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thana-topsy · 6 months

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Hi Topsy! A Neloth prompt for you—at your leisure, to play around with as you will. [Officious looking letter, penned on creamy parchment] "To: Master Neloth of House Telvanni. I hope this letter finds you in good health. I have been following your research with unwavering interest for a number of years, so it is with great pleasure that I would like to invite you to give the keynote address for this year's "Vanus Galerion" Invited Speaker Series at the Arcane University. The year's theme is "The Theory and Methods of Summoning." I have no doubt that your insights on the subject would be of great interest to both our students and our faculty, and it is my great hope that you will consider this invitation favorably. As always with a keynote address, we would be pleased to offer an honorarium, as well as cover all travel and lodging expenses. I patiently await your response. Respectfully, ~Hannibal Traven"

[Included along with Master Neloth's letter of acceptance is a brief excerpt of his proposed lecture]:

To begin, Theory and Method (of any particular subject) I consider, at times, to be dialectically opposed. The theory of summoning in many cases does not hold even a single drop of water in comparison to the actual torrent of the practice itself. I have no doubt that you’ll find an inexhaustible stream of scholars willing to drone on about theory until they’ve lectured themselves hoarse, so I shall skip forward into the methodology to save us all time and precious mental capacity.

First and foremost, a summoner is nothing without a strong, well-honed force of Will. Any budding mage could feasibly rip a gash into Oblivion and fish out a passing scamp, but to control such a thing requires the ability to assert your Will over another’s mind. The more powerful the intelligence of said creature, the more difficult it becomes to maintain control. Low-level summoning forms, usually of the more animalistic variety—scamp, imps, clannfear, and the like—are often considered ‘beginner’ summonings. Theirs is a lower-level, more primal intelligence based on survival instinct, and one that is easily overpowered when one knows how and where to apply the correct amount of pressure.

The practice of strengthening one’s Will begins with a simple act that has set many an apprentice groaning and bemoaning my cruelty when I require it as part of their daily routine: meditation. The ability to filter one’s thoughts with needle-thin precision is nothing short of mandatory. If you cannot manage to sit still for five minutes without planning your next meal or scratching your nose, what makes you think you’ll be able to control a sentient creature with any amount of success?

Once you have strengthened your Will, then it is simply a matter of practice. Novice summoners will find great success working with atronachs and lesser churls, as these are creatures who are predisposed to servility. However, it is important not to get too far ahead of one’s own abilities in the process. To reference one of the preeminent scholars on the matter, the current Master of Conjuration at the College of Winterhold, Falion: to wrangle with a bound summons is not unlike attempting to wrangle a very large fish on the end of a line. If you have not exercised the proper muscles or crafted a tenacious tether, you may find yourself with a snapped line and a very angry fish that will attempt to kill you.

Now, given the namesake of your little convention, I can only assume that to delve further into the subject might very well see me in shackles in one of your fine correctional institutions. So, for the sake of adhering to the legal limitations of your country, I will state that, to attempt to bring anything more powerful than a Kynval onto our plane is unwise and unsanctioned. Hopefully that will suffice.

We will take a brief recess, and, upon return, will discuss the Direnni method of binding, the hierarchy of summoned entities, and lastly, I will share the most common sigil forms for single entity binding, as well as second-order binding.

#topsy's asks #master neloth #tes magical theory #tes lore #tes headcanons #tes apocrypha #elder scrolls #tesblr #neloth #thank you Para this was a lot of fun!#Neloth rambling about magic is one of my favorite things #the Falion reference comes from cosmikaze's fic “Delirium” but I am hesitant to actually link it to tumblr for reasons

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lemonmatronics · 5 months

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I love designing clowns…

#Her lore goes crazy I can’t wait to write it all out #Why do my clowns always go through absolute hell #Well- Hallow is okay..kinda #I mean her crush was kidnapped but—#ANYWAYS her name is Topsy #Thank you Zip for the great name suggestion

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pokimoko · 1 year

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For the ask game: 13, 25, and 44. I adore all of your mk fics and your playlist are 100% going to influence my Spotify wrapped lol. Thank you so much for sharing your wonderful works and have a great rest of your week!!! 💜💜💜

Heeeyyy thank you so much my friend! I always love reading your comments and seeing you pop up again and again for each of my stories, it's absolutely wonderful. And thank you for the questions! Time for me to ramble once again. 13. Do I listen to music when writing? Oh, most definitely. Working in silence is hard for me. Ironically, though, I tend to zone the music out when writing (to the point I will not notice if I paused it until 20 minutes of silence later) so it's mostly for background sounds and occasionally the distracted little bop. As for what I listen to, it depends on what I'm feeling like and what I feel will help me vibe with the story. For In the Absent Place I spent like four hours just listening to thunderstorm sounds because, well, rain was a big part of that story and I wanted the Ambience™. I also ended up listening to the Moon Knight OST multiple times because it helped me vibe with the characters and the creepy aura while writing. In terms of lyrical music, I like listening to songs that have a story and/or emotional element of sorts when I'm writing. I listened to a lot of 'Bastille', 'The Oh Hellos' and 'Sleeping At Last' for a lot of my recent stories (as I'm sure you can tell from the fic playlists, thank you for listening to them by the way :D), because they each have a bunch of songs that I found really connected to the themes of the stories, and I like doing the classic writer thing of going "this song is now about this character" and taking inspiration from the lyrics. 'Course, my On Repeat stuff doesn't match up with that motivation at all; for those songs, the vibes come first and foremost. So, yeah, for the second part of the question, here's a few songs that I've been listening to a lot lately: - Straight Ahead by Dom Fera - Lent by Autoheart - Drown Me! by Junie & The HutFriends - Home by Cavetown - It’s Alright by Mother Mother - Jaws by Lemon Demon - A Man Without Love by Engelbert Humperdinck (haha no surprise there) - Disaster by Conan Gray - Waiting in the Wings by Eden Espinosa - Million Dollar Bills by Jukebox the Ghost - Egg in the Backseat by Em Beihold - W.I.T.C.H by Devon Cole - 12 Years Howled by Bear Ghost - Record Player (with AJR) by Daisy the Great - Inkpot Gods by The Amazing Devil - I Don’t Know How to Talk to People Anymore by Ben Thornewill

25. My favourite part of the writing process is when I get to the point in the story where all the main parts have been written, and I get to fill in the gaps between them and make the story whole, and add in all the little details. There's something so thrilling about scrolling through the text and realising that it's all come together into something complete. 44. My favourite genre to write is character studies. I just love delving into the psychological and emotional journey the character goes through over the course of a story, not simply the journey itself. I personally love when the external journey parallels the internal stuff and adds an extra layer of depth to each side (like, with Smoke and Mirrors, the mirror world was a physical representation of Marc and Steven feeling isolated from others, and feeling like they couldn’t ask for help because no one was listening / they were being ignored). Other than character studies, I definitely love writing anything with surreal, horror, or fantasy elements. (No wonder I loved Moon Knight as much as I did, it really was out here hitting all my favourite genres.) Ask me fanfic questions!

#ask #beloved mail #fanfic stuff #god sorry this answer is very lopsided I guess I just really got into the music question #someone asked what music i listen to? time to share my topsy turvy music taste #it really is just so over the place #(but there's no better whiplash then going from like 'it's alright it's okay you're not a demon' to 'JAWS THE SHARK LURKING IN THE DARK!!!')#i leap from broadway music to indie pop to hiphop to folk to punk to rock to mainstream pop to spoken word to southern gothic to--#i personally can't wait to see my own spotify wrapped this year just to see what i've listened to most #(also ohohoho i corrupted your spotify?? mwahaha excellent)#anyway thank you for the questions noggin kisses for you

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thebibliosphere · 1 year

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Speaking of therapy, I say, as though we're old friends, and you're not a stranger trapped in this metaphorical elevator with me and you can hear the suspension wires starting to fray.

I've been doing a lot of work recently that's focused on imposter syndrome and the feeling that no matter how well or how much I do, I'm not good enough. That I'm somehow tricking everyone into thinking my work is actually good.

Some days it's a minor niggle in my head that I can gentle and soothe with logic and affirmations. Or smother, depending on the mood. Other times it's loud and all-consuming and the mental anguish it causes me is so real I can feel it twitching in my muscles. This desperate fight-or-flight instinct with nowhere to go and nothing to fight but myself.

Anyway, because I'm several types of Mentally Unwell™, I was switching between workshop sheets ahead of next week. Filling in different forms. (Trying to get a good grade in therapy) And I got my "recognize your harmful ADHD coping mechanisms" worksheet mixed in with the "you're not actually lying to people, you just feel like you are because your brain is full of weasels" worksheet, and seeing them side by side made something go topsy turvy in my head, and I just had to sit and breathe for a couple of minutes until the urge to scream passed. Because it clicked, it all suddenly clicked.

The reason the imposter syndrome workshops and therapy sessions aren't sticking was because I do routinely trick people into thinking I'm someone I'm not.

Because I'm masking my ADHD for their convenience.

I've always known there was something wrong with me. My neurotypical peers made it abundantly clear I didn't fit in or was failing in some way I couldn't see nor remedy, no matter how hard I tried.

So I compressed myself into a workaholic box of hyper-competence in the hopes they'd stop noticing the flaws and exploit like me instead. And then subsequently lived with the daily fear that if they looked too close, they'd realize I'm a monumental fuck up with enough personal baggage to block the Suez Canal.

If you ever need someone to burn themselves to ashes for your comfort and convenience, I'm your gal.

Or I used to. Until I had a bit of a breakdown, and the rubber band holding my brain together snapped and pinged off into the stratosphere, never to be seen again.

Unfortunately, the trauma of living like that didn't also fuck off and instead left a gaping maw where my personality ought to be, so now I get to deal with that aftermath.

And it's that aftermath that's affecting the imposter syndrome shit. Because yes, I am hyper-competent and good at what I do-- but it doesn't feel real because that is how I mask.

And the truly frustrating thing is I am good at what I do. I am not pretending. I worked hard to be good at this. It just feels like I'm dicking around because 90% of my personality turns out to be trauma masquerading as humor in a trenchcoat, and having people genuinely like something weird I'm doing is so foreign my brain has decided it's just another form of masking.

I'm pretending to be a good author so people will think I'm a good author, and my brain thinks we are in Danger of being found out. We are in Danger, and writing is Dangerous because then people will know I'm Weird and not whatever palatable version I've presented myself as for their NT sensibilities.

Like the neurotic vampire with a raging praise kink wasn't an obvious giveaway.

Anyway. I got nothing else. Thanks for listening.

I'm going to go be very normal in another room and not stare into the abyss of my own soul for a bit.

#adhd #mental health #mental illness #trauma #imposter syndrome #sorry for the wall of eratic text #feeling jittery af #possibly hypomanic tbh #either way #aaaaaaaaah

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colourstreakgryffin · 2 months

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I had a silly idea, what about an Cheshire Cat!reader x Alastor? (Feel free not to do this dearie ( ·∀·) )

Haha. OMFG. A Cheshire Cat would really match with Alastor well! So, thank you, Lady Beelzebub! I’ll try this out!

Alastor- A Little Game

Vaggie has been so frustrated. Charlie has been trying to ease the crew. Husk is on the verge of murdering somebody. Niffty is annoyed that her cleaning equipment is gone. Angel is quite amused by what’s going on and Alastor is very invested in the cause

Lately, the Hazbin Hotel has been dealing with a suddenly appearing invisible menace causing pranks after pranks nonstop; locking or trapping up doors, stealing items and storing them high up, whispering out in the halls at night

Alastor didn’t suspect he’d ever run into the culprit of all this trouble but he has. After Charlie had been giving Vaggie a calmdown pep talk, the Princess politely asked Alastor to check around the hallways for any more prank remnants, the Overlord did so, just to see what he may find… and he made a incredible discovery

A floating cat-like sinner with magenta and pink colouring, most importantly, a big Cheshire wide grin. A rival of Alastor’s own smile and with almost half a body, as if cut in half

The sinner was in the midst of setting up a trap consisting a big silver bucket full of thick blood over the top of Alastor’s own hotel room door, but they’ve been caught in the act

And Alastor doesn’t plan on dealing out punishment… he’s too amused

“Ah… you must be the little troublesome beast causing so much disrupt in this Hotel?” Alastor asks almost immediately with literally no malice towards what’s been going on, his transatlantic accent smooth and almost making his voice sound more friendly and warm than he actually is as this cat sinner… or otherwise, you

Just giggles under your breath and disappears into thin air properly with the wide grin floating in the air for a few seconds almost magically before dissipating with you

“And if I have?” Your voice rings out after a few more seconds of silence, disembodied, invisible. You can’t be tracked with eyes but Alastor’s powerful magic can pinpoint where you are by detecting your own demonic magic, sharply looking over his shoulder to be greeted with your floating head

Just your head… no body, it’s like before when it was half of your torso. Now, it’s just your head. Your magic is a lot like the storybook fairytale character, Cheshire Cat

But that’s because you’re the most Cheshire Cat person anybody will ever met. Alastor couldn’t help but be so amused by you; you’re skilled, you’re snarky, you know what you’re doing and you’re resourceful, good at planning

Able to have avoided being caught by everybody in the Hotel for months now and you’re lucky enough to have been caught by the one member who enjoyed the chaos and madness the pranks caused

“I believe you must avoid the others if so” Alastor proclaims, almost mysterious and still silky in that radio-laced but classy and dapper tone as you tilt your head confused. For the first time, you’ve been snapped out of your mischievous chaotic demeanour

You suspected him to bark, to growl, to be annoyed so him not is so odd to you but quickly brushing it off, you manifest your whole body into frame. Cute fluffy striped cat-like ears flicking and long fluffy cat-like tail curling around, almost like a coil spring

You couldn’t really understand this Overlord, something you don’t like. You’d prefer people to be confused by you, by your style of insanity and madness, by your enjoyment of causing so much disorder and high-tension emotions

You were about to speak, basically floating over his shoulder before Alastor beats you to the punch. You can’t tell if you’ll like him or despise him with the way he speaks, almost condescending

“If you’re going to make my project topsy-turvy, I suggest do a better prank”

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lesbian-i-ching · 9 months

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At last, when all of the world is asleep You take in the blackness of air The likes of a darkness so deep That God at the start couldn’t bear

And sit unseen, with only the inner upheld Your reflection can't offer a word To the bliss of not knowin' yourself With all mirrorin' gone from the world

Still the mind, rejectin' this new empty space Fills it with somethin' or someone No closer could I be to God Or why he would do what he's done

Bhfuilis soranna sorcha Ach tagais 'nós na hoíche Trína chéile; Le chéile, claochlaithe Bhfuilis soranna sorcha Ach tagais 'nós na hoíche Is claochlú an ealaín Is ealaín dubh í Bhfuilis soranna sorcha Ach tagais 'nós na hoíchе Trína chéile; Le chéile, claochlaithе Bhfuilis soranna sorcha Ach tagais 'nós na hoíche Is claochlú an ealaín Is ealaín dubh í

[Actual translation of the irish verse thanks to this anon

you're all bright ease but you come on like night topsy-turvy; together, transformed you're all bright ease but you come on like night art is metamorphosis it(f) is a dark art you're all bright ease but you come on like night topsy-turvy; together, transformed you're all bright ease but you come on like night art is metamorphosis it(f) is a dark art]

[Old Translation of the irish verse

Although your bright and light […] You arrived to me like nightfall, you come like nightfall You and I sort of mixed together You and I metamorphosized So that same idea of you can’t see where one begins and where one ends that, that is some kind of metamorphosis of some kind]

#music #audio archive #2023 music #mp3 #new music #alternative #indie #hozier #andrew hozier byrne #unreal unearth #de selby part 1

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vidvana · 9 months

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I know that nobody asked, but here's some Telvanni lore for all the foodies.

Before you begin this culinary journey, check out this post about ash yams it's essential.

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Telvanni Cuisine

It’s obvious that Telvanni have an extensive knowledge of fungi. After all, they live in huge mushrooms and collect and plant numerous species from all across the Tamriel to use them in their potions. It goes without saying that their cuisine is also quite fungal. The commonfolk at Telvanni settlements as most of the Dunmer source their protein both from fungi* and insect meat. But Telvanni nobles love nurturing peculiar worldviews and traditions that differentiate them from other races - or even other Dunmer. One of them is their distaste for anything that doesn’t grow in soil. They frown upon hunter traditions of Ashlanders and stock-raising of house Redoran and regard them as “primitive” in contrast to the delicate art of growing fungi. The alchemy ingredients are an obvious exception from this rule, but in general as their occupations don’t usually include menial work, their light and low-calorie cuisine perfectly matches their lifestyle. This resulted in traditional cuisine of the nobility being solely plant-, or more specifically, mushroom-based**, that contrasts sharply with the cuisine of Skyrim that is rich in venison and other animal-based foods***. Noble Telvanni shun debilitating ingredients such as alcohol and moon sugar in their everyday cuisine, as keeping their minds sharp is their main priority. In order to get an indulgent sweet taste marshmerrow is used instead. Telvanni rarely import vast quantities of vegetables from other provinces as house Hlaalu does. They use commonly grown foods like saltrice, ash yams or mushrooms as the base ingredients of the dishes. In some aspects they prefer to stick to the Dunmer traditions. The nobles, though, indulge themselves in expensive imported berries - not only because of their magic-enhancing abilities but also because of their extravagant taste. As the Telvanni ranks feature numerous alchemists the import of alchemical ingredients is obviously very common. Telvanni chefs gradually incorporated some of the exotic spices into traditional cuisine. Especially valued are the most characterful of them that fancy up the bland taste of mushrooms, such as juniper, ginseng or garlic****. * In real life mushrooms are a rather poor source of protein compared to legumes like beans and lentil. But since there are no legumes in TES universe (at least as far as I know) let's suppose there are some protein-rich mushrooms Telvanni can plant. ** It’s also worth mentioning that I’m a Telvanni-fixated vegan ass myself so that’s a more probable reason why I made my beloved house also vegan xD *** A lovely example of that contrast you can encounter in @thana-topsy ‘s fanfic “Breathing Water”. This would nicely explain Neloth’s preference for apple cabbage stew. **** This recipe for example resembles Telvanni cuisine, it was one of the inspirations from my imaginary dishes above.

Above I’ve come up with some examples of what noble Telvanni would eat on a daily basis.

Thanks for reading that and take care :3

#house telvanni #telvanni #dunmer #dark elf #dark elves #tes morrowind #tes lore #tes #tesblr #my-posts #darkelf #ash yams #morrowind

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spookberry · 2 months

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Had an idea for a Pokemon Legends ZA character I couldnt stop thinking about while trying to sleep last night

Basically they're an engineer/inventor type with their own little house you can go into. On a table and tacked to the walls are diagrams for all sorts of strange contraptions. There are wooden wheels and handle like pieces strewn about as well. You talk to this person and they tell you about their time in a nearby region and how over there they use a pokemon to get around and how its inspired their newest invention.

They're just so busy working on different prototypes for their invention that they ask you the player to run a couple errands for them. Idk what sort of errands but I imagine there's like three of em. After each you go speak to them to get the next one and they thank you and update you on the topsy turvy production process, they're a bit scatterbrained. They mention they keep getting distracted by side projects. After theyre done talking you can interact with them again and they'll just repeat these three comments like they're talking to themself:

"maybe more than two wheels would help with the balance...?"

"Should I calculate footsize into the shape of this part?"

"Some sort of braking mechanism might be important..."

Anyways I like the idea that the player is set up into thinking they're gonna get a bike only for the Character to say theres still some work needed on that invention actually but to thank you for helping here's the protoype for a Different invention they made while distracted that they want you to have/test out for them.

Its rollerskates

#my other idea is they give you rollerskates at the beginning as a form of compensation for helping with a different invention #and then you get a bike eventionally #pokemon #plza

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tastesoftamriel · 3 months

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A giant mystery box from the US? What could it be? None other than more fantastic work by @scrollsnsketchbooks, and some original art by Ry (nicatorshields on Instagram) that graced the pages of my brand new SECOND EDITION cookbook! And my precious worldbuilding compendium!! All bound in leather with SILVER pages oh my!

My gratitude also goes out to @thana-topsy and @icicleteeth for contributing their incredible art skills to the recipe book.

I have the best friends and fan community in the world and from the bottom of my heart I'd like to thank all 11k+ of you who never stopped believing in me. Long live Tastes of Tamriel! 🖤

#Books #bookbinding #Book #Recipes #Recipe book #Cookbook #Art #Tes #The Elder Scrolls #Scrollsnsketchbooks

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harfanfare · 11 months

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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.

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.

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.”

#I finished my last exam today!! They didn't go as well as I expected #but hey! now I will finally have time to write!! I've been dreaming about this for a long long time haha #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twst #rollo flamm #twst rollo #twst rollo x reader #rollo x reader #rollo flamm x reader #rollo flamme x reader #rollo flamme

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 months

Text

Don't Speak 38

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, stalking, manipulation, reclusive behaviour, disordered eating, dissociation, allusions to abuse, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader is a reclusive loner who ventures down to the library on a simple mission. Her task is complicated by the man she meets there. (f!short!reader)

Character: librarian!Andy Barber

Note: new year, same Andrew.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

You bend over the tub, testing the temperature with your fingertips. That incessant flutter doesn't quit. Your stomach is all topsy turvy. With guilt, with shame, with anxiety.

Every word Andy said echoes in your head. His pain, his anger, and that other thing that always overrides the rest; neediness. He doesn't want, he needs. Everything.

Before you can stand, something caresses your lower back. You squeak and stand so fast it makes you dizzy. As you face Andy, your feet tangle in each other.

He's already down to his boxers. You don't see the rest of his clothes, he must've come like that. You give a sheepish smile and press against the side of the tub.

He grins but winces. He turns to check his reflection, leaning in as he touches his swollen cheek. Another strike of guilt razes your body.

He backs away from the mirror and drops his hands. You look off as he feels along the front of his underwear. You don't know why it still makes you so… nervous.

He pulls the fabric down and you sidle along the tub. You can't get past him. He looms over you and brushes close as he peers into the water.

“No bubbles?” He says.

You flinch and clasp your hands together, “sorry, I–”

“I'm teasing, honey,” he touches your shoulder, rubbing the fabric of your sleeve between his fingers, “you're going to join me, right? You said…”

“Yeah, yeah,” you squeak, “I just… you get in first…”

He lingers but only for a moment. He turns as you avoid looking directly at him. You push away the thoughts that battle against each other. Those fearful ones which note the strength corded in his muscles, and those other, curious and confused. The one's not innately attached to him which often wander to another. Someone you shouldn't think of like that.

You chew your lip as you muster what courage you have left. Much of it was spent simply knocking on his door. You've never been very brave, have you?

You pull your blouse off first. The short exhales that hisses beneath the noise of the faucet tickles your ears. You know he's watching you. That makes your hands shake.

You fold the crisp white blouse over the end of the counter and undo the top button of skirt. You shimmy out and lay it with the top. Then you pull the stockings down your legs, leaning on the counter for more than balance.

You stand in your plain white bra and panties. Andy clucks as the water stirs.

“We should get you some cute bras to go with your panties,” he says, “maybe pink?”

You swallow. You don't know what to say. He's being provocative and you know it.

“I like purple better,” you say as you steel yourself and unhook your bra. You hesitate before you let it fall away.

“Purple is nice too,” he agrees. “Honey…”

He leans back and reaches his arm over the edge of the tub. You turn to him, fingers on the then scalloped elastic of your panties. You're being good. You won't argue. You won't hurt him again.

You roll down your panties and leave them on the tile. You have to keep from sprinting away and make yourself go forward. You approach the tub and he reached for you. You accept his large hand as you step over the wall of the tub.

He purrs and guides you down, his other hand tracing along the curve of your hip and side. You sit between his legs as he makes room for you. He's rigid against your back, twitching as he eases you to recline against his stomach.

He sighs as the tension slowly leaves his muscles. His hands wander along your lower stomach. You try to keep from locking up but your stiff and startled. He cups your chest and wiggles beneath you. Your heartbeat hammers.

“You nervous?” He chuckles into your hair.

You nod and gulp loudly.

“Why, baby? We've done it all before.”

“I… know,” you quiver, “but… it's still new to me.”

He laughs again, his thumbs rolling around your nipples until they're hard.

“That's good. To feel that way. That excitement,” his timbre is silty and deep, “you know I feel the same. I can't get enough because every time feels just as good as the first.”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” you agree weakly. You waych the water rise and squirm, “it's going to overflow.”

You try to sit up but he holds you down for a moment. Keeping you against him, just a second, as if to say, I am letting you get away. You rise up and twist off the faucet as his fingertips dancing up and down your back.

You lay back again and he groans. His swollen dick bobs between you. He curls and arm across your stomach, his other hand dipping beneath the water to knead the side of your ass. He nuzzles your crown as the rumble in his chest gets louder.

“Will you put me in?” He asks.

You don't know what he means. Not at first. Not until he shifts his hips, lifting you slightly so his tip prods along your cheeks. You grasp the edge of the tub as your eyes round.

“Please, I just want to feel you.”

You nod, speechless. You ache at the thought. You don't think your ready for him. Have you ever been?

You push your hand under the water and angle around. You find him and line him up with your cunt. Even submerged, you're dry. You tilt your hips and rub his head along your lips, trying to work up to it.

You feel his impatience as he rocks his hips, prodding again. You hold your breath and angle him against your entrance. It burns just to get his head in you. You pull back and try again, a little further but just as fiery.

Slowly you get him, halfway as he growls and once more fondles your chest. He tilts from below, moving his hips steadily until he chafes past your resistance. You whimper but try to make it sound less agonized.

“Mmm,” he buries himself to his limit, well past your own. Tears bobble on your eyes. “I could stay just like this. How about you, honey?”

You nod and tamp down the pain, “yes… An–honey.”

He doesn't move. He keeps you flush as he continues to feel you up. He reaches down to knead your thighs and your hips, tickles your stomach, gropes your chest, and finally, settles a hand across your throat. He purrs and kisses your hair.

“You make me feel so… big,” he growls.

And he makes you feel insignificant. You let out a moan and nod above his knuckle. He squeezes just enough for you to gasp.

“I'm not going to hurt you…” he says, the last of his words dangle unsaid; not like you did me.

You stay still as his thumb presses under your jaw. You can breathe, just barely. He presses his nose into your hair and groans and he pulls himself out of you, just to his tip, then eases back in. You puff out a breath as your hand falls to grip his hips beneath you.

“Shhh, baby, you relax,” he coos as he thrusts again, long and slow, as if he knows it's torture, as if he's drawing his vengeance. “Fuck, you're so tight around me…”

He continues at the pace. Deliberate and devious. You feel your walls stretch with each plunge into you, your back wracks with tension.

You try to breathe through the torment. You can't as he picks up his tempo, pulling out slow only to snap back into you. His pelvis makes you sore with each dip inside.

The water swirls and splashes as his breath hitches. Your own is trapped as his hand becomes a vice around your neck. You wheeze as he bucks into you from below, jolting your entire body with each thrust. He growls and snarls and sneers as he uses you to his delight. To your horror.

You close your eyes and give in. You go limp as you let him have you. As you try to make yourself feel as good as he does. Why can't it feel nice for you?

You clamp around him as a vision flickers across your eyelids. One that makes you squeak. That has you clutching at Andy's thick wrist, trying to swallow down air.

No, no, you shouldn't, but it feels better with those thoughts. You don't feel so worn out. You feel almost giddy to think of him instead.

You squeeze Andy's arm and a moan escapes his grip. Steve, oh Steve. You see his blue eyes watching you. Feel his hands petting you. Gentle, not rough.

The bathroom disappears and is replaced with a new scene. The leather couch in Dr. Kemp's office. He's there with you, on top of you, holding you. And you like it.

The pressure builds in your core as he writhes with you. As you intertwine in pleasure, working as one, not against each other. You're chest is ready to burst as he pecks along your forehead and cheek, coaxing you as his warm cologne tinges your senses.

“Good girl,” he slithers into your ear.

Something in you snaps. Just like with the toy but better. More intense.

Your eyes open wide and you gasp out as you're swept up in the rolling tide. Your hand drops from Andy’s wrist as you let him choke the words you dare not say. Steve, Steve, Steve…

Your orgasm piques quickly and just as suddenly fizzles out. A glimmer against the gray reality. Your head swells as the pain seeps back in.

You're bad. You're very bad. If Andy knew… he can't. You promised not to hurt him again. So you won't let him ever find out.

🕊

You work at layering the flat noodles, sauce, and cheese. Lasagne has always been a favourite, Amber's especially. But you can try your best.

The fragrance of tomato and basil waft in the air. You focus on the task. It's easy to appreciate the simple things when there is so much around that's complicated.

As you lay down the last layer of cheese, you check the temperature on the stove. It's not done preheating. You'll have time to wash up a bit.

You rinse the silicon spatula, a pot, a pan, and a bowl. You dry your hands as the stove beeps and reach for the heavy pan of pasta. As you move to put it in the stove, your thighs squeeze together and remind you of the less simple tasks.

You shut the oven door and cling onto the handle and bask in the warmth. You close your eyes. You haven't slept much in the last few days. Each time you try, he wakes you again.

That day could’ve been a renewal. With Andy working again, you have hours to yourself, but when you did try to doze, you were kept awake with dread. You feel yourself cracking again but you won't let it show. Not this time.

You look over at the knife block. Your eyes stick there. You try not to think of blades or their edges on your skin. You shudder and shake your head.

The front door pulls you back. You turn as you hear Andy in the entryway. You rush out to meet him. He puts his bag down and lets you help him out of his coat. As you hang it, his hand wanders under your skirt and he pinches your ass.

“Something smells good,” he sniffs emphatically.

“Lasagne,” you draw away and smile at him.

“Mmm,” he hums as he looks at you, “dove…” he has a devilish twinkle in his eye, “you know… tomorrow is Friday.”

“Yes,” you confirm tenuously.

“So, well… would you want to do something special?”

“Special?” You echo him, your stomach starting up again.

“If I asked you a favour… it's been a long week, you know, so I was… hoping you might take some of the load off,” he explains, “but it's something fun.”

“Okay?”

“Tomorrow, when I get home, will you… will you wait for me naked?” His cheeks tint red just sligthly as he smirks guiltily.

You blink as your brows pop up. You didn't expect that. You couldn't even think of something like that.

“I… I guess,” you press your sweaty palms to your skirt, “I could…”

“And when I come in, you can undress me too,” he steps close, his hands on your hips, “one piece at a time…”

“Sure,” you eke out.

“And you'll kiss me?”

You nod.

“And take care of me?”

Another nod.

“You're so good to me, dove,” he purrs as he cradles your chin, forcing your head up, “I have another surprise for you.”

He lets the statement hover as he kisses you. He sways you as he wraps you up in one arm. His tongue invades your mouth, nearly gagging you, but you're getting better. You don't even murmur as the gross sliminess.

He finally parts and you catch your breath. He bites his lip as he looks you up and down again. He smiles and inhales deeply, his chest rising and falling in content. He tugs on his belt, wiggling his hips as you ignore the bulge in his pants.

He turns and reaches for his bag. He slips his hand into the top and slides a shape out. It's your tablet. He holds it just out of your grasp as he faces you.

“You've been doing so good. I'm… sorry I took it,” he offers it to you. “I was upset and afraid. I know now how much you love me, dove.”

You put your hand on the other side but he doesn't let go. He keeps you deadlocked as he grips the case tight.

“But you should only talk to Dr. Kemp in session. I think that's best,” he girds.

"I understand,” you try not to rip the tablet away. You can't help but be desperate for it. You haven't drawn in so long.

“Good,” he lets go and you hug the tablet to your chest.

You smile and look down at the top of the case. It's a small victory. Just like the fading bruises on his face.

“Honey,” your heart leaps as you start before you can stop yourself. No, it's too much but you have to ask. While he's happy. “Can… can my sister come over? Next week?”

“Amber,” his smile falls in an instant, “I don't know… feels too soon.”

“Okay,” you accept. You know better than to argue, “but eventually?”

His brows lower and his cheek dimples, “how about we chat with Dr. Kemp about it?”

You could jump! It's not a yes but isn't a no either.

“Yes, honey, we can do that,” you recite.

“We…” he smiles, “we can.”

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #defending jacob #steve kemp #fresh #au #library au #series #fic #dark!fic #dark fic #don't speak

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thana-topsy · 9 months

Note

the enthusiasm and joy you express for your blorbos through your fic and art is as contagious as the Thrassian Plague and makes sharing a corner of fandom with you a delight, FYI

If I'm going to spread my brainrot like the disease it is, I'm so happy to hear that it sparks joy. 💙

#topsy's asks #tesblr #kind anons #thank you so much I appreciate it more than words or little silly cartoon stick figures could properly express

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kandlewick · 7 months

Text

i'll dry the villain's tears pt.2

you get reincarnated into a role that became the breaking point of the villain's story and you, be it an unwillingness to cause them harm or a desire to survive, must work hard to make sure they grow into a better (or at least safer) person.

all entries are meant to be read as platonic. all are meant to be taken place in the TWST universe accurate to the game.

It was a very strange feeling, being immortal. Within the blink of your eyes, decades had past and you still didn't know why you were brought to this desert world and why you were granted a second chance at life. Your memory is broken and fading, yesterdays felt like years and years felt like yesterdays. Very few things mattered enough anymore for you to remember. All you can piece together is the distant, far off memory of waking up from what felt like a long nap and falling into the arms of a man clothed in rags.

He's dead now. Has been for a long time.

But now, you serve his family - his descendants. The shackles that once bound you were broken off centuries ago but... Something was telling you to stay, to wait. You were needed here. You didn't know how long you would have to wait but nothing could pull you from your course. Nothing.

It wasn't until the birth of Kalim Al-Asim that you remembered. Everything came rushing back, flooding your mind's eyes with visions of blot and tears as the palace erupted into cheers and praises, everyone around you eager to celebrate the good news. The birth of this child would surely be a blessing to everyone around him.

Except..

for Jamil Viper.

You had to find him.

For the first few months, you practically tore up the palace, ignoring the cries and complaints of the servants and guests in your pursuits, claiming you mad behind their hidden mouths and jeering tongues.

"Why are they searching so hard for a servant boy?"

"Our blessed and loved Kalim Al-Asim has been born! Why wouldn't they want to shower him in their blessings?"

"Surely this dijinn has gone mad with age!"

You ignored the servants and their trite giggling over meaningless chores. Your cause was greater then their own.

It wasn't until several months later that you found him. In the arms of his mother and father, you found the child that would curse the name of his brother in near everything but blood and nearly wept in pity. You clutched your fist, ignoring the whispers and the gawking of the palace servants and guards as you knelt down and pressed your lips to the child's palm, smiling as the innocent child giggled at you. It knew nothing of the future it would've been granted if they didn't have a friend like you.

"Don't worry, child, your life will be a happy one."

"Watch where you're swinging that thing! You nearly smacked the intern's head clean off!!"

Was that why you were seeing stars?

You stumbled for a second, nearly dragging a boom mic down with you as your legs tried to catch your near dead weight. The man carrying the wooden beam didn't even apologize as he carried on with what he was doing. In fact, nobody really seemed to care after they knew you weren't knocked out cold on the floor, knowing they just dodged a lengthy worker's comp.

"Yeah... thanks guys. Really feeling the teamwork," you grumbled, blinking past the tears. Where were you anyways?

Wait, that was strange. Why couldn't you remember anything? You remembered important details like what car you owned, where you lived, how to drive a car, but your past, your name, everything was gone like a balloon just popped between your ears.

"Ugh, maybe I do need to get myself that worker's compensation," You grumbled, rubbing your palm against your forehead, "Everything's coming out all topsy-turvy..."

Your thoughts were quickly interrupted by a loud smack against your back, nearly sending you reeling back into the boom mic's loving arms. "Hey, intern! The star needs something to wake him up, go get a drink from the cafe downstairs. You know what he likes, right?"

You spluttered as the burly man, obviously your boss, shoved a credit card into your hand and walked off back on set, not even giving you the chance to open your mouth to respond. You bit back a scowl, choosing instead to pocket the card and noiselessly stomp out of the recording studio, silently cursing your luck.

It continued all the to the cafe where you realized, hey, you really don't remember what ''the star'' liked in caffeinated beverages. The barista, equally as tired as you, watched in workplace related misery as you fumbled for ideas.

"Uh... hey," You tried reading their name tag, "Mim? What's the most popular drink you got here? I'll have one of those?"

"One java-chipped cappuccino coming right up~"

You pulled out one of the chairs at a table and sat yourself down while you waited and tried to piece together what exactly had happened to you. You were an intern, you could recall, barely scraping by in the big city with dreams of being film crew. You had graduated college with high grades, nothing to sniff at, but you had chosen to intern at this particular business for some reason. You pinched your brows but the more you thought about it, the more annoyed you got. The sound of your name being called was just the wake up call you needed.

The barista handed your drink before centering their gaze to your chest. You followed their gaze and found their eyes linked with the nametag laced around your neck as you ran the credit card to pay.

"Wow," they tapped their nail against the counter, "You're working with the Vil Schoenheit? That must be pretty crazy."

You let out a loud squawk in shock as memories came flooding back, accidentally sending the coffee half way across the counter and on to the floor, the foam and drink dripping all over the freshly wiped down tile. Your arm remained high in the air as you both looked at the mess you had made.

"I'll... um... can you hand me some napkins?"

#twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland reader #isekai #vil shoenheit #jamil viper #reader insert #twisted wonderland

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 6 months

Note

How about Rollo meeting Ortho in the interaction?

ROLLO ONII-SAMA ERA??????? ????? ????? ??? ?? ? ????????? ???? 👀 (Gotta love how even the most uptight characters have sort of a soft spot for Ortho…) I shared some of the ideas expressed in this interaction in this previous post, if you want to check that out!

This very long interaction is “just strangers meeting for the very first time” since the request was non-specific. I do plan on releasing more in-depth Ignihyde and Rollo interaction headcanons later, so please look forward to that!

***WARNING: there are massive spoilers for Glorious Masquerade in this interaction.***

***CONTENT WARNING: depiction of a panic attack.***

Like Fire, Hellfire.

Late.

He was running late.

One thing had led into another, and that after-class chat with Professor Trein had spiraled into a longer-than-intended discussion on magically binding contracts. The older man was, Rollo found, poised and intellectual—a wise choice for an instructor. More than that, there was a warmness behind his austere presentation, something grandfatherly, kind, and comforting.

Rollo had been enchanted, and the time had slipped by so easily. Only when the sky was painted in hues of rose, tangerine, and gold did he realize the afternoon had bled into sunset.

He cleared his throat. "Pardon me, Mozus-sensei. It has been a very enlightening conversation, but I have other matters I must tend to."

"Of course. It was wonderful getting to speak with you one-on-one." Trein stroked the fur of a plump black and white cat nestled in his lap as he spoke. A familiar, Rollo ventured, careful to not let the disgust seep into his expression.

"Then I will see you tomorrow." He bowed, turning on his heel to exit. Just as Rollo was to cross the threshold, Trein called out to him.

"Flamme."

He stopped, looking over his shoulder. "Yes?"

Trein rested his hand. The setting sun poured in from an unobscured window, coloring the room in the shades of a dying day. He released what was on his mind.

"I want you to know that you are able to come to me whenever you wish. If you are lost or need guidance, academic or otherwise, I would be more than happy to assist. Your circumstances being as they are…" Trein shook his head. "I worry about you, the same as I do for each and every one of my students."

Rollo found himself frowning. He let the lie upon his lips go.

"Thank you, sir. However, your concern won't be necessary. I have taken the time to properly reflect on my actions since the masquerade.”

"... Very well, I won't push further. Have a good evening."

"Yes, you as well."

Rollo stepped out into the hallway. His past still clung to him like a shroud, trailing behind him like a wedding veil. It would follow him to his very grave.

He was not lost—he was certain of where his destiny would end, and it was wreathed with the flames of vengeance.

At this time of the day, hellish red washed over corridors devoid of students. With everything empty and painted the same shade, the campus appeared monotonous—each hall the same as the last. Hadn’t he already passed this classroom a few minutes ago? Was he seeing things, or was Night Raven College turning into a glorified maze?

It was strange—first, he had been late. Now he here he was, lost. It was unlike him to be in such circumstances. Had he stepped into a wonderland where everything was the opposite and logic was topsy-turvy?

Should I turn back and return from the way I came? He wondered whether it would save him time or waste even more.

Something flickered in the corner of his field of vision. His eyes instinctively darted to it. Whatever it was, it was blue in color, emitting a soft halo of light. It was at the end of the hall, too far away to make out any concrete details.

What is that…?

Rollo’s feet moved on their own, compelled to follow the mysterious blue glow. At first, they were set in a comfortable walk—but his pace grew brisker and brisker as he approached. Walk to jog to sprint.

He didn't know why, but he was desperate to catch up to it. Rollo was a man possessed, a moth drawn to a flame. Every bone, every muscle, every drop of blood screamed at him: you must.

The blue sharpened, coming into focus. Taking form, assuming a body. From behind, Rollo could tell it was a young boy, his feet low to the ground but not quite touching it.

An otherworldly apparition, floating.

His heart caught in his throat. His breath hitched, then stilled. Fear had seized his throat, preventing the air from escaping him.

No. No, it can't be. Impossible.

Rollo's hand shot out, expecting to meet the air, to faze though the boy in blue. But his skin met something solid, and a bolt of ice raced down his spin upon contact.

Liquid welled in his eyes. Searing.

Don’t leave me. Don’t disappear right before me. Not again.

His pulse quickened, his stomach twisting.

The breath he had been holding was released, shakily expelled like a horrible secret.

"Brother...!"

Then Rollo saw him in full. The composition of it was all wrong. He had the same wide, curious eyes—but his hair was set aflame, and the ghostly pallor of his face was framed in an odd mask. His mouth was obscured from view, and where there should have been a heart was an eerie blue fire.

His body, too, was not natural. Metal, with strange segmentations in the limbs. A low hum of electricity. Decidedly unhuman.

Rollo’s heart sank, his fragile hope shattering.

It's not him.

“Uwah!” the boy in blue cried, startled.

Of course, Rollo realized. Why wouldn’t he be caught off-guard? He had just charged at the boy and suddenly grabbed him. Rollo let his arm drop and bowed deeply.

“I apologize for the fright. I… mistook you for someone else.”

“Oh, that’s why!” The boy in blue seemed to smile reassuringly from behind his mouth visor. “Don’t worry. It’s common for humans to make optical identification errors.”

“Erm, yes.” Rollo wove his hands together. It did nothing to relax his hammering heart, his creased brows. “Do excuse me for the disruption. I’ll be on my way now.”

The boy tilted his head. Rollo shivered—it was as though the child was peering straight into his soul. Big doe eyes full of life. Warm like a little candle. It was uncanny how familiar this boy was.

Candid, pure.

It’s almost like he has returned to me.

His chest twinged, and he faltered with his departure.

“… Mister, your vital signs all read abnormal. Body temperature, pulse, respiration rate, blood pressure, even the level of perspiration.” His tone turned concerned. “Are you feeling unwell?”

“I am fine.”

He didn’t look convinced. Rollo wasn’t sure if he believed his own lie either.

“You’re not wearing a Night Raven College uniform,” the boy noted. “You must be a visitor then! Let me escort you to the nurse’s office. You will receive the care you need there.”

“I assure you, I’m not in need of their services.”

He blinked. “… Feedback acknowledged. If you refuse to go, then I can’t exactly force you to.”

The boy hovered in a circle around Rollo, extending his arms out toward him. “I can still help you get to your destination though—wherever that may be! Just let me know and I’ll calculate the most efficient route for you.”

“What…”

Rollo reeled at the sight of him flying—on his feet, and without a broom! The boy spoke so strangely for his age as well as well, talking of biometrics and mathematics as easily as a child might discuss their favorite toy. But the way he stared back at him…

The eager expression, hands outstretched.

“Onii-sama!”

The hurt in his chest intensified, a new bloom of pain taking root in his head. An ash-covered memory was lit ablaze again.

Smoke in his lungs, singed flesh in his nose, and tears stinging his eyes. The scream of a burning child ringing in his ears.

Pain, a searing knife against his skin.

“H-Help me… HELP ME…!!”

Rollo took a trembling step back. He didn’t realize it, but he had started to shake all over, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. His eyes were alert, paranoid.

The air too thin to sate his screeching lungs. The world closing in, blanketed in curtains of smoke. Coals at his feet, fire rising.

“N-No, I… I…!!”

His hands flew to his head, clawing at his skin, his hair. Everything suddenly felt too uncomfortable, too hot—

“Mister!!”

Rollo felt arms being thrown around him. An encircling, kind embrace. He looked down to find the strange child hugging him tightly. Smiling softly, angelically.

“… It’ll be okay," the boy said, his voice as tender as the touch of a feather. "There, there. Everything will be okay."

The flames froze, as did the fuel that fed them. Rollo stiffened, reality seeping through to him. His body, unsure of how to react.

He slowly lowered his hands from his face, properly looked the child in the eyes. They seemed to pulsate hypnotically, projecting soothing shades: gold, amber, honey.

"I'm here for you," the boy continued. "See? I'm here.”

He was. Rollo knew his gaze, his touch. The warmth he had long since renounced, been deprived of.

“Focus on me. That’s right, just like that. Breathe slowly. Let’s do it together, okay? In, out. In, out…”

Huff, huff, huff.

Rollo was not so much as breathing as he was gulping and spitting up pockets of air. He was a dehydrated man tasting sweet water on the verge of death, then vomiting on the luxury of it.

The boy nodded understandingly in spite of his shaky efforts. “Just like that! You’re doing great.”

Huff, huff.

His body moved more on instinct than on command. Taking in air and returning it, a process set on autopilot. Each breath increasingly more stable than the last.

A warm hand rubbing the area between is shoulder blades. Wordlessly easing him through it.

“… How are you feeling now?”

Those few simple words dispelled the last of the suffocating heat. His emotions tempered, cooling, and finding ground once more. What was left was fizzling frustration and knotted confusion.

Huff…

Rollo released the last of his breath.

He struggled to speak. “I... I don’t understand. Why are you…”

He pulled away, but kept his hands on Rollo's shoulders. “I detected heart palpitations and other abnormal biological fluctuations. Altogether, they indicated that you were experiencing something akin to a trauma response. You looked so sad and scared. I initiated the only protocol in my memory bank that suited the scenario."

“You…” Rollo hesitated. “You did that for a complete stranger?”

“Hehe. Did my comfort protocol work?” He gave a happy twirl midair. "I'm glad that you're feeling better, even if just a little!"

Rollo watched him in silence, guilt stirring in the pit of his stomach. When he touched his cheek, he found it slightly damp. Renegade tears that had slipped free and dribbled down.

Pathetic—after all these years, he hadn’t become any stronger at all, still crumbled when he reminiscenced. Old, aching memories forever branded into him. Memories that continued to hurt him, even to this very day.

He clutched a hand over his heart.

And yet this boy…

Protectiveness swelled up.

“You,” Rollo spoke up at last, “why are you wandering on campus grounds unsupervised? Are you not aware that this is a dangerous location for youths like yourself?”

“I’m here to pick up my big brother!” he replied, beaming proudly. “Nii-san had a big exam today, plus a club meeting. It should be over by now, so we’re going to meet up and then have a family fun night!”

“How… thrilling for you.” Rollo offered a tight-lipped smile. “My word, this elder brother of yours sounds highly irresponsible if he’s leaving a child of your age unchaperoned. It should be the older sibling’s responsibility to look out for the younger, not the other way around.”

“Huh? That’s usually how it is for us, though. Nii-san forgets to take care of himself when he’s not reminded!” He sighed, shoulders slumping. “Nii-san stays up late gaming, snacks instead of having real meals, and rarely leaves his room.”

“That’s absolutely abhorrent,” Rollo seethed, his rage returning to him. “What sort of example is he setting for you?”

Red prickled the edges of his vision. How dare that so-called brother burden this poor, sweet boy and allow him to wander around a mage-infested school? For that, Rollo would put him to the stake.

“That’s it, it’s settled! I will accompany you and ensure that you find your way home safely. Furthermore, when you reunite with your brother, I will be sure to give this man a piece of my mind.”

“Eeeeeeeh?!” Shock lit up the boy’s face. “This is the first time anyone’s ever wanted to meet nii-san so passionately!”

For all the wrong reasons, he recognized—still, there was a fragment of hope in the circumstances. Potential friendship to be found in the confrontation. He clung to that possibility.

"Well... okay, if you really want to. Nii-san might be a little more than surprised to see you, but it's a good chance to him to meet new people."

"Fufufu, that's correct. It would do him some good to become acquainted with—" A thought dawned on him. "Ah, forgive me. I forgot to ask for your name earlier. Please, may I know it?”

“Me? I’m Ortho! Ortho Shroud.”

Shroud.

The surname (unfortunately) conjured up a familiar face. Pale completion, cobalt lips, irises in piercing yellow, blazing blue fire for hair. A man that retreated from the light, spitting words as sharp as his jagged teeth.

Rollo grimaced. How had he not seen the resemblance sooner? Blinded by emotions, he ventured with a subtle scoff.

“What’s your name, mister?” Ortho asked, peering up at him.

"I am..." Rollo stopped himself. A swarm of unanswered questions fought for his attention, each wanting to be the first to be let out.

Shroud’s brother is no longer with us. How is it possible that he is standing here before me? What has happened to his body? Why is it metal? Surely they’re beyond normal prosthetics. He’s floating like some unorthodox apparition…

One inquiry won out in the end.

Has he told Ortho about me?

What would happen to the boy’s faith, his joy, once the introduction was uttered? The idea summoned a great deal of discomfort, twisting painfully like a knife plunged into Rollo’s guts. Guilt pooling.

He fell silent.

“… Never mind that. My identity is unimportant, for I am a mere visitor to this prestigious school. You may continue calling me ‘mister’ as you were.”

“Roger that! Let’s get going then. Nii-san’s waiting!”

Ortho flew ahead, the guiding light in a world dyed a hellish hue of red. Rollo followed at a safe distance, but never let the boy out of his sight—but he never drew too close either.

Why did you do that? Rollo rebuked himself. You've done no wrong. You have nothing to be ashamed of, no reason to feel any guilt. You are in the right. Why mask the truth?

He squeezed his eyes shut.

That night, atop the bell tower...

"Do you think your brother would have wanted this?! Idia had demanded. “Would he be happy... seeing you do this to the city—to the world—in his name...?"

I am without sin. I am righteous, Rollo told himself. A prayer, a staunch affirmation. Of my virtue, I am justly proud.

“Hurry up, mister!” Ortho called to him. The boy’s voice snapped him back, and Rollo smiled in spite of himself.

“… Of course. I am coming.”

This happiness, he knew, would not last forever. Spells always broke before the strike of midnight.

He had to relish these fleeting yet magical moments while they lasted.

#twisted wonderland #Rollo Flamme #twst #Ortho Shroud #twst interactions #twisted wonderland interactions #disney twisted wonderland #Rollo at the Writing Desk #spoilers #Mozus Trein #angst #Lucius #tw // panic attack

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