hey guys!! well, i has been thinking for a while about this. and finally here, my masterlist (if you like my writing). probably i’ll pin this post, btw <3
also, feel free to request, ask anything or send anything in the dm!
⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ Ⳋ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ Ⳋ ⎯⎯ ⎯⎯⎯⎯
. fandoms: twisted wonderland (mainly), my candy love, ikemen prince, eldarya, evajacks (ouabh), colorful stage, genshin impact, my happy marriage, a sign of affection.
rules: i don’t write nsfw, step-cest, incest or anything like that, much less write something with nsfw content with minor of age characters nor will i write anything that goes against my values. please don’t send anything like that or any mention of gore.
about my writing: i write angst (with great frequency), fluff, comedy or angst + fluff. i can out of blue write some “what if’s” one-shots sometimes, or i can post about my oc’s in the fandoms i’m in.
prompts (some ideas, you can request other prompts if you wish):
1. “what do you think you’d be doing if we’d never met?”
2. “did you really need to be that honest?”
3. “i want to be part of your world, you know.”
4. “yeah, that’s looks like i’m busted.”
5. “i love you.”
6. “it’ll pass.”
7. “falling in love? cringe.”
8. “if i could tell you.”
9. “jealous! as if— why i should? that’s impossible.”
10. small intimate things of domestic action them make with yuu (or y/n).
How would Alioth react to a MC whose way of showing affection is to cook homemade meals? Like, if Alioth mentions that he loves a certain dish, then the MC magically goes and makes that dish for him 🥹
See in that case sleeping under spells wouldn't exist because he would confess his feelings after 2 weeks-
That would genuinely win his heart faster because it's a really sweet attention and there is so much love poured in making a good dish someone like, he'll be staying awake late to find what to offer in return as a thank you.
word count : 4.9k art credits : @/samira.lt.illustrations
Once Upon A Broken Heart Series
summary : The kingdom turns pink for Valentine’s Day, and Jacks pretends not to care. Evangeline knows better, especially when he builds her a fairytale ending that won’t fade.
tags : valentines day, valentine's day fluff, fluff, domestic fluff, domestic bliss, post-canon, canon universe, romance, soft, soft jacks, ballroom dancing, tooth-rotting fluff, no angst, romantic gestures, romantic fluff, romantic soulmates, happy ending, not beta read we die like apollo
notes : i'll keep this short and sweet, but before you read this valentines fic, there are some details you should know about !!
- at the beginning, you'll notice i incorporated a town in The Hollows. this is purely to help create the that whimsical, valentines-esque atmosphere for this fic. we don't see a valentines inspired holiday in Magnificent North, so i wanted to try and add traditions and romance for this holiday in this universe for the fic
- this is set post ACFTL — after evangeline and jacks officially get together and live their happy ever after. however, i made jacks a bit guarded in this fic when it comes to love. dont worry !! he's still absolutely in love with evangeline, he's just still a bit pessimistic when it comes to love in general (except when it comes to evangeline ofc >.<)
i truly hope you enjoy this fic <3
happy valentine's day, my angels
Magnificent North is Pink!
The Magnificent North has turned pink overnight.
Evangeline notices it the moment she pushes open the shutters of their own personal bedroom in the Hollow's Inn.
Snow drifts lazily from a pale winter sky, but it isn't the snow that steals her breath—it's the colour.
Rosey-pink banners hang from every balcony and tree along the frozen canal, fluttering like the empire itself has decided to blush. Gold-threaded ribbons wind around brass lamp posts. Even the frost tracing the cobblestone paths seems softer somehow, as if the winter season decided to be gentle for the upcoming holiday.
Down the path, confectioners are already arranging the sugared strawberries in neat pyramids and dusted with festive heart sugar sprinkles. Glass jars of candied rose petals catch the snowlight as they line shelves in sweet stands and shops. Someone's selling honeyed almonds wrapped in cute, heart-shaped paper.
Evangeline presses her hands to the window pane.
“Oh my,” she whispers.
The world looks as if it has been dipped in a romantic novel.
Behind her, the bed creeks softly.
She turns, and there he is.
Jacks sits against the carved wooden bedframe, gold-spun hair artfully disheveled, icy blue eyes soft and half-lidded from sleep. He looks like winter carved into the pretty shape of a prince. The morning light highlights his sharp cheekbones. He watches the scene past Evangeline the way he watches most things: as if he expects them to disappoint him.
“It seems it has begun,” he says dryly.
Evangeline spins back towards the window. “It's beautiful.”
“It's absurd.”
She gasps, all dramatic, scandalised and sincere. “Absurd?”
Jacks rises from the bed in languid grace, slipping into a white button up shirt and ignoring to do up the buttons, leaving his chest and defined stomach exposed. “An entire day devoted to unrealistic expectations and overpriced sweets.”
She turns slowly. “You cannot be serious.”
“I'm always serious,” he replies.
She sighs, “that's your problem.”
He moves to the balcony doors and pushes them open. A rush of cold air slips inside, brushing snowflakes across the wooden floor. He steps out, leaning against the railing as though the sight of pink-draped buildings, stalls and trees personally offends him.
From below and along the ever-so growing town that has sprung in The Hollow, laughter drifts upwards. And a pair of children race through the snow and between the trees with ribbons tied around their wrists. Somewhere, a harp begins playing something sweet and romantic and Jacks frowns.
Evangeline joins him on the balcony, her fluffy slippers crunching faintly against the frost. Her rose gold hair tumbles softly over her shoulder, catching snowflakes on the soft strands. She doesn't notice the snowflakes landing in her hair are shaped strangely before they melt into her warmth.
“It's romantic,” she insists.
“It's commercial.”
“It's hopeful.”
“It’s foolish.”
She narrows her grey eyes at him. “You are determined to be miserable.”
“I am determined to be realistic.”
She folds her arms. “Valentine’s Day is not foolish.”
“It is a celebration of people promising things they cannot possibly keep.”
“That’s not true.”
Jacks’ jaw tightens, but his voice remains smooth. “Love is dangerous on ordinary days.” His gaze drifts toward the frozen canal, distant now. “Devoting a holiday to it is just tempting fate.”
The words land heavier than he intends.
Evangeline stills.
There it is. Beneath the sarcasm, beneath the sharp edges. The shadow.
He used to be the Prince of Hearts.
Love has never been simple for him. It has always been a curse and consequence and blood on snow. Always something that demands payment in doomed ways.
But she knew very well that Jacks truly loves her from the very depths of her soul.
It just takes time to help unease that sorrow anxiety he has that's so engraved on his heart.
The wind shifts between them.
She steps closer, her voice softer now. “Not everyone sees love as a trap.”
“No,” he murmurs. “Just the ones who survive it.” She studies him. The way his fingers curl slightly against the balcony railing. The way his expression goes distant whenever he speaks about love like it’s a battlefield instead of a blessing.
“You don’t really hate it,” she says.
“I absolutely do.”
“You love me.”
“You're my only exception.”
“I think you're just afraid of it.”
His eyes snap to hers, sharp as breaking ice. “I am not afraid.”
“Then why do you look like someone just announced an impending execution?”
“Because they have. It’s called February fourteenth.”
She laughs despite herself.
He watches her when she does that, like he always does. Like he doesn’t understand how someone can look at a world that has hurt her and still find glitter in it.
Back in the town, a vendor releases a handful of pink paper petals into the air. They scatter across the frozen canal and streets, catching on wool coats and shoulders.
Evangeline inhales deeply, as if she can breathe the sweetness of sugared fruit all the way up to the balcony.
“I think it’s lovely,” she says firmly. “A day where people are brave enough to say what they feel.”
“Brave,” he echoes, skeptical.
“Yes. Brave.”
He tilts his head slightly. “And what exactly do you plan to do with all this bravery, Little Fox?”
She smiles—bright and dangerous and hopeful all at once.
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“That’s what worries me.”
She bumps her shoulder against his. “Maybe I’ll decorate the inn.”
“Don’t.”
“Or bake heart-shaped pastries.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Or-”
“If you hang pink ribbons from our door, I will remove them.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“I would.”
“You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” he says softly, almost to himself, “you’re still here.”
The wind gentles.
For a moment, neither of them speaks.
Snow falls around them. Slow, delicate, almost tender.
A flake lands on Jacks’ sleeve. Another catches on Evangeline’s lashes. If she looked closely, she might notice the faint curve at their edges, but she is too busy studying him.
“You don’t have to like Valentine’s Day,” she says quietly. “But I do.”
“I know.”
“And I’m going to celebrate it.”
His brow lifts. “Is that a threat?”
“It’s a promise.”
Something unreadable flickers in his eyes. Something almost wary.
“Just try not to start a war,” he says.
“No promises.”
She turns back toward the room, the hem of her nightgown brushing snow from the balcony floor, already glowing with plans.
Jacks remains where he is.
He tells himself the pink banners are ridiculous. That the sugared strawberries are a scam. That love is a liability—something he fights everyday to overcome that mindset.
But as he watches Evangeline disappear inside the Hollows Inn, light-footed and winter-bright and entirely unafraid.
He feels something far more dangerous than Valentine’s Day.
Hope.
And hope, something Jacks knows better than anyone, is the most treacherous thing of all.
A Rebellion of Ribbon and Raspberry Jam
Evangeline decided she does not care what Jacks says.
If the Magnificent North insists on turning pink for Valentine’s Day that's coming in a couple of days, then so will The Hollows Inn.
She begins with ribbons.
By mid-morning after her interaction with Jacks on the balcony, their chambers look as though a confectioner has declared war of love. Blush silk winds down the bedposts in soft spirals. Pale rose bows cling to drawer handles. Strands of gold-threaded ribbon drape over the mirror, catching the candlelight's warm glow.
Jacks stands in the doorway, watching her balance precariously on the edge of a chair.
“If you fall,” he says coolly, “I will not catch you.”
“You absolutely will,” she replies, stretching to secure the final knot.
He folds his arms. “I won’t.”
She wobbles on purpose.
He moves before he can stop himself.
One hand closes firmly around her waist. The other steadies the chair. She smiles down at him, entirely unrepentant.
“Aww, you’re participating!” She beams.
“I am preventing bodily injury.”
“Which is very romantic of you.”
He exhales through his nose.
She hops down, landing softly against him instead of the floor. He doesn’t release her. His fingers remain hooked at her waist, thumbs resting in the curve above her hips like they belong there.
And they do.
“You’re insufferable,” he murmurs.
“And yet,” she echoes from earlier, “you’re still here.”
His gaze flickers, briefly cornered, but he only guides her aside so he can fully view the room.
By noon, flour dusts nearly every surface in the kitchen downstairs.
Evangeline stands at the worktable, sleeves pushed up, pink hair tied back with a ribbon that matches the banners outside. She presses heart shapes into pastry with deliberate care.
Jacks leans against the counter, watching.
“I am not eating those,” he informs her.
“They’re raspberry and white chocolate.”
“I don’t like white chocolate.”
“You do.”
He doesn’t answer that.
She hums as she works. Snow drifts lazily past the window, more deliberate now. More symmetrical. Jacks notices the shape before she does.
Heart.
Heart.
Heart.
He says nothing.
Evangeline dips a finger into the bowl of glaze and tastes it thoughtfully.
“It needs more sugar,” she decides.
“You already added more sugar.”
“Yes, but it needs more.”
“Of course it does.”
She turns towards him with the spoon in hand. “Here, taste.”
“I don't-”
She presses it to his lips anyway.
He could refuse. But he doesn't.
His mouth closes around the spoon. Her eyes are wide and expectant.
“Well?”
He considers lying.
“It’s adequate.”
She beams as if he has declared it divine.
In retaliation, she swipes flour across his cheek, the mark is bright against his skin.
They both freeze.
He lifts one brow slowly.
“Oh no,” she says, backing away, laughter threatening.
He steps forward.
She tries to dart around the table, but he catches her easily, hands firm at her waist. He pins her lightly against the counter, snowlight spilling around them.
“Very bold,” he says softly.
She grins.
He doesn’t wipe the flour away immediately.
Instead, he studies her face, the flour on her fingers, the flush in her cheeks, the way her laughter hums through her.
Then, slowly, deliberately, he lifts his thumb to his cheek and wipes the flour off.
He looks at it.
And then he leans in and kisses her.
It’s not dramatic. Not urgent. Just warm.
His mouth soft against hers, tasting of sugar and berries and winter air.
Her hands slide instinctively into his hair. His fingers tighten slightly at her waist. He kisses her once more, slower, before resting his forehead briefly against hers.
“You’re getting flour all over our kitchen,” he murmurs.
“You love it.”
“I tolerate it.”
She laughs and turns back to her tarts.
He doesn’t move far.
He stands behind her now, close enough that his chest brushes her back. His chin settles lightly against her shoulder while she stirs batter for the second batch. One hand remains at her waist, thumb tracing idle patterns against her side.
He kisses her temple without thinking.
It is so habitual she barely pauses. The domesticity of it feels almost sacred.
Later, in their sitting room, Evangeline curls into his lap as though it is the most natural place in the world. She sits sideways across him, legs draped over the arm of the chair, skirts pooling like spilled silk. He adjusts automatically, one arm wrapping securely around her waist while the other rests along the chair back.
She holds a small book bound in faded rose leather.
“A collection of dramatic love poems,” she announces.
“Tragic, I assume.”
“Obviously.”
She begins to read — breathless declarations, star-crossed metaphors, promises of eternal devotion sealed beneath moonlight.
Jacks makes a thoughtful noise. “Overwritten.”
“It’s passionate.”
“It’s melodramatic.”
“Like we weren't a bit melodramatic.”
He pretends to critique each stanza, but his fingers absently twirl a strand of her hair. Over and over.
When she shifts, he tightens his hold without conscious thought. His chin rests against her shoulder now, lips brushing occasionally against the soft skin there when he speaks.
“You’re distracted,” she accuses mid-line.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
He presses a slow kiss just below her ear and she falters mid-sentence.
“That,” she says weakly, “is unfair.”
He smiles faintly against her skin.
Outside the tall windows, snow falls in unmistakable heart shapes now.
The roses in her favourite alcove, the pale blush ones she insists on keeping by the fireplace, remain impossibly fresh. Their petals never droop. Their colour never fades.
Jacks notices.
He notices everything she loves.
The way her eyes linger on pink glassware. The way she touches the ribbons when she walks past them. The way she smiles at sugared strawberries in shop windows.
He says he isn’t participating.
But the world bends anyway.
And he lets it.
A Silk Box of Roses
Twilight settles gently over the Hollows Inn, turning the snow outside the colour of diluted rosewater.
Evangeline is humming when she enters their chambers, carrying the last of the heart-shaped tarts on a small porcelain plate. The ribbons she tied that morning glow faintly in the firelight. Everything feels warm. Lived in. Sweet.
She stops.
There is a box on her vanity, which definitely does not belong there.
Small. Rectangle. Wrapped in blush silk so fine it catches the light like liquid. A thin, gold ribbon is tied around it in a neat, deliberate bow.
Evangeline lowers the plate slowly.
“Jacks.”
He is reclining in the armchair near the hearth, boots resting on the edge of the rug, a book open but clearly unread in his lap. Firelight gilds the sharp lines of his profile, catching in his hair like strands of pale gold.
“Yes, Little Fox?” he replies, without looking up.
“There’s a box.”
“How extraordinary.”
She turns to face him fully. “On my vanity.”
He flips a page lazily. “How alarming.”
“Did you put it there?”
Only then does he glance at it. His gaze skims over the silk, the ribbon, the deliberate placement.
“Perhaps you have an admirer,” he says lightly.
She gives him a look. “I live with you.”
“Tragic for any admirers.”
“Jacks.”
He closes the book with quiet finality and rests it on the arm of the chair. “If it explodes, I promise to look appropriately concerned.”
“It’s not going to explode.”
“Optimistic.”
She approaches the vanity slowly, as though the box might vanish if she moves too quickly. The silk glows softly in the candlelight, not bright, but luminous. Like it holds the morning sun inside it.
Her fingers hover over the ribbon.
Behind her, the fire crackles.
She can feel him watching now.
She unties the bow carefully. The ribbon slips loose with a whisper. She lifts the lid.
And promptly forgets how to breathe.
Roses.
Blush-pink roses nestled inside the silk lining.
But not ordinary roses.
Their petals hold a pearlescent shimmer, faint and opalescent, as though each one has been brushed with the faintest shimmer of morning light. The edges look almost translucent, spun from dawn itself. Faint golden veins trace delicately through the leaves, subtle as sunlight caught in silk.
They are impossibly perfect.
Not a bruise. Not a curl. Not a flaw.
She reaches out, her fingertips gently brushing a petal.
It’s warm.
Not warm like something left too near the fire, but warm like something alive. A gentle, steady heat that hums beneath the surface.
“They’re enchanted,” she whispers.
“Obviously,” he says.
She laughs, soft and breathless and utterly delighted.
The roses respond.
Petals unfurl further, opening with a delicate, almost audible sigh. Their colour deepens. The golden veins glow faintly brighter.
Evangeline gasps.
She smiles at them, radiant, luminous, and the roses glow in answer, light pooling softly in their centres.
When her expression falters just slightly, overwhelmed by how beautiful they are — the petals ease inward again. Not wilting.
Protective.
“You did this.” She turns slowly towards him. “Of course you did this! No one else has this much whimsy.”
“Well after you of course,” Jacks rises from the chair with unhurried grace. He crosses the room, stopping a measured distance behind her. “I may have arranged something.”
“They’re…” She searches for the right word. None feel large enough. “They’re extraordinary.”
“They’re flowers.”
“They are not just flowers.”
He watches her reflection in the mirror. The way her grey eyes shine and sparkle. The way her hands hover as though afraid to disturb something sacred.
“They respond to you,” she says softly.
“They respond to joy.”
She laughs again, and the roses bloom wider.
He does not miss the way her shoulders relax when they do.
“They won’t wilt,” he says.
She stills, her fingers remain resting against a petal. “They won’t?”.
“No.”
The word settles in the room like snowfall.
She swallows. “Ever?”
“Not unless you want them to.”
Silence stretches.
The fire shifts behind them, and outside, snow taps faintly against the glass.
She traces the golden vein in one leaf with her fingertip. “Why?”
He does not answer immediately.
When he does, his voice is different. Quieter.
“I thought you might like something that stays.”
Her chest tightens.
She looks at him through the mirror.
“Things don’t usually,” she says.
“No.”
Her reflection shows the faintest flicker of old fear, of curses and bargains and love that costs too much.
The roses soften slightly, petals drawing inward as if they feel it too.
Jacks steps closer, not touching her yet.
Just close enough that his presence is steady at her back.
“They won’t wilt,” he repeats. A pause, then softer, “I won’t either.”
The words are not dramatic. He does not dress them up in poetry. He simply says them and means them.
Her breath shudders out of her.
She closes the distance between them in two steps and wraps her arms around him. Not tentative. Certain.
He folds around her immediately, one hand sliding into her hair, the other firm at her waist, anchoring her as though she is something precious and breakable, though they both know she is anything but.
She presses her cheek to his chest. His heart beats steady beneath her lips.
“They’re beautiful,” she murmurs.
“They’re yours.”
Outside, heart-shaped snow continues to fall over the Magnificent North. And inside, the enchanted roses glow softly in the firelight.
A Question Woven in Snowlight
Night gathers quietly around the Hollows Inn, wrapping it in the kind of hush that only deep winter can manage. The ribbons Evangeline tied that morning stir faintly whenever the fire shifts, their blush silk catching the amber light in soft glimmers. Outside, snow continues to fall in steady, unhurried spirals, gathering along the balcony railings and pillowing the cobblestones below in pale silver.
The empire may be preparing for Valentine’s Day, but here in their chambers, everything feels smaller. Closer. Intimate in a way that has nothing to do with sugared fruit or pink banners.
Evangeline sits curled near the hearth, her legs folded beneath her, watching the flames bend and bloom. The enchanted roses rest upon her vanity across the room, glowing faintly, not bright enough to command attention, only enough to remind her they are there.
Jacks stands by the window, one hand braced lightly against the frame as he looks out at the falling snow. Firelight paints the sharp edge of his profile and softens it at once. He is quieter tonight. Not distant, just thoughtful in a way that feels deliberate.
She rises after a moment and crosses the room toward him. He senses her before she speaks; he always does. His shoulders shift subtly as she approaches, not defensive, simply aware.
“Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day,” she says softly.
“I know,” he replies, glancing down at her. His tone carries a faint trace of irony, but it lacks its usual bite. The cynicism has worn thinner over the course of the day, eroded by ribbons and laughter and strawberries and roses that refuse to wilt.
She hesitates, and that is what makes him turn fully toward her.
Evangeline does not often hesitate around him anymore.
The firelight paints warmth across her face, across the silver of her gaze. There is no mischief there now. No dramatic flourish. Only something gentler, almost shy.
“Will you be my Valentine?” she asks.
It is such a simple question that it might have been careless. But it is not. It carries weight precisely because it sounds so small.
Jacks goes still.
Not because he doubts her. Not because he doubts himself. They have already chosen one another. They have already survived curses and memory and blood-stained fate. She knows he is hers. He knows she is his.
But Valentines.
For someone who once kills with a kiss, the word does not sit lightly.
He remembers what love used to mean to him. Leverage, weakness, something to be weaponised. He remembers hands reaching for him with desire that turned to ruin. He remembers the cost.
To be someone’s Valentine feels dangerously soft. It feels like stepping willingly into a story that once tried to destroy him.
She notices the stillness and immediately regrets the vulnerability. “You don’t have to,” she adds quickly. “I just thought-”
“I want to,” he says at once.
And he does.
The hesitation was never about desire. It was about allowing himself to stand in something so openly tender without armour.
He reaches for her then, drawing her into him with steady certainty. One hand settles firmly at her back, fingers splayed against the curve of her waist. The other slides up into her hair, guiding her gently until her forehead rests against his chest. He lowers his chin to the crown of her head and breathes her in—sugar and firewood smoke and winter air.
She melts against him easily, as though this is the most natural place in the world. Perhaps it is.
“I’ve been yours since before you knew my name,” he says quietly.
The words are not theatrical. He doesn’t lace them with charm.
He simply tells the truth.
She stills against him.
Slowly, she lifts her face to look at him, searching for mockery, for a smirk, for the slightest edge of playfulness.
There is none.
Only sincerity, unguarded and unflinching.
“You mean that,” she whispers.
“Yes.”
He thinks of the moment she first looked at him without fear. Of the way she defied him. Of how she chose him long before it was safe to do so. He thinks of how he followed her anyway.
Her fingers slip between them, pushing aside the fabric of his shirt until she can press her palm over the scar at his chest. The mark left by magic and consequence and history. She traces it gently, reverently, as though mapping something fragile.
His breath shifts, not from pain but from memory.
“You’re not afraid?” she asks. “Of all of it? Of tomorrow?”
“I am always afraid of something,” he admits softly. “But not of belonging to you.”
Her hand remains over his heart. He remains at her back, holding her as though anchoring himself as much as her. Outside, snow continues its quiet descent, indifferent to confessions made by firelight.
He tilts her chin upward and kisses her.
It's not urgent. Not heated in the way that leaves them breathless and reckless. It is slow and deliberate, a kiss that lingers as though time has stretched just for them. His mouth moves against hers with care, committing the shape of it to memory. Her fingers curl into his shirt, and he feels the slight tremor in them, not doubt, but emotion.
When she parts her lips, he deepens the kiss gently, one hand sliding to cradle her jaw while the other remains firm at her waist. She rises slightly onto her toes without thinking, leaning into him with complete trust.
He kisses her like she is both fragile and fierce, like he knows she could survive without him, but chooses to stay anyway.
When they finally part, their foreheads rest together, breath mingling in the warm air between them.
“Tomorrow,” he says quietly, “I will be your Valentine.”
Her smile is softer than any ribbon she tied that morning.
“And the day after?” she asks, because she cannot help herself.
He brushes his thumb along her cheek, tracing the line of it as though it belongs to him. “Well, I have always been yours. It would be no different.”
Jacks kisses her again, slowly, deliberately, as though he has already decided he will be doing so for a very long time.
A Ballroom, Sugared Strawberries, A Harp, and Candied Rose Petals
Evangeline doesn’t realise he has taken her anywhere special until the corridor changes.
They have just finished clearing the last crumbs of raspberry tart from their plates. She is still laughing about the way he pretended not to like the glaze before eating two more, when he takes her hand and leads her downstairs. His grip is steady and familiar, fingers laced through hers as though they have always fit that way.
“You know, the inn is closed,” she reminds him lightly as they descend the staircase.
“I am aware.”
“Then where are we-”
“You’ll see.”
There is something almost smug in the way he says it, but softer than his usual arrogance. Anticipatory.
The corridor at the back of the inn is usually dim and practical, all wooden beams and polished floors worn smooth with years of travellers passing through. Tonight, however, candlelight spills faintly from beneath a pair of tall double doors at the end.
Evangeline slows.
“Jacks.”
He says nothing, only releases her hand long enough to push the doors open.
The ballroom beyond is empty.
Empty and transformed.
Candles line the walls in careful rows, their flames steady and golden, reflected endlessly in tall arched mirrors. The chandeliers overhead glow not with harsh brilliance but with softened light, as though filtered through dawn. Snow drifts past the high windows in slow spirals, visible against the darkened sky beyond.
In the centre of the room stands a small table laid simply: a porcelain bowl of sugared strawberries dusted in crystalline sugar; a dish of candied rose petals folded like jewels; a plate of more heart-shaped tarts she made that morning.
Nothing extravagant.
Just hers.
At the far corner of the ballroom rests a harp.
It is not being played by any visible musician, yet as the doors close behind them, a soft melody unfurls into the air, delicate and lilting notes rising like breath against glass. The music feels tailored to the moment, to the way her fingers tighten slightly around his sleeve.
She doesn’t speak at first.
She turns slowly in place, her skirt whispering against polished floors, taking in the candles, the mirrors, the hush. Her grey eyes shine in the golden light.
“You remembered,” she says.
It is not a question.
Once, she told him about the fairytale ball she had imagined as a child—though they never had a clear ending. A ballroom filled with light, where nothing dreadful waited at midnight. Where dancing meant joy.
And he listened.
Now, he steps closer, brushing a stray curl from her left eye. “You said you never had one that ended properly.”
Her throat tightens. “So you made one for me.”
“For us,” he corrects.
There are no guests. No watching courtiers. No expectations.
Just candlelight and snow and the faint sweetness of sugar in the air.
He offers his hand.
She takes it without hesitation.
He draws her into him slowly, one arm settling at her waist, the other guiding her fingers into place against his shoulder. The harp swells gently as though aware of them. Their first step is almost shy, a testing shift of weight, but the rhythm catches quickly.
They move across the empty floor as though it belongs to them.
There is no grand performance in it. No sweeping spectacle.
Just closeness.
Her cheek brushes his shoulder. His chin rests briefly in her hair. Their steps fall into an easy pattern, bodies aligned in a way that feels less like choreography and more like instinct.
At some point, she laughs softly and reaches for a sugared strawberry from the table, pressing it playfully to his lips before taking a bite herself. Sugar crystals cling to her fingertips; he catches her wrist gently and licks one away without breaking their rhythm.
They share candied rose petals between turns. He steals half a tart when she is distracted by the music. She pretends not to notice.
The harp shifts into something warmer, slower.
He draws her closer.
There are no declarations here. No dramatic vows beneath chandeliers.
Only the quiet proof that he listens. That he remembers. That the things she says in passing settle somewhere deep enough for him to build from them.
When the candles burn lower and the snow thickens beyond the windows, he guides her back upstairs without a word.
The enchanted roses wait upon her bedside table, their pearlescent petals glowing softly in the dim room. She sets a single candied rose petal beside them before slipping beneath the covers.
He joins her moments later.
Evangeline curls instinctively toward him, one hand finding his own in the dark. Their fingers thread together as though drawn by gravity. She is asleep within minutes, breath soft and even, pink hair fanned against the white of the sheets.
Jacks remains awake a little longer.
He watches the steady rise and fall of her chest. The way her hand remains wrapped securely in his. The way the enchanted roses do not dim from her vanity.
Snow continues drifting beyond the window, gentle and unthreatening and in shapes of hearts.
Normal on the outside, inside continuously thinking about how in Book 7’s finale, Vil and Jamil specifically stayed and asked Idia to ensure Yuu (+ Lilia & Grim) is rescued, while the other leaders ran away 🥹
My biggest Idia head canon is that he has an art account in magicam that is REALLY popular and a lot of people follow him. Its not the gloomurai name because that is his gamer ID, not his art one. Most of the things he posts are just fanart about some obscure anime and his interests. It's not a secret that he is also gloomurai, but it IS a secret that he is Idia Shroud.
Imagine Idia doing commissions for people at NRC, Vil agency commissioning him because he likes his work. And Idia straight up freaking out because "what do you mean THE Vil Schoenheit my schoolmate and fellow dorm leader wants to commission me?????".
Imagine him doing the poster for the VDC festival and nobody knows anything. He is preparing hard for his presentation and had the poster drawn like four different versions. The poster is a hit, and the presentation goes really well. Ignoring the overbolt fiasco, everything went well! And then STYX happens, and nothing will go wrong. They will all forget. And then everything goes really, REALLY wrong.
I'm sure Idia would not mention in any way his fanartist identity, but Ortho would "slip up" and the cat is out of the bag. When they return home, everyone is keeping it secret, mostly because with everything going on it brings more problems that anything else.
But then he starts showing up for classes and Vil asks about his art. He did like it, and is surprised why he wasn't posted in some time. I honestly can see him freaking out completely and not knowing what to say.
People who insist that Malleus isn't Lilia's son are so cruel wtf. Like even the devil wouldn't be that heartless. 💀 Aside from the absolute canonically explicit fact that dragon eggs only hatch through the unconditional love of a parent, Malleus internalizes that Lilia was practically the only good thing in his life while growing up. Almost everything he did was in anticipation that Lilia would be proud of him the next time they met.
The poor thing hated his life. Aside from his grandmother who rarely spent time with him, nobody in that godforsaken country ever really cared for him as more than a breathing crown. All he knew, and everything he held on to, was that Lilia fed him, played with him, dressed him, taught him all sorts of things, told him stories of the outside world, and always welcomed him in his humble little home.
Lilia loved him more than anyone ever loved him. To take even that truth away from him is beyond cruel.
Likewise, Lilia absolutely thinks of him as his son, and words need not be uttered out loud. Action speaks louder than words. Otherwise he wouldn't have thought that Malleus' hatching (and finding Silver!) was his happiest moment in life. He would never have spent his life never losing hope that Malleus could be born. He would never have spent the remainder of his life risking it repeatedly, just for the short moments that he could spend with the boy.
Just because they don't carry the same blood, or that they don't share a surname, doesn't mean their bond is inferior to those who do.
Thinking about how when Lilia first left Malleus with Silver, he was scared he would hurt him. Because Malleus had unintentionally hurt people in the past, Lilia included. And all those people were strong fae, not a weak human infant that he could easily hurt, if not kill, with just a fraction of his unyielding and uncontrollable power. And still, Lilia left Silver in his care because he trusted that he wouldn’t hurt him—he trusted that Malleus could be gentle and nurturing to this baby even if Malleus himself didn’t believe he could.
And Silver grew up knowing a kinder and gentler Malleus. Powerful and aloof, yes, but never once in his 17 years of life had he ever feared Malleus the way others were accustomed to because Malleus was the one who came by the cottage to see him and his father. The one who made sure he ate well and cared for his well-being despite being a human orphan while he was a noble fae prince.
And I think that’s why Lilia stepped in when he did. He not only saw his son about to be hurt by the person who helped raise him—the one Silver wanted to devote his life to, but he also saw Malleus about to harm the boy through whom he initially learned the importance of gentleness and humanity—living proof that Malleus was not the dangerous and uncontrollable being people said he was. And had Malleus succeeded, I don’t think any of them would be able to come back from that.
Prompt: "Will You Marry Me?"- Proposal Headcannons
Characters: Everyone :)
Part(s): Heartslabyul, Savanaclaw, Octavinelle, Scarabia, Pomefiore, Ignihyde, Diasomnia (Pt.1 !) (Pt.2 Here!)
Fandom: Twisted Wonderland
Warning(s): None. I mean, unless you don't want to marry any of them. Just don't read if that's the case. ALSO SLIGHT SPOILER FOR CHAPTER 7 IN SILVER
Note: These are all if he is the one proposing btw. Also, I went overboard. I had to break Diasomnia into 2 parts because I exceeded tumblr's character limit. I have favorites I guess :/
This man is a child masquerading as an adult. As in to say that he resists any illogical emotions until they bottle up and explode. The traditional pathway for finding a life partner typically follows: stranger -> acquaintance -> friend -> crush -> lover ->partner. You know, as it normally goes when bonds form.
Sebek....is not a textbook case in this regard. His path is a bit more customizable
stranger -> person he is forced to interact with -> acquaintance of Lord Malleus -> Acquaintance of Lord Malleus that Sebek approves of -> Friend that Lord Malleus approves of -> Repressed Crush -> Acquaintance that Sebek avoids at all costs -> Acknowledged crush -> Acknowledged crush that Lord Malleus approves of -> Respected individual with mitigated interactions -> Courting -> awkward situationship -> lover -> awkward situationship (with better communication) -> spouse
Enough said.
This process isn’t as complicated as it may seem on paper. While there are many steps, Sebek is fortunate enough to have people in his life willing to force commitments onto him. It also helps that he has blind trust in a select few. This makes him a bit naive and easily influenced. A boon in the right hands, and a bane in others.
In short, Sebek is emotionally constipated and only acts when there’s a driving force. Otherwise he just gets frustrated. This is extremely apparent at two stages: ‘repressed crush’ and ‘awkward situationship’. Scratch that. Three stages.
Beginning at ‘repressed crush’ - Sebek realizes that he likes you when you ask about how his training is going. He happened by your dorm during his morning jog, and was more than happy to go off on a tangent of the strict regimen developed to forge a perfect knight.
Except that’s not what you wanted to hear. You were more interested in his health and how he was enjoying himself rather than how his work was benefitting Malleus.
His heart fluttered, as if a shock of electricity thrummed through his body. Having never felt this before, Sebek mistakes it for a lapse in his strength and runs off at a much faster speed than before. Forget a light jog, he had enough energy to run 500 laps around the school track.
Don’t you get it human?! You were distracting him! His body was at rest too long. Now shoo, you’re hindering him from doing his duty.
He represses these budding romantic feelings and ‘misinterprets’ them as deviant behavior. He even goes so far as to blame it on ‘useless hormones’ and convinces himself that it’ll pass. He spares it no thought until his pining becomes apparent to everyone except for himself
Que the driving force. Despite Sebek believing otherwise, he does have friends and his entire love-life can be credited to their affectionate stupidity.
Simply put, Ace takes every chance to seamlessly flirt with you whenever Sebek is around. Not in a subtle way either - he's making some risky comments and trying to eat up every moment of your time. The others in your year are well aware of what he's doing too. Deuce thinks he's being unnecessary, but also agrees that Sebek needs a push so he lets it happen. Epel has his gripes with Sebek, but admires him for his manly tenacity. So he's 100% in support of giving an extra push and even tries to copy Ace. Except... yeah, he's pretty bad at flirting so he gives up after one try. Jack is against it at first, not wanting to hurt your feelings in the process but gets talked into it after seeing you get salty over Sebek being distant. Ortho, bless his innocent soul, thinks of it as a fun experiment. Lil guy just wants everyone to be happy.
You have no idea though, which is great because all of Ace's attempts fail hardcore. Sebek and his chivalrous ways (jealousy) won't stand by if you're being constantly bombarded with 'unwanted' romantic affections.
Nevermind that you don't seem to be taking Ace seriously at all. It is still not proper behavior! It would be a stain to his Lord's image if Sebek knowingly let Malleus' beloved friend endure such a hardship.
Every time Ace makes an attempt, Sebek shuts him down faster than you ever could. You have no idea how he does it, but Sebek is always around when it happens. The timing is honestly creepy....until you catch on to what's happening because the Ramshackle prefect isn't a dumdum.
"So....prefect, how about we go get dinner together tomorrow? Just you and me, what do ya say?" Ace slides into the seat to your right during breakfast. He leans in on his fist, eyeing you with a mischievous grin that crinkles the heart on his cheek. Just as he does, Sebek occupies the seat at your left and pushes Ace back with his palm.
"Do you ever rest?! They will do no such thing, now eat your meal before it runs cold. The chefs worked too hard for their efforts to be wasted by a delinquent!" Sebek answers on your behalf like clockwork. This event was not an uncommon sight to anyone, neither was Sebek failing to control his volume, so no other student paid the show any mind.
Normally you'd let them spit a few words at each other before returning to their own devices. Yet letting this continue just felt cruel, especially knowing that Ace was doing it to get a rise from your friend. Although Sebek wasn't innocent in the matter either
"Alright - Ace, would you knock it off? You don't even like me that way so quit messing with my head. I thought you were better than this," you say in between bites, side-eyeing your friend with a disapproving glare "And you!" you turn to Sebek, "I can answer for myself. Why do you even care? It's not like you're in charge of my love life. Just because someone wants to date me doesn't make them a delinquent...sheesh"
Why...why does he care? Sebek short circuits at your scolding, opening and closing his mouth to rebuttal yet coming up with nothing. Angered by his own turmoil, he grabs his meal and goes to sit with others from his dorm.
Stupid human. How dare you be so haughty and ungrateful? He was just protecting you from....from, what exactly? It's not like you going out with Ace would impact him in any way. It's not like you were in danger or upset with his advances. If anything. he was doing a good job at keeping your relationship professional for the sake of his liege!
Go ahead and date that childish hooligan for all he cares! Sebek won't be there to protect you when you're lost, or lend you a scarf on cold winter days. Ace can be the one to call you before bed every night, and keep your yearbook photo on his desk. Possibly keep his favorite candid photo as a bookmark for his diary, not that Sebek would know anyone that keeps a journal. He can have your birthday written in his calendar with a heart drawn around it, and have your picture in his wristwatch. He can set alarms to know when your classes end and walk you home. He can worry when you're sick and listen to your obnoxious prying....he can receive all your affections, and have your loyalty. Listen to your silly ramblings and receive those random 'i just thought of you' presents that Sebek always has a dilemma over what their purpose serves
You can be Ace's headache, and Sebek's heart will be lighter for it. These attachments he's formed were a lapse in judgement and will never be allowed again.
...
Sebek asks his lord for permission to court you. The next morning Malleus wakes to find the devotee bowed outside his bedroom, forehead attached to the floor and hands laid flat on the ground in reverence. Sebek proceeds to begin a long rant about how he's succumbed to his inner demons, and that he has sinned for letting another in his heart - Malleus cuts him off, happy to see love blossoming and interested to watch it all play out. He tells Sebek to take good care of you, before leaving. Meanwhile Sebek is sobbing at his lord's blessing
Once he's gathered himself, Sebek runs to your dorm and pounds on the door with fervor despite the early hour
Grim shakes you out of sleep, grumbling something about an 'annoying bastard' at the door before flopping back in bed. He shoves two pillows over his ears and tells you to fix the problem. That's when you hear the thumping, it's relentless and somehow sours your mood beyond what you thought possible. Mornings were not meant to exist on the weekend. So with an irritated groan, you slip on a robe over your pajamas and answer the door. A fist pauses in the air, moments from striking you. Sebek freezes momentarily, his body going ridged before coughing into his fist. A light blush dusts his cheeks.
“G-good morning, human. I apologize if I've disturbed your sleep, but I have an important announcement that cannot wait any longer" Sebeck studders, focusing on the door pane instead of your disheveled morning appearance.
“Alright" you sigh, resigning yourself to his whims, "what is it?"
Sebeck bows at the waist. "I am in love with you. Please accept my affections."
And so the motions continued on. A most unconventional pairing - possibly the hottest topic of the school year, in the words of Cater Diamond - was formed. Sebek was cautious of Ace at first, their previous spats leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. When he found out the truth, he was both appalled and grateful. So much that he scorned all his friends for weeks on end for pulling a stunt like that - but also thanking them. He apologizes for calling Ace a delinquent, and his heart changes a bit in response to their 'unique' display of care. Their intentions were good, and in the end it worked out. So he can pardon the indiscretion.
Life goes on until your relationship forms an 'awkward situationship'. The first time is brief. As it is with most cases of young love, the binding force that ties you to them crumbles. On earth it is highschool. In Twisted Wonderland it is NRC. Sebek knows where he's going - to serve the Draconias . The grey area is what you plan to do...because as much as his affections have grown, Sebek isn't willing to give up his dreams for you.
He's astonished when you decide to follow him to Briar Valley. He doesn't even have to breech the topic - arrangements were already being made without his input. You wouldn't be staying at the palace against his Lord's wishes. Instead a small cottage was built at a safe distance from the main city. Close enough for you to visit the castle, and far enough for you to feel comfortable and not out of place.
Seeing you taking his wants into consideration alters Sebek's perception of your relationship. You truly were lovers, and not a passing 'hormonal induced fling'. You loved him, and it's here when he truly begins to consider a forever. It was like the time when he first called your name, no longer calling you by 'prefect' or 'human'. He had done it many times in private, yet doing so to your face altered his brain chemistry. He loved the way your name rolled off his tongue, and the way your attention became his at the call.
Which leads us to the third and final major block-aid. Years have passed, and Sebek's well grown as an established knight for the Draconia family. He works alongside Silver, and many other comrades in arms. Everything is exactly as he dreamed. Malleus has become a beloved, strong king. Sebek is respected, and you are thriving as well. He didn't have much faith in your ability to last alone - it's not that he doubts your abilities, but he did doubt his people. When you first moved to Briar Valley Sebek was well aware that there were many like his past self - fae with a hatred for humans. He worried you would struggle to fit in.
Yet you surprised him. The tensions did exist against your kind, but you managed to card a space for yourself in Briar Valley with ease. You didn't even work in the palace, instead choosing to work towards becoming a children's teacher and work towards helping future generations of fae feel comfortable around humans.
His family adored you - with his mother in particular fawning over how Sebek fell down the same pipeline she did. His father offers you both advice on being an interspecies couple - and Sebek actually found himself listening.
Huh. Character growth. Is this what it's like to mature?
All is perfect, yet not. Sebek is forced to confront this when news travels that a human was attacked on their way to the palace. The dread that coursed through his veins was unlike anything Sebek's felt in his entire life. Under Malleus' rule, humans were slowly becoming more prevalent in Briar Valley. They hadn't mentioned your name specifically, but he jumped the gun.
Against his better judgement, Sebek abandons his post and rushed to the city's clinic. The injured human wasn't you, thank the seven, but the dread lingered. So he ran to the school you taught at and practically barged into your classroom. Luckily it was empty as the day was near end. Sebek hadn't known that yet still behaved recklessly.
He rushed to your side, talking faster than your brain could keep up with while checking over your body. He flipped topics like a teen trying to pick a college major - scolding you for worrying him, blubbering gibberish about how you'd no longer be allowed to walk alone, and myriad of other things.
Sebek was so shook, that he completely forgot about his knightly station. Malleus didn't punish him for abandoning his post. Not like it mattered, considering Sebek was already doing ample damage on his own. The realization hit him like a stone punch to the gut - there was a threat to his liege, and instead of focusing on apprehending the criminal he chose to find you.
Malleus' power or his dismissal of the matter meant little in the overall picture. Sebek failed. He's ashamed beyond belief.
and yet, he can't help but wonder what ight have been. What if you were the one attacked and he chose to stay? He would have failed you in that scenario.
He's surprised to find that the prospect his failure hurts just as much - if not more. His lord is powerful, and there are many to serve him. Your last moments could have been spent in a cold medical bed, surrounded by strangers. Fading away and taking Sebek's dreams with you.
............
Ah. Since when had that word become plural? His dream was always to serve Lord Malleus. Now there are more - he wants a family, and he wants to go to that play you were organizing with the valley's children next weekend. He wants to become a greater knight to protect the city that houses all the people he cares about. Again, plural. Lilia, Silver, his siblings and parents, all the human and fae who are loyal subjects to his most revered. You, and your decedents to come.
It's frightening. How valuable one's life can become. His always belonged to the Draconia bloodline to do with at they pleased - now Sebek's in pieces. Is he truly worthy of being a knight if he cannot give his whole heart?
He doesn't blame you for this. In his youth Sebek might have tossed your relationship aside in a heartbeat - that, or he might've demanded Malleus dismiss him and send him to repent in exile or whatever. Sebek has a problem with embellishing with dramatics.
BUT... he's more mature now. Mature enough to realize that maybe he can have his cake and eat it too.
So, he asks Lilia for advice. At this time the general merely lazes around the castle like a bat on the wall - acting as an advisor and observer. Surely he'd know what to do.
"There is nothing wrong with sharing a heart amongst many. If anything, the toughest decisions make us stronger. The more you have to lose, the stronger you will become to protect"
Preach it grandpappy. Lilia wants to see his grandkids so stop the slow burn already.
It's deja vu because Sebek wants to propose as quick as possible. Just like when he confessed, the man nearly runs to your home on impulse. You can thank Lilia for your proposal not taking place at 3am with your door being broke in two (Sebek is much stronger than he was in his teens, and sometimes miscalculates his strength).
Instead, Sebek finds himself anxiously clutching a ring in his pocket the following week. It was the night of a school play you were hosting - one he was looking forward to since you were so proud in your work. Ergo, Sebek felt pride as well by default.
How unfortunate that he can't focus on the show. With his mind reeling so much, it's taking all he has to sit quietly in the audience. His eyes follow your movements as you direct the kids, and for a brief moment you smile at him from the stage.
Zap. Alright. Don't clutch metal when you're a living thunderbolt. Duly noted. If anything the jolt of pain brings him back to reality.
When the play ends, and all the children have gone home with their families, he finds you back stage sweeping confetti. His plan was to congratulate you, and take you to a nice restaurant where he could do this properly.
Except he can't wait. When you turn around from putting the broom away, he's already taken a knee and holding the ring out. Those diligent gold iris' not pulling away for one moment, as he holds the ring out between two fingers and his other hand placed over his heart as if taking an oath.
"Before you say anything - You have sacrificed time and time again for my happiness - my efforts are insignificant in comparison. I have taken your patience for granted like a spoiled juvenile. There was a time when I found this kindness of yours unnecessary. I thought it a distraction - a test of my strength to fulfill my destiny. I see now that I was foolish”
Sebek pauses, grinding his teeth together in regret and anguish.
“I had not known fear until you. I have more to lose now than ever before. Last week I abandoned my post - my purpose- In that moment, all I could think about was if you’d been attacked, then my life would be over. You make me lose all sense of logic and reason…so I demand that you take responsibility and marry me!”
{A gold band with an obsidian base. Gold and silver flakes are sealed atop the obsidian plate using resin. Very practical, yet charming nonetheless. Humans typically wear matching bands, yes? Sebek sees no purpose in getting separate designs since the point is to show proof of partnership. He needs a practical shape that will not interfere with combat, yet also wants it to be an aesthetic choice. Sebek could care less about looks, but if he’s going to give you a ring then it will be the best possible option to match to your worth}
Silver is beautiful like still ocean waters. He's breathtaking - literally and figuratively. With the beauty of a fairytale prince, personality of a wise knight, and deadliness of the deep sea. It's easy to be sucked in when Silver seemingly has no flaws. So easy that at one point there were rumors of him being a living doll, created by the fae to be a perfect solider.
These perceptions all rely on his outward appearance: the knight in shining armor. Albeit so, being so perfect almost makes him unnoticeable. Compared to his rowdy peers with quirks and notable personalities - Silver truly is a doll. Like the complacent child praised for being more mature than their siblings. He is as easily forgotten as he is admired.
Some would say that this is a flaw in itself - because no one is naturally perfect. No one is so complacent and calm at birth. It's simply a desirable flaw. One that hurts him, yet has ben praised by others.
Silver is strong. Silver is diligent. Silver is beautiful. Silver is breathtaking and yet not the showstopper - like gold. Gold brings warmth while silver is cold. Imperfections in gold give it character, and can be seen as art. Imperfections in silver are seen as unsightly scratches.
Silver knows this, yet doesn't want to be gold. He doesn't deserve to be gold.
Silver doesn't deserve anything. He has already taken so much simply by living. He has a world to be grateful for, and not enough time to repay his debts.
He is content being Silver - if he could then he'd be copper. Lesser. Yet he is Silver, a reminder of the blood he carries.
He will remain unremarkable yet dedicated. He will dedicate everything to his family and friends - do whatever he can to break free of his sleeping curse and help others. He will give until he cannot give anymore. Then he will give more, to repay all he has received.
....For as much as he is content with this life, Silver still envies gold.
You are beautiful like a new dawn. Ushering in each day with a vibrant display that commands attention. People instinctively admire you despite the risk of hurting their eyes. You heal the world naturally, and help others simply by existing. People take you for granted, because inevitably the moon will rise, and the cold will inevitably return.
You were bathed in golden light. This Silver noticed the moment he laid eyes on you. He couldn't tear his eyes away.
Silver envies gold.
........
You envy Silver. His calm, his family, his dedication despite being limited by his crippling drowsiness. Out of the students from Diasomnia, he was the one you lingered towards more often than not. The freshmen revered him for his skills, and he was a true gentle soul. You at first couldn't believe that he was Lilia's son - how did such a kind boy come from a rambunctious tease? Revelations of his past brought much to light, and now you couldn't think of him being anyone else.
Silver was loved like the first snowfall. He had a family that loved him dearly, no matter how short his time with them would be. He was raised to bring happiness to others, and protect their hearts using his demure temperament.
Silver was modest, and silver glistened when you'd expect him to the least. As the wind caressed his hair during an afternoon siesta, or sparks lit in his eyes while swinging his sword. How the horses nuzzle his side after equestrian practice, showing full trust and affection. Even in the sweat dripping from his brow, shining as he easily finishes a set of push ups.
Yet nothing struck your heart more than the melancholy he'd emit when no one was looking. How quickly he'd fade into the background, only popping in when necessary or if someone gave him note. In these moments Silver gleamed brilliantly, yet a shadow put out his shine.
You thought the melancholy inviting. It felt so natural, so real. Except you believed it balanced dangerously between despair and serene. The larger question being which side would he evidently fall towards.
.........
Silver admires gold.
He couldn't stop the pull. He just couldn't. Not with how you seemingly watch him when no one else does. Who wouldn't feel special? With the way you take note of things he normally wouldn't think of, and recklessly delve into helping others with no regard for yourself. Whether you desire the trouble is beyond him - the matter is that you see every issue through. There isn't a soul who doesn't know of the ramshackle prefect.
Perhaps this is his torment to endure. To get a taste for what he could have been, and willingly be tied to it.
Silver stares into a vanity mirror, his expression neutral despite the growing emotions inside. A slightly tattered sheet is tied around his neck like a bib, covering his front and part of his back. A shiver runs down his spine as you comb through his hair, deftly trimming the edges with a pair of kitchen scissors with the precision of a professional. A shiver runs down his spine every time your fingers linger against his scalp, either from tucking stray strands or combing through layers with your fingertips.
Your expression is stern, eyes intensely focused as you cut around his ear, afraid to nick him in the process. He finds the expression adorable yet bites his tongue. Silver couldn't think those thoughts. Not when you offered to do this out of the kindness of your heart.
Nonetheless, his heart thrums. If it were possible he'd think the organ about to pop out at any moment.
"Finished!" you smile in satisfaction and tussle Silver's soft locks for good measure. In one fell swoop, you undo the knot around his neck and pull the makeshift apron off of him.
Silver nods, a slight smile teasing the edge of his lips. He stands from the chair and steps over any hair on the floor, reaching for the broom to clean before you could think to.
"Thank you. I no longer need to schedule with a barber. This will save much time,"
In truth he had no intentions for a haircut. Either himself or his father would trim the ends once they started interfering with his sight, but he was too busy as of late. You were the one to notice how his bangs hindered his vision, and offered to help. Silver couldn't bring himself to deny your kindness.
"You really like it? Hehe. Y'know, maybe I should start a shop on campus? I only started doing this since there aren't any affordable salons....maybe with it I can finally afford to fix the guest room!" you cheer and prattle on about all the different possibilities. Occasionally you'll ask for Silver's input, or even give an off hand compliment about how he was the perfect 'test subject'.
Your company is intoxicating, he realizes. Talking with you is as easy as drinking water.
Before Silver realizes, night has fallen and you've fallen asleep on the couch. Despite his better judgement, he finds himself wandering the Ramshackle door. He compulsively cleans up the mess you'd both left behind during his visit, doing the dishes from dinner and rearranging things here and there. As he does so, Silver notes all the little improvements around the dorm. It feels more like a home than a school building. Then again you do live alone. He wonders how often you host visitors, and if you unknowingly ensnared them just as you've done to him.
He covers your shoulders with a blanket and steps outside under the moonlight.
It’s cold.
...............
You wake up the following day to find all the windows shut, your living room clean, and a warm blanket covering your shoulders. Your eyes peer around for silver, yet turn up empty.
Of course. Silver has a dorm to return to and people that would miss him if he returned late.
Shuffling around the silent dorm, the rickey old floorboards creek underneath your weight. In manufactured motions, you brew a cup of tea and pour it into the only well-used cup from the cabinet.
As your cup brews, you sit at the table with the blanket still clutched tight over your shoulders.
The tea goes cold, yet you are warm.
................
Silver loves gold.
but silver and gold don't mix. The question always is: silver or gold? When deciding a piece of jewelry to match your skin tone, people will ask 'silver or gold'? The metals are not meant to mix because they clash. It's an outfit catastrophe.
Yet, Silver cannot help but wonder. As he lays with his head in your lap and the sun and silence coaxing him to slumber - what if an outfit existed to compliment both silver and gold?
"Silver..are you sleeping again?" you tap his cheek with one hand, and his eyes open instinctively. Despite his drowsiness he will always look for you. Yet right now he's never regretted the magnetic pull more.
With the sun casting a golden overcast, you peer down at him from above with tender eyes typically reserved for one's child. Your glow is breathtaking, and he cannot help the sinking feeling in his stomach that he is unworthy. With such gentle hands combing across his scalp and eyes that look upon him so tenderly - he is afraid to steal your warmth.
And yet…
"You are beautiful," Silver lets it slip, his hand reaching to brush against your jaw as if under a spell. He feels unnervingly calm. Not in his usual way, where he is constantly observing and playing a game of mental chess. This is a true calm, and he knows now that this is a point of no return.
Silver is beautiful like a still ocean. You are beautiful like the rising sun. When combined, a perfect image is formed just waiting for an artist to stumble upon it.
Against his wishes, the world has granted the child of dawn another gift. The gift of true love. 'True love's kiss will break the curse' and while it is childish to believe so in this case, Silver does so wholeheartedly.
When with you, the days pass like minutes. He wants nothing more than to forgo need for sleep, if only to work harder towards becoming a man worthy.
Silver envies gold for it's effortless demand for love, yet he no longer wants to be gold. He no longer wishes he were born copper.
Gold loves silver, so Silver he will be.
And with time, both Silver and Gold will be ground to dust regardless.
He thinks of this on a winter evening while holding a ring up into the moonlight. It's cold outside, yet he doesn't mind. The chill atop his nose does nothing but tinge it a lovely rosy color.
He looks through the windowpane into a home masquerading as a school building. His reflection is familiar yet changing rapidly in comparison to his family. The years have aged him, yet not by much. Silver is stronger, his soft jaw a bit sharper. His bangs have grown long again, it would soon be time for a cut. Perhaps he'd enlist a 'barber' after relocating back to the castle in briar valley.
Inside you sit at the couch, sipping from a well-used mug with Grim on your lap and watching cartoons. Silver's bag rests on the armchair, unzipped with nightly necessities spilling out the side. A slightly newer baby blue mug sits on the coffee table, with steam evaporating into the air as it waits to be used.
Silver smiles, walking towards the door and walking inside. Heat warms his cheeks and he is calm.
"I know I am unworthy of you, the thought plagues me to this very moment. Yet I cannot help but love you - like wishing on a star yet knowing deep in the depths of your heart that miracles are made not granted. I've received many, so I would know. My father gifted me life through love - and with you I understand how it is possible. I cannot imagine life without you. I promise this, I will cherish you and protect you for as long as you allow it. Would you marry me?"
Months later a ceremony is held in a secluded forest, in the yard of a cottage where a child first learned love. As an adult, he joins his most precious in matrimony, offering his sword to be sworn faithful.
You are beautiful like the first breech of daylight - and for once, Silver is happy to be a man of dawn.
Silver and gold.
Silver and gold.
Everyone wishes for silver and gold.
How do you measure it's worth?
Just by the pleasure it gives here on earth.
{A ring forged from a silver band, gold leaf embellishments, and a moss agate core. Enough said.}
Let's take back our tomorrow... our future filled with our laughter!!
Summon: I will not lose. This is for those most precious to me... To protect their smiles.
Groovification: This is for both fae and humans... I will put my all into this we can have a world where all races can laugh alongside each other.
Home: I can feel my power overflowing...
Swap Looks: I'm ready. Time to go.
Home Transition 1: I came to terms with many hard-to-swallow truths in my dream. However, I am very grateful to have been able to gain a deeper understanding of my father.
Home Transition 2: Malleus-sama looked in on me as a child, even while knowing of my origins... I absolutely will not allow him to be seen as an enemy to mankind.
Home Transition 3: t was a pleasant surprise to be able to witness Baur-dono and Father's conduct while on active duty. I'm sure it will be a good foundation for when I next train in the real world.
Home Transition - Login: I'll use every ounce of strength I have, so I can fulfill every single hope that has been entrusted to me.
Home Transition - Groovy: Each time my hands would shake and my legs threatened to give out from under me, you all gave me strength. I am thankful to have everyone with me.
Home Tap 1: While in the dream worlds, I rarely felt drowsy. It would be nice if I can stay in this condition even after waking up...
Home Tap 2: I hadn't expected my Unique Magic to come in handy like this. I'm sure it won't be used in such a manner again after this whole ordeal.
Home Tap 3: Sebek's admonishing words helped to encourage my stalled resolve. I am fortunate to have such a dependable younger disciple.
Home Tap 4: I never realized just how much Father had cherished that bracelet I gifted him when I was but a child. I'm glad I was able to recollect that memory.
Home Tap 5:My fluttering cape hit you in the face? My apologies. I'm just not used to this sort of outfit...
Home Tap - Groovy: Our interactions may have been minimal before this, but... I believe we've gotten closer over the course of traveling through many dreams together.
Duo:
[SILVER]: Father, allow me!
[LILIA]: Show me what you've got, Silver!
