Trey is pragmatic, the ‘big brother’ type, yet under that calm lies a quiet fear of loss.
At first, he’d tell himself it was an accident. That he’ll find a way to fix it. He would stay outwardly composed, reassuring you that “It’s fine, don’t panic, I’ll find a way.”
But eventually Trey’s steady composure would crack in isolation. He’s someone who values stability, and knowing he single-handedly severed his beloved from their home would gnaw at him like guilt-ridden rot.
He’d cling tighter, baking treats, keeping you busy, anything to make this unnatural permanence feel normal. But beneath every smile is the knowledge: you didn’t choose to stay. He forced it.
Cater Diamond
Cater thrives on connection but fears being forgotten, abandoned, or left behind. Breaking the mirror would be half-impulse, half-desperation.
For a fleeting second, he’d smile: “Guess that’s one less thing to worry about, right?” trying to disguise possessiveness as lightheartedness.
But once the adrenaline fades, Cater’s insecurities bloom. He’d obsess over whether his beloved resents him for it. Would you secretly hate him? Would you leave him anyway, in other ways?
His desperation for validation would deepen. He’d flood you with attention, social facades slipping into cracks of paranoia. He broke the mirror because he couldn’t stand being left behind, but now he has to live with the silence of knowing you might never forgive him.
Leona Kingscholar
Leona is prideful, cynical, and simmering with unspoken yearning. Breaking the mirror would be intentional.
He’d justify it as “Why bother going back? Everything you need is right here.” To him, if something precious is within reach, he’ll keep it, no matter how selfish.
But the mirror’s shards would taunt him: proof that he had no faith in your choice to stay willingly. Deep down, he knows he trapped you.
Over time, Leona’s paranoia would grow corrosive. Every look, every sigh from you would become a test. Did you mean it when you smiled? Or are you dreaming of escape? His love becomes a cage, built of both possessiveness and fear of losing the one person who might have loved him freely.
Vil Schoenheit
Vil’s obsession with control, beauty, and perfection would manifest in a chilling way.
Breaking the mirror would be deliberate, disguised as care: “That world didn’t deserve you. You belong somewhere you’ll be truly seen.”
But in Vil’s mind, the destruction of the mirror is not a sin, but a necessity, like trimming away flaws. He’d recast your imprisonment as salvation.
His love would turn suffocating, framed as cultivation. He’d refine you, dress you, mold you. If you were stolen from him once, never again.
Yet every now and then, when your eyes linger too long on the horizon, Vil would feel a quiet terror: the shards of the mirror cutting into his conscience, whispering that perfection built on force is only ruin.
Rook Hunt
Rook would shatter the mirror with romantic fervor.
He’d frame it as a declaration: “Now, mon cœr, you are forever entwined with this world. With me.”
His devotion would be terrifyingly sincere. He’d adore you, paint your captivity as destiny, and make even the horror sound beautiful.
But beneath his poetic mask, he knows he committed a crime of selfishness. He wouldn’t admit it, but he’d watch you with vigilance. His love, half worship, half predator’s hunger, would never let you forget that the choice was stolen.
To Rook, its tragedy made divine: your bond sealed not by love alone, but by irreversible destruction.
Idia Shroud
Idia’s insecurity runs deep, but so does his desperation for control in a world where he feels powerless. Breaking the mirror would be labeled as an accident — even when deep down it was in fact a conscious choice, born of fear and obsession.
At first, he’d whisper rationalizations to himself, voice low but laced with intensity: “If she goes back, she’ll forget me. She’ll leave me. She’ll move on, just like everyone else. That’s not fair. Not when I finally got someone to choose me.”
When he smashes the mirror, it’s deliberate. His hands might shake, but his eyes would be bright, feverish — the kind of manic fire when his ego surges for seconds before dying down. In that moment, he’s not the stuttering recluse. He’s the one with the upper hand, the one rewriting the rules.
To his beloved, he’d frame it like an inevitability: “You were never gonna go back, right? Heh. I just… made sure of it. No big deal. Game over, bad ending for them — happy ending for us.” He’d speak with a smirk that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, masking terror with bravado.
Over time, though, the cracks would show. He’d oscillate, one moment smug, reveling in the fact that now you’d be his forever, and the next moment plagued by paranoia that you resent him. His mind would cast the situation as a save he can’t reload, a route he can’t undo. That would both thrill and terrify him.
His possessiveness would sharpen into something unyielding. He’d monitor you, rationalize surveillance as “just in case,” and dismiss your protests with a bite of sarcasm: “Oh, so now I’m the villain? Weren’t you crying the other day, telling me how the other world made you lonely? I’m not saying you should be thanking me–D-don’t look at me like that… J-just tell me you’ll stay.”
Idia breaking the mirror is the strike of someone who knows he can’t risk losing the only thing anchoring him. It’s calculated, selfish, and terrifyingly lucid. The act of someone who embraces his own hypocrisy because it’s the only way to keep what he wants.
Malleus Draconia
Malleus, centenarian, lonely and aching for companionship, would see breaking the mirror as a fateful act.
His reasoning would be solemn: “This world has denied me too much. I will not let it take you as well.”
Unlike others, he wouldn’t see it as theft, but justice. The mirror is merely another cruel gatekeeper between him and happiness.
Yet his beloved’s quiet sadness would wound him deeply. He loves fiercely, with possessive longing, but also with a child’s fragility. If you mourn your lost home, he would rage against the unfairness of fate, destroying himself with guilt even as he insists: “Stay. Please. I cannot be alone again.”
For Malleus, breaking the mirror would be the most selfish and most vulnerable act of his life, binding you to him in both love and tragedy.
Lilia Vanrouge
Lilia, mischievous yet wise, would break the mirror with a smile, even while the weight beneath would be devastating.
He’d joke lightly: “Oops. Looks like you’re stuck with me~” but the laughter hides a hollow ring.
Unlike most of them, Lilia knows exactly what he’s done and what it means. He’s lived centuries, he understands that ripping someone from their world is monstrous.
His charm would cover guilt, but it would eat at him in quiet moments. He’d become overly doting, almost suffocating in his attempts to keep his beloved happy, as if he could erase your loss with tenderness.
Yet he’d know, deep down, that time cannot erase the truth: he chained someone’s fate to his own. And time is all he has.
Chenya
Chenya, whimsical and chaotic, would shatter the mirror playfully. The consequences would only weigh in strange ways.
To him, it might feel like a game at first: “Well, no going back now! Ain’t that curious?” He thrives on madness, but beneath it lies awareness.
As the reality sinks in, his smile would twist, still playful, but more desperate. Chaos distracts from loneliness, yes. Now, he’s tied someone to that chaos forever, you won’t be lonely anymore.
He’d flit in and out, unpredictable, never letting you feel secure. Part of him would fear you’ll hate him, so he keeps everything off balance, as though confusion itself could keep you close.
For Chenya, the broken mirror isn’t tragedy or romance, it’s the whim of a mad boy. And his beloved is now bound to dance in it with him.
Rollo Flamme
Rollo, hypocritical and obsessive, would shatter the mirror with fire in his eyes.
To him, it would be holy: “That world was corrupt more so than this one. Here, you can at least be pure. I have saved you from its poison.”
You regret ever telling him about your world.
He’d recast the act as salvation, trapping you in his suffocating ideals. Every protest would be met with sermons: “In time, you will thank me. You will see the truth.”
But even as he cloaks it in righteousness, the truth is much more simple: he couldn’t bear to lose you. He destroyed your freedom to soothe his own obsession.
His love would be a pyre devouring, sanctimonious, and utterly inescapable. He would never see himself as cruel, but as savior. Which, in many ways, is the most terrifying form of imprisonment.
is there anyone who still uses whack when an inconvenience happens to them
hey guys did you miss me
EDIT ;; I MADE A TYPO THAT THROWS OFF THE WHOLE JOKE I'M CRYING yuu's twt is supposed to say " accidentally called coach vargas dad in front of the class again fml " i can't believe this
