basically where all my writing and fanfiction is lolo
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EVENTS
Harvey’s events, join now or miss out! It’s literally just writing events, some u can request- most not but :p
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Latest work,, EVENT— 【JUNO】
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—all rights reserved. Any sort of plagiarizing, copying, modifying, translating, editing, screenshoting of my works are strictly prohibited.
You shiver as you hold the hot pink raincoat you’ve managed to save up from all the jobs since coming here in August. NRC is surprisingly boring, even with being the only girl at the school. Who wouldn’t wanna stare at you? You’re hot, and you just gotta own it. But it’s honestly whatever. You press a hot-pink heeled rain boot in a nearby puddle, the water rippling from the movement of your shoe. You don’t know why you’re out here, but when you saw the first raindrop fall from in sky while laying in ramshackle. There was just something telling you to go outside, and for some reason you walked all the way to the school’s courtyard. It was the first breath of winter although, it wasn’t cold enough for snow to fall across the campus but just enough for your exhaling to turn into slight fog.
You reflect on all these months, how hectic they’ve all been. From each overblot leading up to this moment, then your thoughts trace back to a certain trio of mers. Looking out at the courtyard as the rain drips down onto the grass, you lean on the courtyards fence. Sighing as a unknown voice strips you from your edgy daze. ❝Miki? What are you doing out here? Especially at this time of day and weather?❞ the voice, belonging to no other than one of the core members of your thoughts. You turn your face to the side, head held up by your palm connected to the arm sitting on the rail as you look the grey-haired boy who stands just a few feet behind you. He looks subtly at you with intrigue; As he stands, in his school uniform— the rain continues to fall in the background as your mind settles on the boy in front of you. Pink stares back at grey as the staring contest only gets more awkward while the boy continues to fixate straight at you. He tries his best to get anything out of your facial expressions, a slight frown, quiver of the lips, dent in the brow, red in the cheeks, anything at all. But your face just stayed motionless, before a small quirked up smile formed on your face as your head finally registered the guy fully.
❝AZUL! Hi! I thought school ended three hours ago?❞ you smile and wave at him. ❛Disregarding my question, just what is she doing out here?..❜ he thinks everything of your actions but what he doesn’t know is that you just felt like going for an outing. You get off from leaning on the rail, brushing off your rubber coat as you walk nearer to Azul who continues to stand still, now also noticing a book with an ocean picture on the front. Azul continues to study your face and respond, leading his head to where your eyes were focused in at— suddenly remembering the paper book wedged between his fingers, he coughed and turned the cover to face away from the two of you. ❝It’s a traditional coral sea children’s book— ranges from ages 5 to 17— ahem, Ja-Jade asked me to find the book, this specific version.❞ pink dusted his cheeks while he murmured, his voice full of abasement. ❝NRC had the copy in its libraries. It’s why I’m out here this late; I had been tutoring some students too..Now, back to my question.❞ rain continued to fall, the pitter patter of rain hitting the roof and floor was washed again from Azul’s voice. ❝What are you doing out here, Aiuich?❞
He crosses his arms as you smile softly, grabbing a strand of your hair as you twirl the golden strand between your fingers. You sigh as you lean back over the rail, shrugging your shoulders. You then disregard your past movements and stand up straight and walk over to the mer-man. The corners of his glasses fog up like windows in winter night. Your faces so close together, the smell of your chapstick clouded Azul’s thoughts. He could only focus on your eyes, so well lit up, strong and beautiful passions of pink. It reminds him of those crab pastries in this mother’s restaurant. ❝I just wanted to be out here❞ you say, the two of you look into each other’s eyes. A small, innocent moment for the both of you. It’s suffocating silence that disparates you and him. A distance that cannot be closed is formed around you and him. It intertwines between your fingers, it wraps around your bodies, it loops over your shoulders, it coils around your ankles.
You can’t tell if it’s love that brings you both together, you’re sure you could never be one. After all, you’re bound to return to your world— and he’s to remain here. You smiley softly before pressing a kiss to his cheek, glossy chapstick residue stays on his skin. You bow out of random and turn away, he raises a hand— a heavy heart in his chest. He digs his teeth into his tongue, feeling blood drip— the same motions as he’s done for years and years. Refusing to speak, to bite his tongue and watch as you go. Rain spills down the roof, it’s subsided but it still falls.
You fidget with the rings on your right hand, twisting and fiddling with the silver as the boy besides you scribbles down his notes and information from the mushroom encyclopedia you had recently found in a pile of books on the floor. His hair floats down like streams of rivers leading into an ocean, the singlar black strand on the right of his face is bent over and lost in the chopped and clean strands of hair. ❛He’s always been so— stiff. Even as he writes, his whole body is as stiff as a board.❜ you put an arm on the table and hold your chin as you rest and look over at Jade’s hand movements. In just ten minutes, Jade as drawn an oddly incredible and realistic mushroom straight from the book— his shading skills are immaculate it’s just, the mushroom’s line-art is very wonky and out of place. ❝I’m not, very good at drawing…Floyd has always been the more artistic one in the fine arts…❞ he smiles embarrassingly at your face, peering up from his concentration on the art beheld at him.❝Uhm, oh! No it’s good!❞ you reassure him, although you probably know he doesn’t need it as he goes right back to doodling down smaller and different mushroom species on the sides of his notebooks with a soft smile on his face that jolts at your heart. Peering at the textbook, the species (well what you are assuming is) is big and bold in golden-brown letters that say “ʜᴇʙᴇʟᴏᴍᴀ sʏʀɪᴊᴇɴsᴇ" with a small subtext of a brief description about the fungi.
The soft smile on his face doesn’t make you feel any better as you realize all his notes on the mushroom are just so particular about them on decaying bodies and how well/fast they consume the flesh and dna. Thinking about how he must be trying to hide a body, then again you haven’t made up your mind if the Leech family is a mafia or not….❝Are you worried?❞ his voice breaks whatever thoughts upcoming, twisting your neck to look at the teal haired boy. He’s settled down his pencil next to all of his other ones in order from shortest to longest. ❛Maybe he just has ODC?..❜
❝I’m just very particular about my fungi. But you know I’m very glad you came with me to research about them. I still haven’t found anyone to officially join The Mountain Lover’s so it means a lot me, Miki❞ he turns around, his words seem genuine with gratitude. He reaches a gloved hand over, tucking a strand of hair behind your hair with a soft smile and returns back to his work; flipping a page of his notebook and his textbook.
The mer just turns and laughs at you before running as fast as he can across the roof, your heels don’t help you make it far as one of the pumps gets lodged in a gap between a roof tile, you twist your ankle in hopes of it being dislodged but you only end up twisting your whole leg and it getting caught so that your leg is twisted and bend at a very uncomfortable angle. You think about calling out at Floyd but he’d probably just leave you here. You bend over and slip off your heel, twisting the shoe enough so the pump is released from the gap of tile. A pair of the most ugliest shoes anyone could possibly wear come into view, a hand bends down and grabs you by the back of your shirt. ❝H-HEY! YOU’RE GONNA STRETCH OUT MY SHIRT!—AHHHHHH!!❞ as soon as you start to nag about your shirt, Floyd jumps with you by his hands over a few buildings with large steps. Fear and disquiet flowed through you as you held on tightly to the heel in your hand, sweat forming in your palms but your grip only increased as you held on for dear life.
Dashes of autumn trees, whites of the snow on the floor, blue of the sky across your sight as the boy runs with you in his arms. Stopping while Floyd throws you on a higher roof with a flat bottom, gripping your nails and knuckles on whatever seemed sturdy enough to hold you down to the roof. The two of you on a hightower near the field, numerous people were seen doing squats, running, broom exercises, whatever the athletic course this ungodly school offered. ❝Watch it, star-fish! You might fall down on that Heartslabyul group!❞ you look down at the structure in your hands, one slip of your fingers could sending you tumbling down where you see Ace and Deuce doing sets of jumping jacks. You throw yourself back and hold onto the roof’s floor instead. Floyd just smiles at you crudely while plopping himself down criss-cross. You glare at the teal haired boy, wondering just why you had decided to come along. Floyd lays down, his head now in your lap with a draft smile. You take a strand of hair and play with it while staring up at the sky, for such a time at winter- its so bright. The clouds are much more fluffier than the ones back in your world, you grab enough strand and twist the two hairs and eventually start a small braid with Floyd’s hair. He doesn’t seem to mind.
The bitter feeling of returning home comes swinging back like it did with Azul. You’ve been feeling homesick so much more often as you noticed how well you’ve gotten attached to everyone here. You wish it was so much more simpler than just packing up and leaving, magic is so wonderful and— looking down at the closed eyed merman below you, your cheeks grow dashes of red while you think about the other two. You can’t keep acting like you resent the three, but you just can’t make up your mind on what to do.
The braid is finished, it’s minuscule and uneven (you did only use two strands of choppy hair..) but you’re proud of it. You look over back at Floyd’s now sleeping face. Whatever you have to do, you’ll do it with them in mind.
╰┈➤ ❝ THAT'S VERY KIND OF YOU.. I'M HAPPY YOU'RE HERE WITH ME.❞
════﹙⟡﹚════
OCTOBER 25, ROUND ONE
First birthday special!! I was gonna do Jack but got lazy:( BUT I DID IT THIS TIMEEE HAPPY BIRTHDAY TREY!!!! This isn’t relevant to the story rn, can be read with it or not- ur choice! ps. I've never made candied flowers so sorry, don't trust a word I say. p.ps this is just a small drabble, barley 1k words, sorryyysq2
The counters are spilled with flour and half-melted butter and the oven casts a soft, warm, orange, glow onto you as you wait for the tart to finish cooking. You place your hands upon the oven glass while crouching on your knees to watch the pastry rise by exactly two minutes. ❝How much longer is this thing gonna take???❞ You groan and hang your head back, standing up and dusting the imaginary sand and dust off your knees to check up on the tray of ready-to-bake candied violets. You’ve boiled the sugar and spread it all around the flowers, coating them in regular and powdered sugar then finally letting them dry on the stove rack. Putting on oven mittens while opening the roaster, placing the tray of sugar-coated flowers into the heated box, and replacing it with the tart. You slowly place the pan onto the stove to let it cool, with that time you run over to a flour-free counter and check at the basket on top. It’s a large straw basket with a white and red checkered blanket with small black clover designs scattered evenly around it. The blanket is slightly moved to the side so you can add food and items inside, you already have yummy tuna and chicken sandwiches packed inside with a bottle of glittery rose sparkling juice. The smile on your face makes your jaw tremble but you just can't wait!! You check the time, ❛Two minutes❜ you take the mittens and pull out the pan of freshly made candied flowers.
You quickly cool them down with a paper towel and place them into a small, light green, tupperware container, and add more sugar before placing it into the basket. You shove two rounded glass cups, two white glass plates, cooked steak in another (fav color) containing foil covering it, two bundles of fancy silverware, and a small insulated metal tray containing ice with a cover, and finally covering the basket with the blanket. You run upstairs, slamming open your bedroom door and opening your closet. You grab the hung outfit, brown leather jacket, white shirt, and black boyfriend jeans (an: or whatever you wanna wear this is just a placeholder)- throwing it on and doing whatever you need to do to feel ready before running back downstairs, on the fifth step as your leg gets tangled with your other leg and you end up crashing down the steps. Thanking for whatever being there is that Grim and everyone else is busy with Trey's main party- taking the dessert off the stove rack and putting it down the best you can into a small wooden cake box (not before spraying that bitch with powdered sugar and chocolate drizzle) and placing it on your hip as you take the basket in your hand before reaching down and making sure you have your phone. You kick open the Ramshackle door, ripping the hinges even more and walk to the school's park. It's not well known, it's near the edge of the cliff and you're pretty sure it used to be a popular spot but after some years it's likely forgotten about. You've spent the last month cleaning and moving stuff around for this day.
Once you reach the park, you spot around, and find the best spot. A weeping willow sits near a nearby crystal lake, and the floor is shortcut clover grass (yes you grew the clover grass, you thought it be cute). Quickly setting up the picnic, blanket down on the floor, food set but not uncovered, silverware placed heartslabyul-style, juice bottle placed in front of everything. You dust off your hands in accomplishment, pulling out your phone from your pocket soon enough as a dings signals you.
Smiling as you pocket your phone and ready yourself to run across campus to the mirror chamber, begging your body to not sweat as you get into dashing place(months being in this world, you’ve grown to get faster than ever before- quite handy). It’s about a ten minute run, you’re breathing heavily as you walk into the mirror chamber. ❝Why the FUCK is the mirror chamber so far away, I’m so glad I don’t do this everyday.❞ you finally catch your breath, wiping away whatever sweat your forehead formed and walk into Heartslabyul were you see the green haired guy standing cluelessly in the rose bush field.
❝TREY!!❞ you yell out while walking near the field, he turns around just to catch yourself falling straight onto your face. Just before he can express his worries, you stand straight but and smile at him. ❝Happy birthday Trey!❞ He sighs and walks near you, dusting whatever grass clung to your pants and smiles softly back at you, ❝Thanks YUU, are you alright though? That was a hard fall—❞
You giggle softly and smile at him, ❝Yeah, I’m fine.❞
you guys made luigi mangione trend for days and I need to see the same energy for brianna boston. she is a 43 year old mother of three who ended a phone call with blue cross blue shield (after being denied a claim) “delay deny depose, you people are next” and is now being held under a 100,000$ bond and could face FIFTEEN years of prison if charged. she has no weapons, her record is clean, and yet she is being held behind bars. they are afraid of the public and are trying to subdue. do not let them!!!! be outraged that our freedom of speech is being threatened!!!!! deny defend depose! free brianna boston!
Xreader-fandom wishes to share a folder with you. (!)
(x) = unstarted ((sorry))
SHARED FOLDERS
、、﹕ EVENT— 【JUNO】 (x)
❝ So,, guess what?…I’m pregnant..❞
an EVENT of the movie JUNO, just twst but if you got pregnant with one of your beloved chosen characters.
Accept file?（⟡）
、、﹕ EVENT— 【ONE LAST TEXT .ᐟ 】 (x)
chat fic + writing
a EVENT where you’re a scarabia freshman and Crowley has developed a PROGRAM (that everyone is forced into) to increase friend making and happiness/kindness at NRC by having everyone sign up for a app that sorts you around people.
Neige is convinced that you're either allergic to him specifically or he's done something to offend you with the way you're avoiding him. You're just trying not to get blinded by his smile.
Neige LeBlanche is baffled. Every time he sees you, your face contorts like you just bit into a lemon dipped in hot sauce while sitting on a cactus. It's a new look, and honestly, it worries him. You used to at least smile at him, maybe even nod, like normal people do. But now? Now, you treat him like he’s carrying some weird medieval plague.
He thinks back to every interaction. Did he step on your foot? Spill something on you? No, nothing comes to mind. One day you were acquaintances—maybe even teetering on the edge of friendship—and the next, you were bolting out of rooms faster than a cat hearing a vacuum.
Which brings him to his current situation: sitting in the house he shares with his friends. They’re all squished together on the couch, and Neige is surrounded by blank stares. These guys are his sounding board, but right now, they’re as useful as a broken umbrella in a hurricane.
“Did you sneeze on them?” Grum suggests, not even looking up from his game console.
“No, no, that wouldn’t be it,” Dominic pipes up, adjusting his glasses. “Maybe you accidentally sent them a weird text? Like one of those autocorrect disasters?”
Neige shakes his head, thoroughly confused. “I haven’t texted them anything strange…”
Hop, sitting cross-legged on the floor, nods sagely. “Maybe they saw you at a buffet once and you took the last of the mashed potatoes. People hold grudges over that kind of stuff.”
Timmy just blushes and mumbles something unintelligible while Snick chimes in with, “Could it be allergies? Maybe they’re allergic to you?”
At this point, Neige is spiraling. Allergies? Mashed potatoes? Is there a secret mashed potato incident he forgot about?
Toby simply taps Neige’s shoulder, holding up a drawing of two people holding hands with a big smiley face. Neige squints at it and tries to translate Toby's silent wisdom. “So… I should hold their hand? Is that what you’re saying?”
The group falls silent for a moment, pondering this profound suggestion. Then Shelpie yawns and says, “Maybe you’re just overthinking it. People are weird.”
Neige sighs, still no closer to figuring out why you’ve suddenly started acting like he’s carrying the plague.
Neige comes back to the club room after a long day of shooting and classes, ready to grab his bag and head home. As he's packing up, something catches his eye—a boxed lunch sitting right there on his desk. He blinks at it, confused. Is this...lost and found material? Was someone in too much of a hurry and just ditched it here?
But then he sees the note. "I’m cheering for you, Neige!" followed by a heart and a little smiley face. The handwriting is unmistakable—it’s yours. He stares at it, even more confused now, and kinda flattered too.
He scratches his head, wondering if he's entered some bizarre alternate universe where the person who avoids him like he's contagious is also sending him homemade lunches. "What did I do to deserve this?" he mumbles to himself, half expecting a hidden camera crew to pop out and yell “Surprise!”
Another day, Neige is stranded on campus, waiting for the rain to stop. His umbrella? Oh yeah, he gave that to a girl with a cold earlier because he's just that nice. Now he’s soaking and shivering under a tree, watching the downpour like it personally offended him.
Suddenly, he hears footsteps and sees you walking by, your jacket pulled tightly around you. It's the perfect chance to finally talk to you, to maybe say thanks for the mystery lunch. He smiles at you, hoping this might be the icebreaker he’s been waiting for.
Your reaction? You freeze like you’ve just seen a ghost, eyes wide and panicked, and before he can even get a "Hey, how are you?" out, you launch your umbrella at him like it's a grenade. "Wha—?" he barely gets the word out before you're gone, running away with your jacket awkwardly balanced over your head like a makeshift hood.
Neige stands there, soaked and confused, holding your umbrella and thinking, "We could have shared that, you know…"
The next day, he spots you again, this time crouched in the courtyard, petting a cat. You're cooing at it, making all those weird sounds people make when they think no one's watching, and the cat?
It's loving it, basking in the attention like it's at a spa. Neige sees an opportunity to approach—no rain this time, no excuses. He kneels beside you, reaching out to pet the cat too. "Cute, isn’t it?" he says, smiling softly.
You, on the other hand, barely look at him. "Yes, cat," you mumble like it's some kind of mantra, eyes darting nervously. Then you do a quick check of your phone and blurt out, “Oh no, I’m late for our class!” before bolting upright and sprinting off like a marathon runner.
Neige watches you go, utterly perplexed. "That class is in five hours," he says to the cat, who just looks up at him with a smug purr, like it's in on some cosmic joke that Neige will never understand.
Neige is lost. He's been called naive before, but this? This is a whole new level of confusion. And maybe—just maybe—a little heartbreak. You used to treat him like an actual person, not just a walking photoshoot waiting to happen.
Now? You're acting like he’s got some sort of rare, contagious celebrity plague, the kind of thing you’d catch from standing too close to a red carpet. Every time you see him, your face scrunches up like you just bit into an entire lemon, rind and all.
He’s walking through campus when he spots you with Vil. Now, Neige likes Vil. He admires him, even. Dreams of the day they’ll sit together, drink tea, and discuss which highlighter makes you look “ethereal but approachable.”
But right now, all he sees is you laughing and waving your hands like you’re auditioning for a role in a one-person circus, and Vil? He’s smiling at you like you’ve just told the funniest joke on the planet. And Neige feels something... alien.
It’s not heartburn from that extra-large mocha frappuccino he had earlier—no, this is worse. His stomach twists, his heart sinks, and it’s official: Neige, the cinnamon roll of the universe, is jealous.
Back home, he gathers his trusty team of consultants: Timmy, Toby, and the rest of the gang, who are sitting around the table, looking like they’re about to solve world hunger or invent a new kind of pizza. Neige dumps the whole story on them, his head in his hands.
“And then,” Neige groans, “they just ran away, like I had some kind of... I don’t know... ‘Famous-People-itis!’”
Timmy leans back, strokes his chin with all the fake wisdom of someone who has never solved a problem in his life, and says, “Neige, it’s obvious.”
Neige perks up. “It is?”
“Oh yeah.” Timmy nods solemnly, like he’s about to deliver a TED Talk. “They’re sick.”
Neige stares at him. “Sick?”
Hop jumps in, wide-eyed like he’s just cracked the code to the universe. “Yeah! It’s so clear! They’ve got a classic case of... uh... ‘Stage-Fright-itis.’ Happens all the time when regular folks meet people like you.”
Neige blinks. “That’s... not a thing.”
Hop waves him off, undeterred. “Totally a thing. Maybe they’re allergic to fame. It’s like how some people get hives around cats. You’re like a walking award show, man. Just your presence makes people break out in nervous sweats.”
Dominic nods sagely. “Or worse. They could’ve caught ‘Starstruck Syndrome.’”
Timmy gasps, clearly thrilled by this new theory. “Yes! Classic symptoms: sudden avoidance, inability to make eye contact, randomly throwing umbrellas at you instead of saying hello—textbook case.”
Neige stares between them, confused but desperate. “So... you think they’re avoiding me because they’re sick? Like, fame-sick?”
Snick shrugs. “I mean, what else could it be? You’re Neige LeBlanche, man! Maybe they’re just overwhelmed by your... Neigeness.”
Neige feels like he’s fallen into some kind of alternate reality where this actually makes sense. He nods slowly, trying to absorb it. “Okay, so... they’re not mad at me? They’re just... allergic to me?”
Timmy grins. “Exactly! Just give it time. Maybe bring them a cup of tea. Or like... a calming crystal. And if it gets worse, well, maybe invest in a hazmat suit. Just in case.”
You don’t know how this happened. One minute you’re chatting with Neige, all sunshine and sparkles, and the next, you wake up in a cold sweat, realizing you are absolutely, horrendously down bad for him. It’s not even subtle. It’s like a piano fell from the sky and crushed your chest with feelings.
But you? You’re... well, you. Neige is a celebrity, practically a walking ray of sunshine wrapped in a Disney Princess aura. Birds sing when he passes by, small woodland creatures would probably braid his hair if they had thumbs. And you? You’re the person who trips over their own shoes and talks to houseplants like they can solve your problems.
So, naturally, you do what any responsible person would do when faced with a crush that could upend their entire existence: you avoid him. Completely.
You’ll still be polite, of course—leave him the occasional lunch with a cute note, chuck an umbrella at him when it’s raining—but actual conversation? Nah.
That’s just asking for trouble. You’re already too attached, and the last thing you need is for this crush to grow into a full-blown romantic disaster.
One day, you’re chatting with Vil—well, "chatting" is a strong word. You’re pacing back and forth like a caffeinated squirrel, ranting about Neige and gesturing so wildly that Vil could probably make a whole meme compilation of just your hand movements.
“And he’s just so... pretty! It’s not fair! How can someone be that perfect? I swear, he’s like—like—” You flail dramatically, trying to find words for the cosmic injustice that is Neige LeBlanche.
Vil, who has been quietly sipping his tea, raises an eyebrow and watches the spectacle. At first, he’s mildly entertained. But the more you rant, the more he realizes something: you’re down bad.
You, who have somehow mastered the art of functional chaos, are completely, hopelessly in love with Neige. And Neige, poor, oblivious Neige, probably thinks you’ve contracted some rare, Neige-specific allergy.
Vil starts to laugh. Not just a chuckle, but a full-on, head-back, hand-over-mouth, this-is-the-best-day-ever laugh. He finds it hilarious that you, despite being tangled in your own feelings, have the emotional awareness of a potato. And Neige? Well, he’s just confused, which is even better.
“You’re fools,” Vil says, wiping a tear from his eye. “Both of you. Foolishly in love.”
You don’t even register his comment. You’re too busy waving your hands around, grumbling, “It’s just... it’s not fair! Why does he have to be that pretty? I mean, does he wake up with that face?”
Vil sips his tea, smirking. This is prime entertainment. And that’s when he notices Neige across the way, glancing over at you two with wide, unsure eyes. Ah, poor, innocent Neige.
With a bit of mischievous spite—and maybe a touch of pity—Vil lets out a soft sigh and shifts his expression. He stares at you with the most lovesick gaze he can muster, his eyes practically glowing with “adoration.” It’s a look straight out of a romance drama, and he knows it’s Oscar-worthy.
Neige sees it. And Vil sees him see it. The realization hits Neige like a freight train. His eyes widen, his mouth opens in a soft, shocked “O,” and Vil? Oh, Vil is living for this. The confusion, the dawning horror, the jealousy—all of it.
Neige, who probably hasn’t had a jealous bone in his body until this moment, now looks like he’s contemplating the meaning of life, death, and why Vil is looking at you like that.
Meanwhile, you’re still pacing, completely oblivious to the emotional chaos you’ve just triggered. “And another thing—how does he smell that nice all the time? It’s not normal, Vil. It’s witchcraft. I bet he’s got a secret team of scent specialists just following him around.”
Vil stifles another laugh. “Yes, yes. Quite the mystery.”
Neige, on the other hand, is staring at the two of you like you’ve just declared war. He doesn’t understand it yet, but for the first time in his life, he feels something dark and uncomfortable curl in his chest.
Vil catches his eye again and gives him the tiniest smirk. Neige stiffens.
You, still on your rant, throw your hands in the air. “I just... I don’t get it. It’s like... he’s too perfect. I can’t deal with it.” And Vil can't even muster the energy to get offended. He thinks this is prime entertainment.
Vil pats your shoulder, thoroughly amused. “Perhaps you should... have a word with him.”
You stop, finally noticing Vil’s smug grin. “What? Why?”
Vil just smirks and takes another sip of tea. “Oh, nothing. Just a hunch.”
You’ve finally decided that enough is enough. You’re going to talk to Neige. You’re not even sure what you’re going to say—probably something awkward about feelings and how he’s so perfect it makes your head spin—but the important thing is that you’ve made up your mind.
It’s time to stop running away like a scared cat and face him like a grown adult. Or, at the very least, someone who’s pretending to be a grown adult.
So, you walk to his house, your heart hammering in your chest, rehearsing about a dozen different ways to break the news. "Hey, Neige, I think I might be a little bit in love with you..." or maybe, "So, uh, funny story, I can’t look at you because you’re too attractive and it’s ruining my life."
But just as you raise your hand to knock, the door flies open, and there’s Neige, looking frazzled and... holding a hazmat suit.
“Here!” He thrusts it at you like it’s a life-saving device. You blink at the suit, then at him.
“Uh... why?”
“Because you’re allergic to me!” Neige says, as if this is the most obvious thing in the world.
You stare. He stares back, eyes wide and earnest, and you can’t decide whether you want to laugh or cry.
“Neige, that’s not... that’s not a thing that happens to people.”
“But you’ve been avoiding me!” he blurts, clutching the hazmat suit like it’s his last defense. “Every time I see you, you run away, or—” he frowns slightly, “—you throw things at me, like umbrellas! I just thought... maybe you were... allergic?”
You feel a pang of guilt seeing the hurt in his eyes. Here’s Neige, genuinely thinking he’s the problem, when really the only issue is that he’s so perfect it makes your brain short-circuit.
You take a deep breath. It’s now or never. “Neige, I’m not allergic to you. I just...” You swallow, trying to find the right words. “I’ve been avoiding you because... I like you. A lot. Like, in a romantic way.”
For a moment, the world stops. Neige blinks, his face blank as his brain processes your words. Then his heart stutters, and before you know it, he’s dropping to one knee.
You panic. “Wait—what are you doing?!”
Is he skipping directly to a proposal? Is he about to reject you so hard he’s physically collapsing? You stare, horrified, wondering how things escalated this quickly.
But then Neige laughs, a bright, happy sound that immediately sets your heart racing in a different way. “No, no, I’m not proposing! I mean—unless you want me to—but, um, I was just going to ask if you’d be my partner.”
You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, and then before you can stop yourself, you grab him by the collar and kiss him. His lips taste like cotton candy and a dream come true, and for a moment, everything feels like a fairytale.
When you finally pull away, Neige’s smile is so blinding it’s a wonder the sun hasn’t given up trying. “I think I was... jealous?” he says, almost like he’s surprised by the revelation. “That’s never happened to me before. When I saw you with Vil... I didn’t like it.”
You laugh, the sound bubbling up uncontrollably. “Vil? Don’t worry about him. He’s my friend. He was just messing with you for fun.”
Before Neige can respond, there’s a loud achoo from behind a nearby bush. You both turn to see his friends slowly emerge, looking sheepish. Snick is rubbing his nose, and Grum is pretending he wasn’t just crouched in the bushes like a nosy little spy.
“Well, this is awkward,” you mutter, feeling your face heat up.
But they aren’t even phased. They burst out cheering, clapping and whistling like they’ve just witnessed the grand finale of a romantic drama. You can’t help but laugh as they chant congratulations, even though you want to crawl into a hole and die from embarrassment.
Neige turns to you, smiling that bright, pure smile of his. “Maybe this is a fairytale ending after all.”
And for once, you think maybe—just maybe—you’ve finally found your happily ever after.
Im chanhinh major plot in twisted wonderland bc its not fair that Malleus is op, I refuse ti believe it so Leona and Malleus are on the same level of magic and fighting bc I said so
Suddenly, an idea got to me when I read one comic. So, basically, Yuu sits on bench, looking down and all depressed, then Ace and Deuce see them like this and ask what's wrong, Yuu tells them to sit down, so they can tell them, they sit down, then Yuu says to them: "Guys... A bench is freshly painted..." Idk I just felt like it suits them very well. Cue as they proceed to go through 5 states of grief
First Year Trio vs Freshly Painted Bench
sorry for the wait, I hope you like it <3
Ace and Deuce were minding their own business, strolling through the campus courtyard, when they spotted you sitting on a bench. But it wasn’t just the usual “hey, there’s our friend chilling on a bench” type of sitting. No, you were hunched over, elbows on your knees, staring at the ground like life had personally punched you in the gut and stolen your lunch money.
“Hey, are you okay?” Deuce asked, his brow furrowing in concern. He wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but he could recognize a sad face when he saw one.
Ace snorted, nudging Deuce. “Pfft, maybe they just lost at UNO again. Come on, it’s not the end of the world.”
You lifted your gaze ever so slightly, giving them both the most soul-crushing, mournful look. A look that said you’d just seen the darkest depths of human existence. It was the kind of expression usually reserved for people in tragic Shakespearean plays, not normal students in the middle of the afternoon.
“What happened?” Deuce asked, his voice soft, like he was bracing himself for some life-altering news. “Did something really bad happen?”
You motioned for them to come closer. “Sit down,” you said quietly, like someone on the verge of revealing the meaning of life itself.
Deuce’s concern deepened. Without hesitation, he plopped himself down on the bench beside you. Ace, less certain but intrigued by the sheer drama of it all, sat on your other side. The three of you formed a solemn row on the bench, like mourners at the world’s saddest funeral.
There was a long, weighted pause. Both Ace and Deuce waited, eyes wide, as if you were about to drop the most earth-shattering truth bomb of all time.
Finally, Ace broke the silence, his curiosity getting the better of him. “So, uh… what’s wrong?”
You sighed. It was a deep, theatrical sigh, one that seemed to carry the weight of a thousand years of suffering. Slowly, you turned your head toward them and said, in a voice so grave it could’ve been narrating a tragic documentary:
“The bench… is freshly painted.”
There was a beat. A moment of absolute, deafening silence.
Then:
“WHAT?!” Ace yelped, his face immediately scrunching up in horror. He bolted upright like he’d just sat on a beehive, but it was too late. He glanced down, eyes wide, at the back of his pants, and sure enough—a vibrant, shiny streak of wet paint was smeared across his clothes.
Deuce’s reaction was slower, but only because he was in denial. “No, no, no, wait, it can’t be—” He reached a hand back to touch his pants, and the moment his fingers brushed the sticky surface, his face fell into the deepest despair. “Oh no… nooooooo!”
You stayed seated, as calm as a monk who had achieved inner peace. “Yep,” you said softly. “Just freshly painted.”
Ace, now pacing in front of the bench like a man possessed, threw his hands up in disbelief. “WHY DID YOU TELL US TO SIT DOWN?!” His voice cracked somewhere between fury and absolute confusion.
You shrugged, not even looking at him, your voice still deadpan. “I needed you to understand my pain.”
Deuce, still frozen on the bench like a statue, glanced back at his pants, horrified by the neon streak decorating his backside. “But… but why didn’t you just tell us?” His voice was faint, like he’d just witnessed a crime against humanity.
You finally stood up, stretching a little as if your emotional weight had lifted now that you’d successfully shared your burden. “Because misery loves company,” you said, a tiny smirk playing on your lips. “And now… you get it.”
Ace stared at you, hands in his hair, mouth hanging open. “That’s… that’s messed up, man!”
Deuce, however, was too far gone. He wasn’t even mad anymore. His face was a portrait of pure, unfiltered sadness. “I’m gonna have to wash these, aren’t I? Like, scrub them for hours…”
You nodded solemnly, patting him on the back—though you made sure to avoid touching his pants. “Welcome to the club. It’s going to take at least three washes, minimum.”
Deuce whimpered.
Ace, however, wasn’t done venting. “You couldn’t have just given us a heads-up?! ‘Hey guys, don’t sit here, the bench is painted,’ or something?” He waved his arms wildly as if demonstrating the hypothetical conversation.
You just shrugged. “You looked like you needed to sit.”
“And now I’ll never sit again,” Ace groaned, dramatically flopping back down on the other side of the bench in defeat—only to shoot back up in horror, realizing there was even more paint he hadn’t noticed.
You couldn’t help it. You chuckled.
Ace pointed a finger at you accusingly. “You—this was a trap! A setup! You’re a paint terrorist!”
Deuce, still sitting in quiet despair, muttered, “This is worse than losing at UNO…”
The three of you stood there for a moment in shared misery. Well, you stood. Ace and Deuce just fidgeted around awkwardly, trying to figure out how to move without getting more paint on themselves.
Finally, Deuce sighed. “I guess we’re going to the laundry room, huh?”
Ace groaned, giving you one last betrayed look before shuffling off with Deuce. “This isn’t over. You owe us.”
“Yeah,” Deuce added, still staring forlornly at his pants. “You owe us big time…”
You waved after them, feeling surprisingly lighthearted now that your suffering was mutual. “I’ll buy you guys lunch later!” you called, though you weren’t sure if they even heard you over their grumbling.
As they disappeared into the distance, you sat back down on the cursed bench, content with the knowledge that, while your pants were ruined… at least you weren’t alone.
c.w: pregnancy, teen pregnancy, pregnancy things idk, trans masc reader troubles, abortion stuff, adoption stuff, miscommunication, NO NSFW, (pretend for older chars ur a second year)
JUNO !! — TWST EVENT
The beginning of autumn was starting, the leaves turning brown and red— in contrast with how your face turned from blue to white. The unholy, dammed, stupid, pink, cross formed again on your test. You slouch down on your bathroom counter, and five empty jugs of Twisted Sun and two tests with similar readings lay across from you. ❝Fuck.❞ you place your hands on your head, groaning as dread eats you up from the inside. ❝How the fuck am I gonna have a baby while being in another world??❞ you bite your thumb thinking about how this happened. Two months into the year, you’ve made some really great friends. You can’t lie and say you don’t have a fat crush on one of them, and sometimes when you like a guy while you’re curious and needy in another world it may lead to sleeping with them in a daze. You groan and open your phone and lo and behold is the father of the (classified) parasite of doom's contact ready to be called, you already imagine what his reaction would be...
EVENT NOT STARTED YET!!
Paths under cut
Ξ ┇ ৻ ⟡ 1ST YEARS:
ACE TRAPPOLA
❝ Fuck.❞
DEUCE SPADE
❝Are you sure?? Sorry—❞
EPEL FELMIER
❝My Mom is gonna kill me..❞
JACK HOWL
❝Fuck. I’m sorry I should’ve pulled out or used protection— shit I’m so sorry-❞
SEBEK ZIGVOLT
❝Are..you certain..? Well then…❞
Ξ ┇ ৻ ⟡ 2ND YEARS:
AZUL ASHENGROTTO
❝ Oh..Well then–what is your plan? Do you need money?❞
FLOYD LEECH
❝Well duh, I was kinda expecting that…Jade won’t be too happy to be an uncle.❞
JADE LEECH
❝ Oh dear❞
JAMIL VIPER
❝ ..What are you going to do?❞
KALIM AL-ASIM
❝ OH MY SEVEN. REALLY?? Ahh!! I’m so sorry this happened but I swear I’ll take full responsibility!❞
RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS
❝You’re pregnant..I can’t be a father during school..❞
RUGGIE BUCCHI
❝Are you sure it’s mine? I can’t afford to feed myself unless I steal from Leona. Shit- what am I gonna do..❞
SILVER VANROUGE
❝I will take full responsibility. Please come with me today to meet to my ather, he will know what to do.❞
Ξ ┇ ৻ ⟡ 3RD YEARS:
CATER DIAMOND
❝Are you serious?..❞
IDIA SHROUD
❝…Whatthefuck❞
LEONA KINGSCHOLAR
❝..What do you wanna do?❞
LILIA VANROUGE
❝Well this is certainly…unexpected..❞
MALLEUS DRACONIA
❝That’s,, a predicament..❞
ROOK HUNT
❝Wow! How so inattendu, something so imprévu that even I could not have seen coming!❞
What if the time in twst affects Yuu differently? The universe doesn't recognize Yuu as one of it but somehow can't bring them back.
Due to this, Yuu doesn't age. Yuu will watch all her friends graduate, get jobs, have a family, grow old and die. While they work for NRC with Crowley until the end? Oh how unfair the world is to Yuu.
Every single year after each of their friends death, Yuu will bring flowers for their birthday. Often sitting there for 30 mins to an hour. But 3 hours or more to Ace, Deuce and Grim. Sitting by their grave while Yuu still looks like the first time they came here.
Only having Malleus by their side.
But what if they also outlive Malleus?
I'll kill myself after Malleus dies so I won't be more depressed
