#twst fic

One of your fellow students seemed to have the same idea, because he squeezed himself beside you, so he could catch his breath for a moment.

"What is going on? Why is everyone running?" you asked him, seizing the opportunity to get answers without needing to possibly get involved in the chaos.

The unknown student took a few heavy breaths before answering. "An attack! Someone is freezing the cafeteria. I think some students even got frozen."

"What?" You were in disbelief that it was really that bad. "Are you sure it's not just a prank from a few mischievous students or ghosts?"

"I know what I saw. That definitely wasn't a prank!" the student said, clearly offended you’d even suggest it.

You turned to the entrance of the cafeteria when you felt the temperature in the hallway drop. You couldn't see anything from your place. But you could feel the pressure of magic in the air. It felt powerful. So it must be true what the student said. But there were only a handful of things that could charge the air with this amount of magic.

"Was it an Overblot?" you asked the student, now sharing his panic.

"I don't know. Do you think I stayed long enough to check?" he snapped at you, before his voice returned to a more civilized tone. "I don't think I saw blot ink or a phantom anywhere... But does it even matter? We should get outta here and let someone else deal with whatever is in the cafeteria."

The student didn't wait for you and instead sprinted off. You wanted to follow, but stopped when you suddenly heard what sounded like the hysterical cry of a child.

Your breath hitched as the temperature dipped again, cold nipping at your cheeks and frosting the edges of the hallway tiles. The crack of ice spreading echoed faintly from the cafeteria doors. And then that cry came again.

Who would bring a child to Night Raven College? And why would they be alone?

The impulse to run warred with your instincts. But something about the sound rooted you in place. A chill that had nothing to do with ice crept up your spine.

So once again, throwing any sense of self-preservation out the window, you decided to investigate the cafeteria.

As you approached the entrance, a thin layer of ice curled and crept across the floor beneath your feet. The temperature was dropping as if the air itself recoiled with sadness.

And then you saw it.

The cafeteria doors were open, hanging slightly ajar, frost spiderwebbing from their hinges. The cafeteria was a frozen winter scene. Tables were rimmed with rime. Plates of forgotten lunches sat frozen mid-bite. Students who hadn’t escaped in time were partially encased in thick magical ice. Thankfully, it didn't seem like they were injured. They are just trapped.

And in the center of it all, curled up and trembling within a growing circle of frost, was a boy.

He couldn’t have been older than five or six. His hands covered his face as sobs wracked his tiny frame. You were struck by the sight of such a young child in this place. A child who seemed so out of place amidst the suffering he unintentionally caused.

The ice creeped outward with each of his hiccupping sobs, the magic surging with raw, unchecked emotion. His hair shared the same color as yours. Small horns peeked out from beneath the tousled locks. They were curved, and unmistakably draconic.

Your breath hitched.

Horns.

The resemblance to Malleus was impossible to ignore. Not just the horns, but also the gentle curve of the boy’s brow, and the elegant bone structure of his tear-stained face. But there was something in his eyes, when he finally looked up at you. They were wide, watery, and impossibly green. But lacking the sharp edge Malleus would have had. The boy's eyes were softer and his nose cute. That hit deeper.

Not like Malleus. Like... you.

You looked at the boy in silence for a few moments, not sure what to say. "Eh... Are you hurt?" you asked eventually your tone of voice awkward, as you tried to smile reassuringly at him.

The boy's big, round eyes were staring at you. He blinked a few times. "M-mother...?"

Huh?

Before you could ask or clarify anything, the boy ran toward you and launched himself into your arms. His tiny frame seemed to hide an impossible strength, because you felt like he would actually snap your spine if he hugged you any tighter. "Mother!!"

You were as frozen in place as the unfortunate students, who didn't get away in time. You didn't know how to handle this situation. You were pretty sure you didn't spawn a child in your time in Twisted Wonderland. The only thing coming close to a child you took care of was your ever-hungry cat-weasel companion. Certainly not a real breathing kid.

Despite your inexperience with children, you could tell that explaining to this traumatized, and very much powerful little boy, that you can't be his mother, wasn't a smart idea. So you just told yourself that he just called every woman 'mother'. That's something children do, right?

You patted the boys back in hopes his crushing grip on you would loosen at least a little. "There, there. Everything is fine."

Well, actually, nothing was fine, but you also needed the reassurance of your own words.

You gently pried his arms away enough to kneel down in front of him. "Can you tell me what happened here?"

"Everything was different and strange. Not like home. I was here, and there were so many people and-" His words were interrupted by a wrenching sob. "I was scared, and I didn’t mean to! I just wanted you, but-b-but you weren’t there, and then everyone started running and they yelled at me, and, and-"

As the coldness in the air heightens again, you rub the boy's shoulders gently, despite feeling slightly panicked that he might freeze the entire school. "It's fine. It's fine. You were just scared. No one will get angry with you," you smiled at him. "Do you maybe know a way to fix this?"

He shook his head. "No. Father always does."

"Well, it's not that important anyway. The Headmage will figure something out... Probably," you say when you saw his face twisting with guilt. Although you could feel the stare of a frozen student nearby, who definitely does not agree with you.

The boy nodded at your words.

You paused. You didn’t even know his name. Just calling him 'boy' is certainly weird. "Say, do you remember your name?"

He looked at you in silence before suddenly beginning to cry again, leaving you very confused. "Why are you acting like you don’t know me? I don’t like this game!"

Someone seemed to be sensitive. While you had no experiments with children, Grim certainly taught you how to deal with sudden mood swings and tantrums. Although using tuna as a distraction probably won't work.

"But how can I be sure you are the real you and not a spy, if you won't tell me the right answer?" you replied playfully, poking his stomach. "So? What's your name?"

He giggled when you poked him and stopped crying. "You are being silly, Mother," he said. "My name is Maledor, of course!"

You nodded, as if you knew that as well. Hoping that he didn't turn the tables on you to test you, and said the wrong name. But certainly a child wouldn't do that, right?

"Aha! Maledor. That’s a perfectly real name. You’re clear. No spy here."

You think about what you should do next. Seeing that no help or rescue had come in all this time, you could assume that none of the students who got away actually told the staff. You shouldn’t be surprised by that. After all, this was a school full of self-centered and mischievous students.

You couldn’t leave Maledor alone. And you had little faith that going to Crowley for help would do anything. He would end up dumping the work on you anyway, so you might as well search for a solution on your own, before Ramshackle gets a new member. 

By Maledor's pointy ears and little horns, it wasn’t hard to tell that he must be a fae. So, going to Diasomnia is probably the best course of action. Maybe someone there knew who this little boy belonged to. And maybe Malleus or Lilia can defreeze the cafeteria. 

You took Maledor by the hand as you led him to the Diasomnia Dorm. Every so often, his grip would tighten, like he was making sure you wouldn’t suddenly disappear. As soon as you went through the mirror and arrived on the bridge that led to the castle, which was the dorm, you could feel Maledor visibly relaxing.

"This is better! I like it here. It looks like home," he said with a cheerful voice. Seemed like you did good by bringing him here. 

Right when you were about to enter the dorm, Sebek suddenly crossed your path. His sharp eyes fell upon Maledor. "Human! Why do you have a fae child with you?!" he demanded. Then somehow jumped to: "Have you kidnapped him?! Hand over the child at once!"

"When do you think I kidnapped a magical fae child, from its magical parents?" you shot back. "Do you think I walked to Briar Valley and back in an afternoon?"

Sebek didn’t listen to your words to hung up on the idea that you kidnapped a child. Like that wasn’t something faes usually did to humans, right?

"I said hand over the child!" he shouted, before trying to grab Maledor.

You didn’t know why, but a sudden protective streak came over you, and you stepped in front of Maledor, blocking Sebeks' hand. "Don’t just grab a child!"

Sebek recoiled, shock flickering across his face at your boldness. "Are you impeding one of Lord Malleus' loyal knights, human?"

Sebek tried to grab Maledor again, not listening to you. Maledor, on the other hand, obviously did not want to be grabbed by Sebek and was hiding further behind you, grabbing your jacket. "Mother, I don’t want to go…!"

When Maledor said that, Sebek paused. "M-Mother..?" he repeated, shocked. For a second, you think Sebek might actually let you explain the situation, but he immediately began shouting again. "How dare you steal away a fae child and then confuse it so much?! What wicked human trickery have you used?!"

You grit your teeth, trying hard not to let Sebek's ear-splitting accusations break your patience or your eardrums. "I didn’t do anything to him! And can you not yell? You’re scaring him."  You glance at Maledor, who is now peeking nervously from behind your leg, clutching your jacket tightly. 

Sebek falters only a split-second before putting himself between you and the entryway. This standoff would be comical if it weren’t so tense. "I will not allow a potential kidnapper entrance to Prince Malleus’s domain!"

"Look, I didn’t kidnap anyone," you said. "He appeared in the cafeteria, scared, and accidentally froze half the room. I thought someone in Diasomnia might recognize him or help fix the mess."

Sebek’s eyes darted from you to Maledor and back. "You expect me to take the word of a human? Of Night Raven’s resident troublemaker?"

Sebek's next rant was kept short when suddenly Lilia appeared swinging between the two of you. You screamed. Then Sebek screamed. And Maledor giggled. 

Lilia landed lightly between you and Sebek, his eyes glinting mischievously as always, although there was a subtle alertness there. "My, my. Such excitement at the gates! Am I crashing a secret meeting?" he laughed.

You tried to catch your breath. How did Lilia always manage to appear exactly when you least expected it? "Lilia! Don’t sneak up like that," you gasped, half-laughing but mostly frazzled.

Sebek, who was embarrassed for also screaming, now tried to act as if he didn’t. "L-Lilia! The Prefect has procured a fae child and refuses to answer for it!"

"Oh? My, what an adorable little visitor we have…" Lilia said, studying Maledor’s face with recognition. He seemed to be delighted by Maledor. 

"Uncle Lilia!" Maledor said, before coming out from behind you. 

"Uncle?" you repeated, flabbergasted as you watched Maledor and Lilia interact as if they were long-lost family. "Do you know Maledor, Lilia?"

Lilia’s smile widened, a spark of mischief glittering in his eyes as he knelt down to Maledor’s level. "Of course I know this one," he said. "It’s been some time since we’ve had such a precious visitor from, shall we say, afar."

Maledor’s worry seemed to melt under Lilia’s reassurance. "Uncle Lilia, where’s Father?" he sniffled, rubbing at his eyes. "Everything’s scary and cold."

You blinked, looking between the two of them, feeling very much like you’d accidentally walked into someone else’s family reunion in the middle of things. "Wait, you really do know him?" you asked Lilia, carefully keeping your voice level. 

Meanwhile, Sebek had gone uncharacteristically quiet, torn between his usual outrage and a suspicion that something much bigger than an abduction was happening.

Lilia stood up. His gaze softened as he addressed Maledor. "Don’t worry, Maledor. Your father is very busy today, as are all great kings-in-training. Why don’t you stay with your-" Lilia’s eyes danced over to you, and the corners of his mouth twitched as if privately amused by some secret. "beloved caretaker for now? I’m sure they’ll keep you safe."

Sebek straightened, suspicion not quite dispelled. "Are you certain, Sir, that the Prefect has not enchanted this child into believing-"

"Sebek," Lilia interjected. "Surely you would not accuse our dear Prefect of such underhanded magic?"

Sebek’s mouth opened and closed, before he replied. "I…I would never dare suggest you are incapable of seeing through such tricks, Sir! But this situation is most unusual. We must consider the safety of Prince Malleus. And yet the Prefect is still refusing to offer a proper explanation!"

Sebek puffed out his chest but glanced uneasily at Maledor, who peeked from behind you, still clutching your jacket. Despite his horns and emerald eyes, Maledor looked anything but menacing. Nevertheless, Sebek clung to the role of vigilant sentinel.

You took a deep breath, trying not to get annoyed. "I already told you that I found Maledor in the cafeteria, scared and alone. I don’t know anything else. And anyway, if he were out to get Malleus, freezing the cafeteria wouldn’t exactly be subtle, right? And who would send a child in the first place?"

Sebek seemed ready to continue his barrage of suspicions, but Lilia only chuckled. He bent down, gently patting Maledor’s shoulder while casting a reassuring glance your way. "I think what we all need right now is some warmth and a calm mind. The hallway is no place for important discussions or guests. Why not bring our little visitor and the prefect inside? Come, let’s have tea. We can sort out facts and fancies over something sweet, hm?"

Maledor’s eyes brightened at the mention of sweets. He nodded, tugging lightly at your sleeve as if afraid you’d vanish again. 

All of you headed inside. When Lilia offered to brew the tea and bring some sweets, you immediately volunteered to do it instead. After all, the first rule to surviving a visit to Diasomnia was: Never eat or drink something Lilia made. 

"I’ll handle the tea," you say quickly before Lilia’s hand can get anywhere near the kettle. Your voice is a bit brighter than usual, and you offer a smile to Lilia that’s ninety percent nerves and ten percent sincere gratitude.

"Oh, are you sure? I was hoping to try a new blend…" Lilia said.

"I insist," you reply, perhaps more quickly than you mean to. "It’s the least I can do after all the chaos."

After returning to the lounge room with the tea and sweets, you all sit down. Maledor is quick to take a seat beside you, while Lilia has to urge Sebek to sit down as well instead of standing guard by the windows. 

Steam rose from the cups you carefully poured. Maledor watched you, swinging his little feet under the chair, his misery momentarily forgotten in anticipation of sweets.

As you sit down as well, Maledor asked. "Can I take a cookie, Mother?"

The repeated use of the title 'mother' still caught you off guard every time, as did Maledor asking you if he was allowed to eat a cookie. You nodded eventually. "Yeah, sure."

Maledor’s face lit up as you granted him permission. He snatched a cookie with both hands and promptly stuffed half of it into his mouth, crumbs dotting his cheeks as he beamed triumphantly.

"Say, Maledor," Lilia began, tone filled with curiosity. "it must have been quite an adventure to find yourself here, hm? Do you remember anything? Anything at all about how you arrived at the cafeteria, or where you were before?"

Maledor looked down, chewing his cookie with squirrel-like intensity. Then, after a moment's hesitation, he swung his legs and frowned in concentration. "I… I was in the castle. Not this one… my home. Father was teaching me magic because I wanted to be big! Like him. And then…There was this bright green light, all swirly. It was so pretty, but it got really loud and windy. I called for you." he looked up at you. "But I couldn’t find you or Father, and then I was here. It was scary. I didn’t like it. I just wanted to go home."

You picked up a napkin when you saw that Maledor had finished eating. You cleaned his chocolate-covered fingers and mouth. To which Maledor reacted with a 'Thank you, mother,' after you were done. 

Sebek, in the meantime, asked. "Who is your father? Can you say his name?"

Maledor brightened, as if relieved to be asked something simple. "My Father is Malleus! Malleus Draconia."

You barely had time to process Maledor’s answer before the tea caught in your throat, a cough sputtering out of you in disbelief. You blinked hard, as if somehow the world would flicker and correct itself. Instead, the bright-eyed boy just looked up at you, awaiting your response with absolute trust.

Lilia’s eyes sparkled with a private, knowing delight, a sly grin playing at the corners of his mouth as he watched the chaos unfold with all the satisfaction of someone who had seen the punchline coming a mile away.

Sebek, on the other hand, was completely stunned. The rigid guard posture dissolved into total shock. His mouth dropped open, then snapped shut in a series of fishlike gasps. He gripped his teacup so tightly it threatened to snap in half. He blinked, then searched Maledor’s face. His gaze darted between the delicate, unmistakable horns and those deep, green eyes. For a second, you wondered if Sebek was about to faint. "Malleus… Draconia?" he finally choked out. "Impossible! The Young Master has no offspring! There must be a mistake. Some… imposter trickery!"

"Wait, wait," you managed, gesturing rapidly between Maledor and Sebek. "Hold on, Maledor. You said your father is Malleus Draconia. You mean, the Malleus? Diasomnia’s Malleus? Tall, horns, kind of brooding, makes storms when he’s in a mood: Malleus?"

Maledor blinked up at you. His head cocked with innocent confusion, as if he couldn’t comprehend why you were asking something so obvious. "Of course, Father is Malleus Draconia!" he said, the words sounding so simple, so certain, as if you’d just asked him whether he liked cookies. "You know that, Mother… Why are you pretending?"

You sat, frozen in your seat, Maledor’s certainty striking through you more powerfully than any ice he could have summoned. Your brain scrambled wildly for any logical explanation. Was this a trick? A dream? Did the world flip upside down when you weren’t looking?

"IMPOSSIBLE!" Sebek barked, jumping up so quickly his chair almost fell. "You must be mistaken! The Young Master does not have, could not have, a child without telling his loyal knights!" He pointed a finger at you. "And you, Prefect! What have you done to this child?!"

"I swear, I’m not lying!" you answered, finally finding your voice. "I didn’t do anything to Maledor. He called me mother from the start. Before I even knew his name!"

Sebek, torn between devotion and confusion, snapped. "This cannot be! The Young Master would never keep such secrets. And…" His mind worked frantically. "The time makes no sense! My Liege and the Prefect… you… are not even married!"

You flushed, mortified and indignant. "Excuse you! We’re not anything." You glanced at Maledor, lowering your voice. "Not like that. Just friends, really."

Lilia clapped his hands softly, his voice clear and sure in the commotion. "No need for dramatics. You know, Sebek, sometimes the wind brings secrets from times yet to come. Briar Valley holds many old mysteries, does it not?"

Sebek bristled, trying to regain composure. "Sir Lilia, with all respect, how can we trust-"

Lilia cut him off with a gentle but authoritative voice. "Sebek, look at the child." Lilia turned to Maledor. "You were frightened, weren’t you? Do you remember any enchantments or trickery? Did anyone put strange ideas in your head?"

Maledor shook his head. "No. I just wanted Mother. And Father." He glanced sidewise at you, hope flickering in his green eyes. "I’m not lying. I promise."

Lilia patted his shoulder. "Of course you’re not. Sometimes things happen that even us grown-ups do not immediately understand. Time, magic, fate. I think our little prince here is simply… lost between stories."

"But what does that mean, Lilia?" you asked for clarification, not being able to wrap your head around this situation. "Is Maledor truly Malleus... And my…" You didn't finish your sentence with 'child'. It just sounded too weird. 

"Sometimes, the river of time chooses curious eddies," Lilia mused with a gentle smile. "A leaf from tomorrow might find itself drifting among the branches of today. If it’s not a trick, not a spell, and not a child’s tale, perhaps we must accept that sometimes, the world permits a riddle to live before its answer."

You stared, mouth poised between laughter and a plea for sanity. "Are you saying… he’s from the future?" The words felt ridiculous as they left your lips.

Lilia shrugged lightly. "Magic has never cared much for clocks or calendars. Wouldn’t be the first time something important arrived a little ahead of schedule."

While you were still trying to wrap your head around this, Sebek seemed to accept Lilias' words in a split second.  "My Lieges…" Sebek’s voice faltered, then swelled with fervor. "My Liege's heir! Of course! There can be no other explanation befitting Prince Malleus’s unparalleled greatness! Only Prince Malleus, scion of the glorious Draconia line, could sire such a prodigy! Such strength, such majesty, even at such a young age. Freezing the entire cafeteria! Behold, the testament of our great lord’s power!"

"You are the proof of Prince Malleus’s supremacy. Even time itself cannot contain his legacy!" he gushed. "A scion born of unmatched power and noble heritage! To think, I am in the presence of my Liege's heir -his magnificent progeny!"

"Forgive me, young prince!" He dropped to one knee before Maledor, completely ignoring you now, and offered a bow so deep it was a miracle he didn’t hit his head on the floor. "Forgive me for doubting your identity for even a second. I, Sebek Zigvolt, am at your service, just like I am at your glorious father's service!"

Sebek’s 180-degree turn gave you mental whiplash. Two minutes ago, he was about to lock you up for kidnapping a child. And now he was praising Maledor as if he was the second coming of Jesus. And anyway, where was your praise? After all, if Maledor was yours and Malleus's child, you had also contributed half to this cute little boy.

No, on a second thought, you'd rather not be the subject of Sebek’s loud and lavish praise. You were still in denial about all of this. Honestly, you were just surprised by Sebek’s sudden turn. Like, wasn’t he super concerned that Malleus and you weren’t even married a second ago? As if Sebek thinks children could only be conceived if their parents really love each other and wish for one. He was so innocent. 

"This must be announced at once! The other knights deserve to weep at this glory. Everyone in Diasomnia needs to know. No, the entire College must know. Briar Valley must be informed. And the Young Master!"

Sebek’s words left you even more mortified than the entire situation already did. You are vaguely wishing the frosted cafeteria had swallowed you whole. You couldn’t face Malleus right now. What were you supposed to say? You rather die than face that embarrassment. 

"No! We can’t tell anyone! Especially not Malleus," you interrupted in a voice that could rival Sebeks, before clearing your throat and continuing in a normal voice. "What I mean is, how are we going to explain this? Like, no one is going to believe that a child just showed up from the future, right? They will think Malleus had a secret love child or something."

"I can’t keep the Young Master in the dark about his own flesh and blood. It is my knightly duty to inform him about everything that is happening in his absence!"

Sebek, as always, did not listen, and Lilia was just enjoying the drama for now. In a burst of desperation, you grabbed a cupcake and threw it across the table at Sebek. He stood there, utterly stunned. A thick glob of icing clung to his cheek and crumbs slided down his jacket. He blinked, still processing your audacious cupcake attack. Meanwhile, Maledor, not understanding anything, laughed at that.

"Seems like you can’t go to Malleus now. You wouldn’t stand before your Liege covered in icing, right?" you said, trying to buy time.

"H-How dare you assault one of Prince Malleus’s loyal knights with pastries, human!" he barked. 

The feeling that you brought the situation under control immediately vanished when the door opened. There, calmly and tall, stood the regal figure of Malleus, as if the universe liked seeing your misery. Those sharp green eyes found you immediately and lingered for a breath before shifting to Maledor.

"Father!" Maledor’s cry rang bright and clear. His little legs scrambed down from the chair. He rushed to Malleus with unerring speed, arms stretched wide open.

Malleus knelt smoothly. His regal composure melting enough to open his arms and receive the child -his child- into a gentle embrace. "So it was you I sensed. A presence so like my own, yet unlike any I have felt before."

Heat flooded your face as the initial shock passed. Your first instinct was to bolt from sheer embarrassment. Somehow, you managed to find your voice. "You’re not surprised, Malleus?"

"Surprised?" he repeated "No, not at all. I recognized the resonance of my own magic the moment Maledor appeared." He regarded you calmly. "You seem greatly unsettled. Is it so shocking to you?"

"I mean, yeah! Everyone would be shocked," you replied honestly.

"You truly cannot feel it?" Malleus asekd. "Even now, the air shimmers with our blood intertwined. A melody only you and I could create."

You thought about his words for a moment. Putting it like that, you suppose you did feel something. Although definitely not as clear as Malleus did. "Still, shouldn’t we be more concerned?"

"Concern is natural. But you underestimate the strength of the Draconia blood. And your own as well. Our child would never be so easily lost to time without reason. He will return," Malleus said, voice absolute. "The magic that called him here is already unraveling."

"So the problem will fix itself?" you question. That sounded like better circumstances than most problems you have run into in Twisted Wonderland. "Everything will go back to normal soon?"

Malleus nodded. "Yes. This visit, while precious, is unintended. The magic that summoned him here is unstable and will not last much longer. The world has its ways of correcting itself."

Some of the tension in your chest loosened at his certainty.

Lilia, barely restraining a wide grin, chimed in. "It seems time itself favors your union, hmm?"

Your face went hot again, just as your flustered heart was about to calm down a little. "Y-You can’t just say something like that out of nowhere…!" you stuttered. Your voice sounded more like a nervous squeak. 

"But it's a wonderful thing, isn't it?" Lilia replied. Beneath his light tone, you could sense the sincerity in his eyes. Like a guardian who is relieved to see his forsterling in good hands. 

Malleus regarded Lilia for a moment, then turned back to you, his emerald gaze gentle but searching. "Does it trouble you?" he asked. "If such a future would come to pass would it be so unwelcome?"

Despite your flustered state it didn’t take long for you to shook your head. "No… It wouldn't be unwelcome."

Maledor, oblivious to the tension and simply happy to be near both his parents, studied your face. He shuffled over from Malleus’s embrace and returned to your side, hugging you tightly enough to drive the air from your lungs. "Your face is all red, Mother! When Sebek gets red he gets loud. When Mother gets red she gets quiet," he commented, which made you only more flustered. "I think ice cream makes everything better. Can we eat ice cream?"

You softly pinch Maledor's cheek. "I think someone already had enough sugar for a day with all the cookies and cupcakes."

Maledor’s smile faltered for half a second, his wide eyes shimmering with a betrayed kind of innocence that only a child could muster. Then, with all the cunning of someone who’d clearly inherited far too much of Malleus’s intelligence and dramatic tendencies, he turned slowly toward his father.

Malleus tilted his head. His expression was calm and unreadable. Maledor’s lip trembled just enough to be convincing. "Father..." he began, voice so heart-wrenchingly sweet it could’ve earned him ten free sundaes anywhere in Twisted Wonderland. "Mother said no to ice cream."

The underlying message was clear: Mother rejected me. Only you can right this cruel injustice, Father.

"A most tragic betrayal," Malleus said solemnly. "To be denied joy by one’s own mother. This is indeed a grievous matter."

"Are you siding with him?" you asked, eyes darting from dragon fae to dragon fae. "He’s a little sugar gremlin who just weaponized his cuteness!"

"I am merely acknowledging his diplomatic tact," Malleus replied with a perfectly neutral expression, though the slight twitch of his lips betrayed his amusement. He patted Maledor’s hair, then gently guided him back to your side. "A future prince must know how to plead his case with grace and strategic flair."

"Don’t encourage him," you grumbled, though your lips tugged up in spite of yourself. This entire situation defied logic and physics, maybe even sanity, but somehow... it wasn't as terrifying as it first seemed, not with the way Malleus stood beside you like an unwavering anchor in a storm, and how Maledor leaned against you like he had always belonged there.

"He encourages me," Maledor beamed up at his father.

"I do," Malleus agreed without hesitation.

"I manipulate Mother."

"You do," Malleus affirmed with serene approval.

"You are literally both saying the scheme out loud while I’m right here!" you pointed out. "You’re not supposed to straight-up say it’s manipulation!"

"Don’t worry, Father. Mother always forgives you when you hug her from behind. You do that a lot in the future," Maledor said to comfort Malleus after seeing your grumpy reaction.

Your soul nearly left your body.

Malleus blinked. Then turned to look at you intensely.

You snapped your head toward the child in horror. "Maledor!"

"What?" he asked, blinking up at you with wide, guileless eyes. "It’s true. When you get all ‘grumpy-grumbly’ and tell Father to leave you alone, Father just hugs you from behind, really slow and gentle, and you get all red and mutter something like, 'You know I can’t stay mad at you.'"

"Slow and gentle, you say," Malleus repeated. His expression was thoughtful, as if he was memorizing every word Maledor said. "Hmm. So gentle physical affection dissolves your irritation. I will need to remember that approach."

"That is not the takeaway here!" you interrupted.

"I am merely collecting useful knowledge of what pleases my future consort," Malleus responded smoothly. With almost academic intrigue. "Maledor’s insights are quite enlightening."

Sebek’s complexion was caught somewhere between ghostly pale and tomato red. "Y-Young Prince! This is hardly appropriate information to share in a public setting!"

Maledor blinked at Sebek, completely unbothered. "But Sebek, you said it’s a knight’s duty to speak the truth and uphold honor. I’m just being helpful."

"Yes, but there are degrees of helpfulness...! Some truths are best kept private, especially when discussing the... the subtle... the-" Sebek finally broke eye contact and wheezed, "hugging techniques."

"I agree! We should just stop talking about this," you agreed, hoping the embarrassment would be over now, but then something came to your mind. "No, wait. It is only fair if you also share embarrassing things about Malle- Eh, your Father, Maledor."

Sebek, still recovering from the previous exchange, audibly gasped. "Y-young prince! The Young Master is above embarrassment!"

"No, he’s not," you said flatly.

"Well, Mother says it’s fair," Maledor chirped. "So. When you’re not around, Father gets really weird."

"Weird?" Malleus repeated. His tone remained level, but one graceful brow arched inquisitively.

"Mhmm. Sometimes he just stands in the hallway. Just... standing. Staring out a window. All dramatic and sad," Maledor said before adding brightly. "Oh, and when you come back, even if it’s just from the bathroom, he teleports to your side and says 'Ah, as I suspected, the world only feels whole in your presence again.'"

Malleus remained unshaken, which somehow made it worse. "There is no shame in expressing adoration," he said. "Is it so strange, to long for the presence of the one who stirs your soul?"

Somehow, your idea backfired on you. Not only was Malleus not the least bothered by Maledor's revelations, you are even more flustered now. You didn’t even know what to say, but thankfully Maledor filled the silence again. 

"And one time. Mother kissed Father’s cheek right before a council meeting, and he smiled the whole time. The old scary ministers freaked out and thought Father was about to declare war because he never smiles like that during council."

"Alright, that's enough glimpses into the future!" you interrupted hastily, cutting off any further soul-exposing anecdotes. "Didn’t you say you wanted ice cream, Maledor?"

"Yes, ice cream!" Maledor shouted excitedly. 

"If it pleases the young prince, I shall fetch the finest ice cream the college kitchens offer," Sebek declared utterly serious, though his face was still visibly red from the "inappropriate" things Maledor revealed. 

Lilia, who looked like he was thriving in this chaos, leaned back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head. "This might be the most entertaining thing I’ve seen in a hundred years. And I fought a manticore while wearing a tutu once."

"...Why?" you couldn’t help asking.

"There was a wager. Long story." He winked.

You just accepted what Lilia said without further questions. In a room together with your future child, that just appeared out of thin air, Lilia might still be the biggest enigma. 

You all find your seats at the table again. It didn’t take long for Sebek to arrive with the ice cream. Maledor’s eyes sparkled as he eyed the huge bowl full of brightly-colored ice cream that you placed in front of him. Despite his eagerness, he still waited quietly until you gave him permission to begin eating. Seated beside him, Malleus also seemed to enjoy his bowl of ice cream with quiet contentment. You had the suspicion that he also wanted one from the beginning. 

As you also began eating your ice cream, you began to really process what was happening. Does this encounter mean that your future was now predestined? Does this mean you will stay in Twisted Wonderland and never find a way back home to your world? Will you become the consort of one of the most powerful mages in the whole world, reigning beside him? They were all worthy, existential questions, but one in particular rose above the rest in your mind. 

"Wait. Isn’t it a thing that dragon faes hatch from eggs? So… does that mean I'm going to lay an egg someday? Or is this a seahorse type of situation, and Malleus will lay the egg?"

The room was silent for a moment, but before anyone could answer that very crucial question, Sebek raised his voice. "Seahorse? How dare you compare the Great Malleus Draconia with an unremarkable creature such as a seahorse?!"

‧₊˚ ┊ Sharing clothes with you isn't really something that's ever crossed Silver's mind. Being the perfect gentleman he is, he's obviously draped his jacket over your shoulder or wrapped one of his scarves around your neck when it's cold, but that's pretty much it when it comes to him sharing his clothes with you. (Forgive him for his ignorance. He's not familiar with stuff like this, so you're gonna have to cut him some slack.)

‧₊˚ ┊ As you can imagine, Silver is pretty surprised when you come over after class and start rifling through his closet. "Are you lacking clothes of your own? If you find yourself in need of more clothing, then you need only ask. I'm sure father would happily take you shopping if you're in need."

‧₊˚ ┊ Silver's confusion is only confounded when you let out an amused chuckle. He can't fathom what you find funny about this, but he figures you're just embarrassed about not having any clothes. "That's not at all necessary, Sil. I appreciate the concern, but all I wanted to do was try on your dorm uniform."

‧₊˚ ┊ Silver, embarrassed by his misreading of the situation, goes quiet. He nods stiffly before turning away to let you change, his shoulders squared and posture stiff. Despite having never even thought of what you'd look like in his clothes, Silver can't help but feel… excited to see you all dressed up in his uniform.

‧₊˚ ┊ "Okay, you can turn around now." Silver spins around so fast you find yourself getting whiplash. He's eyes go wide, and his lips part in awe at the sight of you. "Sooo, how do I look?" It takes a moment for Silver's brain to formulate a sentence, but he manages after a brief moment. "Amazing. You look amazing, like something out of a dream." (Yeah, he definitely started sharing his clothes with you after this lol.)

‧₊˚ ┊ Oh, you better believe Lilia was dressing you up very soon after you started dating. He's got a bunch of clothes of many varying styles crammed in his closet that you're free to pick over at your leisure! It's safe to say that clothes with you is nothing new to Lilia, but there's one outfit in particular that you've never tried on. Until now, that is.

‧₊˚ ┊ Lilia thinks nothing of it when you saunter over to his closet like you have a million times before. He certainly wonders what you'll pick out this time around, but for the most part, he leaves you to your devices while he busies himself elsewhere.

‧₊˚ ┊ "Lilia, can you lend me a hand real quick?" He's not sure what he was expecting to see when he turned around, but the sight of you all dressed up in his dorm uniform certainly wasn't it. "Oh my, look at you! I daresay you pull off this whole ensemble better than I do!"

‧₊˚ ┊ "Nonsense, now hush and help me fasten this harness thing. I have no idea how you manage to put on this entire outfit all on your own," Lilia chuckles, but does as you say. Nimble, practiced fingers find the back of the harness, carefully adjusting the straps before fastening the belted corset at your waist. "Well, if I shared with you my secrets, but then I'd have to get rid of you, and neither of us would want that, now would we?"

‧₊˚ ┊ "Fine, keep your secrets then. Now, tell me, how do I look?" Lilia could use any combination of flowery words to express how simply wonderful you look, but every single compliment he had planned leaves his head the moment you turn to face him properly. "Perfect, sweetling. I'm quite jealous of how stunning you look, but you're so cute that I'll let you off the hook for wearing my clothes better than I do."

‧₊˚ ┊ Dragons are possessive creatures, and his grace, Prince Malleus Draconia, is no exception to that well known fact. With that in mind, it goes without saying that this dragon has most certainly dressed you in his clothes on multiple occasions. Not only is it a wonderfully efficient way to mark you with his scent, but he also just finds it awfully adorable to adorn you in his luxurious clothing. (Bro's pajamas cost more than most people's rent for the month lol.)

‧₊˚ ┊ There's a 90% chance that if you're spending time alone with Malleus, he's gonna be dressing you up in his clothing. This means you're mostly going to be wearing his casual clothes, but even those are more lavish than pretty much anything in your closet. Malleus is happy to buy you your own clothing, but he'd much rather keep dressing you up in his!

‧₊˚ ┊ Malleus moves on autopilot the moment he crosses the threshold into his room with you trailing behind. His first order of business before anything else, is getting you out of that uniform and into something more comfortable — i.e. his clothes. You, however, have other plans.

‧₊˚ ┊ "Wait, Mal. Is it alright if I try something else on for a second?" Malleus would be lying if he said he wasn't a bit peeved by your request, but the hopeful glint in your eyes quickly eases his tiny bit of annoyance. He sighs, reluctantly returning the silken he grabbed for you. Without any further ceremony, Malleus, offering you a princely bow before stepping away from his open closet. (He's so dramatic lol.)

‧₊˚ ┊ "You're free to try on whatever catches your eye, my dear. I must ask, though, what article has piqued your interest?" Malleus is, admittedly, curious as to what spurred this on. Usually, you either let him pick something out for you, or reach for something familiar yourself, but he can't recall you ever asking to try something on. "Oh, well, I dunno. I guess I just got the idea. Now, can you turn around for a second while I chance?"

‧₊˚ ┊ Of course, Malleus does just that. Your non-answer only serves to confuse the poor Prince, but he figures he'll receive a proper answer soon enough and decides not to press the subject. "I see. I do hope this sates your curiosity, then." As he waits, Malleus tries to figure out what it is you were so interested in trying on. You've already worn a great deal of his clothes, so he can't imagine what it is that's sparked your interest.

though, after hearing the headmaster's explanation about an 'experiment that went wrong in the science club', riddle immediately knew where to go, and his first destination is the pomefiore dorm.

"stay still, name. i'm going to talk some sense into someone, even if he is my senior."

trey clover — "who am i?" at first, he would laugh it off thinking this was some kind of prank. but when you looked at him as if he was crazy, he stopped. "wait, you're saying you actually don't know who i am?"

cue crowley running up to the two of you to quickly explain the situation before it gets out of hand. "ahh, so that's how it happened. i'm just glad it wasn't anything serious."

"come on, we should go to the infirmary."

cater diamond — "woah, woah," he would raise his eyebrows, slightly caught off guard when you dodged his hug. "what's wrong, name? hm? who am i?! no way, you're forgetting me after a day of not seeing each other?! i'm hurt." he fake-cried as he placed his hand on his chest.

"oh, headmaster! it's rare seeing you here~" he waved at the panicked crowley who, for a grown up who's supposed to have this situation under control, is frantically trying to recount what happened to you earlier.

"what?! no way! and you're saying ROOK did this?! actually, now that i think about it, it's not that surprising.. well, come on, sweetie, we should find professor crewel for help."

ace trappola — "oh, man, that's a good one!" he laughed, flicking your forehead when you pushed him off of you. "you don't know who i am? really? fine. i'll play with you. ohhh, noo.. my partner forgot about me.. ohh, so sad.."

but when crowley finally explained the situation, ace's eyes opened widely. "what? what? WHAT? wait, no, you're saying—what? is that even possible?! woah, that's insane! he better teach me about this spell!" it was only after crowley told him to find crewel that he snapped out of it.

"okay, let's go and find professor crewel. oh, do you even remember who he is? damn, this is fun! you see, professor crewel is a centaurian who—"

deuce spade — "....what?" he genuinely just stared at you as if you just said the most fucked up shit he ever heard of in his life. "you don't know.. me? wait, seriously? what... are you suffering from a disease?" thus began his spiral into despair before crowley snapped him out of it.

"an experiment gone wrong..?" his brows furrowed. it's dangerous, and he's even more annoyed that someone did this to you. but first, he has to get that spell out of you before you forget everything else.

"name, dont worry! i'll find out who did this to you and fix everything! but first, come with me to see professor crewel!"

SAVANACLAW ★

leona kingscholar — "i'm too sleepy for your bs today." ouch, very straight to the point. hey, at least it was an abbreviation and not the full cuss word.. couple privilege? "what do you mean you don't know who i am? this must be some kind of a birthday prank, and today isn't even my birthday."

only after crowley explained the situation did he finally understands. "sigh, which idiot did this? huh? that weirdo? seriously, can i just go on a day without him bothering me and my life?"

"whatever. cmon, i'll fix it."

ruggie bucchi — "woah! what? you forgot about me?" he frowned, feeling sad at how his lover and source of food had already forgotten about him after just a day. where else would he get food—ekhem, affection from now?

"ahh, it's the work of him, huh?" he sighed. "really, you can never predict what that guy could do. honestly, he should've been more careful when firing a spell... wait, how could he even hit you when he has precise aim?" a reasonable question (from a guy like him).

"dang. you're hella unlucky, then. uh.. i should bring you to professor crewel? i guess..?"

jack howl — he just stared at you for a good three minutes as if you were insane. "..? you don't know me? what do you mean?" he'd immediately put down the stuff in his hands to carefully observe whatever's wrong with you. "you don't know me. like, you actually don't know me?"

"oh.. a spell? is it dangerous or not? i think we should get you to the infirmary as fast as possible." luckily, he seems to have taken it well compared to everyone else.

"let's go. you can hold onto me, if you want. so you don't get lost i mean."

OCTAVINELLE ★

azul ashengrotto — "name, my dear, if you're joking then i don't find it to be funny." he looked at you seriously. this might be the first time where he looked tense and scared at the same time. "not joking..? did you hit your head or something?"

you can't help but to flinch in your place when azul's eyes almost pops out of its socket at the revelation of what happened to you. you got hit by a mysterious spell, and now you forget about him? about HIM? like, ONLY about HIM?!?

"this is dangerous! name, come with me! we're going to cure you immediately!"

jade leech — "oh, my. are you playing a trick on me?" he smiled. you know, that smile that always gave off the unsettling feeling of someone trying to do something to you. yeah, that kind. "no? well, that's interesting.. i wonder what caused this."

"an accident?" he tilted his head, curiosity filled his expression rather than concern. it seemed like he was more curious at what spell it was compared to your well-being (a lie. that man is thinking of many ways to solve this right now).

"very intriguing. you'd let me examine you more, won't you? i'm quite curious of the effects of this mysterious spell."

floyd leech — "huh? shrimpy, are we playing somethin' right now?" he grinned at you, which made you took a step back. why did he look at you that way..? his grin dropped into a frown when you walked away from him. suddenly, he embraced you. "this game is boring. let's do something else!"

"what? shrimpy's under a spell?" he pulled back, hands on your shoulder so he could take a good look out of you while you have the most terrified expression ever. "doesn't look like it. well, whatever!"

"we can deal with it later. i'm gonna tell you all you needa know! first things first, azul's favorite food is octopus. let's feed him one."

SCARABIA ★

kalim al asim — "what..?" at first, he'd laugh it off as if it was some kind of joke. but when you only looked at him, eyes wide and shaking as if you were scared, his expression would change into a frown. "wait, you really, really, reaally don't know who i am?!"

"huh?! you got hit by rook's spell?!" he's panicking immediately. you were just fine a few hours before, but now you got hit by a spell?! "oh, sevens, what do i do?! think, kalim, think!"

"oh, right! i'll call doctors from my homeland! come on, name, i'm gonna treat you!"

jamil viper — "huh?" his face immediately turns into a confused and a 'i don't get paid enough for this to be happening to me everyday'. "you're pranking me, aren't you? there's no way you forgot about me after just a day. actually, we just saw each other like, thirty minutes ago."

"a spell?" he sighed, shaking his head in frustration. "seriously, what can't happen to you, am i right? you should be careful when you're walking near a lab. the science club are always up to something. well, not always. but you get me."

"i expected this, actually." you only raised your brows at his statement. "i just didn't expect it'd happen to you instead of kalim."

POMEFIORE ★

vil schoenheit — "who i am? ah. you seem to be under a spell." of course, as expected of the housewarden of pomefiore. he could immediately tell what happened to you without anyone explaining it to him.

"rook did it to them?" he raised his brows. "sigh, that guy. that wouldn't be a problem, headmaster. i will deal with him later and have him fix this mess." he approached you, taking your hand in his slowly to make you get used to it.

"come now, darling. we're going to cure you."

rook hunt — "ooh, la, la!" after saying such a silly phrase, he immediately ran to your side to check on your well-being. "are you alright? ah, it seems like you don't remember me.."

"je suis vraiment désolé, trickster. i'll fix it for you. so, just sit here and watch me, alright?" he smiled at you softly, eyes filled with guilt at your confused and slightly scared expression.

"i'll fix it. i promise."

epel felmier — "wha—?! you mean ya don't remember me?!" he immediately yelled in pure shock when you questioned his identity, especially since you actually looked confused and scared. "if this is a prank, it's not funny."

after crowley explained it to him, though, he immediately calmed down. "so it's not..? and rook caused this? huft.. the things ya go through, name." it seemed like he felt bad for you instead of feeling sad that you forgot about him.

"don't worry. 'm sure that rook can do something 'bout this."

IGNIHYDE ★

idia shroud — "what the?! how could you break into my room and claim that you don't know me?!" he shrieked in his spot in front of the monitor at the sudden outrageous act and statement. "muscle memory..? wait, wait, wait.. so what's— WOAH! what's the headmaster doing here?!"

"...okay, i get it. please leave. t-the headmaster, i mean. ortho, kick him out, plz." despite crowley's cries of 'wanting to see idia solve the problem till the end', he still got kicked out of the room by ortho. "s-so you got hit by a spell.. hehe, your life's like, straight out of an isekai anime. you just don't have insane op strength.."

"ugh, now i'm rambling like a weirdo.. anyway, i-i'll help you. i guess. so just sit there. i.. guess."

DIASOMNIA ★

malleus draconia — "what? you don't know me? but how could that be, love?" he tilted his head at your sudden statement. he just told you that the two of you were going to go on a stroll a few hours ago. you can't possibly forget about him.. right?

he saw the headmaster from the corner of his eyes, hiding behind a bush. why would he hide behind a bush? is this some kind of a trick? "love, tell me, please. what happened?" you didn't respond, only taking a few steps back at the strange man in front of you.

"it seems like you're under a spell. this magic.. it's not very familiar, but i know whose it is. rest easy, dear. i'll deal with it for you."

that night, pomefiore's vice housewarden, rook hunt, felt an unexplainable sense of dread whenever he gazed towards the thunderstorm outside his dorm.

lilia vanrouge — "oh, wow! you forgot about me?" he asked you playfully, hugging you from behind to catch you off guard. "i'm hurt, darling. didn't we just spend a night together, hm? you can't say that you don't know who i am.."

"but i know. you're under a spell, aren't you?" you looked back at him with a confused expression at his question. "a complicated one at that. whoever pulled it off must be an expert. or maybe this is just a silly accident? khehehe~"

"well, i'll just have to get this spell out of you, yes?"

silver vanrouge — "..what's wrong?" he looked at you in confusion, only for you to look just as confused as he was. "you.. don't know who i am? but, why? aren't we a couple?"

"oh.. i see. you were put under a spell." his expression remained the same. "rook did it? ah, you shouldn't have been walking around the science club room, you know. they do many things everyday. please be more careful."

"i'll take you to professor crewel, name."

sebek zigvolt — "human! we haven't met in such a short time.. and yet you already forget me?!" his eyes widened in pure shock (and a little sad because he felt like he wasn't that important). "how could you?!" he's a little dramatic, but at least he's honest.

"what? they got hit with a spell?!" at the sudden revelation, his personality turns into a complete 180° as he now immediately approached you to examine your well-being closer. "human! you should've been more careful with the people around you! they could just hit you any time and you can't retaliate!" that's not what happened, but at least he's helping..?

"sigh. come on and hop on my back, name. i'll take you to professor crewel. d-don't ask what this is for! it's so that we can run faster!"

you let your fingers tangle themselves in his cool toned greyish hair, your lips ghosting kiss after kiss across his skin despite his attempt to hide away, face scrunched.

his glasses were discarded and fedora far across the floor of his bedroom, it was just him and you alone―no contracts, no business, no clients―just him, you, and the love and admiration for his figure.

your hands find their way under his shirt rather quickly, unbuttoning them with surprising speed, azul's blush fades to a darker shade of red at the sight and feel of your touch against his stomach.

his hands instantly grab your wrists and whines quietly in yourear, a silent beg for you to not go any further.

" azul .. " you whispered against his cheek, tickling his skin forcing him to squirm gently. hips bucking at your thighs, you can feel how much he wants to be inside you but his head is too far up in the sky to admit it. " my love, you're so beautiful~ "

azul's breath hitched, a sharp gasp cutting him off of his thoughts and let you continue your trail across his stomach and over his bare chest, his buttoned up shirt completely opened and leaving his upper body exposed―just for you.

he turns his head away for just a second, slightly nervous and also flustered, in a way he would never admit out loud. " you .. can't just say stuff like that so casually .. "

you just smile softly, a warm smile causes his heart to race and to squirm under you. you let your fingers dance across his skin like a canvas, eventually leaning low to kiss his collarbone and down his stomach, your hands still at his chest.

he freezes when your lips ghost his tummy, a spot he hates with a passion, a part of his body he wishes to cover up forever.

" don't. "

you whisper when he tries to push his shirt back over, you just kiss his skin once again and sigh happily, " every part of you, " your voice is warm, honey sweet―almost like poison to his ears. " is beautiful, why must you hide away from me~ "

finally, he's silenced. not a snarky remark, no sly smirk―just a rare, raw emotion azul never shows to the public eye. he hides his face into the pillow beneath him and just lets you pepper him in kisses and compliments.

he's not used to all this affection.

the kisses on his stomach always causes him to jolt but lean back in for more, he can't admit how much he loves this and just wants to be handled with so much care.

when your fingers finally drift down to trace his waist band, azul gasps slightly and whips his head down to stare at you with widen, panicked eyes.

not that he's scared, but he doesn't want you to suddenly leave.

you stare back at him, that look on his eyes breaks your heart you just want to kiss his tears that are threatening to pour away. you hook your index under his waistband and kisses his stomach again.

" please, let me show you how much i love you, azul ." you pleaded, eagerly but respectfully waiting for his consent. he hasn't pushed you away, or told you to stop―when his hips jerk, they lean more toward you then back.

when you finally get verbal confirmation, " p-please do ... i need..." and it melted into a whine. mixed of embarrassment and pleasure, you carefully unbuckle his belt and slowly tug his pants down, kissing the line of his navel, you finally get to show your boyfriend a night of true love and admiration.

" thank you, baby. " you mummered, running your fingers over his thighs and watching him react, " you won't regret it~ "

No, that can’t be it. 

You squint your eyes at the figure that loomed over the pristine bed, abandoning the distant palpable throb of your swathed wounds (and the irritated voice of his that sounded so far away, probably scolding you) to place your interest in studying every contour and crevice of his face in lieu. 

Upon closer inspection, you can discern how his eyebrows are knitted together in some way along the lines of concern (yet vexation seems to triumph over it like a bloodied cloth), face scrunching up from that trademark frown he has over there. 

He looks pretty mad (he is fucking furious). 

“Are you even listening to a single word I am saying?” Riddle’s voice finally cuts through the static of your concussion, sharp enough to slice glass. He crosses his arms, the perfect, rigid posture of Heartslabyul’s housewarden contrasting violently with the absolute state of you—rebellious, blood-stained, and thoroughly thrashed from the brawl you definitely started. 

“You broke three school rules, disrupted the peace, and ended up bruised all over. Again, do you possess no concept of self-preservation?”

You merely offer him a lazy, loopy grin, entirely unbothered by the incoming lecture. You lean back into the pillows, wincing slightly as you reach a hand up to tap the tip of his scowling nose. “Love it when you talk dirty, Riddie. Keep going, I think my ears are finally stopped up with dried blood.”

Riddle’s face flushes a dangerous shade of crimson, but he doesn’t slap your hand away; instead, his fingers twitch, dropping his pin-straight stance just enough to carefully catch your wrist—avoiding the bruised knuckles with a gentleness he’d never admitted to. “You are an infuriating and reckless idiot.” 

His words come out clipped and sharp, but his thumb brushes unconsciously over the uninjured patch of skin near your wrist as if reassuring himself that you’re still here—not that well, but alive, nonetheless.

“You’re still grinning, I see,” he notes dryly, though the severity of his glare is somewhat undermined by the fact that he’s still cradling your wrist. “Is there something humorous about the fact that your cheek is currently swollen?” 

“Only that you’re looking at it like you want to kiss it better.” You rasp, the vibration of your own voice sending a dull throb through your jaw. You lean further into his touch, peering teasingly at him through your eyelashes.

Riddle freezes, the crimson colour on his cheeks instantly darkens, threatening to spread all the way to the tips of his ears. For a second, you think you’ve finally pushed him over the edge—that he’s going to cast his signature spell and let you deal with a collar on top of a concussion.

You beam in delight when he simply tightens his grip on you just a fraction, enough to anchor you.

“Do not be absurd,” he huffs, though his voice lacks the usual judicial bite. He momentarily looks away, pointedly staring at the wall beside your bed. “We are in an academic infirmary. Have you no shame? Truly, the impact to your head must have been more severe than the school nurse let on.”

For all his talk of rules and order, his composure is fraying at the edges, worn taut by the sight of your tattered uniform and the sight of your dressed wounds. He looks like he wants to scream and demand you follow the Queen’s laws of safety—but he also looks like he’s one more smartass comment away from collapsing into the chair beside you.

“If you do this again,” he whispers, leaning down until your foreheads almost touch—close enough that you can smell the faint, soothing scent of roses. “I will lock you in the rose maze until you forget what the outside world looks like. Do you understand me?”

“Sounds like a date,” you grin, tilting your head just enough for your forehead to lightly bump against his. It is probably the wrong response to make while the love of your life is actively threatening to imprison you for your own safety, but the way his eye twitches makes it entirely worthwhile.

“You are impossible,” he sighs, but he doesn’t move away.

II. RUGGIE BUCCHI

Q: WHAT WOULD HAPPEN IF YOU PUT AN IMMOVABLE OBJECT WITH A(N) (UN)STOPPABLE FORCE ?

“Are you dead?” 

You peel one eye open, your gaze instantly locking on the sight of Ruggie standing over the couch with a grocery bag in one hand and the most deeply unimpressed expression known to mankind. 

Hell, he looks like he has been run over by a Spelldrive team—his uniform is wrinkled, his hyena ears are sagging at a tragic angle, and he is practically dragging his feet as he walks to the center of the room.

From your position on the couch, you don’t even blink, perhaps too busy with the ecstasy of residing in the state of higher consciousness (read: being a chud lounging all day on the couch). Still, who can truly blame you for the godly setup you pulled? Wrapped around a blanket so thick it can survive an arctic winter, your phone propped up lazily against a pillow, playing a video you aren’t even really watching—who would deny themselves the gates of heaven?

“No,” you answer, your voice muffled by the soft blanket pulled up to your nose.

He narrows his eyes. “You haven’t moved over since I left.”

“I rolled over once.”

Ruggie let out his cute, little shishishi laugh at that, though it sounded incredibly dry and ran entirely on the fumes of his remaining energy. He drops the grocery bag onto the coffee table with a heavy plastic rustle, then crosses his arms, looking down at you with a mix of exasperated fondness and profound jealousy.

“Oh, wow, a whole roll,” he scoffs, his tail giving a weak, tired twitch against his leg. “Remind me to throw you a whole parade later. I just spent the last four hours running errands for half of Savanaclaw, hustling around campus, and hauling groceries. My feet feel like they’re about to fall off, and my partner is out here celebrating a complete body rotation.”

“A rotation is a rotation—at least I moved, no?” You counter, stretching like a cat as you do so, and burrow deeper into the blanket instead of showing even the slightest intention of getting up,

“Yeah, yeah, how productive of you,” Ruggie snorts, walking closer until he’s leaning over the back of the couch. His calloused fingers, still a little cool from the evening air outside, reach down to gently brush a strand of hair out of your face before playfully pinching your cheek.

“Come on, scoot over a little—or better yet, give your boyfriend a proper hello before you turn into a literal puddle.”

You don’t find the idea of scooting viable in your comfort zone—moving away requires a level of physical exertion you simply aren’t cleared for today. Instead, you decide to solve the problem using your own unique strategy.

Your hand shoots out from the plush safety of the blanket like a striking python, catching Ruggie completely off guard. Your fingers snag the collar of his rumpled vest, and with one heavy tug, you drag him down to your territory. 

Ruggie, in return, lets out a startled squawk as his center of gravity betrays him, tumbling face-first into the plush expanse of the couch right beside you, his noise burying straight into the soft pillows.

“Whoa—hey! What’s the big idea—” he scrambles to roll over, his sharp elbows digging into the cushions as his reflexes try to kick in so he can push himself up.

He doesn’t even have the chance to finish his words before you throw your arm haphazardly over his chest, effectively anchoring his scrawny frame to the spot, and drag the massive blanket right over his shoulders. Within seconds, you have him completely pinned in place with your body draping over his side.

“Stay,” you mumble, burying your face directly into the crook of his neck, effectively cutting off his escape route. “You’re too loud, Rugs… just sleep.”

Ruggie huffs, his fluffy tail flicking erratically against your shins as he tries to find room to squirm. “I can’t just sleep! I brought the snacks you wanted, and I gotta unload the rest of the groceries!”

He waits for your predictable retort, for you to whine about the snacks or drowsily command him to let the groceries wait for next time—yet, he finds that the snappy comeback never comes. Instead, the only response he gets is the rhythmic, deep rise and fall of your chest against his side, followed by a soft, warm puff of air against his collarbone.

He blinks, shifting his head as much as your vice-like grip allows, only to find your eyes tightly shut, your features entirely smoothed over by the sudden onset of deep sleep.

Ruggie lets out a quiet groan—did you seriously trap him here?

He tries to slowly wiggle his left arm free from your grasp, but the action only warrants your grip to tighten instantly, a sleepy and discontented whine vibrating in your throat as you subconsciously pull him closer. 

For a guy who prides himself on being the quickest and slickest beastman in Savanaclaw, he has found himself stuck and outmaneuvered by someone who hasn’t even touched solid ground since noon. To be frank, he can easily use a bit more force to slide out from under you, but as he looks down at your serene face, the remaining fight in his bones drains right out of his body.

Well, looks like the grocery bag on the table can wait—the snacks aren’t going anywhere, anyway. Ruggie can’t even bring himself to argue further—the couch is incredibly cozy, the heavy blanket is retaining every ounce of your shared body heat, and you smell like clean laundry and absolute comfort. 

With a soft and defeated chuckle, Ruggie lets his head sink back into the mountain of pillows. His twitching ears finally flatten against his messy hair, and his arms slowly creep around your waist, his fingers hooking into your shirt as his heavy eyelids threaten to flutter shut.

“Man… you’re dirty for this,” he whispers into the quiet room. “Total cheat code, I tell you…”

III. JAMIL VIPER

Q: WHAT BREWS UP WHEN “I LIVE MY LIFE LIKE A CARTOON SKIT” BECOMES ENTANGLED WITH “I AM FIVE STEPS AHEAD OF YOU” ?

There is one universal consensus that the universe inherently despises a cocky question, no matter how rhetorical it may be.

To ask “what could go wrong?” is to be bereft of sanity and court the unmitigated wrath of Murphy’s law. It is to take a lit match to the fuse of calamity and act surprised when the explosion arrives ahead of schedule. 

It does not care that you had good intentions, it does not care that your risk assessment was reasonably based on an objective metric, that the variables were accounted for, that the plan was solid, and the execution was clean, and everything should have been fine.

Should, in Murphy’s jurisdiction, is a foreign tongue, unfortunately. 

Fate and destiny (or whatever bureaucratic nightmare the universe uses to govern human life), though technically incongruent with each other, are cut from the same cloth—they are both equally fucking sadists.

Really, you should have known better than to ask yourself, “How hard could baking a cake be?”

The plan, in theory, should be simple—you would be surprising Jamil with a homemade birthday cake before midnight, because store-bought felt impersonal and you had seen enough cooking content online to have developed a deeply theoretical understanding of the process.

You have a recipe pulled up on your phone, and you have the entire Scarabia kitchen yourself, a rare luxury afforded by the fact that the rest of the dorm is fast asleep. 

Truly, no biggie at all.

So, you’re not truly sure where things went wrong for the first time tonight.

You stand in front of the counter, sleeves rolled up to your elbows with flour dusted on your cheeks, all the while you stare at a bowl of what can only be generously called “batter” if one is feeling charitable.

“...Okay,” you try to assure yourself. “That might be fine.”

It… definitely doesn’t look like the picture—if anything, it might be closer to a witch’s cauldron of agony, blasphemy, and everything raggedy—but that’s fine, heat should fix things up.

Allegedly.

Roughly forty minutes later, several things are true simultaneously:

First, the cake is out of the oven.

Second, the cake is not what anyone would describe as a cake. 

To be fair, it is cake-adjacent—structurally committed to the general concept, present in the correct pan, and the resemblance is there, somewhere. No matter if it has sunk in the middle, and that one edge is higher than the other, for reasons that are unknown to you. 

You tilt your head, then tilt it the other way—well, it certainly does not look any better from any other angle. 

The Scarabia kitchen also does not look any better from any other angle—dusted in flour from how you yanked the bag with too much enthusiasm (sending a fine white blizzard over the pristine marble counters, your clothes, and your hair), a pool of vanilla extract lies on the floor, and the oven mitts are slightly singed because you panicked when the timer went off.

“It’s fine,” you whisper to the empty room. “Nothing a bunch of frosting can’t hide.”

You are just about to slap a massive clump of icing directly into the center crater of the cake when the heavy oak doors of the kitchen open with a quiet keen of your impending doom.

Jamil cannot believe his fucking eyes—well, he can, but the sight in front of him leaves them wide with a rare, visceral mix of profound disbelief and immediate threat assessment. He had come to the kitchen for a glass of water; that was it—a simple and rational decision. 

He certainly had not anticipated having to neutralize an assassin that somehow sneaked into the dorm, a rogue arsonist, or Kalim having another one of his ideas.

Yet, looking at the scene before him, any of those options would have been vastly easier to imagine.

“...What,” he says slowly, “are you doing.”

You freeze mid-motion, spatula raised like a blunt weapon. The thick streak of frosting adorning your left cheek and the smudge of flour give you the appearance of a guilty ghost.

“...Nothing?” you offer weakly.

Jamil closes his eyes and takes a deep, grounding breath—it’s the kind that is usually reserved when Kalim suggests hosting an impromptu banquet for three hundred people on a Tuesday night.

When he opens them, the reality of the situation has not changed.

“Nothing?” He repeats, his voice flat and dangerously calm. He crosses his arms, leaning against the doorframe, his dark eyes sweeping across the disaster zone. 

“If this is ‘nothing’,” Jamil says, his voice dripping with dry sarcasm. “I would hate to see what you consider an actual incident. Are you attempting to bake, or did something detonate in my kitchen?”

“First of all, it’s our kitchen based on the dorm layout,” you counter, attempting to sound reasonable while holding a spatula dripping with buttercream. “Second of all, I was baking—it just… had a few hiccups.”

A few hiccups are just putting it lightly.

He sighs and walks forward, before stopping right next to you, looking down into the bowl of frosting.

“You didn’t even sift the powdered sugar, did you?” he asks, taking the spatula from your hand with a gentle but firm tug.

He looks at your face, his expression softening slightly. Before you can ask him what he’s doing, he reaches out, his thumb brushing against your cheek to wipe a stray streak of flour. His touch is warm against your skin, a stark contrast to his cool, composed demeanor.

“You have it in your hair too,” he murmurs, a faint and amused smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I leave you alone for a few hours, and you manage to turn the kitchen into a winter wonderland. What was the goal here anyway?”

“Well,” you mumble, suddenly looking at the flour-covered floor. “It’s almost midnight, and I wanted to make you a birthday cake from scratch. You always cook for everyone else, and I just wanted you to… receive something for once.”

Jamil blinks, his gaze flickering from your face to the unfortunate excuse of the cake on the counter, and then back to the frosting adorning your face. For a brief moment, he simply stares, caught somewhere between exasperation and something far softer. The corner of his mouth twitches despite himself, and when he finally lets out a sigh, it lacks any real irritation.

“You are unbelievable,” he says, but his tone is entirely laced with fondness. He rolls up his sweater’s sleeves, exposing his forearm with practiced ease before tying his hair up into a simple ponytail. “If you wanted to give me a heart attack for my birthday, you could have just said so. Come here.”

To your absolute delight, he accepts the challenge of the disaster cake.

This time, Jamil takes charge (thank the lord), but he doesn’t push you away from the station. Instead, he steadies and guides your hands, showing you how to properly whip the frosting to salvage the lumps. 

You think he might be explaining the steps slowly for you to understand, but you can only hear glimpses of it when his chest is pressed lightly against your back as he reaches over to guide your grip on the whisk. 

“Slow down,” he murmurs near your ear. “Whisk it with steady and consistent movements, like this.”

For the next twenty minutes, the kitchen is filled with the quiet rhythm of the two of you working in tandem. You manage to accidentally squirt a star of frosting on the back of his hand, and he retaliates by bopping a dot of chocolate onto the tip of your nose. It is messy and utterly uncoordinated on your part, and entirely uncharacteristic of Jamil’s usual perfectionism—but it’s perfect and familiar in every sense.

By the time the clock on the wall begins its chime, the cake has gone through a serious metamorphosis.

It is still fundamentally crooked, considering its resemblance to the leaning Tower of Pisa, but under Jamil’s expert guidance, the crater is filled with a rich chocolate center. The outside is coated in a smooth layer of buttercream, and you have aggressively showered the entire thing in gold star sprinkles to distract any remaining structural anomalies.

Jamil sets down the piping bag, wiping his hands on a towel. “...There.”

You immediately circle the cake, inspecting it from every conceivable angle. “Huh, it actually looks edible now.”

You steal a glance at the clock, a wide smile taking over your lips when it counts all the way to midnight.

“Hold on, don’t touch it yet,” you say quickly, a sudden burst of energy hitting you.

You turn your head and rummage through your pocket, your fingers finally closing around a small, slightly crumpled paper wrapper. With a triumphant little aha!, you pull out a slightly bent candle and a box of matches. 

Jamil raises an eyebrow, watching as you carefully straighten the candle and plant it right into the center of the chocolate crater, burying it deep enough to stand. When that’s done, you pull a match from the box and with one quick flick of the wrist, strike it against the side.

The small and warm flame dances between you, casting a golden glow against the lopsided cake and illuminating the sharp lines of Jamil’s face.

“Go, make a wish.” You smile, nudging the cake a little closer toward him.

He stays there for a moment (enjoying the profound quietness between you two, tucked away while the rest of the dorm sleeps), before he finally tilts his head down toward the lone flickering candle. 

With a soft exhale, he blows out the flame, leaving the two of you in the shadowed warmth of the kitchen. In the dark, the smile he sends your way is small and fleeting, but tender enough that you think you might remember it longer than the cake itself.

You suspect you’ll be thinking about that smile for a while.

“Happy birthday, Jamil.”

❤️—————————————————❤️

Riddle Rosehearts:

Riddle notices it the third time.

The first time, he assumes it’s coincidence. You slide half your tart onto his plate with a small smile, insisting you “made too much.”

The second time, he frowns—but accepts it anyway, because refusing would be… impolite. And also, if he’s being honest, your baking is far better than anything the Heartslabyul kitchen produces on a rushed afternoon.

The third time, however, he sets his fork down.

“My rose,” he says carefully, eyes narrowing just slightly, “you have not taken more than three bites of your own portion.”

You freeze.

“I—I’m not that hungry,” you reply, a little too quickly.

Riddle’s gaze sharpens. He has memorized the rules of tea time, of nutrition, of proper conduct. And something about this—about you quietly giving away your food—does not sit right.

“That is not acceptable,” he says, tone firm. “You require proper nourishment. You cannot simply—simply redistribute your meals as though—”

He stops.

Because you’re looking at him strangely. Not upset. Not guilty.

Just… soft.

“I like sharing with you,” you admit.

It throws him completely off balance.

“…What?”

“I don’t eat a lot,” you continue, quieter now. “But I like making food. And… I like when you eat it.”

Riddle’s breath catches.

This isn’t disorder. This isn’t neglect.

It’s… intentional.

A choice.

For him.

His ears burn faintly red. He clears his throat, straightening in his seat as though regaining control of the situation—but his voice is noticeably less sharp.

“…Then we will amend this behavior properly,” he declares.

You blink. “Amend?”

“Yes. If you insist on sharing your meals, then it will be done correctly.” He lifts his chin. “You will remain seated. And we will divide the portions evenly.”

“Riddle—”

“And,” he adds, softer now, gaze flickering away for just a moment, “you will allow me to… reciprocate.”

Your heart skips.

“Reciprocate?”

He pushes his untouched slice of strawberry tart toward you.

“…It would be improper for only one party to give,” he mutters. “That would violate the balance of the exchange.”

But when you take a bite, smiling—

Riddle can’t quite hide the small, quiet warmth in his expression.

☀️ —————————————————☀️

Ruggie Bucchi:

Ruggie notices immediately.

Of course he does.

You don’t survive the way he has without clocking stuff like that—who eats, who doesn’t, who saves, who gives things away.

And you?

You give.

“Oi,” he says one afternoon, eyeing the way you push your portion of food toward him. “You tryna fatten me up or somethin’?”

You laugh a little. “You eat more than me anyway.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I need it,” he shoots back, but he’s already pulling the plate closer.

Still… he watches.

You pick at what little you kept. Barely anything. Meanwhile, he’s halfway through what was supposed to be your meal.

That doesn’t sit right.

The next day, he tests something.

You hand him food again—some homemade bread this time, still warm—and he grins, takes it… and then snaps it clean in half.

“Hey—”

“Deal,” he says, shoving one piece back into your hands. “I take yours, you take mine.”

“That’s not how it—”

“Sounds fair to me,” he shrugs. “You give me food, I make sure you actually eat.”

You hesitate.

Ruggie tilts his head, watching you closely now, sharp eyes catching every little reaction.

“…What, you only like it when I’m the one eatin’?” he teases, but there’s something quieter underneath it.

You look down at the bread.

“…I just like seeing you enjoy it.”

For a second, he doesn’t say anything.

Then he clicks his tongue, looking away.

“Yeah, well,” he mutters, taking another bite, “I don’t take freebies.”

You glance up.

“So if you’re gonna keep givin’ me stuff…” he continues, nudging your hand with the bread still in it, “then you’re eatin’ with me. Got it?”

It’s not a request.

But when you take a bite, smiling just a little—

Ruggie grins back, satisfied.

🌊 ————————————————— 🌊

Azul Ashengrotto:

Azul is… suspicious.

Not outwardly, of course. Outwardly, he remains perfectly composed, offering you that polished, charming smile as you place a neatly wrapped box of pastries on the table in the VIP room.

“For you,” you say.

“How generous,” he replies smoothly. “And to what do I owe this delightful gesture?”

“No reason.”

That’s the problem.

Nothing is ever for no reason.

Azul has built his entire life on understanding exchanges. Value. Cost.

So when you sit across from him, sipping only tea while he opens the box—and realizes it’s filled with carefully made sweets—

He watches you instead of the food.

“You aren’t eating?” he asks lightly.

“I’m okay,” you say. “I made them for you.”

For him.

Not for leverage. Not for negotiation.

Just… for him.

He picks up one of the pastries, examining it.

“…You expect nothing in return?” he presses.

You blink. “Why would I?”

Azul pauses.

That answer shouldn’t unsettle him.

And yet.

“…You intrigue me,” he admits quietly, before taking a bite.

It’s good. Very good.

Homemade. Careful. Thoughtful.

“You truly derive satisfaction from this?” he asks. “Providing for others?”

You nod, a little shy. “Especially you.”

His grip tightens slightly around the pastry.

Something uncomfortable—and unfamiliar—twists in his chest.

Because there was a time when giving like this… being seen like this… would have been everything he wanted.

“…My pearl,” he says softly, voice losing some of its usual theatrical edge, “you must allow me to compensate you.”

You shake your head immediately. “No contracts. No points. Nothing.”

“…Not even a small arrangement?”

“Nope.”

Azul exhales.

Defeated.

“…Very well,” he murmurs. “Then I will simply have to find… other means of expressing my gratitude.”

The next time you bring him food—

There’s already a plate waiting.

Split neatly in two.

🔥 ————————————————— 🔥

Idia Shroud:

Idia doesn’t notice at first.

Not in person, anyway.

In person, he’s too busy trying not to combust from social anxiety.

But online?

That’s different.

“You didn’t eat dinner again,” he types.

You stare at the message on your screen.

“How do you even know that??”

“Pattern recognition,” he replies instantly. “Also you always send pics of food you made but never of you actually eating it. Suspicious behavior. 10/10 red flag.”

You huff, typing back: “I just don’t eat a lot.”

There’s a pause.

Then—

“Then why make so much???”

You hesitate.

“…I like giving it to people.”

Another pause.

Longer this time.

“…oh.”

The next day, you show up outside Ignihyde with a small box.

You don’t expect him to come out.

But after a few minutes—

The door creaks open just enough for a tablet to peek through.

“…You brought food,” Idia’s voice crackles through it.

“Yeah.”

“…For me?”

You nod, even though he can’t really see it.

There’s a pause. Then the door opens a tiny bit more, just enough for a hand to awkwardly take the box.

“…You didn’t have to,” he mutters.

“I wanted to.”

Silence.

Then—

“…Wait.”

The door shuts. You hear shuffling, muffled noises, what might be Ortho saying something in the background—

And then the door opens again.

This time, Idia himself stands there.

Avoiding eye contact. Hood up. Clearly suffering.

In his hands is… another container.

“…Trade offer,” he blurts. “You give food, I give food. Fair exchange. No emotional debuffs.”

You blink.

“You made this?”

“…Ortho supervised,” he admits.

You smile.

And when you take it—

Idia’s flames flicker just a little brighter.

“…Also,” he adds quickly, “you have to eat it. That’s part of the quest. Non-negotiable.”

For once—

He’s the one insisting you don’t go without.

🍎 ————————————————— 🍎

Vil Schoenheit:

Vil notices—and disapproves.

At first.

“You made this?” he asks, examining the delicate pastries you’ve set down.

You nod, a little nervous. “I thought you might like them.”

He takes a measured bite.

The texture is perfect. The flavor is balanced. Not overly sweet.

“…Acceptable,” he says, though the faint lift of his brow betrays genuine approval.

But then—

He watches you.

Or rather, the lack of action.

“You’re not eating,” Vil states.

“I’m fine,” you reply.

He sets the pastry down immediately.

“No,” he says firmly. “You are not.”

You blink, startled.

Vil stands, crossing his arms as he looks down at you—expression sharp, but not unkind.

“Beauty is not maintained through neglect,” he continues. “Your body requires proper care. Nutrition is not optional.”

“I do eat,” you insist softly. “Just… not a lot.”

“And yet you expend effort baking for others?” he presses.

“…I like it.”

Vil pauses.

There’s no insecurity in your tone. No self-criticism.

Just quiet honesty.

“…You express affection through service,” he concludes.

You nod.

He exhales slowly, some of the tension leaving his posture.

“…Very well,” he says at last. “Then we will refine this habit.”

“Refine?”

“Yes.” He sits back down, sliding the plate between you. “If you insist on sharing your creations, then you will also partake in them.”

“I already—”

“Properly,” he corrects. “Not as an afterthought.”

He breaks a piece off, holding it out to you.

“Eat.”

Your face warms, but you listen.

And when you do—

Vil allows himself a small, satisfied smile.

“…There,” he murmurs. “Balance. Effort deserves to be experienced—not just given away, sweet potato.”

~~~~

Tag list: @edwardhartenjoyer @genevathekitty @bao-yu-sarah-morningstar-wang-9

"We are acquaintances at best." Rollo all but growls out.

"Such cruel words!" Fellow says dramatically and directs his attention away from him. "Do you hear him, Beastmaster? How he spits on your hospitality and friendship?"

Yuu adjusts the hood on Gidel's cat onesie and sets Grim on the ground as he fusses about the whole thing. "Fellow, you did basically kidnap him away from his book."

"Kidnap is such a strong word."

She rolled her eyes and pulled out her phone. "Sit on the couch. I want to take a picture." She pushes up the hood of her eel onesie as it falls over her eyes.

"You are NOT taking a picture of me in this." Rollo snaps and makes to get up, only to be grabbed by Fellow and Skully as Yuu snaps her fingers. "Unhand me at once!"

Yuu readied her camera and smiled. "Say cheese!"

"Cheese!"