oh please, don't look at me.

welcome to  #fielerex  , a roleplay blog for  vil schoenheit  from disney’s game twisted wonderland. affiliated exclusively with night raven university  ;  as penned by vega, they / she, twenty - nine, gmt+1 timezone. ( art credit. )

a study on: a boy and his poisons worn as heavy crowns, the nuance of imposed roles and how to defy them all, heroism within villany within despair in abysslike ink and bottles of hexed juice, sacrificial blades used as eyeliner stencil, the waving motions of the tsunami called social media doomfluencing, venoms and curses and queenly kisses ;

small notes on portrayal under the cut:

THE TOUCH BRINGS SOME REASSURANCE TO HIM,  jack’s own hands warmer than the frigid morning air.   if he could control the weather,  he certainly would have done so  — no ill - will towards his jogging partner,  a silent regret that he hadn’t anticipated that today would not be an  ideal day  for running on slick pavement.  on a warm day,  their paths would differ greatly;  cutting through patches of grass  —  without worry that their shoes would be covered in the morning’s humidity.  outside of ramshackle,  the options consist of pavement,  leaves scattered from the remains of a cool autumn.  

putting pressure on his bottom lip,  long past the childish mistake of  digging  his fangs into them;  soft indents indicating the past habit.  he swallowed back yet another apology,  stacking one on top of another would only show that he wasn’t  pay attention  to the light scolding.  

returning to ramshackle with an injured person wasn’t the most comforting thought  —  well aware of the  lack  of supplies on hand.   missing the most vital items for day to day life,  a  first - aid kit  would have been hopeful.   even if one did exist,  jack was confident it’s contents would have been far out of date,   far enough out of date  that the ghosts within the walls could remember it’s purchase.   unwilling to test their luck with crumbling bandaids  &  dried up antiseptic,   he’d half - decided on the infirmary before the queen’s reply came.  

allowing for vil to pick the most comfortable spot,  he kept his grip  cautious  —   strong enough that there was no risk he would drop the other,  but light enough that he was not  clutching  him desperately.   with a nod,  their course often set towards the main street  —  they would have to head to campus.  the buildings would be  quiet,   the majority of the student body on their true winter break;  with no dorms to reside in,  even those who wished to remain on campus were shoved through the mirrors.  just how they had been selected to stay on campus with the prefect was beyond him  —  a small part filled with the disappointment of not being able to see his siblings for the entirety of the break. 

“  where does it hurt the most?  ”   he asks after a long period of silence.  if the dorm leader of pomefiore was  still  allowing him to carry them all the way to the main building like this,  his worries only deepened that the damage incurred was worse than it appeared.   that,  or he was aware of the fact that there was not a soul around the witness the sight. 

returning to ramshackle, with their current predicament and with the wild array of people running and tripping all over those all too moldy walls and rotten floors was a recipe for all kinds of social media powered disasters —a baleful curse that has been indeed cause and reason for vil to practice far too much distance ‘tween himself and any other even when oh so much he might’ve wanted to intervene, to feel that normalcy so foreign to likes of him. 

ears would be too keen to listen, eyes to gawk, mouths to whisper and all of it would turn into a ridiculous telephone game where every actual intention would end up becoming its polar, most tragic and embarrassing opposite ; and while he was all too used to it, dearest starlet, he knew oh so well jack wasn’t —and perhaps he’ll never be.

( he wouldn’t have minded, if it was another life, another whole situation. he too was allowed to fantasize a little in what ifs and silly little dreams, perhaps. ) “ it’s just my ankle. an ice pack from the infirmary, maybe a little healing spell and i’ll be good to go. ” nothing that at least divine queen of all poisons deemed serious, for incidents in showbusiness were all too many and too frequent —a stage was but a mass of hazards waiting for rightmost moment to happen, and sets were even worse, inviting in various scenarios and yet holding so many dangers they’d make any profane mind recoil in horror. but alas it was his job, he was used to, and he knew his body well enough to be certain it was simply going to pass overnight. “ i’m positive once we’re done with the infirmary, i’ll be able to walk back with you as if nothing happened. ”

Rove had not been prepared for someone to appear behind him. He yelped, turning round face slightly red from irritation and rubbing. “A-Ah V-Vil Schoenheit!” He yelped not expecting the house warden to be lurking behind him. “It’s just itchy from the dry air…” He grumbled feeling the aura of the superstar. A simple bug on the road easily squashed under…His eyes glanced down at Vil’s feet. Were those Louboutin heels? He swallowed dryly as he glanced back to the other. “Ice packs you say….Uuuu….I’ll see if Sam has any…um…ok then…” He shuffled awkwardly as he hoped Vil would move along. Almost shrinking into himself. Vil likely spotting how dry the others hair was…a mixture of going to bed with wet hair and excessive moments causing it to dry in its awkward spikes. A complete disaster.

yep, those were indeed carmine - lacquered loubotins, and ready to stomp onto a certain dean if starlet of pyroxene had to stay for yet another second as idly put as some paused reel on magicam just because that sack of feathers had no desire to deal with whatever ever - growing disaster was sledgehammering itself all over university’s premises —every day wondering what could possibly grow worse in terms of thinning patience towards school’s headmage and his condescending antics.

at least, ignihyde squeakings seemed to be a staple of every single one of its members —bar ortho, for quite obvious reasons— ; a mild form of entertainment, he could assume.

APOLOGIZING FOR THE STATE OF THE WEATHER,  out of his control  —  feeling as if it were still his burden to carry,  thinking that it was wise to continue their morning jog in slick conditions.  to someone  accustomed  to running in the snow,  it was no big feat,  a certain amount of caution to his shoe choice  &  his foot falls.  

to see vil wipe out,  it was an unexpected outcome;  always seeing the most grace out of him.  perhaps that was what made the situation  so  startling that he felt the urge to apologize.  crouching down next to him,  there was no need to keep going as if he would shake it off  —  with the slowness he was lifting himself up with,  jack was worried he might have  truly  hurt himself in the process of his small mishap.  the scent of blood was  crisp  in the morning air,  bubbling up from a scrape on his senior’s knee.  

just like when they were young,  and the other would take a face full of snow  —  no matter how far ahead,  he would turn on his feet  &  go back;  a wolf never left their own behind,  too  caring  about one another.  used to collecting up his younger siblings from their falls,  jack didn’t lack any capability to care for someone.   he  just  lacked the familiarity to  scoop vil up like he would one of the youngins;  treating an upperclassman with such intimacy,  no warning,  he didn’t want to come off as if he were  babying  the queen.  

“  i should have seen it comin’, it’s my bad.   ”  not being quick enough to catch him,  not having the insight to anticipate the mistake before it happened;  all things that he would put on himself.   with as cautious of hands that he could manage,  he hooked an arm under vil  &  lifted him.  shuffling him gently,  avoiding jostling the injured leg too much.  only when he had him situated in his grasp did he stand up.   “   infirmary?  or you just wanna head back to the dorm?   ”   he asks,  unsure of the level of  healing magic  that his jogging partner possessed.  when in his arms,  jack had a better chance to look over the scrapes on his knees  —  none of them were terrible,  the real worry was in how he might have managed to twist his ankle in the tumble.  

there’s a chuckle, a smile of rare gentle comfort, a grasp of delicate fingers onto tensed knuckles —as if golden wolflord’s core was one that needed soothing the most, oh so sensitive and resolute just when them both were nothing but budding innocence fighting cold world’s snow, a glimmer within sharp amethysts.

“ ah - ah, jack, what did i say about apologizing ? you can’t control the weather, nor the pebbles we step onto every day. ” one day they could run and hide and the other day those very spots would become a true hazard —but alas, he couldn’t surely lock himself up just because of a few, easily healable scraps ; if he were, then it’d equal to let himself wither away, delusional. 

plus, with how messy were their current predicament, anything felt much better than rotting in useless wait within ramshackle’s barely - holding - together walls with now too much crowd and too much cacophony even for his tastes —and he should be used, as man of spectacles and entertainments, to similarly - veined clowneries and worse—, walking back and forth onto creaky floorboards as if that was indeed enough to make time stop stretch and tether into smaller eternities instead of flowing faster and solving all problems.

( he knew well, it’d never work that way ; it’s a dream for children and fools, to control time. )

He grumbled as he stood in front of one of the bathroom mirrors in ramshackle. The skin on his face felt dry and itchy…likely due to the air in the dorm. He was so used to a humid environment the sudden dryness and stress of cramped living had the skin around his eyes feeling crispy and itchy.

He grumbled rubbing more at his face, grinding his teeth. It was unbearable with how irritated his face felt.

"These tired eyes are going to be the death of me…" he grumbled rubbing the redness. Squinting at his reflection he grumbled pulling at the stitch markings on his face.

moving in a space that wasn’t suitable for the many students’ individual needs --may they be related to physical care to even just not being exactly the best place to vibe in-- was certainly taking its toll on everyone present the more time seemed to pass without a feasible solution to come from the headmage, and he wasn’t exempt from it ; most of his stuff, from his skincare products to his books and notes for classes he still had to apparently attend despite the current condition of the school ensemble, were still all locked into a very inaccessible pomefiore palace, and he knew very well how he wasn’t the only one in such a troublesome predicament.

it helped him keeping himself grounded for sure, and to remain leveled for his house members and any other younger mage who looked at those ontop of the seven houses’ thrones with awe and plethora of expectations --and more importantly it did help him keep his focus on how that blasted crow they had in place of an actual responsible leader of a school filled to the brim with students with various degree of control over their magic ... and the apparently unique ability to fail in his most basic job.

( and he was a fool to expect anything more, really. too much hope for too little engagement. )

hence why he’d spend most of his time by ramschackle’s questionably held together hall, in hopes not a piece of dangly wood or barely glued pieces of candlelight would fall accidentally onto passing students, but it also helped him on keeping an eye on the situation and its seemingly nonexistent progress --and then there were the students’ laments, moaning back and forth as if to imitate those very phantoms inhabiting said old dorm’s carcass.

‘  i’m  sorry ,  by  the  way .  ’

some things just seemed to never change, no matter if it’s been barely minutes or ten years. 

“ still apologizing for things you haven’t done, aren’t you. ” here’s a laugh, queen in blonds and lilacs almost unfazed by how much his knee seemed to ache and throb barely, fingers feeling the soft wetness of post - rain ground mixed to remnants of fallen leaves right underneath open palms --more because it was fresh and exposed to chilly wintry air rather than because of the scraping in of itself, carefully dragging the hurt leg aside to try and prop himself back up, slowly.

a little incident mid - jogging, that was. nothing more, nothing less. nothing for himself to worry about, something oh so superficial that an easy magic trick or a well placed ointment couldn’t fix --but of course, what could he do with a wolf’s concern ?

it was almost like when they were but little kids filled with naivetè of a cruel world yet to open its maws at them, and he had just fallen facefirst on snowy road because of wanting to catch up so fast.

‘  i  was  just  a  little  sprout like you when I first came to this place .  ’ He looks at the current Pomefiore housewarden with curious eyes. "Is there anything that you want to know about me in particular?"

there’s a pause in script - skimming ministrations, glimmering amethysts leaving rows and rows of printed material for precious starlet to memorize only to meet his professor’s --a man he, objectively speaking, knew little to nothing about, and not out of lack of interest ; he knew how downright ugly and frustrating to deal with it was, when people would pry within curtains of private life so arrogantly, perhaps all too well.

it was all a matter of respect, on his part --at least that’s how he liked to see it. dear vil was oh so well aware of how even best and most selfless of intentions could be easily swayed and turned into multi - eyed monstrosities if one made enough effort.

“ were things always this messy in this school even before my arrival ? ” perhaps a little sarcastic in his tone, but alas his own was a stress he couldn’t exactly hide behind hours and hours of applied makeup and rehearsed courtesies ; each day passing seemed to just love chipping at either this school’s very own existence and patience of queen of all poisons --which he knew he needed to keep forth, for his members didn’t need a guide driven by anger and spite of a thousand hurriedly filed complaints. 

he’d rather leave that to azul.

- a familiar fragrance

@fielerex

living with someone new - someone so decidedly not from heartslabyul, that is - after nearly three years of constancy is odd. the queen’s rules do not rule supreme in ramshackle - and even less so over vil schoenheit, riddle’s new roommate. 

but, there are points of familiarity. for one - 

“your perfume,” riddle says. it’s early morning, and they’re getting ready for classes. the sun is slowly crawling up the horizon. “…what scent is that?” 

the ways of pomefiore were much difficult to uphold in a place that was as unstable as rook’s sense of reality. or a paper boat on a very messy pond, he wasn’t sure which analogy would work best to describe that dusty, creaking place filled with whispers and ghosts --nonetheless, because of a certain bastard crow’s clear misdemeanor in his oh so canted and chanted headmaster abilities, all dorms were compromised just the same.

and he was positive, queen of all poisons, that neither this time dire crowley’s office will escape a certain octopus’ eightfold wrath in countless of complaint papers.

What are their 5 most recent google searches?

What is their texting style?

one. hoo boy. it’s very rude to spy on his laptop, i hope you know that !

001. ténèbres new winter collection 2022 002. mandrake harvest season 003. fashion week casting schedules @ yorkpomme 004. know - hows of magical cosmetics epub download 005. b.samedi leather jacket 

one. sadly it comes with a life of typecasting and backstabbing that is the entertainment industry ; envy is vil’s fatal flaw, and it’s often mixed with bouts of anger and frustration because of the unfair treatment of idols within the industry whom he isn’t exempt from, even with his father’s name still looming over him despite his own light shining bright enough to be able to stand on its own. 

after all, who wouldn’t let those green - tinted whispers seethe alongside your heart if every single time your greatest efforts aren’t noticed or acknowledged in favor of someone or something else that is more palatable ?

FIXING HIS FACE WAS MUCH EASIER SAID THAT DONE,  eyes not wanting to adjust to  such  bright lights;  the heat was never good to him,  especially not what was radiating from halogen bulbs.   between the set  &  his own nerves,  jack was fearful of melting the makeup right off of his face.  ensured it wouldn’t move,  after a round of overly cautious prodding by a team of make up artists.   the first time he’d so much as laid a hand on makeup was for their induction ceremony.  dark colored coals around his eyes wasn’t an appealing feeling,  the heaviness lingering for someone who wasn’t used to it.  

no matter the task,   he put immense care into completing it with utmost effort.   the struggles came where he did not understand how one put effort into modeling.   being graceful was definitely no effortless gift,  but the degree that vil excluded would make it seem as if it came naturally.   putting a brand of  practice  to the art was difficult,  it didn’t align with anything he’d  worked to better about himself thus far.   no amount of weight training or spelldrive skills would assist him in this.  

perfect.  a daring overstatement if he had to say so.  though the confidence that these words are said with,  not believing them feels as if he’s placing disbelief directly into his upperclassman.   tensing in a delicate touch,  worry strikes his face worse than ever.   had he managed to mess up their hard work already?  jack could not recall bringing a hand up to his face,  if he had,  entirely on impulse;  never shy to swipe his forehead during track practice.  here,  it felt like such a movement would be considered taboo.  scrutiny is coming from all angles,   &  he’s wishing that he could take a few inches off his height.   “  guy - next - door ? ‘fraid  i don’t know what that means.  no way could i do this all of the time. ”  a ‘one’ time  favor for a friend,  it’s mere kindness;  however,  he considered a job like this far out of his expertise.  higher importance things grated his thoughts,  forcing himself to upkeep  skincare  to the degree that they’d showed him.  it would never happen.  the moment he returned to savanaclaw,  jack would return to his routine that would have the pomefiore house  rolling  in their graves. 

his hands are a stark comparison to the daintier,  well - kept ones holding his.  it’s a motion he’s not used to,   not even from his own family.  eyes scan the room,  trying to see if anyone is taking a glance at the scene;  like he was a  child  again,  but at his height … not quite.

comparing it to when they were kids,  it was a stretch.  the stakes  were higher,  the crowd was bigger;  perfection was expected here.  nothing like when he was smiling holding a little pumpkin pail,  flannel shirt  —  dressed up as a ‘werewolf’.  vil’s father  was much too happy to see them there together,  even if jack’s jeans were stained  &  dirty;   his boots a few years old.  “ i can do that. ”  a nod,  not wanting to let professional advice go to waste.  if he didn’t get his head on straight soon,  they were going to see this for what it was:  a famous model bringing along his talentless childhood friend.  just was risks there could be for him,  considering it made his anxiety worsen.   relax,  relax.  that’s what he had to do.  “ just like when we were kids. ”  he mumbled,  convincing himself more than anything.  

of course, for someone who wasn‘t used to how things worked in the world of fashion and entertainment, everything would either look too easy to the point of being underestimated --or the total opposite, complications over complications that made even the simplest attempt something so futile.

he could understand to some extent how it felt, perhaps in a much more complex asset than what dearest jack was feeling --after all, while with friends there was a different vibe, with your very own father it was all too different ; there was always, after all, the fear of being shrouded by shadow of another’s bright light, to never be able to shine through no matter how many sacrifices and efforts were made to grow and become better than moments before.

the fear of being enough, what a frightening bane of anyone’s existence indeed.

“ you don’t know --well. it’s an archetype, it describes a type of person who looks very natural and simple, very much like a person you’d expect living nearby. ” a chuckle, lips lacquered in hues of black curled up in lovely smiles. “ ah, of course. it’s all a matter of what you feel like doing. as an idol i do more than just modeling --i also have acting gigs, music, tv shows to attend, all of that. people who just work as a model usually have it a tad lighter, depending on who you work for. ”

still, inbetween flashes of camera and pauses, vil’s fingers would find their way towards strongwolf’s ears, giving them soothing scritches while drawing concern onto prettily decorated amethysts --not wanting for jack to overwhelm himself into something that he isn’t ultimately used to, especially when senses of beastmen gifted with magic’s kiss were much more sensitive than a regular mage’s. “ you know we can stop at any time. ” he wanted to reassure, queen of all poisons, trailing to idly rest onto wildwhite locks and down to tensed neck and shoulder, dancing onto its curves, trained heart holsting its beats in dissonance. 

( breathe in, breathe out. )

rather than a deer in the headlights, jack to him looked like a cat caught stealing kibbles from the table by sudden switch up of kitchen lights, with those eyes wide and gleaming yellow with annoyance at being discovered --except that dearest beastman’s grimaces were tied more to some inadequacy starlet of glimmery pyroxene was oh so ready to slap away with all possible means, because there was no way in heavens and hells that someone whom he knew had the most beautiful heart and purest of souls would see himself less than deserved and earned.

dearest jack was always working hard for all those goals he wanted to reach for, unflinching duty never giving up in order to reach all those merits associated to earned results, loyal and trustworthy, a resolve burning just as bright as savannah’ sun in high noons --who wouldn’t want to just lean towards such warmth and strength, or even just spend time with him ?

“ i think you’re perfect, jack, don’t be silly. ” queen of all poison would mutter along to other’s doubt as if wanting to ruthlessly squish it, with amethysts laced in evident concern staring right back whilst decorated in layers of color enhancing their natural vibrancy --gentle, when reaching with his fingers to caress at jawline barely covered by one light swipe of diluted foundation, for he’s been oh so adamant and cautious with his makeup artist in making sure everything was as delicate as possible due to jack having never put actual makeup before ; and he was pretty sure halloween’s childish water - activated facepaint wasn’t contemplated. “ a lot of stylists actually love your kind of look --very guy - next - door, very rough but also well groomed around the edges. they would pay numbers to have you as a model for their lines. ”

he wanted to reassure dearest whitewolf, warden of pomefiore --to make sure he’ll know that such effort to be there with him instead of spelldrive trainings or sighing in very much expected exasperation towards kingscholar’s lazy idiotship was not wasted nor underappreciated in the slightest, directing black - nailed thumbs downwards to caress rough knuckles in circling, soothing motions. “ listen to me. pretend that you’re with me and my father, back to our little town, taking pictures for halloween in front of the porch. ”

The time seemed excruciatingly slow as the two of them watched over the mysterious candle, which burned brightly. Another yawn threatened to escape the redhead, getting bored of standing around for what felt like eternity. It seemed as though the fire fae tending to the candle’s flame had a similar idea, as she began flailing her arms around hoping to get their attention. Her efforts didn’t go unnoticed, and Ace was quick to spot her seemingly eager action and loud jingling. He was reluctant to respond to her, given that his prior interactions with their kind weren’t the most pleasant. Many times they have caused everyone more trouble than it was worth, for reasons which he always thought of as selfish, and absurd. Though, the way she was keen on getting them to notice her told him that her intentions weren’t malicious, and so he obliged. While he was capable of understanding hedgehogs that he would take care of back at his dorm, he didn’t have the slightest understanding of the language of the fae. “Say, Vil, you wouldn’t happen to know what she is trying to say, would you?” he asks the Pomefiore student, though feeling as both of them were similarly lost. Not being able to communicate properly, seemed to upset the fairy, which was pouting by the candle. They had to think of something quick, or her natural pettiness would eventually take over. 

“Hey, we are struggling just as much as you are.” he tells the fire fairy with a sigh. The redhead thinks of a possible solution to their problem, with nothing seemingly coming to him. The fairy seemed so desperate at the moment, she tried to show them what she meant; striking all sorts of poses and gestures in the process. Ace could only stare at her in confusion, unsure what she had on her mind. If only they had some sort of way to translate her jingles to something more understandable — a way for them to know what her body language meant. Although not an answer to their issue, a realization to him and with it he turns to the other male. “You are an actor, right Vil?” would the two of them be able to decipher her gestures? Would Vil’s knowledge on performing arts be helpful in this very case? Ace wasn’t sure, but it was worth a try considering how little options they had. “How good are you at charades?”

it was uneventful.

a good sign, considering what had happened before with other pairs who seemingly weren't as fortunate --one of them being pomefiore's heavily concussed not - so - problem - child - anymore known as jinx, whom vil granted a resting period from those injuries-- as they were right now, but still nothing that would allow for queen of all poison to lower guard and nerves ; when faefolk and magic was involved, nothing could be absolute peace and safety.

nonetheless, dear vil thanked he's brought with him some scripts to read through for his rehearsals, barely giving a glance from time to time to dancing flame and faeling trilling along --and trappola too, considering fiery - haired freshman seemed to have some tendency in calling more trouble towards him than it was already worth.

at least, this way he could intervene before anything really dangerous could happen.

" mh ? "

there's a brow quirking, amethysts once more leaving printed text and highlighted markings to meet once more heartsabyul's very own rascal attempting to catch his own attention --and then to the tinging and jingling coming from altar itself, where flamelike fae seemed interested in communicating. " well yes. " tongue clicking, a brief pause --black - lacquered nails of pyroxene's most beloved starlet daring to tap against his own cheek in semblance of reflection. " i like to think i know what i'm going for when playing charade. i assume you want to understand the little host of the altar, ja ? "

too bad he wasn't from diasomnia, nor he owned one of those incense ornaments he's seen adorning young silver during most infamous fairy gala --he wished he would've borrowed that one.

preparations were going smoothly, despite whatever fiasco was oh not - so merciful and magnanimous headmage’s attempt at giving them a budget and run a stall that felt more like a cheap imitation of sam’s relatively questionable business ; what was deemed necessary had been achieved, a lot of material being naturally already in pomefiore’s possessions due to the many laboratories and workshops located in its elegant rooms and wide areas --and albeit with venue’s questionable auction results not securing them what they had wished for, pyroxene’s beloved starlet felt like they could come out of this with nary a scathe.

not that library’s premises were terrible for his original plan, on the contrary : quite a number of pivotal scenes of lurkers of the hamlet were actually filmed within secluded setting’s public library especially during recently aired second season. it all turned to fairest queen’s representatives’s advantage in the end --and while he’d recognize indeed how botanical garden’s immensity would’ve indeed given a more scenographic effect to their chosen theme, there were more possibilities for people to recognize pomefiore’s inspiration by encapsulating a specific, memorable location rather than a mere generic representation of the series.

plus, that meant none of pomefiore would’ve been cursed in dealing with that blasted rafflesia --queen of all poisons was pretty confident on how atrociously - scented flower’s sudden appearance within garden’s premises being very much of a last minute sabotaging addition from a certain opportunistic raven himself.

( one night to spend on how to create a potion able to muddle away that heinous stench of death and rot successfully avoided, he’d suppose. )

nonetheless, hard work for them was still far from over and housewarden of fairest castle wasn’t exempt from participating to sewing and modifying and elaborately constructing all that was needed for their venue and stamp rally alongside all members of dearest dorm who so eagerly would follow his lead and worked as tiressly as he was, collaborating to their collective success --it would go against his principles of effort ad dedication if he weren’t, really.