The Prefect Was Here

Synopsis: The VDC boys notice the ways in which The Prefect has left their mark.

Something Ace notices during his time staying in Ramshackle is the various out of place chairs and boxes in different rooms of the dorm. He first realized they were there because he would trip over them or stub his toe on their corners. He'd move the objects out of the way to prevent himself from injuring himself on them again, but the next day they'd be back in their spots. This little cycle of him stumbling over the objects, moving them, and then stumbling over them again the next day repeated for a while until one late evening when the pieces clicked. Ace was leaving his room to get a glass of water from the kitchen when he looked over the railing of the stairs to see you stood atop one of the particularly annoying chairs placed in the lounge. A chair he trips over almost every morning in his half-awake state placed right next to the fireplace. Watching you organize various photo albums on a shelf above the mantle, he finally understood. He stopped moving the objects that no longer seemed out of place after that. They were right where they belonged: next to tall shelves, high up windows, and the occasional rickety door you had to open by shimmying it open from the top.

You often lent Deuce your notes to copy for those class periods he just couldn't keep his eyes open: exhausted from a long night of studying. At first he didn't notice anything, too busy frantically taking notes. It wasn't until he was staying in Ramshackle and he no longer had to worry about getting your notebook to you before day's end when you'd head off to your dorm and he to his that he saw it. As he was studying your notes he saw a little doodle on the edge of the page. The doodle was of Grim stirring a cauldron while standing on a stool, his goggles falling off his head. As he continued through your notes he saw ones of Epel carving an apple, Rook shooting a bow, and Vil looking studying rehearsal footage. Flipping back through the book and starting from the beginning he noticed the doodles seemed to be telling the story of your time at NRC. Early in the book, before there were notes on classes, there were doodles of the dark mirror, Crowley, and Grim. About the time you were officially enrolled there were drawings of the great 7, Ace with a smug look on his face, and even Deuce summoning a cauldron. He's asking to borrow your notes again? You could have sworn he was awake all class period (he just wants to see any new doodles).

Kalim noticed the walls, or more specifically: what was on them. It wasn't the boarded-up holes that drew his attention, nor was it the dust that you never could seem to get rid of completely. What got Kalim's attention were the drawings. In the kitchen, in your room, and on various doors there were drawings taped to the wood. Some were colorful while other were monochrome. Big, small, detailed, simple; he loved all of them! In your room you had an entire wall covered in pieces of your art, many of said pieces being of your friends and your various adventures. Your door was basically an extension of that wall just with a prominent sign in the middle reading 'Prefect and Grim.' Grim's name seemed to be written in his own handwriting (pawwriting?) and at the bottom of the sign laid a pawprint and a handprint. The other doors that had signs were rooms like the bathroom, laundry room, and the rooms each of the boys stayed in. The first few signs were put there by yourself to help the guys more easily navigate the sometimes-confusing building while the ones on each of their doors was to make them feel like they too belonged there. The kitchen had various drawings or little doodles your friends made for you. No matter how simple or detailed the drawing, you had every single thing anyone had drawn for your here displayed on the wall. All but Grim's art. He had his own pedestal (the fridge) for that. Kalim made sure to make his fair share of contributions to your display wall.

Jamil was in charge of the kitchen during the VDC and found some things rather unusual from the moment he stepped foot in there. Nearly all of your upper shelves were completely empty and when he pulled out a drawer he assumed would be a utensil drawer all he found was towels. That would be fine on its own, but none of the drawers had utensils. The upper cabinets that did have things in them held cleaning supplies, items that are commonly agreed to go below the sink. Just when he thought he was going to have to go back to Scarabia to get any kitchenware, he checked the lower cabinets. That's where he found pots, pans, cups, plates, and any other kitchen item you'd need all organized nicely as if they weren't in the most bizarre of places. Just as he was about to resign to silently judging you for your dishware placement, Grim came up beside him and opened one of the lower cabinets to grab a cup before scampering over to a step ladder placed next to the counter so he could reach the faucet and fill his cup with water. After seeing that he supposed your placement of things made sense. And after much time cooking in your kitchen as well as having to bend down to grab items he also realized that you must be even kinder than he originally thought (or just plain stupid, but he's keeping that thought to himself).

Vil is a man of beauty. He believes in not only you as a person looking your best at all times but also making sure your surrounding look their best. He understood most of Ramshackle's 'quirks' were unfixable as things were, and you did seem to keep the place remarkably clean all things considered, but there was something that caught his scrutinous eye. Clothes hung up to dry in the laundry room and bathroom (it was too cold to dry them outside) splattered in paint and a door that had matching patterns. At one point he grew curious as to what could possibly possess a person to leave a door in such a state and decided to open it. He almost fainted when he saw inside. The walls, ceiling, floor, and any furniture unlucky enough to be in the room was covered in layers of paint. The only thing that seemed to be kept clean was the window with a view of the forest beside the dorm. He left that day deciding that how you kept that room didn't affect him. As long as your mess didn't encroach into his space he would leave you to your mayhem. However, something odd began to happen. On a day Vil felt especially stressed, he went to do his laundry. When he closed the washer door and turned it on he looked up to see a row of paint splattered clothes hung up to dry, and before he knew it he was opening the door to what he assumed to be your art studio. He closed the door gently behind him and simply stood there in the room as the evening sun cast warm rays of light in through the window. It was as he stood there that he realized just how comforting the room's atmosphere was. It was hectic with all the paint everywhere and yet calming and homely at the same time. Now whenever he got too stressed during the VDC he went to that room to simply take a moment to breathe and forget about the stresses of being perfect. To look around at the remnants of pieces you put your heart and soul in splattered across the walls: telling a story only you know but that anyone who takes the time to observe can feel. Now, he may even see your paint splattered clothes and face to be rather endearing (not that he'll admit it).

Ever the hunter of Beauty, Rook notices a lot of ways in which you leave your mark on this world. The stickers on the covers of your notebooks, the patched sewn a bit sloppily onto your clothes, and even the spots on your front doorstep that have been ever so slightly worn down from scraping off mud and/or snow every time you come inside are all glorious examples of how you make the world more beautiful by being here. However, he does have a favorite. Out of every way you show that you've been here in this world, that you existed, his favorite by far is yours and Grim's height charts lightly scratched into the wall in a corner of the kitchen in a nook between the fridge and the wall. You wouldn't see it unless you really looked, but as we all know, he looks. Seemingly etched into the wall with a fork, butterknife, or something of the sort as not to be erased or easily covered up by paint are two separate sets of dashes. One is low to the floor while the other is about where the top of your head would be were you to stand with your back to the wall. Each chart has initials below the lowest mark and each dash has a date next to it. However, what really gets Rook's heart soaring is the initials and how after the letter of each of your first names there is an R. Now, Rook knows Grim doesn't have a last name and that you haven't uttered a word about what yours is (whether it be because you forgot or just simply don't want to tell people). Overwhelmed with curiosity he hunts down the ghosts to ask them the meaning of the R to which they tell him it stands for Ramshackle. You and Grim saw each other as family and so you decided to unofficially create a last name to share. When you were unable to agree on a good one you suggested Ramshackle so as to always remember your roots in this world. Rook won't encroach on the memory by asking to put a height chart of his own next to the two of yours, but you do notice that suddenly any official paperwork you or Grim gets has 'Ramshackle' after your first names.

What Epel notices are the big tape Xs in various places within the dorm. On the stairs, on the a spot in the hallway on the 2nd floor, there're even parts of the banister wrapped in blue tape. At some point he gets curious and prods at the banister only for it to sway and nearly fall off. This catches his attention so he goes through the dorm looking for places with tape on them to see if his hypothesis was correct, and, wouldn't ya know it, it was. All the places with tape are areas that could be considered hazardous for one reason or another. At first he wonders if you were just really dumb and put tape there to try and fix it, but when he sees you avoiding the areas too he decided that's not it. Then the idea comes up that perhaps they're there for an inspector that's going to come to fix up ramshackle, but it becomes apparent that's not the case when you come back one evening: exhausted from trying to convince Crowley to do something about the water damage in the attic only to be shut down. It isn't until he sees you yank Kalim back by the collar of his shirt as he was about to step on one of the Xs that he realizes you put them there to keep people safe. Epel tried pulling up a piece of tape at one pint in his inspection to get a better idea of what was underneath it and for the life of him he couldn't get it unstuck. At least he know for sure that it will stay there for generations to come acting as a kind reminder to anyone else who ventures into the dorm to avoid those areas and keep themselves safe.

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Blot!reader pt. 8

Part 8 to this

This is a darker story. I suggest you refrain from reading it if you're in a fragile mental state or unable to handle darker themes.

The days blurred together, spinning like a carousel that had lost its rhythm—too fast, too bright, too sweet in all the wrong ways. It was beautiful, almost nostalgically so, but nauseating. As if time had decided to move forward with a cruel sort of cheer, indifferent to the heaviness you carried with each step.

After that night, no one asked questions.

Perhaps they didn't know how. Perhaps they feared the answers. Or maybe, deep down, they understood that no explanation offered could make any of it easier to bear. No truth would be gentle enough to soothe the ache or clean enough to satisfy curiosity.

The Blot, once a constant presence—whispering in corners of your mind, teasing you, luring and lamenting in equal measure—had gone quiet. It had curled into some hidden recess of your mind and fallen silent. No more murmurs. No more laughter. Not even sorrow.

Just stillness.

And in that silence, the days continued. Time didn't heal so much as it dulled. The pain didn't vanish, but its edges softened, becoming something you could carry without crumbling.

Word of your circumstances had reached others too. Rook, ever the optimist, had suggested involving more minds might help—perhaps a collective pursuit would bring clarity, or even a solution. But all it did was wrap you in an uncomfortable awareness. You weren't a mystery to solve. You were a burden to be managed.

A melancholy settled over campus like mist, creeping into everything and everyone. Even the most powerful students, the most composed individuals, wore subtle changes in their expressions. It was like ripples in still water—small, but undeniable. You noticed them. And worse, you knew you had caused them.

Ruggie caught your eye in passing once. His ears drooped, not out of fear this time, but something gentler. Understanding, maybe. He shifted his weight like he might walk toward you—might say something—but in the end, he turned away. He didn't blame you. He knew what happened was terrifying. But he also knew you were terrified too. Still, things weren't the same, and that subtle drift between you stung sharper than outright blame ever could.

Then there was Riddle.

He said nothing. But you caught him watching you in the reflection of your teacup—eyes focused not on your face, but on the quiet tension in your hands, the way you rubbed the edge of the porcelain like it might fray under your touch. Your tea had gone cold long ago, but you remained seated, fingers tracing delicate swirls as if hoping to anchor yourself in something familiar.

In a quiet, grand gesture of hope—or maybe desperation—Heartslabyul's signature rose guardian had been unearthed. The flowers replanted, replaced with blooms of your choosing. Riddle hadn't mentioned it aloud. He didn't need to. Somewhere beneath his rules and routines, he hoped you'd still be around when the first buds opened. As if time itself could become a clock, counting down not to an end—but to a beginning.

One late night, as you lay motionless in bed, half-present and barely breathing through the static of your own thoughts, a soft ping from your phone flickered through the silence. The shadows in your room flickered, signaling that the Blot had also been startled by the sound. Idia had sent you a message—long, rambling, awkward, and painfully sincere. He apologized for the last tense interaction, for the things he'd said and the things he hadn't. Attached were coordinates.

Curiosity, or maybe something gentler than that, stirred in your chest as you followed them in-game.

What waited for you was a massive, underground bunker built block by block with obsessive care—stocked with everything you liked and needed, every silly item you'd once casually mentioned, every rare collectible he knew you adored, and even every animal—tamable and untamable—neatly confined in entity-friendly spaces as well. It was a digital sanctuary, crafted with shaking hands and a quiet breaking heart. He didn't say he missed you. He didn't have to. The base was the confession.

Idia: I just want you to keep going. Even if it's not for me.

His last message read, surprisingly written with perfect grammar.

Meanwhile, outside your actual window, Malleus continued his nightly rituals. The gentle tap of wind or the faint glimmer of magic was all that marked his passing. The gifts he left behind were unique and otherworldly—small fae tokens: a branch from his favorite tree, a stone somehow carved into an intricate small gargoyle, a piece of glass shaped like a tear that never fell. Each one left in hope, in helplessness, in longing. He was trying to help. Trying to understand. But even the great faerie prince could not comprehend the wound inside you, only mourn that he couldn't soothe it.

Silver never said much. His silences were eloquent and graceful. He continued his quiet patrols past Ramshackle, watching from a respectful distance. He'd always been a guardian of dreams and peace—but he couldn't guard you from yourself. Or the Blot. So instead, he left small flowers woven into crowns and rings on your doorstep when he could, humble blooms from his walks. But they were always wilted by morning. As if even nature understood the fragility of his offering.

You never mentioned the state you often found them in, not wanting to see the boy wilt himself.

The Yuus were gentler now, but more intense in their presence. Always hovering, always nearby. They didn't speak of the truth—but it haunted the spaces between your conversations. The weight of your confession clung to them like a second skin. They smiled at you as if afraid the wrong word might shatter the air around you.

You hated the way they all looked at you—as if you were glass set on the edge of a high shelf. As if breathing too hard might tip you over.

But the truth?

Nothing had changed.

Not really.

Somewhere deep down, you had already made your choice—long before any of them noticed the fracture. It sat inside you like a quiet star: constant, cold, inevitable. You didn't know when the moment would come, only that you'd know it when it did.

And for all their efforts—sweet, sincere, achingly kind—you couldn't be saved in the way they hoped. But overtime it became painfully clear how difficult that goal truly was.

And it wasn't their fault.

It only made the guilt worse.

Like a debt you wished they'd stop trying to repay.

Because the person they were fighting to save—the one who had held them all together—was slipping quietly out of reach. And no one, not even you, knew if they could come back.

The news spread like fire on dry grass—swift, bright, and impossible to ignore.

A way home had been found.

Reactions rippled across campus in a tangled mess of emotions: elation, sorrow, disbelief, anxiety, longing. Some students whispered with hope in their voices; others stared blankly at the walls, caught in a strange limbo of what-ifs and memories. And through it all, one truth remained: you had changed them.

The way people looked at you—the way they felt about you—had shifted. No longer were you just a strange newcomer from another world. Somewhere along the line, you'd become theirs. A friend, a rival, a confidant, a source of chaos and comfort.

And now you were all leaving.

Headmage Crowley called a formal meeting, though even he lacked his usual flair. He stood a little straighter than usual, voice more solemn than usual. The mirror home was open, stable. The stars had aligned in a rare cosmic arrangement. The gate thrummed with raw energy—ready to bring you back where it all began.

Your world. Or... was it?

Because deep inside you, a whisper lingered. Faint. Familiar. The Blot's story. The idea that this—this—was your real world. That your soul had bloomed here once before. Perhaps that's why the ocean reached for you on calm days, why the wind danced with you when you in lonely moments, why the snow and sun kissed you with reverence instead of indifference.

The world here didn't just accept you. It welcomed you. Embraced you. And so did the people within it.

And as the final day drew nearer, fleeting moments played in your mind like petals caught in a breeze:

Deuce had leaned over during class, whispering urgently as if trying to catch time by the tail. His teal eyes shimmered with quiet urgency, like deep ponds stirred with emotion. "You should text me if you go," he said, lips tugged into a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "All of us. Even if it's like... cross-dimensional." It wasn't meant to sway your choice, just a promise: you are loved here.

Leona dropped his thoughts at lunch like they didn't weigh as much as they clearly did. He sat across from you, lazily pushing a tray your way. "Ordered too much." he muttered—though you both knew he didn't. As you ate, his gaze lingered, not on your face, but on the simple fact that you were still here. Still present. Still real. "You're stronger than you think. Even without all that Blot junk." The lion gave a soft scoff, one ear flicking. "You'd fit in at the Sunset Savanna. People respect lions there. And you have the strength of a Lion." You knew what he meant: There was a place waiting for you.

And Kalim? He couldn't sit still. Ever since the news broke, he'd been rushing around like a whirlwind of joy and dread, putting together elaborate gift boxes for each of you. Trinkets, silks, spices, ornate keepsakes—things that would make jaws drop back in your world. He said it was so you'd never forget him. And oddly enough, Jamil never once protested. He simply helped. Quietly. Carefully. Like he, too, wanted to give you something that could never be repaid.

The hour before your departure arrived too quickly, yet dragged with unbearable weight.

Within the quiet hush of the Mirror Chamber, everything was illuminated by an eerie softness—like the world itself knew this was a moment it should handle delicately. The usual chatter had fallen to a hush. The air was heavy with unsaid things.

Trey approaches first, carrying bags loaded with care. You could tell he'd packed them himself. Neatly arranged inside were tarts—your favorites—alongside sweets he'd made over the years. Some were crumbling a little from being hastily prepared. Others were packed carefully in tins or paper to preserve their shape. Between them, he'd slipped in small, handwritten notes. Jokes. Memories. Reminders. Pieces of a life he can't follow.

"For the road," he said, voice rough and cracked, like he hadn't spoken all morning. Not quite the easygoing Trey you remembered. As Yuuken reached in to quietly take one of the signature sweets, there was a shared understanding—this was the last taste of Heartslabyul you would have. The last sweetness made for you.

The Mirror Chamber had filled with those closest to you, all huddled in a makeshift half-circle, as though any moment now they'd try to block the mirror with their bodies. A final attempt to keep you here.

Confessions clung to the walls like mold. Unspoken apologies floated like dust in the morning light. It felt like being at the edge of something vast—something you couldn't see beyond, but could feel.

Vil approached you next. Always composed, always immaculate, his heels clicked quietly against the floorboards as he came to fix your collar. His fingers moved with precision, but his touch lingered just a second longer than it needed to.

"You've always made an impression," he said, eyes narrowing though the edges of his expression faltered, "Now make an even better one when you go back. Hold your head high. Don't cry in front of that portal." His voice lowered, the gentleness slipping out against his will. "You deserve to leave with dignity. After everything, you deserve it."

You stood surrounded by uncharacteristic warmth, by familiarity, by those you'd once hated, distrusted, or even feared—only to later realize their cruelty wasn't personal. They'd simply been broken in their own ways, the reality around all of you unknowingly manipulated by something beyond comprehension. And still, you had come to matter to them.

The mirror at the center of the room pulsed gently, casting an otherworldly green glow that flickered across their faces—across your face. The kind of glow that seemed to hum with power, with promise.

Beyond that glass: a world you had once called home. You could almost hear it—distant sounds, the hush of a subway station, the hum of the bus, rain against a window, a fan left on all year. You could smell it, too—concrete warmed by the sun, your favorite food spot down the street, old paper and familiar detergent.

It called to you like a siren, and inside, something shifted.

The Blot was silent now. Dormant. Patient. Maybe it hoped to return with you. Maybe it simply waited to see what you'd choose.

Because that's what this moment truly was: a choice.

You, standing between two lives. Two worlds. Two versions of yourself. Whole, but scattered. Loved, but always longing.

The mirror ripples.

And somewhere behind you, someone whispered—maybe it was Azul, perhaps Jamil—"Are you really going to leave?"

With Lilia's assistance, Grim carefully raised the old ghost camera to capture you all in a final, treasured moment. For once, the lens faces the Ramshackle Prefects and not their subjects; A final keepsake for those you're leaving behind.

You swallow down a lump in your throat as you watch the Yuus all leave one-by-one, your feet now rooted to the ground.

Your decision, chosen long ago, came into play now.

Break the contract.

Remain with the Blot.

Reach for him.

Go home.

Thank you all so much for following me on this journey through my second posted story since I was a kid.

I hope I wrote this well and many doubts still linger about it. Some parts I'm proud of, others I'm a little hesitant to admire.

Reading your comments and asks always made my day better and writing this gave me something to do. I apologize if the endings seemed shitty. The fanfic writer curse really got me while I was trying to write the endings and they're written pretty far apart from everything.

I hope I can keep improving on on writing, maybe I'll post another long fic like this but I'll likely do requests for smaller things if anyone would like.

All these endings took me a whole month. This part began on April 17th and it's now May 17th. I hope the long wait has been worth this for you all.

Again, thank you.

I've been thinking about writing my own original story if anybody would be interested. Though everything is rough in drafts.

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kiransfanficstronghold

1 month ago

A Confession Through Written Words — Housewardens x gn! reader

summery: you confess through a love letter, it doesn't fail to warm his heart.

tw: none.

a/n: idk I was bored

wc: 1.6k (~200 per character)

Master List

❥ Riddle Rosehearts

You had put your all into the presentation of the letter. You tried to make your handwriting as neat as possible while spilling your feelings astutely so as to not overcloud the meaning or make it look like a joke. Perhaps you were overthinking the whole ordeal, but who wouldn’t when confessing your feelings? You had managed to slip the letter into his bag without him noticing. In fact, he wouldn’t find the pristine white letter until he was getting ready for bed. At first he was confused, he hadn’t recalled receiving a letter, but it was addressed to him, and he carefully opened it, making sure to not rip the rose sticker holding the envelope closed. Riddle wasn’t sure what he expected, but it wasn’t a meticulously written love letter from you. His heart rate sped up, his face burning a bright red once he got to the end. He could barely sleep that night, not with you running through his head. The next day he dutifully wrote his own letter as a reply, handing it to you without meeting your eyes. Open it once you’re alone, yeah? He doesn’t think he can handle your reaction even though you were the first to confess.

❥ Leona Kingscholar

You weren’t sure how to approach Leona with your feelings. He tended to be a bit snarky and you were a bit sensitive about your feelings. You don’t think you could handle him dismissing you or making a rude comment in your moment of vulnerability. So what better way then to write a letter? You knew he wouldn’t mind if it wasn’t perfect, if anything he’d tease you for not saying it to his face, but you could handle that. After you rewrote the letter for the eleventh time, you decided it was good enough and you made your way to Leona’s room. He watched you lazily as you entered. You thought he was asleep, so you placed the letter on his nightstand before taking a seat on his bed. Curiosity ate at him, but he refrained from making any comments, using the guise of sleep to pull you into him so he could finally get some good rest. When you left, he took no time to rip open the letter, carelessly ripping the lion sticker in two. He couldn’t stop the chuckle that escaped him, even though he was the best, it was still a surprise to read your genuine feelings for him. He won’t let you worry for long, tomorrow he’ll make sure you know that you're his herbivore.

❥ Azul Ashengrotto

You had tried to confess to him before, but his suaveness had left you tongue tied everytime. Or when his suave facade crumbled into a genuine care…that left your mind reeling, unable to mutter how much he meant to you. So you wrote a letter, and even though writing how you felt was easier than speaking it…it still wasn’t easy to write. Your trashcan was filled with crumpled up papers with pencil marking scratched out. When you finally had a letter you deemed good enough, you tried to make it look as fancy as you could. Unfortunately, Floyd had snatched the letter the next day before you could even greet him. You watched him run away with genuine horror, hoping that he wouldn’t read it before Azul at the very least. Fortunately for you, Floyd held off on opening it, handing the letter to Azul with an eager smile. Jade watched on as well, somehow already aware of the predicament. Glaring at the two, Azul opened it later when he was alone in the VIP of Monstro Lounge. He had recognized your handwriting right away, carefully thumbing the pearl sticker before opening it with a letter opener. Azul could barely get through the first sentence without becoming an overheated mess. He’s another one tossing and turning that night. Instead of blatantly stating his feelings out in the open, he offers you to go on a date so you know that he’s serious about you as well.

❥ Kalim Al-Asim

You had tried to confess to him…many times. Every time you told him you loved him, he just smiled back and told you he loved you too…but you knew he didn’t understand you meant it romantically. Every hand hold, cheek kiss, hell, you both had cuddled multiple times and he never seemed to get that you were interested in him as more than just a friend! So you decided to write exactly how you felt, getting all your messy feelings out in the open. With how bubbly he was, you didn’t feel too awkward handing him the letter in person, only telling him to read it later when he’s alone. Unbeknownst to you…Kalim had almost lost your letter multiple times that day. Not that he doesn’t care for you! He’s just a bit of an air head that has too much on their mind. Please thank Jamil for hanging on to it, reminding Kalim to read it after dinner was over. When Kalim finally read the letter (after fawning over the adorable golden retriever sticker), he couldn’t contain his excitement. He almost ran straight to your dorm if it weren’t for Jamil blocking him. Expect multiple gifts the next day along with more affection than you thought was possible. Kalim needs to get his bouts of cute aggression out, and what better way than drowning you in jewels?

❥ Vil Schoenheit

As much as you adored Vil, he was a bit…intimidating. His lilac gaze could pierce through the toughest metal, but it could also melt the coldest heart. You had unsurprisingly found yourself falling for the star, but you couldn’t help but feel like a fan no matter how you thought approaching him with your feelings. If anything, the letter felt like the most cliche fan stereotype ever, and even though he called you a friend, you feared he’d take it the wrong way. So you decided a letter was the best bet, that way you didn’t have to see his reaction. Yet when you had tried to sneak the letter to him, it was out of your hands in the blink of an eye and you stared in horror as Rook offered it to Vil. At first, Vil thought it was fanmail, staring at it with slight disdain, but he opened it anyway, not caring how the crown sticker tore. He barely scanned over the letter until he read your name at the very end, eyes glancing up to see your terribly anxious expression. So he reread it, this time carefully scrutinizing over every word, and although a letter wasn’t exactly how he wanted you to confess, he still felt his heartbeat increase with every lovely feeling you felt towards him. Closing the letter, he watched fondly as you fidgeted, clearing his voice and demanding you to ask him on a date properly.

❥ Idia Shroud

You had been secretly fawning over Idia for so long you felt like you were going to burst. You had wanted to confess to him for so long…but you feared that you’d break the poor man. So you decided to write him a letter…er more like a text. You weren’t sure if he’d even know how to open a letter… Poor, poor Idia. He nearly had five heart attacks when he saw your chat bubble appear for twenty minutes then disappear only to appear again. He tried to play his game, ignore the damned three dots that kept taunting him, but his eyes couldn’t stop trailing down to his phone. Do you know how many times you caused him to die? Oh boy, and when you did send it? The little blue heart at the end had nearly ended him before he even read a word! He had read and reread the text so many times you couldn’t even count, and don’t mind that he screenshotted it and saved it to a super secure private photo album so only he could see it. Don’t expect a reply. He’s too busy having a meltdown, hair burning a bright pink for the rest of the night. Do expect Ortho to ramble about how happy his brother got the night before, unsure of why but happy nonetheless. And when Ortho finds out why? Expect a text from Idia saying that he doesn’t mind your presence too much…yes Ortho forced him to say something back and yes that was him confirming that he likes you back.

❥ Malleus Draconia

Malleus was traditional to an extent, that was something anyone could tell. He also always had you feeling like you were living in a fantasy romance novel with the way he treated you. You hadn’t even thought of confessing your feelings in person, a letter seeming like a traditional and very Malleus adjacent confession. You tried your best to write with fancy curling letters…if you failed at that task…that's up to you. What stumped you was how to give it to him. In those old timey romance movies and novels they sent it through the mail…but you both lived on the same grounds. Handing it to him seemed a bit too forward, and you either didn’t trust or felt too embarrassed to ask his retainers to pass it to him. But you sucked it up and went to your safest option, Silver. Malleus was surprised to have a letter handed to him, another one to open it with a letter opener. He felt his breath hitch with each word you lovingly wrote, warmth blooming in his chest. Like the gentleman he is, he writes you a loving letter back (one that you can barely read with how loopy the cursive was), and it’s the most poetic thing you have ever read. Be prepared to cry at how much he loves you.

Tags

twisted wonderland twisted wonderland x reader twst housewardens hxney lemcn

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kiransfanficstronghold

3 weeks ago

the overblots (+ rook + lillia? if thats okay) reactions to you calling them your husband…………..

saw the words lilia and husband in the same ask and got so excited I blacked out

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ calling them your husband

type of post: headcanons characters: riddle, leona, azul, jamil, vil, rook, idia, malleus, lilia additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, established relationship

The Overblots (+ Rook + Lillia? If Thats Okay) Reactions To You Calling Them Your Husband…………..

Riddle "we're not married" Rosehearts, everyone. and he says it so matter-of-factly too! like, of course, you know that. you were just trying to be sweet and romantic. he figures it out eventually, though (the realization hits him like a truck two hours later, and he apologizes with roses and a slice of tart. Ace makes fun of him for weeks)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Leona is so smug about it actually. unlike Riddle, he's socially aware enough to know that you don't mean it literally. he's like, "damn right I am" and will defo make you say it again. especially in front of the other housewardens. and his family, and random people on the street (he likes it)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

I think Azul would try to actually marry you after that. he is reading way too much into it. I mean, you basically just said you love him and belong to each other in the most intimate and loving way and want to be together forever!!!! (he's already thinking about your wedding rings)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

"your boyfriend 😑" THANKS JAMIL. it's not that he doesn't understand what you mean, it's just that he's having NONE of that. thinking about the future scares him he's just a realist!!! and then he fucks up and calls you his spouse without thinking one time... you never let him forget it

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Vil likes it. he's just sitting there all smug like "😌 yes that's me" definitely also calls you his spouse when you're alone. to him, it's just a symbol of your commitment and a promise of a loving future together. very cute very sweet 10/10

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Rook lights up like a kid on Christmas morning the first time you say it. it's just so!!!! he thinks about it for the rest of the week, and absolutely starts referring to you as his spouse. will sign all of his love notes with "your husband" from then on

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Idia is going THROUGH it. tells you you're being cringe while his face and hair are cherry red (which means he likes it!) definitely going to think about it while in bed staring at the ceiling for months. Ortho overhears and starts calling you his sibling-in-law :)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Malleus. MALLEUS. someone save this poor man. he's unwell. pacing around his room all night, trying to figure out what you meant by that. are you trying to tell him you want him to propose?? you want to marry him?? right now right this second-

you'll have to tell him you meant it as a term of endearment, which both relaxes and disappoints him (say it again, please please pl-)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Lilia doesn't really have a reaction. not on the surface, anyway. he just goes on with the conversation (he is fighting demons in his head rn). he decides he likes it, though, and he'll introduce you to everyone as his spouse from then on

Tags

tbt

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kiransfanficstronghold

3 weeks ago

Hello! I was wondering if you could do the Dormleaders' reactions to Yuu who, given that they're from another world, is immune to any and all magic spells.

Example: Riddle's 'Off With Your Head' doesn't make a collar on their neck, 'King's Roar' doesn't affect them at all, 'It's A Deal' doesn't take anything from Yuu and acts like any ordinary contract, etc.

However, this means any healing spells has no effect, forcing Yuu to heal on their own.

Thank you for reading this!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ magic immune reader

type of post: headcanons characters: riddle, leona, azul, kalim, vil, idia, malleus additional info: romantic or platonic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu

Hello! I Was Wondering If You Could Do The Dormleaders' Reactions To Yuu Who, Given That They're From

out of all the dorm leaders, Riddle would be the most annoyed

...not that 'Off With Your Head' would've done much, anyway

you have no magic to take away

but... it's the meaning!

it's symbolic!

even a plain old collar would be punishment enough

but he can't even do that!

hopefully, you're not the type to misbehave, so he won't have to worry about it

if you are...

...expect to spend a lot of your week trimming the hedges around Heartslabyul as punishment

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Leona doesn't even know until his overblot

...well...

until after his overblot

everyone keeps going on about how lucky you are

(personally, he doesn't see what's so great about being magic-repellent, but sure)

he's... glad you're okay

not that he'd ever admit that...

just don't let it get to your head, alright?

being immune to magic means both bad and good spells

and he's not going to be sanding you again anytime soon

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Azul is PISSSSSED lmao

all that work he's put into his latest business venture

and for what??

you're not even BOUND by his contracts!

he has a hard time saying goodbye to Ramshackle...

what a nice cafe it would have made...

but, still

there's got to be some way he can use this to his advantage

he's an adaptable man

and he's always looking for a new assistant

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Kalim is only a little disappointed

first, you can't even cast a spell

now you can't have any cast on you?

you're missing out on all his great party tricks!!!

but... oh, well

he thinks of it as an adventure, or a fun challenge

magicless parties sound kinda cool, right?

and Jamil says it's probably for the better, and Kalim trusts his judgment

(...for now, at least, cough cough)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

not counting the... VDC incident, Vil doesn't care

unlike your annoying friends, he has no reason to curse you

and he can certainly think of many magicless punishments should you ever misbehave

so, no

not really something that crosses his mind

even when you're unwell (because, of course, he's the first to tend to you), he prefers using natural remedies before magical ones

to him, it's just another piece of the strange puzzle that is you

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

honestly what is Idia going to do

open the gates of hell on you?

nah

even boring spells would be too much effort for a guy like him

he does find you kinda interesting, though

I mean, being immune to magic in this place is a total buff!

imagine a group of NPCs firing magic at you, and you're like, wham! whew! zoooom!

...in his own words, anyway

(it's not actually that cool)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Malleus...

where do I even start?

he's so reliant using magic that he can almost sense there's something different about you right away

one on hand, it's a good thing

he worries about you, you know? the students at this school can get... unruly

on the other hand, knowing that you won't respond to magical healing is... worrying

he tries not to think about it so much

his overblot is a different story, though

if he can't put you to sleep, what can he do? trap you at NRC with him forever?

actually... I take it back, he'd totally do that

Tags

tbt

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kiransfanficstronghold

4 weeks ago

Enchanting a Fae - Malleus x Reader

A random Malleus x Reader

Malleus isn't sure why he comes to your dorm so often. His booted feet take him there automatically, he supposes. If Lilia were to ask him, he's just making the rounds on his usual haunts and looking for pieces of forgotten grotesques and gargoyles in need of cleaning. Ramshackle was a prime destination for all things forgotten and dusty, after all.

Perhaps it can also be a home to things muddy and sopping.

A small smile twists the edges of Malleus' lips as he blinks rain from his emerald eyes. It's ironic that he, future King of Briar Valley and fifth most powerful mage in the world, was caught unaware by the weather.

How very human. It's a beautiful experience, to drown in the quiet hush of rain.

He steps lightly but with purpose, long shadow breezing up the walkway to your door. It swells as lightning tap-dances behind him. Thunder rumbles, much like the sound he tries to swallow down as you crack the door open hesitantly, face melting into one of welcome.

Oh, child of man...Malleus feels the warm swirl in his chest tighten as you take his hand and pull him inside. He ducks his head, finally remembering to pull his horns down enough so they don't scrape the frame like they have in the past.. "Fae are supposed to be invited in," he reminds you. "And I told you, you always have a standing invitation." you say with a gentle dismissiveness that both humbles and endears him. You continue to show him that you care not for his title or his princely demands. You treat him like all the others. He does his best to stand on the welcome mat you thrifted, afraid the water will rot the ancient floor and leave you with something else to fix. You scurry back with towels and some spare clothes that smell like human. Not you, but human. Malleus can't stop the angry rumble in his throat as he realizes that smell is probably from your human friends at Heartslabyul. Clothes for other men? Disgusting. You always forget he has another set of vocal chords and he excuses the noise as 'clearing his throat'. "It's all I have," you murmur, unsure now if you should take the offer back. He can tell you're still debating that uncouth noise, the slip of the tongue.

"I accept your generosity." Malleus knows it won't be a perfect fit, but it would do better than your clothes. Not that he didn't like the idea of adorning himself in your scent. Turning away from you a little, Malleus removes the purple striped belt at his waist and undoes the many gold buttons on his curious coat. You can't tell what the black shirt is underneath but it sticks to him and you find yourself trying to tear your eyes away and commit him to memory all at once.

Not in the creepy way! Just in the 'I've never seen Malleus in just gloves, a shirt, pants, and boots before' kind of way. He's none the wiser, realizing he has a real problem on his hands. The gloves he chose are water resistant but they've somehow gone flush against his slick skin and feel more like a seal than a savior. His draconian nails cannot save him, blunted and useless in the leather. Should he use his teeth? What if he hooked them on the edge of a horn and just shimmied it off? You can practically read his mind and grab his hand before he can raise it near his head. "Don't do that! You'll ruin them!" you give a huffy laugh at his simple, boyish logic and it takes every ounce of control from all his decades of walking upright to keep his tail from smashing a hole in your floor.

He watches you drape the loaner clothes around your neck like some sort of scarf as you motion for his hand.

Your hands are almost cartoonishly small in his as they trace the stitching and try to feel for any buttons or ridges. Small, but so considerate and so warm. Dragons run warm from the fire and magic in their blood but he cannot explain why your touch is absolutely radiating and searing him in the most comforting way through the leather. He almost hopes you never figure out how to take them off so you can just fiddle with his hands forever. Malleus relaxes into your touch, basking in the care and attention.

His hopes are dashed when the glove separates slightly from his lax wrist and you free his hand. You pull off the other one. If he had no shame, he'd make a cool request for you to hold them and warm them. "Boots off, then change." you give him a small rag for his hands and point to his feet. Delighted and somewhat surprised to be your willing subject, Malleus obeys and starts to take off his boots.

He braces himself against your wall with one hand, mindful not to put himself through it like he almost did the mine tunnel at Beanfest. One boot off, he wrestles blindly with the other. Malleus is much more interested in how you tend to the pitiful fire in your fireplace. Your back is to him and whatever you're wearing leaves you shapeless but cozy. The embers crackle in the hearth, the light dancing across your face in a way that makes something baser claw at the pit of his stomach.

Shiny thing. Dragons like shiny things. You would be a most gorgeous shiny thing. Always ethereal, no matter what you're wearing or doing. If you would permit him, you would be his most valued treasure.

His heart sings at the thought, almost tying itself in a knot. That low, tingling feeling comes back to him and Malleus wants to croon his Dragon Song. It would fall on deaf ears, so to speak, as you have no dragon blood to appeal to. "Your eyes are doing that thing again." Malleus flinched a little, green fire sparking in his mouth as a warning puff of smoke dissipated between you. He didn't realize you'd come upon him again. The dragon relaxed, turning his head away as he exhaled the building smoke through his nose before it could send him into an undignified coughing fit.

Lilia had been consulting his grandmother on some behaviors as of late and both arrived to the same conclusion: he's experiencing draconian puberty. 'The thing' his eyes do are a sign of said puberty. It is the unfurling of all his emotions, the dilation of his eyes signaling his interest and trying to draw you ever deeper to him. In a way, it is a thrall, but it leaves him at your mercy as much as it should leave you in his.

Somehow, you don't take it as hard. If his world wasn't a sudden explosion of the scent of your skin and soap, the heat of your body, and the curious fondness with which you look at him, he would ponder this injustice further.

But he does not. Right now he can't even find the words for a simple lie, a diversion, as he breathes in the smell of you and tries not to melt. To have you touch him right now would be the worst thing but he's never wanted it more. He wants so badly to sink his fangs into your wrist, your neck, and let you wear the affectionate bruises like a family crest. His family crest.

"You're supposed to be getting changed," you admonish him.

"Mmm, but I can't," Malleus refrains from snuggling into the small towel you're blotting against his face. He closes his eyes and tries to sense the heat of your hand through the fabric as you move carefully around his lashes. "I'm being tended to and it would be rude to interrupt," he teases.

"No point in giving you dry clothes if you're going to get them wet putting them on." you laugh. He swallows thickly as you brush his throat dry. "Now go change," you swat him with the rag. Body towel and clothes in one hand, damp footprints follow Malleus to a spare room.

As he suspected, the clothes were ill-fit for his frame. Spade and Trappola were smaller than he was, being human and all. It was another thing entirely to get the shirt over his head without shredding it on his horns. He's afraid to move his arms too much and hopes he's not offending you by pulling the pants low enough to give his tail room. You've just finished laying his clothes out on dry towels before the fire and he's grateful.

It is a dying fire. You have a small supply of kindling and old papers to feed it but he doesn't think it will be enough. "I would like to repay your generosity with a gift. May I?" "You know you don't have to get me anything," you wave him off. He's not sure if it's a human trait or a you trait but you don't take easily to gifts.

"But it is practical and will serve us both," he knows he's caught your attention. He can see you trying to figure out what kind of gift that would be. Malleus approaches the fire, kneels down, and breathes it in. Dragons who can breathe fire, like himself, can convert outside sources of heat to their fire on rare occasions. You jump when he spits out a green flame and it roars to life, casting the walls in jeweled light and emitting a heat you didn't know you missed.

"Cozy!" you chirp. It was a gentle kind of heat that would be perfect for snuggling under a blanket. He sits on the other end of the sofa, a respectful cushion between you, and rests his head on a hand as he looks at you.

"And it will last much longer! You needn't fret about it getting out of control, either. It is my fire, and I can control it." he sees the beginning of sleep on you. Malleus grew up with Silver and was all too familiar with the slow descent into a nap. You make a valiant effort, he will give you that. You're in the middle of a soft argument about being rude to company and Malleus laughs despite himself.

He dropped in uninvited. Certainly that's more rude, yes?

The two of you lapse into a comfortable silence, the fae more amused than he has been in a long time as your eyes get heavier. You look stunning in the green glow and he can't help but think you'd look just as ravishing in black.

In a crown. On a throne. In his bed. All of these things have the Dragon Song welling up in him again. The buzzing in his chest closes off his ears; Malleus jumps to alertness as you tug gently on the ends of his dark hair. "You let your hair down. It'll get weird if it dries in a ponytail holder."

It takes some effort, but he untangles it from his hair. "What shall I do about you, Child of Man?" he muses. "I will be forever indebted to your attentiveness."

"Did you find anything cool on your walk? You always show me." your eyes twinkle with the vestiges of consciousness. This is your one final push before succumbing to sleep, he can tell. He did, in fact, find things to show you and had forgotten them until now. When you're drenched, everything just feels heavy and soaked through. Malleus fishes the random items from his coat pocket and settles back down on the couch.

You've seen all manner of things at this point--feathers, polished rocks, twisted roots that looked interesting, pieces of statues, actual gems--and it never gets old. He presents you with a rock carved into the shape of a bear, a chunk of what might have been an old cup, and a ring.

The ring doesn't catch your eye right away. You're too busy playing with the bear. He wiggles his hand so the firelight catches it and you still. Malleus takes the bear from you, flipping your hand over to slide it on your finger. "A gift, my dearest."

"Malleus, I--" you start to protest.

"We fae are no strangers to offerings, both giving and receiving. It would be a disservice to present you with anything less." he speaks over you, his words gentle but commanding. He kisses your hand.

You'd be lying if you said you hadn't thought of dating him. It just seemed a little silly--a random no-name person and the fae prince? What kind of cliche was this?

A handsome one that was staring you right in the face.

"If you'd like more, the best I can offer you is a kingdom." he teases, lounging back against the sofa. He said it so casually that it caught you off guard. You're face is almost unbearably hot and Malleus chuckles.

"A whole kingdom?" you finally recover. "I'll take it."

Oh, there it went. Malleus felt the trap snap shut on his heart. This was the lethal moment Lilia warned him. He was helplessly smitten and enchanted. Irreversibly so.

"Truly?" he's before you in a second, one hand around your waist and the other holding the one with the ring. "Now is not the time to jest, Child of Man. I offer you my heart in earnest and the reply must be just as true!" he's staring up at you through his bangs and you swear you see more scales on his forehead.

"W-Well, yeah," you stutter. "I wouldn't mind. Just kind of thought we would do more dates and stuff first," your face was heating up again.

"We shall, as many as you like!" he's scooped you up in one arm, cradling you to his chest. You threw your legs around him so you didn't fall backwards but he doesn't notice, pulling your other hand over his shoulder. "Every day, even! As soon as the weather clears, in fact!" "But it'll be dark out!" you protest. Malleus probably could change the weather if he wanted but that wouldn't stop the ground from squelching and things being nasty. He stopped excitedly rambling about walks and things to do.

"We've walked in the dark before?" he doesn't understand why you don't want to go out this particular time. "And I have seen you to your door, safe and sound every time."

"But we're already here. Together. Inside." you explain slowly. "Maybe we could...cuddle...a little."

Oh yes. Splendid idea! Malleus all but dives for the couch at the suggestion. It is a paltry nest but it's yours. You're still recovering from the recoil, glad he fell back first and didn't squish you.

Did you just hear something rip? You hope he didn't break the couch. You don't get much time to think about it as he pulls you close and tucks you under his chin like he's been rehearsing it with a pillow. He's just the right combination of soft and muscle, of guard and gentle as he figures out where to put his hands. He settles for one supporting his head and the other cradling yours.

It's very awkward because he's mostly off the couch but he can't be bothered. You're slowly drifting to sleep in his arms and he's never felt more joy. He watches with deep interested, practically holding his breath as you sleep. Faes don't need as much sleep as humans but he doesn't think he could sleep if he tried because you've been courted by him!

Malleus is roused by his phone sometime later. The couch is small and cumbersome to him but it's held up. He begrudgingly untangled himself from you to answer it, long arm just reaching it on the table.

"Yes?"

It's Lilia. "Where are you, young man? We've been trying to reach you!"

He had fifteen missed calls from Sebek, eight from Lilia, and some text messages from Silver.

"Ensnared, I fear." Malleus smiles into the crown of your head. "I'm doomed to languish in absolute bliss. It's a very powerful enchantment, you see."

"Taken the leap, have you, Malleus?" he could hear the smile in Lilia's voice.

"I have, and I've landed in something quite wonderful."

"We fae are supposed to trick and trap, not the other way around! But...at least you're safe. Make it known that I will not tolerate--"

"Any eggs before marriage." Malleus rolled his eyes. He'd only heard that a million times recently.

"If you're not back at Diasomnia in two hours, I'll break that enchantment myself. Understood?"

"And if I object?" Malleus challenged, patting your head as you began to move.

There was a moment of silence. "I shall tell your grandmother."

Malleus hung up.

That might do the trick, he thought, brows raised. His grandmother was from an older generation of fae who were still entrenched in anti-human beliefs. Would she love you because he did? Could you enchant her, too? One look at your sleeping face, so at peace and pressed up against him, had him convinced.

Yes, he was pretty sure you could enchant any fae. It certainly worked on him.

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kiransfanficstronghold

1 month ago

Me, My Partner, and My Three-Foot Tall Nephew

Leona Kingscholar x Reader

Fic Idea • Me doing whatever my witch boyfriend wants / Me, my boyfriend, and my three-foot tall nephew

Summary • Leona is usually pretty docile when it comes to you. You can do almost anything to him and at most he'll crush you and use you like a pillow.

Who says romance is dead?

But all romance is tossed out the window when you side with the enemy. He will not tolerate traitors.

Alternatively • You help Cheka disguise himself as a mini Leona and the original discovers your plan before you can steal his jacket for authenticity

…ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ …ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ …ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ

When Leona wakes up and feels you stripping him of his jacket, he assumes it is just you borrowing his clothing again.

After your transition, it was tricky to slip into sleeved clothing, so you often stole his jacket while he was asleep before running off to do who knows what. This sneaking of clothing isn’t new at all. Is it annoying because you are disrupting his nap? Yeah. But you put up with his shit so what can he do but put up with yours?

It is when you start tugging his shirt up that he feels the need to swat your hand as your fingers are cold.

“Leave it.”

... Another tug.

He grumbles. “What are you, a raccoon? Paws off.”

Leona’s amusement at your small indignant huff is short-lived when he hears a familiar giggle in the distance. He cracks open an eye. “Why do I hear Cheka?”

Your hands are hovering over him, posed much like a raccoon who is preparing to dip its paws into a dog’s food bowl. Hands slowly dropping to your sides, you lean back and sit on your legs. Closing the pages of a thick book, you shove it away from you, causing a crashing sound nearby. “No reason.”

“Where is Cheka?”

“What's a Cheka?”

“...”

He closes his eyes.

“...”

Up he goes.

You grapple him by his waist as he jumps to his feet with nothing but a simple ab crunch to pull his body upward— causing you to get dragged as you try to hold him back with all your dead weight. Unfortunately for you, he has long since proven he can lift you with ease. Were it not for your sympathy for beastmen's heightened sense of hearing, you would likely be screeching unintelligibly as you slink along the ground with each of his thundering steps.

“Cheka isn’t here!”

“Get your mitts offa me ‘less you want skin burn.” He trudges forward out of the door of his room to the rope bridge stairs that lead to the ground floor of the lounge.

“I’m honestly offended you’re able to drag me.”

“Get on my level, now, where is the brat?”

You look to the side with a huff, closing your eyes and ignoring his question. Not that he really needs you to answer, he can sniff out the kid from a mile away.

Well, if he wanted to, and in this case, he does.

When he reaches the ground floor, he notices a wall of students blocking something from his sight. It is obvious that this is where Cheka is, if not because of the meat shields, then because of their nervous whistling and the small, muffled giggles behind them.

Leona glares at the students, not stopping for a moment as he marches forth, dragging you behind him.

“Outta my way or get snapped.”

They all look sheepish as they shuffle aside to make a path for him, rubbing their necks and muttering apologies as they scoot out of the way.

Now, Leona is expecting a single Cheka. One Cheka, because he can still remember the horror of facing a horde of nephews after a misdirected spell from a first year.

What he doesn’t expect is to see the younger version of himself wearing his shrunken uniform while Jack Howl sits on the floor next to him with an expression that can’t settle on amused or ‘I want to go home’.

At the sight of his bandana around Cheka’s neck— looking no better than a bib— Leona pats himself down and inspects himself.

He hadn’t noticed it when he woke, but he is missing his necklaces and bracelets.

Looking down at the raccoon clinging to his waist, Leona narrows his eyes and grabs you by the back of your jacket before you can scurry off.

“Don’t even think about runnin’, your endurance is shit.”

“I have an opinion about that.”

“Oh yeah? Wanna try the backstroke in a sand pit?”

“... Suddenly I’m feeling so non-partisan.”

“’s what I thought.” Turning his attention back to his nephew, his favorite, only nephew— thank the Seven— he nods to Jack. “How’d they rope you in?”

“I have two siblings.” The white-haired teen shrugs non-committedly, allowing Cheka to try and spike his hair without any fuss. The acceptance is starting to make sense...

“Noted.”

Finally acknowledging the brat who wears his face, which makes acknowledging Cheka as a brat very... conflicting... Leona whistles, not unlike the signal one might use to call a dog. Works just fine though, the kid looks up eagerly, ears perking up as the attention of his uncle is finally on him.

“Unca Leona! I look just like you now!” Cheka announces proudly, his hands on his hips as he puffs out his chest, his expression beaming.

Leona has little fodder to use this time around, as the brat is literally a mini mirror of him.

“Yeah... you’ve never looked better, kid.”

He is going to smother you in your sleep later for your muffled wheeze.

493 notes View Post

kiransfanficstronghold

1 month ago

Overblot Gang + Rollo vs Plushies

Surely they're not jealous of a stuffed toy, right? ....right???

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle stepped into the room, exhaustion clinging to him like an unwelcome guest. It had been a day filled with chaos—Ace and Deuce were their usual disruptive selves, Heartslabyul’s hedgehogs had staged what could only be described as a minor rebellion, and the tea party had gone disastrously wrong when the tart supply mysteriously disappeared.

All Riddle wanted was to collapse into bed with you, the one person who made his world feel a little less upside-down.

But instead of finding you waiting to greet him, he found you fast asleep, curled up in the middle of the bed.

And clutching...a plushie.

Riddle froze, his hand still on the doorknob, his eyes narrowing at the offending object. It was a bunny plush, worn and clearly well-loved, nestled securely in your arms. Your cheek rested against its soft head, your lips slightly parted in a peaceful slumber.

For a moment, Riddle just stared. Then the tiniest flicker of jealousy ignited in his chest.

It’s just a stuffed toy, he told himself, but the longer he looked, the more irrational his thoughts became.

Why is it getting your affection while I’m here, alive, and far more deserving?

He shook his head, trying to dispel the ridiculous notion, but the sight of you snuggling the plushie like it was the most precious thing in the world made his face heat up.

“This is absurd,” he muttered under his breath, but his resolve only grew stronger.

Quietly, carefully, he crept closer to the bed, his eyes fixed on the plushie. His plan was simple: extract the bunny and take its place. Surely, you’d prefer your boyfriend over a stuffed toy.

He reached out, his fingers brushing against the plushie’s soft fabric. Just as he began to tug it free, your eyes fluttered open.

“Riddle?” you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep.

Riddle froze like a thief caught in the act, his face turning as red as his hair. “You’re awake!”

“I am now,” you said, a teasing smile tugging at your lips as you noticed the bunny in his hand. “What are you doing?”

“I was—” He struggled to find a reasonable explanation, but his traitorous blush gave him away. “You were holding it so tightly, and I thought perhaps you’d be more comfortable with me instead.”

You blinked at him for a moment before breaking into a laugh, soft and warm. “Riddle Rosehearts, are you jealous of my plushie?”

“I most certainly am not!” he spluttered, though the way he avoided your gaze told a different story.

“You are!” you said, sitting up and holding the plushie close. “You’re jealous of Bunny!”

Riddle groaned, burying his face in his hands. “This is mortifying.”

“Don’t worry, Bunny,” you cooed, deliberately making it worse. “Riddle doesn’t understand how much you mean to me.”

“Give me that!” Riddle reached for the plushie again, but you held it just out of reach, giggling as he tried to maintain his dignity while grappling with a stuffed toy.

Finally, you relented, setting the plushie aside and wrapping your arms around him instead. “I’m just teasing. You know you’re my favorite, right?”

He sighed, leaning into your embrace despite his embarrassment. “I don’t know why I let myself get worked up over something so silly.”

“Because you’re adorable,” you said, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Riddle’s blush deepened, but this time, he didn’t try to hide it. “Just...promise me you won’t replace me with a toy.”

You grinned, cupping his face in your hands. “Never. You’re too cute to replace.”

And with that, you pulled him into a kiss, his earlier jealousy forgotten as he melted into your affection. The plushie sat abandoned at the foot of the bed, no match for the warmth and love you gave so freely to the one who truly deserved it.

Leona Kingscholar

Leona slammed the door to your shared room, the sound of it echoing through the space. His day had been one giant pile of nonsense—from an annoying meeting he didn’t even want to attend to Ruggie disappearing when he needed him to take his place. And let’s not even talk about that one random pigeon that had the audacity to poop on his shoulder during his walk back to the dorm.

All he wanted now was the comfort of your presence and the luxury of using you as his personal pillow while he finally got some peace.

But when he turned to the bed, his sharp emerald eyes caught sight of you curled up against something that was decidedly not him.

You were cuddling a lion plushie, of all things, as you read a book. The toy was tucked snugly in your arms, and every now and then, you absentmindedly stroked its mane while flipping the pages.

Leona froze, his ears twitching in irritation. What in the world is that thing doing in my spot?

You glanced up when you noticed him standing there, his face an unreadable mask of simmering annoyance. “Oh, hey, Leona,” you greeted cheerfully, holding up the plushie. “Look! Isn’t this cute? I found it earlier, and it reminded me of you.”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he crossed the room in a few swift strides, grabbed the plushie from your arms, and unceremoniously hurled it across the room. It landed with a pathetic little plop in the corner.

“Leona!” you exclaimed, half-shocked, half-amused. “What was that for?”

He flopped onto the bed beside you, pulling you into his arms with a huff. “That stupid toy’s been hogging my place all day,” he grumbled, burying his face in your neck. “I don’t need competition in my own bed.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, threading your fingers through his hair as he tangled himself around you like an oversized, grumpy cat. “Leona, it’s just a plushie. Are you seriously jealous of a stuffed animal?”

“I'm not jealous,” he muttered, tightening his grip around your waist. “I’m the only lion you need.”

“Aw, poor baby,” you teased, tilting his chin up so you could look him in the eyes. “Do you feel neglected? Should I make it up to you?”

Leona raised an eyebrow, though the corner of his lips twitched upward in a smirk. “Damn straight, you should. Start with those kisses you owe me.”

With a laugh, you leaned down and kissed him softly, your hands cradling his face. He hummed in satisfaction, his earlier annoyance melting away as you continued peppering his cheeks and forehead with affection.

“Better now?” you asked, grinning against his skin.

“Hmm,” he replied, sounding almost lazy, though his arms stayed firmly locked around you. “Still annoyed that you thought some stuffed toy was good enough to take my place, but I guess I’ll survive.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you said, shaking your head but snuggling closer to him.

“And you’re mine,” he murmured, pulling the blanket over both of you. “Now shut up and get comfortable. You’re my pillow tonight.”

You didn’t mind one bit, letting him rest his head on your chest while you stroked his hair. The plushie in the corner could wait—your favorite lion was right where he belonged.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul walked into your shared room, exhaling a sigh that carried the weight of a long, exhausting day. Between renegotiating contracts with customers, juggling lounge finances, and—most harrowing of all—keeping Floyd and Jade from causing a full-blown diplomatic incident, he was done.

All he wanted now was the comfort of your embrace and the chance to leave the chaos of the Mostro Lounge behind.

But when he stepped into the room, his eyes landed on you sprawled on the bed.

You were curled up with an octopus plushie of all things, the game console in your hands forgotten as you absently squished the toy. It had an oddly familiar round head and floppy tentacles that dangled off the side of the bed.

Azul froze in the doorway, blinking at the scene in front of him. His sharp mind began firing off thoughts at record speed.

Is that... me? No, of course not. But you’re cuddling it. You’re smiling. Does it remind you of me?

He frowned as another realization hit him like a cold wave.

Am I... jealous of a goddamn plushie?

Clearing his throat, he stepped further into the room. “What’s this, my dear?” he asked, voice smooth but laced with suspicion.

You glanced up and beamed at him. “Oh! Welcome back, Azul!” You held up the plushie as if presenting a priceless artifact. “Isn’t this cute? I found it earlier and thought it looked a little like you.”

Azul’s composure faltered for a split second, his cheeks tinging pink. “You think an oversized toy resembles me?”

“Well, yeah,” you said, tilting your head innocently. “It’s an octopus. And it’s adorable.”

Azul adjusted his glasses, hiding his expression. “I see.” He hesitated before clearing his throat again. “It seems you’re quite attached to it.”

You hummed in agreement, giving the plushie another squeeze. “It’s so squishy and comforting to hold while I play.”

Azul’s eyebrow twitched. “Comforting, is it?”

He walked to the bed, sitting down beside you with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Darling, might I propose a trade?”

“A trade?” you repeated, trying not to laugh at how serious he looked.

“Yes,” he said smoothly. “That plushie for... well, anything you desire. Perhaps a free full course meal at the lounge? Or a favor of your choosing?”

You raised an eyebrow, setting down your console. “Are you trying to make a deal with me over a stuffed toy?”

Azul’s cheeks darkened. “Of course not. I simply thought you might prefer a more... meaningful source of comfort.”

It clicked, and a mischievous grin spread across your face. “Oh. Oh, I see what this is.”

“What are you implying?” he asked, straightening his tie even though it wasn’t out of place.

“You’re jealous of the plushie,” you said, leaning toward him with a teasing glint in your eyes.

Azul sputtered, adjusting his glasses again. “Jealous? Don’t be absurd. Why would I—”

“Aw, Azul,” you cooed, cutting him off as you set the plushie aside and wrapped your arms around his neck. “You should’ve just said you wanted to be my cuddle buddy. You’re my favorite octo-mer, after all.”

His ears flushed deeper as he tried to maintain his dignity. “Well, of course I am. There’s no need for comparison.”

“Good,” you said, pulling him down onto the bed and into the position the plushie had been occupying moments ago. You rested your head against his chest, a satisfied smile on your face. “Because this is way better than some squishy toy.”

Azul relaxed, his arms wrapping around you as a content sigh escaped his lips. “Naturally,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.

From the corner of the room, the plushie sat forgotten. Azul glanced at it once and smirked. You’ll never take my place again.

Jamil Viper

Jamil shuffled down the dorm hallway, exhaustion radiating off him in waves. The day had been a whirlwind of chaos—cooking for Kalim’s impromptu banquet, mediating arguments between students, and narrowly avoiding another wild scheme involving magic carpets.

All he wanted was to collapse on the bed he shared with you. That you’d be there was just the cherry on top.

He pushed the door open, ready to greet you—only to stop dead in his tracks.

You were curled up on the bed, scrolling through your phone with a peaceful smile. But it wasn’t just you. No, you were wrapped snugly around a snake plushie.

Its long, noodle-like body coiled over your lap as you absently hugged it closer, your cheek pressing against its soft fabric.

Jamil’s eye twitched.

He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, and stared at the scene with growing annoyance.

You look so happy... with a plushie.

“Hey, Jamil!” you greeted cheerfully, glancing up from your phone. “Welcome back. Long day?”

“Mm,” he hummed, walking toward the bed with a carefully neutral expression. He sat down stiffly at the edge, his back to you.

“Everything okay?” you asked, noticing his unusually curt demeanor.

“Fine,” he replied, voice clipped.

You frowned, putting your phone down. Wrapping your arms around his back, you rested your chin on his shoulder. “You sure? You seem… off.”

“I’m fine,” he said again, though his tone didn’t convince either of you.

You squinted at his turned profile, the faintest flush dusting his ears. He wasn’t looking at you—or, more specifically, at the snake plushie you still held loosely.

Then it clicked.

You smirked, leaning closer. “Wait a second. Are you… jealous of the plushie?”

His shoulders tensed, and he immediately scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Oh my gosh, you are jealous!” you teased, letting go of the plushie entirely to wrap yourself fully around him. “You hate my noodle friend, don’t you?”

Jamil turned slightly, just enough to glare half-heartedly at you. “It’s not— I don’t— It’s a toy,” he huffed, the flush on his face deepening.

“A very cute toy,” you said with a grin, nuzzling your cheek against his. “But not as cute as my boyfriend.”

Jamil stiffened as you started peppering kisses along his jawline. “Stop,” he mumbled weakly, his resolve clearly crumbling.

“Why?” you asked innocently, kissing the corner of his lips before moving to his neck. “You’re so much better than any plushie. You’re warm and handsome and smell nice…”

He finally cracked, turning to face you fully with an exasperated sigh. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“Mm, but you love me anyway,” you said with a laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck.

Jamil gave you a tired but affectionate look, letting himself melt into your embrace. “Maybe.”

You smiled, pulling him down onto the bed with you. As he settled into your arms, the plushie forgotten on the floor, you whispered, “You’ll always be my favorite noodle.”

He groaned, burying his face in your shoulder to hide his embarrassed grin. “You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?”

“Never,” you said, pressing a kiss to his temple.

And Jamil, despite his protests, felt a sense of peace he hadn’t experienced all day.

Vil Schoenheit

Vil returned to his dorm room with a sigh of relief, the stress of the day clinging to him like stage makeup. The auditions, the photoshoots, and Epel’s ongoing refusal to use skincare—it had been a lot.

What he wanted now was simple: your company, your warmth, and the soothing routine of winding down together before bed.

However, when he stepped inside, his poised demeanor wavered.

You were curled up on the bed, a content smile on your face, snuggled tightly against a plushie—a soft, bunny-shaped one at that.

Vil froze, one hand still on the door handle.

It’s just a plushie, he told himself. A mere inanimate object.

But as he watched you absentmindedly rub your cheek against the bunny’s floppy ear, he felt… something.

Annoyance? At the plushie? Himself? You? He couldn’t even tell.

Brushing off the irrational jealousy bubbling in his chest, Vil set his things down and began his evening routine. He didn’t mention the plushie or the way it seemed to taunt him with its undeserved place in your arms.

You looked up with a warm smile. “Hey, Vil. How was your day?”

“Busy,” he replied smoothly, glancing your way briefly before focusing on his vanity.

“You want me to pin up your hair?” you offered, already starting to sit up, plushie still clutched in one hand.

“No need,” he said quickly, voice tighter than usual.

You blinked. That was unusual—Vil always let you (only you) help with his hair. But you shrugged it off, assuming he was just tired.

As Vil carefully applied his cleanser, the plushie caught his eye again in the mirror. It was still nestled against you, smugly enjoying the attention that should’ve been his.

Halfway through his routine, he finally snapped.

With a dramatic sigh, Vil spun around, crossed the room in three graceful strides, and plucked the bunny from your lap.

“Uh—?” you started, confused, but before you could say more, Vil replaced the plushie with himself, settling across your lap as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Vil?” you asked, biting back a laugh as his weight pressed you into the mattress.

“Not. A. Word,” he warned, narrowing his eyes at your amused expression. His cheeks were faintly pink, but he composed himself quickly, picking up where he left off with his skincare routine as though nothing had happened.

You grinned, wrapping your arms around his waist. “You’re adorable, you know that?”

Vil’s hands faltered for a split second before he regained his composure. “I don’t need your commentary.”

“You’re totally jealous of the bunny,” you teased, leaning up to kiss his shoulder.

He clicked his tongue but didn’t deny it. Instead, he muttered, “Why would I feel jealous over a plushie?”

“Because you’re pouting,” you said, laughing softly.

Vil sighed, tilting his head slightly to look at you out of the corner of his eye. “I do not pout. And don’t think I’ll let you win this one.”

“Oh, I’ve already won,” you said, tightening your hold on him.

Vil shook his head, muttering something about your insufferable sense of humor, but his posture relaxed as he continued his routine.

By the time he finished, the plushie had been completely forgotten, replaced entirely by the warm, smug human wrapped around his waist.

Idia Shroud

Idia shuffled back to his room after the dorm leaders' meeting, grumbling under his breath about its sheer redundancy.

"Like they really needed me there. My tablet could've handled it. Heck, I could’ve sent Ortho in my place! It’s not like I’m ever the one making decisions… What’s the point of—"

His mumbling came to an abrupt halt as he stepped into his room and saw you on the bed.

You were curled up against a giant teddy bear, console still in hand, the screen long since dimmed. Soft snores escaped you as you nestled deeper into the plushie's arms, utterly at peace.

Idia froze, his face instantly heating up. "Wha—?! W-why is this so—?!" His hair sparked pink as he clutched his hoodie, feeling like he was going to short-circuit.

The sight was almost too much. You, looking so cute and peaceful, holding a teddy bear like it was some kind of rival stealing his spot.

He fumbled for his phone, hands shaking slightly as he snapped several photos. “For, uh, research. Totally normal behavior. Definitely not for my… secret stash.” His whisper echoed a bit too loudly in the silent room.

But now he was faced with a dilemma.

On one hand, you looked so cozy, and the last thing he wanted to do was disturb you. On the other hand… he wanted to be that teddy bear.

Idia stood awkwardly at the foot of the bed, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, trying to decide what to do. He wrung his hands together, muttering to himself like a character weighing dialogue options.

"Option A: Let them sleep. Pros—cute and peaceful. Cons—no interaction.

Option B: Wake them up. Pros—I get attention. Cons—they might get mad."

Before he could settle on an answer, you stirred, stretching with a groggy yawn. Your eyes fluttered open, and you blinked at him standing there, looking like a deer caught in headlights.

"Idia?" you mumbled, setting the console aside. You gave the teddy bear one final pat before tossing it away and reaching out to him. "C’mere.”

His heart skipped a beat. “M-me?!”

“Obviously you,” you teased with a sleepy smile, pulling him into a hug as soon as he got close enough.

Idia practically melted into your arms, his hair shifting to a bright pink. His smugness quickly returned, though, as he realized the teddy bear had been successfully ousted. "H-heh. +1 affection point for me," he muttered under his breath, his voice a mix of pride and shyness.

You raised an eyebrow, laughing softly. “Affection point? Idia, you already maxed out your affection gauge ages ago.”

His brain short-circuited again, and he buried his face in your shoulder, muffling a squeaky, “D-don’t say stuff like that!”

“Why not?” you teased, leaning back to look at his glowing face. “You’re adorable when you blush.”

Idia groaned dramatically, his hair flaring brighter as he tried to hide behind his bangs. But despite his embarrassment, he managed to wrap his arms around you, pulling you closer.

“Fine, whatever. Just… don’t let go, okay?” he muttered, his voice soft.

You chuckled, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Not a chance.”

From the corner of the room, the discarded teddy bear sat forgotten, a silent casualty in Idia’s victorious conquest for your affection.

Malleus Draconia

It had been a peaceful evening—stars twinkling, a cool breeze wafting through the window, and the promise of a lovely stroll under the moonlight. Malleus had been particularly pleased with the weather and decided to invite you for an evening walk.

He entered the room, his usual serene expression softening when his eyes fell upon you. But then, he froze.

There you were, curled up in bed, holding a plush dragon in your arms like it was the most comforting thing in the world.

A deep rumble echoed in the distance.

You blinked, sitting up slightly. “Was that… thunder?”

Before you could ponder further, a crack of lightning lit up the sky outside, followed by the booming roar of thunder that seemed to shake the walls. You stared out the window in disbelief.

“But it was perfectly clear two minutes ago!” you exclaimed.

Turning back to Malleus, you found him standing as still as a statue, his eyes narrowed and locked onto the offending plushie in your arms. The air around him practically crackled with energy.

“Uh… Malleus?” you ventured carefully, glancing between him and the plush.

His voice was low and serious, tinged with a hint of betrayal. “Is that what brings you comfort in my absence?”

You stared at him for a moment, then at the plushie, before the realization dawned. Suppressing a laugh, you decided to play along.

“Oh no, this?” you said, holding up the plush with exaggerated disdain. “This means nothing to me.”

Malleus arched a brow, clearly unconvinced, though his eyes remained laser-focused on the dragon-shaped invader.

To really drive the point home, you dramatically tossed the plush into the corner of the room. “See? It’s nothing compared to you, my most handsome, powerful dragon.”

You spread your arms and wrapped yourself around Malleus, resting your cheek against his shoulder. His stiff posture eased almost immediately, and the thunderstorm brewing outside dissipated as if it had never existed.

“Hmm,” he hummed, his voice quieter now but still holding a touch of haughtiness. “I suppose it’s only natural. I am your favorite dragon, after all.”

“You’re my only dragon,” you said with a chuckle, leaning back to look at him.

Malleus gazed down at you, his expression softening into something tender. “Good,” he murmured, placing a hand under your chin to tilt your face up. “I would hate to compete with a mere stuffed toy for your affection.”

You laughed, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You’re lucky you’re so cute, you know that?”

He blinked, visibly startled by the compliment, his ears tinging slightly red. “Cute? I… I do not believe ‘cute’ is the word one typically uses to describe the future king of Briar Valley.”

“Well, I do,” you said, smiling mischievously as you planted another kiss on his lips.

Malleus let out a deep sigh, though the corners of his mouth quirked upward. “You are… quite the peculiar human, my love.”

“And you wouldn’t have it any other way,” you teased.

Malleus chuckled softly, pulling you closer. Outside, the weather had returned to the calm, moonlit serenity it was before—a perfect night for a walk. Though judging by the way Malleus held you now, neither of you seemed in any rush to leave.

Rollo Flamme

After a long day of dealing with incompetent council members, insufferable students, and the lingering stench of magic in the air, Rollo Flamme was finally free. As he walked into your shared room, his shoulders relaxed slightly at the thought of seeing you. Your presence was always the perfect antidote to his day’s irritations.

But then, he saw it.

There you were, curled up in bed, holding a plush dragon that was far too detailed for his liking. Its smug, embroidered eyes glinted in the soft light, as if mocking him. Worse, it was lounging on his side of the bed.

He froze mid-step, the betrayal hitting him like a thunderbolt.

You looked up, immediately noticing his stricken expression. “Rollo? Are you okay?”

He didn’t respond, his gaze locked on the plushie with such intensity it was a wonder it didn’t burst into flames.

You tilted your head, following his line of sight. “Oh, this?” you said, holding up the dragon plush with a smile. “I won it at the arcade today! Isn’t it cute?”

Glass shattering. Dramatic violins. Betrayal.

“...A dragon,” he said, his voice low and tight.

“Yeah,” you said, hugging it closer without realizing the depth of the offense. “It’s so soft, and look at its little wings! They’re kind of shiny—”

“Does it need wings?” he cut in sharply, glaring at the plush like it had personally insulted him.

You blinked. “Rollo, are you... mad at the plushie?”

He straightened immediately, huffing indignantly. “Mad? At a stuffed toy? Don’t be absurd.”

But the way his eyes flicked back to the plush betrayed him, the subtle narrowing of his gaze screaming volumes.

You couldn’t help it—you laughed. “Oh my gosh, you are mad! Is it because it’s a dragon? Does it remind you of Malleus?”

His jaw tightened. “I do not dignify such comparisons with a response.”

You grinned, setting the plush aside. “Well, if it bothers you so much, I can just put it away.”

“It doesn’t bother me,” he lied, though his shoulders eased a fraction when you stood and picked up the plushie.

“I’ll banish it to the closet,” you teased, waving the dragon plush dramatically before stuffing it into the closet. “There, see? Gone.”

Rollo exhaled quietly, his usual stoic demeanor returning. “Good. It’s for the best.”

You walked over and wrapped your arms around his waist, resting your cheek against his shoulder “You know you’re the only one I’d ever actually want to cuddle, right?”

His ears turned red, and he cleared his throat, but his arms instinctively came up to hold you close. “I would hope so,” he muttered, though his tone softened as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

As you snuggled against him, he allowed himself a moment of peace, though his mind wandered. He would have to get you something far superior—something elegant and tasteful. Perhaps a plush raven or something equally refined. Certainly nothing with wings or scales.

You smiled against his chest, feeling the tension leave his body. “You’re not still mad, are you?”

“No,” he said quickly. “But I’ll be... keeping an eye on your choice of arcade prizes in the future.”

You laughed, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “Whatever you say, Rollo.”

Deep down, he wasn’t entirely sure if he’d won or lost this battle, but with your arms around him, he decided it didn’t really matter.

Masterlist

2K notes View Post

kiransfanficstronghold

1 month ago

Ruffled Hair and Genuine Smiles

Riddle x !Mother Figure! Reader (platonic)

It was after Riddle's overblot, when you crouched next to him on the ground as he cried and gently wiped his tears before offering the warmest hug he's ever gotten in his life, that he first felt that warm feeling in his chest.

You went on to offer to help him make the tart Ace demanded as an apology; pointing out that Ace had plenty of help making his and therefore Riddle deserved at least one person to help him.

When it came to baking the tart, Riddle had that unfamiliar, warm feeling in his chest the whole time you two were working.

You giggled when he got flour on his cheek, and when he pouted, you smudged some on your own as well so the two of you would match.

Riddle was stunned by your action, but he found himself letting out the most genuine laugh he's laughed in ages.

When Riddle mentioned the oyster sauce you gave him a strange look before shrugging and telling him to go ahead and add it. (It would he Trey, the one who told him this little 'trick', that would be tasting the consequences)

You could see Riddle trying his hardest to be better after his overblot, so you made sure to let him know you saw his efforts. Sometimes you did this with words, and other times you did it by fondly ruffling his hair.

It doesn't matter if you're all that much older than Riddle or not, at this point he was starting to unconsciously see you as a mother figure.

On the rare occasion that he didn't already have his tie tied perfectly and positioned just right, you would come up and do it for him. (there's that warm feeling again)

On test days you'd meet up with him after school to see how he did. When he did well you hugged him happily. When he did poorer than he hoped, you still hugged him: reassuring him that this wouldn't be the end of the world. "We all fall short of our goals sometimes. It's a part of life and it's how we learn. Look at your test. The ones you got wrong are marked. You can take this information and use it to do better next time. You know what you struggle with, so work on it. There will be plenty more tests for you to ace in the future, but you won't be able to do so if you allow yourself to be put down by this one. I believe in you, Riddle; and I'm proud of you whether you get 100% or not."

Riddle was stunned by your words and ended up crying in your welcoming arms for a second time.

Anytime he would slip up and get angry, you'd gently calm him down and help him find a better solution than yelling.

Anytime the Equestrian Club would have a competition of some sort, you'd be in the front row of the crowd: camera in hand. Somehow, he could always hear your cheers over the rest of the crowd.

Riddle somehow got a button torn off his uniform jacket once, and you offered to fix it for him. The next day, you showed up to Heartslabyul bright and early in the morning (with the slightest dark circles under your eyes from staying up all night making sure your stitches were perfect) Jacket in hand.

He didn't realize until later in the day when he reached his hand in his pocket that you had left a little note. "Have a good day, Riddle! Good luck on your test! :)"

Anytime Riddle would have to call his mom, and inevitably be left upset afterwards, you'd always be there for him with your arms open.

"Oh" he thought, finally piecing his feelings together. That warm feeling in his chest every time you did something for him that showed him you cared. . .that's what it's supposed to feel like to be loved by a mother. Not cold and harsh. Soft and warm.

Nobody dares utter a word when they see the usually uptight Riddle not so discreetly looking for you after class on test days: 100% score in hand. Nor do they utter a word when they see how excited he looks when he finally finds you and shows you the test. And they certainly don't say anything when you get away with ruffling his hair and giving him a soft hug.

"I'm proud of you, Riddle." This is a sentence his real mother has never once uttered to him, at least not genuinely. It's come to the point that any time he hears those words he can't help but feel inadequate. That's what his mother always made him feel when she said those words in that ingenuine tone of hers.

But when you said it?

When you said it in that oh-so-gentle tone with that oh-so-genuine smile. . .

Riddle felt love

He finally felt like someone was truly proud of him, and he was proud of himself too.

He accidentally calls you mom once, but instead of looking at him disgustedly or yelling at him as he expected; your laugh flows airily through the air like a wind chime. It's not in a condescending way, but rather one that conveys a sense of fondness. You simply ruffle his hair and smile.

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kiransfanficstronghold

1 month ago

What if yuu died?

(I'm feeling angsty >:]) ((I kept crying while writing this))

DWARF'S MINE:

Grim

Grim is the first one to notice.

They were bickering, as usual. Yuu told him not to wander off. He called them bossy and sauntered ahead. He thought Yuu was right behind him until he heard the rumble.

When Grim turns around, the mine is collapsing. He hears a scream—their scream—and then nothing.

At first, Grim is in denial. “They’re probably fine! Just hiding like a scaredy-cat!” he yells, ears flat, tail bristled. He digs at the rocks, paws trembling, not because he’s weak but because he’s scared. His tiny claws scrape until they bleed.

Later, when the truth settles in, Grim doesn’t talk for days. No bragging. No yelling. He just curls up on the couch in Ramshackle, staring at the door like he’s waiting for Yuu to walk through it.

He starts blaming himself. Quietly. “I shoulda protected them… I’m the Great Grim, right? What good is all this power if I couldn’t save 'em…”

Ace Trappola

Ace puts up a wall.

He makes some stupid comment at first. “They seriously died that easily? Weak…”

But his voice cracks halfway through. He avoids eye contact with Deuce and walks away before anyone can see him clench his fists.

Later, Ace returns to the mine alone. He just stands at the spot where the rocks fell, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “Dumbass… you weren’t even supposed to be here. What were you thinking, coming down here without magic?”

If anyone tries to talk to him about it, he brushes them off. But sometimes, when no one's looking, he stares at Ramshackle’s gate like he wants to go up and say something—but always turns around.

Deuce Spade

Deuce takes it hard.

He was right there. He thought he was being responsible. He was supposed to look out for the magicless student, right?

“I failed them…” “I should’ve noticed something was wrong…” “If I’d just reacted faster…”

He says things like that a lot. Grim won’t talk. Ace won’t listen. So Deuce just keeps repeating it to himself.

He visits Ramshackle and helps clean it up. Makes sure the firewood is stacked, the beds are neat—even though no one lives there anymore. “I just… want to keep it ready. In case they come back. Somehow.”

Crowley

Crowley is... complicated.

Publicly, he spins it as a “tragic accident”—“A rare, unfortunate incident during a school-sanctioned task! We shall honor our lost guest!” He uses big words and flashy speeches, and pretends like this wasn’t his fault.

But when he’s alone in his office, he looks at the file with Yuu’s name and wonders if he ever even really tried to help them.

He sent a magicless teen to mine with unstable students and monsters.

He knew they were different. Vulnerable. And yet, he brushed it off.

There’s a note he writes but never sends, addressed to the mirror that summoned Yuu:

“This realm took what it never should have touched. And now it has blood on its hands.”

He keeps the key to Ramshackle on his desk. Every time he sees it, he flinches.

RIDDLE'S OVERBLOT

Grim

He saw it happen.

He was right there—he saw the blast coming, and he tried to drag Yuu back, but they slipped from his grip.

“Yuu?” he calls out, paw nudging at their arm. “Hey. Hey, c’mon, this ain’t funny. Get up.”

He tries to laugh it off at first. Grim doesn’t do death. He doesn’t understand it. Not really.

But when the healers come and shake their heads, when no one responds, something inside Grim shatters.

His magic starts reacting wildly. He growls and sparks with unstable fire, yelling at Riddle’s unconscious body like it’s his fault. “You ruined everything! They’re gone and it’s because of YOU!”

Afterward, he won’t eat. Won’t talk. He curls up in Yuu’s bed with their uniform jacket tucked under his chin, tail limp.

“They promised we’d figure stuff out together... Now I gotta do it alone?”

Ace Trappola

Ace flips out.

Not right away. First, it’s disbelief. “No, no, they’re gonna get up. Right? Deuce? Tell me they’re fine.”

Then, it’s anger. At Riddle. At Cater and Trey for not stopping it. At himself.

He slams his fist into a wall so hard his knuckles bleed. “I should’ve pulled them out. I saw the signs. I knew something was gonna happen.”

He gets snappy. Bitter. Starts arguments with anyone who tries to sugarcoat it. “They didn’t ‘pass peacefully.’ They got caught up in some overblot crap that wasn’t even their fault!”

He avoids Ramshackle. Too many memories. Too much guilt.

But he keeps Yuu’s student ID in his jacket pocket.

Deuce Spade

Deuce cries.

He tries to hold it in, tries to be strong—because that’s what he thinks Yuu would’ve wanted—but the tears come anyway. He sobs into his hands when no one’s looking, shaking with the weight of regret.

“I promised to protect them…” he whispers.

He keeps up their dorm. Keeps bringing food to Grim, even if the little guy won’t touch it. He visits Crowley’s office demanding answers, demanding justice, yelling that this shouldn’t have happened.

Deuce becomes the one who remembers the little things—how Yuu liked their tea, the dumb jokes they told, the way they always said "I've got your back" even without magic.

And he makes sure everyone else remembers too.

Riddle Rosehearts

When he wakes up from the overblot and hears the news, he goes silent.

He doesn't cry. Doesn’t scream. He just… shuts down.

He asks to see the body. Crowley says no.

So Riddle walks to the rose maze himself, stands in the spot where Yuu fell, and just stares at the blood-stained petals.

“I didn’t mean to…”

He says it to no one. Over and over. A mantra. A curse.

He writes an apology note but tears it up. Who would it even go to?

Trey and Cater notice the shift—Riddle becomes harsher on himself. More rigid. Less confident. Because deep down, he knows:

Someone died because he lost control.

Cater Diamond

Cater’s smile doesn’t slip right away.

He’s used to filtering his emotions. Used to staying “on brand,” even when he’s horrified. So when he sees Yuu’s lifeless form after the magic storm clears, he just… freezes.

“H-Haha… no way, right? This has to be a prank. Right, Riddle?”

No one answers. Grim is howling. Ace is screaming. Deuce is crying.

Cater’s hands start to shake.

Later, he’ll post nothing. Not even a filtered picture. He'll ghost Magicam for a while.

He tries to visit Ramshackle once, to drop off a bouquet of marigolds and forget-me-nots—but the door creaks open and he sees Grim curled up on the couch, and he just can’t do it.

“I didn’t even know them,” he murmurs to himself, “and it still hurts this bad… What about the ones who did?”

Trey Clover

Trey stays composed. He always does.

He takes over when everyone else is falling apart—helping stabilize the overblot aftermath, escorting Riddle away from the scene, offering Deuce a tissue, shielding Cater from seeing too much.

But when he's alone in the kitchen later, making a tart for no one, he lets himself break a little.

His knife pauses mid-slice. A cherry slips and stains the counter red.

“I should’ve noticed Riddle was this close to snapping,” he mutters. “If I’d stopped him sooner…”

Trey doesn't cry. But guilt clings to him like powdered sugar on a fresh cake. Yuu wasn’t his responsibility, but they were in his dorm's garden. Under his vice-leadership. And that’s not something he forgets easily.

He leaves a note at Ramshackle with a box of treats:

“For Grim. I know they liked sweet things. —Trey”

Dire Crowley

Crowley is the one who has to “make it official.”

He stands before the gathered first years, his usual flourish gone. There’s no fanfare, no dramatic cloak-swoosh. Just a stiff, solemn tone.

“It is with deepest regret that I must confirm… the Prefect of Ramshackle Dorm has passed, following the incident involving an overblot.”

He doesn’t look anyone in the eye.

When the students leave, he stays behind in the hall, staring at the cracked mirror that once brought Yuu here.

“They were never supposed to be involved in magic,” he mutters. “I was supposed to protect them…”

He writes a formal report. Then another one. Then a third. None of them feel right.

Later, Crowley visits Ramshackle and sets down a key with a tiny raven charm beside their bed.

“I promised you safety. I failed. May this place remember you better than I did.”

LEONA'S OVERBLOT

It’s live. NRC's Spelldrive match is being broadcast across Twisted Wonderland.

Leona’s magic erupts like a sandstorm hurricane—spikes of sand and flame. Yuu is running, dragging an injured Grim, trying to reach Jack.

Then comes the roar.

Then silence.

The sand settles. A figure lies limp in the wreckage.

There’s a gasp on the feed. The camera zooms in— —and the world watches as the magicless Prefect, the one who stood beside overblots and chaos, lies still on the battlefield.

Grim

Grim doesn’t even process what happens at first.

He sees the sandstorm. The explosion of magic. He hears Yuu scream—and then nothing. Just silence.

He claws at their body. “Get up! Hey! I said get UP!”

He tries to use his magic. Tries to warm them up with a fireball. Nothing works.

He sobs until his voice is hoarse. He doesn’t leave their side—not when the teachers show up, not when the sun sets, not even when Crowley tries to move him.

“You said we were gonna leave this place together, remember? You promised…”

After that, he never says their name again. But he whispers it in his sleep, tail curled around their favorite pillow.

Ace Trappola

Ace punches Leona.

No questions, no hesitation—he hauls off and decks him right across the jaw, shouting “You bastard! You KILLED them!”

It doesn’t matter that Leona’s still recovering from the overblot. It doesn’t matter that he gets dragged off. He’s shaking with rage.

Ace’s grief comes out as fire. Loud. Angry. Messy.

Later, he sneaks into Ramshackle alone. He rifles through Yuu’s drawers, looking for something—a hoodie, a note, an old snack wrapper. Anything that still smells like them.

He finds a photo they all took before the Spelldrive match.

He keeps it in his wallet.

Deuce Spade

Deuce kneels beside Yuu’s body and doesn’t move for a long time.

He holds their hand. It’s still warm. He begs the healers to try again. Begs the staff to do something.

“They can’t be gone… Not them. Not Yuu…”

He starts blaming himself. “If I’d been faster. If I’d trained harder. If I’d just been stronger—”

He throws himself into becoming stronger after that. Pushing past his limits. Studying harder. Training until he drops.

But he never stops wearing the little Ramshackle pin Yuu made for him, safety-pinned to the inside of his collar.

Cater Diamond

Cater completely drops the act.

No more filters. No cute captions. No jokes.

He vanishes from Magicam for a full month. When he comes back, it’s quiet. Just a black square and one line:

“Miss u, bestie.”

He tries to keep smiling around others, especially Grim, but it’s clearly forced. His voice cracks sometimes.

“I never even said goodbye… How could I not say goodbye?!”

Cater leaves a bracelet at the edge of the Savanaclaw field where they fell—green and silver beads, their initials on it.

He comes back every week to make sure it's still there.

Trey Clover

Trey becomes the one who takes care of everyone else.

He comforts Grim. Checks on Deuce. Calms Ace. Brings food even when no one eats.

He tries to be steady, reliable—but even he has his moments.

Sometimes, late at night in the kitchen, when he’s baking and the scent of vanilla fills the room, he sees Yuu laughing by the counter and has to sit down before he breaks.

He brings a box of strawberry tarts to Ramshackle and places it on their bed, whispering, “You always liked these… right?”

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle is devastated.

He stares at their body with wide, horrified eyes. His throat closes. He stammers something—rules, overblot laws, consequences—but the words fall flat.

He visits their grave alone. He brings roses, red and white.

“I should have stopped Leona. I knew something was wrong. I should have said something. Done something…”

He reads old messages Yuu sent him. Keeps rereading them, like they'll change.

When Heartslabyul hosts a tea party in their memory, Riddle personally makes sure it’s perfect.

“They deserve nothing less.”

Jack Howl

Jack grits his teeth.

He says nothing at first. Just watches in silence as the healers pronounce Yuu gone.

But later, he trains. Harder than ever. His knuckles split. His legs ache.

“If I’d been there a second earlier… I could’ve shielded them.”

He doesn’t cry, but he starts carrying himself a little more respectfully. For Yuu.

At Ramshackle, he leaves a desert lily by their bed—a flower that survives in harshness. “You were tough. I’ll honor that.”

Dire Crowley

Crowley looks… older afterward.

He gives a dramatic speech at the memorial. Everyone assumes he’s playing it up again—until he chokes up mid-sentence.

“This school was supposed to keep them safe…”

He writes a letter to the Headmage’s council, arguing that overblots are no longer “rare accidents,” but institutional failures.

He also writes one to Yuu.

It sits in his drawer, never sent.

“You deserved better. From this world. From me. I only hope the next life is kinder.”

Leona Kingscholar

Leona doesn’t say a word when he’s told Yuu didn’t survive.

He just stares. At the scorch mark in the dirt. At the faces of the others—Grim sobbing, Deuce shaking, Ace screaming at him. He says nothing.

He turns away.

No apology. No excuse. He doesn't even try to defend himself.

Later, alone in his dorm, he leans against the wall with a clenched jaw, grinding his molars. His overblot haze is gone, but the image of Yuu—burned into his memory—won’t leave.

“Tch... They were a nobody. Just some magicless brat...”

But he’s not saying it to anyone else. He’s trying to convince himself. Because deep down, he knows that’s not true. Yuu stood their ground. Faced him when even Savanaclaw students ran. And they died because of him.

The next day, Leona doesn’t come out of his room.

The week after that, he’s quieter. Less sharp-tongued. Still dangerous, still smug—but there’s a heaviness in his voice now.

He doesn’t go to the memorial. But he sends a small wrapped parcel to Ramshackle with Ruggie.

Inside: a faded Savanaclaw armband and a simple note.

They had guts. —L

Ruggie Bucchi

Ruggie wasn’t close to Yuu, but they helped him once.

Shared a snack. Laughed at his dumb jokes. Treated him like a person, not Leona’s errand boy.

So when he sees their body, something shifts.

“…They’re really gone?”

He doesn’t cry. He’s too used to loss for that. But his stomach churns as he watches Grim howl and Ace get dragged away from Leona.

Ruggie knew this was gonna happen eventually. He just didn’t think it’d be Yuu.

He feels the tension in the dorm, hears the whispers from other students, and suddenly everything feels too loud.

That night, he lights a candle in the Savanaclaw lounge. It’s small, cheap, something from the Night Market.

He stares at the flame and murmurs, “Rest easy, alright? Sorry we never got to hang out more…”

Then he turns and gets back to work, because someone has to clean up the mess.

But he steals food from the cafeteria a little more often now.

For Grim.

AZUL'S OVERBLOT

Grim

He can’t even scream this time.

He runs to their body, but the water’s still seeping away. He tries to drag them out. Shouts for help.

He sobs into their clothes, claws clenched around fabric, whispering over and over, “No no no—come on, come on—don’t do this, please—”

He tries breathing fire, again and again, like maybe the warmth will bring them back.

Azul’s contracts burn around them. Grim doesn’t care. He curls around their chest and doesn’t move for hours.

Ace Trappola

Ace laughs.

It’s a broken sound, too sharp to be real.

“No way. No way they’re— They can’t be— This is stupid. They survived Leona. They survived Riddle. They’re Yuu.”

He looks at Azul like he wants to kill him, but then just… stops. He walks over to Yuu’s body and sits down beside them, knees to his chest, silent.

Hours later, he mutters to no one, “I didn’t even get to say sorry… I called them annoying this morning…”

Deuce Spade

Deuce falls to his knees.

He shakes Azul by the collar, shouting “WHAT DID YOU DO?!” before Jack pulls him back.

Then he kneels by Yuu and clutches their hand like it’s an anchor. He doesn’t move for a long time, even when everyone else starts to leave.

He wears their Ramshackle pin on his blazer after that. Cleans it every morning.

When he does tests, exams, in a track race, he whispers under his breath, “Watch me. I’ll make you proud.”

Jack Howl

Jack stands frozen in place.

His tail bristles. His claws dig into his palms. But he doesn’t lash out. He doesn’t cry.

He walks over and picks up the tattered scarf Yuu always wore, brushes the ink off it gently.

“They were a good one,” he says quietly.

He trains harder after that. Says less. But anyone who enters the Savannaclaw training field will find a small stone marker in the far corner.

“To the one who stood tall without claws.”

Ruggie Bucchi

Ruggie curses.

“Damn it. Damn it all.”

He kicks one of the broken tables. Then another. And then he stops—because he sees Grim, curled and shaking, and his chest aches.

He drops to a squat beside him, puts a hand on Grim’s back.

“They were… They were somethin’ else, huh?”

He steals food from the Lounge that night. Loads of it. Drops it off at Ramshackle with no note.

He doesn’t say it out loud, but he swears to himself: No one else from their circle dies on his watch.

Leona Kingscholar

Leona’s the first to arrive after the overblot ends.

He sees the ink, the body, the shattered remains of the contracts—and doesn’t speak. Not at first.

“…You actually went and got them killed, huh?” he mutters to Azul.

Leona walks over to Yuu and crouches low. His tail flicks.

“Should’ve told you not to play hero again. Should’ve made you stay out of this.”

He leaves a desert lily by their side and walks away before anyone sees his hands shaking.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul is catatonic.

He collapses when the overblot fades. The moment he sees what he’s done—who he’s killed—his voice dies in his throat.

“No… No, no, no… I didn’t mean…”

He vomits ink.

He sobs behind his hands.

He screams at the sea for days afterward.

He locks himself in his office and doesn't come out. Not for weeks. He can’t even look at his own reflection.

Eventually, he stops using contracts.

He burns every single one.

Jade Leech

Jade is… quiet.

Too quiet.

He kneels beside the body and closes their eyes. Straightens their sleeves. Brushes the ink from their lashes.

Then he looks at Azul—torn, sobbing—and doesn’t speak.

He doesn’t smile after that. Not in the Lounge. Not in class.

When asked, he only says: “They were… sincere. And brave. It's a shame. A true shame.”

He visits Ramshackle every now and then, leaving wild mushrooms at the doorstep.

Floyd Leech

Floyd doesn’t take it well.

First, he laughs.

“Eh? Seriously? Shrimpy’s dead? Just like that?”

Then his smile vanishes. Completely.

“...No fun.”

He walks into the Lounge’s VIP room and trashes it. Rips through furniture. Breaks the glass. Shatters the chandelier.

No one stops him.

After that, he won’t talk about it. If someone mentions Yuu, he gets quiet.

He goes out swimming in the ocean for hours. Sometimes all night.

When he comes back, he’s always more tired.

Dire Crowley

Crowley stands at the edge of the scene, looking like a ghost.

This is the third time now. Third overblot. Third time Yuu has nearly died. Except this time…

He pulls his hat down, voice tight. “I failed them. Again.”

He doesn’t perform this time. No grand speeches. Just silence and shame.

He drafts a dozen letters to Yuu’s family—then throws them all out. What could he say? "Your child died in another world under my care?"

He declares a school-wide mourning period and cancels all contracts indefinitely.

But it’s not enough. Nothing is.

JAMIL'S OVERBLOT

They were too close. Always too close.

In trying to protect Kalim, in trying to talk Jamil down, they stepped into range—and one of the snake-like braids struck. Fast. Precise. Poisonous.

No one noticed the bite at first. Not even Yuu.

But as the overblot fades, and the sand settles, they collapse—pale, lips turning blue, their breathing labored until…

It stops.

And the music dies with them.

Grim

He’s the first to notice something’s wrong.

He shakes Yuu’s arm, pats their cheek. “Oi, this isn’t funny—come on, we’ve gotta scold Jamil, right?”

But their chest doesn’t rise.

Grim screams. His voice cracks.

“YUU?!”

He doesn’t leave their side for the rest of the night, paws clutching their arm, growling at anyone who tries to move them.

When Ace and Deuce return, he nearly attacks them just to stop them from seeing.

Jamil Viper

He sees the bite. He knows exactly what it means.

He knows.

He drops to his knees.

“...No… no no no…”

His voice shakes. His hands tremble. His overblot form may have faded, but its consequences linger like venom in his blood.

He killed them.

No tricks. No schemes. No brainwashing. Just murder.

He doesn’t run. He doesn’t speak. He just sits in the sand, staring at his hands, unable to move.

He’s silent for hours.

When they drag him away, he doesn’t resist.

Kalim Al-Asim

He doesn’t understand at first.

“Yuu? What are they doing? They’re just sleeping, right? Right, Jamil?!"

But Jamil won’t meet his eyes.

And when Grim doesn’t answer—when Grim starts sobbing—Kalim’s smile falls. Shatters.

“No… no, no, this isn’t…”

He grabs Yuu’s hand and holds it like he can warm it back to life.

“Please—wake up—we haven’t even gone swimming yet! You promised!”

He cries hard. For hours. He tries to take the blame, keeps saying:

“It should’ve been me. I was the one he hated…”

Azul Ashengrotto

When Azul sees the body, he goes eerily quiet.

He slams the lounge door shut, tells Jade and Floyd to cancel operations for a week. When they ask why, he just mutters:

“Yuu’s dead. Jamil’s overblot.”

That night, Azul goes down to the sea and throws in a silver pen—a token Yuu once gave him when he helped them with a contract.

He doesn’t talk about it afterward.

But he never lets a client leave with a dangerous deal again.

Jade Leech

Jade lowers his when he sees the body.

“…How unfortunate.”

He’s quiet for a long while. He plants a rare desert flower in a terrarium—a tribute. Waters it every morning.

When questioned, he only says, “They were brave. It is a shame bravery rarely guarantees survival.”

But his smiles are smaller now. More thoughtful. Especially around Jamil.

Floyd Leech

He gets quiet.

Too quiet.

He doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t grin. Just tosses a beach ball into the ocean and watches it float away.

When asked, he mutters, “Shrimpy was s’posed to come back. I was gonna show ‘em how to really swim…”

And then, with no warning, he grabs Jamil by the collar and slams him into a wall.

“You bit them, didn’t you?”

He doesn’t hit him. Just glares, then shoves him down and walks away.

He doesn’t show up to class for three days after that.

Crowley

He returns in high spirits, sunburned and humming—until he sees the school’s flag at half-mast.

“What happened—?”

Grim hits him with a fireball before he can finish his sentence.

When Crowley sees Yuu’s name etched into the memorial stone, he drops to his knees.

He doesn’t even try to justify himself.

He just whispers, “I left. Again. And they paid for it…”

And for once, Crowley vanishes from public view.

Not even the staff can find him for days.

Ace Trappola

He bursts through the gate, duffel in hand, bragging to Deuce—until Grim tackles him, claws shaking.

“They’re gone,” Grim wheezes, “They’re gone, Ace!”

Ace laughs. “Huh? Quit messin’ with me—what do you—”

Then he sees Deuce’s face pale. And the memorial stone. And the empty Ramshackle doorway.

“…No. No, no—this is a joke, right?!”

He punches the wall until his knuckles bleed.

Deuce Spade

He drops his bag the moment Grim tells them.

“No way… No—they were fine. They were fine when we left—”

He clutches his stomach and falls to his knees. “Why weren’t we here? Why didn’t we come back sooner?!”

He visits the grave every morning for a week. Leaves flowers. Doesn’t say much in class.

His grades improve. His magic sharpens.

He swears it won’t happen again.

Riddle Rosehearts

He stares at the nameplate on the stone.

“…They died protecting someone else?”

He places a red rose beneath the inscription.

“They never followed the rules… and still had the nerve to leave before I could thank them.”

His voice is brittle.

After that, he disciplines his dorm a little less harshly.

He gives Grim his leftover tarts in silence.

Trey Clover

He sighs deeply, brows furrowed.

“…I should’ve known something like this would happen.”

He helps Cater plan a quiet tribute in Heartslabyul. A tea party with Yuu’s favorite sweets. No rules. No scolding.

Just stories.

Trey keeps their seat open.

Cater Diamond

He cries in the hallway.

No selfies. No filters. No pretending.

Just raw, ugly crying.

“Why didn’t I get more pictures with them…?”

He organizes a social feed in their memory. Posts their art. Their dumb selfies. Their best moments.

It goes viral within NRC. Students from all dorms comment:

“They helped me.” “They stood up for me.” “I miss them…”

Leona Kingscholar

“…Damn snake.”

He growls low, tail twitching.

He doesn’t yell. Doesn’t threaten. Just walks out of the dorm and stares at the cliffs until sunset.

He was starting to respect them.

Now he never gets the chance.

Ruggie Bucchi

He’s pissed.

At Crowley. At Jamil. At himself.

He sneaks into the infirmary late at night and punches the wall once—just once.

Then he wipes his eyes and leaves, like nothing happened.

But he leaves offerings at the stone every week. Small things.

Bread. Buttons. A lucky toothpick.

Jack Howl

He stands before the memorial with flowers in hand and says nothing.

Not a word.

But he starts training harder.

When he duels, he whispers: “Hope you’re watching.”

VIL'S OVERBLOT

The air is thick with smoke and glamour. Vil's overblot form collapses, and the world finally breathes.

Everyone thinks it's over.

Until Yuu sways.

Until their lips tremble with blue.

Until they fall with no warning.

Grim reaches them first, and then all hell breaks loose.

Grim

He’s laughing at first. “We did it, right?! Right, Hench—?”

He sees the foam on their lips.

“No.”

He shakes them. “No—NO! Don’t you dare pull this crap—wake up! You said we were gonna get celebratory tuna!”

He shrieks when they stop breathing. He claws at his own face, trembling so hard he can barely speak.

When someone touches him, he bites them.

“DON’T—touch them—don’t take them away!!”

Ace Trappola

He rushes to Yuu’s side, shouting their name. Shaking them like that’ll undo it.

He looks to Deuce. Then to Grim. Then to Vil.

“WHO DID THIS?!”

He’s crying—actually crying—and it’s not cute. It’s ugly. Angry. Messy.

“I should’ve noticed—I should’ve—why didn’t I—?!”

He tries to do CPR. Tries to cast a healing spell. Anything.

None of it works.

Deuce Spade

He goes quiet. Stone-faced.

He tries to carry Yuu’s body like they’re still breathing, like maybe warmth and motion will bring them back.

His voice is hoarse: “I’ll take them to the infirmary. I can fix this. I can fix this.”

He doesn't stop walking until someone physically pulls him back.

When he finally lets go, he drops to his knees and sobs into his hands.

Jamil Viper

When he sees the foaming poison, the slow purple hue crawling over Yuu’s veins…

He knows.

“…Vil used poison,” he mutters, numb. “And they were too close.”

He staggers back, staring at his hands like he’s watching it happen all over again.

“Not again,” he whispers. “Not again.”

He turns and walks away. Doesn’t look back.

This time, he cries alone.

Kalim Al-Asim

“Yuu…?”

He kneels beside them. Touches their cheek.

“Yuu? Come on, wake up—it’s over, we won! You said you’d teach me how to bake that cake, remember?”

He keeps babbling. Keeps smiling. Even as tears start to fall.

Even when they don’t wake up.

“…They were always smiling,” he whispers. “Even when things were scary…”

Epel Felmier

He starts shaking.

He was right beside them. Right beside them.

And he didn’t notice.

“They were fine—they were still standing—they were smiling—”

He screams into his hands. Then punches the ground until his knuckles bleed.

Vil tries to stop him.

Epel shouts, “DON’T!”

And turns away, teeth bared in grief.

Rook Hunt

The first thing he says is quiet. Reverent.

“…They died beautifully.”

Everyone stares.

Then he kneels down and closes Yuu’s eyes gently.

“They were a soul full of light. To burn out in such a theatrical, bittersweet way… it’s almost poetic.”

His voice breaks.

He looks at Vil.

“Mon Roi. What have you done?”

Vil Schoenheit

He knew.

He knew what was in the poison. How fast it worked. How potent it was.

And still—still—he let it happen.

When Yuu collapses, his voice fails. He runs to them, brushes their hair back.

He presses his forehead to theirs.

“…You idiot,” he chokes. “Why didn’t you move? You should have stayed behind the curtain!”

He doesn’t say much after that.

But he cancels his return to the stage.

Forever.

Crowley

He returns to a somber, shattered NRC.

When he hears what happened, he doesn’t speak.

Doesn’t excuse himself.

He walks into Ramshackle dorm, sits in the dark, and whispers:

“I keep failing you.”

He shuts the dorm down for a week.

He leaves a golden brooch on Yuu’s old pillow.

Trey, Cater, Riddle, Leona, Ruggie, Jack

Trey makes a cake and leaves it at Ramshackle. Says nothing.

Cater posts one last selfie with Yuu and doesn’t log into Magicam again for a month.

Riddle reprimands Vil for days—then visits the grave in silence.

Leona grits his teeth, then throws a spell book across his room. Doesn’t talk about it.

Ruggie mutters, “Figures someone like him would mess it up,” then wipes his eyes.

Jack makes a point to place wildflowers near their grave every few days.

Jade whispers, “They died protecting others. Admirable… but costly.”

Floyd just says, “Shrimpy’s really gone, huh…” and doesn’t smile for a week.

Azul throws himself into managing the lounge, late at night he stares at a framed picture of him and Yuu and cries.

Hornton

He’s fixing the stage with his magic. Alone. Quiet. Restoring the ruins left behind after Vil’s rampage.

Then he sees it—Yuu’s name on the memorial plaque. A candle burning low.

He stares.

His magic falters.

“…No.”

His voice shakes.

“...No.”

He vanishes from the stage.

Later, students find the ruins of a blasted tree behind Ramshackle.

And Malleus is there. Silent. Still. Staring at Yuu’s favorite bench—the one they sat on during night talks.

He places a glowing crystal beside it. It hums softly. Mourning.

“No one else sat with me in the dark,” he whispers. “No one else called me ‘Hornton.’”

IDIA'S OVERBLOT

Grim

He's inconsolable.

Screaming. Thrashing. Clinging to Yuu's unmoving form. There's soot on his fur and tear tracks down his face.

“They were just—they were just joking about food! We were gonna go home, we were—they PROMISED!!”

He tries to breathe fire in grief, but it sputters out into smoke. He curls into their chest and won’t let go.

Ace Trappola

“No.”

He walks up. Stares. Backs away.

“No. No—no, this isn’t—that’s not funny, Yuu. Get up.”

He turns to Deuce. His voice is cracking.

“They’re gonna sit up. They’re just messing with us, right?”

But no one laughs.

He kneels down and covers his face with both hands.

Deuce Spade

His entire body locks up.

“I should’ve—gone in with them. I should’ve…”

His fists clench so tightly they bleed.

He kneels beside Grim and takes one of Yuu’s hands in his. Quiet.

“Thank you… for everything.”

Jack Howl

He has no words. Only a silent, thunderous grief.

He lowers his head respectfully. Closes Yuu’s eyes with trembling fingers.

He doesn't cry. But his voice is hoarse for days.

Later, he trains until he collapses. Trying to make sure no one else dies again.

Ruggie Bucchi

“…Sh*t.”

That’s all he says at first. He turns away.

Wipes his eyes before anyone sees.

But he leaves a meat pie at their grave later. Wrapped in a checkered cloth. No note. No message.

Just something Yuu said they always wanted to try.

Leona Kingscholar

He scowls. Says they were reckless. That it was bound to happen.

But the minute no one’s watching, he storms off into the desert garden and roars so loud it shakes the windows.

When he comes back, he’s dragging an ancient herb said to revive the dead.

It doesn’t work.

Trey Clover

He finds Grim later in Ramshackle.

And quietly makes enough food for two, even though only Grim eats.

No one sees him cry.

But he starts baking a certain kind of cake more often—one that only Yuu ever asked for.

Cater Diamond

He doesn’t post anything on Magicam for three months.

He tries to smile. He jokes. But his heart’s not in it.

He visits Ramshackle every week and leaves flowers—sunflowers, yellow and bright.

“You always made things feel warm, y’know?” he whispers.

Riddle Rosehearts

He keeps it together at first.

But when he’s alone? He breaks.

He slams his fists into the desk. Screams into the void.

“They didn’t have magic! They shouldn’t have—shouldn’t have had to go alone!”

He writes a law in Yuu’s honor: “No student shall face a magical threat without backup.”

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul’s hands shake when he sees Yuu’s body.

“They gave me a second chance,” he whispers.

“And I couldn’t even…”

He shuts down the Lounge for a week.

He orders every contract reviewed. Removes every dangerous clause Yuu once called out.

He leaves an ornate seashell at their grave. Etched with: “For the one who believed in me.”

Jade Leech

“…A tragedy.”

His tone is calm. But his eyes are not.

He takes off his gloves and places them over Yuu’s hands, folding them gently.

“I suppose I must find a new mushroom for mourning,” he murmurs.

He visits often. Leaves nothing but silence and prayers.

Floyd Leech

At first? Nothing.

Just blank staring.

Then: “Shrimpy’s really gone, huh?”

He doesn’t cry.

But he drags Idia by the collar and nearly kills him.

“You owe them. FIX IT.”

It takes four people to pull him off.

He doesn't smile after that. Not for a long time.

Idia Shroud

At first, he thinks it’s a glitch.

Then he sees them—unmoving, burned at the edges, body limp in Grim’s arms.

He doesn’t scream.

He just stares. A long time. And says:

“…I killed them.”

He doesn't resist when Floyd attacks. He wants to be punished.

Later, he shuts himself inside the lab. Ignores Ortho. Refuses food.

All he says, over and over, is:

“I didn’t want this. I didn’t want this. I didn’t want this.”

Ortho Shroud

“No. No, no, no—please wake up! I can scan you—I can rebuild you, I can—”

His voice distorts.

“PLEASE DON’T LEAVE NII-SAN BEHIND!!”

When Yuu doesn’t stir, Ortho’s eyes dim.

He flies off.

And no one sees him for three days.

Crowley

He was there. Watching from the surface. Powerless to go down with them.

When Yuu doesn’t return, he collapses to his knees.

He says nothing.

But every night after, the gate to the Underworld glows dimly. Lit by a single enchanted candle.

Burning for the student who dared cross the River Styx.

MALLEUS'S OVERBLOT (may be inaccurate)

Grim

He holds your hand as you fade, clawing at the thorns like they'll move.

“Don’t go. You—you always saved everyone!! I was supposed to protect you—!!”

He’s wailing.

When it’s over, he curls into your chest and doesn’t speak for two days.

Ace Trappola

He’s the first to scream.

“WHAT’S THE POINT OF WAKING UP IF THEY’RE DEAD!?”

He runs at the thorns. Punches them until his fists bleed. Until Deuce pulls him back.

He curses Malleus. Then curses himself.

Then, eventually, just sits on the floor. Staring.

Deuce Spade

He kneels beside your body.

His voice cracks as he says:

“I became a better person because of you…”

Then, in a whisper:

“…I don’t know how to be good without you.”

Cater Diamond

“No… not them… anyone but them…”

He sobs. No filters. No jokes. No posing.

His Magicam goes dark again. He locks himself in his room and cries into their old photos.

Trey Clover

He can’t breathe when he sees you.

He covers his face. Kneels.

“I should’ve done more. Been there. Helped you—something.”

He leaves a tiny tart beside your grave, baked with your favorite flavor.

Riddle Rosehearts

His voice is a whisper. Unsteady.

“They were the only one who understood me... even after everything I did...”

He places a rose—red and thornless—on your chest.

And kneels, head bowed.

Leona Kingscholar

He stares down at you. Quiet.

“I told you not to play hero,” he murmurs.

He sounds tired. Angry. Hollow.

But he watches over your grave when no one else will.

Silent. Guarding. For hours at a time.

Ruggie Bucchi

"...Tch."

He turns his back. Walks away.

But hours later, someone finds a crumpled note by your bed.

"Thanks for feeding me."

Jack Howl

He stands still for a long time.

Then salutes you with quiet reverence.

“You had more heart than anyone I’ve ever met.”

He trains harder than ever after that. To live by your example.

Azul Ashengrotto

He drops to his knees.

“This wasn’t part of the deal…”

His voice breaks.

“I would've traded everything. Just—just to keep them safe…”

He cancels all contracts for a week. Shuts down the Lounge. Cries behind locked doors.

Jade Leech

He gently closes your eyes.

And, for once, doesn’t smile.

“Even rare orchids wither in the frost,” he says.

And places a white lily beside you.

Floyd Leech

“…Shrimpy…”

He pokes your cheek.

No response.

Then he howls. He tears up a hallway. Slams a wall with a fist that cracks stone.

He doesn’t laugh again for a month.

Kalim Al-Asim

“No no no—you were supposed to live!! You saved me!! Why didn’t I save you!?”

He sobs into Jamil’s shoulder.

He lights candles in your memory every night.

Jamil Viper

He closes his eyes.

He doesn't speak. Just mutters a single word:

“Unfair.”

But later, he visits your resting place, presses a charm into the soil.

“I owed you more than I gave.”

Vil Schoenheit

He holds you like glass. Like something sacred.

“Your final act was... selfless. Poetic. Tragic.”

He speaks at your memorial.

And always leaves a pristine white rose.

Epel Felmier

His shoulders shake.

He refuses to speak at the ceremony. But he carves a tiny wooden charm for you.

He carries it in his pocket. Always.

Rook Hunt

Tears fall freely.

“Ah, mon trésor… such beauty, such sacrifice…”

He writes a ballad in your honor. He performs it in the forest, alone.

Idia Shroud

He stares at you with wide eyes. Whispering to himself.

“No. No. Not again. Not another one. Not like Ortho—!”

He curls into himself.

And when he reboots Ortho later, he hugs him like he’ll disappear too.

Ortho Shroud

He powers down for a full day.

And when he reactivates, he asks:

“Why didn’t I detect the danger? Why couldn’t I save them?”

He makes a digital backup of your voice. It plays when he’s alone.

Lilia Vanrouge

He lowers his head and whispers in old fae tongue.

“They were brave.”

He sings an ancient lullaby only fae children know.

And your grave is tended by wild roses from then on.

Silver

He brushes your hair back.

“I thought we’d all wake up…”

He places a dream charm on your chest.

“So you’d never be afraid. Not even now.”

Sebek Zigvolt

He yells.

First at Malleus. Then at the world. Then at himself.

“They protected you, my lord! And now they’re GONE!”

His voice breaks.

He kneels beside your grave.

“They were… a knight.”

Malleus Draconia

When he sees you fall, his world ends.

The thorns fade. The dreams collapse.

You lay still in his arms.

His voice is a whisper. A plead.

“No. No no no. This isn't what I wanted…”

He doesn’t overblot again.

He just… disappears.

Some say he wandered into the thorns. Others say he turned into mist.

But on quiet nights, a low voice murmurs:

“I wanted eternity with you.”

Crowley

For once… he takes responsibility.

He wears all black.

He lays a feathered mask at your grave.

And whispers:

“You were the one good thing I never deserved.”

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Enchanting a Fae - Malleus x Reader

Overblot Gang + Rollo vs Plushies

Riddle Rosehearts

Leona Kingscholar

Azul Ashengrotto

Jamil Viper

Vil Schoenheit

Idia Shroud

Malleus Draconia

Rollo Flamme

Masterlist

What if yuu died?

DWARF'S MINE:

Grim

Ace Trappola

Deuce Spade

Crowley

RIDDLE'S OVERBLOT

Grim

Ace Trappola

Deuce Spade

Riddle Rosehearts

Cater Diamond

Trey Clover

Dire Crowley

LEONA'S OVERBLOT

Grim

Ace Trappola

Deuce Spade

Cater Diamond

Trey Clover

Riddle Rosehearts

Jack Howl

Dire Crowley

Leona Kingscholar

Ruggie Bucchi

AZUL'S OVERBLOT

Grim

Ace Trappola

Deuce Spade

Jack Howl

Ruggie Bucchi

Leona Kingscholar

Azul Ashengrotto

Jade Leech

Floyd Leech

Dire Crowley

JAMIL'S OVERBLOT

Grim

Jamil Viper

Kalim Al-Asim

Azul Ashengrotto

Jade Leech

Floyd Leech

Crowley

Ace Trappola

Deuce Spade

Riddle Rosehearts

Trey Clover

Cater Diamond