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yomogi-mogi-mochi · 1 year

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Ineffable Bloom

Pairings: Azul/Siren MC

Summary: Despite your status as siren, there are not many words that reach those around you anymore, voice now muted and marred from the surgeries you have endured to remove the carnations that once suffocated your throat. But you don't mind it, serving quietly as the gardener of Night Raven College, making do with a notepad and pen when necessary. You are pleased to find your childhood friend, Azul, now attends the school, who spontaneously hires you for the flower arrangements he decides to decorate in his lounge with. There's little hope you bear with the silent poetry you weave with each meticulously placed flower, only an ache which tumbles over you like the ceaseless seas. However, Azul is not deaf to this song you have sealed in your bouquets, having cherished the morsels of sweetness in your childhoods where you shared the silent language of each flower.

Notes: Sorry this took ages lmao. Been in a “creating anything is obsolete” phase my/spring allergies are starting so I am. Dying. Part of the twst myth series, here is the post with some basics. I just reached 1000 likes on tumblr which might not be much to some but wowwww thank you guys for your support!!

GN terms for MC

CW: Emotional abuse and toxic parenting when we get into MC’s backstory

AO3 Link Here.

Masterlist

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“Would you like to add a ribbon to this? I’ll add it for free since I have some extra?” You placed the last slender stalk of green hydrangea into the bouquet and move your hands in practiced shapes and swerves, forming each phrase with careful deliberation.

Jack struggles a bit in forming as keen language with his hands, but you appreciate that he has taken the time to respond in your vernacular. Writing does get a little tiring after a bit. “If you wouldn’t mind. I think Trey would appreciate that.” He pauses, looking to Ruggie, who sways around the room with his hands behind his head in boredom, dipping his gaze to the lilies standing tall in a bucket on the ground. “Right, Ruggie?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever is fine.”

The wolf huffs a bit before crossing his arms. “You know, you should be grateful (Name) is doing this so last minute since you forgot to place the order a week ago like we all agreed on.”

“Ugh get of my back‒ Leona had me running around more than usual last week…” His eyebrows raise a bit when he brings his attention to the dandelions drying above him, a slight movement you take notice to when wrapping the bouquet in its final layer. “Besides, who cares about all the details of each flower, it’s not like whoever is receiving them is looking into all the deep meanings of each blade of grass.”

You finish tightening the bow around the bouquet, assuring with your trained hands that it is secured tightly onto the broom, before handing it off to Jack. “Just like you mentioned in the interview‒ green color scheme, with symbols of loyalty, prosperity, and patience. Here is a card that has all of the flower languages on them.” You sign, which the man responds with a smile, and a clumsy thank you with his hands.

Ruggie has drifted over to the dandelion heads soaking in a bowl of water, being prepared for the dandelion honey you sell at Sam’s shop while his junior admires the bouquet in reverence. “You like dandelions?” You write on a notepad, poking Ruggie with it. He looks over lazily, shrugs.

“I guess.”

“They symbolize ‘an oracle of love’, resilience, and even sorrowful goodbyes. The name Dandelion comes from the word dent-de-lion, meaning the ‘jaws of a lion’- fierce, is it not?” Ruggie hums in curiosity in response, glancing at the flowers again to imagine it with a growing smile on his face. “Flowers and plants all have their silent poetry. It’s good to tip your ears to them once in a while, they may have something to say to you.”

“You hear that Jack‒ ‘jaws of a lion’..." The hyena says with his hand on his hips, a bashful finger grazing his nose.

"Yeah, yeah. Let's get going, we have a lot of prep to do for Trey's celebration." Jack turns to you before he leaves "Oh, you should stop by if you have time‒ everyone was curious during my birthday who had arranged my broomquet. I'm sure the other students would be thrilled to see the face of our new‒ well, I guess not so new anymore‒ gardener."

You furiously shook your head, scurrying your hands across the air in a flurry. "I wouldn't want to intrude…my work is nothing worth fussing over…"

"Anyone with a pair of working eyes can see otherwise‒ your talent is unmatched, you nearly performed a miracle reviving my half dead cacti." Jack smiles, remembering fondly of the times he had come in, asking you for advice on his growing horticulture collection. "Besides, it's nice for the students and staff to get familiarized."

"And free cake." Ruggie adds.

You raised your eyebrows at that, quelling the swirling anxiety in your stomach. "…okay, I'll try to make it. Just have to finish a few things here and I should be good to head out."

"We'll see you then, (Name)."

——————————————————

You brush your apron, relieving the weariness of a day's work in the breath that swelled from the bottom of your stomach and escaped as an audible huff that loosened the tension of your shoulders. However when you glance at your phone, anxiety shot through you as you realize time had passed a lot quicker, and it was about half an hour past the time Jack had told you to come. In racing footsteps, you gathered your items, throwing your apron on the hook near the front door before slamming it.

By the time you arrive, everyone is singing happy birthday, gathering in a circle around who you assumed was Trey, who bore a bashful smile on his face with the broomquet in his hands. You catch the eye of Jack across the room, who lights up when you wave nervously at him. The room erupts in applause and bright laughter as Trey blows out the candles of his cake‒ a volume you take a mental note of to judge just how many people were at this celebration. Quite a lot, especially now as the students disperse, preparing plates and cutlery to cut the delicious looking strawberry shortcake.

"Hey~ what are you doing here?"

There’s a surge of anxiety when those words are pointed at you, which you respond with a pressed smile as you swerve your head to the voice. To your surprise, you recognize the face which greets you, though it is a bit unnatural seeing them without a bluish tint to their skin, or scales. You suppose it’s a surprise for them as well, seeing you out of the water for the first time in about eight years.

“I thought I recognized that face. Hello, (Name), it has been a while.”

You hands move automatically to the pen and paper stuffed inside your pocket. “Jade? Floyd? It’s been a while. What are you doing here?”

“Eh? What's with the notepad little siren?”

The anxiety returned with Floyd's words. Even with the Leech family’s connections and the chattiness of your hometown, it was hard for rumors to form with the eight years you had spent apart from your home‒ your friends. You were thankful a bit for the amnesty it brought you on rare occasions like this, but explaining the whole situation was difficult for you‒ making up a believable excuse even more so considering the one memorable thing your species was known for. Sirens‒ their voice famed to plunge sea farers into maddening passion, the talents of which even the great Sea Witch openly admired in historical record. Perhaps you had been an example of this once, training your throat to squeeze and burn itself to strike impossible notes, whirling an unmatched vibrancy when you perfected each lyric, each score, each tendon to stand straight, expand your lungs, smile, and sing. Even if you had such talents in the past, it was negated with every pinch and pull of your mother’s craft‒ that memory now clandestine, numbed from the surgery.

Or that’s what you told yourself, as your calloused fingers graze the satin ribbon around your neck, the scars marring it aching slightly as you adjusted the fabric in a slight nervous tick. They’re been healed from quite some time‒ or you believe they are from the years you had observed every winding crack slowly dull against time‒ but the mountainous fossils carved onto your flesh would grow tender like this, pushed then retraced piercingly like the jagged shores far from your homelands, leaving snowy, bursting seafoam prickling against your skin. You suppose all you could do is tighten a smile against your mute lips, maneuvering past it as best you could.

“I’ll explain later. What are you guys doing at NRC?”

“We’re students, see~?” Floyd flashes a crooked smile, turning to the side to show off his dorm uniform. “Jade here is even the vice dorm leader. Boring if you ask me.”

“What are you doing here, (Name)? I don’t think I’ve seen you in my classes.”

“My aunt just retired as the gardener here, she's back at her shop in the Shaftlands. So I've come to officially take her place."

"We'll have our quartet back in no time now‒ you should visit the Monstero Lounge sometime so we can catch up~" Floyd wraps an arm around your shoulder, hanging lazily off it while his twin smiles.

"I agree with Floyd. Azul would be more than happy to see you too." At Jade's words, you brighten, and quickly scribble onto your notepad.

"Azul here too? Is he here today?"

Jade nods. "He's our dorm leader, actually. And yes, I think he just went outside to get some fresh air" his smile widens "you know how he is."

You do. Surely he was tired of the noise and pleasantries of birthday celebration. "Azul the dorm leader huh."

"You won't believe how much he’s changed unless you see for yourself." Floyd switches his weight to his other foot, landing on his brother's shoulder while gesturing to the veranda doors. You swerve your head towards it, trying to make out a figure against the bright blue skies and roses reaching towards the mild sun. There's a slight silhouette, but you can barely make out its features with the glare of the glass.

"You should go to him. He talks about you sometimes, you know." Before you could turn around and question the twins, their backs are turned from you, melting back into the bustling crowd. Despite your initial excitement, your feet move in idle footsteps, weighed by the heaviness which emerges from your wrapped throat, plummeting to the soles of your feet sticking densely onto the ground. The notepad in your hand is gripped through your sweaty palm‒ there was only so much space in each sliver of parchment you could fill with your words, the rest of your language lost to the silence which cages your throat. Even if you could rasp through your disfigurement with a language people would lend an ear to, you were sure that your thoughts, refined through your mother's distant voice, would drive you back into forlorn silence‒ your hands clawing and reopening your wounds wide and fresh enough to assure not even a breath could be heard from it. Flowers always came to you with such ease in comparison, eyes turned away from your secret adoration for something far more beautiful in perfectly placed petals, inventing no hope that you could cling to that would turn your throat raw with desire.

Even if these givings were seen, spoken of , or heard‒ you armor yourself by repenting‒ these gifts were never a virtue, but a disguise for the womb of shame you kept awake in your heart. Forgive me, for there is fear that one day that life will ripen within it‒ something as grotesque as myself, a venerable mirror to my slumbering desires to be swaddled and held. You arrive at the handle of the door too fast for your liking, hovering your hand over it with a heavy heart and tongue before grasping it quietly, hoping a little that your soundless footsteps would turn you into a phantom.

But when you are faced with a familiar image‒ his weaving dusty mauve hair, and the arctic clarity of his blue eyes, you can't help but to pause your prayers for a moment, met with the blinding joy his face brings you. Dear, dear friend.

You're so used to his name springing from your throat that you nearly tear the fragile nerves of your lesions with a rasp threatening to boil over by the warmth in your stomach. But you clench that tension in your hand as you scribble his name in hurried, crude strokes across the entire page.

"Azul?" You turned the paper pad over with clumsy, shaking hands. He looks just as surprised as you, but he nods slowly.

"(Name)?"

You nod your head vigorously to your name, decorated sweetly with his voice. His entire body is facing you now, taking you in with the gulp of his gaze. You do the same, noticing that, actually, not quite a lot has changed. Sure, the soft little octopus had grown tall and slender during the eight years you didn’t see him‒ but still, there is that mole dotted prettily on his face you remember quite well, and the softness of his eyes when they meet yours is one of your fondest, most tender memories, unraveled whenever you saw the sea blue glow of freshly fallen snow, or the velvety reflection of the skies in gentle spring creeks. But now they were here, gazing back at you, there were no words that appeared in your mind, or which you could communicate with the likeness of flowers. It's so sweet again when you hear his voice.

"What's happening? Why are you writ‒ never mind that." He shakes the thought away. "How…How have you been? Last I heard from mother you had moved with your aunt somewhere on land."

Azul does not question how, or why you stood in front of him after eight years, but rather simply‒ how are you? The smile that blooms at that realization hurts your cheeks. Azul mirrors your sentiments silently, relieved that there were no comments on his appearance of how he's "changed so much". Dear, dear friend. He missed this. Missed you too.

"I'm well. Been working as a gardener here, I enjoy it. How have you been? I’m guessing busy, I heard you're a dorm leader from the twins."

"Ah, you've already met them I see. I just hope they haven’t said anything…unnecessary." His smile widens, you trace the movement of his mole which stretches against the curve of his lips. "I've been…alright. Land life has been a lot to adjust to, but I think I have the hang of it now."

"Haha. It was a lot for me when I first came on shore too. Pillows are so weird, aren't they?"

The dormhead chuckles as you approach him near the railing, situating yourself beside him to face the white roses dotting the garden. One meant mercy, purity, the breath of love; two‒ "I deserve you"; three‒ adoration; 99 white roses, and this would be an Eden of eternal love. But you're too enraptured by his laughter to count, caught in the waves of his lightness.

"They are. But I think it's nice now, might even be a hit at the reef if we sell them during spring break. You mentioned you're a gardener?"

"Yes. I just maintain the horticulture on campus, and I do bouquets from time to time like Trey's broomquet today." You write fast, wanting to answer Azul quickly, fill the time with as much of him as you could. He leans over, watching you as you scribble, relishing silently in the smell of fresh cut lilies and seaside rosemary tangled in a salty sweet ocean breeze.

"An impressive feat, considering the size of our campus. If you're willing‒ I may actually need your help with the twin's birthdays coming soon."

“I'd be happy to help! We would need to set an interview up like I do with most of my clients‒ just so I know their preferences more. But it'll be easier since I already know Jade and Floyd." Truthfully, you were already putting together the perfect bouquet for the twins, violet roses here, silver ragwort there, and a sprinkle of beauty berry should bring the composition together in a delicate balance. The meeting was just an excuse to assure another conversation with Azul again, a thought which churned a feeling of shame within you, rolling you smooth with its ragged tongue that sanded down the rough joy jutting out from you like an unfinished pearl. When Azul nods on confirmation, this sensation becomes slightly eased, but your muscles churn inside you like the dark, deep seas.

"I agree. Nonetheless, us four should meet at the mostero lounge soon to catch up. I could use a talent like yours to freshen up the look of the lounge a bit‒ perhaps we could work a contract of some sort out."

"I'm not that good, I'm not so sure I can hold up to your expectations, dormleader."

"Please‒ Jade's tastes aren't so bad but Floyd's sense of interior design is abysmal. His idea of interior design is a bunch of half finished snacks decorating the shelf beside his bed. Any help would be wonderful."

A silent laugh shakes your shoulders. "I'll think about it."

The patio door opens again‒ revealing Jack, who waves a hand towards you, and speaks with clumsy hands. "They're cutting the cake (Name)- Azul, you too‒ it's gonna be gone if you stay out here for too long."

"Be right there." You sign, lifting your body from the deck railing.

"Is that sign language? I've never seen it in person." Azul holds the door open for you, allowing you to scurry in with a bow of your head.

You nod. "Writing gets tiring at times. But I'm happy either way people speak to me." There’s a twitch in Azul’s eyes that you catch at your statement, regret tingling at your fingertips making your skin feel raw against your flesh. You squeeze the meat of your palm to ignore it.

"We saved you two some cake~" Floyd summons the two of you with a wave, gesturing to two neighboring seats across from them.

Jade smiles, scooping a part of his cake with a fork. "It's nice that we're back together like this. It seems forever ago that you left the reef (Name)."

"But eight years fly by, don't they? You're going to have to catch me up on all the embarrassing stories of each other."

"Only if you let us in on some blackmail about you (Name)." Floyd reveals his sharp teeth with a wide grin, licking the icing off his fork.

"I will." You write, hoping you can fill their heads enough with the happier moments at your aunt's flower shop and time so far as the NRC gardener, rather than deliberate the disease which flowered in your lungs, the sickness that came with it‒ the surgery, the scarring, the healing‒ your departure from your mother, from your home, from them. The ribbon feels tight on your throat, your smile grows tense on your lips. You try your best to quell the swelling waves of anxiety, eased a bit with the laughter of your friends that rang in your presence once more.

——————————————————

You meet them again at the VIP section of their lounge just a few days later, having planned a date to meet before you went home after the birthday celebration. Though conversation was a bit stiff at first, energy begins to swell in the room as you reminisce the events of your childhood, and the years of adolescence you missed in the 8 years of absence from your hometown. The conversation slowly progresses towards how the three would be able to see you more, shifting back to Azul's proposal to have you come to set up flower arrangements in the lounge.

"How about roses?" Floyd suggests. "Classic. Everyone likes them."

A shrug. "Hm. They're a nice touch‒ but a bit basic. I can add them in, but I wouldn't make them the focal point since there's just better flowers out there."

"What do you suggest?" Azul asks.

You think, flipping through the catalog of flowers in your mind. "Especially for the color scheme of your dorm, I think hydrangeas would be nice. Blue poppies, perhaps some rosemary in there as well. Maybe purple carnation‒” you scribble that last thought away as quickly and vigorously as it came, your throat tightening in remembrance at that thought.

“Those sound great‒ but I want something more elegant looking, the carnations you mentioned would be fitting‒ ah‒ remember those flowers from that story you always talked about? The one about the poetry being written on the petals?”

You were glad he moved from carnations. Besides, purple carnations signified grief and death in some cultures, far removed from the emblem of prayer they were in your culture. “Hyacinths?”

“Precisely. What do the white ones mean?” What about this one? What does this say? How about this, this, and this? You remember the way he pointed to each flower in your encyclopedia lent by your aunt, his small fingers fluttering across the page like a busy little cuttlefish at your riveting explanations. This is this, this and this. There was always a hurry to your words when you spoke to others‒ particularly your mother‒ rushing to seize the brief opportunity allowed for you to speak, but no matter how much you had stumbled over your words in clumsy delight, Azul listened with a smile on his face, making notes on paper for his experiments, words rushing to his hands like a school of fish.

“White ones mean a ‘quiet love’, or ‘love that is quelled’. If you want something with a happier meaning though, I would go with white wisteria, it means sweet nostalgic memories or drunken love; cornflowers‒ delicacy and elegance; or salvia‒ veneration and wisdom. Purple chrysanthemum would be splendid too‒ meaning your wish will come true."

You remember when your mother was kinder, tucking your small, innocent body into her soft arms‒ hushing your cries with a tender whisper. It was without that rattle in your throat she pointed towards you like a knife when you grew from that chaste form, sullied and filled with her disappointment. Your body was tall and flushed with it, but not quite tall enough, not quite curved and plump the way she liked‒ needed you to be to carve her desired image into you. A mirror within a mirror within a mirror‒ mother and child, mother and child. Her words lashing as the waves cracking against the jagged rocks, shaping you into a memorial of her pains, her aching hunger.

But you returned to that far-flung memory of her maternal care, remembering the legend she told you about purple chrysanthemums‒ placing one dearly to your hair, chirping her bright song with a story that was passed from the throat of her mother, to the her ears as a child, blood through blood. This was one of the only memories you remember of her singing not to an audience or a stage‒ but to you, flesh of her womb, skin and bones lovingly mirrored in babbling purity. You trace her unusually soft words with your hand, gliding across the page with the exact pitch of her voice swimming in your mind.

"There's a legend among our kind, of the purple chrysanthemum. We decorate our most treasured people with it, and wear it as a sign of someone watching over you to make a dream come true‒ whether it is a benevolent god, or another person." You pause your writing, the three looking over you to watch you write. "It symbolizes the victory of love‒ its power which pulls the best from you to achieve something as distant as a dream."

Your pen stills. "But‒ I should retract my suggestion. People of other cultures use it to commemorate death, I wouldn't want to offend someone."

Azul is brightened by the way you talk about flowers again, the fragrant morsels on his mind blooming, coloring him vividly in your dazzling artistry. This is this, this, and this. The way you forge lustrous, silent poetry with each careful placement of a blossom amazes him each time, finding your words lingering and echoing in the cove of his mind. "No." His mouth races somewhat brash, he tries again, clearing his throat. "No‒ I trust your initial judgment." He smiles. You trace that mole on his face. "I like it."

"Then it's decided."

Floyd yawns, draping his arms dramatically against the couch, and lulling his head upwards with a sigh. “Ugh. Enough with the flower talk‒ let’s talk about something more interesting.” He flashes a toothy smirk. “(Name), you wanna hear about the time Azul cried so hard he threw up?”

His twin clasps his hands with a similar expression. “Oh, that’s definitely a good one.”

Azul’s eyes blow wide open. “That is absolutely a violation of our contract‒”

“I don’t believe that includes (Name) actually.” Jade muses with a sly grin.

"Why was he crying so hard he threw up??"

The dormleader groans, dropping his hands into hands.

The twins exchange a look before Jade answers. "You, of course."

"Me?" You point to yourself in disbelief.

Floyd chuckles. "He sipped a little wine at the restaurant on accident. Then he starts blubbering about how 'oh I miss them', 'oh remember when they did this', and 'oh‒"

"I think they get the point, brother."

While Floyd ignores his twin in favor of continuing the story, Azul continues to hide his slowly darkening face behind his hands, while you sit, pen hovering over the paper.

“Why?”

The twins blink with a confused expression on their face, while Floyd speaks with a baffled tone. “Ha? Why? What do you mean why?” From the corner of your eye, you see Azul lift his head from his hands to look you, with what expression, you can’t tell‒ training your eyes on the paper with hardened brows, blood tinging on you tongue from the flesh drawn between your teeth.

The pen in your hand hovers above the paper with a soft tremble. Why? Why me? When you left that reef years ago, you left any notion that your presence would be something that would be worth lingering over‒ much more grieving about‒ a thought that was confirmed by the way your mother hurriedly dumped you at your aunt’s flower shop near the somber shores, her frosty gaze and distanced followed by years of inveterated silence as incurable and everlong as the one wrapped around your throat. Like the winter storms on the beach where your aunt's shop sat upon, that silence from your mother, and everyone else for that matter, was as thrashing and unforgiving to your empty ears and throat. There was nothing left for you down there, just memories that would make that scraped dryly against your throat and make you long for something your body was not mended properly for. So the proposition that Azul had felt something towards you‒ so much so that he had shed actual tears for you‒ threatened to bring the nausea deep in your darkened stomach frothing at the surface. You pushed through it, hand gliding clumsily across the paper.

“Never mind, sorry. I should get going soon‒ I’m behind on some duties in at the Botanical Gardens.”

Azul sighs in slight relief, and stands as you gather your things. "I'll see you off." You bid goodbye to the twins, who flash a pointed smile at you while Azul holds open the lounge doors to leave.

“Come back again so we can embarrass Azul more with our stories.” You smile at Jade's words.

Before you pass through the portal, Azul taps your shoulder. He lays his hand flat against his lips, sweeping it towards you. You're taken a bit by surprise, but soon your cheeks ache from the warmth squeezed into them by your curved lips, turning the nausea reaching from your stomach to your chest into something, you think, extraordinary.

You held that feeling in your chest as much as the rupturing threaded into yourself would‒ drinking in the ease of passing clouds and the clemency of rippling seawater tickling the bottom of you feet‒ much too quick, too light, too wonderful to be bound by the chthonic gods. Your heart races with the swiftness of sprightly, sun drunken waves. There was a rising ache‒ knowing your fractured body would splinter before you could swallow this feeling in its entirety, filling you body brilliantly like a blooming chrysanthemum‒ unfurling its divine petals towards all cardinal directions in a form which flared itself every which way. Victory of love. You knew it would not triumph against your fragmentation‒ but despite it all, you smiled stupidly, weaving your florid fingers against his to show him the correct placement of the word.

"Like this." You instruct‒ on his chin, near that dotted mark, then towards you in one motion. The word is practiced twice so you can linger your hands on his own. "Thank you, thank you." You mouth.

The heat of your fingers burns this motion into him, even as you let go. He practices it again, hoping to retrieve your sensation onto his skin with the repeated motion. “Thank you.”

You take your pointed and middle finger to your eye, then glide it towards the tip of your chin with a circle made with your pointer and thumb.

“See you soon.”

——————————————————

Carnations are always a favorite among your customers. The flower of love, of adoration‒ of the gods. They have been woven into hair to commemorate new beginnings, have been rumored to sprout from a devoted mother’s tears faced with her child’s death. Their name comes from carnis, or flesh, from the myth of innocent bloodshed, a shepherd who had his eyes gouged out from a goddess of the hunt, who was displeased by his flute playing which caused the animals of her hunting grounds to be spooked. From his empty flesh, carnations grew, white petals emerging, stained with blood. White carnations typically signify the mourning of lost lives, pure love, unrequited love, loyalty, faithfulness, a mother’s love.

But most of all, it whispers, my love for you is alive. It felt that way when they flourished in your lungs, choking the song in your throat in just a few months after they sowed into your meat. Alive and red and beating so vibrantly against your flesh‒ filthy with the darkened red of your aching insides. They came as impossible heaps from your mouth, emptying quietly as you could in the corner of your room so as not to bother your sleeping mother in the room over. You remember furling your body inward, praying it to become smaller, smaller, smaller‒ quieting your agony, erasing your swaying footsteps to the medicine cabinet, slicing your body up and down into manageable pieces. It was a dance in your eyes you carried everywhere with you that classified every variation of footsteps, the slightest inflection in tone, a twitch of the lungs before it even came‒ so you could shape yourself flat against the sharpened teeth of any who bothered to bite down on your brittle, bitter form, flaying and cleaving your meat carefully to its shape. Your eyes remembered these wounds, reopened and festering against your clumsy stitches to take into account next test‒ next time, next interaction, next opportunity to prove‒ I’ll be better, I’ll prove I am worthy enough to live.

‘You’re so sensitive‒ you would be good with flowers’, your aunt says. Thank you, you gulp in the ache of your disfigurement with pride‒ a medallion passed from your mother, passed from her mother, passed from her own‒ blood through blood it was gifted, and split from your strangled throat. It felt like your body rejected it, but oh, that was the best part of it all‒ more pain, more, more, more‒ something to wear on your skin as a testament to how you’ve been such a good child, to mutilate yourself against anyone’s maws. Something to show, mother, love me for all of these marks prove it, prove that I can cut open myself deep enough to mirror the perfected version of yourself.

Carnations are a symbol of that. People give them as a trophy of love that is agony, love that is alive, love which slaughters. It is a mother's love. They're popular in those early months during the spring, where the flowers devour the corpses mulled over by autumn and winter, chewing and spitting it out with a drunken splendor. As such you had many on hand during these colder months, surrounded by consecrations of this love, thrashing, bursting inside you like sea-brine churned into frothing bubbles, the waves breaking against it swelling them over the edge of the shore. You could feel the eyes of the flowers leering towards you, tightening the ribbon around your neck.

The hand in your pocket reaches towards the heads, your fingers brush against their cold petals. They are worn, withered from the days they have slept stagnant and untouched in their watery casket. You are quick to take them from their bucket, shoving in a bag to be thrown away in the compost, back into the earth to nourish the next generation.

“(Name)?”

Was it already that time already? You had promised him you would meet with him to plan the twins' broomquet after you closed, but the day had waded through you so quickly.

His name, as always, almost makes it out of your throat. But you held the silence in your mouth like your muffled heartbeat, quietly turning to him with weary eyes. He immediately drinks their lorn gaze, before he takes out a small leather bound pocketbook from his inner pocket, flipping through a few pages, returning it to his coat when he finishes reading the contents of the page. With clumsy hands, he signs. “Do you need help?”

You look him up and down, pausing your hands shoved deep inside the bag of wilted carnations. “You know sign language?”

“I learned.” He says sheepishly. “Apologies‒ clearly I haven't gotten too far with it. I don't know some words yet.”

Your eyes widen. “Why?”

He points to his head, then towards you. For. You. I learned for you.

A smile curves on his lips, but you avert your eyes from it. You’re afraid to measure that tinted color on his cheeks, the shape of his softened eyes, the length of his smile the wrong way‒ to take something without anything worthy from yourself to give in compensation, so you take his words instead, knowing you could at least repay them with something much more beautiful, whole. Flowers. You don't look at him. “I could use some help.”

He rolls his sleeves up, takes the carnations in his hands and brings them inside the bag. “What is the meaning of carnations?”

“Love, adoration, ‘my love for you is alive’.”

“Easy to capitalize on. I see why it is so popular.” He takes one between his fingers, twirls it with a sly smile. "I like it."

You return it best you could. “They’re a bit grotesque, don’t you think? The petals are quite unfinished, like they’ve been cut jagged.”

“You don’t like them?”

You remember the day after the surgery, your lungs emptied not only from the lack of carnations taking seed inside of it, but sapped from anything you had felt for your mother. You realized, that day, oh.

It was her all along.

You had searched far and wide for what the cause of your sickness was‒ you had given too much yourself to too many people to pinpoint who you had such feelings for. Your nerves felt exposed to all, to everything all the time, pricked and pinched at any abstruse movement, washing over you like a bloody crusade everytime.

There was nothing written about in the dozens of books, articles, and lyrics you dug up that had said anything about familial love specifically, so it never struck you that it was even a possibility‒ besides‒ your mother loved you, didn't she?

But of course, the carnations‒ of course. Your love for her may have been alive, but so were these flowers, once. Before they were picked from your tendons and emptied from you as rubbish.

The absence of your piteous devotion to her plummeted your heart deep into the ocean abyss, your flesh weighted as a museum of that dance, the butchering of your body, marked up and down with lines which traced the shapes of jaws with surgical precision. If you could not be loved by the flesh which founded your own, surely, it would be a ludicrous dream to wish for any other being to love you at all, to take the weeping, patchwork meat of your body and consume it.

You want to get rid of all these carnations, give them all away at once. Take them, take them all. Yes, your mother would love these‒ yes or course they're a sign of eternal love, pure love‒ anything and everything that is alive, they would be a wonderful gift. You offer them as extras to people, suggest them instead of those beautiful roses or lilacs or lilies. These gifts were never a virtue, but a disguise for the womb of shame you kept awake in your heart. Take them, take it all. Take everything from me.

You smile, squeeze your eyes to mimic candor.

"No, I hate them."

His expression is like sand, shifting in a thousand ways. You try to inspect each grain of lustrous sand to feel how they shape around your words, but always, the waves. Wait here, you tell him, to go toss the flowers back into the decomposing earth to become the blood and body their children will sprout from.

You set some lavender tea and dandelion honey cakes on the table‒ the bareness of the table is odious to you, sways you with abhorrence. Even with it filled, you sign. "I'm sorry, I wish I had more to offer you."

"This is plenty." He signs. You avert your eyes from that soft smile, but the warmth that bubbles in your chest knows the angle of its curve, the way his mole stretches across his chin, the world in his eyes.

"So, what exactly are you looking for in the twins’ bouquet?”

He thinks, you know he folds his arms to do this. “I trust your tastes. You were always better at reading people than I was.”

“I…” You pause. Yes, the dance‒ breathing in the world raw. But part of it is remaining silent to that ripening wound. “I guess.”

“What do you suggest, then?”

“I think blue star would be great. Perhaps some ragwort, and I believe I have some dried sea lavender left from my aunt’s shop. Salvia would be great too, and some Zion, beauty berry as well.”

“What do they all mean?”

“Blue star and salvia mean trust‒ something they are bound by. Zion flowers signify that someone is thinking of you, even if they are far. And sea lavender lets someone know they are thinking of you. Beautyberry means a deep understanding. I can of course fill up the space with roses, some chrysanthemums, of course.”

Azul writes in his small pocketbook, scribbling your words across a page, then another, then another. He was always like this when you talked‒ recording the medicinal properties of plants, committing your sensitives to flowers with a fervor. If you hadn’t known any better, you’d say he was excited by your words, but you didn’t.

“Is it alright if I came and watched?”

“Watched?”

“Yes, if I came and watched you work on the twins’ bouquet.”

“It’s boring work, you would fall‒“

You feel your hands in his, your words quickly swallowed by the warmth of his palms. He speaks with softness which reaches deep within your ears, tingles the back of your neck.

“I think it’s quite brilliant, the way you work.”

You want to clasp your ears shut, squeeze your eyes until you see stars‒ knees tucked into your body, forming an embryo to protect yourself from those words. Your tongue shakes in your mouth. You want to scream at him. However to realize this rejection through your trembling fingers would be to deny him something, even if it was the mangled scraps which make your bundle of flesh. You'd keep this revolution plunged deep inside the heart of your whirling sea, a war raging at your marrow to keep the shores lush with anything he'd wish to take. Take it, take it all.

You're still for a moment. "Have it your way, then."

He smiles, but this time, you can't look away.

——————————————————

When he comes a few days later, he brings tupperwares full of food.

"What's all this? A feast?" You see various dishes from the nights your mother brought you to perform at the Ashengrotto’s restaurant‒ fragrant steamed fish that falls off the bone, crunchy seaweed salad, steaming bowls of fish-broth soup, bursting with flavor.

“My mother’s recipes. Your favorite, at least from back then.” He remembers fondly of the times you would finish performing, joining him at the seat right beside him. You’d point to the aquatic plants, bring him to the magic and wonders of their chemistry, their mythos, your sensitivities to them, the world. He's shaped his shores against the curve of your gentle waves, your words always returning to his sandy beaches to leave a million gifts from the sea. This is this, this, and this. He'd hold each sparkling grain of sand, each seashell nymph like an exquisite pearl, cupping his ears to every single one to catch the whispers of eternity bundled in each of them. No matter how you would run yourself raw against jagged beaches and the maws of dark coves‒ he would remain a mirror to your sun faced sanctuaries, hoping that in this lifetime, you would realize that it was you‒ you all along‒ that he'd chased, parodying your brilliance to finally become himself.

His words almost bring you to tears. You gulp it down with the nausea that rises on your tongue, cindering the muscle with its heat.

"Why are you‒" your hands spit out these words in a fervor. "Why are you so fucking nice to me? What is all this?"

You hate the way his expression softens, the infinite arctic blue which melts against your image, the elation in your chest upon devouring such delectable things. It’s revolting.

"Because…" He begins out loud. There’s breath that swells his shoulders, before he gathers his fingers to a shaking fist, locking it under his chin.

Precious.

You swing your head left and right mutely, wrapping a hand around your neck as if to choke any sound that could be ripped from it. Still, it comes out like dried leaves, a strangled rasp, a whimper which rattles in your tightened throat. You hate how he pulls your trembling fingers from your skin, you hate it. But you let him.

His warmth comes as a cosmic storm stirring the oceans into inescapable waves. You were a fool to even try to shelter yourself from it‒ his tenderness beat against your form so loudly it hurt. You can’t pull away, your body does not let you.

Azul sees the fear that bruises your eyes, the way your chest lurches, in heaving, shuddering, controlled breaths to mathematically contain that terror inside of you. There’s a moment where he suspects himself to be the culprit, the distaste of his form, the vile nature of his weaknesses. But you had always consumed all of him, everything‒ his unsightly body, his awful shortcomings, all of the best and worst parts of himself with what surely was heavenly grace. Everything but his adoration for you, a mirror to your givings to the world, and most of all‒ him. This was something within.

He brings you to a seat, a cup of water to your hands. He lets you take time, sipping the moment in small gulps like the drink he sets in your hands. Silence, even with the lack of words exchanged between you two, was never something which was present when you were beside him. His mind always rushed with thoughts about you‒ all the more louder in the eight years you had been absent from his side. Even then, your likeness was always carved in the back of his mind, coming and going like a haunting oceanfront.

“Do you remember the first day we met?”

You remember. “Tell me.” You sign.

“You saved me from those awful kids, remember? I still got so scared of them I got ink everywhere. You were in such wonderful garments I didn’t want you to get dirty, so I told you to back off.”

His smile makes your own. He continues. “I was such a brat back then‒ even after you fended those kids off I told you to get away from me‒ ‘don’t come crying if I spoil your garments!’” A stiff chuckle escapes your nose as you remember the expression on his face. It was much like your own‒ frightened. “But you told me‒“

“Stain them, I don’t care.” Of course you remember. The surprise on his face, the stutter of his hands as you held them.

“Yes. We spent the whole day together. You took me to the shores for the first time, facing the field of‒ what was it?”

“Memorial roses.”

“Memorial roses. You told me they meant love for the honest form." He drags his gaze from his hands, and into your eyes. "I didn't even see the sun set when you talked about flowers the way you do. All my current knowledge of horticulture comes from you, you know.”

"Surely not all of it."

He shakes his head. "No, all of it. I've inscribed every word you've said to me in my mind and I've carried you with me all those years I spent toiling away in my octopot." The hand he rests on your own warms your fingers. "I have you written all over me."

You grip the heat of your throat, hands heavy as you raise them to retaliate, again. "No. Why would you want‒ ."

"I'm not. Why do you think so?" That softness, again, his eyes. Revolting.

You threw the words from your hands in frustration. Didn't he understand? "Why would you want someone like me to‒ to poison you?"

"I could say the same for myself. Why did you defend me that day?"

You remember the look in his eyes, the way he crouched low to the ocean floor in shame. "I saw myself in you. I couldn't‒"

"You couldn't bare it." He finishes.

"Yes, but you're different. With me, I'm not‒ I wasn't‒ "

"But you aren't different." There's a growing lump in his throat, frustration, heat‒ it rises with the volume of his voice, erupting raw at the back of his tongue. "Why won't you let me show you that you're worthy of the same treatment you give to the world?"

“How could I let you?" Your legs ascend from beneath you, your hands feel hot in the air as you flare them out from yourself, hurling them for Azul to see. "Look."

"Look at me." He would see, finally.

The nail of your thumb digs on your chin as your splayed hand sharply juts from your skin. It says, "My own mother".

You slip the ribbon from your throat, unraveling yourself in front of him. Azul sucks a tense breath in‒ you revel in it, your venerable mirror‒ it breaks against your old stitches, bringing you an ineffable bloom inside your chest. You don’t know if it's pleasure or pain which tightens it, but you feel as living, as chemical, as whole as a flourishing chrysanthemum‒ blazing your florid petals every which way, splitting the bud in a thousand directions. Here is proof. You lay yourself out, to him, flay your fragmentation against his eyes. The wounds burn fresh the air. This was your wish, wasn’t it? Still, the seafoam bursting against your skin, the ache, in waves. You hold the emptiness in your hand triumphantly, or, you try to.

He looks when you tell him to, of course, but the softness in his eyes tightens your chest. He's silent for a moment, thinking. "Aright." Finally, he speaks.

"Will you make a contract with me?"

"...what?"

"A contract. Will you make one with me?"

Your knees fall from you when you lean towards the table in support, seating you in the chair across from him. You open your arms, facing your palms towards him, empty, silent.

"I don't have anything I could trade you."

He reaches towards your emptiness, filling it with his warmth. "Then give me this. If you have nothing, grant me you."

You bring his heat near your face, hoping to harbor‒ at least‒ next to it. You won't take it, you couldn't. The fear laps upon you like stormy waves, it's force tearing your fingers from his. "I don't have enough of myself to give you."

"This." He replenishes the absence in your hands again. "This is more than enough‒ it will always be enough." It's a firm grip, it quells the tremble in your body slightly.

"So, will you make a contract with me?"

Hesitantly, you nod.

He guides you towards the shop window where the flowers swill in the moonlight, violet chrysanthemums shining pearly, plump with their honeyed sap. He slips one between his fingers, holds it between the two of you. "I lied when I said I only liked these. When you tell me of promises of success, of love‒ I feel like I can crack open this world with my bare hands. I don’t just like it‒ everything that comes from from you soars my soul."

He continues, bashfully. You feel filled with his words. "You're my ocean, the waters that shape my shores. You've always been where I belong, and what comes back to me to mold me to what I am even after your physical absence." The heat of his hands feel like fire on your skin as he pulls it towards his own. "This is a contract, a promise. Will you let love victor over you?"

You trace that spot on his face as he smiles, you find the small way that it curves mirrored on your own lips. You drink in his smile, returning it with your own; you breathe his scent in, exhale with the breath in your lungs that stirs his and yours‒ you mold yourself against him like you've done so many times against gnashing teeth and jagged seaside cliffs, but this time, your rolling waves kiss warmly against his sun faced sanctuaries, melding together to refract the light in your joint tenderness. The feeling begins as a seed he implants in your chest, pressed firmly against your heart, and you feel it slowly burst open when it is showered in his gaze, his touch, all of him against all that you can muster‒ an ineffable thing, a bloom which you could never put into words, even with the language of whispering flowers and the spectacular earth. It comes in heaping waves like the tears that draw flushed lines on your face. He takes all which falls from you in his hands, staining his hands with the salty fragrance.

"Stop that. I'll get your hands all dirty."

"Stain them, I don't care."

You sob, you smile harder. The tears make it impossible to neurotically measure the twinge of his muscles, the shape of his expression. But you don't think of this, filled with the knowledge of his tenderness, the precise shape of his smile, the softness of his seaborne eyes that fossilize deep within you. "You know I'll be difficult. I always am."

"And you know this about me to, don't you? But this feeling for you comes as easy as water to me."

It's true what he says, you feel like you're floating‒ weightless in the mild seas, drinking in the sunlight which trickles from the skies. Waves upon waves of this brilliance that tilts the light a thousand ways for you to admire. The chrysanthamum petals seem to widen with his warmth, the same unraveling comes bursting, flowering forward in your chest. Victory of love. It comes not as a whisper this time, but loudly as the beat of your blood. You feel it within you, that victory. At last you hold it in your hands, and it shines and lusters like a brilliant peal seeped into each of its petals, blooming forward with all of its love. You allow yourself place the flower in his hair, decorating his face with your love, your victory.

——————————————————

Notes:

All sign language is based off of American Sign Language

Part of the reason why I wanted to use hanakotoba (Japanese flower language) rather than western meanings for flowers was not only because I was more familiar with it, but because the twins I believe are Asian coded. The Octavinelle dorm is seen as the "yakuza" one (Japanese controlled crime syndicate), since they demand those Azul signs contracts with to pay the price, whether through general intimidation, or just straight up physical violence. Tweels also unfortunately sort of fit into the 'Asian twins' stereotype seen in Disney media (Siamese cats in Artisocats), but their overall design (ie eye shape and bristle-y, straight hair) fit into a pseudo Asian look. You know, as much as the fictional land of twisted wonderland will allow. But either way, I think it would be cool to see different species of seafolk have different cultures, and I think sirens in particular would have their own beliefs, systems, and traditions connected to verbal storytelling.

Not entirely sure if this is the case in the western world, but the east is very sensitive about numerology‒ so “bad” numbers are usually avoided when picking out the number of flowers to give to someone.

Chthonic gods are gods connected to the underworld

Carnations were used in coronation garlands for the Romans

Christians believed that it was the flower that sprouted from Mary's tears after the crucifixion of Jesus

Also associated with Artemis, who gouged a shepherd's eyes out because she blamed his flute playing for the lack of game that day. Therefore, they are a symbol of innocent bloodshed

Carnis, the word which is speculated the word carnation comes from, also means flesh. The genus name Dianthus comes from Zeus, connecting it to his daughter Artemis' story

Memorial Rose (ノイバラ) : In the western world, it is often a symbol of wisdom or talent, used often on literary and musical symbolism by writers such as Goethe. But in Japan, it symbolizes "love for the raw/honest form", as it is usually a wild flower that grows in the plains. Modest, but lovely. In Japan it is also called the ノイバラ or "thorn of the plains", so this modest but definitely still packs a punch. Just like Azul lol

Also often grows in the coasts

Omg I just noticed all of the fics I have written has had a toxic maternal parental figure don’t worry I’ll even it out soon lol

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a-dumb-potato-princess · 1 year

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Is there any fic in which Vil and Mrs Potato Head by MM are incorporated into a good little angst?

Just because - even though it isn't the case right now, due to my personal self-torment, hehe - I created this blog to post my silly little writings here and I am curious if something like that exists. To be frank, I thought myself really witty, when I realized the connection and it is a super good opportunity to approach all the body-dysmorphic content I wish to post here. However, I am almost totally sure that someone has already written something like that, it is too evident and too good to miss. To sum up: I want to see those, my little heart is greedy for crybaby tears shed for/because of our precious Queen.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland angst #twisted wonderland hurt/comfort #angst #body dysphoria #body dysmorphic disorder #anorexia #twisted wonderland vil #vil schoenheit #hurt/comfort #hurt/angst #queencore #melanie martinez #crybaby #k 12 album

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hanafubukki · 9 months

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Death.

That’s what would end this dream.

But it wasn’t fair, this was supposed to be a happy dream was it not?

But someone needed to die in order for Lilia to wake up.

In order for them to stop Malleus.

It would be cruel to have Mallenoa die in front of Lilia, in a dream that was supposed to end happily.

It would be too much if any of you were to cause such a demise.

But any other answer would be just as cruel.

The devoted son? No, that would break Lilia.

The overly loyal prodigee? No, that would add trauma and guilt for Lilia and might affect his relationship with Baul.

Grim had little to no ties with Lilia, his death would not cause him to wake up nor would you allow any harm to come to him.

…so that left only one answer.

Yours.

It would have to be the shock from your death that would awaken everyone from this dream.

Your hands shook.

Will this work?

And if it didn’t, what would happen to you? To the others? To Malleus?

As you stare at Mallenoa and the victorious fae army celebrating their win against the Knight of Dawn.

You had made a choice.

You breathed.

Deep breathes in.

Deep breaths out.

You swiftly turned.

I’m so sorry.

You knew your choice would bring pain to a number of people. Lilia and Malleus, who would lose a sister and mother respectively. They would also loose you if anything went wrong in this dream and reality.

Sebek, Silver, and Grim would feel devastated at not being able to stop you.

But this was the only way and the one least painful.

…you hoped.

You had never confessed your feelings to Lilia. You didn’t have the chance to, especially after he announced his departure.

And you couldn’t be selfish and weigh him down with your feelings.

But you hoped he cared enough about you that it would work. That the fleeing glances from General Lilia was an indicator of his feelings for you.

You allowed your self to be selfish just this once. You hoped that you would be enough to wake him up because anything else would be too painful.

If not, then at least it was just your death and the least painful of the four.

If this doesn’t work, I can at least keep Malleus company…despite his inky self and how awkward it might be.

By now, you can hear voices questioning what you were doing. You can hear the alarms in their voices as you near the edge of a cliff without any falter in your steps.

You turn around, there’s barely any space left between you and the air that would welcome you.

The others are in varying degrees of panic.

General Lilia had noticed the commotion by now, his eyes widening as he took in your form.

Good, he would be too far to get to you in time.

You smiled at them.

It will be alright.

…you fell back.

…only to wake up gasping back in Diasomnia’s lounge.

With several gasps echoing right after yours.

Part 2

#tw death #tw suicide implied #tw suicide #<- just in case #twst angst #first two tags implied since it is a dream world and not reality #Lilia Vanrouge #lilia vanrouge x reader #twst lilia vanrouge #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x you #hurt no comfort #kind of #open ending ish #hopefully ending #ambiguous ending

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thegoldencontracts · 28 days

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I can make a request for Azul x Reader who confesses to him, but asks him to reject their feelings because they thinks he doesn't return their feelings and thinks he wouldn't date someone like them? Make it have a fluffy ending please!!!

Of course! Thank you for requestingg <3

Irrationality, Love

Summary: Azul never could help the irrational way he acted around you. An unexpected confession helps him sort himself out.

Notes: A dash of angst(?), I'm soo sorry to you anon I think I got a bit too self-indulgent with the prompt

You were an odd person. You weren't meant to be, that was the problem. You were average. No particularly remarkable talents or privileges to set you apart- at least, not when compared to the highly eccentric students of Night Raven.

And yet, you made Azul act in an infuriatingly irrational way. His heart raced, his face flushed, his head rushed. Seeing you in the hallways, he couldn't help but stare.

Your eyes, your hair, your lips- they were all tantalizing. Were they really, though? Or was that merely a part of the odd curse you'd set upon him, for him to be doomed to admire you no matter what?

It was an odd, addicting feeling. Why was it addicting? Why did he so crave the sight of your visage? He didn't even know.

He still remembered the first time he'd met you. Well, 'met' was a generous way to put it.

You'd been dining at the Lounge one day, and he'd been observing to make sure things were running smoothly.

But the moment he saw you, that turned into observing your face.

For quite a while. You seemed to sparkle, to shine. He couldn't look away.

Then, you met his gaze.

"Uh- is something the matter?" You asked, tilting your head in a confused manner that looked positively adorable. Wait, no, he wasn't supposed to think that.

"I don't understand what you're asking," Azul said, plastering his face with a condescending grin, before feigning a look of shock. "Oh, did you believe I was looking at you? Odd. I assure you, that wasn't the case. Apologies for souring your experience."

He had to save face. He was Azul Ashengrotto, the mercantile housewarden of Octavinelle. His ruthless yet elegant demeanor had garnered him fear and reverence alike throughout the school. He couldn't just throw that away over- this!

You seemed to accept that answer. Azul hastily left, only letting himself let out his long suppressed sigh of frustration after entering his room.

From next to him, Jade grinned.

"You seem out of sorts," he said, with the look of a predator analysing every weakness in their prey. Azul loathed having that look directed at him; he'd much rather Jade save it fort the clients.

"Shut it."

Jade merely laughed.

"I'm going to handle this- illness of mine, I assure you," Azul said, and Jade actually seemed confused at that. No matter. Azul wouldn't let himself be made a fool of. He couldn't.

Since then, he'd attempted to avoid you, though he'd failed quite a few times. More than quite a few times, in fact. Against his wishes and yet in compliance with them at the same time, you two'd grown closer, and the pounding of his heart around you only seemed to increase.

"Can't believe you're doing this for free, Azul," you said during one of your joint study-sessions, an impish grin on your face. "Is big bad Azul trying to make friends with someone? How shocking!"

Azul didn't know why, but the thought of you two being friends made him upset in a way that signalled that he wanted something more. What more could he possibly want? And why were you implying he was acting out of sentiment?

"P-Preposterous," he said, though his face was flushed. "I don't have friends, only business partners. A-and this is a mutually beneficial business exchange."

You just laughed.

"I never knew you could be so cute, Azul."

What was that supposed to mean? He wasn't cute, he was a businessman! A highly intimidating, refined businessman!

"F-Focus," he said. Why did he keep stuttering? This was all so odd. He only did this around you. He'd tried to get away, and yet he couldn't bring himself to? Why?

"Of course," you said, and that was it for your teasing. Well, for that study session, at least. It seemed like you'd never stop teasing him.

One day, however, you approached him in private, an uncharacteristically somber expression on your face. He wanted to wipe it off, to bring that impish grin back.

"I, uh, have something to tell you," you said, gaze downcast.

"What is it?"

"I love you," you said, as if it was nothing, as if you hadn't just brought a thousand questions to the forefront of his mind. You spoke once more after a few seconds. "...You can reject me now."

You'd been expecting rejection? Could he even reject you, when your confession had brought an answer to the question he'd had for ages?

Love. Was that the odd emotion you'd made him feel all along? It made sense.

"I assure you, you mustn't -"

"Don't try that customer service crap on me. I know you too well." A laugh and a choked sob, all at once. "I know that you're smart, hard-working, adorable and handsome at the same time, ambitious, strong, and just about a hundred other positive adjectives. And look-"

A tear fell from your right eye. It wasn't dramatic or even noticeable at a glance, but it was more heartbreaking than any cinematic breakdown.

"Look at me." Your words were naught but a cracked whisper. "I never stood a chance."

You'd expected rejection, but that wasn't what he was going to give. Azul had repressed his emotions, and that had hurt you. He couldn't let that happen. Not anymore.

Azul steeled himself.

"You're being much too hard on yourself," he chided. "And much too kind about me. If you think I don't return your feelings, then you're mistaken."

You looked at him, eyes wide with shock.

"You're joking, you've gotta be-"

In a fit of what he could only give the shameful label of primal instinct, Azul pulled you in by the tie of your uniform for a kiss.

Long, passionate, and greedy - though he was disappointed at the lack of internal fireworks that Idia's visual novels had promised him, it was lovely.

Azul pulled back after a while, leaving both of you breathless.

"Does that make my stance on the matter clear?" He said, and you nodded shakily. He was thankful for that, because he couldn't imagine having to say the words 'I love you' aloud.

"We're dating, then?" You said, a hopeful shine in your eyes.

He grinned.

"I'd love that."

Bonus:

"You've finally managed to overcome your emotional waterlogging, Azul? I couldn't be more proud."

"Yeah, little Azul's all~ grown up!"

"Hush, you," Azul said, before he realized.

"How long have you known?"

"Since you two first met," Jade said as if they were nothing.

Eh?

They'd known for- for that long? He'd been that obvious? How had he not noticed earlier? This was insane! He was slipping, and-

"Is something the matter, Azul?"

"I think you broke him."

#azul ashengrotto #twst azul #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #azul ashengrotto x you #azul x reader #twst x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #azul x you #fluff #twst #light angst #hurt/comfort

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oepionie · 1 year

Text

—"IT WAS JUST TWO LOVERS" various

💭masterlist

⊹ [ tags ] — hurt/comfort fluff, insecurities, mentions of overthinking, past relationship, they are down bad◞

HE LEISURELY PEPPERS KISSES against your cheek, hands dragging up and down your sides as you giggle at his saccharine affections. Both of you were entangled in bed, legs and arms drawn together as you had fleeting conversations about whatever came to mind.

"First love? Is that a term back in your world?" He murmurs, burying his face deep into the crook of your neck. Your lover wraps his arms tight around you, pulling your body flush against his.

A tender laugh leaves your lips as you thread your fingers through his hair. "Yes, that's a term. It's the first person you've ever loved. That one person that you will never forget. It's special since their love will leave an imprint on your heart, which will be there for all of eternity."

"I see." He hums, a forthright tone settling onto his tongue. "Well, in all honesty, you certainly wouldn't be my first love."

Oh.

Hand halting its ministrations in his hair, a bitter and agonizing feeling creeps up your chest as you force out a laugh. "I-Is that so?"

Well...perhaps you should have expected this. It was a thought you didn't want to admit to for the longest time. It only fueled your insecurities and left you feeling vulnerable, spiralling into a dishevelled mess of crying and overthinking.

Perhaps it was not so surprising, you lament.

He was a prince straight out of a fairy tale. Surely he has loved and has been loved by many other before? An uncomfortable silence followed soon after as you tried to muster up a response but couldn't. Your voice lodged itself in your throat, words failing you.

"I think the term has no merit to it, anyway." He murmurs, a soft smile gracing his lips. Your lover gazed at you affectionately as you blinked down at him and tilted your head in confusion. His love tinted stare pours over every detail of your face, observing how strands of hair fell over your cheeks, how your eyebrows drew together or how your lips pulled itself into a frown—he delighted in all of it.

"If I had love so impactful and grand as the first, why would I need another love?" Brushing his thumb against the corners of your lips, he eased your frown away. "First love, hm? That would be you then, dearest. Though, it would be far more fitting to say that you're my only one true love."

✩— MALLEUS, JADE, Lilia, VIL, ROOK, Jamil

Likes, Comments, and Reblogs are greatly appreciated and really motivating on my end!

Taglist: @keedas @spadecentral @crypticbibliophile @pastellepastary @cassidycampfire @cocomollo @poisonioushearts @kawaiipotatoghost @ramvuda @the-lost-anime-dad @kyraxiyn @mayaaaeo @rainybeebs

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rosehxnt · 9 months

Text

why am i me?

characters: deuce spade, cater diamond, leona kingscholar, kalim al-asim, vil schoenheit summary: you can’t help but compare yourself to those you see on social media warnings: overall mentions of insecurity about appearance/personality, reader wears makeup (vil), kind of implied post book 4 (kalim), possibly ooc, anyone can be pretty, grammar is what i want it to be

Deuce Spade “Why is everyone on this app prettier than me?” you mused, looking through the pictures of various magicam stars. “Ugh, I hate it here,” you said dramatically as you threw your phone down against the couch. “Did someone say something?” Deuce was already on his feet, ready to fight someone on your behalf. With calculated words and good reasoning skills of course. Not fists, never fists. “No one said anything I just feel…” you trailed off, hoping you didn’t have to say it but your boyfriend’s look of concern pushed you on. “…lackluster compared to everyone else.” "That's not true!" His enthusiasm about it almost startled you. "I think you're the prettiest in all of twisted wonderland." "But look at all these people." You went to retrieve your phone but Deuce intercepted you and tossed it on a nearby table. You were slightly concerned about the state of the screen but were quickly distracted. "Those people don't matter right now, so stop comparing yourself to them." He sat next to you. "I like you how you are, and I won't stop reminding you of that until you realize you're just as pretty, if not exceeding in prettiness, compared to everyone else."

Cater Diamond He couldn't say he didn't relate to you, but other things were more important at the moment. Cater watched your frustrated face as you tried to pull off the latest trend on magicam. He wished he could secretly capture it and post it with a 'totes adorbs' caption but he had promised you not to do that without permission. "I can help you if you want," he offered from across the table. "I got this," you assured him. "I just need to figure out how they did this one part." You also needed to figure out how they did the part after that, and the one after that. Cater could tell, and you could tell that he could tell. There was no other option at this point. "Okay, I need help." The next few minutes consisted of Cater leading you through the steps of the trend but you just couldn't get it down like everyone else seemed to. Cater could sense the previous frustration was close to making you even more upset. "How about you do it this way." He shifted your phone so it'd be easier. "But it looks cooler the way everyone else is doing it," you said as you moved it back in place. "What if we do it as a couple? That'll be cool." "You promise?" "I promise," Cater said as he took control of your phone again.

Leona Kingscholar Laying next to Leona in his bed, you scrolled through your magicam feed to find that some students in your class were throwing a party. "Do you ever feel like we're not fun enough?" He barely shifted to look at you, his green eyes opening to meet yours. "What do you mean by that?" "Like we never go to parties or school events and stuff." You sat up. "Places where people have fun." Leona was sitting up ever so slightly now. "Do you really want to hang out with people you barely know?" You stopped to think about the excruciating small talk you'd have to go through since as far as you knew none of your friends were going to be attending. "I know I'd rather be spending my time here with you," Leona broke the brief silence. "It's fun in our own way." "Really?" "You heard me, herbivore. I'm not gonna say it again." He settled back down. Giving no response you dove back to where you were laying. Leona grabbed you by your waist and pulled you towards him, settling his face in the crook of your neck. You smiled, knowing spending the evening in his arms would be much more fun than some party.

Kalim Al-Asim With your living conditions being less than ideal, you couldn't say you had the resources to buy any trendy or expensive clothes. This often caused you to silently lament over the fashion of others, sometimes growing into jealousy. The worst part was that you felt bad whenever you became envious of your boyfriend, Kalim, who was by no means lacking in money. Today was one of those days. Watching him sift through his latest shopping spree you found yourself becoming quieter in your responses. You didn't think he would notice until he spoke. "Is something wrong? You're not as energetic as normal." "No, I'm just feeling a bit tired right now." You tried to force a smile as you reassured him. But he could sense something was up with your facade. "Did you want to go shopping too? I know you said you were busy but we can always go again," Kalim said, moving closer to you. "I'm fine, I don't exactly have the funds for it anyway." "I can pay!" Always the optimist, a smile spread across his face. "We can make a date out of it!" "Thank you for offering but I don't want to use you like that," you said. "I'll be okay." He met your eyes. "Please let me do this for you." You couldn't help but smile at Kalim's actions. "Okay, let's go." "Yay! Shopping date here we come!" "Maybe we should ask Jamil first," you suggested while you took his hand as he led you out of the dorm.

Vil Schoenheit You shuffled across the floor of the pomfiore dorm, phone dangling from your hand as students both avoided you and somehow led you to who you were there to see. "I'm sorry if I'm bothering you but-" "My dear potato, you could never bother me," Vil turned to look at you. "What's the matter?" You stared at your shoes for a moment, too embarrassed to show your face even from this far away. Sensing your apprehension, he stood and took even, elegant steps your way. "If you don't tell me, I can't help you." You finally raised your head to make eye contact with the man. "I tried a makeup tutorial I saw online and I look like a clown, not in a fun way. I don't understand how the person in the pictures looks so good and I can't." "Show me what you were going for, I'm sure I'll be able to help." Over the duration of the afternoon, Vil showed you not only the proper way to perform the look you were going for but also what colors suited you best and the proper technique to use. He even redid your makeup and allowed you to borrow some items from his collection to use for practice. Vil sat you in front of his vanity mirror, letting you get used to your new appearance. You inspected how the soft hues looked against your skin, how they complimented you much better than the ones before, enhancing your nose and showing off your eye shape. "I went with something more natural looking," he said from behind you. "I hope you don't mind, liebling, for you are lovely just the way you are."

a/n: my apologies for some being longer than others or more self-inserty but this will be the first piece of writing i'm posting so i hope it's enjoyable at least m.list & rules

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loveydovey-leviathan · 3 months

Text

"promise"

leona x gn!reader

summary: leona pushes you away because he wants you to be happy | 2k words

cw: very loosely based on the song "promise" by laufey, reader is yuu, farena uses yuu's happiness against his brother, kinda ooc, leona doesn't know how to handle his emotions or problems, he's a dick but when is he not, leona pushes you away and he doesn't communicate properly, reader chooses leona over their world, happy ending because im not one of those writers who likes to see everyone suffer /j

The day Leona had was too nice and the night too beautiful for him to be putting up with his perfect, always-the-first-choice, thinking-he-knew-what-was-best-for-everyone, and quite frankly just plain annoying older brother.

"What do you want?" he grumbles as soon as he answers the call, lying down on his bed.

"What, I can't call my younger brother just because?" Farena chuckles, a sound familiar to Leona but he knows him well enough to realise that he has an ulterior motive besides just checking up on him.

"You don't call unless it's to tell me something."

"Now, I know that's not true! I've called you plenty of times but-"

"Spit it out."

The voice on the huffs, but it's followed by a few seconds of silence. Leona is about to hang up before Farena finally breaks it.

"I know about your relationship with the Prefect of Ramshackle Dorm, Leona. Did you really think you could hide it from me.?

"I never hid it from you."

"Then how come you didn't tell me? It's been months!"

"I don't tell you anything."

"I know that but I thought you'd tell me this at the very least," another sigh from the King. Leona waits for him to continue because there's clearly more to this pointless conversation.

"Leona, you may not be King but you still have responsibilities to uphold."

"I knew what I was getting into when I chose ___."

"Yes, but do they know?"

"Of course, they do, they aren't stupid."

"Are you sure? And I mean absolutely sure, no doubts whatsoever and everything was made crystal clear since the beginning. I'm not talking about the stupid part, in case you were wondering."

"What are you getting at," it was more of a demand than a question.

"You're a prince, Leona! That's what I'm getting at, you can't be selfish like this!"

"Yes, I can," Leona knew he was selfish, but so many things had been taken from him purely by chance, but you chose to love him. He was your first choice and he'd love you for the rest of his life, consequences and stupid responsibilities be damned.

"I meant concerning ___. They're from another world, correct? Would you make them choose between you and the family they have back in their home?"

Leona doesn't like to think about it. The thought is shoved into the far corners of his mind, where worries as heavy as this are left to fester, waiting to attack on lonely nights. He grips his bed sheets tight.

"You should consider their happiness as well, Leona," he knows that, everything he's done was in an effort to do so– to prove to you that you weren't going to regret loving him.

"And if they do choose you, and if this relationship lasts until both of you graduate, do you think they'll be happy here with you? It's one thing to date during school, but when you leave its confines and truly become a Prince, will they still be happy with you? Royalty has always upheld a tremendous amount of responsibility, and the spouse of said royalty is expected to share that burden alongside them."

Once again, Leona doesn't answer, and Farena sighs. It's one of finality and exhaustion.

"I hope you think about what I've said tonight, Leona. Good night, and I'm always here when you need me," the call ends and the second son puts down the phone. He doesn't know how long he stays awake staring at the ceiling, but by the end of it, he clenches his fist even harder and grits his jaw. He loves you too much to be selfish.

━━━━━━━

You find Leona under his usual spot in the botanic garden. He’s as pretty as always but it’s immediately evident to you that something is wrong. His body is too tense, there are dark circles under his eyes and his tail is lashing side to side in a rapid manner.

“Leona?” you call to him, but he doesn’t answer, though you know he’s awake. You step towards him and sit down near his head, expecting him to drag your body nearer so he can lay on your lap. He doesn’t move.

You know him much more than he thinks you do, so there isn’t a doubt in your mind when you ask “...Did your brother call?”. At that, he finally raises an eyelid and his mouth moves to form the question you’ve become used to, ‘How’d you know?’ but only a sigh leaves his lips.

Suddenly he sits up, and you notice that there’s at least a foot of distance in between you. He stares at your face for a while and the silence as you wait for him to say something stretches more than it should– something is wrong and even though he isn’t acting that weird, there’s a heavy feeling in your gut that spreads to your chest and onto your fingers, begging to hold him.

So you do. You scoot closer and entwine your hands with his. He hesitates for 1, 2, 3 seconds before squeezing back and tucking his head into the crook of your neck like all he wants to do is hide away. Gently, ever so gently, you place his head onto his usual spot on your thighs and he buries his face in your stomach. The action is tight and desperate, his body curls as though he wants to mould his very being to you. It cracks open your ribs and makes your heart bleed because when he hurts, you hurt with him.

The rest of the lunch break is quiet but he doesn’t fall asleep. And when you leave you don’t see him for days.

━━━━━━━

He senses you before he even hears your footsteps, before the warm and familiar sound of your voice fills the hallways of this school. It’s always been like that with you, he realises. He doesn’t even have to search for you– it’s like he already knows his place in the world and that’s by your side, so he just gravitates towards the one he’s given his heart to. But he makes a conscious effort to ignore the tug of his legs that instinctively wants to be near and moves away.

He knows he should just tell you, end it all before he hurts you and the poison in his veins that tells him he’s never going to be good enough taints you as well– which you aren’t, you deserve so much more than a second no-good prince– but he’s also selfish, and he figures out that he is also a giant coward.

The voice that tells him so screams at him when he breaks his promise and goes back to you, tail between his legs and shame on his shoulders weighing him down. It always happens when he’s delirious on sleep deprivation because he can’t close his eyes without seeing you and the hurt expression you try to hide when you think no one’s looking. He tries to push you away, or rather to pull himself away– but he can’t stand the thought of you going back to life without him even though his conscious mind wants you to.

When he first showed up at your doorstep, the betrayal and shock pummelled his soul to the earth and made his heart drop to his gut. But you didn’t say anything when he barged into your personal space and wrapped himself around you like he never left. He half-expected you to demand why he’d been so distant but all you did was hug him back so tight his heart lodged in his throat and tears welled up from the choking feeling. You took him by the hand and you both slept on the couch that night. By the next morning, he was gone without a word and the guilt felt even heavier, knowing he got your hopes up. He promised himself he wouldn’t do this again.

That night repeats days after and the cycle repeats. His visits don’t have a pattern. Sometimes, he comes after 3 days, others a week or more. By the third visit, you look tired- of him. He hates it but somehow it feels right, not in the way he likes but in the way you’re supposed to. The way you deserve to. Maybe if you hated him you wouldn’t hurt.

━━━━━━━

He’s lost count of how many times he’s visited but tonight when he sees you, you look angry, rightfully so. You’re undeservingly patient towards him. When Leona sees your face, you’re angry– furious at him. You look like you want to throw him across all your furniture in hopes that he feels the same way you feel.

“Leona–” he hates the way you say his name. It’s angry and cruel and deserved. “-- what the hell is going on? You won’t tell me what happened to make you act like this and then you ignore me for days right after–”

“Nothing’s going on,” he stubbornly grumbles. Like he’s said every time you’ve asked. Every time he says this you look increasingly frustrated because it’s obvious that he’s lying– and your eyebrows scrunch in exasperation once more.

But this time your face falls and his heart stops.

“We can’t keep doing this anymore, if you don’t tell me– then I can’t be with you.”

He doesn’t know why he’s so frazzled– this is what he’s been waiting for because he was too much of a weakling to tell you himself, why he started all of this in the first place.

But he misses you, and he’s selfish. He always has been and he doubts he’s ever going to change.

“Would you choose me?” The question makes you pause.

“Leona, I did choose you–”

“If you could go back to your world, would you still choose me?” Would you pick me first?

You’re silent then. His palms almost bleed with how hard he clenches his hands as he waits for you.

“...Yes. Yes, I would. If you tell me why you’re acting like this.” He doesn’t know if you’re telling the truth, if you’ll still tell him that if there really was a time you had to choose between him and your world. But he’s so tired, and he loves you more than the amount of stars there are in the sky.

“I got a call from Farena,” this makes you hesitantly reach for his hand. He meets you halfway and you rub your thumb over his knuckles. The action makes him want to tear up– you’re still so gentle with him after everything.

“Do you think you’ll be happy with me? When we both graduate and I have to help my brother rule, will you be happy?”

He feels your hand on his cheeks, lifting his head to look at you properly. The look in your eyes isn't angry or hurt, it’s soft and understanding. He almost forgot how it felt to be on the other side of your affections.

“I knew what I was getting into when I chose you. You’re rough around the edges but you make me happy in ways no one ever did, like no one ever could.”

He moves his arms to hug you but he stops, still not sure if he’s allowed to. You meet him halfway and he buries his face into your neck. You feel tears stain your shirt and he lets out a sigh so deep and tired it makes you smile.

“Haven’t been able to sleep without you, herbivore.”

You chuckle, “Guess you aren’t getting rid of me then.”

“...Sorry.”

“I know. I love you.”

“I love you too, more than anything.”

You hold him with enough love to break his heart all over again, and he holds you like a beast who doesn’t deserve it but will gladly take anything you give him.

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minimallyminnie · 11 months

Text

Unspoken Words.

I’m trying out a new format for my posts so don’t mind me~

Summary- When Azul focuses too much on work than you, it doesn’t go well. Will he chose work or his significant other..?

Tw: Reader being sad, Azul crying, yes there’s a fucking child

Tags: Gn Reader x Azul Ashengrotto, Gn reader, Yes you are the prefect, Azul being a silly himbo/hj, happy ending, gn child, you can imagine yourself with the kid being biological or adopted, whatever you choose

Enjoy you poor unfortunate souls…

“Azul?” You called out into his study looking for your love

“I am very busy right now. What do you want?” He said, not looking up from his contracts

“They’re…they’re in bed, you don’t need to worry about them but, when will you come to bed?”

He voice displays no emotion as he continues on working

“Not right now. Later.”

You bite your lip and grip the door handle tighter. You wanted him to come back to sleep by your side. But work always was first place in his life rather than anyone or anything else.

“Azul…I…” You look up with a tiny piece of hope that he would look at you but to no avail. “Nevermind…I love you Azzy…” You don’t hear a response back but rather a pen scratching the paper.

Sighing softly, you head to the cold room hurt.

You lie down on the bed, underneath the blankets but yet, you’re still cold.

Taking your pillow, you hold it and just let your tears leak down.

Azul was a smart man. Yes, he overblotted because of various things…but he’s a smart man.

He managed to get his business far and profitable. He’s successful. The Maestro cafe being much further than he’d ever imagined.

Azul has a family and a successful life…

Yes, his family wants to spend time with him but he’s trying to keep everything together so he can grow his business and provide for them.

But…he doesn’t know why his heart feels like it’s yearning for something…

Like he’s doing something wrong, but what is it?

He ends up dozing off in the end.

“Daddy.”

Jade, Floyd, Azul and you are startled by the small child that just walked into Maestro cafe and hugged Floyd’s leg

“Floyd?! We literally took a class in biology to use prote-“

“Let’s not say that in front of the kid!” You cut Azul off

He picks up the child, expecting them to cry

“Ooh~! I could squeeze you to death little guppy!”

“Floyd! You’re going to scare-“

Instead of crying or screaming, the guppy laughs and puts their hands on Floyd’s cheeks

You put the cleaning cloth into the back of your pocket while you and Jade laugh at both of them

“Aww~! Can we keep it Jade? Azul?”

“I think we should since we need more helpers~”

“Cut it out you two, we don’t even know who’s it is!”

“You shouldn’t call a child an it…” You told your friend

Once the youngest hears you speak, they look at you and make grabby hands

And then they call out to you using their name for you

And everyone looks absolutely shocked

“I’m sorry, what.”

“Little shrimpy has a guppy?!”

“Oh great seven, you didn’t tell us this~”

Floyd happily hands the child to you and instantly, they laugh in your arms

“This baby isn’t mine! I swear on my life you three!”

And the twins start to draw closer to you as Azul looks terrified in the back

Until—

“Papa!” The 5 year old reaches to touch Jade’s cheeks

“Jade, Floyd, [Name]! Did you three have one child altogether or something behind my back?!”

“No!” “Perhaps!”

And it happens all over again…

When you four tell Crowley about it, he tells you to deal with it yourself in a paraphrased term until the baby bit his arm

He then says to keep it in Ramshackle or Octavinelle, which to keep Grim from complaining or arguing with the child, you all decided to keep them in Octavinelle

When you asked Lilia about it, he said that the baby was somehow sent to the past and that he was able to get it back at the end of the week

You silently celebrated in your confusion towards the young child. It was Monday so you only had to last until Sunday! Good enough!

After your shift at Maestro cafe, you always went to the vip room with Azul and Jade to see Floyd hanging out with the child

Strangely enough, they didn’t seem to want to play with Azul very much. Going as far as clinging onto one of the Tweel’s or yours arm instead and a frustrated Azul not knowing what he did wrong, rereading contracts

In the middle of the week, you’re busy doing something with the rest of the first years and the twins have to make up a test so it’s just Azul and the small child that for some reason, did not like him.

The child sits far away coloring with crayons, quiet, not trying to bother him to play with them. Like…it’s some sort of burden.

Azul wonders as he writes on another contract what he did wrong

And he finally gets his guts together

Rolling up the paper, he sets it aside and moves closer to the child

“What are you drawing?”

“…My family.” They say quietly, unlike the boisterous yelling they do with the others

“May I take a look?”

“Y’never look when I wan’ you to.”

That perks Azul’s attention up

“Do you know me in the future?”

The child nods hesitantly

“You…you’re my real papa. Y’don’t like me very much though.”

Azul’s eyes widen

“I-I’m y-your father?”

“Yeah…” They stop their drawing and slides it to Azul’s side

There was them in the middle of you and the Tweels. Azul being on the other side of the paper.

“[Child’s Name]…May I ask you why ‘I don’t like you’ in your time and why I’m far away even when I’m your father?”

“Y’don’t play with me. You don’t eat with me n’ [Nickname] at the table, you…you always in your study room working on…c-cont-racts.”

A sniffle comes from the child

“I see Jadey and Flo around more than you…I can see [Nickname] being sad cause y’not there. You..you only care ‘bout work.”

Oh and how Azul’s heart shatters hearing about this. He does get with his crush and have a family, but he took it for granted. Future him took his happy family for granted. The route he’s going now, only focusing on his own profit, will only cause pain.

He cusses in his head.

“No, no, I don’t care about work. Not now.” Azul moves to the child’s side, picking them up into his arms and hugging them tightly

“I don’t know what happened in the future but, I would love you. No matter what. Future me is quite silly so do not believe in him.”

“You…you really wanna be my daddy?”

“I don’t ‘wanna’ be, I am your father. I shouldn’t have taken that for granted. To have a cute mini octopus like you in my life as well as your [Nickname] makes me feel happy. I don’t know what will happen once you get sent back but for the rest of this week, I will give you everything.”

“Pinky promise?” Azul rubs the tears away with a handkerchief as they point their pinky out. He smiles happily

“Pinky promise.” He clasps their pinkys together

After they finish crying, they turn over to the table and scratches the former paper with a black crayon before getting a new one

“Oh? Why did you do that?”

“Daddy wants to be with me! I wanna remake it now!”

“Can I draw with you then?”

“Yeah!”

Needless to say when the three of you rushed over to the vip room expecting the baby to cry or be alone, you all are surprised seeing a Azul with them in his lap, both drawing while having a conversation.

What’s more surprising?

The soft expression Azul has on his face.

Your heart beats a bit faster as adoration pops up in your chest.

Lilia had told you all that after he sent them back, that everyone would lose their memories. With that, Azul used that to his advantage and told you three who the child really belonged to.

The Tweels spent an hour teasing you and Azul about it

When it’s time to say goodbye, Lilia is busy reading the spell while the child hugs the twins tightly

“Bye bye Jadey! Bye bye Flo!”

“Wahh…does guppy have to go…?”

“Unless you want a time paradox or something, yeah they do.” Lilia pats both of twins on the back

Fortunately for you and Azul who were watching in the back, the twins backed off and gave you a moment’s peace with your the child.

“[Nickname]! Papa!” They come up and you both kneel down to reciprocate their embrace

Your eyes lock with Azul’s and for a split second he sees you in a wedding outfit. Your left hand which was laying on top of the guppy’s head was adorned with two rings.

He blinks and sees you in the normal school uniform but can’t help but smile happily at his future family.

“Remember our promise. Ok?” He tells them once you three part

The smaller nods excitedly before standing in front of a waiting Lilia

And thus, he casts the spell. The spell replaces everyone’s memories with what should’ve happened without the child

And they start to progress again…

Azul wakes up, flinching

He doesn’t know how but he woke up from this…strange dream.

Did…did he really only focus on work?

He thinks back to the past few months and his face retorts in horror of the realization

He has. He needs to make it up to his family before it’s too late.

Azul rushes out of his study to the bedroom to see you asleep with puffy eyes

He leaps on the bed, shaking you in near tears

“H-huh? Azul…? What is it? Do you need something—“

He cuts you off with a hug that pins you back to the bed

“Azzy?! Wha-what’s wrong?!”

“Please forgive me. I’ve been a terrible husband and father recently. Focusing o-only on work, how silly of me to lose sight of what I truly love.” His arms tighten around you

“Azul…can’t breathe…”

Azul quickly pulls off of and sits up anxiously. Waiting for you to say you don’t forgive him or divorce him but what comes next is nothing but a soft kiss to his lips.

“I’m just happy that you finally realized it. I was so scared I lost you. But just to note, I’ll kick your ass if you do this again.” You whisper in his ear as you hug him tightly

“I’ll take that anytime.” He then sneaks under the blanket with you and held you throughout the night, whispering to you that he would never leave you again.

In the morning, he asks the twins to take over for him today. They happily agreed, cheering over the phone. Seems like they noticed his change in behavior too.

He chuckles to himself before he feels your presence next to him, rubbing your head into his shoulder.

“It’s rare you cook.”

“I plan on doing this more. Haven’t done this for you two in a long time.”

You laugh and kiss him before you both hear small footsteps in the hallway

“[Nickname], I have brushed m’ teeth by myself!” They stand proud before their shock is evident on their face at Azul’s presence

“Hi little guppy,” You pat them on their head as they look at Azul with hesitation “Good job on brushing your teeth all on your own! Papa is off work today so he can spend time with us. Wanna say hi?”

You look at him and his expression is bitter at how he left you two alone. He catches your glance and sees how you just tell him to try.

He walks towards his kid as you watch the stovetop.

Kneeling down, he held the smaller hands in his.

“I…I haven’t been a good father for you my dear fry. I’m so sorry for that. To pay attention to my work more than my own family was a huge mistake. I wish to make it up to you in any way no matter how long it takes. I’ll look at your drawings, play with your toys, cook your favorite thing. I love you so much. I am so, so sorry.” He looks down sadly as he tells him

“Nuh-uh! You’re my daddy. You are my papa! You said sorry and you wanna color with me! I like that. Jadey and Flo took care of me but you’re my favorite! I love you too!” The child grins brightly at him and Azul wells up in tears again, hugging the small child’s frame tightly.

And a whisper came from them

“You kept our promise. I’m happy.” And they rush off to the table once you call for them to wash their hands and eat.

The whispered phrase nudges at him

‘Was it…truly a dream or did we both experience that…?”

My dumbass kept thinking about how this sounds like The Christmas Carol wayyy too much. Anyways best Christmas movie 10/10, fight me. @demon-lover-669 thank you for the prompt. That was delicious.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #azul ashengrotto x yuu #azul ashengrotto x mc #Azul ashengrotto x male reader #Azul ashengrotto x female reader #Azul ashengrotto x gn reader #angst #hurt/comfort #happy ending #minniemoots #mindlessclow #x reader #gn reader #twisted wonderland x female reader #twisted wonderland x male reader #twisted wonderland x gn reader

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twstjam · 10 months

Text

Book 7 Spoilers ahead!!!

hmmmmm Lilia x Reader where you're a member of the Silver Owls but you have no loyalty to them so you betray them by secretly playing spy for the fae in exchange for peace, quiet, and safety if you help them win. The fae don't really trust you, especially Lilia, but he knows opportunity when he sees one. They just have to be careful about how much they trust you.

Because of the nature of your agreement you end up meeting up and exchanging letters with the Phantom General of the Briar fae a lot to relay information. At first it's just that and your meetings are all really just pure business, but then Lilia complains about Princess Malenoa and everyone pushing jobs onto him. This spurs you on to complain about Henrik and how all he does is order people around and lounge around all day. The two of you end up bonding over your demanding and tiring jobs and gradually grow closer each letter.

Aside from exchanging information, the two of you begin to exchange stories and tales and knowledge. You begin to know each other on different facets that no one else knows and confide in each other your deepest thoughts, fears, and insecurities. The two of you have a lot in common and understand each other so well that it just makes it so easy and natural and comfortable to be open like this. No one else have ever made either of you feel safe enough to share your most deepest secrets (not even Malenoa and Revan in Lilia's case. They're his best friends but they're also his superiors. There's just some things he can't talk about with them.) so it's so nice to finally find someone that does.

The two of you fall slowly, but you fall hard.

Neither of you admit this to each other of course. A war is no time for something as silly and trivial as love and romance and you both know that neither of you have time for a relationship. So you both pine and yearn in silence, either from your fortresses miles away from each other, or several feet apart on the rare occasions you meet up in person—so close yet still so far.

In one of your letters you relay to Lilia your worry that someone might be catching on. Lilia's heart twists in fear and his mind races with paranoid thoughts and possibilities. He doesn't show any concern in his response aside from acknowledging your worry, but he does tell you to be careful. He reasons that it would be unfortunate for the fae if their most valuable informant were to be discovered. (he activated tsundere mode to cope)

He sends the letter and goes about his duties. Days pass. Weeks. He realises during some off-time that he hasn't heard from you in a while. More time passes. No sign of a response from you.

Lilia says to himself that it's fine. It's nothing. It's no big deal. You're probably just occupied, or finally realised how dangerous it was to keep associating with the enemy. It's fine. The fae forces have managed before without your assistance. It's fine it's fine it's fine

he's not fine

(Part 2)

#twisted wonderland #lilia vanrouge #book 7 spoilers #twst book 7 spoilers #lilia vanrouge x you #lilia vanrouge x reader #twisted wonderland imagines #there're so many possibilities for what happens next #you're either straight up dead (either by your own doing or execution)#lilia either never finds out about this or finds your body later on (depending on what kind of angst you prefer)#or you're still alive but in hiding because you got discovered and lilia finds you later on #OR lilia somehow hears about you being discovered and comes to your rescue in the nick of time #and we get some hurt/comfort as he takes you into the safety of fae territory and treats your injuries

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magnus-cinis · 6 months

Note

can we see fluffy riddle/chenya cuddles?? (post overblot for the hurt/comfort)

kiss me on the mouth anon

chenyas legs went numb btw (they stayed like this till someone found em and had to kick chenya out lol)

#i love hurt/comfort #oh brother i LOVE hurt/comfort #artists on tumblr #twisted wonderland #twst #ツイステ #disney twisted wonderland #digital fanart #digital art #riddle rosehearts #twst riddle #chenya #artemiy artemiyevich pinker #i love them #magnus_cinis art

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ovobawrites · 5 months

Text

𝒢𝒾𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓇𝒷𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹 𝐻𝑜𝓊𝓈𝑒 - 𝒯𝓇𝑒𝓎 𝓍 𝑅𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

I decided to publish this oneshot cuz i still like it! I wrote it a year ago for a oneshot collab book.

This contains jealousy, hurt/comfort, christmas and a gender neutral reader. I got the dividers from @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more over here on tumblr!

The smell of strawberry shortcake wafted through the air, the three-tiered cake resting on the counter top while Trey started preparing the icing. You watched him wistfully, his strong arms beating the air into the cream without even breaking a sweat. Winter was just on the horizon and soon it'd be...

Well for you it'd be Christmas, for the others it was just an exam week and the long-awaited holidays. Still, you wanted to celebrate somehow. Which led you to where you were now, watching your dear boyfriend ready the confectioneries for the upcoming unbirthday party. Might as well ask him while he was already baking, right?

"Hey Trey..." You swung your legs to and fro from atop the counter. Your boyfriend hummed distractedly in reply. "Do you think we could make a gingerbread house or something together?"

Trey halted his whisking, shoulders tensing ever so slightly. You already knew what he was going to say. Still, you waited with a glimmer of hope.

"Winter exams are just around the corner, dear, and with Riddle being so adamant on our dorm scoring high on the leader-board..." He trailed off.

"You'll be busy studying, I know. I just wanted to check if you had the time to." You plastered on a smile he'd never see, his back to you. "That reminds me, are we still having that study date tonight?"

A pause.

Ah. Again.

Trey turned around to face you with an apologetic look on his face. "Sorry, Riddle's-"

"It's fine, don't worry about it!" You had guessed. "We can always reschedule for later. You're a third-year and all! A busy old man!" Too many jokes for it to be genuine.

Still Trey chuckled obligingly, kissed you on the cheek, and went back to his baking. You sighed quietly to yourself.

At least you'd have Grim with you for Christmas.

"What's Christmas?" Grim asked you as you lied in bed, resting on your stomach while you told him about your plans for the holidays.

"It's a holiday in my world, a celebration." You explained softly, longing in your voice. "There's a lot of boring history behind it but essentially we give each other gifts on December 25th. The whole month's a holiday, really. My family and I would make gingerbread houses, decorate a pine tree together..." You trailed off.

"Sounds fun," Grim muttered, half asleep. "the Great Grim wants tuna as a present... a whole pile of it..." He snored softly.

You smiled, melancholic and wistful. "A Christmas with just you and me..." How lonely. It was stupid of you to hope like that.

You drifted off to sleep, unaware of Grim peering at you with worried eyes, a frown on his face.

The library was practically empty. Most NRC students would never study during a weekend, after all. Might as well get used to being alone for the winter break now. Grim was asleep on your lap once again, the cold weather making him more drowsy than usual. You sighed, leaning your head against your hand, absent-mindedly flipping pages in your (borrowed) history textbook. Hopefully you could convince Crowley to give you all that tuna he promised, otherwise you'd be spending your lunch money on tuna for the next few weeks.

The creak of the library door opening made you raise your head, curious to who had entered. No one you recognised. A couple, by the looks of things. Chatting quietly to each other, smiles on their faces as they walked to a table at the back of the room. You sighed again. Back to taking notes from the textbook then.

And as you took the notes, a black knot started to furl up in your chest.

'Policies in the Queendom of Roses during 1635'

...

'Public reaction to Policies'

...

'Red Rose Uprising'

Flip the page of your notebook, blink and close your dry eyes for a moment.

'Establishment of a Democratic System'

...

'Reinstatement of the Monarchy'

...

'Reign of the Queen of Hearts'

...

You blinked slowly, feeling the tell tale signs of an impromptu nap creeping up on you. What would happen if you slept for a little while? You'd be woken up by the bell, and it's not like you had any plans before lunch anyways.

Close the textbook, pack away your stationary and put your stuff in your bag. Then you took off your blazer and bunched it on the table, resting your head on it.

(The soft feeling of a familiar coat being draped over you didn't register. Still, some subconscious part of you smiled in your sleep.)

You woke up when Grim shook you frantically. The bell had just rung to signal that it was time for lunch. You went to pick up your bag, but halted in your steps. Someone's NRC uniform jacket rested on your shoulders. A quick glance at the label told you what you already knew. It was Trey's.

You brushed your hands over the jacket, and your cheeks flushed ever so slightly.

"Ughhh, hurry up, (Y/N)! The Great Grim needs to eat!" The not-cat batted at you with his paws. "Come on! Let's eat! Now!"

"Right, sorry."

You quickly gathered your belongings and left the library, Grim curled around your neck and chattering away. You remained quiet, thoughts turbulent. Should you give Trey his coat back now? Or should you wait until he asks you for it? You wanted to see him but he was probably busy. Still. Maybe you should go to the Heartslabyul dorm after Grim has his fill of food...

"Yeah, yeah. You go talk to Trey and I'll do something else, like find those two bozos." Grim waved a paw dismissively before he brightened up. "Or I could go take some food from the-!"

"No." You pet his head lightly. "You know Riddle will just collar you again if he catches you stealing food, right?"

"Please, he's mellowed out! And I barely got to eat my lunch!" Grim turned pleading eyes towards you, fully aware that you saw him eat three times his body weight in carbonara.

"I'll only be talking to Trey for a bit anyways." You smiled bitterly. "He's busy studying with Riddle, or whatever."

Grim slumped over, and you caught a flash of something in his eyes. Pity? "Fine, but you owe me three cans of tuna, got that?!"

"Deal." You shook his 'hand' before you hurried off to find Trey.

You just wanted to go back to your dorm and study. As much as you loathed to admit it, you were still raw and open from yesterday's conversation. You didn't want to feel so vulnerable, but Trey had a way of making you feel such stupid things. Now where would you find your busy boyfriend...

Knowing Riddle, the two of them are probably studying together in the garden. You strided over, Trey's jacket carefully folded in your arms, held tightly to your chest.

A laugh you knew all too well. Looks like your first guess was right!

Still, better check in case you were just experiencing a brief auditory hallucination.

You peered around a rose bush, silent as a mouse and completely unnoticed. Trey and Riddle were laughing together, holding tea cups and carrying a light, inaudible conversation. There were no books on the garden table. Riddle said something, and Trey burst out into peals of laughter, face flushing in delight. You've never been able to get him to laugh like that. And with how the two were seated next to each other, barely any space between them, it looked an awful lot like they were on a...

A date.

Ah. So that's what's been twisting your guts this whole time. You're jealous. Of Riddle.

Another loud laugh from Trey, who looked at Riddle with such soft and loving eyes and-

You couldn't bear to see any more of this.

You left just as quietly as you came, Trey's jacket still tucked tightly in your arms. You immediately went to find Grim, you couldn't- you didn't want to-

You just wanted to go home. But you can't. So Ramshackle's the next best thing you've got.

You stared at the ground, hurrying to the Heartslabyul dorm's main building, not paying any attention to who was in front of you. So it really shouldn't have shocked you when you crashed into someone's chest.

"Oi, be careful- (Y/N)?" Deuce immediately switched gears, looking upon you with gentle concern.

"Sorry for bumping into you, Deuce." You said, "I was distracted."

"Hey, it's fine, don't worry about it-"

"Oh? What's this? Is Deucey bullying the poor, helpless Prefect?" Ace came over smoothly, a wicked grin on his face. "What would Riddle say if he saw you?"

"Shut up Ace!" Deuce sighed, then looked at you. Really looked at you. It felt like he was gazing into your soul.

You squirmed, feeling a little uncomfortable. "Um... do you want to say something?"

Deuce jolted. "No I-"

Ace sidled over to Deuce, throwing an arm over his shoulder. "Yeah, did you Deuce? 'Cause you were staring at (Y/N) for an awfully long amount of time. Trying to steal Trey's datemate?"

That's when Grim spoke up, jumping onto your neck in one quick pounce. "You better not be trying to mess with my henchman, Deuce... or else..."

"I wasn't!" Deuce cried out, looking awfully persecuted. "I just got lost in thought, you know?"

"Don't think too hard, Deucey~" Ace chuckled. "You might blow up the only two braincells you got left!"

"Like you have many braincells of your own, Ace." You shot back. "Grim, are you ready to go?"

He peered at you, pausing in licking his paw. "I was always ready to leave. I don't wanna catch these two's stupidity!"

"As if you aren't just as stupid as us!" Ace and Deuce yelled, the two grappling at each other in another fight that would undoubtedly get them in trouble.

"I'll see you guys in class on Monday!" You smiled and waved at the two as you walked back to the mirror. "Don't get into too much trouble this time, 'kay?"

"No promises!" Ace said, trapped in Deuce's headlock. "Ow- ow, that hurts you idiot!"

"They're gonna get collared by Riddle again." Grim said flatly as the two of you walked far away enough to no longer hear the boys' hissed insults and swears. "And were you not able to find Trey?"

"Why do you ask that?"

"You still have his jacket." Grim pointed out.

You looked down, a little shocked to see it in your arms still. "Oh, right. I forgot." You stepped through the mirror before continuing your conversation with Grim. "And yeah, I couldn't. Maybe he's in the library?"

"Do you wanna go there now?"

You sighed. "Not really, I'm a little too tired for that..."

"Well, you better have enough energy to cook me a bunch of tuna for dinner!"

"You got it, boss."

Soon enough, you were too busy to even think about Trey and Riddle and the horrible things you felt. Your hands were full from your three idiots making some dumb deal with Azul. Then there was staying at Savanaclaw for a few days, and you weren't even able to see Trey at that point. Instead, you told the boys to tell him at the dorms that you needed to cancel the few dates the two of you had planned.

And now you were stuck in the infirmary for a checkup after Azul's overblot, the ghostly nurse fussing over the whole lot of you after that whole ordeal. Luckily, no one was really injured, but you were forced into staying in the school infirmary for the night, again.

"Why does this always happen to me." You groaned, staring at the ceiling, Grim curled up on your lap. "I should have never gotten involved in this... I was so stupid..."

"Hey, at least Leona was able to get rid of Azul's dirt on hi- Mmph!" Ruggie writhed under Leona's hand, struggling to get free while laughing at the look on his face.

"We. Agreed. Not. To. Talk. About. That." He growled out, removing his hand from Ruggie's mouth.

Ruggie smiled innocently. "Did we? I might need a little something as a reminder-"

He was cut off once again. This time by the door slamming open. Trey burst into the infirmary, hair a mess and glasses askew.

He looked around the room frantically. "Is (Y/N) okay? I heard she was-" He looked at you.

"Hi." You croaked out, voice a little sore from yelling out commands to Grim.

He rushed over to you, nearly tripping over in the process. "Hey." He smiled, eyes worried. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, my throat just hurts a little from shouting so much." Your stomach fluttered as Trey grabbed your hand with such care, thumb brushing over the back of it, rubbing gentle, soothing circles into your skin.

"There are... other people here... you know." Azul said, voice barely above a whisper. "I'd like to leave... the third wheeling to... Grim..." He coughed.

Ace and Deuce burst into laughter at that, Floyd and Jade following shortly after.

"It's so true!" Ace wheezed out. "Everytime they're on a study date... Grim's-" He took a deep breath, barely able to get his words out. "Grim's always there-" He laughed even harder, nearly falling off his bed.

Deuce managed to push past the laughter to speak. "He always says he's chaperoning- like he could stop Trey!"

"Nooo, really?" Leona smirked. "That's actually tragic. What does he think will happen?"

Even you laughed a little, throat hurting a little too much to actually laugh that loud. They were so lucky Grim was a deep sleeper. Trey just continued smiling and grasped your hand a little tighter, settling into the chair by your bedside.

"Do you want to bake something together, tomorrow?" He whispered, voice barely audible above the boys' laughter.

You perked up slightly. "A gingerbread house?"

He leant down to kiss you on the forehead. "Anything you want."

"Can't you guys cut out the PDA? Just this once?" Ace whined, sticking his tongue out in disgust.

You looked at Trey, knew he would indulge anything you asked of him, and decided you might as well cause a little more chaos while you were stuck here. "Can I have a real kiss?"

Trey sighed reluctantly, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "I guess..."

The shouts of disgust from everyone in the room only made you laugh harder.

You gasped as you took in the magnificent sight before you, "That's so many sweets!" You turned to Trey, who looked awfully proud for someone who claimed to care about dental health. "How did you get all of these?"

"I had a little bit of help." He smiled, before turning to the ingredients he had set out on the kitchen counter. "We should start making the dough first, put the cookies in the oven, and then plan out the decorations." Trey rolled his sleeves up. "How about you start with combining the wet ingredients, while I work on the dry ones?"

"Sure!" You took one look longingly at the rows of candy packets in front of you. "And I can definitely snack on the candies a little while we wait for the gingerbread to bake, right?"

A chuckle. "Okay, but you'll have to brush your teeth with extra care tonight."

"When have I not? It's Grim you have to be worried about..." You lightly kissed Trey on the cheek and went to wash your hands. "Time to bake!"

Trey sat on the chair next to you, automatically wrapping an arm around you to tuck you in close. "So were you thinking to make a traditionally-styled gingerbread house, or did you want to go for something more..."

"I thought it might be a little fun if we used the left over dough to make little gingerbread versions of our friends!" You said, leaning into your boyfriend's warmth. "I bet Ace would bite cookie Deuce's head off in a heartbeat."

The soft rumble of Trey's laughter. "Cater would love it, he'd keep gingerbread-him alive for as long as he could. He'd probably spam his magicam feed with the amount of photos he'd take."

You giggled in turn, basking in the comfort Trey brought you. A lull in the conversation. Before.

"Have you been avoiding me?" Trey asked, eyes staring at the wall.

You paused. "It wasn't intentional." Both of you knew there was a reason for it.

Trey remained silent, an indication that he wasn't going to pressure you into talking about this. But he'd like to know.

You twisted your hands in your lap, not sure what to say. 'I've been jealous about you being close with your childhood friend?' like that'd go over well. "It's just me being stupid, that's all." You kept your eyes fixed to your hands.

Trey held you tighter. "If it bothers you, it's not stupid."

Even now your face flushed. "I..." Butterflies flooded your stomach. "Promise you won't get upset?"

"I promise."

"It's- I'm- The thing is I-" You sighed in frustration, stumbling over your words like a child. "I saw you and Riddle that day and it-" You started to pick at the skin around your nails. "I felt... jealous, okay?" Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes. You didn't know why you felt so upset, but your eyes burned nonetheless and the pit in your chest grew larger.

A beat of silence. Another.

Trey removed his arm from around your shoulder and you automatically flinched, shutting your eyes out of fear. You didn't want to see the look of disgust on his face.

Trey grasped your hands in his, stopping you from trying to make your fingers bleed. "I'm not sure why you feel jealous, but it's not something silly. I promised I wouldn't get mad at you, and I'm not." You opened your eyes, and he let go of your hands for just a moment to brush away your tears. "You know..." Trey looked away, the tips of his ears turning red. "I get jealous too, sometimes."

You squirmed your fingers in his grip. "Really?" Wait. "Of who?"

"Of Leona, and of Floyd, and-" Trey cut himself off. "A lot of guys. It's irrational, but it's something I can't help feeling." He snorted, and turned to fully face you. "That's one of the reasons why I kissed you in the infirmary, you know. I just wanted to make sure everyone could see that we're dating."

Ah. "Me too." You said in a hushed voice, cheeks feeling a bit warm. "I guess we were both being a little stupid, huh."

"At least we can be stupid together." Trey smiled, kissing your hands gently.

You couldn't hold back the peals of laughter. "That's- that's so cheesy." You wheezed, nearly falling over.

Trey joined in, pulling you up into his arms and pressed his forehead against yours. And for the first time since you arrived in this Twisted Wonderland, you felt at home.

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #trey clover x reader #twst hurt/comfort #twst angst #twst fluff #reader insert #ovobawrites

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yomogi-mogi-mochi · 1 year

Text

Merciful Crusade

Pairings: Jamil x Shikigami MC

Summary: The life of a shikigami, or a ceremonial servant spirit was a threadbare one. The small world you scarcely lived consisted of hard, earth‒packed walls framed tightly against a small cedar cell, illuminated only by the lonely starlight during your sleepless nights. Despite your human body, you’re almost certain you’ve never felt the blood move and warm your body in such a way that would indicate that there had ever been a human heart‒ having spent too much time gilded with a hardened iron face to even feel it if it had been there. Jamil‒ who untethers you from the spell that binds you to your onmiyoji master‒ becomes a peculiar mirror in your new life that reflects your choked breaths and measured footsteps. It never bothered you when your own body smothered what was left of your vitality‒ but when you watch Jamil from a distance, knowing the way he classifies each movement, the strangle of his muscles‒ something inside you aches. You don’t know why.

Tw: Mentions of Child abuse/abuse, references to slavery, references to dissociation, references to dissociative amnesia/amnesia, references to anxiety

GN terms for MC

AO3 Link Here.

Masterlist.

——————————————————

"Do not fail me."

You bow forward, on your knees, palms to the gravel, neck cooled from the moonlight. Practiced, perfectly paced breaths, mathematically measured strain of your muscles. It must all be still, perfect as your master always instructs with every narrowed twitch of his eyes, the tightening grip on his staff prepared to unleash his flurry of magic. You had felt it before, the fire of his skillful hand on your skin, bubbling the flesh, and every fiber of your muscles parting with his lashing hands. So you've burned these precise movements, each counted breath, to your body tightly wound to still any mistake, any fear that may escape it. Servant spirits do not speak, tremble, or bleed without the permission of their Onmiyoji masters, however‒ your body once human‒ would shake if you didn't hold the tightness in your shoulders at the center of your stomach, the lurching muscles of your spine.

"Leave." He dismisses with a whirl of his hand which cuts through the air.

You do as you are commanded, leaping onto your feet and back to the hall of mirrors to head to the Scarabia dorm. The halls are hollow and whistle somberly with the breeze that runs through, and you glide with that sound to reach the boy's room with muted footsteps. Somber indeed, if the word poured from the mouths of wives and neighbors and kings and queens of the lives you had taken were true to its meaning. Another night, another prince's blood is spilt. However practiced, every movement and decision must be performed with quick execution and precise resolution before you disappear like the stars washed from the bleeding morning light.

The knife in your hand molds against your grip as you creep into the room‒ the boy sleeping peacefully in his plush pillows and rich fabrics, sunken deeply into slumber. His soft breaths tickle your hand like a fluttering bird as you hold the cloth just above his lips, before you hands work quickly to press it firmly into his airways, filling his lungs with the chemical of your master's making. He takes a brief second of conscious struggle, widening his eyes with panic, but he soon succumbs as they always do‒ eyes rolling back with an idle slump before all the muscles of the body grew limp. You take the blade to his throat, promising a quick death with the angle of which is pressed into his bulging vein. A deep breath in to draw the sharpness quickly in one sweeping motion.

But you are stopped by a stony grip and a cold voice which coils around your spine, sending a cold shiver down which you swallow through your taut muscles the best you can.

“Stop right there.”

In an instant, you leap backwards, body lowered to the ground prepared to take down your obstacle.

“Look into my eyes.”

They're all the same‒ woven with greed, with false hope, fear‒ all of the rotten fruit which bears heavy on humanity before you bleed every lustrous thing out of them. You always look at their eyes with great indifference as you do with most things, knowing no matter how much they thrash their body and rip terror and mercy through their throat‒ a single motion of your hand would empty them out of such things, as swift as dark wings that claws rotten flesh clean from breaking bones.

But you are met with all the silvery glitter of ebbing stars.

It is of course not his magic he casts which stills your hand a moment in the air‒ your current status as spirit assured that‒ but the world within the delicacy which projects this spell. Like the thousand colors of heavenly bodies and roaring comets, you think. The allure which trickles between the thick cedar bars of your cell every night‒ the only beauty you know of. And now its greatness was closer than ever, you didn’t know how quite to react other than to stare back dumbly.

"Put the knife down and step away‒"

You fling yourself towards him in that instant, scraping the skin where the largest vein lies beneath with a lightfast motion, and knocking the wand in his hand. He is quick on his feet, shifting backwards with fluid movement, before he jumps back towards you like a striking serpent‒ pinning one arm down and using his other hand to bring your knife down towards your shoulder. You catch his wrist with the thrust of your elbow, the knife inches away from your palm.

"That should have worked on you…"

This would have to be dealt with quickly.

"Your abilities only work on humans, am I correct?"

He is startled by the rasp of your voice. "Yes. But…"

In the midst of his confusion, you rammed your hand through the tip of the blade, grabbing his hand with the same hand that tore to pieces with blood and sinew. You flipped him to the ground, pinning his hands to the ground in the same way he had with you. You felt a swift kick to the stomach before you could properly pin his legs down with your own‒ flying towards the wall with his knife still lodged in your hand. Yanking it out with a bloody tug, you resumed a low stance to charge him once more.

"You are insane." He says, disgust in his eyes.

You leaped at his throat again, while he dodged your tactical violence with a strained breath. Good, he was beginning to waver, you thought. But just as that thought passed, you felt him snake around your form, behind your neck with a prepared fist. Feeling it prickle the hair on your neck, you jumped back, at the ledge of the window to regain your composure. But before you could even grip the handle of your knife properly, you felt your body tipping backwards towards the sky‒ a gust of wind pulling at your spine.

As you fell, you tried to think of something, anything, you could measure your life with. But there was nothing, only threadbare blankets of meaning and will. You’ve heard the sputtering nonsense of men you had failed to kill swiftly, recounting their husbands, their wives, their mistresses, their friends, and their children as they choked out their last breath‒ but nothing of that sort came to your mind, just the disappointment adorning your master’s face‒ and ‒ the unyielding excellence of the night sky. You'd never have to face that fury anymore if you succumbed to it‒ so you let your head dip into the dazzling starlight weaving their path like turbulent waves through the darkened sky, prickling in their evanescent virtuosity. You were glad at least to recognize such beauty by the end of your life, and see it at last beyond your cedar cage. Scorching those prickling lights into the flesh of your eyelids, you let the fall embrace your body, diving down.

But you soon realized the darkness you had laced into the eyes of many dead did not come. You looked up, the man grasping your hands, plump veins threading his strained arm. The knife in your hand was nimble, quick to stab through your own and into his, knowing the likelihood of his arm giving before he could pull you up. But he whacked the knife out his skin and from your hand, cupping it over yours to begin pulling you up and inside.

"You are fucking crazy. Do you want to die or something?"

You didn't want anything, but you especially didn't want to anger your master. And it would anger him very much if you left evidence, and especially if you failed this task and came back alive. But you suppose it wouldn’t make much of a difference if he ended your barren life.

You laid limp in his hands, until he dragged you over the ledge of the window, toppling your body onto the floor with a thud next to his. With no weapon, you could resort to your bare hands, so you prepared both of your bloodied limbs, cracking your fingers in the air as your knife sharp nails gleamed with red even in the cool blue of the moonlight.

However, you felt the man's feet sweep under yours, knocking you off your center and smashing your face into the ground. Quickly, you raised your stance, ignoring the blood that dribbled from your forehead and nose before returning the favor to his own feet, dragging your battered body towards the boy’s sleeping one. All you would need is a single hand‒ if your other limbs and face came as an expense, so be it. You felt a tug at your pants.

The man let out a groan. "Just. Stay. Down already!"

Your eyes slanted towards his body, as he began to rise off the floor, and away from the carpet. Something tugged inside you, but you let him, heaving your body towards the prince. But the fabric moved from under your feet, catching you in its constructing embrace. You looked down, finding your body completely restricted by a rough fabric that seemed to be wriggling against your rebellious arms.

The man tipped his head back in relief, slumping his shoulders down. "Thank the great sevens for this carpet. Kamil is so going to be hearing about this tomorrow morning. As for you…" You stared with a wicked violence in your eyes, daring him to lay a hand on you again, You’d tear out from this fabric and rip everything in your sight to shreds. "Ugh you have such unsettling eyes. It would be better if I just brought you to Crowley. I don't get paid enough for this." He retrieved his wand off the ground, waving it in front of your eyes. You barely fought the phasing darkness that eclipsed your vision, before you fell completely into it.

——————————————————

Shikigami don't sleep, so you don’t dream, usually. Today you won’t either.

But some nights in your cedar bared cell, you would press your ear to the earth, feel when it would rumble in its arcane voice that rippled like a heartbeat in the hard, earth-packed floor. You’d imagine the heart of the earth, writhing with molten rock, and the way it would hiss feverishly when it met the polluted air above ground‒ beating especially fast during the moments you’d feel it growl against your flattened cheek. The song, and blood of the earth, raw. The dried roots hanging from the ground would be traced by your fingers, as you’d imagine surpassing the curtain of flesh and bone to dive deeper into that beating earth‒ feeling that heart closer, trailing the way the movement would hammer throughout your body. Beyond all that tightness, the pain you would trickle from, back into the heart of the earth.

You’d never felt a beat closer than the one beyond your reach, deep under the ground. But when you felt like you needed to hear the sound of your own heartbeat you’ve never heard‒ you would imagine yourself feathering into the earth to feel it.

“Hey. Wake up.”

You wince slightly from the bright daylight entering what appeared to be an office room, blinking to adjust your vision unaccustomed to seeing the rays of the sun. The halls at your master’s abode had always been shrouded in darkness‒ either through the veil of night, or the washi paper dyed dark that showed itself only slightly against the solid shoji frames. Nonetheless, you do everything in your draining power to flatten your expression solid, chilled, against peering eyes. It seems that is all you can do against the three which stand before you, your body and hands bound tightly against the chair you were sat on.

“They don’t look threatening at all Jamil!”

The boy you had been sent out for is still alive, as carefree and sprightly as he was the weeks and months you had observed him. Your eyes swim throughout the room and to the three who stand before you, your mind racing to look for a weapon, a human error, a crack in their facade you could thrust into and to break their bodies‒ to at least finish the bare minimum of your master’s bidding.

A man in a mask stands between the two younger men with a file in his hands. “Hm. I’m looking through their files and they seem like they’ve been enrolled normally, a late enrollment, but nothing too suspicious in their file…”

“Still‒ this matter should be investigated properly. I will send a message to the Al-Asim family for any resources you need to do so.” The man you fought yesterday rubs his injured hand as he glances at the file, before he flickers his eyes to your form, stilling your wandering eyes in an instant.

“Don’t bother looking for an escape. Even you won’t be able to escape those bounds.”

You feel the knot of your hands, and you know it well‒ the one the guards use in your cell during nights they particularly felt they needed to release some pent up stress.

“Will you dispose of me?”

“We’re not gonna kill you if that’s what you're asking.” The ivory haired boy answers. His companion sighs a bit at his words.

“Kalim, ignore them.” His words fall sharply against your steely gaze. “Who sent you?”

You still yourself to silence, returning his question only with unblinking, vacant eyes. This was the best choice, you think, having never had to make this decision before‒ you’d be dead soon after if you had failed to protect your Master’s confidentiality. Perfection or failure‒ that thought had already fettered in your mind, tingling at the back of your neck as if to recall its previous sanctions. Though, you suppose the silence that slated your mouth shut at this moment would be able to prolong that inevitability of suffering. Jaws clamped, shoulders snared, eyes clenched so tightly you saw bursting stars. Those raging bodies could fashion something from that petrified tensity, purifying it to gild yourself in an impenetrable alloy. Still, a hammer is a hammer‒ it could still shape and scar the metal, however impervious.

You breathe, in, out‒ expelling some of the tightness in your aching back. It always came, always. Reliving those things in this moment would be carving this tomb of a body into more of a museum of yourself. It would soon come, but you’d be steely, cold, by then‒ you had plenty of time. It would come, but not now, you reminded yourself. There was time to strip yourself raw of any feeling.

The masked man sighs. “Clearly this isn’t going anywhere. So I’m going to put you in charge of this…” He looks you up and down. “…fellow. Until I get someone to investigate this matter more deeply.”

“Of course.”

——————————————————

Your master visits that night.

You've exhausted yourself thoroughly by the time the moon slits itself brightly against the night sky. You don't know whether your fatigue comes from your attempts in unbinding your limbs, or from your still racing mind‒ either way, your body had readied itself for all of your damnation tonight, slumped and sapped of sensation and feeling. But even between your phasing consciousness, you could feel the dreadful drag of his robes, the vivid power swelling with each step he takes towards you‒ a high tide of terror suspended over you before it all came crashing down with a grip to your scalp.

Your vision is burnished from a flame coiled around his hands‒ a herald for the burns to come. It eats away at your clothes, and then rages against your skin, splitting it open like seeds, sowing the ache of tomorrow. But right now, you focus on unfeeling all of that‒ jaws clamped, shoulders snared, eyes clenched so tightly you see bursting stars. Unfeel it. Unfeel. A prayer, if you knew the word.

“You have disappointed me one last time.”

Your master never taught you how to shape decadent words with your mouth. Your tongue was cut and hammered for concise, sparse‒ cold, metallic language‒ please, thank you, yes, forgive me, Master, my apologies.

Mercy.

That was not one you had learned from him, but had heard so countless times before you had taken the lives of many‒ the word embossed in your mind so deeply it had finally carved itself out to take shape on its own. You thought yourself ready for all of this, but something climbs from your throat. Mercy, mercy, master, mercy‒ the word ran forward on your tongue like an undammed flood, the sound of your voice so frail and winded having been gnawed every waking moment you stood hardened at your master’s feet. You barely recognize it against the thundering of your blood. When he reaches to your throat, palms adorned with the inferno of his abhorrence‒ you rip that word from your cords towards anything you may have the capacity to believe in ‒ a god, a martyr, some mythical beast‒ something that had never shown itself in your life that may present itself in this very moment.

Mercy is not of the servant words. He spits, "Failure". Your kind were to take punishment of the sacrilege that was your very existence with thanks, not some wailing perversion of humanity. Still, you break through to cry that word. For hope, or some dwindling attachment to life you do not know. You were reborn without will, no fire, no warmth, and you know the stars do not answer to those who have no heart. But still, you cry. You cry.

“Trespassers aren’t welcome here.”

The roaring scald at your skin stops for a moment, leaving only the aching blister hissing against the air. You cast a fading look to Jamil, who stands behind your master with a wand in hand.

“Look into my eyes.”

You call to mercy, and it comes in his words.

“The person reflected on your eyes is your master. Answer if you are asked, obey if you are ordered."

The magic takes its time to coil within your master, ever a stubborn mind. But when it does, you feel a lightness within you, and for a second you think it's the trick of the torrid ache that bleeds you dry of life, or the released pressure from your throat that is the cause. That is until you hear the words that follow.

"Free them. They are yours no longer."

No, that lightness was very real. It bleeds within your chest, for once, the weight in your lungs as you breathe in, out dwindles. You listen again to his words which echo in your mind, then you realize. He had released you from your master's contract.

You let the darkness welcome you as it always has, untethering all the stiffness that binds you. It slips between your cracks like smoke, and you feel as wild and boundless as the roaring starlights. You hold onto the feeling as tightly and as long as you can before it slips, and ciders, as all things do.

Shikigami are bound to their master for life, but you're a unique case, you've heard. It was through those cedar bars tipped to the night skies where you hear whispers and hushed words during night patrol‒ the gossip of the many hands and blades which were under your master's rule. Usually, they are about trivial human affairs‒ what to eat that night, who to bed, who to rage against. But you’ve heard, once.

That one is strange, once human. Once like us. Now…

You're instructed by your master to keep your head down, bowed to the gravel and tethered low to the earth. It is where you belong. He snarls, driving it further towards the filth. You know to do this for all who work in the great mansion‒ but there was once, when you were younger, a time you had flashed the vacancy of your eyes towards a general. You didn't think much of the tremble of his chest, the disgust twisted in his face and the weak sting of his hand when a fist knocked you to the wall. It’s just how it is.

You don't know, but you think your master has done worse. You had never measured the strength of fist against your flesh against each other‒ it was useless to dwell on it‒ much easier to swallow all of it the same way, deep into your dark belly. But when word soon found its way to him, you found this to be untrue. Humans are capable of so much more. There was pain beyond comparison.

That night turned out to be only the rehearsal for many more to come, a harbinger to the trick you embedded in every movement, every bow, every breath. A trick of petrification‒ knowing the taste of blood through teeth, tongue, and flesh, how to swallow it in silence. When the flaying began that night you’d learn how to snare every muscle in your body inwards, drive that agony deep within that fossilized density, shove your face deep in the corner‒ take the pain and hide the face of it. Soon, that face began to fade all together, you’d soon forget how to shape your features in a way that wasn’t thickset iron, that bent and molded against every crucible that scorched and tempered, remaining the same insipid gray no matter how many times it would be hammered and fluxed into any shape. If you’d concentrate enough, you may taste the fragrant blood from your body‒ but you’d swallow it as soon as it came before its flavor could meet your mind.

Once like us. Not any more.

Men slept so soundly at night once you had shown you'd drag yourself through the halls beating after beating like a rotten corpse‒ heaving behind thrashed skin and filthy blood even with it all nearly being drained from you.

Like us, but no longer.

They'd often take turns with their own fists, their own blades, chattering with laughter at your limp form, their inhuman brutality spilling endlessly out from them like buzzing plagues. The next day you'd smell the stink of their lily white faces in the morning incense they burn at their shrines wishing for good fortune, riches, for my wife, this; for my son, that. Though you had sipped the ambrosia of their boundless violence‒ you never thought your eyes divine during those ceaseless nights‒ it was just the way things are. Perhaps that knowledge morphed you into a caricature of the celestial bodies‒ after all, you’d once been made in their image. But the stars never answered your calls. It was all the same for shikigami, you were just a unique case‒ therefore, you must be punished for such heresy that was to defy human order.

You thought for sure your master would have concocted some acid to smear between the cracks of his skin, brewed death to his hands before he took your throat into it‒ ensuring your destruction. But that would be a kindness for empty spirits such as yourself, so he'd meant to do the same as all other men‒ to satiate their hunger, to ravage and tear apart such living things that could not raise a finger to their might. What better than something that looked like an image of the gods‒ a human? Like us, but no longer. He meant to enjoy every fleeting breath of your lungs, every drop of blood spilt with his permission. So, you supposed you shouldn't be too surprised that you've woken up in the same world again after you had felt the unraveling of your contract. You gnaw on yourself.

"Oh. You're awake."

No binds, no chair. Only having known the cold, earth-packed floors of your cell, even during your investigations at the school‒ the plush that surrounds you dips awkwardly against your wobbling body, trying to balance itself on the soft surface. You find your center, and you touch the softest, most whole fabric you’ve feat your fingers to. You rake your nails through it to test the delicacy.

"You shouldn't move so much, or that's what Jamil told me. Your scars will reopen, I think." It's the ivory haired boy again. You look for his companion either sweeping eyes, but find no one else in the room but him.

"It's okay. You're safe now‒ Jamil told me about your situation."

Your voice comes willowy, dry and crushed like the autumn floor. "Situation?"

He looks a bit in confusion. “Yeah, your Master. He treats you poorly, doesn’t he?”

“Poorly?”

“Yeah, poorly. Like he… abuses you?”

You think. You know blood, you know how it spills and beads off your flesh as it is feathered open like a festering, spewing fruit. But you’ve moved so straight-backed all these years, muscles calcified to contain all your writhing heart at once in the great brimming bowl of your hands. You didn’t think of the pain too often or soften your body enough to feel it‒ only of the next breath, the next twitch in your muscles that would spill a drop of that dark liquid, and become reason to prolong the flaying. Maybe that was pain too, the tightness. But such knowledge would be useless in your hands, you decide, so you say your words with conviction‒ flesh fossilized to gilded iron so vigorous it would brace any feeling under its pressurized solidity.

“Abuse is a strong word.”

Kalim blinks. “Still‒ a master’s duty is to protect their servants and right hand, not hurt them. So you can stay with us, here.” He smiles brightly, hands behind his head and tossed back.

Your head spun with questions‒ but so many of them falling from your lips began to feel foreign on the tongue. So you declare, “It's just how things are. And…” You look you the boy's hands. Would they reach to you in their cruelty like all others have? Groveling at your master's feet did work at times to feed his ego, his hunger, perhaps you should do the same for him. "Thank you, prince. For this you can use me however you wish." You bow your head, stretching thin your scars.

He’s silent, something you measure to be surprise or confusion‒ but before you can completely catch it, Jamil walks through the door, steaming plates in hand. “Kalim, don’t tip your chair like that.”

“You’re finally awake.” He hands you a plate of something hot. It’s nothing like you’ve ever smelled before‒ fragrant spices, the warmth of each bursting smell tingling your nostrils and to the back of your throat. Despite its rather plain brown color, the dish glistens and gleams with each slurred movement of the steaming stew, poured over the white heaps you had seen other servants carrying to your master’s quarters, every morning, lunch, dinner.

“Eat. It will help you heal.”

“Heal?”

Again, surprise, you gather, though expressions seem to be faint on Jamil. It stills to his usual expression soon after while he chooses his words carefully. “For your wounds. The…trauma you’ve sustained on your body.”

You echo the words you’re unfamiliar with, shaping your clumsy tongue to shape such indulgent words. “Trauma?”

“Your back, your body. It’s sustained prolonged exposure to…damage. It’s going to take a long time to heal. Even longer with you malnourished.” He answers quickly, a flicker of his eyes like the tongue of an apse to measure your expression without notice. But you know the movement, having carved it in peripheral gauges low to the ground. You don’t answer to it however, still caught by his foreign words. Even from the most brutal floggings, scars were healed quickly and with force‒ through acid salves and infused tinctures that bubbled away your body’s ailments. You were never given food after your beatings‒ that would be rewarding bad behavior after all‒ you weren’t familiar with this process.

“Oh.”

“Aren’t your parents worried?” Jamil shoots a look at Kalim when he asks it, but the ivory haired boy does not take notice with his undeviating gaze.

“I don’t think I have them.”

“You don’t think?” Jamil quirks a suspicious eyebrow.

Kalim leans forward, inspecting your face. “Are you even human? We can't find anything else on you besides your school records."

“I am human. Or…” You look at your reflection in the window, peering into your gaze to find the same life that was held in theirs, or even passing birds and young buds sprouting from the ground. Pain, humiliation, some sliver of the folly of men you'd witnessed. But nothing. Only a shaded hue which atrophied in all directions. “I was.”

Jamil gathers his eyebrows to the center of his forehead. "Explain. We're still investigating further into your matter, and we've virtually nothing on your file. We can’t help if we know nothing."

You slosh around the food with the spoon, eventually placing it on the table beside you, bringing that plush blanket to your hands. "I know as much as you do‒ I was once human, and now I'm a servant spirit. I don't know or remember anything beyond that."

"Does the name (Name) mean anything to you?"

"It was just something randomly picked by my master. Fake, I think."

"That's not possible. The dark mirror summons its students by their true name."

You sift through your memories, searching if there was never any recollection of anyone calling a name to you. It was always "you" and sharpened fingers‒ a passing phrase to rush against their lips, a nuisance to waste breath on when in turn, they could tug at your chains or pull you by the root of your hair. But never (Name). Your head scraped against itself with that sound, as if to kindle some memory that had been lost in the air.

"It…sounds familiar, maybe. Perhaps it was my old name. I do not remember anything of my past life, if any, truely."

Jamil hums. "Well, if you remember anything, report it to me so I can pass it on to the investigation."

"Certainly."

"Are you not going to eat that?" Kalim points to the still steaming plate of food on the bedside table.

"Spirits do not require food, prince."

He waves his hand, dismissing the title which falls naturally from your mouth. "Ah, no need for formalities, Kalim is okay. But you should try‒ Jamil's curry is the best!"

You weigh their expression as Kalim thrusts the plate into your hands again, taking in that inviting aroma once more. Scraping the foreign utensil against the ceramic, you shovel a heaping spoonful clumsily into your mouth. Spices, the heat, mouthwatering oils, and ‒ no doubt‒ a harvest rooted in the clouds of heaven and paradise.

You had felt the pyre at your master's hands, blistering and breaking your skin like rotting fruit, the earth baked raw with the sun against the soles of your feet. You'd felt snow that scalded you like fire upon your fingers, tonics and brews summoned by your master splitting your skin like wildfire eating away through cedar forests‒ fresh, still beating blood spilt on your face, your own and many others’. But it was not until that moment that you’d felt warmth.

When you brought those steaming white pearls to your lips, glazed with that fragrant sauce, you were flushed with that mildness‒ a heaving gravity that beat like a heart. Living‒ or whatever that could mean to you.

"Did you…" You dig through the plate with the metal, searching for a sprig of an herb, the trace remains of a tincture, magics and spells which could be hidden in ground willow bark and the sticky sap of flowers that could not be fully dissolved enough into the fat of the dish that would stray from your untrained eye. “…what did you do to this dish?”

“If you’re accusing me of poisoning you‒”

“You couldn’t have, I’m immune. But…” You feel a pressure at the back of your throat‒ perhaps that heart was fighting its way out of you, you think. In fact, all of your organs felt like they were being rushed to the edge of your flesh, to the skin meeting the air to make space for this writhing feeling inside, swelling, reaching its arms to the very core of your chest, unfurling its prickling fingers to your stomach. Yet, it felt inextricably tender, moth soft. “What is this called?”

Kalim answers. “Curry?”

The words come clumsy‒ you try to swallow that lump which disables you of clarity in your words with a gulp ‒ but that golden feeling comes back in waves, stuffing you of all of its thundering presence. “What about inside?” You scrape another bite into your mouth, it blooms with another burst of warmth inside your entire body. “This warmth. What is that ingredient called?”

The ivory haired boy shakes in laughter, taking an elbow to his companion' side. "I think they’re talking about love, Jamil. You made it with looooove~." He sings.

Love.

You’d heard that word sparingly in the twisted corners of your cell, sipping sparse droplets of it and swallowing the power infused in that word. You’d never know the true taste of that word, but whispers and pleas here and there: he loves me, she loves me not, I love, I love, I love. It was rarely a word that was used in its full capacity in the human tongue, or at least how you’ve seen it‒ instead, its unfurling force threaded into dying confessions and outstretched hands that was fleeting with the beat of life. I love you, I love you, I love you. Their final words to their wives, children‒ the likes. You had added it to the list of unknown words, but held a special place for all of its vigor it seemed to have upon human lips, a sacrosanct sound kept deep in their blood until it was bleeding from their bodies. You felt that robustness in you, living. You thought you did, anyway. You were still too straight backed‒ solid steel to feel the full shape of it.

Jamil rolls his eyes, averting his gaze. "You're just getting used to proper food. It's just curry over rice, nothing special." He digs back into the dish, scooping it into his mouth with a bored expression. But even with his lolled gaze, you feel his eyes on you‒ telegraphing.

Something is wrong with me. You think. It is of course a permanent thought in your mind, pressed upon you with the sharp disgust in others' eyes and depth of their hatred as they lash against you‒ but it wakes and rises on your flesh like a seal burned upon your skin, stinging and bitter against the air. You feel raw with it, for once, perhaps this was pain. What you remember of it at least.

Another, and another, and another spoonful into your mouth, teeth clacking against the metal in the speed of which you bring it to your lips. But that thing is alive as ever, taking its great wings to jostle the beat of your own heart inside you. You don't notice the last bite being shoveled into your mouth‒ but when you do, it grows cold, tasteless, sandy on your tongue. The absence of that warmth leaves you frigid as ever.

"Could I‒" You bite back at your heart slipping through your lips. Asking for anymore, just mere days after you had attempted to take the life of the boy standing in front of you would be met with lashing words, if you were to flatter yourself with some ability of self preservation and cleverness to escape a more realistic punishment worthy of your master's name. "Apologies‒ I spoke out of line. Let me clean your plates." You swallow the last bits of rice stuck between your gums, savoring each bursting pearl before it slides cold down your throat.

"It's fine. I'll go get more for you, do you want the same amount?" Jamil stops you from even rising from the bed, taking your plate in his hands.

Your palms feel empty without instruction, the consequences that come if you do not anticipate it. So you stumble over your words. "I…please. If that's okay, yes please. I’ll do anything."

"You don’t have to do anything, we have plenty. From now on, you can always ask for more."

From now on. You traced that word in your mind with a buzzing feeling inside you, imagine pressing against the ground to feel that heartbeat underground. You find its shape somewhere within you, you think. From now on. the feeling bubbles and erupts from your chest. From now on. You replace the beat of your blood with it, sounding each word as a pulsing force throughout your body.

All you can do is nod meekly, bringing the soft blankets back to your hands, feel your sharpness claw against it.

——————————————————

"So you’ve really never had food before?"

You look at the tiers of boxed lunch lain in front of you, taking hungry spoonfuls into your mouth with quick speed. Its inviting aroma and warmth narrowed your vision at once, focused on the vibrant sauces, heaps of rice steamed with fragrant herbs, grilled meats that would leave your mouth watering, grape leaves stuffed plump with grains. "What do I have to do to earn it?" You asked Jamil this morning, body still heavy with its sunken weight in the softness of your covers, linens, mattresses, pillows, is what he called them. "You don't have to earn food." His voice is flat, but there's still a softness to his eyes when he hands you the boxed lunch. It had been some weeks since he had started packing them for you, seeing that the cafeteria lunches weren’t enough for your stomach, nor for the healing of what he called, your trauma. All of what he made was sprawled out in front of you now‒ half of it’s heaping amount finished, much to the amazement of your classmates. They crowd around you‒ counting the empty containers, gawking at the speed in which you fed yourself.

“No, I haven’t. But I’ve bitten someone’s ear off before, does that count?”

The ginger who asked you the question smiles, but there is slight unease rolling through his expression, and he lowers the device he had in your face moments ago. “O-oh. Good one.”

You’re tempted to ask what is?- but the nerves wobbling through his eyes, and those around him, quickly turns to something distant‒ revolt, you think. It stifles your voice, and your hands. The area clears almost completely, leaving you only with Jamil and Kalim.

“What was good?” you ask.

Jamil gives you a look you’re not sure what to do with. “Maybe you shouldn’t talk so much about your old life. People get unnerved, even if it’s normal for you.”

“Oh. Okay.” You accept his words with ease, but the food you begin to scoop back into your mouth turns heavy and tasteless. It forces cold and damp through your throat, and you almost gag, prompting you to excuse yourself for the water fountain.

“Trey, you have to see the new kid.”

The red head, you think, raising your head above the fountain.

"They're a tad unnerving. However, we should prevent our first impressions from welcoming a new student."

"Yeah, yeah. But you know what they said when I asked them if they've ever had food before?"

You hear the other student sigh, then ask. "What?"

"They said 'no, but I've bitten off a ear before, does that count?' And their gaze gives me the creeps! Ugh‒ Trey this school just keeps on attracting more weirdos."

Their voice reaches closer, until you're standing face to face with them, you settle your eyes on them, take in their nausea as part of their own.

“O-Oh! You scared us, (Name).”

“Sorry.” You say, gaze cast to the floor.

It is where you belong.

If spirits existed, ghosts certainly could‒ with the solidity of your master’s voice ringing through your ears, you were almost certain you could feel his thin fingers threaded through your hair, pushing it down towards the earthly filth. Even with your downturned gaze, you know how to read the unease fluttering sharply within the cavity of their chest, the unyielding distance between you, and them. You gild yourself in that iron again, head down, back straight. It was a shape you knew how to forge yourself into, at least, rather than some crude caricature of humanity. It’s just how it is.

“You didn’t hear us did- oof.” The student next to him jabs him in the stomach.

“We’re sorry. We don’t mean any harm, we swear.”

You were already turning from their faces, measured breaths, jaw clamped, shoulders snared. Before this, you’d carefully temper your flesh and ask‒ was this the shape of a human‒ how they moved, how they felt, how they lived? But the softened iron of your palms had turned to something else, some smoothed, petrified alloy that could not be identified, found, or belong anywhere. All those years‒ hammered and fluxed by the crucible of human hands, and now suddenly that heat had died, and you would only be met with the frost of the water which treated you solid into an alien thing.

“It’s fine. Just how it is, don’t worry about it.”

You gnaw on yourself, swallow the blood but do not taste it.

——————————————————

You take your lunch outside the day after, but have no appetite to touch it. Since when have you had such a thing‒ an appetite? Spirits don't require food, you think. But there's a slight ache that rolls through your stomach, eating its way through the prickle of your skin.

"Kalim was looking for you."

You jump to your feet at that sudden voice‒ heart pounding, gripping the hand that reached towards you with unforgiving force. The soft spots, the places where blood would come fastest when it was cut‒ those shapes were found easily in your hands. But you let them go as soon as they came, noticing Jamil's pained expression. You snap your hand back.

Words rush to your mouth. "I'm sorry‒ I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to‒"

"It's fine. I shouldn't have done that. I startled you, I apologize." He shakes out his hand, and seats himself next to you. "Why are you sitting out here?"

You gather yourself, knees to your chest, words clotted to the air that suffocates you. "I unnerve people, like you said. It's better this way.” The isolation in your cells comes to mind. “I’m used to it.”

He begins to lay out some of the containers in front of the two of you, takes a bite from the steamed lamb rice. "You're still recovering. You shouldn't expect change so quickly. Besides, no one from this school is normal by any means, trust me." There's a smirk on his face when he says this, you see more of himself leaking through his facade. You feel yourself soften.

A moment of silence. You think.

"Can't you make me normal? With your magic?"

You fill the emptiness of your hands with his, face him with your shrewd, all-seeing gaze‒ measuring, telegraphing. "You can make me your machine‒ won't you?" You would have called him Master, then. But the fear set deep within his gaze silenced that sound from you.

His eyes widen, all of his contempt scrunched to the center of his face. It takes a lot for him to relax it, knowing you would take all of that blackness into you soundlessly without any reaction to the way it should burn and tear all the way down to your stomach where you held too much or those things. When he does, he feels it rolling to rage inside him, glad that he at least knew one of the faces which had made you this way to stir it in that disgust.

Still, that wasn't enough.

Jamil had never been one for justice, or righteousness‒ from the moment he opened his eyes, that notion would meet him at every turn‒ but, what tools that had shaped and twisted for this question from you, all the flecks of firelight that had been ripped from you when you were hammered into your current shape, for such a thing to fall from your mouth so normally. He often felt contempt for the world‒ if I had been born this way, if things were different, or if the world had worked in my favor instead of his‒ but rarely did that grow so sharply into what he was feeling now. For all the world’s violation, whatever divine plan that had planted every hand to shape you this way‒ he found himself coveting an ugliness, piercing like a blade through his chest when he met against it.

He was a servant too‒ he had also been stripped of his choices, his potential through his life. But it had never been unsheathed entirely from him. He'd spent all his life searching for the softness somewhere tucked in people's eyes, somewhere he could coil into to plant his own desires. But you stared back with all that emptiness‒ he wanted instead to take your hands, and tell you to fill them yourself.

He feels muddled, curdled in all that coalescence. He takes your hands.

"...I can't do that."

"Why? It would be better, for everyone else, wouldn't it?" You ask.

"You‒" He takes a deep breath in, lowers his voice. "...you shouldn't want that. To be controlled. It's not right."

"It's not?"

"No. It's not. Besides," he looks at his bandaged hand. You wince a bit. “It didn’t work last time.”

"Then…" The words cinder on your tongue. Then why? Why had I been taught so? If Jamil had the answers, you think he would have told you already. You spin it into something else. "Then what should I do?"

"That's not for me to decide. You should decide what you want to do, what you want to eat, what you want to like or dislike. Don't rush it‒ healing takes time."

Jamil's words chokes you with warmth, prickling against your fingers, flushed and florid of all that heat he seems to open you to. "What is there to do‒ to eat, to like, then? I've never…" You could never truly recall what it was like, coming into being. It was like being pulled from the darkness into another, like vague, passing shadows‒ there was little between those lapses of confined shade where you could trail any light back to its voice in the trilling birds, the rustle of cedar forests, the lush silvergrass.

In your cell, life had always trickled through your cage in distant whispers, morning songs, dying flora‒ and with humans it had always been the same. You'd feel the blood draining from their veins, but never that warmth inside of them‒ flesh to flesh, heart to heart. The food always tasted cold, and so did flesh when you touched upon it. It was just how it is, no like or dislike to it‒ just some cold, inscrutable stone pillar that stood at the eye of your life. "I've never had a will, before. I don't know if I can."

Jamil presses together his lips, hesitant of his next words. “When you called to me. That night. What was that, then?” Mercy. He had heard it, and answered to it with something of his own will.

You jumble through the thoughts in your mind. “I don’t know. Why did you save me?"

You hear the leaves and earth sing. But Jamil's heartbeat is still as loud as ever. He opens more of the containers in front of you.

"I don't know." He parrots back. There's a tick in his breath that catches your eye for a moment, but he continues.

"We can start with food, then. It'll get cold if you leave it in the container too long. Better to enjoy it warm."

He was right‒ the food had cooled while you had left it out. But the warmth when you put his handcraft into your mouth never chilled like those temporal things. He smiles warmly when you bring heaping spoonfuls to your mouth, and it fills you with that beat again. It rings louder this time, thundering in your ears vividly. Perhaps you were growing softer, learning to shape new curves and faces. You look to Jamil, memorizing the sculpt of his lips to know the composition of warmth.

——————————————————

"Why are you holding back?"

"Huh?" Jamil is wiping the sweat on his forehead with a towel then, water bottle in the other hand prepared to take a sip. But you trip him with your words, and he freezes on the spot, the perspiration that had felt so overwhelmingly warm and sticky seconds ago turning into icy streaks down his back. His silence urges you to continue.

"You were holding back. The beat of your footsteps, your reaction time, your breath. It's not the same as always." The words you say are sharp as ever, unsheathed from your tongue like a blade. "The position you were in when you passed the ball to Kalim‒ it was far better than where he was standing. The purpose of the game is to score points by getting the ball in the hoop, is it not?"

This part of your unexpected school career had been your best‒ moving your body with speed and purpose, surveying the field and each moving pawn, anticipating their motions through honed eyes and riding the rhythm of blood in other's bodies to intercept it. You had thought Jamil the same‒ but even with his refined gaze and nimble reception to it, his muscles stretched to pull back each movement, choking back all his vigor. You thought of your brimming bowl, the strangle of your body when you held it. The shapes you had known to forge yourself into were felt when you observed him closer. He had been a servant all his life too‒ but Kalim was always kind with him, and unlike you, he had warmth and fire within him. Desire, the word was.

"I guess. But Kalim wanted to make the shot."

He shoots a look over to Kalim, crowded by the rest of the class who nudge and jostle him around with their bright laugher. But you continue to look at Jamil, noticing his strained breath was still there.

“Didn’t you? I saw. The moment of hesitation before you passed the ball to Kalim.”

He stiffs under your piercing gaze. It’s unwinding, like a claw which catches a thread sticking by a single hair from its weave to unravel it, stitch by stitch. “I don’t want to stand out is all.”

"Why? You're amazing." You state flatly, as if you point out the blueness of the sky.

Jamil's heart bobs in his throat, it's weight silencing him.

"Did I…use that word incorrectly? I thought‒"

"No. It isn't that."

You thought you'd ask him what it was, then‒ but he had already joined back in the game, quieting his breath, measuring each step with the beat of those around him, slowing it. Your fray at the thought.

——————————————————

“Bad dog!” You flinched slightly from Crewel’s pointer whipping against the hardwood table, but you smoothed your expression as usual despite the growing frost mangling your lungs, your collapsing chest, your fingers. “Wrong measurements again! Read the directions before you even attempt to touch the materials this time.”

Nodding mutely, you still your eyes on the book again, staring at the foreign letters and scribbles printed on the page. This whole situation was beyond you‒ you never expected to have to actually participate in classes after you had succeeded in your job‒ such a life outside your cell would be witless to even imagine‒ yet here you were. Still, you continued to dart your eyes around the page, looking for answers to perfect this task at hand. It must be perfect, always. Perfection or nothing. Perfection of failure. And what follows failure was stretched thickly over your body, carved into your face as its first feature. You knew its gravity, held it in your body like it's very lifeblood.

Your vision began to shift far from where your eyes were looking‒ your body feeling but so unfeeling. That unfeeling had worked before so well to harden yourself, to be able to be beaten and hammered thick and thin against any anvil, to be purified over and over, cast into knotted molds. But this distance was sharpened and gnashing‒ a mouth and its slashing teeth that ate away at whatever was left of you.

Your racing thoughts were interrupted with a hand lightly grazing the hairs of your arm. It reminded you of the sharp frostiness of your master's grip, gray skin glinting like a knife, elongated nails digging into your arm as if to herald the hours of punishment that was to follow with a simple touch. You flinch away, and see your lab partner snap his hands back with defensive palms. But when he jerks his body in such a way, he tips the bubbling cauldron towards himself, the scorching liquid lurching towards his skin.

You don't remember putting down your book, or pushing the student off to the side. First, it melts the cotton of your blazer, through the thick fabric and instantly through your blouse. But that's all you feel, until you follow the gaze of your classmates to your hands, and you see the steam rising from the acid raging through your flesh, reducing it to its gorey sinew and muscles you'd seen so many times before.

You offer him your free hand to pick the student back up. But he backs away, his eyes wild with horror.

"Let go of that now! Don't you know what you've done?!" Crewel marches towards you, thick rubber gloves on his hand to yank the still hot pot from your hands.

"But I caught it. It's not broken. And everyone is okay."

"That's not‒ just." A pitch at the bridge of his nose. He waves his hand high in the air and you imagine for a moment that it cuts across your cheek. But you stifle that flinch, the rising fear in your body. "Just go to the infirmary."

You take his dismissal as a mercy, nod obediently. The rest of the students murmur, their gaze and conjurations in their minds prickling at your skin. It closes in, pressing hard on your veins like a grip on the neck‒ it's hard to breathe, hard to move, hard to feel and unfeel. Despite its enclosing suffocation, the permanent distance between whatever you were, and they were still stands unwavering and salient like a gilded column. You look to your hand, see the concoction eating a layer of your skin in angry red bubbles. But its sensation is little compared to the sharpness in which you feel yourself corroding, that alien metal rusting away at your insides like a gathering wildfire. The flesh, the sinew, the gore of your hands seem so distant, so unreal to you‒ so far from your body, and you do everything to raise a perversion of pain, of humanity. But nothing comes. Just that whetted withering inside.

The school nurse dresses the wound, some spells to take the pain away, despite the sharp smell of her unease when she notices you don't wince or shrill at it. She tells you to rest, recover. But you don't know what it means, so you sit soundlessly, eyes open on the cot.

"Hey."��

You're so deep within the blur of your gaze that you don't see Jamil enter. But you hear the rhythm of his footsteps, his breath, his heartbeat.

"I heard something happened in alchemy." He sits himself in the chair beside you. "You alright?"

You hum dully in response.

He chews on the inside of his cheek, it's a bad habit of his that he thinks no one notices. But you do.

"The investigation." He starts. "They found something." The hesitance in each of his words, the heaviness of his breath. Something wrong, again, you think.

He retrieves a sliver of paper from the file in his hands, setting it on your lap. The edges of the thin newsprint paper are browned, rolled in their age, the words of the flaky paper sparse and rubbed off. You can barely make out a grainy picture of a barrel, tipped over from the bushes and vines it is thrown into. "I can't read." You simply state.

Jamil takes it back from your hands, swallowing a breath to sound the words slowly, in measured care. You read the words from his expression. 'Body of child found stuffed in a cask, suspected (Name) Tarutani, child of sakagura owner. Father imprisoned, life sentence.' Grief.

"Oh." That sound comes echoed in your throat, hollowed out of any feeling.

What were you supposed to do with that?

You'd grieve if you could, run up and down the hills and cry out to the stars. But you already knew of their blinding silence, their unwavering trek through the skies. There were glimpses, now that you thought about it. The smell of alcohol wafting in the stink of the guards' breaths that made you wince, closed spaces that would quicken your breath. But you held those things in that brimming bowl, not knowing what to do with them‒ should you bleed it dry, cradle them like some clandestine shrine, singe it to smoke? Either way, you'd keep it from surging‒ back straight, head down, muscles choked. "I didn't know."

"I'm..." Jamil hesitates to give you his reassurance. “…sorry that happened to you.”

But you don't know what to do with his words, his kindness, his comfort‒ you didn't even know if he was talking to the person in front of him, or some ghost that had been lost to the air. You look at the print, see if you could see any glimpse of what came before‒ any scrap of fabric, wind tossed hair, green youth‒ anything distinctly human. Were you a happy child‒ if one at all?

The stars don’t answer to you.

You measure the distance between the tragedies of your life. There is none.

Just one unfinished memorial of your pain, built flimsy atop another. The way extravagant palaces were burned to the ground, before a new one sprouted, already neck deep in its corrupt blood. You wish you would visit the monuments of your mind like those fracturing buildings, stalking through its outstretched limbs before you'd find a crack and crumble you could slip your hand through to set ablaze its heart‒ bleeding it's inhabitants over and over again like pulling brambles from the red earth. But commanding all of that destruction inside you‒ you'd be every break and burn of it all‒ the blazing memorial, the fire, the witness, the ash. Then the stars would cut through your flesh‒ wounds for the sun that burns through the morning mist, unfolding into another immature skeleton, for another memorial, another house, another place where shaded blood moves.

Perhaps it was better if you just watched, now, the construction of your blight. But your hands itched, forged and brazed for slaughter.

You gnaw on yourself.

“You alright?” Jamil tests the far off expression sculpted into your downwards face.

"Fine." You answer, taut, measuring with his expression an appropriate response, instead of some desolate look.

"Just…processing. I remember, now." You didn't, merely slivers of darkness, damp and choking, before you were pulled from it to your master's feet as a ceremonial spirit. But it seemed good as a lie as any, what good would a tragedy be without the curse of remembrance? But perhaps the fog and distance of it all was its own pain, own memorial, own blood, spilt. You didn't know.

You weren't sure how to mold yourself in a way that could meet it, know its shape to cast its features onto yourself to know that pain inside and out. Your face‒ what did it look like again? The fingers you bring up to it are as foreign and cold as a stranger's. That face, that body, that world‒ you could never belong to it, but only, be. The fire, the witness, the memorial pyre, the ash‒ you'd be all of that fracturing degeneration, but it could never belong to you.

And what was that even‒ being? You had never been allowed that either.

Jamil keeps on drinking in your expression like flooding water‒ catching the light in a thousand ways, changing direction into itself with every pebble lain, every breath of wind cast. It seems he has learned the trick of your stillness, the gilded iron of your face when he says, "...let me show you something.", and takes your hand.

He brings you to his room, it's just like yours, but filled. You're slightly embarrassed at the thought, feeling bare all of a sudden. As Jamil sits you down on the floor, you don't let him see your expression.

The glass vial he slips into his hands is tipped to his palm, and he rubs the oils which is poured from it into his hands. An ugly thought passes, then another. Poison, some sort of sleeping potion, another weapon, another blade?

But he turns to you, you see his face. And it puts you at ease.

"Is it alright if you touch your hair?"

You nod.

He takes the tangle of your hair, dips his fingers through it and massages your scalp. The fragrance of the oil is soothing, calming both the skin on your head and your senses. It smells a little like him, you imagine some honey-sapped crimson flower and the aroma of spices he surrounds himself in when he works in the kitchen.

"My mother used to oil my hair for me back home. Especially when I was upset over something."

"Is there something wrong with my hair?"

"No‒ although it is a little bit damaged. But it's just to relax, to feel more grounded."

You think to the way you would listen to the earth’s song and blood. There’s a similar pulse moving softly within Jamil’s fingers that work through your scalp. You lean into it.

"I like it."

"That's good. I'm not too used to this. I've only done it to my sister a couple of times."

"Sister?"

"Yeah. She's younger than me, a brat. But, she's family."

Family. You tried to imagine that word as faces, but nothing came to mind.

"What is it like having a sister?"

Jamil laughs through his nose. "Mine is very demanding, gets on my nerves at times. But she's smart, clever, quick on her feet. She scolds me a lot for my attitude, but I think a lot of times she takes after me in some ways."

"And mothers?"

"They're all different, you know that right?"

"Sure, but I don't know any."

"Well. My mother is beautiful, and hardworking. I've learned all my cooking from her‒ but she still makes all the best tasting food. Curry, dolma, knafeh‒ the flakiest, most mouth watering pastries you could ever imagine."

"It’s even better than yours?"

"By at least a hundred times, at least."

You curve your lips into what you think is a smile‒ its rounded movement novel, finding shapes it never forged itself in. Servitude required sharpness, taught, straight lines and jagged sounds. This softness was new. Had you been a happy child before all of this, to feel the stinging crackle of your lips when they moved so little from their straightness? You shake off that feeling, eclipse it with that buzz inside your chest‒ bright as a forge’s heart. From now on, you could take that silvery radiance bursting forth from that furnace nestled inside you, and shape that curve, that softness against the beat in Jamil’s hands.

You find Jamil doing the same.

“I..” A moment with the smile, before it fades. "I was lying before. When I said I remembered." You admit. "I don't remember anything about my human life. My mother, my father, siblings if I had any." Come to think of it‒ did you even remember your Master's face? All you could recall is his hands, the grind of his teeth. "I don't have anyone, or anything. And I guess I never have."

Jamil continues to massage the oil into your scalp. "That's not true. You have us now, you have…" Me. The two of us. We'll be... He bites his tongue, swallows the blood with ease. You hear a deep breath sipped between his lips, as if the words would continue to tumble out. He lets it go. "You have the people here at NRC. You'll make friends in no time."

"But I already have you." You loll your head upwards, look at him with weary eyes. "And Kalim. Isn't that enough?"

His heart at his throat, again. That unforgiving weight. Fast learner, his mother always praised. He's learned now to speak through the gulping waves, but he still can't look at you. So he moves your neck back, continues to work his hands through your hair. "You'll learn how to make connections with more people. You can start a new life. You're safe now."

"I know I'm safe." You lean into his touch, he's here. "I know."

"Then you'll be making friends in no time."

——————————————————

You didn't think you'd find yourself in a situation like this again, but you know human cruelty could cross all borders, all worlds.

"You're such a fucking creep, you know that?"

There’s no movement from you as they grab you from behind, binding you with their arms.

“Hey, say something, freak.”

You swallow their gaze with your own‒ a step back, fear in their eyes. “What would you like me to say?”

A scoff. Two steps forward. “Is that all you do? Do as you’re told? Are you even human, or just some fucked up emotionless puppet?”

“I was.”

There’s a sensation in your gut, you find his knee embedded in the skin against your ribs. A breath out, you don’t let out a sound.

"You're no fun."

“I bet you don’t even bleed the same color as us.” The knife glints behind his back.

People always did that‒ they seldom took you head on with their blades and tools‒ their flesh. They always binded you, knocked you cold on the ground before they revealed their gnashing teeth between their crumbling facade. “Show us then, here.” He signals to the other two to let go of your arms. You land on your hands and knees, center to the knife he tosses to the ground.

“Go ahead, show us.” Ah, there it is. That smile that is cut and carved in that estrangement.

Like us, but no longer.

They're right. You're not.

You've always had to move head on with your weapons, your flesh. Contact had always been a way to reap people of their life so you’d never been afforded such delicacies as lily white hands and hidden blades. All the pain in your life had been faced as a straight swinging hammer. And you were already priming yourself for this one, sanding down sensation and feeling that had heightened with every day you spent here. With him.

The flesh is as cold as the blade. You hug the silver against the vein emerging violet against your skin. Would it be red, like the stain of your hands? Or some darkened thing, sunken of all its color and rotten from your vice? Truth is, you were curious too.

You draw.

"You…!" One of them gasps between the teeth that spread wide on the red of his cheeks. "This freak really did it!"

It's too dark to see the color of the smooth liquid, but you bring it up to the light to inspect it. The three who stand illuminated against it back away gasping in disgust.

It's red, after all.

"Let's get the hell out of here before anyone finds us with that thing." They snicker, shove each other and scramble away.

You lay awake, dying.

You're used to seeing the weight of blood draining out of bodies, but to feel it pouring from your own makes you feel more alive and crimson than ever. This soaring must be the reason to the confessions of love, you think. But for you it's always been an immutable distance between other flesh‒ like us, but no longer. And you were no longer, if you had ever belonged. There is no one you could weave those sentiments into if you wanted to. No matter how flushed you felt with that writhing red substance, you knew your face had never been softened with it enough to reach towards others‒ to say, here I am too. Always, it had been straight backed, stone faced strokes you faced life's hearth with, and now it was all twisted into ash now, too.

You dragged yourself upwards, feel the blood rushing down your body to the earth. There’s barely anyone in the halls‒ you think of that night where you fought Jamil, where he had saved you once before you had even asked for it.

You want to see the stars.

The door creaks open as you stumble into it. There’s very little in your room‒ the things they had provided you with‒ covers, linens, mattresses, pillows, all that softness had been enough. You think yourself greedy‒ hungry as you look to the metal lunch boxes that sit clean on your bedside table. It was a ritual every morning to bring it to Jamil and help him prepare everything‒ let him slowly work the old habits from you as he told you everytime, “do you want more?” And of course you’d accept every time‒ how could you not? Everything tasted amazing and warm, you’d be a fool not to run straight towards all of that when you could, all of that “from now on”. But, it’s all over now. It was all the world’s delight when it lasted. There’s still an ache, in your chest, and all over like keyholes pricking through your body to see something you could not.

You see the stars.

The window you press your cheek against is cold as you devour the scene outside the window. The breath that comes dried from your throat is choppy, thickset with iron, but you’re used to the taste‒ savor it even, as your tongue had longed for such a taste of your own, thrashing life.

Tomorrow, you’d be a cold, fallen thing that will be burned of all of your hardened flesh to your brittle bones‒ and those who witness the pyre will claim to have not seen a heart within it that had moved you in any meaningful way.

But tonight‒ tonight is a perfect night. You hear your own heartbeat, and the warm breeze that combs through that sound carries the sand lapping against the starlight, brushing them into the skies as their own dazzling things‒‒ and the stars‒ oh the stars. It’s as beautiful as you remember when you had nearly plummeted into them the night you had met Jamil‒ and all the blissful moments with him you had to gaze upon it, drinking in each constellation, each speck of starlight with a hunger you had never had before him. You feel alive, tonight, and hungrier than usual. But there are twice as many stars out tonight, so you ravage all that splendor.

You’re tired, you want to close your eyes, but you tell yourself‒ one more second. Another. Another.

The thought rolls in your mind at least a thousand, thousand times before there’s a knock at the door.

"It's open."

“I figured you couldn’t sleep either.” He carries two cups, hands you one. You take it with a smile with your clean hand. “It’s tamarind juice from my home. I think you’ll like it.”

You take a sip, delight in how the sweet sour taste rubs raw on your tongue. “I do. Thanks. Why couldn’t you sleep?”

“Just…” he looks down at his hands. “...thinking. About some things. Someone.”

You hum. “Yeah. Me too. The stars are beautiful tonight, don’t you think Jamil?”

His breath catches in his throat when shape his name with your voice. “They are. What’s this all of a sudden? Feeling wistful?” The amusement in his voice climbs to his cheeks.

You let out a breathy laugh, before it fades to something heavy in your throat. “I’m really going to miss you, Jamil.” Your eyes begin to weigh down, you slump your head against the wall, and do everything in your draining power to tilt it towards him.

He laughs for a second. “What are you…?” The deep inhale he takes comes out as a sharp shudder when he sees the red staining the entirety of your forearm. “Are you…!” He rushes to clutch your forearm, putting pressure above the cut. But it still spurts forth‒ you knew it would. You counted the seconds it would take before it would be too late. “You’re bleeding! What happened? We have to‒”

You smile, and when you put your hand over his you feel his pulse hammering against his skin. The flood of his words cease to a dried breath.

"It's funny, Jamil. I think I’ve said goodbye to so many things, you’d think I’d know what to say now. But I still don’t know what to say. I’m sorry.”

The reflection of the stars in his eyes are far more alluring than any of the lights traveling hundreds and hundreds of years to reach this sky. It softens you.

You feel your body lifting‒ from the pull of death, or Jamil you don’t know. But you lean into it, reaching.

I am here.

You feel it answer, but you find yourself dismembering, fraying to nothing.

——————————————————

I should have said thank you. You think. Or‒ at least‒ I'm sorry a dozen more times.

Thank you Jamil.

You think it’s a fading thought, but the light bleeds red through your eyes, and you find yourself waking again. This time, there is a face which awaits you, and a warmth which meets your hand, your touch.

“(Name)!” Jamil stands from his chair, pulled immediately to your side.

“Jamil.” You rise to your elbows, you want to see him better. “Where am I?”

“The infirmary. You‒ ” He casts his gaze down, holding his breath deep in his lungs as he squeezes your hand. You’re here. You let his fist hit your shoulder lightly. “You asshole. You scared me. You idiot.”

"I'm sorry." You let him hit against you again, squeeze back. I’m here.

"You're going to learn how to live‒ weren't you? Why then‒" He takes a gulp of air. "Why?"

"I'm sorry."

He lifts his head. "That wasn't an answer to my question."

"I…" You hesitate to let the words unravel from you in the air. "I would say I was just doing as I was told. But I think I wanted to see for myself too."

“Who‒” The center of his face creases further. "See what?"

"If I was really human. If I would bleed red like everyone else. If I had a heart that pumped blood instead of an empty tomb of a body." The blood flushes against your skin as you press your hand deeper into his.

You continue. "But I think. I think this is proof enough." He’s silent when you lift your hand, already intertwined with his, heartbeats singing. "I can feel the warmth in my hand when I touch yours. That's human‒ right?" You feel the pulse breathing under his palm, and the twitch of his fingers laced through your own that closes it ever so slight around your knuckles.

I am here.

There's a slight tremble. He's scared‒ you're terrified. You’d thought you knew hunger, after realizing those years of ignorant starvation. Desire is such an ugly thing. To witness. To want. To be unbearably bare‒ nerves flayed and butterflied while you hold your hands in his, that bowl now flooding crimson into your hands.

But you feel his heartbeat, the song memorized and echoed with the second one growing in your stomach. Flesh to flesh, heart to heart.

There's surprise in his eyes, delight blooming on his cheeks. It pleased you to see him like this, cracking his stillness as he had your own.

"Jamil‒ I think‒" You breathe his scent in. "I don't know what I want, yet. But I want to move forward. And live."

You hold tighter. I'm here, I'm here. He answers back, closer to his beat.

"And, I think‒" You collapse the nerves festering in your mind. "- I know I want to do that with you. If you'll have me."

You feel yourself kindling under his touch, you take that fire in like hot coals, smoldering slowly‒ higher‒ higher, you rise.

"Will you?"

There’s panic that rolls through him, one which nearly chokes his entire body. But you press further and further into him‒ find his shapes in the air. But for once, he doesn’t let himself stifling his ardor, instead, he lets it feather throughout his body, melting that sweetness into his blood and bones. He’d always been a fast learner, but this one he would have to swallow piece by piece.The moments he spent under your unyielding gaze come to him at once, that straight shooting thing like a resplendent comet comes to mind. It is etched into his memories‒ your face which swallows and shows him his own pains, his own desires pressed into him in your hand. Perhaps you were that‒ desire, will. That very thing itself. You’d be with him, help consume every piece of him hand in hand, heart to heart.

In that moment, the two of you stand closer than the constellations in the sky‒ such godly things that have been thrust into the cosmos in all of their dazzling, eternal radiance which tethers and claws at the ether. And it feels like forever, with the two of you. A soft thing like the thousand thousand stars reaching their crumbling hands towards each other.

You’d never thought of himself a martyr for anything soft. Something of flesh and blood. But that reaching hand was more than enough. A dead thing like the stars you were, but whatever light Jamil had pulled from you was whirling towards him‒ a straight shooting comet.

“Of course."

You curve his desire onto your lips. He does too.

You shake. But the two of you grasp your hands tightly to quell it, hand in hand, heart to heart. I am here. What a merciful thing.

Together, you take the brimming bowl in your hands, soften your body‒ and drink.

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Notes:

Washi is one of the many papers shoji doors can be made out of. There's tesuki kouzo (handmade, made of kouzo/mulberry, usually very expensive and laborious), and more modern materials like rayon or plastic. Washi is a bit of a rarer material, but adds the benefit that it can be dyed, and produced cheaper than kouzo (in most instances), I imagine the mansion as dark‒ black lacquer, darkly dyed washi, embellished with spots of decadent gold.

Sakagura is where sake is brewed and stored, similar to shuzou, a place where sake is made and sometimes also brewed.

Tarutani is a surname that means "cask valley" (cask being the barrels used for alcohol storage)- surnames were often used to indicate status, occupation, even location during older times, much like how family crests (kamon) did

Rice was actually a delicacy up until really the Nobunaga era where agricultural advancements happened, even then until the Taisho era, Rice was not readily available to lower class since the Tokugawa Shogunate (feudal military government) had very strict rules about class mobility and what certain classes could eat, do, speak of, and even wear. I wanted to base the house that MC was serving on Daimyo (feudal lords under Shogun) because they're very grimy and scheming, especially as the military class and samurai began to grow stronger with the Shogunate's influence against the more "democratic" Imperial family‒ and they grew in their corruption before the fall of the Tokugawa Shogunate and instead replaced with a more democratic government with the Imperial family as head during the Meiji restoration ("knock knock, it's America" and Perry's boat lol). Their slimy nature would also kind of fit with MC's master and his motive to take down the Al-Asim family down as assassinations were very frequent during the Sengoku era where Daimyo were killing each other left and right because of their paranoia and greed lmao.

Hair oiling is practiced in a lot of different cultures‒ predominantly in Indian, Egyptian, and Black African cultures. However, in the modern day, it has spread to many different cultures as both a health and therapeutic measure, so I think it would make sense that Jamil would know about it, what with his long luscious locks and all lmao. According to my research Ghergir leaves and oil, as well as Blackseed are commonly used in Arab cultures? Please correct me if I’m wrong lol it’s kind of hard to find historical records and research on this because academia likes to center on the western world and treat non-western cultures as a monolith unfortunately

Tried to incorporate mostly Arabic cuisine but I am not an expert by any means I just know that entire region does magical things with spices the food tastes so good

Weirdly enough a lot of blacksmithing research for this. Idk why I kept reaching for that metaphor but it kinda slays

Tamarind juice or Tamar Hindi is a type of drink meant to be consumed during Ramadan to quench thirst and hunger, something something metaphor

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savanaclaw1996 · 5 months

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My Beautiful Octopus Boy-Azul Ashengrotto x Fem! Reader

Since World Octopus Day happened on Oct. 8, here's a little late fic featuring our favorite octopus merman boy, Azul Ashengrotto himself! Enjoy!

Warnings: Chapter 3 spoilers!

Word Count: 1, 699 words.

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Azul couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe that he was so careless. One minute he was standing at the bookshelf in his office trying to reach for a book, and the next, he felt himself starting to transform back into his octopus merman form.

Azul cringed as he felt his tentacles start to stretch against the fabric of his pants. Not wanting to ruin the fabric, he quickly took off his shoes, socks, pants and underwear.

He winced as his pale, thin legs unraveled into black soft tentacles. Azul grimaced as he looked at his original merman form. "Disgusting..." he thought with a shudder as bad memories surfaced in his mind. Tears brimmed in his eyes and threatened to fall.

Choking back a sob, he furiously wiped the tears from his eyes. He needed to make a transformation potion, and fast. Thank goodness he was alone, and no one was there to witness his transformation. Who knows what would happen if anyone suddenly saw him like this?

A sudden knock on the office door jolted him out from his thoughts. "Excuse me, Azul-senpai! I'm coming in!" a familiar voice rang out. Azul froze, his three hearts skipping a beat. "Oh, no...!" his mind screamed. What should he do?!

At that moment, (Y/n) opened the door and entered the VIP room. "Azul-senpai, could you please look over the...." Your voice suddenly trailed off and your (E/C) eyes widened when you saw Azul's octopus merman form in all its glory. "Whoa!" you exclaimed.

For a moment, you said nothing else as you stared at Azul's tentacles. Azul felt very uncomfortable at the way you stared at him with such a shocked expression on your face.

Thousands of panicked thoughts ran through Azul's mind. "Does she think I'm ugly? Does she think I look horrendous? Obviously, she does! That's why she's staring at me! She thinks I look hideous! Please stop staring at me...!" his mind screamed as tears threatened to roll down his cheeks.

After a while, (Y/n) found your voice. "A-Az-Azul-senpai..." (Y/n) said as you reached a hand towards Azul, "...yo-you're..."

"GET AWAY FROM ME!!!" Azul wailed as he immediately turned away from you. "I'M UGLY, OK?! I'M HORRENDOUS!!! I ADMIT IT!!! LEAVE ME!!!" He buried his face into his hands and sobbed. "Just go away...!"

He then quickly shuffled towards the corner of the office and curled up into a fetal position, wrapping his tentacles around his torso, trying to make himself look smaller. He pulled his gray overcoat over his head to hide his face from you. "Just go..." Azul whimpered before he sobbed loudly.

Watching him freak out like that and hearing his broken sobs really broke (Y/n)'s heart. You knew how much he detested his octopus form due to the bullying he had suffered because of it.

And now that you've laid eyes on it, he was convinced that you would be disgusted and leave him for good. But, of course, being the sweet, sensitive, kind and caring person that you are, (Y/n) wouldn't even dream of leaving your beloved boyfriend because of his true form.

Quiet sobs shook Azul's body as he trembled in the corner, tears streaming down his face. "Azul-senpai..." he heard your voice softly speak behind him.

Usually, hearing you speak his name in such a sweet, loving tone made him swoon, but right now, he was terrified by how you reacted to seeing his merman form. He didn't turn around to face you. He just couldn't. How could he after what had happened?

You slowly and gingerly knelt down beside Azul's trembling form. You stayed quiet, waiting for him to compose himself before you said anything. After Azul's sobs subsided, (Y/n) raised your hand and gently placed it on Azul's back, making him flinch.

"Azul-senpai, I don't want you to be afraid anymore." you said softly. "I understand that you've been through a lot, all because of that form. However, there's something you need to know."

Azul wanted to turn around and face you, but he was just too scared to do it. Judging by that look on (Y/n)'s face when you saw his true form, you surely must be repulsed by it. However, he didn't hear you say anything after that. He didn't even hear you leave.

He felt your gentle touch when you placed your hand on his back. "Azul-senpai, could you please turn around and look at me?" he heard you say. Azul pulled his gray jacket closer to him, not daring to turn around and face you.

"Please, Azul?" (Y/n) begged softly. Azul let out a quiet sigh before he turned around and faced you. Your heart sank when you saw his expression.

His pale gray face was stained with tear streaks and his bottom lip still trembled. "Oh, Azul-senpai..." you whispered sadly. (Y/n) reached your hands towards him and gently cupped his cheeks. Azul flinched at your touch. What were you planning to do to him?

You then looked down and gazed at Azul's tentacles. They writhed and curled against Azul's torso. "Please...don't look at me..." Azul pleaded anxiously. (Y/n) looked back at Azul's face. A choked sob escaped from Azul's throat as his lower lip trembled.

"Oh, Azul-senpai, please don't cry. It breaks my heart to see you cry." (Y/n) said gently as you cupped Azul's cheeks. "It's okay. There's nothing here to harm you." Azul said nothing as he stared at you. His shoulders were still trembling with uncertainty.

"You're beautiful, Azul. You truly are." you said. Azul sniffed. "You're just saying that to flatter me." he said in a bitter tone. (Y/n) shook your head. "No, I'd never falsely say anything to flatter anyone." you said.

"Azul, you need to remember that what's past is past. I'm not like those bullies who think you're ugly. I truly believe you're absolutely beautiful. To me, you're my beautiful octopus boy, Azul." A gasp escaped from Azul's throat when he heard that from you.

"R-Really?" he asked. "This isn't some sick joke, is it?" (Y/n) again shook your head. "No, it's not. I love you, Azul, all of you, no matter what form you are." you replied earnestly. "Whether you're a human boy or an octopus merman, it doesn't change who you truly are."

(Y/n) then leaned towards Azul's face and tenderly kissed him on the lips. Azul's eyes widened and he felt his heart skip a beat before he melted into your kiss. You then pressed your forehead against Azul's.

"You're beautiful, Azul-senpai. You're the greatest treasure I could ever ask for." A lump formed itself in Azul's throat as more tears rolled down his cheeks. To hear such genuine, beautiful words of love from you... "(Y/n)..." he whimpered.

Azul then let out a sob as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders and his tentacles around your waist. He hugged you tightly as he wept and wailed. (Y/n) just smiled as you patted his shoulder.

"It's okay, Azul-senpai. It's okay. I'm here. I'll never leave your side." you gently promised. You clung onto him, hugging him tightly until his tears and sobs subsided. Since he's now in his merman form, you started to worry about him drying out.

"Come on, senpai. Let's get you to the bathtub before you dry out." you said as you quickly moved to lift him. Of course, with you being so petite, it was difficult to lift his body with your arms.

After a few tries, (Y/n) chuckled with embarrassment. "Ha, ha, ha. Sorry about that, Azul-senpai." you apologized. At that moment, the door opened. You and Azul gasped, fearing that a client of his might stumble upon the sight of his octopus form.

However, you both saw that there was nothing to fear, for it was the Leech twins, Jade and Floyd who had entered the room. Azul and (Y/n) both breathed out a sigh of relief. "Man, that was a close call!" you sighed.

"We heard that Azul was in some trouble, so we came over to help. But it looks like Miss (L/n) was there with him." Jade said. "Hearing Shrimpy-chan saying all those lovey-dovey things to you, you're making me jealous, Azul." Floyd added with his usual creepy smile.

"Boys, could you please help me get Azul-senpai to the bathtub. I don't want him to dry out." (Y/n) said. "Of course." Jade said. And so, the Leech twins helped carry Azul to the bathtub.

You filled the bathtub with water and the Leech twins gently set Azul into the tub. Azul let out a satisfied sigh as he sank into the water, feeling rehydrated. "That feels so much better. Thank you, everyone." Azul sighed.

"You're welcome, Azul-senpai. Anything for you." (Y/n) said before turning to face the Leech twins. "Can the two of you go make a transformation potion for Azul-senpai? I'll watch over him."

"Of course." Jade replied. "We were just about to do that, Miss (L/n)." That said, the twins disappeared, leaving you alone with Azul in the bathtub. (Y/n) turned towards Azul. "Are you okay? Do you need anything? Do you feel okay?" you asked with concern.

Azul nodded. "I'm fine, my dear." he replied. (Y/n) sighed in relief. "Thank goodness." you said. Azul then reached out and gently took your hand in his, stopping you. "(Y/n)..." he said softly.

"Yes?" you asked. Azul clasped his hands around yours as he gazed up at you, his eyes shining. "Please stay with me....for a while...." he said. (Y/n) nodded. "Sure..." you said as you knelt beside the tub. Azul let out a sigh before he spoke.

"(Y/n)...I normally don't like people doing things like this for me, but I can't help but thank you from the bottom of my heart." he said before he pulled your hand close to his chest and placed it over his sternum.

(Y/n) blushed. Azul smiled as tears streamed down his cheeks and fell into the water, tears of love. "Thank you, (Y/n)...for loving me." he whispered, his voice cracking a bit. (Y/n) smiled before you compassionately kissed his lips.

"You're welcome, my beautiful octopus boy." (Y/n) replied as you broke away from the kiss, making Azul blush.

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devvelle · 1 year

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When two hard knocks sound against your door, you don’t have to look up from your blankets to know who’s there.

“Please, leave me alone.”

Your voice is broken, but you know he understood although there’s no guarantee he’ll listen. He doesn’t respond for several seconds, but when he does, his tone is gentle yet unwavering.

“Is that what you truly want?”

It’s not. Both you and Malleus know that it isn’t. Still, your emotions make you childishly stubborn even in the presence of the powerful mage, and you let the silence lay bleeding between you until it stains the walls with tension. Tears pool in your eyes the longer it drags on, and when the door clicks softly shut they threaten to spill over.

But the floorboards begin to creak, and you match your shaky breaths to his every-other approaching step. His footsteps get louder in sync with your beating heart until you feel his weight dip the mattress beside you. He says nothing as he pulls the covers from over your head.

“There’s no use in feigning strength,” his voice carries the weight of agitation at your averted gaze, but the moonlight reflects a gentle curiosity in his piercing eyes. “I cannot force you to speak, but let me rest with you.”

And because he’s always known what you needed even when you yourself were unsure, you scoot over.

Malleus slips into bed beside you, and although he’s a bit too big for its size and his clothes are cold from the frigid air of his interrupted nighttime walk, it’s the most comfort you’ve felt in months. With a hand on the back of your head, he guides you to his chest and you settle into his side bonelessly.

Once he secures his arms around you, all the worry and fear caged in your chest manifest in unrelenting sobs. The pain that has you clutching onto him threatens to tear him apart as well, filling him with frustration toward the unknown cause of your anguish. But there's nothing he can do to fix it, not until you speak to him.

So he'll stay here and hold you instead, from now until the day you decide you don’t need him. A day that he hopes will never come.

“You are safe with me, my love. You will never endure your pain alone, not as long as I am with you.”

#disney twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst fluff #twst drabble #twst imagines #twst hurt/comfort #malleus x reader #malleus draconia x reader #malleus draconia

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rose-the-witch1 · 1 year

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All Left Out [Malleus Comfort HCs]

Summary: pov it's 9 pm and you're getting secondhand depression from the MC constantly being left out in events because of their lack of magic

CW: Feelings of loneliness, me self projecting because the reality of our situation makes me sad

You really tried your hardest not to let your loneliness get to you, but it was really hard.

From the Night Raven Halloween Celebration to the Harveston sled competition, you constantly were left out because of your lack of magic.

Sure, you were still brought along, but it was like adding unnecessary weight to an already heavy load.

Not knowing how to tell your friends without being rude, you always waited until you were alone behind Ramshackle's doors to let yourself cry your loneliness out until your voice was hoarse.

Lately you were beginning to feel like this would eventually turn into you being left behind and forgotten. Stuck at your miserable little dorm with the (frankly insufferable) ghosts and Grim.

Even Grim was allowed to participate because of his talent, which made you feel even more lonely.

Tonight was a more different kind of breakdown, though, since (un)fortunately you weren't alone this time.

As you cried into a couch cushion in Ramshackle's lounge, you were met with a familiar glow outside your window. The soft hazy glow of the fireflies that let you know your beloved dragon lover was visiting.

You couldn't even bring yourself to object as Malleus entered, each creaking footstep making you bury your face deeper in the cushion you snuggled.

The dragon fae's face fell as he saw the state you were in, it broke his heart. He took a seat beside you, gently pulling you close and bringing your head to his chest.

He decided to let you compose yourself enough to tell him what's wrong, in the meantime he's treating you to gentle back caresses and forehead kisses

When you finally tell him that you feel so lonely from constantly being left out, because you don't have any "stupid magic" - your exact words - the guilt and sympathy simultaneously crash into him in waves.

On the one hand, he doesn't understand exactly how you feel because you can't use magic, but he doesn't admit that out loud

But on the other, he can relate to feeling left out because he's often not invited to many social gatherings

Ultimately, he feels for you in more ways than one.

He'll dry your tears with his thumbs first before giving you his handkerchief, which you accept graciously.

He makes a vow to you to start including you in more activities that don't require magic, for your sake.

Examples include gargoyle hunts during club meeting hours, banquets at Diasomnia (much to Sebek's dismay) and of course, monthly visits to Briar Valley.

He will talk your ear off whenever you don't have anything to say, and will always try to include you in any conversations, especially among the Diasomnia quartet.

He even begins a habit of scolding Sebek whenever he interrupts you, then telling you to continue with a gentle smile on his face.

He knows it can suck to not feel included, so if he's able to help you with your loneliness, even a little bit, he's happy

Tags: @pyroxeene @decemebercircus

#twisted wonderland #twst #malleus draconia #twst malleus #twisted wonderland malleus draconia #malleus draconia x reader #twst hurt/comfort #twst comfort #twst headcanons #twst malleus x reader

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arashrita · 8 months

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HC: Telling him that you hate him during an argument + Aftermath

Why did it come down to this? One moment you two were having a good time and the next moment it turned into a heated argument.

"I hate you so much!"

Now, you can't do anything after those horrible words left your mouth as he stared at you with a heartbroken look on his face.

Housewardens

Riddle: He knew this will happen one day. After all he has done...it was bound to happen right? He has hurt you multiple times, so, it's only fair that you don't love him anymore. He knows. But... why does it hurt so much then...? Why does it feel like someone is stabbing him in the heart again and again? Why...? are his eyes burning...?

You regretted it instantly the moment those words left your mouth. Your heart ached as tears filled his eyes. You wanted to comfort him so much. But, you also knew he needs his space. So, you look away and walk out of his room immediately.

Leona: First he felt anger and it turned into deep, raw sadness. He was used to people hating on him, but you? He stumbled back as your words sank in. He knows he deserved it. He wasn't someone lovable. He just wasn't expecting you to say those words so early, yeah, that's all.

"...Get out."

You did get out. As much as you wanted to comfort your adorable lion, you know your words cut through him deeply. He needs time to calm down and you need to get rid of your negative feelings. You will make it up to him, dosen't matter whatever it takes. For now, you will leave him to collect his thoughts.

Azul: All of the negative thoughts in the world were crowding inside of Azul's head as those words left your mouth. To be honest, he expected that. But (Y/N) you pulled him up from that dark pit, then why did you drop him in it again...? He was ugly and a stupid crybaby and he didn't deserve you. He always knew that. Even now he couldn't do anything as his composure crumbled and he sobbed silently.

Oh... Azul... your sweet boy... How could you say something like that to him?! Shame and Guilt were all you could feel as you ran out of his room. You will have to apologize to him. Just... not now, when the both of you are filled with pessimistic thoughts. You just hoped that he will forgive you...

Kalim: Tears immediately spilled out from his eyes as you said those words. He already heard Jamil say those words once. But you? If Jamil's words broke his heart then your words shattered it into pieces and kept shattering until there was nothing left. He will still try to scoop you up in his arms as you move put of his reach, hurting him more in the process.

You moved out of his reach not because you hated him, but because you were horrified to see the damage you've caused. You bolt out of his room as his sobs got louder. Shit... (Y/N), you messed up real bad.

Vil: You hated him? You? His sweet potato? He felt thousands of knives stabbed him at once as the words left your mouth. He was silent as he tried to process the situation. You didn't mean that, did you? Then... why are you looking at him with those hateful eyes...? Those eyes... who used to have so much love in them for him... are the same eyes that can pull off such a look...?

You couldn't look at Vil anymore. Just what have you done? You wanted the ground to swallow you whole as you ran out of his room. You will have to apologize to Vil. He didn't deserve to hear those vicious false words...

Idia: "Leave"

You oblige without another word. His reaction was something you deserved. How could you say those horrible words to him? You felt like a monster.

Once you left, Idia's cold demeanor shattered as he collapsed on the floor with hot tears running down his face like a waterfall. Your love was the only thing he had. It urged him to move forward. You were his light...and now? his light flickered out and left him to drown in the darkness that mocked him for his foolishness.

Malleus: The fae prince was speechless. You could physically hear his heart shattering. Where did he go wrong...? Just what did he do so wrong for you to stomp on his heart like this...? So, do you also see him as a monster now? He thought you could never hurt him. But look at you now. You managed to hurt him in the worst way possible as his eyes turned into a pathetic pool of tears.

Hurting Malleus was the last thing you wanted to do. How could you say such a vile thing to him, out of all people? Your sweet, loving dragon who never left your side. Who went through so much because of you, who always respected you, always stood up for you, always...loved you... Your heart broke with his as you stumbled out of his room and ran back to your dorm.

AFTERMATH

Riddle: You saw him 3 days ago. You stopped visiting Heartslabyul and in school he avoids like the plague. Even Ace and Deuce were worried. They told you that Riddle isn't himself and that you should probably talk to him.

So, you did. You went to Heartslabyul after school. Riddle didn't answer when you knocked on his door. You turned the doorknob... and it was open? What the heck? Riddle isn't one to be careless with that. But, then you say him. He was lying on the floor, half conscious while he clutched onto something desperately. It... was a photo. A photo you took with him on your first date.

"Riddle!!"

You quickly kneeled down beside him to see what's going on. He had a high fever. Foolish boy... Did he really have to overwork himself to the extent where he gets himself sick?! He probably wasn't taking care of himself. How come you didn't notice before?!

"(Y-Y/N)? w-what are you—

"Riddle... I'm so so sorry. I swear I didn't mean anything I said! I was so stupid... I-I can never hate you!"

You managed to pull him up from the floor and drop him in his bed instead.

He smiled sadly as you sat down beside him.

"It's okay (Y/N), you don't have to stay—

"No, Riddle, I love you. Without you I just won't belong. You will always be the love of my life, Riddle Rosehearts!"

"...I love you too (Y/N), my dear rose."

He pulled you closer to him as you promised yourself to never hurt him like that again. You will pull him back to his feet in no time!

Leona: You didn't have the courage to face Leona after what you did. The two of you successfully managed to avoid each other the whole week.

"(Y/N), I really think you should make up with Leona now. He is in a foul mood since forever."

Ruggie told you one day during lunch.

"I know... I just... don't know how to face him after messing up so bad."

You sighed.

"Well, it's your mess, so, clean it up yourself. He is really hurting you know. Apologize before he starts doubting your love for him."

Yeah, that was the nudge you needed. Ruggie successfully managed to shove you towards the right path. That's why you found yourself inside of Leona's room after school. Ruggie, who was cleaning up, gave you a pointed look and left the room.

You could say Leona wasn't sleeping. He was just lying in his bed with his eyes closed. It was also easy to tell that he was upset because of the way his ears were drooped and his tail was tucked between his legs.

"Leona..."

He didn't move. He didn't open his eyes either.

"Go away, (Y/N)."

That's when you knew you messed up real bad. Leona never calls you (Y/N), not even during arguments .

"Leona, please..."

"Why? Why are you here? Don't you hate me?"

"Leona...! No, I swear! I can never hate you! I'm so sorry that I threw such vile words at you which had no truth in them! I-I never meant to say that... You are my world, Leona, how can I ever hate someone like you? I love you so much. I love you and only you, Leona Kingscholar."

He cracked one eye open.

"Come here."

Once you approached him, he pulled you in the bed. Leona wrapped his arms around you. He was afraid that it he dosen't hold you then you will disappear.

"...Don't leave herbivore. You are the only thing I have. I love you too.

Azul: Four days. Four agonizing days without Azul by your side. Without your favourite octo-mer by your side everything felt so colourless. Yet, you just couldn't bring yourself up to face him and apologize. The tweels were also pretty upset with you for hurting Azul like that, specially Floyd. Jade, in some way was understanding.

"Prefect, I think it's time you make up with Azul, you know."

Jade told you one day when you were heading to your first class.

"I know Jade... I just... you know...I don't dare go up to him after what I did."

You looked down.

"Don't be like that. You know how he is. In fact, he can't focus on anything after your argument with him. Don't let him go back to his self-destructing ways. He needs you the most right now."

"...Thanks, Jade."

Jade was right. You love him and it's time you actually show him how much. However, when you went to Octavinelle after school, you didn't find Azul anywhere. Where did he go? After quite a while of searching you found him alone near the school's botanical garden. You silently walked closer and noticed how his shoulders were shaking. You took a step closer and... you could hear his quiet sobs...

"Azul..."

Your voice was soft but still he flinched. He was ready to run if it wasn't for your hand that touched his shoulder. You hurt him so bad, yet, your touch was so comforting that he couldn't help but stay rooted in his place.

"Azul... I'm really sorry..."

His sobs got louder.

"You don't ha-have to be. W-who would love a st-stupid, useless, crybaby o-octopus like me?"

"Azul...! You are neither stupid nor useless. You are one of the most amazing people I ever saw in my life. You are smart and hardworking. You are loving and caring. You make me feel like I belong and I love you so so much Azul Ashengrotto."

He could feel his face getting hotter, not from his endless sobbing but because of your words. Damn you for breaking his heart and then fixing it up this way. Honestly, he couldn't help but throw himself in your arms and whimper.

"I l-love you too angelfish. So, p-please don't leave like that ever again...!"

Kalim: It was the second night after your argument with Kalim. Honestly, you felt horrible. You don't even remember what were you two arguing about. Now, all you want to do is apologize to Kalim. You miss his warm embrace...

There was a knock on your door. You were a bit surprised. Who came to visit you at a time like this? You opened the door hesitantly. To your surprise, it was Jamil. Before you could even say anything he started speaking.

"Kalim is crying uncontrollably since the night before yesterday. He didn't come out of his room and he skipped classes. He isn't eating, refusing to talk to anyone, including me. Prefect, this is serious. Come with me now and fix it."

There was something in Jamil's tone that prevented you from protesting. So, you followed him to the hall of mirrors and then to Scarabia. He left you in front of Kalim's room and walked away without another word. You could hear Kalim's heart breaking sobs and honestly you wanted to crawl in a hole in shame. You knocked on his door.

"Kalim, it's me—

You couldn't even finish your sentence as the door flew open and Kalim literally flung towards you.

"(Y-Y/N)! I-I'm sorry for whatever I did...! P-please d-don't h-hate me..."

He sobbed on your shoulder.

"Kalim...! Sweetheart, no! I can never hate you! I'm so terribly sorry for being such a bitch. I swear I never meant those words. You mean so much to Kalim! I-I don't even dare to hate you... I love you so much Kalim al-Asim."

"I-I love you too m-my treasure!"

Kalim didn't let you go for that night. The night was spent with words of assurance and a lot of cuddling.

Vil: Two weeks. Two freaking weeks. You didn't want to face Vil, not after what you did. He avoids you like the plague and you are pretty sure this is going to last for another few days.

"Ah mon trickster, what did you do this time? I never saw roi de poison this upset before."

Rook had had enough of Vil's foul mood and your distant behavior. So, he finally decided to approach you.

"We had a nasty argument Rook and uh I said something really vicious and now I don't know how to apologize..."

That was only half of the truth.

"Just be honest with him. Roi de poison dosen't like beating around the bush. So, don't sugarcoat anything and tell him how you genuinely feel. Also, don't let his harsh demeanor fool you. Good luck mon trickster~"

Okay, Rook was probably right. That's why you decided to follow his advice and went in search for the Pomfiore housewarden after school. Vil is a busy person. So, you have to be sincere and quick.

You found him in his room. He looked...defeated. Like, if you looked closer you could see that he was still as vibrant as ever but... something about him just felt off. Rook, who was in his room winked at you and left you with Vil to solve the mess you created.

Vil stared at you. Even his gaze was different. He looked ready to suck up whatever you throw at him and that wasn't the Vil you know.

"What is it prefect?"

"Vil... look, I'm so sorry. I never meant what I said. I can't believe I said that to you, out of all people. I'm so so sorry Vil. I never meant it, I promise. I'm sorry that I didn't reach out to you sooner... I just... couldn't face you after what I did. You mean the world to me. I really love you, so so much Vil Schoenheit."

He seemed a bit taken aback by your words but you would've sworn that you saw a small smile.

"Apology accepted sweet potato. Now, come here. Also... I love you too."

His embrace never felt better.

Idia: You just couldn't reach Idia no matter how much you tried for the past three days. It's like he disappeared. You still can't believe that you actually told Idia that you hate him. You already know how he is. Good heavens, this is not going to be easy. Idia even banned Ortho from talking with you. (You found out because Ortho decided not to listen to his brother.) Anyways, the point is, you have to apologize to Idia and make it up with him ASAP.

So, you made a plan. You asked Ortho about Idia's schedule and waited outside of Idia's room. You have to talk with him when he is outside of his room and the best way? Exactly, wait for him to finish his classes and catch him when he isn't scooped up in his room.

You did exactly that. Just when you caught a glimpse of him you immediately ran to him.

"Idia!"

Well, it almost gave him a heart attack. For a moment he forgot that he was supposed to be upset with you. But how can he? When you were clinging to him like a koala? Then again this was serious.

"Let go, (Y/N)."

"Idia—

"(Y/N), I said let go."

"Idia, please—

"LET GO ALREADY!!"

Idia rarely shouts at anyone let alone you. Well, he had a right to be angry. So, you reluctantly let go of him.

"...Just give me a chance to explain and I promise I'll leave you alone after that, if you want me to..."

"Speak."

Sometimes you forget that Idia can get like this. He usually isn't scary. Idia is a really shy and introverted person. But, well, he has his moments.

"...I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I hurt you. I'm sorry that I didn't bother to hear you out. I'm sorry...that I can't be good enough for you... Still, Idia, I can't hate you, no, never you. You make me feel like I have a place in this world. Because of you, I can be happy. Your love is what I cherish the most. So, yes, Idia Shroud, I love you and I always will."

Idia didn't say anything. In fact, he looked away from you.

You were saddened to see this and decided to give him his space. But, you barely took two steps when two arms wrapped around your torso. His breath was warm against your cheeks and you could hear his sniffles.

"Don't leave...(Y/N)... Stay with me... I love you too."

Malleus: A severe storm has been going on since four days. Four days you last talked to Malleus. Four days...after that fateful night... Seriously, Malleus is the last person you wanted to hurt. Your precious dragon, how could you hurt him like that? You broke his heart in the worst way possible. You wanted to scream and throw things. You still can't believe that you said you hate Malleus out of all people. You didn't need to look at his face to know that he was extremely upset. The storm was enough proof.

Sebek yelled at you a lot. Silver...was well... he was trying to be understanding. Lilia wasn't pleased with the situation but he understood where you are coming from. Also, he is aware that you don't have any ill intentions. So, being the old wise fae he is, he urged you to have a conversation with Malleus. According to him, you are the only who can actually get through him.

"He isn't coming out of his room. As mush as I want to drag him away from his bed, his sad face stops me every time. So, prefect, please go and take responsibility."

Oh, you were willing to do that. Lilia dropped you literally inside of Malleus's room and good lord he locked the door from outside. Damn Lilia.

You sighed and looked at Malleus, who was curled up in his blankets completely. Only his horns were visible. You would think he was asleep if it wasn't for the soft sniffles that was coming from under the blankets.

"Malleus...?"

You pulled off the blankets a little to see his face and his eyes widened immediately. He moved away from you and faced the wall. Uh, that kinda reminded you of a child. Well, he was one, at least to you.

"Malleus, listen, I'm so sorry. I can never hate you. I had rather die than hate you. I'm sorry, I truly am. I'm blessed to have you. I'm sorry that I didn't realize it sooner. You mean so much to me. So, yes, Malleus Draconia, I love you and I always will."

That had him practically jumping over you. Or, at least he wanted to. But still, it was so sudden that you ended up beside him in his bed. Finally, that gorgeous smile was back on his face. The storm stopped rather quickly after that. He was happy... really really happy that you, his love of his life, still loved him.

"My dear child of man, I love you too. Or... should I say future Mrs. Draconia?"

"Malleus!!"

He burst into laughter and honestly you couldn't wish for more.

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