#I hope I made u proud

[wrathofrats]

Sits down cross legged on the floor

Consider; raindrop fucking, lazy and kinda casual about it while just musing about how badly they both wanna get their hands on the new bug. Phantoms so cute and sweet - Rain knows he'd be such a good boy, wants to prove it but Dew is convinced he's absolutely got a bit of a brat inside of him.

Dew wonders if he's weird like Aether and likes to play with his magic, Omega certainly did...Is it just a quint ghoul thing to be a freak??

Rain asks if his dick would be bigger than Dew's (Dew tries to pretend he's offended as if he doesn't share the same sentiment)

Just slightly provoking each other, a little bit of possessiveness hidden in there somewhere, while they talk absolutely nasty about Phantom...idk!

Is this smthn-

-Void

I’m honored I’ve finally been given raindrop writing privileges I hope I did them justice I know how important those freaks are to you

1.6k of exactly what it says on the tin folks. Warnings for degro, size shaming, mentions of physical punishments like bruises and blood, they’re a bunch of possessive freaks.

Ok have fun

Dew reeks of sweat and smoke.

His forehead is shiny, golden hair sticking to it as he tips his head back to allow Rain to suck on the sensitive skin of his neck. They exchange heat in this position, Rain sat in his lap nestled comfortably on his cock while Dew massages his hips. He gets hotter the longer they sit, no real urgency to either of their movements, Dew would gladly burn if it meant being able to continue touching Rain like he’s a deity who has given him the grace of his skin against his own.

“Haven’t you noticed how he looks at us firefly?”

The words barely register in Dew’s brain as Rain lifts up off of his throat to speak coherently. Rain grinds his hips back lightly, causing Dew to suck in a deep breath. His grip tightens as he finally looks back up at Rain with a confused look.

“Who?”

“Phantom. Have you been listening to me or do I need to get up?” Rain sighs while Dew digs his nails into his hips, mumbling out a couple breathy protests.

“I’m listening I promise I- we’ve just been here for hours Rain cloud”

It had been more like an hour. The passage of time slowing as Rain moves at his own leisure. A casual pace to the roll of his hips even as Dew attempts to move them faster. Rain had already soaked the sheets below them anyways, can’t help himself, but Dew’s eyes cross every time Rain sits back to add another comment about whatever he had decided was the topic of conversation.

“Could get up if you’re not feeling it, thought you enjoyed it when I sit sweetly in your lap. Thought you wanted something pretty to look at”

“I do baby-“

“Then stop complaining”

Dew lets out another breath he didn’t know he was holding. He readjusts them in an attempt to relieve something about their position. At least enough that he can focus on what Rain is saying to him.

“Anyways, Phantom just looks so sweet doesn’t he? Probably would drop to his knees in the common room if we asked him” Rain repeats, a soft hand caressing Dew’s chin to force his gaze. He studies Dew’s eyes for any hint that he’s not fully with him, enamored with the way his pupils dilate. Finally Dew rolls his eyes and bats Rain’s hand away, grumbling about how he’s still there.

“You really think that freak is obedient?”

“More obedient than you are” Rain chides “besides, if he listens when you send him on stupid errands to annoy Swiss, I wonder what else we could make him do.”

Phantoms eyes spark when he sees Dew and Rain. A mischievous glint that has Rain wanting to drag him between them and use him as they please. A finger beckoning him over, pointing at the floor, hell Dew barely had to motion to the stage before Phantom had eagerly dropped to his knees while on tour. Something Dew has not forgotten, or let Rain forget.

“I’ve heard the opposite. Swiss gets chatty when he’s high” Dew snickers. There’s a hint of jealousy to his voice as Rain praises the new summon while seated on his cock. A petulant tone that only makes Rain bite his lip in curiosity.

“Is that so?”

“Said he’s a fucking brat, that he’s got an awful mouth on him” Dew groans as Rain bounces lightly just to hear that tone of his go breathy again.

“Well considering how often I let you get away with it, I’m not concerned”

Rain adjusts again with a wicked look. He loves watching the cocky attitude in Dew melt away as he clenches down on his cock. Dew is adorable when he’s jealous, Rain could work him up for hours if he didn’t think Dew may burn down the abbey about it.

“He’s greedier than you are princess, Swiss could spank the stupid toy raw and he would beg for more”

“Guess I enjoy the challenge. Swiss encourages the bratting though and you of all ghouls should know that”

More than once had Swiss worked Dew up enough to get smoke coming out of his ears. Laughing in his face before sending him back to Rain covered in bruises after taunting the one ghoul who usually couldn’t control himself. Always quiet and docile, but they all knew the work it took to get him there. Swiss dishes his punishments hard, that fucking sadist, purely encouraging a bad habit so he can have his own fun.

"Sometimes Swiss has to subdue him with quintessence just to get him to shut his mouth. Poor thing will apparently just talk and babble until he's fucked stupid"

Oh that idea intrigues Rain more than it should. The idea of Phantom being so loud and disobedient that even Swiss can't handle him sometimes? He licks his lips, quickening his pace bouncing up and down on Dew just thinking about it. His thoughts are awful really, the terrible sadistic part of him wondering if he could get Phantom to submit without having to use magic.

He knows how hard Swiss can go, he's left plenty of cuts and bruises on Rain to make that point clear. But Rain wonders if Phantom will allow him to go harder.

“I think we could take him firefly. Could just tie him up until he wants to be good if the bug gets out of hand.” Rain muses. Dew pants and curses beneath him, trying to grab at Rain to slow him down.

“Fuck baby-“ Dew moans. There’s an internal debate of whether or not to force him to still his hips, loving the way he looks bouncing up and down. His dark hair framing his face as he tilts his head back blissed out on Dew’s cock, small tits bouncing slightly, he looks ethereal like this and if Dew wasn’t about to completely ruin the moment he would've been more than grateful to continue to watch.

There’s a small pause that lingers in the air as Rain finally stills. He leans forward into Dew’s chest against, panting right by his ear.

“Hope he’s a bit nasty for us, hope he makes me fucking claw at his skin until he sobs. Get him real marked up and docile, see a bruised bloody thing at our feet hanging onto our every word” Rain huffs, breathy and a cocky lit to his voice that has Dew whimpering at the idea. One of Rain’s claws drags down the side of Dew’s abdomen for emphasis as he just nods and gasps at the sting.

“Do you think he’s got that awful quint trait of being a fucking freak with his magic? Do you think he uses it to get what he wants?” Dew screws his eyes shut as Rain clenches down on him again. Omega certainly has an awful streak of using his magic to his advantage, they’re sure that’s how aether got to be so bad. Just a taste of power and Dew’s convinced the kid will be hooked. Will play dirty just to get a cock in him.

“I think we can make a sweet boy out of Phantom. Won’t need any magic to get what he wants if he listens”

“And how do you expect to do that?”

Rain smiles almost maliciously at Dew, his sharp teeth almost reflecting the low light in the room. A sweet hand comes to caress the side of his face, a stark contrast to the filth Dew knows Rain is thinking.

“Oh I was hoping you’d be a bit generous droplet, I was thinking I could offer him the opportunity to fuck my cunt if he’s a good boy. Maybe if you’re good too you can watch”

Dew practically growls, “Id just have to fuck you afterwards. He can’t fuck you like I can, would love to see him try though”

“Oh is that so? You don’t think he’s bigger than you are?” Rain reaches below him to grab at Dew’s cock, showing how easily it slips out when he’s not actively grinding down on it

Shame burns in Dew’s gut, his face going bright red seeing how Rain’s fist almost covers him completely. A spurt of pre dribbles down his fist only adding to the embarrassment, not only feeling of seeing Rain actively coo over how small he is, both of them knowing how aroused it makes Dew.

“Shut up” he grits.

“Seen and heard a couple things that tell me otherwise. I think he could fill me up nicely” Rain sits back on Dew’s cock again, tsking in mock disappointment. He reaches down to rub between his folds, biting his lip as he circles lightly on his clit. Dew can see how wet he is, more slick leaking out of him as he touches himself.

“That’s even if I let him near you. Don’t even want him to look at your pretty cunt, should be all mine”

Rain spreads himself at the words, two fingers showing off his pink little clit, completely engorged. Strings of his own arousal connect his fingers as he shows himself off. Dew wants to drool, to beg to get his mouth on him. Needing the salty, heady taste of Rain on his tongue.

“Don’t get jealous on me now. Besides, you’re not in charge Dewdrop” Rain sneers.

Dew whines, Rain’s hand coming to wrap lightly around his throat. A final grasp at power that Rain knows will leave him helpless and quiet for him.

“If you’re so jealous I could just have you both fuck me. Get both of your little cocks in me and see if It even stretches me out. Sure mountain or aether is bigger than you two combined, would be a really sweet sight to watch you two try though.”

[hinamie]

to moving forward

[dog-teeth]

something to recognize that choosing recovery again and again is difficult work, and you are not weak for faltering

[strawbebbiesart]

downstream 🫧🪸

[soaked-ghost]

human designs + monster design for frisk :]

[solacereigns]

marc standing celebrations with 93 flag hehe <:)

[chernabogs]

ames you are COOKING (or should i say, planting???lol) SO HARD with the flower language prompts, 😭💖💞💖💞✨✨am really out here sobbing and crying over them like im watering these flowers with my Tears lol

so here i am requesting for these prompts: rosemary, begonia, pink camellia, dark crimson rose, purple hyacinth, blue salvia, zinnia

i picked these based on your initial tag about Maleficia and zinnia flower,,,, I SEE THE VISION so im requesting it now lol but also picked on prompts that reminded of Meleanor and Malleus,,, 😭i think therapy bills should be forwarded to Draconias instead, istg all they ever do is be in grief and loss /lh😭

if its too many, please feel free to choose whichever prompt you like and take your time in writing !! ☺️💞🌹✨✨

Ohhh I did my best here I promise LMAOOO. I tied in some easter eggs with other works i've done (namely Monody, Stasis, and Labours Gained). I hope you enjoy my absolute monstrous dump about Maleficia, whom I will die on a hill for tyvm

EMPTY CHAIRS

Inc: Maleficia, Meleanor, Levan, Lilia, Malleus (whole gang wow) WC: 4.2k :))) Warnings: Just some death, but I swear it ends on a happy note this time. Flowers: Begonia (How ghosts help the living live a little), Pink Camellia (Where I notice your absence the most), Dark Crimson Rose (The grave I visit everyday), Purple Hyacinth (The worst pain of my whole life and how it healed… multiple times) , Zinnia (The seats at the table and how they eventually became empty… multiple times) Summary: Moments where Maleficia was convinced her family was cursed, and a few times she truly wished this to not be the case.

A mother's love for her child is like nothing else in the world.  It knows no law, no pity.  It dares all things and crushes down remorselessly all that stands in its path.

Their family may be cursed. 

For many decades now Maleficia had toyed with the possibility of such a matter in her mind. It had first passed briefly with the death of her father—the second monarch to take over after the initial uprising—and the subsequent death of her mother a few weeks later. No one was surprised when she went. Her grief for the loss of her love had been so profound that it had flooded Briar Nation, drowning both cattle and crops in her dismay. Maleficia had postponed her own coronation as the cleanup occurred. It felt ill-boding to be crowned while bodies were floating down the mountain pass. 

The thought had returned once more when her husband vanished at sea, leaving her with a newborn hatchling on her own. Her love had been a strong headed man with adventure burning in his blood—it had been what drew her to him to begin with. That, and he was the only ex-sailor she knew who was bold enough to try and hold her for ransom. Wiping the deck with him had captured his heart—and the fact that he had been a dragon settled the Senate to a degree. But the sea is a fickle mistress, and although her love had skill and he had drive, even the most knowledgeable of sailors can never predict its next move. 

She had not flooded Briar Nation like her mother had, and she had held herself together before her people, although the empty space in her bed and at the dinner table deepened the wound nightly. It was in the quiet moments alone when it was just her and Meleanor that she felt his absence the strongest. 

In the beginning she loathed him for leaving her. Whenever she cradled their daughter as the hatchling shrieked and protested, blowing flame, and biting for flesh, she loathed him. Whenever she dealt with the Senate or another disaster befalling the Nation, she loathed him. 

But when Meleanor learned to fly, learned to run, and shifted into her two-legged form for the first time, the hatred began to fade. Because although he had vanished into the mists on a voyage destined to fail, he had left her with the greatest treasure she could ever have—and for that alone she could hold no ill will. 

Perhaps this sentimentality is why when Meleanor dragged a thin, sickly-looking bat into the halls of Black Scale, Maleficia heard her out.

“Please let him stay!” The princess had asked, green eyes wide as she grasped her mother’s skirts. “Please, mother!”

The other child had shrunk behind Meleanor, but shadows could not hide the burning defiance in the boy's eyes—a gaze of confrontation, and one that nothing truly innocent should hold. This is why she lacked the heart to say no. She quietly hoped that Lilia, as she would name him, would be the one to slay whatever reaper was following them—that the burning anger she had seen would ignite a fire that would cleanse the family of its suffocating misery. 

With the presence of Meleanor, Lilia, and eventually Levan, the silent table Maleficia had sat at for so long soon became a place of raucous conversation again. Although she found herself scolding the three children more than once (especially Levan for his non-subtle attempts at discarding food), the lingering warmth she would feel as she gazed at the trio made her confident that this family curse was on the bend. 

Naturally, it didn’t last. 

The first time she heard of the Silver Owls, Meleanor was 200 years old and more focused on warding off suitors than an unmarked ship. Maleficia had allowed her daughter to indulge by instead consulting with an advisor alone in the dark of her office. The concern lingering in the advisor's words would grow to haunt her.

“Perhaps it is temporary?” She posited, trying her best to remain optimistic on the matter. Plenty of people came and went from Cape Sunrise. A single unmarked ship with a few scraggly sailor’s was not something she felt the need to stress over. The advisor seemed doubtful on the matter.

“But they have tools. Items designed to dig up our soil,” they had insisted, but Maleficia dismissed the concerns with a wave and a blase response. 

“Let them try. They will not be able to break the first layer of our land.” 

___________________________________

The first one to leave the table had been Levan. There were many soldiers and nobles who vanished before he did but, selfishly, he was the first one that Maleficia really felt the absence of. Levan had grown up from a non-confrontational child to her son-in-law, a general of the princess and a father to the future heir. His compassion had not faded despite the years of war that now tore the Nation apart. Maleficia knew this by the way she came across him one night, cradling his egg so gently while murmuring against its shell. 

When he had noticed her, he had not corrected himself; if anything, he held the egg even closer. They had not exchanged too many words that night, but she sat next to him on the bench in the gardens, the silence speaking volume of her support to his decisions. 

“You will return.” It was not a question—it was a demand. Her voice held the authority of a queen who had seen many, many losses in her long life. Levan had remained silent for a moment longer as his lips brushed against the shell of her grandson's egg. 

“Always,” was the promise he made, and the last words Maleficia heard from him. When they didn’t receive notice for several days after he left, the conclusion was drawn that he was either dead, or the closest one could be to it. Meleanor held herself well in lieu of this information, as had Maleficia. 

But the empty seat felt an ill omen. 

___________________________________

The next one to leave the table had been Meleanor. When she was younger, she used to rest her head on Maleficia’s lap as her mother had fixed her hair. She would ramble on about her day and what she got up to with the two boys in the nonsensical fashion that many children do. Maleficia had listened with amusement, although her mind had always been half-focused on what she needed to do for her meetings the next day.

The regret of not giving Meleanor her full, undivided attention sunk in deep when she felt her daughter’s magic cut off. The bond in their family was intrinsically woven to allow them to get a sense of whether the other members were still alive. If asked, Maleficia might say it’s something of a dragon trait. Most of the time it served to be a blessing to allow her to know her family is alive and well. 

When it cut off mid-emergency meeting, the abruptness had been so profound that she nearly collapsed then and there. Her breath had hitched, her words stuttering to a stop as she stared wide-eyed at the Senate members surrounding her. At first, she hoped it was simply a fluke—a disruption in the magic—until she didn’t feel it return and the horrible, tar-like panic of a mother when her child goes missing welled up in her heart. She was tearing out of the room before any of the Senate members even had a chance to speak, screaming for her guards and her soldiers to tell her what was going on at Wild Rose. 

Her daughter, who spent her childhood running through the forests and laughing in the face of suitors. Her daughter, whose hair she would braid and then re-braid again when the girl somehow got burs in it. Her daughter, who was set to become a mother herself and experience all the precious moments Maleficia had. 

Her daughter, whose body wasn’t even recovered at the end of it all. 

___________________________________

The final one to leave the table was Lilia. In wake of the princesses passing, Malleus’ egg was put in the cradle tower, and Maleficia was designated to spirit him into hatching. She felt the faint connection of their magic from within the thick shell that guarded his body. His warmth, the subtle movements he made; they were all indicators that he was still alive and well despite his tumultuous arrival.

But Maleficia didn’t know if he would oblige. Hatchlings often needed the love of both parents to be shepherded forward—and Maleficia, now over eight hundred years old, already felt the strain of her magic from the conflicts going on in her Nation. There was no doubt that she held love for her grandson—but a lingering fear that her love wouldn’t be enough burned in her mind. This is what made her turn to Lilia, to send him on his quest around the world to try and find an additional means to bring the young prince forward.

For the first few decades, it worked well. Maleficia held the egg on a nightly basis and poured as much of her love and magic into it as she could. The egg consumed it all in a greedy fashion, demanding more every time she returned to the tower. One would think that Malleus was starving within by the way he pulled, and tore, and ripped at her powers to fuel his own development. 

Then he ceased feeding. She recalls the first night it happened; everything had been going well, until the connection was suddenly severed, and the green glow within the egg dulled back into a faint tint of color. Maleficia had initially dismissed it as a one-off event. Until it happened again, and again, and again. 

There’s a curious sense of panic that fills someone when they do everything they can to no avail. The panic she felt came in the form of a privatized breakdown in the tower. For many decades now Maleficia had toyed with the possibility of a curse in her mind. Now, she was beginning to consider that it was not her family who was cursed, but rather just herself. 

First it came for her father, and her mother shortly after. Then, when it grew hungry again, it ate through her husband and that of her daughters. Then it came for Meleanor herself, and now whatever reaper followed them was looming over her shoulder as she held Malleus’ egg and begged him to take something. 

Pleas fell from the lips of a monarch as she rocked the egg, stroked its shell so softly, whispering to just eat a little more, just take a little more. But the egg had remained as cold and aloof as it had for several nights now. Her desperation mounted in an order to Baul to summon Lilia back—to slay whatever reaper was following them before it pried the last of her bloodline from her hands. 

Her hopes of his role as the vanquisher of death came in an explosive hatching that she was informed of after it occurred. When she requested for Lilia to be brought to Black Scale to be reinstated in his role in his efforts, the Senate had then informed her that Lilia Vanrouge would never step foot in the capital again.

And so, in a span of mere moments, the final seat was emptied—and Maleficia found herself alone once more. 

___________________________________

Grandchildren are the best reminders  of the beauty and innocence of childhood.

When Malleus was first brought to her after he hatched, she didn’t want to touch him. The purple hue of his stomach and the way his green gaze darted around, drinking in the new world he emerged to, reminded her so much of Meleanor that she wanted to laugh at the cruel irony. The hurt that smouldered in her heart ignited back into a flame that found her turning a cold shoulder to the hatchling. 

“Go clean him. He has amniotic fluid all over.” She remembers ordering, voice deceptively calm for the turmoil happening within. The wet nurse that was hired obliged as the hatchling shrieked and protested the frequently changing environment around him. His cries made Maleficia clench her jaw tighter as she stared resolutely at the battle plans drawn before her, her hands gripping the table enough to turn her knuckles white. 

A few times she went to him in the beginning. The encounters lasted only as long as Maleficia could tolerate seeing how similar he looked to Meleanor before she would depart and leave him in the care of his wet nurse once more. Guilt fought with anger in her heart about the circumstances that she found herself in and her inability to overcome them. She could feel the ghost of her daughter chastising her in the corner for being so cowardly in her approach. 

The breakthrough arrived when Malleus became ill. Grieves—a fever-like condition that affected fae children in particular—resulted in Maleficia sitting with her grandson one night as the exhausted wet nurse was excused for a long overdue break. She held him on her lap in the dark as his small form fought his fever, whispering how the stars that looked down from above were the eyes of the people who loved him, keeping him safe in this world. Her voice had cracked as she spoke, and it was only when a small whine left him did she realize she was hugging him tight to her body. 

“I am so sorry,” she had choked out, unsure if the apology was for the hold she had or the neglect she had given so far. “Please forgive me.”

Malleus had twisted in her arms, small wings fluttering before he settled himself down and began to doze. He had already forgotten what upset him to begin with. She wished it would always be that way—but she knew that was nothing but a vague hope. 

She loathed Meleanor for leaving. Whenever she cradled Malleus as the hatchling threw his tantrums, blowing flame, and biting for flesh as all children seem to do, she loathed her. Whenever she dealt with another part of the war or signed another treaty alone, she loathed her. 

But when Malleus scrambled onto her lap mid-Senate meeting, chased after courtiers, and flew for the first time (admittedly, into a flock of pigeons), Maleficia loved her. Because although like her father she had vanished in an ill-fated decision, she had left a small reminder that she was never truly gone. Maleficia could comfort Malleus, could see the ghost of his mother in his clever little eyes, and for that alone she could hold no ill will. 

Meleanor’s death had proved to be far worse than anything else—but her gift of the small dragon in her lap felt like the first steps towards recovery again. So, she had kissed between his horns that night and promised to herself that she would do all that she could to give him a future free of the misery that plagued their family thus far. 

___________________________________

In the aftermath, she spent time with him whenever she could. Via dinners, via having him sit in on meetings, via walks in the gardens—whenever she could, she would be there. However, despite her newfound presence changing some things for the better, she remained unable to quell the curiosity that burned in her grandson's mind. 

She found him in the mausoleum once. He was standing on the toes of his mother with his small hand touching her stone-carved face. Maleficia had not been to the mausoleum since the boy hatched so many years ago. The raw memories still stirred in her heart and seeing him look up at his mother with such a gaze of innocent adoration did nothing but unsettle her more. 

When he noticed her, his face had lit up into a smile as he hopped back down and pointed up to one of the other statues. “This is grandfather?” 

Maleficia’s gaze slid to where he was pointing. A strong jaw, a dangerous glint in stone-etched eyes, and a faint smirk painted the picture of the man she had once loved and held so dearly many years ago. Maleficia nodded. Malleus, taking this as encouragement, then ran back to the other statue he had been touching with his small hands. 

“And this is mother?” 

Again, Maleficia nodded. The painful similarities between Malleus and his mother were more apparent when they were side to side. If Maleficia were to squint, she could mistake Malleus as a younger Meleanor: the same horns, same hair length, even the same streak of mischief that got both into so much trouble. 

Malleus had hummed thoughtfully before stepping down again. “Do you miss them?” 

A deceptively innocent question. Of course she missed them. All she had left of her family was one grandson and three empty coffins: a husband at sea, a daughter in the hands of humans, and a son-in-law somewhere in the moors. “I do,” she offered back. “I miss them greatly.” 

Malleus had asked her why, then. Children like him were filled with innocence and wonder about the world. He had no knowledge of the bodies that were lost, or the tragedies that had predicated his birth. Her reply did nothing but fuel an unease in the boy, for moments after she offered it, he ran back to her and threw his small arms around her waist.

When he hugged her, he clung with a ferocity that was baffling for his size. Her hands rested on his head and stroked his hair soothingly as she had done with Meleanor many times before she guided him away from the tombs and the memory of family he never met.

She should visit them more often now. 

___________________________________

She rediscovers that there’s a privilege in watching someone grow. Lilia’s gradual return into their lives helps ease the stress of raising a child again in her older age, which is partially why she turns a blind eye every time Malleus slips out of the palace to visit the man. She’s honoured to observe in a more passive manner the way her grandson changes and grows as a person. She watches him go from spiteful towards humans to more amiable with the arrival of Lilia’s adopted son. As he grows before her eyes, she begins to see less of Meleanor and Levan in his features and more of just Malleus—the quiet, albeit arrogant, boy that was hers. 

Time goes by faster as she ages alongside him. One moment he’s clinging to her skirts, and the next he’s off to NRC, and then finally, 178 years have passed like the blink of an eye. She used to bemoan how slow time was—and now she wishes it to ease off a bit.

She’s sitting in the gazebo in the gardens for reprieve, a novel in hand as the screaming of insects choruses a song for her amusement. The aroma of flowers surrounds her and for a moment she feels utter peace in the world. The summer is ending and there are no celebrations or events to concern herself with. For the first time in what feels like eons, Maleficia Draconia can breathe. 

The sound of someone approaching puts a pause in this. 

She lowers her book to peer over at whoever is coming, hoping silently it isn’t an advisor or a courtier seeking out an audience on the sly. Fortunately, the sight of two horns and a scowling face turning the corner nullifies this as she turns back to her book. 

“Finally decided to see the sun?” She muses as she hears him stepping onto the gazebo platform. She waits for his response, but only comes to feel surprised when Malleus kneels by where she sits and does something that he hasn’t done in a long time now—he places his head in her lap. At his age, his body is too tall now to really kneel efficiently at her side, but by the gods does the boy try as he hits his head right down. Her hand comes up on instinct to brush strands of his dark hair behind his ear as he looks over the gardens, his shoulders tense with stress. 

They’re silent for a moment, listening to the sounds of screaming insects from beyond before Malleus speaks.

“The gardens look atrocious.”

Maleficia raises an eyebrow as she lowers her book to look at where he’s staring. Her hand continues to stroke his head soothingly as she huffs a soft laugh. “Our groundskeepers are going for a more ‘untamed’ look this season.”

“I have counted twenty-six thistles in the minute I have been here.” Malleus shoots back as his hand comes to rest by his face. “It’s late in the season. They might be growing lazy.”

 “Nonsense. You know how hard working they are. You spent ample amounts of time with them when you were younger.” She fails to hide the smile teasing on her lips with this comment. Malleus’ temper tantrums had landed him in more than enough problems in his youth. Problems which were often rectified by a gentle lesson of how hard it is to fix up his messes—garden destruction included. 

Malleus deigns her with a unprincely snort in response. They fall back into a warm silence as she keeps her hand on his head and returns her attention to her book. She knows that something is on his mind, but she retains her silence both to give him an opportunity to speak, and to enjoy the moment that they’re having. In the privacy of the garden, they can get away with this rare display of familial affection. 

She feels him sigh as his eyes flutter close before he speaks up. “Do you ever feel… unease?” 

“Unease?” She hums quietly as she turns a page. “On many occasions I have, yes. Unease tends to go hand in hand with some of the things I have dealt with.” 

She knows he doesn’t mean in the sense of his royal duties. Malleus is an unusually quiet and introverted boy—but she had noticed him being more so the past week as summer began to inch towards its end. He opens his eyes and sighs again before withdrawing to sit back on his knees. 

Maleficia wisely closes her book and sets it down before affixing him with as stern of a look as she can muster without chuckling. “Sighing and moping in the corners does little to aid me in providing advice.” 

Malleus’ gaze goes upwards to stare at the ceiling of the gazebo before his expression drops to a pout. “I am feeling reluctant to return to NRC.”

“Oh? And why is that?” 

Maleficia quietly reaches her hand out to brush his bangs back from his forehead, revealing the scale pattern beneath. Malleus’ eyes flutter shut at the gesture as his pout remains present.

“Three years have passed now, and I have yet to feel included in the school environment. Spending my days with those I already know from here hardly feels like an efficient use of time.” His jaw clenches. “Every effort I make to form any sort of connection to others feels like it’s a pointless endeavour at this rate.”

“Malleus, you must be patient with these things. It takes time for people to warm up to the likes of us. You must simply continue being yourself, and the right people will make the effort to get to know you. I understand it may seem upsetting right now, but you must simply keep trying your best.” A faint smile touches her lips despite the worry gnawing at her heart. She wishes she could do more, but she also understands that these are things he must figure out himself. “You’re going to this school to gain new experiences and see the world beyond our little Valley without the Senate looming over you. Things will work out in the end.” 

Malleus’ body seems to relax at her words as he opens his eyes again. His expression eases to his usual neutral look as he nods slightly. “... yes, I suppose you are correct.”

“I often am.” She pinches his cheek lightly, causing the scowl to immediately return to his face as he jerks to avoid her grasp, making her laugh in turn. “Besides, are you not excited to see Lilia, Silver, and Sebek more often again? Well. More often than you do already.”

A pointed look has him averting her gaze as she picks her book up again. His demeanour reminds her of Meleanor, but the similarities no longer ache when she considers them. This was Malleus—her grandson, not his mother, nor his father—and she was eager to see the person he was still destined to become. “Now, you should be packing, should you not? We don’t need the crisis we had last year where we were all hunting down books for you last minute.” 

Malleus groans softly before rising to his feet and brushing his pants off. He presses a brief kiss to her forehead, coaxing another smile from her lips before he pulls away. 

“Yes, grandmother,” he grumbles with all the moodiness of an embarrassed teenage boy, and Maleficia can’t help but feel happiness at seeing it. Cursed or not, she will continue to enjoy these moments of joy as long as she may have them.

[luck-of-the-drawings]

!!! FLASHING LIGHTS WARNING!!! [IM NOT FUCKIN AROUND!!]

REACHED THE CUSP OF 'THIS MAY NEVER BE ABSOLUTELY FINISHED N IF I DONT SHOW IT NOW, IT WILL NEVER SEE THE LIGHT OF DAY.' SO HERE, A PROJECT IVE BEEN ORBITING AROUND UHH SINCE 2021 OR SO.

[stellabyystarlight]

no matter how many people point their fingers at you,

shine with passion, Esperanza

(+ happy bday momo!!)

[seorikkun]

keeping a close watch on wolfchan!!

for @ggthydrangea / thank you @agibbangs for the help and guidance

[microcola]

get crazy get wild

[whumpy-wyrms]

giving all your ocs the alien ikea plushie. shrinking two of them a little bit for basil and sasha

anton loves it so much he says thank u

[chupidopi]

Thinking in the rain

[drowninginthoughts27]

11/8 Sun Cream Word Count: 854

(infidelity) @pandalilymicrofics

“Did you sleep with him?” Her voice comes out pained, hurt, exhausted even. “Huh, Pandora?” The roughness of it not unlike one of a woman who had be crying, sounding not unlike Pandora’s voice only hours prior. The utter desperation of it, stripped down to the bone, vulnerability at its best. The humility of it almost made Pandora break with her, but only almost, she was done letting herself break for the time being.

“Why does it matter, Lily?” She pressed, biting the inside of her cheek as she spoke and praying that Lily didn’t hear her mirrored pain on the other end of the line. She couldn’t have been more thankful that this conversation wasn’t happening face to face cause if it was Pandora is more than certain that she couldn’t have schooled her emotions as well as she was fighting so hard to do now. Not to mention how she would most definitely react upon seeing Lily so broken if just hearing the hurt in her voice alone distressed her so deeply.

Lily's voice comes through the line much harsher than the barely there whisper that it had been mere seconds before. Almost yelling as she says, “God dammit Pandora! Because it does matter. We matter, or at least we did. To me at least.”

It’s silent on the other end of the line thereafter, aside from Lily’s erratic breathing accompanied by the obvious sounds of her pacing around her apartment (an apartment that up until only a short while ago they had both called home) in a desperate attempt to expel some of her pent up energy despite the people living below her and their rather frequent noise complaints. But Pandora could just barely make out the last few words that she had said, the ones mumbled under her breath, if more to herself than anything, ‘To me at least.’ And all Pandora wants to do is shout back to her that they did matter, that they do matter, that what they had wasn’t one sided at all. That it was true and it was real and it was filled with so much more life and love than anything Pandora had ever experienced before.

But she doesn’t say this, she can’t bring herself to. She doesn’t say anything for that matter, despite how much courage she tries to muster up inside herself. And that’s all the answer Lily needs as she ends the call without even saying goodbye.

And that’s what hurts Pandora the most, not the anger, or the obvious pain in Lily’s voice, it’s the lack of a goodbye. That so deeply uncharacteristic act of Lily’s that makes Pandora truly realizes the severity the situation at hand. How hard the final nail on the coffin that now holds their relationship had just been driven in.

Lily had never left her with that little of a goodbye before. Never before had she not at minimum said a simple ‘I love you’, reassuring Pandora that she would be back, telling her how much she meant to her before either one of them headed out the door. No matter if it was the early hours of the morning when Pandora was barely conscious and Lily was running off for her morning swim at the beach just down the road, rambling on about how she can’t forget her sun cream again for the millionth time. Or in the evenings before Lily went out to the pub with her friends to celebrate whatever major sporting event was on tv as had been a long standing tradition for her. All to come back home to Pandora at the end of the night in her slightly tipsy state and snuggle up next to her, relaying all the stupid stuff she had watched go down throughout her evening out. Or even in the midst of their fighting when Lily needed to just go outside to clear her mind and get a breath of fresh air before they could have a more civilized conversation, even then she said goodbye.

But then again never before had they been in a situation such as this. And Pandora knows deep down inside of herself that she won’t get another chance of redemption after this. To spare their relationship anything more than grief and regret from this moment forward.

Despite how much she tries for it all not to feel real, not to feel so painstakingly true, it does. Not in the way that cold water sends a sharp burn or the breaking of a bone provides a sickening snap. Instead, in a true, gut wrenching way that sinks into every crevasse of her being, reminding her how fatal her mistake had been. Just how much it was bound to cost her.

At the end of it all she can’t help to think how destined she was for this to happen. How she never had been fit for that sort of love and adoration that Lily had given her so freely. She had to go and sabotage it for herself in some subconscious way. Because in the end it was no one else’s doing, all Pandora’s, and there’s nothing she can do to fix it now. It’s simply over.

[msmimundo]

I did a lil thing

[jinjin]