Rollo Flamm X Reader || Rhythm

Rollo Flamm x Reader || Rhythm

Warnings: Understated jealousy (?), Reader can’t dance (wants to, though), provisioning of unrequired love, female reader.

The girl that dances atop the stage is really pretty.

It’s not you, and with some kind of regret, you concede you’ve never properly learned to dance.

The girl is more beautiful than the starry night above the City of Flowers because she feels like a dream. Stars will be tomorrow too, but her? No one knows, so all eyes are on her, to balm each’s heart with her sight.

Her steps are graceful and the way she moves is enchanting. It’s not an easy choreography either - with so many jumps and twirls and turns - but she makes it seem so because a smile never leaves her face. The fabric of her dress follows her faithfully, and you imagine she will look incredible in every photo taken of her.

“She’s so… beautiful,” someone next to you breathes with awe.

You believe Rollo thinks so too.

Even if the thought of never being looked on like that stings, you can only blame yourself as he didn’t want to come here at all. When you suggested checking out the show that is being held in a Topsy-Turvy Event Hall, Rollo scolded you for distracting yourself. It might be a Friday evening when most of the students are already headed to the dormitory, but the work of student council members is never done. Before the weekend, at least.

Your whingeing has been guerdoned: Rollo agreed on taking a break. He was hesitant while doing so, and almost annoyed at the cheery smiles that appeared instantly on three faces, yours, the vice president’s and a school treasurer’s. The papers and cups of cold tea were left instantly, and in the next few minutes, all four of you were heading down the staircase.

…

A square is crowded every season with tourists, so neither you nor Rollo is surprised that the two other students got separated from you before even reaching the main stage. You are thankful for their attentiveness because it allows you to be alone with Rollo.

“They are selling enchanted drinks again!” You exclaim, pointing to a stall with indigo macrame hung around a tent. Some attractions were opened at certain seasons a year, and you remember the elixirs being a hit last year.

“It looks like so,” Rollo states flatly. “I wonder why people are so fixated on this kind of never-lasting things.”

Knowing Rollo is a man of harsh words, you brush off his comment.

Blue potion with edible glitter — you are sure it’s edible glitter because most of the useful mixtures are rather lustreless — catches your eye. It looks like a piece of starry sky tucked into a glass bottle. It’s also supposed to help you with your studies if you drink it, so it’s even more magical.

“Would you like to try one? This one helps you focus… But, yeah, I guess you already can do that perfectly,” you pick up the next vial. “Oh, after drinking the yellow one, you should be able to sing more professionally! And the green one is for rhythm… I would need that one. Yet, the most interesting one here is-”

- a love potion.

Even the vial is heart-shaped. The mixture inside is either pink or purple, you can’t really define it because of the amount of bubbles that constantly stir the mixture. You might not be the best alchemy student ever, but even you know that that potion has some enchanting aroma that might bind your senses.

Maybe that potion is your only chance ever to get with Rollo. Your heart is heavy at the thought of enchanting him to love you.

“I have no intention of buying anything,” Rollo’s curt voice slings you from your thoughts. He takes vials from your hands and puts them back, any moment ready to push them out of his mind. “Anything but croissants. I can treat you to one of those.”

…And that’s how you get free food, dear students.

“Will you? Thank you, thank you, thank you!” You would love to hug him, Rollo is… Rollo probably wouldn’t appreciate this kind of gratitude in the middle of the street. Or wherever. It’s hard to imagine Rollo being happy about a hug as he seems unused to physical contact, yet that might be a reason why you should try to open him up.

For a last moment you think about the enchanted concoctions, but Rollo turns around and you need to catch up to not get separated from him.

Way to his favourite bakery Rollo knows by heart. He guides you through the crowd and it’s easy to follow him as he stands taller than most people, the distance being even larger when you count his hat. He glanced over his shoulder to check if you were still beside him after you get out of the most crowded area.

“We’re here,” Rollo announces as if you hadn’t been accompanying him to the bakery whenever you had a chance. He strides to the counter, where several types of croissants under a glass cover are creating a delicious exhibition. “Choose whatever you like.”

It's a very tempting offer, and you decide to take it once you glue yourself to the glass of a counter.

“I…” You start, pointing at two specific desserts. Two croissants with your favourite fillings are too delicious to pick between them. “Can I get two? I will treat you something in return, once I'll have money on me.”

“You’ll get a stomachache,” he says curtly but slides his card to a lady behind a counter that picks up another baking for himself, halfway dipped in chocolate and topped with cut-dried strawberries. “Be careful. They’ve been just taken out of the oven, so you’d better don’t burn yourself.

“Thanks.”

You let yourself bite into the device, as you take another turn, this time the way leading into the main square. There is a grand scene that is always used for music performances.

There is one being held, a solo.

You glance at the dancer, and they look around the crowd. You think there are your two missing clubmates, and beckon Rollo over.

“Hey, there are—”

…

Your surprise silences you.

Rollo stays planted on the ground, eyes on the dancing girl with something like awe. You know that look. You caught a glimpse of it many times on the surface of the glass in student consul’s showcases; your face, so desperately stretching in a soft smile, not to look suspicious.

For the first time, you didn't like the idea of love at first sight.

…

You know where it’s time to step out. Many negotiations you held with people on behalf of students of NBC sensitised you to their expectations and what you should do.

You smile weakly, before gently tapping Rollo on his arm. “I… will get going.”

But Rollo, amazingly, has already shaken off from mysterious enchantment. If you could only do so as easily, permanently. “Are you sick?” He asks, and when you avoid his eyes, his tone voice drops half a tone. “What happened?”

“Nothing, it’s… Can… I… just go?”

“What happened?” Rollo repeats. His eyes scan you, the first time quickly, and when he doesn’t find anything visible, he gets more alarmed, actually looking stiff. “Did you actually burn yourself? I told you to be careful.”

You don’t know what to tell him but start with a measurement that doesn’t bring him any relief.

“It’s not that, Rollo. I…”

“Do tell.” He insists, although if you said a word, you know he wouldn’t question you any more about this. But he would find out in some other way, and he might think you don’t trust him enough - and this implication you really want to avoid - and… “Tell me.”

…And you want to believe that he’s worried for you.

You stare at the ground, and clasp your hands behind your back once you notice their subtle shaking. Why are you reacting this way? Ahh… “I just don’t enjoy dancing. I think I will just return to school and finish organizing the documents…”

“You’ve always liked to see people dance though.”

So he has noticed.

“I don’t have a talent to dance myself.”

“You just need to learn,” he says, his tone softer than you’ve ever heard him. And as you’ve been listening to his voice o lot, you think you might’ve imagined it. Rollo glances at his watch and urges you to come with him. “It’s almost time to ring the bell. Let’s go. I will help you.”

…

You don’t like climbing the bell tower, and going up hundreds of steps isn’t something easy even with Rollo as your motivation. It’s the anxiety that keeps you going.

“I didn't buy the enchantment, though,” you break the silence, and Rollo looks over his shoulder. He is one step in front of you, and he probably slowed his pace to let you catch up to him easily. He’s a master of climbing stairs and ladders after all. “To dance. The bell won’t do anything if… I don’t have any magic on me, no?”

“Don't depend on these kinds of things,” he grumbles. “If you do, you will never achieve anything. For example, if you drank the potion, of course, you'd know how to dance. But just for tonight.”

You question his motivational quote. “But isn't the magic helpful sometimes?”

“It makes one fully depend on it.”

And the conversation ends here because you’ve reached the top platform. Rollo opens the trapdoor and holds it for you. As you step out, you’re immediately hit with a breeze of cold air, but it’s more kind of refreshing than freezing.

Once the trapdoor is closed, Rollo awaits, frozen for a clock-measured minute and three seconds.

And then he rings the bell. It takes much force to move it, and you are almost sure Rollo doesn’t even boost his strength with magic. But, what’s unexpected, this one time he uses magic to repeat the movements of the bell and have it ring on its own.

DING- DONG.

DING- DONG.

DING- DONG.

He leaves it to ring at the same tempo and turns to you. The magical earplugs in your ears only moderately muffle the sound of the bell. No music from the Topsy-Turvy Event Hall reaches you anymore. You can only hear the rings clearly, and wouldn't hear Rollo if he said anything.

He doesn't even try to, and without even a shred of a smile, he takes your hand in his.

DING- DONG.

His right hand wraps around your waist, and the fingers of the left one intertwine with yours. He stands taller than you, mighty, righteous. His gaze lingers on you as if he judges you.

It’s never a fair judgement, because the slightly offbeat of his heart drives his reason senseless.

He takes the first step to the back, and you follow along.

DING- DONG.

Rollo's movements are fluid and graceful, yet precise and purposeful. He leads you with ease, his body guiding yours. Waltz is a dance that emphasises the partnership, but with you not knowing the steps, it feels to you like some sort of majestic tango.

You’re overpowered within the first seconds of dance.

DING- DONG.

DING- DONG.

Step, step, DING, turn, step, turn, DONG.

You know your cheeks are flushed, and you blame the height and cold wind for it. Maybe it is a tiring dance, and you believe it’s acceptable to be this tired yet happy if you are dancing for all of eternity. It feels like the bell started to strike the omnipresent tempo a lifetime ago.

Rollo knows when your waltz-tango should end. He stops the chime with a fluid movement of his hand, magic stopping the well-kept rhythm from a bell.

BA-DUM, BA-DUM.

Your heart maintains the tempo. Even if each beat is strong and loud, you worry about how it will come to a halt at any second.

“I’m surprised,” he starts, sounding unsurprised but kind…-ish, “that you aren’t in a dance-related club yet.”

You cock your head to the side. “Is this a… sarcasm?”

“No. I think that musical-related things would suit you better. You could dance on that grand stage we approached earlier.”

“Like that girl?”

Rollo frowns. “What girl?”

…He doesn’t remember? How could anyone forget for a second about a person one has fallen for? You couldn’t. You can’t. You’re dumbfounded.

“A dancer. On a stage. Today.” Rollo looks more confused with each suggestion. “She was dancing to a… fast music in a flowy dress?”

“Ah,” finally, recognition sparkles in his eyes. A wave of relief is followed by anxiety, but Rollo shrugs your both overwhelms off, with a flick of his hand. “Yes, like her or… even better. The piece she danced to would fit you if you only embrace your passion. I think your performance would be more dreamy.”

You chuckle.

“If I would do that, what would you do without me in the student council club?” By this slight teasing, Rollo stiffens a little. You place your hand on your chest. “But as your right hand, you can’t get rid of me so easily.”

You swear you see him smiling subtly, and it’s no trick of light.

“As my right hand, you have the power to do whatever you want.”

“Then I want to stay.”

“Hm,” Rollo ponders. As you notice his gaze, you feel as if he’s contemplating which future holds the best fate for you. He lowers his eyelids, sighing slightly. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” you smile. “But if I hold any power like you say, I would like to use it to have you dance with me again.”

“Strange request,” he says curtly but doesn’t deny your request. His follow-up question makes your chest fill with warmth. “Do you know any dances? Except for waltz,” he says as if you could call your ‘waltz’ anything other than pretending to know how to dance.

“Macarena?” You suggest and he looks at you sceptically. In response, you flash him a bashful smile. “No?”

He sighs but takes your hands in his.

“Let me teach you, then,” he says, slowly. “Let’s start with a proper greeting,” but his greeting isn’t proper, because he doesn’t look at you. Because he avoids your gaze, you can have a shameless view on his red face, that must match the temperature with his quickly warming up hands. You always thought Rollo’s hands were cold, until this moment. “An elegant bow…”

He bows and you lift the brim of your skirt in response, trying to copy the fluidity of the curtsy.

He brings your hand up so carefully as if it is made from the thinnest glass, and presses his lips to your knuckles. So cliche, so old-fashioned, but chivalry isn’t dead as it fills you with energy, surprise and some embarrassment that makes you want to live this moment forever. “And a kiss.”

“Now I’m charmed,” You laugh softly, a smile on your face, yet you were mentally prepared to faint. You wonder if doctors would detect you lovesick if your heart actually stopped. “What’s after that?”

Rollo glances up at you, his eyes brighter than ever. He brings you closer to him.

“Let’s talk about rhythm.”

Unique Kisses: Ignihyde!

Heartslabyul || Savanaclaw || Octavinelle || Scarabia || Pomefiore || Ignihyde || Diasomnia || Rollo, Che'nya, Neige || Honest Fellow

Idia S. <3 (pocky kisses)

With just a few words, an offer to dress up in his favourite idol's cosplay and getting a special stationary-sold merch, Idia succumbed to your suggestion to play a pocky game. Receiving these gifts, he felt as if he was selling his pride, but its purchaser was you, so... 

Idia would eventually propose the idea, but after reading some fan fiction, you had an irresistible urge to recreate this game and play it with your boyfriend.

Besides, you are sure he knows the rules perfectly.

His cheeks and hair flush a furious crimson colour. Idia is intimidated, but he doesn't even think about complaining, at least not honestly. His reaction pours an unusual doze of animus and bravery into your veins as you open the pocky box.

“Don't move,” you instruct surprisingly calmly, as you almost sit on his lap (again, since when are you so confident?). His computer chair squawks quietly and rolls back a few inches, but the distance between you and Idia stays the same.

Perfect. He can't get away.

“I... I know!" he chokes and holds his breath as you put your biscuit stick between your lips. You look at him, idly wondering if Idia will dare to play this game.

You had no great expectations, but he surprises you. He moved closer and takes a bite of the dainty, trying not to look at you from under his lashes. Too preoccupied with the biscuit separating you, he doesn't even taste the sweetness of chocolate.

Idia knows perfectly well that life isn't a game. If it was, however, a current moment would have to be a hidden scene, unlocked only by an absurd amount of affinity points.

When he plays, his heart never beats as fast as it does now, although Idia prides himself on knowing the gems among otome games.

The biscuit disappears. There is no piece left. No distance. The kiss you share is short but sweet in every sense of the word. Warm. Chocolatey. Have it lasted a while longer, kiss would taste like fruity orange you drank before.

Idia's hands clench on the fabric of your t-shirt, right at your sides. He wouldn't have been able to control the shaking of his hands any other way. Being so anxious, he needed to muster up courage not to move away. And he held out. He is still beside you. He doesn't want you to move away, he concludes as soon as you separate.

...Well.

Fortunately, there are still so many pocky flavours to try.

Ortho S. (cheek kisses)

“Would you like to know a secret?”

Ortho does his best not to frighten you as he puts his hand on your shoulder. He set the boundary of levitation above the ground so that his face is almost at your eye level. Although you can't see his smile, you know it's here, hidden in his voice and shining eyes.

You nod, and Ortho flies a little higher. He gets so close you can feel the tongues of fire forming his hairstyle. They aren't hot. They resemble lukewarm water: soft to the touch, liquid but dry. 

“I am very happy that we are friends,” Ortho whispers.

Before you can turn around, he places a kiss between your ear and temple by pressing the warm metal of his mask against your skin. If it wasn't for the quiet sound of the kiss he play-back-ed, you wouldn't have understood Ortho's charming gesture so quickly.

“It's not a secret,” you sigh lightly. It's hard not to smile. You lean towards Ortho, who calculates your next move. The result must please him, because not only does he not turn away from you, but he waits patiently. You place a kiss on his forehead. “I also like you very much.”

Unique Kisses: Honest Fellow

Heartslabyul || Savanaclaw || Octavinelle || Scarabia || Pomefiore || Ignihyde || Diasomnia || Rollo, Che'nya, Neige || Honest Fellow

a/n: fluff, implied female reader (”princess” pet name). I have no idea how to deal with the brainriot that came with the appearance of this shady man, like what.

Honest Fellow (teasing kisses)

“My little star,” Fellow’s lips trail your knuckles, and you can feel a smile against your skin as he senses your pulse quicken. He has the audacity to look so gentlemanly, oh so very blithely, as if this idea has just struck his head under this evening’s romantic atmosphere. “May I have this kiss?”

You’d like to reply, really, but in the next second there are lips on your jawline and a glowed hand that raises your chin; the words you had on your tongue die as you gasp slightly, your eyes fluttering open by the sudden sensation.

Well, you’re charmed. Infatuated with love or ensorceled by a thick layer of Fellow’s unique magic, you don’t reject those dramatic touches, scenic enough to feel like being pulled into a play where a gentlemanly prince kisses a princess.

And while Fellow might have the reputation of being a gentleman, he’s too impish, too rouge to be one. He can only play the role, the facade might even drop, but dumb princesses—you dare to compare yourself to one as Fellow uses that pet name, among countless others—are known for falling even for twisted men.

“Why so quiet?” He asks, and you quiver with frustration, as he seals your lips again. That damn bastard; he thinks the navy suit he wears makes him look sleek and the way he tucks his holey gloves off is luscious enough to make your cheeks blush. He isn’t that wrong, yet…

…It is infuriating to dance to Fellow’s tune in a choreography he is a lead to. Even if you love him.

“Stop… teasing me like this,” you manage to lift your head enough so that you break the kiss. Fellow snorts at your poor attempt to catch a breath and at the weak try to keep him at your elbow’s distance, as he holds you close to his chest. The sweet scent of the cologne he wears makes you even more dizzy.

He moves his hands to your hair and tucks the stray locks behind your ear. If he could grab the camera, he would capture the adorable expression you wear—but he doesn’t want to waste his time searching for that fickle thing, no, no. He isn’t able to concentrate on anything else, and he needs to satisfy the whim of alluring you (once again) before he’ll be physically able to move away.

“My, you don’t sound very convincing,” he smiles and strokes your cheek so gently. “But I will believe you. Loveliest, just say a word, and I’ll just kiss you goodnight for the last time.”

Like you could’ve expected, you aren’t granted a chance to say anything else. He kisses you more and more, and at this point, the most fastidious princess would be already satisfied.

…Fellow might be scared. He might not want to hear your answer, even if the look in your eyes and the way your heart beats should be enough to suffice any of his questions.

If you could utter a word, you would confess your love once for the thousandth time.

“That’s right. The silence says it all,” he whispers as his thumb traces your lips. “You are so gorgeous, and you are mine.”

Like a doll. But you’re no doll, you’re more beautiful than any masterpiece magic could ever create. You’re free, and you choose to stay with him. There are no strings attached to your hands that keep him at his side. There is just one, tightly knotted on your heart and it’s a cherished bond you put on yourself.

He doesn’t have a puppet in you. He has a lover who will shower him with selfless love, yet he still can’t believe anyone would have given it to him for free.

So, he must’ve stolen it.

He smiles. “By obligation of being a thief, I will steal your heart all over again, and keep it safe with me.” I love you. "That’s the duty I owe to myself as you are my treasure.”

Unique Kisses: Pomefiore!

Heartslabyul || Savanaclaw || Octavinelle || Scarabia || Pomefiore || Ignihyde || Diasomnia || Rollo, Che'nya, Neige || Honest Fellow

Vil S. (grab-you-kisses)

Ha, you thought you'll be clever.

As soon as you see Vil walking down the corridor towards you, you know you will have to go with your brilliant idea. You are hoping to knock him off balance and lose composture. Why? Well, you don't know it yourself, but the urge seems harmless enough for Vil to quickly forgive you.

Your pace quickens until you almost bump into him. You clasp your hands around his neck, your fingers lay at the back of his head and gently pull him into a half-embrace, forcing him to lean over.

He hasn't had an opportunity to say anything yet.

You were careful not to mess up his hair or make-up—he wouldn't let you off soon. Your every move is vigilant and calculated, and before you get to the kiss itself, you are wary of anything Vil might use to argue with you about later. You don't change the arrangement of any strand of his hair.

You kiss his lips quickly, just as Vil used to teach you, telling you to correct "sloppy" kisses and return them correctly. You tried to remember each detail as if your life depended on it. Your heart was pounding hard.

Being a diligent student paid off—Vil before you is surprised enough to stop midstep, with a distracted look on his face. If he had a mirror in front of him, he would change his expression hastily. He looked... exposed.

The shyness you dealt with after such a bold move is overcome with the joy that fills your face with blushes as you step away from Vil. You like the expression he's wearing. Throwing him off balance was a great success.

You lick your lips, feeling that a thin layer of his lip gloss remains on your lips.

With a chuckle, you walk past him, only to be caught by the collar of your uniform.

“Do you think you can do whatever you want and then just run away?” he asks, pulling you towards him. Vil has some strength in his grip. When you try to resist his movement, he doesn't even falter. His fingers ghost over your cheekbones until they are under your lips. “Unfortunately, that's not how the world works.”

After that, he leaves, and you know you will have to work for a while to restore kissing privileges.

Rook H. (kissing the hair)

You will have open those books eventually. The exam will be tomorrow, and you've been planning to review the material.

...In your defence, it is too hot.

The roofed gazebo you are sitting under isn't enough to protect you from the steamy air. It is hard to pull your sweaty cheek away from the cold-stone tabletop on which you almost lay down.

You have no idea how Rook can look so carefree, sitting next to you and leafing through an alchemy textbook. His other hand unwittingly plays with your hair, although you feel he was paying attention to that as well.

“How about we tell Vil that the textbook burned down and we couldn't study?” You ask, and his eyes flick your way. You fight the smile that tries to emerge. - “I'm serious. I'll take the blame.”

Rook laughs breathly at your suggestion. There is delight beaming on his face and it is one of the reasons you like being with him so much. And he liked you enough to agree without a moment of hesitation when you first confessed your feelings to him.

His hand is still playing with your hair, but now he is trying to draw your attention to himself. He brings the strands to his lips, on which he places several fleeting kisses. He plants the last one near your ear. He comments something about perfume and shampoo, but you are too focused on his hand, which begins to wander from your hair to your shoulder.

You move further from him.

“Don't come any closer,” you wave a hand at him to lightly knock off his hand. In response, you receive a smile with a shade of mischief. "I'm sure you're too hot to touch and in a very un-romantic way. It's too hot.”

"That's very, very bad," he says, moving closer to you. As if out of spite, he embraces you completely and gives you a warm hug full of love. You sighed in resignation. “Because I cannot resist you.”

Epel F. (dominance kisses)

“Did you get them from someone? Huuuh.”

Epel's gaze sweeps over a big bouquet of roses you were going to hide from him. Your plan had to be quickly changed because he was there before you. And because he came to greet you as soon as he heard the door creak open, you didn't even have time to tear up the heart-shaped note with your name on it.

The roses are in full bloom. The red petals have a scarlet, rich colour and are arranged in a way they seem like little suns. There are maybe twenty of them: all evenly cut and tied with a dark ribbon with a note attached.

You both suspect they were from Heartslabyul students. Was it a sincere gift or just a prank to annoy Epel? There was no answer on the attached card, but Epel could name several people inclined to take the second option in that dorm.

“Yes, but-” You started talking, still somewhat covering them up from Epel's view. You feel guilty. “I'll leave them in the living room as a general decoration. O-oh, or maybe in Pomefiore roses would be more useful?”

“What? You don't have to give them to anyone. They were for you.”

You turn the bouquet uncertainly in your hands, and Epel wordlessly takes it from you. He finds a low vase somewhere and fills it with cold water. Then, he puts flowers there. He has to be careful not to drop the vase because of the wet hands he doused as he filled the jug.

The roses match the Ramshackle salon. They are too sumptuous and contrast too much with other colours in the room.

The fact that this gift doesn't fit here lifts your spirit.

"I'm not worried about anything like that. Don't look so stressed," Epel says, wiping his hands on his pants (Vil isn't here, so who's to stop him?). “You worry too much.”

…That's a relief.

You hug him, and he leans over with you and falls on the couch. You lay still, but only for a moment because soon Epel lifts himself to be over you. His hands are on either side of your head. He lowers himself on his forearms—the push-up training finally has some practical use—to get close to you and kiss you.

A violent, slightly inattentive Epel tries to take all your focus, wrap it in a ball and put it between his lips, which seem to soften with each subsequent touch. And despite the flushed face (whose redness he doesn't want to blame on either embarrassment or effort), he watches you carefully: whether this countenance is different from the previous one, whether are you already getting used to his kisses, what to do to make forget everything else.

You feel a quiet gasp at the corner of your mouth as Epel rises and then, with a soft rustle of clothes against the fabric of the sofa, lays down beside you. You have to squeeze together so none of you will fall off it.

“...Besides, it's nothing compared to the flowers in my town. Do you know how beautiful apple trees can be?” Epel says after a moment, looking at the bouquet on the table. You aren't sure why, but the flower petals seem less colourful than before. Epel's eyes brighten. “When it's time, I'll collect them for decoration... or a crown? Maybe you can weave them into other plants... I'll make you a crown of flowers... and you'll remember it even more than ordinary roses.”

If that's okay could i request it for Epel?

How to win the heart of Epel Felmier?

a/n: Thank you for requesting~~ Dear Readers, while I am not a native English speaker, I wrote this ff in the English-pronounciation (?) mindset that “Epel” and “Apple” sound very similar. If it’s not all that similar, may Reader be too obsessed with apples to have that selective hearing when it comes to Epel’s name or let’s blame it on the Harveston’s dialect, haha

Be a zealous apple lover.

You envy this boy’s name.

“Apple”? What a majestic word to be named after. The first time you’ve heard a woman calling someone like that, you remember stilling in place and whooping your head at a ten-year-old boy who yelled that he was coming.

And he… doesn’t look like an apple. Maybe you weren’t expecting a walking apple, nor a boy with red hair dressed in all browns, carrying a big basket of apples (and of course, eating one in the other hand) like a character created for a show whose audience is a tad younger than you, but none of the apples you know turn purple.

Never have you imagined someone with such a beautiful name would move so wobbly in snow, the sledge he dragged behind definitely too heavy.

The realization of how unfitting this name was makes you lose a grip on the basket of fabric you got from one of your new neighbours. Well, everyone here is “new” if you just came into this little village just three days ago.

That boy notices you. He must have heard the news because a flash of recognition paints itself on his face. You didn’t return a shy smile at the staring, even if you wanted to. You remember your cheeks prickling from the freezing wind when you bolted home as the apple boy looked like he wanted to say something.

“He doesn’t look like an apple,” you argue with your mother that night, as she kisses your temple goodnight.

“Maybe not. But I would have loved you two to be friends…” Your mother stops in her words as you roll your eyes at her and pout with all your might. She suppresses a laugh that you would take to your heart. “…But, maybe I should be glad he doesn’t resemble an apple at all? You would have fallen head over heels in love with him if he did.”

Yeah, your mother doesn’t need to look so happy as you grew agitated.

“I wouldn’t!” You protest loudly and bury yourself deeper into bed sheets even if your face grows hotter. Maybe of the embarrassment, maybe of the fury, but surely not because of the boy. “I would never fall in love with a boy like him. And I don’t want you to talk about this to anyone!”

You remember your mother’s eyes twinkling with utter amusement. “Yes, yes, all right.”

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

2. Challenge Apple to a sled race.

Maybe it’s the fault of far too many action films being aired on TV, yet the idea of being able to win anything a fight was stuck in your head.

Some limited part of your brain thought that, hm, Apple might just give up his name to you if you won in this town’s most famous activity: the Harveston’s Sled Race. It seemed only appropriate for you to pick something the boy must know, even if you had only got your first sledge barely two weeks ago.

“Ya… want my name?” Apple blinks as you grow irate when you repeat your offer once again. You remember rolling your eyes ostentatiously at him, and Apple huffing loudly at you. “What does it even mean, duh?”

He crosses his arms and glared at you. He has the advantage of being just a little bit taller than you, but thankfully, his The-Great-Seven-Better-Bless-Her grandmother never ceases to dress him in fluffy, puffy clothes, always in pastel colours; the cute pompom on top of his beanie and shawl in the adorable pink shade made him much less imposing.

“Whoever wins in this sledge race will be called Apple,” you repeat. Apple squints his eyes at you. “I like this name so much, you have no idea. Please give it up to me.”

“Oh.”

You have no idea why his face slowly turned red. If you knew better, you would have used this opportunity to tease him, but little you didn’t want to mock a newly met boy, even if you just threw down a gauntlet for his name.

“It’s a normal name….” He mutters, and before you can protest, he draws his eyes to you, somehow redeeming you speechless. “…But I’ll challenge you if that’s what you wanna do.”

Huh. You weren’t expecting him to agree so easily.

…Nor were you expecting him to glide on the snow with his sledge. He looked frail enough to not care about things like rides and thought that it would give you the advantage. It did not. Apple flew or used magic, or illusions because he rode so fast the snow beneath him barely left a trace.

That was some cool skill, even if you hated how awed you were.

It seems like you challenged the wrong boy because this one wins with ease.

“Sorry,” he says with flushed cheeks, and his deep breaths create little warm clouds in freezing air. He lays on the snow, and his fringe sticks to his forehead. He has won, and it was a tough victory yet a well-earned one. “I will still be the only Epel in this town.” He shifts his gaze on you. “So. What’s your name?”

Well, he is a (treacherous) winner. You give your name to him.

He smiles slightly, he repeats it slowly and goes quiet. You look over to see him open his eyes from reverie and bright lights dance in his eyes.

“It’s nice. I think it suits you well.”

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

3. Have some baking skills.

“Epel, dear. We’ll be having our little neighbour helping us this year’s festival, so please show how responsible can you be and teach [Name] how to prepare apples for the pies.”

Ugh. If only Grandma Marja wasn’t so kind, you would have been protesting more.

Apple looks at you and you frown slightly as he sighs at your sight.

“You again?”

And because Grandma Marja already left, you feel free to announce your displeasure with the situation as well. Sadly, there are no other kids your age in this village, so you are probably bound to accompany him for the rest of your whole life here as he’s your only peer.

“Unfortunately.”

Apple hands you an apron, before ordering you to wash your hands. Because the kitchen island is too occupied with other dishes and too high for any of you without a stool, you take a seat next to a coffee table that was impractically set between the salon and kitchen, leaving just enough space to create a narrow route from one room to another.

“Have you ever baked an apple pie before?” He asks and you shake your head. His brows furrow slightly as he thinks whether you will be a help here at all. “So, it will be a long day…”

He better not write you off before you can even start.

You cross your arms. “Test me first, complain later... if ever.”

“I’m not complaining. But we have a knife and a peeler. Oh, and it hurts if you get cut. You should take it slowly and be careful,” he adds and hops to the other room to grab a basket full of apples. He lays it between you two.

Apple doesn’t let you use a knife.

“I am older than you,” he says and takes an apple from you to cut it into even pieces. You don’t notice the skill he has to make careful cuts precise and clean, as you glare at him.

“Barely.”

The few-month gap in your age isn’t enough to stop you from insisting that you can do more complicated things than just peeling apples. That’s some arduous work, especially when the peeler doesn’t cooperate and the thin fruit’s skin gets stuck between the blades.

So, Apple, who couldn’t contain that last annoyed sigh, finally lends you a knife. He instructs you, but after several times that you tell him you know what are you doing, he hesitantly goes back to his work. You could feel a worried gaze at you nonetheless, and at one time you looked over your shoulder to see him staring at you.

And that’s when the knife slips from your hands.

You don’t scream, but a gasp and a sudden flinch gives you away.

“Aaaand that’s what I was saying,” he immediately drops the apple he was taking care of, and stands next to you, scrutinizing the cut. It’s not bigger than a paper cut, yet it’s a bit deeper and stings as much. You quickly hide your hands from him. “Go take your hand under the cold water. I will get some bandages.”

He gets some. He then orders you—” I am the older one here and I was right before, so I am in charge between us two,” as you were told—to sit on the sofa as he carefully wraps one bandage around your finger. The gesture it’s almost cute from him, but it doesn’t lift your foul mood at all.

“I made more trouble than I’ve helped,” you say quietly. Epel looks at you, a bit surprised.

“You sayin’ that this little cut is making you quit?” And now he has that stupid smile on his lips that makes your blood not boil, but warm up at least five degrees. “Awh, poor thing.”

You get up in a hurry.

“…I didn’t say that.”

“Then don’t give up like that,” he chastises you, but he can’t hide a (still very stupid) smile when you pass him to get to the kitchen counter. “But be more careful from now. No one wants to eat a bloody apple pie.”

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

4. Get into NRC and survive a shock.

Over the years, you’ve become friends, close enough to plan to go to college together, if the opportunity arises. It did.

“Cheers!”

The perfect way to celebrate getting into NRC is with a soft drink, sparkling soda and a big plate of snacks. Although you bought chips for the occasion, your and Apple’s parents prepared a pile of homemade goodies and they couldn’t compare to those store-bought.

Your can clinks against Apple’s and you take a sip.

“It’s not like I ever thought of Night Raven Collage rejecting the best candidates ever,” Apple says with a sigh. Only today you can notice how stiff he was before; although he’d been playing it cool, he was tense all the time. “But that’s one burden off your chest.”

You nod in agreement and look at the acceptance papers once again. When a time will come, carriages with Gates will come for you two… And that’s a thrilling thought.

“This document looks so official,” you say. “What a pretty paper. It looks so elegant.”

Apple empties his can and briefly glances at you.

“Nothin’ special about it…”

And because you want to see the comparison (maybe there are hidden hints where you might be allocated to by the Dark Mirror?), you take his document. The first thing that crosses your mind, is that there is something wrong with his name.

“Wait,” you shriek loudly, and Apple shudders from surprise. He would chastise you for screaming so loud if you didn’t look so worried. “They spelled your name wrong!”

“Huh?” Apple feels a pang of horror, the same you feel when you tap your pockets in search of your phone. As if he found it, once he reads the top of the document again, he relaxes. His lips form into a thin line: he thinks you are pranking him. “No way. Everything is correct.”

“No, look here. Your name, Apple!”

“It’s… Correct.”

“E- P- E- L. And your name is A- P- P- L- E, no?”

“…What?” Epel, not Apple, looks surprised but not as surprised as you. “You thought my name was ‘Apple’ for all those years?!”

You bite your lip to not question it. Is it not? Your cheeks burn from embarrassment, and your heart feels heavy as if you have just betrayed your best friend. It never crossed your mind to have him write down his name, and there wasn’t a reason for him to do so: in this small town there is no school, neither are there the tests you need to sign.

“…I’m sorry.” You stutter, and Epel brushes the crumbs off from his blouse and gets up.

“Goodbye,” he says, making his way towards the door. He doesn’t seem that upset over the whole thing, as much as confused. Tomorrow everything will return to normality, but Epel will have a top-tier teasing material for years. “That’s too many revelations for today.”

“Wait, Epel!”

“Go to ya Apple boy.”

“No!! I said I’m sorry!”

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎

5. Get sorted into any dorm but Pomefiore.

“Stop laughing.”

“I can’t…! Ha…”

You take a big breath to calm yourself down, but once you look up at Epel and his grimace, it’s impossible to not burst out laughing so loud and so breath-taking you drop to the floor. Epel nudges you. You might be in his room, yet he knows if he’ll be too loud, someone will come to shush you two.

And maybe they will punish him, but Epel isn’t familiar with Pomefiore’s customs, so he doesn’t know what to expect.

“How come you got sorted into another dorm, while we are practically the same?” Epel mumbles, lying down on his bed. The sheets are heavy yet comfortable, luxurious like the whole room. It feels like a museum here, where each item is more valuable than your life and you need permission to rearrange the interior.

To Epel, Pomefiore is the worst dorm. He remembers you teasing him about getting sorted to Pomefiore, but neither of you thought it would come true. It’s too stiff, too restrictive and cares too much about appearances. Epel’s heart feels heavy at the thought of the next four years here.

“Maybe Dark Mirror doesn’t sort the dorm judging by the alikeness of two last brain cells but the shape and colour of the soul,” you nudge him back, waking him up from his reverie.

“Or maybe it didn’t get any input of brain cells from you.”

“Well, your desire to be the prettiest boy in the town got to it, so I think it functions well.”

You chuckle at the dead glare he throws you.

Epel finally sighs.

“…I would like to change the dorms.”

“I don't know whether the Dark Mirror accepts complaints,” you tease him. The gloom is abruptly replaced by irritation, and that’s nice. An angry Epel is better than a devastated Epel. “But if you ever want to escape for a while, you are welcome in my room. We can have a sleepover whenever you want.”

“…Thank you.”

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

5.5. Sorted into Pomefiore exception.

“You ain’t elegant at all, though.”

“It seems like my elegance bleaks in comparison to yours, pretty boy.”

“You are blind.”

Epel tries to push you away, but you sidestep while giggling. He glares at you, and thankfully, his eyes don’t seem that sad. When he returned to his seat after getting sorted to Pomefiore, he looked bewildered, as if he suddenly wasn’t in the NRC he dreamed of but some other, less-dreamlike school.

You remember him blinking back tears, but maybe not from sadness—thankfully, Epel doesn’t pity himself—but melancholy, as if he just lost something he didn’t even have. Maybe also fury and confusion.

“It will be fun to stay here together,” you prompt, and Epel sighs but a trace of a smile appears on his lips. Thank Great Sevens for the little lights that brighten the azure tones in his eyes.

“Guess I’m stuck being your neighbour forever.”

“It can’t be that bad.”

“No?”

“Of course not. You already know how great friend I can be.”

“…I guess you’re right,” he sticks out his tongue. Vil will have a lot of work if he wants to make him a fine gentleman. Well. You will take any version of Epel, even the pettiest and most teasing one, so it’s Vil’s burden to bear. “Kind of.”

You pout at him, but a quiet smile breaks your coolness. “So petty.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

6. Listen to your manly man complain about Vil.

After several weeks in NRC, you could tell Epel still hasn’t gotten used to Pomefiore, and especially its leader.

“I can’t handle him pointing out each… well, everything!” He hides his face in his hands and sluggishly rubs his eyes; he looks tired enough even if Pomefiore must have those eight hours of sleep every night mandatory. “He would find wrongdoings in the way I breathe.”

“I would too. You don’t breathe as much through your nose as you think you do. That’s so very unhealthy, Epel. Your skin will be ruined in the next week of running.”

Epel throws you a warning look as if you had hit the nail with your talk. “Stop or I will strangle you with a pillow in your sleep. I already have Ace on my list.”

You chuckle at a threat, and Epel rolls his eyes. “How dramatic.”

“I have enough drama in my life,” he continues, and you can feel from his tone that he either suppresses the sigh. No apathy or fury anymore, though. Pomefiore must be slowly growing on him, and you take it as a good sign. “My two upperclassmen are going to be a death of me. I don’t know how could I end up in Pomefiore. This kind of lifestyle doesn’t suit me.”

“You complain about them a lot, but, in reality, you look up to him, no?” You tease. “Even you can say the beauty he possesses is influential and somewhat powerful.”

“He might look majestically but it doesn’t make him any less annoying. Now, let’s stop talking about him.”

“Why not? I might become Vil Schoenheit’s fan.”

He clasps his hands on your mouth, so you have to fully focus on his glaring.

“You can’t. You are my fan.”

You pout but after he takes his hands off you, a lopsided smile cracks your lips. “I guess you’re right.”

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

7. Argue, duh.

That’s a hobby of you two, although a risky one. It always leaves a weight on your heart, because you cannot not care for Epel. While jokes and sarcasm are never intended to hurt any of you, and you can almost always distance yourself from teasing comments, his every word is precious to you.

“Don’t be a killjoy,” would make you roll your eyes if Epel didn’t look so serious. Your smile falters, and something in your stomach twists. You know this conversation was going to end in an argument even before he glowered at you.

“Hey, don’t say it like that,” you stutter the words, placing a hand on his arm. It would come as a reassuring gesture, yet Epel made an effort to move a seat away, and your arm fell aimlessly, sadly. “I am just worried about our grades. That have. Uh. Dropped marginally.”

You stare at your shoes because listening to your best friend being displeased with you so greatly is heartbreaking.

“We have the whole weekend ahead of us to study,” he argued. “Be serious. You don’t want me to go, because you weren’t invited, isn’t that so?”

You sigh. You’ve never expected to be invited to each of their meetings: they are Epel’s friends, and you have yours.

While you knew Ace and Deuce were delightful company, you always thought Epel would choose you over them, even if you suggested something as unentertaining as studying because you would do the same.

You were wrong, after all. Maybe that’s the difference of willpower between a just-a-friends mindset and having a crush on him. Do you really have a crush on him, though? Or maybe you’ve expected too much from a childhood friendship.

“Well, no. I mean, I would love to be invited, but—”

“We don’t need to hang out together every time we have a spare afternoon,” he said, and while it was a true statement, it hurt. If you weren’t able to somehow steel your nerves, you would know you wouldn’t be able to bear the prickling in your eyes. Epel’s next suggestion comes as a whisper. “Sometimes… We should take a break from each other, ya know? And I need to figure, uh, something out.”

The news shocks you so much, that you don’t notice how he visibly abstains from lifting a hand to his chest.

Well. You always knew you were a hopeless romantic.

“Breaks from each other, huh…”

You take in the phrase in silence. Epel takes this chance as an opportunity to gather his things and pack them.

“…I’ll be leaving. Good luck studying or whatever.”

“…Alright. Have—” fun, you wanted to say, but the door shut and Epel left you alone.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

8. Go through the silent treatment phase.

After a week of awkward conversations, Epel has forgotten about that talk. The pain in your chest dulled and you were growing indifferent as if you were watching a show—your life—that started to bore you, not engaging you at all.

You stared blankly at the screen of your phone.

— today —

Epel: Hey

Epel: are u free todya?? you’ve been so absent last weeks >:((

Epel: Grim and prefect invited us for gaming night

Epel: dont ya DARE do skip it again

— seen: now —

…Yeah. You feel nothing, maybe only a little sad at the memory when you felt so vivid and happy when you got a message from Epel.

“No, sorry, I am busy with studying lol,” you type, and while you know that excuse will wear out in the next few days, for as much as you’ve been using it for the last week to avoid hanging out with Epel, your (ex-?) best friend starts to type something. He will protest and argue and try to convince you, but you don’t want to talk today. “Maybe next time.”

So you turn off your phone, sinking deeper into the pillows on your bed.

You don’t have the energy to confront Epel right now.

And that’s it.

…

You fell into a slumber deep enough to not hear the hesitant-turned-frantic knocking to your room.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

9. Let Epel hear the advice of unreliable gurus of love.

They are really unreliable, look messy, and they judge you. The worst kind of people to go for (love?) advice, but Epel assures himself that he needs honesty, not a pat on his back or a shoulder to cry on. He also is out of other options.

Moreover, he would like to cry nowhere near Ace, who would obviously mock him. Even now it’s hard to have a heart-to-heart conversation when he and Deuce chomp on some type of dessert and some awfully happy music from videogame plays in the back of the room. “So? What did you do?”

“Ace,” Deuce is kind enough to elbow Ace in the stomach when Epel’s stoic expression falters.

His shoulders drop. “No, he… He is kinda right.”

Ace throws a winning smile but moves too far away from Deuce to have him punch him for the cheekiness. “’ Kinda’?”

“…Totally right,” Epel finally admits. “[Name] has been avoiding me and I have no idea what should I do,” He throws his arms on the table, and almost hides his face in the palms of his hands. Instead, he moves away the strands of his unruly hair. “Ugh. Why I am even asking you guys to help me? You’re even worse at this kind of thing.”

“Speak for yourself. And Deuce,” Ace cuts him off. And before Deuce can do anything else than glare at him, Ace shifts closer to Epel and throws an arm over his shoulder so he has to hunch. “Epel, question: what is “this kind of thing”. You mean… as in friendships or dating?”

Deuce looks shocked, even so more than Epel. “Dating?!”

“Why are you even so shocked?” Ace asks him, furrowing his eyebrows. When Deuce starts to ponder over his words, he rolls his eyes. “[Name] probably have had a crush on this imbecile”— he points his fork at Epel—” for damn years now, if I had to guess”.

“Years?!”

“Thank you for the dramatic echo effect again, Deuce,” Ace snarls and finally focuses on Epel. Too distracted with a bickering between his friends, his spirits lift up a little. “And you, Epel. Pull yourself together. Do you want to sever the relationship? Do nothing. Do you want to be friends? Apologize to [Name] and try to patch the bond. Do you want to be in a relationship? …Welp, figure out that for yourself.”

…

“Amazing advice, Ace,” Deuce claps his hands theatrically.

He sticks out his tongue and winks. “You could never give a better one.”

Epel gets up from his seat.

“Thanks, you two. I… will do something.”

“Good luck,” Ace waves at him as Epel makes his way over to the door. “If it works out, you owe us a free drink. Especially me.”

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

10. Have Epel fight for your love!!

It’s hard to find someone when the person knows your schedule and actively tries to avoid you. Choosing more roundabout corridors and sacrificing your wallet to have most of your meals in Monstro Longue instead of the cafeteria are only some of the things you did to avoid encountering Epel.

But he didn’t give up, and maybe his tenacity is what makes you oblige Epel once he finds you.

You don’t question him when he grabs your hand and asks you to skip the last lesson with him that feels almost unimportant as his intertwined fingers warm yours. You don’t comment on how his grip is stronger than usual and how he doesn’t let it go when your hands begin to sweat.

But as you leave the main building of NRC, the curiosity gets the better of you.

“Where are we heading to?”

Epel looks over his shoulder to blink at you. “I…,” he stammers, as confused enough to leave you wondering what is your final destination. Or what was your final destination, Epel seems to have forgotten whatever plan he had in mind. “I guess it can be here.”

He ushers you into one of the side alleys, a bit distanced from the main street and sits you down on a bench. You eye him curiously as he slowly lifts his hands to your face—and that is the first time he let go of your hand—and cupped your cheeks.

“Let me be clear. I- really like you,” he said loudly, gazing into your eyes. “And I know I… overreacted earlier. I’m sorry. I don’t want you to avoid me.”

You breathe out slowly. The heat from the “I really like you” moment prickles and makes your face hotter. It doesn’t help that Epel doesn’t shift his gaze from you nor that he has his hands firmly on your cheekbones as he awaits your answer.

“I’m… sorry. I shouldn’t have been getting between you and your friends.”

Epel eyes you, bewildered. “Why are you focusing on that part?”

“Huh?”

“Ah. Maybe… I will phrase it differently,” He hesitates and his tone wavers, but he says the words without a stutter, as if he’s been practising them in front of the mirror, effectively. “I love you.”

“And I- I want to be friends even if you don’t feel the same.” He rushes with an explanation when you don’t answer as your mind goes blank. “Because. I don’t want you to… avoid me anymore. A-actually, you don’t have to rush with your answer. Just, decide, someday, in the near future, haha? I will wait.”

He glances at you and you know he won’t be able to bear long without hearing your answer. As he rushes past you, you think you heard a hushed whisper.

“Dear Sevens, I said it…!”

miscellaneous fellow honest headcanons

These aren't following any prompt in particular, these are just thoughts I had when I saw the guy hammin' it up and then turning on us.

Some of these headcanons are informed by fan art I've seen and discussions I've had with friends, while others are purely me.

Curiouser and Curiouser...

He calls people “little lads” and “little ladies”.

Fellow has a very noticeable laugh. Like, he grunts and snorts and has tears rolling down his cheeks. (He tends to laugh at others’ misery, thinking of it as “retribution” or “payback” for the injustices he has suffered himself.)

Bro shaves using a knife (yes, he shaves because he is a grown ass man) because razors are hella expensive.

He uses that cheap cologne and cakes it on THICK. This, in his mind, gives off the impression that he’s a well-off and put-together individual you should tooootally trust.

Also the type of person that lays it on thick with his words. If he’s trying to impress a date or something, he’ll shower them with so many compliments it almost seems fake. But no, he’s just the type to simp hard when he happens to be genuine 💀 most of the time he’s faking it though—

He’s very street smart, but in a way where he confuses hostile people by talking over them and acting overly friendly. They usually stuns them long enough for him and Gidel to skedaddle.

If he gets dumped, he'd be the pathetic whimpering boyfriend that begs for his ex to take him back. When they inevitably don't, he mopes all day about it.

He chain smokes and aggressively drinks as a coping mechanism on his bad days 😔 and sometimes he gambles (like, on those scratch-off cards) hoping that he'll strike it rich and buy him and Gidel a better life...

Basically, he generally does not have his shit together but tries his best to pass like someone who does (and usually succeeds at it).

Fellow appears in public wearing his full suit, but at home (ie whatever ratty temporary housing their boss found for them before they move on to the next place) he just wears a T-shirt and lounges around in boxers (and sometimes socks with holes in them).

He uses those disposable eyeshadow wands that snap in half at the slightest bit of too much pressure. Fellow acts like the Claire’s kid makeup he uses is the luxury stuff, but Vil can tell the pigmentation isn’t all there and there’s MAD fallout.

He may be broke AF and have his moments of emotional spiraling, but he has pretty decent budgeting skills. Fellow lives for sales and does extreme couponing to stretch their money as far as it will go.

He invests in other cost-saving methods like wearing shoes until the sole is literally flopping off and just adding water to residual soap in a pump bottle to make the soap "last longer".

Fellow is really good at cutting food (bread, beans) thin to conserve it. Yes, this is a reference to an old Mickey Mouse cartoon—

When he was younger, he had dreams of being an actor (and, more specifically, starring in musicals). That's why he's often humming, swinging around his cane, and/or whistling as he's on the prowl for idiots to sucker—they're remainders of his thespian days before his dreams were crushed into itty bitty pieces.

Man looks like he'd be great at tap dancing.

Before his current gig, he tried a bunch of other scams including a MLM at one point to get by. His signature spell came in pretty clutch in those days too.

Fellow’s not that good at reading or spelling—in fact, he was never a particularly strong student. (“I didn’t fail school!! The schools failed ME!!”) He’s easily frustrated by academics and thinks there should be more hands-on and practical skills taught in learning institutions.

I think it's a given that he and Ruggie would be besties since they both want to eat the rich but I also think Fellow would kiss ass to Azul and then rage about how shitty + entitled Azul is (Azul reminds Fellow of his boss)💀 Scammers hate other scammers because they're both competing to scam the same people--

Even though Fellow is an asshole to most others (well, when he’s not flattering them to lure them into a trap), he’s always nice to Gidel and puts him first. If there’s ever a situation where they’re short on something (clothes, food, etc), Gidel gets priority. This is why Gidel has a full outfit (even if parts are patches or mismatched) whereas Fellow himself has a glove that is so worn out there’s a hole in one of the pinkie fingers.

Fellow may not be blessed with a bounty of magic, but he’s quick on his feet and good with words. Because of these skills, he’s talented at spinning bedtime stories, which he often tells to Gidel to help him fall asleep on nights that are particularly cold and nasty.

Gidel still believes in Santy Claws and wishing upon stars, and Fellow doesn’t have the heart to tell him the truth. He’ll figure it out on his own one day, Fellow thinks. He just doesn’t want to be the one to ruin those childhood joys for him.

Playing pretend is another shared past time of theirs. It helps Fellow get into character before he goes off to swindle people, and it gives Gidel a way to express himself in spite of being mute. They have a routine they do together where Fellow pretends to be a doctor diagnosing a patient and Gidel takes down notes for him as his medical scribe. Yes, this is a Pinocchio reference—

They actually have many more games they play (mainly because they cannot afford other forms of entertainment). Some of the games are clever ruses conjured by Fellow to teach Gidel survival tips and tricks: the who-can-make-their-piece-of-bread-last-longer game, hide-and-seek (from the authorities), etc.

For special occasions, Fellow saves up some money on the side to grant Gidel little luxuries, like a box of crayons to doodle with.

Gidel hugs Fellow’s leg or waist to cheer him up when he’s upset. He also hides behind Fellow when he’s scared or feeling shy.

He’s just really attached to Gidel cuz they have no one else in this cruel world, just them against the world 😔 He sees a lot of his younger self in the little boy… the opportunities lost because of their circumstances… “It’s alright, Gidel. Leave it to Fellow-sama.”