#⋆⁺₊⋆ 𝐚𝐬𝐤 ›› ㅤ ❝ would you tell me，please，which way i ought to go from here?

[untowonder-gone]

I'm glad I follow you back all those months ago uwu Hope we can continue being friends and that 2023 will go smoothly for you ~

i am a barnacle, i cannot be gotten rid of without being violently pried off

i mean, stop overworking yourself 2023 and let us interact more in this upcoming year

[untowonder-gone]

Fuckin phenomenal. 10/10. Watching Marianne grow and develop and how you've built up her lore and verses has been amazing. Like watching teeth get pulled sometimes too, but how much you pack into Marianne's plots, replies, edits, and headcanons is awe inspiring. Especially as she's become an unrepentant villainess. Absolutely wonderful.

beep beep how’s my portrayal ?

no fuck you

[untowonder-gone]

Dare + Cut your hair short ( or let him give you a haircut )

Truth or Dare. ; accepting

What a daring proposition from the near-mythical Diasomnia student. A dare that might have once put the queen in a state of unease, for she so loved her hair, watching it lose all its pale gold to become akin to moonlight, treating the fine locks with utmost care to keep them healthy. The mere thought of cutting her hair short as it had been in her stolen youth would have made her shudder if not for the knowledge that it was unseemly. Yet, a dare was a dare, and she ought to acquiesce to his request.

❝ Does the length of my hair trouble you? ❞ Marianne asks, delicate fingers already reaching up to loose midcalf-length platinum locks from a midnight-colored ribbon. It would be a pity to lose such flowing locks, and she would miss the hefty weight like one might miss a pair of earrings or a necklace. Such temporary feelings might linger for a few moments, a few days, before vanishing as quickly as they had arrived, so far as she knew. With grace, she moved to sit before Lilia, and offered him the sharpest pair of scissors. ❝ If you wish to cut my hair ... at least keep it even. ❞

[untowonder-gone]

Is there anything you would have changed when you started writing now that you have more experience?, What new addition would make your Tumblr experience so much better?

Questions for the mun. ; no longer accepting

Is there anything you would have changed when you started writing now that you have more experience? Not giving my personal phone number to a forum rp partner that I only knew his supposed A/S/L and attempt to meet up with him irl. Yeah, little me was an idiot, but at least I couldn't justify to my mother why I needed to go down to a city 3hrs away from where we lived to meet a friend.

What new addition would make your Tumblr experience so much better? Mass blocking. Or a better editing system. Or a system that doesn't stall out on my phone and makes it very difficult to edit, reply, and post.

[untowonder-gone]

Is there anything you would have changed when you started writing now that you have more experience?

Questions for the mun. ; no longer accepting

I do, I really do have a lot of regrets which have built up over the many, many years that I've been writing, and that I've been rping. And I do have many, many things I would have changed had I the knowledge and experience I do today, but the past is the past and all I can do is just put them into what words I can and reflect on them now and again.

One thing I am, or was, prone to doing was changing the way I write a character to fit another person's wants or ideas. It often led to a complete disconnect with the character, and later often led me to just straight up dropping them. It was the fastest way to kill my drive, or even my will to keep going. If I could go back and change this, or at least pass on advice to my younger self, it would be to give myself the confidence to stick to my guns. To write the way I wanted to write, and to write the characters the way I wanted to write them. I would tell myself to stand my ground, to continue on unflinchingly and if others didn't like it, fuck 'em, you're the one writing x character, not them.

[untowonder-gone]

i hope 2023 will be a great year for you. i support you and all of marianne's rights and wrongs all the way uwu hope we can write more soon!

marianne has never done anything wrong in her life.

when i come back from vacay, you bet your ass imma fill your inbox with so much marianne, all you'll be seeing is pink. or ink. who knows, maybe even tiddies. we'll see.

[untowonder-gone]

I love you biiiiitch. Never gonna stop loving you biiiiitch. Never gonna stop supporting you either biiiitch. Can't wait to watch Marianne cause a [REDACTED].

we are getting a divorce since you can't keep fucking spoilers to yourself bitch

( affectionate )

[untowonder-gone]

hope you continue to bless us with all your cool and well-thought lore and world building and i hope 2023 will give you lots of good and fun times !!!

next year all you're getting is edits. i mean, yeah, i'll bring on all the world building and lore. i mean if you could see the horrific state of my drafts, you would retract this desire so fast.

[untowonder-gone]

if you receive this, you make somebody happy! go on and send this to ten of your followers who makes you happy or somebody you think needs cheering up. if you get one back, even better! ♡

jao dare you

[untowonder-gone]

if you receive this, you make somebody happy! go on and send this to ten of your followers who makes you happy or somebody you think needs cheering up. if you get one back, even better! ♡

heeeeeyyyyy!! i adore you! ur amazing and I hope ur having a great day / night

denied

[untowonder-gone]

     ❛ shut up and let me comfort you. ❜   ◤ @unxshackled​ ◥ ―  𝑭𝑶𝑼𝑵𝑫 𝑭𝑨𝑴𝑰𝑳𝒀 𝑺𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑪𝑬 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑺  [  accepting  ]

     OLD MASON JAR ROCKED UPON THE SMALL STOOL,  TIPPING,  falling,  crashing into the floor at the artist’s side.  The echoing sound of shattering glass,  the thundering clatter of paintbrushes scattering,  water and paint thinner spilling ‘round her feet.  And in her paint streaked hands,  the wrong brush was held,  too thick for the fine details,  too thick for the delicate smile which had begun to wilt upon the canvas.  All at once it was much too much,  the glass and liquid,  the paint and brushes,  the half-painted,  nearly realized ghost staring back at her from the canvas.  That canvas she had been working on for what felt like forever.

With nearly a scream caught in her throat,  the heiress struck at the canvas,  slamming her brush into the half-finished painting with startling force,  tearing paint soaked cloth in two.  Again and again,  she struck the canvas,  as though it were a knife,  or a shard of crystal,  that might dismember his smirking face.

From beyond her awareness there came such commotion,  the Chief’s quiet voice unable to reach the artist’s ears,  mingling with the panicked squawk of guards told not to get too close,  weary of how this burst of mania might spill into something worse,  something the MBCC would rather like to avoid.  How they ought to get that psychiatrist or,  even,  that wandering Stargazer to swallow up her attention.  To reach through the haze of crimson violence to snap her back to reality.

How unexpected it ought to have been that Lisa would dare show herself before the other,  to catch Mary Ann at her weakest,  when her memories of the boy,  that golden ray of sunshine dared throttle her,  smother her,  reach out and choke her.  Alice Underhill come back from the dead,  come back into her world to mock her from the canvas,  a ghost,  a haunting.  His very essence clung to her,  all these long years,  she could still hear his voice,  could still see his smile,  feel his hands upon her shoulders,  pulling her away from the canvas,  and how she screamed,  her words failing her,  becoming nothing more than distorted cries of a dying white rabbit.

   ❛  shut up and let me comfort you.  ❜  Lisa’s voice was sharp as a knife,  cutting through the imaginary boy,  through the memories of a girl no longer half past eight.  She was all grown now,  too old to twist and turn until she could throw her small frame against the other artist.  To wrap her desperate arms around her middle,  acrylic paint contaminated by her mania leaving brilliant trails of color in the wake of her hands.  She pressed into Lisa’s frame,  barely conscious of actions she would later,  if she thought to recall this moment,  find repulsive. 

❝ I am sickened by the mere sight of you,  ❞  Mary Ann whispered,  pressing her face against crook of the brunette’s neck,  ❝ yet  ... ❞  She was grateful,  she supposed,  for her presence.  For the distraction.  She breathed deeply through her nose,  letting out a shuddering breath.  ❝ Can we go?  I’ll let you comfort me if we can just get out of here. ❞ 

[untowonder-gone]

observe + an assortment of mania crystals varying from high quality to low quality

✧ — 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐄𝐗𝐓

If you could spare a moment, a glimpse of time found in the ticking of a clock, you might question why you've grown enamoured with these horrific jewels, these manifestations of violence. Mania, solidified, meant to be wedged into some awful weapon and not —— your thoughts pause momentarily, gaze sweeping the table to look upon the numerous impliments you use to grind these crystals into a fine paste —— PAINT.

Before all that work, however, you have to appraise each stone. To find what was useful, what could be ground down and turned into your medium of choise without damaging your tools. And you would have to find a way to rid yourself of the useless trash. The crystals which did not sing beneath your hands, did not stir with the brilliance of a dying sun or the deep crimson stain of a freshly pressed sheet of lipstick. Crystals that only winked at you with the promise of washed out hues of red.

Your father had had his men who would dispose of those inferior products, selling them back to someone in Syndicate, or just ... you weren't certain, honestly. You had never cared for that aspect of business.

No, your eye had always been on that which made you feel alive, which stirred warmth in your porcelain ribcage.

❝ Madame? ❞ The voice of that shell of a man dared to pierce through your reverie, to drag you back to the present, to the table before you and all those hungry crystals. All those madness inducing, infecting, crystals. Yes, those things which you ought to have been appraising with the eye of a vulture, a hawk, an owl. You, at last, shift in your seat, leaning forward until long stray locks of bone white hair pooled upon, and were lost in the snow white of the table.

Without a second thought, you adorn your pretty face with a pair of specially crafted jewelers magnifing glasses, and slide on white kid gloves. From across the table, that snake in mortal flesh shifts, as if he were holding his breath for exactly this moment. You almost wish he would hold his breath forever, or, that you could merely have him taken out back. A pity you needed him.

Before you, six brilliant crystals await your discerning eye. That glint in the cool light of your workshop, your sanctuary of a room. Brilliant red stones which remind you of freshly spilled blood, their hectic shapes like claws, or shards of shattered glass. Their surfaces almost look polished, almost, but you know that they have been untampered, that they are as raw as the innards of a freshly cracked geode, and had they been polished beforehand, the deal would immediately be broken. Your hands move to the largest of the crystals, lifting it from the table. It is heavy in your hands, already singing to some part of you hidden just beneath the glassy surface of your heart. Beneath the scrutiny of your sharp gaze, it glitters like the embers of a dying fire, a dying sun.

The thrill of this crystal's manic desire is enough to bring a faint curl to your lips.

Yes, you will take this one.

[untowonder-gone]

Marianne is absolutely lovely, from her aesthetics to her background story, to the worldbuilding behind her character. And I really enjoy how you give a glimpse into that with the way you write her.

beep beep how’s my portrayal ?

i don't know how you managed to keep up with my inane rambling.

[untowonder-gone]

Dare + refrain from burshing your teeth for a night

Truth or Dare. ; not accepting

❝ Mr. Leech, what has gotten into you? That's an impossible task, even within Heartslabyul. Do you have any idea how much sugar we consume before the day is done? ❞ Or how quickly Trey would descend upon her, fussing over her irresponsible actions. The last thing she wanted was to have another's fingers within her mouth, or another's hand guiding her toothbrush whilst craning her head back. ❝ I refuse this dare, it's ridiculous and you are being a sour egg! ❞

[untowonder-gone]

Truth + tell us your measurements

Truth or Dare. ;  not accepting

Heartslabyul's fair lady stilled, hands frozen in the midst of penciling in the crimson heart which rested just beneath the outer corner of her right eye. Her personally chosen symbol, since she was unbound to any of the suites. She wasn't a card, of course, she was a chess piece. The most powerful on the board. The Queen. A piece not to be underestimated, a piece to be feared. Yet there were those who seemed so unaware of the dangers a queen presented, more so among the other dorms. Of course, even if Jade had such information, would he really care? He was always practically jumping into the reach of danger, backing off only when his own cowardice showed itself.

And in this moment, he had chosen to reach into the Jabberwock's maw, ignoring all the warning signs.

From beneath thick white lashes, violet gaze moved to lock onto the familiar figure of the eel. Taller than her by more than a head, shoulders drawn back, back not quite ramrod straight. Every part of his visage was tailored to present himself as being demure and secretarylike. But Marianne knew how to wear a delicate visage, to come off as tender-hearted and gentle. She knew how to hide her violence behind glass.

❝ 90 centimeters at the bust, 58 centimeters at the waist, and 83 centimeters at the hip. ❞ She answered, voice curt, before returning her attention to the mirror to continue her work. To fill in the crimson heart before outlining its sister black heart, a homage to Red Queen. ❝ Although such personal information is unnecessary for you or anyone else to know; it would be best that you write the words down and eat them so they may be forgotten. ❞

[untowonder-gone]

Truth + do you remember how many games of chess you've played?

Truth or Dare. ; accepting

delicate nails tap away at the softness of her bottom lip as she thinks or tries to focus on memories that want to spill through her fingers like sand. a queen ought to remember everything worth remembering, and looking glass has always held tight to its memories unless an era was to come to an end ...

Marianne slowly lifts her gaze to focus on the pallid octopus, some part of her wondering if he would change colors should he be spooked, and not at all focused on his question. when she speaks, at last, her voice is partially distorted by the way she rests her knuckles against her lips. ❝ of course I remember only the games worth remembering. ❞