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twstgarden · 1 month

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❀ ❝ 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗶 𝗳𝗮𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗻 𝗶𝗻 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲? ❞

━ malleus draconia x gn! reader (reader can be yuu or an oc/twstsona) ━ thoughts of the possibility of falling in love with your nightly visitor continue to disturb you even during the times you were supposed to focus on your quality time together.

no spoilers for chapter 7, diasomnia’s arc!

do not steal or translate without my permission.

buy me a coffee here and ko-fi here if you want to support me, commissions are open

“modern architectures seemed to have adapted new designs for their gargoyles. why, i even came across one that resembles a human face. it is quite intriguing, really. i have grown accustomed to seeing gargoyles that usually take the form of different creatures of the night, so seeing that human-like gargoyle sparked some interest in me that i wish to show it to you,” rambled malleus before he frowned, “however, my so-called phone could no longer capture images. it breaks easily, it’s unfortunate.”

you sat as you replied with a soft hum, your chin resting on your hand as you looked up at him with a rather longing and lovestruck gaze. you were paying attention to his ramblings, truly, you were! it just so happened that you were looking at him with an infatuated gaze.

hearing only a hum from you, malleus turned his head to look at his companion. with a raised brow, he spoke, “hm? are you alright?”

his question snapped you out of your thoughts. a soft blush dusted over your cheeks as you felt embarrassed of having been caught staring, “oh, sorry. um… so, did you capture it with… maybe a regular camera?”

once more, there was a frown on his lips, “no, but i will make sure i get to capture its uniqueness and aesthetic the next time i come across that gargoyle.”

it was somewhere around midnight when you decided to accompany malleus in the backyard of the ramshackle dorm, and you spent the past 30 minutes listening to him talk about his findings during his strolls for his gargoyle research club activity.

you loved listening to him speak. his voice was deep and resonant, yet so dulcet and soothing. you would never get tired of listening to him all day. when he speaks with clear passion and excitement laced in his tone, he resembles a young kid who had just gotten some candy – so endearing and oh so innocent, but you had to remind yourself that this was no ordinary man. this was the crown prince of a nation, a man respected by many and feared by many more.

still, who gives a damn about titles when you can enjoy his presence for as long as you want? as long as the moon stays up in the sky and the sun has not risen, you can guarantee his presence in your dormitory.

were you falling in love?

what nonsense. of course not! who could afford to fall in love at a time like this? what you needed to focus on was your return to your world, not fall in love with a prince who may soon be betrothed to someone else.

oh, but that smile…

malleus smiled as he caught you staring once more, lost in your gaze. with a teasing chuckle, he spoke playfully, “am i so captivating that you can’t seem to tear your eyes away?”

what a beautiful smile.

that question alone made you look away immediately. was it too obvious? surely, he was only teasing you, but it was as if he hinted that he knew you might be falling for him. you laughed a little and replied, “i was spacing out! i wasn’t staring or anything…”

“spacing out, hm? does something trouble your mind?” asked malleus. the playful air seemed to have dissipated, replaced with an air of concern and care as soon as you told him you were spacing out.

“not at all,” you replied with a smile, “i was only imagining what that gargoyle with a human face would look like.”

are you falling in love?

again, with such questions! having the desire to spend more time with the man and looking forward to your nightly meetings does not equate to falling in love. you merely wanted his companionship. he was the only one visiting you late at night, keeping you entertained and listening to your troubles. he was more of a friend than anyone else in night raven college – ace and deuce are a category of their own.

there was never a single night he’d bail on you. not a single night had he let you be alone. it had become a tradition at this point for him to always be standing by your window once the clock struck 12. he never arrived empty-handed; there was always a thoughtful gift in tow or an engaging tale of adventures of the people he knew – mostly lilia’s adventures. other times, it would be a treasure trove of fascinating facts on random yet intriguing subjects. with him, each nightly meeting was an enchanting experience, always concluding with the bestowal of a meaningful gift, the creation of lasting memories, or the gain of fresh knowledge.

a knowledgeable and kind-hearted friend.

that’s how you’d always describe him. that’s what you’d always tell yourself. he was nothing more than a knowledgeable, kind-hearted friend. why must your admiration of his character equate to romantic feelings? even friends can find one person cool and not wish to have romantic relationships with them.

oh, but you love holding his hand…

it was another night in night raven college, another night spent with your midnight visitor. he was discussing certain gemstones that he had in his collection – his hoard, a term better suited for his kind. the discussion seemed normal at first glance until he looked at your left hand and held his right hand out for you to hold after taking off his glove.

“may i?”

curiosity washed over your senses as you tilted your head but placed your left hand on top of his anyway. his gentle caress on your knuckles sent shivers down your spine, his hands felt so smooth and oh so gentle, yet you knew of the underlying strength that was concealed within his lovely hands. the same hand that finds ease in cracking a coconut open gently held your own – as if he was afraid of accidentally hurting you.

as his thumb tenderly brushed against your bare ring finger, he spoke, “a beautiful golden ring would best adorn your hand, perhaps one embedded with your birthstone, don’t you think?”

this was merely a casual conversation between friends – a topic of discussion relating to gemstones turned into rings. this is normal, is it not? you hummed in reply as he continued to hold your hand, “a golden ring embedded with my birthstone? that sounds lovely.” a soft laugh then left your lips, “i could not afford to buy one, however.”

hoping he would comprehend your attempt at making a poor joke, you looked at him with a smile. he let out a soft chuckle, leading you to believe he was amused by your jest until his response completely caught you off-guard.

“why buy one when i can have one custom-made for you?”

your smile dropped as your expression turned into shock.

“pardon?”

that night was memorable, and certainly had its surprising elements compared to your other nightly meetings. you thought he was joking about getting a custom-made ring for you, but he had given so many hints and statements that he was completely serious – he even took your ring size. you did not stop him. perhaps it was just another one of his many, many gifts that he had bestowed upon you.

your vague knowledge of fae tradition made you recall a hint of a connection between faes and the art of gift-giving – that exchanging of gifts was an intrinsic part of their nature. you were entirely unaware of the customs and traditions surrounding gifts in briar valley, but surely, gift-giving is a way to show how much one appreciates an important acquaintance, is it not?

after that meeting, you started to realise the growing number of attempts on him holding your hand – whether you’re walking side by side or sitting together on the bench – he would always attempt to interlock his hand with yours in a way that seems respectful. his hand would gently brush against your own while he was talking, giving a hint that he wishes to hold your hand but would rather have your consent first.

you did not hesitate. you smiled and continued listening to his words as you interlocked your fingers together, gently squeezing his hand as he had not worn his gloves like usual. there was a brief moment of his eyes lighting up and his smile growing wider once he felt your hand on his, but then reverted to his usual expression as he continued to share stories with you.

your nightly meetings had extended to daylight hours. you were no longer confined in the moon’s appearance in the sky to determine how long you’d spend your time with him. you did not mind being seen by everyone else in the academy hanging out with the hotshot dormitory leader of diasomnia – who cares about them?

as long as malleus continued to spend his time with you, you’d spend your time with him. your blooming connection had soon become known to everyone else, and those from his dormitory were more than happy to finally see their dorm leader making friends. well, lilia was the proudest, but sebek still has his suspicions.

it has been a long while now since you have established a connection with the lonely crown prince. his companionship was all you could find on all the times you yearned for someone to hang out with. things were going smoothly, and your relationship with malleus kept blossoming every day.

have you fallen in love?

that question now haunted you once more.

have you fallen in love?

you shook your head as you sighed, trying to think of something else as you sat on diasomnia’s comfortable couch. their lounge was spacious – able to fit more than 20 students at the same time, but you’d rather not stay in the lounge if it gets crowded. the leather couches of their lounge were certainly of high quality as once you took a seat, you felt yourself sinking into the soft depths of the sofa.

malleus was sipping on his tea while the other three kept conversing about their recent school activities. upon hearing your sigh, malleus glanced at you and placed his teacup down, “are you feeling tired?” you shook your head in response, “no, no… not at all…”

have you fallen in love?

perhaps you did. your eyes stayed on malleus for a while as you thought of all the reasons you were drawn to him. malleus had a regal and powerful aura, everyone knew that, but there was also a hint of innocence and loneliness behind that powerful mask of his. you were one of the few people who have witnessed the real side of malleus draconia, while everyone else only knew him as a powerful fae prince.

malleus had the most beautiful set of green eyes – striking and sharp, yet so ethereal and comforting. his eyes showed all the feelings his facial expressions could not, and when it twinkles at the sight or mention of things, he is particularly fond of, you feel a sense of peace within you – as if you felt happy seeing him happy.

for so long have you denied your thoughts and dismissed them as merely friendly observations. you thought he was beautiful, and it should be normal to find someone beautiful, no? you think vil is a beautiful man, but that does not mean you are in love with him, so what makes malleus any different?

but that’s the thing.

malleus draconia’s allure was a level of their own.

his beauty was not like vil’s elegant charm or neige’s endearing appeal. malleus embodies a beauty of ethereal quality – to you, he is a man of enchanting grace and elegance, shrouded in mystery and often veiled in reserve.

have you fallen in love?

after pondering on your inner thoughts, you can proudly answer this question with confidence.

yes, you were.

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chichikoi · 2 months

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hiraeth.

part II. synopsis: she watches as cassian falls for another, grappling with her own hidden affections and their newly snapped mating bond in the process. pairing: cassian x fem!reader fandom: a court of thorns and roses (book series by sarah j maas) genre: angst warnings: none a/n: house of balloons/glass table girls, this is his song... i love him. fluff part two coming up OBVIOUSLY, im not fucking ending it like this i cant do this to my #1 loverboy babygirl kitty princess beloved. @joyseuphoria hi <3

Cassian had always been the beacon of power and resolve, with a demeanor rugged and unyielding. But beneath the surface was vulnerability, and she knew that it was written in the stars for her to remain by his side as his closest friend and confidante, never to become one to uncover that side of him.

But it didn’t make it easier. Watching him as he fell for Nesta’s every glance, every touch, every word that escaped her mouth seemed to throw him deeper and deeper into a trance. And she was fine with that, and accepted it. Accepted that she would never be the object of his softened glances, his featherlight touches, his-

Her thoughts halted as Cassian stormed into the room, frustration radiating off him in waves. She glanced up from her book, her eyes immediately catching the tension etched onto his features. Without a word, she closed her book and shifted, making room for him on the couch.

Cassian collapsed beside her, his movements rough yet familiar. He stretched out, his feet finding their place on her lap almost instinctively. Y/N didn't flinch; instead, she settled into the comfortable silence, waiting for Cassian to speak.

"It's Nesta," he finally muttered, his voice heavy with frustration. "Training with her…it was like walking on eggshells. One wrong move, and she was tearing into me with those ice-cold eyes."

She listened attentively, her gaze soft as she absorbed his words. "It was like she was always testing me," Cassian continued, his voice growing softer with each word. "Pushing me to my limits, making me question everything I thought I knew about myself."

Her fingers instinctively started to massage his feet as he spoke. It was a small gesture, one born out of years of friendship and trust. Cassian didn't protest; instead, he leaned back against the cushions, allowing the soothing touch to ease the tension from his muscles.

As the minutes stretched on, their conversation ebbed and flowed, the weight of Cassian's burdens slowly lifting with each passing moment. Y/N listened, offering words of comfort when needed, but mostly content to provide silent support.

Cassian's breathing eventually evened out, his body relaxing against the cushions. Y/N glanced down to find him fast asleep, his features softened by the serenity of slumber. She smiled softly, her heart swelling with affection.

Suddenly, chains, bolts, and locks shifted, loosening, their weight growing just a little more tolerable. A soul peeked through. Broken, scarred, and trembling — with fear, she realized, but it stretched further and further. Yearning, searching.

It was as though a tether had snapped into place, an invisible thread binding her to Cassian in a way she had never felt before. Confusion flickered as she processed the intensity of the connection, the undeniable pull drawing her closer to him.

She was aware that this was not happening in the slightest. A mind trick. A dream, she thought. betraying once, the jolt of real-time that pushed through her. Burning her cheeks and stealing her breath. How the waking world slipped past the knobby parts of her fingers like a whisper, barely there, because dreaming was just a fancier word for getting lost. It held her there, suspended in imagination and for every second, it felt real. Like she could grasp the outlines and the textures. Like she could touch the weather, drink the clouds, and taste the sunlight.

The gods who had her in a chokehold withdrew.

Death feared her too, it seemed.

He was soaring in the air, and she was on the ground. She tried to reach him but he was far, far out of her reach. Seconds ticked by, and then minutes, and every thought that tried to sneak its way in, through this thick veil, bounced off and dissipated into thin air.

Because she then remembered… that beautiful things shouldn’t be broken. And she had a knack for breaking things.

The soft rays of dawn streamed through the windows of the House of Wind, casting a warm glow over the sitting room where she and Cassian had fallen asleep. As she stirred from her slumber, she found herself alone on the couch, the imprint of Cassian's presence still lingering in the air. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, her mind foggy with the remnants of… dreams? Visions? She felt as though the very fabric of her existence had been torn asunder, leaving her adrift in a sea of uncertainty, but when has that ever stopped her?

So she stood on the ground and longed.

part II here >>

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heliianth · 10 months

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every day i get more upset that “i think i found the ultimate lifeform / i think it may be you” line (and sonic’s subsequent pondering about it) gets IGNORED they DROPPED THAT SHIT like a HOT POTATO & i understand why because the sonic heroes tone pivot and the amnesia plot but u dont understand im so mentally ill over the concept of shadow completely shedding this massive huge important part of his identity onto sonic before dying and sonic having to grapple with that. what does he do with that. he doesnt want that kind of title or responsibility or idea of himself, hes just a guy who likes adventure. but shadow gave it to him happily. & when shadow comes back and is basically affirmed in his previous assumption that whatever he would do with it, sonic is already doing. only to be met with sonic giving it back to him like “hey buddy thanks for letting me borrow it but i dont want it ;^-^”. what do you mean you don’t want to be the ultimate lifeform? ITS TOO GODDAMN HOT IN THIS GODDAMN HOUSE i need to kill something. U UNDERSTAND RIGHT. U UNDERSTAND.

#im SO UNWELL ABOUT THIS #i need to write something abt it but like the type of character exploration/arc i think this would prompt #would require such a long fucking fic #and it would be so boring and contrived without like. a plot as well #like what the hell do i do with this. its just gonna stay there forever #same thing with my 06 fix for silvers arc #i need to die #heliichats

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peppermint-twst · 1 month

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if malleus and silver both had their eye on you, would silver hold back his feelings and support malleus and your relationship while pining in secret?

or would you be the one thing silver refuses to give up on?

.. .also lilia would know everything that’s going on from the get-go, silver can’t hide it from him…

..silver visiting your dreams a lot even when you’re with malleus… .

#the second one doesn’t seem likely but i do hc silver as a romantic #ohhh i wish i could write loveydovey fics #twst hcs #twst headcanons #twst silver #twst malleus #malleus draconia #lilia vanrouge #twst lilia #silver vanrouge #twst x reader #silver x reader #malleus x reader

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jaynovz · 9 months

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In discussions about the finale of Black Sails, one of the things I often see is folks hard-focusing on Flint's fate, in an either-or binary fashion, usually presented as "Which do you believe-- that Silver killed him? or sent him to the plantation?"

Now, for posterity's sake, gonna mention a few things-- first off, that's simply not thinking broadly enough. There are farrrr more than two options here and I've come up with my share of the reallyyyyy bad ones for sure. Whatever your mind chooses, none of those are happy endings anyway, there are bittersweet, bad, and worse endings all the way down. (They are paused, they are in a time loop, and also all endings and no endings are happening simultaneously)

But also, the more cogent point is that, it doesn't actually matter what happened *to Flint* The story is... not actually about him at that point. We have transitioned from Flint as protag to Silver as protag, setting up for (the fanfiction that Black Sails has ended up making of, ugh, king shit) Treasure Island.

And so, I just, don't find it to be of particular interest exploring what we think Flint is actually doing or if he's alive for real. What is EXTREMELY interesting to explore though is how Silver's speech at the end to Madi is sort of giving Thomas back to Flint as a pacifier/comfort object, but how... Silver is giving Flint that thing in his own mind as his own type of pacifier/comfort object.

That's the REALLY chewy bit. What actually happens to Flint is not the purpose of that scene for me, of Silver's recounting of events to Madi. It's more about... projection. It's about how Silver is dealing with whatever happened to Flint/whatever he did.

And I just feel like it's missing the point to focus so hard on if Flint is alive or not.

He is the ghost of the story regardless, that's what's important. He's going to haunt the narrative for the rest of everyone's lives. No one has been untouched or unscarred by coming into contact with Captain Flint; he has a forever legacy. I'm not the first to call him this, but he's Schrödinger's Flint and he's staying that way.

But this?

"No. I did not kill Captain Flint. I unmade him. The man you know could never let go of his war. For if he were to exclude it from himself, he would not be able to understand himself. So I had to return him to an earlier state of being. One in which he could function without the war. Without the violence. Without us. Captain Flint was born out of great tragedy. I found a way to reach into the past... and undo it. There is a place near Savannah... where men unjustly imprisoned in England are sent in secret. An internment far more humane, but no less secure. Men who enter these gates never leave them. To the rest of the world, they simply cease to be. He resisted... at first. But then I told him what else I had heard about this place. I was told prominent families amongst London society made use of it. I was told the governor in Carolina made use of it. So I sent a man to find out if they'd used it to hide away one particular prisoner. He returned with news. Thomas Hamilton was there. He disbelieved me. He continued to resist. And corralling him took great effort. But the closer we got to Savannah, his resistance began to diminish. I couldn't say why. I wasn't expecting it. Perhaps he'd finally reached the limits of his physical ability to fight. Or perhaps as the promise of seeing Thomas got closer... he grew more comfortable letting go of this man he created in response to his loss. The man whose mind I had come to know so well... whose mind I'd in some ways incorporated into my own. It was a strange experience to see something from it... so unexpected. I choose to believe it... because it wasn't the man I had come to know at all... but one who existed beforehand... waking from a long... and terrible nightmare. Reorienting to the daylight... and the world as it existed before he first closed his eyes... letting the memory of the nightmare fade away. You may think what you want of me. I will draw comfort in the knowledge that you're alive to think it. But I'm not the villain you fear I am. I'm not him."

This is the speech of a man who is self-soothing, who is spinning himself a tale, who is projecting, who is coping.

and THAT is just, way chewier, innit?

#Now that's just from a canon point of view #once we start to delve into like fan fiction #Because fic must necessarily change the story and change canon because it's creating something new #so of course then figuring out what you want to do with flint post canon is necessary #but for me fanfiction is a different realm than canon only based meta conversations about the show #black sails meta #long post #black sails #john silver #james flint #thoughts #black sails spoilers #I was coaxed into writing my group chat meta into a post by the Committee mwah

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mstormcloud · 4 months

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I think applying tropes commonly found in Sonadow fics to other sonic ships is very funny

Like today I saw the cute posts by Blu-ish about how hedgehogs circle and headbutt eachother when courting and how Sonic and Shadow would do that and I agree.

However I think the implication that mobian hedgehogs do this is HILARIOUS when applied to ships that only involve one hedgehog.

Like Silver starts circling around Espio one day and lightly shoving him with his hip or his shoulder and Espio is like: ???? What are you doing??

Or even Blazamy like- Amy keeps circling Blaze and the less Blaze reciprocates Amy does it more to try to get Blaze to react. Blaze eventually just tries to politely tell Amy to stop cause it’s hard to hold conversation while she’s moving all around.

But later Blaze talks to Silver and is like: “I have no idea what she is trying to do…perhaps she is finding a weakness in my stance? Should I fear her hunting me for sport???”

And Silver is like: uh. Well. I think she’s hitting on you? It’s a hedgehog thing.

And Blaze just freaks out because WHAT DO YOU MEAN AMY WAS FLIRTING WITH HER

#silver would hold that over Blazes head for way too long #cause for the FIRST TIME HE KNEW SOMTHING SHE DIDNT HAHAHA #honetsly another Sonadow trope that I think would be interesting to see with other ships is the paw thing?#like yes some Sonadow fics are very strange about it I’ll admit #BUT #I really like the idea that the gloves are a culture thing it’s just very fun to think of how mobian culture would differ from human culture #like ofc I’m an espilver trigger so my brain goes there like #I love the headcannon that Espio reads romance novels #but I also feel like on Mobius a lot of romance tropes would be things usually done by mammals #since just like in real life I headcannon that mammals are commonly seen as cuter than reptiles even in Sonics world #so Espio gets a little self conscious about such things (cuz he’s a teenager and worries a lot)#he doenst ahve soft fur to cuddle or ears to flick or paw pads #but I feel like if he were to show silver his hands silver would not even care about such things #because silver just loves Espio cuz he’s Espio #looking back on my tags and noticing typos is so embarrassing lmao #like uh I meant to write espilver truther above….not trigger #Aw well whatever #silver the hedgehog #sth #sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #espio the chameleon #amy rose #espilver #sonadow #blaze the cat #blazamy

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acourtofwhatthefuck · 11 months

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Hello, I'm so sorry that you're having a mopey day today :(( But honestly I'm having one today too... I would love to read some fluffy fic, maybe some teenage!Rhys×reader where they are acting like stupid teenagers in love. Or maybe something with Az where reader is a shadowsinger too and they are fooling around and using their shadows to prank the IC. I don't know, these are just some ideas that popped randomly in my head so don't feel pressured to write anything. Anyway wish you best and I hope you will feel better soon 💗

Thanks, lovie! 💕Hope this is okay and cheers you up a little! I feel like I’m not very good at fluff but I did my best 🤣 thank you for sending it in! Enjoy 💕

Forget Me Not — (Rhysand x Reader)

"You'll be High Lord someday."

"I will."

Rhysand rested his chin on your leg, violet eyes peering up at you. In the balmy evening light, he looked resplendent, the sun offsetting the golden hue of his skin. You found your fingers absentmindedly tracing the shape of his lips, the brush of his lashes.

"Things will change when you're High Lord." You brushed his floppy hair from his eyes. "We will change. Our relationship."

At just nineteen, it was hard enough to navigate such a serious, intense relationship. You hadn't expected to fall so madly in love a year earlier, when your court — the Summer Court — had received the High Lord of the Night Court and his son as guests; a plan, you'd learned, to strengthen the relations between the Solar Courts and Seasonal Courts. The High Lord's son, Rhysand, had been nothing but charming and chivalrous. But you hadn't expected him to so much as notice you, as a mere a servant to the High Lord of Summer. When you'd served Rhysand a drink, and those violet eyes had met yours like they were staring into your soul, you knew immediately — you would never want anybody as fiercely as you wanted him.

Too bad that he was a future High Lord, and you a nobody.

It had been unexpected, to say the least, that he'd sought you out. Asked you to show him around the court whilst his father and your High Lord engaged in dull meetings. He'd made you laugh and seemed genuinely interested in knowing you. And when he'd returned to the Night Court, he'd promised to come back and see you again.

Which he had. And thus had begun a year of secret meetings and the thrilling adventure of falling in love. You knew Rhysand's father would never approve. You knew Rhys would one day be in a charge of his court, and not have the luxury of sneaking off to see you for a few hours, sometimes an entire night.

There was a time limit on your relationship, and that thought had begun to plague you more and more recently.

Rhys reached out, pressing your hand against his cheek. "Change doesn't always have to be bad."

"It will be the worst kind of change if we can't see each other anymore."

Rhys sighed softly, rolling onto his back. You knew he didn't want to spend your precious time together talking about such things; neither did you. You wished you could stay like this forever, sprawled out in the sweet-smelling meadow that had become your place to meet him. The thought of this place being empty of your love, your laughter, your conversation, made you teary.

"Please don't cry, my love." Rhys scooted closer. He tugged you until you were slotting between his legs, his front pressed to your back. "Why are you letting this bother you now?

Tears dropped onto your lap as you glanced down. "This past year is the happiest I've ever been."

A kiss was pressed to your shoulder. "Me, too."

"But you will be a High Lord. And of a court I don't even live in. You will be the most important member of your court, and I'm nothing but a servant. I feel like soon enough, you're just going to forget me. That you ever loved me."

You felt the way his body went rigid against you. After a pause, his warm arms slid around your waist, his face burying into the crook of your neck. He seemed to inhale your scent slowly. Desperately.

"Do you truly think I could ever forget you?" He murmured. "I remember the first second I caught a glimpse of you. You were the most beautiful person I'd ever seen. Still are."

You gave a watery laugh. "So beautiful in my old, ratty clothes."

"Your hair was in a loose braid, and when you leaned down to serve me my drink, a strand came free of the plait. I felt so compelled to reach out and tuck it behind your ear. And I thought your eyes could give this court's sunrise a run for its money. So bright and brilliant. Your cheeks were flushed, and you smiled at every single person, despite most of them straight up ignoring you. You were the most exquisite person in that room, and I couldn't look away from you."

You turned slightly in his arms, just enough to meet his gaze. "You noticed all of those things?"

A lopsided smile tugged at his lips. "Why do you think I tried so hard to get a message to you that I wanted to meet with you? I couldn't let you walk away. At least not without learning your name first. I certainly didn't think I'd ever be lucky enough to have you love me back."

You studied his remarkable face, noting every emotion, every thought, that he wore freely. For nobody other than you. You'd memorised that face as much as you possibly could so that when he wasn't around, you could close your eyes and picture him. His brilliant smile. The way his eyes roved happily over you. Sometimes, you could lay in bed and hear his laugh.

"Just...just promise me." You pressed your forehead against his. "Promise me that one day, when you're High Lord...even if you can't be with me anymore, you won't forget me. I couldn't bear you forgetting me."

Rhys's strong hand moved up to cup your jaw. There was no chance to read the look in his eyes before he was leaning in and pressing his lips to yours.

The kiss started out gentle. Soft. The kind of tentative kisses you first shared in the early days of your relationship. Rhys's thumb brushed the line of your cheekbone, his mouth caressing yours.

But then his tongue was parting the seam of your lips and sliding into your mouth to intertwine with yours. Your mingling tastes had you sighing softly in satisfaction and angling yourself towards him further, one of your hands naturally reaching up to twine within the strands of his hair.

Somehow, you ended up in his lap, his lips working feverishly against yours in a hungry kiss. It was just the two of you in that meadow — the two of you and your love, that nobody — not even the High Lord of the Night Court — could take away from you. You would love him forever and always, no matter the distance, the social standing, the outside opinions.

Only when you were both panting for breath did Rhys tear his mouth from yours. You breathed heavily against each other's lips, your foreheads pressed together.

"Here." Rhys murmured deeply, quietly. "This is for you."

You pulled back just enough to glance down at the hand he held between you. You frowned down at the two tiny, blue flowers he pinched between his fingers. When he'd picked them, you weren't sure.

"A flower?" You were still battling to catch your breaths. "For me?"

"One for you and one for me." Rhys said. "They're Forget-Me-Nots. I'll spell them to forever stay fresh. And as long as we both have these, we know we'll never forget one another."

You blinked away tears as he tucked the flower into the strands of your hair, before leaning in to kiss you again.

"Always and forever, my heart." He whispered.

You nodded vigorously, cupping his cheek. "Always and forever."

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it-happened-one-fic · 2 months

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Sparring Sessions - Silver

Author Notes: So.. this fic is a sort of odd one in a lot of ways. I guess you could say I was inspired by a line from Silver's P.E. uniform where he says something about how he thinks Prefect has talent with a sword. To be honest, this fic has just been sitting in my google docs gathering dust and occasionally getting workshopped for quite some time. I really didn't know what else to post this week, so this one ended up being the lucky fic. As per usual, reader is gender-neutral. I hope you enjoy!

Type: Gender-neutral reader/ fluff/ platonic or romantic

Word count: 1154

I panted slightly. Sliding backwards through the sand but not landing on my butt through sheer willpower and determination. From across the sandy sparring area, found in the shadow of Diasomnia’s dorm, Silver straightened. Ever calm and elegant.

He didn’t look out of breath or the slightest bit worn out, despite the fact that I was struggling to even halfway keep up with his pace.

Why exactly had I agreed to learn swordplay from Silver? Because he’d certainly done a good job of marketing it. Good enough that I almost wanted to tell Azul he should think about hiring the young man if it wouldn’t bring quite so much trouble to Silver’s doorstep.

Nonetheless, Silver’s reasoning had been strong.

Swordplay would be a means by which I could defend myself and would ensure that I was better prepared for the next overblot, whenever and if another occurred. Additionally, I didn’t have magic and was likely to be taken advantage of. Being able to defend myself would lessen that risk too.

Silver had also gotten Sebek on the case, who was more than happy to praise the virtues of learning swordplay. Citing it as a way to strengthen character as well as make me more capable.

All of that, plus a longing for something to do outside of Crowley’s many tasks and homework, had led me to this point. Determinedly sparring with Silver yet again, in an effort to beat him at least once.

Of course, before this point, there had been my lengthy training. Malleus and Lilia had both been delighted when I’d showed up asking to be trained, with Lilia even offering to be the one to teach me.

It hadn’t been very long at all, though, before my prospective teacher had backpedaled out of his offers. And I’d been surprised, until I’d learned that Lilia had done this because Silver had, out of nowhere and to the utter delight of his father, stated that he had been planning on being the one to teach me.

And teach me he had. But Silver was not exactly a kind teacher. He wasn’t cruel by any means; far from it. But he also didn’t take it easy on me. And he pushed me hard.

I’d come here to learn, and learn I would. My safety was dependent on it. But I was thankful for the way he pushed me. He didn’t coddle me, which was what I wanted.

But, that said, it didn't make repetitively losing any more enjoyable.

I huffed slightly as Silver shifted, preparing to launch towards me and continue our little joust the moment it became clear that I wasn’t about to tumble over.

His eyebrows rose at my frustrated expression, his single reaction before he darted forward at what ought to be inhuman speeds. Unfortunately, though, he was simply that fast.

I’d learned that the hard way.

Silver would never use magic against me. After all, he was chivalrous and fair, just a bit air-headed at times. However, that meant he only ever used his own innate, albeit trained, capabilities. Even if they seemed vaguely superhuman.

At the very least, I was beginning to understand exactly why Sebek was so frustrated by his seniors' skills. Even though I knew he’d had to train just as hard as anyone else, Silver’s proficiency was definitely kind of annoying.

I dodged to the side and whirled, launching myself at him. Because I knew perfectly well that this was my only chance to get him down.

His eyes went wide as I collided with him, knocking him off balance and sending us both tumbling towards the hard ground.

And I could hardly believe my luck when his back hit the earth.

He let out a soft grunt just before I landed on top of him, my wooden sword pressing into the ground just next to him. I panted heavily, looking down with slight surprise at the similarly startled young man under me.

As shock wore away, I felt pride set in, and a pleased smile curled across my face, “Ha! I win.”

I couldn’t help but teasingly gloat a little, and Silver’s wide-eyed surprise was soon replaced by a slight smile. And, for a brief moment, I genuinely believed that his smile was one of pride in the fact that his student finally won their first bout.

In reality, though, it was anything but.

His hand curled around my wrist, and, with a sudden shove paired with a yank, I had been flipped over and forced onto my back. My wooden sword rolling pitifully away across the ground.

It was my turn to stare wide-eyed up at the young man who now knelt above me, pale hair hanging around his face as he looked down at me.

To make matters worse, one of his hands securely held my wrists pinned to the ground over my head, while the other held his wooden sword to my neck. There was no getting out of this one.

“Never proclaim your victory until it is sure.” Ever the teacher, even with that frustratingly charming, if small, smile still on his face.

For a brief second, I just stared up at him, shocked. And then I felt frustration well up within me.

I began to thrash around, attempting to break his grip or knock him off me, one. Neither happened, though.

Instead, Silver remained unmoved, looking down at me with that slight smile still playing on his face. His eyes gave away his amusement, though. Beautiful purple yet blue eyes gleaming down at me with barely concealed humor.

Normally such a sight was impossible to see, but I’d been getting better at reading Silver and his subtle expressions. It wasn’t that he didn’t get amusement from things; it was just that he had to keep himself calm or risk suddenly falling asleep.

I at last stopped, breathing heavily from exertion, and he tilted his head, ever-patient and not the slightest bit condescending, as he calmly questioned me, “Done?”

I huffed out a sigh, letting myself flop against the ground and turning my face away so that I was looking across the training area instead of up at him. Even then, though, I could still see him perfectly through my peripheral vision, “I yield.”

He nodded, his smile briefly reappearing as he shifted, got off me, and stood. He held out one hand, which I silently accepted, letting him pull me to my feet with ease.

He picked up my sword and watched silently as I brushed the sand off my gym uniform. I glanced over at him, waiting for him to speak, and he tilted his head, “Next Tuesday?”

The tell-tale glimmer in his eyes said everything, but I found myself grinning back at him because I would be lying if I said I wasn’t enjoying our little sparring sessions, even if he was a beyond frustrating opponent, “You’re on.”

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theworstfangirl · 5 months

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Finding out how he was born and how Lilia, the one who hatched him from such love and sacrifice, got "thanked" for it, must be such a huge slap in the face for Malleus. Lilia is the only parent he's ever known, the person closest to him - he was the one who hatched him when his grandmother just couldn't. He gave up so much for him, but in return received only scorn. Malleus would have died before he was even born without Lilia, yet blind hate and bigotry ensured he never got even a hint of thanks for it.

And who did Lilia suffer for all those centuries? Who did he give up his magic and life for? Whose fault is it that he's leaving?

Malleus. It's all because of him.

Lilia himself would of course fiercely object to this view and we all know it's not true, but I have no doubt this is what's going through his head right now.

And who else has gone through a very similar crisis recently? Silver.

#twisted wonderland #twst chapter 7 #twst chapter 7 spoilers #malleus draconia #twst malleus #silver #twst silver #lilia vanrouge #twst lilia #SILVER PARALLELS SILVER PARALLELS SILVER PARALLELS #you know I really should have expected something like this #but oh my god those fairies insulting Lilia pissed me off #who else wants to go write a fic where Malleus has them fucking executed?#also #chapter 7 is really shaping up to be an epic saga #100 in and we're not even close to done!

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caroldantops · 6 months

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indentation in the shape of you || valcarol

ship: valkyrie x carol danvers

summary/request: carol shows valkyrie her new suit. valkyrie doesn't like it.

word count: 1.2k

warnings: smut (18+ only), kinda pwp, the marvels spoilers, strap on use, jealous sex, daddy valkyrie, dom!val, sub!carol

a/n: if you're seeing this coming from a ship tag hello! i usually write reader insert so if you go to my blog looking for more of this ummm. sorry.

masterlist | ao3 link

“I’m glad that they seem to be adjusting well. Fury tells me that they’re working on restoring Tarnax’s atmosphere, so hopefully they won’t have to stay in New Asgard for too much longer,” Carol tightens her fists at her side, tension in her body clear as she stands in front of Valkyrie’s desk.

“Oh, no worries. Having them is no bother at all. Though I’m sure they’re eager to get off Earth,” Valkyrie hums as she swirls her dagger.

Carol insisted on coming down after fixing Hala’s sun to check on things, something that didn’t surprise Valkyrie in the slightest. What did surprise her was her sudden costume change. Her suit was different. Less saturated, emblem bigger on her chest. Valkyrie didn’t like it. It didn’t feel like the Captain Marvel image that she’d grown used to.

Plus, this one’s torn in places. Cheaply made. Not fitting for a hero who flies into suns.

Carol is rambling on about something to do with one of the Skrull families as Valkyrie analyzes this new suit. It does hug her hips nicely. Form fitting around the waist that she’s grabbed and pulled against her many times before.

“What’s with the new get-up?”

“What?” Carol’s train of thought comes to a screeching halt.

“This,” Valkyrie points her dagger at Carol. “Different suit.”

Carol looks down at her suit. Valkyrie holds back a chuckle at how she almost looks surprised by what she’s wearing. “Oh! I got a new one.”

“Clearly,” Valkyrie laughs. “Come closer, I wanna see it.”

Carol scrunches up her brows in confusion at Valkyrie’s sudden interest, but chalks it up to that warrior mentality. That woman loves some good battle armor. She walks around the desk to stand in front of Valkyrie, awkwardly holding still as she inspects the suit, running her hands over the material and poking a finger through one of the tears that ripped during the fight with Dar-Benn.

“Seems cheap, doesn’t it?” Valkyrie sneers. “My armory could make you something ten times as sturdy. Where’d you get this shit suit from?”

“It’s not shit,” Carol huffs. Valkyrie raises an eyebrow at her and pulls her finger down, making the rip bigger. “Hey!”

“Why aren’t you answering me, hm?” Valkyrie knows damn well where this suit came from, she could tell from the moment she touched it. She just wants Carol to say it.

“Aladna. Prince Yan--”

“Oh, a gift from your husband.”

Before Carol knows it, she’s being tugged flush against Valkyrie. From her standing position, she towers over her even more than she usually does, but she gulps because she knows who’s in control here.

Valkyrie knows that Prince Yan is no more than a friend to Carol, but both of them know just how much the idea of Carol being technically married makes Valkyrie’s jealousy blaze.

Especially when she comes around with the gifts he’s given her.

“Val--”

“You know, I’m surprised it looks so dull, given that Aladna’s traditional clothing has more colors than a pride parade.” Valkyrie grips Carol’s waist, fingers digging into her sides. It would hurt if Carol didn’t have super endurance. But it’s enough to make the message clear.

“It’s fine, I’ll probably go back to my old one anyway.” Carol refuses to make eye contact with her. She can’t let her know how much this is affecting her right now.

But gods.

It took Carol a long time to find someone who could make her feel this way. Someone who could make her feel safe rather than terrified of giving in to their control, their dominance.

It just came so naturally to Valkyrie. Carol supposes that’s why she can’t stay away, comes running back when her thoughts get too much for her to bear and she just needs them shut off.

Like now.

“Don’t look away from me,” Valkyrie says firmly. Carol bites her lip and meets her gaze again. “Good girl. Bend over the desk.”

Carol briefly considers asking why, but at the moment she can’t bring herself to fight Valkyrie’s little game. She moves some stuff out of the way and bends over the desk. She does her best to steady her breathing as she feels Valkyrie’s hands run up the back of her thighs.

“You’d think that Prince Yan would give his princess a sturdier suit. You know, I bet I could just…”

Riiiiiiiip.

“Valkyrie!”

Valkyrie laughs, giving Carol’s ass a slap as she admires what she’s done. Just as Valkyrie suspected, she was able to poke into one of the tears and fully rip a hole right through the crotch of Carol’s suit. Her cunt is exposed, the pale skin of her ass peeking through the top of the tears as well. Valkyrie steps forward, hips flush against Carol’s ass.

“Feel that, princess?” Carol groans. “Use your words.”

“Yes, sir.” Carol gasps as Valkyrie grinds the bulge of her strap into her exposed ass. She tries hiding her face to conceal how flustered she is, but Valkyrie won’t tolerate that. She’s tugged up by her hair, Valkyrie’s lips brushing against her cheek as she speaks lowly to her.

“Does your husband ever do this for you?” Valkyrie doesn’t expect a response, just chuckling at Carol’s whines. “Does he know what a needy girl you are?”

“No, sir.” Valkyrie unbuckles her belt, pulling out her strap and nudging the tip between Carol’s already damp folds. Carol shudders, pushing her hips back against the sensation.

“Greedy, greedy thing. Already trying to fuck yourself on my cock.” Valkyrie stands up straighter, but doesn’t release her grip on Carol’s hair, knowing the stinging in her scalp makes Carol as compliant as can be. “You’re getting spoiled, princess. Gonna have to ask nicely for what you want.”

“Please,” Carol asks softly, voice pitched high as Valkyrie rubs her clit with her strap. “Please, sir. Please fuck me.”

“Hmm,” Valkyrie releases Carol’s hair and runs her hand down her back, feeling the strong muscles of her back quiver under her touch. “Dunno, that’s not very convincing if you ask me.”

“Please, daddy, I need you to fuck me!”

Valkyrie laughs and sinks her cock into Carol’s weeping pussy. Carol lets out a guttural moan, only overshadowed by the wet noises her cunt makes as Valkyrie pounds deep into her. She grips Carol’s hips, pulling her back against her to meet her rough thrusts.

She loves having Carol like this. The all-powerful Captain Marvel, destroyer of armies and savior of the universe begging for her tight pussy to be ruined by her, shivering under her praise and degradation, weeping in her arms after she’s been thoroughly fucked.

Carol must have been particularly pent up today, because it doesn’t take much longer for her to be on the edge, a few strokes of Valkyrie’s fingers over her clit and some whispered praises of “Good princess, let go for me. I’ve got you” send her into a shaking mess as she comes.

She mumbles something incoherent as Valkyrie flips her over, pulling her up to curl against her chest. “What was that, baby? Can’t hear you when you’re mumbling.”

“Thank you,” Carol sighs.

Valkyrie smiles softly, kissing Carol on the tip of her nose and rubbing her back. “You that tired after one round?”

“Not tired, just…tired.”

“Ah, yeah. That really cleared things up.”

“Shut up.”

#valcarol #valkyrie x carol danvers #s: valcarol #fic #silver writes #i wrote this mainly just to get it out of me idk its been so long since ive written not reader insert #so i am a bit rusty #the marvels spoilers #IM SO SORRY I KEEP FORGETTING TO TAG

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llondonfog · 7 months

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MILK & HONEY. + dazzling fic art by @suntails <3 (also available on ao3)

“It will be alright, darling boy, I promise— everything will be alright.”

There’s no response, but Lilia doesn’t mind. His son has always been the quiet, thoughtful sort. Humming faint snatches of a lullaby long forgotten, he threads a hand through the boy’s moonlit strands, apathetic to the copper rust smears left behind. The child’s bangs have grown, he notes idly, fussing with the strands that have fallen over the boy’s face. Lilia ought to cut them soon.

“There will be time for that later,” he finishes his thought out loud, bending forward to press his lips benevolently to his son’s cool forehead— a blessing, Lilia thinks privately with a smile, examining the faint crimson outline of his lips against that pale skin. Blood of the father, blood of the son; sacrament and all that.

“But for now, my dear,” he gently strokes the backs of stained claws against the side of his boy’s face, leaving a virginal blush behind on a bloodless cheek. “It is time for you to wake up.”

Silver is five years old and held at knifepoint when he first meets his father.

There is a man holding his small arms behind his back, another grasping at his feet, while a third laughs grimly down at his rapidly watering eyes and traces the blade delicately against his temple.

“You’ve been a burden on our village for far too long, brat,” he sneers while Silver’s rabbit heart beats fast and panicked within his heaving chest. “No mother, no father, cared for out of the kindness of our hearts, and you have the nerve to go about stealing our scraps to feed the animals?”

They’re hungry too! Silver wants to cry out, if opening his mouth wouldn’t drag the blade against his hairline. And they’re his friends, when no one else would be.

The man, unfortunately, is right.

He has no family to speak of; an abandoned babe with odd-colored eyes, silkspun hair, and a debilitating tendency to sleep without cause like the dead themselves that had everyone in the village whispering fearful tales of curses and changelings. It didn’t help that the spring of his arrival had marked the beginning of a painful famine that would relentlessly grip the decaying land, crops failing out of a barren and cracked landscape as rivers began to bleed thin and dry. Changeling or not, it hardly took much time at all for any sympathetic feeling towards the foundling child to metamorphosize into bitter resentment at an extra mouth to feed when their own fevered children were crying out for more. Was it any wonder that he had turned to the few remaining woodland creatures for comfort, saving meager portions of his already miniscule meal to share in gratitude for their simple acceptance and affection?

The man with the knife doesn’t wait for any answering explanation, merely smacks the blade pointedly against his cheek with a cruel, hungry gleam in those dead fish eyes, and the other two holding him still trade malicious grins.

“It’s only fair that you pay for what you stole,” the man continues, almost kind and patient in his rationale— (I didn’t steal! Silver wants to shout, mouth dry and empty with fear. I only ever gave them food from my portion!)— and he hums with a terrifying softness at the way Silver’s frightened gaze tracks the knife’s every teasing glide about his forehead and his limbs tremble in their brutish hold. “Oh, not with your life— not at first, anyways. We’re going to scalp you; I can only imagine the price your pretty hair will fetch when we tell the traders that it's woven out of pure silver. It’s a start for what you owe us all for taking care of your worthless and lazy hide for the past five years, and then—”

He pauses as if for some grand operatic effect, savoring the way the tears helplessly gather and bubble at the edge of Silver’s lashes with a wicked smile.

“Then, we’ll kill you and plate you tonight as dinner. I think there’s enough to go around for the rest of the village, don’t you?”

Two things happen: First, Silver bursts into tears. Second, a dark shape drops from the trees above and latches onto the man’s throat, tearing it open in one fluid movement and soaking the entire scene, Silver included, in a hot spray of blood.

The entire woodland clearing erupts into chaotic, frenzied screaming. The other two men violently shove him forward in a futile attempt to use him as a shield and escape, and he falls numbly to the ground, limbs frozen in place out of dumb shock as shadows leap effortlessly over his head. The knife that had been so sinister just moments ago lies dull and dirtied in the forest floor by the now nearly headless corpse, and in the dim reflection of its blade, Silver can make out the similar gruesome demise of his other captors. The shrieking fearful sounds are silenced just as abruptly as they began; in less than thirty seconds, the forest has returned to its quiet, sedative self, at peace with the justice that has been served.

Who . . ?

Quiet, gentle footsteps sound from behind him, their stride unhurried and at ease as they round his quivering, prostrate frame, and something hysterically yells in his mind that it’s poor manners to not at least look his rescuer in the eyes.

“Hello, child,” the angel (for surely that must be, he fell from the heavens, did he not?) smiles down at him through dripping fangs.

Silver stares up through blood-splattered lashes at his savior and wonders if this is what it’s like to be stricken with love.

The vampire takes him home.

He laughs uproariously when Silver so shyly and seriously wonders aloud if he was truly an angel, with hands as kind and gentle as the spring sun upon the muddy bruises and dried wounds from the knife split across his face.

He laughs at a lot of things that Silver says. It’s uncannily loud and booming for such a small man, but Silver instantly decides that he likes it.

The vampire explains that he is, well, a vampire. He even lets Silver curiously brush tiny fingers over his fangs once they’ve been cleaned of blood and gristle, smiling down at him all the while without a trace of malice that he’s grown so used to seeing.

He tells Silver that his name is Lilia, Lilia Vanrouge. It’s a difficult name, a weighty name for Silver’s tongue to pronounce, but he rolls it softly in his mouth to savor it all the same, marveling at how much it feels like royalty.

Lilia explains to him by the light of the fire that he’s lived for a very long time, that he’s enjoyed a life rich beyond anyone’s comprehension from all of the sights he’s seen and the wonders he’s traveled. But no creature is immortal, not even vampires, as long-lived as they may be— the years are heavier now, they ache and sting at his bones as if he’d soaked them in baptismal water. And in his many travels, he had so happened to stumble upon this empty cottage tucked away and abandoned inside this quiet, peaceful forest—

(“Like me,” Silver whispers solemnly. “Is that so?” says Lilia, summer-cherry eyes brilliant against the flames.)

—and so he had thought, what a nice place to relax and rest his weary soul, a place for him to enjoy a rare moment of serenity before the next grand adventure swept him back out to sea.

“How silly of me at my age to think that I could anticipate the future,” Lilia brushes his hand gently through Silver’s tangled hair, the knots easily coming undone from a mere sweep of his fingertips. Silver can’t quite recall how and when he had made his way onto the vampire’s lap, only that he is leaning his head adoringly against the man’s chest, staring up at him with bated breath.

“I didn’t expect to have to rescue my newest venture!”

There’s no need to discuss it after that: Lilia never asks him to leave, and Silver never thinks to do so.

It’s idyllic. Lilia feeds him, clothes him, lets him play with the forest animals for as long as he wishes. They take care of the little cottage together— Silver discovers a patch of land in the back that at one point might have been a sad attempt at a garden, but under the patient toil of the two of them, burgeons into life with all manner of flowers and vegetables. Lilia teaches him how to darn his socks and how to properly use a whetstone. He tucks Silver into the small bed alongside him and paints visions of faraway worlds upon the thin wooden walls, a better storyteller than any traveling bard that had come to the village before.

When Silver calls him ‘Father’ for the first time, he doesn’t laugh.

In return, Silver doesn’t complain when he helps Lilia mop up any traces of blood from the traveler he’s feasted upon for the night.

His father is not a monster, this Silver knows as truly as the sun travels through the sky. The weary men and women who wander across their little abode are treated with nothing but kindness— a warm seat by the fire, a fresh meal to eat, and a soft place to rest their heads. All that his father asks of them is to spare what little coin and wares that they are able to part with, a strange gleam in his eyes and a sincere smile on his face.

Without fail, the strangers comply. They always do.

And in the morning, if they’re a little more woozy than when they laid down to sleep, Silver reassures them that the small satchel of strong-smelling herbs and wrapped provisions for the road will do them a world of good. Together, father and son stand in the doorway of their humble home, hands raised in gestures of well wishes and farewell, as good hosts ought to do. Their visitors stumble down the chrysanthemum and lycoris-lined pathway back to the welcoming arms of the forest, and Silver flexes his toes in his new shoes while his father indulgently twirls his latest trinket around his fingertips, admiring the glint of it in the pale sunlight.

(“Not all vampires are as kind as I am, child,” his father explains to him as he tucks a sheathed blade into the drawer of their nightstand, under the pressed and faded flowers that Silver had brought for him over time. “There are those who would see longevity as the means to power instead of the humbling blessing that it truly is. There are those who have let their years sour their minds like fermented wine, who have only steeped in cruelty instead of basking in the innocence that still exists in this world. And I would not have you defenseless inside our own home.”

Silver looks at the dull sheen of the knife and thinks back to the cold sting of one flayed against his cheek, and he wonders if those who lurk in the shadows of the night are truly the ones he ought to fear.)

The years pass in this necessary fashion, seasons tumbling and turning over themselves with a prevailing peace that Silver had once believed could only exist in storybooks. He outgrows his sleeves faster than travelers pass by, and it isn’t long before he finds himself a whole head and a half taller than the vampire. His father laughs at his shaggy bangs, proclaiming Silver to be more sheep than boy, and attacks his hair with all the ferocity of a mad barber. The lasting effect leaves something to be desired and Silver could swear that the bluebirds by their window are chortling to themselves instead of singing.

His father ruffles his sharp nails through the butchered mess of Silver’s hair and laughs again, proclaiming them to be matching lopsided twins, and Silver is unable to imagine a moment that he’s ever been happier.

What a shame it is then, that all good things cannot last.

The summer of Silver’s sixteenth year is a cruel, unforgiving one.

The August sun swelters the earth with a breathless heat, insidious like none before. It is relentless in its seething anger to drive the woodland creatures to the deepest burrows in search of shade, the birds to practically droop like molten taffy in their water bowls, and his father to haunt the shadows of their home, face flushed and eyes feverish in a way that no cool rag could soothe.

There could be no greater pain in Silver’s heart than this: the wilt in his father’s proud spine, the light tremors that seize his clever fingertips. He hovers over the vampire like a fretting maid, hands wringing uselessly as nothing short of the obvious will soothe his father’s condition, and travelers have been few and far between. Lilia conjures up smiles for him and swears that he’ll be alright, it’s simply a harsher season than before, and Silver cannot help but get the distinct feeling that he’s being placated. Even worse, it mostly works, the lonely and frightened child from the woods who sleeps deep in his soul comforted by that unsinkable paternal reassurance.

Still, Silver is unable to completely shake the feeling that something is amiss.

Lately, his rest at night has been disturbed. He wakes to the faint sounds of ruptured inhales so very close to his ear, of something in the clear throes of distress, with choked noises of desperately sought after air as if the deprived creature was suffocating. The noises are so frightening, so animalistic in nature that Silver can only think to associate them with his beloved woodland creatures, and yet when he hurries to his bedroom window and peers outside with his heart in his throat to find the poor animal that had been mauled by a predator— there is nothing but the silent gleam of moonlight, shining down upon his deflated flower beds.

His father merely purses his lips in worry when Silver brings these odd instances to him, and wonders aloud if these are queasy dreams brought on by the heat; with little else to explain, Silver’s inclined to believe him.

But these events are pushed out of his mind when salvation finally approaches one late afternoon in the weary figure of a man, clinging to the reins of a stumbling horse, at the end of their pathway.

His father must have sensed the newcomer’s presence too, for Lilia is at the door before Silver can even call for him, ever the gracious host and smiling beatifically at their wayward traveler as if Silver hadn’t needed to shake his shoulders thrice in mounting worry to wake him that very morning. The man eagerly accepts the offer of nightly shelter, passing the reins of his horse to Silver to tie to a post in the welcome shade of a nearby tree, and Silver watches over its broad shoulder as he gently rubs the creature down. His father, ever the effortless conversationalist even at the height of his malady, needs no reins with which to lead the man into the cool, womb-like darkness of their home, and Silver feels a rush of palpable relief at the familiarity of the old song and dance— perhaps at last, his father might finally take a turn for the better.

The next morning, Silver checks on his father first and smiles to see the vampire snoring away in what must have been his first blissful sleep in weeks, bedsheets haphazardly tangled about him in an ocean of white. With practiced motions, he leans down to straighten the blankets fondly around the slumbering figure, only to wrinkle his nose at the sharp scent of iron heavy on his father’s breath. After such a dry spell, the bitter tang scratches at his senses, and he can’t help but take a glance into their tiny living room where their guest yawns and shuffles in his borrowed blankets.

Perhaps a breakfast with a healthy side of dark, leafy greens was in order.

Morning is a quiet and simple affair— his father is sleeping in for once it seems, and Silver makes efficient work out of the early meal for their guest who must have had a rough night of tossing and turning judging by his wrinkled clothes and constant, belly-deep yawns. Silver even offers for the man to stay a while longer if he isn’t fit yet for travel, but their guest insists (rather strongly for his exhausted nature) that he could not impose on their goodwill much longer. With a mental shrug, Silver bows his head and allows the man privacy to retrieve his things, heading outside with the intent to bring the waiting horse to its owner.

Only, the horse is nowhere to be seen.

Silver’s heart falters in his chest, and he turns to their departing guest with a litany of apologies on his lips, for he had been so sure of tying the creature up safely for the night, but the man waves him off with an unsteady hand and a smile that keeps attempting to slip from his face as if greased, proclaiming that he had no need for what had been such an aging beast. He could continue his travels alone, and Silver can only watch and uneasily curl his fingers into his palms as the man cuts a wavering figure back down their pathway despite his bewildered protests.

(“We ought to warn those who stop by that there may be a bear in the woods,” he tells his father later, the vampire having woken long past their traveler’s departure. “The noises I’ve been hearing and now the horse’s disappearance. . . someone could get hurt.”

His father doesn’t seem too concerned with Silver’s hypothesis, and he supposes that’s simply how one behaves after centuries of besting mortality. Still, he resolves to be more cautious in his time spent outdoors.)

The man’s arrival marks a turning point in the summer, the blistering dog days giving way to the cooler promise of autumn. It also marks a turning point in his father’s health, one that Silver is initially so incredibly grateful for as the vampire seems to perk up and become the very picture of rosy, energetic grace. The weakened figure of mere weeks prior haunts the corridors of his mind, and Silver finds himself making excuses as his father welcomes the oddly increasing number of strangers who have found themselves down their homely path with open arms and glittering eyes above a wide, gleaming smile. It had simply been a veritable drought of company, and his father, gregarious as he was, was in his element now, thriving off the attention almost as much as the blood that came with it.

And perhaps that is what itched at his nerves most of all. It was one thing to suddenly play house with the travelers that seemed to constantly appear on their doorstep—

(Silver had questioned them, a discomforting notion to learn that not only had they been told of the cottage’s existence by those who staggered off in the mornings, but almost fervently urged to visit.)

—but never before had he witnessed his father drink in such abandon. With such a slow, but steady, trickle of visitors, his father may have sampled another’s blood once or twice a month at most, always cautious enough to not take too much. His father is not a monster, and his kindness exceeds that of all the humanity that Silver had known in his short life— this he tells himself as he averts his gaze from the still-clotting punctures, glistening and accusatory over rumpled shirts.

His father is not a monster, and he still tells himself this as he stumbles out of his bedroom one cold winter’s night, awoken once more to that strange, garbled collection of sound. His father is not a monster, because it simply could not be his father crouched before him on the floor of their living room, an all too still and silent figure splayed out beneath him like a rag doll. He surely must be dreaming, as those muffled, wet noises pause in their desperate slurping and enlarged fangs draw up and away from a ruined shoulder, dripping in a dark, glutinous substance. His father is not a monster, because the creature hunched in the shadows of a dying fire looks nothing like the angel who had rescued him in the forest all those years ago— whatever this, this thing is, slavering wildly over a face locked in a euphoric death mask, it is not his dearest father.

They behold each other in the scant space of a fragile moment, a bewildered gaze still frozen before the onslaught of horror could possibly sink in opposite that of unmoored feral hunger. Silver thinks back to the knife hidden beneath the drawer of his nightstand, cloaked in dust and dried flowers and the somber protection of a father’s love. He thinks back to the incredible speed that had disposed of the men who had intended to kill him on such a similar frigid night, a speed unmatched to the naked eye.

The vampire utters his name like a prayer, smeared tenderly in lamb’s blood.

His father is not a monster.

Silver opens his arms, and waits for his angel to carry him home.

In response to the delicate graze of his father’s gore-drenched claws against his youthful face, the boy’s eyes flutter open at last. Lilia does not seem to notice the vibrancy that has vanished from them, leaving behind the dull haze of a mist-choked morn where once the dawn light soared; perhaps he simply does not care. “Oh, Silver,” he breathes in reverence, the miraculous wonder of a father witnessing his child’s (re)birth for the first time, and he throws his arms around the boy’s stiff shoulders. There is no response, but that is to be expected when one is missing a greater third of their tattered and torn esophagus, the mutilated remains of which are strewn across the floor or smeared over Lilia’s mouth. “My darling boy, my precious son, how perfect you are at last.”

Silver trembles in his arms like a newborn fawn, and Lilia coos reassurances to him, helps his boy to his feet and steadies his legs as he leads him over to where their meal now lay in a crumpled and tangled heap. It is always cumbersome, the first feeding, and Lilia had no one to guide him through the carnal, mindless greed of his own— no such fate shall befall his son. He will share with him the abundance of milk and honey, lift it to his frozen lips where those new, budding fangs peek innocently above, and watch with boundless pride as new life, a near eternal life, is bestowed upon the one timeless treasure he has coveted in over six hundred stolen centuries.

Later, they will bury the body together, sink the flesh deep within the garden where the others take their rest, a cluster of pearly white bones only disturbed by an odd set of larger, equine-shaped ones. Later still, when a young man approaches their home in the evening gloom to seek shelter on the long, arduous journey to his grandfather, Silver will greet him. He will smile enchantingly over his new high-necked shirt and take his hand, drawing him deep into the clutches of their wonderful little home, deep into the blessed darkness where his father waits. The table will stay barren, the bed unmade— there is no more need for pretense between the two of them. Not now, and not ever.

Lilia can see it all. And with pleasure, he smiles.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland fanfic #twst fic #twisted wonderland silver #twst silver #lilia vanrouge #twst lilia #diasomnia #twst sebek #sebek zigvolt #happy belated halloween :)#everyone say thank you catriona for bringing my wild visions to life beyond anything i could possibly imagine <3 #lettie writes #art for lettie

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