are you still active? you haven’t posted in a long time
hello, nonnie! (*⁰▿⁰*)
I am indeed still active, but this past month has been quite hectic for me, you see. that, paired with some family problems that have yet to be solved, kind of pushed my projects into a time-out corner.
I’ve been really busy between one thing and the other, and while I, too, would like to finish and post something soon ( namely, the lilia angst that has been sitting at 4k words for weeks now ) I’m currently too emotionally and mentally drained to do so.
hopefully I’ll be back to posting by august. until then, sorry for the inconvenience and inactivity!
( “You must nip these flowers in the bud before anything happens,” echoes a distant, long-forgotten voice. A powerful voice, beseeching their vassals with a fatherly concern that sounds vacuous to the ears and a heart too big for it to be sincere, for it to truly care — fit for the ruler who governs all creatures of the night. “If a flower is alluring, the more it’ll be poisonous – you have to remove it before it affects the rest of the garden.”
Before it affects the rest of the faes. )
He breathes in, ignores the familiar sting behind his eyelids, shuffles closer to the altar, the flat of his palm resting on its warm, sun-bathed and rough surface, the crown of his head just a little above.
“I’m sorry.” I promised I wouldn’t cry. “It’s hard, without you.”
hello author-san!! this is not a request but a personal question, so if it makes you uncomfortable please just delete it! i was wondering how old you were? i find your writing wonderful and the way you use french and latin just makes it seem more like something out of an old book and i absolutely love that 🥺🥺
hello to you too, nonnie! (❁´▽`❁)*✲ﾟ*
my age isn’t a taboo subject, so I don’t mind sharing it at all? (๑°艸°๑) I’m eighteen and no longer a dancing queen, but in just a few months I’ll be able to reference that one iconic jared vine. nineteen and never learned how to read.
and I’m flattered that you like my writing to such an extent. Σ(ノ°▽°)ノ I’ve been studying latin ( and ancient greek, but I never use ancient greek in my writing because that would be just too cruel ) for five long years... and french for even longer... and at some point I just realized it would be a waste not to use them if I had to suffer for that long to achieve Knowledge™ and Proficiency™.
y’ello! coming back with a request idea ! how about a different-heights-kiss with Riddle and then Malleus ? You know how little is Riddle, and how tall is Malleus - how would they react to a reader, using the stairs to be taller than them and then bending down to kiss them ? I thought of writing this idea but my writing isn’t ideal; yours on the contrary is *chef’s kiss* !
here you go, sweetheart! I apologize for the tardiness since it took me so long to write this, but inspiration is such a fickle thing... lol
but alas, I’ve completed these headcanons at last! I took some artistic liberty for them, such as malleus’ ones not involving a kiss, but I hope you like them nonetheless? (oﾟ□ﾟ)o
they’re also... really, really long... I was not endowed with the gift of brevity at birth...
❧ riddle rosehearts ;
Honestly speaking, Riddle isn’t quite the type to fixate ( or worry himself silly, even ) over frivolous things such as a person’s height, let alone his own. He has no qualms in admitting that physical height is indeed a rather desirable quality to have, particularly when it contributes greatly into asserting one’s dominance over others and earn their respect like a dormitory leader such as himself has to do, but if personal experience is anything to go by… then he has no need for it, not when his dormitory members already know better than to anger him and have their necks chopped off in the process ( only metaphorically, of course ) without him having to put any effort into it.
With that being said, any comment hinting at his height as a weakness does get on his nerves a little, especially if they downplay his other achievements at the same time – something he is, unfortunately, pretty sensitive to. Rather than defining him a perfectionist, though, he’s more the type who tends to accumulate lots of knowledge to counteract his lack of self-confidence, so to have something he’s put a lot of effort into achieving talked down upon with such nonchalance, just to get under his skin, is not something he can easily let go of even after learning healthier coping mechanisms than letting his anger get the better of him.
It’s different when it comes to you, however, although Riddle himself cannot quite discern the reason behind such bafflement, and it leaves him with a bitter taste in his mouth somewhat – but there are a lot of things he doesn’t understand about you ( your selflessness, for example, hiding underneath the occasional snappy comeback and the long sighs you heave when the idiotic duo from his dormitory flock to your side like mussels on a rock, and how in spite of the headaches you always greet them with a welcoming smile ), whether it’s due to the contrast between two vastly different views of the world or his latent cynicism getting the better of him when confronted with someone as bright and good-hearted as yourself, and even after your relationship with him developed past the point of just being good friends there are still a number of interrogatives he has yet to find a satisfying answer for.
And it’s curious, bizarre, almost whimsical in a certain sense – the rush of novelty he feels whenever you take him by surprise in always new, ever-changing ways, oftentimes with Trey and Cater’s aggravating help, the warmth spreading to his cheeks whenever you kiss him goodbye before returning to your respective dormitories, or the feeling of your fingers entwined in his in a gentle but firm hold. If he can’t completely figure you out, so open and honest with your feelings, then it’s even harder for him to figure himself out, someone who’s been out of touch with his own emotions for too long to even begin to fathom the reason behind his quickly accelerating heartbeat or the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips whenever he’s in your presence.
And nothing you do helps him out of his predicament; rather, you make it much harder, though unconsciously and unaware of his inner struggle. He does not fault you either, because you’re the one who always brings him back to Earth whenever his thoughts drift off the rails and into his own made-up wonderland of absurdity and hypotheticals and, with how frequently it’s been happening recently, he almost expects you to get fed up and leave him–– but you don’t ( you wouldn’t ), looking just a little bit concerned at most, blinking down at him with bright eyes reflecting worry and-- wait, blinking down?
It takes him a few seconds to piece everything together ( the proximity of your faces, the tip of your noses almost touching, the tingling sensation on his lips and the widening, bashful smile on yours ) and if it wasn’t for his steely composure, toughened through years of hard-work, he’s sure he’d have dropped the books within his arms purely out of ill-concealed embarrassment, if the rosy flush at the tip of his ears is anything to go by. “[ name ]! We’re in the library!” he whisper-shouts, almost indignant, morning blue irises meeting yours with a stern gaze and a frown. But, even then, all you do is chuckle, adjusting your posture on the wooden ladder and smiling down at him apologetically. “I know, I know, I’m sorry? But I tried calling you three times, and it didn’t work, so I had to get a little creative… I must say, though, you really are small from this perspective!”
He can’t even bring himself to feel offended because, frankly, he is not, not when it comes from you and he’s perfectly aware that nothing you say has underlying meanings, hidden from view and ready to attack his weaknesses when he least expects it. But it still stings a little, and the shift in his expression must have been quite noticeable because you’re quick to salvage what you can, while you can, by changing the subject. “By the way, you really seem to be drifting off in your own world a lot these days… if something’s troubling you, talking about it might help! So don’t hesitate to reach out to me, alright?”
And he sighs, but there’s a barely noticeable smile curving his lips as he nods, gloved hands readjusting their grip on the stack of books slowly getting higher and higher as the two of you make your way down the infinite sections of the library, gathering the equally as infinite list of manuscripts required for Mr. Trein’s next lesson. Talking about it, uh? He mulls over it for a while after that, almost berating himself for not thinking of such an easy solution. It was so simple, indeed, yet it somehow eluded him for so long… He should ask Trey to prepare some sweets for a private tea party soon, he ultimately decides.
❧ malleus draconia ;
While his height has never bothered him or caused him any trouble, Malleus does recognize that it’s one of the deterrents discouraging others from approaching him, though he himself fathoms not why exactly it has such an unfortunate effect on the children of man, or on the children of any other kin for that matter. Ungrateful for the qualities he has been endowed since birth he is not, but he does find himself thinking of the hypotheticals and ( when left unsupervised by not only Lilia, but Silver and Sebek alike ) he admits the passing thought of casting a spell to rewind time did cross his mind, and he did deem it an exceptionally brilliant idea… until he was reminded of how carefully he was treated by the servants back in his father’s castle, too, even amongst his own kin. Aah, truly, how troubling…
It’s almost endearing, really, the way he, Malleus Draconia, descendant of the king who rules over all creatures of the night, instead of power, influence and all-encompassing authority, covets nothing more than simple companionship and a relationship far removed from the suzerain-vassal driven ones between him and his retainers, or the protégé-guardian one between him and Lilia, absurdly precious to him all the same but not in the way he yearns for.
And so, when out of pure chance his path crossed yours, someone who doesn’t even belong to this world of his, he was perplexed, if a little stupefied – mystified, even, because for someone to willingly address him first, with no soul prompting them to, is simply too foreign a concept for him to wrap his head around. If he had to describe you in one word, it would be cheeky — but your brashness comes hand-in-hand with your desire to understand others better, and the fearlessness you display does nothing but contribute to your self-assigned enquête in this curious, wonder-filled world you suddenly found yourself thrust into.
In his eyes, you are a fascinating existence like few others are. You aren’t apprehensive of him, nor do you cower away in his presence whilst putting up a faux front of courage like many others have attempted before, thinking they could fool him with only so little. But it’s not like Malleus is a connoisseur of social clues -- rather, he’s quite the opposite, valuing honesty much more than the mindless favor-currying of the rabble he’s gotten used to since childhood, and thus he welcomes your candor, your brazenness and the impudent nickname you’ve given him on your second meeting ( “Tsunotarou,” you had enthusiastically called him, your talking monster-cat lazily hanging over your shoulder with an unimpressed mien, and he remembers the genuine bewilderment he initially felt slowly melting into barely contained amusement and endearment ) like the first breeze of autumn after a searing summer.
Only rare occasions allow him to accompany you within the school’s premises, most oft preferring the nocturnal rendez-vous, more intimate and private, with no outside disturbances, to the frenetic school life you both have to live through during daytime — and you significantly more than him, what with the troubles caused by your fellow first years falling on your hands to solve and the unreasonable requests presented to you by none other than Headmaster Crowley himself. If the right opportunity presents itself, though, he wouldn’t hesitate to reach out to you to lend a hand and aid you in anything you might need.
And present itself it does, the idea of throwing a small party during winter break hitting him all at once and yet not quick enough for him to send out an invitation for you as soon as the thought came to him, and asking Lilia to deliver it to you was… both the smartest move he could’ve made and the most unbecoming of someone of his caliber, even though he’s perfectly aware that his guardian is not one who’d harbour any semblance of perplexity when confronted with actions deviating from normalcy. So Malleus did expect Lilia to carry out his request without questioning him, what he did not account for was him returning to the dormitory with you in tow, a self-satisfied grin on his lips.
Thus, this is how you ended up helping Malleus ( and all the others at Diasomnia who chose to spend the holidays at school ) redecorate their dormitory and prepare for the up and coming party hosted by none other than the dormitory head of Diasomnia himself, ever so fear-inducing with red and green ribbons tied to his horns ( courtesy of Lilia and Silver, clearly, because Sebek would’ve sooner thrown himself down the highest point of their dorm building than disrespect the Young Master like that ) while holding the ladder for you to attach more obnoxious decorations to the wall. And it’s almost funny, honestly, seeing someone as harmless and unobtrusive as you get along with someone as imposing and intimidating as Malleus, though he supposes you never really cared about appearances.
But it appears as though he’s been lost in thought for a heartbeat too long, because he’s snapped back to reality by soft hands caressing the outline of his horns, the unraveling satin ribbons secured on them once again. He blinks once, then twice, and at the third bright green eyes gaze upwards to meet your almost embarrassed ones, your hands hovering just some inches above the crown of his head. “I’m… sorry? Was I not supposed to do that…?” you ask, tentatively, index finger scratching your cheek bashfully as your visage flushes pink with shame, and Malleus cannot contain the amusement spilling from his lips, tenderness coating his eyes as he watches your blush deepen into shades of red. “You may touch them as much as you like, [ name ].”
Because, see, Lilia hates the thought of fate more than anything. If their lives are already predestined, if all humans, from the moment they are born, are doomed to be bound by an ineluctable and unavoidable end, like an invisible chain wrapped around their throat, living with the illusion of free will their entire existence… would there be a beautifully haunting, hidden significance lying beneath it all, then, waiting for higher beings such as his kind to seek out and unravel all of the conundrums behind their lives, so rich and diverse and yet devoid of any meaning?
476. white shores. ∫ a. ashengrotto / g.n. reader.
There’s no Jade, no Floyd, no Leech brothers to do his bidding at his side, dirty their hands for his sake, silence others for his less than noble, incredibly selfish ends— there is no one here but he and himself, a pathetic excuse of a dormitory head, an empty shell of the Sea Witch he so admires and aspires to imitate.
characters: azul ashengrotto, reader; minor characters are mentioned, but they aren’t central to the story.
wordcount: 3221.
synopsis: he drowns, and learns how to live once more.
etc.: writing practice. sort of a character study? writing this was a mess from beginning to end, so I’m not sure myself, lol. I rushed the ending like crazy, so if it feels weird... my bad.
Words come to him in the form of hazy recollections, black ink smudged by tears. All surrounding sounds reach his ears muffled and unclear and drowned out – as if he were being forced underwater in his human form and forgot to breathe, limbs powerless and only able to flail weakly against the tide as consciousness slowly slips from his grasp, out of his reach, reduced to nothing but empty darkness swallowing him whole.
Unable to oppose the raging sea rocking him back and forth in a turbulent, tempestuous waltz of waves, his mind plunges into comforting nothingness, contrary winds singing a mocking eulogy above rough waters. And the cunning, all-knowing, pathetic little Azul is no more, fallen prey to the same cradle which had nurtured him into boyhood then, and to the derisive smiles the dormitory head of Savanaclaw and his lackey are directing at him here and now, so thickly and painfully reminiscent of those very same sneers branded in his memoirs, bound to haunt him and mock him forevermore – a shimmering petrol stain on the surface of a limpid sea, crushing the oxygen in his lungs.
But he can’t tear his gaze away, doesn’t know how to. There’s no stopping the way Leona has him in check, eclipsing any and all methods of escape, calloused hands carelessly crumpling the delicate golden contracts as if they were nothing but disposable pieces of paper. There’s no stopping how rooted to the ground Azul feels just seeing those contracts in someone else’s hands— his treasure, the guarantee he will no longer be treated the way he was in the past, the fragile lifeline he stubbornly clings to because he needs it, needs it, needs it and he is nothing without the rush of self-assurance he feels at the sight of others’ helplessness and their distress as their unique magic is stripped from them, as per the contractual terms they did not even bother to read through – so why should he feel sorry?
( Why, why, why should he return them simply because they beg him, or resort to preaching about unfairness to his face when they end up with the short end of the stick despite his oh, so helpful notes? Why should he be the one apologizing when they willingly signed the contract in the first place? It’s their fault for falling for such a ruse to begin with, their fault for resorting to underhanded methods to pass the end of term exams. If he’s a dimwitted, dumb and snail-paced octopus, then they’re even worse than him for falling for this deal of his in the first place! )
But none of these words dare tumble from his lips, pressed tightly one against the other in a thin, trembling line. There’s no Jade, no Floyd, no Leech brothers to do his bidding at his side, dirty their hands for his sake, silence others for his less than noble, incredibly selfish ends— there is no one here but he and himself, a pathetic excuse of a dormitory head, an empty shell of the Sea Witch he so admires and aspires to imitate. There is no one by his side, but why, just why is it that that person has so many people willingly standing by their side instead, reaching their hands out to help? What do they gain by befriending them, a normal human with no affinity to magic? What is it that makes [ name ] so special, to the point of roping even the lackadaisical dormitory head of Savanaclaw into lending his help for their cause?
He doesn’t know, can’t even begin to fathom the reasons behind the all too sudden changes of heart in people like Riddle and most of all Leona, infamous for never intervening in favor of anyone, leaving even his own dormitory members to fend for themselves. He doesn’t think he wants to know, frightened by the possible answers, by the possible revelation that they had hidden their magical affinity all along, that making a contract with them had been a horrible mistake from his part.
But he is curious. Terribly, awfully curious.
“Why--” his lips part, and his voice sounds frightfully small, like a deer caught in highlights, like a child about to be punished by their mother and scrambling to find a plausible excuse to get out of this entanglement of theirs – but there is no such thing here, not for Azul, not for the persecutor-turned-persecuted, and he can only dig his nails into the white of his palms in defeat, the fabric of his gloves the only barrier preventing them from leaving throbbing red marks in their wake. “Why are you helping them? It has nothing to do with you– whether they fail or succeed, it has nothing to do with you, doesn’t it?” he manages to make out, the hint of desperation in his tone strident to his ears, munching through his words as if they were poison meant to kill him slowly but surely.
But Leona sneers, his mocking smile stretching imperceptibly wider, and only looks mildly interested at his close-to hysterical demeanor, leering green eyes lazily gliding from the golden contracts to meet his silver ones in one fluid movement. It’s unnerving, being cornered by a lion in his own domain, down the sea, the Octavinelle Dormitory, his sanctuary— and if Azul had to describe what fear, tangible and unfiltered fear, felt like to him, he would’ve described this exact moment, this exact scenario with no escape route in sight. “Hey, Azul. Why don’t we negotiate the terms over this one?”
“— uh?” And he stares at him, the mocking undertone in Leona’s query falling on stubborn, deaf ears, his reason and self-preservation instinct overruled by meaningless buoyancy and emotion, clinging once more to the foolish and faux hope that, perhaps, he could still be able to get out of this squabble as a victor, with his pride and reputation still intact, though wounded.
“You’d do anything for these contracts of yours, wouldn’t you?” It’s humiliating how fast he nods, agrees, takes a step forward with too-obvious eagerness reflecting in his silver irises, his shoulders shaking and betraying the steady confidence of his voice, of his words. He can see it clearly, now – the sheer derision coating bright green, the leering smile from the hyena who always follows him around and his ill-concealed snickering which has not once ceased since the beginning of this hopeless conversation – he can see it all, can feel it all, but what use would it have to feel shame now, when they’ve already seen him at his lowest -- when they’re still seeing him at his lowest?
And yet, it’s not enough. He thinks, bitterly, that nothing will ever be enough, that nothing will ever satiate his tormentors, that nothing he ever does will be enough to bridge the gap between a dimwitted, dumb and snail-paced octopus like him and someone who’s loved and cared for by their friends in spite of all their flaws like [ name ] — and he’s proven right. He’s proven right, because no matter how they seek to mask their motives by waltzing around with pretentious words and unfeeling miens, there is no denying the lifelong debt they’ve gotten ensnared into the moment [ name ] entered the premises because they’re light, they’re hope, they’re bursts of starlight streaming into everyone’s lives even in the direst of circumstances. They’re an enthralling existence, strength and kindness and a heart bleeding with ichor on their sleeve, never stepping back with uncertainty but tackling every challenge head-on just how they’ve done with this contract of theirs -- retrieve a certain photograph from the Atlantica Memorial Museum within three days, and I’ll extinguish all the contracts I’ve made with your friends, he had said, then, unknowing and naïve and reveling in his Napoleon Complex still, overconfident of his abilities and of the means at his disposal to hinder them that he would not, could not plan for such derailment in his plans.
For Azul, influence is the one thing that allows one such as himself to wield, at the very least, something very important: a swift arm of all-encompassing command and rule, whether in the form of money or sea anemones growing roots on his contractors’ heads. But the influence [ name ] holds is different from his -- the command they make use of, with the diligence and charisma of many of history’s immortalized leaders ( he thinks of Triton, of Prince Rielle after him, of what he knows about other bleeding-hearted rulers from other distant lands ), is one which values others’ opinions, their wellbeing and their feelings, one which values others as peers rather than slaves, friends rather than mere subjects. Is it really so surprising, then, if many have suddenly started to gravitate around them? Is it really so surprising, then, if they were able to convince the dormitory head of Savanaclaw to lend them a hand with only childish blackmail?
And had he known of the influence within [ name ]’s grasp, would he have shown such arrogance in front of them, thinking he was invincible and untouchable, falling right into their trap?
He doesn’t know. He doesn’t want to know. What good would it do for him now, even if he knew? What good would it be, now that his contracts are naught but grains of sand swaying in the wind?
No matter how hard he tries to escape from his past, his hateful old self, those painful days spent in solitude and shunned by all for things that he thought out of his control ( weight, speed, intelligence — he’s proved them all wrong, and yet why is it that he still finds himself in the same place he’s started? ), they all come back eventually, bringing renewed waves of fresh pain crashing to shore, salt seeping through not yet closed wounds and dissolving all the castles of sand he’s painstakingly built over the years in a desperate attempt at concealing all of his shortcomings, all of his weaknesses from indiscreet eyes.
It no longer has any importance.
Something breaks, inside of him – like a tumultuous river slowly but violently chipping away at the dam trying to contain its flow, trying to keep its waters from drowning his heart, choking him up with bitterness and rage, rage, rage -- he thinks he distantly hears Jade’s voice calling out his name in panic, along with some other, more foreign voices and Floyd’s snarky comments about the state he’s plunged their dormitory building in, but it no longer has any meaning, he no longer has any use for them, he no longer needs them—— if he takes back all of the unique magical abilities he’s collected thus far by force, wouldn’t that solve all this mess that foolish, magicless student supervisor has conjured up? Wouldn’t that mean he wouldn’t have to return back to when he was a helpless child with no one at his side, defending him?
Come to think of it, why did he ever need anyone by his side, if they were going to abandon him when he needed them most…?
His consciousness fades to black, then, plunging down a pitch black sea, its waters as dense and dark as the unforgiving ink blotting the silver jewel pinned to his breast.
He knows nothing, is nothing, feels nothing — he feels estranged from his own body, from his own mind and his own will, and he’s aware that, somewhere outside of this peaceful abyss, his physical self is on a rampage, doing something terrible not only to those who have wronged him ( or was it he who wronged them? ) but to those who’ve been by his side all this time, tolerating him and going along with his plans, too, and he wants to stop, doesn’t want to hurt any more people he already has with his contracts, doesn’t want to be hated or spited anymore.
It’s too late to do anything, and the tears he cries are as inky as the waters he’s unable to breathe in.
“I’m worried about you,” they say, abruptly, standing still just a few feet away from him, a frown curving their lips downwards and their brows furrowed together as if contemplating some deeper meaning behind his formal speech and the perfect, though awkward, smile he’s been showing them since he’s regained his bearings some odd days ago, after the whole overblotting fiasco. They had teased him, then, when Floyd ( much to his chagrin, but to Jade’s amusement ) had unhelpfully pointed out his whereabouts within the dated class photograph they took in elementary school, and chaos had erupted all at once, overwhelming his senses and sending him scrambling to get the photograph back.
Yet, after that first and last remark of theirs, [ name ] had not made fun of him, not made any comments about his past self’s physique, his appearance, but simply offered him a smile ( soft and sincere and forgiving, so forgiving that it felt like a lifted sentence, somehow ) as they handed him the photo and made him promise to return it to the museum, where it rightfully belongs, as soon as possible -- as soon as he felt better. Indeed, perhaps his complexion is a little too pale still… perhaps they noticed his movements are more sluggish than usual, and they’re worried he’s still feeling the backlash from overblotting…
It feels nice, having someone worry and fuss over him showing such genuine care, but he cannot possibly accept their kindness – not after everything that he’s done, not after the grief he’s put them through in such a short amount of time. He’s in their debt, the same debt two other dormitory heads are also trying to pay back with their time, their aid, their abilities. He doesn’t mind helping, if it’s for their sake, but he should deal with his own shortcomings alone, doesn’t want them to see how weak he truly is behind the shows of arrogance and egotism he made of himself.
So he clears his throat, and adjusts the frame of his glasses. “You have such little faith in me, I see. Don’t worry, I wouldn’t go back on my word. I’ll put it back properly,” he says, voice carefully neutral, gloved fingers delicately wedging the photograph back in its frame as if it was never taken away from it, from the Atlantica Memorial Museum, to begin with. It feels strange, curious and a little intriguing even, to be the one returning it, when just recently he wanted it gone.
But the silence he’s answered with is unsettling, and when he turns slightly to where [ name ] is standing he notices their deepened, disapproving frown as they shake their head slightly.
“You know that’s not what I meant, Azul,” and they’re staring directly at him now, bright and clear eyes with nothing to hide meeting his guilty, muddled and bewildered silver ones, and he swallows the lump that has unconsciously taken form in his throat and is making it difficult for him to breathe, think, do anything other than drown in the concern trickling from their words like sap threatening to sweeten all of his pains, all of his grievances, and for once -- for once, he wishes to be understood, wishes for someone to reach out to him in ways Jade and Floyd wouldn’t be able to.
“I thought that—” but the words get caught up somewhere within is larynx, partial, his mind searching for words he himself doesn’t know the meaning of. “— that, if only all of my old photographs were gone…” he gulps, glides his tongue over his chapped lips, one hand furled into a trembling fist and the other brushing over the picture, silver irises glazing over with melancholy. “I thought it would help erase my hateful past.”
He turns to face them fully, then, meeting their clear eyes once more and, though all he feels like is running away from them ( their courage, their compassion ), his feet are rooted to the ground, determined not to turn away from their helping hand anymore. “The Sea Witch was recognized by everyone after hiding and rewriting her past, and I wanted to be like her. I thought that, by denying my past, I could -- I could become as amazing as her…!”
One heartbeat, two heartbeats, three heartbeats. They’re drumming in his ears, drowning all of the surrounding sounds out as he pours his true feelings out for them, and only them, to see, hear, judge. He braces himself for mockery and pity, too, almost expects it as their natural reaction, but when he lifts his eyelids open ( when did he close them, he wonders? ) he sees none of that.
Their eyes soften, they brighten, reflecting the light illuminating the inner museum and, for just a single, short moment, Azul feels himself likening that twinkle of theirs to the sea waves sparkling like jewels under the rays of the sun, but the thought comes as quickly as it comes unexpectedly and he’s just as quick to chase it out when [ name ] closes the distance between them with a couple confident strides, and holds one of his hands within theirs.
“I think you’re plenty amazing already, even without someone else’s magic,” they tell him candidly, honestly, the poised quality of their voice only adding to their sincerity. He thinks he understands, now, why everyone has been so taken with them, even though they have nothing special on paper – it’s fondness, friendship, something built on mutual trust and respect, something a contract cannot bring, cannot form. Helping others and being helped in return… would he really be able to do something like that?
“You are an extraordinarily hardworking person, aren’t you?” they continue, their warm, gentle grip on his hand tightening imperceptibly and it’s -- comforting, somehow, frighteningly so, and it leaves him defenceless at their disarming words, at the praise he does not feel like he deserves at all, but the warmth of their hands seeps through both their gloves and it’s reassuring, soothing, freeing. “You’ve been managing the Mostro Lounge atop of your duties as Octavinelle’s dormitory head, haven’t you? Not to mention, the notes you’ve let everyone borrow were so well-written that even Grim was able to pass the exams cramming everything in one night.”
They’re looking at him with something akin to admiration, and he can’t take it -- can’t take this level of positive attention just yet, can’t let them see how much he owes them yet, can’t let them see that he should be the one admiring them and not the other way around. He gulps the ever-so-persistent lump wedged in his throat down, once and for all, and finally finds the strength to speak once again, his free hand reaching for the frame of his glasses and adjusts them to sit more comfortably on his visage.
“I advise you to not think of me so highly, [ name ]. After all, I simply wished to prove those who mocked me in the past wrong.”
And when they laugh, he finds himself chuckling alongside them, the crystalline sound of their amusement unwinding the storm raging inside his heart - allowing him to finally reach out for them, for their hand, on those same white shores they found him on when he woke up the first time.
oh I would’ve loved to dm you but apparently, I can’t chat with you unless you follow me! yelp. (;´༎ຶД༎ຶ`) can’t wait to see your next writing and thank you for the link ! I will put my request on an another ask, hoping that it will be easier for you!
━Σ(ﾟДﾟ|||)━!! it should be good now! I thought I had the restrictions turned off like on my other blogs but it seems not. ꒰⁎′̥̥̥ ⌑ ‵̥̥̥ ꒱
woooh! a pretty blog and good content ! can’t wait to see more ! lowkey want to be friends with you but I should calm down. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I wanted to request but I can’t access to your rules and masterlist??
thank you! I’m currently working on a piece for azul, so hopefully you’ll see more soon. (/^▽^)/
mmh, strange. I’m pretty sure the links in my bio should work on mobile too, but in any case I’ll link my rules here! as for my masterlist, it’s still in the works since I’ve only written 338 so far. o(_ _;o)
in a Wonderland they lie,
dreaming as the days go by, dreaming as the summers die:
ever drifting down the stream,
lingering in the golden gleam,
life, what is it but a dream?
▬ ℒ. carroll.
greetings. I humbly welcome you to this shaded scriptorium of mine, devoted to the creation of written pieces for twisted wonderland.
yes, well, enough with the grandma speech... since my posts finally show up in the tags ( out of the new blog limbo at long last, I must say ), it’s nigh time for me to make an introductory post for this sideblog of mine.
as I’ve foretold in the first two sentences, this is a writing blog for the mobile game twisted wonderland and, as such, it’ll function both as an archive for my personal pieces and as a request box. I’m currently accepting only headcanon requests as they’re easier to write, so please be mindful of that!
there’s pretty much nothing else left to say, so take a look at my rules and enjoy your stay! o(*ﾟ∇ﾟ)ﾉ
Damn. Allow me swoon over your first story/one shot 😍😖 The concept is simple but you make it so profound. It almost feels as if I'm reading an excerpt from a published novel because of your writing style and the mood that you set. I really really love it! Anyway, excuse my fangirling. I hope you have a good day! ( ˘ ³˘)♥
thank you so much, sweetheart! I’m glad you enjoyed the read! (o^^)o
your swooning is exactly what lifts a writer’s spirits and spurs them into writing more, so by all means do not apologize for your enthusiasm. (▰˘v˘▰) I hope you have a good day too! ♡
Lately, his thoughts have begun to govern him more than he finds himself governing them. It is certainly quite the odd occurrence for an even-tempered individual such as himself, but he wouldn’t arrive so far as to define his current entanglement as surprising, either. Rather, he finds it somewhat curious, if a little intriguing.
To someone like Malleus, careful observance and tight rein on one’s emotions are skills that come naturally. Tied with the keen perceptivity that one gradually builds up as the descendant of the king who reigns over all creatures of the night, there is little – if anything at all – that escapes his notice. With his gaze fixated on the human-like silhouette leaning over the railing of their room’s balcony, he can almost discern the contentment unfurling the subtle tides of apprehension from their shoulders, the night breeze seemingly humming in unison with their état d’âme as though willed by a higher being – one of the possible manners by which the intelligent creator one might call God could show his favour towards his protégés, perhaps. Malleus is not foolish enough to believe such rigmaroles, however.
Humans are capricious and fickle creatures, after all, trusting their own livelihood on divinities that may or may not exist, that may or may not be willing to extend a helping hand to their poor, wretched creations – but, ah, it is all the same to them, simple-minded laymen, content enough to possess a scapegoat to blame for all of the misfortunes befalling upon them without causing strife amongst each other. And yet it is by means of that same fickleness many of his kin lament that the children of man, imperfect and irrational and mutable as they may appear to the naked eye, are able to reach wondrous and terrific heights which even fae ( with their overwhelming, all-encompassing wisdom and ratio ) cannot. To be able to defy even fate, with only blind faith on their tongue and as their shield… how strangely riveting they are.
Ah, but such thoughts are not his to claim. After all, it would be wise of him to discard such antique musings when approaching the very one whom had shattered all of his existing assumptions prior to their first, although accidental, rendez-vous under the waning wedge of a flickering moon, glimpsing out from dark, roiling clouds only to bashfully hide within their shadows once more. How endearing.
Just like them.
“It appears as though I’ve made you wait out in the cold,” comes his velvety voice, his eyes calmly surveying the run-down area surrounding the Ramshackle Dormitory before focusing back on the object of his recurrent rêveries. He descends on their balcony with an elegance befitting a descendant of a king such as himself, the sole of his leather oxfords touching stone with a muted thud as he swiftly turns to face his companion, hands nimbly covering their figure with his school blazer to offer repair from the unseen chill of the night. “I apologize for my tardiness, [name].”
He stares at them, wordlessly, as they blink – once, twice, and then thrice, bright doe eyes darting back and forth between him and the jacket he’s cloaked them with – seemingly caught off guard, and he’s about to part his lips to speak once more when, suddenly and unexpectedly, the sound of laughter ( clear as chiming bells ) reaches his ears and interrupts any and all manners of rational approach he may have conjured up in the back of his mind to deal with their anomalous mien. It is his turn to blink, then, at the sight of such unbridled, body-shaking mirth, the first droplets of tears shimmering like pearls on their lashes under the pale threads of moonlight.
The burst of uncontained joy subsides just as quickly as it had come, and it takes them a few moments, one hand over their mouth to stifle their chuckles and the other holding their still quivering stomach, to regain their previous composure – at least in appearance. “Sorry about that, Malleus.” They wipe a stray tear away, vivacious irises looking up at him with the same twinkle they held on that first encounter of theirs, the same lively twinkle that drew him to them like a gravitational pull one cannot expect to escape from and, simultaneously, remain unscathed once out of orbit. Fear has no place within their eyes, so fully immersed in selflessness and in a desire to seek out the most inconsequential of knowledges, the latter of which causes them to tackle challenges head-on, with an eagerness he seldom sees in any other student at Night Raven’s.
It is possibly the reason why they’ve been so taken by him since that day, he muses to himself, in spite of his less than homely appearance. And, likewise, that same contagious enthusiasm of theirs is the reason why Malleus feels an inexorable tugging at his heart, an inexplicable longing guiding his feet back to them like clockwork, unheeding of the dangers lurking underneath the rose-tinted lenses of budding affection. He’s willing to put himself at risk nevertheless — for them, who taught him the warmth of a smile and the joy of laughing in another’s company.
“You seem quite exhausted,” he points out, slit irises observing the faint lividness beneath their eyes. As if on cue, they let out a long yawn, arms stretching over their head carefully enough as to not let his blazer fall from their shoulders. Truly, they worry about the silliest of details, though he believes it to be part of their charm.
Their fingers grasp at its hems, securing it around themselves like a shawl. “I suppose so,” they say, a contented quality in their voice carrying accents of both fondness and, at the same time, of barely noticeable weariness. “It’s the same old, you see. The troublemakers lived up to their name today as well, and I had to clean up after their mess to the best of my magicless capability,” leaning over the balustrade, they chuckle, a serene smile curving the slant of their rosy lips as they find solace in the gentle zephyr of nighttime.
His lips part, wishing to speak but unable to find the words most suitable to his query, his gaze softening imperceptibly as it lingers on their tranquil silhouette. “Do you…” but the inquiry comes out partial, his mouth clamping shut the second they turn to face him, their bright eyes making contact with his with an inquisitive twinkle as if urging him to continue. And continue he does ( not before a moment of hesitation, fumbling within his mind for an appropriate phrasing ), with the night breeze’s humming reaching his ears in the form of a calming berceuse, lulling his anxieties to a deep slumber within a remote forest of thorns. “Would you prefer a calmer environment?”
His voice comes out even, and perhaps even a little gentler than usual. They don’t seem to notice, however, lost in their own thoughts as they tilt their head to the side in quiet contemplation, pondering over a most satisfactory answer to his question. It’s endearing, really, the way they feel obliged to give their best even when they needn’t show such competence, especially not in front of him – him, who understands the strain that comes from having to appear reliable at all times. But he supposes it’s a habit they’ve developed during their stay in this world, a necessity for them to be able to stand their ground when confronted with magic-wielding individuals.
There’s a dull ache in his chest.
“No, I don’t think so.” They shake their head, as if to reinforce their answer, and Malleus is quite abruptly awakened from his rêverie. “As I see it, idleness can be quite devastating to one’s soul, can it not? For when the tide no longer rises and the sea lies still, is it not in human nature to pray to the gods for a favourable wind? Similarly to how Agamemnon was willing to sacrifice even his own daughter Iphigenia for his fleet to reach Troy…”
Their eyes glaze over with melancholic wistfulness, breaking away from his to stare at the dark, starlit sky stretching above their heads — without limit, without end, never-changing even as the gears of time grind on, and on, and on… incessantly, with the universe itself as its mechanism. “I believe that, no matter how hectic life becomes in the future, I still wouldn’t wish for the sea to lay still.” Their head drops down then, irises fixated on their furled fists with the same sort of determination that’s allowed them to bring the dormitory heads of Heartslabyul and Savanaclaw back to their senses. “The decay of one’s soul has its roots in one’s hopelessness for change. That’s what I wholeheartedly believe in.”
But the fire within their orbs flickers out as suddenly as it had come, and Malleus can only blink at the meekness shrouding their features in its wake instead, their index finger lightly scratching their cheek in subdued sheepishness as they chuckle awkwardly as if to disperse the serious atmosphere. “... is what I would say if I had the power to bring about this change I so talk about. But I can only rely on others’ help…” He’s quick to recognize it as an off-handed comment, bordering on the self-deprecation that sometimes seeps through their words without their notice, the feeling of indiscreetness dwelling, unseen, within their eyes.
Despite himself, he says, “I’m positive that others have come to rely on you, too, more than you imagine.” Just like myself, saved by you, he keeps this additional thought to himself, however, deeming it unnecessary to bring his point across. To selflessly offer their help to others, only to neglect themselves, thinking they’re not doing enough even though they’re tirelessly giving, giving, never standing on the receiving end, and even still never finding in themselves the need to cry out… but how long can they hold out, if they keep going? How long can you hold out, before your brilliance fades out like an astrum after reaching the end of its life?
The ache in his chest constricts his breath ( a sweetly uttered curse, an ineluctable foretelling ), heart swaying at the precipice between rationality and emotionalism as thorny briers plunge their spikes into its flesh and cause him to raise a gloved hand and rub at his thorax, conflicting and irrational thoughts blooming uncontrolled within his mind. Contradictory. Inconsistent. Paradoxical. To feel for someone else’s throes is something he’s yet had to experience in this long existence of his. It’s troubling, it’s incredibly troubling, but…
“When you’re troubled, I wish you would confide in me,” comes his request, velvety voice steady and his visage not betraying any of his thoughts. Yet, something lays his inner turmoil bare for their eyes to see, because the next thing he knows—— the humming of the wind has quietened down, and the only sound his ears are able to overhear is the crystalline chime of their amusement as they grasp one of his hands in their smaller ones, a dazzling smile lighting up their face.
“Who am I to refuse, if this is what the ever so fear-inducing Malleus Draconia wishes for?” they laugh at his bewildered expression, eyes closed in childlike mirth before widening open in alarm once more, as if remembering something incredibly important. “Ah, but I want you to do the same! Please rely on me!” they frantically add, dropping any and all formalities in their agitated state.
Truly, how incredibly endearing, like a pup wagging its tail.
Malleus can only try to contain the diverted chuckle threatening to spill from his lips, ultimately settling them into a barely discernible smile as he gazes down on them with the unmistakable, first drops of affection rippling the surface of his eyes like dew stirring tides on the surface of a peaceful pond. “I can’t promise anything.”
At the sight of their distressed ( almost wronged ) visage, his smile widens imperceptibly. He’s aware that he’s growing fonder of them, slowly but surely, dangerously so, but he wishes to bask in their solace for a while longer, for as long as they’ll stay in this Wonderland.
