#vil schoenheit
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kamapon · 4 days ago
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Pomefiore's Day off 🍎👑🏹
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amexizlov · 2 days ago
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TWST characters reaction when they accidentally snap out to you and didn't mean it + apologize
Vice housewardens version
1st Years version
2nd Years version
Halloween characters
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Riddle Rosehearts
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It was a stressful afternoon — rule violations, papers to grade, and another Spelldrive match approaching. When you asked a simple question about tea time plans, Riddle, overwhelmed, sharply barked back, "Can't you see I'm busy?! Stop pestering me!" You froze, the hurt flashing across your face too quickly for you to hide. Riddle’s own anger evaporated instantly, horror replacing it. "___ , no, wait. I didn’t mean— I apologize! That was unforgivable of me. Please, allow me to make it up to you properly."
His voice was trembling a little. He looked like he was ready to sentence himself to a dozen collars in repentance.
Leona Kingscholar
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You tugged lightly at his sleeve to tell him dinner was ready. Leona, having been stewing in a pile of frustrating family letters all day, let out a low growl and snapped, "Tch, can't you leave me the hell alone for once?" Your hand dropped. You didn’t say anything — just turned away. The heavy silence that followed hit Leona harder than any scolding could. He rubbed the back of his neck roughly, sitting up for once. "...Oi. Don’t do that. Don’t walk away." His voice was lower, regretful. He reached out, almost awkwardly, "C’mere. I didn’t mean to take it out on you, herbivore."
Azul Ashengrotto
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At the Mostro Lounge, you gently pointed out a mistake on a customer order sheet. Azul, frazzled from back-to-back meetings, snapped, "If you're just going to nitpick, then leave it to someone competent!" You reeled back like he had slapped you. You mumbled an apology and stepped away. Azul's heart plummeted. The moment you disappeared into the kitchen, he almost tripped over himself following you. "____ please, wait, listen. That was— I was... stressed. I had no right to say that to you." He was wringing his hands, practically trembling, like he expected you to disappear forever if he didn’t fix it now.
Kalim Al Asim
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You were helping him prepare for a big party, listing out supplies. Kalim, uncharacteristically flustered from responsibilities he wasn’t used to, blurted, "Just... stop talking for a second, okay?! I can’t think!" The hurt in your eyes broke through his panic immediately. Kalim gasped audibly. "Oh no— no no no! ___, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that! You’re amazing! You’re helping me so much!" He almost toppled over the table running toward you. "Please don’t be mad... I'll do anything to fix this! You’re the best, please smile again!
Vil Schoenheit
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You suggested — gently — that maybe he should take a small break during his intense training schedule. Without thinking, Vil snapped, "Do not tell me what to do if you don't understand the discipline this requires!" The flash of pain across your face was swift but deep. You stepped back without a word. Vil’s expression twisted immediately, a sharp regret slicing through his pride. "Wait." His voice dropped. He reached out, almost delicately, fingers brushing your wrist. "I was... unkind. That was uncalled for. You deserve better than being caught in my frustrations." He bowed his head slightly — something he rarely did for anyone.
Idia Shroud
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You knocked on Idia’s door to remind him he hadn’t eaten. A voice snapped from inside, "Why does everyone keep nagging me? Just leave me alone!!" You stood there for a moment, stunned, before quietly setting the tray down and walking off. When Idia cracked open the door and saw you gone, a pit of guilt opened in his chest. His hair dimmed, crackling weakly as he grabbed his hoodie tighter. He spent the next ten minutes pacing before finally messaging you a frantic stream of texts:
[Idia] omg I didn't mean that [Idia] pls don’t hate me [Idia] I'm an idiot sorry sorry sorry sorry [Idia] can I come apologize IRL? pls? (๑ó﹏ò๑)
Malleus Draconia
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You casually asked if he was feeling alright, noticing his solemn mood. Malleus, lost in centuries of royal burdens and ancient worries, unintentionally let his voice rise: "Do not concern yourself with matters beyond your understanding." The formal sharpness of it cut you deeper than any shout would have. You lowered your gaze and stepped back. Malleus immediately sensed it — the severed thread between you. He turned to you, anguish flickering through his usually composed face. "___ ....Forgive me, It was not my wish to wound you." He lowered himself to your level, his tone soft, almost pleading. "Please. Allow me to explain myself. I cannot bear the thought of you turning away from me."
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figurecollection · 3 days ago
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Vil Schoenheit 1/8 Scale by Aniplex, from Twisted Wonderland
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bluessmau · 2 days ago
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Pillows - Vil Schoenheit
In which Vil is stressed and tired, and just wants to put his face where it belongs: in-between his girlfriend's, Fem! Reader's, boobs.
Established Relationship. Reader presumably has big boobs. Requested by @sabrina4400.
Warnings: Suggestive. Reader sends a picture of her boobs to Vil, but it doesn't turn sexual. I'll still tag it as smut, tho.
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Vil Schoenheit
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peculiar-poppy · 5 days ago
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Vil is so pretty
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fairestwriting · 3 days ago
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Hii! I love your writing! Not sure if you did this yet, but could I get headcanons of what Leona, Jamil, Vil, and Lilia would call their s/o? (Other than herbivore on Leona’s part) Thank you so much <3
THANK YOU!!! this is a little (just a little) different from the way i usually write hcs but i hope you like ittt
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𐙚 Leona Kingscholar
Leona didn’t really intend for it to be his personal nickname for you or anything, but yeah, Herbivore does stick — at least for a while — and yeah, he’ll still use it even if you’re also a beastperson, regardless of what you truly are. He actually thinks it’s extra funny to use it if it doesn’t suit you.
The nicknaming is going to evolve with time, though. He does like using the occasional baby or babe, just casually, and probably not in public, but it won’t be the main thing he’ll call you. His preference very much is in giving you a specific, fitting nickname. Something no one else could call you, at least not in the way he does.
Since he’s started out with Herbivore, he’s most likely to keep following that animal theming route. It feels right, anyway. He’ll think about it, going through many, many working titles until he finds something that feels perfectly customized. It’s a significant amount of time until he just springs your brand new nickname on you, grinning all proud of himself... And after that day, that’s basically your second name.
𐙚 Jamil Viper
Jamil likes using your first name, and he’ll mostly stick to that. When you’re around others, it’s basically a given that he won’t be calling you darling or sweetheart or anything like that, since he prefers to keep your relationship away from the prying eyes of strangers. PDA is just not his thing, and it will never really be.
Part of why he sticks with using just your even in private is just the comforting familiar feel of it, but he also does genuinely love your name. If you listen closely, you’ll notice that the way he says it now is just a little different from how he said it before you got together…
On the rare occasion he calls you something other than your name, you can pretty much be sure it’s always going to come after a ”my”. Something like my love or my dear, which, fittingly, is more likely to slip out when he’s feeling more possessive than usual. But it’s pretty much reserved for that, plus whenever he’s comforting you for any somewhat serious reason. If you ask him to say it more often, he gets all flustered.
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𐙚 Vil Schoenheit
Like Jamil, he also really enjoys using just your first name, said in this way that’s just slightly softer than how he says everyone else’s names. What distinguishes them is that Vil does that intentionally, in this specific way that’s clear enough for you to maybe pick up on, but not everyone else.
He really does like using petnames in private though. Vil is a little hesitant at first, because he’s definitely said the words before in some production he acted in. He didn’t think much of it then, they were just words for him— But now that he’s doing it for real, he can’t help but notice just how different it feels. He knew it would feel different, he just wasn’t expecting it to feel that intimate…
In these moments, he finds himself being particularly fond of the more domestic-sounding kind. Honey is a common one, darling is used but a bit less so, it’s mostly for when he’s feeling particularly affectionate. Silently expects you to return the gesture, but it still makes him blush a little whenever you do.
𐙚 Lilia Vanrouge
Lilia brings out the petnames pretty early on. Just around the time when he realizes his interest in you, which comes with the decision that now, his flirting is going to be intentional. The first one he uses will probably be something simple, easy to sprinkle into his usual speech, like dear.
He kind of likes the more “ambiguous” sounding names— That kind of stuff you might hear from the nice old lady who lives down your street. Hun and sweetie are other two favorites of his. Needless to say, he not only keeps it up even after you two start dating, but also specifically focuses on using whatever gets him the biggest reactions from you.
Despite having clear favorites, though, his approach to petnames is almost like he’s going down a list. One day you’re love, then the next you’re sweetheart. He likes to switch it up, see how you like different names, how you react to them. Very much encourages you to return the gesture, and if you do, he’ll copy whatever petname you call him, so you two match.
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if you like my work you can support me by commissioning me or tipping me on ko-fi ── ᵎᵎ ✦
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lico-arts · 7 days ago
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I changed my mind on his outfit this is so much cuter 🥹
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capri-ramblings · 3 days ago
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😭🫵🏻
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face full of makeup vs bare face HWKFJAMDKSKCLSFKWO HIS EYELASHES ARE SO LONG I WANNA LICK THEM
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ygnjii · 1 day ago
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strawberry-bubblef · 2 days ago
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the post about the great seven made me think of a lot of things, but I now only remember one ╥﹏╥
Could I request the dormleaders with a reader that's immortal, and is the great sevens child ? Like for example, reader is the child of the queen of hearts
Feel free to ignore this lol ^_^
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Dormleaders with an immortal!s/o that is the child of the great seven
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Riddle Rosehearts
“You may be the child of the Queen... but you are nothing like her. And thank the Great Seven for that.”
No one remembers your name.
Once, it echoed through marble halls and velvet chambers, sewn into tapestries and whispered with reverence or fear. But when the Queen of Hearts died, everything that was hers was buried with her: her name, her reign… and you.
You were never crowned. Never introduced to the world. A shadow behind red curtains, a secret hidden even from her most loyal court. Perhaps she was trying to protect you. Or perhaps she knew the world would never accept a child raised by her.
You fled the Queendom the night it fell,when her court turned on itself and the roses bled. You remember the scent of scorched velvet, the last trembling lullaby she sang when she tucked you in that final night.
And then… nothing. Just centuries. Drifting.
You don’t know why you stopped aging. Maybe it’s the magic in your blood. Maybe it’s the curse of royalty. You wandered, studied, observed. Watched Heartslabyul rise in her image,flawed, rigid, hollow.
You didn’t plan to return. You didn’t even know how.
But the mirror chose you. Dragged you into a world echoing with her legacy. And now, you walk Night Raven College’s halls like a ghost wearing flesh, your past stitched beneath your skin, every step retracing memories that no one else remembers.
When you first arrive at Night Raven College, Riddle treats you like a wildcard,mildly irritating, overly cryptic, far too relaxed for someone claiming to know the Queen of Hearts' laws so intimately. To him, you're a contradiction. How could someone speak of Heartslabyul's customs with such precision, and yet flout them with the casual grace of someone who’s memorized every loophole?
You quote ancient laws in fluent Old Queendom dialect. You tie your cravat in the royal fashion,her fashion. And one day, when you're late to a dorm meeting, you offer an apology he recognizes, word for word, from a speech the Queen herself once gave to Parliament.
He doesn’t confront you at first. No, Riddle does what he always does. He observes, watches, collects evidence like petals pressed into the pages of his memory. You’re infuriatingly poised, with that slow, knowing smile. You rarely show emotion in public, but there’s an elegance to you that feels eerily timeless.
And then one day, he sees it.
You’re alone in the rose maze. Crying, not out of sadness, but from some invisible, ancient grief. A single red petal rests in your hand, crushed between your fingers. You whisper something he can't hear, but he knows it's not meant for this era.
He steps forward too loudly, and you stiffen.
“Who are you?” he demands, voice low and trembling. “Really.”
You turn, tired. Not annoyed. Just... worn down.
“I told you,” you say, voice soft. “I’m the child of the Queen of Hearts.”
Riddle doesn’t believe you.
At least, not at first.
But the proof starts stacking: the way you predict ceremonial patterns he hasn’t even memorized yet. The way you refer to royal events like you were there. The way you slip and say “when she was alive” with too much weight behind it.
He confronts you again. This time, behind closed doors, arms folded tight.
“You expect me to believe you’re centuries old? That you were born of one of the most famous monarchs in Twisted Wonderland’s history?”
“No,” you say calmly. “I don’t expect you to believe anything.”
“…But it’s the truth.”
You meet his eyes,his furious, brilliant eyes and something in you aches. He looks just like one of the Queen’s pages. The same fire. The same hunger for order. But the fear in him is new.
He’s afraid you’re right.
“…She wasn’t who they said she was,” you whisper. “Not always. She was terrifying, yes. Powerful. Cold. But she held me like I was porcelain, kissed my forehead every night before I slept. She taught me that rules were how she kept her heart from breaking again.”
Riddle stares. Unmoving.
“You knew her…” he says. Not a question. A quiet surrender.
You nod.
“But she died, Riddle. They all do. I’ve watched kingdoms rise and fall. Watched laws be rewritten. Watched people try to become her, wear her like a title. And every time, they fail.”
Then you look at him, gaze unwavering. “Even you.”
That hits him. Hard.
He’s spent years trying to be a perfect heir for his mother. To learn that he will never be enough in her eyes cuts deep. But deeper still is the quiet horror in your expression when you say it. You're not judging him. You're begging him not to become what she was.
“Why are you here?” he whispers.
“I don’t know,” you admit. “But if I’m going to be immortal, I want to at least feel like I'm living.”
And that… is something Riddle understands more than he wants to.
From then on, he starts treating you differently.
At first, he’s hesitant. Unsure. But the more you talk, the more he sees the scars hidden beneath your stillness. You tell him stories of palace life. Of your mother’s sharpness, her loneliness, her ambition. Of the moment you realized you would outlive everyone and she was already gone.
He listens to you in the quiet hours between classes. Starts sneaking you teas he thinks you might have tasted in the court. Lets you revise the rules, not to manipulate them, but to restore the humanity lost in them.
You, who were once raised as a symbol, now walk beside him not as a relic, but as a person. A strange one. A sad one. But someone who understands what it's like to have your identity shaped by someone else's legacy.
And Riddle, for all his perfectionism, finds something freeing in your honesty. In your quiet wisdom. In your unflinching view of the past.
He asks you once:
“If she were here now… what would she think of me?”
You answer truthfully, gently, “She’d see you as a threat. Because you’re trying to do what she couldn’t,rule with kindness.”
He doesn’t cry. But he looks away.
You take his hand, fingers cool against his trembling ones.
And in that moment, immortal or not, past or future aside, Riddle Rosehearts is simply a boy.
And you are simply someone who understands.
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Leona Kingscholar
"You come from the King… but you aren’t his echo. And maybe that’s the greatest blessing of all."
They called him the second son, the shadow beneath a golden crown.
But long before Falena was declared heir, before the pride lands of Sunset Savanna settled into peace under a careful rule there was you.
You weren’t born into the Kingscholar line. You were born into the original one.
The First Bloodline. The one that history erased you like you were a stain on the throne.
Your father, the King of Beasts, wasn’t just a ruler,he was a storm in a lion’s skin. Cunning. Unrivaled. Feared. And you were the child he kept hidden, not out of shame, but out of protection. His enemies were many. His politics ruthless. You were a secret too valuable to let out into the open.
But then he vanished.
Some say he was killed. Others believe he was betrayed by his own council. But you? You were only a child when they tore you from the palace and declared the bloodline broken.
The nobility chose another branch to carry the throne,one less “cursed,” more “obedient.”
The Kingscholars.
You were never mentioned again.
Until now.
You cross paths with Leona after a skirmish in the Spelldrive field. Dirt still on his cheek, sand in his boots, he snarls at you as you walk past, eyes narrowing like a lion scenting a rival on his territory.
"You walk like you own the place."
You don’t even look at him when you say, “I did. Once.”
He scoffs. “Right.”
But the words lodge in him like a thorn. And later,after too many coincidences, after hearing you speak in royal dialects that no one outside palace walls should know,he corners you behind the botanical garden greenhouse.
“You’re not from here. But you know too much.”
You exhale. The silence after that is long. Heavy.
Then: “I was born before the throne ever touched your bloodline.”
He stares. “You’re saying…?”
“My bloodline ruled before the Kingscholars were chosen.”
Leona scoffs the moment the words leave your mouth.
“Child of the King of Beasts? Right.” His arms fold, tail flicking with sharp annoyance. “Next thing you’ll tell me, you’re here to reclaim the throne.”
You don’t even blink. Just tilt your head slightly, expression calm.
“I’m not here for a throne.”
“Then what are you here for?”
“To exist,” you answer simply. “I’ve done enough hiding.”
Leona narrows his eyes. He’s not stupid,he can see the way you carry yourself. Proud. Collected. Like someone who’s had centuries to learn how to wear masks. But that doesn’t mean he’ll believe you. Not without proof.
“Fine. You’ve got five seconds to make me care,” he growls. “Or I walk.”
You pause.
Then, from under your coat, you pull something on a chain,worn, but gleaming faintly in the light. A pendant.
It’s shaped like a lion’s head. Old, far older than anything in Sunset Savanna’s current monarchy. The eyes are carved from faded sunstone, and around the mane are markings,etched in a script that hasn’t been taught in generations.
Leona’s scoff dies on his lips.
“…Where’d you get that?” His voice is quiet now. Sharp.
You don’t hand it to him. Your fingers curl around it instinctively.
“It was my father’s,” you say, gently. “The last thing I have of him.”
Leona takes a slow step forward, staring.
“I’ve seen that design. Once. In the sealed royal archive. Back when I still gave a damn.”
You nod. “You’d only see it once. The crest of the First King before the Kingscholars.”
He stares at you for a long moment.
“…You’re serious.”
“I am.”
“And you’ve been hiding this,why?”
“Because it’s not a crown,” you say quietly. “It’s grief. It’s centuries of watching others wear his name, rewrite his story, and erase me from it. I didn’t want to rule. I just wanted my father back.”
Leona’s jaw clenches. There’s something raw in his eyes. Familiar.
“…They erased me too,” he mutters. “The second son. Always in the background.”
You nod. “Then maybe you understand.”
He doesn’t say anything. Just watches you, eyes flickering to the pendant again.
“…You keep that,” he says eventually, gruff. “I don’t need it.”
“I wasn’t giving it to you.”
“Tch. Fine.”
There’s a long pause.
Then he speaks, softer this time:
“So… what are you gonna do now?”
You exhale. “Live, I guess. For him. For me.”
Another silence.
Then, with a huff, Leona turns on his heel.
“You coming or not?”
You blink. “Where?”
“To the greenhouse. I’m not gonna sit around thinking about history all day. But if you wanna talk legacy or whatever… I’ll listen.”
You smile faintly, fingers still tight around the pendant.
“…Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me,” he grumbles again. “Just don’t vanish.”
“I already did. Not doing it again.”
And somehow, as the sun filters down on the golden plains beyond the dorm, there’s a strange, quiet peace in the air,two ghosts of old royalty, still learning how to be people.
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Azul Ashengrotto
"Born of the Sea Witch, yet so far from her shadow… and honestly, the world is better for it.
Everyone knows who you are.
There’s no secret to your identity. The Sea Witch’s heir, that title follows you like the tide, carved into every introduction, every sideways glance. Most students keep their distance, unsure whether to bow or bolt. And Azul… Azul doesn’t know what to do with you at all.
Because he revered her.
Studied every scrap of her legend, built his entire image from the pieces of her legacy. Her cunning, her ambition, her raw, terrifying brilliance, Azul built the Lounge with those values in mind. But then you arrive. You, who could command a room with a breath and haven’t. You, who could claim dominion over the sea and haven’t.
You don't need to speak loudly,people listen anyway. You don’t bargain like a predator,people offer things to you freely. You carry your heritage like a pearl: luminous, heavy, and impossible to ignore.
Azul tries to treat you like anyone else.
He fails.
You step into the Lounge and every glass seems to hush. You give advice to Jade that he actually takes. Floyd calls you “Little Queenie” and follows your directions with that rare, dangerous glint of respect.
Azul is torn between admiration and envy.
Until one night, when he finally dares to ask.
“You don’t act like her,” he says quietly. “Why?”
You pause, hands stilling over a half-folded letter. “You mean like the stories?”
He nods.
You smile softly, something like nostalgia darkening your gaze. “My mother was… magnificent. The world remembers her power. I remember her songs.”
He’s silent. You continue.
“She taught me that power should be earned, not stolen. That knowledge is the real currency of the sea. She gave me her voice, not just to speak but to listen.”
You open your palm, revealing a small, polished nautilus shell,golden and glimmering, humming faintly with stored magic. “This is all I have left of her. And it’s enough.”
Azul stares at it. He’s never seen anything like it. Never felt anything like it. Power, ancient and soft. Not cold. Not cruel. Just vast.
“I admired her,” he whispers.
“So did I,” you reply, not missing a beat. “But I am not her. I could never be. And the ocean… doesn’t need a second Sea Witch. It needs something new.”
That’s when Azul sees it.
You could have built an empire. Could have drowned this school in your magic and crowned yourself without resistance. But instead, you chose something gentler. Something wiser. Influence without intimidation. Intelligence without cruelty.
And he realizes,painfully, humbly, that you have everything he wants to be. But you’ve already grown beyond the shadow of your legacy.
He watches you slip the shell back into its velvet pouch, tucking it away inside your coat like a promise.
“You may be the child of the Sea Witch,” he says, almost breathless.
“…but you are nothing like her.”
A beat of silence.
“And thank the Great Seven for that.”
You give him a long look. Thoughtful. Unreadable. But then your expression softens, and your voice dips low and personal, like a lullaby meant only for him.
“I’m not her,” you repeat, stepping closer, “but I still know how to make wishes come true.”
Azul's breath catches. You reach up and gently cup his cheek ,the motion graceful, tender, intentional. His glasses fog just a little from how close you are.
"And what if mine’s already come true?" he murmurs.
“Then you’d better hold on to it,” you whisper, “before I swim away.”
And this time, Azul doesn’t try to be like anyone else.
He just holds your hand.
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Kalim Al Asim
"Though you carry the blood of the Sorcerer of the Sand, you are nothing like him and that, in itself, is a gift."
Everyone knows who you are.
When you arrive at Night Raven College, the whispers don’t stop. The child of Jafar, the legendary sorcerer from the sands, the one who wielded dark magic and commanded the winds, it’s a title that carries weight. Most students are cautious, staying on the sidelines, unsure whether to smile or bow in respect. After all, Jafar’s influence was legendary, his ambition was terrifying, and his downfall? Well, it’s still a cautionary tale.
But you? You’re nothing like him.
Kalim notices that immediately. It’s one of the first things he learns about you. You’re not cold like your father. You don’t speak in cryptic riddles or draw power from ancient relics. You don’t even seem interested in the wealth or the control he had. You just… exist. And Kalim, for all his brightness and enthusiasm, can’t help but be fascinated by you.
You’re mysterious, yet open. You don’t flaunt your magic, and you certainly don’t try to intimidate others. You smile when you need to. You laugh. You cry, even. And you have this air about you, a quiet elegance, as if you were made to rule, but chose not to. He can’t help but find it captivating.
On the surface, Kalim is an open book. He’s cheerful, full of life, quick to embrace people, quick to trust, quick to love. But you? You keep your emotions locked away, always playing the role of the calm, collected individual, hiding all the things you feel under a polished, neutral facade.
One day, after a particularly intense school event where everyone’s on edge, Kalim finds you alone in the desert garden, sitting cross-legged beneath the stars. You’re holding a small glass vial, the one your father once kept on his person, filled with a grain of sand that never seems to settle.
“What’s this?” Kalim asks, plopping down next to you without hesitation, his voice full of curiosity.
You glance at him, your face unreadable. Then, you slowly open the vial, letting the sand inside drift slowly, the grains twinkling in the moonlight. “A piece of something that’s gone,” you say softly. “A piece of him.”
For the first time, Kalim feels the weight in your words. He’s seen the way you carry yourself, how you’re both haunted by and detached from your father’s legacy. He knows you’re not here to claim power or revenge, but there’s something else in you,something bittersweet.
Kalim watches you closely, then gently nudges your arm with his.
“Hey,” he says with his usual enthusiasm, “It’s okay, you know. You don’t have to carry all of that by yourself.”
You blink, surprised by his straightforwardness. Kalim, in his warmth and innocence, doesn’t seem to understand the weight you carry. But maybe that’s what makes him so special, he doesn’t carry that same burden. Maybe he can lighten your load, even if just for a little while.
“I’m not him,” you murmur quietly, voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll never be him. But people expect me to be, and sometimes, it’s just easier to let them think that.”
Kalim tilts his head, clearly not understanding. He watches you for a long moment, before his face brightens with his usual, radiant smile.
“Why not show them who you really are, then?” he suggests, his voice teasing but gentle. “I mean, you’re you, right? And that’s way more interesting than some old sorcerer’s name, don’t you think?”
You blink, caught off guard by his confidence. Kalim’s words are so simple, so pure , yet they feel like a revelation. Maybe you could live for yourself, without the shadow of your father looming over your every move.
Kalim scoots closer, his smile softening, his eyes sparkling with kindness. He gently takes your hand in his, his fingers warm, a stark contrast to the cool, distant air that’s always surrounded you.
“I know it’s tough,” he says softly, “but you don’t have to be that person anymore. You don’t have to live up to anyone else’s expectations. You get to choose who you are.”
Your heart skips a beat. For a moment, you feel the cracks in your walls start to show. Kalim isn’t afraid of your past. He doesn’t look at you like a reflection of your father. He just sees you. And in that moment, you wonder if it’s possible to finally start living on your own terms.
“I think…” you start, your voice soft but gaining strength, “I think I might just try that.”
Kalim’s smile widens, his eyes lighting up. He moves closer, and for the first time, you allow yourself to lean into someone without fear of what they might think.
“You don’t have to do it alone,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m here for you, okay?”
And when he wraps his arm around you, pulling you into a comforting embrace, you realize that maybe, just maybe, you’ve found something new to hold onto. Not the legacy of the Sorcerer of the Sand, but something far more precious: your own future.
And as Kalim’s infectious laughter fills the air, you let yourself believe that, for the first time, you might just be ready to walk away from the past and forge your own path.
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Vil Schoenheit
“You may carry the blood of the Fairest Queen… but your beauty shines in ways even she could never claim.”
Everyone knows your name.
It’s spoken with reverence across Night Raven College’s halls, embroidered on silk and memory both:
the heir of the Fairest Queen.
Your presence is like walking history but not something dusty or forgotten. You are a living embodiment of grace, refinement, and an impossible, devastating beauty that the world thought it had lost when the Queen’s mirror finally cracked.
The Fairest Queen was not simply beautiful.
She was an icon. A legend. A dream.
And you, you are her continuation.
No one knows exactly where you’ve been all these years. Some say you were hidden away to protect you from jealous enemies. Others whisper that after the Queen’s death, you chose exile, unable to live in a world without her. Whatever the truth, when the Dark Mirror summoned you to Night Raven College, the world held its breath.
Especially Vil Schoenheit.
Vil, who grew up studying the Fairest Queen’s philosophies like sacred scripture.
Vil, who shaped himself in the image of perfection she defined.
For Vil, meeting you is like meeting a star plucked from the heavens. No,worse. You aren’t just a star.
You are the night sky itself.
And he will not disgrace himself before you.
The first time your paths cross, you’re standing in the courtyard, a soft breeze stirring your clothes. Everything about you is effortless, the way you hold your posture, the tilt of your head, the calm, poised patience in your eyes. You look as though you were born to be admired.
Vil approaches,his steps are silent. Controlled.
He bows,not exaggeratedly, but perfectly, with a hand over his heart.
“Your Highness,” he murmurs. “It’s an honor.”
You smile, a small thing, but it lights you from within. Vil feels a rush of warmth, a heady, dizzying awe he hasn’t experienced since the first time he saw the Fairest Queen’s portrait.
“You don't have to call me that,” you say gently.
“But I choose to,” Vil replies, his voice low and steady.
Because to him, you are royalty not merely by blood, but by right.
He studies you shamelessly. Not to find flaws,no, he knows there are none.
Rather, he drinks in your existence the way an artist would, memorizing the way sunlight halos around you, the regal way you incline your head, the serene confidence in every breath.
Vil has spent his whole life pursuing beauty, striving to become something greater, something untouchable. Yet standing before you, he realizes:
You were born as the standard he’s been chasing all along.
Over time, Vil's respect only deepens.
He listens when you speak, genuinely attentive.
He offers you only the finest,handpicked skin-care products, rare imported teas, elegant gifts that speak of thought rather than extravagance.
He doesn’t flatter you meaninglessly; he gives the kind of honest praise that means everything coming from someone like him.
“You move with grace unmatched.” he murmurs one evening after a Dorm Assembly. “It’s as if the world bends itself to your will, simply to be worthy of your touch.”
And somehow, you never let it change you.
You are kind, but not naïve. Beautiful, but not arrogant. You carry your lineage with dignity, not pride.
And so Vil watches you. Studies you. Learns from you. Not as a rival. Not even as a mentor.
As something rarer.
As an equal he desperately hopes to be worthy of standing beside.
One night, when the stars hang low and silver over the horizon, Vil finally says it aloud.
“You could command the whole world to kneel,” he says softly, when the two of you are alone on the balcony of Pomefiore. “Yet you choose to walk among us.”
You tilt your head, amused. “And would you kneel for me, Vil?”
The question is playful. Teasing.
But Vil, proud and unyielding Vil Schoenheit, sinks gracefully onto one knee without hesitation.
“For you,” he says, voice like velvet and iron, “I already have.
And somehow, the knowledge of it doesn't make you feel more powerful.
It makes you feel seen.
Truly, fully seen.
Not just as the Fairest Queen's child.
But as you.
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Idia Shroud
"You may be the child of the King of the Underworld… but you don't have to follow his path."
The first time Idia hears about you, he nearly chokes on his snack.
The child of Hades?!
The actual King of the Underworld?!
A real life demigod roaming the halls of NRC like it’s NBD?!
It’s the kind of thing that sounds like the premise of a high-level RPG questline,not something that actually happens in real life. But there you are, flesh and blood (and... well, probably something even more mystical), walking through the halls with an aura of death and ancient power so thick it almost glitches the atmosphere around you.
Most students are terrified of you.
Or obsessed with you.
Idia?
He’s hiding behind a pillar, peeking at you like you're some kind of ultra-rare mob he's too scared to approach.
He’s absolutely fascinated, of course.
You don’t strut around like you own the place (even though, technically, being the heir to the Underworld, you probably could).
You're oddly down-to-earth. Quiet. Almost reserved.
And that? That makes it even worse for Idia’s poor heart.
He overthinks every possible interaction with you for weeks. He even drafts multiple conversation scripts on his tablet,ranging from “cool aloof mysterious type” to “friendly casual gamer type” but never uses a single one because just thinking about talking to you makes him want to disintegrate into pixel dust.
You, however, notice him almost immediately.
Not because he’s super subtle (he’s not ,bright flaming hair behind a corner isn’t exactly stealthy) but because you can sense things most mortals can’t.
And Idia? Idia’s aura is like a beacon ,pulsing with intense, chaotic energy barely held together by layers of anxiety.
One day, when he’s hiding (badly) in the library, you finally corner him.
"You’re good at sneaking around the living," you say casually, leaning over the back of his chair.
Idia nearly dies on the spot (pun intended). His hair flares up bright pink, his tablet clatters to the ground, and he whirls around like a caught anime protagonist.
"ACK—!! I-I-I wasn’t staring!! I was just—researching!! Buffs intelligence +10!!! It’s not creepy, I swear!!" he stammers, practically vibrating with panic.
You just blink at him, expression unreadable, then... smile.
"Relax," you say, voice low and a little amused. "I don’t bite."
Idia freezes like a lagging game character.
He’s convinced he’s hallucinating.
You, literal royalty of the underworld are TALKING to him. Casually. Like it’s normal. Like he's normal.
From there, it’s a slow, awkward, chaotic friendship that blossoms into something deeper.
You’re one of the few people who understand when Idia talks about souls, afterlife theories, and obscure mythos.
And when you finally confess, it's clumsy, adorable, and very, very Idia:
"I-I know you could like... have literally anyone... or summon a loyal legion of, like, skeleton admirers or whatever... b-but uh... if you ever wanna, like, uh, game with me or whatever, I promise to only lose most of the time and...and maybe, uh, not die of happiness if you smiled at me again...?"
You laugh softly, shaking your head, reaching out to gently tap his forehead with your finger.
"You’re an idiot," you say affectionately. "But you're my idiot now."
If Idia could, he’d be on the floor, blue-screened from sheer joy.
Instead, he just short-circuits with a shy, wide, stunned grin,the kind only you get to see.
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Malleus Draconia
“You may be the child of the Thorn Fairy… but you don't want to be like her.”
Everyone knows who you are.
Whispers trail behind you like mist: The heir to the Thorn Fairy. The last legacy of the fairest queen. In Diasomnia, you are regarded almost with reverence. In the halls of Night Raven College, where lineage means everything and legends walk in flesh and bone, you are already immortalized.
And to Malleus Draconia,you are more than that.
You are a living bridge to the one he reveres most.
The Thorn Fairy, the untouchable queen, the mistress of thorns and dreams and undying majesty.
The one whose wisdom shaped kingdoms.
The one whose power commanded storms and silence alike.
Malleus is enthralled by you from the start.
He watches you with an intensity few dare withstand, caught between awe and aching loneliness. You do not command attention,you draw it, effortlessly, as if the air itself leans toward you.
And you, for all your lineage, carry none of the cruelty history once feared.
You walk gently where others would conquer.
You speak thoughtfully where others would decree.
You smile softly where others would sneer.
It confounds him.
And yet, it delights him.
One evening, beneath a withering tree in the Diasomnia gardens, he finally approaches you, green eyes catching the silver of the stars in their depths.
“You are different from her,” Malleus says, not accusing,almost... wondering.
You look at him then, and your expression is so full of something ancient and mournful that it stills the breath in his lungs.
“My mother,” you say, voice quiet, “was majesty incarnate. Her beauty, her wrath, her sorrow… they shaped the very lands you and I walk upon.”
You reach into the folds of your cloak, and Malleus watches with sharp, expectant eyes as you withdraw a simple object, a thorn, long and blackened, gleaming like obsidian. You hold it as one would hold a relic, reverently.
“This is all I have left of her," you whisper. "One thorn. One fragment of the forest she once called her own."
The thorn hums faintly in your palm, old magic stirring like a sleeping dragon.
Malleus lowers his gaze, his heart a storm of emotion.
He had idolized her, the stories, the grandeur, the tragedy but you had known her. You had been loved by her.
“I am not her," you say at last. "I will never be her. I was not made to rule through fear or flame. I was made to remember."
The thorn vanishes back into the folds of your cloak, your hand brushing over your chest like a silent vow.
Malleus steps closer, the gravity between you almost suffocating.
“You may be the child of the Thorn Fairy…” he murmurs, voice low, reverent.
“…but you are nothing like her.”
He bows his head slightly, a rare gesture of deep, genuine respect.
He finds a companion.
A kindred soul.
Someone who remembers the past,and dares to walk beyond it.
English is not my first language !
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thereisasystem · 4 days ago
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vuraai · 8 days ago
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TWISTED YURILAND!!!!
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tummyisyummy · 2 days ago
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Yall like twisted wonderland
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pomefioredove · 6 days ago
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been a while since I posted meeeemes
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amexizlov · 1 day ago
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TWST characters reaction when your mental state getting more worse after every Overblot Incidents (Housewardens version)
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Vices Housewarden version
1st years version
2nd years (except Vice Housewarden) version
Riddle Rosehearts
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At first, Riddle thought he could rationalize it — he told himself rules were meant to be upheld, order must be kept.
But when he saw ___ flinch ever so slightly at his raised voice, or how they stood stiffly during Heartslabyul meetings, he realized the damage was deeper than he wanted to admit.
Late at night, alone in his room, Riddle gripped the edge of his desk, trembling.
“I… I was supposed to be better. I promised myself I wouldn’t become like my mother… Yet I hurt them too, didn’t I?”
No matter how much he tried to follow the rules, he had already broken something far more fragile - ___’s trust.
Leona Kingscholar
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Leona was never good at apologies, but the guilt gnawed at him all the same.
He saw the way ___ avoided the Savannaclaw training grounds now, or how they tensed whenever he got too close.
During one practice match, he spotted ___ sitting alone by the fence, blank-eyed, and something ugly twisted in his gut.
“Tch… All that power, all that pride — and what did I do with it? Scared the one person who actually believed in me.”
Leona would never say it out loud, but he started approaching you more carefully — voice lower, posture softer — silently begging for forgiveness he thought he didn’t deserve.
Azul Ashengrotto
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Azul’s guilt was poisonous.
Every time he saw ___’s weary eyes, or how they hesitated to set foot in Mostro Lounge, he felt the walls closing in.
In the mirror, he barely recognized himself — just a coward who made pacts with people desperate for help.
“I promised myself I was different from them… that I was better. But in the end, I used ___ like everyone else did.”
He started leaving quiet gifts — a favorite pastry here, a carefully written apology letter there — too afraid to face ___ directly, yet desperate to show he cared.
Kalim Al-Asim
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Even though Kalim hadn’t Overblotted, the sadness weighed on him like a heavy chain.
He noticed how ___ laughed less now, how they flinched at sudden movements, how they looked haunted.
Kalim sat alone on his flying carpet one evening, watching the sunset with glassy eyes.
“I couldn’t protect them. I didn’t even realize how bad things were… And because of Scarabia’s chaos, they got hurt too.”
He swore to himself — no more reckless smiles, no more naive ignorance. He had to be there for ___ properly now — to listen, to understand, to stay.
Vil Schoenheit
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Vil saw it in the mirror of your soul — the exhaustion, the deep hurt he had helped carve into you.
When he caught you hastily covering up dark circles or forcing a smile in the hallways, his heart sank.
He locked himself in his dressing room after a shoot, staring at his reflection.
“Perfection means nothing if I’ve made someone I care for feel so worthless.”
He began treating you more gently, offering genuine compliments instead of critiques, allowing your raw emotions rather than demanding polish.
A silent vow: “I will help you rebuild yourself… because I was the one who helped tear you down.”
Idia Shroud
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Idia knew better than anyone how fast a mind could spiral into darkness.
When he Overblotted, he thought he was the only broken one — he never imagined he would drag ___ down too.
Now, he caught glimpses of them — standing alone, shadows swallowing their figure — and it felt like knives under his skin.
“I did this… I made them afraid of the world. Afraid of me.”
Idia retreated into his room, building small games, holograms, and gentle distractions, hoping maybe — just maybe — he could give ___ some tiny fragments of happiness back.
He left them anonymously at their door. Never brave enough to face them yet… but never abandoning them either
Malleus Draconia
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Malleus felt the weight heavier than any crown.
He hadn’t meant to frighten ___. He only wanted to be understood, to be loved… but in his rage and loneliness, he had unleashed terror upon the very one he cherished most.
When he saw ___ shrink away from lightning or loud noises, his ancient heart cracked further.
“I have become the very nightmare I once vowed to protect them from.”
He began visiting only in dreams at first — appearing softly at the edge of your sleep, casting blessings of peace and safety.
Every day, awake or asleep, he prayed silently: “Let them find it in their heart to forgive me… even if I can never forgive myself.”
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gay-tomcat · 5 days ago
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Quirked up magical boys with mental illnesses stemming from external factors out of their own control
Or rich guys? Basic.
I just need you all to guess my type real quick
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