#twst overblot

[meg4me4me]

🥀

[nyankochan]

All 7 Twisted Wonderland overblot cards have finally been revealed. They all looks so gorgeous:

The Lord of Malevolence, The Watchman of the Underworld, A Beautiful Tyrant, Schemer of the Scalding Sands, The Merchant from the Depths, The Usurper from the Wilds, The Rose-Red Tyrant

[idiasplayertwo]

HIYYAYAYAYAYAAA !!! ( ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)♡

I was very much wondering if u could do headcanons of the overblotters where their S/O (THEE magicless prefect) gets a very ugly injury during their overblot? It isn't some minor scratches or bruises, but actual like gashes that require stitches or maybe a broken bone? UEGHHHH I CAN SMELL THE HURT/COMFORT SCENARIOS FROM A MILE AWAYYY

Anyways tysm ily, take ur time and byeee!!!!!!!!!!! (•ᴗ<˶)✧₊ ⊹

AFTERBLOT ✧˖°.

ഒ·˚ ⊹ ࣪ ˖. ; overblot boys reaction to injuring their s/o during their overblot rampage! .. angst to comfort / aftermath , reactions !

.˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ 𝓯 eaturing: overblot boys !

๋࣭⭑ mail ! ; sorry for the long wait, i have been trying to get back into writing <3 thank you for the patience darling!

❤︎⠀unedited writing !!

𝓡iddle 𝓡osehearts ⊹₊⟡⋆

the fight was over, the blot had cleared and in the moment of recovery, that's when he noticed you. laying unconscious on the grass with ace and deuce circling you, grim pawing at your hair waiting for you to move.

you didn't. not even a flinch. you were just ..lying there. barely breathing. a deep, painful gash stretches across your side, staining your uniform crimson.

he whispers your name, trey holding him steady but he yanks his hand out of the third years and tries to reach you; body hurting and tears forming in his eyes. he kept crying your name once he reached you, hands shakey as he cups your face and leans closer, thumbs circling your cheeks.

he...had so much guilt in his heart. his chest was hurting and his tears never stopped. "i..i don't know—i didn't mean to ...please...don't..." his voice kept pausing and he let out shallow breaths, biting his lip while you were taken away into care.

"...i didn't ...mean to hurt them, i didn't ...want to hurt—"

trey his there to comfort him, but riddle won't forgive himself even if you're healed.

no amount of reassurance helps, for weeks afterward...riddle will be super gentle with you. if you have trouble walking he'll hold your arms and walk with you, almost for you. carries your books, insists you rest, cries in his pillows to not disturb you, constantly makes sure your stitches stay secure.

"does it hurt? please...tell me where...let me take care of you, darling, please..."

you end up having to cup his cheeks as he cries into your shoulder, feeling guilty and glad you're, alive...no thanks to him.

𝓛eona 𝓚ingscholar ⊹₊⟡⋆

he knew people were hurt, but he didn't think one of them would be you. he didn't think it would be this bad. him? overblotting? god, he feels so stupid, reckless!

he smells your blood almost immediately, his head snaps around and he finds ruggie and jack hovering around you, jacks hand checking your...pulse?

he's trying so hard not to crumble when he reaches you, but his knees hit the dirt of the spelldrive court. your body is laying still, arm bent in an unholy way and your bleeding from your leg.

he's not the type to cry, or beg or scream. but when he leans down and rests his head against your forehead, he breathes silently and feels his heartbeat with his palm.

he does dead quiet, which is honestly more scarier than yelling. others don't touch you, he didn't let you. leona takes you to the nurse himself, and stays with you until you open your eyes again.

for days, leona doesn't cry or say much, but he's much more clingy and needy for you—pulling you into his chest for hugs, holding you close to his heart when napping and grabbing your arm gently to walk with you to classes.

𝒜zul 𝒜shengrotto ⊹₊⟡⋆

azul remains consciousness with jade staring down at him, face still and eyes unreadable. the housewarden sits up with a terrible headache but then notices you aren't around. he asked jade where you are, if you're hurt.

the eel hesitates for a moment before turning his head behind, azuls gaze following him and almost instantly his eyes widen.

there you lay, still and bleeding, shielding grim still as he stays on your arms with floyd hovering nearby. there was a large gash on your leg, probably from smacking it too hard against a rock and cutting it, there was a puddle of blood by your thigh.

azul. immediately. panics. his voice cracks as he cries your name, he doesn't waste any time trying to save you. he doesn't care about his own injuries, you're the only thing that matters at this very moment.

during the weeks of recovery, azul never lets you do anything on your own. he always preps your favorite tea, makes jade and floyd walk you from ramshackle to nrc. buys you the most expensive medicine so you can recover quickly and now have a slight fear of touching you.

you have had to reassure him multiple times it was okay and during one evening, he finally cuddled you again and cried into your shoulder.

he would never want, or even think about hurting the one he truly loves most.

𝒥amil 𝒱iper ⊹₊⟡⋆

he notices immediately, infact you are the first person he's searching for afterward. fortunately, kalim was the one to lead him to you and with his own eyes, jamil felt his heart hit the floor.

your body was laying on a wall, unconscious and bleeding, azul wrapping a bandage around your fractured shoulder. your body slammed too hard into a pillar and that's what lead you here.

he shoves people to the side to get to you, "move!" he whispers yells as he pushes past others and finally kneels to your level. at this point, azul had moved away and escorted others out to be checked for injuries.

he made sure to let jamil know you will be okay, but that didn't change the fact he still hurt you! your own soulmate. the one who wants to protect you at all costs.

the one who got too out of control.

his hand shakes as he pulls you in for a hug, gentle not to move your bandage and just hold you. he just sits there while you let out soft, almost silent breaths of air.

jamil simply stares at the floor, pupils wide and he repeats. "i almost killed them..." he is so glad you aren't dead, but the guilt never went away.

he offers to change your bandages, carry your books, fix your collar when you need it too and helps you with basic needs. he cooks meals for you over and over, never satisfied until you're healed and he forgives himself.

𝒱il 𝒮choenheit ⊹₊⟡⋆

he can smell the blood before he sees the blood, vils eyes snap towards you just in time to see you collapse in rooks arms and be gently laid on the stage floor. there's multiple scars and scratches on you, but the big on his own your back, actively bleeding out and rook covering it with a price of his fabric from his uniform.

broken stone had struck you during his overblot, falling on-top of you and almost breaking your neck, but thankfully, with some miracle, you stood back to your feet until passing out again. from the lack of blood.

vil calls your name out, barely in a whisper while the rest stare off from afar. epel not knowing what to do, he just stares with widen eyes. the pomefiore housewarden is at your side on an instant, with his vice at his back as well, he takes you in his arms and holds you.

his gloves stained red from your blood, and no matter how many times he'll wash his hands it will never be enough to remove your blood from his hands. rook, gently place his own hand on vils shoulder and comforts to him you will be okay, your alive.

when you're stable, vil refuses to leave your side. he'll be with you until you discharge and is walking freely. you have a sore back, so he'll make sure to give you the best messages and creams. when your stitches are removed, he'll carefully touch the faint scar left behind and drown in a puddle of guilt, his head resting on it while he tears up silently.

hell press a gentle kiss on your scar, "my love, you didn't deserve any of this...and for that i am sorry. let me make it up to you, please?"

ℐdia 𝒮hroud ⊹₊⟡⋆

everything stops, the overblot had passed but he still finds your unconscious body, passed out by the walls of the underground. one arm broken and forehead bleeding.

idia immediately starts to hyperventilate, "no..nonono!" he practically crawls towards you and checks for your pulse, keeping a hand on the back of your head as he stares down at you.

your dirty, bleeding and scared. and it's all his fault. he wouldn't leave your side, even when ortho scans you for any other injuries and what you need for help.

idia wouldn't leave your side from the infirmy, he would ask questions and hell maybe even try to take care of yourself but ortho reminds him the nurses know how to exactly help you.

he can't lose you, he can't have that blame again.

idia gets nervous when he sees you again, afraid he'll hurt you again he tries to send you food, medicine and water from afar, aka ortho. he texts, "love you, get better soon!" and almost starts to cry because it's all his fault.

he'll do anything to prevent it from happening again, he'll finally get the courage to cuddle you again and he's never letting go.

ℳalleus 𝒟raconia ⊹₊⟡⋆

silence. utter silence.

he sees you beneath a heavy chunk of stone, your breathing shallow and leg pinned under it. your bleeding was pooled around your body and malleus almost. lost it.

he thinks you're dead, racing to you with silver and sebek close behind but keeping their distance, lilia slowly hovering closer to the fae prince and his loved one. when you rescued, out of the rubble and on the floor unconscious.

he follows you from the stretcher the entire time until you're brought into the infirmary, the nurses having to keep him away from bursting in through the door when it's been too long.

during your recovery, he visits every morning. sometimes, neither of you speak or you're still asleep. he'll hold your hand, kiss your head and sometimes cry into your blankets.

after you're healed, lilia and the rest of diasomnia notice malleus becomes more protective. always by your side, a hand on your side when walking and speaking for you when confronted about school related questions.

hes just...making it an absolute certainty the actions after his overblot never happens again.

because once was far too many times already.

end notes: mm i got lazy for some of them, mwahmwah love y'all explodes

⠀︵⠀𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘱. 𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘪 𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘩𝘪𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘥! ⠀◌Ⳋ𝅄

[madiozy]

Fic-inspired art!

Fic name “And it got louder” by Riddle_Peakhearts

[rizdoodles]

SAVE THEM, DEUCE!!♠️

[mostro-lounge-menu]

Serving: Dorm Leaders' Reactions to Seeing Scars Caused During Their Overblot (Romantic S/O)

Please be advised that this "dish" contains themes of emotional distress, guilt, physical injury (scarring), and past trauma. It is a heavy meal, but one I hope is prepared to your satisfaction.

👑 Riddle Rosehearts For Riddle, the overblot was a complete shattering of his self-control, the very thing he prided himself on. The scars you bear from his rage would be a perpetual monument to his greatest failure.

You're in his room, perhaps helping him organize some textbooks. You stretch, and your shirt sleeve rides up, revealing a faint, jagged line on your forearm. It's faded, almost silver now, but unmistakably a scar. Riddle, who prides himself on noticing every detail, freezes. His eyes fixate on it, wide with dawning horror. He doesn't need to ask. He knows. A shard of teacup, a stray thorny vine… something from his uncontrolled rampage.

His face drains of color, paler than a rose that's never seen the sun. He reaches out a trembling hand, fingers hovering inches from your skin, as if afraid to touch it and make it real. "That… that's from… from me," he whispers, his voice barely audible, thick with self-loathing. He pulls his hand back abruptly, clutching his own arm tightly. His gaze is filled with a raw, agonizing regret. He won't meet your eyes, ashamed. "I… I did that to you. I swore I would protect you. I hurt you. How… how could you ever forgive me for such a transgression?" Every time he sees it, the internal punishment he inflicts upon himself is harsher than any rule he'd ever impose on others. He’d spend days trying to compensate, making sure you are perfectly pampered, yet always with that shadow of guilt in his eyes.

🦁 Leona Kingscholar Leona, despite his lazy façade, carries immense pride and a deep-seated protectiveness for those he considers "his." To have harmed you, his chosen partner, during his moment of weakness, would be a festering wound to his pride and his very nature as a predator who safeguards his mate.

You're lying together on the Savanaclaw lounge couch, lazily tangled. Your head is on his chest, and his hand is idly tracing patterns on your arm. His fingers brush over a patch of slightly raised skin on your shoulder blade, near your collarbone. It's a burn scar, from the scorching sands or the raw magic of his overblot. He stops moving, his tail, which was softly thumping against the cushion, goes still. His green eyes open slowly, narrowed slightly as he looks at the scar. He doesn't need to ask what it is or how you got it. His memory, sharp despite his feigned indifference, brings back the flashes of uncontrolled power.

A low growl, almost imperceptible, rumbles in his chest. It's not anger, but a deep, primal self-disgust. He gently lifts your head, turning you to face him. His thumb brushes over the scar, a feather-light touch that speaks of careful reverence, not possessiveness. "This…" he begins, his voice rougher than usual, filled with a rare, naked vulnerability. "This is my fault. I put this on you." His gaze locks with yours, a deep, unsettling sadness in their emerald depths. He pulls you closer, burying his face in your hair, holding you tighter than before, as if to physically prevent any further harm from ever reaching you again. The scar serves as a constant, bitter reminder of the moment he failed to be the king, the protector, he should have been for you.

🐙 Azul Ashengrotto Azul prides himself on his meticulous control, his ability to manipulate situations to his advantage. His overblot was the ultimate loss of that control, exposing his deep insecurities. To see a physical mark he inflicted on you, his cherished (and often calculated) partner, would be a testament to how far he truly fell.

You're helping him organize some obscure magical texts in his office. As you reach for a high shelf, the back of your hand brushes against his. He catches sight of a pale, star-shaped scar on your wrist, just above your palm. It's small, but distinct—a remnant from the debris or chaotic magic during his overblot. His movements, usually fluid and precise, halt entirely. His eyes widen, and he stares at it as if it were a grotesque, alien thing. His breathing becomes shallow, almost imperceptible.

He gently takes your hand, turning it over to examine the scar closer. His touch is so light it's almost clinical, yet there's a profound tremor in his fingers. "This…" he whispers, his carefully constructed composure crumbling. His usual suave demeanor vanishes, replaced by a raw, youthful anguish. "This is from that time, isn't it? From… me." His grip on your hand tightens, then loosens, as if torn between wanting to hold you close and fearing he might inflict further damage. He meets your gaze, his blue eyes filled with a terrifying mix of shame, despair, and a self-loathing so potent it feels like he's drowning in it. "I promised you everything. I swore I would only bring you advantages. Instead, I… I branded you with my own wretched failure." The scar serves as an eternal stain on his perceived perfection, a wound he feels deep within his own soul.

🐍 Jamil Viper Jamil's overblot was born from a lifetime of suppression, resentment, and the desperate craving for freedom. To see a scar he inflicted on you would force him to confront the ugly, uncontrolled side of himself he usually keeps so carefully hidden. It would be a stark reminder of the poisonous emotions that festered within him.

You're sitting together, watching the sunset over the desert. You lean back against him, comfortable and at ease. His hand instinctively goes to your neck, a casual, protective gesture. His fingers graze something small, a slightly rough patch of skin right at the base of your skull, partially hidden by your hair. It’s a faint cut, a tiny, almost invisible line from a piece of debris during the overblot. His hand stills. The comfortable warmth emanating from him suddenly cools. He leans closer, gently pushing your hair aside to reveal the mark.

His eyes narrow, not in anger, but in a tense, chilling self-reproach. His jaw clenches so tightly you can see the muscle jump. "This is… from that day," he states, his voice flat, devoid of its usual inflection. It's not a question. He pulls his hand back as if burned. He won't look at you, instead staring fixedly at the horizon, but his expression is etched with a cold, piercing regret. "I lost control. I saw black, and I nearly… I nearly hurt you beyond repair." He forces himself to look at you then, and his dark eyes are filled with a desperate, almost pleading apology. "I despise that part of myself. That I could ever be so… careless with what I value most. That I could mark you like that." He'll pull you back, but his embrace will be hesitant, filled with a deep fear of the monster he knows lurks within.

👠 Vil Schoenheit Vil values beauty, perfection, and careful cultivation above all else. His overblot was a terrifying distortion of his ideals, a moment where he felt grotesque and out of control. To see a physical flaw, a scar, he caused on you, his beloved, would be a profound violation of his own aesthetic and his deepest personal beliefs.

You're in his dressing room, helping him select accessories for a photoshoot. As you reach for a choker, your hand brushes his, and he catches sight of a thin, almost silvery line on your inner wrist. It's a scar, subtle but noticeable, from a deflected magical attack or a piece of jagged mirror from his overblot. His perfectly manicured hand pauses mid-air. His elegant fingers reach out, tracing the scar with a feather-light touch, as if trying to ascertain its texture, its permanence. His brow furrows, a deep frown marring his usually flawless expression.

His eyes, usually filled with fire and ambition, are now clouded with a deep, sorrowful concern. "My dearest," he murmurs, his voice unusually soft, thick with pain. "Is this… is this from me? From that wretched display of ugliness?" He gently takes your wrist, his thumb stroking the scar with a tender reverence. "I… I tainted your perfect skin. I marred you. That grotesque display… it left its mark, didn't it?" He shakes his head slowly, a profound sense of failure weighing him down. "I am meant to make things beautiful, to elevate. Instead, I scarred the one person I cherish most." He'll kiss the scar, a gesture of desperate apology, as if trying to magically erase the evidence of his destructive ugliness.

💻 Idia Shroud Idia's overblot was born from fear, anxiety, and the crushing burden of responsibility. He avoids confrontation and the 3D world altogether. To have physically harmed you, his safe haven and beloved escape, would be his ultimate nightmare come true—proof that even he, in his isolation, can cause irreversible damage.

You're finally coaxing him out of his room for a walk around the campus, a rare victory. As you reach for his hand, his eyes glance down, catching sight of a small, discolored patch on your knuckle, a faint purplish scar. It’s from a piece of stray debris or energy from the monstrous Tartarus. His arm's movements stutter. His hair, usually flickering with blue flames, dims slightly, then crackles with nervous energy. He yanks his hand back as if he's been burned.

"Th-that's… that's from me," he stammers, his voice full of self-recrimination, his posture hunching defensively. He stares at the scar, then at his own trembling hands, as if they are foreign objects of destruction. "I-I warned you… I'm dangerous. Even if I don't mean to be! I… I could have… I could have done more. You could have been worse!" His voice is a panicked whisper, filled with a desperate, self-flagellating guilt. He’ll back away, retreating into himself, convinced that his very presence is a threat to your safety. "I-I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I should never… I should just… disappear." It will take immense effort to pull him back from that spiral, to convince him that your love isn't just for the "safe" parts of him, but for all of him, scars and all.

🐲 Malleus Draconia Malleus's overblot was born from profound loneliness, misunderstanding, and the terrifying weight of his own power. To see a scar he inflicted on you, the one person who willingly approached him and saw beyond his terrifying aura, would be a shattering blow to his heart, a stark reminder of the destructive nature he always fears.

You're sitting with him in the Diasomnia garden, enjoying a quiet afternoon. He's braiding a small flower into your hair, his large, gentle fingers moving with surprising dexterity. His gaze drifts, and he notices a faint, almost delicate white line on your temple, just at the edge of your hairline. It's a thin scar, from a stray shard of magical ice or stone from his uncontrolled power. His hands freeze in your hair. The gentle rhythm of his breath stills. His verdant eyes, usually so observant, are now filled with a deep, ancient sorrow.

He carefully, slowly, reaches out, his thumb lightly stroking the scar, his touch unbelievably soft, reverent. "My Child of Man," he murmurs, his voice a low, heavy rumble, filled with self-reproach. "This… this is from my darkness, isn't it? From the day I became lost to myself." His gaze is filled with a raw, almost childlike grief, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "I swore I would never allow my power to harm you. I swore I would be your protector. Yet, even in my despair, I left this mark upon you." He bows his head, resting it gently against your shoulder, his large frame trembling. "I am so truly sorry. That I could ever wound your precious form, even by accident. It is a constant reminder of the monster I can become." He will hold you closer than ever, a silent, powerful apology, as if his embrace could somehow mend the past.

I trust this substantial Seared Scallop & Eel Stew meets your expectations, patron. It is a deep, flavorful dish, carefully prepared to evoke the desired emotional impact.

The kitchen is always ready for the next order.

— Manager Seru

[bakhromshchitsa]

Offended and angry

[kefiteria]

Could i request what overblot boys react to reader calling them "baby" or "babe" for the first time in the relationship? Like "thank you baby" after they hand you a book or something? I LOVE YOUR WRITING PLEASE

Witnesses Say It Was "Just One Baby/Babe"

Overblot boys x GN!reader

[twst masterlist] / [navigation]

a/n🍨: Hiii~ Halooo~ thank you for loving, reading and requesting my humble writing🩷 this fic is meant to be a quick palate cleanser after my previous lengthy work. I wanted something lighthearted, easy to read, and focused on a simple, silly premise that made me smile while writing it. Hopefully it can be a fun little break for you too🩷💛🩵

Riddle Rosehearts

The afternoon light spills gold across the dorm lounge, dust motes dancing between stacked books and teacups. You thank him so casually—“Thank you, baby.” It slips out like second nature, soft and warm.

His fingers freeze against the spine of the book that he casually passed it to you seconds ago yet now the bluish-gray eyes widening as scarlet slowly crawls up his neck to his ears like spilled ink on porcelain.

“B-Baby?! W-What kind of improper—” He cuts himself off, his voice faltering. Riddle’s grip tightens on the book before he presses it into your hands far too stiffly.

“I-I mean… if you insist on using such… intimate terms… at least warn me first.”

Riddle's lips press into a thin line as he tries to restore some semblance of order, but the unmistakable redness staining the tips of his ears keep betraying him long before he can. No amount of dignity or discipline can conceal just how flustered he truly is.

Leona Kingscholar

The room is lazy with heat, sunlight pooling over his sprawled form like melted amber. He hands you your forgotten handkerchief with his usual half-lidded annoyance. Then you smile—“Thanks, babe.”

The word lands like a pebble into still water. His tail flicks sharply.

“… What’d you call me?” His green eyes crack open wider, studying you like prey he wasn’t expecting to bare its throat.

Slowly, a smirk curls across his lips.

"Heh. Took you long enough." Leona's chin resting against his palm, amusement and satisfaction glinting in his eyes. His posture remains languid, as though none of this truly matters—but the faint twitch of his tail betrays just how much it does.

Azul Ashengrotto

In the velvet-lit office of the lounge, he slides a stack of notes across to you with polished elegance. Your gratitude is easy, sweet—“Thank you, baby.” which instantly made the pen in his hand slips from his fingers and clatters against the desk.

“… Pardon?”

His smile falters—rare, genuine surprise breaking through the carefully crafted mask. His glasses catch the light as he adjusts them unnecessarily, buying himself time. “That is… quite the affectionate term.”

Azul's cheeks tint pink despite himself, and he quickly clears his throat to recover.

“And— I'll have to charge you for that.”

On the outside, his fingers nervously fidget with his gloves. On the inside, he's in the middle of a full-blown spiral.

Jamil Viper

The dorm kitchen smells of cardamom and warm tea; Jamil’s movements are precise as ever. He passes you the star anise you asked for, and without thinking, you murmur, “Thanks, babe.” He nearly drops the spoon in his hand.

“… What?”

His eyes narrow—in disbelief—as he glances at you over his shoulder. There’s the faintest flush dusting his cheeks. “You can’t just say things like that while I’m busy.”

Jamil turns back to the stove too quickly, with his shoulders visibly tense. But there’s a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, betraying how much he liked it.

“You’re troublesome.”

 Vil Schoenheit

Backstage mirrors cast everything in silver and gold as he hands you a script with flawless grace. Your voice glides out—“Thank you, baby.” He pauses, lashes fluttering as if you’d brushed a feather across his skin.

“… Baby?”

He repeats it like tasting an expensive perfume, testing the scent of it. His lips curve, elegant and sharp. “How shameless. I supposed it suits me, doesn’t it?”

Vil steps closer, tilting your chin up with practiced delicacy. Though perfectly composed, the warmth in his eyes softens. He brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, entirely composed with a gaze of satisfaction in his eyes.

“At least your taste in pet names is refined.”

Idia Shroud

The glow of the monitors paints the room in shifting shades of sapphire, turning the darkness into something almost dreamlike. Pixels dance across Idia's face as he wordlessly offers you the controller, shoulders relaxed in the rare comfort of your company.

You take it with a smile. “Thanks, babe.”

“EH?!” He jerks so hard his chair nearly tips over, hair flaring pink with embarrassment. His face goes nuclear red. “Y-You can’t just drop premium-level affection DLC like that without warning!”

Idia covers half his face with his sleeve, peeking at you through his fingers. His shoulders are hunched, practically vibrating. “B-Babe?? Like—an actual romantic dialogue option, babe?!

He is going to replaying that moment on loop forever.

Malleus Draconia

Moonlight spills silver through ancient windows, catching on the dark green of his hair like woven starlight. He offers you a small flower with that quiet, reverent care only he possesses. Your fingers brush his as you say, “Thank you, baby.” His breath catches—subtle, but unmistakable.

“… Baby.”

He repeats it low, almost wonderingly, like an ancient word rediscovered. His lime-green eyes soften, glowing faintly in the dark. “That is what you call me?”

Malleus leans closer, towering with his gaze fixed wholly on you. There’s a rare vulnerability in the slight parting of his lips, the way his hand lingers near yours. “Then I shall treasure it… if it means I am yours.”

"Did you hear what happened to Housewarden Rosehearts?"

"The Baby Incident?"

"The Baby Incident."

"Tragic."

"Many such cases." 💀✨