#twst headcanons

[elizzsush]

Beastmen Courting Rituals | TWST

Savanaclaw Dorm X Reader

Leona X Reader, Ruggie X Reader, Jack X Reader,

---- BeastFolk typically have instinctual ways they begin 'courting' or a relationship, some even taught from a young age certain courting rituals. (Non-Human courting rituals part 1/3)

Note: Fun fact, I began making Fae courting first but then I posted the future kid thing and didn't want to post two Diasomnia so close together!

Octavinelle Ver | Diasomnia Ver.

Jack:

It started very small, one day he was there, the next he was there again, and the next he was also there.

He was always there.

Then it got a bit... weird? You noticed that when he would approach you, he was making this grumbling, whining sounds? You don't even think he realized it. You chose to ignore this fact for now, maybe it was just because he was a beast man? You didn't want to be rude by saying anything- or make him feel embarrassed.

After that he began to help you with your hair more as well. Well, your general appearance. He'd help you fix your uniform and brush off any dust or anything you'd may want or need help with. In turn you helped him back, it was only fair after all!

Never mind his flushed face while you did this, moving small hairs back in place and picking any particles off his own uniform.

"There's our dynamic pair! beauty and the beast man." Ace teased, a confident grin on his face while you sat down at the table, Jack not too far behind you.

Jack just rolled his eyes, a small blush on his face as he ignored Ace. Aka, while he did the smart thing to do. You, however, have yet to learn that Despite so many months of friendship and raised an eyebrow at the Card boy. "What are you talking about." You rolled your eyes at the boy.

"You don't know? but it's so obvious!" Ace frowned, Grim nodding beside him in agreement, though you doubted he even knew what the boy was talking about. "His tail is always wagging like a fan when he's talking to ya! He's totally in l-" just as Ace was about to finish speaking Jack piped up, his ears straight on his head in an alert manner and his tail stiff behind him.

"I didn't get anything to drink when we got food." He excused himself, you tried to get a look at his face because he wasn't looking at you but he didn't look back and stood up.

Glancing at his tray, you didn't fail to notice the milk carton on it. Plush, Jack was always the prepared, diligent one. That was so odd... You glanced back at Ace only to find him laughing to himself like the funniest thing just happened. "Whatever, where is Deuce?" You rolled your eyes.

"Why should I know? I'm not his mom."

After that, Ace started calling you dense. Maybe you were because you really didn't know what the hell he was talking about.

After that it was like there was a switch in Jack. He began to be touchier, not that you minded of course! Cuddling with friends is always nice, and you liked to think it was because of his more... animalistic features and instincts he was cuddlier.

But somehow it felt more intimate. He'd nuzzle his face into your neck and hang off of you like he was a coat instead of a large man who was... well jacked.

You'd often wrestle him off of you because he had gotten into the habit of, as you said before, hanging off of you! He'd whine and almost instinctually wrestle you back to stay into his place.

You may not be as strong as him, but you also didn't hate the way he'd run with you at P.E. You knew he could easily run laps around everyone, but instead he stuck with you. Smiling at you exhausted look and cheering you on. "I'm sure Coach Vargas wouldn't mind us taking a break?" He laughs a bit awkwardly after you glared at him for suggesting it when he barely even broke a sweat.

It wasn't till after Leona off Handly mentioned something about you smelling like Jack. Even wrinkling his nose and saying that he "didn't have to lay it on that thick." That you started to think, maybe, just maybe, something else was going on here.

So, you went to the library. Got yourself your very own book (that you had to return in two weeks) on Beastfolk Mating rituals.

Suddenly, it made sense why Ace thought you were dense. Apparently, this was commonish knowledge in this world! And maybe you were ignoring pretty obvious signs now that you thought about it.

So, one afternoon when Jack was hanging off of you, that look in his eyes you hadn't noticed till now. You bit his hand. His ears straightened in surprise and he looked at you for a moment. A thick blush on his face.

"Am I dense or are you courting me?" You finally asked now that you had his attention.

"I have been for a while now..." He sheepishly admitted while not looking you in the eye.

____________

Ruggie:

He avoided you like the plague, at first.

Even now, sometimes when he's approaching you, you noticed that he might backtrack and hesitate.

Now he is a lot more relaxed, often hanging off of your shoulder. Now that he knows you won't bite his head off. His tail would wag behind him slightly while he interacted with you. A stark contrast to the stiff, alert eared boy he was just a little while ago!

You will say though, it did take some of your lunches to get here. You'd equate this process to that of getting a scared cat to approach you with treats. Now, you didn't even need the treats to get him around! He'd approach you first now too. Still with hesitance, but once he did come up to you he did seem to enjoy himself.

"He loved hanging off of you and cuddling up to you. He was very handsy, (Like most beast men, you'd later learned) His face often nuzzled into the nook of your neck. "He loved hanging off of you and cuddling up to you. He was very handsy, (Like most beast men, you'd later learned) His face often nuzzled into the nook of your neck.

"It's so weird to see a Ruggie-Senpai hang out with you so much." Deuce said off handedly one afternoon. You two were studying together when he thought of this.

"What do you mean?" You couldn't help but ask the card solider. Putting your pen down as you looked at him curiously.

The boy just shrugged, a odd look on his face. "I don't know, I just thought Hyena beast men were more... You know." he added a bit awkwardly. You decided to drop it there.

"Yeah... Anyway, I think I remember-"

The interaction stood out in your head, however. What exactly did Deuce even mean? After that interaction, you noticed a couple things as well. Beast students would look at you and nodded at you in recognition? Leona's nose would scrunch up a bit when you spoke to him (though he never made any comments on it), and when you walked into Savanaclaw a beast guy once mistook you for Ruggie before he looked at you?

What did any of that even mean?! When you asked Jack, he just said you smelt like Ruggie.

That small interaction you had with Deuce quickly began to send you down a hill of thinking about everything Ruggie ever did! How he hung off of you, and how you two hung out. It got even weirder when Ruggie offered you some food. Like he had been for a while.

This was very out of character for the Hyena boy! How did you not realize it before? So, you asked him about it. "How come you always offer me something when we eat together?"

He blushed a bit looking at you with wide eyes for a moment before shaking his head, "I do that don't I?" he laughed awkwardly, "I mean I bring food home for the neighborhood kids too. We all got to eat; you know?" He shrugged it off. You wondered what that meant, because he didn't do it with anyone else, but you failed to push him on the subject.

Your sad to say, you never fully realized what was happening till someone explained it to you.

He knocked on Ramshackle door with a handful of pretty dandelions and asked you on a date. "Perfect, would you like to um... go out with me?" he asked hesitantly, a nervous smile on his face while he put his head down. Like he was trying to protect his neck...

You said yes and it was after that Leona explained how annoying it was watching you two and basically inadvertently explained everything to you...

"That would have been helpful to know sooner." You grumbled to yourself after talking with the lion.

"Eh? Ignore him shyhehe!~ Ruggie just snickered with his usual sly smile.

____________

Leona:

Leona didn't really have time for games. If he liked, you he'd just come out and say it. At least, that's what you had first thought. Yes, he did use your lap as a pillow and you two did cuddle somewhat regularly. That didn't exactly mean anything. Right?

And yeah, Ruggie did scrunch his nose up and complain that you smelt too much like Leona, but that didn't matter. Leona probably didn't mean to do that; he was probably sleeping.

Did Leona roar at you? Yeah, so what? It was like a yawn; it just came out. No, he wasn't blushing! He couldn't be because you were already looking away in embarrassment.

Leona just didn't like you like that. No matter how many Courting book you read on beast men!

The Lion man in question invited you out to a Spelldrive tournament he had been practicing for. Obviously, you went without a second thought. It would be nice to see the lazy lion not lazing around for once! At least that's how you justified it.

You definitely didn't want to just see your crush play a match.

You couldn't help but notice the whole time, how Leona kept looking at you in your seat. Making sure you had just seen him perform. You'd smile and cheer for him and maybe, just maybe, a sense of pride would build up in his chest.

And maybe it was really nice to hear you cheer, and see you jump up from your seat in excitement. And maybe it was really nice to be able to cheer for him.

So you planned to confess to him after this game. "Leona I really liked you! I have for a while now!" And you did.

"Finally." He yawned and rubbed the back of his neck, you two then went to cuddle in the garden.

Did that mean you two were together now...?

____________

A/N: I know that some dorms aren't like nonhuman, but I can imagine that like Riddle was taught like courting customs in The Queendom of Roses, (Some queen of heart rule) or like the scalding sands have some costumes? Like the world changes because of beastmen/Fae customs and people adapted to that and added it to their own ways of approaching a relationship? Idk lol

Sorry Leona's part was quite short, I was getting tired and just wanted to get this out! But thank you for reading!

[egurt]

overblot boys x Crowley's child!reader

summary: boys found out that reader is crowley's kid.

‼️English isn't my first language!! (⁠´⁠;⁠︵⁠;⁠`⁠). Reader is not Yuu! GN reader. (what kind of relationship the reader has with the characters is not specified, it can be perceived as romantic or platonic. (it is implied that you are close)

Riddle Rosehearts.

it happened by accident! Your phone rang, and he, like a polite and responsible good boy, seeing the contact "father" lit up, took the phone to you.

but he didn't expect to hear the Headmage's voice on the other end of the line.

Riddle patiently waits for you to finish the conversation and only then asks.

"I don't want to seem rude, I only heard it out of the corner of my ear, but.. Was it the Headmage? Why is he listed in your contacts as father?"

"Because he IS my father, Riddle.."

well, that was a very unexpected confession.

in any case, his attitude towards you will not change in any way, even if you are the child of such an irresponsible and infantile person as Crowley. Riddle's parents are no better, so it is not for him to judge.

but most likely he will ask worriedly if Crowley is coping with his fatherly responsibilities. It's important for Riddle to know that Crowley isn't being as disgusting with you as he is with his students.

Please calm poor Riddle down, otherwise he'll ask Trey to adopt you.

Jamil Viper.

In short, you were careless enough to blurt out about your father to Kalim when you were talking about families.

and Kalim, unfortunately, is not the type to easily keep his mouth shut, especially when it has to do with his friends. Moreover, you didn���t say it was a secret, did you?

Anyway, when Kalim found out, Jamil found out just as quickly after that.

Hmph. Why did you tell Kalim first and not him? Jamil could definitely keep a secret, unlike Kalim.

Jamil doesn’t raise this topic with anyone, and asks Kalim not to tell others, because if you haven’t said anything before, then there must have been a reason for it.

He won’t say outright that he knows.

But Jamil will definitely somehow jokingly, perhaps consciously, and perhaps not on purpose, let you know that he knows: - "Here, eat. It's definitely better than what they feed you at home."

or "Did you know that some types of snakes feed on birds?"

Yes, yes, Jamil, I know, but why does it sound like a threat..

But it won't go further than harmless jokes and hints, after all, if you are friends with him, not caring about the status of his family, then he should respond in kind.

Leona Kingscholar.

You two were just relaxing in the botanical gardens, your head on his chest, while he looked at the night sky.

Either it was the warm night atmosphere that affected the topics of your conversations, or it was your presence that made him behave more openly. But is the reason so important if it feels so personal and pleasant?

Your conversation turned to your parents, during which, you had the imprudence to jokingly say: - "Yes, I understand, that's why I don't tell anyone that Crowley is my father, you know what associations immediately arise? I don't want people to think that I'm the same as him, although he really is a good dad-"

"Herbivore, what."

Leona interrupts your tirade, and asks again if he heard everything correctly. The Headmage? Your father? Why didn't you tell him before? Oh yeah, you just said why-

Leona knows what it's like to have false expectations put on you because of who your parents are, so he definitely wouldn't do that.

He doesn't care, you're his friend, his herbivore, it doesn't matter whose blood you have if your personality has nothing to do with that… crow.

And Leona was wrong, hah, you're not a herbivore. (Crows eat carrion, right?)

But you'll definitely get a few new nicknames.

"Hey, birdie-"

Azul Ashengrotto.

You were keeping Azul company while he worked, he was busily signing something, while you were lounging on that black couch in his office, staring at the ceiling.

Azul started talking about today's events at Mostro Lounge: Floyd broke some expensive equipment God knows how, but Azul's budget clearly didn't include such sudden and large expenses.

You, like a good friend, suggested: "Oh, I can ask Dad to scrape something out of the school budget, I'm sure he has enough."

Azul, not quite understanding, asks again what you mean, and you casually answer: "Well, I can ask the Headmage,my dad.. He'll definitely listen to me!" - with the most innocent look in the world.

and Azul just: ???

It took you a few minutes to explain what was what before he finally got it. Crowley is your father? Damn, how did he not notice before, and he still considers himself the most attentive and observant! It was so obvious: Your everyday outfits almost always included feathers, your overall gothic-steampunk(?) aesthetics… You're a copy of your father!

Don't be surprised if after this news Azul starts offering you all sorts of "lucrative deals" a little more often, suspiciously connected with your connection with the director!

Yes, you are friends, but is it so bad that he will try to turn this at least a little bit to his advantage?

Vil Schoenheit.

Vil knew before you even told him directly. He only needed one look at you and Crowley when you were standing next to each other to know who was daddy's baby.

Again, it's pretty obvious, considering that you and your father have similar styles in clothing and aesthetics. Gothic, steampunk, imitation feather shapes on some items of clothing and the feathers themselves.

Not a single detail will escape the watchful eye of a Beauty Queen!

But why guess when he can ask directly? Vil did just that.

You, slightly impressed by his accurate observations, confirmed his assumptions.

I don't think Vil's attitude towards you will change, I doubt he cares who your parents are, as long as they fulfill their parental duties and treat you well.

he'll definitely put together bird/crow related outfits for you if you want, or send you mood boards in that aesthetic, even if it's too dark to wear on a regular basis.. But style has no boundaries if it's good,right?

Idia Shroud.

Ortho has the data of all the students, just like that.

Yeah, it's probably a little creepy, but still, look me in the eye and tell me that Idia didn't give Ortho access to the database of all the students at the NRC.

Just one day, Idia was scrolling through this very data of the students out of boredom and came across information about you and saw your last name. Wait, isn't it the same as..?

He's surprised, but most of all he's surprised that he didn't notice how none of the teachers address you by your last name, but only by your first name. Although, it's not like he often attends classes, but still!

Idia doesn't bring this topic up with you (what if you'll suddenly think he's a creep if you find out how he found out), again, he doesn't care who your parents are, even if he's definitely worried about whether the Headmage is fullfil his parental responsibilities.

"Ahaha, I love this trope in anime where the character's parents turn out to be someone powerful and no one knew, isn't it cool, Idia?….Idia, what's up with your face?"

Malleus Draconia.

You told him yourself almost immediately. Malleus just has this aura… You don't want to hide anything from him.

"The other students are afraid of me because my parents are rulers." "Cool.I'm afraid that the other students will avoid me if they find out that my father is an annoying bird."

Yey, besties!

He's definitely the one who's most worried about your well-being. He knows how Crowley treats Yuu firsthand, and he definitely doesn't want the Headmage to treat his own child like that.

Hm? Did you have a fight with your father? It's okay, Malleus will sort it out.

No no, what are you saying, he definitely didn't threaten Crowley to apologize to you.

No no, both of you definitely didn't threaten Crowley to treat Yuu better.

bonus: given the latest theories in the fandom..you're two like..siblings?

[twisted-lemy]

✨EVIL✨ (but mostly silly) Heartslabyul headcanons~

Riddle’s hair has been graying since he was in elementary school due to his mother’s… uh, intense parenting style. He hides it with a weak illusion spell but occasionally he slips up and his gray streaks are visible—Ace caught him without his illusion up once and called him “gramps…”Never again did he make the same mistake.

Trey has a horrible immune system. He hides it well, using his unique magic, but more often than not he’s suffering from a cold or fever of some kind. No one’s found out about it yet but he suspects that one Rook Hunt and Jade Leech are onto him…

Cater had the twst equivalent of a tumblr account back in his middle school days and used his platform SOLEY for starting flame wars and shipping discourse. He’s since changed his ways and deactivated it out of shame but traces of his villainy online still remains to this day… Ask Idia.

Ace has been chronically stealing clothes from his friends all year. Deuce’s bomber jacket? Ace took it when he went to go do stuff with Leona that one time. Jack’s sleep cardigan? Ace had that since Yuu overthrew Azul. Yuu’s pinstripe pajama pants? Ace stole them when he stayed over after Riddle collared him the first time. Ace makes it both a habit and his duty to steal from people he likes well enough, and so far, he hasn’t be found out. Somehow.

Deuce knows almost fifty effective ways to knock someone out in a street fight in three hits or less. …What? This boy was apart of a gang in middle school and was one of their top fighters at that—is it any surprise that he’s an amazing and efficient fighter? His only real flaw is that he kinda sucks at magic combat by comparison.

Extra!

Chenya spends more time at Night Raven than at Royal Sword. He honestly believes that him being picked to be a Royal Sword student was a mistake because compared to most of his classmates he isn’t as pure intentioned as they are as he would rather spend his time causing chaos and watching the fallout than sitting in dull monotony.

[kefiteria]

Hi!

Not sure if I'm late or not with this request (just lmk if I am) but

Could I ask for platonic Sebek with half-fae reader that is stronger than him while being smaller than him? Both in terms of combat and in brute strength like lifting objects and such.

O Strength, Thy Name is Pocket-Sized

Platonic Sebek Zigvolt x Half-Fae!Reader Headcanons

a/n🍨: hihi thank you for requesting! sorry it took me longer to finish this🙏🏻 don't worry! requests are always open for now~ do let me know if this is to your liking✨

💤 The First Time You Lifted a Boulder. With One Hand. While Yawning.

It happened during a school trip. A harmless little expedition. Crewel asked for volunteers to help move the landscaping boulders around for an aesthetic adjustment of the botanical garden. No one stepped up—until you did.

Sebek with his arms crossed, said something like “Manual labor is not worthy of my strength!” but in that moment, you—tiny, unimposing, looking like a polite side character with a single voiceline—casually wrapped your fingers around a rock the size of an overfed cow and hefted it into the air like it weighed less than Lilia’s will to live.

Sebek screamed. A shriek, really. Something between a kettle and a wounded peacock.

“WHAT. IN THE NAME OF LORD MALLEUS’ GLORIOUS GLARE—?!”

You blinked at him with a confused face and a tilted head.

“...This one?”

You threw it over your shoulder like an inconvenience. It shattered a gazebo.

🥗 Sebek Develops Several Existential Crises. Sequentially.

“HOW,” he demands, trailing you around the school like a very loud duckling. “YOU ARE HALF-FAE. I AM HALF-FAE. WHY ARE YOU BUILT LIKE A FAE TANK? I TRAIN EVERY DAY. I DRINK THREE RAW EGGS EVERY MORNING. I—”

“Have you tried not yelling all your nutrients out of your body?” you reply, sipping herbal tea with fingers that could probably crush a skull like a grape.

He goes quiet for a moment. And then—

“I SHALL ADD FOUR EGGS.”

Sebek begins doing upside-down push-ups on the ceiling beams at 3AM. You once catch him trying to bench press Grim.

🫙 “Can You Open This?” Is a Weaponized Phrase.

The moment anyone in the dorms says it—"Can you open this jar?"—Sebek springs up like a righteous jack-in-the-box.

“I, SEBEK ZIGVOLT, SHALL—”

krkkk—

You’ve already opened it. Effortlessly. Pinky only. You even clean the rim.

Sebek stares at you like you just kicked down a cathedral.

🖋️ Sebek, Tragic Poet of Strength-Based Humiliation

He starts narrating his inner turmoil in deeply poetic, bizarrely florid monologues no one asked for.

“Oh Lord Malleus, oh draconian prince of my heart, why hath the cruel laws of muscle-fate bestowed such grotesque disparity upon us? Is it not I who shouts my allegiance into every hallway like a war trumpet? Is it not I who drinks protein shakes thicker than potion sludge?”

Yes, you catch him muttering in a mirror:

“Perhaps I am but a slender reed in a hurricane of your glorious biceps.”

Let’s just pretend you didn’t hear that.

⚔️ Combat Training Gone Wrong. And Then Very Right.

He insists on sparring. Of course he does. “I must test my mettle...” he declares, sword in hand, eyes wild with the need to prove something.

You’re unarmed and also chewing gum.

Ten seconds in, Sebek finds himself flat on the floor, disarmed, and somehow… hugging a traffic cone.

“Why is there a traffic cone in the field?” you murmur in confusion.

“WHY DID YOU THROW ME INTO IT???”

“...You lunged at me weird.”

He trains harder after that. He is often found doing lunges under waterfalls. There are no waterfalls in NRC? He'll built one.

🫂The Half-Fae Solidarity Pact™

Despite it all, there’s this quiet little thing between you both. In the hush between Sebek’s usual dramatic windstorms, when the campus quiets and the moon takes center stage in the great theatre of sky, he says softly:

“Do you ever feel like you don’t belong to either world?”

Slowly you glance over with face unreadable. You tear apart an entire metal fence while thinking. “All the time.”

You don’t elaborate. He doesn’t need you to. The bond is forged: not in loud proclamations, but in the quiet understanding of being neither human nor full fae. A half-blood solidarity. Two paradoxes in sync.

And he respects you deeply—not despite your strength, but because you never use it to mock him. You don’t look down on him even though you literally could lift him overhead and chuck him like a javelin.

(You did once. For a bet. He screamed all the way down and then demanded a rematch.)

🧃 Bonus: The Juicebox Incident

You once accidentally crushed a juice box in your hand while thinking too hard.

Sebek watched as it exploded up your arm like some kind of fruity geyser. He whispered:

“You are… terrifyingly majestic.”

Short Conclusion❔ :

You are small, strong, and stoically unbothered.

Sebek is loud, conflicted, and devotedly dramatic.

Together? An unstoppable comedic duo. The hype-man and the heavy-lifter. The philosopher and the puncher of walls.

Sometimes, he tries to open a jam jar just to prove something.

You watch.

You let him try.

You believe in him.

(But you do hide the traffic cones.)

[married-to-google-translater]

So I had two meme ideas and couldn't choose wich one I do so take both....

First time seeing Malleus

Second time seeing Malleus:

[starmaidengarden]

Hey can i maybe request something for sebek its ok if not thanks anyway

— Sebek x gn!reader. no cw/tw. established relationship. dividers: uzmacchiato.

Note: I want to go with some silly romantic headcanons about him!! so i hope you like it!!

Awkward but sincere — he’s not the smooth-talker; instead, he expresses his affection through loyalty, service, and small gestures (like holding your books or making sure you’re safely home).

He gets flustered easily — a simple “I appreciate you” or a short, sweet compliment from you can make his face turn as red as a rose.

He strives to be a perfect knight for you — he practices his routines, always making sure he is polishes, and stands taller just to be someone you can be proud to be with.

He loves it when you care for him in return — putting a small snack in his bag, fixing his tie, or just a gentle word can make him feel valued and recognized.

He’s extremely loyal — there’s nobody else in the world who could win his heart once you have it; for him, loyalty is eternal.

He’s surprisingly affectionate in private. Once the two of you are alone, without prying eyes, he lets down his defenses. His grip on your hand is firm yet gentle, his kisses reverent, and his cheeks are faintly rosy with nervousness. The contrast between his tough demeanor in public and his softness in private melts your heart every time.

He’s a nervous mess when meeting your friends or family. He practices his introductions repeatedly, worried he might make a mess of them, but he’s eager to make a good, responsible first impression. His greatest wish is for your happiness, and he’ll do whatever it takes to ease your worries.

He’s fiercely proud of you. He brags about your kindness, your talents, or your achievements to anyone who will listen — much to your embarrassment — and defends you if someone speaks ill of you.

He strives to grow alongside you. If you’re passionate about something, he’ll study up on it, learn its history, and appreciate its finer details — just to connect with you more. Whether you love gardening, cooking, reading, or even magic, he’s there, eager to appreciate whatever brings you happiness.

He promises eternal loyalty. He’s not someone who falls in and out of relationships. His promises are made to last a lifetime — “until my last breath, I will remain by your side.”

[midnight---hollow]

Often I’ll think about that one study(? Analysis??) about how octopi are so smart that the only reason octopus society hasnt evolved and grown is because their lifespans are to short and the parents often die before teaching their kids things like how to use tools and hunt making the kids rely on instincts and have to learn all the parents did all over again. No progress

Now in twst octopi are are still struggling with that for sure but… octomers? They are basically octopi with a human conscious, extra limbs and bones, and a longer lifespan. I think its interesting azul comes from a long line of witches and his mother run a restaurant in a place known for struggling with food and often eating it was and unseasoned. Like if anyone is going to find the secret to serving food under the see it would be an octopus right?

I also think its interesting how they seem to have air bubbles around the food and it makes me curious of the fluffy sparkle things around azul are magic or not. in this photo all the food he is eating are things that would be yknow, not like that if in water. He literally has a drink under the water. Maybe the manga isnt acurate to the game world because jade did mention how bad of a situation food was in the sea but i also again do think if anyone would be able to find a way to counteract that it it would be a magically capable octopus human creature yknow

I got lost in the sauce this was supposed to be about how I theorize or at the very least headcanon octomers to have been a large crux of mer society. I dont think this is stated in game hence why i say more of a headcanon i just think with how much impact ursula had and how implied if an impact azuls mom and grandmother have had. If i had to guess how i personally think its be the understanding of magic and knowledge as octavinelle is known as one of the smartest dorms and not only is azul from a line of multiple mages but he has a very powerful um (not to mention ursula is one of the seven and was a very powerful seawitch)

I also have headcanoned that in current times this is being erased from history or not mentioned as much in atlantia but that is pure headcanon and as far as im aware there isnt any actual in canon evidence to believe this. I just have beef with atlantia and find it suspicious how they worship ursula but in atlantia their is a a trident statue instead of her or the bullying of azul or even how despite lagrotto serving one in a kind meals unlike the normal mer meals they eat her restaurant is at the deep dark bottom of the sea. Idk again im not saying this is cannon i just use it in my character stories and writings and art cus its cool and I don’t like atlantia

[ducksido]

Idk if you accept requests but I just read your "accidentally proposing" fic with Octavinelle, Savanaclaw and Diasomnia and had an idea!! (I have Savanaclaw in mind specifically but it might work with others?)

So what if to beast/mer/etc men, biting/marking your lover is basically like a wedding ring. A symbol to others that you're claimed (and that both parties felt safe enough to be marked that way). So imagine if the boys are already kinda crushing on Yuu/reader only for them to take their jacket off or something and reveal like a big ole bite mark on their shoulder (or wherever) and they get all mopey thinking their already claimed but in reality they just got bit by something back from their world and the scar stuck

(Inspired partially by my dad, who has a big bite mark on his arm that everyone thinks is a tattoo. it's not. Just an old dog bite)

(damn your dad sounds cool)

Savanaclaw

Setting: The Savanaclaw boys have been pining for you, and today, you're just casually stripping your jacket off after PE class, revealing a decent-sized bite scar on your shoulder.

They freeze.

Leona Kingscholar

Leona’s eyes lock onto the mark and he goes deathly quiet. His tail flicks. His ears flatten just a bit. Internally?

"Of course. Figures. I finally meet someone who doesn’t annoy me and they’re already spoken for."

He sulks hard. You notice him going distant, brushing you off when you try to chat later. It’s not until days later—when he mutters, "Your mate let you walk around unguarded like that?"—that you blink and go,

"Mate? Oh, no, a dog bit me when I was ten. Real jerk. Still got the scar."

Leona’s head snaps up. His ears twitch.

"Wait… that’s not a claiming mark?"

Cue one (1) very smug Leona by the next morning, mysteriously returning to sitting too close again.

Jack Howl

Jack actually drops the water bottle he was holding when he sees the scar. His eyes widen and then avert—immediately. He turns pink at the tips of his ears.

"Oh. I—I didn’t know you were already marked. Sorry."

He becomes very formal, very stiff. Starts calling you “prefect” again instead of your name. You finally confront him, a bit heartbroken at the sudden coldness.

"You’ve been weird since PE, what gives?"

"...I just didn’t want to overstep. That kind of scar usually means you belong to someone."

When you tell him it’s an old wound from a totally mundane dog bite, he short circuits. Like, tail-wagging-involuntarily level of flustered.

"I—I see! That makes sense! You—you should be more careful, it looked real... um, real meaningful."

Now he can't stop glancing at your shoulder and getting flustered.

Ruggie Bucchi

“Tch. Lucky bastard, whoever bagged ya.”

He’s a mix of bitter and resigned—still flirty, but with a new sad little edge. Keeps joking like,

“Too bad you’re taken. Coulda had fun.”

When you finally ask what the hell he means, he gestures at the scar like, duh.

“That’s a mark. You don’t just give or get one of those unless you’re real serious.”

You: “That was a chihuahua. It bit me because I stole its hotdog.”

He stares.

“...A chihuahua did that?” “Yeah.” “And here I was mourning a relationship that never even existed. You owe me emotional compensation, y’know!”

Back to flirting. With vengeance.

OCTAVIANS:

Setting: You’re helping out in the Lounge. The uniform jacket’s getting hot, so you slip it off behind the bar… and your shirt collar slips just enough for a very visible, very real-looking bite scar to be seen by two (2) nosy eels and one (1) devastated octomer.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul freezes mid-shaker pour. You don’t notice—it’s just a quick glimpse—but Azul does. And his brain short circuits.

"A mark that deep... that shape... it’s deliberate. Ritualistic. They’re already bound?"

He’s devastated—but covers it up with grace. Or tries to. He gets very formal, colder. You catch him staring at your shoulder more than once with that complicated emotion you can’t name.

He’s too polite to ask directly—until the heartbreak gets to him.

“You’re in a binding, aren’t you?”

You: “Huh?”

“The bite mark on your shoulder. Among merfolk, that symbolizes an eternal commitment.”

You: “Oh! Nah. That’s just from a dog that chomped me when I was a kid. I kicked him in the face.”

Azul.exe has stopped working.

“...You what—?”

Goes beet red and storms into his office to scream into a pillow. You later find your drink on the house, labeled ‘thanks for the heart attack’.

Jade Leech

Jade smiles when he sees the scar. But his eyes go half-lidded, calculating. He suddenly speaks softer. Steps farther back. Less teasing, more… respectful distance.

“My, I wasn’t aware you were already bound. Forgive me if my prior behavior overstepped.”

You: “Bound to what now??”

He gestures subtly to your shoulder, like it’s obvious.

“A bite mark like that, well… among certain species, it’s not given lightly. It would be considered rude to compete for the affection of one already ‘marked.’”

Cue your laugh.

“Oh that? I was eleven. Some mutt thought my lunch was his.”

Jade pauses… then grins, slow and sharp.

“Is that so? How very fortunate. In that case… I wonder how your skin scars. Hypothetically, of course.”

You're not sure if that’s a flirt or a threat. Probably both.

Floyd Leech

“...Huh?”

He just blinks at the mark when he sees it. Then squints real hard. Then stops talking to you.

Like, full Floyd shutdown mode. No nicknames. No glomps. Just grumpy silence. You ask him what’s wrong, and he shrugs you off like:

“Nothin’. Don’t talk to taken people. It’s boring.”

You practically have to wrestle the truth out of him. When he finally gestures at the mark, you laugh so hard you snort.

“That? Nah, that’s from a dog bite. We were playing tug-of-war and he missed the toy and got my shoulder instead. It’s just a scar.”

“Whaaat?? That’s it??”

Floyd immediately perks up. Grabs your shoulders and spins you around like:

“So you’re not somebody’s shrimp? Heh. Good. I hate leftovers.”

Later bites you (playfully) and says he wants to "make it official."

DIASOMNIA

Malleus Draconia

Malleus was just enjoying your presence—he always is. You pull off your hoodie to reveal a bite mark on your upper arm and— He stares.

The air around him tightens. He doesn’t speak at first. Just… quietly steps back. His green eyes dim.

“...You are claimed.”

He says it like a funeral eulogy.

You blink. “Claimed?? What are you talking about?”

“That mark. You accepted a fae bond.”

You laugh. “Wait, this?” You twist your arm to show him properly. “That’s from a feral raccoon. He got me through a screen door.”

...

Malleus goes silent. Then he laughs—one of those rare, rich, real ones.

“You truly are fascinating, Child of Man. A sacred mark... from a trash beast.”

And now he won’t stop teasing you about it.

“Shall I give you a proper one, to replace the raccoon’s?”

Lilia Vanrouge

Lilia recognizes the bite mark instantly—and what it would mean if it were real. His smile drops for a moment. A beat of quiet heartbreak.

“Oh… you’ve already given yourself to another?”

He masks it fast—reverts to his cheerful, mischievous self. But the sharpness in his tone dulls.

“You should’ve told us! We’d have sent you a proper gift, you know. A token for the bound.”

You: “Lilia, I got this bite scar from a goose. I was five. It hated my jacket.”

“...A goose?” “An evil goose.”

A beat. Then he laughs so hard he nearly levitates.

“You poor thing! Bitten by a beast of chaos!” “You mean the goose?” “No. The jacket.”

He’s overjoyed, suddenly affectionate again, now plotting how to actually mark you with fae tradition. You may have unleashed something.

Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek screams internally the moment he sees it. He immediately turns away, face twisted.

“I see. You have already pledged loyalty elsewhere.”

Goes full formal mode. Loud. Respectful. Heartbroken.

“I WAS A FOOL TO BELIEVE—TO HOPE—THAT YOU WERE UNBOUND!”

You’re like: “Dude. What?”

He dramatically points at the scar.

“That! You wear it openly!”

You: “Oh, you mean my shoulder scar? A horse bit me.”

Sebek.exe blue screens.

“A… horse?” “He didn’t like carrots. I was five.”

...

He gets so red. Immediately bows in apology. Starts yelling at the horse retroactively. Gives you his coat. Declares he’ll train to bite harder than any equine.

Silver

Silver notices the scar. He gets very quiet. Thoughtful.

Later that day, he gently asks:

“Did it hurt when you were claimed?”

You pause. “What do you mean?”

“The mark. It’s permanent. You must’ve trusted them deeply.”

You laugh. “No, no—Silver, I got that from a neighbor’s dog. He panicked during fireworks.”

Silver: “Oh.”

...Then he stares at the sky like it personally betrayed him.

“I thought I missed the moment you gave your heart away...”

You pat his shoulder, and he very gently, very subtly leans into it—maybe hoping he could be the one to earn that mark someday.

[daily-twst-headcanons]

Daily headcanon 28: Floyd keeps a picture of riddle in his jacket because he likes how flustered and grumpy it makes Riddle to know there's no rule against it to make him stop

[dior-luxury]

Love your stories♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️ Could I request the female reader falling asleep on their boyfriends lap with the dorm leaders and vice dorm leaders + Floyd? Thank you.

In the Comfort of You

( ✧ ) ────── boyfriend stories . fluff - she/her .

- [𝐜𝐡.] dorm leaders . vice dorm leaders + floyd

- [𝐩:𝐬] none

Note: Aww, this prompt is actually so cute are you kidding! I came back from my dance comp early so I celebrated by writing again! (*¯︶¯*)

Riddle Rosehearts

It was a quiet afternoon in Heartslabyul, the garden unusually still after a morning of chaos. The usual string of rules, order, and unexpected mushroom inspections had tired out even the strictest members. The sun filtered through the rose bushes, scattering golden flecks across the picnic blanket laid out under the gazebo. The breeze rustled the leaves above, and the faint smell of strawberry tarts lingered in the air.

Riddle sat upright, posture perfect, a book open in his lap. He was mid-sentence when he felt a shift beside him.

You, his girlfriend, had been curled up at his side for a while, your head resting lightly on his shoulder. But now, slowly, without a word, you repositioned yourself and laid your head fully in his lap.

He stiffened.

Rules. There were rules about propriety. About maintaining posture. About not being flustered in public—even if it was just you two in the garden. His brain fired through a checklist of what he should do. He should tell you to sit up. He should maintain boundaries.

But then he looked down.

Your face was peaceful, softened by sleep. A slight smile played on your lips, your chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. One hand loosely held the hem of his jacket, as if even in sleep, you wanted to be close to him. You trusted him enough to rest like this. On him.

His heart stuttered.

Slowly, he placed the book aside and stared down at you, watching the way your lashes fluttered when the breeze tickled your cheeks. His hand hovered in the air for a long time—unsure—before he finally brushed your hair away from your forehead, his fingers trembling slightly.

He had always been taught discipline, order, and responsibility. But with you? He felt human. Vulnerable. Safe.

His fingers lingered in your hair, stroking it gently.

“…I suppose... one nap isn’t against the rules,” he murmured to himself.

He leaned back slightly, his other hand resting lightly across your back to make sure you didn’t roll off his lap. He felt warmth in his chest, unfamiliar and wonderful, like a sun blooming behind clouds. For once, Riddle Rosehearts didn't care about rules or appearances. Not when you looked so peaceful. Not when your presence filled his every thought.

And when you murmured his name softly in your sleep, like a prayer wrapped in trust?

He knew he'd never let anyone disturb this moment.

Not even the Queen of Hearts herself.

Trey Clover

The sun was setting over the Heartslabyul courtyard, painting the sky in sherbet hues. After a long day of baking sweets for the next unbirthday party, the scent of sugar and vanilla still clung to the air.

Trey had insisted on taking a break—dragging you out into the garden with a blanket and leftover tarts. You’d tried to protest, insisting you had homework, but he just smiled with that warm, steady patience of his and said, “You’ve earned a rest.”

You sat beside him, legs stretched out, chewing lazily on a berry tart as he leaned against a tree trunk. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, and his glasses had slipped slightly down the bridge of his nose as he read aloud from a half-open cookbook. You didn’t understand why he found recipe books so relaxing, but his voice was calm, familiar, grounding.

Eventually, the warmth of the setting sun and the soft cadence of his words started to lull you into a haze. Without thinking, you scooted closer and laid your head in his lap.

Trey’s voice trailed off.

He looked down at you, blinking once, then again. The way you curled into him, unguarded, so effortlessly vulnerable—it made his chest ache in the sweetest way. He smiled, one hand coming up to adjust his glasses, the other instinctively brushing along your arm.

“You okay down there?” he asked softly.

No response.

Your breathing was slow and even, lips slightly parted as you drifted deeper into sleep. Your hand rested on his thigh, fingers barely curled like you were holding onto the moment.

He chuckled under his breath. “Guess that’s a yes.”

With infinite gentleness, Trey shifted the tart plate out of the way and used his free hand to tuck your hair behind your ear. He watched the way the sunlight danced on your skin, how your eyelashes cast little shadows across your cheeks.

He didn’t move for a long while. Didn’t read. Didn’t speak. He just sat there, a steady presence while you slept on his lap. His thumb brushed lazy, affectionate circles on your shoulder.

“I hope you know,” he said eventually, voice soft and low like a whisper in a dream, “I could sit like this forever.”

His heart beat slow and full. This wasn’t the chaos of the kitchen, or the madness of Heartslabyul. This was something simpler. Sweeter. Like a quiet lull after the storm.

He leaned down slightly, pressing a feather-light kiss to your temple.

“Sweet dreams, sugar.”

Leona Kingscholar

It was one of those scorching afternoons in the Savannaclaw lounge. The heat had chased most students into the shadows, and the usual clamor had died down to a low hum. Leona had claimed his favorite sun-drenched couch—stretched out with one arm behind his head, the other lazily flipping through a textbook he had no real intention of reading.

You were sitting next to him, legs curled under you, chatting idly for a bit before trailing off. He barely registered the silence at first—figured you were just zoning out. But then something shifted.

You moved closer.

His ears twitched.

Without a word, you leaned over and placed your head directly on his lap. Just—boop. Laid down. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Leona froze.

He looked down slowly, like he couldn’t believe what just happened. There you were, his girl, sleeping soundly across his lap. Lips parted slightly, cheek pressed against his thigh, hands tucked under your chin. Peaceful. Completely knocked out.

For a moment, Leona just stared.

And then—

“…Tch.” He clicked his tongue, but it lacked any real bite. “You’ve got some nerve.”

His hand hovered over you for a beat. He wanted to push you off, maybe grumble something about how he was supposed to be the lazy one, not you. But instead…

His fingers dipped into your hair.

It was light. Barely a touch. Just a lazy comb through your strands, again and again.

“Brat,” he murmured, but his voice was soft, like the desert wind at night. “You really just gonna sleep here without asking? On my lap?”

And yet he didn’t move.

Didn’t complain.

Didn’t breathe too loudly for fear of waking you.

His tail swished lazily across the floor, betraying the contentment he pretended he didn’t feel. The warmth of your body against him made his eyelids droop, but he stayed awake, keeping a silent vigil.

He wouldn’t admit it, not in a thousand years—but having you there, choosing him as your safe place to rest?

That meant more than all the crowns in the world.

He smirked, resting his head back.

“…Guess I’ll let you off this time.”

Ruggie Bucchi

Ruggie wasn’t used to having time off. Between errands for Leona, club stuff, side hustles, and dodging various school responsibilities, “relaxation” wasn’t exactly on his schedule. But today? For some miraculous reason? He had an open hour. So he dragged you out behind the Savannaclaw dorm where the sun was warm, the grass was soft, and there were no chores to do.

He was halfway through telling you about some weird thing he saw in the cafeteria (“Swear on my granny’s life, the mashed potatoes moved!”) when he realized you weren’t laughing anymore.

He turned his head to look—and there you were.

Head in his lap. Curled up like a cat in a sunbeam. Eyes closed. Asleep.

Ruggie blinked.

Once. Twice.

“…Huh?”

He looked around like this was some kind of prank. “Oi. Y/N?”

No response.

A soft snore.

Ruggie stared down at you, your face squished slightly against his thigh, your fingers loosely gripping his hoodie. He didn’t know what to do with his hands at first. He held them up in the air like you were fragile and he might break you by accident.

He whispered, “…You serious right now?”

His face was bright red. Full-on red as a beet. But his heart? Beating like crazy. Fast and full and warm in a way that made his chest ache.

He glanced down again.

And slowly, hesitantly, the corner of his mouth tugged into a grin.

“Heh… cute.”

Very carefully, he pulled his hoodie sleeve down and tucked it under your head like a makeshift pillow. Then he leaned back on his hands and looked up at the sky, his tail flicking lazily behind him.

“You better not start drooling on me,” he muttered—but there was no venom in it. Just affection.

He sat there quietly, keeping still even when his legs started to fall asleep. When you shifted a little and sighed in your sleep, he actually stopped breathing for a second.

Because no one ever really… relaxed around him like that. Not like this. Not since he was a kid in the slums of the Sunset Savanna. This—being someone’s safe place—was something new. Something precious.

And he’d fight anyone who tried to ruin it.

Even if he’d totally deny that later.

Azul Ashengrotto

The Lounge had closed for the night. The clink of glassware had faded, the last customer long gone, and the velvet curtains drawn tight. Everything was bathed in that dim oceanic glow Octavinelle was known for—deep blues and the shimmer of water against stone.

Azul had finally finished sorting through contracts, sighing in satisfaction as he slid the last document into its folder. You were already sitting on the plush couch in the VIP room, legs tucked to the side, watching him with a soft smile on your lips.

“Hard at work, as always,” you teased lightly.

Azul chuckled, brushing his bangs back. “You know how it is. A businessman’s time is never his own.”

“You’ve got time for me now though, right?”

He hesitated only for a moment. “Always.”

You patted the space next to you. He sat, slightly stiff as always—ever the perfect posture. But he relaxed once you leaned against his shoulder. You chatted for a bit, your voice slowly trailing off as the atmosphere quieted. Your head slipped downward, resting lightly against his arm at first… then lower… until suddenly, Azul felt a shift.

He looked down to find your head in his lap.

Asleep.

Breathing gently.

Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Azul froze. Completely. His hands hovered mid-air, his back went ramrod straight, and panic flickered in his mind like a school of darting fish.

What do I do? Is this allowed? Is she okay? What if she drools? What if Jade sees—oh seven seas—

He dared to look down at your face. Your eyelashes fluttered faintly. Your lips were parted slightly, your expression peaceful. Unburdened. Completely unafraid.

The kind of peace Azul never had in his own head.

He felt his throat tighten.

You trusted him—him, a calculating, manipulative, secret-wielding businessman enough to fall asleep on his lap.

“…You really are bold,” he whispered, voice breaking into a whisper. “But… I suppose I can’t blame you.”

Cautiously, as if worried he’d shatter the moment, Azul rested a hand against your shoulder and the other—so slowly—began to stroke your hair. The strands slipped through his fingers like sea silk. He watched you for what felt like hours, every so often brushing a strand out of your face or tracing the curve of your cheek with his thumb.

And for once… the silence wasn’t unnerving.

It was comforting.

“Maybe just a little longer,” he murmured.

When Jade poked his head in later to report something, his eyes landed on the scene. He raised a brow—but said nothing.

Azul simply met his gaze, a faint smile playing on his lips. For once, he didn’t care about appearances.

Not when you were in his arms.

Jade Leech

The rainforest in the botanical garden was dim, warm, and filled with the sounds of dripping water and the flutter of hidden wings. Jade loved bringing you here after long days—the two of you wandering between the glowing mushrooms and thick vines, talking about strange creatures and even stranger students.

That evening, you had been unusually quiet.

Tired.

He’d noticed. Of course he had. Jade noticed everything.

So, he suggested you rest.

You both sat on a stone bench nestled under an arch of glowing moss. The lights cast a soft green hue over the clearing. Jade had started telling you a story—some obscure tale about a deep-sea creature with a song that lured people into dreams.

And maybe it was his voice—smooth as silk, low and lulling—or maybe it was the way he ran his fingers lazily through the fern beside you, but soon…

Your head slipped gently into his lap.

And you didn’t move again.

Jade blinked once, tilting his head ever so slightly.

“…Oh my.”

Your face was tilted toward him, cheek resting on the fabric of his uniform pants. Your breathing was deep, peaceful. Your body, curled like a cat, radiated warmth into his legs. You made not even the faintest sound.

And Jade?

Jade was frozen—but not out of panic.

He was fascinated.

You trusted him enough to sleep here. On him. Fully vulnerable. Open. And you didn’t even seem to hesitate.

The corners of his lips curled upward into a smile—genuine and serene.

“Well,” he murmured, reaching out to gently brush your hair behind your ear, “you are more interesting than any mushroom I’ve ever encountered.”

He chuckled quietly, the sound blending into the soft symphony of the garden.

Jade’s hand lingered in your hair, slow and thoughtful. He studied the way you clutched the fabric of his jacket with one hand, like you were anchoring yourself to him. And slowly, his usually composed heart began to thrum, unfamiliar and full.

No one ever rested near him this way.

No one dared.

But you did.

“You’ve caught me off guard,” he whispered, almost reverently.

Not a trace of mischief in his tone—only awe.

He leaned down slightly, brushing a kiss to your temple with an elegant tenderness only someone like him could manage.

“I wonder what you’re dreaming of,” he said softly, his voice a promise. “Whatever it is… I hope I’m there.”

And he stayed perfectly still, watching over you like a sentinel in the jungle. Not because he had to—but because he wanted to.

Because you, in that moment, were the most precious thing in his world.

Floyd Leech

The tide was low in his mood today.

Everything felt boring. Club meetings dragged, the Lounge was quiet, and even scaring first-years didn’t give him the usual rush. He was sprawled out on one of the long couches in the Octavinelle dorm lounge, legs dangling off the side, one arm draped over his eyes.

You were with him, of course—his “Shrimpy.” His favorite toy. His favorite person.

Today, though, he wasn’t teasing you or playfully squeezing you until you squirmed. He was unusually quiet, lying still in a rare moment of calm. You sat beside him, chatting softly at first, your fingers absently tracing patterns into his arm.

But then… your voice faded.

Your hand stilled.

He peeked out from under his arm just in time to feel it—your weight shifting as you gently curled up beside him, resting your head right on his stomach. A warm, sleepy sigh left your lips.

And then nothing.

You were asleep.

At first, Floyd just blinked, his mismatched eyes wide with surprise. “Huh?”

He tilted his head forward, peering at you like a curious sea creature watching a pearl roll into its den.

“You really knocked out, huh?”

No answer. Just the sound of your soft breathing, face nestled into his hoodie, arms curled in like you were hugging a plush toy.

Floyd didn’t move.

Didn’t make a sound.

Instead… his grin slowly, slowly spread across his face.

“Eheh~ Shrimpy... you really are something else.”

He gently lifted his hand and let it fall over your back, his fingers splaying like seaweed, curling into the fabric of your shirt. He didn’t squeeze this time. No chaotic thrashing, no threats of “squeeeezin’ ya ‘til ya pop.” Just the weight of his hand, steady and warm, like he was grounding himself in you.

His tailing mood melted like drift ice under sun.

You chose him.

To rest on. To trust. To fall asleep on, even knowing how temperamental he could be.

That tugged at something deep. Something primal and tender. He could feel his heartbeat slow to match yours, lulled by the rhythm of your breath.

“You’re lucky I like you so much,” he murmured, voice unusually low and gentle. “If it were anybody else, I’d have chomped ‘em by now for touchin’ me like this.”

But he didn’t move. Not an inch.

He just laid there, arm wrapped around you, letting you use his body like a pillow made of seafoam and muscle.

And when you murmured his name in your sleep—barely audible, just a breath?

Floyd melted entirely.

His grin softened, his head tilted back.

“…Guess I’ll nap too, then. But if I drool on ya, it’s your fault~”

Kalim Al-asim

The palace-like halls of Scarabia were quiet in the golden haze of late afternoon. The sun poured through the arching windows, lighting the silken pillows in warm amber. It had been a long day—flying carpets, music practice, and Kalim pulling you into at least three spontaneous dance circles.

Now, you were both on the balcony, surrounded by flower pots and colorful lanterns swaying in the breeze. Kalim had been talking excitedly about a festival his family hosted once—a night where they lit a thousand paper lanterns and let them float into the sky.

You were curled beside him, resting against his side, nodding along as his hands animated every story.

But eventually… your replies stopped.

He glanced down mid-sentence to find you still. Eyes closed. Breathing soft.

Your head had somehow found its way into his lap, resting there like it belonged. Your hands tucked under your cheek, your face tilted up toward him like you were dreaming of the stars he’d just described.

Kalim’s eyes widened.

“Oh!”

He clapped a hand over his mouth immediately, realizing how loud he was about to be.

“She fell asleep,” he whispered to himself, awed.

He looked down at you like you were made of starlight and gold.

You trusted him. You felt safe with him. So safe, in fact, that you’d fallen asleep in his lap under the open sky.

His heart soared.

“Wow…” he breathed.

He reached out, ever so gently, brushing a lock of hair from your forehead, his fingers trembling just slightly. Not from nerves—Kalim was never shy—but from the sheer overwhelming joy of the moment.

He wanted to laugh, to cheer, to kiss your forehead a hundred times.

But he didn’t.

He sat still, barely breathing, his smile wide and wonder-filled.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he whispered, his voice full of love. “Like a dream.”

He looked up at the sky, watching the clouds drift by, and then down again at you. His fingers found yours, lacing them together gently.

Kalim’s world was fast, bright, full of noise and song. But this?

This was a quiet kind of joy.

One that filled his chest like sweet air and didn’t need to be shouted.

He leaned down, kissed the crown of your head, and rested his cheek gently against your hair.

“If I had a thousand stars,” he whispered, “I’d give them all to you.”

And there, under the setting sun, with the breeze carrying hints of jasmine and warmth, Kalim stayed absolutely still—just a boy in love, holding his world in his lap.

Jamil Viper

It was late—well past the quiet hours in Scarabia. The sun had long since dipped behind the dunes, and the dorm was bathed in a soft, warm glow from hanging lanterns. The courtyard had emptied after a long day of activities, and only the hush of wind through palm trees and the distant trickle of water from the fountain remained.

Jamil sat beneath the archway overlooking the open courtyard, dressed down in his lounge clothes—simple, dark, loose-fitting, no frills. His shoulders were slouched, rare for someone always so tightly wound. You were beside him, curled up with your legs tucked under you, slowly leaning more and more his way.

The conversation had started casually—stories about Kalim’s antics, about classes, about the endless list of responsibilities Jamil was juggling. But as you listened, your replies grew quieter, slower…

And before he could even finish a sentence, he felt it.

Your head, gentle and warm, settled right into his lap.

Jamil went completely still.

He looked down, blinking, utterly silent.

“…You fell asleep?”

He could hardly believe it. There you were—his girlfriend—just… sleeping on him like it was natural. No hesitation. No fear. Just soft breath against his stomach and one hand lightly curled in his hoodie.

And him?

He didn’t move a muscle.

Jamil wasn’t used to this kind of closeness without strings. He wasn’t used to someone resting on him, not needing anything, not demanding he do something, fix something, prove something.

You were just there.

Sleeping.

Trusting him.

He swallowed hard, his heartbeat loud in his ears. One of his hands hovered above your shoulder, hesitant, as if afraid touching you would wake you—or worse, make the moment disappear.

But then, with a quiet exhale, he let his hand fall gently into your hair.

Fingers threaded through the strands slowly. Carefully. Like you were made of delicate silk.

“Y/N…” he whispered, barely audible.

There was a softness in his eyes no one else ever got to see. He didn’t know if you could hear him in your sleep—but it didn’t matter.

“You really don’t know what you do to me.”

He leaned back against the pillar, staring up at the night sky, the stars peeking through the edges of the courtyard ceiling. For once, he allowed himself a moment of stillness. No planning. No scheming. No worrying about Kalim or school or a hundred responsibilities.

Just you.

Warm and trusting in his arms.

And Jamil—quiet, calm—stayed perfectly still, the ghost of a smile on his lips as he brushed his thumb over your temple.

“If this is a dream,” he whispered, “I don’t want to wake up.”

Vil Schoenheit

The dressing room was quiet.

For once.

The glow of vanity lights lined the mirror, casting golden halos over the room. Bottles, brushes, powders, everything meticulously organized in Vil’s space. You had been keeping him company after his rehearsal—watching him take off his stage makeup with gentle, practiced motions, each movement like part of a performance in itself.

You sat beside him on the plush velvet chaise, your posture proper at first, engaged in conversation. He was mid-rant about a classmate’s awful skincare routine (heaven help them), and you had smiled, eyes soft, head tilted just slightly.

And then…

You slumped sideways.

Right into his lap.

Vil’s breath hitched, and he looked down, mouth parted slightly in surprise.

You… fell asleep?

On him?

“Darling?” he said quietly, brushing his fingers against your shoulder. No response.

Your face was tilted toward him, cheek gently pressed against his thigh, lashes brushing the top of your cheek, lips parted just slightly. You looked so peaceful. So still.

So unaware of how tightly you’d gripped his heart in that moment.

Vil slowly exhaled, lowering his hand to rest on your back. His other hand—still elegant, still carrying the last remnants of lotion—hovered over your hair. And then, with featherlight grace, he began to smooth it back, careful not to disturb your rest.

“Sleeping on a chaise,” he murmured. “That’s hardly ideal posture.”

But his voice had no edge. No scolding. Just… gentle amusement.

Vil Schoenheit was used to control—his appearance, his schedule, his image. And yet, here you were, disrupting all of that with a single act of vulnerability. Trusting him with your body in its most unguarded state.

And it didn’t irritate him.

It moved him.

“This is… dangerous,” he whispered. “You lower my guard far too easily.”

He gazed at you for a long while, memorizing the curve of your face in the soft light. The way your hand rested atop his knee like it belonged there. The softness of your lips, the warmth of your breath.

Vil had been photographed a thousand times, posed beside the most beautiful people in the world.

But this?

This was the most beautiful moment he had ever been part of.

He gently tugged a silk throw blanket from the back of the chaise and draped it over your shoulders, careful not to shift your head. Then, leaning down, he pressed a kiss to your temple—soft, reverent, full of unspoken feeling.

“You’ll be the ruin of me, schatz,” he whispered. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Rook Hunt

The sun had long since begun its descent, draping the vast grounds of NRC in a golden veil. The lush gardens behind Pomefiore dorm basked in that soft honey light, petals curling gently like sleepy sighs, and even the breeze seemed to hush itself to a lullaby. Rook Hunt sat on a stone bench nestled beneath an arch of ivy and lavender, legs crossed with poetic elegance, one arm draped along the bench’s edge, the other cradling a small leather-bound book of Baudelaire’s poetry.

But he had not turned a page in fifteen minutes.

His gaze, normally so sharp and brimming with curiosity, had softened completely—locked onto you, his beloved, curled up in the safest of sanctuaries: his lap.

You hadn’t meant to fall asleep, of course. It had started with just leaning against him, the sun warming your back and his hand absentmindedly carding through your hair, twirling strands like golden thread between his fingers. His voice had been low, reciting French verses with a soft lilt, letting the words flutter into the air like butterflies. Somewhere between the cadence of his voice, the scent of lilacs, and the rise and fall of his breathing, sleep had stolen you away.

And Rook… was absolutely enchanted.

“Oh, mon ange…” he whispered, barely audible, his breath brushing against the crown of your head.

He didn’t dare move. His usually ever-restless energy was still for once—his stillness more reverent than any silence in the cathedral. Your cheek was resting just over his thigh, your arms folded like a child’s under your head. A soft sigh escaped your lips every now and then, the kind that melted straight into his chest.

It was an intimacy far beyond a stolen kiss or dramatic serenade. This was something quiet. Sacred.

Rook’s gloved fingers ghosted along your shoulder, his thumb brushing ever so lightly against the skin where your shirt had slipped a bit. He chuckled—quietly, tenderly.

“To inspire such trust… Such vulnerability…” He murmured in awe, gazing down at you like one might look at a painting in a gallery, overwhelmed by its beauty but unable to explain why. “Tu es ma muse éternelle.”

The soft flush on your cheeks, the way your lashes kissed your skin, the rhythm of your breath—all of it wove a spell around his heart. A predator by nature, he was always seeking, always hunting the next beautiful moment. But this? This stillness, this peace—this was the rarest prey of all.

Rook leaned back, head tilted toward the twilight sky.

He would sit here forever if it meant you could rest undisturbed. The hunt could wait.

Idia Shroud

The atmosphere in Idia’s room buzzed with low ambient synth music, neon lights tracing cyber-punk lines across the walls, bouncing off rows of figurines and glowing monitors. Ortho had exited the room a while ago, leaving behind a half-empty can of soda and a quiet “I’ll give you two some space, nii-san~” in a sing-song voice that had Idia practically overheating.

You were on the floor, curled in a sea of fuzzy blankets and oversized gaming pillows. Idia had set up your “chill zone,” as he nervously called it—stocked with snacks, manga, and an absurdly cute cat-shaped pillow that he had definitely not bought because it reminded him of the way you smiled.

You had climbed up into his gaming chair at some point, practically draping yourself across his lap, completely fearless. Idia had gone full system error—stiff as a board, hands twitching at his sides, a thousand inner alarms going off.

“Wha—Y-You can’t just—th-th-there’s a process! A sequence! L-like, at least two awkward movie nights before you just go full-on lap-mode!!”

But you hadn’t answered. Your breathing had slowed. Your body had gone warm and heavy.

You’d fallen asleep.

Idia’s heart skipped several beats. He actually had to check that he wasn’t hallucinating. A tiny puff of air escaped your lips, your cheek squished against his hoodie-clad thigh, and your hand, like it had a mind of its own, had curled around the hem of his sleeve.

He froze. Again.

Then slowly, as if afraid to wake a very fluffy, very delicate sleeping beast, he let himself breathe. Just a little.

His hand trembled as it hovered near your head. His fingers twitched like they were afraid to mess it up—you—the whole fragile image of this moment.

And then, very carefully, he let his hand settle into your hair.

“…This is… r-real, right?” he whispered, voice cracking mid-sentence. He bit down on a whimper, overwhelmed.

“She’s literally asleep. On me. Like, I’m not even an NPC in this cutscene. I’m the main questline now.”

A faint giggle threatened to bubble up, but he slapped a hand over his mouth.

Then the other part of his brain chimed in.

What if she wakes up and realizes it’s weird? What if she was just tired and it wasn’t a conscious choice? What if she thinks you’re a total loser for sitting there like a statue?

He shut his eyes tight.

No. No, for once, he wouldn’t self-destruct this moment. Not when it felt like he’d stepped into a rare hidden level that only unlocked when your affection for an NPC was maxed out.

He looked down at you again, marveling at the tiny breath of warmth rising and falling against him.

“You’re like… my safe point,” he mumbled into the dark, letting his fingers finally settle gently in your hair.

A small ping from his PC reminded him a new update had installed.

“Whatever, I already got the best patch.”

Malleus Draconia

It was a rare, quiet evening at Diasomnia. No thunder echoed from the mountains, no duties called for the crown prince, and no students dared interrupt the rare moment of peace Malleus found with you.

The courtyard behind the dormitory was bathed in moonlight, silver threads weaving between tall hedges and ancient statues. You’d been chatting beside him on a stone bench, your legs curled beneath you, fingers grazing his as you recounted a ridiculous tale Ace had told you during lunch. Malleus listened—his eyes never straying from your face, utterly enchanted by your every word. You were warm and brilliant, like the sun he’d always been curious about, and it was moments like this that made him feel closer to understanding it.

But the day had been long. Long classes, longer conversations, and the gentle lull of Malleus’s deep voice had slowly pulled you into the edges of slumber. One moment you were chuckling, your cheek in your palm, and the next… your head tilted gently against his thigh.

Malleus stiffened slightly—not in discomfort, but surprise.

He blinked down at you, your lashes fluttering, your lips parting slightly as your breathing evened out. His first instinct was stillness. Dragons, after all, are patient creatures. He gazed at your peaceful form, processing the trust it took for you to doze off like this—on him. Vulnerable. Soft.

“My treasure…” he whispered, voice low with reverence.

He gently adjusted his posture, making sure your head had a comfortable angle. One clawed hand hovered hesitantly in the air before slowly descending to stroke your hair, tender and cautious, like touching spun gold.

“Even in sleep, you are unafraid of me.” The words were not sad, but filled with quiet awe.

The warmth of your body against him, the subtle scent of your perfume, and the delicate rise and fall of your breath began to unravel something inside Malleus. A rare emotion—one that wrapped around his ancient heart like ivy. He had seen kingdoms rise and fall, yet here you were, the most precious thing he’d ever held, choosing to rest in his lap like he was your sanctuary.

As your hand twitched in your sleep, seeking his, Malleus smiled.

He laced your fingers together, holding you close.

“You will never know harm while I breathe,” he murmured, more promise than poetry.

He remained there, unmoving, for as long as you needed. Watching over you with all the devotion of a dragon guarding his hoard, his heart heavy with love and light.

Lilia Vanrouge

The music from the Lounge had died down hours ago, and yet the two of you lingered in the quiet common room of Diasomnia, curled up on an emerald velvet settee, bathed in candlelight.

You had been scrolling through photos on your phone, laughing at memories, while Lilia lounged beside you, arms spread over the back of the couch, looking for all the world like a retired general watching over his beloved court jester.

His teasing quips had slowed as the hour crept past midnight. You were curled sideways now, legs draped over his, head tucked against his shoulder.

And then… your body shifted slightly.

You sighed—a soft, exhausted exhale—and gently, instinctively, nestled your head into his lap. Your phone slid from your hand to the cushion with a muffled thud.

Lilia paused mid-sentence, blinking. Then he looked down.

“Well, well…” His voice was a whisper, touched with warmth and amusement. “You’ve gone and melted into my lap, little bat.”

There was no complaint in his tone. Only gentle adoration.

He shifted minutely, reaching for a throw blanket folded neatly over the back of the couch. With practiced ease, he draped it over your form, tucking it around your shoulders with a tenderness only centuries of experience could perfect.

As your cheek pressed against his thigh, he could feel the subtle hum of your breath through his clothes. He gently brushed your hair away from your face, taking a moment to admire your features—so soft, so trusting, so utterly you.

Lilia had lived longer than most stars, but never had he found a moment quite like this.

“A sight sweeter than sakura in spring,” he murmured, one gloved hand resting lightly atop your head.

He leaned back, gazing at the ceiling, his other hand lazily tracing invisible patterns against your arm beneath the blanket.

He thought of the countless battles he’d fought, the wars he’d survived, the heartbreaks endured. And yet this moment—this quiet, sleeping you—was what he found himself wanting to protect most of all.

“Don’t worry,” he said quietly, “I’ll keep watch tonight, just as I always have. Even nightmares wouldn’t dare bother you while I’m here.”

A mischievous glint twinkled in his eyes, even as his voice remained soft.

“And if you drool on me, well… I suppose I’ll consider it a badge of honor.”

He chuckled lightly to himself, and resumed playing with your hair, humming a lullaby so old the stars had likely forgotten it. It was a melody sung once in ancient fae courts, now resurrected just for you.

Lilia, the eternal guardian, kept his silent vigil, heart full and content.

[ghostotosto]

Heartslabyul Dorm face headcanons to practice :p

[strawberry-bubblef]

Could I please request house wardens catching they're s/o threwing up overblot ink and they're just like 'It's fine' but the ink is slowly taking over and tearing apart their insides? Like, they're not overbloting cuz they're magicless but when they fought off the house wardens, the blot got into their system, and it's not pretty.

Housewarden catching their s/o throwing up blot ink

Riddle Rosehearts

It happened after the fight. After the dust settled, the roses stopped bleeding, and Riddle returned to himself,confused, breathless, horrified.

You were the first to run to him, ignoring the warnings, the lingering sparks of magic still fizzing in the air. You had touched his face, still streaked with blot, and smiled shakily.

“It’s over,” you whispered. “You’re okay now.”

But he hadn’t noticed your hands trembling. He hadn’t seen the ink beneath your fingernails.

The first time you coughed up ink, it was just a droplet. Small. Easy to hide. You wiped it with your sleeve, heart hammering. You told yourself it was a fluke.

Then came the second time. The third.

You started avoiding mirrors because you didn’t want to see the veins blackening faintly beneath your skin.

The corruption wasn’t magical,it couldn’t be. You were magicless. That was the rule. You couldn’t overblot. You shouldn’t be able to.

But maybe… maybe the rules didn’t apply to whatever the blot had become inside you.

And then, one day, Riddle walked into your shared study and found you hunched over the wastebasket, coughing violently.

“Y/N—?” His voice pitched up in panic. He was at your side in seconds, kneeling, grabbing your shoulders,only to freeze as he saw what you’d expelled.

Thick, black ink. Unmistakable.

It clung to your lips. Coated your hand. Pooled at your knees like tar.

You looked up at him with a pale smile. “It’s… fine.”

His heart stopped. “No. No, it isn’t.” His voice was shaking. “You’re not a mage, you—this shouldn't even be possible !”

You tried to stand, but your legs gave out, a fresh stream of ink spilling from your lips. It hissed faintly as it hit the floor, like it was alive.

Riddle caught you before you collapsed, his gloves smearing against the substance as he cradled you. His hands were trembling.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he whispered, his voice cracking. “How long?”

“Since the fight,” you mumbled, barely conscious. “I thought it would pass. I'm not like you… I didn’t think it could overtake me…”

“You’re not overblotting,” he said in disbelief, eyes wide as he looked at your body. “But it’s inside you. It’s killing you.”

You gave a weak laugh. “Guess I'm breaking a few rules, huh?”

He didn’t laugh.

“Don’t joke,” he whispered, forehead pressed to yours. “You didn’t break rules. I did. And you’re paying the price.”

Tears welled in his eyes.

“I won’t let this stand. I won’t lose you. Even if I have to rewrite the rules of magic itself.”

And for the first time in a long while, Riddle Rosehearts broke a rule,he left your side only to begin researching forbidden magics, his pristine record forgotten.

Because if the system allowed this… then it didn’t deserve his obedience.

Leona Kingscholar

He finds you behind the botanical garden, hunched over, your hand pressed against your mouth as thick, viscous ink drips through your fingers.

You don’t hear him at first.

You’re too busy trying not to throw up again, trying to breathe, trying to pretend this isn’t as bad as it feels.

But Leona sees. And he freezes.

“…What the hell.”

His voice is low, almost too quiet. Not angry. Not yet. Just… stunned.

You turn your head slightly, weakly, forcing a smile that looks more like a grimace. “Hey…”

His eyes narrow at the blot staining your lips and chin.

“What is that?”

You try to wipe it away. “It’s just… a little leftover blot. From the fights. I guess it got in me somehow—”

“You guess?” He cuts you off, but there’s no venom in it. Just a sharp edge of disbelief. “You’re throwing it up.”

You glance away, embarrassed. “I didn’t think it’d get this bad.”

Leona steps forward, slowly. His expression isn’t scowling or pissed—it’s something worse.

Worried.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t want you to worry. You’ve already got enough going on.”

A long silence stretches between you.

Then, softly,so softly it almost doesn’t sound like him,he mutters, “Don’t do that.”

You blink up at him. “Do what?”

“Decide for me.” He looks at you now, and there’s a tightness in his voice that pulls something deep in your chest. “If you’re hurting—especially because of me—I want to know. You don’t get to protect me by putting yourself through hell.”

You try to make a joke, to lighten the moment. “Wow. That sounded dangerously close to sentiment.”

But he doesn’t smile. He just exhales and crouches in front of you, eye-level now.

“You look like your insides are fucking breaking apart.”

“…They might be.”

He tenses, jaw clenching, but he doesn’t lash out. He just reaches out and rests his hand behind your back, steadying you as you tremble.

“You’re magicless. You shouldn't even be able to survive it.” His voice is low, rough. His grip on you tightens slightly,anger, panic, frustration, all twisted into his jaw. “Do you have any idea what this’ll do to you?”

You manage a laugh. “Think I’m finding out.”

His ears flatten. His tail lashes behind him. But his hands don’t leave you.

“I’m taking you to someone who can help,” he says, his voice firm but careful. “You don’t argue. You don’t pretend. You let me take care of it this time.”

You’re too tired to fight. You lean into him, and he lifts you without complaint, one arm around your shoulders, the other under your knees.

His brow stays furrowed the entire time.

He doesn’t say much else. But the way he holds you,secure, protective, just a little too tight,says enough.

And just before you slip into unconsciousness, you hear him murmur something into your hair.

“You saved my damn life. So don’t think I’m letting you throw yours away.”

Azul Ashengrotto

He thought it was a joke at first.

You were always trying to hide things from him, especially when it came to your injuries. You were proud, and he admired that,even if it made him worry. But when he caught you stumbling out of the Mostro Lounge’s back hallway, one hand gripping the wall, the other pressed against your lips, he didn’t smile.

Then you collapsed to your knees.

And the ink came spilling out.

Thick, black, vile. It hit the floor in splatters, sticky and alive, like it didn’t want to leave your body. Your back arched with the force of it, and you coughed so hard it sounded like something inside you cracked.

Azul dropped the clipboard he’d been holding.

His shoes echoed across the polished floor as he rushed to you, faster than he’d ever let himself move in public. “Y/N—!”

You waved a shaky hand, still hunched over. “It’s okay, it’s just—just a little blot..”

“That,”kneeled beside you, “is not a little blot!”

You were tired. Your eyes were glassy. And the ink,gods, the ink was boiling. Like it was trying to crawl its way back down your throat.

He tried to reach for you, but paused, hesitating. What if touching you made it worse? What if his magic triggered something else?

You noticed. Even through the haze, you gave him a soft, crooked smile. “Don’t look so scared… I’m magicless, remember? I can’t overblot.”

“You don’t need magic to be consumed by it,” he snapped, voice cracking. “You were exposed. Weren’t you? During the fights—against me—”

“…Yeah.”

He closed his eyes for just a moment. His chest hurt.

“How long?”

You hesitated.

“How long, Y/N?”

“…Two weeks.”

Azul’s hands trembled, just slightly. He never trembled.

“I could’ve helped you,” he whispered.

“I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

A bitter, strangled sound left his throat,something between a scoff and a gasp.

“You think I’d care about appearances when you’re dying in front of me?”

You leaned into him, your strength fading fast. He caught you this time, arms curling around your form as the ink soaked into his sleeves. He didn’t flinch.

“Stay with me,” he said softly, his voice lower than it had ever been. “I don’t care what it takes. I’ll find a way. I don’t need a contract. I don’t need payment. I just—"

He cut himself off.

Held you tighter.

Pressed his forehead to yours, eyes wide and shining.

“…Please,” he breathed. “Don’t leave me alone again.”

You managed to whisper his name before everything went dark.

And Azul stayed there, holding you, ink pooling around him like a curse he couldn’t bargain his way out of.

Kalim Al Asim

You didn’t want him to see it.

You’d been hiding it for days, shivers, the way you sometimes gripped your stomach like something was tearing through you. You kept smiling, waving off his concern, calling it a cold, stress, anything to keep his eyes off the truth.

But Kalim was nothing if not persistent.

He followed you when you left the party early, weaving through the celebration in Scarabia with apologies and excuses. You’d said you needed air. But he found you behind the dorm, bent over and gasping, your hand trembling as it caught the wall to steady yourself.

“Y/N?” His voice was light at first. Confused.

You turned to him too late.

The ink was already pouring from your mouth.

Thick, black, and writhing,like it was fighting to stay inside. It hit the sand like tar, steaming in the desert air. Kalim froze. His breath caught in his throat.

“Y/N?!”

You coughed again, nearly collapsing, but he caught you just before you hit the ground. His hands were on your shoulders, then your back, his jewelry clinking as he tried to support you.

“I—I’m fine—” you gasped, barely able to lift your head.

“No, no you’re not! That’s blot! That’s overblot ink, what—what’s happening?!”

You looked up at him with eyes too tired to lie. “It got in me. During the fight..with Jamil..”

Kalim blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Then he shook his head, violently. “No. No, no, no—that’s impossible, you’re not even a mage, you can’t—”

“I know. I can’t overblot.” You gave a hollow laugh that turned into a rasping cough. “But it’s inside me. It’s still killing me, just… slower.”

You expected panic. You expected fear.

What you didn’t expect was Kalim to wrap his arms around you and hold on like he’d drown without you.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered into your shoulder, voice shaking. “I didn’t know. I should’ve known. I—”

“It’s not your fault—”

“It is,” he said, louder now. “It is, because I would’ve never let you near him if I knew this could happen! I would’ve protected you-I would’ve done something—!”

You coughed again, ink dribbling past your lips. Kalim wiped it away with a shaking thumb.

“…Why didn’t you tell me?”

You couldn’t answer. Not with the way the pain twisted inside you.

But your silence said enough.

Kalim pressed his forehead against yours, holding you close even as the ink stained his white and gold sleeves.

“I’m going to fix this,” he whispered. “I don’t care how long it takes, or what I have to give up. You’re my light, Y/N. And I won’t let you go out.”

He pulled you closer still.

Kalim Al-Asim felt helpless in the face of something he couldn’t fix with love alone.

Vil Schoenheit

Vil had always prided himself on control.

Poise. Discipline. Perfection. His life was a routine of polished movements, carefully chosen words, and flawless performances. Emotions were something to be harnessed, not shown. Mess was something to be cleaned up not lived through.

And yet.

He found you doubled over in the pristine bathroom of Pomefiore, retching up a substance that didn’t belong in any world where things made sense.

It was black. Viscous. Blot.

It clung to your mouth like tar, trailing in thin strings from your lips as you spat the rest into the sink. Your hands were shaking, gripping the edges of the porcelain like you might fall apart if you let go.

Vil stopped in the doorway. Time seemed to catch its breath.

“…Y/N?”

Your eyes flicked to him through the mirror.Hollow.

“…Hey,” you said hoarsely. “You’re not supposed to be back yet.”

He didn’t respond. He walked forward, slowly, carefully,as if any sudden move would break you entirely. His reflection stood beside yours, immaculate as always, but you,you looked like death.

“I told you I was fine,” you whispered, voice cracking.

Vil reached for your chin, tilting your face toward his with the gentlest touch he’d ever given anyone. His hand didn’t shake but his breath did.

“That,” he said coolly, “is not fine.”

You tried to smile, but it slipped before it even formed. “It’s… from the SDC. I didn’t notice at first. But the ink,it’s been in me since then.”

His eyes flickered, sharp and calculating, but you could see the fracture behind them.

“You knew,” he said, voice dangerously low. “And you kept it from me.”

“I didn’t want to worry you.”

Vil laughed,humorless, bitter. “You didn’t want to worry me? Y/N, you are coughing up blot. That’s not a worry, it’s a nightmare.”

You tried to sit up straighter, but the movement sent a violent spasm through your chest, and more ink spilled out of you. Vil caught you as you crumpled, holding you upright against him, not caring that the blot was staining his gloves, his robe,him.

“I didn’t think it’d get this bad,” you admitted, voice trembling. “I thought it would go away.”

“Things like this don’t just go away,” he snapped, but his arms were steady around you. “It festers. It spreads. And now—” He cut himself off. His breath hitched.

And then softer, almost pleading: “Why didn’t you let me help you?”

You looked up at him, tears burning at the corners of your eyes. “Because I knew you'd look at me like this. Like I’m broken. Like I ruined something.”

His expression shattered.

“I don’t care if it’s broken,” he said, voice thick. “We fix broken things. We heal them. But I can’t do that if you keep hiding it.”

You tried to protest, but he pulled you closer.

“From this moment on,” he murmured, voice fierce and low, “you are not hiding another thing from me. Not your pain. Not your fear. Nothing.”

“…Okay,” you whispered.

He brushed the hair from your face, cradling you like something fragile, precious. For once, he didn’t care about his appearance, or who might see him kneeling on the bathroom floor, covered in ink. All he cared about was keeping you here.

Alive. Safe.

His.

“You are not dying from this,” Vil said, not a hope but a command. “I won’t allow it.”

Idia Shroud

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

You’d promised. You told him it was just a scratch,that when the fight was over, you’d be fine. He’d seen you tired, bruised but still standing. Still smiling.

So why were you now curled up on the floor of his room in Ignihyde, your back pressed to the side of his bed, trembling as you violently coughed up black blot like your lungs were trying to reject your own insides?

“Wh-What the hell?!” Idia dropped the tablet in his hands. The clatter echoed too loud in the silence.

You wiped at your mouth, slowly turning your head to look at him with dull, glassy eyes. “It’s fine,” you muttered. “It’s just… leftover. From the overblot. I must’ve absorbed some of it.”

“‘Just’—??” Idia’s voice cracked, his hair flaring in jagged bursts. “That’s blot, Y/N. Not a nosebleed. Not a cold. That’s corrupted magic and pure suffering in liquid form!”

You tried to stand, but your legs gave out, and Idia was at your side before you hit the ground.

His hands hovered, twitching nervously. “Okay. Okayokayokay. This is—this is fine. Not fine fine, obviously, this is nightmare fuel tier, but like—okay, okay, I can fix this. Maybe.”

You leaned against him, breathing shallow. “Idia…”

“No. Don’t ‘Idia’ me right now,” he said, breath quick. “Why didn’t you say something?! I have monitoring programs—scans—serums—okay, mostly for Ortho, but still. I could’ve done something..!”

You rested your head on his shoulder. “Didn’t want to bother you.”

He froze.

“…Bother me?” he repeated in a whisper. “You really think you’d ever be a bother?”

Your silence said it all.

His voice cracked. “You’re the only person who makes this dumb room feel like something more than a digital grave. You show up, and suddenly it’s like I’m not just a spooky background character anymore. You make me feel like I matter. And you thought this wasn’t important enough to tell me?”

You didn’t mean to cry. You hadn’t even noticed it until the ink mixed with tears on your cheeks.

“I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

He pulled you into his chest not with elegance, not with a dramatic speech, but with desperation. “I see you,” he whispered. “Not the ink. Not the breaking down part. Just… you.”

His fingers curled into your shirt as his voice went quiet.

“…I’m scared.”

“Me too,” you admitted.

He nodded, shakily. “Then we’re scared together.”

He adjusted your weight against him, wrapping his arms around you tighter,awkward, too warm, a little sweaty, but real.

“You’re not allowed to die,” he muttered. “I didn’t install a save point. Don’t make me invent necromancy.”

You gave a tiny, painful laugh.

And for once, it didn’t sound like a game anymore.

Malleus Draconia

The storm was still raging when you stumbled through the doors of Diasomnia.

Lightning cracked above the towers, thunder rolling across the moors, but the sound of it couldn’t drown out your gasps or the slick, wet sound of black ink splattering onto the cold floor beneath your feet.

You barely made it three steps before you collapsed to your knees, one hand bracing yourself while the other gripped your stomach. It felt like fire. Like something inside you was trying to rot its way out.

And then—

“Y/N.”

Malleus’ voice.

He appeared beside you in the blink of an eye, his presence nearly making the air vibrate with how quickly his magic reacted to your pain.

You looked up, vision swimming, lips trembling. “I—I’m fine.”

You weren’t.

You were coughing up tar-black blot like your lungs were lined with it, like your very soul had been stained by it. No magical signature, no spell. Just residue,something left behind after fighting too many overblots made of sorrow and rage.

Malleus knelt in front of you, his hands hovering at first, not daring to touch until you looked at him and gave the smallest nod.

The moment you did, he reached out and pulled you close, cradling you as if your body were made of glass.

“You’re not fine,” he said, voice lower than usual. There was a storm brewing inside him now, too. You could feel it.

“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” you whispered, breath hitching. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

Malleus’ grip tightened slightly, his forehead resting against yours.

“I am always worried,” he murmured. “But I would rather be frightened by your truth than soothed by your silence.”

You flinched as another wave of pain struck, your spine arching as you coughed up more of the ink. It burned your throat. It felt like it was eating you alive.

And still—still—you clutched at his sleeve, as if asking him not to leave.

“I’m here,” he whispered immediately. “I will not leave. Not now. Not ever.”

You barely noticed the flickering green glow wrapping around you until you felt it seep into your bones. Gentle, ancient magic,dragged from deep within Malleus himself. Not offensive, not protective. Restorative.

But it didn’t work.

Not completely.

Because the blot wasn’t a spell. It wasn’t something that could be undone by fae power or reversed by time-honored rites. It was corruption,infectious,cruel and it was already far too deep inside.

Still, he tried.

He kept one hand against your chest, the other against your cheek, murmuring in an old tongue that only the fae still remembered. His words weren’t spells,they were promises.

The ink didn’t vanish, but it slowed. Your shaking eased. The agony remained, but Malleus' magic acted like a shield,like a steady breath amid the smoke.

“I failed you,” you whispered weakly. “I should’ve been stronger.”

He shook his head, his voice tight. “No. You were braver than I ever deserved. You fought battles we could not see. You bore a weight alone that should have crushed you and still, you stood.”

A long pause. Then:

“You were never meant to burn alone.”

He pressed his forehead to yours again, his next words barely audible:

“If this ink dares to take you from me… then I shall walk into the dark and bring you back myself.”

You shuddered, tears slipping free at last.

You didn’t want to die.

And under Malleus’ trembling hands, you felt the same truth written in his every touch:

He would not let you.

English is not my first language !

[cheapshrimpysheep]

What if They were Dads?

SUMMARY: Headcanons of what I think they would be like as fathers to your child. And what if his dormmates were like honorary uncles to the child?

CHARACTERS: OB Students (Riddle Rosehearts / Leona Kingscholar / Azul Ashengrotto / Jamil Viper / Vil Schoenheit / Idia Shroud / Malleus Draconia)

TAGS: Headcanon; Fem!Reader (AFAB) (I never really know what tags to use but I hope you know what I mean)

WORD COUNT: An average of 690 words per character.

COMMENTS: I would have liked to have made a headcanon about the relationship with the boys' parents and siblings, but since we don't know them that well or at all on the Eng Server like Vil's father, I think I'll leave that for a possible post that complements this one. If you want.

Since I didn't want each character to have a big chunk of text, I put them as paragraphs instead of bullet points.

I hope you enjoy 🩵

CONTEXT: This was written with a cisgender female reader in mind. Reader is Yuu. But if you want (and can) read it in any other way, feel free to.

By the way, this is one of those moments when I wish English had a second person plural, instead of the singular and plural being the same. Whenever I write “your child” I mean it in the plural (you, the reader, and his)

Riddle’s child(ren) call him: Father

Riddle has the same demands and standards for his child that he has for himself. But he doesn't want to make the same mistakes as his mother, so in comparison he can be more permissive. Because of this he will ALWAYS listen to you if you tell him he is being too harsh.

In terms of studies, etiquette and behaviour he is quite strict as you would expect. But when it comes to play he lets his child do almost anything they want.

He doesn't know how to play with his child, but he will always make an effort to learn how to and do it with them. He almost seems to regress to the childhood he never had and wants to give to his child. Whenever the child learns a new game, they will show it and teach it to Riddle and he will be delighted with it.

Although he is strict, he is also relatively protective, especially if your child is a girl. He tries not to be overly protective, but he can't help but worry about your child. If there was a right way to raise a child, is he doing his job well enough? You will have several conversations at first to reassure him that he is doing a good job.

He will study any and all parenting books that experts in child behaviour and education recommend. This kind of knowledge is never too much. Which often leads you to try to convince him to relax and just trust his instincts and what he feels is right. The child is his, not all those authors and experts. Sometimes there are things that a parent simply knows.

Lawful and calm Uncle Trey. They love uncle Trey's sweets! Sometimes Riddle asks him if he's not giving them too much sweets and Trey always assures him that it's okay because he knows how to make healthier sweets and the limit for a child to eat. If they weren't already Riddle's child, the whole thing about always brushing their teeth could be scary.

Chaotic Uncle Che'nya. The crazy and fun Uncle! Your child and Che'nya join forces (maybe even with you) to play pranks on Riddle. Never anything that could get the child into trouble with their father, just enough for everyone, Riddle included, to have fun.

Uncle Ace and Uncle Deuce are more from your side than Riddle's honestly. Ace is a bit like Che'nya in the case of being one of the chaotic pranksters uncles. But he is also the uncle of magic tricks who is always deceiving, but also entertaining your child with them.

Deuce is the rad uncle with a cool moto and/or even cooler blastcycle, who offers to take your child for a ride in it with him. Your child also finds it funny to see the two of them arguing amicably. But it’s even funnier to see them imitating their father trying to order them to stop arguing.

Uncle Cater doesn't show up very often, but they like him. He's not chaotic like Ace and Che'nya, but he's also fun. Your child enjoys receiving compliments from him and taking pictures with him.

Your child imitates their father scolding Grim too. Just like Riddle (and probably because they're still little) they have a very bad temper. Riddle gets embarrassed whenever you say that someone takes after their father.

Leona’s child(ren) call him: Dad

Leona still doesn't like kids... your child(ren) is/are just an exception.

Yes, Leona would treat a daughter slightly differently than he would treat a son. In the same way that he treats men and women a little differently. But the only difference is that he would be tougher on a son than a daughter, but will still be affectionate regardless.

No matter what gender his child is, he wants the same for them: be strong both physically and mentally. To outsiders like some servants or citizens who don't know him, they may get to the point of thinking Leona is a harsh father who doesn't deserve all that love from his child, and he will tell both you and your child not to mind that. But the truth is that he is just like he was with you at school: a tough guy who hides a caring heart.

Leona continues to show himself to be a person who doesn't want anyone to upset him and who would growl at anyone who bothers him. The only people who can get close to him even when he's angry and remain safe and sound are you and your child. He'll still growl at you and your child quietly, but there will be a volume that is the line, like if his growl is louder than that limit it's because he's getting really angry, until then it's just him being him.

Your child will already have the best private teachers and tutors (one of them being Kifaji/Neji if he’s still alive), but even so, Leona will want to make them study and learn more. But in that discreet way that he knows. He will not force them to study more, he will find a way to convince them to want to learn more on their own.

You end up being the most affectionate parent and the one they trust for emotional comfort. Leona is the tough love, you are the soft love (at least in comparison). Leona will always tease you, insinuating that you are too soft and only spoil your child. Although he enjoys when you spoil him too.

He is 100% the ‘Go ask your mom’ kind of dad.

He lets his child take naps with him. And you too.

If he has more than one child, he will police himself not to favor any of them. He may have a tendency to favor the younger ones because of what he went through as the youngest himself, but none of his children will be treated in any special/different way based on their birth order. Neither the youngest nor the oldest.

He will try to convince his child not to be too close (emotionally) to their uncle or cousin, but won't stop them from playing with Cheka. When your child is old enough not to tell others what is said in your home, Leona and them will talk badly about Falena and Cheka behind their backs.

Leona will prefer your child to play with Ruggie and/or his children. On the one hand, he wants to keep them away from his family, but on the other hand, he also wants his child to know what the real world is like, to see both wealth and poverty, to know royalty as they knows their people and only then create their own judgement.

They don't call anyone uncle or aunt other than Falena and his wife. In the same way, Leona also doesn't give cute titles to anyone without being sarcastically. Even when he calls you “love”, “darling”, “honey” or something like that, it's to tease you.

Whenever you go to Shaftlands, whether for democratic reasons or on holiday, you always try to find a way to meet with Jack. Leona pretends that he only helps you with this because you want to see your friend and he wants to get rid of his family. Both you and Jack know that he just doesn't want to admit that he wants to see him too. Jack is the cool parent's friend who taught your child how to snowboard. While they are little they like to hug his tail because it’s fluffy.

Despite everything, he doesn't want his child to have the same lack of hope that he has, and despite trying to hide it, he always feels extremely guilty and bad whenever your child says something like that. At these times he relies on you to be the ray hope in that house, they will both need you for that.

Both Leona and your child are afraid of you when you get really serious or angry.

Do you know that scene from The Lion King where Mufasa uses Zazu to give Simba an pouncing lesson? Leona often does something similar, but instead of the target being a blue bird, it's a magical creature called Grim.

Azul’s child(ren) call him: Daddy (when little) Dad (when older)

Azul is an extremely emotional father, despite trying to hide it. There's going to be a lot of moments like: “HE/SHE IS THE CUTEST LITTLE THING IN THE WHOLE- *clears throat* I mean, he/she is such a charming little child.” He will most likely cry at your baby's first words, steps, anything.

Azul is overprotective! If any living creature even thinks about harming your child, he will tortu- that is, find a completely legal way to ensure that it never happens again. Now, if you'll excuse him, he suddenly felt like talking to Jade and Floyd. (The same protectiveness applies to you.)

Although he is very (secretly) emotional and loves to spoil his child, he is also relatively strict about their studies. He likes to spoil them (and you) when it's deserved, but he will not raise a spoiled child! This ends up balancing things out a bit.

He will hide the whole mafia-like part of his life from his child. Dad is just doing business, boring adult stuff. Maybe when your child is older he will start to reveal a little of that side of his life, if they later want to join their father it will be their choice. But until then, let them be innocent children, they are cuter and happier that way, there is time for everything.

He will always hold back his emotional side so as not to be overly affectionate. Unless his child starts crying. At that point his mask falls completely and he becomes the most affectionate and comforting father there can be, that is his weakness.

And if one day the child realizes this and starts using crying to get what they want from him, he won't know whether to be angry that he is being emotionally manipulated by his own child, or proud that they learned so quickly.

You will be the only one immune to the fake crying.

From the beginning, Azul has been wary and suspicious of letting Jade and Floyd be like uncles to your child. However, you two ended up letting this happen, but Azul will always keep an eye open.

Both Jade and Floyd will definitely use the child to play pranks on Azul. Mostly Floyd, Jade prefers to watch and assist. Azul will always be upset with the twins, never with his child. And depending on the severity of the prank, he will turn on his overprotective side and threaten Jade and Floyd that if that happens again they will never see your child again. They never go beyond that limit.

Every now and then when Floyd plays with your child, he will do that joke where he playfully tells them he's going to catch them and bite them. Actually in his playful voice, he doesn't want to scare them. And they will run to Azul and hide behind his legs asking for help while laughing. Or tentacles if they are in their merfolk form.

If you ask them Jade is the scary uncle (only sometimes) but they themselves don't even know why. It's just his vibe or something. However, they are not afraid to ask any of them for something, it being to play or for help.

You know those little plastic cashiers where kids pretend to have a little shop and try to sell things to people at home? Usually parents or sibling. Azul loves to play this with his child because it is a great and fun way to pass on his knowledge. Both about sales and about taking care of your money. Usually using the Grim as a guinea pig. Grim also likes to play because he always ends up with food in exchange for toy money.

Jamil’s child(ren) call him: Dad (in informal moments) and Father (at formal events)

Jamil needed to learn to express himself more and better emotionally so as not to end up being a cold father without meaning to. He needs your help to teach your child when to hold back and when to know when they are in a safe space to let go.

The only thing that will follow Jamil forever is an inevitable feeling of guilt for your child having the same fate as him, simply for being his child: serving the Al-Asim family with no other choice. But you can be assured that if there is a way to stop this and give his child freedom of choice, whatever that method may be, he will not give up until he finds it and do it! Normally parents want to give their children what they always wanted and could never have, in Jamil's case it’s freedom.

There was something Jamil wanted to do, but he didn't have the courage to ask the Al-Asim for some kind of vacation. But you had! Using your great friendship with Kalim, you managed to get him to allow you to take a vacation long enough for you to travel as a family, as Jamil wanted. Jamil has always wanted to travel alone, but now with you and your child he would like to travel as a family and give his child the experiences he would have liked to have had himself.

He is quite demanding with his child's education and training. However, his attitude towards this is always calm and collected, and he is attentive to his child's limitations and needs. He is a great and responsible tutor, who knows how to distinguish between being a teacher and being a father.

He is usually quite serious, so you and your child are the ones who start messing with him to have fun and make him laugh. It's always nice when he reminds you two that he can also be a tease. Normal or biggest target of your joint teasing ends up being Grim at some point.

During his work as Kalim's servant, Jamil always had to cook a lot and he's not that big a fan of cooking, so so he can rest at home you're the one who cooks most of the time. He will teach you everything you want to learn and at first you will cook together a lot until you feel comfortable cooking alone. But even then he will continue to offer to help you. Your child will continue to say that Jamil's food is tastier, but yours is prettier. And the food you make together is the best because it’s tasty and pretty. Jamil will also encourage his child to cook with you two so that they can learn from a young age.

His child knows that there is only one thing in this world that can make their father scream in fear: Bugs! If your child is also afraid of insects, you're screwed, because you will be the insect killer in that house. However, if it is just the two of them, Jamil's protective instinct will be stronger and despite his fear he will protect his child. If your child is not afraid of insects, then Jamil will have two protectors. “Can you do dad a favor?”; “Where is it?”; “Living room, south wall last time I saw.”; “Does it fly?”; “...Yes.”

Kalim will treat your child almost like one of his own children, for loving you both so much. He got emotional when he found out you were pregnant, he wanted to help pay for your doctor's appointments if necessary (never was), and he got emotional again when your child was born. He loves buying toys for your child too and give them gifts. He would love for Jamil to let them call him Uncle Kalim. And he loves it when your kids play together.

Vil’s child(ren) call him: Father 

Vil wants to have a family that is at its best as he likes to be at his best himself. He wants you and your child to be as beautiful on the outside as you are on the inside, just as he strives to be as well. However, he would treat a daughter slightly differently than a son because of the different pressures of societal beauty standards.

With a son he would be as strict with him as he is with himself. But with a daughter, he knows she's more likely to suffer from these kinds of things. So although he continues to be relatively strict and wants her to be the best she can be, he ends up being softer with criticism and stronger with praise and soft love than he would be with a son.

He would hire a specialist, like as a child psychologist or something like that, to always know the best ways to rise and protect your child. Children of famous people like him, especially in the digital and social media age, may need more protection from their parents in this regard, in addition to the toxic pressure of comparison that exists. However, because Vil cares so much about your child's personal development as their happiness, he may end up putting enormous pressure on himself to be a perfect parent too.

Both Vil and your child will need you to be the person who brings them both back to the real world and the life of a loving family with flaws like any human being. Vil will always listen to you if you feel he may be being too harsh and demanding with your child, or with himself in terms of parenting.

If you are the type of person who likes to tease Vil by letting yourself be sloppy from time to time, (always at home) then your child will also like to tease their father like that. “You have your mother’s cheekiness, I see.” Vil sighs but laughs. The teasing includes eating sweets and food that Vil would not approve of. You are the parent they ask for things from and who best comforts and pampers them. You two probably team up to make Vil relax and have fun with you.

His child will have the best teachers and tutors, go to the best schools and best establishments for any extracurricular activity they want to have. Vil will probably force them to have an extracurricular activity but they will be free to choose which one.

Rook is OBSESSED with your child! In a respectful way of course, he is just already a huge fan. The result of combining your DNA with Vil's? MERVEILLEUX! He won't hold back the tears when he sees the baby for the first time. He will LOVE playing with your child. He will babysit for free and will be happy to do so if you ever need. It will be a long time before he stops getting so emotional whenever your child calls him "Uncle Rook."

Uncle Epel is the rad uncle, when Vil is not around. He is that person who will help your child do cool activities that Vil may not allow. Like taking a blastcycle ride with him, eat grilled meats, playing with things that make the child very dirty or other things that Vil didn't like Epel to do when they were at NRC. But if at least one parent allows it (you), then there is no problem. Right? All this, of course, when Vil is not around.

When he is there, both Epel and your child behave like little angels. You and Epel have to be very careful that the child doesn't get careless and say something in Epel's dialect in front of Vil. They love Uncle Epel because it is fun to do cool things without their father knowing and with your help.

Your child likes to use Grim as a doll to dress up in cute clothes. The funny thing is that Grim likes it too because your child eventually realizes that if they tell him he looks cool instead of cute, he'll let them keep dressing him up.

Idia’s child(ren) call him: Daddy (when little) Dad (when older)

Idia doesn't believe he can be a good father. A shut-it and antisocial otaku like him? Are you crazy? That's a disaster! He can't take care of himself, how is he going to help you raise a child? However, and especially with you, he also has that overly cocky side that believes that even being an antisocial nerd he would be 1000 times better than a lot of parents out there. So basically he has a tendency to oscillate between these two moods.

In comparison, you are the strict parent, he is the parent who spoils the child. They are both afraid of you when you get upset. He's a ‘Don't tell your mother’ type of dad. He can't say no to his child, but, oddly enough, he can't be emotionally manipulated either. He may even let his child do a lot of things, but even he has limits to what he knows is good or bad for them.

Because he's the permissive father, he's also the scariest when he gets serious. He can never get really mad at his child, but he can say a firm and assertive “No” if necessary. However, if they are still very young and start crying, he will panic and call you immediately. You will then have to comfort Idia and tell him that no, he did not make a decision that put him on the path to the traumatic and apocalyptic ending. What he probably did was the opposite.

If it depends on him, his child will be a nerd/otaku just like his father. However, he doesn't want them to be socially anxious like him and will always encourage them to go for walks with you outside even if it's without him. That doesn't mean there aren't times you drag him outside with you.

Besides occasionally questioning whether he is being a good father, there is something else that haunts him... He still carries and will probably always carry the feeling of guilt for what happened to Ortho, so he is absolutely TERRIFIED that something like that may happen again.

Idia has always tried to keep your child as far away as possible from all areas that are dangerous or even remotely similar to the hallway where that happened. But if your child ever happens to even enter an area that their father did not allow, they will get to know a side of Idia that sometimes you yourself don’t even remember exists: The overprotective, traumatized side that isn't afraid to scare his child if it means keeping them away from the danger. And probably the only way they'll see his red hair. But it will probably be after that, that the two of you will have an open heart conversation and Idia will apologize.

Now, about Uncle Ortho, they LOVE uncle Ortho! He's the one who goes for a walk with you and your child when you and he can't convince Idia to go too. He is a cheerful uncle who loves to play with your child. You three made up stories to explain why uncle Ortho was a humanoid. You always make up different and crazy stories to jest with them and make them change the subject. The day will come when they will be old enough to know the truth.

Idia may even talk badly about himself a lot of the times, but no matter what his child do, they are talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, spectacular and everything good. “Of course that's because they inherited it from you, not me.” He will say with a smile.

Both Idia and your child treat Grim like a pet cat and find it funny to see him getting grumpy.

Idia spoke to his child in that baby voice when they themselves were also babies. And maybe also when they are children to the point where they tell him to stop treating them like babies.

Malleus’s child(ren) call him: Daddy (when little) Dad (when older) Father (at formal events)

The day Malleus found out you were pregnant was already a happy day, but the day your child was born was the happiest day of his life! And every moment with them is the happiest moment of his day. And of course with you too. He totally and completely loves his family!

Anyone who dares to speak ill of the child of Malleus Draconia, especially about the fact that they are half-human, will suffer the consequences! Anyone who spoke openly about the child being something of a disgrace, shame or an abomination was either killed or imprisoned. (Depending on how opposed you really are to Malleus killing or ordering someone to be killed.) and of course, the same applies to talking bad about you.

The problem is that this is doing the same thing to your child that was done to him. He's scaring everyone and making them afraid to come near your child for fear of saying or doing something that might upset them or Malleus. He listens to you and agrees with you, showing concern and thoughtfulness about what should be done. He hates people being disrespectful to the ones he loves, but he also doesn't want his child to go through what he went through.

What ends up happening is that, on Malleus's part, he realizes that he has to start learning ways for people to respect his child without using fear, but to do that he also has to start letting certain insults slide. He doesn't like it, but if it's what's best for his child, he'll do the best he can. Although the same applies if they disrespect you. He hates it so much!

In the case of your child, you are helped by Lilia (if he’s still alive), Silver, Sebek and their families. Perhaps trying to spend more time among their people and with other fae, humans, and half-fae might be beneficial to a child's social development.

Lilia would treat the child as if they were his own grandchild. Even if Silver also has children, they are ALL Lilia's grandchildren! “There's no denying it any longer... I am... officially... an old man... For the best possible reasons!” Everyone will rescue your child from Lilia's food. “Never eat anything that Grandpa Lilia cooks, you hear?”

Silver is the calm uncle who, despite not being the most fun to play with, is the one they turn to when they want to rest and simply have a good chill time. Or take a nap. Probably who they turn to to run away and hide from Sebek when he's being annoying. He ends up being the adult (than is not their parents) that they trust most and feel most comfortable with. Silver is very happy when they ask him for help to get closer to an animal to see it better, and even more so if they and the animals end up interacting and playing with each other.

Now about Uncle Sebek... If there is anyone more protective and flattering of that child than Malleus, it is Sebek. He cried when the child was born, for sure. And cried even more when the child said his name, or whenever they at least tried to. The day they called him "Uncle Sebek" he was about to have a heart attack. The problem is that he ends up being one of those type of person who adores children (although in his case the only ones he likes would be Malleus's and his own children) to the point that the child finds them annoying and clingy. “But don't tell Uncle Sebek that, he'll be sad.”

Whenever the child throws a tantrum that ends up causing their powers to manifest in storms or uncontrolled magic, Malleus will take care of it while you stay away and safe. To him, any attack would be mere tickling, but he always made sure that your child knows that the same does not apply to you. They may end up thinking that you are very fragile while they are little, but it is better this way to ensure that they do not hurt you unintentionally.

This also means that whenever you need to say ‘No’ to your child, Malleus will do it if there is a possibility that they would start throwing tantrums. At least while they are young and cannot control their powers well.

Malleus also runs the risk of being a father who spoils his children.

Your child and Grim probably burn a lot of things around the castle because they play together and they both have fire powers.

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

And if you would like to read this but with other characters you can write in the comments. If this post has a lot of notes (likes and reblogs) I might consider making a second part with other characters.

[bakuhve]

ruggie bucchi has always been scrappy. sharp eyes, sharp teeth, and even sharper instincts. in the harsh slums of the afterglow savanna, it was survival of the fastest, the smartest, the greediest. and ruggie was all three.

that’s why he doesn’t share. not his food, not his money, not his time. if he has a full belly and jingly pockets, that’s all he needs. or at least, that’s what he tells himself.

until you.

you, with your dumb little pack of emergency snacks. you, who breaks your bread in half before you even take a bite. you, who laughs and calls him a “scavenger” when he swipes extra pastries from the cafeteria, but never once judges him for it. you, who says “thanks” even when he hands you a squished onigiri from his pocket, like it’s gourmet.

it started small. he started to pretend he was too full, offering you the last dumpling. tosses you a wrapped rice ball, says it’s a “favor” so you owe him later.

but the truth? the raw, scary truth?

he wants to share. wants to see you eat. wants to feed you like it proves something he can’t say out loud.

maybe it’s love. maybe it’s loyalty. maybe it’s the terrifying realization that he’d go hungry if it meant seeing you full.

and that is terrifying. because ruggie bucchi does not share.

except with you.

[faeryarchives]

when swearing on your friends’ souls went wrong

(inspired from @/panniberry in twt!)

other works: dumb and dumber (ace | deuce)