I Cant Wait For Malleus, King Of Silly, To Be Back ON (with His Equally Silly Tsum Nonetheless!!)

i cant wait for malleus, king of silly, to be back ON (with his equally silly tsum nonetheless!!)

kiss me goodnight

Even this pain could not distract me from the thought of you

pt. 1 | pt. 2

pairings: mallesil, implied malleyuu

please read!! warning: angst, slight nsfw, mcd. dead dove: do not eat, woundfucking

The silence was deafening. Many would deem meeting the Lord of Briar, especially after such catastrophe, terrifying. People throughout the land knew their Lord was mourning ever since, grieving over the lost of Their Majesty themself. The sun has not peeked even  once, thunderstorms and black cloud ensues, crops failing everywhere. Silver knew he has to do something, he has to, else the kingdom whom he and his father once loved will be descended into ruin. Yet none of the people dared to request their presence upon The Great Lord, either out of loyalty or plain fear disguised under the cloak of devotion.

Today, he stands upon the door of His Lord’s throne room, requesting his presence formally, even though he knew that wouldn’t be needed at all. Both he, Sebek and his father always had free access of this room ever since Malleus ascended from his role as The Crown Prince, yet he does it anyway. He took a deep breath as the grand door opens, revealing two thrones which was left empty. Silver stepped into the huge room. As he approached the center, a flash of green emerges, and along with it, His Lord. He knelt down on one knee, hand on his chest, while the other lies on his back. There was a moment before he stoop his head low, voice stern and dignified, 

‘Dear Lord, I wish to offer myself as a makeshift of your sorrow’ 

It’s as if the world around them stops moving. The air was still, if a single needle were to fall right now, Silver believes it would echo the whole room. His Lord was still levitating a few meters away  from him, before words finally escape his thin-dark lips

‘Rise’ 

So did Silver, raising his head to meet his Lord’s gaze, and was shaken in an instant.

It was an expression he never saw in his Lord before. Heck, he even thinks he never saw him like that when he was still the plain Malleus, with no country or people to rule, back when he still have a handful of freedom between his hands. The face of clear desperation and sorrow, that penetrates far between his facade of nobility and distinguished presence. His heart aches at the view, why of course. The great catastrophe had costed a thousand lives, billion even. Losing his people, and all his loved ones while maintaining dignity to rule over people regardless of his pain. If he’s scarred, then his Lord must be wounded. If he’s feeling a twinge of ache, then his Lord must’ve been in greater pain, ones much greater than his. 

His Lord materialized his staff on his hand, and with a low thud, all his retainers pardoned themselves outside the room. Only then the voice he recognized well ever since his early childhood reverberates

‘Silver’

He listens intently. He knows his Lord has got much more to say.

‘What can one do, to relieve this pain and agony?’

‘Anything.’

‘Anything?’

‘Anything. I would do anything, My Lord, to ease your grief and suffering. 

Please, use me as you please.  I would be delighted to indulge, body and soul.’ 

body and soul, Silver winces. Body and soul that don’t even belong to him from the very start. His whole being, every strand of hair and inside of his mind belonged to his father and his father only. He would gladly trade his soul for his father’s well-being, happiness, to extend his lifeline, or as simple as to serve a plate to his tastes, anything. Anything for his father, for he always belonged to him. 

But life is not always that simple. And as much as he wants to stay with his father forever, even residing in his deathbed until the reaper comes for him too, the world just chose to disagree. As much as he wants to, his father would despise it, for all he ever asked in his long life towards Silver was to not give up on living. 

But how can he live life without his father? 

Ever since his father left for the Land of the Red Dragons, he would always sent him letters. Telling stories of any happenings in the Land of  Thorns, or any minor changes in their cottage. How his friends and the people from Night Raven College are doing after graduation. Sometimes he travels overseas too, following his father’s footsteps, telling everything he discovered along his journey in the form of words. He would write frequently, without miss, knowing that the place his father chose to resides is still untouched of modern technology.

His father used to write back to him just as much. About his travels there, the people he met, how the children that used to play around his abode made him reminisce about Silver's childhood back in the day. There were so much things to share with his beloved son, many things to tell even if they're billion feets apart. He would reassure that he's doing good everytime, that there's nothing to worry about and that Silver can stay wherever he wants without needing to worry about him. 

But one day, the letters are coming to a halt. Silver no longer receive replies as frequent, even though he will still receive one during his birthday each year without miss, even though it’s  only filled with wishes for his well-being and none of its contents answered his questions nor is  aligned with the previous letters. 

The catastrophe had elapsed, and not even in those dire situations did his father return

His father wouldn’t leave his son and his beloved pupils to face such dangers alone. 

Not when he’s still breathing

Not when he can use his body as a fae shield

Not when he’s alive

Silver’s not a fool, Deep down he knew, realized that his father may be long gone. Without him on his side. Or his beloved ones. Or his disciple. All alone in a faraway land, where no news of his passing would reach their ears. 

Perhaps that’s what his father planned long ago, when he tried to leave Night Raven College

But what about him? What about Silver, your beloved son? That you hold dear the moment you laid your eyes on him, amidst the darkest thorns? That you raised and nurtured  with utmost genuine love you had never received nor believed you were capable of? What will become of him, now that you’re gone? Do you know how I always, always belonged to you father, my one and only, as  I will forever be your one and only son? What, how-  how would you expect me to live without your presence? Who will soothe me? Who will cradle me in his arms no matter how big I have grown? Who will find me amidst the dark forest during a thunderstorm just to bring me home, back to the warmth of your embrace? Where will I return to? Where is home when there is no you inside? 

Father, it is not that I am incapable of living

I am merely incapable of living in a world without you in it.

If only his father was here. Perhaps the catastrophe wouldn’t become such atrocious turns of events, perhaps many lives could be saved with his father’s abilities. Perhaps his life wouldn’t be led astray. Perhaps living wouldn’t feel as horrible, maybe-

‘We’re here.’ 

His Lord’s voice echoes in front of a huge gate underground, where they’ve been walking this whole time. Silver doesn’t know how far they’ve walked, or how deep they are beneath the surface, but no matter. The entrance creaked open, and along with it the torches inside the room lit up with bright green flames. The young Lord stepped inside, so he followed his footsteps. 

Inside were dolls, many many dolls. From wool, cotton, polyester of some kind, glass, plastic, wood..? Majority of them were mannequins, and Silver can’t help but realize that each and every doll bears some kind of resemblance

They all looked like Yuu- no, Their Highness. 

Both tread their path in silence, where they finally stopped in the heart of the room. There is a large banquet table full of distinct food atop of it, one that will not be found anywhere across the realm of Twisted Wonderland as none of them hailed from here. All which could only come into being along with the existence of the once infamous Ramshackle Prefect, which now people knew as the savior of the catastrophe

Far away in the middle, he sees something that doesn’t belong in the dinner table sitting prettily amidst the crowded cuisine:

A pair of doll

Unlike any other dolls in the room, this one was unique 

It was a gift from the Prefect on his Lord’s 179th birthday, just before his Lord left for his internship in the fourth year. One was supposedly made to resemble himself, and the other was made to resemble the creator. They would exchange their dolls everytime the other was away, as if to relieve their longing by having a miniature of each other. He himself knew because his Lord was exhilarated by this gift, claiming it as one of his most prized possessions. He would bring it with him everywhere and boast it to every person he met, until his father advised him, saying the doll would get damaged faster if he brought it with him everytime.

Now it all clicked in his head

This was his Lord’s attempt to relieve his grief. 

The Lord took a few steps back from the heart of the banquet, bringing the two dolls into the sides as if letting them watch. Silver, understanding the cue, proceeds to climb up the lavish table

‘Lie down’ ordered his Lord 

And so he does. 

With a slight wave of his Lord’s fingers, every single thread on Silver’s body dissipated into thin air.

‘How much are you willing to devote to me?’ asked his Lord, voice devoid of emotions 

‘As much as what my father offered for the kingdom’ 

There’s a pang in his chest on the single word that came from his mouth. His father. Father, father, father- 

A luminescent greenish hue envelopes his frame 

Father, will you return if I crave hard enough?

Sharp claw grazed his skin, slowly at first, before cutting a thin, fine line atop his chest 

Will you welcome me by the door after I’m done playing in the woods? 

Something gripped his chest, and as if on cue, his heart starts beating faster to the touch 

I’m lost, father. Are you on your feet to skim the forest for my presence? 

Enjoying the rhythm in his hands, he placed his face closer, as if to kiss it

Leaning down, he pressed it into his ears. Music soothes a pair of pointy ears, while the other pair weeps in silence

Then came out a sob

Plump tears mixed with the ones inside his body, streaks of translucent joining heaps of scarlet

His Lord was atop of him fully, right hand gripping his heart strong, while the other graze over his lungs

With a loud cry, black fingertips clutched harsh, bursting the lung beneath

Silver gasped, or at least tried to. It’s as if every last piece of oxygen was drained of this world 

His head flinched a bit, before laying helplessly on the other side of the table 

Father, I am in peril. Wouldn’t you come to my rescue now? 

He can feel the grip on his heart tightens. Muttering something along the lines of ‘if only I could give you a beating heart’ and ‘aint such alluring instrument befitting of your beauty, my dearest?’ 

I miss you. Father, please come. I’d do anything for not losing you

Fingers caressed his other lung, going around in circles 

Please. Please come back. I, by the Seven’s name, could not bear to live another day without you

Something pierced through him. Fierce at first, then replaced by something much firmer

Pounding gently, then getting rougher on each stab as if to keep up the pace

I’d trade my whole life for you, father 

It hurts. Everything hurts. He faintly heard whimpers atop of him, but the ache in his heart stings more than the ones on his body 

The motion accelerates as time goes, his already limp body thumping rhythmically with each pound

Your presence is all I ask. Is that too much to ask? 

A splutter. Something filled up his insides. Another fluid, this one much thicker in texture, joined the unsightly mixture of whatever various liquid entered his body since all of this started

I’d rather cease to exist in a world without you, father. 

A stray tear fall

Even this pain could not distract me from the thought of you.

'you still listen to music from 10 years ago 🤨?' bitch if prehistoric humans had audio recording technology id be sat up here listening to grog and unga bunga's greatest hits don't play with me

Ivantill

⚔ living weapon verse ⚔ | a friend and i have been tossing around an au where silver is a literal "living weapon"— he's been transformed into a sword due to being cursed by maleficent and forced to serve the many fae generals throughout the centuries who wield him. eventually, time finds him in the hands of the most recent general of the right, a certain lilia vanrouge :) there's so much more to this au and i hope that i can express more of it through upcoming drabbles. but in the meantime please enjoy this snippet below! <3

The water in the basin almost instantaneously rusts into an ugly, mottled brown, the kind of stinking, brackish water that Silver has only seen in the most polluted of swamps. It makes sense, he supposes, twitching his fingers idly beneath the surface to watch the resulting eddies with a glazed stare— he is a tool of and for destruction. There is nothing that remains sacred and innocent for something like him, not even the bathwater warm like a hearth against his phantom, aching bones. 

A clawed hand takes his chin and grips it firmly, the pressure a welcome distraction from the encroaching abyss sinking its poisonous tendrils into his mind. He allows it to guide him, unable to resist even if he wished, and it tilts his head up until his dulled gaze meets blazing crimson, the sight stirring a long-dead emotion in his still and silent heart. “Focus,” the general murmurs, and the order is a kindness, a mercy he knows he does not deserve. “Eyes on me.”

These simple, straightforward commands are part of their ritual, and Silver clings to them like the last anchor in a tempest-tossed sea. His handler’s hold on his chin lingers a moment longer, the fae eyeing him impassively to ensure his compliance as if it were possible for Silver to disobey, before removing itself to reach for the damp rag draped along the basin’s side. Silver mourns its loss like a child yearning for a comfort toy, but his features do not betray his thoughts. They do not betray much of anything at all, the need to emote drilled out of him from centuries of cruelty and callous objectification. After all, what does a sword need a smile for, what use is a blade that weeps?

Instead, he centers himself along the pain, one of the only constants he’s come to know as intimately as any true love. His handler is quick, another one of those unnecessary mercies, but thorough— the rag glides along his bruised and blood-stained skin, sweeping away the gory evidence of mere hours ago. Idly, Silver wonders if it would truly be so easy to wipe away the memories. To cleanse what is so ingrained within him: the dying wails of his own kind, the wet heat as he slices through their flesh and beating veins, the fear wide and white in their eyes. 

“Silver.”

His head snaps up, a dull burn of shame creeping beneath his skin as the fear of disappointing the fae, a compelling need sewn viciously into the very nature of his being as part of Maleficent's curse, floods his mind.

The general has paused in his ministrations, for how long Silver does not know, and instead is crouched by the basin’s side with an inscrutable expression on those delicate features. Without a word, he reaches out, and Silver’s eyes all but close as a passive tranquility spreads like treacle through his trembling limbs at the touch of those warm fingertips against the curse mark branded along the back of his neck. His handler need not look to find the recent addition of the bat flitting above the floral-wreathed sword emblazoned on Silver’s skin, and he feels the tips of those claws press lightly against it— he’s never heard of a curse mark changing over time, and he cannot forget the strange flash of possessiveness that flickered through the general’s eyes at the sight before being smoothly buried under his usual narrowed gaze. 

He cannot forget the odd churning of his heart when he first caught sight of it in the broken mirror hanging in the general’s tent. 

“Silver,” the general repeats, and Silver flushes at having drifted off once again. But instead, the fae brushes his thumb over the length of the curse mark, from the nape of his neck to the top of his spine, and stares at him like he’s something deserving of tenderness. 

“You did well today, boy. Rest now,” his handler’s hand shifts forward to cover his eyes, the darkness beneath his palm warm and inviting and nothing like the cold and miserable nothingness that Silver returns to when he’s outperformed his usefulness. Another kindness, for swords do not sleep, or eat, or drink— his body, what little humanity it has retained, no longer is tethered to such mortal requirements. But his general has given him an order, and a good weapon obeys the will of its handler. 

Silver sleeps— swords do not dream, but what else could it be, when he feels the ghost of lips brushing against his forehead?

Today I accidentally knocked a monarch caterpillar off its leaf and it fell and immediately began oozing green liquid. I was devastated. I thought I'd killed it. Turns out they do that on purpose to defend against predators. Fooled by a fat little worm. Irrecoverable