ᓚᘏᗢ WARNINGS: Reader is referred to with gendered terms like girl. Yandere Ace.
ᓚᘏᗢ SUMMARY: Headmage Crowley assures reader he found a way back home. Ace attempts to impede it.
ᓚᘏᗢ WORD COUNT: 984
ᓚᘏᗢ A/N: Ace as a yandere is a thought that greatly amuses me. He's a silly mix between a tsun and a yandere which is kinda ironic within inself but I find the idea fun. I had this halfway written and today i decided to revisit it to finish it haha. I'm trying to finish the many drabbles I've abandoned D:
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Ace holds on to his claim of him liking you only as a friend (... sort of) as if his life depended on it. Even if he sabotages any means of your escape from Twisted Wonderland.
First, he tries to make you doubt Crowley’s veracity.
“The headmage told you that? The headmage?” He repeated it slowly. “You’re trusting that guy after everything he has put you through?”
Headmage Crowley was, with little room for argument, not the most trustworthy person on this land. Yes, he has his instances of being helpful, but you can count the number of said instances on your fingers.
That’s why Ace’s concern didn’t seem too far-fetched to you.
“I could at least try it.” However, you were dreaming of returning home from the first time you sat foot in this place. You couldn’t just give up like that.
“What if it fails and it kills you?”
The weight with which he blurted those words took you off guard—he’d said them with absolute conviction.
“Are you... perhaps worried about me?”
“You’re a naïve, magicless girl who knows nothing of this world. I’m simply looking out for you,” he was quick to retort, as if offended by your conclusion. “Don’t read too much into it.”
“Aw, you’re worried about me,” you teased him. “You’re such a good friend, Ace.” you reached out to pinch his cheek.
“I’m not,” he swatted your hand away, both tips of his ears and cheeks growing red. “Geez, you can be annoying sometimes.”
Used to his attitude, you just chuckled at his response. You couldn’t help but wonder why everyone in this stupid college was at this level of emotional constipation. And if not everyone, a good portion of the student body wasn’t an exception.
Ace racked his brain trying to convince you to stay. He couldn’t waltz into the Magic Mirror’s chambers like he owned the place and destroy it, nor could he threaten the headmage. All he had left was to convince you not to go back to your world. Or implant fear into the fatal what-ifs of the mirror malfunctioning. Deceive you.
His words were half truths. Yes, there were a couple of cases of the mirror sending living beings into another dimension, but they were presumably dead since the subjects never reported back, nor did they send any signal of making it out alive.
But it was a long, long time ago. Maybe millennia. Since then, the arts of magic have strengthened and perfected, minimizing the margin of error. It was plausible for the headmage to have found an irrefutable way back to your universe.
A fact Ace didn’t like one bit. To the point he sneaked into Professor Trein’s office and seized one of those old dust-covered books that archived many accidents that happened because of the mirror.
Sleepovers at Ramshackle happen often enough for Riddle to not even bat an eye when Ace must report to him that he’s going to spend the night over there.
“Oh, do come back with this homework done, Trappola,” Riddle dropped the pile of textbooks on Ace’s awaiting palms. Of course, much to Ace’s dismay. “I’ll personally revise it and do corrections if needed. Am I not such a great housewarden?”
Ace had a couple of thoughts that would differ from that claim, but he nodded along, not fond of the idea of getting collared.
The next step of his plan consisted of roping Deuce into lying to you as well. It wouldn’t be easy, given that he tended to be more sincere (in comparison to himself)... However, no matter how much Deuce attempted to be a goody two shoes, the fact that the news of you going back home would devastate him increased the chances of it being easier to convince him.
Ace surmised such, at least.
“Leaving? The headmage actually found a way to…?” Deuce trailed off, an evident ache within his chest. After some contemplation, Deuce accepted the inevitable. Deep down, he knew the day would arrive. Eventually. Although he’d hoped for it to be later. “I-I’m glad about it! I really am. You know how important of a deal that is.” To go back to where you belong and see your loved ones…
“That’s not the point, Deuce.”
“Then which is it?”
“The problem is that you both are blindly trusting that headmage’s word. Everybody knows how unreliable he can be. Don’t you think so?”
Deuce opened his mouth to refute; yet the longer he thought about it, he couldn’t come up with any good argument.
“Well, Crowley can be reliable. Sometimes.”
Ace’s lack of conviction was evident in his deadpan expression.
“Are we talking about the same guy? The one who abandons us to our own devices during hardships? The one who made the prefect deal with these past overblots? A magicless student, at that.”
“Okay, fine. I get it. You’ve got a good point there. What should we do, then?”
“We’ve got to convince the prefect to not head into the mirror. I borrowed a book. It contains logs of past attempts to send people back through it. None of them successful.”
Deuce eyed the book. “Those happened a long time ago.”
“Yeah, but the prefect doesn’t need to know that detail, duh!” Ace rolled his eyes.
“Ace—” Deuce caught the meaning behind Ace’s words, and, as much as he wished for your friendship to not come to an end, there was a voice nagging him at the back of his mind. “We can’t do that.”
“Don’t be a wimp about it.”
Deuce clenched his fist. “Hey!”
“And we’re not doing this for ourselves—we’re doing this for the safety of our prefect.”
Despite a certain sense of doubt pestering him, that was enough convincing for Deuce. This wasn’t for himself or for Ace. It was for you.
ive been getting lots of jamil thoughts lately... heres another one
Walking through a bazaar, you encounter a strange-looking lamp sitting timelessly on one of the stalls. As bizarre as it was, you knew exactly where you could keep it as a decoration in your abode.
The lamp, now purchased and in your hands, is quite unkempt. And in an attempt to brush the dust off, the whole room is engulfed in bright light and thick mist.
A genie comes forth, peering over you nonchalantly as you still stand in surprise. What are the odds that a lamp you bought at a street bazaar ended up to be a great magic lamp?
To the genie, this is great. He finally has a human to trick into swapping places with– I mean, to grant the three wishes of. And with no regard to your current shock, he informs you that you have only three wishes to spend. Oh, and no wishing for love, to revive a dead person, the usual.
It takes a while for you to get used to him, but it seems as if you have to accept coming home everyday to see the genie waiting for you to, pray tell, utter your damn wishes and– I mean, inform him of whatever he could assist with his magical prowess.
But to his surprise, you start taking quite the interest in him, and this is getting too goody-goody for his liking. You even ask what his name is, and after a moment of pondering, he answers.
‘Jamil’, he briefly remembers some garnet-eyed man once the same age as him referring to him by that name. How he still remembers, he isn't sure. But the memory is very far in the back of his mind.
Admittedly, he too is getting used to your presence. You seem to think of him as more of a companion than a magic-genie-that-grants-wishes. Maybe it's because he's relieved to have another conversation partner after being trapped in silence for so long? Maybe it's because he's finally being treated as someone equal?
Either way, he's getting too attached. He shouldn't. Once you state your three wishes, he'll be condemned back into the magic lamp. Or, he’d have to ruin your life to get his own back.
Instead of “Genie, this” and “Genie, that”, it's “Hey, Jamil” or “Jamil, could you…”. He even overheard you on a call with some nameless person once, with you telling them that you had a new friend named Jamil that you enjoyed talking to.
‘Friend’? Him? The genie of the lamp that is silently plotting to steal your life away from you? If only you knew what he truly felt… though every night he thinks of the word.
Friend.
And something in his mind reforms.
If you have any objections, you can't express them now. This is all your fault for getting closer to a genie.
If ‘Friend’ is what you think of him as, then he'll ruin someone else's life so he can get his own back and share it with you.
There's no turning back now. Perhaps one day, ‘Friend' will bloom into something closer.
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