I Have Risen From The Grave To Post Visual Evidence Of Just How Much Mental Damage School Has Inflicted

…I have risen from the grave to post visual evidence of just how much mental damage school has inflicted upon me, thank you very much <3 To be honest, I never expected I’d be posting something like this before, so I am so, so sorry for the awful ^^;;;

ft. Sugar daddy!Lilia x Prostitute!Silver in a Mafia AU my friend and I somehow concocted…

for @bluelightning16 ♥

a very merry (vanrouge) christmas; 2/3

The plan is fool-proof.

Silver lies awake in the warm bed he shares with his father, breath held in his throat, as he listens for the tell-tale sound of the front door hinges protesting with a stale shriek.

He had been painfully vigilant tonight, the soft inside of his forearm raw from all the pinching he had done to keep his troublesome eyes open and ward off the darkness encroaching at the edges of his vision. He had even managed to stave off his papa's curious line of questioning about the double layers of clothing that Silver had gone to bed in, claiming he was still cold from all the romping about he had done in the woods earlier.

And while it doesn't feel good, lying to his father like this especially when he knows how the fae abhor being presented with falsehoods and even more so when leaving their home alone after dusk was one of his father's few cardinal rules, it would all be worth it, he's certain! Tonight of all nights, he had to be able to master his frustrating condition and surprise his father with his resourcefulness, it was for the sake of his Papa's happiness!

As if on cue, the front door performs its grating soliloquy, and Silver scrambles hastily from the sheets to yank on his coat and shove his feet into his leather boots, acorn bracelet secured deep in his pocket. With practiced motions, he slides the bedroom window open, eyes smarting from the immediate winter chill, and shimmies over the ledge to the brief drop on the other side. Pressing himself against the shadows of the cabin wall, he pauses with a mittened hand held over his mouth to keep his breath from crystalizing in the air, ears straining for sound.

"Shall we get going then, boys?"

His father's agreeable tone rings out like a clear bell among the still scenery, and Silver peeks out carefully from around the corner of their home to see the pale moonlight illuminating two taller, cloaked shadows flanking his papa, the three of them drawing close to hold some kind of murmured conference. Closer to him and the tree line near their home sits a walled wooden cart, packed with boxes at least from what Silver can see through its sagging cloth 'curtain'. But it was clearly missing a crucial component, one that Silver couldn't see no matter how hard he squinted in the dim lighting— where was the horse?

Still, it's clear that this is his best option. How shocked Papa would be if Silver popped out from between the boxes and surprised him with his present, what a story he would have to tell Sebek! Swallowing to steel his nerves, he takes one more glance at the gathered figures to ensure their continued conversation, before darting out as quietly as he could be in keeping to the shadows of the bushes and trees. Even the woodland creatures seem to have caught on to his little ruse, not a peep emerging from the snow-capped greenery around him. But as the acorn charms press against his thigh, it's almost as if he can feel their silent encouragement, a palpable delight to see the boy they raise in tandem with the mysterious fae giddy with a rare anticipation.

Nimbly, he squirrels himself away in the cart between a few wooden crates, dragging what seems like a blanket over to disguise his presence lest his father or his other companions decide to peer into the opening. And just in time too, as Silver's heart pounds like a tiny hammer in his chest— the soft crunching of approaching feet in the snow makes itself known, and he presses himself as far back into the warm darkness as possible.

"—send it forward, then?"

The high, sharp voice grates against his ears like his father's weapons against a whetstone; it's not a familiar tone that he's heard before, but that isn't saying much considering their scarcity of visitors and remote home.

"Yes," and the way his father drawls out the command sends an odd shiver down Silver's spine, a sudden dousing of an anxious realization. "They've been on the lam for quite a while now, have they not?"

There's a slight rocking to his hiding place, and Silver realizes from the new closeness of his father's voice that he must have stepped up from where they all have gathered at the front of the cart, placing a hand on one of its shafts. " . . . Winter makes a mockery of us all, men and fae. Their desperation must be at its peak— I have little doubt that their misery far outweighs their scheming, a fact that the Queen is counting on."

They? Who were they? Papa had taught him that their Queen was fair and just, why would she ever want to see anyone miserable? And who could possibly be speaking? Surely it cannot be his papa!

The deliberate words are so tightly laced with cold satisfaction that they squeeze the air out of Silver's lungs and bear no resemblance to the warm phrases of fond amusement and gentle indulgence that have become the cornerstone of his tiny, sheltered world. And he has no time to analyze them further, as in the silence that follows his father's declarations, something utterly strange happens. The world around him, the very air and space itself, seems to twist inwards, bending in a sharp and painful way that rips his awareness from his body in one cruelly eager swoop.

To the three pairs of eyes behind, two perturbed and one newly horrified, the cart winks away into the night, leaving in its wake only the indention it had ever existed in the snow, and a trail of small, unassuming footprints.

Lilia cloaking Silver in his magic upon first starting to raise him, keeping him doused with fairy dust at all hours of the day, forcing him into silence whenever they'd go out... Only for past!General Vanrouge to encounter him a decade later in the midst of his dreams, wondering why in the world this wretched child seems so tantalizingly familiar.

"You, there, human—Why do you bear my mark?"

(And perhaps this lends itself to a bit more aggression on his part, taking keen offense to the prospect that after so many years spent trying to fend off his doubt, he truly is capable of betraying his Queen... that there will come a day when he'll be presented with the choice he's longed for all his life—and that he'll have the greed to take it.)

Perhaps the fae soldiers in Lilia's dreams have referred to Silver and company as the "iron ones" (or something similar, according to Twitter translations, lol) not only as a nod to the lore that fae are weak to such metal, but also because human lands are known to be lands of progress, rife with technology that's quickly putting them at quite an advantage. And perhaps that's why Briar Valley has dispatched a part of its army to the deep confines of the forest, hidden behind hooded garbs of green and gray, along with masks to incite fear: It has come time to resort to more underhanded tactics.

What if, at the very end of Book 7, Malleus decides on a final, suicidal attack… Rather than get caught (i.e. answering to Lilia for what he’s done), he turns his magic on himself and starts a dream that’ll last forever—dragging Silver down with him in the process. In the midst of the battle’s chaotic aftermath, only Lilia and Sebek stop to notice that there are two students who still haven’t awaken… Cue the desperate albeit useless attempts to draw them from the last wonderful world of Malleus’ making. He’ll never let them leave, after all—for so long as he holds Lilia’s son hostage, their family will never break.

(Of course, after perhaps sixty years or so, he finds that Silver’s presence has suddenly disappeared…)

The deep woods of Briar Valley are pocketed with patches of decay and blight; curiously enough, they seem to center around a singular cottage within.

Or, Malleus continuously overexerts himself in the process of pleasing that cottage's lonely human child, thus having to draw magic from the land around him—regardless of the destruction it causes.