Welcome to my blog! You can call me Elena, I'm a big fan of Twisted Wonderland, Genshin, Steven Universe and other works, but I'll focus on Twisted Wonderland. I'm an artist and I'm also learning to write fics.
I'll let you know right away that English is not my native language, so forgive me if I write something wrong!
!And a quick disclaimer that I will not do nsfw, incest, noncon or any other type of thing that makes me uncomfortable on this blog!
enjoy my extremely long ramble about the nijikus and the vital instrument of all time
Okay this is my little deepdive #mydeepdive into the nijiku family + lovely assistaff. The goal is to hone in on goka and kyouka’s conversation in the beginning of the chapter, and this panel of goka and zanka because we have some very interesting things occurring here. First, we’ve got goka reaffirming zanka’s own beliefs of his inferiority (also his first spoken words to him). Next, kyouka’s position of authority over both of them. And FINALLY, goka’s belief that zanka’s “dependency” on lovely assistaff is why he’s currently vulnerable and failing.
Obviously zanka has not been having a good time pretty much since rudo’s introduction to the ground. He was incapacitated during the 2v1 vs jabber, didn’t do much during the amo fight (to his chagrin), and is still very haunted by his failure to meet jabber’s expectations during the raiders v cleaners arc. His inferiority complex even shows up in his introduction when he fights with rudo, but I want to talk about the fact that the introduction of lovely assistaff is also the creation of zanka’s belief in his own inferiority. In chapters 57 and 58, zanka deeply believes in the superiority of the nijiku family, our literal first introduction to his family is his father’s emphasis on upholding their “noble blood line” and taking his rightful place within the hell guard. At that point, zanka’s goal wasn’t strength or self improvement. It was simply proving his superiority to the people who weren’t “on his level”, and he did genuinely believe that he was the best even after hyo’s introduction (though it is definitely on shaky ground).
Similarly! In chapter 153 we see that goka still whole heartedly believes that the nijiku are superior to others bcus he brings up the “acceptability” of zanka’s (NEAR FATAL) injury.
Goka still hasn’t had to reckon with his own beliefs in their superiority in the same way that zanka has had to, and what was the catalyst to zanka being forced to confront his reality? The vital instrument that he’s “dependent” on. Lovely assistaff shattered the reality where zanka is "superior" and allowed him to see the ways he could change and grow (enjin's words to encourage him to leave the well).
From the get go she is set up to be a “true” reflection of zanka i.e. they are both frauds / phonies / not special. It’s really really important that zanka himself is the one to establish lovely assistaff as a direct symbol of himself, referring to them as a pair / "the same". And there’s a LOT more to be said about that with reference to the janka trashbeast fight but i’ve touched on it in a different post so we continue on. Chapter 59 is literally and figuratively zanka at his lowest point. Bottom of a well. Suicidal and self harming. A limiting belief in his own inferiority that has stuck with him for the next 100 chapters and been reinforced time and time again.
And then. After fraud allegations and lost battles and zanka's behaviors that reveal a mental decline….we get THIS as the first line of Chapter 153.
Kyouka and goka’s conversation truly does so much. It does so much. Much like our current zanka, goka has an inferiority complex and is comparing himself to others. In kyouka’s own words he’s being “blinded” by zanka’s good qualities and that leads to him “missing what’s in front of him”. gives us a really amazing contextualization of zanka without the biases we’ve been met with before (his superiority vs inferiority beliefs respectively). Goka genuinely believes in zanka and his skills to the point he has actively compared them and found himself lacking, and kyouka points out that goka isn’t able to see the reality either because zanka is “blindingly bright”.
She reaffirms goka’s own superiority by calling him the “sturdiest” in the entire hellguard, but almost IMMEDIATELY she says she wants him to defend zanka and his good qualities. I wouldn't be surprised if this reinforced goka’s inferiority and jealousy aimed at zanka, which eventually morphs into this idea that zanka is squandering his potential and allowing himself to be an “inferior flame”. This is also why i think he immediately opens his conversation in the present with “you’re pathetic”. He’s lashing out because zanka has betrayed the ideology they were raised in. It’s also interesting to note that while zanka and goka are extremely stuck in these individualistic notions of superiority and inferiority, kyouka is the one capable of thinking about their strengths as a whole. Something to do with the fact that she didn’t sit on the golden throne (mentioned in chapter 58) but became commander? That’s a tangent for another time.
Now, Kyouka’s position as an authority figure for the both of them really stands out to me because when goka mentions her it’s 1. To make sure zanka doesn’t get any “funny ideas” about his help and 2. To point out zanka’s “refusal” to live up to his sister’s expectations. A refusal directly implies that zanka CHOSE it. NOT that he was simply too weak to “make it”. While im fairly certain nothing has been confirmed, I think this speaks to the fact that zanka being disinherited was his own choice or one he actively made after awakening as a giver. I also think that it’s likely he awakened as a giver WHEN he climbed out of that well. But that’s headcanon or speculation so i’m not going to go into that too deeply (i will eventually. Later. Somewhere else i’m sure).
More Importantly This Entire Conversation proves that the way zanka is currently thinking about himself (and therefore lovely assistaff as well) is INCORRECT. Zanka believes he’s too weak, he’s not strong enough, that anything he’s done is “not enough”. But the people around him INCLUDING his siblings who have tried to reinforce these beliefs, all see his strength and abilities. Goka is only reinforcing these beliefs because he’s jealous and feels betrayed by zanka joining the cleaners, and he blames all of this weakness not on zanka but on lovely assistaff and their relationship.
Now. if you’ve made it through all of that mess. It’s time to talk about the truth in goka’s statement…zanka IS dependent on lovely assistaff, but it’s not his relationship with her that is limiting him, rather it’s his beliefs of inferiority that are INTRINSICALLY tied to her presence. He’s constantly talking about how she’s just a stick, just a staff, and he’s just an average joe. Remember, the introduction of lovely assistaff and his arrogance led to the destruction of his ego completely, but he still couldn’t let go of her, and enjin points that out in chapter 59. His actions don’t at all align with his words. Throughout the series we see that zanka genuinely loves her and loves her from the start. He’s rudo’s mentor because he knows vital instruments so well, he’s got a 1 million step routine to take care of her, she’s “just” a stick but the care and obsession he meets her with is considered non normal EVEN within the giver community.
So, in zanka’s own words, “why does it always have to be him?” why is he always failing? Why doesn’t he have the results to show for it? The connection between zanka’s view of himself and lovely assistaff is established in chapter 59, but it has diverged immensely from when they “met” in the well. It’s not an exaggeration to say that zanka hates himself, but he doesn’t hate lovely assistaff.
He loves her, which means he has the capacity to love himself. I think that once he’s able to accept this and align his beliefs with his actions, he’ll finally reach that “strength” he’s so desperate for, and it’s going to happen through their relationship, not from an abandonment of it like Goka thinks is necessary. It also bears mentioning that zanka’s only real reaction during this entire interaction is after Goka mentions lovely assistaff and his dependency on her. Like he very obviously idolizes and loves his vital instrument, and a big part of that is because she showed him the “truth” and broke him free of his delusions of grandeur. The issue is that he swung the pendulum too hard in the other direction, but once he finds that balance I think he’ll finally be able to unlock his full potential. #mythoughts.
Characters: Divus Crewel, Wesson and Nac Nighwatch (my OCs), NRC NPC B
A/N: I had been thinking about shenanigans the twins would get up to and what chaos they would accidentally cause while at NRC and this silly little idea came to mind. Keep in mind, the boys don't often tell people that they are beastman, so in my mind, the confusion makes sense. Anyway, this is technically Wes's Lab Wear Vignette if he actually had one in game. I hope you enjoy! 💚
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A plume of noxious, odorous ash billowed out from the cauldron’s rim. A chorus of wide eyes all turned to stare as the cloud dispersed into the ceiling, smoldering bubbles of charred liquid popping under the shield of black. They lowered from the cloud to the duo standing over the open vat, eyes equally wide in abject horror as reality hit them like a tram. To the left of the vessel, Wesson Nightwatch stood frozen, his hand tilted ever so slightly with an empty beaker quaking under the twitching of his fingers.
He had no idea what happened.
Silence weighed on the both of them as the ambient sizzling only added to the tension. His shoulders and back seemed to think on their own, his posture shrivelling from a slouch to an attempt at hiding in plain sight. The burning of a thousand eyes only made the walls creep in faster. The room rapidly closed in on him, the many shelves stretching higher in their expanse. He didn’t dare make a move. He practically tried to will his fingers still.
If only he could grow smaller.
His ears caught the sound of the footsteps pounding into the floor. The heels no short of recognizable as they carried a rivaled confidence and discipline. Few could maintain such a gait of that ferocity. And one of them ran this room.
“STAY!” barked the order.
As if Wesson had even considered the thought. He didn’t even dream of moving his eyes from the swirling pool of marble and periwinkle, eddying below him.
Why had it turned periwinkle?
The footsteps halted. Following the pause, a sharp crack pierced through the air as the ever infamous whip struck the professor’s glove.
He didn’t move. Not even flitching.
He felt it. The furious flames behind Professor Crewel’s eyes. A heat only matched by the cindering muck that had just formed by his own hand. Like the wall of his brother’s room, his skull seemed full of holes. Disintegrating by the gazes he knew relentlessly imprisoned him in his shoes, drowning out the subtle ache in his talons.
“Mr. Nightwatch…”
Suddenly, the urge to revoke his nominal dubbing felt unearthly strong in that moment. Mr. Nightwatch, who? Certainly not him.
“Which one?” came a cheery call from the other side of the laboratory.
“Am I speaking to you, Macademia?”
“No?”
“Then HEEL,” the command rang out like a thunder clap over a grassy plain.
“Okay!”
He’d made it worse. Somehow, Mac had made it worse. Why wouldn’t he button his beak- he knew better.
“Mr. Nightwatch,” Crewel repeated, this time with more bite within his bark, “care to explain why there’s a fire in my classroom?”
A bead of sweat cascaded down his cheek. He already knew that the professor wouldn’t like nor accept his answer.
“I… dunno, sir…” his voice creaked like a rusty hinge.
“You don’t know?”
He hated that tone. That challenging, inquisitive tone. The one that preceded a scolding. A good chunk of the time, he had a solid self defense when someone threw that tone at him. But at that moment? And against that professor? He didn’t stand a chance. Few had the amount of command and aggressive tenacity to instill fear into the heart of Wesson Nightwatch… and Divus Crewel landed himself into that category without competition.
“N-no, sir, I don’,” he repeated, his words nearly caught in his throat.
He still hadn’t moved his eyes. He hadn’t blinked either. And when Crewel turned to interrogate his lab partner, he held to his frozen stance.
“And you?” the professor practically growled.
“I- uh- No, sir. I don’t know either,” his lab partner stated.
Neither of them offered an excuse. Neither of them had one.
He finally shifted an eye as the silence sunk in. He expected to be berated, yet somehow the professor hadn’t lit the fuse just yet. His eye wandered ever so slowly, the crane of his neck pulling ever so subtly against the tension of his fear. Instinctual fear. With his gaze meeting the profile of his professor, he watched as the alchemist leaned in toward the rim of the cauldron. The scrutinizing eyes narrowed at the coloration and burnt consistency. As he leaned forward and stared closer at it, his brows furrowed deeper. Yet… Wes couldn’t tell if the emotion lining his features was frustration or confusion. Or both.
Deep consideration dragged out that pause like taffy. The professor’s expression slowly warped into a portrait of befuddlement. And to the vulture’s surprise, Crewel stepped away fully from the cauldron, strutting back toward the storage closets full of PPE. Furthering that surprise, he then tossed his coat onto the instructor’s desk, rummaging around the wardrobe until he found a pair of gloves. Silently, he nabbed a clean vial from the drying racks and strode back over to the cataclysmic concoction. With a flick of the hand, Crewel dunked the vial straight into the boiling vat and took a sample, all while keeping distance between himself and the fumes. The vial drifted closer until eventually he reached out and grasped the container with delicate hands. He took out a pair of protective glasses, flipping the lenses until he clearly gained some sort of magnification. And as Crewel began taking a closer, more intimate inspection of the compound, the vulture felt his stomach drop.
Crewel never did this.
After a while of swirling, observing, and shaking, the professor commanded, “Mr. Nightwatch, I want you to walk me through exactly what you did.”
That didn’t sound good. But what choice did they have?
Stammering, he began to explain the process. The words tumbled out of him at first but he eventually gained his footing. Walking through the process, he began to show the professor everything. Step by step. He was just following directions. Just as he had been while making the damn thing.
As he relayed his process, Crewel seemed to nod along, his poker face ever transparent. He seemed… pleased? Was that even the correct word? At the very least his face displayed a lack of disapproval. But when Wes reached the end of his demonstration, the professor’s brows furrowed deeply. His eyes narrowed once again, lifting up the vial to eye level. Examining it once again, his face grew to one of a mixture of disgust and bewilderment.
“I genuinely don’ know what happened, sir,” the vulture reiterated, “I followed the instructions and the formula by the book. Couldn’ tell ya why it turned blueish and started smokin’...”
“...Mr. Nightwatch?” finally came the professor’s inquiry.
“Yessir…?” he addressed him nervously.
“Why did you add vulture feathers to the concoction- No, better question, how did you add vulture features to the concoction?”
As the professor asked the question, it was like a real life record scratched. Every other student in the room’s face contorted into a shade of dumbfounded perturbation. Wesson, on the other hand, grew sheet white. His stomach leapt into his throat almost instantly. And his hands grew 5 degrees colder.
“I-I’m sorry…?” he asked, praying he hadn’t heard Crewel correctly.
“There’s vulture feathers in this potion,” the professor stated bluntly, “which is why the magical reaction occurred the way it did… What I want to know is how did you get them, and when did you add them?”
A frantic panic crept up his spine, almost straightening its curvature. His hands, despite still holding equipment, began to squeeze his grip, his knuckles blanching in real time, as he drew his arms closer to him. For a moment, he resembled more of a reptile than an avian creature. And the words, the words, the Seven forsaken words plastered themselves to the membranes of his throat, sticking to his glottus in refusal to leave. His brain felt scrambled, with answers incoherent and mismatched between lemmas and phrasal structures.
Before he actually managed to get the words out, that jovial tone crowed from the back of the class, “Ah, tha’s my bad, sir. It’s prolly mine. It musta fell when I passed by his cauldron.”
Words could not describe the stupified look that besieged Divus Crewel’s face. His hand even lowered as his attention snapped away from the brothy liquid in his hand.
“...You’re kidding?” he challenged, a sense of fizzled confidence pouring out of his words.
“Nope! No, sir,” Mac denied with a giant grin.
“...how would you know for certain?” Wesson also challenged, now growing gradually more and more irritated with his brother’s failed attempts at helping the situation.
“I don’,” his twin explained with a shrug, but that smile never left.
A tense silence fell between them. Both Crewel and Wes exchanged looks between themselves and the other beastman.
The professor cleared his throat, “Bad boys don’t lie-”
“I ain’t lyin’, sir! It’s a completely normal thing ta happen, sir.”
Crewel let out a frustrated exhale, now pinching the bridge of his nose.
“...Mr. Nightwatch?”
“Yessir?” the twins answered in unison, although the professor seemingly ignored the second.
“...come in later this afternoon during free period and redo the potion,” he commanded.
“Ah- yes, sir,” Wesson affirmed quickly.
“And Mr. Nightwatch?”
He glanced up from his hands, of which he didn’t realize he had been staring at.
“Don’t add feathers to it this time.”
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Tag list: @ramshacklerumble @the-trinket-witch @twstinginthewind @cyanide-latte @inmateofthemind
I was moved into a place by my parents after telling them I couldn't afford the rent until I had a steadier job, and now they're mad I can't afford the rent and can't find another job I've been searching a ton but I can't seem to land an interview anywhere.
I'm in the negatives in my bank account and have ~$100 on my credit card, so literally anything you can contribute helps.
All pricing is in CAD and transactions will be done through PayPal
I can do writing comms
$3 for a drabble (100-500 words)
$5 for a scenario/headcanon type post (per character) (600-1000 words)
$25-$30 for short stories, worldbuilding, or posts that include the entire twst cast
I dont have a proper comms art sheet yet but I have some examples
Full body, minimal shading, simple background - $20-25
(These are not my characters, they belong to @starry-night-rose and @galacticstationsblog respectively)
$20 for 4 with varying angles/hairstyle/accessories
In most cases, no shading will reduce the price by $2, and no colour will typically reduce the price by $5, but please DM for more details. Prices may vary based on the complexity of your oc or request.
I understand not everyone can contribute financially, so just reblogging helps too.
Age: 17 (turned 18 shortly after the start of the year)
Twisted from: … do you remember this game
Family: Yuustin Wright (cousin), an uncle
Height: 167cm
Race: Human
Homeland: Great Britain
Status: resident of Ramshackle, Chairman of the Student Council back home, Prefect of Ramshackle
Year: 1st
Club: None. They are trying to grow a garden around Ramshackle and take care of it with Yves and any possible minion they might recruit
Likes: being comfortable, knowing his cousin (and later Yves as well) is safe, gardening, collecting minions
Dislikes: Ramshackle before the renovations
Backstory: Liu's parents had never been a part of their life. It was their uncle who took care of them, and in return, Liu took care of their little cousin Yuustin. The coddling might have been a little too much because the younger cousin now wants to prove he doesn't need all that help.
At school, Liu seized control of the Student Council within a year after a small disagreement with Yuustin. Because they like taking care of people... so why not take care of the entire school anyways ?
Personality:
Liu Wright doesn't speak much and has a very intense stare. For certain people back home, it gave them an unapproachable but charismatic aura. They prefer to show they care through actions, even if those are small things most of the time.
They don't get provoked easily, but when they do, they know who amongst their "minions" is the most suited to handle the problem with them.
Trivia:
- He/she/they pronouns for Liu ! They don't mind. Liu used to reign over an all-boys school tho. NRC isn't all that intimidating to them.
- Yuustin's glasses were originally Liu's. Neither of them actually need it, Liu only thought it gave them a gentle look.
- They loathe Crowley with the intensity of a thousand suns, and the birdman somehow manages to make it worse each time they handle a new overblot.
- Liu is weak to the puppy dog eyes. But no glare or angry shouts intimidates them.
- They are determined to recruit at least one person from each dorm as a "minion" (currently trying to recruit Aiolos Managold as their intel on magical stuff)
Summary: Morrigan monologues about Silas for 849 words. That's it. That's the fic. Old fish man yaoi for you guys.
Warnings: Mentions of death and murder, violence, blood,
(Pls reblog and leave a comment❤️)
Have you ever been in love? What did it feel like? Did it make you feel light and airy? Anxious and flustered? Confused? Excited?
I’m in love. So horribly, irrevocably in love. It is not a tender, fluffy feeling, though. No, it was burning hot, a raging fire that never went out. Sea Witch, it makes me light headed.
Do my passions cross into obsession? Maybe. I don’t really care. Silas is my everything. My perfect, beautiful, dangerous Silas.
“Darling, you’re perfect.” I would whisper, and it just wasn’t enough.
“I love you” never encapsulated his feelings like it should. “I want you. I need you. I crave you.” The love ballads I would sing, they weren’t good enough. I could love Silas, praise him, worship him, but none of it came close to describing my burning love and desire for my Silas.
The delight and warmth that fills my veins whenever I see Silas and feel his touch was undeniable. The adoration and adrenaline I feel when Silas wrestles me to the floor during our games is indescribable.
My affections re neither understood nor shared. Silas is delightfully dangerous, a violent Abyssal merfolk who knew how to survive and left no friends when doing so.
Most people deemed him a cannibalistic monster or a loose cannon, but I love those deadly, unsavoury parts of Silas with all my heart and soul. Those claws could rip my face off, those teeth could tear me wide open, and I’d thank him.
“Are you insane?” I’ve been asked more than once by more than one person. I wear my courting gift from Silas with pride and that prompts most comments at me, paired with expressions of both concern and disgust. “Don’t you realize that if he could kill an orca or... or an orca merfolk, he can kill you easily? Don’t you worry he’ll kill you once he loses interest? When he gets bored of you?”
Maybe I am insane. I don’t really care, though. I know Silas won’t hurt me, at least not in the way others expect him to.
It hurts when we fight, when we claw and bite at each other, but it’s fun. It’s delightful. We never actually try to kill each other, nor will we ever. It’s the thrill of it all, the familiarity, and the desire, it all combines to form an adrenaline-spiking moment of wonderfully painful bliss.
The feeling of Silas’ teeth at my neck is a different kind of high, it gives me a sense of elation that tempts me to beg him to just bite down.
Nobody else fills me with such warmth and love. Nobody else makes me feel such delightful ecstasy. There is only Silas. My wonderful, perfect Silas.
I suppose one could assume my raging; violent affections would scare him off. But I know Silas. He meets me halfway. In fact, you could say he’s worse than me.
Silas is not loud or talkative or expressive. Love songs, praise, declarations of his feelings, those sorts of things were not how he showed love.
Silas’ love seeps through when he grips me tight enough to draw blood, paranoid and possessive. Whenever we sleep or swim of fight together, he holds me like a lifeline, like he’s afraid I would vanish if he dared let go.
His love seeped into rough kisses and claws and teeth dragging across my body, scratching, piercing, drawing blood, but never badly wounding. I am worth his time, worth keeping alive and safe.
His love seeps into how he’s killed for me more than once, snuffing out lives like they were mere candles. He wasn’t gentle or graceful with it either, no. It was violent and graphic, filling the water with blood and the stench of death.
I should probably be afraid of someone like that. Maybe I was at one point. But now, common sense has long gone, leaving nothing but obsessive desire in its wake. Any sense of fear was quickly replaced with thrills of excitement and the wonderful realization that I was wanted enough to kill for.
Silas rarely says “I love you” out loud, but he doesn’t need to. The words were in his every action, every gesture of affection, and every effort he made to ensure my survival and safety.
“I love you,” I whisper, and and Silas will hum softly in response. It’s such a delightful sound, deep and reverberating. It makes my skin tingle every time.
I want to kiss Silas every time I look at him and those gorgeous, mysterious eyes. Not just his lips, I want to kiss every scar, every tear or hole in his fins, every wrinkle and stretch mark and freckle. I want to love and adore and worship every inch of him.
Silas is my everything. My husband, my friend, my sun, my moon, and my stars.
There are not and never will be suitable words to describe how I feel about Silas, those raging emotions that swirl inside me and threaten to burst. But I know Silas understands me and what lies beyond the words.
That’s enough for me.
-End
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A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed this lil fic of Morrigan being unhinged lol, I had a lot of fun writing it.
Extraterrestrial Satellite Communication | Kalumnia
“Most people never amount to more than a goldfish in a bowl, confined to their own little lives and dying that way. However, some—like us—jump over the rim and into the big sea.”
A member of the Stellaron Hunters—A mechanical puppet who considers flesh the only difference between himself and a human.
Theatrical and youthful, he is utterly captivated by the behaviors of people and enjoys observing them. To make the most of the long life ahead of him, he has taken on multiple different identities and sheds them on a whim.
