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Tagged by @sky-kiss (tq ❤️)

A list of my favourite games! Was really hard to leave some stuff out but I think it's good enough in showcasing both classics and new games!

Anyone can make your their own chart here!

Tagging @lullabyes22-blog @saradika @zkyfall @curbitkirby @frenchublog @erebus0dora

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Alinoir brainrot spawned from convos with @sky-kiss, who's also made a fic on this!

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RxA: Fencing

Inspired by conversations with @shahs1221. Delighted to be back to enabling each other in the worst ways haha. If you haven't already seen her fencing Renoir uh. Treat yourself.

Renoir x Aline: Fencing

While she would freely admit to bias, Aline could think of few sights as fine as her husband in his element, be it painting, business, or these more mundane physical activities. 

Renoir stood tall and handsome in his fencing apparel, grinning in the evening sun. The past hour of exertion had left him flushed, hair wilder. He looked more like a dashing poet than a noble patriarch. He tapped the practice foil against the sole of his boot, sharing a brief conversation with the instructor before the other man took his leave. 

Her husband brought a hand up to shield his eyes, expression brightening as his attention fixed on her. The woman’s heart clenched. Cliche as it might sound, it was gratifying to still bring him joy after decades. She could think of no man more deserving. Renoir crossed the pavilion, folding a hand over her hip, dipping his head to kiss her. 

Aline chuckled, brushing her fingers through his hair. “I’d hoped to watch you practice. It appears I’m late.” 

“Marcel has business that necessitated an earlier lesson. My apologies, love.” 

Madame Dessendre shrugged as if to ask ‘What could you do?” She settled her hands on his shoulders, brushing nonexistent wrinkles out of his vest. Warmth radiated off him, healthy in that way one managed after exercise. 

His left hand settled at the small of her back, worrying the fabric of her blouse between his fingers. Renoir arched a brow, dipping his head. The evening sun caught in his eyes, brightening them. “You’ve already come all this way—care for a bout?” 

Aline smiled, stepping away, creating much-needed distance. Once upon a time, he’d taken it upon himself to serve as her fencing instructor. To shore up her capacities within the Canvas, he’d insisted. 

Powerful as you are, he liked to say. Your martial abilities leave something to be desired.

Rude, but not untrue.

She glanced back towards the manor, humming. “I didn’t dress for the occasion, dear.” 

Her husband flashed her a coy smile, mischief glittering in his eyes. Renoir motioned her over with the rapier, inspecting her from head to foot. Something in the fool’s expression left her scoffing, color blossoming in her cheeks as he set a hand on her hip. He stopped a hairsbreadth from her, near enough for her to smell his cologne mixed with the gentler hint of sweat. “May I?” 

Aline chewed the inside of her cheek, shifting the majority of her weight to her right foot. “You’re ridiculous. Do what you like.” 

Renoir sank to his knees in front of her. She shook her head, chuckling, hands moving to settle on his shoulders of their own accord. Aline stroked her fingers through his hair, revelling in his approving hum. He set the training sword aside, fingers curling around her ankle before stroking upwards to the curve of her knee. 

He took hold of the fabric of her skirt and tore along the skirt’s side seam. Renoir glanced up at her, smirking, parting the material enough to graze her thigh. He lifted her leg slightly, rotating it outwards until he could press his lips to her inner thigh. 

“There,” he murmured, warm breath tickling the sensitive skin as much as his beard. “You’ll move more easily.” 

Aline tugged at his hair, forcing her voice to remain steady. “How practical you are, mon coeur. Do you need help up?” 

“You know I am never averse to lingering in such positions…” 

She pushed his shoulders, scoffing. “Oh, get up.”

The fool laughed. Rather than step away, Renoir leaned nearer, smoothing his hands over her hips and waist, coming to rest just below the small swell of her breasts. “Don’t go away. I’m sure there’s a spare foil lying around.” 

The woman shook her head, chuckling. Renoir returned with a small training weapon, more suited to her size. He settled in behind her, adjusting her grip and stance; not precisely necessary—she still remembered his lessons well enough—but not unpleasant either. She tipped her head back against his shoulder. 

“Focus, Aline,” he chided, no bite behind the words. He stroked the backs of his fingers across her stomach. 

With that finished, he stepped away from her, moving to stand at attention. 

From the start, Renoir had insisted fencing would suit her. It was not so unlike a dance. The movements were both fluid and graceful, relying on dexterity more than brute strength. Outside the Painted World, he was stronger, faster, with a reach that vastly exceeded hers. Renoir took a step forward, thrusting. She batted it away, sliding to the side. 

“Good,” he praised. “Again.” 

He repeated the maneuver. This time, Aline followed it with a swing of her own. Her husband beamed, nodding his approval. 

They continued the dance for another few moments before Renoir tapped the foil against the outside of her wrist. Aline hissed, surprised. She dropped the foil. The sound of it hitting the cobblestones, bouncing away from her, seemed too loud in the otherwise calm evening. She shot him a dark look, bending to pick the weapon back up. She grumbled, moving to reset. 

Renoir brought the flat of the sword across her rump as she passed. She jumped from surprise more than pain, the sting minuscule by comparison. Aline rounded on him. He looked purely unashamed, dipping into a half-bow at the waist. The wild lock of hair fell across his eye, lending him a particularly rakish air. Ridiculous man. 

“You left yourself open,” he said, pretending to inspect his foil. 

“We were resetting.”

Renoir shrugged. “It always pays to remain alert.” 

They fell back into the familiar rhythm. Aline allowed herself to slip into the dance. It’d been months since they practiced. While rusty, she found the movement returning to her easily enough. It felt pleasant. 

Aline slid around one of his strokes, retaliating with her attack. 

He caught her wrist as she lunged, redirecting her momentum. Instinct took over as he tugged her lightly to the side, spinning her. Aline’s skirt flared out, a rush of cooler air washing across her thighs as he finished the movement and pulled her flush against his chest. 

Renoir held her arm over her head, grip tightening on her wrist. The stretch bordered on too much as his other arm wound around her, forcing her to accommodate the difference in their height. “Drop it.” 

Aline chuckled, the sound breathier than she liked. Warmth radiated through his clothes, halfway feverish, leaving her feeling trapped in her skin. She felt the flex of muscle in his chest and arms as he leaned her back further. She pressed her free hand to his shoulder, a perfunctory attempt to create distance. “Renoir, I am not Monoco.” 

“The dog is less liable to bite.” 

She snickered. “You are in a mood.” 

He leaned in to trace her cheek with his nose. “Aline, drop it.” 

She let the rapier clatter to the ground. 

“Good girl.”

Aline laughed. “Careful.” Renoir hummed in a way that suggested he’d quite blithely ignore her suggestion. The man leaned in, bowing her back gently before kissing her. Aline sighed against his lips, slackening in his hold. She spoke against his mouth. “This is not practice.” 

“Mm, perhaps not fencing. But practice all the same.” 

“We have sufficient experience with this, dear.” 

Renoir smiled, pressing his forehead to hers before stepping away. He flicked her foil up with his, catching it deftly and handing it back to her. “Come. Once more, and then I’ll see the lady back to the manor.” 

Aline rolled her eyes,  swatting him with her foil before dropping back into a neutral stance. 

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I 100% Clair Obscur and ofc the one character I'm uber obsessed with is the silver fox god who's super Hades coded because DUH??

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Some professor Raphael naughtyness courtesy of the Patreon vote! Full version

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Y'know what time it is...

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I got a website!

Thought it would be time to have my own domain!

shahs1221.com

shahs1221.com

shahs1221.com

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The Screamer collection is complete

For now...

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I scream, you scream, we all scream for

KURO KARA KURI STARSCREAM!!!! ✨✨✨✨

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Lovelies, it's time for that holiday 🌴🍸

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Commissions are open! Full view of these NSFT pieces used as examples can be seen here!

Some rules: - once 10 slots are filled, you'll be put into a queue list which will take longer to get to but you will be on a list! - I use Stripe for payment (you can use whatever bank to send online payment as I'll send you an invoice to request payment). - nothing gratuitous like gore (some blood and scars and a little spicyness is fine but please nothing else). - when providing me info/detail, do them in bullet point form or something easier to digest. Please do not send me essays/stories about your character(s) that is not relevant to your piece - Price might increase depending on additional complexity (more complex outfits/added accessories/etc)

Please message me through my email: astairewashere@gmail.com

✨Kofi✨ ✨Patreon✨ ✨Shop✨

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Sarah Stone's (@fayren) Starscream | Figure

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Persuasion, 1995

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The ever growing Starscream collection on a budget 😂 Trumpeter Screamer is coming next!

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スタウィン

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Him