#PLEASE TWST LET US SEE THE STORY UNFOLD

[amxrany]

The possibility that General Lilia's Groovy...........is him finding and cradling a baby Silver 🥹

[hanafubukki]

What is your opinion on twst writing? On twitter I see people saying Yana Toboso can’t write and I personally enjoy the story. :’) I thought I’d ask on here because Twitter people are scary

Hello Anonie 🌻🌸🌷

Yeah, I feel you Anonie. Twitter can be a toxic mess from what I’ve seen, especially if your opinion differs from others. I tend to be the type to quickly go on for the art and then get out (unless it’s something from someone I know and follow).

As for my opinion on Yana’s writing, I think her writing is great! I heard about people saying that she can’t write a year ago or so but I didn’t know they still said that.

Personally, I really love her writing. The way she intricately weaves the story and allows it to unfold is really interesting to me and I love it a lot. Especially the fact that, no matter how many speculations or theories, she somehow always surprises us.

I especially enjoy her ability to make us get together and theorize and talk about the story so uniformly. I think a author does wonderfully when they do that. When they can get their audience to love a story so much they nitpick it and break it apart and they talk about it with others.

And I think Yana does it splendidly, because I love so many people talking about twst and the possibilities. I love the passion I see in others and how people just take these characters and give their own takes and twst to them. I love seeing people be so creative. As a book lover, this is what I enjoy the most from stories.

So yes, I think her writing is great.

If I may say this, not everyone will ever be pleased with a story or media or how something is shown. You literally can’t please everyone. I just believe that if you don’t like something,then don’t ruin it for others and move on to something else that you will like. I never understood why you would stay and hate something when you can be out there finding something that makes you happy.

You like the story Anonie and that’s great! Please continue liking what you do and don’t let others bring you down. If it brings you happiness, please keep enjoying it. You’re always more than welcome to chat with me about it. 🌻☺️

[curekibouka-writing]

Aftertaste (Twst one-shot fanfic)

Summary: By now, it should be too late. By now, it should be over. Yet one shred of sweetness persevered. (**Spoilers for main story episode 1 and Riddle's birthday story**)

Word count: 1134

A/N: Happy birthday Riddle (24/8/2021)❤️️🌹❤️️! Ugh gotta hate myself for thinking of birthday fics so soon before their birthdays I rushed this one somewhat.

*This fic is also on FF.net, Quotev and AO3

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“Wow…!” The redheaded child knew no other words to say as the hands covering his eyes were removed. Colours so vibrant bursted around him, a fragrance so welcoming embraced him, and butterflies so unfamiliar fluttered in his chest. 

“Surprise-nya!!!” Chenya jumped out from nowhere, setting off a party popper right beside Riddle’s ear. 

Riddle seemed too surprised to be any more surprised. He turned to Trey, who had been tasked with bringing him here blindfolded, and was now standing behind him, satisfied with his reaction. 

“What is… this?” he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

“A party!” Trey answered, brushing away streamers and confetti in Riddle’s tresses, “It’s your birthday today, isn’t it?” 

“Well, yes but…”

“Oh quit dilly-dallying-nya! We gotta get you paw-ty started before an hour ends!” Chenya ushered Riddle to a chair. Then he hustled to dump a birthday hat on Riddle’s head and to pour some juice for him.  

With mittens that were clearly too big for him, Trey brought an apple pie out of the kitchen. “Usually we eat cake on birthdays, but I wanted to let you try something fresh from the oven.” He began to cut a slice, “Well, technically we cooled it for some minutes, but it’s definitely crispy and the smell of cinnamon is still all over the place.” 

Apples and cinnamon, Riddle took a mental note, this pleasant aroma was of apples and cinnamon. 

“Go on, eat up!” Chenya pressed, his palms propping up his head, humming as he stared at Riddle, as if observing a small animal.  

Riddle nodded with a hesitant smile, scooping up a mouthful of rich crust and apples aplenty. He knew not what he was expecting when he took a bite, but the abundant filling that lingered on his teeth, the buttery flavour that enveloped his tongue, and the slight tang of spices in his throat, it was unlike any of the ten or so celebratory delicacies he had eaten for his past birthdays. 

One bite warmed his throat. The next warmed his chest. The third warmed somewhere deeper. 

Then, the fourth, his eyes. 

“W-what’s wrong?” Trey was quick to grab a tissue and dabbed Riddle’s eyes, “You don’t like pies? You don’t like apples? I’m sorry we didn’t have time to ask what you liked to eat.” 

“Nya~ I bet it’s the cinnamon!” Chenya placed his chin on Riddle’s head, “It’s purrfectly okay, I hate it too, just cough it out-nya.” 

“But I already adjusted the amount…… is the flavour still too strong, Riddle?” 

The younger boy shook his head insistently. 

“…For my birthdays, mother would always make cakes with lots of nutrients for me. I know it’s for my own good. And I know she puts much effort into finding out how to make them delicious. And… and I’m thankful…

“But this…” his fork clanged against the plate as his hands flew to scrub his eyes, “This is delicious too! 

“What should I do, Trey, Chenya……? My sentence has already been passed, and I’m not to be with you anymore. But I still love this, I love it here! One hour is not enough. One day is not enough. I want this for my next birthday, and the year after, and more and more… 

“Please… tell me,” he reached out for them, “when will we…” 

But once the hands covering his eyes were removed, he saw nobody. No colours. No fragrance. His hands grasped air, bedsheet, and sunlight from the window that used to bring him to wonderland. 

He swallowed the words he could’ve spoken, and felt the aftertaste still on his tongue — all that was left of wonderland, aside from the tears that carried through. 

He wiped his eyes with his pyjama. Just because it was his birthday didn’t mean he was entitled to disobey. His mother had turned down a mere strawberry tart, why should he even dream of more? 

But once you have one foot in, you cannot stop tumbling down the rabbit hole. 

What if they had never been caught in all these months? What if the two of them remembered? What if they specifically came to him today? Would the story unfold like in his dream? Would they prepare something else for him? 

He tasted sweetness in his mouth, with the freshness of apples and the smooth texture of butter. It tugged a smile on his lips. 

Then he tasted spices in his throat, hot and constricting, the heat swimming to his eyes. 

The aftertaste was delicious, yet it eluded his senses, no more than an ephemeral image in a child’s mind. 

He practically leapt off his bed, feeling like he would suffocate were he to remain wandering in the maze for too long. 

He tore a grid paper out from his immaculately organised shelf, this shall be a draft for his newest crossword puzzle creation. 

He was quick to jot down a 6-letter “sweets” across the 1st row, then “family” in the bottom right to mirror it. 

He tapped his pen on his chin. Perhaps this was too easy. 

To fill up the remaining 8 usable squares in the 1st row, he wrote “cinnamon”, aligned to the right. 

He wouldn’t want the player to solve it too quickly. 

He glanced at “family” in the 15th row, adding the 8-letter “fragment” on the left. Then starting from its “n”, counting 11 squares upward, he filled in “expectation”. 

Because if he could see them again, if he could proudly declare that he had created this puzzle just for them with the biggest grin they’ve ever seen and ask them to solve it, he would enjoy every moment of seeing them brood over it. And for once he would pour the tea for them, leisurely savouring every word exchanged in their long, long conversation as they sample scrumptious apple pies or strawberry tarts or all sorts of cake he hadn’t even heard of. 

One knock on the door and he tasted ice. “Riddle? Are you awake?” 

“Yes, mother,” he replied reflexively. 

“Good. Breakfast will be ready in 10 minutes, make haste. I won’t tolerate unpunctuality even if it is your birthday.” 

“I know, mother.” 

As he heard her walk away, he silently settled on the 11-letter word starting from the “i” in “cinnamon”. 

The time to wake up had long since passed. All the madness should be left behind in wonderland, by now, they are

“illusionary”. 

He set down his pen, turning to his closet to change out of his pyjamas. 

Yet one last shred of sweetness persevered. 

Briskly picking up the pen, he scribbled down one more word. He squeezed the pen for a moment, contemplating, then nodded in satisfaction and rushed to get himself ready. 

There, in the rightmost column, downward, 7-letters, sat the word 

“someday”.

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The End

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A/N: When I heard that he had made crossword puzzles wanting to let Trey and Chenya solve them, I just can't— 🥺