I can't give you a bouquet, but I can give you a rose
@agaygothicsunfish
They/Them: Melancholically weird and pondering the meaning of love. Adultâ
Yumeshipper/cc x oc (sharing), fanfic author, artist ă»àŒ âŸ.ïœĄ*ïŸ+. *.ïœĄ
Hello you wonderful human beingsâȘ, I go by Phawn! I'm in a lot of different fandoms (though not active in all of them), and like a lot of other things as well. Gay and goth things, ocean sunfish, soul crushing poetry, dystopian novels and political essays. I draw and write! EN/æ„æŹèȘ â
Statuses
âRequests: Open! Just do follow the rules here. I see everything asked, it just might take a while to write/draw.
âDMs: Please have interacted a least a little with me (off anon) first (^ ^ ;) DO NOT SPAM ME, I will block you
âAsks: Feel free to send me asks about anything related the fandoms Iâm in, or if you just want to chat!
âWriting or art trades: Open! Mutuals will be prioritized. Rules for that here. (link not inserted yet)
Rules for Interacting
Customize your profile at least a little so I know you arenât a bot. What one consume as fictional media is not indicative of someoneâs morals. I do not condone actions of characters in my Yandere fics. The internet/fandom is a public space. Use the read more function I BEG OF YOU. If you have criticism: word it in a manner thatâs productive, if you are mean about it I will block you. Do not put my art or writing into ai, if you do I will explode your spleen.
DNI: If you are against [insert any group/person]âs human rights. Also those spam/scam porn blogs, gen ai enthusiasts/users, and anti-political/âitâs not that deepâ crew.
Navigation
Phawn's artâ is for art, Phawn's ramblesâ is just when I feel like yapping, Phawn's writingsâ is for my fanfic, and Phawnâs recsâ is for fics/comics/other media I enjoyed. The rest you can probably figure out. The tags aren't 100% consistent on every post, but I'm working on it.
Link to Writing Masterlist
Link to Art Masterlist
OCs: My persona, Yuuzu, Haydn, Lorelai, more to come?
Where Else Am I
Strawpage: here
Ao3:Â here
Artfight: here
Bsky: here
Pixiv: here
that child + i have no mother and i cant scream? :3
So fun fact about Yuuzu, I started playing around with the idea of luck before, but Lucky Cyan from To Be Hero X gave me some more inspiration. Yuuzu is definitely more fucked up (for a lack of better terms) and pessimistic than Cyan, but there are still similarities. Both value self sufficiency a lot, both are interested in more rock music, etc.
For the second thingy, I started working on it immediately after witnessing Riddleâs dream. I think Iâve been procrastinating on it due to the fact that I would have to reread the canon material over and over again to make sure it fits. I may or may not also be drawing from my own experiences to write that fic.
rules: Make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous, and tag as many people as you have WIPs. People send in an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and you post a snippet or tell them something about it!
tagged by: N/A, just thought itâd be a fun idea to do :3 This will be long (ïŸâïŸ)
By virtue of this being me, there will be yandere, cannibalism, gore, and potentially other darker topics briefly mentioned. Please be wary and if not 16+ I recommend you do not interact.
Writing
Sorry For Existence Part 3: Itâs very incomplete as of now, and I havenât really had the motivation to write for it :( I still love you Cater I just didnât like how I set up the fic nor my writing skills at the time (I donât even really know if Iâve improved that much either. Part 1 if interested is here.
That Child: This one is a fic that takes place before Yuuzu (my beloved child) gets isekaiâed into Twisted Wonderland and sorta explains why and how they fucked up. I decided to use an almost fairytale like framing to show how disconnected Yuuzu is from their past. Currently Iâd say itâs about 30-40% of the way finished and siting at a measly 800 words.
How Yuuzu Sees Them and How Others See Yuuzu: I REALLY need to get this one done. Iâve completed Heartslabyulâs, in the vague sense that itâs mainly all written but I still need to make art and the relationships are prone to changing/evolving and having more stuff added in.
Ghost! Yuu (Savanaclaw, Octavinelle, Scarabia): So the original post got a lot of love and all that, but the Heartslabyul thoughts one kinda fell flat even though I think itâs the better of the two as of now. Currently Savanaclawâs thoughts are siting at 830 words and could be anywhere from 30% to 70% complete. Iâve been trying to tie in a specific injury to each dormâs ramblings, and I think it would be nice as well to eventually have a full fic with ghost! Yuu and one of the boys.
I Have No Mother and I Canât Scream (Riddle): So this one is more so a character writing, or me just poking into the flesh of a character I adore and torturing them. Similar to this Rook fic I did a little bit ago. Itâs been siting at 300 words for quite some time nowâŠ. And in all honesty is 15% (at best) the way done. Very book 7 centric too, and I wanted to give it horror rpg-maker vibes.
Scummy Hotel: Such a great title Phawn, wow way to go⊠Imagine you (the reader) go camping for the night, perhaps your friends abandoned you to your lonesome (intentionally or not). It starts pouring, flooding even, and the once safe tent you had barely managed to set up is no longer safe. Thankfully thereâs this odd manor up ahead, it seems empty but inside lie many of those with curses, deformations, and other such issues. Boys who are curious and cautious, but long to observe the humanity they were denied. Or something like that. I had a dream about this and immediately had to write down a short blurb to keep it from escaping me. Not at all complete and probably will remain so until Iâm able to complete this other series I have in mind⊠>:)
Vilâs Lament: Again more so character writing without any reader involved in the story. I donât know if I ever will come back to this, as it was 3am musing taken the form of a character I love. Perhaps itâll be banished to the drafts at 200 words forever, perhaps one night in a state of emotional pain I shall continue this, who knows.
Not Allowed: Another Riddle fic! Or at least the wooden framing for one. Something about Riddle craving, desiring to be close to us but we have drifted so far. Out of his grasp and into the arms of another despite being the one who has occupied his thoughts ever since we first met him. Iâm picturing that it takes place either in Riddleâs fourth year or after, havenât decided if I want reader to be Yuu or someone else. Each have interesting directions I could take it in.
How They Lie: This one was me sorta jotting down notes for how Iâd imagine the boys to lie for future fics. Currently thereâs stuff for Azul, Jamil, and Vil written down in more so of a headcanon-ish format. If I do work on this one further I think Iâll separate the boys by year and include little ficlets with the associated idea. Not on the top of my priority list if Iâm going to be honest.
Please When You Do: This one is a bit weird, as currently it is a poem I wrote, that if I do say so myself is quite good. Iâve always been good at poetics. Currently it sits there waiting for me to transform it into a fic, maybe each lie acting as the precursor to a paragraph. I donât have exactly planned which boys will be given this poem, but Iâm imagining the overblot boys would most fit the idea. I do wish to return to this idea dearly.
I Remember Your Warmth, But Nothing Else: So imagine the longing of childhood and sweet fairytales and fiction to distract from the harshness of reality. Something very self indulgent, where through childhood both Vil and the reader were the closest of friends. Life does what it does best and atrophy is a bitch. A sort of reunion happens later, the reader steps out into the acting world chasing the memory of a ghost, chasing an idol they saw on their TV screen all those years ago. Currently at 800 words and maybe perhaps 10-20% of the way finished. I am planning to return to this and write more, itâs just a matter of when.
The Gods Who Only Knewâ: This is sorta the big project Iâve been working on recently. If youâve read this Vil fic of mine, then you have a general idea about the tone and overall themes of the (now planning) series. I donât want to spoil too much so Iâll keep it brief: each god whether created from man or ascended is the divine ruler over an ideal. With time an entity also gains a secondary, but just as important almost âsinâ to rule over. Each fic will take place on a continuous timeline that ranges from classical Greek period to the 1920s.
The God Who Couldnât Mourn: Debating whether to have this as its own bullet point or part of the above mentioned one. This is the a fic that will be part of the aforementioned series, and might be the darkest fic for the series that I write, no promises though. Lilia is such a fascinating creature to me, and as such I have to torture him with loss and trauma that makes the canon writing look like a pleasant fairytale. Debating on whether or not I even post this one to tumblr or if I just leave it on ao3.
(Not at all) Brief Lightning Round Ideas that I have and want to write but arenât quite a draft yet. This will not count for the amount of people I tag:
Just kill me slowly and softly (overblot boys) |â| I hold onto flowers way after theyâve wilted, human flesh and organ machine (farm Epel?) |â| âBlow My Brains Outâ by Tikkle Me themed fic for Vil |â| âDear Godâ by XTC themed fic for Malleus |â| After a while itâs just you, so when itâs just you, are you worth being around? |â| I donât breathe I just sigh |â| Beauty is only skin deep, so cut beneath the surface to find out whatâs so gorgeous. Let me taste your flesh so I might be beautiful too |â| It gives birth to a simulated emotion, a kind of synthetic hatred. Human hatred involves a sense of betrayal, hurt or fear. Its synthetic hatred is way more calculated. The way it tortures isnât spontaneous or in random bouts of anger, but in efficient pain maximizing methods |â| I canât make you my end, my everythingâ for that would destroy us both. I want you to fulfill me, to touch the broken parts and say that I am the most important person to you. Itâs not fair to you, but I need it. |â| Iâm still here. I wonder about what things youâve accomplished, where youâve been, and how much youâve changed. I spin stories of you so I donât lose the memories we had together. |â| My skin feels like there are spiders crawling underneath and I hate it and I want to feel human. I WANT TO FEELâ |â| Iâm sorry I bit, I didnât mean to. I donât want to hurt you but I that hurt is just a part inscribed into me now. |â| I hope Iâm real to you (wow we really love this idea donât we.
Art
Do I Look Like Him: Ortho animation set to the beautiful longing of Tylerâs song. I really like the idea and am proud of all the frames I have drawn so far, but something just doesnât feel right about it. Recently went back into the animation to fix some things up and WOW I have a lot of work to do on this. I think Iâve mentioned this before but coloring and rendering by far are my favorite parts of the art process, and I am more so a painter than someone who uses sketches, inks, and then fills in each section with base colors. Unfortunately for me, I havenât gotten to the coloring/rendering part of this animation yet.
Pomefiore Thingy: Once again such a creative title. Itâs sorta a quicker animatic set to the first verse of Marinaâs âGirlsâ. Once again, something I canât quite put my finger on but it doesnât look right. It doesnât look like my style or the Pomefiore boys (ignoring how Vil is probably not just a boy for a second), and I hate it. Cool concept but I just cannot draw it in a way that is correct. Whatever that means.
Yuuzuâs Twst Sprite and Intro: Let me tell you how much I hate emulating a style so perfectly. Hate, loathe, despise, all applicable words here. Doing a study with room for my own interpretation and no exact precision needed? Dandy, lovely, supercalifragilisticexpialidocious even. I love being able to try things in my own art that I never do and then bringing certain bits and pieces of information back into my own style. Following something so precisely, so exact, especially in a style that is so neat, itâs my own personal hell, and I can only blame myself for creating it.
Omori x Twst: An idea I had for a comic that is briefly sketched on the Heartslabyul boys and Yuu taking up different roles in the game Omori.
Idia and Ortho Thingy: I donât know if you could tell but Iâm much better at naming my writings than my artworks. Itâs currently the vaguest of sketches, but Ortho is one of my dearest characters, and he deserves to be drawn more.
NOT ANOTHER TWST OC: So I had the idea for an OC based off of the Snow Queen. Debating whether he (I donât even really know if my creation is a he but thatâll be the placeholder pronoun for now) goes into Diasomnia or Ignihyde but leaning towards Diasomnia. Once I get his details more fleshed out I promise he will see the light of day
I CANâT KEEP MAKING TWST OCSâŠ. (etc): Title was cut because of how long it was. Twisted version of that one white flower in Alice in Wonderland in the garden singing scene. Also a style study of an artist I really admire.
Tagging (20 tags, oh gods what have I doneâŠ): @cannibxl @eekykins @rabioa @crookedgalaxycandy @selveristsaatan @mistforgetmenot @ceruleancattail @robo-milky @heartsiebyul @rooksamoris @bunniblr @pomefioredove @jewelulu @shinysparklesapphires @pearliichuu-art @lexipage234 @twisted-up-in-wonderland @lawuchisw @mewzaque @reversearrowhead
Credits to @bbyg4rlhelps and @pixopix for the banners!
Hii I think your requests are open! I was wondering if you could do a Utage type reader (from Tamon's B-Side) who just so happens to start working for Vil? There doesn't need to be an opposite personality thing but I think it would be peak fiction! (It could be yandere-ish because in the anime Tamon uses his looks and stuff to get Utage to stay) (You can ignore this if you don't wanna do it) -bunny anon đ
Your Bubbly Personality, His Simmering Rage
Yan Vil x Underclassman Pomefiore Gn!Reader
Fic is 16+
3.3k words (AGAIN?)
Oh little underclassman, how you were so ditzy. You would fumble around to and fro on whatever you were doing. In an alternate timelineâs light you couldâve been cute, couldâve if you werenât so irritatingly positive. Why did you have to smile like that all the time, had you no burdens of your own to worry about? Where did you manage to find all that extra time when you so clearly looked like a mess at every opportune moment? The cherry on top of it all was that you were a Neige fan, of course you were a Neige fan. Had the two of you had the opportunity to meet you wouldâve clasped each otherâs hands and skipped off to whatever utopia he was barred from.
It was infuriating how much you adored the boy. Merch hung from every square inch possible on your wall so much so that it was starting to look like a new dorm all together. Keychains frequently clank together as well onto various pins that thoroughly decorated your school bag. You followed all of Neigeâs interviews if they were a holy text and you a crazed disciple. There was an encyclopedic knowledge of that boyâs every moment you possessed on things even he couldnât have known. Sevens you even carried handmade photocard carriers each elaborately decorated to the memory enshrined in it. Ribbons, bows and beads all offerings unseen to the object of your affections, what a cruel fate you had subject yourself to. Nothing about the regality of Pomefiore touched you. Every sensibility of yours was so passionately you, he couldnât mold it. She couldnât change you any more than an acid could melt the glass it was contained in.
To be blunt, Vil wasnât your type. He was cold to those he deemed fledglings, abrasive in her care however well meaning, and so demanding of perfection that couldnât exist. His smug smile, the way in which heâd frequently pose his hand like he was waving away common muck, how privileged he acted demanding everyone to a perfection out of touch for so many. It was aggravating. How could someone so easily flip a switch between a charming seductress queen with a vision to a demeaning degrading thorn. How could he claim to be the fairest one of all when he dismissed all the smiles that Neige was able to bring forth? How could he be the fairest when forced a rigid mold of elegance, rearranging flesh to fit shapes it wasnât meant to be in. Crippling mobility for the sake of aesthetics, that couldnât be normal. That couldnât be healthy for anyone involved, especially him.
At first it appeared he didnât notice you, you were just one of many over enthusiastic underclassmen heâd had to deal with, or at least thatâs the impression that stained itself into your retinas. It didnât bother you, you werenât there to appease someoneâs own sensibilities, you were just trying to be yourself, as corny as it sounded. Over time there were changes, as you hit your sophomore year and she hit her junior one there were changes. Perhaps your defiance had stood out as the nail to be hammered, perhaps your specific hue of vibrancy was too clashing. You noticed how now his gaze would harden ever so slightly when he captured Rook and you enjoying yourselves together. How he scrutinized every wrinkle, every crease, every cute stylistic choice you had made more so than even than the freshman he had begun to groom for Housewarden position next year. He observed further and further, as if trying to pry into your flesh and burrow there.
Once you heard him utter how you were âan idolâs worst nightmare for damage control,â but still he couldnât help but linger around you. You. The first person to be called upon for any sorts of domestic labor: clothing repairs, dusting, vacuuming, cutlery polishingâ it was ridiculous. A smile and an almost infantilizing head pat your only reward. You had attempted to ask once on why of all you people were chosen for such a role, he laughed. Clearly you were the most efficient out of all these spudlings, that was what was said at least. Whenever chores were knocked out heâd glow, praising your being to set an example for all those that would lag behind. Compliments would further be whispered into the shell of your ear, you couldnât help remain confused. She was hot, then cold, then ever so warm again. Was it to try and pull something from you? He didnât affect you, she couldnât affect you. Werenât you mesmerized by his presence? Why didnât you adore him?
Most flocked to his feet as if he were a god, kneeling and slobbering just to catch a glimpse. Warm spotlights lighting her every feature; every dip and curved dome, but most important of all, highlighting what wasnât there. He would praise the loyal follower on occasion, and bless those under his domain with the tools necessary to cultivate their own sense of beauty, that of course just so long as it wasnât his. Not you. You would never be caught dead at his altar, stubbornly insistent in your faith in that damn boy, the rival he had spent his entire life in the shadow of. Why was that, was he losing his touch? No, that couldnât be right, he still had the entire dorm underneath his own spell. If it wasnât him, then it was you. You had to be the defunct thing here. The dorm known to strive for excellence couldnât have any defects, now could we?
It was important to keep a close watchful eye on someone with your character, to make sure you didnât create discordance within the regiments each student is perfecting. Ensuring that every potato under his care could eventually blossom into something as beautiful as he appears, nothing else.
On one particular night she couldnât sleep, thoughts of you swirled like a horrid persistent fog. It was of no use, as much as he implemented every technique for sleep possible, it evaded evermore. If sleep was impossible, might as well do something productive, robes were adjusted briefly to be appropriate just in case anyone else was lurking and spotted him. One step, two steps, down the winding stone stairwell, his pen acting as enough light to safely descend. Laughter, light, at the bottom of the stairwell he found those things slipping through the crack of Pomefioreâs basement, how peculiar indeed. Opening it had only revealed a small group of his dorm mates all huddled around in a circle, that sickening baby blue color surrounding them. Neige, his mind registered the name coming from your lips, adoring in their praise. Only Rookâs piercing gaze noticed him standing at the door way, his own vice-dorm leader enraptured in this encounter. Heads turned snapping as she cleared her throat, looking of aghast horror filled all eyes except for Rookâs, and infuriatingly enough, yours. The gall, the audacity, questioning the group he discovered that the club meetings took place every second Sunday of the month, every second Sunday since your freshman orientation. A year and counting you had begun these secret meetings, a year and counting he had failed to notice. It made his blood run cold.
How dare you. How dare you massacre this precious dorm with that accursed naive boyâs name. The boy who had spent half as much time as him working on the craft, a fraction of the time preparing on the stage sidelines but yet got to bask in the warm glow of the spotlights up until the end. You loved a boy who wasnât even aware of your existence, devoted yourself to an altar so already polished and taken care of, what more could you offer that shining statue? Couldnât you see he was right here? That cracks were slowly forming at his finger tips threatening to fracture further? You truly were such an oblivious thing, such an ignorant thing. Ignorance needed punishment, but not any would suffice. An idea, a wicked idea. She let out a wicked laugh for a bit before having to catch himself, his ugliness wouldnât be anymore exposed than it was already. How fitting that you would be part of the take down of the idol you so adored.
Your so called punishment wasnât too bad, forcibly moving into a haunted decrepit mansion to assist Vil aside. The Prefect of Ramshackled that had supposedly come from another world was nice enough. They acted as the groupâs manager for the VDC in totality, running trivial errands and mediating in group disputesâ how you could relate. Nevertheless your sole purpose here was to tend to the beautiful queen who was so particular about nearly every detail. The brand of water, what towels were and werenât allowed to touch his skin, the pressure and exact location of massages she required. Hair, makeup, clothes, all things you were required to help him with now. Shaken awake at the crack of every dawn to help him with his after-run-morning shower, drying his hair not too slowly but not harshly either, then braiding the silky strands into the small ponytail in the middle back of his head.
The cramped guest room Vil took, though it was the best out of the current available ones, was still full of various boxes by the vanity. It mustâve previously been covered head to toe in dust, the corners still had a thick layer of it while the rest of the box remained relatively clean. Rushed cleaning, was the Prefect of this dorm even expecting guests? Were they given decent time to prepare? A noise of the throat came from his majesty, whose hair you still had in hand at the moment, clearing your previous thoughts. Right, makeup. Inching closer to the blonde was the only way to properly apply the different shades of products, because of the lack of room mentioned previously. So close, close enough to where the warmth of his breath would land like feathers on your skin. Violet eyes would glow as brilliantly as the most well maintained gems, a smug smile on his lips every time you pulled away finished with his face, this time was no exception.
Sometimes when he was particularly preoccupied with running through something: every mistake in their choreography, neat notes looped with you were summoned to help with dressing. Truly an attendant to their master, thank the sevens it would only last a few more weeks. Buttoning down his grey NRC uniform undershirt, fixing the golden buttons through the holes in her purple vest, trying to avoid any more contact than necessary. Though occasionally your fingers would brush his skin, and you could feel his breath hitch ever so slightly, eyes intensifying in their glare. You reacted with the same detached professionalism you always had towards him. Why, why wouldnât you let yourself love him?
Days had come and gone, turning into weeks, then a month. Wake up, morning run, getting properly ready for the day with your assistance, classes, homework, dorm affairs, practice, food, nightly routineâ then falling asleep in the same cheap mattress knowing you were just a room away physically but light years apart emotionally. Knowing that that boy still had the world dazzled by him, knowing your heart was still preoccupied by your sycophantic love for him. How could you? After all that she did, for his fans, for her dorm, even for you the ever stubborn tumorâ tuber that grew more and inside his brain. Didnât you see that this was the best outcome for you? That youâd shine more brilliantly than you ever could have before underneath her wing instead of that sentient pile jar of honeyâs? It was fine, it was fine. Practice harder, smile more charmingly, apply products so perfectly that it could hide every single fault within his own psyche, youâd love him now, right?
Finally, it was the day of the event they had long been building up to, the cultural fair, the Song and Dance Championship itself. Preparations were run, they had rehearsed over everything a million times by now, hoping to reach something truly beautiful, something absolutely beautiful. Better late than never, the Ramshackled Prefect and you had arrived, to the annoying pestering of some staff member with cracked lips and dehydrated skin. The cameraman had touched youâ hand on your shoulder about to usher the both of you out when he stepped in.
âExcuse me but those spudlings are part of my production team. If you had half a brain you wouldâve noticed their staff passes,â she glared at the man, arm snaking around your waist pulling you closer to his side, the cameramanâs hand now pulled out of reach. Fingers looped and twirled around the cheap polyester ribbon of the VDC pass around your neck, being held up delicately for inspection. Flicking his eyes between him, the prefect, and you there was an apologetic bow and reassurance uttered from the manâs crinkly lips. âCalm yourselfâ he removed his hand from around you, and walked off to speak with the rest of the crew.
âVi?â that voice, that agitating voice again. It was easy enough to converse with the boy, speaking words layered thick with double meanings and of passive aggressive tone. Finally, they were all called up, finally he could wipe that oblivious smile off of Neige's face.
Rehearse, perfection, smile, all thoughts that ran through his head as he stepped onto the stage, the stage that he belonged on. Five six seven eight, the music began, his voice cut as clear as a ray of piercing light coming from the clouds. Move after move he executed everything sharply, perfectly, beautifully. He caught you from the corner of his eyeâ You werenât even paying attention, just laughing over some dumb joke that the Ramshackled Prefect had uttered. A twinkle in your eyes and smile painted your face, you looked happier than you had within the whole month than he had spent with you.
The brief rehearsal had ended, various different workers for the TV station had crawled around him like maggots to flesh. Speaking her praise, clamoring questions, smile, that was all he could do as he answered each question with practiced grace, practiced confidence. Looking over the footage the dance was perfect, flawlessâ you. What were you doing over there by Neige, you smiled so brightly, he returned it in kind. âThey know, they know Iâm a horrible person and thatâs why they wonât love me,â the thought echoed in his mind. Buzzed around it returning again and again like the unwanted pest it was. Even as he checked his account, filled with all the praise in the world, it couldnât be enough to fill that gaping maw. You had bid that boy farewell shortly before Neige and his crew called up to the stage. Of course Neige replied in sing-song tone, quickly bounding off as if his joy was limitless, was effortless.
The performance, it was sloppy by every metric, harmonies clashing against themselves in different sections, the arrangement itself so musically simple. But he had won. Neige had won and the competition hadnât even officially started yet. Something so innocent yet calculated in its appeal, how could they win now? How could he prove his beauty, his craft, his excellence. Was he forever dammed to be in the shadows of someone who was once so far behind him? Someone who had lacked the upbringing he had, someone who had come from nothing yet so brilliantly shinned as if it was just destiny? He couldnât breathe, he couldnât breathe. He needed to leave, to go somewhereâ anywhere where he wouldnât be seen, where he could break down into pieces slowly by himself. Then he saw you. You were smiling again. Him, you, laughing. Blurred, colors melted into one another as hurried clicks of his heels echoed through the hallways. A door, not his own. A knock, it opened. You, him, in the same room, joking, merrily, happily, comfortably even. A question. A smile, the best one he could muster.
âWe didn't get much of a chance to talk before rehearsal. I was hoping we might chat a bit more now,â a glance. You sat there, confusion evident. You knew, how could you not have? He was alone, beside you, small talk was made. Hollowed praise thrown back and forth. Then, a question, âSay, Neige. Are you thirsty at all? I brought you some apple juice specifically for you,â stay out of this, please. Donât interfere, but from your eyes he could gears slowly turning. âI've been quite taken with this brand recently.â An exchange, a thanks. A sip, just about to be taken before you, of course you, of course you didâ she was stupid to think you wouldnât have.
âMind if I take a sip? Iâm awfully parched as of now, I can grab you another one though!â Confusion, from that boy. you snatched the bottle. A yell, from different direction by familiar voice. Rook, of course it would be Rook. After a brief analysis of the situation it seemed Rook had quickly ushered off that boy in cautioned and final tone. A drip dripping sensation ran from the back of his throat. She had wanted to scream, but instead stood there petrified, you looked at him glare in your eyes. A head tilt backwards, you were going to drink it. This wasnât how it was supposed to work out, not at all. Just when he was about to stretch out an arm, to try and prevent you, a person he was now realizing he adored, from drinking the culmination of his hideousnessâ SLAM. A flurry of white crashed into you and pushed his hand. Shouts, yelling, words, the word why hanging in the air drip drip dripping. Like a poison, like the glass that shattered onto the floor. The liquid hateful curse gushing out to bubbling puddle, before evaporating artificially into a purple misty gas.
He laughs, itâs a cold laugh, a tired laugh, an almost resigned laugh. âThat's what I want to know. More than the rest of you, even, more than any fan ever could,âpity, looks of pity. Oh how she hated pity. âBut you see, I've come to a realization. That I! Can never! Win! Never can beat him! And that's why⊠I'm going⊠TO HANDLE NEIGE MYSELF!â he could feel his skin slowly unraveling from the rest of his body, peeling off to reveal his rotten interior. Horrified, everyoneâs eyes were boring into her like needles. Your eyes were boring into him like a thousand rusted lances, he wasnât evil! She wasnât a bad personâ
âPlease⊠Donât look at me with those eyes, those eyes that grow cold only for me. Donât look at me like Iâm a heartless monster, DONâT LOOK AT ME!â he screamed throat burning as a bubbling black fluid escaped. A laugh cold cruel laugh escaped, âI want to be the fairest one of all, so why am I so...so...ugly? Ugly?! UGLY?!â Shouts echoed from every direction in the room, pleadsâ all frantic in nature. He saw you, your face aghast and coughing from the purple mist that swirled around you, you tried to reasonâ even in that sweet tone that was never once directed at him. Even in your fear, your suffocation, your blood rushing out from your face, tears welling up in the corners of your eyes, you were beautiful. BeautifulâŠ
âYes, of course. If I just melt everyone else into a hideous mess... Then I'll be the fairest one of all, won't I? Iâll be beautiful enough for you surely,â it was the last statement uttered from her lips before his vision went black, before he had succumbed to the inky abyssal blot completely.
Sorry this took such a long time to get around to! I first had to watch a bit of the anime, then I just got stuck on it. Truth be told itâs my first writing request, and mightâve gotten a bit carried away with it⊠but I hoped you enjoyed it regardless đ anon! Credit to @pixopix for the wonderful banners!
About time I made this, let me know if I forgot you or you wish to be untagged. This is gonna be kinda long.
@styxwanderer - Lovely muted toned artwork as well as fanfic that was my introduction to the twst fandom here. I truly hope to see even more of her beautiful creations.
@sl-vega - Archived blog, but one of my mutuals from my Genshin days, she made the most wonderful SMAUs and was truly such a delight to chat with. Without her encouragement I fear we wouldâve never seen me pick up the dried out quill and start to pen things again.
@zoropookie - Retired blog but made the funniest and most moving Genshin SMAUs I have had the pleasure of reading. We were Scaramouche ride or dies together stuck and joined by the same brand of cringe glue. I simply hope that whenever she is now that she is happy and healthy and fucking content.
@sherryclover - Wonderful art and her Yuu intrigues me heavily.
@robo-milky - Murder? Cannibalism? Death and more? Milky has got it covered! Her OCs delight me so much and anytime we are feed crumbs about the lot I lap it up like the starving dog I am. Iâm sure there are no abundance of Pomefiore lovers but it is always so lovely to have even more. I fear we will never beat the allegations of being the most insane out of all the dorm lovers though (^^ ;)
@rooksamoris - I adore the headcanons and shorter drabbles she writes, as well as every single analysis and take she has not only on twstâs characters, but on the fandom as well.
@lexipage234 - The cutest art of your favorite Nintendo games! She made me the absolutely most lovely wax bead keychain a while back and I still treasure the masterpiece dearly.
@jewelulu - The number one Floyd fanatic in my heart ⥠Luluâs art style is so expressive and wild, it feels as though Iâm walking through a stained glass dream.
@xryptik - The fandoms we have both shed and gone through together, I cannot believe how long we have been friends for multiple years now. He was one of the people who first inspired me to start writing. Weâll skip away together hand in hand at our chronic onlineness. Truly, thank you :)
@pomefioredove - I originally found Claudieâs writing scrolling through the main fandom tag for twst a few years back, and while I may not have enjoyed many of the things I read there, it was all worth it to have found her. Her weaving of words and the way she is able to convey such loneliness and longing is a masterclass. Thank you for indulging me so in every random thought I do speak aloud, it means the world.
@the-haiku-bot - THE HAIKU BOT HERE? AS ONE OF MY TUMBLR MOOTS?!? HUH, WHAT, WHY EVEN? Iâm still in somewhat awe that I have the Haiku bot as a mutual. Shocked I might be but thank you for following this silly fandom blog. Keep on making your haikus out of othersâ posts, it makes me smile.Â
@heartsiebyul - If you are in the mood for humorous and joyful headcanons and short blurbs, Heartsie is your gal! Still in awe that we became mutuals at all :)
@the-ace-reader (runs @twisted-up-in-wonderland) - Our every encounter makes me smile from the stupidity of it all /aff. Thank you for being someone to ramble my stupid twst opinions too and not being afraid to push back in debate :)
@rabioa - Vampire ramblings, in my hyper fixation? Yandere ramblings? Oh Iâm in heaven~ I cannot wait to see more of your writings and as well as your brain worms. Please do indulge me, for I am quite the curious creature :)
@pearliichuu-art - Art so beautiful and vibrant it tastes like tropical fruit bubblegum! I love seeing her depictions of different Umas and Vocaloids!
@bunniblr - Ouuuughhhh his art is so beautiful and her twst ocs are so intriguing! I crave to know more about them.
@ceruleancattail - Ceruâs yandere fics give me such life, the ideas they pen and write are such beauties to behold! I have taken much inspiration from them over the years of running this blog and it truly is amazing that we are now mutuals, and dare I even say friends. Take all the time you need to write or recover, I will always be here for when you return :)
@mistforgetmenot - Such interesting and accurate analysis! I love how Mist deconstructs common fandom perception not only through relevant facts, but then proceeds to highlight how those characters function as narrative tools. Everything is so concisely worded and a pleasure to read through!
@eekykins (runs @eekywonderland) - Ehe where do I even start with Molly⊠Her art is so gorgeous and yummy and HOLY SHIT HOW DOES SHE DRAW AS FAST AS SHE DOES? Thank you for indulging in all of the wormâs thoughts and responding in kind with your own! I truly hope we can continue to be friends for a long way to come!
@selveristsaatan - Some of the most gorgeous and visceral gore art I have seen, your work truly inspires me to make my own fucked up abomination children in kind.
@crookedgalaxycandy - I am so happy to have found a kindred soul of both magical girls and twisted wonderland through someone elseâs fanfic. Your enthusiasm is as bright as Cure Happy herself :)
@lawuchisw - POME TRIO FAN POME TRIO FAN, ONE OF US ONE OF US!!!! I love how they depict the Pomefiore boys so much, they all look truly beautiful in your style! One day I promise I will play a digimon game so I can know what the heck all of your other art is about (;-;)
@scribbleymewzaque (run by @mewzaque) - Mother I crave Ebi Yuuma content, mother I crave more twst Umaâ *proceeds to fall down 8430702 flights of stairs and then dies and unfulfilled sunfish* Anyway I love their art so much itâs all so fun and silly. I can be normal I swear.
@souslesetoilesavectoi - Hiiiiiii~ I do adore Sousâs Yuu so much, sheâs simply so adorable! The concept of having her be a selkie too? Ingenious. After finding Silverâs character boring for quite a while I think Iâm slowly warming up to him thanks to her and another mutual. She makes me want to create more for my yume/oc ships as well as more of my ocs in general, so thank you :)
@boopshoops - WAAAAAHHHH. I love Shoopyâs art so much itâs so refined and colorful and the texxxttturrreeeeeessss. Very cool OCs as well and I love them all dearly (biting of their heads and throwing them around like chewing toys). Her Territory Au is simply fascinating as well and I do hope to further sink my beak into it. (Fellow chronically fatigued and ill people unite)
@shinysparklesapphires - The mutual in law has become the mutual. Still getting to know Sapphire but her art is simply so adorable! More Precure mutuals? On my fandom (essentially twst) blog? Yesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesy-
@amvs (also runs @bipolartwo where she makes the cutest stimboards!) - Based as fuck takes and generally such a fun person to be around. Reblogs the cutest dividers and images ever, and runs such a welcoming and supportive community for bipolar individuals :)
@tsumiinum - The cutest dividers in pastel colors with degrees in longing. I swear I should start writing fics just so I can use her beautiful images and dividers!
I like to think that Yuuzu would collect a variety of citrus inspired trinkets- i noticed they have lemon-shaped earrings (which are super cute btw) and i was like why not more. oranges on shirts. lime-shaped glass figures. fruits as nail art. fruit-shaped hair clips. FRUIT PATTERNED SOCKS. as for whether or not he would share said collection though- would that be something she'd hide from others if someone was on the verge of discovering it(and if that'd be something he'd do in general)? <3
Hehehe thank you for the headcannon~ And yes, definitely. Back home their entire room was filled with various citrusy doo-dads. If youâre going to spend a lot of time in one room, might as well make it the most pleasing thing to be in!
For your second question, I have a brief comic coming up that will explain his relationship with how open she is willing to be on her obsession with all things citrusy. Hopefully itâll be out sometime soon⊠(^ ^ ;)
MDNI
1.6k words
Yandere Epel x very mentally unstable reader. READ THE TAGS FOR FURTHER WARNINGS.
Cold, blank, empty, that was most peopleâs first impression of you. Apathetic to a fault, and it never seemed to change since you had arrived here. No morals should move you, no persistence would nag you, no wit could charm you. You had lost, and lost, and lost. Your family, your friends, the comfort of knowing that you could return to a warm bed at night. Consideration for a world so cruel felt benign, tenacity was meaningless with no goal, diligence was void with no duty to tend to, dignity was a farce for someone who couldnât afford it. You lost all of it and couldnât even shed a single fucking tear. Screaming wasnât an option, every word you wanted to yell would instead dig its teeth and claws into your throat. Thoughts remained clogged, only choked muffled hiccups would ever leave. Hate simmered in your brain, never enough to ever amount to something, but not fully absent either.
For some reason a certain fair haired lavender individual found you interesting. Pestering you, constantly, consistently. Following you around kick a kicked mutt incapable of being independent from the leash of an owner. Was it your cold exterior that attracted him? Did the apathy you carried truly have such an effect on the heart? Was it your quiet rage he was somehow able to sniff out? Why did he find you attractive? Why wouldnât he just leave you be? Couldnât he see that he wasnât wanted? That only the comfort of your original existence could ever offer solace, and even thenâ you had grown. Changed and morphed the skin suit you wore to survive the current trials and tribulations. Surely the you sized hole had bled, scarred over, and new puffy pink flesh grew in your place. Surely people were able to grow past your existence and the you shaped hole had become naught but a pin prick.
No, you wouldnât dwell on it. You would move forward as you always had. One begrudging step in front of the other, you couldnât afford to lag behind any more than you already had. Currently the next step on your staircase was decoding that infuriating freshman out, more importantly figuring out how to go back to your peaceful bliss before. Bringing this to the school for obvious crow related reasons would be fruitless, asking politely had bore no results either. A decision was made in that momentâ if he wouldnât leave you alone you would become so hideous that surely no one would be able to love that monster.
It was a sunny day, it felt too bright out for the nothingness you felt inside. He was sitting there, apple in one hand, ornate carving knife in another. Perched up top on the cold marble benches beneath an apple tree, he was so at peace. The light from the leaves filtered out so prettily onto his hair and skin. It wasnât fair. He had robbed you of your solace and is now enjoying his own without a care in the world. As you approached further the boy noticed your footsteps, he peered up.
âAh! Prefect, I didnât seeâ I didnât expect to see you here,â he mustered out. Pupils grew dilated, a slight sweat had built up on his skin, he fidgeted with the knife. Nervous. You already knew that, already knew he liked you. Still, the confirmation was pleasant to have all the same.
âYes, I didnât expect to be here either, but here we are,â you draw on. Smile, no matter how hard you tried it would never look natural now so you didnât. You kept the same face as always, âWhat are you carving there, Epel?â He shifted, perhaps it came out too commanding, though the blush on his cheeks painted a much different story.
âWell just thought Iâd fiddle âround with the thing until it came out lookinâ all pretty n stuff,â his accent marginally slipped out. Was he comfortable enough with you to do that? Was it conscious? Subconscious? Did he deliberately let it slip out as a way of showing you he felt comfortable around you in hopes to lure you into a false sense of comfort? Who knew, you didnât, and he might not either from the lack of emotional awareness he had.
âInteresting, mind if I give it a go?â
âSure!â He carefully handed over the tool, handle side first and then the apple. Painted in a deep glossy red with cream colored innards, the apple mustâve been lying to your eyes. So perfect it had to have been a foam commercial prop. But it wasnât. Neither were you. Gloved fingers traced over every line and slope, the juices rubbing into the fabric gift. Plopping down you had begun to carve away at it, a set of unsettlingly wide eyes vandalized whatever previous ease you mightâve momentarily set into. You let your fingers get closer and closer to where you were cutting, your stabs and cuts slowly growing more frantic each time. The perfect display of the unraveling mind, surely no one could love a husk this maddened. No one could love a person like you here. Whatever words, whatever warnings Epel had just wanted to mention were now caught in his throat as the tool slide across all of your non-carving handâs fingers. Not too deep, you wanted them to function, but not shallow either. The white gloves had unfortunately absorbed more of the blow than you had calculated, the cotton blend now had a large slash through it. Skin was revealed, the whitish-yellowish hideous fat briefly exposed before oozing blood quickly started to seep out and stain your gloves.
âWhaâer you thinkin?! You donât cut towards yerself, yer supposed ta cut away from yerself!!â Epel yelled at you frantically, his accent fully slipping out now. The knife has been yanked out of your hand blade first, the force causing you to drop the apple from your other. Epelâs own hand now had a thin crimson cut running across the palm.
âAh, my apologies, it seems I was rather clumsy with it,â you reply. He squinted. You sat there, face unwaveringly neutral as you observed him. There was a certain hunger in his eyes as he took your injured hand in his, as he drank in the sight of your bare flesh. Perhaps he had a penchant for fleshâ to devour and rip from the bone. He gripped it tight, so much tighter than you thought someone of his stature could, and brought it almost to his lips. Scarlet drip, drip, dripped down your forearm staining the pure whiteness of the fabric enclosure on your hands further. There was a pause, before he pulled your limb just a bit further away to examine. His eyes widened this time in surprise. He mustâve caught sight of the various other injuries through the hole in the fabric.
Itâs a funny story, really. A nasty old habit that had reared its ugly marred face, a repeated tendency that took blade to flesh. Over and over and over and over and over and over and over. Youâd slash, cut, stab, burn, slam, bash, constrict anything you could. Anything that would be easy to hide. It didnât matter anymore, you didnât matter anymore. No one was going to care if you did scar yourself into a puddle of skin. Layer by layer cut by cut it all built up, with the added addition of each housewardensâ overblot you truly started to look how you felt.
Carefully he turned both of your limbs over, your hands and arms. Gloves were slowly peeled off. The older ones were a book of every mental breakdown you have had, every moment of weakness, every failure. The newer ones wet ink on parchment, words jumbled out in hopes that it would spark some feeling. Something, anything at all would be better than this prison mind fuck you had trapped yourself in. You could see how had forgotten all about the current cuts as the blood stained his fingers, bloodied fingers which carefully traced each and every puffy, dimpled, darkened, or lightened line that graces for forearms.
âYou canât do this to yourself,â he murmured under his breath but the boy was fascinated. Like a baby bird opening their eyes for the first time. You shrugged, what did it matter to him after all? It wasnât his wounds, wasnât his pain or lack thereof. Wasnât his flesh. âIâll make sure you donât do this to yourself,â he whispered almost like a prayer to the shell of your ear. Hollow words, surely. He couldnât prevent you from doing anything, he couldnât restrain you forever. His obsessive projection of desires masked as love wouldnât fix you. You were just a damsel, a half dead cat in his eyes that he could make something more out of. The apprenticeâs own little pet project.
Cold, blank, empty, that was most peopleâs first impression of you. Apathetic to a fault, and it never seemed to change since you had arrived here. Furthering into your own delusions for a sense of life only twisted the last bits of sanity you had left. Trying to get him away from you no matter the cost to yourself was the added mass the clutches of gravity could pull down on more. A rolling ball tumbling further down, with each second becoming exponentially harder to push back up. You didnât want to thinkâ didnât care to anymore. Hurting, screaming, nothing worked, his doe like eyes hiding the maws of a beast would still train after you. Besides, it was alright now. You had him, the strong farm boy to lean on. You donât need to slash at anything anymore to fill a void, he was right there! Should you forget about his nurturing hand, the poison apple wouldnât mind taking a bit at the prepared meat for him.
My boy Epel needs more love, so I made this fic! If you enjoyed please comment or reblog with your thoughts, it is my lifeblood.
