Ella/Lorraine ✮ they/she ✮ minor ✮ filipino ✮ diasomnia
About the blog . . .
This is pretty much just a turf for me to post self-indulgent writings and tributes to my favorite franchise! Frequent posts are not guaranteed as my interest comes and goes. Other than that, I am a very dedicated student so I'm typically burning my eyebrows studying. My main account that I primarily use for reblogging and miscellaneous posting is @llolian ｡◕‿◕｡
Other Interests . . .
Obey me, Arcana Twilight, Tears of Themis, For All Time, Genshin Impact, Honkai Star Rail, Stardew Valley, Hades I, Hades II, Classic Literature, Harry Potter Magic Awakened, Hogwarts Legacy, Fear and Hunger, More Video Games, and the list continues to grow!
Hashtags . . .
#inkless-printer (completed fanfics?)
#just-a-drop (short works that didn't make it into full fics)
#paper-balls (rambles and miscellaneous thoughts)
#canon?-yeah-in-my-heart (namesake: headcanons)
#yue-lorren (works featuring my twst oc and yuusona)
Twst EN Account . . .
If you ever feel like befriending me in-game or sharing cards in dire straits (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧
Defense Against the Dark Arts: Learning how to counter a boggart is taught within a Fifth-year's first semester. Yet when Genevieve is required to face it again for her exams, it seems that her fears have taken a new form.
(A/N: Genevieve Myra Moxie is an original character and MC stand-in of mine for the game and its storyline.)
A boggart is a non-being, deemed harmless by the textbooks. Harmless, it claims, as if psychological damage has the worth of that of a paper cut's. Bitter as she can be, in truth, Genevieve knows that her fears are not suited for her kind — for her classmates who dread spiders and acne and loud storms. She's almost tempted to give Professor Hecat a look if it weren't for the sheer confidence the woman has in her capabilities. (And who is she dissapoint? She, Hero of Hogwarts, Wielder of Ancient Magic.)
The staccatto of her heart is in her ears. The thought hurts: She's caused many, their own hearts, to stop beating. Would they crawl out that wardrobe, shrieking of their sorrows and her sins? Would it pour a stream of thick velvet, flooding the room and staining her hands red? It takes the form of your fears. The book had not been so specific. Make a mockery out of your nightmares and the boggart shall be defeated. She wants to spit venom and ask how does one make a mockery of the dead and the disappointed.
It is she who is next in line.
"Miss Moxie, if you could please come forward."
Judgement, a part of her whispers. This is judgement. Condemnation for your crimes. I had done it all for the sake of good. Look at how happy we were just moments ago. It is a demonstration of today's DADA curriculum. I'll succeed.
Professor Hecat meets her eyes.
The crowd eyes her like a spectacle, dispersing from the center as if to form a makeshift carpet. Since the events of the attempted Goblin Rebellion, most have begun to see her as a walking, talking theatre, moreso than they did when she first arrived as the 'Mysterious Fifth-Year'.
Genevieve steps forward, her wand held firm in her hand.
"You know the counter, dear girl. Think it amusing. Do not let it rule you," she urges. "I know you of all people, Miss Moxie, will persevere."
Hecat's hand on the knob hesitates, waiting for Genevieve's signal. Her classmates turn silent in raw anticipation.
She nods.
And the doors creak open.
"Is that—?!"
Something descends from the darkness — a shoe that matches her's in all its customized cobblerly. Another steps out and fear grabs her by the throat when it dawns upon the girl that the boggart is her.
Wrong.
A mirror image of her own but unlike her in so many ways.
Its facing this way, standing as a mannequin for whatever evil wracks within, limbs looking wrong, disjointed, longer somehow. Once dainty-skin painted purple and bruised, pale like a corpse, like the ones she's seen and killed. The same curved jaw, straight nose, llight hair, but this isn't her. It's not. It can't be.
With its chapped lips and sunken cheeks, its fingers flex around a familiar wand of intertwined wood–
Run.
and raises it to–
No. Fight it. It'll kill...
– her.
"Riddikulus!"
"The lesson ends here! Miss Onai, kindly guide Miss Moxie to the infirmary."
It should be that simple.
It should be, watching Hecat subdue the creature.
It's that simple: a play of one's wand and the boggart's visage contorts, a grotesque parody of fears both imagined and real. Hecat stands in between the girl and the wardrobe. With a final whimper, it dissolves into a haze. The room, previously thick with dread, shares an exhale.
Her legs are trembling, or is her body entirely? The world sways and Genevieve can't see anyone past the blur of her vision.
"Off now, everyone! Well done!"
She can't feel herself. Is she still alive?
"Vivi," calls a familiar, accented voice.
Natty places a hand on her shoulder, tugging Genevieve into a hug that's botj solid and warm and she yields. Her head falls against the crook of Natty's neck. She submits to being pampered, submits to letting the tremors of her body wash away.
It looked at her.
Eyes hollowed and dark, pupils slit like some semblance of composed insanity.
"It's alright now..."
A lighter voice, this time — Poppy's. Genevieve feels circles rubbed against her back as Poppy whispers words of encouragement. Sweet nothings. Empty promises of assurance.
Her friends know nothing of the truth. She ensured it. She's done well in keeping them at an arm's length. Only Sebastian had broken through her walls, tethered closely to her side, created a home in her heart, yet look now where he stands.
They cannot- should not see the blood on her hands, nor the scars strewn about her body like a heinous frankenstein. They cannot know of the crown placed upon her head and the thorns that dig in, of her duties and failures.
It reeks of copper and soil.
To what lengths are you willing to go?
It hurts that her friends don't feel real.
Are you a hero or a monster?
The repository calls her name.
Are you even Genevieve Moxie?
Her friends guide a husk to the infirmary, not without a string of kind words and gentle touches to her skin.
The Prefect is prone to dreams that drown them, blurring their lines between imagination and reality– prophetic in its tellings yet draining in its strain.
(A short narration of short moments in time.)
Yue wakes up a disoriented, disillusioned mess. They often do, with how deeply sleep claims them and how verbose their dreams are spun. When their consciousnes, at last, returns to their clutch, eyes unscrewing to reveal the waking world, Yue is left winded: more tired than refreshed.
It takes a few seconds – minutes, sometimes, to readjust.
Blink. Their mouth opens to ask a question about some distant dream now well beyond their fingertips.
Blink. They ground themself in the present. “I'm in Ramshackle. It's morning.”
Blink. Yue rubs away the remaining vestiges of sleep, streching their stiff limbs back to loose movement.
A short overview of the Ramshackle prefect and their strange (but kind) horned fellow friend: as seen through the eyes of outsiders.
(A/N: #Malleyuu notes with an OC but feel free to project. We're all delulu here ╮(. ❛ ᴗ ❛.)╭ )
His Henchman is crazy.
Or at least, that's what Grim thinks when he's woken up at sunrise to Yue's bizarre ramblings. Something about the time being 1 AM, then fireflies at night, and a tall, horned figure – is what he takes from their babble amidst his own groans and pleas to return to sleep. He'd think them delirious from slumber, mumbling about another dream, if it weren't for the way Yue's eyes sparkled with genuine interest. Grim yields, in the end, for one of the many things he's learned about his reliable servant is that they can be awfully enthusiastic when it comes to this world's curiosities.
“He told me to call him whatever I want,” Yue continues, ruffling Grim's fur dry with a clean rag. Before he could insert magnificent ideas of his own, they beat him to it with a soft smile on their lips.
“I'm thinking of naming him Nyx: the personification of the night. What do you think?”
“What? Because he only shows up at night?” Like some wacky cryptid.
“Yup.”
He hears his henchman forgo the brush, letting it clatter loudly against the table.
“Hm... Nyx, huh...” Grim falls into thought, testing the name on his tongue like premium quality tuna. He doesn't even notice how Yue ties the striped ribbon around his neck. Triumphant, he turns to them with a grin.
“That's not half-bad, Henchman! It's cool and mysterious. Not as cool and mysterious as me, of course, but I'd say it's a close second!”
“Naturally. I wouldn't dare bestow a name mightier than the Great Grim's.”
Despite the stream of praise his henchman delivers (which he pleasantly basks in), Yue eventually derails, returning to speak of the horned man yet again. What Grim's superior brain gathers is this: One, this Nyx guy is super weird. Two, Yue's interest has been piqued like no other before.
He'll demand some omurice as payment for his counsel later on.
. . .
Malleus has made a friend.
The news was dropped onto Lilia's lap rather unceremoniously when one night, the Young Lord—having just returned from another evening excursion, went to sit with him in the Diasomnia lounge. This time, however, the quaintest of smiles adorned his face... It was an unusual sight but certainly not unwelcome. And much like any doting parent, his curiosity led him to ask.
Malleus had replied with a question of his own.
"Lilia, do you know of the Prefect that resides in Ramshackle Dorm?"
"Yue? Why yes, of course. I've spoken to them once or twice. They made quite a show during the Ceremony."
Yue— Lilia soon comes to learn— is completely unaware of Malleus's identity as a prince and a figure of authority, of power. As such, they bear no fear for him, even going so far as to bestow him a pet name, of all things.
(“Nyx? As in the night spirit? How fitting.")
Thus began the pattern of Lilia covering for Malleus's nighttime absence, not daring to ask nor scold when the prince would return in strange and stranger states.
When he would return to the dormitory partially caked with dirt and mud (a consequence of helping the prefect with their little garden of life.) Or when he would return with a box of homemade cake, a pretty stone from their walks, a drawing of him supposedly made by the prefect's beast, and with inquiries of the complexities of human nature.
Sometimes, Lilia can't help but feel a bit guilty, constantly boring witness to Silver and Sebek's searches into the night.
Yet that sliver of guilt fades, in the end, when Malleus smiles more often than before, when he approaches Lilia in the winter with the request of delivering a Holiday Card.
As he watches the magicless human rush into their abode, card in hand, ghosts and Grim awaiting their entrance...
he has never felt prouder and more grateful for fate.
. . .
From a distance, Vil watches.
He watches as the feared Briar Prince lets a small, feeble human talk his ear off, calm and unresisting, a hand on his chin as he ponders along Yue's barrage of words. He gives the prefect full reign of the conversation. He lets himself be taken away by their stories and details. He lets them speak, which they do.
Just after the horrors, highs, lows, and thrills of the VDC, the two chat as if nothing even happened. The onslaught of it all feels like a fever dream to Vil. First, the mental toll of overblotting, then their loss to RSA's nursery rhyme performance, and now the shocking reveal of Yue (innocent, bold, mundane little Yue) and Malleus Draconia's relationship.
He isn't even sure what to make of it. They're clearly friends, yet Vil can't bring himself to chalk it up to just that. His years and years of showbiz cinema has taught him the ins and outs of body language. He watches. He sees:
There's the smiles on both their faces; cheeks raised taut, dimples carved with genuine laughter. There's that glimmer in Yue's eyes and the odd tenderness of Malleus's own, both gazes locked onto one another with an undisturbed focus. There's the fact that Yue had given him an invitation to the VDC, or that Malleus had fixed the stage partially to show off to the magicless human, or that their hands are currently mere centimeters away from each other.
In the end, Vil averts his gaze, weariness crashing into him all at once and he feels a pair of hands grasp onto his shoulders, keeping him standing. Rook smiles, gentle, knowing, annoying. Vil resigns to his whims and lets his Huntsman guide him back to the Pomefiore Dorm, the chatter of Yue and Malleus and everyone else fading away.
I wonder how many nights Yuu's spent standing in the barrenness and breeze of Ramshackle's front porch, hands loosely wrapped around their torso in an attempt of warmth or comfort. It is dark, and quiet, and still. The world seems all asleep— all but them as their mind wanders back to their world. It is cold and it is heavy and it is so, so lonely... until a glimmer of green catches their gaze and a horned young man stands with them. He speaks, listens, and stays. At odd times of night, plagued by homesickness or dreams, Yuu no longer feels so alone.
Bσσƙ 3 - Cԋαρƚҽɾ • 25 | A Cleaning Hint: Missing Scene
After a loud and laughable attempt at blackmail, the Prefect and Leona discuss.
It's nearing midnight at Savanaclaw Dorm; the rowdy students gone off to sleep in their dens, the open fields barren of bustling sport.
Yue lowers the spoon and pot within their hold, settling them onto the floorboards with a delicate clacker. It takes a few seconds of tiptoeing around scattered kitchenware to reach the snoring Grim, positioned starfish on a carpet. Visibly, he lay exhausted from the marathon of haphazard drums and clangs, songs from Earth Yue sang that he barely knew but sang along to anyway. And a chuckle breaks out of them. This— ladies and gentlemen, is their beast.
“Barely two hours in and he's already out cold.”
As Yue transfers him onto the cot, they wonder what oddities he could be dreaming of now. Last time it was tuna and beforehand, it was ostriches. It fascinates them, every now and then, how easily Grim can fall asleep.
In spite of this, slumber has yet to claim a certain two, and is further yet to be given freely to a certain lion beastman.
“So, senior, what'll it be?”
Yue casts a glance over their shoulder, to Leona huddled in blankets, turned away from where they stand.
“I told you already: 𝙉𝙤.” His voice— gravelly as is, is made even deeper by the lack of sleep. “And now that the furball's knocked out, I'm gonna get some shut-eye.”
He tosses the blanket over his head before falling into silence...
Yue turns to face him. With a gentle voice that pierces through the evening lull, they speak.
“You know, you could've easily gotten rid of us."
He feels their gaze drilling into his skull.
“Could've shoved us into Jack's room, or straight out of Savanaclaw, even."
The final words of it are left unspoken yet Leona can hear it as clear as day. '𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵. After all that ruckus Grim and I caused, you didn't, and that means 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨.'
Not a word of reply is given to confirm nor deny. They aren't gullible enough to believe him truly fast asleep. Yue smiles — a soft and amused thing. Quiet steps lead them to the side of the beastman's bed and the mattress weighs down. He sees their silhouette through the sheets.
“I need you to hear me out, Leona. My friends and I will keep the Leech twins busy tomorrow until sundown. While they 𝘢𝘳𝘦 an immature bunch, they thrive best in creating chaos, I tell you." The prefect stops to laugh as if proud of their merry band's idiocy. "What you'll need to do is this: Create a commotion in Mostro lounge. With Floyd and Jade absent, Azul will be forced to tend to the problem himself. Have Ruggie put his pick-pocketing skills to use. Grab the key, and by the time Azul returns, you ought to have already taken the contracts. Leona, listen closely,"
Their voice greatens in severity and out of all the things he could imagine Yue to say, none of it comes even close to what is dropped.
“𝙎𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙢."
And by 𝘚𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘴, he can't help the shit-eating grin that crawls its way to his face.
"If this works, Grim and I will be out of your hair by sundown. You could even use this as an opportunity to get some payback."
A finger tugs down the blanket over his head. His gaze is instantly met with a sly, smirking Yue. The doe-eyed kid with a baby face and not an ounce of magic, giving him a look that shouts pure mischief. "I doubt you'd be calling him an 'Octo-punk' without having some sort of vendetta against him, no?"
And he 𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘴.
He laughs at the sheer absurdity of all that is present and all that is the prefect, hearty and rumbling.
“You sure are one hell of a herbivore..."
They perk up.
"Is that a yes, senior?"
"It's a '𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦'. You got me there with your shrewd thinking," he sneers and Yue glows at the praise. Eager to extinguish the light, Leona hurriedly follows up. "But I'll take your word on my part of the deal, you hear me?"
"Of course! I wouldn't 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮 of sleeping in the same room as you ever again."
"Well, the feeling's mutual, 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘵."
They chuckle, foolishly lenient and kind. Leona thinks to himself, as the prefect heads over to their cot, how someone so gold-hearted could be so cunning and bold; how a lost, stowaway magicless could be so extraordinary.
. . .
His eyes droop to a close. The last thing he hears is their voice, whispering with the lull of evening.
The opening ceremony, briefly seen through the eyes of a Yuu— my Yue— Eunice.
Warmth.
Warmth is the first thing that they feel. Fine velvet against their skin, plush like some mattress of royalty. A drowsy groan makes it out of their throat as they turn, seeking something to hold on to... but it's cramped. They stir their shoulders in an attempt to shrug off space. Nothing. It's getting hard to breathe. Eunice's eyes fly open as memories of it all flood back: the fight, the music, the tracks, the horse, the black carriage. They were hit. 𝘖𝘩 𝘨𝘰𝘥, they were hit. Where were they?
Darkness is all that they see. Hands searching on every surface there is, Eunice grumbles at the tightness of the confinement. (A shrill voice seeps in somewhere from outside the walls, incoherent and inspirit.)
With a resolved nod, they gather their courage and shove with all of their weight. A bang and the lid flies outward. So do they— 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥, against cold porcelain.
“What?! You ain't supposed to be up!”
Grey pops into their peripheral, hollering a string of colorful expletives. Eunice winces through the throbbing of their body. Shoulders planked on the cold flooring, they pick themselves upward and their gaze is instantly met... with a cat.
The thing is standing on its hind legs and a pair of blue flames dance within its ears. They almost mistake it for taxidermy until it 𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘴, striking and uncanny like some fever dream apparition. The shrill voice came from 𝘪𝘵.
“The cat talks...” A bewildered huff escapes them, near-bordering hysterical laughter. “Shit. Was I drugged?”
The cat gives them a look as if they've grown two heads. They might as well have. They're speaking to a damn cat.
“Drugged? Are you loony? What are ya on about? And I am no cat! I am Grim, sorcerer extraordinaire!”
. . .
The silence that follows the grand introduction is deafening. Eunice can only blink once then twice, still trying to grasp the situation. 𝘐𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘤𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘭 𝘢 𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩-𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘬?
It visibly sours when no praise is found to stroke its feline ego.
“Hmph. Whatever. Just gimme your clothes, and be quick about it! Otherwise..."
A Chesire grin curls its way to the thing's face when it raises its claws with a firework crackle. Eunice's eyes dart about their surroundings, past the dimness of night and that aurora-green glow. Above them are chandeliers, around are large windows, mauve curtains, and one empty hallway. It's all so whimsical yet unsettling like some carnival haunted mansion. Blue flames begin to spark upon the polished surface, singeing the long and golden edges of their— not even their — robes. Quickly. Perhaps there could be something...
Their open coffin.
"I'll roast—HEY!!”
They dash forward, tackling the cat into the hollow casket and slamming its doors shut with an echoed bang. As they stumble back—nearly tripping over their robes, Eunice turns their heels and makes a run for the exit hall, ignorant of the thrashing of the beast in the casket...
Our little home is not appreciated enough so I shall take matters onto my own hands and spread self-indulgent ideas 😤😤😤 Behold! PS: I made something like this before so this is like a revised version.
“UNCLE” GHOSTS
The Ramshackle Ghosts were each given personal names by the Prefect, corresponding to the ghost's existing letter.
This was done after Yuu got tired of calling them Ghost [insert letter of the alphabet] all of the time, whilst also adding to their individuality.
Why did the Prefect have to give them names? Don't they have names of their own? Well, they used to when they were still a part of the living. The ghosts still remember who they were and what they excelled at (such as being a chef or a magift player) but they cannot claim namesakes or identities as their own when they're already dead unless you harbored much significance when you were alive, recorded in history to not be forgotten such as Eliza.
"Ghost A" is now "Archie" — very rough and tumble. He is a ball of ferocious, mischievous energy enough to rival Grim's own. Despite his size, Archie is quite the fighter. His first reaction to the Prefect's problems is to suggest that they duke it out headfirst! But in truth, he is plenty caring and easily fusses over Yuu and Grim's physical health (complete with dark humor). He teaches the duo sports whenever the opportunity arises. His extreme head ruffles are the silliest things.
"Ghost B" is now "Bernard or Bernie" — who's full of joy and fun (maybe that's why he's so plump). He's always ready with a joke to brighten Yuu's mood, always eager to please Yuu and Grim by pampering them with already-in-the-house gifts or food. Spooky mischief is his favorite pastime. Yuu believes that he gives the best hugs and cooks the best food.
"Ghost C" is now "Clyde" — who's generally a very laid-back and lax individual. Among the three, he's one of the wiser ghosts, always willing to set aside his tomfoolery for a heart-to-heart conversation with Yuu, giving advice and being an open ear. However, he still is, of course, a lover of mischief and spooks. (Note: Do not accept the “therapeutic” cigarettes he offers.)
The Ghosts are skilled at sewing clothes of their own (hence their tailored hats and capes). They were the ones who made Yuu and Grim's Halloween costumes, but they've also helped Yuu expand their wardrobe by using extra textiles and fabrics. The ghosts sew ribbons for Grim as well (◡ ω ◡)
They love oldies music. Stuff like ABBA, Don McLean, Micheal Jackson, Queen, John Lennon, The Smiths, Air Supply, The Carpenters— you name it!
They can also shift their voice into an exponentially low range, similar to Alto, Bass, and Baritone. Every now and then, they comically break into a chorus for fun.
RAMSHACKLE BUILDING
Prior to the building's renovation post-VDC, 70% of its rooms were either barricaded still, or very unclean. Yuu and Grim, themselves, had yet to fully explore their dorm in fear of collapsing wood, nesting bugs, or hidden rats— things that they didn't want to deal with if they could help it.
A garden stands in the dormitory's yard, by the farther side of it. Yuu had taken up gardening sometime after BOOK 1. They discussed with Grim that walking back and forth to the canteen wasn't very efficient. It started small and expanded into bearing vegetables and fruits. Eventually, the prefect built an arch trellis for the vines to grow, bringing the whole look together. (Note: While the produce their garden grows does give them the opportunity to cook/ bake at home, their inventory still wouldn't last the entirety of the winter holidays. It also wouldn't be efficient to eat the same meals over and over.)
Birds like common sparrows, crows, and ravens tend to perch or nest on Ramshackle's barren trees. They're such a regular sight that Grim and Yuu have stopped trying to drive them away, instead welcoming them into the property.
Ramshackle, while seemingly unimpressive at first, does wield an aura of unease once you're indoors. When you're wandering the halls by yourself, it oddly feels as if you're being watched... Something vague might've peeked out from a corner. Or, did that painting just glance at you? It totally did. Are you mad? This feeling is increased tenfold in the evenings. Yuu and Grim were disturbed by this initially, but have come to accept it as the house's second nature. Ace, Deuce, and the VDC boys were also victims of this phenomenon.
THE GREAT GRIM: ARCHMAGE EXTRAORDINAIRE!!!
When Yuu and Grim first began cohabiting in Ramshackle Dorm, the Prefect had given him an intense cat bath to wash away any grime, tangled-up fur, or Seven forbid... fleas.
Grim sleeps with Yuu on the bed but doesn't use the blankets, instead opting to curl up beside his henchman or lie flat on Yuu's stomach (much to their annoyance and Grim's amusement).
He pouts when Yuu is away for too long, concern and loneliness crawling underneath his skin because how dare his henchman leave their boss like this?!
Despite how much he complains about housework, gardening, maintenance, and such, he still tries his best to help out whenever Yuu works. It actually ends up being rather fun though.
MISCELLANEOUS
The Headmage occasionally comes over for tea and chats with a box of whatever snacks he's managed to grab. Usually, however, it's only because Crowley has another heinous assignment for the Ramshackle Duo.
In which, years and years later, Malleus finds himself in Ramshackle Dorm... or at least what remains of it.
Nocturnal fae do not submit to the night. They inhabit it, wield it, bend it, serve it. Such is the same for the Lord of the Valley himself. Yet on this blessed evening, he is far, far away from his crowned domain. (His cold, marbled throne stands vacant of a ruler. The kingdom will last a few hours in his absence, as it always has, in their hours of dormancy or plentiful slumber.) Instead, he walks in the past.
The charm of ruins has always been their history. Amongst the derelict cracks and the ivy that calls them home, lurks the existence of what was before: a place so full of life now barely existing as a structure's rotting corpse.
To imagine: Once upon a time, these walls had been a vibrant color, decorated with fixtures like paintings and portraits. The wooden floorboards that creak upon his feet had been danced on merrily, ran on by bustling children, broken and repaired, polished and carpeted.
This room had been a dining table, where the family would gather, eat, and say their grace. The children would throw peas and their mother would grow upset. Here is where they would play. Here is where they would bathe. Here is where they would sleep. Here is where they slept forever.
Sometimes, it was not a mansion that he visited, but a court, or a church, or a tomb. Yet the ending stays the same. All of this– everything, it would leave, and the structure would remain as a museum of memories.
The thought had once brought Malleus comfort. It was a ghostly reassurance, to know that his people were not the only ones left behind by history's false records, abandoned in the dust to lick their wounds, to isolate, to mourn and remember. It was solace found in loss. It was a companion found in loneliness. It was, to him, a form of consolation.
Now, he fails to think the same.
For as he wanders the hollow corridors of Ramshackle's building, it is not comfort that he feels, but hurt.
It is nothing, he thinks.
Ramshackle Dormitory is nothing without its residents. Bare of life, light, and laughter, it is nothing but a derelict building on the verge of collapsing, worn so much worse than it was before with no residing ghosts to keep it upright. It is nothing like the ruins Malleus so adores for ruins are comfort and history. Ramshackle is nothing but hurt and memories.
He can't help but wonder why he teleported here, of all places.
Perhaps the nostalgia was too much to bear.
Perhaps he wanted to hurt.
Perhaps he simply missed those moments, bitter of their departure.
The kitchens are lacking their stock-filled pantries with no tower of tuna for an exuberant direbeast. No flame for baking pies, made from the fruits of labor; Only shattered wood, collapsed countertops, and filthy animal trails.
The lounge is not a place where one finds comfort. It is a room with gaping holes from which the wind creeps in. There are no laughs here, no idle chatting, no dancing, singing, playing. Haphazardly strewn about are torn-open couches and fallen paintings.
Their garden of life has rotten. The rows of foliage and canopies and crates of nature's bearings — all are reduced to nothing, to dirt, to soil, to rotting. The rose seeds he had given them wither in lack of care. The blueberries for cobbler, the yams for sweets, the flowers, the bees, all that time they'd spent farming-
It is lost now.
Deep beneath the squirming of his guts and the thorns that squeeze his chest, Malleus knows. He knows what is lost, and what is lost can seldom ever be recovered. Yet Lilia had taught him when he felt all too the same. When the happenings of STYX had left Ramshackle in a similar state. When the stars aligned. When he first felt hurt. Fae can do nothing for history but remember. And Malleus remembers. Will always remember.
Time is a spindle that halts for no one. The loom of fate will take its shape. The seasons will pass and gardens will wilt. Malleus will reminisce of all that was before: the lull of midnight walks, his human's gentle voice, newly budding plants, and songs of their world. But come what may, and what else is there to be taken away for Ramshackle Dorm will always be a home, to Yuu, to him, and now, to memories.
He vanishes in a flicker of green lights.
. . .
“In my world, gargoyles and grotesques are related to religion,” his human friend told him, lost in their conversation of archaic structures and statues. It began when Malleus brought up the topic of their Ramshackle Dorm harboring gargoyles, and found that Yuu was ever eager to learn more of the concept. Majestic – they had called the beasts of stone. “They're built on the pillars of churches and cathedrals with the purpose of warding off evil and frightening away harm.”
The aura of night always seemed especially tame in their exchanges, as if a magical veil cast upon them both to preserve the moment, unharmed. (That veil was so delicate. He was a fool to believe otherwise.)
Malleus had responded in turn, with a tilt of his voice and a fondness reserved only for the child of man before him. He asked questions threaded from their statement. Yuu supplied information of their own.
They had raised their finger to beckon his attention once more, garnering focus for their additional words.
“But not only are they protectors of the building itself – to keep water from damaging the structures, they're also the protectors of the people.”
The evening breeze carried away what few leaves it had gathered from the pavement, and the prefect turned to face him with a familiar sort of softness in their eyes.
Yuu smiled.
“I suppose that makes you mine and this dorm's gargoyle, doesn't it?”
It could've been strokes of bad luck, Yuu pushes. Coincidences. Random happenings. Yet at the same time, they refuse to believe that all of the chaos happening around them was anything but. Their dreams are episodic, like a series of foretellings. Then there's the Great Seven, the seven Overblots, and how a magical anomaly evolved into a patterned dilemma. Their arrival in Twisted Wonderland, Grim's mysterious origin, and to add up, Mickey and the Mirror. All of it felt too connected for their liking.
It felt as if everything has been orchestrated.
“...ect? Prefect-kun! Goodness, were you even listening to a word I said?”
They snap back to reality as a tall, masked, and eloquently-dressed man stands in front of them. The grimace on Crowley's face is clear and he has his arms crossed.
“Nah. I wouldn't have either," Grim drawls from beside them, brows flattened in boredom and annoyance.
“How rude, Grim!”
The two bicker back and forth.
If it were a normal situation, Yuu would've joined Grim by now and thrown in a few verbal jabs at the Headmaster. Or they'd simply watch in amusement as the two's harmless banter goes on and on, much like Ace and Deuce. But this isn't a normal situation. Yuu has questions – suspicions. And the more they silently stare at Crowley quarreling with the little beast, their stomach churns.
The emotional side of them wants to deny the accusation. After all, this dramatic old man is still the same person who granted them a home... The same man who dumped tasks on them and Grim relentlessly and fled in the face of confrontation. The same man who fake-cried whenever refuted, and beamed whenever he was in the right. The same geezer who'd drink white tea with them and ignore the presence of garlic bread like it was something vile. The same Dire Crowley who ruffled their hair and introduced them to photography.
They hate to admit it, but they've grown fond of the annoying bird.
“Is something the matter, Yuu?”
The Headmaster's attention diverts back to the magicless student, his and Grim's dispute seemingly ended. Yuu almost bristles at his soft tone of voice.
At this point, they can only hope that they're wrong – that their judgment and suspicions were uncalled for and debunked.
The Prefect releases an exasperated sigh and jumps off of their seat. They make a gesture with their hand, beckoning for the man to lean down. Crowley does so, and Yuu begrudgingly adjusts the ample headpiece.
“...Your hat is all crooked, you tacky old man.”
“Oh, is it? My mistake.”
“Henchman! My ribbon is crooked too. Fix it for me!”
