#cleaing out the drafts

[stocious]

part two

[cliji]

people beating simon first before the easiest side-quest in the game 😭

[athenas-only-daughter]

Haunting the Canvas - The Clea Post

spurred on by conversations I've been having with @linka-from-captain-planet, I'm collecting the info we've been able to gather about Clea here, under a read-more for spoilers, because if you run around act 3, there's actually QUITE a bit to glean about her.

This is gonna be a living/edited post as we find more info! Pls let me know if you guys see anything that's missing, find out new info, etc!

Truly as soon as you get to act three, you can't go three feet without bumping into a sidequest that has to do with Clea in some regard. She is HAUNTING the canvas almost as much as real!Verso and she's not even dead.

First and foremost, The Fading Woman is often Clea! Sometimes it's Aline (if she's sad, it's Aline) but especially in act 3 it's Clea. Particularly at the Endless Tower location. If you want to glean more about Clea, I recommend talking to the fading woman when you see her, particularly as Maelle.

Clea is the eldest sibling, this is made plain during Maelle's companion quest at The Reacher

Also in this quest Maelle implies that Clea is Renoir's favorite. Verso disputes this, saying Alicia was his favorite child. However, earlier in a conversation with Lune, Verso says Clea was Renoir's favorite. Seems like there's some nuance here!

Clea has her own axon! If you were like 'hey Renoir made Axons for the rest of his family, where is Clea's?' it's easy to miss but it's the Axon in old Lumiere that's already dead (more on this later)

Clea's Axon seems to be called 'The Hauler' and is carrying part of the world on its back (incredibly on brand Eldest Daughter Shit)

Aline also painted a version of Clea - she is no longer with the painted family and is now trapped in the Flying Manor location by Clea herself.

Clea seemed to not like the portrait Aline painted of her, or at the very least resents her parents trying to portray her in the canvas full stop (she also dislikes the Axon). This led to Clea painting over her mother's version of her and leaving her in the painting to continue her work of making Nevrons.

We know Clea is making the Nevrons thanks to dialogue in the Fountain and Flying Manor quests, as well as Clea's dialogue to Maelle before act 3 AND dialogue with the Fading Woman in the Endless Tower.

The only Nevrons that are NOT Clea's are the ones on the Axon Islands, those are Renoir's.

On that note, why is Clea making Nevrons? she's using them to stop the chroma from returning to her mother when the painted citizens die, hoping to speed along her parents' conflict and then end this once and for all.

Also on this note! Clea is also making the painted WHITE Nevrons that we see and help. I'm still not 100% sure why, but we find this out by talking to Blanche during the Fountain quest, who has the special task of killing all of Clea's failed Nevrons, because god forbid someone see she made a mistake (perfectionist eldest daughter Clea Dessendre I am studying you sooo closely)

Painted Clea had a romance! with a painted lumiere citizen named Simon (he can be fought by reaching the Abyss in Renoir's Drafts)

Real!Clea apparently shared none of her painted counterpart's affections because she tricked him by pretending to be painted!Clea and gave him enough power so he could kill her Axon (also through trickery).

Has entered the painting several times since the start of Aline and Renoir's conflict. Notably to make Nevrons, capture her painted counterpart, trick Simon, but also she met Expedition 00 at the barrier and told them everything. Then tried to kill them when they wouldn’t leave. She also came in and tried to recruit Verso at one point.

Her final time in the canvas, that we know of, was when she came in 16 years ago and told him to watch over Alicia/Maelle.

Clea thinks its safer for Alicia to be in the Canvas, away from the war.

On that note, there's a war! Clea is apparently fighting a war against the Writers near singlehandedly. Renoir calls this her 'solitary war' and Alicia/Maelle says she 'took Verso's death personally', so it seems she's seeking revenge.

Clea is noted by both Alicia/Maelle and painted!Verso as being the most talented painter of the three of them

Also plays the harp!

There's a record you can unlock play at camp called "Clea! Don't Pull Your Sister's Hair!"

Clea seems to have stopped playing in the Canvas well before either of her siblings - Francois is mentioned as missing her for over a hundred years, well before the fracture.

Francois and Clea used to sing together!

Much of the original canvas was made my Verso and Clea together. In the Endless Tower, the Fading Woman (Clea, here) says that she "spent far more time" in the canvas than Alicia and that she painted "half this world with Verso"

Despite this, Clea does not share her family's same fixation on it and seems to dislike their meddling with it - her mother's painted creations, her father's axons, etc. She does not consider the painting 'real', but "was perfectly fine to leave Maman here to work on her sorrows", and says it's Alicia's choice if she stays. She seems equally dismissive of her parents, saying that Aline "doesn't want help" and Renoir is "wasting time" when she needs his help.

There's a Fading Boy and another fragment of Clea in Fading Leaves. The Clea fragment has been erasing things from the canvas, 'out of respect for him, his creations and the things they made together'. We can infer she's talking about Verso here. The Fading Boy (remember, a fragment of Verso's soul) seems to be disheartened by this.

ETA: In the Painting Workshop, the Fading Boy talks to you about both real!Clea and Painted!Clea. It's hard to parse which is which but it seems like Real!Clea might have made the Lampmaster specifically to spook Verso, maybe when they were kids? The Fading Boy implies that he told Clea he was scared of the dark and she made him the world's most haunted nightlight (sisters amiright?)

Additionally, he mentions 'jealousy' so it seems Clea was, at times, jealous of Verso. This tracks with her being the most talented painter of the 3 but overlooked for her brother and also with something the Fading Boy says at the start of the flying manor that seems to be about Clea (not sure whether real or painted): "Everything is always about her. Her paintings, her sculptures. Everything has to be perfect, but perfect I have never been"

ETA: In Old Lumiere, the Fading Man (Renoir) seems to have some interesting things to say about 'she who painted nevrons' aka Clea: "She wasn't scared of death itself. / She was sad because there are more works of art than she'd ever be able to see in her lifetime. / So many fables from around the world that she'd never be able to collect. To bring her life in her workshop. / All the beauty in the world she'd never get to experience. That saddened her."

He also says that Clea "loved to challenge him" and that they were "the most alike"

ETA: At the Forgotten Battlefield, there's a Clea Fading Woman who asks Maelle if she can help and when Maelle is confused, says "I guess not. Pity. I'd hoped to return to more important matters. But instead I must occupy my time with... this." She then tells Maelle to "Go and play with your friends. I'll handle this."

[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 ▸ Masterlist for some lore extensions

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.

[corseque]

I needed to write a little post about Clair Obscur but I don't want to spoil anyone so I'll do it under a cut (SPOILERS)

if you think about it, these two specific beings are married

cause the first is a portrait of Aline that Renoir painted, and the second is a portrait of Renoir that Aline painted, and both paintings describe their feelings toward and about each other and how they view each other......... they're so romantic I love them so much. I want Sirene to cradle Painted Renoir in her giant hand idk... makes me want to draw fanart

the portrait that Renoir painted of Alene was a beautiful and graceful, artistically talented siren so entrancing and dangerous she can make you go insane just by looking at her too long... he's such a wife guy, so in complicated love with his wife SIGH

I will also never get over Painted Love, the portrait that Clea painted of the two of them together fighting you as a team, I GASPED when I got to the top of the Endless Tower and saw it.

They are IN LOVE. so in love they even share a health bar. They are one, they are in love

Even Clea, who complains about them both, and complains about their failings and is generally a kind of cynical person, still paints them together in this way. Clea truly believes they have this purest love.

they make me so emotional, everything was worth it to see them embracing in love at the end of the game. My loves

omg I just found out the Renoir the painter in real life married a woman named Aline.... they're so real......

HE LOVES HER so muchhhh arghhghghghhg

I would choose any ending that let them hold each other again, I don't care

ETA: I just finally translated the Sirene songs and they are killing me

people on Reddit were describing his portrait of Sirene as a mean or even cruel one but I really don't agree with that. In Renoir's Drafts he talks about how he paints to truly express himself. look at how tender he is about her in the Sirene lyrics, his QUEEN in her dress of love, perfect movement, enchanted by grace of beauty in her joyful world... oh their life must have been SO beautiful and happy before what happened.... and then the music changes and he describes her as chained by grief and deafened by grief... weeping and in pain and unreachable to him, and lashing out dangerously in her grief.... but still "love poem" interspersed even in the boss fight music... MY HEART

idk I know that his view of her is complex and multilayered, but this is just so beautiful to me. I really love Renoir's metaphors in his paintings, they're so perceptive and truly beautiful, but most of all they're honest and truly express his emotions.

I don't know how to hold this much love and devotion with both hands. He loves her SO MUCH. Even her portrait of him is one of a man who devotedly loves her and defends her, even as she's fighting him and she paints him to defeat him, she can't paint him as anything other than her loyal knight and her love.

[joycemessier]

finished clair obscur: expedition 33. spoilers.

i lovedddd the endings they gave us. i like creators when they're a bit mean to their audience; no placating happy ending, no "objectively" good ending, no morally correct choice (and even then, it might be a matter of perspective).

just two endings: hollow and bittersweet.

it was hinted at in the act 2 renoir boss fight but it was unnerving to only fully understand the context of the world we've been playing in after 40 hours once we've explored The Reacher, Renoir's Drafts and The Flying Mansion.

understanding Maelle as a disabled child, wanting autonomy and to be loved and protected in a world she could create for her own comfort and escaping drowning guilt for being the cause of her brother's death and the ending choice of being able to rip it away because it was not healthy because it wasn't real.

understanding Verso as a shadow version of the real dead man, outliving his actual existence, searching for peace and wanting Maelle to leave before she succumb to an addiction, but how could he decide the wiping of the Canvas when there are characters that were real enough just because he wanted to die so badly and willing to lie and omits crucial information to further his agenda.

who gets to decide who or what was real anyway? for characters in the canvas like Sciel and Lune and Verso and Monoco and Esquie with dreams and trauma and quirks and humanity? was it only reserved for characters who live in the higher plane of existence - Maelle/Alicia, Clea, Renoir, and Aline who are gods in this canvas? but what hypocrisy is it that if we zoom out: it would be us, the players, who get to decide.

while i understand that siding with Verso is healthier for Maelle in the long run, i could not blame Maelle for choosing to do what she did - to live in a world where she has her voice, autonomy, a talent, and a family that does not know death. but the game has emphasized the nuance that even if the characters are back, perhaps like the gestrals, each time they're reincarnated, they're not the same anymore.

the game frames Maelle's ending as the worse one, much like the ending of a horror movie (a beautifully poignant one still!). but it's interesting that if the perspective shifts to Lune or Sciel - was this a horrible ending for them? or would their viewpoint not matter since they're not real? again, we hit the moral quandary.

i also love that Alicia has hinted a third ending in her letter to Maelle that Verso read at the Lumiere pier, a possibility of a mediation between Verso and Maelle's spectrum of endings. but in grief, Verso lets the letter go...how Sciel said that grief can blind us...so that elusive maybe even happier ending is now something we can only dream about forever and ever...

it's so excellent, i don't think the devs should add that third ending (if people are asking for it and if they do, then they do not have taste!). to me, the game would not be as affecting if the current endings weren't so upsetting and heartbreaking. it seems rifed for discussion and analysing different perspectives from a myriads of player, im looking forward in reading abt them!

[erinptah]

Tagged by @vergess:

rules: share the first lines of ten of your most recent fics (or whatever you got going on) and tag however many writers you want. if you've written fewer than ten, share anyway :))

For fun teaser purposes, these aren't my ten most recently published fics. They're the ten "most recent edits to the file" fics.

(A full 9/10 are Moon Knight and friends. Including 7/10 that are just the CoK Cinematic Universe.)

Starting in February, ending with a file I've edited in the past 24 hours:

(10) Mini Fandom Cupcake Drabbles, #25

Okay, I admit it: When I was coming up with theories about Aisling's real motivation for everything, "she's a succubus" was not even close to being on the list.

(9) Telenovela of the Year

It's a cold drizzly night in the London flat, Layla is out of town, and Marc is going to be man enough to admit that he wants a cuddle with his imaginary friend.

(8) With All The Madness In My Soul

There's a new family at the service.

(7) not even a draft, just a pile of notes for a MoonMoonMoonScarab wedding fic [unposted]

Khonshu: There is a grave matter, I require a new Fist immediately, there is no time to lose  Badr: I'm so in. What are we doing? Fighting a supervillain? Saving the multiverse?  Khonshu: ...a secret third thing

(6) Meeting the Team 5: Merge

"Marc would like to chat with you alone for a while."

(5) Meeting the Team 6: Telephone Wire

"We told you Dad was here, right...?"

(4) 5+1 times Marc might have been having a foursome? [in progress, unposted]

"How come you're in here?" It takes Marc a second to even process the question. He checked out of the body on purpose, but didn't choose where in headspace he ended up. Didn't even realize where he was, until Jake opened the internal car door and swung in beside him.

(3) no one could blame you

The address his phone leads him to turns out to be an old-fashioned diner in the Lower East Side.

(2) untitled collection of Wanda getting visitors in the Emporium [in progress, unposted]

"You have the wrong rune, here." Clea taps the wooden frame with one of her sharp purple nails. (They aren't naturally purple, someone just introduced her to this Earth thing called nail polish.)

(1) Travels by Knight [in progress, coming up next]

New York City! Center of the universe! Layla and Team Moon Knight are here for a whole week. On the cheap, too, because they're crashing at Bucky Barnes' flat. He's not in town, but he said they were welcome to house-sit -- as long as they keep it clean, bring in the mail, and fight off any attempted break-ins.

[keepitmovinshawty]

Solo’d that giant snake in the sky

😤😤😤

Sometimes it is better to solo really powerful enemies. I’ve made it to stage 11, trial 3 at the Endless Tower too. But lemme tell yall about trial 2.

Stage 11, trial 2 is Lampmaster, Clair Obscur, and Creation. I still haven’t “finished” the game because I wanted to level up (ended act 2 at like 48), so I have never seen Creation before. I guess it’s something I’ll come across in the last story fights. After getting my ass royally handed to me like 5x, I decided I needed an actual strategy.

What I did was give Maelle an OP solo build and start with her. I 100% didn’t expect to finish the fight with her. I just needed her to do one thing for me: kill Creation. So I concentrated all my efforts on getting that pos outta here. And I did. Unfortunately Maelle did die so the reserve had to come in and finish (that took exponentially longer because the game chose Monoco instead of Verso and Lampmaster is hella annoying to fight).

So after that 22min battle, I just wanted to see what trial 3 was. “Painted Love” is who I’m fighting. It’s the Curator and the Paintress. Stuck around long enough to get the gist of their attacks, then backed out of it.

I also tried to fight Clea and I almost had her but she ate my main damage machine (Maelle) and Lune and Verso just were not doing enough damage without her. I’ll go see what I can do in Renoir’s Drafts next.

Btw, I hear I am slightly over-leveled for the endgame so I might nerf myself by capping my damage. Contrary to popular belief, one-shotting enemies is only fun if you’re trying to learn luminas.

[violence-uncut]

Distractions. ( j.m. & e.k. )

pairing: jon x eddie

warnings: m/m, smut, oral, daddy kink, blood ( small ), mentions of sex toys, shower sex

type: one-shot

words: 2,673

summary: eddie helps mox one of the only ways he knows how.

( based on the episode of dynamite/winter is coming! )

a/n: two years. . . geez im so sorry. but i've had this in my drafts forever so forgive if it's a bit rusty. hopefully another one will be posted in a few weeks. enjoy!

AEW Dynamite / Winter Is Coming! 12-2-20 - Jon Moxley vs. Kenny Omega for the AEW Championship.

It was supposed to be a clean fight. He was so stupid to think Omega would play fair. It just proves to Jon just how much of a coward this guy really is. So much for the fucking Gentleman’s agreement. He currently lays in the center of the ring, blood dripping into his eye.

Mox’s body feels like lead even though the anger made it feel like his entire being was set on fire. Despite the dazed look in his eyes, he really wanted to punch something or someone right now.

Jon could hear commotion out on the stage, hearing a certain New Yorker spit curses towards a specific man named Lance Archer. When the brawl breaks out on the stage, Jon works his way under the ropes and stumbles over to the barricade with help from officials.

He just wants to stay and wait for Eddie but he's urged to the back so the Doc could stitch him up. Once he's cleared and free to go, Jon storms off down the hall towards the locker room. He's breaking things and shoving equipment carts out of his way as he rages, a headache brewing at the base of his skull.

All Mox could think of was Callis and Kenny running from the building with his championship.

"MOTHERFUCKER!" He yells out, shoving a cart particularly hard that it topples over, spilling its contents all over the floor. A member of the crew rushes up, trying to calm Jon down. "Get the fuck away from me!" He couldn't remember the last time he was this angry. He feels it boiling under his skin as he gets bombarded.

He just wants to get to the damn locker room. He can feel the tears begin to form behind his eyes as he starts shoving people away from him out of pure fight or flight.

“Hey!”

Everyone freezes at the sound of Kingston’s voice. “Move, Move! What the fuck is going on here?!” Jon’s back is to the commotion as he takes deep breaths.

One of the security guards explains what happened to Eddie, a few words later and he walks over, placing his hands on Jon’s shoulders. “C’mon Mox, let’s go.” He gives him a shove towards the locker room.

Mox does what he’s told and makes his way, shoving the door open. All the wrestlers in there look up when the two enter and all Eddie has to do is glare across the crowd and they’re all scrambling to gather their things. Jon walks over to his cubby and sits inside, head dropping into his hands with a hefty sigh.

After making sure there’s no one else in the room, Eddie locks the door and heads over, stopping in front of Mox’s sulking form. He reaches up and runs his fingers through the bit of hair on the top of his head.

Jon drops his hands and rests his forehead against Kingston’s stomach. He’s still breathing heavily and the tears he’d tried so desperately to hold back now spill freely down his cheeks.

Eddie knows Mox doesn’t need words right now. He trails his fingers down and cups his chin, gently pulling Jon’s head up.

The look in his eyes alone made Eddie want to hunt Kenny down and do unspeakable, extremely violent things to him. “Oh baby boy. . .” He cups Jon’s face with both hands and wipes the tears away with his thumbs.

Sniffling, Jon leans into the older man's touch, his shoulders dropped, eyes closing. "D-Daddy. . ." His voice cracks and Kingston leans down, pressing his forehead against Mox's. "I'm here baby. I'm here." Their lips connect in a kiss and Jon's hands reach up, gripping onto his shoulders.

Eddie reaches between them and rests his hands on his hips, reluctantly breaking the kiss. "Let's go get you cleaned up, yeah?" Jon nods solemnly, letting go as Eddie rises, taking a hold of one of his hands automatically and tugging Mox up. He leads him to the showers, stopping him in front of an end stall.

“Undress for me.” He instructs, reaching in and turning on the water to piping hot just the way he knew the other loved. Jon fumbles with his belt, pulling it through the loops. He knows he’s being a little dramatic but he just couldn’t help it. He should’ve paid more attention during the match, he should’ve-

“Hey, baby boy. Hey. . .” Eddie’s soft tone cuts through his thoughts. Warm hands replace his own and Kingston works on getting Mox out of his jeans.

Something resembling a whimper leaves his lips as his boyfriend helps him undress the rest of the way. “Thank you. . .” Eddie maneuvers him under the spray of the water, careful not to get himself wet. “You’re welcome sweetheart.”

He steps back, arms crossing over his chest and watches Jon’s naked body, his eyes scaling up his toned legs, to his perfect ass and up his- abs? Eddie blinks, finding Jon’s now facing him, his big blue eyes gazing up at him.

“Please join me daddy?”

He smiles, actually smiles. The only thing that gets him to smile now-a-days. He starts to undress, kicking off his timbs and shedding each layer one by one. “Since you asked so sweetly.” Mox watches as he strips, subconsciously licking his lips when Kingston slips off his boxers and steps into the shower.

They step into each other and Jon wraps his arms around the other’s neck, planting a firm kiss on his lips. Eddie smiles into it and grabs the younger man’s ass, pulling him flush against his body. He can barely taste Mox’s blood mixing into the kiss because of the water washing over them.

Jon groans into Kingston's mouth when he feels their cocks brush against one another. Eddie deepens the kiss, sliding his hands down to the back of Jon's thighs. He lifts him up, wrapping his legs around him. "Fuck King. . ." Jon pants, locking his ankles together.

"You act like I don't fuck ya like this all the time." The man smirks, pushing Jon back against the tiled wall, holding him there. Moxley’s head lulls back with a thud as Kingston begins trailing his kisses down the column of his throat.

“Mmm, and? Lemme enjoy how fuckin’ jacked my man is, okay?” The two engage in a mini stare down before Eddie grins, slowly spreading his ass apart. “Oh f-fuuuck. . .” Jon’s moans echo throughout the showers at the stretch.

The elder smirks, maneuvering Jon’s ass over his cock. “Feel good baby?” Mox whimpers when he feels the head of his cock pressing against his hole. “Yes daddy, fuck. . . please, wanna feel you inside me.” He wiggles his hips, a long moan leaving his lips as Eddie sinks all the way into him.

“That’s my boy, takin’ me so well,” Kingston’s voice is deep and rough in Jon’s ear. Shudders rack his body as he tightens his hold on Eddie. Rough hands settle on his hips, giving him time to adjust. Eddie gives him a few more seconds before working him up and back down his thick cock.

  “Shit, have you been usin’ your toys?” Eddie groans out as he fucks up into Jon. All Mox could manage is a smirk as he swiveled his hips, letting him feel the answer to his own question. Eddie slips in and out of him easily, a chuckle on his lips.

  “You’re such a tease baby boy. But fuck if I don’t love it-” Eddie’s cut off by Jon grabbing the back of his neck and slamming their lips together in a sloppy kiss.

“An’ you talk too much, put your words where your cock is, daddy." He purrs, beginning to fuck down against him at a steady pace. He rejoined their lips and slips his tongue into Kingston’s mouth; gently running it over his to get him to stop talking.

Their hot breaths mingle as Eddie clutches Mox’s hips, helping him ride his cock faster. He groans at the assault on his tongue, feeling him suck the muscle gently.

Jon knows what he’s doing to his boyfriend, but he’s justified- kinda. Mox snickers into the other’s mouth, a string of moans leaving him when he brushes that special spot inside him.

Eddie’s top lip curls into a smirk, fingers gripping his boy’s hips harder; He’s almost positive there’s gonna be bruises in their place tomorrow.

He didn’t need any affirmation to know that he’d found Jon’s prostate. He whimpers, tightening his hold around Kingston’s neck, pressing their foreheads together rather hard.

Jon can’t help the string of begs that leave him as he gets closer and closer to reaching his end. “P-Please daddy. . . I needa cum, please.” Eddie chuckles roughly, panting against each other’s mouth as he reaches between them, wrapping his hand around Jon’s cock. His eyes roll back into his head as Eddie’s firm grip. “Shit daddy, please, please!”

His wrecked pleas and whimpers are music to Kingston’s ears as he begins to jerk him. “That’s daddy’s desperate boy.” He growls hotly against Jon’s ear. Warm tears of pleasure spill down Mox’s cheeks as he feels his orgasm creep up on him starting in his toes.

Jon cups the back of Eddie’s head and wraps his other arm around his shoulders for support. “Fuck daddy ‘m s-so close pl-plea-” Jon’s mumbles are cut short as he spills over Eddie’s fingers; the elder milking his cock to the last drop.

Eddie kisses away some tears along both Jon’s cheeks as he works him through his high. “That’s it baby boy, did such a good job for me.” Eddie coos, his thrusts slowing to a stop. Jon lets his head fall back, goosebumps erupting all over his body.

“You didn’t get to cum. . .” Shaking his head fondly, Eddie wraps his arm fully around Jon’s waist, walking them over so he could shut off the now icy water.

“Mm, wasn’t ‘bout me tonight.”

Jon squeezes around his boyfriend’s cock still inside him, whimpers of pleasure leaving his lips as Kingston walks back towards the lockers. “Gonna pull out now sweet boy, think you can handle it?” A sigh of protest leaves Mox’s lips but he nods anyways.

It takes Mox a few minutes to regain feeling in his legs but Eddie’s right there, holding him up. Comfortable silence settles over them as Eddie pulls out their street clothes.

“I’ll pay ya back with a blowie or somthin’ later.” Rolling his eyes while his back is turned, Eddie grabs one of his towels before facing the other. “Shut the hell up,” He responds playfully, starting to dry Jon off. “You ain’t payin’ back shit.”

Jon grins cheekily, lifting his arms as Eddie runs the towel down his body. “At least let me dry you off too? I can’t have your naked body in front of me and not be able to touch it-.” The end of Jon’s sentence is slightly cut off as Eddie throws the towel in his face.

Jon laughs and catches it before it falls. He could sense Eddie’s patience thinning a little by the look on his face. He walks over and starts drying Eddie’s head and beard.

“Thank you for takin’ care of me,” Jon places a kiss on Kingston's cheekbone, pressing against him lightly, his body language following the opposite the words that just came from Eddie’s lips.

“I can always count on my daddy.” Mox continues to dry him off, tossing the towel away right before getting to his crotch. His hand takes its place, gripping Eddie’s cock triumphantly.

A deep breath exhales through Eddie’s nose, eyes becoming cloudy with lust. “You really don’t like to listen, do ya?” Jon smirks, nipping along his stubble jawline. He tightens his grip, pumping him slowly.

“No’p’e, how else is this relationship gonna work?” He pushes the right half of his body against Eddie’s, knocking him back against the wall. He picks up his pace, a satisfied groan leaving Eddie’s lips.

“I knew you wanted this,” Eddie’s hand comes up quick and clutches the back of Mox’s neck. “ ‘Course I did,'' He grits out, capturing Jon in a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue. “Always do, but tonight was about you baby.”

Smiling in victory, Jon swipes his thumb over the leaking head in his hand. “I know daddy, but I love your cock and I want to repay you. . .” If Eddie could’ve gotten any harder by just those words alone, he probably would’ve.

He squeezes Jon’s neck, a moan breaking out with his words, “A-Alright baby boy, alright.” Sated, Mox smirks and bites down onto the junction between Eddie’s neck and shoulder. 

A growl leaves Eddie’s throat as Jon bites into his skin, the feeling sending jolts of pleasure down his spine. Trailing nips down the length of Eddie’s body, Jon sinks to his knees and comes eye level with his cock. More precum trickles down the slight curve of Kingston’s dick and it makes Mox’s mouth water.

“C’mon baby boy, clean up your mess. . .” Mox eagerly licks up the sensitive side; Collecting the precum on his tongue before wrapping his lips around the head.

A taste that’s even more distinctly Eddie explodes on his taste buds as Jon expertly swallows him to the base. He breathes through his nose, feeling his boyfriend filling his throat with every pump from his hips, making Mox’s eyes roll back into his head in pleasure.

Eddie’s head thrashes back and forth against the concrete, his thoughts getting fuzzy each time Jon takes him all the way. “Fuck baby, that’s it. . . always thinkin’ of daddy. Such a good boy.”

Moxley’s whole body is sore, his head full on pounding now but he definitely didn’t want to be anywhere else right now. The feeling of the cold floor on his knees helps cool his still overheating body.

He sighs when Kingston reaches down and runs his fingers through his beard. A sign that his boyfriend was close to his end.

Suddenly pulling off with an obnoxiously loud ‘pop’, Jon wraps his hand around Eddie’s cock, keeping the same pace as his mouth. “Gonna cum for me already daddy? Was I that good?” His eyes flick up and lock on Eddie’s, the hand on his jaw tightening.

Praise was something Kingston knew Jon craves, and he’s going to give him exactly what he wants.

“Mhm, so fuckin’ good baby. You know what you do to d-daddy.” Mox kisses around the head as he jerks Eddie faster, wrapping his lips around the tip. “Fuck, gonna make me cum so good baby boy, such a pretty mouth. . .” Eddie’s thumb rubs against Mox’s cheek, his breath hitching as Jon takes him fully down again. His hips begin thrusting against Mox’s face, both of his hands holding his head still.

Eddie’s body goes rigid as he cums down Jon’s throat, his groans echoing through the locker room. Mox swallows everything that’s given to him as Kingston pumps into his mouth. He places his hands on Eddie’s thighs to stabilize himself, watery eyes watching every expression on Eddie’s face as he sucks him dry.

Eddie pulls Mox off him and up into a messy kiss, tasting himself. “Shit baby boy, you always give the best head,” He chuckles against the other’s lips, feeling Jon’s arms wrap around his middle. “Funny to think you weren’t gonna let me.” Jon smirks, leaning into the pressure when Eddie wraps a hand around his throat.

“You’re so fuckin’ annoying.” Eddie replies with a fond eye roll, pecking Mox’s lips a few times. Mox kisses back eagerly each time before eventually pulling away so they could get dressed and leave. Jon walks with his head held a little higher as he and Kingston walk out to their rental.

Even though he lost tonight, even though Kenny cheated and basically spit in the face of what he was doing to carry AEW through this shit storm of a year. Mox is definitely sure he left being the real winner.

fin.

[whateverwords33]

Clair Obscure: Expedition 33

The many layers of art

"Owowow" (Monoco)

The game takes you on a journey...quite literally. A fresh take on the JRPG genre that shows love for the games that came before, while trying something new. Even if turn-based games are not your jam, the story, art, and music are such wonderful creations that will captivate you into staying.

§ Spoilers §

As of writing this, I have gotten all achievements on Steam. During act two, my main party was Verso, Maelle, and Lune (substituted for Monoco during non-boss fights). Funnily, right before Old Lumiere I was actually running Sciel, Lune, and Monoco to level them up as they were below Verso and Maelle. When they were split up for story purposes, I had a good chuckle when they were split up this exact same way. Then during act three is when my main party had shifted to Sciel, Monoco, and Maelle. I started utilizing Sciel as an auto-death (second chance) support and Maelle would dominate with Monoco as cleanup. Once Maelle gets her final set of skills, she really does tear through enemies like they're nothing.

Do note, if you're trying to get to level 99 and have already beaten the game, like I did, I would recommend just grinding at Renoir's Drafts until you reach it. I was level 96/97 when I started new game+ and I literally speed ran the main story to get back to Renoir's Drafts again. New game+ is great if you want to experience the story again, not if you're trying to level up.

I enjoyed the beginning of the game with how they don't outright explain the main issue with the world until it happens at the end of the prologue; for those who don't know the premise of the game. The trash can bit is great and shows you that comedy does have time to shine in this world of despair. And the mime mini-bosses are wonderful, can't forget that the game is French. They did get me with Gustave, not with him dying, but I really thought he would come back to life at the end of the game because of his locked skills. And because of a side-quest where he was needed. I was surprised at how big the expedition team was. They talked about how less people were signing up, but there was a whole bunch of people that got decimated at the start of act one.

When we got Verso, I was delighted to see a relationship level when interacting with your party. The game felt like they were hinting at it when you were Gustave, but there was no need for a relationship level when he's been with them for years. Introducing this new mechanic as the new character was brilliant. The whole dynamic with Maelle with Gustave and Verso is quite fascinating. Depending on who you side with at the end, the world is either destroyed (which is what I chose) or Maelle gets to be in control. The fate of Maelle's fake-real brother Verso was resolved due to Maelle's fake-adopted brother/guardian Gustave, who created the Lumina Converter (the in-game mechanic explanation on how characters can equip passive Pictos after they are learned). Gustave's creation is what gave this expedition team the advantage they needed to succeed. Even though the Verso ending where the painting is destroyed feels like the correct ending...I like to believe the Maelle ending where she stays inside is the actual ending. I believe this solely on how it ends with Verso playing the piano, the exact same melody we hear when starting the game, in the main menu. Bringing the whole adventure full circle in a meta kind of way.

Side-note, expedition 60 is my favorite journal log in the game. The fact that they figured out the truth of the Paintress and would have made it back by swimming, if not for the gommage timer, is extraordinary. They were the expedition that was just built different...quite literally.

I am quite fascinated with the "real" world outside the painting. The talks of Painters and Writers, who exactly is Clea, Maelle's real older sister, dealing with? Are there "real" versions of the human party members? Technically when Maelle went inside the painting she went through the whole process of growing up again. Are the people in the painting world based on people in the real world or are they all made up? If they do a sequel, I would be more interested if they focused on a different set of characters in the same world. This time focus on the Writers, but instead of someone inside of a painting, they're inside a book. Then the third game takes place in the real world, tying in the previous games. If they don't want to give answers on which is the definitive ending, the game can take place in the future, in the aftermath of the fight between Painters and Writers.

They made such a fascinating world that doesn't actually exist...but that's the thing about art. Even if the world inside the painting isn't real, how painting/art makes us feel is what matters.

TLDR; a work of art can change your life...quite literally.

[shekhawatlaw]

Understanding Patent Applications in India

Filing a patent application is an essential first step for companies and inventors looking to safeguard their creations. The Indian patent application in India procedure can be intricate and demands close attention to detail. One of the best legal consultancies, Shekhawat Law, offers professional assistance in navigating this complex process. The goal of this blog is to explain the essential procedures and demystify the Indian patent application process.

What is Meant by a Patent?

An inventor or assignee of a unique, non-obvious, and commercially viable innovation may get an exclusive legal right from the government through the application of a patent. The patent owners may use this power to prevent third parties from producing, utilizing, importing, selling, or utilizing the patented invention without their consent.

Types of Indian Patents

Three categories of patents exist in India:

Utility patents: These protect recently discovered or innovative products.

Patents on designs: These safeguard an object's distinctive aesthetic features.

Plant Patents: Patents for novel and distinctive plant varieties are awarded.

How to Apply for a Patent

India has multiple steps in the patent application process. This is a comprehensive guide:

1. Determine Patentability

Ensure your invention is novel, involves an inventive step, and is capable of industrial application. It should not fall under the non-patentable inventions as defined by the Indian Patents Act.

2. Conduct a Patent Search

Perform a patent search to check if similar inventions already exist. This can help you determine the novelty of your invention.

3. Prepare a Patent Specification

Provisional Specification: If your invention is still in the experimental stage, you can file a provisional specification. This helps secure a priority date.

Complete Specification: A detailed document that fully describes the invention, including claims, which define the scope of patent protection.

4. File a Patent Application

Form 1: Application for Grant of Patent

Form 2: Provisional/Complete Specification

Form 3: Statement and Undertaking under Section 8 (disclosing foreign filings)

Form 5: Declaration as to Inventorship

Form 9: Request for Publication (optional)

Form 18: Request for Examination

5. Publication of Patent Application

The patent application is published in the official patent journal after 18 months from the filing date. You can request early publication using Form 9.

6. Examination of Patent Application

The patent application is examined by the Indian Patent Office upon filing Form 18. An examiner reviews the application for compliance with patentability criteria and issues an examination report.

7. Respond to Examination Report

Respond to the objections raised in the examination report within the stipulated time (usually six months). This may involve amending the claims or providing clarifications.

8. Grant of Patent

If the examiner is satisfied with the responses, the patent is granted and published in the patent journal.

9. Post-Grant Compliance

Pay the necessary post-grant fees and maintain the patent by paying annual renewal fees.

Important Forms and Fees

Form 1: Application for Grant of Patent

Form 2: Provisional/Complete Specification

Form 3: Statement and Undertaking under Section 8

Form 5: Declaration as to Inventorship

Form 9: Request for Publication (optional)

Form 18: Request for Examination

Fee Structure: Varies for individuals, small entities, and large entities. Ensure to check the latest fee structure on the official website.

Online Filing

The Indian Patent Office provides an e-filing system for patent applications. Create an account, fill out the necessary forms, upload documents, and pay the fees online.

Professional Help

Consider hiring a patent attorney or agent to assist with the application process, ensuring that the documents are correctly drafted and the process is smoothly handled.

Key Tips

Ensure detailed and clear drafting of the complete specification, including claims.

Keep track of deadlines for responses and fee payments.

Regularly check the status of your application online.

By following these steps, you can navigate the patent application process in India effectively and increase the chances of securing patent protection for your invention.

Why Did You Select Shekhawat Law?

The procedure of applying for a patent might be difficult to navigate. To guarantee a seamless and fruitful patent application procedure, Shekhawat Law provides a wide range of services, such as:

Expert Consultation: Comprehensive advice on whether an innovation is patentable.

Writing and Submitting: Expert support for creating and submitting patent applications.

Prosecution Support: Skillfully managing compliance concerns and objections.

Services for Maintenance: Ensuring legal compliance and prompt payment of renewal fees.

Conclusion

A key to safeguarding your invention and maintaining a competitive edge is obtaining a patent. Businesses and inventors can safely negotiate the intricacies of the Indian patent application procedure with the help of Shekhawat Law's skilled staff. You can successfully protect your innovations and make a living by knowing the procedures and getting expert help.

Speak with Shekhawat Law right now for more details or help with patent applications.

[ghosthierophant]

teehee pretend neither of those endings happen & continue your endgame content!!!! : )

painted clea, we've come to beat your ass / free you from this fucking manor / die repeatedly here while you heal & heal & heal & heal & remove a party member & heal & heal &

finally...

... painted clea................. oof the music just cuts out too

.

real verso's dialogue now.....

!!!!!!!!

i know it's very not expected to do this VERY HARD END-ENDGAME FIGHT before the endings... but this adds even more depth

awww you get clea's outfit from this YOINK FOR LUNE

.

RENOIR'S DRAFTS - DANGER!

the game: you're still underleveled lol

opening enemies hitting like bricks......... yeah..........

renoir do we really need all the fucking faces lying around...

THE SAME WITH THESE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

not now, fallingstar beast

ok snake let's see wtf is going on in here until the night reigns

lmao you can see the persona influence alright- wait is his other hand just nero's

oh to live in this world & perish automatically at 34 33 (sighs) #goals

i've heard nothing but good things but i haven't liked the look of the character face models (especially maelle's) in promo materials & now here... maybe it's an uncanny valley issue or maybe it's just... ugly french faces LMAOOO or maybe it's just their eyes tbh

[flailingart]

these are from the beginning of quarantine back when we still thought it was going to be a normal spring break lmao

[supremescrceress]

[xroub]

[princegaytea]

Mermaids......