aneri °⋆. ࿔*:･

for the love of the game reqs open || >⩊< 18

[jadeharts]

𝒽ello 𝓁ovelies!

aneri. ･༝･ ace’s girl , malleus’ doll , jade’s love Ღ

ʚɞ twst-centric sfw, nsfw, & yan blog — masterlist. ✦ && join the taglist! ,,🐰

reqs open!! ;; rules🪽 ⋆ 𓂃 ₊ ⊹ what's in aneri’s journal? .✦ ݁˖ check out coolio art 📎

‎ . ݁⋆ ꫂ᭪ ݁˖ . ݁ ⏝ writers feel free to moot me up!! ;; anons welcome!!

[feydove]

Sebek Zigvolt x Reader

This fic is based off the vignette where Sebek talks about how he would court someone he likes, as instructed by Lilia. I actually think Sebek would be such a devoted lover once he found someone he respected and liked enough to to pursue romantically :')

Your relationship with Sebek went from zero to a hundred within the blink of an eye.

One week he's yelling at you for breathing too close to his liege, and the next he's escorting you to all of your classes like a gentleman. All while yelling at everyone else for breathing too closely to you.

Okay. Perhaps that is a slight exaggeration. But the point still stands that you have a sneaking suspicion Sebek Zigvolt has developed a teensy bit of a crush on you. You came to this conclusion based on two key observations.

For starters, anytime you make the offensive mistake of carrying your own belongings in his presence, he makes it a point to snatch whatever it is from you. Which, at first you tried to protest. A big mistake.

"I am perfectly capable of holding my own stuff, Sebek. You really don't have to–"

The words didn't even have a chance to leave your mouth before the bag was removed from your shoulder at a speed so alarming, you would almost think the bag carried a weapon and not two measly notebooks and a can of tuna you had found on clearance for Grim.

"NONSENSE." Sebek loudly declared, making several nearby students jump a mile high. Sebek carefully slung your bag over his own shoulder, all while glaring you down as if you had personally offended his entire bloodline.

"You need not burden yourself with unnecessary physical exertion! This is but one of the many duties any respectable knight should carry out!" He held his head high, clearly not seeing reason. He was being ridiculous, and you couldn't help but narrow your eyes at him.

"Uh huh... well, thank you Sebek. However would I have carried that incredibly heavy bag without the help of a strong, trustworthy knight? I may have threw my back out." Your words were laced with sarcasm, yet Sebek only took your words as the highest of praises. His cheeks dusted pink, and he immediately turned his head away from you so that you couldn't see the proud look on his face.

"Of course you would have! Humans are such fragile creatures, after all." He came to an abrupt halt as you reached your classroom, opening the door for you and ushering you inside so he could drop the bag off at your seat before rushing to his own class.

You tried to ignore Ace and Deuce's shit eating grin as they enjoyed watching you and your new personal escort.

"Right then! I shall return after class to ensure you reach your dorm safely. DO NOT TRY AND PICK UP THIS BAG IN MY ABSENCE, I cannot allow for your back to give way! In the meantime, study diligently." His gaze fell upon the two Heartslabyul first years, and with a clenched jaw he barked out at them "AS FOR YOU TWO– REFRAIN FROM DISTRACTING THE PREFECT WITH YOUR USUAL FOOLISHNESS."

And with that, he made his exit. Leaving you to sink further in your chair as the entire class silently stared directly at you with wide eyes. Some of them were confused, others were entertained, and the rest had half a mind to ask you to "blink twice if you need help."

Ace was the first to break the silence.

"Huh! I didn't know you adopted a new dog, prefect! Have you tried teaching him to roll over yet?" You elbowed him in the side, making him flinch back. "Ouch–! Hey, not my fault you managed to rizz up the weirdest guy in the whole school. You're probably stuck with his shadow looming over you for life now, bro."

"It is a little strange to see Sebek giving you royalty treatment. It's not as bad as he is with Malleus, but still." Deuce chimed in, looking at you with more sympathy than Ace had. Though, he couldn't help but admit he was also pretty amused by the entire situation. You let out a groan, dropping your face into your hands.

"I don't know what I did to get here. But can we just drop it for now? I need to focus on something else or my head might explode."

Deuce nodded, agreeing to your wishes immediately. Ace hesitantly dropped the subject, but he was going to make sure to mess with you about this for months to come.

You were so cooked.

The second observation was arguably stranger. And possibly borderline creepy, had it been coming from anyone but Sebek.

You began receiving letters. Handwritten letters that spoke of you as if you were an angel sent to Twisted Wonderland from the divine themselves. At first, you had your doubts that they were actually coming from Sebek, and you almost wondered if someone was pulling a prank on you.

That is, until one of the letters came with a picture. Of him...smiling?

Dear Prefect of Ramshakle Dorm,

Someone has brought it to my attention that you may not be used to recieveing a physical missive from the heart. However. Though I often speak my mind without second thought...for some reason, when I come face to face with your everlasting radiance, I almost find myself unable to express what I truly wish to say to you.

This is no excuse on my part. You are most deserving and worthy of high acclaim. I will do better from here on out to shower you with all the words you must hear about yourself on a daily basis. This includes topics on your emotional strength, your kindness and generosity, your breathtaking beauty. And... your courage. Which you often seem to doubt that you have.

You see, I always find it hard to believe that someone who demonstrates such remarkable courage would often diminish their own worth. Yet, you continue to surprise me. I have decided that I must take it upon myself to correct this at once.

Most mere humans cower away in fear when faced with the disasters that have begun taking place in this school as of late. However, In order to assist your peers, you have put yourself in the face of danger multiple times, despite your lack of magic at that! (Much to my immense worry for you.)

You have the commendable heart of a warrior. Not of a cowardly human. Please remember this when you are feeling less than what you truly are.

I shall begin to wrap this missive up. There is more I would like to say to you, but I know some of it should be said in person. Just know that I admire you, greatly. Far more than what may be considered appropriate.

Inside this envelope, I have attached a photo of my smiling visage for your viewing pleasure. Do with the photo what you will. And perhaps, if you wished to send a photo of yourself back...I would quite enjoy that.

From,

Sebek Zigvolt of Diasomnia Dorm.

Your jaw was practically to the floor as you read the letter to the end. You couldn't believe your eyes.

Sebek wrote all of this for you?! You didn't know he could be so...

Endearing?

You pulled the photo out of the envelope, unable to stop the snort that came out the moment you laid eyes on it. The photo was a tad bit stiff, but he held an honest smile in what looked to be a picture that someone else took for him. Did he have an entire photo shoot for this? The mental image had you wanting to double over in laughter, but you tried to compose yourself. He had pure intentions, after all.

You smiled fondly as you reread the letter, before grabbing your camera and stepping somewhere into the best lighting you could find in the dorm. You'd give him the photo he wanted next time you saw him.

The following day, you felt nervous as you walked side by side with Sebek to the cafeteria. Well... "walked" was putting it lightly. With the way Sebek stood with his back standing impossibly straight, and his eyes scanning his surroundings as if he was waiting for someone to jump out at the both of you with an axe... once again, you felt more like royalty being escorted by their trusty guard dog than a student walking around the school hallways with a friend.

You kept sneaking glances at him through the corner of your eye, hand fidgeting with the envelope you shoved in your pocket, that held the photo you took for him.

And much to your dismay, you heart had begun doing something very inconvenient ever since you read his letter to you the night before.

Because the thing about Sebek was that he never lied or played around. Sure, he may seem to exaggerate sometimes, but you knew him well enough to know by now that whatever he said was exactly how he felt.

"You appear distracted." Sebek brought you out of your thoughts with a voice that was oddly gentle coming from him. "If something troubles you, you need only to say the word."

"No, no. Nothing like that." You attempted to reassure him, but you could tell he wasnt buying it by the way his brows furrowed together. "Actually..."

You pulled out the envelope from your pocket, hand shaking slightly as you held it out to him. His eyes widened for a brief moment, looking at you with uncertainty.

"This is for you." He blinked, breath hitching in his throat as he slowly reached out to accept the envelope like it was a sacred offering from Malleus himself.

"For me?!" You quickly nodded, suddenly very interested in the patterns on the floor's tiles. He carefully began to open the envelope up, and you refused to look up at his reaction.

What if he thought it was strange? Or that you were mocking him? He was so sincere, what if you–

"I SHALL RUN TO DIASOMNIA AT ONCE TO HANG THIS PHOTO UP!" You jumped at his sudden declaration, eyes snapping to look over at him. He held a wide smile on his face, holding the photo of you up like he was looking at a priceless artifact instead of you smiling inside of your dump of a dorm.

He turned the photo around, reading the words you scribbled on the back.

For your viewing pleasure.

"You uh– you don't have to hang it up, it might cramp your gothic style and Malleus bedroom theme you have going on. It was just a silly photo–"

"You and lord Malleus both hold great importance to me. I will treasure this photo until the day I cease my breath." He cast simple magic on the photo to keep it safe, before placing it in the pocket of his uniform. You let out a sigh, shaking your head fondly at his nonsense.

"If you say so. Can I come with you back to Diasomnia, then?" You felt him stiffen, before he took in a deep breath.

"Though I would be honored to take you, I instead have a request of you." He suddenly appeared bashful, and your head tilted in curiosity as the tips of his ears turned red. "I originally wanted to wait until I could take you back to Brair Valley for this, but Lilia told me that he had a change in his wisdom and that there was no time like the present to do this...so, prefect...if you would meet me on the courtyard's bench tonight when the clock strikes midnight...there is something I wish to tell you."

You felt your heart flutter nervously in your chest, stomach twisting as your mind raced with possibilities of what he may say.

Was he going to...

"With that, I will see you tonight if you accept!"

And before you could reply, he was gone. Taking the photo of you with him.

By the time night rolled around, you were a wreck.

"You've been pacing for twenty minutes!" Grim spoke between bites of the discount tuna you gave him, watching you with an unimpressed stare. "You're makin me dizzy over here."

"I can't help it, Grim! Sebek will be here in just a few minutes. What if he wants to tell me all of this is over? That his letters to me were a mistake and he never wants to carry a book or bag for me again ever in my feeble human existence?"

"Listen up, henchhuman! I'm only gonna say this once!" Grim suddenly declared, pointing a paw at you as he stood up like he was about to give you a grand speech for a pep talk. "Take it from me, the great love expert! You're way too good for that guy. There's no way he's just gonna up and leave you, unless he just wants to die alone. If anything, you should tell him to give you compensation for your time."

You looked at Grim through narrowed eyes. "Love expert my ass! I'm not asking him to pay me for going out with him."

Your gaze shifted to your watch, and with a heavy sigh, you flick your hand at Grim, shooing him off. "Alright. Time's up. Go hide behind a bush or something and DON'T say a word, or set anything on fire unless you want to be scrubbing the campus toilets for a month straight."

"You wouldn't–!"

"Crowley would love to put you on janitor duty again. Don't try me." Grim heeded your warning, for once.

You sat yourself down on the bench as midnight approached, your hands fidgeting with each other as you attempted to calm yourself down.

You knew you were overthinking.

Sebek may be considered rude to those who didn't know him well, but he wouldn't drag you all the way out here just to say something cruel and hurt your feelings. You knew he wouldn't.

So then why were you so...

"PREFECT!" You flinched, the man of the hour suddenly appearing before you. You couldn't help but notice how...polished he looked.

Did he style his hair more than usual? And his outfit...

You had to try and stop the amused smile from spreading on your face. He really went all out for this.

"Thank you for accepting my request to meet me here tonight." He cleared his throat, taking a seat on the bench beside you, with enough space in between you for a whole other person. You opened your mouth to comment on it, but he continued speaking.

"As of late, I've been thinking a great deal."

"Oh? How dangerous." You shot back to tease him, which he decided to ignore. But not before throwing you an unimpressed side eye.

"For many years, my life has had a singular purpose. To serve and protect Lord Malleus. To become a great knight, so that I could protect Briar Valley." That much you already knew. It wasn't like he didn't talk about that constantly. "My loyalty to him will never waver, for it is my greatest honor to stand at his side." You nodded, and then Sebek's voice softened.

"However, recently...my attention became divided. I found myself distracted with thoughts and feelings I had never experienced before. And at first I thought I must have grown ill."

Your heart stuttered, urging for him to continue. His gaze landed directly onto you, and very cautiously, he slid one of his hands into yours. They were rough and calloused...as well as a bit sweaty from what you assumed were nerves.

"But then Lilia informed me that the symptoms I was experiencing was...romantic affection. Towards you."

"Sebek, I–" you couldn't finish your thought. In all honesty, you were speechless. Of all people you could pull in Twisted Wonderland, you never would have guessed it would be him.

"I will admit, I did try to correct these feelings. But I failed. The situation only worsened, and soon I felt consumed by thoughts of you."

"Consumed, huh? Is that why you started stalking me everywhere?"

"I– STALKING?! I WAS ENSURING YOUR SAFETY, HUMAN!" You let out a laugh at how flustered he suddenly became, and Sebek sighed. You were impossible.

"If that's what you wanna call it."

Sebek may have looked annoyed at your teasing, but the way his thumb tenderly brushed the back of your hand was enough to tell you that he didn't mind. He adored you, hopelessly so.

"I admire you." He spoke out. "I often wondered to myself how someone with so little power in this world could possess the strength that you do. Every day I see you doing your best, even when everything seems against you."

"And...?" You were beginning to get impatient, waiting for the words you so desperately wanted to hear–

"And. I love you, prefect." He finally ripped the bandaid off, and you swore you could almost cry. "There is no one else who could be worthy of my affections in the way that you are. I do not expect you to feel the sa–"

You grabbed onto the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer to you and pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. His eyes widened, and you swore he looked like he was going to explode.

"I love you too, Sebek. Very much so."

And in the background, a very unimpressed Grim watched the scene unfold, unsure if he was happy for you or disgusted by all the mush he was witnessing.

He certainly wasn't looking forward to Sebek being at Ramshackle more often.

Dividers by priestboy

Do not steal or use my work for ai purposes. I will eat you.

[jadeharts]

Here's what I think mc would look like ok?.. ok..

OH MY FREAKING GOSH THIS US SOSOSOSOS CUTE OMFG IM OBSESSED YOU DID SO GOOD!!! This is the most adorable thing ive you did great!!! 🥹🥹🥹

[syoldei]

www.twst › IS THIS THE GREATEST 3-1 COMEBACK IN RSA'S LEGACY?

💭: arriving in a whole new world sucks, but finding a job there? thats crazy. thankfully, you stumble upon a website called cupid's hotline—a romance forum dedicated to everyone's love life! you've been enjoying the financial benefits of it until one day, your recent client asks for advices on how to get close to his crush, who, unbeknownst to both of you, ends up being... you?!

pairing. rielle corallia x gn! reader

wc. 10.8k (holy yap)

warnings. fluff, rsa! reader who is also from another world, potentially ooc rielle (written before full release), rielle YEARNING for like 9k words, nct is canon in twst here, oblivious(?) reader for the sake of the plot, mutual pining, not proofread

a/n. lord ok there was supposed to be a part for minajael too but i lowk got carried away making rielle's... so now im planning another seperate fic for him 🥹 wow first twst fic and its abt rsa

You’re convinced this entire Royal Sword Academy experience in a world called Twisted Wonderland is nothing more than a humiliation ritual that is specially curated for you.

First of all, (and for the record, you would like to say that none of the circumstances mentioned hereafter is your idea) you are magicless—utterly, thoroughly, embarrassingly magicless, in an academy where magic is the fulcrum of all its ideals. To put this in an analogy, it would be like entering a swimming competition without knowing what water is.

Despite your initial reserves and protests, your gracious headmage—Ambrose LXIII—decided to enroll you anyway, regardless of your lacking prowess in all possible magical areas. Though your mental fortitude is on the brink of crumbling at the thought of having to suffer through academic hell, it’s the most favorable outcome considering the freaky, all-knowing mirror apparently said your world is basically non-existent. 

Not to mention, without a valid identity or credentials recognized anywhere in this world, you are—legally speaking—either a student or a trespasser, and only one of those options comes with a viable meal plan. If you’re going to suffer with a curriculum pulled from the devil’s asscrack, you might as well enjoy seared salmon steak with mushroom gravy every single day while you’re at it.

With that said, being a magicless student in RSA means that you sit through explanations of magical theory and practical evaluations like you’re trying to understand a mana power-scaling system in some historical fantasy manhwa—which isn’t really that good of a comparison now that you think about it, granted that you are living through it real-time—and history lectures just feel like you’re playing Akinator with blindfolds. Good sweet lord, you literally have every single line in the textbook colour-coded in vivid, eye-straining highlighters, so you wouldn't play guess who this is every other day.

You don’t even want to talk about magical mathematics. 

Now, academic stress is one thing—being pocketless is another. You don’t think you’ve ever felt that degree of mortification and dread when you study calculus as you did the moment you patted your pockets and found absolutely nothing.

Naturally, at first, you planned to sort this predicament out with Ambrose, but something about being more indebted to that old grandpa genuinely gives you the slight shiver me timbers, so you decided to deal with it yourself and get some sort of job… somehow, with no prior experience, qualifications, or any academic certificates.

Thankfully, however, you have found a goldmine of a Reddit-equivalent website on the school-issued phone that Ambrose gave you, and verbatim, “to stay updated on school announcements,” which you have used exactly zero times for school announcements.

That heavenly gift leads to your discovery of cupid’s hotline—a romance forum where the lovelorn, the hopeless, and the genuinely delusional all congregate to dissect their situationships, spiral about their crushes as if the forum is just one big confessional booth—one that also offers services such as providing love advices, and occasionally commissions other users on the platform to write their confession letters for them.

You found the website entirely by accident, and ever since then, you have never left it, considering the financial benefits. By week two as an active member of the forum, the mailman is probably tired of seeing your face nearly every single day to deliver sealed envelopes that contain the fruits of your hard labor (read: writing a shit ton of love letters instead of doing your history essay)—sweet piles of Thaumarks.

Now, you wouldn’t exactly call yourself an expert or professional in this whole love business, per se, it just happens that you have consumed an irresponsible amount of romance media over the course of your entire life and have been the designated third wheel often enough to have developed opinions, which are, arguably, tantamount to having a lifelong familiarity with love, no matter how theoretical it is.

A person pleading on the platform for a love letter to be written, and that the service will be paid for on top of that? Consider it done an hour after you slipped in their DMs. Advice on how to confess to your childhood friend? There’s already a clean numbered list in their inbox.

You’re acquainted with the duke of the north and engaged to the 4th prince, who is openly flaunting his affair? You have a very solid idea of what they should do.

The point is, after spending a month on the forum, you think you have seen every romantic trope, cliche, and complex relationship this website has to offer. You would argue that you have seen too much, read the posts like your bedtime stories, and delivered enough advices to know exactly how all of these stories will likely go.

In short, you are a growing expert on something that will never happen to you—or so you thought.

Rielle has always noticed you.

That phrase alone could not encompass the gossamer tangle of wonder and want that has rooted itself deep somewhere in one passing heartbeat and the next. 

The prince has met humans aplenty during his stay on land—some eyes are sharp and turbulent, while some are gentle and mirthful. It never fails to fascinate him, the way humans carry the weight of nameless worlds within them.

The prince has met humans aplenty during his stay on land—yet you, he thinks, are something else entirely. Whenever you’re in sight, he can’t help but let his eyes drift back to you, as though it is the most natural thing in the world.

Whether you’re hunched over the library table, clicking your pen absentmindedly in that rhythmic way you do when something isn’t clicking, or simply passing by him in the corridor, heading toward your next class with your peers without a second glance at him, his eyes always instinctively try to seek out your familiar figure, regardless of where he is.

He’s not exactly sure what it is about you that captivates him so deeply, only that every time he tries to untangle the threads, the fragile thing shifts like light on water—like something just beyond articulation.

You unravel him—dangerously so, in a way that he is rendered completely and utterly helpless without recourse. He doubts you know you’ve rewritten the word love to him in the shape of your name. Rielle has always thought love at first sight would induce a symphonic, earth-shattering revelation—something with more fanfare and rapidly thundering heartbeats, similar to that of the Mermaid Princess’ tale.

He never thought it would be something so full of warmth like the afternoon sun against the tides—delicate like the brush of spun sugar and woven along the moment like flowing silk. 

Still—for all that it settles into him like something inevitable and right—Rielle finds, almost confoundedly, that he cannot seem to do anything about it.

He is not, by nature, someone who struggles with people. In fact, it’s the contrary—the distance between stranger and someone he knows has never felt particularly vast to him; he never has to think too much when it comes to it.

That is, until you came into the frame.

The moment you so much as glance at him, something burrowed deep in his chest seizes up like a wave caught mid-pull, and whatever he had been meaning to say evaporates cleanly from the tip of his tongue like seafoam against the morning sun. He has replayed the scenarios enough times in the quiet enclosure of his room to know that what he feels extends beyond casual admiration—beyond anything he has ever felt before.

It’s frankly near embarrassing how he finds himself completely speechless by just a mere glance. So instead, he does what he knows.

He watches from afar as your eyes catch the light from the stained glass windows of the library when it all clicks together after a long study session. He learns the way you unconsciously straighten your uniform blazer when you get too nervous for an upcoming test or quiz that day, or how you prefer to pair heavily savory meals with a more refreshing and refined beverage like warm oolong tea.

As infatuation continues to be nurtured every day, Rielle begins to find things that remind him of you in the small, unguarded parts of his daily life—a smooth stone by the campus pond, a pressed flower bookmark from Mrs. T’s stationary corner, a music box from the market that carries a soft melody that you might like—and he anonymously leaves them somewhere you’ll find them, because at least this way he can give you something without his voice betraying him entirely in the process.

It is not, he is aware, a particularly brave approach.

“You’re doing it again, Your Highness.”

Rielle snaps out from his dazed stupor, turning his head to meet face-to-face with Bastien—his closes companion, confidant, and the most reliable witness to every embarrasing moments he has gone through—who is staring right at him with knowing eyes, and a faint smug smirk of a person who has heard all of his friend’s rambles about his little crush and is now watching the evidence present itself in real time.

The young prince merely blinks at him, “Huh, doing what?”

“You’ve been standing in the same spot for the past 5 minutes.”

“I just like this spot, and the birds make a lovely sight.” Now he’s partly lying from his ass—sure, the courtyard does have pleasing birds to gaze at, but he’s got a different subject in mind.

Sitting tucked away in the quietest corner of the courtyard, you tap your pen against the thick pages of your book, seemingly too immersed in your studies for someone who’s not aware that a stray robin has perched itself on your head.

You don’t notice the robin until it sharply pecks you square on the crown of your head—at which point your other hand flies up with an indignant yeowch!, just in time to feel the brief, departing ruffle of wings as it immediately departs as though it has somewhere more important to be. 

The expression that crosses your face is one of such pure, wordless indignation that Rielle has to press his lips together very firmly, lest he accidentally laughs. 

“...I just think they’re wonderful, Bastien.” 

Bastien exhales slowly through his nose, in the manner of someone quietly adding this to a very long mental list. 

“I know, Your Highness,” he responds, muttering underneath his breath along the lines of he’s a lost cause. “You might want to tell them that someday.”

“I know! It’s just—” the prince starts, ears uncharacteristically dusted red that it seamlessly blends in with his hair, “I don’t know what it is—I can speak to anyone, I’ve never had any problem with it! But the moment they… look at me I just—”

He gestures vaguely, almost sheepishly. 

“You just,” Bastien repeats, with the careful neutrality of a man who knows exactly where this goes. “Yes!” He nods vigorously, with a helplessness so genuine it was almost endearing. “Everything I mean to say just instantly goes like it was never there—and I’ve tried, Bastien, I’ve really tried! But every single time they’re in front of me, my brain just completely—”

He gestures again, the blush on the apple of his cheeks growing increasingly bolder by the second.

“Goes.” Again, Bastien finishes for him, without wasting a beat—which is a sad indicator of how many times they’ve had this exact conversation.

“Goes…” Rielle agrees, once again nodding miserably before the humbling truth.

A long beat of silence veils itself over them, during which Bastien appears to be doing some internal contemplations and calculations.

“Well, there is this one forum,” he begins, bringing his thumb and index finger to cup his chin in thoughtful suspense, “that has been making its rounds lately—cupid’s hotline, and apparently, people go there to sort out precisely this kind of…”

He waves a hand, “Catastrophe—sorry, situation.”

“A romance forum, if you will. They have a lot of other users who help you figure out what to say or do.” He pauses for a second. “Users who are, presumably, better at this than you currently are, Your Highness.”

Considering what his tone implies, apparently, the bar is not high.

Rielle has the grace to look slightly bashful, “...You think it will help?”

Bastien thinks back about all the late-night rambles of you, the obvious stares that the prince has been shooting at you, the smile he usually sports on when he’s too distracted daydreaming about you—yeah, no, he may as well will lose what little remains of his sanity if this keeps on going.

“Your Highness,” Bastien starts, his lips easing into a polite smile that is more exasperated than anything. “At this point I would try anything—so, yes, I think you should try the forum, for both our sakes.”

“A hand mirror today, huh?” You turn the gold-leafed hand mirror that was previously situated by your front door, closely inspecting the intricate carvings.

It’s been a good few weeks—possibly a month or more—since the daily gifts dropped by your “secret admirer” have come rolling in. You use the term loosely, considering you are no closer to figuring out who they are than you were on day one—no leads, no suspects, and no idea what you did to deserve this level of dedicated, anonymous attention.

Which, at this point, is either a testament to their discretion or your own obliviousness.

You set aside the hand mirror with the rest of the collection before sitting down on your bed, pulling out your school-issued phone to log back into cupid’s hotline with the same energy as clocking in your shift.

It is, by all accounts, a normal day on the forum—someone is spiraling, someone needs a letter written, and a bunch of r/AITA posts that are enough to be your personal bedtime stories for tonight.

Though there is one specific post that makes you pause.

I need help and my friend told me to try this forum

Hi! I was told this is the place to go for this sort of thing, and I’ve been—well, my friend has been telling me for a while that I need to do something about my situation, and I think he’s right, so here I am!

There’s someone that I really like a lot, more than a lot actually, if I’m being completely honest. The thing is, every single time they’re in front of me, I’m not sure what to say or do…

I’ve been leaving them gifts anonymously in the meantime, which I honestly don’t know if that’s been helpful or just confusing them.

I just want to tell them how I feel properly. Can anyone help me figure out how? I would really appreciate it!

The post is straightforward enough—earnest, genuine, and nothing a few simple advices can’t fix. 

Someone who knows exactly what they feel and simply doesn’t know how to deal with it? All they need is a nudge in the right direction, and let romance sweep them off their feet.

Leaving them things, though?

Your eyes involuntarily drift to the collection of small trinkets that has been scattered across all your other belongings—the hand mirror on your desk, the musicbox perched on your bookshelf, the pressed flower bookmark you had tucked between the pages of your history textbook.

You glance back at your screen.

…Hm.

There is a brief moment when a thought, half-formed and flickering, begins to assemble itself somewhere at the back of your mind—it tries to draw about speculations, yet you forcefully dissolve the thought.

It’s a very common practice; there are a lot of people like that in the world. 

“It’s probably just a coincidence.” You casually shrug it off, fingers already reaching to the reply window, and start typing at record speed about your thoughts.

u/letmegohome: hi OP ! personally, here’s what u can do:

01. START SMALL, FIND EXCUSES TO TALK TO THEM !

As it turns out, Twisted Wonderland is incredibly generous with excuses when you’re looking for one.

Rielle is on his way back from his afterschool activities, phone in hand as his screen displays u/letmegohome’s post, when a splashing sound cuts through the quietude of the campus grounds and makes him perk up—the sound seems to come from somewhere in the direction of the lake nearby.

He finds you sitting in the shallow lake at the edge of campus—your uniform soaked through to a degree that it clings uncomfortably to your body enough to make you grimace, hair plastered to your face as water droplets trickled down your chin, all the while you stare at the sky, unblinking.

For a split second, his heart lodges itself in his throat, heart blaring against his ribcage at the realization that it’s you—but concern outweighs all the nervous jitters, and his body makes the decision his brain is too flustered to, already inching closer in your direction.

You had just gotten out of the lake after a good couple of seconds of marinating in the embarrassment, having gathered enough presence of mind to drag your sopping self for a change of clothes, when he worriedly runs up to you.

“Hey, are you okay?!”

You look ahead of you, and the first thought that breaches your mind is fuck, someone saw it all go down.

The second, however, is the mortifying awareness that you are absolutely drenched in front of someone who looks like that, which somehow worsens the entire predicament you are in.

Rich rosy hair that glimmers like sunlight refracted through coral beds, round blue eyes that many surely liken them to the open sky over yonder (free, boundless, brimming with a curiosity of a fledgling barely out of the nest), and the slight mingling scent of seafoam that has tethered itself to his presence—you had to remind yourself to blink, lest you make it worse by being caught red-handed oogling at him.

Holy shit, this dude looks like Ariel.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. I uh–I just tripped,” you try to assure him, yet the words tumble out so awkwardly at the pretty boy before you, that somewhere between the line of composure and the lack thereof, you have the urge to bang your head straight on the next hardest surface you could find.

He moves closer regardless, as if your casual dismissals aren’t enough to sway him. “Are you sure? You’re completely soaked! Here, I’ll walk you to the infirmary—it’s not that far from here, and they’ll have spares of dry clothes too!”

You open your mouth to decline, which is an immediate instinct more than ever. The words are already bubbling on the tip of your tongue, something along the lines of really it’s fine or no need to trouble yourself—but all those pre-saved phrases shrivel into nothingness the moment a particularly vicious breeze hisses through your soaked uniform, and your body betrays you with a shiver that you feel deep in the crevice of your soul.

The boy looks at you with an expression that practically screams in your face that he saw that.

“...Sure.”

His face instantly beams up the moment you agree, his lips curling into a warm and immediate smile that prompts you to mirror his, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

He talks the whole way there.

It doesn’t feel like those conversations where one completely overwhelms the other—there’s something in the way he speaks that makes it feel as though it feels less like being talked over, and more like being let in. 

The boy—who you came to know as Rielle Corallia, the seventh prince of the Coral Sea, when introductions were due between you two—points out several shortcuts that he’d discovered over the course of his stay in the Academy, of the birds perched on trees that he loves to gaze at after he wraps up his afterschool activities, of the passionate hobby he has for collecting trinkets that intrigue him—huh, maybe someday, you should ask him about all the interesting gifts you’ve received lately.

You both arrive at the infirmary before the conversation runs out, which isn’t that much of a surprise, considering how he was intensely rambling about the unique craftsmanship of human artifacts, the history behind each one of them, and his collection back in his dorm—you get the gist of it.

The attending healer of the infirmary takes one look at your drenched form and exhales an entire 10 years of their life through their nose, before disappearing to the back of the room to fetch a brand-new uniform fresh from the laundry (probably). 

You station yourself cautiously near the corner, unwilling to commit to any surface while still dripping wet. Across you, your unofficial escort settles himself on a nearby chair, swinging his legs idly as his gaze drifts across the empty infirmary with open curiosity before it finds its way back to you, to which you return his stare with a short huff that might barely count as a laugh.

“Wow, something about the healer’s reaction gives me the impression I’m not the first person to walk in like this.” 

Rielle blinks at you for a moment before bursting out in an easy laugh—mirthful and unguarded. 

“Well, there was a third-year last semester who walked in with an entire bird’s nest in his hair—the healers are basically used to it at this point.” He pauses, tilting his head to the side as the corners of his smile twitch into something softer around the edges.

“Though I do think that you might be the first person I’ve ever seen make falling into a lake so… memorable.” 

You’re not sure if you’re supposed to be offended or graciously accept the compliment, so you choose to settle it with an incredulous chuckle in lieu, “Oh, for sure—I think I’ll remember this humiliating day until I reach my deathbed.”

Something glints beyond the azure shine of his eyes—perhaps amusement, and something that teeters dangerously close to fondness. Rielle leans slightly forward from his chair, the idle swing of his legs coming to a stop in place of directing all his focus to you.

“I don’t think I’ll forget it either!” He holds your gaze as he says it, his tone laced with a quiet finality that can neither be deflected nor perturbed, “because it led me to you, didn’t it?”

He hears it the moment it leaves his mouth.

That was not planned—in fact, that was the opposite of planned, and the rational part of his brain that has been carefully, painstakingly keeping that particular sentiment under wraps for weeks on end collectively loses its mind.

Holy Sevens, just strike him now.

You look at him, and he looks right back at you with that same carefree smile that he always seems to wear (that is also trying to tuck his discomfiture deep in the clefts of his mind), as if he didn’t just utter a sentence so damning that it lodges itself somewhere in your sternum without so much as a warning.

He is, for the record, not as unbothered as it looks.

The healer chooses this precise, strategic moment to reappear from the back of the room with their arms piled with neatly folded clothes, and you have never felt more grateful for an interruption.

“Here,” The healer places the uniform and a warm, gentle-scented towel into your arms with the practiced ease and efficiency of someone who might have done this a hundred times—that, or they’ve dealt worse. “You can change in the back, just try not to drip on the floor if you can.”

Rielle remains seated in his chair and watches you disappear into the back room, perhaps a little faster than strictly necessary, and thinks, well, that’s a start.

He picks his phone up and opens his DM’s.

u/underthesea: Hi letmegohome, I talked to them!!

It isn’t until that night that u/letmegohome responds to his message.

u/letmegohome: hey sorry for the late reply! and???? what happened

u/underthesea: I think it went well…

u/underthesea: I also may have said something I didn’t entirely plan to say…

u/letmegohome: WHAT

u/underthesea: It went well though!! I think

u/letmegohome: U THINK? nvm its ok, onto the next one

02. SHOW UP CONSISTENTLY, LET THEM REALIZE YOUR PRESENCE !

Of all things RSA’s curriculum has thrown at your face, Aquatic Civilization and Maritime History is perhaps the most miserable you’ve been in your studies—not because it’s inherently complicated, but because you lack the foundational knowledge to build on, and the textbook is written as though the reader already knew everything and was simply reading for the fun of it.

Now, at the very least, the human segments are manageable—wars, petty politics, territorial disputes—the broad strokes of it aren’t so different from the world you come from, and you can follow the thread well enough to understand—but merfolks?

Shit, dude, a two-month-old infant might have a better understanding than you.

You stare at a two-page spread on the Coral Sea with a hollow expression of someone who has reread the same paragraph 6-7 times and retained absolutely nothing, your highlighter poised uselessly over a sentence you have not processed in three minutes.

Reading walls of text for what feels like hours on end definitely fries your brain in some way or another. It is evident in the way you don’t even register a particular warmth that hovers over you, and the shadow that falls over your page.

“Oh! Are you studying the Coral Sea?”

You jolt in your seat, eyes frantically looking up to meet the summer sea that rests in the eyes you’ve come to be familiar with.

Rielle stands behind your chair with a library book tucked under one arm, looking at your open textbook with a twinkle of genuine interest—oh right, he is the seventh prince of the Coral Sea, isn’t he?

“Yeah,” you sigh in defeat, “I’ve been stuck on it for a while.”

Something lights up in his expression—that particular quality of attention that is uniquely his, the kind that doesn’t feel practiced or fabricated; rather, it feels like a hearth crackling into life—warm and steady as it crawls its way to the fore of your heart, gently soothing it.

“What part of it?”

Your gaze flickers to your scattered notes, and the bold highlights galore, “...All of it.”

He laughs—a tune so effortlessly bright and airy that the heavy weight simmering in your chest feels, just for a moment, considerably lighter—and moves to pull out a chair across from you. 

“Are you sure?” you ask, nodding at the book in his hand, “You look like you were in the middle of something.”

He glances back down at the book before looking right back, “Oh, this? Don’t worry, it can wait!”

“I’m serious, Rielle, I don’t want to pull you away from your own studies—”

“Nonsense! Don’t worry about it.” There is something in the easy certainty of it that makes the protest dissolve before you can finish structuring it. He sets the book down on the table, unhurried in his ministration, before leaning forward on his elbows and tilting his head slightly.

“Think about it,” he begins, and something glints in his expression—a deliberate mischief that is found when he has a plan brewing up in his mind. “You’re studying the Coral Sea.”

“And I happen to know someone well familiar with it.”

You stare at him, utterly unamused.

Rielle looks back at you with an expectant yet barely concealed eager look of someone who has just pulled out an excellent card and is simply waiting for you to catch on.

“...You.” 

“Me,” He confirms confidently, nodding his head proudly and all. What a silly guy, you think.

“You’re the seventh prince of the Coral Sea.” You quip back, deciding to humour him a little longer.

“I am.”

“And you’re offering to tutor me on your own kingdom.”

“I am,” he continues to nod along, the grin that breaks across his countenance so guileless and unrestrained that you feel your own lips betray you with the faintest twitch of a smile in response. “So, shall we?”

You glance back down at the two-page spread, the long paragraphs of text and terminologies you barely comprehend, and the highlighters that do nothing but strain your eyes—honestly, at this point, you’re completely hopeless.

“...Yeah, alright.” Finally caving in, you push the textbook across the table toward him, “Where should we start?”

Rielle, bless his soul, probably took pity on all the scribbles of a poor annotation and the vibrant mix and match colours of your highlighters. “From the beginning, I think. It would be better for you to know the general context first.”

Just like that, you find yourself being tutored on the Coral Sea by its seventh prince, who explains it the way someone explains a place they so dearly love—less like reciting from the dry tone of the textbook and more like letting you in on something personal and kept.

He weaves through the explanations with details that make the whole thing feel suddenly, startlingly real—as if you could just reach and touch. The tidal currents along the eastern shelf and their importance for navigation, the Coral Sea’s extensive musical traditions, the coral formations that predate the kingdom itself, some of which are said to have been shaped not by human nature but by the earliest merfolk who settled the deep.

You’d be plain dead lying if you tell yourself you are listening for the sake of your notes.

It starts innocuously enough—your pen moves across the page, keeping up with the flow of his explanations. Yet somewhere between trade routes and coral formations, there is an imperceptible shift that happens, and you stop writing without quite noticing you have, and you stop noticing because you are watching him instead.

You watch the way his eyes crinkle in delight when the topic reaches the recorded instances of merfolk coming to land throughout history, you watch something luminous and unbridled stir within the azure of his irises—the deep fondness of someone revisiting a memory, turning it over their hands like a smooth river stone. 

His hands move as he speaks, tracing the invisible geography of a world you cannot physically see but find yourself yearning for—the southern coast, the border reefs, the stretch of coastlines where two worlds have always quietly, tentatively reached for each other in their embrace.

He talks about old tales last.

The famous Mermaid Princess’ tale, he says, who has always been drawn to the surface—to the human world and all its curious, ephemeral warmth. 

“It’s considered either a cautionary tale or a love story,” Rielle mentions, momentarily snapping you out from your (hopefully not) blatant gawking at him and his damn pretty eyes, “depending on who’s telling it.”

“Which do you think it is?” you ask, the question tumbling out of your mouth before you can catch yourself.

“A love story,” he replies without missing a beat, with the certainty of someone who has never once entertained the alternative. “I think it has always been a love story.”

You hold his gaze a beat longer than necessary before tearing your eyes away to look back down at your blank notes—pristine white and untouched for the past 10 minutes. Clicking your pen, you begin to recite what you’ve remembered from Rielle’s recitation in an effort to distract yourself from the warmth that currently takes residence somewhere between your ribs.

No, the inexplicable thumps of your increasing heartbeat are simply the product of a well-done study session, and so are the twitch of your lips when you recall the smile that softened the sharp edges of the afternoon and all its weight.

Oh, you realize, this is dangerous.

Later that night, your phone lights up.

u/underthesea: UPDATE

u/underthesea: I’ve been showing up a lot more, and I even helped them study today!

u/letmegohome: woah study session? ur on a really good progress streak

u/underthesea: They even took notes about what I was saying… I feel like I’ve achieved everything in life

u/underthesea: 🐚

u/letmegohome: what does that mean

u/underthesea: It’s a shell. I thought it was fitting

u/letmegohome: boy… 

03. DO SOMETHING THOUGHTFUL, CREATE A MOMENT THAT BELONGS JUST TO THE TWO OF YOU !

“What a pretty pocket watch.” 

It sits unassumingly near the end of Rielle’s shelf—unapologetically opulent and resplendent in its aged splendour. The gold of its casing catches the evening light and pools it into the illusion of molten metal, so brilliant against the lacquer that you might’ve postulated it was Midas’ Touch itself, had you not known better.

Despite having been possibly underwater for decades, it still retains its immaculate lustre—unmarred and unbothered before the erosion of time. 

You pick it up carefully, turning it over in your hands, and the weight of it is satisfying to speak. The casing is engraved along the edges with details that resemble flower petals, or vines—hard to tell underneath the golden light, the pattern shifting depending on the angle you hold it at.

Now, truthfully, it had started as nothing more than a passing comment on the walk back to your last class—you’d mentioned his collection in offhanded intrigue, and Rielle had lit up with the kind of enthusiasm that you have found, consistently and against your better judgment, very difficult to walk away from.

So it’s no surprise to you that the moment he extended an invitation to his dorm to see the collection yourself, you find yourself standing in his dorm room after school, moving slowly along a shelf that is considerably more impressive than you have been anticipating, while he sits perched on the edge of his desk behind you.

“Isn’t it?! I found it in an old shipwreck—the whole ship has probably been down there for ages, but the watch is still completely intact!” Rielle pipes in keenly, a permanent smile seemingly etched onto his visage every time your fingers dance to trace the various thingamabobs stored in a shelf, or each moment your eyes twinkled in interest and fascination.

“Does it still work?” You ask, twirling the golden chains attached to it in your other hand.

“Sadly, no. The mechanism stopped working a long time ago.” Well, a pocket watch that can survive underwater for that long would be too crazy impressive, you reckon.

You fiddle with the clasp, and it opens smoothly, the hinges surprisingly precise and well-maintained despite its age. Inside, the face of the watch is cream-coloured and regal, giving off a sophisticated air around it—well, you argue, I think that’s the main aesthetic it’s going for.

The same couldn’t be said for its components, however—the numerals have faded to near-illegibility, and the hands are forever frozen at a quarter past three.

“Still, the owner must’ve taken good care of it.” You hum, setting the pocket watch carefully, exactly where it had been, and continue along the shelf—a brass compass with a crack on its face, small amphora jars, candelabras, fine bone china tea cups—and somewhere between one item and another, something snags at the back of your mind.

“Oh, wait,” you begin, neatly arranging the pile of books you’ve taken out before, “this reminds me of something.”

From behind you, Rielle tilts his head. “Hm? What is it?” 

“Someone’s been leaving me stuff—for quite some time now, actually.” You turn to look at him, leaning back against the empty wall next to the shelf with your arms loosely crossed.

“Anonymously, though, so I don’t know exactly who’s doing it. All the gifts they’ve given to me are really nice, actually—something similar to your collection, if I have to describe it? A hand mirror, bookmarks, cutlery sets, a music box, and pearl necklaces, to name a few.”

As you continue to ramble on about your mysterious “gift mailperson”, you fail to notice how Rielle has gone still, very still.

“...Oh!” He manages to squeeze out, despite how fast his mind and heart are racing—hell, he is probably seconds away from cold sweat dripping down his forehead.

Play it cool, play it cool, play it cool—

“That’s—wow.” He nods fervently, the word wow serving an extraordinary weight for how little it actually communicates his feelings, “Someone’s been doing that every day?”

“Every day,” You confirm, frowning slightly, “Thing is, I have no idea who it could be, so I thought I’d ask you if you know anyone who might, you know, have a similar hobby or taste like yours, since you know a lot when it comes to this.”

While you look at him expectantly, Rielle is in the seconds from jumping out the window, and swimming into the deepest trench in Sage Island. The only thing stopping him from doing so is the distant, exhausted voice of Bastien in the back of his mind saying please don’t

He prays, with every single fibre of his being, that Bastien were here—and also that Bastien were not here, because he would not live this down.

“...Aha, someone with the same hobby, you say?” he says, seemingly thoughtful on the outside and certainly on the inside as well, where his brain attempts to locate an exit from this conversation.

Uhh, oh no—should he just tell them? He could just tell them, in fact, it would only be a very simple ”Actually, that’s me! I’ve been leaving you things because I think about you constantly, and I’m in love with you!”

No, no, this isn’t it—this is not how he imagined it to go down.

“I’m—I’m not sure about that, but that’s quite something, haha! The gifts sound lovely!” Son, who are you trying to fool. Rielle nearly physically cringes at his too cheery tone—it’s a specific scene of someone who has never been a particularly good liar and is finding it out in real time.

You look at him for a beat longer than comfortable before mercifully turning back to the shelf.

“Anyway,” you continue, fingers drifting idly to the rest of the trinkets, “I just thought I’d ask you, but don’t worry about it too much—I’m not losing sleep over it, anyway.”

“Right,” he says, exhaling very quietly as though one wrong move, and he’s going to have his entire head shaved. “Right, of course! Uh, don’t worry, I’ll try to dig around for you!”

You chuckle at his words, and Rielle swears he might seriously melt into a puddle one of these days. “It’s actually kind of nice, whatever their reason is.”

“Makes this place a little less… I don’t know, far from everything—more welcoming.” Twisted Wonderland still isn’t anything close to home—there are moments when the chandeliers dim, and the hushed murmur of the night lingers more than the warmth of your hearth, where the realization pools unfathomably heavily in your chest. 

Yet it passes, as all things do, and when it does, it leaves something in its wake—something quieter and warmer that you haven’t quite named yet but have stopped trying to explain away.

There remains a bleeding gap in your chest that is on the lines of home, but as the small kindnesses from a person you cannot put a face to, accumulate slowly, it gradually becomes something more bearable than it was.

“So, I’m thankful for that.” The tone of your voice seeps into something more gentle and sincerely bare, your gaze dropping back to a compass you’ve unconsciously picked up in your hands, turning it over as though the admission didn’t land directly at him.

The words settle into the room, and Rielle finds, unexpectedly, that they stir a familiar sentiment.

He knows the feeling—not in the same way, and certainly not with the same weight, but he knows the feeling all too well. The Coral Sea is not far from here, as in the way your world is far from here, yet on nights when the stars lack their usual luminosity, the absence of saltwater in the air sits strangely in his lungs, the silence of his room feels like a held breath more than anything—it is on nights like those does he find himself listening for the sounds of tides that aren’t there.

Rielle loves it here on land, don’t get him wrong—he loves it tenderly and wholly, in the way he has loved everything about the human world since before he took his first step on the grainy sands and found it waiting for him. The vibrant flush of flowers, the towering trees, the croons of forest birds—he does not regret a single moment of it.

Still, there are times—quieter times that are unlike grief or longing in the way it aches terribly so in his chest—when something wordlessly pulls at him. It’s more so a gentle and persistent reminder that the tides of the ocean are still there, a reminder that no matter how far he walks from the shoreline, or how long he’s last reveled in the ocean breeze, the sea will always be there waiting for him.

“I’m glad.” He says with a smile that is softer than his usual ones—less bright, more settled, and relieved at its edges. 

You glance back at him over your shoulder.

“Glad about what?” “That whoever they are,” he says, looking at you in that distinct way of his that you have not yet found a name for, “is making it feel that way.”

You hold his gaze for a moment, and his breath hitched imperceptibly—infinitesimally, at the sight of your eyes that settle on his, carrying a weight that reaches somewhere he hadn’t thought to guard, something that makes the distance between you feel considerably smaller than it is. 

It is the light, Rielle thinks—the last of the evening, threading itself through your eyes like it has found somewhere worthy of its final, gilded reverence. It catches there, refracts, and sinks at the very depths of your gaze in a way that glimmers with the trembling brilliance of something precious—something that makes the breath stall between his lungs and lips.

You hum—soft and considering—before a delighted smile graces your lips.

“Yeah,” you say, quietly. “Me too.”

Oh, he thinks.

Your eyes twinkle like the marmoris of home.

u/underthesea: OK.

u/underthesea: letmegohome I’m going to write a letter to them. Tomorrow night. This is the moment!!

u/letmegohome: finally

u/letmegohome: idk what happened for u to suddenly get that amount of determination but god bless omg

u/underthesea: 🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚

u/letmegohome: boy stop sending me those shells and get to WORK

u/underthesea: drafting it as we speak!!

04. IF YOUR WORDS FAIL YOU, WRITE THEM DOWN !

[💌] HOW TO WRITE A LOVE LETTER 101: a humble guide by u/letmegohome

I. START WITH SOMETHING SPECIFIC, LIKE A SHARED MEMORY

“Like that time you nearly blurted out you were the one sending them gifts?” Rielle lightly groans at Bastien’s chaff, dropping his pen onto the desk with a clatter that communicates his feelings rather well.

“I thought we agreed not to speak about that again!” The prince huffs out, shooting him a look that is intended to be withering and lands considerably short of that—it is not-so intimidating to speak, which further amuses Bastien if anything.

In return, his closest friend merely snickers—Lord, he’s having a field day, watching everything unfold as though it is all one big, theatrical soap opera. “Well, Your Highness, you agreed; I made no such commitment.”

“That’s—” Rielle starts, and then closes his mouth the next second, because he cannot, in good conscience, argue with that. To be fair, he had simply stated that they would not be speaking about it again, and Bastien said mm—and he had taken that as a binding contract, which, in retrospect, was perhaps optimistic for him.

He picks his pen back up, ignoring the knowing stare that drills at the back of his head, “Never mind that! I’m writing the letter.”

“Alright.”

“I’m not thinking about it!” He argues in his fluster, the scratching of a pen on paper seemingly emphasising his words.

“That’s good.”

“It was one moment, and it will never happen again!” 

“Mhm.”

“I handled it very well, actually!” Now, maybe he needs to slow down a bit, considering the way his hand moves almost industriously against the letter.

Bastien looks down at the letter, eyes raking over the handwriting that has started as careful penmanship into something progressively what one might generously describe as abstract. 

“Your Highness, perhaps the recipient would want a declaration of love, rather than a hexing script.”

Rielle buries his face briefly in his hands.

II. SAY THE THINGS YOU’VE BEEN AVOIDING SAYING

“Is this the part where you finally confess your secret identity?” 

“Or is it the part where you write the heart-pounding…” Bastien playfully bats his eyelashes, his hands clasping together in a dramatic flair, “I love you?”

Rielle sputters out a sound that is not a word—something caught between indignation and an old whistling kettle that’s about to blow its lid entirely, pen nearly slipping from his fingers. The tips of his ears have gone the telling shade of pink that emerges exclusively in moments of complete and utter defeat—a colour that is doing a lot of confessing on his behalf.

Why do you need enemies when you have friends like this?

Well, cut that poor guy some slack, he had to deal with a few months of Rielle barging into his room—giggling and kicking his feet, recounting the entire day with you, debriefing every single second, while poor Bastien was just trying to mourn over the news of Mark Lee leaving NCT.

“I am not writing ‘I love you’.” Rielle manages to say between his sputters, with the dignity of someone who absolutely will be writing ‘I love you’ by the end of the conversation.

“Why not,” Bastien says, which is not quite a question.

“Because!—” The prince stops, his eyebrows furrowed in the same way every time he’s deeply tense about something. “...What if it’s too much?”

He loves you truly, in a way that it feels almost too large to fit inside something as small as a letter—and the thought of handing that to you all at once, unmediated, three words on a page, feels like setting something enormous down at your feet and hoping you don’t step back from it.

Bastien stares at him for a moment. “Your Highness, you have been leaving them gifts for months. You have memorized their tea order, their habits, and other small details about them—I think they can handle three words.”

This time, his voice takes on the tone he reserves exclusively for moments when the situation has moved past the point of gentle ribbing into something that quietly reminds Rielle that Bastien has always been in his corner.

“Rielle,” he says. “You left the ocean despite your family’s displeasure, because something up here called to you and you couldn’t ignore it. You have never once decided something was too much and turned back.”

His eyes cut briefly to the letter and back. “Don’t start now, and certainly not over three words.”

Rielle’s eyes look back at the letter before dragging the pen’s nub over the paper again.

III. DON’T OVERTHINK THE ENDING, JUST MEAN IT

“...I beg your pardon?”

u/letmegohome: huh?

Bastien turns to look at the prince—who was just on his phone, his screen displaying the familiar UI of the forum’s chat he talked about—with the air of someone who has just watched nearly four months of racked-up patience arrive at a crossroad he did not entirely anticipate.

“The letter,” Rielle smiles, with the sudden, convinced energy of someone who has just figured something out, “I know you said it’s good, but I don’t think I want to use it! I want to tell them in person—I want to see their face when I say it.”

u/letmegohome: ur not going to use it???

u/letmegohome: didn’t u spend a long time on it tho?

Bastien stares at him.

“Your Highness,” he says, very carefully, “I have sat here for the better part of two hours, watching you cross out seventeen sentences, listening to you describe your feelings in seventeen different ways that all meant the same thing. I read the letter—I told you it was good.”

“And you are now telling me you are not going to use it.”

“Yes!” says the prince, who has been stripping years of his life, “And I was thinking of how it could be done in a dramatic backdrop, like—like while we’re both out on a rowboat at sunset, with a lot of willow trees and fireflies!” 

Something appropriately cinematic, something that would do justice to the enormity of what he feels. 

u/undethesea: I have a plan to confess, maybe like in a dramatic setting!!

u/letmegohome: hmm

u/letmegohome: well that is nice

“Your best bet would be the shallow lake by the edge of campus, considering how I doubt you could last until our summer break.” Bastien points out, as though he had seen it coming long before Rielle uttered it.

“And, Your Highness, how are you going to acquire a rowboat and willow trees?” 

Bastien regards him for a moment with the expression of someone who has watched this specific thought process play out in real time and has made peace with it a long time ago.

“The rowboat, the willow trees, and fireflies,” He begins, ticking them off one by one with a patience that is perhaps borderline admirable. “None of it is what they’re going to completely remember.”

u/letmegohome: i wouldnt exactly fuss abt the place first thing 

u/letmegohome: its a nice detail but im sure they will remember you first and foremost, not the setting

“What they’re going to remember,” He continues, and Rielle wonders distantly if Bastien is an active user on cupid’s hotline like letmegohome, “is you. Standing in front of them as you say it.”

Or maybe he’s truly a shifu in romance, unbeknownst to him.

“That’s merely the backdrop, Your Highness. What matters isn’t where you say it—it’s that you say it at all.”

Rielle looks at him and thinks of all the messages letmegohome sent as well—the carefully imagined cinematic sequence he has been building in his head, all of it, gently dissolves, leaving something much simpler and truer in its place.

Oh, he thinks—and then he’s standing up.

The night air greets him the moment he steps on campus, carrying with it the particular atmosphere of an evening that has settled into itself, the day’s warmth still clinging to the stone paths like a departing guest reluctant to leave entirely.

The campus breathes differently at this hour.

The lampposts that wind through the cobblestone paths have come on, their warm aureate glow pooling across the stone, gilding the edges of leaves and casting long shadows against the grass—and the hushed murmur of the night unravels itself against the ground, undemanding as though the world itself has exhaled.

Rielle finds you before he has walked very far at all.

You are sitting on the edge of the campus fountain, legs dangling idly over the side, face tilting upward toward the darkening sky—looking for all the world like someone who has nowhere to be and is enjoying the freedom thoroughly. There is a half-eaten snack in your hand, and your school bag sits slumped on the ground beside you like a faithful, exhausted companion.

The lamplight finds your figure the way its rays embrace everything it touches with a thin veil of golden sheen—it nestles against your hair, traces the line of your shoulder, and settles at the corner of your expression.

You look up at the sound of approaching footsteps, and your face evidently brightens at the sight of him.

“Oh, hey,” You greet him with a smile, “Perfect timing, Rielle, I was about to start talking to myself.”

“Looks like I came at the right time, then!” He laughs and comes to sit beside you on the fountain, close enough that what remains of the warmth of the night rests between you like something shared.

It is then that you begin, unceremoniously, telling him about your eventful day—and he attentively listens to every single comment you make.

He has always listened to you—it is something that never requires effort, it has never felt like something he had to remind himself to do. Your voice carries the unadulterated, unperformative lull that inexplicably draws him in the way the arches of tides are perpetually drawn to the shore.

You somberly talk about the mathematics quiz that had gone either very well or catastrophically—it truly depends on the professor’s goodwill—and then, without breaking the flow, pivot to the upcoming alchemy examination that has half of the student body sweating buckets (because the professor is lowkenuinely out for blood, you have noted—to which he can only be perplexed on what lowkenuinely means). 

“Man, but alchemy sure has a lot of surprises—I just saw a third-year coming in the cafeteria with his hair up and vividly orange this morning… like those orange highlighters.”

“He just sat down and started eating,” you added, with a tone that more or less indicates you’ve been seeing things. “Like… full orange wall on his head and bro just sat down.”

“Maybe he liked it?” Rielle offers.

“He was crying a little.”

“Oh!”

You continue your rambles—you chime in about the cafeteria’s ridiculous decision to remove your favorite seared salmon from the daily menu, which you take as a personal slight against you. Then, your conversation shifts to the first-year student who had accidentally turned his entire dorm room into a swamp when he got his Unique Magic—a feat that his roommate had described as impressive in the worst possible way.

Rielle listens, and listens, and listens—sometimes throwing in his own comments, a little ooo and ahh on the more shocking details, perhaps a boisterous laugh and barely contained grin here and there when your stories reach their climax on something particularly incredulous that he can’t help but let them spill out.

Truly, Rielle listens, and listens, and listens—until he’s not, until he realizes, all too belatedly, that now, he’s too focused on looking at you.

He’s not sure when it started; maybe it’s the way the threads of light catch the edges of your hair, the way your hands move when you’re mid-story (regardless of your snack), animated and completely too absorbed in your deliverance, the way your eyes widen a fraction when you reach a segment of a story that excites you, or maybe it is when you pause halfway to think of a right word, your brow slightly furrowing the same way it does when you’re stuck on difficult problems—and something in his chest wedges up in that familiar, helpless way that he has long since stopped trying to brace for.

He looks at you and thinks of how you have absolutely no idea that he has a letter perched on his desk, and nearly four months of burgeoning feelings pressing against the inside of his ribs.

Before he can think better of it, his mouth opens.

“It was me,” he says.

You stop mid-sentence.

“...Sorry?”

“The gifts,” he finally admits, and there is something within his voice that is steadier than he feels, which is a surprise even to him, as though the words, having waited this long, have decided to come out properly, or not at all. “I was the one who gave you the gifts.”

The rushing water of the fountain murmurs softly behind you both.

“It was never really about the gifts, it was just the only way I knew how to—” he mutters out, exhaling a short, rueful sound that isn’t quite a laugh, and to his credit, he holds it well, considering the rapid thumps his heart is deafening against his eardrums. “—reach you without my brain… malfunctioning on the spot.”

You still haven’t said anything—He’s not sure if that’s good or bad, and not knowing is doing something genuinely awful for his composure.

“Every time I tried to just—talk to you, the way I meant to, it would just… go. Everything I’d gone over in my head a hundred times—it would be gone the second you look at me.”

“And I kept thinking, okay—tomorrow, I’ll just say it tomorrow.” His voice is quieter now, stripped of the careful management he’d been keeping over it. “And then tomorrow comes, and you’d be right there and I’d just—”

He briefly looks at his hands, “I didn’t know what to do with how much I meant it.”

“So I left you things instead,” he finishes, simply. “Because at least that I could do.”

He glances up at you, just enough for you to see that there is something in his expression that is neither the easy smile nor the lightness he usually wears without thinking—just Rielle, unmediated and a little undone, sitting with everything he’s just handed over and waiting to find out if you’ll hold it delicately.

“And I don’t know what to do except to tell you.” The last of his steadiness vanishes here, landing somewhere bare and true underneath it all. “I’ve tried gifts, a letter, and I had this whole plan, and—” 

He lets a short, breathy laugh, rubbing the back of his neck as though he couldn’t quite believe his own lack of restraint. “—you were just sitting here, and I—I just couldn’t wait anymore.”

The laugh fades into an amber of weighted silence—it is dense and thick, in a way that it trembles with the sudden gravity of a confession that has been months in the making.

“I left them because I’m in love with you.”

Rielle doesn’t look away this time—his eyes stay locked on yours, even as his pulse thunders a frantic rhythm against the quiet of the night, watching as the slow realization ripples across your face.

“I don’t know exactly when it started,” he continues, the golden lamplight catching the hues of his eyes that are bathed in sudden, raw honesty. “Only that somewhere along the way, it became the most obvious thing about me.”

A fuzzy feeling presses warmly and insistently against the inside of your sternum as if your own heart is trying to lean into his words.

“Rielle,” you breathe out after god knows how long, your voice barely a notch above the water’s whispers.

He winces slightly, a reflexive bracing for impact, his fingers slightly digging into the smooth stone of the fountain’s edge. “I know it’s a lot. You don’t have to say anything back! I just—I just needed you to know, haha! I’m sorry, I probably ruined the flow of a perfectly good retelling of the drama between the astrology professor and a first-year student—”

“Rielle,” you say.

“...Yeah?” He replies quietly. 

You look at him for a moment that stretches long and soft at its edges before you reach out, your fingers brushing hesitantly against his, where they are still gripping the fountain’s edge. His skin is warm, you note, a sharp contrast to the coolness of the stone, and you feel the slight tremor in his hands the moment you make contact.

He stills completely, his breath hitching as if he’s afraid that moving might break the spell of your touch.

“The music box,” you begin.

Rielle blinks. Of all the things he’s anticipated to come, apparently, this wasn’t it. “...Huh?”

“The one you left me.” You look down at your hands that are in his briefly, then back up at him. “I play it every night before I sleep.” 

The confusion in his eyes ebbs into something wide and vulnerable, a small oh escaping his lips as he absorbs the weight of your admission.

“It’s the only thing that makes the room feel less empty—it makes me feel less… lonely. It lulls me to sleep every single time.” You offer him a small, sheepish smile, your voice dropping to a hum that barely carries over the splashing water. “For a few minutes, while the music is playing—it feels like home.”

The silence that follows isn’t heavy anymore; it is expansive and vast in a way his surprise finally gives way to a profound, simmering sort of relief. 

“You didn’t ruin anything.” You say, your voice finally finding its footing, soft but steady against the night. “And you definitely don’t need to apologize for being… this.”

Your gesture vaguely toward the space between the two of you—a shared place that feels charged with a new air.

“All those gifts,” you continue with a knowing smile, “The little things that made me feel like someone was looking out for me when I wasn’t even looking at myself… I spend quite some time wondering who could possibly be that thoughtful.”

You squeeze his hand, leaning in just enough that the salt-swept scent of the sea fills your senses. 

“I’m glad it was you, Rielle. I think, deep down, a part of me already knew—or maybe I just wanted it to be you.”

“...Yeah?” He says, and the word barely makes out—barely above the breath, carrying the enormous, trembling weight of everything he isn’t saying around it.

“Yeah.” You quip, a fond smile plastered on your lips.

The bracing tension in his shoulders collapses all at once, and he lets out a long, shuddering exhale, his head bowing for a second as the sheer force of his anxiety finally hits the ground. When he looks back up, there is a flicker of something bright and hopeful, dancing in the reflection of his eyes.

“You really wanted it to be me?” He repeats, his voice cracking just the slightest bit, a boyish disbelief lacing his tone.

“Every single time.” You say, the playfulness in your voice softening into something more sincere.

Rielle lets out a breathy, melodic laugh—the kind that finally reaches his eyes and makes that incessant fuzzy feeling in your chest expand until you feel like you might as well float right off the fountain. He doesn’t let go of your hand; instead, he turns his palm upward, lacing his fingers through yours with a permanence that feels like a promise.

“You have no idea how many times I almost tripped over my own feet just trying to say ‘hello’ to you.” He admits, a sudden energy sparking in his eyes as the heavy tension finally breaks.

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles up, watching him as he continues his frantic, adorable confessions. The frantic buzz in your chest quietens, smoothing out into a deep, steady warmth—a quiet frequency that feels less like a discovery and more like an old truth unearthed. “I love you too, Rielle.”

You collapse onto your bed, the weight of the day finally catching up to you, and unconsciously reach out for your phone. The screen lights up with a notification from the one person whose entire life feels like a chaotic fanfiction plot.

u/underthesea: LETMEGOHOME

u/underthesea: I told them

u/underthesea: I told them EVERYTHING

u/letmegohome: AND????

u/letmegohome: WHAT HAPPENED NEXT OMG

u/underthesea: THEY SAID THEY LOVED ME TOO

u/underthesea: 🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚

u/letmegohome: HOLY SHIT

u/letmegohome: CONGRATS IM SO HAPPY FOR U!!!

u/underthesea: On another note, I think I'm gonna give them the letter someday

u/underthesea: I'm a little proud of the letter actually

u/underthesea: Here u should read it

u/underthesea: [digitalscan.pdf]

You tap the attached file—a digital scan of a handwritten letter. 

As the image loads, you stop dead in your tracks because—you recognize this graceful, slightly slanted script of a handwriting.

???

Your thumb freezes over the screen of your phone, the cool light reflecting in your wide eyes. You blink once, twice, thrice, certain that the fatigue from the math quizzes is finally causing hallucinations—but the pixels don’t shift.

Your eyes snag on the very first sentence, and the air leaves your lungs in one sharp, silent rush.

“I know I’ve been a bit of a mess. I spent months leaving those trinkets on your front door because I was afraid that my words wouldn’t be enough, or that I’d say too much. I thought that if I could just give you something small to make your day better, it would be enough for me—and it was, until the moment we walked to the infirmary after you soaked your uniform in that lake; it was the first time I realized that being near you was better than any secret.”

The realization hits you like a splash of cold water—your fingers frantically typing across the keyboard before you could even fully register it.

Oh, what the fuck.

u/letmegohome: rielle???

u/letmegohome: IS THIS RIELLE?????

[shikiii-skadi]

A Leaf from Tomorrow

SUMMARY: you were just trying to get some food when you are suddenly faced with a child who is freezing the cafeteria. but the most surprising thing was that he called you mother and has an undeniable resemblance to both yourself and malleus.

PAIRING: malleus draconia x reader

WARNINGS: biological children are implied and the usage of mother

NAVIGATION: Twisted Wonderland Masterlist | Diasomnia Masterlist

It was time you put your foot down and stop your food from being stolen. Well, you didn't really put your foot down. You just told your friends that you would eat later in the cafeteria when they all went. It was a drastic measure, but you couldn't continue living like that.

Every time you, Deuce, Ace, and Grim ate together, you never got nearly enough food in your stomach, because Ace and Grim seemed to believe that your food was also their food. So now you were on your way to have lunch on your own. Hopefully, someone you knew is also still there. Otherwise, it will be super awkward to sit at a table with a bunch of strangers. It will make you self-conscious of how you eat...

But it seems you didn't need to worry about eating right now.

A group of students came frantically running from the cafeteria, nearly knocking you over in the process. You barely got out of the way in time by stepping between two statues in the hallway.

One of your fellow students seemed to have the same idea, because he squeezed himself beside you, so he could catch his breath for a moment.

"What is going on? Why is everyone running?" you asked him, seizing the opportunity to get answers without needing to possibly get involved in the chaos.

The unknown student took a few heavy breaths before answering. "An attack! Someone is freezing the cafeteria. I think some students even got frozen."

"What?" You were in disbelief that it was really that bad. "Are you sure it's not just a prank from a few mischievous students or ghosts?"

"I know what I saw. That definitely wasn't a prank!" the student said, clearly offended you’d even suggest it.

You turned to the entrance of the cafeteria when you felt the temperature in the hallway drop. You couldn't see anything from your place. But you could feel the pressure of magic in the air. It felt powerful. So it must be true what the student said. But there were only a handful of things that could charge the air with this amount of magic.

"Was it an Overblot?" you asked the student, now sharing his panic.

"I don't know. Do you think I stayed long enough to check?" he snapped at you, before his voice returned to a more civilized tone. "I don't think I saw blot ink or a phantom anywhere... But does it even matter? We should get outta here and let someone else deal with whatever is in the cafeteria."

The student didn't wait for you and instead sprinted off. You wanted to follow, but stopped when you suddenly heard what sounded like the hysterical cry of a child.

Your breath hitched as the temperature dipped again, cold nipping at your cheeks and frosting the edges of the hallway tiles. The crack of ice spreading echoed faintly from the cafeteria doors. And then that cry came again.

Who would bring a child to Night Raven College? And why would they be alone?

The impulse to run warred with your instincts. But something about the sound rooted you in place. A chill that had nothing to do with ice crept up your spine.

So once again, throwing any sense of self-preservation out the window, you decided to investigate the cafeteria.

As you approached the entrance, a thin layer of ice curled and crept across the floor beneath your feet. The temperature was dropping as if the air itself recoiled with sadness.

And then you saw it.

The cafeteria doors were open, hanging slightly ajar, frost spiderwebbing from their hinges. The cafeteria was a frozen winter scene. Tables were rimmed with rime. Plates of forgotten lunches sat frozen mid-bite. Students who hadn’t escaped in time were partially encased in thick magical ice. Thankfully, it didn't seem like they were injured. They are just trapped.

And in the center of it all, curled up and trembling within a growing circle of frost, was a boy.

He couldn’t have been older than five or six. His hands covered his face as sobs wracked his tiny frame. You were struck by the sight of such a young child in this place. A child who seemed so out of place amidst the suffering he unintentionally caused.

The ice creeped outward with each of his hiccupping sobs, the magic surging with raw, unchecked emotion. His hair shared the same color as yours. Small horns peeked out from beneath the tousled locks. They were curved, and unmistakably draconic.

Your breath hitched.

Horns.

The resemblance to Malleus was impossible to ignore. Not just the horns, but also the gentle curve of the boy’s brow, and the elegant bone structure of his tear-stained face. But there was something in his eyes, when he finally looked up at you. They were wide, watery, and impossibly green. But lacking the sharp edge Malleus would have had. The boy's eyes were softer and his nose cute. That hit deeper.

Not like Malleus. Like... you.

You looked at the boy in silence for a few moments, not sure what to say. "Eh... Are you hurt?" you asked eventually your tone of voice awkward, as you tried to smile reassuringly at him.

The boy's big, round eyes were staring at you. He blinked a few times. "M-mother...?"

Huh?

Before you could ask or clarify anything, the boy ran toward you and launched himself into your arms. His tiny frame seemed to hide an impossible strength, because you felt like he would actually snap your spine if he hugged you any tighter. "Mother!!"

You were as frozen in place as the unfortunate students, who didn't get away in time. You didn't know how to handle this situation. You were pretty sure you didn't spawn a child in your time in Twisted Wonderland. The only thing coming close to a child you took care of was your ever-hungry cat-weasel companion. Certainly not a real breathing kid.

Despite your inexperience with children, you could tell that explaining to this traumatized, and very much powerful little boy, that you can't be his mother, wasn't a smart idea. So you just told yourself that he just called every woman 'mother'. That's something children do, right?

You patted the boys back in hopes his crushing grip on you would loosen at least a little. "There, there. Everything is fine."

Well, actually, nothing was fine, but you also needed the reassurance of your own words.

You gently pried his arms away enough to kneel down in front of him. "Can you tell me what happened here?"

"Everything was different and strange. Not like home. I was here, and there were so many people and-" His words were interrupted by a wrenching sob. "I was scared, and I didn’t mean to! I just wanted you, but-b-but you weren’t there, and then everyone started running and they yelled at me, and, and-"

As the coldness in the air heightens again, you rub the boy's shoulders gently, despite feeling slightly panicked that he might freeze the entire school. "It's fine. It's fine. You were just scared. No one will get angry with you," you smiled at him. "Do you maybe know a way to fix this?"

He shook his head. "No. Father always does."

"Well, it's not that important anyway. The Headmage will figure something out... Probably," you say when you saw his face twisting with guilt. Although you could feel the stare of a frozen student nearby, who definitely does not agree with you.

The boy nodded at your words.

You paused. You didn’t even know his name. Just calling him 'boy' is certainly weird. "Say, do you remember your name?"

He looked at you in silence before suddenly beginning to cry again, leaving you very confused. "Why are you acting like you don’t know me? I don’t like this game!"

Someone seemed to be sensitive. While you had no experiments with children, Grim certainly taught you how to deal with sudden mood swings and tantrums. Although using tuna as a distraction probably won't work.

"But how can I be sure you are the real you and not a spy, if you won't tell me the right answer?" you replied playfully, poking his stomach. "So? What's your name?"

He giggled when you poked him and stopped crying. "You are being silly, Mother," he said. "My name is Maledor, of course!"

You nodded, as if you knew that as well. Hoping that he didn't turn the tables on you to test you, and said the wrong name. But certainly a child wouldn't do that, right?

"Aha! Maledor. That’s a perfectly real name. You’re clear. No spy here."

You think about what you should do next. Seeing that no help or rescue had come in all this time, you could assume that none of the students who got away actually told the staff. You shouldn’t be surprised by that. After all, this was a school full of self-centered and mischievous students.

You couldn’t leave Maledor alone. And you had little faith that going to Crowley for help would do anything. He would end up dumping the work on you anyway, so you might as well search for a solution on your own, before Ramshackle gets a new member. 

By Maledor's pointy ears and little horns, it wasn’t hard to tell that he must be a fae. So, going to Diasomnia is probably the best course of action. Maybe someone there knew who this little boy belonged to. And maybe Malleus or Lilia can defreeze the cafeteria. 

You took Maledor by the hand as you led him to the Diasomnia Dorm. Every so often, his grip would tighten, like he was making sure you wouldn’t suddenly disappear. As soon as you went through the mirror and arrived on the bridge that led to the castle, which was the dorm, you could feel Maledor visibly relaxing.

"This is better! I like it here. It looks like home," he said with a cheerful voice. Seemed like you did good by bringing him here. 

Right when you were about to enter the dorm, Sebek suddenly crossed your path. His sharp eyes fell upon Maledor. "Human! Why do you have a fae child with you?!" he demanded. Then somehow jumped to: "Have you kidnapped him?! Hand over the child at once!"

"When do you think I kidnapped a magical fae child, from its magical parents?" you shot back. "Do you think I walked to Briar Valley and back in an afternoon?"

Sebek didn’t listen to your words to hung up on the idea that you kidnapped a child. Like that wasn’t something faes usually did to humans, right?

"I said hand over the child!" he shouted, before trying to grab Maledor.

You didn’t know why, but a sudden protective streak came over you, and you stepped in front of Maledor, blocking Sebeks' hand. "Don’t just grab a child!"

Sebek recoiled, shock flickering across his face at your boldness. "Are you impeding one of Lord Malleus' loyal knights, human?"

Sebek tried to grab Maledor again, not listening to you. Maledor, on the other hand, obviously did not want to be grabbed by Sebek and was hiding further behind you, grabbing your jacket. "Mother, I don’t want to go…!"

When Maledor said that, Sebek paused. "M-Mother..?" he repeated, shocked. For a second, you think Sebek might actually let you explain the situation, but he immediately began shouting again. "How dare you steal away a fae child and then confuse it so much?! What wicked human trickery have you used?!"

You grit your teeth, trying hard not to let Sebek's ear-splitting accusations break your patience or your eardrums. "I didn’t do anything to him! And can you not yell? You’re scaring him."  You glance at Maledor, who is now peeking nervously from behind your leg, clutching your jacket tightly. 

Sebek falters only a split-second before putting himself between you and the entryway. This standoff would be comical if it weren’t so tense. "I will not allow a potential kidnapper entrance to Prince Malleus’s domain!"

"Look, I didn’t kidnap anyone," you said. "He appeared in the cafeteria, scared, and accidentally froze half the room. I thought someone in Diasomnia might recognize him or help fix the mess."

Sebek’s eyes darted from you to Maledor and back. "You expect me to take the word of a human? Of Night Raven’s resident troublemaker?"

Sebek's next rant was kept short when suddenly Lilia appeared swinging between the two of you. You screamed. Then Sebek screamed. And Maledor giggled. 

Lilia landed lightly between you and Sebek, his eyes glinting mischievously as always, although there was a subtle alertness there. "My, my. Such excitement at the gates! Am I crashing a secret meeting?" he laughed.

You tried to catch your breath. How did Lilia always manage to appear exactly when you least expected it? "Lilia! Don’t sneak up like that," you gasped, half-laughing but mostly frazzled.

Sebek, who was embarrassed for also screaming, now tried to act as if he didn’t. "L-Lilia! The Prefect has procured a fae child and refuses to answer for it!"

"Oh? My, what an adorable little visitor we have…" Lilia said, studying Maledor’s face with recognition. He seemed to be delighted by Maledor. 

"Uncle Lilia!" Maledor said, before coming out from behind you. 

"Uncle?" you repeated, flabbergasted as you watched Maledor and Lilia interact as if they were long-lost family. "Do you know Maledor, Lilia?"

Lilia’s smile widened, a spark of mischief glittering in his eyes as he knelt down to Maledor’s level. "Of course I know this one," he said. "It’s been some time since we’ve had such a precious visitor from, shall we say, afar."

Maledor’s worry seemed to melt under Lilia’s reassurance. "Uncle Lilia, where’s Father?" he sniffled, rubbing at his eyes. "Everything’s scary and cold."

You blinked, looking between the two of them, feeling very much like you’d accidentally walked into someone else’s family reunion in the middle of things. "Wait, you really do know him?" you asked Lilia, carefully keeping your voice level. 

Meanwhile, Sebek had gone uncharacteristically quiet, torn between his usual outrage and a suspicion that something much bigger than an abduction was happening.

Lilia stood up. His gaze softened as he addressed Maledor. "Don’t worry, Maledor. Your father is very busy today, as are all great kings-in-training. Why don’t you stay with your-" Lilia’s eyes danced over to you, and the corners of his mouth twitched as if privately amused by some secret. "beloved caretaker for now? I’m sure they’ll keep you safe."

Sebek straightened, suspicion not quite dispelled. "Are you certain, Sir, that the Prefect has not enchanted this child into believing-"

"Sebek," Lilia interjected. "Surely you would not accuse our dear Prefect of such underhanded magic?"

Sebek’s mouth opened and closed, before he replied. "I…I would never dare suggest you are incapable of seeing through such tricks, Sir! But this situation is most unusual. We must consider the safety of Prince Malleus. And yet the Prefect is still refusing to offer a proper explanation!"

Sebek puffed out his chest but glanced uneasily at Maledor, who peeked from behind you, still clutching your jacket. Despite his horns and emerald eyes, Maledor looked anything but menacing. Nevertheless, Sebek clung to the role of vigilant sentinel.

You took a deep breath, trying not to get annoyed. "I already told you that I found Maledor in the cafeteria, scared and alone. I don’t know anything else. And anyway, if he were out to get Malleus, freezing the cafeteria wouldn’t exactly be subtle, right? And who would send a child in the first place?"

Sebek seemed ready to continue his barrage of suspicions, but Lilia only chuckled. He bent down, gently patting Maledor’s shoulder while casting a reassuring glance your way. "I think what we all need right now is some warmth and a calm mind. The hallway is no place for important discussions or guests. Why not bring our little visitor and the prefect inside? Come, let’s have tea. We can sort out facts and fancies over something sweet, hm?"

Maledor’s eyes brightened at the mention of sweets. He nodded, tugging lightly at your sleeve as if afraid you’d vanish again. 

All of you headed inside. When Lilia offered to brew the tea and bring some sweets, you immediately volunteered to do it instead. After all, the first rule to surviving a visit to Diasomnia was: Never eat or drink something Lilia made. 

"I’ll handle the tea," you say quickly before Lilia’s hand can get anywhere near the kettle. Your voice is a bit brighter than usual, and you offer a smile to Lilia that’s ninety percent nerves and ten percent sincere gratitude.

"Oh, are you sure? I was hoping to try a new blend…" Lilia said.

"I insist," you reply, perhaps more quickly than you mean to. "It’s the least I can do after all the chaos."

After returning to the lounge room with the tea and sweets, you all sit down. Maledor is quick to take a seat beside you, while Lilia has to urge Sebek to sit down as well instead of standing guard by the windows. 

Steam rose from the cups you carefully poured. Maledor watched you, swinging his little feet under the chair, his misery momentarily forgotten in anticipation of sweets.

As you sit down as well, Maledor asked. "Can I take a cookie, Mother?"

The repeated use of the title 'mother' still caught you off guard every time, as did Maledor asking you if he was allowed to eat a cookie. You nodded eventually. "Yeah, sure."

Maledor’s face lit up as you granted him permission. He snatched a cookie with both hands and promptly stuffed half of it into his mouth, crumbs dotting his cheeks as he beamed triumphantly.

"Say, Maledor," Lilia began, tone filled with curiosity. "it must have been quite an adventure to find yourself here, hm? Do you remember anything? Anything at all about how you arrived at the cafeteria, or where you were before?"

Maledor looked down, chewing his cookie with squirrel-like intensity. Then, after a moment's hesitation, he swung his legs and frowned in concentration. "I… I was in the castle. Not this one… my home. Father was teaching me magic because I wanted to be big! Like him. And then…There was this bright green light, all swirly. It was so pretty, but it got really loud and windy. I called for you." he looked up at you. "But I couldn’t find you or Father, and then I was here. It was scary. I didn’t like it. I just wanted to go home."

You picked up a napkin when you saw that Maledor had finished eating. You cleaned his chocolate-covered fingers and mouth. To which Maledor reacted with a 'Thank you, mother,' after you were done. 

Sebek, in the meantime, asked. "Who is your father? Can you say his name?"

Maledor brightened, as if relieved to be asked something simple. "My Father is Malleus! Malleus Draconia."

You barely had time to process Maledor’s answer before the tea caught in your throat, a cough sputtering out of you in disbelief. You blinked hard, as if somehow the world would flicker and correct itself. Instead, the bright-eyed boy just looked up at you, awaiting your response with absolute trust.

Lilia’s eyes sparkled with a private, knowing delight, a sly grin playing at the corners of his mouth as he watched the chaos unfold with all the satisfaction of someone who had seen the punchline coming a mile away.

Sebek, on the other hand, was completely stunned. The rigid guard posture dissolved into total shock. His mouth dropped open, then snapped shut in a series of fishlike gasps. He gripped his teacup so tightly it threatened to snap in half. He blinked, then searched Maledor’s face. His gaze darted between the delicate, unmistakable horns and those deep, green eyes. For a second, you wondered if Sebek was about to faint. "Malleus… Draconia?" he finally choked out. "Impossible! The Young Master has no offspring! There must be a mistake. Some… imposter trickery!"

"Wait, wait," you managed, gesturing rapidly between Maledor and Sebek. "Hold on, Maledor. You said your father is Malleus Draconia. You mean, the Malleus? Diasomnia’s Malleus? Tall, horns, kind of brooding, makes storms when he’s in a mood: Malleus?"

Maledor blinked up at you. His head cocked with innocent confusion, as if he couldn’t comprehend why you were asking something so obvious. "Of course, Father is Malleus Draconia!" he said, the words sounding so simple, so certain, as if you’d just asked him whether he liked cookies. "You know that, Mother… Why are you pretending?"

You sat, frozen in your seat, Maledor’s certainty striking through you more powerfully than any ice he could have summoned. Your brain scrambled wildly for any logical explanation. Was this a trick? A dream? Did the world flip upside down when you weren’t looking?

"IMPOSSIBLE!" Sebek barked, jumping up so quickly his chair almost fell. "You must be mistaken! The Young Master does not have, could not have, a child without telling his loyal knights!" He pointed a finger at you. "And you, Prefect! What have you done to this child?!"

"I swear, I’m not lying!" you answered, finally finding your voice. "I didn’t do anything to Maledor. He called me mother from the start. Before I even knew his name!"

Sebek, torn between devotion and confusion, snapped. "This cannot be! The Young Master would never keep such secrets. And…" His mind worked frantically. "The time makes no sense! My Liege and the Prefect… you… are not even married!"

You flushed, mortified and indignant. "Excuse you! We’re not anything." You glanced at Maledor, lowering your voice. "Not like that. Just friends, really."

Lilia clapped his hands softly, his voice clear and sure in the commotion. "No need for dramatics. You know, Sebek, sometimes the wind brings secrets from times yet to come. Briar Valley holds many old mysteries, does it not?"

Sebek bristled, trying to regain composure. "Sir Lilia, with all respect, how can we trust-"

Lilia cut him off with a gentle but authoritative voice. "Sebek, look at the child." Lilia turned to Maledor. "You were frightened, weren’t you? Do you remember any enchantments or trickery? Did anyone put strange ideas in your head?"

Maledor shook his head. "No. I just wanted Mother. And Father." He glanced sidewise at you, hope flickering in his green eyes. "I’m not lying. I promise."

Lilia patted his shoulder. "Of course you’re not. Sometimes things happen that even us grown-ups do not immediately understand. Time, magic, fate. I think our little prince here is simply… lost between stories."

"But what does that mean, Lilia?" you asked for clarification, not being able to wrap your head around this situation. "Is Maledor truly Malleus... And my…" You didn't finish your sentence with 'child'. It just sounded too weird. 

"Sometimes, the river of time chooses curious eddies," Lilia mused with a gentle smile. "A leaf from tomorrow might find itself drifting among the branches of today. If it’s not a trick, not a spell, and not a child’s tale, perhaps we must accept that sometimes, the world permits a riddle to live before its answer."

You stared, mouth poised between laughter and a plea for sanity. "Are you saying… he’s from the future?" The words felt ridiculous as they left your lips.

Lilia shrugged lightly. "Magic has never cared much for clocks or calendars. Wouldn’t be the first time something important arrived a little ahead of schedule."

While you were still trying to wrap your head around this, Sebek seemed to accept Lilias' words in a split second.  "My Lieges…" Sebek’s voice faltered, then swelled with fervor. "My Liege's heir! Of course! There can be no other explanation befitting Prince Malleus’s unparalleled greatness! Only Prince Malleus, scion of the glorious Draconia line, could sire such a prodigy! Such strength, such majesty, even at such a young age. Freezing the entire cafeteria! Behold, the testament of our great lord’s power!"

"You are the proof of Prince Malleus’s supremacy. Even time itself cannot contain his legacy!" he gushed. "A scion born of unmatched power and noble heritage! To think, I am in the presence of my Liege's heir -his magnificent progeny!"

"Forgive me, young prince!" He dropped to one knee before Maledor, completely ignoring you now, and offered a bow so deep it was a miracle he didn’t hit his head on the floor. "Forgive me for doubting your identity for even a second. I, Sebek Zigvolt, am at your service, just like I am at your glorious father's service!"

Sebek’s 180-degree turn gave you mental whiplash. Two minutes ago, he was about to lock you up for kidnapping a child. And now he was praising Maledor as if he was the second coming of Jesus. And anyway, where was your praise? After all, if Maledor was yours and Malleus's child, you had also contributed half to this cute little boy.

No, on a second thought, you'd rather not be the subject of Sebek’s loud and lavish praise. You were still in denial about all of this. Honestly, you were just surprised by Sebek’s sudden turn. Like, wasn’t he super concerned that Malleus and you weren’t even married a second ago? As if Sebek thinks children could only be conceived if their parents really love each other and wish for one. He was so innocent. 

"This must be announced at once! The other knights deserve to weep at this glory. Everyone in Diasomnia needs to know. No, the entire College must know. Briar Valley must be informed. And the Young Master!"

Sebek’s words left you even more mortified than the entire situation already did. You are vaguely wishing the frosted cafeteria had swallowed you whole. You couldn’t face Malleus right now. What were you supposed to say? You rather die than face that embarrassment. 

"No! We can’t tell anyone! Especially not Malleus," you interrupted in a voice that could rival Sebeks, before clearing your throat and continuing in a normal voice. "What I mean is, how are we going to explain this? Like, no one is going to believe that a child just showed up from the future, right? They will think Malleus had a secret love child or something."

"I can’t keep the Young Master in the dark about his own flesh and blood. It is my knightly duty to inform him about everything that is happening in his absence!"

Sebek, as always, did not listen, and Lilia was just enjoying the drama for now. In a burst of desperation, you grabbed a cupcake and threw it across the table at Sebek. He stood there, utterly stunned. A thick glob of icing clung to his cheek and crumbs slided down his jacket. He blinked, still processing your audacious cupcake attack. Meanwhile, Maledor, not understanding anything, laughed at that.

"Seems like you can’t go to Malleus now. You wouldn’t stand before your Liege covered in icing, right?" you said, trying to buy time.

"H-How dare you assault one of Prince Malleus’s loyal knights with pastries, human!" he barked. 

The feeling that you brought the situation under control immediately vanished when the door opened. There, calmly and tall, stood the regal figure of Malleus, as if the universe liked seeing your misery. Those sharp green eyes found you immediately and lingered for a breath before shifting to Maledor.

"Father!" Maledor’s cry rang bright and clear. His little legs scrambed down from the chair. He rushed to Malleus with unerring speed, arms stretched wide open.

Malleus knelt smoothly. His regal composure melting enough to open his arms and receive the child -his child- into a gentle embrace. "So it was you I sensed. A presence so like my own, yet unlike any I have felt before."

Heat flooded your face as the initial shock passed. Your first instinct was to bolt from sheer embarrassment. Somehow, you managed to find your voice. "You’re not surprised, Malleus?"

"Surprised?" he repeated "No, not at all. I recognized the resonance of my own magic the moment Maledor appeared." He regarded you calmly. "You seem greatly unsettled. Is it so shocking to you?"

"I mean, yeah! Everyone would be shocked," you replied honestly.

"You truly cannot feel it?" Malleus asekd. "Even now, the air shimmers with our blood intertwined. A melody only you and I could create."

You thought about his words for a moment. Putting it like that, you suppose you did feel something. Although definitely not as clear as Malleus did. "Still, shouldn’t we be more concerned?"

"Concern is natural. But you underestimate the strength of the Draconia blood. And your own as well. Our child would never be so easily lost to time without reason. He will return," Malleus said, voice absolute. "The magic that called him here is already unraveling."

"So the problem will fix itself?" you question. That sounded like better circumstances than most problems you have run into in Twisted Wonderland. "Everything will go back to normal soon?"

Malleus nodded. "Yes. This visit, while precious, is unintended. The magic that summoned him here is unstable and will not last much longer. The world has its ways of correcting itself."

Some of the tension in your chest loosened at his certainty.

Lilia, barely restraining a wide grin, chimed in. "It seems time itself favors your union, hmm?"

Your face went hot again, just as your flustered heart was about to calm down a little. "Y-You can’t just say something like that out of nowhere…!" you stuttered. Your voice sounded more like a nervous squeak. 

"But it's a wonderful thing, isn't it?" Lilia replied. Beneath his light tone, you could sense the sincerity in his eyes. Like a guardian who is relieved to see his forsterling in good hands. 

Malleus regarded Lilia for a moment, then turned back to you, his emerald gaze gentle but searching. "Does it trouble you?" he asked. "If such a future would come to pass would it be so unwelcome?"

Despite your flustered state it didn’t take long for you to shook your head. "No… It wouldn't be unwelcome."

Maledor, oblivious to the tension and simply happy to be near both his parents, studied your face. He shuffled over from Malleus’s embrace and returned to your side, hugging you tightly enough to drive the air from your lungs. "Your face is all red, Mother! When Sebek gets red he gets loud. When Mother gets red she gets quiet," he commented, which made you only more flustered. "I think ice cream makes everything better. Can we eat ice cream?"

You softly pinch Maledor's cheek. "I think someone already had enough sugar for a day with all the cookies and cupcakes."

Maledor’s smile faltered for half a second, his wide eyes shimmering with a betrayed kind of innocence that only a child could muster. Then, with all the cunning of someone who’d clearly inherited far too much of Malleus’s intelligence and dramatic tendencies, he turned slowly toward his father.

Malleus tilted his head. His expression was calm and unreadable. Maledor’s lip trembled just enough to be convincing. "Father..." he began, voice so heart-wrenchingly sweet it could’ve earned him ten free sundaes anywhere in Twisted Wonderland. "Mother said no to ice cream."

The underlying message was clear: Mother rejected me. Only you can right this cruel injustice, Father.

"A most tragic betrayal," Malleus said solemnly. "To be denied joy by one’s own mother. This is indeed a grievous matter."

"Are you siding with him?" you asked, eyes darting from dragon fae to dragon fae. "He’s a little sugar gremlin who just weaponized his cuteness!"

"I am merely acknowledging his diplomatic tact," Malleus replied with a perfectly neutral expression, though the slight twitch of his lips betrayed his amusement. He patted Maledor’s hair, then gently guided him back to your side. "A future prince must know how to plead his case with grace and strategic flair."

"Don’t encourage him," you grumbled, though your lips tugged up in spite of yourself. This entire situation defied logic and physics, maybe even sanity, but somehow... it wasn't as terrifying as it first seemed, not with the way Malleus stood beside you like an unwavering anchor in a storm, and how Maledor leaned against you like he had always belonged there.

"He encourages me," Maledor beamed up at his father.

"I do," Malleus agreed without hesitation.

"I manipulate Mother."

"You do," Malleus affirmed with serene approval.

"You are literally both saying the scheme out loud while I’m right here!" you pointed out. "You’re not supposed to straight-up say it’s manipulation!"

"Don’t worry, Father. Mother always forgives you when you hug her from behind. You do that a lot in the future," Maledor said to comfort Malleus after seeing your grumpy reaction.

Your soul nearly left your body.

Malleus blinked. Then turned to look at you intensely.

You snapped your head toward the child in horror. "Maledor!"

"What?" he asked, blinking up at you with wide, guileless eyes. "It’s true. When you get all ‘grumpy-grumbly’ and tell Father to leave you alone, Father just hugs you from behind, really slow and gentle, and you get all red and mutter something like, 'You know I can’t stay mad at you.'"

"Slow and gentle, you say," Malleus repeated. His expression was thoughtful, as if he was memorizing every word Maledor said. "Hmm. So gentle physical affection dissolves your irritation. I will need to remember that approach."

"That is not the takeaway here!" you interrupted.

"I am merely collecting useful knowledge of what pleases my future consort," Malleus responded smoothly. With almost academic intrigue. "Maledor’s insights are quite enlightening."

Sebek’s complexion was caught somewhere between ghostly pale and tomato red. "Y-Young Prince! This is hardly appropriate information to share in a public setting!"

Maledor blinked at Sebek, completely unbothered. "But Sebek, you said it’s a knight’s duty to speak the truth and uphold honor. I’m just being helpful."

"Yes, but there are degrees of helpfulness...! Some truths are best kept private, especially when discussing the... the subtle... the-" Sebek finally broke eye contact and wheezed, "hugging techniques."

"I agree! We should just stop talking about this," you agreed, hoping the embarrassment would be over now, but then something came to your mind. "No, wait. It is only fair if you also share embarrassing things about Malle- Eh, your Father, Maledor."

Sebek, still recovering from the previous exchange, audibly gasped. "Y-young prince! The Young Master is above embarrassment!"

"No, he’s not," you said flatly.

"Well, Mother says it’s fair," Maledor chirped. "So. When you’re not around, Father gets really weird."

"Weird?" Malleus repeated. His tone remained level, but one graceful brow arched inquisitively.

"Mhmm. Sometimes he just stands in the hallway. Just... standing. Staring out a window. All dramatic and sad," Maledor said before adding brightly. "Oh, and when you come back, even if it’s just from the bathroom, he teleports to your side and says 'Ah, as I suspected, the world only feels whole in your presence again.'"

Malleus remained unshaken, which somehow made it worse. "There is no shame in expressing adoration," he said. "Is it so strange, to long for the presence of the one who stirs your soul?"

Somehow, your idea backfired on you. Not only was Malleus not the least bothered by Maledor's revelations, you are even more flustered now. You didn’t even know what to say, but thankfully Maledor filled the silence again. 

"And one time. Mother kissed Father’s cheek right before a council meeting, and he smiled the whole time. The old scary ministers freaked out and thought Father was about to declare war because he never smiles like that during council."

"Alright, that's enough glimpses into the future!" you interrupted hastily, cutting off any further soul-exposing anecdotes. "Didn’t you say you wanted ice cream, Maledor?"

"Yes, ice cream!" Maledor shouted excitedly. 

"If it pleases the young prince, I shall fetch the finest ice cream the college kitchens offer," Sebek declared utterly serious, though his face was still visibly red from the "inappropriate" things Maledor revealed. 

Lilia, who looked like he was thriving in this chaos, leaned back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head. "This might be the most entertaining thing I’ve seen in a hundred years. And I fought a manticore while wearing a tutu once."

"...Why?" you couldn’t help asking.

"There was a wager. Long story." He winked.

You just accepted what Lilia said without further questions. In a room together with your future child, that just appeared out of thin air, Lilia might still be the biggest enigma. 

You all find your seats at the table again. It didn’t take long for Sebek to arrive with the ice cream. Maledor’s eyes sparkled as he eyed the huge bowl full of brightly-colored ice cream that you placed in front of him. Despite his eagerness, he still waited quietly until you gave him permission to begin eating. Seated beside him, Malleus also seemed to enjoy his bowl of ice cream with quiet contentment. You had the suspicion that he also wanted one from the beginning. 

As you also began eating your ice cream, you began to really process what was happening. Does this encounter mean that your future was now predestined? Does this mean you will stay in Twisted Wonderland and never find a way back home to your world? Will you become the consort of one of the most powerful mages in the whole world, reigning beside him? They were all worthy, existential questions, but one in particular rose above the rest in your mind. 

"Wait. Isn’t it a thing that dragon faes hatch from eggs? So… does that mean I'm going to lay an egg someday? Or is this a seahorse type of situation, and Malleus will lay the egg?"

The room was silent for a moment, but before anyone could answer that very crucial question, Sebek raised his voice. "Seahorse? How dare you compare the Great Malleus Draconia with an unremarkable creature such as a seahorse?!"

While a new round of chaos broke out on the table, Silver probably just woke up wondering why Sebek never came to wake him up for his guard duty. And the frozen students are till waiting for help.

[lavandulawrites]

The “can’t let their crush knows they love her without being awkward asf and getting friend zoned like crazy” trio:

[n3tluka]

[wistfulwanderingone]

🕸 "Whispers in the Glass" 🕸 (Ikemen Prince Horror AU)

Read the Story So Far:

➔ Prologue

Chapter One: The Last One to See Them

“What if the one everyone trusts is always the last to see them?”

It always began with fevered heat.

His lips claimed hers like fire searching for oxygen—deep, urgent, desperate to consume. His hands framed her face as though she were precious, irreplaceable, the only thing in the world worth holding. The press of his body left no room for doubt, no space for fear, only the surety that she was wanted—more than wanted. Worshipped, as though her very breath were his salvation.

The air wrapped itself in the smell of him, the rasp of his breath at her ear, the low murmur of words that sounded like vows. Mine. Always mine. His voice was rough with feeling, the kind that made her spine arch and her pulse race until she thought her heart might break from the force of it.

In those moments, she was alive in a way waking life never touched. She kissed him back like drowning, like she might die without the taste of him. And in the heat of his devotion, she was certain—so certain—that she had been chosen, claimed, adored.

But dreams are liars.

At first it was small things—kisses that ended too soon, touches that cooled before they burned. She told herself it was nothing, only her own fear playing tricks. Yet soon the silence stretched. Where there had been fire, there was distance. His hand slipped from hers, not with cruelty, not with goodbye, but with indifference—like the absence of touch had always been there.

And then came the worst part: nothing at all. No messages. No laughter meant for her. He walked past her in the hall as though she were air, as though he had never traced her lips with promises and kissed them into her skin.

But he still smiled. Still laughed.Just not with her.

She heard it spill from his lips when he leaned too close to other girls. Saw the light in his eyes—the same light she once thought belonged only to her—now shining easily, carelessly, as if it had never been hers to keep.

It wasn’t a break. No slammed doors, no cruel words to mark the end. That was the torment. He hadn’t left. His desire had simply withered, decayed in silence, leaving her clutching the corpse of what once had been alive.

She tried everything. Painted her mouth with the smile he used to crave, wore dresses like offerings laid at an altar—trembling hands fastening each ribbon as if silk and thread could tether him back. She twisted herself into hollow reflections, every motion a sacrifice to the fire that had already burned out.

But he never turned.

She watched from across the room, heart thundering as he bent his head toward another, as if the sacred things he had once said to her were nothing but lines rehearsed for whoever came next.

The hollowness was a hunger with teeth. It devoured her ribs, gnawed marrow from her bones, carved her chest raw and echoing until all she could hear was the splintering sound of her own heart breaking.

Had she dreamed the devotion? Imagined the fire? Or worse—had it been real, only to fade like smoke through careless fingers?

The ache became ritual. She begged without words, without dignity, without end. She told herself he would remember. That he had to. That no one could be held so fiercely, so reverently, only to be forgotten.

And yet, the dream always closed the same way:

Him walking away.Her voice breaking as she called.The sharp, cold certainty that she was no longer anything at all.

She woke gasping, reaching for a body that wasn’t there, throat raw from pleas that had never passed her lips. Her pulse thundered in her ears, her skin damp with dream-heat, the phantom burn of his mouth still pressed against hers.

A deep voice cut through the haze. “Miss?  We’re here.”

Her eyes flew open. The world reeled between dream and waking, and for a heartbeat she could not tell which was worse. Always, it ended the same. Always, she woke with the same truth pressed like iron against her ribs: it wasn’t the kiss that haunted her, but the silence after—the silence that seeped into her bones, curling close like a shadow that whispered she had been abandoned, erased, forgotten.

She pressed her hands to the seat beneath her, grounding herself in the scuffed leather, the faint smell of tobacco and rain. The dream clung like cobwebs—thin, fragile, suffocating—and she grasped at ordinary textures as though they alone could keep her from unraveling.

“Miss?” The driver’s gaze flicked to her in the mirror, his hands poised on the gear shift.

She drew in a breath, her voice unsteady. “Sorry—I didn’t mean to drift off.”

The driver gave a noncommittal nod, already turning back to the road.

The taxi pulled away with a sigh of gravel, leaving her alone at the base of the long stone path. She clutched her suitcase, its weight steady in her hand, though nothing could steady the ache still clawing at her chest.

The academy rose ahead of her, startling in its beauty—turrets piercing a flawless sky, pale walls gleaming like bone, banners stirring faintly in the breeze. A fountain spilled light into diamonds across the air, while roses blazed in full bloom along the walkways—so many roses, red and pink and ivory, their perfume heavy enough to taste.

It should have been beautiful. It was beautiful. Yet the sight caught in her throat. The brightness felt too sharp, the roses too many, their sweetness almost cloying—as if the whole place had been dressed in loveliness the way a body might be dressed for burial.

But, of course, that was only the dream’s fault. The ache it always left behind. Just her, still shaking it off.

She tightened her grip on the suitcase and lifted her chin, willing herself forward. Gravel crunched beneath her shoes; roses leaned close with their heavy perfume. The windows stared down from above—rows of glass, cold and watchful, catching the morning light. The whole place seemed to hush around her, as though it were holding its breath.

Halfway up the path, she slowed. One of the tall windows above the fountain had darkened for the briefest moment—like someone had passed behind the glass.

But when she blinked, the window was empty again, shining too brightly to hold a shadow.

Her chest tightened, the dream still clinging in pieces. She almost turned back—

“Welcome to Rhodolite Academy,” said a voice, low and resonant, carrying the steadiness of someone used to welcoming strangers, warm enough to soften the morning’s chill.

She startled, looking toward the sound.

A young man stood a few steps away—tall, broad-shouldered, his presence not heavy but fresh, like the first clean breath after storm. The academy uniform might have seemed severe on anyone else—black blazer marked with the gold-trimmed rose crest, crisp white shirt beneath—but he wore it carelessly graceful, the loosened crimson tie threaded with gold softening the formality. His dark hair, brushed back but already unruly in the breeze, caught the sun and turned burnished at the edges. Yet what truly disarmed was his smile—open, bright, edged with mischief—and the warmth in his golden eyes, a light that refused to dim.

Before she could protest, he reached for her suitcase, taking it as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“First day?” His smile made it easy to nod. “I’m Leon. I’ll walk you in.” The words carried the practiced rhythm of a line he had spoken before, smoothed by repetition until it sounded as natural as breathing.

He pivoted smoothly toward the courtyard, moving as if the stones had been laid down just for his stride. She followed, suitcase lighter in his hand than it had ever felt in hers. The building rose taller with every step, its rows of windows catching the light like watchful eyes. She tried not to stare too long at them, tried not to imagine her reflection scattered across the glass.

“It really is beautiful,” she said at last, her voice steadier than her hands. “I read the bells ring every day, all year long. I like that. It makes a place feel…alive.”

“Beautiful, yeah,” Leon agreed easily, his smile quick and unforced. “But it changes with the seasons. Spring makes it gentle. Fall makes it honest. You’re arriving at the honest part.” His gaze lingered on the looming building with the weight of someone who believed the word meant more than weather.

His gaze slid toward her then—not just a passing glance, but the kind of quick, measuring look that caught the tremor she thought she’d hidden. Golden eyes softened, warm enough to say he understood even without her telling him. When he leaned a little nearer, there was a brightness to him—sunlit citrus touched with neroli, clean and golden as dawn.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes,” she said—and almost meant it. Something in her chest was strung too tight. New place, new start, new chances—her mother had spoken the words like both blessing and warning. A place where you’ll be seen.

But the dream lingered behind her ribs like a warm stone. In it she was loved, adored—until his hands slipped from hers and she watched him grow bored. Every morning she tried to pretend it was someone else’s story, something overheard and easily forgotten. But the dream never let go. You want too much, it seemed to scold. You ask to be held forever.

She forced a breath, and the ache of it clung close. But the shift of light changed everything as Leon pushed the doors open, and the world inside stole her breath before memory could steal it back.

The entryway belonged to another century. The style was unmistakable—late Gothic revival, all soaring glass and carved ironwork—architecture designed as much to intimidate as to inspire. Light spilled down through towering panes, fractured by old iron tracery, softening against polished wood and a sweep of crimson carpet.

A chandelier, heavy with crystal, glimmered above the grand staircase. She knew the shape—nineteenth century French, tiers meant for candlelight long before electricity was common. Here, the flames had been replaced by bulbs shaped to mimic them, their glow steady where fire should have flickered. It should have felt modern, safer, but instead the imitation carried its own unease—like a memory forced to keep living.

Bouquets of roses wound their way along the banisters—scarlet blooms against dark garlands, their perfume faint but unmistakable. It stirred old customs she’d read about, when flowers weren’t decoration but talismans: beauty set against decay, reminders of how quickly petals wither.

It was beautiful, achingly so, the kind of beauty that pressed close, lush and a little too heavy, as if it knew how easily admiration could slide into unease.

She paused just inside, her fingers curling tighter around the strap of her bag. The academy’s heart was not cold stone after all, but something warmer, older, dressed in velvet and roses. Yet her historian’s eye whispered what her chest already felt—that grandeur this staged was always a mask, meant to impress, to conceal as much as to reveal. And the hush in the air was not silence but waiting, as though the place itself held its breath.

“Not bad, right?” Leon’s voice broke the stillness, bright and easy, tugging her back from the edge of unease. He flashed her a grin, the kind that made shadows scatter. “Don’t worry. It looks dramatic, but you get used to it. Everyone does. I’ve said it a hundred times before.” He tipped his head toward the chandelier, catching its glint in his eyes. “The roses are just showing off.”

His tone pulled a small laugh from her, and for a moment the weight in her chest loosened. He made it feel almost ordinary, as if the shadows had been imagined, as if the silence was only silence. Almost. 

Leon caught the glance she cast back toward the windows and tipped his head, a mischievous spark lighting his eyes.

“Careful,” he said lightly. “If you keep looking over your shoulder like that, the Academy might think you’re already afraid of it. And once it thinks that…” His grin tilted, practiced but warm. “Well. Let’s just say I’ve seen how that ends.”

Heat rose to her cheeks before she could answer, and his grin widened as if that was exactly the reaction he’d been aiming for.

“You’re supposed to check in with the headmaster,” he added after a beat, his tone shifting back to business. “Sariel Noir.”

Something flickered behind the name—like a shadow that brushed even his easy confidence. A name spoken carefully, as though it carried weight.

“Yes,” she said. “I know. Just…easier to say I got lost than admit I needed a second before walking into all this.”

“Smart to pause,” Leon murmured, and the line fell too smoothly—like a reassurance he had given many times before. “Most don’t, and the Academy eats them alive quicker for it.”

Her pulse hitched, uncertain if he was teasing or if something sharper hid beneath the warmth of his smile.

Then, as if he hadn’t said anything strange at all, he brightened. “Do you want to freshen up first? Offices are upstairs, but the ground-floor bathrooms are closer. Big day.”

She did want to—her palms were damp, her blouse clinging uncomfortably beneath the blazer, her skirt creased from the long ride. A loose strand of wavy hair had slipped free, brushing against her cheek no matter how she tried to tuck it back. And if she admitted it, she wanted the reassurance of a mirror—just to see herself whole, neat, not frayed around the edges by nerves and travel.

“Please.”

He smiled like it was a relief that she’d asked him for something. For a moment his gaze lingered—on the stray hair she kept trying to tame, on the line of her shoulders as if memorizing the way she carried herself. There was no mockery in it, only a flicker of interest he didn’t bother to hide before his grin softened it back into ease.

Her stomach fluttered, sharp as the drop on a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. It was too familiar, that sudden sense of being wanted, and for a heartbeat it pressed against the dream still lodged in her ribs. The same ache, the same pull—but this time she was awake, and his eyes were real. That was what unsettled her most.

“This way.”

He turned toward the corridor, suitcase in hand as though it weighed nothing. The motion drew his sleeve tight, a brief glimpse of muscle flexing beneath the wool, the strength tucked too neatly under tailored lines. She fell into step beside him, her shoes clicking against marble in time with his stride. Close enough now to catch the quiet warmth of rose and honeysuckle softened by polished leather—safety wrapped in something steadier, like a garden still holding the rain. Every now and then she glanced at him—at the easy line of his shoulders, the careless swing of his loosened tie—and it startled her, how quickly she noticed. How quickly she wanted to.

The third time, Leon’s mouth curved, just enough to let her know he’d caught her. He didn’t look at her outright, just let the grin flicker there as if to say I see you.

Heat prickled along her skin, half embarrassment, half something else. She looked away first, but the smile lingered in her mind, tugging at her like a secret meant for her alone.

It wasn’t fair. The dream had taught her how dangerous it was to want too much, to believe too easily. Yet Leon’s warmth had already begun to bend the shadows back, like sunlight edging into a shuttered room. And she didn’t know whether to lean into it—or brace herself for the moment it would fade.

They turned down a narrower hall where the floorboards creaked as if learning her weight. The hush deepened here, the roses and chandeliers left behind, until it was only him at her side and the long stretch of shadowed corridor.

He stopped before a door marked LADIES in faded serif letters, the paint worn thin by years of hands pushing past. Balancing her suitcase easily in one hand, he leaned his shoulder to the opposite wall with a kind of practiced carelessness, as if the whole corridor belonged to him.

“I’ll wait just here,” he said, steady and certain, with the reassuring cadence of someone who had promised it before. “Take your time.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, ducking inside.

The air seemed close, heavy, as though every whisper spoken in that room had clung to the tiles and never left. The light softened everything it touched, kind to faces but merciless to silence. Two girls stood at the bank of sinks, their heads bent close to the mirror as if the glass had secrets it refused to share aloud.

One’s hair gleamed, coaxed into glossy, obedient waves; the other wore a constellation of freckles scattered like fate across her nose, her bangs falling in uncombed honesty. Their voices wove together too low to catch, the kind of murmurs that belonged to locker rooms and powder rooms, to the hidden sorcery of girls—urgent little stitches meant to hold some invisible seam from tearing open.

“...walking with Leon that night,” glossy-hair said, her lip gloss catching the light like a seal on her words. “He was the last person to see them—every time.”

Freckles swallowed, her throat shifting visibly. “She was always following him around. Maybe he—”

The door’s soft click cut their whisper sharp. They looked up and saw her—the new girl, the wrong girl—and their faces rearranged with polite speed, as if their expressions had been waiting just behind the glass all along.

“Sorry,” she said automatically, voice too quick, too thin. “I didn’t mean to—”

“We were just leaving,” glossy-hair said, smile blooming bright, so bright it bled at the edges like light caught on a knife. “Welcome.”

Freckles lifted a small wave, eyes skittering to the door and then back to the mirror as if it still held more than reflections. “First day? The Headmaster doesn’t like waiting.”

They drifted toward the door, silence pulling taut between them like a thread about to snap. Glossy-hair’s hand touched the knob, but her mouth couldn’t resist one last incision.

“Leon’s very kind,” she said to no one in particular, her tone bright as glass. “That’s all.”

The words clung faintly to her, though she couldn’t shape them into sense. Just another half-heard story that wasn’t hers. Yet.

The door closed behind them with a hush too exact, as though the room itself had swallowed their voices whole. Their perfume lingered—roses lacquered over with drugstore sugar—clinging to the damp air until it thickened, sweet enough to choke.

Leon’s name still echoed, caught between the tiles and the hiss of the pipes. The last person to see her. Very kind. That’s all.

It should have sounded harmless. Ordinary gossip. But the words had edges. They clung like burrs, drawing blood only once you tried to brush them away.

Her gaze lifted to the mirror. The glass reflected only what it ought—her flushed cheeks, the one rebellious strand of hair—but the silence warped around it, uneasy, as though the mirror had overheard and was waiting for the right moment to whisper it back.

She smoothed her uniform, tugging the hem straight, then ran damp fingers over the wave that refused to stay in place. The gesture was practical, but it felt like a shield. Leon’s smile had followed her inside, steady as sunlight through a window, yet practiced enough that she wondered who else had seen it before. To step back out meant facing it again—only now the girls’ whispers clung like thorns at the edges of his name.

She turned from the sink, but the mirror held her still—its surface quiet, patient, as if waiting for her to look again and catch what it had overheard.

The latch clicked under her hand. The air of the hallway was cooler, sharper, as she stepped back through.

Leon straightened at once, all warm attention, as if he had been waiting only for her. A brightness clung to him, fresh as sun-warmed air with a trace of something green and sweet beneath it, the kind of warmth that steadied even as it pressed a little close. “Better?”

“Yes,” she lied. The rumor coated her tongue with chalk. She wanted to ask—about the girls’ whispers, about who she was, who they were, and if his kindness was truly what they claimed. Kindness could be a vow—or a mask. And from a distance, from a dream, it was impossible to tell the difference.

Something shifted at the edge of her vision. A figure leaned against the wall as though the corridor were his drawing rooom—one ankle crossed over the other, arms loose, every line of him careless. His shirt was half-untucked, collar slack, the knot of his tie skewed just enough to look deliberate: silver crossed with a cool mint shade. His blazer sagged open, wrinkled from wear rather than pressed into obedience.

The grin arrived before the words—sly, delighted, the kind of smile made you wonder what he already knew.

“Ooh, a new girl,” he said, savoring it like a sweet. His voice curled with mock innocence before dipping into something darker, almost hungry. “They really shouldn’t tempt me like this.”

Heat rushed to her cheeks before she could stop it—mortification tangled with something sharper, quicker, that she shoved down as fast as it rose. The air thinned; the corridor shrank. It felt too narrow for her and his gaze at once.

A chill feathered the back of her neck. She couldn’t tell if it was the audacity of his grin or the easy way he wielded it—as if the very walls bent toward his amusement. For a heartbeat too long she forgot what she meant to do with her hands.

“Cut it out, Nokto.” Leon’s voice cut clean, warm as ever but edged with steel. He stepped half a pace closer, as though to place himself between them. The air shifted with his nearness, a faint impression of rain-washed gardens and worn leather, protective as a shield yet edged with a quiet weight that lingered after the warmth. “She’s not here for your games. Try to behave—for once.” His smile tugged at the corner, softening the reprimand into something that looked almost like a joke, though his amber eyes never left Nokto’s face.

Nokto’s smile only widened, lazy and unbothered. He shifted just enough to catch the light, the loose mint-and-silver tie glinting as if it were part of the joke. His blood-red eyes lingered on her—measuring, amused. Then, with deliberate slowness, he tipped her a fox-like wink.

“Don’t worry,” he murmured, the grin sharpening for an instant. “I always behave the way they want.”

The words slid like silk but tasted of smoke, leaving the air tainted. As the silence folded back around them, the corridor felt altered—narrower, darker, as if his grin had left a shadow on the air itself.

Updated: 9/18/2025

Let me know if you want to be tagged in future chapters. And tell me in the comments or your reblog...

Imagine it’s your first day at the Academy—new halls, new faces, and already a rumor that the boy carrying your suitcase might be the last one people see alive.

Would you trust Leon’s kindness…or the whispers?

Horror Specific Tag List: @rjthirsty @hariet436 @rkmaru @valleyvayy28 @bchrmhtl

Usual Ikemen Tag List: @ithseem @chirp-a-chirp @aquagirl1978 @queengiuliettafirstlady

@nyxthepixystick @ikeprinces-stuff @kaizoku-musume @candiedcoffeedrops @missaengg

@ike-garden2024 @writingwhimsey @reborn-elven-spirit @william-rex @avellanas-nutty-empire

@notjonahclemence @justonerandomreader @vegecatto

[muffinthatsimps]

♯ ‘Jade and…?’

Jade Leech x Schoenheit!reader

Warnings!: Jade Leech! fluff<3, Reader is NOT Yuu, Reader can be gn, Night Raven Rumours collection, English is NOT my first language + not proofread.

A/N: I’m trying something new? It’s called ‘Night Raven Rumours’, where the school paper club writes articles about characters and their reader. Oh btw, we can all thank @wifishifey for turning me into a Jade lover <3

🌊𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝🪸

Rumour has it Jade Leech, vice of Octivanelle, is currently with someone? But who is this person? Find we present to you, Volume 3 of Night Raven Rumours. Brought to you by the NRC student paper.

🌊𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝🪸

Dearest students of NRC, rumour says that there is a new couple on campus? Starring none other than Octivanelle’s very own Jade Leech.

Now, Jade Leech. How would one describe such an eel? Asking around, a single description is simply impossible: humble to strangers, calculating to peers, and duplicitous to poor unfortunate souls who have gotten in his way (many of us are forever scarred). However, there is one more, rather unlikely exception to the picture—stressed greatly by his very own twin brother, childhood friend and closest of peers. Smitten. Absolutely and devastatingly so.

That’s right, fellow students of NRC! Rumour has it the Jade Leech, vice-Housewarden of Octivanelle and right hand man of Azul Ashengrotto, has fallen in love.

In the words of the Scarabia Housewarden, Kalim Al-Asim himself, one of Jade’s (self proclaimed) Best friends: “Jade? Oh, Jamil’s not very fond of him, ahaha! I think he’s a great guy, he seems to have a crush on (name)! Huh? No way, they’re dating?? THAT’S SO CUTE, I SHOULD THROW A PARTY TO CELEBRATE THEM!”

Later confirmed by Housewarden Rosehearts, it is revealed that the identity of the lucky(?) lover is our school’s very own (name) Schoenheit! Congratulations to the happy couple!

Following such joyous news, we went around collecting congratulations.

Ace Trappola (Heartslabyul 1st year) : “(name)-senpai and Jade-senpai are dating!? Hey Deuce! Get over here!!”

Deuce Spade (Heartslabyul 1st year) :

“What? THEY’RE DATING?!”

Scarabia B-kun (Scarabia _ year) :

“Ugh, I found out a while ago when I caught them ###### and #### in an empty classroom during club hours… Leech glared at me so hard, I’m still fearing for my life.”

Yuu (Ramshackle prefect) :

“…I’m sorry??? The (name)-senpai? Benevolent and beautiful (name)-senpai is dating Jade-senpai..? Oh, oh! That explains so much!”

Azul Ashengrotto (Octavinelle Housewarden) :

“Yes, a truly joyous event… I have no qualms with their decision to be together, however Jade needs to stop leaving the mostro longue just to go see her during his shifts.”

Floyd Leech (Octavinelle 2nd year) :

“Eh? Jade and (name)? I couldn’t care less… ah, but sometimes I just wanna squeeze the two of them so hard. Jade always has this weird look whenever he’s around (name)… it’s really gross. Not to mention how he keeps—“

Vil Schoenheit (Pomefiore Housewarden) :

“I am aware of my little flower being with Jade, yes. He came to me asking permission to date her after all. Congratulations to the two of them, I suppose…”

There are many notes of celebration for the couple (Buy the Night Raven Rumours magazine: volume 3. For more!) and through it all there is one fact that seems to stand out to everyone around the couple: Jade Leech is hopelessly devoted to his (name). We wish the happy couple all the best!!

-Night Raven Rumours, by nrc’s student paper

——//——

“Sevens!” You laugh out loud, hands crinkling the edges of the mini-magazine in your hands. “Jade, did you read the free copy of this month’s Night Raven Rumours? There’s a whole article about us!”

Jade’s chuckle resonates from his spot by his desk, where he works on another one of his terrariums. He peers up, allowing his gaze to trace over the way you sprawl across his bed. “Indeed, it is quite intriguing. That reminds me, my dear, would you like me to buy the full volume so you may read over all the other comments?”

“Oh, that would be wonderful! I heard Riddle was interviewed as well… what do you think he said? ‘(name) keeps Jade in check, so I must say my thanks’.” You jest half-heartedly, sitting up and placing the article on Jade’s bedside table. “Not so far from the truth, no?”

Your semi-accurate interpretation earns a grin from your boyfriend, who suddenly stalks up towards you before lowering his knees to the floor and pressing a chaste kiss to your nose. “Well, I’m more fascinated by the final statement about my love for you.”

You return the sentiment before he can pull away fully, redirecting his attention straight to your lips.

“Heh, I don’t believe it to be wrong at all.” You mutter out in between the kiss, hands caressing his jaw. “I know well that I am the apple of your eye.”

“Ufufu,” Jade smirks, lips meeting yours again in a fervour. His sharp teeth nibbling slightly at your bottom lip, tantalising you deeper into the kiss. “Certainly, you truly are, my dearest.”

🌊𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝🪸

©muffinthatsimps - 2026 - work belongs to me and should not be reposted, translated (without permission), fed to ai (to train or otherwise) or claimed as your own in any way.

[wifishifey]

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ TWISTED HEARTS

yan! dating sim twisted wonderland x reader. inexplicably, you awake in the dating sim ‘twisted hearts’ as a run-of-the-mill side character. no worries, the love interests are already after yuu. you just gotta stay out of it all, right? 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐒𝐈𝐗. previous part here

“Seriously? You're actin' like I told ya to march into a dragon's den.”

♡ It’s been four days since you’ve officially relinquished the title of jobless. 

The diner in front of you remains undeterred. 

♡ It’s the type you’d  imagine a tourist’s spot like Foothill Town would harbor, and honestly, how you even managed to land a job here is unfathomable. You can still recall the swathe of pity in the interviewer’s eyes when you told him you were an orphan, homeless, and overqualified (you have experience in washing Scarabian dishes). Manipulating situations through pity isn't beneath you. Frankly, you're surprised it keeps working. Truly, do you look that pitiful?

♡ You did get the job at Crisp n’ dips as well, but . . . you turned it down, for very obvious reasons.

♡ Anyhow, no need to dwell on that. What matters more is that you have your first, official job, and you can’t risk getting fired because the busboy (a certain hyena) can’t stop plotting with you. You don’t even want to know why the laws of this universe deemed you two a fit, working pair, and by what sheer misfortune you two work at the same diner: as if having him share a class with you wasn't enough. It reminds you of a certain assertion, the devil couldn't reach you, so he sent Ruggie Bucchi to do the job. ​​​​​​He looks a little goofy clad in work attire, but he’s still that same kid who tries to cop a look at your answers.

“Bucchi—”

“Just slip into Azul's office, look through his contracts, find the one with Vil's name on it, and get out before anybody notices—”

“Bucchi.”

“Easy enough—”

“Bucchi!” 

Snapping out of hysteria, he looks at you, saucer-eyed, ears slapping the side of his head in alarm. Heaving a sigh of great disdain, you turn to him, hoping he can see the look on your face past the mound of fur concealing it. “Go back inside, and clean the tables— whatever is it that you do, please.” 

♡ Oh! He seems amused. You want to punch him. It’s already hot in the mascot costume you’re wearing. Yes— that’s right. They picked you to be a mascot, wallowing in scorching perspiration and struggling to support yourself with spasmodic breaths. Unfortunately, your costume's permanent stitched-on smile sends the opposite message—  it only seems to buttress the smirk he throws your way, and by God, you want to reach in and stuff him in the suit. It’s not like you can take it off, too. You’d done that after a particularly stifling endeavor, and had someone recognize you by the name Magicam Hunchback alone. 

♡ Hmm . . . you wonder if Vil ever took that post down. Obviously not, judging from the speed of verbal recognition thrown your way. Perhaps it was because of your ill-fated nerves you hadn’t asked him to— you can’t help it, can you? Not when the lilac of his pupils drink you in and have you standing on the cusps of edged needles. He’s beautiful, above you, far more competent than you’ll ever be. It’s only natural he deems your futile requests a hassle to deal with... so if people were still theorizing about you being a soft launch and your tutor being involved with you in a relationship, why wouldn’t he take it down? It’s like he wants you to suffer just because you don’t knuckle under his demands. 

♡ People talking about you, it doesn’t get out of your head, never does. They definitely make him laugh. Oh, great, thank you. How did bro pull Vil? You never wanted to. They must have a GREAT personality. You’d argue with that, but let it go— after all, if there’s one thing you’ve learned from arguing and making amends with someone who compares you to an uncooked potato: is that it’s fruitless. 

♡  . . . Ah,  that  reminds  you!  Speaking of doom, it  reminds you of the man responsible for half your mounting problems. You need to remember to tune in for today’s study session. He’s made it clear he won’t take your escapades lightly anymore.. and with Rook always carrying a thrashing, less composed version of you over his shoulder, you’d rather not risk the humiliation. 

“..Seriously?”

“Huh?”

“Yer eyebags got eyebags.”

Ruggie's voice brings you out of your self-induced conspiracy. Peeling your lids open, you turn to look at the hyena. Through the spotty lens of your mask, you can only see half of his face, but you very well know it’s steeped in curiosity. Especially when he looks at the slip in your hand— or..paw.

“Is that a doctor's prescription? You catch a disease?”

“No, it’s Vil’s handwriting.”

There’s silence 

Raising his hands in surrender, he yields,  with  a low whistle following the interval. “Y'know what? My bad. Would've rather heard it was terminal.”

“Tell me about it.” A press of your brows has your lips curving down. No matter how you shape it, your mind keeps sinking to the dilemma at hand. Why did Vil want you in his club? “I doubt Vil would let me go unscathed if he caught me saying this, but it really is tiring having to deal with him.”

Ruggie, no matter how little credit you give him (a pittance, really) catches on to your sombre tone. It’s only natural he does. You can’t find it within yourself to fake your emotions, or put up a façade when every two seconds there’s a little kid giving you a gummy smile and planting themselves beside you for a picture. Rocking on his heels, shoving his hands into his pockets, he treads very, very carefully. You get the gist he knows what’s up, that this is the most fun he’s had all year round. 

“...Y'know.” He avoids eye contact, lest you send another invisible scowl his way. “Usually when rich people start offering ya opportunities...”

There’s a moment’s pause before he deigns you a glance. A chameleon-like ability where the hues of his irises shift from to blue to gray. 

“They’re investin’.”

You thump your head against a wall and startle a couple of children. 

“Think about it! Nobody spends this much effort on somebody unless they're plannin’ on getting something back.”  He insists, waving his hands in your face as if to stop you before you actually bash your head in the wall and die. He’d lose his job if you did.  “Ya really think world-wide supermodel, hotshot Vil Schoenheit would deign a simpleton like you a glance?" He tilts his head. “People like you n’ me don’t get that luxury, and you still don’t get it through your head, do ya? You really are a goody-goody.”

♡ There’s no reason for Ruggie to do this. Really? Subtly coerce you into drowning yourself beneath waters and digging your own grave? The Ruggie Bucchi you know wouldn’t dare risk that, and you’re sure, on the assumption of yours that the Savana overblot has passed, that he’d know this better than ever. 

♡ Unless . .

he’s intentionally trying to get you into trouble?

You sneak a glance at him. No matter how much of a layabout he may seem, he excels at his job, leaving tables spick and span and finishing it off with a swift assist to the waiters. When he talks, occupied, those twin canines protrude. You mustn’t forget why you want to stay away from them. They don’t keep your safety in their minds.

Twisted Hearts is a game about villains. 

♡ Right! You don’t know Bucchi, really, you don’t. You know about the territorial hyena from the cringe-fest that is Twisted Hearts, but him in reality, you don’t. Does he know about Yuu and you? You wouldn’t put it past him. You don’t even know if Yuu and him are acquainted, if he’s head over heels just like the others, if he would really go that far as to intentionally lead you astray. He can smell you, can’t he? He is a beastman. Would he? One look at his smirk tells you the truth clear and fair. Who knows how to lurk in the shadows and contort their movements from afar the best, other than you, of course?​​​​

♡ You may have let Kalim get to you, you may have dampened Jamil’s suspicion, but that doesn’t make them your friends. They are not your friends. If they find out Yuu’s inner workings, they’ll make your life miserable, would they not? Because that’s what they are. 

♡ Characters bound to destroy the world for their one and only. And in no universe, no matter how much Yuu deems it true, are you anyone’s muse. 

“Mummy, look!” A finger juts out in your direction. “A rabbit!”

This is humiliating. 

♡ Heaving another sigh of despondence, you try to peer at the crowd. Taking up all the seats are customers immersed in idle chitter-chatter and fussy children. In a way, it looks no different from your world,if you ignore the obvious dissimilarities in their comportment and physical characteristics. One customer has ears bigger than their head — what type of beastman is that? One looks like a run-of-the-mill average Joe. One has teal hair, striped with black, and the other . . 

♡ Wait, what?

♡ . . Teal hair? You blink a few times to enhance what you’re seeing. You’re staring at the back of a person’s head. Into a haircut that’s all too familiar. Is that . . Jade? 

♡ Yeah! There’s Yuu. Sitting opposite him. They’ve managed to find your job location, or not, perhaps they’re both here on an excursion. A very one-sided excursion where the latter is trying to ignore the eel’s prodding and probing, any sane eye can see Jade is annoying them, and he just seems so lively. In a way, a manner he never took up when he was with you, a manner which differs so far from his formality. He seems full of energy here, so entranced — you suppose you aren’t capable of overpowering Yuu in this regard. It seems as if their charm is irresistible. 

♡ But then they get up. And you have this unbearable urge to get the eel alone and atleast share a word or two with him.  Yuu pays, clearly, and they’re leaving, another dot in the mass of a thousand. Surely, this isn’t what he’s been doing all this time? Frolicking around with Yuu? Your tormentor? How original.

Before you know it, a rabbit paw catches his sleeve. It's.. well, a bit worn out. Not something you’d expect Jade to wear, but his name comes out nonetheless.

“.. Jade?”

When he turns—

you realize that is not Jade.

♡ Floyd Leech?! 

♡ How doomed are you?! How did you even let it slip past you that Jade has his other half? You’re extremely lucky you’re still clad in your little rabbit costume, because you don't think you can ever stand the notion of him  copping a look at your face and recognizing you on campus. You go rigid entirely, words on the precipice of your tongue and perishing right after as his eyes, half-lidded and bored, languidly rove over your probably ridiculous button eyes. Extricating your hand just as it latched on, you stand in place. 

♡ . . . You also make sure to give him a little wave. Just in case he takes your silence into suspicious account.

“Huh?” The nasally voice is accompanied with the slow stretch of a pointy smile. “And who’re you—”

“Floyd!”

♡ Whatever attention he had on you gets wiped off in a millisecond, and he slinks back towards Yuu almost obediently. You release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Opps are everywhere.

♡Oh, shoot! You totally forgot today was the day of the most dreaded examination: midterms. 

♡ And that’s not an atypical thing, really. You’ve never focused on those, that’s how you get your grades to amount to a forgettable pittance, but today is especially dreadful because in the midst of ‘fixing up' your bedhead, Vil had spent the better part of twenty minutes reminding you he expected nothing short of excellence. You can understand his expectations, after all, he'd spent months drilling the material into your skull, whether you welcomed it or not.So with a smile that stretched a little too tightly over your lips, you assured him you would. And you’re sure if this world were any more unbelievable, you’d have a big, fat paper slapped on your back with the words liar.

♡ Specifically because you’re stuck on the first question. You kept skimming through the sheet trying to find a question you’d at least know about, before realizing you’d reached the end of the paper — and you can just imagine that scowl on his face. You can remember him droning on about this same problem, but your memory’s waterlogged, and no amount of scourging can pluck that itch free. .  What an exemplary upperclassman you are!

 ♡ It’s also not just because of Vil, it’s also because this is the start of book three, and if your notion goes according to plan, then Ace, Deuce, and Grim will all grow little sea mementos on their head—with Yuu left to save their friends from their own stupidity. It’s quite laughable, really. That part keeps distracting you. 

“A bold answer.”

♡ Professor Trein has made ten rounds to your table, and has stood above you for the better half of  it as you both stare at a blank page. Whenever you write out the answer, it elicits a disapproving hum, and you’re forced to wipe it out. In the end, you just make do with a solid guess, and turn your paper in, chewing down your uncertainty and following the tide of students as they make their exit. 

♡ The rest of the day resumes.

♡ After a tiring study session with Vil, you attempt to trudge back to your dorm. Your mind’s hazy, misty, and through the dense, foggy plumage shrouding Night Raven, you struggle to keep up. It doesn’t help your brain is, much to your resistance, actively trying to memorize thirteen pages of alchemy at the same time, so when you see more than three figures up ahead — or atleast the shape of them — you uncharacteristically pay them no heed. Big mistake.

♡ Oh, shit! Your suspicions that someone had noticed Yuu's sudden interest in you are confirmed sooner than expected. Namely, when a handful of Savanaclaw students corner you on Main Street and decide a confrontation is a perfectly respectable substitute for magic. You’re no stranger to conflict, but you’re not a connoisseur of handling them too, per se — so imagine your surprise when you’re boxed in by the most ripped beastmen known to man.  They give Savanaclaw its name, it seems, and promptly remind you to never engage with the dorm again. Because . . . it doesn’t make any sense. You haven’t done anything wrong, what reason do they even have to resort to violence? 

♡ Unless . .  someone called them in? Ruggie doesn’t strike you the type to do that, neither does Leona (or does he? He was never your favorite) so perhaps you’re just haplessly grasping at straws and hoping your little theories land. Either way, the group doesn’t give you any room to argue. Grabbing your collar, reeling you in by the shoulders, whatnot. The typical bunch of Savanaclaw knuckleheads, really, so that accomplishes one more goal of yours: physical pain.  You don’t know which part of your body hurts, it's everywhere. 

“We’ve heard of ya” One of them snickers. It’s a hideous sound, you think, one that makes you stare past them amid the aridity of your throat. 

“.. You have?”

“You deaf or somethin’? That’s what he just said.”

♡ Quick! Think of something! Damn you, Vil. If he hadn’t plagued your mind with textbook material, perhaps you’d conjure one of the typical tricks you have up your sleeve. It then occurs to you, you don’t even have any experience in the fighting department. How are you even supposed to defend yourself? You watch as they quite literally empty the contents of your bag, bric-a-brac and stationery descending on the ground in cacophonous waves. It’s clear no one is around the area this time, all except—

“Hey, can you guys please move aside?”

♡ Deuce Spade! And . . . who’s  that?

Someone’s behind him, but your focus remains on him. “I need to get to Mr. Sam’s shop. You’re blocking the way.”

“Mr.Sam’s shop?” A rowdy beastman chuckles. “Why?”

“.. I need to get some parchment.” Deuce’s eyes narrow, spade crinkling and belying his skepticism beneath. “I’m going to send a letter home.”

♡ Except . . . he seems wary of you. Not just you, all of you. Does he even know you’re the one that’s being wronged here?  There’s someone behind him, someone you’ve never seen before, but something about them rings a bell of recognition within you.

♡ The contours of their face, the way they stand tight-lipped, they have a good couple of inches over Deuce — their hair is quite messy, jutting out in sleep-mussed strands as if they rolled out of bed, yet giving the impression it’s styled like that on purpose, curling around their face. Their face is steeped in staid indifference, they don’t spare a single glance towards the delinquents, yet amid their unsolicited questions, it treks towards you. 

♡ Who is that? Your heart squeezes in on itself. Your lip’s worn between your teeth as you feel them comb through your concealed stature, languidly traversing each and every part of your figure. It makes you feel uncomfortable, it makes your privacy feel impinged upon and paraded for their perusal. . .it feels as if the mere sight of you is being drunk in.  Who is that? They look familiar, overly familiar, too familiar. 

♡ That’s Yuu?

Your eyes are nailed open, pinned wide by incredulity. You don’t know why, but your heart bursts in little staccatos. There’s a little, stray strand at the side of their head, and dare you say, it’s styled exactly like the Leech twins. 

♡ No way. No way! They actually did it. They changed themselves because you poured your heart out at some blasted library! But . . what about their height? Even their face seems different. Makeup? Heels? Now they’re accompanying Deuce, staring at you, because no matter how much you could’ve told them you like someone who couldn’t give a single care in the world about you, they can’t help themselves. It’s like they need to stare at you.  Just what the hell is wrong with them? Do they really think you’ll topple over by their feet just because they did a little something new with their face or hair?

“Well, look what the prefect dragged in.” The Savanaclaw knucklehead jeers. “Deuce? Ain’t you supposed to be runnin’ your ass off at the track club and sucking up to your professors? Piss off, and take your little wuss with ya.”

Deuce looks on the cusp of letting his face devolve into pure fury. You can’t help but think it’s not that serious, but upon watching the tremor of his lips, you reconsider. The prefect and he have been pals since the beginning, and they must’ve fought tooth and nail beside each other. It’s only natural they have that kind of relationship, palpable in the way he pushes them behind him. Oh, wow. Shielding them with his body? Ground-breaking.

“Yuu, get behind me.. I’m only asking you this once, alright?” His brows press as he takes his attention to the group. You can’t help but feel as if he doesn’t remember you.  “Step aside. We’re not here to pick a fight, so please move out of the way.”

Yuu obliges, shuffling, though you’d argue that’s because they’re too busy staring at you, gauging your face for a reaction. A reaction on the change. A reaction on anything.

The Savanaclaw bastard mulls it over. “Hm.” Then he cranes his neck head-on. “Nah. Can’t say the same for us.”

♡ That’s all it takes for a punch.

♡ The sound is loud on skin. You don’t even know who threw it, but somewhere amid the jabs, punches are flying. Punches are flying in every wayward direction. Punches are flying . . . at you? The last thing you see is a Spade, and then your entire vision gets tilted, harshly. You’re spinning, why are you spinning?

♡ You realize a second too late when the air is knocked out of you. Did you just get punched by Deuce Spade?! 

♡ A solid right hook to your rib and you fall to the ground in blinding pain, it’s like he straight up tore something out of you. A half-choked scream evades and amid the tussling bodies, you see Yuu staring at you. They make no move to rush to you— but the pain is unbearable, and you clench the space over your ribs. Pain shoots up in your cheek when someone tumbles over you, dust kicks up everywhere. 

It's clear everyone’s getting their ass handed to them.

You lay sprawled on the ground alongside some ugly Savanaclaw bastard. Grunts follow. Glaring at him, you seethe. “This is all your fault.”

“... Sorry, man.”

And with that, stars burst in your vision.

♡ You wake up in the infirmary. 

♡   It takes you a while to come to.

♡ Your vision is, at first, incredibly spotty, and for the dots to ebb away, requires you to keep on blinking. Blinking requires strain, and strain requires more pain which you don’t deign to verbalize.  There’s no question that you were brought here by someone, a student, even. No lights have been turned on, you’re left in the quiet chalice of moonlight streaming in from windows and the growing pain on the plush of your cheek -- it’s past curfew, and no one is in the office, not even the Savanaclaw mutts. Shuffling, you realize a blanket’s draped over your shoulders, and a poorly-attached.. bandage on your skin which flutters away. 

♡ . . What a bummer! You  got  your  ribcage  and cheek beat in? You should’ve known to jump out of the way, especially since you know more about Deuce than anyone in the room! You must’ve really underestimated his relationship with Yuu. Because Book Three is coming around, it should be even stronger than before, considering they’ve dealt with two overblots. Strangely though, Yuu in Twisted Hearts was never quiet when he’d been forced to take to his fists. In fact — the dialogue options all centred around de-escalating the situation. 

♡ . . Seems like you really messed with their head after the library incident. Thought it should offer you some comfort, it has icy shards of reluctance roving over your spine. If the time might come where you’ll be coerced into interacting with Adeuce again.. then you’d have to book it immediately. Yuu’s made it clear they’ll stop at nothing, especially since they’ve changed their appearance. 

“You’re awake.”

♡ .. 

♡ ..What? 

♡ ​​​​​Ack! What the heck?!

♡ You flinch, blinking once more, and look around the room for the source of the voice. 

♡ There's an apparition at the foot of the bed. No, there’s a person standing there, a person you’ve never met before, you can tell. The pitch of their voice,  the dialogue.. it’s all unfamiliar and..

It’s Yuu. 

♡ The room glistens once.

Or.. it looks like Yuu. 

It looks like Yuu, but with the way they’re dressed and carrying themselves, they look like J̸A̸D̸E̸. They don’t look like themselves, and how long had they been standing there, watching you mull everything over on your tongue? Back at Main Street, you’d skimmed over their new looks, but now, having given the luxury of time, you’re taking it all in and realize that they’re trying to impersonate him. The man, who you, in the heat of the moment, had called best friend. ​​​​​​

Your heart quickens. How did you not notice it before?​​​​​​

Beams of silvered incandescence fall in stripes upon their face, and you realize their eyes have been morphed into a different shape, their lips a different colour, their height now towering over you...  What? How’s that even possible? How come no one noticed it at Main Street? Had they always looked like that? No— that’s not right. There is something completely wrong and yet has eluded everyone. Even the Savanaclaw brutes recognized them as the prefect, where you, someone who’s been flanked by said prefect, erred in the recognition at first. 

“.. Yuu?” 

J̸A̸D̸E̸, they look like. J̸A̸D̸E̸, the manner they carry themselves. They drink in the battered and bruised visage you’re clad in, and with that ̷J̷̷A̷̷D̷̷E̷’̷S̷ ̷G̷̷R̷̷I̷̷N̷  playing on the softer curve of their lips, their J̸A̸D̸E̸’S̸ H̸E̸A̸D̸ lolls towards you. Y꙰U꙰U꙰     J꙰A꙰D꙰E꙰   Y꙰UJ꙰J꙰A꙰D꙰E꙰

“Forgive me.” Upon receiving a pointed brow from you, h҉e҉  chuckles. “I was under the impression that reunions between companions of a certain familiarity were typically accompanied by some gesture of goodwill. A hug, if I recall correctly.”

They’re speaking like him. A roulette of personalities before it clicks into one concrete thing. You’re not even looking at their face anymore, your hands are wound around the softer bedsheet and your lips are restless welts between your teeth. What do you even do in this situation? Yuu, somehow, against all odds, has boxed you in an infirmary. It terrifies you, but, audaciously, you chew down the quiver of your face and school it into a calmer one. 

“Yuu.” 

You can’t see their eyes, but you know they widen around your utterance of their name. Quickly, before you can even process it, they cover the distance between you too. It has you jerking back against the wall, biting back a hiss at the strong contract. —They’re in front of you. They’re looking at you. What have you even done to deserve this?

“Yes?” Your eyes hesitantly climb upward. 

“.. Can you leave?”

They look like you’ve just said something befuddling. Quirking a brow and adorned in that same expression as you, they question. “.. Why? You’re hurt, aren’t you? It’d be unwise of me to leave you to your own devices.” Their eyes glister. They’re yellow now. A color oh-so familiar. “Oh, speaking of you being hurt, I apologize on behalf of Deuce. He really..”

Your hands. Their hands. They meld them together, fingers slotted against each other. Yours are warm, but theirs are denuded of any temperature, even as they press into yours like an ill-fitting locket. There’s a pit amassing in your stomach, gnawing at you, a massive blackhole of dread. It's everywhere, coagulating in the confines of your throat, even your ears and rigid body. You won't look them in the eyes, even as they give your hands a squeeze of confirmation, as if to ascertain you’re actually there. 

“.. He really angered me, you see.” Nails delve into the plush of your skin, before releasing it in a portrait of half-moons. “Oh, but enough of him. May I talk to you?”

—As if you’re real. 

Are you real? You can still hear their voice in the back of your mind. 

♡ No, no, no. You want to scream at them, but you’re afraid it’ll only escalate the situation. 

“.. Okay.” You tread carefully. “We’ll talk. We'll talk tomorrow, okay? I’ll talk to you all you want—” 

“—Just leave. I’m hurt.”

♡ It’s like they can't bear the thought of not listening to you. 

♡ Nodding, you watch them exit the room, the door closing. And just like that, you hide beneath the covers, not wanting to lament on what the fuck just happened! Squeezing your eyes shut, you don’t breathe until you're certain their footsteps have diminished into nothingness. 

“Spud!”

You jerk awake. 

♡ Dampness amasses upon your waterline before slivers of it stream down and onto your open palm. You’re sat upright, and the face of your tutor, Vil Schoenheit, should not offer you so much relief, but the bottled up chrysalis of your heart, the thumping staccatos of your pulse, all join to let out the happiest sigh you’ve ever breathed. You’re in the nurse’s office, you have not moved places, but Yuu is not here anymore. They’ve left. 

“Vil!” 

♡ You chew the word back down when you see the surprise on his face.

♡ You don’t know if it is because you’ve never once willingly uttered his name so.. joyfully, or because he’s wondering why, on the name of the Sevens, are you here. Judging from the way he’s in his Dorm Uniform, you must have taken him out of Pomefiore for this occasion, but beneath the gloam, he really does look like a cherub, an angel, more so because his face is tenfold embellished, softened and glamorous — not a day goes by where he doesn’t look gorgeous. Your  guardian  angel,  you’d describe him as, if you were a completely different breed of yourself, and if the circumstances were different, and if..well, you get the gist.

“..”

For the briefest of moments, more surprise fractures his impeccable composure. It vanishes just as quickly.

"Well." He smooths a nonexistent crease from the sleeve of his uniform.His lilac eyes sweep over your face with unsettling precision.  "That is certainly the most enthusiastic greeting I've ever received from you....Should I assume you've suffered another concussion?"

You hastily scrub at your face and wince.  The valleys of your palm glisten, giving you away.  “..No.”

"You've been crying." At your prolonged silence, he shakes his head.  “You have no need to verify it, I have eyes."

He doesn’t prod for more. Instead, he crosses the room with measured steps until he stands beside the infirmary bed, crossing his arms. 

"The physician informed me you were rendered unconscious after an altercation. Really? I leave you unattended for one afternoon and somehow you manage to involve yourself in physical violence."

“...It wasn't on purpose.”

“I would certainly hope not.” His thumb lightly catches your chin before you can recoil. He angles your face toward the light. “...Though judging by the state of your cheek, I can see bruising, and here I was under the impression you merely enjoyed collecting eye bags."

Letting you extricate yourself from his nitid hold, he eyes you, brows knitting close at your reluctance. “Did the nightmare concern your altercation?”

.. Was it a nightmare?

“..No.”

“Someone else, then.”

“...Yeah.”

He studies you long enough that you begin wondering if there's something written across your forehead.

“Who?”

“I dunno.”

He turns away, sighing. 

“I've discovered that people disclose the truth more readily when they cease believing they're being interrogated.” He glances back over one shoulder. “So I will ask you again another day.”

“Did you call me spud to wake me up?”

The question is airy, quick but elicits a soft sigh from him, stopping him in his tracks. When he whirls around, heels clacking against the tiles, there's a curvature to his lips, but not of pride.  As if almost conveying he’s got you  figured out, that you aren’t as elusive as you’d deem yourself. The sort of expression worn by someone who's finally finished assembling the last piece of a puzzle.

“So that is what's troubling you.” You stiffen, and he hums, folding his arms. “I suppose I can indulge your curiosity. After all, it would have been rather inconvenient to recommend you for Film Research while referring to you as 'that spud from Scarabia.”

Your stomach drops.

“Naturally, I sought out your student record.”

♡ Horror dawns upon you. It's then you realize of course there should be a school record of the person's body you’ve been transmigrated into. 

“Only to discover...” His smile thins. “...that you seemingly don't have one.”

♡ . .   

“Quite an impressive feat, really. Every student admitted to Night Raven College leaves behind paperwork. Enrollment records. Academic reports. Disciplinary files, in some unfortunate cases.” His gaze settles on you. “You, however, appeared to have vanished from the school's archives altogether. It was terribly inefficient.”

He brushes an invisible speck of dust from his sleeve.

“Fortunately, Housewarden Al-Asim proved considerably more cooperative. I simply requested whatever documentation Scarabia had on you.” His eyes soften into something almost miserable. “..As you can imagine, my efforts did not bear fruit.”

♡ You don’t answer.  Kalim knows your name. That day, at the infirmary, you'd given him it willingly, but it surprises you that he didn’t give it away. Did he even remember it? He has more than thirty siblings and he knows all of them by name, allegedly. It should be habit by now.. (Still, amid the sheer terror that Vil just implied he’s going to take you out of Mountain Lovers and place you into Film Research instead, you feel warmth in your heart). 

Presently, you school your expression, letting your gaze trek upward into the purple inferno that’s Vil. So, Ruggie wasn’t lying when he said Vil had been to Octavinelle. He must’ve struck a deal with Azul, Azul must’ve gotten Jade to comply, and Jade must’ve agreed.  “I don’t want to join your club, Vil. I respect you as my tutor—”

“Do you? That’s certainly shocking.”

“But I can’t accept this.”

"No,"  You don’t know what you were expecting, but the degree of his calm, it infuriates you no more than it riddles  you with confusion   “You won't accept it. There's a difference, and a rather important one.”

He covers the distance between you and purple inundates your vision, the purple of his dress, plaguing the ground. Though you’re loathe to admit it, his composure is far more formidable than outright anger, and subconsciously, you sink deeper into the blanket fortress you’ve built around yourself. Cool antiseptic against the interior of your skin, it grounds you until your eyes are inevitably forced to dwell into the reign of his eyes. 

"Acceptance, if you’d give it some thought, would mean consideration followed by a conclusion. You, however, as I’ve said before, have made a habit of refusing opportunities before you've even afforded them a glance.”

“Because they're opportunities I don't want.” You curl, coil, and do everything to shield your face from his. Detestable, you can tell it irks him so, so much. “I don’t want them. I don’t want to be put into the spotlight, I don’t want to be seen, I don’t want any of this!”

It shames you. Puts you to shame more and more and more. Sentences you to a perpetual embarrassment, because here you are reduced to tearful, loud hysteria, and Vil has not once raised his voice at you. He peers at you the same, a petulant toddler in his eyes. Why? Why can he never see you as something more than that?

“Are they?”

“—Yes!”

“Or are they merely opportunities that require you to become something more?” A long nail scrapes the cloth and suddenly, the blanket is taken away from you. You gasp involuntarily,  crisp air meets the bare of your skin and your mouth falls shut, given the luxury of seeing his face clearly. You don’t mull it over too long for his liking, and he scowls.  Deep and unforgiving. “Tell me, have you once attended Film Research?”

“No.”

“Have you spoken to any of its members?”

“..No.”

“Then by what merit have you deemed it unsuitable?”

“...Because...”

It is a strange, trance-like, curse-like bubble you’re in. Words seep from your mouth and into the fracture of the air much too fast, for a moment you’re inclined to believe he’s used his signature spell on you. Has he? Can he even do that? You hate him.

“...Because Mountain Lovers leaves me alone. I want peace. I don’t want people looking at me.”

Vil lets out a slow, almost imperceptible breath.

“There it is. You've convinced yourself you don't deserve them to. You are under the absurd impression that remaining invisible somehow absolves you of responsibility." His tone remains maddeningly even. "If no one knows your name, they cannot burden you. If no one notices your work, they cannot expect more of you. If no one grows attached, they cannot disappoint you." He tilts his head. “...It's a remarkably comfortable philosophy.”

His eyes narrow just slightly.

“It is also cowardice, and if there is anything I despise more than sloth, it is precisely—”

Lilac. 

“Cowardice.”

Even through the crescendo of his stare, you feel as though you can’t let him leave just yet. 

“Wait, Vil!”  He stops, and you lower your head in shame.

“.. Can you at least walk me back? To Scarabia?”

♡ You are a coward!

♡ A smarting, throbbing pain pulses throughout your body, you hiss and seethe and sputter into Scarabia’s lounge, where the night sky, buttressed by noctilucent stars on liquefied ink, bubbles and takes you into its breezy arms. You arrive quite late, at a time where everyone has surely returned to their rooms and tuned in for the night, but this is not your first rodeo and definitely not your first time breaking curfew. You’re more so grappling with the fact that Deuce Spade, the seemingly, oh-so loyal companion, has thrown a solid right hook to your rib and now you’re most likely crippled. . .  and that Vil has, without mercy, sentenced you to a lifetime of Film Research.

♡ You hiss again. You’d very well seen dialogues regarding how others would describe his strength as unexpected, but you didn’t really expect you to be the example.

♡ You'd been so convinced the stolen items had something to do with Jade, or Y҉I҉U҉U҉—or perhaps the usual mound of unrequited love. But now, you’re re-considering where you really stand. Had it been done out of malice? The characters have shown they've no qualm with hurting you, and clearly, this implies they’d stoop to more . .  . . violent methods, if needed.  Crisp air only burns the welts on your skin, you’re glad no one’s here to see you reduced to such a state. 

♡ Except the viper! Isn’t that just so peachy?

♡ He knuckles at his lids three times before letting his face pucker into a ball of confusion and drawn brows. Donning his sleepwear, his hair meanders loose, and his skin’s rid of gold, the same as you’d seen on him the night before. Stumbling, toppling over your own tongue in a drawl, you don’t realize the burn of air is whisked away with the sensation of someone tugging at your uniform and setting you down on the ottoman.

“Do I even bother?” He questions. Your head is low, dipped. A swab of cotton pounces at your face, a pitter-patter following the motion of his fingers.  Do I even bother asking you what happened, because you and I both know you never speak the truth? And how did you even get Schoenheit to walk you to Scarabia? With a finger pressed along your ribs, he prods. “Tell me when.”

♡ Gah! Everything is happening so fast, you can’t even process it. How can you when the one guy who’s so steeped in loathing is staring back at you, after you’ve just had a mental acceptance regarding their partiality to violence?

“When.”

“I haven’t even touched the bruise yet.”

Luckily for him, you’re pretty dazed after the encounter. 

“Wheehee... My bad.” A puddle of emotions twist your face into a frown as you lament. “Do you know they didn’t even use spells? It was a bare-knuckled fight!”

“Shh. Follow my finger.”

“You’re holding up two.”

“Only one.” Lolling his head skyward, his lips press down into a thin line of.. irritation. Even when you’re crumpled, he eyes you warily. There is always something in those eyes of his, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d have taken it lightly. But you don’t, because the way he peers down at you, it’s almost literal. You beneath him, the natural order.   “..  I thought you avoided attention, so why provoke Savanaclaw?”

You have a strong aversion to small talk, especially when Jamil is on the receiving end. “Really generous to assume they need a reason for beating me up.”

“Hm. I suppose that’s true,” Without any need to continue conversation, he still keeps on probing for more. It’s quite laughable, isn’t it? He never struck you as the type to willingly engage in chatter with you, even now, his face is strained. How fun, knowing you’ve inconvenienced him.  “Still, I would’ve thought you the type to  at least defend yourself.”

You perch your cheek on your hand. “You thought wrong.”

“Clearly,” Pausing against your temple, the cotton is cool, even while littered with grime. “Why?”

“Why you thought wrong? Well, clearly, it’s a skill iss—”

“Why? You've had opportunities. If people insist on handing you those, why keep on refusing them? Even your own Housewarden likes you.”

You grimace. “I wouldn't phrase it like that.”

“You've earned Leech's attention.”

“I'd rather give it back.”

“Vil Schoenheit has practically dragged you into his orbit. He accompanied you just now to your dorm, didn’t he?”

Now, there’s an ugly bruise on your face and it’s not one he can touch and see, he can feel. Your lips pull into an elegiac little frown, and your eyes glaze over in mourning.

“I'd also, definitely rather give that back.”

His fingers still.

“...Why? Most students spend years trying to be noticed, and you spend every waking moment making sure no one remembers you.”

♡ Not this conversation! Looks like you’re at a bit of a standstill, but that entertains the thought: looks who’s talking. Pot, meet kettle, isn’t that what he does, in a sense, in a far more different sense? You don’t know how to reply to that, because Jamil is very clearly, very not  passively, explaining the obvious. Even the way he looks at you now is complicated, denuded of emotion that can be gauged. You merely purse your lips in lieu of a response, and avoid his gaze, like you’ve always done. 

“Can we please talk about something else?”

There’s a pressure on your palm. An accidental, harsh pull, and with a sigh, he tells you; “I can never understand you. Oh, well, it’s done.”

You blearily blink up at him. “It’s done?”

“The bandaging.”

He was bandaging you up this entire time? Oh, so that’s why he was so atypically immersed in your conversation.

Leaning back and scourging the contents of his work, which in actuality is just a linen strip of white shrouding your palms and the bare of your arm, he hums. It’s a non-committal, little thing that’s whisked away beneath the empyrean domain, blues and purplish-black lairs of twilight, cast back into the likeness of his eyes. He’s staring at you again. Waiting for, well, something. Something you’re clearly not willing to give. 

“Thank you.” Clearing your throat, its dryness is gone. In the heat of Scarabia, only you feel its cold fangs nip at your skin. When you retract your gaze, you realize, shit. Had you been looking at him? “.. Aren’t you going to leave?”

He raises a brow. 

“It may have slipped your mind that I’m your Vice Housewarden.” His arms are now folded. “In any case, you should be the one heading to bed.”

♡ Say less. You really don’t want this unsolicited thing to escalate, so you verbalize your agreement with a hum, and attempt to leave him be. The keyword here is attempt— and the trigger word here is Yuu. 

“After all, I imagine Yuu must be waiting for you tomorrow.”

A chill goes up your spine.

♡ You fall back down. Why? Because a tremor shot up your legs and now you’re that same crumpled mess you were in the library. 

♡ Ugh! Great! Another Yuu-thing to worry about. You really wish they stopped getting on your case. The incident at the infirmary still hasn’t left your mind.. Y꙰U꙰U꙰’S꙰ face staring you down. Why’s Jamil looking at you like that? With a shadow cast over his usually staid face? It unsettles you no more than it terrifies you, how have you messed up this bad? Quick, think of something! It’s time you set the record straight once and for all.

“You don’t have to worry,” hands morphed into fists in your lap, you think he feels you avoiding his gaze. “I know.. your— ahem, affections lie with Yuu. I would never personally get in your way, Vice Housewarden.” Heaving a shuddering breath, you stand up. “I’ve too much respect for you in that regard.”

♡ Uh. . why’s he looking at you like that? Brows raised, lips on the verge of shooting up into an amused smirk. 

“Hm? Affections? Where did that come from? I don’t recall bringing that up.”

♡ .. . . For your next trick you’ll need a gun and a shovel to dig your grave. Really? 

“—It's obvious.” You amend. “The way you look at them.”

“When did you see me looking at them?”

Uhh..  “When didn’t I see you looking at them?”

“There’s  no point in puerile assumptions, really.” There it is again. That clipped, clear tone. Lids rolling over charcoal finality, he folds his arms again, and once more, his hair curtains his face in a blanket of shadows. “I’m a boring guy to be around. One who doesn’t know his way around the latest trends or media. What could Yuu possibly gain from sparing me time? They’re an odd one, no more than you.”

♡ Jack of all trades, master of none! 

♡ He’s trying to dissuade you from it, the reality of what he feels, and if you were any less of a connoisseur at combing through facial expressions (which really is just obtained foresight from Twisted Hearts), you’d have believed him. But you don’t, not even for a second — in a  sense, you believe he thinks he’s gotten you off his trail, that he’s outsmarted you.  You don’t want to pester him for more, try to steer his belief, or attempt to relate to him. Truth is, you always see that smile of his whenever the prefect is mentioned, that tug on his hood, and the glint in his eyes. He lives up to his name. A viper, camouflaged in plain sight. 

♡ He must mistake you for a dumb one, or maybe he doesn’t. You think he doesn’t, not at all — perhaps he’s waiting for you to make that one mistake and sink in the hole you’ve been digging for yourself. 

”Come on,” Your voice nags his attention. “..Boring guy? You've been trying really hard not to laugh all this time— especially when you were patching me up.”

He doesn’t say anything, but his head lists gently towards the side. 

“I looked awful, I know. You can admit it.”  Pitter-patter, there goes your footfall, away from Jamil as you angle your body towards the one place you can find rest. You can’t see his face, but you don’t think of anything else other than his signature composure. That’s bad. “It’s way better to tell me you think I’m miserable up-front than going behind my back and keeping it to yourself.”

That’s bad. It’s bad. Jamil is willingly making conversation with you. This is bad. You need to set him towards a different path.

♡ Reaching your room, you catch someone peeking at you through a half-open crack in the door, Scarabia Student B! Nosy, curious, wondering why you and his Vice Housewarden were in that lounge. Without greeting him, you slam your door shut.

♡ Finally! The end of a tiring day. 

♡ Unfortunately, rest does not easy. 

♡ In the murkiness of your room, lit only by the pearly eye outside, you comb through the space. It’s barren, of course — your shelves, though, are lined with . . . accessories. 

♡ One  of  the  most  shiny  things  you  own,  is  of  course,  a  bracelet! Gifted  to  you  by none  other  than  Kalim. Your journal is by its side. There’s  also  a little  mushroom  encased  in  glass  you’d  discovered  on  your  bygone  hikes  with  Jade. You’d  never  noticed  that  before. . . it  only  now  reminds  you  just  how  many  of  your  little  trinkets  you’ve  left  back  in  the  Mountain  Lovers  club,  they  must  be  catching  dust  by  now. Should  you  drop  a  visit  tomorrow  to  pick  them  up?    You don’t know how  you’ll handle seeing him. 

♡ Climbing out of bed, you pick it up! There’s a little slip of paper plastered on the pane: Amanita verna (Destroying angels). 

♡ It seems familiar. A swathe of white is all it is, steeped in the colour from head to toe.. You remember it! That’s the same mushroom you’d encountered on your first hike, the same one you told him not to eat. It’s almost strange how he’s kept it all this time — and really, in glass? What if its toxins are airborne? When did he even give this to you?

♡ Shuffling back to bed, you pull the covers up to your chin, squeezing your eyes shut. Oh, well, a new day awaits you. 

♡ Wake up! Sometimes you get reminded why Kalim is unfit to be a Housewarden. Under the pretense of something important, he’d woken you up and led you to Scarabia’s kitchen. You’d, at first, thought he just called you for breakfast, but one glance at the time gave the numbers 4 : 50 AM away. Under no circumstances, in any universe, would you be willing to wake up at dawn’s peak, except this one. There are few things in this world worth waking before sunrise for. An emergency. A natural disaster. Perhaps the Second Coming. 

♡ Turns out, he’s trying to arrange a party to commemorate the end of midterms, but Jamil’s chagrin is hindering his plans. A dorm-wide party to ‘boost everyone's spirits?’ it makes sense why Jamil has vetoed the idea outright.You can’t understand why this party would be a hit, considering that it takes place a day before midterm results would mean everyone is too preoccupied with stress or fatigue to ruminate on it, but oh, well, you’re far past arguing with your Housewarden. If the goal is ensuring everyone fails together, it’ll certainly work. 

♡ You have no desire to help him out, because for one, you’re fatigued beyond measure, going against  Jamil would warrant only doom — and finally, you don't trust him in the kitchen. There’s a reason why Jamil’s restricted his access to fire and anything flammable. (Though, even if it were to occur, can’t he use his unique magic?)

♡  All in all, you’re a bit surprised to see Kalim’s eagerness, so much so he’s completely overlooked what Jamil would think of him. The latter wouldn’t cook, in spite of his demands, so the boy’s brought it upon himself to do the task instead, only, for some reason, he needs your help, not the help of hundreds of other Scarabian students that would befit the skill. This has all the makings of a disaster.

“I wanna throw everybody a surprise party after classes!” He throws his hands up, relenting. The light emanating from his face alone makes yours crimp. “I think it’ll make everyone less nervous before the midterm results are announced. So? What do you think?”

“The truth or a lie?” At the persistence of his smile, you mutter. “I think it'll make everyone fail midterms, Housewarden.”

“Really? Then we’ll just have it after.” He seems surprised. Was he expecting you to agree with him? If he really insists on your companionship, then it’s only natural you come out of your shell and tell him the bare-faced truth. Though the tinge of it makes you feel the tiniest bit woozy. “Everyone in Scarabia’s studying all the time, they deserve something fun, don’t they?”

“.. Yeah.” Air whistles through your teeth as you set your eyes straight on the cutlery. “They do. I think that’s very considerate of you, Housewarden.” And that, in all honesty, is not a lie.

♡ He begins rummaging through cupboards with alarming enthusiasm!  Bowls, plates, three ladles, a whisk. Somehow, a watermelon, and a flour bag half his size. He turns to you and asks you what you both should make, and you relinquish the decision to him. You help him out with whatever he’s making with the watered-down dough — slicing melons into bits and focusing way too much on avoiding the knife’s end, and whenever he asks for something, you put yourself to the task and provide. 

♡ It’s only natural, though, that his need for conversation overwhelms him. 

”Hey,” he smiles at you. “Now that you mention it, you never brought Jade over to Scarabia!”

You never mentioned it, but okay. The question makes you pause.. Jade. The real Jade, not the one you thought you saw. Crimson, fruity rivulets skim over the ridges and valleys of your palm as you pretend to ruminate it over, but you end up conceding the real answer to him regardless.

“I don’t think we’re friends anymore.”

♡ That makes him pause! 

♡ He seems shocked, truly. Eyes saucer-wide and lips parted, but then again, you expected it to be subsumed beneath the weight of his optimism. Even when he has no idea  why Jade’s left you alone, he still makes an effort to alleviate your mood. After all, that’s the impression you left for him to feast on, that you were lonely, on the verge of dying and in dire need of help. For once, the kitchen falls quiet save for the gentle simmer of something forgotten on the stove.

“..Really?”

“Really.”

Kalim blinks once. “..Did you two have a fight?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then what happened?”

“ ..Nothing.” Your head lolls over your shoulder. Tongue curling over soundless words, words you’re not even sure why you’re deigning him the brunt of, coalesce. “Nothing needs to have happened, Kalim. Sometimes people just stop talking, and that’s a  part of life. They don’t need to have disagreements.”

He’s frowning at you, you can tell from your periphery, a bona fide frown that’s not at all the moue he wears when Jamil refuses to indulge one of his whims. A genuine one whose likeness is casted back into the nitid curve of your knife, as you twirl it around and around.  "I make it pretty easy."

"How?"

“I avoid them. Hide. Run away. Occasionally pretend not to hear them. Sometimes I literally climb out windows.” A tiny smile tugs at your lips. “I'm kind of difficult to be friends with.”

♡ Kalim doesn't smile back. Instead, he sets the mixing bowl down with a dull clink!

“I don't think that's true! You just listed a bunch of things you do.”

Something warm engulfs your hand. Your hands. His hands. He melds them together, fingers slotted against each other. Yours are warm, but his are even warmer as they press into yours like an ill-fitting locket — but it’s not at all like Yuu’s grip. It's gentler, it’s genuine, and it’s kind. You won't look him in the eyes, even as he gives your hands a squeeze of reassurance. “Not who you are. You're nice. You always help me when I ask. You help clean. You always thank the ghosts after they serve you lunch. You're just scared people won’t like you— and tell you what—”

He’s beaming at you now. “Sometimes Jamil ignores me for days. Sometimes he tells me I'm impossible, but we always end up talking the next day! So you..” A thumb juts out from your interlinked... pinkies? Had he made a subconscious promise?  “Should talk to Jade.”

♡ You stare at him. . Yours and Jamil’s situation is very different, and the dynamic these two share bears no similarity to Jade and yours. If anything, you have no obligation to make amends with the eel, but still, you make do with a shuddering nod. 

“See? You’re smiling!”

“I’m not.”

♡ The new day is horrendous because you find yourself back at the Mountain Lovers club, against all odds. 

♡ Right before sending you off, Kalim gave you a small task. He wanted you to send out the invitation cards to multiple students, seeing as you’d taken on multiple jobs with the same nature. One of the names you instantly recognized, Silver. You agreed, but made your way to your old club, hoping you wouldn’t catch Jade in the process. 

♡ Only now you’re clearly trying to hide from someone, because the eel is right there. 

♡ Honestly, if you’re being honest, you hadn’t expected Jade to be in the Mountain Lovers Club, the most expected thing of him. You’d at least think he has a knack for camouflage, with the way he’s completely eluded your senses these past few days— or months. So imagine the consecutive, twelve heart attacks you get when you catch the prowling figure in the corner, situated where he always is since the day you stumbled into the room.

“Would it be impertinent of me to assume you’re trying to hide from me?”

♡ Ack! It’s been such a while you’ve seen Jade that it almost feels surreal. A husband returning from war, as you’d first put it during your departure in the earlier phase of your.. parasitic relationship, but now you’re not so sure anymore. What does it feel like?

♡  . . . He’s caught you dead in your rights amid your prancing, and even ensconced within your reluctance, you sneak an itsy-bitsy glance at him. Your gaze is confined to his self-same face, one that remains unchanged though you’ve spent so many days apart. His comportment  is exactly as you remember it — suave and placid — and somehow, that's what makes seeing him so strange. Yours has changed, has it not? You’ve been dealing with Yuu, Scarabia, Ruggie, Vil . . 

♡ Ridiculous. Leech is standing five paces away from you. 

♡ What do you even say? You don’t want to probe at him, ask him where he’s been, ask him about Vil. It’s entirely possible he was occupied with the semester, with Mostro Lounge, his hikes, or whatever his slippery mind latched onto. Showing that much eagerness would definitely corrode the image you’ve been trying to build, right? Though, him disappearing right after that cheek memento seems too odd to be a  coincidence, and you know it isn’t, you’ll give him the benefit of the doubt, for his own sake.

So, you just heave a sigh, and let your eyes trail to the room. 

“..You've always had a  talent for assumptions.”

“Have I?”

“You've assumed correctly enough times for it to become annoying.”

"How flattering.” He hums, accepting the correction. It irks you. “I’m relieved to see your wit survived my absence. I was riddled with fear, you see.” With a gloved hand on his chest, he sniffles. “How you could possibly survive without my interference.”

♡ Ugh! He expected otherwise. Sure, you had a bit of a tussle with the withdrawals, but you did just fine without him. Sure, you can see him grinning slyly at you, his words but a harmless jab.

“I considered several possibilities.” He keeps on going, eyes transfixed on the arrays of . . truth be told, an entire ecosystem of wildlife. The emanating light casts an azure glow on his face, and you find  veils of lashes covering the glint in his eyes.  “That you would continue avoiding the Mountain Lovers Club indefinitely, or that you had simply forgotten where it was, and I did entertain the notion that one of  Schoenheit’s extracurricular endeavors had finally succeeded in claiming you. Dare I say, you're even starting to resemble him in speech.”

You pale at the implications. “You're hilarious.”

“So I've been told.” That smirk may as well be a cathedral of pointed arcs, ripping past his lips as he places a gloved hand on his chin. 

There’s that usual silence, enveloping you. You try to let your attention fixate on something else to avoid the strain of conversation, somehow it feels foreign to you.

But then he breaks it.

Unfortunately. 

“But of course, horrible as I may be, I couldn’t possibly leave my best friend to fend for themselves.”

♡ Ouch! You nearly topple over a display and break the glass. 

“..Best friends?” You cough.  “That sounds inaccurate.”

Ah, right. You had mentioned that, hadn’t you? Back when Yuu kept on pestering you, and you found no better alternative than to pin that label onto the one person you would never find yourself making friends with. His smile neither grows nor diminishes, remaining suspended in that infuriating middle ground where every word he utters sounds like the conclusion to a joke only he understands.

“I see. Then perhaps I’ve been reading the situation incorrectly.”

♡ You don’t get it too twisted. For what it’s worth, you know Jade doesn’t actually consider you a companion. In actuality, he doesn’t appear to find the idea of physical contact or friendship  too appealing as demonstrated from your botched cheek kiss, the embarrassment of which you mentally recoil from — so he makes do with throwing little jests at you. Perhaps he indulges himself in your micro-expressions, the way you school them, or the sneer you send his way. It’s a wicked game, but really, you’re not all that irked. In a way, you can proceed with your plan. The keeping-Jade-Leech-near-you plan. It worked before, he wards people off perfectly, doesn’t he?

♡ You.. just have to remain interesting enough. To his eyes, that is. You need to keep his curiosity at its apogee. The question at hand is: how do you do that?

“Incorrectly?” Your voice, brought into the moment.  It’s only now you realize that the both of you aren’t even looking at each other except for stolen glances eluding the other’s attention. Back to back, the two of you stare into opposing sides of a display. This can’t get any stiffer. “Usually, when a best friend disappears, they inform the other beforehand. An explanation, if you’ve ever heard of it.”

There’s silence. 

You can just see the surprise coloring his face. In tinges of blue, white, green— the sea, spumes of it contorted into  a release. Not a soft one, a milder, more slippery one.

“..I hadn't realized an explanation was expected.”

Something flickers across his face. You see it in the glass, the likeness of his it casts back at you when he moves his head to stare. It's gone so quickly you wonder if the light had merely shifted beneath the leaves overhead. Like a tinge of intrigue rejuvenated. You wonder what is so haplessly appealing about you?

“Then allow me to apologize.”

♡ The next moment, he’s offering you his arm, and you take it without hesitation. He’s had you close, and there he is,  leading you to.. where? You don’t question it, but along the way, he deigns you a glance down.

“Perhaps I was too presumptuous.”

You don’t. “... What’s this about now?”

His eyes grow a tad bit darker, but then he grins again and you frown.  "I had thought the interval of our separation might warrant another display of affection, to put it modestly..."

♡ You go still. 

♡ Jade picks up on it, giving you a questioning hum. It’s gone as soon as it inspissates, and you trudge forward to the destination.

♡   . . . 

♡ The cafeteria is loud, loud, loud! It feels foreign, because you spend most of your time secluded in your dorm, eating lunch junk where no one can see you. Apparently, the ghost chefs hired at said place were once five star connoisseurs, and you’d be nothing but dumb if you missed out on a chance you never had the luxury of in your past life... which goes to say: you aren’t exactly sure how to take him bringing you to the cafeteria, of all places.​​​​

“Can you go and get that sandwich for me?” Ouch, where are your manners? Eating with your mouth full? You mutter again just in case. “The one.. ugh, what’s it called? The one with the uhh—​​​​​the green thing?”

“Brazenly telling me to do your bidding,” even in the hubbub of an area this packed, he manages to embody that properness immaculately. “Heh, heh, heh,” you ignore that diabolical laugh. “Now, does it not disturb you we may not be as close as you think?”

You glance at him from the corner of your eyes, mindfully chewing his question over. . . Of course, you’re never one to deem yourself of greater amity in his eyes, that’d be ludicrous to assume, but if you don’t play your cards right and act like they’re unstable, you feel like you won't be getting too far. ​​​​​

“..I don't know,” you admit after swallowing. There is no taste, you notice. “You haven't poisoned me yet.” ​​​​​​

Jade stills. There’s a glint in those eyes of his, it vanishes as soon as  he gives you room to ponder on your own spoken words. Why would that be your first thought? It works, though, because he prods.

“Is that your metric for friendship?”

“It’s a decent start.”

“You are very forgiving.” A chuckle sounds. “And if I refuse?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” heaving a sigh, you prop your chin on your hands woefully. “.. I would have to get it myself.. but it would’ve been really nice if you did it for me.”

“What do I receive in return?”

“I don’t know,” you drag a hand down your face. “I’ll decide when you get me my burger.”

“Did you not say you wanted a sandwich?”

“What's the difference?.. Fine. I have nineteen thaumarks you can probably barter for a mushroom pen or something.”

♡ You can tell Jade has to physically stop himself from appearing amused, because this little Scarabia NPC is genuinely trying to negotiate with their entire, non-existent wallet! Nevertheless, he doesn’t torment you more. Instead, he brings back the sandwich you wanted — and gods, it does look like the most appetizing thing on Earth. Without sparing it any mercy, you shove the thing into your mouth and disregard the question present in his eyes. 

“Forgive me for probing, but the manner with which you’re.. eating that sandwich..” His eyes widen the slightest bit. “I would assume this is the first time you’ve been given the opportunity.”

“You’re one to talk. Have you eaten anything other than Destroying angels?”

♡ Aha! Shock paints his face! 

♡ He is quick to mask it up, but even in that staid composure there appears to be something he wants to say to you, present in the still contemplation of his lips. Then, when you lean closer, he blinks back into reality. 

“What a predictable question,” he chuckles, his familiar close-eyed smile settling back into place. “If you truly wish to know, my palate has had the fortune of wandering rather extensively. I'd argue cuisine tells one far more about a culture than history books ever could. A nation's fears, its prosperity, the produce its soil permits... all of it finds its way onto a plate.”

You hastily clamp your lips shut. Perhaps egging him to go on a tangent wasn’t the best course of action.

“Take sandwiches, for instance. They're deceptively ordinary. Bread is rarely chosen at random. A dense rye carries fillings quite differently from an airy milk loaf, while sourdough lends enough acidity that one must consider the sharpness of the accompanying vegetables. Even the order in which ingredients are layered determines whether one tastes the meat first, the herbs first... or simply a regrettable mouthful of sauce.”

“Uh—”

“Mushrooms are especially remarkable in that regard. Their flavour changes so dramatically depending on the variety and preparation. A delicate sauté brings out an earthy sweetness, whereas roasting deepens their savoriness entirely. Some are wonderful folded into cream sauces, others are best left almost untouched. They're... surprisingly expressive ingredients.”

By the time he’s finished his prating, you’ve already downed everything at the table. Food’s shadow coils in the corners of your mouth as you relish in the aftertaste, but it’s a bit hard to do so, especially when the eel is eyeing you all the while. Tongue swiping across the back of your teeth, you emit a false cough and look towards him. You don’t even know what it is he’s eating, and you don’t question it. 

“For a second, I thought we weren’t talking about food anymore.” You quip, glancing at him. Hm, strange. Why’s he looking at you like he wants to pounce—

♡ He shoves a spoonful of food into your mouth!

​​​​“Did you taste the basil?” Utensil remaining untouched, he pours his attention onto you. The back of your palm bolsters your coughs as you try to get the shock out of your system, setting him straight with a mean glare. The sudden action combined with your little injury has you sure he just knocked a tooth out or something. 

“What the fu—” You massage your throat, immediately unsealing your lips to take a look at your mouth. No teeth knocked out, thankfully.  “You little..”

Open-mouthed, you think over his question. “There was basil?”

“..Hm.”

“I didn’t even taste it.”

“..Hm.”

“Is there usually basil in this?”

“Hm.”

His lackluster responses make you look at him.

♡ . .  . Strange how he’s looking at you back like that. 

♡ You blink at him. He’s staring at you like you just slapped a bucket of water over him. He only snaps out of it when you wave a hand over his face and seal your lips into a questioning line, eliciting an atypical.. gulp from him. 

”I apologize.” He closes his eyes. “What were you saying?”

“There was basil in this?”

Raising his fork, the prongs glister beneath the light, sliding along the curvature of its gaps. 

"There was. If I was where you’re sitting, I’d taste it quite deftly.. Simply because,” he muses and muses.

Stab! 

Prongs are embedded into a slab of food, guillotined by steel before your eyes and shredded open into rivulets like juice. Soundlessly directing your attention to those eyes, twins of olive-brown and gold nailed down with mirth, he croons.

“..My family always believed a meal ought to be savored rather than conquered.”

There is silence crowding the contest of eye contact. 

You excuse yourself shortly.

It’s time for your next class.

♡ Malleus Draconia and Cater Diamond are standing right fucking next to you. 

♡ The sentence is melodramatic, because for someone of such a high-sounding prestige, they’ve been confined to the space of the botanical garden's verdant grounds. When does one ever get the chance to utter that? Two complete opposites standing next to one another, and oh, there’s you too, trying not to drown in your own ill-fitting, misshapen lab uniform, but chances are they don't notice, because the heir to Briar Valley is completely soaked right now!

“What's going on here, Diamond? Why is water spraying at me out of nowhere?”

♡ Yikes. Even his voice is intimidating enough to make your spine stiffen. You're practically shivering in your boots.

♡ ...No, no. Pull yourself together. Trying to sneak past him now would only invite unwanted attention. All you have to do is what everyone else at Night Raven College seems to manage effortlessly: avert your eyes, keep your head down, and scurry off before the future king notices your existence. The campus had already written the script for interactions with Malleus Draconia years ago! Fear him. Avoid him. Pretend you have somewhere else to be! 

​​​​​​♡ It had only just struck the end of Alchemy, and you'd wandered into the subtropical section of the greenhouse to collect the specimen you'd been cultivating. Stumbling into... this... certainly hadn't been part of the itinerary. Then again, they were your schoolmates. Running into them shouldn't have been surprising. (Oh, it’s only surprising because you’ve completely isolated yourself from Yuu now. Avoiding them, never lingering long enough. Something within you ceases to exit when your mind wanders back to the infirmary. Was that real? Have you gone mad?)

“It's the sprinkler system.” You don't even need to look to picture Cater's grin. “They use it for irrigation. Whole zone's got a timer that mimics subtropical rainfall. Guess nobody gave you the tour.”

“Artificial rain...” Malleus repeats, almost thoughtfully.

A gloved hand reaches into the downpour. Water gathers upon his fingertips before dripping back into the beds of foliage below. “How curious. Humans truly do possess peculiar methods of tending their gardens.”

♡ You'd like to point out that the future king of Briar Valley is currently discovering... sprinklers, but you enjoy living. Besides, everyone has gaps in their knowledge. You, for one, still don't know why Professor Trein insists on carrying Lucius into class when the cat has never once demonstrated academic aptitude. Quietly, you crouch beside one of the planter boxes. Your herb should be... there! Perfect!

♡ Nearly uprooting the entire planter, you make a beeline towards the exit! Phew, you survived that. Now you have to suffer through the remainder of your classes. 

♡ Soon enough, most of them are over, and the midterm results are to be announced very, very soon. Before that, you adhere to your job as the Night Raven mailperson. It’d be wise of you to get the job done before there’s a herd gathering, and Kalim’s voice is already etched onto your mind by the time you’re carrying the letters. 

♡ Sifting through hundreds of parchments, you realize three of them belong to.. Diasomnia residents. There’s an anonymous love letter, Kalim’s invitation card, and a letter from home! You should be able to catch them on campus if you hurry — because you’ll have to delay your plans if they're in their respective dormitories. It also makes you lament on why you even agreed to deliver the invitation card to Silver, of all people, but you have to thank Kalim for his help some way. This just happened to be the easiest. Chances are you’ll find him drowning in sleep. Can’t be that hard. 

♡ It takes you a while to find him. The hallways are brimming with people. 

♡ True to your deduction, there he is, eyes slid down in respite and chest rising with ebbs and falls. Though you don’t look at his face that long, he's still dressed in his labwear. This should be easy enough— but quickening footfalls of other students have you sifting hastily through the bag — and you pluck out the card, tucking it into his pocket. He shuffles in his sleep, lips parted, murmuring something, but you’re already running off like your hands have caught fire. . . and they may as well have. 

♡ — Because halfway up the staircase, you realize the card is still in your hand. 

. . . . ?

You blink, turning it over. It’s Kalim’s invitation card. And— Diasomnia, right there. And.. there's the letter from home. And—

♡ The fucking love letter!

♡ You’re sprinting back, nearly toppling over the staircase. You gave him the love letter! A few students eye you— no, no, no — you feel stressed tears prick at your eyes when you see Silver’s resting place devoid of any presence. He’s gone! (With the love letter still in his pocket!)

♡  . . . By the time you return, huffing and puffing, you’re frowning. How the hell did you mess that up?  Fortunately, Jade’s already there, waiting for you. Arm in arm, you walk.

“Do I need to assume?”

“No.”

♡ It’s no biggie, you think. You’ll just catch him at a later time, or have someone retrieve the letter for you. Out of every love interest, Silver should be the most compliant. You just need to focus on something else. 

♡ A tide of students, the same as before. They’re all circling what looks to be the board, and some of them part when they catch the eel’s look. There’s a rush. A stampede. Midterm results are here. Bodies are released and ejected like someone kicked open an anthill, and through the writhing masses, you catch sight of . . Yuu. Grim, Ace, and Deuce. The furball’s pointing up at the listed names, and perpetual horror slashes everyone’s faces into two. What makes you uncertain, though, is that the prefect also looks horrified. 

Why do they look horrified?

Your answer comes in the form of an anemone ripping out of their hair. 

—Anemone in the prefect’s hair. 

Why the FUCK does Yuu also have an anemone?!

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓. @sincerelyruu @tsubito @jokesterreality @gloomuraaii @eepydeepysleepy66 @k3lbug @fanofkrauser @peter-the-pan @16-shieanne-16 @danna001 @littlepotaaatosimp

@sleepystuffnigth @trash2099 @nnx01 @flyingpansaurus @tachibubu @eroscastle @ashielle @lilqi @ravencake @iexistonlytoreblog @whatamoodhoney @earlgreyteebag @tamikahoshiko @akira3na

@s0up-good @vampirixm @kangnam-style @dondonrulerofall @princessloveweird @shycreatorreview @shuuji71

@cens0r3d @thecloudsaremyhome @sinclaironestrogen @misdreavusmischief @tragicfiend @whatdoesthesenpai @silverluna3-blog @aelxr

@lennyadinonerd @thespiderinyourroom @quiet-place-for-thoughts @00hellohello00 @alheli1994-blog @domeofquietdreams @mspurpl3 @yumuramma

@ransackedhouse @sirairi @darkumbreon92 @sweetstrawberrybabe @khlainotfound @yuu-twisted

[jadeharts]

we all larping 4th of julie this year god bless merica🇮🇱🇮🇱😊

[midnight---hollow]

MY LITTLE TWISTED PONIES!! Friendship is… not gonna happen with this group of little shits-

Last night i had the urge to draw twst characters and ponies thanks to @hopeluzromantic (whos sona is on here, next to malleus ^^) and despite never having drawn ponies before i did it anyways. Im quite proud of it i think they all look very silly. Clemot from pokemon is also there just ignore him i call him “freaky pony”

Under read more i yap about why i picked that type of pony and their cutie marks and stuff

Vee: earth pony blank flank but they have their shark features. They are a blank flank because their whole story in nrc is them finding their purpose in life. They spend their whole life following orders and not thinking for themself. Vee doesnt have hobbies, talents, skills, not even morals. Their time at nrc is to have that freedom and i imagine once they learn their passion it would probably changed to a paint brush or something architect-y since they decide to become an artist and architect at the end of their third year

Azul: unicorn, his tail has his tentacles and cutiemark is based on its a deals contract. His horn is swirled to imitate a tentacles aswell. I think he would use magic to hide his tentacles tail since he is def ashamed of it. That’s also why its all bunched up.

Malleus: allicorn. His flank is covered in thorns cus yknow thorn fairy briars type shift. Under the thorns is probably malificents wings less cus it makes sense for him more cus i thought its be cool. Maybe we can take it as his future being one of power buy also one where he must practice restraint. Dragon tail and two horns which means double the power. His wings are crow wings cus of his dad so no matter his coat color his wings will be black

Luz: alicorn. In the tefiti form flowers grow through his hair and wings. His cutie mark trails down his legs. When he becomes te ka his flowers wilt and his mark is instead replaced with soot and smoke to represent the withering. I also imagine his coat color turns into a sooty withering shade aswell when he is in teka form

Riddle: tiny ass unicorn. Riddle and rose height difference is even more than in og. Cutie mark is a half painted rose with a heart snd crown in the background. I wanted it to represent the queen of hesrts and her rules yes but moreso how riddle is more than just that perfect example (hence the badly painted rose which i think hed be ashamed of before ob) he probably painted over the rose or used illusion magic to give it the impression of being perfectly red. Despite being tiny and having a tiny horn he is still a very powerful unicorn

Rose: originally i made her an earth pony because yuu isn’t supposed to have powers yknow but i decided fuck that because in every other universe i put rose in she has bird imagery and she would def be a Pegasus. Flowy hair, still blind but she is slaying the house down and trying to keep riddle from burning the house down. Her coat is white but i imagine she still dyes her mane that pastel blue. Her cutie mark is ballet shoes with some roses and clouds in the back, ballet was and still is her passion, its what she wants to do even is she has given up on her dream. While i imagine she still ends up becoming a doctor/scientist in the end her true calling never leaves her and like in twst she probably still practices when she has time to

Jade: unicorn with eel features. They got freaky fish bits to them aswell cus these fuckers are never normal no matter the universe. His mark is based on his um shock the heart since its his um and i cant think of what his or floyds passions would be. how do you make a cutie mark that says “fuck around and find out”? I cant make it based of the family business either because lets be fr thatd probably be a gun. So i based their marks off their ums. Jades is based off that one bad ass shot where there is a spiral behind him as she says shock the heart and of course there would be lightning there aswell cus he is shocking them… in the heart

Floyd: pegasus eel freak. Same thing as jade but his mark represents bind the heart and hes got weird fin wings. I think hed find a way to fly tho idk how. Same thing with jade i based his off his um so his is a heart being wound up. I put bubbles around it because in the manga… he is drowning someone when he says it???? I dont get it either but slay. Both him and jade have a pattern of an eel wrapping around their cutiemark leg. While i got the sides wrong in the drawing, the leg would of course be on the side with their yellow eye and black strand of hair

Clemot: freaky horse that stands on two legs idk i just really wanted to draw him yesterday the demons where calling me and xyzs been my comfort show as of late

[jadeharts]

i curse you to be a femboy... smau .ᐟ

summary: smau, just a crackfic with azul, leona, ruggie, riddle, sebek, floyd and jade, and others….!

masterlist type shi

warnings: first smau, suggestive in some, established relationship, also the messages aren’t ai i wrote these myself on memichat and i cant do anything about the bottom

[jadeharts]

I wanted to let you know I LOVE your fic ok? Can I draw my interpretation of Yuu ok?

YESS OFC!!!! Pls do I would LOVE to see it! And thank u sm im js glad to make the people happy🙂‍↕️

[jadeharts]

masterlist!!

꒰ twisted like heaven masterlist isekai/yan/fic

[𝜗℘] :: You helped make a wildly successful Twisted Wonderland yandere dating sim as a joke. Now you're trapped inside it, and every bad ending that you admittedly had incomplete knowledge of, the ones that you and your friends wrote, is suddenly trying to become your reality.

꒰ childofchaos!yuu- pjo hc

[𝜗℘] :: childofchaos!yuu slowly regains their powers after each blot, a stark difference from the super powered nature of their heritage in PJO

smaus ..;

꒰i curse you to be a femboy… smau sfw

[𝜗℘] :: smau, just a crackfic with leona, malleus, ruggie, riddle, sebek, floyd and jade, and others….!

[jadeharts]

⊹ ࣪ ˖ what's in aneri’s journal?? ݁⋆ ꫂ᭪ ݁݁ . ݁🍰

- featuring future wips & potential concepts i may explore

────୨ৎ────

coming up .. (??)

❥ smau accounts for smau fic

fic idea with harem! twst boys and a slightly stupid reader… each of these… mind you handsome and intelligent men… vying for just an inch of your attention. well, thats until it gets a little out of hand and there’s whole battles for your affection, big ego vs big ego, and even violence. between them.

❥ making out headcanons nsfw

featuring… idia shroud, silver vanrouge, riddle rosehearts, azul ashengrotto, jamil viper, kalim al asim

❥ shh, they can hear us! nsfw

dirty stuff happening w your bf in someone else’s bed before they walk into the room next door

❥ fine print, sfw/nsfw--fic

you and azul ashengrotto had a complicated relationship. or maybe it only felt complicated because neither of you had ever learned how to call things by their proper names.

────୨ৎ────

reqs in progress .. (!!)

❥ nothing here yet

[jadeharts]

rules! 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯

❤︎ i write nsfw and sfw, yan, dead dove, non-con/dub-con

❤︎ fics, head canons, drabbles, etc. are all welcome

❤︎ send me your oc’s, au’s, craziest thoughts, everything! no judgement

────୨ৎ────

req rules ;,,

› i dont write incest, or step cest.

› no graphic gore (sexual context)

› no scat or vomit kink m

› any type of reader, i mostly do fem and gn! on my own fics tho

› under no circumstances, pedophilia. im the age of the chars i write for

› feel free to request fics or smaus i can do either!