#twisted wonderland OCs

[twst-rose-prisms]

Mary Merveilles' profile

❤️ Bio ❤️

- Dorm: Ramshackle (the Prefect)

- Japanese: メアリー・メルヴェイユ (Meari Merubeiyu)

- Birthday: Aries 11th (Aries)

- Age: 16

- Height: 155cm

- Dominant hand: Right

- Homeland: ?

- Family: Unnamed Mother & Father Unnamed older brother Unnamed older sister

- Voiced by: Ayaka Ohashi

- Other Name(s): Herbivore (Leona) Lil' shrimp (Floyd) Trickster (Rook) Child of Man (Malleus)

❤️ School ❤️

- Grade: Freshman

- Class: Class A (no 9)

- Club: Pop Music Club

- Best subject: Musicology

❤️ Preferences ❤️

- Hobby: Singing, Dancing

- Pet peeves: Dirty rooms

- Favorite food: Apple pie

- Least favorite food: Chili peppers

- Talent: Musical Memory

The prefect of Ramshackle Dorm and Grim's best friend who can "understand him every time" (according to him). A curious, calm and observant girl, she always tries her best to adapt to Twisted Wonderland every day coming from a world where no magic exists. Once she goes past her initially nervous, meek manner, she's actually a really kind, friendly and supportive girl who would do anything for her friends.

❤️ Trivia ❤️

Mary's last name means "Wonder" in French. This could be a pun for the word "Wonderland" and also connected to Twisted Wonderland.

Mary's first name is a reference to Mary-Ann - a character in the Slave Labor Graphics Wonderland series who helps the White Rabbit escape from the Queen of Hearts's execution. She is known for being White Rabbit's maid and is obsessed with cleanliness, in the comic, she said that "all she really wants is to be [herself]".

She loves all genres of music and can easily like a song if it catches her attention. She also loves classical music, it's one of the reasons why she occasionally drops by Mostro Lounge.

She always carries the Ghost Camera with her in case she needs to use it, because of this she grows to like taking photos of other people or scenery.

Her favorite color is red, and her favorite shape is 4-petal flower. She considers the shape as her lucky charm and is shown to have accessories in the said shape.

She likes to spoil Grim a lot despite his attitude, as she always dreamed of owning a cat pet back when she was in her homeland as her family didn't allow her house to have pets. However, if Grim goes too far with his actions then she'll be there to quickly stop him.

She might appear like that but once she gets very serious or angry then she can look decently scary enough to other people (especially Grim).

Before Book 5, she kept her appearance very simple and did not dress up much as she often appeared meek or a bit brooding due to the pressure of being in another world with no hesitation (as seen in the reference sheet). Turns out, she loves cute and girly things a lot and would like to make herself look cuter, but due to confidence issues she had in the past to the present it gives her a hard time until after Book 4's timeline when she decides to change her appearance completely, making her appears more girly and truer to herself more.

She has a talent for music, specifically musical memory as she can remember a song or a melody quickly and retain that for a long time in her head. She also likes singing or dancing in her free time and would often dance with Grim and the ghosts in her dorm.

According to Mary, her family consists of her parents and 2 older siblings and she lives with them, although her brother and father go out to work often and don't stay at home much and her sister is focusing on her schoolwork at the current moment, it's mostly just her and her mom at home half the time.

She doesn't have great stamina, as she often got left behind during her PE class back in her homeland's school, it's also one of the reasons why she got insecure about herself overall and chose to not be overly bright in anything she did.

She cherishes her friends a lot despite their weird antics at times, she thinks that's what them special and unique from other people. (Namely, Grim, Ace and Deuce)

Because she went to beaches with her family a lot back then, she has a good surfing skill and can also be good at playing beach volleyball, though she often gets tired easily and has to sit back to watch her siblings play the rest of the match.

She specifically dislikes dirty rooms or things that are dusty and often cleans her stuff and makes sure they stay tidy; this is mostly a reference to the Mary-Ann character; however Mary is not obsessed with cleanliness too much and can still have patience and calmness when facing dusty stuff.

She also likes cleaning and doing chores as she often helps out her parents with it back at home despite her short stamina. All the dorm's chores are done by her with the help of Grim (sometimes he does help too) and the ghosts.

Hi hi~ If you're reading this then first of all, thank you so much for reading until the very end! I decided to design my MC/Yuusona - Mary! I have a fun time designing her ngl, she looks really cute~ I'll post even more OC content in the future too so please look forward to it! 🌹❤️

[fumikomiyasaki]

Its April 16th HAPPY BIRTHDAY Carol and also to myself.

Interview below, feel free to send wishes via ask box.

Fumiko: In the name of Hourglass Station academy, Happy birthday Miss Ann. Our stuff wanted to thank you for taking care of some of the students at our school as well.

Carol: That surprising... but I appreciate it. Even if its always a bit of a way to travel to the other schools... I am glad to help.

Fumiko: I also wanted to thank you personally hence I voluteered to give this gift to you... thank you for talking to Fennec... I feel he didn't listen to me when I tried to apoligize for being to blame for him being here but... thanks to you he did listen at least.

Carol: Pherea actually asked me given she knew I was talking more with him... its all good.

Fumiko: Still I have some gifts from myself, some students and staff for you.

Carol: Let me guess... the leaf shaped glasses are from you, Miss Miyasaki... they would fit me well probably. Some treats from Miss pannacotta are always so tasty... and... there is so many letters in here... I have to read them later.

Fumiko: There is a lot of people who cherish you Miss Ann, never forget that... similar to what I know... make sure to keep those good memories...

Carol: Miss Miyasaki? Do you... want to talk about it?

Fumiko: I am fine. Its just an advice from a old run down woman, nothing important.

Carol: Still my ears are open if there is anything. I know Teachers think they don't need to rely on students... I know well from the past that some get easy hurt in their ego but... that is why I don't want to accidentally upset another teacher again.

Fumiko: I think you will be fine Miss Ann... you have a bright future ahead of you... but I do wish you a great day just... keep in mind to take a break today... you always overwork.

Carol: I will...

[quartztwst]

MORE TWST OC CONTENT

Moira Epheremal!!! (Based on the Fairy Godmother)

Information on Moira:

Moira uses light magic (good guy magic like Silver/Kalim/Rook)

His Unique Magic is called "Bippity-Boppity-Boo!"

It can grant wishes to anyone Moira wants to give

However the wishes have a time limit. If Moira sets up the wishes to last longer, it will drain his energy.

The wishes will disappear at their exact time

Has Azul running for his money because more people come to Moira than Azul

Even worse is that they're in the same dorm

Age: ????????

He's a fae so he's like really old but he's in his second year

He thinks the Octatrio are silly

Air headed but also gives out BANGER ADVICE (RUN AZUL. RUUUUNNN!!!)

Riddle and him sometimes have tea together. Riddle finds him nice to talk to

He respects Malleus although they don't interact LMAOO

Jade finds him interesting but that's about it

Kalim finds his unique magic amazing and sometimes requests things

Azul fucking hates this dude. Wants him to get out. STOP TAKING HIS CUSTOMERS-

Cedric and him are besties

Edmond thinks he's suspicious

Rene thinks he's cool

Rielle doesn't know this guy 😭😭

[dilatorywriting]

Heroes vs. Villains : The Staff

Platonic GN!Reader x NRC Staff vs. RSA Staff Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: Woe to the Ramshackle Prefect, being caught up in the drama between the Disney Villains and their respective heroes. NRC Staff Version (Part 1: Crewel and Crowley)

ie. Headmaster Crowley is a nightmare, and Professor Crewel is, well, cruel. And to be perfectly honest, after meeting another dog-loving professor who doesn't treat you like absolute garbage, the Royal Sword Academy is starting to look a lot more appealing.

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4]

‘Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me!’

Crowley had chirped that very sentiment to you ad nauseum, with all the enthusiasm of an old raven eyeing a shiny penny.

“Do you really believe that?” you sniffled, angry, as you sat slumped over in one of his rickety office chairs.

People at this stupid school were mean. And yeah, school yard insults and casual accusations of being the House Wardens’ little bitch were one thing—but these assholes would go right for the throat. All of your insecurities—your fears—all laid out like a nice spread of hors d'oeuvres ready for the picking. You had endured enough sharp barbs for a lifetime, and the fact that your glorious Headmaster and self-proclaimed parental figure kept writing it all off as a ‘learning experience’ was driving you mad.

“Of course I do, dear child!” he beamed. “What sort of educator would I be if I didn’t practice what I preach! Words are but the wind, as they say!”

You nodded, sage, and shot him a smile so sugary sweet it could rot the teeth right out of his skull.

“I wish I’d never met you and I hope that all your feathers fall off one by one,” you chirped. “And I use the ‘Number One Child’ mug you gave me to scoop water out of the toilets when the plumbing fails.”

Crowley’s mouth fell open with a nearly audible clunk, and if he weren’t so wrapped up in all kinds of immoral, black magic, bull-shittery, you would have liked to imagine that maybe that had been the sound of his heart cracking in his stupid, embroidery-covered, chest.  

You popped up from your chair and breezily made your way to the exit. You propped yourself up against the intricate, wooden, frame and clapped your hands together like a bubbly preschool teacher addressing a room full of particularly dull children.  

“I’m glad we could get that out in the open in a completely pain-free way. Words really can’t hurt anyone!”

You managed to slip the door closed just as he started to wail.

.

.

That afternoon you made your way to Professor Crewel’s office, as had become your routine. It was nice. Sometimes you would help him grade papers, sometimes you would just nibble on fancy cookies and listen as he ranted about the incompetence of certain staff members which shall not be named.

Sometimes his dogs were with him in the afternoons—a pair of giant, lithe, wolf-like beasts that were most certainly of a very proud and expensive lineage. Jasper was the black one and Badun the white, and each had a coat so glossy and well-maintained that they could put your own hair care to shame. Badun was enthusiastic, charismatic, and would bound to greet anyone who entered. Jasper was more quiet, reserved, but he was secretly your favorite of the duo. Whenever you stopped in after classes, the shadowy hound would lumber over and rest his giant head in your lap.

“No puppies today?” you called when you were greeted with silence rather than a wave of happy kisses.

“They’re in for their groom,” Crewel mumbled, busy at work with his head bowed over some lab reports or other. Normally he would grouchily correct you that his two precious pooches were adults. Dogs. And should be addressed as such. He must have been really distracted today. Or maybe you were just wearing him down.

You settled into the lovely, plush, chair off to the side that you had long since claimed as your own, and set your bookbag on the floor by your feet with a thump.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence with nothing but the sound of scratching ink over paper to break up the monotony, Professor Crewel dropped his head into his hands with a miserable sort of sigh.

“You should not have spoken to Crowley as you did.”

You blinked, startled. “What?”

“I of all people understand how frustrating the Headmaster’s antics can be,” Crewel continued, firm. “But you are still a student of this Institution—and one in a precarious enough position as it is. So you need to be mindful of your tongue.”

Indignation roiled through your gut, followed by a sharp prick of disquiet that you couldn’t quite place.

“Then he should be mindful to treat me like a student and not some—some pet project,” you huffed, kicking irritably at your patched backpack for want of nothing else to do. “And besides, what’ll he even do? Expel the one person in this entire college who mops up every single one of his messes? And I mean, it’s not like he’s running around the school crying or anything. I wasn’t that mean.”

Crewel pinched the bridge of his nose and you paused, mouth parting in surprise.

“Oh come on, he did not.”

“In the name of preserving our esteemed leader’s dignity I will say no more on the matter,” he grit out, and you fought the urge to immediately whip out your phone to message Ace, and Cater, and every other rabid gossip you could think of.

“Well, maybe he deserved it,” you snipped, crossing your arms stubbornly across your chest. A bit of cautious warmth spread through you and you nervously plucked at one of the loose threads on your uniform sleeve. “And besides,” you mumbled. "He can cry about me calling him a shitty father all he wants. You’ve been way more of a dad to me here than he could ever try to be.”

“I beg your pardon.”

You froze, fingers locking in place around the picked-apart edges of your jacket. The ice in his voice was unfamiliar and entirely unpleasant. It sent a frigid wave of worry curling through your veins. Had you overstepped? You’d thought—You’d just thought—

“I-I mean,” you spluttered. “I only meant that, well… Uhm… You’re really nice to spend time with. A-And, I just…” He made you feel like you were home again. Like even though Ramshackle was empty and cold, that you could still walk into this little office and say ‘I’m back!’ to an actual, real-life person and not just the shadows that lived in your foyer.

“Let me be perfectly clear, Prefect,” he sneered. There was an undercurrent of hostility running so sharply through every word that you were left wondering frantically if you’d unintentionally trampled over a sensitive topic. You hadn’t thought it was a big deal. You just—you just really, really looked up to him. And felt safe with him. And—And—

‘I’m sorry,’ you wanted to say. But instead you just let out an odd kind of choked squeak.

“I have no intention of playing parent to anyone,” he snapped. “Let alone an untrained brat who can’t even be bothered to play civil with the people who do attempt to care for them.”

Ouch.

“R-Right,” you spluttered, swallowing around the burbling lump in your throat and the warmth prickling along your lash line. “O-Of course. I’m sorry for assuming. I—I… uhm…”

‘I’ll just go then.’

But just like with failed apology, those four little syllables just couldn’t seem to make it past your lips either. So instead you just shakily snatched your bag from the floor and bolted from his office, burrowing your stinging cheeks as far into your collar as they would go. The last thing you needed to do was give anyone at this stupid school any more ammunition against you. And ‘Cry Baby Prefect’ sounded like another nasty nickname that would stick to you like gum to a flat-heeled shoe.

It’s fine, you whispered to yourself, voice wobbling far more than you would have liked. Grim hated when you came back smelling like dogs anyways.

.

.

“My goodness, are you alright?”

You blinked, harried, and glanced around yourself properly for what felt like the first time in hours. You were… not on campus anymore. Huh. What a trip. You’d never been so upset that you’d blindly run off into an entire new town before. But you supposed there was a first time for everything. You did remember feeling too nauseous to return to your little hovel for the evening, but you hadn’t really expected your frantic pacing to take you quite this far out of the way.

“Hello? Can you hear me?”

Oh. Someone was talking to you, weren’t they?

Standing in front of you was a tall, lanky, man in a tweed jacket. He was stooped down a bit to make eye contact with you, and those hazel eyes were creased with worry. His blonde hair was pushed half-off his forehead in a style that looked more haphazard than intentional, and the hand he was offering you was littered with splotches of ink. There were patches of white and black dog fur littered across his entire outfit like some horrible fashion statement, and the thought of puppies made your throat tighten up all over again.

“My name is Cliff Rogerson,” he said, steady and kind. “I’m one of the instructors at the Royal Sword Academy. Are you lost? Do you know how to get home from here?”

Do you know how to get home?

You laughed once, manic, and then promptly burst into tears.

“Oh, dear,” he sighed, his heavy brow furrowing low with concern, and patted you consolingly on the shoulder. “Oh, dear.”

You were herded into a nearby café and directed into one of the quiet, corner, booths. The lights were soft and fuzzy in here, and the pleasant warmth of fresh pastries brushed gingerly along your frayed nerves. Mister Rogerson pressed a steaming mug of hot chocolate into your hands, and placed a delicately wrapped muffin off to the side of it. It was a tempting offering, and you decided to unbury your head from your hands long enough to partake.

“So how did you end up out here, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I’m a student at Night Raven,” you mumbled into your cocoa.

You could tell he was doing his best not to look shocked, which was at least a dozen steps above the way the rest of your stupid school would just gawk at you in outright consternation.

“Forgive me,” he smiled, gentling his apprehension into something that was more polite curiosity that anything. “But you don’t really seem like one of their usual pupils.”

So you explained your situation—the Mirror, and the magiclessness, and the homelessness. You talked about your friends, and your new demon cat/evil baby, and how much you missed stupid things like good shower pressure and fuzzy socks. Mister Rogerson listened to all of it with an attentive sort of sympathy that you hadn’t seen since, well, probably since you were dropped face-first into a school full of burgeoning war criminals.  

“That sounds like a time and a half,” he said once you’d finally tired yourself out. “I’m sorry you’ve had to go through all that.”

You picked at your muffin. It was ridiculously fluffy and eating it felt like pulling bits and pieces out of a cloud. A very, very delicious cloud.

“Forgive me for saying so,” he hummed, pensive. “But your situation doesn’t sound particularly safe.”

You laughed. “That’s one word for it.”

Mister Rogerson frowned, another twitch of that uneasy worry playing across his face. He ruffled around in his jacket pocket for a moment and pulled out a neat, cream colored, business card.

“It may be overstepping of me to offer, but at the same time I do think as an educator it’s my duty to try and help every student that I can,” he smiled, kind. It crinkled the skin around his eyes. “The RSA is not overly far from Night Raven College. If you ever want to stop by—if you ever need an ear to listen, or just a space to get away from it all—my door will always be open to you.”

You took the little piece of paper carefully, like it was something precious. There were swirls of colorful music notes splattered across the backdrop of it—raucous bursts of neons that were as endearing as they were ugly.

‘Tacky,’ spat a too-familiar voice in the back of your head. ‘What sort of statement was this lowlife trying to make?‘ You could practically feel the phantom distaste emanating from wherever a certain two-toned professor had camped out for the evening.

Probably at home, you thought bitterly. Because he has a home, right? And you are not at all upset that you will never be welcomed into it. And that you will probably never get to cuddle his puppies ever again. Nope. Not at all.

You swallowed the little burst of unpleasantness that accompanied the train of thought, and pocketed the card with a smile.

“Thank you. I’ll definitely have to take you up on that.”

.

.

.

Divus Crewel was many things, and unfortunately, being as cruel as his namesake was often one of them. He glanced back to the clock ticking on his wall for what was perhaps the dozenth time that hour. You hadn’t been by since his—ah—outburst a few weeks prior.

He had perhaps reacted a bit more unpleasantly than he normally would have. You’d just… caught him off guard was all. It was a bold declaration you’d made, and what? Had you really expected him to be overjoyed by the idea of forced parenthood? To swoon over the notion that someone had decided to latch onto him and his perfectly pressed suit like a leech despite the fact that he was so obviously thriving in his life of solitude?

And it wasn’t that he expected you to take his biting comments lying down. Oh no. You were fierce, and determined, and were most likely on your way here to bang down his door demanding recompenses for all your suffering. There was a tray of those too-expensive cookies you liked tucked away in his top drawer. Just in case you did show up and throw one of your tantrums, and he needed something quick to pacify you. That… That was all.

But each day that he waited for you to sneak back into his office was another spent in quiet solitude. Badun had taken to whining at the door and Jasper hardly got up from his bed at all—just tucked his black nose into his equally black paws and stared straight into Crewel’s soul. Like he was judging him.

He caught himself glancing at the clock again and forcibly turned back to his work.

This was ridiculous. You were ridiculous. And stubborn. And so, very, danger prone. Had something happened maybe? Was that why you’d disappeared—because you’d gotten caught up in some sort of trouble again?

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick—

He looked back at the clock.

Tick. Tick. Tick—

His office door flew open with a BANG and he swiveled in his chair, ready to chastise you for making such a ridiculous entrance. Instead, he ended up nearly nose-to-nose with a weeping Dire Crowley. The man wailed into his clawed hands, looking very much like he might accidentally stab himself in the eye all the while.

“HOW AM I SUCH A FAILURE OF A PARENT?!” he bawled. “WHAT COULD I HAVE DONE TO PREVENT THIS?!”

“What?” Crewel gaped, head spinning. “What’s happened?”

Crowley let out another inhuman squawk and shoved a piece of parchment into the alchemist’s crimson-gloved hands. It was torn at the top, likely from where it’d been pinned to something before the raving Headmaster had swiped it. Crewel read over the familiar script with narrowed eyes, something unpleasant twisting in his belly.

‘The Ramshackle Prefect kindly sends their regards, but unfortunately has other commitments for this evening. Please contact Professor Cliff Rogerson of the RSA music department in case of an emergency.’

“MY BABY LEFT ME!” Crowley sobbed, nearly inconsolable. “WHO’S GOING TO DO MY TAXES NOW?!”

The leather of Crewel’s gloves groaned in protest as his hands tightened into fists—his nails biting into his palm even through the sturdy material.  

“What do we even do?” the old crow lamented, sounding so genuinely crestfallen it was almost unnerving.

Jasper and Badun circled their master’s ankles wearily, eyes bright and lips twitching with nervous whines.

“I think,” Crewel grit out, the note crumpling between his fingers, “that it’s well past time that we have a chat with the Prefect about the importance of personal safety. And of the consequences of running off with strangers.”

.

.

.

[ellovett]

👹 Redrew Jesse [renamed him to Kazimierz now so take note of that] my twst chernabog whose a staff oc giggles

m bqck in my twst phase kinda sorta so expect more art posts😋

rbs>likes !!

[ibee00725]

Another round of twst oc asks 😔✌️

Ocs belong to: @twsted-princess @sakuramidnight15 @irrelevantlight

[moonlightequin1]

⚠️ Prefect is one of my Yuu OCs (Ryuki Tsukuyomi uses they/she/he pronouns and is genderfluid), マブ監, エデュ監

“ohana means nobody gets left behind or forgotten.”

(✨ ♠️🃏♥️/♥️🃏♠️ + 🐱 ✨)

I posted this on Twitter when January 1 hit, but I wanted to post it here. I love Adeuyuu + Heartshackle. They're an AMAZING found family to me.

The inspiration for this artwork comes from Ace's SR vignette for the Stitch event, when Stitch calls Heartshackle "ohana" 😭❤️

(A)ce (RYU)ki De(UCE) = ARYUUCE is the ship name of my Adeuyuu Trio, but since Ryuki is similar to in-game Prefect, I tend to call them "Adeuyuu". They're a platonic/romantic ship!

[thetwstwildcard]

Third place prize for @bunnwich

Yuuta!!! 🐇💚

Another super fun chibi to draw (because beloved bunny)

[deluxe-rabbitsu]

A bunch of silly doodles I made because I was bored and I was thinking of Rook...I'm trying to pull for his birthday card I hope I can get it:) 💖

I don't know why I've been having MLP so much in my mind lately, I guess it's time to play ponytown (?

[keibunss]

He's working really hard right now all the while still not realizing his growing affection. At least his efforts will be seen once it gets eaten in seconds.

[robo-milky]

What if Cloche were to stay in Twisted Wonderland? Worst Case Scenario (Delusion)

CW: BLOOD//GORE (Written?)

(Edgification— My love/j)

Events:

• If Crowley never finds a way to send Cloche back home, Cloche’ position as a prefect is solidified. Cloche would also be granted greater authority over other students.

• The longer Cloche stayed in Twisted Wonderland, the stronger Binding Bells became. Cloche had less of a conscious choice when following orders, and it got to the point where orders become automatic and were harder to reverse. Crowley didn’t take any actions to contain the curse, under the impression most of Cloche’ orders were harmless, until the incident she lost her eye. From that point on, Crowley finally recognized the severity of Cloche’ cursed obedience and set a password on her. The password makes it so that Cloche doesn’t have to follow anyone else’s orders, and that she doesn’t have to address others as “Master/Mistress”.

• Cloche lost her eye to first years who didn’t know any better. The freshmen were skeptical of the curse and wanted to see the full extent of it, so they cornered her when she was alone. They ordered her to freeze to cut her hair, and were surprised Cloche was so complaint. Still under the impression the curse was fake, and cutting hair didn’t cause any physical harm, they went out of their way to order Cloche to take out one of her eyes. Their curiosity turned to horror, when Cloche actually did it. Even if they tried to restrain her, she can’t stop until the order is fulfilled.

• The freshmen weren’t expelled, but suspended and heavily reprimanded. Crowley wanted to keep any and all incidents of violence under the wraps, as best he could. After the incident, Crowley realized Cloche had the potential to kill if ordered so, and temporarily fixed the obedience aspect of Binding Bells.

Changes:

• Cloche becomes more paranoid and stern after the incident. Her emotional apathy also worsens as a result of not being able to go back home. Cloche never felt a big connection to Twisted Wonderland and NRC in the first place.

• Since Cloche is less emotional now, she’s less likely to go feral.

• Cloche takes off her maid accessories and is finally given a form fitting uniform. With her hair cut, she also fits in with the boys more.

• The first year gang (now second year) are more protective of Cloche and keep a closer eye on her (especially ADeuce + Grim)

• Grim acts as Cloche’ second pair of eyes to make up for her worsened depth perception.

• Cloche comes to terms with the fact she may never be human again, and accepts the beastman features as apart of her.

• Unlike her first year self, second year!Cloche takes her role as a prefect more seriously, and actively tattles on troublemakers. She’d even go as far as to document suspicious activity her ear bells pick up on. She’d garner a reputation similar to Riddle. Thanks to Crowley’s protection, she can make reports without worrying about others trying to get revenge on her.

• In place of a magical pen, Cloche wears a NRC badge with a whistle behind it.

[Notes]

• Second Year!Cloche is designed with the intent to foil the Cloche who can return to her world, to foil the Cloche who did get her happy ending.

• I went for a police/military vibe with the design and pose to establish power

• Her iris will be forever shrunk to show the constant paranoia and unease.

• Cloche isn’t necessarily bullied here, but she happened to run into dumb kids who didn’t make the best decisions. The justifications of their actions is up to you

• She is twinning with Leona <3 Both felines with scarred eye ;)

• Shout out to the friend who said quote: “What is wrong with you?” when I showed the OG sketches— everything. Nobody deserves to be happy (except for sweet baby Leikata and Otomine uwu)

[mocatccinoo]

Hello Dears✨!

I return from my silence to publish and leave my artistic contribution for this very curious event. Playful Land!! ✨🎉

These here are several drawings with situations that were found at the beginning of the event that I thought were cute. I hope you like it! ✨

Fun fact before I leave: Gidel looks like my cat, I sweear, super cute!! XD

[fumikomiyasaki]

I tried to edit the New TWST Birthday card background to make a template... Feel free to credit me if you use it.

[quartztwst]

FINALLY TWST OC ART

Cedric Etoile (OC based off of Cinderella)

Information on Cedric:

In NRC, he was in Scarabia for his 1st year before transferring to RSA

Moira and him were in the same class before he left

YES, HE KINDA BUFF. He works out.

HE LOOKS LIKE A LESBIAN I JUST OTICED

Bro DID NOT want to be in NRC that why he looks so detached and bored

The scar is from…. THE INCIDENT………… we don’t talk about the incident

Hates Azul ig idk what else to say and he thinks jade is a loser

He started changing his appearance and bettering himself after leaving his step-mom

Sometimes he offered to help Jamil bc UM hi Kalim

Wasn’t in a club in NRC bc HE DIDN’T WANNA BE THERE

And that’s it teehee I still gotta figure out his backstory.

[dilatorywriting]

Heroes vs. Villains : The Staff [Part 2]

Platonic GN!Reader x NRC Staff vs. RSA Staff Word Count: 3.1k

Summary: Woe to the Ramshackle Prefect, being caught up in the drama between the Disney Villains and their respective heroes. NRC Staff Version (Part 2: Crewel and Crowley)

ie. Mr. Rogerson has awesome dalmatians and his wife makes even better cookies. Meanwhile, Crewel continues to be an emotionally constipated mess, and Crowley is... himself.

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4]

You were met at the door by a pair of over enthusiastic dalmatians—the chaotically cute duo sending you ass-first to the office floor in a merry greeting that was more of a graceless tackle than anything else.

“You brought Poe and Perdy!” you exclaimed, laughing past the face kisses.

“Well, they’d never forgive me if I didn’t,” Mister Rogerson huffed good naturedly. “Do you know how much this little nutter cried when I came home the other day and he realized you’d been by? Ages, I’m telling you. Thought he was going to pout me into an early grave.”

You squished both of them affectionately and showered the lovely, spotted, beasts with every compliment under the sun.

“Oh! Before I forget…” the professor rustled around in his leather messenger bag and retrieved a neatly packaged pastry box all bundled up in a colorful, twine, bow. You accepted the treats happily and removed yourself from the dog-pile to take your usual place on the well-worn piano bench. “Annie made you some more cookies, seeing as you liked the last ones so much.”

“Did you help?” you asked.

“Hmm? What makes you say that?”

You held up the first treat from the pile—half-singed on one side and squishy with raw dough on the other.

“You caught me!” he laughed, and retrieved a second box. “These are from Annie. Those are my failures.”

“Such horrible lies,” you tutted, dramatic. “Trying to trick an innocent victim into ingesting poison just so that you can keep all the good ones for yourself.”

“Hey, they’re not that bad!” he defended, taking a large chomp out of one of the less charred looking of his creations. Immediately his cheeks went nearly green. “Or… maybe they are.”

You pushed a water bottle in his direction which he accepted gratefully. There was always a stash of them just to the left of his composer’s stand, and another hoard in a conspicuous looking storage cube closer to the piano at which you’d perched yourself. There were more sweets hidden in his desk drawers too, for when something stronger than water was needed to wash away whatever awful thing he’d tried to ingest. You knew where a lot of ‘secret’ things were in this room. It felt nice, to be so privy to all its little treasures.

“You know,” he smiled, finishing the last of his water with a final gulp. “Annie keeps pestering me to have you come by for dinner.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” you hesitated, looking around the room where so many of your little odds and ends had already started to accumulate. Empty mugs, the patch that had fallen off your jacket, the thread which you’d intended to use to fix said patch. Just… little footprints showing you’d been by.  “Well, any more at least.”

“Nonsense,” Mister Rogerson laughed. “You’re more than welcome! But we don’t mean to pressure you, of course! Especially if you’re busy! Just something to think about if you’d like. Anyways, how has your day been?”

And thus began your afternoon ritual. You would sit and split Annie’s delicious cookies as you rambled about your various grievances. Mister Rogerson would inevitably come and take a seat beside you on the piano bench and start playing some gentle strains of this or that—‘just little things he was working on,’ he’d said. Occasionally you’d accidentally lean on the keys, throwing the whole thing into a cacophonous mess. But he would just chuckle and replay whatever the piano had just screeched, calling it a ‘fascinating addition’ and merrily jotting bits of it into his notes. It was nice. Better than nice. And you didn’t realize just how comfortable you’d become in your daily chitchats until you’d become perhaps a bit too comfortable.

“It’s just been so exhausting. And on top of all the other ridiculous things, I’m so sick of that fact that it’s like my job to be their personal punching bags or whatever when they’re Overblotting all over the place, and—”

The piano cut off abruptly.

Mister Rogerson’s hazel eyes had gone wide, as if he was spooked. Immediately you realized that you’d said something that you should not have.

“There are students at Night Raven College who have Overblotted?” he asked, slow, like he couldn’t even believe the words were coming out of his mouth.

“What? No. Of course not!” you lied, like a liar.

“Kiddo,” he frowned, stern. “You just said—"

“—I mean, no one’s actually Overblotted, Overblotted,” you spluttered hastily, rifling frantically through your brain for every plausible excuse you could cough up. “It’s more that I’ve heard a lot about Blot, and how it becomes a—you know—Overblot. Which sounds really scary, and like something that I never, ever, want to actually see! And it’s just that everyone there is a mess, so I guess I should I have said that I’m more just worried about Overblotting.” 

A pause.

“Which, again, I’ve never, ever, actually seen.”

More silence.

“…Ever.”

Mister Rogerson sighed, apparently relieved by your bullshitting, and slumped forward over the piano keys.

“That’s… That’s good. You really scared me there for a moment, kiddo. Overblots are no small matter. They have to be reported to the proper authorities and dealt with accordingly. It’s a whole fiasco, and paperwork and legal proceedings aside, it’s dangerous.” He laid a gentle hand across your shoulder. “I’m just glad you haven’t been anywhere near something like that.”

You swallowed a chunk of wayward cookie, hoping you didn’t look horrifically guilty. But then some other part of what he’d just rattled off stuck in your head and that shame was wiped away by panic.

“They’d be taken away?” you whispered, something unpleasant and nervous curling in your gut.

Mister Rogerson looked down at you with a sympathetic wrinkle to his brow. He squeezed your shoulder reassuringly.

“I know it sounds scary, kiddo. But that’s what we have to do to keep everyone as safe as we can. Does that make sense?”

You thought of Riddle, crying into his hands after years of emotional neglect—and then of the pair of you sitting in the Heartslabyul gardens after all was said and done, eating strawberry tarts with your fingers like little children. You thought of Leona, miserable and bitter as he was, finally breaking after an entire lifetime of feeling like nothing but a failure who slunk about in his brother’s shadow—and then how just last week the beastman had been lounging in the sun with his head in your lap, grouchily demanding your leftovers. You thought of Azul, and his bullies, and his stupid desire to take on the world just to prove he could. You thought of all the friends you’d made, and of just how many of them really needed a goddamn therapist. You thought about them being taken away to who-even-knew-where. Where you’d probably never see any of them again. And where you wouldn’t even know what was happening to them.

General grumpiness with the lot of them aside, your friends were the one, genuine, beacon of warmth in this miserable, cold, new world. Sure, they were all assholes. Mega assholes. But you knew that they’d stand by you through anything—do anything, if you needed the help.

 And the idea of giving up on them? Just like that? Because it was protocol?

Your stomach roiled and you set the cookies off to the side.

“I’m sorry if I’ve upset you,” Mister Rogerson frowned, taking in whatever unpleasant expression was no doubt twisting your face into knots. “We shouldn’t talk about it anymore. It’s not a fun topic.” He slid a new page of sheet music across the piano’s sleek, black, shelf. “Here. I started writing this the other day. What do you think?”

Strains of upbeat jazz threaded through the room and Perdy and Poe came over to mouth playfully at your ankles—no doubt begging for crumbs. Soon enough you were laughing along, clapping off beat and making jokes at the expense of his nonsense lyrics. You still liked Mister Rogerson. You liked him a lot. And you didn’t doubt that he was a genuinely kind person.

You’d just… maybe have to be a bit more careful about what you let slip.

.

.

“It’s kinda like being in therapy,” you explained to a very frustrated looking Deuce. “Like, how you want to say just enough to get help but not enough for them to throw you into an asylum. You feel?”

“What in the fuck are you on,” Ace gaped.

“See, if any of you actually even knew what therapy was, you’d get it.”

“I still can’t believe that’s where you’ve been every afternoon,” Deuce frowned, poking at his lunch with a consternated sort of look on his face. “Don’t you—I don’t know…”

“What?” you asked.

“Feel horrifically guilty and maybe like you should be burnt at the stake?” Ace complained, reaching over to swipe a fry from your plate. Grim hissed and swatted at his fingers—his little mouth stuffed too full of your half-eaten burger to yell much of anything else. “You’re a traitor, that’s what you are. Prancing around with those goody-two-shoes in their stupid, shiny, building every damn day like a—like a—”

“A frog?” Deuce suggested.

“What, no. Dude—”

“Frogs prance!”

“Frogs fucking jump, you ingrate—”

A heavy box landed on the table with a THUD, sending the quarrelling duo into silence. A mountain of homemade chocolate chip cookies stared back at them, nearly sparkling in their brilliance.

“Yes,” you intoned, stern. “It’s worth it.”

“It’s worth it,” Grim and Ace agreed heartily, already busy swapping their lunches for sweets.

Deuce sighed and reached for his own cookie. “If you’re sure...”

.

.

Being called into the Headmaster’s Office was not something with which you were unfamiliar. In fact, Crowley not having summoned you into his gloomy chamber over the past few weeks was more of an anomaly than not. Normally he was hurling new jobs at you left and right—organize this event, Prefect. Pick up my groceries, Prefect. The main hall is looking a little dirty, Prefect. Go stop my students from committing mass murder, Prefect. Maybe your wave of insults had rattled him enough to leave you alone for that little while. Or maybe he’d just been biding his time until he could think of something equally as nasty to say back.

Of all the things you were expecting upon trudging back into that office, a scowling Professor Crewel was not one of them.

You blinked owlishly, taken aback.

“Good afternoon, Professor.”

His lip curled, sour, and you fought the intense and suicidal urge to ask him just who’d pissed in his cornflakes that morning because damn. You hadn’t even done anything. That you could remember. Maybe. And besides, if either of you had any right to be acting all bitter and pissy it was you. Not Mister ‘I Have No Intention of Playing Parent to Anyone.’ The memory had your eyes stinging and your blood boiling all over again. When neither of the men deigned to greet you, you cleared you throat irritably and crossed your arms.

“Can I help you with something, Professor? Headmaster?”

“It has come to our attention that you’ve been sneaking off campus in the evenings,” Professor Crewel declared, with all the civility of an off-grid hermit. “Which I’m certain that you are fully aware is against school policy.”

Crowley just nodded, stiff lipped and robotic, and his silence immediately had you suspicious.

“Well?” Crewel snipped. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

You took a deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth. Then another.

You smiled, icy. “Then I’m sure this is just another infraction to add to my file. Which I’m very sure totally exists. Right, Headmaster?”

Crewel’s dark glower swiveled in Crowley’s direction, and you watched the Old Crow audibly gulp.

“Because of course, you keep proper records on all your students here,” you continued, happy to push your luck. “Especially the ones in special circumstances, and whose documentation is therefore not automatically forwarded to you by their previous schools. Right, Headmaster?”

You’d never seen a more apt demonstration of the expression ‘sweating bullets.’ It was intensely satisfying. Professor Crewel looked like he was heavily debating turning Crowley into a feather boa. After a too-long moment where you were pretty sure you were about to witness a murder, the two-toned professor sighed and turned back to you with a stiff sneer.

“It’s not safe,” he said, and you gaped at him.

“What?”

“It’s not safe,” he repeated, practically grinding his teeth. “What were you even thinking? Leaving Night Raven when you know full that you have no other connections in this entire world! Running off with a complete stranger on top of that.”

“Mister Rogerson isn’t a stranger!” you defended, resentment bubbling beneath your skin. How dare he? Now he cared? Now you weren’t just a leech, or a brat, or—or—No. It wasn’t fair. “And it’s not like I ran off into the woods or something! I’m at another school!”

Crowley slammed his clawed hands down onto his desk with a metallic BANG!

“AH-HAH! YOU ADMIT IT!” he howled. “YOU’VE BEEN GOING TO THE ROYAL SWORD ACADEMY BEHIND OUR BACKS!”

“I left you a note telling you that was exactly where I was!”

“YOU’VE BEEN CONSORTING WITH OUR ENEMY! AND AFTER I’VE WORKED SO HARD TO RAISE YOU AS MY OWN!” He wailed, inconsolable. “ARE YOU TRADING OFF MY GRIMOIRE TO AMBROSE, TOO? WOULD YOU STOP AT NOTHING TO SHATTER MY POOR HEART?!”

“I don’t even know what that means, but I wish I was!”

“Enough!” Crewel snarled, cracking his pointer across the desktop. “Both of you!”

“But he—!” you defended.

“Detention!” he barked.

“What?! That’s no fair!—”

“Detention!” he snapped again. “Three weeks!”

“Are you joking?! I didn’t even do anything!—”

“Four weeks,” he growled.

You pressed your lips shut, feeling your mouth wobble and your eyes warm with frustrated tears.

“Yes, sir,” you finally managed to grit out, and then turned without another word and stormed from the room, slamming the door behind you.

.

.

.

‘That may have been too much,’ Crowley had the gall to say to him, after Crewel had just watched the man have an entire meltdown in his desk chair and accuse you of outright subterfuge.

‘That may have been too much.’

The alchemist had watched, carefully stone faced, as your eyes had welled and you’d glared him down with a look that was a step or two past betrayed. Something tightened uncomfortably in his chest, and he refused to put a name to it. Naming things gave them power, allowed them to grow and spread. Like a tumor. This was all your own doing, and the subsequent punishment was clearly for your own good. So, what? He steps a bit too far and says something that’s perhaps just a bit too cold, and you go running off to—to Cliff Rogerson of all people? Pettiness is not an excuse for making poor, stupid, unsafe, decisions. And he would have certainly responded to any other student in exactly the same fashion.

‘That may have been too much.’

Crewel grit his teeth and fought the urge to run his hands through his hair in frustration. Normally he could use Badun as a stress ball, but he’d stopped bringing the dogs to campus when you’d continued to refuse to show up to his office. It had stressed them terribly, and it was unfair to force them to sit through the same, dull, solitude that he had to endure just on the off chance that you may change your mind and come wandering in. Jasper hardly acknowledged him at all anymore—only grumbled at him miserably when he returned in the evenings before curling up by the fireplace for the rest of the night.   

‘That may have been too much.’

It… It really, probably, was. And he really should… apologize, shouldn’t he?

Divus Crewel could deny it all he liked, but he knew well and good that he wouldn’t have treated your classmates in such a manner. That unnamed twinge behind his ribs may have influenced his reaction a bit more than it should have, especially when he himself had so clearly relegated your place in his life to ‘by professional association only.’

So he forced himself to straighten his fur coat and start the trek to Ramshackle. It was a grueling walk, with broken pathways and rivers of mud. No wonder you were always running late to things. Perhaps he should bring this up to Crowley, and—

A familiar face stopped him in his tracks, and a wave of red-hot irritation worked its way through his veins as efficiently and viciously as one of the poisons he was so keen to brew.

“Oh,” Cliff Rogerson blinked back at him, “Divus! Good to see you.” It was not. It didn’t sound like Cliff thought it was either.“No need to call campus security or anything. I’m just here to pick up the Prefect for dinner.”

“Dinner?” Crewel repeated. It sounded bitter in his mouth.

“Annie’s making lasagna,” Cliff stage-whispered, like a secret.

“Can we get going?” you called and Crewel startled, noticing you off to the side for the first time. You looked so… small, for some reason. Hunched, maybe. Just, not your usual larger-than-life self—the Otherworldly Hero who showed up swinging to every fight, always armed to the teeth and ready to duel any monster, every horror. It made something in his gut twist unpleasantly. “I’m starving.”

“Of course, kiddo,” Cliff laughed and tossed an arm across your shoulders.

“How lovely,” Crewel interrupted, trying and failing to force the steel from his voice, “But I think that maybe you should reexamine your professional priorities. That hardly seems appropriate.”

“Oh, come now,” Cliff smiled. It wasn’t friendly. “It’s only dinner. And besides,” he chuckled, and gave your arm a fond squeeze, “Annie and I have always wanted kids.”

‘I have no intention of playing parent to anyone.’

A deep, cold, sort of dread rattled through Divus Crewel’s bones and settled all the way in the pit of his stomach. It was similar to the sensation that had been slowly clawing its way through him these past few weeks—the very same unpleasantness that he had refused to name.

‘You know,’ Crowley’s grating voice swam through his head once more. ‘That really may have been too much.’

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[another-twisted-wonderland-fan]

Don’t know his personality but him and regan would totally scam people as a couple, bitin him rn