that shouldnât be. A face hovers above you, grinning with too many teeth, blue hair plastered wetly to his forehead. His eyes, one gold, one olive, glint with something between curiosity and the way a cat watches a half-drowned mouse.
Behind him, another figure. Same blue hair, same unsettling wrongness, but his smile is polite.
âFloyd, give them space.â
Floyd.
The first one, Floyd, pouts. âBut Jaaaade, look at âem! Theyâre allââ He flops his hand in a limp gesture, ââlike a dead jellyfish!â
Jade.
Your brain stutters, trying to process any of this. Your throat feels like itâs been scrubbed with sand. âWh⌠whoâŚ?â
Floydâs grin widens. âOya~ Shrimpy can talk!â
Jade kneels beside you, his movements smooth in a way that makes your skin prickle. âYou were drowning,â he says, like heâs discussing the weather. âWe helped.â
You try to sit up, but your arms buckle. Floyd cackles as you faceplant back into the sand.
âHumans are so fragile,â he muses, poking your shoulder. âOne little near-death experience and theyâre allââ He flops again.
Jade sighs. âIgnore him. Heâs always like this.â
You stare at them.
They stare back.
Then Floyd gasps, slapping his hands on your cheeks. âHEY. You never said thank you.â
Your mouth opens. Closes.
ââŚTh-thank you?â
Floydâs eyes light up. âJade! Theyâre polite! Can we keep âem?â
Jade hums, tilting his head. âTempting. But theyâd probably die.â
âBoooooring.â Floyd rolls off you, flopping onto the sand like a discarded towel.
You take the opportunity to finally sit up, and nearly pass out again when you see their tails.
Long. Sleek. Glinting in the sunlight.
You make a noise. AÂ high-pitched, undignified noise.
-----
The next few minutes are a blur of coughing, sputtering, and Floyd poking your cheek like heâs testing if youâll deflate.
âYouâre squishy,â he declares, fascinated. âLike a sea grape!â
Jade sighs, long-suffering, but doesnât stop him. Instead, he tilts his head, studying you with a gaze that feels like itâs peeling back layers. âYouâre lucky we were nearby,â he muses. âThe tide here isâŚÂ hungry.â
You shiver, though the sun is scorching. âYouâyou saved me?â
Floyd barks a laugh. âEh, more like fished you out! You were floppingââ He mimics your drowning with dramatic arm flails, nearly smacking Jade in the face.
Jade moves to the side without looking. âWhat my brother means is that we assisted.â His smile sharpens. âThough I wonder⌠what were you doing so far from shore?â
You open your mouth, then pause. Were you far out? You canât remember. The memory is waterlogged, slipping through your fingers like foam.
Floyd leans in, his breath oddly cool against your sunburned skin. âMaybe shrimpy wanted to drown~â
âDonât be morbid,â Jade chides, though he sounds amused.
Floyd sticks out his tongue. âYouâre no fun.â
-----
Eventually, you stop coughing up seawater.
Eventually, your legs stop shaking.
Eventually, the twins finally stop making fun of you (lie).
"Welp!" Floyd stretches, tail smacking the sand. "This was fun, but we gotta bounce. Azulâll throw a fit if weâre late."
Jade nods, standing (slithering?) with terrifying grace. "Do try to avoid drowning again," he says, like you did it on purpose. "We might not be so generous next time."
Floyd grins. "Or maybe we will! Depends on my mood~"
And then, with a twin flick of their tails, theyâre gone. Vanishing beneath the waves like they were never there.
You sit on the shore, soaked, shoeless, and very confused.
Somewhere in the distance, a seagull laughs at you.
The words curdle in your skull, sour and mocking, as you sit on the edge of your bed in Ramshackle. The dorm finally stands whole. No more leaks, no more drafts, no more phantom chills slithering up your spine at night. Grim snores loudly in the next room, belly full, tail twitching in some dream of tuna and triumph.
Outside your window, the ghosts of Sageâs Island hum a lullaby youâll never know the words to.
You should be happy.
Your fingers dig into your thighs. You are not happy.
The realization hits like a sucker punch. You are furious.
Furious at Crowleyâs hollow smiles, his "Oh ho ho, just a little longer, my dear!" as he twirls his cane and vanishes in a flutter of feathers. Always just out of reach, like home itself.
Furious at the way the stars here arenât yours, the way the constellations twist into shapes you donât recognize. No Big Dipper, no North Star, just the smirking face of the Queen of Hearts forever leering down at you.
Furious at how easily youâve been swallowed by this world. How the cafeteriaâs chatter, the rustle of Grimâs fur against your leg, the way Riddleâs voice softens when he says "You look tired". It all feels like home now, and you HATE it.
Because itâs not.
Itâs not home.
And the worst part? You donât even know if home would want you back.
Would your room still smell like lavender detergent? Would your friends even recognize you, this version of you, bloodstained and magic-touched, whoâs stared into the eyes of gods and witches and walked away breathing?
Your hands shake. Your vision blurs.
A sound escapes you. Something between a laugh and a snarl. Of course. Of course, this is how it ends. Not with a spell, not with a triumphant return, but with you screaming into the void of a world that took everything and gave you nothing but scars.
You stand abruptly, chair screeching, and your body moves before your mind catches up.
The glass on your desk shatters under your fist.
Shards bite into your skin, blood welling in crimson beads. Good. Let it hurt. Let it burn. Let it remind you that youâre still real, still human, still something more than Crowleyâs errand runner, more than a pawn in a game you never asked to play.
The tears come then. Hot, ugly, furious. You donât wipe them away. Let them fall. Let them carve rivers into your cheeks like the ones in the Scalding Sands, where Kalimâs laughter rings too bright and Jamilâs silence cuts too deep.
You want to scream.
You want to burn NRCâs library like Riddle burned the roses.
You want to drown in the Coral Sea like Leona wanted to drown in his own pride.
You want to let the phantom of Overblot take you, too, if it means feeling something that isnât this endless, gnawing void.
Instead, you sink to the floor, knees pulled to your chest, forehead pressed against them. You are so, so tired.
And thenâ
A knock. Too soft. Too hesitant.
You donât answer.
The door creaks open anyway.
"Prefect�"
Azulâs voice is uncharacteristically quiet. You donât look up. You canât.
But you hear the sharp intake of breath as he sees the blood, the glass, the wreckage of your composure.
A beat of silence. Thenâ
The rustle of fabric as he kneels beside you. The cool press of his gloves against your bleeding hand.
"Oh, my dear," he murmurs, and his voice is not pity, not mockery, just understanding, dark and deep as the trench he crawled from.
And thatâs what finally breaks you.
-----
You flinch when his gloved fingers brush your bleeding knuckles. You donât deserve this. Not his concern, not his quiet sigh as he pulls a handkerchief from his pocket, not the way his thumb traces your pulse point like heâs counting the beats to make sure youâre still alive.
"Donât," you croak, voice shredded. Your throat burns. Had you been screaming? You donât remember.
Azul doesnât listen. Of course he doesnât. He never does.
The handkerchief presses against your wounds, white fabric blooming red. You watch, detached, as the stains spread like Overblot ink, like the shadows that had swallowed Riddle, Leona, Jamilâ
"Why?" The word claws its way out of you, ragged and broken. "Why am I still here?"
Azulâs grip tightens, just for a second. His glasses catch the dim light, hiding his eyes. "You know why."
You do.
Because Crowley needs a leash on the Overblots.
Because the first-years cling to you like youâre the only one who sees them.
Because Grim would starve without you.
Because no one in this gods-damned world knows how to get you back to your world, and no one in your old world is even looking for you.
-----
"Why must I feel like this?"
The words claw their way out of your throat, ragged and raw. You donât recognize your own voice.
Azul stills beside you, his grip on your bloodied hand tightening just slightly. The silk of his glove is damp with your tears, your rage, your failure.
"What is the point of all this?" you whisper, staring at the shattered glass on the floor. "Fighting. Surviving. Living here. If Iâm just some cosmic joke? Some spare part this world shoved into its broken gears?"
Your breath hitches. "Why am I even alive if it hurts this much?"
For a long moment, Azul says nothing.
Thenâ
A sigh, heavy as an anchor sinking into the abyss.
"Dear," he murmurs, and his thumb brushes over your knuckles, smearing crimson like ink. "If I knew the answer to that, I would have sold it by now."
A weak, wet laugh punches out of you. Of course heâd say that.
But then his voice drops, low and private, the way he speaks only in the dim glow of the Mostro Lounge after closing.
"The purpose of lifeâŚ" He tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes, and for once, thereâs no calculation in them. Just something weary. Something human. "No, your purposeâthatâs not something I, or Crowley, or even the Stars can dictate. Itâs not a contract. Itâs not a transaction."
A bitter smile tugs at his lips. "Believe me, Iâve tried to quantify it."
You swallow hard. "Then how do I find it?"
Azul exhales, slow, and leans his forehead against yours. "You keep living," he says, like itâs the simplest truth in the world. "You bleed, you break, you wake up and do it again. And one day, youâll realize⌠the act of choosing to keep going was the purpose all along."
His gloved hand cradles your cheek. "But for tonight⌠let it be enough that you arenât alone."
I'm currently rewriting something and had an idea </3 I dont wanna stick to this one tho even tho i like it so liek. Im js gunna post it by itself :3
Uhmmm Yuu and thinking ab Riddle's Overblot!!
The air in Ramshackle is too thick. Too still.
You canât breathe.
Or maybe you just donât want to.
Your fingers twitch at your sides, nails biting into your palms. The scars there ache. Thin, white lines from thorns that shouldnât have been able to cut you.
But they did.
Just like Riddleâs screams shouldnât still echo in your skull.
Just like the weight of the Queenâs phantom grin shouldnât still press down on your ribs.
Just like you shouldnât wake up some nights, gasping, the taste of ink and roses clogging your throat.
But you do.
And Crowley dared to call it a "learning experience."
A laugh claws its way out of you, broken, jagged. Learning experience?
You learned that magic doesnât care if youâre human.
You learned that this world will hurt you and then ask you to smile about it.
You learned that no matter how many times you patch up the boys who break themselves, no oneâs coming to fix you.
Your vision swims. The room tilts.
You remember Riddleâs eyes, wide, wild, desperate, as ink swallowed him whole.
You remember the way your lungs burned as you ran, thorns tearing at your skin, because if you didnât stop him, who would?
You remember the way Treyâs voice cracked when he begged, "Donât hurt him!" like you were the monster, not the collateral damage.
And the worst part?
Youâd do it again.
Youâd throw yourself into every Overblot, every disaster, every "Oh ho ho, Prefect, be a dear and handle this!" because thatâs what you do. Thatâs who you are here.
The fixer.
The martyr.
The fool.
A sound escapes you. Something raw, something wounded. Your knees hit the floor.
The fireplace crackled weakly, fighting off the ever-present chill that seeped through the ancient floorboards. Grim was curled up on the rug, snoring loudly, having abandoned the two of you halfway through your debate on which snack to make.
âI still maintain that popcorn was the superior choice,â Azul said smoothly, adjusting his glasses as he lounged on your patched-up couch.
You rolled your eyes, nudging the microwave door shut with your hip. âSays the guy who literally owns a lounge with a five-star menu.â
âPrecisely why my opinion holds merit.â His smirk was infuriatingly perfect.
You huffed, grabbing the half-burnt bag from the microwave. âWell, your superior snack is now charcoal. Congrats.â
Azulâs nose wrinkled as the acrid smell hit him. âAh. A⌠bold flavor profile.â
âShut upââ You lobbed a piece of unpopped kernel at him.
He caught it effortlessly between two fingers, looking far too pleased with himself.
You tried to ignore how your stomach flipped at the way his gloves flexed around it.
The two of you had fallen into this rhythm lately. These quiet, stolen evenings where neither of you had to be the Ramshackle Prefect or the shrewd Housewarden of Octavinelle. Just⌠you. Just Azul.
And maybe that was the problem.
Because somewhere between the late-night study sessions and the sarcastic banter, youâd gone and done something stupid.
Youâd fallen for him.
Hard.
And now, sitting here in the dim glow of the TV, with his long legs stretched out and his silver eyes reflecting the screenâs light, you were painfully aware of it.
Ring ring ringâ
Your phone shattered the moment.
Crowleyâs name flashed on the screen.
Your blood ran cold.
Azul glanced up. âArenât you going to answer?â
You forced a grin. âIt's probably just another one of his 'emergencies'"
But your fingers trembled as you swiped accept and stepped into the hallway.
-------
âAh, my dear prefect! Excellent news!â Crowleyâs voice was far too cheerful for the bomb he was about to drop.
You gripped the phone tighter. âWhat is it?â
âIâve finally secured a way for you to return home!â
Silence.
Your lungs refused to work.
âYouâwhat?â
âThe mirror will be ready tomorrow!â Crowley continued, oblivious to the way your knees threatened to buckle. âIâll make the official announcement in the morning, but I thought youâd appreciate a heads-up!â
Your throat closed.
Tomorrow.
So soon.
Too soon.
âIâI see,â you managed, voice hollow.
Crowley prattled on about logistics, but the words blurred together.
All you could think about was Azul.
Azul, waiting on your couch.
Azul, who had no idea.
Azul, who youâd never get to tellâ
âPrefect?â Crowleyâs voice snapped you back. âAre you still there?â
âYeah,â you whispered. âIâll⌠Iâll see you tomorrow.â
You hung up before he could respond.
-------
When you stepped back into the living room, the TV was paused.
Azul sat perfectly still, fingers steepled under his chin.
âWell?â he asked, tone light.
(Too light. Too careful.)
You swallowed. âJust⌠Crowley being Crowley.â
A beat of silence.
Azulâs gaze sharpened behind his glasses. âIs that so?â
You nodded, avoiding his eyes.
The air between you thickened.
Thenâ
âAh.â He leaned back, smiling. âWell, in that case, shall we resume?â
The movie played.
You didnât see a single scene.
All you could focus on was the way Azulâs jaw tightened every time you glanced at him. Like he knew.
Like he was waiting for you to say it.
But you didnât.
And when the credits rolled, Azul stood, straightening his jacket with deliberate precision.
âThank you for the evening,â he said, voice smooth as ever.
(You hated it.)
You walked him to the door, heart pounding.
Tell him.
Tell him now.
But the words died in your throat.
The door closed behind him.
And just like thatâ
Your last chance was gone.
--------
The night air was too cold.
Azul barely felt it.
His gloves creaked as his hands clenched at his sides, the rhythmic click of his shoes against the cobblestones the only sound cutting through the silence. The path from Ramshackle to the mirror chamber stretched endlessly before him, every step heavy with the weight of what wasn't said.
They lied to me.
The thought burned worse than any failed contract.
He replayed the scene in his mind. The way their breath had hitched when their phone rang, the tremor in their fingers as they stepped into the hall, the look in their eyes when they returned. That hollow, guilty smile. "Just Crowley being Crowley."
Pathetic.
Azul Ashengrotto built his empire on reading people, on knowing when they were holding back, on exploiting the things they couldn't say.
And yet here he was, walking away like some lovestruck fool who couldn't even call out the most obvious lie.
And that was the worst of it, wasn't it? That he let them lie. That he let them pretend. Because if he pushed, if he demanded the truth, then he would have to admit it too.
A gust of wind cut through the courtyard, carrying the distant scent of salt from the Octavinelle mirrors. His chest ached.
Idiot.
Love was supposed to be transactional. A mutual exchange. A deal with clear terms and conditions.
So why did this feel like standing on the edge of a cliff with no safety net?
His phone buzzed in his pocket. A notification from Jade. Some inane question about tomorrow's menu. He ignored it.
What was the point of contracts, of plans, when the one thing he wanted couldn't be negotiated?
The mirror chamber loomed ahead, its surface shimmering faintly in the moonlight. Azul paused, staring at his own reflection. Eyes too sharp, mouth pressed into a thin line.
Coward.
He could turn back. Could march right back to Ramshackle and demand the truth. Could finally say the words that had been clawing at his throat for months.
Butâ
They were leaving.
They knew they were leaving.
And they didnât tell him.
His reflection wavered as he stepped through the glass.
Octavinelleâs halls were quiet, the usual hum of the lounge absent at this hour. The dim glow of the jellyfish tanks cast shifting blue shadows across the walls, painting the corridor in hues of grief he refused to name.
Azul didnât stop walking until he reached his room.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Silence.
For the first time in years, Azul Ashengrotto had nothing to say.
------
The Mirror Chamber had never felt so large.
You stood frozen at Crowleyâs side, your fingers numb where they gripped the hem of your uniform jacket. The headmageâs cheerful voice echoed around the cavernous room, each word driving the knife deeper.
"Iâve found a way for our dear prefect to return home!"
Gasps. Whispers. A sharp cry from Grim as he launched himself at your legs.
You didnât hear any of it.
Your eyes found Azul instantly. Like some terrible gravity pulled you to him. He stood perfectly still amidst the chaos, his face eerily blank. But you knew. You knew the way his fingers twitched at his sides, the way his shoulders locked tight under his coat. The way his eyes burned into yours, screaming the question he wouldnât ask.
You knew.
And you didnât tell me.
Aceâs hand clapped your shoulder. "Damn, guess weâre finally free of your dumb face, huh?" His grin wavered at the edges.
Deuce elbowed him hard, his own voice suspiciously thick. "Shut up! Prefect, youâyou better write or somethingâ"
One by one, they came. Kalim nearly knocked you over with his hug, Jamilâs quiet "donât die out there" was barely audible over the sobs. Riddleâs stiff nod, the way his gloves creaked as he gripped his scepter too tight. Even Leona muttered something about "finally getting some peace" before shoving a small velvet pouch into your hands.
Through it all, Azul didnât move.
You saved him for last.
The crowd parted as you approached, the silence between you louder than any scream. Up close, you could see the cracks in his mask. The faint tremor in his jaw. The way his breath hitched when you stopped just inches away.
"Azul, Iâ"
He moved faster than you thought possible.
One moment you were standing there, the next his arms were around you, crushing you against his chest with a desperation that stole your breath. His gloves tangled in the back of your jacket, his face buried in your shoulder. You felt it then. The shudder that wracked through him, the single, ragged exhale against your neck.
He wasnât supposed to hold you like this. Not here. Not now. Not when you were already halfway gone.
You clung to him just as tightly, memorizing the press of his hands against your spine, the scent of ink and sea salt, the way his heartbeat thundered under your palm.
"Iâll miss you the most," you whispered.
A lie.
I love you. Thatâs what you shouldâve said. I love you and Iâm sorry and please donât let me go.
Azulâs grip tightened, just for a second, before he forced himself to step back. His smile was flawless, his voice steady as polished glass. "Safe travels, my most treasured client."
The last thread between you snapped.
Crowleyâs hand on your shoulder guided you toward the mirror. Grimâs wails echoed in your ears as you took the final steps. You didnât look back.
You couldnât.
The glass shimmered like water under your fingertips. One breath. Two.
It had been two weeks since the breakup. Two weeks of empty rooms and colder mornings. You lay on the couch, eyes tracing the cracks in the ceiling, the steady patter of rain against the window like a sad drum keeping time with your heartbeat. You knew you should let it go; everyone said so. Nothing could change the past. If you loved something, you had to release it, set it free. But your mind kept replaying every moment, every word, every silence, twisting them into blame.
Maybe it was my fault.
Maybe if Iâd been differentâŚ
Maybe if I had just said somethingâŚ
The thoughts clawed at you relentlessly, making sleep a stranger and your heart ache like a fresh wound.
Grim had been relentlessly pestering you all afternoon about his favorite snack, tuna. His eyes fixed on you from the couch, tail flicking impatiently, and not a hint of subtlety in his demand. With a sigh, you finally pushed yourself up and padded to the kitchen. The faint smell of damp earth clung to your clothes from the open window.
You grabbed a can of tuna from the pantry, pried it open, and set the soft, flaky food into Grimâs dish. He immediately devoured it, purring loudly in approval.
Just as you were about to settle back down on the couch, a sharp knock echoed through the quiet room. Your heart jumped. Who could be out in this weather? You wondered, drying your hands on a towel. You opened the door, and there he was.
Cater.
Soaked to the bone, his hair plastered against his face, rain dripping from the tips of his sleeves. His eyes, usually so warm and mischievous, now looked tired and unsure. âHey,â he said quietly. âCan I come in?â
You hesitated. Your chest twisted, every instinct screaming to shut the door and pretend you hadnât heard. But the sight of him, vulnerable and drenched, broke through the wall youâd built around yourself. âSure,â you whispered, stepping aside.
He shuffled in, closing the door behind him with a soft click. The scent of wet earth and his familiar cologne filled the room. You offered, âTea? I can make some.â He nodded, voice low, âYeah⌠thatâd be nice.â
You busied yourself in the kitchen, boiling water, your hands trembling slightly. When you returned with the steaming cup, Cater took it gratefully, fingers curling around it as if it might warm more than just his hands. He took a slow sip, eyes cast downward.
You glanced at him, and your chest tightened painfully. You hated this. Hated that he showed up right when youâd started to feel like maybe you could breathe again. Hated how your heart twisted painfully, betraying you with every pang. Hated the way memories crashed into you like the rain outside.
âSo... what are you doing here?â you asked, forcing a smile that didnât quite reach your eyes.
âI was going to Heartslabyul,â Cater said quietly, âbut then the rain started pouring, and this was the closest place.â
You nodded slowly. Then he added, hesitantly, âWould it be okay if I stayed the night? Looks like the stormâs only going to get worse.â
You wanted to say no. Wanted to tell him to grab his things and leave, to finally close the chapter youâd been desperately trying to shut. But the words stuck in your throat. Instead, you managed, âYou can stay for the night. Just until the rain stops.â
------
As you reached down to grab a blanket and pillow for him, your fingers brushed something cold and hard on the floor. You looked, and your heart sank.
It was a phone case. The one Cater gave you when you two were together. It had the same pattern as Cater's did, except that it was your favorite color. You remembered when he gave it to you as a gift for your 1st anniversary. The bright smile on his face.
After the breakup, you immediately took it off your phone and threw it across the room in a burst of anger and heartbreak. Sure, you might've overreacted, but could you really be blamed?
------
You returned to the living room carrying a soft blanket and a pillow, your arms weighted with the simple task as if it held the burden of all your tangled feelings.
âHere you go,â you said, setting the pillow down gently beside Cater on the couch. He gave a small, grateful nod, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders like it was a fragile shield against more than just the cold.
You quietly took the teacup from his side and carried it to the sink. The sound of the rain outside filled the silence as the water swirled down the drain, a quiet echo of the storm both outside and within you.
There was still some light left before dusk, a soft gray that filtered through the curtains, painting the room in muted tones. You sat down near him on the couch, the glow from your phone screen illuminating your face as you absentmindedly scrolled through messages and pictures you werenât really looking at.
After a few minutes, Caterâs voice broke the quiet. âHey, MC... I just wanted to say thank you.â
He looked up at you, offering a smile, a small, tentative thing, but unmistakably genuine.
That smile tore through your defenses like a blade. It pulled up memories you had tried so hard to bury: the day you took that silly picture together, laughing with your heads close; the lazy afternoons spent in cozy cafĂŠs, sharing drinks and half-hearted jokes; the times you goofed off like nothing else mattered.
Your throat tightened and your vision blurred, the sting of unshed tears hovering just beneath the surface.
âItâs no problem,â you whispered, your voice barely steady, trembling with the weight of everything you were trying not to feel.
In that moment, you wished desperately that all those memories could just disappear. That the past had never happened. That the person you once knew, the laughter you once shared, could be erased like footprints in the rain.
Because deep down, you knew the truth, no matter how much you wanted to pretend otherwise, that there was no universe where this could have worked out.
You couldnât be his friend. You couldnât be his lover.
And, as much as youâd liked to tell yourself it was fate, some cosmic force drawing you together, you knew now it was nothing more than a chance meeting, a coincidence neither of you was meant to rewrite.
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