reverendwulf

[reverendwulf]

I think we were all thinking it

[reverendwulf]

not a request but I was wondering if u write for other fandoms? not to pressure u or anything! just wondering :))

Indeed I do! I write for:

-Kpop demon hunters

-Sonic the hedgehog (games, exes, movies and IDW)

-Dandy’s World

-Murder Drones

I also take art requests for these fandoms!

[reverendwulf]

Hello! I was wondering if you had your old fics saved somewhere? I have no idea what happened but when I went to check them out again today for inspi/creative fuel everything was gone, which bummed me out because I was gonna write some of my own. I liked the Cookie Run ones a lot.

Anyways, gonna read the new ones now. Good day and prosperity to you and all that jazz.

(Also sorry if this is too forward or strange, I still have no idea how to use this website. Or talk to people)

Unfortunately, no, I do not have any of my old fics saved/backed up somewhere. I deleted them all along with my old blog; my apologies :(

[reverendwulf]

OMG YOU'RE BACK! I stayed away from tumblr for a while and missed this! I'm so so glad you're doing better! When i saw you deleted your old account i was pretty sad since your writing, especially your cookie run stuff, brought me a lot of comfort. But then i found out why you did it and i was so angry! Just know that we know you don't use AI and we're here to support you! Wishing you the best! :)

Thank you so much for your kindness, Anon. It’s honestly really heartwarming to see past followers like yourself resurface and still support me. I hope my new fics will continue to bring you comfort :3

[reverendwulf]

Can i ask for some dom Mira fics? I love her

HEAVY LOVE

Mira X Gender Neutral Reader

Summary: A compilation of headcanons between a dominant Mira and yourself. Reader is depicted as the 4th member of HUNTR/X.

Tw: Slightly suggestive. Non sexual BDSM dynamics.

Note from the author: The request wasn’t entirely specific about what you wanted me to depict, so I opted for something more on the safe for work side, with only mildly suggestive undertones. I’ve never really had the chance to explore a dynamic quite like this before and I really enjoyed writing it. Hope you like it!!!

☆ Mira’s idea of dominance isn’t loud, it’s precision. She doesn’t bark orders; she gives looks. Subtle. Sharp. A sideways glance over her shoulder when you’re taking too long to follow her backstage. A curl of her finger when you’re supposed to stay put. There’s no room for questioning her. Not because she’s scary, but because she’s certain.

☆ “Sit still,” she mutters, gently tugging at your fringe with soft fingers, fixing your hair without being asked. It’s less about the style, more about control, about the little thrill she gets seeing you hold still, letting her shape the image you’ll wear all day. The glint in her eye says she enjoys the obedient silence that follows. You didn’t resist. Good job.

☆ She doesn’t like PDA, but don’t mistake that for distance. Mira pulls you by the collar into a supply closet with a choreographer’s precision, sharp, swift, no wasted movements, and stands so close you forget how to breathe. “You forgot your water,” she says, holding it up, smirking when you’re too flustered to take it. “Or did you just want my attention?”

☆ Mira’s the one who plans your day for you. If you’re together, your calendar is hers. When she texts “Lunch, 13:15. Be outside,” you don’t question it, and when you show up five minutes early, she makes you wait until the exact time because it’s not about when she sees you, it’s about you knowing she’s in charge of when things happen.

☆ Your posture is never safe around her. If you slouch, she’ll hook her finger under your chin and lift until your spine straightens. She calls it “helping,” but there’s a wicked gleam in her eyes every time she corrects you.

☆ Mira likes routines, but not your routines. She likes disrupting them. You make coffee at the same time every morning, so she starts doing it ten minutes earlier, just to stand there and sip your cup, waiting for your confused expression. “Guess you’re on my time now,” she says, smug and unrepentant.

☆ Sometimes she’ll lean over you during rehearsals and correct your form. One hand on your wrist, the other braced against your lower back, murmuring instructions with that deadpan voice of hers, all while acting like she’s not enjoying how flustered you get under her gaze. “You’ll get it eventually,” she says, tone flat, eyes burning.

☆ Mira doesn’t “ask” when she wants time with you, she appears. At your door. In your room with takeaway and a spare hoodie you swear you lost. “You said we’d hang out,” she says, already unwrapping your dinner. If you forgot? She doesn’t get mad. Just makes you sit with her in silence, legs pressed close, until you bring it up first.

☆ Jealousy doesn’t look loud on Mira, it looks like her watching you talk to someone too long, her voice suddenly low and direct when she gets you alone. “That guy from catering, he talks a lot.” Her words always hang in the air like a warning. Not possessive, not angry. Just a reminder: you’re hers, and she notices everything.

☆ She’ll never say “good job” the way that Zoey and Rumi do. Mira’s praise is a tilt of her head, a little smile at the corner of her lips, and a quiet: “That’s more like it.” But when you do really well, when you do something she asked of you without hesitation? She leans in close, barely brushing your ear, and whispers, “I love when you listen.”

[reverendwulf]

HAND IN LOVABLE HAND

Rumi X Gender Neutral Reader

Summary: A compilation of headcanons between Rumi and yourself about hand holding.

Tw: None - completely safe.

Note from the author: Nothing to report, just some innocent hand holding!

☆ Her hands don’t match her voice. Her voice is golden, soaring, velvet-lined with gusto and desperation. Her hands are something else entirely. When you first hold them, you’re not sure if you’re meant to. They’re rough, not in the careless way of someone who neglects themselves, but in the way of someone who has never had time to be soft. Callused at the fingertips from strings, training and microphones. There’s a faint grit to her palms, like she’s been scrubbing dirt from her skin and some traces still lingers.

☆ When she reaches for your hand, it’s never casual. It’s deliberate. A flicker of hesitation passes her features each time, the weight of secrecy clinging to her fingertips. You think maybe she’s wondering if you’ll feel the markings. If they’ll betray her. If you’ll pull away, but you never do, of course you don’t. You only squeeze tighter, and when she exhales, you realise she’d been holding her breath the whole time.

☆ She never lets go first. Even when Bobby calls. Even when she’s late for rehearsals. Even when her beloved ramyeon is done steeping. If your fingers are laced with hers, she’ll pretend the world outside isn’t crumbling. She’ll pretend her hands aren’t scarred from sword hilts and demon claws. She’ll look at you like your hand is the only safe place she’s got left. Maybe it is.

☆ There’s heat in her grip — not warmth. Heat, like her body runs hotter than yours. Like fire flickers under her skin. Sometimes, her thumb will brush the inside of your wrist, and it’ll feel like hot static, like lightning under skin, and she’ll murmur, “Sorry, that’s just me.” But she won’t let go. Her hands may be born of battle, but she holds you like you’re sacred.

☆ After training, her knuckles are cracked. Skin cracked, sometimes. You’ve held her hand through bloodied gauze and healing creams. She always tries to joke her way out of it. “Battle wounds…Kind of cool, right?” But when you press your forehead to her knuckles, when you kiss the bruises without a word, she goes quiet. Her hand clenches just a little tighter, like she’s never been held so gently after a fight.

☆ When she sings, her hands shake. You never noticed it until you were close enough to really stare. It’s not fear — it’s fervour. The kind of shaking that comes from putting your entire soul into something. So, when she takes your hand before a performance, it’s not for comfort, it’s to anchor herself. You ground her, keep her head clear when she’s really getting into the flow. Afterwards, when the lights go down and the screams of fans settle, she holds your hand as a silent thank you: You kept me steady.

☆ Her fingers twitch in her sleep. You’ve watched them curl and flex like she’s fighting demons in her dreams. You’ve reached for her hand in the dark, and she’s met it halfway. Even unconscious, she threads her fingers through yours. Always warm. Always firm. Even in sleep, she knows what she doesn’t want to lose.

☆ The first time you held hands in public, she looked away. Not because she was ashamed, but because she didn’t trust herself not to cry. You think maybe it was the first time she’d let someone choose her, knowing everything. Knowing about the markings. Knowing the weight she carries. Knowing the full truth about herself. She didn’t say anything, just tightened her grip and walked a little closer to your side.

☆ You once told her her hands were rough. She flinched, but just barely.

“Yeah,” she said. “They’re not exactly idol material, huh?”

You kissed the heel of her palm and said, “No. They’re hero material.”

And after that, she stopped hiding them in photos. Now, when she holds your hand, it’s not tentative, it’s proud.

[reverendwulf]

TONIGHT BELONGS TO US

Rumi X Gender Neutral Reader

Summary: You decide to visit Rumi late one night, unable to ignore the growing distance in her behaviour. She’s been quieter than usual, withdrawn, her gaze often drifting somewhere far beyond the present moment. Perhaps a quiet conversation above the hush of the city lights might help. Something gentle. Something real. Just the two of you, above the sleeping streets, where the world feels slower and honesty feels a little easier.

Tw: None - completely safe.

Word count: 1005

Note from the author: I’m currently working on a much larger fic at the moment and need to write some palette cleansers in between so I don’t lose focus, this one-shot being one of them. It’s nothing particularly special or overly detailed, but I hope it brings you a bit of comfort and entertainment :3 Enjoy!!!

The city lights shimmered below like scattered jewels, vivid and distant just like any other night. From the floor-to-ceiling windows of Rumi’s bedroom, everything looked miniature, softened, untouchable. A fleeting dream suspended in glass.

And at the centre of it all stood Rumi, her back turned, shoulders taut beneath the beige cropped hoodie she only wore on cold nights like this. Her braid hung down the slope of her spine, swaying slightly as she gazed out across the skyline, as though searching for something she couldn’t quite name.

You’d come to check on her, not as a fan, not as someone dazzled by her face on magazine covers or comically oversized billboards. You came as someone who had seen the shift in how she carried herself lately, too rigid, too careful, like a tower ready to topple. You came because you noticed the quiet, important things. You came not to fix, but to be. Her plus one. Her anchor. Her lover.

“I shouldn’t be here,” you said softly, standing a few steps behind, your eyes fixed on her reflection in the window, drawn and tired.

Rumi didn’t turn. “But you are.”

“But I am.”

A pause stretched between you, thick and fragile. Then she asked, “Why?”

You shifted your weight, uncertain whether to move closer or walk away. “I’m worried about you.”

The words lingered in the space between. Then, softly, like a breeze through a cracked window: “You shouldn’t be.”

That was your cue to step forward.

Her bedroom was quiet, illuminated by the cool ambient glow of the city outside. You remembered when this space was nothing more than a backdrop glimpsed during livestreams, the place where one of the world’s most beloved idols slept, practised, and dreamed. And now? Now it felt like a hiding place.

“I heard you missed rehearsal today,” you murmured.

“I didn’t need it.” Her voice was calm, rehearsed, too even. A lie.

You came to stand beside her. She didn’t flinch, just stared outward with those warm brown eyes, lashes casting long shadows, gaze unreadable.

“I want to know how you’re really doing,” you said.

“I’m sealing the Honmoon with two of the most talented girls in the country,” she replied, tone clipped, rehearsed again. “We’re tracking three singles, prepping for a country-wide tour, and saving the world in our spare time.”

“But how are you feeling, Rumi?”

That was the question that cracked her, not the demons, not the endless rehearsals or the pressure of millions of eyes. It was your voice. Quiet. Patient. Not asking her to shine, only asking her to be.

She exhaled slowly through her nose. “I don’t know. I can’t even tell if I’m actually ready anymore… or if I’m just pretending to be.”

And then, finally, she turned to you.

Her eyes searched your face with startling clarity. The same eyes that had stared down horrors, faced unspeakable things beyond the veil now clouded with a much older fear. One harder to name.

You reached for her hands. You hadn’t expected her to let you take them, but she did, without hesitation. She accepted your touch as if, in some small way, she’d been hoping for it. Needing it.

Her fingers folded into yours, tentative and uncertain, and you felt them, all of them. They were not soft. Not the hands of a pampered pop icon, manicured and delicate. No, these were hands shaped by hours of blade work and gruelling studio sessions. Calloused at the fingertips, rough from tension and sweat. Not fragile but real.

She began to tremble as you laced your fingers between hers. You wondered if anyone had ever held them like this before, not for business, not for gratitude, not for performance. Just to notice.

“You feel everything, don’t you?” you whispered. “Every spotlight. Every soul depending on you.”

She let out a breath of a laugh, bitter and small. “And the markings.”

“That’s not all you are.”

You squeezed her hand gently.

Rumi glanced down. Her demon markings were faint tonight, curling like pale smoke around her wrists, just visible beneath the sleeves. Usually, she hid them quickly—but now, she didn’t move. She knew she didn’t have to hide them from you. Not now. Not ever.

“I keep thinking… what if people saw this, saw me, and hated me for it?” she murmured. “What if they saw who I really am?”

You brushed your thumb over her knuckles. “You’re more than what they fear. And if they can’t see that after everything you’ve done, then they’re not worth a second thought.”

Something shifted in her face. Her lips parted as if to speak, but no words came. She looked at your joined hands like they were some impossible puzzle.

“I can’t lose myself,” she said eventually, her voice thick and low. “Not when the others are counting on me. Not when I’m so close. I’m supposed to lead. I’m supposed to be okay.”

“You’re not a statue, Rumi.”

“Sometimes I think things would be easier if I was.”

You hesitated, then reached out and drew her closer, gently, deliberately.

“That’s not true,” you said. “That’s not the truth.”

She blinked, stunned into stillness. You didn’t mean the markings. You meant the weight in her gaze, the ache in her shoulders, the tired song in her bones. You meant her.

And something inside her broke, beautifully.

She made a sound, half-sob, half-laugh, and her hands clutched yours with quiet desperation. When she pressed her forehead to your shoulder, you felt the full shape of her. Not an idol. Not a demon. Just a woman. Just Rumi, holding onto the night like it might slip away.

Rumi’s trembling slowed.

Her hands remained rough. They always would be. But in yours, they softened, not because she wasn’t afraid anymore, but because she knew. Knew someone saw her. All of her. And would stay, no matter what the world outside demanded.

Just you, her, and the city lights. A moment that didn’t need to shine. Only to exist.

[reverendwulf]

Hey there! Just wanted to say that I loved your Rumi, Mira, and Zoey from KPDH hc posts, and that I love your writing style. But I looked and I didn't see if you took requests or if requests are open or if they are closed. So, do you take requests? If you do take requests, are they currently closed? Or are requests open?

That's all from me, buh bye now. Have a great day/night. Take care of yourself! Get good sleep and don't forget to hydrate.

Thank you ever so much! I’m genuinely thrilled that you enjoy my KPDH content. As for requests, I’m open to receiving them from anyone provided the prompts are clear and specific. I won’t take on anything too vague. Otherwise, feel free to go wild in the inbox!

[reverendwulf]

I KNEW IT WAS LOVE!

Zoey X Gender Neutral Reader

Summary: A compilation of romantic headcanons between Zoey and yourself.

Tw: None - completely safe.

Note from the author: Nothing to report.

☆ Zoey was the first to notice something was off about you. Not in a bad way. In the “Wait a minute. This is suspiciously cute and concerning” kind of way. You cheered too hard at concerts, cried during her solos, and once managed to mouth along to one of her more complicated rap verses perfectly. You were right in the second row where she could see. She wasn’t just impressed, she was intrigued. And mildly excited. But mostly intrigued. She gave you an enthusiastic thumbs up before hoping back into the flow of the song.

☆ She gave you a backstage pass during one of their sold out concerts under the excuse of a “fan lottery.” It wasn’t. She picked your name herself. Later, when Mira teased her for it, Zoey yelled, “I just wanted to meet a lyric appreciator, okay?!” Then proceeded to scribble a new verse in her notebook about love and butterflies and definitely nothing related to crushes. Rumi saw it and just smiled knowingly.

☆ When the demons came for your soul, you’d been at the heart of a chaotic Honmoon fluctuation. Zoey was the first on the scene. Knives out. Brows bent in concentration. Playful persona wiped clean. She landed between you and the screeching thing with enough force to crack the pavement. “Back off. This one’s mine.”

☆ After the fight, she gave you a piggyback ride because your legs wouldn’t stop shaking. She laughed nervously the whole time. “You’re so light. Like a pillow! Or a feather...a feather makes more sense.” But you felt her grip tighten every time you winced or flinched. And when she dropped you off at home, she didn’t leave until she saw you smile. Not once. Not even after Bobby called her three times.

☆ She starts dedicating certain verses to you during songs. Nothing obvious, just little phrases that the average fan wouldn’t think much of. A verse about “meeting eyes across the stadium,” or “someone who made her knees weak.” You notice every single one and are certain it’s about you.

☆ Zoey’s notebooks now have your name scribbled in the margins. Dozens of times. Sometimes next to hearts. Sometimes next to oddly violent metaphors. “Your smile could slay a demon.” “Your voice—my heartrate soars.” “Your name sounds like a spell.” She never lets you see them, not on purpose, but one day, you spot your name written on a page she quickly hides under a half-eaten rice cake.

☆ When she’s overwhelmed, interviews, trouble writing or just tired from rehearsals, she’ll pull you aside, flop across your lap like a limp noodle, and mutter things into your shirt. Things like “Why do all demons smell like regret and vinegar? I hate it !” and “If I die, bury me with my lyric books. And your hoodie.” You stroke her hair and pretend not to hear her say your name like a whiny child

[reverendwulf]

A QUIET TYPE OF LOVE

Mira X Gender Neutral Reader

Summary: A compilation of romantic headcanons between Mira and yourself.

Tw: None - completely safe.

Note from the author: After the positive reception of my last post, I’ve decided to return back to fandom writing. Of course, I thought it would only be natural to write more about my favourite girls. Enjoy!

☆ Mira doesn’t do the whole “flirting” thing in the traditional sense. If she likes you, you’ll know, mostly because she starts teasing you relentlessly. You sneeze weirdly? She’ll mimic it under her breath with a straight face. Tie your shoes wrong? She’ll fix them for you with an eye-roll and then mutter, “Congratulations. You’ve survived another day.” It’s her version of affection. Sarcasm first, sincerity later.

☆ Despite her stoicism, Mira is terrifyingly perceptive when it comes to you. The moment something is even slightly off, your energy is a bit lower, your responses a little delayed, she’s on it. No dramatic confrontation, just a very quiet, very pointed, “You’re not okay. Talk.” And she won’t leave your side until you do or until she can fix it herself.

☆ She lets you watch her choreograph when she’s in flow state, which is practically sacred ground. You in one of the studio seats, Mira on the stage, precise, brutal, glowing with sweat and elegance. Afterwards, she’ll hop off the stage, sit beside you and mutter, “That one was for you.” Then she’ll absolutely pass out on your shoulder.

☆ Mira’s not good with touch unless it’s you. Somehow, you’re the exception. She’ll instinctively reach for your hand in chaotic crowds, drag you out of the path of a rampaging demon, or sling an arm around your shoulders when you’re cold. She won’t even realise she’s doing it until Zoey or Rumi teases her about it.

☆ You’re one of the very few people allowed to touch Mira’s ponytails. She pretends she doesn’t care but always sits just a little closer when you start playing with her hair. Sometimes, she’ll even rest her head in your lap and grunt, “Do the thing.” The thing is gentle scalp massages while she melts into you.

☆ Whenever you come to their shows, Mira scans the crowd until she finds you, front row or the very back. The moment she sees you, she visibly relaxes. If you make eye contact, she’ll smirk, flip her hair dramatically, and mouth “Watch this.” She always dances harder when you’re watching. Her soul magic pulses stronger. It’s not subtle.

[reverendwulf]

YOU, I’M CALLING FOR

Rumi X Gender Neutral Reader

Summary: A compilation of romantic headcanons between Rumi and yourself. Reader is presented as especially quiet and patient.

Tw: None - completely safe.

Note from the Author: After much consideration, I’ve decided to start posting my fandom literature to the public again. I’m unreasonably nervous about this, but regardless, I do hope my fellow kpdh fans enjoy this one.

☆ She meets you backstage at a rehearsal, an accidental moment stitched together by fate or maybe by a faulty security checkpoint. You were just a lighting tech, fiddling with wires, adjusting the spotlights. Rumi was rehearsing in the distance, voice faltering, throat raw. You offered her water when she came backstage, not out of admiration but because she looked like she needed someone who wasn’t expecting her to sparkle. That moment never left her. In a world where people clapped and screamed whenever she was present, you offered silence and that meant everything. Human and honest.

☆ You notice that she always wears long sleeve clothes that she absolutely refuses to take off in front of you, even in unbearable heat. The demon markings creep further each time she ignores her own heart, and she fears that if you see them, you’ll see her as nothing but a monster. That you’ll see a freak instead of a woman. She jokes that they’re just “tattoos gone wrong,” but your eyes linger and that scares her more than your silence. You never press her. That patience starts healing her in ways she didn’t think were possible.

☆ You once found a scribbled verse in her one of her notebooks that read: “Would you still hold me if you saw the monster in the mirror and it sang with my voice?” She caught you reading it and tore the page out in a hurry, sweating profusely and trying to play it off. Weeks later, it became a bridge in a HUNTR/X track, sung only once, live, eyes locking with yours in the crowd and your lidded gaze was the only answer she needed. The entirety of the world cheered, not knowing that a silent confession had taken place.

☆ She trains late at night, sword whistling through shadows. You don’t watch her to be impressed, you watch to be sure she doesn’t push too hard. She once collapsed in your arms after an exhausting session, sweating profusely through her clothes. You said nothing. Just held her until the tremors stilled. The next morning, you woke from a buzz from your phone. A text from Rumi: “Thanks for taking care of me <3”

☆ There’s a moment after each show where she finds you in the crowd. Doesn’t matter if it’s 80,000 people deep. Her eyes always seek yours, frantic at first, then softening when she finds you. Even when the camera lights are blinding, even when the encore is roaring she mouths “Are you okay?” before anything else. She says it’s instinct. You know better. It’s love, carefully veiled behind concern.

☆ Rumi often forgets to take care of herself between rehearsals and combat practice. Reminding her doesn’t really work, so you compensate with tiny things: a cupcake balanced on a takeaway lid, a homemade card, an origami version of a tiger you struggled for hours to fold. She tries her best not to cry, especially in front of you, but when she sees your effort, your care, your love, she gets quiet. The tears start flowing and you swear you’ve never been hugged so hard before.

☆ When she finally lets you trace the markings on her arms with your fingertips, it isn’t dramatic. It happens quietly in her bedroom. No music. No stage. Just the sound of her breathing, shallow, then deeper. Your hands are steady. You don’t ask if it hurts. She presses her forehead to yours, and for once, she doesn’t hide.

“You’re not scared?” she murmurs, the words so soft they barely reach your ears.

“Of you?” you reply, thumb circling one of the harsher lines near her wrist. “Never.”

[reverendwulf]

OMG YOU’RE BACK HII WULF!!!!!!! I know you said you probs won’t be posting any more of your writing but I’m curious…..were you working on any writing things whilst you were gone???? any big projects or something?????

HELLO!!!!!! During my time away, I’ve been working on several projects, but the most significant among them is something I can only describe as a religious manuscript. While I was absent from social media, I experienced a sort of spiritual awakening and felt a strong urge to document it properly. I’m not certain whether others would be interested in reading something of this nature, but it’s one of the few pieces I wouldn’t feel embarrassed to share given that it’s rooted in spiritual reflection.

[reverendwulf]

Good to see you back!

To be clear, we know you're not using AI. I hope you're doing better now.

Hello again, Waffle!! It’s great to see you again!!! I genuinely appreciate that you, and others who used to follow me, understand that my writing isn’t created with AI. In hindsight, I realise I may have overreacted to the accusation, but it affected me deeply in a way that’s still difficult to explain.

With time, I hope I’ll be able to move past those feelings and perhaps return to sharing my work, though I can’t say for certain just yet.

That said, I’m feeling much better now, and I really hope you’ve been doing well too :3

[reverendwulf]

I’d fallen out of the loop — I’m so, so sorry about what’s been going on!! I sincerely hope nobody’s been giving you grief on this account, and that tumblr’s not… frankly, a bit of an ass this time around. Happy to see your art, anyhow!! :)

Hey, no worries at all!!! I realise I wasn’t very clear about my absence, so the misunderstanding is completely understandable. Everyone’s been kind to me here so far, and I’m genuinely grateful for that :3

[reverendwulf]

⇨⠀ ⠀ﾉ Response: I’ve returned to Tumblr to give it one final go. Despite the negativity I’ve encountered on this site, this video always makes me smile. It’s still surreal to hear my work brought to life through voice acting, but it’s a very wonderful feeling!! Once again, a fantastic job by the actor! :3

Somewhere in the future, Choco Pretzel receives a love letter from a certain radio host...

Happy 100 days to BlackPretzel !! This yumeship means a lot to me and I'm excited to share more about them, as well as their journey together~ 🍇🥨🖤🤎

If you have any questions/doodles for Black Sapphire and/or Choco Pretzel, feel free to send them at the blackpretzel strawpage ! Although this video takes place in a future event, so my current muses will act confused if you ask about it ^^

Credits + Notes below the cut:

Voiced by: XanaduCross Script by: @pukefactory Art by: chotorynn

This is the Tent of Sweet Encounter mentioned in the video:

At the time I commissioned the character letter/script, I also liked Wind Archer before I found out about the ship with Fire Spirit lol very self-indulgent XD (but Choco Pretzel only sees Archie as a friend/teammate anyways)

Tagging: @viridianv0id @mi-rieri @agar-agar-crk :3c

[reverendwulf]

I am so sorry you had accusations. I bet they were just jealous about how good your writing was and wanted to feel superior. I’m sad you won’t be posting anymore writing, but I look forward to your art! I hope you’ve been doing okay now!

⇨⠀ ⠀ﾉ response: Being accused of using AI was one of the hardest hits to my confidence. It nearly crushed my motivation to write. No one should make such claims without proof; it’s incredibly hurtful to those who put real effort into their work. Right now, I don’t see myself sharing writing online again, fandom or otherwise, unless there’s clear interest from those who supported me before. If enough people want me to return to writing, I’ll likely stick to original work moving forward.

Anywho, Thank you sincerely for the support and kind words!! I’m feeling much better now!!

[reverendwulf]

⇨⠀ ⠀ﾉ response: I’ve returned to tumblr to give it one last go around. I will no longer be posting any fandom literature, but I am posting my artwork. follow me here if you wanna see my stuff or have any questions.

I hope your wife is doing okay, I was surprised to see all the accounts deleted. :( I thought her art was cute and cool! Idk why people accuse others of ai with no proof either.

baseless accusations of using ai with no proof kills the creative drive, and it sucks and i don't wish that on anyone. i would go into "back in the day it was tracing and nowhere near as bad 👴☝️" but i think that would make me sound old lol

she's doing okay though!! she's doing artfight this year and loves drawing stuff for other people on there. she's really happy there's so many sonic ocs on there lol