sainty

do not feed my pieces to ai or i will find you and your family. 20!

[saintsbook]

Saint's Opening

writer│lover│mess│love│garnets, red│poetry to last a lifetime

͡ ‎† Hi everyone, I'm Sainty. I love writing. obvi

͡ ‎† inbox is open! ask or yap if you want <3

͡ ‎† befriend me if you want (only 19+)

͡ ‎† no to proships and incest. dni or I will block.

͡ ‎† will write angst, crack, imagines, and fluff

ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🦇་༘࿐ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🦇་༘࿐ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🦇་༘࿐ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🦇་༘࿐ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🦇་༘࿐ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪

RECENTS

the passing of time - kalim al asim x reader (111425)

lala Mtoto lala - ruggie bucchi x reader (111525)

why fix the unbroken? - riddle rosehearts x reader (111725)

..

.

MASTERLIST. ͡ ‎† ABOUT ME

ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🪽་༘࿐ please be kind and respectful. if you're not comfortable with my pieces, please move along. in the heart, and the heart always.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

© 2025 saintsbook ALL RIGHTS RESERVED I do not allow my pieces to be used without my explicit permission. DO NOT feed my pieces to AI.

[saintsbook]

wild roses

The silence after the sharp metallic hiss of the guillotine dropping was almost nonexistent; it was part of the people’s daily lives. The lives of the Roseans went back on track, just as scheduled by her Royal Highness, Regina Rosehearts, Reigning Queen of the Queendom of Roses. Riddle Rosehearts stood up from his throne on the vast balcony of the palace and turned towards the glass doors to continue his studies on Statescraft. Keeping track of things was a Roseheart's core, especially for those destined to be the family’s heir, such as Riddle after his mother, and his mother’s father before her. After all, rules exist to preserve peace, and routine creates discipline. The rulers themself must enforce this lifestyle on themselves. 

“Rules exist to preserve peace,” is the kingdom’s motto. And all of its monarchs must hold onto this slogan.

Riddle began to work on his papers as soon as the door to his office closed with one soft click. His office was smaller than his mother’s but had much higher stacks of papers on his worktable. Work never ends. The way to discipline is to push yourself until your fingers bleed. His mother’s voice rang in his mind. The only reminder of time was the ringing of the bells of the tower every hour. 

When the bells struck six, Riddle stood up and began his walk to the dining room. 

As he walked through the hallway, he saw a servant being dragged by his mother’s Trump Card Soldiers. With one glance, he concluded that the servant was wearing the wrong shade of red uniform. A bright Crimson for Mondays, Burgundy for special occasions, Maroon for Tuesdays, etc. It was a Thursday, which means the servants shall wear a carmine shade. But the maid had chosen to wear her maroon uniform instead. The other maids in the hallways had pale expressions, though they kept doing their jobs and responsibilities as they watched a colleague who was being dragged away, screaming for mercy from their Crown Prince. 

“Your royal highness! Please have mercy on this poor, miserable woman– I couldn’t differentiate the colors because of my deteriorating eyesight! Please have mercy!”

  The guards halted their actions as the Crown Prince walked towards them. They pushed the woman to kneel, as per protocol. Riddle looked at the old lady, up and down. It was a pitiful sight. And a heavy burden on his shoulders that he has to make a verdict. He could feel himself sweating, but hid it under a composed guise. A ruler who bends rules invites collapse. His eyes roamed to anything but the woman in front of him. “Take her away,” he orders, the old lady’s soul shattered in her eyes right before him. And the guards dragged the lady away from his view. Riddle turned his head; it was nothing new. Rulebreakers are brought under the guillotine after all. It was their fault for daring to go against the law of Riddle’s predecessors. The rules are there for a reason. And the consequence of going against the grain is a quick slice– Almost a bitter mercy.

The servants moved in synchronized silence. The only sound that could be heard echoing through the palace was the Queen’s ice-cold laughter from the dining room. If Riddle weren’t her son, he would be unnerved. Well, he is a bit unnerved, but a ruler should have composure. And so he took a deep breath and reached for the cold iron knob to twist it. And the door opened with a soft creak. The dining room was a contrast to the rest of the palace rooms. It was bright, with most of the members of the court sitting down on the long table. Riddle began his descent to his seat next to the head of the table, his mother, her highness.

Riddle’s eyes lingered upon his mother for a moment as he took his seat. He feels the pressure of her gaze, akin to a wildfire that suffocates you with its intensity, and a thick wall of smoke. But that is how a ruler should be, a presence that can not be undermined. Regina Roshearts is a woman of few words, but endless power at the tip of her fingers, like her predecessors. After all, how would the Rosehearts family have been able to keep the kingdom’s people under lock and key if they had been soft? A spineless crown invites demise to a kingdom, to their legacy.

The queen raised her hand in a quick motion, the servants and nobles around the table freezing up, as if waiting for a silent demand. Her retainer poured her a glass of blood-red wine, and she sipped from her glass. Riddle felt a chill down his spine, but forced himself to keep his composure, though he could feel shards of glass cracking under his own skin. He turned his gaze to the court members whose eyes were flickering towards the door. Waiting for something— or might be someone’s arrival.

The door swung open, revealing a tall man with lighter skin in a cheerful yellow jester suit. A contrast to the tense and dreary atmosphere of the room, like a lightning strike on a stormy day. The jester did backflips as he approached the head of the table with a mischievous grin; his arrival met with a mix of apprehension and curiosity from the onlookers. His easy-going nature almost dissipated all of the tension in the room as he bowed exaggeratedly to the head of the table, the bells sewn on his suit ringing comically. 

Yuuken Enma is a man who has learned the art of surviving in a suffocating kingdom. Using his natural charm to turn his displeasure into jokes, even the most fuddy-duddy nobility will laugh at him. His eyes were sharp, observant. Being able to discern the restless gaze of the servants, the trembling of a guard's hand as he stood guard by the door, the way the court’s faces were carefully crafted to be neutral, and the way Regina’s mere breath is enough to make people shiver as it commanded perfection, even her own son. 

“Your majesty,” Yuuken greeted with an exaggerated bow, his voice dripping with theatrical admiration. “I do hope that I haven’t been letting you wait for too long. After all, time is the one thing we can not waste, isn't it?”

Regina’s lips curled ever so slightly, the corners of her mouth betraying no emotions, but the slightest glimmer of amusement. “Indeed, Yuuken,” she agreed, her voice still as cold as the marble floors of her palace. “We cannot let the luxury of time escape our grasp.”

Riddle could feel the tension in the air, and the joke, as mild as it was, hung in the space between them like a brittle thread. Yuuken was one of the very few people who would dare talk to the queen with such a casual demeanor, and his humor was always cloaked in the safety of something that could only be explained as an innocent jest. If anything, it only entertained her majesty more.

Yuuken straightened his posture, and his gaze roamed around the room before it landed on Riddle. With a wink, Yuuken greeted him with the same theatricality as he did with Regina.

  “Ah– Prince Riddle! The future of our esteemed Queendom. You know, I’ve always wondered what it’s like to have the weight of the future of the kingdom upon your shoulders.” Yuuken tapped his temple, as if he were pondering the question. “It must be like pushing a boulder on top of a great mountain. Say, can you even lift your arms anymore? Or do they hang like this?”

Yuuken raised his arms dramatically and let them fall limply, acting like a scarecrow, which earned a few stifled chuckles from the courtiers. Riddle’s lips twitched, but he forced himself to maintain a composed demeanor, clearing his throat. He could feel his mother’s gaze on him, a warning not to exhibit any weakness.

“Indeed,” Riddle answered dryly, “One grows used to carrying the weight.” 

Yuuken smiled, but it wasn’t out of sympathy; it was almost– too knowing, “Ah, I see! ‘Grows used’—like a bird in a cage whose wings are clipped, blissfully unaware it’s just flapping around inside. It thinks it's soaring, but really, it's just practicing for the role of 'world’s most dedicated fluttering champion!'”

The room went still, and even Regina paused on sipping her wine as her gaze landed on Yuuken; the tiniest furrow appeared between her brows. 

Yuuken’s smile deepened as he quickly shifted the topic, “But of course! A bird that lives within a cage knows its place, and the cage is a perfect fit for it. Much better than the wild, dangerous outdoors, where its life is always in jeopardy. Don’t you think?”

Regina’s laughter rang through the room, amused and melodic, “Indeed, Yuuken. Your wit is as sharp as ever.”

Riddle could feel something building in his stomach. He had just been mocked, but his mother took it for a jest. But it is something he’d grown used to. Regina’s approval is the only thing important to the kingdom. It is the right of passage. It is what mattered– her power, right to govern, belief in the laws upheld centuries before her, and the way they kept everything together.

“Let us eat,” Regina dismissed the moment with a flick of her wrist. Riddle turned his gaze to Yuuken and felt a sense of unease. He had seen it, even under the jesting guise. The sharpness of his eyes as he observed the servants, the courtiers, and the queen. Riddle couldn’t help but feel like there was something more underneath. 

Yuuken Enma, the replacement for a sinner, was hiding something. And Riddle wasn’t just anyone who would let him get away with it.

[saintsbook]

so busy nowadays

[saintsbook]

a wish no contract can grant

chap 1.

Azul Ashengrotto would’ve never guessed that he would be assigned to a hospital during internships. He always thought that he was a business person, not an altruist. But after the STYX experiments, it has come to the school that he has one of the most potential when it comes to healing magic.

He would’ve turned it down in fear that he’ll have to show his tentacles under the sea, but then the idea of learning and monopolizing the medicinal economy came into his mind. So he couldn’t really say no. And Professor Trein told him he may keep his human form if it makes him more comfortable. 

The city under the coral sea was quieter than Azul remembered. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that made him feel exposed, even though he’d chugged the disgusting bitter potion that kept his tentacles neatly disguised as feet. He’d checked the timer for the human shifting potion on the way in. And a fourth as soon as his instructor handed him the folder.

“YN,” the instructor had said. “Cecaelia. Rare physiology. Delicate condition. Do not—under any circumstances say anything that could distress them. They’re… fragile.”

Azul nodded automatically, fingers tightening on the folder. A cecaelia patient. Wonderful. Exactly what he needed. An audience who could see right through him if even one glamour flickered.

He reached the assigned door, squared his shoulders, checked the enchantment one more time, and eased it open.

A soft current washed over him. The room was dim, lit by bioluminescent strips along the walls. Equipment hummed quietly.

And in the center—

A cecaelian.

Like him.

He hates it.

Your tentacles drifted weakly with the water, movements sluggish from exhaustion. You sat upright, but only barely; Azul recognized the struggle to maintain buoyancy, the tremble in the limbs. Where he hid every part of what he was, you had no strength left to hide anything at all.

Your eyes met his. Tired. Open. Honest in a way he found disarming.

“…You must be my new caretaker,” You murmured, offering him a faint smile.

Azul inhaled sharply, resisting the instinct to glance down, to check if even a single illusion rune had faltered. “Yes. Azul Ashengrotto. I’ll be—”

Before he could finish, your reached out with one unsteady tentacle. Gentle, but quicker than he expected, you plucked the folder from his hands and slid it beneath your pillow.

“I’d rather you talk to me,” you said softly. “Instead of learning about me through whatever the papers say.”

Azul froze.

Because there was no judgement in your voice. No curiosity about why his magic clung too tightly to his legs. No immediate recognition of what he truly was.

Just… a request. Simple. Humanizing.

Something no one had ever asked of him before.

“…Very well,” he said quietly, attempting to recover his composure. “If that’s what you prefer.”

“You look too young to be a doctor, are you a mage? A nursing student?” 

“I’m a practicing healer from Night Raven College.” he answered, summoning the folder you took and hid using his magic, but not opening them, respecting the cecaelia’s wishes.

“Night Raven, so you’re around my age. Nice magic tricks.” 

By talking to you– Azul found out that you were about the same age. When he checked your vital signs, he noticed the ends of your tentacles fading into almost a transparent color. Octopi are known to change their colors into white when they feel threatened, or when they were–

“Dying.” 

“Come again?” he asked, not because he didn’t hear but because he was baffled on the way you said it so casually.

“It’s white because I’m dying. Right? They try to tell me I’m not, but the colors don’t lie.” 

“You can also just be scared.”

“But I’m not. That’s how I know I’m dying.”

Azul is trained to calm the patient down, but Azul couldn’t find it in himself to. Because truthfully, you were right. Your chromatophores were fading, skin cold to touch. You weren’t scared of death, you seemed to just accept it. And you seem to not take kindly to lies. 

Azul’s facade cracks, letting you see a glimpse of the hidden gills on his neck. Making you chuckle softly. 

“You’re one of us, huh?” you spoke out, touching your own gills. Azul felt a shiver up his spine, feeling naked trying to defend himself but then you cut him off, “You don’t have to hide it from me. Frankly, I don't have time to judge you.”

“You’re very calm about all of this.” He spoke, voice almost soft along the edges.

You shrugged, or tried to; the motion was half-hearted. “Everyone else avoids looking at me in the eyes because they’re afraid it’ll upset me. They said Huntington's makes me aggressive and irritable.” 

Huntington’s.. Azul thought. So that was it. That’s why even his instructor is walking and swimming on eggshells around them. He read about the disease in a medical book. The enlargement of the frontal horns of the lateral ventricles. Atrophy of basal ganglia. His thoughts were paused when you started speaking once more.

“You don’t seem like the type to tread carefully. At least I hope.”

“I assure you, I have well intention–”

“You’re scared I’ll notice what you’re hiding,” you said gently. “And I’m too tired to call you out for it.”

His blood went cold.

“But I won’t tell anyone,” you added, closing your eyes. “Just treat me normally. It’s nice. Being understood, even if it’s only a little.”

Azul opened his mouth—denial ready on his tongue—but something in your expression stopped him. That strange, serene honesty. That lack of judgment.

He took a seat beside the tank, folding his hands tightly in his lap. “…No one has ever looked at me the way you do.”

You smiled without opening your eyes. “Then stay. At least until the colors come back. Or if they don’t.”

Azul said nothing for a long moment.

Then quietly, almost imperceptibly, he nodded.

𓎢𓎟𓎡 ྀི 𓎢𓎟𓎡 ྀི 𓎢𓎟𓎡 ྀི 𓎢𓎟𓎡 ྀི 𓎢𓎟 

Azul didn't like the fact that you had something over him. He never likes when anyone has anything over him. But he can’t exactly coerce you into a contract. He couldn’t give you medicine that would heal you instantaneously— it wasn’t in his power to.

He checked the timer for the potion, putting makeup on his gills to hide it better this time. The ward door opened with a soft click, and Azul almost tripped on his own feet.

Because your tank monitors were shrieking.

Low warnings, not critical. But loud enough to spike panic in his chest.

You turned your head slightly when he entered. “Oh. Sorry. It does that when my heart rate drops lower than they like.”

“Lower—?” Azul rushed to the console, gripping its edge so hard his knuckles whitened. “Why is it this low? What happened?”

“I just forgot to breathe– is all.” Azul almost groaned, frustrated there is no way that sounds real.

“Breathing isn’t something you can just forget–”

“It is,” you replied, voice soft. “When your neurons are dying.”

That made him pause, his composure cracking. His illusion flickered—just a fraction, just long enough for the shimmer of his true form to glint through. You didn’t react except for a tired blink.

“You should calm down, your potion reacts to stress. It’ll come right off.”

Azul sat down, he doesn’t remember choosing to, but he did. Staring at the growing white patches on your skin and tentacles.

“I’ll do my best to help you, but you have to promise me you won’t tell anyone what I am.” he spoke up, but the cecaelian just weakly nodded. 

“Don’t keep your hopes up.” a breath. “The white’s spreading.” a hesitant smile. “It’s a good sign I won’t be a burden. Or a risk to your secret.”

Azul was sure that if this was any other person, he would’ve scoffed and said “good riddance”. But there was something about them that reminded him of him during his weakest moments. His childhood. He couldn’t stop his tongue–

“Don’t say that.”

“Say what?”

“You’re my patient, not a burden.”

“Same thing. You’re not even being paid to do this.”

His professionalism disappears in flickers, frustrated to be in front of someone so apathetic, so pessimistic. And said pessimist also has a leverage over him.The knowledge that he himself is a tentacle having being too. 

“I don’t know what it is about you, but I refuse to let you die. Especially in my care. It’s unbecoming for a businessman who wants to get into medicine to let their first patient wither away under them.” he held one of your shaking tentacles, then started to do a healing spell. Trying to relax it, your chromatophores emitted light, reflecting the color that Azul’s magic was.

“Whatever you s–!! Just, don’t get attached.” You replied, too weak. Your words abrupt and interrupted. Another symptom. Azul can feel his anxiety building up, and you see right through it. He tries to hide it anyway.

“Trust me, I won’t.”

[saintsbook]

im cooking up something. bad few days but the light is on again

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

Reblog if you love “—” and have never used ChatGPT

[saintsbook]

why fix the unbroken? riddle rosehearts x reader

Your relationship started off on a good note. You met Riddle as the tyrant dormhead of Heartslabyul, but after the overblot he promised to be a bit more sensible. And you saw that, appreciated that. You saw him trying, and that’s all that mattered to you.

If Riddle was a nitpicking friend– he was double that as a lover. 

Riddle had always been precise, but lately it felt like he’d become sharper– borderline sardonic. Each and every edge honed a little too fine.

“Your tie is uneven,” he said, reaching out before you could answer. His fingers tugged, straightening, fixing, perfecting. A soft frown creased his brow. “There. That’s better.”

You forced a smile. You knew that he meant well– that this was his way of living. That he only nitpicked because he cares.  It's how his mother showed her affection. And he does it to you too, as easy as breathing. That's what love is. At least, that's what he thinks it is. But lately, even knowing that didn’t make the tightness in your chest ease up.

Riddle stepped back, pleased with the adjustment. “You should start caring for your appearance. Presentation is important.”

You almost let out a bitter chuckle, he’d just indirectly called your appearance unruly. Your boyfriend. But you swallowed it before murmuring, “Copy that.”

He didn’t hear the emptiness in your voice, or maybe he did and chose to ignore it. 

After all, even if he did acknowledge it, he wouldn’t have known what to say.

I’m sorry for being like this? I’m sorry that the only love I’ve ever known is criticism? He couldn’t say that. And so he buried it along with the lingering thoughts that you’re growing tired of him. He instead put his attention on the cat fur stuck on your sleeve and brushed it off with quiet determination. One more correction. One more reminder you’re not good enough. Clean enough. Pretty enough. 

You took a breath– exhausted. He glanced at you, his eyes dissimilar to his more confident gaze. This one looked like when he first woke up from his overblot. Unsure, scared, confused searching for someone who used to be his safe place. Unfamiliar tension filled the air– he then spoke in the midst of your silence, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Just… tired.”

“I told you to sleep earlier. Sleeping at 23:00 isn't healthy. You never listen,” he said, and it came out sharper than he meant. He met your tired eyes, then began to stutter “I-I only meant—your health is important.”

You nodded. “I know.”

But the words were heavy between you.

Riddle hesitated, his fingers twitching. He wanted so badly to reach out to you– but he couldn't bring himself to. He began to notice that every time he touched you, it wasn’t touching, nor holding but instead it was correcting. Adjusting you like you were some doll, not human, not his lover or beloved. He noticed the slight flinch when he reached out.

The quiet ate the both of you, none of you knew what to say to make this better.

You began to walk ahead of him, his steps slow down. You would’ve looked back if you were back to the start of your relationship, but you didn’t. He felt you slipping through his fingers, just as he realized that he was gripping too hard all along.

He tried to call for your name, to make you turn back, to apologize. He wanted to ask how to be softer, how to be gentler, how to love without rearranging everything he touched.

But all that left his mouth was a small, too-formal, “Wait.”

You turned.

Riddle took one step forward, then another, but the space between you felt wider than it had ever been. He opened his mouth, searching for the right words—something tender, something unlearned.

Instead:

“Your coat isn’t buttoned properly.”

You swallowed, your voice cracking. “Riddle…”

He froze, eyes widening with the realization of what he’d done—again. The thing he promised himself he wouldn’t do. He watched horrified as you folded in on yourself, he made your eyes dim, made you drift quietly, inch by inch, away from him.

“I—I didn’t mean…” His voice cracked, thin as paper. “I’m sorry. I just.. I want you to be a better version of yourself.”

“..of course you do.” you whispered. “Am I really not good enough for you?”

Your words weren’t bitter. They were soft, unsure. Not of your question, but yourself. Melancholy echoed within them.  Riddle felt sick.

Why did he make you insecure when all he wants is-

Riddle’s breath trembled. His hands hovered and then fell uselessly to his sides. The silence that followed after that swallowed you both in. You got your answer, Riddle, as intelligent as he is, forgot how to form words. He couldn’t object, he couldn’t apologize. Stuck like a man frozen in place, feet trapped in quick drying cement. He watched you finally turn away from him for the last time, not looking back.

He wished he knew how to love gently.

Maybe you wouldn't have slipped away.

[saintsbook]

i love him

[saintsbook]

Lala Mtoto Lala

sypnosis: The white lion clan has invaded the country, and they’re about to wipe the city out. The sunset warriors told the people of the slums to evacuate. With the hope of getting out of the war, and fear of being in the crossfire, you begin your journey towards the outskirts of town along with your husband, Ruggie.

tw: mentions of war, blood, and burning. genocide. implied character death

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺⁺‧₊˚

You and Ruggie have been together for as long as you can remember. Since you were kids, your grandmothers were best friends. So you hang around each other as often as the sun sets in the savanna. And so, you grew to love each other. You got married after he got a job, and now have your beautiful offspring. With freckles decorating his skin, just like his father. You prayed to the sevens, and all the gods above that your happiness would last a little longer. But it seems as if fate had a different plan for you.

The Sunset Savanna has been invaded in a ghastly war. The Sunset Warriors knocked on you and Ruggie’s door, “It’s time to evacuate.” You stared at Ruggie when the warriors left with wide eyes, your child crying in his crib. It was terrifying. Ruggie squeezed your hand in his. Trying to give you a piece of comfort in the middle of the cataclysm of everything you both knew. The sounds of the military’s boots thumping on the ground echoed through the slums. People panicking about what to bring, whispering if the white lion clan will come unannounced to their neighborhood to take their children and their lives.

“Don’t listen to them.” Ruggie whispered, pulling you in an embrace. “Our son will be okay, I promise you.” You leaned into his embrace, his warmth and scent comforting you. Ruggie won’t let anything happen to you, you knew that. That’s how you both survived for so long. You had each other’s backs. And you know that even the white lions couldn’t stop that.

“What will we do now?” You asked, he gave you a toothy grin as he pinched your cheek, “survive.”

You went to carry your son, and he started to pack up the essentials. Canned food, bottled waters, diapers and such. When you were almost ready, he hugged you. Then angled your chin to meet his eyes.

“I’ll help the others.” 

“You’ll need me.” you answered, he shook his head. Ruggie’s eyes softened, holding deep affection within them as he met yours. 

“Yeah, honey I know I do. But you’re the stronger one and I need you to take care of yourself and snaggletooth. I can take care of the grammies, okay?”

You nodded, understanding that your priority is the child you both held dearly. He kissed your cheek then let you out of his arms before turning to the door. As you wrapped your baby in their blanket, Ruggie ran out to check on the other people in your streets. The people who watched you two grow up. The grandmas, aunties, and uncles who shared what they had to let you grow healthily. It was time to give back. Ruggie helped them with their things, and began to organize them, to ensure their survival. You put a cloak on, carrying your bag and child before following them.

The journey to the protected zone was quiet. The people of the slums were never this quiet before. It was a stark contrast to how loud your community was with fights, celebration, or just talking in general. In the distance, you could hear magic exploding. The elderly flinching, children shaking from hunger. No rations came for the past week. Ruggie reached into his bag, handing the children fiber bars to eat. 

“Come on grams, you literally used to beat up five men at once. You can handle this, ‘kay? Let my boy taste that delicious markavah you used to make after this war.” The grandmother who was once shaking smiled, patting ruggie’s head and agreeing. Walking less shaky this time.

Ruggie’s attention was cut in half by looking after the others, then at you. You swear that he looks at you with fearful eyes, while trying to comfort the others. He jogged back to you.

“How are you holding up?” He asked, “and the pup?”

You gazed at him, “The pup’s okay. If anything I think I should be worried about you. How are you, hun?”

He chuckled, taking the baby from you. “Good enough, as long as you’re okay.”

You felt so tense before, but now everything felt lighter with him near. Little did you know, that relief would be short lived. The woodland creatures ran up the mountain, as if to escape a catastrophe.

All your fellow beastmen halted as they climbed the mountain. The tension grew when the rocks on the ground were shaking. Ruggie grabbed you, and pulled you to run, “EVERYONE, RUN NOW.”

Everyone began running as light from what you presumed was fire appeared a few meters behind you. The scent of iron in the air almost makes you want to throw up. The white lion clan is here. Many of them are here. It all happened so fast, red spluttered on the ground and the leaves. Ruggie kept pulling you when a white lion beastman rushed behind you. He took his magic pen out and used fire magic to push him away. The lion beastman screamed in agony as the fire engulfed his body, “don’t look back!” Ruggie shouted to you, and in contrast, he pushed your child into your arms.

Ruggie had a very agitated look on his face as he kept running while grabbing your arm with his hand. Ruggie looked behind you, watching the others fall into the genocide these monsters created for the sake of their ‘species’. He bit the insides of his cheeks, enough to make them bleed. Trying to think of a way to save you, and that child that he loves more than himself. He looked around, running to a darker path then pushing you in front of him. He let his eyes drown in the sight of you. God, how do you look so beautiful even when he is terrified? You met his eyes, you saw the tender way he gazed upon you and knew instantly what was on his mind. You shook your head, shaking in fear as tears began to fill your eyes.

“No– you’re not doing this, Ruggie! Run with u–”

“It wouldn’t do anything if I ran now.”

Your heart dropped. It felt as if you swallowed a rock. He turned your flashlight off, and hid with you behind bushes. He held your face with his shaking hands. His eyes teary as he smiled at you, “I need you to listen to me”

“No– no no Ruggie there has to be another way..!” You whispered-screamed at him. Ruggie shook his head. 

“Listen hun. I need you to keep running. Leona’s people are right up there. Just a little bit more and then you and snaggletooth will be okay.”

“Then come with us..!”

“I need to be here to push them away, name. Please. Listen to me just this once. If not for me, then for our cub. I need him safe, I need you both to be safe.”

The baby was about to scream and cry before Ruggie hummed a lullaby he learned from his grandmother, petting his head. Trying to keep him quiet as the white lions kept attacking the others. The screams added to your terror. You could feel the tears you didn’t know were there drop down on your cheek. 

“There’s a path towards the camp up here. They won’t see you. Take the path. I’ll be right behind you once I’m done here.”

You bit your lip, wanting to rebel against his words. But your son kept those thoughts away, and you could just nod as you began to get up, “You promise?”

“Yeah, dumbass. I’ll be there begging Leona for scraps before you even know it.” He smirked at you, but there was something soft in his eyes. “I love you.” He rubbed his thumb over your hand, as if to memorize the way it feels, each print and veins. He gave your beloved son a tender kiss on the forehead before he ran to the opposite side of the slop. Shouting to get the clan’s attention and away from you.

Looking back at it, you should’ve told him that you loved him just as much before you started running. But you trusted him, his promise that he’d be there and that your son would grow up with a loving father, and you’d grow old with your beloved husband.

You felt Ruggie’s mana as you ran in the darkness. It was your source of comfort. The baby started to fuss, feeling his father away from him. You tried to shush him as you ran, scared of someone hearing and hurting your baby. He kept crying. You rushed through the path, singing gently in the way Ruggie did.

“Lala mtoto lala lala mtoto lala. Papa Anakuja Lala akupe maziwa Lala.. Lala mtoto lala.” The cub in your arms began to slowly calm down. You continued singing, "Sleep well, my dear child.. Sleep well, little one. Papa is going to come soon.. Sleep soundly, he’ll bring milk for you. Sleep well, my dear child.”

You changed the word mama for papa, feeling as though it’ll comfort him more. Ruggie had been better with kids than you after all. Your son calmed down, leaning to your chest when bright lights shined in your eyes. The safe zone was in your vision, Leona caught sight of you and ran to you and your baby, his godchild. 

“Leona– you got to help Ruggie..!!” The second prince looked behind you, and his right hand man wasn’t there. Leona was usually a man who didn’t like being ordered around doing chores. But something made him sick to his stomach. 

“Go to the magic border, now!” He shouted, but before you could run, The sky erupted in light. You could hear Ruggie’s voice, distant now, shouting to draw the enemy’s attention. But the sound was swallowed by the explosive force behind you, a flash of light that felt like the very earth had cracked open beneath your feet.

You gasped as Leona pulled you back, instinctively covering your child’s body with your own. The world blurred, a mix of searing light, smoke, and the sound of your child’s terrified cries echoing in your chest.

"Leona… Please," you whispered hoarsely, struggling against his grip. "I… I need him—please, Leona!"

Leona’s jaw tightened, but there was no softness in his voice. "There’s nothing more I can do. You know that." His words were rough, like he was trying to convince himself as much as you. "We get you to safety. That's what Ruggie would want."

"I don’t care what Ruggie would want!" You screamed, twisting in his arms, desperate to escape, to run back to him, but Leona’s grip was ironclad. "You don’t understand! He promised he would—"

"I’m keeping you alive. I’m keeping your son alive. And I’ll keep my word to Ruggie. But you’re not helping him by staying here. You need to survive. You both need to survive."

His voice cracked on the last word, but there was no time to process it. A blast of light tore through the mountain slopes, and for a brief, harrowing moment, everything went deathly still.

Then the world came crashing back into focus. You choked on your breath, but there was only silence. No mana. No heartbeat from Ruggie. No warmth.

Leona froze, eyes scanning the horizon where the last echo of magic had burned out. The tension in his shoulders was palpable, but there was a silent kind of rage in the way his fists clenched. He turned to you, finally showing the flicker of something—something unspoken in his eyes that made your chest ache in ways you didn’t understand.

"You’re not going to like this," he muttered, his voice softer now, but firm. "But I’m getting you out of here."

"Leona," you gasped, your breath coming in ragged sobs, trying to hold your son against you, trying to keep him calm even as your own world collapsed.

“I know, I know,” Leona whispered, lifting you up in his arms. His voice dropped lower. "I’ll make sure he doesn't die for nothing. I’ll bring him back, I promise you. But you—you need to live. For him. For Ruggie." 

You couldn’t do anything but cry, in fear, sadness, and all the other emotions at once. Leona set you on a mat in the shelter, “I’ll go find him. Stay put.” 

You nodded, and the second prince ran for the door, his soldiers following him. And now you sit, wait, along with the only thing that he left with you. You and Ruggie’s son, the only reminder that he was there. That he was real. Your heart sank, helpless, but prayed and hoped to the sevens that he was okay. If they answered and followed your begging, you wouldn’t know until or if you even see him safe again.

✧₊⁺🕯⋆.˚୨ৎ✧₊⁺🕯⋆.˚୨ৎ✧₊⁺🕯⋆.˚୨ৎ✧₊⁺🕯⋆.˚୨ৎ✧₊⁺🕯⋆.˚୨ৎ✧₊⁺🕯⋆.˚୨ৎ✧₊⁺🕯⋆.˚୨ৎ✧₊⁺🕯⋆.˚

writer's notes: lala mtoto lala is a Swahili lullaby. upon research, it's said that sunset savanna is inspired from East African countries. If I had made any mistakes representing the culture, please tell me so I can learn and change it. Send me a private message, or comment <3

[saintsbook]

—

“Always take care of yourself.” 

Those were the last words he heard from the love of his life before they disappeared into that damned mirror. Kalim wanted to ask them to wait. But how could he? They always told him just how much they missed home. Their friends and family. 

Even when Ace, Deuce, and Grim begged him to help make Twisted Wonderland a home to you, to make you feel welcomed and belong.. He chose to keep it in, to watch you go.

“Dude! Why won’t you help us?! Don’t you love them even more than we do?!” Ace screamed at him, grabbing his collar. Deuce tried to pull the other trump soldier away. Telling him that it’s enough. 

Kalim laughed bitterly, one that no one else but the prefect ever heard, “If you’d seen the look on their face, you wouldn’t be able to judge me either.”

The prefect’s friends froze. What does he mean by that? No one really knew. But the way Kalim said it was so hard to swallow, they knew there was no winning this battle.

But he was right. There were nights where name couldn’t sleep and had nightmares, begging to go home. The overblots took a toll on them. They had night terrors, and would talk about how safe it was in their original world.

Wouldn’t it be too cruel to keep holding on, when the world itself was a risk to your life itself?

Of course he couldn’t do anything but smile at you, smiling, waving as you stepped into that mirror and away from him.

But knowing it was the best for you doesn’t make it hurt less.

…

..

.

Four years after the prefect got home.

Everyday, he played a game of chance with other mages. The mirror portals exploded when he mentioned your home, or even your name. There were times when his researchers would want to give up, and he’d lay a pouch of gold in front of them muttering only one word, “continue”.

The once shiny teen turned into a little less bright adult. The dark bags underneath his eyes showing just how much sleep he’d lost missing you. The sleepless nights that he spent imagining you in his arms again. Jamil would remind him; “You have to take breaks, Kalim.” 

Kalim would let out an empty laugh and an empty promise, “I will.”

Jamil wishes Kalim had this persistence during their years in college. Sadly for him, this side of Kalim would only be seen if it's to show how desperate he is to see you again.

…

..

.

Two years after

The hope that was once fading got reignited after one of the mirrors, though wasn't able to have people use it as portals showed you. The mirror showed a glimpse of you, smiling as you played with a dog at the comfort of your home. You look older now, but Kalim thinks it only added to your beauty. 

When Kalim touched the mirror, desperate to have it bring him to you, to feel your warmth, your gentle gaze, the mirror exploded just like all the other ones.

But Kalim wasn’t deterred. He looked at his bloodstained hand, a cut on his cheek reflected at one of the mirror shards as his servants ran to him, tending to the cuts. 

“I’m getting closer” he thought, a small grin forming on his face. “Wait for me.”

…

..

.

He did it! 

It took 8 years until he did, but that doesn’t matter. 

He watched the apple transmigrate to your world, and come back unharmed. 

“The portal is ready, master.” 

He couldn’t care about the celebration he had prepared for his people, jumping into the unknown within a flicker of a second. He went right through the mirror, his surroundings warping into colors he’s never seen before. Beautiful, bright, they can only compare them to you.

When his feet managed to feel land underneath, he looked around. The place wasn’t familiar to him, but he didn’t mind. There were no floating trains, brooms, or magic carpets. He held a chunk of one of the failed mirrors in his hand, “show me the way to them.”

Kalim kept walking, even with the weight of unfamiliar eyes staring at him. Is it because of his clothing? Well, he doesn’t care. His footsteps were light, optimistic. But that didn’t stop the doubts crawling in his mind like some vermin. Would you be happy when you see him? Or would you have already forgotten all about him?

He stopped infront of a homely old house, with a beautiful yard. Kalim took a deep breath, preparing himself for what comes next. The steps to your door felt longer than the journey he had. He tucks the mirror shards inside of his pocket, his finger trembled as he curled it to a fist to knock on your door.

A minute passed, no answer. He knocked again, “A minute!”.

The door opened, revealing someone with your features. The features he fell in love with. He couldn’t help but smile, tears filling his eyes as he hugged them. The person froze, “uh.. Do you know me?” they asked. Kalim shot them a confused stare, his hands unwrapping as he felt his stomach drop.

“Name? It’s Kalim.”

“I’m afraid you got the wrong person, name’s my parent.. I’m Avery. Would you like to come in?”

Kalim was confused, but the voice in his head kept telling him to just go in, and so he did. He took his sandals off, setting them at the corner. His eyes wandered around the house. Family pictures. And in every one, there was a part of you. He wasn’t sure which one you were because of the resemblance.

Avery offered him a drink, which he took. They sat down on the living room couch.

“Nini always told me about you. About the world they woke up in. I always thought they were just fairytales, grammy said they had a wild imagination..” Avery spoke up, “I didn’t expect someone with the name my nini talked about in front of my doorstep.”

“Is Name okay?” He asked,Avery laughed nervously, tilting her head towards a room. 

“They’re.. Doing well for their condition. Would you like to see them? It’ll be a hard pill to swallow.”

Kalim took a minute to think but nodded his head anyway, “Yes, of course I’d like to see them.”

Avery stood up, motioning Kalim to follow them. They knocked on the door, “Nini, you’ve got a visitor.”

Avery twisted the knob and opened the door gently. The morning light passed through the windows, the walls green and bright, and there you were laying down on the bed. Kalim gazed at you. You were still as beautiful as the day he lost you. 

You sat up, weakly, the light showcasing your every wrinkle, all the wires attached to you dangling around as you moved.

“Avery, sweetie, who’d you bring for me?” Gods, how he’d miss that voice. He began to tear up again, kneeling next to the bed.

“Do you remember me?” he asked, his hand clinging on your veined hand. You squinted your eyes trying to make your vision clearer. His pearl gray hair, familiar to your heart. Your wistful voice brought him back to life with just one word, “Kalim.”

And without even knowing, the tears fell. Avery walked out of the door, closing the door gently behind them. Kalim took your hand in his, and then let you touch his cheek, he leaned towards your touch. 

“Yeah, that’s right. It’s me.. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have taken so long.”

“What do you mean? You got home just in time, darling.”

His tears kept pouring, he wished that he got here sooner, had that child with you, grew old with you. 

“You look young, as if you didn’t age at all.”

“It’s only been a decade for me..” he spoke out tenderly.

“Really? It's been 60 here. I’m 80 now.. Must look.. Ugly to you, huh?” You chuckled, holding your face with your free hand. He felt offended, sure, to you, you might not be in your prime anymore. But Kalim only ever worshipped you for as long as you existed, and even after that. The garnet eyed man shook his head, his lips turning into a lopsided smile as he gave a peck to your wrinkled hand.

“No– don’t even joke about that. You’re as beautiful as the day I lost you.” 

He spoke with so much conviction, you knew he couldn’t be lying. 

He sat on the bed, careful of the wires and hoses connected to you, scared that you’d get hurt. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you gently. Breathing in the scent of the shampoo you used for your silvering hair.

Kalim wiped his tears, his breath shaky as he took in your frail form. The years and the distance hadn’t erased you—there you were, the person he’d chased through mirrors and dreams.

“You look… different,” he whispered, his voice trembling.

You smiled faintly, a tired curve of your lips. “Time does that to us.”

His chest ached. “I should’ve followed you. I should’ve been with you.”

You shook your head, your thumb brushing against his cheek. “You couldn’t have known, Kalim. But I’m happy you’re here now. That’s enough.”

Kalim’s heart clenched. He had lost so much time, but this—this moment, with you—was all he had left. He couldn’t undo the past, but he could hold you now.

“I’ll stay with you,” he said, his voice firm. “For however long you need.”

You closed your eyes, resting your forehead against his. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”