HIII I SAW YOU HAVE REQUESTS OPEN AND I WANTED TO REQUEST :>>
idon't know if your comfortable with this but can i request twst 2nd years (replace kalim with leona) and what they do if their s/o is gone?
their s/o is dead so i wonder how they would mourn, how they take care of their s/o's grave, and how they cope without them?
i don't know if you accept requests like these but if you do then THANK YOU SO SO SOOO MUCH IN ADVANCE 🙏💕
SECOND YEARS + LEONA X READER
Where you died
How the boys would live the mourning process, how they take care of your grave, and how they cope without your death, with a live without you
Warning: This is hard angst. If you're a very perceptive person who visualizes a lot or empathizes with what you read, be prepared for a bit of a tear.
Leona acts like he doesn’t care. At first. But deep down, he’s unraveled. He doesn’t cry in front of anyone. He shuts down. He sleeps even more, not out of laziness— because he can only see you in dreams now. There’s a rawness behind his eyes when your name is mentioned, but he covers it with silence. He avoids people because he hates how they look at him—with pity, like they expect him to break. He already did. Just not where anyone could see it.
Leona visits your grave late at night, always when no one's around. He doesn’t bring flowers. Instead, he sits in silence, talking to you about the mundane. “Ruggie got on my case again. Jack pissed me off.” Things like that. Sometimes, he brings pebbles from Savannaclaw and stacks them on your grave. Small tokens that only he would understand. He leaves when the sun starts to rise. Always before anyone can catch him there.
Leona tells himself it’s better this way—that he was only going to ruin you in the end. That you were too good for him. But that doesn’t stop the grief from choking him. He keeps something small of yours—a ring, a scarf, maybe a notebook with your handwriting. On bad days, he holds it so tightly his knuckles turn white. He doesn’t move on. He just becomes colder, harsher. Your loss is the scar he never lets heal.
Riddle shuts down entirely. He doesn't cry—not at first. He goes numb. Rules become his lifeline. Structure. Order. Anything but feeling. But when he finds the last gift you gave him, tucked in a drawer, unopened—he collapses. He screams into his pillow. Breaks a teacup in his hands. Grief terrifies him because it's messy—and Riddle was taught to fear mess.
Riddle brings roses. Red, white, and blue—each carefully arranged. He memorizes the upkeep schedule of your grave, ensuring it’s spotless at all times. He even files complaints if the groundskeepers neglect it. When he visits, he reads aloud to you—poetry, or books you once loved. His voice is quiet. On your birthday, he always brings your favorite tea and pours a cup beside your grave. He doesn’t drink. Just… waits, in case you’re still listening.
Riddle reverts into old habits—strict routines, harsh punishments, stricter rules. But Trey knows. He sees the way Riddle’s hands shake. Eventually, Riddle softens—just a little. He keeps your photo on his desk, and he sometimes writes letters addressed to you, even though he never sends them. He studies healing magic obsessively. Not because he wants to bring you back—he knows he can’t. But because he never wants to lose someone like that again. You were his exception. His rebellion. His first real love. And he never quite recovers.
Floyd doesn’t react the way people expect. He laughs when he hears the news—but it’s not happy. It’s empty. Then he gets violent. He wrecks an entire hallway, shattering windows and breaking anything that reminds him of you. Then… he’s just gone. He withdraws so deeply into himself that not even Jade or Azul can reach him. He stops showing up to class. Stops smiling. The spark in his eyes is just gone. He mutters your name to himself like a lullaby.
Floyd doesn’t go often. When he does, it’s erratic. One day he’s calm, sitting by your grave with seashells and pearls he found. The next, he’s yelling at the sky, sobbing, asking why you left him alone. He presses his forehead to your headstone sometimes and just stays there for hours. Then he leaves, mood unreadable, but always more exhausted than before.
Floyd changes. He becomes moodier, but not in his usual way. He loses interest in his usual chaos. You were the one who made the world interesting, after all. He keeps something of yours in his jacket—maybe your old hairpin or bracelet—and clutches it when he’s angry or lost. When people ask about you, he snaps: “Don’t talk about them. Ever.” Sometimes, though, he swears he hears your laughter. And for a fleeting second, he smiles like he used to.
Silver is devastated, and it shows. He’s always been calm and emotionally steady, but your death shakes him to his core. He loses his rhythm—his duty falters, his naps grow deeper and longer. He wakes up crying from dreams where you’re still alive, only to remember you’re gone. His voice is softer now, as if anything louder might shatter him. He carries guilt. “Why couldn’t I protect you?” is a question that haunts him endlessly.
Silver visits your grave with quiet reverence. He brushes fallen leaves off the headstone with his hands, tends to the flowers, and replaces them often with lilies or whatever blooms you once loved. He kneels when he speaks to you, as if he still guards you even in death. He reads aloud fairytales you liked, letting the wind carry his words to wherever you might be. Silver doesn't rush. He stays until the stars come out. And sometimes he sleeps there. It's the closest he'll ever get to falling asleep cuddled up with you again.
Silver keeps a locket with your photo, tucked inside his shirt near his heart. He often touches it absentmindedly when lost in thought. Lilia, Sebek and Malleus worry about him, and while he remains gentle with them, there’s a sadness behind his smile. Silver believes you’re watching over him—so he tries to live a life you’d be proud of. It hurts. But that belief keeps him moving, one step at a time.
Ruggie pretends he’s okay. He makes jokes, forces a grin, but those who know him well notice the cracks—he laughs less, steals less, works more. He throws himself into being useful cause if he stops moving, the grief catches up. The first time he’s alone after your funeral, he breaks down hard. Punches a wall. Screams into his jacket. It’s the only time he lets himself fall apart.
Ruggie doesn’t visit often at first—not because he doesn’t care, but because it hurts too much. When he does, he always brings something: your favorite snack, some charm from the Sunset Savanna, a scrap of cloth from a hoodie you loved. He never stays long. Just stands there, hands in his pockets, voice low: “Hey… bet you’re still yelling at me from wherever you are. I can hear it.… I miss it.”
Ruggie becomes fiercely protective of the few people he has left. He values life more now, but laughs a little less. He keeps your last voice message in Magicam saved and listens to it sometimes under the covers at night. When he sees something you would’ve loved at the market, he stops and stares for a moment—then keeps walking. The pain never really fades. But he carries it like everything else: close to his chest, never letting it show unless he’s completely alone.
Azul is shattered, but he tries to intellectualize it. He tries to convince himself that grief can be processed in logical steps, denial, anger, bargaining. But that doesn’t stop him from breaking down in private, clutching the edge of his desk until his knuckles turn blue, trying to breathe through the panic of a world without you. He continues running the Mostro Lounge like nothing’s wrong. His smile is still polished. But behind the scenes? Azul can’t look at your favorite seat in the lounge without feeling like he’s drowning.
Azul dresses impeccably every time he visits your grave. It becomes a ritual He brings white roses, and small trinkets he made with his own hands. He kneels, brushing dust from your name. Sometimes his voice breaks. Sometimes he just sits in silence and lets the tears fall.
Azul spirals into overwork. He tries to fill the void you left with achievements, contracts—anything. But nothing is enough. He keeps your photo in the drawer of his desk, opens it during long nights, and murmurs to it like you’re still there. Jade and Floyd know. They say nothing, but keep a close eye on him. Azul never quite recovers. He simply learns how to live with a heart that echoes where your voice used to be.
Jamil becomes frighteningly quiet. His grief is organized, sharp, disciplined—he doesn’t lash out, but everything about him becomes colder. Internally, he’s drowning in guilt. He feels responsible somehow. He replays everything over and over, looking for what he missed. He doesn’t cry in front of others. But late at night, he folds your old letters and clothes, tears soaking into his palms.
Jamil treats your grave like a shrine. Every week, he brings fresh desert roses, cleans the stone, and places small food offerings from his own cooking—your favorites, made exactly the way you liked them. He never talks to you there. Instead, he meditates in silence beside the grave. Maybe he believes the words are already in his heart, or maybe it just hurts too much to speak them aloud.
Jamil becomes obsessed with control—over his routine, his environment, his emotions. He starts studying harder, sleeping less, doing more. But it’s all a way to avoid facing the pain. He wears a bracelet you once gave him and never takes it off. On the anniversary of your death, he disappears from everyone for a full day. Only Kalim knows where he goes—and he never asks questions. Jamil's grief is silent, disciplined, and buried deep. But it never leaves him.
Kalim doesn't understand it at first. He smiles, thinking you'll come through the door like always, calling his name. The reality doesn't hit until days later—when your laugh no longer echoes, when your perfume fades from his robes. Then he breaks. Not in fury, in grief so raw it silences even him. He curls up in bed, weeping into your favorite pillow, begging for it to be a dream
Kalim visits every week, rain or shine. He brings lavish flower arrangements, little handmade crafts, and occasionally food—things he learned to cook because you liked them. He talks a lot while sitting by your grave. Sometimes he cries. Other times, he smiles while telling stories, like he’s making sure your spirit is still included in his life.
Kalim throws himself into making others smile. If he can’t be happy, at least someone else can be. But deep down, there’s a hollowness. He wears a ring you once gave him—tells people it’s “for luck,” but it’s really a promise he’s trying to keep: To never forget you. Jamil ends up watching over him more carefully than ever. Kalim still laughs, still shines, but there’s a sadness behind it that never quite goes away
Jade’s grief is clinical, almost surgical in how neatly he tucks it away from others. No one sees him cry. No one sees him falter. He mourns in silence, in isolation. He’ll continue his duties, serve in the Lounge, smile with those sharp teeth—but inside, he’s completely quietly broken. His calm becomes eerie because there’s no balance anymore. Not without you.
Jade visits your grave with ritualistic precision. Once a month, on the same day, at the same time. He brings rare mushrooms, a flower you loved... He speaks rarely, if at all. He stays until nightfall, then vanishes like he was never there.
Jade becomes more elusive. Even Floyd can’t always read him. Jade starts going into deeper and more dangerous places, almost like he’s looking for something he lost. He keeps your memory alive through action—keeping what you loved alive in the world. But he never talks about you unless someone dares to ask… and if they do, he just smiles. A sad, secret smile. “You wouldn’t understand.”
:: Leona x Ruggie, can be platonic or rom, short imagine, not proof-read
based off the song "ikanaide (Do Not Go)"
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
Imagine the last time Ruggie sees Leona in class, last time at lunch, last time at spelldrive practice before its Leona's last time at NRC.
Ruggie will be his usual self, trying to listen to Leona blabber about "the real world" one last time, but on the inside he's fighting with himself and he doesn't know why but it hurts him to see Leona leave.
why? Leona was always there for his antics
why? Leona always scolded him for whatever and whenever
why? even rarely, Leona would praise him reluctantly
why? he was there for Leona
Why can't Leona be there for him? Can't he see that Ruggie is actually struggling? He's trying to choke out jokes one last time but his throat gets tighter and tighter.
Leona doesn't pay Ruggie any mind, just like he never had the past 2 years they've been 'friends'
Ruggie sees Leona off at the mirror hall, the teachers are scolding him and so is Crowley.
One last time.
Ruggie watches as Leona yawns through the goodbyes that his fellow housewardens were giving him.
Ruggie was shaking, his hands were balled into fists now, his body felt weak.
His heart hurt.
As much as he just wanted to run away he couldn't, his feet were glued in place. He couldn't even choke out any last words when Leona finally looked back at him one last time before going into the mirror and on his way back home to Sunset Savanna.
ik this might be ooc and i act like theyre not gonna see each other back in sunset savanna but it was just a small idea of how ruggie probably will struggle going through his last years in NRC without leona ;(
"i love you like a rotten dog, i love you like my canines are falling out of my gums, like a monster, like a beast, like something not worth loving back"
ruggie x gn!reader
a/n: reader is kind-hearted. i know hyenas aren't related to dogs but let me have this :) also ooc ruggie lol but im the one writing it so ㄟ( ▔, ▔ )ㄏ
.
ruggie is selfish.
it's a statement dozens of people agree with, including ruggie himself. he deceives others to get what he wants, he's not above sucking up to those with more power, only helps others when there's something in it for him. and he has no intention of stopping because the world can be cruel to the soft-hearted.
but sometimes he wonders if he's... good enough for you. he knows he isn't a bad person despite everything he does, and even if he was he wouldn't necessarily care all that much, he's just trying his best to survive. but dating you can make him have insecurities he doesn't need nor want.
he sees you helping trappola and spade paint the roses despite it being their punishment for breaking the rules, he sees you stay behind to help professor crewel clean up even if he insists he doesn't need any, he sees you pet lucifer and helping professor trein find his pet whenever it gets lost. he sees everything you do for the people you don't even know sometimes and wonders why you're dating him. ruggie bucchi. notorious for only helping for his own selfish reasons.
and the voices get even worse when you help him. when you stay behind whenever he's running late, when you help out with the laundry, when you make him food because you know he's hungry. he does stuff for you too but it's nowhere near close enough to repay everything you've done for him.
he genuinely thinks its stupid that he thinks this because you agreed to date him, you knew what you were getting into. but every time you kiss him with a gentleness he couldn't even begin to describe, every time you look at him like he makes you happier than anyone ever could, every time you hold him in your arms like it's the only place you ever want to be; he feels rotten. he's not a monster but loving you makes him feel like his canines are falling out of his gums, like something not worth loving back because you'll always deserve more than anything he could give you, but he'll be damned if he ever thought of letting you go.
a/n: I adore ruggie's character and want to do so many more studies about him <<333 I feel like he gets overlooked a lot in favor of other characters- but he's getting a lot more love from the fandom recently which makes me so happy!
Ruggie Bucchi was tired.
From as early on as he could remember, he was always on his feet. He felt as though there was always some sort of darkness trying to grab him- clawing at his worn clothing and creeping into the crevices of his mind when he slept at night, stirring in his sleep until his grandmother would console him. If he slowed down, the darkness would hold onto him and not let go.
Everyone in his hometown ran. They ran and ran and ran for their own darknesses were lurking behind every corner and just itching to grab ahold of them and drag them down.
Ruggie had seen how long his grandmother had been running- how her back ached day in and day out, her wobbly knees barely supporting her once muscular frame and how her experienced eyes seemed to simply stare sometimes- not at anything or anyone in particular, just a blank stare at the horizon, or a soft, sad gaze that would trail over his features as she crouched in front of him, shaking hands clasped firmly around his too-thin shoulders as she pulled him into a bone-crushing hug when she apologized over and over again- explaining that they couldn't afford to make him something special for his birthday.
He didn't want to drag her with him when he knew that she had her own darkness to battle. He chose to run alone.
He saw what would happen to those who stopped running. He would walk through his neighborhood and see the blank stares of those who fell into the darkness' trap. The way their eyes glazed over as they sat slumped against the houses, surrounded by alcohol bottles and their breathing shallow as though they were already at death's door, their senseless rambles as their energy slowly depletes as the darkness soaks in their livelihood.
The thought of the same happening to him terrified him, so he ran.
He ran as a child, sneaking into the city while his grandmother was working and stealing whatever caught his eye. He would come back hours later, often bruised and bleeding from when he would get caught, but he would have enough to feed him and his grandmother for the week. He would carry armfuls of anything he could find- fresh or spoiled- and help his neighbors try to make them edible.
He had run when he was finally old enough to work, running errands for people and working countless jobs day and night- even when his legs threatened to give out beneath him and he was seeing double around him. Even when he barely had the energy to keep his eyes open while he was bussing tables or sweeping floors, even when his smile was forced -the small movement only worked to burn up energy that he didn't have.
He still ran- he worked to learn how to read and write, he worked to develop his magic even though there was nobody around to teach him how, he worked to make sure that everyone in his neighborhood laughed every day, to keep a smile on their faces. He made jokes and played games even though every step made his feet feel as though they were on fire and his legs and back ached and longed to rest.
Most days he would only be able to get a few hours of sleep before he had to wake up and work again, often leaving his house on an empty stomach (although his grandmother tried her hardest to make sure he ate). He would run until late at night until he could get his first and last meal of the day.
The day he got accepted into Night Raven College was the happiest and saddest day of his life. He was ecstatic to finally find the thread that he was looking for- the small thread being his only hope to help everyone out once and for all. An opportunity to get a real education, to hone his skills, and build his resume. A chance to get his grandmother a nice bed and clothes, to give the neighborhood kids real toys like the ones they tell him about when they go to the market with their families.
Ruggie cried in his grandmother's arms that night, feeling as though he was abandoning those he loved more than anything. He wasn't given much as a child, so he cherished and protected those who he held dear as though they were worth all the gold in the royal treasury. He promised to send money back, begged his grandmother to tell him if anything was wrong or if they needed something. She sighed and asked him to rest, for he had a busy day the next day.
He climbed into the carriage, looking over his shoulder at the neighborhood kids and his grandmother as they cheered him on and waved as the door closed behind the misty-eyed beastman.
He was sorted into Savanaclaw, a dorm ruled by none other than the prince of the Afterglow Savana. After a bit of haggling, he was able to get his first job at Night Raven College.
Next, he was able to snag a job working with the shopkeep on campus.
He kept an eye on the boy who had challenged the Octavinelle dorm leader and won, hearing about his plans to open a restaurant on campus.
Ruggie was not prepared for the time and attention to be put towards homework and projects. This was his first time in an actual school, and he already felt as though he was falling behind everyone else.
Everyone else who had been able to play when they were children.
Everyone else who would tell stories about the trouble they got into while in school or the projects they'd been able to do in the past.
Everyone else who had come from respectable and well-known families.
Everyone else who would come home and be greeted with a kiss from their mother and games with their father, a warm meal on their dining room table.
Ruggie felt like an outsider- a boy without a penny to his name who didn't even have a backpack, forced to carry all of his supplies (which amounted to a few borrowed textbooks, a notebook he had gotten from the shopkeep, and a few pencils he had found abandoned on the ground on his first day).
He had gotten used to being the outsider- the one lump of coal amongst the crowd of jewels he was constantly surrounded by. He had worked and worked, and worked and ran until his legs shook beneath him and he could barely find the energy to get back to his dorm room at night, oftentimes falling asleep in Savanaclaw's common room, curled around his supplies in fear of someone stealing them while his guard was down.
He would still steal, seeing as many of the wealthy students at NRC wouldn't even notice if they were missing a two-thousand madol bracelet or a five-thousand madol watch.
He was caught once by the now-dorm leader and vice from Scarabia. The dorm leader's smile when he reassured him that he could have asked if he wanted the necklace so badly and that he wasn't going to press charges nearly made Ruggie sigh and hand it over as he had before.
He couldn't say the same for the vice.
When Ruggie returned to the dorm and sold off the necklace, his heart got caught in his throat when the buyer asked if he had been given the necklace from the Al-Asim heir. He decided to be more careful from then on, realizing just how much he could have lost from that one little necklace.
He wrote home as often as possible, trying to take as many pictures as he can and sending them back to prove to his grandmother that she shouldn't be worried about him, that he was safe and happy where he was. He would also send every penny that he had earned back, feeling the anxiety in his stomach quell when his grandmother told him how much he was helping, how happy everyone was, even if they all missed him dearly. When he could call back home, which often happened once a week or every two weeks, he would feel his exhaustion ebb when he heard the kids argue over the phone, each of them wanting to ask him about school and his classmates.
The next year, he wasn't expecting to see a human stumble out of the coffin, causing chaos along with a talking monster. He saw how their lip quivered when they looked over the audience of NRC students, how their voice trembled when they told the headmaster what was happening. His initial thought was that they were easy prey, already trying to scan over their clothing to see if there was anything valuable.
Ruggie's resolve was only solidified when they stepped on Leona's tail, feeling a stab of pity for the human as they tried to wrangle the firey monster back from arguing with the lion.
He didn't see them for the next month, only hearing of their hijinks from other students.
Ruggie had stolen from them twice, and tried to ignore their confused and saddened expression while he ran away from them and their friends.
Until the day of the Magshift tournament.
The day had been a blur to him- he'd taken the potion and felt his magic surge through his veins stronger than it ever had, his blood feeling as though it were boiling water being pumped through his veins faster than he could have ever imagined. He trembled as he watched the crowd head towards the Diasomnia team, falling to his knees and gasping for air as he weakly stumbled back to the arena, watching in terror as Leona's words floated through his ears, holding no meaning at all once he felt his throat go raw.
Ruggie tried to stand when he felt his entire body go stiff, the burn of his skin turning to sand unbearable as he pleaded for the beastman to stop, screaming through his tears that turned to sand once they left his eyes and clawing at his throat with skin that chipped and flaked off with every small movement. He saw the crimson droplets bleed through his uniform and drip onto the ground, gasping for air that wouldn't reach his lungs as he sniffled and sobbed, trying to scramble away in a panic as his mind raced.
If he died here, what would become of everyone at home?
It wasn't until he felt warm hands on his shoulders pulling him away from the sandstorm that scratched at his skin, and then a shield from his face as the light blinding his bloodshot eyes dimmed for just a moment. He peeked a stormy gray eye open to meet their own concerned ones. He saw their lips moving as they peeked out of their small blazer fort, then moving their gaze back down to him. He couldn't hear what they were saying over the ringing in his ears as his head throbbed and his vision spun, feeling his eyes roll back as his vision went black for a split second, waking to their hand lightly smacking his face as they begged for him to stay awake.
He smiled sadly when he realized that this weak human thought they could protect him, and at their efforts to do just that. He felt something spring to life under the near-blinding pain throbbing beneath his skin before his head fell back and he lost consciousness.
Ruggie remembers that day sadly, now idly tracing over the long, crack-like scars that coated his skin. He often feels as though he could still taste the staleness of the sand in his throat, now opting to carry a water bottle with him most days just to push back that feeling.
He kept running, no matter how much pain he was in or how his limits had been set back by the injuries. He ignored the prefect's concern at that time, running and running until his heels were sore and he felt as though the scars were throbbing from the effort.
He ran as he always had- blistered heels and worn shoes thudding against the ground.
His third year was different.
He still ran, but the darkness was no longer hot on his heels. It was sedated, slowed by the presence of the Ramshackle prefect.
His feet still throbbed, but they still managed to support him until he could make it to his room.
His exhaustion ebbed when he could finally see the prefect again, hurriedly placing his things on the floor and practically launching himself on his bed, thankful that he didn't have roommates as dorm leader. He buried his face in their stomach, scrawny arms wrapped around their midsection as he heard their soft giggle, their soft hands running through his hair and pushing it away from his face.
His heart swelled when he pulled back, opting to rest his arms around their midsection and lay down with them, still wearing his stuffy uniform as his eyes met theirs.
Ruggie saw nothing but pure adoration laced in their features as they held his scarred face softly, running their fingers over each and every little detail, thumbs tapping along the freckles that danced along the bridge of his nose and spread out throughout his entire face. He smiled softly, willing the thankful tears that welled in his eyes to not fall as the prefect gently hushed him with a tender kiss on the forehead.
He swore they would be the death of him someday, and he was sure that he would wholeheartedly accept his fate if that were how his thread of life was cut short. He held them close, trying to soak in every ounce of warmth they held in their body, praying to the stars that this was real. He pressed his ear to their chest, listening to their even heartbeat as he felt the slow rise and fall of their breaths. He tried to absorb each small shift beneath their clothes as they tried to get comfortable with the hyena laying atop them, tried to memorize the way their fingers danced through his dry strands of hair and rested on his scalp, tried to internalize their comforting smell.
It was as though he were floating on a cloud, the more he took and took and took. Ruggie knew he was being greedy. He knew that he would be doomed if any of his underclassmen saw him in such a state- desperate for his lover's touch and melting under their affection.
Ruggie knew this was not the end. At the tender age of 18- not quite a child, with all the experience but not yet fit to be an adult- he still had a long, hard run ahead of him. He would still struggle, the darkness and shadows of the slums always attached to him, creeping into the corners of his mind as he lies awake at night.
But now he knew that he didn't have to run alone- and for the first time he thought that, perhaps, he never had to run alone in the first place.
He knew that the darkness would subside.
Ruggie knew that its hold on him would slip more and more the older and stronger he gets. And now, Ruggie thought with a small smile on his tanned and freckled face, he knew the Prefect would pick him back up when the soles of his feet ached and he stumbled over his own weary legs as they threatened to give out, they would run with him, they would do everything in their power to help him get away.
When they were around, Ruggie felt as though he was taking his first breath of air in years.
He didn't have to pretend.
He didn't have to smile.
He didn't have to put on a brave face, no longer did he have to build that barrier between himself and the rest of the world.
It had been painstaking, and often became more complicated than necessary, but the prefect was able to tear that wall down just enough for them to slip in. He was annoyed at the human at first.
No, he thinks to himself. Not annoyed... scared.
He was scared that they would see the shadows under his eyes, the hopelessness in his face when he was forced to think about what would happen in the next week, about how he would have to learn to survive in the next few years. Ruggie didn't want anyone to see the nights when he would bite at his pillow when pained tears would stream down his face, feeling absolutely powerless against the pull of the slums as they took away yet one more person he held dear- mind racing with possibilities and wonders on who could be next. Would it be his grandmother? Or another one of the neighborhood kids? Would it be the nice man who he would often cook with? Or the woman who would hand-sew everyone's clothes? The uncertainty tore him apart until he often had to run as far from the dorm as possible and scream into the night, his howls echoing throughout the night shy as he clawed at his chest at the overwhelming feeling of dread as his mind continued to spin.
Since he was a child, he would have to slip away as his vision would spin and nausea would bubble in his throat from the thoughts alone as he would gasp for air, collapsing onto the ground and scurrying off to a dark corner to battle this invisible monster alone, writhing and whining and pleading silently for someone to save him before it killed him.
Panic attacks, the prefect would tell him after witnessing it firsthand, holding him close and waiting patiently for his body to stop trembling as he gripped onto their shirt so tightly his claws embedded themselves in their skin, leaving little red dots in their wake. He was having panic attacks.
In front of the prefect, he felt as though he was safe enough to do just that. He was allowed to be scared, allowed to be insecure and allowed to worry for everyone at home openly. He wasn't pressured to put on a brave face, to joke around and hide his fear for the days to come.
Words could not describe how much his heart swelled when they looked in his direction, how his gaze would soften as he watched them perform menial tasks absentmindedly, tapping their feet to their phone speaker as he leaned over the counter, smiling softly to himself.
Every little lunch they pack him and every small note doodled on napkins and corners ripped off of homework assignments makes him fall even more in love with them.
Every peck on the cheek and every time their hand brushed his only solidified the fantasy in his mind- the fantasy that he hoped day in and day out to one day make a reality.
The fantasy of marrying them one day. To see them in his homeland's traditional wedding attire, to dance with them among the fireflies and to help them move into his small childhood home. To live with them and his grandmother, getting to spend every morning and every night laying beside them and staring at their features.
Every day by their side.
Ruggie shifts up a bit to see their now sleeping face, resting his head against his pillow- rough fabric chilled from the cold air of the savanna at night. He gently held their face and pressed a soft kiss to their lips, holding them close when they snuggle into him unconsciously.
"Thank you," He murmurs against their lips, allowing his own eyes to slip closed.
>> requested: no
>> a/n: happy late birthday to ruggie!!
>> masterlist: here!!
>> summary: ruggie goes home for his birthday
>> reader prns: n/a
>> warning(s): none
Going home for his birthday, Ruggie could not have anything else in his system but pure joy. Yes, he was going back to the slums of the world, the ‘badlands’. But it was home to him. He grew up on those streets and he would forever love it, no matter how shit it was in reality.
Stepping out of the magic portal that connected to Night Raven College, Ruggie wasn’t met with the usual laughter of playing kids and the smell of cigars. Instead, he smelled the burning sand that went up his nose and felt the tumbleweed that was attacking his leg. Walking farther into his hometown, he was jarred by the silence of it all. As he stopped in front of his grandmother's small shack behind the rundown casino, he couldn’t smell the scraps that she used to cook, nor could he see the smoke that would billow out of the side window from the excess smoke.
Hopping on to the unfenced porch, the floorboards creaked. The door swung open as he knocked.
Shit.
Walking inside, Ruggie was met with silence. A cold, empty shack with none of his grandmother’s quilts or furniture.
His childhood was ripped from him, and he didn’t even know it was happening. Falling onto his knees in the middle of the room, Ruggie started crying. He tugged on his hair, no matter how much it hurt.
