Nemesis Ravenscroft

Day 1: Kiss in the rain/snow

➸┊Mr. Scarletella x Nemu Himura

➸┊Homicipher

➸┊Nemu was afraid of the scarlet ghost, but a foreign gesture put him under a newfound light

Day 2: "So, are we official then?"

➸┊Harlequin the Protector x Mickey the Hacker

➸┊Degrees of Lewdity

➸┊Lowering one's crime fame led to unexpected revelations

Day 3: "Oooh. You're so in love with me!"

➸┊Mandrake Lazaret x Idia Shroud

➸┊Disney: Twisted Wonderland

➸┊Ensuring Idia's good condition wasn't the only reason for nursing him back to health

Day 4: Brushing hair out of the other's face

➸┊Vincent Charbonneau x Harlequin Archibald

➸┊Dead Plate

➸┊He's bland, but the head chef's interest was piqued

Day 5: Steampunk/Cyberpunk

➸┊Mayoi Ayase x Nemu Himura

➸┊Ensemble Stars!!

➸┊Mayoi wished for nothing more than close proximity with ANONYMOUS member

Day 6: "Jealous much?"

➸┊Dailey the Caretaker x Hayley the Seductress

➸┊Degrees of Lewdity

➸┊Bailey's self-control is strong, but Hayley's charm is stronger

Day 7: "I'd burn the world for you."

➸┊Jade Leech x Zenon Macabre x Floyd Leech

➸┊Disney: Twisted Wonderland

➸┊Anybody who harms their property would wish they hadn't

Bonus Day: Wiping away tears

➸┊Kylar the Loner x Nemesis the Innocent

➸┊Degrees of Lewdity

➸┊Kylar knew better than to accuse his girlfriend of standing him up

“I found you!”

Kylar’s squeals echoed through the empty alleyway, complemented by hurried steps rushing towards the center. “My beloved!”

The male was brimming with emotions: delight, relief, perhaps even with a bit of anger. How could his beloved put him in such a state of distress? Was she meaning to stand him up? She’s not in any position to do just that! It’s simply unacceptable!

“My sweet, sweet Nemesis…” Kylar was clinging on to the girl’s body like she was the very oxygen he breathes—she might be. “I thought you left me. I thought you stood me up for real.”

Cold, sharp metal pressed against Nemesis’ back. “You didn’t, right? Please tell me you didn’t plan to ditch me, love,” he whispered, his voice shaky and almost cracking.

Kylar pressed the knife deeper—any deeper and it would break through Nemesis’ skin. “Please say something!” he desperately cried.

“Kylar…”

“Yes, love?” The male pulled away and gripped the girl’s shoulder, both actions happening in only a single second. His eyes met with bloodshot ones.

“W… Why are you crying…?”

He caught sight of the knife he was holding. Like a bug crawling up his arm, he tossed it away with a startled wince. “I… I didn't mean to scare you. I was just…”

Kylar’s manic expression instantly collapsed. The state his precious girlfriend was in slowly—sickeningly—registered in his eyes, having adjusted to the dark.

Dry tears stained Nemesis’ cheeks, her face smudged with grime and alleyway dirt. Her raven hair was in a state of disarray. Some areas were soiled with suspicious fluid. Red marks around her wrists and arms were evident.

Kylar prayed his assumptions were wrong, but the picture was as clear as day.

“H-Hey…” He reached out a shaking hand, hesitant. “Nemesis…?”

His fingers touched her skin—it never failed to send electrical impulses through him every time—until both hands were cupping her face.

“Tell me who did this…,” he whispered. “P-Please, love… I need a name.”

Kylar’s eyes were wide with bloodlust. He struggled to keep his teeth from gritting against each other, instead looking like a madman with a tight grin.

Fresh tears fell from Nemesis’ eyes. Kylar wiped away each drop.

A reminder of the need to spill someone's blood. Simply because wiping them away wasn’t enough to undo the damage.

“I failed to protect you…” Guilt and shame overwhelmed the barbarity clouding Kylar’s mind. His arms encased her in a bruising embrace. He cried on her shoulder.

“I failed to do what a lover is supposed to do,” he breathed through sobs. “I’m sorry, love…”

“You’re dangerous to have around.”

Zenon’s shoulders tensed as a hand wrapped around his throat. He was eventually slammed against a nearby wall, hard enough to knock the air out of his lungs.

Having the blood of two renowned individuals was never easy. Most especially if the fame is rooted from the underground industry. From crime.

“It won’t be long before this school will get its first murder case,” the student strangling him growled. “Before that happens, you have-”

A foot knocked the words off of the bully’s tongue, sending him toppling to the ground.

“You slippery little…”

The student stood up, but Zenon’s not about to let another hand lay on him. With a calculated swing of his forearm and another arc of his leg, his tormentor laid completely still on the ground.

He crouched down to pick up his stolen notepad before exiting the scene. Just a normal day in Night Raven College as the son of the late Black Cat.

“Little Seaweed!~”

Of course. The day wouldn't end without getting into a sticky situation with Octavinelle’s infamous twins.

Fighting back was proven futile—they’re not as no brainers as most students coming after him. Not even a fluid step out of their reach could save him.

“Don’t rough him up, Floyd,” Jade said. Apparently, his twin had tackled the other male to the ground.

“Oh?” Floyd pressed a finger to the underside of Zenon’s jaw. “Where’d you get that mark, Little Seaweed?”

Zenon instinctively pried the merman’s finger away. He placed a hand above the bruise as he sat up. So much for factitious concern.

“Hey, Jade. I think someone roughed him up first.”

Zenon narrowed his eyes. First? He didn’t appreciate how Floyd worded it out.

“May I?” Jade stepped forward and crouched down to the male’s level. He reached out to place a curled finger beneath his chin to examine the swollen area.

“Care to tell whose fist did this?”

Zenon couldn’t ignore the chills shooting up his spine at the way Jade’s heterochromatic eyes stared straight into his. He turned his head away.

“No?” Jade took note of the way the Pomefiore student made no movement to pull out his notepad and respond.

“But Little Seaweed!” Floyd wailed behind his twin. “How are we supposed to punish the bad guys if you won’t tell us?”

Jade cupped his face. “We’d burn the world for you, Zenon. We promised you that,” he hummed. “No one will ever hurt you again.”

“And we’re starting with whoever harmed you!” the other merman chimed in agreement.

Zenon didn’t recall such a promise though. But it didn't look like he had much of a choice.

Bailey hated Saturdays. Initially, he didn’t care what the current day was. Lately however, he’d been increasingly agitated whenever the said weekend is fast approaching.

Just like that day.

The caretaker waited by the door of the orphanage, his face contorted impatiently. A particular orphan had left, having gone off to her daily endeavors during non-school days.

What she does was none of his concern. His wards could go missing for days and he wouldn’t care as long as they get to follow through his mandatory weekly payments.

He didn’t give a damn if it’s only ten in the morning. He wanted Hayley right in front of him at that very moment.

Familiar soles patted against the front steps—how could a common pair of shoes sound so distinguishably hers?

And there she was, standing between the open orphanage doors. Just like he wanted.

“Where have you been?” he asked, eyes narrowed.

“Work,” Hayley replied matter-of-factly. “Gotta earn enough before tomorrow, sir. Set a good example for the others.”

The answer was obvious. Painfully obvious that she’s lying. Bailey frowned even deeper.

“I know you’ve met with that businessman again. Another evening date, perhaps?”

“Is that a problem, sir?”

There was fire in Hayley’s eyes, provocative. She knew better than to challenge Bailey’s authority—she learned it the hard way after a visit to Remy’s farm.

However, something about getting under his skin tastes as sweet as nectar. Kind of like an addicting drug. She relished at the sight of his scowl.

“I highly disapprove of you associating yourself with someone such as him. I would expect you to keep your distance starting today.” Bailey’s words came out gruffly.

“Why, sir?” Hayley smiled sweetly. Mockingly. “Jealous much?”

That smile; superficially innocent but full of defiance underneath. Bailey hated it with every fiber of his being, hated the effect she’s having on him.

He clenched his fists, had to secure them from grabbing the troublesome little shit and commit something he would regret later on—he’s not one to regret his actions.

“Mind your tongue. I have every capability to make today the last you could freely speak.”

The threat hung suffocatingly in the air. But from the looks of it, his demands were working against him instead of Hayley.

He who demanded control had been snared by the succubus. Resistance would only serve to push him further.

“I forbid you from setting foot outside this orphanage, at least for today.”

Hayley’s mouth fell open. “But sir-”

“You have an additional week. Do not fail me again.” Bailey’s words left no room for argument. He turned on his heel.

Mayoi couldn't believe his luck. ALKALOID was having a collaboration with ANONYMOUS. Kind of like a shuffle unit, but it’s all eight idols on the same stage at the same time.

Talk about overcrowding. But as per the choreography of the performance, he’s situated in close proximity with Nemu!

The guy was literally buzzing with excitement from the start until the last few hours before the performance. 

“Ayase-senpai.”

Mayoi snapped out of his reverie, nearly jumping out of his skin. Before him stood none other than Nemu herself. His pretty little angel, dressed in shades of brown frills and leather, coming to save his pathetic soul.

Quite literally. She was there to remind him he’s not yet dressed for the show.

“Ahh, right. F… Forgive me. I must’ve been caught in a daydream…” Daydreaming about watching her dance inside a crumbling clocktower, that is. His clockwork angel.

“But… Nemu-chan.” He's melting, almost in the literal sense. His brain was short circuiting the more the younger idol watched him with child-like curiosity.

“You look… p-particularly… lovely today.”

Mayoi felt overly conscious. Did he come off as a creep? He believed so. He had one job to state a compliment, yet he blew it big time.

Nemu’s reaction stated otherwise. She visibly beamed. “I’m flattered, senpai. Thank you!” she said, halfway through a delighted squeal.

“Gah!” Mayoi covered his face like someone planted a flash bomb. “Please stop smiling at me like that. A lowlife such as me doesn't deserve to see something so pure.”

“Okay…?” The girl watched him in confusion. “I’ll leave you to get ready, senpai.”

That was it. That was the real deal. He did push her away. Mayoi wanted nothing more than to strangle himself as he watched her walking off.

He readied himself, willing to keep his focus sharp on the performance instead of elsewhere. He clipped layers upon layers of straps and leather on his cream shirt. It was comfortable, his steampunk outfit.

He wondered though. Does Nemu find hers comfortable?

He found her trying to fix the ties of her corset. Mayoi had to admit, she looked very much like a damsel in distress. He had to mentally smack himself.

“Ehrm… Let me help you, Nemu-chan.”

He struggled to play it cool the more he felt her body heat against his fingers, but it was a small victory for him that Nemu didn’t scoot away. The girl had no intentions of doing so though.

“Thank you for the help, Ayase-senpai.”

If only she would stop speaking. Mayoi would appreciate that before he could pass out on the spot.

“Chef, there’s something I wanted to say.”

The bistro just closed for the night, but Harlequin decided it was the best time to visit the head chef inside his office.

The waiter wished to get at least compensation for his efforts. Perhaps an addition to his salary, even for just that day when Rody called in sick.

He had no choice but to take over the other waiter’s shift, effectively working for two. The bistro is severely understaffed, but the man in front of him claimed otherwise.

“Compensation, you say?” Vincent blinked. From someone such as Harlequin, such demands were least expected.

“Well, that's something I’m willing to consider,” the head chef finally said. “I could deduct a day’s wage from Rody’s salary and add it to yours. It’s a fair request given the circumstance.”

He took note of the way Harlequin’s tension visibly relaxed.

“I reviewed your resume and you’re quite the workaholic. I would like to suggest you refrain from overworking yourself for the sole purpose of an increase in your weekly pay.”

“You don’t understand my intentions, chef. I need the money for college.”

Tension rose. Silence descended upon the dim office. Vincent was the first to speak, saying, “You never told me that.”

“You wouldn’t hire me if I did,” Harlequin said matter-of-factly.

Vincent narrowed his eyes. “I see you everyday at the bistro. When do you take your classes?”

“I get supplemental notes and lessons I read during the night. It’s a special consideration not to attend classroom lessons for working students like me.”

“And sleep?”

“Two hours is enough for me.”

Vincent stood up, stalking closer to where his employee stood. He had observed the way the male moved around the bistro. Swift. With a little bit of grace.

He subconsciously reached a hand, brushing away a stray lock of his long hair out of his face. He studied his exhausted and nearly disheveled state, the bags under his eyes.

There’s something darkly somber simmering beneath those black eyes. Quite the enigmatic fellow. Curiosity danced on the head chef’s tongue.

“You’re bland,” Vincent said, his voice low. “But there's something about you that I can’t quite name.”

“Huh?”

The man seemed to have snapped back to himself. He retracted his hand like he’d touched an open stove.

Harlequin, despite being equally surprised, didn’t move a single muscle.

“I said you look awful.” The head chef took a deep breath as he took a step back. “You should head home.”

Harlequin didn’t press further on the matter. His concerns were heard, and that's all the news he needed.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, chef.”

“Oooh. You’re so in love with me!”

Given a different circumstance, Mandrake would very much like to smack away the stupid grin plastered across Idia’s face. That moment however, he merely fixed him with a cold stare.

The message came across. Idia stiffened on the bed, accented by a startled noise. “I-I’m just joking, Mandrake-shi! You don’t have to be so uptight all the time!”

How could Mandrake not be feeling uptight? The idiot in front of him decided running through the rain was a good idea and came back with a fever high enough to cook his instant noodles.

He didn’t mind having to nurse him back to health—Idia would definitely mind—but he would appreciate cooperation from the stubborn male.

Ignoring him, Mandrake settled down at the edge of his bed. He idly stirred the contents of the vegetable soup he prepared. “Was it really that obvious?” he mumbled.

“What?”

“What?”

Idia scowled accusingly at the redhead. “Are you being serious or are you joking?” he snapped. “Because I do need an in real life tone indicator whenever I talk to you. And not-so-fun fact: Today is not even the first time I needed it!”

Mandrake held the bowl and spoon to the yapping male’s face. “Stop talking and eat,” he flatly said, his tone borderline commanding.

“Are you for real?” Idia stared at the spoonful of soup like it was the most unappetizing dish he had ever seen. The aroma was inviting though. “I can eat on my own, thank you very much.”

He snatched the bowl. Mandrake didn’t appear fazed. It could be the butterflies inside Idia’s stomach, or hunger. Either way, it resulted in his further discomfort.

“You should leave. The dorm needs you,” he muttered as he fished out a slice of carrot. “Everyone prefers the vice dorm leader more than their incompetent dorm leader anyway,” he added with a mocking sneer.

“I have more pressing matters to attend to,” Mandrake said. “Such as making sure you finish that soup.”

“I’m eating it, alright?!”

Idia begrudgingly ate a spoonful. “Is this the part where you admit to having put something in the food you’re feeding me so I’ll wake up hopelessly in love with you?”

“Spare me the accusations. You’re the reason my parents are rolling in their graves.”

It’s quite unfair that Mandrake has mastered the art of nonchalance. Try as he might, the slightest emotion is easily divulged by Idia’s hair. The sheer betrayal of his own flame!

With yet another scowl, Idia swallowed the soup with the threat to also eat the bowl and spoon.

Tension wafted inside the room. Harlequin sat in silence, the clicking sound of Mickey’s keyboard being the sole source of noise.

The lack of conversation wasn’t unusual, but the mood was definitely not right.

“Robin fixed that for you?” Mickey was the first to break the quietness. They didn’t bother to look up from their computer.

Harlequin picked at a loose bandage around his arm. “She did.”

“I figured.”

The wounded male glanced up at the other teen. No word was spoken, but the message was clear.

“You look like you have something to say,” Mickey said.

“I could say the same with you.”

The keyboard stopped clicking. The hacker’s fingers hovered above the keys, only continuing after a three-count.

“Do you like her, Harlequin?”

The male pressed his eyebrows together in confusion. “Of course,” he said. “Why would I not? She’s a good friend.”

“A friend, huh?” Mickey’s fingers slowed, subconsciously. They’re falling into deep thought. “What about me then?”

“I don’t,” Harlequin flatly said. Meeting Mickey’s accusing glare, he followed, “Not in a way you think I do.”

“Whatever does that mean?”

“The feeling is mutual.”

The keyboard clicks finally stopped. Mickey stared at him with wide eyes caught red-handed. “Pardon?”

Harlequin let out a knowing chuckle. “You’re so easy to read, you know that? I’ve known for quite a while.”

Mickey’s tongue resumed the noise with a defeated click. “Fuck…”

They resumed the remaining codes on the computer. “So,” they uttered. “Are we official then?”

Silence passed. Harlequin finally answered. “You’ll be a liability. I can’t have that.”

A loud bang shattered the intimate silence when Mickey slammed their hand on the computer desk. “Has it ever crossed your mind that you yourself are a liability to me?” they fumed.

Harlequin raised an eyebrow, but Mickey continued, “Waltzing into the pub to ask me to clear your name. One wrong move and the police—or worse, Bailey—is sure to follow you here.”

They clenched their fists. “I’m practically putting myself at risk just by associating myself with you! And did I fucking complain?”

Harlequin merely watched them with amusement in his eyes. It only served to frustrate Mickey further.

“So it’s official then,” the male chuckled. “We’re each other’s liability. I trust you can handle a bit of trouble, yeah?”

Words were caught under their tongue, but Mickey muttered, “Spare me the warning. I’ve known trouble before you came around.”

Seated on one of the tables behind the closed door, Landry downed a glass of liquor. “Kids these days,” he chuckled to himself.