Idek If This Is Accurate But In My Mind That's The First Thing That Popped Up

TWST Rambles #1

Random thought but like why does Leona and Malleus' rivarly/whatever the word is for this- remind me of draco malfoy and harry potter. Like idk much abt harry potter but why does Leona remind me of draco and Malleus of harry (kinda).

"Draco: POTTER"

HMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

Leona: LIZARD LOOK I'M BETTER AT POTIONS THAN YOU HAH

Malleus: Son of a beast- It's not a competition (It is)

ORRRRRRR

Leona: LIZARD LOOK AT HOW REFINED I AM UNLIKE YOU I DON'T HAVE HORNS

Malleus: My horns are far more refined than your ghastly ears, thank you very much

ORRRRRRRRR

Leona: LIZARD I'LL BE WINNING THE SPELLDRIVE TOURNAMENT THIS TIME ROUND

Malleus: *Does that hot smirk thing* Oh yeah? We shall see about that.

*After the competition (malleus won)*

Malleus: It's true, you're just all bark no bite

Leona: ......

Leona: fuck u IM GONNA GO NAP

LIKEEEEE SOMETHING???? ANY CORRELATION OR IS IT JUST ME???

why do i feel like leona just wants to be frnds with malleus but is bitching and moaning abt it cuz he like got rejected/malleus didn't get the memo cuz leona also never straight up told him. (They're both too arrogant sometimes which is a given cuz they're so high in status)

but just my opinon

Chapter 1 !!!

Be Careful Not to Mess With the Balance of Things

Max Russo x Fem!Reader

Chapter 1: Strange News

___*___

"Everything is not what it seems"

The usual Saturday chaos buzzed through the Russo household. Syrupy pancakes, scattered newspapers, and the occasional magical mishap. Justin was awake hours before anyone else, buried in the daily newspaper- it was the responsible thing to do as the student body president and all that whatnot. Max was surprisingly up for once, only at the sound of pancakes though. That explained how he was stuffing his face without a care in the world, sitting cross legged on the couch as he guzzled down extra syrup. Alex was late as usual, her morning bedhead explanatory of the horrid sleep she'd experienced.

"Morning" Alex mumbled, snatching a pancake off Max's plate as she shuffled into the kitchen.

"Ugh, c'mon. Get your own." Max protested between chewing, sighing as Alex walked off.

"Should've eaten it faster." Alex shot back with a smirk, biting into the soft pancake with glee.

Everything was normal- until it wasn't.

With a loud whoosh Professor Crumbs appeared in the living room, his grand robes defining his authority and honor as they pooled on the wooden floorboard. He had a cup of tea in his hands as if he'd been mid-sip when he decided to teleport.

"Who wants more pancakes?" Said an awfully excited Theresa as she entered the living room. Seeing the professor and the possibility of magic being involved, her expression quickly soured. "You know what? I'm out." She said before placing the pancakes on the coffee table and waltzing out- if she wasn't part of it then it wouldn't affect her, at least that's what she hoped for.

"Professor Crumbs?" Jerry stood from the table, eyeing the man interrogatively as if to be sure this was the real deal. "To what do we owe the honor?"

Crumbs waved a dismissive hand, basking in the respect Jerry showed him. "Oh, just a minor magical emergency. Nothing too grave...yet."

Justin stood up, brushing the nonexistent dust off his sleeves. "Everyone else, sit down. I know what this is. The professor is here to take me on an escapade-"

"No Justin, I am not taking you on an escapade." Crumbs cut him off, an irritated cough following suit though his tone remained polite. "There has been an unexplainable incident...a mortal girl has been given a nymph's powers."

The room fell eerily silent, tension building within all those who were present. Other than for Max and Alex, both of whom were silent because of confusion.

"A mortal? How is that possible?" Jerry broke the silence, digging deeper into the matter.

"We aren't fully sure," The professor admitted, setting his empty teacup onto the coffee table. "The late nymph's soul- her essence - somehow bonded with the mortal, gifting the girl with magical powers. The girl is completely unaware of what power she now carries, since they haven't fully manifested within her. If left unchecked her powers could go berserk, posing a threat to her own life and even the secrecy of the Wizard World."

Alex leaned against the counter, cocking her brow. "So you want us to track her down? Sounds like more of a Justin kinda thing.." She muttered, looking at her older brother who was already taking notes on his planner.

This gained an exasperated sigh from Justin as he glared at his sister. "Alex, this is not a thing. It's a mission we've been trusted with."

"Well, not only you- all the wizards in New York. You see, this girl has recently moved here alongside her family, that's the only lead we have on her. I wouldn't have bothered you all, considering the amount of troublemakers within this family, but the girl has proven to be elusive. The wizards tasked with finding her have returned empty handed." Crumbs' words definitely bursted Justin's bubble on being the 'hero', but seemed to only fuel his determination further.

Max, meanwhile, perked up. "So, we're kidnapping a girl? Sweet, I'll get the duct tape."

"Max..!" Jerry practically barked at his youngest.

"What? That's what he said.." Max muttered in reply, sinking into the couch further.

Professor Crumbs pinched the bridge of his nose, already regretting his decision on visiting the Russo's. "Let me be perfectly clear. If you meet this girl, and no we have no idea how she looks or who she is, you are to politely bring her to the Wizard World. At any cost, but still politely."

"Right. Kidnap her, but politely." Alex quipped, earning a chuckle from Max and a groan from the rest.

Jerry smacked his hand down onto the coffee table. "Don't any of you understand the gravity of this matter!? If this girl loses control, it could be a disaster. Magic is dangerous in untrained hands, especially for someone who's body isn't meant for it.

"Not to mention," Said Crumbs, helping himself to pancakes- contrasting the tension in the room. "If she isn't brought to safety immediately, she could-"

"Die?" Alex interrupted, her smirk fading away when the Professor nodded. For a moment her cheerful demeanor fell, eyes holding genuine concern. Though, she masked it quickly with her usual bravado "That's great".

Crumbs stood up, wiping his mouth with a napkin that appeared out of nowhere. "Any leads connecting to this girl should be reported immediately. Remember, we are short on time." Said the professor before materializing into thin air.

"Believe me professor, I'll be sure to find this girl and bring her to you..!" Declared Justin as Crumbs vanished.

"Cool. Justin can play hero. I'm heading out." Alex mused, already nearing the door.

"No, you sit down right this instance, this is a family matter..!" Exclaimed Jerry, pointing to the couch as he stomped his foot on the ground.

"So...we're all politely kidnapping her?" Max blurted out, eyeing Jerry with confidence in his words.

Jerry sighed deeply, rubbing his temples. "I give up."

------

The sharp scent of bubble wrap and cardboard lingered like an unwelcome guest as you slumped onto your pillowy mattress. Moving to New York had been exhausting- three days of unboxing, adjusting to new neighbors, and dealing with the hustle bustle of the noisy city. You only massaged your temples, trying to calm yourself down- shaking off the strange feeling that clung onto you since your arrival to Waverly Street.

Ever since your walk in the park- under that whimsical willow tree - things had begun to spiral into a direction unknown. A sinking feeling drilled a hole deep in your heart but you ignored it. At first, you chalked it up to stress, but then little things started happening.

The time your suitcase flew up on its own, when you'd been too tired to unzip it and unpack- spilling clothes everywhere. Or maybe it was that golden aura- the faint glow you caught in the mirror - you swore surrounded you, like fairy dust from a children's book. You were tired. Stressed. And maybe just a bit loopy, imagining things. 

That's what you told yourself, but the truth had to unveil itself. And the time was tonight, right now.

You were seated at your vanity, rubbing moisturizer into your skin when something sparkly zipped past your ear. This time you couldn't convince yourself that it was a dream. Two tiny figures, no taller than your hand, sat casually atop your jewelry box. One in a glittery pink dress with matching wings, fluttered in excitement. The other, clad in green, smiled shyly at you- hiding behind her friend.

"Finally..! She can see us!" Said the pink one, her voice chipper and high-pitched. "We've been trying to get your attention for days, but it isn't your fault either. It took some time for the magic to settle within you.."

You blinked several times, mouth opening and closing like a fish. Honestly, you looked no different from a deer in headlights. "What...what are you..!?" You exclaimed, scampering off your chair in panic- bumping into your furniture along the way.

The pink one rolled her eyes dramatically. "Pixies. Duh". Gesturing towards herself she smiled "I'm Rosa, and my shy little friend here is Ivy. Say 'hi' Ivy!"

Ivy timidly waved to you, coquettish eyes looking away and unable to maintain eye-contact. "Hi.."

This was not real, no way. You pinched yourself, wincing at the sharp sting that followed. Okay, so not a dream. Your heartbeat quickened as you pushed your back towards the wall. "Pixies...like fairies? What in the Sleeping Beauty is going on..?"

"Aw, she's in denial. Cute, but no. We're pixies, not fairies. Totally different things. We're more sparkle and less forest vibes.." Rosa blabbered, clearly offended that you compared her to fairies.

You only stared for a few moments before picking up a pillow to shield yourself from them. "So it's not a dream..." You muttered to yourself, glancing around the room in a frenzy. "Okay, then why are you guys in my room!?" You blabbered, pointing your fingers at the two pixies.

"It's not our fault...you're the one who...um...absorbed a nymph's soul." Mumbled Ivy, just above a whisper. Her wings trembled with anxiety as she stood up for her actions. "We're attracted to such pure forms of magic...that's why we lingered.."

"I did what now?" You asked, confused as to what was going on- now even nymphs existed?

"When you walked under that willow tree.." Ivy continued, fluttering closer to you with newfound confidence, though she was still cautious. "That gust of wind, wasn't wind. That's why these strange things have been happening to you.."

Rosa chimed in, her tone too cheerful for the occasion. "Congrats! You're basically a walking magical miracle now!"

"You're joking, right? You guys are out of your mind." You mumbled, looking at them as if they were crazy.

"Says the girl talking to pixies."

Touché.

"So what now? And why me?" You asked, trying to satiate the curiosity within you.

"We don't really have all the answers, we're just the messengers- not even actually. We were there when it happened and we're here now so we told you what we knew.." Mused Rosa, folding her arms as she dramatically pondered over something.

"Nymphs are unpredictable...we don't know why she chose you." Ivy timidly chimed in, her voice gentle as ever. "But, what we do know is that you need help. If you don't learn to control your magic, horrible things could happen..! It could overwhelm you, even-" Ivy was frantic with her explanation, as if something was going to hurt you- and you really wanted her to continue but Rosa interrupted her

"Don't say it." Rosa covered Ivy's mouth. "She doesn't need to know that now, and not by us..!"

"Know what?" You pressed, leaning in closer towards the duo.

Rosa only gave you a nervous smile before zipping towards the window. "Let's just say, things could get...messy."

Ivy, frenzied, looked between you and Rosa- who already flew off into the night. "I-I really need to go but just remember...everything is not what it seems.." She whispered into your ear before dashing off behind Rosa, leaving a large trail of pixie dust.

Needless to say, you didn't get any sleep the whole night. Now, not only were you probably seeing things but were definitely going to have dark circles for your first day of school tomorrow. Great. Just great.

___*___

Author's Note: Honestly writing this for my inner-child and because Max Russo deserves more fics. This chapter was only there for context so be prepared for when our MC meets our ML (Literally giggling and kicking my feet). Also, trust me guys I WILL ADD MORE THERESA IN (and definitely adding in Harper too).

Hope you enjoyed!

AGHAGHFFFJK AHHHHH OMGGGG WOWOWOWOW

sypnosis. a queen waits for the return of the man who promised he would always come back. her lover, who disappeared years ago chasing an adventure only he could see. the court demands a king, and suitors press in, but she remains unmoved, weaving a shroud of time until he returns. then, a challenge: whoever can string her betrothed’s bow and fire an arrow through twelve battle-axes will claim the throne. the suitors fail, but the beggar steps forward, rook, disguised. the bow bends, the arrow flies true, and rook stands before her, alive, and home at last.

note. i was listening to “the challenge” and thought of rook, stupidly enough cause of the bow & i immediately thought of “rook would love this” but you get it ^^’’ !!! immediate apologies if it may seem ooc, or off grammar (unfortunately, english isn’t my first language)

𝕿He. . . loom stretches before you, a seemingly endless web of threads that twine and twist in complex patterns. It feels like an impossible task, one you can never quite complete. Each morning, your fingers move with purpose, the rhythmic motion of weaving pulling you deeper into the task, a desperate distraction from the ache in your chest. Each night, when the rest of the castle has drifted into slumber, you return to the loom to unravel the threads, as if in some way, that will erase the time that’s passed — the time that you’ve been forced to endure without him. They do not know. The suitors who fill your court like hungry wolves — bright smiles and velvet robes hiding the sharp edges of ambition — believe you are near the end, that soon, you will choose a new king.

But you are still his.

He left you years ago, chasing a challenge that only he could see. The great hunter, the man who had seen beauty in every fleeting moment, had sworn to return. His final words still echo in your memory: “Mon amour,” he had whispered, breath warm against your temple, hands pressing over yours. “I leave not for adventure, but for the promise of coming home to you. What is love, if not the patience to wait?”

But patience is cruel, and faith wears thin when it is constantly tested by the long silence between you. The world does not stop spinning while you wait for a man who might never return. You have held your breath for years, hoping against hope that the promise he left you would hold true, but as the days turn into months, and the months into years, you begin to wonder if perhaps the sea has swallowed him whole.

The kingdom stirs. The whispers grow louder each day. It has been too long. He is gone. A queen cannot rule alone forever, they say. And so they press closer, thousands of men draped in velvet and gold, smiles dripping with false sweetness, eyes gleaming with greed. They speak of duty, of stability. They speak of the future.

But what of the past?

The love you held for Rook is not something fragile that can be traded away. It is not a thing to be bartered like the throne you sit upon. And yet, the court grows impatient, the vultures circling, waiting for their moment to swoop in.

“Your Majesty,” one of them says, his voice smooth as silk, his hand lingering too long on the armrest of your throne. “The throne needs a king.“

“A nation without a ruler is weak,” another murmurs, his eyes glinting with something more dangerous than mere concern. “Choose, and we will grant you peace.”

Peace? How.. humourous. As if the love you hold for Rook could ever be bought, as if it were something to be sacrificed to ease their hunger. As if you are not the woman who has held the kingdom together, the queen who ruled with strength and wisdom while he was lost to the world. But they do not understand. They never have.

Still, they will not stop.

So, you buy yourself time. But, is it for yourself?

“I will choose,” you say, your voice steady, betraying none of the chaos inside. “As soon as I finish weaving this shroud.”

They believe you. And so, the cycle continues.

Day after day, you sit at the loom, hands moving with mechanical precision, the rhythm of the work a small comfort in a world that no longer makes sense. You tell yourself that you will be free once it is finished, that once you have completed the task, you can let go. But every night, you return to unravel the work of the day, pulling the threads free, watching the promise of completion slip away like sand through your fingers.

And unexpectedly, the storm will come by.

Huh, the weather today.. seems peculiar. I wonder.

You thought, the sky today looks unlike anything you have ever seen, dark clouds gathering on the horizon, the sea thrashing wildly as though it too were in mourning. The wind howls, rattling the castle walls, and in the darkness of that night, something shifts in the air, a whisper, a possibility. Could it be—?

No.

But still, there is a flicker of something. Was it hope? Something that makes your pulse quicken, something that stirs in your chest and makes your breath catch in your throat.

You do not sleep that night. The next morning, the court is restless, but you do not care. Another suitor has arrived. You barely glance up at first, prepared for the same hollow flattery, the same empty promises they have all offered. Another face, another man desperate for the throne. And then—

“Your Majesty.”

The voice is low, rich, unmistakably familiar.

Your heart stutters in your chest.

You lift your gaze, and the breath leaves your lungs.

There, standing before you in the grand hall, disguised as nothing more than a beggar? A tattered cloak hanging from his shoulders, boots caked in dust, golden hair hidden beneath a hood, is him.

Rook.

“Mon amour,” he breathes, and it is neither a plea nor a question. It is a vow renewed, a promise fulfilled.

The court does not understand why your fingers clutch the armrests of your throne, why your breath trembles in your throat. They do not understand the weight of this moment, the storm that has raged inside you for years, breaking now into sunlight.

But they will.

“A challenge,” you announce, your voice ringing out through the hall, silencing the murmur of voices. “The one who can string my betrothed’s bow and fire an arrow through twelve battle-axes shall take the throne beside me.”

The suitors laugh. They know the stories of Rook’s war bow — the weapon only he had ever been able to wield.

The bow itself, was a testament to strength, a mark of kingship, a relic of a past only one man could claim. Crafted long before his reign, it was a thing of unyielding power, curved in a perfect arc. Only he can wield.

One by one, they step forward, pride on their faces, convinced that they, too, can master the impossible. One by one, they fail. The bow does not bend to their hands. The string does not yield. Each failure cracks their pride, their frustration mounting as they realize that they are not Rook.

And then, the beggar steps forward. The court erupts into laughter.

“Surely, Your Majesty, you do not mean to let this vagrant attempt—”

But you do not stop him. You do not move, barely even breathe as he steps forward, his hands brushing against the polished wood of the bow, a deep, knowing silence settling over the room.

With a swift movement, the bow bends. The string sings its familiar song as he draws it taut, the echo of it resonating through your very bones. You can feel the air shift, the energy in the room snapping like a taut wire.

The arrow flies.

The sound of it is pure. Sharp and true, slicing through the air with deadly precision. It whistles cleanly through each of the twelve axes, the force of it a declaration. A promise.

Silence.

And then, he lifts his head. The hood falls away.

Rook stands before you, golden-haired and smiling, as if no time at all had passed. As if he had never left.

You take a step forward, your breath catching in your throat, but you do not move too quickly, afraid that he might vanish as suddenly as he appeared.

“You’re late,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, but it carries through the silence like a blade.

Rook’s smile widens, his eyes sparkling with the same wild fire you remember. “Ah, mon amour,” he breathes. “But I am here.”

And then, he kneels before you.

The years between you crash down like a tidal wave, the weight of everything you’ve endured settling heavily upon your chest. You do not hesitate. You move toward him, your hands trembling as they find his face, tracing the sharp lines of his jaw, the curve of his cheek. He leans into your touch, eyes closing for a moment, as if memorizing the feel of you, the texture of your skin beneath his fingers.

“I should kill you for making me wait,” you whisper, your voice breaking with the ache of all that has been lost and found again.

“And yet,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your wrist, “you have never looked more beautiful than you do now, in your fury.”

You let out a breath, half a sob, half a laugh. But it is enough. It is everything. You pull him to you, your lips crashing against his, desperate and alive, the years of longing melting into this single, fleeting moment.

The court watches, but you do not care. The suitors recoil, but you do not see them. There is only Rook. his hands in your hair, his arms around you, the warmth of him solid and real after all these years. When you finally pull away, his forehead rests against yours, his breath mingling with yours, and the world is suddenly right again.

“You came back,” you whisper, a question, a plea, a confession.

“Always,” he swears, his voice rough and raw. “I will always find my way back to you.” This time, you believe him.

That night, the castle breathes with a new kind of silence. The suitors have left, some in anger, others in shame, their ambitions shattered like glass beneath the weight of inevitability. The whispers of the court fade into the distant hum of the sea, and for the first time in years, you are alone.

But you are not lonely.

Rook stands before you in your chambers, no longer the beggar who had slipped unnoticed through the doors, but the hunter who had once stolen your heart with laughter and reckless devotion. He is older now —sharper in some places, softened in others — but when he smiles, it is the same as it ever was. Wild and knowing, like he has already mapped out every thought in your head before you can voice it.

And yet, for the first time since his return, he hesitates.

“You are staring, mon amour.” His voice is lighter now, teasing, but underneath it, there is something else. Something unspoken.

You cross your arms, tilting your head. “You disappeared for years, Rook. Forgive me if I wish to confirm that you are not merely a ghost come to haunt me.”

His lips twitch. “And if I were?”

“Then I would curse you for eternity,” you say, stepping closer, until only a breath separates you. “And still, I would not let you leave.”

The teasing falters in his expression, giving way to something raw, something that makes your pulse thunder in your ears. His hands, calloused and sure, come up to cradle your face, his thumb ghosting over the curve of your cheek. “I was gone too long,” he admits, a confession, a wound.

“Yes.”

“I have no excuse.”

“No.”

His fingers tighten, the breath in his chest shuddering. “And yet—” He swallows, eyes burning gold in the candlelight. “Would you still have me, knowing that I am a man who loses himself in the hunt?”

Your breath catches. Not because you do not know the answer, but because he would even dare to ask.

You take his hand, pressing his palm flat against your chest, where your heart beats strong and steady. “You left,” you say. “And I waited. And I cursed you. And I wept for you. And still—” You inhale, exhale, let the weight of the years settle between you before crushing them beneath your next words. “Still, my heart knows only your name.”

Rook lets out a breath that sounds almost like a laugh, but it is too broken, too relieved to be anything but the unraveling of something long-held. “Then it seems,” he murmurs, leaning in, his forehead pressing against yours, “I have found my way home after all.”

He kisses you, it is not with the desperation of before. It is steady, certain. It is the promise he made you all those years ago, at last fulfilled.

© 2025 padf-0-ot . i only post in this app ^ᴗ^

That new skeleton guy's making me feel a lil something something

Like why's his smile so freaky

I feel violated by his stare but at the same time....continue

Respectfully you may continue with your freaky stare (I might be the real freak guys)

LOVEEEEEE

Forgot to post it here so now I'm doing it

TWST Rambles #2

7 reasons why me and you need Rook Hunt in our lives (someone get me this man rn)

Bro compliments the living macarons outta you. Not only will you know his compliment's aren't half assed, because of how elaborate they are, but he's also gonna compliment ur insecurities to the point where ur not insecure anymore.

Bro literally knows you inside and out (Let me be delulu and phrase "he is a stalker" in a pretty manner). You're craving your favorite food? He gotchu, he already bought it and cooked it. You're looking for a missing hairbrush? Don't worry, he just took it for a second to collect your hair, you can have it back now. Oh you're feeling down? He knows exactly what'll cheer you up a shirtless him poems and songs about how much he admires you in french.

He can be your bodyguard: Bro's a literal hunter so he's got a great physique and great aim, meaning, if someone's bothers you they prolly won't have a head by the end of the day. Not to mention how people won't bother you just by knowing Rook knows and adores you.

He's the master of making you feel loved and gorgeous. He's in pomefiore- he knows what's gonna help with self esteem, looks, and whatnot. Plus, you need a back-rub? He gotchu cause he prolly got trained for it. You want a spa-day? He's already in your room with all the supplies needed and a relaxing bath drawn for you to wind down in. Ignore the fact that he's gonna watch you bathe

Il parle français. Just that. Like why wouldn't you want a french speaking cutie-patootie stalker that adores everything you do? He is the dream prince charming but just a lil more quirky. He's just built different.

He's absolutely gorgeous. You need eye-candy? He is said eye-candy. Ignore the bob-cut, he just liked dora a bit too much

He's Rook Hunt. Period.

why has this got me kicking my feet? Excuse me? Floyd what you doin to me!??? AHHHHHHHHHHH

LOVE LOVE LOVEEEE

Leona：Don't cut corners, Floyd. Floyd：I don't want to be told by you.

THEY'RE SO POOKIE-CODED STOPPPPPP

LOOK AT THEM 🥺🥺

AHHHHHH SO CUTIE PATOOTIEEE MY BABIESSSSSSS

this month’s deuace day was also bunny day so i had to!!! 🐰🐰🐰