I am Mourning or Dove, someone incredibly new to posting on Tumblr, who loves to write and study characters! While anyone can read my headcanons or fics, this blog will probably cater more to male/gender-neutral readers!(mostly gen though) At least for a while, as I collect my bonkers😭 Plus, male reader x character isn’t too common! So, I figured I’d feed it a little where I can😞
But as I am still new to posting on tumblr, or writing publicly in general, I do wish for you to have patience with me<3
vv click here for my request information vv
First off! Let’s get the DNI and Limits down first!
DNI
My DNI is basic currently! No transphobia, homophobia, racism, ableism, fatphobia, or anything of the sort. If you are/show that behavior towards me or anyone that I notice it happening to, no matter the excuse, I will cease to interact with you. Since it both makes me uncomfortable and just?? Isn't necessary to behave that way.
Another rule is do not feed my works to AI. I’m not comfortable with it, and after years of attempting and still trying to fix up my writing, I find it cruel to do it. To me, and to other writers/people in the creative space, past or present(and like its harmful effects on the environment😭 either way, it’s no fun.)
LIMITS
However, my limits with writing are pregnancy, vomit, incest, and pedophilla!I’m not a fan of writing any of it, personally, and two are flat out illegal(incest&pedophilla).
Now onto fandoms and such!!
FANDOMS I’LL WRITE FOR
Twisted wonderland’s Masterlist
Obey me, shall we date?!
Information; Currently only these two!! since I’m in LOVE with these. Especially twisted wonderland! Please feel free to request anything for both of these fandoms characters<3(Including the side side characters in obey me, such as Thirteen, Raphael, and Mephistopheles)
Warnings; I will not, no matter what, write anything romantic for either Ortho, Grim, or Luke. Platonic requests only for those three, please!!</3
FANDOMS/INTERESTS I’LL YAP ABOUT TO DM-ERS AND ASKERS
Demon Slayer
Soul Eater
Jujutsu Kaisen
Trash/Lout of the Count’s Family
Cookie Run Kingdom
Alien Stage
Mystic Messenger
Mythology
Folklore/Urban legends(Primarily supernatural entities, special interest in them.)
SCP foundation, maybe ¿Creepypastas?(this shouldn’t surprise you considering the previous one)
Really obscure fun facts or just facts about animals
Honestly?? People’s ocs. Please yap to me about them!! I’ll love them each sm🫶
Probably more, will update with time💔💔
Information; I’ll yap about these fandoms all day!! But I’m not too comfortable writing for them just yet, maybe in the future.
However, the other stuff?? Go ahead and talk to me about them!! Or even if you just want to tell me things you find a lil interesting if you don’t get to talk about it often! Anything scientific you might have to like, dumb it down a smidge for me at first if I haven’t heard about it before, but I’ll 100% still read it+respond🫶
This honestly also includes fandoms too. please yap to me about whatever!! I might even check out a specific thing so I can reply better/be able to engage in it with you🫢
But you can also just ask me questions also about things as well outside of it too if you want. As long as it isn’t, y’know, my IP.
CHARACTER LIMIT PER REQUEST
Honestly, still debating this one. But for right now, 8 is going to be my max!
GENRES/THINGS I’LL WRITE
Honestly, I’m into various topics and genres. So I’ll probably write for most/any request(besides the few limitations) I have realize though that I will write maybe short fanfics to my more headcanon-y stuff. I enjoy setting a premise and setting in them, and it’s fun for me to expand upon it. This doesn’t mean I’ll always do it, but it’s more likely that I will!
Whether a request carries out in the more canon world, a slight change in the story, or full blown AU ideas like royalty you’d like to see how I’d write/give ideas for, I don’t mind! Just hurl your ideas at me and I’ll wholeheartedly accept them.
All I ask in response is your patience with me.
POSTING SCHEDULE
My posting schedule vary, since I don’t have a set posting schedule, nor do I think I will ever have one. But, I’ll post whenever I can and have the time to. As, if I rushed out fics/headcanons every day, sometimes even every week, I feel like the quality in my writing will dwindle and so would my motivation.
But I will state now, I do my requests in order of when I get them, and that’s not even including a my own ideas. So please don’t worry if I haven’t gotten to you yet! I promise I see it, and will get it done eventually.
ANONYMOUS ANNOS?(Anonymous annos with a little sign off like an emoji or something)
I don’t mind them! In fact, I adore the idea of having a little list of emojis people claim as their sign offs😭 So please don’t be afraid to request one and chat/request sign off with it with me!!<3
Other than that, there’s not much else I gotta say! I do hope that you’ll like or at the barest minimum tolerate my writing!
Please don’t be afraid to hurl any requests you have my way<3 I’d absolutely love to hear your ideas! Or for that matter, don’t be afraid to ask to be mutuals/friends either with me!! I love interacting with people🫶
Though I will warn, I do talk in lower case in convos/in asks!! I swear I’m not like in some sour mood or anything 😭 I just like talking in lowercase. The only reason my rules are in full grammar and punctuation is cause I wanted others to have an easier time understanding, and also since it felt weird to?? Felt like I was being informal at a job interview or something 💔
I love ur writing sm !! 😭😭 could I ask for a Yuu who’s very two faced/a huge people pleaser ? Not in a mean way . But they’ve been so used to putting up a mask in front of others that they just do it without intending to at this point— and when they’re alone (or at least they think so), the persona completely drops and they look like the most unapproachable person on earth .
After they’ve finished a favor for someone they swear under their breath the moment they turn around . And obviously there’s no place in NRC where you’re truly alone so the boys WILL catch Yuu slipping up unbeknownst to them .
uhh I really wanted to req this with leona , malleus , and the tweels . But it’s really up to you who to write for the rest . And you can totally just ignore this too cause I just wanted to ramble T . T
‘ ‘A New Side to the Beloved Perfect., ,
Premise; The Ramshackle Perfect, known across the Night Raven College corridors for their kind nature. Always helping others with a seemingly indestructible smile plastered onto their face.
But what if that person was just a front?
A mask, just so people wouldn’t know what hid underneath. To see the unbridled exhaustion that seemed to bury deep within their bone marrow.
Pairing; Leona Kingscholar, Jade Leech, Floyd Leech, and Malleus Draconia x Perfect! GN! Reader(separate)
Word Count; 7.9k
Side Notes: fear I wrote a lil too much for Leona(stares at 3,038 words…) though!! I’m so happy that you enjoy my writing.
apologies it took a second!! I wanted to get it done by the 11th but did NOT go to plan😭 trying to be aesthetic(and failing) is NOT for the weak(me)
I hope you tho!!<3
⤷ Leona would argue that he knew you were some sorta people pleaser from the first day he laid eyes on you. The ceremony, when you stumbled out of that coffin; panic etched into your features, acting as if you were pulled into a whole new reality(technically, you were.) That you reeked of it, even from where he lazed atop those wooden benches just before the floating mirror and coffins. Just out of harm's way, safe from the skittering beast with a forked tail, hellbent on casting everything he could ablaze.
⤷ And in truth, it always irritated Leona. He hated it when people were quick to follow orders, to make others happy. As if they were naught but a dog, doomed to servitude, wagging their tails pathetically at the slightest bit of attention. Barking when spoken to, being loyal to their adoring humans, etc. Whether it’d be to gain something in turn, or merely to make themselves feel better about themselves, to be seen by someone better than them, it didn’t matter to him. They all expected something in turn for their 'benevolent' acts. Prideless creatures, they were.
⤷ He remembered the days he roamed the palace at Sunset Savanna. Witnessed the way people praised his elder brother merely for his existence. Did everything they could just to keep that dumb lopsided grin on Falena's face that always looked like it was mocking him, all the while the people in court stared at him as if Leona was lesser. All because of their birth order, out of either brother's control. Seeing him as something they couldn't gain anything from, not unless Falena or his father perished.
⤷ Even within Night Raven College, it was clear there was a stark difference between people, or their groups. A distinction so obvious, although it'd never be mentioned aloud. Everyone naturally belonged to a hierarchy, and no one wanted to be at the bottom of it; using whatever tool—whoever they had to—to raise up the ladder.
⤷ Annoyingly enough, except you. The irregularity both in this world and in his views on society. And maybe he loathed that a little more.
Leona openly despised your existence. Outwardly, privately, spiritually, catastrophically. Any way he could, he probably did. It was a known fact around campus and especially to whoever knew the two of you, but no one knew why he seemed to be so averse to your existence more than anyone else. When you'd asked Ruggie—mostly joking, but genuinely concerned why Leona looked at you like you ate a decaying apple in front of him—Ruggie could only manage a shrug and a small comfort. "Y'know, maybe you're just too nice for 'em. Wouldn't put it past him if he just strived off negativity… Swear I've never seen a blemish on him."
Which was partially true. To some degree. He did dislike you because of that.
You aided people without thinking twice, always throwing yourself headfirst into something else; always ignoring those who'd told you it was foolish and a waste of time. Which, fine. Whatever. He couldn't be that mad if someone was getting something out of it. Even if it was just the title of being a "good person" in others' eyes, so be it.
But what made you so aggravating was that you never expected things from others. In fact, he'd sometimes argue that you anticipated them not to bat an eye at you afterward, making you yet another nameless face in a crowd of nobodies. And he couldn't fathom why such a person existed. How could someone function like that? Live that way, even.
To him, it only served to remind him of when Cheka first realized he had a tail. The way he'd chase it around fruitlessly, stumbling to his knees before getting back up, again and again. An unbreakable cycle, only halted whenever his nephew found something a little more entertaining than playing cat and mouse with the very thing that was attached to him.
So, he'd pick at you. Consistently. Without fail. Snide comments. Scoffing a little too loudly whenever you found yourself unable to voice that someone had crossed a clear boundary, instead allowing it to be pushed against. So far, a bent swordfish could fit the tip of its nose in the crevice. Broken beyond what could've been repaired. Mocking the apologies you handed out like candy under his breath.
Things you swore you could've handled, including his sly remarks. So what? It wasn't like you could please everybody. Certainly, this wasn't going to irritate you or anything of the sort. Or weigh on your conscience. Nah.
⤷ But Leona had a terrible knack for getting under people's skin. Something you were convinced he was both subconscious and aware of.
⤷ Each time, he'd peel back another layer of paint that you'd coated on in hopes you could still pretend. Covering the mold spores that crawled underneath, act like they never existed. A seemingly invulnerable canvas, ensuring the corruption didn't reach the surface of the shell. But there was a piece of you that acknowledged that it was growing rapidly, despite your efforts. That soon, somewhere deep within your heart, you'd run out of paint, so that everyone would see you as you really are. A brittle mess, hidden beneath the prettiest of shades.
⤷ That was, until, unable to take it anymore, you bared your teeth back at him, unveiling what lay behind closed doors.
The courtyard was empty except for two. A Ramshackle Perfect, and an indigo-haired Heartslabyul first-year with a club marring his cheek, who spilled words at such a rapid pace you weren't too certain you'd caught them.
The indigo-haired student bowed halfway toward you. A habit, despite your badgering and teasing, telling him he didn't have to do that with you. "… Thank you! For promising to help me and Ace study for the upcoming magic history test, Yuu. I promise, I'll get a head start now so you can worry more about your own!" Deuce straightened up, letting you glimpse a confident smile plastered onto his face.
Turning on his heel, he waved goodbye, allowing your shoulders to ease just a smidge. Your smile to falter. But before he crossed the threshold into the school building, he paused, turning back to shout out, "I wouldn't know what to do without you!"
And there that mask went right back up as if it'd never left.
The bit of strain that subsided now swelled with tension as you waved back, beaming. "Any time! Can't leave you two behind now, can I?" Only to receive a snort in response as he ran off, into the abyssal hell that was Night Raven College. Leaving you standing there. Alone. Counting the seconds, your slowing heartbeat, until it was almost a guarantee that he wouldn't bolt back.
A sigh stumbled out of you after a minute. Almost every bone in your body becoming mush but your legs that threatened to capsize under the pressure. Exhaustion bled out of you in waves, and a cruel part of you was so glad that Grim decided to head to Scarabia to gorge on delicacies enough to make a grown, redneck man swoon over. Just for a sliver of peace. Away from anyone. Even if you knew it wouldn't last long.
As much as you loved those three, you swore they were gonna be the death of you sometimes. Literally, too, whenever Grim decided to lie on your neck and nearly suffocate you.
Your tranquility didn't last long, though. Because of course it didn't.
The dull thud of someone's shoes came up from behind you moments after Deuce left, lazy enough where the tips of the soles seemed to drag on for an eternity—clearly someone who couldn’t care less about their personal belongings—before halting. "Crowley should see if those little Royal Sword Academy students wants ya'… They'd just love you," a gruff voice said, sarcastically. You didn't even have to turn back to see who it was. The sheer amount of malice that poured from his every word could only belong to one student.
Your eyes slammed shut, an attempt to rein in that bubbling urge to argue back. Something that was usually as effortless as breathing for you. But against your better judgment, you slipped. "And what's that supposed to mean?" You snipped, glancing back over your shoulder, to find exactly who you expected.
The Housewarden of Savannaclaw, Leona Kingscholar. The one person in this seven-forsaken school that never seemed to be pleased, no matter what you did.
"I think you know what I meant, herbivore."
"That your school is riddled with delinquents, despite being supposedly prestigious?" You squinted at him, taking in his lax posture. The way his hands burrowed deep within his pants pockets. "Is it that shocking that someone wants to be nice for a change around here?"
"It ain't like it workin' well for ya…" Leona sighed out. "Shocker you haven't been eaten alive yet. Thought you'd just be bones within a week."
You stared flatly at him. Of all people who could've bothered you, it just had to be Leona. "Do you always have to act this pretentious?" Whether that was a genuine question or an observation, you weren't quite sure. "I just don't get it. What have I done to upset you this much?" You started, shifting to face him front on. "Are you still that mad about the yowling? Come on. That was forever ago."
"If you think whatever that noise Grim was shriekin' was yowling, we gotta whole other issue," he bristled.
"That's still not answering my question, you know?"
"And what?" Leona crossed his arms over his chest. "If I answer, whatcha gonna do? Try n' fix whatever you've done? Like everything else in this school?"
Your brows knit together. "What are you talking about now, Leona?"
"I'd argue it's pretty obvious."
"It isn't," you bit the words out, teeth scraping together.
"The whole…" He waggled a finger at you. "Helpin' anything with a pulse thing you got goin' on."
"… Helping people?" You drawled. "Is that what this has been about? Are you serious? You can't be."
"When ya' do it, it's pathetic. Hell, I'd be shocked if you didn't hurl yourself off a mountain if someone asked you to," He said before adding, "It's like you're desperate for some form-a' control when ya' have none. Controllin' how others' view you by catering to their every need."
“We all know that if I don't do it, who will, Leona,” you growled out; venom leaking through your every word. Your exhaustion peering from the cracks in your facade.
“It doesn’t matter who does it, or if it gets done." He drew right arm up, gesturing to the entirety of campus. "Let them figure out their issues.”
“It doesn’t work that way… I don’t have a choice!”
“Then quit complainin’ if you aren’t going to just let it up.” He sneered, the tips of his canines poking from his upper lip. Sharp as they were lethal. “Do you really think helpin' Crowley— Helpin' any of us, will get you home faster, herbivore?" He spat out. Those jade green eyes of his flashed a form of hatred you didn't think possible, twisting into an acidic color. "D'ya think, for one second, we care enough to try?”
You flinched, taking a half step back. “…Huh?”
He tread closer in response, his strides consuming the distance between you as if it were nothing. “What progress has been made to get you home?”
Your mouth went dry. Nothing, some part of you told you to say. Instead, you glanced away, unable to look directly at him, only managing a close-lipped smile. “… Headmaster Crowley said that he was still researching. He has responsibilities to the school, you know?" You sounded as convinced as the expression on the beastmen's face.
“Is he, though? The man who nearly bolted to the mirror whenever came to winter vacation?”
“Well—" You started, but he was quicker.
“Is he the one studyin’ in the library whenever they have an ounce of free time?"
"No— but-" Words piled in your throat, arguments to thwart his claims. To prove that what you were doing was helpful for your cause, that Crowley was going to find a way, but none of them made sense strung together. Why didn't they make sense? You couldn't have been doing this for nothing, right? At the sight of Leona's quirked-up brow, practically egging you to go on, you blabbered, "He's busy! Okay?! I don't know! He's the headmaster!"
"You're smart, aren't you? You've survived this long. So get it through ya' thick, damn skull," Leona bellowed. "All you are is a damned pawn. Everyone can see it, so why can't you?"
"Crowley wouldn't. He promised."
"He lied." His voice sounded so close, it pierced your ears. "He's still lying." Closer, now.
No. That wasn't it. He, himself, was close, and when you shifted your gaze, risking a glance to meet his, something shattered in you at what you found.
It wasn't pity nor sympathy that loomed within them. It was blunt. Honest in a way you doubted anyone else could ever come close to. An attack that tore you to pieces better than any sword could, shattering everything and more in its path. His gaze, in that moment, could topple kingdoms, and people could still worship it as seven sent. And to think it'd come from a lion who lounged about the botanical garden like he owned the place, and practically maimed Grim, Deuce, and Ace in spelldrive.
“… Then what good am I if I can’t help others?" Your voice trembled around the edges. A husk of the confidence it'd once held at the start of this conversation. The conviction. Withered by revelations you'd not figured out fully. Not yet. "What am I supposed to be?”
Leona shrugged, drawing away from you. “Don’t go askin’ me. It’s your job to figure that stuff out. I ain't doing it…” He said, bored. Bored! "Go get a therapist or somethin'… Or Ruggie. He'd listen for a thaumark or two. Probably." He paused, looked you up and down, then muttered, purposefully loud enough for you to hear, "Probably not."
And then the prick walked—no, strutted away. Acting like he didn't dismantle your whole life, habits that were so etched into your psyche that you couldn't remember the last time you'd been selfish. Allowed yourself the pleasure of a break. Or even, why you forced yourself into helping so many, only to be let down time and time again, to the point it became a sickening running joke to you; to a point where you'd lost track of how many people walked all over you and then some more.
What a jag off. You thought as you bore holes into his retreating back.
He'd be a horrifically great, although morally corrupt, therapist. Stress your client out until all they want is to wring your neck, then bicker with them about their issues until they get it through their dense heads, was the next thought after he'd gotten far enough away, however traitorous it was.
You looked at your trembling hands that dangled uselessly at your sides. Still a jag off, though.
⤷ After that day, you blanked out for the entire week. Going over previous interactions during class. During anything, truly. Noticing patterns in the way people treated you, compared to what they would do to their friends. Reasons you were like this, why you were like this.
⤷ The first-years worried after the second day, even if they didn't show it outwardly; they stayed by your side, when you could only manage a small shrug in response to whatever they had to say. Letting you lean on them whenever you couldn't stand on your own, but giving you enough space so you could talk about it when you were able to.
⤷ Soon, you'd started to decline people whenever they claimed they so desperately needed your help. It was a slow start, and you certainly had your days when you snapped back into your former self, taking everything on your shoulders, pretending that you could deal with it, when you really couldn't. But you managed. Even if every instinct and sense in you screamed it was wrong. That someone probably despised you, all because you couldn't be at their beck and call.
⤷ With every boundary you'd rebuilt, with every firm no, people started to treat you more of a person, and not some robot people pushed things onto because they knew they could.
And one day, when Grim, who was loafed in your arms, groaned and said that the "lion" is watching again, you blinked. Consumed with confusion and just a tad curious, you turned your head, meeting emerald green eyes from across the corridor. Except it wasn't filled with irritation. Not wholly, at least. Somewhere within those eyes was a spark of something new, a thing you'd never thought possible before. Something akin to respect.
Though it faded quickly as Grim raised, standing on his hind legs, bellowing that he should quit starin' already. Any sort of mutual respect transformed into pure, undiluted annoyance within mere seconds. Dusted into sand. Gone. Probably never to happen again, even in your wildest dreams. Sevens damn you, Grimothy the 3rd. This fuzzball was gonna be the death of you.
But you couldn't help but catch the smirk that came across Leona's face as he turned the corner to the next hallway, when Grim had hopped down onto the ground with a pout, grumbling that the lazy lion was just amazed at his grandness.
⤷ Leona may not be the person who will help you figure yourself out, nor would he comfort you. Hell, you were sure he was gonna be the reason you overblotted countless times. You'd even written it down somewhere, blaming him and Crowley wholeheartedly for any mental turmoil you went through.
⤷ But he knew babying wouldn't get you far, not with how stubborn you could be, and he was almost certain those pesky first-years wouldn't abandon you for the hawks. And, only you could've made the change. All he did was become the catalyst, springing you forward.
⤷ Jade would be the quickest to find out. Particularly, through the duration of stalking careful observation of you during the three days of the contract with Azul, when he was tasked with foiling your plans for snatching the photograph from the museum. Keeping track of your movements, noticing traits and habits as you set off to free your poor, unfortunate friends.
⤷ He'd been aware of your incessant need to help others, or even, accept tasks that were far too grand or heavy to bear alone. It was impossible not to. He'd heard it through the grapevine that was Night Raven College's gossip group. As you grew in popularity after the Heartslabyul and Savannaclaw Overblots, it was hard not to hear about your fervor for it.
⤷ It was a rarity alone in the Night Raven College to witness such a person, so willing to help others, despite rarely ever gaining anything in return. Another thing whenever you account for how vicious the sea could be. Oh, what was that saying land dwellers spoke of? Dog eat dog world? Something similar to the sort. A strange saying, when compared to the sea, but it fit well enough.
⤷ However… It was a whole other thing to witness it in live action. Such a person.
The first time he noticed something unusual about you was during the very conversation with Azul, when you sold your home for the price of 215 students' freedoms, which wasn't even a guarantee.
The smile propped on your face was hesitant, but still appeared easy-going, as he loomed in the corner beside his twin brother, watching as you heard the conditions for freeing the students. A wolf beastman sat beside you on one of the lounges, eyebrows furrowed so low Jade was convinced they'd reach his cupid's bow if they dipped any further. The companion you had from the other day, if the eel remembered correctly, whenever the hoard of anemones collected like fungi in the lounge.
Jade's hands were folded in front of him, with impeccable form as Floyd leaned back on the shelves behind them. Not yet fully putting his weight on it, but enough where it made a difference in the two's posture.
As the wolf beastman's teeth bared at the idea of putting Ramshackle as collateral, your face remained calm, never shifting into one of fear or full-blown worry. Neutral, despite the demands asked of you. Unusual, but Jade couldn't put his finger on why. Were you unable to process it fully? He supposed that'd made sense.
Until the door slammed open, emerging a small ball of bubbles that was more soap than cat, who nearly hacked up suds as he yowled about accepting the contract, loathing working in such a despicable environment. Rude. But Jade figured not everyone could handle the consequences of their own actions. Even direbeasts, apparently.
That was the first time he saw your expression change, and you didn't even have to look over your shoulder to see who it was. As soon as you heard a thunk of the door, your face morphed into a grimace for just a split second. So quick, he was convinced he imagined it at first. Except his eyes never failed him before, unless he'd found a particularly strange mushroom in the forest that emitted such an effect.
Hum.
⤷ Yet. That could've been explained. Seeing your dorm mate in such a sight, especially amidst a discussion of forking over your living arrangements for an expansion of a cafe, could've caused anyone to make such a sour expression. Even his eye would twitch, ever so slightly, if Floyd had done the same to him.
⤷ So, he didn't think much of it, filing it away, storing the information for later if need be. But something was still nagging him about how swift the action was. As if it were practiced. Not realizing a day later, he would find out why it seemed so natural for you.
The hallway was bustling with students without an end in sight. The school day, coming to an end. When people scurried to their clubs and friends or committed to their studies within the library. A good chunk, cursed to the Mostro Lounge. Floyd was already long gone, beckoned by Azul to deal with the anemones that were dragged back to the Mostro Lounge, abandoning him to keep watch of the Ramshackle Perfect, to which Floyd dragged his feet about.
Jade wasn't far from you, at a careful distance to make sure you weren't plotting something after rooming in Savannaclaw, and your previous interaction, finding out that he was a moray eel. Mixed in between students, lurking, as a predator would their prey.
Except… Not so violent of a situation.
A student came up to you. A Pomefiore student, he concluded, by the grape color of their vest, and the royal purple and crimson ribbon that was tied to their left arm, carrying a stack of books. Average height, with gray hair as loosely styled as his uniform. A pompous and arrogant expression was plastered onto his face, enough to make anyone scowl at the mere sight of it.
His voice rang out loud enough to where Jade could hear how boisterous it was, even if the sentences were not entirely tangible, echoing down the corridor. Stating that he was "Terribly busy," "Totally will owe you one," and "if you did this tiny favor." You nodded curtly at him before the Pomefiore student slid the stack of books into your arms.
Yet he didn't stop.
In fact, he became more talkative, even when you stepped away, attempting to flee, but trapped in a societal cage, knowing damn well he'd call you foul nicknames as soon as you scampered away if you left too quickly. A fountain, except only praise poured out of him instead of water, until you finally managed to round the corner. Leaving the student as he waved goodbye.
When he strode closer, resuming his pursuit, the student stayed there. His arms crossed over his chest. Passing him, Jade had noticed a sly, almost knowing smirk out of the corner of his eye before he turned on his heel, waving to his friends that he was now "free" to hang out. How the perfect, in his stead, took the task to return the books to the library.
How interesting… How he knew that you would've taken the bait.
Just how much of a reputation do you have for helping others, Perfect?
A hum escaped him at the thought, turning his attention back ahead of him. Only to find a desolate hallway with one soul to roam it. You, who sagged against the wall as if all of your energy had been depleted in a single interaction. His eyes widened at the sight, and even more so whenever he stepped closer, when he heard all of the grumbles that spilled from you. Words you'd never voice aloud, but to yourself. Where no one could hear your true opinion of them.
"Why can't these people ever do their own work?"
"If they can't even handle this, I feel bad for their future employers who'll have to deal with them… They'll be fired within minutes."
"Man… Nepo babies suck."
The corners of Jade's mouth quirked upward, his head tilting just a fraction. So, this was how you truly felt. Before he knew it, he was right behind you, a grin evident on his face, "Ah, Dear Perfect, are you in need of any assistance?" He said, pointing toward the hardcovers that went just above your collarbones, adding, "Those appear to be quite hefty…"
You leapt out of your skin at the sound of his voice, whirling around, only to find the very eel who booted you out of your house, but smart enough to retain your usual demeanor within milliseconds. "No thanks. I'm good! Just a… Few books. Nothing too strenuous." But your smile was a little too bright; your voice, an octave too high. As if you weren't sure how to react to him—like he was an anomaly, and you were standing on uncharted territory, where your mask couldn't yet solidify into what you needed of it.
"But I insist. After all, it'd be cruel not to help another in need."
"Really, I'll survive! Just gotta-" Before you managed to slip away yet again, he snagged half of the mass of hardcovers, so effortlessly you couldn't help but stare at his back as he sauntered off, without even a shred of hesitancy; momentarily dumbfounded. Realizing he was already at the next fork in the road, you must've snapped out of it, racing up to his side, leveling your expression back seamlessly. Not before whispering under your breath that he was gonna end up taking both your dormitory and your kidney for this, of course.
All the while, he played coy, with that stupidly polite smile on his face. Just as unreadable as the faux grin that was plastered onto yours.
⤷ From that day on, there was a strange sort of enthrallment that bubbled within him about you. How far you could be pushed until you snapped, one of his loudest, whenever he watched you bounce around from place to place. Helping people study. Grabbing entire grocery hauls from Sam's shop for people.
⤷ But he always managed to slither in before you started foaming at the mouth, whether it'd be by assisting you with your truckload of assignments or scaring the person off. You always did wonder why he did. Why didn't he ask for payment in turn? Wasn't it a perfect case for giving you 25% charge for his time? Azul would've been irked if he found out Jade missed out on such an opportunity.
⤷ Even outwardly asked him once. Only to receive a question instead. "Why don't you charge others for yours?" Truly a mystery, one neither of you may find out.
⤷ A strange match, the two of you are.
⤷ Floyd, in some way, did realize that you were exhausted, ever since your first few interactions. But not in the way that you actually were, how others treated you.
⤷ From his perspective, he'd thought it was only directed at him, never taking into account that you didn't grumble under your breath, believing he couldn't hear you, with anyone else. That your irritation, like with everyone else that had met him, came from his own inexplicable hot and cold personality instead of a trait rooted in your very essence. Something that crept under your skin, even prior to Night Raven College.
⤷ Didn't know that with every new order, assignment, and errand placed atop your shoulders, another pebble added to the collection. A weight that felt like it'd never relent, only accumulated as the days progressed. Made you wearier. Because people never pushed you around whenever Floyd was skulking by. They feared to, in some manner. They knew that he despised it when his toys, his entertainment, his shrimpy, were messed with by others.
⤷ So, he'd poke and prod, obliviously. Laugh as you grouched to yourself when you set off on one of his downright stupid tasks that made little to no sense sometimes. Only to surprise him when you returned from whatever expedition he sent you on now, accomplishing it with flying colors, to a point where he wondered if you did have some mystical force within you, encouraging that inquisitive nature he had. To see how much he could push until you finally couldn't secure his foolish wishes. To figure out why.
⤷ Only to find your driving force was spite. And maybe self-deprecation. Probably self-deprecation.
It was lunchtime. Where people collected like families of fish in the hallways and the cafeteria, or sat by themselves, preferring solace over the fast-paced world and drama from friend groups. Or maybe, left alone, abandoned because of a strange illness or flu that overtook their buddy, living only their existence in a crowd, and breaking apart their beloved routine.
The moray eel didn't know. He didn't really care, either. Even if he was, just like them, deserted. Left alone in these corridors. A sole eel, in a crowd of land dwellers of all kinds.
Well. No. Technically, he left Azul and Jade in the lunchroom himself, not feeling like grabbing a snack or anything… Nor did he find anything interesting going on in the lunch room, any people he wanted to be around. Even bothering goldfishie seemed like a waste of time… But that was besides the point, y'know? Let him lament.
But the minnows in the halls were just as boring as the ones who ate in blissful peace, safe from whatever antics Floyd was conducting inside his head. Chatting with one another. Scampering into different classrooms to ask one of the professors a question. Flinching whenever he came into their line of sight before hunching over, hoping he didn't notice; cowering away.
A huff escaped him at the sight, a prominent frown etching deep into his face. Man… He never realized how borin' this place could be sometimes. Was everyone this aggravating all the time? He'd round a corner, only to come across the hallway to his greatest enemy… The library.
The place where even a hushed whisper would get you aggressively and synchronizedly shushed at by every single person in the room, including the many dust bunnies that collected on tomes older than the school itself. Where hopes and dreams of turning a new leaf, becoming an honors student, came to wither and die. Every whiff was a newfound urge to sneeze uncontrollably, where saying watermelon became futile, where people broke records of "most sneezes in a minute."
Even the dark oak door was set ajar, creaking every time the wind blew past, before turning back to its original stance. A beckoning hand, urging people to enter, despite the sounds of weeping looming within it.
He took one look at it, squinted, before going to storm past it. Yeah. Nah. Last time he went in there, the ghosts banished him without a second thought, threatening detention with Professor Red Squid again. He ain't trying that again. He already got yelled at too much for sleeping in Magic History enough; soon, he'd have no ears to talk off.
But he couldn't help but glance in when he passed by, raking his gaze over the scenery many supposedly found "comfort" in. A thing he'd never understood himself from the blasted place, way too quiet…
Floating leather hardcover books and candles. Endless shelved tomes, with one shelf's end carrying splotches of dried crimson—probably someone slamming their head into it from stress. The wails of people studying for their upcoming tests. Wooden decks perched with hunched over students, scribbling down information like their lives depended on it. Carpeted floors that were thicker than the overgrown grass in his brother's terrarium, which Jade claimed was "useful for the environment." Oh. A Shrimpy with their lil baby seal. Talking to some guy.
Huh. That's kinda new. But still. Usual stuff. Nothin' too fun.
He kept walking. Until it hit him, a moment later.
Shrimpy?
He paused. Retreated a few steps. Peered back into the library. And there you were, conversing with one of your peers, Baby Seal at your ankles with his arms crossed, the tip of his forked tail swishing as wildly as a pelican stuck in a whirlpool. You were at the opposite end of the library, your back faced to the door, but he'd still recognize you anywhere, even from a quick, meaningless glance.
Yet the other person he wasn't familiar with. Wasn't the dull red of Crabby's hair or Mackerel's navy blue, the two who usually hung around you. He couldn't see the color of their uniform, either, with you blocking the guy. But that wasn't the issue. The issue was that you were acting strangely. Subconscious habits he'd taken notice of when he'd messed around with you, waiting for how you'd react, were on full display. Ones others would overlook without a second thought.
How your fingers twitched ever so slightly, changing between messing with the hem of your makeshift uniform and cracking your knuckles; to a point, even in the minute he witnessed, he was convinced your knuckles were gonna merge together from stress or fall apart. Your foot tapping incessantly in between the many desk and chair legs as if you couldn't wait to be done with this conversation.
Maybe you just couldn't stand still. He couldn't, often. That made sense. A lot of people couldn't.
But something tasted sour about it, nagging at him, and he didn't like it…
He slithered into the cracked doorway, careful to avoid pushing it too far. Past desks and bookshelves, where people barely tore their gaze away from their textbooks, and if they did, it wasn't for long. His footsteps were nimble, despite his height, the plush carpet cushioning the soles of his shoes.
From this range, he could take notice of the bright cherry colored vest, with gleaming gold buttons—a Heartslabyul student. He skulked closer, and closer, dangerously silent, until he peered over your shoulder. Staring, blatantly, like he wasn't going to stop until the Heartslabyul student forked over his wallet. Or soul. Both, probably.
The Heartslabyul student stuttered, glancing upward toward the eel, meeting his mismatched gleaming irises. Taking in his sharp, pin-prick teeth peering from his lightly parted lips. And Floyd watched as all of the breath from the student came out into a drawn, shuttered breath, retreating until his back slammed against a wall, and further; trying to meld himself into it. To disappear, and pretend he'd never walked up to you.
"Eh? Are you finally stricken by my brilliance?" The feline-shaped monster preened, a smirk overtaking his face. "Can you believe that, henchman? Demandin' all sortsa' stuff—" Only to wither whenever he looked to his side, noticing a pair of legs that his henchman did not just randomly sprout. "Oh, it's this one…" Grim grumbled.
When you turned, perplexed as to why the person in front of you practically leapt out of his skin, and Grim's sudden solemn tone, you squinted at Floyd, studying him with a pinched look. But you weren't quick enough to witness the biting chill of his glare; instead, you were met with a lopsided, lax grin. As if he'd not wilted a man with a mere look. "What are you doing?" You asked, but before he could utter a word, you hissed out, as if you came to the sudden, terrifying realization, "Weren't you banned from the library?"
Floyd beamed, "Temporarily."
"… Ghosts said for two weeks, y'know? Not a day n' a half," Grim muttered, his ears flat against his round, fuzzy head.
Floyd shrugged. "Ehh… They can't be that mad. Who can ban a student from a library anyh—"
"Intruder!" A ghost shrieked, spotting the teal-haired student.
"The library is off-limits!" Another caroled, mist coiling around them like they were a ballerina, their drifting a dance no living soul could replicate.
"How dare you encroach upon our sanctuary!" One bemoaned, their ghostly figure trembling at the edges.
"Your banishment is not yet lifted!" And lastly, the leader of the four, bellowed. Ghostly glasses perched on the bridge of their nose. Did ghosts even need glasses?
As soon as the roar of the ghosts shot out, shattering the peaceful cove that was the library as they phased through the desks. Aiming directly for the moray eel. You three looked at the apparitions. Your eye twitching ever so slightly, Floyd's dumb grin still plastered on his face, Grim, already plotting to run for the hills or damn the place in eternal flame.
You risked a glance at Floyd, and when he met your eyes, your face contorted into one of genuine, pure irritation. "No. Don't you do it." You pointed your finger at him, accusation heavy in your eyes. But in Floyd fashion, he ignored every bit of warning in your gaze that told him you were gonna swat him later for this, or snitch to Riddle that he was bullying one of his students.
He picked you up. Hoisted you over his shoulder. Yoinked Grim by the scruff before slinging him in the crevice between his side and inner elbow. And bolted out of the library, despite your incessant shrieking that this was, as you deemed it, "shrimpy-napping." The ghosts following behind.
⤷ But from that day on, Floyd Leech became a constant in your life. More so than he was before, which you didn't think was possible. Always trailing behind you with his hands in his pockets, looming over your shoulder with the kind of vicious glare that promised he'd bite dozens of holes into anything that irritated you. Except him, of course. Maybe Baby Seal too, n' your other lil freshmen friends. He liked 'em enough. Sometimes. Depended on his mood.
⤷ And even when he wasn't around due to the Mostro Lounge or during classes, rumors always seemed to float about. That messing with you would lead to someone doomed to servitude in the Mostro Lounge one way or another, or fish food. Whether that was Floyd himself or an actual trout, there was no clear answer.
⤷ Great job, Perfect. You've scored yourself a glorified guard eel who's threatened to squeeze at least 1/3 of the school for you, who gets paid by annoying the living hell out of you. Seriously, why does he keep grinning like a fool whenever his around you? You're beginning to think his up to something, and everyone knows that whatever the eel is plotting is never good.
⤷ Honestly, maybe overworking yourself was the better deal here. Maybe Azul will take him back if you beg enough.
⤷ Good luck, Perfect?
⤷ Malleus, I feel like, wouldn't notice for a while. Not because he lacks a sort of observational skill to realize, but because he does eventually notice signs of your exhaustion, even if he presumes it's not as deep-rooted as it really is at first.
⤷ But it'd probably be because of his upbringing being more sheltered than others, paired with the fact that he never hangs out around you as often as the rest of your peers and friends. For they'll never act the way they do in front of you, never be the same in front of the Prince of Briar. He didn't even know if you would change, too, when you became aware of his title, his prowess. Or maybe when he'd start to notice a shift in your demeanor, too.
⤷ So, it didn't feel wise to interact further than the occasional interaction when you'd stumble into each other in front of your dormitory. An upcoming event. The nighttime walks, whenever you just needed to get away from everything and everyone. Small things.
⤷ But the first time he noticed something was off was during one of his nightly "nocturnal constitutionals."
The night was bleak, overcast with a thick layer of impenetrable clouds. The moon was shrouded in the mist, only peering out through sheer, murky splotches of cream white before becoming elusive once more. The stars, not so lucky, unable to twinkle and shine down upon the world. Leaving it in a gloomy darkness, only able to be navigated through tremendous effort or artificial light.
Night Raven College was eerily silent, an unusual feat, seemingly without a soul in sight, including the more… incorporeal ones that roamed about, past their life spans. The crickets refused to chirp their melody, instead choosing to bask in the serenity of the time. Even his own footsteps sounded muted against the stone bricks, without even a thud or click of his heels to announce his presence, as if he were a mere specter, doomed to amble endlessly amongst the people.
Unable and unaware that he wasn't to be seen with a mortal eye.
The deteriorating dormitory, Ramshackle, loomed ahead of him. Its familiarity, despite the state, was oddly comforting, even with the roof crumbling, the windows either shattered or threatening to collapse if someone even attempted to clean it with a rag, held together with cobwebs. Spiders, creeping in through the holes, residing there as if it were their own.
But it was different, now. More… Homely, compared to how desolate it used to be—though it'd not changed much structurally.
Only small changes that made the dusty dormitory seem lived in. Surrounding grass no longer brushed up just below his knees, however patchy it looked in some spots, considering the tenant only held a scythe for a garden tool. The small, cute little welcome mat with paw prints stamped on it at the entryway, just before the rusty wood door that creaked unsettlingly every time someone opened it, audible from the sidewalk. The potted plants that dotted the area—likely stolen from the botanical gardens—so it didn't look like only a bunch of ghosts lived there.
Well. Not only a bunch of ghosts lived there.
Malleus wasn't even certain why he veered in this direction, down the twisting pathways that appeared to go on perpetually. He'd planned to visit the other side of the school grounds, toward the befallen ruins of what was once a ballroom; now a husk of its once ornate beauty, in shambles from lack of care. Yet something drew him here. Fate, perhaps. A captivating force not to be reckoned with, though he was not certain the reason why it'd beckoned him out this far. This way.
But to his surprise, once he came to the edge of the property, he noticed a hunched-over figure over one of the plants, cradling what looked to be a withered leaf within their hand. Possibly one from the stolen foliage. He squinted, focusing his eyes on the shadowed figure, only to find the person who loomed in the halls of such a place, who made it possible to make a haunted, abandoned place seem less ragged. The infamous Ramshackle Perfect. You. Without the fuzzy companion that always seemed to trail behind you or was carried in your arms.
Malleus couldn't see the entirety of your face from his position, only your side profile, but something was odd about you this night. Your eyes, which were usually filled with a sense of inexplicable determination, were diminished. Vacant, almost, as you pinched the leaf into your pointer and thumb, watching the way it crumbled beneath your firm touch before the pieces glided away at the brush of the wind. Your expression, solemn. Exhausted-looking.
Maybe it was that sight that made him take a step back, away from you.
Maybe it was the way you tensed whenever you heard the crunch of leaves, as if you were expecting something—someone—to disrupt you. Your shoulders hunched up, tight as a bowstring just before the arrow launched and burrowed itself into its target. The way you held your breath, waiting for the shoe to drop, that made him turn his heel.
Or maybe it was the way you sagged right after, a guttural sigh of relief that felt as ancient and intangible as he, after realizing that it was a squirrel or rabbit that scurried through the gardens that made him flee, his form whisked away, carried away by the wind. Leaving sparks of emerald light trailing behind. Ones you mistook for the illumination of fireflies, dancing within the breeze that swept through, and not the fae prince you'd befriended months prior.
⤷ Malleus didn't know, and he doubted you'd ever wish for him to find out. Perhaps you were simply tired that night.
⤷But he knew of your actions, the rumors that circulated around you just as much as they did him. Knew from Lilia how "brave" and "courageous" that little Ramshackle Perfect was whenever he'd go on some new story that he'd heard in the halls. Fending off Overblots when you were magic-less.
⤷ But he saw it especially in the few interactions he had with you, too.
⤷ How the days when you dragged your feet to Ramshackle after school, when you hadn't yet seen him. The dark spots underneath your eyes, weariness clinging to them as Grim ran up ahead of you, desperate to get home, complaining aloud how you shouldn't have said you'd tutor those students. Resembling the books he'd read, years back, when he was just a child, on forbidden magics, the lifelessness of the undead.
⤷ Only to snap back into the person everyone else knew when you caught him. With a smile that seemed to twitch at the corners, never quite reaching your eyes, when you greeted him.
⤷ From that day on, Diasomnia students often appeared at your side. Helping you wherever they could, and taking tasks that other students and professors delegated to you to deal with. One common helper was a mint-haired first-year who, for some reason, always went off about how his actions were all for "Waka-sama" or his "liege." How humans could never understand how gracious his prince was, all with a glimmer in his eye, devotion bleeding into his every word and action. Hell, even his aura, at this rate.
⤷ Okay… Whatever that means, buddy ol' pal… You weren't gonna question it, even if you were heavily concerned about why he was doing this for a "mere human."
haii not a request i just wanted to say i luv ur writing so much genuinely, compliments to the chef 🥹❤️🩹 unfortunately im too shy to comment but i still wanted to let u know, have a great day :)
aaa I’m so glad you enjoy my writing!! 🫶
cannot tell you enough how much I’m appreciative of it😭
Premise; Leona kisses your hand after you scald them with water
Starring Characters; Leona Kingscholar x GN! Reader
Word Count; 2.0k
Side notes; I fear I need more domestic fluff with Leona, even though the prick is a prince😞
It had been close to three months since you and Leona had decided to move in together.
Half of it was spent bickering over who would do what chore.
His insistence that he could just get a housekeeper to come in periodically during the week, and your blatant, stubborn refusal, arguing that doing household tasks was an important part of life. The rest, managing the tasks in between your livelihoods, quarreling over what dish soap brand to get in the store, the apartment getting encroached by a particular hyena who kept raiding your fridge, while trying not to wring a lion's neck when he'd complain and lament about sweeping the floor.
Leona, dragging the broom against the floor, the plastic bristles resembling the agonizing scratch of chalk on a board that even music couldn't hide, except in a horrid cacophony of noise that penetrated his ears like a vendetta, staring at you deadpanned. The slight eye twitch, evident as you tried to hide your growing amusement, covering the corners of your mouth that seemed to quiver upward with your hand, biting your lip to keep from snickering outwardly at his disgruntled face.
Though it did nothing to conceal your shoulders, which shook from the effort it took not to cackle at his irritation.
But despite all of the havoc, it was going surprisingly well…
It was a place you looked forward to returning to, day in and day out. Burrowing yourself in the dozens, if not hundreds, of pillows and blankets that draped the surface of the couch after an exhausting day, melting into the cushions as your hand rummaged through the sheets for the remote. Historic, leather-bound books with yellowed, curled pages sprawled over in stacks on the coffee table. An orange ceramic cup with a cream-colored cat painted onto it, long cast astray. Drifting off to the sound of a movie or series you'd been dying to watch.
Only to find Leona perched on the couch beside you when you drowsily awoke, your legs moved over his lap as you heard the flip of a page. With a bass hum emitting from the beastmen, paired with the whir of the AC, the sole steady, constant sounds around you. The living room, saturated in the warm illumination of candlelight and the lamps that sporadically dotted the apartment, yet still dim enough to lull you back asleep; clutching the plush couch pillow in your arms for dear life.
Or maybe the days when Leona managed to drag himself home earlier than you.
When he'd stand in the kitchen with that stupid hot pink apron you got him as a joke last week that had the words 'kiss the cook' imprinted in a black cursive, hair pulled back into a low pony-tail to prevent it from being crisped by the flame, ladle in hand, as you pushed open the door that felt a hundred times heavier than usual. Only to be met with the thick aroma of cooked meat. The scent penetrating through your delirium as you gawked at him, star-struck, as he glanced up at you; the corners of his mouth twisting up into a smirk.
His mocking voice, ringing out through the small space, "Welcome home, honey." The gentle kiss to your temple as you leaned against him, your head on his shoulder, inhaling the sandalwood, spiced smell that always seemed to linger on him—one you could always pick up on, even against the overwhelming smell of meat and even the ocean's fresh saltwater. Him standing before you and the stove, making sure the splashes from the butter wouldn't fly up and sizzle against your skin.
Or at least, it was peaceful until… It began to wreak havoc over your criminally blissful domestic lifestyle that most could only dream for.
One of the worst chores imaginable, right with the laundry, looming heavy on your part of the chore chart.
The dishes.
The stacks of dishes in the sink stared at you tauntingly.
You'd been avoiding it for days now, almost a week. To a point where it was starting to actually feel like it was going to pour over the sides and walk out themselves in protest. At some point, you hoped the ceramic and glass would fuse together, become a sentient monster so fragile it'd shatter if it collided dramatically to the floor, and wash themselves if you let it alone long enough, having enough of your dawdling.
You'd even thought about living off of styrofoam plates and plastic utensils, but those weren't microwavable. Which was a major deal breaker when you could barely stand to function, much less cook a meal. When you'd even debate just inhaling the slice of cold pizza.
So, here you were. Glaring at a sink full of your impending doom and the nonliving proof of your procrastination. But you had to man up. Face the treacherous, bacteria-coated—
An involuntary shiver ran up your spine at the thought before you slapped your hands to your face. "You can do this… You can stick your hands into the grimy water and survive to live another day," You murmured, hyping yourself up, because sometimes in life, you had to be your biggest hype person.
You took a step toward the sink, hesitant, maybe even suspicious that the plastic containers you'd saved from nights of takeout that you swore up and down you were gonna find a purpose for were gonna reach up and snag you into the dishpan, but still fully committed to your cause. In a quick, precautionary motion, you turned the valve for the water on, drew your hand back to your chest, glared down at the dishes, only to see it still.
Your shoulders sagged with relief at the sight.
Okay… Maybe won't get murdered by a spoon, that's good. No signs of revenge just yet.
You let out a small hum before turning your attention back to the task on hand, a sudden wave of motivation to finish dawning on you. Maybe a reward was in order after this.
Your thoughts began to dwell to what was in the fridge, a snack for later likely lurking within; reaching for the faucet. Maybe something from the pantry..? A bowl of cereal sounded good, though you weren't too certain if the milk was bad yet—steam coiled around your arm, the mist of it coaxing your skin as you glanced up toward the ceiling, biting the corner of your lip in thought.
You took the faucet in hand; takeout could be nice too… But you had tak—
"Motherfucker!" You hissed at the touch of the metal, retching your hand back, but before you could fully, the scalding, boiling water cascaded down your wrist and hand. Curses flung out of you every few seconds you clutched your hand close to your chest, tears beginning to swell within them.
Unknowingly, startling the pride out of a lion in the amidst of your agony, who stumbled out of bed at your shriek; knocking over a house plant or two that you swore made the room seem "livelier" and "aesthetic."
Crouching down to the floor, oblivious to the racket within your room over your distress, the door to your shared room slammed open, grabbing your attention.
You stared at him. He stared at you, equally as bewildered. Maybe even startled. His hair was disheveled, his breath quickened to a rough pant. The normally calculating, cunning jade eyes that you adored(however debated sometimes whenever you'd lose yet another chess game) seemed to bulge out of his skull.
"The hell happened to you?" His voice was a near grumble as he took in the scene before him. The sink's faucet, still gushing water, likely to overflow the sink if left unattended. Droplets trailing to your crouched form, clutching your hand and wrist close to your chest. The frenzied look in your eyes before you turned away, a frown evident on your face. "… You scald yourself again?"
"… I don't wanna talk about it."
"Uhuh… 'Whatever you say," Leona mumbled, "Lemme' see your hand," before stepping out of the comfort of the threshold. Reaching you in just a few strides, he crouched down beside you, holding out his hand, "C'mon, hand it over."
"Was that a pun?"
His eyes narrowed into slits as he met your gaze, his irritation palpable. "Want my help or not?"
"Ask nicely and I might."
He rolled his eyes. "Oh yes, your majesty. Please will you give me your hand?"
"What are you even going to do? Kiss it better or something?" You'd retort, a frown twisting further. It wasn't like it was blistering… Wrapping your hand around a cool drink would've done the trick, or the pack of green peas that's been haunting the freezer for like, ever, since the day you'd leased the apartment.
"Y'know, for someone who looks like a kicked puppy, you really ain't makin' this any easier," he grouched. "N' I might just. Now han—… give it."
You sighed out, giving into his stubbornness, placing your hand in his outstretched one; wincing at the contact before easing into his touch. Warmth radiated from it, yet the ridge of his palms were calloused, unbefitting for a prince… "Happy now?"
"Yes, your majesty."
"… You're annoying."
"And you're a pain, now quit yippin'" he grumped, lifting your hand closer to his face, examining it.
A question bubbled on the tip of your tongue. Maybe even a snarky comment, asking if he needed his reading glasses; but words escaped you when his lips grazed against your knuckles. A rarity, when you were dating a man who spoke strictly in sarcasm. The touch, so featherlight, you would've been convinced you'd imagined it if you weren't staring at him, gobsmacked.
"What are you—?" The tinge of heat rushing to your face was instant, sputtering whatever came to mind.
But it was that fucking smirk when he lifted his head, meeting your gaze, his eyelashes casting shadows over his irises, coaxing them into a dark pine; a taunt looming within them. "Wasn't this your suggestion, herbivore?" He'd murmur, his voice gentler than his previous one, sultry, almost.
The tone of voice that he knew made your heart stutter and flounder about uselessly within your chest, no matter how much you heard it, scrambling your thoughts until they were in total—
TWUNK !
You slammed your free hand against his face, earning a grunt from the lion. "Get— The peas! We uh— have peas in the freezer! That should work." You scrambled to your feet, scurrying to the fridge as if that might save you, ignoring the way he watched you carefully out of the corner of his eye before dragging himself up, using the kitchen counter as an anchor.
"Thought I told you to get rid of 'em last trash day," he said, peering over your shoulder as you dug into the freezer.
"What do you mean?" Great Sevens, how far back did your freezer go..? You scooted a slab of frozen meat stuffed into a plastic bag, "They're still good!"
"… They've been in the freezer for over a month."
"Things in the freezer don't go bad." You pulled out a bag of beef, shoving it into his hands. "That's just a conspiracy the government and grocery stores made up to make people buy their food." You glanced over your shoulder, grinning as he grimaced, staring at the bag as if it was his personal damnation.
"… You and Ruggie have been hanging out with each other too much."
You snorted, but ignored how your hand didn't ache as bad as it did previously as you dug through your calculated meal preps. In fact, as soon as you'd gotten up, it'd been dulled to a hum of what it once was, to where knocking one of your fingers against the side of the freezer didn't cause you to cringe or hiss in pain.
Maybe Leona's kiss was magical or something…
… Nah.
Even if it was, you'd never tell him. You could barely stand his pompousness now. You could only imagine how arrogant he'd be finding that out.
… Maybe you should see about getting a dishwasher, though, with the landlord.
Ello! Not sure if you'd be up to do this scenario; you don't have to if you don't want to ^^
What I have in mind: a bit of a crack fic, where reader manages to pick the boys up, maybe even carry them for sometime? (With Overbolt gang + Lilia)
What would be their reactions? Would it be even possible to pick some of them up for more than a few seconds?
Maybe they would get dropped by accident, or they would save themselves from a hard landong on their butts xD
Or reader won't budge and will continue carrying them around until their arms gave out? XD
If you would do this, it will be lovely <3 If not, it's okay!
Take your time and thank you in advance (◕ᴗ◕✿)
Wishing you a good day/night!
‘ ‘Up up and away!, ,
Premise; Picking up the Overblot boys+Lilia Vanrouge. Will your arms buckle and fall? Or will they be able to stand firm enough to carry the weight of another?
Starring; Overblot Boys+Lilia Vanrouge x GN! Reader(Separate)
Word Count: 9,900ish, 1k ish for each character
Side notes; gah I love cute stuff like this!! also please don’t fret about requesting stuff🫶 this was a very cute prompt to do!
Riddle Rosehearts
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 2/10 Pickup ability
⤷ He's so peeved.
⤷ The only two points Riddle gets is the fact that, despite all of this, is the fact that he is one of the shortest in the cast, and probably one of the lightest. Other than that? Nu-huh.
⤷ He is genuinely one of the worst to pick up, especially in the aftermath of such a feat. He's stiff. Unbelievably stiff, that you were honestly convinced you grabbed a really good replica doll version of him. You'll get scolded for hours on end if it wasn't for the periodic sputtered threats of being collared. Other than that, he is rendered absolutely speechless by the gall of what you've done. You can't even put him down, knowing damn well you'll get scolded for hours on end for unsophisticated, juvenile crime you've committed.
⤷ He won't ever allow you to pick him up willingly, so you have to take him by surprise, and the way you managed this was during one of his countless lectures, when you could see how riled up he was from Ace breaking yet another rule.
You'd found yourself strolling the gardens of Heartslabyul, gushing over the hedgehogs, admiring the rose petals drenched in ruby paint; likely another unbirthday party on the rise. White intricately carved tables were scattered around, paired with two to four darling seats for the little tea parties the dorm members hosted.
It was peaceful. Unusually tranquil for the dorm, considering just an hour ago you witnessed a particular indigo-haired and ginger-haired duo wailing over losing a pink and blue hedgehog with a vengeance to escape the two's grasp. It was almost like the calm before the storm. Where a gentle breeze tenderly cradled your cheek, brushing strands of hair out of your face. The whispers of the flora whisking past you, an orchestra that only a few ever paid attention to.
That all tore away as soon as you heard a berating voice coming from ahead of you, past a thick hedge that shrouded your vision with thorns, leaves, and roses. However, despite it, you knew full well who it'd be. The voice, embedded in your head.
You almost groaned in response to hearing it, but curiosity be damned, you couldn't help wanting to see what was going on. Being nosy wasn't treason, punishable by being collared, after all! Not… That you remembered from the 810 rules, at least... You tiptoed around the hedge, peering over the edge, finding the back of a fuming Housewarden, and a familiar first-year.
Riddle Rosehearts and Ace Trappola. Seemed Deuce managed to free himself from the wrath of their dorm leader. Good on him.
Ace sagged his shoulders, his face placid, with a blue hedgehog draped over his arm, without a care in the world that it was likely the reason he was being scolded. That was, until his gaze reached up, meeting your inquisitive eyes. He quirked an eyebrow up, fighting back against the grin that threatened to overtake his face, before he glanced between you and Riddle.
You stared him blankly. Was he trying to signal for you to help him? How would you- even? Carry Ridd-…
You squinted at the Rosen Tyrant, contemplating your life decisions. Sacrifice yourself to buy your friend some time. Get mauled by Riddle in his stead. Hope to survive with a story in tow, and not require a therapist after this… Or live happily ever after, skipping away whilst Ace's soul drifted from his body, collar locked around his neck as he complained and whined about it with you and Deuce afterwards.
Either way, you won't have any sanity.
You took a deep inhale. Exhaled. Inhaled again, held it, and skulked toward the Housewarden. Your footsteps were soft against the ground, and you counted for the wind rustling past for any noise the grass may have made. Each stride was just as nerve-racking as the last, and you were certain that Riddle would turn his head at the last second and wham his head into yours, effectively concussing you or causing your nose to spew red, matching the roses. Matched him. Chanting, "Please, Great Seven, make sure he doesn't swivel around at me right now," within your head like it'd save you from his fury.
As soon as you got behind Riddle, you risked a frenzied glare at Ace, who had to have owed you by now for putting your life on the line like this. "How could you have possibly lost him not once," Riddle put up a finger, "Not twice. But three times?" Riddle spouted, irritation tinged with amazement lining his tone, crossing his arms over his chest.
"How did you even manage-" Before the Rose-Tyrant could finish his next sentence, you grabbed him, cutting him off with worrying effortlessness. He blinked, staring dead at Ace, who couldn't help but wheeze at the distressed noise Riddle made as he was picked up, hovering above the ground uselessly. Even the tips of his heels couldn't graze the lawn.
You turned, marched off, still very much holding your breath, not sure if he'd been so stunned that he'd decidedly keeled over in your arms or not. All the while, behind you, all you could hear was the incessant cackle of Ace in the background; a laugh befitting of a mad witch.
You could see the vein popping in his forehead, how the paleness seeped from his face, replaced by blotchy patches of crimson until it consumed the entirety of his face. The periodic whisper under his breath, often one word, sometimes managed a second, "How…" "…Dare you," "Who do…" Yet never a fully fledged sentence.
His thoughts, instead, going haywire. How dare you pick him up? He can't believe this. He can't fathom the amount of audacity that you have; his SEETHING.
You were almost shocked he didn't already toss up his staff, whamming the side of your head with its gleaming top, as you near-damn-waddled with him in your arms to the entryway of the Heartslabyul dormitory. Into the living room, where peers stared in horror, maybe disbelief, probably both, at what they were witnessing. Then, the kitchen, where a mossy-haired baker roamed, baking pan in hand— never mind, it toppled onto the floor, clattering against the tiles.
You placed Riddle in front of Trey. Waved goodbye. Left the kitchen. Ran when you heard shrieking. No, that wasn't the word for it. You bolted out, never to be seen in the Heartslabyul Dormitory again for an entire month, never exhaling a full breath until you'd reached Ramshackle, skittering away whenever you saw a short-redhead male, not even registering if it was him or not.
But that never stopped Riddle from seeking you out, a frown plastered onto his face.
Keep your head on a swivel, alright? No soul will protect you from that Tyrant's wrath, not even the Great Seven themselves.
Leona Kingscholar
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Overall -1/10 pick up ability
⤷ Leona Kingscholar would be one of the worst to pick up out of this bunch, if I'm being frank with you on this one. He soars over many of his peers, muscular and downright deadweight in your arms. Worst part? He's an obstacle on purpose only to mess with you as you heave a ragged, shuddered breath as you're convinced your lungs have decided to officially stop working.
⤷ Your will to live afterwards? Long gone, dusted by the pure grief of carrying the lethargic lion. Your soul? Floating out of your body, never to be found again in this reality nor the next. Leona? Dead asleep, maybe cackling at your torment as your face twists into anguish. Until he drops to the floor, hissing a curse under his breath as he rubs his aching back and neck, your arms long limp as you sag into an exhausted hunch, clutching the nearest pillar or wall as if it'd save you from collapsing. You'd argue it was merited on his part... If you weren't also a casualty.
⤷ But anyhow, the first time you'd "carried" him was in the botanical garden when you'd been instructed by Crewel to go on and fetch a freshly snipped ingredient, known as a wolfsbane, within the enclosed and labeled forestry for the potion the class was crafting. Sounded easy, right? Something that wouldn't take you longer than fifteen minutes, maybe twenty if there was a particular stubborn growth that seemed to fight back against your numerous attempts to clip it, hanging by a mere thread to its stalk.
Until as soon as you'd rounded a corner, hedge clippers in hand, gloves snug against your flesh, a skip to your step, knowing that you'd have a break from being berated by the fashionista known as Professor Crewel, you'd found him.
Nearly atop the very plants you'd needed, the light beaming down on his features, illuminating him as the sun's soft glow caressed him. His tail swished side to side, hanging loosely from the stoned brick wall that surrounded it; asymmetrical, loose, and without a plan in sight. Just like the botanical garden seemed to strive for, a spellbinding wilderness lay with a bricked pathway to guide its trespassers deeper within, to see its treasures and hoarded wealth of flora.
You pursed your lips, a tight line as you narrowed your eyes on the man in all of his glory, a preening, incandescent feline, carelessly captivating in this sight, yet so very much in your way. A frequent trait you've seen among the kitty kind, even amongst the most skittish.
So, like any normal, rational being—who was not seeking to be scolded by the same Professor you'd moments earlier heard beckon an entire classroom of students to sit with a firm verbal command—made a plan. You couldn't afford to be yelled at, nor angrily squinted at by Crewel for the rest of class, until you fessed up that you'd been blocked by a ferocious lion, who wouldn't scamper to another spot with a polite "please" without a grilled cheese or going on some side quest to get something he wanted.
And even that wasn't a guarantee most of the time.
You took a cautious, deliberate step toward him, another, and then another. Careful to avoid any vengeful branches that would've made noise and pebbles to slip on; hell, you'd even held your breath at one point, attempting not to wake Leona Kingscholar from his catnap. Each time his tail—languid, slothlike—swished, you'd pause, gaping at him as if he might awake and swat at you at any moment, your heart in your throat as you allowed the seconds to pass. Yet he'd never moved, not an inch that you had noticed.
Which was peculiar to you, considering he had enhanced hearing—being a beastman and all—and you certainly didn't have an artifact or binding spell that made you have featherlight feet against the rock pathway. However, you weren't going to question your spout of good fortune! How could you, when you were already this close to victory? It'd be jinxing it, clearly! Once you had grown close to Leona, and more importantly, the wolfsbane, you let the breath that had been caught in your throat for Sevens knows how long out. It was ragged, yet filled with a sense of hope that seemed impossible moments prior.
Your eyes, traitorous as they were, carelessly shifted to him for a moment before returning to the motherload of wolfsbane just behind him.
Until you realized, after a moment or two, that the way his lips quirked up into an unusual, smug smirk was unbefitting of what you assumed was to be a very asleep lion, scampering about in his dreams, unaware you were looming up to him. You paused, pruning clippers in hand, before squinting at him.
He was toying with you.
And rightfully so, you were irritated.
Leona had been awake this entire time, internally cackling at your attempt at being stealthy, without even turning an inch to perhaps aid you in your pursuit. So, like any sane, rational individual—who was definitely not on the verge of snipping his tail off with the very open clippers in your hands—you stepped onto the stone, glaring down at the pompous lion. He hadn't even lifted a finger, nor fluttered open an eye at your sudden, strange movements.
But he would, you were confident in that.
You crouched down to his ankles, accidentally grazing one of the various, outstretched leaves as you placed the clippers onto the ground beside him. And, as I remind you again, like any sensible person, you seized his ankles and yanked him away with a grunt, swearing your arms were going to pop out like a doll's as he spewed a curse or three. But you didn't stray for long, couldn't allow yourself to see the expression that twisted his usual smug expression into one of utter irritation, as you wholeheartedly understood that you were about to get smacked for this one.
You grabbed your clippers whilst Leona grumbled out obscenities, reeling in his vexation as you made quick work of gathering the wolfsbane. Not even attempting to be precise, merely trimming the blooms, instead, you snipped at the bottom of the shoot before fleeing from your treasonous crime. Your hands were covered in specks of grimy dirt, a telltale sign of your distress as you yoinked at vegetation. You heard Leona's voice roar out behind you as you scurried down the pathway like a bat outta hell, "You damned Herbivore!" Each word held a distinct bite to it. A promise—and vow—that he would get you back for this.
But, you'd worry about evading his plots later... For now, you had to get back to class, with dozens of shoots of wolfsbane clamped into your gloved hands.
Just be a little more cautious about your surroundings, herbivore. You never know where you might run into a grudge-holding lion, you know?
Azul Ashengrotto
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 6/10 Pickup ability
⤷ Panicking. That's all. Just panicking. Internal. Outwardly. Spiritually. Maybe even economically at this point.
⤷ Now I don't think he'd be one of the worst, considering the list of contenders… But he's definitely attempting to wriggle out somehow until he realizes that if you do end up dropping him because of his erratic, downright flailing limbs, he will end up plummeting ungracefully onto the floor with a thud. Paired with a crunch from his glasses snapping in two, the remnants littering the floor, embedded deep within the Lounge's carpet. Never to be seen again, impaling Floyd's foot every time he got sick of his shoes and decided to go barefoot or sock-only.
⤷ Maybe a broken nose. Rib. Something. He didn't know!
⤷ After that? He is clinging to you for dear life. Subtlety, yes, so that others don't realize, but his nails are dug into your shoulder. If you drop him, he's committing inflation in the Mostro Lounge. Your drink WILL be 80 thaumarks, do not test him, perfect.
⤷ He's just getting used to the ground! You can't expect to rip it from him so unexpectedly, you know? That is simply cruel! … Should totally get into a contract with him or something over your treacherous act… Belittling merpeople, and all that… Hoisting them above ground, without water or floor to leech onto…
⤷ How barbarous you are, Perfect… sniffle, melodramatic handkerchief dap, a small droplet rolls down his cheek, clearly forced by the harsh way his blinking.
⤷ But the first time you managed to carry him wasn't a noble task, no. It was a dare to see if you could manage to sweep Azul off his feet, which you took literally. (And Floyd.. Meant it in the way of surprising him. But, you know, wing it, next time, he'll be clearer. Maybe. Probably not, he found this was a pretty hilarious outcome.)
You weren't too sure how you'd gotten roped into yet another one of Floyd Leech's schemes. You'd really think you'd learn your lesson. You were talking to the moray eel one minute, next moment, you were prowling up to the poor Housewarden of Octavinelle, preparing your attack, as if you were merely a shark on the prowl for a feast. One more limb-y than usual.
Really, you had to stop getting into bets with that damned eel, who hung by, peering over a corner with a manic glint in his mismatched eyes. He was gonna get you in trouble one day, with the law, probably next time. Or Riddle. Either way was possible, and just as horrific. If you weren't in the middle of something, you swore you would've felt a chill shimmy its way up your spine at the thought.
Azul held onto a clipboard, tapping the side of it with rhythmic thunks, looking over the previous night's sales. A small hum came out of him, flipping to the next page, completely unaware of your skulking as if you were in some stealth game thief, one tiptoe at a time as you raised your arms to your chest, or perhaps he did take notice of it. Simply too focused to care what shenanigans that were stirring within your mind, figuring you were just seeking another beverage or dessert free of charge.
Your plan was simple. Stupid, yes, but simple. Get behind him, make him turn around, mid-turn around, you'd trip him and gracefully catch him in your arms all damsel in distress style(you were his distress), win the bet, collect cash for tuna cans & free drink, and then skitter back to Ramshackle with your bounty.
Perfect plan, right? Well. It was the only one you could come up with on short notice, so it'll have to do.
Just as you were inches away from him, you blew at the back of his ear, causing him to jerk away and whip his head toward you; disbelief radiating off of him in waves. His pale blue stricken with confusion.
This was your chance.
You put your foot behind his as he attempted to stumble back, clutching his crimson-tipped ear, sputtering noises that resembled a car's exhaust rather than a person going through the five stages of grief. Currently, in the second phase. Anger, irritation. The clipboard, long forgotten, lay on the carpeted floor uselessly.
Perhaps, if you're (un)lucky, he'd match the Heartslabyul Housewarden, with a bulging vein appearing on his forehead, threatening to sue you for defamation if you'd ever uttered a single word of this to anyone else.
But you managed to catch him before he teetered too far—possibly concussing him. One of your arms underneath the backs of his knees, the other bracing up his back.
His hat fluttered dramatically to the ground at your suddenness, landing without even a thud, even after Azul attempted to claw it back into his grasp. Only to look cuckoo as you stumbled from his desperate grabby hands, flailing a little more outwardly than you could manage. Realizing it was futile and that he likely would've sustained injuries that would've been incredibly embarrassing to explain to the infirmary's ghosts if he continued, he instead stared at you, bewildered, looking as if you'd wronged his entire ancestral line, dating back to when Syllipsipodi bideni still roamed the waters of your world’s ocean.
As if you were a hazard, only spoken in hushed prophecy in businessmen circles, that promised to eradicate his business and will to live with mass review bombing. Karens, everywhere. Maybe even an orchestra, announcing his downfall— No, his obliteration. Or maybe one of those cats, so surprised by their owner's brazenness when they dare to pet their head, that they pummel the food-giver with dozens of strikes. Perchance, teeth bared into their skin, with bunny kicks at the ready.
Yet you couldn't dismiss the way he glanced at the ground, seemingly so out of reach from him now, and back to you with a shuddering, panic-stricken breath. Nor the soft pink that tinted his cheeks and ears. How all ten fingers dug into the flesh of your arms, likely leaving dozens of extended bruises in their wake as his grip kept dragging lower down your upper arm.
You'd probably laugh at his reaction if it didn't hurt like a bitch. Seriously, how much pressure can someone's fingertips do?! He didn't even have nails! Great Seven above, it was as if you were his last clutch to this world, a thread that'd threaten to snap if your knees even attempted to buckle.
The tension between you continued, growing like an inflation graph as you stared at one another. Neither of you moved, nor did you stop your strange little staring contest. Hell, you weren't even sure you were breathing at one point. Convinced that if you did, you'd get slapped with fifty different sue notices. Were you shivering in your boots from terror at the prospect? Probably. Definitely. He might take your poor, likely molding, rundown dormitory for this one for sure.
The only thing that broke the silence was a cackle behind you, mischievous as it was dangerous, before an arm looped around your neck, nearly choking you. You wobbled, made a noise that could only be described as "crypt-like," Azul floundered, and—
Great Seven above there he went.
With a thud and the flattening of his hat, there was Azul. On the floor. Groaning, cursing land dwellers under his ragged breath, clearly questioning his life decisions as he rolled onto his stomach. But he didn't get up. Instead, he just laid on the floor like a wet blanket. Not even attempting to unwrinkle his fedora.
How the hell did he even manage to sweat??? You were the one carrying him! Did Azul always look this ruffled up? Golly. "Please… Never mention this again, Perfect…" He wheezed out, latching onto the floor and anything that would keep him grounded. "I'll give you premium canned tuna…"
His pride's a lil' wounded. Give him some space, Dearest Perfect, maybe an hour in the octopot, and you'll gain your suave businessman back in a jiffy. Kay? Might break that lil' image of his if you don't, and we can't have that.
Jamil Viper
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Overall 7/10 pick up ability
⤷ Jamil isn't the tallest of these options, and as his hobby, breakdancing, requires flexibility, you can easily kinda haul him over your shoulder without him being as stiff as a board if you're powerful enough! I also think he'd be one of the lighter characters in general compared to the rest, honestly. The issue is, while I don't think he would be against it if you compare him to the others, that doesn't mean he isn't entertaining such frivolous things, either.
⤷ Man is scrambling around Scarabia with cleaning supplies, trying to watch Kalim so he doesn't fling himself out a window, and trying to keep up with his assignments. He doesn't have the time to worry about you trying to ferry him around when he has a dozen other things to do.
⤷ However, maybe the first time was during one of his basketball practices.
You had decided to watch him practice, even though he had vehemently told you—relentlessly, even—that you didn't have to haunt the stadium chairs. It wasn't worth watching him bicker with Floyd or Ace, and bounce a ball around the court; it wasn't even a tournament. You could've put forth your energy into schoolwork, attempt to wrangle Grim from setting something ablaze, or perhaps have a few moments of peace where you could just be yourself.
Yet you still showed up, despite his protests, lounging around the bleachers as if you'd owned them; a pleasant smile plastered on your face. One of the few, sole spectators who'd determined to loom about an unnecessary round, watching guys scurry around the gymnasium while dribbling a ball. Not a single thing could've ruined the swell of pride that thrashed deep within his ribcage.
Until his ankle twisted amidst a maneuver, causing him to skid across the floor, scuffing both his right shoulder and leg with a grunt.
He didn't know why he faltered, honestly.
Maybe the bottom of his shoes got stuck on the freshly polished, poorly rinsed off floors. Perhaps he'd accidentally twisted his leg pulling a maneuver, an attempt at dodging someone who was trying to take the ball away from him. Or maybe, something he'd never be willing to admit, it was the earnest look in your eyes that caught him off guard, as soon as he'd made eye contact with you.
The way your eyes solely fell on him, and only him, when there were countless other players that you could've been monitoring. It was foreign to him, both gratifying and unnerving; he'd even argue it should've been inconceivable to look at him so warmly.
⤷ Many of his teammates clattered around him, worry etched in their expressions as he clutched his ankle, producing nothing more than heaved breaths as he stared down at his leg. Jamil could've even sworn Floyd Leech hissed a quick curse, though he didn't glimpse the eel's teal blue hair, and even then, everything was blurred against the alarm that rose within him. Thoughts ran through him, blocking out the voices that surrounded him into an endless white noise as he attempted to regulate his breathing, as he bit the inner corner of his lip to distract himself. To draw the pain to another region that wasn't his leg.
Jamil didn't have time for this. Not the injury, nor the spotlight, as people fretted over him.
While he hadn't heard a snap, nor the crackling of his bones as he rubbed his swelling ankle, he wouldn't ever be able to rest it properly. Even if it was a mere strained muscle, he couldn't afford to relax while the Housewarden of Scarabia roamed the halls, chipper and naive to others' intentions. No matter how used the Al-asim was to threats or poison attempts, it was Jamil's duty to stand in place to guard him; if Kalim was hurt whilst Jamil was on bed rest, it'd be his and his family's fault, wholeheartedly.
And Jamil couldn't do that to them. They didn't deserve punishment for his deeds, his wrongs.
But, before those thoughts twisted further, to the awfully vivid imagery of what could've happened if Kalim was potentially hurt, he felt himself lifted off the ground. When he whirled his head to find who did it, all he could see was the blurry image of you huffing him up to a make-shift bridal carry as you nodded your head promptly at a mysterious figure before scurrying off and taking him to the Nurse's office.
Later, after he had received medical aid, he found out that it was Coach Vargas who was ordering you about, who was about to hurl Jamil over his shoulder like a bag of potatoes and fly down the halls with him if not for your interception. Which, he thanked you later, as he feared he'd have popped at least a lung or two during that entire... escapade, if not for your interjection.
While it was a low-level twisted ankle, where he'd stretched the muscle instead of tearing it, both Kalim and you ended up badgering him about rest. That if he didn't, you'd end up carrying him around the school if you caught him doing strenuous tasks. He did anyway, even after the threat, but he was always looking over his shoulder, surveying carefully in case you'd appear out of the bushes and ambush him.
Of course, you do try to wrestle the broom out of his hands any time you can, both of you dancing around the incident in your banter with one another as you both pull the broom closer, as if it were a game of tug of war.
A battle of wills.
Vil Schoenheit
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 6/10 Pickup ability
⤷ Vil Scheonheit is a strange case for me, I think, at least in this regard. He has a leaner build and is staggeringly tall with or without heels. However, I also see him being particularly flexible, similarly to Jamil, and he is most likely accustomed to it in some form, considering his career paths. However, I do have some notes to knock off besides this, I fear.
⤷ While I don't believe Vil Scheoheit is necessarily against you picking him up, nor being carried in general. He has presumably had numerous roles, or even photoshoots, in which he is being hauled in some manner, and vice versa. To some degree, he has to be used to it or even adaptable to it. However, I do believe he is incredibly meticulous about how he is carried about. After all, as an actor, he has to remain dignified and noble in some form, even if it is with a prop sword dug into his "torso." So, injuries are less than preferable to him. Sometimes, he cannot even afford to be a scratch from felines, nor paper.
⤷ Because of this, he is nitpicky. If you careen in the slightest or even awkwardly wrinkle his clothing, he might scold you, spouting off a list of differing ways on how you could improve your positioning to make it easier on both you and the person you're carrying. After all, how else will you seek to improve?
⤷ Though if you drop him, no matter how elegantly he may tumble, he will banish you from attempting again until he has seen an improvement in how you hold others.
⤷ After all, Vil is no mere fool. He knows and understands that anyone can learn with time and patience. To prosper despite their harsher start to their journey. Similar to a diamond in the rough, unrefined and chipped, yet with all of the potential to be beautiful with effort and care.
⤷ That doesn't mean he won't be second-guessing the next time you attempt afterwards, though; lilac irises scrutinizing you, glancing between your arms and to your hopeful, pleading expression. As if seeking a reason to decline your pursuits, or maybe wondering if he should grant it, even if he knows he'll earn a cheeky grin from you in response.
The first time you ever carried him was in the Film Research club. Perhaps you were visiting a friend. Maybe you were a part of it yourself, scampering around and educating yourself with better tips on acting, helping with prop setups, costumes, makeup, whatever it was you sought out from the club.
He was standing poised, his back turned toward you as he instructed a select group of individuals who beamed at him, clinging to his every word with admiration and wonderment. You could've sworn you saw their eyes twinkle, even from nearly across the room, as if they could've never imagined being coached by thee Vil Schoenheit. You couldn't hear much of what he was saying, only tidbits, but it seemed as if he were giving advice on acting.
Whatever it was about, it wasn't your business to find out.
After all, you'd already been requested to help out with numerous assignments; the one you were trudging toward now was with a bent prop, unyielding in its attempt to stay crooked. Apparently, the person in hysterics claimed it was, "so far inclined it looked like it'd be fit to play an elderly person in those retirement home commercials." What that meant, you have no clue. You didn't want to, either, if the person didn't look close to combusting into flames in an instant if you'd said you were busy.
Until—unfailingly—the universe decided to make yet another thing your business instead of letting you be, wandering the academy without being dragged into another struggle.
"Potato, come here."
You didn't even realize he was talking to you until you spared a glance in his direction, curious to see the unfortunate—or perhaps they were fortunate—soul who was being beckoned by the famed actor, only to meet his unwavering gaze.
Oh.
Oh.
Oh no.
You were the hapless, potato-ey soul.
"Oh, um- I'm in the middle of-" You tried to come up with an excuse, panic building up in your throat, scratchily, no doubt twisting your expression until you saw the impromptu student onlookers of Vil, staring at you as well. Your words, now uselessly collected on the tip of your tongue as you closed your mouth, as you blinked at the group, wondering now if the universe must've had a grudge or two against you; counting your potential sins up, even that one time in kindergarten when you'd accidentally hurtled yourself into a kid who hesitated before getting up from the slide.
You swore you didn't do anything too villainous, yet here you were, staring down the famed actor and hoping that you could've evaporated on the spot. You let out a shaky breath, a poor attempt at recovering from your loss of words, before you practically dragged your feet toward Vil Schoenheit, hoping you wouldn't get nagged by the poor soul who'd whined over disarray.
Despite your tepid response, he didn't shift in discouragement. He still stood polishedly, without a wear or tear, as he'd gestured to you—as if you were a prop on display.
"[Your Name], potatoes," he turned to look toward the half dozen club members, to which you couldn't help but wonder why he called people "potatoes" of all things. Of all things, potatoes? However, your inquiry quickly dissipated as he added on, without skipping a beat, "will be aiding me with teaching you proper methods on how to carry an individual during a scene."
The excited gasps that rang out before you were full of amazement; one even clapped their hands, all the while you gawked at Vil Schoenheit, mouth slightly ajar. Who merely gave you an omniscient smile, as if he'd known full well that you'd been scampering about helping all that you could.
And you know what? Fair, expected from the fairest queen to notice your floundering about the room like a headless chicken, carrying fabric and prop displays wherever you went. A people pleaser, the challenge in his pupils spoke of. So, with a snort, you committed to the bit. For your ego, and the stories you'd come out of this were boundless, and you couldn't possibly let that go.
Just remember now, don’t drop him now. His glower can be quite killer, you know?
Idia Shroud
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 1/10 Pickup ability
⤷ If you expected this to be higher, you're poorly mistaken, I fear. The only point Idia is getting is from the fact that he is lanky, even if he is tall in height. Other than that, it is absolute hell attempting to haul him over your shoulder, or even carry him in what he could only manage to describe under flustered grumbles as "held like a total lovestick romantic interest for the protagonist in some sort of shoujo," as he cocoons himself in the safety of his bed's sheets.
⤷ He is genuinely impossible to catch, like a wiggly worm that won't allow you to pluck him from the comfort of the ground, evading every attempt through elaborate—and downright concerning—plans. Elusive, no matter how hard you try, he'll scamper away with a speed you've never seen a trackfield club member go. Only to croak in his room minutes later, convinced he had deflated his left lung in that spurt of adrenaline. However, if you somehow manage to get a hold of him... It is an entirely separate problem.
⤷ He is flailing, THRASHING, violently, without a care in the world if he gets dropped in the moment(He will later.) Idia isn't built for all that! You gotta understand, right? Right? So, just let him graze the ground; drag him by the hood, even! That's totally more acceptable to his dignity than this! He can't even handle touch half of the time, and you expect this to turn out all swell and dandy? No, not a chance, a noob has better probabilities one-shotting an eldritch boss with no armor, and a brittle stick for a weapon; and that's hopeless, even for a thoroughly experienced gamer such as himself.
⤷ Which means you have to catch him when he is at his weakest, and that is exactly what you managed the first time you ever carried him...
It was late at night, dawn likely on the rise, with both of you holing up inside his room, countless disc games dotted around the floor and desks as he hunched up in his chair, continuing his monster-hunting spree. You'd already sagged yourself on a beanbag, having given up after the umpteenth hour, grumbling how your hands had to be blistered after a particularly annoying boss match.
Exhaustion seemed to flitter across your eyelids each time you blinked, but a quick sip of the energy drink that sat on the stack of textbooks beside you eased the incessant voice telling you to drift into a long slumber till evening, telling your professors that you were feverish and bedridden. Any excuse to aid in your goal of catching pixelated sheep, and wafting into a nap even the Housewarden of Savannaclaw would've envied.
And you weren't the only one falling to the drowsiness of the AMs.
The time seemed like it was finally catching up to your favorite deranged gamer as a yawn dragged out of Idia, slumping back into his chair with a groan. His fingertips abandoned the keyboard as he slammed his hands against his face, a poor attempt at trying to wake himself up. You could hear his foot tapping against an unsystematically placed cord from underneath his desk, something he'd only do whenever it came to two things: maiming people on PvP with a steering wheel and pedals, and whenever he felt his will dissipate from the acknowledgment that he wouldn't be able to finish a last-minute event.
Illegible murmurs began to spill from him, and you were half convinced he truly was going to pass out at his desk this time.
Your eyebrows furrowed at the sight, the azure illumination from his hair paired together with erratic flares, drooping and slowing as his mood dwindled.
Alright. You couldn't take it anymore.
He looked like a sopping wet cat refusing to back down, instead insisting it could still play with its string toy after a particularly chaotic battle of wills between its owner and it. You couldn't bear it, and Ortho was certainly going to "scold" you after seeing his face covered with embedded keyboard marks in the morning, instinctively clicking at his mouse long after his computer turned off.
Actually, couldn't you consider it morning now?
... You were going to ignore that for your own sanity, ignoring your godawful sleep schedule for the night, and instead focusing on another particularly sucky sleep-deprived geek.
You rose from your spot on the beanbag, only stumbling a fraction—narrowly evading a switch controller and a stack of coding books—compared to the persistent staticky feeling that'd consumed your body from sprawling out on a borderline beat-up sack-filled cushion that looked like it'd taken the hits of many, many losses in its poor life. You held out your arms, in case your legs decided to say fuck all and collapse from underneath you; finding yourself lucky whenever you took a weary step, discovering how that tingling, prickly feeling began to diminish into nothingness.
A grin spread across your face, glimpsing back toward the chair illuminated with an azure hue that'd consume its occupant, mischief spreading inside of your heart and soul.
You'd skulk toward him, careful to dodge his haphazardly tossed mangas, empty cardboard boxes from the hundredth figure, unopened bags of snacks you'd both prepared for your all-nighters, and wires that loomed across the path. You mumble a curse under your breath, knowing full well he'd already maxed out the volume on his headphones by now, convinced that one of these days either he or you was going to trip and croak, traversing in these conditions... Maybe you should've asked Idia later on for some gadget to levitate over clutter like Ortho had.
If... You didn't, you know, get banished from his room and forced to play separately inside your own.
Surely he'd forgive you for your heinous crimes against introvertism.
Probably.
Maybe.
... Another thing you were going put inside a file for later worries!
You'd reached his side, gleaming down at him, noting the countless creases around his eyes, his arms drawn limply to his sides. Totally an incoming headache... Or migraine. Neither of which you were sure he'd survive without crashing out or wallowing in his misery, hood over his head with the strings firmly taut, grumbling something about how even electronics have betrayed him. "You know... You're gonna strain your back, like, sleeping hunched over like that?"
The response you earned was an indiscernible mumble, bordering on a whine, about how all he needed was another energy drink from his fridge. Just the reaction you suspected he'd offer, which only fueled your plan to get him to take a break for the night. So, like any good buddy ol' pal who did not feel like dealing with that, you scooped him out of the chair, huffing him onto your shoulder as if he'd been a bag of potatoes.
All the while beaming with unfiltered amusement, laughter sparking out of you, "Uppies, Daisy, flamey! Can't have Ortho being disappointed in both of us, now can we?" You careened to the side, your steps stammering as you attempted to gather yourself; Idia was not helping your valiant effort to not collapse on top of each other as he wailed about.
He sqwuaked, hooted, and hollered, continuing on his tirade that he wasn't tired, except far louder than previously, merely... Relaxing his eyes as he attempted to wriggle out of your grasp like a worm. Definitely not falling asleep at his desk! You even heard something muttered under his breath whenever he wheezed, your shoulder accidentally digging into his side(his fault), along the lines of, "upgrading shields to s-tier... Maxing out defense and perception stats to combat this."
His body bounced against the mattress that was strewn together messily with blankets and pillows, a grunt coming out of him after you'd tossed him onto it. You beamed, straightening as you'd huff out, "Swear, I think you dislocated my shoulder with..."
You blinked.
Blinked again. To see if you weren't hallucinating from lack of sleep, but no, it was real.
Lying there without a sneer, nor a snarky quip, was Idia; passed out, on zero battery mode. After all of the grief he gave you, he'd knocked out immediately after he'd sworn up and down he was not that tired. You'd nearly snorted at the discovery of this dawning on you in waves, but instead, turned your heel and sat down at the previously empty chair.
Surely he'd be more lenient on you if you finished up his dailies, right?
Malleus Draconia
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 4/10 Pickup ability
⤷ This... It would be higher, if not for the fact that Malleus would actually, while very much accidentally, don't get me wrong, lobotomize you with his horn if you attempted to carry him in a more bridal carry if he moved weirdly. He's also unfathomably, downright illegally tall, with or without his horns; even for most beastmen, human, fae, and creatures alike. Let alone the fact that an ex-general also trains him in combat, doesn't make it any easier to even attempt. He's gotta have some form of muscle on him.
⤷ But I also don't think he thought it'd be possible to carry him either. Not in an arrogance thing, though that would definitely still fester in the back of his mind if you'd ever suggested it, but because he'd never considered the possibility that someone would try to.
⤷ The last time he'd been carried was when he was a mere child, a little over the average mortal's lifespan; Lilia coddling him to his chest as a goodbye before he'd fled for yet another adventure. To another story, his prince would be told when he returned. And, as his title still stands proudly, it'd never happened again. Hugged, yes, but never whilst soaring; only the beats of his wings he figured could do that anymore. There were regulations to be met, rules to follow, and far too many eyes scrutinizing his every move.
⤷ That was until you jested one day, when the witching hour's dusk consumed you both on a midnight walk, that you could carry him with ease if you truly wanted.
It was the tail end of spring, yet it felt strikingly like a winter day.
The moon stood overcast with clouds, whisking its source of light away and leaving it up to the few light poles that flickered to life, and the fireflies that burned just as brightly. The air had been crisp, and each inhale you took burned a little more than the previous. The gloves you'd been wearing in an attempt to warm yourself up seemed fruitless. You rubbed your hands together, a frown tugging at your lips as the scratchy material of the fabric began to irritate your skin.
You swore you were gonna get some rash from these Great Seven forsaken things... Maybe it was time to get higher-quality ones. Or, at least, ones that didn't feel like you were gonna, you know, rub your skin off. Wouldn't deodorant work? To soften its itchiness? As it did with those damned shorts?
No... Scratch that. It'd probably only get fuzz stuck to your hands. That'd just put you in a worse position, picking lint off your hands, cursing the glove's creator under your breath. It'd just be better to toss them, maybe unravel them and make them into a cat-sized scarf or yarn ball for Grim to bat around(in a very monster-like way, totally not giving into his feline urges) if you'd had time.
You'd almost forgotten you weren't alone if not for the inquisitive, mellifluous voice that rang out beside you, startling you out of your thoughts, "Child of Man, do you find yourself affected by the frigid weather tonight..?"
You'd sigh out, a white, translucent fog following behind, almost reminding you of the ghosts that always loomed about Night Raven College. Or your dorm, for that matter. "Smidge... You'd think it'd be warmer, considering the time of year, y'know? Swear, I'll end up freezing to the floor at this rate..."
"I could carry you back to Ramshackle if you do find yourself stuck to the floor," he paused before adding, "It... Might require an ember or two, or attached to the stone, however, to get you off."
A shiver involuntarily shimmied up your spine. "... As pleasant and uh... Warm as that may sound, you have a better chance of me hurling you on my shoulder than that..."
"Certainly a brazen claim there. Would you even be able to lift me off the ground, Child of Man?" You didn't even have to look at his face; the cocky grin on his face was painfully obvious in his tone.
"You wanna test it?" You jeered, risking a glance at him, only to meet amusement-laced, lime irises.
"I cannot say I wouldn't like to see your feeble attempt."
"Feeble, you say?" You snorted, fighting off the stupid grin that almost consumed your face. "I could totally carry you! Parade you around campus and everything to prove just how strong I am, could even beat Sebek and Silver in an arm wrestle."
But instead of a verbal jab, he paused his strut. When you turned to face him, a few strides away, confusion likely written all over your face, he'd tilt his head, "Go on, then."
"... Huh?"
"I'd like to see you try to carry me."
You blinked at him, baffled. Carry him? He'd puncture your left eyeball if you attempted that! Hell, maybe even carry it around all symbolically, pompously displaying what happened to the last person who dared to try to carry him. Yet your pride... It purred in your ears, growing in volume, telling you that you could totally do it. That you wouldn't flounder about like a toddler picking up a dumbbell for the first time before dropping it on someone's foot five seconds later.
You squinted at him, up and down, sideways, really taking in his form. That shouldn't be too hard... Right? You didn't have to parade him across all of Night Raven College all haughtily, truly, out of spite, like you once said. Just... Had to lift him off the ground. That was simple, wasn't it? Managable, even! Could this have been the stupidest thing you've done? Probably not. Side quests were endless. But... Certainly up there.
"... Alright, you're on." You strode to him, near-damn beaming until you were a foot away. That was where reality started to hit, and you really wondered if he was gonna puncture your eye out with his horn. Great Sevens, they really needed to nerf this guy somewhere. Height, strength, sorcery abilities... Your ego was gonna take a massive swan dive if you couldn't lift him an inch off the ground. But apprehension, no matter how great, will never get you the outlandish stories you'd go on to puff out, all peacock style, to the rest of the world.
Or, maybe just the first years.
You placed your hands on his sides, tentative, then ensnared his waist in your arms. You were bracing more than he was, him lax as you internally panicked; in fact, he seemed to ease into your touch. A flurry of worries began to cloud your judgement until you ripped the bandaid off, lifting him...
And you swore you felt multiple muscles in your back completely snap as you made what could only be described as a goose declaring war on all of humanity. Great Seven, what the fuck was he made out of..?! Your body shrieked in protest, nearly crumbling against your will, but spite outlived, managing just an inch or two before your arms fell away.
You heaved, huffed, and wheezed as you curled into yourself, convinced your left lung had to have popped during all that strain, all the while Malleus threw his head back, laughter roaring out of him. You scowled in his direction, "It was the gloves..! They made it harder!" Which only made him cackle harder as you leaned on a lamp post out of breath.
Man. If you didn't understand Lilia's constant complaining about his back issues, then you definitely do now... Malleus would be benevolent enough to carry you back home... Right?
Eugh...
Lilia Vanrouge
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 8/10 Pickup ability
⤷ Now, I need it to be known. He is ALL for being picked up. The downright illegally devious laugh that spurts out of him if you try and swing him around? Or running around with him on your back around school or Foothill Town, even if it's to Sam's store for a silly adventure?
⤷ Him pointing out ancient, bizarre artifacts as he leans off your shoulder, spouting off a story he remembered about it. Whether it'd be from the creation's era, or a tale about its previous owner—"Lovely maiden, don't get me wrong! If the circumstances were different, and she wasn't attempting to impale my shoulder with her spear, we would've been quite a duo."—while you question just how old this man is? A dream, honestly.
⤷ The issue is the fact that the man is an ex-general and currently training two knights under his wing. He's gotta have SOME sort of muscle, even if he is a whopping 158 centimeters.
⤷ This was not you picking him up. This was an ambushed, strategic attack, befitting to be considered a skilled assassination attempt, performed by an ancient fae with a passion for causing havoc wherever he goes.
⤷ And you should, under any circumstance, be scared. Terrified, even. Because no matter how deep you roam within Night Raven College, venturing within its twisted halls that go on to nowhere, clearly uninhabited by the dust that looms over every artifact, every art frame with intricate, yet faded and chipped paint, he will find you. And he will leap. Somehow, despite his complaining that his knee hasn't worked well for a century now.
⤷ Which is ironically, how it first came to be that you "carried him." (You state it was a hostage situation and murder attempt; he claims no such thing.)
Night Raven College was complex.
So complex that even after months of being at this damned school, you still had trouble navigating throughout it, besides your select few classes. Which, even that was a debate sometimes, because you could've sworn the hallways moved on you at times, shifting every so slightly. Whether it'd be an entirely new section of the school, a fork in the road you insisted wasn't there prior, to even a dead end that you'd walked through previously to your potion's classroom once.
A labyrinth, perhaps, you could label it— except, no matter where you went, it'd lead to something foolish and inconceivable.
Which was terrible whenever you had to find a classroom.
You'd even tried asking a portrait for help. The most exquisite, kindhearted one you could've found, only for the lady with brunette curls cascading off her shoulders, who had such sweet eyes in her photo, to laugh frenziedly at you. As if your dilemma was funny, before flat out ignoring you as if you were a buzzing insect beneath her.
"Not even the paintings in this stupid school are useful, not even to get directions," You grumbled, ego bruised like a far too ripened plum, only to be discarded uselessly to the floor. You frowned, cursing the previous Night Raven College Headmasters long prior to Crowley who decided to make this hellish school layout. The packet of papers in your hand hanging loosely in your hand.
Were all academies in this world so chaotic? You wondered, marching down the hallway to finish your mission of the day. Surely this can't be a normal layout for other schools. How else were you supposed to get to your classes?
Little did you know, a particular bat fae lurked by one of the tall, looming windows in the corridor, one you'd somehow missed during your fury. One who strived off of mischief as if it were a medication, and the person you always had to keep your eye on.
You paused before a crossroad that split into two directions, both just as barren of students as the one previous. Crowley never told you there was a fork in the road here. How were you supposed to figure out which way was the correct choice, and not waste even more time?! Furrowing your brows, you debated using the oldest trick in the book, relying on merely chance for your navigation; Eeny, meeny, miny, moe. Catnip to children and adults all over who couldn't make a decision to save their lives—the holy grail for the hesitant and indecisive.
You pointed to the right, "Eeny…" Then to the left, "meeny," you started, your words trailing off into a murmur, indistinguishable to anyone who wasn't three centimeters away from you.
You'd gotten to the holler part, pointing in the right direction, you'd heard a whoosh behind you. So quiet you weren't even sure if it was your imagination, but melodic enough where it couldn't have been the wind breezing through an open window.
Before you could register what was happening, a body slammed into your back and clung. You shrieked, as any normal person would, wheezed at the sudden new weight, swiveling your head around to see your assailant, only to find familiar hot pink hair streaks, and a glimpse of what could only be described as the horn of a treacherous monster—only double back to find it was sprouts of hair. This, paired together with the low rumble of laughter that seemed to spill out of the perpetrator, only seemed to solidify who it was.
Lilia Vanrouge.
Arms wrapped loosely around your neck and waist, carelessly, as if he knew you wouldn't outright drop him, a baritone voice rang out, chipper as ever, "Ah, afternoon, perfect! I couldn't help but notice you were in need of assistance!"
"You… know, you… Could've asked. Like a normal," Your voice was ragged from your startle, your words in shambles, yet you continued on, squinting at Lilia as if he had three heads. "Human being," you hissed the final words.
"You see, I am but a fae!" He placed his hand on his chest, dawning a solemn expression. "Gestures that are not riddled with trickery would merely lessen my life force, you must understand," he sniffled. Sniffled. Like he was the victim. Prick.
"Oh, come on," you'd groan. "You can't be serious." But you couldn't help but bite the bait, your voice a whisper of what it once was, "… Is that true?"
"Well. No. Not exactly." He'd shrug. "However, it is much more entertaining."
"You're the worst…"
"You love me."
"Not that much."
"So cruel… I should retract my offer to aid you in your expedition." Lilia sighed out, placing his head atop your shoulder. "You never did answer me now. Where is your destination, hum?"
"Astrology… Headmaster wanted me to give the professor this." You waved the packet. "Not sure why he couldn't do it himself. All he does is boast about how benevolent he is and spin in his fancy chair."
"Rather curious habits… Though, as much as I would hate to tell you this, dear mortal." The ancient fae's voice held a touch of sympathy, suspiciously gentle for him—as if he were attempting to soften the blow, as he added after a pause, "… You are in an entirely different section of the campus."
A beat of silence past as you stared at him.
a study needs to be done on how cats can put every single bit of their weight into one paw because how are you fifty tons heavier whenever you’re digging into my stomach??? you’re like 12 pounds at MOST
It’s unavoidable, everyone meets their end somehow. Some way. But, sometimes, however, it catches up far quicker. No matter how tragic or cruel, it is inescapable.
Everyone meets their end.
Yet, when it comes to fae, able to live multiple mortal lifetimes without fret, it’s blindsiding; witnessing their partner’s death.
Staring characters; Malleus Draconia x GN! Yuu Reader
Word Count; 1k-ish
N/A; wanted to expand on little ways to preserve?? bodies and stuff with magic(since I thought it’d be interesting to see something different than a coffin or?? cremation).
also, ps…. would everyone be concerned if I said I had an idea… to add onto this… brewing up…
also… pps… we feeling the lil banner or no…
also ppps… might be alive
Humans were fickle creatures.
Malleus knew that. He was raised to believe it, in a sense. From the day he'd clawed out of his egg, far more scaly and naive, to even now, however wavered that belief was. They were far more fragile, bones turned to dusk as soon as a fae reached their prime.
Yet, despite the challenges that you'd faced, you always turned out victorious, somehow.
Overblots, the crippling acknowledgment that you'd likely never return to your world, to even the comically large insect you'd valiantly braved off with a feather duster(That you totally did not ask in a frenzy to obliterate after it flew and smacked you square in the forehead, a loving memory that the dragon would go back to eons from now)
But there was one thing even you couldn't outrun or defeat with resounding determination and viciousness befitting of royalty.
Death.
And truth be told, he did understand that you, too, would fade away. It was a thought that flickered through his mind often, plaguing his nightmares; the moments he spent by your side, until he couldn’t any longer. Your life couldn't hold a candlestick in comparison to his; too weak in the face of peril to change your fate, or maybe he was the feeble one in this tale. Unable to prevent your death. Yet he couldn't help the gluttonous, greedy feeling that consumed him, wishing that you could've led by his side for all of eternity; been with him, evermore, intertwining your life forces to become everlasting.
But it never could prepare him for the day the reaper whisked you away.
The domed, grayed stone room stood tall, looming before the Prince of Briar almost tormentingly. It's frigid chill seeping into the hallway from its open entrance, coaxing itself underneath his flesh, penetrating past the scales meant to defend him. Yet, there were no wards to shield him from this; no longer any arms to run into in hopes of eradicating this solemn, wretched feeling that churned within his chest, constricting his every breath as he walked toward the soaring platform's staircase.
A mass of people lined the bottom of it, overtaken by sombreness as their heads sank, tipped toward the floor. Peers from his days at Night Raven College, memories that seemed so far and so close at the same time, who came to mourn the unusual Perfect that wreaked havoc everywhere they went. People who'd woven their lives with the person who'd roamed the remnants of an abandoned dormitory—built a home in the place with more holes than his heart—finding comfort in the apparitions that lurked behind the corners. The feline that hooted(or perhaps was it meowed?) and hollered for fancy canned tuna every meal, yet devoured rocks like they were candy.
Even people from the castle, fae servants and nobles alike, who'd found themselves drawn to you after months of shunning, lingered by the edges of the walls. Was it from the guilt of their initial scornful reactions to you, a magic-less human? Only for them to find the charm that'd entranced him from the very beginning, ensnaring him in your world.
Yes. Your world.
He averted his gaze, flickering back upward to the pathway up the daunting platform.
He'd exhale a shaky sigh before finally making his ascent up the stairway. Each step, heavier than the next; each step, another ache in his heart. Another crack, splintering pieces off in its wake. As the platform grew closer, so did the hammering in his chest, so loud he was convinced it'd burst through his ribcage.
Could he survive this? Losing you?
The first person who’d ever looked at him as a friend and not with fear?
With kindness, not from his title or power, but for him?
When he reached the final step, all of it seemed to seep out of him at once. The tide easing its way out, leaving only a barren landscape as his eyes drifted to the top of your head, and to the tips of your feet.
A sharp exhale escaped him at the sight, penetrating the quiet of the room.
There you were, his beloved.
You laid there, motionless on top of a smooth slab of rock. Stiff.
You looked almost asleep, if not for the slight discoloration of your skin; without breath, raising your chest slowly before it released. Your soul likely drifted off, claimed by the spirits of whatever roamed beyond, if it did exist, only leaving behind the vessel you'd roamed about in.
He took a step toward you. Another. Each felt woozy, disoriented, perhaps, as if he weren't in control of his own body. Weird, wasn't it? The effect you had on him, even in death. Until he got by your side, where he finally allowed himself to crumble on the outside. Even just a tad.
Malleus knelt beside you, an action that would strike as immoral by other high, ancient nobles— the Senate, who still watched over him despite the title of King of Briar Valley atop his head, and reached out to your face, noticing now the slight tremor to his fingers.
"I'm sorry, my beloved…" His touch was tender against your cheek as he pushed the strands of hair away from your face, affectionately. "I wish I could've laid you somewhere more comfortable…" His gaze, filled with reverence, as he looked down upon your chilled body. Peaceful, despite the sullen atmosphere that surrounded you.
It was strange, knowing that this was the last time he'd ever be able to touch you again, while a question kept emerging from the back of his mind. Would you have minded it? Staying with him, if he found out the trick to immortality. To share your lifespans, tying you together further. He could've figured it out; as long as you'd stay with him a moment more.
The corners of his lips quivered at the thought, twisting downward.
He knew what he needed to do. Understood it painfully so, ever since he'd found your body. He wanted it to be him to preserve you, even if you'd been long gone. Yet it didn't make it any easier, as an emerald green hue lit from his Magic Pen, the same one you'd always thieve off him at Night Raven College with a wicked cackle, slipping into your own blazer instead; even if it was useless to you.
The crystals began to run up your legs, abdomen, neck, arms… Enveloping your form in sharp, ragged edges that gleamed in the shrouded room, creating specters of iridescent light that dusted against the walls.
But he didn't let go of your face, the tip of his thumb grazing the curve of your cheek with a hollowness that felt all-consuming. A devouring fiend reigning havoc throughout his body and mind, leaving naught but a husk. Not until the mineral crawled up your chin, merely centimeters from his hand, that he let go, placing a quick, featherlight kiss to your temple, before drawing back. Even when everything in him compelled to latch onto you—crystalize, so you would never be separated or alone.
And with watery eyes, tears threatening to cascade down his face and onto what was more crystal than you, he murmured those final words, "...Goodnight, my firefly." His voice cracked,
"My treasure."
And with it came the downpour that seemed to stream for eternity, threatening to wash away the Briar Valley’s people. A wet spell that would go on the records, not just for Briar Valley, but the entire world’s.
Pairing; Ace Trappola|Floyd Leech x Thrill Seeker GN! Reader(not exactly a direct pairing, but short fic fits both so imagine whoever🤞)
side notes; honestly, I absolutely adore Ace Trappola/and or Floyd Leech x Thrill Seeker GN! Reader dynamic, where they are both equally as muddled as one another tbh, whether it's romantic or platonic, or hell, even queer-platonic
Just imagining hurrying down the corridors with him, both of your laughter reaching a cadence that echoes down the hallways against the lockers, dodging the Rosen tyrant’s spells, attempts at collaring the two of you after breaking yet another slew of rules. Yet neither of you stalled, no matter how much Riddle’s vein bulged to an almost worrying extent; his face turned a brilliant crimson, matching his hair.
Each syllable he hollered at you was washed away by your adrenaline, covered by your heartbeat that you could hear as clear as day in your ears, and the notable increase in the tempo that grew with every sputtered breath you heaved as you yet rounded another corner.
You weren’t even too sure why you found yourself roped into yet another one of his plots to drive the poor man nuts, or maybe it was yours; you can't remember anymore. Was it a dare that had gone wrong? When your pride caught hold of your rationality? Perhaps he’d grabbed your hand mid-pursuit, already having irked the Housewarden of Heartslabyul previously, before trudging you along as he gave you little to no context. Not that you really needed it, the angered stomps of Riddle’s boots connecting to the stone floors were enough to get you scurrying, even before you heard Riddle screech his name.
Did it really matter? Not really. After all, focusing too hard on what ifs would've made you hinder and fumble about! Neither of you could afford that.
But it was worth it to see the mischievous glint evident in his eye, and playful grin he'd carry around like a lifeline. How he'd call you his lil' partner in crime, his arm hooked around your neck as he'd chatter to his dorm mates about the mayhem you'd both accomplished just a few minutes previously. Dramatic retellings of your narrow escape, if you even got that far, and how you'd both collapsed into a heap of limbs whenever you'd finally gotten him off your tail after impulsively rounding a corner into a deserted classroom, with the door the sole thing blocking you away from being caught.
Your panting intertwined as you listened for the enraged redhead's clattering boots against the floor, only to hear nothing but the lingering voices of the students left over, lurking within the halls for their clubs or studying. You risking a hushed whisper, disbelief etched on your expression—and maybe tone—that maybe Riddle'd finally decided enough was enough.
But neither of you would've moved, sagged limply on another, both spent from bolting down the halls and hoping—praying—to the Great Seven that you wouldn't end up splattering on one of the numerous metal lockers. You had an inkling you'd break a nose or rib if you committed to that, and Riddle wouldn't have spared you anyhow, no matter how injured. A rant, paired with a collaring of a lifetime, hell, he might even put either of you in the naughty corner, awaiting you once you find yourselves landed in the infirmary.
And it'd be peaceful, as you drew away from that adrenaline rush, heaving and puffing, maybe a noise or two that could've only been explained as your lungs having had enough of your shit and wanting a new host. Until a knock sounded on the door, so measured and dignified, yet held a taunt befitting of a corporate warfare, reigniting a newfound terror as you'd look up, seeing the tip of a red, heart-shaped hair peeking above where you'd slumped down. Because no matter how far you got away, the spite and viciousness of an irritated queen shall always prevail.
Yes, whilst it was rare that you'd truly ever escape the Housewarden, to be able to cause that sort of havoc with another was dizzying. The acknowledgement and comfort, knowing that you wouldn't be alone in your mad dash?
It was nice, something you don’t think you could ever truly get bored of, as long as you were with him.
Could you do.... Jade Leech x reader possibly? Maybe a fluffy comfort fic?
‘ ‘After Work Tea-Time, ,
Premise; Sometimes in life all you need to relax is a cup of tea, especially after a long, hard day of running around the Mostro Lounge, catering to guests nonstop.
So, why not do it with your kind hearted manipulative moray eel of a colleague? Who offers you a cup, no expense needed, to aid you in your quest for temporary inner peace?
Starring characters; Jade Leech x GN! Reader, with side/mentioned character(s) Azul Ashengrotto, Cater Diamond, and Floyd Leech
Side notes; I apologize it took me so long to finish this! I had another idea in mind that I kept getting stuck with, and it eventually stirred into an idea that was far from a comfort premise 😭 but I do plan on finishing it another day.
I hope this request fits what you had in mind<3
ps another sorry for like croaking and disappearing 😨
As the last wave of customers left the exit of Mostro Lounge, you waved them off; a "Have a good day" was on the tip of your tongue, paired with a small, polite smile that seemed strained after so many hours of business. It was instinct, by now, after so many days of working in service. Yet sometimes, whenever there were few to no customers who strayed within the restaurant, it felt unnatural. Which made sense, you supposed, but Great Sevens did it get tiresome, last into the night when the business was closed.
Once you were certain the customers wouldn't rush back in case of a missing magic pen, or even in an uproar, you sagged into one of the exposed booth's sides, lumber digging deep into your spine. You heaved out a groan that almost sounded like your soul leaving your poor, absolutely worn body.
Your decision to work at Mostro Lounge for extra cash during the school year was finally beginning to take hold, affecting not only your limbs and mind but also, perhaps, your spiritual well-being. Your heels hurt as if you stepped on dozens of pointy play swords, all turned upward. Let alone the way the lights were beginning to burn into your retinas, making you see the boss's specialty every time you blinked. Which was already a rarity, considering the rush that came with the damned thing.
And you didn't even have a chance to process the fact that you've nearly gotten into a tussle with one of the cooks, and the most melodramatic one at that, Floyd Leech, three times today. Apparently, he was also in a wretched mood. Which was fantastic.
And there was only one person you could blame for this entire ordeal. Your angst.
Azul Ashengrotto, who thought it'd be such a darling idea to craft up a new special after a new, viral Magicam trend. Influenced enough seeing others pay criminal amounts of thaumarks for the mixture without a second glance, only drawn in by the beautiful olive color, and curiosity of how it'd taste. And like all shady businessmen who craved to breathe in money as if it were air, came your doom.
"Matcha Grove" was what Azul labeled it in the menu, and it seemed like not even mages were able to resist its tempting nature. You swore that if you saw Cater take another selfie of the damned beverage, sitting in one of the countless booths with a peace sign and his tongue sticking out for the hundredth time for Magicam, spewing on how it was “tots' his new obsess'," you might just burst into the kitchens and threaten to fillet one of the cooks(Always seemed to work for Floyd whenever he was in a not-so-fun mood, so why couldn't it work for you, too?)
And by the Great Sevens themselves, you swore the drink brought out the students of Night Raven College's most inner, middle-aged fringed-bob woman persona. A Karen, if you would. Some would argue that you were being overdramatic and a conspiracy theorist. But they'd never gone through the trenches that were dumping pounds of sugar into a drink after someone shouted at you that it tasted like lawn trimmings, nearly tossing it on your person as you barked out that it was, literally, meant to taste earthy.
You later manifested that the customer would have back-to-back surprise pop quizzes for a year straight, all in different courses to drive them up a wall with apprehension and a fate to study for all eternity.
And let alone the person who "discreetly" poured the drink into one of the potted plants that sporadically decorated the lounge before skittering out of the entryway. You witnessed it yourself! And the worst part? It grew mushrooms a day later! Azul thought Jade was messing around with him, while Floyd gagged in the corner by the entrance, unable to cross the threshold and enter his workplace.
You slid your shoes off, rubbing your heels with a solemn expression; You swore to yourself that you were gonna quit one day, and you vowed that to whoever seemed to be listening to your inner turmoil. And you know what? It'd be done spectacularly. With a confetti and pink glitter exploding card that would coat the entirety of your boss's VIP room in a glitter so thick, it'd haunt each and every Octavinelle Housewarden for as long as Night Raven College still stood in all its glory.
The magnificent expression that Azul would've made, twisted with stupefaction and suppressed irritation. A slight eye twitch to go along with it. Tensed shoulders as he stared down at his paperwork, his pen no doubt being scathed in the process, as you scurried out of the VIP lounge. It was enough to lull you to sleep, underneath a hazardous amount of blankets.
Though you fear that wistful, exquisite pursuit of yours will not come any time soon, as you kinda needed this job.
You took a quick glance around at your surroundings, noting that many of your fellow colleagues had already scurried off. Whether it was to their dorm rooms, screeching into their pillows after this harrowing week, or to bother one of the chefs into making them a snack for the long, challenging trudge back to their comforting twin-sized bed. Maybe even doing their assigned server's task, one you'd completed many hours ago, to get out of the cafe as soon as you were let off. It wasn't until you noticed a familiar, teal-haired eel who had a prominent streak of dark grey hair that framed the side of his face.
Jade Leech, judging by the way the streak was on the left side, compared to his twin brother, as you squinted at him. The aquarium's blue hue dawned on him beautifully, highlighting his features, crafting an illuminating effect, while shrouding other elements of his face.
You nearly did a double-take when you noticed him behind the counter, stacking cups for the following hazardous day to come, rows of ingredients for drink specials lined up behind him. It was even a row taller than him, yet he had ample arm length to combat it with ease. He looked just as chalant as always, not even a bead of sweat running down his temple from having to make the rounds about tables, dodging entire platefuls of food and drinks from other servers on deck.
You envied the man. A twisted sort of jealousy could churn deep in anyone's stomach when they witnessed his poised composure, even at the end of a stressful day of work, when he looked to be the pinnacle of perfection. Hell, maybe in some cases, you followed that thought process as well. You couldn't blame yourself, not truthfully, either. Like a sheep to its shepherd, his sheer elegance was remarkable, no matter how strange he was whenever it came to his own interests or his streak of mischief.
To even these small, mundane tasks, he looked oddly captivating. You didn't even notice you were flat-out staring at the eel, not until his eyes appeared to snap toward you, causing you to flinch subconsciously before averting your eyes. He also had very sharp instincts and was downright terrifying when it suited him. Something you often forgot about when you were transfixed by him.
A snicker came from the eel, whom you risked a glimpse back at, even as embarrassment seemed to run through your veins. The corners of Jade's lips were quirked up in a less-than-polite smile, in comparison to his everyday expression, revealing the sharp teeth of a predator in the water. His hand, which had once held countless cups, raised up halfway up his face. "My, my, [Your Name.] If I hadn't known any better, I'd figure you were gawking," Jade's voice rang out in the now seemingly stifling Mostro Lounge, his tone matching the amused glint in his eyes.
The giggling came to a halt, though you came to understand that even if he wasn't chuckling, it didn't make him any less entertained.
"You appear worn, [Your Name]..." Though he gave you one mercy by not inquiring why you were intently staring at him, instead beckoning you over with a swish of his hand toward the three empty spin-chairs that modeled right before the counter. "Sit down, surely you wouldn't be averse to a cup of tea, would you?" Jade questioned, meeting your wildly concerned gaze as you curled back without stepping away.
"Is... it crushed up mushrooms?" You inquired, slightly hesitant about accepting the offer. Your luck? You were about to be fed on some wild mushroom the tweel had found in the forest during one of his expeditions, or grown from his terrarium. And honestly, right now, you didn't think you could visualize mushroom water, much less have your taste buds cursed with it.
"No, I am afraid not... You see, Floyd and Azul appear to be... Disinterested in selling Reishi tea." A faux solemn expression would overcome, as he spoke, before he continued, "...However, if another person does appear to-"
"No!" You interrupted, panic filling you as your hands flew up defensively. "I mean- I'm sure we already have an assortment... No need for any mushroom brew." No matter how much you'd bicker with Floyd, or even Azul driving you up a wall, you weren't getting in trouble for allowing Jade 'taint' the lounge with his hobbies. That was how you got filleted, or sacrificed to enrich the soil in terrariums as a form of payback.
But, you did, however, decide to stride to the bar seats that were littered just before the counter. Perhaps against your better judgment, considering it was one of the two Leech twins who were offering you a beverage, but you couldn't help it. The stones that seemed to weigh on your shoulders were hefty, and sometimes, a warm beverage could've twisted the tides outward, instead of crashing onto you, drenching your clothes and weighing you down to the sandy shore.
And it was probably healthier than downing three cups of coffee and an energy drink.
As soon as you took a seat, Jade inquired, "Do you have a preference? On the flavor." You opened your mouth to answer, but paused to think. Did you? You bit the corner of your inner lip, the train of thought continuing. Did you even have it in you to care which carefully selected assortment they had in Mostro Lounge? Deciding you didn't, you shook your head. "Go wild with your choices, I suppose. Surprise me," you'd reply, a slight grin forming on your face, however shallow it was in combatant with your exhaustion.
The teal-haired male nodded before turning away to grab the kettle and going into the back for water. Naturally, being unattended to your own devices, you rested your arms on the counter and placed your head atop them. You glanced up at the numerous cabinets that seemed to tower over you from your position now, squinting as you read the labels on them. Some you'd never heard of, and others were so popular that even the most crooked hag, stubborn in her ways, would appreciate them.
It sometimes amazed you how much the lounge tried to both fit into trends, yet keep far rarer items, which added a sense of nostalgia to individuals who'd tried them as a child. Or perhaps even have others' curiosities drawn, unable to refuse the temptation of a new flavor or add-on.
Jade waltzed back in, pushing in the swaying doors and glancing back toward the kitchen with narrowed eyes, before placing the kettle onto a circular disc. Your brows knitted together, unable to stop the query at the tip of your tongue, "Aren't you supposed to put kettles on the stove... Or is it an electric one?"
"... Electric. Azul figured it would make others feel more at ease if they saw their tea and coffee being made. Though I certainly would've expected you to know that by now, considering how long you've worked here, alongside me." Jade waved a hand toward the elaborate coffee maker setup, along with the hundreds of tea pouches.
You frowned, grumbling a response out, "I never function the barista bar... How am I supposed to know that?" The servers, at least you, were often put on the run. For foods and soft beverages, and even when you weren't doing that, half of the time you were seating people or taking orders to send off to the kitchens.
Plus, there wasn't even a machine to bill people here.
"Perhaps I will show you, then, one day how to wield such a machine," Jade mocked, his tone light with humor as he pressed a button on the kettle. You'd roll your eyes, knowing full well he was attempting to get you to take on yet another task of the day, twisting your spindle to such a pace that the stick would snap; unable to spin no longer.
With his back toward you, he crossed his arms over his chest, looking down toward the kettle. His posture was perfectly straight, even though he could've easily leaned against the countertop, just as you had. The stretch of silence that followed afterward was comfortable, a rarity as you dwelled internally, before you muttered, without even thinking, "...How do you do it?"
Jade peeked back at you, confusion evident on his features, a rarity that disappeared as quick as it came. He scrutinized your expression, an attempt to gauge what you meant, before intruding vocally, "... How do I work a kettle? Surely I've told you I'd—"
"No, I mean—" You paused, trying to figure out and contort the words you wanted to use into something that made sense. Did it even make sense to you? Not really. It felt juvenile, the desire to know how he'd look so prim and proper, without an ounce of exhaustion from the indefinite days of work, a coveting feeling that'd spike erratically. But Jade, terrifyingly, was patient as you figured out your words. Dauntingly so. So, out of partial intimidation, because you swore if his eyes continued to crinkle in amusement any longer, you gonna burst into a nonsensical ramble on the spot, you decided to go with, "I don't understand how you behave the way you do."
The way his eyebrow quirked up, and the slight tilt of his head as the corners of his mouth quirked up, as he urged you to continue; you knew damn well he was entertained by your lack of explanation. But something deeper flickered inside his pupils, vigilance. Perhaps a warning for you to tread carefully, instead of taking a hasty approach and going headfirst. The eel, no matter how polite, was never fond of spectators, people who'd swim too far into the endless abyss to comprehend him and his motives.
"You're always so... Mellow about things. Even around- like, stressful situations that'd make anyone crack under pressure." You attempted to backtrack, to lighten your previous words so you wouldn't end up evoking his inquisitiveness. That would've only sent you over the edge more, the acknowledgment that he was observing you; always looking over your shoulder, even when you knew full well he was long gone down a separate corridor.
His eyes narrowed as he gazed at you, as if he was debating whether or not he was under interrogation, on the verge of asking, 'What are you, the cops?' Yet he still kept that stupid, downright intimidating grin all the while. If you were a cop, you'd fold under the pressure of that instantly, if not for how closely he looked into your eyes, as if he were attempting to unravel the vines that swathed around your soul, whether it'd be to crack you open and figure out your vital imperfections or to better understand you, an enigma. "... Pray tell, are you seeking advice on how I react to such matters, or are you looking for the why?" There was a slight emphasis on the end, a hint of suspicion deep within his tone; his leaned posture went against his commonly sturdy, seemingly unbendable stance he always took.
Well. Jade definitely was wary. Fantastic.
But, before you had the chance to sputter that you were truly only looking for his method of madness, not whatever devious, what you could've only imagined was a labyrinth of forestry that only he knew how to navigate safely, views that stirred around in his brain,
Sssssss-EEEEEEE ! ! !
The kettle shrieked, causing your heart to lurch out of your throat as you jerked toward the sound. You placed a hand on your chest, feeling the tempo of your heart double in pace as you grumbled a curse aloud. "I suppose the water is boiled," the eel straightened up as he spoke, drawing his hand away from the counter's top—something you didn't even notice he'd done—unfazed by the sudden noise that entirely shattered any sorta morale you had to clarify what you meant.
"... Are kettles always that so damned loud..?" You'd murmured, partially to yourself, but you would've taken an outsider's opinion as well at this rate. You never remembered them that strikingly loud, but you wouldn't be shocked if it were some fancy one.
Actually, wouldn't the expensive ones be quieter in comparison?
Who cares, whichever wouldn't give you a heart attack would've been perfect right now.
The soft clink of a teacup against the counter drew you out of your inner turmoil. You looked, furrowing your eyebrows until you saw a ceramic cup placed in front of you. It was an off-white color, with the rim a dull blue, and little clams with pearls embedded in them dotted around the edge of the perimeter. The curved handle had intricate golden embellishments that lined it, yet didn't clash roughly against the blue and pale color, but complemented it. A dash of decoration that most likely felt like the cup would've felt like something was missing, yet none could've placed why it felt off.
You'd almost forgotten that Jade offered to make you a cup of tea earlier...
You glanced at the blank tag before looking quizzically at Jade, "What type of tea is it?" The liquid was a bronze copper and smelled of lavender, but there was another fragrance you couldn't quite pinpoint. Delicate, almost, yet there was something sweeter and warmer in the mix as well. Yet you couldn't tell what the submerged tea bag held as it oozed its herbs into the now flavored, boiled water. Any sign of sugar or honey was long gone, stirred into the concoction before you'd even laid your eyes on its creation.
"Lavender buds, with rose petals. A trace of honey, if you so need that information... Undoubtedly a fan favorite among our customers, I presumed you'd be tolerable towards it as well." Jade tapped counter in front of you, gesturing toward the drink as he added, "Known for a pacifying scent, along with easing the mind of crisis, both of which I figured were what you sought out."
You'd blink once. Twice. Trice, even, before looking between the beverage and the eel before you. No matter how much you pried beforehand, he still decided not to, you know, knock you out with some poison and take your lunch money. Heartwarming, honestly.
You took the cup into both of your hands, hissing at the heat it emitted as your skin grazed the ceramic. You were lucky enough not to drop it when you first reached for it; no doubt you would've had to purchase it, and honestly? You'd end up in some strange Ouran High School Host Club thing, and you were not ready for the hell that'd bring with it.
Carefully, you took a sip, ignoring the way Jade watched you, expectantly, for any hint of a reaction; to you, wincing in pain, or the way your shoulders began to untense. It was a floral blend, which didn't surprise you, as your coworker had already disclosed its ingredients, but the sweetness from the droplet of honey added a slight aftertaste. Not in a bad way, certainly not, as it blended together almost seamlessly as you took yet another gulp.
None of the ingredients was either too strong or too much. Neither was it an experience that'd reshape your entire world—no, universe—it was familiar and comfortable. A scent and taste you'd most likely encountered somewhere in your life, paired together with a sweetness that wasn't overbearing against your taste buds to a sickening point. You'd even argue it was the embodiment of perfection, judging by the satisfied hum that slipped by your lips as you glanced in the reflection of the liquid, it mirroring your own expression of contentment.
Just as you took another deep, long chug of the cup's contents, Jade spoke up from his prolonged silence, "Amusement."
You nearly choked on your drink, you took a hasty swallow before coughing a bit as he turned away yet again from you. Confusion evident on your face, "Amusement?" You'd repeat, almost parroting his tone, staring at him as if you were in a stupor.
"Your previous question," was the only thing he replied with, and before you could even attempt to question him further, the kitchen's door slammed open, revealing the other tweel with a giggle and grin that reached the creases of his under-eye.
"Gah, today was such a downer... Eh? Shrimps? Ya' still looming 'round here?" Floyd's voice was chipper compared to before as he blinked at you, nor his smile did not falter into a grim expression. "Come on! Should' be home lazin' around after all those steppins', unless you were here to say bye to lil' ol' me?" He rounded to the other side of the counter, where you sat, arm now slung around your neck, loosely.
His cheeky voice was refreshing, causing you to laugh in retort. "Wanted to see if you were still gonna uphold tousling me in the entryway of Mostro," You'd reply, tone light enough to not stutter his mood.
"I fear Azul would scold us all for you two fighting..." Jade sighed, though it held little to no resolve to stop either you or Floyd from attempting.
"Heyyy, I doubt it'd be too bad! Just a lil' shove or two won't get his tentacles in a twist, n' it'd be fun!" Floyd responded, a glint rising in his eye.
"Until we plummet into the seating booth and snap it in half," You'd chirp, before adding a wobbled, slightly embarrassed by the memory, "...Again."
The three of you continued on like that, chattering around as the night descended, your exhaustion slipping from you as you three cackle and poke around at one another.
Though one thing was incessant in the back of your head, barreling forward every time Jade and Floyd would bicker.
Amusement.
Because he found it amusing.
It wasn’t the answer you were after, yet perhaps it was what you needed; to change how you viewed your circumstances, not by almost biting a person’s head off, but by amusing yourself that you’d found yourself in such a strange position. That you’d witnessed. That you’d heard. That you even experienced such audacity.
Or maybe you were just over complicating things, you shrugged.
it’s so weird having people like?? like your fanfics/drabbles and interact with them?? not in a bad way but
like you like my writing??
little ol me’s??
it’s such a silly lil feeling I swear 😞 makes me feel like a high school girl in some shoujo anime?? has me kicking my feet and twirling my hair and EVERYTHING
Premise; Drabble of Azul Ashengrotto’s inner turmoil and unyielding crush on the [Reader] as they sleep on his VIP lounge’s couch.
Starring characters; Azul Ashengrotto x GN! Reader, mentions of Jade and Floyd Leech
Word Count; 650ish
Side notes; I refuse to believe this man is some epic, smooth talking, flirty man. after the relationship progresses? okay sure, but you cannot tell me he is not an awkward mess during the crushing phase.
also see!! I can write more romantic stuff😞😞
Azul didn't know when this conundrum started, nor how he had gotten to his point, for that matter. It just seemed to happen as he grew closer to you, an ache so heavenly, but so detrimental in its own right. It was a feeling he couldn't quite describe, not sanely, yet he knew wholeheartedly, and trust him, he had a few hearts; if he allowed himself to be swept away by its persistent current, it'd no doubt be his ruination.
When he was with you, he felt as if he were that ball of anxiousness once more that threatened to scurry back into his octo-pod whenever he sensed the slightest bit of peril. The only difference now was that he was taller and had two legs primarily. Nor did he cower in fear every time someone looked at him, wondering if they viewed him just as terribly as those children did. Some would even call him a pretty silver-tongued bastard who could counter those who dared get in his way with ease.
But it was different when it came to you. Azul wasn't as smooth or suave as he was whenever he was with his clients, even when he tried to court you. He fumbled his words, glanced away whenever you teased or joked around with him, flinched when your fingers graced each other's, and even fidgeted with his cuffs for something to do instead of reaching out and pushing that stray strand of hair from your face or fixing your uniform whenever it looked as disheveled as he felt. Each time he noticed these habits of his, his ears couldn't help but flush a deep crimson as he tried his hardest to regain his composure.
Yet you still stayed despite his awkwardness for some strange reason.
Even now, as you draped yourself over one of his VIP room's couches, far after closing hours, when even the eels had gone to their dorms, you were there in eyesight. Azul had even asked you to return home himself, knowing that he'd be working late into the night for the mid-terms study guide, but you didn't leave. Instead, you persisted that you'd stay up and entertain him while he toiled over guides.
Which lasted about an hour before you said you were going to "rest your eyes a while."
He glanced over the rim of his glasses at your sleeping figure, his fountain pen's tip pausing at the sight, collecting a droplet of pitch-black ink as moments passed by. One of your arms was sprawled over the edge of the seat's cushion as your head propped on one of the decorative pillows, fast asleep. You looked somehow comfortable there, terribly so, even if he feared that your head craning that far right would damage your spine or neck somehow. People were fragile like that, after all.
The corners of his mouth tugged downward as the thought festered in his head. He was going to have to get more sleep-suitable pillows, maybe even a blanket or two, if you plotted to hole up in his office after hours with him again.
A sigh blurted from him before he realized it as he dragged himself up, placing down his pen with a notable thud as he rounded his wooden table, filled with numerous papers for both his business and schoolwork, and sauntered his way to where you slept peacefully. His brows knitted together as he slid off his blazer, set it atop you, and scurried back to his office chair like nothing happened.
Though when you wake up, you can't help but wonder why there's a blazer on you. Much less the fact that the octo-mer can't look directly at you without turning into a brilliant red.
Please, for his sanity, don't question it.
In fact, sign this, and he'll give you anything you want in return; just pretend that never happened. You can give him this one thing, yes?
Premise; What if reader was a popular influencer in their favorite genre(s)?
Starring characters; Overblot/Housewardens x GN! Reader! (Can be considered platonic, or imagined pre-romantic scenario)
Warnings; Mentions of Housewardens/Overblots traumas potentially, depression traits especially in Leona’s and Idia’s. Riddle’s mother in another😭
Word count; 5.9k
Side notes; couldn’t decide between Jamil or Kalim, so you’re getting both. take it or leave it🫵
ps sorry I died😞 was NOT very live love laugh
Riddle Rosehearts!
Study Lives or Parkour/Blastcycle Videos
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Study Lives
⤷ Honestly, it would NOT surprise me if he had study streams playing in the background whenever he studied. At least, eventually, during his school years.
⤷ It'd be a habit he picked up from Cater, who suggested he try it. A spur-of-the-moment thing, maybe even a joke to try and liven the mood. It was something Cater never expected Riddle to be interested in.
⤷ The Housewarden titled the “Heartslabyul Tyrant”? Impossible!
⤷ But, the Housewarden had supposed it wouldn't hurt to try as long as it didn't go against the 810 rules of the Reddened Rose Queen herself. Especially after his second year, after his Overblot, where he’d try venturing a little farther out of the time-table his mother had dug so deeply into him.
⤷ At first, he thought it was unnecessary. Nor did he feel a sudden wave of "motivation" or “relaxation” for that matter as Cater proclaimed, but after a while, he grew used to the soft instrumental that played from his phone as he copied down notes for class.
⤷ A melody that wasn’t approved of by his mother’s law, yet wouldn’t cause her mood to bluster and explode. It was the middle-ground between both, comfortingly out of place, but didn’t go against his morale.
⤷ And that was how he found your account, by chance. An older, hour-long video of you with soft classical music playing in the background, skritching down letters on paper or typing on your computer.
⤷ He found the music you'd play delightful, so he kept coming back, even finding himself joining your livestreams where you'd groan and sag into your chair whenever you were stuck on something.
⤷ Depending on what it was, and if he knew it well enough, he'd even give an ounce of advice inside the comments, along with the suggestion of a book or two that could've pointed you in the right direction.
⤷ More often than not, he was a lurker, though. Never interacting as much as the others who came to your streams to talk, or even complain in chats how horrible their assignment was.
⤷ He was just there, studying for an upcoming test or finishing up an assignment or two.
⤷ Though he has definitely saved you from a mental breakdown or two over a peculiarly stressful upcoming test.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Parkour Videos/Blastcycle Videos
⤷ Listen, you're gonna have to hear me out on this one.
⤷ It's not that he enjoys them. In fact, he could name a hundred other things you could be doing with your life than risking it on a Dirt-Blastcycle path with a bear chasing you.
⤷ The idea of it has him clutching his imaginary pearls, and watching you actually COMMIT to those stunts? He is absolutely croaking over it. When Ace showed him at an Unbirthday party to see his reaction? Uh-huh. His face contorted in TERROR, witnessing it.
⤷ He couldn't even focus on Ace's cackle, seeing his tyrant of a housewarden's reaction, this man was GRIPPING his staff's top and cringing at each and every drop against the dirt pathway.
⤷ Could hear this man gasp from a mile away when you stood at the top of a crane, peering over the edge, to the point where even Trey, who was lurking deep within the kitchen, dropped a pan on his foot and rushed out to check on who got collared this time.
⤷ Nearly dropped to his knees, too, whenever he realized the reaction was over a video.
⤷ Only one thought seemed to be coherent in the poor Rosen-tyrant's mind.
⤷ This had to pose a significant health risk! Or had to be against regulations to hurl yourself off mountains! He couldn’t fathom it. Did you have a death wish? You had to have, no sane person would do this if they didn’t.
⤷ Even the “rush of adrenaline” couldn’t be enough to explain it.
⤷ From that day on, he would check on your account every other day.
⤷ Each time with a sense of inexplicable dread. For a Housewarden who'd only shown two sides of himself on the regular, the strict and authoritative, or the poised and intelligent, it was quite the sight to his dorm's members to watch him cringe and look bug-eyed.
⤷ But, somewhere inside of him, one buried under years of unyielding control of his mother's ideal, there was the part that was amazed by you.
⤷ It was something he'd never admit, not even to himself, of course, but perhaps in another universe, another timeline, he could be just as free to do those things.
⤷ But in this reality, he was doomed to the fate he was given. The destination that was planned for him, structured carefully.
Leona Kingscholar!
Drama Accounts or Rain/Ambience
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Drama Accounts
⤷ I know this man is nosy. Unfathomably nosy. It doesn't help that he has terrifyingly good hearing because of his more feline traits. Because of this, he can overhear even the meekiest whisper around Night Raven College.
⤷ He isn’t the type to involve himself, no. That'd take away from his napping time, nor does he have the energy to play the whole antagonist role and expose everyone for their dirty crimes and tricks.
⤷ He just... Listens, waiting for the full story to bloom and unfold.
⤷ Even when it looks like he's asleep, Ruggie has caught him peeking his eye open whenever there's a particularly juicy rumor going about outside the glass of the botanical garden, quirking the corners of his lips just the slightest fraction. Maybe even around Savannaclaw as a whole. Though it is rarer, they’d spout off about something around his dormitory, especially too close to his room.
⤷ He has been caught snorting after hearing something crude and downright absurd about Malleus Draconia. They’re his favorite to overhear, enough to entertain him for the rest of the day.
⤷ So, even if Leona isn't an avid Magicam user, unlike many others on this list, he still somehow finds himself down MANY rabbit holes online. No matter what website, he is going to have a field day somewhere.
⤷ It's the weirdest thing to witness, too.
⤷ Leona is absolutely INVESTED in these accounts. The slight swish of his tail? The grumbles in response to hearing the most outlandish cancellations? He is sat. (More… like laid down, but whatever)
⤷ Down one of these numerous rabbit holes, he found your account.
⤷ You were a popular creator amongst the Magicam Drama scene, mainly delving into people's apologies and the actions that led up to the situation unfolding.
⤷ You came onto his fyp once in a blue moon, nothing too much, but soon began to plague his fyp daily.
⤷ He began to get used to your presence whenever he opened the app.
⤷ Though he never followed you.
⤷ The secondborn prince of Sunset Savanna, following you, who talked about how disgusting the actions of others were on an hourly basis? The same man who only followed the official Night Raven College's spelldrive club account?
⤷ As much as he'd like to stray away from the rule-following goodie two-shoes, he was aware enough that it'd cause issues. People and their conspiracy theories would drive him up a wall, no matter how humored he'd be by their creativity.
⤷ So, he is a silent fan. Never saying anything, never interacting with your videos. Hell, you probably have no clue how invested you've had this lion in your theatrics. His just kinda… There, watching everything unravel.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Rain/Ambience Videos
⤷ Sometimes even Leona needs help sleeping, where his mind gets a little too lively against his own wishes.
⤷ Even as he tries to shoo his thoughts away, like he does with many people, they are a burden that even he can't disintegrate into particles of sand. Burrs so embedded into the fabrics that you've debated just buying new clothes and trashing the ones covered in them.
⤷ It primarily gets worse the closer he gets to the Spelldrive competition, where he tosses and turns as if that'd help with his overbearing ideas on how to defeat Malleus Draconia this time around. How to make Savannaclaw win.
⤷ So, Ruggie once said, whenever he was a first-year, primarily joking(partially spooked that he'd get fired if Leona got crankier), that he should check out whale noise or something if he was that stressed out.
⤷ Leona didn't give it a second thought at first, brushing it off, and like any normal person, chucking a pillow in the general direction of the hyena.
⤷ But it only intensified as time went on.
⤷ So, two months away from the Spelldrive tournament, the hyena put on a video of ambience on Leona's computer, praying to the sevens that he wouldn't get fired for it.
⤷ And he almost did, if Leona's thoughts didn't... Dull to a quiet whisper of what it once was.
⤷ He did still boot Ruggie out of his room, of course, but he never did turn it off that day. In fact, he began seeking it out.
⤷ Of course, it never nullified it wholly; that was impossible. But it was easier than trying to wrangle himself to sleep with nothing but pure willpower and spite.
⤷ This domino effect led him to find your account, which strayed to the rain and dark ambient genre. Sometimes meditative, where birds and the soft breeze accompanied the mystical melody, a genre he had to be in a specific mood for, but you supplied nonetheless.
⤷ He has probably rewatched your videos hundreds of times now, even the ones that are 10+ hours that are barely viewed or completed, for that matter.
⤷ Like the drama account, he doesn't interact much. Maybe like them, if you're lucky enough, but he is ultimately a lurker.
⤷ No matter the numerous times he's probably fallen asleep to them, you'd have a better chance at seeing him not cackle at Cheka tripping on a rock. (lovingly, maybe.)
Azul Ashengrotto!
Business Advice/Personal Finance
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Business Advice/Personal Finance
⤷ I fear this shouldn't come as a shock to you...
⤷ Now, Azul Ashengrotto, as a whole, is someone who values information above many other things. It was the one thing he latched onto as a young octomer, and he'll be damned if he falls behind.
⤷ For this reason, and the fact that he is the owner of Mostro Lounge, whenever his office feels a little too quiet, and the tweels were off doing... Who knows what at this point? He often plays videos in the background.
⤷ Most often, it is business advice and the current state of the stock markets, or even the state of the economy in general, that are potential worries for future plans.
⤷ However, this doesn't mean he isn't selective with the people he listens to.
⤷ He is fully aware that people will fabricate tales, twist truths, or even spread misinformation, either out of ignorance or panic.
⤷ So, he observes and files things in the back of his mind, waiting before he adds another influencer to his list of trustworthy sources. Each and every video that appears on his FYP, or even from users he follows on his personal, private account, which is separate from the Mostro Lounge's Magicam Account, is carefully observed.
⤷ Similar to the story of the boy who called wolf, every time he sees an influencer post a downright inaccurate, borderline impossible view on stock market updates or economic worries? His worry over it decreases until it ceases to exist entirely.
⤷ So, unlike some of the others on this list, he took longer to become a fan of yours. Months, maybe even a year, in fact.
⤷ Every post that came across his timeline, whether it'd be a warning or just an opinion, he'd wait to see if it was true.
⤷ Which, they were, terribly so. And if not exact, then it was always close enough for his preparations not to stray far from.
⤷ But that wasn't the only reason he had found himself intrigued by your account. After all, that wouldn't have made you stand out among the numerous users he'd followed in his time of research.
⤷ No, it was the clips of you nearly crashing out over people's financial decisions that had ultimately nailed it in the coffin for him.
⤷ Which was not as much of a jest or an overstatement, considering you took a bite out of a solid block of concrete mid-married couple's(now divorced over the incident) rant. Something he'd only witnessed from Floyd Leech himself, in his very few days of two-legged-hood.
⤷ But, in your defense, of course, who in their right mind would've thought that THEE Vil Schoenheit dmed them with a marriage proposal if they gave him all their money? With their partner only finding out they were "e-dating" Vil through the interview/overview of their finances, leading to their divorce weeks later?
⤷ Honestly, Azul couldn't blame you for that. He would've done the same, faced with the situation at hand. Probably overblot while he was at it, for extra measure to know how irate he was.
⤷ Vil Schoenheit fans were terrifyingly worrying with how much they'd do for his hand in marriage...
⤷ But, he also couldn't help but snort at the mere absurdity of it all as well, and maybe that was what drew him to your page.
⤷ Over and over again, each time he found himself holed up in his office preparing a new scheme, or even writing up a new contract. When the scratch of his pen on paper was the only notable sound, he always sought out your account. Whether he'd realize it or not was a mystery, even to the tweels who'd catch him with the slightest grin when they'd burst through his office's doors.
⤷ But, it doesn't matter, they suppose. It's yet another thing they can use to poke fun at the poor octopus, after all.
Kalim Al-asim!
Music Videos, Motivational posts
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Music Videos!
⤷ Kalim is a very popular figure on Magicam for his status as an Al-Asim and for a radiant, borderline blinding personality. He is especially popular in the music algorithm for his adoration of music.
⤷ So, it isn't a shocker to say that he interacts happily with people in the music industry, always complimenting their works whenever they pop up on his fyp. Even newer ones who are not as devoted to the industry, experienced, or know all its nooks and crannies just yet. He always has something nice to say, even if it’s small or unnoticeable by others.
⤷ However, that doesn't even compare to how much love he gives to the underrated user he finds!
⤷ Reposting, commenting, liking, whatever he has to do, he is BOOSTING their follower count by triple. Maybe even tenfold, considering how many users follow him.
⤷ There's even a running joke among Magicam users that as soon as Kalim spots his eyes on an undervalued account, a single like from him will skyrocket and flip their entire world upside down with his loyal fanbase.
⤷ No matter the instrument or vocal, he is absolutely invested in their progress.
⤷ Which is why whenever he first encountered your account, he was quick to shower you in compliments without a thought behind those crimson eyes of his.
⤷ Except, unlike how he jumped around users, he always kept finding himself right back at your account. Maybe it from a blessing or a curse he found himself back time and time again, or maybe you had wished for an angel to come.
⤷ But one thing is for certain! He is your number #1 fan by far, always being one of the first to interact with your post.
⤷ If you didn't have an ego or were insecure before? Uh-huh, that confidence is RISING with every piece of flattery he hurls in your direction.
⤷ There has been at least one comment stating that you're his favorite musician on the app or even video stating it.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Motivational Posts
⤷ Everyone needs motivation at one point, even those who are deemed to be the light in other’s worlds. Some could say they’d need it more to keep giving to others, no matter their circumstances.
⤷ And Kalim Al-Asim, no matter his willingness, is one of the many golden-hearted individuals, who, like anyone, can sometimes feel mopey.
⤷ So, whenever he feels particularly down about something, usually pertaining to his studies, he chooses to scroll down Magicam's motivation tag. After all, telling someone they can do something, even as a stranger, boosts morale!
⤷ And it's like much healthier than what most of the other housewardens are doing. Terrifyingly so, considering some of their habits... But that’s a topic for another day.
⤷ His reposts are filled with it, alongside music videos. It’d be harder than finding a needle in a haystack to find a post in his reposts that isn’t something of the two.
⤷ There's no escaping either.
⤷ Sometimes they are really absurd, or a niche reference to something he probably doesn't know. Or, will eventually find out about months or years later.
⤷ Which is how he found your account, which posted rather... ridiculous motivational posts.
⤷ "U're so hot!! Don't croak!!"
⤷ "I hope you don't step on a lego 🫶"
⤷ "Bite ur enemies, twin, I support you."
⤷ "You have sm to live for!! You could go to Coven Outlit(Home Depot for mages) and find a kitty working there!"
⤷ He finds the Magicam three weeks later, about the cat in question, lazing around in a shopping cart filled with magic lights, brooms, and a handful of witchery seeds.
⤷ But honestly, it did make his day. So much so that he decided to show the world! (Night Raven College)
⤷ Jamil had to hear about the Coven Outlit cat for about an hour, and the poor guy could've only imagined what Kalim's club members received, considering the trio was known to be rather cheery.
⤷ The Coven Outlit ended up finding a ton of expensive cat stuff with a little note about how the kitty was adorable.
⤷ Your videos can be constantly found in his reposts. It's become a meme at this rate.
⤷ "Click ❤️ if you were here before Kalim."
⤷ But, honestly, it's an adorable running joke that you entertain. After all, of all people? The boy whose nickname is happy-go-lucky by his followers and friends? And who’s known to be an absolute sweetheart?
⤷ He, of all of the housewardens+Jamil, would be one of the BESTS to have as a fan. A 11/10 if I do say so myself.
Jamil Viper!
Cooking Montages/Videos
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Cooking Montages/Videos
⤷ I could see Jamil posting a few of his recipes online, sometimes with a list and other times, however few and far between, with a video of him cooking while explaining the process and what he is doing.
⤷ A rare thing, considering his duties with Kalim and his responsibilities as Vice Housewarden for Scarabia, he doesn't get to do many videos. Not that he would've done many anyway, it’s moreso for complex recipes that need to be thoroughly explained or else they’ll end up burnt. Or worse.
⤷ As a result, Jamil's feed is often overtaken by cooking videos in response to his postings.
⤷ He also just... Searches recipes up to try out once in a while, piqued with curiosity, and with the slightest free time he has, but that's a lot less fun.
⤷ However, it was both his searches and his fyp that led him to your account.
⤷ Whether you are a heavenly cook, one that rivals Jamil(not that he'd admit it), or a downright terrible cook who has burnt noodles while boiling them, it doesn't matter. But there will be two different situations that could unfold.
⤷ Extravagant Cook Reader! is someone who Jamil had probably taken both notes and recipes from, because even a person who'd meal prepped entire feasts for parties singlehandedly for sevens knows how long, didn't know everything whenever it came to cooking.
⤷ Extravagant Cook Reader! and Jamil, who have both posted each other's recipes online, and perhaps even began using their recipes in their daily lives.
⤷ Extravagant Cook Reader! and Jamil, who interact through comments and DMs periodically. Always suggesting a new and exciting recipe they’ve either heard about, or even a new trick they’ve learnt.
⤷ Extravagant Cook Reader! who has hinted at wanting to collaborate with a specific individual one day in their videos/comments if the other ever had free time.
⤷ However, Terrible Cook Reader! and Jamil have very different... Dynamics, we could say.
⤷ The way Jamil found Terrible Cook Reader!'s videos was through a downright concerning-looking video. A chicken noodle soup that looked as if it could gurgle the alphabet backwards, that's chicken looked both raw and burnt, and?? Melted?? How did you melt chicken?
⤷ Jamil was utterly baffled. How the hell you did that, he could not figure out for the life of him, and he watched the full five-minute time-lapse. Kalim even suggested he'd put his thinking cap on after the third shutter of the memory of it.
⤷ Somehow, Terrible Cook Reader! had perfected the way of dangling on his last nerves as if it were your last breath, even more than Kalim ever did, which said a lot.
⤷ And honestly? With the sludge-looking meat intake you've had, possible mold, and strange food combos? You might've already met the reaper many times. Maybe you fed death one of those canned, withering hot dogs that looked like they crawled out of the pocket dimension of SCP 106 to escape death.
⤷ Terrible Cook Reader! Who either used enough spice to put down a person without taste buds, often dumping multiple bottles of the same spice in a singular pot for chili, or acted as if a dash of salt was going to betray their ancestors.
⤷ And Terrible Cook Reader! Who has tried multiple of his recipes, each step either twisted or flat out ignored, and danced around.
⤷ He was running out of marbles at each post you made.
⤷ It got to the point where you reminded him of a cockroach, or maybe you had a lineage of them in your DNA somewhere. Impossible to get rid of, ballsy, and probably driven purely by spite.
⤷ He has blocked you and the accounts that post your videos with Subway Surfers and slime videos under it, yet you just keep worming your way back into his FYP.
⤷ Terrible Cook Reader! was NOT his favorite Magicam account. No. You were his demise, the thing that'd haunt his nightmares, and the idea of your dishes ever going near him or his nose was enough to give him an aneurysm.
⤷ Now, some may say that Vil Schoenheit, the famous and well-loved actor and model, wouldn't need to watch these silly videos.
⤷ He probably had a known account himself at one point, where he reviewed certain products or their ingredients and gave his opinion on them in his free time, alongside making his own cosmetics for his future brand.
⤷ But he knows full well that what works for him would not always work for others. Especially ones with more sensitive or blistering skin.
⤷ To offer advice to his dorm members and his fans, he consistently sought out the opinions of other influencers. Whether it’d be ones with dermatological conditions or just differing types of skin, it didn’t matter much. In fact, the farther out they were, the more he often listened to both improve himself and others who sought him out for advice.
⤷ Of course, it wasn't easy to become one of the people whose opinion he valued. No, no. Vil had standards, ones that were nearly impossible to reach, and he was firm about one thing.
⤷ Influencers who obviously faked their content for companies' advertisements, cutting out clips and lying straight to their fanbase's faces? Who would risk others' skincare for their own gain?
⤷ He had a firm and known dislike for those individuals. To him, they were merely ruining others’ beauty just for their own place in the industry, not caring for the people who’ve they’d led astray nor how it’d affect them in the long run.
⤷ And so, that was how he came to find your videos.
⤷ You were an up-and-coming Magicam user, one Vil had only seen once or twice during your start, rising quickly to fame with your honesty and brutal reviews.
⤷ How you avoided countless scandals with other Magicam users, even with your sharp tongue and attitude, intrigued him. Always avoiding digging too deep, yet being able to push companies into critical spots so they’d improve or admit they’re not as wide-ranged as they’ve advertised themselves.
⤷ And your fans absolutely adored you and your style.
⤷ How you could yap in front of a camera about your day, or the way you kept in the number of takes it took to get your eyeliner flawlessly, was human compared to the many who’d shown the screen a certain “mask” of theirs.
⤷ Of course, it is known that everyone has a persona they play on the internet. Some are just a bit more upbeat compared to their regular, and others, when unraveled, only show a cruel, twisted version underneath the layers of makeup and skin. Hidden “safely” behind the screen.
⤷ Even Vil himself couldn't help but be a bit interested by you whenever you'd pop in, complain about one thing or another, and disappear with a scroll of his finger.
⤷ And that was the start of you becoming one of his favorite Magicam accounts, at least opinion-wise.
⤷ Whenever he took a moment to decompress, the rarity, he'd check your progress.
⤷ He'd even start interacting with your posts, at times. Commenting that he'd have to check a particular brand you enjoyed.
⤷ In which he'd get silly replies back, "THEE VIL SCHOENHEIT???" or "To what do I owe the honor?? *Debby Ryan hair tuck*”
⤷ You'd even invaded his DMs once with, "we should like... totally collab... teehee?"
⤷ And perhaps... He'd accept that offer of yours. If you can handle his hogging of the spotlight, of course.
Idia Shroud!
Gaming Videos/Streams, Cat Influencers
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Gaming Videos/Streams
⤷ Another one that should not shock you, honestly.
⤷ Idia does not like the complete and utter silence of his room sometimes, where even the hum of the monitors feels oddly deafening. Palpable, terribly endless, and somehow more lonesome.
⤷ Though even that never appeared to scare him off from holing himself up in his room, no matter how his younger brother, Ortho Shroud, would pester him that getting sunlight would be beneficial, instead of taking vitamin D supplements all his life.
⤷ No, he would rather do everything in his power to avoid such things. Truly, one could've claimed it to be a never-ending battle against extrovertism, but that was a topic for another day.
⤷ To combat the eerie quiet of his room, he often puts on anime, and sometimes gameplays of either games he's already played or Icebergs of them as background noise while he does things.
⤷ Whether it'd be coding, working on a new high-tech limb for Ortho, or even completing dailies on a hundred different games, he's kept up with. There it'd be, preventing him from thinking a little too hard on things he'd rather combust into flames than battle.
⤷ However, that wasn't what introduced him to your account; that was just why he stayed.
⤷ Honestly, what made him seek out a video of yours was downright embarrassing if it had ever gotten public in the online world.
⤷ Idia Shroud needed a tutorial... For a simple puzzle.
⤷ Yes, you read that right. Thee Gloomurai needed a tutorial.
⤷ The expert gamer himself, who's most likely full-blown, evil antagonist, a "Whee hee hee," if you will, cackled at others' blatant failures at the same puzzle he'd figured out within seconds... was pitifully stuck.
⤷ Idia wasn't sure how he'd gotten himself this lost, nor when his hair sparked up into a bright orange ember. Let alone when his shark-like teeth began digging into his blue-tinted bottom lip, while the tips of his fingers posed a similar threat to both his mouse and to his palm.
⤷ He would've downright rage-quitted the game if it weren't for his pride. It would've killed his streak of completed games! How else could he brag on online forums?!
⤷ However, he found himself in a conundrum...
⤷ His online friend, MuscleRed, only replied to his desperate pleas about spam messages with a shrugging bat emoji, something he could only imagine somebody's mother had edited because she thought it looked cute.
⤷ And he knew damn-well Azul would've made some stupid remark about needing assistance! Or get him dragged into some contract or pyramid scheme.
⤷ So, yeah, he was totally out of the question.
⤷ It wasn't until MuscleRed remarked offhandedly to type the game into Magicam's search it up if he was that stuck.
⤷ Which, of course, Idia sarcastically replied to...
⤷ Before he'd scurry to the app's search bar.
⤷ But could you really blame him? He was one piercing beep away from hurling himself into the Underworld! Clearly, this was a need, not a near-mental breakdown of his willpower.
⤷ Maybe his game had a bug, too! He didn't know.
⤷ So, like any rational and sensible person, he spent an hour, 53 minutes, and 27 seconds with his eyes glued to the screen, unblinkingly, as he watched your playthrough of the game.
⤷ Only to watch you masterfully figure it out with the helpful advice of one of your chatter's tips.
⤷ Idia paused, eye-twitching as he stared at his screen in both disbelief and astonishment. He didn't even notice that he was slouching back into his chair until his back hit the chair, your pre-recorded voice echoing from his monitor a boastful comment about how smart you were.
⤷ He'd drape his hands over his face, eye still notably twitching, even as Ortho had commented from somewhere behind him about his pulse spiking erratically, or something like that, before, without warning, his hair erupted in waves as he shot up, screeching,
⤷ "WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT WAS THE SPARROW???"
⤷ Though, despite his... Small mental breakdown, he will admit(begrudgingly+waterboarded) that he might've snorted once or twice at some of your commentary.
⤷ Okay, maybe not that few.
⤷ ...
⤷ Alright, congratulations. You've won the support of an emotionally constipated wet cat drenched in milk.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Cat Influencers
⤷ This will be shorter than the previous, since I've already yapped far too much about Idia's. However, you cannot tell me this man does NOT follow hundreds of cat Magicam accounts.
⤷ He is the type to coo at cats without realizing it through the screen, and every time, without fail, too, even after he realizes how stupid he probably looks.
⤷ Don't even get him started on if Ortho catches him doing it, either. Much less Azul. He'll croak on the spot, and that isn't an understatement.
⤷ He can, and will, self-destruct somehow.
⤷ So, if you post your cat(s), even Grim on Magicam? Immediate follow. Cat-shaped? Follow. No matter what.
⤷ If you have a P.O. box or even an Amazon wishlist, expect to get packages for your kitties. Anonymous, or under the tag of "Gloomurai."
Malleus Draconia!
Brainrot
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Brainrot
⤷ Now, I don't see Malleus being on the internet long enough for him to gain a "favorite" Magicam account, unlike the rest, much less the fact that he has little to no clue how to work a phone, for that matter. So, he won't have a direct "Reader" in this! However, you can still imagine the posts he sees are yours.
⤷ Now, you may be asking. Dove, why do you say brainrot for the high and mighty Prince of Briar? Of all things?
⤷ It's genuinely not his doing. Not entirely, at least, and even then, that incident alone wouldn't have caused this conundrum of a fyp. A pit of unextinguishable hellfire and blazing bright colors, if you will.
⤷ The "incident" in question occurred when Malleus was shown a video on his fyp of a person ranting over a slime video featuring a spinning cat, talking about how their teacher resembled one of those "hideous Gargoyles."
⤷ And Malleus, the one and only Gargoyle Studies Club leader and sole member, fleshed out an entire three-comment essay in the comment section. (Silver, the angel he is, showed him. Even if he himself wasn't too certain how the internet worked.)
⤷ And honestly? It was a literary masterpiece.
⤷ It expressed his heart-filled adoration for the waterspouts, how intricately stunning some were, and that they were often used to ward off demons/spirits of negativity. Which is why they were created in a more off-pointing manner.
⤷ Somehow, he even contained a whole explanation of the differences between Gargoyles and Grotesques.
⤷ The comment itself only received two likes and a single response from the creator, one of which was from Sebek, who teared up at the first sentence, compared to the original video, which had well over four hundred thousand.
⤷ The creator themselves didn't... really appreciate the work of art as much, as they replied with, "What is bro yapping abt???"
⤷ But the other reason is, terrifyingly enough, Lilia Vanrouge's fault.|
⤷ Lilia's reposts.
⤷ Lilia's reposts are truly something to behold, filled with stupid pranks to pull on others or the most concerning-looking brainrot imaginable. A single video from his reposts is enough to cause a Victorian boy to choke on his own piece of bread, much less his fyp...
⤷ And of course, Malleus is a very supportive person to his guardian's rather... Peculiar interests. Because of this, on the few chances that he is on his cellular device, as he calls it, he both likes and favorites them.
⤷ Without understanding what they mean or why they even exist.
⤷ Between the spinning oiiaoiia cat he has seen previously, skibbi toilet, boat drifting along the sea with pirate music, and some corndog cat? Uh-huh, they haunt his fyp.
⤷ Don't even get him started on abbreviations. Malleus still has no clue what a "sybau" or even what "btw" means.
⤷ Lilia has even peeked over his shoulder and saw Malleus watching a fish carrying a baguette, whispering, "whee whee." All the while, he just... Nodded. Not an ounce of understanding in his eyes.
⤷ Lilia had not laughed that hard since Sebek tripped on a vengeful stick when he was younger.
Premise; You were absolutely tired of everything. Emotionally, physically, but especially socially. You were stressed, on the verge of committing atrocities against mankind that others couldn’t have possibly thought of(or been brave enough to commit), and nobody seemed to give you an ounce of space to decompress for even a sliver of a moment.
So you go to the one place in the entire Night Raven College where you know you won’t have to keep up a front. Where no soul other than one, maybe two of you can count a familiar robot, will go.
Idia’s room.
Staring Characters; Idia x Overstimmed/Stressed Gender-Neutral! Reader. Fluff+Comfort? Can be read as platonic or romantic
Word count; 1.6k
Side notes; Didn’t really know what you wanted with this, so I went with something I was already preparing on posting!! I hope you enjoy<3
sighh I need a reclusive person’s bed to have an existential crisis in while they look at me with mild concern, honestly. taking contenders as we speak, just hand over your applications.
You stomped down the halls of Ignihyde's dormitory, looking down toward the ground as you passed other students without a word. Not that they would have uttered a word to you anyway, as Ignihyde's students were known to have more reclusive members than the rest of the 7 dormitories in this school. Which was why it was the perfect place to hide yourself, especially the place you planned to go to.
Your head was spinning a million thoughts a minute, each thread becoming a tangled mess that not even the most stubborn old lady would want to deal with. The worst part? You couldn't even attempt to gently unravel each one, separating them into functional parts inside your mind. No, that was a luxury that not a soul in this school seemed to want to give you; you were certain of that.
And you couldn't even begin to describe the ache that seemed to rattle in your head. The best words you could've defined it as were heavy, constant, and agonizing.
Night Raven College was known for causing havoc; you knew that well, but lately it all seemed to boil over for you. A pressure cooker that had finally had enough, creating a bubbling, borderline acidic mess that none would want to deal with. Not even you, if you were being truthful with yourself. But you knew you had to. It was your obligation.
It was your mind, your body, your core. No one else would help you fix that.
But that didn't mean you weren't going to harass the one person in this damned school who could've given you some peace and quiet. Solitude, even.
The student who used a floating tablet to go to his courses.
The Housewarden who would rather be scorched by a thousand suns than make eye contact.
And the shut-in-gamer who could spit-fire an entire monologue about how shitty your character's stats and build were behind a screen, but cowered in the corner whenever the food delivery man came, shooing his younger brother to go fetch it for him instead.
Yes. The Housewarden of Ignihyde, who some referred to as the ghost of Ignihyde...
Idia Shroud.
You banged on his door, heard a chair screech along with a gasp, and banged again like he owed you money. And honestly? After the last gaming session you two had, and he called you a total loser after giving your cart a "gentle nudge," as he proclaimed, off bounds? Yeah, he deserved the fright.
Before you slammed your fist again against the door a third time, the door creaked open, and what you met was the familiar introverted blue-flamed loser you adored so dearly staring at you bug-eyed. You two stared at each other, a beat passing by as you looked at him, and you swore you had never seen a person's eyes so wide, to the point where there was more white from his sclera than his amber eyes.
He stared at you as if he were convinced you were a visual hallucination from staying up for three days straight, and you had half a mind to humor it, but before you could, he grabbed your wrist and dragged you in. Though he immediately yanked his arm back, retracting from your arm in a split second as he, what you assumed, was internally spiraling. Aka the usual.
He took a seat on his spinny, gamer chair, dragging his hands across his face as you flopped onto his mess of a bed, nearly tripping on one of his various stacks of manga before he spoke, "Are like- you normies always like this? Break down someone's door without a three-business-week notice or something?" You turned your head from his sheet. He had narrowed his eyes on you, a frown tugging on his face as he crossed his arms, but when he noticed you looking, he glanced away. "I could've been mid-boss raid, or doing my dailies!"
Both were sacred times to the man, you realized shortly after your relationship bloomed into what it was now. However, you did take into account his flame-hair wasn't spiking the erratically, plume of orange-red, so you figured he wasn't that annoyed with you. Either that or Ortho's charger was dimming it. In fact, you saw a tinge of pink flicker on the tips. But before he could open his mouth to complain further, which you knew very well he would've without hesitation, you raised your pointer finger. "One hour..."
It was the first time you'd spoken in this entire interaction, causing him to physically recoil as his mind wrapped around worst-case scenarios. "...O-One hour, what?! Like, surprise boss battle type?? Social excursion?! World domination..?! Titans?! You can't just day one hour and like..! Nothing else!" He questioned, his eyes shooting to the door as he braced himself in his chair, mind already calculating 50 different escape routes. Until you added on, watching lazily as his hair began to flicker erratically, "Nap."
For some reason, now that you were looking at him while sideways, he reminded you of a fireplace. Each time you fed it, it'd grow in bursts and crackle at the ends. An endless blaze that'd never droop or be eased. However, unlike normal ones, he didn't catch things on fire nor was he a smoke hazard...
More so, a hazard to his own life, if anything.
He paused, his head turning painfully slow in your direction. A quick, exasperated, barely audible voice came from him, "...What?"
"Your room's... cozy. Top tier comfort level, cozy." You mindlessly replied before beginning to tangle yourself in his blankets, turning your attention away, missing the way the tips of his hair turned a light dusting of pink.
"You... Can't be serious. Don't you have your own room to hide away in?" He questioned, pink beginning to take over in spurts at the compliment.
"... People won't leave me alone… and who's going to think to look for me here?" You replied, only to receive silence in return.
Then there was the turn of a swivel chair, and a soft clicking of keys. A rhythmic tune, one that faded as you drifted off into sleep, your back facing Idia as he pre-farmed some RPG or another. But, you could've sworn you heard a meek voice murmur,
"... I guess I can share my safe haven with you, too... if you really need time away from those extroverts."
ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁
Whenever you woke up, you stirred in the comfort of your own warmth. You didn't know how long you'd been asleep, but the way your limbs seemed to melt onto the mattress below you? Most likely more than just an hour... And honestly? You didn't want to get up. You were oh so very comfy, your previous headache a bleary memory, faded out of existence. But now something else invaded your senses, a pleasant one this time.
It was the familiar smell of your favorite food, close enough to you that you could inhale its scent, and unconsciously, you rolled around to face it, peeking your eyes open. Only to be met with a fuzzy white and blue shape, with a speckle of black, your eyes still not yet adjusted to being awake.
You blinked once, twice, and then three times before the image before you got clearer.
A white food container, along with two plastic-wrapped black plastic utensils, sat perched on a white square stool, accented by a vibrant blue line trailed up the sides and edges of the base. But, the more important thing- No, the more important person was behind it. Two, in fact. The Housewarden of Ignihyde was clicking away on his computer, eyes latched onto the screen for dear life, with his younger robotic brother resting in his charging port beside him on the other end.
The computer's screen flashed colors onto Idia's face, the hues of greens, purples, and red from an explosion(based on the sounds you overheard) complementing both his pale skin and bluer features. If he noticed you sitting up, he didn't show it, even as he grumbled about how trash someone's character was, and how amazed he was that the guy even made it so far into this game with that amount of DEF% on an ATK% and CRIT% based character.
And for some reason, the fact that he allowed you to invade his space, and still bought you your favorite food in case you were hungry when you woke up? Without even being asked? Or that he even remembered it?
It made you swell up with emotions.
And you didn't even need to get started on the fact that he did it when he knew close to zero about comforting another individual, much less himself. At least, he didn't do it in the usual ways of physical affection or telling you that, "You did well, you don't have to work so hard." that so many would have resorted to. No, he did it silently, by giving you a space when he honestly could've booted you out.
You reached out for the plastic utensils, unwrapped them, and opened the container without a word. Words weren't needed for this. But you couldn't help the small smile you had as you dug in, glancing over at Idia's computer screen for entertainment as he demolished countless beasts, bosses, and even other players in the RPG.
