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nepholog · 4 minutes ago

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Hiii, I hope you have a nice day. I just want to tell you that since I found your story I haven't stopped thinking about it and the characters. The way you write is amazing and I can tell you know what you are doing. As someone who writes in her spare time I must say I am in love with your writing. ✨

But seriously, you write very well, I hope the universe gives you health and lots of motivation to continue with your projects.

Now, C is the most popular Ro and I get it, it's mine too, but I want to know more about the others too. Hahaha

I don't know if you've answered this yet, from what I've read you haven't, and that's fine if you don't feel like answering or don't have time.

What would you say is the Ro's way of dealing with jealousy?

Will there be any characters who are jealous of other Ro's?

And also, what kind of voice would you describe for them? How do you imagine their voices?

Oh oh, and will there be some difference in the way Ro's interact with different MC's?

Thanks for reading and for sharing your talent with us, and sorry for talking so much and asking so many questions. Hahaha

Pd: soooo we already have amazing Ro's but is there a possibility of having you as one of them? pls 👉👈🌸

i’ve gotten so many asks about my writing and ngl, i was very surprised because imposter syndrome is a bitch and i have a hard time being happy with anything i write. y’all have made me so much more motivated and confident in my writing and i can’t thank you enough. this is to let you know that i’ve read all the sweet and supportive asked you’ve sent me and i’m eternally grateful for everybody who have faith in me and this story 🫶🏻

okay, sappy axel aside, let’s dive into the questions:

what would you say is the ROs’ way of dealing with jealousy?

C LACROIX

C’s jealousy is a quiet, smoldering thing, more akin to a slow-burning ember than a raging fire. it begins as a mere flicker, an unsettling gnawing at the edges of their mind, something easily brushed aside in the beginning. but it grows, consuming them in small, imperceptible increments.

they don’t lash out; that would be too obvious, the action of someone too insecure. instead, their jealousy manifests in control—sharp, calculated moves to reassert their dominance, their superiority. a barbed comment here, a subtle maneuver there, each action designed to tighten their grip on what they perceives as theirs.

C cloaks their jealousy in a façade of indifference, even as the venom coils tighter around their heart. the game, after all, is not about emotions—it’s about winning. and C Lacroix does not like losing.

V NÆSHOLM

V’s jealousy is a battle of wills, fought not just with the outside world but within themselves. raised on the virtues of patience and self-restraint, they resist the initial sting, the impulse to confront. V does not crumble at the sight of competition; rather, they internalize it, turning their attention inward, wrestling with the dichotomy nature of their feelings.

they pray, of course—they always pray—seeking strength to overcome what they see as a personal failing, a momentary lapse in their otherwise steadfast faith. but jealousy lingers, seeping into their thoughts like a persistent shadow.

it is a test, they tell themself, one they must pass without faltering. and so, V watches, waits, and suffers in silence, until the day when they can either forgive or be forgiven.

W OSTENDORF

W’s jealousy takes the form of a timid, creeping thing, a quiet dread that blooms slowly and without warning. it unsettles them, making them feel small, insignificant. they know what it is but can’t quite bring themself to acknowledge it. it’s easier, safer, to pretend it doesn’t exist, to bury it beneath layers of strained politeness and mild-mannered smiles.

when jealousy takes hold, W retreats into themself, seeking solace in routine and familiarity, as if by doing so, they can keep their ever-growing at bay. they avoid confrontation, preferring to suffer in silence rather than expose this chink in their armour.

they convince themself that it’s nothing, just a passing feeling, that they’re above such negative and petty emotions. but deep down, they know that their jealousy is simply fear dressed in a different guise—the fear of being overlooked, of never being enough for anyone, much less you.

D DIACONU

D’s jealousy rears its head as a raw, visceral thing, a sudden and overwhelming force that they’ve never quite learned to control. it ignites quickly, like a match struck in the dark, flaring up in an instant and consuming all rational thought. they feel it in their chest, hot and suffocating, and their first instinct is always to fight—to claim what they believe is rightfully theirs.

but D is also scared, terrified of the depth of their own emotions, and so they pull back, lashes out in unexpected ways, the anger masking a deeper fear. they’re torn between the desire to protect what they love and the dread of being inevitably hurt again.

in the end, D’s jealousy is as much a reflection of their insecurity as it is their passion—a volatile mix that will leave anyone restless, yearning, and perpetually on edge.

M WHITLOCK-SINGH

M’s jealousy is a cold, calculated affair, more of an intellectual exercise than an emotional response. they analyze it from all angles, as if it were a puzzle to be solved rather than a feeling to be experienced. they don’t let it show; that would be beneath them, unbecoming of the “paragon of styx.”

instead, M channels their jealousy into ambition, using it to fuel their drive, their need to prove that they are, indeed, the best. it’s not that they don’t feel it—they do, acutely so—but they refuse to be ruled by it. jealousy, in M’s eyes, is a weakness to be mastered, a flaw to be overcome.

and so they play the long game, biding their time, waiting for the moment when they can subtly, almost imperceptibly, reclaim their rightful place without ever lowering themself to the level of those low-level thugs who provoke it.

will there be any characters who are jealous of other ROs’?

i didn’t understand this question fully, but i’m guessing you mean amongst the ROs? if so, C would be more jealous of D if they ended up dating the MC and vice-versa. W is jealous of any ROs who date MC lmao, but they’ll try their best to temper it down.

and also, what kind of voice would you describe for them? how do you imagine their voices?

C LACROIX: silky and husky, with a slightly cold, detached quality.

cédric’s voiceclaim would be tom hiddleston, while céline’s would be ella purnell.

V NÆSHOLM: gentle, warm, and steady, with a soft, almost lyrical cadence.

vance’s voiceclaim would be jordan fisher and for vanessa, it’s the same as her faceclaim, taylor russell.

W OSTENDORF: soft and slightly breathy and raspy, with almost a drawl that surprisingly makes them sound sincere most of the time.

for wilhelm, i’d say andrew garfield comes to mind. wilhelmine definitely has gracie abrams as her voice.

D DIACONU: deep, rough, and slightly smokey. there is also a gritty edge that comes out when their emotions are getting intense.

dumitru’s voiceclaim is definitely jacob elordi, while imma have to give dumitra to sophie thatcher.

M WHITLOCK-SINGH: polished, refined, and posh, very articulate with a natural commanding tone.

maxwell’s voiceclaim would probably be a mixture of benedict cumberbatch and dev patel. i knew from the conception of maxine as a character that i wanted simone ashley to be her voiceclaim.

and will there be some difference in the way ROs interact with different MCs?

ooh definitely. it largely depends on your character’s personality and choices tbh, but don’t worry, there’s no weird stat system for that. you don’t have to kiss their asses all the time for them to treat you nicely, however, you shouldn’t be overly rude either because that’s going to lose friendship/romance points.

i guess what i’m trying to say is that your MC doesn’t have to be a complete doormat to progress with their platonic/romantic relationship with the ROs. some of them, like C and M, might even start softening up if the MC is more of a gentle/shy type.

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nepholog · 1 hour ago

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Jumping up and down, biting down on my pillow while I wrestle my neighbor that came to complain about the noise that I'm making while running on my walls. EHEM I meant patiently waiting for the release date :batting eyelashes innocently:. Though I'm curious, how would the ROs react to an MC that's overly flirtratious but in a wet girl/boy/person loser kind of way + uses too many pick up lines/finger guns as a genuine way to flirt when nervous. Loving the premise for your if till now, it's been awhile I've loved all the ROs!!!

aw bonnie, i do hope your neighbour isn’t trying to write you a noise complaint now 💀 i need you to stay out of prison for the release date 🙏🏻

C LACROIX

you stood in front of them, wearing that ridiculous grin, eyes bright with a kind of nervous mischief that C had come to recognize too well. it was the prelude to something. and sure enough, it came—finger guns, of all things, pointed directly at them.

“are you french? ‘cause eiffel for you,” you said, your voice wavering slightly, betraying the nervous energy they were trying so hard to mask with charm. you knew damn well C was indeed french, and then the worst part—those finger guns again, paired with a wink that was so exaggerated it made their chest tighten in something like exasperated fondness.

C stared, a muscle in their jaw ticking. it should’ve been infuriating. was infuriating. the way you seemed to lose all sense of dignity the moment you felt nervous, drowning in a sea of bad pick-up lines and gestures better suited for a caricature than a real person. but god, the way your lips curved up at the end of each line, the way you stumbled through your awkward attempts, as if trying to flirt was some kind of dangerous game— it was impossible to look away.

“really?” C raised an eyebrow, trying and failing to hide the faint amusement threading through their voice. “that’s what you’re going with?”

you blinked, clearly flustered, but doubled down. “you know… if you were a vegetable, you’d be a cute-cumber.”

C ran a hand down their face, trying to stifle the laugh threatening to break free. “you’re terrible at this.”

“yeah, well,” MC shrugged, attempting to play it cool but visibly unraveling under C’s gaze, “i’m not trying to impress you, or anything.”

“really?” C stepped closer, and the temperature of the room seemed to shift. their pale green eyes flickered, sharp and predatory, and your breath hitched, the sudden proximity taking away any semblance of ease. “because you’re trying very hard not to look like you’re about to pass out.”

your mouth opened, then shut again, your bravado failing you for a split second. your hand wavered in the air as if debating whether to throw out another absurd gesture, but you were frozen in place under C’s intense stare.

C tilted their head, voice dropping into something darker, more amused. “do you actually think those awful lines are working?”

you swallowed hard. “well, you haven’t walked away yet.”

there it was—the loser charm, the half-baked attempt at deflection, the way you always seemed to bumble your way through these moments, as if too much self-awareness would be your undoing. and somehow, it was disarming. endearing, even. like a puzzle C couldn’t quite solve but found themself fascinated by all the same.

C stared at you for a moment, then blinked, a slow, deliberate thing. their lips quirked up, barely—a ghost of a smile. “you’re... utterly pathetic.”

your lips twitched, trying for a smile but faltering. “and yet… you’re still here.”

C’s gaze softened in a way they couldn’t control, something worryingly close to affection flickering behind their eyes. “i don’t know whether to kiss you or strangle you.”

“hopefully the first one?” your voice cracked just slightly, your attempt at humor failing as C’s hand came up to gently brush a thumb across your cheek.

“god, you’re hopeless,” C murmured, their voice barely a breath between you now.

your eyes fluttered shut, as if waiting for C to close the distance, to turn this fumbling, awkward mess into something real. but C stayed where they were, hovering just inches away, savoring the tension.

“i’m trying, you know,” you whispered, their voice softer now, less ridiculous, more honest. “i just—when i’m around you, i don’t know what to do. it’s like… my brain stops working.”

C smiled—a rare, genuine thing that made the dimples on their cheeks prominent. it had your heart skipping a beat. “maybe stop using finger guns next time.”

you let out a shuddering laugh. “yeah, i’ll… work on that.”

C tilted their head slightly, eyes tracing the curve of your lips. “you’re lucky i like you.”

you swallowed hard. “you do?”

C finally, finally closed the distance, pressing their lips to yours in a way that was both gentle and consuming, their hand curling around the back of your neck to pull you closer. when they pulled back, just barely, their voice was a low murmur against your mouth.

“yeah,” C whispered. “i do.”

V NÆSHOLM

V stood there, their gaze flicking nervously between the floor and your face, the faintest blush painting their cheeks. they were always like this—soft-spoken, devout, painfully kind in ways that made you feel like a storm in comparison. and today was no exception. they watched with wide, uncertain eyes as you nervously lifted your hands, finger guns aimed directly at them.

“are you religious?” you asked, your voice pitched higher than usual, betraying the nerves. “because you’re the answer to all my prayers.”

it was ridiculous, really. childish and awkward, with a smile so forced that it threatened to shatter into laughter at any moment. you knew it. you could feel how stupid it all sounded. but when you got nervous, this was the only way you knew how to act—filling the air with jokes, pick-up lines that clung too hard to the air between you and V, desperate for something solid to land on.

V blinked, their brow furrowing slightly like they weren’t sure how to respond. their fingers went instinctively to the small cross around their neck, clutching it like a lifeline, as if the gesture would tell them if you were losing your marbles. “um... thank you?”

your grin wavered, and you swallowed hard. another one, then. you had to try another one.

“are you a magician, then? because when i look at you, everything else just disappears.” you accompany that with a ‘poof’ motion to add more flair.

V’s breath caught in their throat, an embarrassed flush creeping up their neck, the kind of warmth that had no business being there. they blinked, staring at you like they were trying to make sense of a particularly difficult verse, something too foreign to easily translate. it wasn’t that they were hating it—no, it was something else entirely. something in them unfurled, but they couldn’t quite catch it, couldn’t grasp why.

you were fidgeting now, sensing the silence had stretched too long. “uh… not good? i’ve got more.”

V’s mouth twitched, something between a laugh and a sigh escaping them, though they quickly pressed their lips together. they didn’t want to be rude, didn’t want to laugh at you but how did they even respond to that?

“i—” they hesitated, voice quiet and soft as always. “i’m not sure that’s…”

you shot them another look, and there it was again: the finger guns. “is your name google? because you’ve got everything i’ve been searching for.”

yep, that’ll do it. V felt the warmth turn into something dangerously close to laughter, but they caught themself, biting down on the inside of their cheek. they didn’t want to encourage it, didn’t want to make you feel worse, but you were so earnest, so terribly bad at this, and yet so... you.

“i—” V tried again, cheeks flushed deeper now, eyes darting away because they couldn’t look directly at you without the nervousness creeping up their spine. “i think you’re—” they paused, unsure of the right words. kind? ridiculous? wonderful? none of it seemed right, and all of it seemed too much.

you were looking at them, a little too intently now, waiting for some kind of sign, some approval or rejection. you were always looking for something, even in your silliness, and V could feel that weight.

“does it ever work?” V’s voice was smaller now, their eyes dropping to the ground. “you know, those… lines?”

your face lit up with a kind of hope that tugged at V’s chest. “oh, absolutely not. not even once.”

you said it so sincerely, so shamelessly, that V couldn’t help but laugh then, a quiet, breathy sound that made them immediately cover their mouth, as if they’d broken some unwritten rule.

they shook their head, a smile creeping through their repressed amusement. “i don’t know what to do with you.”

you shrugged, clearly a little embarrassed now but still holding onto that grin. “i’m trying. just, you know—” you vaguely do the motions of jazz hands, and V swore they could feel their heart jump while stifling a fit of giggles. “i get nervous, and then… this happens.”

“i think it’s sweet,” V said after a while, more sure of themself this time. “you don’t have to be perfect all the time. not with me.”

you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, and your grin softened, became something more honest. “you think i’m sweet?”

V’s eyes flickered up to meet yours, the blush still warming their cheeks, but this time they didn’t look away. “yeah, i do.”

you stared at them for a long moment, feeling that nervous energy dissolve, replaced by something far more terrifying—a deep, aching tenderness you didn’t quite know how to express. you wanted to reach out, to touch V’s hand, to offer something real instead of your usual barrage of corny jokes. but all you could manage was a quiet, “you’re not so bad yourself.”

V bursts out laughing again, and this time, you laughed with them.

W OSTENDORF

W’s eyes, usually half-lidded with perpetual exhaustion, blinked in bewilderment as you approached them with an awkward bounce in your step. their sapphire gaze traced the way your fingers wavered, the unmistakable flourish of finger guns punctuating each hesitant attempt at flirtation.

“do you believe in love at first sight, or should i walk by again?” you asked, biting back the urge to laugh at yourself.

you watched as W blinked once, then twice, a momentary pause in their steady demeanor. they tilted their head slightly, considering you as if trying to figure out if you were serious. you were, in that embarrassing, frantic way only you could be.

the pick-up line hung in the air like an ill-fitting coat, and W’s mouth twitched, unsure whether to laugh or sigh. the line was delivered with a clumsy earnestness that made W’s heart ache, a mix of tenderness and exhaustion at the forefront of their expression. they rubbed a hand over their tired eyes, as if to clear away the fog of confusion that clung to them.

“um, no,” W said softly, their voice nearly a murmur. “i don’t think that’d be necessary.”

your smile wavered, a shaky thing like a candle in a draft. you laughed, a sound that was too loud, too eager. “well, that’s okay. i guess it already worked the first time, right?”

W swallowed hard, their gaze falling to the ground. if only you knew. but no matter, they thought about playing up the ‘exhausted and sleepy’ part so you won’t mind their silence to that question.

before they could say anything, however, you piped up again. “if i could rearrange the alphabet, i’d put U and I together.”

this time, W face started going red. they opened their mouth, closed it, and then opened it again, clearly unsure whether they should laugh or feel embarrassed on your behalf at this point. they had the air of someone caught in a sudden rainstorm, unprepared for the onslaught, trying to find cover but too polite to complain about getting wet.

your heart stuttered in your chest, unsure if you were supposed to be pleased by the way W’s lips trembled in the smallest of smiles or if you should simply bury yourself in shame at the way they’re turning red like they’re holding in a laugh.

W’s gaze dropped again, their thumbs rubbing nervously over each other. they smiled through their tiredness, but it was shy, careful, like they were afraid it might be taken the wrong way. “that’d be nice. you’re nice.”

and there it was—the words that always unraveled you the most. that delicate kindness, that indulgent air in W that made all of your jokes feel so hollow in comparison. you didn’t deserve someone like them, not with your clumsy attempts at flirting, not with the way you turned every silence into some absurd joke that made all the involved parties uncomfortably awkward.

you cleared your throat, but your voice cracked as you spoke again. “do you… do you have a map? because i keep getting lost in your eyes.”

a pause. W bit their lip, their face now a full shade of ripe tomatoes, and they let out the faintest sound—a stifled laugh, maybe, or something close to it. “i don’t… have a map.”

your heart skipped a beat. it was working! or maybe it wasn’t, but W wasn’t running away. they were standing there, red-faced with the dark circles under their eyes, and you realized that for all your blundering, W wasn’t retreating. they stayed, almost frozen in place, a slightly amused flutter in their gaze but no sign of discomfort. maybe it wasn’t such a ridiculous plan after all.

“elmo?” you asked, your voice quieter now, soft in the way you knew W preferred. “you’re not… mad at me, are you? for being like this?”

W looked startled by the sudden change in tone, their demeanor turning protective. “mad? no, never. why would i be mad?”

“because i’m such a loser around you. i always have been.” your hands twitched, the shadow of finger guns hanging awkwardly in the air between you. “i thought you’d have gotten tired of me by now.”

W’s heart softened, the edges of their amusement fading in the presence of your vulnerability. “i’ve never ever thought or felt like that. if i’m being honest, i think i even prefer this side of you at times.”

you blinked, something anxious flickering in your eyes. “really? i wouldn’t have guessed you’d have a thing for corny losers like me.”

W’s gaze softened even more, and before they knew it, they had reached out, their fingers gently brushing against your wrist, a tentative connection.

“i like you,” they murmured, their voice soft and barely more than a whisper. “cheesy pick-up lines and all.”

your breath caught, and for once, you didn’t have a quick response. instead, you stared at W with wide eyes, something genuine and quiet passing between you in the absence of words.

“you don’t have to do anything,” they whispered, “except stay.”

D DIACONU

D watched you with that signature half-lidded stormy gray gaze, the one that always felt like it held a secret; as though they were privy to something no one else was. their arms are crossed loosely over their chest, a lazy smirk tugging at the corner of their mouth.

you, meanwhile, were fumbling. your usual bravery melted into something far less cool, your hands twitching in an exaggerated motion—finger guns, of all things. D almost laughed then but swallowed it down, amused at the absurdity of it. this wasn’t their first time witnessing you stumble over your own feet, and it wouldn’t be the last, but there was something undeniably endearing about it, like watching a bird try to fly while forgetting it doesn’t have wings.

“are you from tennessee?” you asked, your voice catching in the back of your throat. you shot the finger guns again, and D had to suppress an eye-roll at the cheesiness of it all. “because you’re the only ten i see.”

D didn’t react immediately. instead, they watched you with careful precision, letting the silence hang just long enough to feel like a challenge.

“i’m from texas actually,” D’s voice was a low southern drawl, honeyed with amusement. “common mistake, eh?”

you shifted nervously under their gaze, all the awkwardness evident in your stance.

“yeah, i know. i just... thought it was cute,” you answered, almost defensively, your hands still hanging in midair, unsure what to do now that the moment was spiraling out of your control.

a quiet laugh slipped from D’s lips, smooth as silk, barely more than a breath. they uncrossed their arms and stepped forward, closing the distance between you in a way that felt deliberate, dangerous.

“you think this is how you get my attention?” their voice was low, teasing, but there was a flicker of something that hinted at just how carefully D was watching your every move. “cute little lines and finger guns?”

you flushed under the intensity of that stare, scrambling to regain control of the situation. “well, i— yeah, i thought maybe... it would work?” you winced at your own words. god, could this get any worse?

D leaned in just close enough to make your pulse race. “you think i go for cute?” the words were laced with a challenge, a dare for you to keep going, to push past your limits.

you swallowed, every instinct telling you to back down, but instead, you doubled down on the only defense you knew.

“you remind me of a dictionary,” you grinned, forcing out another pick-up line, desperate to keep from crumbling under D’s pinning stare, “because you really do add meaning to my life.”

this time, D did laugh—a rich, joyful sound that seemed to unravel the tension between you in one graceful swoop. they pulled back just enough to catch your eye, shaking their head in disbelief. “you really don’t know when to quit, do you?”

your face burned with embarrassment, but there was a flicker of something softer beneath all the practiced allure and playful flirtations. they weren’t mocking you, not really. in fact, there was a hint of appreciation buried in their amusement, a quiet acknowledgment that you, as ridiculous as you were, had managed to catch their attention in a way nobody else could.

D’s fingers brushed lightly against your wrist, the touch fleeting but electric. “you’re lucky i find this... entertaining. otherwise, you’d be in way over your head.”

you blinked, thrown by the sudden shift in energy. you opened your mouth to respond, but D’s hand was already moving, their fingers ghosting up your arm in a way that left you breathless, speechless.

“i think,” D continued, their voice almost a whisper now, “i like watching you try. you’re terrible at it, no doubt about that, but... there’s something about the way you stumble through it.” their eyes locked onto yours, something unreadable flickering in the depths of their gaze. “i’ve never met someone like you. that much, i can admit.”

you felt your heart skip a beat, your words catching in your throat. all the cheesy pick-up lines, the awkward flirting—none of it seemed to matter anymore, not under the affection in D’s gaze, not when they were standing so close that it felt like the world had shrunk down to just the two of you.

“maybe i’m just a uniquely jumbled mess,” you muttered, your voice barely audible, but D’s hand slid up to cup your cheek, pulling you closer with a softness that was almost unnerving.

“you definitely are, dragă mea,” D agreed, their lips ghosting over yours, so close that it felt like a kiss, but not quite. “but it’s one of the little things i like about you.”

and with that, they kissed you, slow and deliberate, like they’d been waiting for this moment longer than they’d ever let on. you melted into them, every nerve alight, the awkwardness and self-doubt slipping away in the warmth of D’s touch. this, right here, was what you’d been gunning for all along.

M WHITLOCK-SINGH

M had never known someone quite like you. there was something so bafflingly endearing about you, as if you existed to disrupt V’s neatly ordered world with your awkward charm and unbearable nervousness. it wasn’t that you meant to do so, but the way you flirted—if you could even call it that—made M’s head spin despite their usual stoicism.

they could see it coming a mile away, the way your eyes darted from the floor to M’s face and back again, like you were gathering the courage to throw yourself off a cliff. and then it happened.

your finger guns shot up, aimed clumsily at a literal heir to the british throne. “well, here i am. what were your other two wishes?”

M blinked, incredulity washing over them. seriously? again?

there was a moment of silence that hung heavy in the air, before you, still flustered, tried again. “if you were a fruit, you’d be a fine-apple.”

M sighed, pressing the heels of their palms to their eyes. it was like being trapped in a bad dream, except it wasn’t bad, not really. it was you, standing there, losing your composure in a way that made you seem so painfully human. so vulnerable.

“you’ve got to be kidding me.” M’s voice was low, restrained, an edge of amusement barely detectable. they crossed their arms, leveling you with a look that was part disbelief, part... something else. “is this really your idea of flirting?”

you winced, but it was clear you were trying to save face. “what, do they not like compliments in england?”

“compliments?” M’s laugh was sharp, but not exactly mocking. “you’re telling me those were compliments?”

“okay, maybe not my best,” you admitted, rubbing the back of your neck, your voice dropping into something that sounded closer to sincerity. “but… i mean, you’re kind of distracting, your majesty. you can’t really blame me.”

W narrowed their eyes to hide their barely suppressed delight, studying the way you fidgeted, the way your hands couldn’t seem to stay still. it was always like this—you trying so hard to be smooth, to make M smile with these ridiculous pick-up lines that felt like they belonged in a teen rom-com from the 90s and early 2000s.

“distracting?” M repeated, taking a step closer, watching as your breath stuttered. “how so?”

you swallowed, eyes wide, trying to keep it together. “like… you know… hard to think straight.”

a beat passed, and then M did something unexpected—they laughed. a soft, surprised sound that felt different from their usually polite, regal chuckle. and yet, it somehow sounded better. you blinked, as if unsure whether to be relieved or even more nervous.

“before i met you, i never thought i’d see the day,” M murmured, stepping even closer, the laughter settling into a smile, “when someone would try to flirt with me using finger guns.”

you smiled back, sheepish but hopeful. “well, i aim to please you with my moves. call me twinkle-toes.”

M shook their head, but the smile that tugged at the corners of their mouth betrayed them. they didn’t want to admit it, but something about the whole thing—the terrible pick-up lines, the way you stumbled over your words, the sheer awkwardness of it—was getting to them. softening them, in a way nothing else had.

“you’re a bumbling idiot,” V said quietly, but there was no malice in it. just a strange sort of fondness.

you started to grin. “but i’m your bumbling idiot, right?”

“maybe,” M whispered, voice like a velvet secret. “but i’d suggest you not throw those words so loudly in public.”

your laugh was shaky, but real. “noted. i’ll—uh, keep that in mind, your highness.”

M smiled softly, warmth flickering in their chest despite themself. “just call me by my name, meri jaan. i’d prefer it more right now.”

#BREAKING DOWN BREAKDANCING BREAKING BONES

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nepholog · 2 hours ago

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How would the RO's change MC died after they were romanced?

C LACROIX

C wasn’t made for grief.

they were made for insulting words and cutting smiles, for elegant lines and perfected exteriors. loss was not something they wore well; it settled wrong, like a coat several sizes too heavy, dragging them down. they didn’t know how to process it, not when they first heard the news, not when they saw your body, not even in the quiet moments afterward when the world felt like it had slipped out from under them and left them hollow.

it was a plane crash. nothing grand or cinematic, just a routine flight that went horribly wrong, the kind of accident that everyone reads about but never imagines happening to someone they love. one second, you had been flying back from a conference, and the next, you were gone. just like that. no warning, no chance to say goodbye.

C had stared at the TV when the news broke, their face frozen in something close to disbelief, their hand still clutching his phone like maybe, just maybe, you would call and say it was all a mistake. it was supposed to be a big fucking joke, wasn’t it? it had to be. you were too alive to just disappear. you were too vivid, too present, too… everything.

when the silence settled, after the news anchor had moved on to some other tragedy, C let their phone fall from their hand. the sound of it hitting the floor was distant, a hollow echo that meant nothing. everything meant nothing.

they never cried. not at the funeral, not during the long, agonizing weeks that followed. people expected them to, C could tell. they waited for the breakdown, the outpouring of emotion, the proof that C.A. Lacroix was, in fact, human. but it never came. instead, they stood by your grave, their hands in the pockets of their coat, their eyes as dry as the winter air around them.

“i always thought i’d be the one to leave first,” they said quietly, their voice almost drowned out by the wind. it was a bitter truth. C had lived their life like they were invincible, like nothing could touch them. and now, standing there in front of the cold stone with your name etched into it, they realized how utterly foolish that had been.

one night, weeks after the funeral, C found themself in your apartment that you’d rented after graduation, sitting on the edge of your bed. the door had been left unlocked for them by the landlord, who had given them a look of pity before leaving them alone with the memories.

the apartment was the same as it had always been. same stupid art that C had painted on the walls. same worn leather couch. same lingering scent of lavender in the air—so faint now it was barely there, but enough to make their throat tighten. they walked through the space like a sleepwalker, their fingers brushing absentmindedly over the coffee table, the kitchen counter, the handle of your favorite mug.

this is it, they thought. this is all that’s left of you.

they then proceeded to walk to your bedroom. it was untouched, as if you might walk in at any moment. they picked up one of your books from the bedside table, thumbed through the pages without really seeing the words. it was a tattered old paperback you’d read a dozen times. they flipped through the pages, stopping at the footnotes you’d scribbled in the margins, half-formed thoughts, sarcastic remarks, things you’d meant to tell them but never got the chance to.

their fingers traced the words as if that action would bring you back to them.

“you were always smarter than you’d think,” C murmured to the empty room, their voice rough, broken at the edges.

but there was no answer. there never would be.

the door creaked slightly, and C’s heart leapt for a fraction of a second before reality crashed back down. It wasn’t you. it would never be you again. they closed their eyes, trying to will the ache away, but it only spread deeper, gnawing at the hollow space you had left behind.

***

for a long time, they did nothing. they went through the motions of life—work, social engagements, even the occasional meaningless flirtation—but it was all mechanical. they weren’t there, not really. they were somewhere else, trapped in the memory of what you two had, of all the things they never said to you when they had the chance. the words that stuck in their throat now were the ones they’d dismissed as unimportant then.

because they thought you still had time.

“come back,” C would whisper into the dark of their empty apartment one night, drunk and foolish. “you’re supposed to be here, damn it.”

C hated how small their voice sounded. they hated the vulnerability that seeped in when no one was watching, when the mask they wore for the world slipped just enough for the cracks to show. they didn’t want to be vulnerable. not to anyone. especially not to a ghost.

***

years passed like water through cupped hands, but it didn’t heal the way it was supposed to. instead, it twisted the wound, making it fester in the quiet moments. C became colder, more rough. people commented on it behind their back, how they’d changed, how they’d become more distant. as if they hadn’t always been distant. they avoided relationships like a plague, finding them tiresome, pointless.

they took to spending more time alone. alone felt safe. alone meant no one could disappoint them. alone was all they had now.

***

C never married. they never loved anyone after you, not in the way that mattered. there were flings, of course—fleeting, shallow things that never stuck. they didn’t want them to stick. they’d feel sick everytime afterwards; it was a subconscious way to punish themself.

when C died, at the age of 74, it was in a quiet, sterile hospital room, their body finally betraying them to some nameless illness they didn’t care enough to fight. no one was at their bedside. no family, no lovers, no friends. just them, alone, the way they had spent the last decades of their life.

the nurse who came to check on them found a small silver bracelet on their wrist, the only piece of jewelry they ever wore. it had been there for as long as anyone could remember, though no one ever asked them about it. but rumours are fickle, and there were many. they believed it belonged to the only soul C had ever loved; they’d be right.

alas, there was no confirmation. C never talked about their past, never spoke of the person who had owned their heart so completely all those years ago. but the bracelet stayed with them until the very end, a quiet reminder of the love that had once been, the love that had shaped them in ways no one could see.

and so C.A. Lacroix left the world as they had lived in it—cold, distant, and untouchable. they were buried next to an heir who died young, a fortune to their name which C had inherited and then donated to several charities around the globe.

V NÆSHOLM

V would’ve never imagined that their life could unravel so completely in the span of a single, terrible moment. they’d spent so much time wrapped up in their faith, in the steady rhythm of prayer and the familiar weight of their cross resting against their chest, that the thought of losing you seemed almost impossible, even when they whispered it in the quietest corners of their mind.

but now, you were gone, and all V could do was stand there in the hospital room, staring at the empty bed, their mind slow to catch up with the horrifying finality of it all.

it had been a car accident. quick, brutal, unexpected. you had been walking home, your usual route through the city, nothing unusual. just a random, terrible twist of fate—a driver who wasn’t paying attention, a red light ignored. and then the call. V had gotten the call, their heart dropping into their stomach the moment they heard the voice on the other end, calm but clipped, like they were just delivering bad news in a routine, detached way.

at first, V had held out hope. they’ll be fine, they told themself, clutching the metal cross around their neck so tightly the edges dug into their palm. they’re strong. they’ll be fine.

but you weren’t fine. you didn’t wake up. you didn’t squeeze V’s hand back or open your eyes when V whispered their name. the machines hummed, the doctors muttered their apologies, and in the end, it was just… over.

***

in the days that followed, V couldn’t seem to find solid ground. the world tilted around them, spinning out of control, but they kept moving as if through thick, suffocating fog. people spoke to them—friends, family, even strangers at the funeral—but none of it registered. the condolences, the words of comfort, they slid off V like rain on glass, unable to penetrate the haze of disbelief and sorrow that wrapped around their heart.

they spent hours alone in the small church near their apartment, staring at the flickering candles that lined the altar. the scent of incense hung heavy in the air, but it didn’t soothe them the way it used to. nothing did. not the prayers, not the hymns, not even the familiar rhythm of the rosary beads sliding through their fingers. they prayed, but the words felt empty now. they didn’t know what they were asking for anymore. forgiveness? strength? understanding? none of those things seemed to matter when you were gone.

one evening, weeks after the funeral, V found themself at the spot where it happened. it wasn’t a conscious decision; they had just been walking, trying to escape the suffocating quiet of their apartment, and their feet had carried them there. the street was busy, cars rushing past, people laughing as they walked by, utterly unaware of the history beneath their feet. V stared at the pavement, at the place where you had fallen, and something inside them broke.

“i should’ve been there,” V whispered, their voice swallowed by the noise of the city. “i should’ve… i should’ve done something”

they didn’t know how they could’ve stopped it, but the guilt was there, gnawing at their insides like a slow, relentless tide. they wrapped their arms around themself, clutching at their cross like it was the only thing holding them together. but the truth was, they weren’t holding together. not really.

“i don’t understand,” they murmured, their voice trembling. “i don’t understand why god took you. you didn’t—” their voice broke, and they pressed a hand to their mouth, the tears coming faster now, hot and relentless. “it wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

V stood there for what felt like hours, the world blurring around them as their tears blurred their vision. they had no answers, no solace. only the terrible, aching silence of a world without you in it.

***

in the months that followed, V’s faith began to falter. they went through the motions, attending church, praying before bed, but it all felt distant, disconnected. the questions swirled in their mind, louder and more insistent with each passing day. why would god take someone so good, so full of life? what kind of plan was this? V had always believed in a higher purpose, in the idea that everything happened for a reason, but now? now, nothing made sense.

V stopped wearing their cross. they couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it happened—one day, they just forgot to put it on, and then the next day, and the next. eventually, it stayed in the drawer by their bed, tucked away like a relic of a life that no longer made sense. their prayers, once a source of comfort, felt like words spoken into a void. and V, for the first time in their life, felt truly alone.

***

time passed, but the ache never really went away. V learned to live with it, the way one learns to live with an old wound that never quite heals. they moved on, or at least that’s what everyone said. they got a new job, met new people, filled their days with distractions. but every time they walked past the spot where you had died, they felt that same hollow ache in their chest, the same weight of regret pressing down on them.

V never got married. they didn’t believe in soulmates anymore, not in the way some people did, but they knew deep down that they’d never love anyone the way they’d loved you. they carried that love with them, quiet and steady, like a flame that never went out, even as the years blurred together and their hair turned gray.

when V died—peacefully, in their sleep, at the age of 83—they were found with an old, worn photo of you tucked under their pillow. the photo was crumpled and faded, but V’s fingers had held onto it until the very end. they were buried with it, and when the priest spoke at the funeral, he didn’t know the story behind the photo. he didn’t know how V had spent a lifetime missing someone they’d lost too soon, someone they’d never stopped loving.

but that love? it stayed with V, even in death.

W OSTENDORF

W had never been good at letting go. of anything. not of people, not of feelings. so when you died, it was like losing gravity, like the world had unmoored itself from beneath their feet and left them floating, untethered, in an endless, cold space.

for a while, they had you. they had you in all the small ways that mattered—the quiet moments in the morning when you would drink coffee together, the long, easy silences that wrapped around you like a second skin, the unspoken understanding that nothing could break them.

until something did.

it had been an illness, terminal and insidious. at first, W thought it was just exhaustion—long nights of work catching up with you, a bout of stress, nothing that couldn’t be fixed. but then the doctor’s visits turned into hospital stays, and the vague reassurances became grim warnings.

you got weaker, thinner, your voice a little quieter every day until W couldn’t ignore the gnawing dread that curled in their stomach every time they looked at you. you tried to be brave about it, for them, for everyone, but W could see it in your eyes—the fear, the acceptance.

“i’m not scared of dying,” you had told them one night, your hand trembling as you reached for them. “i’m scared of leaving you.”

W had kissed the top of your head, their lips pressed hard enough against your hair to hide the fact that they were shaking too.

“you’re not going anywhere,” they’d whispered, because the alternative was impossible. they couldn’t lose you. not you. not again

***

but you did go. slowly, painfully, slipping away in a way that left W feeling raw and powerless. they were there, at the end, holding your hand, their voice cracking as they begged you to stay. but you didn’t.

and W broke.

it wasn’t a loud break, not at first. it was quiet, a silent shattering of everything they had built around themself, a slow unraveling of the person who had once known how to smile, how to laugh, how to love. they went through the motions at the funeral, shaking hands, offering nods of thanks to the people who said they were sorry. they were all sorry, but what did it matter? sorry didn’t bring you back. sorry didn’t fill the gaping void that swallowed them whole every time they closed their eyes and saw the empty space beside them where you should’ve been.

***

in the weeks that followed, W became a shadow of themself. they stopped going out, stopped answering calls. their apartment was too big, too empty, every corner of it a reminder of the life they’d lost. the couch where you used to sit together. the kitchen where you would make fun of their terrible cooking. the bed—god, the bed—where your absence felt like a punch to the gut every night when they lay down and realized they’d never feel your warmth beside them again.

they didn’t cry, not really. not like they thought they would. the grief was too big for tears, too vast and strangling. instead, it weighed them down, pressed against their chest until it hurt to breathe. every morning, they woke up and went through their routine—shower, coffee, sit at their desk—but it was all mechanical, all pointless.

emerson tried to reach them, worried out of their mind. their aunt asked if they were okay. but W couldn’t answer them. they didn’t know how to explain that the person they had known, the person they used to be, had died the same day you did.

***

time passed, but it didn’t heal. W didn’t move on. they didn’t want to. moving on felt like a betrayal, like erasing the only part of them that still felt real. they didn’t go on dates, didn’t flirt or laugh or even think about love. they couldn’t. not without thinking of you, not without comparing everyone to you and finding them all lacking.

sometimes, late at night, W would pull out the old letters you had written them. small notes, tucked into books or left on the counter, filled with inside jokes and quiet declarations of love. they’d read them over and over until the words blurred, their vision clouding with tears they never let fall.

“i miss you,” they whispered one night, the paper crinkling in their trembling hands. “god, i miss you so much.”

the apartment echoed back in silence.

***

W never married, of course. people talked about it sometimes, behind their back, wondering why someone like them—successful, good-looking, with their whole life ahead of them—never found anyone else. they didn’t understand. they didn’t know what it was like to have your heart buried with someone else.

they grew older, their hair turning silver, their body slowing down in ways they hadn’t expected. but they kept going, day after day, carrying the weight of their grief with them like an old companion. it wasn’t sharp anymore, not like it had been, but it was always there, lingering at the edges of their mind, a dull, constant ache.

when W died, quietly in their sleep at the age of 79, they found them in their armchair, a book in their lap and a small silver band on their ring finger. it was worn, the inscription inside barely legible after all the years. but if you looked closely enough, you could still make out the initials: three letters which belonged to a young heir of a massive fortune who died a long time ago.

W hadn’t spoken about you in decades. they hadn’t needed to. you were always with them, in the silence of their apartment, in the spaces between their thoughts, in the worn pages of the notes they had never thrown away.

D DIACONU

D—rook, as many would know them—had always been too good at running. they knew how to leave feelings behind, how to laugh things off, how to keep people at arm’s length so nothing ever hurt.

“flighty little wolf,” mihail, their older brother, would laugh when they were younger. the sentiment didn’t lose itself even as D grew older.

it was easy, life was easy, until you. and suddenly, nothing was easy anymore. they were flirty by nature, playful, keeping everything light, but you were the exception to every rule D had lived by. the one person they couldn’t outrun.

but even then, D didn’t want to acknowledge it—not completely. love was an unwelcome thing, something that made people weak, made them care too much. so, they danced around it, avoided the word, kept things just close enough but never fully admitted it.

they were still D, still flirty, still detached on the surface. yet, whenever you were around, something about them softened in ways they’d never allowed before. in those moments, they were scared shitless. because what if one day you weren’t there? what if you disappeared like everything else D had been too afraid to love?

***

and then it happened. suddenly. the kind of thing that’s supposed to happen to other people, in distant stories, not to you. you were in an accident—an unforgiving, tragic turn of events that left D shattered. they were at the scene. D could still remember the way the sky looked, overcast and thick with grey, how the sirens sounded distant, like they were underwater. it wasn’t real. it couldn’t be real. they stood there, frozen, heart in their throat, staring at the wreckage that used to be a car, and everything in their world stopped moving.

D didn’t say a word, not to the paramedics, not to the people around them. they couldn’t. there was nothing to say. nothing mattered anymore. you were gone.

***

“you’d laugh if you knew,” D muttered under their breath one night, sitting alone in the corner of some dingy bar. they stared down at the half-empty glass in front of them, spinning it slowly between their fingers. “all this time, you thought i didn’t care. that i didn’t... feel. but here i am. utterly wrecked by you.”

they chuckled, but it was hollow. the kind of laugh that only came out when the truth was too heavy to hold in. because you had gotten under D’s skin in a way that no one else had. even after all those times D had told themself not to fall, not to let you get too close, it had happened anyway. and now, D was stuck with all these feelings they didn’t know how to handle.

so they write and write. songs after songs, pages after pages filled with their long-gone eternal muse. the band’s popularity skyrocketed, the producers milked it for as long as they could.

D could not bring themself to give a shit.

***

months passed, and D became a ghost in their own life. they showed up, sure, but it was like they weren’t really there. they’d skate through the days with the same careless swagger, but something was missing. people started to avoid them. it was too hard to be around someone who looked alive but was dead inside. it seemed like the only people who tried to be there for them at that point were their bandmates and C.

they would laugh it off when their friends asked if they were okay. “me? i’m fine. never better. just living, you know?” and they’d wink, flash that charming smile that always got them out of trouble.

but the world became smaller, dimmer. D moved from one party to the next, one high to the next, chasing something they couldn’t name, something they had lost with a bright-eyed heir with an evergreen heart. nights blurred into mornings, and nothing felt real anymore. nothing except the ache, the emptiness that had been left behind.

on some nights, after too many drinks and too many bad decisions, D would find themself sitting in a bathroom, staring at their reflection in the mirror. their pale face would be gaunt, their gray eyes hollow. they would look like a stranger.

rook didn’t know who they were anymore.

***

D died young. too young. it was late one night, after another wild party, and they had pushed things just a little too far. the drugs had been an easy fix—an easy way to drown out the feelings they didn’t want to face. but this time, their body couldn’t handle it. the paramedics found them slumped on the floor of a room at chelsea hotel, empty pill bottles scattered around like confetti from a life that had spiraled out of control.

but what was strange—what the paramedics couldn’t quite understand—was the look on D’s face. even in death, behind the glazed-over eyes and the pale, lifeless skin, there was a smile. a soft, almost peaceful smile, like D had finally found what they’d been searching for all along.

in the end, D had stopped running.

M WHITLOCK-SINGH

the news of your death came to M as a whisper, traveling through the rigid, polished halls of their life before it reached their ears. at first, it didn’t make sense. death, for someone like you, felt improbable, impossible even.

you had been everything untamed in M’s world, everything wild and unpredictable, a force of nature that couldn’t just stop. yet, the world had stilled. all the reckless plans you had made—the fleeting escapes, the late-night laughter—had ended in a way too final for M to comprehend.

M grieved in silence. royals were trained for composure, for duty above all else, and M had mastered that lesson too well. there were no public displays of despair, no headlines that suggested the depth of the loss they felt. even when they stood at your graveside, surrounded by others who wept openly, M stood perfectly still, a model of grace and solemnity. inside, though, their chest felt hollow, as if someone had reached inside them, twisted through the maze of their ribs and snatched their heart away.

after the funeral, M’s life became a carefully curated performance. they married—someone of equal status, someone safe and suitable—but it was all a façade, a slow march into an existence they hadn’t chosen. the marriage was a duty, a requirement. it lacked everything you had ever been. The late-night conversations that made the world feel infinite, the reckless plans that filled the air with electric energy—all of it was buried with you, and M was left with nothing but a name and a title they never cared for.

they’d close their eyes at night and still hear your voice, soft at first, then louder, like a song they couldn’t forget but could never play again. the world, once vibrant with you, felt drained of color. the laughter that used to spill from M’s lips was replaced by brittle smiles, the kind that didn’t touch their umber brown eyes.

they never spoke of you—not to their spouse, not to anyone. it was as though speaking their name aloud would unravel M’s delicate grip on sanity, on the life they were barely holding together.

***

a few years passed. M became more distant, more remote, even within the walls of the palace. their marriage grew cold, each day more formal and lifeless than the last. they were trapped, locked in a gilded cage with no way out. your memory remained, a quiet presence that lingered at the edges of M’s mind, haunting them with the life they could’ve had, the person they should’ve been.

there were whispers, of course. rumors about M’s detachment, their coldness, their increasing absence from royal duties. but no one knew why. no one could have guessed that their heart had been buried in the grave of a lover they couldn’t even publicly acknowledge.

***

a scandal. a disappearance.

the royal family awoke to find M gone, their accounts drained, their titles stripped of meaning. no one knew where they had gone, or why. the official story was vague—an extended sabbatical, perhaps—but there were no answers. their spouse, barely more than a stranger, said nothing. the media speculated for weeks, but no trace of M was found.

***

years later, in a small village (zaanse schans) in the netherlands, a farmer passed away in their sleep. they had been quiet, unremarkable, living in a modest cottage on the outskirts of the village. they kept to themself, never married, and was mostly known for their collection of british royal memorabilia. it wasn’t until after their death, when the local authorities came to settle their estate, that they discovered who they truly were.

a runaway royal. third-in-line after their mother and older sister.

the village was stunned. for all the years they had lived among them, no one had guessed their identity. but as they sorted through their belongings, the truth became undeniable. among the memorabilia were photographs—of you, smiling beside M in moments no one else had ever seen. there were letters, too, carefully folded and kept in a box, written in a hand that only M could recognize. letters that had never been sent, but that held all the words M had never been able to say.

the villagers spoke of them with quiet reverence, a kind and humble individual who had always paid their bills on time and helped their neighbors when they could. they didn’t know about the wealth that had quietly flowed into anonymous accounts over the years. they didn’t know about the palace, the titles, the life of privilege M had left behind. all they knew was that they had lived simply and that they had loved someone fiercely until the day they died.

***

and that was how they were remembered. not as a royal, not as someone of wealth or power, but as someone who had once loved deeply and had chosen, in the end, to live for that love, even if it meant leaving everything else behind.

M’s name would never appear in the official histories, but in that quiet village in the netherlands, they were remembered for who they truly were—someone who, despite it all, had found a way to keep you with them until the very end.

#BREAKING DOWN BREAKDANCING BREAKING BONES

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nepholog · 5 days ago

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IF List #3 ✒

A little note: Some of the WIPs on this third list have not been updated for a long time, and some I couldn't find the tumblr blogs.

Twine Works in Progress:

Crown of Exile by @ramonag-if

Gilded Cage by @gildedcageif

Softly, Opulent by @softlyopulent-if

Gonzague 18+ version by @oscarwrites

Esper: Fugitive by @esper-game

Body Count by @bodycountgame

The Gray Ascendancy by @thegrayascendancy-if

ST4RDOM by @aurelim

The Sovereign's Ring by @thesovereignsring-if

Rabbit Starvation by @vileidol

Choice-Script Works in Progress, Tumblr:

Eyes of Shan by @eyesofshan-if

Blood Legacies by @bloodlegacies

Faewild by @faewildif

Duskguard by @rainstormwrite

Saturnine by @satur9-if

The Fox of Sunholt by @foxofsunholt

Gods and Villains by @godsandvillains-if

Lamb to the Slaughter by @hvllowheart

EASTEND by @eastend-if

Corruptant by @cyn-if

Hollowed Minds by @shai-manahan

Chains of Destiny by @chains-of-destiny

The Sunhold Coven by @the-sunhold-coven

Agents of Lucifer by @aprismaticodyssey

The Bakshi Family by @kiisstuff

Stake Through a Bloody Heart by @lacewing-if

Triaina: Academy by @leo-interactive-fiction

The Voice of Silverking by @lilac-den

The Maledictus by @renvdmaledictus

A Court of Serpents by @acourtofserpents

Choice-Script Works in Progress, Forum:

Rivers of Blood by Marmus

Lies and Legalities by FableForge

Song of the Fallen by Left4bed

Dragon Kin by Dubs3

Good Intentions by Joshua_Koch

Arceus: Awakening by Dryinspection

The Monsters Around Us by Eab2003

Aura Clash by cultivator-anon

Freak: Falling Awake by Snoe

Freak: Amidst the Neon Lights by Snoe

Choice-Script Probably Discontinued Works:

Ripper's Plague

Wild Summer

Nothing Left (to Burn)

Aequitas

Venatici House

Blood Hunter

Through Broken Lenses

Hero Maker: Book 1

Mortal Hero: Patron of the Gods

Subject Zero

Nameless

Cradle of Eternity

The Marriage Market

A Drop of Night

Fool's Fantasy

Emberwood

Wilhelmina

The Vampire Courts

Red Herring

Thrist Trap

The Caged Songbird

The Monster Within

Chronicles of Rebirth: Hunted

Honey and Fire

Scandal

This is the last one.

I swear... iiiiif I don't keep remembering good IFs out of nowhere.

IF List #1 ✒ and IF List #2 ✒

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nepholog · 6 days ago

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since you guys liked my idea so much here it is: WAYS THE NRC BOYS WOULD MAKE YOU WORSE

reader's personality is based more off of in-game yuu than anything? this set of hcs is a bunch of hypotheticals basically. this can be read as platonic or romantic idk each guy is written as if they are the closest person to you, friends or otherwise.

IF YOU SEE A TYPO NO YOU DONT

mentally preparing myself for the "i wouldnt do that!!!!!" comments...and post.

Riddle increases your attentiveness to the rules tenfold. No matter how meek you are, he makes your voice strong—and oh boy does it carry. You’re yelling at people for running in the halls, chastising them for not doing their homework, and opening your mouth wider when you speak. For a school full of troublemakers like Night Raven, the entire student body is so disappointed there’s another Riddle.

Trey makes you more passive, less likely to speak up when you see something. He’s always stood back in the shadows, watching over everything without saying a word, and it’s seeped into your personality, too. You’re spineless now. This world is unfamiliar, why should you try to do anything? You’d only stand out. You don’t want to be outstanding. You want to be as normal as possible. So you stand back.

Cater gets you wrapped up in the hype of social media. It started out as a way to indulge his interests but now you’re on Magicam all day, scrolling and scrolling and scrolling. You send things to your friends and say “hey, we should do this” but never make any actual effort to connect with them outside of that. You fall easier into jealousy because you’re surrounded by glamor.

Deuce makes you reckless. He’s so willing to throw himself into things and it spurs you to do the same, no matter how many times your teachers or potential upperclassmen tell you not to. You can’t hear anything but Deuce and his yelling, his enthusiasm and terror for whichever situation you two find yourselves in, knowing that you’d follow him anywhere.

Ace makes you all the more prickly, your sharp jabs and irritating smugness a product of spending too much time with him. You two are two peas in a pod, but to an outsider you two just seem...irritating. You have a talent for getting under people’s skin and have definitely gotten better at lying.

Leona thinks its so cute how you try to defend him at every twist and turn. Like no, he is as dastardly as everyone is saying. Why are you trying to deny it? You’re suddenly seeing reason in the most massive ego-ed people this side of Sage Island and Leona honestly doesn’t know if he should be concerned for you or be amused because of you. (This one in particular was inspired by @loser-jpg LMAO)

Ruggie could have made you prioritize yourself more, but you think he took it a bit too far. See, now you’re snatching cafeteria items and worksheets right under people’s noses, giggling as they demand you give it back. Sometimes they don’t even notice you, but even if they did you’ve learned how to be lighter on your feet.

Jack and you are incredibly uncooperative people (unless you owe someone, of course.) He’s guided you away from asking for help, insisting that the people here will take advantage of you then turning around to say that he doesn’t care, he just doesn't want to get wrapped up in your mess. It’s like you can’t trust anyone but him and your Heartslabyul friends anymore.

Azul has given you one nasty sense of perception, allowing you to key into every little detail and find loopholes in the things people say in a second. He’s turned you into a deadly asset, one he treasures just as much as the student body fears. You read over his contracts and point out what you would do to get out of them, and he adjusts accordingly. What a fine team you two make!

Jade makes it clear that his morals are less than savory, and will often encourage you to partake in things you really shouldn't. You rationalize it as Jade helping you go after the things you want, to finally take and take and take from people when you’ve been so selfless all your life, because it's what you deserve isn’t it?

Floyd will often rope you into his schemes, and it's not wrong before you start doing the same. Once a model student, attending every class, you now skip class and watch with amusement as Floyd threatens another student, hiding your smile behind your hand. They may plead for your assistance, but who are you to stop Floyd? This poor soul clearly owed something.

Kalim instills you with a sense of jealousy and helplessness. He has money to solve all of his problems, his life must be so easy. You’ve lived through so many overblots and received no help from anyone, but Kalim has always been so kind and generous to you. It makes you resent him a little, and anyone else who tries to help, because they all have things that you don’t and that's just not fair.

Jamil twists and bends your mind so much that you can do the very same thing to others. You’ve caught onto his little game and he knows it, eyeing you with anticipation whenever you speak in the same honeyed tone he uses when he wants something. You’ve gotten scarily good at hiding it too, shooting him a smug grin because you know he knows, but nobody else does.

Vil brings out so much confidence in your abilities it’s borderline arrogance. You know you’re capable, so why doesn’t everyone just let you handle this? You can do it, they can’t. So they should just step aside. You’re not doing it to be mean, so why are they getting so annoyed at you? You’re just better.

Rook has some eccentricities, and you’re well aware of them. They put you off at first, but now you’re used to him. It just seems normal now. You’re not sure why everyone makes such a big deal out of his tendencies, that’s just how he is. He’ll stalk you, hunt you down, but he’s having fun! Don’t spoil it for him!

Epel is actually the perfect fit for NRC, you think. He’s a troublemaker, he’s stubborn, and he’s so, so angry. But he’s right! Why should you respect people who claim to be above you? It’s so irritating that they walk around with those annoying smirks on their faces. You two should do something about that, don’t you think?

Idia has a very specific way of talking that can not only be confusing, but can also irritate the hell out of people. Of all things you could pick up from him, you picked up his smug jabs and insults, accompanied by a tooth grin and a laugh. It’s unnerving how much he’s rubbed off on you, a true testament to how close you too are much to the chagrin of the rest of NRC.

Malleus finds so much delight in being your bodyguard, your most trusted companion, that he doesn’t even bat an eye when you use his magic for your own gain. You’ve gotten soft, molding to whatever shape Malleus wants you to be just so he won’t leave. You’re helpless without him, only he has the will and the magic to protect you. So won’t he please stay?

Lilia has a way of dodging the truth, putting a smile on his face even when he’s hurting. It makes you think that, if he can do that, why can’t you? Lilia is smart, he knows how to go about life, so you should follow his lead and bury your problems until they’ll never see the light again.

Sebek has done nothing but berate you for being human since you met him, and even if you’ve gotten closer to him over the course of your stay in Twisted Wonderland, you’re starting to think he’s right. If you had magic, if you weren’t human, you’d be more powerful. It’s a fact. You could do so much more if you weren’t so weak.

Silver has made you complacent. He takes each step carefully, protecting both you and Malleus, so why would you need to protect yourself in any capacity? It’s so nice, having this safety net. If you could, you'd rely on Silver forever, never facing the cruel realities of the world that are blocked by his strong arms.

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nepholog · 6 days ago

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Prompt: Couples will evidently begin to mimic their better half after some time. What traits do you steal from him, and vice versa? Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Characters: Everyone - because I want to and I’m amidst fleshing out all my Yuu/Character dynamics + designs Format: Headcannons. Masterlist: LinkedUP Parts: Heartslabyul | Savanaclaw (Here) | Octavinelle | Scarabia | Pomefiore | Ignihyde | Diasomnia A/N: Putting all my brain rot from my notes into something cohesive. Contrary to my love for ripping your hearts out, I've come with some fluff this time around. BTW you may or may not already do things mentioned - I write my works with a specific Yuu in mind for each character so this is based on them. Just a reminder.

Habits You Steal

Sleep like the Dead (Inherited): Nothing wakes you anymore. Leona is as "selfish" as they come, and has no regard for your schedule. He doesn't feel remorse for soaking up your time in the slightest. Why should he? Other people do it for 90% of the day. Take a load off, the bags under your eyes are unsightly. If he doesn't want to wake up in the morning? You ain't either. It's a done deal. If the building isn't up in flames then don't bother asking. Evidently, prolonged and frequent daytime siestas take their toll on your circadian rhythm. You now need just as - if not more - sleep than Leona. Napping out in public and at the rowdy Savanaclaw Dorm bestowed upon you a disturbance immunity. Ramshackle could be in the middle of a raid and you wouldn't move. Not unless something singed your skin or really did some damage. It's become an actual problem. Crewel is considering a sleep study.

"Oi, herbivore...stop squirming so much. You almost crushed my tail. Hah? Class? You don't need it. Just borrow notes from one of those little friends or make the cat go....fine. Gimmie your homework later. I can teach you a thing or two. That is, if you can handle it." <- Grim can't be trusted on his own? Not Leona's problem. You're half of a student. Half. Not full. Half. There's your loophole now go back to sleep. Yap any more and he'll roll on top of you. Good luck talking with a mouth full of hair.

Perfume (Developed): This comes about in an awkward manner. Beastmen have keen smell. It's a given. Bada bing, bada boom, Leona knows your scent. He could point out the Ramshackle Prefect from a half-mile radius. Now he's never said your scent is unpleasant. Quite the contrary, although the lion would never admit it. The issue here is that your scent acts as a calling card, and Leona is clingy. So you ask Vil for the most popular perfume, potion, cologne - whatever - and start wearing it to mask your scent. At least enough so Leona's de-buffed to a one-fourth mile radius. It doesn't work entirely. No perfume is that strong. It's also an active assault on Leona's nose...but it had to be done. Side note - this was his plan all along. He isn't keen on non-human folk sniffing you out easily. Beastmen, most Mermen, and even select Fae have keen noses. Not that his own scent isn't a deterrent, but some masking perfume is worth the occasional nose-shank if it keeps snickering busybodies off your tail when he isn't around.

"Here. Take this and throw out whatever crap it is you've got on. You want me to say it flat? You reek." <- Take the scent masking balm he's giving and don't shop retail ever again. His nose hairs are literally burning off. The balm costs more than your entire dorm to make, but Leona won't ever admit it. You have an ultimatum. It's either this, or wearing one of his old vests around Savanaclaw. Now unless you want to be twinning with him and Ruggie, do the man a favor and comply.

Hair Ties (Developed): Bless his genetics for that wonderful, silky mane - but he needs to tame it. With how smothering Leona can be, you end up with a mouthful of hair at least twice a day. Man is tall, and he loves using his prefect as a leaning post. Which is cute but he sheds. So your arm is perpetually wrapped with hair-ties 24/7 like a cased sausage, because every time you give him one it disappears. It's on purpose, of course. He also snaps them whenever you aren't paying attention. Spiteful bas-

Biting (Inherited): Biting is a common display of affection in beastfolk culture. Not that Leona ever bothered to tell you this. His little nips (in no small amount) were usually passed off as punishments for being annoying. A lie, naturally. One could say it’s the human equivalent of cute aggression? Yet it has more meaning since it’s reserved for close connections such as family and lover. Although drawing blood or leaving a mark behind is reserved for the latter. You had to learn all this from a textbook, of course. No one in Savanaclaw was going to butt into Leona’s affairs, and Ruggie found your ignorance a funny game to taunt his Housewarden with. You were on your own, on a quest to save your skin. Literally.

Regardless, it’s Leona’s way of affection. Bonus points since he can do it without you knowing why. It’s only natural that you return the favor, playing along whenever he has to hold composure. Acting as if you don’t know and relishing in his micro- reactions. It’s only a matter of time before he figures you out, but it’s so nice to have the upper hand for once.

"That's for showin' up late. Don't like it? Not my problem...yawn if is' so bad, just take my bandanna...Why do you care if it's got Savana colors? Ya spend enough time 'round here, no one's gonna say anything." <- If it really bothered you, he'd stop. King of consent and of reading body language. Otherwise it's a go-go. Also if someone did have a problem with you sporting Savanaclaw colors? He doesn't need to kick their ass. Beastfolk got better hearing than most, and if one of his overhears you getting shit for wearing their dorm's colors then the classic night raven pride will pop out.

Habits He Steals:

Vegetables (Inherited): Leona sticks to meat, cheese, bread, and more meat. Bring on the steak. Bring on the beef. Bring on the deluxe cutlet sandwiches. Savanaclaw's kitchen is the most costly of all the dorms purely for how much Beastmen eat. If Ruggie can guzzle down seven plates in a sitting yet still look like a stick? Imagine a Lion's appetite. No one knows how you managed to get this guy to eat a salad like a true herbivore, but it's a cold day in the Savanaclaw dormitory when Leona's facing down a spinach side-salad on top of his lunch. Meanwhile you're happily munching away at the table, picking random veggies off your own plate to put on his. Each instance accompanied by an agitated twitch of his tale, but the lion's eerily silent. Dire Crowley is right. The Ramshackle Prefect is a Beast Tamer indeed...

"Now I know you didn't just pick at my plate, herbivore. Your luck's running thin...Oi. That's enough. I'll sooner eat one of your limbs than another turnip" <- he, in fact, did eat the turnip. The threat scared his underclassmen so much, that seeing you come around still in one piece the next day earned you a warrior's respect.

Correspondence (Developed): Leona's used to getting a sea of letters from ministers, attendants, and a particular little menace back at the palace. Unless it was an urgent message - he'd let the letters go unchecked after skimming them. Replying always took too much effort, and he'd rather not encourage unexpected visits like during the annual Magiift tournament. That is until you start receiving them as well. Nowhere near the amount Leona deals with - but he'd rather die than have his family telling you things without the ability to intercept. Falena blackmails him into responding to Cheka's letters, or else the little furball is going to use you as a penpal for writing practice. Side Note 2.0 - regardless of Leona's 'cooperative' ways, you still write to the mini lion in 'secret'. He knows but gave up caring.

"Another one? Just toss the damn thing. No - hmph. Give me that. I'll respond, just don't start up the lecture." <- You always manage to find the letters Cheka sends over before Leona can get to them. It clicks that you're a middle-man once they start showing up at Ramshackle instead of his dorm. Leona can't wait too long to respond, otherwise you'll start harping him over how cute the kid's handwriting is or whatever picture he drew. He lets you keep them. Cheka's got his own exhibit on the Ramshackle fridge.

Accommodating (Developed): Leona’s not necessarily a ‘verbal’ communicator, despite his smart mouth that always manages to get the last word. He will not openly lend his aid without a bit of pressing before hand - his pride would never allow it. Take the three days you and Grim stayed in his dorm as an example. Inevitably you earned the right to crash in his room, but there was a roundabout to get there. Mainly for show, since in Savanaclaw things are earned not given. You also weren’t close back then. He wouldn’t go easy on anyone, even if they’re from a different dorm or stranded homeless by some octopunks.

The tides change for you, and only for you. His morals are held high, and his ability to treat a partner well is no exception. There is no glory in being above your supposed equal. Everything is shared. This means Leona’s room is now your room, just as Ramshackle is now partly his. He’s clearing some of his closet out, filling it with your stuff, and doing the same back at your place. Doesn’t even ask and doesn’t give a damn that there are dozens of open rooms. It’s the principle. Sharing a space is letting someone see your most vulnerable being. Not that he’d think you could ever do any significant damage (lies) - but considering he doesn’t want anyone within a five foot radius during his leisure time, Leona giving you open access speaks volumes.

"Hah? So what? It's not like I'm forcin' them into it. Got a problem with how I act? Enlighten me." == Talk about nonchalont. Leona is well aware of the imprint he's left on you. He sees it in the way you talk. The way you think. Not just in the chess matches he makes you sit through over and over. Round after round until you can put him into check. You're confident. You're demanding. You're ripe potential that he got to first before anyone else. You chose him, and no amount of backtalk on your end outshines that you like him enough to mimic his ways. The Ramshackle Prefect’s presence isn't something people can overlook anymore, and Leona is damn proud that he's left a mark.

Habits You Steal:

Extreme Couponing/Haggling (Inherited): If you do not think Ruggie spends his Sunday mornings going through sales ads? You are sorely mistaken. This man is an absolute menace when it comes to hitting the market and squeezing a shop-keep for everything they are worth. Sam fears no creature in all of Twisted Wonderland aside from this particular hyena. Screw fighting blot - grab some popcorn and kick back to observe the game of verbal chess those two engage in every week. It's more entertaining than any battle or show. You will become Ruggie's apprentice. Ain't no partner of his going through life without the ability to haggle. Sam stands no chance.

“Ya get this week’s ad? Good. C’mon over and we’ll get the clippings going. I think I saw somethin’ about a buy-one get-two on those candies ya like. Maybe if your nice enough, I’ll shmooze Sam for a bonus!” <- Ruggie honestly enjoys having a coupon buddy. He makes a show about how you take too long, and that if you don’t wake up early then he won’t stick around! Can’t miss the sale, so he isn’t lying there. Except he does grab what you need on the off chance you do miss the meetup. Side note - he doesn’t just take an apprentice without ulterior motives. This is all in preparation for you to handle the slum markets. If you can’t fight off a few broke students, then you won’t last a day back home.

"Shishishishi" (Inherited): There is no escaping it. For the countless times you've poked fun at his little wheezy laugh - imagine the utter mortification when it came not from him! No no. From you. It's unconscious and in the moment you don't recognize anything wrong. You were only laughing over a won victory against Sam. That new lamp you wanted for your work-desk finally within reach, and 70% off no less! Said conman looks at you with eyes blown wide, because great seven there are two of them now. It takes a moment for self-awareness to hit, but you're too late. Two fuzzy-satellites atop a mop of shaggy blonde curls perk up, and your laugh from before echoes from the original culprit's mouth.

“I heard that! You’re doin’ it wrong. Gotta put more air, Shishishi~” <- Ruggie’s a taunting little turd on a good day. Be prepared. You won’t be living this down. Karma’s a bitch, ain’t it? Next thing is to train ya in the art of sticky fingers - no? Ugh. Fine. Ya Goodie-Goodie.

Hands Up! (Inherited): Ruggie has a very unique way of standing. Hands behind his head, laced together to support his neck. One hip normally supports most of his weight, and he's always in a deep-slouch. Bro doesn’t need to cast ‘Laugh With Me’ for his movements to be mirrored, because you’re already following along without realizing. Leona finds the mimicry unsettling. Take that freaky shit out of his line of sight.

Habits He Steals:

Sharing Food (Developed): This is the inner hyena coming out. Just like in the slums, it's demanded to share amongst your own. He might be a sleaze to other people, but not to you. This also backfires into Ruggie thinking that what's yours is his as well - but that's not the point. He'll plop down next to you at dinner and wordlessly offer up half of his meal. You need more meat on those bones, he'll say if protested. In turn he'll then take half of your dessert. It's a sign of trust, instinctively believing that whatever's on your plate is safe to eat. Yet also shows that he's taken you as one of his - and that's a privilege no one at NRC has. No strings attached because everything you both have is shared. On a side note, you'll never be-rid of Ruggie once this comes to pass.

Shared Wardrobe (Developed): Again with the collective treasure hoard, but with a twist. Ruggie can essentially squeeze into most clothing or modify them to his needs. If it works, then it works. So he'll happily offer up any modified dregs he has for your usage, and in turn he will claim whatever clothes you aren't overly attached to. There is also the matter of scent, of course. Ruggie is the type of person to cut up one of your old pajama shirts and fashion arm-bands, making sure to have one knotted around his bicep at all times. You in turn are welcome to swipe his bandanna at your leisure in place of that tacky uniform tie.

“Hey…you seen my blaz - hah? Uh, nevermind. I’ll go grab somethin’ else. Where’d ya leave the heavier coat Gran sent over. Forget it, I’ll just go check myself” <- The first time you snag one of his oversized blazers or hoodies gets him. It gets him bad. Sharing with Leona was one thing but, c'mon. Warn a guy would ya? You're so lucky he's an opportunist on quick feet, so of course he’ll take the chance to steal something you wear often. Ruggie’s great at brushing off any taunts or quips. Being Leona’s right hand gets him stable back at Savanclaw, but that doesn’t take away years of being the underdog. Whether the other beastfolk stare at him openly brandishing your clothes means little, if anything, he enjoys it. Cause once again the underdog’s got a top prize.

Caffeine Addiction (Inherited): Ruggie spends more time and effort running around than most. His *hobby* is doing part-time work. Those overpriced sugar-loaded drinks never appealed to him because why waste money when powering through is just as effective? Or chugging some ice water? Yet you seemingly always have some sort of caffeine to make it through the hell NRC dishes out, and Ruggie being a mooch is always there to steal at least 1/3 of it. Now he’s trained and gets extremely sluggish around mid-day without a dose. It’s your fault if he falls off his broom during spelldrive practice.

"Wha'cha trying to say with that tone, huh? Think I'm not good enough? 's that it? There're way worse chumps to take after. Way I see it? They're learnin' how to make it in this world, sha ha ah! So thanks!...eh, why're you still here? Shoo already." == Considering rumors never have anything good to say about Ruggie's attitude, he's not dumb enough to take the little 'compliment' as genuine. More like as a backhanded sight towards your relationship. Rugs could care less about what those nobodies have to say. Not like they've got anything he's after, just some busybodies that scurry off with their tail between their legs when things get rough. Even if you catch word of it, Ruggie ain't going to get pissy because they're right. Everything they're saying is right, he is rubbing off on you. He is actively trying to. Life isn't a peach and it's not like he's strong enough to protect you from the hardships. It'll be a big laugh if you pull that righteous crap and try to defend his honor, though. Someone better get it on camera.

Habits You Steal:

Paternal Disappointment (Inherited): There was a time, a simpler time, a Jack-less time...when you were a fool. No. You are one to this day, but it is better tamed under Jack's strict aura of perpetual disappointment. Once on the side of being scolded with Ace and Deuce, you are now the one doing the scolding. You are not fun anymore. There is a stick shoved so far up your ass, and it's now part of your internal organ system. Ace dubs you a traitor, as does Grim. You've gone to the dark side in exchange for the morally sound wolfboy to offer cuddles and the occasional snack. I'm sorry to tell you this dear prefect but you've become....*gasp* the (mom/dad) friend.

“Boring? Who said you were boring?…don’t listen to those jerks. You’ve always had a good head on your shoulders. They’re just upset that they can’t get away with murder anymore - Uh, not t-that I was jealous or anything! Don't get the wrong idea! . Hmph.” <- Jack doesn’t take offense when others call him names, but he doesn’t like when you’re brought into it. At all. Especially because he used to be jealous how you, Ace, Grim and Deuce were more tight-knit than with any of the other first years. Like a pack. That behavior is childish, and Jack hates that he used to think that way. As if your attention was something he had to fight over. It's not like he wanted the same bond you shared with those three either, that's friendship and he wanted more. By being with you, Jack knew that it was going to put him on a different tier than the others. That's just what happens. Part of him feels guilty that you might be losing face because of him. His reputation isn’t bad, but he does have a resting angry face. Reassure him in turn and Jack will be over the moon. Any happier and his wagging tail can become a makeshift duster for the dorm (Were he on earth, he’d definitely get the nickname ‘tails’. After the sonic character, just to clarify)

Meal Prep (Inherited): This is actually an amazing influence and is wonderful for someone on a tight-schedule. You're not going to be eating high-protein meals every night, neither wasting away in an attempt to chug down pre-workout shakes. That's on Jack and Jack alone. Helping him prep meals is a nice touch and a pleasant evening spent together once a week. You don't become strict with it, but Jack does convince you to at least prepare some of your favorite dishes as snacks/emergency meals. He also constantly shoves energy water and vitamins in your bag. No more cup-noodle or scrap sandwiches on those nights you don't reach the mess hall on time. Now you have balanced meals, and get to flaunt matching containers with your boyfriend. Very cute. Everyone hates both of you.

"Uh...are all those stickers really necessary? I know we agreed on matching boxes but this is a bit...No! I'm not embarrassed! Gah, just keep it to a minimum. Nothing that falls off or sparkles." <- He is flustered beyond compare after every track meet. At first he barely bat an eye, thinking nothing of the orange bento box with chibi-cactus stickers and his name written in bold bubble lettering on top. You decorated it just for him, and if it meant you would carry around a spare meal then that's even more incentive. Yet the smell of fresh food attracts jocks after a meet like nothing else, and the teasing was relentless. It isn't enough to stop him from enjoying his meal, though.

Lint Roller (Developed): Leona sheds, but Jack? He is like owning six full-grown huskies. He apologizes profusely for the shedding, especially since the NRC uniforms are black. You run through lint rollers like Deuce runs through eggs. It isn't Jack's fault, but man. Ramshackle collects both dust and fur bunnies these days.

Habits He Steals:

Piggy-Back(Developed):Jack carries you everywhere. He's normally very patient but when there's a place to be? Well, he wants to get there on time. Jack has a strict bedtime at 10:00pm sharp and so his free hours are scarce. Do you want enough time to enjoy the lakeside as planned? If so, hop on his back so no time is wasted. Jack also pressures you to join him for morning and evening jogs. He refuses to give up his diligence, but also is acutely aware that there is little spare time he can afford you during the week. Either you have to keep up with him, or you're getting used as a makeshift weight and being hauled across campus. Relationships need quality time to grow and this is the perfect excuse to hog your attention for two hours every day. Not that he'd admit it, but the swish of his tail while you chat is enough to tell Jack's enjoying his runs much more than before.

"Are you comfortable? Just let me know if I'm going too quick. I'll try not to jostle you around too much...if you're tired then take a nap. I'll wake you when we're back home." <- He'd prefer if you didn't sleep. It messes with your circadian rhythm, but the whole point of this is to help you relax. Just knowing you're with him is enough to make Jack happy. Rain or shine, no excuses. If it's cold he'll let you use his hair to block out the chill, although he'd never let you out in anything less than the proper gear. Even if he joins Deuce or Vil on occasion - you're his favorite running partner.

Safety (Developed): Jack asks you to text him twice a day. Once in-between class, even though you’ll be spending lunch together, and once before bed at 9:30pm. The morning isn’t needed since he’s your alarm clock. He understands that as a prefect, you don’t have a curfew like the majority of students. Yet he is communicative with concerns about you being outside of Ramshackle late after dark. Even when you were just friends, hearing the story of when A-Deuce hauled you to that abandoned mine in the middle of the night? The blot monster and how close it came to you guys not making it? Magic or not, that would worry anyone with common sense. It doesn’t help that Ramshackle has no security beyond its resident ghosts.

"- and you just went with them? Because the headmaster told you to? Are you insane!?...No. You're right. What's done is done. Just...call me if something like that ever happens again." <- Thank the seven Jack's hair is already white.

Jack never thought he’d care this much about anyone. When your partner is a walking heart-attack, in the best way possible mind you, one just wants some piece of mind.

Covering Ears (Inherited): It's a natural response to cover your ears when frightened. Like when watching a scary movie and you don't want to hear what comes next. Jack covers his ears because they're sensitive, and loud noises can cause a migraine quicker than anything else. Especially when they're sudden. His hearing is more sensitive than most, being a wolf beastman. It's almost on par with Leona's. Yet his first instinct when there is a loud noise is to cover your ears instead of his. Even though you're human, the instinct to protect them takes over. It's also his way of being within arm's reach in case of a threat. You must be scared being in a new place. Jack will never let himself forget that. Nor how brave you are for continuing on regardless.

"What a relief...huh? Nah, I didn't say anything. Isn't there a test coming up in Alchemy next week? Want to hit the books together?" == The type to divert the topic as quick as possible, on the chance that he lets too much slip. Needless to say that Jack is relieved to hear that you're mimicking him on an unconscious level. It means that you trust him. That you respect him and see him as an equal. It's the biggest compliment Jack can ever ask for. If people are automatically associating you together, then it means he's done his job. You're part of his pack - and outsiders can recognize it at first glance. He'll do a good job at hiding how happy it made him, but expect that tail to wag at torpedo speed the next time he sees you.

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nepholog · 6 days ago

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How would they sleep with you?

Summary: How would the TWST boys sleep in the same bed as you?

Characters: All NRC students (-Ortho)

Warnings: None (?)

A/N: I'm suffering from TWST brain rot.

Riddle Rosehearts:

It depends on the day. Most days he’ll just fall asleep next to you, other days he’ll fall asleep in your arms. Sometimes he just wants to be held and what else is he supposed to do when you feel so warm? He can’t stop the way his eyes start to close or the way he starts to lose consciousness. He likes when he wakes up in your arms too. It makes him feel safe and secure. Maybe he should ask to be held more often.

Trey Clover:

Normally he’ll just fall asleep next to you. Really close though. Your shoulders will be touching but he won’t have an arm around you or anything. Of course, if you want him to hold you, he’s willing to. And if you want to hold him, he doesn’t mind. Just ask and he’ll do it.

Cater Diamond:

He’s a cuddly sleeper. Most days he wants you to hold him while he sleeps. Something about being in your arms just makes him feel safe. He especially loves that he’s surrounded by you. Sometimes he does like to hold you, especially when your head is resting on his chest. Not only does it feel nice to have you against his chest, but it’s nice to feel trusted by you.

Ace Trappola:

He wants you to sleep on him. Your head on his chest and the rest of your body between his legs. He’ll have his arms wrapped around your back and when he’s having trouble sleeping he’ll trace shapes into your back. And right before he goes to sleep, he’ll plant a little kiss on the top of your head.

Deuce Spade:

However you want. You want to be held, he’s holding you. You want to hold him, he’s snuggling into your arms. You just want to sleep next to him, he’ll face you so that you’re the last thing he sees before going to sleep. He really doesn’t care. However, his favorite is when he gets to hold you. It feels nice to fall asleep with you in his arms. He always asks if he can hold you, and if you say no, he’s fine with that. He’s not going to overstep your boundaries.

Leona Kingscholar:

He holds you or sleeps on top of you. His main goal is to keep you in bed with him and both of those are very effective. His favorite out of those two is sleeping on you. He gets to keep you there and sleep on his favorite pillow, it’s a win-win. Lets just hope the professors are willing to overlook your tardiness.

Ruggie Bucchi:

In your arms. He loves the feeling of being held. And I mean LOVES. He’s not used to being held. It's a nice sensation. He feels safe and loved and he couldn’t ask for a better feeling. Occasionally, he does like holding you, but that’s usually just when you’re feeling down.

Jack Howl:

He prefers to just sleep next to you. He does want to be touching you but he’s not a cuddler. He’ll hold your hand or have his arm wrapped around yours but he doesn’t cuddle. When he does cuddle, he wants to hold you. Holding you makes him feel better. But if you want to hold him and pet his ears, he won’t complain.

Azul Ashengrotto:

He’s a cuddly sleeper but he doesn’t want to admit it. When he goes to sleep he’s laying next to you, but when he wakes up he’s holding you super tightly. It’s like he’s scared to let go of you. No matter how many times it happens, he refuses to admit that he’s a cuddler (at least to other people).

Jade Leech:

Prefers to just sleep next to you. If you want to cuddle, then go ahead and hold him, but he won’t hold you back. He’d actually be amused if you hold onto him. Your arms wrap around him and he has to keep himself from chuckling. He didn’t think he’d like being held, but there’s just something about being in your arms. Maybe he’ll sleep in a little, just to stay in this moment.

Floyd Leech:

Do I even need to say it? Floyd’s a cuddler. He squeezes you. He doesn’t let up once. You can tell when he starts to fall asleep because his grip on you slightly loosens. When he wakes up and notices you’re in his arms, he’ll squeeze you until you wake up.

Kalim Al-Asim:

Cuddly sleeper. He’s holding onto you like his life depends on it. He mainly likes when you hold him. He loves to just lay his head on your chest and fall asleep in your arms. If he wakes up and he’s no longer in your arms, he’ll wrap his arms around you instead. He needs to be cuddling with you in one way or another.

Jamil Viper:

He’s a big cuddler. He loves when you hold him. And if you run your hands through his hair? He is melting. He’s so stressed all the time and he has to do so much work all day. Getting to fall asleep in your arms is the highlight of his day. It’s like all his worries fade away the moment he’s in your arms. If you find that he’s sleeping in today, just let him. He needs it.

Vil Schoenheit:

Cuddling improves sleep, so Vil is a cuddler. He wouldn’t be spread out all over you, but he would hold you in his arms. His favorite cuddling position is spooning. He likes to hold you against him. His sleep has always been good, but has improved since getting with you. Good job, you single-handedly helped THE Vil Schoenheit get better sleep.

Rook Hunt:

He doesn’t care. As long as he can sleep in the same room as you, he doesn’t care. He will sleep however you want. You’re beautiful no matter how you want to sleep. What sleeping position does he prefer? Whichever one you prefer.

Epel Felmier:

He likes to cuddle, but he never admits it. He thinks cuddling is a girly thing. He wants to hold you in his arms. He does move a lot in his sleep and has kicked you a few times. And fell off the bed. When somebody asks if you guys cuddle, he’ll deny and just say that he holds you. It sounds manlier to him.

Idia Shroud:

He likes to cuddle, but he doesn’t like to say it. He’s too embarrassed to bring it up. He will NOT initiate under any circumstances. You have to initiate. You have to ask for cuddles. Otherwise, he’ll just lay beside you. He’ll sleep on his back and just stare at the ceiling. He’s too tense to sleep when you’re next to him.

Malleus Draconia:

He likes to cuddle. You’re not afraid of him and he likes to have that reinforced by cuddling with you. Especially if you let him hold you. You feel safe in his arms, not afraid. He’s so happy. He’ll be smiling in his sleep just because he’s holding you. He does enjoy being held too, but mainly prefers to hold you.

Lilia Vanrouge:

To no one’s surprise, Lilia is a cuddler. He’ll just force himself into your arms. He’s nuzzling into you with a little smile on his face. He would also do this when you’re asleep. He’ll wait until he’s certain you’re asleep and crawl into your arms so you’ll be pleasantly surprised when you wake up.

Silver Vanrouge:

He likes holding you. He falls asleep before he can fully put his arms around you, but he loves holding you. If he wakes up to find that you crawled into his arms, he’ll be super happy. (You might not be able to tell, but it’s true). He has occasionally fallen asleep in your lap. It might not be his favorite position to fall asleep in, but it’s his favorite to wake up in.

Sebek Zigvolt:

Next to you. He can’t hold you or be held by you, because then he might be slower to react if something broke in. He can’t go through the extra effort to release his hold on you or climb out of your arms. The most he’ll do is hold your hand. It’s either holding hands or nothing.

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nepholog · 8 days ago

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she want to let them have their moment!!!!

+ caleb and priya :)))

#I LOVE YOU OP SO SO MUCH

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nepholog · 8 days ago

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some doodles i did while brainstorming a dreamcore horror game with these losers

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nepholog · 8 days ago

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a pretentious well-liked and competent captain of the royal guard whos currently obsessed w a carefree bard Rowan [@ekrixart’s oc] he just cant seem to impress/take him seriously and its driving him crazy

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nepholog · 8 days ago

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Some character concept art/info for BITTERSWEET SENTENCE, one of my upcoming RPG horror game projects that’s going to be a 2000s anime/flash game-themed surreal horror/dark comedy jailbreak game!! Check out the official playlist for them!

Feel free to learn/discuss more about them (and all my other projects) in my official oc discord server !!

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nepholog · 8 days ago

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Realizing I've never posted these on Tumblr so here's some character concept art/info for S-01-VER BULLET, a 90s cyberpunk anime-inspired story about an intern named Kowalski being controlled to assassinate the CEO of humanity's last standing city by a sadistic hacker Uno [01]!

Feel free to listen to the organized playlist for the story as a whole, and character playlists for Kowalski and Uno [01] themselves!

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nepholog · 8 days ago

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── AND THE POISON STAINS MY MOUTH

malleus draconia. mortality, humanity and grief.

Malleus will never know grief before you.

He thinks of grief as a concept made by humans, their time on this realm so fickle and small; a painting of his mother and father in the colours of Lilia's mourning garment, an absence of which he as a child struggled to understand. He grasps at the idea of it, cradles it in his tiny palms like a flickering firefly. The curious fae-child dreams of loss, but no sort of magic can conjure the ache of something he never had.

He cradles the firefly anyway, watches its light flicker and die out. When you call his name and he looks up to see you — youthful, vibrant, mortal — Malleus wonders if the same fate will befall upon you.

Malleus tries to borrow the grief from the part of him that will exist in decades time. Grasps at that dying light in a future he cannot imagine, a future without you. There is something morbid here, he understands— a fixation on the concept of grief, mourning, mortality. He will never understand it, he thinks. He tries anyway. But grief is a painting he cannot capture when you are still living and breathing beside him, your light candescent in the perpetual dullness that Malleus himself never realised his life was stuck in.

He cannot imagine it, this— this life without you. That one day he will look upon the stars and you are not somewhere in the same realm, looking up at the very same constellations. It is not a matter of refusing to acknowledge it, no— Malleus simply cannot fathom the very real possibility that one day he will be here and you will be gone.

Malleus wonders what Lilia sees when he looks at him with you, what makes his eyes soften and the mourning weigh less on his shoulder. As a growing child, Malleus had thought that Lilia's grief grew smaller as the centuries passed— he understands now that the scope of Lilia's life has only grown around it, no longer twin wounds in the gaping maw of his chest, but hands cradling the grief as Meleanor might have done to Malleus, had she lived long enough to see him hatch.

"They will die one day," Lilia told him once, hovering by Malleus's perch on the balcony as they watch you walk down the stone steps of Diasmonia. "You understand this, don't you?"

"Of course I do," Malleus had said, even when he did not. A life without you did not seem to be much of a life at all, only some far-away dream, one that Malleus finds himself not indifferent to, but certainly unaffected by— for now, at least.

"You will grieve them for the rest of your days."

"I know."

"Do you understand grief, my boy?"

Malleus is quiet. He looks to Lilia, this man that has raised him since he was but a hatchling, who had once loved his parents and grieved for the absence of them in his life that Malleus had never

"No," Malleus confesses.

"You will," Lilia says softly, his voice not unkind, but full of pity. He knows what it is to grieve, but he had lived centuries with Meleanor and Raverne— you will pass long before Malleus is a Fae fully-grown; your life is but a drop in the ocean of his. "By the Seven, my boy, you will."

#kill me

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nepholog · 8 days ago

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𝐒𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐚! 📸✨

Grace finally has a Magicam account, and what better use for it than immortalizing their friendships?

.𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆★⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ.

🦐 yuur_grace

❤️ 630 🗨️ 43 🔄 22

𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗿_𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗲 I finally made an account!! First pic, tea party preparations with housewarden of Heartslabyul! 🌹🫖

❤️ 𝗮𝗰𝗲_𝗼𝗳𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘁𝘀 LMAO? HE'S SUCH A PRUDE LOLL

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎¬♠️ 𝘀𝗽𝗮𝗱𝗲_𝗱𝗲𝘂𝗰𝗲 @ace_ofhearts dude you're aware that housewarden Rosehearts owns a magicam account right?

♦️ 𝗱𝗶𝗮𝗺𝗼𝗻𝗱_𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗱 totes adorbs!! but kinda bummed u didn't pick me for such a cute pic idea... (ㅠ‸ㅠ)

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎¬🦐 𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗿_𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗲 @diamond_mind Oh I'm so sorry!! I got so busy with preparations that it slipped my mind u_u; I'll save you a spot next time, promise!

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎.𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆★⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ. ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

🦐 yuur_grace

❤️ 450.2k 🗨️ 130.1k 🔄 130k

𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗿_𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗲 ....okay so this MIGHT turn into a series. I pray to the Seven that Leona isn't active on magicam or else I'm migrating (he looks so peaceful tho, doesn't he?!)

🐺 𝗷𝗮𝗰𝗸𝗵𝗼𝘄𝗹__ Grace.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ¬🦐 𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗿_𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗲 @jackhowl__ Jack...... 5 replies

🐆 𝗿𝘂𝗴𝗴_𝗯𝘂𝗰𝗰𝗵𝗶𝟯𝟵𝟳 you owe me a deluxe cutlet sandwich now btw 😇

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎¬🦐 𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗿_𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗲 I don't recall that being on our TOA?? 1 replies

🐰 𝘀𝗮𝘃𝗮𝗻𝗮_𝗻𝗽𝗰 ????? LEONA KINGSCHOLAR???? ISN'T THAT THE PREFECT WHAT. 1435 replies

🦁 𝗺𝗮𝗴𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗺_𝘂𝘀𝗲𝗿𝟮𝟱𝟲𝟯𝟴𝟮𝟵𝟮𝟱𝟮 Sevens you narrow minded idiot.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎¬ 🌐 𝘁𝘄𝘀𝘁𝗻𝗽𝗰 is that literally fucking leona kingscholar 34572 replies

➻oh, except.... maybe they forgot one little detail...

🦐 yuur_grace

❤️ 23.2k 🗨️ 2.3k 🔄 442

𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗿_𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗲 Decided to pay our octobuddy a little visit at the @mostrolounge this afternoon 🐙🍹What a face! (also, wow where did all of you come from?? Was Leona's sleeping visage that baffling of a prospect? ùᴗu,, actually, I'm now realizing that I hadn't even set this account to private...oops.)

🐬 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁𝘀.𝗮.𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗮𝘆 ahahah!! oh man look at his face! little shrimpy's got guts~

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ¬🦐 𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗿_𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗲 thanks for being the cameraman buddy ùᴗu ͙͘͡★ 7 replies

❤️ 𝗮𝗰𝗲_𝗼𝗳𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘁𝘀 I'm surprised you didn't get ptsd just from walking into that room LMAO

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ¬🦐 𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗿_𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗲 @ace_ofhearts hm okay how about you join me next time

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ¬❤️ 𝗮𝗰𝗲_𝗼𝗳𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘁𝘀 @yuur_grace no thank you <3

🐬 𝗷𝗮𝗱𝗲.𝗹𝗲𝗲𝗰𝗵. hahah. how swift. perhaps i may join you one day to capture such riveting images. 3 replies

🌐 𝘁𝘄𝘀𝘁𝗻𝗽𝗰 ok no I'm actually so invested we can't just move on from the fact that this guy showed up all of a sudden and just KNOWS Leona kingscholar personally?!?? 200 replies

🦐 𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗿_𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗲

❤️ 530.5k 🗨️ 221k 🔄 138k

𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗿_𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗲 Another face cradled! And a dear friend hugged! Had a blast at this wonderful get-together in Scarabia dorm ☀️🏮🎇 I think I'm ready to sleep for a week though hahaha ^^;

☀️ 𝗸𝗮𝗹𝗶𝗺𝗮𝗹𝗮𝘀𝗶𝗺✪ I'm so glad you came! I don't think I've had that much fun with friends in a while! You're always welcome whenever you feel like visiting 😊✨

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎¬ 🦐 𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗿_𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗲 @kalimalasim always!

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎¬ 🌐 𝘁𝘄𝘀𝘁𝗻𝗽𝗰 ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME 1240 replies

🐍 𝗷𝗮𝗺𝗶𝗹_𝘃 There's still some leftovers if you'd like to take some for Grim. Or yourself, really. 2 replies

🌐 𝘁𝘄𝘀𝘁𝗻𝗽𝗰 oh okay so there's even MORE. why not. SURE. 212 replies

🦐 𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗿_𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗲

❤️ 970.6k 🗨️ 596.3k 🔄 502k

𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗿_𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗲 Nothing better than a long evening spent with the beauty queen himself @vilshoenheit. And look, he reciprocated! How sweet~ 💜✨ A wonderful idol, an even better friend.

👑 𝘃𝗶𝗹𝘀𝗰𝗵𝗼𝗲𝗻𝗵𝗲𝗶𝘁✪ How precious. Do take good care of that manicure.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎¬👑 𝘃𝗶𝗹𝘀𝗰𝗵𝗼𝗲𝗻𝗵𝗲𝗶𝘁 Wait, Grace, is this a private post?

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ¬🦐 𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗿_𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗲 will do! 🤍 2304 replies

🍎 𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗹𝗲𝗽𝗲𝗹_𝗳𝗲𝗹𝗺𝗶𝗲𝗿 man you're better than me, i can't stand a second doin any a this balderdash

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎¬🦐 𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗿_𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗲 your loss,, it's sooo relaxing 🙂‍↕️

🌐 𝘁𝘄𝘀𝘁𝗻𝗽𝗰 YOU GUYS I CANT COPE ARE YOU KIDDING MEEEEEEE 784 replies

🌐 𝘁𝘄𝘀𝘁𝗻𝗽𝗰 is this guy some sorta undercover cop or sum?? how's he got all these crazy ass ties??

🏹 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗵𝘂𝗻𝘁𝗿𝗼𝗼𝗸 oh, là là... quelle beauté, the calm before the storm~

🦐 𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗿_𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗲

❤️ 60.3k 🗨️ 43.4k 🔄 22.5k

𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗿_𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗲 Seems like I've been graced with this nice little picture from @0r1h0_shr0ud2 during a visit to Idia's dorm! No face hold unfortunately, but it's quite cute!🩵🤍 Very rare, it seems Idia has yet to realize the photo being taken ^o^. Peep the adorable little PreMo gacha figure I got for him...? 👀

🩵 𝟬𝗿𝟭𝗵𝟬_𝘀𝗵𝗿𝟬𝘂𝗱𝟮 I was so happy that you decided to stay and keep my brother company, Grace Alexander-san. Idia doesn't show it, but you really made his day!

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ¬🦐 𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗿_𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗲 @0r1h0_shr0ud2 awww! I'm always happy to spend time with you both! 🤍 3 replies

💙 𝗴𝗹𝟬𝟬𝗺𝘂𝗿𝗮𝗶 woah when was this?! you can't just spring such a rare event out of nowhere! delete, delete!!! 5 replies

♦️ 𝗱𝗶𝗮𝗺𝗼𝗻𝗱_𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗱 oh my Seven!! you both look so dope! truly inspiring— and can we talk about how *adorbs* you look with that biscuit hanging from ur mouth?? (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎¬🦐 𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗿_𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗲 @diamond_mind brothaaaa keep this up and you'll be fighting off rumors for days LOL ùᴗu ahuahu

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ¬❤️ 𝗮𝗰𝗲_𝗼𝗳𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘁𝘀 @yuur_grace OH U WANNA HEAR ABOUT RUMORS??? HAHAH

🌐 𝘁𝘄𝘀𝘁𝗻𝗽𝗰 Am I tweaking or is that like. *The* Idia Shroud from the family Shroud part of the largest technological pioneers in Twisted Wonderland. Or am I insane.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ¬🌐 𝘁𝘄𝘀𝘁𝗻𝗽𝗰 this HAS to be a social experiment atp?? What in the world is this guy's power??? 467 replies

🦐 𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗿_𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗲

❤️ 2.1m 🗨️ 740.3k 🔄 680k

𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗿_𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗲 it felt almost special, leaving my vest off. Maybe it was the winter breeze. Tsunotaro helped me with his cape, though, despite my insistence. What a sweet personality! 💚🐉 We took a long walk through an abandoned woods, found some gorgeous gargoyles. To end my little series, I asked to hold him as well. He doesn't own a magicam account so I can't tag him... But at least he can keep the pictures :) Hurray! It ends! 🤍✨

🌐 𝘁𝘄𝘀𝘁𝗻𝗽𝗰 THERE IS NOOOOO FUCKING WAY I REFUSE NO NO ABSOLUTELY NO WAY THIS IS AN EVIL PRANK WHAT WHAT WHATTTTATSYSYTHJDHJ WHO IS THIS GUYYYYYY 1204 replies

🌐 𝘁𝘄𝘀𝘁𝗻𝗽𝗰 OH YES DROP THE BOMB ON US WHY NOT. OKAY. THREE OTHER CELEBS WEREN'T ENOUGH I GUESS. 762 replies

🦇 𝘃𝗮𝗻𝗿𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗲𝗲 Grace, you must know I have never been so entertained in my long life. Why, Malleus himself sits beside me and stares down at the screen in bafflement!

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ¬🦐 𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗿_𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗲 @vanrougee ???? Explain?? ToT

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎¬♦️ 𝗱𝗶𝗮𝗺𝗼𝗻𝗱_𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗱 @yuur_grace you sweet summer child 😭✋

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎¬ 🐊 𝗹𝗶𝘃𝗶𝗻𝗴.𝘇𝗶𝗴𝗯𝗼𝗹𝘁 @yuur_grace YOU ARE ENTIRELY UNCONNIVING. YOU PLACE MALLEUS UNDER INTENSE SCRUTINY FROM THE MASSES AS WELL AS LADY MALEFICIA! YOU SHOULD BE MORE MINDFUL, HUMAN!!

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ¬🦐 𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗿_𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗲 OH my god.

HEHEHE I HOPE YOU LIKED THIS AS MUCH AS I DID THIS WAS SO EXHAUSTING BUT SO FUN TO MAKE !!! 🩷🤍🩷✨✨ Also pls don't look too hard at the numbers ik a lot of them are wrong I'm sleep deprived and high on 3 monster cans 🤍

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