#aah thank you 💕💕💕

[crystallizsch]

Hello! ♡

I just wanted to say how much I love your art and OC's!

Yuusha and Jamil are so cute together, and I adore Yuuna's design! (Their hair is so cute, and I love how you did their uniform!)

I thought I was following you (as your work would keep showing on my dash) but it turns out I wasn't, so I was quick to correct that!

I was so surprised when I saw you follow me back on your main! I'm so honored that you would do so, and I just had to show my appreciation!

Thank you! ♡

HI HI!! THANK YOU TOO gahh my heart THAT MAKES ME HAPPY! i'm so glad to hear that you like my stuff 😭💖💖

yuusha and jamil are my beloveds right now, and yuuna especially has a special place in my heart because they're my first twst character, so thank you so much for the really kind words!!

also! i thought i recognized you when you followed me actually! when i checked and i saw it was you who wrote the jamil "you make me so happy" fic i was akldjfldskfl

it was so fluffy and sweet, definitely one of my favorite fics of him!

and since I also browse twst ocs, you came back on my dash with ruthie and i loved reading about her 🥺💕 and your idea of making a fan event similar to the game looks so fun and well thought out, i can't wait to see more of its story :0 (so yeah i just followed back when i saw you follow me hfndsfd)

other than that i also have a soft spot for pink / sweet-themed ocs so i doodled ruthie eating her fave food real quick :3

(now im craving something sweet ack)

[kittyandco]

You get a note written on fancy parchment in fancier cursive.

"My dear, you've always been more of a home to me than a castle could ever be. You've opened the door to sides of me I never knew existed, and now my proud heart longs to see you again every moment you leave my gaze. I never thought anyone would make me feel this way… I'm humbled. Yet somehow, I don't mind, as long as it's you.

Happy Valentine's Day, love. To many more by your side, if you'll have me. And I know you will~

~Prince Hans"

When he sees your reaction, he grins. "You were right. I should try this writing thing more often~"

.

[puppydevilxd]

60

60. Have you tasted yourself? If so, what did you think?

might not count?? but in the past i’ve sucked a partners fingers clean after they were inside me 😵‍💫 i honestly really liked the taste…

[httpvomitello]

hey stunner

I’m the anon who requested Peter x insomniac reader and it was so cute, actually had me giggling and kicking my feet reading it🥹

I don’t know if you do part twos but if you do could I please request a part 2 fic for when Peter and reader wake up and it’s a slow morning and they make tea and coffee together and reader teases him about his horrific bedhead, bonus points if you could include Tony’s reaction to the whole ordeal

thank you and have an amazing rest of your week💕

aah, reading these comments puts a huge smile on my face, no joke ☺️☺️☺️ I usually don't do a part 2 (unless I'm really inspired), but since I enjoyed writing this Peter fic and since I thought their relationship was super cute, and of course, your request too, I decided to do part 2. I hope you like it ~ ♡♡

Mornings Like This .｡*･ﾟﾟ

Summary: After Peter Parker walked across the compound half-asleep to cuddle you back to sleep, the next morning is all slow smiles.

peter parker x f!reader

(Part 1)

You woke up to the feeling of warm breath against your shoulder.

And then—movement.

A small shift, a lazy groan, and suddenly Peter’s arm tightened around your waist like his body remembered your warmth before his brain even turned on.

You smiled to yourself, letting your eyes flutter open.

Sunlight leaked in through the crack in the curtains. Peter was curled up behind you, his face half-buried in your pillow, lips barely parted, his curls going in every possible direction like he’d been dragged through a tornado in his sleep.

“Good morning,” you whispered, turning slightly.

Peter groaned again.

“Not yet,” he mumbled, eyes still shut. “Still sleepin’. Come back in five to seven business days.”

You laughed, soft and quiet. “You snuck into my room like a sleep-deprived ninja. You don’t get to complain now.”

“I didn’t sneak,” he yawned, cracking one eye open. “I was summoned. By the voice of your AI overlord.”

“Oh please...”

Peter shifted, stretching his long limbs in all directions before flopping back against the pillow dramatically. “What time is it?”

You squinted at the clock. “Almost 9.”

Peter blinked. “In the morning?!”

You rolled your eyes. “Yes, Parker. 9 in the morning, don't tell me you're scared because you slept with me. Come on... You’ve seen worse.”

“I haven’t seen anything worse than your dad at 9AM before caffeine.”

That made you laugh harder. “Fair.”

Peter finally sat up, rubbing his face, hair sticking up like he’d just electrocuted himself. He yawned so wide it made you yawn. And then—

“Damn.” You grinned, fully sitting up now. “What happened to your hair?”

Peter frowned. “What?”

You grabbed your phone and flipped the camera to selfie mode, holding it up. “See for yourself.”

Peter blinked at the screen, then let out a very genuine, very tragic sound. “Is it… worse than usual?”

“Worse? Peter, I think your bedhead achieved sentience.”

He ran a hand through it, only making it worse somehow. “Great. That’s exactly what I wanted to hear from my girlfriend.”

“Want me to help tame the beast?” you teased, crawling closer.

“Only if you promise not to post pictures.”

“No promises.”

He gave you a fake glare that melted as soon as you leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “You’re lucky I like you.”

You grinned. “You love me.”

“…Yeah,” he admitted, voice softer now. “I really do.”

Your stomach fluttered, and before things could get any more sappy, you tugged him up by the hand. “Come on. It’s coffee time.”

The kitchen was warm with morning light by the time you shuffled in, still in your sleep clothes. Peter headed straight for the mugs while you filled the kettle, the two of you moving in practiced rhythm despite the fact you were still barely awake.

“Cream or sugar?” Peter asked, already pulling out the honey for your tea.

“Hot chocolate. And... judgment for your hair.”

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, but kissed the side of your head anyway.

You were just settling onto the barstools when you heard someone clear their throat behind you.

You turned.

Tony Stark stood at the entrance of the kitchen, holding a cup of espresso, dressed like he’d been awake for hours — even though the look on his face screamed 'I’ve seen things I wish I could unsee.'

Specifically, his daughter cuddling Peter Parker like they were married and retired and had just discussed matching pajamas.

Tony took a long sip of his coffee. Then:

“So… Parker.”

Peter froze mid-sip of his coffee. “Yes, sir?”

“You doing the walk of shame through my compound at two a.m. last night—was that a plan or more of an impulse?”

Peter turned bright red. “I—uh—it was strictly comfort-based, sir. No funny business.”

Tony raised one brow. “Define ‘funny business.’”

“Dad,” you groaned. “Nothing happened.”

Tony sipped again. “Oh, I know. I had FRIDAY watching the whole time.”

Peter looked like he might pass out. “You were watching?!”

Tony smirked. “Had to make sure my daughter’s honor was preserved, also to make sure that you wouldn't let me become a grandfather so soon. And wanted to see how long you’d last before drooling in your sleep. For the record — eight minutes.”

You slapped your forehead. “I hate you.”

“No, you love me. I’m adorable.” He turned to Peter. “You? Still on thin ice. But I suppose the fact that you didn’t try anything earns you a few brownie points.”

Peter looked ready to combust. “Thank you…?”

Tony started walking off, waving his mug. “I’m not saying I approve… but I’ll hold off on the disintegration rays. For now.”

Once he was gone, Peter slumped against the counter, eyes wide. “I think I aged three years just now.”

You sipped your hot chocolate, smirking. “Still think you’re my ‘certified cuddle provider?’”

Peter gave you a sideways look. “Only if I live long enough to see next week.”

You leaned in, kissed his cheek again. “I’ll protect you.”

Peter blinked. “From your dad?”

You grinned. “Yes, and any enemy who tries to hurt this beautiful face of my boyfriend.”

[limblessbody]

I need Stan, Kyle, and Kenny with a breeding kink HCS like I need them carnally bro only if you want to tho!

𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔫, 𝔨𝔶𝔩𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔨𝔢𝔫𝔫𝔶 𝔟𝔯𝔢𝔢𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔫𝔬𝔫𝔰

first request! thanks for asking 💕

smut/lemon 🖤 | MDNI | all characters aged up (18) | fem! reader | heacannons

stan marsh

when it comes to stan, he’s kinkier when he’s drunk. but when he’s not under the influence and wants genuine sex, he’s less kinky.

but something that stays with him either way is the lust to cum inside of his s/o, who in this case, is female.

stan likes the risk of it. the risk that you might wind up pregnant. the idea that you’d be carrying HIS baby for nine months in your stomach.

he probably suggests it while dirty talking you in bed as well.

‘fuck.. what you gonna do if i put a baby in your belly, huh?’

‘you’d look good with a swollen stomach.. you want me to give you my babies?’

‘don’t worry. none of that cum will be leaving your pussy. i’ll make sure of it.’

he gets wilder when he’s drunk, and probably cums a lot faster too.

stan has a high stamina, so he can go on for quite a while without stopping, making sure he cums in you atleast 3 to even 4 times.

obviously, he’ll only risk it if you want to risk it, but still.

he’s the kind of guy to stay in you, thrust a bit more to ensure it all went in, pull out and then use his fingers to push the leaking fluid back inside as well.

he wouldn’t even want to taste it. just push it aaaaall back in.

definitely calls you a cumslut when he feels like being mean.

kyle brovfloski

kyle is very different. he wouldn’t just get into sex without telling you about his kink beforehand, while someone like stan would ask you before he’s about to cum.

kyle is more rational. he has condoms in case you say no, but still hopes for a yes.

it’s a very well known fact that kyle is jewish, and jewish families tend to be very large due to them being taught and raised to believe that they need to populate the earth with more jewish people.

even if you aren’t jewish yourself, he still has that mindset where sex technically is for reproduction…

so, although he’s a lot more gentle than stan, he gets just as worked up.

kyle isn’t a mean person in bed, however. he’ll more so praise you for being so perfect and making him want to cum inside.

‘fuck… a-aah— i.. i want to cum s-so fucking deep inside you, Y/N..’

‘you.. y-you’re sure, right? t-that you’re okay with this?’

‘oh.. oh my—… spread your legs wider.. i want you to show me you’re okay with this.’

he’s a whimpering boy ☺️

he honestly starts to fuck like an animal when he’s close, so you’ll know when he’s about to cum.

unlike stan, he won’t push the sticky fluid back inside of you. kyle enjoys watching it leak out of your tender hole after he just pounded it.

probably because kyle is a lot smarter than stan and happens to know that pushing it back in wouldn’t do anything to help impregnate you anyways…

kyle definitely imagines your pregnant body while you fuck. how you’d have to explain it to your parents…

he’s quite dirty in his mind.

kenny mccormick

kenny is likely the dirtiest of them all.

he doesn’t own any condoms so if you want to fuck him he’s going to rawdog it anyways.

it’s not really a question even— if you agree to fuck him, you also agree to the 50/50 chance of being pregnant afterwards.

he enjoys holding you down tightly (probably by your neck) while pounding into you.

he also probably mumbles in your ear about it the whole time as well.

‘gonna be a good cumwhore and take all of it for me?’

‘you know you want it.. you’re a dirty little minx aren’t you? you want to wind up pregnant from me..’

‘shit— stay still. or we’ll have another round and i’ll increase your fucking risk.’

he probably presses down on your rib cage if he’s not holding you by your neck to choke you.

hes the kind of guy to definitely be into overstimulation, so get ready for an all nighter.

he’s also probably into dacryphillia (the fetish for crying).

he likes when you cry from overstimulation. sometimes, he’ll have you on his lap, bouncing on him as he guides you and you cry, having had enough, but he’ll make you make him cum inside you again.

‘you can take it.. just keep moving.’

if your body gives up, he’ll turn you around on his lap and hold up your legs (full nelson position) and just fuck you like that until his balls are basically milked from you.

[yandere-sins]

OMFG I absolutely LOVE your writing and the overall creepyness of it💕😩 May I request a yandere childe with a crybaby s/o who Gets scared way too easily? Ik this might be basic but I really wanted to interact with you 💗🥹

Aah, thank you so much, you're so sweet! Sorry it took me so long, but thank you for requesting and interacting with me, I appreciate it! I gave the reader a good reason to be scared this time, hope that is okay! ♥

Extra Warning for Murder, Blood Mention

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

"Shh, babe, what's wrong? You don't have to worry about them anymore."

A calloused hand caressed your cheek, the other arm wrapping around your body as Childe drew you close to him. You were shivering, sobbing in his embrace. Still, he didn't seem to mind at all, a gentle smile on his face as he cradled you, having had more than enough practice with comforting his siblings to know how to comfort you. With the weight of his head on top of yours, you were nestled perfectly in the crook of his neck, his hand wandering back to brush down your hair while the one at the small of your back rubbed its thumb up and down. It was a perfect hug for a perfect darling, as Childe liked to call you. But there was one thing off about it.

The stench.

The squishy, wet feeling smeared all over your cheek and soaked into your clothes, together with the biting, iron smell of blood that stuck to him. Or perhaps it came from the corpses that lay behind his body, shielding the view. Or maybe you were only imagining it. It was hard to believe that you had just watched people die, their deaths caused by this almost stranger's hands. These people were your friends, and yet you couldn't believe it was real.

"I-I'm scared," you stammered, barely able to get the sound out of your throat. "They- They're d-dead."

"Oh, that's true," Childe replied, his voice full of pity and gentle reassurance. As if it hadn't been him who killed them. As if it was a coincidence, you stumbled over the bodies when, really, your friends had been laughing and talking next to you just mere seconds ago before Childe struck them down out of cold-blooded malice.

More tears dripped down your cheeks, countless of them. You were in too much shock to scream and run, but the flow of tears seemed endless as regret, guilt, and horror mixed. You felt nauseated, and yet you couldn't throw up, couldn't do anything. Frozen in place, you listened to the rapidly beating heart of the monster comforting you, feeling Childe take a deep breath, letting it out with a content sigh.

Whatever he was feeling, he seemed... proud of it.

You whimpered miserably as he pressed you tighter against his chest, swaying you side to side before pulling away a few inches. Not enough to let go of you, just so much that he could look into your eyes. Instead of pupils, there was only endless darkness, the moonlight dimly reflected in them, causing swirls of infatuation in the madness that was his gaze on you. Even with barely any light, you could see your own scared reflection. The blood stain on your cheek, the shock etched in every inch of your features.

"You need to keep it together, babe," Child whispered, the same broad, boyish grin on his lips that he had the first time you met him. Where you still thought he was a good guy, helping you carry some groceries home and inviting you to see the festival with him. You had to tell him "no" back then, since you already made plans with your friends. But now, they were no more, and he remained. Only now, that grin was nothing short of psychotic, standing in stark contrast to his eyes so devoid of emotions and the gore on his clothes.

"The guards will be here soon. You wouldn't want them to find you covered in the blood of those people, would you? They might think you did it."

Humiliating as it was, you could see your features grow desperate as a sob escaped you, your eyes crinkling as more tears fell. Childe hushed you again, pressing his lips to your forehead and kissing it over and over as he told you everything would be alright. That he wouldn't let anyone take you or take the blame for him. You could only listen half-heartedly as your feelings threatened to take over your whole body, controlling it and cementing you in place.

It had always been this way for you; the tears were your lifelong friend. Crying was the reaction your body knew best, whether in good or bad situations, and there wasn't much you could do. As a child, you had been mocked for being a crybaby, and as an adult, you were pitied for not having better control over your emotions. Fear had been your constant companion. Whether it was about making a mistake or not feeling like you were good enough to finish a task. You soon began fearing your own incapability, but no one—sometimes not even you—understood that this fear was a force to be reckoned with, one you were completely helpless against.

Unless there was another person stronger than it.

"Aaand up!" Childe proclaimed, having stood up and gripped your hands in the time you spiraled into anxiety and desperation, the overwhelming guilt not helping. But suddenly, you were on your feet despite the tears still falling. Even though you didn't know how to move or act. First, he had comforted you for the crime he committed, and now he did what you had never managed before—pull you out of the trance of your fears.

"Let's go!" he announced chipperly, a slippery, bloody hand gripping yours so tight that it hurt. Jerking you forward, you could only watch Childe's back as he began to run, laughing carefreely as if the death of your friends didn't bother him. As if he was free, unbound by laws and those feelings, you felt so strongly.

Only when you looked down did you notice your own feet moving—rapidly, swiftly. You didn't need to look up as Childe led you through the labyrinth of people who were so occupied with the Lantern Rite in Liyue Harbor that they didn't notice the two blood-soaked individuals passing through.

Breathing was hard, moving was straining, and his grip on you was relentlessly painful. Yet, neither of you stopped until you were already partway up on a mountain outside the harbor, Childe panting just like you, trying to catch his breath. He collapsed with a groan on the dirty trail up the mountain, and with your hand still in his grasp, he pulled you down with him.

It should have hurt when your body was forced to give out, but you landed cushioned in his chest and on his lap. The vibrations of his laugh against your skin felt weird, your senses not yet having returned fully. Lifting your head, you saw the countless lanterns rise to the sky, illuminating it beautifully with the people's memories of those they lost—and you should have been there, lightning lanterns for your friends.

"There we go," Childe muttered, catching your attention as he wiped over your cheek, sticky skin against more sticky skin. Only now did you realize that your tears had dried up, and you looked at the monster that had both made you cry and took care to run them dry—literally.

"You're a pretty crier," Childe sighed, the glow of the lanterns returning some life to the blue in his eyes. Or perhaps the sight before him returned his emotions to him, making him almost look normal despite the red stains. "But I like you better when you're happy. One of us has to."

Leaning his head on your shoulder, Childe reached for your hand, giving it another tight squeeze. Above you, the night sky was filled with beautiful lights, the view even better than from the harbor itself, but you couldn't forget even a second of what had happened that day. That you weren't enjoying this view with your friends, but with some murderer you barely knew, who had pulled you out of the sadness in your heart, only to leave it empty, no feelings able to fill it.

"I'll keep you happy," Childe promised, a faint blush on his cheeks that reached up his ears. "Everything will be the way you want, so you don't have to cry anymore."

Only then did you realize what it truly meant to be afraid, sitting on the lap of someone who thought manipulating the world to his liking would make you happy. Someone who didn't bat an eye before killing an innocent soul. Someone determined to make you feel as empty as he was, just to keep you by his side.

And when Childe looked up grinning, you managed to wipe the smile right off his face, a tear dropping down your cheek.

[millimeraki]

A Writer & A Painter

(Part 3 and last part - go check out parts 1 & 2 if you haven’t already :) )

[Real Verso / Fem!Reader]

Part 2 ◂ Part 3

Word Count: ~ 8k Rating: M (contains descriptions of loss and blood) Author's Note: Thank you again for all the kindness on this fic, I'm so happy to have provided a a bit of fun with it! 🥰 This last part took longer than I had hoped. I thought a lot about the order of the scenes and feel like I need to point out that I chose to tell the story “backwards”, AND IKYK. Well, that and the first draft was way too long, so I had to shorten it. As you may have already gathered, Clea will play a huge part in this last part (she is such a girlbossing queen aah!). Reader stays fem for the sake of a few specific wordings. I hope you like it, don’t get emotional damage from it, and thank you for joining me on this little journey 💕

The comforting sounds of a perfect life. For some, it was the laughter of children; for others, the peaceful chirping of birds outside the window, or perhaps a deliberate, quiet moment before diving into the next adventure. For you, it was the gently played notes of a piano, gradually singing you out of sleep. You kept your eyes closed, letting out a sleepy, contented sound, your way of telling your body that your slumber was drawing to a close. Still, you allowed yourself to linger in the transition, to enjoy the warm rays of the sun from the window tickling your nose, and to listen to the soft notes drifting through the air.

Slowly, you opened your eyes, blinking to adjust to the brightness. The window was open, and a breeze so warm you could feel it brushing the skin of your upper arm, made the tall, sheer curtains sway mesmerizingly. You watched them for a while, knowing that the other side of the bed would be empty if you turned there. What time was it? Judging from how high up in the sky the summer sun already stood, it was too late. You could hear faint voices coming from down below the window. The others must have been awake for quite a while.

You indulged into the cozy sheets a little longer before leaning over the edge of the bed, reaching for your robe on the floor. You quickly got hold of it and pulled it up towards you as you sat up. The silky fabric felt just as cozy on your skin as the duvet had, helping you peel yourself out of bed and shuffle toward the closed double doors, behind which the peaceful melody continued to play.

Careful not to interrupt him, you stepped into the room beyond, careful not to let the train of your robe catch on the doorframe. Maybe it really was time you got yourself a shorter one. He was sitting at the piano with his back to you, coaxing an authentic, self-revealing melody from the instrument, and no less from himself. Verso always managed to enchant you with the way he played. He always said that seeing your reaction had become at least half the joy of playing for him over time.

Tiptoeing close to his slightly swaying shoulders, you leaned forward and wrapped your arms around him. He didn’t even flinch, just kept playing while you buried your nose into the crook of his neck, breathing him in, his aroma still so irresistible to your senses, no matter how often you were near him. Faster than he might’ve done on his own, he played the last few keys, letting the symphony fade gently, and occupied his hands with you instead.

He turned to you, pulling you down onto his lap, drawing a delighted giggle from your lips. His dreamy eyes rested on you, framed by sleep-tousled curls. A soft smile played on his lips as the hand not supporting you ran through your hair. His lips found yours, so deeply that it stole your breath away, and the last traces of your drowsiness evaporated. You held onto the heavy fabric of his robe, leaning into his reassuring, familiar body and smiled against his captivating lips.

“Good morning, mon cœur. Sorry, did I wake you?” Another whisper of a kiss landed on your lips as his fingers gently tickled your neck.

“Mhm,” you returned, rolling your head to the side to give him better access. A soft laugh escaped him, but he complied with your silent request, his touch now exploring a wider stretch of your comfortably tingling skin.

“I can see why people say pets are like their owners,” you heard Verso chuckle. “Soleil just copied it from you. Of course though –” he leaned in to press his lips to your neck, murmuring against your skin, “you’re much more beautiful than she is.”

“Uh oh, don’t let her hear that, you know how jealous she can get,” you said, amused, but distracted by the warmth of his breath against your skin.

“Oh well, since all is already lost, I don’t see how she could get any more jealous from this, then.”

You squealed as he rose with you in his arms. If he didn’t already make you feel like a princess carried on velvet hands every single day, this would certainly be the moment, with the way your robe fluttered behind as Verso carried you back into the bedroom. Both your dressing gowns were already hanging loosely before you even reached the bed, and as he gently laid you down, you merrily loosened the knot tied around his waist.

He let out a pleased hum as your fingertips traced over his taut skin, outlining the contours of his body. As completely intoxicated by his presence as you were, you still wondered, sometimes, how it was possible to never get enough of him. His coarse beard lightly pricked your skin as he spread kisses along your cheek, your neck, then lower, down toward your décolleté. His robe he shrugged off to join with the floor again, he hadn’t really worn it for long. The concept of clothing had all but vanished in the soft blur of your shared days, though today, or rather, already long ago, you’d planned to rejoin the outside world.

That thought, however, drifted far to the back of your mind at the sight of Verso’s magnificent form above you and the delicious tremors your fingers provoked against his skin.

“As much as I like that pretty little nothing on you,” Verso complimented your lace-trimmed, semi-transparent robe, “I like it even better when it comes off.” His large hands with their long fingers slid beneath the fabric and over your bare skin, drawing a welcoming sound from your lips. “I still can’t get over how beautiful you look with that ring on your finger, Madame Dessendre,” he whispered, his voice turning sensual as he slowly opened your robe.

“I sure hope you never will, Monsieur Dessendre,” you quipped, your smile turning into a soft laugh as he let out a playful growl, pulled you even closer, if that were even possible, and muffled your delighted noises with his lips.

“And I sure am glad my room isn’t next to yours,” a voice suddenly interrupted you from beyond the door to the hallway. Verso froze for a few seconds, burying his face against your neck as if debating whether or not to ignore her. But when you nudged him, he let out a nearly inaudible sigh.

“What is it, Clea?” he called, raising his voice. “We’re a bit busy.”

“Verso!” you scolded under your breath, then louder, “Sorry, Clea!”

"I can hear that, unfortunately. Well, then again, I wouldn't be a proper older sister if I didn't disturb you every now and then, now, would I? We are already waiting for you in the garden, hurry up." Without waiting for a reply, Clea could be heard striding away.

Verso huffed out an annoyed breath against your neck. “Do you think she meant ‘hurry up’ as if in hurry up with lovemaking or hurry up and get out of this room?” Without waiting for your reply, the siblings were more alike than either would admit, he resumed exactly where he’d left off.

You almost let yourself be carried away by his soft lips on your already heated skin, but you knew she’d come back. Maybe even with reinforcements. “I think she meant the latter,” you said gently but firmly, pushing him off you with a soft hand.

“I don't understand why.” He didn’t move much, his hands still roaming over your body.

“Versooo,” you chirped, trying your best to squirm away, “we promised we’d spend time with our families today, remember? So they don’t come in here on a search and rescue mission?”

Finally, his hands stopped their relentless trailing. "Was that today? What day is it?"

“Well, from what I gather, it’s Saturday,” you replied with a soft chuckle. You really had lost all sense of time in this room.

Verso let out another annoyed groan. “I regret making that promise.” Still, with visible reluctance, he pushed himself away from you, placing one final kiss on your chest.

“I think Clea does too,” you quipped, slipping out of bed yourself, regretfully, to be honest, in order to freshen up quickly and not keep the rest of the family waiting any longer.

It took the two of you a little while, but you joined the Dessendres in the garden behind the house before your parents arrived. Clea was currently bent over a small hoop, pushing it into the grass with a labored groan and the help of her body weight.

Aline was supervising Clea’s efforts while Renoir examined the mallet he had traded for his walking stick. He seemed to be seriously studying the material, running his fingers over the wood and weighing it in his hand. You couldn’t help but think that he was either absolutely determined to win or genuinely fascinated by the craftsmanship. You hoped it was the latter, as this friendly afternoon activity already included a lot of competitive people, including yourself. 

“Ah, hello, lovebirds,” Clea greeted you as she straightened up, brushed her long hair out of her face, and noticed you. “Finally come out of that nest of yours?”

Renoir and Aline exchanged a rather amused glance at Clea’s comment, whereupon Renoir approached you, or rather Verso, and clapped him on the shoulder brotherly. “It was a very nice suggestion from you two to spend time together today.” Another pat on Verso’s shoulder. “The honeymoon phase after marriage sure is exciting, we know.” The two of them grinned at each other in complete understanding, while Verso still had the decency to study the ground with mild embarrassment after.

“Gross,” Clea remarked flatly. “I, for one, can’t believe you convinced us to play croquet and then had the audacity to make us set it up.” She gestured at the lawn. From what you knew about the game, Clea had set up the hoops and the pole very precisely. Clea’s perfectionism, however toxic that trait could sometimes be, was something you could relate to, something you found particularly endearing about her, and ultimately the thing that the two of you had bonded over. And that was probably why, despite her protest, she threw you a subtle smile.

“Where is Alicia?” you asked, looking around for the teenager.

“Inside, as usual,” Clea answered immediately, her voice slightly sharpened. “Apparently, you couldn’t convince her to tear herself away from her books either.” She sighed with mock dramatics. “In a way, I admire her iron resistance in the face of outside activities.”

“When is your family supposed to arrive, my dear?” Aline asked you in her gentle yet commanding voice, skillfully changing the subject.

“Oh, they should be here any minute now,” you replied, casting a glance toward the garden gate while accepting that Alicia wouldn’t join in. “Shall we play a warm-up round in the meantime?” You walked over to the rack where the croquet mallets were lined up, and took two, handing one to Verso.

“I like how you’re going for an unfair advantage,” Clea smirked as she weighed her own mallet in her hands, “but I’m still going to beat you. I hope your parents can handle defeat.”

“Remember, this is a friendly game between family,” Renoir chimed in, “especially remember this when I win.”

Clea scoffed. “We’ll see about that.”

“Or maybe maman will surprise you all yet,” Verso said softly, pulling his amusedly smiling mother into a side-hug.

“Exactly, you all better watch out. I’ve been known to have a real mean swing,” she chuckled, and this coming from someone who spent more time with her crafts than any other member of the family, made you laugh quietly.

All those friendly niceties quickly revealed themselves to be empty platitudes once the first strike was made. Even though you were all inside people – you the least so, since you enjoyed sitting in the garden and writing in the sun – you were all very eager to prove your athletic prowess. Every trick, maneuver, and distraction was employed – especially by Clea – to score points, knock other balls off course, or even sneakily nudge one away with a swift kick.

Only Verso seemed distracted, holding back overall and not showing the same level of competitiveness as the rest of the family. You occasionally caught him leaning on his mallet, watching you with a blissful smile, as if he didn’t need to win, because he already had you. That notion distracted you quite a bit. You flubbed your third strike as he came up behind you and took advantage of your concentration to slip his arms around your waist unhindered.

“Verso!” you exclaimed, only half annoyed. He didn’t react to your outrage, instead pulling your back against his chest. You felt his smile against your ear as he whispered, “I love you.” Naturally, that softened your mood, and of course, he knew it would.

Then again… “Are you doing this on purpose? Acting all innocent and not trying to win, while distracting me with your nice hair and perfect charm?”

He didn’t let go of you, swaying you gently from side to side, while Clea ignored you both, searching for a good position to strike her ball.

“Is it working?” Verso murmured the question, the smile against your ear turning mischievous.

“It is on purpose!” You opened your mouth in mock outrage and slipped out of his embrace. With a dramatic gesture, you pointed at him. “I will not let you bewitch me and make me lose!” Verso’s laughter made you grin.

“I think it’s a little late for that,” Clea commented dryly as she took her shot.

“Wow, thanks,” you replied, rolling your eyes, your grin widening.

“Don’t mention it. Just looking out for my sister-in-law.” Clea swung her mallet over her shoulder and trotted over to her parents. Renoir had an arm draped around Aline’s shoulders, and she leaned against him in a calm stance, the two of them watching your banter with quiet contentment.

You looked at the family before you, this little wonderful world in Paris, happy and peaceful, grateful that you had managed to set things right, to make it good, to make it perfect.

Your name rang out from the garden gate. Finally, your parents had arrived, waving happily as they approached. An even greater blessing that the two families, despite their differences, got along so well, and that after all this time, a hint of peace had settled between your factions, a cautious, fragile bond born from your and Verso’s marriage.

You raised your hand in greeting, just about to run to your parents and embrace them, when they froze mid-step, their faces still lit with joy, but unmoving. Your arm dropped weakly to your side. Something wasn’t right. The rustling of wind in the hedges around you had stopped, the chirping of the birds had fallen silent. Suddenly, the entire scene had been paused.

“What?” You turned around. The Dessendres were frozen too, their cheerful, welcoming expressions still fixed on your approaching parents. All of them – except one.

“Hm,” Clea said. She looked around as if she were seeing her surroundings for the first time, and you instantly knew that she was. Your eyes followed her cautious steps over the still grass as she inspected her family, the croquet set up, your parents frozen mid-walk, people she didn’t even know all that well. 

“This is a tad tacky, even for you,” she said, the faintest amused note in her voice. “But at least you described me well enough. It’s better than what Aline conjured up in her delusions.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, ignoring the uncomfortable knot forming in your stomach and brushing past the question of what she was even doing here.

“I will tell you,” Clea replied. She crossed her arms, her chilling gaze resting on you. “But first, we need to get you out of here.”

You knew what would happen before it did. It should’ve stressed you more, but you’d known all along that it wasn’t real. You hadn’t let it consume you a second time. At the same time, you’d put a lot of work into this creation and had no interest in leaving it, at least not at the moment. But now Clea was forcing you out, for unknown reasons.

She was the first whose outline began to smolder, her expression completely unbothered by the fact that she was burning away like a sheet of paper from the outside in. You wrapped your arms around yourself in a protective stance as the rest of the family and the manor also went up in flames, and you had to look away. Up, at the blackening sky.

Why did it always have to be fire? Fire had swallowed all your dreams, erased your ideals, burned away your trust in your family, and their trust in you. It had taken your beloved from you and left nothing but ashes. And now, it devoured your sanctuary too.

You didn’t think you had any strength left, but somehow, something carried you through this moment. You didn’t scream, you didn’t wail, only silent tears of regret glided wetly down your cheeks and salted your lips. It was unexpected, how easily, how quickly, what you had written could be destroyed in this way.

You exhaled and closed your eyes, waiting for the destruction to end and for yourself to wake up.

A burning manor before you, your despair suddenly as palpable as it was on that day when your clan had chosen ruin over peace. The terrible flames licked out from behind and through the windows, swallowing a life you had been so close to living.

Just like that day, you ran toward the front door, blind to the fact that it was too late, or that there was nothing you could do, that you'd only die yourself. But you were willing. You had been willing then, and you were now. If it weren’t for the invisible barrier that stopped your approach. You pounded against it, despair overtaking you, but no sound escaped your throat, though you tried. You wanted to scream his name, wanted him to hear you and follow your voice to the safety that had been denied him when he had jumped into the flames.

Instead, you heard Monoco and Noco whimpering, Aline wailing on her knees to the sky, Alicia moaning in pain, burned and collapsed on the ground, saw Renoir baring his teeth as he stared at the fire, and Clea – arms crossed, an enraged expression on her face. That look had already told you that night that she took what had happened very personally and swore revenge.

Her expression, however, softened, she shifted again, and looked at you stoically. What was happening here? Was the work resisting being destroyed? Were you losing control, or had you long since lost your mind? You squeezed your eyes shut.

The next image was distorted, not quite sharp, as if the author wasn’t sure whether it had truly happened, or as if what you were seeing was a strange mix of different styles. It happened quickly: Alicia sat at her typewriter, typing a letter in red ink. You couldn’t make out the contents – you had never read it, after all – but you knew what she was doing. They had explained it to you when they had tried to make you understand that their actions had been justified.

“You see, our writings are connected when they’re written in the same blood. So, when we write, say, a letter asking our councils to make peace because there is potential to have it –” he lifted a piece of paper with some random letters on it. “ – and on the other side of the city, another document is being made with the same blood –” he lifted a second sheet, also written in crimson-red ink, “– then only one of them has to catch fire, and…” He brought a burning candle to the edge of one paper, and both caught fire. “Someone who doesn’t know that would probably store this letter in a drawer, before bringing it to the address we gave her.”

You had run, but arrived too late.

Maybe you shouldn’t have encouraged her. You had so enjoyed sitting beside Alicia after the truth about your nature had finally come out at the manor. Alicia had been thrilled to have someone beside her who loved letters just as much as she did.

You had given her a few pointers on how to improve her poem, and the smile on her lips had been so wide that it had warmed your heart.

“You really are talented at this, you know?” you commented on Alicia’s latest work.

She seemed to grow with pride. “Thank you. You know, being here with you is like having the older sister I always wished for.”

“I can’t believe it happened like this.” You paced up and down the conservatory high up in Dessendre manor. Normally, the greenery around you was a source of serenity, but today, you had dragged Verso there to panic in peace, away from others' eyes.

“It’s not how we planned it, but maybe now’s the time to approach the Painters’ Council,” Verso said, arms crossed, thoughtfully following your pacing with his eyes, thankfully not trying to stop you. He knew that when you were anxious, he shouldn’t interrupt you.

“Absolutely not!” you exclaimed, frightened and far too harshly. You’d had a plan, several, in fact, just as Verso had suggested. All of it had become pointless the moment your damned cousin from the countryside heard about what had been going on in Paris. It had been reckless of your parents to inform the family that they would be staying in the city longer than originally planned. Sometimes, people were just too curious for their own good – you would know.

Your frantic pacing came to a halt so suddenly you wondered if the scene was already ending here, as if no more letters had been written on the page. But Verso still moved. Apparently, it was just your fear. He pulled your trembling body close, ran a comforting hand over your head, and pressed his lips to your forehead. You buried your face in the soft fabric of his shirt, breathing him in to ground yourself in his presence. Why were you reliving this horrible moment again?

“You know that the Painters’ Council has more power than the Writers’ Council. They’d have leverage. My maman would have leverage. It’s one of the plans,” Verso explained, stating what you already knew, but feared too much to act on. 

“But it wasn’t the exact plan,” you argued as you stifled tears of distress. You’d intended to tell the Painters’ Council first, to work on a solution. To maybe establish peace.

“Maybe not, but they’ll find out anyway now. Maybe we should explain ourselves while we still can.” His hands squeezed you reassuringly. “Or,” he pushed you back gently to look you in the eyes with serious conviction, “we can switch to Plan D.”

Run away. That was the emergency plan, and Verso was right, it was one of the plans. With everything suddenly spiraling out of control and the threat from the Writers’ Council looming, it might actually be the best solution.

“Do you think our families will really be safe?” you asked.

Verso furrowed his brows in concentration. “If we stay here, war will probably break out over this. Our families will be in more danger, targets to punish us as long as we don’t cooperate with the Writers’ Council.” His hands grew restless themselves, moving up and down your arms. “Of course, I don’t know how the Painters’ Council will react either. My maman might be the head chairwoman, but the others? I don’t know. We might have to be prepared to leave anyway. To be hunted.”

That was why the plan was so dangerous. If something happened to your parents because you had been selfish enough to fall for Verso Dessendre in secret and then run away with him, you would never be able to forgive yourself, and Verso probably wouldn’t forgive himself either. Still, you refused to do the Writers’ Council’s dirty work. What would they do if you stayed within their reach? No, Verso was right.

“Let's do it, then.”

You should’ve known. That your family wouldn’t be satisfied forever with your evasive letters and yet another outlandish reason why you couldn’t return home just yet. There was something that needed fixing in the house, Soleil was feeling comfortable, you still needed more time for your novella, you were spending more time with friends than expected. It was a miracle you’d managed to stall them for several months at all.

And then, on a day that had been so completely ordinary for you, when they suddenly stood in front of the manor, just as Verso and you were returning from a walk, their eyes wide with terror, staring first at the estate, then at you, you knew that the good times were over for good.

You had invited them in, sat down with them and the rest of the family at the dining table, offered tea. Especially your mother’s eyes kept darting back and forth, searching for the danger that never came. Your father, though stern in expression, had at least been a little more open to having a clarifying conversation.

So you had explained what had happened, how your life looked now. Renoir and Aline had shared a bit about themselves, even a little about the Painters’ Council, cautiously and reservedly, unsurprisingly, but enough to put everyone at ease and coax your parents out of their shells.

After a more or less pleasant evening, you had all come to a consensus, much to your surprise, but overwhelming relief, that the matter should be discussed within the families, and that maybe the time had come for peace. Such a union could be an excellent precedent for that. Your parents had gotten along well, and Verso and you had been given real hope.

If it hadn't been for your parents' message to the rest of the family back in the countryside, and a particularly nosy cousin.

“We are not pleased to come to know about your transgressions with the Dessendre family,” the head of the Writers' Council said to you after they found out.

You stood before the semicircular table where the council members sat, all wearing stern expressions, scribbling something on the papers in front of them. Your parents stood to your left, a little apart from the council and you, their faces filled with concern.

You tried to explain yourself: “I didn't plan on it. I’m sorry I broke the rules.” You gestured to reinforce your words. “We had already planned to tell both councils. The Dessendres, they…” You hesitated for a moment, but then forced the words out. “They are wonderful people. We have a completely wrong idea about them.”

“They are Painters,” another member countered. “As nice as they might seem, they are still the ones creating ungodly abominations.” She looked at you as if seriously questioning your sanity.

Arguing with your leaders was the last thing you wanted – hell, you even understood their point. The sentient paintings still unsettled you too, but you didn’t have to understand them, only accept them. There was no reason for conflict. You were all just artists.

“I understand that,” you said, “but…”

The head of the council raised his hand to silence you. His gaze lingered on the fountain pen between his fingers for a moment, then slid over to you, thoughtful, unthreatening, if it weren’t for the gnawing feeling in your gut.

“I think we can all agree,” his voice echoed authoritatively through the room, “that a union like the one between Verso Dessendre and yourself is abnormal and will not be allowed.”

Your stomach dropped. You opened your mouth to protest but were silenced again by his raised hand.

“However,” a weighty pause, “we can use it.” He leaned forward. “Never before have we had such an opportunity to gain intel on one of the most powerful Painter families.” Your mouth opened more with each word, your shock growing. “Girl, tell us everything you know, then go back and find out more. We can destroy them from within, and then maybe, finally, subdue them, destroy their abominations, control their works. With your relationship with them, it’s possible.”

“W-Wait, this is not…,” you began, then faltering. “This is a real chance to make peace, not –”

“There will be no peace between us and them,” you were cut off. “You do as you're told, child, or there will be consequences.” His gaze drifted to your parents, and the fountain pen twitched in his hand. You followed the gesture, and tears welled in your eyes. Plan A disintegrated before you. You had to tell Verso.

It had all started so promisingly. You found yourself back at the Dessendres’ dinner table. That evening was branded into your memory, never to leave your mind again. One of the most beautiful evenings you could have imagined. Well, you couldn’t remember every detail. For example, not the joke Verso had just told, the one that only Renoir had laughed at because no one else really understood it. You rolled your eyes in amusement as the two shared this moment, then lifted your glass of water to your lips.

“Say, dear,” Aline addressed you calmly, composed, from across the table, “when exactly had you planned on informing us that you’re a Writer?”

The water clashed with your sharply drawn breath. You hastily set the glass down on its coaster to avoid damaging it, then started coughing.

“Maman,” Verso’s voice sounded beside you in a reprimanding tone, before he turned to you and patted your bent-over back. The water really hung in there, and it took you far too long to cough it all out and regain your composure, much to Verso’s growing nervousness, which only eased once you finally rose from your coughing fit, cleared your throat, and dabbed your mouth with your napkin.

“Did you tell them?” you asked him, trying to keep your voice as emotionless as possible.

He raised his hands innocently and shook his head.

“It wasn’t hard to guess,” Aline explained, her chin resting on her folded hands. The confused looks on Clea and Alicia’s faces told a different story. “Also, I am the Head of the Painters’ Council, after all, and I wanted to make sure my only son’s match is suitable, what with all the time you’ve been spending with him.”

Awkward. “And that is my cue to leave, I reckon?” you asked cautiously, as you laid your napkin on the table and gestured toward the hallway leading to the front door. You weren’t afraid of the Dessendres, you’d known them long enough to be sure they meant you no harm. But now, with this new knowledge, would they want you in their home any longer? Better to let tempers cool first.

Verso’s hand settled on your arm, holding you back even though you hadn’t even really intended to get up, at least not yet, rather waiting for an answer.

“Well, it is not exactly a very good match, don’t you think?” Aline continued. You couldn’t read from her tone whether she was angry, pleased, or something entirely different.

Verso beside you opened his mouth to say something, but Renoir beat him to it: “Everybody relax. Aline and I talked about this already. We agree that this senseless war has gone on for long enough. Maybe young love is the key to solving it.” He smiled reassuringly in your direction, the expression reminding you of Verso, only with that fatherly touch your own papa had always helped you with in hard times.

You shifted somewhat uncomfortably in your seat. Hearing them talk about a love you had been convinced you’d successfully kept secret gave you the heebie-jeebies. How long had they known about your identity? You really should’ve told them much earlier. Verso took your hand resting on the tabletop, his gaze as confused as yours must have been directed at his parents.

Aline smiled softly. “It is… unfortunate, that the burden of resolving this conflict now falls on our family. But,” her eyes flitted between Verso and you, “we don’t believe that trying to separate you would be a better solution.” She looked around the table, over to her daughters. “Please don’t speak to anyone about this arrangement until we’ve put the proper measures in place.”

Alicia nodded and leaned in toward you. “So what can Writers do with their powers? Can you show us?”

You blinked. Somehow, you had expected more resistance, more pleading from your side, more explanations from Verso’s, maybe even the worst: that you’d be thrown out. But that the Dessendres would actually accept you? You hadn’t dared to hope for that. Especially not given the unspoken and rather unorthodox way in which Verso and you had met and just sort of unofficially become involved with each other. Then again, everything about this situation was unorthodox.

“I, uh –” you tried to find the right words to express your gratitude, “I really didn’t mean to put you all into this unfortunate situation.” You looked over at Verso, who wore a soft, happy smile that tugged the same one from your lips. “But I am grateful that you consider helping.”

“We will do what we can. Just be prepared that it might not work,” Aline cautioned.

“So nobody’s gonna talk about how this is really dangerous?” Clea chimed in.

All eyes turned to her. Her cutlery lay still in both hands, her expression stunned by the conversation in front of her. She clearly wasn’t convinced.

“I mean, I like you and all,” she turned to you, “you’re a better match for Verso than some others whose families have shown interest.” She scoffed, while you threw a quick sideways glance at Verso, who once again raised his free hand, the one not holding yours, in innocent dismissal of Clea’s words. “Daughters with the most bizarre brush techniques,” Clea continued, shaking her head. “But that’s not the point. It is arguably even more bizarre for a Writer to marry a Painter. What if this conflict only gets worse because of it?” Her gaze turned sour as she cast it devastatingly toward her parents.

"Now, Clea, remember that I, too, was not exactly a Painter yet when I married your mother," Renoir replied, completely relaxed.

"Having to learn how to paint and being a Writer are two entirely different things," Clea countered, though she sighed immediately after. She leaned back in her chair, her eyes resting on you, now somewhat softer. "You're lucky I really like you, and I don’t say that about a lot of people. Fine, then. Try to solve this conflict with love," her hands still holding her cutlery performed a gesture ridiculing the situation. "If it doesn’t work out, I’d like to say I won’t pick up the pieces, but I probably will." That was probably all the blessing you could expect from Clea.

"Look at it this way, if it works out, you’ll be relieved of your duties for a while and can go traveling," Renoir offered the one convincing argument that brought a faint smile to Clea’s lips as she looked back down at her plate and took a bite of her dinner.

In that moment, the scene froze once more. This time, Clea, too, remained motionless, her frame caught mid-chew. Your eyes wandered across the family you'd have loved to become a part of, the faces that had so warmly welcomed you into their home, these thoroughly wonderful people whom your recklessness had destroyed. If you hadn’t gone back then, nothing bad would’ve ever happened to them. You sighed. Verso’s hand was still intertwined with yours, his warmth still tangible.

"This is not what I wrote," you said to the approaching figure, hearing their soft steps on the marble floor. The scene had happened just like this, but you hadn’t added it. "Did you paint over my chapters?"

Clea glided into your field of view, holding a single page written in red ink – your blood. She studied the Clea seated at the table. This wasn’t your work anymore. She had recreated the entire scene in paint. In a way, very Writer-like of her, reconstructing a past scene in such detail.

"Just wanted to see if what I’m planning is even possible." She took a strand of painted Clea’s hair between her fingers. "And I was right about what I said. I’m picking up the pieces," her piercing gaze locked on you, "including you.”

You drew in a deep breath. "Why would you pick up my pieces? Why are you showing me this?" You gestured around the scene. Clea had been looking for revenge on those responsible. You were one of the responsible ones. Had she found you just to execute you?

"I wanted you to remember what you owe this family," Clea answered unexpectedly. "We have to talk. Outside of this." She held up the paper in her hand, and now you could see Clea’s work on it as well.

"The pages really fought back," you told her with a nod toward the sheet, "against you burning them." That must have been it. Clea had burned everything, which was why the manuscript had dragged you both through all these painful memories.

"I saw." Clea looked down at the page thoughtfully. "Still managed to destroy it."

You shrugged. "I’m not particularly powerful."

"More powerful than you thought, aren’t you?" Her eyes lifted again. "That’s what I need to talk to you about. I’m going to burn the last page now."

You had to give Clea that much, she at least had enough decency left to prepare you for what was about to happen, as the final scene – one that wasn’t even yours anymore – began to dissolve in flames before your eyes. Still, you didn’t watch as Verso’s hand crumbled inside yours. You only felt it, how the gentle pressure disappeared, leaving behind cold and emptiness before you were swallowed by complete darkness.

A pained sound was the first thing that escaped your lips. You hadn’t planned to return once you’d entered the pages. Now you were back in the real world – a world that had lost all color, all music, all joy – and every part of your body hurt terribly. The temptation to curl up on the wooden floor beneath you hit you like a thunderclap, but Clea’s voice compelled you to open your eyes and squint into the dim, to you, blindingly bright, light.

You could practically feel your bones grinding against your skin as you rolled onto your back with a groan, the movement alone enough to break cold sweat across your forehead. Clea crouched beside you, observing your efforts with an analytical gaze.

“Still thinking it was a good idea to bring me out of this?” you asked, trying to gather enough breath for the few words.

Clea smirked and stood up while you kept fighting for control over your body. “I don’t have anything against you, if that’s what you’re wondering. But I’m not on a rescue mission either. As I said, we need to talk. Things have happened out here that urgently need to be resolved. I need a favor from you.”

“How did you even find me?” You sat up with a strained groan. All around you, you found the remains of your work, small scraps of burnt paper, nothing else left of the life you had entered.

Clea crossed her arms. “It wasn’t easy. Had to call in a whole lot of favors.” She looked around the high-ceilinged studio. Canvases everywhere, a single old sofa with paint stains, buckets of paint scattered across the floor, and you, in the middle of it all. “Kinda ironic of you to rent out an atelier of all places to kill yourself.”

Your trembling hand wiped across your dry lips. “I wasn’t planning on killing myself. I just intended on staying in there.” You gestured toward the scraps around you.

“I know.” Clea followed your gesture with her eyes. “You told me people don’t come out of works written in blood, remember? Didn’t believe it when you told me, of course, but this work really fought against being burned. One page even regenerated. But –” she shrugged, “I thought I’d give it a try anyway, and luckily I got you now.”

With another groan, you heaved yourself onto your knees. “It took me a really long time to write this, you know?” you asked with a dry chuckle.

“That I know, too. You look ghastly. Really, like when we don’t have enough chroma left to color something in.” She examined your exposed left forearm, where a long, healing cut stretched. “You seem to have used a lot of your blood for this.”

“Yeah.” It had taken you weeks to write enough pages to your satisfaction. Weeks in which you’d opened your skin at the exact same spot over and over again to write with your blood, crafting the life you had no intention of leaving again, always knowing it was only make-believe. If you’d bled out in the process, so be it. But then, when you finally tried to manifest the bloody novel, it had just…worked. Even though it had left you extremely weakened. Somehow, you suspected your powers were the very reason Clea had sought you out.

With tremendous effort, you got to your feet, swaying slightly. Now Clea finally was persuaded to support you with one hand. You smiled weakly, but Clea didn’t return the gesture.

“Didn’t expect you to try something like this, manifesting yourself into a false world,” she said, unappreciatively. “Then again, now we know what you’re truly capable of.”

“I know this isn’t a solution, Clea,” you defended yourself. “I just wanted to take myself out of the equation. I’ve brought enough harm to your family. Whatever has happened lately, I’m sure my presence would only make things worse.”

The guilt over everything that had happened, because of you, had consumed you too deeply to face the Dessendres again. So you had run. Not from reality, but from the consequences of your actions.

“Well, that’s one of the reasons I, still, like you. At least your thinking is slightly clearer than Renoir’s or Aline’s.” Her eyes wandered thoughtfully around the room again.

“What about Renoir and Aline?” you asked, surprised. Were they in trouble?

“I’ll explain everything on the way. Roll your sleeve over that unsightly scar and grab your coat. We’ll get you something to eat and drink on the way.”

Confused, and with your body in no state to resist, you let Clea pull you along, out of the atelier in the district inhabited only by Painters, all of them, when you had moved in, in total uproar over the fire at Dessendre Manor.

When Clea, after you picked up some food at the next boulangerie, your steps no longer so wobbly after having eaten something, led you to an entrance down into the catacombs, in silence, you were briefly convinced that she was going to kill you after all.

But then, as you descended, she finally told you everything that had plagued the family since the fire. You knew Verso’s canvas, he had shown it to you, had told you all those thrilling stories he and Clea had experienced inside. Now, terrible grief held Aline and Renoir trapped in that painting, the last piece left of Verso. You listened without asking questions, understood, but could hardly relate to the motivations, especially Aline’s, particularly when Clea told you about the painted family she had added to the canvas.

“You mean, she painted Verso?” you couldn’t hold back the astonished question.

“A weird, morphed version of him,” Clea explained. “It’s ridiculous.”

You fell silent again while Clea finished her tale just as you reached the canvas before which, exactly as she had said, Alicia stood motionless. She had entered it earlier that very day, after which Clea had come to get you. Deep regret flared in your chest when you saw Alicia’s face, burned, disfigured, all because of you. She had trusted the Writers because of you, had written that letter because she liked you so much. Now, she was only a shell of herself. On top of that, convinced you couldn’t help her, you had simply left her behind, as you left the whole family behind.

“I’m so sorry for what happened,” you said in her direction, barely holding back the tears, and earned a scoff from Clea.

“Don’t get sentimental on me. Now, I’m gonna need your help to get all of them out of that canvas so we can tend to the important things going on out here.” She rummaged through her bag.

“And how exactly am I supposed to do that?” you asked, once more fascinated by the swirling, wobbling magic inside the canvas before you.

“Well, when I started looking for you, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to try. But now we know for sure that you’re capable.” Clea pulled a quill, an inkwell, and a knife from her bag.

You immediately understood what she wanted from you. “Clea,” you began, but she interrupted you: “You owe this family.” She pressed the items into your hands. “Renoir can’t do it alone. Alicia was painted over by Aline. You have to finish the story so that they all leave the canvas at the end. How you do it, I don’t care. You have all the information you need to phrase it in a way no one will get suspicious.” She pointed at the canvas. “I know your works, they’re good. I trust your skills that far.”

Of course, she was right. You had burdened yourself with a guilt you could never repay, not even by helping Clea now with the affair surrounding Verso’s canvas. But could you even do it? “I don’t even know if it’s possible. Verso –” you hesitated at the sound of his name and the memory you were about to recite, “he once told me they feed you this fairytale that we can overwrite your works.”

“Worked the other way around with yours, too, didn’t it?” Clea countered.

She had a point. “Even if it does work this way as well, I don’t know if I’m strong enough.”

Clea rolled her eyes. “You said the same about blood sacrifice, and look what you did. Wrote an entire life, so detailed it would’ve bled someone else dry. Now stop arguing and try.”

You sighed and turned to the canvas. The least you owed her was to try. Carefully, you placed the inkwell on the brush shelf, the quill right beside it, rolled up your sleeve and shifted the knife from your left to your right hand, weighing the heavy metal in it.

“Hey,” Clea interrupted as you already placed the blade against your skin, exactly where you had started the long cut before. “If you survive this, you’ll have to choose a side. I will deliver justice for what happened. You could help – or be one of the enemies.”

“Hm,” was all you said, your thoughts already focused on what you were going to do to the painting before you. Yet, you allowed yourself a moment to consider Clea’s words, to give her the space and respect she deserved. It meant something that she didn’t see you as an accomplice of the council, even after everything that had happened, still saw you as her sister-in-law. Over the months, she had accepted you and, in her own way, learned to love you, just as you had learned to love her.

At the same time, Clea was realistic enough to know that you were still part of the Writers. That it was possible that, once you had at least partially repaid your debt through this canvas, you would choose your clan, your family.

“If I don’t survive this, leave my family out of it,” you asked Clea, even though you had no right to make demands. “They’re not to blame for their daughter’s folly.”

You looked at Clea pleadingly. She hesitated for a moment, then simply nodded. 

“One last thing.” She reached out to gently touch your upper arm, a touch so soft you had only ever seen from her when she sculpted, and for a moment, you felt that behind all the tragedy, there was a great deal of affection between you. That was only confirmed with her next words: “Don’t try to write yourself in there. I’ve been inside. I talked to him. He’s not the same. I don’t even know if Aline gave him any memories of you.”

You gave a small smile and nodded. In that short time, she had really come to understand you. The thought had occurred to you – a desperate one, born from this lingering, terrible grief. Aline had painted Verso in there. He would look like your Verso, sound like him, have memories that made him resemble the Verso who had died in the fire, heroic and self-sacrificing, as you had known him, never afraid of the consequences when it came to protecting the people he loved.

But he had always forgotten that his self-sacrifice sometimes put others in danger too. Did this Verso, inside the canvas, share the same character flaw? Or perhaps a completely different one? Did you want to find out? For that one brief moment, you understood the magical pull the painting had on Aline. 

Until the very last moment, you were unsure which path you would take. Would you try to soothe your aching heart with one last look at a false Verso? Would you help Clea in her vendetta? Would you side with your clan? Or would you simply die?

It was too much. You almost wanted to throw the knife aside, run away, back to the written world, where everything happened exactly the way you wanted it to. There was only one way to force the decision.

With a deep breath, you pressed the knife into your arm.

[juanarc-thethird]

I have a license for that! p2

Jaune is putting his weapons away in his locker. He closes it and then-

Coco: Hello handsome~💕

Jaune: Aah!!

He immediately screams as he sees Coco leaning on the locker next to him.

Jaune: My God, Coco, you scared me!

Coco: *Chuckles* Sorry about that. So, done with your training today?

Jaune: Yeah, and my body is already super tired.

Coco: Oh really? If you want, can I help you with a massage?

Jaune: Oh no, I couldn't ask you to do that, but thank you.

Coco: Don't worry, I insist.

Jaune: Is ok, I'm fine.

Coco suddenly corners Jaune, slamming her hands against the lockers with him in the middle.

Coco: I said, I insist~

Jaune: O-Ok

Coco: Good, come with me.

She guides him around the corner and they immediately find themselves in front of the entrance to a massage room.

Jaune: Was this here before?

Coco: Of course, you never noticed it?

Jaune: Of all the times I have been here, this is the first time.

Coco: *giggles* Well, you've always been a little clueless.

Jaune: But… don't you think that decoration is a little…

The room is painted red. A carpet of the same color was located in the center under a somewhat larger than normal massage table. Around there were furniture of different shapes with lit candles giving a sweet aroma. The atmosphere feels somewhat romantic.

Jaune: ..unique?

Coco: You think about it too much. Now take off your shirt.

Jaune: On second thought… let's do this another day, okay?

Coco: Come on, don't say that. Take off your shirt.

Jaune: I'm good, thanks

Coco: Come on, let me help you. *She grabs the bottom of his shirt*

Jaune: *He takes her arms* Seriously, I'm fine.

Coco: Don't be like that, you'll like it.

Jaune: No

Coco: Just this time.

Jaune: Nop

Coco: Come on

They go back and forth arguing like children, which suddenly got a little physical.

Coco: *Pulling up his shirt* Just do it!

Jaune: *Pushing her arms down* No! Bad Coco! Bad!

Coco: Stop being a…!

She immediately tried to use all her strength to pull up his shirt. But Jaune is smarter and he let her this time. Due to an unexpected lack of resistance on Jaune's part, Coco's arms shot into the sky, freeing the shirt from her hands. Without wasting a moment, Jaune takes both of her arms with one hand, and puts her against the nearest wall, trapping her in place.

Coco: *Blushing and surprise* My Oum!

Jaune: *Serious and close to her face* Are you done?

Surprised by the unexpected situation, she is speechless.

Coco: *Red* Um… well…

At that moment a card falls from her corset.

Jaune: huh? What's that?

Coco is still fluster, she doesn't realize what's happening. Jaune takes the card and….

Jaune: What the fuck?!

Coco: W-Wha?! What Happen?! *She look at the card*

Coco: *Gasp!* That's mine!

She attempts to take her card back but Jaune won't let her.

Jaune: Hey, not so fast. Why do you have this? And what is a diamond member?

Coco: Because I want you

She says as she stares into his eyes.

Jaune: *Blushing* Eh?!

Coco, now back to her usual self, begins her "attack"

Coco: *She approaches him slowly with a seductive smile* And the diamond member thing... well, that is… WHAT IS THAT?!! *She yells as she points behind him*

Jaune: *Looks back* Huh?!

Coco takes the opportunity to recover her card and runs away from him.

Coco: See you later, handsome!

Jaune: Hey, come back!

Jaune tried to chase after her, but his body was still tired from his training.

Jaune: Damn it. I need to find some answers.

[holyschnitzel]

I AM SO SO SO SO SO SO SORRY THAT I AM WRITING TO YOU AGAIN, BUT IT SEEMED TO ME THAT YOU DIDN'T NOTICE MY MESSAGE AND I DECIDED TO WRITE TO YOU WHILE YOU ARE ONLINE, I AM VERY SORRY, I AM ON MY KNEES😭😭😭 Greetings from Russia!👋👋 I ADORE YOU, YOU ARE GORGEOUS!!! I hope you're doing great and you're feeling good.💗💗❤️💕💞💕💕 AND I'M REALLY SORRY IF I'M BOTHERING YOU AAH😭 Questions about Damon (I love him💘) 1. How would he react if MC committed suicide? 2. What if MC carved the name of a Demon and hearts on their hand as a sign of love? 3. How would he react to MC who walk and talk in their sleep? (I had so many questions, but I got nervous and forgot them all...) you don't have to answer if the answers are spoilers. "Oh, and one more thing.........Damon, I want to touch your breasts....."👉👈 (I think I'm going crazy XD )

aww thank you so much for your kind words 🥰 but please, PLEASE DO NOT send me your questions several times, it's too much 😭

quick info: I want to let you know that I do read all of your messages, but I receive so many each day that it's really hard to keep up with all of them. when I answer 5 questions, I get 20 new ones. I never thought it would be this many, but here we are. other questions are spoiler territory or - and this is usually the case - I simply do not know the answer. my knowledge is mainly limited to the game. I know almost nothing about all the other characters in the universe because they aren't relevant to the game. so I hope you all understand that I'm not able to answer every ask I get. it's impossible at this point 🙏

now to your questions:

Well, this one should be obvious, shouldn't it? :) He would be absolutely devastated. He might even go so far as to follow MC to his death.

If it's a sign of love, he wouldn't mind it, he would adore it <3

He would listen, after all MC could say something of importance. If you were to sleepwalk, he would make sure that nothing bad happened to you, even at the expense of his own sleep.

thank you again, you are so sweet 💗 and greetings to Russia 🇷🇺👋

[abigails-gf]

can you write reader and Abby watching a sad movie and Abby sees reader crying so she comforts her 💕

abby anderson x f!reader.

a/n: hiii nonnie !! thank you sm for sending this request. :3 i cry so much while watching movies. omg. the last movie i cried for was puss in boots 2 :(( saw it for the first time two weeks ago and it was so so good. cried when mama bear said that they'll love goldie even if she decides to give up on them for her wish n stuff. aah. anyway !! i hope you enjoy this. it's a bit short, but i think it's cute !! <3 also, 'm working on a longer request which (hopefully) will be up next week. and i'm sooo excited !! okiii byeee !! mwaaahh 💌💕

how you can help palestine, israeli themes in tlou, more ressources !

you and abby had decided to have a movie night once a week. you'd spend the night at her apartment, bringing some snacks with you. and she'd take care of dinner.

tonight, you two were watching a movie she had picked. you ate while watching the first part of the movie, and then cuddled on her couch.

"oh, no! what is she doing? she can't just leave them like that!" you said, talking about the main character deciding to leave her family. abby stayed quiet and squeezed your hand in hers.

as the movie progressed, nearing the end, she looked at you. you were focused on the tv, the glow of it lighting your face – she noticed tears falling down your cheeks. she chuckled. "baby..." she cupped your cheek as you finally turned to her, sniffling. "oh, honey..." she smiled softly at you as you shook your head. "'m sorry, it's so stupid. it's just a stupid movie..." she laughed a little and hugged you. "oh, baby..." she kissed your cheeks. "it's okay. don't apologise for that." she hugged you until the movie was over.

"it's already over?!" you yelled at the tv. abby giggled and caressed your arm. "calm down, baby. it's just a movie." you hugged your girlfriend as she kept on rubbing your arm. "this movie was shit."

abby laughed and kissed your head. "yeah. the movie was so shitty, you cried." she teased. you looked up at her, slapping her chest. "shh. don't make fun of me." she couldn't help but chuckle. "not making fun of you, baby. would never do that."

you rolled your eyes and kissed her. she kissed you back softly, pressing you against her. "sweet girl..." she whispered into the kiss. you smiled and kissed her some more, as her hands travelled to your lower back. "seriously, abby, don't you ever pick a movie like this." she looked at you and caressed your cheek. "next time you'll pick the movie." she said, giving you a peck. "don't like seeing my sweet girl cry." she kissed you once more.

you two laid down on the couch, cuddling. your head on abby's chest as she rubbed your back. "baby? you alright?" she spoke softly, starting to play with your hair. you didn't answer, soft breaths coming out of your mouth.

you had fallen asleep. abby smiled at the sight. she continued to play with your hair for a few minutes before gently getting up, putting your head down on a pillow. she leaned down and kissed your head. "goodnight, sweetheart." she whispered before picking up the dishes.

[izzyfishie]

Do you think Inho already knew that the waiter that VIP took with him was Junho, or at least suspected it? He already knew Junho was the intruder, and checked on that VIP later too so there was chance.

If yes, what's your thoughts about it? Will they bring that up in s3? Because as much as I know Inho doesn't have much authority with the VIPs and he cares about Junho, it still doesn't sits right with me that he let that happen to Junho with no protest and still serves those VIPs.

P.S- I love your blog and your takes are awesome 💕

hello!! 💗💗 yay i can finally clear my askbox let's fucking go. i was so excited to answer this lol

first, THANK YOU THAT'S SO SWEET AAH,, ily guys sm <3

i think at that point he knew it was jun-ho. for one, his voice. while muffled, he still likely would have had some kind of hunch. not to mention general stature, positioning, etc. considering how close these two were, and the fact that in-ho was a detective as well (which requires meticulous detailing), i think he probably knew. which means he was probably mentally preparing himself to face his brother as well!!!! while also dealing with the slimy vips lol. rip in-ho ig

i think they have a good chance of bringing it up in s3. it's clear jun-ho remembers and suffers trauma from his time on the island in general, as well as with the vips. if it does get brought up, it will likely be by jun-ho, not in-ho. but that's just what i think.

(and don't worry, it doesn't sit right with me either. he's such a fucking goddamn ass-kisser. he just let it happen, not even a fraction of an attempt. but no!!!! gotta turn the lights off for the pissbaby vips instead! jackass. although i do still think he did feel remorse for jun-ho in that moment, it still pisses me off. my poor jun-ho.)

[wulvercazz]

🐎Rescue in Centaur City🐎 - part 3

Previous~ 💕 Finally another update~! And getting into the good stuff :>cc (don't take it too seriously thoo,, remember this is all for smut's sake 🤭) Check out the written update beloww~

“You should worry about yourself more,” Chromo intercepts on the fish-mouth-gape Thirteen’s doing in pure shock. “They’ll most likely dismember you for trespassing– it’s not a crime taken lightly here.” Thirteen freezes altogether, now very aware of their own situation and the clear warning ahead they got from Zaphkiel too about centaurs and their love for popping limbs out of sockets. It’s… it’s happening if they don’t come up with something soon. Chromo looks just about ready to accept his fate, Blueberry is locked up who-knows-where, and they… don’t even have the miserable little dagger they brought in the first place. And centaurs are strong as fuck; not that Thirteen’s ever considered themself strong enough to fight off anyone, really. Not five minutes pass of anxious (and failed) planning, that a taur dressed like a guard comes to retrieve them, with a pointy lance in their hand and Blueberry on a lead in the other; ties their hands together behind their back, and nudges them with the sharp tip right on their back to get them moving. Two more guards are waiting down the line of empty cells. It’s not looking good. They walk back up and away from the darkened streets outside the cells and up into what appears to be a plaza— or perhaps the perfect place where a public trial and execution might take place. Centaurs in more casual wear have started to come together around the open area, but none coming too close to be in the way; Thirteen and their rot-hound companion are walked through the empty area and up to where several older taurs stand in a podium, naked save for a sash draped over the forebodies and over their horse flanks. “The council will decide your fate.” The guard guiding them announces before she cuts their ties and nudges them one last time to stand before the jury. It’s all things they’ve heard already, what a younger taur reads off their list of charges. They knew it was ill advised to come, but what choice did they have? They couldn’t leave Chromo here to his ‘fate’, law or not. Well… the council didn’t like that as a defence, if they had nothing to tie them to Chromo, then their presence here didn’t really matter in his trial, did it? And so Thirteen was still found trespassing, and so condemned to lose all their limbs. “Dismemberment!” The old taur on the right announced their fate without much of a discussion. It all happened fast and haphazardly next, Thirteen took a few steps to try and bolt out of there, but… what can a human do against a full city of centaurs? They’re caught and carried to a table to be strapped to in seconds, and their wrists and ankles tied tight on every direction; then the centaurs started walking. Didn’t rush, didn’t run and pull. They intended to pull steadily until their weak human body gave out… Thirteen may be starting to understand what’s so scary about the centaurs, albeit too late. They’re sadistic and unmovable, for once. “AAH!” Thirteen screams once the ropes start really pulling on their joints, twisting here and there to try and relieve the tension building, “Nonononono– Lets calm down for a sec– D-Don’t pULL!” Thirteen squeezes their eyes shut, feeling still the increasing strain and hoping it won’t be too bad as they imagine it’ll be… that they’ll at least spare Blueberry this fate– and then one of their arms snaps back a little and drops like dead weight. Then the other and a leg and the other, and Thirteen barely catches the last couple of arrows hitting the table and snapping the ropes cut. Thirteen is quick to try and work off the knots of their wrists with their new freedom, not particularly worried to ask why, just thankful to be off the death hook. “That human is under the protection of the Einhorn Nation and the Royal Family,” a proud voice states from above, and wouldn’t they recognize him anywhere. Thirteen tries their best to look up with the sun shining on everyone’s eyes, there he is, riding Lila like a knight in shining armour, a King, they often forget. “Release them at once.”

Lila drops clear in the middle of the plaza, with taurs moving away from the heavy winds that the nycto moth’s powerful wings make and readying their weapons once they’re a more advantageous distance away. “Zaph!” Thirteen exclaims in eager relief, a few taurs point their weapons at them and they stay put again, all the frozen attention turns back to the royal. Heavy steps clack against the cobbled ground, the head of the council approaches with a mean look and an authoritative stance. “A dead Nation holds no weight here, leave at once, or face the consequences.” “Forgotten.” Zaph corrects, “not dead. I am still King by blood, and rule as is my duty. The human comes with me, and so does the pegasus, Chromo.” That has a few heads turning, the old taur’s brow rises in curiosity. “And who are you to him? Are you aware of his charges?” Zaphkiel hesitates for a moment, unaware of the full context. He searches Thirteen’s face for answers, but all he gets are confusing expressions and odd gestures he can’t make anything out of. “Both are recognized upon the courageous aid in liberating the Einhorn Nation from an extinguishing curse,” a few uneasy breaths and stomps are heard upon those words, something of tales and nightmares even on this side of the map. “Laid upon us a thousand years ago. The royal family, I, am forever indebted; I can at least request an opportunity to talk to him before his trial.” Zaphkiel doesn’t sound too sure when he says this, Thirteen can tell; but there’s chatter and scoffs and some curious whispering, and the council rushes to discuss amongst themselves. The head council comes to a decision on his own, a reluctant frown deep on the brow, “very well.” Things are moving forward.

[clove-noko]

HI HELLO HAGI!! HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY!! 🎉🎉💗💞💕 i’m sorry for being late!! but i wanted to gift you something 🥺🫶

anyways i hope you like it!! i’m looking forward to seeing more of you across my dash!! your art is VERY lovely too see and i think hagijade is really fun and adorable!! 🍫🍄💞 iand congrats again on 300+ followers, you deserve it a lot and i hope you have fun with your raffle 😤🫶🫶🫶

(also i’m not sure if the first ask went through the first time so i’m resending this just in case 😭🤧 you can delete this if you already received the first one and you’re just taking time with it 🥺🫶)

HIII IAN 🫶🫶🫶🩷🩷🩷

thank you so much for the gift!!!! 😭😭😭 I'm very happy!! hagijade look adorable together! I especially like Hagi's hair coloring, it's cute!! and this is paired art with shuuzul, aah!! love!!

also, thank you so much for your kind words and support!🥹🥹🥹 I know I'm not very active, but I see how good everyone is around me. thank you for your kindness and super adorable gift once again!!!☺️💝💕💖✨💝💖

(and it's okay, don't worry! this was the first request. I've been in similar situations myself and I think it's better to send a second time than to doubt lol...💕💕🙃)

[cheerleaderman]

AAH hi hi Jan!! congrats again on 100+ followers!!! 🎉💖

anyways why am i so embarrassed to ask this ;;; this is so specific but may i request yuusha with your fiery eye tsum jamil hdsjfksdl i think it'd be really cute 🥺

thank u for the consideration and i hope you have a great one!! 💕💖

Hi Ian! You had me cackling, Thank you and have a great one too 💞

Menaces, go Fiery eye tsum Jamil use knife

[crystallizsch]

hiii you seem super cool ^-^ your art is very pretty! also ahem listen. i like jamil too but. but what are your thoughts on his overblot form? am i the only one who thinks that it’s really ugly or…

anyways how are you? are you doing okay? i hope you’re having a good day :3

- <3

AAH ANON HI???? that is SO sweet thank you so so much i really appreciate it!! 😭💖💕 and im doing pretty well!! 🥺 it's my first week of summer break so i'm straight up chilling 😤✊

OKAY SO if you would have asked me this when i first saw it, i would have 100% agreed but listen. hear me out ---

i made like a quick sketch without whatever is going on with the head

HIS OVERBLOT OUTFIT IT'S A. IT'S A MERMAID/TRUMPET KINDA DRESS???? (an outfit where it's like form-fitting around the waist and upper legs then flows out the lower it goes) PLUS IT'S OFF-SHOULDER??? I KNOW IT'S JUST A PERSONAL PREFERENCE BUT I LOVE HOW THAT'S HIS OUTFIT??? IT'S JUST MY TYPE SLAY KING -

okay but seriously i get where you're coming from anon!! it's the,,, whole entire head part at least for me,,, like i GET the turban and everything bc it's based on jafar's outfit in the movie and HONESTLY??? i love the idea of his hair being snakes (they're just little guys, lil frens, reminds me of mike wazowski's gf with her hair snakes)

i think the issue is he looks so odd without his (iconic) side bang??? 😭😭😭 and the MAIN thing that i personally dislike is the ink goatee??? it just. i don't like it 😔 i think those parts are what make his overblot form look so off -

honestly everything COULD HAVE worked ;;; like the idea is There but the execution is Not It

also okay alright maybe something about overblots arent supposed to be pretty bc they're in a literal breakdown about to die (<- lying through my teeth bc i love riddle’s ob design and i have a bias for alice in wonderland type designs)

[tauforged]

a lil doodled amir for you!! 🌸💕 (also ps I loooove warframe!! Thank you so much for coaching me on how to get into it a while ago!!!)

AWAWAAWAWA THERE HE ISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS HE LOOKS SO GOOD!!!!!!!!!!!! AAH!!! thankyouso muchhh 😭😭😭 and OMFG im so glad ur having fun!!!!!!!!! :DDDDDD